#‘I’m not trying to make this harder for you’

[cumironi]

CREAM-OF-THE-CROP CUNT, MAMA

feat, gojo, geto, nanami, toji, sukuna, shiu, higuruma

summary. what? just because you are six months pregnant your husband is gonna stop worshipping you? nooooo. . . he became worse, and the idea of making sure you are pregnant (despite the bump) makes them go crazy, especially with your little sweet bump.

trigger/warnings. non-sorcerer, everyone trying to be a gentleman (fails), calling reader “mama,” pussy-drunk behavior, pregnant sex, belly worship, size kink, deep penetration, unprotected vaginal sex, leg-folding position, full nelson vibes, praise kink, possessive language, swearing / explicit language, references to breeding kink (implied), overstimulation, internal ejaculation, cum leaking, soft dom / feral energy blend, emotional intensity, aftercare / caretaking (gentle touches, kisses), power imbalance (older man / younger woman), oral fixation (kissing, belly + knee worship)

GOJO SATORU

“—you’re gonna kill me,” gojo groans, forehead pressed against yours, voice ragged like he’s been running for miles, but really, all he’s been doing is holding himself together—barely—as your legs wrap tighter around his waist and you moan his name like it’s a damn prayer and a curse all at once. “no, seriously, baby, i’m—i’m dying. you’re murdering me with this pussy. it’s a crime. i should call the cops. except i am the fucking cops. i’m the fbi. i’m the law. and you’re under arrest. for being—fuck—for being too hot while pregnant.”

you try to say something, maybe something like “shut up” or “just keep going” or maybe just his name again, but you can’t—you’re too full, too stretched, too wrecked already and he hasn’t even really started yet.

“so tight,” he breathes, like the thought has him hypnotized. “how are you tighter while pregnant? is that a thing? can i google it later? because this is—jesus, baby—this is like heaven. like… like heaven wrapped in velvet wrapped in a vice grip wrapped in the greatest porn i’ve ever watched except it’s real and it’s you and it’s mine.”

he kisses your neck, your collarbone, the swell of your breasts that’s grown fuller over the last few weeks—his obsession. he talks to them like they’re separate beings. he’s lost his mind and he’s made peace with it.

“gonna feed our baby with these,” he mutters, latching onto one nipple like it’s instinct, groaning like the taste of your skin alone could make him cum. “gonna wake up at 3am to help you, promise, swear to god. but only if i get to do this first. every night. every fucking night, sweetheart.”

you whimper, and it makes his whole body stutter, hips rocking deeper, harder, like your sound gives him permission to lose rhythm entirely.

“there it is,” he grins, breathless and boyish, completely wrecked and stupid and so very in love. “that’s the sound. the one that says i’m the best dick you’ve ever had. right? right, baby? tell me. tell me i’m better than anyone you’ve ever let near this sweet pussy.”

you moan, back arching. he whines, literally whines, like your approval is the only thing keeping him alive.

“please—please just say it. tell me i’m your favorite. tell me this cock is your favorite. tell me i ruined you for other men. tell me you forgot what it feels like to walk straight.”

you grab his face and pull him down to kiss you, hard, messy, open-mouthed and wet, your teeth knocking a little and your breath catching when he grinds into that exact spot inside you that makes you cry out his name again, and he groans, forehead falling to your shoulder.

“fuck, fuck, yes. that’s it, baby. say it again—no, scream it, moan it, tattoo it into my brain. god, i’m so fucking obsessed with you. you don’t even know. you don’t. i think about you 24/7. i check your pregnancy tracker app more than you do. i’m unwell. i’m feral.”

his hips move faster, deeper now, but not rough—he still holds your body like it’s made of glass, one hand bracing under your lower back to tilt your hips just right, the other rubbing slow, firm circles over your clit like he’s trying to make you finish before him and prove a point.

“wanna cum in you again,” he growls against your throat, “wanna fill you up more even though you’re already pregnant, like my dumb caveman brain doesn’t understand we already did it. it just wants to do it again, because it likes you like this. likes you glowing, round, leaking—fuck, baby, you’re leaking, i’m gonna go insane—”

“satoru,” you gasp, fingernails digging into his shoulder as your thighs start to tremble, “satoru, i—i’m gonna—”

“yes,” he hisses, pace erratic now, “do it, do it, cum on this cock, make it tight, milk me, baby, do it so good i forget my own damn name—”

you shatter under him with a cry that hits the ceiling, your body pulsing around him so hard he lets out a strangled noise, like he’s not sure if it’s a moan or a sob or both.

he falls apart seconds later, buried deep, coming with a broken gasp of your name and a string of barely intelligible worship like “so good, so pretty, made for me, mine, mine, mine” until he finally collapses onto your chest, heart racing, sweat-slick, and completely, utterly gone.

a long beat of silence passes.

“…you good?” you murmur, stroking his hair.

he doesn’t move. just groans into your neck like he might cry.

“i think i left my soul in your pussy.”

you laugh.

“i’m serious,” he says, lifting his head with that wild, disheveled, utterly sexed-out look he wears so well. “if you don’t name our baby after this pussy i’m gonna be personally offended.”

“you want me to name our child… pussy satoru gojo?”

“well, i mean—middle name at least. or like a secret codename. for the groupchat.”

you sigh, rolling your eyes.

he grins like you’ve just married him.

“love you, baby. love you so much. let’s do it again in like fifteen minutes. or five. i’m stupid. i make bad decisions.”

“clearly.”

“i would literally die if you asked.”

“…fine.”

“i’m naming the second one ‘round two.’”

GETO SUGURU

“you know what you do to me?” geto growls into your mouth, lips slick from kissing, voice thick like smoke and syrup as he thrusts into you again—deep, slow, brutal. “you fuckin’ know what this pussy’s done to me, baby?”

you gasp—louder than you mean to, thighs trembling where they’re wrapped around his hips, nails clawing down his shoulders because there’s no logic in your body right now, just raw sensation. he laughs—a dark, low, chest-rumbling sound—and grabs your jaw, thumb pressing into your cheek, not hard, just enough to keep you right there.

“oh, don’t go dumb on me now,” he coos, filthy and fond and absolutely feral. “we’re just gettin’ started, sweet thing. gotta give me that voice, yeah? lemme hear what my good girl sounds like when she’s pregnant and cockdrunk.”

you whimper, and he moans, like your breath is enough to push him right over the edge.

“that’s it,” he hisses, licking the corner of your mouth, forehead pressed to yours. “fuck. fuck, you’re so good like this. all fucked out, all round and soft and warm for me—jesus, this body? i could live inside you. no house. no job. just this pussy, twenty-four-seven. put me on your goddamn lease.”

his hips snap forward hard, and the sound your body makes when he hits bottom is wet, obscene, absolutely unholy.

“listen to that,” he pants, dragging your leg higher over his shoulder, splitting you open wider. “god, you’re so fucking wet, baby—like you like when i fuck you like this. like you want me to ruin you. knock you up again, even though you’re already full.”

he palms your belly—his belly, really—with one big, gentle hand, cupping the firm swell like it’s the most sacred thing in the world. his thumb moves in lazy circles as he rocks into you, slower now, deeper, pressing against every spot inside you that makes your toes curl and your eyes roll back.

“you’re everything,” he says, softer now, reverent in the worst way, like he’s praying to the altar of your body while rearranging your insides. “everything. this body—fuck. your tits are bigger. hips too. got this glow, baby, you know that? like you were made to carry me. to take me. to breed for me.”

you clench around him so hard he stutters, eyes going wide, mouth falling open.

“oh fuck—fuck,” he moans, suddenly undone. “you like that? yeah? you like when i talk about putting a ring on this pussy? you like hearing how ruined i am for you?”

you nod, frantic and breathless, and he kisses you hard—sloppy and hungry—before dragging his lips down your neck, biting just enough to make you gasp.

“gonna cum inside,” he growls against your skin. “gonna stuff you full and hold it in with my cock. keep it there. make sure every drop stays in, yeah?”

“suguru—” you cry, already close, voice breaking on his name like it’s the only thing you know anymore.

he fucking shudders.

“say it again,” he gasps. “say my name while i fill you up. say it like you want it.”

“suguru, suguru, i—fuck—i’m gonna—”

“yeah, baby,” he moans, gripping your hips, thrusts rougher now, faster. “cum on it. cum on this dick, show me how good i fucked you, lemme feel this pussy milk me dry—”

you tighten, legs locking around him, and then you're gone—clenching, shaking, falling apart under him while he watches you unravel with this fucking look on his face like you’re a miracle and a sin and the only thing that matters.

he cums right after, hips jerking as he empties into you with a loud, broken sound, like he’s dying and being reborn at the same time.

you nod, dazed. “you’re insane.”

for a long moment, all you hear is your heart racing and his breath—harsh, warm, uneven—ghosting across your skin. then, soft, “you okay?” he whispers, stroking your thigh, still inside you, not even thinking about moving yet.

“mhm,” he grins, kissing your temple. “insane for you. and for that pussy.”

you slap his chest halfheartedly.

he just laughs, still deep in you, still hardening again.

“round two?” he murmurs, voice all wicked sweetness. “or you want me to eat you ‘til you cry first?”

NANAMI KENTO

“i can be patient,” nanami grits out from behind you, voice low and sharp like he’s holding himself together with string and sheer willpower. “i can be—gentle.”

you’re on your side, belly cradled by soft pillows, one leg bent forward over his thigh as he moves behind you, slowly rocking into you like he’s afraid you’ll break if he goes too hard—like he doesn’t already know how filthy you get for him when he’s trying to behave.

and he’s trying. god, he is. his hand’s on your hip, warm and steady. the other one cups under your belly, like he’s shielding you even as he’s pushing deep, deep into you from behind.

“you’re doing so well,” he murmurs, voice hoarse and reverent, brushing kisses to your shoulder. “i don’t want to hurt you. i want to take care of you. i want to make you feel good, not—”

you moan.

just a little. just a soft, breathy “kento—” as your fingers grip the sheets and your hips push back into him.

and that’s it.

the last thread of his control snaps.

he groans—growls, almost—and suddenly he’s pressing forward harder, deeper, his breath catching as he ruts into you like he’s been holding back for weeks.

“fuck,” he grits, forehead pressed to your back. “you’re so goddamn warm. too soft. too tight. i can’t—I’m trying to—shit—”

his grip on your hip tightens, dragging you back against him with every thrust now, and his hand slides from under your belly to your thigh, hiking your leg higher over his hip so he can push in even deeper.

“you feel that?” he groans into your neck, teeth grazing your skin. “feel how deep i am, sweetheart? god—i can’t be gentle when you sound like that. when you feel like this.”

you whimper, back arching, and he moans again—louder this time, raw and low and completely undone.

“you’re perfect,” he pants, hips snapping faster. “everything about you. this body—this sweet, wet little cunt—fuck, it’s made for me. even pregnant, you take me so well. better than anyone ever has.”

you choke on a moan and he presses his palm to your belly again, as if the feel of it grounds him.

“i think about you all day,” he confesses, fucking into you now with slow, brutal depth. “about this. about how you sound. about how you feel when i’m inside you, tight and hot and fluttering like you’re made to be full.”

he kisses your shoulder, your neck, his other hand sliding between your legs to find your clit—slow, careful, precise.

“come for me,” he whispers, mouth right against your ear, filthy and tender all at once. “come around me while i’m deep inside you. show me how good i make you feel.”

and you do—shaking, moaning, gasping his name like it’s the only thing you know, and he follows with a desperate groan, spilling into you so deep you feel the warmth spread through your belly, his body trembling against yours.

after, he doesn’t move. just stays inside you, one hand over your womb, the other tangled with yours in the sheets.

“…i was trying to be gentle,” he says quietly, embarrassed, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

you hum, sated. “you tried.”

he sighs. “i’ll try again tomorrow.”

pause.

“after round two.”

TOJI FUSHIGURO

“slow,” toji murmurs, his big hands gripping your hips just barely, letting you grind down on him with shaky control, his cock sheathed inside you and twitching like it’s barely surviving this torture. “take your time, baby. i’m good. i’m—fuck—i’m fine.”

he is not fine.

he’s seated on the couch, thighs spread wide, muscles tense as hell under your legs, back arched ever so slightly, jaw tight. you’re four months pregnant, round and glowing and gorgeous, your belly pressing against his abs as you roll your hips slow and sweet—just like he asked for. like he said he wanted.

and he’s dying.

“look at you,” he groans, eyes glued to the way you take him. “ridin’ me so good. so pretty. so fuckin’ wet. you were always tight, but now? now you’re perfect.”

your hands are on his shoulders, clinging. your breath catches every time your body takes him deeper, and he feels it—feels how warm you are, how your walls squeeze around him like you don’t want him to leave. it’s driving him insane.

“you said slow,” you remind him, voice breaking with a whimper as your rhythm falters.

and that’s his breaking point.

because your voice? shaking, breathless, wanting?

it wrecks him.

“fuck that,” toji snarls suddenly, surging forward, arms wrapping around your back and pulling you flush to his chest. “nah. no. fuck slow. i can’t. you sound like that, and expect me to wait? you’re outta your mind.”

he lifts his hips, thrusting up into you so hard your mouth drops open in a silent moan, hands scrambling for his chest as he sets a brutal pace from underneath.

“you wanted gentle?” he growls against your throat, licking and biting at your skin while he pistons into you like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. “you’re riding me, baby. i’m not gonna sit here like some saint while this tight fuckin’ pussy squeezes the life outta me.”

you cry out, and he grins, savage and wild and in love with the way your face goes all slack and overwhelmed.

“that’s it,” he pants, one hand gripping your ass, the other sliding between your bodies to rub tight, fast circles over your clit. “gimme that look. gimme those sounds. lemme hear how good i’m fucking my pregnant girl.”

you whine his name, and he loses it.

“say it again,” he groans. “fuckin’ say it, baby. tell me who put this baby in you.”

“you,” you cry, clinging to him, “you did—”

“damn right i did,” he growls, pounding up into you, your belly bouncing slightly between your bodies with each thrust, “and i’ll do it again. and again. keep you pregnant. keep you full. keep you so cockdrunk you forget how to fucking walk.”

your orgasm hits you like a lightning bolt, your whole body spasming in his lap, and he catches you with a moan of pure worship, holding you tight as you milk every drop of his release from him.

“shit, baby,” he pants, hips twitching. “you were made for this. made to take me. made to carry me.”

he collapses back against the couch, pulling you with him, still inside you, cradling your body in his massive arms.

a beat of silence.

“that was you being gentle?” you ask, breathless.

he shrugs, smug. “i didn’t bend you over. that counts.”

you groan.

he kisses your shoulder and mutters, “round two, though? i’m not holdin’ back.”

RYOMEN SUKUNA

“slow,” he grits out, jaw clenched, breath shaking as he presses his hips flush to your ass, thick cock buried deep and throbbing inside your soaking heat. “we’re going slow, sweetheart. we’re taking our time. i’m not gonna break you.”

he says that, but his hands are already digging into your thighs, thumbs pressed to the crease between your cheeks and your legs like he’s trying to brand you with his grip. you’re four months pregnant, hips rounder, belly starting to show—and you’re on all fours, arms trembling, moaning into the pillow with every slow, too-deep roll of his hips.

“you good?” he mutters, pretending to breathe through it like he’s not the one seconds from blacking out. “you okay, baby?”

you nod, gasping, “yes—yes, ‘kuna—feels so good—”

and that breaks him.

“fuckin’—shit,” he growls, slamming into you with a sharp, wet slap, and you cry out, head dropping, body jolting forward from the force. “don’t say my name like that. don’t moan for me like that and expect me to stay sane.”

he grips your hips hard, pulling you back into every brutal thrust now, the sound of skin on skin echoing through the room.

“you were made for this,” he snarls, staring down at the way your body takes him, slick and tight and fluttering around him like you like being used. “look at this greedy little cunt. fuckin’ dripping. goddamn soaking me. you like getting fucked with my baby in you, huh?”

you sob out a moan, and his grin turns feral.

“you want me gentle?” he pants, fucking into you so hard your thighs shake. “or you want me to fuck you like i own you?”

you can’t even answer. you’re too wrecked already, too full, too overwhelmed by the pressure and heat and the way he hits that deep spot inside you like he knows exactly what it does.

“that’s what i thought,” he hisses. “fuckin’ moaning like you need it rough. like you need me to snap. you want it, don’t you? want to be fucked so hard you forget where you are. want to feel me dripping outta you all day like a good little cumdump.”

his hand snakes around your waist, palm spreading over your bump, possessive and so wrong and reverent all at once.

“this?” he mutters, low and filthy in your ear as he leans over your back, “this is mine. you’re mine. and this pussy? fuck, this pussy’s the tightest shit i’ve ever had. i could stay buried in you for hours. days.”

your legs buckle as your orgasm builds, loud and fast and impossible to stop. he feels it.

“there it is,” he growls, fucking into you harder, faster, punishing. “you’re close, huh? gonna cream around me like the perfect little thing you are? let me feel it. let me feel you lose it.”

you shatter—screaming, shaking, convulsing around his cock—and sukuna doesn’t slow down. he snarls, slams into you one last time, and groans as he cums deep, spilling inside you with a raw, broken moan like he’s being torn apart.

he stays there—buried, panting, shaking, his chest pressed to your back, both hands cradling your belly now like he’s apologizing with touch.

then:

“…i was trying to behave,” he mutters, voice raspy, and you wheeze out a laugh.

