you've been counting down the days for a week straight. everything's ready; from the decorations hanging from the bedroom walls down to every candle on the cake. you even went out of your way to collect his gifts a few days prior and hide them in odd places he wouldn't suspect.
"what're you doing up so late, huh?" solid arms locking around your waist, his face buried into your neck, breath ghosting over the soft skin there. "anything bothering you?"
truth be told, jason didn't hate his birthday, nor did he ignore it on purpose. not even close, but he didn't lose sleep over it either. he's just grown to treat it like any other, ordinary day. never made a big deal out of it, a simple candle on a cupcake would've been more than enough in his book.
but you'd argue he deserves better.
"nothing in particular." you grumble, busy with acting cool and unbothered when his cake waited in the fridge, when his heartbeat thumped against your back. "how was patrol?"
"as per usual." he shrugged. "few robberies here and there." nothing mattered more than this moment. adrenaline wearing off, fatigue catching up while his cologne mixes up with yours.
what's even better, though? noticing how his eyes lit up, each candle's flame reflecting in his eyes like little stars in constellations.
"what's this?" jason stares at the velvety texture of the frosting like it's another riddle that needs solving. already halfway through analyzing how you decorated it; small waves of red frosting bleeding on the pure white on the top and the bottom. only then does he notice the exasperated groan that barely hung from your tongue, and a smile softens his features. the corners of his eyes crinkling with barely contained excitement.
it feels strange. the pure, innocent rush of happiness blooming in his chest — he hasn't experienced anything nearly similar to it ever since... well, moments before everything went south with his biological mother.
"obviously an f-35, genius." you couldn't resist the sarcastic comment, your tone matching his slightly raised pitch, softening into something far more genuine right after. "make a wish, summer boy."
despite himself and the comment right on the tip of his tongue, he indulged. with a soft breath, the candles shivered. now, all that's left are faint, thin lines of smoke disappearing into the apartment, and a lingering smell of burnt wax.
"what'd you—"
"can't tell. it's bad luck, honey."
he looks different under the soft lights, more his age, and that's enough confirmation that you put the right numbers on the cake. shoulders loosening as he moves more comfortably in your space, the endless hours spent on the streets not quite showing their traces on him.
"you organized all this?" he hums, swiping one finger over the frosting and smudging it on the corner of your mouth. close enough that if your tongue darted out, you'd get a taste. "for lil old me?"
but you never get the chance to. not when he closes the distance hanging between you, cake be damned. his head's been full of you-thoughts all day, so reminiscing about the way you taste was on the very top of his to-do list.
and the sugar on you the closest thing he'll get to a slice tonight.
"i got you a gift." you manage to peel yourself off him, take a proper breath under his gaze as jason tilts his head like a lost puppy learning a new word.
"a... gift?" he echoes, dumbfounded for a split second. "you spoil me."
for the record, birthdays in gotham come and go. sometimes a few new wounds, others long silence stretching on forever. but this is entirely new.
you nod, gesturing at the table with a shrug of your shoulder. hidden under old newspaper rests the book you bought just for him; a signed hardcover copy of his favorite author. wrapped up in a pretty silk ribbon. that much can easily give him a heart attack.
"you didn't have to get me anything." he says, cheeks burning, but knowing him, he'd blame it on the heat if you do so much as point out how rosy they grew.
a soft huff of air vibrates in your throat in a familiar rhythm as you mimic his earlier motion, stealing some frosting to mess up his face in return. "did it turn out good?"
you groan in frustration when he catches your wrist without even sparing you a glance, taking your fingers in his mouth and lapping at them with small flicks of his tongue. "it did, baby."
if birthdays are always like this, he might just start looking forward to them every year.
"this is a collector's edition." he scoffs in amazement, too busy reading through the author's exclusive notes to catch a glimpse of you scooping a good amount of cake in your palm before surprising him with another attack to his face.
➤ In which — it’s Seishiro Nagi’s birthday! and so just like the sweet girlfriend you were, you suprised him with a special gift..
➤ Content ٍٍٍ﹕ f!reader x Nagi Seishiro
smut, sexting, pillow humping (oops guess my hand slipped..🫣), fluff, slight angst, established relationship, intended lowercase, both reader and nagi are of age,
disclaimer : was planning on editing this and adding a very freaked out smut scene at the end as a finishing touch but i may or may have not lost motivation.. sorry guys !!! :[[
but maybe if enough people comment asking for me i'll add it (wink wink) so DONTTT be shy to comment ^^ !!!!
Nagi does not care about his birthday.
Infact, he had no idea it even was his birthday up until the night before it.
at exactly 11:59PM, you were spamming him with almost a dozen messages to catch his attention.
it was easy to assume he was probably up and awake playing video games, and you were pretty much spot on.
he sighed, simply pausing whatever mid shooter game he was on, although he couldn’t lie—seeing your 20 notifications nearly caused him to have a heart attack.
is she in trouble? this late at night?..
immediately, he clicked your notification, only to be met with a whole ton of texts and countless messages, along with the longest ‘happy birthday’ essay he probably ever read in his life.
if you had been anybody else—he wouldn’t even bother to read a single word, let alone press on the notification in the first place.
but how could he not when it was his perfect gorgeous sweetheart of a girlfriend flooding his notifications?
honestly, he didn’t quite know how to respond to it all, only staring as he scrolled through your messages, reading through everything—every single sentence you wrote.
it didn’t take long for him to notice a sharp, sweet sting from his eyes after reading your sickeningly affectionate words.
the texts and effort you had put in them was a huge reminder towards him that he really was somebody to you, and not just some distant emotionally unavailable guy you just so happened to miraculously adore.
he thought you were too generous when it came to him, he could feel his vision slightly blur as a tear almost formed.
fuck, he wished there was a way to make it up to you—sometimes even questioning if he was good enough for someone like you—stunning, perfect, kind and the type of girl whose presence lights up a whole room.
compared to him, who came to a realization a while back that according to others he was just ‘boring’ and ‘lazy’, although at first he told himself it was a hassle to even care or respond, he couldn’t help but to wonder why you didn’t think the same.
he didn’t deserve you—yet the last time he said that and other depressing thoughts aloud, you gave him a long lecture of how perfect he was before practically jumping on him to suffocate him with hugs and kisses, only for your dearest boyfriend ofcourse.
Another notification from you lit up his screen, this time it looked a bit different.
nagi scrolled down to see what you had sent this time, and he could have never guessed what it would be.
my angel💞🪽: [sent a picture]
my angel💞🪽: [sent a video]
my angel💞🪽: for my bestest boy sei ^^
nagis eyes widened, noticing the blurred photo and videos you had sent.
it wasn’t like you had never sent stuff like this, you did, just not so often—and definitely not so late at night.
not knowing what to expect, he tapped the first thing, the photo covering his screen with a daring photo of you in a pair of pretty mini shorts and the most revealing top it almost hurt—no, scrap that. it definitely hurt, specifically a certain area beneath his pants, which only got worse when he had scrolled to the next one, a video.
you were evil. a pure type of evil with that video you had sent, you were sure it would’ve got nagi all desperate, and if you could see what he was doing at that current moment, you could only confirm it.
after a dozen minutes or so passed, it was concerning the amount of times he’d replayed that video of you.
“mpphh—fffuuck, can’t ..believe it.” he panted, letting out a desperate whine every so often along with the breathless repetition of your name.
with his right hand holding his phone, his left hand pressed a pillow tight against the painful tent in his pants. he could only squeeze his eyes shut and frantically grind into it wishing it was you.
as stupid as it was, he was far too lazy to take off his sweatpants, deciding to hump up into a pillow instead of just jerking off, after all—he was nagi.
but obviously that wasn’t the only reason— it was also because you made him promise to never touch himself without you, because
‘why would you need to jerk off if you have the most beautiful spectacular hot and sexiest girlfriend right here to help you?’
definitely not your words, totally.
thats why it was so evil to send him a thing as obscene as you did and expect him to deal with it alone.
now you had him pathetically bucking his hips up into the pillow held above his crotch for any sort of friction—gaze still locked onto the ongoing video which was on loop.
“mmhhhf..pplll—[Y/Nnnnnn]..” he struggled to even remain somewhat composed, only managing to choke out whatever pleas he could spare.
but how could he? especially when it felt like without you—it seemed impossible to reach his climax, all nagi could think of was you, all he desperately needed was you.
and only after another dozen minutes of countless fake orgasms and thrusting himself into the pillow above not working, his hips began to stutter, finally forcing him to spill into his pants—pulling a sharp sob from him.
he lay still for a moment, still coming down from his high—which he thought, could have been much better with you.
only after saving the photo and video you’d sent to him, he clicked off, returning to your messages to type something, only to be quickly cut off by the sight of your incoming text.
my angel💞🪽: did ya have fun?
my angel💞🪽: just an early birthday gift :p
my angel💞🪽: can’t wait for tmr <3
‘just’ an early birthday gift?
if that was only an early birthday gift he had no clue what the actual birthday gift could be.
★ ✰ ✩ ★ ✰ ✩
POP!
a loud sound emerged from the other side of the living room, causing you to flinch before your eyes darted towards the source.
“Nagi! why are you popping the balloons?!”
you called him out, leaving him with a somewhat guilty look. this was the second balloon he had popped!
“sorry. im bored.”
he huffed and let out a sigh, acting as if most of his friends weren’t just here.
“wellll how about you say goodbye to all the visitors leaving?”
“m’kay..”
he started to slowly walk over to the remaining guests—some friends, some close family, thankfully it was a pretty small gathering, though nagi would rather not have anybody here at all.
“Later Nagi! and happy birthday!”
Reo cheerfully waved, beginning to walk out. only after nagi said his goodbyes and thanks to the rest of the visitors was he finally allowed to collapse onto the couch, exhaling the most dramatic sigh followed with a groan.
“that was too much.”
as weary as he sounded, you could still tell he atleast somewhat enjoyed it—and that was all that mattered to you.
you scoffed, shaking your head at how unbelievable he was, though you adored him too much to be even the slightest bothered.
“too much? sei i quite litterally set everything up for you, you’re welcome”
“thanks love.”
he muttered, thanking you while hoping he sounded as grateful as he truly felt before trying to roll over the couch and failing due to his tall frame—he seriously needed a dfferent sofa, though everytime you mentioned it he only brushed it off. mumbling about how it was ‘too much of a hassle.’
typical nagi.
as he thought to himself, he questioned why you would go to this extent for him—getting decorations, desserts, inviting people he was familiar with, cleaning up, and especially making sure the party was simple and not tiring for him.
he could never understand what was so special about a day people happened to be born on—simply viewing it as just another day.
‘whats the difference between today and yesterday?’
He should have seen it the day before, when you two ended up taking a quick stroll to the convenience store, and you asked him a question.
“seishi.”
“hm.”
“sei.”
“yes love?”
“what do you think about celebrating birthdays.”
he paused to think about your sudden question.
“you mean actually having to go somewhere and do stuff?”
. . .
seriously? as much as you loved nagi with all your heart, the guy always did as less as he could when it comes to stuff, never doing anything more than he needed to.
“..which is how a birthday is supposed to be celebrated, by the way!”
“sounds like a hassle.”
you clicked your tongue in disappointment before rolling your eyes, it was nearly impossible to reason with his logic.
“oh what will i ever do with you sei..”
you let out a few heartful laughs, unknowingly leaving a pair of silver grey eyes to admire you.
“which snacks do you want from the convenience store?, ill buy it for my girlfriend.”
“awee you’re so sweet seisei, but the store is closeddd.. i really wanted some buldak!! “
clearly bummed out, you pouted before he pulled you closer to his side, wrapping an arm around you as the two of you continued walking.
“and? i’ll find a way..”
it was something he lived for—with the way your eyes lit up at him, he’d go out of his way anytime just to make sure you were always happy.
you seriously love nagi.
although currently, as you picked up the leftovers from the guests—he couldn’t help but turn his head to glare at the mesmerizing outfit you had on.
obviously he had noticed it the moment you came over, ending up with him constantly following you while you were setting up the decorations—arms practically glued around your waist as he leaned over your shoulder.
“seeiiii! unless you’re gonna help me you better get off of me!”
you complained, clearly struggling to get anything done with all 6’3 of him slouched heavily over your shoulder like some needy koala.
only gripping your waist tighter, he buried his face deeper into the crook of your neck, obsessively inhaling whatever type of heavenly perfume you had sprayed on.
maybe it was the adorable milky mini-dress; the length grazing just near your upper thigh—paired with the perfect cream colored cardigan which barely hid the thin narrow straps of your top.
you were driving him crazy and you barely even knew, especially with the way you were pretending as if last night never happened.
earlier—when you first arrived at his place, you just casually greeted him with a whole bunch of kisses and went straight to setting stuff up.
nagi didn’t know what to expect either way though, … maybe he thought you were here to finish what you had started last night?
you should’ve seen the disappointment written on his face as you simply walked past him to move things from place to place.
seriously, he felt like a neglected cat.
so now here he was, frustrated and sulking as he lay on the sofa which was—again—definitely too small for his tall build.
all he could do now was stare at you walking around and putting stuff back in place or taking down decorations, thankfully the visitors weren’t messy at all, leaving the place to seem as if it were barely touched.
watching you do anything was weirdly entertaining to nagi, not that he would ever admit..
you were almost hypnotizing to him, he could have swore he zoned out for a good 20 minutes or so—unknowingly hard the whole time, an embarrassingly visible tent poking from underneath his pants
his lazy attempt to cover it with his palm was half-hearted at best and hid absolutely nothing—it was almost funny.
he was so cute.
wearing a smirk, you noticed, of course; responding by discarding your already unbuttoned cardigan and tossing it aside, leaving just the sight of you in that daringly short mini-dress with your bare shoulders and lacey straps on full display.
he quite literally choked, forcing himself to look away for his own good otherwise he’d probably lose it right there and then.
nagi wasn’t the type of person to ask nor initiate something; instead staring at you with longing eyes as he waited for you to take the lead—and most of the time, he would thankfully end up getting his way.
