#i wish to give him a kiss on the forehead | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

03jyh23 · 15 hours

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— i love every inch of you || jeong yunho

established relationship, idol-yunho x reader

genre: fluff, suggestive

trigger warnings: none(?) but for the love of god do not interact if you're a minor

words: 1.9 k

reminder: what you’re about to read is purely fiction, so let’s keep it separate from reality.

!!!minors do not interact!!!

— hi there! so today i have nothing to say i just love yunho and that's it can somebody give him to me, please

love, monika. ♡

if you enjoyed this post, i’d be so grateful for a little love – a like, reblog or comment would truly make my day!

Yunho returned from the bathroom; a towel casually draped around his waist. You were already prepared for bed, sitting comfortably on the plush bedspread, a pillow behind your back. Your attention was initially glued to your phone's screen, but within a minute of your boyfriend entering the room, your gaze shifted. Your eyes took in the sight before you, appreciating the view. You watched the droplets of water cascading down from his dark, wet hair, trailing down his long, elegant neck, and further down to his impressively toned abs, glistening under the room's soft lighting.

"Baby, you're staring," Yunho remarked with a playful chuckle in his voice.

Caught in the act, you only smirked, unapologetically continuing your admiration. "Can you blame me?" you retorted; your voice filled with playfulness.

"No, not at all," Yunho replied, his voice laced with laughter. He gracefully moved towards you, the soft glow of the room reflecting off his damp skin, giving him an almost ethereal glow.

"You should be glad I'm not drooling over you," you teased, your words laced with playful sarcasm.

Yunho looked at you with playful disappointment, feigning offense. "Seriously? Drooling?"

You giggled, gently tugging at the edge of his loosely tied towel. "What can I say? You're quite a sight."

Shaking his head in amusement, he leaned down to press a kiss on your temple. "Well, I'll take that as a compliment, even if it makes me sound like a piece of meat."

"Not just any piece of meat," you teased, wrapping your arms around his neck to draw him closer. "A very delicious, prime cut," you whispered against his lips with a wide smile.

Yunho laughed, "I guess I should be flattered?"

"Definitely," you agreed, "And very grateful." His playful demeanor gave way to a tender expression, a gentle smile gracing his lips. He once again pressed a soft kiss, this time on your forehead, the warmth of his breath mingling with the coolness of his damp skin.

"Scoot over," he murmured, his voice low and intimate. You shifted to the side, making room for him. Yunho then sat down beside you, getting comfortable as he leaned into the headboard.

"How is it even possible for someone to be as hot as you are?" you asked, half-joking, half-serious.

Yunho leaned in closer, the corners of his mouth curving into a teasing smirk. "You flatter me too much, baby," he said, his voice a soft whisper against your ear. But you saw the faint blush creeping up his neck, and you knew your words affected him, despite his nonchalant exterior. Your fingers reached out, tracing the contours of his face as if it were the first time you saw him. His eyes closed at your touch, a content sigh escaping his lips.

''I’ve watched the interview that was aired today," you began, your tone serious and a hint of disapproval lacing your words, "and to be honest, I didn’t like it one bit."

Yunho, taken aback by your sudden comment, furrowed his brows in confusion and a mild hint of concern. "What exactly do you mean by that?" he questioned; his voice filled with genuine curiosity.

You took a moment to gather your thoughts before responding, "Well, during the interview, you mentioned that you wish you were smaller, and I found it quite… unsettling." As you spoke, you slowly moved to sit on Yunho’s lap, placing each of your knees on either side of him. In response, he put his hands on your lower back, sending shivers down your spine. Then, you leaned in to plant a soft, comforting kiss on his neck, he shivered under your kiss, amused by your brave actions. "I love every inch of you, Jeong Yunho" you declared, your eyes filled with admiration and affection. As you spoke, you gently placed featherlight kisses along his jaw, trailing downwards to his neck and collarbones, each kiss a silent testament to your love for him. Yunho tilted his head back, allowing you more access to his neck. His eyes closed, the corners of his mouth curling upward into a content smile. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer until there was no more space between your bodies. You admired the way his body reacted to your touch, his skin breaking out in goosebumps and his breath becoming slightly shallower. "I love that you're bigger than me," you murmured, your words soft against his skin. "I love the feeling of being enveloped by you, protected by you. That wouldn't be possible if you were smaller." Your fingers traced the dips and curves of his abs, eliciting a soft groan from him. Your compliments seemed to ease any insecurities he held, his body relaxing under your touch. "I love how your arms wrap around me, making me feel safe and cherished," you continued, your fingers trailing higher to his broad shoulders, "I love how your body towers over mine, it makes me feel protected." Your words were like a soothing balm, erasing any self-doubts he might have had.

He let out a soft sigh, his arms pulling you closer. His eyes met yours, and you saw a mix of relief and tenderness in them. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice a whisper against your ear. Yunho gently lifted your chin, ensuring your eyes met his. A blush was creeping onto his cheeks as he pulled you in for a kiss. His hand rested on your waist, keeping your body close to his. The kiss was soft yet passionate. You could feel the warmth of his body against yours, the rhythm of his heartbeat echoing your own. His fingers traced gentle circles on your waist, eliciting a soft sigh from you. The kiss deepened, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him even closer if that was even possible. His hands moved from your waist to your back, holding you securely against him. Eventually, you both pulled away for air, your foreheads resting against each other. Yunho's eyes were filled with affection as he looked at you, a soft smile playing on his lips. "I love you," he whispered, his voice filled with sincerity.

You couldn't help but smile at his words, your heart swelling with love for this man. "I love you too, Yunho," you replied, your voice just above a whisper. You leaned in to capture his lips once more. You smiled at him as you pulled away; your heart filled with nothing but love. "Never forget," you said, your voice serious, "You're perfect just the way you are." Your hand cupped his cheek, thumb gently stroking his skin. He leaned into your touch, his eyes closing at the comforting sensation. You took this opportunity to capture his lips yet again in a passionate kiss, pouring all your emotions into it. As you pulled away, you whispered, "Never wish to change anything about you." With your words, you wanted to reassure him that every part of him was loved, every flaw, every quirk, every trait that made him the man you loved.

Yunho opened his eyes, looking at you with newfound admiration and love. "Thank you," he said, his voice filled with sincerity.

"I don't want even a small inch of you to disappear," you pouted, as Yunho tenderly tucked your hair behind your ear, his eyes admiring your face. Feeling playful, you flashed him a wide smile, your fingers teasingly reaching for the hem of his towel. Yunho chuckled, catching your hand before you could go any further. "And I definitely don’t want to see your 'friend' getting smaller," you teased, your tone flirtatious.

Yunho burst into laughter at your comment, his eyes twinkling with amusement, his cheeks tinted with a faint blush at your playful remark. "Oh, is that so?" he replied, his voice teasing. "Well, lucky for you, he's more than happy to make an appearance anytime you want."

You grinned mischievously, enjoying the playful banter between the two of you. "Is that a promise?" you asked, raising an eyebrow suggestively while gently moving your hips against his crotch.

"Careful now," Yunho teased, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Someone might get the wrong idea." You laughed, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his lips.

"Oh, I think that someone is getting the right idea," you shot back, a mischievous glint in your eyes. You pressed yourself against Yunho's crotch once more, your moves bolder this time, confidence radiating in every movement. His hands tightened on your hips, a groan escaping his lips at the sensation. The playful atmosphere had shifted into something more heated, and you couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement. You were fully aware of the effect you were having on him, his eyes darkening with desire. Steadying yourself, you grabbed hold of one of Yunho's broad shoulders, your hips pressing into him with more force, as if you were on a mission. His body responded in kind, his hands guiding your movements, a low growl escaping his lips. The room filled with the intoxicating tension between you two, the playful banter having long been replaced with a heated exchange of smoldering looks and soft gasps.

"You're driving me crazy," Yunho murmured, his voice husky as he tried to control his breathing.

You chuckled, a wicked glint in your eyes. "That's the plan." His hands moved to your waist, guiding you with a firm yet gentle grip. The rhythm of your movements became more synchronized, the shared heat between you two increasing with every passing moment. Yunho's eyes were glued to you, admiration and desire evident in his gaze. Your fingers tangled in his damp hair, tugging slightly to elicit a groan from him. Feeling Yunho's evident arousal against you, you bit your lip, your eyes meeting his. A playful smirk appeared on your lips as you teased, "Well, hello, sir."

Yunho flushed at your comment, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. "Well, he's certainly happy to see you," he retorted, a playful glint in his eyes. With a swift motion, Yunho suddenly flipped you over, his strong hands pinning your wrists above your head. The surprised gasp that escaped your lips was quickly swallowed by his, as he dipped down to claim your mouth in a passionate, fiery kiss. His lips moved against yours with a fervor that left you breathless, his tongue exploring the depths of your mouth with a dominance that was uniquely Yunho. His damp hair brushed against your forehead as he loomed over you, his eyes filled with an unspoken promise. The desire in his gaze was apparent, making your heart flutter in anticipation. You could feel his erection pressing against your thigh, and a wave of desire coursed through your body in response. Despite having your wrists pinned, you managed to wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer to you. Yunho groaned at the contact, his hips instinctively grinding against yours, causing you to gasp at the sensation. "Remember you asked for it," he whispered softly into your lips, his warm breath mixing with yours, making you shiver with anticipation. His voice, deep and husky, sent a thrilling chill down your spine, igniting a burning desire within you. His hands, strong yet gentle, traced the contours of your body, making you squirm under his touch. Every nerve in your body tingled with anticipation, and you knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that the night was only just beginning.

#ateez x reader #ateez au #ateez x y/n #ateez fanfic #yunho x you #yunho x y/n #yunho x reader #yunho fluff #ateez fluff #yunho scenarios #yunho smut

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hoseoksluna · 3 days

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STRAWBERRIES | jjk ft. jhs

pairing: ex-boyfriend!jungkook x oc (feat. soon-to-be-boyfriend!hobi & spectacled boy)

genre: angst, fluff

word count: 7.8k

summary: when your ex-boyfriend's fury burns you whole, you just might need to let hobi in to pour water over you and save you.

playlist: strawberries

pinterest board: j. / taglist: join

warnings: jungkook is nasty and mean and rly needs a trigger warning, oc is lost in her negative emotions and goes through a lot, sadness, crying, shame, longing for death, minor physical violence, oc and hobi take puffs of a shared vape <3, mental and emotional suffering, fighting, belittling, mentions of sex

note: this was an absolute pain to write as i'm not used to writing this genre of jungkook and i hope it's the last time i did skfskfsk, nah i'm just over exaggerating. i'm so happy i got this done in time. two updates in one week! wow. how did i do that? i hope you like this part. prepare yourselves for this jungkook and i'm sorry in advance..... that's all im gonna say. pls, validate me! asks, comments, anything. pretty please! i love you, my babies. big mwah.

You can still sense the ghost of his touch on your shoulder blades as you’re laying halfway on your tummy upon the crumpled bedding of your mattress. Your phone lights up and shuts off like the flickering of stars and all you can do is watch the wane and the rebirth, numbly, with the knowledge that death will never come, not when you’re still a living, breathing person because Jungkook is not the type of individual who gives up. Not easily, that is.

Hobi left but an hour ago while you slept. Kissed you goodbye. Murmured onto your forehead that he would see you again and you merely nodded amidst the magnetic pulling of your dreamland. Couldn’t peel your eyes open due to the heaviness of your tiredness, which didn’t steal, in all peculiar truthfulness, all of your attention, however. You carried on your shoulders a question way heftier. A question of how your body is still able to submit to slumber, when your blood curdles beneath your skin, when it’s so icy that you’re shivering on top of the duvet.

And the question didn’t leave when you woke up to your empty bedroom. It thumped, vigorously, against the nape of your neck. The very place Hoseok clutched when he poured his affection and admiration all over your body.

You wish he hadn’t left. You believe he would’ve possessed your burden, pretending it was his all along. Believe he wouldn’t need to know the alpha and the omega of it. Would pout his lips the way you’ve learned he often does, take the pain from you as if it were a backpack filled with stones. And it does feel like that, your mistake. Your torso is swathed with a double rope, whose end is tied with a stone that you’re cradling in your hands.

A few hours ago, you cradled Hobi’s face in your hands while he kneeled for you, and now you’re anticipating the death that will never come as your stomach hurts.

But the memory of his touch is soothing. While your imaginary wings are flaccid and lackluster on the bed, his invisible hands are the force that pumps blood, feebly, into its membrane. Still warm, though a little less firm. It’s as if he were here in the flesh.

Your body is asking for him, emotionally, however your mind is forbidding you from conveying your need for him to him. Logic is whispering to you that he’s spent the entire day with you, canceled his work meeting because of you. You couldn’t possibly ask for more of his time, for more of him when he had already given you more than enough.

And besides, you can’t let your attachment reach this unhealthy depth. It triggers you, reminds you of the very thing that spliced your heart open almost a month ago. You don’t want to wander there, nor do you want to be pulled there if you were to ever let go of the reins. You can’t afford Jungkook’s life to entwine around your world again. Not when Hobi diligently dug a grave for it, threw its flesh down and covered it back with the soil, his straining muscles the very force that made you forget about… everything.

You can’t do that to yourself. And most importantly, you can’t do that to Hobi.

It’s the latter that propels you to fight. That gives you strength to raise the top half of your body onto your hands. You don’t give a fuck about yourself—you know full well that your life is cursed. Nothing good has ever come out of the events that creeped in until Hobi came along. And you don’t wish to break him out of a selfish intent. You don’t wish to break him because of him. He’s a pure angel, a saint with an honorable heart, a God that has his eye on you. You wouldn’t take it well, if the bane of the ambrosia of your life were ever to touch his lips.

He’s here, and that’s stable. He’s here, and that’s the reason why you need to protect him. From yourself, from the poison, from the rotten apple of your ex-boyfriend current persistence in entering your space all over again.

You don’t want to eat that spoiled fruit anymore, and so you simply won’t.

This decision has shifted the atmosphere because your phone is no longer going off. You sigh a breath of relief, running your fingers through your hair, and you get up, a Virgin Mary that has become a warrior for her God, and you begin to dress yourself.

You need some fresh air.

Clothing yourself in a matching outfit—a light wash baggy jeans, a cropped white tank and a denim jacket with your Nike’s, you grab your phone and keys and drift out into the night.

Your hair has dried while you slumbered and it ripples in the gentle wind of autumn. The street is lit in a darkly yellow tone, also dried from the morning’s downpour and you stop in the middle of the road, where Hobi drove past while you teased him. You breathe in the freshness of the air in effort to inhale your God, in effort to bring him into your system and your chin quivers with weakened emotions, with a weakened wish that he was here with you, holding your hand, giving you the last bit of strength you need. You know his warmth would smooth out your blood, boil it to a temperature that would cook up your joy and bring it to your heart on a silver platter. Bring it to your mind and calm the hurricane within, feed it so it doesn’t wail anymore.

And with another sigh, you will yourself to stop. Will yourself to stop needing. You will stumble and you will fall if you keep going down that road that has never shone brighter, that looks nothing like the one you’re standing in the middle of. And as inviting as it is, you close your eyes to get rid of the blessing reaching out for you—only to discover that it’s waiting for you there, too. A circle of light, of fire amidst a cloud of pure, pitch-black darkness.

You want to scream, and much to your neighbors’ dismay—you do.

It’s a singular, loud stream of your frustration, swaddled with the pulsating energy of your affection. And then your shoulders tremble. And it’s your tears that are louder than that murmuring watercourse in their very silence.

You head to the convenience store down the street with your teardrops dotting the ground as if it were the rain. You don’t want your neighbors to detect it was you, who caused the disturbance, and tell your parents. You have enough fire in your orchard, you don’t need another filling of oil.

You ask the very drowsy guy behind the counter for a strawberry ice vape. His round eyes, behind thick rimmed glasses that make them look even bigger, are barely kept open as he reaches for it with a flabby hand. Your eye catches the glint of a myriad of plan B’s right next to the shelf scattered with packs of lung burners and your heart constricts, a rivulet of emotion cascading down your cheek, caused by the fond recollection of Hobi’s intimate desire and you break—terribly, terribly break. Fruit trees crack in you, collapse to the ground with a horrendous thud and the berry bushes… they wither until they’re mere wisps of blackness. A picture of devastation.

The boy blinks twice when he turns around, regarding you, and he asks for your ID, only to startle when you glare at him. He tells you the price and you pay with your phone, thanking him and saying your curt goodbye.

One he doesn’t reciprocate.

You probably gave him the fright due to the tears marring your pallid cheeks. You hope he isn’t there the next time you’re in the mood to douse your lungs with chemicals.

Your hands are shaking as you’re tearing up the unnecessarily sturdy packaging. And your tears resume in their outpour when your manicured nails make your life harder than it already is. The tape folded over the top of the rectangular box is too thick and you hurt your nail beds when you claw at it. You have to use your teeth and the fucking thing finally gives in.

You furiously throw it out in the bin.

Feel an incoming calmness when you take a deep puff. And you do it over and over again until your cursed world spins, the plump swirls of smoke mingling with the night, never fully connecting. Not like you and Hobi.

And your world tilts on its axis once your phone lights up in your hand and there’s no picture to be found on the screen.

Your heart hammers, threatening to fling out of your throat.

Hobi is calling you.

And the thing is, you don’t really believe it.

Your vision swims as another onrush of dense tears blurs the letters of his name. You stare down at your phone, dumbly, sobbing and not caring at all that the spectacled boy can hear you.

You don’t know who does it—who swipes your finger across the screen and allows you to hear Hobi say the pet name that stole your soul. Who anoints your tears with strawberry-scented mollification while you fail to comprehend that the person you willed yourself not to need in order to not hurt him the way you were hurt somehow heard your cries and answered them like the God he is.

Because it couldn’t have been you. Not when you’ve become a lifeless sculpture in the middle of a yellowly-lit street. A modern, urban art—awakening ugliness in anyone’s first impression.

Not a sculpture of the angel you saw at the museum, the one Hobi took your picture with, though.

You're a sculpture of a road kill. A wounded, small animal, laying on its side with its guts out. And Hobi places them, with gentleness you’ve never felt before, back inside, stitches your belly closed and picks you up, carrying you in his arms. All because he repeats the pet name—with a slither of panic this time.

He acknowledged that something is wrong, validated it.

And somehow, it snaps you out of your vapor of numb sadness and shame permeates your body, cold sweat coats it—something beyond it, too. Something that makes you shiver so hard that your teeth begin to chatter, preventing you from speaking, your tongue twisted, lifeless.

A reality check.

You sent a filthy video of yourself getting rocked from behind to your ex-boyfriend, in which you screamed that your most intimate parts belong to another man.

You’re not Virgin Mary. You’re Mary Magdalene.

You don’t hear your pitiful crying fits, but Hobi does—and it is through his inhale of a trembling breath and his words that you perceive that you’re baring your ugliness to him.

“Pup, what’s wrong? What happened? Why are you crying?”

