#I’m sorry if it goes on your dash | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jk97 · 2 months

Text

Unprofessional Attraction | TWO

♡ pairing - yunho x afab!reader ♡ word count - 18.2K ♡ warnings for this chapter - fluff and explicit content (mdni), teacher/student relationship, other members are featured, halloween, drinking alcohol, perverted!yunho, bigdick!yunho, pet names (angel, pretty, smart girl, etc), pinch of sexting and unintentional phone sex, office head (giving and receiving), fingering, praise, unprotected sex, riding, jealousy, blackmail, good ol' porn with plot ♡ A/N - my goodness thank you for 1000+ notes ♡ sorry it's so long but I appreciate the patience!! the school semester timeline in this is kinda unrealistic but ignore that, fictional romance has no bounds LOL. This might end up 4 parts instead of 3, we'll see what my brain figures out.

Part 1 | Part 2 | ?

“I’m starting to think you’re kidnapping me.”

For the past 30 minutes into this drive, something Yunho had initially assured you wouldn’t take long, you’ve been alternating between staring out of the window at your surroundings slowly becoming unfamiliar and the small bouquet of flowers sitting in your lap. Even as you gaze at him inquisitively, he doesn’t move his attention away from the road. When he doesn't answer for longer than what you deem appropriate, your brows flicker up in amusement. That gets his attention.

“Oh, right, that’s a bad thing,” he clears his throat dramatically, though you know he’s just poking fun at your impatience, “I suppose I could ruin the surprise if you’re getting restless.”

“No, I’m not! I’m just very curious why it’s so far away,” you stop him quickly. That’s absolutely a reasonable question and Yunho decides to give you the answer.

“I know I said I wanted to be discreet but…” he pauses and sighs, shaking his head, “I just can’t. Figured the next best thing would be to just leave our area for the day and do something fun around strangers instead. I just want us to be comfortable, I guess.”

“You really weren’t kidding about being thoughtful, huh?” You hum softly, hand finding his own sitting on the gear shift. He allows you to thread his fingers between yours without hesitation.

“I meant everything I said, yes.”

“I guess I can be patient then,” you feign annoyance, rolling your eyes.

The earnest laugh that your silliness evokes from him fills the car and makes the atmosphere even warmer than before. The gift of flowers had already charmed you upon getting into his car, so you can’t imagine that there’s something even better waiting for you at the end of the drive. As much as you’d love to know what this man had settled on within the last few days, you allow yourself to indulge in the feeling of being whisked away and surprised instead. In the meantime, you busy yourself again by humming to his radio and continuing to survey your surroundings passing by quickly the further you drive.

There are many things Yunho is good at and he’s a very intelligent man, but cooking is just not one of those things. Because of this, he generally eats out instead of bothering with making food. This is particularly one of the reasons why he never had an issue when it came to eating dinner with you outside of his home. He supposes if he wants to be a proper and worthy bachelor, he should learn one of these days not to add too much salt to soup, or how to properly fry an egg without burning it to a crisp. Today’s decision to take you both to a cooking class is motivated by those circumstances. Sushi shouldn’t be that hard to master, right?

It begins easily enough.

Each group has an individual station, and the class starts with a simple seaweed salad as an appetizer. He makes sure to follow all the instructions to a T, his only deviation being adding a dash of red pepper flakes because he likes spice. Yunho’s already so used to you asking for a taste of his food that he immediately goes to share his final product without you even asking.

While you’re still mixing your own he beckons for your attention, holding out a bite with his chopsticks, “Open.”

This is something you’ve done before, yes, but only a few times. It’s a bit more embarrassing though while doing such a thing in front of other people, and he can’t help but notice how you can’t look him directly in the eyes while obliging him. You’re so cute when you’re shy.

“How does it taste?” He asks before you can even get to chewing, but he’s a bit nervous that you might spit it out before he does.

When you do get to chew and swallow, he’s surprised to see your eyes light up, “Wow that’s delicious, Yu!”

Asking him for another bite inflates his ego just a pinch too much, but he can’t help it when you’re praising him for his work. Maybe to hide his inability to cook anything else he’d simply make you seaweed salad for the rest of your life. Yeah, that sounds nice… He tries to suppress the confident smirk tugging at his lips and hypes himself up for the rest of the lesson. After everyone in the room has wrapped up that portion of the lesson, the instructor moves forward with beginning the sushi crafting.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, how did you meet your friends?” You inquire in a low voice while the instructor carries on about how much rice is an appropriate amount, clarifying, “Mr. Park and Mr. Choi.”

“I met both in college, but I met Seonghwa first,” he muses, “I was a sophomore and he was a junior, and we both happened to choose the same music elective that year.”

“What the hell is a linguist doing in a music class? Felt adventurous that year?”

“I’m quite the singer actually,” Yunho reveals with a confident smile, but his arms cease their rice flattening when he hears you try to stifle laughter. His brows crinkle as he peers over at you with a prominent pout tugging at his lips, “What, you don’t believe me?”

“No, I do, it’s just–” You give him a once over. “I’m imagining this angelic voice coming out of you and it’s really cute.”

“Angelic…” he muses, then turns back to flattening his rice and smiles to himself, “I guess I’ll have to show you one day and you can determine that for yourself.”

“I’d love that, actually.”

The instructor announces that next you’ll be slicing up salmon and avocado to put inside your rolls. You and Yunho work diligently on splitting the filet of salmon provided between each other to see who can do it best and follow her lead once more.

“Continue the story,” you whisper to him once the instructor gives the last of her enthusiastic pitches on how to glide the knife through in one stroke for each piece, “What happened after music class?”

“Well, we became friends after pairing up for a duet project… and then we met San the following year after he hired Seonghwa for tutoring in history.” Yunho pauses for a moment to put an immense amount of concentration into his first slice, which still definitely ends up way too thick. “He did things like that on the side for money sometimes. Put up posters in the cafes and everything.”

Even though you’re also concentrating, you nod so he knows you’re paying attention. Unlike Yunho, you seem to have picked up on the cutting technique pretty quickly. His eyes keep flickering back and forth between your work and his, and he huffs in dissatisfaction.

“Sheesh, that was quite some time ago,” you state absentmindedly.

“Excuse me, are you calling me old?”

“Possibly.”

For the nonchalant jab at his confidence, Yunho nudges your cutting arm mid-slice and causes you to abruptly cut the current piece in half. The flabbergasted look on your face and the way your mouth drops open at a loss for words makes him giggle.

“I’m so sorry beautiful, it’s these old brittle bones,” he feigns remorse, lips pulling into a dishonest pout when you glare at him, “Can never keep my balance these days with them, you know?”

“Maybe they’re also the reason your slices look as big as filets,” you quip back, “Might as well throw those on the grill, right?”

Yunho’s pout turns genuine. You only apologize because he looks like a kicked puppy, and you both agree to let you cut the salmon while he works on the avocados instead. It doesn’t take long before you’re finished placing the necessary ingredients onto your rice and following the instructor's words on how to successfully roll it all together. This is something that Yunho is actually able to do decently, and he marvels at the way he’s got a genuine sushi roll in front of his eyes made from his own hands. Moving forward, his mind is consumed with cutting it into perfect bite-sized pieces when you tap his shoulder.

“Hey, do you like soy sauce on your sushi?”

“Sometimes, why?” He replies, and when he turns around to peer down at you he’s met with a pair of chopsticks holding up something for him to try.

You smile in place of instruction, but he opens his mouth without even having to be told to do so. Unlike you, he doesn’t mind holding eye contact while you feed him. It feels intimate even with strangers around you. Dozens of butterflies manifest in your stomach and go into even more of a frenzy when he sighs in contentment. He’ll be nice and pretend he didn’t see the way you swallow the lump in your throat.

That’s when you notice you put just a little too much soy sauce on his piece, and your thumb casually swipes the excess from the corner of his mouth. It’s an action that should be helpful and innocent, but you put your thumb in your mouth to lick it clean without even thinking. He absolutely takes notice. Every time Yunho thinks he’s got the upper hand in wooing you, you make him lose his cool so easily.

“Your face is red. Was it too salty?”

Yunho clears his throat and shakes his head hastily when he sees you’re genuinely concerned. He really wants nothing more than to kiss you at this moment, but that would have to wait until you both are alone. The rest of the class goes by quickly when tasked with making a different sushi roll and some strawberry-matcha ice cream for dessert. Yunho thinks he might see a hint of disappointment on your face when things come to an end and you have to take off your aprons.

“There’s a park not too far away from here if you’re okay with walking for a bit. Burn off some calories?” Yunho proposes when you both finally leave the building, and you nod eagerly. For the second time today, you link fingers and begin your venture.

The walk ends up being a bit longer than you both expect, but it doesn’t take much time to find a secluded spot where you could have some privacy when there. It’s fairly brisk today, so when Yunho removes his jacket to grant you a clean place to sit on the grass, you immediately tell him you don’t mind sitting on the ground at all, that you’d rather him be warm. He assures you that he’s not cold at all (a big fat lie) and doesn’t mind getting a little dirt on his pants, so you give in and situate yourself on his jacket. The silence between you both is comfortable, filled with the sounds of people playing somewhere nearby and birds occupying trees in the branches lingering over you. You debate about striking up more conversation about his past, but he beats you to the punch on speaking.

“I haven’t done this in a while you know,” Yunho suddenly divulges, “Have you?”

“Gone on a date?” When he nods you shake your head, “No, actually. Haven’t met anyone worth going past the texting phase, to be honest... Well, besides that one day.”

You feel a bit guilty when still having to lie about that phony date that led to your first dinner together, but it’s not like it’s something you can change now.

“As bad as it sounds… I’m glad you got stood up that day,” his eyes fall to his lap when he mumbles this. He hopes that doesn’t come across negatively.

The corners of your mouth tug into a smile at his honesty. Maybe one day in the future you’d gain enough courage to tell him it was a lie. You wonder if he would genuinely be upset… Though, you suppose you’re thinking way too far ahead into the future for those kinds of worries.

Instead of dwelling on it, you simply say, “I am too, Yu.”

“You’ve been using that nickname more often,” he points out after a moment of thought, “Any particular reason?”

“It’s just a habit when we get alone… helps me separate you from how I know you on campus,” you reply and glance over at him apprehensively, “I’m sorry, it probably sounds too childish, right? I can stop.”

“No no, I prefer when you call me Yu,” he admits, palm digging into the grass as he leans back on his arm with a sigh, “Everybody else calls me Yunho, Mr. Jeong, whatever.”

“Am I not in the same category as everybody else?”

“Not at all,” he professes without any hesitation, lolling his head to the side to finally peer back at you. The soft smile pulling at the corners of his mouth makes your heart stutter.

“Duly noted,” is all you’re able to mumble back. When his eyes go from surveying your face for any unease at his bluntness to zeroing in on your lips, you can’t help the heat manifesting in your cheeks.

“Are you comfortable if I kiss you?”

“I feel like we’re way past that step, no?” You quirk a brow.

“Was more so asking since we’re technically in public, but I suppose that’s also true,” he laughs softly, leaning over and pressing his lips to yours before you can reply to him with any nonsense.

His lips are always so soft and plush, and it’s so juxtaposed with the way he kisses you with intensity and clear intent. He’s never really hesitant of himself when you both kiss, never thinking twice about selfishly stealing your air, despite any anxiety he may have about your situation inside of himself. He’s a bit too enamored with the way your tongue still tastes like strawberry matcha to realize that his free hand has dipped under the hem of your dress, fingertips creeping and leaving a trail of heat as they inch further and further up your thigh. As much as you’d love to indulge him, your nerves won’t let you, no matter how secluded your spot might be.

Your hand wraps around his wrist gently, giggling onto his lips as you warn him, “Don’t get any funny ideas. Like you said, we’re in public.”

“You’re absolutely right,” he sighs reluctantly. He can’t deny that he’s slightly embarrassed for even letting his hands move with a mind of their own. There’s just something about you that makes him feel like he doesn’t have to think so hard when you’re around, and it makes him lose his senses in the process. Everything just feels natural. An affectionate smile plays at his lips while he rubs the material of your dress between his fingers, “It’s getting pretty late, the sun is setting.”

“Let’s head back before the traffic gets too crazy then, yeah?” You propose and he nods silently before pushing one last peck to your lips.

The drive back to your apartment feels much quicker than it did leaving, and this stirs up a hint of despondency in your stomach. It feels like your time with him has ended just as soon as it started, but you suppose you should appreciate the full day you did get to spend with him. Still, you know something like today won’t happen that often, and it makes you a bit sad the closer you get to your building.

Like the gentlemen he is, Yunho walks with you up to the second floor and to your door, hands shoved deep in his pockets while he debates on how to say bye. He doesn’t know if he should kiss you goodbye when anybody could be watching now that you’re back in the area. Then again, he supposes even walking you up to your place was risky to begin with. While he’s debating over these things in his mind, you’ve already opened your front door. He doesn’t even realize you’re staring at him until you call his name, to which he’s subsequently sputtering a bunch of apologies after being caught overthinking.

“Why don’t you come inside for a little bit,” you hum, more as an instruction than a request.

Yunho’s tongue prods at the inside of his cheek in rumination over the various prospects of what exactly coming inside could entail, but the way you’re gazing at him with those beguiling eyes is already luring him in before his thoughts can get the best of him. His feet move on their own, taking tentative steps into your abode with an overwhelming feeling of excitement pooling in his chest. The sound of the front door being locked is followed by you coming up behind him and wrapping your hands around his torso. It’s very sweet, the way you bury your head in his back and squeeze him in an endearing hug.

“I really enjoyed today,” you tell him as best you can with your cheek still squished against his back. You feel the warm chuckle he lets out reverberating through his back. He wishes he could reciprocate your hug, but it seems you’re intent on staying behind him.

He settles for saying, “Thank you for giving me the chance to fix things, ____. I just wanted to show you that you mean a lot to me.”

Then, there’s a beat of silence, and he wonders if everything is okay. Maybe that was too much…

“What’s your day look like tomorrow?” you suddenly ask softly, and Yunho's eyes fall to watch as your hands drop and ghost around his belt.

His Adam's Apple bobs anxiously before he answers in an equally soft voice, “Sundays I… I usually prepare my slides and lesson plans for the week. Meet with the boys in the evening after I’m done for some drinks…”

Your hands gently undo his belt as he’s talking, humming “ mhm ” every few words to let him know you’re indeed listening.

“Maybe you should leave in the morning then,” you propose, fingers gently popping open the button of his pants. You can feel him take a deep inhale the moment you finally gently tug at his zipper.

“Yeah, maybe I should.”

That night, Yunho learns several things about you.

He gets to learn the ins and outs of your gag reflex. You have a slight affinity with deep-throating your partners, and he falls in love with the view of you even trying to with tears in the corners of your eyes. The way your lips stretch around his thick cock… It’s an image he stores in his mental album of you for later use.

He gets to learn about the tattoo you have hidden on your back as he’s fervently driving that same thick cock of his into you from behind. He traces it delicately with his fingers before reaching forward to grab at your hair, pulling it back for some well-needed leverage while his sweaty thighs smack against yours over and over.

He especially loves learning that you like being talked through things, and he’s already made you cum twice by utilizing his voice. Rinse and repeat, the way your greedy cunt squeezes and milks him for all he’s worth when says, “Remind me, what’s my name?” And when you moan out that nickname that he likes so much, he replies with, “That’s my smart girl. Looking so pretty, you feel so fucking good around me. You gonna cum for me again, pretty? I can feel you squeezing, go ahead and give it to me.”

Needless to say, it was a very long and educational night.

In the morning, Yunho’s desires get the best of him, and he manages to inconspicuously steal a pair of panties from the laundry pile in your room, shoving them into his pants pocket while you’re in the bathroom. He makes sure to take a plain-looking pair, something he’s sure you won’t notice is missing. There’s a slight feeling of guilt once he’s nearly home, though.

It’s okay, it’s just a one-time thing, he tells himself over and over, I’ll return them the next time I’m over.

—

“YOU WHAT?”

Yeosang slaps his hand over his mouth but, to be fair, his reaction is entirely involuntary. He had promised you he would remain calm, but how could he with this kind of information? You repeatedly sputter that, while you may be in the back of the library, he is very much going to cause a disturbance if he doesn’t shut his fucking mouth.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he exhales, leaning in with eyes as big as saucers, “You came in too hot, I need the foreplay first.”

“Don’t phrase it like that, good Lord,” you groan.

“What else am I supposed to say when you tell me you’ve fucked him and none of the lead-up? Fuck, did he even take you out to dinner first?”

“Of course he did,” you defend him quickly, “We’ve spent a lot of time together actually. Mostly dinners and things of that nature.”

“I’m mostly shocked that it took you this long to fuck him. Seems like you hooked him fairly easily.”

“Well…” you cover your face just enough to where an eye can peep out between your fingers, and Yeosang eyes you curiously, “No, that wasn’t the first time…”

“Obviously you hate me, ____,” your best friend immediately states, clasping his hands together, “This is the only suitable explanation of why you wouldn’t tell me this until now. I literally begged you for info like an idiot weeks ago!”

“I’m sorry! It was just—”

“Nah, denied,” he holds a hand up to shush you, “Worst best friend ever.”

“Yeo, I explicitly told you progress was being made. Did I not?”

“You failed to tell me that it was being made between your legs,” he snaps in a whisper-yell. “How many times?”

“Only twice, okay? You haven’t missed much, I promise.”

Yeosang sits in silence with his head perched on his palm, seemingly marinating in all of the information he’s been slammed within the last 10 minutes. There are very few times you’ve seen him at a loss for words, but this moment surely makes the list.

“I didn’t think he would cave that easily, honestly.” He finally speaks. You release all the pent-up air in your chest that you hadn’t realized you were holding in waiting for his words. “What did you do to him ____?”

He pleads for the final time for you to start from the beginning and explain, and you finally grant that to him without getting too into the nitty gritty. You’re a bit bashful recounting some of the lengths you took in setting this all up, but Yeosang simply nods in understanding at each one. If anyone was going to be supportive, it was always going to be your frontline cheerleader.

After taking in the full story, he thinks it’s only proper to ask, “What’s your plan beyond this point?”

“Well, exactly what I said to you a long time ago,” you tell him frankly, “If all goes well, I want to be in a relationship with him after I graduate. I don’t see him saying no to that with the way he’s already treating me...”

Yeosang notices the way your demeanor has changed with this answer. Previously, the humorous lilt in your voice was much more prominent. Those same sentiments and that joking attitude seems to be long gone. He can see it in your eyes, the way you’re taking this more seriously. He wonders what Yunho could’ve possibly done to turn you into such a romantic over him. The answer to that would simply be: everything.

“You know, I wasn’t one hundred percent sure if you were telling the truth about wanting things beyond sex at first,” Yeosang tells you honestly. He may be a goofball, but he’s able to be serious when needed. And despite the foolishness leading up to this statement, his voice is earnest when he says, “I can see this working out for you as long as you’re careful.”

“I hope so, Yeo. I really do.”

—

On the following Wednesday, you and Yeosang are both seated in Yunho’s class wasting time on your phones as class is set to start. Usually, Yunho is very punctual with starting because his lectures are so long, so you’re curious as to what the hold-up is today. You peek over your laptop and spot him talking to a guy you’ve never seen before and, as far as you know, you’ve never recognized him in this class. They nod at each other before you see Yunho clear his throat.

“Everyone, I want to take a few minutes at the top of the hour to introduce someone important,” Yunho begins, loud enough that everyone can hear and cease chatter. “I’m sure some of you recognize him from other classes. For those who don't, however, this is Wooyoung Jung. He’ll be serving as my teacher’s assistant for the remainder of the semester.”

“I’m happy to be able to help any way I can,” Wooyoung proclaims to everyone with a sweet smile before turning back towards Yunho, “And thank you Mr. Jeong for allowing me the opportunity.”

You wonder if this is something Yunho truly chose or whether it was sprung upon him; it’s fairly late into the semester for something like this to be introduced. He does have quite the workload though, you muse. Surely with new hands to help, he’ll manage his time a bit better. You wonder if that’ll mean you get to spend more time with him while Wooyoung is taking care of things that would usually dig into his free time. As if Yunho knows you’re thinking about him, his eyes find yours while Wooyoung is taking his seat at the front of the class. Something about the ambiguous gaze he gives you when others are around makes you itch for his attention even more than normal. He doesn’t ever fail at making it look natural, like he could be looking at anyone for nothing in particular. Those little moments keep things fun.

The answer to your previous queries would end up being that, yes, this was something Yunho chose himself. When presented with an opportunity for a student specializing in his major to offer assistance after being accepted into the Work-Study program later than most, of course he said yes. San had been telling him since he began working at the university last semester that he should take on a TA while he got acclimated to teaching, but Yunho had convinced himself that he could do it all on his own. While Yunho had been pretty open about how terrible his workload was, considering he has 3 class sections, he was never completely honest with you about how much stress this caused him on a day-to-day basis.

He was excited that this would free up some of his previously stolen time and take some pressure off of his shoulders. He was also looking forward to being able to spend some of that newly open time with you, especially. That’s why when you unknowingly throw a wrench into those intentions before leaving his class Friday, he has a hard time keeping the dejection he feels from showing on his face.

“It might be a while before we’re able to hang out again,” you sigh, “Midterms are stressing me out but I don’t want to psych myself out right before I graduate—”

“____,” Yunho places his hand on your head tenderly, silencing your rambling in the kindest way he can. He doesn’t like seeing you so stressed out. “Focus on yourself and do your best, okay? Don’t lose sight of the finish line. Being prepared and passing is much more important than us seeing each other.”

You gaze up at him with some of the prettiest dispirited eyes he’s ever seen. How is he supposed to remain selfless when you look like this? Of course, he’d love to be selfish and fill your time; he knows you’re a smart girl so you’d have nothing to worry about for his midterm at least. He’d take care of it. Nevertheless, you’re still a student of others as well, and he has to extinguish that greed as fast as it ignites.

“Thank you for understanding.”

“Of course, pretty. You know where to find me whenever you’re ready,” he smiles and gives your cheek a teasing pinch before opening the lecture hall’s door, “See you next Wednesday.”

As expected, two weeks of studying and taking tests consume your entire schedule. Yunho is not much better, and he’s consistently cursing at himself for making the test he gave out to all of his sections so long. Even though he wants to truly know if his students understand all the material thus far, he forgets how time-consuming making the test so extensive can be for him as well. Having Wooyoung around helps quite a bit, even though he feels slightly guilty for putting such a large amount on him when he becomes overwhelmed. Wooyoung never complains though, so Yunho is grateful to have gotten a TA who actually does the work and does it well. During this time, you both try to keep regular contact, offering words of encouragement to each other and discussing what you should do to celebrate when you get your passing grades back.

Directly following the end of midterms week is the weekend before Halloween. Jongho had sent out a text the week prior that he was holding a party at his parent’s rental house, which is currently unoccupied for the season. The man had friends from several different circles because he was involved in many different extracurriculars outside of his studies, so you were certain this party was going to be fairly large.

Naturally, as best friends do, you and Yeosang decide to wear matching costumes for his party. Procrastination had gotten the best of you both with midterms added into the mix, however, and the best thing the two of you were able to come up with before the weekend was a sexy nurse and doctor duo. Simple, but effective.

You both rode along with Hongjoong, who had chosen to be the designated driver for the evening. It’s uncomfortably brisk outside, too brisk to be dressed like you are; however, upon opening the door, you can barely get two steps into the property before Jongho stops everyone in their tracks. His hands hold out exactly what you knew would be coming before even arriving at the house. It’s Jongho’s signature thing.

“You know the rules,” he says with that mischievous smile of his you know too well.

You must take one tequila shot to be admitted past the door.

All three of you quickly take the shot glasses from your host and toss them back without even giving cheers. The burn of alcohol and the robust taste of bitter poison stains your tongue. It hurts a little on the throat on the way down and you salivate to adjust to the pain, immediately making a face of disgust.

“God, it never gets easier,” you cough.

“I’ll grab you something easier,” he laughs while rubbing your back, “Same flavor as usual?”

“Please and thank you.”

As promised, he comes back with two bottles of honeydew melon soju in tow and some fresh shot glasses. It doesn’t take too many heavy-handed shots before laughs and giggles begin to bubble up in your throat for no real reason. You forgot that you didn’t put anything on your stomach before leaving the house, and it’s becoming very apparent every time you feel your head shoot up to outer space and come back down just as quickly. That’s a non-issue though because Jongho’s catered this party with enough food to feed a small village. Anyone watching you stuffing your face with Halloween-themed carbs and sweets is the last thing on your mind. Round two of shots is followed by the intense feeling of needing to dance. Even while intoxicated, you’re perceptive enough to notice various sets of eyes on you whilst dancing with your friends. Every so often, an owner of a set will make his way over and try to chat you up. Like clockwork, you say the same thing to every new person:

Sorry, I’m not single.

You say this sentence so many times in the span of an hour that it begins to feel real. Then again, isn’t it already? As far as you’re concerned, you were spoken for until Yunho said otherwise. You wonder if he feels the same about himself... When you start having a small internal existential crisis about whether Yunho thinks the same, that’s when you know you’re approaching your limit for the night. You step away to grab some water and begin the process of flushing your body. When you make it back to your circle, things have changed. Mingi, with his girlfriend in tow, lets everyone know that they’re going to find a private room before taking off up the stairs of the house. You know it’s irrational and probably motivated by the alcohol in your system, but you can't help but feel jealous that they can do something like that so easily. If you could see Yunho and drag him to a room anytime you were horny, you’re sure a lot of your life’s problems would be solved.

The moment they’re gone, Hongjoong leans in and quickly lets you know he’s also going upstairs to join some other acquaintances in karaoke. You’re just about to panic until Yeosang tugs on your arm to beckon for your attention.

“Going to the bathroom if you want to join,” he leans in and proposes, “I really need to pee.”

Everyone seems to have wanted to go their separate ways, but he’d never leave you alone all by your lonesome. And especially not with alcohol in your system. You grab onto his hand with a nod and let him lead you through hoards of people to the closest bathroom. Luckily, it’s empty and there’s no wait. It’s not long before you’re both locked away from the sound of music thumping from behind the door. While you search through your pockets for your lipgloss for reapplication, Yeosang jets for the toilet.

“I’m drained,” you mutter, “Being bombarded by strangers.”

“You showed up to the party looking like that and expected not to catch some eyes?”

He’s right, honestly. The red and white romper you’re wearing leaves nothing much to the imagination with the way your asscheeks are hanging out of the bottom or the way your breasts are squished together at the top. Your makeup and hair, your stockings and heels, everything just exudes pure sex appeal. All topped off with a little hat and a play syringe you’ve been using occasionally for “alcohol shots”. To be fair, your friend group mainly consisted of men, and many men found it intimidating to approach you with them always surrounding you in settings such as this. People must be feeling especially bold tonight with as much alcohol being drunk, you muse. He giggles to himself because he knows that typically you’d entertain some of the suitors for fun, but you seem devoted to the one man on your mind these days.

“Bet you didn’t send your boyfriend a picture of your costume though, huh?” Yeosang teases, slurred words morphing into a laugh as he finally pulls down his pants. The subsequent sound of him peeing draws a laugh from you.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you scoff and nudge him in the back. He nearly loses his footing.

“Stop, you're gonna make pee go everywhere!” How he is even still peeing with such ferocity is beyond you. This doesn’t stop him from adding in quickly, “I dare you to show him. It’s only fair, right?”

Alcohol-induced pride is something dangerous, but you’re never one to back down from a dare, even when sober. While he’s finishing up, you find your text thread with Yunho and send him the image you and Yeosang had taken together at the beginning of the party.

[Y/N: 1 image]

[Y/N: Matchingg with my besssttieee]

Coincidentally, Yunho is home and lonesomely watching YouTube videos when his phone pings. Oh wow…

He replies with several texts in a minute—one making sure to compliment you both, but the rest shamelessly thirsting over the way your costume is so lewd. Many other men may have made passes at you and offered plenty of flattery throughout the night, but none of them could make you get flustered as much as Yunho. This is the only man you care about hearing compliments from, the only man whose words matter. Maybe it’s that last bottle of soju making you so confident, but your hands move faster than your brain.

“Don’t turn around just yet,” you tell Yeosang quickly before pulling up your camera. You unzip your romper enough to pull one of your breasts out fully, squeezing it teasingly with one hand while the other takes a quick selfie. It’s a tad blurry, but it’ll do its job. After fixing yourself just as quickly, you give Yeosang the okay so he can wash his hands.

[Y/N: 1 invisible ink image]

[Y/N: Would you let me stick you???]

When he gets this notification, Yunho stares down at his throbbing cock already in his hand and laughs. He was already turned on enough by the other picture to pull it out from his sweatpants, but this? He’s usually not one to send nudes, but good God, he wants nothing more than for you to see exactly what you’re doing to him right now. Against his better judgment, he does just that.

[Yunho: 1 invisible ink image]

[Yunho: only if you let me reciprocate after]

When you uncover the picture, your breath catches in your throat: his hand is firmly wrapped around his aching, flushed cock. It looks as though he’s already been stroking himself eagerly, the way it’s glossy with lubricant and an angry shade of red. God, the things you would do to have him pick you up from this party and let you fuck him to your heart's content… Even though that could never happen, a girl can dream, so you decide you have to tell him exactly what’s on your mind. Yeosang’s too drunk to do his job of taking away your phone while you’re so many drinks deep.

“Ready to go back?” Your best friend asks while drying his hands.

Holding your phone tight against your chest for privacy, you sputter, “Do you mind giving me a few minutes alone? I won’t be too long, promise.”

Yunho’s shocked when he sees your name come up on his phone for a call. He was beginning to get slightly nervous when you failed to respond to his attempt at sexting, but that didn’t stop him from staring at your photos and feverishly stroking his cock in the meantime.

“Hello?”

“Hello there, handsome,” you giggle, and Yunho immediately hears the intoxicated tremor laced in your words.

“Having a fun night?” He asks with a laugh of his own, trying to refrain from breathing too heavily into the phone every time he squeezes his leaking tip with a little extra pressure.

You’re too drunk to realize what he’s doing anyway, and you unknowingly feed into his journey toward an orgasm when you outright say, “Yes but… I want you so bad right now, Yu.”

Yunho’s breath nearly catches in his throat, and his face flushes bashfully as his hand glides faster up and down his cock.

His voice trembles a bit when he replies, “I wish I could make that happen for you, angel.”

“Well… you wanna know what I’d do if I was there?” You push further, closing your eyes and tuning out everything outside the door to focus on Yunho alone. He agrees promptly, head kicking back as he closes his eyes in the same way, tuning in solely to your voice. “Been wanting to ride you so bad lately. Keep imagining the way you’d sound when I bounce up and down in your lap… You make the prettiest noises, Yu, I swear.”

He physically swallows any of those aforementioned pretty noises trying to manifest in his throat, burying them deep in his chest before he responds with the only thing his brain can manifest.

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, but…” You lower your voice to a whisper, “Do you think I could make you cum all by myself, like no help?”

Yunho is so close, he can barely hold himself together.

“I bet you could. Just seeing you feel good while using my dick would be enough to, honestly.”

The tiny drunken giggle that tumbles from your lips goes straight to his heart, “I say we test that out then.”

“Just let me know when you want to and I’ll be more than ready,” he assures you, accidentally punctuating that sentence with a soft, “ Fuck .”

“____, Jongho’s looking for us,” Yeosang calls out through the door. “They’re about to play a drinking game or something.”

For some reason, the knowledge that you’re talking so filthy like this while anyone on the other side of the door could perhaps hear you pushes him over the edge. With his phone on his chest, Yunho presses a tight hand over his mouth to suppress any noise threatening to come out, instead heavily breathing through his nostrils as spurts of cum sully his abdomen.

You sigh, “My liver is being summoned, gotta go. Bye-bye, handsome.”

The call ends before Yunho can even open his mouth to reply, but that’s fine because he’s sure he wouldn’t have been able to come up with a coherent sentence anyway. He settles for dazedly texting you to let him know when you get home safely. The long and uncomfortably hot shower he takes to wash away the filth from his mind and his body leaves him feeling oddly refreshed. It might be because he hasn’t had a conversation with you not relating to the stresses of the previous weeks up until today. It’s silly that something so depraved ended up being the product, but God, does it feel fresh and exhilarating.

Now that midterm season was over and a good amount of grading had been taken off of his hands by taking on a TA, Yunho found himself with enough time on his hands to give his place a good cleaning. If he’s being completely honest with himself, he’s doing this to give himself more confidence in inviting you over again. It had been some time since he last had you there, but that was partially due to the treacherous state that it was in currently. You had been free from midterms for a week now, there were no excuses as to why he couldn’t spend private time with you in his place. The perfect opportunity arose directly after he accomplished his goal, when you mentioned in passing that you were one assignment away from being able to go out.

“How about you come do your work at my place instead?” he had offered, “I’ll order us dinner and we can relax together afterward.”

It didn’t take much convincing for you to end up on his doorstep half an hour later with your backpack slung over your shoulder. You’re so beautiful when you’re done up, there’s no denying that, but there’s something about you when you’re dressed so comfortably casual that makes Yunho get heart palpitations. When you look like that while lounging at his kitchen table, hands typing away at God knows what assignment, it just feels so domestic to him. You look like you belong there. He tries not to stare too much and gives you your space to work though, busying himself with some random medical show he pays no real mind to on Netflix while lying on his couch. Quite some time later, he hears you let out a hefty aggravated sigh.

“Words are starting to blend together,” you murmur while rubbing your eyes. “Hate when this happens.”

“Take a break then, beautiful. Come sit with me?”

It started off innocent, it really did.

Sitting curled up under Yunho’s arm in his lap has now entered the top ranks on your list of favorite positions to be in. It’s soothing, the way his fingers play with the frayed strings of your pants in between rubbing calming circles into your tense muscles. If you weren’t careful, you’re sure this man could lull you to sleep.

“I didn’t know you liked doctor shows,” you mumble against his chest.

“I don’t,” he laughs, “I figured the girl who dressed up as a sexy nurse over the weekend would be interested.”

“Oh hush, you know Halloween is for foolishness.”

But, upon entering a conversation about Halloween, it leads to a conversation about your photo exchange. Yunho has been meaning to ask if he’s allowed to save that image for obvious reasons. Aside from it being sent while you were intoxicated, he also wants to be respectful about deleting it if need be. You reassure him that it’s okay for him to keep and use it whenever he likes, as you do not doubt in your mind he’d never let something like that slip from between you both. That’s when the phone call also comes up.

“Are you usually that horny when you’re intoxicated?” Yunho inquires, “Calling me up and talking like that was surprising.”

You sit up immediately, “I called you? You’re lying…”

“You don’t remember?” His brows hitch in surprise.

“No, I don’t recall that at all,” you gaze back at him, dumbfounded, “What did I say?”

“Nothing much,” he lies, but he knows you’d never take that as an answer. Especially not when his cheeks are dusted in pink at you even asking.

“Please, tell me!” You nearly plead, “Oh God, was it embarrassing?”

“You really want to know that badly?”

