#*BITES AND BITES AND SHAKES AND SOBS AND SHAKES AND SOBS*

[musexbunny]

（・+・マ！

birthday sex with caleb is soo sweet.♡ he’s so eager to pump all his love into you!

like, he’s pressing you deep into the mattress, his large hands pushing your knees up to your ears as he folds you over. your pussy’s so loud, gushing wet juices as he feeds you inch after inch of his fat cock. you can barely breath, mewling out small whimpers of his name.

“s’too much!” you cry, shaky hands gripping the sheets as his heavy cock splits you open. caleb just shakes his head, his eyes too focused on how perfectly your pussy’s sucking in his dick.

“you can take it, princess” he cooes, leaning down to plant a sloppy kiss on your plump lips.

his thrusts are slow and deep, shaking the bed everytime he slams into you. his eyes can’t help but roll back at the feeling your sweet pussy clamping so hard around him. you’re milking him so well!

“oh, fuck” he chokes out, “birthday pussy’s gna kill me.” he says between kisses.

you’re biting back tears from how insane the stretch is, your heads thrown back into the pillow while his cock heads grinding perfectly into that spongy spot.

“caleb! please!” you hiccup, feeling your body tense up; you’re so close to cumming already. your thighs are aching so bad and you can barely breathe, but he doesn’t let up.

Caleb knows you’re close, can tell by the way you’re clamping so hard around him. he can feel that gooey pussy spasming and begging for his cum.

he’s so mean because he pushes his body weight on you and grinds his dick further into your sweet spot. now you really can’t breath! with his weight heavy on you and his cock fucking you so well, you completely come undone.

sobbing out moans, you wrap your arms around his neck and he kisses you.

“that’s it baby, cum for daddy,” he’s so proud of you. loving the way you can’t control your spasming body.

you’re barely able to kiss him back. stars are exploding behind your eyelids. your body’s trying to curl in on itself but it can’t with the way caleb’s laying on you.

honestly, caleb’s barely holding on. your warm pussy is so perfect, tightening around him and squeezing him so well; he ends up cumming sooner than he wanted to. and god it’s so much. just spurt after spurt of heavy, thick cum.

“ ‘m sorry pipsqueak, couldn’t hold it in” he chokes out. his stomach’s flipping, waves of red hot pleasure coursing through his body. he’s panting in your ear and begging you to forgive him for not being able to stop himself.

you feel so full, his warm cum nestled deep within your cunny. best birthday ever!

[anantaru]

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ where his hands are — love and deepspace

synopsis. where his hands are while doing it

including. zayne, xavier, rafayel, sylus, caleb

warnings. fem! reader, tit play, petnames used: sweetheart, baby, pretty, zayne loves your ass, doggy (prone bone), mating press, rough syx

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ zayne + on your ass

as was anticipated, zayne needs you held wide and open for him, his palms sinking into the meat of your ass like he's terrified you'll stop taking him so fucking nicely— his grip truly punishing, spreading you apart until your hole flutters around the root of his cock, your skin flustered and shaking underneath his thumbs.

every single thrust was filth— a grind, with an even rougher drag? a push of his cock so thick and needy your mouth fell open yet no sound came out. not to mention that zayne's obsessed with the way your ass jiggles when he repeatedly slams it, the way you drip from the stretch of him was mouthwatering, leaking down on his balls in repeated warm, messy strings of your arousal.

he greedily spits on it now, watching it gleam for a moment before it vanishes into the wetness he's already made of you, his groan remained rasping, like he's unraveling just from the sight of your body swallowing it down like a good girl, like the mess itself was holy.

"sweetheart, you take it so well," he growls proudly, his voice wrecked with need, every word rasping against your skin akin to torn silk— his teeth skimming the shell of your ear, but not biting, no, just letting you feel the heat of his body bleed through you, the quiet madness clawing at the edges of his breath, "you feel this? all this mess? this ass was made for my hands, baby, made for me to fuck like this."

he presses you down so hard your hips bruise on the bed, one palm spreading you wide, properly holding you in place, the other slapping your ass with a slick, loud crack, then soothing over it like he's sorry for nothing— the man keeps you tilted, spine curved like a bow, so he could hit that spot again and again, until you sob and gush around him.

his thumb was dragging your jaw down until your mouth spills open, slack and senseless with drool dripping in slow, sticky threads from your lips to your chest, fuck, he's in so deep the curve of your spine aches instantly, but it still wasn't enough— go for it, come on, deeper, rougher, messier, all of you, fucked open and destroyed around his cock and his hands, all of you made for him to grab and destroy.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ xavier + on your thighs

xavier spreads you wide like you're something precious and perverse, thighs pulled open with both hands, elbows locked to hold you still while he fucks into your pussy slow and brutal— his fingers squeezing hard enough to leave dents, thumbs grinding circles into the soft inner meat and dragging you open to watch your slick hole grip him tight as he stares in awe, like he's reading your soul straight through your velvety walls clenching down.

the pumping of his cock was steady, pushing back into you with every new rut hitting your spots, his eyes flicking up to your face every time you moan like he wants to memorize the desire in your expression.

"fuck, you're soaked— this tight little thing's crying for me," he whines, voice low and wild, "you like being held open like this, huh? you like how deep i can get when you're spread like a fucking feast?"

he bends your legs back more, more, until your muscles tremble and burn, until your knees were beside your ears and your belly taut and stretched and full of him, his cock hitting angles that made you see stars while he's watching the way you shudder and leak around him, thumbs digging into the hinge of your thighs like you're nothing but a hole to keep him warm and satiated.

xavier's grip flexes with every shove of cock, every gush of arousal spilling down between your ass and coating his lap, watching it slicken your folds even more before pushing in again with a low groan like he's losing his mind inside you.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ rafayel + on your tits

rafayel palms your breasts like they're holy objects, his fingers curled above their weight and kneading slow and calculated, like he's shaping clay as he groans every time you squeeze him, cock dragging through your soaked walls and still, his hands remained on your chest— massaging your tits, squeezing them too, adding a lil kiss, yeah? pulling at your nipples until you wince out. 

he drags his thumbs over them again, watching them stiffen under his touch, then leans down to bite and suck and spit warm and wet saliva across your skin until your whole chest was shining of his liquids.

the man pants, licking a trail up to your sternum, dragging hot and slow up the center of your chest, tongue catching every tremble like he's tracing a confession into your skin— wet and utterly depraved, "these tits bounce every time i push in, pretty, you feel how deep i am? all that mess leaking outta you, and i still want more."

he begins to fuck you upwards now, body curved within yours and thrusts angled so every movement drags the swollen head of his cock right along your sweet spot. your tits bounce every time he sinks in and rafayel moans into your skin, hands tightening like he could mold them into something even lewder as he rubs the wet peaks of your nipples with slick-covered fingers, then bites again, watching the way you jolt and cry in joy.

as obvious, he wanted you to feel him everywhere— his cock, his hands, his teeth, his tongue, what else? his warmth, yeah, as the bed creaks under you, repeatedly, slick smeared down your thighs and belly from how hard and deep he fucks you, and still— his hands never left your tits once, like they're his anchor to hold onto, like he's trying to memorize every shake and spill of them under his touch.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ sylus + on your wrists

the moment you move, sylus's mind haywires with your wrists pinned hard to the mattress, his weight over you like a threat, his breath hot and uneven against your jaw as his grip was tight enough to ache, the kind of hold that bruised tomorrow and made your pulse throb beneath his fingers.

it's obvious he liked seeing your hands trapped within his own— adored knowing you cannot stop him, cannot push him away either, cannot beg for mercy without squirming, well, without him wanting to hear you beg at least trice.

"don't you move now," he spits, hips grinding deep until your eyes rolled back, "you feel that? you're clenching so tight, it's like you're trying to keep me there forever," as he fucks you like it's punishment— like worship carved out of violence? yeah, slamming into your slick, weeping heat until your walls fluttered and your stomach contracts from how much he burned through you.

your knuckles turned white with how tightly you curl your fingers into his biceps as his grip tightens, the wet sounds between your thighs getting louder and wetter, each roll of hips a disgusting punch of cock against your insides, yet you cannot do anything— cannot stop it, cannot run from it— just cry out his name beneath him as he fucks and fucks and tears you open, then lovingly holds your wrists like he's fixing himself to sanity.

sylus heaves like a wild animal in your ear and every time you jerk your hips upwards to wiggle against him, his fingers flex tighter, dragging your arms above your head, thrusts so cruel and searing like he doesn't know how to stop, even when you're all tears stricken, even when you break at last— he won't let you go, simply, he can't, not when your pussy was wrapped so sweet and swollen around him.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ caleb + on your head

caleb doesn't let you look away, not once, with his hand pressed behind your own, squeezing your face into the pillows, fingers cradling your skull like he's kneeling before something divine, keeping you close so he could spill his moans directly into your mouth, the press of his palm tender yet firm, like he wanted to hold your whole brain together while he pounds you apart.

he kisses you like he's dying, like he needed your spit to live— tongue messy and slick, panting into your mouth with every thrust that rocks you up the bed as he kept whispering— candid n broken n filthy things between kisses, "you're so beautiful like this," his voice shatters, lust catching on the wreckage of pleasure as your walls seize tight around him, dragging a noise from his throat that sounds more like unravel than power, like he's being wrung dry from the inside out, "fuck, baby, you're so fucking tight, so good, don't let go— just let me feel you."

his hips jerk forward again as your back arches off the mattress from how deep it was, from how perfectly his cock pinches inside you like it's following a specific path carved just for him— at this, you could barely catch a breather, like caleb made flowers grow in your lungs and although they felt beautiful, otherworldly, you just couldn't breathe anymore.

his cock pulses with every repeated squeeze of your cunt around him as his thick cock shines where you're joined— slick gushing out every time he pushes in, guzzling it back when he snaps forward and still, his hand cups your head like a frail object, holding you steady as if your body could shatter from the sheer pleasure.

the man kept you close like you're his oxygen, his life, he moves like a man possessed with a rhythm doused in solace, like each thrust was an apology he didn't know how to voice out loud— his whines lost, eyes glassy and teeth clenched against the sob lodged in his chest.