(and when you don’t get the hint he just accepts it and suffers in silence.)
it would be nice if he could communicate in that way with you, you would think. which was why you had a few ideas up your sleeve to really force him to say what he wanted.
one being the fact you were essentially a walking sugary sweet, it was turning almost impossible for him to remain composed by the second.
and mainly because every simple action you did only intensified the burning ache in his lower abdomen, keeping him restless.
at first he wondered wether you were doing it on purpose or not, then starting to believe he was just unusually desperate.
that was, until you walked over and bent down right in-front of where he sat, reaching for nothing at all, but by the time your scent hit him—he practically short circuited.
no really, short circuited was almost an understatement, especially when you consider the fact he unexpectedly moaned—a low and desperate sound.
if it wasn’t for the comfortably silent room; you would have easily missed it.
because, yes. he moaned.
as you rose back up, you could feel an almost prideful smirk tugging at the corners of your lips—still, you almost felt bad for torturing nagi like this, i mean, look at him!
the sight was nearly painful to witness, his eyes squeezed shut as his head pulled back in a desperate attempt to pretend as if that never happened.
but seriously, who could have guessed that one of the most skilled soccer players from blue-lock headquarters was secretly pathetic enough to be edged this bad by his girlfriend?
you were pretty evil—but not evil enough to resist nagi in a state like this; and so you decided to give in, telling yourself it was to ‘see what he would do’.
turning back towards where he sat, you couldn’t help but decide his lap seemed far too inviting today, taking a seat right on him.
you wrapped an arm around the back of his neck, your fingers brushing through his silvery locks.
he quickly stiffened up from the sudden contact before instinctively snaking his arms around your waist, nuzzling his nose in your neck in an attempt to hide his expression.
“..cant believe you.. you’re mean.”
he mumbled lazily under his breath.
because seriously—who does something like this to their beloved boyfriend on their birthday? (you ofcourse.)
with a smirk plastered on your face; you only tucked yourself closer, if that was even possible.
“what do you mean seishi?.. do you want something? if so tell me.”
…what a tease,
nagi thought to himself, almost in disbelief.
he stayed silent, debating wether or not he should voice his opinion on this little game you were playing.
“hm? use your words.”
you went on, though in response; his hold on you tightened, fingers curling into your waist as if to anchor you there.
“..i..”
he whispered, attempting to finish his sentence.
“you..?”
you replied in anticipation as he came to a pause.
“..stop..”
it was hard to tell wether he had whined or groaned that, a wave of tense silence filling the room as you waited for him to say something.
“i.. need you. happy?”
nagi finally admitted.
“mm, very happy! thats why i’ll be your birthday present for today.”
the way you said that was far too casual than it should— enticing him to freeze, slightly stiffening up once again.
“..what?”
“i said, i’m your birthday present! ..unless you don’t want that of course.”
he quickly shook his head, gesturing he clearly did want whatever you were hinting to.
“.. what does that mean..? you being my ‘birthday present’. “
nagi blurted, still having his face buried in the side of your neck.
“it means—im all yours tonight, so, tell me what you want sei!”
you guided your hand from the soft tangles of his hair towards his chin—tilting it up to face you, allowing you to clearly see his expression.
maybe you expected him to look all adorable and flustered, but no, he was quite the opposite, perhaps you had gone too far..
the once helpless look in his eyes was now replaced with a deep and desperate gaze, he looked hungry—starving almost.
his face was flushed a faint pinkish red tone, and by the time you could register it—with a sudden push of your hips, he pulled you closer to his lower stomach, making you feel how obnoxiously rock hard he was.
oh.
oh!
yeah you were so done for.
@ yuckcrave 2026, do not copy, repost, nor feed my work into AI.
A/N : HAPPY BDAY TO MY SWEETEST BABY BOY NAGI WE LOVE YOU SO FREAKINFF MUCCHHHHH >< (also yes i speed ran the hell out of this) and yes idk how to write smut.. but I APPRECIATE ALL THE LIKESS AND REBLOGSSS THANK U GUYSSSS 🥹🥹!!!
comments and reblogs are encouraged and VERYYY appreciated <33
18+ mdni - on your birthday, clark kent turns whipped cream into foreplay.
tw: a little food play
an: this is a little self indulgent bc my birthday is tmrw lollss
The birthday candles flicker out, leaving only the soft kitchen light and the lingering scent of vanilla cake. Clark’s eyes darken as he looks at you, still in your lace bra and panties, hair tousled from the earlier celebration. He scoops a generous swirl of whipped cream from the top of the cake, holding it up like a promise. “Birthday girl deserves something extra sweet,” he murmurs, voice low and warm. He guides you back against the counter, gently easing your bra straps down until your breasts spill free.
With slow, deliberate strokes, he smears the cool cream over each nipple, swirling it into soft peaks that glisten in the low light. You shiver at the chill, then melt when his mouth follows. Clark hums in approval, tongue lapping broad, warm strokes across one breast, sucking the cream off your nipple with a soft, wet pull. “God, you taste incredible, baby,” he groans against your skin, voice thick with want. “My perfect girl… look at you, letting me worship you on your special day.”
He switches sides, sucking harder, teeth grazing just enough to make you arch and gasp. His big hands cup you gently, thumbs brushing the undersides as he licks every last trace of cream away, savoring you like you’re the real treat. “So fucking beautiful,” he praises between hungry sucks, tongue flicking your sensitive peak. “All mine to taste tonight.” You thread your fingers through his dark curls, tugging lightly as heat pools low in your belly.
He lifts his head only to kiss you deeply, sugar-sweet and slow, then returns to your chest, lavishing both breasts with lingering attention until you’re trembling and breathless. Finally, he pulls back, lips shiny, eyes soft. He presses a tender, sugary kiss to your collarbone. “Happy birthday, sweetheart,” he whispers, smiling against your skin. “We’re just getting started.”
synopsis: dazai realizes something about himself, and he doesn't know how to tell you; however, it isn't nearly as bad as you thought it would be. it doesn't stop you from teasing him, though.
introduction: this is but the beginning to unleashing whatever monster lays in waiting deep in the crevices of his cracking mind. and my dear, you seem dead set on letting it come out to play.
i don't really have an explanation for this other than i just wanted to make him a somno freak. it's his birthday, but this a gift from me to you - xoxo, ghxst.
contents: ~7.9k words; nsfw cnc somnophilia; fem, afab!reader; talkative, mean bf!pervzai; reader does willingly and consensually take medication to stay asleep; a bit of primal dazai(?); cervix hitting; mutual obsession. just the two needing one another like hormonal teenagers.
a/n: this is severely late, but better than never. also, kind of proofread. it's after 2 am.
Dazai has a secret he has been keeping from you, one that isn’t too serious to him, but is still concerned you may not like it – not into it like he is. He thinks you’re pretty all the time and means it with sincerity when he thinks all the time. He doesn’t sleep much as it is, mind wandering, replaying his life behind his eyelids like a movie, staring at the ceiling to count imaginary sheep, but nothing exhausts him quite like you do. Almost immediately after you two are done having sex, whether it was intense and rough or lazy and maybe even loving, he’s down for the count, napping away wherever he lands, and can get at least a few good handfuls of hours in to rest.
At night, when he’s wide awake, staring at the ceiling or out the window, and you’re snoozing away beside him with your face half-nuzzled into the pillow and body curled up under the blanket, that’s when he thinks you’re the prettiest. Your lashes resting on the swells of your cheeks, lips subconsciously pouty or parted, nose crinkling or eyebrows wrinkling as dreams past by your REM distorted brain, your shirt riding up or opening more from a couple loose buttons, your shorts doing the same – if you wear any. He can’t help staring at you, one hand’s fingers delicately, gently, and oh so carefully ghosting over your nose or cheek, the other wrapped around his aching erection as he tries jerking off in an attempt to knock himself out.
It isn’t the same, though, and he struggles to finish. It isn’t you, how warm your mouth and pussy are wrapping around him, both so wet and soft. His hand isn’t the same as yours, his movements too rough and calloused, while yours are attentive and smooth. His hand will try to mimic the memory of yours, but it takes his wandering mind and staring at your sleeping face to even get him close to some sort of pleasure. All he really wants to do is roll over on top of you to use your body until he’s satisfied and exhausted – he’s thought about it, on numerous occasions when he’s on the brink, basically edging himself, and he’s so frustrated it keeps him awake all night. That’s usually why the moment your eyes open, he’s pouncing on you in an instant, railing you further awake then toppling over to fall asleep for a few hours.
You’ve been worried about him, the poor thing’s sleep schedule worse than you remember, along with his sex drive getting harder to keep up with. Most couples complain about not having sex enough – you’re doing it almost every day unless you have to smack him away like a feral dog, and he pouts like one too. When you approached him, to ask what’s been going on, he stared at you as if you were accusing him of something before shrugging: “I don’t know. I’ve just always been like this.” That wasn’t necessarily a good enough explanation for you, but you knew better than to go poking and prodding at his psyche when he’s given you the equivalent of a ‘drop it’ as an answer.
The explanation is actually quite simple, he just isn’t sure how to bring it up to you: he wants to fuck you while you’re sleeping, whenever he wants, and it’s making him so hot and bothered to think about it as you lay on the bed beside him like a princess he isn’t allowed to touch. That’s when his hand dips under his waistband to pull his dick out and hope for the best until he either comes or his arm gets tired.
Dazai’s birthday has been on your mind recently, it coming up in a few days, and you have been brainstorming ideas while making dinner, but nothing is coming to you that would suffice for him. He doesn’t dare ask for much, if anything at all, and when he does want something, he will just save up enough money to buy it himself. He needs new glasses, but that’s a dorky and boring thing to give as a gift – plus, he doesn’t wear the pair he has now; there’s no sense in buying him a more expensive pair that he won’t bother wearing. Could get him clothes? Maybe there’s a video game coming out he hasn’t played yet? Does he still collect Pokemon cards? Your mind reels as you chop vegetables, music blaring in your headphones, preoccupied with thoughts and ideas to get your charming boyfriend for his birthday, and it would seem you might not know him as well as you’d like to believe if you don’t know what he wants.
A tickling, tingling sensation pricks at your ear when the bud is removed, and a gentle kiss is pressed under the lobe. “You’re thinking again.” Dazai murmurs, arm snaking around to your front, his chest on your back, and you sigh. “I thought we agreed I’d do all of that for the both of us?” That does make you smile, letting out a small giggle while tossing everything into the pot.
“Just trying to think of what to get you for your birthday,” you turn to face him, his palms cupping your hips, and he gazes down at you as if he hadn’t heard a word you said.
“Hm, guess that is coming up soon, isn’t it?” His sentence trails off with his mind, not one to keep track of the day. He only ever remembers because of you – he’d be twenty-two forever in his head if you aren’t there to remind him he’s getting older.
“Is there anything you want?” Your hands smooth up under his shirt, gauze rigid on your palms, the sensation familiar, safe, warm, and his heart picks up once from your question. “Anything at all?” You add, chin coming down to place on his chest while your fingertips travel around his sides to his back, slipping them under the bandages to lightly trace along his skin and scars. His contemplative eyes avoid looking in your direction, playing like he’s staring off in the distance out the kitchen window, his own hands absentmindedly kneading into your skin, long fingers slipping down the backside of your pants then back up under your shirt to follow your spine. Anything at all?
“I can ask for anything I want?” He asks, tone distant, obviously deep in thought as his fingertips run along every goosebump raising to your surface.
“Whatever is in reason, at least,” your lashes bat up at him, eyes big with childlike innocence, and he finally acknowledges you by tearing his line of sight to that precious stare – it pulls a small smile out of him while he brings a hand up to cup your cheek and using his thumb to caress your skin. He leans down, stealing a sweet kiss, holding you closer, and his fingers gradually intertwine in your hair as he steals another soft peck, a swarm of butterflies swirling around in your stomach from such loving affection. He swallows, examining every centimeter of your cute face, taking in the mesmerized grin you’re sporting, gaze darting to his lips once more as you bite down on yours, and he aches.
“I wanna fuck you while you’re sleeping,” he breathes, words trembling alongside his hands, and your previously seduced immersion rips away to plain confusion. Your smile drops down to puzzlement, head tilting, and brows twitching together a few times. You are acutely aware of Dazai’s stamina, essentially turned on to one hundred permanently and down to fuck at any moment’s notice, and willing to keep going until you push him off of you with ‘enough’s enough’ stuttering out. Even then, he’s begging twenty minutes later to let him climb back on top of you. Now he wants to do it while I’m sleeping?
“Wh-What?” You force out a light laugh, unsure what to think, and his demeanor changes, sheer panic riddling those consuming amber eyes. “While I’m… asleep?” You echo, tone pitched, but you haven’t pushed him away. You are intrigued to find out his explanation for this, but you are still skeptical, uncertain how to feel regardless of such a request.
“Uhm, y-yeah,” he begins, standing up straighter, and he’s afraid to have his hands on you. “Yeah, like… like that uhm… the consent to not…” He bites his lip, confident he is not explaining this to you correctly, and you stare up at him in bewildered amusement.
“Osa, that sounds like rape,” you giggle, words hushed, fearful someone is on the other side of the door listening in. His eyes bug, jaw dropping, and he couldn’t be trying any harder to break away from you, but you dig your nails down into his back to keep him in place, giggling more at his struggles.
“N-No! No! You still tell me if it’s okay!”
