#THE TEARS IN HIS EYES I WILL FUCKING SOB

[hephaestn]

Selahattin Paşalı as Halit and Hazal Kaya as Esra Midnight at the Pera Palace (2022) — Season 2, Episode 6

[margoshamangolord]

Too tired for words

Waaagh sniffs sobs hhh.... cries sniffles sniff... wahh... starts rolling on the floor crying...... wahgh

[swordmaid]

thinking about how profound it must’ve been for shri’iia when she first received scratch’s ball (woman who has never gotten anything for free in her life ever)

[hauntingblue]

ARCANE EPISODE 7!!!!

MY GOD I WASNT READY FOR ANY OF THIS!!! WHAT WAS THAT!!!

Also ekko wallpaper I got with my fries lmao

[melissa-leaf]

this man just broke my heart

[masked-and-doomed]

POOKIE'S DEAD. :( CRODE.

They went and showed his whole backstory too like?!?! His whole point to live is to die in battle!?! FUCKKK WHAT THE HELL TIT.E KUBO WHY'D YOU HAVE TO GO SO HARD ON THIS UGLY SEXIST MOTHERFUCKER

.......can I even finish Bleach with him gone...... I'm much more devastated than I thought I'd be...... They went so hard on his death...... Like oh man you didn't have to rip my heart out......

[thebigqueer]

literlaly terirble night last night

[mutalune]

hey siri how do I stop feeling gutwrenchingly anxious in the guilt way for using the treatment methods available to me to not be in constant misery

[theseancekid]

FINALLY SOME GOOD FUCKING FOOD

[jimimn]

just finished watching the suchwita episode and I'm in tears 😭 from laughing from crying from both 😭😭😭😭

[alex-procrastinates]

OH NO i hit the tag limit

heres the rest of it

This links to a wheel with nearly a hundred fic tropes for plots, settings, and more. Spin it twice.

This could also work with art inspiration, but the buttons only allow for so many characters on them. And please do ramble in the tags! I'm going to have no idea what most of you are talking about, and it's going to be great.

[screampied]

#BONGOS!

☆ sum. pov: when his backshots are just so good, they sound like bongooos! toji, choso, geto, sukuna, ino, nanami, gojo.

warnings. fem! reader, unprotected, dick drunk! reader, LETHAL BACKSHOTSSS, dom! choso sorta, ass obsessed men, size kink, brief cunnīlingus, doggystyle, prone boneee, hair pulling (nanami), slight dacryphīlia, runnin from it, pússy so good tears uppp (ino), spanks, dirty talk, sqúirting, bręeding, bed breaking, manhandling, cęrvix fucking.

an. HAPPY SQUIRTMAS *wet jingle noises*

CHOSO ★ KAMO.

“mhm- ah ah, get back here,” choso sharply prowls, each smoky pant turning raspier within the pitch.

choso was two words - feral and ruthless, and here he was having you all pretty and bent over on all fours..

his dark-rimmed eyes wandered everywhere at your body displayed underneath him. choso’s pointed ears couldn’t help but instinctively twitch upon hearing each sobbing mewl draaag its way out of your esophagus. it’s nothing but cute elongated syllables that made little to no sense, and each electrifying paps of fleshy stinging mounds clasping together has your head spinning in circles.

“ ‘m tired…of you, hah- always teasin’ me so much, baby. think you need a reminder of who’s in charge, huuuh?”

“c- chos—oooh!” your words get crudely cut off at the sloppy curve of his cock massaging through each part of your cunt.

like a maze - the upper part of his puffed tip clumsily gets lost, leisurely finding its way through before wetly marking every tender spot of your pussy with his curious tip. he’s beating up all spots, slowing his jagged hitting hips down purposely before picking his pace right back up. “mm- right f- fuckin’ thereee, fuck me then.”

with a sassy eye roll, choso deepens his angle, reaching an arm out to hold onto the grunting, wooden headboard. it’s undeniably loud, creaking non-stop each time both jolting bodies ounce against the bed frame.

“plan… on it,” and you whine, glossed lips breaking apart before your mouth spreads agape. he’s just so thick, and he loves more than anything to treat your pussy like it was just elastic. that effortless stretch- choso groans every time he feels you closing around him, cutely trying to squeeze around him before wheezing out those cute ‘oooh!’ ’s of whimpers.

“hah- gotta teach her some manners. can’t have you thinkin’ you can just walk all over me, princess—oh, fuuuck.”

every nth of choso’s staggering fat inches drills into you deeply, causing your eyes to goofily cross. he’s in you sooo good, using two grabby hands to raise your clumsy hips upright. “ugh- choso, mhm!” and your cunt’s just profusely dripping all around him, eagerly squelching at each springy thrust. he’s hard, maintaining a good alignment before his hips shimmy. his pace was literally inhuman. choso treats your convulsing nub like a target—repeatedly, striking your g-spot with precise hits as if it’s the perfect bullseye.

as you both each share laborious, breathy pants, he snatches your hips right back against his chiseled pelvis with an impish disapproving pout. “what did i say…no mngh- runnin’, pretty,” and you moan, feeling choso’s hand makes you dip all the way forward into his bare chest.

now, your back was just arched fully over with your ass perked up in the air. choso admires your slobbering pussy before leaning in, taking a moment to spit down between the exposed valley of your ass.

“f- fuuck, you’re so nasty, ‘cho,” you’d whine, holding back a bratty smile once your hand grips a jiggling fat of your rotating ass. through bleary peripherals and droopy hanging eyelids, choso’s swiping a thumb over his lips, another smearing his treacly saliva around your stuffed entrance to make sure you stay nice and wet for him.

it’s incredibly slimy, and his digit continues to sloppily trail further down the teary slot of cunt. it’s so raunchy, and choso licks his thin-pursed lips as if he’s preparing to feast….and right then, that’s when choso brings his freshly slick-coated fingers toward his rosy achy lips.

“she’s.. nastier,” choso grunts with his blushful broad tip aching from every ridged corner. your cunt wetly pops out an excited shriek of its own and your entire body starts to relax. he’s hissing through his teeth, fanning himself once he feels the cruel stiffening of his cock pound pound pound into your very core. “lemme hear her some more, princess. ‘s not enough hah- wet talk.”

and as choso’s rude hips continue to buck buck buck, he’s using every raging part of his hips to drill into you raw.

each twist, each turn—he’s deep, making sure your cunt remembers every narrow hit of his dick. a mixture of your sweetened moans and his feral grunts fill the air before he feels that cute clamping stick of your ass. “ ‘m gonna cum, ‘m cummin!” you’d gasp, poor knobbly thighs just slapping against each other. choso’s hips had the inside of your mouth watering, and you only wanted more. “fuck me- fuck me, f- ugh!”

your body inaudible screams with tremors and tremors of crazed shakes. once your lonely awaited finish comes, your mouth drops open but not a sound comes out. instead, a cute tiny squeak follows out of your husky larynx with your eyes carelessly rolllllling way back into the very back of your brain.

you’re seeing nothing but black as you’re riding out your orgasm, creaming down on choso’s cock with not a single thought in mind. “mhm- that’s it, ride it out baby, ride it out,” choso slows his hips to your defeated rhythm, feeling your body underneath him convulse rapidly. you saw stars, galaxies of them in fact, maybe even a few comets.

“c- choso,” you’d moan, hearing pitchy rough breaths from behind you. the wiiiiide stretch of his dick still makes itself known and you’re humming, batting your dampened lashes sporadically at the sudden overwhelming wave of elation. “fuuuckk- more,” and he ogles as you make him pull out, cutely flipping yourself over with a flushed look of sensual desire.

despite how you were just drenched in your sweat, you still craved more. choso stares at you sprawling your legs out fully, bringing two dry padded fingers towards your sensitive clit before pinching it. “l.. let’s try mating press, baby.”

“you’re impossible,” he sheepishly says, with a wry head shake, gingerly placing his weight on top of you. his onyx-colored ponytails were all scruffy, and he was sweating from all corners of his forehead. with a loud, wet ‘plap!’ noise, choso sloppily re-aligns his tip before it sloooowly starts to sink its way inside of your wet pussy, reuniting.

“hah- fine, but ‘m gonna have to…stretch you a bit, baby,” and you moan, feeling choso raise your leg, nearly hooking it over your head before positioning the other limb to mimic the same. sealing your trembling lips with an open-mouthed kiss, he grunts against your twisting tongue as he’s hungrily bottoming out inside of you.

“gotta get my baby all stretched,” he slips out a throaty whimper, hardened cock barreling further inside of you before he surprises random sticky kisses on your raised ankle.

“but, l- let’s…test out that flexibility while we’re at it, hm?”

SUGURU ★ GETO.

geto and backshots are a deadly combo within itself.

“take it. take it, taaake it,” he growls, his carnally encouraging words sounding more like a looping chant by the second. you’re moaning with his palm slapped against your mouth, shamefully drooling all over his hand in the process. of course, staring right in front of you too, was no one other than yourself. arched over, hunched over too, and lewdly crossed-eyed.

you probably looked a sight.

ruffled, shaggy strands of hair glued to your forehead. as your jaw was goofily hanging—just forever open with an agape ‘lil mouth that’s covered with geto’s hand, your wet tongue licks a path around his warm palm.

gasping for any ounces of air that you could get with his hand printed over your mouth, your cheek then prints against the cold, frigid mirror with how harder his thrusts were getting. “f- fuck, sugu mmph!” you coo out, feeling your thighs tense at each popping slam. remnants of whiteish, dried cum painted against your thighs. a licentious, dirty reminder of just how much he was claiming you from behind.

round after round and it turned from minutes to hours of just getting filled from every orifice with geto’s hot, creamy cum. geto’s cock wears you thin in every goopy crevice ‘n corner of your wet pussy, causing your poor larynx to sound hoarse from all the moaning within no time.

he’s pumping in all inches—grinding into your hips as you moved, cutely trying to jostle your waist to his rhythm but failing horribly.

“mngh- slutty girl, look at that ass tryna fuck me back. A for effort, i guess,” he grunts with a sneer, admiring the tears of sweat that started to gloss down your arched spine. so pretty..

almost looking akin to a necklace, a huge hand wraps around your throat before making sure you face yourself in the mirror. geto slides his other palm away from your mouth, scoffing at the webby sleek strings of spit following before he rubs it all over your mouth. “don’t look away, look at how your face gets when you…hah- slut yourself out on my dick, doll.”

“ugh- harderrrr,” your moans were starting to turn bouncy, and he was fucking you with every damn fiber of his being. geto’s buckled knees bury into the silk padded mattress and he’s dragging out hoarse gasp after gasp from your parched throat. his hits against your ass were loud, they sounded like bongos with how rough his pelvis creates music with each drumming hit.

“mmh- so good, so fuckin’ good,” your whines continue to drag out, and you’re tasting treacly salted saliva on your rosé buds.

through your peripherals, you spot geto working his hips into you. you couldn’t help but take a glance at his snatched waist that’s just so slim. he’s swerving into you at full speed, creating 360 donuts with his sloppy hips as he accelerates. geto sucks in a sharp, smoky break as he continued to plummet into your cunt over ‘n over again until you’re cutely clinging onto the mirror for leverage.

“cute,” he clicks his tongue, lowering his darkened irises down the curving arch of your bent-over back. from behind you, you heard him whistling at your watch before spanking your ass. the glossy sweat that remained on your backside shines bright, brighter than any sun—creating a creeping glow in the sunlight from the cracked open curtain in the distance. “good girl. lie back. all ya gotta do is.. hah- lie back ‘n let me have my way with this sloppy-fuckin’-cunt.”

each malleable thrust gets enunciated with each hard whack against your pussy that makes your teeth jitter. you’re moaning, barely able to keep up with his zealously, agile pace before the slit tip of his cock diagonally slithers its way near your clit. milliseconds pass before you then start to feel his crowned tap-tap tapping against your bumpy cervix. it’s a mean tap, and your eyes crossed even further together with your tongue abjectly lolling out. “s- shit, that spot. that.. mngh- suguru!”

a handful of nerves swim their way into the bottom parts of your stomach before you whine. you’re panting continuously, gently shoved face first against the now fogged mirror that was in directly front of you. it’s steaming up because of your harsh, wheezing breaths before you squeal. it’s quick, but your legs end up collapsing and so does your entire body.

“ ‘m cummin’, fuck!” you yawp, gasping breathlessly at that sliiiight turn of his pivoting hips. geto’s cock runs all through you, kneading your cunt with each brutal thwack.

sweetened whimpers pour from your lips once you end up meeting your euphoric maker. “ugh- s.. suguru,” low, pulled lids of your eyes start to feel heavy as you struggle to keep them open. you’re pussy’s wetly squalling, letting off squelches as you smothered geto’s thick cock from swollen top to bottom with your slick essence. “f- fuck, spank m-”

“quiet, baby,” geto shushes you, a hand wrapping back around the base of your throat. with a swift slap of his roughened palm, he spanks you again anyway, and you purr out a cute ‘ooooh’ right away.

your tongue still sticks out against the reflecting steamed mirror. you’re so close to it that you’re nearly suffocating from your tepid, pants of breath washing back into your face. he’s still inside, feeling you weakly try to arch your ass up but your face slumps further against the glass. “aw, relax, sweetheart. i gotcha,” and as you’re still whimpering, geto pulls out his vermillion-colored tip.

he silently hisses at your dewy, wet grip, gazing at your dripping cunt that’s covered with sparkling white strands of your mess. groaning, he rubs his angered tip over your pussy in a greedy circle.

“mhm- keep goin’ suguru,” you’d frantically toss your hips around in a circle - begging, aching for him to fuck you against the mirror again. it’s even cute with how your ass did a wordless cute shake against his leaky tip, rubbing your very entrance over his sweltering, dewy-coated tip.

“god- such a fuckin’ slutty girl, can never say no to that preeeetty-shakin’-ass,” geto huffs, pausing between each word as his hand swipes against your tender feeling rear. still aroused, he grunts as his bulky cock twitches each time your skin jiggles against the sharp greeting contact.

geto flips you over with one beefy arm, tying his hair into a hurried slothful ponytail before cocking his head. “legs, raise ‘em for me, high baby,” and once you comply, geto hums, closing the distance between you and him by sliiiiding his way in between your raised legs.

in a husky voice, he smacks his plump tip against your pussy before biting your bottom lip while maintaining direct eye contact. “hah- that’s it, stretch those fuckin’ legs for sugu, sweetheart. and while you do thaaat,” geto grumbles, stealing a low-pitched moan from you once he delves a thick finger inside of your swallowing cunt.

“i gotta make her cream on me at least an extra four more times, heh..”

NANAMI ★ KENTO.

“like this, sweetheart?” nanami murmurs, grabbing a secure amount of hair to wholly fit into the coarse palm of his hand.

he’s gentle nonetheless, hearing your cute shallow breaths once his hips fatally stop. as you’re arched over a side of the bed, your wobbly hands piercing into the fat mattress. nanami’s unpredictable movements have you speechless, blinking thrice because who knew such a man was so nasty in bed?

of course—the only exception was his pretty wife, you. and nanami didn’t mind getting kinky for his beloved precious, even if you wanted to try something as vulgar as backshots..

he’s all the way inside you, not even moving an inch and yet it felt like he was already obliterating every part of your goopy, clamping walls.

“mhm- yeah. fuck me ‘n then just start pullin’ on it if i try to crawl away, ‘ken.” you moan, feeling that all too familiar thumping sensation arises between your quaking, sore thighs. near the very undersides, you felt the brief pants of tenderness lingering against your skin.

nanami tilts his head, shrugging out a complying, “alriiight,” and you gasp once he softly tightens the grip against your hair just a bit. “this okay? ‘m gonna start movin’ for you.“ earnestly impatient, you nod, and the blond tries to suppress a smile. already, he felt your cute body trying to wriggle away but as you said, he gently tugged you back by the hair. “anything for the kinky wife i guess. brace yourself though, honey. work’s been.. hah- rough.”

and when nanami fucks, he Fucks - capital F.

you’re holding back pitiful muffled moans as he pulls off his tie, softly stuffing it in your mouth. it’s tasteless - and you’re whimpering, feeling every stinging whack from his hips slam into your ass every three seconds.

nanami’s sweat-drenched fingertips caress both sides of your curvaceous hips—feeling all down your loving physique as he’s ferociously fucking into you at such a disrespectful speed.

every thrust was insanely languid, barely giving you time to gather up a thought in your dull, empty brain. “kento, ohmygoddd,” your voice timidly cracks, already drenching the end part of his thigh with your bubbly drool. he’s churning your insides through and through like one would churn a fresh batch of hot butter. and god- nanami’s just rocking into the rear of your ass like a boat that’s forever rickety. “harder.. pull it, baby, pull my fuckin’ hair.”

“yes, ma’am,” he raspingly responds, having the same firm grip on your hair. dozens of seconds later, a nice amount of your hair yanks back and your eyes cutely widen. you fall back and so do your hips, continuously and sloppily landing back against his hips. it’s still gentle nonetheless, but his hips were so cruel. you’d never get used to that heavenly stretch of his cock.

it’s mouthwatering, and you’re just melting at the sheer sounds of each bouncy slap! of balmy skin. nanami hears the cute bundle of gargled whines struggle to leave your throat once he grabs your hair, and he purrs. “mhm, liked that, sweetheart? should i pull again? can’t leave my woman all horny ‘n unsatisfied, hm?”

“mmph- pull.. hah- harder, ‘ken,” you nod, your words still a bit hushed and gagged from his work tie. the bed’s so unsteady, you were just it was gonna snap into two at any second. as he keeps up a decent rhythm, your jaw ends up dropping once his peachy tip greets your clit with a knocking slam. he hears another gasp slip from your lips before your ass lifts.

with another solid yank, nanami pulls a bit harder, and this time, he’s faintly snickering at how cute your body was - just slamming back into him like it already knew its territory. riiiight as his fattened tip makes itself known to your pretty, pulsating clit, you squeal out a bellowing yelp.

there!

like a q-tip, his rounded cockhead swaaaabs its way around your tightening entrance before the deep thrusts continue. your eyes were just bulging out each of their sockets, and you were speechless for a while before squealing out a cute, “ohmygu- ‘ken something’s coming. s- something’s coming kento.”

“i know, sweetheart,” he whispers, slowing his sloppy hits down but making sure that his thrusts remain deep deep deep. he studies your gyrating ass and how it flawlessly ricocheted against his skin. with each barbaric smack of your ass clashing into his pelvis, he feels both sweaty pounds of skin arise with blistering temperature.

but the last thing you’d expect was to gush right onto his cock, legs cutely twitching with a squalling whimper ripping out of your strained chords. the release was so sudden, that your eyes widened dramatically as your lips parted into a pretty bewildered ‘oh!’

the feeling was just so erogenous, and your entire body underneath his fell into jerking spasms. “my, oh myyy,” nanami gruffly murmured, still maintaining a gentle yet tight grip on the back of your head. soft, massaging fingers glissade down your scalp at his grasping hold before he feels your ass weakly writhing back into him. “messy girl, that’s it. make a mess for me, sweetheart. ‘s okay, let go.”

“u- ugh!” your brows curl, and your cunt was just dripping like a faucet - profusely. his tip stopped all types of movement, brushing against your convulsing clit as you kept gushing and he grunts. right there - right fuckin’ there.. he felt your pulse, relishing in the faint sloshing sounds that occurred between the stickiness of both fleshy thighs meshing against the skin. “fuck, fuck, fuuuck ‘ken.”

“ ‘y did so good,” nanami breathes, his wet tie drenched with your saliva flopping out past your lips. he pulls out, and his dick exits your watery pussy with a cute plap. the sheets were all soaked with your wetness and nanami’s panting, smearing his flesh-colored crown around your shriveling entrance. pulse after pulse, you’re still eager for him to get back inside despite how your entire body was shivering from your recent mind-boggling finish. “always loved myself a wet wife,” nanami softly smacks his veiny cock against your teary slit.

