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hoseoksluna · 4 months ago

Text

LIFE | jhs

pairing: military!hobi x f. reader (ft. namjoon)

genre: slow burn ; tension ; converse high trope / smut, tiny fluff

word count: 8.6k

summary: hoseok has always had a secret thing for you and once he learns you're single, he doesn't waste time and knocks on your door.

pinterest board: life / playlist: listen / taglist: join / discord: join

warnings: mutual pining, hobi is a feet guy, mentions of a partner giving you a cold shoulder and silent treatment, strong tension, praise kink, petting, nipple play, oral sex (f. receiving), overstimulation, slight dd/lg, raw and rough sex, size kink.

note: SHE'S BACK. HOSEOKSLUNA IS BACCKKKKKKKK. HELLO, MY BABIES. I MISSED YOU ALLLLL SOOOO MUCH AND I MISSED WRITING SO MUCH THAT THIS IS SOMETHING I WROTE IN MY YEARNING TOWARDS THE END OF MY HIATUS. fuck, this is way too hot. and i, again, had to take breaks to do something :D actually, i was inspired to write this at 4 am when i landed in my country after my vacation in dubai and got the weverse notification from hobi. :) yep. he ruined me, destroyed me, and i had to start writing. ENJOY THIS FILTHHHHHH. i missed writing abt dd/lg, too.... hehe. let me know what you think. and if you mayhappsss want part two? I LOVE YOU, MY BABIES. MWAH.

Hoseok, at your doorstep bringing in the moonlight before the midnight hour, was not something you quite expected to see when you heard the bell ring. You were lounging around on your couch, clothed in your new silky pajamas that you bought to heal your wounded heart a little, along with a peachy Korean face mask, a banana vape and a vanilla candle that you lit up as soon as you exited the shower. The creamy white sheet is what you were still wearing on the planes on your face when you stood there, taken aback because the man, clad in his military uniform, was certainly not your friend that visited you often.

Hoseok was a mutual friend. A friend of your best friend Karina… and a friend of your now ex-boyfriend Namjoon. A friend that hated your guts—a friend that could not stand you.

A friend that would let his eyes linger a little while longer on you upon seeing you on regular night outs and then ignore you for the rest of the event. A friend that would lock his gaze on your intertwined hand with Namjoon’s before narrowing it and scoffing in a private way that you invariably saw through.

You weren’t stupid. You knew what his deal was—it’s only that you couldn’t do anything about it. You were Namjoon’s for eight wonderful months that were splotchy with the depth of poetry. Words from his heart that would give your life meaning, keep your head up above the surface. You needed those words as you spent your whole girlhood drowning in the sea of FOMO, rowing your arms through the waves of life that never got you anywhere. Seeing the little beauty of day and night of Seoul with your friends paled in comparison with what Namjoon showed you. You always believed that your life would begin with a man by your side—you prayed for it, you waited for it and it became reality.

But it was not the reality that your body sought in the long run.

Yes, the sex was great. Significant to your mental development, especially to your female one as you truly did become a woman in his hands, letting the lush girlish version of you die in his palms. As well as the museums, the hikes, the dinner dates that let you in on the complexity of Namjoon’s intellect that you found so profound and full of beauty.

But as you nearly reached a year with him, your body began to seek more. The flowers beyond the box of your relationship with him—and you knew that those petals carried the scent of Hoseok.

He liked you. You saw it in the extremity of his purposeful ignorance towards you, in the forced hatefulness he put across, and in the distance he set as a boundary. You saw it, too, in the way he would entertain other women in the bars and glance at you every now and then to make sure you’re seeing what he wants you to see. And it excited you, his interest in you that he kept at bay.

It was a forbidden fruit that you smelt and smelt, but could never bite into—and it drove you insane. And when he got enlisted in the military, it drove you off a cliff.

Missing him made you search for him. Not in Namjoon, but in other men. Privately, in your soul. And it cost you your relationship.

Namjoon was a jealous, possessive man. He would fight with you if you looked at a guy for a beat longer than is necessary and if a half of a smile crept up upon the corner of your lips, he would give you the cold shoulder. An action that cut through you deep enough to make you bleed and you had to put a stop to it.

You thought talking to him about it like an adult would straighten the road you were walking upon, but like the intelligent man Namjoon is—he knew that what he was giving to you was no longer what you needed. He threw it back at you, using the poetry of his words, and all you could do was be honest with him. Nod your head, tell him he was right, that you were seeking something more. And what surprised you was that Namjoon wasn’t willing to go the extra mile.

He didn’t consider it. Didn’t mention it.

He nodded his head, too. And you parted your ways as friends who loved each other and lived an artistic life together.

And at that moment, a door to your mind opened and Hoseok stepped in. Made a bed, fluffed the pillows, and rested.

It seems now he has awoken. Rang your doorbell, bashed his fist against the wood and narrowed his eyes at you in his normal fashion.

An action that weaves a rhythm into that flat, bruised heart of yours.

His military jacket is slung over his arm. His two black dog tags, hung by a silver chain around his long neck, rattles as the breath of the fresh, autumn evening breezes past, scattering goosebumps along your chocolate-buttered skin. You notice, within the brief silence while you look at each other and exchange words long overdue, that his hair is way shorter. Not buzzed anymore like Namjoon showed you on Hoseok’s first day in the military six months ago, but tousled and sticking out in different directions as if he raked his fingers through the strands a million times over. Your own itch, wrapped around your vape, his beauty heightened by his evident newly-gained manliness washing over you like an icy stream of water.

You shiver, blaming it internally on the wind, and not on the lightness of the attraction that you feel sinking beneath your skin, overpowering you.

And that small movement of your body propels Hoseok to speak, at last.

“I come home to find you single,” he scoffs, his voice deep and raspy, marked possibly by his job in the military. And you feel it marking you just the same, opening windows in the house of your body for that wind to blow in and exhilarate you, help you breathe. “He’s drunk out of his mind, crawling on Jungkook’s lap and you’re here. In your pajamas with a fucking face mask on.”

Briefly, you furrow your brows, not understanding the meaning of his words. Is he bashing you for not crying your heart out? Or is he bashing his brother for doing whatever it was. Your heart turns halfway, painfully. Those days are gone—those you spent in bed while that broken muscle wept while your body used that time to repose from all the stress it went through, being in an environment it grew out of.

You sigh, weary of the recollection of that peculiar pain, and show no sight of the turbulence happening within you. “Jungkook must be happy about that.”

Hoseok chuckles, humorlessly. A chilling noise that erects your bare nipples beneath your pajama button down. Awkwardness slinks down your sternum and you shift your weight on your other foot as Hoseok deepens his gaze down on you.

Tension settles between you and you use it. You use it, wholeheartedly, as you should have all those months ago. The only thing you ever took advantage of were the touches Namjoon graced your skin with. You’d grab his hand, while Hoseok watched, and bring it underneath the table. Part your mouth, pretending he was touching a sensitive, private place while he was merely drifting his fingers along your thigh. Hoseok would gulp, but he would keep his gaze locked on yours, very much like he’s doing now. It’s the only form of intimate interaction you ever had, save for the heated debates about different things you two did not have in common.

All else remained hidden in the silence shared between you.

And it no longer shall.

If he came all the way here, unannounced, then you shall let fate, one that is enamored with your body, have her way in your life.

“If you came here to talk about him, then I’m not interested,” you say, letting go of the door and slipping off your face mask, ignoring the hurtful pinpricks along the perimeters of your heart. “If you came here for me, then the door is open.”

And with that bravery, you pivot on your heel and walk back into the living room, not expecting him to follow you and not expecting him to walk away. You let fate do her thing, and you begin to tap in the essence of the peachy face mask into your skin with quick, gentle slaps.

You toss the sheet, along with the packaging, into the trash, your hair clipped away from your face whooshing around you with your movement. Kicking off your slides, you hear them bump into something stable, and when you turn around to seek that strange sound, you see Hoseok standing by your armchair near your couch.

So he did come here for you. You tremble in a different manner, filled with sparks of excitement, and, turning around to sit on the couch, you flush, smiling happily to yourself.

But all those feelings turn to dust when Hobi kneels by the edge of your couch and fixes your home slippers. Aligns them rightly in front of you so you can comfortably slide your feet into them once you get up.

Your stomach drops and your fingertips tingle, all of your nerve endings set on blazing fire by that one act of service.

The first kind thing he’s ever done for you.

He throws his military jacket over the backrest of the armchair, where he nestles himself. Legs spread, elbows propped on his knees. His long dog tag chain swings back and forth in the sudden, atypical calmness of the atmosphere that you cannot adapt to fully. Not when your mind creates an image of that chain hanging over your face, your neck and your chest when you’re bare and ready for him, laying on your back, all for him to take.

You bite your lip, tracing the band of your sleep sock with your fingers, and Hoseok’s eyes fall to it. You quickly lift them, sheepish. Distract your mind by opening a package of eye patches and placing them on your dark circles that just won’t leave. His gaze skims over each motion, studying it, wordlessly, and you can’t take it anymore.

You can’t be the only one who’s brave this evening.

You take a puff of your vape, inhaling its sweetness, and stare right back at him. A smile, a foolish girlish smile quivers upon your lips. One that you dislike because you did grow out of it, but it seems as though the more you swallow the intensity of his shadowed, violent sea-charged energy, the more you transform back into that little girl you were.

And the process soaks your panties.

So much is said in the silence, always has been, but you can’t stand it anymore.

“You should start talking before I go to bed,” you bite, willing your smile to flatten, and Hoseok kneads his hands. His knuckles bear a faint memory of yellow bruises, veiny and strong as they are, and for a moment you wonder how far his ferocity reaches.

He showed you little of it. You know he’s capable of doing things that would change you for all eternity, give you a new form that would not wither with age.

And you yearn for it. Have yearned for it all those months without knowing that was the thing your body sought. The thing Namjoon could never give you.

Violence. Roughness. The licks of an outraged sea.

You’re a witness to it sloshing in the pools of his darkened eyes as he chews the provocation you uttered his way. And you can bet he likes the taste.

“Did he break your heart?” he asks amidst the banana-flavored smoke, his knuckles whitening for a split second as he clenches his fist before relaxing—as if the thought of Namjoon breaking your heart angers him.

It rouses you, and the way your chest lifts with each breath stimulates your stiffened nipples. The candlelight sways, casting shadows on his worn features, and you’d much rather sit on them than talk about your ex.

“Did you not hear what I said?” you spit, throwing your vape on the cushion of your couch. Hoseok’s façade splits as he smirks, dropping his gaze for a moment before lifting it back to you.

He leans back, slouching in the chair. “Answer the question.”

The sedatedness of his tone stuns you. Your heart begins to thump as well as the bundle of nerves between your folded legs. It has been too long since you had your release. Months upon months. And you’re too weak to not get carried away by these new feelings you’ve shamefully forgotten about.

The veins from his knuckles travel all the way back to his arms and your brain empties out. Too, too fucking long. You should’ve fooled around with every guy you found attractive, use them for orgasms, make the best of your womanly years, but instead you dwelled at home—in and out of your misery. And now, now it feels as though you’re a virgin, alone for the first time with an older man that enlivens your body.

And you might as well give him what he asks of you.

Sucking on your vape for a puff of bravery, you don’t blink as you stare at him through the smoke. You elongate your legs, placing them on the coffee table next to him, your toes facing his outstretched knee, and his eyes, once again, plummet to them.

“He didn’t break my heart, I broke his,” you say, your words shrouded by that white mist curling out of your mouth, and you watch as his eyes widen en route to yours.

He didn’t expect that.

Something about that satisfies you. Selfishly.

Hoseok runs the pad of his finger across his bottom lip, his head tilted to the side a little bit. “It was about time you did.”

The searing heat that rushes forward in your cheeks forces your gaze away from him, begs you to look away, but you don’t. A bead of perspiration trickles down your cleavage, one that is visible to him as you couldn’t be bothered to do all the buttons after your shower. But Hoseok’s eyes don’t flick to it. No, he can’t miss this. He can’t miss the gravity of the moment, of the spoken confirmation of the fact that what went on between the two of you for so long is real. You squeeze your thighs together, the thumping in between unbearable, and the longer you bask in his brave words, in the masculinity of his initiative, the more your own poetry begins to rise in you.

If it drags, it’s not meant for you. If it’s fast, it couldn’t wait to meet you.

And Hoseok notices. It is only when you let out a little, barely hearable sigh that his eyes do travel down to scrutinize your bodily reaction. To your nipples poking through, the shine of your sweat in between your bare breasts, to the friction you’re rubbing—the miniscule grinding movements that you make in order to alleviate yourself of the ache of desperation that you feel. And because you’re baring yourself out for him, he does the unthinkable.

He lets you see his true face, his façade collapsing at his big, sock-clad feet.

Hoseok lifts his hips, hides behind the pretense that he’s just making himself more comfortable, but in reality he did it to turn your attention to his lower region. His length, semi-hard yet still long, stands out, protruding from the camo of his pants and you’re hot, hot all over.

The thumping worsens—and you need him, all of him, to make it better.

Perceiving that he’s succeeded in his strategy by the way you just won’t stop ogling him, he blushes and hides it, in vain, with outstretched fingers spread across his face. As if he was doing his signature idol move. It’s a riveting sight to behold, a seemingly cold person growing warm from you gaping at that private part of him.

And you want more. You want to see more places of his body that are flushed. And you want it now.

“It was about time you and I talked alone, don’t you think?” you ask, following on from his previous statement. All that pining, those stolen glances, that distance—all that tension advances forward now, stronger than ever.

Hoseok can feel it, too. At your words, his manhood grows harder and his breathing quickens. He tries to stabilize it, but he fails. He fails even when he returns to his original position with his elbows propped on his knees. That chain of his swings with more momentum, teasing you, and you place your legs even closer towards him, and upon witnessing the light flash in his eyes, you realize that you teased him right back.

The man likes feet.

You draw in a sharp breath when he fists both of your feet in one hand, brushing his thumb over the tips of your toes. The first touch in this lifetime, the first time upon your new virgin body, so intimate, private; he might as well have wrapped a blanket around them with how warm his hand is, secure and trustful. Goosebumps flood your skin, bringing in the iciness that you felt when you took in his beauty against the background of the trees and the moonlight. And its beams must be stitched around his fingers because daintiness clasps you close, the notion that you’re taken care of, in good hands, descending upon you like the most delicate feather tickling you, and you let it—you let it consume you.

And you let his following question consume you just as much.

“Were you in love with him?”

It’s a question you never had the bravery to ask yourself in the two months you’ve been single, but it is here and you welcome it. You hear it whisper to you the hint of your answer and your body is smart enough, capable enough to figure it out.

No need for long nights of overthinking.

No need for long hours of listening to your heart crack.

“No, I was used to him—that’s different,” you hush out and the moon lowers herself, spilling through your windows, bathing you in a milky light that feels as welcoming, as right as your confession. And maybe, just maybe it’s the way the shining stream submerges in your neediness that drives you to be bratty. And briefly, before you do, you ponder over the fact how in your life shared with this person drives, moves forward. There’s never a still time—and you find that mesmerizing. Enough for you to simply brood in greed. “What’s it to you?”

Hoseok flinches. Parts his mouth. His chain rattles and his fingers squeeze the balls of your feet, coaxing a hum out of you that is immediately silenced by his sudden outburst.

“What’s it to me?”

There it is. Another plot point. Your heart hammers.

Hoseok lets go of your feet and you lament the absence. Stands up and towers over you, the moonshine soaking him in divine light that causes your breath to hitch in your throat. A faint layer of sweat has coasted along his hairline and settled there—and you long to swim in his bodily fluids. In the persona of his, in the tumultuous sea of the tension locked within him.

“You’re genuinely asking me this question?” he pressures, lifting your legs in order to step in between them, and the unthinkable visits you once again. He props his hands on either side of your head and those two dog tags swing in your face.

A wet patch forms in the center of your pajamas. Your breath mirrors his—hasty, deep and strained—and you can’t take it anymore.

How far into this road of bravery until the moon averts its opaque eyes away from your sin?

You arch your spine, hook your fingers on his dog tags and pull him a little closer. Breathe his air, breathe in his masculine, musky scent that intoxicates your senses to the point that there is absolutely nothing stopping you from getting dragged in the natural flow of this situation.

“Yes, Hoseok. What’s it to you?”

He pants. Glides, delicately, his fingers along your arm until he winds up at your small fist, clutching it in his as if it was his. And that warmth, you want to dip your head in it.