The innocent nod you give him makes him give in. He remains focused on the TV to prevent himself from becoming too sheepish by looking into your eyes while recounting such words. Yunho is a bit more conservative with his words as he recalls your remarks about riding him. He’s unable to go into as much detail as you did of course, he doesn’t want to work himself up just thinking about it; moreover, he can’t even say some parts without fleeting thoughts of how he already jacked off simply to your voice telling him such things. It’s embarrassing to him how he lacks willpower when it comes to you, he’s a grown man for Christ’s sake. To be fair, you’re not much help. He doesn’t even notice how you’re toying with his sweatpants’ strings while he talks. When he finally tears his eyes from the TV and meets yours, the gaze you share has you finally moving from your spot.

Who knew Yunho’s living room couch was so comfortable on the knees? Surely not you, until yours are digging into it while you straddle his waist. It’s hard to focus on the way his lips are devouring your neck while his hands are simultaneously frisking every inch of your body he can reach. You don’t know at what point during the last minute you ended up with your joggers thrown a few feet away on the floor, or when he ended up with his sweatpants and underwear pooled around his feet. He can’t focus on anything else but the feeling of your bare cunt sliding back and forth over his cock, watching you teasingly smear your slick all over him with his mouth hung open. He can only take but so much of watching you work him up before he finally peers up into your eyes.

“God, you’re way too good at being a tease,” he sighs as he leans up to ghost his lips over yours. You can feel his little gasps every time you apply a little more of your weight on top of his painfully hard cock. He’s a patient man though, so he doesn’t mind letting you toy with him for however long your heart desires, “I’m not in a rush.”

“Maybe I’m just waiting for you to remind me how to fit it in me,” you joke, gasping as his hands busy themselves by massaging your sensitive breasts under your sports bra, “It's been a while since the last time, you know?”

The raspy laugh he lets out hits you right in your core, and even more so when he says, “You’re a very smart and capable girl, I know you can do it all by yourself.”

The way he enunciates the last three words makes your core throb. When you finally lift your hips to wrap your hands around his length, his hands move from your breasts to your waist for support. You give him a few gentle pumps before lining him up with your sopping entrance.

“There you go,” he encourages when you push yourself open on his tip with a needy moan.

You slide down his shaft gradually, inch by inch until you’re fully seated. The deep, shaky exhale you let out against Yunho’s neck makes him chuckle because you’re such a trooper even without any prep beforehand.

“Give me a second.”

“Want some help?” He asks genuinely, massaging the plush of your thighs and chuckling when he feels you clench at the offer.

He’d lay you down and take care of things himself if you wanted him to, as he’s never one to deny a pillow princess being the service dom he typically is. To his surprise, you begin moving your hips, lifting and sliding back down at a casual pace. His head kicks back and he sighs at the feeling of your warm walls swallowing him in and pushing him out, over and over. You can’t keep in the sounds of pure need and arousal that spill from your lips every time you feel his cock curve up and prod against that spot that makes your stomach do flips. When the sting from the initial stretch subsides, every glide feels breathtaking. You keep your head buried in his neck to focus on your hip movements instead, gasping and moaning in time with every sound of your ass striking his thighs.

You were right, he thinks, it had been quite some time since you both slept together that night of your first real date. Yunho’s been dreaming about that pretty cunt of yours since then—nearly daily—unable to match the feeling of the way you squeeze him with his hand, especially during the nights he works himself up enough to where he needs release. He didn’t want to seem too brazen or shamefully horny by reaching out and asking if he could show you more of what he could accomplish with that cock of his buried inside you, the sounds he wants to try and evoke. Nevertheless, he doesn’t want you to think that’s something that matters the most to him.

Admittedly, the general nerves regarding your extracurricular activities with each other had subsided after the Halloween stint. Yunho gained a lot of confidence after that night. He previously felt guilty during midterm weeks because, even after he had expressly told you to focus on yourself, he was also so sure that there was plenty of midterm stress he could’ve helped you relieve, and vice versa. In many, many ways. Regardless, he decided to let sex with you occur naturally instead, such as last time. It was worth the wait though, if the way his teeth are sinking so deep into his bottom lip to stop himself from whimpering at this pleasure is anything to go by.

“Fuck, mhm, just like that baby,” he hisses when you arch your back and begin rolling your hips against him, “Really gonna make me cum all by yourself, huh? Knew you were ambitious, angel.”

You feel yourself nearly gush with every word. This can’t be the same man who stands in front of you twice a week and talks about semantics, right? On the opposite end, how is he supposed to maintain any composure when the sounds of your sopping wet cunt sucking him in so easily are now battling the TV? Your arousal is so loud and it’s driving him crazy. He tends to firmly pinch at the meat of your bouncing ass and chuckle every time it elicits a helpless yelp from your throat, only to keep his antsy hands busy. Still, he makes an effort to let you do things by yourself, as you expressed.

“Yu?” you whimper into his skin a moment later, and he grunts to let you know he’s listening even if his mind is foggy with lust, “I wanna kiss you.”

Yunho’s heart nearly bursts out of his chest, cheeks flushing at how innocent the request is. His hand tenderly grabs you by the chin and leads your mouth to his while murmuring, “Stop hiding then, sweetheart.”

Time and time again, you’re reminded about how good of a kisser he is. There’s something addicting about the way he loves intertwining tongues and doesn’t care about being messy that turns you on to the highest degree. You can feel heat prickle over every inch of your skin when he pulls back your bottom lip with his teeth. When you begin to bounce faster and grow more eager to cum, Yunho’s hands finally grab underneath either cheek of your ass and begin to help you, hips rutting up in time with every quick hop of you on his cock. It doesn’t take long before his breathing becomes ragged, his own orgasm nearing, and you both break the kiss to gasp for air. Your hands grip onto his biceps when you feel your legs starting to give out from fatigue.

“I’m sorry I–”

“You can relax, sweetheart,” he pants, “Just a little more, I’ve got you.”

Yunho wraps his arms around your back, holding you steady and spreading his legs a bit farther apart before taking over and pistoning his hips into yours. The frenzied babbles of his name in his ear make his eyes roll to the ceiling. Your orgasm blindsides you entirely, hitting you right after a particularly sinful thrust directly into your G-spot. There's no time to indulge in the way you’re making some of the most euphoric sounds he’s ever heard himself pull from a woman because the feeling of your walls contracting and convulsing around his cock gives him the final push to finish himself. Right before he lets go, he lifts you off of his cock with strong arms and cum paints his t-shirt a few seconds later.

“I say we go take a shower…” Yunho begins tentatively, reworking his thoughts after you both are breathing calmly again, “And then, we can order some food because I’m honestly starving. What do you say?”

“And where does finishing my assignment come in, hm?” You pinch his cheek.

“Ugh, you’re right…” he groans, “I’m sure there’ll be plenty of time before the food is delivered, right?”

“I’m not even looking at that food until my work is done, and I mean i—” Your voice clips off when he suddenly stands to his feet with you maintained in his arms.

“That shower isn’t going to run itself then,” he counters, lips tugging into a large smile as he happily strides towards his bedroom with you in tow.

Yunho had informed you beforehand that this next week was going to be a busy one for him, induced by training workshops the university decided to spring upon a few colleges. The Dean of his particular college thought that it was a good idea to shove all necessary sessions into the first week of November. He apologizes multiple times every time he thinks about it. You know he shouldn’t have to ever explain his business to you—he’s doing his job as a teacher, which comes first and foremost—but it’s nice that he considers you when his schedule is in conversation. You tell him time and time again that he shouldn’t concern himself with what you may or may not feel about his unavailability. He was nothing but patient with you during midterms, and you were more than happy to reciprocate that now that the time has come.

The first day you have class with him that week, you choose to stick back while everyone else is bustling to get out of the door. It doesn’t take longer than a couple of minutes for the room to completely empty, save for you and your teacher. Normally, his eyes would light up noticing such a thing, but today he seems to be drowning in fatigue with the way his face doesn’t even budge. That doesn’t stop you from heading to his podium with tentative steps while he pulls on his blazer and packs up to continue his schedule.

“Got a minute?”

“For you? Always,” he hums without even looking up. He’s in the middle of shoving the last of his things in his briefcase when you hold up a tied-up plastic bag that catches his attention.

“I know you have a loaded day, so I brought you lunch,” you break the news before he can question it. It wasn’t anything spectacular, but you’re sure it’ll be enjoyable to eat regardless. “Just wanted to save you from having to make an extra stop across campus.”

“You’re amazing, ____,” Yunho utters in a soft voice before taking the bag from you carefully. He’s having a hard time mustering up any kind of physical joy today so he hopes that, for now, his words can at least convey what he’s failing to provide otherwise, “I know it doesn’t look like it but I really do appreciate this. Thank you.”

“You seem tense today,” you point out while moving to join him on his side of the podium. “Did something happen?”

The lecture hall’s doors don’t have any slit windows for prying eyes, so you reach up and rub a comforting hand over the back of his neck. He closes his eyes and sighs. If there’s anyone’s touch that could cure his problems, he’s sure it’s yours. Still, he doesn’t want to make himself too comfortable with the location you’re in.

“You wouldn’t believe how many things are going wrong today. I also have to meet with the head of my department for a performance evaluation based on the midterm grades. Everyone generally did very well but,” Yunho massages the bridge of his nose to help collect his thoughts before continuing, “It’s only my second semester, so the impression I’m making with these kinds of things is very important. I know I have nothing to be worried about but it’s hard not to be anxious.”

“Making yourself sick with stress isn’t going to help either,” you remind him.

“I know, I know. I’m just ready for this week to be over.”

“Maybe we should go out of town again this weekend,” you muse, hand moving to squeeze his shoulder affectionately, “I saw online some fall festivals are happening that might be fun to check out. I remember you saying you’ve never been to one.”

He peers down at you, lips splitting into his first genuine grin of the day, “She takes notes in and out of the classroom, how cute.”

“Only when it comes to you. What do you say?”

There’s a knock on the doors, but before Yunho can muster any words to answer it, the owner comes in anyway. Upon entering in a huff, Wooyoung stops dead in his tracks. His eyes flicker between the two of you before he hitches a brow. You offer him a mild-mannered smile and pull your hand away from Yunho’s shoulder slowly so as not to seem suspicious.

“Good afternoon Wooyoung,” Yunho says so naturally, though you’re groaning in your head, “Did you need something from me?”

You know it’s ridiculous of you, but you’re starting to envy Yunho’s TA. Recently, you’ve come to realize that you hate how Wooyoung gets an immense amount of time interacting with Yunho daily, but it’s still never enough. There’s always something more he needs. You get it, he’s technically an employee to make your teacher’s life easier. That’s something you should be cheering on, right? Deep down, in the most selfish part of your mind, you’re just tired of people always interrupting and interfering in the minimal amount of time you have with Yunho on campus, even unknowingly.

“I remembered I had some questions about your grading criteria for the recent essay that I needed some clarification on before leaving,” he says, and you don’t miss the way his eyes flicker at you briefly, “But if you’re busy…”

“He’s not. We just finished chatting about what’s due next class,” you answer for Yunho instead, much to his dismay. He notices the tone change in your voice, but as much as he’d like to resolve that, he can only watch you grab your bag. He’s slow to catch himself frowning before fixing his face in front of his TA. While slipping past the younger gentleman to finally leave, you make sure to call out, “See you Friday, Mr. Jeong.”

It takes everything in you to not give Wooyoung the finger to the back of his head, but you decide it’s best not to let such things aggravate you. Again, Yunho is a teacher and this is part of his job. You shouldn’t be so angry at his assistant for doing what he needs to do to make his life easier.

You and your linguist do end up leaving the area again that weekend to attend a festival together. This particular town is covered in thick colorful trees that have yet to lose their leaves. Along with the overwhelming smells over different smells of various food carts and so many people laughing in enjoyment, the entire scene does a number on Yunho’s brain. It scratches a deep itch he didn’t realize he had. Playing little games with you for prizes makes him realize he hasn’t had this kind of fun in quite a long time.

Yunho’s shocked with himself when he asks if you both can take a selfie together in front of all the colorful leaves before leaving for the day. He’s been thinking about something like this for quite some time, a bit dispirited by not being able to savor memories in pictures like everyone else can. Realistically, he knows he really shouldn’t be offering such blatant evidence of your romance to be left on either of your phones. Texts can easily be manipulated and argued, but selfies with you both in them don’t lie. These kinds of thoughts still nag at him in the back of his head even while he puts on this goofy grin, chin affectionately sitting atop your shoulder as he snaps his first photo with you ever. He wishes he could put something like this as his wallpaper. Even if he could, in a world where peeping eyes weren’t an issue, he wonders if that would be too much. Do you like the people you’re involved with to be that mushy?

He doesn’t have the luxury of overthinking about these things for too long before you’re pinching his cheek to bring him back to reality. Reluctantly, Yunho decides to let his brain rest and focus on the rest of the time he has left with you. He’s unable to stay the night or do anything intimate that evening because of prior obligations taking up the rest of his night, but that doesn’t stop him from boldly leaning over his center console and surprising you with a slow, romantic kiss while parked right in front of your complex. He knows he should care, but he can’t find it in himself to be bothered with the risks when he just wants to show you that he appreciates you helping him relax today before he has to depart. You hear him loud and clear.

The following week, Seonghwa finds himself seeking out Yunho’s office after packing up for the day. Yunho’s thumbing at his phone’s keyboard when the courtesy knocks come and nearly scare him, but grants permission to enter.

“I thought you’d be gone by now,” Seonghwa marvels when he finds his friend still perched in his office chair. “Your classes are usually over early on Thursdays, no?”

“I had to rework my syllabus and switch modules around because of some issues getting through lectures last week. Completely slipped my mind that I still needed to revise my lesson plans and slides for tomorrow until this morning,” Yunho sighs, “If I go home it’s definitely not getting done, so I have to stay.”

His friend surveys the ways his cheeks are slightly flushed as he glances back down at his phone briefly and tries to type something quickly. Sure, it could be from frustration or exhaustion caused by his tasks for the evening, but something seems different in the way he’s fidgeting in his chair.

“Who’s the lucky lady?” Seonghwa inquires out of the blue, causing Yunho to lift his eyes from his phone abruptly. He offers a knowing smirk when Yunho’s brows furrowed in confusion, “You’re smiling a lot more these days— kinda glowing. Seems like you finally made it out of the dry spell and got laid.”

Yunho subconsciously tucks his phone in his lap, unconsciously confirming Seonghwa’s suspicions.

“Nobody special,” he replies, finding this white lie to be more suitable than lying outright, “Nothing much I can say.”

“Well, where’d you meet her? You don’t talk to anyone when we go out anymore so it couldn’t have been at the bar.”

Yunho hesitates for a brief moment before saying the first thing that comes to his mind, “Tinder.”

“I thought you deleted that app a while ago,” Seonghwa’s brows crease.

“I redownloaded it a while ago out of boredom,” Yunho explains quickly. He knows he’s not the best liar, but there is quite literally no way he’s going to tell his friend the truth about this situation whatsoever. Now, he almost wishes he had just fully lied at the start.

“And you can’t tell me more about a Tinder match?”

“I just–”

“I’d understand if I was San, but someone you can’t even tell me about?” Seonghwa jokes, but Yunho can tell this question is not entirely unserious.

He understands where his friend is coming from. Their relationship runs a bit deeper than Yunho’s with the third addition to their friendship, even though all three are nearly brothers now considering the years they’ve been friends. There’s never been something that Yunho hasn’t been able to come to him about, and they’re both generally always open with anything between each other. Needless to say, Seonghwa always knows when something is off.

“It’s not like that Hwa, just that it’s nobody worth discussing,” Yunho insists, “Who knows where it’ll lead, you know? I’ll let you know if it goes anywhere.”

Seonghwa’s eyes linger on him for a few extra seconds before he simply hums in acceptance. There’s a particular look in his eyes as he sips his water bottle briefly, though.

“Alright... I’ll leave you with these words, though,” he begins, and his voice is earnest. The one he usually uses with Yunho when he needs some tough love. “You’ve worked hard to be where you’re at now. Be careful brother, okay?”

Yunho maintains a fairly neutral expression when he nods, careful to neither confirm nor deny Seonghwa’s thoughts, whatever they may be. Seonghwa is perceptive but surely he’d never pin Yunho as the type to have gotten involved with a student. At least, he hopes.

“You finished for today?” Yunho asks while Seonghwa searches for his keys in his pockets.

“Yeah, thank God.” When he finally finds his keys, he adds, “Don’t work yourself too hard and stay too late, ‘kay?”

Yunho assures him that he definitely won’t, and they both exchange goodbyes before he finally departs the room. He’s pretty sure that he should be the only teacher left on his side of the building in their office right now. He finally brings his phone out of his lap and shoots out the text he was in the process of sending before his friend entered his office.

[Yunho: are you almost done for the day?]

[Y/N: I’m walking to our lot now actually. Everything okay?]

Fuck. Yunho feels bad for summoning you like this on short notice but he can’t take it anymore. His mind has been thinking about one thing all day, and if it doesn’t get taken care of now he might go insane.

[Yunho: if you’re not too far can you come to my office..?]

[Yunho: pls]

You cease your walking, redirect yourself towards his side of campus, quickly typing back to let him know you’re on your way. You don’t get to see him that often, so you’d never deny the opportunity to make that happen. On your venture back to the building, you end up crossing paths with Seonghwa while he’s on his way to the parking lot to head home. The ambiguous glint in his eyes as you both acknowledge each other in passing doesn’t strike you as unusual, but you do take notice.

The building is fairly empty when you enter, which isn’t surprising for the time of day. You take your time going up the elevator and striding to his office since it didn’t seem like this request was an emergency. You also figure it’s fine to enter outright since he specifically requested you to come immediately, but the door is locked upon turning the handle.

“Mr. Jeong?”

You use formalities after you knock just to be on the safe side; you’re not entirely sure who could be hanging around this late. Moreover, maybe he’s locked the door because he’s meeting with someone else briefly before you. Before you can even unlock your phone to text him and make sure he still needs you before leaving, you hear the door’s lock click open. He opens it a second later, enough for you to enter.

“Never seen you lock your door before.” You’re more preoccupied with shoving your phone in the side pocket of your bag as you enter to notice anything off. “Something happen?”

“I’m really sorry, I just didn’t want anyone else seeing me like this,” he explains quickly.

You’re just about to ask him what he means, but Yunho doesn’t give you much of a chance to get too far before he circles his arms around your waist and swoops down to capture your lips. It’s an immensely needy kiss, one you’ve never received from him before. Unintentionally, when the aching boner in his pants brushes against you, he releases a soft groan into your mouth– Oh! The sound of him locking the door sends a chill down your back.

You manage to pull away from him and laugh, brows furrowed in confusion, “Excuse me, have you forgotten where we are?”

“My colleagues are already gone for the day,” he reasons while walking you backward over to his desk. His face is flushed as he implores, “I need you to do me a favor, okay?”

“Of course,” you nod quickly, gazing up at him with expectant eyes. Why does he look so…desperate?

This moment doesn’t feel entirely real. You’re becoming increasingly wet just thinking about the things you could do now that you two were alone in his office if what he says is true. You’ve both exchanged plenty of fleeting, amicable touches when out in public, ones that not many would think twice about, but you’ve never tried something like this when you’re still on campus. Yunho fails to finish his request, too captivated with peppering your neck in wet open-mouthed kisses while he physically coaxes you to sit on his desk. You have on a skirt today, and he’s so thankful not to have to deal with the extra work of pulling off jeans.

“What do you want me to do, Yu? I’ll do anything,” you insist and wrap your arms around his neck, beckoning for his attention, “Just tell me.”

When he stares directly into your eyes, trying to gain enough courage to speak, you reiterate once more that he can ask you for anything.

“I want you to let me go down on you,” he finally spits out before sitting back into the chair you usually sit in when visiting.

“But… Right now? Here?”

“If you’re comfortable,” he adds.

It takes a few seconds for the words to fully sink in, and you hesitate briefly before lifting your skirt against your stomach and begin lying back. Yunho scoots his chair forward with an immense amount of anticipation building in his chest; he wasn’t sure earlier if this would take more convincing, but he’s grateful it didn’t.

“That’s really all?” Your brows crease while propping yourself up on your elbows to gaze down at him inquisitively.

Your confusion makes him chuckle. For someone so good with words any other time, he surely has some trouble expressing himself well when it comes to you most times. Today, though, he decides to let his desires spill freely. He gets ahead of himself and licks a warm strip up your panties, briefly tasting the arousal that’s creating such a big wet spot in the seat of the garment.

“I don’t think you understand ____,” Yunho begins, voice low as he pulls your panties down your legs. The rise and fall of his chest quickens with excitement once you’re bare and spread open by his hands. “Fuck, I’ve been dreaming about doing this again for the longest time.”

“Eating my pussy?” He nods hastily, pressing searing kisses onto the insides of your thighs. “Why didn’t you just ask?”

He sighs when you run your hand through his hair, coy eyes gazing up at you from between your thighs, “I didn’t want to be too forward about it. How do I properly beg you to suffocate me?”

“Just like that,” you laugh, but that’s cut abruptly by him roughly yanking you by your thighs closer to his face. As much as he’d love to entertain the rest of this conversation, he’s too impatient when you’re laid out in front of him like this, all wet and ready for his mouth. He flattens his tongue against your cunt and licks another long stripe upward, the initial taste making him sigh. The breathy moan you let fly at the brief contact makes his dick twitch in his pants.

“Been touching myself to the thought of these thighs around my head,” he admits, repeating the action but putting a little extra attention on your clit, “I was so hard today that I couldn't even stand up during my last lecture. You did that.”

You would crack a teasing joke about Wooyoung having to do his job for him, but any words lingering in your head are stolen the moment Yunho buries his face in your cunt, nose prodding at your clit. He licks and laps messily at your heat like some famished gentlemen consuming a meal for the first time in days. The obscenities that spill from your lips amongst cute, helpless whines only make him nod his head. He wants you to learn—good and well—that this is something he’s self-admittedly very talented at and always ready to do if you ever find it within yourself to ask him. If you didn’t learn that the first time he briefly ate you out, you sure were going to learn now. Yunho’s tongue finds itself buried as far as he can manage in your hole, pushing in and out and savoring the way you taste.

Your hands fly to your mouth because, even if Yunho is sure that you both are alone, you still don’t want the sound of you falling apart on his tongue seeping through the door with the way you’re progressively getting louder. He doesn’t mind you suppressing yourself, he’s set on filling the silence himself. The sounds of him slurping and sucking and kissing are so loud when bouncing against the walls of his small office.

“I love the taste of you,” he groans against your heat, sending vibrations against your sensitive cunt. You gasp and go to close your legs, to move away instinctively, but Yunho is too quick. His fingertips dig deep into the meat of your thighs as he makes an effort to keep them open, refusing to let you squirm away. “Let me finish this time,” he says, voice stern and brows furrowed.

God, that commanding voice he rarely uses could make you cum on the spot. Embarrassment flushes your face when you feel a new wave of arousal from those words gush and drip down your skin. He’s not going to let any of that go to waste though, sparing no time getting back to his ministrations. You don’t even realize that after a while you’ve begun to grind yourself against his face. He feels like he’s in heaven, his hands pulling and encouraging your hips forward as if silently saying yeah, keep going, just like that.

When he feels your legs become more tense, he decides to thrust two fingers knuckle-deep into your cunt and latch his mouth onto your clit, set on abusing that spot inside of you that will finally give him exactly what he wants. He ignores the ache in his jaw because every yelp and whimper spilling from your lips spurs his endurance until he finally hears his favorite words.

“Y-Yu, m’gonna cum,” you sputter before he feels your thighs close in over his head. He doesn’t mind this time, this is right where he wants to be when you tip over anyway.

Yunho lets out one last groan of his own onto your clit before he feels your legs go rigid, a signal he knows well now. Your back arches off the desk and he indulges in the feeling of you bucking against his face. He swallows everything you have to give him, mouth open and jaw slack as you tremble through your orgasm. It takes you what feels like forever to let go of his head, not like he’s complaining. When your legs go limp, Yunho slumps back in the chair with a huff. He’d get lock-jaw multiple times a week eating you out if you let him. He supposes this is something he should suggest eventually.

“You’re so hot, it’s unbelievable,” he heaves, staring at the mess he’s made of your cunt. There’s slick and cum and spit and everything in between ruining his desk, but he can’t find it in himself to care about the cleanup right now. When you’re finally able to sit up and breathe properly, he grins at you with that messy mouth of his, “Thank you, seriously.”

“Let me give you head too,” you offer eagerly, though you’re not even sure your knees are strong enough for that right now. To your surprise, Yunho shakes his head. “Please, I want to reciprocate!”

“You don’t have to,” he replies instead, finally fully gaining his breath back. The pout prominent on your face could make him melt into a puddle, he feels so bad but…

“But you deserve to cum too—”

“I… did already, ____,” he divulges and bashfully covers his face before you can see his cheeks flush with heat. You slowly glance down at his crotch and your eyes go wide. Yunho has indeed cum completely untouched, right inside his pants, as evident from the large wet spot soaking through his brown slacks.

A man who loves eating pussy so much he gets off just from your pleasure…

You push his arm away from his face and pull him in by his cheeks for an endearing kiss, one that you hope shows your appreciation and adoration.

“I’ll take care of you another day,” you promise him against his lips upon breaking. Regardless of the embarrassment coursing through him at the moment, he nods in acceptance. Anxiously walking to his car with his briefcase pressed firmly against his crotch to hide the aftermath of committing various sins in his office after finishing his work for the day is not something he ever expected to do, but somehow it still feels gratifying all the same.

It’s around this week that Yunho begins to sit down and seriously start examining his feelings. A quiet night in his home where he’s alone leads him to decide to sort out the swarm of thoughts he’s been accumulating in his mind for the last couple of weeks.

There’s no doubt in his mind that you both share a connection he’s never experienced with another woman before. When this all first began, although he explicitly let you know that he genuinely likes you, he initially wondered if maybe that was coming from being so attention and touch-deprived for some time. That maybe he was latching onto something because you filled a void, a subconscious selfish attachment to you to satisfy the things he lacked. None of that ended up being true, not even close. You both had spent a considerable amount of time exploring this thing… he supposes that’s where the dilemma comes in. What is this “thing”? He knows things are complicated considering the circumstances; but, are you both technically dating, just without the official title until that resolves itself? You hadn’t necessarily made that clear. What if you found someone closer to your age who made you feel the same way as he did within that time? Someone who you could be normal with and not have to sneak around or hide to enjoy.

This is where his selfishness comes in.

He thinks about how he would indeed be jealous and perturbed if he even saw you with another man like that, even if it makes your life easier. He doesn’t want to even think about you giving another man the same heart palpitations or sweaty hands he gets when he’s around you. He doesn’t want anyone else on that campus to know what it feels like to kiss you. He doesn’t want anyone else to know how good and fulfilling it feels to be the object of your desires. It’s been nearly three months of dates, spending time together, and learning the ins and outs of each other (in all five senses and beyond). How could he not feel infuriated if that were to happen?

That’s when it clicks for Yunho: he’s fucking in love with you. The moment this loud thought crosses his mind, Yunho’s chest tightens in fear. The last time he thought he felt this way about a woman, she hurt him in a way that took him some lengthy time to heal from. And, as he always has to remind himself, you are not just some woman. You’re also his student. This isn’t as simple as unmatching someone on Tinder because things didn’t work out, or blocking someone after a heartbreak. Though, the more he thinks about that word — student — the more he realizes it doesn’t matter anymore. You are much more than that. And soon enough, that word would no longer be in your vocabulary anyway. The only thing he cares about now is that you end up his officially at the end of the day. He was going to do whatever he could to make the rest of your semester smooth and stress-free, so you both could be happy together when it’s over.

And, as if you know you’re being thought of, Yunho’s phone buzzes with a text from you asking if he’s asleep. He debates with himself about whether he should bite the bullet and ask if you can both talk about things in the near future, but he ultimately decides against it. For now, he’ll indulge in the way you call his phone before he can even type a response and tell him that you want to fall asleep to his voice.

Some days later, you find yourself knocking on Yunho’s office door in the early afternoon. Unlike some people, you wait until he answers with a confirmation to enter.

“Good afternoon,” he beams after realizing it’s you, wiping his hands clean with a napkin.

“Ah, I’m just in time,” you chirp with clasped hands when you spot his empty tupperware. “I was worried I was going to interrupt your eating.”

“Wouldn’t have mattered anyways, pretty. You’ve seen me eat many times.”

“You deserve to eat in peace at least once a day like everyone else,” you reason while sitting down across from him as usual, “I sprung this meeting on you last minute anyway.”

“Speaking of which, I’m still quite confused about why you wanted to come here for this,” he replies while spinning his chair from side to side, “I told you my home is always open for you, especially for things like this.”

“This” being discussing your final paper. The same thing that put you right into his lap in the first place.

“Just felt a little nostalgic I guess,” you grin, adding in a quieter voice, “And maybe a little jealous too.”

His brows furrow, “Jealous?”

His confusion is expected, as you’re sure he hasn’t paid attention to much of the interruptions you’ve experienced while with him the last few weeks on campus. It’s not simply Wooyoung either, but everyone who gets his attention on campus when you have to stay away for one reason or another. The way other women on campus look at him or speak to him, unaware that he’s already devoting his attention to you. It eats at you a bit sometimes.

Yunho may be greedy but you’re much greedier, as if that wasn’t evident enough by the things you did to attract him in the first place. Even then, he’s never failed to oblige any of your requests, whether that be with his endearment, his time, or his… assets. He deserves everything in the world, and you can’t wait to give that to him when the time arrives. For now, you’ll behave to the best of your abilities.

“Don’t mind me, I’m just rambling,” you deflect, “Seeing you in your element is just nice, that’s all.”

Yunho’s curious about what’s going on in your mind but he decides not to pursue further answers.

“So, what do I have the pleasure of helping you with today?”

The apples of his cheeks are even more prominent today as he smiles while asking this. You know he loves his job, but you’re sure he doesn’t get this much glee during office hours with anyone else.

“Last session at your house we talked about my analysis section and I remember you telling me that I was overthinking, but I’m still second-guessing myself on some of my points. I guess I just need to run some things by you to be one hundred percent sure I’m in a good direction.”

“You’re almost as bad as me,” he declares. As the self-proclaimed King of Overthinking, he’s the only person allowed to say such a thing to you. Still, it makes you pout.

“To be fair, we both know this is not my best subject, so this final might be more important to me than any of my others,” you confess. This is partially true; a small part of you wants to impress your handsome linguist by showing him a final product worth reading.

“You know I’d take care of things regardless, right? You don’t have to stress about that.”

“I appreciate that, but I want to earn this grade genuinely,” you clarify. He lets you know he understands, but you want some extra reassurance when you say, “Promise me you’ll grade me genuinely, okay?”

“I get it. I promise pretty lady,” he guarantees you with a soft, affectionate smile. “I know I tell you all the time in the most inappropriate scenarios… but I mean it when I say you’re a smart woman. I know you’ll do fine.”

If he could see you right now, Yeosang would surely be laughing at you for being such a lover-girl and telling you that you’re an absolute idiot for passing up an automatic A+ on your final, but you never genuinely pursued Yunho for that kind of leverage anyway, regardless of the initial jokes. This was something you genuinely hoped Yunho was aware of when it came to communicating your feelings.

As always, he takes all the time you need to help you with a list of things you want a second opinion on, sources you want to make sure are up to par, and everything in between. He thinks it’s cute when you pull out your little checklist named “Things To Ask Yu”, and diligently check each off as they’re completed.

A relieved sigh leaves your lips the moment you check off the final thing on the list. You both meet eyes for a brief moment, and the look donning his face is something oozing with pure adoration. You hold his gaze for what feels like forever before glancing at your watch. You’re making good time, it’s been almost an hour.

“When you look at me like that, it makes me want to throw away all my responsibilities and stay here all day,” you mumble.

He lets out an airy chuckle, “Am I keeping you from anything in particular?”

“I do have a class in about half an hour.”

He stretches his arms over his head with a grunt, “Sounds like we should end things for the day and meet here again in a couple of days then, Miss Nostalgia.”

“Well…” You trail off as you stand to your feet and make your way to the office door.

Yunho watches your fingers lock his door before you stroll back over to his side of the desk. Something stirs in his gut as he looks up into your eyes when you finally reach him, calculating the way you gaze back at him playfully. The small mischievous smirk playing on your lips… God, he just knows he’s in trouble. He turns his attention toward his laptop when you sit yourself on top of his desk right beside him.

“Well?”

“Remember how I said I would take care of you at another time?” The feeling of the edge of his desk sinking into your thighs elicits a soft sigh while you recount that day, as if him eating you out like a Christmas dinner wasn’t already ingrained into your mind. “This seems like a moment where that would be fitting.”

“Do you remember where we are?” He mimics your statement the last time you were both intimate in his office, in the same cadence and everything. His fingers delicately click at his mouse as he tries to think of anything else other than your thighs peeking out of that pleated skirt you’re wearing, directly next to his hand.

“If I remember correctly, that didn’t matter last time…”

“The circumstances were very different,” he immediately counters.

It’s true, to an extent; the timing was more on par for solitude. Regardless, he knows he sounds like the biggest hypocrite at the moment, even more evident by the roll of your eyes he catches out of the corner of his. He leans back in his chair and runs his hands through his hair. Sometimes he wishes he was more adventurous, less concerned about the consequences, and more accepting of the thrill of things. When he’s thinking of these things, it’s not even for his sake, but yours. He can’t handle the thought of you losing your degree due to his selfishness. And yet, he can’t help the arousal building from those thoughts about your mischievous side. You’re able to pull that side out of him so easily.

“And yet, you’re hard,” you say quietly when your eyes fall to his ever-so-inviting lap, a blithe little chuckle following. Subconsciously, he covers himself over his slacks. “Are you scared of getting caught even with the door locked?”

“____, it's 2 PM and we're in my office with many people passing by every minute. Not to mention my other students who could request me at literally any time,” he explains with a flustered smile, “This is immensely risky, you know that very well.”

“But–”

“You also know very well I’m extremely bad at being that quiet with you,” he interrupts your attempt to plead your case. Only then does he roll his head to the side and give you this look with low hooded eyes that finally make you glance away. His sentiments make goosebumps lace your skin because— fuck —yes you know he didn’t like being quiet. That was honestly an understatement. The heaving, moaning, and endless praise were only the start of what you could pull from the man during your escapades.

You ponder for a brief moment, contemplating just letting it go, but end up pursing your lips and resorting to those famous eyes you give Yeosang when you want something unattainable.

“Please Yu, just let me give you a good blowjob. It'll be quick and quiet, I promise.”

He just can’t say no when you look at him like that, so he sighs, “I guess…”

“I also have an idea.”

Yunho is not sure what he initially expected when those words came out of your mouth, but surely it didn’t include the way your hands slip under your skirt and tug your panties down your legs. He’s sure his entire face is a deep shade of scarlet when you hold them out for him. It doesn’t help that they're visibly wet.

“Maybe this can help you stay quiet, you know?” You suggest this while motioning to your face. He understands, of course, but he feels like this will just make things worse. So much worse. It’s confirmed when he feels his pants tighten from merely holding them in his hands. Still, he agrees and nervously pushes his chair back. After sinking under the desk, Yunho pulls his chair forward with enough room for you to sit on your knees comfortably. At least there was no way you would be seen if something strange were to arise.

