#i keep swinging from crying to feeling nothing

[eyrichandesu]

⤷Lads men and their favourite sex positions

୨ৎCaleb

he doesn’t rush. never does. caleb touches you like you’re something fragile and irreplaceable — until you’re under him, breath caught in your throat, thighs trembling from the weight of him, and you realize: he’s holding back for your sake, not his.

he keeps you in a mating press, not just because it lets him go deeper — but because it means your legs are wrapped around his waist, your body forced open, your breath syncing with his as he watches you fall apart for him alone.

his voice is low, controlled, even when he’s splitting you open on his cock. “relax,” he murmurs, fingers tracing the edge of your face. “i’ve got you. always do.”

and then he thrusts, deep and deliberate, dragging his length against every tender spot inside you until you’re gasping, helpless beneath him. he watches your face, your parted lips, the shimmer in your eyes. watches your body react — like it’s never been touched before, like it was waiting for him to ruin it.

his dog tag swings above your chest, a soft clink in time with the slick sounds of skin on skin, of your cries getting higher, messier, desperate. and caleb? he doesn’t smirk, doesn’t gloat — he just leans in close and says, “look at me.”

you do.

“i want you to remember who fucks you like this.” his hips slam into yours, a slow, punishing rhythm that builds heat in your gut. “who makes you feel like this. don’t ever forget it.”

and when you’re finally cumming — crying out, back arched, hands clawing at his arms — he fucks you through it, presses his forehead to yours, and groans your name like a promise. like a man who would burn the world down just to have you under him again.

୨ৎSylus

he’s unpredictable, filthy-mouthed, and loves taking you from behind — rough, fast, and messy. he leans over while fucking you doggy style, one hand tangled in your hair and the other slipping between your legs to rub your clit in sync with his brutal thrusts. “you like that, don’t you?” he pants against your ear, hips snapping into you with every word. “look at you, shaking just from getting fucked like a good little plaything.” your body jerks from the force, knees struggling to stay up as he pounds into your soaked pussy, and when he pulls back to admire the way you clench around nothing, you barely get a moment to breathe before he’s back inside, deeper and rougher — just to hear you cry out again.

୨ৎXavier

he’s calculated, controlled, but when you’re in his lap, straddling him in a lotus position with your arms around his neck and your bodies pressed together — he falls apart. he grips your hips tight, guiding you up and down on his cock with slow, intentional movements, letting every roll of your hips grind your clit against him. “just like that… stay close to me,” he murmurs, forehead against yours, lips brushing yours in shaky kisses. the intimacy drives him crazy — the way your cunt tightens every time you whimper his name in that breathless tone. his hands roam your back, gripping and pulling you closer, and when you tighten around him from the overwhelming friction, he groans deeply, letting himself get lost in your heat, your voice, your everything.

୨ৎRafayel

he sits back in a velvet chair, legs spread lazily, letting you ride him with your wrists pinned behind your back. he barely moves — just tilts his hips every so often to hit the perfect angle, watching you fall apart on his cock with that twisted little smile. “look at yourself,” he purrs, voice dark and low, “desperate and fucked dumb just from sitting on me. pathetic.” his grip on your wrists tightens as you try to bounce faster, clit brushing against his abs with every drag of his thick cock inside you. he lets you cum like that — overstimulated, ruined, trembling — and only when your voice breaks from crying his name does he finally thrust up into you hard enough to make your vision blur, filling you up with a smug, satisfied groan.

୨ৎZayne

he presses you against the cold wall, fully clothed except for his unzipped pants and your panties pushed aside. your legs are around his waist, pinned by his strong arms as he buries himself inside you, fucking you with the kind of ruthless precision that leaves no room to breathe. “quiet,” he mutters against your neck, voice laced with warning and hunger, “you’ll wake the whole floor.” but it’s impossible when he hits your sweet spot with every sharp, brutal thrust. your nails dig into his shoulders, your head thrown back as the rough friction drives you closer to the edge. he groans when your walls clench around him, biting into your skin just to muffle the deep, guttural sound that rips out of him when he finishes inside you — warm, full, completely owned.

[astralcurses]

.

[dakusan]

C H A I N B I T E R

bang chan x reader | silver chain. pouty moans. and the lesson he teaches you when you act up.

🔞synopsis: he comes home from tour. you pout, you ignore his texts, you act up—because you want him mean. he keeps the chain on. and when you bite it? he folds you in half, fucks you dumb, and doesn’t let you cum until you’re crying, drooling, and begging for the cock you’ve been bratting for. he ruins you. then holds you like you’re breakable. because you are—and you’re his favourite thing to break.

💌a/n: welcome to filth friday, sluts. 🧷this fic is dedicated to the chokehold that silver chains + pouty brattiness + missionary with a vengeance have on my brain. chan keeps the chain on. you bite it. he loses his mind. we all win. p.s. reblogs = love. comments = spit in my mouth. tags = my new religion. p.p.s. missionary is not vanilla when he growls in your ear and denies your orgasms p.p.p.s. if you reblog this while still recovering? i see you. i respect you.

⚠️ warnings: NSFW 18+ ONLY. minors do not pass go, do not collect the chain | explicit sexual content | dom!bang chan, soft menace energy, and a very smug mouth | sub!reader with brat tendencies that get corrected | jewellery kink (chain stays ON. you bite it. he breaks.) | missionary sex but feral — folded position, deep strokes, held down, no escape | denial / edging | cockdrunk reader | dirty talk, degradation + praise mix (“mine.” “good girl.” “you don’t get to cum yet.”) | aftercare | breeding kink tones | crying & tears of pleasure | pouty!reader energy (literally the reason this entire fic exists. pout responsibly.)

📍credits: dividers by @cafekitsune

🎧 » TASTE — Stray Kids « 0:58 ─〇───── 3:37 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

The apartment feels colder without him.

It’s not actually cold—you’re curled up on the couch in nothing but his oversized hoodie, bare legs tucked beneath you, a mug of tea half-drunk on the coffee table. But it’s the kind of cold that seeps under your skin when the bed’s too big, the silence too loud, and your vibrator’s not doing the fucking job.

Your phone buzzes again. You don’t look.

You already know it’s him.

You’ve been ignoring him all day—not completely, just... enough. Left him on read once or twice. Gave him one-word replies. Didn’t answer the FaceTime this morning, even though you’d woken up with your hand between your thighs, aching from a dream you couldn’t finish.

It’s not fair, you know that. He’s on tour. He’s busy. He’s doing everything right—checking in, calling, sending those stupid audio messages that make your stomach flip when he whispers, “Miss you, baby. So much.”

But you’re needy.

Touch-starved. Cramps in your hips from curling up in bed alone. Horny to the point of irrational.

And the worst part? You can see him. Online. Onstage. Living in your phone like some cruel ghost. There he is at rehearsal. Dripping in sweat, shirt half-off, silver chain swinging with every breath. There he is in a fan-captured clip, laughing, flexing, biting his lip while dancing to your favorite track like he’s not out here ruining your life. And now? Now he has the audacity to send a mirror selfie. In the fucking studio. With the chain. The bracelets. The goddamn veins.

You nearly throw your phone across the room.

Instead, you sink deeper into the couch, bite the sleeve of his hoodie, and scream into the fabric.

“Fucking menace,” you mumble against your wrist.

He didn’t do anything wrong. That makes it worse.

Because now, every time you shift your hips, every time you think about his hands pinning you down and that cold metal chain slapping your chest while he fucks you stupid—

You can’t breathe.

You glance at your phone.

Three new messages.

[CHAN]: baby [CHAN]: don’t ignore me please [CHAN]: did i do something? talk to me

Your lip wobbles. Goddammit.

No. No. You’re supposed to be mad. Not real mad. Just pouty. Irritated. Like a girl whose boyfriend hasn’t been around to wreck her properly in over two weeks.

You don’t want sweet texts.

You want teeth on your throat. Fingers in your mouth. You want him to press your legs up and fuck the attitude out of you until you’re crying and clinging to his stupid chain like it’s the only thing keeping you sane.

Your gaze flicks to the bedroom door.

Then to the drawer.

You reach for the vibrator. Pause. Throw it back in.

“Fuck it,” you whisper. “Not tonight.”

If he were here, you wouldn’t even need it. He’d just look at you, and you’d be done for.

You bury yourself deeper into the cushions, grumbling, annoyed with the world. The room smells like him. The hoodie smells like him. Your whole body aches from missing him—not emotionally. Physically. Raw, feral want.

So you ignore the phone again.

Because if he really misses you? Let him come get you. Let him walk through that door and make it up to you with his chain swinging and his hands on your throat. Let him see what happens when he makes a needy girl wait too long.

The keys hit the lock at 1:37AM.

You hear them before you see him—metal clinking, a shuffle, a low curse. You barely manage to mute the TV before the door swings open.

He’s here.

And he looks like sin.

Black hoodie half-zipped, chain glinting just above the collar. His damp hair is pushed back with one hand, the other dragging his suitcase inside. His duffel slumps to the floor. Then he sees you—curled on the couch, one leg bare, still in his hoodie, sleeves covering your hands.

For a second, he just stares. Then that mouth curves. “You’re still up.”

You shrug, trying to look casual. You are not casual. Your thighs are clenched under the throw blanket, and your heart’s pounding like you weren’t just imagining that exact chain slapping against your collarbone while he fucks you into the mattress.

“Barely,” you say, voice too innocent.

His gaze drops to your bare thighs. Then back to your face. “Didn’t answer my texts.”

“Didn’t feel like it.”

He huffs out a soft laugh. That cocky, knowing one. “Oh. It’s like that?”

You don’t reply. Just stretch with an exaggerated yawn, lifting your arms enough for the hem of his hoodie to ride up. No shorts. Just skin. His tongue runs across his bottom lip. The chain shifts with the way he breathes, catching the lamplight.

“Were you waiting for me?”

“Not really.”

“Mhm.” He drops his hoodie onto a chair. “So the blanket, the hoodie, and no pants—that’s just what you wear now?”

You narrow your eyes. “Why are you talking like that?”

“Like what?”

“All smug.”

He grins. Oh no. He knows. Of course he knows.

“Baby,” he says, stepping closer. “You’ve been bratting out all week. You think I can’t tell?”

Your breath catches. Heat coils instantly in your gut.

“Didn’t say anything when I sent you that mirror pic. Left my voice note on read. Ignored the one where I said I wanted to fuck you through the floor.” He pauses. Tilts his head. “Nothing to say now either?”

You stare up at him. Slowly pull the blanket off your lap. “I missed you,” you admit, soft.

“I know,” he murmurs. “I missed you too.”

A pause. Then—

“I also know that pout’s not about feelings.”

“What’s it about, then?”

He’s standing over you now, hands on his hips, chain resting just beneath his throat. “It’s about the fact that you haven’t been fucked in two weeks.”

You look away. Cheeks hot. “And?”

“And you’re soaked just from seeing me walk in the door.”

You shoot him a glare, but it’s weak at best. He sees right through it. And worse? You see his jaw flex—barely—before he lets out a dark, low laugh.

“Get up.”

You blink. “What?”

“Up.”

You rise slowly, confused. He reaches forward and lifts the hoodie—his hoodie—up and off your body in one smooth motion. You shiver at the loss of warmth. Now you’re just standing there in panties and nothing else.

He steps back. Eyes dark. “You waited for me like this?”

You nod, shy now. “Wanted to be ready,” you mumble.

His lips part just slightly. His gaze drops, lingers on your hips, then snaps back up.

And then—

His hands are on your thighs, fast.

“Jump.”

You don’t think. You obey.

He catches you with ease, arms firm under your thighs, the chill of his bracelets biting into your skin. Your breath hitches as your legs wrap around his waist, chest flush against his. His chain presses cold between your breasts, and he’s not even trying to hide the way he grinds against your panties on instinct.

“You think I don’t know what that look means?” he murmurs, voice brushing hot against your cheek. “Little pout. Ignoring my calls like I wouldn’t drop everything to ruin you the second I walked through the door.”

You squirm against him, but he tightens his grip—just enough to pin your hips in place.

“Could’ve told me, baby,” he breathes, walking toward the bedroom. “Could’ve just said, ‘Chan, I’m wet and I miss your cock.’ I’d have flown home yesterday.”

He kicks the bedroom door open without a pause. Keeps walking until your back hits the mattress in a controlled drop. You bounce once, hair a mess, legs open, breathing ragged.

He stands at the edge of the bed, staring down at you like he’s starving.

Then he peels off the hoodie.

His shirt follows. Then the pants. He leaves the jewelry. Every bit of it. Rings, bracelets, and that fucking chain.

You swallow hard, mouth dry.

“Want me to take it off?” he teases, watching your eyes follow the chain.

You shake your head. “Keep it.”

“Oh yeah?”

You nod. Voice barely a whisper now. “Wanna see it dangling, wanna bite it.”

That does something to him. His jaw flexes. His cock twitches against the band of his briefs. “Fuck.” He climbs onto the bed like a man possessed. Cages you under him in one smooth motion, his hands planted firm beside your head, chain dangling just above your lips.

You glance up at him, pupils blown wide.

“Say it again.”

“I want to bite it.”

“While I’m inside you?”

“Yes.”

“While I’m ruining that little attitude?”

“Please.” You barely finish the word—“please”—before he’s kissing you like he’s making up for every second he’s been gone.

It’s not sweet. It’s hungry.

His mouth claims yours with a groan, hot and wet and open, tongue sliding past your lips like he already knows what you taste like. His chain swings between you, brushing your throat every time he shifts, a cold contrast to the heat pouring off his skin.

You moan into the kiss. He drinks it like oxygen.

Then he sinks down fully, settling between your thighs with the kind of weight that makes you feel pinned—owned. His cock presses hard against the soaked fabric of your panties, still trapped behind his briefs, but thick enough to make you gasp when he grinds down. “Fuck, baby,” he groans into your mouth. “You’ve been holding out on me. This pussy’s starving.”

Your back arches. You’re soaked, the wet patch obvious now—heat meeting heat as he rocks against you, slow and punishing, like he’s savoring every drag of his cock over your clit.

“Thought about this every night,” he whispers, dragging his mouth along your jaw. “This exact spot. These hips. The way you whimper when I press right… here—”

He thrusts just right. Your head falls back.

He kisses down your neck, slow and greedy. The cold metal of his chain follows, dragging like ice down your collarbone, between your breasts.

“Missed this fucking body,” he breathes, licking a stripe along your throat. “Missed the way you twitch for me. How you bite your lip to keep quiet.”

He grinds down again. And again. Until your hips start chasing his, until your nails dig into his back.

“Chan,” you pant, “I—I need—”

He shushes you with another kiss, deeper this time. He kisses you until you can’t think, until all you can do is cling to him, his chain brushing your lips like it wants to be bitten.

You’re pulsing through your panties. You know he feels it. You feel the smirk when he pulls back, just enough to look you in the eye.

“You gonna make a mess before I’m even inside?”

You glare. He chuckles darkly. “Go on then, baby. Rub that pretty cunt all over my cock. Show me how much you need it.”

You moan—needy, wrecked—and tilt your hips up into him, grinding against the thick ridge of him through both layers of fabric. “Fucking please,” you whimper. “Want you so bad.”

“You’ve got me,” he growls. “You have me.”

His hand slips between your bodies, pushing his briefs down just enough for his cock to spring free—hot, flushed, already leaking. He swears low under his breath.

“God, baby. Look what you do to me.”

Then he presses himself against your soaked panties again, bare cock against soaked fabric, and grinds. Slow. Deep. Purposeful.

“You feel that?” he grits. “You feel how hard I am for you?”

You nod frantically. “Yes, yes—Chan, please—”

“You want me to rip these off?” You can barely speak. “Or you wanna be good and ask nicely?”

You can barely speak.