“How do I do that if I’m asleep, silly?” You whisper still, leaning up on your toes to coerce him to stare back into your eyes, holding contact, and he looks like he might cry at the accusation. He is leaning on the opposite counter, hands gripping the ledge as he looks down at you, annoyed he can’t explain it right, and now you’re laughing at him. “Are you going to wake me up to ask?” You tilt your head again, batting your lashes, then laugh softly. “I guess I wouldn’t be sleeping anymore then.”
“No,” he whines, slumping down some in his spot, defeat overpowering him that he might not want this anymore. “No, like, I ask you before we go to bed, and if you say yes then I can… I can do that while you’re sleeping. But if you say no, then I leave you alone, just like normal!” You mull that over, eyes veering off elsewhere while you think, and you faintly feel his heart pounding away at his ribcage. You have noticed your boyfriend is into some interesting things, kind and shy to bring them to your attention, and you’re never one to turn down at least a one-time try, just wondering if this is a new thing or something else he kept from you. You scan his features, seeing how adorable he looks right now: cheeks flushing a deep maroon, eyes darting everywhere, gaze downcast, and his fingers are shaking as they rest on your hips again. He’s flustered. The man that swept you off your feet when you first met with his suave charm, unwavering pursuit, and well-practiced seduction techniques is standing between your body and the kitchen counter while you tease him about how much he wants to take advantage of you in arguably the most vulnerable state of being.
Your heart stutters, features softening and melting, tongue swiping over your bottom lip before briefly biting on it as your nose gently nudges his jaw to garner his attention. “You wanna do that to me, Osamu?” You ask, flipping the question around like it’s now your idea. He bashfully side-eyes you, trying to stay on guard in case you start making fun of him again, but his arm wraps around your waist to bring you closer then nods. Legs separate to straddle his knee, climbing up more on him, arms snaking up to wrap around his neck so your fingers can mess with the hair on the nape, and his eyes change as he glances down at you in somewhat of a glare that shoots a shock of lightning up your spine. You tend to forget he used to be in the mafia, and you’re teasing him like a deranged, masochistic brat without fear of consequences. “I’ll let you take advantage of me, freak. But I better receive multiple orgasms in exchange.” You bargain, watching his scarred eyebrow slowly arch, and his sudden silence as he continues staring at you like that is driving you insane.
“You act like I’d ever deny you to begin with,” he eventually mutters. “I could start bouncing my knee now and you’d be a quivering mess in less than five minutes.” He threatens, voice dropping an octave then proving a point by bouncing it once, and you hold back a gasp, his erection brushing against your thigh. You pout, brows downturning as you move your leg some to “accidentally” rub against it, and a quiet grunt gets caught in his throat. “Brat.” He whispers, landing a playful smack! on your ass before carefully peeling your body from his, leaving you in a bothered state of need.
“I’m gonna spit in your food,” you grumble. His fingers delicately grasp at your jaw to lift your head, that infuriatingly recognizable smirk dancing on his lips, and he winks.
“And I’ll spit in your mouth. Then what?” He lets you go before standing upright, coolly walking away from you to the living room, plopping down on the couch to play one of his games until dinner. Moments ago, he was the one putty in your hands, and now suddenly he turned the tables to have you practically begging for him, forget all about dinner, and order takeout as aftercare. He’s so damn mean.
☽˚｡⋆
While Dazai seems to have forgotten all about the conversation, you haven’t. You didn’t want to bring it up to him again, taking into account he did look visibly upset at you implying – even if it was a joke – he’d be raping you. It had to have taken a lot of courage for him to confess this to you, and he doesn’t ever really ask for stuff, especially for his birthday. Sex as a present never sits well with you, coming off as lazy and clearly without thought or effort; however, you kind of are out of ideas for a gift, and he never minds unwrapping you.
You did decide to try to make it a bit more special, to show you wanted to do this for him and truly didn’t mind, by going out and buying a new nightgown. It isn’t really much, but you know he’ll love it: simple, silk, blue, and accentuates your tits that even you couldn’t stop staring at yourself when you tried it on.
You really want it to be a surprise, but you also want to torment him until he’s a mess with shaking hands that can’t keep themselves off of you. You had been waiting for him to come home all day, wearing the gown to get used to how it feels, and when you were lounging around on the couch or in bed, it started to feel a bit tight, and that might be why your boobs look so good in it. You were kind of antsy, fidgeting around, finding things to do and occupy your mind; you had dinner planned and prepared so it can be quick to cook, caught up on all of your shows you were watching without him, finished a book that you didn’t know only had roughly twenty pages left anyhow, and had plenty of time to stare at the ceiling.
Where you fantasized for far too long about his request, what it would be like, if you’d enjoy it as much as him. If he’d be gentle or rough. If he’d wake you before, during, or after; if you should find something to help you stay asleep. Everything burned while imagining it: his large, warm palms cautious to glide over your thighs, carefully pulling you apart; his overly observant and sparkling eyes ogling your cunt, dripping from a wet dream about him deep within your subconscious; his perfectly thick cock slowly stretching you out, inch by inch, in hopes not to disturb you while you sleep.
Your cheeks were fuming, chest heaving, and you rushed off to the bedroom to get off alone. So, yeah, you’d say you are more than willing to let Dazai do that to you.
You are on the edge of the couch when he gets home, one of his sweaters lazily shrugged on and hanging off your shoulder, thighs shut tightly together while your fingers danced around the hem, and chewing thoughtfully on your lip while your mind is in a daze with filthy thoughts of being taken advantage of by him, staring off into the distance, not paying a bit of attention to anything happening around you. Your cunt ached, panties sticking to you, and the anticipation of the waiting game is what was sending you into this unbearably horny spiral. Meanwhile, your boyfriend is clueless and hasn’t thought about it once since bringing it up to you.
He smiles when he sees you sitting there, approaching you, then faltering with puzzlement upon seeing the look on your face. Then his eyes graze over you, noting his sweater over your body, and the slight shift in your spot. His finger carefully reaches out to trace along your bare shoulder before sitting beside you, startling you, and he breathes out a small laugh as he places a gentle kiss to your skin. “You look awfully cute.” He whispers, arm sneaking around your waist, then gives another kiss to your neck. “I love seeing you in my clothes.” Your eyes are spinning, gawking at him, shifting again to wrap your arms around his neck, and already scooting yourself into his lap — which of course he lets you, legs straddling his knee, and your lashes bat at him when your lips curl into a pretty, decadent smile.
“Hi,” you finally greet, fingers tracing the side of his face, gazing into his attentive eyes, and inch closer. Wanting to be in his skin. Wanting his hands and mouth all over you. He hasn’t stopped smiling since laying those stunning amber irises on you, thinking about you all day — as he always does, and just content with having you there to hold. However, he also knows you; he knows the way you’re looking at him, and he knows when you straddle his knee like this, you’re ravenous.
“Trying not to beg?” His tone flips, finger and thumb grabbing your chin to ensure you give him eye contact, and when his knee bounces once, you breathe out a quick, pitched moan. Your lips fall into a pathetic pout, looking up at him practically helpless.
“You’re so mean.”
“I know,” he muses, bouncing his knee again, causing your nails to dig into the back of his neck. “You thought about something all day. What was it?” His hushed voice is on purpose, gradually reaching sultry, and it just isn’t fair.
“You,” you don’t hesitate to tell him honestly. “You’re all I ever think about.” You’re clamoring to maintain a sense of self-control, but he looks oh so extra handsome today; his cologne is still lingering, wrapping you up into a beautifully cooling hug; and he said you were cute. His head tilts, teasing, watching you, feeling how worked up you are even through his slacks. “Did you think about me?” You murmur, not wanting to be the only one in obvious, desperate, hormonal need.
“Oh, pretty girl, there’s never a time I’m not thinking about you,” he kisses your nose then your cheek then your temple, arousing blush in full bloom to your face, and he leans back to be more comfortable in his spot on the couch, his wonderful hands on your hips as he lovingly gazes up at you. “Do you want me to help?” He asks, gripping you a bit tighter, the fabric of his favorite sweater soft and welcoming on your body after a long day, and he’s already hard.
“Please,” you swallow, hands falling to his hips to stay steady, to prepare yourself, fairly certain had you thought about him any longer you would have had an orgasm without touching yourself. “I’ll be quick, I’ll be good.” You promise, anything to make sure he does this for you.
“And what do I get for letting you come all over my knee?” He asks, head raising and laying back on the cushion, thumbs pressing into your stomach. You briefly bite on your lip, dragging your teeth along the flesh then releasing it, his eyes trained on watching it bounce back, and you weren’t expecting to tell him like this.
“I-I’ll let…” You swallow again, almost embarrassed to say it out loud despite thinking about it all day, and you can’t look at him. He waits, patient, since usually the response is ‘you get to see a pretty girl have an orgasm you caused’, so he’s eager to know what his special prize is. “I’ll let you… I want you… T-To touch me, and-and fuck me while… while I sleep.” You finally force everything out of your mouth, rushing the end to prevent further delay, and his entire face drops at that. You catch his demeanor change, nervous you didn’t say it right or that you upset him for bringing it up; you lean down, crawling up his chest and getting near his ear, your lips with hints of left over gloss pressing to it so he can hear you. “I want you to take advantage of me while I’m sleeping. Touch me, fuck me, anything you want. I’ll let you do that because I want you to.” He’s been holding his breath since the words initially came out, dick jumping in his pants and hitting your leg repeatedly, and you’ll more than likely have bruises on your hips tomorrow.
“And if you make me come,” you add, as if this couldn’t get any better. “I’ll take my special sleepy medicine, so I don’t wake up.” His eyes accidentally roll back at the thought, you lying in bed during the middle of the night, completely knocked out, legs spread wide for him to do whatever he wants, you giving him all this permission and even going the extra mile to take something to keep you asleep? He’s going to bust in his pants at any moment if he continues to imagine it. “Would you like that, Osamu?” You ask him with such a sweet, innocent tone to your already airy voice, and his lips part when he begins to pant near your ear. You giggle, the sound cracking through his brain, and he’s thinking about running to the jewelry store first thing tomorrow.
“Are you sure?” He asks, a lovely courtesy, but his broken words are enough to tell you he hopes the answer’s ‘yes’ and will be miserable if it’s ‘no’.
“Yes, Osa, you have my consent,” you giggle again before kissing under his lobe, sitting yourself back up, and admiring the mess he is beneath you: face stained with fresh blood rushing to his cheeks, mouth agape with irregular breathing, chest heaving, and you can see his cock moving under his pants. “But you have to make me come first while I’m conscious.” Say less. As soon as the sentence ends, his knee is bouncing you up and down, your clit hitting it repeatedly, taking you by surprise while he holds you firmly in place, eyes clouded with unimaginable sin, watching his pretty girlfriend get off from riding his knee.
“Stupid slut,” he lets out, listening to your squeaking gasps and breathy moans, ogling your tits bouncing under the sweater, and sees the way your lashes flutter from the pleasure.
“St-Stupid boy,” you weakly counter, the bud pulsing and swollen from your previous masturbation and this mind-numbing sensation, you could drool.
“You’re bargaining a little orgasm from my knee in exchange for letting me fuck you while unconscious,” he taunts, wicked, laughing. “You’re stupid.” He laughs again, but honestly, he would have done this for you if he really did only get a kiss in return, because he loves you so much and nothing makes him happier than pleasing you. But he’s also a jerk and loves being mean to you, so the insults will continue.
“Perv,” you gasp, clinging to his wrists now, head falling back when your clit rubs on the ruined material of your panties, sticking and releasing, sticking then releasing, over and over. You have half a muddled mind to stop him and hump his leg to your heart’s content — but that would only make him laugh at you more for being ‘so pathetic’. “P-Perverted boy wanting to-to touch me in my sleep.” You grit, wanting to match his energy, but it’s getting to a point you want him to take care of you, fall to pieces and let him put you back together, only to break you apart again. You want to submit to his mercy, the desire that coursed through your veins and pounded in your ears during your unwanted solitude. Lying around just waiting for his return home, needing him and only him to subdue it all; it made you both sick and enamored, wishing you could stay home together so he’s there to take care of you whenever you’re on the brink of mental and intimate collapse.
“I am,” he agrees, breaking through your mindless whirlwind of need, catching your attention enough to glance at him with hooded eyes and furrowed brows. “I’ve been quietly jerking off to you for weeks when you’re sleeping.” He winks, watching the confidence melt away as you’re bouncing up and down on his knee with shock and soft ‘uh, uh, uh’s escaping your dropped jaw. “I watch when you shower too. What exactly are you going to do about it, hm?” You stare at him, confused, so many different thoughts running through your head now, eyebrows twitching, moans and whines stuck in your throat, and a weirdly sick, flattered satisfaction is building up inside of you to hear your boyfriend treats you like a secret obsession that he has to sneak around to peek at and masturbate alone to. Your G-spot convulses from so much impact on your clit, the tight coil in your stomach unfurling, and your head falls back, limp; raw, wantonness sounds and cries escape, and he enjoys every second of it.
“Gonna come!” You warn, repeatedly, the phrase falling out over and over, and his pace never stops. Bullying your clit, holding you tight, watching you struggle — he could do this all day every day for the rest of his life.
“Go ahead and come, pretty girl,” he encourages, bunching the fabric in his fists. “That’s all your stupid little brain knows how to do.” He insults, and you want to ride his face next to keep him from running his mouth so much. Not much of a punishment since he’d enjoy it. Your stomach tightens and body shudders, thighs trying to close on his, his movements not stopping, and you whimper with eyes squeezed tightly shut. You twitch and convulse above him, hands keeping you in place, upright, until he decides to slow. You hunch forward, forehead on his shoulder, legs trembling while your arms wrap around him, clawing at his shirt, and it feels like you’re still coming, and it isn’t enough.
“Poor thing,” he croons, massaging your skin, gently squeezing your thighs and kissing your temple. “I’m right here.” He assures, sighing softly before helping you readjust to let him hold you close, so you can cuddle into him, and is jealous when you’re clearly nodding off so easily now from that. I might finally be able to tonight, at least.