“you said ‘slow’ and then folded in thirty seconds.”

“yeah, well,” he grins, cock still twitching inside you, “you were moaning. that’s cheating.”

he kisses your shoulder, pulls out with a groan, and watches his cum spill from you with the most self-satisfied, absolutely feral look you’ve ever seen.

“round two’s gonna be worse,” he promises.

“worse how?”

“i’m not gonna pretend to be nice next time.”

SHIU KONG

“you feel that, mama?” shiu murmurs low, breath thick with smoke as he exhales slowly, cock buried deep inside you from behind, dragging it out slow just to watch your legs shake. “feel how this pussy keeps suckin’ me back in? like she misses me every time i pull out.”

your cheek’s pressed to the desk, fingers curled around the edge, thighs trembling. you try to say something—but he thrusts back in, sharp and deep, and your words turn into a soft, broken moan.

“fuck, yeah,” he grins, watching the way your back arches. “that’s my good girl. takin’ it like a champ even with my baby in your belly. still greedy. still so tight. you got no shame, huh? gettin’ fucked over my desk like this?”

you whimper, and he groans, gripping your hips tighter, his tone dropping deeper.

“god, look at you. four months pregnant and still so fuckin’ sexy. makin’ me obsessed. makin’ me stupid. you know what it does to me when you walk around like this, belly all round, tits all full, smellin’ like sweat and sweetness and mine?”

he grinds his hips forward again, harder now, making your body jolt. you moan his name, voice wrecked, and he smirks around his cigarette.

“there we go,” he breathes. “that’s it, mama. keep callin’ me like that. makes me wanna knock you up all over again, see how many times i can stretch this body before you break.”

he pulls out halfway and slams back in, deep and deliberate, the desk creaking beneath you. you gasp, and his hand slides down your spine, warm and heavy, keeping you flat against the desk.

“y’know,” he says, smoke curling from his mouth as he fucks you in slow, ruthless strokes, “i tell myself every time i’ll go easy on you. that i’ll be nice, treat my baby mama with respect.”

he laughs, low and wrecked.

“and then you bend over like this, ass up, pussy drippin’ down your thighs, beggin’ for it—an’ suddenly i’m back to being a filthy fuck who can’t stop.”

you cry out as his hips slam into you again, and he moans—loud and shameless.

“you feel that, mama?” he pants. “that’s my cock hitting the back of your fuckin’ throat from the wrong direction. you’re so full right now—goddamn, i can feel you pulse.”

his hand slips down, two fingers circling your clit with just enough pressure to make your knees buckle.

“c’mon, baby,” he urges, voice hoarse and wrecked, “give it to me. let this cock ruin you. let daddy hear how good he’s fuckin’ his perfect little mama.”

you cum with a cry, clenching around him so hard he curses, nearly drops the cigarette, and loses rhythm entirely as he groans, slamming into you once, twice, again—before burying himself deep and spilling inside you with a rough, filthy moan of your name.

he stays there, panting, one hand on your belly, the other sliding up your back to your neck, grounding you both.

then—

“...we’re doin’ this again after you nap,” he mutters, pulling his cigarette back between his lips, grinning like a devil. “mama needs to be real full tonight.”

HIGURUMA HIROMI

“that’s it, mama,” higuruma groans, voice low and rough as he presses deep into you, eyes locked on the curve of your stomach where your bodies meet, “just like that. let me in. let me make you feel good.”

your thighs tremble where they rest on his shoulders, and he tightens his grip around your ankles, palms warm and broad, grounding you as he starts to move—slow at first, like he’s savoring every inch of you, every slick drag of your walls squeezing him in.

“fuck,” he breathes, watching your face contort as you gasp, “you’re so tight. how are you still this tight, mama? this pussy was made to milk me.”

you whimper, one hand cradling your belly, the other tangled in the sheets as he rocks into you with long, deep strokes. your bump rises slightly with every thrust, your body pliant and flushed and already soaked from the way he touched you before this even started.

and he adores it.

he adores you.

“look at you,” he mutters, pace growing faster without meaning to, “legs up, belly out, takin’ my cock like a good mama. my perfect mama.”

you moan his name—ragged and helpless—and his eyes darken, hips snapping harder.

“that’s it,” he growls, leaning in until your knees are almost beside your head, his cock reaching so deep now. “say it again. let me hear how good i fuck my mama.”

“hiromi,” you gasp, back arching, “feels so good—too deep—”

he groans—loud, wrecked—and fucks into you harder.

“you can take it,” he hisses, lips grazing your ear, “you’re so strong, baby. carrying our child, takin’ this dick like it’s yours—‘cause it is. this cock belongs to you. every part of me does.”

your eyes roll back as he slams into that perfect spot inside you, over and over, his pace no longer controlled—he’s feral, now, panting and moaning, eyes flicking down to where you’re stretched open around him, cum-slick and pulsing.

“gonna fill you up again,” he whispers, reverent and wild all at once. “stuff you full, even though you’re already carrying mine. fuck, mama—this pussy needs it. she’s beggin’ for it.”

you’re trembling, legs shaking against his shoulders, and he grabs under your knees, folding you further, giving you nowhere to go—just take it, every inch, every praise-dripping thrust.

“cum for me,” he commands, rough and soft all at once. “cum with me inside. let me feel you. let me feel how good this pussy knows her man.”

you cry out as your orgasm hits, tightening around him like a vice, and his whole body shudders.

he groans your name, hips jerking, and spills inside you with a low, desperate moan.

“fuck, mama—fuck. you’re everything.”

he stays buried for a long moment, breathing hard, watching your body twitch beneath him—flushed, used, loved—and then lowers your legs gently, kissing your knees, your belly, your lips.

“did so well,” he whispers. “my mama’s so good for me.”

you hum sleepily, still dazed. “you went crazy.”

he smiles, brushing your hair back from your face.

“i am crazy,” he says, kissing your forehead, “for you.”

[that-one-girl2020]

Saja Boys x Rumi’s Sister! Reader

A/N: K-Pop Demon Hunters has me in a chokehold and I have so many ideas floating around in my head but I’m really bad at actually writing and executing them. But I had to write something to help with this fixation. Also, I don’t know how the Honmoon works. Like, can anyone alter or control it after some training? Do you need to be born with a certain predisposition? So, I kinda just made some stuff up.

Edit: Now has Part 2! Part 3!

‼️SPOILERS FOR KPDH‼️

“Okay, you guys are just going down there, right? I’m gonna go pick up some groceries,” You tell the three girls in disguise.

“Thanks, (Y/n)!”

“Thanks.”

“Thanks, (Y/n).”

Sighing, you wave over your shoulder as you separate from the girls. You managed their wardrobe and visuals, you were able to take the vague ideas in their heads and their music and bring them together in stunning visuals while maintaining their individual styles and own input.

But, you were also Rumi’s twin sister. You grew up alongside her under the guidance of your Aunt Celine. You trained with her, learning to fight, dance, and sing with her. However… You were never able to tap into the Honmoon like her or Mira or Zoey.

Which meant you couldn’t debut with your sister or help her with the Honmoon. All you could do was support her and the other girls how your Aunt Celine taught you: Cover up, keep your patterns hidden, cook for them, clean for them, make sure they always look beautiful, no fractures or faults in their image. And no faults of your own must ever be visible either.

You love your sister, there was never any doubt about that. And you love Mira and Zoey too, they were practically your sisters too. But you couldn’t help but feel… invisible and jealous sometimes. You wanted to perform too. Just once.

“Excuse me, miss?”

You were shaken from your thoughts by a smooth, male voice and a colorful flier being held out to you. Looking further up, your eyes widened and your face warmed at the sight of such a handsome guy right in front of you. You were no stranger to beauty working in the idol industry, but wow. Soft, black hair, warm brown eyes, clear skin and a soft smile. Your heart couldn’t help but skip.

“Uhm, I’m sorry,” You shook your head, trying to focus on listening to what the boy said. You couldn’t help but swallow thickly, your face still hot, “Can I help you?”

He smiled kindly, “My friends and I are having our debut performance this afternoon just a street over. We’d love for you to come watch and support us.”

Flustered by his charm and his beauty, you took the flier from him. “The Saja Boys…” You read. Looking around, you tried to spot the rest of his group.

You were startled when an arm suddenly landed on your shoulders. Actually, make that two arms.

Looking up, two more gorgeously unreal guys were on each side of you, an arm around each of your shoulders. One was a buff beauty with shorter magenta hair in a yellow beanie, his shirt hanging on for dear life. The other had longer pink hair that framed his face in a heart shape.

“That’s right,” the long haired guy smiled on your left.

“We’re the Saja Boys,” the buff guy on your right smirked. The two boys spun to slide into place on each side of the black haired guy, the three posing. “I’m Abby,” the muscle man posed, flexing which caused his shirt to strain.

“I’m Romance~” He blew a kiss at you.

“And I’m Jinu,” the black haired guy winked, smiling which made your heart pound all that harder to be the center of attention of three gorgeous guys. “We also have Baby and Mystery who are passing out fliers somewhere as well.”

“Right here, boss.” Oh great, more hot guys to make your heart explode.

A mint haired guy looked at her out of the corner of his eye as he walked past, joining the other three with a cool air. Another guy with long, pastel hair that covered most of his face walked past as well. Did he just smell you…? Was he purring…?

Oh boy. These boys were gonna give you a heart attack at this rate. Your heart was racing and you felt so flustered and awkward having their attention. “Uhm, wow, sorry, I’ll try to be there to support your debut! If you’ll excuse me,” You gave a small bow. Escape. Too many hot guys.

“You promise, sweetheart?~”

Your face flushed darker and you hurried away faster, “Y-Yup! See you there! Good luck!” You had groceries to get.

After getting enough groceries for you and the Huntr/x girls, you checked the time and noted that you had time to see that debut performance. The girls hadn’t texted that they headed back yet so they must still be at the doctors. Carrying the bags, you walked over to the other street, which was only a little more crowded than usual.

It seemed like you were just in time as a cloud of pink smoke grew in the middle of the street. You got closer as music started to fill the street and from the smoke, the five boys appeared.

“Don't want you, need you~ Yeah, I need you to fill me up~ 마시고 마셔 봐도~ 성에 차지 않아~ Got a feeling that, oh, yeah (Yeah)~ You could be everything that~ That I need (Need), taste so sweet (Sweet)~ Every sip makes me want more, yeah~” The black haired guy, Jinu, seemed to take the main vocals. The song was so bouncy and catchy that you couldn’t help but bounce your shoulders as the crowd grew around you. You got pushed to the front of the crowd and blushed as Jinu winked at you. You blushed, holding your groceries tighter.

“You're all I can think of~ Every drop I drink up~ You're my soda pop~ My little soda pop~ Cool me down, you're so hot~ Pour me up, I won't stop~ You're my soda pop~ My little soda pop~”

Okay, Huntr/x would always have your whole heartfelt support as your favorite group, but the Saja Boys were also really good… Like, if you weren’t Rumi’s sister, you might’ve jumped ship…

You were just a girl after all…

You blinked when some of the boys started blowing kisses into the crowd, launching hearts out of thin air. If they were just debuting, how’d they afford such great special effects…? These boys must’ve worked hard.

At least you thought so until you saw a flash of demon patterns and eyes on some of the boys.

You gasped. Were they… like you and Rumi? Part demons? Wait, no, they can control their demon features, you and Rumi can’t. No matter how much you tried to hide the growing patterns inching across your skin, it never worked. All you could do was cover up with long sleeves and pants.

They were just performing though. The girls would probably kill them as soon as they could once they caught wind of this demon idol group, because demons were all evil, emotionless creatures… But, if they were just demon guys performing because they wanted to perform, if they were nice demons, then wouldn’t that help prove that it was okay for you to live too…?

They helped the girl at the corn dog stand and gave those stressed kids some gifts, and they didn’t try to suck a soul once.

Your heart pounded, not just with how attractive the five were, but with hope.

The performance ended as the boys took their final poses before taking a moment to wave and send kisses into the crowd. As you scanned the group of boys, Romance sent you a flying kiss, Abby flashed you some finger hearts, Jinu’s smile widened at you, Baby raised an eyebrow at you, and Mystery gave a head nod.

What were you supposed to do now…?

[straw-berrysoju]

Match Found (18+)

Summary: You didn’t think tonight would end with your brother’s best friend telling you how much he wants to fuck you… but here you are. Thighs shaking. Heart pounding. Fingers soaked. And it’s not even midnight yet.

Or alternatively where one needy night you end up on an anonymous sexting app only to realise this stranger yet familiar person you're sexting is actually your brother's best friend, kim mingyu.

Pairing: Mingyu x female reader

Setting: Sexting app

Word Count: ~ 3k

Themes: Sexting, slow-burn, depraved, intensely erotic, forbidden (brother's best friend)

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, masturbation, voice kink, dirty talk, mutual pining, brother’s best friend dynamic, fantasizing, edging

_______________________________________________________

It starts off harmless. A new app, an anonymous chat. You weren’t even trying to get off tonight — not really.

You just wanted to feel wanted.

You sign up with the name petal.crush, something vague and romantic to offset your restlessness. It’s just a sexting app — no profile photos, no bios, no identifying anything. Just usernames and raw, unfiltered chat.

The tagline was catchy: “No faces. Just fantasies.”

You match within seconds.

Matched with: lowtone.sin

Your screen lights up with the first message before you can even type.

> lowtone.sin:

You clicked first. So you’re either impatient or a little reckless.

Which one is it?

You bite your lip, already smiling at the confidence behind his tone. Typing back feels like slipping into something dangerous.

> petal.crush:

Maybe both.

You planning to do something about it?

> lowtone.sin:

That depends

Are you here for sweet words and flirting?

Or are you here to get ruined?

Your thighs instinctively press together.

> petal.crush:

Ruin me. Slowly.

There’s a long pause. You stare at the screen, anticipation crawling up your spine.

Then finally—

> lowtone.sin:

Good girl.

Let’s start with something easy.

What would I hear if I called you right now?

Would you sound sweet and shy?

Or would you already be wet and waiting?

You suck in a breath.

There’s no point pretending. No coyness left in you tonight. This man — whoever he is — has the kind of tone that makes your stomach clench and your mind submit. You press the mic icon before you can talk yourself out of it.

> petal.crush \[voice note – 0:12]

“I’m not touching myself yet. But I’m aching for it. My panties are soaked. Just from reading your messages”

The response comes fast.

> lowtone.sin:

You’ve got a filthy little mouth for someone who hasn’t even been told to touch yet.

Bet you squirm when someone takes control of you, don’t you?

That tight, needy body of yours probably begs for it.

You whimper — aloud — and type with trembling fingers.

> petal.crush:

You’re right.

I love being told exactly what to do.

I want to be teased, edged, used.

> lowtone.sin:

Fuck.

Get your hand between your thighs. Now.

Over your panties. I want your fingers soaked before I even let you move them.

You obey.

The fabric sticks to you immediately. You slide two fingers up and down the drenched cotton and exhale into the dark.

Your phone buzzes again.

> lowtone.sin:

I want to hear how wet you are.

Show me.

You record again, a soft gasp escaping your lips as you press a little harder.

> petal.crush \[voice note – 0:16]

“I’m dripping. The fabric’s so wet it’s clinging to me. I want to slide them off and touch my bare pussy for you.”

> lowtone.sin:

Not yet

Good things come to desperate girls

Tell me — how often do you touch yourself thinking about strangers?

You bite your lip.

> petal.crush:

Not streangers

Someone specific.

> lowtone.sin:

Oh?

Lucky bastard.

What’s he like?

Your throat goes dry.

Because he’s you. You’ve fantasized about him. That voice — it’s too perfect, too polished. The way he calls you good girl feels familiar in a way that’s wrong and addictive.

You shake it off.

> petal.crush:

Tall. Broad.Big hands. Sharp jaw.Smiles like sin.Looks like he could ruin me in one night and leave me wanting more.

There’s a pause. Then a photo notification.

Image\[jpg.1]

You tap on it, breath catching in your throat.

It’s a hand — his hand — wrapped around a thick cock. His grip is firm, the tip flushed red and glistening. You can see the base of his abs, tight and flexed, veins running across his forearm. It’s cropped — no face, no hints — but god, it’s pretty.

> lowtone.sin:

What do you think?

> petal.crush:

I think I want it down my throat.

> lowtone.sin:

You say things like that and expect me to keep my composure?

> petal.crush:

No.

I want to hear you lose it.

Another voice note comes in. His voice is deeper now — rough, frayed around the edges.

> lowtone.sin \[voice note – 0:28]

“Fuck. If you were here right now, I’d have you on your knees. I’d hold your jaw, make you look up at me while I slide my cock across your tongue. I bet your eyes would water so pretty when I push deep.”

You moan. Loud. Hand slipping inside your panties at last, slick fingers circling your clit in dizzy little swirls. Your legs tremble.

> petal.crush:

I can’t wait. Please.

Tell me what to do. I’ll be so fucking good.

> lowtone.sin:

Take off your panties.

Lie back.