“I had to watch you sit in that chair and not crack a smile. Sit next to him like an obedient girl, not allowed to speak. To me,” he grunts, tightening his lips, and that anger of his seeps into you, becoming yours. “He didn’t deserve you. You’re not a pretty toy. You’re a person.”

He straightens but, panicking, you draw him right back by that chain. “Don’t fucking walk away from me.”

He seethes and you feel your essence trickling down your thigh. That sea, inching forward, you whimper. And then he spreads that warmth over the crown of your head, rubbing your hairline just once with his thumb before he peels off your eye patches that you have forgotten about.

And this is when your brows curl. This is the time that says there’s no going back.

“I talked to you. We fought, don’t you remember?”

He sweeps that digit over that soaked dark circle of yours underneath your eye. “What do you think would’ve happened to you if I talked to you nicely?”

Cold shoulder. Uncomfortable time of forced aloneness, filled with the abyss of guilt that you had done something wrong. A toy that didn’t move its lifeless limbs right by his will.

“I’ve known him for far longer than you. I know how he treats those he thinks he loves. I brushed it away with the others, but with you… I couldn’t. You were so full of life that was stuck in you because of him. Because he didn’t let you let it out. And I can’t forgive him for that.”

What life? The one you searched for all your girlhood, the one Namjoon molded with his own hands until it no longer recognized the once-familiar lines of his palm? The one that yearned for Hoseok instead?

A film of tears clouds your eyes and as hard as you try to blink them away, they linger, pooling at your waterline like sea foam. You need your vape, you need him inside you—you can’t face the mirror of the reality of that unfair treatment.

How blind you were; how Hoseok has become that guiding stick.

“Don’t forgive him,” you utter, grasping his chain tighter, drawing him even closer, making his breath tremble. The first tear that pours out leaks into the print of his thumb and at the sound of your soft cry, Hoseok topples. Kneels on the couch with your legs on either side of him and you pull, you pull him closer.

“Do you want me?” he asks—a foolish, foolish question. Presses his forehead against yours, cups your face with both hands now while his back shakes and you touch it, you drag your fingernails down those prominent muscles. And he sighs, so desperately, so tenderly. “Do you want me to let out that life in you?”

“Yes,” you whisper, sliding your hands underneath his black shirt, scratching the lowest part of his warm, warm waist before hooking your fingers on the waistband of his pants. It’s his—it always belonged to him. “Take me. Here.”

He brushes his nose against yours, your breath and his singular. “You’re so feisty.” Lips nearly touch yours and your lungs give out on you, your air coming out in pathetic staccatos that make him growl, subduedly. Muscles rigid, bundle of nerves devoutly pulsing. Please, please. “But no.”

The world implodes, the mocking shimmer of that planetary light gushing through—hand in hand with sobriety.

But Hoseok, the prince of the unthinkable, dips your head back into that darkness. Lifts you by your armpits and sets you down on his lap, his hard length against your core uprearing your need for release.

A hand sailing down your neck, your sternum, acknowledging itself with your respiration. “Don’t give it to me that easily.”

Your own cages him there, right at the apex of the fleshiness of your breasts. “Jebal, Hobi.”

Please, Hobi. You drive, in his fashion, your hips forward—ever so slightly. His eyes round at the mellow variation of his name wandering out of your mouth and wrapping around his neck, as if the gentleness you give him pains him, transforms into a noose around his vocal cords and he can’t speak.

He sighs, the noise melting into a soft, low-pitched moan. “Don’t beg me,” he croaks out, so terribly strung out. “I’m-I’m—”

You lengthen your spine, closing your mouth over that one spot on the side of his throat that you can reach, silencing him. He doesn’t need to speak—you’re fine with the tacit language of his hands. And the taste of his skin, that fucking warmth dissolving upon your tongue, you can’t help but to moan just the same against him like that, rocking your hips awfully, awfully slowly, driving him to the point of madness that he stood at the edge of for so long.

“I want you to touch me,” you murmur, tugging his hand lower to the first done button of your silky shirt and it’s him who hooks his fingers over that fabric now. You lick a stripe across the thick vein of his throat, grinding a little harder when you hear him suck in a pained breath. “I want you to feel that life in me and know it’s yours. Jebal, Hoseokie.”

He grunts, ripping you away from him. You expect his eyes to be narrowed in that typical manner of his, but they’re not. They’re soft, round and glossy, looking down at you, unblinking. A face you’ve never seen before, that feels too, too significant—and you’re not sure if you deserve to get a load of it. Of his pinkish cheeks and downturned mouth, of his fingers agonizingly sluggishly undoing the first button of your shirt.

Of his sentimentality that you never thought he was so efficient at.

The sea that has remotely stilled—but you’re still riding the lenient waves, your torso curving with each button popping off as he engraves his warmth into your cold, cold skin. And once he reaches the very last one, he stops. Holds your shirt together, squishing your breasts, waiting for you to lift your head out of the sea water.

And you do.

He inches forward, grazing his lips against yours, making you feebly cry out.

“Did you cry for him?”

Your cry prolongs, vexation splattering over your arousal, and you’ve had enough of it. You flick your eyes between his, drawing back, flattening your lips in that anger of his that seems to be still flowing in you somewhere. No more, no more Namjoon; no more talk of your past relationship. It’s over, it’s over.

“Stop fucking—”

Hoseok doesn’t relent. Sinks his fingers into the roots of your hair at the nape of your neck to make you listen. “Did you cry for him?”

Your heart wept, but your eyes didn’t. The tear you shed in front of him was the only liquid emotion that spilled out of you since the day of the break up. “No.”

He blows a heavy breath of relief that oddly validates you—and light opens in your sensitive bosom. “Good girl.”

And it is now that Hoseok presses his chest, his dog tags against that light of yours and clamps his mouth down on your top lip, hoisting you a tiny bit to sit you right down on his manhood. His strong arm wraps around your back while the other floats down and curls around your bum, growling into the kiss that he deepens. And then he parts your lips with his, slipping his tongue inside, and the dam breaks between your legs—as well as the quick little whines and squeaks that begin to leak out of your mouth and into his.

The life in you throbs.

His cock hardens even more underneath you and he pushes your clit against it, his noises and yours growing louder and louder in tandem until he’s breathless, panting so vivaciously that he needs a moment. A moment to focus on the mess he’s created of you, a glowing ball of rosiness, the prettiest of all flowers—and you feel like it, being looked at like that.

“I knew you were smart,” he coos, peppering feathery kisses upon your cheek, jaw and chin, descending to the base of your neck. You moan out, fisting his shirt below his collarbones, the continuation of his validation for you nesting in your core. “That life in you will always win. No matter what.”

You believe him—in fact, there’s nothing left for you to do, but to submit, submit and submit. And it feels like entering a dream that is kind, a reality that appears to be a dream, but is better. An existence smeared with clemency, where you can be a little girl again.

“Touch it, please.”

Hoseok hums, kissing the cleft between your clavicles. Shifts forward on the couch so you can rest your spine on the backrest, your head against the wall, and he slides his palms upward from your tummy to the apex of your breasts. You whine, torturously, at the contact, and you shudder and double over when he swipes his thumbs over your still stiffened nipples, buzzing shocks of acute pleasure coursing down your body, rooting in your clit that asks for his fingers, his tongue, but he remains where he is. Transfixed, starving, ravaged.

He kneads your breasts like he kneaded his hands, with overpowering strength that quickens your blood flow, your body submitting to him and flushing like his does. A sliver of skin that your shirt exposes catches his attention—and at the sight of the flesh of your breasts spilling through, his cock twitches, his breath ragged, eyes droopy and so, so drunk. He pinches your nipples, still through that silken fabric, as if he was punishing you for causing him this unfair pain.

Knead, flick, pinch. Your noises are obnoxious, his heat in you rising and rising, and you can’t take it anymore. The drum in your clit thuds and you push him away, the pleasure too overwhelming, too good and too arousing.

And he pushes away the fabric, revealing your perky breasts. A glint settles on the edge of his irises and he gives you a coy smile before he smashes his mouth against yours, moving it in a rhythm that reflects the one in your bundle of nerves. And you grind, you grind like your life depends on it, your nipples and your pussy rubbing against him, against his icy dog tags, getting you closer and closer to your orgasm. And you would come like this had he not physically ripped you away from him.

Heaving, he focuses, all over again, on the ruination he makes of you. The warmth in you flits so invitingly that you have to touch the places he did—your stomach, your sternum, your breasts. And as you do, you watch his gaze darken, you watch him nod his head, and wipe the corner of his mouth clean, catching his drool.

“You feel it, don’t you?” he rasps, following the invisible traces you left on your body. Your stomach, your sternum, your breasts. “Right here. Life. Beautiful life.” He teases your hardened nub, circling it with the pads of his fingers, sliding it between his knuckles and squeezing, his smile growing with each shudder of your chest, with each response. “It’s time to make you come and let it out, you ready? Let’s take these off.”

He tugs off your pajama pants, throws it behind his shoulder, examines the large wet stain on your panties that he coos at, raspily, petting it with his thumb—and you’re so turned on that even such faint touch like that brings you pleasure. You hold onto his arms for dear life, depending on him, trembling when the panties and the shirt are next, tossed upon the pile of your pants.

You’re bare and he’s still fully dressed. Such titillating unfairness that turns you unhinged, maddened by liveliness your body is diffused with.

Hoseok pins your legs back. Takes one hand and glides his fingers across your entire femininity, soaking them in the dew he has coaxed out of you, moaning gutturally.

“He never made you wet like this, did he?” he asks, pride dripping out of him like his masculine pheromones, and with his wet fingers he palms himself. “You don’t even have to answer that. I know. I need to taste you, baby.”

You don’t even get to fill a lungful of the stuffed, vanilla-scented air and he dives in, keeping your legs glued to your shoulders as he seizes your clit in his mouth, sucking on it briefly before he flattens his tongue all over you. He licks you like a lost man finding an oasis, humming into your heat while he tastes your personal slickness, swallowing everything he sowed. You bang your head on the wall, a numbed pang expanding all throughout your scalp by your claw clip, taking it all, moaning so loudly the whole of Seoul must be hearing you. Even Namjoon in his drunkenness, shameful that he never managed to eat you like this in the eight months you were his to consume.

Your orgasm inches to you quickly. With half-lidded eyes, you watch the candlelight create sublime, eccentric images on his back. And as if he couldn’t handle the warmth anymore, he peels himself away from you just to take off his shirt, adding it to the pile. He doesn’t let you see his muscular body—he plunges back down, tongue outstretched, flicking the muscle on your swollen clit. He pinches your thigh, your mound, your folds, whimpering onto your flesh, hurrying to close his mouth over you to suck your clit.

And within that divine suction, you come apart. The beautiful images on his back advance, fluttering on his smooth skin, and you hold him to yourself. The life in you explodes, saturating him in a dimmed, soft-hued, colorful light that he himself must be sensing because he moans, loudly, sinking his index finger inside your clenching hole. You can’t speak, you can’t breathe—you can only feel, you can only take. Your orgasm continues on, a ceaseless stream of delight untwisting in every part of your body.

And when he begins to fuck you with that finger of his and hits that good spot, your orgasm melts into another one. And this time, you can’t take it.

You shake so vivaciously that you fall off the edge of the couch, but he catches you. Hoseok unclips your hair and lays you down, propping your hips on the armrest instead and when he bends at the waist and opens his mouth, you scream out your disagreement, pushing him away.

He blinks at you, mouth sopping wet. “I wasn’t finished.”

Your oxygen is stuck in your throat, one that gets bespeckled with the beads of your dew. “Hoseokie—”

He traces it, wiping it off, holding you there. Presses his hard, clothed length against your bare pussy, rocking slowly, casting a private, affection-filled shadow with the arch of his body over yours. Hoseok kisses you once, a nasty kiss perfumed with your tangy scent, and you cry out.

“The fact you can’t take the bare minimum personally offends me. He had you all to himself and he didn’t do his job well,” he mutters, squeezing your throat once. Drags his wet hand down your sternum, grasping a hold of both of your breasts, clenching them until they flush, again, like him.

There it is, the saltiness of his sea. You yearn for the physical principle of it coating your tongue—for his cum to trickle out of the tip of it like your dew is off of his. And his words, his anger towards his best friend because of you—it heals you in a way you could never heal yourself. Another person seeing you and telling you that you deserve better, it is the most pristine form of remedy there is and you splutter on the whole beauty and compassion of it all, too weak to accept it at once.

“That’s right,” you agree, as enthusiastically as your dopeness allows you, smiling lopsidedly, heart pounding. “Go slow on me.”

He croons, squeezing his eyes. “My little girl.”

He buries his face in your neck, kissing you there, and along with the life in you—your heart explodes, too. The finality of your detransformation. Tears of joy ache in the corners of your eyes, the rawness of human fulfillment housing in you for all eternity.

He kisses his way down to your breasts. “I’ll go slow on you,” he promises, darting out his tongue and flicking it over your nub, making you tremble. He straightens and dances his fingers along your thighs—up to your knees. “Do you want to stop here?”

You shake your head. Place your feet flat on his toned stomach while you feel your dew dribble down your bum. Hoseok smiles, his mouth curving in that way of his that causes your own stomach to drop. He holds your heels, hooking his finger under the band of your socks and yanking them off.

And his grin blooms at the sight of your dusty-pink toes, an endeared look thawing his eyes. He rubs them like he did at the beginning of this journey, keeps one at his stomach while he lifts the other one to his mouth.

Your poor heart skips a beat.

“Do you want me to fuck you like a little girl like you deserves?”

He kisses the ball of your foot, doesn’t break the eye contact. Watches your mouth part in absolute astonishment and your cheeks deepen in their hue. And when he kisses it again, slower this time, it wakes you up from your stupefaction, and you lower your free foot down to his clothed cock. Hoseok groans, the sound muffled against your tootsie, shutting his eyes at the impact. Your chest flickers with a sense of pride that you made him react like that—and you want it again. You trail your toes across that length of his, but before you could reach the most sensitive part of him, he stops you.

Sucks in that pained breath of his, red all over.

“If you keep doing that, I’m gonna come.”

You mirror him, the idea of being capable of doing that to him pleasuring you. You leak onto the couch. Your blood boils.

“That’s so hot.”

He chuckles, anchoring your foot upon his heart, tapping it with your big toe. “It’s because you have my heart.”

Your body ceases all work, as well as time. Even the candlelight pauses its dance, concentrating its caressing radiance on that chain of his.

And you don’t think as you scurry onto your knees and embrace him, his dog tags no longer icy. He plants his nose into your hair, inhaling you, sealing you into the hug with both of his arms. Your heart reaches its own towards his and they cling to each other, too.

And you’re not afraid to reciprocate his feelings—they’re as clear to you as that very luminescence of the vanilla candle.

“You have me,” you whisper into his ear, his body not quivering but stable, safe. “You have my life. It’s more of a treasure than my heart.”

He had you the moment he so evidently disapproved of your past relationship. He had you the moment he was curious to see if you were jealous when he was entertaining other women. He had you the moment he purposefully put a distance between you and him because he didn’t want you to get hurt by Namjoon.

You just didn’t know it yet, not until clarity arose in front of you in the form of his honesty.

Hoseok kisses your own ear, lingers there. “I want both.”

“Then, have it.”

And he kisses your forehead. “Thank you. I’ll take care of it.”

You can see in the ivory mist of his eyes that he means it—and so you tug off his military belt as you begin to pepper kisses down the column of his neck because he deserves it, because he cares for you, because he came to you as soon as he heard that you were single. And when you reach those dog tags, the words of his title imprinting themselves onto the surface of your lips, you clasp his cock in your hand. Too big for your small fist, too warm for you to handle—

“Lay back down.”

You bite into the flesh right above that first steel pendant while keeping your eyes locked on his. “Yes, Sergeant.”

Hoseok curses. Wrings a sharp gasp out of you when he pulls on your hair, giving you a nasty kiss full of tongue. “Don’t call me that when I need to be gentle with you,” he scolds, sucking on your bottom lip to make it better and you disintegrate. “Right now I would bend you over this couch and fuck you until Sergeant and Sir was all you knew, but I can’t do that. Not when you’re not used to me yet.”

Yes, the promise of the sea—you convulse from head to toe, pining after it.

“I want that so bad.”

He nods, marking you on your neck. You whimper and he groans in response. “And I’ll give it to you, you just need to be good now. Lay down.”

You comply, but you take him with you—grabbing him by that chain as you arch your back on the couch. He lets you, grins at you like the utmost sunshine, but that expression of delight breaks when a certain realization dawns upon him.

“I didn’t bring any condoms.”

You huff out a soft noise. “Good. I want you to come all over me.”