Undoing his belt is one of your favorite parts, the anticipation visible in his ansty hands when he doesn’t know where to put them while you work it off. Your fingers tug lightly at his pants zipper before you dip your fingers past the hem of his waistband and pull them down quietly. He makes sure to lift his hips a little for you to slip them past just enough. You take one glance at his slightly flustered face before you pull his length from out the hole of his boxer briefs. It’s so hard that it hurts, leaking a copious amount of precum and making quite a mess.

“There are people outside the door,” he voices his nerves again at the last minute, peering at the shadows of feet passing the door, and then back down at you.

“Didn’t know you had such an exhibitionist kink then,” you poke fun at him in a whisper, noticing how much he’s twitching once the words leave his lips. A teasing laugh slips from your lips and he groans in frustration, his empty hand moving to cock to stroke himself lazily.

“I do not have an exhibitionist kink,” Yunho snaps back with a huff. His cheeks are so flushed with chagrin, and it amuses you because if he really was that scared, he’d simply tell you no. He’d turn you away with that stern voice he rarely uses and suggest a different place and time. But Yunho wants this as much as you want it, despite what his mouth may say in the meantime.

“Ready?” You remove his hand and let a long string of saliva fall from your tongue onto his tip, just enough for lubrication. Then, you place your hands around his shaft and start stroking him yourself, mixing the spit with his dribble of precum. “You seem pretty turned on by the idea of being caught, Yu.”

The endless string of soft gasps and strangled noises of air coming from him as you work your hands on him just the way he likes is enough to drive your pride up the wall. There was always something different about how you touched him that he’d never be able to fulfill himself. He’s indubitably addicted to you.

"Shit, ___–”

“Shhhh. Unless you’d prefer to get caught?” You quirk a brow curiously as you increase pressure on him so he can’t supply an answer. Instead, he kicks his head back and lets out a soft, satisfied moan that sounds similar to your name. You follow that with a tsk! and shake your head disapprovingly. “My mouth hasn’t even touched you and you’re already a mess.”

He lowers his eyes to meet yours with a pointed glare and a chill runs down your spine, “Taking your sweet time is not helping.”

You go to taunt him again but can't even finish the first word before his free hand rakes through your hair and pushes your open mouth down on his cock instead. Yunho twitches and throbs under you with a low, constricted grunt while you clutch his thighs with your nails. He’s in love with the way you look up at him so innocently, your plush lips wrapped around his length and tears prodding the corners of your eyes at the sudden intrusion. It amazes him how you’re still able to smile, eyes half-lidded as if he had just blessed your mouth.

“I’m sorry, I got ahead of myself… Can I?” He sighs out, implying letting him use your mouth as he sees fit.

The hum you release around his length and the way you relax your jaw confirm his request. Yunho holds you gently on either side of your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks tenderly before guiding you up and down his cock at a leisurely speed. Occasionally, he accidentally prods at the back of your throat and elicits a choked moan. He whispers his apologies each time even though he has nothing to be sorry about, but it’s just a habit. He winds his hand in your hair and pulls his cock out a bit to focus your mouth on his tip, bucking his hips in short, hasty thrusts and reveling in the way it draws sloppy noises from your mouth while you seal your lips around his tip to keep from making things too messy. The panties pressed to his face with his other hand aren’t doing much to repress those grunts that come from deep within his chest.

“Feels so good,” he pants softly from under the fabric, lips fixing to whimper, “Am I going too fast?”

You moan around his length once more, shaking your head and blinking away any remaining dampness from your lashes.

“If it’s ever too much, tell me to stop and I'll stop,” he insists affectionately, but those dark brown eyes are fixated on yours with blown-out irises and deep carnal cravings.

He can’t expect you to ever want him to stop when he looks like that, right? Of course not. You take everything he gives you like the good girl he already knows you are, the sounds of your squelchy throat filling the silence and bouncing off the walls of his office. As much as you try to keep things clean, you can’t help the flood of saliva dripping onto his underwear the faster he fucks into your mouth. You can tell his orgasm is growing closer and closer by the way his thighs start trembling.

And even though Yunho thinks he hears a sound closer to his office door than his comfort would allow, he continues his pace. Your eyes are closed, focused solely on breathing, so you aren’t aware of the way his attention is elsewhere. His eyes stayed trained on the silhouette of feet at the bottom of the door’s threshold, and there’s a fleeting thought of whether he should stop. That thought is overwritten with pure lust, spurred on by the way you reach up and begin to massage his balls the best you can from your position. Yunho bites down on your panties, muffling the whine bubbling from his chest. A moment later, your panties fall from his mouth and his hips lose all rhythm.

“Fuck ____– cumming,” he groans a little too loudly, but his head is somewhere deep in outer space, brain screaming at him for release, “Where?”

You open your mouth just the slightest bit wider to emphasize that you want him to cum down your throat. Yunho halts his hips altogether and you feel his cock throb in your mouth as he finally releases everything he has to offer. He’s no longer concerned with who may or may not be lurking at the door; the only thing he can focus on is the way you lock eyes with him while swallowing his essence and sucking him clean after the fact. Nothing else matters at this moment but you.

Friday’s class ends earlier than normal when Yunho gets through his lecture for the period faster than expected.

“I need you to help me dye my hair soon if you have some time,” Yeosang says the moment people begin to stand and leave. You glance over to find him grimacing while looking into the camera of his phone, “I think I need to go back to pink or something, the brown is just not doing it for me.”

“I knew it wouldn’t last long,” you snort while filling up your backpack, “You’re just not used to having natural colors anymore.”

“I can’t even argue with that, my love.”

You ruffle a hand through his tresses before he finally stands to his feet, and you follow suit. Then, you toss a couple of things around in your mind about your schedule as you both walk down the lecture hall stairs before suggesting, “Actually, you could come over tonight if you already have the supplies.”

“Fuck, you’re the best. I’ll bring dinner too?”

Before you can even answer, a voice calls your name and steals your attention. Surprisingly, it’s Wooyoung of all people approaching you both. You can’t even hide the disinterest you feel in acknowledging him, it’s written all over your face.

“Do you mind if I speak with you privately for a moment?” he inquires, motioning towards his chair.

Yeosang meets your eyes inquisitively before stepping away and telling you he’ll meet up with you later. The class has emptied when you both venture over to Wooyoung’s seat, and he begins searching through his bag for something in particular.

“Is there an issue with something I submitted?”

“Not necessarily,” he replies. “I suppose I just want some insight.”

He pulls out the notebook he uses for tracking grades in this class and places it on the table. People always find it a bit weird that he prefers to do things by hand first before electronically and, sure it might be more work than necessary, but he prefers to have both methods.

“I’m a pretty meticulous person, ____. I noticed that there’s a discrepancy in the grades for last week’s short essay assignment,” Wooyoung begins in a honeyed voice, “Though, the only discrepancy was on yours.”

“I’m not sure why you’re coming to me about this when Mr. Jeong handles things like this,” you respond indifferently. “I would ask him about the mistake.”

Wooyoung smiles and leans forward on his elbows, “That’s the funny thing, I did. He told me that he had made the change himself and not to worry about it. No other explanations.”

“Well again, he’s the teacher, so it sounds pretty open and shut then.”

“It’s never that simple, ____. I looked back and noticed this has happened a few times throughout the last month, actually.”

“If you’re just going to keep badgering me about grade changes I have nothing to do with then I’m gonna end this conversation here.” To be honest with yourself, there’s a part of you deep down that’s cursing profusely at Yunho for messing with your grades, and so openly at that. This is something you had explicitly made clear you didn’t need or want, but he had done it anyway. This is something you would have to chastise him about later in a very serious conversation. That’s the only concern on your mind as you start taking steps toward the doors and wave with a flick of your wrist, “Anyways, I’ve gotta go. I have other obligations for the day.”

“You mean like sucking off your teacher again?”

You cease all movement and turn back towards him, “Excuse me?”

“Sorry, that came out a little blunt, didn’t it?” He holds his hands up in remission. “It’s just not hard to put two and two together when your ear is pressed to a door and all you hear is choking, you know?”

“I have no clue what the fuck you’re talking about, but I’m offended you think I’d need that to pass a class anyway,” you reply indignantly. Still, there’s this slight feeling of panic pooling in your stomach.

Wooyoung gives you a knowing look, “You’re going to play stupid, really?”

“Look, I really don’t have the time for this—”

“I suppose we could ask the Dean what she thinks about things then? He said your name quite a few times, luckily,” Wooyoung interrupts you and suggests instead. His eyes flicker down to his phone and a pure look of fear at the thought that he possibly has a recording of you and Yunho’s depravity slates your face. “Oh, that got your attention.”

His laugh that follows that statement hits you right in your gut.

“My God, you’re an absolute asshole,” you seethe, but stop yourself before you can say anything worse. You’re well aware that being mean won’t get you on his good side. Instead, you calm yourself and rub your temples before asking, “What do you want to keep quiet, money? I don’t have much to offer but I can figure something out.”

“Listen, ____,” he says as he leans back in his chair and clasps his hands together, “I have a simple proposition that could make all of this just disappear.”

“Spit it out already then.”

“I want you to pretend we’re together for a little bit, publicly. Just enough time to make my ex want me back. Then, we can call it quits and go about our lives as if none of this happened.”

You can’t help the scoff that comes out of you, “You want me to fake date you to make your ex jealous, or else you’re going to essentially ruin my life. Is that what I’m hearing?”

“When you say it like that, it makes it sound evil,” Wooyoung points out with a hefty sigh. He slumps in his seat, “I’m not an evil guy, I would just like some help. That’s all. And you’re just not really in a position to say no, unlike others I’ve asked.”

“There’s a reason why those people said no, obviously,” you retort bitterly. He lets your sharp words roll off his back and simply smiles; there’s nothing you could say that would help your position and he knows this. It’s mid-November and graduation is in approximately a month. Surely it shouldn’t take that long for this plan of Wooyoung’s to finish, he knows this. The thought of it going on longer than necessary makes you feel physically ill though. Not to mention what Yunho would think about you having to interact with Wooyoung intimately.

“I want to make something clear as well,” he begins as if he’s forgotten this himself, “You cannot tell any of this to Mr. Jeong either. I don’t want my money for my assistant position to be compromised, obviously.”

Your brain begins to short-circuit at the thought of having to date Wooyoung openly without Yunho being aware it’s fake. The logistics in itself would cause you immense stress that you surely don’t need while closing out the end of your semester. You should very well be focusing on graduating and nothing more. Nonetheless, the last thing you want is for Yunho to lose his job because you couldn’t keep your mouth to yourself when he was already concerned about being caught that day. You don’t even care about the consequences for yourself, you’d feel immense guilt forever for ruining Yunho’s career and reputation. But, if Yunho heard that you were dating his TA, he’d surely break things off with you anyway. That thought scared you even more.

“So, would you like to exchange numbers?”

Halting your panic-stricken daze is Wooyoung’s hand surrendering his phone to you, a blank contact screen ever-so-inviting. You feel defeated, and you know this is going to end up turning out poorly, but you just can’t risk Yunho losing his job over you. When your anxious fingers snatch his phone and begin typing your information, Wooyoung sighs in contentment.

♡ taglist: @yeos-bunny @sharksandminhos @sannieluvrr @txt-yaomi @thisisntmyrightera @oreoqueen @jadeneliz @atinism @uarmytess @nopension @aaaaajonghooooo @tmtxtf @ateezallday @bloomyroses @shingene @likexaxdaydream @innsomniacshinestar @st4rhwa @eixila @sunflower-png @jadeneliz @witchlaughwoo @ashlurrr @justthattheatregirl @bts-army380

I apologize if I missed anyone! Thank you for reading ◡̈

559 notes · View notes

bluemerakis · 4 months

Text

┌── ˚*❀*̥˚ ─── ˚*̥❀*˚ ──┐

✐ᝰ bluemerakis

┗━━• ❃ ° •° ❀ °• ° ❃ •━━┛

❝ I’m the guy mothers warn you about, the son they’re afraid to have ❞

⇀ Word count: 15k words (sorry ☠️)

Guess who finally mustered up the courage to write a Coriolanus Snow fic, and holy shit, this might just be the longest once-off I’ve ever written.

My dear @quicksilversg1rl , this fic goes out to you 100x over. I hope this makes up for the fact that I couldn’t put Tom under your tree ☹️ I hope that it’s enough that I put him in your dreams instead <3

════════════════════════

WARNINGS:

dom!coriolanus, some out-of-pocket makes-you-go “wtaf💀” Coriolanus moments, smut, swearing, possessiveness, manipulation, toxic relationship, choking, pet names, degradation, edging, lots of italics and dashes (sorry I was feeling myself (not literally you sicko) ), masturbation, unprotected sex, cockwarming, dryhumping/wethumping(?), fingering/fisting, oral sex f receiving, the therapy you’ll need after reading these warnings

‼️DO NOT PROCEED IF YOU ARE NOT COMFORTABLE WITH THE ABOVE-MENTIONED WARNINGS‼️

SYNOPSIS:

Coriolanus had always known you held potential to win the games, from the day he’d laid his eyes on you at the 10th annual reaping. You were the key he’d been missing all these years, and how he saw almost every opportunity unlocked by your presence at that year’s hunger games.

The secret of how he’d risen into power? The answer was much simpler than anyone had expected. You. Sure, Coriolanus had done his fair share of treason and murder to contribute to his status, but it was your victory that had granted him access to the Plinth fortune and made his ambitions possible. He wasn’t a man that liked to share credit, but he thought your performance in the games a worthy enough candidate.

To show you just how thankful he was, he’d invited you to live with him after the games, for however long you pleased, and he’d made it his mission to show you all the pleasures the Capitol and his lifestyle had to offer. He liked having you near him at all times, and he liked it even better when he was inside of you.

What he didn’t like, though? When you flirted with other men, especially when it served to get a rise out of him.

Coriolanus Snow doesn’t like sharing, and he doesn’t tolerate disobedience, either. You’d learn that lesson the hard way.

════════════════════════

Coriolanus was a man bred for purpose, like his father before him, and it was a purpose he often reminded you of—a means to keep your neediness at bay, to tame your urge to be at his side every waking hour of the day, a ploy to remind you just how little value you posed to him outside of a night of fleeting pleasure. He marvelled in the opportunity to make you feel insignificant, a false promise too-quickly forsaken the moment your existence captured another man’s desire—a man that wasn’t him.

In the midst of a party he’d rather not have attended, he watched you from a quiet corner of the venue hall, conversing away with a man he hadn’t had the displeasure of meeting just yet. He didn’t know whether you were honestly that painfully oblivious to the desires of the man before you, who clearly wanted nothing more than a taste of one of the renowned hunger games victors, or whether you had deliberately struck up a conversation to get a rise out of Coriolanus.

But when his eyes narrowed on your hand that reached to move a strand of your hair back to the security behind your ear, he knew then exactly which particular game you were playing.

You always did that when you felt subconscious—when you knew you were being watched. It was a tell that Coriolanus had come to identify the more time he’d spent observing you. He’d needed to—it was necessary in order to know the truths you would not tell him. Not out loud, at least. But now, he was pretty fluent in your body language, in more than one way.

He watched you tilt your head to the side in the slightest manner, an act that often sent all the conservativeness of men toppling over the edge. Your lip suctioned into a concentrated bite as you offered small, attentive nods—you were getting him to think you’re interested in what he has to say, pretending not to notice the way his eyes traced your lips and occasionally flickered across your peeping breasts.

The sight stirred an anger in Coriolanus, his fingers tightening around the glass of wine clutched in one hand. He lifted the wine to his lips, taking a sip as though it would somehow quench the imminent fire that threatened to take control of all reasonability. He couldn’t let you get a rise out of him, not in public where he had an image to uphold. Goddamn you and your games, he hated being the one to play it. That had been the fate of you and the districts, not him—Capitol-born and rich beyond imagination. Was this his retribution to pay? Sentenced to your little games after all he’d brought upon you?

You moved a hand to caress the man’s shoulder, offering a sweet giggle. And then there it was, the slightest glance in his direction, fleeting but an obvious beckon for attention. Coriolanus clenched his jaw as you purposefully turned your back on him, his eyes boring into your exposed shoulder blades, framed by a dress that paraded all the right aspects of your body—a dress he’d picked out for you. He hadn’t gone through all that effort to make you look so ravishing, only for another man to enjoy it. It had been for him, a reminder of what his prize would be after enduring this insufferable party.

He’d planned to rip it from you, as mercilessly as he could offer, to toss it onto the floor and you onto the bed, naked and accessible to whatever he desired. However, you seemed hellbent on denying him a good night. He watched you reach for the man’s hand, your motion suggestive as you tugged on him and began to lead him away from the mayhem.

Coriolanus knew exactly where you were taking him.

He watched you weave your way through the dancing bodies, the music falling into the background as he trailed your every move—the way the man blatantly admired the curve of your ass. What an unacceptable circumstance, to think his favourite toy was not his own limited edition—one only he could afford to play with. After all, why had he endured the battlefield of this unfair life to claim a reward that promised power and money and control, only to feel so helpless in his infatuation over you. He hated what primal need controlled him, rendered him incapable of letting you go.

What had it all been for? The poison, the betrayal, the heinous crimes he’d committed—all to prove that he bore no seal of humanity, felt no obligation to love, until you came along, making him look the fool each time you batted a devious lash or wrung those perfect lips around suggestive words. Each time you spoke was like fragments of an enchantment, slowly being made whole and taking its magical toll on his entire being, beginning to claim everything he was—making him obsess, making him weak.

The day he’d gotten you as his tribute, you’d had been nothing more than a mission—a means to secure a prize that would set him for life. But there had been something about you, something that had drawn him in like a sudden whirlpool, now he couldn’t escape the obsession you’d cursed him with. He’d never before felt the burden of caring about another person’s life, needing to know what they were up to at all times.

Coriolanus recalled seeing you for the first time, the day of the reaping, after the tributes had been transported to the Capitol. He remembered seeing you thrown into the zoo display—the way you had instantly found your feet and ran a hand through your hair, made unruly by a rough and sleepless night. Your brows were knitted closely together with unmistakable anger, a look that promised vengeance to the Capitol despite the silence on your lips. Your dress had been made ragged to match your hair, evidence that the bats had showed no mercy toward your pretty privilege. Maybe it had been your looks that had drawn them in, after all.

He’d been ready to deem you a lost cause, disappointed that once again, he’d been stuck with rigged odds. He had been convinced that somewhere beneath that shredded fabric on your skin, you bore the kiss of rabies, doomed to die like countless before you. But he’d seen a few of the other tributes, bearing the same tells of their struggle with the bats in their shredded clothes and tired eyes. One of those amongst the suffering had been your fellow district twelve tribute, Morgan Lark, and he had possessed the worst wounds out of all the affected.

It’d been less than a few hours until the wounded tributes started retching up fountains of white, their eyes glassy and their movements frantically lost on them. Yet there you had sat, watching with perfect control and composure as they had dwindled into mere husks of the people they used to be.

Coriolanus knew then that you had been different—stronger, a tribute that might just prove the risk to be worth it. He’d insisted on investigating the cart you’d been transported in, eager to know the truth behind your journey. Had you truly been strong enough to evade the consequences of the bats? The mystery of it all was pressing enough to consume his every thought. He needed to know. His future depended on it, depended on you.

That evening, after much persistence and a bribe that he honestly couldn’t have afforded, he’d gained access to your cart. There wasn’t much to look at, given that it was nothing more than an empty container, without even the courtesy of a blanket. The scene was almost hauntingly familiar, personal. Nonetheless, he’d paced the walls, eyes searching every aspect of the metal, every dent and hole in the floor. He’d found nothing other than a few rusty nails—nothing interesting, that is until he’d picked one of them up and inspected it closer to find its apex crusted with blood.

A few of the nails were identical in their blood-coating, not a coincidence. Coriolanus gathered them up into his father’s handkerchief, almost regretting the decision as the rust stained the symbolic, white fabric. He placed them cautiously into his blazer pocket, scanning the cart one last time before making his departure. He made a beeline to the morgue, where the bodies of the five infected tributes had been placed shortly after their passing. He needed to see Morgan Lark’s body, to know what secret you could have hidden in his death.

Once he’d gained access to the corpse, he’d pulled back the white covering. A strong waft of formaldehyde greeted his senses and burned his eyes teary. He had been surprised that the body was being preserved, though he didn’t doubt that Dr. Gual had plans to somehow extract and weaponise the rabies in the next games. The chemicals had instantly become so overwhelming that he had to pull his handkerchief from his pocket, empty the rusted nails onto the tray and cover his mouth and nose with the fabric to keep his nausea at bay.

Coriolanus studied the corpse, struggling to contain his pressing disgust as he laid his eyes on the shredded flesh. The bats had gone to town on Morgan, leaving little sections of skin intact. He’d mustered up the courage to get close enough to inspect the wounds, noting that the scratches embedded along his body were not all the work of the bats. No, some of them had been too deep of a wound for a bat’s claws to commit. He had a very good idea of the origins of those wounds, his eyes flickering to the rusted nails on the tray.

He knew then that it was not strength or immunity that had protected you from the touch of death, but your keen mind and craftiness with sharp objects. Coriolanus had pieced together a rough picture of what had happened: you’d managed to get close enough to cut Morgan with the nails, ensuring wounds that were deep enough to bleed profusely, which attracted and encouraged the bats to attack him. You hadn’t been so lucky to go completely unnoticed by the bats, hence the disheveled dress, but you had sure as hell been lucky enough to have been spared from their bite.

What a clever girl you were, perhaps too much for your own good.

Coriolanus had to admit that he’d been impressed by your cruelty—your drive to survive. It gave you an edge, a promising reason to win. He liked those odds, you were becoming a plausible risk to him. Just what would you have been willing to do to a tribute you’ve yet to meet, if you’d so easily betrayed a fellow district partner?

As he’d left the morgue that evening, he couldn’t deny the smirk that had wound his lips the entire trip back. He knew then that, for the first time in all his years as a mentor, this might be the year that he’d finally claim the Plinth prize.

What a worthwhile pick you had been. He liked good investments, and you had proven to be the best one yet. You’d taken that entire game, playing it smart, staying lost in the shadows and gathering what scraps you could make into a worthwhile means of defence. You weren’t the strongest or the most skilled fighter by any means, but you were smart, and that was a quality lost on many of the tributes.

They all marched around, boasting their strength as some sort of show of dominance. They thought it made them ferocious, earned them another hour of life, but Coriolanus knew that it only drew attention, that they were stupid in bringing about a speedier death. You had known that, too.

Coriolanus slipped out of his mind, watching as you’d stopped by one of the tables to grab a snack, making a point to be sloppy so that the strange man would feel honour in being able to wipe your lips clean, spurring on his ego and his erection. You had pulled that trick on Coriolanus many times. He hated seeing you provide that same sort of attention to anyone else.

His attention was diverted to a pair of Capitol business men, who had approached him and were attempting to bombard him with pitches he couldn’t have been more arsed to consider, not when he had something more pressing on his mind—not when you had deliberately stolen his attention away.

How incredibly selfish that you should demand his time even when you were not at his side, or laying below him with your legs spread open and cunt practically begging for his generosity. He didn’t tolerate time-wasters of any regard, so he’d ensure that you made up for it.

He lifted a dismissive hand toward the face of one of the men, who fell silent with a look of indignation, but even he wasn’t fool enough to unleash his temper unto the heir of the Plinth fortune. Had Coriolanus known that murdering his best friend would have come with so many perks, he’d have made a point to bring about that particular death benefit much sooner.

He lifted the glass to his lips, draining the rich wine that had been marinating the depths of the glass for far too long. He beckoned over one of the runners, placing his empty glass onto the tray before turning his attention back to the business men.

He offered an insincere dip of his chin. “My apologies, but I’ve more pressing matters to tend to. Please, do enjoy the beverages,” he slipped between their dumbfounded bodies, before adding, “and the women, if it’d please you.”

Coriolanus manoeuvred his way through the crowd, his eyes not once leaving you, even if he had to watch you relentlessly flirt with the other man. Not only were you good with your hands, but you unintentionally weaponised your beauty, too. He had always thought you to possess an innocence that seemed to frame your features, a natural gift that kept eyes focused on the contours of your face rather than on the schemes of your hands. That had always been your advantage—in the games and in your everyday interactions.

It made him angry that you’d remade his mind in this way. No matter how much Coriolanus tried to remind himself of the purpose he’d been bred for, all that he’d done to get to where he was now, all the people he’d carelessly murdered—there was no denying the truth:

No matter what higher, callous deity he claimed to be, he was only just a man, carved from anger and burdened with otherworldly jealously. All because of you.

Just as Coriolanus had managed to push past the last of the dancing bodies that had been blocking his path, he spotted you leaving through the doors, dragging your new pet behind you. His footsteps were brisk as he made for that same doorway, his fists balling at his sides as he stifled the urge to redirect his anger unto the unsuspecting door man. No, he’d best save that anger for you, transform it into something that would make you suffer, as he’d been forced to endure this evening.

He slipped through the doors, instantly greeted by a much quieter atmosphere, the laughter and music of the event muffled behind the now closed doors. Across the room, he saw you slip into the elevator, glimpsing just a hint of a smirk on your perfect lips as the doors slid closed and engulfed his view of you.

Annoyance pricked at his chest, he’d have to wait for the elevator to come back down. That was too much time gifted to you, time that could easily be used to bring you one step closer to coming undressed for that man. He’d never found himself wishing for a stairwell more than he did right now, but Capitol architecture stupidly insisted that stairs were a concept made only for the districts.

Coriolanus trudged his way over to the elevator, running an impatient hand through his hair as he watched the countdown of the various different floors commence on the monitor. His residence was the topmost floor, an expensive suite that the Plinths had gifted him on his day of recognition. He’d been kind enough to allow you to stay in one of his rooms, to have you in his proximity at all times where you’d more than once enjoyed the free luxury of his lifestyle, and this is how you’d repaid him—by bringing other men into his sacred space.

He couldn’t help but imagine what you were up to at this instant. The thought of you trapped beneath the man on one of the sofas overlooking the city made him bite the inside of his cheek—those were the sofas he’d so often pinned you to, forcing you to admire the view as he admired you, demonstrating his praise for your beauty through the actions of his fingers in your cunt.

When Coriolanus had first met you, he had thought you hated drawing attention, especially when it warranted a much speedier death in the games. You’d always been so reserved, so hellbent on silence as you kept a calculating eyes on anybody who wasn’t you. He’d like that quiet air about you, it was a call for guidance, a plea for somebody to claim your trust—he knew he could have given that to you.

But now, Coriolanus could have laughed at that thought.

You, hating attention? What an odd facade he’d so easily been fooled by—but he’d grown smarter since your first encounter. He knew the real truth now. What a glorious night that had been, the first time he’d taken you to bed.

He could still smell the desperation that had trailed from your cunt as his nose burrowed into your swollen and beckoning clit—the way his hands had squeezed the skin of your inner thighs a faint blue in his attempt to trap them against the bed. They’d been so eager to wrap around his neck, to make him prisoner within your euphoria. He’d shown his disapproval by wedging your thighs further apart, an action that earned a shocked moan from you, coupled with a gasp at the growing aggression of his tongue inside of you.

How he enjoyed being the puppeteer of your body, pulling your limbs every which way until you’d been contorted and opened up for him to exploit. You often needed reminding that you were sentenced to his will, made prisoner to his desires.

He could still feel the faint traces of your arousal that had painted pictures across the sharp lines of his jaw, mercilessly freed by the way his tongue had ravished your folds and plucked from you what little dignity and silence you had managed to fashion up until that very moment. No matter how much you’d pretend to feel indifferent to his attention, your body had always betrayed you—it was unashamedly and passionately thankful to his ministrations.

Your pathetic moans still echoed on a loop in the dark corners of his mind—an ear worm he couldn’t discard of, though he couldn’t honestly admit that he’d want anything of the sort. It spurred him on, serving as a constant reminder of his pretty possession, and just how much you needed him—his touch, his validation, his attention. He was the poison-kissed oxygen that you couldn’t help but inhale, fooling yourself that it would somehow replenish the air in your lungs and give you the freedom of living, existing, all the while your every bodily cell came closer and closer to becoming his. It didn’t take much for him to claim all that you were and all that you could be, only the right words and that glorious goddamn night in bed.

He’d completely remade you in his image, branded you with his bedroom generosity, always leaving you with just enough to satisfy, but never enough to last for more than a few hours. You always came back begging for more.

What an attention whore.

At last, the elevator dinged its arrival, the doors opening to welcome Coriolanus inside. He slipped in almost instantly, moving to press the button of the top floor. When the doors finally closed, he became trapped in the air lingering inside, noticing a trace of your sweet perfume. He’d come to admire that scent, thought of it as a way to identify every place you’d been in. But your sweet scent had fused with the musky odour of that strange man, an unpleasant smell that suffocated your own in mere seconds. He could only imagine that same odour plastering itself to your neck and all across your clothes as the man forced himself onto you, enjoying what didn’t belong to him.

After a few minutes, the elevator came to a stop, the doors sliding open to reveal two intertwined bodies at the other end of the lobby. You were pinned against the doors to Coriolanus’ suite, the man’s hands wandering beneath your dress and up your magnificent thighs, shrivelled lips sloppily searching the skin of your neck. Your head was tossed back against the wood, eyes sown shut as you let slip the sweetest of moans, a sound that Coriolanus had claimed as his own.

He barged through the elevator doors, the sound of his angered footsteps earning your attention. You lowered your head to him, watching with a playful smile at what was about to unfold. He ignored it, the satisfaction in that grin, the sense of achievement at your ability to control him, have him trailing after you like a dog on a leash. He’d let you have this moment, to savour its short-lived existence because once he was through with this man, he’d show you just how much trouble you’d caused him.

Coriolanus grabbed the oblivious man at the collar of his shirt, too far gone to think with his brain rather than his cock to notice he’d appeared, and plucked him from you. He shoved the man away, who stumbled backwards with his footsteps serving as clear evidence of mild intoxication. The toad began protesting, before his eyes finally found Coriolanus and his lips clamped shut on a look of realisation.

“You come into my house, drink my wine, enjoy my woman, all without a trace of shame?” Coriolanus snapped, his voice gruff with built-up anger.

The man fashioned an apologetic look. “I didn’t mean any offence, Mr. Snow, I swear by it!” His hands made frantic gestures, eager to exonerate himself. “It was her that came onto me, she invited me back here, suggested we get to know each other better—“

Coriolanus lifted his chin, his glare cold as he stared down his nose at the man. “Are you implying that it’s her fault?” It most certainly was, but if Coriolanus had to endure all that had just happened, he intended to have some fun with it.

The man stilled with a look of uncertainty that passed between you and Coriolanus, his hand moving to scratch the back of his head.

“Are you even a man at all, if you’re so easily influenced by a girl that bats her lashes at you and caresses your arm one time?” He had to ignore the irony in that statement; he could’ve almost been talking into a mirror. “You’re pathetic, blaming your lack of control and better judgement on her,” he said, eyes hardening as he took a step forward, the man simultaneously retreating a step with a gulp.

“Go find whatever excuse of a manhood you claim to have in somebody else’s cunt, and don’t let me catch you back in this building. It wont be words that warn you off next time.” His hands clenched into fists at his side, itching to grab the fleeing man and grace him with a well-earned punch—but he wouldn’t gift you that satisfaction, too.

When the elevator doors closed on the stranger, Coriolanus turned to face you. You were picking at your nails busily, as though the entire interaction had bored you beyond interest.

“What were you thinking?” He snapped at you, inching closer to glare you down.

You glanced up from your hands, offering a mere shrug as you crossed your arms and glanced up at him cheekily. “I wasn’t thinking at all, really,” you admitted. “Just wanted to feel some good things.”

Bitterness found its way onto Coriolanus’ tongue. “Do I not make you feel good enough?” He scolded coolly, his eyes searching yours angrily. “Would you rather I call that prick back and have him stick his two expired inches inside you?”

A hint of hurt seemed to widen your eyes, your expression shaped with confusion. “Didn’t think you cared what I got up to,” you muttered, glancing off to the side.

Coriolanus knew that to be complete bullshit, a feeble play at attempting to settle your own insecurities. He knew what you wanted to hear from him—that you mattered to him, that he wanted you to himself, that the mere thought of another man touching you would send him into inexplicable rage. To an extent, those were all true, but not in the way you'd wanted them to be, not in a way he was capable of giving.

He restrained the anger he felt towards you, knowing that he needed to take a gentler approach. You weren't in a state fit to endure his anger, not now. He needed to coddle you, to keep your emotions intact, otherwise he risked losing you. He couldn't have that.

“I care,” he said at last, moving a hand to grip at your chin. He’d forgotten how soft your skin was, it’d been weeks since he’d been permitted to touch you, business keeping him away from your warmth. He moved your face to his, searching between your eyes and your lips. “And you know that I care, too, or you wouldn’t have put on this little display.”

“You don’t care—not really, Coriolanus,” you snapped, your hand plucking his from your chin. “You constantly remind me that I’m nothing more than pleasure to you, an object you love to parade around, so as long as it’s your name engraved on me.”

Correct, he thought, his hand returning to his side. He gazed at you, the cogs of his mind reeling busily as he cautiously selected his next words. He couldn’t be angry with you, not now when you were so fragilely being kept together by emotion. It mattered what he said to you, even if the words weren’t honest. He knew that you needed reassurance, something akin to love to cling to, to keep you satisfied beside him. The condition that came with having a toy he loved to play with, was having to look after it, to ensure it didn’t break or wear with time.

That was exactly what he had to do with you, so he fed you whatever conniving words he could to keep you indulged in whatever illusion you’d had about your relationship with Coriolanus. A necessary evil to preserve his hold over you. He was selfish that way, but you were far too entertaining to let slip, and he did rather enjoy you—your company and your body.

Truthfully, you did have some sort of hold over him, and he’d let just enough of that truth show to control you, to convince you of his love for you.

“In all my years of existing, I've never once felt compelled to share my life with somebody else," Coriolanus told you softly. He moved his hand to return that same rogue strand of hair back behind your ear. "Not until you. I can't explain it, the way the mere thought of you with another man sends me into an unparalleled rage—to think that he could give you something I couldn't. The thought of somebody touching you the way I touch you. . . It's unbearable, unacceptable."

He placed his hands on either one of your cheeks, lifting your head to face him. His words had too easily buttered you up, moulded your face with a look of infatuation. “If I didn’t care about you, I wouldn’t have followed you all the way up here. I’d have let you fuck whoever you want, whenever you want, however you want. But the fact is, I care—a lot.”

You still harboured a certain look of uncertainty in your eyes, those damned eyes that made him go feral. He could tell that you wanted to believe him, but you had reservations that he hadn’t yet satisfied with his words. He needed to say more, do more.

“Do you see me chasing after any other girl the way I chase after you?” He pressed on, grabbing your face a little more ferociously, just to sell the point. “You’ve consumed me, reduced any ounce of respect I’ve once had for myself to nothingness. I could’ve had you pawned off the Capitol after the games, to do whatever bidding they demanded of you, but I chose to keep you by my side, to spoil you with everything you deserve for winning the games. Tell me one person who’d be willing to do the same for a district nobody that they held no care for?”

Your eyes had grown teary at his words, your bottom lip quivering beyond your control. You had meant to look tougher, Coriolanus could tell, unmoved by his words, but you were only just a naive girl burdened with the need to be loved. So you believed it, every poisonous word dripping from his lips—lapped it up hungrily like a douse of honey, in fact. Perfect. He was gaining back your trust.