Spread your legs and take a photo for me.

I want to see the mess you made just from my voice

You obey.

You slide them off and grab your phone with one shaky hand, angling the camera down — flushed thighs, glistening lips, your fingers posed teasingly just above where you ache most.

Image\[jpg.2]

You hit send. Instantly.

> lowtone.sin:

Jesus

Look at that cunt.

Bet it’s tight as hell.

You fuck yourself slow or fast?

> petal.crush:

Depends how desperate I am.

> lowtone.sin:

And how desperate are you tonight, baby?

> petal.crush:

I’m so wet I could come without touching.

But I want you to drag it out. Make it painful.

There’s a moment of silence. Then:

> lowtone.sin:

…Fuck.

This is going to sound crazy.

But your voice?

Your photos.

You’re too fucking familiar.

Your chest goes still.

That tone. That rasp. That deep little breath before he speaks.

Your heart lurches.

No.

It can’t be.

You type, hands shaking:

> petal.crush:

Say something. Just one word.

I need to be sure.

He doesn’t text.

He sends a voice note.

> lowtone.sin \[voice note – 0:06]

“Y/N.”

Your stomach drops.

It is him.

That voice, you know it. You’ve heard it a hundred times.

Because Mingyu — your brother Seungcheol’s best friend — has been in your house more times than you can count.

And now, he’s here. Holding his cock. Telling you how good your pussy looks.

Your fingers are still between your legs.

And you’re still soaked.

Your heart is pounding.

You’re sitting in your dark bedroom, soaked fingers trembling between your thighs, staring at your screen like it’s a weapon pointed directly at your chest.

Mingyu.

Your brother’s best friend.

The voice you’ve moaned to in secret.

The man whose towel dropped in front of you two summers ago, whose gaze lingered a beat too long when you walked into the kitchen in your smallest sleep shorts. The man who walked in on you changing and looked—just looked—but didn’t leave for three entire seconds.

Your mouth goes dry.

You wait for him to say something else. Anything.

lowtone.sin:

Say it.

I know you know it’s me.

I want to hear it.

You type slowly, every nerve ending alive.

petal.crush:

Mingyu.

I knew it the second you said my name.

You sound exactly how I imagined when I used to fuck myself to the thought of you.

A pause.

Then—

lowtone.sin:

Holy fuck.

You used to what?

petal.crush:

You have any idea how hard it was living in the same house and pretending I wasn’t soaking through my panties every time you smiled at me?

lowtone.sin:

Tell me.

Everything.

You pause, pulse pounding.

And then you type like you’re possessed.

petal.crush:

The shorts?

I wore those on purpose. I knew they barely covered my ass.

Every time I bent over to grab something, I made sure you were in the room.

Once, I even “accidentally” spilled water on my chest so I could walk past you in a wet tank top.

And that day you walked in on me changing?

I left the door unlocked.

His reply comes fast.

lowtone.sin:

You fucking minx.

I had to jerk off in your goddamn bathroom after that.

I saw your tits. I saw your thighs.

And the way you looked at me—like you wanted me to stay?

petal.crush:

I did want you to stay.

I wanted you to push me against the mirror and fuck me stupid.

Right there. With Seungcheol downstairs.

Another voice note.

You brace yourself before you tap it.

lowtone.sin \[voice note – 0:34]

“I swear to God, Y/N. If I had known you wanted it even half as bad as I did, I wouldn’t have lasted another day pretending. Every time you moaned in your sleep when I stayed over, I nearly lost my mind. I wanted to sneak into your room and make you finish what you started.”

Your whole body jolts.

petal.crush:

I used to fake moan just loud enough for you to hear when I knew you were sleeping in the next room.

I imagined you sneaking in and putting your hand over my mouth while you fucked me into the mattress.

lowtone.sin:

Jesus fuck.

I used to picture you riding my thigh on the couch while Seungcheol played video games right next to us.

Just your pretty little cunt grinding against me, biting your lip so you wouldn’t make a sound.

You moan—out loud—and grab your phone, hand back between your legs.

You don’t even bother hiding it this time.

petal.crush \[voice note – 0:23]

“I’m touching myself again. I can’t stop. I’m picturing your hand over my mouth, your cock buried in me, and your voice in my ear telling me I’m your filthy little secret.”

lowtone.sin:

You are my filthy little secret.

Mine.

No one else gets to hear you like this.

No one else gets to see what I’m seeing.

Another picture arrives.

Image\[jpg.3]

He’s naked now, lying back, abs tight, one hand gripping his cock. He’s glistening with pre-cum, thick and flushed, the kind of cock you want to sink your teeth into.

You whimper.

lowtone.sin:

Let me see you again. All of you.

You slide your shirt off. Fingers trembling, you spread your legs wider and take the shot — body flushed, thighs slick, clit swollen and needy.

Image\[jpg.4]

You don’t even hesitate before sending it.

lowtone.sin:

I want to fuck you against every surface in your house.

Against the washing machine while it rumbles.

On your brother’s bed while he’s in the shower.

On the goddamn kitchen counter while you beg me not to stop.

petal.crush:

I used to imagine you standing behind me while I washed dishes.

Sliding your hand down the front of my shorts and telling me to keep doing chores while you made me come.

lowtone.sin:

I fantasized about making you gag on my cock while Seungcheol watched a movie in the next room.

You’d cry on it. I’d fuck your throat until you begged me to come inside.

And I’d pull out, grip your jaw, and say: “Open.”

You rub yourself harder now, two fingers circling your clit while you picture everything he’s saying.

petal.crush \[voice note – 0:28]

“I’d do it. I’d drop to my knees for you so fast. I’d swallow you down and let you use my mouth. I want it so fucking bad. Please—talk me through it. Tell me what to do.”

lowtone.sin \[voice note – 0:32]

“Slide two fingers in. Slow. Stretch that tight pussy out while I stroke my cock and imagine it’s your sweet cunt clenching around me. Keep rubbing that clit. But don’t come. Not until I tell you.”

You moan brokenly and do as he says.

Fingers curling deep.

Your walls flutter.

You need him so badly it hurts.

lowtone.sin:

How many times have you come to the thought of me?

petal.crush:

I lost count months ago.

lowtone.sin:

What was your favorite fantasy?

You hesitate… then type.

petal.crush:

You bend me over the bathroom sink after a swim.

Your trunks are still wet.

I’m dripping all over the tile.

You grab my throat. You fuck me so hard I can’t even look at myself in the mirror.

And when I come, you keep going.

Until I’m shaking. Ruined. Begging.

He moans — this time in a voice note — and the sound is enough to send you right to the edge.

lowtone.sin \[voice note – 0:24]

“You’re going to be the death of me. You want to be fucked that dirty, babygirl? You want to cry from how good it feels? I’ll give you every filthy fantasy you’ve ever had. Just say the word.”

You hit record with shaking fingers.

petal.crush \[voice note – 0:19]

“Please. Make me come. I’m right there. I want to scream your name. Let me be yours. Just say it, Mingyu.”

lowtone.sin:

Come.

Now.

Be my good girl and make a mess for me.

You explode.

White-hot pleasure tears through your core, every nerve singing. You cry out his name, legs twitching, soaked fingers buried in your pussy as you ride the orgasm out.

You’re a mess.

You can barely breathe.

And then—

A voice note. Raspy. Guttural.

lowtone.sin \[voice note – 0:14]

“Fucking hell. I’m coming—fuck—Y/N, I’m coming thinking about that tight pussy and your filthy mouth saying my name.”

You both go quiet for a minute.

Breathless.

Spent.

But buzzing.

You’re still panting.

Your fingers are sticky with your own slick. Your body’s boneless. Your skin feels too hot, your breath too shallow. The little hum of your phone is the only sound in the room, and you’re suddenly very aware of how quiet it is.

And how loud the truth is.

You just came for Mingyu.

And he just came for you.

Your brother’s best friend. The one you’re not supposed to want.

But God — you want him so bad your bones ache.

The screen glows.

lowtone.sin:

…Still alive?

petal.crush:

Barely.

I think you melted my brain.

lowtone.sin:

Good.

That was the goal.

You sounded so fucking pretty when you begged for it.

I replayed your voice note three times before I came.

Your cheeks flush with warmth that runs straight to your core.

petal.crush:

My legs are shaking.

Like… actually.

You wrecked me through a screen.

lowtone.sin:

Bet you’re all messy and flushed and glowing right now.

Wish I was there to see it.

Would kiss every inch of you. Clean you up with my tongue.

Your breath stutters.

petal.crush:

You’re gonna make me start all over again.

lowtone.sin:

Oh?

You that greedy for me already?

petal.crush:

I’ve been greedy for you since I was nineteen.

Since you walked out of the shower that one time shirtless and dripping and smiled like nothing was wrong while I nearly came just from looking at your waistline.

lowtone.sin:

Holy fuck.

I remember that day.

You wouldn’t meet my eyes.

You were wearing that little white top… no bra.

I had to jerk off in Seungcheol’s bathroom after dinner.

petal.crush:

I knew it.

I remember hearing the water run again and thinking, please let him be thinking about me.

lowtone.sin:

I always was.

Every time I came over, you were the only thing on my mind.

And every time I smiled, every joke I cracked — it was me trying to keep it together.

Pretending I didn’t want to drag you into your room and fuck you until you screamed.

petal.crush:

You don’t have to pretend anymore.

A beat passes.

Then:

lowtone.sin:

I want to ruin you, Y/N.

For real.

I want to see how that pretty mouth looks moaning my name.

I want to taste how sweet you are when you’re trembling under me.

I want to hold your wrists down and fuck you until you're mine.

Your chest squeezes. It’s still hot and filthy between you, but now there’s something else curling underneath it — something heavy and sweet and real.

lowtone.sin:

Remember that party last year?

When you wore that backless dress?

petal.crush:

Yeah. You kept refilling my drink.

lowtone.sin:

Because I couldn’t stop staring.

I wanted to drag you into the guest bathroom and eat you out against the door.

You were laughing, dancing like you didn’t know what you were doing to me.

petal.crush:

I knew.

I bent over on purpose.

Just so I could feel your eyes on my ass.

I wanted to know if you’d finally break.

lowtone.sin:

I almost did.

I had to go home early and jerk off to the image of your bare back and heels.

Imagining how you'd sound if I fucked you in them.

You’re flushed again. Dizzy with need. The ache is back, deeper than before.

petal.crush:

You’re making me wet again.

lowtone.sin:

Good.

Want you wet every time I speak.

Want you to fall asleep with my voice in your head and my name between your legs.

You record another voice note, throat thick with need.

petal.crush \[voice note – 0:18]

“You’re already in my head, Mingyu. I’m aching for you. Touching myself again. Can’t stop thinking about how you’d feel inside me.”

lowtone.sin:

Fuck.

You’re gonna kill me.

You’re perfect. You’re mine.

There’s a moment of pause. His next message is slower, quieter.

lowtone.sin:

We’re not going back after this, are we?

You stare at that sentence, heart pounding. You type slowly, surely.

petal.crush:

I don’t want to.

I don’t want to pretend I don’t want you anymore.

I want this. You.

Even if it’s wrong.

lowtone.sin:

Then it’s us.

No more secrets.

No more pretending.

petal.crush:

You gonna come see me?

lowtone.sin:

You better leave the door unlocked.

Because I’m coming over tomorrow night.

And I’m not leaving until I’ve had your legs around my shoulders and my name in your throat.

Your whole body tingles.

petal.crush:

You sure you can handle me?

lowtone.sin:

Baby, I’ve been waiting for this for years.

I’m gonna make sure you never forget the first night we stop pretending.

And just like that, you're already aching for round two.

Even if it hasn't even begun yet.

__________________

Author's note: This idea has been in my head for a while now so I had to let it out. I originally planned to write a sexting smut that felt more authentic to the story, as this is set on a sexting app, I wanted to include all the elements to it like actual images(just as one does in smaus), audios of them moaning or whimpering yk, short video clips and all but I realised I'd get reported if I did that so I had to keep it limited to words. Hope y'all liked it still. This format was a new one and I struggled a bit with it but still enjoyed working on it nonetheless.

[gojosconsort]

gojo who makes u take him all the way 2 the base whenever u say hes being too mean !! then he'll let u come up for a breather before pressing u down again n watch u squirm ^^

𓂃୨ৎ mdni. oral (m receiving), deepthroating, choking

“fuck, you’re so pretty like this,” satoru groans, voice low, but there’s a taunting edge. your throat burns, spit dripping down your chin, and you try to pull back, gasping, “satoru, you’re being too mean.”

his eyes flash, and that smirk widens, dangerous. “oh, you think i’m mean?” he says, gripping your hair tighter. “then take it all, babe. all the way.”

before you can protest, he pushes your head down, slow but firm, until your nose brushes the base of his cock, his pubes tickling your face. he’s so deep, stretching your throat, and you can’t breathe, eyes watering, gagging around him.

“there we go,” he murmurs, almost reverent, “that’s my good girl.” he holds you there, watching you struggle, his cock twitching in your throat. “look at you, squirming so cute,” he teases, thumb brushing a tear from your cheek.

after a beat, he lets you up, and you pull off, gasping for air, lips swollen, drool everywhere. “mean enough for you?” he asks, grinning, but you barely catch your breath before he’s guiding you back down, cock sliding deep again.

“satoru,” you whine around him, voice muffled, and he chuckles. “say i’m mean again, and we’ll see how deep you can go,” he taunts, pushing you to the base once more.

you gag, throat tight, but he’s moaning now, head tilted back, “fuck, your mouth’s so perfect.” your squirming’s got him harder, his grip relentless, and you’re dripping, the heat between your legs unbearable.

he lets you up again, air rushing into your lungs, and you’re a mess—tears streaking your face, lips slick with spit and his cum.

“so fucking gorgeous,” he says, pulling you onto his lap, your knees straddling him. “you did so well, taking me like that.” his cock’s still hard, pressing against your soaked panties, and you whimper, grinding against him.

“want more?” he asks, voice soft but teasing, hands sliding under your shirt, thumbs brushing your nipples. you nod, desperate, and he yanks your panties aside, lining his cock up with your dripping pussy. “say i’m mean,” he murmurs, smirking, and you do, voice shaky, “you’re so mean, satoru.”

he groans, thrusting up, filling you in one hard push, his cock stretching you so good you cry out. “fuck, that’s what i wanted,” he growls, hands on your hips, slamming you down onto him. each thrust’s brutal, his cock hitting deep, making you moan loud, just how he likes.

your walls clench tight around him, pleasure building fast, and he’s watching you, eyes dark, loving every sound you make. “you’re so fucking hot,” he moans, pulling you down to kiss you, tongue messy, swallowing your cries. you’re close, and he knows it, thrusting harder, one hand sliding to rub your clit, fast and rough.

“cum for me,” he pants, and you do, hard, your pussy squeezing his cock as you scream his name, shaking, vision blurring. he’s right behind you, groaning, “fuck, babe, feels so good—” his cock pulses, cumming deep inside you, hot and thick, filling you up as he thrusts slow, riding it out.

you’re both panting, his arms wrapping around you, keeping you close. he kisses your neck, soft now. “call me mean again,” he murmurs, “and i’ll make you take it all night.”

you shiver, still feeling him inside, and know he’s not joking. “you’re awful,” you whisper, and he laughs, pushing you back down, his cock hardening again.

“what was that?”

[lexiputellas]

The Real Victory

You’re horny. Like, dangerously horny.

Alexia is on the pitch, locked into the Champions League match against Manchester City. She lost the last game, and you know how badly she wants this one. You should be focused too. Supportive. Cheering.

But you're six months pregnant and your entire body is buzzing.

And all you can think about is her.

Not the game. Not the score.

Just her

The way her thighs flex when she sprints, thick and powerful. The way her brow furrows when she’s concentrating, that sharp little frown. The way her hands settle on her hips when something doesn’t go her way, fuck.That posture alone sends a direct electric shock to your clit, like a livewire.

It’s unbearable.

You can’t hear the crowd. You barely notice the plays. It’s just her, her, her.

“Oh, that ref is shit. He should’ve called that a foul,” Alba mutters beside you, snapping you out of your haze.

“What?” you blink.

“The ref,” she says, nodding at the pitch.

“Oh. Right. Yeah,” you say, pretending to care. She’s already turned back to the game.

But you? You’re dying.

This feeling is consuming you, melting you from the inside out. You feel like you’re going to burst. Your hands are clenched in your lap, trying to behave, but your legs keep pressing together. You're sweating under your dress, soaked through your underwear, every shift in your seat making you want to whimper.

You can't take it anymore.

You grab your phone and open Alexia’s contact, fingers trembling as you type:

— if after 30 minutes of the game you don’t fuck me and give me at least 2 orgasms i will expose you to the internet. i’m not joking. i’m feral.

You hit send.

She won’t read it now, obviously. But when she gets back to the locker room, when she finally checks her phone, you want her to know what she did to you.

You type again:

— i’m a mess. i’m so wet it’s probably running through my dress and dripping onto the fucking seats. this is 100% your fault.

You stare at the screen, your heart pounding harder than the crowd’s chants.

Final whistle.

Barça wins.

The stadium erupts. People are screaming, waving flags. Fireworks. Hugs. Applause.

You don't care.