“the wetter the better, haah- darlin.’ let’s try that again,” and you whine, feeling his dick slap against your crying, wet pussy. with a click of his tongue, nanami lets off a deep, heavy sigh. “think she needs a bit more.. ah- velocity training.”

SUKUNA ★ RYŌMEN.

“heh- your smart mouth’s almost as annoying as your weak arch, little girl,” sukuna snickers, keen-witted canines briefly poking out his lips.

you’re moaning, letting off occasional pitchy swear words whilst getting absolutely destroyed by the king of curses himself. he always treated your pussy like an enemy — using his favorite technique, absolutely annihilating your g-spot.

the fleecy, thin straps of sukuna’s kimono tickled against your skin as he’s driving his thick cock deep into you with such rigorous might. hit after hit after hit, sukuna’s dick was just as angry as he was.

as you were whining, your voice was steadily forming raw and strained as those cute little ‘oooh’s!’ sweetly cried out from your dried voice box.

his tip’s got such a curve that makes your insides tingle. “oh….f- fuuuck,” you heave in a single sharp breath, feeling your tummy cowardly tuck its way inward. sukuna’s cock’s greedy, and each stroke makes your eyes bulge wider ‘n wider out of their sockets. he’s bottomed balls deep, and you could hear his animalistic pants bellow huskily from behind you. playfully, sukuna trails a claw down your back, watching you writhe at something as simple as his touch.

“ ‘m not gonna last, ‘kuna, s- so big, stretchin’ me so fuckin’ go—ah!” you whine, getting a face full of a fluffed pillow. he’s got an angle that makes you feel it all, every single inch pumping inside of your cunt—introducing itself against your pearled nub each passing second.

his hips were viciously vicious, and you’re just drooling from the cracks of your mouth at each girthy centimeter prying your insides open. “ughhh- don’t stop, f- fuck me. fu—”

“ahh,” sukuna tuts, and you whimper once his palm wetly spanks against your stuffed pussy. pasty, teary droplets briskly coat his hand before he rubs circles against your tender clit. with his hips securely pressed right up against your jerking ass, sukuna licks your ear. “you’ll get your turn to speak. but right now, she’s the star right now, not you. have some class, wet girl.”

as popping wet sloshes cry from the opened arc of your legs, and you feel sukuna’s forked tongue flick against your neck. “mmh- she’s so nasty, talk talk taaaalk. jus’ like her dumb fuckin’ owner..” sukuna brings your hips up with two hardened palms, making sure your face stays shoved deep into the mattress.

with a cute wiggle, your ass rewinds into him and he grunts at the immediate jiggle. with a loud, briefly stinging whack, he spanks you—hearing those cute ‘lil clamors leave your cracking throat before seconds later and he’s back to thrusting.

sukuna’s cock was dangerous - you already felt yourself getting more ‘n more stupid the harder his hips snapped into you. vehemently, his strokes turn languidly sloppy within seconds, and you mouth out a cute silent ‘ohmyfuckin’godddd!’ blood-shot eyes rove down your bouncing frame and how you were bent over just for him and only him. “mng- m’lord, there- there pleaaaase!”

“don’t know who’s louder,” the demon snarls under his breath in a tone dripping with amused mockery. he stares as your ass extends upward and you’re arched right over, face pathetically buried into his velveteen-made sheets.

every clashing pap of ridden skin never failed to echo through his chambers, and the gluey feeling of sticky, crashing thighs makes his fangs sharply nip into his lip. “mngh-” his dick swirls a shape-like motion all arooound your pussy, easing a secret pathway way into your cervix and you short circuit instantaneously.

sukuna huffs lowly, clawing more of his black whetted fingernails into the skin of your plush ass. “you or this fuckin’…hah- talkative pussy. can’t even hear myself think.”

“suh- suku-” you squeak, dumbing down from each second he spends battering his fat cock inside of you. your walls were tight, desperately clinging to him, clamping vigorously before popping out a cacophony of wet plops. your eyes were already rolled back, and your blocked vision met with a dark void of darkness. “ah-” you end up drooling, a stream of saliva starting to bubble from the corners of your twitching lips. sukuna’s deeeeep, nearly creating an unforgettable bulge with how he easily pushes his entire weight against your ass.

your mind’s completely empty . . but, you’re transported right back to reality once you hear a splitting crack of wood. as sukuna’s still driving his thick cock into your slobbering pussy like a madman, he hears that eerie ‘creeeeak’ sound.

it’s the headboard—and, within seconds, the bed awkwardly flops, and you heard the boxspring weakly snap from underneath. “ngh-” sukuna grunts, the both of you briefly collapsing from the bed calling quits to support the ridiculous weight. your release pauses as you pant, wondering what happened, and the curse just slyly snickers at you. “ ‘s all good. just a little bed break,” and you felt his forked, slimy tongue lick down your sweat-covered back. he huskily ‘ah’s’ once he allows his tongue to savor your natural taste before groaning.

his cock’s aching.. and the top of his cock’s flushing a pearly, shimmery color of velvet red. a thumb of his pulls a bit of lingering foreskin before he brings his crowned cockhead toward your pretty puckering hole. sukuna notices you trying to crane your head to look at your ass but he tsks, making you face back in front.

“turn that head back the fuck around. just because the bed broke doesn’t mean ‘m not done breakin’ this pussy too, little girl. now open up for me. goood girl.”

SATORU ★ GOJO.

“oh, oh- wait a minute, angel,” satoru pauses mid-thrust, pressing his naturally sculpted pelvis against your ass. you’re moaning once he wraps a smooth hand around your throat, bringing pink glossed lips toward the lobe of your ear. “are you cryinnn’?” and indeed, you were.

he’s been hitting you from the back so deep ‘n so good that you’re fighting back fat, glittery tears. they stick to your lashes, nearly blinding you with each flapping blink and you moaned for him to not stop - not now, not ever.

snickering smokily, satoru then starts to use his other hand to maneuver sloppy, wet shapes around your slippery, stuffed cunt.

“sooooo tender for me, hm?” and satoru’s lanky dick stretched you thin - wearing you thin with every long inch, causing your brows to cutely twist in rapture. “tsssk. can’t help but be emotional and wet for me, cute..”

“s- satoru, don’t stop- please,” your sweet pleads and begs instantly making his cock twitch inside of you. you shuddered, feeling a vein of his prod on his foreskin, nipping against your insides as he moved. satoru was so long, but even longer inside..

it’s probably been round after round, but you’re already salivating for more. his slim body was pushed right up against yours, and you felt the snowy, wooly hairs that were taped to his base drag all across his skin. he’s such a tease though. you could merely feel that annoying smug grin boring right into the back of your skull, despite how you weren’t even facing him. “ngh- finish.. fucking me.”

“oh! sounds like a demand, and y’know how i don’t like being given orders,” he hoarsely whispers, two rough hands pulling up your ass to create a deeper slope.

he’s in deep, idly massaging your clit with his tip not shifting at all. your wetness perfectly coats the entire thick base of his cock, and satoru could hear your pleading little squelches trying to sweet talk him at the same time too. “aw, is that back talk ‘m hearing?” and you whimper, hearing a slap sound between your legs.

satoru spanks your cunt - feeling you wriggle, desperately trying to rut back against him but he makes you halt. “ah- patience,” and your sweet whines fueled his ego oh-so-good. satoru’s slim waist sensually rocks against your ass, and you’re smacked by his rearing hips time ‘n time again. you’re probably so stupefied. your dripping tongue hung all out of your mouth as languid, airy pants roughly seized away from your lungs. “ ‘m gonna cum, satoru. you’re hittin’ that spot s- sooo good, mmg-”

“yeah, tell me how ya really feel,” and you gasp, feeling him push your knee into your chest. you’re still laid flat on your back, and now—he’s got an even deeper angle. his cock explores every part of your pussy, and that sticky grip on your ass makes him groan against your earlobe.

“think you just might have the strongest pussy, baby. grippin’ all… on me,” and as his voice deepens, maybe even quavering a bit from how sensitive he felt, satoru sucks sloppy kisses against your neck. “mhm- don’t think i can beat her. nope.. not when she’s being so fuckin’ hah- sloppy, shit.”

slosh after wetted slosh could be heard from between the open space of your legs and you’re whimpering. his tip’s constant thrashing so merciless - filthily showering your pearled nub with a kiss after pounding kiss until your legs were on the verge of snapping shut.

satoru’s closet pressed up against your bare rotating ass, grinding his washboard abs into your body and it just feels so hot. he swats a hand against your ass, intently sucking his teeth at the three-second jiggle before moaning lowly into your ear. “heh.. there’s that cute g-spot- i mean weak spot,” and with a rude collision—satoru’s thrusts slam into you at full impact, causing your brain to nearly hotwire.

it’s so abrupt that you didn’t even recognize your voice when your shrieking squeal came out. “mmph!” your eyes hugely bulge, and his cock’s stuffed soso many inches inside—sneaking a hand underneath your tummy just to feel you cutely heaving around his size. as you’re creaming down his hardened shaft.

sublimely, it stands tall inside of you and he heartily chuckles at your body’s retreating response. you’re shaking, barely being able to move your hips and your head ends up falling into the cushioned pillow with a soft thud. “s- satoru, don’t.. don’t stop,” and as your tongue remains lies flat down your lips, you put out a needy sob. “oh my go- hah- ‘m still.. cummin’.

“hm, okay,” satoru whispers, skipping a few warm fingers down your spine. you tense at his touch, and your back slightly raises before his dick loudly pops! it's way out of your sensitive pussy. trails ‘n trails of glistening, perspiring sweat paints down his pale frame before he flips you over. satoru treats you like a doll - a rag doll, and before you know it, you’re straddling on top of him.

with blurred, faded vision, you could see a cunning grin stretching across his pinkened lips before he aligns you. “ah, jus’ lie back against my chest, good girl,” he praises you, feeling your back recline against his ripped abdomen. you’re moaning, still shattering all rows of your teeth at your recent eye-rolling orgasm before satoru slings two arms underneath your legs.

you gasp, letting off a soft ‘oof!’ once he suddenly lifts you, openly gawking in awe at your creamy hole hovering over his crimson-shaded tip. “new position baby. ‘m gonna try usin’ infinity on this pretty cunt,” and you moaned, hearing a looooong stretch of his dick from behind you and you gulped.

was he-

satoru was making his cock longer, you didn’t even know he could do that but the anxious flutter between your thighs was almost embarrassing. your tummy steadily caves in ‘n out as you feel him starting to gradually sink into you.

attacking the left part of your neck with a barrage of wet, starving kisses—satoru hoarse grunts. “y’know what they say. eighth orgasm’s the charm, angel. now biiiiig fuckin’ stretch, lemme teach her how strong i can really get with a few extra inches, heh..”

TOJI ★ FUSHIGURO.

“c’mooon, pretty thing. let’s see that ass show me what it’s fuckin’ made of,” toji grunts, slightly tilting his right thigh up. he’s rude - hips far ruder though, and he’s just straight up plunging deep into your cervix until your tongue’s just sloppily hanging out your mouth.

with your lips wholly coated with a natural gloss of saliva, you’re damn near hysterical. he’s hitting you so deep, biting his lower lip each time your ass does that cute sticking smack right against his sharpened pelvis. toji’s washboard abs flex ‘n tense through his dingy white tank before he swats against your ass. “mhm- atta girl. entertain this dick girl, entertain- fuckin’- me.”

“mngh!” you squealed, your incoherent babble turning into muffles against the pillows in front of you. toji’s whole right-hand fits over your head and he lightly shoves your face into the mattress.

you’re whimpering, each rough slam into your rear sending staticky ringing through your ears. he’s so nasty, plowing into you with such lively horsepower that it makes you start to pant like a literal greyhound. “ ‘m gonna fuck, gonna fuckin’ cum, t- toooji.”

with a scoff, toji spanks your ass. “yeah? that’s nice.” his tone’s fuckin’ sly, he couldn't care less. your cunt’s so slippery, slickly gluing against his hairy base that piercingly pap! pap! paps! right into both twirling globes of your ass.

the sounds of repeated smacking flesh pitched louder and louder as both bodies rutted into each other. the bedroom filled with harmonies of rough slaps and groans, as well as your added whimper and whines from how good toji was plowing you into the shared king-sized bed. toji’s a menace when it came to his hips though.

he does this thing where he stuffs you all the way full with one single thrust….then pulls out… then back in…then back fuckin’ out..

“mhm- good…good, goooood,” his voice lowers, and so did his angle. toji’s cock had a bit of lean, lazy hook and it’s just sexy. it’s noticeable curve forever made itself known by just doing a single shimmy with his wide hips. from top to bottom of his cock that’s prodding with lightening shaped veins all over, he’s insanely big. “hah- look at that cute ass jus’ bouncin’ all on me. goddamn, babygi- fuck.”

toji even arched his back too, combing a few thickset fingers through his murky dark strands before feeling his dick swell up from the creamed top. he’s close, and with how good you were gripping around him, it wasn’t helping things much at all.

your insides were so gluey, sticking against him like pasty adhesive, determined to wring around him like the lewdest vice imaginable. “goddamn-” he groans, thin nostrils immediately flaring.

your pussy’s grip was ruthless - you squeezed and squeezed and squeezed, hearing toji’s grumbles huff underneath his breath. “ ‘m gonna make this tummy so nice ‘n plump,” he grouses, ravened brows curling together. vein after vein throbbing through his cock as he’s deepening his hits, giving the back of your tank top a firm grasp. you fall back into his cock at the pull, moaning and sweetly ‘ooh!’ ing at each jackhammering hit of his cock.

“mmgh- cum in me, toji,” you whimper, rocking your body against the dingy sage sheets with no shame. your body’s all slumped, humping against the bed with the front of your body as your right cheek pressed into the mattress.

toji’s buried to the very hilt, and his burning-up crown alone even started french kissing your cervix, dozens of times too. it’s indisputably sloppy, and you let off a gasp once you feel him swirling his stout tip alllll around your gummy insides, tap tap tapping against that beloved spongey texture. “don’t miss, f- fuck.”

“hah- with an arch like that, y’er askin’ for at quadruplets,” and his hips brutally snap into you. for a second, toji’s cock leaves you brain dead with the cause before his heavy, life-altering shaft. that exact spot that feels a bit bumpy, his tip rams against it and it scratches the left lobe of your brain so good. toji snickers, hearing you left off a pornographic ‘aaaah!’ at the abrupt discovered pressure. “ngh- better take it all then, don’t waste a fuckin’ drop, girl.”

it happens with such quickness—toji’s lowly growls, his husky orgasm sounding more like a gruff pitching battle cry. he’s slowing his hips before holding your wobbly hips in place. right as he’s cumming in you, toji’s burly body presses against your backside. you could feel him still grinding, although it’s a bit more weak.

“ugh- fillin’ you so well gotta getcha niiiice ‘n round f’m again. can’t leave my pretty mama without a.. hah- fill,” and it starts to pour deep inside. it oozes inside of your cunt, and it flows out so quickly that some even start to dribble down the crevices of your thighs. pretty, sloppy squelches could be heard from the occurring mess and toji dryly swallows. “mhm- she’s as nasty as you, babygirl. look at her swallowin’ it all up. so good.”

“tooooji,” you’d whimper, gasping once you felt a big thumb snail its way down your sopping pussy. wads of cum race down your thighs, and with a sloshing wet pop, toji pulls out his cock that was frothing from the velvet-reddened tip. he grunts, admiring your ass that still had itself raised, and he then leans down. toji inches his face toward your backside, using two wide hands to spread your ass apart.

“haaaah,” he pants against your dripping cunt, rolling out his tongue. you whimpered, clicking your teeth together once he starts to lap up the globs cum that was spilling down your thighs. it’s a loud sluuuurp! from toji’s mouth that gives you butterflies, but he then gives your clit a sweet munch with both pairs of lips.

toji rubs his lip scar against your pulsating cunt before snickering against your entrance, cleaning up his cum that glistened down your poor, aching slit that’s just so overflooded. “mhm- keep this arch, pretty girl. ‘m fuckin’ starved,” toji spits against your slick-covered heat before allowing the sheeny strings to land flat on his rolled out tongue.

“…and this cute pussy’s just askin’ to be devoured, heh..”

INO ★ TAKUMA.

“back… shots?” ino lets out a tremulous short breath, nearly drooling at the prurient sight of you arching over the armrest of the couch.

you were so breathtaking, even in such an erotic hunched-over position—face up ‘n pretty ass down. just to top it all off though, your pulled-to-the-side-panties that exposed your flooded dripping pussy only made things ten times worse. you even dared to sprightly throw your hips around in a circle, hearing a cute needy whine pull leave from ino’s lap. “o- okay, i can- i can do backshots.”

“don’t be scared, ino,” you hush in a sweet coaxing tone, your voice as smooth as silk. all types of warmth lingered on your tone. he’d probably cum just from listening to you speak if he wasn’t too careful. reaching a thumb from behind you, you drag a plump thumb down your puffed slit. soaked right away, ino watches before bringing the flushed crownhead of his cock towards your wet fluttering slit. it’s so wet—just aptly pouring with syrupy slick from the sides, the corners, hell- even the inner wet crevices…

ino felt his heart pounding, and he was holding back a moan once his plump cockhead swirls a circle around your swallowing entrance. you moan, arching more before humming. “mhm- like that. now fuck me, baby. fuck m-”

and oh- he does.

ino was a very quick learner because, within no time, you found yourself arched right over with his capped tip being greedily swallowed by your famished entrance.

ino’s so frantic - and it’s almost cute how he had no literal rhythm. he’s getting lost in your pussy—but after a few sloppy starting thrusts, he surprisingly locates every tender spot like it's nothing. you shudder as your hips start to rise, feeling a few wet droplets splat against your arched backside and oh, he’s really drooling now..

his breaths turn from steady to heavy within seconds, and he’s just hypnotized at how pretty your cunt took in all the turgid inches of his shaft. “s- sorry, can’t help it,” he meekly apologizes, wiping a hairy arm over his spit-glossed lips. his hands awkwardly grip your ass before you feel him swipe a slender digit toward your neglected hole.

“oooh,” he whimpers to himself, plugging it with the entirety of his stubby thumb. with his buttoned nose cutely wrinkling at the sensations of being full from both orifices, you whine out his name thrice. sweet repeated chants of ‘ino!’ ‘inooo!’ or ‘iiii-noooo!’ and it’s so melodic to ino, in a salacious way at least.

your cunt dewily clenches at him toying with your slick hole, and he pulls out his thumb before groaning. “god- ‘s no fair, baby,” and he’s still clinging onto your bouncing hips, staring as your ass starts to fuck back into him. speaking of toys, he couldn’t help but moan at how you rewinded your hips back into him oh-so perfectly.

it was like your entire waist was controlled, and ino’s grabbing at the plump cheeks of your ass at every moment he could. the slaps of skin were so loud, and they echoed through every cornering wall in the dimly lit bedroom. “don’t even…hah- know what ‘ta do with all this ass. phew- think ‘m gonna… faint.”

