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hollyoongs · 25 days

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0.01: | 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘

❝ Show you what devotion is, deeper than the ocean is ❞

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: richboy!heeseung and richgirl!reader (the reader is fem bodied)

𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: smut

𝘄.𝗰: 5.08k

𝘁𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗴𝗲𝗿 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: voyeurism, balcony sex, oral (male and female), praise kink, boob guy Heeseung, Heeseung has a lip ring (IT'S IN FACT A WARNING), doggy style, ballet dancer, face off, teasing, phonecall sex, petnames (sweetheart and princess), hair pulling and a surprise towards the end ;)

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: Two roommates, you and Heeseung, have a complex relationship marked by challenge and competitiveness. Heeseung, competitive and energetic, believes he is the best in bed and challenges you to a bet to prove it. You have seven days to see if he can back up his claim

seven masterlist [here]

intro || tuesday

You don't remember moving an inch after your little slip in the living room generated by your roommate, who eventually went to the building opposite his best friends, Sunghoon and Jake. For your great fortune, your sister's call that she would go to the apartment with food along with her girlfriend a few minutes after she left made you sigh calmly, knowing that you were going to have free grace therapy for your two favorite girls.

You decided to wait on the balcony of the place, breathing deeply in the fresh air of the afternoon. The sector you guys were in was remodelled, in fact the whole place, and in that you thanked your parents for lending you a significant sum of money for it by investing it in your comfortable home (because that was another thing you both shared, and it was being economically stable but wanting to be independent).

It had two armchairs with the perfect size for the average balcony, a small table in the center, and some padded high chairs that complemented everything harmoniously. This gave a perfect view of the urbanization and was at the same level as Heeseung's friends' window (unfortunately), but it was nothing from the other world. I only managed to appreciate the colored lights they installed each time they threw a massive party or just played on the console located in the room, although both buildings were quite close despite the street.

You observed from your position that in the opposite room, the three boys were receiving a boy announcing his entrance with some pizza boxes, and by the outfit, you could quickly recognize that it was Park Jongseoong. You had met each of them when Heeseung held a "small meeting," and Jake had come into your room believing it was the bathroom and coming back a few minutes later to talk to you because he was bored.

You still remember how the boy, whom you firmly believed was the personification of a golden retriever, pulled you out of your cave to join the party. Even though you wanted to wrap yourself in the sheets of your bed, you couldn't rest with all the noise; all you did was make sure you left your room safely and interacted against your will.

In your eyes, the four of them were quite different. Jake was quite friendly, and you could say that he was playful. Jay had shown himself to be a quiet extrovert but also a joker. Sunghoon was a pretty new case for you. In what you were sharing with the two foreigners, Sunghoon remained silent and only gave little smiles for education; all were interesting in their way, and along with Heeseung, you didn't avoid realizing how well they complemented each other, and you didn't doubt that their friendship was as you thought, "those that almost no longer exist."

The sound of the door being opened frightened you for a moment until you remembered that you had given the entry key to those who were coming. You got up excited to greet the couple with joy and relief. However, you didn't have to be a genius to know it would last a while when you dropped the bomb on your sister over Heeseung.

"Hey, are the dishes where they always are?" You shouted in affirmation, not ceasing to embrace Shuhua. She looked around and opened her eyes, surprised.

"How come Heeseung's not here?"

"It's in the boys' place." You pointed to the balcony, and Shuhua took the initiative to go there, so you had no choice but to get up and set the table. It was a routine all three had; Soojin arrived with food, and Shuhua was in charge of closing the balcony doors, although this time it was stronger than the previous ones when he saw Heeseung from a distance.

Shuhua wasn't such a fan of men, especially Heeseung, after your constant complaints about the women he brought home and all. And to your surprise, Soojin liked or hated Heeseung, but she was upset that he had no respect for you, your sister being the main reason Heeseung no longer brought his suitors to the place (or, well, not always).

All of you gathered at the table to eat in silence; only you were silent if we were sincere. The silence on your part made Soojin pay attention; she knew for sure that something was on your mind that was bothering you, and she was going to get that information out of you one way or another. Her direct attitude caught the attention of her girlfriend and yours when she applauded a little.

"What are you thinking?" Her eyes were fixed on you, and the surprise was on your face. You knew you weren't good at hiding your expressions, but you didn't think it was so obvious.

"Nothing."

"You're lying; you look like an idiot."

"Wow, Shuhua, thank you for that cute nickname." Your sarcastic voice didn't affect her; it even made her laugh. You had to tell her what happened, but there were no words to soften the situation.

"All right. You know Heeseung and I are pretty upset, and let's not forget I'm a mouthful. That part's important, actually." With Soojin's accusatory gaze and Shuhua's disgust, you wanted to stop, but you needed some advice. "Let's just say that I was screwing him with the fact that he was disgusting with sex and challenged me to have sex with him for seven days to prove otherwise." — Shuhua was choking on food, and Soojin was doing nothing to the shock of the above, reacting shortly after patting her girlfriend.

The two girls got up, trying to digest everything, and you could only shrink in your place.

"Look, I love you so much, as if you were my sister. And since I love you so much, I'm telling you to come live with us and leave this filthy scoundrel here and-"

"Accept what he proposed." You and Shuhua had a surprise expression all over your faces at what Soojin said after interrupting Shuhua.

"Honey, we're talking about Heeseung. The personification of an undeveloped human being wants to mess with the best creation in this world. No, I refuse." You were flattered by the last part, but you were confused anyway.

Soojin returned to his seat with a calmer appearance, unlike his girlfriend.

"I like Heeseung, if we forget that he used to bring girls to the place, but outside of that, he's a good guy, and you know it. Besides, don't look at it as a punishment like Shuhua does; look at it as a way to get you out of your misery. You've slept with other guys, but how many of them really made you feel good?" She was right. You were never happy with the sexual encounters you had because either they focused on their own pleasure or ended too quickly.

"None of them."

"Also, think things through. I don't like Heeseung, but I have to admit it's a...normal boy." Soojin held a small laugh and nodded at the words of her girlfriend, your hands intertwined with those of your sister, who gave you a warm smile.