You caved into Coriolanus, his hands falling from your face to wrap around your body and keep you against him. His one hand curled around the nape of your neck while the other wrapped around the small of your back, so perfectly shaped to accommodate his arm. How could he be convinced that you were not made just for him, when every aspect of your body seemed to be carved just for his touch? The hand on your head began to move with rhythmic strokes across your hair, his lips moving to place a kiss on the crown of your head. He rested his chin where he’d placed his kiss, as though sealing in the sensation, before he spoke up.

“You were incredibly selfish tonight,” he murmured. You pulled back subtly to glance up at him with slightly furrowed brows, and he lifted his chin from your head to gaze back at you impassively. “You put me through hell, making me watch as you flirted with that man, touched on him all over as you promised him sex. Do you think that was fun for me?”

Your eyes glinted with a hint of guilt, your lips parting with a soft no.

“No,” Coriolanus agreed, his eyes undeniably annoyed as he glared at your guilt-ridden expression. His fingers ventured along your back, finding the zip to your dress, the only thing keeping your body prisoner in the fabric. He tugged at the zip, harshly at first, his need to punish you poking through his actions, but he had to refrain from that for the time-being. More slowly, he began to pull the zip down your body. “I think it only fitting that you should be punished for your little games, don’t you agree?” His eyes flickered back up to yours coolly, almost challenging you to disagree.

The fabric of your dress grew loose on your body, the straps beginning to slide along the slope of your shoulders. You glanced up at him in silence, not wanting to admit the words, but the neediness on your expression told him that you were all game for your punishment—not that it ever was something unpleasant. Coriolanus was always generous when it came to putting you in your place.

“Glad we’re on the same page, dove,” he said, the dress releasing your body at last. It pooled onto the floor around your heels, leaving you barren save for the bra suffocating your breasts. He glanced down at your lower half, faintly surprised to find that you’d neglected the courtesy of wearing any underwear.

"Was this supposed to be an apology?" He asked, glancing back at you through a charming smirk.

A smile broke through onto your lips. "I thought it'd make undressing me quicker," you replied, lowering yourself to remove the heels from your feet. You were glad to be free of that hell. They made your calves look good, but they were torture on your feet.

"Well, aren't you considerate?" Coriolanus responded, then paused before adding. "So you knew how this night would end, with you and I nothing but a sexual amalgamation?”

"It was more of a hope,” you replied as you straightened yourself up.

Coriolanus' constraint gave in at your insinuations, his hand moving to caress your cheek, his eyes lowering to your perfect lips that he craved to taste in that very moment. You reached up to deliver the unspoken need onto his lips, but he kept you grounded with a hand around your collarbone. "You're not kissing me with those lips," he told you. “Not after that prick has wiped his saliva all over you.”

His hand left your body to reach into his blazer pockets. He pulled out a key, his hand snaking around your waist to slip the key into the door hole. His face was intentionally leaned close to yours, his eyes narrowed with a mixture of concentration as he struggled to unlock the door, and because he could smell the man’s cologne clinging desperately to your skin. He’d need to take care of that before the evening could proceed, it was a detrimental hinderance to his cock. At last, the doors gave in with a loud click, and he pulled the key from the lock.

He leaned back with a curt beckoning of his chin. "After you,” he said, placing the key back into his blazer, his eyes not once neglecting yours.

You gave him a long stare, almost daring to be disobedient before you clearly thought better of it. You bent over to collect your dress and your shoes before turning to push the doors open. Coriolanus dropped his attention to your ass, which practically begged for his approval as it bounced with your every step. He entered inside after you, closing the doors behind him.

You ventured a few steps into the well-furnished living room of the suite and tossed your clothing onto the nearest sofa, your eyes trained on the glass walls that offered a breath-taking view of Panem. You’d always marvel over the cityscape as if it was your first time seeing it, but in all honesty, it was the fact that the lights of Panem fashioned a different colour each night, and it always seemed to illuminate new buildings and views that you’d never noticed before.

Coriolanus watched you, your hand absentmindedly reaching to hold your elbow as you admired the view—one that you’d already seen countless times before, he thought. He wondered whether you were contemplating your circumstances in this instant, as if the reality of what you’d done had finally started to sink in, and what the consequences to follow would be. He could read you fairly well, but there were still moments that your thoughts were lost on him.

“Are you scared?” He asked, his voice echoing throughout the empty space.

You turned to face him, your hands falling to your side. The lighting was dim, but the amusement etched onto your features were clear. “Scared? I didn’t survive the games only to be scared of you, Coriolanus Snow. Besides, this is hardly our first rodeo. I can’t imagine there’s much more surprises you could spring on me.”

Coriolanus cocked his eyebrows, smiling at those words. He appreciated your effortless wit. Most of Panem’s ladies were annoyingly submissive in their conversation, saying only what they thought he wanted to hear, as though it’d make them more desirable to him. You didn’t need to be told what to say, you just said it, and he was glad for it. Control could be exhausting, especially when he strove to maintain it in almost every aspect of his life. It was refreshing to know that he didn’t have to control your personality, too.

“Good,” he said, inching closer until he could reach out a hand to grab your arm. He turned you around forcefully, cool fingers teasingly tracing the skin of your shoulder as he made his way down to the clasp of your bra. He undid the hook, freeing your breasts from the pretty white lace, before tossing it onto the sofa beside your other discarded items. He turned you back to him, his eyes instantly lowering to the hardened nipples crowning your soft breasts. “Somebody’s eager,” He jested, his voice a soft rumble as his eyes rose to meet yours. “Did you want something from me?”

“You know I always do, Coryo,” you responded, taking your lower lip into a subtle bite.

Coriolanus’s eyes hardened at that nickname. “Don’t call me that,” he demanded. That version of himself had died a long time ago.

Your eyebrows cocked at his tone, your lips momentarily pursed before you asked, “should I call you Mr. Snow instead?”

“Just Coriolanus,” he replied, rolling his shoulders to remove his crimson blazer. Your eyes were stalking his every move. He could tell that you wanted nothing more than to reach out to what little clothing remained on his body and tear it away mercilessly—that you wanted him to take you right here at this very instant. But he was faintly impressed at your patience as you decided against any reckless action, instead opting to wait for his next command.

He folded his blazer and draped it over his arm, his free hand beckoning for you to follow him to his bedroom. “Come on.”

Your eyes followed his footsteps, your disbelief keeping your feet glued to the ground. Coriolanus glanced over his shoulder when your footsteps didn’t commence behind him. Your reaction was justifiable. He’d never once once invited you into his room in all the months you’d lived with him. He knew that you were foolishly thinking that this moment marked an intimate milestone in your relationship, that this act was an attempt for him to show just how much you meant to him.

“Problem?” He asked.

You willed away the dumbfounded look on your face, offering a half-hearted no as you caught up to Coriolanus. As if the sentiment was fragile, you merely walked ahead of him in silence, afraid that one wrong word would revoke the invite.

He trailed behind you as you approached the door to his bedroom. You tossed a glance over your shoulder as you sought out confirmation in your actions. Coriolanus gave a small nod, an encouraging smirk poking through. You smiled back, turning your attention to opening the door. You slipped inside, your attention instantly flying to the furniture that occupied the space. It was modest, very limited to necessities.

The bed, needlessly big, was slightly undone, the comforters left untidy as though he’d just climbed out of bed and the covers half pulled from the pillows—a picture frozen in time. A plate and a mug was stacked onto the bedside table, the previous day’s clothes draped across the sofas near the windows. Your eyes were fixating every detail around the room, as though burning a mental picture into your mind as a souvenir for later.

Coriolanus moved to place his blazer beside his other clothes on the sofa. “Sorry for the mess,” he offered, moving to undo the buttons of his waistcoat. “As I’m sure you know, I don’t usually have the worry of entertaining guests.”

You turned to face him, your eyes lowering to his skilful fingers. “I like the mess,” you responded, making your way over to him. “It feels personal, seeing this side of you—allow me to.” You shooed his hands off the waistcoat, taking his place in undoing the buttons. You glanced up at him seductively, your eyes flickering down to his full lips.

He watched you undress him, slowly but surely, knowing that he could’ve done a much faster job. But he allowed you to take on the role, knowing that it made you feel important, that your body would show him just how thankful you were and how much these little details meant to you. Once you had unfastened the last button, you removed the waistcoat and admired his toned and broad physique, painfully concealed behind his white shirt.

Coriolanus glared at your wandering eyes, wondering whether you were trying to picture him naked. He’d never been fully undressed in all of their little rendezvous, it was something far too intimate for him. And there had only been a few occasions where he’d fucked you with his cock and not his fingers or his mouth. He’d found himself deriving the utmost pleasure when he got to solely focus on how you came undone for him, how powerful his every movement upon you really was.

When your hands moved to undo the buttons of his shirt, he grabbed at your wrist. “Not yet,” he told you. “You still reek of him.” You frowned at his words, your hands falling to your sides in disappointment. “Come with me,” he said, moving past you toward the bathroom. “We’re going to take a little bath.”

Your interest peaked at his words. “We’re going to bath together?” You asked curiously as you followed after him.

“You’re going to bath,” Coriolanus corrected as he reached the large alcove bathtub. He leaned over to turn on the tap. “I’m going to watch.” His hand trailed the many soaps and balms that lined the rim of the bathtub. He’d made it a mission to collect every scented product he could manage once he got his hand on the money, simply because he could, and he liked smelling good.

“Sounds perverted,” you shot at him, crossing your arms as you watched him draw your bath.

He grabbed ahold of a rose-scented oil and began pouring it into the water. “You didn’t agree to live with me because of my normalcy,” he said distractedly. “But because you knew just how much my so called perversion had to offer your pathetic, little, touch-starved body.”

He tossed a glance at you over his shoulder, satisfied by the red gleam that had snuck onto your cheeks. He turned his attention back to the tub, reaching for a bottle of bubble bath. He began adding it to the water, a few droplets reaching up to stain his shirt.

“In any case,” Coriolanus continued. “It’s the least you could do for me after tonight’s shit-show.” He placed the bottle back against the wall, closing the tap once the water had reached an appropriate level. He unbuttoned the cufflinks of his shirt and rolled up the sleeves, taking a few paces back. He jerked his head at you. “Go on,” he demanded.

You unfurled into a dramatic stretch, parading your breasts as you faced him. “Join me.”

He fixed you with an unwavering stare, not so keen to play into another one of your games. “Get in.”

With one last glare, you turned and dipped one leg into the bath, instantly pulling back with a hiss. Your head snapped to face him. “It’s too hot,” you protested.

Coriolanus moved to retrieve a chair from the corner of the bathroom, placing it a few inches from where you stood. He sat himself down, offering a mere shrug to your words. “Good observation.”

“I’m not going to burn myself bloody just so that you can get off,” you spat.

“Then let’s kill some time while we wait for the water to cool down,” he suggested, his eyes once again tracing over every inch of your exposed body with keen interest.

You looked open to his request. “What did you have in mind?”

Coriolanus’s eyes flickered back up to you. “Touch yourself,” he said earnestly. You paused at his words, suddenly looking self-conscious, before you hesitantly began to caress your breasts. He watched your fingers squeeze and grope at your skin, imagining that it were his own hands in their stead, only he’d be a lot less kind in his touch. Your fingers trailed teasing circles around your nipples, further hardened at your own toying and his intense observation.

“Lower,” he ordered, feeling frustrated at your lack of venturing into your lower extremities.

Your eyes glinted at him, a look that seemed to say greedy. Yes, he was. Who could blame him? He’d grown up starving for most days of the year, now he’d take as much as he wanted.

His eyes fixated the hand that lowered in a painfully slow motion across your stomach, reaching that sweet spot housed between your legs. As your fingers began to fondle with your clit, you threw your head back with a pitiful moan. He knew he could’ve extracted a louder sound. He almost felt obliged to take over, but he had to remind himself that you were undeserving of his touch, that you needed to be punished with the urge to feel him, yet be denied that pleasure.

A few minutes of your fondling had passed before your ministrations eventually became too overwhelming to maintain control over your body. You lowered yourself to the bathmat, your hand not once leaving your cunt. You spread your legs open, offering a broader view to Coriolanus. Your eyes were glazed over as you glanced at him. He tilted his head slightly in approval, feeling his own cock growing interested at his view of your pathetic situation.

“That’s good, sweetheart,” he praised, noting the way your eyes lowered to his pants. He parted his legs slightly to take the pressure off of his growing erection, eager to hide his arousal. He didn’t want you to notice just yet how much he was truly enjoying this. Your movements eventually became more erratic, incoherent sounds spewing from your lips.

“I need you, Coriolanus,” you managed to blabber out, your tired head resting onto the rim of the bathtub, eyes periodically fluttering closed as you alternated between consciousness and whatever universe of pleasure was found behind your eyes. “Please,” you begged.

“You’ll have me soon,” he said, “when I see it fit.”

“I’ve been good for you,” you protested breathlessly. “I’ve done everything you told me to.”

“You have a lot to atone for,” Coriolanus pointed out, his eyes lowering to where your hand had slowed its movements. “Don’t stop until I tell you to.”

You glanced at him past your tired lids, but you obliged nonetheless, adding a finger inside of your cunt to increase the pressure. He supposed it was fair, if he had refused to place his own fingers inside of you. He couldn’t help the smirk that crept onto lips as he watched a stream of white begin to trail from your opening, recalling how good you tasted. It was a shame, really, that it would go to waste onto the bathroom mat instead of onto his appreciative tongue. From the sound of your pathetic mewling and your ragged breathing, Coriolanus knew that you were growing close to your high. He didn’t intend for the fun to end just yet.

“I want you to continue until you feel like you’re going to cum,” he told you, though he wasn’t sure you’d heard him past you own noise. “And then I want you to stop just before that happens.”

“That’s mean, Coriolanus,” you managed to say.

“You haven’t seen mean yet, dove,” he said. “Now stop talking and focus.”

Your fingers picked up their pace with a newfound eagerness, the knot in your stomach growing inescapably larger, the urge to come undone becoming harder and harder to contain. Coriolanus wasn’t sure you’d obey his command at this point, you looked too far gone to resume control over your own actions. His eyes narrowed, watching closely at what fate you’d choose to follow. Much to his disappointment, you practiced constraint, your hips shooting up with anticipation, only to sink to the floor as you denied yourself the orgasm.

You glanced at Coriolanus past your teary lashes, a silent request for praise. He heeded your need, rising from his seat to crouch beside your slumped figure. He combed the loose hair from your face, wiping away the beads of sweat that dotted your forehead.

“You’re too good for this world,” he murmured sweetly. He felt as though he could have choked on the banality of his words, but the soft look in your eyes as you gazed up at him made it worthwhile. He nodded to your hand, still resting on your cunt. “Show me how good you felt.”

You pulled your hand from its playground between your legs, creamy white webs entangled on your fingers. They pulled a string along your stomach as you lifted your fingers for Coriolanus to study.

“It almost looks like you don’t need my help,” he chuckled, his hand fastening around your wrist to bring your fingers to his lips. His blue eyes bore down into you as he took each of your fingers into his mouth. One by one, his tongue hungrily weaved around them, claiming your juices from your skin.

You gazed at him with a wild look ablaze in your eyes. “Don’t I deserve a taste?” You said. “After all, I did all the hard work. I deserve to taste the fruits of my labour.”

“You should be modest,” Coriolanus said once he removed your fingers from his mouth. “Nobody likes a brag.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” you retorted lightly, your eyes glinting with exhaustion. “I like you.”

“Mhm,” he offered softly, placing your hand gently onto your chest. He reached his hand between your legs, an action that caused your thighs to stiffen around him. “Relax,” he cooed, pressing his palm into one of your thighs, encouraging you to open up to him.

“Sorry,” you said, easing off the defensiveness. “I’m sensitive down there at the moment.”

“I’ll be careful,” he promised, gazing at your fragile expression. Fuck, he could take you right here. His fingers moved with caution as they glided along the folds of your drenched cunt, gathering up your cum into untidy clumps. He followed a trail of arousal that had traveled down into the cleft of your ass, pressing a teasing finger into your asshole.

You gasped at the sudden invasion, and Coriolanus’s throat rumbled with a chuckle. He removed his fingers and brought them to your lips. You glanced at his slender fingers, not needing much convincing to take them into your mouth. You turned your attention to him as you began to suck at him suggestively, exaggerating your head bobbing as you made a point to cover the entire length of his fingers.

He watched you with a lopsided smirk, enjoying the whore-like behaviour you so willingly offered him. Now and again, he’d thrust his fingers a little too deep, more than what your throat could handle, which caused you to gag around him. Strings of your saliva had begun to slither down his exposed forearm, pleasantly warm on his skin. He imagined his cock in the stead of his fingers, enjoying the same warmth and wetness your mouth had to offer.

When you’d decidedly had enough of licking his fingers clean, you pulled your lips from him with a characteristic pop. Coriolanus reached that hand over the bathtub, dipping it into the water to feel its temperature. It had cooled down considerably, but it was still warm enough for a worthwhile soak. He withdrew his hand and wiped his fingers onto his shirt.

“The bath will get cold soon,” he told you. “Get in.”

“Is that all?” You asked disappointedly.

“Get yourself cleaned up, and I’ll show you what I’ve got in stock for you.” He straightened up and took a few paces back as you perked with new resolve and found your feet.

He backed up to reclaim his position on the chair, crossing his legs as he watched you. Your back was momentarily on him as you climbed into the bathtub, the water sloshing a welcome. You submerged yourself into the warmth almost instantly, a content groan reverberating in your throat. His eyes lowered to your hand, which had began to spread the foam of the bubble bath across your bare chest and breasts.

“The water’s so good,” you murmured.

“Don’t get too relaxed,” he warned.

“Why don’t you join me, Coriolanus,” you said, your eyes fluttered open as you moved to fold your arms onto the lip of bathtub. You rested your chin onto your arms, glancing at the erection he could no longer conceal. “I’ll take good care of your little cock, that should keep me on my toes.” Your expression beamed at your choice of words, deliberately chosen to get a rise out of him.

Coriolanus merely scoffed at your teasing. He had many things to prove, but the size of his cock was not one of them.

“You sure you could handle me, since you’re still so sensitive down there?” He asking mockingly. He leaned back into his chair, his hand coming up to clench his chin, the other grabbing his elbow.

You tilted your head prettily to one side. “Only one way to find out,” you murmured, leaning back against the wall of the tub as you kicked your foot out and onto the edge. Water splashed partially onto the bathmat, but most had been caught by the bare floor.

Coriolanus lowered his eyes to the puddle. “You’re making quite a mess for someone who’s been in here for less than half an hour.”

“Give me an hour and you’ll see just how much of a mess I can make,” you challenged.

He lifted his chin to face you, his eyes narrowing the slightest. This side of you was something he’d never experienced before; you were a lot more daring, undoubtedly brought on by the importance you felt at being allowed the opportunity to bathe in his bathroom and in his company. He’d like to test just how long you could keep up this illusion of bravery, and how quickly you’d drop it when he had you sprawled onto his fingers.

“Come here, then,” he said, uncrossing his legs and spreading it as an invitation for your thighs.

Your eyes snuck a peak at his hard on before you broke away from your slutty pose and climbed from the warmth of the tub. You took a few steps toward Coriolanus, water and soap slithering down the curves of your body and onto the floor.

You stopped short of his legs. “You’re sure?” You asked, eyes making a point of the shirt and pants he still wore. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable with a little less on?”

Coriolanus grunted from a place of impatience, reaching out his hand to grab at your wrist. He pulled you into his lap, rough hands guiding your hips to comfortably straddle his clothed thighs. The soapy water coating your body began to bleed into his clothes, his pants the most affected, but he could hardly be arsed in this moment. He just needed to feel you, needed to use you. His fingers gripped at your thighs, his heavenly blue eyes boring down onto your strained expression as he began to forcibly guide your bare cunt over his bulge.

Coriolanus’s movements set a generous pace, endorphins bolting through your core each time his bulge struck your sensitive clit. The texture of his pants was harsh on your skin, creating a friction that seemed to generate copious amounts of heat—screw sticks and stones, this method of fucking could have started all the fires in the world. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your lower half instinctively beginning to cooperate as you rocked back and fourth in sync with his guidance.

Your head came to rest in the chiselled crook of his neck, his earthy fragrance fucking heaven-sent on your senses, further engulfing you in bliss. His throat vibrated against your ear with strained moans, they came as subtle grunts that prompted his hands to speed up the pace. He was so eager to feel you, to settle his drawn-out erection. You winced as his fingers burrowed into the skin of your thighs. He’d neglected all caution in your handling, his need to control your movements overpowering what slither of consideration he’d held for your comfort.

It didn’t take long for the stinging sensation to blend with your pleasure, slurred moans pouring from your lips as you felt cum begin to leak from your entrance. It lubricated the fabric of Coriolanus’s pants, offering some relief from the coarse material. You screwed your eyes shut and pressed your face into his shirt, eager to muffle the mewls of pleasure you seemed to have zero control over. His chest rumbled with a breathy fuck, and you felt his body momentarily convulse with the overwhelming feelings your bodies shared.

You turned your head, your nose brushing against the skin of his neck. Your eyes fluttered open, drinking in the view of his adam’s apple, so prominent and manly. It bobbed as Coriolanus swallowed a moan. You brought your furthest hand forward to hook the side of his neck, pulling him against your lips. He didn’t resist, it’s almost as though he was too focused on his own work to pay attention to your own dealings. You littered sloppy kisses all across his neck, placing extra emphasis around his adam’s apple. You kissed all around the bulge before giving into your thoughts and dragging your tongue over it, leaving a sloppy trail in your wake.

The warmth and wetness of your tongue on his throat made Coriolanus release an unexpected groan, a hand leaving your hips to wrap around your throat. You let slip a chuckle at his action, and he held you out in front of him, his cold eyes glaring into yours as he decided to brutalise his movements. You moaned loudly, the sound strained as you forced it past his suffocating hold on your neck.

“Coriolanus,” you choked out breathlessly, your hands sliding along his broad shoulders. “I need you inside of me.”

“You’ve waited this long,” Coriolanus muttered. “You can wait a little longer.” His hold on your throat grew tighter, your vision starting to blur behind a mixture of fresh tears and your compromised oxygen.

He watched your eyes flutter closed and your teeth clench as you inched closer and closer to your edge, your nails digging through his shirt and into his shoulders, steading yourself against his aggression. His singular hand on your hip began to cramp at his incessant groping and steering, but he was beginning to feel his own orgasm approaching, and that was motivation enough to push through—that, and your whorish desperation.

He released his grip on your neck, the air returning to your lungs as a cough and a splutter. He hooked the nape of your neck and pulled you into the comfort of his shoulder, urging you to rest your tired head there as he finished you both off. With both hands once again firm on your hips, he picked up the pace. He rested his chin onto the crown of your head, his eyes fluttering closed as he allowed the scent of your conditioner to swallow his senses.

With each movement, he brought you down harder onto his cock, craving rougher strokes. The squelching of the cum coating your folds and spreading along his pants was music to his ears, and he gritted his teeth to bite back his ragged breathing so that he could continue to hear the way he’d transformed your cunt. He could feel his own pre-cum trickling from his tip, the warmth spreading along his shaft by the generosity of your wet folds. Fucking hell did he yearn to be inside of you, almost as much as you craved him, but he had to be stronger than his own desires.

It didn’t take long before every nerve tracing the length of his cock began to fire rapid impulses, the prolonged stimulation proving to be too overbearing. His lips parted with strained breaths, the black abyss behind his eyes beginning to birth a cosmos of anticipatory stars. The image built and built until he thrust you one last violent time along his cock, his hips rocking up into you, delivering just the right ounce of pressure before white engulfed his vision.

His grip on your hips loosened, his ears buzzing with the aftermath of his high. He hadn’t even realised that you’d come undone before he had, your whimpers and vulgar pleas lost in his concentration. The only evidence of your orgasm was the new patch of wetness that had marked his pants, a generous mixture of squirt and cum.

Your breathless voice sounded at his ear as you moved your head from under his chin. “I want to feel like that all the time.”

“That can be arranged, dove,” he chuckled hoarsely.

You felt his hand leave your hip, the skin there instantly growing cool. He dragged his fingers repeatedly along the wisps of your hair. It was as though he were petting a dog, only his touch was a lot gentler and more intimate. You allowed your eyes to flutter closed, your lips parting with a content sigh as you waited for the ecstasy of your orgasm to dissolve. You rested your chin on his shoulder, listening to the calm of his breathing, focusing on his hand caressing your hair.

You pulled back to glance at him, his eyes questioning as he returned your stare. Your attention moved to his lips, they looked so soft and plump, not nearly red enough. You’d been robbed of the opportunity to nibble on them, to contort them between your own lips, to taste the wine he’d downed at the party. You didn’t think you’d be properly satisfied until you got your wish. Did that make you ungrateful?

Coriolanus offered a faint smirk, your thoughts loud and clear. How selfish of him, he’d forgotten to kiss you during your little ride. Not a train-smash, he had the entire night to make up for that. His hand on your hair tightened there, forcing you into his vicinity. You wanted to protest at the hairs pulling at your scalp, but you hadn’t gotten the chance, not when his lips silenced yours in a hungry tumble.

He didn’t kiss you as often as you would’ve liked, but when he did, it was always imbued with passion, his movements erratic like he’d been starving and you were the first source of food he’d encountered in days. You got lost in the movement of his lips, the pace so fast that you couldn’t properly match it, though not for lack of trying. You allowed yourself to be swept up in his kiss, accepting that he was in control.

Coriolanus moved his hands to grab ahold of your breasts, his attention marvellously divided between fondling them and tracing his tongue along the inside of your mouth. You moaned into him, the sound muffled and lost to your entanglement. His teeth scraped against your bottom lip, offering a sharp nip that caused you to wince in surprise. You felt his lips broaden in a smug smile, his hands neglecting your breasts and trailing a seductive path down your waist to deliver a crisp spank to your ass.

The skin stung where he’d struck you, but he was so quick to soothe the ache with gentle rubbing. The curves of your ass fit so perfectly into his palms. He pulled his lips from yours, not sparing even an instant for you to process his movements before his sharp nose found sanctuary in your cleavage. He littered kisses there before moving to plant a trail around the circumference of your breasts.

“Coriolanus,” you moaned, your head lolling back.

He hummed against your skin, a halfhearted acknowledgement. His hand found its way between your thighs, his middle finger sliding between your labia where beads of your brand new arousal waited to greet him. He slathered his fingers in your juice, lubricating the skin before he slid his finger into your entrance.

Your entire composure collapsed at that, the built up suspense of needing him inside you satisfied at last. Your entrance clamped around him at first, the sensation always forgotten with how few and far apart these glorious moments were spread, but within a fraction of a second, you melted onto his finger.

You nibbled at your lower lip, the bite deepening as Coriolanus’s teeth found your nipple. He alternated between tugging at your hardened buds and swirling his tongue around and all over it, mischievously marking steaks of saliva along your skin. A few seconds later, his ring and index finger joined the party within you.

Your grip on his shoulders lowered down his back, eagerly clawing at the hard and chiselled muscles, but his damned shirt got in the way. You pulled back, Coriolanus’ lips robbed of your breasts. He glanced at you, his fingers continuing their thrusts. Your hands flew to tug at the buttons of his shirt. The first few you’d managed to undo, but you had finite patience for the others, resorting to an aggressive tug that split the buttons from the fabric.

“Are you going to pay for that?” Coriolanus jested lightly.

“I’m sure there’s plenty more shirts where that one came from,” you said hastily, yanking the sleeves down his broad shoulders.

You instantly dove in to kiss at his chest. He’d never been excessively muscled, but he was still strong and toned, his frame broad and absolutely mouth-watering to gaze upon. Your hands wandered along his chest, sliding along his shoulders and down his arms. You attempted to tug his shirt all the way off, Coriolanus aiding your motion as he momentarily pulled his fingers from inside you.

He rolled his shoulders and removed his shirt, tossing it onto the floor. You glanced at his torso, now completely exposed to you. You couldn’t stifle the smile on your lips, thinking that he looked a lot like a male stripper—bare-chested yet still clothed from the waist down, presenting himself on a chair. All he was missing was a sexy dance of some sort.

Coriolanus frowned at your gawking. “What’s on that mind of yours?”

You pursed your lips. “Nothing,” you answered, placing a kiss on his lips. You moved to murmur in his ear, “now If it’s not too much to ask, would you kindly stick your fingers back inside of me?”

When you withdrew to look at him, Coriolanus wore a wicked smirk. “What a slutty thing to say.” His fingers returned to your cunt, but instead of easing his way inside, he opted for his whole hand at once.

You didn’t know whether you were more shocked at his gesture, or the way your cunt had easily welcomed him. His movements were considerably less cautious than before, but you didn’t care about that now, only that he was finally inside of you. You let out a lengthy moan, so eager to verbalise your appreciation. Your hands moved to cup your breasts, squeezing and kneading them together as you tilted your head back.

You closed your eyes and focused on his hand inside you, how each thrust grew deeper and closer to your sweet spot. It’s as though he’d already mapped out your insides, his fingers knowing exactly which way to wander. Gods, you truly didn’t know whether you or Coriolanus enjoyed this more. He kept up a regular pace for a while, and you’d quickly grown impatient and needy for his brutality.

“Faster,” you complained.

Coriolanus slowed his movements, coming to a complete stop. He wholly expected the miserable look on your face as your head snapped down to face him. How could he allow you to think that he was here to serve you, as opposed to you serving him. He wasn’t just going to hand you what you wanted, life certainly hadn’t been that generous with him. No, you’d have to work for it.

“Okay, we can go faster,” he said, cocking his head slightly. You regained a spark at those words, but it quickly blew out at what came next. “But you’ll do it yourself, since you’re unsatisfied with what I’m giving you.”

“I didn’t mean it like that—“ you attempted to protest, but Coriolanus cut you off with free his index finger pressing against your lips, his lips fashioned in a hush.

“No talking,” he murmured. “Just get to work.” He beckoned down to your cunt, his hand motionless inside of you.

Devastated at having to do the work yourself, you crossed your arms around his neck, your expression adorably resentful as you lifted your hips and began to ride him. Coriolanus lowered his free hand to rest at your hip, his attention wandering to your breasts. He couldn’t have ignored them even if he tried, not when they were bouncing inches from his face and calling out for attention. Your moans quickly commenced, your hips already starting to tremble with your next orgasm. You tossed your head back, your movements becoming uncoordinated, like your body had already started to give up.

Coriolanus felt your walls begin to clench around his hand, glancing up to glimpse your face. “Look at me,” he called to you. Your head lowered to face him at once, your eyelids drooping. “Are you going to cum?” He asked, and you nodded eagerly, followed by a strewn out moan.

Good, he thought. His hand on your hip began to press against your movements, interrupting the pace you’d managed to get going. Your eyes widened as your orgasm retracted into a dissatisfying gasp, the high that had been building instantly collapsed at your sudden lack of movement.

“Coriolanus,” you snapped, your tone coming across as a whine. You’d become frustrated with his teasing, and your body shared the sentiment. Your clit ached now, exhausted tremors seizing every muscle of your body. “You’re being a dick!”

“No,” he countered, pulling his hand from your entrance. He looked condescending as his eyes flickered across you face. “I’m punishing you, just like I promised. You’re getting exactly what you deserve, but you’re spoiled and used to getting your way.”

You didn’t have anything to retort, so you glared at him in silence, ignoring the hurt that his words had inflicted upon you.

“Don’t pout,” he murmured, wiping his wet hand along your thigh.

Then, without warning, he hoisted you up at the thighs and manoeuvred you bridal-style from the bathroom towards the bedroom. He lowered you onto the undone comforters of his bed, leaning down with you to place a swift kiss on your furrowed brows. He straightened up at the foot of the bed, his hands reaching for your calves.

“You want to cum?” He asked, his fingers wrapping around your legs to pull you down the bed and closer to where he stood. “I’ll make you cum, over and over again.” That was a promise.

Your lips parted with shock, words scattering from your tongue as his hands travelled over yours knees and grabbed at your thighs. He pried your legs apart, exposing your cunt to him. The last view you captured of him was the way his eyes traced your exposed lower half, a barely noticeable smirk pulling at one corner of his lips. Then, his head dipped into you, his tongue flat and rough on your folds.

You threw your head back into the sheets, your fingers instantly curling into the material as if it were the only thing keeping you grounded and preventing you from getting carried away into another universe. Coriolanus was conscious to strike his nose against your tender clit every so often, clearly enjoying the way it sent a jerk through your body. It was like his own personal control-switch to play with. You were too exhausted to limit the noises that you produced for him, so everything came out a loud and blabbering mess. You didn’t ever want to stop being touched this way.

Coriolanus was a clean man. He liked to keep his hair tamed, his jaw void of any developing beard that he felt would deface his appearance. But it had to have been a week since his last shave, you thought. You could feel the faint stubble poking through, grazing your intimate area as he ravished you below. It was the perfect addition to your arousal, adding just enough noise to push you into overstimulation.

You fought the urge to lift your lower half from the sheets, to greedily claim a deeper thrust of his tongue. He wouldn’t take kindly to that, and you didn’t think you had the capacity to endure any more teasing. Instead, you opened your thighs even wider, your hands releasing the comforter to grip at your breasts.

Coriolanus approved of your behaviour, his praise coming in the form of his tongue up your entrance. You let slip a breathy gasp, your jaw clenching at the lightning that seemed to obscure your vision.

“Fuck, Coriolanus,” you drawled, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Please—let me cum!”

He hummed against your clit, the vibrations serving as the fucking icing on top of this sex-themed cake. You core knotted, your breath catching in your throat. Your eyes screwed shut, the pressure building and building and threatening to spill over as Coriolanus’ tongue picked up the pace. He twirled your clit around, his fingers pinching at your thighs, and just like that, your body released all the tension of the evening.

Your chest bobbed up and down with heavy breathing, not feeling as though you could bear to open your eyes. It’s only when you felt Coriolanus’ warmth withdraw from your thighs that you lifted your head to glance up at him. He straightened up and met your gaze with an impressed look, his perfect lips offering a smile—a genuine smile. The sight set off butterflies in your stomach. He was proud of you and your performance.

“You did well, dove,” he praised.

You beamed at his compliment, words not easily extracted from him. The sheen on his jaw caught your attention, your heart jolting with shame to see him absolutely doused in your juice. It trailed well down his neck and onto his chest, making a point to follow the natural contours of his pecs.

“I’m sorry—“ a hand flew to your mouth, hardly believing that you’d produced a mess of that magnitude.

“Sorry?” Coriolanus mocked, his perfect teeth flashing in a laugh. “Don’t be. It’s a compliment. You show your appreciation like a real woman, just the way I like it.”

You watched as his hands lowered to his red trousers, his fingers moving to undo the button. You glanced back at him in alarm.

“You didn’t think we were done just yet?” He asked, his smile turning wicked as he unzipped his trousers and pulled it down. “I edged you twice,” he explained. “And I’d like to think I’m a fair man. So,” he paused and lowered his underwear, which freed his erection. “I owe you another good time.”

He stepped out from the last of his clothing, towering over your body as he inched his way toward you. “I won’t lie, though,” he murmured once he’d reached your ear. “I’m doing this mostly for me. I think I’ve waited long enough to feel you, really feel you.”