You squeeze your vape in your small fist, sensing those words doing something in you—something that untwists your tongue and lets you breathe like him, though in painful, quick staccatos. Your frail legs hurt, not able to withstand your tremor, and they give out. You fall onto your bum, the impact and the gravel shooting a spark of pain up your spine and you whimper, your tears soaking your neckline.

“Hobi,” you call out, the last vowel breaking, teeth chattering, cacophonously. “I made a mistake. A terrible mi-mistake.”

He coos, sorrowfully, his loud breath still trembling—a strong rope nonetheless that you want to hold onto. That cord wouldn’t lead you to your death, wouldn’t scrape your hands with its harsh texture, wouldn’t be wrapped around a stone on the other end.

“Breathe for me, baby,” he says and guides you to do it. You inhale the night air with him, feeling like there isn’t enough of it to appease your lungs, and you exhale.

Somehow it halts the river of your cries and you do it again. Hobi lets you, patiently waiting on the other side, encouraging you and praising you. This time, it doesn’t sprinkle you with the sultriness of sin. No, you sense it cleansing you, giving you the kind of newness you stumbled across in his car this very morning. Your palm, the one that clutches your vape, opens and it rolls onto the ground. You grab it and when you wrap your fingers around it, you perceive that you do the motion around that newness. And your heart, your submission—they’re not letting up. Not again. Not when it’s him.

“That’s it,” Hobi praises, a hint of calmness in his tone. “Can you try and tell me what happened?”

You nod your head, even though he can’t see you, the newness gracing you with strength that spreads feeling into your legs and you stretch them out. Blood pumps in them and you can sense the direction it’s traveling to. You tighten your grip, open your mouth to talk.

“I sent the video to the wrong person,” you utter, and along with your grip, your lungs tighten as well. No sobs escape you, no tears. Only gravely stillness, nothingness while your shame stands behind you, menacingly, a demon set out on destroying you, the curse upon your life a bracelet around its wrist, a knife in his hand, to which it’s attached.

Hobi doesn’t say anything for a moment and you can sense his shock, its cold tendrils the ice that courses down your legs. An agony forms in your heart, stretches out an arm of regret and strikes against your ribcage, pangs of guilt and self-disgust seizing your body.

“I’m so sorry, Hobi, I thought I sent it to you,” you continue, your voice splitting, though no external expression of it is evident on your countenance. It’s as if you were telling him the most ordinary of a thing. You rub your eyes with the back of your hand, taking a puff of your vape. It is only now that you can taste its strawberry savoriness and it suffuses your lungs with a mockingly sweet, feigned fume.

Hobi hears you exhale and you hear him swallow, dryly. An exchange, most redolent of the one you’ve done many times earlier.

“What are you smoking?” he asks, and it catches you off guard. You didn’t expect him to yell at you, nor did you expect him to scold you. Truth be told, your fragile state of mind didn’t let you expect anything of him, any sort of outcome. Yet this question still surprises you. It flattens lukewarmness upon your skin and you feel like nuzzling your face into it, needing more of it.

You take a deep breath. “I bought a strawberry vape. Scared the guy in the store with what I looked like.”

Hobi laughs through his nose, barely. That’s the real sweetness you know. The original one, from God himself. “I’m sure he thought you were beautiful. Should I beat him up?”

The same sound leaves you and lightness descends upon you. You welcome it in, without a fight, and the sigh you let out is of a serene kind, at last. “Not at all and besides, I almost did it myself. He asked for my ID.”

Hobi coos, the endearment prolonging—wafting through your ear down your throat until it clings to your heart. You snivel, your inkling to nuzzle into the apparition of him lining your body growing bigger until you submit to it. You graze your cheek upon your arm, propping both of them onto your lifted knees. Feel his caress, but faintly. It should be enough, but it isn't. Could never be.

You open your mouth again to tell him to come get you, despite the fight rising in you, but Hobi speaks first.

“I don’t blame him that he did. You’re just my little pup. But my adult, little pup. I’ll talk to him.” You hear a shuffling in the background and your breath hitches in your throat, your heart joining it, ascending. “Where are you? I’m getting in my car.”

Your mind, where the war is coming from, wins. That quickly. Reminds you that if you face him and tell him what you’ve done, you’ll ruin everything. Ruin the connection, ruin the affection he carries for you.

You’re hasty as you scramble your words, but as your heart descends back into your ribcage, it throws you a lifeline. It all happens in an instant and distaste pools on your tongue from the rapidness of it all. You never liked it, and you never will.

The lifeline of your new life, created by Hobi, changes your words, but leaves the intention untouched.

“Can I tell you who I sent it to?” you ask, taking a puff to relax the electricity of your nerves. The strawberry flavor only heightens it, though. Out it must go, then. So you can forget about it the moment you see his face.

The shuffling halts. “You can tell me in person,” Hobi says, lightly, but you shake your head. You know he means well. Know that he wants to reassure you with touch, but it’s a risk you can’t afford. Not when the wrong kind of neediness is at stake.

“I don’t want to talk about it when I see you,” you push, pursing your lips, finding them in a serious need of a chapstick. You begin to nibble on the flecks of skin that stick out. “I want to focus on you. I want to forget.”

No ounce of a lie in your words, though your intention still remains hidden. Rightfully so—him leaving you because of the storm of your mental state and issues is another risk you don’t want to have staining your hands with blood.

You hear him sit down. Hear him play with his keys—and the clanging sound is oddly comforting. “All right. Tell me, then.”

“I sent it to someone from my past,” you start with great difficulty, pause afterwards because a light pours in from behind. The squeak of breaks, the impatient buzzing of a running car. Your mouth dries, your torso turns around. A silhouette exits the vehicle and as the person emerges from the darkness and steps into the bright lights that it’s emitting, the name that slips past your lips is more of an acknowledgement of his presence than a disclosure of information. “Jungkook.”

Jungkook stops right behind you like the demon of your shame did, with his hands in his pocket. You don’t feel warmth radiating off of him. You feel coldness, a wintry coldness so akin to the one that troubled your body before Hobi called. He zeroes his gaze down on you, piercing your irises with a fury that causes the fine hair on the nape of your neck to rise, painfully. The muscles of his forearms are clenched, oscillating as he drums his fingers on his thighs in the cocoons of his pockets. Your breath trembles, terror prickling you profoundly until it cuts your skin open and you whimper—you whimper with a sob.

“Who’s Jungkook?” Hobi asks, softly, and you close your eyes to incarcerate your tears, curling your lips under your teeth, terribly fearful that Jungkook can hear him.

Cursed, your life is.

He shows no sign that he does—merely burns with that fury, patiently waiting for you to end the call. Your heart stills, ache replacing it, and you think it’s been wounded so much that it can barely work anymore.

More than ever, you feel like that Mary Magdalene, face to face with the devil that tempts her to return to her vomit like a dog.

Hobi calls your name, panics, and it’s another lifeline—this time thrown over your torso by his own hands. You have to fight, you have to stand up to this hell and walk the fuck away from it.

“Baby, I gotta go. Please, hurry. Please,” you pule, stressing the last pretty word to divulge to him how grave the situation is that you’re in. Hobi lets out a breath, lowly and shortly, and it’s such a relief that he understood your vague message, that you can hear him scurrying to his feet and that comforting sound of his keys clanging.

“I’ll be there in a few, pup. Tell me where you are. Are you safe? Do you have your keys?” Hobi spews, massaging your heart with his care and there’s no ceaselessness to your tears.

“Down the road, like less than a minute away from my apartment. And I don’t know. And yeah, they’re in my pocket.”

A bang of his door closing. Jungkook begins to tap his foot. You scowl at him, despite your fear. He doesn’t stop. You withdraw your gaze.

Hobi’s breath quickens. “Pull them out and use them when you need to, okay? Have them ready in your hand.” You nod, doing exactly as he says, without a thought spared. “Walk to your apartment building, I’ll meet you there. You got your keys in your hand?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, pup, I’ll be there soon. Do you want to stay on the phone with me?”

You do, but you can’t.

“I’ll go to my apartment now, Hobi. Thank you.”

You don’t allow yourself to hear what he says next. Pulling the phone away from your ear, you hang up with a heavy heart. Your sudden, miserable aloneness enfolds around you, rigidly. But not as rigidly as Jungkook’s cold hand around your arm.

The heaviness in your heart grows as its drum speeds up.

“Get up,” Jungkook grunts, hauling you up onto your feet, awkwardly, causing you to drop your vape onto the gravel with the strength and hastiness he uses to do it with.

You stumble before you catch your balance and Jungkook doesn’t let go of his deathly grip on you until you do. Then, before your blurring sight, he bends at the waist and picks up your lung burner, skimming his eyes over it. Hands it to you with a scoff, his touch icy cold as he grabs your wrist and places it onto your palm. You sob, with ugliness that scars you, with such intensity that Jungkook’s narrowed eyes round and you pull your gaze away. You don’t want to see it. Tug your arm away from him, rubbing your wrist to get rid of the ghost of his fingers there, disgust flooding your bloodstream underneath.

And even though he seemingly softened at your tears, it’s gone as quickly as it arrived. It didn’t touch his fury, not at all.

“Baby, huh?” he seethes with gritted teeth, letting go of you so harshly that you almost stumble again. “Your pussy is his, huh?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, rivulets of tears rolling down your cheeks, pain compressing your entire body. It’s at this moment that you will death to take you somewhere far, far away from him, because you’re too frozen on the spot to run away.

“You’re covered in hickeys and you’re smoking that shit again. Was it really that good? Did he fuck you so good that you had to send it to me in spite? Did he fuck you better than I ever did?”

Your sobs gain that same agony that prevents your lungs from inhaling. And when you open your eyes, all you can look at is your shadow and his, yours blackened so much that it digs a hole in the gravel, his furling with flames.

And along with death, you will a little strength into your anguish.

And most unbelievably, it slinks in, and your following words come as much of a surprise to you as to him.

“Stop.”

His shadow stills, his tremor following suit.

“You have no business talking to me this way,” you continue, your throat constringing, and you take a big puff of your vape—to spite him rightfully this time. It loosens the tightness and you open your mouth, not finished with your outpour.

But Jungkook stops you.

“I have no business? You crushed my fucking heart.”

Your head whips and the sight of him causes your pain to rise in levels. Palms outstretched towards you, his posture slouches and the breaths he lets out are wretched, the sound of a tumultuous sea at night. One would think he’s the one being inflicted great emotional violence on, not the other way around.

Jungkook raises a finger to his heart, licking his lips before he flattens them, as if the utterance of something so private, so fervent took all of his strength. He pants and you know it’s due to the fact that he can’t catch up to the thoughts rushing in his brain. And you wish you didn’t. You wish you didn’t know him so intimately.

“This fucking heart has never stopped being yours,” he confesses and cringes at his choice of words, triggered. Your stream of anguish is silent as you take them in. “And you crushed it. Ruined it.”

There was a time, one that used to be nearly endless during those weeks in August you spent at the beach, healing from the breakup, when you longed to hear that confession. Prayed for it. Sough it when you grazed your fingertips along the sand. And now that it’s here—now that you’re tasting something so great, greater than your entire being, something so burnt as he voiced out your tendency to cause ruination—you wish you never heard it. Wish you never had the ears that carried that message to you.

And there’s nothing you can do. Not as darkness swallows you, confiscating any bit of strength you had left. Your eyes sting from their downpour, face features droop. Your pain is an enormous stone and you can’t carry it. You can only chase away the heft. And you do—you take a puff of your vape.

One that he rips from your mouth and throws it out in the bin, preventing you from doing so. You don’t yelp, you don’t claw at his arm—you merely watch him rid you of your only salvation for the night, watch him exert his power over you all over again, bursting your indignation into flames.

“What the fuck is your problem?” you ask, your voice deathly, uncannily placid, carrying no tendril of the offense and anger you feel. Adrenaline courses through you, asking to be let out.

And you just might.

Jungkook turns around and spits on the ground. “Don’t smoke that shit.”

It’s not hurt, what the expression of his arrogance produced. It unlocked the door, which kept your adrenaline and your darkened emotions at bay, invited them out.

And so you lash out, using that freedom.

You slap him.

And he takes it. Without moving an inch. Still as a grand statue. You yearn to demolish it to smithereens, so you can never see him again, and you strike at his chest with your keys in between your fingers, pushing him. Affected from the force, it causes him to unwillingly take a step back and it feels fucking glorious until you catch stars flash in his eyes.

“You’re hitting me because I threw out your fucking vape?” he asks, his voice coated with a dark bitterness that deepens it. His brows furrow, grimness casting a shadow over his face, hiding the glitter of the stars. “I’m laying my heart out to you. I’m here in the middle of the night because of you and this is what you care about? This fucking thing that harms you is more dear to you?”

You push him again, fuming. Jungkook grits his teeth, takes your wrists and holds them in the air. You fight against it, but he won’t budge. Tightens his grip. And you’re a bird, locked in a cage—but you still have your voice.

“I’m hitting you because I hate you,” you mutter, burning him with the vapor of your anger through your narrowed eyes. “I’m hitting you because I hate the way you think you’re still entitled to have a say in my life. And it doesn’t even matter whether I have a man or not. You let me go and the moment you did that, your control over my life? It went fucking bye bye.”

You let him forbid you from smoking in the past. Needed it at the time, needed a father’s hand—and you liked it because you never had it. Never had a male care about you, about your health, about your actions. Your father never spared you a glance, never gave a fuck about you. He always had your mother handle you, blaming her for the way she raised you.

But during those weeks you healed, being alone by the sea helped you unattach yourself from that, from needing Jungkook to tell you what’s right and what’s not. The moon doesn’t tell the sea which shells to wash up onto the shore—it does it by itself, handpicks them, makes the decision. And the more time you watched it deliver it to you and you collected them with gladness, the more you understood it.

You’re never letting him have that power over you again. You’re your own person, carrying an armful of your right and wrong decisions—your own possessions. And so you will smoke if you want to. You will bring a man home on the first date. You will fall in love. And you will speak up.

You twist your wrists, unrelentingly, until he lets go. You will win, not your mind, not your heart. The raw, brutal, unabashed you.

You take a step back away from him, feel your blood rushing to the places of your body parts that he held, quick to recover them. “You don’t get to dictate my life anymore. You have no place in it. You didn’t have it then when I was by myself, and you most certainly don’t have it now.”

Jungkook takes in your words with a parted mouth, a red mark forming over his cheek, the light shunned from his eyes. The glorious feeling returns, blooming thin, translucent tissues of happiness in you.

“Hoseok is his name, isn’t it?” he chunters, placing his hands back into the cocoons of his pockets, tilting his head to the side.

Hearing him say his name is a taste of spoiled milk and bile springs up your throat, your guts longing to empty themselves out. You stifle it, you have to, clutching your stomach, feeling so horribly faint. Your hatred for him blossoms like that poison ivy you dealt with earlier in the morning.

“Keep his name out of your mouth,” you spit, scowling at him, clutching your stomach harder—just like Hobi did when you brought him home. A sliver of nostalgia forces you to look behind you, in case you catch a glance of his car, but the street remains empty and sullen.

“You can hate me as much as you want,” Jungkook mutters, his words swiveling your head back to face him, and your guts ripple. “Yell at me. Hit me. But don’t send me videos of you getting fucked. That’s not fucking right.”

You bare your teeth, seething. “I made a mistake.”

Jungkook nods. “Yes,” he hushes. “Yes, you did.”

You shake your head. “No, you don’t understand.” Confusion pinches his brows, creating a wrinkle in the middle and he lets you continue. You lick your lips, your face dry from the way your tears have seeped inside. “I thought I sent it to Hobi. I was too tired, I didn’t see. I didn’t do it on purpose.”

Jungkook scoffs, running his tongue over his bottom lip swiftly, mimicking you. “Don’t fucking lie to me, little girl.”

You mewl, painfully, at the pet name. It’s as if he sank a dagger in the middle of your sternum. Weariness descends upon you and you rub your eyes, wishing you had your strawberry vape, your salvation, in your fist. And you find no traces of any grit, any determination to convince him that you’re being truthful to him.

You turn around halfway. “Go home.”

Jungkook opens his mouth, but the squeaking sound of brakes causes him to close it right away. You know it’s Hobi and the knowledge is more satisfying than the dose of chemicals Jungkook threw out. Relief washes over you, bringing along lightness and something that is kindred to joy. You don’t care that Hobi is about to see your ex-boyfriend. You don’t care about anything at all—you’re just so grateful that he’s here. And you’re willing to let go of your walls, of your war that you tend to be so submissive to. You’re willing to let yourself go and let Hobi take you, handle you, take care of you.

You need it. As much as it pains you, you need him after this encounter with Jungkook.

And when Hobi calls your name and you pivot on your feet to watch him walk, hurriedly, to you, your legs do give out after all. Because he’s caked in blood, a trickle of it flecked and dried on his brow, illuminated by Jungkook’s headlights. You land, awkwardly, on your bum and your wrist, wincing in pain, but it’s not his hands that lift you.

It’s a pair of hands that you know to be cold and, despising the sting of it, you shriek, pushing him away. The motion leads you to stagger into Hobi’s arm that he opens for you, his chaste, feathery touch grounding you, giving you the sense of home, even when the look he gives Jungkook is anything but warm and friendly.

“Hobi, what happened? Are you okay?”

You take his shiny, sweaty face into your hand. Your eyes could fall out of their sockets due to how beautiful he is, even bloodied, alarmed and bestial. You need to know what happened. Need to clean him up. Take him home.

But Hobi doesn’t answer you. Doesn’t look your way, only acknowledges you with his scalding touch. Stares down your ex-boyfriend with such contempt that you’re surprised the man is still standing.

You’re so pulled in, so focused on him and his unwavering expression of detestation, which flatters you and soothes you, that you don’t notice that Jungkook is leaving. Hobi snaps his fingers at him and beckons him to come back.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Hobi barks, his fingers lowering and hooking around the middle belt loop of your jeans.

Jungkook returns to that space of light, the black tank top he’s wearing making it seem like he’s hollow on the inside. Perhaps he is, he did hand over his heart. Wasn’t affected by your fragile state of mind, by your tears. Wounded you to the point that you will take days to recover. Only a person of complete nothingness would be able to do that.

“I saw you at the museum,” Hobi continues, brows wrinkled. “Who the fuck are you?”

You should speak. You should take this elsewhere, but you can’t. Not when you feel so small, like a little girl hiding behind the leg of her father who’s dealing with the boogeyman. And you’re reminded that this has happened before.

Only the roles were reversed.

In the wine-tinged room this morning while you were confronting Jungkook and his companion found him. She asked the same question, though the hostility she showed you could never be compared to Hobi’s unkindness. He emanates respect while she’s a condensation of insecurity.

“I see you’re the Daddy from the video,” Jungkook laughs, humorlessly, dipping his chin before he lifts it in a very evident effort to reach not only Hobi’s height but his supremacy as well. He will always wish to overpower—it’s in his nature. “Trust me, you’re not the only one she called Daddy. Long before you came along, it was all I heard from her—”

You blink and Jungkook’s face is in Hobi’s hand.