Hoseok hangs his head low, sighing, on all fours above you. His chain swings, drawing the memory of this very night on your breasts. He looks up at you from this position, his eyes thin slits that cause you to clench around nothing.

“I’ll give you a big load.”

You beam like the purest angel, in spite of the context. “Yes, please.”

Hoseok rolls his eyes back, his façade cracking, and he beams just the same, his mouth widening in the shape of a heart that moves through you. He kisses you deeply, a long peck that breaks you down into a putty, and when he withdraws, you can still see that smile plastered on his glowing face.

“Good girl. Such good manners.”

And with that praise, he sheathes himself inside you. You both gasp in union, entering a paradise no other human will ever witness in the afterlife. He stretches you out, slowly, careful not to hurt you as he waits it out, petting your hair in the meantime.

“I can feel you stretching around me, fuck. You’re so warm, so tight for me,” he rasps, panting, that smile trembling on his lips as he tries to keep it together. He straightens, pinches your nipple and you feel yourself accommodating him quicker at that sudden electricity of pleasure, at the sight of his toned body and that chain. The shine of sweat, the dance of the candlelight, the width of his shoulders and carmine chest as it heaves in desperate hums and groans. You could come just from that—and the sensation is so dizzying that your eyes droop. Hoseok notices, grappling the crook between your neck and shoulder. “Stay with me, baby, you can take this. I’m gonna make you feel so good and you’re gonna come on this cock.”

Those hums of his cruise all the way to your mouth as he sinks that encouragement into it, kissing you deeply, pinning your hands back above your head and sliding his fingers into a celestial intertwinement with yours. They throb within you, those words of his, where they disperse all around, helping you believe that you truly can take the whole manliness of him. Your mind spins, the pressure of your shared atmosphere ringing in your ears, and he knows, he knows that you’re ready for him.

“I’m gonna start moving now. Talk to me, baby. Tell me everything you’re feeling as I fuck you,” he murmurs, unsheathing himself a tiny bit before he curls his hips forward and upwards, creating a languid, spine-tingling rhythm that replicates the waves of his sea. They slosh to and fro with every slow stroke and he kisses your good spot with the tip of his cock. Your eyes flutter open and close, rolling like those waves, but you can still see the way his jaw is clenched, his gums on full show as he seethes in his self-control, the flush of his neck and the flexing of his abdomen that you can’t help but to touch in your otherworldly daze. He stares down at you, intensely, narrows his eyelids and furrows his brows when he feels your touch, and you discover that the spot, where his V-lines lead to your antidote, is one of uttermost sensitivity.

He moans, burying himself deep in you, and stopping there. Mound to mound, soul to soul.

“Fuck, baby, you just know where all my spots are, don’t you?” he asks, his voice so terribly strained, torso doubled over, and you grin.

“I think I was born already knowing them,” you flirt and Hoseok pounds into you for it—a singular thrust that scrambles all your brain cells. Your smile falls, your brows crunch, your throat utters such whiny noise that he himself grunts at the sound of it, and when you lift yourself onto your elbows to see his length driving in and out of you, he pushes you right down by your throat, kissing you hard enough that it hurts.

And he alleviates the lip lock by licking over your tongue, toying with it—all while he, little by little, picks up the rhythm, fucking into you with a force that coaxes your rawest moans out of you.

“You can’t handle my tongue and I can’t handle it when you flirt with me,” he scoffs, smacking his mouth as he turns his head, claiming your mouth, claiming you. “God, I wanna destroy you so bad.”

Your cry is cut out by another savage thrust and you claw at that sensitive spot of his, inciting him to do it again and again. “I’m yours to destroy.”

He pauses, the crown of his cock teasing the beginning of your heat. Sweat drips down his temple and he runs a hand through his hair, messing it up in a way that makes your heart twitch in absolute sensuality and relish.

“Say that again.”

Your breath hitches. “I’m yours to destroy.”

Hoseok curses, driving into you all the way. You whine out, clenching your fists, feeling every ridge and every vein of his cock glide forwards and backwards along your walls. And by tensing your body and focusing on the delight he’s gracing your body with, the build-up of your orgasm announces its presence.

“Fuck, Hobi, you feel so good,” you cry, gripping his forearms as he begins to hold your waist steady. He jackhammers into you so viciously that your vision scatters with a creamy hue of ivory, moaning in ragged staccatos that influence you so much that you naturally imitate them, fading into him, becoming one.

“Whose are you?” he growls without interfering with the gracefulness of his sadism, moving back only an inch before slamming back into you, bruising your cervix—and you lose all brain cells, the synapses blanking out.

But only one thing is clear.

“I’m yours.”

And the following snap of his hips drives you out of this world and out of this universe. The gravity keeps your muscles tense, confining your pleasure and the closeness of your orgasm within. The ringing grows in volume and you’re on the cusp.

Hoseok is, too, because he begins to beg.

“Please, please, baby. Come for me. I’m so fucking close for you. Please, I’m gonna come all over you.”

And with a scream that vibrates through the walls of your living room, you comply. Your core grips him, your skin prickles and you levitate—your back arches off the couch, aching to be closer to him, and Hoseok whines.

Pulls out, straddles you, and fist-fucks his shaft with frantic, frenzied motions. Covers you with ropes and ropes of his cum that ripple on your stomach, your sternum and your breasts as you drift in and out of consciousness. Warm, warm essence of his masculinity that is warmer than the rest of him.

Blood-hot.

And you feel as though you deserved every drop.

Deserved to see the beauty of his orgasm. The flush of his lower regions, especially. The sight you longed to see.

Hoseok lets go of his manhood, his hand shiny and wet, though he’s still hard, reaching the beginning of your parting lungs with how big he is. Bigger than Namjoon, bigger than anyone you ever dated. Their names wither in your mind, decomposing. And they lose all meaning.

They cease to exist.

You’re not his best friend’s ex. You’re not anyone’s ex—

“Look at how little you are,” Hoseok comments, interrupting the surge of your maddened thoughts. He smears the puddle of cum on your stomach that his cock can reach and your pussy flutters in constant motions that ask for him again. “So little under me and all mine, aren’t you?”

His avowal brings a fresh dose of oxygen into your lungs and you breathe it in. Want to breathe it in for the rest of your life with him.

But Hoseok doesn’t stop there. Once you agree with him by the nod of your head and a dopey, gratified grin that casts an affirming light on him, he bends over you, his fists on either side of your head.

“I’ll show you what true possessiveness looks like. The world will burn if it hurts you and if people say one bad word to you, it will be the last one they ever said. But they will talk to you and you will talk to them. You will learn about this life of yours. What it holds, what it looks like. And I’ll be standing beside you and I’ll watch over you. Learn it, live it with you.”

He rubs your forehead with his thumb in a fond gesture. Looks at you with a mute meaning that touches your heart and crawls inside before he kisses you, relaxes his lips against yours, and kisses you again.

Again and again.

Again in the shower. Again in your bed when you’re riding him, tasting the life he let out of you, because you blazed up with desire after you washed his body. And the sex is quiet, smothered with those kisses until your mouth and his is numb.

And again throughout the years you acknowledge yourself with that life and realize that you understand it more profoundly and clearly in the process of getting to know Hoseok than this world.

Hoseok is that life.

And you kiss him and whisper those words onto his mouth when you marry him at the altar, years and years later, connecting your life and his forever.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, @hoseokkie-caeks, @kam9404, @fr0ggieth1nk.

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sabsberries · 17 days ago

Text

I love you, I'm sorry - h.s.

summary - Harry's ex girlfriend comes over to pick up her belongings after their breakup

w.c - 2.2k

warnings - swearing, angst, use of Y/N, lowkey didn't proofread, and lowkey rushed ending...

part 2 here

Harry couldn't decide which was worse: the breakup itself, or watching her walk around his house, barely digging below the surface of his belongings, and picking out anything that was hers.

"Do you want a drink? I've got tea, coffee, water.." His voice trailed off slightly as she looked at him, his train of thought slowing down and his throat tightening.

"I'm okay, thanks. Did you want to keep this?" She questioned, picking up a golden picture frame containing a photo of the first time Harry met her family. He was in the middle of the photo, a huge, dimpled smile on his face with her mum's arms wrapped around his shoulders from behind, her sister on his left, and Gemma on his right, a similar smile adoring her own face.

Harry looked at it for a few seconds, his eyes squinting in acknowledgment. "Better not," he mumbled. "You know.."

"Right." She whispered, placing the picture frame into a nearby box and standing up, cursing at the way her knee loudly clicked.

Harry chuckled, curling his lips inwards slightly. "You still haven't gotten that checked out?" He laughed.

"Shut up! I'll get around to it!" She giggled, moving her leg slightly.

"Please, you could barely finish our hike when we were last in LA! I heard more whining about your leg than I heard of them actually walking!"

"That doesn't even make sense!" She laughed, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise that he would even mention a memory of them from when they were dating. "And if I recall correctly, I finished that hike faster than you did!"

Harry smiled to himself, his hands twitching to stay by his side as they laughed. "I actually have your hiking boots upstairs, if you still want them."

Her smile dropped slightly, and Harry's heart twinged. Why would he bring that up when they were having such a good time together?

"Right. Well, I'll get round to it. I'm gonna go get my stuff from the kitchen." She smiled weakly, grabbing a slightly smaller box and making her way through the house and to the kitchen.

The living room looked like it had before she had moved in, and Harry didn't like that. He didn't like the way the fireplace no longer had her trinkets on top of it, or how the coffee table was now left empty, bar from the TV remote and a candle she insisted Harry should buy.

"Shit." He whispered, his eyes darting from corner to corner, analysing the loss of her items, the loss of her.

"Harry, was the bee mug yours or mine?" He heard her call out.

"We both had one. Take either." He replied, his eyes never leaving the box on the floor, half full with photos.

"Okay, I grabbed the pink one because I think the purple one was yours. I think all that's left is the bedroom and the bathrooms." Y/N sighed, walking back into the living room and putting the box down next to the others.

Harry stayed silent, his eyes focusing and unfocusing on the boxes that surrounded him.

"Harry?"

"Oh, right. Yeah," He cleared his throat and turned around. "Let's go do that."

The bathrooms were easy. Y/N grabbed a few shower products from the three with showers, and then the remaining skincare products, which she forgot to grab the night they broke up, from the ensuite.

The bedroom, however, was not.

Throughout the four year relationship, Harry and Y/N managed to muddle up just about every single item of clothing they owned. Graphic t-shirts once owned by Harry? Now Y/N wore them too. Hoodies Y/N had accumulated over the years? Harry owned them too. So, as Harry sat on the bed feeling as useless as ever whilst watching Y/N struggle to decipher whose clothing was whose, he felt the ache in his chest come back.

"I think most of the hoodies are yours, anyway." He called out after a good fifteen minutes of silence.

"Yeah?" She mumbled, throwing him a brief look over her shoulder before pulling a few more off of the hangers.

"Yeah," He whispered. "Well, everything on the right side is yours. Maybe some on the left too. I tried to organise them before you got here so it wouldn't be as hard."

That was a lie. He had spent the two hour notice he got from her muddling up as much of their things as possible so that she would spend more time with him.

"Thanks." She smiled.

"I washed a few of them too so you don't have to worry about that, either."

Another lie. In fact, he sprayed a couple with his cologne and put them over to his side of the wardrobe so they'd smell like him for longer.

"You really didn't have to, H."

"I know."

The silence came back, but this time, Harry's chest didn't hurt as much. Sure, his heart felt as heavy as ever, and he felt dizzy from how much pain was circulating his mind and body, but it wasn't as bad as before. That was a win in his eyes.

Y/N knew Harry. She knew him better than, as cliche as it is, she knew herself. She knew he had sprayed her clothes with his cologne, and that she hadn't put her moisturiser in with Harry's, or her favourite perfume under the sink with a significant amount missing. But who was she to judge? She had just broken up with him, and maybe if things had worked out differently, she would be sat on that bed with him, gossiping about some family drama and planning out future holidays together.

"Mum's thinking of adopting a new cat." Harry smiled.

"What- another one?"

"Well, that would be what the 'new cat' means." Harry laughed, crossing his right ankle over his left.

"Oh, piss off. How come?"

"Dunno. She called me this morning and told me about it. She said she couldn't wait for you two to discuss it over lunch."

"Really?" Y/N questioned, dropping the hoodie she was folding and turning around to face Harry. "Did you not tell her?"

Harry's face fell ever so slightly, and for a split second, she felt bad for bringing it up.

"Not yet. I think I'll let the joys of a possible new cat wear off before I tell her. Gemma knows though, and she's so fucking pissed." Harry breathed a laugh, tilting his head to the side slightly as he pictured the angry look on Gemma's face as he snatched her phone off of her to avoid an angry phone call to Y/N.

"Oh, I know. She called me on the drive here telling me I was making a mistake."

"What'd you say?"

"Not a lot, really. She's your family. I'm not going to use this as leverage to get her on my side." Y/N explained, and turned back around to continue folding and packing.

Harry stayed silent for a few more seconds before opening his mouth to speak. "Do you really think she'd even be on your side, even if you had told her it?" His tone was nothing short of bitter, a harsh contrast to the playful tone he was sporting prior.

Y/N didn't speak. Part of her felt like she didn't have the right to, and the other part was telling her to finish packing and leave.

The silence this time was worse. It was heavy, and painful, and now, her fault.

"Do you uhm-" She cleared her throat, "do you want this?" She asked, pulling out one of his t-shirts which she had been sleeping in since the first night she had ever slept over at his house. The collar had been stretched out, and shrunk too many times in the wash for Harry to even comfortably fit his biceps in, but she still felt as though she should ask.

Harry looked at her, taking a mental note at the way her eyebrows were furrowed, and the way her eyes were slightly hazy, and off focus. He felt his expression drop to mirror hers as he flickered between the t-shirt and her face as he tried to think of an answer.

"Harry just keep it, I need to get going." She mumbled, zipping up the duffle bag and standing up.

"Got somewhere to be?" He scoffed. Truth is, he didn't actually know where the anger was coming from. The breakup was civil for the most part, and both him and Y/N walked away happy with what they had left behind.

Y/N continued to stay quiet. The plan she had created in her head on the drive over didn't include even a hint of an argument, so she wasn't sure she'd have an idea of what to say if one did start.

The walk down the stairs was pure torture. It felt as though Harry scoffed with every step she took, and her heart was about to explode with embarrassment over how fast the situation turned on her.

"I'm gonna put this in the car. I'll be back for the rest." She whispered, barely looking Harry in the eyes before darting out of the door.

Harry's eyes welled up with tears, and no matter how much swallowing and sniffling he did, the ache in his throat didn't seem to budge. "Okay, I- fuck." he whispered, covering his face with his hands and turning around to walk back to the kitchen, taking advantage of the dark kitchen and using it to cover his face.

"Harry?" Y/N called out.

He cleared his throat and pulled open the fridge, putting his head inside and using it to hide the way he was frantically wiping at his eyes.

"In the kitchen."

The patter of her footsteps was soothing, in a way. Harry hated that he found comfort in her being back in their, his, house again for the first time in God knows how long.

"I finished all the boxes." She whispered.

Harry turned around to face her. Her eyes were red and puffy, and the way that her lower lip was slightly quivering made him wish that their situation was different, and that he was still allowed to hug her, and tell her she was okay, and that he was there for her.

He nodded. He wasn't quite sure what to say in this situation. He had had serious relationships before, both of them had, but this was the only one that made Harry feel seen, and understood, and like he had really found the one.

The sun had set fully by now, and the only light in the room was the open fridge and the faint glow from the moon.

"Am I ever going to find out the real reason why you broke up with me? Or are you going to keep it to yourself for a year and then call me up and tell me on a random Tuesday? Because, Y/N, if we really were ‘growing apart’, don't you think I would have felt it too?" Harry spat at her, watching the way her eyebrows furrowed, and her mouth opened slightly to defend herself.

"Oh, please, Harry! Don't act like you're the victim in this!" She yelled back.

"What, and you are?"

"No! Neither of us are! Just because I'm the one who insinuated this doesn't mean the breakup itself wasn't mutual! Harry, how am I supposed to spend the rest of my life with someone when I can't even spend right now with them?"

Harry knew it was coming. Her reason for the breakup was that they were growing apart, arguing all the time, and were no longer the same people they were when they began dating all those years ago. Harry's reasoning for the breakup was, well, nothing. He didn't have a reason. If he had it his way, they'd be cuddled up in bed right now, Y/N showing him a video of someone falling over, and him searching Netflix for a movie for them to watch. But that’s the issue - you can’t force someone to be in a relationship that they so clearly don’t want to be in.