“don’t be dramatic, ino,” you skewed your hips around his cock, swallowing in a deep breath at the overly thick tummy-tucking stretch that surprises your pussy. he’s just big - rummaging through every important part of your guts before slap! you’re met with a stony coarse wham that makes your tongue flop out on his own. “f- fuck, right there. keep hittin’ that spot, oh- fuck!”

ino’s already in love… and, your hips were a smooth talker, if anything.

the way you moved and perfectly corresponded to him, he’s getting teary. it feels so damn good, the familiar tightening of his balls makes him nearly choke on an incoming exhale as he watches you throw back against him.

it was almost comical—you wanted to try backshots, and ino could barely keep up with your pace because technically speaking, you were fucking him. “god- baby, ‘m gonna cum. can’t.. can’t hold it, lemme finish inside pleaseplease,” and as he’s babbling, you could hear him sniffling.

your pussy was so good that it had him choking on his own words, stammering clumsily over every whiny syllable. ino’s hands never leave your hips, and he swats a few palms at your doughy ass that jerks right into him before sighing. you’re so stuffed already, but the thought of him dumping such a hot, buttery batch of cum inside you had you humming in longing contempt. “mhm- tell me, baby. your pussy’s gonna f- fuckin’ kill me, hah-”

“insiiiide, do it,” you whine, slightly raising your hips. god- the view, your slick twitching cunt had ino hearing his whole heartbeat through his ears. he was damn near mesmerized, and his tip was just weeping at the constant tender rubbing it was creating against your clit. your entrance slicked against him like velcro, and ino’s jaw was already clenching at the clingy sensation.

with of few more pops of his weak hips, ino eventually does cum - and it’s a lot.

a knot of, gooey fresh cum shoots right into you, quickly traveling through your insides. ino whines way louder than you, and he falls flat against your back. “ugh- baby,” he grunts, his voice cracking as soon as he falls into your embrace. it’s hot, and you moan once he continues to spurt thin ribbons straight deep into your womb. timid, soppily hands suffered with insane amounts of sweat before you felt his palms all around your body. even with ino still rawly pumping into you, he’s running his hands up and down the curvature of your waist—stopping at your ass, his favorite.

squelches ‘n squelches galore..

his softened cock remained plugging you full with all of its might—feeling your dribbling cunt tighten around the entirety of his length. it takes him a good while before he’s finally emptied his entire load, giving himself a subtle shake to make sure it’s all deep inside of you. “good boy,” you quietly hum, rolling over, swiping a thumb down your flooded cunt. ino pants, flopping onto your chest and he looks so in love. his face was flushing the more he deeply stared at you, and your eyes widened once you realized ino’s slowly pushing the crowns of your knees up to your chest. “hah- ino?”

“ ‘m not done,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a sweet, chaste kiss against your quivering lips. he moans at the soft prod of your tongue brushing against his before his pearly-colored tip whacks against your pussy that’s still spitting out tiny clumps of his cum.

“one more round. need t- to claim these walls before i claim your heart first, baby.”

[tonycries]

D!LFMAS?!

Synopsis. Father Christmas? Nah, who needs him when you can have a hot D!LFY Christmas.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, older! D!LF! JJK men, bréeding, CREAMP!ES, age gaps, dad bods, manhandIing, cúmplay, chokíng, professor! Geto, GOJO’S POWERS, true form Sukuna, dp, cervíx kíssing, p talking, p slápping, JEALOUSY (Geto), spítting, headIocks, SIZE K!NK, thigh ríding, pet names, swéaring.

A/N. Well THIS opened up something I never knew before…

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - White Christmas

“Heh…how cute.” Toji’s scarred lips are puckering up into a coo at just how adorable you looked squirming underneath him like this. “Ya ready for a biiig stretch, ma?”

You’re craning a few uselessly coy smacks against his bulging biceps, ”T-Toooji—” The whines dripping from your salacious lips are just pitiful - and so is that tiny gasp let off when his heavy, blushing tip comes thwacking! down punishingly to make out with your slippery slit. “Stop teasing me…”

“Ohhh?” Dark brows raise at your babbling, “And hah- who was talking to you, my doll?”

He’s curving the fat pad of his thumb down either side of your saturated lips, wrenching out the soppiest slurps. Up, up, up until Toji’s pinching your buttony nub with an oh-so-dramatic sigh - but not targeted at you. No - at down below. “I know, right? Got a hah- real nasty girl.” He’s nodding along languidly, thoroughly in conversation between your trembly thighs. “How m’ I gonna make her a pretty momma if I don’t…teach her a lesson about talkin’ back to elders.”

God, you could almost sob. It’s been hours upon hours now. You had no idea how he still had so much stamina being older than you, but…but did you really want to complain?

Hours since you’d finished your babysitting job and tucked Megumi to bed. Pacing your familiar way up to Toji’s bedroom in a way that was entirely unprofessional. 

Hours of being pinned to the satiny mattress with the effortlessly staggering size of Toji, all hefty muscles and washboard abs that he still maintained proudly. Slipping and glissading their sultry way to scratch his fleecy chest hair down your perfectly arched back. 

Hours that still had you all desperate. Needy. 

Squeezing out a few pearly tears to lacquer the ends of your lashes in a way you knew that Toji was absolutely weak for. “P-please- jus’ want you ngh! a-all—” Rovering down a hand across the lamination of creamy cum that puddled out of your sappy entrance, your trembly digits are absolutely drenched in the overflooded remnants of cum that your gummy walls were topped up from before. “-inside me, Toji.”

And oh was he weak.

Hell, it’s like he’s melting into you from above. 

One beefy arm of his branding the curvaceous flex of his biceps around your waist. Rotund curves of his strong knees weakening, smearing further and further apart on the dampened sheets to plug you full with the globular crown of his thick cockhead. 

Eyes creasing to widen, Toji’s swiping a thick drag down your buttery walls with a syrupy pop! Followed mercilessly by a sudden slap! down the snug orifice of your sweet, sweet slit. 

Your sloppy sounds resonate against the walls sound-proofed especially for you.

“Evil young lady. We should discuss…wh-what do you think, mama?” He’s gruffing out hoarsely at your drooling cunt - and you swear you could hear his baritone lilt a few octaves higher at the sight. You swear you could hear his shatter into a whimper- “Y-you’re fuckin’ lucky, this cunt o’ yours is so hngh- damn persuasive.”

He was so good at making you embarrassed - sinking in solid inch by inch until you were utterly bruised by the sodden French kiss of his smooth tip down your cervix. Hot and hefty. Steamy gumdrops of vicious pre gliding down your throbbing g-spot.. 

Toji plants your goopy depths with a harsh battering ram. The swollen cylindrical shaft of his rummaging into you so deep - he was so fucking massive. And you think you’d never get used to it.

“Look at you milkin’ a cock you said was heh- too big. M’proud of ya.” He presses a few innocent pecks down the side of your prespired forehead, “But I’m not like those wimpy fuckin’ boys you’ve dated before, ma.” 

Fuck. You’re being headlocked with one of his big, beefy arms - jerking your stupidly lolling head up to his. He only got so much stronger with age. 

Toji’s spitting out through sexily clenched teeth - through a smile so fucking feral that it makes you pulse. “I’m n-not gonna go ngh- fuckin’ easy on ya jus cos’ you’re a little…cute.” Toji’s foraging for the elastic door to your womb, skimming his palm for that inflationary bump outlined underneath your pretty tummy. “I’m not stopping until we’re givin’ Megs a sweet lil’ sibling.’”

Pap! Pap! Pap! He’s pressurizing his thrusts with years of power, handling you easily like a ragdoll underneath him. Glomping around thick ivory tresses of seed from hours before - the squelches play out like a song to him.

“Ohhh? What’s that? Ya sure?” Toji’s eyes crinkle with sheer joy, shaggy dark bangs sticking to his forehead and showing off stray strands of silver. “Ya hear that? She said she’s gonna give me a daughter.”

He’s driving you wild. Stupid. 

“Hmm- nothing to say?” You’re hearing low titters pierce in cloudy little pants against your ear. Intoxicating. And beady droplets of sweat spatter your shoulder as Toji looms dangerously closer. “Listen to this-” SMACK! Another mean swat on your cunt. And a second. A third. Fourth- “Y-you’re still lettin’ his filthy pussy talk for ya? Lazy girl.”

Every heated pound had your pussy slewing out the most sinful squelches and then some. Watery slurps so loud that you’re struggling to mumble out over it, “S-s’not my fault— you’re just so…so…”

“Say it.” Toji’s huffing out. 

And the bed raptures with splitting creaks when he’s hiking a powerful thigh to plant firmly on the plushy mattress - gyrating his hips impossibly deeper. Hauling your bawling pussy into his bashing collides against those spots, rubbing your inner walls with his thumping veins. “C’mon, mama, use your big girl words. Aren’tcha embarrassed to be haaah- fucked so dumb by this old man?”

And he already knew that that would be all it took for your tongue to string together its first few coherent syllables. A pitchy little, “N-not- ngh- not my fault you’re so…good.”

The only thing on your mind - the only thing you can chant like a mantra when your orgasm invades you over with surprise.

The very moment those broken sounds taper off from your slack maw, you’re seeing white. Stars bursting behind your lids, when Toji’s ruddied, split tip crashes into your tenderized magical spots. Again. And again. And again and again-

“Good?” Toji echoes. Head tilting to nuzzle yours, he’s snarling his pearly canines into the apples of your cheeks and biting. “A-all that- n’ all ya hafta say is “good”? D-don’t even deserve- this-” 

You’re garbling out between each punctuating pound, rivulets of saliva spilling from between your lips. “No- no no no- please inside. I wan’ it- want it all—”

You can’t see him through that clingy glaze of lust in your eyes, but he’s rolling his eyes. Huffing out a growling, “Then you better not ah- waste a single drop. Wan’ everyyyyy ah- leering loser to know who did this.”

You’re being absolutely flooded with the thickly vicious dumps of Toji’s cum - and he always had so much to give. Sweltering hot. Sloshing around voluminous dredges that splatter down your thighs, it’s like a sticky second skin. Lathering his thick fingers in a milky sheen when he’s bullying every leaking ounce back through your bloated pussy lips. Making an even bigger mess-

And the sight only makes Toji grin, “G’nna be a real white Christmas this year, huh? A real sweet one with you, me, Megs…n’ our daughter, heh.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Santa, tell me…

“Gonna take care of you, my love” Nanami’s rich, sugar-coated tone cracks at the very end. And you can only watch as his jostled prescription glasses fog up, as his stern lower lip trembles. Smearing a wet smooch over your glossy folds once more, “Suuuch g-good care of ya.”

And he was parched. It didn’t matter how many copiously innumerable times that he’d had you before, your husband was addicted to making out with your weepy cunt. 

Plumped lips illuminated by the cozy crackle of the fireplace in your bedroom. He’s wrapping them snugly around the buttony hood of your overstimulated clit to hollow his cheeks and suck. Boring that greedily half-lidded gaze right up at you with every full French kiss.  

Once. Twice. Thrice. 

Thick fingers fisting his angrily hard cock and squeezing out a few milky smudges of pre just from tasting his dear wife’s cunt. Nanami’s blocking that seething red divot right at the very end with one of his thumbs to keep himself from cumming-

God. 

He really was going to be the end of you. 

There’s such a clingy film of your sweet sweet pussy glaze glistening across the handsome lower half of his face. Slipping and sliding wet splotches down your wrist when you’re grabbing your husband by the scruff of his silvery blond locks and dragging him upwards. 

Gruffing out a pained keen- “Darlin’, your cute cunt i-isn’t ready yet-”

He was addicted - wanted more.

“I need you, Kento–” Your fingers dabble their way to trek and encircle the broad planes of his sculptured shoulders. Nanami was hot - burning. Condensing out fevered pants as he hung onto your every word. “S’okay if you’re a little…rough.”

And oh. Oh, you were sincerely wrong - you were going to be the death of him.

Because Nanami’s lazily sliding his strawberry pink tongue to lap at the honeyed glaze of your slick on his lips. A few fingers - including the one with that gorgeous golden wedding band of his - drag across your chin to pry out your lolling tongue and suck. Tasting yourself. 

“Always so impatient.” he’s tutting, always so careful. So concerned over you, especially since you’d had your two daughters. But Nanami Kento would never say no to his wife - never say no to you. Never has. Never will. “Rough, huh? Y-ya sure you can handle it? Don’t wanna…break you, honey.”

“Y-you won’t–” you’re huffing, trembly thighs enraptured around his soft waist. 

The years had done Nanami well, and you couldn’t kick off that comically red Santa coat and hat off of him fast enough - still on after surprising your young kids with it earlier today. You could only gape at the way his hard muscles had tenderized into a dad body that was so plump. So strong. So sexy. 

Squealing when his fattened pink head thwacks! right down the treacly middle of your sopping lips. Thumbing in a thick fingerpad until he’s fully and thoroughly inspecting your gooey hole, “Such a cute cunt, g’nna break her with my ah- cock, my love.”

And ah how he secretly loved whenever you’d whine those pretty pleas at him that way. Lips cutely pouted out until he chuckles with a dark, “Haaaah- arch that back a little more f’me, my wife.”

Calloused mountains of his palms massage your perfectly curvaceous spine to help your slobbery pussy swallow down every sopping swab of his globular tip at your gummy insides. Trickling out wet drizzles of intoxicating creamy pre at your doughy cervix.

Oh, this. 

This stretch had your mind filled with only cottony buzzing, maw slacking eagerly to beg out needily for more more more-

“Yeahh that’s it- F-fuuuck-” Nanami’s sweat-glistened skin wrinkles as he’s letting his head tumble backwards, glassy eyes sprinting to the very back of his lids. “Yeahh? You’re my b-big girl, right? Mhm- then take- it- like one-”

And shit, you did - you always did. And Nanami thinks he feels himself falling in love all over again. 

Planting a purposefully sappy little smack! right on the fleshy peek of your clit to make your knees weaken. It’s so unfairly attractive the way he’s shrugging off the rest of that costume Santa coat to leverage that lecherous little advantage and drag your jittery legs on top of his strong deltoids. “S’gonna m-make it easier. Trust me.”

So powerful. You’re being manhandled like a fucking doll - and treated just like one, too. 

Tawny happy trail massaging your oh-so-aqueously driveling slit, Nanami’s round tummy presses into you as he pins you hopelessly down, down, down into such a mean mating press. He’s pressing an innocent kiss to your ankles, pounding in a way so angular that it makes you halfway scream-

THUD!

“Shhhhh shh shh…hush a little, honey.” You’re blinking up through tear-clinged lashes at that attractive dimple cratering its way onto the very edge of your husband’s smile lines. Sweat-glossed forehead bumping sweetly into yours, “You’re gonna wake the ngh- girls up. And right now I…”

He’s trailing off - losing himself and his sanity into the way your mushy walls were swirling all around him. Every sploshing dab of his plumply swollen crownhead cuddling your bruised g-spot. Heavy, cum-filled balls stinging a permanent bruise against the curve of your ass, his massive arms around your legs.

But not just outside. No, Nanami was marking a thick circumference so deep into your spongy cervix - and even the recoil, even every singular bounce back of his rotund shaft away from your gluey depths had him hissing.  

“I- I need…” 

Fuck, the pure need and fatigue is radiating off of him in desperate waves. Contagious. Your only option is to lock your ankles more vice-like around his slightly overgrown undercut and take it when Nanami streams out a melty wad of spit right onto your tastebuds.

Ah, and then you’re swallowing. Letting him kiss away the translucent splatters of remnants near the corner of your mouth - and ah, Nanami’s so in love. 

He’s clasping one set of fingers to design unintelligible I love you’s on your plummy clit, the other intertwining with your left hand to leave a pretty peck right on your matching wedding ring. “-I need you…all to myself right now.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - A++

“Now now, let’s see…question four wrong-”

“Sugu-”

“-question five, only two marks-”

“Sugu–”

“-question six. Skipped.”

“Suguru.”

And oh, how much Professor Geto Suguru was having fun with this. 

With you - his favorite TA from the Biology 101 course - and your utterly messy thighs draped over one of his muscular ones, precarious fingers nimbling to clutch onto his pristine vest. Begging, pleading with every bat of your trembly lashes. 

You’re glomping his fleshy mounds of skin with your drooling cunt, laminating every bump and muscle with a dripping slide of velveteen slick after every lewd grind. “P-please….sir– jus’ wan’ your cock already.”

Needy. 

“How crude.” Geto’s pushing his reading glasses up his regal nose-bridge, pretty pink lips coming up into a snarl that only makes your teary cunt throb even harder. Your own exam papers being flicked onto his office desk in front of him, he’s twiddling his thumbs along the flimsy hem of your skirt. “And for those appalling answers, three more minutes.” 

Whining, “But-”

“Did I stutter?” Antique metallic wristwatch so bone-chillingly cold when he’s snugly wrapping his fingers around your tender throat. Tight. Softly bouncing his knee - and you with it, “Can’t even handle ridin’ my thigh - how are ya gonna handle my cock, gorgeous?”

And it might have been three minutes - it might have been hours - until Geto Suguru finally found a correct answer on your tough finals paper. Finally found something he was satisfied with enough to slam! you bent over onto the sleek mahogany of his desk and stuffed stupidly full-

“Tch- look at what a mess you made~” he’s sighing out, breathing hot promises down into your ear in a way that makes your glutinous walls cling like adhesive onto his angry, throbbing shaft to milk him even harder. “Slobberin’ all down my thighs- how are you gonna hah- make up for it, huh?”

“I don’t- I don’t know–” You can barely even think. Jumbling out messily slurring syllables of Geto’s name with every sodden pap! pap! pap! 

SMACK!

Geto’s long, merciless digits swat your gulping entrance with a mean smack. Brimming his soft fingertips over the raised imprints, he’s throating out, “What do you know, hm? Anythin’ else in that pretty head of yours other than hah- wearin’ the s-sluttiest skirts possible to my class?”

Oh. That makes you whirl your head up with a guilty whimper, “Wh-what do you- ah!”

He might be hold but Geto wasn’t the least bit nicer.  

Surprising you with yet another thwack of his hand on your ass, and a few more copious loads of glossy precum unloaded onto your doughy cervix. “Exactly what I said…” And he’s dragging you down with one roughened hand latched onto your neck, sullying your slobbery pussy with a fat drag down your g-spot. “Those fuckin’ skirts- so tiny and thin. Can see your fucking panties from my d-desk. Tell me- who are ya wearin’ those hah- for.”

Shit - his dewey eyes are dripping over to one right there tattered on the floor. 

Gasping, heaving, hunching over to pin your squirming body down hard onto the slippery platform.

Geto Suguru was so big. Pudgy abs skating down your back, slinking you into a trail of soft tufts of black-

“S’it for that ah- loser fuckin’ boy ya s-sit next to?” He’s spitting, tumbling out condensely from his lips. Mature eyes creasing as his gold-rimmed glasses slip. “Or for that flirty fuuuuck- group p-partner of yours…o-or…” And you can only gulp - you can only keen when he’s letharging his vicious hips just enough to keep pressing a hard probe into your mushy g-spot. Holding it still. “-for me, gorgeous?”

Who else would it be for? Professor Geto was the tattooed, unattainable eye-candy of the entire student and teacher population. Well…almost unattainable. 

And you make it known - you’re curving your back so malleably into Geto’s hold. Letting his sweat-soaked undershirt drag down your arched spine. Heartbeat pumping like a drumbeat in your ear with every sodden thwack! of his globular cockhead.

Jaw slacking pathetically open to whine, “Y-you—” Shit- how dangerous. Those cutely slutty noises of yours are such a threat that he’s pumping your mouthy orifice with a few ringed fingers, “O-only for you, sir.”

Yeah, real dangerous.

“Well then…” Geto’s forced to take a second - two - to gather his wits, his sheerly melty brain enough to grin a sleazy grin. “-how about I give ya l-little lesson, young lady.” Smack! Smack! Smack! into the goopy soft spots of your cunt. With his free hand, he’s swiping away the slightly grey-streaked locks of long inky hair. Serious. “About how a real man fucks.”

And he’s fucking you like he hated you - like he was trying to meld you into the littering exam documents on the desk that you’d so absolutely flubbed. 

“O-oh my god, Suguru—” Your tongue’s lolling out openly, pupils flying in criss-crossed little patterns even he’s hitting your poorly bruised g-spot again. And again. And again and- “Feels s-so good- m’not gonna last long.”