You gasp. You’re a witness to Hobi protecting your dignity as he squeezes his cheeks until Jungkook moans, pathetically, in pain. And all you can think about is how long he had that coming. For throwing out your vape, for his arrogance and now for the way that he spoke about you.

You don’t feel a slither of pity for him.

No—your joy, fully, forms.

“If I ever hear those words come out of your mouth again, I won’t hesitate to unable to you talk,” Hobi says with concerning seriousness and you shiver, grazing your fingertips along your collarbones after you fold your arms over your chest, touched, flattered, loved. A line of tears threaten to pour out of your eyes, but you hold them back. You don’t want to cry anymore—you’re sick of it. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Jungkook’s nostrils flare, but he doesn’t say anything. Hobi waggles him before he lets him go and you swear you caught a tinge of whiteness scattering along his knuckles. Your mouth dries.

“Now you’re dismissed,” Hobi finishes, turning around and grabbing your hand, tugging you back home.

Your legs follow him, but your vision doesn’t. It remains fixed on Jungkook, on his heaving chest, on his reddened cheeks, embossed with Hobi’s fingerprints and the lines of your hand. His eyes are smothered with stars, a skyful of them, ones that expand until there’s no darkness left.

And you’re witness to regret taking shape in them.

And something about that tells you that this isn’t the last time you see him.

Hobi had been in a car accident on his way to rescue you. He tells you of it as you’re cleaning him up with a lukewarm, wet cloth and your arm gets stuck in the air, unable to move, as you comprehend the life-threatening danger he underwent because of you. Another driver bumped him from the back while he was slowing down at the yellow light, wanted to race on the almost empty highway. Was under the influence, Hobi found out when he stepped out of his vehicle to grapple with him. Deemed it wasn’t worth it, especially when time was pressing down on him, and with a little manipulation and an installment of fear, the silly guy agreed to pay for everything and Hobi got his number.

You wonder at how he managed to get back inside his car and drive when he hit his head on the steering wheel. You worry that he has a concussion. Suggest to take him to a hospital, but Hobi only shakes his head, reassures you he’s fine and once you completely clean the blood off of his brow, you can see a thin but bulbous scratch right beneath the fine hair, surrounded by violets and pinks. A different bruise from the ones bestrewn over his body from your mouth.

Your heart aches. This is all your fault, the repercussion of your neediness, the finished work of your ruination.

You grow solemn, your features drooping again, but Hobi isn’t blind to it. Cups your chin, lifts it, fondles it with his thumb. Pouts ever so slightly. Why is it a relief that you feel bursting in your chest amidst your lingering pain is something you can’t really understand.

But he’s God. No wonder he’s able to mount such strangeness in you and make it work.

“Did he hurt you?” Hobi whispers, cradling your other hand on your lap. He’s sat in your armchair, with you on his thighs, in the very corner of your dark living room, lit up coolly and solely by your antique lampshade. It’s where you read your poetry, where you recite it to nobody else but you, where you recharge your battery when your world exhausts you. The fact that Hobi chose to sit here instead of your couch speaks volumes, has a great meaning that you’re too weary to decipher and romanticize, but you like it. A lot. To the point that you’re comfortable enough to answer his question, despite the fact you looked forward to Jungkook’s absence in your alone time with Hobi.

“The way he spoke about me was the same way he talked to me,” you say, your voice coated with milky sadness. Your eyes instinctively drop to his hand holding yours, to his fist wrapped around your fingers. “He didn’t believe me when I said I didn’t send it to him on purpose.”

Brusqueness clouds his eyes, but he remains gentle with you. “You don’t have to care about what he thinks, whether he believes you or not. You don’t have to prove anything to him. Your one word is enough,” Hobi says, drifting his hand down your arm until it winds up at his other one intertwined with yours and you sob, tearlessly. It’s precisely what you needed to hear without knowing it, the final touch to the closing chapter that had so abruptly opened. You carry it into your minuscule heart, sinking it there, letting it permeate its entirety, and you nod your head. “Did he hurt you physically?”

You lay yourself down on his chest, on his bloodstained blue shirt, on his heart that you missed and Hobi locks you in, taking his hands and wrapping them around your form. You could fall asleep like this, forget and become the happiest girl in the world.

“Not that much.”

His heart quickens and you regret your words.

“What do you mean not that much?”

You’re quick to fix your mistake, not thinking it through.

“He was rough with me. My legs gave out on me before he came. He found me on the ground and he lifted me up. Then held my wrists when I hit him—”

“You hit him?”

You stammer, jumbling your words, deciding on just one. “Yeah.”

“Good girl,” he whispers, squeezing your arm, and this is the death you longed for.

Never in your life had you ever experienced praise from a man in a non-sexual context and not gotten lustfully affected by it. The purity, the newness is so healing, so consequential that you can’t help but to stroke his clothed ribs in side to side motion, in appreciation and even a faint smile of fondness curls your lips, one that Hobi can very well see from above. He caresses the trace of it while it is still there, causing your smile to blossom, and you sense the orchard in you gaining life.

“You went through so much emotional suffering today and yet you’re still able to smile. All because I praised you. You react so beautifully to it,” Hobi comments and you blush, his thumb skipping over to it, giving it the same attention, collecting it like keepsakes. You’d wonder at it, too, if you haven’t already acknowledged yourself, intimately, with his sovereign power of erasing past events.

And you tell him, peeling your torso off of his chest.

“It’s your doing. You make me forget about everything when I’m with you. It’s like it never happened at all. I don’t know how you do it.”

Hobi smiles, the corners of his glimmering eyes crinkling. “If it’s my doing, then it’s yours, too. You should know how you do it.”

You soften into liquid and it’s your heart that quietly weeps now. “You remember the poem.”

He nods, gliding his hand up and down your side. “How could I not? It’s all I can hear in my mind. I kept hearing it on my way home and then on my way back to you.”

That alone takes the unfateful events of the night off of you like a layer of clothing, dressing you in strength. You need a giant puff of your vape, just to recuperate from being drowned in the sea of your past longing for this. And you reach into the pocket of your jeans, only to be reminded of what happened to it.

It feels like a distant memory. So much had occurred that it slipped from your mind. You frown.

“What’s wrong?”

You purse your lips. “I thought I still had my vape.”

“You don’t?”

You shake your head. “He threw it out.”

Hobi seems as offended by the information as you were when you watched it happen. And as much as you bonded over your sexual desires, the same connection clicks over this.

“He’s such a dick. Let’s get you a new one.”

He pats your bum and then you’re on your feet, tugged back outside, with a smile quivering your lips. And this time you follow him with your vision, too. Your eyes sail over his strong imaginary wings, on which the pink dominates the black, and you feel your own being upheaved, slowly gaining the vigor that they lost.

And Hobi scares the spectacled boy in the convenience store. Not with his stained shirt, but with the way he provokes embarrassment in him by asking him if he wants to see his ID as well, staying true to the words he said to you over the phone. The boy didn’t even so much as peek at you, too afraid to do so.

It made you laugh.

Hobi double checked with you if it were the strawberry flavor that you wanted, and you changed your mind. Picked the blackberry one because you never had it before. Could use another dose of newness.

He opens the packaging with you, struggling at first, but then he immediately uses his teeth. You smile so hard that your cheeks hurt.

Smile even as he places it between your lips, but you can’t take a puff, can’t drop the presence of your happiness, even when he encourages you. That is until he inhales it first—you’re so struck by the beauty of it, of him that the muscles in your face let up. The smoke twirls around the feathers of his wings, adding just the right amount of white into its art, and you yearn to fall asleep on them.

“Can you stay over tonight?”

“Only if you take a puff.”

He carves it between your lips and this time, as you’re so mesmerized by him, you wrap your lips around it and suck; suck in that heady, hefty, colorful flavor that pools warmly in your throat, blowing the smoke around his neck while he kisses your forehead. Takes you back inside. Dresses you in your pajamas. Lets you smoke in bed with his wings swaddling you and your little childhood bows-adorned bunny plushie. Lets you put the vape in his mouth as he strokes your hair.

The night birds begin to sing and into their song your phone dings. You know who it is long before you prove yourself right.

But it’s not a text message that disturbed their music.

Jungkook sent you a picture.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth

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7surugi · 2 days

Text

blue waves and his last kiss ｜ satosugu x f!reader

with a friend abruptly gone from your lives one day, you and satoru are left behind to reminisce about the love from past to present, and a future without him.

[content] slice of life, hurt/comfort, unestablished relationships, mentions of sex, mentions of underage drinking & smoking, mentions of death, implied child neglect/abuse, something about trying to cope with loss and grief (?? i think), non-linear

[word count] 9.3k

[note] summer memories told out of chronological order… i tried to do something new ┐(´ー｀)┌

The train gradually slows, screeching to a stop, piercing his ears and rings. This old village is still surrounded by a dreamy haze, almost slumbering, everything here is slowed down, and Satoru can feel everything; the gentle breeze carrying the faint scent of the ocean brings him back to summer. Their summer. His summer with you.

Walking down the streets feels a little empty, drained of life, gravel crunches beneath his feet with each stride, nothing has changed within a year, and he inhales, loosening his tie. Satoru has never been fond of wearing suits for formal events; he wishes he had worn his school uniform to attend the ceremony instead.

Dreadful, thick air, the smell of the dead welcomes him before he steps into the place. White chrysanthemums, lilies, and Satoru almost finds it hard to breathe here. It’s full of people he doesn’t recognise, an old lady he thinks he met last summer, and you. Even by your back alone, Satoru knows it’s you. So small and curled up near the corner, your head is hung low, not looking at anyone or anything, eyes getting lost in the thin lines of the flooring.

Satoru kneels down beside you, wrapping an arm around your stiff shoulders. You look up in surprise, eyes empty, brimmed-red, matching the tip of your nose. “Hi. Sorry, the train was a little delayed.”

“Satoru…” your voice comes out croaky, barely above a whisper.

Satoru looks down at you, pulling you into his arms as he tells you it’s okay, that you are fine. You really aren’t fine, it’s evident in your tired expression, your broken heart you wear on your sleeve. But you are still alive. You, a non-sorcerer. That should count for something, and it does, it’s more than something, in a tragic way, Satoru understands what it means. A remaining piece of him begins to break.

You are shaking in his arms and he holds you tighter. “How could this happen? They said…” your words are lost within your mumbling and how you are pressed right against his chest. “And the police said they don’t know… I don’t—Satoru.” His name escapes your mouth, you say it so sadly, begging him for something he can’t give to you, something that he wants, too.

“I don’t know,” he chokes out an easy lie, thin, almost painful, none of his eyes are looking at you. His line of sight is only focused on the pairs of slanted eyes that replicate the deep, soul sucking ones he had first met when the cherry blossoms bloomed three years ago. Incense smoke rising high in front of the still frames.

—

Satoru forces himself to tag along, much like he always seems to do these days, hanging off of Suguru, following him around to annoy him. He allows Satoru to come with him to visit his hometown because Suguru wouldn’t leave him in this shithole alone, right? (Of course, Suguru would never do that.)

After hours riding the train, it comes to a slow stop. Cicadas greet them with a loud screech in the air once they hop off the train, the familiar scent of the ocean hits, and that’s how Suguru knows he returned back to his hometown. It’s humid, too hot out here, his loose strand of hair begins to stick to his forehead, and Suguru wipes away the sweat. He glances over to Satoru who looks absolutely fine in the heat, he doesn’t understand how Satoru rarely sweats, even during training. Even Buddha has his favourites.

“Oh, wow? This place is so…” Satoru trails off as he looks around at the scenery around them.

“So what?”

“Unique.” It clicks off of Satoru’s tongue like a sickening sweet insult, coated bright red in the cherry flavoured lollipop that he sucked on the ride here. Rude. Snobby. And hypocritical. Satoru had been raised in the countryside too, Suguru learned this months after being ridiculed by the said boy for being a ‘country boy’. They aren’t so different. However (unlike him), Satoru is someone special, so special, and was raised in a secluded place for a reason. A reason nobody, but the holder of six-eyes could understand, and a small fishing village like this is nothing compared to what Satoru is used to.

Suguru rolls his eyes at that, not replying, to which Satoru takes as a sign to continue speaking. “It’s very you, Sugu-chan. I mean it.”

“What have I told you about calling me that?”

“Okay, sorry, so sorry,” he unapologetically replies with a smirk, childish and irritating, mischief reflecting in his icy eyes, a grin that begins to grow deviously. “Guru-chan.”

“God, you’re so annoying sometimes.”

“Oh, you should know flattery will get you nowhere.”

—

His mother greets him with a hug, wrinkled and cold hands holding him, she glances over his shoulder to Satoru, whose eyes are darting around the old hallway, his judging eyes hidden behind those tinted black lenses. “Is this the special boy you told me about?”

“Oh, you called me special, Suguru?” Satoru teasingly asks with a laugh to his words.

Suguru rolls his eyes at the boy’s growing ego, somebody needs to pop it one day. “I didn’t say that. And yes, mom, this is Gojō Satoru, one of my classmates,” he says, drawing out the last word, Satoru clicks his tongue. “Satoru, this is my mom.”

Suguru watches the two share a greeting, forced, and awkward kindness neither of them share. The walk to his bedroom is short, Satoru is quick to force his way inside to inspect the room he will be staying in for the next few weeks. He predicts Satoru’s next words correctly, like always, saying, ‘What a small room,’ and then, ‘How interesting.’ Asshole. What makes it annoying is how Satoru isn’t trying to be rude, this is just how he speaks, which is somehow more irritating.

Satoru is looking through his leftover collection of CDs he had forgotten to pack the last time he was here, he had already brought all of his favourite ones with him. Satoru picks out an album, one he is quick to recognise as the one his childhood got for him last christmas, ‘My Sweet Darlin’’ by Hitomi Yaida plays on his old stereo, your favourite song of hers. Satoru mentions this is his favourite single by her, Suguru blinks, he doesn’t mention you, nor the coincidence.

“Suguru!”

Ah, speaking of the devil, he thinks as he hears you before he sees you, the familiar sound of your footsteps running down the hall, your voice, and the moment he turns around you wrap your arms around him.

“Oh, hi, didn’t expect you to get here so quick,” he says, wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you closer for a second, the scent of your shampoo and perfume is so sweet like coconuts.

“That’s what I should be saying, you know how those trains are always delayed,” you happily reply, saying something about how it’s been a while and that you missed him.

Satoru can’t keep his eyes off of you, his gaze locked on your figure, then he looks to Suguru, and smirks, mouthing some words, which widens Suguru’s eyes as he subtly shakes his head.

“I brought over some leftover onigiri I made earlier… Oh, wait, are you and your friend not done packing yet? I’ll wait for you in the kitchen,” you say, looking over to Satoru who acknowledges your attention with a simple wave and signature smile in which you return.

“Okay, we’ll be down in a minute,” Suguru says to you as you nod, making your way out the door to the kitchen downstairs.

“Hey, you’ve never mentioned a girlfriend before… She is kinda hot, she might be the Waka Inoue type in a few years. You’re one lucky guy,” Satoru says letting out a shameless whistle.

“She is my childhood friend,” Suguru hisses once he makes sure you are out of sight. “Don’t say things like that about her.”

“What? It was a compliment. I always say things like this to you and you never—” Satoru abruptly stops, and Suguru can tell his eyes are gleaming behind those stupid sunglasses of his, he teasingly grins, pearly white flashing at him. “Oh. I get it. It’s ‘cause she is like your girl, but isn’t your girl, right?” His girl. Not his girl.

Suguru scoffs at the assumption, denying it. “No… Satoru, sometimes normal people find talk like that gross.”

“Okay then… I am so sorry,” he slowly replies, voice void of understanding, obviously not knowing why people may be turned off hearing words like that. His words go in and out through the other ear, Satoru only likes to hear what he wants to hear. “But you think she’s hot, like, it’s not just me, right?”

Suguru merely shrugs his shoulders with a sigh, dismissing Satoru. He agrees, saying you are pretty and changes the subject to something Satoru likes. To digimon and those pokémon cards he’s been collecting.

(You made tuna onigiri, his favourite, and karashi mentaiko onigiri, with a glass of iced genmaicha, exactly what is needed on a day like this.)

—

You are eighteen when you are whisked away from this little dull village to the lively city of Tokyo. To a bigger world where the lights never turn off. For a long time you’ve imagined this moment, and now that your wish has come true, you can’t find yourself smiling like you do in your fantasies. The midnight train ride is a long one, it’s silent and cold, too. The scenery passes you by, too fast and too dark to see.

Satoru is here with you. Sitting in the blue seat in front of you, his signature sunglasses rest low on the bridge of his nose. Eyes so void of emotion. Similar to when winter arrives and frosts over the ocean. A sheet of ice, you cannot see nothing, but your own reflection. Full of discomfort, chilling, you hate the way your lonesome reflection is hazed and muddled when he looks at you. You don’t want to see it, so you turn away.

“You good over there?”

“Yeah, I am just getting tired. It’s a little late,” you reply and before you get the chance to ask if he’s alright (which would be an understatement; his lifeless eyes and the dark circles that rest underneath are quite telling, almost as if he hasn’t slept in a few days), he quietly laughs as he leans his head against the cold window, saying he’s a little tired, too.

This Satoru resembles nothing of the boy you met during summer back then. That boyish smile of his feels lacks warmth; those pretty blue eyes of his are fully crystallised, reminding you of when snow heavily begins to fall. Summer is over, your final summer of youth comes to an end, the last page scribbled of black swirls.

Satoru sends you a sleepy smile when he catches your eyes glancing at him from time to time, you force a thin smile back. “This is exciting, huh? It’s like you’re a dumb kid running away from home, following some random guy to Tokyo. Imagine if you were following a murderer home.”

You awkwardly laugh at Satoru’s joke, his sense of humour is sometimes different from what you are used to, Suguru would say this is just how Satoru is, and not to take his words too seriously. You assume it’s a city people thing. “Wow, how romantic, or should I be concerned right now?”

“Perhaps, it is a little bit of both. Scared of me yet?”

“Maybe a little bit now,” you jokingly reply.

Underneath his playful tone and airy laugh, bitterness lies beneath, and you can understand it all too well. When Satoru catches your lurking eyes, he pushes up his frames, shielding those eyes of his from you, black lens blocking you out. You are tired, so tired, yet sleep doesn’t consume you the entire ride there.

—

The entire sky is painted bright blue, thin white clouds floating above, instantly reminding him of Satoru. The sky twinkles deeply in his eyes, the sun captured within, Suguru is almost envious at how Satoru easily consumes the world, how the world kisses him.

You and Suguru drag Satoru out of the house to show him your secret spot in this little seaside town. You are carrying a homemade kite that you’ve been working on the past few days, made up of scrap fabric from your old bed sheet. Suguru and Satoru follow behind you, carrying a bag of snacks and cold drinks from the little shop on the main street.