When it came time to get ready for bed, you had already taken your medication – as promised – and removed the sweater you kept on all evening, forgetting entirely what was underneath. He stared at you, gawked, ogled, captivated and mesmerized by your new sleep attire, and he merely stood on his side of the bed in a state of paralysis. You spared him a groggy glance, cocking your head.
“What is it?” You murmured then looked down, seeing the nightgown you had bought specifically for tonight, and a sleepy giggle stumbled out when you sheepishly peeked back up at him. “Do you like it? I got it for tonight.” You lightly twirled back and forth in your spot, the skirt brushing here and there against your skin, tits on display and set in place, and he swallowed. The material gently flashed under the dim glow of your lamplight in the bedroom, extremely short, hardly covering you, and he felt insignificant compared to you: boxers and some old t-shirt, like a bum.
“For tonight?” He mumbled, watching your fingers slip under the gown, hooking in your underwear, and leisurely dropping them down your legs to fall onto the floor, prominent wet spot from the day’s torment still visible in the center. He sucked in a breath, you climbed into bed without another care or thought, and his heart swelled deep within his chest at your consideration for his disgusting fantasy. You snuggled under the blanket, head hitting the pillow and a content sigh spilled out of you, nuzzling into the pillow, eyes already closed, and you looked so peaceful already.
“Goodnight, Osa,” your fingers reached for him, dropping limp on the mattress, and he decided to snap out of it to crawl in at your side, gently grabbing your hand to press multiple soft kisses to the back of it. “I love you so much.” Your voice was already drifting, losing you to the realm of unconsciousness, and his fingers carefully brushed some loose strands behind your ear then grabbed the blanket to better tuck you in, hands shaking.
“Goodnight, my darling. I love you, too,” he kisses your forehead, lips lingering, gently scratching at your scalp, and your breathing has evened out already to show you’re completely out of it. He leaned back to turn off the lamp, laid on his back, and stared at the ceiling until he would either see the back of his eyelids or couldn’t hold back from you any longer.
The night went on, the hesitance settled into his bones, and he wasn’t sure when would be the best time to do anything to you. His tired eyes would periodically check on you, watching you sleep soundly, wishing he could do that as easily as you do, not needing to release his stamina and overly active brain on having sex with you in order to do the same thing. He was pent up from earlier, never bothering to ask you to relieve him or helping himself, and he’s experiencing the same aches and burning you suffered through alone all day.
Dazai’s golden opportunity arose when you rolled on your back and kicked the blanket off. His teeth chew on his lip while he wonders if this is something he can actually do, eyes trailing along your neck, seeing your pulse jut out with each pump of your heart, then to your boobs that are about to spill out of your adorable new nightgown if you roll around anymore, following it down your torso, and noticing the skirt has ridden up your silky smooth thighs that he would give anything to be between right then. You look beautiful, a hand coming up to rest over his heart that thumped erratically at the sight, and he couldn’t help a wandering thought entering his brain on why he is like this – wanting to take advantage of such a vulnerable state, to touch you and kiss you, fuck load after load into you while you lay there and take it.
He sits himself up, already crawling on top of your sleeping form, scanning your face, head to the side with your cheek squished to the pillow, and he leans down to your neck, offering a ginger peck, eyes flickering up to watch your face closely for a reaction, but you don’t budge. Don’t make a sound. He does one more, observing, but you still don’t react. He hums quietly, leaving open mouth, sloppy, passionate kiss after kiss up your neck, tongue poking out along the way to fondle and prod at your pulse point, and makes it up behind your ear, his breath trembling near it. “Can you feel me?” He asks, hushed, then gives you a few sensual kisses on the conch and shell, making his way for your cheek. “You should see yourself right now, you’re gorgeous.” He whispers with adoring reverence, meaning it with sincerity, then kisses the corner of your mouth. No sounds, no pushing him away, no twitching – just you sleeping with serenity while your boyfriend is hovering over your unconscious body like a predator about to devour its first kill after starving for weeks.
His mouth hovers, ghosting down your chin and along your throat, tongue poking out as it licks a path down toward your chest, hands coming up to palm at your tits, gingerly squishing them around his cheeks as he buries his face in between, thumbs finding your peaked nipples under the silk fabric, and his eyes close while he revels in your soft skin pressed up on his cheeks. From here, he can hear your heartbeat, slowed, steady, while his is rattling and pounding in his ribcage. He cautiously sits himself back up to his knees, hands still massaging your chest, taking in the nightgown fully as you lay there, deadweight into the mattress, and he sighs dreamily, his fingers rolling your clothed nipples between them with his cock twitching in his boxers.
“Pretty,” he murmurs, two fingers coming up to your cheek to gradually turn your head so it’s looking straight up, just for it to lull back to its side, and he chuckles quietly to himself. Slender fingers glide back down the front of your throat, avoiding applying pressure, other hand pushing your gown up more, exposing your bare pussy to the cold air blowing in the room; goosebumps swarm your skin, small tremors and shivers happening as a natural reaction, but you remain still, unresponsive. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep you warm.” His fingertips make it to your clit, circling it languidly for a handful of seconds, feeling your foot twitch, but that is all. They glide between your lips and folds, the slightest amount of pressure pressing into you, the spot above your hole extra sensitive as another few twitches make his blown-out pupils stare at you, observing, petting it with his middle finger, gently gripping your thigh to keep you spread open. “Good girl, just take everything I give you.” He whispers, strained, fighting a groan as he circles your tight, neglected hole, wanting to shove his digits in right now to stretch you out, but he wants to wait – feel your sleeping, dripping wet cunt stretch and drool from his cock.
He moves away carefully, enough to get his boxers off and tugs his shirt over his head, tossing them both over the edge of the bed, and part of him wants you completely bare with him, naked, exposed, but seeing you dressed with only your panties missing is a huge turn on, biting his lip while his hand cups your face, thumb rubbing into your cheek. “You’re so wet right now, baby. Are you dreaming about me?” He asks you, hand returning between your legs, his body slotting themselves there as well, keeping you spread, and fondles your entrance with his middle finger, hearing the evidence of your dreams and anticipation. “Awh, I think you are.” He coos, kissing your cheek. He wants to keep admiring you, bury his face into your soaked pussy, lap up every bit of sick arousal and come you might gush out, but he’s impatient. His own dick is leaking, tip red and angry from not receiving any action after all his hard work earlier and throbbing from staring at you play Sleeping Beauty – complete with a blue dress.
He fists his shaft, tugging long, leisure strokes, insatiable gaze soaking you in, wanting to burn the image of you like this in his brain forever: shining, freshly washed hair laid out on the pillow behind your head; lips in your signature drowsy pout; brows relaxed; and legs wide open like a desperate, needy whore, waiting for his cock to fuck into you. He guides the head to your clit, rubbing it up and down along your already messy pussy, teasing your hole by making circles around it or threatening to push it in with small bumps into it. He does this for a bit, soft pants slipping past his lips, squeezing his length in his fist, keeping it steady with semblance of control. You have yet to move, aside from a twitch of your foot or leg every so often from some sort of impact to your clit, the tip scorching from neglect, smearing his pre-come everywhere. “Gorgeous pussy.” He mutters under his breath, admiring the way it tries clenching around his head when he teases putting it in, then moving to your throbbing clit, then back to your hole again. He presses his slit up to it, making gradual, circular motions with them connected, and he groans inwardly, hips instinctively beginning to buck forward, and he sighs deeply when he notices your stomach tensing and body twitching in place more than usual. “Oh, she came already.” He whispers to no one, rapidly then rubbing his head against your sensitive clit, laughing to himself as your tremors continue, mind completely turned off from the medication while your body responds naturally to his touch.
Pulling back, just enough, his thumb pulls one side of you open, leaning down to gape at your hole clenching and pulse around nothing, some of your release dripping out down to the mattress, and he uses the tip to scoop it up and massage it along his shaft. “Even while sleeping, she’s still such a messy girl.” He talks about you like you’re not in the room, fingers now capturing more of your come to properly coat his dick, getting himself into position, palms under your thighs to push your knees toward your chest, and stops long enough to check on you. Still, asleep like a rock, and he realizes you didn’t even make any sleepy whimpers when you came. He situates himself above you again, resting your legs on his broad shoulders, and his cock hangs heavy between your bodies, ready to be sucked in by your cunt, jumping at the thought already. “I’m gonna stuff you full of my dick now, alright, baby?” He warns, maintaining his hushed whisper, and he knows you aren’t going to answer. That medication is working overtime tonight. “Be my good girl and take all of it, okay?” He positions himself, his head right at your opening, and gradually sinks it down inside of your tight pussy. Fighting a groan, his face buries into your neck, fingers curling into the sheets as they form fists, and his body shivers.
Your eyebrows twitch together, body paralyzed and melting into the mattress, but you don’t stir further. His cock gently drives deeper inside you, careful not to thrust full-force, worried that would wake you – despite the effects of the medicine. He keeps going at a reluctantly patient pace, his thick and long cock doing exactly what he wanted: stretching your cunt, walls frantically clenching around him, veins pulsing and protruding from the confines, your body subconsciously responding with more fluttering and a deep inhale. “Perfect girl with the best cunt I ever had.” He praises, breath hitting on your shoulder, and his hips draw back to land a powerful thrust into you before stilling, biting harshly on the inside of his cheek, the smack! of your thighs meeting one another enough to make him do it again. He pulls them back, cock barely out of you, then drives right back in, tip missing your G-spot and hitting your cervix instead. A small sound emits from your throat, making his head shoot up to check on you, but your eyes are closed, in the same position he folded you in. “There, you can take it.” He encourages, resting his forehead on your temple, shuddering, labored breathing filling the room, and his thighs shift to push your hips up further and nudging your legs better in place on his shoulders. “I got you, I’ll take care of you.” He promises, placing a kiss to your skin before his hips piston themselves with an inhuman hunger, no longer caring about preventing waking you up since it’s pretty clear you’re out for the count, able to go at whatever pace and harshness he wants.
“F-Fuck,” he whimpers, shivers running up and down his spine as he repeatedly rails his cock into your pussy, hitting your poor cervix with each thrust, wanting to push past it to be further inside of you. Crawl into your skin, make a home of you. Soft, quiet, faint sounds are coming from you, his ears pricking up, and a lopsided, exhausted smile forms, panting near your ear. “I know, baby, even while asleep I can make you feel good.” He watches your face closely, those sounds still happening, but the only other thing that happens is your head rolls forward, your noses touching. He takes that as an opportunity to give you a barely-there kiss on your lips, lingering, switching his rapid thrusts to long strokes, hips rolling to meet yours, cock slowly dragging out then pushing its way in, his lips parting against yours at the sensation, and his lashes flutter as his eyes start rolling back.
“Oh god,” he mumbles, another drag out and drive in, tip bouncing against your cervix upon impact, and his hand reaches up to gently squeeze your jaw, forcing your mouth open. His hips continue this rhythm, spitting onto your tongue, forcing your jaw down more to push your tongue out, another glob of spit landing on it, and he holds you like that to admire. “You’re driving me crazy.” He confesses. “You always drive me crazy. Insane. Asleep or awake, I need you, crave you. I need to feel you all the time.” His mouth closes in on yours, tongue licking along your spit-coated muscle, and your eyebrows furrow again, fingers twitching, and another small sound is caught in your throat with his repeated assault on your insides. He spits once more before pushing your tongue back in your mouth with the tip of his, gently closing it, your throat bobbing from swallowing, and he can’t help being pleased how submissive and obedient you are on instinct.
“Gonna be selfish and focus on me, okay?” He tells you, his hips pressed up into your thighs, dick still inside of you, and it jumps up to hit that swollen spot that is begging for attention. “I wanna fill this pretty pussy full of come, and I want it leaking out of you while you sleep for the rest of the night.” He kisses your glistening lips, hiding his face in your neck once more, and his hand slides its way to your lower back, palm flat to your spine in an attempt to hold you steady since he can feel you slipping away. “Just this once, I’m gonna be selfish.” He says more to himself than to you, and his hips draw one more languid drag out before pounding into you relentlessly, heavy balls smacking against your ass, the added sensation causing his nails to dig into your flesh, deep crescents with beads of blood forming, and his aching head connects with your bullied cervix each time. Your lips fall open, groggy, hoarse ‘uh, uh, uh’s coming out, brain fogged and muddled, lines of reality and your medically induced dreams starting to cross and morph together, the wet dream of Dazai fucking you in a hot tub blurring into being back at home in your room, the sensational surrealism the exact same feeling deep in your abdomen no matter the plane, but you can’t move.
“‘S-Samu,” your tiny voice lilts out in your bedroom and in the hot tub, the mold of his cock never leaving your cunt in both places, wanting him there forever to have your walls wrap around it and create a memory of him. In the current reality, Dazai continues fucking you into the mattress, reveling as much as he can in the selfish desire to just do whatever he pleases, to fill you with his load, the tip eventually finding your G-spot, and your clit is throbbing again.
He gently hushes you, mouth against your ear and voice lulling you back to your dreams. “Shh, baby, you’re supposed to be sleeping.” He places another open mouth kiss on the shell, his tongue flickering out to lick and prod it, and dick twitches inside of you. “You’re sleeping.” He tells you again, lost in his own world, racing against his impending orgasm, trying to hold it off so he can keep going for as long as he’d like.
You don’t say anything else, head gradually rolling back to the side, tits bouncing up and down with each ripple surging through your body as he pushes forward, more tiny sounds flowing out of your slightly open mouth, deciding to listen to him and drift back off to sleep. “Y-Yeah, you’re sleeping. Letting me take advantage of you while you do.” He whispers, chest leaning forward to fold you more in half, angling your hips up more, and pounding into your worn-out pussy, his balls tightening against his pleas not to.