"The decision is yours, and if it goes wrong, you have space in our home."

"But if the son of a bitch gets to-"

"Shuhua, please!"

"All right! Think about it!"

The beatings of your heart were pounding in your chest, while your senses seemed to be sharpening supernaturally. It was as if you were tuned to every detail of his environment in an almost animal-like way. You couldn't get Soojin's words out of your mind after they left, and you admitted with some regret that your older sister was right. Despite your reluctance toward Heeseung, there were valuable aspects to their relationship: his attention, his willingness to help you with tasks that were confusing to you, his undeniable attractiveness, and, although it was hard for you to admit, his maturity on most occasions.

Although you didn't want to look desperate, you realized you were looking for some kind of sexual release. Heeseung's offer was insinuated as an irresistible temptation. You weren't a complete novice; you had experiences that could be qualified as experimental. And considering the rumors about your "frenemy" sexual prowess, you couldn't help but fill your mind with bold thoughts. The thoughts of what his tactics would be like at the time, what kind of caresses he would like to receive or grant, and how he would explore their bodies in a fiery dance of desire. The idea of being with him, of giving up on each other in a whirlwind of passion, wrapped you in a spiral of anticipation.

"Damn it!" A cry of frustration emerged from your lips, suffocated by the pillow on your face. You sat on the bed, and your eyes sat on the clock table.

It was 1:28 a.m. Monday.

You could feel the need to take over, and he knew right away. You needed to release that tension that was invading you. Without further delay, you took a set of pajamas for the morning, hoping to cool off under the water of a shower. But the thought of Heeseung and the possibility of fulfilling his promise accompanied you as an insistent shadow, infusing his actions with a touch of anticipated electricity.

Looking for a break, you opted for a red fruit tea, confident that it would help you to reconcile your sleep without difficulty. For the second time on the day, you went to the balcony, a space that looked like an oasis of tranquility at that time. You leaned on the railing, letting your elbows sink into it, while your eyes rested on the streets that were illuminated by the faint light of the lighthouses. The day was routine, which meant that the urban landscape was calm. With your eyes closed, you gave in to the delight of that moment. The taste of the drink permeated your palate, giving it a sweet touch in the morning. You and the moon were the main actors in that serene moment. The cup emptied faster than expected, which led you to turn around and deposit it on the center table.

You were shocked to see Heeseung's figure approaching you. The boy was also slightly shocked before he burst into laughter at the fun scene. Heeseung stood before her, tied in one of her many loose black shirts, combined with her omnipresent grey joggers, which seemed to be an essential part of her wardrobe. You turned your back on him, trying to calm the accelerated heartbeat that the boy's mere presence caused inside you. After all, you had made a decision, and you weren't willing to take it back.

You were determined to follow the game Heeseung had proposed, to embark on those seven days that he promised so much.

You felt Heeseung's tall body settling next to yours, and your eyes turned to meet his. You noticed her staring at you, a little smile playing on her face. At that moment, they shared a moment charged with a mysterious attraction, as if they were two magnetic forces approaching inevitably.

"How come you're not asleep?" Heeseung began the conversation, breaking the silence. His voice sounded soft and slightly snoring, which only intensified the connection that was beginning to take shape between you two.

"I'm not sleepy. I slept a little in the afternoon after Soojin and Shuhua left." you answered, noticing Heeseung nodding in understanding. His eyes were placed on your profile—an action you didn't realize, but that stole his breath and left his mind momentarily blank.

For Heeseung, you've always been the most beautiful girl of all.

Your features were perfectly balanced, and your figure not only aroused his desire to explore what was under your clothes but also the desire to embrace you and never let you go. Your personality, an amalgam of strength and softness, created a balance that made you stand out wherever you went. Heeseung had been attracted to you from the moment he saw you smile brilliantly as you entered your apartment at that time, touching with emotion all that was within your reach.

At first, Heeseung thought it was just a passing infatuation, a superficial whim. That's why he went on with his way of life as a womanizer, unaware that you were becoming the missing piece in his life's puzzle.

"Sorry about today," Heeseung said again, bringing his voice closer to you. You looked at him, slightly confused by the apology. "What I said this afternoon was inappropriate. If you're uncomfortable and you need room, I can ask the boys to let me stay with them."

Moonlight did not favor you at all; in fact, its brightness allowed Heeseung to observe how your cheeks would acquire a lovely crimson tone. It was hard for him to contain a smile in front of that scene that I never imagined. A prolonged silence was established among you. What am I supposed to do now? Say something else.

Heeseung decided that his wishes were no longer worth hiding.

"I accept." you whispered suddenly, taking Heeseung by surprise.

"Do you accept me leaving?" Heeseung asked, bewildered.

A soft laugh sprang from your lips, making Heeseung even more confused.

"No. I accept that you show me how good you are." Your words resonated in Heeseung's mind, falling like pieces instead.

"I won't do anything you don't want." Heeseung said, his promises of respect and care being in contrast to the situation.

His words softened your heart a little, and you decided to venture even further. You brought your body a little closer to Heeseung's, enough to dare bite Heeseung's lower lip, adorned with a piercing in the middle, giving him a sigh that resounded with delight. It was a daring act under the moon, a gesture that sealed his complicity at that intense moment.

"Make me feel good, Heeseung." You challenged, your voice full of desire and longing.

"I'll show you the fucking clouds, sweetheart" he answered, letting his words carry a burning promise. Finally, both lips were found in a long-awaited and contained kiss for a long time. Heeseung's body leaned against the balcony railing, and his arms surrounded you, placing it in front of him without breaking his kiss.

You didn't stay behind; your fingers got tangled in the boy's platinum hair. The two were on the verge of a pact with Rati, a single movement to plunge into a whirlwind of fleshly desires. At that moment, they hid their true feelings, wrapped in a fire of passion and longing.

Each caress seemed desperate, a reflection of the months in which they had been waiting for this moment without even realizing it. Your hands left Heeseung's neck, exploring the boy's wide shoulders before firmly squeezing his biceps, an expression of the contained desire that was finally being released. Heeseung followed your example, your fingers playing with the soft satin fabric of your pajamas shirt that you were wearing at the time. Every touch of their warm hands under your shirt sent chills of anticipation through your skin, intensifying the passion that burned between them.