Walking up north, the wind carries the sand across their exposed ankles, behind an area seemingly of huge rocks is an area on the beach where people don’t come to (you and Suguru just haven’t seen anyone here throughout the years).

You carefully lay your kite down on the sand, holding the handle tightly in your hands, your skirt flutters in the wind as you run.

The two of them sit on a long beach towel, picking at the carefully assorted fruits, Satoru only eats the strawberries before eating the other fruits. Satoru glances over his shoulder to you, nudging Suguru, as he tilts his head in your direction.

“Have you ever fucked her?” Satoru is blunt, he asks this with a knowing grin to his smug face. “Like, nobody could blame you if you dreamt about it before.”

“You’re an idiot, Satoru,” he scoffs, his words or actions aren’t harsh, he is almost smiling. How he thinks of you is no one’s business, but his own, what he does with you is only for you to know, and of course, Satoru will only think of it as sex, like all teenage boys do. Suguru can’t help, but roll his eyes. He realises that maybe Satoru has never liked someone before, like like.

“So you have…?”

“I never said that.”

“Didn’t deny it either.”

Satoru is someone who is loved by others, thousands have waited for his birth for many years. Satoru has the world beneath his feet — the elders, and his clan worship the very ground he walks on. He has marriage candidates, girls younger and older than him selected to become his wife, which Satoru always complains about. It’s sad, very sad, and he can’t help but feel bad for his best friend.

Everyone loves Gojō Satoru, but nobody really likes him. Suguru wonders if he’s the only person that will ever know Satoru, who he is, and what lies in his heart.

Your handmade kite drifts in the air, slowly coming down, until Satoru begins to chase you, you run and run, the kite flying high right behind you.

—

Satoru watches, watches, and watches — he has always been good at that. He sees everything, things nobody will ever see, light shimmering in the darkest cracks, specs of crushed stars scattering this world, six eyes allow him to, he is Gojō Satoru, afterall.

His focus is on Suguru and by extension, you. Your neighbours down the street, the Yamato’s, had given the three of you an extra watermelon they had grown. Suguru had chopped it open, cutting half of it into thick slices. It’s so sweet, refreshing on this hot day, the three of you are sitting in Suguru’s backyard, drinking in the summer heat and the cool breeze that drifts by every few minutes.

You offer Suguru a bite from the slice of watermelon you had already bitten. Suguru doesn’t like to share food – something about sharing germs and what-not – however, Suguru opens his mouth, taking a huge bite causing you to whine, yelling about how you hate it when he does that. You hit his shoulder and he playfully grins at you, your little star pendant swaying around your neck. He studies this side of Suguru he hasn’t seen before.

Watermelon juice runs down your hand, dripping onto your exposed thigh, you don’t wipe it away, not noticing it as you continue to talk and Satoru grabs another slice off of the plate to eat. He picks all of the black and white seeds out with his fingers before eating.

“Yup, but Tomoko-san absolutely loves pretty boys, so she will probably try to set you up for marriage with one of her daughters—they’re like eleven now,” you say, “right, Suguru? She is sweet but loves to chat a lot.”

Tomoko-san. Off the main street. White roof. Free fruits and drinks. Satoru has no idea what you are talking about or referring to, but he hums every time you pause for a second in wonder if he is listening, and he lets you know he is.

“Oh, don’t worry about him. Satoru doesn’t shut up.”

“Hey, don’t say that about him,” you scold him in a friendly manner, before turning your head to Satoru, flashing him a sweet smile, lips glossy from the watermelon juice. “If she bothers you, all you need to do is remind her that Suguru is at the age where he may need a suitor.”

“Ooh, throwing him under the bus, I like that.”

“I don’t. I’ll kill you if you do,” Suguru grumbles, and Satoru immediately takes his words as a challenge. Satoru has never once backed down from a challenge.

“How could you? You can’t even beat me during sparring, Suguru.”

“Should we find out then?” Suguru bites back like he always does, he’s never liked to be challenged.

“Yeah, let’s do it.”

“Hey! No fighting, it’s a nice day out, and I am trying to relax,” you speak up loudly between them, your hand gripping onto Suguru’s wrist.

“It’s actually called sparring,” Satoru spits out, and you roll your eyes.

Suguru explains this is just how they are, they spar together almost everyday during training, it’s something fun they like to do, especially when they are given permission to use their cursed techniques (which is rarely ever now after the damage they created during their first year).

You say, “I know that, but I don’t want to see two guys fight, oh, sorry, spar, nobody wants to see that.”

Suguru loosens his wrist from your grip, lightly holding onto your hand, stroking it with his thumb as he looks at you, telling you no spar would be taking place, they were only fooling around. Suguru looks a little different around you.

He wonders if Suguru loves you. Like the way humans love one another. He can tell that his best friend feels something towards you — something that isn’t friendly in the way Suguru treats him, it is in a way that’s foreign to him, perhaps, it’s because you two are childhood friends. Satoru has never had a childhood friend, so he wouldn’t know what it feels like. This side of Suguru is unfamiliar, overly gentle, touches that linger and tighten before letting go, something deeply blurred and entangled between the two of you. You are dangerously blurred within those violet eyes. Suguru has you, he probably has since so long ago, and you have him, and maybe that is a fact you don’t know.

Satoru sprinkles a bit of salt onto his watermelon slice, copying what he had seen you and Suguru do earlier. He immediately bites into it, the salty taste makes him grimace, spitting it out onto the freshly cut grass to which you both loudly laugh at. Suguru says he didn’t wait long enough, so he tries again, waiting a few minutes this time, the juice explodes into his mouth, overflowing with sweetness and he becomes addicted.

—

During the summer of your third year, you almost take all of your belongings and run to Tokyo. Almost. Yet you don’t, staying curled up on your bed in silence, swallowing your pain and hatred, your screams go unheard in the deep ocean. Forever muffled. The cicadas buzz loudly tonight, too loudly, the town is always so quiet during the night.

Tonight, Suguru visits you alone, without a call or any heads up. It’s midnight, you heard his school has a curfew, you wonder if he’ll get in trouble once he returns (“—and did you know Suguru is a delinquent? He makes the elders' heads hurt all the time, it’s true, he is no better than me,” Satoru had whispered into your ear last summer, a little secret treat for you, he said. You guess Satoru was telling the truth about that), you wonder why he visited so unexpectedly.

He invites himself in like this is his own bedroom, like he’s lived here for years, and technically he has. There’s something so different about him today, something sad in his slow movements, and shadow. There always has been. He’s always been wrapped in an air of melancholy, but his sadness tonight is different. Different in a way you think you’ll never know, in a way you could never understand, your heart burns, you swallow.

“Why are you here? You didn’t call,” you whisper in hopes your voice doesn’t slip through the cracks and awaken your parents. You walk over to your single size mattress, sitting down as Suguru joins you, sitting right next to you, legs touching within the small space.

He shrugs, saying, “I was nearby for a mission, thought I should come and see you.”

You’ve never once not believed in Suguru, he’s never given you a reason to doubt him, except for when he bottles things up and refuses to talk about it, always saying he is fine. You find it hard to believe his words tonight, you don’t think he was nearby, and guilt pricks your heart knowing you feel happy he came to see you. You’ve missed him dearly.

You lean forward, your hands rest on his shoulders, a bitter scent lingers on the collar of his white shirt, one that you have always hated since you were a child, you don’t know when it began to linger on Suguru, or when he began to start. His hair is let down, flowing down and framing his face beautifully, those eyes of his are too dark tonight; not a spec of purple can be seen, devoid of the deep violet you’ve fallen for all those years ago.

Suguru doesn’t say or do anything, so you tilt your head up, an attempt to capture his lips, however your lips are met with his thumb, pushing lightly against you. Suguru smiles so softly, so sadly, he looks down at you in a way you don’t recognise. Your heart races, a sharp pain piercing through you, and you place a hand on his wrist, as he runs his thumb against your bottom lip one last time.

“Oh. What’s wrong, Suguru? You don’t want to…?”

He shakes his head, “it’s nothing. I think the summer heat is getting to me.”

“Is it those missions you do? Or training… Has it been too hard for you?”

“No, it’s not that. Sometimes, they are tiring, and I feel like I need to rest, but I can’t.” Suguru does seem more tired than usual tonight, the dark circles underneath them are prominent.

“Oh, should we sleep then?” you offer, not wanting him to stay awake for any longer, especially when he seems so exhausted, on the verge of collapsing. “You need to rest up, Suguru.”

“Yeah, let's go to sleep. I just want to hold you tonight,” he says, you wrap your arm around him once you lay down, he feels a little thinner than usual. There is not enough space on your bed for the two of you, you lay slightly on top of him, and neither of you complain about the cramped space. It’s not the first time he’s slept with you. Suguru really only holds you tonight, calloused and strong hands don’t roam, his fingers don’t dip underneath your shirt or waistband. He holds you tightly, so tightly, it’s too hot, and you find it hard to breathe, yet you don’t complain about it, pushing yourself closer into his embrace. Suguru’s presence has always been so soothing, the way he holds you in his arms makes you feel okay once again, lulling you to sleep as your worries vanish back into the sea, the sharks can’t reach you from here.

You wake to an empty bed, his side has been cold for a long time. You don’t see or hear from Suguru for the rest of summer. You receive a postcard or souvenir in the mail like you usually do every few weeks. Mid-august, humidity high, and you can hardly breathe in the heat, and you hear about the murder of the Getō family. Mr. and Mrs. Getō were murdered in their living room during the silent night. Their son, Getō Suguru has gone missing. Whispers seep through the cracks of the concrete saying he is the main suspect — the parents were murdered by their own son. Getō Suguru, your precious childhood friend, killed his own parents. You choke on the summer air and throw up.

None of your messages or calls go through. You are met with the same automated reply. Suguru is gone, and Satoru never replies to you.

Winter seems to come early this year.

—

A knock on your window wakes you up in the middle of the night, the sound of pebbles gently hitting against the screen, and you frown as you slowly force yourself up. You already know who the culprits are.

You open it as quietly as you can to not wake your parents, as you glare at them. Suguru smiles at you sheepishly. “We can’t end the summer without fireworks,” he says, Satoru stands behind him widely grinning, holding up his hands to reveal senko hanabi sparklers.

And you find it hard to stay mad, you weren’t mad in the first place, just annoyed that you were woken up in the middle of the night. You break out into a smile, telling them to wait for you as you change into some clothes.

Sneaking past your parents’ bedroom and out of the house is easy, you’ve done it many times in the past, tonight is no different.

“Why did you wake me up to light fireworks? It’s not the end of summer yet,” you yawn into your hand and Satoru quietly laughs, his hand reaches over to touch your hair.

“It is with you,” Satoru replies, “you’ve got bedhead.”

“Oh. You guys are going back soon, I forgot about that,” you try not to sound sad while saying this, saying goodbye to Suguru every time he visits always leaves you feeling blue. “And it’s because you two woke me up!” you exclaim, swatting his hand away.

“Geez, who sleeps during the summer? You’re supposed to be staying up late and having fun.”

“I do…”

“Need your beauty sleep, huh, princess?”

“Maybe you should try it sometime, Satoru.”

Suguru tells you he will visit you again soon, that he will send you gifts, you always tell him you don’t need them, but he insists, and you always check the mailbox in anticipation. Every gift, postcard, and handwritten letter is kept safe in a box hidden beneath your bed.

Far past midnight and the village sleeps so silently, walking to your secret spot feels a little slower than usual, a way that is relaxing. A blanket of stars keeping the dark sky company, black with hints of dark blue and purple, similar to Suguru’s eyes; when you look long enough, you will find yourself lost and comforted, a pretty shade of the darkest violet holding you. In the distance the moon is shining brightly, its reflection ripples within the crashing waves.

“Suguru, pass me your lighter,” Satoru says, reaching a hand out as his other hand opens the box of firework sticks. Suguru reaches into his loose pockets, taking out a silver lighter, passing it off into Satoru’s hand.

You grab an incense stick each as Satoru lights them, crouching down on the rock, waiting for the molten ball to form, once it does, the fire flower begins to bloom underneath you. The fireworks illuminate Satoru’s face, the orange sparks dance a heavy tune with the blue stars within his eyes.

You remember Suguru had told you about a special boy in their world — someone so special that the world sits beneath his feet. Everything about Satoru is so ethereal in their world, and you, an outsider, can tell. From the way his eyes shine and how he breathes, Satoru draws everything towards him, but there is something about him that seems so far out of reach.

“I feel like these used to be a lot brighter, prettier, back when we were kids,” you say, watching the fireball slowly making its way to your fingers, the sparks of little shooting stars burning the image into your mind.

Satoru replies, “I think sparklers are still pretty, they’re the beauty of summer.”

You know Suguru is someone special, too, because that special boy is smiling and playing around with him so effortlessly. Suguru is reflected in those ocean eyes of his, shining ever so brightly, brighter than the fireworks and stars above, from his thin brows to his soft lips, everything lovely in between, and like Suguru always does, he chases after the wave and drowns.

(Satoru stands up to spin the sparklers, running wild in the night as he spells out his name and vulgar shapes which makes the three of you burst out laughing. When his back is turned as he looks for the lighter to light some more, Suguru’s shadow engulfs your shadow whole, he presses a swift kiss to your lips, and Satoru notices, he always does, he can see everything, the sparklers in Suguru’s hands burn out without any of you noticing, the fire has long burnt out. Satoru never noticed the remains of ashes piled up below.)

You wish this summer would never end.

However, like all things do, it ends for you the next day when the sun peeks through the horizon, they are on the train back to Tokyo.

—

You are eighteen left alone in Tokyo. Satoru barely calls you, his visits are even rarer, it’s been over two weeks since he had last shown up. He is busy, he always says this, and you believe him.

You are eighteen, trying your best to survive in the big city of Tokyo, the roads are busy, full, too wide, you find yourself getting lost in the crowd. Your hands are becoming colder, summer is not coming around, nerves bite away at the remains of your broken heart, unable to find the missing piece. You take a deep breath, telling yourself you are okay, that you’ve got this, you are used to surviving on your own.

Everything will be okay, you repeat again and again.

—

That day and the following ones were a blur; they still are and Satoru can barely recall it, memories play out hazy and tinted dark gray, almost the darkest shade of black.

(Explain yourself… Suguru!)

Even with the words spilling from Suguru’s mouth, Satoru finds it hard to believe in them. To believe in Suguru’s cruelty. Suguru is warmer than everyone he has ever met; his soul shines brighter than everyone he has ever known.

(Are you the strongest because you’re Gojō Satoru?)

Satoru doesn’t understand how it started, when it all started, but he does know. It started in Okinawa, right when they flew back to Tokyo, once they entered past the bright red torii gates, a blade slashed through his chest.

How could Suguru not spare his own parents? He spared you. His parents were sweet, always smiling, dull eyes, warm food, loving—they were (were they?). They treated them nicely when Satoru visited two summers ago, they asked him about school and cooked warm meals to eat, everything was so unfamiliar and foreign, like things he has seen on television.

(Or are you Gojō Satoru because you’re the strongest?)

How could Suguru leave him behind like that? A blade twisted through his heart, a deep scar remains on his chest, a reminder of the day and ones to follow.

And you. The smile of summer morphs into one belonging to a girl much younger than you, to Suguru, who smiles ever so tenderly under the shining sun.

(If you want to kill me, kill me. There’s meaning in that too.)

There is no meaning in any of that. Those words trapped within his throat, unable to spill to a boy who refuses to listen.

Satoru needs to see you again. He needs to see you now.

—

“How is life in Tokyo?” Satoru asks you as he sits across from you at the table of a new café. The strawberry shortcake in front of him is already half-eaten, and the waitress comes over to deliver the strawberry parfait he had ordered a few minutes ago.

“Tokyo… It's really different. You said to come with you to Tokyo and then you ditched me,” you jokingly reply, before taking a sip of your matcha latte. You can understand why it is so popular, everything is made up of the best quality here, and only the best.

“Mhm, bet it’s better than that tiny village. It is, huh?”

You nod in agreement, it is better, even though you can’t help but feel anxious, like a shark is chasing after you and only you in the deepest pit of the ocean. “I decided to try and become a teacher…” you say. What you really wanted to do was become a counsellor or something similar for children, but you aren’t so sure if you would be good at it, if your fragile heart would be enough.

“We are so similar,” you look up when he says this, he is smiling at you as he leans his head on his palm. “I’m gonna become a teacher too. For people like me, though.”

A teacher. Satoru wants to become a teacher — he will become one, a confirmed future. You never knew he was interested in something like that, however, you know you don’t know Satoru well enough to judge. “We are. It must be the work of fate,” you say.

“That’s right, it’s the work of a young god,” he goes along with your little joke, shivers run down you, you drink your now cooled latte. You should’ve finished drinking it while it was still hot.

Satoru promises he will see you again soon, you smile, holding onto his empty promise.

—

Empty promises always remain empty. You don’t hold it against Satoru, that is just how he is. He still calls you from time to time, and you find yourself becoming too busy, drowning into your studies.

—

The next time you see Satoru is months later when he is sitting outside your doorstep despite knowing the passcode, he has the original copy of the key, too. He’s drenched from the rain, his white hair sticking to face, hidden eyes. His hair has grown out a bit over the months, messy and unkempt.

“Satoru, you should’ve let yourself inside…” you quietly say as you unlock the door, Satoru stands up, towering over you, yet he seems smaller than usual today. He only replies that he was waiting for you to come home.

You ask him if he’s hungry, you have leftover miso soup from this morning, and some ingredients to make chicken katsu (you don’t mention that you had eaten with a new co-worker earlier). You suggest he takes a hot shower so he doesn’t get sick, he remarks saying he has never fallen ill before, making his way into the bathroom.

Your mattress is much bigger than you are used to, a queen size bed, there’s so much space, yet Satoru is pressed up behind you, his arm wrapped around your waist as he keeps you close. You assume Satoru will be sleeping here tonight. It’s been a long time since you last slept beside someone, you remember the night so distinctly, as if it was yesterday.

And Satoru holds you so, so, so gently, it’s rather uncharacteristic of him, not like the Satoru you know. So tenderly if you closed your eyes an image of a face you haven’t forgotten would be there and you blink away the tears that want to form within your eyes. You think, his hands are too light, you can barely feel the callouses and constellations of little scars. His hand trails up your thin shirt, rubbing light circles against your skin, on your waist and beneath your breasts. Satoru holds you in a way that feels wrong, in a way you both know he shouldn’t — in a way he wouldn’t if he were here. However, he doesn’t stop, and you don’t stop him.

You turn over, meeting his eyes. The little stars in his eyes are crying to be seen. You lift a hand to his cheek, gently brushing the strand of hair that sits too close to his eyes, and Satoru only watches you silently. It remains like this for a moment, you carefully holding his face, warm and pink from the hot water that drenched his skin, his hand wrapped around you, travelling up and down your back, tracing little circles as he feels your soft skin against his hand.