Your whole body is tense—writhing beneath him, soaked and shaking and on the edge of sobbing for it. He sees it. Loves it. The way your breath catches. The way your thighs twitch around his waist. “C’mon, baby,” he murmurs, lips brushing your cheek. “One sweet word, and I’ll give you everything.”

Your eyes flutter shut. “Please,” you whisper. “Take them off. Please, Chan—need you…”

That’s all it takes.

He groans softly, like the sound is pulled from deep in his chest, and finally—finally—hooks his fingers in the sides of your panties. He drags them down your legs like he’s unwrapping you. Not fast. Not greedy. Just slow, like he’s enjoying every second of you bare and spread beneath him. When they’re off, he kisses the inside of your thigh. Then higher. Then higher.

But he doesn’t go where you want. No. He climbs back up your body, and you think—thank God, he’s going to fuck me—But instead, his mouth goes to your chest.

“So fucking pretty,” he breathes, eyes locked on yours as he kisses just above your heart.

His hand palms one breast, thumb circling the nipple until it peaks under his touch. His mouth follows—hot, open, wet—and he sucks, slow and deep.

You gasp. He groans. The sound vibrates through your chest.

Then he pulls back just enough to nip—just a little—right over the mark he made. “That feel good, baby?”

You nod, breathless. “Y-Yeah—more—”

He moves to the other breast. Does the same. Tongue first. Then lips. Then teeth. Your back arches into him, hands twisting in the sheets. The chain dangles against your sternum, cold and perfect, catching in the valley between your tits as he worships you. “Could spend hours right here,” he murmurs, dragging his tongue across your nipple. “Could make you cum just from this.”

“Please,” you pant. “I need more—Chan, please, I—”

He hushes you again with a kiss.

Then he trails down. And down. And down. Mouth dragging over your stomach. Teeth grazing the curve of your waist. He settles between your thighs, breath warm and heavy against your dripping cunt.

But he doesn’t lick. Not yet.

“God, baby,” he groans, almost reverent. “You’re fucking soaked.”

You whimper. Try to lift your hips. He holds you down. “Be good,” he warns softly. “Be still.”

You try. You really do.

But then he spits—just a little—hot and slick onto your clit, and you jerk like you’ve been shocked. “So sensitive,” he murmurs, smirking as he leans in.

And then—then—he licks. One slow, torturous stripe up your cunt. Flat tongue. No mercy.

You moan, loud, thighs clamping around his head.

He groans into your pussy, pressing his mouth harder, licking deeper, like he’s starving. His chain dangles against your inner thigh now, cool and maddening with every pass.

And just when you start to build—just when your toes curl, your body tenses, and you’re right there—

He pulls back. “Nuh uh,” he says, voice thick and smug. “You don’t get to cum yet.”

You sob. He kisses your thigh, then blows softly on your wet, throbbing clit just to be cruel. “You’re gonna cum with me inside you,” he murmurs. “With this chain in your mouth, and my cock so deep you forget your own name.”

Your hips twitch. Your eyes roll back. He grins at the sight.

And his mouth returns to your cunt like a man addicted—like he’s missed this more than sleep, more than air, more than the stage itself. His tongue licks deeper now, deliberate, dragging slick through your folds and sucking gently at your clit like he knows exactly how much you can take.

“Fucking perfect,” he groans against you. “Tastes like you missed me.”

You cry out, hands flying to his hair, gripping tight. He lets you. For now. Then—

His fingers join the party.

Two of them, thick and slick, pressing at your entrance and sliding in with no resistance. Your walls clench instantly.

“Oh my God—Chan—!”

“Shhh. You’re fine.” He curls them. “You’re so fucking fine.”

His lips wrap around your clit again just as his fingers start thrusting—slow at first, then deeper, firmer, building rhythm. Every drag hits that spot inside you that makes you see stars.

You’re so close it’s shameful. Your hips roll into his face. Your moans are embarrassingly loud now. And just as you hit that edge—

He pulls away again. His mouth gone. Fingers stilled inside you.

“Wha—why—” you gasp, blinking through the haze.

He looks up from between your thighs. His lips are slick, his chin glistening, the chain glinting as he rises slightly, his fingers still buried to the knuckle in your fluttering pussy.

“Brats don’t get to cum without permission.”

You whimper. Physically ache. “Channie, please—”

“You gave me attitude. You ignored me. You made me wait.”

He slides his fingers out slowly, watching them glisten in the low light. You’re dripping. He presses them back in—just one knuckle—then pauses again. “Now you’ll wait.”

“I said sorry—”

“Did you mean it?”

“Yes—”

“Then you’ll be good.” His voice is soft, dangerous. “Keep those legs open. Take what I give you. And you don’t cum until I say.”

You nod frantically.

“Say it,” he demands, pushing his fingers in deep again.

“I won’t cum,” you gasp. “Not unless you say.”

“Good girl.”

And just like that—his mouth is back.

He fucks you with his fingers while he sucks your clit with precision. Every moan you make only spurs him on. He watches your body unravel, his chain swinging between your breasts with every jolt of pleasure.

You’re shaking again. So close it hurts. Your eyes roll back—your legs tremble—your whole body’s about to give out—

“Don’t,” he warns, pulling his mouth off just enough to speak. “Don’t even think about it.”

Your hips jerk. He curls his fingers and presses his tongue harder. “Not until I say.”

You’re crying now. Wrecked. Gutted. Desperate. And still, he doesn’t let you have it.

“That’s it,” he whispers, lips wet against your thigh. “You feel that? That’s what brats get.”

“Channie, please,” you sob. “I need it—I’ll be good, I promise, I’ll—”

“I know you will,” he coos.

Then he withdraws completely.

You scream.

“You’re gonna be so fucking good for me now,” he mutters, climbing back over you.

His cock, thick and flushed, brushes against your inner thigh. You’re slick enough he could slide right in. But he doesn’t. Not yet. He leans in, chain swinging.

“Open your mouth.”

You do. He places the chain between your lips. “Bite.”

You bite. The chain presses cold between your teeth, sharp metal on your tongue, a mouthful of him. Of ownership. Of need. You moan around it as he grips your thighs tighter, spreads them wider, and finally—finally—guides his cock to your soaked, twitching entrance.

“Look at that,” he breathes, staring down between your legs. “You’re begging for it.”

You are. Your pussy flutters, aching, empty for so long you can barely think. His tip nudges your entrance, hot and heavy and thick, and just the brush makes your whole body tense.

“Been saving this for you,” he murmurs, dragging his cock slowly through your folds. “Didn’t even jerk off on tour. You know how fucking hard that was?”

You whimper around the chain.

He grins. “Yeah, you do.”

Then—without warning—he pushes in. Just the head. You sob.

“Fuck, baby…” he groans. “So tight. So wet. You missed this cock, didn’t you?”

You nod frantically, teeth clenched on the chain. Your walls spasm around him, already trying to pull him deeper. And he gives it to you. Inch by inch. Stretching you slow, deliberate, merciless. You feel everything. Every vein. Every ridge. Every twitch and pulse.

By the time his hips finally press flush against yours, you’re shaking.

“That’s it,” he whispers. “Take it. Take all of it.”

He stills. Deep. Thick. Fucking perfect.

You can’t breathe. You can’t move. You’re so full it borders on painful, the burn and pressure delicious in its cruelty. He leans down over you, forearms braced beside your head. The chain swings, slipping from your perfect lips but brushing them.

You’re clenching around him—helpless, desperate—and he doesn’t move.

“That’s right,” he breathes. “Hold me. Grip me tight like that.”

He pulls halfway out. You sob. Then thrusts back in. Hard. And stills again. You’re drooling at this point, chest heaving, vision blurred.

“You think you can brat your way into getting fucked?” he growls, mouth brushing your ear. “You think this pussy deserves to cum yet?”

You shake your head. Tears well.

“That’s right. Not yet. Not fucking yet.”

Then he starts to move. Slow. Deep. Devastating.

His hips roll with purpose, like every stroke is a lesson, a punishment, a promise. His cock drags against every swollen nerve inside you, hitting that spot so precisely it almost feels cruel. And he doesn’t let up—not even a little.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, voice thick. “You feel that? Feel how deep I am?”

You nod, barely. You’re breathless, moaning with every slow, relentless thrust.

“So fucking tight,” he pants. “You’re squeezing me like you don’t wanna let go.”

You don’t. You can’t. You’re gripping him like a vice, your legs trembling around his waist, the chain now hanging loose across your chest—dragging over your nipples every time he fucks into you just right.

He leans in, kisses your jaw, then your throat. His hips grind at the end of each thrust, pressing his cock even deeper, and you swear you can feel him in your stomach.

“This pussy’s mine,” he growls. “Say it.”

You gasp, voice wrecked. “It’s yours.”

“Say it again.”

“Yours—Channie—it’s yours—!”

His pace picks up. Not fast, but harder. More pressure. More control. He’s fucking you like he owns you—like he earned this. Like he waited two weeks for the chance to bury himself so deep in you, you’d never forget what it felt like to be full of him.

“That’s my girl,” he breathes, sweat dotting his temple. “My bratty little baby. Thought you could tease me, huh?”

You whine—shaking beneath him, overstimulated already, toes curling with every thick, slow stroke.

“Missed this cock so much,” he murmurs, voice rough as he licks the sweat from your neck. “Should’ve begged. Should’ve dropped to your knees the second I got home.”

He pulls out just slightly—just the tip—before slamming back in, hard.

You scream.

He does it again. And again. Punishing. Precise.

“But no,” he growls. “You wanted to act up. So now? You get fucked how I say.”

Your hands claw at his back. Your nails leave marks. Your eyes roll back when he grabs your throat—not choking, just holding. Grounding. Possessive.

“You wanna cum, baby?”

You nod, crying now.

“You wanna fall apart all over my cock?”

You sob, “Please.”

He leans down. Mouth at your ear. Voice like a fucking curse. “Then earn it.”

He lets go of your throat, pulls your legs up higher around his hips, changes the angle—and fucks into you so deep you see white. Your hands shoot up, grabbing at his chain again. You yank it between your teeth, moaning around the metal like it’s your only lifeline.

“That’s it,” he growls. “Bite down. Be good. Take every inch.”

He’s fucking you hard now. Relentless. The bed slams against the wall, your cries muffled by the chain in your mouth, your body trembling under his. You don’t know where he ends and you begin. All you know is his voice, his cock, his chain, and how fucking close you are.

He knows it too.

Your body is a mess beneath him—shaking, leaking, barely holding on. Your mouth is full of chain and nothing else makes sense. You’re right there.

So he changes it up. Again.

Without warning, he pulls out—just for a second—and grabs your thighs.

You whimper in confusion, but he’s already moving.

He presses your legs together, tight, then lifts them up and folds them toward your chest, locking your thighs against him with one arm. The angle is obscene—your pussy now swollen, dripping, needy, completely exposed to him like a fucking feast.

He lines up again.

“Hold still.”

You can’t move anyway. He thrusts back in, all at once. You moan.

“Oh my god—”

“Yeah?” he growls, voice cracking. “That’s what you wanted?”

His arm flexes as he locks your legs to his chest, other hand gripping the headboard for leverage as he slams into you—deep, brutal, unforgiving.

Your mouth falls open. The chain slips from your lips, damp and clinking against your chest as your head tips back, jaw slack.

You’re drooling. Literally. You don’t even realize it. And still—still—he doesn’t let you cum. “You feel that?” he pants. “Hear how fucking wet you are?”

Slap slap slap—your pussy sounds obscene, slick gushing down your ass, pooling beneath you as he fucks into the tight, hot mess he’s made of you.

“You fucking live for this cock, don’t you?”

You nod, eyes rolled back, moaning like you’ve already cum three times.

“Say it,” he snaps, thrusts slamming into you. “Say you’re cockdrunk. Say you need it.”

You try.

Nothing comes out.

You’re babbling, lips trembling, tears slipping down your cheeks.

“What’s that, baby? Can’t talk?” he mocks, voice half-gone, fully feral. “Already gone and I haven’t even let you cum?”

His cock pulses inside you, thick and angry, twitching with the effort to hold back—but he doesn’t break. Not yet.

He wants you ruined.

He wants you begging.

“Not yet,” he growls. “You’re not there yet.”

You choke on a sob, head thrashing, arms reaching up to grab anything—his wrist, his chain, the sheets—but it’s not enough. The pressure in your gut is unbearable. Your cunt’s fluttering around him like you’re already mid-orgasm. You’re leaking down his balls, dripping from the stretch, absolutely wrecked.

And he loves it.

“You’ll cum,” he promises, fucking deeper, harder. “But not until you break. Not until you’re drooling and sobbing and begging for it with that pretty little voice I own.”

Your brain’s gone fuzzy.

Nothing left but heat and pressure and the sound of him—filthy, brutal, mercilessly deep. Your body isn’t even yours anymore. You’re limp in his hold, legs pressed together and pinned to his chest while his cock splits you open over and over, dragging against that spot inside you with every punishing thrust.

And you still haven’t cum. You can’t cum. Not until he says.

“Come on, baby,” he growls, his voice wrecked with effort. “Where’s that sweet little voice now?”

You sob, drooling down your chin, lips trembling around broken words that won’t form. “Nngh—Ch-Chan, I—please—”

“That’s it,” he moans. “Beg for it.”

Your hands claw uselessly at the sheets. “P-please,” you cry. “Please—I n-need—I can’t—Channie, please—your cock, I need it—need to cum—please—”

Your cunt clenches around him so hard it nearly makes him lose rhythm. He grunts, digging his fingers into your thighs, pace faltering just enough to grind deep before resuming that relentless rhythm.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he snarls. “Dripping all over me, baby. You’re gonna ruin the bed.”

“I-I don’t care—please, please—”

Your body twitches, helpless under him, tears leaking into your hairline, mouth open and glossy, his name the only thing you know how to say.

“Say what you are.”

“Wh—what?”

He thrusts hard, knocking the breath out of you. “Say what. You. Are.”

“I’m—fuck—I’m yours—I’m your fucktoy—I’m cockdrunk, I—”

“You’re what?”

“I’m cockdrunk, Channie—please—please let me cum—”

He slams into you so deep you nearly scream, chest arching into his grip, your vision flickering to white. “That’s right,” he moans, voice unravelling. “That’s my baby. All mine. This pussy—mine. Say it.”

“Yours—yours—yours—!”

“You wanna cum?”

“Please—”

“Then fucking do it.”

Your body shatters. It’s not even an orgasm—it’s a detonation. You clamp down around him, sobbing, your whole body convulsing as wave after wave crashes through you. You can’t speak, can’t breathe, can’t even scream. All you can do is feel.

Feel him. Feel the stretch. Feel your pussy gush around his cock as you cum so hard it feels like it might kill you.

He doesn’t stop.

“That’s it,” he groans, fucking you through it. “Fucking soak me, baby—fuck—fuck—you’re milking my cock—”

Your mind’s gone. You’re nothing but a trembling, cockdrunk mess, tears and drool smeared across your face, still whispering “yours, yours, yours” under your breath like a prayer.

“Gonna cum inside you,” he pants, voice cracked and breaking. “Gonna fill you up—fuck—can I, baby?”

You nod frantically, eyes fluttering. “Give it to me—want it—want all of it—please—”

And then he breaks.

He fucks into you one last time—deep, desperate, final—and lets go with a raw, shuddering moan as he empties inside you, cock pulsing, hot cum spilling into your still-clenching pussy.

“Fuckfuckfuck—baby—”

He collapses over you, chain dragging across your chest, both of you soaked, panting, trembling messes.

And still…

You whisper, barely conscious, lips ghosting his ear: “Yours.”

Your body is done. You don’t even register the moment he pulls out—all you feel is the warmth spilling down your thighs, his cum leaking out slow and heavy as your pussy pulses in the aftermath.

