floriddle shenanigans

[crimsontyrant]

there's an a/b/o thread somewhere in there and it somehow started in a library, idk man

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[crimsontyrant]

[ Were Floyd to be turned off by his bossiness, they'd never have gotten to this point. The two of them would never have gotten along (or, didn't get along) as well as they had over the last two years. Never in a million years did Riddle think he'd be under Floyd like this, practically begging him to fill him up so much that there would be no doubt that he'd end up carrying his child.

There's a slight gasp that slips out as the fabric tears. Riddle opens his mouth further to complain, but is quickly distracted by the nails digging in against his skin, the palm against his messy cock. The way Floyd shifts inside him, jerks him. Riddle can't help but whine in need, his breath coming out in hot, heavy little puffs.

Both of his hands fall back down in full, fingers grasping pathetically at the sheets of his bed, as if he could grab on and cling to them in a way that'd distract him from the overwhelming pleasure that was just having his mate here, inside of him like this. ]

Huh-? I'm not-- Floyd...!! [ The complaint is cut off by a loud cry of the other boy's name, with the way Floyd thrusts forward into him, pulling him into it, slamming into him with the ferocity Riddle had damn well begged for, but somehow hadn't been ready for. It's so much, so fast, so rough, that he can feel the building pressure in himself.

He's seeing white, squeezing his eyes shut. Unable to process his own second orgasm as it hits, his focus only on the feeling of that pulsing cock inside of him, filling him with more and more of that seed he so desired.

Those teeth, the feeling of his bites were just as sweet as those thrusts inside of him. His eyes open, halfway, to peer at the stronger boy. He squirms-- if he just moves the right way, he can bring his own leg up, to hook it over Floyd's shoulder. He's damn lucky he's flexible enough to make it happen, as it allows him to turn his upper body some, enough to try and expose the nape of his neck further. To give Floyd more space to work.

To press his face against his arm, to try and stifle his own cries. Still, he tries to stammer, to reply in some form, to babble out a few words amidst his haze, ]

The whole dorm is going-- to hear me, if you're not careful.

[ Because, duh, that's Floyd's fault. ]