"Why couldn't you have figured this out before I planned out my whole life based on you being in it?" Harry muttered, staring at his feet as his eyes filled up with the tears he previously had tried to shun away.

The fridge began to beep before Y/N could answer, and, as painful as it was, she used that as her cue to leave.

"Okay, Harry, I really need to go. I'm sorry. I'm really fucking sorry." Y/N said, wrapping her arms around her lower stomach and trying to control her rapid breathing.

She hesitated before leaving, and turned her head over her shoulder to look back at him. His face was emotionless, bar from the tears dripping down his cheeks, and his eyes were unfocused, staring at the kitchen floor. The fridge was still beeping, and Y/N knew that despite it annoying him, Harry only kept it going because it was better than the silence. The silence was the real killer.

"Call me if you ever need anything, okay?" She took a deep breath. "I love you, Harry. I'm sorry."

#harry styles #one direction #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfic #sabsberries

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bbyquokka · 5 months ago

Text

blow me instead?

– “Why should I blow out the candles, when you can just blow me instead?” prompt

pairing | lee felix x gender-neutral reader

genre | smut – 18+ is strongly advised!

cw | established relationship ; dom felix ; oral sex (blowjob) ; finger sucking ; cum swallowing ; deep throating

words | 2.6k ~ ( 2,693 ) + 2 fake texts !

notes | a lil smth for felix's bday. jisung's will be posted at a later date when i've finished it :( don’t forget to leave feedback, reblog and tell me what you think here. i hope you all enjoy! ‹3

m.list — wips list — you can also read it on my ao3

dont repost. dont translate. minors, ageless & default blogs; dni! feedback and reblogs are highly advised and appreciated!

you forgot. you’ve forgotten the most important day of the year and you are currently kicking yourself for it. it’s felix’s birthday, the one day of the year that you look forward to every single year – but for some unknown reason, this year you forgot.

maybe it’s because you’ve both been really busy that you haven’t given it a second thought. you’re always well prepared for things like this, but this year it slipped your mind.

you knew you forgotten something but you couldn't tell what. you had that nagging feeling in the back of your mind but you pushed it to the side. “i’ll figure it out later” you always told yourself only to forget – once again.

it wasn't until the day before, did you looked at your calendar and see ‘15th sept’ circled and decorated in hearts, labelled ‘felix’s bday!!’ did you panic. that nagging feeling quickly turned into a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. worry and panic washing over you and coating your skin in a cold sweat.

it was way into the night to go to the store to pick something up. everything was closed. you thought about making him something but realised that you don't have the materials to do so. so a quick search on the web was your last resort. you hoped you could find something that would do next day delivery but alas, after several hours of searching and drawing up blanks, did you accept your fate.

you woke up the day of his birthday, feeling guilty and it's eating you alive. you don't think you'd be able to face to him without bursting into tears.

“i should at least wish him a happy birthday.” you mumble. you take your phone from the night stand and open up felix's contact. your thumb hovers over the green circle.

you hesitate. lips pursed together. you overthink. you can hear his sullen tone of voice. you can see his facial expressions twisted into sadness. your heart aches and feels tight, like someone is gripping onto it.

“fuck. i can't.” you throw your phone onto the bed beside you, watching it bounce from impact before rubbing your face with your hands and groaning. “maybe a shower will help me. i’ll call him then!”

you didn't call him. in fact, you spent the whole day avoiding him. you did pop to the store and buy a small box of cupcakes and some candles. you had this idea of surprising him by turning up at his place with a fancy birthday cake, thinking it's better than nothing, but when the store only had cupcakes to offer, that idea was quick to fizzle out.

the cakes are now sitting on the counter, untouched and unopened. you're in your lounge wear on the sofa, TV on but you're not tuned into whatever show it's playing. instead, you're on your social media, looking at what felix has been up to the whole day.

pictures of felix with chan, jisung and hyunjin. birthday wishes from friends and family flood his profiles. you're glad he's had a good day but that guilt just won't go away.

you've shamelessly avoided him the whole day because you couldn't face him. it's cowardly of you and you know it, but in a way, you just shut off.

you rush to your feet. your sock covered soles slapping against the floor as you rush to the door. you open it and come face to face with a not so pleased looking felix.

'“i see you're still alive.” you swallow. he sounds irritated. he's angry at you and you don't blame him.

“felix, i–”

“are you going to let me in or are we just going to stand out in the hallway?” he cuts you off. you look down at your feet and shuffle to the side, opening the door wider for him.

he walks in, kicking off his shoes and hanging up his coat as you close the door behind him. he notices the unopened cupcakes and pack of birthday candles by the side of them.

“so?” he starts as he looks at you. your chin is tucked into your chest, fingers fiddling with one another. you feel like a child about to be told off by a parent.

“i'm so sorry, felix.” you start, keeping your eyes glued to your feet. you don't want to make eye contact with him because the guilt of forgetting is eating you alive. it's making you feel incredibly nauseous.

“for?” his arms crossed against his chest as he looks down at you, brow raised. his authoritative and dominant aura seeps out from his pores and clouds you, suffocating you in the process.

“... i–uh…” you start, words lodged in your throat. felix lets out a small, irritated sigh. “I forgot about your birthday.”

your voice is small and cracks. you furiously blink back the tears that are threatening to spill from your lower lash line.

“you forgot?” you nod slowly. “is that why you've been avoiding me?” you nod again. “why?”

“because i thought you'd be angry at me… like right now.” felix runs his fingers through his hair slowly.

“i’m not angry that you forgot. it happens. i’m angry because you avoided me on my birthday.”

“i know.. i’m sorry.” you look up at him and chew your bottom lip. the cupcakes catch the corner of your eye. you rush to then, opening them and the candles before sticking one in the middle of the cake.

felix follows you and watches you with eager eyes. his gaze suddenly feels hot. he licks his lips as he admires your body, eyes flickering up and down.

he's undressing you with his eyes.

you turn around, holding the cupcake in your hand with the candle flame flickering. you present it in front of felix and smile.

“i got you cupcakes though. i know it's not much but i couldn't find anything on such short notice…” felix simply hums and looks at the cake, then you. “are you not going to blow it out?” you question after some seconds pass.

felix leans in close. his lips brush against the shell of your ear as his voice drops and becomes low and deep. his warm breath fans against your ear as he speaks.

“why should i blow out the candles when you can just blow me instead?”

goosebumps ripple along your skin. your heart suddenly starts racing. his breath feels ticklish against your ear, body temperature suddenly rising

“f-felix!” you squeak as he pulls back, finding amusement at your shocked facial expression.

“i assume you didn't get me a gift so i can consider a blowjob as one. and if you do a good job, maybe i’ll let you off the hook for avoiding me on my special day.”

“i–” you swallow a little, the heat from the candle is radiating onto your chin, adding to the increase of your own body temperature.

felix keeps his brow raised before trailing his hand down his torso to his groin where he squeezes and groans softly.

you can't take your eyes off him. you watch his hand squeeze and palm himself through his jeans. his veins bulging from his hands and arms.

he kicks his head back a little, lips parting and giving you a view of his outstretched neck. his adams apple bobbing with his swallows. soft moan and grunts leaving his parted lips.

“don't just stand there.” his deep voice brings you back down to reality. “blow me.”

you place the cake down on the counter (after you blow out the candle) before kneeling in front of felix. he looks down at you. his dominate aura making you feel small and vulnerable but excited.

you can feel the pit of your stomach tingle and bubble with excitement. warmth coating your groin. the tips of your fingers and toes feel electric from the surging feeling of excitement that's mixed in with hormones.

you reach up and slide your hands up and under his t-shirt. his warm skin hugs the tips of your fingers. the sturdiness of his abs flexing and tensing with his stomach moving in time with his breathing.

you feel his smooth skin, tracing his muscles with your fingers. the only thing that isn't smooth, however, is the small, yet noticeable happy trail that runs from his belly button and disappears below his jean waistband.

“mhm..” felix hums softly, your touch giving him goosebumps. you move your hands lower until they come into contact with the rough fabric of his denim jeans.

you look up at him, asking for permission with your eyes to which he gives with a nod of his head.

you unbutton and unzip his jeans slowly, revealing that he is wearing black designer boxer shorts. you notice how his bulge is slowly, but surely, getting bigger with each passing second as he anticipates and waits.

you pull his jeans down to his knees. you press the palm of your hand against his crotch, massaging him slowly. he huffs. his cock twitching against the palm of your hand.

you give him a few gentle squeezes. your touch is too gentle for his liking so he looks down again you with glossy eyes.

“harder.”

you oblige by wrapping your fingers around his clothed length and squeezing, hard. his hips buck slightly and a soft, deep moan falls from his lips.

you feel his warm hand pressing against your cheek as his fingers graze along your jawline before bumping against your bottom lip.

he slowly strokes your lip, chewing on his own.

“look at me.” you look up at him, making eye contact. two of his fingers nudge between your lips, gently pushing past them as you part them.

“good.” he whispers as his fingers caress your tongue. your brows furrow together, lips wrapping around the two digits as you suck. your saliva coats felix's fingers thoroughly whilst he pushes them further into your mouth until they're fully encapsulated in the warmth of your mouth.

the hand that around his clothed length has slowed down and is now loosely gripping him. your groin feels hot and excited, tingles in your stomach as felix explores the inside of your mouth with his two fingers before pulling them out slowly.

he gives a satisfying ‘hm’ before instructing you to continue with the nod of his head.

you whimper a little and reach up with both hands, grabbing the waistband of his boxer shorts. your fingertips brush against his hot skin, causing felix to shiver and huff in excitement.

you slowly pull down his underwear, revealing his happy train and v-lines slowly before his erect penis is revealed, bouncing and twitching at the sudden cold air hitting his hot shaft.

felix lets out a small breath of relief. the feeling of being restrained is no longer an issue. his hips buck slightly as you wrap your hand around the base of his shaft, stroking it slowly.

you watch the man above you slowly crumble. his penis twitching, pre-cum leaking from his slit. his shaft is hot against the palm of your hand, tip red and a few veins protruding along the sides.

your hand glides up and down his penis, rotating at the top. you use the pad of your thumb to gently rub his tip, smearing the pre-cum and making his tip glisten.

the sensitivity gets to felix. his hips rocking a little in your hand against his will, thigh muscles noticeable twitching. his head flops to the side slightly, half-lidded eyes looking down at you and watching your every move.

you lean in and lick the side of his shaft a few times before pressing your tongue against his tip and swiping it several times. his salty pre-cum coats your tastes buds, making you feel more excited.

you rub your thighs together as the heat in your groin is unbearable at this point. you're desperate for some sort of friction and attention but you're too into pleasuring felix. with the way felix is right now, you know he is going to be selfish and chase his own high.

your free hand cups and caresses his balls. felix hums softly as you roll and squeeze them gently in your hand whilst kitten licking his tip.

“c’mon, baby. you know i need more than that.”

you close your eyes as you wrap your lips around his tip. felix shudders and huffs a little, his teeth digging into his bottom lip. you gently suckle on his tip, swirling your tongue around it a few times before slowly lowering your head and pushing more of him into your mouth.

the corner of your lips feels stretched, mouth stuffed. you try to make your jaw slack but even that is a struggle with how thick and long felix is.

you struggle to put half of his length in, settling with a little under. you can feel his tip bumping the back of your throat and saliva is quick to accumulate in your mouth.

felix huffs and puffs, body shuddering and twitching. he reaches down and runs his fingers through your hair a few times.

you start to bob your head slowly. your hand stroking what your mouth struggles to reach. the head and hand move in synch with each other, providing equally, if not more, pleasure to felix.

he feels the pleasure rushing through his veins and burning. his toes curl against the floorboards and his grip on your hair tightening with each suck as a way to keep him stable and grounded.

“...fuck … baby, m-more..” he pants.

you oblige, increasing speed and intensity. felix's moans become more intense and breathy. his body and mind failing to comprehend the intense feeling of warmth and wetness from your mouth as well as the coolness of your palm.

“... oh fuck.. yes… so fucking good…”

this just encourages you even more. you remove your hand and place them both on his thighs for stability. you push your head further down his length until you can feel it down your throat.

you hold back your gag reflex, swallowing a few times to tighten your throat around him. felix lets out a string of incoherent moans and whispers.

your jaw hurts. your lips hurts. your knees hurt and you can't breath but listening to felix whimper and crumble makes it all worth.

you feel him twitch in your mouth. his hips thrusting involuntarily. he's a mess and he's close.

his balls are tightening and his body is coated in a thin layer of sweat. the sensitivity of his cock head is overbearing.

“don’t stop.. 'm close..” he struggles to say between his moaning. his strangled moans mix in with the sloppy, wet sounds of your mouth.

he lowers his head, chin tucked into chest as he whimpers. a string of “fuck” leaves his lips as he grips onto you. it doesnt take him long. his cock twitches in your mouth, hot fluid coating your tongue and throat.

felix whimpers and whines, huffing and puffing. his body twitches and jerks. you help him ride out his orgasm before slowly pulling away.

you look up at him, making eye contact as you swallow. felix shudders and strokes your swollen bottom lip, saliva collecting on the pad of his thumb.

“you did good, yn.” with felix's help, you rise to your feet. the numb feeling of pain on your knees becoming more noticeable now that your legs are outstretched.

“does this mean i’m forgiven?” you mumble. felix nods and strokes your hair gently.

“sorta.” you look at him slightly confused. “my birthday isn't over just yet, yn.”

“true… so, what do you want?”

felix takes you by the hand and drags you to the bedroom. he gently throws you onto the bed, stripping himself of his clothing as you lean on your forearms and watch.

“i want so much more.” he purrs as he crawls onto the bed, towering over you and kissing the shell of your ear.

“i’m a greedy man, yn. you should know that a blowjob is not nearly enough to satisfy me.”

#kwritersworldnet #wkcnet #straykidsland #skz smut #stray kids smut #lee felix #felix #lee felix smut #felix smut #skz x you #skz x reader #stray kids x you #stray kids x reader #felix x you #felix x reader #lee felix x you #lee felix x reader

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prael · 2 months ago

Text

An Oral Agreement

QWER Magenta x male reader

Masterlist word count: 3,008 Kofi(donations/commissions)

She's equal parts infuriating and fascinating.

Magenta.

No last name. Or maybe that is her last name. Either way, that's all it said on the rental agreement and her bedroom door when you first moved in: Magenta. The letters were all lowercase like she was too cool for proper grammar. You know Magenta, in the Biblical sense (and it didn’t take long).

She's always in her room streaming or recording or...doing whatever it is social media influencers do when they aren't online. But she likes candles, fried rice and catcore aesthetics. She thinks pumpkin spice season starts September 1st and she loves reality TV. Not exactly the makings of a deep and spiritual connection.

Now, living with Magenta, well, it has its ups and downs.

There are some things that never get done around here without you doing them; she rarely cooks, which wouldn't bother you so much if she at least did dishes once in a while. It doesn't help that she takes long hot showers. In a house with only one bathroom, this can really put a cramp in your morning routine.

Magenta doesn't clean the place very often either. At first, you just let it go because everybody has their own ways of doing things, right? But after a few weeks of living together, you realised that she's just...not going to do it. Like ever. So then there's nothing for it but to either live in a constant state of messiness or bite the bullet yourself.

Sometimes you feel like you're not living with a roommate so much as providing lodging for some kind of freeloading spirit that passes through periodically.

When you first moved in, you were worried about what your roommate might think of you: would they be weirded out by your habits? Would they judge your taste in decorations? Would you get along? Would you have enough space for both of you?

Those fears melted away pretty quickly once you met her. You could tell from the moment she opened the door that day (and didn't even look up from her phone) that she didn’t care.

You soon learned that Magenta is messy but friendly. She stays up all night and sleeps during the day. She's everywhere online: Instagrammer, Tiktokker (is that what they call it?), live streamer or these days she’s even on the radio and TV. She doing something for one of those things right now, with her bedroom door closed and music playing faintly behind it.

You're standing in the kitchen, staring down her latest infringement. Now, these empty take-out boxes were here this morning when you left. They were also here last night, and yesterday afternoon, and...you get where this is going.

"Hey, you awake in there?!" you shout towards her bedroom but get no response.

With a sigh, you walk over to her door and knock. Twice. Then again, louder when you still get no response. Finally, you resort to pounding on it repeatedly until it suddenly swings open to reveal your roommate shouting, "What!?" You step back, slightly taken aback by how loudly she said that single word. Her eyes soften instantly, though when they land on you.