With a firm grip on your waist, Heeseung attracted you even closer, as if he wanted to merge their bodies into a passionate and unwavering embrace. The tip of her tongue subtly outlined your lips, causing a wider opening and an exchange of breath that culminated in the encounter between her tongues. The sweet taste of the cherry you shared in the tea accentuated the sensuality of the moment. Heeseung's hands gently walked the way from his abdomen to your bare breasts, making your skin stand before his touch.

His thumb and index fingers caressed your nipples, generating a moan that escaped from your lips and mixed with the boy's sigh. That sound sounded like music in Heeseung's ears, who smiled laciously at your answer. You were already lost in the pleasure he gave you, and in an instant of skillful movement, Heeseung's shirt disappeared from his body, revealing his skin in the moonlight.

Heeseung's skin was almost angelic in the darkness of the night. His figure, slightly worked, appeared in its maximum splendor without restriction of clothes. Her pants, lying suggestively down, implied that she was not wearing underwear—something that didn't go unnoticed for you and that fed your desire even more. However, the opportunity to admire his figure quickly disappeared as his lips looked for yours again with eagerness.

Heeseung explored your skin with his lips, charting a path from the back of his ear to your clavicles, following the same path you had walked seconds before with his shirt. Your breasts were released from their confinement, and Heeseung watched carefully as the cool evening wind hardened the nipples, generating a tempting and exciting image. His hands captured your breasts again, loving them delicately and firmly, causing you to tilt your head back, letting slip a sigh of pleasure that resonated in the atmosphere full of desire at the moment of feeling Heeseung's tongue giving little licks on them, gathering them to duplicate the pleasure it gave you. Each action lit fire between them, and the passion became more intense with each touch of their bodies.

Time seemed to expand at that moment of burning connection. After a while, Heeseung turned his attention away from the top of your body, and his hands slipped towards the back of his thighs, lifting you up easily. Together, they took a seat on one of the chairs, with you on top of Heeseung. Your knees were beside him, but you didn't sit completely down, wanting to prolong the moment of anticipation.

You let yourself be carried away by the frenzy of desire while their bodies were entangled in a dance of passion. In Heeseung's eyes, you looked like a goddess, and he worshipped you with every kiss he laid on his naked waist and the lines he drew with his lips. Every caress was an affirmation that what they were living was real, and your beauty in the moonlight stunned them.

Your lips took Heeseung's in another passionate kiss, but soon you parted with him, taking his hands to stand before him. The intensity in the air was palpable, charged with anticipation. Heeseung was momentarily baffled by your action, but his surprise quickly turned into grunting content when you got rid of your shorts and underwear. Kneeling in front of him, you looked him in the eye as your hands went up through Heeseung's covered thighs.

One action was enough to get rid of the only garment that covered his deepest desire. Your gaze focused on Heeseung's semi-erect limb. It was neither extremely thick nor venous, but its length caught your eye. The tip, dyed in a subtle red, shone with the pre-semen that emerged. Without looking away from his eyes, you let your tongue run through the liquid with a little tongue that stunned Heeseung.

"Damn, you're perfect for me." You were motivated by the comment and started with slow and sensual movements, caressing its length with your hands and applying the right pressure at the right time.

Heeseung's body reacted with soft movements, and the sight combined with the increasing humidity that could be seen in your pants generated a soft moan that escaped from his lips. You could see a grin on Heeseung's face before he closed his eyes, succumbing to pleasure.

Heeseung's hands encountered yours on his limb, gently removing them before you could continue. You raised your body to stand in front of him, and he sat you down so that his chest would touch your back. Your legs were opened by Heeseung, who placed his dick between your folds, no penetration whatsoever. Keeping the erotic contact and the tension.

Heeseung's fingers explored your clitoris, causing your body to shake and your hips to spin in small circles, both trapped in a whirlwind of desire. But the sweet nickname he used at that intimate moment highlighted the contrast between sin and affection, generating your lower part to beat in anticipation.

"Let me help you, sweetheart." Heeseung's digits explored your body, finding the way to the moisture that enveloped them both. Your moaning increased in intensity as you were carried away by the pleasure that took hold of you. Although you tried to keep quiet, the desire grew uncontrollably, pushing you to express yourself more and more. Heeseung surprised you by inserting a finger into you, and the contact made you bow your back while you were making a drowning moan.

The feeling of fullness and the touch of your skin with Heeseung's filled you with intense excitement. The second finger joined the first finger, shrinking and causing a tremor throughout your being. Your hands clung to Heeseung's thighs as your hips moved to the rhythm of his fingers, looking for more of that intoxicating sensation.

You couldn't deny that the moment of passion was like being in an uncontrollable flame that threatened to consume them completely. You opened your eyes, clouded by pleasure, and met the intense gaze of Heeseung, who had been watching you with a mixture of desire and worship. However, he didn't seem willing to let you take the reins any longer.

You looked ahead to give Heeseung your neck, and you didn't know if it was the moment that was making you hallucinate, confirming that it wasn't a mirage when you decided to focus completely, leaving pleasure on one side.

Sunghoon was watching everything from the balcony of his respective department through his circular lenses, and by the expression he carried, he had been surprised by the situation. The girl gradually stopped her movements, getting Heeseung to let go of a grunt.

"Is everything okay? There's something wrong?" — With no reaction from you, Heeseung followed your gaze, and he couldn't help feeling a little surprised when he saw his best friend with his favorite cup in his hand, without looking away from them. Sunghoon, seeing that he was caught, began to fix his surroundings until Heeseung threw a whistle, drawing his attention. At no time did Heeseung's hands move away from you, forcing you both to stand up and stand in front of the railing, your breasts completely exposed to Sunghoon and his free hand on your hips, his lips touching your right ear in a tempting way. "Do you like Sunghoon watching you? "See how you fuck yourself?" —the squeeze your walls gave his fingers confirmed his doubt.

You were ecstatic with the simple fact that that shy boy had now sat like an obedient child in a chair that they also had in their place in front of Heeseung, ignoring both of you by looking at his phone.