Finale. They’re going to the goddamn finale.

And all you want is her.

All you want is home

All you want is to be touched.

You turn to Alba. “Let’s go.”

She glances at you, a little surprised. “Already?”

“Help me up.”

She does, and you wobble a bit, pregnant belly leading the way. You make your way to the VIP lounge and ask for a bottle of water. Your heart is racing like you played 90 minutes.

“You having dinner with us?” you ask Alba casually, your brain screaming please say no please say no please say no—

“I don’t think so, actually. I promised Julia I’d have dinner with her tonight. Been a while.”

YES.

“Oh, okay,” you say, masking the desperate joy clawing at your throat. “I just thought—”

“I’m sorry!” she smiles. “We can have dinner later this week.”

You nod, but your mind is elsewhere. All you can think is: Where the fuck is Alexia?

Why is she not here yet? Is she still giving interviews? Talking to people? Laughing with teammates while you’re over here throbbing?

Then, finally, she walks through the doors.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

Your entire body clenches. She looks so fucking good. Post-game glow, loose ponytail, jersey stuck to her skin, thighs still tense from running. She’s flushed. Confident. Unreal.

You bite your lip. Hard. Press your thighs together again.

You love her. You hate her. You want to murder her and climb her at the same time.

“Oi, bebé,” she murmurs, kissing your cheek, arms wrapping around you.

You give her a dry peck back, but your eyes are blazing. She hugs Alba next.

“Hey, you coming to dinner?”

“Oh, can’t. Was just waiting for you to show up. I’ve got plans.”

“Okay,” Alexia nods. Alba leaves.

“Dinner out or do you want to order in?” she asks, turning to you with that too-casual tone.

“Order,” you narrow your eyes. She was really about to take you to a restaurant like she didn’t just read those texts? Is she insane?

Then again, she is insane. She's mean. She's hot. She’s yours. So so yours.

“Okay, let’s go,” she says, grabbing your purse and holding out her hand.

You walk with her, past a few teammates. She says her goodbyes. Opens the car door for you. Puts her gear in the trunk. Starts the engine.

She’s humming along to the song on the radio. Calm. Collected.

You look at her. Really look.

What kind of monster leaves their pregnant, needy, drenched wife like this?

The way her fingers grip the wheel. The muscles in her forearms. The little furrow of concentration on her brow.

It’s criminal.

“What?” she says suddenly, catching your stare.

“You’re so mean,” you mutter, crossing your arms.

“What? How am I mean?”

“You read the messages. And you chose to ignore me. You ignored your pregnant, unholy, unsatisfied wife”

“I didn’t ignore you,” she smirks. “I just wanted to see when you’d break.”

“When I’d— WHAT KIND OF MONSTER SAYS THAT? I hate you!” you yell, dramatic and breathless.

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes I do! I hate you so much!”

She looks at you sideways, eyes dark and smug, and then slowly lets one hand slide off the wheel, straight to your thigh.

You gasp.

Her fingers press into your skin, spreading a little warmth, a little promise.

“You don’t hate me,” she says, low and certain.

And god help you, she’s right.

Her hand stays there hot, firm, steady on your thigh. Not moving. Just existing. Like a warning. Like a fucking claim.

And you're trembling.

“You don't hate me,” she says again, softer this time, almost teasing, like she already knows you're seconds from falling apart. “You’re just mad I made you wait.”

You twist toward her in your seat, glaring. “I wasn’t mad. I was dying. There’s a difference. You left me like that for ninety minutes. In public.”

“In a stadium,” she corrects, her thumb now rubbing slow, maddening circles over your skin. “While my team fought for the Champions League.”

“I fought for my life. ”

She laughs, actually laughs, and you nearly claw at her. “You think this is funny?”

“I think it’s adorable.”

“Adorable?” you nearly shriek. “I threatened you. I explicitly said two orgasms and you acted like I said two cappuccinos,”

“I saw that,” she says, grinning wider. “And the one after. The part about your dress. And the seats.”

Your mouth goes dry.

“And?” you snap, voice shaky.

She hums, dragging the tip of her fingernail up and down your thigh now. You shiver. “And I guess we’ll see if you were exaggerating.”

“I wasn’t.”

“I hope not.”

You make a noise that’s somewhere between a groan and a growl. Your hands are fisted in your lap again, trying not to beg her in traffic.

The city blurs outside the window, but all you see is her profile, focused, gorgeous, unfazed. Your whole body is throbbing and she’s just…driving. Calmly. Like you’re not about to crawl into her lap.

You glance down at her hand on your leg. Her thumb is drifting closer to the inside of your thigh now. Dangerous territory. Too close. You spread your legs slightly without thinking.

She doesn’t say anything. Just flicks her eyes toward you with a slow smirk.

You clench your fists tighter.

“You’re a menace,” you mutter.

“You married me.”

“I was tricked.”

She chuckles again, completely in control, and your pulse is in your ears. She's wearing that smug, satisfied post-match look, jersey still sticking to her skin, and all you can think about is how much you need her on you, in you, now now now.

“Alexia,” you whisper, desperate.

She exhales through her nose, leans forward to turn down the music, then returns her hand to your thighs, this time higher, much higher.

“Shhh, bebé. Almost home.”

Your hips twitch toward her.

“No, not shhh. I’m going to die,” you say breathlessly. “You’re going to have to explain to the paramedics that you edged your pregnant wife into a cardiac event.”

She grins. “I’ll just say it was hormones.”

You whimper. Actually whimper.

“You’re evil.”

“You’re so dramatic,” she says, but her voice is lower now, quieter, slipping into that tone you know means trouble.

Then she turns onto your street.

Your breathing stutters.

You’re seconds away from sobbing, from tearing the fabric of your dress apart, from climbing her while the engine’s still on. She parks the car and the moment it clicks into place, you undo your seatbelt and twist to her.

She hasn’t even opened her door yet.

You lean toward her, breath warm, hands shaking.

“I swear to God,” you whisper, “if you make me wait one more second,”

But she’s already moving. Turning to you. Hand slipping behind your neck and pulling you in for a deep, hot kiss. It hits you like fireneedy, claiming, hungry. Her tongue sweeps over yours and her fingers dig into your skin and just like that, you’re gone.

Your moan gets swallowed in her mouth.

She reaches down, pulls the lever, and shoves the driver’s seat all the way back.

Your breath catches.

“Come here,” she says, low.

“What?”

“You heard me. Come here.”

You scramble over the center console, breathless, messy, belly in the way, everything awkward and unhinged. But she helps you, strong arms around you, guiding you to straddle her lap. Her hands slide under your thighs, lifting you so you’re not too heavy, easing you down until you're sitting right against her.

The moment you're seated, your soaked center pressed against the firm muscle of her thigh, your arms around her neck, she kisses you.

Hard.

Messy.

Open-mouthed and fucking relentless.

You moan into her, rocking instinctively, already rolling your hips against her. Her hands slip up under your dress, grabbing the back of your thighs, your ass, your hips, tugging you closer until you're gasping into her mouth.

“Ale, fuck, I’m gonna explode”

She pulls back just enough to look at you, lips wet, eyes glassy.

Her hand slides between your legs. Straight under your underwear.

And when she feels how wet you are?

Her jaw clenches.

“You’re soaked.”

“I told you,” you gasp.

“Sit up,” she orders, and you barely register what she’s doing before she slides her fingers inside: slow, deep, no warning.

Your whole body jerks.

“FUCK”

Her other hand grips your hip, grounding you, holding you in place.

“You gonna ride me like you threatened to?” she breathes into your neck. “Or do I have to make you beg for it?”

You’re already moving. Hips grinding down, your belly tight against her chest, your thighs trembling with the effort.

“God, yes, yes, please, Alexia”

“You’re so desperate,” she whispers. “So messy. You wanted to come in my car so bad? Do it.”

Her fingers are already soaked, dripping, knuckles buried in your cunt as you grind against her like you’ve forgotten how to breathe. She’s letting you do the work, just watching, controlling the rhythm with the slow flex of her hand.

“You’re so fucking perfect like this,” she mutters, voice low, forehead pressed to yours. “Dripping all over me. Can you feel how wet you are?“

Your jaw drops. You moan, raw, desperate and she doesn't give you space to recover.

Her fingers curl inside you, deep and mean, rubbing against that swollen, electric spot that sends sparks flying up your spine. Her palm drags hard over your clit. Again and again and again.

You fall apart.

Your back arches, your belly tight and shaking, and then your cunt clenches down so hard on her fingers it hurts. You don’t just moan, you wail, the sound tearing from your throat like a sob. Your head tips back, body locking, thighs trembling uncontrollably.

She’s right there, whispering filth into your skin.

“That's it. Give it to me, bebé. Let me feel it. Let me feel all of it.”

You try to breathe, but your lungs won’t work. Your whole body is twitching, seized by the orgasm, soaking her wrist, her palm, the fucking seat. You’re gushing, crying, shaking in her lap like your body’s been possessed.

She holds you there through it gripping your ass with one hand, still inside you with the other, riding it out until you're limp and clinging to her.

When you finally collapse forward, she’s panting against your ear, voice rough with praise.

“Good girl,” she whispers. “You came so hard for me. Fuck.”

Your whole body buzzes. You’re not sure if you’re still crying or just breathless, but her jersey is wet with sweat, and your thighs are shaking.

“That’s one,” she says, slowly pulling her fingers out, wet, slick, obscene. She lifts them to her mouth and licks them clean while you just stare, wrecked and speechless.

Then, with a grin that’s all teeth:

“You still owe me another.”

“And I haven’t even ripped your fucking dress yet.”

[blueberrisdove-sideblog]

Mydeimos loves to spoon you during sex. He needs it. Has to have your back pressed tight against his chest, your thighs shaking from how deep he’s inside, and his arm wrapped around your middle like he’s trying to keep your soul from floating away. He gets all breathless and possessive like that hips grinding up into you with slow, devastating thrusts while he whispers filth into your ear. “You feel so good like this,” he growls, voice rough and needy. “So fuckin’ warm and tight… I can feel every damn squeeze.”

He’ll drag his hand down between your legs, fingers slipping where you’re soaked and puffy, just to feel how much you want him. “You’re dripping,” he pants, kissing along your neck, “you always get like this when I fuck you from behind. You love when I hold you down like this, huh?” He doesn’t wait for an answer: he knows. The way your body arches into his, how you keep moaning his name and twitching every time his cock hits that spot. He starts fucking you harder, deeper, more desperate, like he’s trying to melt into you. Like he belongs there.

“Mine,” he groans, voice cracking. “Say you’re mine while I’m inside you.” His arm tightens around your waist like he’s scared you’ll disappear. He keeps you pressed flush against him, his hips slamming into your ass, filthy squelching sounds filling the space between moans. You can feel the way his cock throbs deep in your guts, the way he’s trembling, losing control with every wet, rutting thrust. “Gonna fuck you stupid like this,” he growls. “Just wanna keep you wrapped around me all night, fuck—feels too good.”

He bites at your shoulder, whining shamelessly into your skin while he grinds his cock deep and doesn’t pull out. “You keep milking me,” he chokes, voice all wrecked. “You wanna make me cum, huh? Wanna get filled up while I’m holdin’ you like this?” His thrusts get sloppy, frantic—he’s chasing it, using your tight little body like he’s gone feral for you. You feel the drag of his cock every time he sinks in, his abs flexing against your back, his breath hot and shaking. “I can’t stop,” he moans. “Fuck, I can’t stop—gonna fill you up, baby, gonna stuff you full—”

And when he finally snaps, ohh honey—he grinds into you like he’s trying to lock your bodies together, cumming so deep you can feel it flood your insides. He groans your name, slurred and fucked-out, holding you down by the hips while his cock jerks inside, pumping you full. Even after, he doesn’t let go—just pants into your neck and keeps his cock buried inside like he’s addicted. “Still not done,” he whispers, already starting to move again, still so hard. “Still need more. Need to feel you cum again while I’m wrapped around you like this…”

[rafecameronssl4t]

Anniversary Getaway || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: You and Rafe celebrate your one-year anniversary at a private villa in Mexico, where he can’t resist you.

Warnings: smut!!!

Word count:

A/n: IM BACKKKKKK SEND THRU REQUESTS PLS AND TY

MASTERLIST

The soft crash of waves against the rocks echoed in the distance as the Mexican sun dipped low over the turquoise water, bathing the villa in golden light. The private infinity pool shimmered with every gust of breeze, the air humid and heavy with heat—but not nearly as hot as the way Rafe was looking at you from his lounge chair.

You leaned over the pool’s edge, toes dipped in, your skimpy bikini barely clinging to you after a dip. It was pale yellow—tiny triangles and side ties that had made his jaw clench the moment you stepped out of the bedroom that morning.

And now, one drink in and your skin glowing from the sun and salt, Rafe was a man possessed. “Are you trying to kill me, babe?” he muttered, sunglasses slipping down his nose as he watched the water drip from your thighs. You tossed a glance over your shoulder, smirking.

“What? I’m just enjoying the view.” “So am I,” he drawled, sitting up and letting his drink rest on the side table. “But I’m two seconds away from making that bikini disappear.” You laughed softly, but the sound died when he stood and stalked over. There was something different in his walk—predatory.

You didn’t move, just stayed there leaning against the edge of the pool, ass out, sun glinting off the water on your back. You could practically feel the heat in his stare. He dropped to his knees behind you, hands gripping your hips, thumbs grazing the bows tied at either side.

“You know this is our one-year anniversary,” he murmured, mouth close to your ear. “I think it’s only fair I get to unwrap my present.” You gasped when his teeth grazed the back of your neck, hips pressing into yours from behind. “Rafe—” “Mmh?” he hummed, fingers toying with the tie at your hip. “You’re not seriously gonna—”

The knot came loose with a swift tug, your bottoms slipping just enough to make you hiss. “No one’s around,” he said roughly, voice low and dark with want. “And even if they were… I’d still take my time with you.” He turned you gently, laying you flat on the poolside tiles.

Warmth clung to your skin, but it was nothing compared to his hands exploring your body, mouth latching onto your inner thigh and working its way up with teasing slowness. “Rafe,” you breathed, arching when he spread your legs with ease. “God, you’re—” “Obsessed with you? Yeah.”

His mouth curved wickedly before lowering to taste you, slow and deep and filthy. His tongue moved like he had all night, all week, all year to make you unravel—and honestly, he did. Your hands tangled in his hair, breath catching, head falling back as he groaned into you like he couldn’t get enough.

“Fuck, you taste like paradise,” he growled, voice muffled as he licked deeper. “You always do.” The heat built fast, unbearable and perfect, and before you could fully come down from the high he gave you, Rafe was pulling his shorts down, lining himself up between your thighs right there on the sun-warmed tile.

“Look at me,” he demanded, one hand cradling your jaw, the other guiding himself into you slow and deep. “You think I could keep my eyes off you in that bikini? I’ve been hard since breakfast.” You moaned as he filled you, body arching to meet every sharp thrust.

The sound of skin against skin, your soft cries, his low curses—they all blended with the crashing waves and the soft breeze, like the universe had decided to soundtrack your anniversary with lust and heat.

He fucked you slow at first, eyes locked on yours, but it didn’t take long before he lost control—hips snapping into yours harder, one hand gripping your thigh as he grunted your name over and over, chasing the high he always found buried deep inside you.

“You’re mine,” he said into your neck as you came again, nails clawing into his back. “One year down, forever to go.” And then he spilled into you with a groan that sounded more like worship, kissing you through the comedown, salty skin and whispered promises clinging to the air around you.

[straykidsnerd255]

Omg hiii!!! I’m loving what Saja boys hcs and I loved the pop mart hc u wrote!! (*^▽^*)

What would the saja babes be with an alt/goth gn!s/o? Their demon performance literally sparked this request (0///0)

Oh stop, you are too kind. Thank you so much! And thank you for sending in this request! I hope that you enjoy<3 Had to listen to Your Idol on repeat and don’t regret it. They can have my soul. I’m sure if I wore the goth reader all that well but I hope it's still good! 

Jinu:

Jinu is a sucker for your gothic style. Considering he is a demon, black and deep purple are his colors. 

Seeing you wear those very same colors made both his human side and demon side preen with happiness

Jinu had appeared as his demon one night in your shared apartment and you saw him, in the middle of putting your make-up on. 

You both had a seriously long talk that night

You didn’t understand why he would hide his demon side from you but the fear that filled him when he told you that he believed you would leave him made your heart break. 

You took his hand in yours and pressed it to your chest, just over your heart. 

“You are the only one that makes my heart race like I’m wearing pastel colors and flowers in my hair. Just like when you performed Soda Pop.” You giggled as the tips of his ears turned red.

When you and Jinu went on dates, he wore the pastel colors, you wore the black, a 180 to his demon persona. 

You designed your nails after his actual claws and Jinu could feel his heart racing like he had been running a marathon.

Scratch his head when the both of you are lazing around. Specifically in his demon form because he will purr. 

His demon will practically beg for back scratches when the two of you are lounging in the dorm room watching tv.

His demon form will clasp your hands together and hold them tightly when he feels overwhelmed. 

You show off all your black clothing and make-up on different nights when he is feeling down, hoping that will cheer him up. (It does. He’s a sucker for you.)

