HELLO, my name is Marii - 00' liner, she/they, pansexual, INTP - I am Brazilian 🇧🇷 and I like cats, the color pink, sweet foods, kpop/rock, art and chemistry.
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Disclaimer - this is a Stray Kids based blog, every content here will be around the members.
just started watching house and I thought yall were exaggerating but no. every episode is just like three wrong diagnoses that almost kill the patient and then house is like "he has underwater skunk herpes" and they give the guy a new butthole and he's cured. and then house chugs vicodin while talking about wanting to rail wilson.
✦· · Warnings: The cat is referred to as a male; the reader calls itself "the cat's mommy"; use of Y/n;
✦· · Sc: 24 (3 for each member)
✦· · A/N:This was really cute to make, and it's here as an apology for taking so long to uptade "I'm still Remembering", which is taking a little longer to write due to personal problems. I swear I am committed to this blog, it is just that I don't have that much free time, I hope you understand 🙏 I really like when you comment or reblog, so please keep doing so, it encourages me to keep posting <3
Hey i have seen your bangchan fake texts its really cute
Thank you!!! Thank you so much, I am really happy that people are enjoying what I write 😊 it brings me so much joy when someone compliments my works, I am usually so shy about them, thank you 😊
✦· · Summary: they met each other in high school. He danced, she painted. They fell in love, only for them to fall back from it when the choices were hard to make. He chose her, but she chose her art first.
✦· · W/c: 5K
✦· · Warnings: Angst; Cursing; mentions of sex (no smut); mentions of death (kill myself jokes); alcohol (minors and adults drinking); lemme knownif I forgot anything!!
✦· · A/n: This took FOREVER to write!!! I think it's because it's still the first chapter, so I was still discovering what I wanted to write. The next chapters will probably be out sooner than this one. Anyway, I really hope you like!! Just like almost all of my works the inspiration to this series came from two songs - Undressed by Sombr and Love Hangover by Jennie, so if you want to have a even better experience I recomend you listen to those (they're great). The title came from a The Cranberries song from the same name, and I guess it also goes to the series playlist.
I was headed for a more angst fic, but there will be smut and some fluff (I guess??). Comment and repost to let me know if you're liking where it's headed and please enjoy my hard work <3
✦ ─────── · · I'M STILL REMEMBERING
You forgot how it was like to just be. To just laugh when something was funny, to just run when you were in a rush, to just scream when you felt like you needed to. The liberty. The type of freedom that was only there once in your life - when you're a teenager. Seventeen. The golden age, the highest peak of your life. When the only care in your mind was about the evil biology teacher who seemed to do everything in his power for you to fail his class. About the newest stupid gossip roaming around the school halls through whispers and cruel stares. About what shoe goes best with your brand new skirt and trying to convince your mom to let you sleep at Yeji's house this weekend.
You missed the flirting. The holding hands and stolen kisses when you thought no one was looking at you. You missed the little confessions handed secretly to you, cautiously written with a blue pen on a piece of paper ripped off of a notebook. Missed how your heart would skip a beat when you read the cute messages. Missed the stolen glances during classes, trying your best to hold your giggles to yourself. Missed how the cold air would hit your skin when you escaped through your room window in the middle of the night just to see him.
The cute little world you would be in together when you walked down the lonely street, conversations about everything but nothing at the same time. Sharing life, emotions, thoughts, and heat. The way you would look away when his hand softly brushed yours, trying your best to hide the redish shade growing on your cheeks. How long it took you to gather the courage to finally hold his hand properly in that same night. How he gave you his own jacket so you wouldn't be cold before bringing you back home in safety, his hand never letting go of yours until you were in the front door.
The way his lips would feel so soft and hot against your own when you would kiss in front of your house, giggling and rushing in so your father wouldn't see it through the window. The way you rushed to tell your friends all about your secret date last night, how magic it felt, and how much you liked him. How much have you already missed him. You still do.
You missed Minho.