She looks good. Not even just in a 'good for someone who hasn't slept yet today' kind of way. Just straight-up hot. Magenta wears a faded pink crop top emblazoned with an anime character and little cut-off cotton shorts covered in cookie prints. The low waistband of the shorts hangs off her hips, exposing the start of a light purple thong that cuts diagonally across her hip bones.

"I think our apartment might get condemned if you don't clean sometime soon."

Your roommate leans against the door frame. She pushes some dark brown hair behind her ear as she says, "Can't you do it for me? Just this once?"

"Just this once?" you repeat, crossing your arms. Your lips curl into a smile as you ask back to her, "Can't you do it just this once?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm always reminding you to clean, and you never do it. So guess who does it? It's not the magical cleaning fairy—it's me."

Her eyes roll skyward so forcefully you imagine you can hear them squeaking in their sockets.

"Why are you giving me such a hard time about this?" she says. "This seems really petty."

"It's not petty," you protest. "I have stuff to do and I shouldn't have to keep picking up after my adult roommate." You say the word 'adult' laden with implications. She gets your meaning immediately. Her lips twist.

"oh, I get it," she says with a smirk. "I guess it's been a while since I gave you a little thank you. Well, I need to get this video finished, so could you maybe clean it up and come back here after?"

So there's the perks. Two of them actually, as she pulls up her pink crop top and flashes you what's beneath. A pair of purple lace bra cups strain to contain your roommate's ample endowment. Pale skin pours out from beneath them, flesh squeezing together into a deep cleavage that entices you closer even as you shake your head.

"You can't keep pulling tricks like this, Magenta," you say, trying desperately to hold onto your train of thought while also enjoying the view. It helps that you know those breasts intimately. Hell, you've worshipped those breasts. They've spilt around your hands, smothered your face and laid upon your thighs. You know what the soft warmth inside each cup feels like. And, God, they feel really fucking good.

"I really appreciate your help and everything," she says, her bottom lip suddenly pushing out into a cute pout that goes well beyond suggestive. "And I'd like to show you just how much I appreciate it..."

Your resolve lasts right up until Magenta runs a finger down one of her tits to tease along the edge of the lacy purple material. That's when you give up. There's no point in fighting anymore—she has won this battle (just like all others).

"Just go finish your work already," you finally say, letting out a sigh.

Magenta smiles and giggles, lowering her shirt. "Thanks. Love ya!"

With a wink, she slips back into her room. You stand alone for several seconds before shaking your head. Back to cleaning, then.

It's not exactly easy to focus on sorting the recycling into the correct bins when your roommate has just reminded you how nice her tits are. They're on your mind a lot, to be honest. More than they should be probably. Sometimes they're on your cock, though not as often as they should be. Probably.

You're counting your blessings that none of the neighbours are doing late-night recycling because then you'd have to explain why your face is red and your pants are bulging.

That doesn't stop the occasional glance towards your neighbour's house, where Mrs Kim likes to smoke on her front porch some nights. You think she smokes more than she should, but that's really none of your business. Her watching you from across the street, however, is very much your business, so you peek over your shoulder once in a while to check if she's spying. Again. Or still. Whatever.

One last box. The light outside is fading rapidly, but you can just barely make out that it comes from...the Greek place you love?

Oh. Oh no. Did she eat gyros and not bring you any? Damn, that girl knows how to be cruel!

When the recycling is finally squared away you dust off your hands. It's a symbolic gesture since all you've done is shove cardboard and glass into the right bins, but it makes you feel accomplished nonetheless.

Back in the apartment and lock the door behind you.

"There you are. Where have you been?"

"The bins, have you ever seen them before?" You mock while still fiddling with the lock chain.

"That was quick," comes her response. Your eyes follow the sound of her voice. Magenta is lying upside-down on the couch. She swings her feet lazily in the air while looking at something on her phone. Her dark hair cascades nearly to the floor. Those short shorts mean you can see most of her long legs. Then there's the curve of her hip, the crease of her thigh... "Get over here."

It's a rare occasion that Magenta voluntarily puts her phone down, yet she does just that as you walk over. The closer you get, the more enticing her position becomes: laying across the couch, head tipped backwards off the cushions to watch you approach her.

"So," she says. Her fingertips brush over the exposed skin of her belly. The fingers trace lines up and across her abdomen, moving between the edge of her shorts and her top. The motion catches your eye—and she knows it. "I owe you, don't I?" Her eyelids flutter innocently. Or rather, far less than innocently.

"For today? Yeah. Definitely." You clear your throat and try again, "For quite a few days, actually."

"Quite a few," she echoes in agreement. Her hand continues to crawl upward until it reaches the peak of her breasts rising beneath her faded pink crop top. The movement presses the supple skin together in a way that has you standing right in front of her before you even realize you've walked over.

She pushes them hard together before letting them settle back to normal. Gravity spreads them apart, flesh pouring across her chest from the tightly gathered fabric keeping them barely contained. She reaches out over her head, to you, and grabs you by the belt buckle. Pulls you forward until you are stood over her. Even though she's upside down, she makes such effortless work of unbuckling the leather strap that you barely notice. One second it's on; the next it's flapping loose.

It takes only two sharp tugs to force your pants and boxers down past your knees. Magenta doesn't waste any time reaching out to touch your cock, gently running her hands over it until she can wrap her entire hand around the warm shaft and pull you until you fall to your knees. Her head hangs right in front your your length, and you see the teasing sparkle in her eye even upside down.

Her hot breath hits the skin of your bare cock. Lips press a series of soft, wet kisses down from your tip towards your balls. Then back up again, trailing even more tiny pecks that leave your skin tingling. You let your cock nudge against her cheek, feeling it slide along the smooth skin.

With both hands wrapped around your cock, Magenta holds your tip right in front of her mouth. Her tongue sticks out from between her lips, slowly, methodically lapping circles around the crown of your cock.

"Oh, God," you mutter, and you need to hold onto something, anything. First, it's the couch, then it's her tits.

Your hand lands heavily atop the nearest swell of flesh and squeezes tight, pushing it further out of her crop top. She hums approvingly at the groping and wraps her lips around your cockhead. Suckles sweetly. Slurps noisily until spit pools at the corner of her stretched lips.

She lets gravity help guide your cock into her waiting mouth. The further you slip inside, the more she relaxes her jaw to accept you. But then she reaches up and pulls on your hips. You glide up against her grateful tongue. Until her nose meets your stomach. She gags. It's so fucking lewd.

The whole thing makes you squeeze her chest harder. So big in your palm and yet somehow always bigger than you remember. You forget sometimes just how incredible these tits are. When they bounce in a video she's recorded, you remember—but never quite how heavy they are when you hold them; the way they give to your grasp in exactly the right amount; or the way her nipple puckers just slightly as it stiffens beneath your kneading grip.

"You're so sexy like this," you say.

The compliment elicits an appreciative groan from Magenta. Her head moves with your hips now, bobbing to meet each thrust, spit dripping down her cheeks. The messiness of the sloppy blowjob matches her other personality traits frighteningly well.

With her head pinned and her arms on you, you're free to pull up her shirt and expose her. The dirty minx has taken off her bra, so the expanse of her milky skin greets you. You cup them in each palm, feeling the heft of them, squeezing them greedily. They push back, moulding into the shape of your desire, and she moans, a low guttural note vibrating right through your length.

Her body writhes beneath your attention. Her thighs spread outwards, feet rolling at the ankle in time with each gently guided thrust into her throat. Fingers squeeze you, scratching lightly at the skin above your ass to encourage you deeper inside her hungry maw. Deeper into her throat until she chokes—

You let up, panting, admiring the sight of her stretched out for your viewing pleasure. Her eyes flutter open, looking up at you from her upside-down position. The intensity in them draws you in again.

"Oh shit," you groan as you drive into her, plunging your cock balls deep until her purple-painted nails dig into the small of your back. You pump faster, lost in the warm embrace of her greedy sucking.

Magenta squirms beneath you, whining and groaning and bucking, begging you for more. Her cunt must be throbbing with anticipation. Poor thing wants your cum. You can tell.

You want her tits.

She gasps when you fully withdraw from her mouth. Her face is a fucking mess of saliva and smudged makeup. Before she can question you, you reposition yourself in front of her, straddling her beautiful face as you lower your rigid length between her breasts.

She's quick to pick up what you're putting down. With both hands pressing the creamy flesh of her boobs inward, she creates a tunnel for you to slide your dick into.

It feels as good as it looks. Soft pressure envelops your slick length, wrapping around the sensitive skin and creating a delightful sleeve for you to hump into. You can't get enough.

As soon as you hit a good pace, fucking your roommate's chest hard and fast, she starts giggling.

"What?" you ask.

"It tickles." Her laugh is breathy but not as loud as it usually is. "Keep going."

So you do. Thrust after thrust you plunge deeper, drawing more and more of yourself into the valley between her perfect tits. The more you use her, the further she parts her legs that run up the back of the sofa. Soft thighs splayed for nothing but display. Then, just as you start to admire them, she clenches them together. Your eyes trace down the pale skin until they arrive at her crotch where the bottoms of her cookie-patterned shorts have ridden up against her wet slit. She's gyrating her hips in all sorts of directions and rubbing herself against the material in some attempt to satiate her growing needs.

The soft flesh of her midriff jiggles between the thrusting into her tits and the twisting of her hips below. You can't stop staring. Fuck. How does this girl have every single curve?

At first, you try holding back—you want this to last longer. But after a few seconds, you realize you can't fight this feeling. Not when you've got such a good view. And certainly not with her nipples so hard under the press of your thumbs. She arches up when you pinch them, and you know you're done for.

And then, as if she can feel it by the way you're thrusting, she begins to coo and beg under you. She knows she's getting you close, and she wants it. Bad.

"Cum on me," she coaxes sweetly, the words barely audible over the slapping sounds. "I've been so bad, baby. You deserve to paint my body."

That's all it takes. That final little plea. Your eyes roll back, your hips snap forward and your cock explodes. Thick ropes over her body, the first reaching her thighs before you adjust your aim and finish across the plane of her belly. Soft curves take your load while she encourages you through soft, little pleasured mewls. You may have got some on her shorts, but you paint her stomach white before pulling up and jerking the final drops onto her chest.

"Mmmm, messy boy," Magenta laughs breathlessly as your cum drips down her curves. She lays there beneath you, her smile wide and wickedly innocent, one hand slowly running circles over the sticky mess on her tummy, smearing it across her skin.

After a few seconds of panting and trying to gather yourself, you climb off of her and sit back against the couch. She turns so her head rests in your lap, facing your spent and dripping length. Magenta teases you still by using her own fingertip to collect your seed and place it across her lips, then licking them clean while making sure you're watching. And fuck are you ever.

"So, about my room," she purrs, eyes twinkling mischievously up at you.

"What about it?"

"Well... It needs cleaning, and I was thinking—"

"No," you feign protest, knowing you've already agreed. "Just clean it yourself." Her negotiation will come next. You can see it on her lips. "I'm not doing it."

Magenta leans up and whispers, "But you might change your mind if you find out what's waiting for you beneath my shorts."

That damn purple thong, still visible at her waistband, calls you toward her like a beacon. "What's beneath your shorts?"

Her laugh is playful. A little shrug as her fingers toy at the hem of the garment in question. "Agree to clean my room and you’ll find out."

#Magenta smut #qwer smut #male reader #kpop smut #m reader #Magenta x reader #smut #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #streamer smut

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squiddy-god · 5 days ago

Text

kiss me till my lips fall off

Malleus x reader.

Honestly i have been slowly consumed by twst once again, and i fully believe that malleus deserves to be written like a gothic novel so hear is yet another overly describes malleus fic for your enjoyment. This is inspired by the song “kiss me til my lips fall off” by lebanon hangover

Cw : desperate malleus, he's weird (what's new), reader is the prefect, king! Malleus, set after the main story. Reader is gn

1.4k

Iron would scorn him less than such torment. The ache of your absence weighs heavy on a heart so fragile, so paper thin embers of affection set it to burn. Why? The warm ghost of your touch fills his mind slowly drop by drop until it is flooded with the memory of you. Yes, his mind, a solitary tower constructed to protect his fragile heart and blackened by the flames of his ire. Set against the pricking, twisting, gnarled thorns of bramble it stands alone against the torrent of thoughts. Thoughts of you.

You have cursed him, this fowl curse of longing that grips him. Cold chains that bind his wrist to stone, an iron ring that sears his skin like a brand against his very soul, a simple kiss shared so very long ago…so close yet inexplicably far from his perceived reach, his child of man, his friend. Stone walls cold and smooth to the touch surround him as he perches upon his throne. Tall and imposing, consisting of sharp spikes and spires, two identical seats sit side by side. One remains untouched and empty. Black silky upholstery illuminated by the green flames of the wall sconces bringing out every crevice of the throne. It mocks him, the empty seat. A pitiful reminder of the loneliness that looms over him.

Rain patters against the lancet windows, running across the patterns and peaks carved into the stone and set with glass. The woven banners of emerald and deep tekhelet violet seem to shake as lightning traces across the storm ridden skies. The sun has not yet graced the skies, not yet bathed the mountain snow in the blankets of pink and cream hues that kiss the castle at dawn. The jagged black peaks, like talons and claws, remain ever cold and glossy in the night as it cradles the briar valley. This knowledge does nothing to quell his restless mind, already driven far too frantic by your absence within the walls of his castle. His long cape drags behind him, the only sound that echoes through the high ceilings. Muscles tugging his face to a grin, his unnatural green eyes crinkle at their edges gleaming with mirth.

Surely lilia would agree with him? That this cloying ache in his heart needs to be soothed, that only your presence by his side would suffice in placating these memories of you. Yes, the man would simply chuckle at such a sight, perhaps remark on the childish nature of such night time activities with a wiggle of his brow before taking his leave. So he lurks there in the treeline before your cottage. The simple structure with its charming thatched roof reminiscent of a fairytale, the thought brings a smile to his cold lips. He is no knight returning from war to his love nor is he a prince taken by your charm. He is a shadow, an ever present entity that haunts the steps behind you…yet you welcome him where others flee, and so he is no monster. He is a king, and he thinks for a hopeful moment that you will see that is close enough to the princes of fairy tales. With a strike of lightning caressing the skies above he is by your bedside peering at your sleeping form with those gleaming eyes.

A single memory replays in his head, spinning endlessly to the same tune, a perpetual music box that mocks his beating tender heart. You stand amongst glittering lights, candles in their intricate gold stands and chandeliers, the gleaming pearls on your attire reflect beautifully in the light, and while your visage is obscured by the mask fastened to our face you are no less captivating. Every spin, every twirl, every misstep is engraved in his mind. The memory is written on every stone of the tower that is his mind.

I've spent a million days, I've had many darker days.

I’ve tried everything to block out the pain.

But it just seems to haunt me in every possible way.

The outfit for the masquerade is ill fitting, the result of it being lent by noble bell collage, the colors and patterns that make up its rich embroidery depict flowers and intricate details. Your hand rests in his outstretched palm and he leads you to dance…it feels so distant now, a sweet memory bathed in regret over what he could have said.

He remembers how warm your lips were. He remembers the inquisitive leap in his heart and how he ceased to think or breath as such an innocent gesture overtook him. He had already been hopelessly and irrevocably in love, yet to describe love as anything other than an endless pit where one is forever falling deeper into fathomless depths would be a sin upon itself. He marvels at the goosebumps that arise on your skin at his chilled touch, his slender fingers ghosting over your arms feather light like all those years ago. Without further hesitation he gathers you in his arms, the white fabric of your sleepwear pools around your form like water. The cotton is thin and ghostly against the inky black expanse of his chest and own clothing. Malleus takes care to note your exposed legs, you would be warm soon enough. And all that is left in his wake is the gentle glow of fireflies and an empty bed.

The heel of his shoes clicked against the smooth tile and stone of the long expansive halls until he was met with the imposing wooden doors that lead into the throne room. He would allow himself this one indulgence, a small prize for being so good. He was entranced, even in such simple sleep wear you looked ethereal in the low light. He walked with purpose in his stride as his legs carried him closer to the very twin thrones that mock him. With a sense of reverence he placed you down where you belonged. Your limp body settles into the cold throne and melts into its surprising plush feel…you are a vision bestowed unto him, a beauty in sleep and a proteus jewel in your waking hours.

Do you dream of him sweetly now? As you sit on the throne besides his own where you have always been meant to sit? So you dream of those sweet memories as he does? His head rests in your lap, careful to not disturb you with the curve of his horns. One hand trails devoutly against your calf as the other reaches towards your tilted head and cheek.