You try to speak. Nothing comes out but a sigh and a tiny broken whimper.

He huffs a soft laugh above you, lips brushing your temple as he shifts just enough to kiss the corner of your mouth. You’re too wrecked to return it—eyes fluttering, fingers twitching in the sheets, hair a sweaty halo around your face.

“That’s what my pouty baby gets, huh?” he murmurs, voice low and too smug. “Act like a brat, get fucked stupid.”

You let out a soft, slurred noise.

He kisses you again—this time on your nose. Then your forehead. Then both cheeks. “You did so good for me,” he whispers, hand cupping your jaw. “Took it all like my perfect girl."

You blink up at him. Barely coherent. “Mmhnn…you’re…annoying.”

“Aww,” he coos, grin wide. “You sound so mad for someone who just came like her soul was leaving her body.”

“You ruined me.”

“Damn right I did.”

He kisses your lips, slow and deep, like he’s trying to pour himself back into you. His tongue licks into your mouth with lazy heat, but now it’s tender. Now it’s grounding. His chain is still resting against your skin. You reach up, weakly tug it.

“Still on,” you whisper.

“You earned it,” he says softly. “Might keep it on since you like it that much.”

Your thighs twitch. He notices. Of course he notices.

“Oh, now you’re getting greedy again?” he laughs, brushing your hair back from your face. “You’re leaking my cum and still trying to start something?”

You whine. He grins and kisses you quiet again. Then he finally shifts—gently—lifting your legs, helping you unfold from the wrecked, folded position. You hiss when your body relaxes, muscles trembling. He hushes you instantly. “I got you, baby. I got you.”

He eases you onto your side, tugs the blankets up, and disappears for just a moment.

You hear the faucet. The soft clink of a glass.

He returns with a warm towel, cleans you carefully—between your thighs, over your stomach, around the curve of your ass where the sheets are soaked. You flinch at first, but his touch is featherlight. Reverent.

“There she is,” he murmurs. “My messy, fucked-out girl.”

He kisses your knee.

“My perfect pouty baby.”

Then he tosses the towel aside, climbs into bed, and pulls you into his chest like he’s never letting go. You curl up instantly—limp, warm, safe. His arms wrap around your back, one hand stroking your spine. His lips stay near your temple.

You nuzzle in deeper. “Gonna sleep for a week,” you mumble.

“Gonna feed you first,” he murmurs. “Then let you sleep. Then fuck you again.”

“Chan—”

“What?” he grins. “My baby was hungry. I provided.”

“Provided a near-death experience.”

“You’re welcome.”

You laugh—weakly. He presses a kiss right over your pulse. “You okay?” he asks, quiet now. Real. “Too much?”

You shake your head against his chest. “Perfect.”

“Good. ‘Cause next time, I’m making you cum around my tongue five times before I even think about fucking you.”

Your breath catches. He just smirks.

“Sleep now, sweetheart,” he whispers, grinning against your hair. “You’ve earned it.” And you do—out like a light, drooling on his chest while he smirks like the menace he is.

[darkbluekies]

Edmund coming home to a darling who keeps having "nightmares" but one day he sees a bruise and finds out the maids have been hurting her, causing her to cry

"Name"

Yandere!king oc x fem!reader

Summary: Edmund realises that the maids have been bullying you behind his back ... and he's furious.

Warnings: bruises, bullying, threats of harm and murder, jealousy, darling feels responsible/guilty for their deaths, guilt, mention of murder, possessiveness

Word count: 1.8k

He’s had to work night multiple weeks in a row, leaving you alone in the bed chamber for hours before he joins you, often in the transition between night and the cold hours of the morning. It had been fine in the beginning. Dare you admit you even found it a bit therapeutic? Being alone for once, without him, where else he’s breathing down your neck like some kind of puppy. 

But then it had shifted. The maids who usually patrolled the corridors started sneaking in when it was clear that Edmund wouldn’t come. At first they talked to you about mindless things that seemed harmless, but you could feel something in the air. That feeling, the one where you know the second you part ways, they’ll start talking. Laughing. Mocking. They always asked you about your background, made comments about your clothes and jewelry. Never any direct critiques, but not any compliments either. A grey zone that made your stomach uneasy.

The talking didn’t last long. In a matter of a few days, it shifted. Evolved to something worse. Darker. They have started to mock you to your face when no one else hears, and hit you when you cry. You don’t dare say anything back, just take it … knowing very well what will happen with them if Edmund gets to hear you shout. So every night you bite your lips shut and take it. 

A part of you screams that you should tell Edmund. Let them die, let them see you’re not someone one can mess with and get away with … if only if it wasn’t for the fact that they will die. Edmund’s not a half-assed guy. His love is never a “I would kill for you”-mantra. He has, and will undoubtedly, kill for you again. Over and over. He’d kill anyone you point at, if you wanted to. And oh, how it makes you feel dirty. You’re not the one pulling the trigger or swinging the sword, but you’re the commander. The reason why. In some capacity, you would be a murderer. 

It doesn’t matter how much you hate these women. Death—murder—is never a justified punishment. Not for jealousy. They deserve to be removed and possibly punished, but not killed. Never killed. Their deaths will wreck the lives of innocents who have nothing to do with their behaviour. And you will be blamed. 

You look down at your arms. The darkness hides the marks, but you feel them like bleeding, salt infected wounds. Edmund hasn't noticed. When he comes to bed it's dark enough to hide them. In daylight they're hidden under your extravagant dresses, thanks to Edmund's modesty rules. 

Maybe you want him to notice. Maybe you want a reason to tell, to get comforted and reassured that their words aren't true. To have someone on your side. Maybe you want him to never find them. 

You sob, pulling the covers closer to your body. They've left for the night. You should lay down and try to sleep, or at least pretend to. But you're unable to. Your body refuses to move from its sitting position. If you lay down and they come back you're powerless. Three against one. One laying down. Easy to overpower.

You're not sure what you're most scared of them doing to you. Cut your hair to the scalp? Touch your features and make you unrecognizable? Too ugly to be attractive to him? They've threatened it one time— “what if we just decide to break your nose? Your jaw? Who'll love you then, your majesty? You'll be thrown to the slums, like everyone else. You're not untouchable just because he finds you pretty. That ‘prettiness’ can easily be taken from you.”

Or are you more afraid of them killing you? They've gotten worse over the days. A quick slippery slope down to madness wouldn't be impossible. They could easily pin you down and slit your throat, stab you.

You’re too in your own head to hear the door opening. 

“You’re still awake?” 

Edmund’s voice rips you out of your thoughts. You gasp, breath getting caught in your throat. Your hands are about to move up to your cheeks to wipe your tears, but you know he’ll catch that. Instead you turn your head away slightly, hoping the darkness will hide the tears streaks. His footsteps seem to echo behind him. 

“My jewel, you’re supposed to be asleep by now”, Edmund says and you feel the bed shift as he sits down. “Having trouble sleeping?”

You nod without looking at him. It has the opposite effect you wish for. 

“Why aren’t you looking at me?” 

His fingers touch your cheek, turning your head to him. You’re unable to stop it. You meet his eyes, those ice blue ones that seem to glow in the dark, and feel yourself crumble under his gaze. Your eyes fill, once again, with new tears. Edmund’s jaw clenches and he quickly moves closer. 

“What is it?” he asks, voice tight. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

You shake your head, lowering your chin. Edmund’s eyes start to wander, desperately looking for clues. His eyes stop at a particularly dark spot on your shoulder, just below the neck line of the flowy night gown. His fingertips touch it gently, as if trying to see if it’s real, and you flinch away before you can react. 

“Y/N …”, Edmund breathes out. “What the hell? Don’t tell me that’s what I think it is.”

When you don’t answer, he shifts closer. Close enough for you to feel his breath on your skin as he brings a small, electrical lamp close enough to see the bruise clearer. There’s only a word leaving his throat, but it is enough. “Name.”

“No.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“It won’t solve it.”

“It will. It’ll stop them from hurting what’s mine. Give me the name.”

You turn your head down, looking at your hands trembling in your lap. 

“It’s not ‘the’ name—”

“There’s more?” His voice has a sharper edge. “Okay then, give me their names.”

“I don’t want blood on my hands.”

“There won’t be any blood on your hands. Only mine. No one else is allowed to touch you. Nothing else, is allowed to. And if you don’t tell me who gave you these ugly marks I will hunt them down, and I’m sure a few innocent will be struck that way. Give me the cowards names. Do you think a king will let his queen be hurt by unworthy?”

You don’t answer. The sobs come back, rippling through you. You’re on the edge now, so close to ending someone’s life. You have the gun in your hand and all you need is to pull the trigger … or put it down. But if you put it down, he’ll pick it up and shoot without hesitation. As long as you hold the gun … nothing happens.  

“Gosh, these marks makes me nauseous”, Edmund gags as he holds your arm in his hands. He has pulled up the sleeve to get a good look at them. “So brutal.”

“Please don’t look.”

“Tell me their names. My pretty jewel, tell me their names. Please, Y/N. Tell me who did it.”

You shake your head again, sobbing. Edmund sighs heavily. 

“Can you at least tell me how long it’s been going on?” he asks, and you can hear the frustration in his voice, even if half of it is pure worry. 

“Since you started working night”, you mumble, hiccuping through sobs. 

“Since I started work— … you have to be kidding me?”

You shake your head. Edmund bites back a scream and looks around, as if trying to find something to ground himself on.

“So, people have been coming in here when you’re alone and hurt you?” he asks, voice shaking. “And you’ve been silent about it? It’s been two weeks. Why haven’t you said anything?!”

“Because I’m scared, Edmund …”

His eyes immediately soften. Not to a gentle one, but one that isn’t piercing. He pulls you closer, letting you rest your head on his shoulder. 

“Y/N, darling”, he says with his trembling voice. “I’m the king. I am the highest power in this kingdom, yeah? You are my wife, correct? You are the safest person in this country. But I can’t help you if you refuse to tell me when someone is hurting you.”

“You will kill them.”

“Damn right I will. That’s what happens when people think they can touch what’s mine. Touching you is a war crime and I will not let them get away with it.”

He cups your wet cheek, turning you to him. 

“Who hurt my pretty girl?” he whispers sorrowfully. 

Your finger trembles on the imaginary trigger. And, before you can register it, you press. 

His face lights up—not in a happy way, but relief. He’s about to fly up form the bed, but you grab his arm. 

“No, no, Edmund please!” you plead, voice breaking with sobs. “Don’t leave me!”

“I will get those bitches for this”, he tells you, his voice now a venomous deadly calm. “I will snap their necks myself.”

“No … no please, don’t go.”

You hug his arm, pleading over and over again. Edmund seems torn between revenge and protection, but in the end he gives in and climbs back into the bed, pulling you flush against him. 

“Fine”, he gives in, squeezing your trembling form. “I will let them have their final night … but tomorrow they’ll get what they deserve. For now I’ll take care of my beautiful queen.”

He kisses the top of your head. 

“I will never let those creatures near you again", he promises, showering your face in kisses. Too soft for his usual behaviour. “They don’t deserve to touch you. Only I am. I am the only one worthy enough to touch you. To kiss you. To hold you. To be near you. To see you. Tell me what they did to you.”

So you do. His grip on you tightens for everything you tell him, but his lips never leave your skin. They burn. 

“I’ll enjoy tomorrow morning”, he decides, moving even closer to you, snuggling. “I’ll kill them slowly—well, if you can snap someone’s neck slow—and enjoy every bit of it.”

He holds you close, running his fingers through your hair. You feel his cold, golden rings against your scalp. Your face is tucked beneath his chin, against the warmth of his neck. It’s as if he wants to pull you into him, become one with him. As if you’re only safe if you’re beneath his skin. 

“You’re so soft in my arms”, he whispers. “Really soft. Only mine.”

He hums and rests his cheek against your hair, falling asleep. But you? You won’t sleep for a long time. Relieved that you no longe have to carry it yourself … guilty that you’ve pulled the trigger. But you wouldn’t have won anyway. He always does. He always gets what he wants in the end … and this time, it’s to protect you. 

[idk-anymore-mydudes]

Me: Next time I know I'm overreacting, I'm just going to not.

Me, five minutes after learning I threw away three slices of a friend's bacon that were not actually moldy but just super greasy: I'm the worst friend in the world.

[everrinsly]

life with sae vibes.

let him hear with sae. smut. nsfw. very suggestive. mature. | not proofread.

more life with sae here!