Abby Saja:

He is all about the bright colors. He is constantly wearing the bright blues and greens and pinks while you wear only black. You did occasionally wear a dark red whether it be contacts or a belt to hold your pants up. 

You fell for Abby Saja at a concert and when he saw you, he fell harder. Literally, he fell off the stage and landed at your feet, dust slowly settling as he rubbed his head and took your offered hand, worry in your eyes. 

From that moment, he knew he needed you by his side. He asked the security to take you back to their waiting room so he could talk to you and possibly get your name. 

Dating a demon for 3 years is still pretty new to you but you wouldn’t trade it for anything. 

Abby Saja always asks for head rubs when he comes back from a rather long concert or a long tour that has finally ended. 

Even in his demon form, he is gentle when he holds you. He refuses to hurt the person that actually likes his demon and will ask him to show his demon randomly. 

The moment he stepped into the apartment, he saw you sitting on the couch in one of his black t-shirts and black basketball shorts. His demon appeared and he dramatically fell onto your lap. 

He wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his face in your stomach as he closed his eyes and breathed in your scent.

“Long day?” You asked, immediately removing the black hat and running your fingers through his hair, occasionally screeching at his scalp. 

He shivered but nodded his head. “The longest day I have ever had. Please don’t make me go back and do it again.” He would whisper but you knew he loved it more than anything.

Mystery Saja:

He loves your goth style. He even asked you if you would be willing to dress him up the same way, his demon getting excited to try it out. 

Mystery had been getting ready for a concert when he saw you putting the make-up on, your eyes trained on the lines you were making on your eyes. 

He stopped, jaw dropped as he watched you. 

“You should apply as our makeup artist. You are talented with that.” He said, walking into the bathroom and stood behind you, his hands on your shoulders as he watched you. 

You giggled and finished the last of the make up before turning around and wrapping your arms around his waist and laying the side of your face against his stomach. 

“Gotta make myself look good for my boyfriend's concert. Where would the fun be if I didn’t show up in the colors that matched your demon side?” You asked, watching as his human form slipped away and his demon form appeared. 

You left an hour after he had left, knowing that was when you would be let into the stadium.

You watched him and his group with a soft smile, your heart pounding as he danced his heart out. 

When he caught sight of you, you smiled and waved watching as his whole face lit up.

The second the concert was over, you made your way to their dressing room but before you could even open the door, Mystery opened the door and pulled you into his chest, nuzzling his face into your neck. “You were amazing, my love.” You whispered.

Romance Saja:

Even in his demon form, he refused to take your soul. The way you looked dressed in all black, chains falling around your hip and the black makeup around your eyes made him feel fuzzy. 

Romance will flirt with you non stop when you are getting your clothes on and makeup on.

When they were on stage in their demon forms, Romance refused to use his voice to control you. He watched you from the stage as you jumped up and down, ignoring the other fans around you. 

His chest swelled with pride as you danced along to the song. 

When the two of you are out shopping for new clothes to add to your closest, he does his best to learn the gothic style and does his best when it comes to choosing something you want. 

At one point, Romance asked if you would be willing to put the same eye makeup on him and you, in a giddy excitement, immediately sat him on the chair in the bathroom as you got to work.

When you two were getting ready for a date, Romance dressed in more lighter reds and pinks, pulling his hair back into a half bun to keep it out of his face while you pulled on a oversized black t-shirt, slipped into black cargo pants, clipping a few chains on the right side, and pulled on socks and combat boots.

Romance wrapped his arms around your neck as you applied the last of your makeup, his eyes shining when you turned to face him.

He will also sit and paint your nails black while he talks to you about his demon side, giving you all the details and such about it before pink smoke surrounds him and his demon is sitting in front of you. 

You can only stare at him mesmerized as he finishes painting your nails. Yes you have seen the demon before but from a distance. Having him in his demon form in front of you makes your heart thud against your chest like it has never done before. 

You are also taller than Romance, and built a little more than him so Romance has a thing for you standing behind him when fans are talking to him. 

Romance, when he is tired and you don’t have your full outfit on, will lay on your chest and sleep.

Romance will actively show you off in his instagram posts, holding your hand or pressing a kiss to the back of your hand.

Baby Saja:

Baby Saja will walk around you, studding the clothing that you decided to wear on your date. 

His hands would graze the chain that sat on your hip, trace over the chain around your neck before taking you hand in his, looking up at you and smiling softly. 

He will never admit it but the way you dress in all dark clothes makes him happy. His demon likes the darker colors. It's easier on his eyes.

When he performed Your Idol, he could see you copying all his moves, mouthing all his words all while staring directly at him. 

You are slightly stronger than him when in human form so he will ask you for piggyback rides, mainly so he can nuzzle into your neck better. 

When he comes home after having to act like a popstar, he just collapses into your chest, while you are laying on the couch, scrolling through your phone. 

His demon appears as he rests his chin against your chest, silently begging for your attention. 

When you finally look at him, he blushes and buries his face in your chest, making you chuckle and wrap your arms around him.

He will insist on doing your makeup when you don’t feel like doing it yourself, carefully do your hair in a half bun leaving half your shoulder length hair down so he can play with it. 

Because of your gothic style, he will beg the rest of the group to let you be their manager, knowing that you have seen their demons and don’t care one bit. 

Your black nails are just long enough that he will ask you to scratch at his head when he is extremely tired and will actually fall asleep against your chest when you do so.

[kxsagi]

Can I request BLLK characters with a flirty and friendly reader? It’s like they are approachable and very playful with friends (both genders) and have a way with words, but they’re all platonic and they do draw boundaries when needed.

Thank you very much!

“𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢’𝐦 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬”

a/n: yw!! though i'm guessing reader views the boys in a platonic way? either way, i'm sure they find your duality very attractive!

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, mikage reo, kaiser michael, shidou ryusei, karasu tabito, nagi seishiro, itoshi sae

isagi yoichi

isagi was so confused at first. 

like you casually told a barista “thanks, handsome” and he stood there blinking like “what does this mean. are we in competition.” 

but you just… talk like that to everyone? 

once he realized you’re not trying to make anyone fall in love, he relaxed. 

but that didn’t stop him from getting jealous silently. 

like you’d jokingly say “oh my gosh marry me” to reo because he paid for your drink and isagi would just lean in like, “you want to talk about that?” “talk about what?” “you proposing to other people.” 

please. you call him “lover boy” and ruffle his hair like you’re a boy band manager. 

and he acts like he doesn’t love it but that man eats it up. 

secretly loves when you say flirty things but then go “ew no, not you” to everyone else that tries to talk the same way. 

itoshi rin

the walking semi-green flag with rage issues. 

he did not get your vibe at first. 

your friendliness? your compliments?? the way you giggled with shidou over a dumb joke??? 

he absolutely thought you were the type who led people on and dipped. 

until you cut someone off with the most polite “hey, i’m just friendly, not interested, okay?” 

rin just stood there, stunned. 

you flirt like a well-read poet, and you mean none of it. 

and now? oh he’s obsessed. 

you tell him “damn, you look good enough to ruin my life today” and he doesn’t even blink. “then do it.” “oh please. i have taste.” 

he smirks. not because you rejected him, but because you still chose him. 

watches you charm a whole room and then lean on his shoulder. yeah. this is peak romance for him. 

mikage reo

lives for the drama. 

you’re his bestie and his fake girlfriend depending on the context. 

he encourages your flirtiness. 

“yeah, yeah, call him sweetheart, make him trip over his words.” 

he loves that you’re so charismatic, but what really got him was how you keep boundaries like a pro. 

like the moment someone takes it too far, you give them that smile like: “i’m here for fun, not for you, sit down.” 

and reo claps like a proud stage mom. “your honor, that’s my platonic soulmate.” 

you guys flirt with each other all the time but there’s zero tension. “damn, reo, if you weren’t rich and hot, i’d still use you for your credit card.” “and i’d let you, sugarplum.” 

sometimes people ask if you’re dating and you’re both like “ew.” 

kaiser michael

“so you flirt with everyone?” “no. just people who won’t fall in love with me.” “... you sure about that?” 

at first, he thought you were fake. that your friendliness was a mask or manipulation. 

but the longer he watched, the more he realized: you’re just like that. 

the type who can compliment someone’s cologne and follow it up with a “now scoot, i got better things to do.” 

and he finds it hilarious. 

sometimes tries to bait you. “so you think i’m charming?” “in a used car salesman kind of way.” 

he definitely tries to flirt harder just to see if he can make you fold. 

but jokes on him – you flirted with a security guard to skip a line last week, you fear no man. 

still, you never cross lines, and he respects that more than he lets on. 

shidou ryusei

ah. yes. his first words to you were probably: “you got a mouth on you, huh?” and you were like “don’t talk about my mouth unless you can handle it.” 

instant friendship. 

you both flirt for fun. he’s unhinged. you’re smooth. it works. 

the only difference is you know when to stop. 

he once said something wildly inappropriate to you in public and you hit him with that “shidou. line. crossed.” 

he was lowkey stunned. “what? but i thought–” “i flirt. not entertain.” 

he’s weirdly respectful of that boundary now. “yo this is my bestie, she’ll call you ‘lover’ then ignore your texts for a week.” 

if anyone tries to hit on you too seriously, shidou will bark. like actually. 

you two are menace duo certified. 

karasu tabito

you two bounce off each other like comedians. 

your banter is immaculate. 

he flirts, you flirt back, but it’s like a roast battle with sexual tension that doesn’t exist. 

“damn, you always dress like you have a date with bad decisions.” “i was hoping you'd be one of them.” 

everyone thinks y’all are dating. you're not. you just have mental illness chemistry. 

but karasu sees how smooth you are with other people too, and he’s always impressed with how you de-escalate situations. 

like someone tries to flirt for real and you handle it like a seasoned bartender. 

and karasu’s in the background going “get ‘em, tiger.” 

sometimes he lies and tells people he’s your ex just to see their reactions. 

you lie back and say he cried when you broke up. 

best duo. 

nagi seishiro

doesn’t get it at all. 

you called him “baby” once and he choked on his chips. “are you flirting?” “nah.” “so why say that?” “because you looked cute eating.” “... oh.” 

but he likes it?? he thinks it’s funny?? 

people try to warn him like “dude she flirts with everyone” and he’s like “yeah it’s nice.” 

you’re the first person who talks a lot that he’s not annoyed by. 

and you always defend him in public. 

someone calls him lazy? you’re like “don’t talk about my man like that. platonically.” 

you once said “he’s my son, my sugar baby, and my unpaid intern.” 

he calls you “girl boss” now. 

he’s proud of you for shutting people down politely, but firmly. 

if anyone ever got too bold with you, he’d just walk up and nap on your shoulder. possessively. 

itoshi sae

you thought he hated you. 

he thought you were exhausting. 

but then he saw how strategic you are about your friendliness. 

like, you’ll flirt with someone just to get better customer service, but the moment they think they can touch your waist, you’re ice cold. 

and sae was like oh. she’s not a flirt. she’s a tactician. 

now? he calls you “con artist.” 

you would say “you’re just mad i’m prettier than you.” sae would respond with “delusional. and manipulative. i like it.” 

he’s not the jealous type, but he is observant. 

watches your every move when you’re out. 

not because he doesn’t trust you, he just wants to see how many people fall for you when you’re not even trying. 

occasionally throws in a dry “you done seducing the world?” you grin. “not yet. wanna help?” he rolls his eyes but follows you anyway. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[ceramini]

just thinking about Jungwon getting head and being really loud 🙂‍↕️

𝟑𝟕𝟖𝒾 ──── boyfriend!jungwon f!rea ✿ smut 𓂋 oral (m receiving), hair pulling, praise ❞ 𝑫𝑰𝑨𝑹𝒀 ｡ ⠀

You can barely catch your breath as you kneel in front of him, your hands sliding up his thighs, trembling with excitement. Jungwon’s eyes darken as he watches you, his jaw clenched, that raw dominance radiating off him like heat.

He’s towering over you, his body taut with anticipation, and you can tell he’s not here for subtlety. You part your lips, your tongue flicking out just once before you wrap your mouth around the tip, hearing his sharp inhale.

“Fuck, you’re such a good girl for me,” he growls, his voice low and rough. You suckle harder, taking more of him in, your hands gripping the base as you bob your head slowly. But it’s enough to make him start to lose control.

He grips the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you closer, deeper. His hips jerk forward, pressing into your mouth with force. You moan softly around him, tasting the mix of sweat and something sweet that’s all him.

Jungwon’s breathing quickens, heavy pants escaping his lips. “God, you’re driving me crazy,” he rasps. His grip tightens, and the sound he makes, half a shout, half a growl, is intoxicating.

You feel the wetness pooling between your legs, your heart pounding as you take him all the way down, then back up teasingly, watching his face contort with pleasure. His hands slide down your back, fingertips grazing your skin, pulling you closer.

“Don’t stop,” he demands, voice thick with need. “Fuck, you feel so good.” He thrusts into your mouth with more force now, his hips moving on their own, loud and needy.

The sounds he makes echo through the room—deep, guttural, utterly fucking sexy. His eyes lock on yours as he bites his lip, trying to hold back, but failing spectacularly.

“Fuck, I’m close,” he warns, his voice shaking. You slow your movements just a little, letting him catch his breath, but not enough to stop the storm building in his chest.

Then, with a final, desperate groan, Jungwon comes undone in your mouth, his body trembling as he pulls you up to kiss you fiercely, tasting himself on your lips.

You smile into the kiss, your fingers tracing the lines of his face, feeling every bit of his dominance and need.

[fleurenese]

ㅤׂㅤ⊹ㅤㅤsmut,⠀tipsy!matt,⠀pnv, ⠀mild bumbification, pounding,⠀backshots,⠀fingering,⠀rough, sloppy sex.

The windows are fogged up, your palms slipping as you try to hold yourself steady against the car door, knees dug into the backseat cushions.

The only sounds are Matt’s ragged breathing and the steady, filthy slap of skin on skin as he fucks you from behind–fast, unrelenting, like he’s chasing something he can’t quite catch.

His chest is pressed to your back, hoodie bunched up to his elbows, one arm wrapped tight around your waist to keep you still. The other hand is up your shirt, under your bra — rough fingers rolling your nipple between every thrust, tugging and palming like he can’t get enough of your body all at once.

“You feel that?” he pants, mouthing at your shoulder, sloppy and drunk and clumsy but desperate. “Feel how wet you are for me, fuck—been hard since we left that party—couldn’t stop starin’ at you.”

You whimper, body jolting forward with each thrust. He pulls you right back, keeping you stuffed on his cock so deep it aches, so deep your legs shake.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty like this,” he murmurs, voice hoarse and low.

“Backseat, half-naked, takin’ me like you were made for it. Gonna ruin this fuckin’ seat—soaked through already, baby.”

His hips rut harder, faster. He’s losing it now — you can feel it in how he huffs into your skin, sloppy kisses trailing along your shoulder blade, his grip getting tighter, rougher. His fingers tug at your nipple again and you cry out, chest arching into his hand.

“You love that, huh?” he groans, rocking deeper, fingers pinching and teasing at your tits while his cock hits that spot over and over again.

“F- fuckfuck—so soft, so warm, can’t even hold still for me...”

He pulls you closer and now? You're fully flush now, your back sticky to his chest, his hand flat against your belly, keeping you still while he ruts into you like a man possessed. The way he groans makes your stomach clench. His mouth is all over you: your neck, your jaw, your cheek, biting softly, kissing messily, drunk on your skin.

“S’tooo gooodd,” he mumbles, losing pace now, breath catching, hips faltering. “C- can’t- fuck...I’m gonna cum-”

You can feel it; the way he pushes deeper, then again, stuttering into one last grind of his hips, buried to the hilt as his body trembles against yours.

He cums hard, groaning into your hair, spilling inside with a low curse and one final thrust. You feel the heat of it deep inside, his cock twitching as he holds you there, locked together while he breathes through the comedown.

But he doesn’t move.

Still cupping your breast, his fingers lazily trace soft circles over the sore, sensitive skin. He noses at your jaw, breath warm and unsteady.

“…Don’t– ah! Haah...wanna pull out,” he murmurs, still dazed. “Feels too good.”

You can only whine in response. your body limp, used, stuffed full and still twitching around him.

“Stay just like this,” he whispers, thumb brushing under your shirt. “Lemme keep you close a little longer…”

ㅤ⠀ㅤㅤ⊹ㅤ⠀© RENESSAㅤㅤ⠀࣭ ㅤㅤ do not steal nor copy!

[p1astr81]

pretty please could you write about Ollie and virgin reader, but he doesn't know she's a virgin and gets confused and frustrated when even months in they haven't had sex. Maybe he goes to some of the other drivers (like Lando or something) for advice cuz he doesn't know what to do or why she won't sleep with him. I absolutely love your writing, keep up the incredible work 👏🏻🫶🏻♥️

Things were getting heated in his flat. He’d pulled you into his lap mid makeout as he was trying to devour your lips with his. His hands were all over you. In your hair, on your hips, under your shirt and roaming over your back.

But he wanted more than another heated make-out session. He rolled his hips into yours, creating friction.

You gasped, which he thought was a good thing.

Until you jumped off his lap and practically bolted to the kitchen. “I’m kind of hungry. Should we order or cook?” You covered quickly, opening the fridge like you were actually searching for a meal.