©2025 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify, claim as your own

[i2rizz]

𝑨𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑯𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔

Synopsis-Dante's only goal tonight: wreck you so thoroughly you'll never even look at another man again.

And judging by the broken bed, the shattered floor, and the bruises on your hips? Mission accomplished.

(NSFW / MDNI / Warnings: filthy smut, unprotected sex, rough sex, jealousy, possessiveness, teasing, manhandling, breeding kink, overstimulation, hair-pulling, mouth-fucking, marking, degradation + praise, messy sloppy drunk energy, Dante being a rabid man)

(A little thank you gift for 400 followers so sit yall fine asses down and grab water because what I’m about to deliver is gonna have you needing to pace around your room for 10 minutes)

You barely made it through the front door.

The second it slammed shut behind you, Dante had you caged against it—hot, heavy, feral.

"You fuckin' tease" he growled against your mouth, voice wrecked, hands already hiking your tiny, skin-tight club dress up your thighs. "Flirtin' with every bastard in that club—shakin' that ass like you wanted me to fuckin' lose it, huh?"

You gasped, breathless, clawing at his leather jacket to yank him closer.

You could still taste the liquor on his tongue, still feel the pounding bass of the club vibrating through your bones.

He ripped the jacket off and tossed it somewhere without looking.

Lifted you clean off the ground like you weighed nothing, throwing you over his shoulder with a rough smack to your ass that made you shriek and giggle.

"You think it's funny?"

"Wait till I show you how funny it is when you can't fuckin' walk tomorrow"

He stalked through your apartment like a man possessed, kicking open your bedroom door of off its hinges, tossing you onto the mattress like a ragdoll.

You barely had time to scramble up before he was on you again—grabbing your ankles, dragging you down the bed, manhandling you until you were flat, pinned, helpless.

"Stay fuckin' still" Dante rasped, yanking your dress up and over your head, leaving you in nothing but a flimsy pair of panties.

His blue eyes burned.

Dark. Starved. Dangerous.

"You wore this tiny little shit to the club?" he hissed, dragging two fingers roughly up your slit, already soaked through the lace. "You wanted attention that bad, huh? Wanted everyone seein' what's MINE?"

You whimpered, grinding helplessly into his hand.

"Yeah, you fuckin' did"

"Don't worry, sweetheart. Gonna make damn sure you remember exactly who you belong to"

He hooked his fingers in your panties and ripped them clean off—no ceremony, no patience.

Before you could even catch your breath, he was on you—mouth messy, sloppy, devouring your pussy like he hadn't eaten in weeks.

You screamed.

Fist tangled in his hair, thighs clamping around his head.

He groaned into you, like he was savoring every filthy sound you made, grinding his tongue against your clit with reckless, brutal focus.

When you came, it was violent.

Tearing sobs from your throat, soaking his mouth, your whole body twitching under his iron grip.

Dante didn’t even give you a second to recover.

Wiped his mouth with the back of his hand—smirking, cocky—and shoved you further up the bed.

"Face down, ass up, princess"

You scrambled to obey, still dizzy from the orgasm, and he was already pulling his cock free—thick, heavy, dripping precum.

He didn’t prep you.

Didn't warn you.

Just lined up and shoved his way in one brutal thrust, punching the breath from your lungs.

You clawed at the sheets, sobbing into the mattress, as he started pounding into you with zero mercy.

The bedframe slammed into the wall with every vicious thrust, the whole apartment shaking.

"Fuckin' tight little hole, squeezin' me so fuckin' good," Dante growled, spanking your ass hard enough to leave a handprint. "Can't believe you were showin' this perfect pussy off at the club—gonna have to fuck the attitude outta you, huh?"

You screamed into the sheets as he bent over you, biting and marking your shoulder, pounding you so hard the bed legs cracked against the floor.

It wasn't enough for him.

He flipped you over mid-thrust, manhandling you into a full mating press—legs over his shoulders, your ankles pinned near your ears, leaving you fully exposed and helpless as he rutted into you.

"Look at you" he growled, one hand wrapping around your throat, squeezing lightly as he fucked you deeper, harder, faster. "Pretty little slut. Perfect fuckin' hole. Gonna pump you so full you won't know where you end and I begin"

You were crying now.

Tears streaming down your cheeks from the intensity, the overwhelming stretch and heat and pleasure.

"That's it" Dante purred, licking the tears off your face. "C'mon, princess. Cry for me. Show me how bad you need it"

You shattered again, convulsing around him, screaming so loud your neighbors probably called the cops.

Dante snarled, fucking you through it, never slowing down—until you felt the brutal pulse of him cumming deep inside you, filling you to the brim, thick, hot, endless.

He collapsed on top of you, still sheathed deep, grinding lazily into your oversensitive cunt to milk every drop inside.

"Not done" he rasped, voice wrecked. "Gonna fill you up again. Gonna keep fuckin' you till you're so fuckin' full it leaks down your thighs"

You whimpered, barely able to think.

And he smirked—slow, wicked, dark.

"You asked for it, sweetheart"

"Now you're gonna take all of it"

And then he started moving again.

No mercy.

No escape.

Just Dante,

and you,

and the kind of sin that no amount of praying could ever erase.

[leriexoxo]

SKZ HEADCANONS

Bf! Straykids and how they fuck you during a huge fight. (OT8)

AN: You and him are already dating (or were and still can’t let go). You get into a nasty fight — screaming, emotional, wild. Neither of you are thinking straight — but instead of leaving, the anger snaps into pure lust. You both choose it — there’s grabbing, gasping, angry kisses, pulling hair, but it’s mutual. It’s hatefucking — but it’s also I need you even when I hate you.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Bang Chan

--You’re shouting over each other, faces flushed, words cutting deep.

--In the middle of a furious “fuck you,” he grabs you and kisses you like he’s punishing you.

--Clothes are yanked off, buttons popping — you’re shoving each other, scratching, biting.

--He slams you against the nearest surface and fucks you deep and dirty, forehead pressed to yours, breath hot and angry.

--“Hate how much I fucking love you,” he pants against your mouth as he thrusts harder, your nails digging into his back.

--Finishes buried deep inside you, both of you gasping, still trembling from the fight and the orgasm.

Lee Know

—The fight is vicious — full of things you don’t really mean.

--You shove him — he grabs your wrists and pins you to the wall, breathing hard, eyes wild.

--There’s a frozen moment — then you’re kissing him back just as angrily, teeth clashing.

--He rips your clothes down, muttering darkly, “You drive me insane.”

--Fucks you against the wall, brutal and punishing, hips slamming into you so hard the frame shakes.

--His hand sneaks between your thighs to rub you while he fucks you, making sure you cum screaming his name, even when you’re still pissed.

Changbin

--The fight escalates until you’re chest-to-chest, shouting, eyes blazing.

--He grabs your chin hard — you slap his chest — he laughs, breathless, because he knows exactly how this ends.

--Throws you onto the bed, following you down, crushing his mouth onto yours.

--Clothes torn off, bodies hot and desperate.

--Fucks you deep and filthy, every thrust making the bed creak and the headboard bang the wall.

--“Still think I’m a fucking idiot?” he growls, hand around your throat but holding you gently, even while he pounds into you.

--Finishes holding you tight, forehead pressed to your shoulder like he can’t stand how much he needs you.

Hyunjin

—He’s crying a little while he yells at you — beautiful, furious, heartbreaking.

—You slap him out of frustration — he grabs your wrists, tears still in his eyes.

--Kisses you hard enough to bruise, both of you sobbing and gasping into each other’s mouths.

--Fucks you up against the wall, lifting you with ease, your back slamming against it with every desperate thrust.

--“I hate you, I hate you,” he whispers brokenly, biting your throat, but his hands are so careful on your thighs.

--Finishes shaking against you, both of you crying and clinging to each other after, too stubborn to apologize yet.

Jisung

--You say something that cuts too deep — he’s shaking with anger.

--You shove his shoulder — he yanks you close, kissing you so violently it leaves your lips swollen.

--Clothes are peeled off sloppily, both of you gasping and clawing.

--Fucks you over the kitchen counter, moaning and cursing, losing his mind inside you.

--“God, I hate you so much,” he gasps, pulling your hair as he ruts into you — but the way he kisses your shoulder after gives him away.

--Finishes deep inside you, forehead on your back, his hands trembling where they hold your waist.