He keeps his face buried away, gripping the sheets in one hand, your body in the other, and his cock is jumping and twitching within your insides, soft whimpers coming from him as your walls begin clenching around him tight, stomach muscles tightening again, and he feels it pulse over and over again on his shaft, letting him know you are having another silent orgasm, a bit of relief washing over him that he isn’t breaking his promise to give you more than one. He isn’t sure he can last long enough for a third. “That’s my girl, c-come all over me.” His hips land a few more thrusts, harsh and attempting to force the head into your cervix, before stilling as his load shoots out, filling you completely, getting everywhere on your walls and around his cock, and he stays in that position for a minute. His body shakes, yours trembling underneath, and he suddenly wants nothing more than to sleep.
Carefully, Dazai slips his softening dick out of you, cautiously lowering your body back to the mattress, then turns his head to place kisses on your cheek, your nose, then on your mouth. He sits up on his wobbling knees, politely pulling your nightgown back down, fingers readjusting the top to keep you covered, then presses another sweet kiss to your forehead before climbing off of you, bringing the blanket back over your shivering body, tucking you in tight, and his fingers gently rake through your hair. “I love you so much, I’d quite literally die without you.” He whispers, a secret he’d never say aloud, overcome with an outpour of love, adoration, and admiration for you, taking advantage of your sleeping state to tell you. “Sleep well, my darling.” He sinks down under the blanket, nuzzling his nose into your neck, and he’s so content and worn out that he actually experiences an instant dozing, drifting off to meet you in the other realm, arms wrapping around your body to hold you tight, secure. Never daring to let you go.
You hum, riddled with sleep, and your head lulls over to rest your cheek on the crown of his. Without thinking, without realizing, your tired self utters a quiet: “Happy birthday, Osamu.”
masterlist | requests: closed
dividers from chrisssiren here on tumblr
tag list//: @dazaisfavoritemistake @luanniidae @starr3i @grubluunch
𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ➤ on your birthday, Elijah “Smoke” Moore gives you more than gifts — he gives you all of him. after months of a slow, tender relationship, tonight’s the night you finally give yourself to him for the first time.
𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ➤ oh my goodness, first post on here and it’s about Sinners? am i too late?? also i’ve made one with Stack, SAME IDEA! so i’ll post it as well. enjoy!
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ➤ 7.4k
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ➤ sexual content, virginity loss, submission, intense dominance, degradation (light, experimental), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), dumbification, choking kink, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, multiple rounds, oral sex (reader receiving), missionary, backshots, body worship, aftercare, and modern au. 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓! 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐃!
⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘
your birthday always felt quiet. not lonely — just… still. like the world knew how to slow down just for you. the air had that weightless hum to it, a softness only june could give, and for the first time in a long time, you weren’t spending it alone.
this year, you had him.
elijah moore.
the one people called “smoke” — not just ‘cause of how he moved but ‘cause of what followed after. heat. tension. silence that filled the space like fog.
but not with you.
with you, he made noise in his own way. not loud. not boastful. but he stayed close. remembered things you forgot you told him. touched you like he meant it. and that meant something, especially from a man who spoke more with his eyes than his mouth.
you’d been with him for some months now — the kind of months that don’t pass like time, but like warmth. like heat lingering in the air after he kissed you, or the way his thumb would press into your lower back when y’all walked into a room. nothing over the top. just enough to feel it, deep.
you never said it out loud, but he already knew — you’d never been with anyone before. not all the way.
you weren’t scared of him. no, not even a little. it was everyone else you didn’t trust. the boys who only wanted what you wouldn’t give. but smoke… he waited. he watched. and when he looked at you, you could feel it — the way he undressed you without ever reaching for your clothes.
he never pushed. never asked.
until tonight.
you didn’t know what to expect when you walked through the door of his apartment.
you’d just come back from dinner. quiet place, low lighting, some jazz humming from the walls like background static. he let you talk most of the night, just watched you sip slow from your glass, his hand draped behind you on the booth like he didn’t wanna crowd you but still needed to be close.
you didn’t notice how tightly you’d held his hand until he pulled you inside with him.
the apartment smelled like something clean and faintly musky — like the cologne he pressed behind his throat and the fresh laundry you helped him fold last sunday, all mixed together.
“sit,” he said low, nodding toward the couch.
you blinked. “you makin’ me nervous.”
a smirk curved on the side of his mouth, slow, like smoke curling off a match. “good.”
you sat. not ‘cause he told you to — ‘cause the way he said it felt final. warm. like a promise.
he stepped away, back into the bedroom for a second.
you glanced around, trying to pretend like your heart wasn’t racing.
you could still taste the sweetness of the strawberry glaze from dessert on your tongue. still felt the weight of his eyes from across the booth, his thumb brushing soft against your thigh under the table.
and then he returned.
a black box in one hand. a single rose in the other.
he placed the rose gently in your lap, then kneeled down in front of you, opening the box with careful fingers.
inside:
a necklace — gold, dainty, thin, like it belonged to the skin more than around it. a small charm hung from it: the letter E.
you looked down at him, breath caught in your throat.
he didn’t smile, but his eyes softened.
“you mine,” he said, fingers brushing your collarbone as he lifted the chain. “this just make it official.”
you nodded before you could even think.
he leaned in, fast but gentle, lips brushing the corner of your mouth like he was still asking permission. your chest tightened. your thighs pressed together on instinct.
“that ain’t even the real gift,” he murmured, voice dragging low against your ear.
you swallowed hard. “then what is?”
his lips ghosted your cheek, a single breath before he stood again.
“come find out.”
your breath hitched the second you stepped into the bedroom.
candles, flickering low on the nightstand and dresser. sheets pulled back neat.
music hummin’ from the speaker in the corner, slow and sensual, bass steady like a heartbeat.
you turned to him, heart in your throat.
“elijah…”
he just looked at you, slow and sure. didn’t say a word. but his hands reached for your waist, and you let him touch you.
his fingers ghosted over the hem of your dress, dragging slow, eyes locked on yours like he was waiting for you to run.
but you didn’t.
you lifted your arms.
he pulled it over your head.
stood still for a second, breathing you in like something sacred.
you shivered. not ‘cause you were cold — ‘cause of how warm his hands were when they touched your skin.
he leaned down and kissed your shoulder.
then your collarbone.
then the curve of your neck.
he didn’t rush. he just let it build.
slow. soft.
like he was unwrapping a gift, not undressing a body.
you didn’t speak — couldn’t.
not when elijah was lookin’ at you like that.
your body was bare, barely lit by the warm flicker of candlelight. he hadn’t said much, but he didn’t need to. his silence was weighty. heavy with all the things you were finally ready for, and all the things he already knew.
his hand slid behind your neck. thick fingers curling gentle under your hair. your skin prickled under his touch, chest rising slow as he leaned in.
“you sure?”
his voice was low. like gravel. like smoke rising up from heat that never quite burned out.
you nodded. “i’m sure.”
he didn’t move at first. just stared at you — his thumb pressed to your jaw, lips barely apart like he was breathin’ in every inch of you.
“aight,” he said under his breath, kissing you soft. “then i’ma take my time.”
his mouth dropped to your neck again, this time lingering. tongue warm, breath hotter. he kissed slow, deep, like each part of you deserved to be remembered.
you whimpered the first time his lips grazed the top of your chest.
“sound like that again,” he muttered into your skin, one hand cupping your breast with just enough pressure to make your back arch. “i like that.”
your fingers tightened in the sheets behind you.
his tongue slid over your nipple, slow, then sucked.
soft at first. then harder.
your thighs clamped together.
“open ‘em,” he said without looking up. voice low. calm.
you hesitated. he tapped your thigh, firm. “spread them legs for me, mama.”
you obeyed.
the air kissed your inner thighs. you could already feel how wet you were — too much, too fast. it embarrassed you. you turned your head, biting your bottom lip to keep from whining out loud.
he noticed.
“why you hidin’ from me?” he said softly, lips dragging down your stomach. “nah, look at me.”
you blinked, slowly dragging your gaze down your body — and there he was.
on his knees. shoulders wide between your thighs. both hands caressing the outsides of them like he was anchoring you there. like he wasn’t lettin’ you go.
he kissed the inside of your leg.
then again.
and again.
your breathing shook. your hips rolled forward on instinct — desperate, wanting, already aching for him to stop teasing and start doing.
“mm.” he chuckled against your skin. “you greedy already, baby? barely even touched you.”
“‘lijah, please,” you whispered. you weren’t even sure what you were asking for.
but he knew.
his breath hit your center, then his tongue. one single, slow lick, long and deep, like he was already drunk off you.
your hips jerked.
he gripped your thighs tighter.
“keep still,” he said thickly. “take what i give you.”
then he dove in.
you didn’t know a man could eat like that.
like he ain’t have nothin’ else to do.
like this was his only job tonight.
like he was studyin’ you through his tongue.
his lips sucked hard on your clit, tongue flickin’ fast, then slow, then fast again — working you open like he already knew your rhythm. your moans poured out your mouth in soft, high cries, your fingers fisting the sheets.
“that’s it,” he said in between, voice rough. “give it to me. lemme hear you.”
you whined. back arching. thighs trembling against his shoulders.
then his fingers pushed inside. two of them. thick. slow at first. curling up till you screamed his name.
“‘lijah—fuck—!”
“that’s it,” he groaned, voice like thunder, deep in your belly. “ain’t even fuck you yet and you already singin’ for me. this pussy so damn tight…”
your head dropped back. he kept goin’. tongue, fingers, rhythm like he was tryna ruin you soft before he ever even got inside.
“feel good?”
you nodded fast. too fast.
“use your words, baby.”
“feels s-so good,” you stammered, legs shaking. “feels—i can’t—”
“yes you can,” he growled. “you takin’ it. don’t stop now.”
your orgasm hit like a wave — hard, sweet, fast — and he didn’t stop until you were gasping, shaking, hips grinding against his face like your body couldn’t get enough.
he licked you through it. slow, like a man proud of what he’d done.
and then he stood.
his lips and chin glistened in the candlelight. he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, watching you with those same dark, steady eyes.
“now,” he muttered, voice deep with heat, “you ready for your real birthday present?”
you barely noticed when he started undressing.
you were too high off your first orgasm, too dazed by the way he licked his fingers clean like your taste meant something holy.
but then you looked up.
and there he was. shirt off. belt undone. pants loose around his hips.
he was thick. all over. chest cut deep with muscle, abs shadowed in the low candlelight. and when he pulled his briefs down, your breath caught in your throat.
he was big.
not just long — thick. curved just a little. veiny, heavy, already hard for you. your stomach flipped. you swallowed slow.
he caught your face. stared at you hard, just for a second.
“don’t get scared now,” he said low, walking toward the bed.
you didn’t even blink. “i’m not.”
he smiled once. slow.
“good.”
he climbed onto the bed, knee between your thighs, body over yours. his dick was resting heavy against your stomach now, warm and firm, pressed between you both like a quiet threat.
his hand slid up your side. slow. possessive.
“‘lijah…”
“yeah, baby?”
your hands reached for his shoulders. “want you to go slow.”
he leaned down. kissed your lips once, then again, and again — soft, then deeper.
“i got you.”
he meant it.
you watched as he reached down, lined himself up.
you felt the tip slide through your folds first — slow, wet, easy — then nudge right up against your entrance.
your breath stopped.
his eyes locked on yours. “keep your eyes on me.”
you nodded.
then he pushed.
the first inch burned. thick, tight, stretching you more than you’d ever imagined. your fingers dug into his biceps. you whimpered loud — your body trying to tense, but he stopped. held still.
“breathe, baby,” he whispered, brushing your cheek. “you takin’ me real good.”
you nodded again. deep breaths. legs open wider, even through the ache.
he kissed your jaw. your shoulder. your breast.
then moved again.
slow. deep. inch by inch.
you felt every part of him — the way his width stretched your walls, the curve pressing against that spot deep inside.
you cried out soft, and he kissed you through it.
“that’s it,” he muttered. “fuck… you feel that? how tight this pussy grippin’ me already? goddamn.”
you nodded frantically. didn’t even realize you were tearing up until he kissed the corner of your eye.
“still with me?”
“y-yeah,” you whispered. “feels so full—so big.”
“you takin’ it, though,” he growled. “takin’ me like you mine. that what you want?”
“yes,” you moaned, nearly sobbing. “i’m yours, ‘lijah.”
his hips snapped deeper. not fast — hard. just once. enough to make your mouth drop open and your back arch.
“say that shit again.”
“i’m yours.”
again.
“i’m yours, i’m—fuck, i can’t think—”
he gripped your jaw. firm. made you look at him.
“good,” he said low. “don’t think. just feel me.”
you couldn’t stop moaning. couldn’t stop clinging to him, crying out soft each time he pulled back and pushed in slow, like he was tryna bury himself deeper every time.
“doin’ so fuckin’ good,” he muttered, dragging his dick all the way out, then in again. “pussy tryna pull me in like it missed me.”
you were shaking now. legs wide, thighs trembling. you couldn’t speak — just whimpering, whining.
“damn,” he chuckled dark, voice hoarse, “got you dumb already? barely even fucked you yet.”
you nodded fast. “so good—feels too good—”
“you sound so pretty like this.”
his hand slid to your throat. didn’t squeeze — just laid there, pressure soft but firm.
your eyes rolled back. your hips bucked up.
“you like that?” he growled. “like when i hold you down like this?”
“y-yeah,” you gasped. “makes me feel… feel owned.”
he leaned in, tongue dragging slow up your neck.
“you are,” he breathed, hips grinding deep. “all mine, baby.”
you came again like that.
deep strokes. his hand at your throat. eyes locked. his name pouring from your lips like a prayer you couldn’t stop chanting.
he didn’t stop moving. not even after you came.
he fucked you through it. let you shake, let you cry, let you babble nothin’ but his name while your body milked him hard.
his rhythm got rougher then. deeper. heavier.
clap clap clap
his hips slammed against your thighs now. your legs spread wider, his chest brushing yours.