But ah your mistakes on the exam might have been…on purpose - but the way that you’re scrambling your trembly hands down to mindlessly smear your saturated pussy flaps further open - to try and greedily swallow up even more past his hefty hilt - was definitely not. 

“Ah ah- none of that.” Geto’s tutting, your hands being swatted away by one of his much larger ones. Staggering fingers plugging your bulging pussy lips with a slowly drawling line from the edge of his thumb. Pulling out - just for a sloppy split-second - to slap his fatly swollen head on your gloopy slit - before bullying your sappy entrance doubly full with both his pulpy length and his swirling digits. 

“Move that fuckin’ hand, gorgeous, n’ stop being hahh- shy around ol’ Professor Sugu, hm? If ya want more-” You can’t run away - you can’t even try when he’s hiking up one powerful thigh onto the desk to drag you into every squelching slam! Every rut - you’re reeled in. Deeper and deeper. Strong, dexterous fingers curving to press into your forbidden magic spots. “-then just heh- raise your hand n’ ask. Any questions?”

Glomping out a sweltering hot rope of precum when you actually do - hand trembling, piping up a small, desperate. “Can- can I have it…inside, sir?”

Oh, you’re being positively crushed by his broad planes of muscles. Hot. Feverish. Geto’s only pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, “F-for my hngh- valedictorian- of course.”

And when you’re crashing into your high, Geto’s holding you so tight. Riotous hips fucking you through each and every dizzying wave of your orgasm, making you see stars-

“Get ready, girl.” You can hear - but with the black tinging the edges of your vision, you can barely see. “Bet no other boy has f-fucked ya like this, huh?” At your delirious headshakes - shit, do you even realize what you’re doing right now? He was fucking you so dumb. “Gonna cum- gonna fill ya up so hard ‘ntil those wimps know to stay back from…my girl.”

Then you feel like you’re bursting, your elastic walls tugging tautly to their limits when Geto’s pumping out torrential heaps upon heaps of thick, creamy seed. Sloshing around your insides and icing your resinous depths in such murky ribbons of cum.

So much - too much that it’s spilling out from the very brim of your sopping slit. 

And Geto only hums at the branded little gashes of his fingers and his watch on your throat - before sinking in his sharp canines for good measure. 

Stepping away - carefully - to flip you over and smear your legs shamefully splayed out on the desk. Dripping. Slobbering. He kneels until he’s only inches away-

“Let me teach ya another mmpf- lesson, gorgeous.” And Geto could barely talk with how utterly ravenous he was, deeply gulping in the heavenly musk of your pretty pussy. Tongue slackening. Drooling. “A lesson in h-heh…squirting.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - “M-mommy?”

Fuck. 

Choso didn’t mean to let that slip out right now - in fact, he wouldn’t ever at all. 

Startling those pretty hazel eyes of his, he’s urgently blinking away the last remaining dredges of thorough pussydrunkenness. Sitting up from the sodden, velveteen sheets with your rawly glissading body on top of him in tow. 

Pretty coral red lips sagging and stumbling around blindly for words - and not just because your greedy hips were still caressing your melty inner walls with his furiously achy cock. “I-I’m hngh! sorry, baby, I didn’t-”

“Didn’t say I didn’t ah- like it, Cho–” you’re slithering your hands through his damply prespired scalp, and it makes Choso halfway purr. Leaning into your touch with a hiccuping few ruptures of his bawling cockhead into that sweetened spot. Chuckling, “If I’m ‘mommy’, then does that make you hah- my good boy?”

Oh.

Oh. 

And you didn’t expect this. 

Didn’t expect the way that Choso’s half-lidded eyes would glaze with a thin veil of delirium, letting those meanly-latched hands around your waist loosen for just a split-second to let your hips bounce back into his. Resonating out a proud smack! when the girthy curve of his pulpy mushroomy tip drills a fat, syrupy smooch against your cervix, “I- d-don’t-”

He can’t even finish his sentence - his string of thoughts.

Because Choso’s sculpted pecs heave once. Twice. Before he’s hiccuping out a strained mantra of your name, pouring out hot, creamy dredges of cum that slick your cushiony channel. Just from that singular word.

Clinging onto your gooey insides like adhesive - hot. Heavy. You can feel the weight of it sloshing vehemently inside you in viscous ribbons when you when Choso folds himself in half and bites down onto the precious nook of your neck. 

“Don’t s-say that.” he’s whimpering out, dragging his stupidly lolling tongue out in a lazy lick down the indenting bruise. Before lathering the very same tongue into your mouth in a sloppy kiss, “Makes me…nervous.”

And he was embarrassed - so, so embarrassed to be cumming early. 

But oh, the way those ivory rivulets paint creamy rings upon rings around his dark happy trail makes Choso’s mouth coat itself in pathetic drool.

“Awww, no need to be so ngh- shy, baby.” Your fingers tilt his droopy face up towards yours - and just one look into your eyes is enough to make Choso’s handsome cheekbones flush a bright cherub red. A few more treacly globs of seed glomping out and dripping their oozy way down your walls. Teasing, “If you ah- want I could call you daddy-”

“No-” his lower lip juts out in a pout, nose crinkling up oh-so-adorably. And you’re stuck pearing downwards in utter wonderment as his pretty plump lips encircle around one of your hardened nipples and sucks. Batting those long lashes innocently up at you, “B-but you could…make me a daddy.”

And was this really your dearly beloved boyfriend? 

Are you sure?

Because he was fucking his powerful hips up into you so nastily, throat cracking with a juggular ah! ah! ah! every time your sugar-coated squelching rang messily in his ears. Your hips were relentless - milking him so good that widely splashing tears were collecting in his eyes-

“D-didn’t think you wanted- ah!” Careening your cockdrunken head backwards when he’s sagging his dazed head on top of your chest, mouth lathering your poor nipples with a silvery coating of saliva. “-a b-baby, Cho—”

But, oh, he did. 

He always did - ever since the day he met you, and you’d been such a sweetheart to Yuji. That’s when he knew-

“R-really?” Your whispering voice was barely audible - yet, Choso knows he’ll always be able to pick out your voice anywhere. It’s snapping him out of his reverie, making him realize that he was talking out loud. Shit. 

“R-really.” Choso’s nodding - nodding and nodding so much harder with every plunging shovel of his inches down into your gooey cunt.  Hiccuping, “Always. Always w-wan’ed to breed my sweet girl’s hngh! nasty pussy.” With every punishing brand of his swabbing cockhead discovering open your cloggy insides. Sheathing himself with sticky peck after peck against the elastic door to your womb. He was so drunk now. “To have our own fuuuuck- babygirl. W-with your eyes n’ my hair a-and- and then a another girl and a boy and-”

God, it was a wonder that Choso was tumbling into his orgasm sooner with just how much he was talking himself insane.

Weighty, condensed pants of air strangling in his chest and suffocating him just as much as he was suffocating himself between your pretty tits. 

Moaning - whimpering with every spurt of thickened seed that shoots from his rotund, bawling divot and cobwebs way into the slushy bottom of your pussy. Choso’s swollen, upright curve made it so easy for him to paint every single nook and cranny with a glutinous luster of his cum. 

“O-oh– I made a mess, mommy-” It’s spilling out - frosting a slippery vanilla sheen down to the hefty, cylindrical base of Choso’s cock. Soiling the slender few digits that he’s rovering down to your soppingly wet slit, the steaming hot sap so sinful that it only makes Choso suck on your bruised and battered nipples harder. “Wh-why is nothing…”

Ah, he looks so sorrowfully disappointed. 

You can’t help but run your fingers through Choso’s sexily tangled bangs, accidentally tugging onto a clingy lock - making him cum. All over again.

Until he was running on mere fumes. Globular head swirling out nothing but a dry orgasm, you’re being spattered with wispy little pearls of his cum that help him slip and slide his still-hard shaft into you. 

Humming, “Hahhh- nothing is gonna c-come out yet, baby–” Snickering at Choso’s broken whine, “But you were such a good boy f’me today, y’know?”

He’s gasping eagerly, and that innocently fucked-out expression smeared all over Choso’s face was so lecherous. Practically bawling now - big spherical tears of his cascading when he sighs, “A good boy? Oh, s-so heh…maybe in nine months?”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - X(XX)-mas

“What a greedy little thing…” And if this was anyone else they’d have been scared speechless by the rumbling purr of something animalistic in the king’s baritone. They’d have been trembling - and you were, too, but for a much, much different reason. “Look at ya- g-gettin’ fucked stupid by only one cock n’ now you’re begging for ah- both?”

And it shouldn’t be a surprise to you that Ryomen Sukuna was strong - two of his staggeringly beefy arms wrapping around your waist to pick you up and manhandle you down from all fours and into a rude prone bone. “No one in a ah- thousand years has ever even thought of taking ‘em both.”

Though, you certainly wanted to. Which is why even after marriage and already having two sons with him - you were pleading for both. 

And, well, after a thousand years - Sukuna himself would start feeling curious, of course. Not that he’d ever admit it. 

“S-Sukuna-” you’re lolling your head up a mere few inches off the saliva-lathered royal pillows - as far as it could go in your half-drunken state right now. 

“S-S-Sukuna—” Groaning voice tilting oh-so-dramatically a few octaves higher - it only got so much sexier with age - he’s simply bursting into a bout of taunting snickers. “Fine fine. Honestly, fuckin’ filthy- aren’t ya? Dunno why m’so surprised after this is the pussy that made me a daddy…heh. C’mon, beg- beg n’ I might just ah…play nice.”

One of his ruddied cockheads plunges past your saturatedly smearing folds and thumps a fat collision into your poor g-spot. So hard that it has you scrambling blindly for the splintering headboard, whimpering at the heated weight of his other shaft resting down your arched spine. It dollops out a generous, warm helping of puddling precum down your arching spine. Waiting. Wanting. 

“M’begging–” you’re gritting your teeth, pout simpering up at him. Exactly the way he liked it. 

“Hmmm, can’t hear ya-” Sukuna rolls his devilishly red eyes, a third out of his four hands guiding the sappy divot of his second cock to cling a few ropey wads of pre down your already overfilled slit. Bulging. He’s cupping his ear with another to hear, “Louder, brat.”

“I want-”

SWAT!

Five thick fingers brand their cylindrical markings onto the fleshy mound of your ass, jolting you to spearhead your gummy cunt in feral little grinds. “Please! Kuna-”

And then the next few syllables spilling from your mouth are nothing but sounds of utter disappointment, hiccuping out from your thoroughly slack maw. Because Sukuna is taking his languid time slowing down, wrenching out a few syrupy slurps. 

“Easy there, silly girl.” Only for you to feel like you’re being split-apart. To feel like you’re about to explode- a hefty-handed palm smoothing over your gaping mouth, “Shhh, yer g’na wake the heh- kids up.”

You can’t even be mad - you can’t even snap back at Sukuna, because he was giving you everything you wanted. 

Bullying in the peached curve of his plump second cock with a sodden wet smack down your sloppy entrance. Pumping in inch by inch with every slight swivel of his shaft - and the stretch was absolute heaven. 

Being trapped down underneath Sukuna’s weight - you could choke from the sheer sinful heft of him and you loved it. Muscles upon padded muscles that were softened with the pudge that came with being such a doting dad. Even if he was still in denial about the doting. 

Your clingy walls swashing Sukuna’s swollen cocks in a viscous glaze of your sweet, sweet slick. Oozing and riveting down between his rigorous lengths - he was so massive. Tauting out your sung channel until you could feel his every lightning bolted vein down the side massage into your gooey walls. Every cranny, every unimaginable sweet spot being rubbed in a sultry back and forth back and forth back and-

Sukuna’s planting another teasing smack! on your ass with a breathless cackle. In disbelief. Rubbing over the slightly swollen imprint with his overgrown blackened nails, “Atta girl, jus’ a few inches more n’ ya ah- got it.”

A few inches that felt more like a lifetime. 

It’s almost never-ending how every new jackhammer into your slobbering cunt had Sukuna supplying centimeters upon centimeters more of his double lengths. The matching fleshy tips streaming out glutinous wads of pre splattered into your cervix every time you took him so well. 

So much.

And it was driving him mad. 

“Heh, not b-bad for a lil’ human-” Sukuna’s strangling out, a few stray fingers pushing back the pink locks plastering to his sweat-lacquered forehead. “After a thousand years- a-a thousand. This pussy really is made f’me, huh?”

God, the notorious king of curses thinks he might just faint right about now. 

Eyes wrinkling in pure bliss at the sodden feeling of your pretty pussy gulping him up, the bulging outline of his own cocks massaging against each other when rummaging your teary orifice.

And all he can think about is you.

You you you with your teeth biting adorably into the silky covers of the decadent royal pillows. Waterfalls of tears blubbering down either side of your cheeks that Sukuna can’t help but free his long tongue to lick in pure savor. 

You, with your hips jostling helplessly to and fro into the deafeningly stinging cadence of his strong hips. Years of weathered battle pressurized into fucking you like it was the first time Sukuna ever had. 

And in a way it was - you’d never been so spearheaded vigorously open before. Dual battering rams of his stacked shafts plunging into your cervix, your g-spot. Leaving behind branding little swipes of ropey precum. Sukuna can’t help but scour one engulfing hand down - manifesting his second tongue onto that particular palm and dragging down the teary sap drooling from your thoroughly full slit. 

You, all round and glowing-

“S-so…” And if you heard the way that Sukuna’s voice shatters into a zillion voicecracks towards the end then you can’t tease him for it. Because the pounds he plants are so punishing. Thorough. Clearing his throat to babble - yes, babble out, “How’d ya feel a-about ah- rulin’ over those scum curses with three heirs. Or maybe four heh…five…or-”

♡ GOJO SATORU - MISTLETOE!

Gojo Satoru would buy you anything and everything. 

That pretty designer dress you looked at? Bought and tailored to your exact measurements - at least, it was before ending up in mere tatters. It’s fine, he’ll buy you four new ones, anyway. That expensive hotel you got caught searching up? Already splayed out on the silken sheets of its most decadent suite, Gojo fucking you into that very mattress like he was daring you to make the neighbors file noise complaints. 

And that pretty diamond ring? Well. 

“So beautiful, s-sweetheart.” Gojo’s voice simpers off in a drawled-out chuckle. Drunken. Pearly white teeth baring in a messy clash of a kiss against your decorated left ring finger. “The ring’s not heh- half bad, either.”

Oh, you looked so pretty and his that Gojo’s fatly plumped-up tip can’t help but butter your puckered hole with a few creamy swipes of pre. Swirling around in a few messily thick circles before pumping you lecherously full once more. 

You didn’t even know how he still had the stamina-

“T-Toru—” your fingers embellish angry red marks down his arched back. Dragging his smoothly pale back muscles and leveraging his soft pudgy tummy over yours. “Harder. Hngh- need you in s-so deep.”

“Deeper? Deeper?” He’s breathing - hissing at the gummy cling of your tugging cunt. And Gojo’s brawny arms had only grown more powerful with age, wrangling your thrashing legs up onto his broad-planed shoulders and squeezing you bent into rubbery halves. “My nasty girl, wan’in so badly t-to ngh- lock me down, huh?”

But oh, Gojo Satoru sounded so utterly elated at the idea. 

Greedy. Yearning. 

Smooching a few pretty pecks at the exact depraved tempo of his sloppy snogs against your cervix.

You could feel his rippling muscles underneath his softened abs, feel the cushiony press of his plush pecs - only grown attractively bigger over the years. The positively slathered meady topping of Gojo’s precum inside you sloshing around torrentially with every pound.

“W-well you’re the one that already ngh- bought me a ring.” You’re huffing out, just as soon as your spellbound tongue can gather together enough coherent syllables. Gliding your fingers through the faint streaks of grey infiltrating his cloudy white, it makes Gojo throw his head back with a pure whine. 

“Don’ act like you ah- don’t like it, my girl.” And oh, the pure output of his cursed energy is just right enough that when Gojo smacks! two slender digits down on your clit it makes you sob. “See? This cute cunt s’always so honest with me…how cute.”

“S-such a filthy mouth.” Yet, you’re the one bucking your gyrating hips up more and more to make your saturated cunt speak out syrupy slurps in various high volumes. 

And Gojo knows - oh, how he knows. 

Because in a split-second, you’re being shut up. You’re having those very same roughened fingertips scour their way between your pouty lips and draw a few messy smears of your sweet, sweet juices down the back of your throat. Making you choke- “Hmmm, n’ yet- you still love this ah- ‘filthy mouth.’”

You’re just about to snap back something that’ll make the pussydrunken older man above you huff and puffy - that is, until your mouth is flooded with something of a gasp. 

Eyeing the pretty glittering mistletoe hanging off the mahogany headboard that was decidedly not present just a split-second ago. And you can only batter Gojo with a flash of your narrowed eyes, “Satoru…”

“Whaaat? I didn’t do hahah- anything.” 

Yet, you could see the way his eyes wrinkle with amusement and guilty bolts of blue lightning - his powers. Thrumming with every burling sludge against your needy cervix, every tiny mewl that you’re mindlessly letting off with the pulpy slaps of his cum-filled balls against your perked ass. And Gojo’s letting his practised reversed curse energy seep into you overtime when he’s bending down, down, down. Strawberry-pink lips puckering in sugar-coated delight. So amused. “B-but you know what they say…when under the mistletoe…”

And it wasn’t just one kiss - not even two. 

“Mistletoe-” he’s whispering, tugging on your spit-slicked lower lip. Then your tongue, “Mistletoe-” Back to stealing your cute lips, swallowing every sinful noise. “Mistletoe…” Along with a bouquet of more and more sweltering kisses curving his left-leaning shaft to maze its way against your puckered g-spot. “M-mistletoe….heh.”

Not until you’re feeling dizzy with the sodden swipe of Gojo’s pinkish tongue, smearing his candied taste as he claims your sweet mouth. Filthy. Not until then does he finally pull apart, smacking away the sticky ropes of spit - only to pry open your drooling maw and dribble a sultry rivulet of saliva.

You can’t do anything but swallow, peering right into Gojo’s matured sapphire gaze-

“H-holy shit…g’nna make me ah- cum early with that-” he’s hissing, snarling. So fucking mighty with each sledgehammering collision into your sensitive g-spot. “Fuckin’ dangerous ya are. M-makin’ even the strongest lose dammit-”

You’re nodding - babbling. “M’also- ah- also…”

“Nuh uh, use those ngh- big girl words if you’re p-playin’ in the big leagues, sweetheart—” Being blessed with another sudden sopping smack! Tinged with only more crackling jujutsu. “I believe in ya. Fuuuck- use that pretty mouth now.”

“M’also- not gonna last.” You’re shrieking out, legs clamoring to tighten with the vicious tempo of Gojo’s cadence. The heat pooling in a tight bubble at your stomach only grows twofold when you hiss, “C-cum inside, Satoru?”

And you sounded so adorable - so whimpery with big, bulbous tears molting at your eyes with every jackhammer. So gorgeous with your dribbling lips parted - on both ends. So very his. 

“Heheh- s’alright, sweetheart. S’alright-” he’s grunting into your open mouth, and you could almost taste the saccharine desperation wafting from him. The pure need. “Satoru here’s not gonna hah- miss.” Heavy hand patting the cylindrical outline embedded deep into your tummy, “I have a s-safe spot alllll safe n’ sound here.”

And the last thing you see are those sexy, faint smile lines of his beaming down at you before you cum.

Sparking out pure heavenly white behind your eyelids when you’re crashing into your orgasm so hard that Gojo’s pinning you down with all his bodily weight to drill you through your high. To make you take it.

“W-watch out, my girl-” your cottony ears pick up over that blissful buzz echoing across your empty head. And Gojo’s rams grow sloppy. Oversaturated. “S’gonna be…hngh- a bit of a stretch.”