You glanced up at him, your eyes large and pleading like a pathetic mutt begging for scraps. “I don’t think I can take any more, Coriolanus.”

“Did it feel good, what you did just now?”

“It felt like heaven,” you told him softly.

“Then this time will feel like being completely reborn,” Coriolanus insisted, his hand relocating hair from your sticky face. “And even if it doesn’t, you’ll push through because this is your punishment, and punishment is not always meant to be enjoyable.”

You glanced off to the side, hating how much the cold look in his eyes stirred something inside of you.

Coriolanus found satisfaction in the way his words kept you silent. He grabbed your chin and turned you back to him, his thumb pressing into your lower lip before he planted a hollow kiss in its stead. He placed his forearm beside your head, leaning onto that side as his other hand reached down for his cock. He gave a lazy pump across his hard length, a pathetic attempt at spreading his pre-cum. He didn’t need to do any better, not when your drenched cunt offered enough lubrication for him to enter without a struggle.

And it did, without a single hitch, as he pushed himself inside of you. Your soft gasp sounded in his ear, his attention still trained below. Once he was sure he was properly inside of you, he turned his head up and placed his arm on the other side of your head. You felt so warm and welcoming, definitely a lot more relaxed than the previous times he’d stuck his cock inside of you.

He began to thrust, not having much patience to start slow and gradually build up the pressure. This entire evening had been leading up to this moment, the opportunity for him to be in this exact position. He’d spent all of his patience, now he just needed to finish what he’d set out to do. He was pleased to feel your hands snake beneath his arms and take up a hold on his back, that is until your nails suddenly sunk into his skin.

He let out pained moan, his gaze growing fierce at the satisfaction on your face. Two could play that game. He withdrew his length a far way out, his tip almost slipping from your entrance entirely, before he rammed himself back inside with an animalistic thrust. His tip collided with your g-spot, a harsh and sudden greeting to the sensitive area.

You let out a scream, your stomach lifting against him. Before you could process the shock, he rammed into you again, and again, and again. Each time, he returned with the same force, and not once did he fail to miss his target. Your nails in his skin continued to sink deeper, the both of you reduced to nothing more than grunting and gasping.

The bed creaked with every movement, the room echoing with the raw percussion of your skin-on-skin contact. Coriolanus bucked into you with such aggression that he began to moan with every sway of his hips. His hands, trapping your head on either side, slipped behind your head to grip at your hair. He yanked, opening up your neck to him. You moaned as his lips buried against your skin, the tip of his nose flattening into you as his teeth sought out your skin.

His movements became jerky, his teeth gritted as he grunted against your neck. You slipped a hand from his back to bury it into his hair, fastening your fingers around his blond wisps that had turned curly from the sweat of his activity.

“I’m going to cum,” he breathed into your neck, his hand flying to one of your thighs. He pulled it up to wrap around his lower half, his thrusts growing violently needy. “Fuck,” he spat, then called your name desperately. You felt too good, especially now that your walls seemed to clench around him—he knew that you were close, too.

Your second orgasm arrived, the hot wetness pooling around his length. He couldn’t maintain his control anymore. At last, he gave himself over to his pleasure, his movements becoming sluggish as he felt his release inside of you. He didn’t stop his thrusts, not until he felt himself empty every last drop inside of you.

Coriolanus collapsed beside you, his hand finding your cheek and pulling your head against his chest. For many minutes, nobody spoke, each one struggling to regain their breath. His other hand held your lower body against him, keeping his cock secure inside of you. He could feel your mingled juices leaking along his thigh and onto the sheets, a mess he didn’t mind right now.

You burrowed into Coriolanus’ arm, a tired sigh leaving your lips. “Fucking hell,” was all you could manage to say after an ordeal like this. Tonight had been his most brutal fuck thus far.

Your body ached everywhere, and you weren’t sure your swollen clit would ever forgive you for what you’d brought upon it. You supposed it served you right for trying to make him jealous by flirting with another man. You’d never stupidly test his limits that way again, that was for sure. You two laid in comfortable silence, riding out the last of your highs.

“Coriolanus,” you called to him softly, your fingers playing with his. “Do you love me?”

Coriolanus tilted his head down to you, his eyes widening at the sudden question. His lips parted to say something, but he quickly bit on his tongue. It was clear that your need for his attention had grown into something more profound, that you’d started to care about him in more than just what he had to offer your body. He turned his gaze up to the roof. “My position doesn’t permit me the time to love,” he answered carefully.

Your hair shuffled against his arm as you sat yourself up to face him. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He turned his gaze back onto you, calling your name softly. “I have goals to achieve in this world. It leaves little time for relationships.”

Your eyes held disappointment. “Then what’s the point of all of this?”

“The point,” Coriolanus said, taking your hand into his, his thumb rubbing comforting circles across your skin. “Is that we keep each other company, offer a comfort that others couldn’t gift us even if they tried. We satisfy each other in ways that only we know how to.”

“So I’m just a source of entertainment to you?” You snapped, attempting to pull your hand from his, but his grasp on you tightened.

“Am I anything different to you?” He asked, his tone level, his cool eyes challenging. “Don’t mount a high horse, not when you entered this knowing exactly what you were in for. I take care of you and I make you feel good—that’s plenty more than you would’ve gotten back in the district and in any other location in the Capitol, for that matter. Would you rather go back to your district, back to a cold bed and an empty stomach with nobody to rely on? Maybe you’d rather I put you on the market for as some Capitol slut looking for her next sponsor. I can make that happen—“

“No!” You interrupted, your hard eyes thawing with a look of horror, like you’d recalled all the terrible memories of your life in the district. It was far from pleasant, a past you’d have liked to forget for good. You had nobody, nothing to return to.

As for the Capitol, you knew that there were infinite weirdos and perverts that would marvel at the opportunity to get their hands on a hunger games victor, especially one that had been branded by Coriolanus Snow more than once. You could only imagine what sort of prize that made you, a collectible to be displayed. The thought made your stomach turn.

“I don’t want that,” you said, your head lowering in defeat. “I just want you.”

Coriolanus’s eyes raked across your figure, so slumped in submission and hopelessness. He realised then just how much he’d broken you, reshaped you into a lapdog that would only eat directly out of his hand. “Good,” he murmured. “I want you, too. Only you.” His free hand moved to cup your chin, tilting it to face him. “And maybe. . . you could teach me how to love.”

Your eyes widened at those words, the hand clasped in his going stiff. He tugged at you, pulling you into him. Your head found its way nuzzled into the crook of his neck, his chin moving to rest atop your head. He continued to play with your fingers, his other arm cushioning your neck and holding you against him. He felt your breathing slow into an easy sleep, your warm breath flushing against his chest. He closed his own eyes, breathing deeply at the sweet scent radiating from your hair. He allowed it to lull him to sleep, mulling over your interaction.

He’d known the truth for years already—that his heart bore no capacity for love. It had saddened him, at first, made him feel as though he’d been formed wrong in the womb. His father had loved his mother enough to bring him into this world—his cousin, Tigris, had loved him, too, to the point where she’d have sacrificed everything to ensure that he’d survived the war. Sejanus, too, had loved him like a brother, trusted him with all that he was, and it had ultimately killed him.

All his life, Coriolanus had been cradled with love, but he’d been forever cursed with the inability to return it. It had taken him years to accept it, until one day, everything had clicked into place.

Perhaps he wasn’t meant to love, not when the world had become a disastrous mess in need of order, in need of somebody to bring it to that stage. He knew then that he could offer the order that Panem needed. Peace came at the cost of blood, and blood came at the cost of strength. Strength meant that love had no place and no say in the hard decisions to be made, for its love that made you vulnerable, and vulnerability was a weakness. He didn’t bear that weakness, and he never would.

As for you? Well, you were somewhat of a complicated matter as of now. When it came down to it—the decision between you and his destiny, he’d choose destiny without a doubt. But for now, he’d keep you close. He’d shower you with attention, spoil you with his touch, offer you everything you’ve ever wanted in a partner. And once you’ve lost all worth to him, he’d discard of you.

Coriolanus knew that his path was one headed straight for the top, to claim the title of president of Panem. All that he’d done to get here, everything that he’d achieved up until now, it was all just the beginning. He was glad now—that he could not find it in himself to love anyone. It left him free of any liabilities, gave his enemies not even a fraction of power to hurt him.

For it’s the things we love most that destroy us.

════════════════════════

You MUST know I had to include that iconic line

Anyways, I’m sincerely sorry that this fic is like 15k words. I always tell myself to keep it simple but I’ve literally got no say over what happens once my fingers start typing away. I hope you all have enjoyed this read. I’m not TOO sure how I feel about it, but I think I’ve just gotten to the point where I’ve proof-read it so much that I honestly can’t stand it anymore.

This is my first every coryo fic and it was incredibly daunting to write, considering that he is such a complex character to portray and because I unintentionally resorted to flowing between his and the reader’s perspective, which I usually hate, but shit happens. I’ve never read the books (I am getting them for my birthday yay) so it was difficult to get inside of his mind given that I’ve never trod there before. In any case, I hope that I did his character justice in this blabbering mess, even if I did add my own sadistic twist lmao.

MERRY CHRISTMAS MY LOVELIES🎄

Your comments & reblogs are always appreciated. Thank you!! ~

I take requests (so long as I’m comfortable writing it) <3

════════════════════════

#tom blyth #billy the kid #young coriolanus snow #tom blyth x reader #coryo snow #coryo x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x you #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus smut #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus snow fic #coriolanus imagine #billy the kid x reader #billy the kid x you #coryo smut #coriolanus fanfiction

644 notes · View notes

twola · 1 month

Note

ahehehm.

i get scared when making requests but like .. soft makeup sex w arthur 🧎‍♀️

“i’m sorry baby. i know, i didn’t mean it.” UGHH this man makes me crazy

If there is one talent that Arthur Morgan has - its accuracy. With a gun, a throwing knife, any kind of weapon really.

And his words - He knows what to say to make it hurt, to stab at your chest as if he was physically driving the knife into your heart.

Your eyes cloud over with tears as you quickly turn away from him and walk in the opposite direction, nearly dashing into the woodline away from your shared tent.

Arthur remains where he stood, scowling, fists still clenched. Fine - if that’s the way you’re going to be, go run off for all he cares. He turns on his heel and goes back into the tent, yanking the canvas shut before angrily pulling the hat from his head and throwing it to the ground. He runs his hands through his hair, trying to assuage his aggravation.

Grumbling, he kicks his boots off and throws himself down in the cot, pulling his hat over his head in an exaggerated manner to try and get some rest.

He awakens much later, in the small, quiet hours of the night, and the small space in his cot next to him is still empty. His stomach drops.

Shit, were you still out there? He figured you would have crawled back into bed after calming down. He shoots up, tossing the blanket to the end of the cot and swinging his legs over the side, groping for his boots in the darkness. He shoves them back on before venturing outside, teeth clenching against the cold.

It doesn't take him long to find you, curled up against a tree a little ways away from camp. Your head is in your knees as you wrap your arms around them.

“Sweetheart.”

You raise your gaze upward, and Arthur frowns as he can at least see the glistening of tears in your eyes.

“Why would you say that to me?”

Guilt washes over him like the tide coming in. The heat of the argument earlier has subsided and he drowns in the shame of hurting you.

“Darl-” he sighs, trailing off before stripping his jacket off, stepping closer to you and draping it over your shoulders as you shiver. He stoops down next to you to sit, pressing his side against yours, and after a moment, looping his arm around you to draw you closer.

You shiver in the chill of the night, but after a moment, you lean into him, resting your head against his collarbone.

His hand rubs up and down your back gently, “ ‘m sorry - I didn’t mean it.”

Your hand slowly emerges from under his jacket and spreads out over his chest, above his heart.

“You say things like that and it makes me think you don’t want to be with me anymore.”

“Shit- I ain’t…” Arthur sighs, pulling you even closer against him, “You know I’m just a miserable ol’ bastard. I shoot my mouth off…”

You remain silent, but your fingers tighten at his shirt.

God, he’s such a fool.

“C’mon, let’s get back inside. You’ll catch your death out here.”

You let him lead you back from the woodline toward his tent, his hand tight around your waist the entire time back to his tent strung up against his wagon.

He pulls the canvas of the tent shut tightly against the chill of the night. You stand awkwardly within the confines of his tent, rubbing at your arm as you sniffle. He turns to you, reaching toward you as if he were trying to calm a skittish horse.

“I ain’t- I ain’t good at this.” Arthur whispers, his thumbs gently sweeping the tracks of moisture collecting on your cheeks.

“Me either.” You hiccup, leaning into his touch.

“Suppose that makes us both fools.”

You hum in agreement as you press forward to lean into his embrace fully, your arms moving from his chest around his back as his encircle you as well. You feel him place his chin lightly on the top of your head.

“Lemme show you then.” He rasps, pulling away from you slightly, his hands pressing against your back to pull you up to him into a kiss.

His tongue presses into your mouth as his grip around your waist tightens. You moan softly, and he returns the noise, one hand moving to squeeze your rear.

Laces and buttons are gently undone, cotton rustling as he rids you of your dress. He slowly pulls the straps of your chemise off your shoulders, and the fabric flutters to the ground, pooling at your feet as his fingers trace down the curve of your spine. He reaches the waistband of your bloomers and pushes it down over the swell of your ass, leaving you completely nude in the soft lantern light of the tent.

You reach for the buttons of his union suit and thread them through their eyelets as you feel his eyes upon you. It is not until you have unbuttoned him past his navel that you look up, catching his gaze and holding it as you lift your hands to his shoulders, sliding the cotton down his arms.

That too pools at his feet.

It is only a moment before he pulls you flush to him, his skin touching yours, all of you pressed against all of him. He recaptures your lips as he maneuvers the two of you toward his cot. Far more gently than an outlaw like him should be, he lays you down.

Arthur leans over you, one knee on the edge of the cot, and as you gaze down his body, you see the evidence of his need, his cock hard, jutting forth proudly from his pelvis. Leaking from the tip, swollen and glistening for you.

You can feel the moisture gathering between your legs, he’s yet to trail his hand there, but when he does, he finds you wet and wanting. A low rumble emanates from his chest as he parts your folds with a gentle press of his fingers.

You suck in a breath as he does so, your eyes fluttering shut as he rubs at you. Moving downward, he slides a thick finger into your cunt, and you gasp his name in feverish desire as he climbs atop you, pressing your legs apart with his own, settling his hips closer to yours. When Arthur removes his finger, he brushes the wetness off on his leg before his hand smoothes up your body, searching for yours. When he finds it, he interlaces your fingers as he wraps his other hand around himself as he moves toward you.

The blunt, girthy head of his cock presses through the rim of your cunt and you gasp, a high and flighty noise, as he begins to push himself inside you, sheathing the column of him within your warm channel.

When his pelvis blessedly is flush against yours, he lets out a long, sated breath as you squeeze your eyes shut against the feeling of being parted, getting used to the shape of him within you.

Arthur remains still, his free hand rubbing gently at your hip as he waits for you. When your eyes flutter open, he is peering down at you with adoration in his eye. You squeeze the hand you have interlaced before unwinding your fingers from his.

Words remaining unspoken, you reach up to him to wind your arms around his neck, and he immediately gets down on his elbows, surging forward to lock his lips to yours.

And then he moves. A long, slow, gentle stroke in which his pelvis leaves yours for a moment before returning. You moan as he does it again, and he takes a moment to hear that flighty sound before pressing his lips over yours.

Your fingers card through his shorn hair as he slowly, gently pumps into you. You receive him headily, your core getting wetter by the moment.

The emotion of it all spills over - he seems incapable of words as he gives himself to you. The cot squeaks in the night: the gentle slap of skin on skin, the wet sound of bodies coming together fill the tent.

He reaches between you to rub at that bundle of nerves right above where he stretches you, and you clench your teeth against the pleasure as you come.

He is able to stay inside you for a moment more to enjoy the constriction of your body around his, but not much longer as he quickly extricates himself. He only needs to wrap his hand around his length and pump himself twice before his spend splatters upon your heaving belly.

Arthur pants, giving his cock a final squeeze as it drips more of his release upon you. Within a moment, he reaches down to the pile of clothes at the side of the cot, pulling his bandana from the pile and wiping your skin clean.

Your eyes start to close as you feel him slide into the space next to you on the cot, gathering you against him.

He presses his lips to your forehead as you drift off, but before you do, you hear his whispered voice in the night.

“I love you.”

#arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #red dead redemption #red dead fanfic #twolafic #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 fanfic

329 notes · View notes

lena-in-a-red-dress · 10 days

Text

Blue and Fire Engine Red, Pt 1

(The Firefighter/Cop AU)

-----

Kara knows her local fire station. How could she not? Being a field sergeant for NCPD, not a week goes by that she’s not at a scene with a ladder, engine or ambulance. Even so, when Engine 13 pulls up on the scene of an apartment fire, a new face comes to get a sit-rep. She’s sure the woman asks some very good questions, but only one word fires across Kara’s mind and out of her mouth.

“M-march?”

The firefighter’s brow furrows. “Sorry?”

God her voice is as beautiful as she is.

“Sorry, what was the question?” Kara stammers.

“I asked how many were still inside?” The woman is clearly still befuddled by Kara’s blurt, but she stays on topic.

Kara clears her throat. “We think three. One is a three year old on the third floor with her mother.”

The firefighter nods. “Thank you, Sergeant,” she says with that same throaty voice. She turns to her crew and begins issuing orders. Kara notes that the men– and all of them are indeed men– launch into motion without question. Huh. Kara files that information away for later.

Kara’s job is done. She steps back to help with crowd control, leaving the rescue team to do their job. She trusts they know what they’re doing, she knows they do. But she can’t help the way her jaw clenches when they file through the smoking door, Firefighter March in the lead.

She can’t believe she did that. March?! Absolutely no one needs to know her familiarity with the NCFD annual calendar. She’d purchased one for the charity of it all, but the moment she’d seen the portrait for March she’d been done for. Let’s just say it’s been March for the past four months.

She must be a transfer from another station, Kara figures. Her image in the calendar confirms that much, let alone the authority she carries within her station's crew. Kara can only hope March doesn’t make the connection between the calendar and Kara’s word vomit.

That hope is dashed after March re-emerges with a middle-aged woman slung over her shoulders (with her comrade carrying the three year old steps behind her) and the fire is reduced to little more than heat and smoke. After passing the mother over to the paramedics, March catches her gaze and approaches, lifting her helmet free of her head to reveal mussed dark hair.

March grins, tucking her helmet under her left arm. “Sergeant,” she greets. “I missed your name earlier.”

“Danvers,” Kara returns, accepting March’s extended hand in a handshake. “Kara Danvers. Welcome to the neighborhood.”

“I appreciate that,” comes the easy response. “I’m Lieutenant Reilly.”

Kara arches her brow. “Lieutenant?”

“Lena,” she gets with a burst of laughter. “A pleasure.”

For a moment there’s a beat of silence as Kara finds herself tongue-tied. Lieutenant Reilly– Lena– is somehow even more gorgeous sweating with a smudged face and fuzzy hair. Luckily, Lena isn’t nearly so daunted.

“You know,” she says, “being new to the area, I could use a recommendation for a good bar.”

Ohhhhhh, jeezus. Kara recognizes the flirt for what it is, and it fills her belly with butterflies. But she wasn’t made sergeant yesterday. She knows how to give it back.

“I’m sure your guys could point you in a few directions.” She folds her arms over her chest with a teasing smile.

“Ah, but they’re not nearly so cute.”

Lena’s head tilts invitingly, and Kara has no intention of drawing this out.

“Well, then, when can I pick you up?”

Lena beams. “I’m on shift until Sunday. Why don’t you stop by the station tomorrow so we can compare calendars?”

Kara freezes. Oh no, oh no, oh–

“I might even sign yours if you ask nicely.”

Lena shoots her a parting wink before sauntering off. Kara’s cheeks flush as she watches her go. Only when she’s sure Lena is engrossed with packing up her team does Kara finally radio her status back to the dispatcher. Almost instantaneously, she gets back the report of a robbery nearby.

“This is Danvers, Unit 1P4 responding.”

#supercorp #firefighter cop au #meet cute #Kara has a-- um... appreciation #yes #Lena is in the calendar

308 notes · View notes

strangerstilinski · 8 months

Text

𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary; stiles lets it slip that he hasn't had his first kiss yet and, as his friend, you're more than happy to remedy that.

warnings; no use of y/n, fluff, established friendship, some pretty intense kissing, one instance of reader being referred to as a girl

word count; +3.5k

a/n; no smut here, but i am currently planning a couple nsfw pieces to work on between bouts of writing my ongoing (long suffering) stiles fic.

please think about leaving a comment/reblogging if you enjoy! it would actually mean the world to me

“-And it was just.. So wet. Way, way too much spit, y’know? And there was entirely too much tongue on his part considering the fact that his hands, like, never even left his pockets-”

You’re not entirely sure how, nor at what point, the conversation devolved into a mostly one-sided and incredibly detailed analysis of Mark Hagan’s kissing technique, or lack thereof, but by the time your eyes fall to the boy sitting in the driver’s seat, you realize that you’ve been rambling for at least a full minute in the patchy darkness of the parked car.

“-And I’m not saying I wanted to be groped or anything but, I mean, it’s a little awkward when a guy just-”

You falter suddenly, when you notice the awkward slump in Stiles’ posture, and your words taper out without warning. He has one hand white-knuckled on the steering wheel and the other gripped tightly on the back of the seat where he’d turned to face you when he first asked how your date had gone the night before. And- God. That had been minutes ago, now.

“Sorry,” You apologize immediately with a grimace, “Was that, like, way too much information? Sorry.”

“No, I, uh,” He releases the steering wheel and shakes out his hand as if only just realizing how tight his grip had truly been. Your eyes are embarrassingly distracted by the long line of his fingers as he continues, “I guess I just didn’t realize how many things you could do wrong, y’know? I assumed it’d be more straight forward than that. You lean in, press your lips together, kiss, done. Right?”

You laugh softly at his rushed response, “I mean, I guess. I’d like to think there’s a little more skill that goes into it than that.”

“And, uh, Mark..” Stiles has been seemingly overwhelmed with reasons to dislike the other boy since you’d announced your upcoming date the week before, and he nearly spits the name with disdain when he says it now. “No skill, huh? Not quite, uh.. Not up to your standards?” He’s fiddling with the straw from his long-finished milkshake as he speaks, eyes downcast and determinedly focussed on his fingers, “Considering the overabundance of tongue, the lack of groping, and the, uh.. All-around wetness-?”

Another small huff of laugher escapes you as you drop your own empty cup into the greasy paper bag the diner had stuffed your to-go order into a half hour before, your socked feet returning to the Jeep’s dashboard only a moment later.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” You fight back a cringe at the mere memory of the drool that coated Mark’s chin when you’d finally decided you’d had enough and pulled away.

“What about you?”

His question catches you off guard and your brows furrow as you meet his gaze, “What about me?”

He twists and folds the straw of his drink with more vigor, nose crinkling before he elaborates, “What would you say your, uh.. Your skill level.. is?”

You pitch forward to grab one of the few remaining curly fries from the container perched by your feet on the dash, falling back into your seat and munching slowly as you genuinely ponder the question.

“I think I’m probably alright,” You shrug after a moment, “I mean, it’s hard to say, right? But I’ve never had any complaints. And considering Lydia is, like, the queen of complaining-”

You’re caught off guard by the entirely inhuman squawk of disbelief and surprise that escapes him. He’s scrambling in his seat with no real purpose before he slowly comes back to a standstill, now sitting just a few inches closer to the passenger side than he was before.

“Lydia? You.. You and Lydia have-?”

You shrug again as you wipe your greasy fingertips on the leg of your jeans, “Yeah, like, twice. Maybe three times?”

“Three-?”

“What about you?” You interrupt.

You tip your head against the backrest to look at him in the dim light of the parking lot as you await his response. The Jeep is barely getting hit with the residual light from the windows of the diner, but the bright neon sign on the roof of the building casts a pretty red hue over Stiles’ face. His mole-dotted skin is flushed with it, the only bits safe from the red-tinted glow are the shadows beneath his brows and the tiny divot in the tip of his nose that extends up from his cupid’s bow. You want to trace the darkness on his skin with the tip of your finger — with your lips.

You find yourself getting lost in just how gorgeous he is, not for the first time.

“Huh?” Stiles asks dumbly.

“Skill level,” You elaborate with a grin, lifting one foot from the dash to poke your toes into his knee, “What about you? Are the girls positively swooning? Melting under your touch? ‘Oh, Stiles. You’re the best kisser on this side of the Rockies-’”

Your teasing is silenced when his hand comes out to cover your mouth, long fingers trapping the words beneath your lips. Your knee is squished awkwardly between you, but he’s so warm you can feel the heat of his body seeping into your own, and the scent of his body wash fills your nose now rather than the lingering smell of grease from your shared dinner. You can hardly focus on his words as the smell of teakwood and pine invades your senses.

“No one in their right mind would ever say something like that after being kissed,” He tells you, face pinched in a cringe, “Like, not even something remotely along those lines. Not even in those weird old-timey romance movies you make me w-”

You grab ahold of his fingers to pull his palm from your lips with a small giggle, “Oh, c’mon, the suspense is killing me! Are you a good kisser or not?” Your mind is reeling a bit as you think about it. You can’t help but wonder what it would be like to kiss Stiles, to feel his lips on your own, his hands on you. “I feel like you probably are. Just the right about of enthusiasm but you’re also a total perfectionist so it’d-”

“I don’t know!”

His exclamation is entirely too loud for the confined space of the car, his voice ricocheting sharply off the metal shell of the vehicle and causing you both to flinch a little. Stiles looks as if he wishes he could stuff the words back into his mouth and try again. You’re simply looking him over with a more critical eye, searching for the reason for his recent outburst as if it might be written plainly on his face, like you might find big emboldened letters of explanation etched across his skin.

“What’d’you mean you don’t know?” You scoff in amusement, “Y’know what? Fine-” You shuffle closer as an idea pops into your head — a brilliant, glorious, heaven-sent idea. His fingertips are still trapped within the palm of your hand and your knee slips over the top of his thigh as you slide closer and move into the center seat, “C’mere. I’ll give you review-”

Your face edges closer and closer to his own until your noses bump and the delicate touch seems to zap Stiles into alertness, sending him jolting back as if he’s been electrocuted.

The sourness that erupts in your belly at his reaction isn’t wholly unexpected, but a small flicker of shame joins it and burns like acid in your chest.

“Well, shit..” You murmur with an awkward chuckle.

It’s difficult to bite back the nagging feeling of embarrassment that swirls through your veins in response to being shot down by your best friend — your best friend that you’ve desperately been wanting to kiss since middle school.

You swallow harshly before continuing with a self-deprecating laugh, “I didn’t realize the thought of kissing me was quite so.. Horrifying. My bad.. I.. I’m sorry. You don’t- I didn’t think and I just- Sorry.” The last bit comes out quieter, the sound of it buried beneath the sudden tightness in your throat.

You find yourself avoiding his eyes, but that only means that your gaze is drawn to the smooth expanse of his neck — and there’s that glow from the diner’s neon sign again. His skin is cast in that red hue, smooth expanses of scarlet broken up by the speckles of dark moles and beauty marks scattered here, there, everywhere. You can almost make out his jumping pulse beneath the hollow of his throat, the dark crimson shadow twitching nearly imperceptibly with each too-quick beat of his heart.

They’re all spots that you’ve only dreamt of having your lips touch.

On rainy days when he shakes his hair out like a dog with the sole purpose of hearing the way you squeal in surprise, the drops of water finding their way down his temple and filling you with the urge to kiss it away.

When you slip into daydreams from the desk behind him during class, your eyes stuck on the exposed curve of his shoulder where his shirt collar is stretched just a little too loose, your lips tingling with the all-too vivid phantom feeling of his skin beneath them.

Trapped in his embrace, his height just enough that your face is smushed into his collarbones, nose crushed against him and pulling in the woodsy scent of his cologne, your mouth pressed limply to the soft cotton over his chest but aching with the desire to pucker and leave behind a gentle peck.

“No! No, it’s not that!” Stiles denies immediately. He’s already reaching out to drag you closer again, hands curling into your waist the moment you attempt to slip backwards into a bubble of shame in the passenger seat. “Kissing you would be the opposite of horrifying! It would be, like, a dream come true or- Or-”

Your eyebrows creep up your forehead at that, the barely there curve of a nervous smile pulling at the corners of your lips as his words seem to tumble out faster, growing increasingly difficult to understand as he rambles in a way that you’re all-too familiar with.

“-Because if I was going to kiss anyone, I’d want it to be you, but if I do kiss you and I’m horrible at it and you’re, like, repulsed-”

You’re still trying to piece things together despite the jumbled bits you seem to have missed. Your lips part in astonishment and his fingers tighten where they’ve begun to anxiously dig into your hips as he continues.

“-What if I’m worse than Mark? What if.. What if I’m so bad that you kiss me once and then you never, ever want to kiss me again because I was so unbelievably-”

“Stiles!”

You cut him off, already scooting closer until your left thigh is practically in his lap. His words cut off, a sharp inhale tearing past his lips as your hands find his shoulders, your thumb dragging over the freckled skin of his neck. You can feel his pulse jumping wildly against the pad of your finger as you finally voice your question.

“Are you telling me you’ve never kissed anyone before?” You ask the question as delicately as you can manage, but he still winces as an embarrassed flush colors his cheeks further.

“Not.. Not technically.” He admits quietly, big brown eyes still tinted beneath the crimson glow from outside the Jeep.

“Not technically?” You repeat slowly.

“I don’t know why I thought saying it like that would make it sound better,” He says weakly, “It didn’t. It was still just as mortifying. And so, so lame.”

Your heart flutters, cracks, and then ticks up in quick succession as your flooded with a wide array of conflicting emotions. You can’t quite believe what it is you’re hearing.

“You haven’t had your first kiss?” The words come out a bit more heartbroken than you intended.

Stiles looks horrified at the bluntness of your statement for a moment before he’s swallowing harshly, eyes dropping from your own for a fleeting second.

“No,” He says in a quiet voice, nearly a whisper as his eyes flick back up to yours, “But, um, if- If you’re still offering.. I mean-”

Your heart is positively hammering in your chest, so hard you worry he might be able to hear it, but then your thumb drags up and brushes over his own racing pulse again and his nerves seem to somehow calm yours. Your lean forward until the tip of your nose catches on the bridge of his again, eyes not leaving his as you move achingly slow, giving him time in case he decides to change his mind.

“You’re sure?” You ask softly, the whispered question little more than a breath of warm air against the bow of his upper lip.

“Uh huh.” He just manages the quiet sound of affirmation, a small nod of his head has your lips brushing lightly and the barely-there touch pulls a sharp breath of anticipation from him.

“Okay,” You say quietly, dragging one hand to the back of his neck so you can guide the angle of his head just a touch to one side.

His grip on your hips readjusts and tightens further, one of his clammy palms slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, and the warmth of skin on skin has you breathing out harshly in the sliver of space between your lips again. Your eyes flick slow between his, wide pools of scarlet-tinted whiskey watching you with rapt attention. Your mouth curves up with the hint of a smile, a soft breath of laughter falling into his parted lips as your fingers dig into the thick muscle of his neck.

“Close your eyes, weirdo.” You whisper fondly.

“Shit, fuck. Sorry, yeah. Eyes closed.” He rambles off quickly, eyes pinching shut immediately and hands squeezing your hips as if silently promising that he’s ready.

Endeared. You’re so fucking endeared your organs feel as if they’ve gone warm and syrupy beneath your skin.

Despite your admonishment of his eyes being open, you find yourself unable to pull your own away from watching every small tick in his features. Your hand on his shoulder tightens as you brush your nose across his and when the tight pinch of his eyes slackens and he takes a small nervous breath of anticipation, you finally press your lips to his.

It starts with just a small peck as your brain whites out for just a second. His lips are soft and chapped and plush against your own. You linger for a brief moment before you’re separating just enough to slot your mouths back together a little better.

His lower lip finds itself between yours and he gravitates toward you when you make like you’re about to draw back a second time, his mouth blindly searching for yours. He applies more pressure as he seems to become more sure of himself, one of his hands sliding to the base of your spine to drag you closer.

Impressed, you guide the angle of his head to tip just a hair further, your lips parting to exhale a hot breath into the gap between his own. A small sound rumbles from his chest as he tries to replicate the heat of your kiss on the next meeting. His lips fall open just enough that his breath mingles with your own and your brain goes a little heady with it, thighs tensing as blood rushes in your ears and heat pools in your gut.

You draw back and you’re forced to tangle your fingers in his hair to hold him in place when he tries to chase your mouth again. His eyes crack open to meet your own when he finds himself unable to catch you in another kiss and his pupils are blown a little wide, black overtaking brown until only a small ring of rich chocolate remains. You’re sure you don’t look much better, with the way our chest is threatening to heave with excitement, your fingers trembling where they’re gripping onto the muscle of his shoulder and woven into his hair.

“That was.. That was good.” You tell him after a moment, voice embarrassingly shaky, “What.. What’d you think?”

“Good.” He returns just as weak, “Great. That- Mhm. Awesome.”

His eyes are on your lips again and he looks downright hungry, but then, so are you.

“You’re a natural,” You praise breathlessly, eyes flicking between his rapidly as your fingers unconsciously tighten in his hair, “I’d never guess that was your first kiss – It was.. You learn fast.”

“We- You should probably show me more,” He insists, already leaning back in until his forehead finds your own, “That way I won’t end up like Mark, y’know? With pretty girls complaining to their friends about how wet and gross and bad it-”

“You think I’m pretty?”

He blinks at you as his lips curve up at the corners, the tip of his nose catching against yours to shoot sparks down your spine when he replies, “I think you’re beautiful.”

“Oh.” Is all you manage to get out as a smile tugs at your own lips.

“You want to maybe show me how to use tongue without, being completely repulsive and, like, drowning you or whatever?”

“Mhm,” You agree easily through a breathless laugh. You can’t quite help the quick press of your lips to his and you feel the relieved exhale that falls from his nose and fans out in a warm puff against your face. “Just for the record, though-” You feel the need to elaborate, “There is a time and a place for wet. When things are really hot and heavy and you’re in the throes of passion or whatever — a little too much tongue is great. It can be really, really hot. But- Like I said, time and place.”

The information leaves Stiles looking mildly overwhelmed and severely aroused, but he’s nodding dutifully, “Uh huh. Got it. Noted. I’ll remember that.”

“Okay.”

His mouth is claiming yours again before the word is even fully out, the sound of it lost in your lips and what remains is smothered by your gasp of surprise. You let him control the pace for a moment before remembering that you’re supposed to be the one guiding him.

You bring one hand up to his face, thumb catching his chin so you can guide his jaw to drop open a bit further as your tongue teases against the inside of his lip. His groan meets your ears, the sound of it sending a shockwave through your body that you’re still reeling from as he repeats your action with truly startling ease. The warm wetness of his tongue has you feeling hot all over, and when it catches against the tip of your own before retreating, you nearly whimper in protest at the loss.

He effortlessly settles into the pattern of give and take, hot brushes of tongues broken up by soft pecks against slick lips. His fingertips dig into your skin like he’s afraid you might slip away into nothing if he doesn’t hold you tight enough and you find your own fingers scraping at his scalp in response.