Perhaps this is some divine moment of weakness, perhaps the tower in its eternal and solitary expanse has come crumbling down to expose his fragile heart to you. An uncharacteristic cowardice battles the possessive intensity of his longing as he whispers to you those words he longed to let slip years ago.

“Kiss me till my lips fall off”

“Kiss me till I start to rot”

“Kiss me till kingdom come…”

“Forever…forever…”

He repeats it quietly, relentlessly, endlessly until the mantra dissolves into a desperate plea in his throat. Begging and hoping that one day you will embrace him sweetly, kiss him endlessly as he so desires. In his stupor he had not noticed how your eyes fluttered open at his touch, how you sat stunned into a breathless halt and he whispered those desperate cloying words to you in the comfort of your resumed slumber.

“Kiss me till my lips fall off”

“Kiss me till I start to rot”

“Kiss me till kingdom come”

“Forever… forever…”

But as you breathed once again your hands found their way to his hair. Stroking through the soft black tresses and caressing the slopes of his horns, he finds himself captivated by your eyes and their beautiful hue. This is truly where you belong, he thinks, next to him on this throne, next to him in the expanse of his bed and in his arms. So he rises to his imposing height and dwarfs your form in the shadowy expanse of his presence.

Your lips are so soft, so gentle against his own he can hardly pull himself from the sensation enough to return your kiss with fever akin to a burning pyre. He would rot in your arms if it meant he never had to break away from you, he would kiss you until the walls of his mind crumble into sand and the bramble blooms with white flowers if only another second spent with you.

#twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #malleus x reader #twisted wonderland malleus #twisted wonderland #twst malleus #malleus draconia x reader #malleus draconia #malleus x yuu #twst wonderland

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lymtw · 30 days ago

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Birthday Shenanigans

What business do you have outside of bed—outside of Toji's arms—so early in the morning, on your day off? It never feels right to wake up without you by his side, but today, it feels worse to wake up alone. He's been sleeping on his side of the bed for hours, staying warm, yet, at the discovery of you missing beside him, he almost gets whiplash with how quickly it feels like he's been tossed onto a bed made of snow. He's freezing, and you're to blame. There's a heaviness in his chest that only worsens as he drags his hand back and forth over your side of the bed. None of your warmth remains, meaning you've been gone for a bit. You couldn't have woken him up? Today is supposed to be about him, yet, all he wants to do is spend the whole day with you.

Once Toji fully wakes up, he sits up and prepares to go to the kitchen to fix himself some breakfast. A sticky note that is stuck to your pillow grabs his attention. He peels it off your pillow and takes in the simplistic drawing consisting of two stick figures resembling you and Toji, lying in bed, kissing. This already brings a little smile to his face, but when he reads the caption written in your handwriting-- (Since we didn't get to share our morning kiss, please enjoy this renaissance painting I made of what I think that would've looked like <3) --he lets out a small chuckle and folds the sticky note, before putting it away in the first drawer of his nightstand. He puts on a shirt and some sweatpants and leaves the room, not even bothering to make the bed.

As he's walking past the front door, it aggressively swings open and scares the hell out of him. You're there with your hands and arms riddled with bags. Grocery bags filled to the brim, a few bags from some clothing stores, and one smaller bag from a fragrance store. You have a small box in your hands with the logo of the bakery that is a few streets away from the house.

"Oh, hi, baby! Happy birthday," you say, standing on your tippy toes, which Toji understands as the signal for him to lean down a little. You place a quick peck on Toji's scar, and before he can get a word in, you run off to the kitchen, not even closing the door behind you. Toji shakes his head with a grin and shuts the door, before going after you. He silently watches you scramble to put the bags down in an organized manner. You set the small box from the bakery and the groceries down on the kitchen counter, while the other bags are temporarily set down on the ground.

"Hmm... Oh!" You grab the small box and the pack of small striped candles and take it with you to the counter by the sink. You carelessly rip open the pack of candles and open the box, smiling when you see the single, chocolate flavored cupcake, decorated with a blue flower made of frosting. All is going well, until you can't find the lighter that is usually in the drawer you store the dishrags in. You lift all of the small stacks of towels and can't find it anywhere.

"Where could it be?" You mumble to yourself.

"What's up, ma?" Toji asks, curiosity getting the better of him when he sees you continue to rifle around the drawer, clearly in search of something.

You sigh, defeatedly, and shut the drawer. "Turn around, please."

Toji does as you say and turns around, not wanting to stress you out. He has a feeling this is something for him, too, so he wouldn't want to ruin whatever it is you have planned.

You put the cupcake on a plate and grab one of the blue and white striped candles, taking it with you to the counter by the stove. You turn on the stove and put the candle wick to the flame, watching it quickly light up, before turning the stove off, again. You put the candle on the cupcake and slowly make your way over to Toji, who is leaning on the opposite side of the counter, facing away from you like you asked him to.

"Baby," you call, smiling when his attention goes to you before it goes to the flame you are indirectly holding. He smiles softly at the small pastry you present to him. "The lady at the bakery tried to sell me a cupcake with a red rose and I told her, 'no, he likes blue'. Then she still tried to sell me one with a sunflower on it and I said, 'no, it has to be blue'. So, look, I got you a cupcake with a blue flower, baby. Their specialty is definitely flowers, because I promise you, that green cupcake did not look like a Stegosaurus." Toji chuckles at the rambled, silly recap of your experience at the bakery. "Now, make a wish, before the wax melts and gets all over it," you say, holding up the plate for him.

Toji's gaze remains set on you as he mentally makes his wish. He looks at you for a long time, long enough for the blue and white wax to start dripping down onto the cupcake. A few of those seconds were spent just thinking, because what is there to wish for when he has everything he needs? A home, a job that pays the bills and puts food on the table, something to get around in, and best of all, an unlimited source of love and support.

Then, he knows it.

He considers who you are to him. You lit up his life, again, and he can't wait to spend all the years to come, with you. Because of his big, beefy, tough guy appearance, he knows it would give you a good laugh if he ever told you that being around you makes fluttering little butterflies flood his stomach. He'll say it out loud to you someday, just to hear you laugh. Frankly, you deserve it, because before you, he could count on his hands the amount of times he had laughed so hard and for so long that his stomach felt sore. Being around you has turned it into almost a daily occurrence, and all he can wish for is years, decades, and the appearance of grey hairs and wrinkles with you.

You laugh. You laugh at how he ignored your warning about the candle wax, you laugh at the utterly soft look on his face. You feel giddy as you watch those green eyes of his, tracing your face and taking in every feature on it. Like anybody who can't read minds, you wonder what he wished for, even when you know it's something that is never meant to be said out loud.

Before you can even process it, the candle is blown out and the plate is being taken out of your hands and placed on the counter. Toji wraps his arms around you and pulls you in close enough to rest his forehead against yours. He knocks his nose against yours a couple times, a gesture that lures an unfaltering grin onto his face at the sound of your giggles.

"You're the best, doll. You didn't have to--"

You shut him up, instantly, with a kiss. It's soft and warm and delicate. It's everything that he loves about you, wrapped up in the sweetest touch.

"Yes, I did. Don't even, my love," you assure, smiling as you rub his chest. "I'm so lucky to get to celebrate you, baby. I love you, and i'm happy you're here. Those two reasons are enough on their own for me to willingly wake up at five in the morning and run around store to store like a headless chicken, so I could get home before you woke up. Clearly, you had different plans," you say, reciprocating his smile. Your hand raises to cup his cheek and your thumb strokes his soft skin, tenderly. "All of this is from me to you. Please, let me show you how much you mean to me."

It didn't take much convincing. Toji was on board the moment you killed his denial of these extra things being necessary to celebrate another day of living, another year of getting older. Your trying little kisses don't hurt, though. If this is your way of begging to show him extra love—by showing him extra love—then who is he to reject your affection?

"Please, pretty please, please, pleaseeeee, please-"

"Shh, baby." His index finger goes over your lips. He smiles at how obedient you are—birthday treatment. Normally, whenever he does that, you try to bite his finger in a playful manner. "I woke up alone in bed this morning. That kinda sucked."

"I'm sorry," you say, against his finger.

"I liked your renaissance painting," he says, a smirk forming on his lips when he feels a breath of a laugh from you on his skin. "Couldn't help but feel a little jealous that a few scribbles got more lip locking action, first thing in the morning, than I did." He sighs, almost like he's wounded by the remembrance of reaching for you and being met with an empty space. "How ever will you make it up to me?" His finger slides down your lips, causing the bottom one to bounce back after he pulled it down.

"I'll give you all the kisses and a bonus kiss." You nod, proudly, at your offer.

"Mhm, that's pretty good so far. What else?"

"What else do you want? I'm up for anything today."

You don't miss the movement of his hands on your waist, subtly maneuvering so that his fingers lift your shirt the slightest bit, allowing him to graze your bare skin. The glimmer of mischief that almost immediately appears in his eyes and the unfaltering smirk on his face, make it so that it's not necessary for him to word what he will eventually want to do with you. Your face goes warm at the thought, but you just laugh it off.

"Do you know what time it is, right now?" Toji asks, more to chide you for being out of bed so early, than for the purpose of knowing the time.

"Almost eight, no?" You take your phone out of your pocket and check. "Seven thirty," you confirm, showing him your screen.

"It's seven thirty in the morning, ma. What are we doing awake at seven thirty in the morning, on our day off?"

"I was on a mission, I don't know about you."

He scoffs. "Oh, kill that. You do know about me."

Simple. Toji doesn't like sleeping without you. He likes knowing you're getting your rest next to him and he loves the ongoing, intimate, physical contact. Even if he's not full on spooning you, he's always touching you. Whether it's his face buried in your chest, his legs tangled with yours, his elbow digging into your back or even his head pressed into your shoulder, he's always touching you.

"Let's go back to bed," he says, placing a peck on your forehead, before resting his chin on top of your head. "Just for a little longer."

"You don't want breakfast?"

He shakes his head, in response. "I want you to sleep with me."

"I can make something quick," you insist.

"Do I have to throw you over my shoulder and drag you away?"

"No, sir," you say, with mock seriousness. "I'm going." You wiggle out of his hold and barely manage to take two steps, before you feel his hand swat at your ass. You gasp, dramatically, and turn around to look at him, your widened eyes being the most prominent feature of your surprised expression.

Toji snickers, unable to stay serious when you look at him like he did something life altering to you. "Run. If I catch you, we're staying in bed all day."

Nothing else needed to be said for you to start sprinting towards the room. You've been awake since five in the morning to ensure that these celebratory plans are followed through with, properly. You can't stay in bed all day, so it's a good thing Toji didn't chase you to the room.

Once Toji slides into bed and finds your body under the covers, he completely encompasses you in his hold. His front is flush against your back, his arm strewn across your waist, and his face is pressed to the nape of your neck. He's made himself comfortable, having gone as far as to slightly overlap your leg with his. It doesn't take very long for Toji to fall asleep this way. You're his own personal cuddle bug and the reason he sleeps like a hibernating bear every night, down to the brief snoring he makes you endure before he wakes himself up with the loudness.

You wake up a few hours later, pulling Toji out of sleep as well, because of all your movement. You smile when he grunts and buries his face in your chest, in an attempt to go back to sleep.

"Was that not enough time?" You ask, running your fingers through his hair.

"Mm-mm," he hums, quietly. He's starting to move around more, mostly pawing at you to keep you close, so you don't leave him.

"We have to get up soon. We slept through the rest of the morning," you say, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. The tenderness of the gesture just makes him want to stay in bed with you for longer.

"Mm," he hums, once again, the sound coming off as dismissive.

"Sounds like you don't want your morning-turned-afternoon kisses, before we get up. You would rather stay asleep, huh?"

Now, that grabs his attention.

He moves away from your chest and just stares at you with his sleep ridden eyes and a pout that you know he would deny is a pout if you mentioned it.

"Oh, you're awake. I knew it," you say, with a teasing grin. You know he's ready when his eyes keep flitting between your eyes and your lips, silently signaling to you what he wants. "Alright, alright. Don't yell at me," you jest. You lean in and press a quick peck on his lips, then another, and another, until it's quick bursts of kisses that make him want to laugh. "Come on. Keep up. You know I try my hardest when you do this to me."

As if he's insulted by your taunting, he rolls on top of you and traps you beneath him, returning all your kisses while you're distracted, laughing at the sudden crushing weight of his body on yours.

"Keep up," Toji throws at you, this time, in his slightly raspy voice. "Come on, kiss me back. Keep up," he repeats, not even giving you a chance to respond before he's back to smothering you, again. He laughs when you end up surrendering, welcoming defeat by just lying there in a giggle fit. "It's like... a million to nothing, ma."

A few more giggles flow past your lips, your smile lingering once you somewhat collect yourself. "Best million to nothing ever. I'll get you, tomorrow." You don't promise or swear it, because just by looking at his face, now, you think you just might lose, again. You have a very strong feeling about it.

Toji simply gives you a low "mhm" and smirks, confidently, because he knows that you will be in this position, again, tomorrow morning.

"Well... now that you're awake, we can finally leave the bed." Toji's reaction to that is the most dramatic groan ever, but when you tell him that he can stay in bed while you "do stuff" in the kitchen, he refuses and follows you. It's great, but he almost makes you burn the food a couple times.

"Toji- Baby." You laugh, when he clings to your back and buries his face in your neck. "Go sit down and eat your cupcake."

"Mm-mm. Saving room for you," he mumbles.

"You're so..." You can't even finish the sentence, the shaking of your head and the curl of your lips doing wonders to reveal your flustered state.

"Romantic?" He asks, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck, as if to give you more proof. He smirks against your skin when you freeze, like you're lost in thought. "Keep stirring, mama," he says, grinning when you snap out of your very brief daze and stir quickly to make up for your lack of focus.

"You're gonna make me burn your food," you chide. You reach behind you with your free hand and try to push him back, but he doesn't budge.

"Nah, nah. I'm looking out for you," he corrects.

You turn off the stove and turn to him. "Listen. You're a very handsome distraction, but you're going to make me burn the entire kitchen down if you keep doing what you're doing."

"Which is?" He questions, standing right in front of you. He loves how easy it is for him to have you cheesing.

"Being romantic. You know what you're doing! Stop being cute," you say, pressing your lips together to stop yourself from giggling and egging him on.

"Just say you need my help, pretty," he says, his voice and the placement of his hands on your hips, indicating that there's a double meaning to the sentence. For now, you choose to ignore the one that doesn't involve cooking.

"Okay, then. Help me wash, peel, and cut the potatoes, please."

It's hard not to laugh at his reaction—the quiet 'tsk' sound and the subtle twitch of his lips. He looks like he was expecting you to stop cooking, to take a brief intermission with him. The disillusioned look on his face is quickly traded for an expression that says 'i'll get you'. It's a smirk and something feral hidden in those dark eyes.

"Sure thing," he replies, squeezing your hips a couple times between his enormous hands.

You would think having help in the kitchen would expedite the process of getting things done, but it was the opposite when it came to Toji helping you out. If he's not distracting you, he's distracted by you.

Instead of finishing the task you gave him, he turns around and watches you cut vegetables like it's one of the most interesting things he's ever seen.

"Damn, ma. Look at you go," he says, watching the smooth, back and forth motion of the knife you are using and listening to the consistent, rhythmic sound of the blade on the cutting board. He's mesmerized—you make it look like art.

You put the knife down, unable to contain your laugh when he keeps watching you. "Almost done, Toji?" You ask, turning to look at him.

"Yeah, yeah," he responds, before turning around, again.

Somehow, after all the pauses and distractions, and the swatting at Toji's hands when he would pick at the food, claiming multiple times that he was doing a taste test, the food was finally finished.

"The house smells fucking amazing, doll. We did that," Toji says, coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around you as you finish washing the cutting board.

"We did," you agree, grinning at how proud he is of the results of your conjoined efforts. "How does it taste?" You ask, washing the dish soap off the cutting board.

"Perfect," he murmurs, in your ear. "Not as good as-"

"Don't say it. Don't say it." You turn off the water and turn to look at the menacing smirk on his face.

"-you," he finishes, without hesitation, and almost instantly, you smack his chest, earning a chuckle from him. "What? You don't wanna be my dessert?"

"Oh my god, Toji," you groan, walking away from him to grab some plates.

The cupcake you got him did not go to waste. You both had one of those 'I need something sweet' moments, once you finished eating. After a couple more eye rolls from you towards his suggestive remarks, Toji being the kind soul he is, shared the dessert. He took one enormous bite of it—bits of candle wax and all—and then gave you the rest. It definitely hit the spot, and watching Toji get frustrated every time he asked if his lips and teeth were still blue, has become one of the many core memories you have with him.