Not that you would ever admit it to yourself, no way! He was childish, inconsequential, and irresponsible. But at the time, he was your charming prince. The boy of your dreams. He was your first everything. Your first kiss, first time, first love. And first heartbreak. He was everything for you. That's why when he went alway, he took everything with him, leaving you a hollow being, alone and sore.
Maybe you should have waited for your friend to arrive before ordering a drink, your mind already dizzy and distracted. You shouldn't have drank the whole cup on one go. You have always been weak when it came to alcohol. But now you couldn't stop the thoughts. Your mind already decided this was the perfect time for your weekly dose of self depressing reflections.
In the back of the pub, you heard the doorbell ringing. Not even a minute later, here she was, Yeji, your childhood friend. "Hiiii babe!!! How are you??" She hugged you tight like she always did. You matched her energy instantly, the previous thought still in your mind, but now in a little recluse corner where everything related to Minho would be. Locked away, so secured that the only available key was tequila. She took a seat right next to you. "Oh, I see you already ordered! A little hurried, are we?" She teased you as she took the menu on her hands, scanning the items carelessly and ordering the first think with a catchy name and a high dose of alcohol she saw, not even bothering looking at the price.
"How have you been?" She asks, putting aside her purse and getting comfortable in her seat.
"Stressed," you exhale. "This job is driving me insane! My boss is just the worst human being ever, how can someone be so misogynistic and still manage to be married?"
"The wonders of life," she smirked. The bartender came and handed her a fancy glass full of a pink liquid and a piece of lemon ornating by the edge. She thanked him and directed her attention back on you once again.
"The shit we put ourselves through just to pay for rent, food and cat sand is unbelievable!" You scowled. Your nerves are already asking for another drink, so you order another one of the same you were previously drinking.
"Why are you still in this company anyway?" Yeji asks you, watching the bartender skillfully prepare your drink right in front of you as if it was nothing. Her attention is definitely not full on you anymore. You can see how she checks out the guy's muscles, watching it flex and jinggle.
"Didn't you hear what I just say? How am I supposed to live if I don't have money? My cats will surely eat my body alive if I don't feed them."
"What about your dream?" Her gaze switches from you to the bartender every few moments. You watch her with a confused look.
"What do you mean 'my dream'?"
"You know. How you wanted to be an artist when we were younger. You even went to that expensive art college that you dropped after 3 months, you remember?" She doesn't even hide it anymore, totally forgetting about your presence. "You said to me you would only work there until you had enough money to be an independent artist. Don't you think it's time?"
The guy finally hands you your drink, and you gulp it down in one go, craving for the satisfying throat burn the vodka always gave you. For Yeji's happiness, you order another one right after you finish it. You handle the cup back to the bartender, and her attention goes away with it, completely focused on the young man in front of her now, your presence long forgotten. Yeji doesn't seem to notice your sour face. Neither your unquiet hands, picking on your nails uncomfortably. You forgot.
You always wanted to be a famous painter. You had the dream of becoming the biggest surrealistic artist in the modern world. You wanted to paint for a living. Wanted the things you had, the trips you made, the food you ate, wanted them all to come from your artwork. From your soul. Wanted to spend the days in your life sitting in your studio covered in dry paint, running your brush gently across the white canvas until your thoughts and feelings all materialize in colors and forms.
Painting was your therapy and your inspiration for life. There was nothing in the world you loved more than to let your hands do the job while your mind just processed what was forming. To let your body move freely, marking its way along the canva to form something entirely new. But you couldn't. You weren't able to paint any more. Not because of your tight schedule or the little free time you had. You literally couldn't.
When did things go wrong? What was the last thing you recorded with a brush before you could no longer do it? Your mind seemed to fog, your thoughts running with no coherent line after your third drink in the night. You always loved to paint, so why did you stop? Why did you give up on your life dream to work on a shitty job that consumes most time of your life? What went wrong during the 3 months you stayed in the art college? You couldn't bring yourself to remember until you connected the dots in your drunk state, doing your best to keep your mind from short circuiting. You remember now.