“A bit” was way underestimating it, almost sinfully so. 

Because if you thought that your springy walls were already alcoved to its maximum while all solid inches of Gojo’s cock was being driven into you - then you weren’t ready for the inflationary stretch of his cum.

Thick, spacey wads of his gooey cum that dribbles down your walls. They’re so hot and weighty, sinking your hips up and down, splattering steamy splotches down your inner thighs. 

And Gojo’s clasping your jittery ankles behind his fashionable undercut with only one of his hands, holding you trapped so that he can flood invasive wiry ribbons of seed. Have you filled to the brim and dazed-

“Ohhh, I love you- L-look how much.” he’s straining out - veering into the dangerous territory of giggling humorlessly. And you already know it doesn’t bode well for you when Gojo’s landing a massive palm down on top of your pretty lower tummy to push. Making such a mess - but you can’t act like you don’t like the heavenly sight of him spilling out of you.

“So like…h-heh. Wanna make me an actual DILF, sweetheart?”

A/N. Need a DILF to take care of me- I mean WHAT.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[unriding]

very messy word dump below the cut + in tags :^) heh

okay it’s officially been a full day since reading this and i’m going to write down everything i remember feeling from day 1! and then in the tags im going to reread this (for the third time within 24 hours) and add thoughts that i didn’t put down here. SORRY FOR THE MESS & NO PRESSURE TO READ ALL THIS SJKDMF IT IS JUST A LOT OF WORD VOMIT BC IM INSANE OVER THIS FIC

okay i should start from the beginning. Wait I’ll use caps so it’s easier to read if you’re reading it bahahhaa OKAY. The way you write alpha / omega!!! It’s different from what I’m used to reading— and I mean it has a lot of a depth. The way you wrote reader being an alpha = being so protective over Aventurine fucked me up so bad /pos. Reader just wants him safe and they’re so real for that.

Going off on that, I LOVE HOW U WROTE THE READER. Understands Aventurine so well. Will literally do anything to keep him safe. Understands what sets him off and what he’s comfortable with. The part where Aventurine was talking about the next mission & reader seeing right through him ): are you serious /pos. WAIT I SKIPPED TOO FAR AHEAD. When Aventurine was trying to get reader to join the IPC? Dead. Evie DEAD. Reader saw right through him omg. Being able to notice the little changes in his scent, the way he tries to mask it etc etc. I love that so bad.

WHEN READER FOUND HIM IN HEAT FUUUCK. ARE YOU SERIOUS /pos. Fighting the urge to help him vs waiting to just make it better because reader has the power to ): I loved that so much. The struggle was so real. Literally bringing a doctor just to hear that he needs an alpha to help anyways omg. Lowkey when the doctor said that I was like PLEASE LET US HELP YOU PLEASEEEEEEE. But also. I didn’t want him to be scared either you know ):

I skipped over another scene sighs. THE part where reader said ‘I like your eyes because they’re yours” and then the end. Him saying he likes our scent because it’s ours. Are you serious /pos. Be so serious /pos.

Okay the scent gland scenes actually fucked me up so bad (I unfortunately did not dream about anything but maybe that is for the best because I’m still recovering from this scene). The part where he asks for just the wrist. Reader struggling when they FEEL HIS TEETH GRAZE THE WRIST IM GONNA EXPLODE OMFG. The immediate pulling away because we don’t want to scare him please. + the scent gland scene at the end. HE DIDN’T FEEL LIKE HE HAD TO BE ON TOP. We could lay side by side ): I was so happy that he was okay with that omg. Literally all giddy like aaaaa!!!!!! IM NOT A THREAT!! Actually that’s a lie I wasn’t giddy. I was literally in tears jejdkckckckk Aventurine 😭😭 ughhhhhhh /pos

I won’t comment on the actual scene (I am commenting on it right now actually) because I was literally so sad and my heart hurt so badly for him. I wanted him to see himself from our POV for just one moment so he can understand that we genuinely love him and treasure him & want to keep him safe. ):

ABOUT YOUR WRITING ITSELF : insanity. I will just say insanity. How should I put it in words….. just thinking about this fic again is taking all the words out of my mouth shejdjfjj (I say this as I type a 27738 page essay about it). I love how you write. I really do. Your writing style is so beautiful. I haven’t read the other tags under your fic but I’m sure many others have said the same thing!!! They word it better than me I’m sure bsjsjsjsjsk

I just love everything about it. How you add in little details (oh! Speaking of details— Aventurine’s reaction to reader cozying up to her husband in the other fic) HEJDJJDJDJ omg. But in this fic, the little signs of him being scared. Scared 24/7 actually ): I love how you conveyed his fear so much. And the way he tries so hard to hide it. HIM CRUMBLING DOWN TO HIS RAW SELF WHEN HES IN HEAT. AND THE FEAR THERE TOO. INSANE.

^^ How you wrote him so adamant about not needing help at first …. To him asking for the scent gland ….. to him agreeing to use reader. It was all so real. He didn’t just change his mind like oh okay! It took him a while to be okay with it and I love how real it all felt. You write dialogue & little details so well— it actually drives me nuts (/compliment /pos)

Oh this just reminded me. Your description of how Aventurine smells killed me /pos. And how you describe his scent as sweet. I’m really not okay /pos. It fits him so well. And … for reader…. the scent after rain ? Oh my god ???? I love that smell so much. It’s so comforting…. OMG. COMFORTING????????? BECAUSE. Oh wow. I’m really not okay now. I JUST LOVE ALL THE DETAILS LIKE THAT )))): it’s so clear you put so much thought into all these things because your fic has so much depth. I lowkey yanked out Notibility for your other Aventurine fic to highlight the parts I wanted to comment on ehdjdkkck I was annotating it like a book (I’m so sorry if this is creepy I promise I don’t do this on a regular basis. I don’t annotate fics normally. Actually please disregard this because I’m a bit red admitting this) (I just have the memory of a goldfish and can only remember feelings and not actual content) (That’s a lie because here I am remembering a lot of this fic MOST LIKELY BECAUSE I READ IT WITH MY EYES AN INCH FROM THE SCREEN PROBABLY I WAS LIKE O_O) /pos

NIGHT FLOWER: part i

Your place in the world was one of a tool. This was true of every slave: you were all things to be used. Kakavasha understood this about you, and he understood this about himself. It was how he survived all those years ago, and it’s how he survives now. And so, when Aventurine goes into his first heat in years and decides to suffer it alone, you can only think of one way to get him to accept your help: You offer to let him use you.

written for @/lorelune's spring fever collab & @ficsforgaza

13.5k words of omegaverse, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, angst with an eventual happy ending. gn alpha reader + omega aventurine (they each have both amab and afab genitalia). explicit piv sex, reader bottoms, the sex is consensual but emotionally complicated and deeply sad. cw slavery, racism, gendered violence, including very brief and non-graphic (but direct) references to sexual abuse during slavery. the sa and slavery are not eroticized. dead dove do not eat, mdni.

thank you to @acerathia, @minnaci, @owlespresso for all your help with beta reading and to @kosmiccarma for brainstorming omega aventurine hcs!

“I’ve alw███ l█ved ███, Ka██v█s███”

You knew it from the moment you met him.

Gaunt, pallid, weighed down by heavy chains. Irises that glowed like the auroras back in your world. Delicate features that made every passerby in the market stop to read the description on the placard. (Sigonian, it said, although you couldn’t read at the time. Avgin. Male. Omega. Sixteen years old. Sixty Tanba, no tax.) He had an all-consuming scent that was impossible to ignore—one that possessed you, made your heels dig into the dirt, every atom in your body resisting the impatient jerk of the chains at your wrist. Even through your muzzle, through the perpetual stench of carbon-steel and blood, you could smell it: honey and wildflowers. A fragrance that settled deep within you, flooded you with a warmth that felt like home.

Aventurine is not a spiritual person. He once told you this, his smile cold in the glow of an artificial moon. He'd been deeply religious as a child, but hasn’t since cared for fairy tales about fortune and fate, three-eyed goddesses or merciful rainfalls. Hasn't thought about anything like a destined love. He thinks the idea of a true mate is laughable, that no such bond could ever be forged between an omega and an alpha. That nothing so unconditional could ever exist.

You know differently, of course. You've known it from the moment you met him, from the second you laid eyes on him and thought, I need to help you, and I need to protect you, and I need you to be safe, and you’d never once heard the word ‘love’ in your life—slaves are never loved by their masters, after all, and you'd always been nothing but a slave—but every atom of your being knew that you loved him, that you'd always love him.

And when your master cradled your face that night and crooned that he owned you, that you'd always be his obedient, alpha pet—for the first time in your life, you knew that he was wrong.

You didn't belong to your slaver.

You belonged to him.

To Kakavasha.

These days, Aventurine does not smell like honey, and your jaw is not restrained.

Your muzzle was one of the first things that Aventurine threw away when he bought your freedom. According to the Amber Era system, it had been several months since the murder of your shared master. Ninety-five Star Calendar days after the Interastral Peace Corps had arrested Kakavasha. An entire rotation around the black hole at the centre of your wretched galaxy, all of which had been spent in the captivity of some new mistress. She picked you out because she liked your calming scent and the look of your face, but mostly she used you for the fighting pits just like your old master.

Aventurine had been sitting in the audience of your final match, then bought you out right after you won. “I’m in need of a fighter,” he’d said, smiling in his thick furs and jewels. He played the part of a slavemaster perfectly, his gloved hands wandering the span of your aching shoulders, touching the bloodied maw of your mask. “And I’d be willing to pay top credit for yours.”

She protested. You were her most prized possession, one of her greatest investments. Slaves from your planet were hard enough to come by—alphas capable of reproduction, nearly impossible. And you were so well-behaved, so poised, so endearing in a way that was rare for alphas. She was fond of you. Her omega slaves were fond of you too. They would be distraught if you left, and that would complicate her household affairs—and surely Aventurine, as a respectable owner of human capital like herself, could understand how inconvenient that would be?

Aventurine bared his teeth in a gracious smile. (You’d never seen Kakavasha make such an expression before—so disarming, so cunning, a crescent moon beneath snake eyes. He’d never smelt like this either, like an expensive cologne layered with bleach, and it left you feeling nauseous, wondering if he was ill.) He flirted his way into her good graces, made her an offer she couldn’t refuse, and then he brought you into the first-class ship on which he’d arrived. You were so stunned by its luxury—the handwoven carpets, the crushed velvet seats, the imported tea from several galaxies away and the custom-ordered outfit he had bought for you—that you nearly missed the tremble in his hands as he punched numbers into the remote control lock for your chains.

He had regained his composure by the time he pulled away your muzzle, though. He threw it carelessly to the ground—your titanium chains, too. Then kicked both away with his shined leather shoes.

“There,” Aventurine said, smiling cheerfully. “Much better, don’t you think?”

“Vasha—” you started, voice thick with wasted grief, and all you wanted to was reach for him, to double check that he was real, but he placed a finger to your lips and stopped you. You stiffened at the satin touch, but he seemed unbothered.

“‘Aventurine’,” he corrected.

You stared blankly. “What?”

“‘Aventurine’. Like the gemstone. That’s my name now.”

“You—” Your voice caught in your throat. You realized that you’d been holding your breath. You always had the habit of holding your breath in the luxurious, private rooms of very rich men, because you never liked what happened in them. Forcing yourself to breathe, you asked, “You gave yourself a new name?”

“No. The IPC gave me a new name. They gave me a job, too.”

“A job?” you asked, voice faint. Now that you were breathing again, you were noticing once more just how bizarre he smelled. Sterile and expensive and completely foreign. “You’re free now?”

“Well, I’m a freedman, but I don’t know if I’d call myself free. I’m a bit… indebted to the IPC, let’s say. But that’s fine. I can’t complain. I mean—look around. This beats the fighting pits, doesn’t it?” He gestured lazily at your surroundings, and you nodded.

“It’s nice here,” you replied, feeling absurd but not knowing what else to say. Once Kakavasha got talking, it was impossible to get a word in edgewise.

“You like it here? Good. This room’s yours. Mine is the next one over. You’ll live and work here, with me. I’ll make sure you’re paid well. Full benefits, vacation, salary, and overtime. The standard pay for your role is seventy-thousand credits per month, but I’ll see if I can get you more. HR is pretty strict about their hiring policies, but—”

“You’re hiring me?”

Aventurine went very still, his smile tightly controlled. His eyes remained fixed on you, but they seemed less snake-like, now. They looked more familiar. More afraid.

“I’m offering, yes,” he said neatly. “You’ll be part of my personal security detail. I don’t have the contract for you to review yet, unfortunately. I didn’t arrange one ahead of time because, well”—he laughed, as if this were polite conversation and he were making a joke about the weather—“I didn’t know if I’d find you alive. But things worked out in my favour. They always work out in my favour. I’ll make sure they’ll work out in your favour too, so long as you’re with me. So you’ll consider it, won’t you? Staying with—working for me, I mean.”

Your eyes went soft. Beneath the artificial fragrance, you finally caught a hint of his familiar scent—more wildflower than honey at that moment, the way it always is when he’s scared.

“Kakavasha—”

“Name your price,” he said loudly, “and I’ll match it.”

You sighed. “Vasha,” you said more gently, and his shoulders relaxed at the subvocal shift in your timbre, at the famed alpha Voice that necessitated your muzzle, “I don’t care about the money. Of course I’ll stay here. But—what happened? Why did you kill him yourself? Why didn't you let me do it? That was the plan. It was always supposed to be me.”

It was my job, you thought then, just as you had thought to yourself every night, curled up in your bed and trying to recall the scent of fresh honey, to keep you safe.

He shrugged and said, “It would have been too risky to involve you.”

“You were caught and sentenced to death. The risk was already too high.”

“But the stakes weren’t,” he replied simply, and before you could ask what he meant by that, he continued, “and it worked out, didn’t it? I work for the IPC. You work for me. We’re freedmen now. Whatever I've lost, it doesn't matter. Our gains far outweigh it.”

“And what have you lost, Vasha?”

He smiled at you, charming and distracting. A crescent moon beneath snake eyes. “Nothing of value,” he reassured you, and even though you could feel the calm of an omega’s voice washing over you, even though it released all the tension in your body, all you could smell was cologne and wildflowers, and you knew that he was lying.

Vasha once told you, curled up and quiet on the basement floor, that he despised his eyes. They were supposed to be a sign of blessing from Gaiathra Triclops, but they'd never brought him anything but trouble. They were the first thing that the slavers always noticed about him, the feature that made him such an alluring commodity. Their aurora glow, their strange beauty, their promise of a rare opportunity: a chance at owning a specimen of an exotic, endangered species, possibly the last of its kind. These are all things that you've heard in the parlour of your master’s house as he entertained rich company, the crowd of them gawking at his human curios.

Avgin are said to make the most beautiful slaves, he'd often say. And Avgin omegas are said to be the most beautiful among them. What do you all think? They'd all hum, peering closely at Kakavasha’s features, and inevitably someone would joke, I think I'd like to borrow him sometime, and then they would all laugh while your pulse ticked up and you imagined tearing at their throats. Vasha would search for your gaze in these moments, giving you a long, pointed look: Don't do anything stupid.

He’d always been so blasé about it, the way people fixated on his Avgin blood. You'll never understand how. He didn't react to any of the comments, the groping, the innuendos. He was, however, distinctly unimpressed at the way that your master liked to play him up as a rare and expensive acquisition, as a sign of his own status. It's embarrassing to watch, Kakavasha had remarked. Everyone knows that Sigonian slaves are uncommon but cheap—people always think we’ll bring them more trouble than our worth. This was how Kakavasha had ended up in the market in the first place: because his last master had been robbed, and he'd been wrongly blamed for it.

The blame, to this day, has never stopped. People—powerful people, politicians, businessmen, socialites—look at Aventurine’s eyes and immediately reach for their pockets. You've seen it for yourself, these spineless despots and scammers feeling for their wallets. Sigonian, you know they're thinking. Liar, cheat, thief, whore, worthless, worthless, worthless. Your hands tighten around your blade each time, a loaded gun with a finger on the trigger.

Alphas are said to be violent by nature. Aventurine has often called you the one exception to this rule: the most docile, good-hearted alpha he's ever met. But this is a lie. You do have a predator instinct, and it comes out in full-force whenever you’re around these particular types of men. These types who notice Aventurine’s eyes and see a thief; these monsters who see his irises and imagine what it would be like to bed him. You’d kill them if you could. It would be so easy, especially now that you are an IPC dog. The Company is already such a violent force; what would be one more murder?

But Aventurine has never ordered you to punish anyone. (Don't do anything stupid, he always tells you with a glance, smiling through every humiliation.) Nor has he ever seemed bothered enough by these meetings to try concealing his heritage.

A fellow Asset Liquidation Specialist once asked why he didn't just hide his eye colour—it would likely be better for fostering relationships, negotiating deals—but Aventurine had shrugged it off. I'm a gambler working with the IPC, he'd said. Do you really think a pair of coloured contacts would make anyone trust me? He'd laughed, and his voice had carried a threatening edge, and his coworker had shifted visibly at it. Being an Avgin is the least threatening thing about me, wouldn't you say?

You think that Aventurine likes being seen as a threat. Sometimes you wonder if this is why he doesn't mind wearing his eyes so much, but abhors keeping his scent. He washes his clothes until they're free of his disarming sweetness and then masks himself with an unsettling blend of ambergris, jasmine, and wood. And he is on suppressants all the time—hasn’t had a single heat since the day he killed his master. Hasn't smelled like himself, either.

At the end of the day, it’s manageable being an Avgin in this business, he often comments, spraying half a bottle of masking cologne on himself, but you can't be an Avgin and an omega. Wouldn’t you agree?

You'd know better than me, you reply, noncommittally—and truthfully.

But you're an alpha, he observes. Don't you have an opinion?

You don't pay me to have opinions, you always remind him, stone-faced. You pay me to stand here and look scary. And Aventurine always laughs at this, and he always wires you money and calls it a bonus as he pesters you for an answer, and he always gets distracted and starts scrolling through all his shopping wishlists instead. I saw this thing the other day and thought of you. And this too. Would you like either of them? Would you like them both? I’m a very generous manager, you know. I'll buy you anything you like.

But even though he always gets distracted, Aventurine never forgets. Sooner or later, he inevitably circles back to these questions—these anxieties about his scent, about his eyes, about his blood. He never cares for anyone else’s opinions, but he's always been curious about yours. Even when he was Vasha, he wanted to know what you thought.

He’d been sixteen years old and delirious with heat the first time he asked you, face wrinkling with pain as he spilled his thoughts. It was so incoherent, so sad, you thought it must have been about a fever dream. Mama Fenge, he kept saying. Mama Fenge blessed me, She blessed me, I'm blessed, it rained when I was born—did you know that? My luck, I was lucky. The Katicans, they never caught me. They got everyone else, but not me. I was blessed by Her. I'm going to save my people. I will. I'll save my sister. My eyes are proof. My mistress liked them. Said they're beautiful. Worth sixty whole coppers. A blessing. He pulled you close, pressed his scalding face to your scent gland, and his whole body shuddered with relief. This was the first and only time he'd allowed you to hold him, and it was only out of desperation, out of his mind. Do you like them, alpha? Do you like my eyes? Why? Is it because they're beautiful? Because they're from Gaiathra?

“I like them because they're yours,” you'd replied, and Kakavasha had laughed deliriously.

This is when he told you he hated them: I'd close them forever, if I could.

When you were younger—dumber—you had a habit of squirrelling away every spare coin you came across. You collected them in a little purse that one of the omega slaves had sewn for you—a thank-you for always keeping the other alphas away from her—and you hid it underneath a loose floorboard. By the time that Kakavasha was arrested, you'd saved up twenty-nine Tanba. You’d wanted enough to buy Kakavasha’s freedom and then to set him up for a comfortable life.