more reads!

~~~~~

It might've been a mistake... falling asleep on the living room, wearing nothing but Sae's jersey—

Because you woke up to heat.

To slick, wet pressure.

To a thick, slow drag of Sae’s cock already deep inside you, dragging out and back in with maddening precision and the sound of your own broken moan in the sheets.

“Sae—mmph—wh…?”

His hips never stopped rutting against you as a free hand slid around your throat, thumb brushing under your jaw as he pressed kisses to the back of your neck, to your shoulder blades, nipping at all your soft skin exposed.

You couldn't see, but you felt his grin. (His smug ass grin).

“Morning, baby.”

Your lashes fluttered, thighs already trembling from how full you feel.

“You’re already—ngh—” You voice was broken, all breathless and high.

“Already inside?” he finished for you, voice husky with sleep. “You were warm. Soft. Wet in your sleep, too. And backing that pretty ass against me. Couldn’t help it.”

You shivered, and something curled again in your lower stomach.

"I—I—S-Sae—I don't think I w-was—"

"But you were, baby. You were," he murmured in your ear, all condescending—

Okay, maybe you were.

You faintly remembered pressing back against Sae unconsciously in your sleep. The outline of his hard cock rubbing in your ass in the best way possible. Even in your sleep were you drawn to him, gravitated towards him like a magnet.

His hand splayed across your stomach, no effort of pulling away. If anything, he shifted closer with a low groan of desperation. "You keep doing that, baby... and you're gonna get fucked all day tomorrow."

—so now, you're here. On the couch. He was spooning you from behind, covers kicked off, your body bare and folded perfectly into his. Every lilt, every dip. Hips moved with lazy, deep thrusts, soaking wet from how easily he slides through your slick.

And then—

Ding dong.

Your eyes snapped open, body stiffening. Euphoria replaced by humiliation.

“S-Sae—!”

He didn't stop. He never stopped when it came to you.

“Relax,” he murmured, licking the shell of ear. He thrusted into you a little harder, groaning softly at the way you clench. “That’s just Rin.”

“Rin—?!” you gasp, mortified. “You invited your brother over?!”

He hummed, like it’s nothing. Still fucking into you. Still ruining you.

“Said he’d drop off breakfast after his morning drills. Told him to swing by early.”

You tried to twist around, a small hand reaching behind to push slightly at his hips.

Keyword, tried—

Because he only tightened his grip around your waist with one arm. The other... under your head, locking around your neck. Biceps bulging, flexing, squeezing. Every part of him was holding you firmly in place as he ruts into you with smooth, brutal rhythm.

The sound of skin-on-skin was filthy. Every squelch of your core motivated him.

“And you—ah—thought t-this w-was a good—ah—ah—idea?!”

“I didn’t plan on fucking you through it,” he murmured, now licking the corner of your jaw, voice pure sin. “But you were whining in your sleep. Moaning. Arching so prettily. Like you wanted it. Like you wanted me to fuckin' wreck your pussy."

You squirmed at his words, breathing hitched, one hand slapping over your mouth to muffle the broken sounds slipping out.

Sae noticed.

And he was not having it.

“Don’t bother,” he says darkly, voice full of sick amusement. “I locked the front door. Rin’s just gonna have to wait.”

Another deep, punishing thrust, and you cry out, body jerking, eyes squeezing shut. You hands now removed from your mouth to claw his veiny forearms.

“You hear that?” Sae panted, fucking into you harder now. “You want him to hear it? Hear how ruined you sound? How good I’m fucking you?”

And in Sae's twisted mind—god, he so desperately wanted Rin to hear.

Because he hated, absolutely hated, how you cared for Rin. How you doted on him, coddled him, fussed over him. Made him soup after every intensive practice. Spoon-fed him when he got sick from rookie training. Called him after practice to make sure he showered in the locker rooms, so he wouldn't get sick from his cooling sweat.

Fuck, he hated all that shit.

But he loved (loves) you. So he put up with it—

But not right now. Right now, you were his, solely his. And he wanted Rin to know. He wanted Rin to hear how fucked out you sounded for Sae. Sae. Sae. Just Sae.

But, you pretty little thing, you shook your head frantically, too ruined to respond verbally.

Sae laughed darkly, low and raspy in your ear. Then—

He pushed back in with a particularly deep thrust. Unwavering, unrelenting. A pace that was brutal. And your body betrayed you, back arching, legs shaking, getting louder the closer you get.

And then?

His phone vibrates. Your phone vibrates. Both on the nightstand.

Rin Itoshi — [1 message]

“I’m outside. You guys good?”

You whimpered thighs trembling. You were so close. You could die.

Sae leaned forward, eyes flicking to the lit-up notification screens, reading it over your shoulder. And then he smirked, thrusting even harder.

"AH—ah—S-Sae, no—please—p-please—" You sobbed loudly, vision blurred with tears from how stimulated you are.

Sae sucked on the crevice of your neck, hiding his grin. Oh. There we go. Rin definitely heard that one.

“You’re gonna come with my brother standing ten feet from the door,” he growled. “You gonna do that for me, baby? Yeah?"

He gripped your jaw, fingers trailing to squeeze your cheeks until a string of drool left your opened mouth and dribbled down your chin. He slightly turned your face to look at him over your shoulders.

"Answer me, sweet baby? You gonna come for me? With him just outside? Huh?"

His pace was feral. Pounding into you with harsh thrusts. In and out. In and out. Tongue darting out to lick your spit off your chin.

"You wanna be my good girl, baby?"

Yes, yes, you so desperately wanted to be his good girl. Sae's good girl. So you dropped whatever's left of your composure—

And moaned recklessly into the open space of the living room, the symphony of your 'ah-ah-ahs' bouncing off the walls. Body spasmed as you came hard, clenching around him while he groaned your name into your skin, chasing his high, holding your hips still while he filled you, thick and hot and deep.

You collapsed.

Breathless.

Destroyed.

And Sae?

Sae kissed your jaw, glancing at his phone again like he has all the time in the world.

“I’ll go unlock the door in a sec,” he said casually, slipping out of you, your release leaking down your thighs. “Or maybe I’ll let him keep knocking while I eat you out next.”

[miupow]

투모로우바이투게더 一 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐗𝐓 𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐒𝐌。

★ pairing。txt x fem!reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎g。⧼ 📖 ⧽ smut , pwp ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎cw。dom!txt , unprotected sex , creampie mentions , men whimpering and moaning 🙏 , praise kink , dirty talk , pet names/name calling (bitch is used in bg’s sorry) , breeding kink if you squint | to library。

notes from lia。inspired by a skz post i saw on my dash teehee >_< a little drabble thingie to help me get back into the swing of writing ! hope you enjoy~ <3

수빈 𝐒𝐎𝐎𝐁𝐈𝐍

while soobin is a yapper outside of bed, he’s relatively quiet in it— that being said, that doesn’t mean he isn’t noisy. cute little whines and whimpers spilling out from between his plush bunny lips, staccato moans that grow higher and higher in pitch the closer he gets to his orgasm. but god he’s anything but quiet when his climax overtakes him, his eyes rolling back in his head as he moans so deep and broken, a complete 180 from his falsetto hiccups from before >< he pants like a dog as he rides through it, hips stuttering and twitching like he can’t bare the thought of staying still. his big cock spills so much cum everywhere, thick and sticky, makes a complete mess wherever it lands (in your holes, on your face, on your tits, on his own hand and belly, etc..) immediately floods you with praise once he remembers how to speak again, he’s so sweet <3

“o-oh, fuck, bunny, i’m cumming—! t-take it all, that’s it, that’s a good girl…”

연준 𝐘𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐉𝐔𝐍

the prettiest porn star moans you’ll ever hear, pouty lips open in a perfect “o” <3 he gets so stupid on pussy he can’t even think straight, babbling complete nonsense cos he can’t keep his mouth shut to save his life !! his moans get so whiny and pathetic the closer he gets to his climax, his whimpers sounding almost like he’s crying as he’s chasing his orgasm <3 lets out one long, loud, shrill pretty whine when he cums, high pitched and needy, trailing off into broken little sobs as his hips keep thrusting like he’s trying to milk himself dry, he just can’t stop!! his face gets so pink when he cums too it’s so cute :( buries his face in ur neck to hide his embarrassment as he comes down from his high hehe huffing like he just ran a marathon

“oh god, baby, i’m gonna cum, ‘m gonna cum, i c-can’t— w-where do you want it? i-inside?! oh, fuuck…”

범규 𝐁𝐄𝐎𝐌𝐆𝐘𝐔

throws his head back and lets out a moan so deep and broken it almost counts as a howl, so animalistic as his body shakes with his release. his pretty adam’s apple bobbing up and down his veiny neck, sucking on it will only make him cum harder <3 gets so loud you’re always worried he’ll wake up the neighbors, but if anything that’s what beomgyu wants— he loves letting everyone know how good you make him feel, how hard you make him cum with your pretty body beneath or on top of him ! won’t stop yapping even when he’s in the middle of the throws of his orgasm, stuttering out in his gravely low voice broken, nearly nonsensical dirty talk as he struggles to gain control back over his body <3 mixing up praise and degradation and everything in between, he’s just so cute you can’t help but giggle

“fuck, fuck, fuck! ‘m gonna cum, don’t fucking stop, shit—! fuck yes, take it, take this cum, that’s my girl, that’s my bitch!”

태현 𝐓𝐀𝐄𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐍

loses all composure once his climax starts creeping up on him, suddenly all he can think about is how badly he needs to cum!! he’s always so focused on your pleasure over his own, but once his orgasm is close he becomes nothing more than an animal !! huffing and puffing like he’s in the middle of a serious workout, so poised and focused even when his head is all empty except for pussy teehee <3 he’s always on the quieter side in bed but he gets pretty loud when he cums, crying out all high and whiny as he spills hot thick cum everywhere, preferably in your pussy, he hates letting his seed go to waste ! <3 sucking his dick is the best way to get him to get really noisy , he loses his mind with his cock in a tight wet throat <3 always grits his teeth and bares them like a predator, sharp canines on display with his pretty face all screwed up ..

“i-i— oh, fuck, fuck! i’m gonna cum if you keep doing that!”

휴닝카이 𝐇𝐔𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐊𝐀𝐈

kai gets so lost in pleasure sometimes, he just can’t help but turn into a wild animal… and it’s even worse the closer he gets to his orgasm, the tightening knot in his belly all he can think about, focus on.. practically starts using you like nothing more than a pocket pussy , big hands grabbing tightly ahold of you and moving you against him however he wants, just lay still and take it!! <3 cums so hard he cries sometimes, pretty broken moans sounding like angel choruses, rendered completely unable to speak the closer and closer he gets! just grunting and moaning, slack jawed and cross eyed, pussy drunk and fucked stupid… his cry of relief gets so loud that sometimes he has to bite down on either a pillow or your flesh, just to keep from waking everyone up !! whiny, high pitched, almost a sob.. he sounds so completely broken when he cums, fat dick spurting so much cum it’s insane.. leaves the whole bed wet and messy with both yours and his release by the time he’s done with you <3

“i’m gonna cum, i’m— im cumming, baby, oh my god, please don’t stop! o-oh fuck, i’m cumming, i’m cumming—!”

[emmyrosee]

The sheer jolt that wakes you up is enough to shake the bed, but not nearly enough to stir the sleeping man next to you. Kiyoomi’s always slept like a pile of bricks, tonight seemingly is no exception.

You turn to your side to look at the clock, groaning softly at the early morning time, far too early to be trembling in fear about your dream.

But it’s one where Kiyoomi, the love of your life, the one you’d sell your soul to, the one you planned to marry, does the absolute unspeakable.

The mere idea makes your stomach churn. And with someone he’d sworn, assured, promised he had no mere interest in, someone he could dispose of easily if it meant keeping you.

But in your dream, he’d shown absolutely none of that care or desire to dispose of them.

Grabbing your pillow, you grip the corners in your hands hard enough where your knuckles lighten. You look over at your boyfriend, who breathes deeply and rhythmically, cozy in his slumber as he’s burrowed under the covers.

You raise your pillow and smack him with it.

Now it’s Kiyoomi’s turn to jump a foot in the air. He yelps and immediately sits up, looking around wildly to try and find the source of his terrifying awakening.

“What! What’s wrong! Babe!”

You don’t say anything. You simply raise your pillow again, and smack him with it, this time more intention in your swing. He groans, hands instinctively coming up to protect himself, words of confusion spilling out from his lips- unlike the defeat he held in his dream.

Smack after smack, you feel the tears biting your waterline, stinging ferociously, and you screw your eyes shut as your shoulders tremble at the concept of his portrayal. The hot tears make their way down your cheeks, and your lip wobbles as your mind replays his betrayal over and over again.

“Ow! What did I do! Ow! STOP!” His hands make a reach for your pillow before you can bring it back down to his head. “God, you keep rocks in here or something?” He whines, bringing the pillow down, being met with some fighting from you and your desire to keep whacking him. You opt instead to shove his chest and shoulders, and he continues to squirm and bat you away.

“Are you out of your mind!” He scolds, once he’s finally able to still your hands. But the second he sees your face, he softens. “Oh… what’s wrong? You okay?”

“No,” you sob. He makes a move for his hand to touch your cheek, but you flinch slightly. “You’re cheating on me.”

“WHAT?”

“Kiyoomi, tell me it isn’t true,” you choke, burying your face in your hands. “Tell me it’s not true, it’s not true, you’d never-“

“I would never,” he says firmly. He grabs your hands and gently guides you to look at him. His fingers grip your chin softly, making you keep eye contact with his sleepy, but still serious gaze, “do you understand? Never.”

“But… but you… but-“

“Never,” he repeats, fingers gently squeezing your cheeks, pursing your lips out. Your tears roll over his fingers, and he winces, “fuck, this one got you good, didn’t it?”

“You cheated on me,” you wail. “With them, Kiyoomi. And you didn’t even care, you promised me they were gone and you were cheating on me- everything I was terrified for, it felt so real. Fuck, what were you thinking?”

“Clearly, in your dream, I wasn’t,” he says softly. Then, he sits in thought, and you sniffle and look at him, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. He clicks his tongue, “let’s kill him.”

“Who?”

“Dream me.”

That, finally, makes you snort. Your hand comes up to cover your mouth, laughter mixing with cries in the palm of your hand. You shake your head and let out a shaky cry, shoulders heaving as you try to contain your nose that desperately wants to run. He says nothing, but a shaky hand lays on your back. You jolt, but inevitably melt into the familiar touch you fell in love with. You slowly lay your head to rest on his shoulder, body exhausted from the ordeal and whirlwind of emotions coursing through you.

“Do you remember when we first met, and I was so enthralled with you, I spilt my scalding hot coffee on myself?”

You snicker again, around your whimpers. You nod against him, and you feel his head lay on yours.

“You know atsumu still teases me for that? Asshole. He can’t score a date to save his life, yet I manage to gain the courage to ask out the most amazing person, have them somehow say yes, and yet I’m the one who should be embarrassed? He’s an embarrassment to his bloodline.”

“Don’t bully atsumu,” you offer a watery laugh. “He’s a sweetie pie when he’s not being the worst.”

“Which is when?”

You laugh again. You feel long, slender fingers gently try to interlock with yours, and you gently lace them all together. He brings up your bundle of hands to kiss the back of yours, “but you know what?”

“Hm.”

“If it means keeping you for the rest of my life, I’ll never bully him again. I’ll wear a paper bag on my head. I’ll let you fuse with me and live in my skin. I’ll let you tickle me awake when we’re late for brunch with your friends. I’ll let you pick my nose for whatever reason your brain decides to. I’ll let you do anything you want to me, because I’m not going anywhere. No matter what.”

Your free hand comes up to cover your mouth to cry into, eyes screwing shut and shoulders heaving at his words. Fat tears roll over your fingers, hot and leaving sticky tracks in their wake.

“I only pick your nose when you’re giving me the silent treatment,” you choke.

“When was the last time I gave you the silent treatment?”

“Well-“

“And when was the last time you picked my nose?”

You crumble into a fit of giggles as you remember the last time, where your head had been resting on his chest and your finger slowly creeped up his body. He’d gripped your hand to stop it with a knowing smirk.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t love him more with every time.

“Can I see your phone?” You manage.

Without a second to spare, he lets you go to grab his phone on his nightstand, “you know the password?”

“Hinata’s birthday.”

“That’s right,” he chuckles.

And to your relief, there’s no trace of them. Not a single remnant of their presence, as if they never existed, as if they never met him. You even checked his recent messages to see if they were disguised as someone’s name- thankfully, it was just the usuals and nothing was out of the ordinary.

You pass the device back to him and burrow into his side, holding him tightly. “I love you.”

“I love you so much,” he whispered back. “You are everything to me. I’d be a fool to even think about jeopardizing what we’ve got going, baby.”

You nod and close your exhausted eyes, letting his gentle fingertips tickling up and down your arms lull you into a state of peace. Every few minutes, you feel lips press to your head, and while you’re not sure exactly when you finally succumbed to sleep, you know it’s in his arms with your drool soaking into his shirt.

Not that you’d have it any other way.

——-