And oh...
It was Minho.
✦ ─────── · · I'M STILL REMEMBERING
Your eyes burn. Your head throb. Your mouth is dry, and your throat itches. You turn yourself over just to feel your arm numb beneath you, aching silently as you sit up on the bed. Your hair falls on your face, and you can feel a sting of saliva on your left cheek. Yep, hangover is on.
You try to get up on your feet, taking a look at yourself in the mirror. You're still wearing last night's clothes, except you took off your bra and the bottom part of your outfit, sleeping only on your underwear and your smelly socks. Your hair is done with life, and your makeup is messy. Lipstick can't be seen anywhere near your mouth, and the mascara had transformed you into a panda lookalike. You turn your head to look at the pillow, and it is equally as ruined by your makeup as your face is.
You walk to the bathroom as if this was your own house, not even bothering being fully conscious as you walk through the apartment furnuture as if you had it memorized. You spent so much time in each other's house that you even have your own toothbrush hanging by the side of Yeji's one in her bathroom. And a towel, pajamas, underwear, and even an extra pot of the vitamins you took every night before sleep.
"Shit, I forgot my vitamins" you mumble to yourself, your hands working on getting the rest of the tootgpaste out of its packaging and onto your toothbrush so you could finally get the alcohol taste out of your mouth.
"Don't worry," a voice comes from behind, and you don't even bother looking to check who it is. "I made you take your pills last night."
"Thank you" you menage to form beneath all the foam in your mouth.
"You're welcome. You were really crazy last night, by the way." She leans on the frame by the bathroom door, watching you wash your mouth before continuing your mourning skin care, not forgetting to take out your makeup first.
"Omg, really??" You sight. "What did I do?"
"Nothing crazy, you know?... just called Simon and asked him out..."
"Oh, fuck!" You finally turn over, leaning tiredly on the bathroom sink. Your hands go up, and your fingers lace themselves in your hair, grabbing on it as if searching for some ground to stand. "Why did you let me do that?? You know how Simon is, I am so fucked" you fake cry.
Simon was an asshole. The most pretentious, self-righteous, narcissistic, and egocentric men someone could ever have the displeasure to meet. He was the type of guy who thought he was always right and that the world revolved around his dick. He was a medical school student, and he could never brag about it enough. He would always wander around bars, flirting with girls and telling them his filthy lies. How he was the best of his college, how his grades were always high, and he was always top of the class, how he would always win first place and how he would definall, certainly be one of the most successful doctors in this town.
Bulshit. His das was the one paying for this lies to be true. He wouldn't even have gotten on the college without his dad's money. He was a dumb playboy, the only thing he was actually good at - and tou would never say it out loud - was sex. He truly wondered when it came to making you see stars on his bedroom. He was skilled. He knew exactly what to do with his hands, mouth, and tongue to drive you off the edge like you were still an inexperienced teenager.
You knew his talent from very close. It was 5 months ago - or maybe more - when you entered the same bar he and his friends were having a little competition at. Long story short: you were drunk and needy. He wanted to prove something to his friends. So you had a deal. He took you on a ride on his expensive car directly to his massive apartment, trhew you on his excessively soft mattress, and fucked you dumb until you were both breathless and sweaty.
This man was dirty. He wasn't worth a single peny from his family capital, but he had a mystical power over your body. You hated it. Is not like you were attracted to him, no way! There was nothing charming about that manchild, nothing that wanted to make you stay. But there was definitely something that made you always come back to his bed. Maybe it was his reckless attitude that reminded you of someone you once loved. The way his hands always knew where to touch, how to tease, like he had been with you for a long time now. How his voice would sound so familiar when your name escaped through his parted lips.
He always got you back to him, but it never felt like you were going his way. It always felt like someone else was pulling you, forcing you to come over and over just so you could feel in a way that you missed feeling like. A feeling your body felt so used to, but when it was over all the memory from it would vanish like salt in water, still there somewhere, but you couldn't tell where.