"Do you want to give him a little show?" With courage, you nodded. Heeseung left you for a moment, searched his pants for his phone, and returned to you. The screen clearly showed how Heeseung was calling Sunghoon. They both saw Sunghoon take his cell phone, and with a little doubt, he answered the call.

"Hyung, I'm sorry. I will go to my-."

"Don't go it, Sunghoon; we like being watched. Enjoy the view and the audio. Also, if you want to jerk yourself off, do it." You could see Sunghoon's eyebrows going up in surprise, and later on, he was sitting in front like he was before.

Your jaw was taken by Heeseung and placed so that your sight was fixed in Park. Heeseung again explored your intimate area, and at this point, you could feel your legs shaking as your orgasm was postponed. You could see Sunghoon shaking his leg from top to bottom with shyness, but his eyes would not move away in any way, coming into visual contact with him. You saw a little bit down, noticing his dick being marked in his pajamas. Heeseung pulled out his fingers, causing you to complain of dissatisfaction and look over your shoulder. But your complaints became a louder moan when you felt his penis pressing against your entrance. Your bodies were connected in a way that exceeded any expectations, and now you were leaning against the bar and with your ass at the perfect angle for Heeseung to enter in a delicious way, feeling the warmth and firmness of your torso while he held you with his arms. The phone in your hand was close to you, and you just knew how needy you sounded to Sunghoon.

Your movements and Heeseung's were reflected in Sunghoon's glasses; he couldn't keep his eyes off both of you. Every sigh, every touch, and every gesture of pleasure they shared had an effect on Sunghoon. You could see the desire to sprout in Sunghoon, his dick creating a tent in his pants. You placed the phone loudspeaker closer to your lips, sliding your hand through your own body, caressing your abdomen, and stopping in your clitoris.

"Sunghoon, touch yourself with me. Please."

Passion was burning in the air as the movements of the three of you began to synchronize. Sunghoon finally released his penis and wrapped it with his hand. The pressure he exerted on it was reflected in the veins that emerged from it. Heeseung filled and caressed you from within, and you could only lift your hips desperately, looking for that overwhelming feeling that only he could give you at that moment. Heeseung's hands went around your back, your hips, and your breasts, as if he wanted to touch every inch of your being. You let yourself be carried away by the wave of pleasure, your moaning filling the whole place and ear of Sunghoon as his movements became more frantic, screaming from time to time. You felt Heeseung's palm groaning your ass, the sting making you scream ecstatic.

In an act of impulse, you opened your eyes (which you didn't realize you had closed), noticing how Sunghoon was beginning to unbutton his shirt, allowing his skin to come into contact with the fresh air of the night, and his movements had increased speed, looking for his orgasm.

"Sunghoon, will you cum with me?" You saw Sunghoon throw his head back, and both you and Heeseung heard a grunt followed by a chain of groans.

Sunghoon's hand continued to move, occupying every inch of his swollen penis; his movements were almost as equal as yours on the next balcony. The sight of the Sunghoon was making you feel like you were going to explode at any moment.

"Shit, Heeseung, I'm cumming." Heeseung wasted no time, and it was his turn to stand in front of you. Taking your left leg, he made you wrap it around his hip with his hand right on your buttocks.

"Let me see you while you're doing it." —and once again, he came back with his unbridled movement. Now the speed of his action was fast; you both were looking like animals, but Heeseung was more focused on making you have the best orgasm in your life.

Your breasts were bouncing in front of him, your lips half open, leaving free high moans mingling with Heeseung's own sighs and listening to Sunghoon's whimpers. "Heeseung, Sunghoon, I'm close." —your grip on Heeseung's shoulder for support intensified when you felt that familiar knot in your belly, your moans being silenced by Heeseung's lips, who was also reaching his release before the exquisite feeling of your entrance by not wanting to let go.

Pleasure was built within you as an unstoppable storm. You could feel the contractions of your body approaching the edge, making your grip on the phone harder, and Heeseung was on the verge of losing control. The moans and whispers filled the space between them; every touch, every kiss, and every caress pushed them beyond their limits.

"You're perfect for me, sweetheart. You squeeze me so tight. Fuck." The climax finally reached both of you—an explosion of sensations that enveloped your bodies completely. You clung to Heeseung as the waves of pleasure dragged you and were heard by the two boys, your body trembling in its ecstasy. Heeseung followed you, his release triggered by the burning union of their bodies. Both fell into a sea of satisfaction and exhaustion, their entwined breaths as they recovered their composure. You looked at Sunghoon, having the perfect view of how he let himself be carried by the wave of pleasure that ran through him, his hand and thighs covered by the uncontrollable jets of his semen, getting you to squeeze Heeseung's penis at the sight of the boy, who was now submissive. You felt a void when it finally came out of you. Heeseung moved the hand that had the cell phone to your lips.

"Come on, talk to Sunghoon, sweetheart." You swallowed dry and took off the speaker. You could clearly hear Sunghoon's sighs and feel his eyes across the balcony.

"Sunghoon?"

"Hey," Sunghoon's agitated voice returned your greeting. Your eyes deviated to his body because he was an athlete; he had a dream body, and you couldn't deny that you wanted to kiss that mole he had on his collarbone. You couldn't stop looking at his figure. "If you want, I'll send you a picture."

"Don't worry about it, just- " You took a leap into the air, feeling Heeseung's lips sticking to your vulva. You breathed a sigh down to see Heeseung. "I'm sorry"

"Is he licking you clean, princess? You must be dripping; Heeseung has that privilege, but it would have been better if you have two people."

"Really? How would you do that? Fuck, Heeseung." Your sensitivity was growing as the boy cleaned both of your fluids. Your hand went to his hair, pulling it slightly.

"Why don't you look?" Your eyes stopped the boy in his glasses, he got settled in the chair he had, and his middle finger and ring took a quantity of semen that remained on the tip. Shortly after licking that, you opened your eyes with surprise.

Was that the guy who didn't even look at you weeks ago?

Heeseung sucked out your clitoris, confirming that he actually made you touch the clouds without stepping on the sky; he had brought the sky to you. A final kiss was deposited that made you moan one last time. He looked at his cell phone in your hand and hung up on Sunghoon.