@wolffmaiden @lees-chaotic-brain HEHEHEHEHE

[chrissssssmut]

Can you write a Kazuha smut using this

https://nhentai.net/g/434185/1/

PLIABILITY

Kazuha x Male Reader

You always knew Kazuha was graceful—every fan did. But now, stripped bare beneath her, pinned to the mattress while she straddles your hips in nothing but a silky black bra, you're learning something else entirely.

She’s deadly.

"You're already hard," she hums, running her fingers down your chest, slow and elegant, like tracing choreography. “Didn’t even have to touch you properly yet.”

You groan. “Kazuha…”

Her smirk curves. “What? Embarrassed?”

She leans forward, balancing perfectly on your hips—her thighs squeezing tight around you like she’s mid-performance on stage—and brushes her lips against your ear.

“Do you know how many hours I trained to move like this?” she whispers, breath hot. “How much core control it takes to keep a man begging under me?”

Before you can answer, she lifts one leg—high, graceful, ballerina-perfect—and swings it over your shoulder as she shifts into a side split on your lap, fully seated on your cock.

You gasp.

Her pussy swallows you in one go, tight and warm and already soaked.

“Fuck, Kazuha—!”

“Mmm,” she moans, eyes fluttering as she adjusts. “Deep already? Guess all those stretches paid off.”

Her hips roll forward in a slow, calculated grind—muscles flexing in rhythm, every motion purposeful, trained, devastating. She looks like she’s on stage again, except the performance is just for you.

“Eyes on me,” she says, tilting your chin up. “If you cum too soon, I’m going to tie you up and leave you halfway hard for the rest of the night.”

You nod quickly.

She giggles. “Good boy.”

You never stood a chance.

Kazuha rides you like she’s in full control—each bounce choreographed, fluid, her core holding her steady as she angles her hips to hit your most sensitive spots again and again.

And the way she bends—god—one leg still perched on your shoulder while the other stretches behind her in a full back arch, hair swinging, back muscles rippling.

“Bet you didn’t think your little ballerina crush would ride you in a perfect penché,” she pants, her hands planted on your chest, nails digging in with every slam of her hips. “Feel how deep you are right now? My flexibility’s all for you.”

You’re shaking, hands fisting the sheets.

She smirks. “You’re about to lose it, aren’t you?”

You nod again, desperate.

“Not yet.”

She pulls off—suddenly, cruelly—your cock slick and twitching. She crawls up your body and straddles your face, lowering herself until her soaked pussy hovers just above your mouth.

“Then eat,” she commands. “And don’t stop until I say.”

You moan, tongue already flicking up to meet her. She sits down fully, hips grinding against your face, riding your tongue with the same brutal elegance.

"God, yes... You love this, don't you?" she gasps, rolling her hips in a figure-eight. “Bet you fantasized about licking my thighs backstage. Being under me while I practiced.”

You groan in agreement, licking her deeper. She tastes divine.

And when she cums—shuddering, thighs clenching around your head like a vice—she doesn’t let up.

"Keep going," she breathes, grinding her release into your mouth. "You don’t stop until I say I’m finished."

Eventually, Kazuha lets you breathe again—but not for long.

She flips you over effortlessly, pressing your chest to the mattress. Then she grabs your hips, pulls you back into position, and slides onto you again—this time from behind.

She sinks down, then folds herself over your back in a deep forward bend, her chest flush against your back, arms snaking around you.

“I can bend in ways your last girl could never dream of,” she moans into your ear, riding you slow and deep. “And you’re going to take every inch of it.”

You feel her tighten around you—like a vice—and you’re right at the edge again.

“Can I cum?” you beg, voice ragged. “Please—Kazuha—I can’t—”

She pauses. Lifts her hips slightly.

Then slams down. “Now.”

You cry out, spilling deep inside her as she keeps riding through it, taking it all, milking you dry.

She hums in satisfaction, even as you twitch inside her. “That’s it… such a good little toy.”

She finally collapses onto your chest, sweaty, breathless, still pulsing around you.

“You’re not done though,” she whispers against your ear.

You whimper.

Kazuha only laughs, sitting up again—stretching effortlessly into a high straddle split across your hips.

“I’m still flexible. Let’s see how many more times I can break you in half.”

Your chest is still heaving when Kazuha leans forward and kisses your sweat-slick cheek, her lips soft, breath hot.

"One orgasm and you're already shaking?" she whispers sweetly, even as her hips are still lazily grinding on your half-hard cock. “I thought you said you could keep up with me.”

You try to respond, but all that leaves your mouth is a breathy moan as your oversensitive cock twitches inside her.

Kazuha giggles. "That’s what I thought."

She places her palms on your chest and starts rolling her hips again—slow, teasing, with that dancer’s rhythm. Your nerves are on fire, your brain short-circuiting, and yet she looks unbothered, completely in control of her body… and yours.

“Do you want to know exactly how flexible I am?” she asks, licking her lips as she rises up until just your tip remains inside.

You nod dumbly.

She smirks.

"Then watch me."

Kazuha shifts into reverse cowgirl, still facing away, giving you the perfect view of her toned back and flawless ass. Then, slowly, with unreal grace, she lifts one leg straight up—vertical—until her ankle is pointing toward the ceiling. A perfect standing split, all while your cock is buried inside her.

"Hnnn, fuck—feel how tight I still am even like this?" she moans, rotating her hips in a grinding figure-eight with that leg raised. “Bet your ex could barely touch her toes while riding you.”

You can barely breathe. She's completely vertical, cockwarming you while showing off a ballet pose *most pros can’t hold sober—*and she's moaning like it’s nothing.

"This is what years of pliés and arabesques trained me for,” she whispers filthily, lowering her leg and dropping her ass hard into your lap. “To ruin men like you.”

She starts bouncing, slow at first—controlled, devastating. Every slap of her hips echoes with lewd, wet sounds that fill the room.

“Look at how I move,” she growls, glancing over her shoulder. “Every motion? I learned it in the studio. All those hours stretching, sweating, perfecting lines—just so I could fuck you in a full side split like this.”

She slides forward, spreading her legs fully into a straddle split while staying completely impaled on your cock. The stretch is inhuman, her thighs flat against the sheets, and you’re watching your cock disappear inside her with each elegant grind.

“Fuck—you’re twitching again. Gonna cum already?” she teases, circling her hips faster. “I thought I told you—I’m the one who decides when you're done.”

You whimper.

Your body’s on edge again—painfully hard, overly sensitive—but she’s relentless. She leans forward, ass still pressed flush to your hips, arching her back into a deep bridge, hands planted beside your legs as she bounces harder now.

Her moans grow louder. Higher. Hungrier.

Then she twists her torso slightly—balancing one hand on your thigh while the other reaches behind her—and pulls her own leg behind her neck.

"Bet you didn’t know I could fuck you in a needle pose, huh?” she breathes, lips parted, sweat dripping from her chest. “You’re not even touching me, and I’m still using every muscle in my body to milk your cock.”

You choke on your own groan.

She leans down again and slaps your thigh. "Don’t even think about cumming yet. You want to cum again, you’re gonna earn it."

Kazuha rolls off you suddenly, leaving your cock throbbing in the air. She stands up and gestures toward the mirror across the room.

“Get over there,” she orders. “On your knees.”

You obey, dazed and horny, kneeling in front of the full-length mirror as she approaches from behind.

She drops into another perfect front split right behind you—then reaches around and strokes your cock slowly, deliberately.

“Look at yourself,” she murmurs into your ear. “Look how pathetic you are. Shaking. Leaking. All because your ballerina knows how to bend her body.”

She strokes faster.

“You want to cum? Tell me how good I look when I ride you like a stage prop.”

“You—fuck—you’re so hot, Kazuha—your legs, your hips—your control—I can’t take it—”

She squeezes the base of your cock suddenly, stopping everything.

“Then beg.”

“I’m begging,” you pant. “Please… let me cum. I need it.”

She grins, releasing your shaft and positioning herself behind you. She guides your cock back inside her from behind, sinking in slowly as she slides into a full forward fold, her chest pressed to your back.

“I’ll let you cum, baby,” she whispers, wrapping her arms around your neck. “But only after I grind the soul out of you.”

And she does.

Grinding in slow, deep, sinewy rolls, her split-held hips never breaking rhythm. She bounces on your cock like a dancer marking every count, core locked in control, every thrust deeper than the last.

Her words keep coming—filthy, cruel, perfect.

“Feel that stretch? My thighs open just for you.”

“Most men only dream of a girl riding them in a side tilt—you’re inside one.”

“Cum inside me, baby. Fill up this trained little cunt. I’ll squeeze it out of you with every muscle I’ve built for the stage.”

You lose it.

You explode inside her with a groan so loud it startles you. She moans, clutching you tight, riding every pulse of your orgasm as she cums again too—shaking, gritting her teeth, whispering your name into your neck like a melody.

Afterward, she’s still flexible. Still dangerous. Still in control.

You’re the one who collapses, panting.

Kazuha just giggles, stretching her arms overhead in a flawless back arch as she straddles your chest.

“Encore?”

You don’t even answer. You just nod.

You’re hers until curtain call.

[aakeysmash]

Pregnancy cravings

Farmer!Sukuna’s masterlist

Farmer!Sukuna thought dealing with your pregnancy cravings would be a walk in the park. I mean, come on, you two are basically self sufficient: he’s literally a farmer, what could you possibly crave that he doesn’t already have planted or stored?

Your cravings hit at the start of your second trimester. You’re barely showing, and probably the fact that nothing you eat stays in your stomach for more than two hours isn’t helping your case.

It’s winter and it’s snowing: your fields are currently covered in snow, your chickens are huddled up in their coop, your cows are sleeping in their heated stable… and you? You’re reading a book right in front of your fireplace. Sukuna gets home with his arms full of logs to keep the fire alive all night. He sets them on the ground before plopping down next to you with snow clinging to his hair.

“Get off, your nose is cold,” you mumble, pushing him away when he tries to give you a kiss. He raises one of his eyebrows, kissing you on the cheek either way (two times, to spite you). You let out a dramatic whine.

He chuckles, ruffling his hair and wetting your book’s pages with a couple of snowflakes. Annoyed, you roughly close the book, and turn around to give him a piece of your mind, just to find yourself wrapped in his arms.

“I said get off,” you repeat, softer, leaning in despite your words. His body heat is doing a better job than the fire at thawing the chill from your limbs.

“And I don’t care,” he replies nonchalantly. He kisses your temple, cocooning you deeper into him by opening his legs and tucking you into the space in front of him. You grumble something unintelligible.

“How are the only two people I can stand doing today?” He asks you, rocking you side by side. Seeing you pregnant makes him feel uncomfortably soft. And seeing you pregnant with his child? Oh god.

“I want ice cream.”

He stops.

“Huh?”

“More like your offspring wants ice cream,” you sniffle from under his jaw.

“I don’t think we have any in the freezer,” he responds, looking you in the eyes. Your lip starts wobbling.

“But I want it,” you brokenly say, trying to swallow your sobs. His heart clenches.

“I don’t think you’ll be able to have it today,” he says, and immediately regrets it when your eyes well up with tears.

“C’mon, don’t cry now, it’s just ice cream,” he tries to comfort you. Apparently he does a horrible job, because you start bawling.

“But I want it! And I hate that I want it so bad! You know how much I hate playing the weak and fragile woman part, why are you being mean?” you wail, shoving him away and getting up. You quickly go to the kitchen to drink a glass of water, the duvet that was covering you mere seconds ago acting as your cloak.

“No, babe, I’m not-“

You snap your head back angrily, levelling him with a hostile glare. “Yes you are! You’re being mean when it’s your fault I’m like this!” You motion to your body.

“Actually, you begged for it, wife,” he shrugs, a corner of his mouth lifting. He doesn’t expect the punch you throw at his chest.

“Don’t ever come near me again,” you seethe, drinking your water and flying up the stairs. He sighs, rubbing his temples, wincing when he hears you sniffle again.

After ten minutes he knocks on your bedroom door- the same one you not-so-gracefully threw in his face.

“C’mon. Get out,” he grits out. Who knew dealing with a pregnant woman would strip him of the little patience he still has left?

“No. You value me less than ice cream.”

He sighs. “What can I do t’ make you forgive me?” He hears the soft pit pat of your sock-clad feet on the floor before the door creaks open. From the last few months, he'd say your mood swing should be finished by now.

You gently lower the handle, looking at his condescending espression. Then you sag your shoulder, gazing at the floor.

"You big crybaby. C'mere," he smirks, opening his arms. You bury your head in his shoulder, and he pats your hair mockingly.

"I still want ice cream, though," you mumble.

"I'll go get it at the city right now if ya stop crying," he chuckles. He widens his eyes, realizing that... he caught himself too late.

You abruptly step back. He winces.

"And you'd leave me here all alone?! Why don't you love me anymore?!"

[eccentricwritingbaby]

baby finn series, welcome home

lando norris x wife!mom!reader

series masterlist

summary - your young family of three has now added another little piece of joy.

masterlist

-

the hospital lights shone as dim as they could get and cascaded along your tired, slumped body. you stared off towards the hum of monaco, out the window, taking in the peace that has overcome your mind. even though the next few months of juggling a newborn as well as a toddler would be difficult for your young family, the physical struggle was now over for yourself, and you and your husband had welcomed a lovely and healthy baby girl into your growing home. 

calmly coming into the world on a crisp december night, eleanor cisca norris, approached your lives bringing nothing but love and a little extra chaos. but ‘what would the norris family be without a small riot?’ your husband had ironically asked while you were soothing the crying baby for what felt like the hundredth time. having done this once before, your mom skills were at a high, swaddling game down, and breastfeeding locked in. your husband was also in his element, finally having his baby girl. 

you turned your attention away from the window and in the direction of the now two-time father, currently soaking in skin to skin time with his baby, sitting in the quietest corner of the room. she laid her peaceful head on his bare chest, sleeping soundly to the rhythm of his heartbeat. he spoke to her in the calm solace that he only reserved for you or finn, now adding little eleanor, or lola as he has elected to nickname her, to that list. you watch in awe, your heartrate picking up slightly as you feel yourself fall in love all over again with the man before your eyes, watching his gentle mannerisms that you had seen once before with finn in this exact hospital. he catches your eye, sending you a tired smile, and holding lola just a tiny bit tighter, as if once he lets go, she may slip away. 

your eyes are dry as you keep yourself from blinking, scared the moment will end if you do. as if he can read your mind, lando gives you a soft nod, telling you in your own telepathic language of love that, it’s alright, we’re here, get some sleep. 

one thing that he will never communicate without making sure that you hear it is whispered out as you begin to close your eyes, “i love you, y/n,”

“i love you too, lan,” you whisper back, as sleep and exhaustion win their battle against your mind and heart. 

the morning is brighter than normal, your baby girl now a whole day old, you and lando getting back into the swing of a newborn - having been woken up every two hours throughout the night - and yet the excitement stands. today was the day that finn would arrive at the hospital and get to meet his baby sister. 

you held lola in your arms, lando sitting next to you on the bed with one arm wrapped around the both of you. his other hand gently strokes your own arm, holding you close, and attempting to give you all of his appreciation in the world. 

“you did so good, love,” he whispers into your temple before placing a soft kiss there. 

“thank you, baby,” you sigh, exhaustion still hitting you, “when will finn be here?” you ask, not taking your eyes off the lovely lady in your arms.

“my dad said they’ll be here soon,” he whispers, eyes not leaving little lola either, “said finn was bouncin’ off the walls to come see us,” he chuckles.

“i believe that,” you laugh, “the little guy is so excited to meet her,”

as if lola could hear the conversation about her big brother, she begins to squirm in your arms, letting out a melody of baby gurgles as your husband and you swoon. lando begins to coo at the little girl as you turn to admire him instead. fatherhood always looked damn fine on him, and always will. a small knock on the door jolts the two of you out of your newborn babymoon, and instead towards lando’s parents and a sweet little boy wiggling around in his papa’s arms. 

“hi, bubs!” lando excitedly whispers as he removes himself from the bed and heads to his firstborn, taking him from his own father, “daddy missed you baby,” he giggles, kissing all over finn’s face.

“i miss you, daddy!” finn lets out between laughs as his father continues to kiss his entire face. cisca and adam eye the little girl in your arms and both ‘awe’ at the sight. they head over to you, and your eyes are already welling up at your firstborn son. 

“would you like to hold her?” you ask in the direction of the two parents, and adam steps slightly back as his wife nods her head.

“shouldn’t finn hold her first?” she asks tentatively, still reaching her arms out for the baby.