“I used to wish to know his lips,” he whispers ever so quietly, those vacant eyes of his glimmering in the darkness of your bedroom as he flickers from your lips to your eyes. “The taste of them, the feeling… Sometimes, I still do,” he sounds a little sad as he says this, but he’s smiling, and you can’t help but smile sadly, too.

Satoru wants to kiss you, too. You can feel it in the way he looks at you, you can feel it in the prickling air. You expect Satoru to kiss you first, to close the distance between you, and he does, leaning in first, his lips are on yours, slowly moving against yours.

You were fifteen when Suguru had stolen a bottle of your mother’s favourite whiskey and the two of you had spent the afternoon in his room, door locked, the liquid burning your mouth and throat, cheeks flushed red, Suguru’s intense gaze slowly consuming you. He asked you if you ever kissed someone before, a question you both know the answer to, and you get annoyed thinking he is teasing you. He is quick to reassure you that isn’t the case. Maybe it’s the liquor running in your veins, because he leans in to kiss you, a small peck before he pulls back, a moment of awkward silence lasting only a few seconds, before he kisses you again. One with less hesitation.

You remember the taste, something you don’t like, to this day you still don’t, always avoiding whiskey, but you loved the feeling of Suguru’s lips on yours. Shy and giggly, teeth grazing, nose bumping. Trying to search for a proper pace, clammy hands awkwardly trying to find a place to settle.

Kissing Satoru doesn’t feel like that. He kisses you so slowly, deeply, you feel every movement and it tingles through your body and soul. Everything fades around you, all you can think and feel is his lips. His tongue swipes across your bottom lip and you softly gasp, pulling away for air, breathing heavily.

“Are you scared?” Satoru asks once you pull away from him, his breathing matches yours, his breath fans your face, a sweet scent lingers in the air. Like strawberry candies, sugary sweet, artificially sweet, Satoru’s favourite.

“No,” you breathlessly reply.

He chuckles, teasing you as he says, “your heart is beating really fast, though.”

“I-I know that…” you murmur, feeling shy and embarrassed, as if he doesn’t know you can feel how hard your heart is beating, how fast it races in this moment. It’s your heart, you know her better than anyone in the world.

“Mine is beating, too, princess,” he says, before flipping the two of you over, giving you no time to reply, you are caged between him, his pure white hair lightly brushing against your face. Lust fogging over his eyes as stares down at you, gray and blue. Matching everything around you. “Let’s take our time tonight, yeah?” Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him down, linking your legs around his thin waist.

Lonely fingers woven together, he holds you so close, hearts intertwined, and kisses so intimately and intensely, you feel so wanted and loved by this boy who is known as a god in a world you do not know. A world you will never see. Kissing Satoru makes you feel like you’re not alone in the world. This is plenty, it is enough for you, you don’t want anything else, except for this. Only Satoru. You whisper this lie to your yearning heart.

—

“‘Toru? Wait, are you leaving?” you hastily ask while you watch him throw on his white dress shirt, the red lines on his back disappearing, your cheeks warm at the vivid memory, you feel shy, pressing your thighs together. You pull the covers higher as you sit up on the bed.

“Mhm, can’t stay tonight,” you pout at his words, feeling disappointed in him, Satoru knows your next question before you say it. “I’ve got kids at home to watch over,” he simply says, and you huff a small laugh at his joke.

“Huh? Did you take in some pets or something?” Satoru has always been fond of strays, you remember those times when he used to try to call over the wandering cats around your village and attempt to pet them, yet they only ran towards Suguru before disappearing into the bushes. Satoru would always get annoyed and pout about it, saying something about how his Pokémon on his gameboy would never do this to him.

Satoru lowly hums, “yeah, somethin’ like that. They’re so tiny, I think they didn’t eat much until I took them in. I gave them some cash, so hopefully they ordered themselves some fresh sushi or something for dinner… Is ten thousand yen enough for two kids?”

“Oh? Wait, you are serious… Satoru, you are taking care of actual kids? What, why?” you say in disbelief. You haven’t seen Satoru in months and he drops by unannounced, sleeping with you, and then tells you he’s leaving to go take care of some kids at his house. Actual kids, human kids.

The information slowly processes through your brain, you have so many questions on the tip of your tongue that you know if they spill, Satoru would never answer them. You decide to swallow them down.

“It was a request. A last one. I felt like I should grant it since nobody else can.” Nobody else but me, his unsaid thoughts are loud. So loud, your heart shakes, you slowly swallow.

Satoru turns around to look at you as he buttons the last button on his shirt and leans down to plant a wet kiss on your cheek which makes you scrunch up your face. “Maybe you can meet ‘em one day, you said you’re good with kids, right?”

You slowly nod your head, not really sure what to say, even by your lack of response, Satoru smiles. “Great. They’re still so shy, so one day. Soon,” he says, softly kissing your lips before he leaves, the feeling feels so faint.

Your bedroom door clicks with a shut. Even with you, his back still seems so lonely, as if the weight of the world sits on his shoulders.

Down the hall, you can’t hear his footsteps, everything about Satoru acts light. His footsteps. His breathing. Everything except his heavy presence, that is how you know he is there. Until he isn’t, and you hear the echo of a faint click of your front door being shut. Silence consumes the empty home and you’re left to sleep alone once again.

—

Turning twenty didn’t change anything. Neither did turning twenty-four, nor twenty-five. If anything, sometimes you feel more lost now than you did at eighteen, you thought you knew the world at sixteen. You are grown, yet sometimes it feels as if your physical appearance is the only thing about you that has changed.

It took a few years, but now you are used to the bright lights that never go out and the busy streets with crowds that never split. You love Tokyo, and all of the new things you have never experienced or seen before, you’ve grown used to living here. However, every once in a while, a memory of that village hits you so hard and the cracks in your heart begin to widen once again, just when you were able to put it back together again. A type of sadness that always lingers within you, settling behind your ribs, deeply in a place you could ever reach, and all you can go is try to pretend it isn’t there. Even in the middle of this city, sometimes you swear the scent of the ocean passes you by, you always remember Suguru in those moments, and shead a few tears.

You feel Satoru’s presence before you hear or see him, you hate it when he randomly appears in your apartment like this, you always tell him to use the front door like a normal person.

“Well, don’t you look so pretty today.” You smile when you hear this as he pulls you into a hug and you feel his hand running through your hair, causing you to glance up in confusion. “Why is your hair shining? Hmm, is this glitter?” he asks, his index finger in between both of you as a little sparkle shines against it, causing you to deeply inhale.

“One of the kids was playing around with glitter and got it in my hair, spent all night washing it out,” you explain, feeling frustrated all over again. “Is there still a lot? I thought I got all of it out…”

“There’s still some left.”

“What, where?” you ask, automatically lifting your hand to your hair, patting around for a feel for tiny pieces of plastic. “Help me, Satoru,” you plead, seeing him just stand there watching you.

Satoru leans down, his face right in front of yours as he grins, “they’re in your eyes, princess,” he whispers, pressing a chaste kiss to your eyelid. You huff at his words, biting down on your growing smile, unable to stop the blush rushing to your cheeks.

You lightly shove him away from you, asking, “why are you here?”

“I can’t come and see you without a reason?”

“Really, tell me why,” you insist on him coming over for a reason, you know he did.

“I want to go on a little trip with you,” he admits.

“I have work on Monday,” you reply, jabbing your finger into his toned chest, “and you do, too. No slacking off.”

“I know, I know. That was only once—”

“More than once,” you correct.

“Yes… more than once, you’re right, but it’s only for day,” he says, taking your hand in his. “Just for one night, so come with me?”

And you agree, the two of you already knew your answer from the very beginning, an answer destined from the beginning.

He takes you to Yokohama, only an hour away, he rents a free room in the hotel with the best view of the city, and takes you out to eat your favourite foods. By evening, he’s dragging you along, you try to keep up with his long strides, mentally cursing him and his long legs.

He takes you all the way to the pier, an overlook of the small beach, nothing compared to the one you grew up in. It smells of seaweed, and you can see across the water here, the sun slowly sets in the distance, an orange and red sky reflected in the water, your eyes feel heavy the more you sink into the view. Satoru never lets go of your hand, his steady hand holds yours firmly.

The younger you could never imagine herself in your position. Into the deep city, older with an ordinary job, watching a pretty sunset at an average beach. A younger you could never imagine herself living a life without Suguru in it. Many things have changed. Some things remain the same. Your feelings have never changed. The ocean always stays the same, it always will, and there’s a comforting feeling in knowing this.

You quietly sigh, feeling the need for a cigarette. His lucky cigarette. You long for the familiar bitter smell that you once used to hate.

Satoru only stares at the crashing waves. Unable to tear his eyes away from it; those eyes of his have always belonged to the sea. To the blue sky. To their youth. And there is no doubt that he’s thinking of Suguru right now. You know this because whenever you are by the sea, you can’t help, but think of him, too.

—

From a young age, Suguru comes to realise he is a small fish in a big pond. The world around him is much bigger than the cage he swims in. He grows more insecure when he comes to realise his family is different from others; that he is different from others.

He has always been sensitive to his surroundings. Sensitive to his mother’s silent presence and wishes, to every action and expression his father made and everything around him. For a long time he believed this village was haunted, that one day ghosts emerged from the sea and haunted him and the townsfolk. After all, he swore he was always being watched, every one of his actions was being judged and digested. And when he told his father that, his father laughed and said he didn’t think Suguru would believe his words for so long. He was only trying to scare him.

However, this feeling never goes away. The black shadow beneath his bed greets him every night with a snicker, hiding beneath the blanket causes the laughter to become louder, louder, until it screeches, like the sound of a nail running across a chalkboard piercing his ears, refusing to become muffled as he covers his head with his old pillow.

He is eleven when he sneaks out of his house at midnight, he finds it hard to breathe in there, desperately needing fresh air, and he meets you wandering along the empty dirt road. All alone. He knows of you, you are from the class next door, he has seen you walking in the hallway a few times. Apparently, you don’t get along with your classmates, rumours travel fast in this village through hushed whispers and mocking snickers, the stars this time are about your mother and father, and caught up in between the clashing meteors is you. In a way, you are similar to him, your eyes have a sadness to them that no child should have, however your smile is soft and warm, and Suguru can’t help, but feel drawn to you.

You bring him to the sea; walking across the shoreline to a little corner behind an area hidden by a bunch of huge rocks that you call your secret spot. You tell him it belongs to him now, too. A secret corner in this little big world only for the two of you. There’s a white fin he can see in the distance, the shark doesn’t make its way closer to shore. Suguru looks over to you, you’re looking across the vast sea so yearningly, the stars are twinkling in your eyes.

(He wishes he asked what you were looking at so beautifully.)

Suguru wishes he could go home, but he can’t, unable to run to the little safety corner at the end of the world. Not now. Everything around him is burning blue, he’s drowning himself in the screams and curses of hundreds of strangers, his hands are dripping crimson red. Everything is blue. Bright blue like the summer sky and glistening sea. Blue eyes. White hair. Carefree smile. Little white sundress and your innocent laughter muffled between the haunting cries. Splattered blood. Drifting white headband. A celebration for the dead. A cage for the living. The sound of clapping echoes within the crackling. It snaps, then pops.

Suguru can’t go home. Nowhere is home. Everything around him is burning blue. So blue, and he’s being consumed by the fire. He accepts this as his fate, he has to.

—

“Hm? Not in the water today?”

Sprawled out like a starfish, Suguru lays on the sand, where the water meets the sand, eyes closed and peaceful.

When there’s no reply, Satoru pouts, plopping down to lay beside him. He calls out his name, wanting attention, awaiting a response as he stares at him. Suguru doesn’t turn his head to meet his eyes, he just lays there, so listless, and Satoru softly sighs, a small smile gracing his face despite feeling a little annoyed. He closes his eyes, the sound of ocean waves crashing, cicadas calling out from the high branches in the distance and the seagulls' low mews create a summer melody.

“I’m listening to the waves,” he says, and Satoru smiles in amusement.

“From here?”

Suguru hums a reply and Satoru parrots it. Listening to the waves. How stupidly poetic, he thinks to himself, chuckling at how cute and childish Suguru can be. A hidden side of Suguru that is so endearing as it is entertaining.

The way the waves crash onto the shore — rather gently, reaching the brim of his jeans and Satoru hates it. He doesn’t understand how Suguru is fine with the water soaking his clothes and the sand that sticks onto their skin and hair. The water is strangely warm as well, adding to his annoyance.

“Do you have any dreams, Satoru?”

“What’s yours?” he asks.

“I asked first,” he knows Suguru is rolling his eyes, however, Suguru is kind enough to not push, he says, “I think one of my dreams came true already. I wanted to get out of here for a long time.”

One of his dreams. What are his other dreams? What does he dream of? Yet, instead of all the thoughts that shoot through his brain, Satoru finds himself asking about you. “What about her?”

Are you one of Suguru’s dreams? He needs to know.

“I am waiting for her in Tokyo,” Suguru says this in a way that Satoru is familiar with. Too familiar. Suguru calls out his name like this. “Once I graduate and make money from these missions, I will take her out of this place and bring her home.”

Satoru thought Suguru liked this place since he keeps coming back, maybe it is only to see you, and his parents. Maybe in this seaside village, Suguru only likes it here, this little part of the beach where nobody goes. It’s not so bad here, just a little lame, and very boring, but Satoru wouldn’t mind staying here with Suguru. And you, much to his surprise.

“I think she may wait for you for a long time. I took a peek at your bank account and—”

“Hey, why did you look at that?! Don’t snoop through other peoples’ belongings, has nobody taught you that? You are jinxing it for me.”

Satoru repeats his words in a mocking tone, earning a sharp elbow to his rib, a loud and painful groan escapes his throat.

“I was just joking! Really, I am!”

In a few days, they will fly to Okinawa. A pretty island that Satoru hasn’t seen before and he doesn’t know the exact details yet, Yaga hasn’t said anything, but he knows the mission will be one with Suguru. As expected, the two strongest sorcerers of this generation, it comes to no one’s surprise. It’s hours away from this place, hours away from Tokyo, yet the ocean is vast, reaching far out into the world, connecting right back to where you are.

Right back to the place Suguru had once called home.

#꩜— interstellar communications #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #gojo satoru #geto suguru #gojo x reader #geto x reader #satosugu x reader

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akxmee · 3 days

Text

𝗜 𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗟𝗜𝗘𝗦, 𝗜'𝗟𝗟 𝗘𝗔𝗧 𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗠 𝗨𝗣. //𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐎.

choso x stalker!reader

She was obsessed with her cute neighbour, so she always made excuses to enter his house. He knew it, and still let her in.

14k words.

Tw: creepy things stalkers do, mentions of locking people in, obsession. There's no +18 scenes, only a few heated kisses.

'Choso Kamo.'

That's the name of one of your computer's documents. It was the last among the rest of the files, locked with a password and completely secured.

Why, you may ask?

Well, let's put it like this. Everyone has a favorite thing, don't they? Kids have a favorite ice cream flavour, teenagers have a favorite TV show they always watch no matter what, adults have their favorite company to make deals with... Well, you had a favorite too. It was Choso Kamo, your adorable neighbour who moved in next to your house not so long ago.

He was your favorite person, your favorite hobby.

Collecting photos of him was something creepy and you felt bad for it at first, but he looked so cute playing with his cats in them that you started to enjoy having little albums in your carpet about him. You even dedicated a whole schedule to the man; writing down when he worked out, whenever he ate, when he started drawing as he usually did thrice a week..he was just so perfect, so made for you.

Yeah. If god exists, he made Choso just for you.

Fate has intertwined you two the moment he became your neighbour, you were so sure of that. Not only was he totally your type, you guys had a lot in common!

You two liked cats, you liked the same bands, you both liked the same food, enjoyed the same shows, read the same genres when it came to books..you even started to like crafting too when you first saw him working on something at his garden! Yes, the look on his eyes as he sawed the wood, the sweat on his forehead falling as he drove the screws and the exhausted breaths he left as he carried those heavy pieces into his house drove you head over heels, so now you like crafting too! Not because of the hobby itself, but because choso looked so good doing it that you may aswell like the days he crafts something.

Besides, it was tha reason you were working right now. A lemonade with a refreshing effect, that's what you were making for your hardworking neighbour. You added the perfect amount of ice that you knew he loved, pouring the liquid in a cute vase and heading to his home to pay him another visit.

Yeah, another visit.

You visited his house frequently, always having a excuse to do so. And somehow, he was kind enough to always let you enter! Now you both were in "friendly neighbour terms", but you wished to get even closer. Because you could pat his shoulder, but you wanted to hold his hand and because you could talk to him, but you craved to kiss him. Everything you desired was proximity, closeness, being able to call him withouth making any dumb excuse.

But that was something that required patience and insistence, just how you were being right now.

—Y/N? Is something the matter?

Ah, that sound got you out of your trance. You looked up, finding choso who just opened the door. He looked so damn good, and you melted just by the way his tired eyes focused on your figure.

—Not really. I could hear the saw from my house, so..

He scratched the back of his neck, giving you an apologetic smile.

—I figured you did, sorry. I'm crafting some furniture for my house.

You shook your head.

—No, no! It's okay, I understand. I knocked just to give you this, you looked...—Your eyes analyzed him, fighting the urge to drop any compliment. —..exhausted, and i thought you would enjoy this.

The black haired man looked at your hands only to see you offering him the vase of lemonade. He raised his eyebrows, his lips curved in what almost seemed like a cute smile for a second. He grabbed the vase you gave him.

—That's so thoughtful of you, thanks.

He smiled, you nodded.

—Want to come in so i can give you a drink in return?

That's what you were waiting for.

Choso was always so kind, letting you enter his house for food or games whenever you did something for him. That's his way of payment, since you knew he had issues with money and couldn't afford to pay you whenever you helped him change his lights, shelves or doors (he never asked for your help, however you somehow casually just happened to pass by whenever he was struggling with something like that). You always reassured him that it was fine, but he still insisted on having you over for dinner or lunch.

You smiled.

—Yeah, that would be nice.

He let you in, and you sat on his sofá while he brought something for you to drink. Minutes later he came, sat down next to you and gave you a cup of tea.

—Not as refreshing as the lemonade, but I promise it's good.

He handed it to you and you thanked him as a result. You gave it a sip and a surprised expression appeared on your face. He noticed that and asked:

—Is something wrong with the tea?

You instantly shook your head, resting the cup on your lap.

—Nothing at all! It's just, this is my favorite tea.

—It is? It's my favorite tea too.

He laughed at your reaction, as you smiled sweetly at him. To him, you were a cute girl he had for a neighbour that he could rely on when he needed help with his home or ask for help when it came to baking something for his little brother whenever he would visit and also a great companion he liked to have around since you were sweet and fun, but that's just his impression of you. He didn't know you were as awful as he was when it came to baking but mastered it just for him, he didn't know you found boring changing lightbulbs and only found fun the time spent with him and neither was he aware of the fact that you weren't giggling because you thought he was funny, but because you were so excited about having another thing in common with him.