Felix

--He’s shouting for once, voice low and rough, cheeks flushed.

--You scream back — and when you push him, he catches your wrists and shoves you onto the couch, straddling you.

--Kisses you like he’s angry at himself for needing you so much.

--Fucks you slow and punishing, rolling his hips deep while making you feel every inch of him.

--“Still think I’m too soft, huh?” he growls, slamming into you harder until you cry out.

--Finishes inside you while holding your face, forcing you to look at him, both of you wrecked and furious but still so, so desperate for each other.

Seungmin

--Fights with Seungmin are ice cold and cutting — but when he finally snaps, it’s like an explosion.

--Shoves you against the counter, your mouths colliding in a feral kiss.

--Fucks you bent over the kitchen island, pulling your panties to the side, giving you no time to catch your breath.

--“So fucking mouthy. Gonna shut you up properly.”

--Holds your wrists behind your back with one hand while the other grips your hip, driving into you hard and mean.

--Finishes pulling your hair so you arch for him, leaving you gasping and teary-eyed from the intensity.

Jeongin

--You’re yelling at each other, faces inches apart — you shove him, he shoves back harder.

--Suddenly you’re both kissing like you’re trying to tear each other apart.

--Fucks you against the front door, barely getting your pants down, desperate hands everywhere.

--“Not so tough now, are you?” he snarls against your neck as you whimper.

--Finishes by pulling out and making you cum on his fingers, growling, “Only I get to make you fall apart like this.”

--Holds you afterwards, shaking and breathing hard, forehead pressed to yours.

[ds-angel1]

cw: vaginal sex, fear play, dubcon, choking, crying, near-death experience during sex, lots of mentions of dying, cocaine use, blood and bruises, lowkey angst at the end

🪷🪷🪷

Nothings Gonna Hurt You Baby

1:05 ──〇──── 4:46

⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹↻

You dangled over the balcony railing, your back arched in a brutal curve, toes barely brushing the cold floor beneath you. You weren’t even sure if your eyes were open anymore, vision blurred, brain stuttering between blank terror and dizzy confusion.

The only thing grounding you was the hand cinched tight around your throat and the knowledge that a mere twitch from your boyfriend could send you plummeting the twenty meters to the pavement below.

Tears streamed down your cheeks, leaving hot, stinging trails as you clung to the slick metal rail, your body trembling with every rough thrust that jolted you forward. Each ragged sob tore from your chest and blended into Rafe’s low, venomous muttering.

"Gotta learn your fucking lesson."

"Mouthin' off all goddamn day."

"Such a fucking brat."

His voice was a growl against your ear, the words punctuated by the brutal snap of his hips. Every time he slammed into you, the railing creaked ominously, and your body lurched further over the edge, the only thing saving you was his bruising grip on your hip and throat.

You tried, god, you tried, to lift your head, to find your voice, to beg him to stop, to plead for mercy. But every time, the weight of it all, the fear, the lack of air, the overload of sensation, crushed you back down.

Your head lolled against the railing, your tear-blurred gaze locking on the neon-lit windows of the hotel across the street as if salvation could be found there, in the mundane glow of someone else’s normal night.

Rafe's mind raced out of control, a thousand thoughts crashing into each other, none of them coherent. The coke he’d snorted earlier had left him wild-eyed and volatile, adrenaline flooding his system faster than the engines of the racecars he pretended to care about.

His grip tightened again, nails biting into your skin, and all you could do was hold onto the railing, onto your breath, onto the thin, fraying thread of your life.

His mind flickered with vicious snapshots, your tear-soaked face twisted in terror, your throat crushed beneath the iron clamp of his hand, your desperate, clenching heat trying uselessly to expel him. But he only drove himself back in, harder, rougher, savoring the way you broke around him.

He knew he was playing with fire, that this hunger was something vile and unforgivable, but fuck, he thrived on it. The control he had. The power. He loved you like this, helpless, broken, his, loved the way your life dangled between his hands, how you trusted him even now, how your body still sought his even through terror.

The orgasm hit him without warning, a brutal punch of pleasure that tore a ragged groan from his chest. His body seized against yours as he spilled into you, his fingers digging harder into your skin as he could somehow hold you in place, anchor you to him forever.

For a terrible second, he lost himself entirely, and when he came back, blinking through the high, he realized you were gasping for air, your hands clawing weakly at his wrist.

"Fuck."

"Baby— fuck— hold on—"

He forced his trembling fingers to move, shifting his hand from your throat to the back of your neck with as much care as his shaking body could manage. Slowly, agonizingly, he hauled you back over the railing, your limp form sliding into his arms. The moment your feet hit the ground, you collapsed, clutching at his legs with frantic, broken sobs that shredded through the night air.

"Got you, baby. Got you. I got you," he muttered over and over again, the words a frantic prayer against your hair.

Somehow, through the chaos still roaring in his veins, he got you inside. He noticed the blood in passing, the way your knees were raw and scraped from where you’d kicked and scrambled against the unforgiving concrete, the torn, reddened skin along your inner thighs from the brutal stretch of him forcing his way in too fast, too rough.

Dark half-moons bruised your throat where his fingers had dug in, crushing delicate vessels just beneath the skin. But none of it stirred horror in him. Not guilt. Not regret.

Only a strange, sharp affection, a possessive tenderness curling in his chest. Each mark was proof: of how hard you fought, of how completely he had won. You were his, through and through, inside and out, body and soul, whether you wanted it or not.

He bathed you with trembling hands, wiping the blood and tears away with shaking gentleness, dressing you in your pajamas like you were something fragile, sacred. His heart ached with a love so fierce it felt like it might kill him.

He carried you to bed, tucking you against him, wrapping his body around yours as if he could shield you from the very damage he'd inflicted. You pressed into him instinctively, needing warmth, needing safety, even though safety had long since slipped away.

All night, you cried against his chest, your voice breaking into hoarse, incoherent babble about how scared you’d been, how you thought you were going to die.

And all night, Rafe whispered into your hair, soft, desperate apologies, trembling promises that he'd never let you fall, that he'd never let anything hurt you. As if he wasn´t the one who hurt you.

And somehow, you believed him. Because when he held you like this, shaking, frantic, broken, it was almost possible to believe that this was love.

Almost.

[giuli4nna]

i’m BEGGING. for a sub!hamzah fiv. ur my fav writer so i need this from u queen 🥹😣🙏🏿🙏🏿

hamzah’s already leaking all over your hand before you even get an actual rhythm going.

his hips are jerking upwards, his muscles tensing under you. his cock twitches in your fist, messy and wet, so pathetically easy to work.

he’s biting his lip hard, trying desperately to hold it together. but you see the tremble in his thighs, the way his stomach keeps clenching, the desperate little whimpers slipping out even when he tries to bury them in his throat.

you stroke him slowly on purpose. it’s mean.

“you really gonna cum this fast?” you murmur, tone lazy and sweet. “barely even touching you.”

he gasps, tries to shake his head in denial - but his body tells the truth, his hips stuttering up into your hand without meaning to.

“n-no, no, i can’t - f-fuck, please-” he stammers, voice cracking, pressing a hand over his face to hide the bright red flush of embarrassment on his cheeks.

you tighten your grip a little, drag your palm over his swollen tip, and he whines, loud and pathetic.

“you’re making a mess,” you casually tease, glancing down at the way he’s dripping down your knuckles.

he sobs. actually.

“i-i’m sorry, i’ll be good, i swear, please - please don’t stop - feels so good..” he babbles, all breathless and broken.

you smile. “you’re lucky you’re so pretty,” you coo, stroking him faster now, watching the way he starts to fall apart. “c’mon. finish for me.”

he moans, whiny and broken, and when he cums, it’s messy and endless - spilling over your hand, making a puddle on his own stomach. he throws his head against the back of the couch, his body trembling with little aftershocks.

but you don’t stop. not until he’s twitching and shivering and begging, “pl-please, too much, i-it’s too much, can’t - can’t anymore..!”

you finally ease up, palm still sticky with his release. you lean in close, kissing his neck as he gasps for air.

“always so good for me,” you whisper into his skin.

hamzah just whimpers again, utters a small, grateful ‘thank you’ and melts into the cushions under you.

a/n: full fic will perhaps come in the future guys & sorry i did not proofread this i wrote at lightning speed i swaur

xoxo giulia

taglist: @gulicore @slushedup @arroganceisherfavoritecolor @layzerzlovesu46 @babysitter19 @marixoa @starjely @viennawaiits @h-yalexaaaa @freakzah444 @anginluv @gabwilliams @sturniyolo @screamertannie @brlwla @yourstrulykiya @thefantastickid @hamzaholic @isathefantastic @divinesturn @forestlv4r @mayapuma20 @ottakugirl @hamzahsbestone @pulcen @rustnroll @venus-planetof-love @nickmillersn1gf @rock678 @wandas-lovey @guiltyfemcel @axetheboyboss @harrys0nlyange1 @ttlynotme @yassqueen1303

[suuuupernovaaa]

new beginnings

summary: joel finds out he’s going to be a father

age gap, joel 50s, female in her 30s, pregnancy, HEA, fluff

TW: mention of pregnancy loss

MASTERLIST

For the third day in a roll, you skip patrol. You wake up exhausted as if you haven’t slept a wink all night, your stomach rolling until you get a few bites of toast down, and the smell of your body wash makes you nauseated all over again.