“look at you,” he hissed. “a whole fuckin’ mess. i ain’t even done with you yet.”
“‘lijah—i can’t—”
“yes the fuck you can,” he growled. “take all this dick. you wanted it.”
“wanted it,” you sobbed. “wanted you—just like this.”
he kissed your mouth hard. bit your bottom lip.
then his hips started to stutter.
“gon’ cum in you,” he warned. “gon’ fill this pretty pussy up real nice.”
you moaned out loud. “do it. please—please cum inside me.”
his voice broke.
“fuck—”
and then he came.
hips buried deep. groan low and heavy in your ear. his body shaking over yours, sweat dripping from his neck to your collarbone.
he held himself there. breath on your cheek. cock still twitching deep inside, warm cum filling you slow.
but he didn’t move.
he pulled back just enough to look at you — your face flushed, lips parted, body limp and used and overwhelmed.
then he smirked.
“we not done.”
your eyes widened. your legs twitched.
and you whispered:
“…again?”
he chuckled, slow and dark. kissed your throat.
“it’s your birthday.”
you didn’t even feel him slip out at first.
your whole body was floating — boneless, twitching, your skin hot and glazed with sweat. but then you felt the emptiness, the slow drip of cum leaking down the inside of your thigh, and your body clenched instinctively like it already missed him.
you blinked up at the ceiling, chest rising shallow. your voice was gone, but your throat was still raw from moaning.
he leaned over you again. brushed your hair out of your face. kissed the side of your head.
“turn over,” he murmured.
your lashes fluttered. “wha…?”
“you heard me.”
his voice wasn’t mean. it wasn’t cold either. it was low. final.
you rolled to your stomach slowly, shaky arms pulling you up on all fours.
your legs barely worked, trembling from the first round. but then you felt him behind you — his hands at your waist, firm and wide, pulling your ass back toward him like he’d never left.
he leaned down. lips at your spine.
“you look good like this.”
a kiss.
“all fucked out.”
another kiss.
“still open for me.”
you whimpered into the sheets, face burning.
his hands dragged up your back, slow.
then one came down — smack — a sharp slap to your ass, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make you jolt.
“you still wet,” he said, voice darker now. “still drippin’ f’me.”
his dick slid up between your folds again — still hard, still thick.
he teased you with it, back and forth, tip just barely pressing at your entrance.
“you gon’ let me back in?”
you nodded fast. “yes—yes, please, ‘lijah—”
“nah.” he grabbed your throat from behind, just enough pressure to ground you. “say it right.”
“want your dick again,” you whined. “want it back inside—please, i need it.”
he pushed in slow, but deep.
you choked on your gasp. it felt even bigger like this — from behind, with your legs spread wide, your back arched, your pussy already sore and wet and raw from the first round.
he bottomed out with a growl, his grip tight on your hips.
“fuck… this pussy was made for me.”
you moaned loud.
his hips started moving — slow at first. each stroke long, dragging every inch of him against your walls.
smack
smack
smack
you could barely stay up. your arms gave out, chest sinking into the mattress, ass still high while he gripped your waist and pounded you from behind like he was tryna see what you were made of.
you whimpered with every thrust.
“look at you,” he muttered, voice all heat. “back here takin’ this dick like a lil fuckin’ toy. that what you want? be my toy?”
you nodded, drooling against the sheets. “yes—yes, i wanna be yours, use me, please—”
“mmhmm. already knew you was nasty.”
his hand wrapped in your hair and pulled your head back, your spine arching sharper, your mouth wide with a ragged cry.
“this how you wanted me to fuck you on your birthday, huh?” he growled, breath hot at your ear. “deep. rough.”
“mhmmmmm,” you whimpered. “can’t think—feels too good—”
he laughed once, dark and low.
“don’t need you to think. just take it.”
and you did.
you let him fuck you deeper. rougher. no rhythm now — just noise and skin and heat. your moans turned to gasps. his name spilled out again and again, your whole body shaking from overstimulation, your pussy clenching hard around him.
you came again, harder than before.
your body seized. legs shaking. tears pricking your eyes from how good it felt. how deep it went.
and he didn’t stop.
he chased his own release, his hips pounding you into the bed until he grunted through his teeth, held you tight, and came deep again — slow, thick warmth spilling inside you while he held you still and fucked it deeper.
it took you minutes to come back to yourself.
you collapsed to your side when he finally pulled out, your body limp and soaked in sweat and cum.
you felt him disappear for a moment. then return — a warm cloth between your thighs, his hand sliding slow across your lower back.
“you good?”
you nodded weakly. “i can’t feel my legs.”
he laughed softly. real soft.
“that mean i did it right.”
you blinked up at him through half-lidded eyes. his hand was rubbing your thigh, slow. grounding.
you whispered, barely audible—“you didn’t hold back.”
he kissed your cheek. “ain’t supposed to.”
you smiled.
his fingers traced the necklace he gave you, still resting warm on your collarbone.
a/n: it’s my birthday so i decided to write a little something for all the sagittarius’s this month<3 happy birthday to anyone who’s celebrating soon or have already🫂
Navigation; m.list; r.r; bf's enemy!theo au; more
The night air was cool, carrying the soft hum of the castle settling into sleep. You sat on the edge of the astronomy tower, staring up at the stars, your fingers tracing the charms on your bracelet. You always liked to do this the night before your birthday, find a quiet corner, watch the sky, and let yourself feel small in the vastness of it all.
“Looking for a constellation to wish you happy birthday?” a familiar voice drawled from the shadows, and you jumped, hand flying to your chest.
“Nott!” you exclaimed, half-scolding, half-relieved. “You scared me.”
“Sorry” he said, voice low and careful, like he was testing the waters. The smirk at the corner of his lips made it impossible to tell if he meant it sarcastically or sincerely. “I—didn’t mean to startle you. What are you doing up here so late?”
You exhaled, letting your shoulders relax. “I… I like to watch the stars on my birthday. Every year since first year.” Your voice was soft, almost tentative, and you looked down at your bracelet. “It… it’s comforting. I guess… being away from home and all, you know?”
Theo blinked, and for a fraction of a second, the usual smirk faltered. He leaned against the wall, one shoulder pressed lightly to the stone, eyes on you. “Away from home…” His voice was quieter, teasing undercurrent gone, replaced by something almost careful. “I suppose I can understand that. Home… doesn’t always stick with you, does it?”
You shrugged, fingers tracing a charm. “Not really. Hogwarts is… Hogwarts. It’s fine, but sometimes I just… I miss the little things. The quiet smells of my kitchen, the sound of laughter, the way it all felt safe.” Your voice wavered just slightly, not with sadness exactly, but with longing, the kind Theo could almost feel without words.
Theo leaned against the railing, gaze distant, a shadow passing over his expression. “I… don’t think I know what that feels like.” he said quietly. His smirk was faint, almost hesitant. “I never really missed home. Not when I was a kid, not since… my mother. Home was never warm. Never… a place that felt safe. Being away—Hogwarts, anywhere—it’s… easier. Freer. Nothing to hold me down. I never… needed it.”
You looked at him, chest tightening. The words were quiet, matter-of-fact, but beneath them lay something fragile, an unspoken loneliness he didn’t usually let anyone see. “I… I understand,” you murmured gently. “I guess some people just… never had a home to miss.”
He gave a small, almost wry shrug, letting the corner of his mouth lift just slightly. “Maybe. Doesn’t mean I don’t notice what other people have.”
A long silence stretched between you, the only sounds the wind over the tower and the distant castle settling into night. And in that quiet, you felt a soft pull in your chest for him—this boy who had always seemed untouchable, teasing, sarcastic… and yet here, alone with the stars, quietly open in a way he rarely allowed.
You looked up at the sky, chest tightening a little, watching him carefully. “I like the stars. They don’t demand anything. They’re just… there. Even when things change, even when people leave or get hurt. They’re always…”
He swallowed, the corner of his smirk tugging down, just enough to betray the effect your words had. “Constant” he finished quietly, almost reverently.
You turned slightly to meet his gaze, heart skipping. “Yes. Constant.”
For a long moment, silence wrapped around the two of you. Then, almost imperceptibly, he slid a small box across the stone ledge toward you.
Your fingers trembled as you lifted it, revealing a delicate diamond charm, catching the starlight. You held it carefully, breath hitching.
“It’s… beautiful,” you whispered.
Theo leaned closer, voice teasing again, but laced with something warmer, more hesitant. “of course it’s beautiful . Clearly, my taste is impeccable.”
He smirked faintly, leaning just a fraction closer, and you caught the almost imperceptible tension, how his body seemed pulled toward you, yet restrained. His lips hovered near yours, and your heart thundered.
Then, from somewhere beyond the castle walls, the bells began to chime midnight.
He froze, just inches from you, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face. Then, almost reluctantly, he whispered, “Happy birthday.”
You blinked, heart racing. He didn’t kiss you but he lingered a heartbeat longer than necessary, blue eyes softening ever so slightly, just enough to make you feel that he wanted to. Then, with a last teasing smirk, he stepped back into the shadowed edge of the tower.
You watched him step back into the shadows, disappearing almost as quickly as he had arrived, leaving you clutching the charm, your bracelet now complete, and the memory of the boy who was infuriating, impossible, teasing and utterly unforgettable.
🗒️ Summary: What happens when Yoongi and MC are locked in his studio on his birthday? I’ll give you three guesses (and they’re probaby all correct!)
📚 Genre: Fluff, Domestic bliss, smut (nothing too graphic but it’s def R-rated), implied marriage / long term relationship.
⚠️ Warnings: profanity, smut - again, I’m giving this an R rating, unprotected sex, studio sex, birthday sex
🔤 Word count: ~5.3K
🔀 Crossposted to: Wattpad, AO3
📖 Masterlist
✍️ Notes: I wanted to drop a little something to celebrate our sweet emo cat boy grumpling angel baby Min Yoongi on his birthday. I’ve been doing something a lil special for him almost every year and I decided for this year - why not a fic? 🙂 I hope you all enjoy this slice of domestic bliss and steamy romance with our favoritest rapper / producer-nim! Only partially beta-d by K so please excuse any mistakes you may find. K - thank you for being my source of encouragement and helping to reign in my spiraling mind. I struggled a LOT with the smut in this one but you helped remind me that even the smuttiest writers still sometimes just need a lil fluff. 💜
Hope y’all enjoy!
Yoongi adjusts his messenger bag on his shoulder as he steps through the revolving glass doors of the HYBE building. As expected, a handful of fans linger outside. Their phones lift almost in unison, cameras recording what will inevitably end up splashed across social media tomorrow.
“SUGA spotted entering HYBE on his birthday”
Yoongi exhales quietly through his nose, ducking his head as he walks past the lobby and toward the elevator. Birthdays were never something he felt particularly inclined to celebrate, but apparently the internet disagrees.
A few minutes later, he slips out of his shoe and keys the code into the door of his studio. The lock beeps and then clicks. He steps inside…and immediately pauses. A soft smile tugs at his lips as he takes in the sight before him. Large silver bubble letters above the sofa spell out “HAPPY BIRTHDAY SUGA”. He squints at them for a second. “...Okay, that might be from the company,” he mutters. But the rest of it? A small paper bag from his favorite coffee shop sits neatly on the end table beside a plastic cup of iced coffee. The straw is still wrapped, placed carefully across the lid.
He picks it up, inspecting the label on the side.
Decaf Americano.
Of course it is. The change had been your idea months ago, introduced slowly enough that he hadn’t bothered to argue about it. One less thing wrecking his stomach after long nights in the studio, you’d said, nudging the new cup into his hand like it was the most obvious solution in the world.
He’d learned a long time ago that life was easier when he listened to you.
Yoongi sets his messenger bag on the desk chair before returning to the table and opening the bag. The warm smell of eggs and bacon rises immediately, making his stomach grumble.
Egg Drop sandwich. His favorite.
He huffs a quiet laugh, knowing now without a doubt exactly who was responsible.
Pulling out his phone, he swipes past the lock screen - a photo he’d taken of you on your last trip to Jeju Island, wind tugging at your hair as you looked out across the ocean - and opens your chat.
Yoongi:
“How much did you have to bribe the receptionist?”
Your reply comes almost instantly. “Hahaha. Happy Birthday my love. Eat well and don’t work too hard.”
He takes a quick picture of the sandwich and coffee and sends it back. “It looks delicious. Thank you.”
You respond with a simple purple heart emoji.
He sits down on the sofa to eat, the studio quiet except for the faint hum of his equipment.
After finishing the sandwich, he grabs the coffee and carries it over to the computer table, setting up his laptop. He takes a sip, the straw bumping his lips momentarily before landing in his mouth. Settled into his chair, his fingers are already moving toward the keyboard as the screen flickers to life.
The familiar Cubase interface loads and for a moment the studio returns to its usual quiet rhythm - the low whirring of the computer’s fans, the clicking of the keys beneath his fingers.
Then something bright catches his eye.
He pauses.
A small Post-it note is stuck just beside the trackpad.
Happy Birthday!
Fighting!
🐾
Yoongi blinks once…then snorts softly, “Aish, this woman.”
He studies the note with fond amusement, noticing the pawprint is slightly smudged. Almost as if whoever stamped it had been slightly less than cooperative.
He pulls out his phone again and snaps a photo of the note.
Yoongi:
“You got Tang involved?”
Once again your reply is quick.
“He insisted.”
Yoongi
“??”
This time there was a brief pause, followed by a response that comes through in the form of a video.
He taps it open.
The camera is pointed down towards your feet as Tang circles your legs, rubbing against you while letting out long dramatic mrrrowps.