The evening went great, you both laughed and updated eachother with gossip from your neighbourhood. You were making progress day by day, and you could feel It by the way he seemed more and more casual as the visits kept happening. He was growing more comfortable with you, and you were loving it! Choso talked to you about his brother Yuji, about how life working as an artist was and even showed you some photos —which you already saw, but now that he was the one showing them to you they looked even prettier—, he also asked about how to make Apple pies and more.

But that's not one of the main of reasons you came here for.

—Hey, Choso?

He hummed, taking a sip of his lemonade.

—Could I use the bathroom?

He looked at you, then pointed at the hall.

—The last door, the one on the right wall.

You already knew that, but thanked him anyways and went on your way there. You counted the Doors: one, two..then the third one. That's the one you're looking for.

Not because it was the bathroom, no.

Because it was his bedroom.

You entered the room, checking every corner you never saw through the window. He had a small computer on the desk, a few clothes on the floor, school items scattered all over the sheets of the bed such as a few pencils, notes, papers and more to be seen. Looking at the walls, you found several posters and pictures he made along with photos of him and his family: most of them were with yuji, his little brother, at places like a lake, his first day of kindergarten, at a sleepover...you found yourself smiling because of that, he was just so perfect. You had to capture this place, the place that held the most of his personality out of this home. Just a picture, only to visualize what kind of things he likes or what kind of furniture he's more fond of. You just needed a picture, something to have as a reference to analyze him, and it was as simple as clicking a single button of the mini polaroid you carried in your purse. However, as your hand reached for your purse to grab it...

—I think you're at the wrong bathroom, aren't you?

You froze.

Right behind you was Choso, the owner of the voice, leaning on the frame of the door while looking at you waiting for an answer. You weren't even facing him and you could already feel the grin on his face while he talked to you. Did he find out? Did he know the reason you entered his room? A lot of questions ran through your mind in a span of seconds. You tried to keep calm telling yourself things such as "no, how could he ever know? He wouldn't have let me in if he did" or "it's imposible for him to know I had a camera, since I didn't even get to grab it" and eventually, you had the courage to turn around to make visual contact with him and make up a lie.

—I'm sorry, got distracted in the way.

He kept quiet, letting you continue talking since he was not satisfied with your answer. You turn your gaze to the walls of the room, finding a lot of artpieces he made. You looked at him again, pointing at them with your eyes to let him know what you were going to refer to.

—I just wanted to see them up close. You showed me through photos, but i never thought they would be so...detailed. It's truly beautiful.

He seemed to be taken back by your answer.

—You think so?

—I really do. You're a great artist, Choso.

The black haired male looked like he bought your excuse. He looked actually touched by your lie and you obviously knew why; that's why you chose to lie with it in the first place. Choso was never validated as an artist, being always told that he could do so much better if he studied something like economy or science. Nobody really complimented his art withouth mentioning how it, as good as it is, should be kept as a hobby instead of dedicating his whole life to it because it just wouldn't really make a lot of money. He knew that, but still chose that life ignoring people's words. However, sometimes it was imposible to ignore it and he somehow became insecure when people gave his art compliments, since he didn't really know if they meant them or if they think the same as the rest.

And that's exactly what you knew that he was thinking right now.

—You're not going to say anything else?

He expected you to throw your advice now. He was expecting you to say something among the lines of "it's beautiful, but I personally wouldn't dedicate my whole career to it", waiting for something hurtful like it always happens. He waited and waited, and you finally talked.

—Yeah, I do.

He mentally sighed. Oh, he was a fool for believing that you could be different just because you were his friend. Choso ran a hand through his hair, messing up his bangs a little.

However, you proved him wrong.

—Since you draw so good, could you teach me one day? I really need it for this project at school, so i thought that maybe you...

You kept talking, but he stopped hearing whatever you were saying. Choso's expression suddenly stiffened, he gulped and his jaw tensed as you kept going on something he lost a few seconds ago. His eyes lit up with a complete different light, and he took a few steps towards you.

Noticing his silence and the way he walked to you, you grew worried. You did know that this was a sensible topic for him and already planned how his reaction would be, but this was not what you expected as he looked so intimidating while he slowly made his way towards you.

—I'm sorry, did I talk too much? Didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, you don't have to actually say yes.

He grabbed you by the shoulders with such force you did not expect from him. Fuck, you messed up didn't you?

By the way he was looking at you, yes the hell you did.

That's the least you ever wanted, honestly. Choso hating you for touching some personal topic was the worst thing that could happen to you. You just complimented him, so why? He was frowing, his muscles tense, his body language indicated that he was nervous and his expression showed he was deep in thought. You wondered how did you even manage to get him like that, to get him to shift his personality like that. One minute he was touched by your words, now he was looking at you like you were something new to his eyes.

And you were, he just wasn't showing it how he should've.

Why? Because he never received this type of trait from someone. Something as simple as that, he never experienced it even though he craved for it for so long.

—What are you doing?

He asks you, his tone demanding for an answer.

—What?

You answer, and there's seconds of plain silence until he talks again.

—To me.

That tone.

That soft tone and cracked voice as he whispered with such tenderness, urging you for an answer desperately.

Now you understood, looking up at him and figuring out his expression. His grip on you was not because he was angry, but because he didn't want you to run away from his question. His frown was not because he was angry at you, but because he was trying to figure himself out. His shaky hands and body language was not screaming at you to stop talking, but to keep doing so.

You finally broke him down.

It took you months worth of visits, weeks and weeks of effort to make this man finally see in you what you see in him. You relaxed.

—You finally see it, don't you?

Your hand traced his jawline softly, watching him close his eyes as he leans into your touch like a puppy. This was all you ever wished, to have him like this. If you knew it only took a few compliments, some deep talks about life the nights after you help him fix his garden and making him some food from time to time to make him finally look at you like this, you would have done it sooner. But once again patience is key, so you don't complain now that he opens his eyes and adverts his gaze towards you in such a delicate way.

—I do.

You grin.

—That's good.. that's good. How about you and I, having dinner at a restaurant tonight? Let's get to know eachother.

He hesitates at first but then nods, according to your words.

—Sounds like a good plan.

You already know everything about him, but the idea of having a date seemed so casual and so cute you couldn't help but cheer internally. How would it be? Would he dress and look handsome for tonight? Would you two share your first kiss then? Would he lend you his jacked if it's cold? God, you were so excited! He was just the perfect man, choso had everything you ever wanted and that's all that mattered. It's okay if it rains, choso will cover you from the water. Doesn't matter if your heels tire you, choso will carry you home. It's also okay if you don't like the food at the restaurant, choso will surely share his with you. He actually will, because you know everything about him when it comes to a relationship too. It only took creating a fake account and pretending to be some random girl to ask his exes how he was in a relationship. You had to be informed of what you would be getting into, of course!

They all agreed that the man in front of you was a true romantic, detail-oriented and above all very observant of his partner. Aside from that, the complaints that caused them to break up were each one different from the other. However, when it came to complaints or the reason they broke up, each was different so you didn't have anything to base yourself on.

But oh, you were rushing things again weren't you? You two didn't even have a first date, and you were already thinking about how you would be as a couple! You'll see when the time comes.

—Then, I'll leave and you come pick me up at 9. I'll look pretty for you, so look handsome for me.

He looked at you with certain surprise.

—You'll leave?

—Well, yes. You don't want me to look like this at the date, no?

You signaled to yourself, making him look at your simple dress and face with a casual makeup. You wished to look pretty and have an elaborated makeup to your date, and he seemed to catch up. Choso shook his head.

—That's what I thought. I'll see you at nine, then?

—Yeah.

Yet, his grip on your shoulders didn't cease. You gave him a few seconds to let you go, but he didn't.

—Choso?

He looked to the side, and a slight blush could be seen on his cheeks.

—I'm sorry, you don't have to do it if you're uncomfortable but..can I at least get a goodbye?

Oh, oh.

You were speechless for a second, did he just ask for you to kiss him that politely? Then you chuckled, making him look at you with an embarrassed expression. His grip on you disappeared, and he covered half of his face with his hand for you not to see the shame in his face.

—Nevermind, i'm taking things too far. I'll see you at nine.

He didn't even have the chance to run away from the situation when you grabbed the collar of his sweater and gently pulled on it to get him closer, giving him a little peck on the lips. Choso was the one to quickly pull away in surprise, but soon he realized what just happened and leaned back again for another one since he wasn't satisfied with that little taste. He grabbed cupped your cheek with one hand while his lips collided with yours in a way that you weren't even upset your first kiss isn't at the date. The feeling was almost as if they were giving you something that you have been longing for for a long time, something that you have only had the pleasure of imagining becomes a reality.

Then you pulled away, in need of air.

—That's enough for a goodbye, isn't it?

He looked at you in silence, panting as he catched his breath. Soon after, his lips were on yours again with more intensity than before, dancing a tango of emotions where the music increased with each gasp of air. Eventually his hand found the back of your neck to deepen the kiss, and his tongue explored your mouth with a lot of ease. He seemed to have a lot of experience, while you were left trying to catch up on his rythm.

—Not enough. Five more minutes and you go, please.

He pleaded when you separated before kissing you again. You didn't even have time to say yes, but the way you reciprocated the kiss told him more than enough. Soon enough his other hand found your waist and guided you out of the room, through the hall. His bedroom had this huge window —which you were really thankful for, by the way. It always gave you such a good view of him when you were looking at him through your window—, and he didn't want anyone looking at you two since it was an easy thing to do, so he guided you through the hall to another room between heated kisses with your fingers tangled in his hair. You ended up with your back against the wall while Choso took some keys out of his pocket, opening the door while leaving a trail of light kisses on your neck.

It wasn't strange for him to have a key to a room, since it was a normal thing for people in your neighbourhood to do so since burglasses were quite common so they kept valuable things safe in a room. You guessed he was taking you there since it was a more private area, but you found yourself with a room. Not enough time was left for you when you were thrown on a bed, having choso on top of you while pinning one of your wrists above you. You looked at him, who stared back at you intensely.

—Choso, five minutes already passed..

The man looked at you for a few seconds more, like he was admiring you. He looked absolutely breathtaking, His hair was messy, his eyes half open, his breathing altered, and his lips stained with the lipstick you were wearing. You dreamed so many times of this moment, yet you also wished for the date to happen so you couldn't entertain this more.

—I'm sorry, I just can't help It.

He kisses you once again. A soft tender kiss is left in your lips.

—Now that I have you, i can't let you go.

Once again. This kiss seemed to have more emotion than the rest, and it felt like he was devouring you.

—I can't let you go.

And again. Now, the kiss feels desperate and feral, he was kissing you again and again as if he was an animal.

—I can't. You can't go.

You were getting worried about what he was saying, but when you tried to get your wrist out of his hand a metalic sound was heard. You pulled.

CLANK.

You tried to pull again.

CLANK.

—Choso?

You asked, confused.

His hands left your wrist, and then you saw.

You were chained up to the bed.

He got up from the bed, and you tried to do too. However, you failed and almost fell off the bed due to the force of the pull that the metal gave you in reaction to your quick attempt of getting on your feet. He stopped you from falling, sitting you on the bed once again.

—Shh.. it's okay, don't freak out.

—What do you mean don't freak out? Is this some time of kinky roleplay?!

You tried to pull on the chain with your free hand, but it was no use. He scratched the back of his neck nervous, making a face of disappointment.

—Yeah, I figured you wouldn't like this place at first but don't worry, you'll like it eventually. It's pretty, isn't it? Look.

He grabbed your face and forced you to look around, and you found the least thing you could ever expect from this man. How could you not notice this when you entered? There were pictures of you all over the walls, a map of the city and different dots connected on a cardboard. A lot of your pictures were also on a desk, alongside with little hearts drawn of them. There was a part of one of the walls that was completely covered in drawings of your face in different angles, of your body and you doing some of your hobbies. Anyone that looked at it would easily think you were his muse. A computer was opened on the desk that had different recordings of the outsides of your house, and you were sure all of those pendrives scattered near were just about the same thing.

—It looks creepy now, but I'll eventually clean it. You know, you weren't supposed to come here today..—He, still grabbing your face, made you look at him by raising your chin with the intention that you maintain eye contact with him.—I was still making cute furniture for you to enjoy this place..but then i saw it. I saw what you tried to do.

His free hand reached his pocket, taking out your mini polaroid that was supposed to be in your purse. When did he take it? Fuck, it probably was while you two were kissing.

—I saw that you, deep inside, were just as sick as I am. And i couldn't resist it.

Your jaw tensed, but you still talked.

—Why?

He grinned, and his voice came out in a whisper.

—Because i have been waiting for so, so long.

He smiled at your innocence. Did you really think you were being sly with that dirty, little secret of yours? No, Choso had his eye on you for longer than you did. He saw you at work once, then he grew obsessed with you even if you never noticed him. Seeing you at work was not enough, so he eventually bought a House next to yours as if fate wanted him to get closer to you, and noted how to catch your attention. He changed his whole personality into some shy, cute and fun but still serious with black cat aesthetic boy just because he knew it was your type, and even went as far as creating profiles on social media acting like his exs whenever you, with another account he managed to find, asked about how he was in a relationship. That account was simply "asking for a friend", but he knew better than that. He lied to you, telling you just what you wanted to hear about a perfect boy in a relationship and stupid reasons of the breakup each different from another so you wouldn't think he had any specific red flag.

God, you were so adorable that he could lock you up forever.

Except for the fact that he already was.

—No, you're another whole level of sick. You were so normal, we had a lot of things in common..

—But we do! Y/N, look at me.—he brushed a strand of hair off your face, smiling softly.—We have things in common. We're both so in love with eachother, it's okay..

—No, Choso. You were meant for me..

His smile faded.

—I still am.

—No you're not. You were fake.

You were conflicted. You were sick in the head, but he was just another whole level. While you were happy with having him by your side, keeping photos of him and observing the man, he was locking you in. You had absolutely no right to complain, because you were just a little bit less bad than he was even though you were still guilty.

You tried to fool him, and you ended up being fooled.

—You're in denial, Y/N. Everything I am now I will forever be if you like it, I built myself just for you!

He was growing more demanding by minute, his grip on your face increased and you couldn't open your mouth to reply.

—You liked cats, I like cats too. You like some bands? well guess what, i like them too! You like that damn tea?! I like it too even though it tastes like shit!

He kept screaming, trying to reason with you.

You bit your lip and slipped out of his grasp. He seemed upset at that, but eventually decided to let you be.

You were still too in shock to understand what he did for you, weren't you?

—Fine, do whatever you want..—He moved away from you, leaving you there still chained to the bed. —It's not like you'll be going anywhere soon.

He scoffed, and you felt such a rush of emotions going on at the same time. Every feeling that you may have accumulated towards him during all these months disappeared from your heart as if they were pieces of a puzzle. Each moment you grew excited because you were just about to visit him, each photo you took of him and hung on the wall while you daydreamed of the day you could take one together with him, each moment you replayed in your head every conversation with him again and again before going to sleep...it all vanished. The love you felt slowly turned into a darker feeling that extinguished it until it turned into a kind of repulsion, disgust. You knew that the day will come when you your karma will come for you for having gotten into such dangerous terrain, but you didn't expect it to be this way.

Specially for it to be this man.

The man you idealized so much, the man you thought to be so perfect.

The man you claimed to have so many things in common with.

Well, now you knew for sure.

You did have a lot in common with Choso Kamo.

Author's note: not my favorite fanfic, honestly. It's not edited since it's 2am and i don't wanna re-read, so tell me if you find any mistakes! By the way, new chapter of "dogs and Cats café" will be out next week when i'm finally done with my final exams.

Hope you liked this, I'll be reading your comments 💕

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enhas-pov · 2 days

Text

serial killer

summary: there’s a serial killer in town and reader is worried about her boyfriend, niki. he’s acting odd

warnings: murder, blood, yandere, forced kissing, obsessive love

word count: 1.8k

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it was a friday night, me and niki were sat on the couch watching a movie together. i was laying with my back against his chest whilst munching on some of my popcorn. “what happened?” the tv had suddenly switched from the movie we were watching to the news. “oops, sorry. i accidentally sat on the remote” i reached for it from under me and was about to switch back to the movie when the news caught my attention. “according to police reports, a new serial killer has been identified in our area. the killer has been linked to three murders in the past week. authorities describe the killer as a tall figure often dressed in black. the police are urging residents to report any suspicious activity immediately and we will continue to bring you updates. in the meantime, we want to remind you all to secure your homes and look out for one another. that’s all for now, stay safe” i was in absolute shock. a new serial killer in town? while i was trying to process these news, i felt niki’s hand stroking my arm. “niki.. i’m scared” i turned to look at him and he didn’t look scared at all, it looked like this wasn’t a shock to him. “there’s nothing to be scared of, ___. i’m here, okay? i’ll protect you. i always will” he pulled me in closer and placed a kiss on my forehead. it made me feel less scared and a lot more safer, i knew that i would always be safe with him.

“niki! we’ve run out of conditioner-“ i walked out the bathroom while drying my hair with a towel when i noticed niki putting his shoes on. “i’ll get some on my way back home” he opened the door and was about to leave before i slammed it shut which made him jump. “you mean to tell me that you’re going out, right now? at night? when there’s a serial killer out there? do you have a death wish, niki?” i refuse to let him leave, i don’t want a dead boyfriend. “baby come on. i’m just gonna meet up with jungwon, that’s it. i’ll be safe, i promise” he didn’t seem to be worried or anything, it was kinda odd. “but what about me? what if the killer breaks in and kills me, hm?” i crossed my arms while i was stood in front of him blocking the door. “that won’t happen” he sounded so sure about it too. “and how do you know that?” without giving me an answer, he placed his hands on my waist and lifted me up like it was nothing. he moved me away from the door so he could make his way out. “because i do. i’ll be back soon, i love you” he gave me a quick kiss on the lips before he left, closing the door behind him. i’m definitely not getting any sleep before he gets back. if he gets back..

i was sat on the couch watching tangled to try and make me feel less scared. i guess it kinda worked, until the evil old lady showed up on the screen. i let out a big sigh and my mind went to niki. was he okay? it’s only been an hour, and he did text me twice letting me know he was okay. i should stop overthinking, niki is fine- “i’m back!” i jumped up from the couch the second i heard his voice. i ran towards him and threw my arms around his neck. “i thought you died..” i hid my face in his neck and was very grateful to the fact that he was alive. “i’m really tired, but i couldn’t sleep since i was worried sick about you” i pulled away so i could finally look him in the eyes. i noticed how his hair was messed up and so were his clothes. wait, is that blood on his shirt? “see, i told you nothing would happen to me or you-“ “niki.. what’s that?” i used my finger to point at the red spot on his shirt. “oh, that. i just spilled my drink” i’m not sure why, but a part of me didn’t believe him. i shrieked when he picked me up by placing his hands under my thighs. “let’s go to bed. you said you were tired, yeah?” he walked us over to our bedroom and placed me down onto the bed. i watched him pull his red stained shirt over his head and throw it in the laundry basket. “so, how’s jungwon?” he turned to me with a confused look on his face, like he had no idea what i was talking about. “what?” “you told me you were gonna meet up with jungwon, remember?” i could tell realization hit him, did he lie to me? “oh, right. i was confused for a second because of how tired i am. but he’s good” i slightly nodded, but if i’m gonna be honest niki is acting really weird. he got in bed next to me after turning all the lights off. i could feel him wrap his arms around my waist and pulling me closer to him.

i woke up in the middle of the night with no sight of niki. i heard weird noises so i thought he was probably just getting himself water or using the bathroom, but he was taking too long. i stretched my arms before getting up to see what was taking him so long. “niki?” first i looked in the living room, then the kitchen and then the bathroom. where was he? i kept on hearing those noises, so i decided to follow them. suddenly, it stopped and i was stood in front of the door that lead down to the basement. i don’t usually go down there, why would i? out of curiosity and wanting to know where niki was, i slowly opened the door which made a creaking sound. “niki?” i repeated, no answer. as i made my way down the stairs i couldn’t see anything since it was pitch black, so i brought my phone out and used my flash light to look around. all i could see were cardboard boxes and just a bunch of junk we stored down here. i was about to go back up when i stepped in some kind of liquid, it was kinda thick and disgusting. when i flashed my phone down on my feet, my heart dropped when i realized what i stepped in was blood. even worse, fresh blood. “oh my god.. i’m gonna throw up..” i covered my mouth and started backing up when suddenly, i felt my back hit something making me jump. i quickly turned around and my blood went cold when i saw it was niki stood behind me. i was too scared to say anything, meanwhile he was just stood there looking down at me with a blank expression. the stairs were to my left, could i make a run for it? i counted down in my head.