“i would prefer to hold him right now while you soak in some newborn time,” you laugh with the handoff between you two. she sighs at the sight of the small baby in her arms, wrapped in pink with a small bow hat adorning her head. adam wraps an arm around his wife as they smile, before he moves to take his own son in his arms, leading lando to plop finn on the bed and let him crawl towards you. 

“hi baby,” you sniffle as you hold him, emotions at an all time high.

“why you cry, momma?” finn asks loudly, leading your overprotective husband to snap his head towards you.

“i’m just so happy to see you, baby. momma missed you,” you let out a quiet sob along with a chuckle, lando coming over to kiss your forehead. 

“when will your parents be in, y/n?” adam asks you as he pulls you into a gentle hug of his own.

“they’re catching a flight tomorrow, should be at our house when we get back there,” you softly say, rocking finn in your arms as he cuddles into you, “they’re going to stay with us for about a week to help out a bit,”

“that’s good,” cisca sighs, still entranced by the newborn in her arms.

“do ya wanna know her name, mum?” lando quietly whispers, perching himself back on the bed to hold you and finn. she nods softly, carrying herself with such grace as she always does.

“eleanor cisca norris,” you let out as she snaps her head to the both of you. 

“oh my,” she sighs, “you two don’t know what that means to me,”

“you’ve beyond been there for me during this pregnancy and finn’s, it was only right,” you nod. she hands little lola over to adam and pulls you both into a hug as she tears up. 

“thank you, both,” 

“of course, mum,” lando sighs, tears pricking his eyes as well. 

“is it time for the little man to hold his baby sister?” adam asks, holding the baby out to you. you nod gently, rearranging the way finn was sitting on your lap in order for lola to be placed on top of him. cisca quietly records the interaction with her phone as adam sets her onto finn, lando opting to hold her head for him, and you hold onto her body to help.

“woah,” finn lets out as he gets a close look at her.

“what do ya think, bubs?” lando whispers, eyeing the little boy in your lap.

“she’s really small, daddy,” he laughs, letting the whole room let out giggles too.

“she is, buddy, that’s why you need to be gentle with her, okay?” lando teaches his son.

“i will, daddy,”

“i know you will, bubs,”

-

two days later and you have returned home, basking in the extra help of your parents and lando’s, along with the plethora of gift baskets that had been sent over from drivers and teams and friends. 

it was a calm evening, lando bouncing the quiet baby in his arms as your parents had retired to their guest room in order to catch up on jet leg. finn was playing around the living room under your supervision until the knock at your door had you moving. the little lightning bolt of a three year old had gotten there first, jumping up and down near the door - he knew exactly who was behind it.

“i wanna answer! i wanna answer!” he shouted with excited giggles.

you laughed in response while attempting to calm him, “okay, okay, but baby you need to remember baby sister is trying to sleep, alright? so let’s try and quietly welcome our guest,”

“otay, momma,” he lets out in a loud whisper as you giggle again, unlocking the door and stepping aside to let carlos and rebecca in. 

“hola, finn,” carlos laughs as your baby boy pounces on him, “and hello to you too, y/n, you look well,” 

“as good as i can do for still being in a diaper,” you all laugh as rebecca hugs you and you all head to the living room.

“aye, there she is,” carlos sighs at the sight of lando and lola, finn still clutching onto him. 

“finn, baby, get off uncle carlos so he can see your baby sister,” you softly tell the boy, finn immediately climbing down from him and over to rebecca as she scoops him up into her awaiting arms. 

lando exchanges the baby into his friend’s arms, looking on with love and care as he leads you over to the couch and wraps you in his own embrace. carlos and rebecca sitting on the couch across from you both, holding your two most precious gifts, and staring on in awe. lando squeezes you a little tighter, kisses your cheek, and lays your head to rest against him. 

“y’know mate, you look really good as a godfather,” your husband speaks up, causing the couple across from you to snap their heads up. 

“and you look beautiful as a godmother,” you add in rebecca’s direction. 

“what?!” they both respond with tears in their eyes, clearly ecstatic about the news, and obviously the perfect match to be elected. 

-

[mattsstarlet]

camgirl!reader hates pornstar!matt’s beard.

the more you stared at matt, the wetter and achier you became. he was across the room from you, standing against the wall with a cup of alcohol in his hand while he chatted with a few of his friends, acting like he didn’t have a care in the world. meanwhile you desperately tried to sit still, trying so hard not to rub your thighs together at the sight of his new look— a growing beard.

sure, you were needy but you were also angry at the fact that you hadn’t seen this look on him before he left his house because now you were about to sit on an uncomfortable wet piece of fabric for hours.

you were so lost in your own dirty fantasies that you didn’t see him striding down your way, leaning down close enough to your ear that you could feel his facial hair brushing against your skin. “somethin’ wrong, sweetheart?” he taunts, placing a light kiss onto your shoulder.

you clear up your dry throat, you had been caught but in that feverish moment you didn’t give a fuck. “i hate you.” you whisper back, earning a cocky chuckle from him. he stood up straight, tilting your chin upwards to catch his gaze as his thumb ran over your bottom lip.

“oh yeah?” he grins, licking over his pearly white teeth at your little nod of approval. “then we should fix that.”

your face was pressed up against the bathroom door while matt’s tongue was deep inside your messy hole from behind, his rough hands placed on each of your ass cheeks, eating your cunt like a starved man who was having his last meal. you felt the burn of his beard while he aggressively shook his head, lapping at your puffy folds like he couldn’t get enough of you.

“holy fuck, matt— mhm yes.” you cry out, your eyesight pooling with tears as you angled your head to look back at him, your hand reaching behind his head— holding him in place.

a loud sting echoes through the four walls of the room followed by a squeal from your glossy lips. you dig your fingernails into his locks, tugging harshly as you chase your high, spilling out pornographic moans that were muffled by the music outside the door. “gonna cum — oh fuck– on your pretty face.” you announce so sweetly, your pelvis rutting against his arousal covered face. “so hot eating me out like that.”

matt groans while his lips wrap around your clit, spanking you once more. your hole pulses around nothing as he makes suckling noises, his kisses were sloppy and fast paced.

he feels you trembling, holding your hips to support your body going weak. he makes humming sounds to bring you closer, swirling his tongue around your bud and then through your folds, rolling his own eyes at the sweet taste of you— he couldn’t get enough.

a stream of sobs replace your moans as you reach the edge, the coil in your tummy snapping apart, coming undone on matt’s face. matt sends you into overstimulation, kitty licking you clean while giving your messy folds a few taunting kisses.

he finally pulls away, spinning you around to face him. his beard was glistening with your sweetness, his chin drooly all while he hooked his arm under your leg, swinging it over his shoulder. “still hate me?”

you scoff, gluing your eyebrows together as you ran your hand through his hair, feeling the cool air on your cunt. “shut up and keep going.” he smirks at your sassy tone, kissing your inner thigh.

“knew you’d love the new look, sweetheart.”

© 𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗍𝗌𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗅𝖾𝗍

note ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ meow meow beard!matt please save me. also don’t know if i wanna fuck this blurb or not.

[harrysfolklore]

BLURB ABOUT MAX BECOMING WORLD CHAMPION 😩

i wrote this in like 20 minutes it probably sucks but MAX IS THE WORLD CHAMPION AGAIN AND I LOVE HIM SM

Your hands are shaking as you watch the final laps unfold on the screens. Your fingers find the small "33" necklace he gave you years ago – before the switch to number 1, before the championships. Some habits die hard.

When Max finally crosses the line, the explosion of noise is deafening. GP's voice breaks with emotion: "MAX VERSTAPPEN, YOU ARE THE 2024 FORMULA ONE WORLD CHAMPION!"

"Fucking yes!" Max shouts over the radio. "Thank you so much, guys. This one… this one was the hardest yet. I love you all!"

You're crying and laughing simultaneously as his car approaches.Max practically vaults over the barrier, nearly tripping over his own feet in excitement. "We fucking did it!" he yells, lifting you up and spinning you around. His race suit is soaked with sweat, but you couldn't care less.

"I never doubted you for a second," you say against his neck.

He pulls back, grinning. "Liar. You were freaking out after Singapore."

"Shut up and kiss me, World Champion."

He does, and you can feel him smiling against your lips. The photographers are having a field day, but this moment is yours.

After the media obligations, you find yourself in the back of a car with Max heading to the team party. The Vegas lights streak past the windows as he holds your hand, thumb absently tracing circles on your skin.

"You know what's funny?" he says quietly, the adrenaline from earlier settling into a softer contentment. "After Abu Dhabi 2021, I thought nothing could top that feeling. But this…" he brings your hand to his lips, "this one feels different."

"Because you had to fight harder for it?"

"Maybe. Or maybe because I know exactly what I want to do next." There's something in his voice you can't quite read, but before you can ask, the car pulls up to the Bellagio.

The party is in full swing when you arrive. The entire Red Bull garage has taken over one of the hotel's exclusive clubs, and someone (probably Daniel) has convinced the DJ to play "Super Max" for the third time. Max is immediately swept into the celebration, accepting drinks from every direction.

"To the four-time world champion!" someone raises a toast, and the room erupts in cheers.

You watch from nearby as Max does shots with his mechanics, his face flushed with happiness and alcohol. He keeps looking over at you every few minutes, that soft smile you love so much playing on his lips.

"He's been fidgety all day," Lando mentions, appearing beside you with two glasses of champagne. "More than usual race nerves."

Before you can respond, Max is pulling you onto the makeshift dance floor, attempting to spin you around despite his questionable coordination at this point.

"You're drunk," you laugh as he nearly trips over his own feet.

"I'm happy," he corrects, pressing his forehead against yours. "Dance with me?"

"Since when do you dance?"

"Since I'm four-time world champion and I can do whatever I want."

You're both laughing when he suddenly becomes serious, glancing around the room before taking your hand. "Come with me for a minute?"

He leads you away from the noise, out onto the terrace where the famous Bellagio fountains are creating their water symphony against the night sky. The air is cool for Vegas, and Max shrugs off his jacket to drape it over your shoulders.

"Max?"

He takes a deep breath, and you notice his hands are shaking slightly. Max Verstappen, who can handle a Formula 1 car at 320mph, is trembling.

"I had this whole thing planned," he starts, running a hand through his hair. "Was going to wait until we were back home, do it properly. But standing here now…" He reaches into his pocket, and your heart stops. "I've been carrying this around since Monaco. GP's been calling me an idiot for waiting so long, and he's probably right."

"Max…" your voice catches as he drops to one knee.

"You've been there through everything – the good races, the bad ones, all the championships. You understand this crazy life, and you make it better just by being in it. I love you more than racing, which if you know me, is saying something."

You're both laughing through tears now as he opens the small blue box, revealing a stunning ring that catches the light from the fountains.

"Will you marry me?"

"Yes," you manage to say through your tears. "Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!"

His hands are shaking as he slides the ring onto your finger, and when he stands, you throw your arms around his neck, kissing him deeply. Behind you, you hear the terrace doors burst open and cheering erupts – the entire team had apparently been watching through the glass.

"Finally!" Daniel shouts, leading the charge with champagne bottles. "I've been guarding that ring since Monaco!"

Max keeps you close as everyone surrounds you with congratulations, his arm firmly around your waist.

"I love you," Max whispers in your ear as the celebration continues around you. "Even if I needed four world championships to get the courage to ask."

You look up at him, at this man who can be so fierce on track but so gentle with you, and smile. "I love you too, World Champion. Always have, always will."

The party continues well into the night, but now it's a double celebration. You keep catching glimpses of your ring under the lights, still hardly believing this is real. Max hasn't let go of your hand, and every time someone offers congratulations, his proud smile grows bigger.

"You know what this means?" Charles says with a smirk, raising his glass. "We might actually have a chance next season while he's distracted with wedding planning."

"Keep dreaming, Leclerc," Max laughs, pulling you closer. "I'm just getting started."

[meiieiri]

𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫 [toji fushiguro]

synopsis: so she tells him not to cry over the injustice of a life cut too short for at the end of all this, she’ll only be a dream.

pairing: ex-husband!toji fushiguro x terminally ill wife!reader | song inspo: soon you’ll get better, cancer

warnings: heavy angst, terminal illness (primary bone cancer, stroke and MS), mentions of divorce/past infidelity, allegories to cheating, major character death. please read at your own risk. | a/n: this was so heavy for me to write, i started writing at 2 in the morning, and it’s 6:34 now.

word count. 3k~

“Why can’t you do anything right?”

Toji should have noticed, he laments as he takes a sip of his cognac. He should have sensed that something was wrong sooner, maybe that way, he wouldn’t be begging to borrow some more time to make things right. Your fingers were trembling that day — the first time you ever ruined his morning coffee — your hands shaking uncontrollably as you washed the mug with a sorrowful look on your face, your eyes glossy with the tears you were desperately trying to hold back.

He shouldn’t have been so harsh, he realizes that now. Breakfast had been burnt to a crisp and ruined, sure, but nothing could compare to how he constantly ruins the one beautiful thing that has ever happened to him, who haphazardly spilled her smoothie on him when they first bumped into each other in Shinjuku just after he finally cashed in enough money with Shiu to get his laundry done.

Toji, whose senses have now been honed to pick up on the slightest of your sluggish movements and your pained and suppressed hisses, hears the bedsheets rustling and he instantly gets up before you could even force yourself out of bed. “Hey, hey, easy now.” He catches you before you could fall backwards onto the mattress, your skin appears cold and clammy, your thinning muscles stiff as a board — you must be having one of your episodes again. “What do you need?” he asks, his voice heartbreakingly gentle for the first time in months.

“Water.”

Your husband nods, swinging his feet over the edge of the bed, hurriedly making his way to the dining table which was now kept in your bedroom so you aren’t forced to move around too much. The sound of water splashing into the glass fills the air and you feel another stabbing pain coarse through your joints.

Toji gingerly brings the glass of water to your lips and you sighed, an exasperated yet amused smile on your face. “I can do it, babe. Don’t worry.” Why did that sound like you were trying to convince not just Toji but yourself? You bring your bony hands to grip the glass and it takes everything out of your husband not to break into a fit of sobs when he sees your hand violently shaking with effort just to keep the glass steady.

His larger hands close around your defeated one. “I-I…I can do it, I did it yesterday. Y-you saw me.”

“Shhh, I know, it’s okay.”

You bite your lip to distract yourself from the anguish of realizing the truth behind the doctor’s words. Everything you feared was finally becoming your and Toji’s bleak reality.

“It’ll be a painful decline.”

Funny how you’re the one fighting to extend your life but Toji feels like he’s already gone ahead and passed on. Just a few minutes earlier, you were overjoyed to see him again. You didn’t think he’d see your text thinking that his new girlfriend must have asked him to block your number, and you most certainly didn’t expect him to arrive when you asked for him via a brief phone call to drive you to the hospital for your monthly checkup since he took the car with him when you separated. He made up a bullshit excuse when Yuko asked where he was going in such a hurry and he makes it to your old shared apartment to see you sitting on the driveway looking thinner and sicklier than ever — your eyes were sunken, and your cheeks were hollow.

Yet in spite of that, you gave him the brightest of smiles, waving shyly to him as he steps out of the driver’s seat. “Happy morning!” you smiled, greeting him with your signature good morning tagline which he used to happily wake up to everyday. There wasn’t a scintilla of resentfulness in your demeanor, and you genuinely looked so happy to see him for the first time since he moved out.

“How long?” Toji asked the doctor, his heart twisted into knots when he hears you happily humming in the MRI room as you put your clothes back on, oblivious to the solemn mood in the other room. You already knew what was going on, but you’ll just continue pretending that everything’s alright and that this is nothing more but a case of fatigue so as not to inconvenience Toji.

“A year, maybe even less.”

“And…you’re saying it’s best if she simply…doesn’t get the treatment?”

The doctor sighs heavily. She’s seen many cases like this before, but none as utterly hopeless as yours. Even if you did start the treatment, the lesions in your spinal cord have already entered the most severe stage, you were already exhibiting signs of autonomic nervous system distress — the tremors, the uncontrollable stuttering of your words, the growing loss of balance — and as if that wasn’t enough, the doctor also discovers that you were suffering from primary osteosarcoma.