"How about you calm yourself down a little? Stressing about it now won't solve anything."
"Not calming down, I am, in fact, killing myself." You joke as you walked along Yeji to her kitchen. She had made your breakfast while you slept like a rock on her bed. She could be an angel sometimes - only when she wanted to.
You ate together. A weird feeling of familiarization forming around you, like this, was your home, and there was nowhere else you could possibly want to be right now. It was always good to have Yeji by your side. She was the one there when no one else was. She saw the worst of you and the best of you, but she also saw a part of your sould not even you were aware of.
You went to high school together, but you met way before that. Possibly at five or six, you don't recall. Actually, you don't even recall meeting her at all. It was like she had always been there, just the two of you since you came out of the womb. She was with you when you learned to ride a bicycle, was there when you needed a pair for your Halloween fantasy, and was there when you fell in love with Minho. She was also there when you fell back from it. She was there when you made it to your dream college and was also there when you dropped it after only 3 months cursing it. She was there when you would save every cent from your part time job just to buy canvas and brushes and paint, and was also there when you locked your equipment away when you finally found a "real job".
Just thinking about having to work the day after tomorrow, your head hurts even more. You can still feel the liquids from last night burning down your throat every time you swallow your own saliva, and you can still feel the dizziness in your head as you eat your omelete.
"I'm never gonna drink again"
"That's what you always say" Yeji counters.
"I'm serious, I'm too old for drinking like that every weekend anyway." You bring your fingers to your temple and massage it, trying to find relief. You were still in your 20s, but for some reason, you felt too old for all the drinking and partying.
"Guess you won't go to the reunion then," Yeji mouths, and you snap your attention right away from your food to look at her through your lashes.
"What reunion?"
"Our old High Shcool class reunion. It's gonna be next month, at the El Royal Hotel."
Your old high school class. All reunited. You imagine all the memories that would bring back. To see your old friends again, maybe even the teachers you used to talk shit about behind their backs, all reunited again. That sounded awesome! But there was one thing, one little something bothering you, on the corner of your mind.
Is he going to be there?
✦ ─────── · · I'M STILL REMEMBERING
He posed for you, like he always did. He would dance in front of you every time you need inspiration, beautifully moving around the room as your eyes follow his movements. You ran your arms along the canvas just like he ran his along his own body, letting the brushes do their magic while your eyes dared to linger a moment too longer on his form, like he was trying to tell you something through his moves, like a message would form and travel straight out of his limbs. He moved like weight wasn't a problem, like gravity itself would give space for him just so he could fly around you freely.
His clothes were tight. You could see his arms forming beneath the thin fabric of his black tee. His hair, as black as the vinyl on the player, was illuminated by the yellow light of the room, like he was born for the spotlight, meant to be observed. The light would fall onto his face, cautiously caressing his features. There was no dark on his face, no sadness or worries, there was only brightess highlighted by pleasure. His eyes were shut in concentration, thin lines forming on his forehead as his brows bent inwards. You could tell by his face, by his body language, and his moves that his true love was to dance. There was no doubt in that, everyone could see it. You saw it, too. You had the power to capture the passion in the same way it was liberated from him without modifying its original meaning.
You paint him beautifully, even prettier than the view in front of you. Your drawing was like it was moving too, like it would follow Minho's movements, mimicking him in a hollow way - there was no body, only his feelings being shaken away from his corpus by the way he moved and roamed, landing directly on your canva, being held against your brush and forced to transform in colors and harmony, shapeshifting by your command and being forever together by the varnish on top of every finished painting you had.
This was almost a sacred time you had together, like an easy escape from the world below, ascending into a higher state of being and creating between shy giggles and old blue rock. The old studio room of your crap high school could be the best place on earth if there was a tripod and a vinyl player on it.
You and Minho met in the middle of the second year, presented to each other by a friend in common. It was July, and your friend had just turned 18, decinding this was the opportunity of a lifetime of throwing an "all school" party, the ones that you thought only existed on movies. She invited as many people she could, hosted a house with a pool, and bought a whole stack of beer and gin. Needless to say, the party was fire.