It had been a stupid plan. An embarrassing one. If you ever confessed it to Aventurine, he'd laugh at you. Slaves can't buy other slaves, he'd say. Leave the schemes to me next time. You’re too good-hearted for it.

You’d already known that, of course. You knew that you didn't have the status to buy him or mate him or even just provide for him, but you wanted to. God, did you want to—you spent every waking moment thinking about it, every sleeping moment dreaming of it. It wasn't even that you desired him, though he was beautiful and fragrant and more delicate than anything that had ever touched you in your life, which was only your master’s hands and your muzzle and your chains. Aventurine would feel so soft in comparison, you’d always figured. It made your heart ache, thinking about getting to hold something so lovely.

But really—that desire came second. What came first was how mated omegas feel safe around their alphas, and you so desperately wanted him to be safe. Kakavasha had looked so frail, so grim, as your master took his chains and led him home from the market, and you could smell the fear coming off him in waves. And you could do nothing to stop it. You had nothing you could use to stop it—nothing other than your hands that could kill for him and your pheromones that could soothe him and your useless heart that wanted to collect sixty Tanba for him. That was all you had.

So you failed in the end. Of course you did. You didn't have the status to buy him or mate him or even just provide for him. You couldn't even do for him the one thing you could have done—which was to kill. And Kakavasha suffered for your incompetence. He had to dirty his hands with blood and gamble his way into wealth and then suddenly he was freeing you, not the other way around.

And now you are comfortable. You'll lead an easy life from now, Aventurine reassured you when he brought you onto his ship all those years ago, and he's kept that promise. What about you? you'd asked him then. Will you lead an easy life with me, if you're working for the IPC? And he had smiled and lied to you: Yes.

It had been a painfully obvious lie. If you were a smarter person, you'd have never believed it in the first place. Aventurine has no interest in leading an easy life, because an easy life would be less profitable, and less profit would mean less safety. And he is always, always worried about being unsafe. It is indiscernible to everyone but you—an alpha (his alpha, always his, even if he doesn't want you) who has watched over him for so long that you can detect every shift in his scent. No matter how much cologne he drowns himself in and no matter how strong his suppressants are, you know when he is afraid.

And here is the bitter truth, the ultimate proof of your shortcomings:

Aventurine is always afraid.

It is a beautiful day on Agnisahr, and you can tell that Aventurine is about to throw up from worry.

You're sitting in the middle of stunning wealth—Aventurine in his feathers and jewellery, you in your tailored jacket—in a lobby made from marble and pale sandstone, with a view of palm trees and rolling, scarlet sand dunes beyond the window. The waitstaff addresses him as Honoured Guest and they keep his crystal chalice filled constantly with water—one of the most expensive commodities on the planet. Aventurine has been drinking from it religiously, which is strange as he typically has the habit of forgetting to hydrate. A faint wildflower scent is drifting from his slender form. These are the only giveaway to his mood: he's otherwise as pokerfaced as ever, smiling calmly as he discusses his plans to sabotage the local government and acquire the planet for the IPC.

“This is a very dangerous mission,” you state flatly.

“All my missions are dangerous.” He takes a sip, one pinky up. “The IPC pays me well for a reason. As they say—”

“‘High risk, high reward.’ I know.” You try not to sound bitter, though you allow yourself to sound tired. “I still do not think the risk is worth the reward in this case.”

“I think over 5.6 million in credits is a great reward, actually. We could do a lot with that kind of money.”

You raise a brow. “What could an extra 5.6 million get you that you can't already buy?” It is—as Topaz would say—‘chump change’ in comparison to his current wealth, which sums to a number so vast that you can't wrap your head around it.

Aventurine pretends to miss the point. “Tons! We could buy a new spacecraft. Get another mansion. Or—we could take a vacation to Penacony. I hear it's quite nice there.” A playful smile. “I could get us a penthouse unit. With a featherbed.”

You frown. Sometimes Aventurine likes to flirt when you're being stubborn—not out of interest, but as a ploy to distract you. He’d developed the habit after he joined the IPC. It used to fluster you, but now it only makes you cross your arms.

“You could die,” you point out.

“You'll protect me.”

“No, I won't. You always find a way to get rid of me when things are most dangerous.” You give him an accusatory stare. “You never let me do my job.”

He's too shameless to deny it. “And it's worked out fine, hasn't it? I haven't died so far.”

“Yes. Just by dumb luck.”

“I beg to differ. My luck is quite reliable.” He sets down his glass. Glances back outside. A microexpression, brows knotting for the briefest second as he studies the sky. “I'm not worried.”

“You're a shit liar.”

That gets him to look at you, letting a small frown pass over his face. “No, I'm actually a great liar. You're just too good at reading me. It's very inconvenient, you know.”

“I can't help it.” You lean toward him, making a show of it as you sniff. An orchid-like scent—faint but unmistakable—has seeped into artificial ambergris and wood. “It's hard to ignore.”

He hums. He isn't frowning anymore—but doesn't look happy, either. “I should change suppressants.” He taps the side of his empty glass, fidgeting. Aventurine never fidgets: it's an amateur giveaway. “These ones clearly don't work well enough.”

“That won't help. I know you too well.” Your eyes soften. He's looking outside again, the blues of his irises distant. “You're worried, Aventurine. More than usual. Let’s back out of this—let Jade handle it.”

“The mission isn't what's bothering me,” he says patiently. “I just don't like this planet.”

“Because you can tell it's dangerous.”

“No. Well—it is, but nothing I can't handle.” He leans back. “I just dislike the weather here.”

You arch a brow. “...the weather?”

“Yes,” he says neatly, “it's too dry here. I'll break out.”

You open your mouth. Close it. It is possibly the most absurd thing you've ever heard, and certainly the worst lie that's ever come from him. For as long as you've known him, Aventurine has had flawless skin, marble-smooth, and ever since being freed, he’s never really cared much for looking handsome so much as looking rich. But he maintains his serious expression: all-in on the farce. “Did you know that outside the capital, this planet hasn't had any natural rain in a quarter of an Amber Era? And the stellar winds are terrible. I don't know how people live on a planet like this.” His eyes narrow at the cloudless sky. “The IPC is going to need to do a lot of terraforming if they want to make this into a merchant hub.”

“Aventurine.”

“It'll be a pain crossing the desert—the elements will ruin my clothes, you know,” he continues. “It won't be so bad while we're on the ships, but we’ve got to go outside from time to time. Can't make any friends otherwise.”

“Aventurine.”

“And there's nothing to do for fun when we’re not working.” He sighs dramatically. “I can't wait to get our 5.6 billion and leave for someplace else. I'm being serious about Penacony, by the way—”

“Aventurine.”

“—though not about the featherbed. I'll get you your own room, obviously. And I'll buy whatever dream experience you’d like. What kind would you want?”

Finally allowed a chance to speak, you say, “One where you retire.”

“Retire? Why would I ever do that?”

“I don't know. Maybe you decide you've made enough money.”

“No such thing.”

“Then you can settle down with someone.”

That makes him smile. It feels mocking. “Me? Settling down? With who?”

“Who knows. Someone who will treat you better than the IPC, I hope.”

“Anyone that nice would run in the other direction. But never mind me. This would be your dream experience. What happens to you in it?”

“I stop chasing after you and get to live out the rest of my days in peace,” you say dryly, and Aventurine blinks. “Please stop deflecting. The IPC gave you a suicide mission. We will both die if we stay here.”

He looks serious now. “I wouldn't let you die.”

“You can't know that.”

“Well, I do. And I've got decent chances at surviving too—at least one in ten.”

You feel like sighing—a deep, aggravated noise is heavy in your throat—but Aventurine doesn't enjoy it when you show anger around him. It's the one omega instinct that he can't ignore, you suppose: unease around an aggressive alpha. Voice tightly controlled, you say, “You’re going to bet your life on one in ten?”

  “Sure. My chances were worse on the last planet, and things worked out great. It'll be the same on Agnisahr.” Aventurine raises a hand, calls for the bill. The conversation is over. You lean back in your seat, watching sourly as he pays tens of thousands of credits just for water.

“You know, they say the royal family is backed by an Aeon,” you can't help but point out, once the waiter is gone. A last-ditch effort. Aventurine smiles at it, amused. Like you're a child.

“So what?” He glances outside, at the desolate landscape beyond the oasis—nothing but red sand, a blue, rainless sky, and two radiant suns shining above it all. “The protection of a god is nothing compared to the schemes of human beings. And gods abandon their people all the time, anyway.”

During your tenth day on Agnisahr, you realise that something is deeply wrong.

It takes you some time to understand what’s happening. At first you think that whatever political danger you’ve intuited is much worse than you thought, and that’s why Aventurine has been so pale, so discomforted, so exhausted. Then his scent starts changing—he switches clothes two, three times a day (because of all this heat during Agnisahran days, he tells his new business associates) and spritzes his nape with his cologne almost religiously—and you wonder if he is sick with something. If the food in this planet has something that disagrees with his Sigonian biology, or if he has picked up one of the local filoviruses, or if someone’s poisoned one of his meals because they’ve correctly identified him as a threat. Aventurine dismisses every single one of these theories when you bring it up, and—as if in denial—only attributes it to the weather. (I’ve never done well in deserts, he tells you, his eyes on his phone screen. I'm not used to them. It is above 300 Kelvin, and you do not see a single bead of sweat on his neck, and his cheeks are not even a little flushed.)

You only figure it out when he is too ill to get out of bed one morning and forbids all the IPC staff from coming near his hotel room. It sets off alarms immediately—Aventurine, no matter how sick, will work and see through meetings as long as he is mentally capable of it—and so you naturally ignore his orders and check on him, using the spare key to his sleeping quarters that you're given as a policy. And as soon as the door cracks open—as soon as you step inside only to be hit with a violent, cloying sweetness—you realise what’s happening and slam the door shut behind you.

“You’re in heat,” you blurt out, and Aventurine—a shivering, panting mess on the bed—groans in response.

“Why are you here?” He turns toward you, still lucid enough to glare at you through the tangled mess of his hair. His voice is weak, but no less self-possessed: “I was very clear—no company today.”

“I am your personal bodyguard,” you remind him mildly. Your voice is calm—both non-threatening and non-condescending. “Those orders don’t apply to me. If things feel suspicious, I look into it. And they felt very suspicious.” Your brow knits as you study his clothes. Mulberry silk clings to his form, soaked through with sweat. Thin, eucalyptus sheets are tangled up around him. There are only two pillows. No water bottles. No knotting toys.

Nothing.

“You didn't know you'd be in heat,” you realise. “What happened to your suppressants?”

“I don't know.” There’s a quiet, frustrated edge to his voice. Vulnerable too. It makes you think of when you were both still slaves, and Aventurine was confined to the basement of the manor—the one that all omega slaves were made to ride out their heats in. Either they would do it alone or were ordered to spend it with some alpha, usually either a friend of the master or an alpha slave he wished to reward. That's when they're most pliable, he'd tell his guests, or sometimes even you. They get so desperate they'll present themselves to anyone. Then amused laughter from the other party—How obscene!—as you looked away, blood hammering in your ears.

You had been your master’s favourite. His most obedient, most profitable pet—striking enough for his guests to admire, deadly enough for his audiences to bet on, docile enough for him to enjoy. Good enough for him to reward, and he often rewarded you with his most beautiful slave: his Avgin omega. Just don't mark him, he’d said, fastening the muzzle around your mouth. It'll ruin his market value. Who knows if someday he'd sell Kakavasha off to some alpha master who wished to claim him, he said. Though I don't think there's anyone in this star system who'd want a Sigonian for a mate, let alone a Sigonian slave. Then he’d paused, eyes scanning over you. As if contemplating. But maybe they'd try to get Avgin whelps out of him, he added, and you felt like throwing up.

You'd never mate him in those moments, your muzzle always prevented you from saying. You didn't even want to think about touching him, and he didn't want to think about it either. Even in the cruel grip of his heats, with nothing but the thin mat beneath him and his slave’s rags around him, Kakavasha hadn't wanted any kind of contact from you, rejecting any chance of solace. Don't, don't—not again, not again, he'd begged. Then as the nights marched on and his mind grew hazier, he’d start whimpering too: It hurts, alpha. It hurts. Help me. It hurts. Don't touch me. Not again. It hurts. It hurts. Stop it, please stop it.

It gutted you.

It went against every instinct, not to touch him. To let him lie there, in scorching, lonely pain, when all you wanted to do was to dispel it. It would be so easy to press yourself against him and let his skin cool against yours, do the one thing that your body was good at other than killing. But not again, not again, I can't anymore, I don't want it, I never wanted it, and all you could do was sit there, unmoving. Watch as the most delicate, precious thing you had in your life shatter.

And standing here now, watching Aventurine shatter before you once more—it is unbearable. He needs a nest, you keep thinking. He needs a nest and some water and some kind of touch, some kind of relief, but not again, not again, and you’re still a slave, still a worthless and stupid slave, and Kakavasha is still crying on a basement floor and you can't do anything for him.

“You need help, Aventurine,” you say, voice soft, and his whole body tenses. His scent dips, and the scent of florals overwhelms you.

“No,” he breathes, “I don't.”

“You do. You're sick.” You bite your lip. Your heart splits as you suggest it, but you say, “I can call a professional.”

“No,” he spits. The facade is gone. The poker face has cracked. The anger and the pain and the fear are all on full display, and his voice sharpens: “No strangers.”

No foreign scents, you realise he's demanding. A new scent would probably make him feel unsafe.

Then let me help you, you think of pleading, but not again, not again, and you're filled with so much shame at the thought that all you can do is look away.

“Then—can I do anything?” He goes still. “Not—not that, but something to make you more comfortable. I can build you a nest, at least—”

“No.” He takes a deep, shaking breath. “No nests. I don't need one—”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don't,” he says. His voice is wavering now, on the verge of crumbling with fever and pain. “I've never—I’ve never needed a nest, I don't—I don't want to—” He presses his face into his pillow. “I need—I need to be alone, fuck—”

He doesn't mean to whine. The cry for distress is instinct, something that all omegas are programmed to do in heat. You’ve heard that they’ve evolved to make this noise as a way of appealing to nearby alphas for help, but you think this must be a lie as you never once saw your alpha master giving mercy to any of his omega slaves. Still, whether it is your biology or not—the noise that Aventurine makes has your heart aching so much you can't help but step forward. But he shakes his head and inches away, shuddering violently, and then his voice echoes again in that cold basement—not again, not again, and don't touch it anymore, don't use it anymore, don't use me anymore, not again, and it's all you can do to back away until your spine is pressed against the door.

“I'm sorry, Vasha,” you say, strained. “I’m sorry. I'll leave you now.”

As the door shuts behind you, you catch a final glimpse him—face pressed into the pillows, shivering.

If you didn't know better, you'd think he was crying.

When you were both slaves, Aventurine hated seeing you during his heats.

Kakavasha was normally calm around you. Most of the time, he was even friendly (he was friendly to everyone whom he thought could be useful), but he was different during his heats. Sometimes he was vicious; mostly he was withdrawn. Nearly always, he wanted to be left alone. In those moments, all he could register was your alpha scent and his memories of what other people had done to him during his heats. And while you'd have hated to leave him, despised the idea of him being offered to another alpha—even more than that, you hated violating this boundary of his. Hated that you were allowed to do whatever you wanted to him. Hated being the reason he felt so unsafe.

Hated being an alpha.

Now that you no longer have the orders of your slavemaster hanging over you, it is the least you can do to respect Aventurine’s wish of being left alone. He has every right to privacy, and you have every obligation to give it to him. But instead you have been standing here, outside his door, for a full system-hour.

Every time you try to leave, your body is wracked with anxiety. The thought of other people—other alphas—coming near him in this state makes you seethe, your hands flexing at your side. The predator instinct comes out, and the people around you notice it. Every person unlucky enough to walk down this hall scurries away under your glare, even the other IPC staff wandering about to look for Aventurine: Must be their mate on the other side, they remark to one another, and then they're gone.

It is a hard thing to hear. You are not his mate. You are not even a heat partner. If you were, then he wouldn't be in so much pain. Not now, and not back then.

Aventurine has never had easy heats. You keep replaying your memories of all his past ones, each one a wound in your heart: the aching sweetness of nectar and honey; his withering body as he clutched his abdomen and curled up; the tears and sweat staining the mat beneath him. And above all: the fear. The scent of it, the sight of it, the sound of it in his voice. Stronger today than any other day.

By instinct, you know that he cannot persist like this. That this time is somehow worse than all those other times, and that he will become seriously ill if left alone.

After nearly an hour and a half, you finally open the door, fearing the worst.

“Aventurine?” you say quietly, but there's no response, and your stomach drops as you see him.

His body is pale, listless. If it weren't for the fragrance washing over you or the sweat on his temple, you'd worry that he was dead.

Tentatively, you reach out. Rest a hand on his forehead, and it scorches you. He stirs at the touch, doesn't open his eyes—but the quiet sigh of relief is unmistakable. His fingers twitch, as if wanting to reach for you.

“Aventurine,” you say gently. “Aventurine, I'm going to take care of you. Is that alright?”

He doesn't respond. You grimace, pulling away to fetch things for him: several spare pillows from the closet, an extra blanket too. From his suitcase, you grab a few of his sweaters, all thick cotton and fleece. He’d had a sense that Agnisahr would be cold at night. Deserts always get cold after sundown, since sand doesn’t retain heat, he'd told you while he was packing. Or I think so, anyway. Don't know why. Must have read it somewhere. Then he’d given you a long, unreadable look before saying, Make sure to bring a jacket. The warmest one you have. The elements on a planet like Agnisahr can kill a person—even a person like you.

I’m sure I’ll be fine, you’d dismissed him. I can survive anything. Any kind of weather, any kind of illness, any kind of pain: these are all things your species is known for being able to endure, the trait that made you such a prized slave in your master’s eyes, such a useful agent at the IPC. You hadn’t given Aventurine’s warning any thought and hardly paid attention to what you’d thrown into your own suitcase.

It surprises you, then, that you find one of your sweaters in his luggage. Made from Sedanian cashmere and heat tech designed by the Intelligentsia Guild. Cloud-soft and warm to the touch. Aventurine had bought it for you before you were deployed to Jarilo-IV to collect intelligence for Topaz. Warmest thing in the known universe, he’d commented. One of a kind, too. Remember to wear it, alright? Don't let my money go to waste, now.

You stare at it, kneading the fleece between your fingers. You hadn’t mentioned wanting to bring this sweater. You’d lost it in your closet some months ago and forgot about it. Aventurine must have remembered and gone looking for it, because—why? You aren't sure. Probably because it’s warmer and softer than anything he owns, you guess. Of course he’d want to wear it.

You throw it into the pile of things you’ve collected for him.

You take it all to his bed, the mattress dipping as you sit next to Aventurine. One by one, you scent each item with your wrist, watching him carefully the whole time. You’re quiet as you lay them out around him, leaving him undisturbed as you build a nest. You order water and electrolyte drinks too, and you’re quick about going to the door when you hear room service knocking—with how feverish he is, he probably badly needs it.

Aventurine is awake when you come back. His breathing is still laboured, pained—but calm.

“I said I didn’t need a nest,” Aventurine says, though he doesn’t sound angry. You wonder if he’s too weak to be. His voice is faint, and his eyes are barely open—focused on the pile of blankets and clothing around him.

“You’re welcome.” You open a bottle of water, hold it out to him. “Drink.”

Aventurine pauses, stares at the offering like it's some kind of foreign object. But he accepts it eventually, sitting up and taking it from you. He winces with the movement, which he tries to hide. He ignores your frown as he drinks, and he doesn't stop until the bottle is empty.