You know what it is. What it all means. But you’re pretending you don’t. You’re pretending this isn’t familiar territory, that you haven’t been here before and therefore don’t know what it could be.

It’s just a stomach bug. It’ll pass. Never mind that you’ve missed not one, but two periods.

That could be stress. You bury the word down deep, the very idea of it, and go about your day. By noon, you’re feeling better, able to help out down at the restaurant for a while until Joel returns, finding you there serving drinks in the early evening.

You’re dead on your feet, gray circles under your eyes, but you won’t admit it to yourself.

“Darlin’, you look bad,” Joel says by way of greeting as he saddles up to the bar.

You scoff. “Hello to you too, asshole.”

A whiff of whiskey hits your nose and you turn, gagging into your elbow. You take a few deep breathes, in through your nose, out through your mouth, and it passes.

“What is going on?” Joel asks, his voice thick with concern.

“I’m coming down with something, or maybe I ate something that didn’t disagree with me.”

“Every day the last two weeks?” Tommy mutters as he carries a case of supplies behind you, and you glare at him.

Joel looks from you, to his brother, then back to you.

Unfortunately, Joel is smart. You could have found yourself an idiot, but no, it could only be Joel for you.

“Let’s go home,” he says, his eyes wary and full of recognition, and you sigh and join him on the other side of the bar.

He zips up your jacket for you, all the way to the top, and you slap his hand away with a teasing grin.

“I’m pregnant, not disabled,” you chide him, and his jaw falls slack.

He says nothing, though. Not on the walk home. Not when you take your coats and shoes off inside the door. Not when you follow him into the kitchen, where he fills a kettle and places it on the stove.

“What are you doing?” you ask finally.

“Tea helps, I hear,” he replies, and you just nod.

After another tense, silent moment, you ask, “Are you mad?”

His eyes widen as they meet yours. “Mad? No, honey, just… shocked.”

You laugh and shrug. “We’ve been doing a whole lot of the thing that makes babies.”

He shakes his head. “Well, yeah, I know that. I’m just, when did you find out?” He steps closer to you, reaching out to hold your hand in his.

“Well, I guess I’ve known a while. I just didn’t want to admit it.”

“Why?”

“I’m scared,” you look down at his hands, strong and calloused, holding yours. “I lost the last one.”

His lips form a thin line across his face. “You never told me.”

“I never told anyone. I was young, 20. Only made it maybe, 10 weeks. It hurt like hell. She’d be 15 now.”

“She?”

You shrug. “I had a feeling. Could’ve been wrong.”

He shakes his head. “No, moms know.”

Something about that - moms know - breaks a dam inside of you, and you fall forward into his arms, a mess of tears. You’re mourning your lost child all over again, and so scared for this new one, all at once. The sobs are heavy, your body heaving, your bones tired.

“Oh, baby, it’s all right,” he says, scooping you up and setting you into the kitchen counter, and holding you tight in his arms while you cry. “It’ll be okay. I’m with you, whatever happens.”

The kettle begins screaming then, and you let him go so he can take it off the stove.

“I want this one to stick, Joel. Especially because it’s yours.”

He walks back to you, and places his hands on either side of your tear stained face.

“Me too. I’m old as hell, but I’d love nothing more than to be a father. To have a kid with you.”

A small smile graces your lips, and a giant one crosses his. “We’ll go to the clinic tomorrow. Make sure everything’s okay. It’s supposed to be a good sign, that you’re sick. Mean’s the baby is strong.”

You perk up, new tears filling your eyes. “Really?” You feel hopeful, for the first time since you knew you could be pregnant.

“Really.” His hand trails down, and rests on your stomach. It will be a while before you’re showing, but he does it anyway. “I love you. I’m here with you, for all of it. You and me.”

You rest your forehead on his and take a deep, steadying breath.

“You and me.”

[mintyys-blog]

Minty

I just read you Pink Diamond reader and was wondering if you could do more with main Mark

(Sorry for just asking for main Mark again I haven’t gotten to season two yet so I all I really care about is the main one rn)

BAKING | main mark grayson x pink diamond! reader

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST 2 | WARNINGS:

Do not repost, translate, or rewrite my work, whether AI-generated or otherwise, without my permission.

© @mintyys-blog

You wanted everything to be perfect.

You spent all day hunched over cookbooks, scrolling through videos on your phone, obsessively reading reviews. You could do this. It was just a simple cake. People did it all the time.

You imagined how it would look—perfect, golden, fluffy, decorated in soft pink frosting, just like the ones you saw online. You imagined Mark’s face when he saw it. How proud he would be. How he’d kiss you and tell you you were amazing.

You wanted that. So you tried. And you failed.

The oven beeped mockingly. Smoke curled out of the top. The cake was ruined—sunken, burnt at the edges, collapsing in the center like a popped balloon. The frosting you slaved over was a sticky, dripping mess. Your kitchen looked like a war zone.

You stood there, trembling, hands sticky with batter and frosting, staring down at the disaster you had created.

A sharp, painful lump formed in your throat.

It wasn’t fair— You tried. You followed the directions exactly. You wanted so badly for it to work.

You clenched your fists, nails biting into your palms.

The bowl on the counter wobbled dangerously.

The light over the stove flickered.

Your breath started to come faster, faster, the edges of your vision going white—

“Y/N.”

A voice. Gentle. Steady.

You barely registered Mark standing in the doorway at first. You were too busy shaking, your entire body buzzing with frustrated, helpless anger. You hated this feeling. You hated failing.

Mark stepped closer, carefully, like approaching a wounded animal. You could feel the floorboards creak under your feet as your power began to boil over—an invisible force swirling around you like a storm about to break loose.

Your hands twitched towards the ruined cake. You could crush it. You could level the entire kitchen in a heartbeat. You could make it disappear and pretend none of this ever happened.

You didn’t even realize you had started crying until Mark was right there in front of you, cupping your face in his warm, steady hands.

“Hey,” he murmured, his thumbs brushing away the angry tears on your cheeks. “Look at me. Just me.”

You struggled at first—your pride, your anger, your shame making you twist away.

But Mark didn’t let you. He pressed his forehead against yours, breathing with you, slow and deep.

“It’s okay,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to be perfect.”

You let out a broken, choking sound, your whole body trembling from the effort of not snapping, not destroying everything.

“I wanted it to be good,” you whispered, voice cracking.

“It is good,” Mark said instantly. “You made it for me. That’s all that matters.”

You closed your eyes tightly, your fists unclenching.

The invisible weight in the room lifted slowly, your powers settling like dust after a storm. Your knees buckled, and Mark caught you easily, lifting you into his arms like you weighed nothing at all.

You buried your face against his chest, still hiccuping little sobs, furious with yourself.

Mark kissed the top of your head, his hand cradling the back of your neck.

“I’m proud of you,” he said fiercely. “I love that you tried. I love you, no matter what.”

You clutched his shirt desperately, afraid that if you let go, the shame and frustration would swallow you whole.

But Mark just held you tighter, grounding you, anchoring you to him.

Minutes passed. Your breathing slowed. The rage inside you ebbed away into exhaustion.

Mark rocked you gently, like you were something precious and breakable—not because he thought you were weak, but because he knew how hard you were fighting to stay gentle.

“My diamond,” he whispered, brushing his nose against your temple. “Even when you fall apart, you shine.”

You blinked up at him, your cheeks still wet, your heart aching.

“Stay with me,” you croaked.

His smile was crooked, a little watery too.

“Always.”

Later, when you were curled up together on the couch under a blanket, Mark sneaked a bite of the ruined cake.

He chewed dramatically, pretending to savor it with a loud, “Mmmmmm!”

You sniffled a laugh, slapping his arm lightly.

“It’s awful,” you muttered.

Mark grinned, frosting smeared across his lip.

“It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” he said, and kissed you before you could argue.

You must’ve dozed off.

When you blinked awake, the apartment smelled… different. Warm. Sweet.

You sat up, bleary, confused, the blanket pooling around your waist. Mark wasn’t on the couch anymore.

“Mark?” you called out, your voice rough from crying earlier.

“In here!” he shouted back cheerfully.

You shuffled toward the kitchen, heart thudding a little.

When you stepped inside, you froze.

Mark stood at the counter, hair messy, wearing an apron that definitely wasn’t his—it was pink and frilly, something you bought months ago on a whim and never used.

There were bags of flour, sugar, eggs, a ridiculous amount of frosting tubes spread out all around him.

He looked up at you and grinned.

“You fell asleep,” he said simply, wiping his hands on the apron. “So I figured we’d try again. Together this time.”

You stared at him, stunned.

“Mark, you don’t have to—”

“Nope,” he said, popping the P, moving toward you and gently steering you toward the counter. “This isn’t about the cake. It’s about you. About us.”

He picked up a wooden spoon and tapped it lightly against your forehead.

“We screw it up together,” he said solemnly. “That’s the rule now.”

You laughed, watery and soft, and Mark lit up like you’d given him the sun.

“You’re insane,” you mumbled, but you were already reaching for the flour.

“Yeah, but you’re stuck with me,” he teased, bumping your hip with his.

You started working side by side, measuring, mixing, laughing when Mark dumped half the bag of sugar into the bowl by accident.