3… 2… 1!

i quickly pushed niki to the side and made a run for it, but he clearly saw it coming. halfway up the stairs, i tripped when niki’s hand grabbed my ankle. i managed to kick his hand away making him groan in pain, “fuck!” it gave me enough time to get back up on my feet tho. when i had finally made it back up, i slammed the door shut behind me, but there was no lock on it. “shit..” get out of the house, that was my first thought. a few hours ago i’d be too scared to leave the house because of the serial killer, but i didn’t know that i was living with him and that he was my own boyfriend. i ran to the front door and jumped when i heard the door to the basement get slammed open. it made me stress and panic which is the reason to why i was struggling to open the door. “come on..!” i kept on twisting the door knob until i finally got it open. the second i stepped my foot outside, i got dragged back in by a strong muscular force and the door was slammed shut. knowing no one could hear me i still started screaming for help, but niki covered my mouth with his hand muffling the sound of my voice. he pushed me up against the wall and held me tightly since i kept on moving around. “shhh. be quiet” he started stroking my hair and leaned in closer to my face. “i’m not gonna hurt you, okay? i would never hurt you baby. i told you i’d always protect you” even though i now knew he was the one murdering people, he still made me feel safe with his words. i know that it’s wrong, he’s not a good person, but i can’t help it. i stopped moving around and screaming for help which resulted in him removing his hand from my mouth and loosening his grip on my body.

“why..?” he cocked his head at my question. “why?” he asked me. “why would you do that to those innocent people..?” i was full of mixed emotions. my eyes were teary, i had this lump in my throat and a pit in my stomach. “innocent? those people weren’t innocent” what? what does he mean by ‘they weren’t innocent’? “i don’t understand.. what did they do?” he placed his index finger on the center of my chest. “they all wanted you for themselves. i had to show them that it would result in bad consequences” did he.. murder people out of jealousy? i felt even worse, like i was about to pass out. “niki.. i can’t“ i pushed lightly at his chest but he didn’t dare to move. “please- get away from me.. i don’t feel so good” he still wouldn’t get out of my way, what was wrong with him? “it’s okay. i’ll make you feel good” “what?-“ i didn’t see it coming, but he smashed his lips onto mine and started kissing me relentlessly. i brought my hands up and started hitting his chest, signing him to get off of me. he didn’t seem to care tho. he just grabbed me by my waist and pulled me in closer to deepen the kiss. i felt him slide his tongue into my mouth, but the feeling of it was weird. he was making out with me whilst i was trying to resist him. he finally pulled away to catch his breath, and so did i. “do you feel better?” to my surprise, i did. the lump in my throat and the pit in my stomach had gone away once he kissed me, i just didn’t notice. he pressed his forehead against mine and looked into my eyes. “i won’t let anyone come near you, ever” the way he was acting, it wasn’t normal. but i couldn’t help but love him even more.

#enha x reader #enhypen fanfic #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fic #enhypen x female reader #enhypen x reader #enhypen niki #niki enhypen #niki x reader #niki #niki enha #enhypen #enha #enhypen nishimura riki #nishimura riki

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mabelstone · 19 hours

Text

Common Tongue

hozier x f!reader

part five of lullabies <3 | part four | masterlist

cw: 18+, oral sex, a lot of this is sex ok u should know me by now, the word 'balls', not much plot tbh

word count: 4.1k

taglist: @princezty @somethinglikero @jimihendrixpopfigure @the-imperfectgirl-blog @l1nd3n @yunonaneko xo

I woke in the delicious warmth of Andrew’s arms, his soft breaths against my neck sending a chill down my spine. I gently nuzzled into his touch, his arms autonomously holding me tighter. For the next week and a half, this was my morning routine. Also part of the morning routine was the part where I would slip out of his grip as gently as possible when I was on the verge of weeing myself.

I’d slip back into bed, entranced by the way sleep drenched breaths swam through the small parting of his lips. The way his muddy greens danced under his eyelids as he dreamt, and the way his thick lashes swept along his high cheekbones made it near impossible for me to look away.

We danced around the fine line of being lovers, friends, and fuck buddies, not even entertaining the thought of defining what we were. I knew it was all probably moving too fast considering I’d just gotten out of a relationship. Not that I really cared - Andy had a way of numbing me. Numbing the heartbreak in a way that I didn’t even have to acknowledge it. He made me feel happy and sexy and loved, if that’s what you’d call it.

Like he could feel it, he’d wake to me watching him, causing me to blush profusely and apologise. He’d either pull me in and kiss my neck and forehead, or remind me with a grin, “staring is rude, y’know,” in his deep, groggy morning voice. It was rare to catch him watching me sleep as I was the early riser of the two of us. But during the day, I’d swear I was his favourite sight. Maybe that was just wishful thinking.

This past week also consisted of numerous phone calls to Andy, all from producers begging to sign him to their labels. I was so ecstatic for him, but of course, he was overtly humble as always. After doing his research and attending a few meetings, he decided to go with Rubyworks.

“Andy!” I threw myself into his arms excitedly, squeezing him so hard, I thought he might implode. “I’m so proud of you… we have to celebrate!”

“I’dunno, baby…” he sighed, raking his hands through the back of my hair while I melted into his touch. “This all might blow up in my face yet.”

“Don’t talk rubbish!” I scolded him, peeling my face away with my arms still around him so he could see me frown. “And you deserve to be celebrated. And we have no plans for dinner. Please?”

“Because you’ve twisted my arm,” he gave in, bending down slightly to capture my lips in his. As if I had any control at this point, I autonomously kissed him back, a squeak leaving me when he effortlessly picked me up and sat me on his kitchen island.

He deepened the kiss, one of his hands squeezing my thigh, the other tangled in my hair. I sighed against him, my hands skating across his abdomen. His tongue slipped into my mouth, forcing me to swallow a grunt of his. Both of his hands now slipped up my thighs, stopping just at the crease of my hip with a firm squeeze.

“You’d better stop,” he warned, pupils blown.

“Or what?” I teased, hands now gripping his biceps. Fuck dinner. I’ll give him something better to eat.

“You’ll see later,” he promised with a kiss to my temple, sliding his hands off me. “Let’s get ready now, or it’ll be impossible to drag me out of this house.”

“Fine,” I sighed in faux disappointment, hopping off the table and dragging him behind me by his hand.

I put on my favourite dress; a flowy black number with a corset like top that did me lots of favours in the breast department. I wore some simple three inch heels, sheer black stockings, and a faux leather coat. My hair was slicked back into a wavy ponytail, complimented by some chunky gold jewellery to break up all the darks I had on. I wore Andrew's favourite perfume of mine, Jimmy Choo's Eau De Parfum. I'd always had an illustrious love for fashion, but oftentimes Joe had an issue with my style. Not Andy, though. His jaw just about hit the floor and he looked as if he were close to calling off our plans and just taking me to bed instead. Not that I would have protested... but no, tonight was about him.

He looked edible in a black button up and brown jacket, with those white converse's that were basically fused to his feet at this point. He trimmed his beard down and has doused himself in Tam Dao by Diptique, and when I say he smelt divine, I mean, I considered calling off our plans as well.

At first, we found ourselves in a cheesy karaoke bar that was walking distance from his house. We threw back a couple shots, laughing and cheering on both the good and… not so good performances. Andy always said that despite the voice he was gifted with, he hated singing karaoke. I eventually convinced him to duet Islands in the Stream with me. It was the most fun I’d ever had. He then gave his own rendition of Sex Bomb, and I hate to admit it, but it did something to me. We snacked on shitty street food as we passed through the weekend markets, enjoying our tipsy people watching.

After that, we found a dim lit bar in the west end with live music and cheap drinks for happy hour. We caught a taxi and walked hand in hand from the car to our booth. For once, I loved having everyone's eyes on us. I wanted everyone to see us together, though we weren't really together.

The combination of the sultry jazz band in the background mingling with the effects of too much alcohol too fast had me sliding my foot up his leg, getting a high from watching his eyes darken as he squirmed. He gave me a warning look, to which I innocently sipped at my drink and averted my head to the band, gently applying pressure to his crotch. I felt his hand grip my ankle, and when I thought he'd move me away, he ran his hands up my leg instead, stopping only when he reached my knee. I turned my head back to him quickly, my core growing hot at the feeling. He looked gorgeous, curls framing his face, his eyes fixed on me as if I were the most interesting thing in the room.

His stare challenged mine, almost daring me to keep going. The look in his eyes screamed, "see what will happen," and I have never been one to turn down a dare.

Drunkenly, I slid my finger around the rim of my glass, bringing the salt to my lips as I sucked my finger clean, making effort to show my tongue at first. I pushed it in far deeper than necessary, almost able to hear the way his breath hitched in his throat. His grip on my ankle tightened, and I applied a bit more pressure with my heel.

"I swear to God, I will throw you into a cab right now," his eyes were hooded and narrowed in on me. It felt like a stand off between a predator and prey, despite feeling nothing but safety in his presence.

"You wanna take me home, big boy?" I teased, relishing in the way his cheeks flushed when I used the ridiculous pet name. He loved a good double entendre. Well, triple entendre, really.

I reached across the table to grab his hands, running my thumb over his knuckles. Despite the often heated nature of our exchanges recently, I'd never felt more loved. Maybe that was the wrong word, it was too soon. I'd never felt more secure.

He abruptly got up from the booth, dragging me to the dance floor with him. I laughed wildly, the alcohol buzzing through both of our veins like a freight train. “You hate dancing!”

“I know!” He shouted back over the music, pulling me in close to him by my waist. “But you’re beautiful and you’ve been force feeding me whiskey.”

“Hardly force feeding,” I scoffed, slapping his arm playfully. We swayed to a cover of I’d Rather Go Blind by Etta James, giggling uncontrollably at how uncoordinated we both were. It didn’t matter, it felt good.

Then there was the feeling of someone bumping into me hard, followed by the cold of a drink soaking the back of my legs. I gasped, pushing myself further into Andy to get away from the feeling.

“Sorry,” the woman spoke with no sign of remorse in her tone or expression. Andy was quick to grab a handful of napkins from the table beside us, wiping me down as I blushed embarrassedly. I was sure I was hallucinating when I looked up and saw Joe smirking. Fucking loser.

“Andy,” I pulled him up by his coat from where he was wiping me down. “Let’s go.”

“It’s okay, darlin’, you can’t even tell-“

“No, Joe is here. Let’s leave, please.” I felt hot and nauseous immediately, the glint in his eye from across the room all too familiar. He was going to make me pay for leaving him.

Andrew’s expression turned unreadable, yet he still nodded and stayed close behind me as I quickly fled the bar. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I nodded, acutely aware of how dry my throat felt. “He’s just unpredictable, I’d rather not deal with him tonight. Or, ever for that matter.”

He just hummed in response, lacing his fingers with mine. He pulled out his phone to order us an Uber. I tried to protest, insisting that we hadn’t celebrated him enough. He shushed me with a kiss, reassuring me that tonight was wonderful and he was grateful. I leaned into his body while we waited in the cold, his arm around my shoulder as we watched the traffic pass us by.

“So you are with him?” Joe scoffed, seeming to appear out of thin air. I startled at his voice, scolding myself internally for peeling away from Andy so quickly. “And you couldn't fuckin' wait for the chance to steal her, could you?"

“We aren’t together,” I quickly interjected, ignoring the way Andy’s face faltered at my clarification. “And even if I was, we are over. It’s over. Don’t you understand?”

“I understand that you can’t keep your legs shut.”

I was taken aback by his comment, unable to think of a snarky reply as my cheeks warmed and my jaw slackened.

"That's no way to speak to a woman, show some fuckin' respect," Andrew growled, stepping closer to my ex, absolutely towering over him. Joe tried to get in his face, both of them puffing their chests out like two pigeons. It was kind of sexy. Is that horrible to say?

"Who the fuck do you think you're talking to?" Joe bit back, grabbing a fistful of Andrew's shirt.

"Stop!" I shrieked, grabbing Andrews' wrist, trying my hardest to get him away from Joe. "I want to go home."

"Home?" Joe seethed through gritted teeth, his face red as a traffic light.

Andrew shoved Joe back, sending him stumbling, barely finding his footing.

"Andy, I want to go home," my voice was fragile as I tugged on his wrist once more, his expression immediately softening when he saw tears in my eyes. He took my hand in his, leading me away as he checked to see if Joe was hanging around. Looks like the security guard saw him, thankfully.

The Uber rolled up two minutes later and I couldn't have climbed in any quicker. I was beyond grateful to be in a warm car rather than out in the cold with Joe.

"That was fuckin' scary," I huffed, throwing my head back against the headrest.

"I'm sorry," he cooed with a gentle hand threading through my hair. "I shouldn't have said anything to him."

"That was not your fault," I assured him, turning to look at those big, doe eyes that were starting to make me weak.

He gave me a half hearted smile and sat in silence for the rest of the drive. I wondered what he was thinking, but felt it was probably best to just let him feel how he needed to. When we got home, we thanked the driver and walked into Andrews house in silence.

"Are you okay?" I asked gently, standing by as he shucked his coat.

"Yeah," he sighed with a shake of his head, though it wasn't convincing in the slightest.

"Did I do something? Or, say something?" I prodded further, softly taking his hand so he'd look at me.

"Really, it's no big deal," he gave me a half hearted smile, squeezing my hand once before heading for the stairs. "I'm gonna go shower."

I watched as he walked away, wracking my brain for anything that could have happened. Surely seeing Joe didn't upset him.

Then I remembered how fast I was to reassure my ex that Andy and I weren't exclusive. Fuck. I planned out my approach in my head for a while so I didn't dig the knife in deeper.

When I made it to his room, he was in his closet with dampened curls and a towel around his waist, looking for clothes, I presume. I knocked softly to let him know I was at the door.

"Andy?"

He hummed in response, turning only his head to me.

"Is it because I said we aren't together?"

He huffed some half witted laugh, almost as if he were embarrassed.

I walked closer to him, taking his hand into mine. "Well we aren't officially together, Andy." I sighed. "But I guess we kind of are together, aren't we?"

That caught his eye.

"And," I continued, "I can't think of anyone else I'd rather be with right now." I took his face into my hands, pulling him close as I softly kissed him. His mouth was much warmer than mine and he smelt so fresh and delicious.

Each time we kissed, something deep inside of me sparked like a flint and steel. The near palpable electricity of that spark conducted its way through my lips straight to his. We found a steady rhythm that was soon forgotten, replaced by tongue and teeth, desperate for more. Without breaking contact, we staggered back onto the bed, only the cotton of his towel and the nylon of my stockings keeping our bodies separated. My hands tugged at his soft auburn curls, eliciting encouraging hymns of appraisal that I wished I could devour. His hands dug into my hips harder than he ever had. Not hard enough to hurt me, but hard enough to let me know he wanted me just as bad as I did him.

I moved my mouth to his neck, sucking at his delicate skin, feeling his pulse against my lips. He shuddered and gasped, desperately trying to grind my body against his. The sinful noises he made only made me crave him more, only made me yearn for his beautiful rhapsodies. To hear them alone, without the deafening ring of my own pleasure in my ears, to hear them without my own pants and sighs overwhelming his. Just him, all of him.

"Andy, I really want to suck your cock," I blurted, pulling away to look at him through drooped eyelids. "May I please?"

"Good manners," he joked, his eyes even more lidded than my own. "Of course, baby." He pulled me in for another kiss, his tongue gliding against mine as I let a hand trail down his stomach and underneath his towel. I felt him twitch in my hand as I started to stroke him, his groans reverberating in my mouth.

I had never wanted to knob somebody off so bad. I always hated it with whoever else I was sleeping with. There was something about Andy. He was such a giver that it felt wrong not to give him something back. Like I'd be missing out on a sacred experience if I didn't do it right now. There was no part of me that didn't get pleasure out of pleasuring him.

I pulled my lips from his, sliding down between his legs. I kissed from his jaw to his collarbones, to his chest and then his stomach, watching goosebumps form along his creamy skin, his calloused hands skating along my forearms.

I finally freed him from the towel, watching his cock jump against his happy trail. I took him into my hand, pumping his length a few times to see his facial expression change. My God, was it the most divine sight. Unable to hold off any longer, I licked a flat stripe over his tip, his precum dancing on my tongue.

"Fuck," he practically gasped, gently grabbing the back of my head.

I slowly wrapped my lips around his tip using one of my hands to guide him into my mouth. Without taking his eyes off me, he reached behind his head for a pillow, staring at me like he might die if he looked away. I didn't dare take my eyes off his.

I slowly took more of him into my mouth, swirling my tongue around him as I did so. He grabbed a fistful of my hair, borrowing a whimper from my mouth working around him. I pulled off briefly to blink up at him, "tell me how you like it, please."

He whimpered some response, nodding desperately. I put my mouth on him again, looking up for further instruction.

"Stick your tongue out a little," he breathed, the faintest of smiles on his face. "Good, now start movin', baby."

I nodded best I could with my mouth full, bobbing my head at a steady rhythm. I looked up at him through my lashes, my stomach flipping at the sight before me.

"Gooood girl," he praised me, freeing one of his hands from my hair to brush his thumb over my cheek. "Can you go a little faster, angel?"

I hummed in agreement, moving my head along his length faster, keeping my tongue out along the base the way he liked, making sure to hollow my cheeks the best I could. Not that there was much room for that. I moved one hand to steady myself against his thigh, the other slipping down to massage his balls.