You got there wearing your bikini under the cute little dress you bought just for this occasion - that you ripped trying to get out of yourself when the alcohol was the one pulling the strings of your body. Most of the memories about the party were gone, but you still got flashes of moments in your mind. One of them being the first time you met Minho.
You were wasted, so drunk you could easily knock yourself out by trying to get the cup to your mouth. So was he. He studied in the same school as you, you learned. You don't remember when, but you two decided to go inside the house where it was quieter so you could talk - or try your best at doing so. You both sat facing each other in a bed from one of the rooms, not really caring about whose it was, and there you learned everything about him.
You talked for hours long, like you were long-time friends that just got reunited and needed to share every new detail with each other. He told you about his love for cats, about his dance, and his struggles with English when he first came to this country. You told him about Yeji, about your paintings, and the excessive amount of time you would spend at the library looking at photography books.
Hours went by, neither of you aweare of how many exactly, but the next thing you knew, you were getting awakened by the sunlight hitting you painfully on the face, a headache already forming. You didn't recall going to sleep, and you definitely didn't recall Minho taking his shirt off. His arm was around your waist, and his face was dangerously close to yours. His lips were plumpy, and a shy string of saliva could be seen rolling down his cheek.
In the end, nothing really happened between you two that night. You came to learn by another mutual friend that you ended up falling asleep on the bed while he was talking. He covered you up and went back down to get another drink. Something let to another, and Minho was thrown into the pool, leaving him no other option but to take his wet clothes out. When he came to the room you were sleeping at to change, he just collapsed asleep by your side. How his arm ended up tangled on your waist was a msitery, but he swore that he only slept by your side that night, nothing more.
After that, you both became real good friends, always by each other's side and the go-to duo when it was time for group projects. Every teacher knew your names. You were the most artistic students in that school, but your grades weren't that high for the teachers to care.
As time passed, being friends started to not be enough. You started noticing things about him you haven't before, like his cute little bunny teeth or how he was able to write with both hands like a pro. He also looked at you more than he looked at anything else. His eyes were always glued to your back during classes, counting the strands of your hair and silently wishing his hands were the only ones able to straighten them. He paid so much attention. He knew you better than you did yourself. He knew what you liked to eat for lunch, knew your favorite hightlight color, knew the way you grabbed your pen, and how many times you would pass your hands through your hair during class in order to take them out of your face.
He wanted you, needed you.
There was no fantasy in his head taking place in a world where you weren't by his side. It was driving him crazy.
You would always sneak out at unholy hours of the night just to walk together. It was a small city, and back then, there weren't as many crimes as there is today - not that either of you cared enough to stop each other. You remember skeaning out by the windoe of your house, meeting at your backyard. You did this every once in a while when you were just friends, but the day it turned to something else, you started doing it every week. You felt like the protagonist of a romance movie - escaping your house so you could meet your secret lover at night.
When the year came to an end, you decided to make your relationship public, to out your love to the world and, most importantly, your parents. It turned out great, fortunately. Minho could not have handled not being allowed to see you. It would be torture to his poor heart.
The first 8 months of the next year went as great as they could've possibly been. You were the artistic duo at school now, the ones whose names would always be on the list of those wanting to rent the school's arts studio. Most part of your relationship was spent at that studio. You would lose yourself in the art; Minho with his moves and you with your palette.
He turned to be the biggest inspiration of your drawings. Everywhere you went, you saw him on the landscape, and every time you drew something, it turned out to be him. And when he danced for you - that's when your heart wasn't able to calm down. His body was perfect to entangle itself with the music, especially the melodic old rock songs you seem to always be listening to. When you drew him, the colors just made sense. The forms would just present themselves for you. It was easy, it was calm and it was passionate.
He would always tire himself before you, taking breaks while you still sta there with the brushes running along. When you were concentrated, you could forget everything around you easily - and that included your boyfriend. But it was okay. He could just sit and watch you. He loved you this much, even if at times it didn't seem like you loved him that much.