Ollie sighed at how you’d ran from him again. In truth, he was getting skeptical of your constant avoidance to move past kissing.

You’d never allowed him to kiss you below your collarbones, always pushed him away when he tried. Whenever his hand snuck up your thigh, you’d shift or move it. And that one time he’d squeezed your ass as a joke, and you blushed like crazy, got really quiet and avoidant.

He asked you if you were okay on multiple occasions. You always had some excuse. He was only willing to let it slide for so long.

The following week, as he was sat with Charles at lunch, he asked him about it.

“Does Alex ever… like… reject you?” He knew it was a highly personal question, but being constantly rejected was eating away at him. He had to know what was up.

Charles raised a brow, smirking a bit. A dimple carved into his cheek. “How do you mean?” He knew exactly how he meant it. He just wanted to hear him say it.

Ollie scoffed. “Like…” he scoffed again, frustrated. “Whenever I try to initiate anything, y/n just- she runs away.” He confessed, a quiet voice.

It was getting harder for Charles to not laugh. “Runs away?”

“Not actually but,” he sighed. “yeah.”

“Well, did you ask her about it?”

Ollie paused. “Not directly.”

This time, Charles did laugh. Not loudly or making a scene out of it. Just a quiet chuckle. “So you don’t know if she’s waiting for marriage?”

Another pause from the younger. Then quietly, slightly embarrassed, “I didn’t even consider that.”

Charles only laughed and shook his head at the younger driver.

It wasn’t until two weeks later that he worked up the courage to actually ask you.

Sat on the couch, watching a movie. Your head rested on his shoulder, arms hugging one of his. His hand placed on your mid-thigh.

You were dozing off, so relaxed curled into his side. He thought there was no better time.

“Hey baby?” He called and squeezed your thigh. You hummed, a very sleepy sound. Still, your tired eyes looked up at him through your lashes. “Are you waiting til marriage?” He found it difficult to look into your eyes as he spoke.

Brows tilted, you tip your head back to see him easier. “You mean like… to have sex?”

Ollie swallowed. “Yeah.” He breathed. “And- and I know it’s kind of invasive I guess but I just want to know because, well, because I keep trying to- uh- you know. And-“

“I figured you’d ask about it eventually.” You sat up, letting go of his arm. He missed your touch instantly. “I’m not exactly… saving. I mean, yes I’m still a virgin but that’s not why.” You reached for the remote and paused the movie in the middle of an action scene. You kept the remote in your hands, thumbing the buttons. “It’s stupid.” You muttered.

Ollie bumped your knee with his. “It’s not stupid. If it’s about you, I want to know.”

Too conflicted to answer, you left him with a pause. Your thumbs paused on the remote buttons. “I guess I’m just scared.”

The smile came before the laugh. You looked to him, face twisted in hurt. “Sorry, I’m not laughing at you.” He clarified and your expression softened. “I just- I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.” He laughed again, a small chuckle.

“So, you’re not upset?”

“Upset? No, why would I be? That’s normal, and we can get there whenever you’re comfortable. I just didn’t know.”

A weight was lifted off the both of your shoulders. Lighter now, you leaned into him again. Curled into his side.

“I love you.” You whispered, a hand on his chest, over his heart.

Ollie smiled, feeling all soft inside. “I love you, too.” He kissed the top of your head. “Even if you’re lacking a little in the communication department.” He joked.

You shoved his chest, earning a laugh. “Not like you tried to either.”

“I just did!”

“Yeah, after how many weeks?”

You had him there. He raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, I guess we are both guilty.”

[typhea]

⌗ ⋮ 🌸、 JJK BOYS + ‘LOVE ME HARDER’

𓂃 𓈒𓏸 featuring : fushiguro megumi, nanami kento, sukuna ryomen, geto suguru ♡

𓂃 𓈒𓏸 infos : nsfw content under the cut // mdni ,, maso!reader x sado!char, p in v, degradation, impact play, slapping, shoe humping, choking, deepthroat/throatfucking, bondage, anal, squirting, reader passes out, overstimulation ♡

𓂃 𓈒𓏸 summary : asking them to be rougher ♡

──﹐ FUSHIGURO MEGUMI

megumi always carefully listen to you. this guy needs you to be as precise as possible, so he can please you real good. he needed you to show him a video as example of what he could reproduce. “i think i can do that.. it’s gonna hurt princess, you know that right?” , he didn’t really trust himself , you two made a safeword to get him to actually do it devotedly. and he did not disappoint. you’re sweating, crying, drooling on the pillow you were biting, and your cunt dripping wet. your back arched, shaking because of the pleasure. your body is covered in purple and red marks, bites and hickeys, marking you like he never ever did. he has one hand tangled in your hair, with a hard grasp. the other pinning your wrist behind you on your lower back, making you feel each aggressive waves of his thrusts. his hips pounding onto yours like thunder struck your whole body. “arch more.” he commands coldly. your heart is pounding, it feels like he’s mad at you but you fucking love it. he doesn’t blink, megumi is focused on the movement of your butt, hypnotised by the jiggle he caused by his fast pace and rough manners. his breath is heavy and loud, he’s liking it. he didn’t stop despite your cries and tears, he’s gonna pound that pussy until you say the safeword. he spanks your already red butt from previous impacts, “i didn’t know my princess liked such things..” he breathes out with a light chuckle. “turn around and spread your legs.”

──﹐ NANAMI KENTO

kento didn’t think twice. you ask for rough, you get rough. “you like it better when i’m angry at you, honey?” he asks as he stands tall over you, stroking your red cheek with his thumb. you nod shamelessly, making him slap your cheek again. you’re fully naked on your knees on the cold floor, your body shivering with cold and need. you’re looking up at him, your lip quivering. his pretty tie is painfully binding your wrists behind your back. your wet pussy is desperately rubbing against his shoe like he asked you to. your weak hips greedily humps his black hard shoe, trying your best to make him happy and maybe get something in return. “you look so pretty like this, when you’re being a good girl.” he slaps your other cheek, “i didn’t said you could stop moving. you don’t wanna cum, do you?” he speaks harshly, quickly getting apologies out of you. “be good.” he slowly undoes his pants, wrapping his belt tight around your neck. he leans in to kiss your cheek, he then rubs his thumb against your lower lip. “open.” , you blink and see his pink tip waiting for you. you’re fast to listen as your mouth warmly greets his cock. he grabs your head forcefully, making your heart race in fear, “deep breath—” he then pushes you down, his cock reaching your deepest spots. your nose is crushed against his pelvis, you cough and gag but you’re helpless as your hands are tied. he gently stroke your hair keeping you there “shh, you’re doing amazing honey..”

──﹐ SUKUNA RYOMEN

ryomen laughs at you. “is that another way to tell me you wanna die?” he grabs your throat, his grip is tight as his nails dig into the back of your neck. “such a greedy slut. you want to get hurt, hm?” he doesn’t wipe off the smirk off his face. hours later, laid on your back, your whole body is tied up, you can’t move anything but your toes and fingers. your arms are tied behind your back, your legs held open as the vibrator glued to your clit brought you to your 6th teary-eyed orgasm. you could shake all you want, the hard ropes wouldn’t allow you to close your legs. your head hangs off the edge of the bed, upside down, “shut the fuck up, you’re too damn loud.” he speaks coldly before ravaging your throat again. he stands over your weakened body, his hips thrusting into your mouth like he would with any other hole you have. his right hand squeezes your throat feeling the shape of his thick cock plunged deep in you. his left hand was slapping and groping your breasts. he roughly pinches, pull and twistes your hard sensitive nipples. “isn’t that what you asked for, slut? why are you crying then huh?” it feels never ending, your body can’t take that much force and you feel yourself slowly passing out. ryomen notices and pulls out. “ugh, you’re no fun. such a fragile doll.”

──﹐ GETO SUGURU

suguru smiles at you, he’s surprised by your request but doesn’t show it. “is my baby getting bored in bed?” he teases, knowing perfectly that no matter how he did, he knew how to please you. “strip.” he commands, sat on the bed with his legs spread. you’re standing between his long legs, naked and powerless. he stares deep into your eyes, analysing your body biting his lip “you look ethereal, damn.. turn around.” you do as he says. you turn around and feel his eyes on you. suddenly, a hard slap hits your butt causing it to jiggle, and you to whimper. “what a slutty sound.. i’ve never heard that.” he chuckles, slapping your ass again, multiple times. he then stands up, grabbing your hips to turn you around. “you’re gonna need the wall behind you, baby.” he speaks with a smirk, undoing his pants. you then hold yourself up on the wall, your body shaking with need. “leg up.” you immediately hold one leg up, he grabs it giving himself access to your intimacy. you’re dripping and impatient. he thrusts into you in one hard go, burying himself deep inside. the rooms is filled with your loud screams, the sloppy sound of your skin slapping against his and his deep groans. he pounds into you hard, pulling out completely then forcefully slamming back in. as he was pulling out, he penetrated your asshole roughly. “fuckk.. oops i guess..” he laughs at your cries. he pounds into your butthole just like he did with your other hole. it was much tighter, he liked it better but he knew it hurt you. he notices the leg that held you up shaking and ready to give you up any moment. he smirks and grabs it, holding both of your legs now, his hips never stopping their assault. “you’re enjoying it aren’t you? ain’t that a bitchy behaviour hm..” your orgasm hits you hard like a whip, you squirt over his contracted abs. he slaps your pussy, “what a dirty girl.” he chuckles.

thanks for reading darlin! don’t forget to like and leave a comment :)

jjk m.list | request here!

[biellescouts]

bf!haechan drabble ⬂

boyfriend!haechan x f!reader

a/n; i see so much dom!haechan on here and like maybe he would try buttt idk. sorry dom!hyuck truthers, i respect it but it’s not me.🙂‍↔️

cw: kinda established relationship, curse words ruh roh, pwp (porn without plot.. eish sorry guys), smut — cocky haechan -> needy haechan, raw next question (wrap it up 🗣️), missionary, he finishes inside .

summary: haechi said he can be dominant…

bf!haechan has you laid in the centre of your shared bed, stark naked and looking up at him. he’s knelt between your legs. one hand is at the base of his dick, the other tightly gripping your waist. haechan teasingly taps his tip against your clit.

“you want this, pretty?” he smirks down at you.

you just beam up at him with a slight mischief in your eyes. you opted not to answer.

“yeah, you want this.”

he rubs his length up and down your pussy, coating his shaft in your slick. you don’t miss the shaky sigh he lets out. he’s already breaking— but you’ll ignore it for now.

you both let out a gasp as he pushes in, gently.

“f-fuck, jagiya. so wet for me, huh?” he swipes a thumb over your clit and you nod up at him, catching your bottom lip in your teeth.

haechan starts to move his hips slowly, bottoming out with each thrust as you grab at his bicep.

“shit, baby, that feels good.” you whine up at him and he smirks.

“yeah?”

i’m so in control he thinks.

“can- uhm, can you lift this leg for me?”

the tightening of your walls around him makes him stumble over his words. he taps your thigh with the palm of his hand. to assert dominance or.. something.

“you’re so bad at being bossy when you’re like this.” you let out an airy giggle and he attempts at an annoyed eye roll.

“ugh, well. you’re so g-good at being—“ he cuts himself off with a whine and you laugh again. “i’m just tryna hit it deeper for you.”

“you can’t move a little faster, baby? you’re fucking me so good, i need it faster.”

he lowers himself onto his elbows so that he can kiss you comfortably. now he’s the one choosing not to reply. not that he could coherently if he tried.

he starts to thrust into you faster, the sound of slapping skin and haechan’s low moans filling the room.

“shit, mama.. so tight around me.”

the repeated drag of his dick against your g-spot knocking the air out of your lungs, all you can do is moan in response and wrap your arm around his neck as he starts to press wet kisses to yours.

“tell me you’re close? need to hear it.” his breath is hot and ragged in the crook of your neck.

“mhm, don’t stop haechan, i’m almost there.” you whimper.

his thrusts become shallow and uncoordinated. you can feel him grinding against you and the friction makes your legs shake.

“baby.. baby, fuck.” he’s fully moaning now. can’t help it. the harder he goes, the faster he goes — the harder it becomes for him to keep his composure.

“mmph.. come for me? can you come for me, jagiya?” he whines pressing his lips to yours, eyes screwed shut.

you wrap your legs round his waist, “mhm.” and with your confirmation, his hips stutter against yours.

“‘m cumming. ugh, fuck! cumming in you, baby.” he whines as your pussy spasms around him. you then feel the weight of his body settle against your chest. “shit..”

“‘i can be dominant’” you wave your finger quotes up at the ceiling before bringing your hand down to cup his face, “so cute.”

“mhm.” he just sighs and pushes his face deeper into your palm, doesn’t even know what he’s agreeing to.

“you tired?” you scratch your nails against his scalp.

“mm.” he barely nods against your chest andd he’s asleep. cute shyt..😒

a/n; ya idk why but my brain can’t comprehend it lmao

[rainrot4me]

HAI HAI the creeps when they’re overstimulated?? ( sexually plz 😋)

( btw ur literally the best writer on this app 🫶 I hope you have good luck 5ever)

Yes 🙏 ride them to submission anon!!!

๑ Warning: Overstimulation, implied vaginal/anal, begging, crying

── .✦

✦ . jeff the killer

Gets like this after his 5th time cumming.

Jeff lives off chaos and pleasure, but overstimulation is the one thing that shuts him up.

You’re on top of him, relentless, and he’s long since stopped talking—eyes wide, fingers clawing into your thighs as if grounding himself. His sharp grin is gone, replaced by parted lips and shuddering breaths. He can barely talk, too caught up in trying to stop himself from crying out every time your skin slaps against his.

“S-stop—fuck—God, you’re gonna kill me.”

He laughs but it’s hoarse. Desperate. If you pause just to mess with him, he physically bucks up to chase it again. All in all, even though he can’t cry, his face is flushed and he’s biting the fuck out of his lips. You’re not looking any better when he’s clawing the shit out of your skin as it sears against his.

“Oh fuck—Oh fuck—I’m gonna- Jesus don’t stop—”

✦ . ticci toby

Gets like this after his 3rd time cumming.

For how obnoxious Toby usually is—it basically triples like this.

His body stutters and jerks beneath you, a mix of involuntary hips jerks and overwhelming pleasure as he groans and whines through gritted teeth. He’s loud, so loud you have to slap your hands over his mouth and pray he doesn’t bite you. Your hand gets wet from the streams of tears from his eyes.

“I—I can’t—fuck, I can’t even feel my legs,” he pants, biting into his hoodie sleeve to muffle the sounds he’s making. His head is pounding with pressure, oblivious to the sting of it all, but he still feels the overwhelming force of your hips.

The overstimulation hits like a seizure; he’s dizzy, trembling, and drooling a little. You slow down to be nice. He grabs your hips and growls,

“Don’t you dare stop. Do-Don’t you ff-fuckin’ dare.”

✦ . eyeless jack

Gets like this after his 6th time cumming.

You always assumed Jack was too composed to ever come undone. Turns out he unravels to a whiny pleaser when pushed past his limit.

There’s sweat dripping down his jaw, his claws gripping your hips like a lifeline, breath coming in short, ragged bursts through ear-splitting growls and snarls. He’s torn through your clothes, your bedsheets, practically punctures holes in your mattress. Every time your ass hits the tops of his thighs, he cries out like all shrill and pitiful.

“Please—” It’s almost a whine. “Don’t—fuck—don’t make me beg.”

But he already is, with his body trembling and his hips still chasing you despite himself. His voice is rougher, cracking in ways you’ve never heard. The straight-postured, stone-faced facade is completely gone, replaced with a cum-desperate animal who just might cry if you stop now.

“Gonna cum—M’gonna cum again—Please, please, please let me-”

✦ . masky (tim wright)

Gets like this after his 4th time cumming.

Tim tries to stay dominant. Stoic. But move your hips too fast and he gets mean. Barking filthy words, snarling at you to slow down. He pulls your hair, like yanking it any harder will make you stop. He feels overwhelmed, like no matter how angry he gets she can’t control you.

“No more—gah-goddammit, I said no more—”

He says that, but he doesn’t stop you, even though he definitely has the strength to. His fingers dig bruises into your skin, teeth gritted, his chest heaving like he’s been sprinting. You lean down and kiss the side of his neck and he whimpers through stone-gritted teeth—genuine, raw, and needy.

He hates that you’ve turned him into this, and he loves you for it. He doesn’t like to feel weak, doesn’t like to feel used, but he can’t figure out why he doesn’t feel like that when you’re holding him down and spending every ounce of energy he has.

“You’re such a bitch. Such a fucki—oh, God—”

✦ . hoodie (brian thomas)

Gets like this after his 2nd time cumming.

Brian isn’t loud about it, he won’t tell you it’s too much, but his body betrays him. His back arches. His hands tremble. His mouth hangs open while breathless gasps escape between clenched teeth. Never will you ever see this man turn his face into the sheets and try and hide the way his eyes roll until now.

You murmur, “Too much?” He grits out, “Not enough.”