“There are more,” you say, pointing at the several additional bottles on the nightstand. “And some food and some painkillers. I don't know how well they’ll work. This isn't a normal heat. If you're alright with it, I'll call a doctor and—”

“Everything smells like you,” he says quietly, and you stop.

“...yes. Unless they’re mated, nests usually feel most comforting to an omega when they smell like an alpha.” You swallow, looking away. “...you don't have a mate, and you didn't want a professional, so this was the only option I could think of. I'm sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he says. He picks out one of the sweaters that have made its way into the nest, the Sedanian one. “I don't mind it.”

“Oh.” You let out a breath. “Then—can I call a doctor?”

His grip on the sweater tightens. “No.”

You frown. “Aventurine—”

“I’ve never needed a doctor before,” he says. He sounds unbothered, but he's fidgeting with the sweater now. “I don't need one now.”

A lie. He almost certainly needed a doctor in some of his prior heats, but you don't push the matter. “Maybe you don't need one,” you say instead, “but it would help.”

“I don't need help,” he says, and you look at him in disbelief. He catches your expression, and the corner of his mouth lifts. “Not more than you've already done, I mean.”

“I’ve barely—”

“Contact Topaz. Tell her I'm incapacitated. Tell her…” He hums. “Tell her I have food poisoning. The personnel too. It's not time-sensitive, our business on Agnisahr, so it shouldn't matter if I need a few days off.”

“You really need—”

“Give my regrets to our Agnisahran friends. Deliver it in person. They see you as my right hand, so they’ll most appreciate it coming from you. Topaz can help you with the verbiage. And—try to socialise with them a little, won't you? I think that little omega princess of theirs likes you. Some of the courtesans too, and they have surprising influence.”

“I do not want to be around any omega other than you right now,” you say before you can stop yourself, and Aventurine stops, blinking. His expression is blank, if perhaps a little curious—but his scent shifts. You can't identify how. You add quickly, “I’m not leaving you alone when you’re this sick.”

“Ah. Right.” Aventurine looks away. His voice sounds strange, and his heat must be getting to him again, because it carries a hint of pain. “But you have to. The IPC’s goals take priority.”

You frown. “Your life is more important than the IPC,” you say, and he laughs. Loudly.

“What? This is just a heat. I’m not going to die.”

“You don’t know that without seeing a doctor.”

“I do. I’m willing to bet money that I won’t die.” He cuts you off before you can reply: yes, you're always willing to bet on your life. “And even if I do, that would still be less important than Agnisahr. Do you know how many resources are on this lifeless rock?” His mouth slants. “If we mess up here, I’m dead anyway.”

“I wouldn’t let them touch you.”

“Yes, you would—because they would kill you too.” Aventurine sighs. His eyes close, and his brow creases—a sign that whatever reprieve he was lucky enough to get is about to end. “Go do what I asked. Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll… see a doctor if you do.”

You stand immediately. “Alright. I’ll be back to check on you.”

“I know.”

You stop at the door, giving him a long look. Seeing him like this—lying on a proper bed, cradled in a warm nest, with water and food and medicine nearby—you feel a little better. This is leagues beyond what he’d been afforded in his days as a slave, at the very least. Even if he isn’t free, at least he isn’t trapped.

But it still doesn’t feel good, having to step away. The last thing you want to do is talk to other people, pretend to have interest in other omegas. There are an astonishing number of them who are interested in you on this planet—that princess, and some baron’s son, and one of the prince’s favourite paramours—but you can’t bring yourself to care even for business purposes when Aventurine is like this. You can't act as if you are enjoying yourself when you know he is in pain.

You wonder about telling Topaz the truth. You wonder if she’d be worried enough about Aventurine to let you neglect this mission and cover for you instead, without letting Jade or Diamond or anyone else dangerous know. Not that you think that anyone at the Company particularly cares about Kakavasha—it’s only that he’s valuable. Aventurine of Stratagems is valuable. How many worlds have fallen because of him?

But he seemed unwilling to bet on his worth to them. Which is startling, given how often he's bet on it in the past.

“What’s so important about this planet,” you can’t help but ask, “that the IPC would rather you die than lose it?”

He’s silent for a long moment. His eyes are closed—hidden—but you can see his knuckles whiten as he clutches the Sedanian sweater.

“Copper,” he says. “They want it for the copper.”

When Kakavasha first suggested a friendship to you, it had felt like something in between a proposition and a threat:

Go ahead, he'd said. Use me as you wish. You can even stab me in the back if you want. Just be mindful of this: I don't make deals that don't pay off.

It might have been a strange way of making friends in any other circumstance, but in a house of slaves, it was a natural one. You had not been a clever person—still aren't—but you understood that your place in the world was one of a tool. This was the place of all slaves: you were all things to be used. Your body was a thing to be used. It was valuable for its strength, for its hardiness, for its threat in the arena and for its convenience in your master’s bed (or in a dark basement, or within a heat house, or inside whichever omega your mistress ordered you to calm down). It did not surprise you that Kakavasha wanted to use it as well. It did not surprise you that Kakavasha expected you to use him in return.

You never would have, of course. Kakavasha was not a thing to be used—he had always been a mate. Though you were happy to let him use you, because all you were was a tool anyway, so it was really all you could offer him: to be used.

None of this has changed for you. You don't think any of this has changed for Aventurine, either. With each new friendship he makes, he repeats those familiar words: Use me as you wish. And with each person who accepts, this is exactly what they do: they use him, and they use him, and they use him until suddenly they notice he's tricked them and they've got the losing hand.

You damned gambler, they always spit. You Sigonian wretch. All you know is how to manipulate people. Thief, liar, cheat, whore. Despite all these insults, Aventurine always smiles at them. Cry as they might, he’s won his bet and has their world in his palms.

Winner takes all, he sometimes gloats.

Winning and losing. Using and being used. Exploitation and treachery. This is all Aventurine knows; these are his great guiding principles in life. (He's told you this point blank, stacking up chips in his favourite gambling dens with a self-satisfied grin.) You often find yourself coming back to these conversations, particularly when you need to convince him of something.

And right now, you very badly need to convince him of something.

Aventurine is ignoring his doctor’s advice. His suppressants are unstable in extreme temperatures, he's been told. During travel on Agnisahr, they'd degraded, and now he’s experiencing his first heat in several years. Of course it's going to be painful, his doctor had said. I can prescribe you some medication to ease the symptoms, but really—nothing will work better than a heat partner. It doesn't need to be a mate. Any alpha will do.

The doctor had been an alpha. You had asked for a beta or omega, but alphas tend to dominate in Interastral Medical Schools, so they're in short supply. Aventurine had been still the whole time, face unreadable, but you could tell he wanted to throw up at the stench of an unfamiliar alpha. You had stepped between the two of them, not bothering to hide the animosity in your voice. We’ll take the medication, you had said, and the doctor had sniffed the air and nodded at you in approval.

Probably won't need it. An alpha like you could sort him out with just a few rounds, he told you, and both of you stayed quiet as he left.

You still aren't talking, or even looking at each other. Aventurine has lay down in his nest again, closing his eyes, while you stand as far away as physically possible—at the door where you'd just shown the doctor out. With the room shut off again, windows closed and door locked, Aventurine’s scent is starting to flood your senses once more. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch him shivering.

“What do you want to do?” you ask.

“Nothing.” He swallows. “I'll be fine.”

He's afraid. You can tell he's afraid. And you can tell he’ll be more afraid if you take even a single step closer to him, so you nod and say, “I'll go pick up your medication, then,” and Aventurine doesn't stop you. You can see him curling up in his nest, face pressed into the cashmere sweater.

But he still doesn't stop you.

After a few more days, Aventurine finally breaks.

There is a rare sag to his shoulders when he calls you to the room, along with a taste of dread in the air. You haven't seen him so vulnerable in years. Aventurine is not an open person, so cunning and self-possessed in his wealth—but Kakavasha was more brittle, more powerless, flayed raw and open even though he didn't often get the whip. (It would ruin his value if he ever scarred—his looks were his greatest selling point, your master said.) He was especially defeated when forced to spend his heats with an alpha he didn't want. You wonder, a vice grip of pain around your heart, whether this entire situation is simply an extension of that. Whether he is calling you here against his will, this time compelled by his pain, rather than his master. Whether this luxury suite feels like that wretched basement to him.

He doesn't look at you when he talks, nor does he sit up. He remains curled in his nest, nearly clinging onto the blankets and clothes.

“That stupid medication,” he pants out, sharp even in his heat, “isn't working.”

“I can tell.” Your brow knots. He’s in so much pain, it is palpable. “I”—you hesitate, voice dropping. “Can I help you?”

He goes quiet. As both Aventurine and Kakavasha, he has always been disinclined to accept help from other people. There is no such thing as unconditional help in his mind—only leverage and weakness. He hates it when people have leverage over him, and he hates being weak. Both are things that can be exploited, and Aventurine always needs to be the one doing the exploiting. He always needs to be in control.

Even like this, the last threads of his sanity about to snap, with every circuit of his omega biology trying to drag him into insensible lust, he fights viciously to be in control.

Winning and losing. Using and being used. Exploitation and treachery. Control and being controlled. This is how he's always lived. This is how he's always survived.

This is the only way to let him maintain control when he is most afraid of losing it.

“I don't mind,” you say quietly, “if you use me.”

Even through the haze of heat, Aventurine’s eyes sharpen. “What?”

“I don't mind if you use me,” you repeat, voice neutral. Unfeeling. The proposal might sound cruel to someone else, but not you. After all—your place in the world is one of a tool, and this is what you've always done as an alpha and a slave: sleeping with people to take care of their needs, or sometimes just their desires. It did always make you feel strangely hollow, but you think it will feel just fine with Aventurine. All you've ever wanted to do is keep him safe, and surely, this will do that, but—

“I'll only help if you want. I don't want to force it.” You lower your eyes. “But if you do want it, I'll be careful with you. You can lead. I promise.”

“...I know.” Aventurine’s voice is weak, cracks with pain, but you can tell he's speaking with clarity. “I know you will be.”

You look up. “Then you'll let me help?”

Aventurine looks away—a sign that he cannot adopt his usual smile. He’s clutching that sweater again, pressed close to his chest.

“Just your wrist,” he says quietly.

You listen carefully. “What?”

“I just—I just want your wrist.” He looks away. “Your—your scent gland. Only that.”

“Okay.”

You get up, then falter. When it was your job to comfort your mistress’ omega slaves, you were told to enter their nests—no permission needed from them, no permission needed from you, because only her permission ever mattered for anything. The omegas were usually too delirious to care, often had even begged for it with the state of mind that they were in. But Aventurine is different. He's not like you, and he's not like them. He's never bent to any of his masters’ wills. And even if he did, you wouldn't want to have him bend to yours.

Instead of climbing into his nest, you ask, “Can I sit on the bed?” He doesn't answer. “Just the edge of it,” you add, and you hear him exhale.

“Fine,” he says, breathing measured.

“Thank you,” you say, and he gives you a confused look. But then you're reaching out with a hand, offering it, and he is quickly distracted.

Aventurine drops the sweater, grabs your hand almost immediately. He turns over your palms, fingers tracing your heartlines—as if testing you, as if mapping out territory. He runs his thumbs along the veins of your wrists, too, right over your scent gland, and you have to force yourself not to shudder at the feeling. You only stay still, letting him explore the contours of your hands, letting him acclimate to the feeling of your skin. He laces his fingers with your own, a latticework trap, and he finally drags his wrist along yours.

Both of you inhale sharply.

You can't react. You know it'll scare him if you do, but it's hard to keep still. The way his scent blossoms, the way it mingles with yours, the way it all washes over you—what you're doing can hardly be called touching, but you feel like you're going mad. Especially when he flushes like that, his vibrant eyes fluttering shut. Especially when the sweetness of honey overtakes your senses. Especially when you can smell the way his body is reacting, all that wetness and heat and slick dripping between his legs. You don't miss the way his thighs rub together, nor the hard outline of his cock straining against his pants.

Aventurine shudders. He brings your hand up to his face, rests his cheek in your palm. His skin is flushed and burning with fever, and it's no wonder that he's sighing with relief at your touch. You try not to stare at the way his mouth falls open. He looks at you for a moment, his gaze a hazy violet and blue—before he closes his eyes again and presses his lips into your wrist.

Fuck.

“Aventurine—” You have to stop, voice strangled, when you feel the full softness of his lips working against your skin. He’s panting now, laboured breaths sweeping over your veins. Then you feel his teeth catch, a gentle nip on your flesh, and when he groans into your racing pulse—deep, relieved, desperate, a noise that makes your gut flare with heat—you realise you can't do this.

You pull back your hand, and Aventurine startles.

“Aventurine,” you say, voice strained. Maybe we should stop, you want to say, but he cuts you off.

“I need”—a shaky breath—“I need more.”

You watch Aventurine carefully. His pupils are dilated, blue irises nearly eclipsed. His cheeks are rosy, and he can't stop panting. You can fully smell his arousal now, even through his silk clothes. He's desperate, needing to be filled.

But he also looks torn. His brows are knotted, and you can taste a faint hint of fear in the air now. His knuckles clutch at the sheets, almost white, and he stares at them. He can't look up. He can't look at you. His whole body is tense, like he wants to bolt—and if he weren't so weak, you think he might actually.

“Are you sure?” you ask.

He doesn't nod. He also doesn't shake his head. His arms clutch at his midsection as he winces. He doesn't look like Aventurine. He looks like Kakavasha. It makes your heart ache as you watch him give into his body’s demands, wearing the same expression he did on the day your master bought him.

“...don't use your Voice on me,” Aventurine—Kakavasha—says quietly.

It takes you a moment to realise what he's asking. “I won't.”

“And”—his eyes somehow grow even more evasive, hidden by his long lashes— “don’t touch my commodity code.”

His commodity code. His commodity code that is seared into his scent gland. His code that, if you kiss, will ease his agony instantly. His code that, if you bite—will chain him to you irreversibly.

“Of course I won't,” you say instantly.

He closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath.

“And—” Aventurine looks away, jaw tight. His voice is quiet but wrought with tension: “—I don't like when people put things inside me.”

Something claws the walls of your heart.

“That's fine too,” you reply. “I don't mind doing it the other way.”

Aventurine’s sigh is nearly inaudible, but unmistakable. His scent shifts a little bit, the wildflower fragrance fading ever so slightly. But he doesn't come to you. He merely sits there—waiting. Expecting. Maybe dreading. Even in the senseless daze of heat, he’s too anxious to move.

You approach slowly. Though you're overwhelmed by the bouquet of his scent, though you feel a curl of heat in your belly in response to it—you are slow. Alphas are supposedly victims of insatiable lust whenever around an omega in heat, absolved of every action they take, but you are convinced this is a lie. You have never once wanted to handle Aventurine with such cruelty. You think that inflicting violence on him, more than anything else, would go against your biology. Every molecule in your body would reject putting him in such pain or inciting such fear. So you are careful when you approach him, slow as you inch up to him—but you do not think it helps.

Aventurine lies down, his face turned away from yours. His eyes squeeze shut, like he's expecting this to hurt. Uncertainty gnaws at your gut as you lean over him, draping your body over his—the only position you've ever taken an omega in, other than mounting them from behind.

(You do not want to mount Aventurine. You never have. It is an impersonal position, a position that omega biology supposedly would force him to enjoy, a position that alphas have likely dictated him to enjoy. You think there is nothing you would hate more. In your weakest, most selfish moments, in your worst ruts, when you’ve allowed yourself to fantasise about mating Kakavasha—you are always facing each other, and he is always looking at you with his eyes you've always loved, and it always feels intimate. Never impersonal. Never dictated. Never forced.)

Aventurine is so honeysweet beneath you. More fragrant than any omega you’ve ever been with. You glance at his commodity code, trying to ignore the scent of his branded skin, then lean down to press your face against the other side of his neck, where a faint scar mars the otherwise flawless slope of his nape. Like every other omega slave you've ever slept with, the scent gland there has been excised: a precautionary measure to reduce the risk of an unwanted mating bite.

(Not unwanted by them—the wants of a slave never matter—but unwanted by their owners. A mating bite would ruin the code seared into their neck, claim an omega more deeply and permanently than any titanium collar or carbon steel chain. It would hurt their resale value. Only owners are allowed to claim slaves in such a permanent way—and the wants of a slave have no relevance there, either.)

It's a funny thing, this surgical scar. Even with their gland missing, you've noticed that most omegas like having their neck scented by you anyway, probably from some vestigial instinct. You guess that Aventurine won't be any different, that maybe it will comfort him. But when your lips skim the scar left on him by his owner, his entire body stiffens beneath you. His fragrance cuts into your lungs, sharp.

You recoil, as if burned by the touch of him.

“Sorry,” Aventurine is quick to say. He tries to glance at you, but his diamond pupils quickly avoid you again. “Don’t worry about me. Just do whatever you need to do.”

“But you're scared,” you point out, and you see his brow twitch. “You’re scared when I touch you.”

“Not scared,” he lies. “Just…”

When his eyes finally look at you—land on your lips—you understand.

A bite would claim an omega more deeply and permanently than any titanium collar or carbon steel chain. If you lost your mind—give into the insatiable lust of an alpha whenever around an omega in heat—you might bite him, and then you would own Aventurine.

And Aventurine would rather die than be owned by anyone again.

He doesn't need to finish his sentence. You already know what you need to do.

“It's okay,” you say gently, and his brow knots. “I have an idea.”

Aventurine is always afraid.

This is a fact that has haunted you since the day you met him. You've wondered about how to fix it—the bare minimum as his mate (always his, even if he doesn't want you)—and you’ve never quite pinned down how. Because when someone has spent their life in perpetual fear, how do you make them feel safe? When their life is constantly at risk, how do you ever make them feel calm?

You still aren't sure of the answer. But after seeing Kakavasha become Aventurine, you now have a good guess.

It is clear from his scent that Aventurine does not feel remotely safe right now. Not when you leave to fetch something from your own room, and not when you return. The anxiety thickens when he sees, in your hands, a very familiar muzzle.

Aventurine stares. He is not smiling, but he also does not reveal his discomfort on his face, even as beads of sweat line his temple. But his voice is too controlled, too calm, when he asks, “You kept the mask.”

You nod.

“I told you to throw it out,” he points out, “when I freed you.”

“I know. Sorry. I don't know why I kept it.” You remember how tightly you clutched it before the incinerator, thinking about how strange it would feel, discarding something that you'd worn everyday since you presented—but you don't tell him this. Instead, you say, “But it’s convenient.”

Before Aventurine can say anything, you toss him the remote.

“You’re afraid of my bite and my Voice, but you don't have to be with this,” you explain. Your tone is gentle, soothing. Probably disarming coming from an alpha, with how he is in heat. Perhaps that's why he’s studying the remote rather than chucking it away. “You'll be in full control if I wear this.”

Control. Mere seconds after you say it, you can smell his fragrance change again, mellowing. It's only a brief moment of calm that fades when you latch the mask onto your face, but he doesn't smell as nearly as stressed before.

Aventurine watches you carefully as the carbon steel swallows your maw, its old and familiar edges biting into you. For the first time in years, you cannot tell what he is thinking—truly poker-faced even to you.

“You aren't bothered by wearing that thing while we do this,” he says—asks?—and you shake your head. The muzzle was part of you for years. You were wearing it when you killed someone for the first time. You were wearing it when you went into rut for the first time. You were wearing it when your master had sex with you for the first time. It doesn't bother you that you’ll wear it when you have sex with Aventurine.

If you could speak, you would ask him, Why do you think it would bother me? But all you do is gesture for him to sit up. To switch places with you. You lie down—something you've never done with an omega—and wait for him to get on top.

Aventurine stares at you for a long, quiet moment. It's followed by a sigh of relief. Disarmed, he—for the first time in any heat you've witnessed—finally relaxes. His scent wafts over you as he climbs between your legs, and you can feel the heat radiating from his hands as he parts your thighs, almost scalding.