There was no way to cure you now that it’s too late.

“I suggest we just focus on keeping her comfortable. The only thing left for us to do now is to bring her home. I’m so sorry.”

“You’re so fucking embarrassing. I can’t bring you anywhere.”

By some miracle, you and Toji went out one night around four months before the divorce proceedings. He went home that day, exhausted beyond all belief from another mission, but he was in a good mood. Yuko was out working late tonight, so, he decides to take you out to your and his favorite izakaya for some yakitori.

Some time during the night, after downing three full bottles of sake together, you excuse yourself to use the restroom. “I’ll be right back,” you told Toji, tipsily kissing him on the cheek as you hop off the bar stool in the direction of the women’s room.

You couldn’t tell if you were staggering from the copious amounts of alcohol you ingested, but your legs were beginning to feel heavy, and for some ominous reason, you were slowly losing all sensation in your left leg. You try to hold onto one of the izakaya’s shōji panel decor pieces to regain your balance, but it was a futile effort in the end. Your knees suddenly buckle, and a sickening crack tears through your tibia as you fall to the ground.

“Are you alright?!”

Toji picks up on the commotion instantly and he sees the izakaya patrons crowding around the hallway leading to the restroom. He quickly makes his way over and a look of disgust appears on his features when he sees you crumpled on the ground and the mortifying sight of you having relieved yourself on the floor, tears of embarrassment staining your cheeks at the thought of your body suddenly malfunctioning like this.

Muttering out an ignorant apology for his seemingly drunk wife, he roughly picks you up, growing increasingly infuriated with you when one izakaya employee offers him a damp cloth to dry out your urine with. It was funny how quickly other people came to your aid — people whose names you don’t even know — while your own husband seems very reluctant to even touch you right now. He doesn’t speak to you on the way home even as you apologize while he’s loading you into the car, grimacing when the leather seat gets wet. “Toji, I-I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened—“

“—Save it.”

What he should have said was: “Are you okay?”, “It’s alright.” or better yet, “I still love you.”.

At present, Toji decides on a whim to take you to Yokohama’s famed bayside today. It’s only a two hour drive from your place in Tokyo and Toji figures you must miss going on road trips by now with you cooped up at home all the time. “Toji, are you sure this is a good idea?” you murmured nervously as the car pulls to a stop by the bayside promenade. What happens if you can’t control yourself again? There doesn’t look to be a lot of public restrooms nearby.

Toji plants a reassuring kiss to your nose. “Babe, you remember what the doctor said, spending some time outdoors can do wonders for your health. Besides, didn’t you always love the coast?” He brings your hand to his scarred lips, rubbing his thumb against the soft skin before stepping out of the car to retrieve your wheelchair from the trunk.

“I know but what if I have another accident?” you said worriedly, rolling down the car windows so he could hear you. “What if I embarrass you again?”

“There’s nothing embarrassing about you.”

You’ve lost all control of your lower extremities three months ago, rendering you unable to walk and feel when you need to relieve yourself. Toji struggles with the wheelchair for a bit and a flash of sadness fills your heart when you see him take a few deep breaths to calm himself down. He wasn’t angry, he was devastated. He looks wistfully at the boardwalk, a distant gaze trained on the sea. He remembers when you used to walk down this very lane, his hand protectively around your waist as you happily take selfies. He could still hear your fond giggles the last time the two of you went here.

“Why don’t you ever smile when I take pictures of you?”

Toji shoos away a pigeon from stealing a bite of his ice cream sandwich. He feigns an unamused look when you try to take another picture of him on your phone.

“Come on, I’ve been trying to get a shot of you all day! You still have to take pictures of me so I can post it on my Instagram feed!”

Your ever moody husband pinches off a small piece of bread and feeds it to the nosy pigeon. “You and your precious feed,” he bemoans jokingly.

“Please? Just one picture!“ you playfully nudged him. Truthfully, you just wanted to see him smile for once, a genuine one and not one of those lopsided smirks he usually gives you when he’s teasing you. “Please?” you pout knowing he can never say no to that adorable face you make when you really want him to do something or worse, buy something for you.

Sighing, he turns to look at your phone’s camera lens and you blush when a smile slowly illuminates his usually stoic face. Your thumb hovers over the stop recording function, not realizing you’re taking a video, but you can’t seem to press it. “What’s taking so long?” he holds the smile like he’s some cartoon character and you snap out of it.

“Oh shoot, it’s a video!” you laughed, and you begin to run down the boardwalk, eagerly getting away from Toji who demands that you delete it immediately. Of course, you’re no match for his borderline inhuman speed attributed to his athletic physique and he catches you by the waist, playfully swinging you over his shoulder like you’re a sack of potatoes.

Now, your giggles have gone silent.

Toji realizes now he should have indulged you more over the course of your relationship and subsequent marriage. Had he known that you won’t even make it to your third wedding anniversary, he would have allowed you to take as many pictures and videos of him as you’d like, he’d swallow his pride and he’d give you the brightest of smiles so you could happily post him on your social media accounts with a heartwarming caption about him being your “smiley hubby”.

More than that though, he should have taken more photos of you, mostly stolen candid shots, of course. You can’t catch him being all soft on you now. He still has a reputation to live up to after all. But more than that, had he known that your illness was intent on stealing every scrap of you from him, he should have made more effort in preserving all these memories. He should have kept everything from those toll tickets on your late night drives together when the two of you just needed a quick escape from the world, to receipts from your trip to Tokyo Disney Sea on your first wedding anniversary, and even simple convenience store receipts.

Toji should have kept everything down to the smallest of memories knowing one day, that’s all he’ll have to remember you by.

He opens the passenger seat’s door and he effortlessly gathers you into his arms, being extra careful with your fragile form as he sits you down on the wheelchair. He opens the backseat and he pulls out two different colored blankets, one sea-foam green and the other, rose pink. “Take your pick,” he smiles at you and you chuckled softly, pointing to the rose pink one. He happily covers your legs with it to keep you warm, stroking your cheek when you whisper a bashful ‘thank you’.

Suddenly, the wind picks up and your hair-clip that’s holding your locks in a low bun comes loose, and your head turns in the direction of where it flew off to. Toji is quick to take out his phone and he snaps a quick burst shot of you, your hair blowing in the wind, under the coastal spring weather. You turn to look at him and your face falls when you see him burying his phone in his pocket. Since you fell ill, you’ve become insecure of your appearance, banning your husband from taking pictures and videos of you altogether. “Toji, I thought I said no pictures.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The next day, you serendipitously find your photo on your Instagram handle with the caption: “Y/N — Yokohama, Spring, 2024” and when you swipe left, another picture, well to be more accurate, a screenshot of the video clip you accidentally took of him captioned: “Toji — Yokohama, Summer, 2022”.

“You don’t have to stick around for me. Please just go, I’m sure Yuko must be looking for you right now.”

Yuko, his new fiancé, had been blowing up his phone the entire day with texts demanding to know where he is and if he’s going to make it to their date that night. It’s 7 PM now, and Toji still hasn’t shown up to confirm their restaurant reservations. The damn witch will surely cuss him out when they see each other again, but for some reason, even if he tries, he simply cannot bring himself to give a flying fuck. Your immunologist and oncologist stepped out for a bit to allow you two a brief moment of privacy which had now stretched to an expanse of five hours since your results came in.

The air in the room is thick and heavy, not a single sound can be heard. Inside however, underneath this tough exterior he was projecting, Toji is throwing a fit, screaming at the sky like those broken men in those shitty Netflix romance tragedies he used to callously make fun of.

“Why didn’t you call me sooner? You knew, didn’t you?”

Toji’s bites his cheek trying to keep a lid on his emotions. He knows the answer. He just wants to hear you say it out loud. You hated him. You wanted nothing to do with him after he cheated on you with some girl he met at a bar in uptown Shibuya. That’s why you didn’t tell him, he didn’t deserve to know. “Shit,” he whispers harshly, crumpling the medical abstract in his hands. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick? Was it because you hated me? Is that it? You didn’t think I’d worry about you?”

You screwed your eyes shut, shaking your head. You didn’t hate him, not even when you have every reason to. He abandoned you, left you to waste away and to die and yet, even now, you can’t bring yourself to resent him for the simple reason that he is the literal love of your life, the reason behind your smiles, your happy mornings and passionate midnight hours. “At first, I thought I was fine, maybe just fatigued or something.”

“Don’t lie. You knew something was going on and that something in your body was seriously fucked up.”

“And we weren’t married anymore so, I didn’t think it was right to tell you…I wanted to though, but I didn’t want to intrude on you and Yuko,” you said meekly. Even in your greatest hour of need, you were still thinking of him, putting him first even when he doesn’t deserve it. “I-I…I don’t hate you enough to worry you, to make you feel that you could have done something to prevent this. Because I’m telling you right now, regardless if you were faithful or not, I was bound to get sick anyway. You couldn’t have done anything to change that.”

“But I could have been there. I should have noticed. I shouldn’t have downplayed everything.” He says this as if he wants to shake this noble, self-sacrificing bullshit attitude out of your system. “I’m your husband. I should have been there.”

You flash him a heartbroken smile at his little slip-up, so, even now, he was still referring to himself as your husband, not your ex-husband. “To see me waste away? Babe, I don’t want you to see that.”

You begin to feel tears streaming down your face, the emotions you were experiencing now flowing like a free river after an entire dam is destroyed. Toji watches you unravel before his eyes and his bottom lip begins to tremble. What has he done? Dear god, what has he done to his poor, poor wife?

“I want you to remember me healthy, I want you to remember me as myself not this…sickly pitiful woman you’re unlucky to call your ex-wife…besides, after all this, I’ll only be a dream.” A mere passing second in his life. “And believe me, my life wasn’t so bad.”

He loses it at that.

“Just stop this, Y/N! Stop acting like you’re not scared shitless of dying, like you’re not gonna have regrets once all this is over! Stop pretending that things are gonna be alright one day because it won’t! Not when I’m now being forced to accept that you won’t get better, not when I’ve wasted so much time putting you through hell and back instead of taking care of you like a proper husband should, and certainly not when I’m suddenly supposed to learn to say goodbye and to live without you! Because fuck that, Y/N!”

You are left speechless at that.

Toji was never one to lose his cool, even during your worst arguments, he may slide a few snarky remarks here and there but Toji Fushiguro…never yells, and he doesn’t sob either.

You hesitantly stand up and walk over to him, crouching down in front of him as he covers his tear-stained eyes with his right hand while the other is crumpled around your medical abstract. Taking his left hand, you gently remove the medical abstract from his grip, and for the first time in so many months, you feel one another’s warm skin against each other. You press your forehead to his hand as you wept with him.

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you to be a dream. I want you to be real.”

“Can’t you be bothered to clean up in here?!”

You wake up from your nap, you’ve been battling muscle and joint pain the entire day, the slightest of movement causing you to double over in agony and because of that, you weren’t able to clean the apartment today. You slowly get up from the couch, being extra cautious not to make any sudden movements. “Well?” Toji presses, his lips curled into a scowl.

“I’m sorry, I was feeling a little tired,” you sighed heavily, picking up a broom to sweep the living room floor despite the excruciating pain you were in. Toji rolls his eyes, handing you a Manila envelope. “What’s this?” you asked softly, peering inside.

“Divorce papers,” he shrugs nonchalantly. Everything stops, even the very rise and fall of your chest halts into an uneasy stasis. “I already signed them. I just need your signature then, I’ll move out by tomorrow.”

You must be dreaming. That’s the only logical explanation to all this. You’re asleep, in a deep REM sleep, utterly oblivious to the world. This wasn’t happening. But you could feel the rough surface of the brown envelope, and you could still feel the agonizing stabs of white hot pain throughout your body. Glancing at Toji, you see him texting someone with an eager look on his face that screams: “I’m free.”.

Instantly, it dawns on you.

“Will she make you happy?” you asked, putting down the broom to look around for a pen but Toji pulls one he stole from the law firm office out of his pocket.

“She will,” he answers simply.

And you are indeed grateful that he is completely upfront about finding another while the two of you are married. It would have hurt much more, you silently remind yourself, if he had just upped and left without another word leaving you to wonder what went wrong between the two of you. This was Toji’s final act of mercy in your marriage, and he’s not opposed to honesty and truthfulness either. Not once did he try to change his phone’s lock-screen passcode, nor did he try to conceal the identity of the woman who was texting him every night while you slept fitfully next to him. It was almost as if he wanted you to find out, like he wanted you to know so you could back off yourself.

But if there’s one thing Toji loves about you, it’s your unending faithfulness to your promises, to your marriage vows, and your willingness to endure anything he threw at you. You never checked his phone, you never brought up his affair, you never got angry with him. You just kept silent, simply content with giving and giving…and giving while he milked you dry by taking, and taking and taking, tearing you to pieces bit by bit without hearing a single complaint fall from your lips.

You were a devoted wife, through and through.

And it bored the hell out of him, on top of your recent mishaps, he was done. Done with everything, and done with you.

“Okay.”

Come morning, he takes everything he owns with him and promptly proposes to the girl he’s been seeing for the past year. Two weeks later, your divorce is received by the Tokyo Family Court and is summarily approved and finalized. From that moment on, you and Toji went on your separate ways never to look back, you were each other’s yesterdays, and the love that existed between the two of you was nullified in favor of acquaintanceship…or so you thought.

“Y/N, I’m home!” Toji calls into the house as he comes back from your neighborhood’s pharmacy. You look up from the book you were reading, smiling ever so slightly at your husband who seemed to have a wonderful sparkle in his eyes. “Hey, kid,” he kisses the top of your head when he reaches your wheelchair.

“You seem happy,” you remarked positively.

“Well, for one, they replenished their stocks today and I managed to get you your steroids and painkillers so you’ll be able to sleep easy tonight,” Toji smiles, taking out the items from the pharmacy’s paper bag. “And I got you this neat memory foam cushion for your wheelchair.” He fluffs it up as a form of demonstration before placing it behind your back.

When he sees you smile, a sense of relief washes over Toji. You reach towards him, and he pulls you into an embrace. “Thank you,” you said, pure sincerity dripping from your voice. “For everything you do.”

“Anything for you.” He suddenly moves back and reaches into the tote bag you lended him. “Oh, and wait, before I forget, I have another surprise.”

You laughed airily. “Another surprise? Now, you’re just spoiling me!”

He pulls out a piece of paper from the tote bag and he places it in your hands as your eyes quickly scan over the document. Your breath hitches in your throat when you realize what it is. Did Toji really—? You couldn’t believe it. “A marriage pre-registration,” you said in awe. You read it again just in case to make sure that this wasn’t a figment of your sick body’s imagination, that this was real, that Toji genuinely wants to make everything right again. Your fingers skim over your typewritten names. “It has our names…we’re really—“ You can’t even finish your sentence without bursting into happy tears. “Are we—?”

Toji nods, gazing into your eyes, and as emerald and (E/C) clash for what seems to be an eternity lost in one another, he plants a kiss to your temple, coming up to embrace you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“We are. The Tokyo Family Court, as far as I know, will approve our remarriage once we file this. So, you have to get stronger, okay?” He’s begging you at this point, despite your rapidly deteriorating condition. “Strong enough to see me fix everything. Strong enough to be there on our second wedding, strong enough to say our vows again.”

Your hand comes up to stroke his cheek from behind, and he nuzzles into your neck at your tender touch.

“I will. I promise.”

But you never really get to say your vows. Not comprehensibly anyway.