"Jesus Christ," he moaned, throwing his head back. "Yeah, that's it. Just like that." My stomach flipped, my core on the verge of boiling over. I swear I could get off on the sight and sounds of him alone.

I took him as deep as I could, fighting off the urge to gag as he repeatedly hit the back of my throat. My jaw was aching and tears were threatening to fall from my eyes, but I was determined. I could tell he was close by the unsteady rhythm of his breathing.

He gave my hair a firm tug, a warning, almost as if to give me the option to pull off. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum if you keep going."

I hummed in acknowledgement, no shred of intention to stop in my body.

"Where, baby?" He breathed, the muscles in his stomach beginning to tense. I traced a few shapes with my tongue as a form of communication, my way of showing him where, looking up at him. "Christ, Y/N," he groaned, spilling hot ribbons onto my tongue, his hips stuttering beneath me. I kept my mouth on him as he rode out his high, his face contorted in ecstasy, brows furrowed, mouth agape as his euphonious appraisals slipped from it.

I pulled off, my lips swollen and red, mascara no doubt running down my cheeks, and now uncomfortably horny.

Like he could read my mind, he sat up pulled me into his lap, now kissing my neck. His beard scratched across my collarbones in the most tantalising way, his hands working quickly to unzip my dress. He did so with ease, slipping the material off my shoulders where it pooled in our laps.

"You are perfect," he sighed against my skin, kissing me hard as he palmed one of my breasts. I whimpered against him, my hands in his hair as he buried his face in my chest. One of his hands cradled the bottom of my skull, the other guiding my breast to his mouth as he flicked his tongue across my nipple.

"Andy," I whined, pure need unmistakable in my tone. "Mmh, need you, baby."

He flipped me onto my back without warning, sliding down the bed between my thighs. His eyes were hungry, almost primal. Despite his release only moments prior, he had determination written all over his face as he buried his face between my thighs, pressing wet, open mouthed kisses through my stockings. "Please, I need you now. Please, please," my voice was whinier than I'd ever heard it, so much so I almost didn't recognise it.

My dress was still bunched around my waist, but he didn't seem too inconvenienced. My stockings, however, had no chance of surviving this one. In one fluid movement, he ripped through the crotch of my stockings, tearing them thigh to thigh. I gasped, my stomach flipping at the gesture. He pulled my knickers to the side, sliding his tongue over my clit without warning. Instantly, my back was arching autonomously, my head already thrown back against the mattress.

His tongue flitted against me with expert precision, switching between sucking and licking. "Tell me how you like it," he spoke against me, the vibrations from his voice combined with his soft lips against the most sensitive part of my body making my head go fuzzy. I couldn't even respond, only able to fumble around for his hand.

He slipped two fingers in with ease and I nearly screamed in pleasure. Lewd, wet noises filled the room, my whines and moans somehow even louder than the physical proof of my arousal. His deft fingers worked me to the fastest orgasm known to man, hitting my g-spot with each thrust, his tongue signing love letters onto my clit.

I chanted his name like a mantra, desperately clinging to the bedsheets beneath me as I completely lost myself under his touch. The most incredible feeling ever ripped through my every nerve ending, every fibre, every atom of my being. I shook uncontrollably beneath him, toes curled, eyes screwed shut as I made noises nobody else had ever torn from me. This must be what heaven feels like.

I finally came back down to Earth, panting like I'd ran a marathon. Andy wiped his mouth on the towel, the most satisfied grin I'd ever seen plastered to his face.

"Andy, I-" I stammered, genuinely lost for words as I laid my head on his chest. "I owe you the world. What do you want? Whatever it is, it's yours."

"Are you kiddin' me?" He laughed exasperatedly, kissing my forehead. "I should be givin' you the world. That was the closest to a religious experience I've ever had."

"You'd better write a song about this," I half joked, shimmying my dress off finally.

"Way ahead of ya', darlin'," he sighed in content. "I need to do that more."

"You ruined my stockings, Andy," I sighed in faux disappointment, "but that might have been the sexiest thing I've ever seen."

Then he was back to his shy self, a bashful grin on his face that he covered with his arm, leaving my heart to soar within my chest.

Fuck. I was catching proper feelings. Like... proper. Like, L-Word feelings. The realisation hit me like a tonne of bricks. Andy was to go and record some songs next week. What if he didn't feel the same? What if he got really famous and left me behind? Was I just sex? Was he just a rebound? It all has really moved fast, I shouldn't be getting attached...

"I'm gonna shower," I smiled politely, excusing myself before he had a chance to say anything.

A million thoughts raced through my mind at once. Was I trying to sabotage this for myself? It felt nice to be clean, a nice reset. The water defrosted me, made me feel centred again. I dried off and slipped into one of his hoodies.

"I need to tell you something," I blurted, unable to stop the words from coming out as I walked back into his room.

i did some googling and there might be some confusion (or maybe not, but just in case) when i say stockings i mean toe to hip tights/hosiery. i'm australian lol i apologise if some things don't make sense... i don't like the word hosiery ok

#andrew hozier byrne #hozier #hozier x reader #andrew hozier #hozier smut

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metranart · 11 hours

Text

“How about—how about you give me a daughter, huh?” He panted out, grinning like a maniac, his incisive too sharp, pupils’ way too blown, hair wild and sticking over his sweaty forehead. “I bet she’d be pretty thing, just like her mommy.”

ft. Hawks centered, Hawks x reader, Slight! Bakugo x reader, Slight! Dabi x reader.

Hawks x UA Student! Reader (Part 5)

Warning tag: obsessed! Hawks, possessive! Hawks, naive! student reader, violation of trust, dubious consent, mating cycles, rut response, obsessive behavior, uncontrollable thirst for reader, manipulation, forced, thigh riding, hormonal minds out of control, sexual content, first time, cock riding, teenage fuck, Dabi's toxically interested in you, Bakugo bestie yet secretly inlove wit you, love confessions, cock-drunk, Hawks trying to be good but failing miserably, gaslighting, HEAVY plot, lots of smut.

Keigo pulled out, fully out of you just to shove himself to the hilt, slamming your cunt so viciously, the breath was knocked out of you. Words and pleas got stuck in your dry throat, you didn’t know how to stop him. This wasn't happening, not with Hawks—the Number two pro hero in the country. He was your favorite Hero. Please, someone make him stop.

“Fuck-... so, sooooo tight.” He praised, bathing your neck in abandoned smooches, “I knew it, it had to be your sweet pussy—” and throwing his head back, grinned like a love-struck fool and began pistoning in and out of you like a madman.

He was fucking you so violently, you couldn’t find your breath to scream. You merely sobbed into his bare shoulder, and he let you. There was no one around, all the houses empty from working parents and studying students. You were at his mercy. No one would hear you and somehow, you wished he had never saved you.

“Ngh~” you wailed, but he couldn’t interpret the sound, neither could you.

“Yes, yes, I know you´ll love it, too.” Keigo daydreamed, “she’ll be Daddy’s little treasure,” he hummed, pulling back and flipping you onto the ground, your face and tits splashed against the cold concrete as he lifted your hips a little, straddling you when you attempted to stand. “Almost there, love—” said, tenderly patting your ass and slipping back inside you, started thrusting with swift abandon at the new angle.

“Mmh… Fuck, you’re still so tight—!” Hawks chuckled breathlessly, rutting into your softness with frenzied exhilaration, devoutly massaging the skin on your hips with his thumbs while thrusting.

Berserk hips colliding with your ass cheeks at the rhythm of love, not an inch of restraint or mercy while forcing his heroic cock inside your virginal pussy. He had been making an utter mess of you for the better part of twenty minutes already, and now you were no more than a sack of bones sprawled on dirty concrete, no more tears in your eyes, only pitiful moans and occasional groans when decided to fuck you in a different angle or position.

“S-sorry about this-” he mumbled, and groaned, burdensomely, kissing your cheek as if it would comfort you. You felt warmth permeate inside of you, and knew he came, for the third time. “Shesh—you’ll think I’ll be done with that, but I just feel so fucking driven, still…. FUCK! I’m so, sorry, kid.” He did sound remorseful but didn’t stop.

You didn’t respond anymore, too numb by something very similar to pleasure but more intense, pain had left your body in the first five minutes of him forcing himself into your resistless, utterly slaved pussy, and were reduced to take it, as Hawks often like to babble, ‘like a good fucking girl.’

A part of you hated him so bad, and another part knew it wasn’t his doing, not entirely. What had his feathers all ruffled up and had him drooling like a dog in heat was your fucking quirk, twisting his mind and charging his sexual feat. And to your despair, you thought you knew what needed to be done to end this assault, it would be a torrid lie -another problem to deal with later- but as long as he believed it right now, it could be your way out.

“Hawks~” you mewled, and the noise of your sultry voice alone got him harder.

“Yes, baby bird, what do you need?” he fluttered with happiness at you finally sounding less disgusted, “What can I do to make you feel more comfortable—is the bed of feathers not soft enough?”

At some point while flipping your body to his liking, set a rug of red feathers which chased your bare figure for you to be at least comfortable while receiving him.

You were far too cramped, not deep enough and he was huge, and no number of different angles or positions would help him reach deeper than he already was, the bulge under your belly button a firm sign that he couldn’t bottom out as would like to, yet he felt a wave of pride, at seeing you take it like a real champ. Not eager but at least you weren't crying anymore.

“It’s o-okey…” you mumbled, feeling him keep you effectively anchored to his groin. You were on your side now as he lay behind you, one arm wrapping around under your waist while squeezing one of your breasts as anchor and his other hand lifting your leg up, knee flush against your side, spread wide for him to slid easier, hitting your cervix on every incessant shove.

“Haw—Keigo.” You remembered he wanted you to call him by his civilian name, and to your surprise it had a better effect than you anticipated.

“Oh my God! It sounds so pretty coming out of your mouth, goddamit-” hearing his own name had practically made his eyes roll back into his skull, it was addictive, and soon needed more. “Say it, please, baby—… don’t leave me hanging......say it again. Keigo. Please....fuck, please, say my fucking name, baby. I just…” he melted into your warm body, lips brushing against every inch of your face as he kept pleading, forehead sweaty and face red from exertion, but the thing that shocked you the most was the way he cupped your jaw with a gentleness you never expected when the rest of his body was moving so violently, so spirited, “—I just need you to say it.”

“Keigo.” you conceded in a sultry purr, and he squeezed your breast harder, without hurting you, carefully spreading your leg farther up for him to get a little deeper, but it wasn’t enough. Your body was still resisting every swing of his hips. “You have to let me spoil you, baby—” he practically begged, unable to stop himself, he could feel your rattled heartbeat through your back against his chest and he loved the closeness, the way you were finally listening to his demands. “I need to take care of you, my mate.... I need you to come on my cock-…. please, baby bird, come for me —”

“I don’t think I can do it again, Haw-… Keigo.” The shiver running down his body echoed through your own skin at the use of his name, so willingly, so natural.

“Yes, you can, just one last time.... please-…. let me take care of it,” he swallowed hard, hips stuttering while trying to dial it down a bit to let you chase your own pace “You´ve been taking all my loads so well inside this beautiful baby-maker.... this is the last pull to be able to close my rut, luv.... I´m so fucking close-” his wings instinctively flapped “but I can’t come until you do.” He insisted, and you sighed, you didn’t want this to drag on any longer than it had, so, you nodded, once.

“Oh, I can't wait,” he cooed dizzily, as if the mere thought of you taking the lead even for a short lapse made him tipsy, “I'm all yours, your to command—tell me how you want me to make you come?”

“Eh-h...” you stuttered, once again, he really loved when you did, and you tried to use it against him, even so, once he had pulled out and was now eagerly waiting for YOU to tell him how to rip a new hole in your cervix again, you couldn’t find your voice. You just wanted it to end. “Well...I—”

Hawks nodded his head reverently, waiting with bated breath for your next words and as if sensing your hesitance, he peppered your forehead with greedy kisses. Fuck, how his teeth ached to bury in the skin of your shoulder and mark you as his, he yearned to fill you a thousand more times in this dirty alleyway, but he was worried about your well-being, you were still a pup compared to him. So, he promised himself to take good care of you, and tucked you safely away from any other male, he had called dibs and now you were fucked...or at least that was what his rut commanded.

“I-…. with your mouth.” You braved out, expecting for that to work, but it didn’t.

“No can do, kiddo, I need to double coat your insides white one last time, remember?” How the fuck did he was able to blast such horrid and lewd phrases without even be fazed about it, was beyond you. But the worst of all, was how this sick, trademark humor of his actually had an effect on your traitorous soaked pussy.

“Mphmmm....well, then-… what is your favorite position, Keigo?” His eyes almost sparkled at your interest, feign but well-aimed, and he beamed, flapping his wings excitedly.

“My—My favorite....” he felt like a kid on a candy store, “I mean—… I already twisted you like a pretzel for the last hour.... I think I did everything I want......except—”

Your eyes opened wide, expectation shinning on your orbs, whatever he says you´ll do just to end this martyrdom.

“Yes?”

“Well....” he laughed, a little sheepish and you blinked at him, in all the time you had been with him, you had never seen his confidence fail, and that picked your interest. “You can tell me, Keigo.” You encouraged and he acquired a sitting position, abandoning your body on the sheet of feathers.

“I want—I want to sink myself inside some warm pussy.... -yours preferably...since you are MY mate, you know.” You merely nodded, fearing that contradict him may cause a dry humping on his part, “—while we are six feet off the ground.” He shared, all sheepishness forgotten, “That´s it.”

You didn't know how it happened but what was supposed to be your wish, turned into fulfilling one of Hawks' deepest fantasies, and there you were, your legs encircling the hero's waist as he flew up the alley, your shirt at least covered the side of your breasts but still Hawks didn't allow you to fully close it, begging you to let him see your breasts sway to the rhythm of his love, or at least, that's what he assured.

And once having reached the height he required, the birdman sheathed inside you once more, his hands digging under your rear as he maneuvered you up into the air. You prayed that no one would see you, and Keigo assured that no one would, since his feathers would form a shield.

So, you concentrated on letting him set the pace that he needed, and like before, soon became ruthless.

Never ending pumps while he whined desperately, his forehead firm against yours, eyes set in a slit as he concentrated to keep his pumping fluid while still floating in the middle of the air, “Shit, baby... I didn’t expect for this to turn me on so fucking bad, fuck! .....are you even close?”

You weren't, but you knew what that meant. More fucking until you came first. You strived to achieve the requirement of his rut. Please, you needed this to stop.

“Get as horizontal as-as possible so I can...so I can ride you at my pace.”

You didn't even have to say it twice, when his feathers already formed a red platform on the sky where he laid placidly, you on top straddling his erect member, his eyes focused on your figure, Keigo wanted to memorize every detail of your body moving over him while you were hunting for your orgasm.

“Use me, love, come all over your mate´s cock.” He mumbled, kneading the fat of your thighs and you started to hump him.

Your movements were erratic and sometimes his dick slipped out of your overused pussy, your breasts bounced up and down between the folds of your open shirt, your pretty hair fluttered in the wind like a banner that Keigo wanted to braid and comb in a thousand hairstyles, and your plump lips were parted, soft little moans escaping them every time your pussy greedily devoured his cock, DAMN IT! Keigo was close, and no doubt you were too—…. But the winged Hero had already changed his mind, and didn't want this to end, never ever.... when was he going to have you like this again, on him in full will and desire? Was he going to have to become a villain in order to keep you? Was he willing to do that? YEP. Were you willing to do that? Probably NOT.

His hands around your hips innocently tried to contain your thrusts without you noticing but it was too late, Keigo's selfishness would not bear fruit, since he felt your blessed walls tightening on him, and the gasp torn from your throat along with your trembling frame falling on his bare chest was more than enough to know that you had come, without a doubt he was close, so fucking close from just seeing you perform on top of him like a fucking goddess taken out of the same heaven angels must come from, even so, he didn't want to be so close, not anymore.

He wanted you. To be honest, he had been lying to you for the last twenty minutes, since the third time he came inside you turned off his rut completely, leaving him sated and satisfied. He just hadn't counted on the strong need he would feel, this selfish and macabre desire that ran through every fiber of his body, wanting to keep you for himself, you were HIS, he had been your first time, the first one inside of you... .it was only fair that you stayed with him. His girl, his baby, his fucking everything, fuck.... he was close again... this was going to be a painful load, so he hugs you tight against his chest.

“Here it comes, baby, you gonna be a good mate for me and take it all again?” he ceased his gentle stroking on your back in favor of digging his fingers among your soft mane. “Fuck—…. answer me, MATE.”

“Y-yes, Haw...Keigo.” And that did it.

“Then take it all inside that slutty pussy of mine....” His wicked croon had an effect on you, among his dirty words and his ravenous mouth stealing licks from your delectable neck, tempting you, ordering you to follow him over the edge, and soon you felt that familiar twinge in your womb, No! nononono Please... not again. He felt it too and took advantage of it. “Come for me, baby bird. Come on my dick while it fills you to the brim.”

You gagged on your own moans. You did not want to cum again. Not for him. Yet here you were again.... letting him stuff you with his putrid essence while you came undone sobbing and gasping for air for the tenth time that day. “That’s- that’s it. FUCK!” Keigo came soon after, a sonorous yelp- as if HE was the one being raped, ripped through his throat to then slowly and in all serenity, descend on a cloud of feathers until both touched the ground again.

“Well. Fucking. Done.... -Little bird,” his words drawled against your throat, Hawks still submerged in the goading sensation he greedily gained with each prolonged press of your weeping slit against his flaccid cock resting inside you. He didn’t even bother to pull out of you.

His breathing was still heavy, cum sipping out through at how full you were. You looked so ravishing like that, he felt like a real pervert.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, “I didn’t mean to laugh-” He hadn't even realized was laughing, but it was hard not to when felt so utterly fulfilled and blissful. Nevertheless, you roll your eyes at him, spoke of a whole different story in your case.

You choose to stay flat on the ground to let the strength in your legs slowly return. Itching to drag yourself as far from Hawks as humanly possible, the only problem there was that he was still inside you.

“Could- Could you pull out of me?” your lips were tight, and your voice sounded strained, “Please— …. Just let me go?” You felt more than tired, physically and emotionally drained.

“Just let me hold you.” He pleaded, possessively dragging your limp body inside his warm and impossibly strong embrace, flushing his entire body against yours, holding you tight as if you could get away at any given moment. “I just- want to hold you against me.... as long as I can.” He hummed, kissing your cheek again.

Never going to let you go, baby bird, you are mine. Was that thought his? his rut? or your quirk? Guess, he´ll find out soon enough.

COMING SOON PART 6....

⭕️ In this PATREON LINK you will find NSFW art of this story and more spicy MHA NSFW art and exclusive smut fanfiction (also JJK, Demon slayer, and Tokyo Revengers) .... Plus more fascinating rewards, check it out and if you got some extra bucks around, join our community. My eternal and vast gratitude for your support!!!

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