You’re both making soft little noises between the quiet smack of lips, the leather seats creaking every time your weight shifts in an attempt to get closer.

The lack of oxygen has your head a little fuzzy at the edges when you finally pull back and each of your exhales mingle warmly in the small sliver of space between your mouths as you both fight to catch your breath.

“I, um. I don’t think you have to worry about your kissing technique.” You tell him breathlessly just to break the silence, “You’re all good. A, uh, a great kisser. Eleven out of ten.”

“Cool. Cool. That’s great, I, um-” He coughs quietly, nervously, as he leans back to put a bit more space between you, “Would you maybe want to do it again sometime?”

He’s looking at you with pretty brown eyes blown wide and bleeding earnestness. The hand around your back has fallen to your upper thigh, the grip of it tightening as if punctuating certain words as he speaks. It’s entirely possible that your brain sort-circuits, because a moment of silence passes before he’s barreling on.

“-because I, for one, would really like to do that again sometime. Maybe.. Maybe after a date? Or during a date — that part doesn’t really matter. I just really like you and I have pretty much since forever and now that I’ve kissed you-”

“You like me?” Is all you manage past the heavy thumping of your heart in your chest, your ears — Shit, you’re pretty sure you can feel every pump of it in each trembling twitch of your fingers.

“So much that’s borderline embarrassing, yeah.” He admits, throat bobbing as he swallows nervously.

A breath whooshes past your lips, filled with relief and surprise and elation.

“I like you too.” You say after a beat too long, “Holy shit. Stiles, are you kidding me? I’ve liked you since the fifth grade.”

“Really?” He looks mildly shocked.

A giddy laugh escapes you as you drag him forward again to bring your lips back together. The kiss is chaste, but filled with so much emotion it makes your head swim a bit.

“Damn,” Stiles mutters suddenly, the frustrated curse puffing out against your cheek, “Does that mean we could’ve been doing this the whole time? Like, years of kissing-?”

His words cut off when your lips find his once more and he gives in easily, his train of thought thoroughly derailed.

“I guess we’ve got a lot of time to make up for then, Stilinski.. You up for the challenge?”

Stiles nods wildly and he’s pulling you back in before you can say anything else.

#stiles stilinksi fanfiction #stiles stilinski #stiles x y/n #stiles x reader #stiles imagine #stiles stilinski imagine #stiles fanfiction #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles fluff #dylan o'brien fanfiction #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf stiles #*#dylan o'brien imagine

988 notes · View notes

leighsartworks216 · 6 months

Note

Screaming crying crawling up the walls for your top tier Astarion content

Idk if you’ve seen this, it’s floating around the internet (I think it’s a tweet?) it says something like “I want someone to grab my face and say ON PURPOSE, I WILL CARE FOR YOU ON PURPOSE” and I’d love to see our love-deprived bi-centurion react to something like this.

Like maybe he’s caught feelings for tav and is starting to feel bad for manipulating them and starts self-sabotaging by saying/thinking stuff like ‘you only THINK you love me but it’s not real, I’m sorry I made you feel this way’ and tav getting v v serious and replying “I never loved you by accident”.

Him being confronted by the fact that things never would’ve gotten this far if they didn’t let it, if they didn’t choose him, that they’re still choosing him and that it has nothing to do with the act he put up or the situation he constructed, if they wanted nothing to do w him they could’ve and would’ve dipped.

Idk I’m just spitting ideas, have fun babe ✌🏻

- 🦇

I wrote this at 2am but I did proofread it (it's almost 4 now 💀)

Also the original tweet is by Jenny Slate (@/jennyslate) and says, "I just want someone to grab my little face and scream 'ON PURPOSE, ON PURPOSE I AM GOING TO CARE ABOUT YOU'"

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: self-doubt, references to manipulation, self-deprecation, references to dissociation, dissociation mention, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 1,392

Main Masterlist

Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

It began one night, almost a week ago. Astarion had gotten into the routine of joining you in your bedroll after feeding, cuddling close and relaxing to the steady sound of your heartbeat. That night, a week ago, he didn’t. He delicately bit into your skin and pulled away before you were even slightly dizzy, murmured something about how you’d need your strength for a fight tomorrow, and slipped off to hunt for animals. Truly, you didn’t think anything of it, then. And maybe you got so lost, so caught up in your daily stress, that was why you didn’t register it for so long. Comments under his breath about manipulation immediately covered up with Gale requesting a magical artifact or Shadowheart and Lae’zel fighting.

So, a week went by. And the realization finally hit. Guilt ate away at your stomach, but wallowing wasn’t going to help. When night started to creep in, your companions slipping into their tents, you slipped into Astarion’s. Sitting in a pile of pillows, he looked up at you with a smirk and a ‘Hello, darling’, but it didn’t reach his eyes. They were dark. Distant.

“I’m sorry I haven’t given you the attention you need,” you start. A baffled look flickers across his face, but it is not given the time to settle.

There is a twitch at the corner of his mouth, like it’s a strain for him to keep smirking. “It’s perfectly alright, darling. You’ve been busy running around camp, helping people - I understand.”

With any other person, this would have seemed a perfectly reasonable response. An apology accepted, a mutual understanding - the relationship goes on. Except, this was Astarion.

You sit down nearby, close enough to reach out and touch. Any closer and you worried you’d overcrowd him. You always tried to let him come to you first, though he usually struggled to initiate anything.

“You’ve been distant, too,” you point out. He begins to form the words to apologize, but you shake your head to stop him before they can build a sentence. “I’m not upset, I don’t need an apology. I just wanted to know why.”

To be honest, he didn’t expect you to notice. He assumed, quite stupidly, all things considered, that you would be too preoccupied to notice him slowly slipping away. Late night cuddles dashed for hunting, hand holding forgotten as he trails along at the back of the group, kisses never lingering and the ones that did lacking any emotion behind them.

“Is something wrong?” you prompt gently. “If it’s too much, we can work out what would be better for you.”

Guilt stabs at his own non-beating heart like a wooden stake. He’s drifting and you still throw him a rope, still ask for him to grab on and pull himself away from his past, from dissociating with the slightest hint of affection.

He smiles wryly. “I can’t hide anything from you, can I?” he teases, but it comes out a little too strained to be a joke. His fingers fiddle with the corner of the page of his book. He finds watching the paper fold and bend is much more interesting than looking into your eyes.

He sighs. “I’m sorry, my dear,” he says, but the endearment feels like fire on his tongue, “but it’s not real. This isn’t real.” Your brow furrows as you stare at him. He can’t bear to see the realization cross your face. “Two hundred years of manipulating - of course I would trick you, too. It’s instinct, darling, I don’t blame you.” Red eyes finally meet yours. You look confused, of course, but there’s an air of determination, like you’re ready to fight whatever plagues him. “But this… love… it’s not real. And for what it’s worth, I am sorry I made you feel this way.”

He expects anger. He expects tears, even. Crying and shouting and ‘How could you?!’s and ‘I can’t believe you’ve manipulated me all this time!’ But it never comes. You frown, sure, but it’s leagues away from being angry.

“You think… you manipulated me into feeling this way?”

It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. Admitting it feels bitter. He blames it on his growing fondness for you, but he knows it cannot possibly be returned in any genuine way. Not with his underhanded tactics surfacing at every passing glance, soft brush, and gentle smile. “Come now, darling,” he smirks again, building a wall to separate himself from the shitshow that must be just ‘round the corner, “who could really love me?”

That only succeeds in making you frown further. “Astarion, I’m not with you because you’ve tricked me.” The baffled look from earlier surfaces again, but it lingers, mixed with doubt. “I understand that you started this to manipulate me into protecting you, but I’m not here because you successfully influenced my emotions - To be perfectly honest, I could tell from the start.”

He laughs dryly, suddenly, like it startles him. “And here I was thinking I’d learned some subtlety.”

You don’t laugh with him. You don’t even smile. “I chose you, Astarion. I still choose to be with you. Because I want to.”

Any lingering mask of confidence fell from his face. The creases around his mouth became more prominent as he frowned. His eyes darted around, glancing around your face for any tells of deception, any hint that you’re making this up to make him feel better. “How can you be sure? How do you know you’re choosing me and not just buying into another act?”

“Astarion.” You get on your knees and hold his face in your hands. He stares up at you with big, round eyes. “If I wanted to, I could break up with you. I am not staying because I feel stuck, or because I feel obligated to. I love you. On purpose. On purpose, I am staying with you. On purpose, I choose you.”

He opens his mouth, but no words form. His mind is reeling, chasing to catch up and process everything, all the while jumping and flipping, trying to find excuses or reasons why you shouldn’t care for him. He swallows the lump building in his throat. He speaks in a whisper, too stunned to speak louder. “Are you sure?”

Your whole face softens. Determination turns to fond affection, frown lifting into a soft grin. “Yes. I’m sure.” You press a kiss to his forehead, and he closes his eyes to savor it. It’s been a week without allowing himself your love - he deserves to enjoy it once again, even if he feels guilty for it. He wishes his thoughts would just shut up and let him have this. “If you still need space or time, I’ll be here. I’m not leaving. Just,” you pull his face back, “please talk to me about this next time. I know things have been hectic, but I’m never too busy for you.”

He sighs, slow and soft. Relieved. “Of course, my love.” He adores the way you smile brightly at the endearment. He turns sheepish. “Ah, could I, possibly, join you tonight? It does, admittedly, get rather lonely passing the time alone.”

You kiss his cheek. “Of course you can. C’mon, I’ll even play with your hair if you’d like.”

He chuckles, genuine this time. “I very much would.” His book is set aside, the page he left off on lost as he takes your hand and follows you from his tent. He can’t help himself from squeezing your hand in his, like he can’t quite grasp the fact you are physically holding onto him. Even when you lay down first and he settles in next to you, arms wrapped around your middle and his head on your chest, it still feels hard to believe. But the way you wrap your arms around him and gently detangle his curls and scratch lightly at his scalp cannot possibly be from his imagination. Nor the way you press kisses on his forehead and temple and hair with sweet praises and words of affection. His mind is not kind enough to imagine such tenderness.

Laying there in your arms, listening to the steady beat of your heart and even breaths that fill your lungs as you slip into sleep, is the closest he has ever been to true contentment.

---

Tag List:

@hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @lynnloveslokiredacted @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @kindadolly @bloopthebat @pandimoostuff @chesb0red @black-star1472 @sessils @olitheghostboy-blog @puppyg1rl666 @maruichio @cyber-dump-171 @katharynmarie @twinkliker3000 @cherifrog @catching-fire-in-the-wind @phantoms-fandom-blog

1K notes · View notes

titforatat · 4 months

Text

let me remind you (with sweet tears in your eyes)

posted here on ao3.

check out pt. 1! — check out pt. 2!

warnings: nsfw

coryo pov, under-negotiated kink, light bondage, dacryphilia, forced orgasms, multiple orgasms, squirting, fingering, cunnilingus, blow jobs, nipple play, pinv sex, coryo just needs to prove that he can fuck you right, overstimulation, porn with feelings, aftercare, simp coryo!

word count: 9,328 (i’m literally so sorry)

summary:

All jealousy is rooted in control. After you visit him at the office, Coryo’s determined to remind you that only he can bring you pleasure beyond your wildest imagination.

excerpt under the cut:

“Well,” Phipps breathes. “Panem’s most beautiful victor, before my very eyes. I never expected such a pleasure.”

Something clenches in Coryo’s jaw.

You laugh modestly, giving Phipps a neutral smile. “The pleasure’s mine, I’m sure.”

There’s an awkward pause before Phipps rushes on. “I’m Julius Phipps, the Dean of the Academy. It really is a pleasure to meet you.”

Another polite nod from you, along with your own unnecessary introduction. Everyone in the Capitol knows who you are. Coryo understands that, having been the driving force behind it while promoting you for the Games—but being faced with it in the aftermath makes him nearly nauseous with jealousy.

No, not jealousy, he tries to mollify. I have you, and he doesn’t. I’ve had you wrapped around my cock, dripping down my chin, clawing at my skin—not him, not anyone. Just me.

“How long have you been in the Capitol?”

Ice crackles underneath his skin. You shoot Coryo a small look and say graciously, “Not very long at all.”

“Well, I hope you’re enjoying our beautiful city,” Phipps replies. “I was gutted when Juno told me you wouldn’t be at this year’s opening ceremony. It seemed, for a while there, that almost no one knew where you were.”

Coryo’s on his feet suddenly, chair skidding across the floor. It’s loud enough to make Phipps jump. “What is it you needed to tell me, Dean Phipps?”

You take advantage of the interruption, gathering yourself quickly. “I’ll head back down to the car, then. Tigris and I are stopping by the fabric shop. It was nice meeting you, sir.” You shoot Coryo a plastic smile and tilt your head in goodbye. “Goodbye, Coriolanus.”

Coriolanus. It shoots through him like a bullet, and the grip he has on the edge of his desk goes taunt enough to make the wood creek.

Before you can fully escape, Phipps reaches out his hand for you. You give him your own, and with a bow, he presses a gentle kiss to the back of your hand.

Coryo’s teeth grind together, and he tries to stop seeing the world in red. I’ll have your entire family name disgraced, old man.

“Have a nice afternoon,” Phipps tells you. Echoing the sentiment as politely as you can, you dash out the door.

Like a man with a death wish, Phipps watches you go. When he turns back to Coryo, he has a gleeful look on his face.

“Even prettier in person,” he marvels. “I thought so during the Games, although she looked quite wild at the end.” He gives Coryo a lascivious, conspiratorial look. “That’s a District girl’s charm, though.”

Disgraced isn’t good enough. I’ll see this bitch hanged.

please check out this fic on ao3 using the link above! 💕

#coriolanus smut #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow x fem!reader #coriolanus x fem!reader #coriolanus snow x you #coryo x reader #coryo x you #coryo x fem!reader #coriolanus x reader smut #coryo x reader smut #coriolanus snow x reader smut

760 notes · View notes

beebox-illustrations · 11 months

Note

I LOVE YOU BEE! I LOVE YOUR SUPERNATURAL FANART!!!

Please delete if you aren't interested but would you take prompts 😬 Dean is a very protective older brother and i vaguely remember an episode where he goes apeshit when sam is bullied back when they were kids (and then something similar happens in that episode). Dean is so so angry and sam is just like <i am baby 🥺> and they are very cute 😩😭

You continue to light my dash AND LIFE with just your existence thank you thank you thank you 😘😘😘

My dear @l0vegl0wsinthedark !!! Sorry it took me months to answer but I just couldn‘t think of a good scenario! Hope you enjoy this one ✨🌻

Thanks for sticking with me through the years and fandoms 🫶

On this note: Thank all of you, who send nice asks and messages and reblog my stuff with hilarious and relatable tags I really appreciate every single one 💚 (super sorry I’m so slow at answering) but I hope I can brighten some days from time to time as much as your support brightens mine on a regular basis!

Have a fantastic week guys 💚🌻

#supernatural #ask box #dean winchester #the ever protecting big brother #crossing the scary maniac line from time to time but we love him nevertheless #sam winchester #being the adorable little brother since 1983 #both of them being highly skilled at building sandcastles #in my mind #some random bullies #one poor girl whose sandcastle got destroyed #beebox-illustrations #digital art #illustration #web comics #procreate #my art #also the worlds ugliest bottle caps ever drawn

1K notes · View notes

creamsickle-writes · 1 year

Text

A Thing or Two: Ace x F!Reader x Luffy

Tags: nsfw, Luffy and Ace interact in a not safe for work context (Ace teaches Luffy how to have sex and guides him to Reader's entrance during the fic), oral sex, penetrative sex, creampies, and light dirty talk

Ace noticed how his little brother stared at you.

As you danced in the middle of the ship’s deck, Luffy had his eyes glued to you the entire time; his eyes raked over your figure, his gaze shamelessly glued to your hips as you shook them. He would occasionally reach towards the table of food behind him, eating here and there.

Ace cracked a smile; it had been a long time since he reunited with his brother. After his two years of training, it seemed he’d certainly grown up in more ways than one. After all, he had never seen Luffy so interested in women before.

Ace approached his brother, placing a hand on his shoulder, a grin on his face.

“She’s a looker, isn’t she?”

“Huh?” Luffy looked up at his brother.

“The girl you’ve been eyeing all night,” Ace laughed, cocking his head in your direction.

Luffy blushed slightly and turned back to the buffet table, stuffing his face with anything and everything.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, Ace.”

“You don’t have to deny it, you know.” Ace chuckled, “Not like you to be shy.”

Luffy grumbled as he ate his meat, barely chewing before swallowing it all, “Not being shy, don’t like her like that. She’s just a friend.”

Ace raises a brow, “Then surely you don’t mind me talking to her, do you?”

Ace stiffens when Luffy looks up at him, his eyes filled with almost murderous intent. Ace laughed and raised his hands, trying to calm the younger man, “Easy, Luffy. Was only teasing.”

“Good!” Luffy pouted, “’Cause she’s mine, and you can’t have her!”

“Thought you didn’t like her like that?” Ace teased, and Luffy just crossed his arms in defiance.

“Well, maybe I lied!”

Ace laughed and rolled his eyes playfully, “Why don’t you talk to her? I saw her staring at you a few times tonight.”

“Really?!” Luffy bounced off the walls, looking at you as you danced amongst your crewmates.

Luffy immediately dashed towards you, striking up conversation rather quickly. Ace only laughed. That was his brother, for sure.

He watched on, seeing you both talk happily.

_____

A few months later, Ace reunites with his brother again, and yet again, another fantastic party is thrown.

This crew really liked any excuse to party, Ace finds out quickly.

And this time, when he sees his brother, he’s dancing with you instead of just ogling you from afar. Ace smiles, glad he was part of why you two eventually ended up together.

As the party goes on, you eventually leave the dance floor and make your way to Ace. To his surprise, you ask if you can speak with him in private. He gives a shrug and decides, sure, he can step away for a bit.

When you reach the kitchen, you sit down, and Ace sits beside you.

“Hey, um,” you start, nervously laughing, “I know this is weird, but… but do you know Luffy is into?”

“Into?” Ace squints, leaning back in his chair.

He doesn’t miss how your cheeks flush, “Well, it’s just that… I’ve tried dropping hints to Luffy that I want to, um, take our relationship further, but I don’t think he’s noticed?”

Ace cracks a smile.

Oh.

You wanted to know how to turn Luffy on.

“Not sure,” he shrugs, “I’d imagine you’d have to be very blunt with him, though.”

You only nod, leaning in to capture every word from Ace’s lips.

“Just don’t dance around it. Say how you feel.”

“Okay.” You then clear your throat, “And um, I just wanted to ask um….”

Ace sits up, your tone seeming to change with this new topic. You sounded meeker, even more shy, as you talked.

“I’m not very experienced, so… I-I don’t know much about pleasing others like that… do you think you could, um, give me some tips before you leave?”

Ace’s eyes widened before you quickly added, “You don’t have to, though! I’m sorry, this is probably really inappropriate!”

Ace only laughs, patting your shoulder, “It’s nothing to worry about! I can probably give you some pointers before I head off.”

Now Ace is blushing because, well, it sounded like he was going to physically show you. But he swore that wasn’t his intention; he would only verbally communicate with you.

At least, that’s what the plan was.

You sigh before brushing off your skirt, “Thanks, Ace; I’m sorry this was so terribly awkward.”

“Not at all.”

The flame man watches as you get up from your seat and make your way to the kitchen door, offering a short farewell before leaving.

At that moment, when the door closes, he notices a bit of straw peeking out from behind the kitchen counter. Ace smiles softly; looks like his interaction with you had an observer.

“Luffy,” Ace calls, and immediately the straw hat ducks under the counter, “I know you’re here.”

Ace gets up from his seat and walks behind the counter, spotting the young man crouched by the floor.

Ace kneels beside him, “Looks like your girl wants you to make a move.”

Luffy hums, “Don’t know how.”

“What?”

“I wanna do it with her, but… I don’t know what girls like.”

Ace offers a small laugh, “Looks like you’re both too scared of being inexperienced to get the ball rolling.”

“’m not scared!” Luffy retorts, “Just… wanna make sure she feels good.”

Ace gives a smile out of pity for his brother. He had never seen him be self-conscious before. He always seemed to rush in, to charge ahead without thinking, but it seemed like you meant a lot to him, and he didn’t want to mess up.

“Want you to show us, Ace. Please?”

Ace turns beet red at that and stumbles backward, landing on his ass.

“C-Come on, Luffy, I can’t do that-“

“Why not?”

“I mean, it’d be weird. We’re brothers, you know? I don’t think-“

“Pleaseeeeeee?”

Ace sighed, “Luffy-“

“Besides, we aren’t, um,” Luffy thinks momentarily to find his words, “Blood-related! Or even married-related!”

Ace chewed the inside of his mouth. That was a fair point; there would really be nothing incestuous about this possible encounter. But still, it felt forbidden, wrong…

“Come on, Ace, you taught me how to do everything! What’s so different about this?!”

Ace is about to offer another rebuttal, but he can’t say no when he sees Luffy’s big, round doe-eyes.

Instead, Ace sighs, “Alright, how are we going to do this?”

_____

The next night comes, and Ace asks to see you in the crow’s nest. You make your way up, surprised to see Luffy is there too. Your boyfriend gives you a big smile and waves as Ace stands next to him, a slight smirk on his face.

“What’s up?” You ask, cautiously approaching the two men.

Ace starts, “I know you asked for some tips before. I think Luffy and I have come up with a more hands-on solution.”

You flush as you notice how the crow’s nest is furnished. There are piles of pillows and blankets adorning the floorboards. Everything between you three looks so cozy, so soft. Your eyes flicker from the floor back up to Ace and Luffy.

“A um, h-hands-on solution you say…”

“Only if you want to.” Ace adds, “But Luffy said that he wants me to show him how to please you, and since you asked how to please him, I figured we could kill two birds with one stone, yeah?”

You chewed at your bottom lip. You had always found Luffy’s brother attractive, and now that you were presented with the opportunity of being with the two men at once, your head spun.

“Don’t you feel weird about this?”

“I was a bit at first, but Luffy reminded me that we’re not technically brothers,” Ace laughs, and Luffy plops down on the blankets, spreading out comfortably as he stares up at you.

“Come on,” Luffy motions for you to come close, “Lay down with me!”

You timidly step onto the blankets and kneel next to Luffy. Little did you know you’d be sealing your fate.

Luffy kisses your lips as soon as you’re in the makeshift bed. It’s messy, wild, and full of so much energy. Your head spins.

You hear Ace laugh from behind Luffy, and soon your lips separate, “Easy there. Why don’t you try a different approach?”

“Like how?” Luffy tilts his head as he turns to look at the older man.

Ace makes his way between you both, cupping your cheek, “You mind if I show him?”

“U-Um, you can…”

Ace laughs lowly before leaning in, pressing a softer kiss to your lips. He’s still very much in charge, though, kissing you with a particular passion and forcefulness. You gasp when he licks your bottom lip, asking for permission.

Luffy never did that.

You timidly opened your mouth, allowing Ace to explore your cavern. When he slides his tongue against your own, you moan, enjoying the feeling.

When he parts from you, Luffy speaks: “Ew, why would you wanna kiss with your tongue? Sounds gross.”

“Just try it,” Ace chuckles, scooting away from you, “It feels good.”

“‘Kay…” Luffy mumbles before cupping your face and leaning in to press his lips against yours. He’s still more passionate than Ace and slightly clumsy, but you can tell he’s trying to mimic his bond brother. Soon enough, he’s licking at your lips, and you open your mouth, allowing him to explore.

Luffy slides his tongue up against yours, tasting you thoroughly. A soft moan escapes your mouth as he begins fucking it with his tongue, teasing your own.

He keeps going until you need to break for air. You’re left breathless as you pull away, your spit connecting you two.

Luffy bites his lips, “You’re right, Ace. Does feel good…”

And before you can catch your breath, Luffy is back on you, kissing you with his newly acquired skills. He drags you onto his lap, and you gasp when you already feel something hard poking you.

Meanwhile, Ace’s breath is trapped in his throat. Watching you and Luffy make out was really hot. He couldn’t help but bite his lip as his cock twitched in his pants. He wanted nothing more than to take your lips again, but he knew his place; he was just the instructor.

Luffy immediately tugs at your dress’s hem, “Take it off, please?”

You laugh at his whining and slowly remove your dress, allowing your body to be visible. Ace swallows thickly; you are such a beautiful girl. Your curves were in all the right places, your skin seemed silky smooth, and your beautiful eyes looked up at Luffy with such innocence.

He’s lost in your body as Luffy struggles with your bra clasp. His groans of frustration cause Ace to snap out of his trance.

“Stupid thing-!” Luffy growls, and Ace laughs.

“Here, it’s like this.” And Ace masterfully undoes your bra with a single hand. You feel your core clench at the action.

“Ohhhh,” Luffy muses as your bra straps fall off your shoulders, allowing your bra to hit the floor, “Thanks, Ace!”

Luffy immediately reaches for your tits, molding them in his hands. You squeal at the touch, and Ace laughs.

“Sensitive, aren’t you?”

You flush, your eyes looking away from both Luffy and Ace.

“What should I do with ’em, Ace?” Luffy asks, looking up at the dark-haired man.

The older man only chuckles, “You kiss on ’em… suck ’em, like this…”

Ace leans forward and captures one of your nipples in his mouth, swirling his tongue slowly over your puckering nipples. He moans against your skin and takes your torso in his hands, softly rubbing your sides. You throw your head back, letting out soft whimpers as he pleases you.

He pulls away, your nipple popping out of his mouth. Luffy practically bounces in place, eager to get started.

“I wanna try too!” And with that, your Captain lunges forward, taking your other nipple into his mouth. He sucks harshly at your breast, taking your other one into his hands. He tweaks and pulls at the nipple not in his mouth, and Ace bites his lip as he watches on, his own erection becoming unbearably painful.

He tries to touch himself sneakily, palming his erection in his shorts. You and Luffy don’t notice, though, as you’re too involved with each other. Luffy moans happily as he sucks on your nipples, nibbling them roughly as he gropes your other breast. Your eyes are shut tight, your head tossed back as you relish the feeling.

Ace sneaks behind you, abandoning his weeping erection for a moment to tug at your panties. You gasp as Ace pulls you away from Luffy, his arms holding you tight against his chest. You take off your panties, and Luffy stares, enamored by the sight of your slick folds.

Ace spreads your legs with one hand and slides his other between your legs, spreading your folds. Luffy licks his lips and immediately goes for your cunt, licking a long stripe from your hole to your clit.

“O-Oh, Luffy-!”

“Make sure you focus on that little ball at the top, Luff,” Ace instructs, his fingers still spreading you open so Luffy can enjoy his feast.

“Here?” Luffy questions innocently, flicking his tongue over your swollen clit roughly. You gasp sharply and arch your back, causing Ace to chuckle.

“Mhm, just like that,” Ace smirks before his hands find their way to your breasts, molding them and pulling at your nipples.

Okay, so he knew he was supposed to be the teacher, but he couldn’t resist you anymore. He could always excuse it as adding to your pleasure anyway.

Your eyes flutter shut as your sensitive parts are stimulated. With Ace pulling at your nipples and Luffy slobbering all over your clit, you weren’t sure if you could last long.

“Mmh,” Luffy moans, “Tastes good…”

You flush at the vulgar words that left his mouth, your legs starting to quiver.

“You okay?”

Ace answers for you, “She’s getting close; keep going.”

Luffy dove in once again, sucking and slurping at your sensitive nub. You instinctively reach for his raven hair, pulling the young man into your cunt. Luffy groans at the action and eats you out with even more determination.

“Fuck, Luffy-!”

You squeal, gushing onto his tongue. The Captain moans heartily, tonguing your clit and sucking up all you had to give.

Ace groans from behind and accidentally ruts against your ass, causing you to gasp. It was your first time noticing that he was erect as well.

But you don’t say anything about it.

Luffy sits up with a huge grin, “Was that good?”

“Of course,” you pant out, your head swimming as you attempt to ground yourself in reality.

“Alright, let me teach you a few things, yeah?” Ace chuckles, his breath hot against your ear,

You nod timidly, and Ace adjusts himself so he’s on his knees now, guiding you so you do the same.

“Stand up, Luffy.” Ace commands and Luffy follows, getting the picture. The younger man starts to undo his pants and hastily removes them along with his underwear. His cock is red and throbbing, his shaft excitedly twitching in the air. You swallow and look to Ace for permission to touch.

“Go on and grab it. Not too rough, alright?”

You nod and grip Luffy from the base, making him jump.

“Good, but more towards the tip, okay?” Ace suggests before taking your hand in his, guiding it to the flushed head, “And let’s start slow…”

Ace keeps your soft hand in his as he begins pumping Luffy’s cock. He flushes deeply as he realizes what he’s doing, but Ace swallows harshly; he was just helping, that was all.

“Y-You got it?” Ace asks, and you nod. He releases your hand, allowing you to take control now. Luffy’s thighs clench as you stroke the tip of his dick, streams of precum leaking out.

Luffy calls your name as he pants, “Feels… really good-!”

“Why don’t you help him out?” Ace chuckles, “Look how he’s crying out for you.”

You glance between Ace and Luffy briefly before lowering your head, licking up all the precum that pooled at the top.

Ace bit back a groan as his cock throbbed at the sight. Your blushing face and nervous tongue were too much, and the lewd sounds from Luffy’s mouth only added to the entire scene.

“More-“ Luffy grunts, thrusting his hips impatiently, causing his slick head to rut against your cheek.

Ace purrs, “Let’s give him more, yeah?”

You nod, and before you can say anything, Ace tucks your hair behind your ear and pushes your head forward. You moan as you take Luffy into your mouth, your tongue caressing the underside of his cock. He practically howls as you take him as deep as possible. Your eyes look up at your boyfriend, his own shut tight.

Ace moves your head back and forth, helping you bob your head on Luffy’s cock. He grunts under his breath, his own cock twitching as he wishes you were sucking him off too. But he settles for watching you.

“That’s it, make sure you drool around him too; guys like it sloppy like that…” Ace moans, pulling your hair back as he guides your head.

“Y-Yeah,” Luffy’s voice cracks, “‘Like it when it’s all wet… hnn, shit-“

The Captain’s hips snap forward, his cock fucking your throat with Ace still controlling your head. You felt like a toy, so easily manipulated by these two men.

“Use your hands too,” Ace suggests, and you place your hands around what you can’t fit in your mouth, “Twist your hand when you suck him in.”

Luffy’s moan catches in his throat as he throws his head back, “F-Feels so good-! I might-“

Ace pulls your head off Luffy’s cock, and you’re left panting, a singular string of spit connecting your tongue to his throbbing shaft. Luffy almost cums from your lewd face alone.

“That was close, huh?” Ace chuckles.

Though, his erection is getting more bothersome. It throbs uselessly in his underwear as he watches on, and he’s not sure how much more he can take.

But an idea pops into his head.

“Alright, last lesson,” he wets his lips, “Time to show you how to fuck a girl.”

Luffy’s eyes light up, “Oooh, okay!”

You look at Ace with a dark flush on your cheeks, and he smiles that charming smile of his, “That is if your girlfriend is okay with that…”

You bite your lip, “I-If it’s to show Luffy, then… it’s okay.”

Ace smirks, “Of course.”

The older man repositions himself so he’s no longer behind you but in front of you on his knees like you are. Luffy is behind him, still standing, watching intently.

“Here,” Ace starts, gently laying you down, “You’re gonna want to treat her like a princess. But…”

Ace makes quick work of unbuttoning his shorts and sliding out of them and his underwear. His cock bobs excitedly in the air, the tip flushed bright red. You don’t miss how precum leaks from his frustrated cock.

“Make sure you ask how she wants to be fucked too. Even though you’re supposed to be gentle with girls, they sometimes like to be fucked like whores.”

You gasp at his words and whimper when he slides his swollen, wet head over your folds.

“So tell me,” he smirks, “How do you want to be fucked?”

Your lips tremble, “Hard.”

Luffy scrambles to your side, sitting beside your head, “Don’t worry, Ace will do it right! And then I’ll try to do it even better!”

Ace chuckles, “Mm, we’ll see…”

With that, Ace pushes in, and you gasp at the stretch. He’s thick, making your hole adjust to his girth.

“Oh, she’s tight-“ he hisses, lowering his head, “Feels really good-“

He lets out a drawn-out moan as he pushes inside, your walls clenching and pulsing around him.

“N-Now, Luffy,” Ace starts, his voice trembling as he bottoms out, “You’re gonna want to aim for her g-spot, okay? That means you have to angle your hips up.”

As if testing the waters, Ace pulls out slowly before pushing back inside. Your eyes flutter shut, and you throw your head back. Luffy looks at you in awe, watching your face scrunch and contort in pleasure.

“Her g-spot?” Luffy questions, tilting his head.

“M-Mhm-“Ace stutters, already lost in your wetness, “you’ll know it when you feel it. It’ll make her feel really good.”

Luffy hums before looking back at where your body and Ace’s connected.

“And you’re gonna want to be romantic still. Hold her hand while you fuck her.” Ace says, his own hand reaching for your right one. Luffy follows suit, taking your left hand in his.

“Alright,” Ace starts, “Just watch for a bit; you’ll pick up fast.”

The older man takes your hip in his free hand, angling your hips upward before slamming in. You sharply gasp as he hits that sensitive spot within you dead on.

Ace felt like a piece of shit for disguising his horniness as simple instruction, but fuck, you felt so good. It had been a while since he had sex, and you were perfect. The way your pussy wrapped around his cock, how your breasts jiggled as he pounded you, your cute voice gasping as he slammed in- it was all perfect.

“Does it feel good?” Luffy asked, his hand tightening around your own.

“Yes-!” Your eyes roll back, “Yes, he feels so good, Luffy!”

Luffy stares, watching Ace snap his hips forward as if his life depended on it. The younger man then reaches for your clit, rubbing it slowly in circles, “And it feels better when I do this, right? ’Cause I wanna help too…”

You nod dumbly, “It feels good, Luffy… K-Keep rubbing it-!”

Luffy’s fingers speed up, and you toss your head back, drool escaping your lips as Ace’s cock hammers into you, hitting that spot that makes your toes curl.

“Oh, you’re so wet-” Ace grits his teeth, “L-Luffy, make sure you… tell her how good she feels when you fuck her-“

Luffy nods eagerly, watching on.

The older man leans in close, his eyes locking with yours as his raspy voice meets your ears, “Mn, I wish I could fuck this little pussy of yours all the time. You’re so fucking wet and tight. Luffy’s really lucky…”

Your face glows with embarrassment at the man’s words, “A-Ace-”

His cock throbs inside you as his hips don’t let up, his cock’s head slamming into your most sensitive parts. Your chest rises and falls as he plunges into your pussy with great force. You cry out, legs seizing as he penetrates your depths.

“Mm, okay, I think I got it, Ace!” Luffy exclaims, and Ace’s hips stutter.

Shit, he was hoping he could cum from this, but he knew better than to push his luck.

Reluctantly, he pulls out of your heavenly pussy, leaving you to throb around nothing. You whined at the loss.

“Take a crack at it, Luff.”

Ace moves aside, releasing your hand. Luffy does the same, positioning himself between your legs. He rubs his pink tip over your slit before shoving himself inside, causing you to moan loudly.