At one point, he dabbed a smear of frosting on the tip of your nose and pretended it was an accident, even though his smirk gave him away immediately.

You tried to scowl at him. You really did. But you ended up giggling so hard you almost dropped the bowl.

There was frosting everywhere. The counters. The floor. Your hair. It was a disaster. An even bigger disaster than your first attempt. And somehow… you didn’t care.

Because Mark was there, sticking by your side through the mess, through the failure, through you.

[snail-day]

Thinking about how unhinged it would be to date/marry Sukuna. He's not exactly a normal man. Curse? Man? Who knows.

TW: Yandere Behaviors, Sukuna threatening to eat you (as a joke), pregnancy, its sukuna so...be warned? Fluffy. MDNI.

------

Sukuna uses the threat “I’m going to eat you” a little too often.

He thinks it’s funny. Thinks your wide-eyed horror is adorable. His sweet little dove, so gullible, so easy to spook. Every time he leans in close and whispers it low against your pulse, breath fanning the soft, sensitive skin. You flinch, unaware about how fond he is of you. Like you haven’t caught the way he watches you sleep, strokes your back when you’re sick, presses his palm over your belly now with something bordering on affection.

He doesn’t kiss your cheek like some sweet prince. No instead he bites. Sharp enough to leave little indents. Licks over the tender skin when you whine. Chuckles when you complain, pinching your hip or smoothing his hand over the curve of your stomach and muttering, “Just waiting until you’re nice and plump. Ripe.”

You thought it was a joke. Probably a joke. Actually, you aren't sure. You've heard the stories. The legends.

But then you got pregnant. And suddenly, every offhanded comment hit different.

Especially the time he said as his crimson eyes flicking lazily to your stomach, “If it’s a girl, I’ll eat it. So you better pray I get a son.”

You laughed. Nervously. Until you walked into the kitchen one day and found Uraume sharpening a long, glinting knife - expression blank as ever, as they asked, “Have you figured out the gender yet?”

You cried.

You cried all the way back to Sukuna, your pretty little body shaking as you sobbed into the warmth of his chest, pleading not to eat the baby. Or you. But mostly the baby. Please please please, you’ll be good, you’ll do anything.

Sukuna was a bit lost.

Sitting there, robes split open, a hand resting on your swollen belly, blinking down at you in baffled silence. His peachy brows furrowed as you hiccuped and clutched at him, and then, finally, he let out a low laugh and cupped your cheeks in his big, warm palms.

“You haven’t realized I’m joking, little dove?” he crooned, tilting your face up to meet his amused, if slightly exasperated, gaze. “You think I care if it’s a girl or boy? They’re going to be strong either way.”

You sniffled, lip wobbling. “You’re so mean.”

“I’m honest.”

“You said you’d eat them.”

“I also said I’d eat you,” he reminded you smugly, brushing his thumb under your eye. “And look at you. Still in one piece.”

You huffed, trembling against his chest, and he pressed a kiss to your temple. A rare gesture, one he only gave when he knew he’d pushed you just a little too far.

“…Besides,” he added, voice a low, teasing purr against your skin. “You’re out of your prime now. Too sweet. I don’t care for sweets.”

You slapped his arm, weakly.

He just laughed again, holding you tighter. Because you always fall for it. And deep down, a selfish part of him likes that you’re just scared enough to cling to him when you’re unsure. Because fear keeps things close. And close is exactly where he wants you.

[purinbunnii]

Sylus Headcanons

1. Sylus fucking lives to tease you.

• He’ll drag it out forever, just to watch you fall apart: slow as hell kisses, the barest touches, low, dirty whispers that leave your skin burning.

• His favorite thing is seeing you needy, whimpering, desperate for it — and he’ll smirk right in your face like the bastard he is:

“What’s wrong, baby? You want my cock that bad already? Fuck, that’s cute.”

• He’ll edge you mercilessly — pulling back every time you’re close — until you’re practically crying for it, all while he just laughs under his breath, amused at how badly you want him.

⸻

2. He’s a handsy little shit — especially when he shouldn’t be.

• Sylus has no concept of keeping his hands to himself.

• At dinner? His fingers are sliding under your dress. In public? He’s palming your ass with a cocky little smirk.

• He loves making you squirm, biting your lip to stay quiet while he teases you ruthlessly.

• Sometimes he’ll lean in real close, voice low and dirty, and whisper:

“The second we’re alone, I’m gonna bend you over and fuck you so good you’ll forget your own goddamn name.”

• And when the door finally closes? He makes good on every filthy promise.

⸻

3. Sylus is a fucking god at oral — and he fucking knows it.

• When he’s between your thighs, he’s relentless: slow, deep, messy — like he needs to taste you until you’re shaking.

• He loves the way you whimper and beg, the way you fist his hair and moan his name like a prayer.

• He doesn’t stop until you’re a wreck, overstimulated and sobbing, and even then he’ll drag it out just to hear you fucking scream for him.

• When you’re on your knees for him? He’s vocal as hell:

“Fuck, just like that, kitten. That’s it. Goddamn, you look so fucking good with my cock down your throat.”

• He’ll grip your hair tight, groaning low and filthy, losing that perfect control he usually likes to flex.

⸻

4. He’s a dom — but he fucking loves when you fight him a little.

• Sylus loves pinning you down, forcing you to take it just how he wants — but if you get a little bratty, if you push him, he gets off on it.

• If you ride him, grinding down until he’s cursing and gripping your hips hard enough to bruise? You’ll see that cocky composure shatter fast.

• He’ll pant against your throat, voice rough and desperate:

“Fuck, baby, you wanna be in charge? Fine. Fuck yourself on my cock. Show me how bad you fucking want it.”

• He’ll still flip you over eventually — Sylus can’t resist claiming you when you’re all flushed and trembling.

⸻

5. Dirty talk is just second nature to him.

• Every filthy thought that crosses Sylus’s mind? He says it — right in your ear while he’s pounding into you so hard the bed shakes.

• He’s fucking relentless with the filth that falls from his mouth:

“Goddamn, you’re so fucking tight. You feel that? That’s me, baby. Gonna fill you up until you can’t even fucking think.”

• He won’t shut up — praising you, degrading you, whispering about how good you feel, how fucking wrecked you look under him.

• Aftercare? He’s softer — but still dirty, murmuring:

“You took it so fucking good, sweet thing. Shit, look at you… fuckin’ perfect.”

⸻

6. He’s obsessed with marking you up.

• Hickeys all over your thighs. Bite marks on your tits. Scratches down your back.

• He needs to see his claim on you — and he gets fucking feral if someone else even looks at you afterward.

• He’ll mutter shit like:

“No hiding ‘em, kitten. Everyone’s gonna see who you fucking belong to.”

• If you leave scratches on him? It drives him fucking wild — like you’re staking a claim right back.

⸻

7. Despite all the cocky filth, he’s sensual as fuck when it counts.

• When Sylus really fucks you — it’s not just rough and dirty (though it is that too) — it’s slow, deep, overwhelming.

• He kisses you like he’s starving, touches you like you’re something precious, moves inside you like he’s trying to memorize every fucking second.

• He grits out your name against your skin, voice wrecked with feeling he won’t admit:

“Mine. You fucking hear me, baby? You’re mine.”

• And when he finally comes? It’s with a deep groan against your neck, his hands clutching you like he’ll never let go.

[reids-gf]

"please don't make this harder than it needs to be" for carcar? 🙏

0.8k of angsty carcar for you anon <33 (but not too angsty because i can't hurt my boys)

Oscar is deeply sated, relaxed limbs sprawled on the mattress, his breathing back to a slow rise and fall of his chest. He slides a hand over his stomach, where Carlos just cleaned him up with a warm towel. 

They had been very thorough tonight, like Carlos layed out all his best skills and Oscar’s favorite moves until he had him shaking and sobbing with arousal. Practically begging Carlos to make him come, even if he already had, three times.

His eyes slip closed, his tongue darting to lick his lips, when Carlos walks in once again. He extends his arm to the empty side of the bed, opens and closes his hand, beckoning him to fill in the space.

He hears shifting, Carlos clears his throat, he waits for the dip of the mattress that never comes. His eyes blink open, the silence of the room pressing on him like a heavy weight. 

Carlos stands next to the bed, a conflicted look on his face. It always intrigued Oscar, how expressive Carlos’ face is, how his gestures betray him when he wants to hide his feelings.

“So, I hope that was a good enough last night,” He runs a hand through his silky smooth hair, his eyes looking anywhere but Oscar’s face. 

“Um, what?” Confusion washes over him, his eyebrows press together. He sits up, hissing at his still sensitive body, until his back rests against the headboard of Carlos’ bed. 

“Please, don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” Carlos looks pained and Oscar can’t imagine why, he tries to look for a reason in his fuzzy brain, but it hasn’t caught up yet, still feeling empty from the multiple orgasms. 

“Carlos, I don’t understand, I,” His mouth hangs open, arm still stretched on top of the rumpled sheets, wishing Carlos would just climb in bed with him and stop talking nonsense at such late hours. 

He watches as Carlos swallows, hands trembling at his side, his lower lip pulled in by his teeth. 