He wants to hold eye contact but keeps looking away, cheeks flushed, hissing curses under his breath as he rides it out with shaking limbs and ragged breath. He won’t touch you, he can’t, he’s afraid he’ll tear into your skin and ruin the rhythm you’ve got going. He’ll just bark at you to not stop, to keep moving you hips.

There’s almost a broken way he falls apart, not violent or angry, but just completely ruining himself. He just can’t muster his limbs to move, his bones feel like jelly, his face feels numb from grimacing so much. He’ll only speak when spoken to, trying his hardest not to grab you too hard.

“Feels good, so good— Mhm— Fuck—”

✦ . kate the chaser

Gets like this after her 5th time cumming.

Kate doesn’t lose control easily. She’s trained, hardened, all sharp lines and discipline. But if you grind your hips down like that any more, there’s no way she can hold on. She starts out silent—biting her lip, gripping your shoulders with white-knuckled fingers, trying to ride it out. But when the overstimulation hits her hard? She bucks, pressing her hips with searing pressure.

“Hah—shit—” she gasps, body jolting beneath you, her voice raspy and breathless. “I said that’s enough.” But her legs spread wider around you instead, and her head falls back with a broken moan.

She never begs, it’s beneath her. But she will move your body to match her speed, forcing you to comply with whatever position or tightness she wants. You’ll just have to suck it up and try to keep up.

“Don’t fight me—Uh huh, there you go—yeah—”

✦ . ben drowned

Gets like this after his 4th time cumming.

Ben is cocky until he isn’t, until he physically can’t be anymore. Once he hits that peak, he’s an absolute wreck, crying like a baby, rolling his eyes so hard he can’t see your face anymore. His tears aren’t water, just static coils of textures spilling down his cheeks, hot with electricity. His whole body is buzzing like there’s insects under his skin.

Glitching under your touch—literally—he glitches out of sync, static buzzing in your ear. His voice jumps from arrogant to needy, pitchy and broken, riddled with cracked vocals like you’re hearing him speak through a broken walkie-talkie. You don’t mistake what he’s saying, though,

“I—f-fuck, baby—okay, okay! Wait! Oh my GOD—!”

He’s babbling, grabbing onto anything—your wrists, your hair, the sheets. His legs go weak and he starts to short-circuit mid moan, hiccuping through sobs and biting the skin off his lips. Every time your hips slam down, you can feel the shock running through your veins like you just accidentally touched a live wire.

“Hah—I can’t—Can’t breathe—Oh fuck, what is happen-happening—Hgnn—”

✦ . clockwork

Gets like this after her 5th time cumming.

Clockwork is loud. Very loud. She’ll try to laugh through it—until her voice breaks, until she’s biting her knuckles and splitting the skin there, blood spotting on her bruised lips. She doesn’t care how bad it hurts, she thrives in the pain, gets off harder than ever the more rounds you go.

“Ohhh my god, fuck, I can’t—I—don’t stop, please don’t stop—”

She’s writhing, nails clawing down your back, mechanical eye flickering wildly. When she’s overstimulated, she gets possessive—grabbing your jaw, looking into your eyes, panting your name over and over. She’ll mark every inch of your skin, making sure you know that even after this is over you’re still hers.

There’s no embarrassment here. She’s narrating your every move, telling you exactly how good every touch feels, blabbering on and on like if she stops speaking you’ll stop moving. There’s no wondering if she’s close again, she’ll be yelling it for the mansion to hear.

“Fucking again—I’m gonna cum again—Jesus Christ, baby—What the fuuuck—”

✦ . laughing jack

Gets like this after his 6th time cumming.

You wouldn’t expect LJ to be the begging type—but he is. He sobs when overstimulated, absolutely wails his heart out. He just can’t take it, can’t seem to keep his hips up with the brutal pace you’re setting on top, absolutely wringing him of every last drop he’s got—or at least that’s how it feels. His face paint is smudged, absolutely ruined from sweat and tear streaks, most of it on your face too.

“Ahh—sweetheart, please, I can’t—”

His voice is high and full of frantic laughter that turns into broken whimpers. His hands shake, his eyes are glassy, and he’ll cling to you like you’re the only thing keeping him from absolutely exploding (not in the good way). The best part? He tries to run from it.

He tries to scoot away, to force your body off of him, but you persist. He’s grimacing, eyes clamped shut tight from crying so hard, teeth chattering in his skull. It’s too much for him—too much. He’s never been touched like this before. You’ve ruined him—but he’s never been happier.

“I can’t—Not again. Ple-Please not again—Sweetheart please stop, hah—Oh no—”

✦ . nina the killer

Gets like this after her 3rd time cumming.

Nina loves feeling good, but she is not used to feeling this good. Her whole body squirms, legs kicking, hips twitching. It’s like her mind and body can’t work together, two things saying very different things. Her body says stop, says it’s too tired, that she can’t take anymore. But her brain is begging for more, absolutely forcing her to sit there and take it.

“Wait—wait, babe, I—I’m not done!” she shrieks, giggling wildly.

Her makeup is smudged, mascara and eyeshadow running down her cheeks. Her skin is flushed, looking downright sickly from how overwhelmed she is. But she persists, refuses to listen to the pain, chases after that high as many times as you will let her have it.

She tries to stay cocky, to keep teasing you, but her voice keeps cracking, her thighs squeezing around you and her fingers gripping your hair. She starts babbling sweet nothings between gasps.

“Oh my god, I love you, I love you so much, holy shiiit—!”

✦ . homicidal liu

Gets like this after his 4th time cumming.

Liu has a breaking point—and you love watching him hit it. It’s what you would imagine he looks like after working out too hard—body limp, jaw slack, eyes glazed over as he stares at the ceiling. He can’t move, can’t even fathom grabbing your bouncing hips and asking you to stop. It doesn’t even hurt anymore, just pure pleasure.

“You’re evil,” he groans, smirking even through the haze. “Absolutely evil.”

His eyes roll back, fingers digging into the sheets, breath shaky and shallow. It gets to the point that he starts cumming one after the other, just a half-bounce from your hips has him gut tightening and his muscles shaking under his skin. He shoots blanks, just rolling in the feel of it at that point.

He’s overworked, flushed, completely undone—but he won’t beg. Not with words. He begs with the way he refuses to stop you and the way he keeps whispering your name like it’s the only thing keeping him sane. He’s dizzy, delirious, could barely answer a question if he tried. You’ve practically fucked him stupid. He slurs every word.

“I want—Ahhn, fuck. Wha-hah-what am I even sayin’? Fuuck, keep movin’ like tha—”

✦ . jane everlasting

Gets like this after her 5th time cumming.

Jane grits her teeth and takes it—at first. She’s a strong girl, can last for a long time, but once she starts unraveling? Once it becomes too fast? She unravels, practically crumbles to pieces.

“I said—” she chokes out, trying to sit up, only to collapse back down, trembling. Her breath is hitching. Her lips are trembling. “You’re gonna make me lose it,” she whispers, voice breaking.

She becomes almost a ragdoll, limbs and body flopping around, clinging onto anything that touches her. She wants you close, so close you’re panting into each other’s mouths and moaning in sync with every brush of your hips. She wants it hard, she needs it rough, but she has to have you right there with her or she’ll break.

She gets oddly sensitive then. Cooing nice words she’d be too nonchalant to say otherwise, chanting how pretty you are and how good this feels, making sure you know exactly how many times she’s cumming. She’s sweet, almost sickly, becoming so toxically positive you wonder if she’s hit her head.

“You’re so cut-hah-cute like this. Feels so good—yeah. Only you make me feel this good—aghh—”

✦ . x-virus

Gets like this after his 3rd time cumming.

Cody tries to stay chill. Fails. Becomes absolutely sensitive to every single touch like your fingers tips are burning holes into his chest. He whines, refuses to cry, but is just moaning and groaning every bounce of your hips, reacting to every touch.

“You’re seriously—oh my god—you’re insane.”

His cocky smirk fades fast. He ends up flat on his back, hair a mess, thrown across the bed like an object. His body jerks with every touch and his voice is wrecked, definitely straining it and going to lose it tomorrow. No matter how pitiful it is, he’s hungry, downright desperate to get off again and again until his body just refuses. He wants to see how many rounds he can last.

There’s nothing worse than someone who competes during sex, but that’s exactly what he’s doing. He’s matching your thrusts move for move, chasing that high like it’s the only thing he wants. He snarls and groans and grips you right through all of it, but there’s nothing that will stop him from making himself cum again.

“Again. Need it again—right now, right now, baby—C’mon give it to me—”

✦ . slenderman

Gets like this after his 9th time cumming.

Slender is silent. For a long time, anyway. You’d think he wasn’t feeling it—until the trembling starts. It’s small, you can barely notice it when your hips are rocking down on him, be he’s absolutely shaking. Trembling underneath you, terrible as a leaf.

He grabs your wrists, presses them together into one hand, and his control snaps. His voice is low, gritted, almost angry, “You are playing a very, very dangerous game.”

But he doesn’t stop you. In fact, he shudders hard and finally lets out the softest moan—something real. Something desperate. It’s jarring. The most you ever get out of the cryptid during sex is growled instructions and grumbles of approval, but never really any guttural reactions. It lights a fire in you, making you want hear it again.

The brows and jaw of his faceless skin are tense, locked tight under the white flesh. But there’s no mistaking the way his jaw ticks and how sharply he is gritting to keep himself quiet. Like moaning is some means to an end, like it’ll ruin the facade he has built since the beginning. But it breaches, the air around you becomes tight, almost too thick to breathe. Then his jaw unlocks, and a shrill sound of need leaves him. Like an animal desperate for food. It doesn’t last, he goes back to quiet. His tentacles speak for him though, jerking and twirling tighter around you with every bounce.

“Enough. I’m—Mmm. Please, ease your pace, love.”

꩜ .ᐟ

[itwillbethescarletwitch]

Don’t Blame Me

Evan Buckley x fem!reader

The coffee pot hisses lowly in the background, but you don’t move to pour a cup.

Buck’s standing near the kitchen counter in his uniform pants and undershirt, tugging on his boots like he’s trying to outrun the tension hanging in the air. He hasn’t looked at you once since he walked out of the bedroom. Not while brushing his teeth. Not while grabbing his keys. Not even when you greeted him with a hesitant, quiet, “Morning.”

You’re still in your pajamas, arms crossed tight over your chest, holding your breath like it’ll stop you from saying something you’ll regret.

But he’s the one who speaks first.

“I’m gonna be late,” he mutters.

That’s it. That’s all you get.

Not good morning. Not I’m sorry for last night. Just that distant, flat tone you hate. The one he uses when he’s already halfway out the door, emotionally and physically.

“Then be late,” you bite out before you can stop yourself. “Be late and talk to me.”

Buck freezes with his boot half-laced, finally—finally—lifting his eyes to you.

You expect softness. Regret. Anything.

But his gaze is cold. Exhausted.

“I don’t want to fight with you again.”

“Then stop running away from me every time I try to fix this!” you snap.

The words crack like a whip across the quiet morning, and for a second, he doesn’t move. Just stares.

“You said I make everything harder,” he says finally, his voice quieter, but sharper. “Do you remember that? Last night? When you were mad—you said loving me is exhausting.”

Your mouth opens—closes—opens again. The memory rushes back, half-blurred by tears and frustration. You did say that. Not because you meant it, but because you were hurt. Because you were trying to get him to hurt too.

“Buck…” your voice falters. “I didn’t mean that. You know I didn’t.”

“You didn’t even try to take it back.”

“I—I was upset. You kept shutting me out—”

“I shut down when I’m overwhelmed!” he explodes, and now the room isn’t quiet anymore.

“I know that!” you yell back. “But you shut me out even when I’m just trying to love you! What do you want from me? You want me to give you space? I do. You want me to show up and be patient? I do that too. But you’re never really here, Buck. You’re never fully with me.”

He turns away like he can’t stand to look at you. And somehow, that hurts more than anything he’s said.

“I have a job,” he mutters.

“And I have a heart!” you fire back. “And you’ve been breaking it piece by piece, every time you act like I’m the enemy just because I want more from you than silence!”

He exhales hard, grabs his shirt, and starts pulling it on. “I can’t do this right now. I’m going to work.”

“So that’s it?” you ask, voice cracking. “You’re gonna walk out like everything’s fine?”

“I didn’t say it was fine,” he says over his shoulder. “I just said I have a shift to cover.”

“Right,” you whisper. “Because running into burning buildings is easier than facing me.”

That one makes him stop.

His jaw flexes. His hands curl into fists at his sides. He turns just enough to look at you—but not close enough to bridge the canyon between you.

“I’ll be back tonight.”

And before you can say anything—before you can tell him you’re sorry, or that you didn’t mean it like that, or please don’t leave like this—the door shuts behind him.

Hard.

And just like that, the morning falls silent again.

But now, it’s worse.

Because that’s the last thing you said to him.

And by tonight… you won’t even know if he’s coming home.

———

The first thing you reach for is the cast iron skillet.

Not because it’s convenient—but because it’s his favorite. You haven’t used it in weeks, and the weight of it in your hands feels heavier than it should. Like it knows this meal has more to carry than just calories.

It’s a little after 7:00 when you start the prep, soft music playing low in the background—some jazz playlist Buck said once reminded him of his mom’s kitchen when he was little. You’re not trying to win him over. You’re trying to reach him. To say with this meal what your mouth failed to this morning.

You’re making chicken marsala, his comfort food. The real kind—not the 20-minute kind with shortcuts and cornstarch and cheap wine. You’re talking browned mushrooms and shallots in butter, reduced marsala with stock, pan-seared chicken cutlets finished in the oven. It takes time. Effort. Intention.

Everything you wish you’d put into the conversation you had with him before he left this morning.

⸻

The chicken is sliced and floured by 7:18.

You take your time with the mushrooms, caramelizing them until they’re deep golden and nutty. You remember the first time you made this for him—he said it tasted better than any restaurant. You laughed, thinking he was exaggerating. Then he kissed your cheek and asked for seconds.

Your eyes sting now as you stir.

You glance at the clock. 7:47.

He has two more hours on shift. He said he’d come home after. You want to believe him.

So you keep cooking like he will.

⸻

By 8:10, the sauce is reducing and the house smells rich and warm. You even took the time to roast baby potatoes with garlic and rosemary and steam green beans the way he likes—still slightly crisp. You set the table for two. His side has the glass of cabernet you know he won’t drink more than two sips of.

You’re wearing one of his old firehouse tees. The one that got too small in the shoulders but he refused to throw out.

And while the chicken rests on a warm plate in the oven, you finally sit down at the counter and let yourself think.

How do I bring it up?

You know he hates conflict. You know he gets overwhelmed fast. You’re not perfect either—you push, you poke, you say things to test if he’ll stay. You don’t want to do that this time.

Maybe I’ll start with: I miss you.

Simple. Honest. Less threatening.

Or maybe: I didn’t mean what I said yesterday.

Because you didn’t. You never meant it. He exhausts you sometimes, yes—but you never meant him. You meant the space between you. The way he shuts down. You just… don’t know how to reach through the wall when it goes up.

The smell of dinner still fills the apartment. Everything’s still warm.

8:57.

You fluff the potatoes with a fork and smile. Almost time.

⸻

9:23.

You open your texts. Nothing. You refresh. Nothing.

You click on his location and see the familiar dot at the station. Still there. Maybe paperwork ran late. Maybe someone needed a minute to talk. You know how it goes.

You pour a glass of wine. Just half.

⸻

9:51.

You go ahead and put his plate in the microwave to keep it warm. Not reheat—just enough so it’s not cold when he walks in. You picture his tired face lighting up when he smells the marsala sauce. You imagine him slipping his arms around your waist from behind, whispering “You made this for me?”

You’ll say yes, and then you’ll apologize first. You’ll say it was a bad morning, and you love him, and you don’t want to keep hurting each other every time things get hard. You’ll say “We’re better than this, right?”

He’ll nod. Kiss your forehead.

It’ll be okay.

⸻

10:37.

You’re pacing now. Your stomach’s tight with something halfway between worry and dread. You check your phone again. Still nothing. You almost call, thumb hovering over his contact—but you stop yourself. You don’t want to seem clingy. He said he was coming home.

He promised.

⸻

11:02.

You call.

Voicemail.

You wait five minutes. Then call again.

Still voicemail.

You open Eddie’s contact. Then Chim’s. You don’t press call, but your thumb hovers. Maybe they’d know. Maybe something’s wrong. Maybe—

Your phone buzzes.

It’s not him.

It’s a  text from one of his coworkers:

“Hey Y/N, thank you for being ok with Buck canceling your dinner date tonight, my baby is sick and we’re taking her to the hospital. I really appreciate both of you.”

Your breath leaves your body like a punch to the ribs.

Third shift.

Third.

That means 9pm to 7am.

And he didn’t tell you.

Not a single word.

⸻

The anger doesn’t hit all at once. It builds—slow and hot, like the marsala sauce did earlier, except now you’re burning from the inside out.

He looked you in the eye and told you he’d come home tonight.

He let you wait. Let you hope. Let you believe that maybe he wanted to fix this too. And the whole time, he knew. He knew he wasn’t coming.

You grab the to-go container from the top shelf of the cabinet—the one he uses when he packs leftovers for shift. You fill it with the marsala. The potatoes. Everything.

You don’t care that it’s after 11.