“Babe, can you say that again?”

Toji crouches by your bedside as you look at him apologetically. You were causing him trouble and pain again which is the last thing that you want to give him especially when’s fought and worked so hard to care for you, to keep prolonging this borrowed time you’re on. “To-ji. Toji.” You gaze at him apprehensibly, not really believing you can do it without crumbling.

“Come on, babe, you can do it. Say my name, please…Toji. I’m Toji.”

“Toooji-“ you slurred sadly. At this point, your Multiple Sclerosis has reached its end stage and has taken…everything from you: your ability to walk, your ability to control your muscle spasms and other bodily functions…and now, coupled with an unexpected stroke, your ability to speak. And you and Toji know that time is almost up, with you having come to accept it, while your husband still held onto hope. Your fingers gently graze over his face as best as your spasms and tremors allow you, starting from his forehead to his eyes, his nose, his cheek and finally, his lips, as if you’re memorizing it one last time. “Lo-ove you-“

Toji sniffles, and your fingers instinctively catch his warm tears. “I love you,” he whispers brokenly. “I do. I love you.”

You feel yourself tearing up as you’re forced to watch your beloved cry. And the worst part? You can’t do a thing about it. “D-oon’t c-cry—‘m okaay. Promi-miise…e’everyything ‘ill be okaaay.”

“Y-yeah,” he chuckles, trying to crack a joke even as hope dwindles. “You’ve been nothing but a fucking champ this entire time, you know? I’m so proud of you. So…so…proud that you’re still here.” He strokes your hair as you tread between the realms of the conscious and the unconscious. “Do you wanna go out today? The weather’s shit though. You’ll probably catch your death out there.” At the mention of the word ‘death’, Toji stops, falling into an uncomfortable silence.

You smile weakly at him. “Tiiredd—“

“You’re no fun,” Toji gently flicks your nose and you scrunch it up in displeasure. “Sorry,” he chuckles, holding back an entire waterfall of tears. He knows it’s today. It has to be. You woke up today without your usual ‘happy morning’ greeting, and you refused to drink anything, much less eat anything. “You tired? Any pain?”

You shake your head. You’re as comfortable as you can be for the first time in months. Hospice nurses say humans are built to live the same way they are built to die, no person in this world has ever had the uncanny privilege of being able to look up ‘How to die?’ on a quick Google search and actually find a Wikihow on the morbid subject matter, nor is there anyone else who can teach another how it’s done. It’s just something humans know how to do without a manual, deeply ingrained in the very fabric of human existence is the fear of death, the fear of what comes after, the fear of a nothingness that could follow after living such a vibrant life. Your life was short, barely spanning thirty years, but you lived well: you fell in love, you got hurt, but you fell together again. Now it all has to come to an end, Toji will just have to take care of the rest.

And you weren’t scared.

Or at least you can’t look scared, if you were to be more accurate, you have to look strong and ready to accept the cards you’ve been dealt with for Toji’s sake. When he feels your hand start to slacken, Toji intakes a sharp, shaky breath of sheer panic. “Not yet, Y/N. Please. Not yet.”

He climbs into bed with you, bringing you closer to this desperate man you call yours. There was no getting better anymore, there was no miracle he could hang onto, no deity he could beg for death to spare you, no pill bottle he could pray to. He knew that from the start. But what he witnessed these past months, you’ve been the braver one between the two of you, you knew how to make the most of the rhythm this cruel world gave you and you graciously took him along to dance to the last song of the evening with you.

“There’s still hope. Just keep your eyes open. Just keep them open.” He presses his lips to your forehead, his delusion getting the better of him. “We’ll just keep trying…you can’t leave. You have to stay. You have to.”

“Thaank yoou—“ you softly told your Toji, your voice shrinking in decibels as you become a little drowsy, sinking into the warmth of the requiem of a life well spent.

Toji listens to you, his lips pursed, intent on making this final act of love — a love that is strong enough to say goodbye — a memorable one. And should the afterlife exist, he wishes to send you off with a smile, with the reassurance that he’ll be alright even if that was far from happening.

“Toji.”

“I want you to be real. And I don’t care if we’ll live on borrowed time. Another extra second with you…is enough to last me my entire lifetime.”

[inotaku-talkz]

she put my name with yellow hearts

Your shadowy memory lures me in, I will never live you down.

SPOILERS AHEAD!!

taglist: @meadowfics, @countyourfreckleslikestars

Reader’s plaryer number is 57, mostly proofread

Red was always your least favorite color. It was the color of rotten meat and spilt blood. You gulp down the urge to throw up your breakfast.

You feel Dae-ho’s eyes on you as you walk to the red side. His blue vest stood out in the sea of green.

You never liked blue either, it was the color of the vast, dark ocean where your darkest fears exist and play.

Now, Yellow.

Yellow was your favorite color.Yellow reminded you of sunflowers and the warm rays of sunshine.

You were given a box, a ‘gift’ they called it. They explained the rules.

Red has to kill one blue team member to advance to the next game.

And Blue has to hide and wait it out or find the exit.

When you were told that you could switch sides if the other player consented.

You kept your haze on Dae-ho as he went from red player to red player trying to switch colors to be with you.

You make your way over to Dae-ho, but you watched as he marched towards Gi-hun. He grabbed his vest, screaming at him.

You quickly grabbed his arm, trying to separate him and Gi-hun. “Dae-ho, stop! It’s not worth it! Think about us!”

He doesn’t stop until a guard points a gun to his back.

“Dae-ho, switch with me.” You beg him to. So that way Gi-hun won’t hunt him down, so he’s safe.

“No. I won’t switch with you. Someone will just hunt you down instead.” He’s cupping your face and pulling you in, lips crashing together. Very reluctantly pulling away slowly.

“First, secure your spot then come and find me.”

You nod as Dae-ho is forced to take a spot in line and walk out to the arena.

2 minutes.

“Mr. Seong…”

“Please don’t kill him…it wasn’t his fault. His attack—“

“It is his fault, [Name].”

”But Mr. Seong—“

Then the announcement came.

“Red team members, please make your way to the arena.” You watched as Gi-hun stood and made his slow stalk to the arena, to your Dae-ho.

“Fuck.” Your tears brim your lash line after every step you take.

“Stop! I have a son! He’s only 8, he loves dried squid and choco pies!” The woman you’re chasing babbles to no end.

You bust through open, unlocked doors and weave through bloodied bodies to reach her. You chase her into a corner and she’s fumbling with a key that won’t fit.

As you slowly step forward, she’s lashing out. A knife.

She must have pick it off the ground by a dead red player.

She’s swinging at you uncontrollably, with no clear goal in mind. She’s just trying to keep you back.

You lunge forward, tackling her to the ground. You manage to sit up and straddle her before a hand grabs at your hair and you’re pulled back.

As you’re dragged back, you see player 333 swiftly stab and stab at your target.

You’re left in silence as your only chance was taken from you.

You can barely hear the antagonistic comments of player 124. You barely register the retreating footsteps.

You start to stand up when you hear it. A cough.

The woman wasn’t dead, she managed to survive 333’s assault.

You crawled towards her, she’s mumbling to herself.

“He loves…dried squid and c-choco pies…”

Her gaze is nearly gone when you held the blade just over her heart.

“He’s only—“

‘Player 077 eliminated, player 057 pass.’

Five minutes. Five minutes to find him.

You hear the sounds of struggle, you quickly make your way over at the sound of his voice, his struggle.

“Mr. Seong! Please!” You bag and cry, scrambling to reach them.

Sobbing.

You hear unbroken, unfiltered sobbing. Rounding the corner to the sick, sight before you.

Gi-hun crying against a wall, guilt and shame written, dancing in his eyes.

and next?

Dae-ho on the ground, unmoving.

You’re at his side in seconds. “Dae-ho, I’m here now…come on let’s get out of here.”

Nothing.

“Why are you ignoring me? Come on, we have to move!”

Slowly, you put your head on his chest.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

“No…no, no, no! No!”

Your Dae-ho isn’t dead! He can’t be!

“Mr. Seong where is Dae-ho? He…this isn’t him…”

He looks up at you. You study Dae-ho’s face, then you notice bruising on the neck.

“You!” Your punch connects to Gi-hun’s jaw. “You! You fucking killed him!”

Blow after blow, insult after insult.

“You’re a fucking hypocrite! The rebellion was your idea! Mr. Jung-bae is dead because of you! You should have listened when he tried to tell you about Mr. Young-il!”

He’s done fighting, he knows killing Dae-ho wasn’t going to change anything. He ended another man’s life, just to protect himself from the truth.

“They’re all dead because of you!”

You grab at your knife, aiming for him square in the heart.

A shot knocks the knife out of your grasp as guards fill the space.

They bring a coffin and you throw yourself over Dae-ho, screaming at any guard who stepped too close.

“No, he’s not dead! He’s alive, he promised!”

You’re thrashing and wriggle as the guards pry you and the cold body of Kang Dae-ho apart.

You keep screaming and crying, praying that it was a lookalike.

Just how Gi-hun stared at Dae-ho, you stared right back.

The same burning pit of hatred, you gave it back to Gi-hun ten-fold. You managed to get the guards to let you keep Dae-ho’s jacket.

The jacket reeks of blood and sweat, but his scent is stronger.

But soon the scent will fade with time.

It was lights out. The granny talking to him had already left.

You sit right in front of him.

“It’s all your fault.” Your voice was soft, but harsh.

“Mr. Jung-bae, and everyone else who followed you because you want to play hero.”

“Is it fun? Playing hero?”

His eyes snapped towards yours, he’s familiar with those words.

“Hit a soft spot? Good.”

“Everywhere you go, death follows. Like it did three years ago, when you first played the game.”

He’s covering his ears now, breath heavy and quick.

“You deserve to be dragged down to the deepest pit of hell.”

“I can’t wait to watch from heaven, earth even hell. Where even they decide to put me.”

The lights come on and you’re sitting up.

“He lied… he was never a mar—“

“Shut up!” You kick his chest.

“You even mock him now! Dae-ho would never lie like that! He’s a true man, honest and noble! He’s my man!”

You just kept kicking him in the face. You didn’t stop even when the guards pry you away.

The guards lead you up to the game room, keeping distance between you and Gi-hun.

You keep your gaze forward, looking back if you see Gi-hun you might just kill him.

The announcements state the rules of the game.

Jump across, make it in time. Don’t look dow—

Fuck.

You looked down, didn’t you?

You saw green everywhere, covered in orange, white and…

yellow.

yellow flowers. Your favorite color.

You look up at the track, it seems thinner now.

The game already started. Players discuss and agrue who should go first. Player 125 breaks through the crowd and tossed the necklace that Player 124 is so attached to.

Player 124 unfortunately stops as he reaches his necklace and he’s tripped.

‘Player 124 eliminated.’

By the time the game ended, you were moving on autopilot. Slumped against the giant plastic shoes of the boy doll, you watched as Jun-hee stepped off the edge.

“Another to die by you, another life destroyed.” You whisper as you start walking towards the exit.

Seong Gi-hun.

he is not a man, he is a monster. He destroyed the only thing that brought you meaning, brought you longing.

Love.

You love Kang Dae-ho.

“[Name].”

That’s…

“[Name], please come with me.”

Dae-ho called to you. You peer over slightly, Kang Dae-ho is waving you down.

Your man is waving you down.

Your man is in a sea of your favorite color waiting for you.

“Don’t worry, I’ll catch you.” He’s holding out his arms for you. You’re overwhelmed and overrun by emotions.

A hand on your shoulder stops you. You look back and meet the broken eyes of Gi-hun.

“Don’t. He’s waiting for me…” Your voice is small, fragile, and delicate. He slowly steps back, cradling the baby of 222.

You held the jacket with the fading scent close to you as you lean backward.

For a few seconds of you being in the air, you closed your eyes.

When you open, he’s holding you. Cradling you like a newly wedded bride. He smiles wordlessly, just begins to walk away towards that beautiful light your grandfather talked about.

You glance back to the spot where dae-ho caught you. There’s a body there, she’s got another player’s jacket on.

“Don’t look back.” Dae-ho pulls your attention back to him.

To you, you got your happy ending. To others, you were a girl who collapsed under the stress of a dead lover.

They see your body. It’s all broken and blood spilling from your body.

You’re in peace now. Along side your man.

‘Player 057, eliminated.’

[eraserbread]

what about make up sex with toji after a nasty argument….. kinda need

wife guy, this. ex husband, that. what about toji fushiguro's mistress - the other woman? ✧

→ adultery, toxic relationship dynamics, skin marking, sexually explicit content

it's just the way things are. toji makes it known that you aren't his priority. he has a beautiful wife, a promising son, and an idea of life you can't quite grasp.

but, it surely doesn't have you in mind because he's always shrugging you off. it'll be stupid, like saying he'd call you back and just never will. it's always your fault, because he had to pick his kid up, and you should've known he would be busy all day.

silly you for thinking your boyfriend would act like one.

silly you for thinking he would keep his date night promise. now, you're stuck on a busy sidewalk in tokyo, cars whizzing past and mixed voices making it feel like you're standing alone in a wind tunnel.

it wasn't anything fancy, just stupid tourist ramen downtown. the shop was dark, so nobody could see his face if they recognized it. secrecy is everything.

but he doesn't even show up, and all of your calls and texts go dead.

so, when you see him kicked up in the middle of your apartment, beer hanging from his thick fingers, you're fuming.

"hey, pretty." he drones low, like he knows you love him. after all, you are all dressed up for him—short skirt, makeup, and jewels. it's what he needs from you, something his wife doesn't give much anymore.

but toji has one glaring flaw, he doesn't understand you. you could say he doesn't understand women at all. it's why he's reaching outside of his sexless marriage for help. it's why you're standing in your doorway choking back tears as he drinks his beer down.

"so you just ignored all my calls and texts on purpose?"

"hm... i don't have my phone." he's only halfway looking at you, watching a pretty actress on the tv prance around for his attention. It's so dark, you reach to flip the lights on.

and when you can see him better, that familiar stare is bleak and loveless—taking you in like a predator would prey. yet, he's still so gentle and gruff when he says, "no use fighting when you look like that."

"it would just kill you to pretend, wouldn't it?" you're cursing yourself, not knowing why you're so backed up with unsaid words when you know this is how he acts. toji never, ever changed. "if all I am is a fuck to you, that's fine, but just say it!"

"there's nothing to say—you know what you are to me." he's sitting up quickly, swinging his legs from the table to plant his bare feet on the ground. "so, stop it with the insecure shit. matter of fact, shut up, and come here." dingy beer can crushing on the table, heels digging into the floor, toji wants to leave—but he wants to stay. he wants you to do your job and stop it already.

if he wanted the fights and tension, he would've snuck into his wife's bed tonight. instead, he's crawling to your doorstep. can't you see how special you are to his body him?

but, you're just as stubborn as he is, so you dig your heels right back, fists balled at your sides. "why won't you even apologize? or, say anything... nice to me... ever?!"

toji watches you for a second, his soft, scarred lip dipping into the ghost of a frown. you're a pitiful scene right now, face buried in your hands as you cry—bare knees cold and shaking, makeup smudged, and so overcome. it'd be endearing for him if you weren't so hunched in on yourself; it hides your body.

then, he lets out a throaty groan, pressing his hands to his knees as he stands up. it's buried behind your soft sniffles, but the sound of footsteps is unmistakable, just like the feeling of a firm hand across the side of your neck.

"stop crying, i'm sorry." you're turning your face away when he grabs it, hiding your ruined face with dirty palms. "hey, come on, I mean it."

and, you already forgive him. because, why wouldn't you? now, you're more embarrassed than anything. you want him. he wants you. the sensation—it's in the air, clogging your pores and blocking your airways.

and he tugs your wrists from your face and kisses you like he loves you.

and then, he fucks you like that—finally. raw, pushed face first into your tear-soaked mattress.

toji wouldn't have you any other way. he never really fucks you any other way, except buried to the hilt pressed in doggy. the way your cunt expands around him... god, it just makes him crazy. the bruises that bloom on your ass when he's got two fistfuls, the stretch of skin as he pulls you apart... yeah, he's cooked. he loves this so much. not you. never you.

toji loves his wife to the ends of the earth, but the way you're arching your back and mewl little, embarrassed sounds into your arms is damning. skin-to-skin with your softness is akin to bathing in a bucket of clouds, naked to the core. he opens his eyes to see what he's feeling again, then silently wishes he could see your face.

after all, he made you cry. now, he has to make it all better.

and you two start to feel a bit more even when toji pulls the heaviness of his cock out of you, sharp teeth bared as he goes face-first into your sobbing, stretched hole. biting down on your sheet silences the cry you give him, but toji wants to hear you.

so, he reaches his big arm over your bowed body, grabbing a handful of your hair to pull your face from the mattress. he knows you're cumming before you do, and he wants to hear it.

needs to taste it. yearns to be as close as possible to you.