“Come on, Oscar, the season starts in a week now,” He sighs, takes a step closer to the bed, Oscar wants to crawl over and pull him in but his body still aches and he feels too heavy. And Carlos might not really appreciate that now.

“So? We’ll make time.” Is that what Carlos means? That they won’t have as much free time for each other? They had been seeing each other for a few months now, spent a big proportion of the winter break tangled in bed, gazing at each other with starry eyes and labored breaths. 

“No.” Carlos’ jaw clenches in that way he’s always doing, his eyes finally meets Oscar’s.

“Okay, what? What do you mean no?” He’s scowling now, exasperated by the one word response. 

“I mean, you’ll have to focus, Oscar,” He speaks like he’s telling him something obvious, “You will have a serious chance at the championship this year, you can’t lose that chance,” He trails off, hands tangling in his hair again. 

“You also have to focus, Carlos,” He scoffs, pulls his hands on his lap, tangles his fingers together to stop them from shaking. “And I’m not pushing you away.”

Carlos huffs a humourless laugh, lifts a knee to press against the mattress, Oscar swallows. 

“It is not the same, I won’t even get close this year, but you,” His doe eyes shine as he holds Oscar’s gaze, bottom lip trembles, “You’ll have a big chance, Oscar.” 

He knows that, he knows they have a great car this year, and he’s been training and working with his team to secure a good year. But, so has Carlos, he’s worked so hard in bettering his new team, he was the fastest in Bahrain just a week ago, Jesus Christ.

“So? I know what I’m doing, Carlos.” He doesn’t mean for the words to come across as biting as they do, but his throat still feels hoarse and his voice comes out low, and he feels his mouth too dry.

“I know.” He sniffles and, oh God, fastly wipes his nose. Oscar bites his lip, hands tightening their grip. 

“And I know I want you.” He untangles his fingers, extending, offering his hand once again.

Carlos sniffles again, his knee slides forward. Oscar takes in the way his damp eyelashes stick together, the flush on his face. 

“Oscar, I,” His next words die on his throat as Oscar links their hands together, fingers slotting in place perfectly, like the last pieces of a puzzle. He squeezes, tugging slightly until Carlos is climbing in bed beside him. 

Oscar cradles Carlos' frame, arms wrapping around broad, trembling shoulders. Carlos nuzzles his face in the dip of his shoulder, sniffles loudly as Oscar runs a gentle hand through his hair, kisses the crown of his head tenderly. 

“It’s okay, we’ll be okay, Carlos.” His eyes begin to burn with his own unshed tears as he holds Carlos impossibly closer.

[jesuistrestriste]

thinking about preacher's son patrick asking you to hurt him as punishment for his sins.

he doesn't know how to deal with his desire for you. it was easier to pray it alway when it was only his imagination, but now that he had you in his hands it's impossible to forget.

he tries anyway.

he starts ignoring you in church, refusing to talk properly or even meet your gaze. he know that if he does he won't be able to resist you.

it's so tempting to surrender to your sweet words, to your longing eyes begging for his attention, but he can't bear the guilt that spreads through him like a disease when it all ends and he doesn't have the comfort of your touch anymore.

it works for a while. until it doesn't.

the next time you see eachother in chruch after the service is done, you don't give him any chance to escape you. he tries dismissing you, but you take his hands in yours and look directly into his eyes. it's enought to make him loose his composure. he listens to you.

you end up in a empty confessional with him on his knees desperately asking you to hit him, to make him feel something other then the excruciating desire he feels for you. he's willing to hate your guts if it means it will all go away.

he needs you to purge it out of him.

when you finally slap him the sound is strident. the same hand that held his before. you remain silent, waiting for him to say something, but he only breaths heavily, avoiding your gaze. the tension is palpable, you don't know what to do, you're afraid that this is the end, that he'll never talk to you again. but then he looks at you. he looks at you and his eyes don't lie. he liked it. you're not surprised when he speaks up with, voice hoarse

"again..."

it only made it worse.

ermm i got a litle carried away, hope this isn't too bad, i avoided putting any real dialogue because i'm not very good with it 😵‍💫 but yeah i loved your preacher's son patrick fic <3

oh gosh i love this so much. i love impact play with patrick, especially a guilty patrick.

his hands on your knees, his fingers splaying out over your clothed joints as he looks up to your eyes and breathes out a shaky “hit me again”.

so you do. you bring your palm down across his freckled cheek and revel in the way his skin welts, red and stinging, in the shape of your handprint. his head snaps to the side with the force of your slap, and his eyes roll back as he processes the pain and the wetness beginning to gather in his eyes.

“more.”

you hit him again.

“i deserve it.”

again.

again, again, again.

he squeezes his eyes shut with a broken sob and grips your thighs, tears finally rolling pitifully down his flushed face. he chokes on a moan and then blinks his gaze back open to look up to yours.

“i deserve it, don’t i? i need it, i need to look at you and only think of pain, or else ill—..” he trails off, shoving one of his hands down between his shaking legs to dull the hot ache that’s throbbing throughout his veins without his permission. he leans forward and lets his inflamed cheek rest over your leg. he hisses softly through a clenched jaw at the initial flash of discomfort, and then melts into your body. he’s begging you to push him away. to grab him by his head of dark brown hair and tell him to get lost, like he’s nothing more than a dirty stray on the street.

but he knows you won’t. and that’s what makes him cave.

he lazily drags his soft, pink lips up your leg, his flesh catching on the dry fabric. then he bites at the waistband of your bottoms.

“i’m sorry.. i’m sorry, i’m sorry.. let me prove how sorry i am.. let me touch you..”

[wallofchynax]

BITE YOUR TONGUE!

Requested anonymously: could you maybe write something about cm punk and a younger nxt superstar. literally any smutty scenario idc i just need old man punk. I'm so sorry if you wanted something soft because this is far from it. He's kind of a mean dom in this fic.

Synopsis: you spent the day mouthing off to your mentor, cm punk, in training so he punishes you in the shower.

taglist for cm punk fics: @vixenhatesyou

if you want to be added to the tag list: comment or answer this.

content warning: punk is a mean dom. sex in a risky location, degradation (he calls you names like bitch and slut), sub/dom vibes, age gap (reader is in their 20s and he's in his late 40s), mentions of bratting previous to sex.

got a request? send it over to me <3

You weren't supposed to be here.  

The showers were meant for relaxing after a match. Cleaning off all the blood and grime from your body and ideally, you were supposed to be alone in the shower. It was not meant to be like this; Punk pinning you against the cold tile, his hands bruising your hips with the way he was holding you and his breath hot against your ear. 

“I told you to wait for me in the locker,” he murmured, low and tight in his throat, like he didn’t trust himself to say it louder. Like he knew he wouldn’t stop if he did. 

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t, really, not with the way his thigh was shoved between yours, crowding you against the slick wall, water pounding down over both your bodies like it was trying to wash away something sacred. 

You swallowed thickly, mouth parted but your voice came out small and pathetic, barely any words to which Punk just smirked down at you, tilting his head watching you like a predator who plays with his food. 

“Cat got your tongue? You were talking plenty of shit today in front of the other rookies today.” He dragged his mouth along your neck, lips brushing the spot just under your ear. “That was your first mistake.” 

His hand slid down between your thighs, shameless and unhurried. Fingers digging into you, and the sound you made was so goddamn pathetic, broken.  

“It’s funny. All that shit you spoke and yet...” The pads of his fingers stroking along your slit, slick and already puffy.  

"You’re wet like a bitch in heat," Punk muttered, voice low and cruel, like he already knew how ruined you were and wanted to hear it anyway. Like he was daring you to deny it. 

But you couldn’t. You fucking couldn’t. Your thighs were already shaking, cunt so slick he didn’t even need to push, his fingers slid right in, two at once, to the knuckle, curling so goddamn deep it felt like they were scraping up everything decent left in you. 

The sound that tore from your mouth was humiliating, choked and ragged, half a sob, half a moan. 

Punk just laughed, lips brushing your ear, breath hot and wet against your skin. 

"Jesus Christ. You're already this fucked just from my fingers? You’re pathetic." Another curl of his hand. Another sharp grind of his palm against your clit. "How the fuck do you expect to survive my cock?" 

Your nails dug into the slick tile, desperate for something to hold onto. Water kept pounding against your back, almost drowning out the wet, obscene sounds between your legs as he pumped his fingers into you harder now, faster with no rhythm or patience, just rough and hungry like he wanted to ruin you fast.  

"You talk all that shit in front of the other kids," Punk sneered, dragging his fingers out of you slowly, watching the way your cunt clenched after them, slick strings clinging between your thighs. "Act like you’re too good to take orders. And now look at you. Spread and dripping. Fucking needy." 

“Please...” you gasped, pushing back against him but you weren’t even sure what you were begging for. Not for him to stop, but you didn’t know if you wanted him to make you cum with his fingers or on his cock… you just wanted the pressure to end. The pressure you felt in your stomach. 

Punk’s hand came down hard across your ass, a sharp slap that echoed off the tile and made your whole body jolt forward. 

“Pathetic,” he hissed. “Can’t even beg right. You think just ‘please’ is enough?” 

You whimpered, the sting blooming across your skin, mixing perfectly with the throbbing between your legs. You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. You were too far gone already, lost in it, soaked and aching and ruined. He grabbed a fistful of your hair and tanked your head back, so your spine was arched, and your throat was baring to the hot spray of water as his other hand came between your thighs, fingers coming down hard on your clit which made you moan loud. Much louder than you should have.  