“S-So- warm-!” He moans, tossing his head back, desperately humping your cunt, “O-Oh, it’s really wet, like your mouth was!”

Ace grabs your hand as he takes Luffy’s previous position. Luffy has his hands on your waist, his strokes pummeling your insides.

Ace reaches between your legs with his free hand and spreads your lips, “Watch it go in and out of her…”

Luffy looks down, his eyes lidded as he watches his cock disappear inside you, “Feel the wet stuff… going down my balls- there’s so much…!”

You bit your lip at his obscene words, wet smacking sounds echoing throughout the room.

Luffy makes a lustful noise as his vision starts to grow hazy. He’s utterly pussy drunk already, fucking you recklessly. Your poor cervix would be bruised in the morning, but you didn’t care; you just wanted Luffy to fuck you.

“I-I’m gonna- “Luffy starts, “I’m gonna-!”

“Pull out- “Ace warns, and Luffy obeys, his cock angrily bouncing in the cool air. Luffy lets out a drawn-out whine.

“Aceeeee,” he pouts, “I was close! Why did I have to stop?”

“Because,” Ace smirks, “You gotta make her cum from your cock. Here…”

Ace shuffles so that he’s behind Luffy. The younger man looks behind him and blushes slightly when a large hand wraps around his base, guiding him to your folds.

“Tease her like this,” Ace bites his lip, dragging Luffy’s soaked tip over your clit, “Back and forth…”

Your legs tighten as Luffy’s head swipes over your needy clit, stimulating you slightly. You begin to squirm, and Ace laughs a bit.

“Now, let’s try it again…” Ace angles Luffy’s cock so it prods at your hole, and Luffy gets the message, taking your hips in his hands and dragging you forward, impaling you on his cock.

Luffy spreads your legs apart, allowing him to reach even deeper inside.

“Remember, angle upwards,” Ace grabs Luffy’s hips and angles him just right, causing your eyes to roll back as Luffy resumes his hectic pace.

“So tight-!” Luffy grits his teeth as he fucks you like a wild beast, chasing his high while trying to get you off.

Luffy pants, throwing his head snack as he squeezes his eyes shut, “Can’t- Cant get enough! You feel so good! Wanna do this all the time now-“

To your surprise, Luffy pulls out, turns you around, and pushes you onto your knees before shoving your face into the pillows.

“Wanna do it like this-“ He growls, before forcing himself back inside, “Want to fuck you, just like this!”

You gasp loudly as suddenly his cock smashes your cervix. Your eyes look to the heavens as he shoves his cock inside, battering your womb.

“L-Luffy!”

“Take it all-!” He growls, slamming into you with a force you had never experienced.

Ace’s cock can’t take being neglected anymore. He sits to the side, watching you both, and doesn’t even bother hiding his newly busy hand. He bites his lip, freckled cheeks flushed as he watches Luffy fuck you from behind.

He was so jealous. He wanted to pound you with all that he had too. He wanted to ram into your deepest depths and make you squeal.

But all he could do was fuck his hand.

Ace watches on, your moans and squeals getting him riled up. His cock desperately throbbed, wanting nothing more than to be back inside your warmth. But he simply watched on, licking his lips as Luffy absolutely destroyed you.

And soon enough, your words cut through the lewd sounds.

“I-I’m cumming!” You moan out, “L-Luffy, I-I’m-!”

Luffy doesn’t slow down; he continues assaulting your tight folds until he bursts, filling you with a cracked moan. His warmth shooting inside triggers your orgasm, your cream coating his shaft as he thrusts in and out.

Ace grunts, his orgasm approaching quickly. He speeds up his hand so he won’t be left in the dust, and soon enough, he’s cumming after you both.

The room is silent save for your combined ragged breaths. Luffy eventually pulls out, his cum leaking out of your hole. He, with shaky hands, guides his tip back to your entrance and shallowly thrusts in and out, stuffing you full.

Ace laughs breathlessly, “Good, make sure none of it goes to waste…”

Luffy laughs gently along with him.

#one piece #one piece smut #x reader #cream's fics #monkey d. luffy x reader #monkey d. luffy #portgas d ace x reader #portgas d ace #portgas d. ace #monkey d luffy

2K notes · View notes

chryblossomjjk · 2 years

Text

practice (pt. 3) | jjk

⇢ PAIRING: fuckboy!jk x inexperienced reader

⇢ RATING/GENRE: m/18+ | college au, fwb, smut, fluff, angst

⇢ WC: 12.8k sorry

⇢ WARNINGS: emotional at points, fighting rip, oc lowkey in her villain era, they both say mean things to eachother (nothing tew intense), jk is not a himbo >:(, characters are forced to face their insecurites </3, misunderstandings, finger sucking, oral sex (f and m recieving), 69 action if u squint, brief ass eating, a little manhandling, titty sucking (obvi), flavored lube, butt plug moment, miss hitachi is finally here !!!, unprotected sex, corruption kink, squirting, overstimulation, slight dom jk, a bit of manhandling, praise, creampie, maybe unrequited love, maybe not (lol jk u'll find out), where's waldo but instead of waldo its bam

⇢ SUMMARY: sparks fly as you try to forget about jungkook.

⇢ NOTES: it’s finally here! if you haven't read pt 2 in a while, i'd suggest rereading it before reading this part! maybe even pt 1 bc callbacks. you might miss a few things if you don't. kinda nervy to post this bc everyone was so conflicted. hopefully the ending is satisfying for all. also sorry if the smut is meh, this piece was more plot driven than other things i’ve written. thank you so much for the love and support on this series. seriously cannot thank you guys enough. very bittersweet to be saying goodbye to it but i hope you stick around. love you and as always feedback is v appreciated !! big ty to @floweryjeons for betaing !!

⇢ SERIES MASTERLIST

dumbo do u want lunch? i can drop it off in about 30

You were midway through a three hour lab and you really needed to focus. Unfortunately, the professor’s droning was easily overtaken by incessant vibrating. You peek at your phone with a scoff before shoving it back into your pocket.

Jungkook doesn’t get the hint.

dumbo i’ll just get the usu

dumbo lol i forget… ur lab is in room 305 in the civic engagement building right?

Room 222 in the science building. You don’t correct him, though.

It was difficult to ignore the sharp, self-inflicted stabs that pierced through your back whenever he texted you. But you had to rip the bandaid off before it had time to adhere to you entirely. You hadn’t talked to him in days. Not since he lied to you.

Whenever you had the urge to respond, you went through memories. Pictures of him looking unamused, pink pout scrunched up as you smushed his cheeks together. Videos of his nostrils fluttering as blaring snores filled your dorm room; your soft giggles in the background.

Little snapshots of the present that were now the past.

You were slowly weaning yourself off of Jeon Jungkook.

Your phone goes off again during your break.

dumbo hey i’ve been waiting for like 20 min

dumbo gonna head out since ur probably caught up. free until about 4 tho so text me if u want anything i’ll come back

dumbo or we can just get something after the showcase?

dumbo are you running late?

dumbo you know it starts at 7p right?

dumbo ik you hate being late so i’m starting to get nervous…

dumbo just let me know that you’re safe please

Those texts were sent nearly three hours ago. You’ve tried to distract yourself with homework, Sailor Moon, and the watermelon mask you were currently washing off your face. Nothing helped. The guilt lingering in your chest was heavy and you wish it would trickle down the drain like the abandoned products.

You sigh, shaking your hands vigorously to flick off the excess water. A damp knuckle presses your phone screen. It’s 10 p.m. on a Friday. Back at square one.

The scent of your green tea moisturizer fills your nostrils as you glide the creamy substance over your skin. Fingertips dancing gently across the surface of your plump cheeks. The touch is soft and delicate, just like his was-

Intrusive thoughts make you want to remove your frontal lobe.

You try to remind yourself that although vibrant and dashing, Jungkook was anything but your knight in shining armor. Greedy. Disgusting. Selfish. Just like the rest of the men who tried to conquer the tall brick walls of your heart, mind, and body.

You look at yourself in the mirror. Despite the brightening mask, your dewy skin was dull. The inner corners of your big eyes were overtaken by winding red branches. The thick black bags under them appear even heftier than your beloved Playboy duffel. Your plump lips are coated in your Laniege lip mask. It’s candy-flavored, but it doesn’t taste as sweet anymore. You look lifeless.

Did cutting Jungkook off really affect you that badly?

Or perhaps you always looked like this, and the loss of him made you realize how truly gloomy and lackluster things were before.

For the past two months, your reflections were filled with pearly white teeth and crinkled eyes. Being with Jungkook was careless and irresponsible in all the right ways. Whenever you were with him, the negative thoughts that often plagued your mind were forgotten, and you were just… free.

But look where that got you.

The sound of your phone pinging brings you back to reality.

dumbo tae said that you’re home with mina…

Taehyung. What a little snitch. You’ll make sure that Mina punishes him adequately.

dumbo not sure what your deal is but i’m fucking heated

“What do you know, Taehyung?” You sneer his name like a curse; the nasty ‘T’ word.

“I know everything,” he responds nonchalantly, flipping through his absolute mammoth of a textbook. He nods his head toward the guilty party beside him. “Your bestie told me.”

“Liar!” Mina gasps, smacking his sweater-clad bicep. Her voice lowers immediately when Taehyung shushes her. You were in the library after all. She looks at you exasperatedly. “I didn’t tell him like- ‘everything’ everything.”

“I don’t need to know everything.” He closes the hardcover book gingerly, peering at you over the thick black rim of his glasses. You’re convinced they’re a sham, and he only wears them to look professional and intellectual. “My keen deductive reasoning has led me to the conclusion that this situation is—in fact—fucking ridiculous.”

You gawk at bluntness. “Aren’t you literally studying to be a therapist?”

“Psychiatrist,” he corrects with a cheesy grin. “I’m allowed to tell you when you’re being childish.”

“Tae, be nice.” Mina warns with a scowl, holding her index finger out right in front of his nose. “I know Jungkook is your friend, but he’s grimy.”

“I swear, I’m not trying to be a dick.” Taehyung laughs, raising his hands up in surrender. “I’m just giving perspective. I care about you, __.”

“Sure you do.” You answer curtly, rolling your eyes.

“And-,” Taehyung claps his large palms together, fingertips pointed towards you in an accusatory fashion. “-I know Jungkook better than both of you.” He gestures between you and Mina. “He’s not a bad dude.”

“He-,”

“He ditched her to go to a party!” Mina beats you to the punch, voice whiny and frustrated. “And lied about it! He’s trash!”

“Thank you, Mina,” you whisper-shout, placing a finger over your lips to remind her, once again, that you were still in the library. As much as you love her, you didn’t necessarily want all of campus knowing your dirty laundry. Your eyes scan the dimly lit room for eavesdroppers. Luckily, it was fairly empty at this time of day.

“Why don’t you just talk to him?”

“It’s not that simple, Tae,” you sigh, turning your attention back to the empty word document on your laptop screen. In the twenty minutes you’ve been sitting here, you have only managed to type the essay’s title and your name. Spelled wrong. Sneakily, you correct the typo before anyone notices.

“Maybe…” Mina starts, lips scrunching to the side in contemplation. She looks at her boyfriend innocently before tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear. Playing all the right cards. “Maybe… you could talk to him for her? Or do a little snoopy snoop to see what he’s up to?”

“There’s no way in hell I’m playing double agent for you guys.”

“Come on, Tae!” Mina pouts. “It could be fun!”

“No,” Taehyung laughs, shaking his head. “I refuse to get in the mid-,”

“Hey!”

Taehyung’s words are cut off by an uncomfortably familiar voice. Its usual soft, playful tone was laced with sternness. The sound makes your spine straighten.

Jungkook.

You were so distracted that you hadn’t heard his clunky black boots stomping towards you. The firm grip of tattooed fingers on your shoulder makes you look up. Even under the rim of his bucket hat, you can see the angry stars dancing in his black eyes. They’re hot and scalding with irritation. “Can we talk?”

“About?” You peep in feigned naivety.

“Oh, please,” he scoffs loudly, laughing in disbelief. The seat beside you is yanked out with a startling screech. Jungkook plops down on it and turns to face you, knees digging into your outer thigh. Always so incredibly close. “Don’t give me that shit-,”

“Jungkook.” Taehyung calls, trying to stifle the bubbling lava in Jungkook’s stomach before he erupts. It was rare to see his happy-go-lucky friend so agitated. “Chill.”

His eyes soften at the warning. It’s like Jungkook hadn’t even registered how angry he had actually become. The entirety of his college experience has been spent distancing anger—and any other negative emotion—so far from his being that he couldn’t even detect the cues anymore. He inhales deeply through his nose, white t-shirt pulling tight at his chest, before exhaling.

“You good?” Taehyung asks.

“Yeah, I’m good.” Jungkook nods, bringing a hand up to massage slow circles into his temple. Despite how upset you are with him, the self-soothing mechanism makes your heart ache. “I promise, I’m calm. I just want to talk.”

His pupils dart between the two unmoving figures across from you.

“Alone, please.”

Jungkook and Taehyung lock eyes for a moment, communicating silently through some bro-telepathy that has you and Mina exchanging confused glances. Suddenly, the curly-haired boy nods, collecting his textbook and intertwining his fingers with Mina’s. “Let’s go, babe.”

“Tae, wait!” Mina protests, trying to wriggle out of Taehyung’s grasp. She looks at you apologetically as her boyfriend urges her towards the exit, unable to break free. “Call me after, okay?” She shoots Jungkook a threatening glare before turning away.

And just like that, you were left alone with the man you’d been avidly avoiding for the past week and a half.

“Are you mad at me?” Jungkook questions, silver piercing glimmering in the light as he gnaws on his bottom lip. The pink skin under his bunny teeth was already turning red. “Like… did I do something wrong?”

You look everywhere but him, mindlessly scrolling up and down the empty page on your laptop screen. It was a poor attempt to act unbothered, despite the heavy thumping in your chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The showcase?”

“What about it?”

Jungkook always took your attitude in stride, leveling your petty comments with kisses and playful eyerolls. This eye roll, however, paired with a painfully clenched jaw, is anything but playful. “Quit playing games, __. I’ve had enough,” he grits.

He never calls you by your name.

“Playing games,” you echo with a sarcastic laugh. In the pit of your stomach, you can feel the sadness morphing into a fit of heady anger. The words taste vile and sour on your tongue before they’re spewed at him. “That’s rich coming from you.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see the puzzled expression on his face. Eyebrow piercing twitching in confusion as the cogs in his brain spin, trying to make sense of your words. “I don’t understand…”

How does he not understand?

“Why didn’t you come to the showcase?”

You huff out a sigh, gaze fluttering to the ceiling.

“Answer me,” he urges, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, clearly trying to shift your attention back onto him. As if that wasn’t what landed you in this position in the first place.

“Jungkook-,”

Your voice gets caught in your throat when you feel his sharp exhales fan across your cheek. Fast and restless. It makes you miss the deep, peaceful ones he would make when buried under your heavy duvet; hair disheveled from tossing and turning and the brush of your fingers as you lulled him to sleep. His breath smells like toothpaste and vanilla gum. You glance at your taskbar. It’s 12:23 p.m. and he hasn’t eaten yet.

“I didn’t go because this is unproductive,” you sigh, closing your laptop and finally gaining the courage to face the man beside you. “You being in my life is unproductive.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Unproductive.” When your eyes meet his big dark ones, you can’t stand them. You can’t stand him for what he’s done, for how he’s turned something so special to you, so ugly. It coaxes that equally ugly, scaly, green defensiveness out of you. You want to retreat, and rebuild the walls higher, so that your emotional security would never be destroyed again. Anyone who threatened it would be burned, including Jungkook, sitting before you with doe eyes as you prepared to breathe fire in his direction. “I know it’s a difficult word, but you’re a big boy. Sound it out.”

The look on his face makes you regret the low blow instantly.

“Jesus,” he huffs, taking his hat off and scrubbing his hands over his face like he’s trying to wake up from a nightmare. “Why are you being-”

You cringe, expecting a nasty insult.

“-so mean?”

Oh.

Ow.

For some reason, that hurt more than any curse word would.

“I’m not mean.”

“I know you’re not,” he lifts his head, searching your face for any remnant of the girl he’s spent the last two months with. “So why are you acting like this?”

Your silence eggs him further.

“You know what, I’m so fucking sick of you treating me like I’m stupid,” his eyes squeeze closed when he swears, nails digging into his tattooed knuckles as he crosses his big hands. The confession rips through him and hits you like a physical blow. You suddenly remember all of the times you’ve teased Jungkook about his major or insulted his intelligence.

‘What tests? You’re a photography major.’

‘You’re an idiot, Jungkook.’

‘Your major is showing.’

You didn’t mean any of it. Not one bit. They were just shitty efforts to conceal your feelings for him. You never realized that Jungkook was taking your comments to heart. But it was too little too late. You can’t turn back time and the floodgates have already opened.

“Just because I’m not some big-shot science major, doesn’t mean that I’m fucking brainless. And it certainly doesn’t mean that you’re better than me.” With his hat sitting on the glossy wooden table, you can fully see the angry arch in his brows. The scrunch in his nose intensifies as he seethes. “What? You think you’re too good to go to the showcase? If you didn’t want to come you should’ve grown a pair and said something.”

“It’s not that,” you protest, chin quivering with ugly dents as you try to hold back tears. “I just… figured you’d bring someone else.”

Jungkook pauses for a moment, cogs coming to a halt when he finally comprehends your vague statements. “Stop acting like you can read my mind- or that you know me better than I know myself.” He snatches his hat and drops it back on his head, fingers gripping the rim to adjust the position. “Because you clearly don’t know shit about me.”

You watch silently as he scoots his chair back, standing up with urgency. How did things come to this? Two months ago you were casual friends, now you’re fighting in the middle of the school library. You would’ve never let him into your dorm room that night if you knew it would hurt this bad.

“And I actually thought-,” Jungkook says, turning to face you. His lips open and then close promptly before he waves a hand at you. “Fuck it, nevermind. I’m done.”

You look extremely suspect.

Speeding through campus with your hood up, sweater strings almost dangling to the floor with how tight you’ve pulled them. You can barely see where you’re going. The small fluffy peephole you’ve provided yourself is no good for navigating the winding halls of the dreaded liberal arts building.

You’ve been sleeping in later and later; a recent habit. Most days you felt drained, barely able to muster the energy to crawl out of bed. That’s exactly what happened this morning, hence why you’re marching down this evil, forbidden shortcut, in hopes of making it to class on time.

It’s a Tuesday. Jungkook doesn’t have classes on Tuesdays. But you’ve done everything in your power to avoid him and the places he frequents. You haven’t heard from him since the.. incident. Not a single text or call. It hurt like hell, but what did you expect? You weren’t exactly nice to him the last time you two spoke. And it wasn’t like he cared to begin with. He was probably already buried in someone else; moaning blissfully. Meanwhile, you can’t even leave your damn room without thinking about him.

Shut up, evil brain. Back to the matter at hand—getting to class.

You decide that music is the best method of distraction. An exaggerated sigh slips out as you yank your phone out of your pocket. You’re just about to crank your airpods up when a couple of distant voices catch your attention.

“These are from this weekend's showcase, we’re taking them down next week…” A muffled response that you can’t comprehend. “Yep, all are my students.”

You stop dead in your tracks.

The professor’s prideful tone rings in your ears, drowning out whatever breakup playlist you were previously listening to. The mention of a showcase, the showcase, makes your heart drop with a painful thud.

Fuck.

Your skull feels exponentially heavier than normal when you lift it, finally breaking eye contact with the dingy concrete floor underneath you. There are pictures hung all along the white walls of the campus center. No doubt leftover from an event you deliberately skipped.

You roll your head back, attempting to loosen the uncomfortable tension in your muscles. Anxiously gnawing on your bottom lip, you take in your surroundings. Jittery hands pluck out your headphones and plop them back into your Luna-shaped airpod case. Underneath all the sadness and guilt, your body was teaming with curiosity.

You never found out what Jungkook’s topic of choice was. And now that you think about it, you haven’t seen any of his photography. Ever.

A quick look wouldn’t hurt, right?

Besides, maybe this was what you needed to move on. A final goodbye to the man who has held your mind captive for far too long.

With a deep exhale and a heavy heart, you take the plunge and step forward. You lull along the walls, staring wide-eyed at each photo. Most of them take on a dark modern vibe, displaying people and objects in dreary settings. A sea of gray and black. Devoid of color. You glance at the labels above. The topics chosen were gloomy, too.

Hm. Life imitates art.

You wonder if those students have had their hearts broken as well.

A vibrant splash of color makes you halt. Your eyebrows furrow as you stare at the canvas. There’s a blood-red rose. The lens is so zoomed in that the flower eats up the entire portrait. You place a manicured digit against it, tracing your fingertip along the jagged veins in the delicate petals. The imagery is surreal, almost comparable to a heart. Not a cutesy cartoon heart—the literal human organ. You think it’s stunning, standing out amongst the rest like a beautiful sore thumb.

The printed black font along the border makes your breath hitch.

Love - Jeon Jungkook.

The subject confuses you, but the photography makes sense. Of course, this was Jungkook’s work. It’s obnoxious, lively, and so incredibly different from the rest. Stunning and enchanting, nonetheless. The next photo in his set is of two shadows, a bit distorted as they're splayed against the concrete. A couple holding hands. You recognize the silhouettes immediately; Mina and Taehyung. You can’t fight the smile spreading across your face.

Next in the portfolio is a room, white walls decorated with faux ivy vines. The little, golden lights laced throughout them gives the picture a warm saturated glow. At the center of the photo is a woman laying underneath a cream duvet. Her bare back is facing the camera, messy hair sprawled on the pillow. It’s a bit risqué, but you get how it connects to his chosen subject. It’s the aftermath of the physical act of love.

To any other student or teacher strolling by, the woman in the picture was a stranger. But to you, she’s the farthest thing from a stranger.

She’s you.

Jungkook must have taken it while you were sleeping.

A wave of the most perplexing, juxtaposing emotions washes over you. Your palms turn clammy as you try to process what you’re witnessing. Why would he do this? Include a picture of you in a project, literally titled ‘love’, only to fucking lie to you? To take advantage of your affection and string you along while he entertained another person?

You find the answers to your aimless questions in the next photo.

Fireworks.

The only time you remember seeing or hearing fireworks was…

The night of the party.

“Jungkook,” you sigh, pressing your damp forehead against the grainy wood of his door. You never thought you’d be in this position. Chasing after a man. It’s humiliating and out of character, but you need to make things right. “I know you’re in there…”

You’ve been standing outside of his dorm room for the past ten minutes. Knocking, pleading, begging. All to no avail. The sound of rustling blankets and footsteps on the other side makes you lift your head, eyes widening with hope. The optimism is lost once the soft noises stop completely. They only served to confirm your suspicions. Jungkook is home and he’s purposely ignoring you.

Oh, the irony.

Earlier in the week, the roles were reversed. Jungkook was the one pining for your attention. Now, you know exactly how he must have felt that day in the library. And you don’t like it one bit.

“Look,” you huff, shaking a few clumpy strands out of your face. “I know you probably don’t want to talk to me right now… but I’m really sorry.”

The only response you receive is the whoosh of running water.

Your shoulders slump in defeat. Obviously, he’s not going to answer the door. Why would he? He had every right to be mad. You hadn’t hesitated to dismiss him, and his passions, when you were the one upset.

You come to the grim realization that maybe things are better this way.

Jungkook is completely, entirely, wholeheartedly different from you, and you from him. So much so that you were incompatible. You’ve barely dipped your toes into anything serious, yet the two of you were already fighting and miscommunicating. It would never work, whatever it is. It couldn’t.

Deep down in your heart, you know none of that is true.

As much as you try to rationalize the distance, you can’t convince yourself that your life is better like this—because whenever you picture a future with Jungkook or reflect on the past, you see and feel nothing but sunshine. The walls begin to crumble and you feel free. Maybe, the characteristics of Jungkook you deemed annoying and different, were what made being with him so euphoric.

But none of that matters anymore. Whatever chance you had at that, at something more with him, you've completely destroyed. With a grimace and an awful pit in your stomach, you decide the best thing you can do for him is leave him alone. You adjust the takeout bags in your hand and begin to head out.

Just as you reach the end of the dingy hallway, you hear a click and a loud creak. You spin so fast you almost get whiplash.

Jungkook is standing in his doorway, looking at you blankly with a toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. He’s shirtless, full muscles rippling under his milky skin. Normally you would ogle at the sight of his toned chest and defined abs, but your focus is elsewhere. Like on the red flannel sweatpants hanging loosely on his hips, sharp v-line peeking over the hem. You recognize them from the night you helped him study for an upcoming quiz.

‘This is a conspiracy,’ he grumbled, convinced the test was an elaborate scheme by the school committee to punish him for his frequent drunken mishaps and countless guideline violations. You laughed, resting your head on his shoulder as you helped him memorize terms and ideas. You guys didn’t leave the library until 2 a.m.

He looks warm and cozy. Dark tresses swooping in messy waves across his forehead as he peers at you with doe eyes. After not seeing him or checking in on him for a while, you let out a sigh of relief.

“Hi.”

“Hey,” he mumbles softly, voice coming out muffled over the bristles of his toothbrush. He pulls it out, letting out a tiny ‘oops’ as a glob of toothpaste hits the floor. He wipes it away with his foot before continuing. “What are you doing here?”

“I…” Everything you wanted to say had trickled out of your mind like the little droplets of water running down your skin.

He meets your silence with an unamused squint and starts to close the door.

“Jungkook, wait!” You shout, taking a few frantic steps closer. “I saw the showcase!”

He pauses. “You did?” His thick brows slant in confusion. “How?”

“It’s still up in the liberal arts building.”

He nods his head slowly as an awkward quietness falls over the corridor. You can tell he’s still upset with you and the tension makes you queasy.

“I have pancakes,” you offer nervously, lifting up the crinkled plastic bags in your hand. It’s so damn cheesy. But you're trying your best. You prayed that he understood the reference, and remembered how he showed up to your dorm in the same exact way. The fateful night that started it all.

“Interesting.” His nose twitches as he tongues the little hoop on his bottom lip. Obviously fighting a smile. Thank God. “What kind?”

“Chocolate chip… your favorite.”

He hums a contemplative noise, scanning you up and down. Your hair is dripping. The pink velvet hoodie you’re wearing is clinging to your figure in ways he knows it isn’t supposed to. “Why are you wet?”

“It’s raining,” you point out.

Jungkook glances over his shoulder, glancing into his room and out the window at the cloudy, gray sky. There’s a change in his expression when he faces you again. “You walked here in the rain?”

You nod meekly.

The harsh glint in his eyes softens. He sighs deeply, head dropping in defeat as he holds out a colorful arm, inked digits gesturing for you to come closer. “C’mere, Bambi. I’ll get you some clothes.”

Bambi.

You’ve never been so elated to hear that nickname.

“Thank you,” you peep, scurrying towards his open door before he changes his mind and sends you packing. Goosebumps form on your skin when your bicep brushes against his bare chest as you hastily enter the room. The light touch leaves your cheeks hot.

“Hold on,” he says, disappearing into his tiny bathroom. You set the pancakes on top of his nightstand, awkwardly standing in the middle of his dorm. This isn’t exactly how you envisioned your first time at Jungkook’s place would go.

While idly taking in your surroundings, you spot a little whiteboard above his bed. On it, scribbled in blue marker, is the biggest boobs you’ve ever seen in your life. There’s a heart eyes emoji tacked on in the corner. A good artistic detail, you think. You should be rolling your eyes at his boyishness. That’s what you always do. But an endeared laugh comes out instead.

Why was a poorly drawn pair of tits making you soft?

Right underneath the whiteboard is a collage of taped pictures. You bend at the waist for a better look. There’s a polaroid of him and Taehyung, arms intertwining at the elbows, both downing a dark, probably alcoholic, beverage. How cute of them. The next photo is of Jungkook on a rollercoaster, tongue out and eyes crinkled as he middle fingers the camera. So wild and free. Your heart swells in familiarity.

But the more you stumble upon, the more unfamiliar Jungkook becomes. There’s a few blurry pictures of a big black dog he’s never spoken about before. The next one has you gushing. It’s a candid image of baby-faced Jungkook, holding up his high school diploma with a proud, big, bunny smile. There’s an older woman in the frame kissing his cheek. You tilt your head in confusion. You wonder if it’s his mother. You had just assumed he couldn’t stand his parents and didn’t keep in contact with them.

Maybe… you don’t have Jungkook figured out like you thought you did. There’s still so much you have to learn. You make a mental note of all the questions you want to ask him later.

That is if there even is a later.

The bathroom door opens and Jungkook walks out. “Here,” he says, handing you a pile of neatly folded clothes. There’s an oversized black hoodie on top. Your favorite sweater, the one you always steal from him. You watch sullenly as he sits down on the edge of his bed.

“I’m sorry,” you reiterate, absolutely loathing how weak and frail you sound. Jungkook doesn’t respond. He just stares into your soul with those scrutinizing eyes. “Can you talk to me, please?”

“I wanted to talk at the library,” he groans, arms jolting forward in frustration, fingers painfully flexed and hooked like claws. His bare chest flushed an angry red. “I’ve been trying to talk to you. All fucking week!”

Startled, you jump at his voice, dropping the stack of clothes you were holding. Jungkook’s eyes widen.

“Ah, I-'' he interrupts himself with a shameful hiss. You pick up the fallen fabrics with shaky hands, placing them on his nightstand with the forgotten pancakes. Jungkook digs the heels of his hands into his eyes, too apologetic and embarrassed for losing his cool to look at you. “I’m sorry.”

To be fair, he hadn’t been that loud. It was more abrupt than anything else. But your Jungkook was as happy and carefree as the wind. This side of him was new, and you were still figuring out how to navigate the uncharted waters. “It’s okay.” You can’t blame him. Not after everything you’ve done. “You’re allowed to be mad.”

“I’m not mad,” he sighs. The tattooed fingers splayed over his eyes slide in to clamp the bridge of his nose. The other hand pats the spot next to him on the black comforter. “Come here.”

“But,” you look down at the damp clothes, “I’m wet.”

“It’s fine. Sit down.”

You listen, cautiously sinking down into the bed. Despite the copious amounts of nude escapades, you’ve never felt more vulnerable with him. Usually, when you’re in bed with Jungkook, he’s panting above you, sleeping below you, or lying beside you. Head snuggled into your neck like an annoying, albeit affectionate, cat. Now, you make sure to keep your distance, anxiously picking at your chipped nail polish.

“What happened?” He questions breathlessly, relieved to finally verbalize the words that were weighing heavy on his chest. “Everything was going great and then you switched up on me. Like the showcase? Really, Bambi? I was the only person there without a guest.”

The disappointment in his voice cuts you deep, but the vision of him at the event he had been so excited for, completely alone, hurts even worse. You were his muse, and you rejected him. Looking at him was an awful decision, because you get lost in his eyes immediately. Those beautiful, captivating, endless eyes. Filled with pain and uncertainty. You realize the only way to make that awful look disappear, is to confess…

“I really like you, Jungkook… a lot. Like- more than just friends…”

Once again, you’re met with silence. Jungkook’s face is unreadable yet so familiar. You've seen that expression before. You can’t pinpoint when or where exactly, but it makes your heart pound so loudly that your ears ring.

“So,” you continue shakily, “the last time we hung out—when you canceled our plans—I got really upset.”

“I was finishing my project.”

“But then I saw a picture of you at a party-,”

“Yeah,” he defends, looking at you exasperatedly, unable to follow your train of thought. “I wanted to take pictures of the fireworks.”

“I know that now,” you admit, shifting uncomfortably in your seat, “but the picture was from Nayeon’s Instagram.”

“Nayeon?” He frowns. “I haven’t talked to Nayeon in months.”

“But you guys were-” your eyes dart around in search of the right phrasing. You settle on ‘a thing’, putting little air quotes around the ambiguous title.

“Why does that matter?” He asks incredulously. “Her and I ended things before we even started hooking up. I haven’t had sex with anybody else since we’ve been a thing.” The last part is teasing, he mimics your air quotes as his pierced pout curls into a smirk. Ah, Jungkook gets it now. Your unbecoming actions over the course of the week were a product of jealousy and possessiveness. Any lingering trace of anger is washed away with the revelation. “I told you that.”

“Yeah, but…” After mulling over your thoughts, you hesitate to speak. You hadn’t realized how ridiculous and childish you were being until now. Taehyung was right after all. “I don’t know, the way you said it seemed… fishy.”

Jungkook deadpans you before shaking his head, chuckling under his breath. You watch it all unfold awkwardly. How embarrassing.

“It’s not funny, Jungkook!”

“Ah!” He echos your shouts through a laugh, cupping your head with his large hands and jittering it gently. “Stop thinking! Your brain is evil!”

Hm. Valid point.

“In my defense,” you retort, cuffing his wrists with your tiny hands. His skin is warm and soft. You’ve missed touching him so much. “You literally mentioned Nayeon while we were having sex.”

The playful stars in his eyes combust. “Huh?”

“Oral fixation.”

His eyes widen in remembrance. “Oh shit,” he groans, slumping down, hands dropping into his lap. “Looking back, that was so fucked, but I- I just thought it was funny. I swear I didn’t mean anything, like- bad by it. I-.” Frustrated by his own stuttering and lack of judgment, Jungkook mushes his fingers into his sockets before laying down in defeat. “That was so fucking stupid of me. I’m stupid. I’m sorry, Bambi.”

Stupid.

That word coaxes a visceral reaction out of you.

“Don’t say that,” you whisper. His tattooed fingers part in the middle as he hesitantly peeks at you. You giggle for a moment, and so does he, but then you feel the gravity of the situation. Sniffling, you look down at the beautiful boy. How could you have ever been so nasty to him? You push his bangs back gently. They’ve gotten longer. Cupping his cheek, you slowly brush your thumb across his soft skin. You’re afraid that if you’re too rough, he’ll slip right through your fingers. “You’re not stupid, Jungkook... I’ve never met anyone who sees the world how you do. You’re so creative and clever in your own right… I’m sorry if I made you feel like you weren’t, because I don’t think that at all.” Voice crack. “I never did.”

“Hey,” Jungkook coos in concern. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not okay,” you argue, blinking furiously to fight back the waterworks. “And I’m really sorry about the showcase. I know how important it was to you.”

“Shh,” he shushes, “please don’t cry.” He catches your hand and brings it to his mouth, pressing the sweetest, gentlest kiss to your fingertips. “You apologized, so we’re good, yeah?”

“Mhm,” you sniffle. It feels like a ton of bricks have been lifted off of your shoulders. “For what it’s worth, your portfolio was gorgeous.”

“Nah,” he teases, wrapping an arm around your waist and encouraging you to lay down with him. “You’re only saying that because you were in it.” You smile softly, thankful for his light-hearted banter. You stay like that for a while. Face to face. Just looking at one another. You think you could stay like this forever, basking in his beauty. His warmth. Jungkook speaks first. “Why didn’t you just talk to me about the picture?”

“I guess, I was just scared of losing you… but then I just started ignoring you, which doesn’t make sense… so probably should’ve just talked to you about it.” The stream of consciousness makes him laugh. “I really like you, Jungkook.”

“I don’t do relationships.”

You feel your heart shatter into a million, irreparable pieces.

How cruel.