He doesn't bother getting you ready, too needy to think rationally, but he doesn't have to anyway. You've been wet ever since you felt his mouth touch your wrist, hard ever since you heard him groan into it. You're equally desperate to get some relief as you feel his cockhead sliding against your opening, leaking all over your entrance as his slick drips onto your thighs. His breath shakes as he enters you, and he can't hear it with how you're muzzled—but you groan just as deeply as him at the tight stretch.

You hear him swear when you clench around him, watch him lean over you. His arms shake as he supports himself, refusing to succumb to his heat even as he chases his relief. You seek out his gaze (just as in your dreams, facing each other, intimate), and his neon eyes catch on your eyes for a brief, breathtaking second—

—before he looks away.

There's a flash of—you don't know what, maybe pain? Or fear?—in his irises as he does. A twitch of the brow, a tell he'd normally rather die than let slip. You have the realisation, as Aventurine moves inside you, that even while you're muzzled, even while he has complete control over you—he still can't stand having sex with you. Probably because he can't stand being in heat in general, you tell yourself. Don't touch me, don't touch me, don't use it anymore, don't use me anymore. He'd have this reaction to anyone.

Still—you didn't expect him to have this reaction to you.

Your hands twitch, possessed by an old instinct to cover your eyes. But you'd probably scare Aventurine if you moved your arms, so all you do is dig your fingers into the sheets and squeeze them shut. You tell yourself again and again that he'd hate having sex with anyone in these circumstances—not just you. And then you tell yourself, as a desperate, broken moan leaves his branded throat, that he would also come inside anyone in these circumstances, caught within the cruel grip of his heat.

Aventurine stills inside you as he finishes. He pants, sweat dripping down his temple as he shudders in his ecstasy, his spend hot and thick inside you. You can feel his fever break as he comes down from his high, the heat coming off his body easing into a manageable warmth.

Do you feel better, you try to say, but you can't move your mouth while your mask is on. So you wait patiently for Aventurine to come back to himself, watching him carefully as he pulls out and rolls onto the mattress beside you. He finally glances at you then. His eyes narrow once they land on you, confusion flicking through them. Then displeasure. He reaches for the remote.

To your surprise, he immediately punches in the code to unlock your muzzle. Aventurine has apparently remembered the numbers after all these years, as if the moment he freed you has been since seared into his memory.

“Are you okay?” is the first thing you say, and Aventurine gives you a confused look. He’s still panting, dazed, so you ask, “Can I check your temperature?” And when he nods, you confirm your suspicion: he's still much too warm.

There is an ache between your legs and a strange hollow in your gut (because you aren't very experienced with receiving, you think—your body likely just isn't used to the feeling of it), but you quickly forget them. All you can think of is Aventurine, and how he’s still unwell, and how you need to comfort him. The instinct is so strong that you don't even say anything as you get up, straightening out your clothes.

“Are you leaving?” Aventurine asks. His voice is neutral, completely unbothered, but the thought is so horrific to you that you turn back to him with wide eyes.

“Of course not. I'm going to get you water and medicine.” A beat. You stare at Aventurine’s eyes, then think about how he hid them from you during sex. The hollow feeling comes back, but it's mostly eclipsed by your anxiety at the next thought: “...do you want me to leave?”

“Do you want to?”

“I—” I'd rather die, you think. Being forced to leave him right now would feel like tearing out a piece of yourself. You don't know if there's an alpha in this world who could leave their mate in the middle of a heat. And even if he is unmarked, unattached to you—you still think of yourself as his mate. (His, always his, even if he doesn't want you.) “I would prefer not to. I am your heat partner. I'm supposed to take care of you.”

You hear a quiet breath. “Right. Of course. You're always so conscientious.” Aventurine nods, as if convincing himself of something. “Try not to take too long.”

“I’ll come back soon,” you promise, and the air sweetens. Encouraged, you add, voice gentle: “I’ll bring that medication, and then we can have sex as many times as you need after I come back. I'll make sure you're not in any pain anymore.” You pause, studying him. “Is there anything else you need to feel better?”

His fragrance changes once more, this time in a way you don't totally recognize. “No.” His voice sounds strange. His scent is still foreign, fluctuating, possibly hinting at some kind of pain. The heat must be getting to him again—and of course it wasn't enough, what you just did, what you can provide. He likely needs to be filled to get any kind of lasting relief, but you left him empty. “No, that's all I want.”

You nod, forcing yourself to look calm. Ignoring the emptiness in your gut. It didn't feel bad, but you hope it'll feel better next time you have sex. You think it will. Alphas are supposed to be filled with an insatiable lust near omegas in heat, after all. And even though you’ve never felt that before—never felt anything sleeping with all those omegas in your mistress’ house—you are sure you'll eventually feel it around Aventurine.

But the feeling never comes. Even though you can tell that his heat has returned by the time you're back—sweat beading his temples, laboured breaths at his lips, his bottoms now discarded, with full evidence of arousal between his legs—you don't feel much of anything as you reach for your mask again.

“Don't,” Aventurine says, before it can clasp around your face. You give him a curious look. He explains, “Don't. I don't want to have sex again. Not yet.”

You stare at him, shifting. Uncomfortable. Uncertain. Not knowing how he wants to use you. “What can I do?”

He gives you a long look. “Come here. I… I want your scent gland.”

It's a sensible request. If there's a way to seek relief without fucking someone—without fucking you, which he clearly hated doing—you're sure Aventurine would prefer it. So you climb into his nest, holding your wrist out for him, and—

“No.” His voice is quiet. “I want the one on your neck.”

“...oh.”

You stand there, not sure where to move. If he wants you in his nest again, or if he’d rather do this standing. You’re relieved when he demands, “Lie down.”

You expect him to get on top of you when you do. Assume that he wants complete control—but he instead lies down beside you. Presses his body into yours, and then his face into your neck. His nose and lips brush against your scent gland, a full-body shudder running through him, and—

—and now you know for a fact that it is a lie that alphas want nothing other than to fuck an omega when they're in heat. Because even like this, with his lips sweet on your neck, with the sheets soaked with his slick, with his spend leaking out of you—you do not want to have sex with Aventurine. You only want to hold him. You only want him to keep scenting you. You only want to scent him back.

You only want him to feel safe.

You breathe in deeply, lungs flooded by honey. You think of what it felt like to hold him in that cold basement, when he was delirious with fever and pain, and you think about how different his scent is now. How much sweeter it is. How much calmer he feels.

“Do you feel better?” you ask, and he doesn't respond, but you know the answer. His hands come up to dig into your shirt, and he presses into you like you're a sweater in his nest. Silence blankets over you both, calm and warm. His laboured breath starts to improve.

He does eventually speak.

“Has anyone ever told you,” he says, “what you smell like?”

You stare at him. Your master used to say that you smelled good, but he'd never elaborated, and you hadn't wanted him to. “No.”

Aventurine breathes in.

“You smell like—” A little sigh, shaking and feverish, leaves him. “You smell like rain.”

Your eyebrows tick up. “Rain?”

“Yes. Or not just rain, but”—he pauses, next words quiet—“more Iike after it rains. You smell like the desert after a rainfall.”

“Oh.” You don't know what to say to that. Feeling distinctly like it's a silly question, you ask, “Is that a good scent?”

“Some would think so. Especially to people from the desert. You probably smell like a blessing to them. Although…”

Aventurine goes quiet again. You stare at the chandelier above you, all crystal and white gold, and wait.

“Although?” you prompt.

“...although I wouldn't really know,” he says. “It’s just a hunch. I bet it's why so many omegas on this planet like you.”

You couldn't care less about those other omegas. All you care about is Aventurine. “And?” you say. “Do you like my scent?”

His reply never comes. He just breathes deeply again, seeking relief from your neck—not intimacy. Any alpha’s scent would work; that doctor told you so. Any alpha’s touch would work, too. There are no special feelings involved here. Your place in the world is one of a tool, and tools are never especially liked nor disliked. Their value exists only in how they can be used.

You don't know why you even bothered to ask the question.

But then something strange happens: Aventurine curls against you, pressing even further into you. His lashes flutter against your pulse again; it ticks up in response, beating fast against his lips.

“I do,” he says quietly. “I do like it.”

You swallow. “But I guess that's because you're in heat. Any alpha would smell good to you, wouldn’t they?”

“No.” His fingers dig into the fabric of your shirt. “No, I like it because it's yours.”

You know better than to read too much into his response. Aventurine had already said it earlier: No foreign scents. He's only tolerating this whole arrangement because you don't smell unfamiliar to him. Only able to use you because you are the least threatening option.

But the words break something in you—break the thing that made you unable to throw out that little pouch of copper coins that you were saving up for Kakavasha’s freedom, the part of you that made you wear that carbon-steel mask for him. It is this part of you that has your eyes squeezing shut and your arms wrapping around him. You know he’ll recoil, reject you, but just this once—you need to try.

Aventurine doesn't push you away.

He melts into you instead, inhaling deeply. Your scent gland tingles with the warmth of his breath, the feeling of his lips. He seems—comfortable.

You can't fathom why he’s staying in your arms. Perhaps he's simply desperate for some kind of relief from his heat, just like when you held him in the basement while he was delirious from pain. But Aventurine had spoken to you with clarity just now, and his skin doesn't feel scalding so much as warm, and his scent is so different than from that moment. So sweet and so gentle, without a trace of fear. It makes your heart squeeze. As much as you've always wanted Aventurine to feel safe, you'd never imagined that his scent would be so beautiful when he is.

It makes your heart ache. You've never held anything so lovely before, and you’ve never felt so warm before, and it all makes up for how badly it hurt to let Aventurine inside you. How hollow it made you feel to let him use you. How none of that matters as long as you can keep him safe like this, because you belong to Kakavasha. You'll always belong to Kakavasha, in a fate that was chosen for you on the day you met him.

You're his, always his—even if he’ll never want you.

end part i

thank you so much to lore for hosting a fantastic collab and to my sponsors who funded this fic and got it over the finish line! please go check out @ficsforgaza to find other amazing hsr writers you can sponsor in order to help fundraise! here is my own wip list, if you are interested in seeing more from me!

and thank you most of all to YOU! I appreciate you so much for reading this chapter. thank you so much for sticking it through.

additional end notes

[kurooh]

when choso first learns about what facesitting really is, he brings it up after a make out session that’s left you both hot and heavy. he’s tugging on your hand, practically begging you to take a seat.

“i-i’m not sure,” you stutter, unsure. “what if you suffocate or something? i don’t wanna hurt you..”

the look he gives you is one of pure need and longing. “i don’t care, just sit baby. please.”

for good measure, choso gives you a little pout, breaking into giggles and a smile once you slip your panties and shorts off. your thighs tremble as you hover above his face, eyes squeezing shut at the heat of his breath against your sticky cunt.

“mmm, that’s no good,” he remarks, large hands rising to your hips and settling lightly. “i told you, sit down.” choso’s strong, yanking you down hard onto his face; you feel and hear his muffled moan when your pussy’s all over his whole face.

“choso!”

“so, so fucking good,” choso gasps against you, holding your squirming body in place as his tongue laps and laps at your sticky cunt.

beneath you, his body’s sweltering with heat, racing through every nerve like electricity while tight pressure builds in his cock. with a glance over your shoulder, you notice his hips rutting into the air as he searches for friction.

“cho,” you sob, so overwhelmed you actually feel tears building in your eyes, “i-i wanna suck you off, ‘s not fair—”

he easily lifts you and peers up at you from between your thighs, face flushed and shining with your slick. with a shaky finger, you nudge some of his hair away from his forehead.

“don’t want you to,” it’s painful to say, because he really does, but that’s simply a distraction for the both of you. “baby,” he murmurs gently, “i want you to focus on cumming for me, ‘s all, okay?”

you nod quietly, and the gesture is met with a mild slap to your ass. “okay, cho,” the moment the words leave your bitten lips, he’s pulling you back down and greedily drinking all of you in, taking whatever he can get.

choso’s ministrations encourage you to roll your hips against his face; a light bump of his nose to your clit has you crying out and grinding all over him. that’s right, he thinks, stars in his closed eyes. he wishes he could tell you to use him to get off, but he’d have to lift you up and he doesn’t want to even breathe.

unconsciously, he matches your pace, his hips rising into the air in synchrony with your own. one of your hands slips into his silky hair and tugs; he’s your anchor, keeping you somewhat steady although he’s the reason you can’t stop shaking.

“choso,” you wail loudly, angling your hips to let him take your clit between his lips and suck, “oh, i’m so close, ‘m gonna cum soon—”

from between your thighs, choso sees everything: the parting of your lips, the way your face crumbles in absolute pleasure, the brief moment of stillness as you fully fall over the edge.

it’s too much and not enough, but he cums too.

“c-cumming, choso,” is all you can muster, riding out your orgasm on his face and tongue while his hips buck wildly into the air.

the muffled moan you feel deep in your cunt makes you gasp, pulling away at the feeling of overstimulation, but he’s holding you tight. a look over your shoulder at the right moment, and you watch as his clothed cock explodes, gushing cum and soaking his boxers.

after all your squirming and pulling away, choso finally lets you go with crescent moon indents in your plush skin and a loud huff.

“i wasn’t done,” he heaves, skin smeared with your cum. it’s glossy and messy, but he won’t think about washing it off until you’ve cum at least three more times.

“but you came and everything, i—”

choso silences you by sealing his lips against yours, and you can briefly taste yourself— sweet, just like he’s always said.

“a few more times, please?”

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Good enough

Tags: Caleb x fem!Reader, smut, unprotected angry sex, Caleb’s back and he’s jealous, breeding kink, mdni, not proofread sorry, this shit is NASTY i fear.

An: This one is for a dear friend of mine 🙂‍↕️ Thanks for making me pull out of my writer’s block. LOOK i’m so sorry if this is bad but i had to write SOMETHING to pull me out of this funk… i hope you all enjoy

How did you end up trapped underneath your half-cyborg best friend who was legally deceased while taking the meanest deep strokes of your life? Well, there’s a simple answer. Caleb knew Xavier was home.

Actually, he knew everything: the dates, the tender moments, the secret times, the nightly rendezvous. Pissed was an understatement.

Had you forgotten? Had you forgotten all the promises you two made each other when you were younger? Had you forgotten that you were fucking made for him? You had to have. That’s why you were stringing along 4 different guys. You were trying to fill a hole that only he could fill.

That had to be why.

Regardless, Caleb knew Xavier was the type to listen to you through the floorboards of his upstairs apartment. He was a lot alike Caleb in that sort of manner. They were both possessive freaks who couldn’t stand the thought of you being with somebody else.

That’s why Caleb was fucking you so hard — pounding your pretty pussy so deeply into the mattress that you were seeing stars with each mean thrust.

He used his size to his advantage. It was fitting. He’d always loved how much bigger he was than you. That’s how you received your adorned nickname: pipsqueak.

He planned on his first time with you being a lot more gentle than this. He planned on being sweet and loving. He planned on cherishing your body the way you deserve, but you just had to go and give yourself to 4 other guys before him.

“Stop crying.” His voice rumbled as his piercing gaze found yours — so much different than the sweet childhood friend you had. His hand covered your mouth as he hunched over your figure, still ramming his cock head into you ruthlessly. “I know you can take it. I’ve watched you take it before.”

Your eyes blinked back tears as you looked up at him. He was being so mean. You couldn’t believe this was the same doting Caleb that you grew up with, and you didn’t even want to think about the face he had been watching you…

“Fucking pussy’s made for me, and you’ve been letting other men try to make her feel good.” He growled as he used his less-than-human arm reach down and gently rub against your small button of nerves.

“Caleb-!” You choked out as your body writhed beneath him. You could feel every ridge and vein of his thick cock splitting you apart, making you wholly his and his alone.

“That’s right… Say my name, baby. Tell me who’s making you feel so good.” He prompted with a confident smirk before he hauled your legs up above his shoulders, sinking even deeper into your dripping cunt.

Clawing at the bed, your back arched as you tried to cope with the intrusion. He’s so fucking deep it feels like you’re going to choke on him. “Caleb-“ You sob as your cunt pitifully clenches around him.

Feeling you wrapped around him so sweetly, crying out his name as you’re so overwhelmed with pleasure has Caleb revitalized with a new vigor. His hips work in tight circles, pumping his fat cock in and out of you as your cunt makes the most obscene squelching noises he’s ever heard.

“Such a fucking noisy girl. I should’ve know you were going to be a crybaby.” He teased before placing open mouth kisses along your neck snd shoulder.

“W-wait Caleb- calebcalebcaleb. I’m gonna..” You pant out nervously as his metal fingers were still rubbing languid circled around your cunt, and his tip was smooshing globs of precum against your cervix.

His fingers suddenly pinch down on your clit, making you cry out from the sensation. Your body went taut as you were being dangled on the edge of pleasure. His robotic arm wasn’t quite letting you get there.

You thought his arm was literally malfunctioning until you heard him chuckle from your suffering.

“You’re going to cum when I saw you can, okay baby?” He asked in that same condescending tone he always used when you two were younger.

His hips continued to roll after he was sure that you weren’t going to fall off the deep end, and he let out deep guttural groans, feeling your pretty pussy soak him. It was like you were practically trying to suck him in. He couldn’t believe he had waited this long to sink into your cunt like this.

and the best part about it was he knew your stupid upstairs neighbor was listening! Xavier knew you were down here getting railed, and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

Hell, if he even tried, Caleb would use his evol and force him kneel beside the bed as he drilled you even harder.

Fuck, the thought of slutting you out in front of every single one of your little boyfriends had his stomach tightening. His hips snapped forward into you with a pace that could only be described as feral.

You were a complete babbling mess at this point — utterly cock drunk as Caleb had you folded in half, filling you up to the brim with his length.

“Ohhh, that’s my girl.” He purred as he saw your glossed over look. “It’s coming, baby. I’m going to give you want you need.” He promised as he pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead that completely contradicted the ruthless way his hips were rutting into you.

“C-caleb- Caleb no, wait.. Don’t cum inside-“ You stuttered out in a panic. You hadn’t been by the pharmacy yet to pick up birth control, so technically, this was all unprotected.

“Why?” He growled as his back curled over. He was fucking mounting you while holding your thighs in the prettiest mating press he’d ever seen. “You fucking let them fill you up. Am I not good enough to breed this pussy?”

His hips slammed into you. It felt like he was trying to push his way straight into your womb. It was mind-numbing pleasure, making black orbs and stars dance across your vision.

“Look at me, baby.” He ordered, dragging your face to look back up at him. You could barely see straight. It was all too much. “You’re going to let your best friend breed you, and you’re gonna fucking love it. You’re going to cum all over this fat cock until you can’t breathe. Understand?”

You dumbly nodded your head, halfway hearing his words. Your pussy was aching to cum. Your swollen puffy folds were greedily accepting him in with every thrust. You wanted this. Birth control be damned. Everyone else be damned.

Caleb gritted his teeth together as he gave you a few more good harsh thrusts for good measure. He then crushed his body against yours, burying himself all the way to your womb before his cock started to jerk and pulse inside of you, shooting rope after rope of his thick potent cum. The only thing on his mind was the need to see you, his childhood best friend, round with his baby.

He needed to see the look on each other of those pricks’ faces when they realized you were spoken for.

The cherry on top was when he felt your walls clenching around him, happily milking his cock for everything he had while you sobbed and hiccuped his name. It seemed like his childhood best friend was maybe just as twisted as he was. He’d have to give her an extra good reward for being such a good girl.

As the room went still and quiet — only filled with shared breaths and pants for air, the sound of someone stabbing a sword through the ceiling was heard, and Caleb chuckled deeply. He had definitely pissed Xavier off.