"One of seven, get ready for tomorrow, sweetheart. I'll show you what devotion is."

TAGLIST: @glitterjay @cmoundiamante @lhspeachie @deobitifull @mirramirra @capri-cuntz @unloyalexolover @horijiro @sumzysworld

↷ 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚢'𝚜 note: "SEVEN" HAVE ARRIVED! I'm so excited for this proyect, you guys have no idea. Thank you so much for the support and stay tune if you like it 🦋

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merbear25 · 2 months

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What positions they prefer

Entangled in this twisted balance of love and lust, you find yourself captivated by their allure. With neither of you being able to resist temptation, they pull you into their favored acts.

CW: NSFW!! MDNI!! gn!reader (but some positions may be more suitable for f x m partners), headcanons

Sanji, Corazon, Mihawk, Crocodile, Buggy, Caesar

Sanji: The spur of the moment overtakes him most of the time, leading the both of you in, sometimes, the least convenient places. He'd enjoy holding your body close to his, the spontinaety of it all, and secretly the risk of getting caught.

You would find yourselves in the ballet dancer after you teased him a bit too much. Holding you against the wall in the hallway off to the side, he'd have a firm handle on your backside. Aiding your support with your leg hung over his arm, he'd do his best not to get too rough—keeping it sensual, so as not to make too much noise.

He'd love whenever you were in the kitchen with him, watching him cook and/or learning to cook from him. This, however, usually resulted in you spread across the nearest table or counter top: your emotions and insides being whipped into a finishing cream. The act of performing such a vulgarity in a communal area would only add to the thrill.

Wanting to take full advantage of intimacy, placing you in a classic sixty-nine would the most preferable way to indulge: no worrying about who may catch you, just focusing on pleasing you and listening to your struggling breaths. With you on top, he'd be able to lose himself in your lustful mewls. Though he'd do his best not to gag you, sometimes his body would move in rhythm to your irresistible motions.

Corazon: Wanting to feel as close to you as possible, he'd prefer positions that involve holding, are ideal for kissing, and give opportunities for a lot of eyecontact. He'd be rather talkative, mostly providing soft moans and loving encouragement.

When having you in the face off position, he'd help support you by gripping your hips and guiding you up and down. Seeing your face flush from the electrofying friction, he'd pull you into a hug―lightly kissing the side of your face and whispering words of encouragement and praise, "You're doing so well. You always know just how to make me melt."

Holding you in the spork, he'd caress your thigh and run his hand up it, gripping at the fat on your hips. He'd find it hard to keep himself from having you in a lip lock the whole time; watching you pant from his length sending shock waves of ecstasy throughout your body was too inticing for him not to give in to the long kiss.

Gently easing your leg up against his chest while in the pretzel dip, he'd do his best not to overstimulate you too quickly. However, this never goes as he'd hoped: instead feeling up every inch of you, rubbing your most personal and sensitive areas. He may get carried away seeing you lose yourself to the pleasure he was giving you―being rougher than he'd intended.

Mihawk: Opting for positions that give you the most pleasure, your constant moaning, spasming, and sight of your ass getting shafted by him would highten his experience—guiding you both through an earth shattering climax.

Making sure you'd be able to get the most enjoyment possible, placing you in the leap frog would have your vision blurring within moments. Since he'd have easy access to your g-spot, anything less than having you in a stammering mess would be disappointing for him. Even after your first wave, he'd know you'd have more in you—pushing you to the point you felt like you were being punished.

Wanting to feel the full weight of you bouncing up and down on him, the upstanding citizen would be a go-to. You'd fall apart from the sheer intensity being forced in you, which would give him the luxury of witnessing your eyes gloss over. If you were to claw at his back and/or shoulders, he'd only understand this as a job well-done and refuse to hold back.

Noticing how sensitive you are in the pretzel dip, he'd love putting you in it for overstimulation. Whenever you desperately gripped at the sheets in hopes of catching yourself from going over the edge too quickly, he'd see it as a challenge; you'd then be put through a series of overwhelming sin until he was satisfied with the mess you'd inevitably become.

Crocodile: He'd generally love when you were helpless under him, while allowing him to have full view of your body. He'd be courteous enough to prepare you properly before any of this―he'd want you to be good and ready for him after all.

When he got you in a jack hammer, wedged between the floor and his body, a sadistic smile would creep onto his face. He couldn't help himself; you looked so pathetic in this position. Since he'd gotten you warmed up prior to this, he'd expect for you to be ready for the main course―holding back wouldn't be something he'd plan on.

When he felt like being closer and more personal during sex, he'd quite like the seashell; it'd still give him full dominance, but he'd be in a better position to kiss you if he felt like it. Plus, seeing you in such a helpless state would only add to his enjoyment. If he was feeling particularly cruel, he'd play with your most sensitive parts, knowing you'd have no choice but to take it.

On days he was feeling lazy or tired, he'd want to have you in a reverse cowgirl. Watching your ass bounce up and down on him would tempt him into spanking it and grabbing at it tightly. Leaning his head back, he'd indulge in the vulgar sounds of skin slapping. If you started to get tired, he may feel gracious and give some thrusts to keep the momentum going.

Buggy: Closeness is something he'd crave during sex—heightening the overall intimacy for him. Being able to face you, hold you, and feel like he can let go of his troubles: all things he'd be craving whenever wanting to be with you. He'd enjoy receiving some light praises, though he'd be embarrassed to admit it.

The desire to hold you close and wrap his arms around you in the missionary position would be a go-to whenever he was struggling with his own issues. This position would help him feel more secure and comforted. It'd also allow him to see your face throughout all of it if he was seeking out validation: the bliss written on your face would be more than telling enough.

There are times he'd feel a bit lazier. Having a rather slow and sensual experience in the spork, he'd still be able to pepper you with kisses. If you were being needy, he'd quicken the pace. Being able to see each change in your expression would be mesmerizing, inticing him to caress your hip and nibble on your neck.

Despite the bed's edge/butterfly ommiting the opportunity for him to hug you, the view of you spread open for him would be a lovely trade-off. He'd have easy access to your other sensitive parts, making it hard to ignore the rising temptation to overstimulate you. Bringing you to euphoria multiple times, he'd refrain from letting up: he'd love knowing how good he was making you feel.