"Gifts?" You ask, drying your hands after washing your plate and putting it away.

Toji sighs. "What did you do, ma?"

You smile at him, mischievously, and beckon him to come with you. You pick up all the bags you left on the floor and lead him to the couch, where you set them down. The second he sees how many bags there are, he shakes his head, and you know what he's thinking—'you didn't have to'. It's written all over his face, so in an attempt to steer away those thoughts, you rub his chest, like you did before, and smile.

"Open them."

For someone who was iffy about receiving gifts, he sure went through the opening process quickly. After pulling out the paper tissue you awkwardly fluffed and placed in each bag to hide what was in it, he scanned what was at the bottom of each bag before pulling the items out as well. Shirts, pants, gym shorts and sweatpants, a new coffee mug—he inspects all of the items, closely, with a soft smile on his face.

"Everything else is in black, why the navy blue jacket?"

"You look hot in navy blue."

Case closed.

"Oh shit. What is this, doll?" Toji asks, picking up the smaller, gift bag with the crispy, bold font on it. This gift in particular caught his eye, because it's something he knows for sure both of you like. You watch with a beaming smile as he pulls out the blue box, a low chuckle leaving him when he reads the name of the elegant cologne. "Remember that time you said just sniffing this would get you pregnant?" He asks, as he rips the plastic covering off the box and opens it, bringing out the even more elegant looking bottle.

"Yeah, you have to stay away from me if you're gonna wear that. From here to the kitchen, that's the distance you have to-"

The fragrance lands like mist on your face. It immediately overpowers the smell of the food you and Toji made, and fills your nostrils with the manliest, sexiest, most perilous scent you have ever smelled. It has your heart racing. It's Toji. You smell it and all your thoughts lock in on him. Toji, Toji, Toji, like a siren blaring in your head.

"How you doing, mama?" Toji asks, grinning fiendishly at your stunned reaction. "Smells real nice, huh?"

You stop buffering and take in the teasing smirk on his face. This would be the second time, today, that you look at him like he did something life changing to you.

"We should go to the beach," you suggest. You're calm and collected on the outside, frenzied and bouncing off the walls on the inside. A trip to the beach sounds good.

"That's random. Why do you wanna go to the beach?" He asks, putting the cologne back in its box.

"Let's catch a sunset and get you out of the house for a while," you elaborate. "Do you really want to spend the whole day in here?"

"I do wanna spend the whole day here," Toji responds, stepping towards you. "Just me and you, relaxing in bed together. Doesn't that sound way better than the beach?" He asks.

You can't even pretend like he's wrong when he looks at you like that. Like going outside after getting so comfortable and reveling in the warm atmosphere created in your home, would be worse than when he woke up alone in the morning.

"Let's stay here and keep each other warm," he says, pulling you into him. His arms act like vines around your waist, tightening to keep you close.

"Sure," you respond, a soft smile on your face as you look into his eyes. "We can stay inside."

When Toji leaned in to peck your lips, he really considered turning it into another competition to see who could get more kisses in. He was going for another win, aiming to overpower you with speed and quantity, to end it the way he always does—smothering your entire face with kisses, while you laugh through your sweet defeat—but when he felt your fingers drag over his back, right before you balled up his shirt in your hands, he decided to mind your gentleness and reciprocate it. He even smiled into a few of the kisses, to settle down the urge he felt to laugh, because he could smell his cologne on your face.

Toji took your hand and dragged you with him to the bedroom, once he broke the kiss. There, you spent your time cuddling, kissing, talking, and making love, each act done separately, but just as easily melted together into one act. You even got to see your sunset through the bedroom window, with your cheek and your hands pressed to the glass that kept fogging up.

By the end of the day, you were both spent, but still remained inseparable—not even a shower called for being apart. When it was time to go to sleep, you kept your face buried in Toji's neck. You pressed so many gentle kisses to his skin, while mumbling quiet, sleepy 'I love you's, that he hummed in response to, when he was't tiredly saying it back.

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nachrosas · 1 month ago

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CHRISTMAS SURPRISE | s.reid x reader

summary: in which spencer asks you an important question on christmas morning. pairing: spencer reid x reader content warnings: none, just pure fluff! word count: 849 a/n: night, night! posting this tonight because tomorrow i will be busy with work and christmas eve preparations! i had fun writing this one and i really hope you guys like it! feedback is always appreciated! also, my inbox is always open to chat (i love to talk and meet new people)! till the next one!

The pale light of Christmas morning flooded into the room through the slightly closed curtain gaps. The Christmas tree in the corner of the room blinked softly, each colorful twinkle reflecting off the delicate ornaments you had hung together weeks ago. The comforting scent of hot chocolate filled the air, mingling with the faint hint of cinnamon from the candles burning on the mantelpiece.

You were curled up on the sofa, a soft blanket wrapped around your shoulders, while Spencer was sitting next to you, legs crossed and a steaming mug between his hands. His glasses were a little crooked, and a messy lock of hair fell over his forehead, but he seemed oblivious, concentrating on something he was trying to hide behind his body.

“Is everything all right, Honey?” you asked, with a slight smile.

“It's just that you always look so beautiful in the morning,” he murmured with a shy smile, his eyes sparkling with something other than Christmas lights. Before you could reply, he bent down slightly to pick something up from the floor. “I have one last present for you.”

The way he held the small package wrapped in red and gold paper made your heart soar, but you tried to disguise your excitement, accepting the gift with slightly trembling hands.

“You'll like it, I think.” he said, looking away for a moment, but not before you noticed the blush that took over his cheeks.

You smiled suspiciously and began to undo the wrapping, just to tease him slowly. “Spencer Reid, what are you up to?”

He moved closer to you, trying to look relaxed. “Just… open it.” he mumbled, looking away again, but not without biting the corner of the underside.

When you removed the paper and opened the lid of the box, you found a small book, with a handmade cover and his unmistakable handwriting written in gold: Our Story. Your fingers gently brushed across the cover before opening the first page. A brief description accompanied by a photo of the first coffee you shared.

Each page was a journey through time — the first meeting, a lazy afternoon in the park, the trip that seemed to end in a huge disaster, but which turned out to be unforgettable. Some pages had little pressed flowers or funny notes next to the photos.

Your fingers slid along the edge of the last page of the book, curious to see how it would conclude the collection of memories that seemed so carefully crafted. When the page turned, the emptiness almost disconcerted you. There were no photos, just a single sentence written in his precise handwriting:

“Will you marry me?”

For a moment, the world seemed to stop. Your heart raced, and the words on the page began to jumble together, clouded by tears that you didn't even realize were there. When you finally managed to raise your eyes, Spencer was kneeling in front of you. The book still trembled slightly in his hands, but he looked like a statue of serenity. His eyes, however, betrayed his anxiety, shining with a mixture of nervousness and hope.

“I… didn't know how to say it perfectly.” he began, his voice low and charged with emotion. “So I thought the best way was to show you how much you mean to me, how every moment with you is a story I want to keep forever.”

He opened the small box he was holding, revealing a ring that glowed softly under the colored lights. “So, here I am. Do you want to be my next story? Will you marry me?”

You couldn't contain your emotional laughter, a sob escaping at the same time as a huge smile formed on your face. The book slipped from your hands onto the sofa as you leaned over to hug it, the words finally finding their way out.

“Yes.” you said, your voice laced with emotion. “Yes, Spencer, I want to marry you.”

His heart seemed to beat so loudly that you were sure he could hear it. Spencer was still kneeling in front of you, the ring gleaming on his trembling hand, and your eyes met his - hopeful, nervous, full of love. His fingers on yours were gentle, but you could feel the slight tremor as he made sure the ring fitted perfectly.

When your eyes returned to him, Spencer was already getting up, pulling you close to him. “I still can't believe you said yes,” he murmured, a nervous smile forming on his lips.

“How could I say no?” you replied, before leaning in to kiss him.

The kiss was soft, sweet, and full of unspoken promises. The lights on the Christmas tree in front of you flashed, reflecting off the tears you hadn't yet wiped away and Spencer's eyes, which now shone as brightly as the ring on your hand.

When you separated, he leaned his forehead against yours, still holding your hands. “Merry Christmas, Sweetheart.” he whispered, his voice as soft as a secret.

“Merry Christmas,” you replied, smiling, knowing that this was the beginning of the best present of all.

#criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fic #criminal minds imagine

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aurynsia · 2 months ago

Note

what would be the life after hogwarts for james and reader? i can just imagine james thinking of the best ring he could give reader to ask her to marry him, or even like thinking of where they should live in.

Life After Hogwarts

James Potter x Reader

Summary: James won’t settle for anything less than perfect for his perfect girl...

Warnings: Intense fluff, Reader is referred to with she/her pronouns, James is just a good hearted rich boy who wants the best for his partner <3

Word Count: 1.1K

Masterlist

A/N: Thank you for the request! I wrote this as a sequel to this series, but it can just as easily be read as a stand alone oneshot. Enjoy!

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

“Pads, please focus here. This is serious!”

“No, I’m Sirius, born and raised! Are you sure you aren’t feeling lightheaded, Prongs?”

James and Sirius stood bent over the cabinet of delicate rings, the latter struggling to free himself from a ring size too small. James huffed in frustration, brows furrowed in contemplation as he glanced across the display one last time.

“None of them feel right, I’m telling you! We‘ll just have to find somewhere else, she won’t like how flashy all of these diamonds are,” James sulked and grumbled as Sirius finally eased the ring off of his nimble finger.

“Prongs, this is the fifth jeweller we’ve been to in the past four hours. Merlin, the sun is already setting and you haven’t even considered a single one of the more than acceptable rings we’ve looked at!”

Sirius scrambled to chase James out of the store, pace quickened along the damp concrete of the sidewalk.

“It needs to be perfect, she’s perfect. I will settle for no less.” James held his head high, nose turned upwards at the raven haired boy who grew visibly sluggish with every step.

Sirius groaned, only following his bespectacled friend for another quick moment before James stopped abruptly at a pawn shop window, eyes bursting wide with hope.

The ring in the window shone elegantly against the store’s harsh light. The metal twisted and turned in a smooth curve that was sure to make your skin glow radiantly in contrast. It was understated, with only the minor details in the engravings making a quiet display of the mountain of money James was about to spend.

“That’s the one. It’s perfect.”

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

The cool breeze wrapped around the Potter’s summer house with ease, pressing against your skin to form goosebumps along the soft surface.

James had been acting strangely all day, almost avoiding you at every turn of the house’s walls like his life depended on it. He fiddled with his fingers, stuttered out his words and blushed at every subtle sound of amusement you made.

Finally relaxing into your side, James sheltered you from the wind with his body on his family’s beach-side deck. Your evening beverage was pressed between your legs, freeing your hands to run soothing circles over your boyfriend’s back.

His eyes clenched shut, head growing wrinkles as he sought his trademark courage that seemed to all but disappear the moment you were near.

Slowly, tentatively, he lifted his body from your warmth, flashing you a sympathetic smile to compensate for the absolute fool he was about to make of himself.

“Love, I- you mean the world to me…” he turned to face you. “These past years with you have made for some of the happiest moments I’ve ever experienced…” he shifted to lift up onto his knees, gazing down at your curious expression.

“I love you so, so much. I loved you when I first met you, the shy girl on the Hogwarts express. I loved you when we started dating, all smiles over candle lit dinners, and…” He moved again, down on one knee. “I want to keep loving you when you marry me.”

You gasped at the genuine glaze of his soft brown eyes, his lean towards your stationary body, and the ring sat in his grasp, shrouded by a velvet box.

He coughed slightly at the awkward atmosphere, repeating himself with clarity. “Will you…marry me?”

“Godric, James- yes!”

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

Fleamont Potter was showering his son with engagement gifts. James never had any reason to complain about his family or economic situation, and to say he grew up comfortably would be a drastic understatement.

House hunting was James’ first protocol after his successful proposal. He had patiently listened to you ramble about your dream house for years, trying to stay focused under your captivating gaze and endearing energy. Big windows, lots of light, and a burning fireplace.

That’s exactly what James was searching for as he strolled down the streets of Godric’s Hollow. He had inspected every single house he could find, taken or not. The day was wearing out, washing lines already dried under the subtle summer heat.

His gaze fell in a wave of sluggish fatigue, only to be snapped open by the sight of a Southern-style mansion positioned right on the edge of Godric’s Hollow, towering over the sidewalk. The house was decorated with shutters and balconies, as well as a small red sign in the front yard.

FOR SALE.

He rushed to the front door, conveniently propped open. “It’s a beautiful place, really, but we’re after something a little more…modern.” A family glided past James in a pack, concluding what he could only assume to be a tour of the house.

The estate agent fixed his tie as he bid farewell to the family, promising something about searching closer to the city the following week. He spun around to find James gawking eagerly at the front door, before clearing his throat to gain the young Potter’s attention.

“Would you like a tour?”

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

James flashed you a smug smile as you gazed in awe at the intricate architecture of your new townhouse. You were perched on the front lawn, tucked into James’ side with his hand on the small of your back.

“It’s so beautiful…” you mused wistfully, gaze drawn to the rustic tiles on the roof like sunflowers to the sun. “You didn’t have to go through all this trouble, I mean- this must have been an absolute pain to buy…” you finally tilted your gaze to see James peering over you, a lovesick longing painted on his features.

“Love, my father knows people - too many to count - who were more than happy to help with this little engagement gift,” he chuckled, eyes still locked on yours. “When I saw this house for the first time…it was calling your name. Our names.”

The house was big enough to hold a few kids and some small pets - clearly too big for just you and James, but he hoped that your family would fill it out in the coming years. There needed to be room for at least one big black dog.

Still uncertain, you gave James a sceptical look. “It was no trouble, really.” He didn’t wait for a reply as he drove you through the open door by your shoulders.

You stumbled through each room, captivated by the warmth in every corner you turned to. James was hot on your heels, guiding you by your waist every now and then to show you specific features of the kitchen, the bathrooms and the already decorated master bedroom.

You jumped onto the bed with glee, warmth engulfing you under your body.

“Jamie…it’s perfect…” you mused, eyes shut as you felt the bed dip with your Fiancée’s weight, who shifted to kiss your forehead with care.

“You’re perfect, love.”

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

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sonarspace · 2 months ago

Text

༉ BLOW OUT ALL THE CANDLES ! (S. GOJO)

꒰ synopsis. you made satoru gojo feel something he rarely ever did—normal, and undeniably special.

content. not proofread. nsfw. öral. blöwjob. cöwgirl (sorta.) orgasms (kinda?).

wc. 3.8k

an. happy birthday to my satoru pie. i love you forever.

satoru gojo didn’t care much for birthdays.

they weren’t a big deal when he was a kid. in his family, birthdays were less about celebration and more about the clan’s ambitions. they were opportunities to build connections, to showcase the strength of the gojo name. grand dinners with stiff smiles, meticulously chosen gifts meant to impress, and the constant reminder that his life wasn’t just his—it belonged to the clan.

as he got older, birthdays became… stranger. his peers either avoided him out of intimidation or fawned over him out of obligation. a few clumsy celebrations with shoko and suguru had been nice, but even those were fleeting, bittersweet reminders of a time he didn’t let himself dwell on. over the years, he perfected the art of shrugging them off. a careless smirk, a throwaway joke, and people stopped trying to make a big deal of it.

but you weren’t most people.

so when the doorbell to his apartment rang on his birthday evening, he didn’t expect much. maybe yuuji or nobara with some half-baked chaos to drag him into, or shoko dropping off cheap booze alongside a biting remark about his eternal man-child status. what he wasn’t expecting was you.

you stood there, a box of cupcakes balanced in one hand and a single cupcake in the other, topped with a tiny, flickering candle.

“what’s this?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe, his grin lazy but curious. “you come to serenade me?”

“in your dreams,” you retorted, brushing past him and into the warmth of his apartment without waiting for an invitation. “happy birthday, satoru.”

he blinked, caught off guard by your casual entrance and the lack of fanfare. you set the box on the coffee table and placed the lone cupcake beside it, turning to face him with your arms crossed, like you weren’t about to take no for an answer.

“make a wish,” you said, nodding toward the flickering candle.

“a cupcake?” he teased, his voice laced with mock disbelief as he moved closer. “no fireworks? no parade?”

“you get enough attention,” you replied with a shrug. “i figured you could use something normal for once.”

the word hit him unexpectedly. normal. it was such an ordinary thing, so far removed from the fabric of his life, yet the way you said it, like it wasn’t out of reach for him—like you could give it to him—made it feel almost tangible.

his grin softened as he lowered himself onto the couch, his gaze lingering on the candle a beat longer than necessary. he hesitated, the faintest flicker of vulnerability crossing his features, before he leaned forward and blew it out. the flame disappeared in a curl of smoke, and he watched it fade as if expecting something more to happen.