You don’t care that you’re not wearing shoes yet.

You’re going to the firehouse.

You’re going to look him in the eye and ask him why.

——

The firehouse is alive with the usual noise — radios buzzing, boots clacking, men focused on their shift.

You burst through the door, the cold container of chicken marsala digging into your palm. The food’s cold, just like your patience.

Buck’s sitting at the table with Eddie and Chim, playing cards like it’s some damn party and not a damn job.

You don’t hesitate. You throw the container on the table with a slap loud enough to stop the whole room.

“Are you serious right now?” Your voice is sharp, venom dripping from every word.

They all look up, startled. Buck’s face goes tight — but you don’t care.

“You said you were coming home,” you spit, stepping closer, rage burning in your chest. “You looked me in the eye and said, ‘I’ll be home after shift.’ And then you pick up another goddamn shift and don’t even have the decency to tell me?”

His mouth opens, but you cut him off.

“I waited. Two fucking hours—waiting for you to walk through that door. Waiting for you to show up so I could finally fix this damn fight. And all I get is silence.”

You’re shaking now. The fire’s burning so hot it’s almost painful.

“Do you know what it feels like to cook your favorite meal for an hour and a half, spend every second thinking about how to not start another fight—and then find out you didn’t even come home?”

Buck’s jaw clenches. You see the guilt trying to crawl out, but you don’t give a damn.

Before things can get worse, Bobby steps in between you two.

“Y/N, enough,” he says, calm but firm.

You laugh, bitter and loud. “No, Bobby. I’m done. Done pretending I’m not fucking furious. Done waiting on someone who can’t even text me.”

You turn sharply and walk out, leaving the cold food and the broken silence behind.

The street is nearly empty—just you, the hum of the engine, and the boiling silence inside your chest.

You grip the steering wheel tighter, knuckles white. Your pulse is still racing from the firehouse. From him. From the way he sat there laughing, like you hadn’t been home, pacing in the kitchen for hours with a full plate of his favorite food going cold on the counter.

A sob claws its way up your throat but dies before it reaches your mouth.

You’re so caught in your spiraling thoughts, you almost miss the headlights screaming toward you from the side.

Almost.

Too fast.

Your head whips to the left—brakes screeching—but it’s too late.

The other car slams into your passenger side at full speed, a T-bone hit with the force of a missile.

Metal screams. Your body jolts violently as the impact rips through you like lightning. The car spins uncontrollably, tires screeching, glass exploding like gunfire.

Time slows down.

Your head whips forward, then back, as the car spins once—

Twice—

Then slams sideways into a tree with bone-crushing force. The passenger side caves inward, the entire right half of the car crushed like paper.

Your head hits the driver-side window with a crack, blood immediately pooling from your temple. The airbag deploys a second too late to save your ribs from the force. Pain sears through your abdomen—blunt trauma, maybe internal bleeding. You can’t tell.

The door won’t open. Your hands won’t move.

You taste copper.

You can’t scream.

The cold rushes in through shattered glass. Somewhere outside, someone’s shouting.

A pair of headlights flicker in the distance. A car screeches to a halt. Someone runs toward you.

“Oh my God! Call 911! Call 911 now!”

Another voice: “She’s still breathing—barely!”

You’re fading fast.

“Miss? Stay with me! Stay awake—hey, look at me. Look at me!”

A stranger presses on your side. It hurts so badly you nearly black out. The pain is unbearable. But you’re too weak to fight it.

Blood coats your seat. Drips down your wrist. Puddles on the floorboard.

Your car is unrecognizable.

And you? You might be dying.

Somewhere close—only three blocks away—sirens are screaming louder and louder.

The 118 is coming.

So is he.

But you don’t know if you’ll still be awake when he gets there.

——

(Station 118)

“Motor vehicle accident—two vehicles involved. One critical. Location—”

Buck hears the dispatcher say the street name and his body freezes.

He knows that road.

He knows who drives that road home from the firehouse.

“Buck,” Bobby says quickly, already picking up on it, “Don’t jump to—”

But Buck is already running. Helmet in hand. Vest half on. Sprinting to the rig like his life depends on it. Because it does.

The rig tears through the streets. It’s barely been three blocks. That’s how close she was. That’s how stupidly close—

Chim is driving. Eddie’s beside him. Hen’s checking gear.

And Buck is staring out the windshield, praying, pleading, bargaining.

Please don’t let it be her car.

Please don’t let it be her.

Please. Please. Please.

They turn the corner—

And he sees it.

Her car. Or what’s left of it.

A mangled, twisted wreck of metal, glass, and blood. The entire passenger side crushed like a soda can against a tree. Her car is barely recognizable—but Buck knows it. He knows the shape, the color, the dent on the rear left bumper from that time she backed into a post.

He jumps out of the rig before it’s even in park.

“Buck!” Bobby yells. “Wait!”

But he’s already running.

And then—he sees her.

Slumped sideways. Blood all over her. Her face pale. Her eyes half-lidded.

“No—NO—”

He drops to his knees by the driver’s side as Chim and Hen rush in.

“I’ve got no access here!” Hen shouts. “We need to cut her out!”

“Vitals are crashing!” Chim yells.

Buck’s voice shreds open as he pounds on the glass.

“Y/N—HEY—HEY, STAY AWAKE, BABY, STAY AWAKE—”

She flinches faintly. A moan. Barely.

He’s never felt fear like this. Not during the ladder collapse. Not during the tsunami. Not during lightning strikes or bomb threats.

This is worse.

This is her.

Bobby grabs him, yanking him back as they start cutting open the door.

“Let them work, Buck!”

“She’s bleeding out—she’s bleeding—”

“She’s alive,” Eddie says hoarsely, eyes locked on her. “But she won’t be for long if you don’t let them do their job.”

The door peels open.

It takes every ounce of strength Buck has not to fall apart when he sees the blood soaked into her seat, the way she gasps when they touch her abdomen, the deep gash on her temple.

She looks at him—just for a second. Eyes glassy. Barely there.

He reaches for her hand.

“Hey… hey, baby, I’m here. I’m right here, okay?”

Her lips move. He leans in. She’s trying to say his name.

Then her eyes roll back.

The monitors scream.

“She’s coding!” Hen yells.

“Go, go, go!” Chim shouts.

They hoist her out on the board, blood dripping to the pavement, and Buck runs after them—bloody hands shaking, lungs heaving, heart breaking wide open.

As the ambulance doors slam shut, Buck is left on the street, on his knees, shaking and sobbing—

Whispering over and over into the dark,

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

The hospital lights are too bright. Too white. Too sterile.

Too clean for how bloody his hands still are.

Buck hasn’t sat down.

Not once.

He’s pacing—back and forth, back and forth—the soles of his boots leaving faint red smudges on the white floor, reminders of how he held her, how her blood soaked into his skin, his sleeves, his soul.

It’s been twenty-two minutes.

Twenty-two minutes since the double doors swung shut behind the gurney.

Twenty-two minutes since she coded in the back of the rig and Hen fought like hell to bring her back.

“She’s got a pulse!” Hen had shouted.

“Go, go, go!” Chim had banged on the ambulance wall.

They’d barely made it.

Now, she’s in the OR.

“Any update?” he asks the nurse at the desk—again.

She looks up. Same look of sympathy. Same rehearsed, practiced tone.

“She’s still in surgery, Mr. Buckley. The doctor will come out as soon as they can.”

He nods, but it’s barely a movement. His jaw clenches. His hands ball into fists at his sides.

He can still see her face.

How pale she was.

The blood in her hair.

The way she looked at him like she was already slipping away.

And all he can think is: I was supposed to come home. I was supposed to eat dinner with her. I was supposed to say sorry.

Not scream at her.

Not make her feel unwanted.

Not send her home in tears.

His stomach twists as the weight of it crashes down on him. He shoves his hand into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out the to-go container.

Her handwriting on top.

“Your favorite. Still warm. I love you.”

He breaks.

Eddie finds him in a chair, head in his hands, the note clutched to his chest. His shoulders shake with every quiet sob.

“She was trying to make things right,” Buck chokes out. “And I—God, I didn’t even give her the chance.”

“Buck,” Eddie says, crouching beside him, voice steady but wrecked, “She’s strong. She’s in there fighting. But you’ve gotta hold it together until she wakes up.”

“If she wakes up.”

Silence.

Then:

“She will.”

Buck sits there, numb and bloodied and broken, staring at the doors like he can will them open.

“Ten more minutes,” he whispers. “I’ll ask again in ten.”

And he will.

Every ten minutes.

Until someone tells him the only thing he wants to hear:

That she made it.

Buck sits hunched over, forearms resting on his knees, fingers twitching against one another like if he stops moving, he’ll come undone.

Eddie sits in the chair next to him, silent, steady, like he always is. He doesn’t ask. He doesn’t prod. He just waits.

And eventually, Buck cracks.

“It started over something stupid,” he says, voice rough. “I don’t even remember what. Something about the way I didn’t respond when she asked if I was okay.”

Eddie glances at him, quiet.

“She asked, and I brushed her off. Said I was tired. Said I had a long shift ahead.” Buck lets out a bitter laugh. “She tried to get me to talk about it, and I shut down. Again.”

Eddie’s silence isn’t empty. It’s full of understanding. Full of memories.

“She said it felt like I only let her in halfway. That sometimes I didn’t even try.”

Buck swallows hard. His voice softens.

“And she wasn’t wrong. She never is when it comes to me.”

He wipes his palm across his mouth, shaking his head.

“I snapped at her, man. She was just trying to talk, to understand, and I told her I didn’t want to do this before work. I told her, ‘we’ll talk tonight.’ Like that was enough.”

“She believed you.” Eddie’s voice is low, even.

Buck nods. His eyes are glassy again.

“She asked me if I was still in this with her. If I was still trying. And I just stood there. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t answer her, Eddie.”

Eddie looks over, eyes dark.

“And then I walked out. Like it didn’t mean anything. Like she didn’t mean anything.”

The words sting coming out. Buck flinches at the truth in his own mouth.

“I was already halfway to the firehouse when I felt it. That regret. That voice in my head screaming at me to turn around. But I didn’t.”

“Why?” Eddie asks, gently.

Buck’s voice is barely a whisper.

“Because it was easier to go to work than it was to tell her I was scared.”

He swallows hard.

“Scared that I don’t know how to be loved like that. That I don’t know how to hold something so good without breaking it.”

Eddie leans back, sighs through his nose.

“You think picking up another shift was gonna keep her from seeing that?”

“I think it made it worse,” Buck whispers. “I think she cooked my favorite meal as an apology. I think she wanted to make it right and I didn’t even give her the chance.”

“You didn’t know she’d show up.”

Buck finally looks over.

“I shouldn’t have had to. She always shows up.”

His jaw tightens, grief crawling up his throat.

“And I didn’t.”

Eddie looks away. Doesn’t speak. Because he was there—when she walked into the station, shaking, eyes red-rimmed, voice raised with fury and heartbreak. He saw the way Buck froze, silent and stunned.

He watched her drop the container on the table, the note taped to the lid.

He heard her voice crack when she said, “I waited for you.”

Buck squeezes his eyes shut now.

“She left like I’d torn her in half. And I let her go. I just let her walk away.”

The waiting room door buzzes open in the distance, but no one comes out. Just a nurse crossing through.

Buck leans forward again, elbows on his knees, hands laced together.

“If she dies…” His voice catches. He swallows thickly. “If she doesn’t wake up, that’s the last thing I ever said to her. That silence. That nothing.”

Eddie’s voice is quiet but certain.

“She’s fighting. You have to believe that.”

“I do.” Buck wipes at his face. “But I also know… if she doesn’t make it, it’s not gonna be the accident that kills me.”

Eddie puts a hand on his shoulder, firm. Steady.

“You’ll get to tell her all of this, Buck. You’ll get to say everything you didn’t. Just hold on.”

Buck nods, jaw clenched.

Another ten minutes pass.

He stands again. Walks to the nurse’s desk.

“Any update?” he asks, voice breaking.

This time, the nurse looks back at him, expression softening—

“The doctor’s coming out now.”

The waiting room had never been quieter. Not even when Bobby had been under the knife. Not even when Chim had coded. Not even when Buck had nearly died himself.

Because this time, it wasn’t him on the table.

It was her.

And he couldn’t do a damn thing.

His palms were still sticky with dried blood.

Her blood.

He’d been pacing when the door opened. The air shifted. He felt it before he heard it.

The soft click of shoes on tile. The rustle of a white coat.

Buck turned.

A doctor. Older. Stern, unreadable face. The kind of look that didn’t tell you anything until it told you everything.

“Evan Buckley?”

Buck took one step forward so fast Eddie reached out, as if ready to catch him.

“Yes,” Buck said, voice hoarse. “That’s me. I’m—She’s my—”

He swallowed.

“I’m with her.”

The doctor nodded. “Let’s sit.”

Buck didn’t want to sit.

He wanted answers.

He stood stiff and cold and trembling like a thread pulled too tight.

The doctor didn’t force it. Just exhaled slowly.

“She was brought in with severe abdominal trauma, a major concussion, and internal bleeding. Her spleen was ruptured. There were signs of blunt force trauma to the ribs, a laceration on the liver, and she had lost significant blood volume on the scene.”

Buck could hear himself breathing. Could feel Eddie standing behind him, but he couldn’t look away.

“The impact was… catastrophic. The passenger side of the vehicle wrapped around the tree. She was partially crushed between the door and the seat.”

Buck closed his eyes. His fault. She shouldn’t have been in that car.

“But,” the doctor said, voice softening just a hair, “she’s alive.”

Buck’s eyes snapped open.

“She’s in critical condition. We were able to stabilize her for now. She’s intubated and on a ventilator. Her vitals are holding, but it’s going to be touch and go for the next 24 hours.”

“Is she awake?” Buck rasped.

“No. We placed her in a medically induced coma to let the brain swelling reduce and give her body time to fight.”

Buck swayed where he stood. Eddie’s hand pressed between his shoulder blades.

“You said she’s stable?” Buck asked, and his voice cracked like a boy’s.

“For now,” the doctor repeated carefully. “There’s no guarantee. Her body is in shock. But she’s young. And she’s strong.”

Buck nodded like his neck was made of splintered glass. “Can I see her?”

The doctor hesitated, then nodded. “Only for a few minutes. Let the nurses get her settled in ICU. Then we’ll bring you back.”

Buck breathed out like he hadn’t in hours.

The doctor started to turn away. Buck stopped him.

“Thank you,” he said, quietly. “For saving her.”

The doctor paused, gave him a look he’d remember for the rest of his life.

“She’s the one who saved herself,” he said. “She held on longer than most could have. Might be something worth holding on for.”

Then he walked away.

Buck stood there. Frozen.

“She’s alive,” he whispered. Like maybe if he said it out loud, it would stay true.

“She’s alive,” he said again, and this time he turned to Eddie, who had tears in his eyes too.

“Yeah,” Eddie said, gripping Buck’s arm. “She’s alive.”

But Buck didn’t feel relief. Not yet.

Because she hadn’t opened her eyes.

Because she hadn’t heard him say sorry.

Because she’d still left thinking he didn’t love her.

And that might be the part that killed him first.

The ICU was too quiet.

No sirens. No radios. No alarms.

Just the slow, soft beep… beep… beep of the heart monitor keeping her alive.

Buck stepped into the room and felt the rest of the world drop away.

She looked so small in the bed. Tubes and wires tangled in her arms, tape at her mouth, bruises blooming purple and red across her temple and shoulder. Her skin was pale, almost waxy. The kind of stillness that didn’t belong to someone like her—someone who laughed with her whole chest, someone who kissed him with all her soul.

The nurse gave him a nod, quietly closed the door behind him.

He took one step, then another. His boots felt too loud against the floor.

“I—” Buck started, then stopped.

His throat was too tight.

“I didn’t think it was real,” he said softly, sinking into the chair by her bedside. “I saw the car, and I—I thought you were gone. I thought I lost you.”

His hand hovered near hers for a second before he finally took it. It was cool, limp, fingers slack.

“I’m sorry.” His voice cracked. “God, I’m so sorry.”

His other hand came up, dragging across his face like he could rub the shame out of his skin.

“You were trying to talk to me, and I shut you down. You made dinner—you made my favorite, and I just… I stayed at the station because I didn’t want to face you. Because I was afraid I’d say something that made you walk away.”

He let out a weak, bitter laugh. “And I said nothing. And you still walked out the door.”

His thumb brushed over her knuckles.

“I never wanted you to think I didn’t love you. That you weren’t enough.” His voice trembled. “You’re everything.”

The machines kept beeping. She didn’t stir.

He leaned closer.

“Please wake up. Just… please. I’ll do anything. I’ll say everything I never said. I’ll tell you every day for the rest of your life how sorry I am, how much I love you, how—how I don’t know how to breathe without you.”

His forehead dropped to the edge of the bed, hand still wrapped around hers.

“I didn’t come home, and now you might never come back to me.”

There was silence for a long moment.

Then—

A sound.

Soft. Barely there.

The ventilator hissed. A monitor blipped.

And then—a twitch.

Her fingers.

They moved.

Buck’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “Hey. Hey—are you—?”

But before he could call for the nurse, the heart monitor spiked.

And then,

flatlined.