Caesar: He'd mostly enjoy watching your reactions. He wouldn't be that vocal but would love if you were. It'd inflate his ego and only encourage him to keep going, pushing to see how much you'd be able to take―meaning you'd be subject to impromptu testing.

He'd like easing himself in and out when cradling you. Focus would be kept on how your face changed from the initial adjustment to him, to pleasure, then ultimately to climax. You looked so sweet, despite the shameful act you were taking part in. If you were to look up at him in this position, it'd make it incredibly difficult for him to hold back from releasing right there and then.

He'd like when you took control in the rhombus position: watching you bounce up and down, pressing your chest against his if you needed. Seeing you unravel at your own pace was undoubtedly erotic. Grabbing your hips, he'd want to see just how much of him you could handle. Still letting you think you were in full control, he'd be guiding you further down, watching you for any signs of pain.

Putting you into the sphinx position granted him full control over you―practically leaving you powerless. Starting off slowly, feeling your walls spasm at his girth, he'd observe your breathing patterns. If it was proving to be too much for you, he'd massage your hips, while gingerly helping you adjust to him. Upon hearing your mewls becoming more frantic, he'd push your limits―positioning a leg to your side for more leverage. When you clenched at the sheets, he'd see that as a sign to quicken his pace.

558 notes · View notes

dumbsoftheart · 4 months

Text

pas de deux

pairing: ballerina!reader x university!coriolanus snow

tags: 18+, mdni. dub-con, semi-public sex, oral sex (fem receiving), creampie, vaginal sex, dirty talk, power play, manipulation

summary: corio is tasked with writing an exposé on his university’s prized ballet student for the school’s newsletter.

notes: self indulging on my perfectionism being ruined for coryo’s self-pleasure!

word count: 4.9k

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coriolanus hated this assignment with the same fervour and passion he hated writing for his school’s publication. the only reason he’d even applied for the position was because he knew of the ways it would put him on the scene- articles and reviews with his name plastered over them were unavoidable to anyone who had half a brain to engage in thoughtful composition. he enjoyed writing critical pieces on political discourse or literature, anything that challenged him to peel back the layers of society and dissect it, persuade others to align with his mode of thinking, so the mere thought of his byline etched onto an article about ballet- of all things- made him want to curl up and die. he tried oh so desperately to pass on the assignment to one of his female partners, and even tried his hand at requesting his supervisor for a new assignment entirely, but he was coldly dismissed and cast away to the hallowed halls of the university's dance studio. he didn't notice how frustrated he’d actually felt until he flinched behind the sound of the studio door slamming behind him, clashing uglily with the buzzing noise of music that flooded his eardrums. it was unnecessarily loud, but he knew you could hear him enter. his jaw clenched the more you ignored his presence.

instead, you focused on the strains of music you’d become uncomfortably accustomed to. the melodic rhythm of the cantilena you choreographed to consumed your body in a symphony of music. each note was dictated thoughtfully with the graceful movements you now begrudgingly danced for the stranger, weaving a story that transcended words, one only understood through the language of dance. as you traversed the space, your movements harmonised seamlessly with the refined tune, a testament to the years of dedication and passion you poured into this art form. you grew frustrated at the way his presence clashed discordantly against the elegance of your dancing and disrupted the harmony of the room. you watched in the corner of your eye how he marched his way to the centre of the room, lingering only a few steps behind you as you danced. you caught him clear his throat one, two, then three times. it grated against your patience, forcing you to stop dancing abruptly and march past him with the same conviction as he did to shut off the music, a huff escaping your lips at the sudden quiet as you stared expectantly at the tall boy before you. you watched his fists clench and then flex before he turned to face you, his pearly blond hair falling ever so slightly out of place from the speed at which he’d turned on his heel.

"can i help you?" the words slipped from your lips, delivered with a flatness that barely concealed the tinge of annoyance behind it. your hand found its place resting on your hip, a subtle gesture reinforcing your composed stance, determined to maintain an air of indifference.

“coriolanus snow. i’ve been assigned to write a review on you and your dancing for the university newsletter,” his introduction sounded pompous, as though he assumed you already knew of his identity. of course, you knew the name very well- his reputation preceded him. you couldnt deny that you too had once or twice been privy to the occasional swooning over the quite popular boy, but you found that now as he stood in front of you, tall and beautiful as he was, you felt a growing discontent for the man and his obnoxiously bright hair. yet, you clung fiercely to the facade of ignorance, a guise of disinterest veiling the curiosity that lingered beneath the surface. you held your head high, refusing to grant him the satisfaction of acknowledging his perceived importance in your realm of artistry.

you pretended to think before a moment, before turning back to the speaker and switching the sound back on, gesturing for him to sit. you rolled your eyes at his request to turn the volume down. despite you hating everything that had to do with this review, you were aware of the potential impact this coverage had on your burgeoning career. you acquiesced, lowering the volume to appease his demand, a concession made not out of respect for the boy but rather with your future in mind. you knew the power coriolanus held with his words, as much as you hated it, and you knew you couldn't risk jeopardising your future at the sake of a little attitude.

so, with an inward sigh and a curt nod, you allowed him to observe. you positioned yourself within the room as you waited to pick up on the rhythm of the music where you left off, quickly finding your place among the complexities of the song in a manner that seemed impossible had it not been for your tireless work and memorization of every single note and harmony of the song.

as snow observed your movements, he jotted down comments in a small leatherbound notebook, his pen scrawling his disdain. "lacks depth," he muttered under his breath, pausing to look up pensively at your figure.

the comment caught you so off guard it took every bit of strength in you to not fall with the abruptness at which you stopped. lacks depth? what the hell would he know? you felt rage burn inside your chest, only fueled by the way he stared at you as if he had said nothing wrong.

“what about my dance lacks depth, snow?” the question hung in the air, and you watched his adams apple bob up and down through the mirror as he swallowed, glancing briefly at his notes before looking back up at you.