You were the first person Minho danced for. Well, he has shown a move or two for his cats and his mom, but you were the first person to actually witness his true passion. The first one to be able to lay down your eyes on his form as he danced for hours nonstop, improvising his feelings out of his limbs. He was the happiest person alive when he was able to dance for you, the two things he loved the most combined together.
He couldn't tell if he loved you or dancing more.
When it was graduation time, you started looking for a collage to go after school was over. You wanted to attend one of your state's art schools, so you could put all your time on your drawings, and Minho wanted to attend whatever you went to. The problem was, there was no dancing major on the college you were accepted at.
He said it was fine, that he could learn to paint just like you, but deep inside, you both knew he couldn't. His passion was dance. That was the only thing he was actually good at. The only thing that brought purpose to his life - well, except you.
That summer, you realized his love for you was bigger than his love for dance - or himself. That he would do anything for you, anything to be by your side and never have to say goodbye, anything for your relationship to last as much as he could live - and that included killing himself by letting go of his own dream. You proposed going to different colleges, insisting that your love would be able to resist the years apart and that a few visits during the year would be a good way for the relationship to survive. You knew it was a lie. No relationship could survive the gap that would be between you two. He was accepted by a Korean college.
He insisted that he could turn off the invitation, that he only applied to see if he was able to pass, that there was still time for him to apply for the same college you were accepted, still time for him to let go of the best opportunity of his life just for a love you knew would not be able to resist without the art. You couldn't let him. You knew how much he loved dancing, knew how it ruled his life like a king, you knew he wouldn't be able to resist not doing that for his life. And you knew you weren't able to carry the weight of killing his true love just so he could continue loving you.
You could've gone with him, could've applied for an art college in Korea, and you were sure you could get accepted by at least one of them. He asked you to come with him, said he would work and help you out, that you would live together and have a life - just you two. But you didn't want it. You were afraid. Afraid he could get annoyed with you someday, afraid you would get bored of him eventually, afraid your love wasn't strong enough for this big step.
You told him you couldn't, that you needed to stay for your family and for your art, that you wasn't brave enough to follow him like he was. That you were a coward, running away when things got too serious for you to handle without a canvas.
There was only one way. You needed to break up with him.
"You never loved me!" He shouted. "If you did, you would've tried more, would've given more to this love, more than acrylic on a plaint landscape."
"What do you mean by that?!? I never loved you? I love you more than anything in this fucking world, that's why I can't let you turn down that college!!" You snapped back at him.
"You're a coward." Tears came to your eyes, while his own were already rolling down his cheek. "You love your art more than you love me, and that sums you up as a person. You chose painting instead of me, when I chose you instead of my dance. Your love is not what I need." His words hit deep for the single fact that he was right. That all he said is true, and that was your doom. You couldn't help it. Your painting were your temple, your way to escape the world - and that hurt Minho, because why would you want to escape the world when he was there with you?
"I only served as your inspiration."
"That's not true!!" You interrupted him.
"Yes, it is. And you know it. You never committed to me, never really let go of anything for me. I was the one willing to do that, but when things got real, you had to erase me, so you can live your life the way you always wanted - just you and your canvas."
"I can't let you kill yourself just to be by my side Minho... I can't do it to myself either..."
"Well, you're killing me anyways."
Your first and biggest love lasted only one year, and when you went to college, you never heard of Minho again. The breakup was the hardest thing you have ever done in your entire life. Although you actually loved painting more than you loved Minho, you still loved him enough to feel the hollowness inside you when he wasn't there anymore.
Yeji snapped her fingers in your face. "So, you're going to that date with Simon?" She asked. Suddenly, you were back in her kitchen, still stating by her table.
"Yes."
"Really? I thought you hated the guy" she added mindlessly.
"I do, but I need to get something out of my mind."
✦· · Summary: they met each other in high school. He danced, she painted. They fell in love, only for them to fall back from it when the choices were hard to make. He chose her, but she chose her art first.