“Wait, those aren’t the right words,” Jungkook shakes his head. “What I meant to say is that I’ve never actually been in a relationship.” The stammered admission has you stunned. Campus fuckboy Jungkook has never been in a relationship? “And I have no fucking clue what I’m doing but… I really like you, too. I want you, I do… I don’t know how good of a boyfriend I’ll be but,” he looks at you for the first time throughout his nervous ramble. His eyes are just as terrified as yours. “I’m willing to try if you are.”

You blink at him. Did he just say… boyfriend?

“__,” Jungkook calls, anxiously toying with his lip ring. “Do you want this?”

You’ve never wanted anything more.

Without warning, you smash your lips into his. This kiss is sloppy and brash, but he’s yours. Jungkook is yours. “I think you chipped my tooth,” he winces, chuckling breathlessly. “Is that a yes?”

You nod vehemently.

“Okay,” he smiles, tilting your chin, “now give me a real kiss. None of that amateur shit you just pulled.”

You kiss him again, head full of clouds and tummy full of butterflies. Jungkook grabs under your thighs, maneuvering you on top of him, knees on either side of his cinched waist. Your lips are more controlled this time. There’s a little tongue action. Nothing too dirty, just soft brushes and prods like you’re two virgins testing the waters. Everything is slow and unhurried. You feel like you’re floating, levitating, fucking astral projecting.

“There we go,” Jungkook grins, the rounded tip of his nose tickling yours. It’s so sappy, and you can only imagine how dumb you two look, staring at each other with sparkly eyes and goofy smiles.

Jungkook is still Jungkook, though.

A sneaky hand and the grinding of a zipper interrupts the cute moment.

“You perv!” You shriek, giggling wildly as you swat his naughty fingers away. The damage is done, and the sleeve of your open sweater slips down your bare shoulder. “Is sex all you think about?”

“Mm,” he hums in confirmation, placing a peck on the newly exposed skin. “Sex with you,” he specifies before peeling the damp material from your arms and tossing it onto the floor. You cringe at the clanging of your expensive, deadstock, Juicy Couture hoodie. “Why are you so covered up?” Jungkook sits up to suck on your erect nipple, right through your translucent, white tank top. Whimpering, you grind against him. “You gotta take this off…” he sighs dreamily, yanking the pesky shirt over your head.

Wow. He’s extra needy today. Not that you’re complaining.

“Jungkook,” you complain, arms crossed over your chest. “Stop staring!”

“Why are you being so shy?” He does this often. Gawks at your naked body until your skin burns and your cheeks sting. It's a strange feeling. So uncomfortable yet so reassuring. You’ve never had a man look at you the way Jungkook does, like he’s trying to remember every birthmark, curve, and detail. That level of intimacy was scary. You can’t help but squirm under his intense gaze. “You’re my girl now, aren’t you, baby?

His girl. You swoon.

“I am, it’s just kinda awkward.”

“How so?” He patronizes, bottom lip jutting out in a deep pout. “Can’t I look?”

“You can just… don’t stare.”

“I do what I want.” The sudden switch in his voice makes your breath hitch. “Move your arms. Let me see you.”

Oh. He’s in one of those moods.

You and Jungkook rarely dabbled in sub and dom dynamics. Maybe, he was too afraid of intimidating you. Maybe, you were too afraid to initiate. But boy was his aggressiveness a treat. The duality between the relaxed attitude he carried in his everyday life, and the occasional primal beast that came out during sex, made your mouth water.

“Really?” He tuts his tongue when you counter him with a scowl, raising a threatening brow at you, code for ‘go ahead, test me’. You do, not moving a muscle.

Jungkook physically pries your arms apart and twists them behind your back, holding your wrists together in one hand. The swift movement makes you gasp.

“This okay, Bambi?”

All you can see over the bubbles of your cheeks is his tangled, black hair. His forehead rests against your collarbones, sharp exhales fanning across your chest. The hot gusts make your nipples pebble and the light stimulation sends a jolt of electricity coursing through your spine.

“Yes,” you whimper.

Using his free hand, Jungkook grips your jaw, indulging you in a sweet kiss. “Good girl.” The whispered praise has your clit throbbing. He turns your face towards the sleek mirror mounted on the wall. “Look at you, baby.”

Insecurity looms over you like a black raincloud as you’re forced to look at the reflection. The sight of your nude body makes you feel icky. Instinctively, you try to jerk away.

“Hey, stop-” he gruffs, tightening his grip to cement you in place. “Chill. Take a deep breath.”

You obey, closing your eyes and inhaling deeply.

“Why are you so combative today?” The rough edge falters for a moment when Jungkook confirms that he ‘just learned that word yesterday from a synonym website’. You giggle. Why must he be so adorable? “Don’t I always take care of you?”

“You do.”

“Do you trust me?” You nod. “Use your words, baby.”

“I trust you, Jungkook.”

“Good girl,” he smiles, making you face the glass again. His touch is much more gentle this time, guiding you with a delicate finger on your chin. “Don’t look at me,” Jungkook chuckles when he catches you staring at him and then points at your bewildered expression, “eyes on you.”

Despite the initial resistance, looking own reflection isn't as difficult as it was the first time. There’s little things you pick up on, like the way your thick, fluffy hair lays. The way your chest looks so supple pressed against his. How your hips curve out at the right angle. Your skin is smooth and poreless. That Laneige toner is really out here doing the lord's work.

“Look at how beautiful you are.”

Although Jungkook’s words are sweet, you wouldn’t go that far. But you guess, one could say you’re cute—which is more credit than you’ve given yourself in a while.

“Aren’t you so beautiful, baby?”

You hum to appease him, but this experience was definitely a start. You’re gaining self-confidence, one baby step at a time. “You’re beautiful, too.”

“You think so?” He asks airily, flashing one of those teeny tiny smiles he does, where only his two front chompers poke out. You swear this man is an angel, or some mythical being that was too ethereal to exist on planet Earth. Mumbling a small ‘uh huh’, you peck at the corner of his mouth. His silver hoop feels icy against your lips, but his hands, rubbing soothing lines up your back, are so warm. “I wish you saw yourself the way I do,” he says with sparkly eyes. “How could I want anyone else, Bambi?”

Your heart swells two sizes too big and you don’t even know how to respond.

“Alright, space girl,” Jungkook chuckles at your ditzy state, delivering a quick swat to your ass to bring you back to reality. An impatient, tattooed arm is hooked under your thigh, tossing you to the side before he gets to his feet. “Lay down. ‘S been a while since I ate that pussy.”

“Wait,” you say, unphased by his lewd comment. “Can I…” you look down at his crotch, “you know?”

“What?” He smirks at your vagueness. “Suck my dick?”

Foreplay normally consisted of Jungkook’s head between your thighs, his fingers milking your g-spot, or a shy handjob here and there. Now that he’s your boyfriend, you suppose it’s finally time to return the favor. Especially since he looks so delicious with his messy hair and his pretty tits out.

“Please,” you choke, cheeks burning with embarrassment at how quickly the plead slipped out.

“You don’t have to beg,” he purrs, stepping between your parted thighs sat at the edge of his bed. You gulp, nose aligned with his growing bulge. “Actually, yes, you do,” he retracts, swiping his big thumb across your bottom lip tauntingly. You’re dripping, already knowing where things are headed. “Been a bad girl lately, haven’t you?”

“Yeah,” you pout, shrinking under his beady eyes, peering right at you over his big nose. “But you said we’re passed that.”

“We are,” he agrees, “but I could use some reassurance. Wanna give me a little bit, baby?”

“How?”

“Suck it,” he requests, tapping his thick digit against your deep frown, “show me how good you’re gonna blow me… just so I know…”

God, you can’t deny him. Not when his voice is drenched in lust and he looks that yummy. Flicking your hair over your shoulder, you grab his wrist, taking his thumb into your mouth, all the way down to his palm. Moaning, you swirl your tongue around the pad. He plays along, plunging and pulling his finger into your wet suction. Your lips are going to look so fucking pretty around his cock, Jungkook thinks.

“‘Kay, no more,” he says, voice strained as he yanks his hand away. The movement makes you accidentally bite your tongue. Asshole. He proceeds to tangle his spit-covered hand into your hair. Major asshole. With a thick fistful, Jungkook shoves you into his clean-shaven pelvis. “Am I hard yet? Check for me?”

He knows he’s hard. You know he’s hard. But you indulge him anyway, mushing a sloppy kiss into his v-line. The view of his eyes is disrupted by the heavy heaving of his chest, and his cute little nipples; spiked and erect. Dipping down, you place a loving peck on the tip through his pants. The red material is damp from his arousal. “Yep, hard.”

“Cute,” he laughs in reaction to how sweet and innocent you look down there. “Take it out, then.”

You tug his pants down, letting them pool at his ankles. His boner springs up with vigor, whacking you in the nose on its path up to his navel. “Oh fuck,” he gasps, smacking a hand over his mouth in guilt. You glare at him, suspicious of how genuine that ‘guilt’ really is. Something you’ve noticed about Jungkook is that his smiles reach his eyes first. You don’t need to see his lips to know he’s holding in a laugh. The little stars in his irises and the crinkles in the outer corners blow his facade. “You okay, Bambi?”

“Control your dick, Jeon,” you sneer.

“Can’t,” he pouts, wrapping his palm around his tree-trunk-sized base while kicking his pants aside, “he wants you.” You’re impressed at how quickly he steers the conversation back to sex. Also, personifying his dick? That’s new. Clicking his tongue, Jungkook measures his hard cock across the length of your face. If it wasn’t for the curve, his pretty pink tip would be touching your hairline. “How’s he gonna fit, baby? You sure you can take it?”

The questions were rhetorical, purely dirty talk, but they held a piece of the intimidating truth. “I don’t know,” you respond honestly.

“Have you ever done this before?” Sensing your nerves, he pulls back a bit.

“Only once,” you shiver, recalling the questionable memory. “So I don’t know how good I’ll be at this…”

“Pfft,” he dismisses your concerns, “don’t worry about that.” He pets your cheek and you nuzzle into his touch, thankful for the comforting gesture. Then, Jungkook plops down, shimmying up the bed clumsily until he’s hunkered down in his pillows. Following suit, you turn to face him and begin tying your hair up.

“Wait!” He hollers, stopping you at the elbow. His eyes widen at his own unexpected outburst. “Leave it, please. I like it down…” he coughs, “so pretty.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see your frizzy baby hairs shooting wildly in all different directions. Pretty? Regardless, you let go, messy strands falling in loops against your chest and back.

“I have flavored lube if that helps. In my nightstand.”

Of course, Jungkook owns flavored lubricant. It's pretty on-brand for him. But your eyes nearly pop out of your skull when you open his top drawer, unveiling almost an entire Adam & Eve store.

That’s a stretch and you’re dramatic.

Still, you stare in wonderment. There’s an unopened pack of condoms, ‘ribbed for her pleasure!’ printed on the front in purple letters. The blue and white wand next to it makes you choke. The Hitachi. It’s much bigger than you expected, but it makes sense. If it’s as powerful as Jungkook boasted, it must need a fucking car battery. You gulp.

“Snooping through my things, Bambi?”

“No,” you squeak, shaking your head. “You have quite the collection here, Mr. Jeon.”

“Mr. Jeon, that’s sexy,” he laughs, making you jump with an unexpected smack to your ass. “See anything you like?”

Cheeks ablaze, you stay focused, finally spotting the little aqua bottle of… blue raspberry flavored lubricant? You pick it up, causing a shiny piece of metal with a little glint of pink to roll out.

“Really, dude?”

Jungkook’s brows furrow in confusion until he sees the silver butt plug, decorated with a pretty pink gem on the end. Absolutely perfect for you. “Oh, yeah,” he snatches the toy from your clammy hand and eyes it with pride. “Isn’t it pretty?”

“I can’t believe you actually bought one.”

“Why not? I said I was going to.”

“I know,” you huff with a nervous snicker, “but I didn’t think you were actually going to do it.”

“I mean,” he looks at you like you’re brainless, “you like anal, no?��

“No!” You shriek defensively. Anal play wasn’t even on your sexual radar...

Well, that’s not entirely truthful.

You enjoyed it the last time you had sex with Jungkook, in the shower, getting stretched out by his thick thumb in your butt. You remember how mindblowing and pleasurable it felt to be full. “Well, maybe. I don’t know.”

“That’s okay,” he smiles reassuringly. “We don’t have to use it. I just figured it’d be nice to have, in case you wanted to experiment, you know?”

He’s so sweet and thoughtful it makes you ill.

Now that you think about it, your sexuality is basically untapped. You’ve barely scratched the surface of self-discovery. Before Jungkook, you’ve never had a man care about your pleasure, or encourage you to take risks for your own sake. No ulterior motives. Being with Jungkook was like skydiving. Horrifying at first, life-changing once you took the plunge. With him, the parachute was there whether you decided to jump or not. You know that you’re safe, so why not take the plunge?

“Actually, Jungkook,” you stammer, “I kinda wanna try it… the butt plug.”

“You sure?”

“I’m positive.”

The conviction in your voice is like a beautiful ballad in his ears. Brick by brick, you’re opening up. Every day spent together, the walls erode a bit more.

“I got the smallest size I could find, see?” He holds the toy up to his thumb to demonstrate. It’s only a little longer, a little thicker. “So it’s not that far off from what you’re used to.”

“Thank you, baby,” you gush, planting a fat kiss on the dough of his cheek. The contrast between his bready, baby face and his razor-sharp jawline makes you dizzy. You need him in your mouth asap. “Can I suck your dick now?”

“Absolutely, but first can you-,” his index finger twirls in a circle. You blink at him blankly. “Ah, fuck it.” Deciding it’d be much easier to move you himself, Jungkook sits up at the waist to spin you until you're face to face with his third leg, resting patiently against his stomach. The modified 69 has you creaming. “Like that…” he mumbles dreamily, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your track pants, tugging them down your thighs to expose your perky behind and glowy cunt.

“I don’t know where to start.”

“Innocent little thing…” he whispers, smoothing a palm over your lower back. He leans up to chomp on the fat of your ass cheek, leaving bunny-toothed dents in your skin. A predator eating its prey. “Want help?”

“Please,” you mewl, melting under his touch.

“Spit,” he orders, cupping an inked hand under your mouth. Reluctantly, you spit into his palm. He uses your saliva to wet himself, coating his unbearably hard cock with a few languid pumps. Opening the cap, Jungkook squirts a little drop of lubricant onto his finger. “Taste.”

You softly suck on his fingertip. The liquid is sweet like a blue raspberry jolly rancher, but it’s not nearly as sweet as Jungkook’s deep guttural moan and hooded gaze. So worked up just for you. Only you. Yours.

“This, too,” he coos, bringing the butt plug up to your lips, “suck it.”

Seeing him this needy and touch-starved was doing things to you. Maybe you should ignore him more often, if it meant that he would be this feral. You comply, wrapping your lips around the icy metal.

“Being so good, baby,” he affirms, resting the drenched plug against his solid stomach before squirting a generous amount of lubricant onto his length, tugging until he’s glistening with a sticky blue sheen. Big and pretty. “Just start with the tip, alright? Go slow.”

You nod, mesmerized by the little bead of dew resting on the slit of his pretty pink head. Well, it’s a bit blue now. Cotton candy. Yummy.

“Stick your tongue out.” You do, hovering closer. Jungkook taps his length against your tongue with nasty, wet smacking noises. “You want me so bad, don’t you?”

You nod impatiently, making your flat tongue brush against the crown of his leaking cock

“Fuck,” he groans, “put it in your mouth.”

There are a few reasons why you find blowjobs problematic. Unfortunately, you were cursed with an annoyingly overactive gag reflex. Very unideal for dick sucking. However, your primary concerns were taste and texture. But Jungkook’s cock feels like butter when you take it into your mouth. Smooth and silky. And the lubricant made him candy-flavored.

“You like that taste, Bambi?” Jungkook chuckles at how eager and dutiful you look, licking and sucking on his swollen tip like a lollipop. You hum in response, slowly swirling your tongue around his tip with purpose. Giving you a hand, literally and figuratively, Jungkook starts stroking the shaft, stimulating the parts of him you have yet to gobble up. “Want more?” You’re not sure what he’s referring to, but you agree anyway, completely entranced by him. With that, Jungkook squeezes under the tip, and you feel a tiny burst of precum hit your tastebuds.

He’s so sexy you could die.

Moaning, you clench your thighs together for some much needed friction, causing a single drop of wetness to trickle down your leg. Right before his very eyes. He’s never been so hungry, and it would be so easy to just…

“Jungkook!” You moan so loudly you’re sure everyone on campus can hear it. He had laid his tongue flat, trailing your arousal back up to your pussy and then sensually dipping between your folds in one hot lick. He even traces higher, prodding against your other hole until you’re seeing stars.

“Watch your teeth,” he winces when you get carried away, “be gentle, baby.” Peeping a shy apology, you curl your lips over your teeth and slide down past the tip until you’re halfway down his length. You focus on your breathing, nostrils expanding as you inhale deeply. “That’s it, take more.”

So captivated by his ‘yeahs’ and ‘uh huhs’, you miss the sound of a cap clicking open. Suddenly, you feel a cold drizzle slide between your cheeks, before a pair of warm hands spread the slippery substance all over. He uses the residual to thoroughly coat the butt plug.

“Gonna put it in now.” He spreads you open with one hand, pressing the silver against your clenched muscle. “Let me know if anything feels off.”

The initial push is a bit much. You pull off of him with a wet pop, whimpering as he sluggishly inserts the foreign object. He stops at the sound of your whines.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah- fuck,” you grunt, “big, thas all. Please, keep going.”

“I mean, it’s not that big,” Jungkook chuckles, running some saliva over the toy for more moisture, “you’re taking it well, though.” Slowly but surely, he works you open. The noises you moan around his cock are obscene. Not because it hurts, but because it’s so satisfying.

“Feels good, Koo…”

“Sheesh,” he breathes, staring in astonishment at the pink gem in your ass, “it’s so fucking pretty. So sexy.” In his fucked out, head empty state, Jungkook bucks up, shoving all eight of his curved inches down your throat. He doesn’t realize what happened until you pull off with a gag and teary eyes.

“Bambi,” he coos wearily and fear ridden. “I didn’t mean to do that, I swear.”

You send him the meanest, fiercest glare you can conjure up, hoping his conscience burns just as much as your throat does.

“No, come on,” he pleads in despair, reaching for you as you crawl away, “I’m sorry. It was an accident. I wo-,”

You shut him up by hoisting a shaky leg over his hip, straddling him. “You really can’t control yourself, can you?” You hover over him with a teasing smile. How could you possibly stay mad at him when he looked like Tuxedo Mask? The dreamy love interest of your favorite cartoon.

He sighs in relief, panic leaving his body as fast as it came. “No, I can’t,” he smiles softly, shaking his head and snaking both arms around your waist, “not with you.”

And at that moment, you swear you’ve never been happier.

The closeness you felt was indescribable. Not physically, although his python grip was warm and comfortable. It was all emotional. You’re spiraling out of control, heading flipping and stomach somersaulting, but it’s okay—a contained type of chaos. Jungkook feels it too. The shift in the air. The subtle, yet painfully obvious, change in your dynamic. You’re different this time around. A little more outgoing. A little more fearless, as you sit on top of him. He loves it. He thinks he might even love…

“You gonna ride me, Bambi?”

“Mhm.” You feel like a schoolgirl again when you kiss him. That nervousness, wrapped in unbearable excitement, whenever you passed your first crush in the halls. Yeah, that's how you feel right now, looking down at the most stunning person you’ve ever experienced.

Sparks. Fireworks. Butterflies.

You and Jungkook exchange shy smiles when your hands touch, reaching for his erection, desperate to close the gap and become one. So ready to connect your bodies, minds, and hearts in the most intimate way. Clumsily, you fail at first. You’re both so wet that his flushed tip slips, completely missing your entrance and sliding past your clit.

“Sorry,” you chirp abashedly.

“That’s okay,” he pipes, holding himself up for you, “try again.” Just the thick head of his cock resting against your folds is enough to know that there’s going to be an adjustment period. A stretch. There always was, Jungkook is fucking huge. But you have a feeling that this new position would hit differently, making him feel bigger, harder, longer. With a firm grip on your hip, he guides you down onto his piercing length. A symphony of moans and sighs fills the room.

“How’s that?”

You’ve never felt so full.

The butt plug makes the squeeze even tighter, pushing his cock right into your g-spot. The burn ignited a mind-numbing fire inside of you. That, or he was just so deep that you felt him in your stomach. “‘S okay,” you whimper, gnawing on your lip and clinging onto him for stability, “really deep like this, Koo.”

“Take your time,” he gruffs, wincing under the dig of your petite fingers, making little crescent indents in his biceps. Amid sex, the tension in your body served as a reminder that you’re still learning. He was doing his best to be good, but the way your pussy just swallowed him up like that, triggered something primal. Tightest, wettest pussy he’s ever had the blessing of penetrating. Biting his tongue until his mouth tastes metallic, Jungkook battles the urge to thrust up into you until you’re dumb and drooling. He’s trying so hard to be good. The internal struggle is heard in his voice when he speaks, strained and gravely. “Start slow.”

Eventually, the tiny licks of pain transform into a milky, insatiable hunger. When you look down at him, all you see is the base of his thick neck, head thrown back as he succumbs to the gratification of your walls. ‘Wow, what a man,’ you think to yourself. Your man. Encouraged by your eagerness to please, you begin sloppily jerking your hips at a fast pace. No flow or rhythm.

“Easy, easy,” Jungkook shushes with a grin, stopping you at the waist. “Why are you in such a hurry, hm? We have all night.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” he laughs, grabbing the shaky hands that are resting awkwardly on your thighs. “Let’s get your form right first. Lean on me.” With the command, your palms are placed flat on his broad, solid pecs. Already, the angle and leverage work with his curve deliciously. “And it’ll probably feel better for you, if you moved like this instead,” Jungkook grips your ass, rocking you into a grinding motion. Instead of up and down, your cunt drags back and forth on his throbbing shaft.

He’s right. It feels so much better like this. The dreamy sensation has you moaning and moving like a pornstar.

To be honest, this wasn’t even the type of video Jungkook clicked on when looking through his PornHub feed in the mornings. Absently scrolling past orgies and blowjobs like the daily newspaper. He preferred things fast. Pummeling every inch into you before pulling out swiftly, leaving only the very tip inside to keep you needy and begging. But fuck, the slow, sensual rolls of your hips were turning his brain to mush. And the way you’re dripping down his balls might make him demote missionary to his second favorite position. He’s hypnotized, staring up at your perky tits, rippling and bouncing freely above him.

“Yeah, baby…” you cheer, carding your fingers through his thick, healthy hair as he sits up at the waist, latching onto your nipple. The gentle runs turn into harsh tugs when he takes the sensitive teat between his teeth. The overstimulation makes you hiss.

“Taste so good,” he huffs, “I can’t keep my mouth off of you.” Slicking his wispy bangs away, Jungkook leans back, stealing a naughty peek at you fucking yourself on him. Using him just how he likes. He spreads his legs apart, praying it’ll help you sink down even further, if possible. “Yeah, take it all…”

“Love taking it all…”

That hot, gooey ballooning is already forming in his balls. The pooling in his shaft is a warning; he’s going to bust soon. Jungkook maintains a strict ladies first policy, so he needs to think of something. Fast. A lightbulb switches on in his head when your neglected clit glides across his smooth pelvis.

“Hold on.” With a hand on your lower back, Jungkook squeezes you against him, preventing you from toppling over as he leans to the side and fiddles around in his special drawer. You gulp when he takes out the infamous vibrator.

“You look terrified,” he jokes, pointing out your fearful gaze and plump lips, currently forming a cute little ‘o’ as you observe the wand.

“Hm, I wonder why?” You scoff at him in fiend ignorance. “Oh, it’s superrr strong, most girls don’t even last five minutes,” you mimic in your best Jeon Jungkook impression. Voice dropping an octave to match his deep, even tone. You think it’s pretty accurate, but his melodic giggles say otherwise.

“I mean, it is,” he confirms, powering on the vibrator, “but there’s different settings, like, here’s the lowest.” The white crown is placed on your inner thigh, letting you get accustomed to the movement before he uses it to destroy you, and your most private areas. The low rumble travels up the muscle in your leg until it reaches your clit with a faint hum. “See? Not bad, right?”

Wrong.

The lack of foreplay on your end, had you teetering on the edge. So when Jungkook presses the strong, creamy buzz to your swollen bud, you’re a goner.

“Fuck!” You wail. “This is the lowest speed?”

“Tell me how it feels.”

“I- oh!” Evilly, Jungkook moves the toy down, nudging the rounded corner underneath your hood, directly stimulating your little bundle of nerves. “I… don’t know… can’t… think right now…”

“Have nothing to say now, huh smart girl?”

Oh, so this was your punishment.

If you could even call it that. You’ve never felt so fucking good.

The rapture coursing through your vein forces you to stop, clawing at Jungkook’s shoulders. He picks up where you left off, rutting into you with vigor, hitting all of your sweet spots perfectly. That, combined with the smooth plug in your ass and the vibrator on your clit, has you overwhelmed and out of control.

“Fuck! Jungkook, I can’t- too much.”

You’re cumming before he even has the chance to object. Thighs quivering. Arms shaking. Eyes rolling back into oblivion. The darkness is disrupted by lightning bolts of white, hot pleasure. Your entire body tingles like you’ve just stuck your acrylic into an outlet. Jungkook guides you to the light as you brace the crashing tsunami of your orgasm.

A literal tsunami.

“You squirted.”

“I did?”

“A little.” Unfortunately, he didn’t get the chance to witness it. Just relished in the warm splashes on his pelvis, his upper thighs, and his cock. You nuzzle into his shoulder, groaning disgruntledly in shame. Jungkook humors you by resting his cheek on top of your head, swaying subtly as he holds you. “Guess you’re not my Bambi anymore. Deer can’t swim.”

“They can swim,” you murmur. “You don’t shit about deer, Jungkook.”

“You’re more like a fish or something,” he coos happily, ignoring your correction. “...Ponyo.”

“You like Studio Ghibli movies?” You ask, picking up your heavy head and looking at him with big, animated eyes. “Since when?”

“Since before my balls dropped,” he responds curtly.

“I didn’t know that…”

“I think there’s a lot about me you don’t know yet, baby.”

There’s no malice in his words. They’re not a sneaky jab, or an attempt to make you feel guilty. They’re just the truth.

“Can I ask you something, Kook?”

“Of course, you can,” he hums, friskily nipping at the apple of your cheek.

‘Do you like anime in general? Or just Studio Ghibli?’

‘If so, what’s your favorite? Oh my God, this is so exciting!’

‘Is that your dog in those pictures?’

“You’re crazy, and yes, that’s my dog,” he chuckles at your endless string of curiosity. “But how about I nut first?” As if on cue, his member twitches inside of you, reminding you that he’s still hard and waiting patiently for his release. “And then you can interview me. Sounds good?”

“Yes,” you say, cheeks scalding. “Sorry.”

“Stop saying sorry,” Jungkook repeats, pecking you lovingly. "I'm gonna lay you down now..." Strategically, he maneuvers you onto your side, plopping down behind you. You curl into his frame, back arching with the rise and fall of his panting chest, his beautifully sketched arm wrapped around your waist. The other rests on the bed, sticking straight out for you to use as a pillow. Your top leg is thrown over his hip, spreading you enough to run his length over your puffy cunt. Grabbing the Hitachi, he brings it back to your engorged clit. The touch makes you yelp.

“Mm, I love how sensitive you get,” he whispers, licking a hot, needy stripe against your cheek. You peep out a confused noise, cowering under his tongue. Yuck. He’s so gross… but so sexy. “It’s not even turned on yet, baby. What would happen if I put it all the way up?”

“I think I’d fall in love with you…”

His heavy breaths stop as locks eyes with you. You can't distinguish the iris from the pupil. It all blends together like the night sky, filled with little stars of raw emotion. He’s pondering something, dewy lips parting and closing as the thought fades.

Nothing is said, but you don't mind. Because when he enters you, rocking into you with languid, passionate thrusts, you feel it. The unspoken words surround you like the weather. They’re warm like a summer breeze.

“Mine, isn’t it?” He speaks against your lips, Hitachi set to the max, going full throttle on your nub. “Say it.”

“This pussy is yours,” you cry, crystal streams clouding your vision and streaming down towards his arm.

“Not that,” he chokes through gritted teeth, trying to postpone his orgasm. Waiting for you to say the magic words and open Pandora’s box. “You, baby. Tell me that you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.”

“Yeah,” he nods, lips curling in as he bathes in your dripping cunt. His strokes become short and uneven as he reaches the point of no return. “I’m yours, too.”

The declaration of reciprocal affection and want fills your chest before shooting to your core. You cum together, sighing into each other's mouths as pure, intense bliss takes over every square inch of your body. Every cell tingles. You try to kiss, but the seal of your lips is broken by your needy cries. During the mutual orgasm, Jungkook trembles. Chest, legs, and arms all quivering in unison as he milks both of you dry. Painting your walls with warm, white spurts until he has nothing left to give. The Hitachi isn’t turned off until you beg.

Euphoria.

When you’re done, neither of you can bring yourself to disconnect. Sex left your sweaty bodies idle and fucked out, but the intimacy of it all kept you rooted in place. Airy kisses are planted on your shoulder. Light scratches outline his tattoos. His seed is hot inside you in the most disgustingly comfortable way. You don’t move for a while, laying in each other's aura until the rain clouds fade and the milky way can be seen by the naked eye. Twinkling lights of stars and headlights flicker against his skin as you count his breaths. They grow more steady as the minutes pass.

“I have a plan.”

Intrigued, you crane your neck, quirking a brow at the man behind you. “A plan?

Without warning, Jungkook expertly gets to his knees. Your ankles are hauled up by your head, manicured toes tickling his cotton pillowcase. Folded in half at the waist.

“Jungkook!”

“Bambi,” he huffs above you, softening cock still tucked inside of you. “Hold your legs for me.”

Oh. You know what he wants.

“Baby,” you giggle flirtatiously, hands curling under your thighs to keep them in place, “what are you doing?” He must want another round. Excitement bubbles in your squished chest and cramped stomach at the thought of having him twice in one night.

“If you stay like this, I should be able to run to the bathroom without getting cum on my bed.”

“Are you kidding me?” You spew in disbelief and disappointment.

“Baby, please,” he groans with pleading eyes. “It’ll take two seconds, I promise.”

“Fine,” you oblige with an overexaggerated pout, “but hurry. This hurts!”

With your permission, he scurries off into the bathroom. A light turns on and the faucet runs. He must be getting something to clean up with. Despite your best efforts, and the ache in your bent neck, his baby juice leaks out of you, cascading down your butt with impeccable speed.

“Jungkook, It’s dripping!”

The door slams against the wall with a loud thud as he bursts through, wet cloth in hand. A second too late. “No!” He sighs in annoyance, dropping to his knees on the mattress, angrily watching a fat white droplet splash onto his black comforter. “Really?”

“What was I supposed to do?” You shout back playfully. The whole situation was dumb and immature, but you can’t stop laughing. You cackle like a madwoman when he runs the damp towel through your folds. “‘M ticklish,” you respond dazily when he raises a brow at you. The giggles turn into a sharp hiss when he slowly removes the plug from your swollen hole.

“Does it hurt?” Jungkook coos, spreading your cheeks to get a better view of the slightly red, inflamed area.

“A little, but I’m okay. I promise.”

“Good,” he hums, smacking your ass, hinting that he wants you off the bed. “Go pee while I change the sheets.”

There’s a change in your appearance when you look in his bathroom mirror. The girl reflected, wearing her boyfriend’s black, pine-scented, oversized hoodie, seems… happy. She is happy. The resting bitch face that Mina often teased you for is completely gone. All you see is glowy skin, bright eyes, and puffy cheeks. A tiny hand comes up to massage them. Ow. They hurt from smiling so much. From laughing like a maniac. You’ve never seen yourself so lively. You’ve never felt so alive.

With a content sigh, you skip back into the bedroom.

Jungkook is already settled, snuggled under the clean bedding like a big baby. The sound of the door opening makes him jump, waking up from the two minute nap he accidentally fell into. Turning to you, he smiles lazily.

You’ll never get used to that face of his. That beautiful face.

“I’m knocked, Bambi,” he yawns, opening his big arms. “C’mere.”

Heart heavy with warmth, you climb between the sheets. You lay on your back, preparing for him to sink his head into your full breasts like feathered pillows. His favorite cuddle position.

“We never ate the pancakes,” you frown, noticing the plastic bags on his nightstand when you reach over, shutting his lamp off.

“‘S okay. We’ll eat ‘em in the morning.”

“Ew, Jungkook,” you scoff revoltingly. “They’ll be rotten by then.”

“You’re rotten but I still eat you.”

Hm. Touche.

“You know,” he lulls, lips smacking together. It’s a habit that only comes about when sleep clouds his mind. “I’ve had a crush on you since the day we met.”

“Liar,” you whisper with a smile, twirling the loose strands at the nape of his neck. Just the way he likes. “You called me a bitch, the day we met.”

“You’re so dramatic. I did not call you a bitch.” The way his tired, hooded eyes blare open at your false statement makes you laugh. “I said you were bitchy. There’s a difference.”

You recount the memory.

“You know what, I like you. You’re a little bitchy but-,” he slurred at the end of the night, helping you gather the discarded solo cups, "Also innocent. Kinda like a baby deer. What the fuck was that movie?”

“But underneath that attitude… I don’t know- There was just… something about you. Something special. And I knew that I could bring that side out of you, eventually."

“Bambi! Right… I can’t wait to ruin you.”

God, why are you so emotional today?

Tears pile into your waterline. They’re not from sadness or anger.

Laying in bed with Jungkook, who’s sighing peacefully as he drifts off to sleep, you can’t believe that this is your life.

After a few minutes of silence, you realize that there’s no way you’re following him into dreamland. You’re way too wired and ecstatic. Who could blame you?

“Jungkook,” you whisper.

No answer.

“Jungkook.”

A grunt of acknowledgment.

“Are you awake?”

“No…”

“But you just responded, though...”

Silence.

“Can we watch Sailor Moon?”

Crickets.

"Jungkook?"

“Baby!” He whines, high-pitched and huffy as he turns his head in frustration. “‘M sleepin’!’”

“Jeez,” you roll your eyes, still sluggishly playing with his dark ropes. “Someone’s grumpy…”

There’s another beat of silence before he speaks.

“Fine,” he groans dramatically, twisting back to his original position with a smushed frown against your boob. “I’ll watch one episode. One.”

You squeak excitedly, pecking the top of his head in appreciation, pulling out your phone and turning on your favorite series with glee. He puts up a good fight; loopily murmuring ‘wow’ and ‘no way’ whenever you share a little fun fact about the character lore. Halfway through, the sound of Usagi and Rei arguing is overtaken by Jungkook’s soft snores.

Soft for now. You know once he hits the REM phase, he’ll turn into a lawnmower.

With a defeated sigh, you close the streaming app and put your phone away, cuddling closer to your boyfriend.

Your boyfriend.

You're dying to finish the season. At this rate, it's going to take you guys forever to watch Sailor Moon in its entirety. But that’s okay, you suppose, because forever with Jungkook doesn’t sound that bad at all.

it's requited love yall :')

4K notes · View notes