"the dance is fine, quite beautiful, i might say, but your movements lack the emotional vibrancy expected from a performance of this calibre," he responded, "there's an absence of connection, it feels superficial and fails to convey the intended depth of expression."

he spoke with a measured confidence, and you scrunched your brows at his words. you didnt expect him to know the first thing about ballet, and you still stood by that sentiment, but part of you wondered if he was speaking truthfully- a consequence of the sensitivity you harbour in relation to your artistry. dance was everything, and while ballet trained you to accustom yourself to harsh criticism, you always held those criticisms to your heart, and it pushed you to always do better than you had before.

despite this, your shoulders never slumped, nor did you show any physical acknowledgement to his critique, only moving to turn your gaze from his cobalt eyes in the mirror to look him in them truly, strutting your way back to the speaker and restarting the song, determined to prove him wrong.

“you restart the song when you feel i’m ‘lacking depth’, so i can know whether or not to call bullshit.”

the two of you went at it for a while. he only gave you a few seconds at first before he continuously restarted the song, but you danced for him nonetheless. over, and over again. when you thought you’d finally caught him, he’d restart the song a few seconds later, and it took everything in you to not scream in frustration at the top of your lungs. you wanted to strangle him, in truth, especially when you caught a glance at his smirk the 12th time he’d restarted the music.

it was nearly midnight by the time he’d given you some respite, and you made no effort to be hospitable as you collected your things and stormed out the door without a word. you pretended to ignore the scribbles on his notebook as you rushed passed him, unable to make sense of the haphazard writing. you hated him. the way he seemed to try seize control of your creative space and your studio made you go mad. additionally, you were convinced he was only trying to get under your skin, and you hated that it worked- even if you refused to show it (or more appropriately, tried not to show it, because coriolanus reveled in the fact that he did, in fact, get under your skin).

coriolanus, on the other hand, walked out of the studio feeling quite prideful. he adored the effect he had on you: how despite his ignorance on your mastered art, he absorbed the control in the room. he adored seeing you struggle to keep up to his standards, watching your face twist with effort as you danced over and over again, all for him. watching the muscles of your shoulders and legs flex, the arches of your back and neck, the way you exposed yourself to him repeatedly- it festered a strange desire in him to tear you apart. you were so meticulous with how you danced that it made you look fragile. with every twist and turn of your body coriolanus felt his breath catch in his throat as if he were afraid if you moved slightly too much, you would shatter. only, he wanted to be the one to break you: tear away that meticulousness and precision built into you and mould it in a way that was perfectly suited for him. he wanted to dismantle that untouchable image you carried, strip you away of your elegance and create a dependence that would tether you to him alone. it made him care about your performance more than he wanted to admit. not because he cared for you, per se, and your success, but because he’d developed a carnal urge to shape you into perfection solely for his own satisfaction. knowing that onstage, your dance was now catered just for him, to his own liking? the thought made coriolanus’s pants grow tight with lust.

the week progressed following the same routine: he would sit and watch you overwork yourself at his beck and call until your eyes filled with tears of anger and your body would give out and he’d leave you panting on the dance room floor, killing yourself until you got it just right. the boy was acutely aware of the mental struggles that accompanied ballet- the pursuit of perfection, the strive for excellence, the intensity of the competition and the pressure to excel. he knew how hardly you critiqued yourself and used it to his advantage; knowing if he played his cards right, soon enough he’d have you wrapped around his finger, begging him for that validation you needed to keep going.

your performance was on saturday, and the way you worked yourself over the dreadful symphony of music had you lacking sleep. you couldn’t stop- even after you and coriolanus parted ways. you found yourself practising in your dorm room, counting steps on your way to class- you knew deep down that coriolanus’s article really meant nothing, as the man knew nothing about what he asked of you, and your success wasn’t at all tied to his review; but you were unable to stop. a voice nagged at you that it did matter. that somehow his influence could ruin you and everything you’d worked for. you knew how badly he was getting to you when the two of you crossed paths on your way to class.

he took in the sight of you: your hair done perfectly, not a single hair misplaced, your pink tights and leotard, the pink cover-up skirt you adorned neatly wrapped around your waist with a perfect bow. he took in your lips, swollen and red from the anxious biting you’d fallen into the habit of doing again, the way you messily tried to cover up your dark under eyes with concealer and draw attention away from it with haphazards amount of blush. in passing, you’d simply given him a nod, but he was quick to grab you, looping his finger under your chin and forcing you to stare into those piercing cobalt eyes of his as he studied you.

“you should wear white instead. pink washes you out,” he mumbled to you before turning away, his tall figure disappearing into one of the lecture halls behind you. had it been a few days prior, you would’ve found it in you to bite back. only now, you bit at your manicured fingernails as you dragged your fingers across the silky white pointe shoes in your favourite dancewear boutique, followed by the white leotard and tights you brought home with you that night.

౨ׅৎ

“i need a break,” you sighed. it was the night before your performance, and only now did coryo have the decency to step back for a moment in his unrelenting pursuit of perfecting you. he nodded, shutting off the music as he watched you saunter towards your dance bag, downing half the contents of your water bottle with short pants. he stood to meet you, making his way behind you and resting his slender fingers on your tense shoulders.

“whats bothering you, bunny?” the pet name sent a small shiver down your spine, and coriolanus threw his head back slightly at the feeling of you shudder, gathering all his strength to contain himself. you turned to face him, and he felt his dick harden at the vulnerability in your eyes. the fire that once burned behind them was fizzling, and he could tell. your mouth was parted as you searched for the right thing to say, but the words caught in your throat.

“is it the dance?” he pressed, his face now dangerously close to yours, and you croaked out a small yes as his hand made its way up to your hair, his thumb stroking it gently, “you know it’s perfect, darling, you and i have been making it perfect all week long, no? show me which part is bothering you.”

your head spun as he spoke to you- his fingers stroking your hair, the way his voice was now all of a sudden so soft; contrary to the stern way he’d spoken to you all week. but what really dizzied you was the sudden validation he’d given you. the casual way he threw it at you; as if it was what was known all along, as if you were crazy to think otherwise.

you stumbled back towards the centre of the room, slowly positioning yourself as you waited for his go-ahead, form snapping into movement as soon as the music filled your ears. you watched in the mirror as coriolanus paced behind you, his chin in his hand as he watched you and pondered. your eyes closed with focus, moving with such ease that it felt second nature to you. then, the music seized, and you froze in place as you raised your head to look up at the man now in front of you.