“Fuck,” he muttered, mouth hot and nasty at your ear. “Bet someone heard that. Gonna get us caught, huh? Gonna make me explain why one of the Performance Center’s golden rookies is getting fingerfucked like a slut in the showers?” 

You shook your head weakly, lips parted, breath shallow. 

He growled something under his breath you couldn’t catch, something angry and hungry and sharp. Then suddenly he was gone, hand off your cunt, fingers gone from your aching hole, grip gone from your hair 

The loss made you whine but only for a second because you heard the drop of a towel behind you as it hit both your feet. 

“Don’t fucking move,” He warned voice low and sharp, “You want it? You stay right here?” 

You didn’t dare.  

You just stood there, breathing deep. Stood there, naked, dripping, trembling, with your hands braced against the tile and your legs spread wide enough that the cool air kissed your throbbing cunt. The hot spray of the water rolled over your back, but it wasn’t enough to wash away the ache he left behind. 

The soft, slick sound of his cock being stroked once, twice, just enough to make sure he was hard for you not that you doubted he would be. Then his hands grabbed your hips hard enough that you would be bruised afterwards. He yanked you back into position until you were bent, ass presented for him like the filthy thing you were. 

“You're gonna take every fucking inch,” Punk muttered, lining himself up. The thick head of his cock pressed against your entrance, forcing a sharp gasp from your throat as he teased you, barely pushing in, enough to make you shake. 

"And you’re not gonna make a sound this time, are you?" he added, tone mocking. "Not unless you want everyone out there to know who you spread your legs for." 

And before you could even answer him or catch your breath, he drove himself into you in one brutal, unrelenting thrust. The force of it slammed you against the wall, your hands splaying out uselessly against the tile, in a silent scream as he split you open. No time to adjust, no gentleness. Just Punk’s cock thick and deep inside you, claiming you. 

“Fuck, look at you,” he groaned behind you, hips grinding into your ass, holding himself there like he needed a second to savour it. “Fucking made for it.” 

He pulled back and snapped his hips forward again, hard enough that your toes curled against the slippery floor, your body jerking with every thrust. You were trying so hard to bite your lip and say silent like he had told you but every time he bottomed out, a high little moan punched out of your throat which made him laugh against your ear, dark and cruel. 

 "You can't even keep quiet," he sneered, one hand slipping down between your thighs, finding your clit again with obscene precision. 

You sobbed at the touch, hips stuttering, unable to stop yourself from grinding down against his hand like you needed it to survive. 

"You're fucking desperate for it, huh?" Punk muttered, his fingers rubbing ruthless circles around your clit, cock hammering into you harder now, faster, deeper. "Little rookie slut, begging with your body even when you know you shouldn’t." 

The words hit you almost harder than the thrusts did, each filthy, degrading word sinking into your skin, into your bones, making you clench around him so tight he cursed low under his breath. You loved it. You loved when he treated you like this. That was why you mouthed off to him all the time because you knew that he would treat you like a slut when no one is looking. 

"You were fucking made for this," he growled, voice wrecked now, hips slamming into you so hard the slap of skin against skin echoed off the tile walls. "Made for me to fuck the attitude out of." 

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. The only thing you could feel was him. Around you, inside you, owning you.  The wet slap of his cock pounding into your soaked cunt, the cruel twist of his fingers on your clit, the low, guttural sounds he made every time you clenched down around him like your body was trying to keep him there forever. 

You didn't care how pathetic you sounded anymore. You didn’t care if someone heard you. Hell, part of you wanted them to. Wanted them to know that no matter how cocky you were in the ring, no matter how tough you talked in front of the other rookie, you belonged to him when the doors were closed.  

You could feel it. You were so close to cumming. His hand slid from your clit up to your throat, squeezing enough to make your head spin. It was almost as if he could tell how close you are when your pussy was fluttering around him. 

“Bet your close,” he whispered hot against your ear, “Just because I’ve got my hand around your throat and I’m fucking you like the slut you are. Can’t fucking help yourself,” 

You tried to nod, but his hand on your throat kept you still, pinned against the tile and helpless. With the confirmation, he let go of your throat and reached down to slap your clit before rubbing firmer, tighter circles until you were literally squealing.  

And then it hit you. Flashes of white in your vision as your cunt spasmed around him in desperate fluttering shots of pleasure shooting through your body as you squeezed him like a vice.  

“Fuck, fuck—that’s it," Punk growled, hips jerking as he fucked you through it, chasing his own high now. "Good fucking girl, take it...take all of it-" 

He thrust once, twice, and then buried himself deep, cock pulsing inside you as he spilled into you with a broken groan, filling you up so hot and thick you could feel it leaking around him already. 

The both of you sagged against the wall, the water still beating down over your ruined, shaking body. His forehead rested against the back of your neck, both of you breathing hard, steam curling around you like a blanket. 

For a second, he didn’t move. His hands stayed locked around your waist, cock still buried inside you, as if he couldn’t stand the thought of pulling out yet. 

Then finally, he grunted low in his throat and pulled back, slow and messy, his cum dripping down your thighs almost immediately. You stayed slumped against the wall, arms trembling, knees half buckled, and brain empty in that wonderful floaty sort of way that often occurred when he fucked you like this. It was like a punishment and a reward all mixed into one. 

He watched you for a moment. Watched the way your legs shook. Watched the way he made a mess of you. His palm came down, not hard, just resting on your lower back as his thumb traced idle circles there. 

“You look good like this,” his voice was softer this time, reverent almost as he leaned forward and kissed between your shoulder blades. You shivered as he held himself there for a moment. You couldn’t speak. Your voice was raw, lips parted and breath incredibly shaky as you tried to pull yourself together, but you were still floating, with how hard he fucked you, how hard you came and the echo of his words in your head. 

His hands were warm again now, firm, grounding, palming over your waist, your hips, the very places he’d gripped hard enough to bruise. He wasn’t moving like he was ready to go. He was just there, body close, cock softening against his thigh, breath still ragged in your ear. 

“You gonna be good now?” he asked quietly. Not mocking this time. Just low, deliberate. 

You nodded or tried to. Your muscles still weren’t cooperating. Everything in you was molten and sore and dripping. 

He chuckled under his breath, brushing a strand of wet hair out of your face, then ran the backs of his fingers down the side of your neck in a way that made you shudder all over again. 

"You’ll mouth off again," he said, more to himself than to you. "Just so I’ll do this again." 

You swallowed, managed a breathy, “Yeah.” 

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, but there was something darker behind his eyes, something not quite finished. Something that said he knew you hadn’t learned your lesson at all.  

“Next time, I don’t stop at the showers,” he said, voice low and final as he pulled back. “Next time, I make sure everyone knows you’re mine.” 

He left you there, still leaning against the tile, water still running. 

Still full of him. 

[faithsmadhouse]

Sweet Dreams||Incubus!Sebastian Vettel x Fem!Human!Reader

Summary: You learn the truth about your incubus boyfriend… the hard way.

Warnings: Explicit smut (18+), p in v, rough sex, slight choking kink, marking kink, fangs/biting, monster fucking themes, deep grunts, dirty talk, slight breeding kink if you squint.

The bedroom smelled like him — warm spice, musk, something almost sweet but darker underneath. Like danger and comfort at once.

You barely had time to breathe before Sebastian had you pinned beneath him, his body covering yours, his hand slipping under your jaw to tilt your head back, exposing your neck. His pupils were blown wide, an unnatural gleam in his bright blue eyes.

“You like this, don’t you, baby?” he murmured, his voice thick with heat, almost purring.

The tip of one sharp fang grazed the side of your throat, feather-light but enough to make your body jolt with need. You gasped, clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into the thick muscle there.

“The feeling of my fangs brushing against your neck…” he whispered, like he was savoring the very idea of it.

“Sebastian—” you breathed, voice shaking. He chuckled low in his chest, the sound vibrating through you.

“I had a very nice dream that started like this,” he said, dragging his teeth lightly over your pulse point again. You felt your heartbeat stutter, hips rolling up helplessly against him.

A wicked smirk curled his lips as he pressed his thigh between your legs, grinding slow and hard.

“Oh? Does that turn you on?” he teased, cocking his head. His hand slipped lower, between your thighs, fingers finding you embarrassingly wet already. He made a pleased sound, almost a growl. “Mmm. You’re soaking for me, baby.”

You whimpered, heat crawling up your spine. “Seb… what— what are you?” you gasped. It sounded ridiculous even to your own ears, but something inside you already knew.

He chuckled again, low and dark. “Something not quite human, sweetheart,” he said, lips brushing yours. “Incubus.”

The word hung in the air, thick and heavy.

“So… are you responsible for my sex dreams every night?” you asked breathlessly, mind spinning.

Sebastian’s smile turned smug, dangerous. He nosed along your jawline, pressing kisses there. “No, that’s all you,” he murmured. “You’re just a very horny little thing, aren’t you?”

His hand wrapped lightly around your throat, just enough pressure to make you shiver, to make your pussy clench around nothing.