Yoongi:
“You’re ridiculous”
You:
“And you love me for it.”
He doesn’t answer; he knows he doesn’t need to. Instead, he carefully peels the Post-it from the laptop and tucks it into the inside pocket of his jacket.
Right over his heart.
Yoongi takes a sip of the coffee, settles into his chair, and opens the session file he’d been working on the night before.
If he was going to spend his birthday in the studio anyway, he might as well make something good come out of it.
Work had been a shitshow. Long meetings. Even longer hours. Your inbox had been a warzone since 9am but you’d given your manager a firm deadline - 5 o’clock, no negotiations. As soon as your workday ended, you shut your laptop with a satisfying click and grabbed your coat before anyone could stop you.
After a quick stop at Yoongi’s favorite restaurant, your arms were full of plastic bags filled with takeout containers - galbi, najki-bookeum, and an assortment of banchan - along with a couple bottles of soju and a bottle of his favorite whiskey. It was the same one he liked to keep in his studio. You knew he was running low and figured it would be a great opportunity to help him restock.
Balancing the bags carefully, you made your way up to the 4th floor. The hallway outside his studio was quiet, most of the building already settling into the evening.
You slip out of your heels beside the familiar door, tucking them neatly against the wall right next to his sneakers before punching in the keypad code from memory. The lock clicks, and you turn the knob and nudge the door open with your hip, slipping inside before using your foot to push it shut again behind you.
The plastic bag on your arm shifts suddenly, the straps sliding down your sleeve. The bottles inside knock softly against each other with a telltale clink.
Not even two seconds later -
“Yah!” Yoogi’s voice carries from across the room. “Why didn’t you tell me you were on your way? I could have come to help you!”
You barely have time to answer before he’s already pushing back from his chair and crossing the studio towards you.
He takes the bags from your hands with practiced ease and sets them on the coffee table. “What is all this?”
You flex your fingers gingerly now that the weight is gone. “Well I couldn’t exactly let you eat vending machine ramen on your birthday, could I?”
Yoongi rolls his eyes immediately, “That was one time,” he mutters, “and that was only because I got stranded here during that typhoon and couldn’t leave the building.”
You raise a skeptical brow. “Did you even eat lunch today?”
“I-”
You cut him off with a look. “Something more substantial than the honey butter chips you keep stashed in your bottom drawer.”
His mouth opens, then closes. The silence is telling.
You shake your head, though the smile tugging at your lips softens the gesture. “I thought so. What am I going to do with you?”
Yoongi chuckles quietly, reaching up to cup your cheek. “What would I do without you is a better question.” He leans down and presses a kiss to your lips. Soft. Familiar. The kind of kiss that isn’t meant to necessarily start anything; just a quiet acknowledgement after a long day apart. Warm and affectionate, lingering long enough to say thank you without actually saying the words.
“Mmmm,” you hum contentedly when he pulls away. “Set up the food and sit.” You gently nudge his shoulder and nod towards the table. “I’ll get the utensils and the napkins.”
You cross to the shelves next to his desk and open a wooden box on the bottom shelf. Inside are chopsticks, spoons, and a few disposable cups. You grab two of each, along with a few napkins from the same box. By the time you return, Yoongi has already unpacked the containers and arranged the food neatly on the table. He’s even tossed a few cushions on the floor from the sofa, creating a small space for the two of you to sit.
You take your seat next to him and without even thinking twice about it, you fix a bowl first for him, putting some rice and topping it with some of the octopus and a few pieces of galbi before sliding it towards him along with a pair of chopsticks. Only then do you begin putting together your own. Yoongi takes two of the cups and pours a generous amount of soju into each before handing you one.
“Thank you, baby. This looks delicious.” He leans over to plant a soft kiss on your temple before digging into the feast before him.
The two of you eat for a few minutes in comfortable quiet, the clink of utensils adding to the room’s easy atmosphere.
Yoongi glances around the room between bites.
“So you did all this, huh? All the decorations?”
You look up innocently, “What do you mean?”
He gestures vaguely toward the banner above the sofa.
“The giant birthday announcement hanging over my couch.”
“Oh, that?” you say casually. “I can’t take full credit for that one. I think the company had a hand in it.”
Yoongi snorts. “Of course they did.”
A moment later he adds, almost absently,“The coffee was you though.”
“And the sandwich,” you say proudly.
“And Tang’s artistic contribution?”
You grin. “Oh that was all him. I told you - he insisted.”
Yoongi shakes his head, though the corner of his mouth lifts. “He’s a bad influence. I’m starting to think the two of you are conspiring against me.”
“Oh no doubt about it - we absolutely are.”
He chuckles under his breath and goes back to eating.
Halfway through his bowl he suddenly freezes. Then his eyes widen. “Holy shit, that’s it!” He drops his chopsticks and pushes himself up.
You touch his arm. “Finish eating first.”
“Jagi, the bridge, I just figured -”
“I know, aegi - you can drop it into a voicenote if it’s urgent.” You nod towards his phone which sits on the table next to his bowl. “Just….eat.”
He hesitates, and then sighs, sitting back down to resume eating, “You’re bossy today.” He observes.
You shrug nonchalantly, “Eh, someone’s gotta keep you alive.”
The corner of his lips pull up into a smirk. “You like telling me what to do.” His tone is light, teasing almost.
You look at him over the edge of your soju and quip back just before you take a sip. “Only when you let me.”
Yoongi holds your gaze for a moment longer than usual. Something thoughtful flickers behind his eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he’s trying to decide whether or not to say something. In the end, he doesn’t.
Instead, he reaches for another piece of galbi and places it in your bowl. “Eat,” This time it’s him who prompts you gently. You do so, and the moment dissolves into the comfortable quiet that always settles between the two of you. You both fall into an easy rhythm - passing containers back and forth, finishing the last of the banchan, the low murmur of conversation drifting between bites.
By the time the food is gone, only the faint smells of grilled meat and spice remain. You gather the empty containers while Yoongi twists the caps back onto the bottles of soju.
“Leave it,” he says when you start stacking the plastic lids. “I’ll throw it out later.”
“You say that,” you reply, tying one of the bags closed, “and then it lives here for three days.”
“That was one time.”
“You said that about the ramen, too,” you tease him.
“Aish,” he shakes his head in endeared amusement, carrying the bags towards the small trash bin near the door while you wipe the table down with a few napkins. When he turns back, you’ve finished cleaning the table and are fluffing the pillows back on the couch in their rightful places. You stand back and brush your hands together lightly, satisfied with your work. “Alright, I think that’s it. Let’s go.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Where are we going?”
You grab your purse and sling it over your shoulder. “I want to show you something.”
His eyes narrow slightly. “That sounds suspicious.”
“You’re always suspicious.”
“And with good cause. Everytime you say something like that it ends with Hobi jumping out of a corner yelling “SURPRISE!” “ He does a mock ‘jazz hands’ expression to help drive his point home before continuing, “and like 20 people in the practice room are standing around singing happy birthday and making a big fuss.”
You bite back a smile. “You know you secretly love it! Just trust me and come on.”
Yoongi sighs dramatically, “Fine. But if this ends with a camera crew popping out of the hallway, I’m leaving.” He crosses the room and reaches for the studio door.
The moment his hand touches the handle -
The lights go out.
The studio drops into darkness so suddenly that you both freeze. You hear his breath hitch as you gasp; you instinctively reach for him, gripping his bicep in alarm.
A beat passes. Then the soft hum of machinery kicks in and dim emergency lighting flickers on along the ceiling. A moment later, the equipment on Yoongi’s desk whirs back to life.
Yoongi exhales, unfazed. “It’s okay.” He places his hand over yours where it still rests on his arm. “Backup generator kicked in.”
As if on cue, the building’s emergency power settles into a steady rhythm. The studio lights stay dim; everything essential is running again. He turns back to the door and twists the handle. It doesn’t move. Yoongi frowns slightly and tries again - still nothing.
“Huh.”
You step closer. “What?”
He presses the handle down harder. Tugs. Pushes. Jiggles.
The door remains firmly shut.
“I think maybe the smart lock reset or something when the power went out,” he says, glancing towards the keypad mounted beside the door. The small screen is blinking an angry red ERROR message.
Your brows furrow. “Give it a minute and then try again.”
He does, and then goes to open the door again. Tries entering the code. The keypad beeps, but the lock doesn’t disengage and the door still doesn’t budge. “Okay,” Yoongi sighs. “That’s new.”
“Maybe you can contact security?”
“Good idea,” he pulls his phone from his pocket. “They’ve got to have a way to reset the system manually.”
As he types, your own phone buzzes in your hand - it’s the group chat.
Namjoon:
“Anyone else lose power?”
Jungkook:
“Backup generator just kicked in in the practice rooms.”
Hobi:
“Some of the doors are having issues too.”
You type back quickly.
“Yeah….we know”
A moment later:
“We’re locked in Yoongi’s studio”
Three dots appear instantly as everyone starts typing at once.
You glance up at Yoongi, who is still staring at the keypad like it personally offended him.
You continue typing,
“He’s checking with security to see if they can reset the system. Not sure how long it will take. I’ll keep you posted.”
Yoongi finally pockets his phone and looks at you. “Well,” he says dryly, gesturing towards the room around you. “Security said it could be at least an hour. Looks like we’re not going anywhere for a while.”
He tests the handle once more out of habit - unsurprisingly, it is still locked. He leans back against the door, one shoulder settling against it as he glances towards you. You’re already looking back at him, and for a moment, neither of you says anything.
Until you take a small step closer; he notices immediately. “So much for whatever it was that you wanted to show me earlier.”
“I still do.”
“Kinda hard to do that now that we’re locked in here.”
You shrug.
He narrows his eyes. “You seem like you have a backup plan.”
“Maybe I do,” you hum. Your hand lifts to cup his face, fingers tracing along his smooth jawline, down the line of his throat, and over the front of his hoodie until they find the drawstring. You twirl it around your finger, then pull it taut, tugging him gently down towards you, as you rise slightly onto your toes. Your lips meet his halfway. The kiss starts out soft. Warm and certain, unhurried - but only until you part your lips against him, encouraging him to open just enough to grant your tongue access.
Yoongi’s hand lifts automatically to your waist, but instead of allowing him to draw you closer, you guide him back, a firm but deliberate pressure against his chest. He lets you move him, taking a step…then another…until the backs of his knees hit the couch. A look of mild amusement crosses his face when you give him a gentle shove, dropping him into a seated position on the cushions. You remain standing in front of him.
He watches closely now, as if awaiting further instructions, his hands resting loosely on his thighs. Your fingers come up to undo the top button of your blouse.
Then the next.
And then another.
You tug your collar open, exposing the black lace bralette underneath. His gaze flits from the expanse of skin revealed to him to your face, trying desperately to anticipate your next move, willing you to do something, anything. His tongue darts out to moisten his lips.
Your hands slide down your body, tugging your blouse out from where it is tucked into your skirt, before finding the zipper on the side of your skirt. You slowly start to inch it down; his legs reflexively spread, his hand going to his crotch where he starts to palm his visibly hardening length. You notice this and stop unzipping halfway down. Your pointed gaze remains focused on his hand, then bringing your attention back to his face. The moment he realizes your movements have stalled his eyes meet yours and you raise an eyebrow at him in gentle admonishment.
“Did you want me to stop?” you chide him.
He stops stroking his cock abruptly, his breath hitching. “No,” he responds softly.
You can practically see the mental struggle taking place in his head, but he willingly shuffles a little on the sofa, slipping his hands underneath his thighs and trapping them there.
A satisfied smile crosses your face. “Such a good birthday boy.”
Your sensual strip tease continues as you lower the zipper the rest of the way, easing the skirt down inch by inch and letting it slide along your hips until the black lace of your panties is revealed. His gaze follows every movement.
The dim emergency lights trace warm lines along your skin as the skirt finally pools at your feet. You step out of it slowly, deliberately, never breaking eye contact.
From the couch, Yoongi exhales a quiet breath. His hands are still snugly nestled beneath his thighs, though the effort it takes to keep them there is becoming increasingly obvious.
You step closer again until you’re standing between his knees. For a second, you look at him like this - taking in the way his chest rises and falls a little faster now, the way his gaze drags slowly over you before climbing back to your face.
Then you reach for him, your fingers sliding into the front of his hoodie, tugging him forward just enough for your lips to meet.
This kiss is different.
Hungrier.
Intense.
Passionate.
Bordering on desperation.
Yoongi leans into it instinctively, his shoulders tensing when he remembers that his hands are still pinned beneath him.
You shift closer, settling onto his lap, your knees bracketing his hips.
Yoongi lets out a quiet groan into the kiss. “You’re killing me,” he mutters against your mouth.
“Well we can’t have that, can we,” you reply, your lips curling into a smile against his. Then, just to tease him further, you rock your hips slowly against his.
The reaction is immediate. Yoongi’s head tips back against the couch as he groans, low and deep. His hands twitch beneath his thighs. “Hajima…”
“No?” You raise an eyebrow, watching his reaction. “You want me to stop?”
His head whips back to look at you, “Don’t you fuckin’ dare.”
You giggle and kiss him again, slower this time, letting your tongue dance with his, savoring the taste of his mouth - soju, spice, and quintessentially him. You let the moment stretch as you move against him in a lazy rhythm. The fabric between you does very little to dull the friction.
Your hands drift down his chest, over the front of his hoodie, then lower still. You stroke his hardness over his jeans, feeling the way he tenses under your touch.
“God,” he breathes, head falling back against the couch once more as you redirect your attention to the exquisite expanse of his throat now exposed to you. “What are you doing to me?”
You continue grinding against him as you nip playfully at the skin at the base of his neck, just where it meets his shoulder, then soothe the area with your tongue. Your voice is slightly muffled against his skin. “You’re the one who said we weren’t going anywhere for a while.”
He lets out a soft strained laugh.