Years later, their lives aren't what they expected to be. At a high school reunion, they meet, and from that, all the memories from the past resurface, forcing them to face all of it again only this time it may end differently.
✦· · Overall: Smut, angst/comfort, first love, high school sweethearts gone wrong, second chances, time-skip, artistic characters, lies (mentions of Yeji)
✦ ─────── · · STATUS: "on going"
✦ ─────── · ·CHAPTERS uder the cut
1. DESPITE YOU .5K
they met each other in high school. He danced, she painted. They fell in love, only for them to fall back from it when the choices were hard to make. He chose her, but she chose her art first.
HIIII I LOVE YOUR WRITING SO MUCH ☹️ If it's okay, can I maybe request ot8 texts with a 9th member? Sorry for bothering, I understand if you don't do this. 💗 No pressure and I hope you have a great day! 🥰
GROUP CHAT WITH THE 9TH MEMBER
✦. Pairing: Stray kids ot9
✦. Warnings: Cursing
✦. Sc: 12 (4 for each scenario)
✦. A/N: Omg, thank you so much!! I am really happy you enjoy my writing 😊 you are so polite akakakak. Of course you can request, I love doing requests !! Sorry if it's a little weird and off-putting. It's my first time writing a group chat text smau. Anyways, I hope you like it <3
── .✦ HELLO, since the request have started to come, I decided (and you voted for it) to start a Anon list, for those who would like to make a anonymous request but would still like to be identified in some way!
In the same boat, I also decided to start a Taglist for those who would like to be warned every time a new post comes out!
Anyone can join both lists anytime they want. All you need to do is make a request, and - for the Anon list - tell me how you would like your Anon to be identified. I would prefer if you used emoji, since it would be easier for me, but you can still choose whatever you would like!
Would you guys want to be added to the taglist for future posts?? Also, I really like the Anon thing, so if you would like to be identified as a specific anon, make a request and tell me your Anon!! I'll make a list for every taken Anon.
✦. Warnings: blow-job (obviously); gagging; cum on face; cum eating (I guess); reader's gender is not specified; smut; hard thought .✦
✦. Wc: 370 .✦
✦. A/N: This is a literal hard thought I had just before going to sleep. I am just so sure this man would not be able to keep his hands off your head while you give him a blow job. There is no way! .✦
Thinking about how his eyes would be fixed in yours while you got down to your knees and placed your hands on his tights.
His breath caught in his throat as you opened his zippers and pulled down his pants, watching your every move.
The little moan that would escape his mouth when you kissed the head of his cock through his boxers fabric, leaving a wet spot right on top of his dick.
How he would squirm a little in pace when you wouldn't go right to action, teasing him and taking your time while his mind goes crazy.
"S-stop teasing..."
The hiss you hear when you finally have enough and decides to pull his underwear away, exposing his poor cock to the cold air of your room.
A moan would leave his mouth when he received the relief he was craving for. Finally feeling your warm mouth wrap tenderly around his aching cock.
His hands are going instinctively into your hair, caressing your scalp while subtly taking control over your pace.
The look on his face is priceless. His mind all fogged and his expression fucked up while you go up and down on his massive length.
"Y-yes, yes, a-ahan yes, just like that, just like that baby, don't stop, plea- please don't stop- aahn!"
His hands are guiding you, but his grip on your hair is never harsh. In fact, it is rather soft and caring.
Wet sounds leave your mouth when you decide to take all of him inside your mouth, gagging when he hits your throat deeply. It's almost pornographic.
His hands start to tremble, and you can feel it in your head and hair. He is close.
The way his legs tremble under your touch when he finally hits his climax, cumming inside your mouth and all over your face.
He can't contain the pleasure moan that comes out when he takes a glimpse of your fucked up state: full of cum inside his legs, with his dick hanging next to your open mouth.
His chest is heavy, and he caresses your face with his fingers, looking at you lovingly while he cleans some of his load off of your face.