“You wanna cum, yeah?” he rasped against your ear, his hips rutting slowly against yours, the thick head of his cock pressing against your entrance. “Wanna cum all over my cock like the desperate little thing you are?”

You nodded frantically, a whine escaping your lips.

“Then take me,” he growled.

He pushed into you in one slow, merciless thrust, splitting you open inch by thick, impossible inch. Your back arched off the bed, a sharp cry torn from your throat.

“Fuck—Sebastian—” you gasped, clutching at him, legs wrapping instinctively around his waist.

“You feel that?” he hissed, grinding deeper, bottoming out. “How good you fit me? Like you were made for this… made for me.”

He set a brutal rhythm, hips snapping into you, each thrust sending shocks of pleasure-tinged pain straight through your core. His hand tightened just slightly around your throat, his fangs scraping again at your neck, driving you higher and higher.

“God, you’re so fucking good,” he grunted, voice wrecked. “So fucking perfect, baby.”

You could barely form words, lost in the way he was claiming you, the way his cock was hitting every spot inside you, dragging you closer and closer to the edge.

“Say it,” he growled. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you sobbed, pleasure wracking your body. “I’m yours, Sebastian—”

“Good girl.”

You shattered with a broken, desperate cry, your body locking down around him. He groaned deep in his chest, fucking you through it, chasing his own release.

Then he bit down not hard enough to break skin, but hard enough to mark you, to leave a blooming bruise where everyone would see. His hips stuttered, a broken grunt ripping from his throat as he spilled inside you, hot and overwhelming, filling you so deep it made your toes curl.

When it was over, he collapsed on top of you, panting, his weight comforting and heavy.

He nuzzled into your throat, peppering kisses along the new mark he had left there.

“You’re mine now,” he whispered, voice tender but still rough around the edges. “Dream or not.”

You ran your fingers through his sweat-damp curls, pulling him even closer.

“Good,” you murmured. “I don’t want to wake up.”

Sebastian chuckled, a dark, satisfied sound.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, brushing his fangs teasingly over your skin again, “we’re just getting started.”

I’m

[squidsquidsquidsquidsquidgame]

First Time

Character: Cho Hyun-Ju X fem!reader

Summary: scissoring for the first time after her penis-to-vagina surgery.

Warnings:

🔥 Explicit sexual content (scissoring / tribbing)

💖 Post-surgery sensitivity (Hyunju has had bottom surgery; focus on new sensations)

🥺 Whining / begging kink (soft, cute, not harsh)

💦 High emotional intensity (but not too heavy — a playful, breathless vibe)

🛏 Consensual first-time (both are enthusiastic and checking in)

🧸 Mild overstimulation themes (Hyunju feeling overwhelmed in a good way)

💕 Light dominance (you are leading but it’s very tender)

😳 Touch starvation / clinginess (especially after climax)

The air between you and Hyunju felt charged, thick with something heavier than nervousness but sweeter than fear. She was lying back against the pillows, her cheeks flushed, her hair messy in the way you loved — soft and wild.

You were both half-dressed, kissing lazily, touches growing bolder with every minute. When you pulled back to breathe, Hyunju whined, chasing your mouth with hers, her hands clutching at your waist.

"You’re so mean," she pouted, her voice breathless and whiny in a way that made your stomach flip. "You keep teasing me…"

You laughed softly, brushing her hair back from her forehead. "I'm not teasing," you said, kissing her temple. "I'm just... taking my time."

Hyunju shivered under you, her whole body so sensitive it was almost unfair — every brush of your fingertips along her ribs made her gasp, every kiss at the corner of her mouth made her hips roll up toward you without her meaning to.

"Please," she whispered, almost petulant. "I can't... I'm so—"

You kissed her properly then, swallowing her little whines, your body slotting against hers like it was made for this. She moaned into your mouth, arching up, desperate for friction, desperate for more.

You slid your thigh between hers carefully, feeling the tremble that ran through her as her slickness pressed against you, hot and new and overwhelming.

"You’re okay?" you whispered against her lips, heart thudding in your throat.

Hyunju nodded frantically, eyes shining, cheeks burning pink. "Feels— it feels too good," she whimpered, and the sound went straight through you.

You kissed her again, deeper, and began to move your hips in slow, rocking motions, grinding your thigh against her, feeling the way her body was already trembling.

Hyunju gasped — sharp and needy — her hands scrambling at your shoulders, nails digging in just a little. Every movement against you dragged a helpless moan from her throat, high and breathy, her thighs squeezing around you desperately.

"You’re so sensitive, baby," you whispered, adoring the way she was already falling apart, already writhing under you. You rocked against her just a little harder, and she choked out a soft sob, biting down on her lower lip to keep quiet.

"Don't tease," she whined, voice breaking, hips bucking up uncontrollably. "Don't stop, please—"

"I won't," you promised, your forehead pressed against hers, feeling every shaky breath, every frantic heartbeat.

You shifted, lining your body up against hers, letting your soaked folds press and slip against each other — the first real touch, so hot and raw it made both of you gasp out loud.

"Fuck, fuck," Hyunju whined helplessly, hands fisting in the sheets now, her whole body jerking under yours. "Feels— s-so much—"

"I know, love," you whispered, voice shaking just as much as your hands were. You couldn't believe how good it felt, how close you already were just from the wet, desperate friction, the slip-slide of your bodies fitting together so perfectly.

You moved against her slowly at first, savoring every whimper, every shudder that ran through her. But Hyunju couldn’t stop moving — hips twitching up into yours, chasing every spark of pleasure like she couldn’t stand a single second without it.

"Need you," she whined again, half sobbing, her voice breaking so prettily it nearly undid you. "Need it so bad, please—"

You captured her mouth again, devouring every cry, every needy little sound, as you started to rock harder, grinding your soaked pussy against hers with desperate, messy rhythm.

Hyunju's cries grew higher, needier, her nails raking helplessly down your back as she writhed beneath you.

And when she finally came, it wasn’t a single moment — it was a whole, shaking, whimpering thing — her hips jerking, her thighs clamping around yours, her voice breaking into the sweetest, rawest little sobs as you held her through it, kissing her tears away.

You kept moving until you fell apart too, gasping her name against her throat, overwhelmed by the wet, beautiful mess of it all.

After, you collapsed together, bodies tangled, still trembling.

Hyunju hid her burning face against your neck, whining again. "You broke me," she mumbled pitifully, voice thick and soft.

You just laughed, hugging her tighter, kissing the top of her head.

"I’ll fix you, baby," you whispered. "Again and again."

And judging by the way she clung to you, still shaking, still needy?

You both knew you would.

[fawnistry]

ᥫ᭡ dead dove: do not eat.

content warnings: degradation, rough sex, biting, painplay, coercion, unprotected sex.

▷ preview: you willingly seek out the king of curses for protection, and he delivers in more ways than one.

you sought him out, didn’t you? crawled through the shadows, desperate, willing to do anything. and now here you are—on your knees before sukuna, the king of curses, his smirk sharp enough to flay you open. his presence alone is suffocating, the weight of his power pressing down on you like a boot to your throat.

"pathetic," he purrs, tilting your chin up with one clawed finger. "you reek of fear. of need. you think i don’t know why you’re here?"

you swallow hard, your voice trembling. "i—i need your help."

his laugh is a dark, cruel thing. "oh, little lamb, you don’t just need my help. you’re begging for it." his grip tightens, nails biting into your skin. "say it."

your breath hitches. "please. please, help me."

"not good enough." he releases you with a shove, watching as you scramble to stay upright. "you came to me. you knew the price." his eyes gleam with malice. "so get on your fucking knees and show me how badly you want this."

your body moves before your mind can protest, knees hitting the cold ground. your hands shake as you reach for him, fingers brushing the hem of his robe. he watches, amused, as you fumble with the fabric, your face burning with shame.

"that’s it," he coos, tangling a hand in your hair. "look at you. so eager, you’d do anything, wouldn’t you?"

you nod, tears pricking your eyes.

"words, pet." his grip tightens, yanking your head back.

"yes," you whimper. "i’d do anything."

his smile is feral. "good."

with a snap of his fingers, your clothes are gone, leaving you bare and trembling. the air is cold against your skin, but his gaze is hotter, raking over you like he’s already deciding how to ruin you.

"such a pretty little thing," he muses, dragging a claw down your chest. "but prettier when you’re broken."

you gasp as he pushes you onto your back, his weight pinning you down. there’s no gentleness, no pretense. he takes what he wants, and what he wants is you—whimpering, pleading, unraveling beneath him.

"please," you choke out, though you’re not sure what you’re begging for anymore. mercy? more?

"please what?" he growls, fingers digging into your thighs. "use your words, or i’ll stop."

the threat sends a shudder through you. you don’t want him to stop. that’s the worst part.

"please," you moan, arching against him. "please, sukuna—i need—"

"you need me," he finishes, sinking his teeth into your shoulder. "say it."

"i need you," you sob. "i need you, i’m yours, please—"

he rewards you with a brutal thrust, stealing your breath. "that’s right," he murmurs against your ear. "mine. body and soul."

you cling to him, lost in the storm of his touch, his cruelty, his ownership. and when he finally lets you fall apart, it’s with his name on your lips.

after, as you lie trembling in the wreckage of yourself, he strokes your hair almost tenderly. "remember, little lamb," he whispers. "you asked for this."