“what’d you wish for?” you asked, settling beside him, your tone light, but your curiosity barely hidden.

he leaned back, draping one arm across the couch’s back, the smirk slipping easily back into place. “if i told you, it wouldn’t come true.”

you tilted your head, narrowing your eyes. “oh, i’ve got it. you wished for the power to finally stop using so much hair gel.”

his laugh was instant, warm and unguarded. “excuse you. this is natural. flawless, even.”

“of course,” you said, rolling your eyes with exaggerated seriousness. “how could i forget? the hair, the face, the attitude—you’re a walking genetic miracle.”

“now you’re catching on,” he replied, leaning slightly closer. “being this amazing isn’t easy.”

“it sounds exhausting,” you said, mirroring his smirk. “you should write a memoir. ‘satoru gojo: the struggles of being too beautiful for this world.’”

he placed a hand over his heart, feigning a dramatic sigh. “you wound me. but let’s be honest—you’d buy a copy.”

“wrong. i’d steal one,” you quipped. “wouldn’t pay a cent.”

his laughter softened as he shook his head, his grin fading into something smaller, quieter as he glanced at the box. he pulled it open and grabbed a cupcake, peeling the wrapper with an almost boyish carelessness. his first bite was deliberate, and the faint hum of approval he let out made your stomach flip, though you didn’t dare show it.

“what?” you asked, catching the subtle shift in his expression.

he shook his head, licking a stray bit of frosting from his thumb. “nothing. just… been a while since i’ve had something like this.”

“a cupcake?” you teased lightly.

“something simple,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “this feels… nice.”

the words lingered, unpolished and unintentional, like he hadn’t meant to say them out loud. you studied him for a moment, the usual bravado softened, the ever-present walls of gojo satoru slipping away to reveal something more vulnerable underneath.

“you deserve nice things,” you said, your voice gentle but firm.

he glanced at you, his smirk faltering for just a moment before creeping back, though it was softer this time. “careful,” he said, his tone playful, “you’re starting to sound like you like me.”

“don’t let it go to your head,” you shot back, bumping his shoulder lightly.

his chuckle was low, and when he leaned back into the couch, his expression was unguarded, his gaze steady. “too late,” he said, his voice quieter now. “you already made my day.”

you rolled your eyes, but the warmth in his tone lingered, settling deep in your chest like an ember refusing to burn out. it was the kind of warmth that reminded you this wasn’t the strongest sorcerer in the world sitting next to you, the untouchable, larger-than-life gojo satoru who wore his arrogance like armor. this was just him—barefoot in his apartment, smirking over a cupcake, his guard down in a way you rarely got to see.

and as the thought settled over you, steady and sure, you realized you wanted to keep him like this—unguarded, real, and yours, if only for tonight.

the two of you fell into an easy rhythm after that. the cupcake led to takeout, and soon the coffee table was littered with empty containers, the sound of your laughter filling the quiet apartment.

you’d known satoru for years now, ever since your paths crossed during a particularly chaotic mission that required his abilities and your steady resourcefulness to pull off. somehow, your friendship had stuck. you weren’t part of his clan, nor a student at his school. you were simply you—a constant in his otherwise turbulent life.

“so, birthdays,” you said at one point, your tone casual. “not your thing?”

he shrugged, popping the last bite of your dumplings into his mouth before replying. “they’re just… another day.”

you raised an eyebrow. “seriously? not even a little excitement?”

he hesitated, his usual cocky demeanor faltering just slightly. “when you’re me, birthdays are… complicated.”

you didn’t push, but the way you looked at him—curious, patient—made something in him unravel.

“when i was a kid, they were more about the clan than me,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “every party, every gift—it was all about connections. alliances. showing off what the gojo name could do.”

your expression softened, the weight of his words settling over you. “that sounds… lonely.”

he gave a half-smile, his gaze flickering to the melted wax still pooled on the cupcake. “yeah,” he said softly. “it was.”

you tilted your head, studying him for a moment before speaking. “what about what you want?”

he blinked, caught off guard by the question. “what i want?”

“yeah,” you said, leaning back against the couch. “what would make your birthday feel special?”

he didn’t respond right away, his gaze drifting to the candle. “this,” he said finally, his voice softer. “this is nice.”

later, as the night wound down, you reached into your bag, pulling out a small, neatly wrapped box. “i got you something,” you said, your voice softer now, your fingers fidgeting slightly as you handed it to him.

he took it with a curious look, tearing into the wrapping with his usual enthusiasm. when he lifted the lid, his expression shifted, surprise flickering across his features.

inside was a sleek, custom-designed blindfold. the material was a soft, matte black with subtle silver detailing at the edges—practical but elegant. as he turned it over in his hands, you could see the faintest flicker of emotion cross his usually carefree expression.

“figured you might like something a little different,” you said, your tone almost shy as you watched him. “still functional, of course, but… you know, something that’s actually yours.”

he ran his thumb over the stitching, his voice quiet. “you had this made?”

“yeah,” you admitted, feeling the warmth rise to your cheeks. “i just thought you'd like something that’s just… you.”

his throat tightened, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. he turned the blindfold over in his hands, his usual cocky demeanor softened by something quieter, more vulnerable. “you didn’t have to do this.”

“i wanted to,” you replied simply.

he looked up at you then, his usually mischievous eyes holding something deeper. “this might be the best gift i’ve ever gotten,” he said softly.

you laughed lightly, trying to shake off the sudden weight of the moment. “well, don’t get used to it. next year, it’s back to birthday cards.”

he chuckled, slipping the blindfold into his pocket with a small, genuine smile. “thank you,” he said again, his voice low and sincere.

the quiet shifted, the weight of the day settling in as the distance between you felt like it had shrunk into nothing. it wasn’t just the laughter, or the teasing, or even the gift. it was the way he looked at you now, unguarded and steady, like you’d managed to slip past the walls he kept so carefully built.

“satoru,” you murmured, your voice barely audible. the sound of his name made him shift closer, his hand moving to your waist, his touch light but deliberate.

“hmm?” he hummed, his gaze dropping to your lips.

“happy birthday,” you said softly, and then his lips were on yours.

his lips moved against yours with a mix of urgency and reverence, like he couldn’t get enough but wanted to savor every second. his hands slid down to your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you, his body warm and solid against yours. every touch, every kiss, felt like it carried the weight of all the things he wasn’t saying aloud.

“you’re full of surprises tonight,” he murmured against your lips, his breath warm as his nose brushed yours.

“you haven’t seen anything yet,” you teased, though your voice came out softer than you intended. he chuckled, the sound low and rich, vibrating through you as he kissed along the line of your jaw.

his hands found the hem of your shirt, tugging it up with maddening slowness, his fingertips grazing your sides and sending shivers down your spine. the shirt joined the growing pile of forgotten items on the floor, leaving you in just your bra. his eyes flicked over you, his smirk fading into something darker, more intent.

“beautiful,” he murmured, his voice soft but heavy with meaning. the way his gaze lingered on you, like he was committing every detail to memory, made your cheeks flush.

you opened your mouth to say something, but then he was reaching for the cupcake you’d brought. his grin returned, wide and mischievous as he scooped a dollop of frosting onto his finger.

“satoru,” you started, already suspicious. “don’t—”

but he was already leaning forward, smearing the frosting just above your collarbone, the coolness of it making you shiver.

“you’re impossible,” you muttered, half-laughing, half-exasperated.

“i’m creative,” he corrected, his grin widening as his mouth followed, his tongue warm and deliberate as he licked the frosting away. the contrast of cold and heat sent a jolt through you, your fingers tightening against his shoulders.

he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his breath brushing your skin as he whispered, “want to know what i wished for?”

your heart stuttered, your voice barely above a whisper as you replied, “what?”

his lips curved into a softer smile—less playful, more genuine. “this,” he murmured. “you.”

the words landed heavy in the space between you, sinking into your chest and stealing the air from your lungs. the teasing glint in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something raw and unguarded that made your chest ache.

“satoru,” you murmured, his name slipping from your lips before you could stop it. it felt more vulnerable than you meant it to, but the way his expression softened in response made you glad you’d said it.

“say it again,” he whispered, his hand reaching for more frosting. this time, he smeared it just above the curve of your breast, his grin turning wicked as he leaned down, his tongue following the sugary trail. the warmth of his mouth, paired with the way his hand slid behind you to unclasp your bra, had your breath hitching.

“satoru,” you gasped, your back arching instinctively as his lips lingered against your skin.

“good girl,” he growled softly, the praise sending heat straight to your core. he tossed your bra aside, his gaze dropping to take in the sight of you fully. “god, you’re perfect.”

his hands framed your ribs, his thumbs brushing over your sensitive skin with just enough pressure to make your breath hitch again. “best birthday ever,” he murmured, his voice low and rough as he pressed a kiss between your breasts.

his cerulean eyes glinted mischievously as he suddenly shifted, his hands gripping your hips as he turned, placing you back on the couch with a smooth motion. the world tilted, and before you could register what was happening, he was on his knees in front of you, his broad hands parting your thighs gently, reverently.

“satoru,” you murmured, your voice shaky as he pressed kisses to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, his breath warm against you.

“shh,” he whispered, his tone full of appreciation. “let me take my time with you.”

his lips moved slowly, trailing kisses over your thighs before dipping closer to your center, his tongue flicking out to taste you again. you gasped as he found your clit, his tongue pressing firm and wet against it, sending a shock of pleasure through your body. his hands gripped your thighs tighter, holding you open as he worked you with a precision that made your toes curl.

“you’re so perfect,” he muttered against you, his voice thick with praise. “taste so sweet—so good for me.”

your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging lightly as the heat built low in your stomach. every swipe of his tongue, every low hum he let out, sent sparks through your body, but when your hips bucked into his mouth, you couldn’t stop yourself from tugging harder, yanking him back.

he groaned softly at the sharp pull, his eyes flicking up to meet yours, dazed and hungry. “what are you—”

before he could finish, you pushed him back, your hands firm on his shoulders as you guided him down to the floor. his surprise melted into delight, his grin wide and playful as he propped himself up on his elbows, watching you with open curiosity.

“my turn,” you said, grabbing another cupcake from the table with a smirk.

his brow lifted in amusement, but the playful look in his eyes didn’t waver, even as you smeared the frosting across his sharp jawline. the sticky sweetness painted his pale skin, and you leaned down, your tongue darting out to clean the frosting in slow, deliberate strokes. his breathing hitched as you kissed the trail from his cheek to the corner of his lips, the sugary taste mingling with the salt of his skin.

“another present?” he teased, his voice low and velvety, laced with intrigue.

you didn’t answer, your lips brushing against his jawline, tracing a path to his throat. his breath caught as your tongue flicked against the hollow of his neck, your hands moving to unbutton his shirt with deliberate slowness. the fabric fell away, revealing the smooth planes of his chest, the faint sheen of sweat making his skin glisten in the dim light.

“you’re a menace,” he muttered, his voice dropping as his hands came up to your waist.

“consider it a gift,” you replied, your tone light but teasing as your hands roamed his chest, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your palms.

“some gift,” he murmured, his tone roughening as his fingers brushed against the hem of your shirt. his gaze locked onto yours, the heat in his expression making your stomach tighten.

“you’re welcome,” you quipped, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to his collarbone. your lips moved lower, trailing kisses down the sharp lines of his torso, leaving a path of heat in your wake. he let out a low groan, his fingers flexing against your hips as you reached the waistband of his pants.

“you’re full of surprises tonight,” he muttered, his voice thick with anticipation as you unfastened his belt and tugged the fabric down.

your gaze drifted lower, taking in the sight of him fully. his cock was already hard, flushed at the tip and glistening with precum. the sight made your thighs press together instinctively, a fresh wave of heat pooling low in your stomach.

“what’s the matter?” he teased, his voice a bit uneven as he propped himself up on his elbows to watch you. “you look like you’ve seen something you like.”

“you could say that,” you replied, your voice breathy as your hand wrapped around his length, stroking slowly. the weight of him in your hand was intoxicating, the heat of his skin sending a shiver through you. his breath hitched, and his head fell back, exposing the column of his throat as he groaned softly.

“fuck,” he muttered, his hands tightening on your hips. “you’re gonna ruin me.”

“that’s the plan,” you replied with a grin, leaning down to press a kiss to the tip of his cock, your tongue darting out to taste him.

his reaction was immediate—a sharp inhale, his hands flexing against the floor as he fought to keep still. “shit,” he rasped, his voice rough as his gaze dropped to meet yours. “don’t stop.”

you didn’t. your tongue flicked against him, teasing before you took him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you worked him slowly. his breathing grew heavier, his chest rising and falling with each deliberate stroke of your tongue.

“look at me,” he demanded, his voice low and commanding. your eyes flicked up, meeting his gaze. his blue eyes were darker now, clouded with desire, and the sight of him—his chest heaving, his jaw tight, his lips parted—made your thighs clench with need.

“fuck, baby,” he muttered, his voice a mix of awe and desperation. “you’re too good at this.”

you hummed softly in response, the vibration pulling a low groan from him. your hand joined your mouth, stroking the base of his cock in time with your movements, and the combination had his head falling back again, his hips twitching beneath you.

just as he seemed on the verge of losing control, you pulled back, your lips leaving him with a soft pop. his eyes flew open, wild and questioning, as he looked down at you.

“another present,” you said, your voice teasing as you climbed back up his body, your lips pressing to his jaw, his neck, his collarbone.

“you’re gonna kill me,” he muttered, his hands gripping your hips tightly as you settled over him, the slick heat of your core brushing against him.

“only a little,” you replied, your grin wicked as your hands braced against his chest, your hips rolling against his in a slow, deliberate grind.

his hands slid to your thighs, gripping them firmly as you moved together, his cock buried deep inside you. the wet, slick sounds of your bodies meeting filled the room, mingling with the soft gasps and ragged breaths you couldn’t contain. his gaze locked on yours, heavy-lidded and full of heat, and it made every nerve in your body ignite.

“you’re so fucking perfect,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. his hands gripped your hips tighter, guiding your movements as his hips rolled up to meet you, each thrust deeper and more deliberate than the last.

your hands braced against his chest, your nails scraping lightly over the hard planes of muscle as you rode him. the drag of his cock against your walls, the way he filled you completely, sent waves of pleasure through you. his jaw was tight, his head tipped back slightly as he watched you through half-lidded eyes.

“satoru,” you gasped, your voice breaking on the syllables as he thrust up into you harder, hitting the perfect spot that made your vision blur.

“say it again,” he growled, his voice commanding. his hands slid up your back, pulling you closer as his hips snapped up into you. “say my name.”

“satoru,” you whimpered, your breath hitching as your body trembled against his. your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging lightly as you kissed him, your lips brushing against his in a frantic, heated rhythm.

his movements grew faster, more desperate, as he chased his release. his hand slid between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing tight circles that made you cry out, your head falling to his shoulder as your body arched into his touch.

“come for me, baby,” he murmured, his voice low and full of praise. “let me feel you.”

the coil in your stomach tightened, the heat building until it was unbearable. and then it snapped, your orgasm crashing over you in waves that left you trembling in his arms. your walls clenched around him, pulling him deeper, and the sound he let out—a low, guttural groan—made your head spin.

“fuck,” he growled, his hands gripping your hips as he thrust into you one last time. his cock pulsed inside you, his release warm and overwhelming as he buried himself deep, his head falling to your shoulder as his breathing turned ragged.

you stayed like that for a moment, tangled together, your bodies pressed so close it was impossible to tell where you ended and he began. his hands slid up your back, his touch gentle now, almost reverent, as he held you close.

“you’re amazing,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your temple. the words were quiet, but they carried a weight that made your chest ache in the best way.

“happy birthday,” you murmured, your voice soft as your fingers traced the lines of his jaw, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of your release.

he chuckled softly, the sound warm and full of something you couldn’t quite name. “best birthday ever,” he said, his voice rough but sincere.

you smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “you’re welcome.”

his arms tightened around you, pulling you down against his chest, his body warm and solid beneath you. the world outside faded, the only thing that mattered was the feeling of his heartbeat against yours, steady and grounding.

“stay,” he murmured, his voice barely audible as his eyes began to close.

“always,” you whispered, your hand sliding to rest against his chest as your own eyes drifted shut.

for the first time in years, satoru gojo didn’t just feel celebrated. he felt loved.

DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE, OR REPOST MY WORK ON OTHER PLATFORMS!

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