“This isn’t what I was expecting.”
“Oh?” You pull back to look at him, “Can you think of a better way for us to pass the time?”
“Fuck no.”
“Mmhmm.” You shift again, pressing down just enough to make him suck in another breath. “I thought so.”
Yoongi’s restraint finally starts to crack.
His shoulders tense again, his hands flexing uselessly where they’re trapped beneath him.
“Please,” he begs, voice rough now. “Baby…”
You pause, once again leaning back to take in the glorious sight before you. His lips are pink, kiss-swollen, his eyes dark, and pupils wide, his face flushed. His hair is slightly unkempt from where your fingers have run through it, a few strands in front of his face. You reach up and gently brush them aside, tucking them behind his ears as he whispers, “Need you.”
You cup his face with your hand, “I’m yours.”
His eyes close as his head tilts to the side, lips meeting your palm in a tender kiss. You watch him for another moment, the way his jaw tightens, the way he’s clearly straining to keep his composure.
It’s one of life’s greatest mysteries, you think - how it’s possible to feel this much awe and admiration and respect and adoration and love for someone all at once.
You sigh softly.
“Okay.”
His eyes open immediately.
“You can touch.”
The reaction is instant.
“Oh, thank fuck.”
Yoongi pulls his hands free and immediately they’re on your hips, your thighs; grasping beneath your blouse, pawing at your tits, claiming any inch of your skin he can touch.
You squeal as, in the next moment he flips you back on to the couch beneath him in one swift motion. A few of the pillows that you had previously arranged so meticulously tumble carelessly to the floor.
“You have no idea what you just did,” he growls, already tugging at the fabric between you like he can’t get it out of the way fast enough.
You laugh softly as he fumbles with his hoodie, your blouse - anything in the way. The minute the last of the pesky barriers between you disappear, he buries his face in your neck for a moment, a short breathy groan escaping him. His hands trace along your arms, interlacing fingers before bringing them up to rest atop the armrest above you.
“And what exactly do you think you’re doing?” You tease him.
“My turn now,” he retorts, a smirk crossing his lips.
That smirk. The one that makes your knees weak and your stomach flip and your pussy clench.
You refuse to give him the satisfaction though. In a test of willpower you know you can hold your own against him. In everyday life, he may have the patience of a saint - but in moments like this, you know exactly how to push him past it.
You watch him for a moment, daring him to make the first move, knowing he will be the first to break.
Sure enough, he growls, “Fuck it,” and leans down to capture your lips in a heated kiss, his hips grinding desperately against yours, seeking relief, any relief at all.
The urgency soon settles into something slower, heavier with intention as he releases your fingers. Yoongi hovers above you, his body stretched over yours, one arm braced into the couch beside your head while the other slides along your waist, his fingers spreading over your hip as he pulls you closer.
A soft gasp slips from your lips as he moves against you, the contact warm and overwhelming after all the teasing that came before. Your hands glide over his back, fingers digging lightly into the muscle there as he lowers himself fully, his chest pressing to your as he enters you gently, filling you up like he was made for you. (You were willing to bet your life he was.)
For a moment he pauses, forehead resting against yours, both of you breathing a little harder now. Then he begins to move again, slow at first, like he’s savoring the feeling of finally having you like this.
Your legs tighten instinctively around his hips, drawing him closer. The couch cushions shift beneath you as the rhythm builds between you, the steady movement sending warmth spreading through your whole body.
Yoongi exhales softly against your lips, his mouth brushing yours in a kiss that’s slower now but no less intense. One of his hands slides up your side, fingertips tracing the curve of your ribs before settling just beneath your shoulder, anchoring himself as he moves with you.
Your head tips back against the cushions, breath catching as his lips drift from your mouth to your jaw, then lower to your neck. A quiet sound escapes you before you can stop it, and you feel the faint rumble of his laugh against your skin.
The world narrows to the heat of his body over yours, the steady rhythm you share, and the quiet sounds of breath and soft murmurs as you move together - no teasing now, just the familiar, consuming closeness of being completely lost in each other.
Your breaths grow uneven, stuttered gasps slipping out between kisses. He answers your whimpers with quiet murmurs against your lips, your cheek, your neck. Half words, half sounds that make your pulse race. Your nails dig into his shoulders as the tension finally peaks, your euphoria melting into soft laughter, breathless against his ear. He follows soon after, his forehead once again pressed against yours, a restrained whine slipping from his lips as he breathes hard, the last of that frantic energy gradually fading.
For a moment, neither of you move.
Then he exhales slowly and collapses beside you, pulling you with him so you land half across his chest. Reaching up he pulls the fleece throw from the back of the couch and haphazardly drapes it over the two of you.
You both lay there, catching your breath, his hand drifting lazily up and down your back as your head rests against his shoulder.
Your fingers trace absent circles on his chest as the adrenaline fades, leaving that warm floaty calm that settles in afterwards.
He tilts his head to press a soft kiss into your hair. “Happy birthday to me, huh?”
You grin, your lips against his shoulder, “Mmm…day’s not over yet.”
Almost as if on cue, Yoongi’s phone buzzes from somewhere on the floor. He groans. You chuckle and pat his chest softly. “Don’t move.” You plant a soft kiss right next to his nipple.
“Wasn’t planning to.”
You turn to lean over the edge of the couch and grab the phone, squinting at the screen.
“It’s Namjoon.” You hand him the phone.
Yoongi grumbles and answers the phone, putting it on speaker. “Wae?”
Namjoon’s voice responds, “Hyung - are you two still stuck in the studio?”
Yoongi hums in response. “Door’s still locked, security said it would be at least an hour - that was 30 minutes ago.”
“They were able to reset the system sooner than expected. Someone should be there in a minute.”
Yoongi grunts in acknowledgement and hangs up.
You settle back against his chest for a moment before something registers.
“Wait,” you lift your head to look at Yoongi. “Did he say a minute?”
“Yeah-” He looks back at you blankly and then his eyes widen. “Oh shit.”
You stare at each other.
Then simultaneously look down at the current state of things.
Clothes everywhere.
Your blouse halfway off the couch.
His hoodie twisted somewhere under your leg.
There’s a brief pause before you start, “...we should probably-"
A loud beep interrupts you.
You both freeze.
Another beep sounds from the door keypad.
Yoongi sits bolt upright. “Oh fuck.”
You scramble off the couch in a flurry of limbs, grabbing your skirt from the floor while Yoongi yanks his hoodie back over his head. You throw him his jeans - whacking him square in the chest with them, earning an ‘oof’ in response - as the keypad beeps again.
Then the lock clicks, and the door swings open just as Yoongi pulls his pants up and you’re buttoning the third button on your blouse - completely unaware you’ve missed one, leaving the whole thing terribly askew.
A security guard stands there holding a tablet, his eyes widening at the slightly disheveled state of the room before him. The moment he realizes your semi-clothed state, he whirls around, clearly flustered.
“S-Suga-nim” he stammers apologetically. “Mianhae, um…the system has been reset so everything should be fine now. I-I’ll just be going.”
“Komawo,” Yoongi responds, “Appreciate it.”
The guard nods, glances back briefly in acknowledgement, then thinks better of it and turns away again before hastily stepping out to continue down the hall.
As soon as he leaves, you look at Yoongi and burst into giggles.
He shakes his head in amused fondness, helping you fix the buttons on your blouse. “Aish…next time we’re celebrating my birthday somewhere with a lock that works.”
“Yah!” You protest with mock indignation. “It’s not like we haven’t done it here before. This was one time.”
“Come on,” he says, folding the blanket and replacing it on the back of the couch. “Let’s go find the others. I’m sure they’ve been waiting long enough.”
“Yeah - wait. What?” You stop, blinking at him.
He keeps walking toward the door.
You shake your head and jog a step to catch up. “How did you-?”
Yoongi chuckles quietly. “Seriously,” he says, glancing sideways at you. “Do you really think I wouldn’t know they would have something planned for me? Like I said - Hobi’s gonna jump out and yell ‘surprise’, the crew’s gonna be there singing for me…”
You stare at him for a second, then pout. “I can’t believe you knew.”
“Of course I know. They do this every year.”
You narrow your eyes, slipping your hand into his and interlocking your fingers. “Well, can you at least act surprised?”
He pauses a beat, then raises his hands to his face with wide eyes and an over-the-top mock surprised expression before chuckling, his shoulders shaking as he smirks at you. “Like I said - we do this every year.” You smile and shake your head at him in silent amusement as he leans down to kiss you before leading you out of his studio and down the hall to where the rest of the members and staff are waiting.
FOR ALL HIS LIFE, YOUR boyfriend, jamil, knew only to serve. you knew it was never by choice, but you’d begun to suspect that… perhaps some part of that upbringing had engraved itself into his very being. for what else could have ever led to this…?
it wasn't to say it was shocking; the sight of your love tugging at your shorts, dragging the hem with his fingers well past your hips. but what was most curious was why he wanted to do this at such an hour. bleary eyes darted to the clock upon your nightstand. 23:50. by all accounts, it made no sense, really. but, oh… who were you to complain?
nuzzling back into the pillow beneath you, your hand found its familiar place through the silky locks of your boyfriend’s hair. “a bit late isn’t it, pretty boy? what’s the matter with you?”
jamil only smiled, puffing a cold breath of air onto your exposed pussy. the feeling sent a shiver down your spine, and you found yourself resisting the urge to clamp your thighs around his head already. the quirk of his brow showed you his amusement, a kind that you couldn’t discern the origin of for the life of you. “you don’t know? ah. just stay still and enjoy it, then. maybe it’ll click later.”
you’d no time to question his statement— because he was already licking one stripe up your slit. it was so sudden, sending one strong jolt up your spine. if your relationship were any less established, you’d almost be embarrassed at how aroused you were becoming… with just a few kitten licks, you were already clenching down hoping for more. soon his lips were attaching themselves to your clit, sucking sloppily at the bundle.
“jamil…” your breath hitched in your throat, fist tightening further into his hair. a few tears slipped past your eyes as you clenched them shut, tossing and turning your head to the side. the feeling of his tongue endlessly lapping at your quickly-building arousal was forcing a tight knot into your belly— one that felt on the verge of bursting any time now. you were always so quick to cum, and once you started you could never stop; something jamil knew fully well— and frequently abused.
the first time he’d found out was when you first found out as well. you couldn’t quite remember what had made you so angry that day, but you and your boyfriend had argued and argued until you’d become doped with your own fumes and emanations. till your clothes had been torn away; till he hurled you to the floor and held you there, melting your resistance not with his hypnotic voice, but with the heat of his body. you’d done things with your bodies to express the inexpressible; kissed until you arched your body to meet him and fell asleep in sweet exhaustion. that was your first time. you couldn’t count how many times you’d reached your peak, then— but it seemed that jamil was determined to best it every time he serviced you.
and as his mouth continued against your cunt, his hands slid up your thighs, coming to rest upon your pelvis. it was a terribly intimate gesture. so you pushed yourself up, lifting your hips to meet him. closer, harder. you could feel the bonds inside of you coming undone, each one snapping a little more as more blots and stars appeared in your vision. one of your hands trailed down to intertwine with his, while the other grabbed at the sheets right next to your head.
for a moment, your eyes blew open and all you saw was white. you pushed your boyfriend’s face against your pussy, your body curling into itself as your abdomen tightened up. then a loud cry slipped past your lips, tearing from your throat as the knot inside of you snapped. only your first climax of many, no doubt.
jamil groaned, his adam’s apple bobbing as he greedily drank whatever drop you gave him. once he’d had his fill, he pulled back. but he’d only intended to separate himself from you for a moment, it seemed— because now, he was crawling over you. he gently pried his hand from yours, using it to caress your face. and how beautiful he looked; hovering above with the loose, black curtain of his hair falling down, enclosing you both from the world… you loved your pretty boy best this way.
his fingers pushed little crescents into your cheek, forcing your mouth into a slight pucker. lowering his face to meet yours, jamil carefully studied your wearied expression, the glistening sweat upon your brow. “beautiful.” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your lips thereafter. it was comically chaste, especially after what he’d just done.
but you both knew he was far from done. you could feel him rubbing against your pussy, lubing himself up with your juices, so you did both of yourselves a favour and spread your legs, allowing his cock full access to wherever he so desired. you relaxed back into the sheets, slinging your arms around his neck.
“don’t you get tired after such a long day? why are you so full of energy now…?” you mused in content, enjoying the haze of your post-orgasm, and the feeling of his tip actively teasing at your entrance. in response, your boyfriend’s only reaction was to stare blankly in the way he always did. then a small smile crossed his lips.
“oh? do you want to stop now? because i can—”
“i did not say that!” you rushed, pulling his face down to yours. “don’t you dare stop now, jamil. i mean it. i want more.”
jamil huffed, cupping one hand gently around your neck. he squeezed it just slightly, enough to intensify the dazed-out feeling in your head. that moment of paralysing bliss was when he chose to push himself into you... catching you completely off guard. how mean…!
“shit—! a little warning next time? mmh... you know how sensitive i get! what’s gotten into you?” you yelped, squeezing your thighs around his hips with a shaky exhale. the string of whimpers that followed only spurred him on more. his hips paused for only one moment— before he picked up his own pace.
“you still haven't figured out what time it is?” he grinned widely, folding your legs over your chest. fat globs of cum seeped out of you with the movement, displacing whatever arousal filled you, leaving a white trail along the valley of your ass. you were sure, by now, the bedsheets you’d just recently washed were stained with fluids.
with the feeling of his cock driving deeper into you, kissing all the right spots against your gummy walls, your back arched— until your neck craned to catch another glimpse of the clock.
midnight on the dot, and… ah.
the start of a very special day for you indeed. now it all made sense. your boyfriend loved to serve you, and it seemed your first gift today would be from him— to become a dumb, fucked out mess.