“you’re too tense,” he murmured, moving to press his hands into the soft skin of your shoulders, massaging the strained muscle gently. it did nothing at getting you to relax. inside, you were fuming as you replayed the past week in your head. you’d worked yourself dry all for the approval of a man whose opinion you couldn’t care less about. you let your guard down for a sliver of a moment and he used it to get inside your head. you hated him with every fibre in your being, and his breathing down your neck only fueled the fire burning inside of you.

“get off of me.”

“just relax.” the way he whispered it was short of anything kind, spat at you with annoyance as he tightened his grip on you.

“i said get off!” it was the loudest you’d spoken all day. it was barely a shout, but it was enough for the man to recoil from behind you. you breathed shakily, hands trembling at your side. when you turned to face him, you nearly flinched at the sight of him. his usually perfectly combed back hair was now a mess, curls fallen out of place as he ran his hand through the golden strands harshly. you both stared at each other for what seemed to be an eternity, panting heavily, waiting for the other to say or do anything to loosen the tension that filled the studio air.

he looked down at the floor for a second, tonguing his cheek with a smile before surging forward, crashing his chapped lips into your plump, soft ones with a groan. you tried to push him away, but his grip on your face was too strong- and you couldn’t ignore the way your legs turned to jelly from the way he kissed you with an undying hunger. one hand made its way down your waist as he moved you backwards into the large studio mirror, your head thumping painfully against the glass, pain mixing with pleasure as coryo attacked your lips and dragged his hands all over your body, savouring the warmth of your skin through the fabric of your garments.

“so good for me,” he groaned against your neck, the hot breath of his words sending shivers straight down to your core, “so perfect.. so pliable.. all for me. isnt that right, princess?”

it was truly embarrassing, the way his words made you moan softly and rub your thighs together with want. embarrassing how compliant you’d become for him, how eager you were to please him. he took notice of the pathetic state you were in, watching with glossy and swollen lips how your legs trembled and your hips stuttered in a desperate attempt to gain friction against your growing heat.

“look at that, so fucking precious,” he continued to watch you struggle, laughing softly to himself before snaking his hand between your thighs, cupping your cunt and slowly encouraging you to rock your hips back and forth. you whined at the contact, relief and pleasure swarming you as you ground yourself into the palm of his hand, gripping tightly onto the curls at the back of his head for leverage. lost in bliss, you barely noticed when the man made his way down to his knees, lip bitten so hard you swore you could smell the metallic scent of blood peer through your senses as he toyed his fingers across your clothed cunt. you moved to remove your small skirt, untying the meticulous bow around your waist and tossing it to the side. when your hand reached to remove your leotard, coriolanus removed his hand with a small chuckle.

“what do you think you’re doing?” he tutted, and you whined at the sight of him below you, willing and able to keep pleasuring you but withholding that power. you scrunched your brows together with confusion, and coriolanus thought you’d never looked so beautiful: face flushed with heat, writhing above him while your hips urged for his fingers to touch you again. too lost in the pleasure that lingered, head thrashing from side to side with pleads to keep going- he wanted to ruin you.

“good girls wait and do what they’re told. are you gonna be a good girl for me?” he chuckled at the way you shook your head aggressively, savouring your small moans as he returned his hand to where you wanted it most. a loud gasp escaped your lips when he ripped your tights viciously, the soft torn fabric now giving him better access to the skin of your thighs. he splayed his hands over them, massaging your muscles and soft tissue before pulling your leotard to the side and diving his tongue into the wetness of your folds.

he pulled back with a moan, gasping as he peered down at the mixture of his spit and your slick connecting your cunt to his chin, and he looked up at you like you were a god, sticky and wet from the most trivial of touches.

“you’re so wet for me, princess- such a good girl. you’re so good for me,” you couldn't get a word out before he took a long swipe with the flat of his tongue, lapping messily and so, so loudly- chasing the taste of you. he loved teasing you with his mouth. he thought about it that day, unashamed as he jerked his cock into nothingness when he caught sight of you on campus earlier that day, dressed all in white- just for him. the small gesture was enough confirmation to him that he’d won at the game you two were playing, that you let him break you into submission and you were now his to claim. the thought of taking ownership of you by reducing you to nothingness with his tongue alone had him cumming onto his stomach with a loud, broken cry. now, he had you right where he wanted- and he wasn’t going to let that pass just yet.

he relished every sound and movement you made when he flicked his tongue up and down your lips, relished the tears that fell when he slowly circled it around your swollen clit, rejoiced in the way you gripped his curls tighter when he tongued your hole, gazing up at your already fucked out faced with pure lust and admiration when you came undone and released yourself into his mouth. he continued to lap and suck every moan and whine out of you until you cried with overstimulation. he stood up, licking his lips and stared down at you like a predator who’d hunted its prey.

“you did so good for me, bunny,” he mewled, kissing your neck softly as you came down from your high. you had started to gain back your senses, and a wave of humiliation washed over you. the man you claimed to hate had just given you the best orgasm of your life, and suddenly you could no longer find it in you to hate him again. every fibre in your body ached when he praised you, called you good and cooed in your ear as you regained your strength. you continued to cry, no longer out of pleasure but in self-disappointment. you felt the urge to scream and lash out at him for robbing you of your senses, for reducing you to a state where the tiniest shred of approval clouded every bit your perspectives until you couldn’t figure out left from right. he continued to coo in your ear as you sobbed, but your eyes widened with fear when you heard the small sound of a zipper and looked down to see his cock in his hands, pumping slowly as he made his way into you.

he shushed every one of your protests, his lips pressed tight against your collarbone as you tried to push away from him when his tip made contact with your hole, “be good, bunny, be good for me,” he chanted into your skin and your body broke down into more sobs as you willingly let him push into you. alarms were blaring in your head for you to stop giving into him, but your body was unrelenting and begging with want- and so all you did was cry as he thrust slowly into you, small moans of praise nonsensically falling from his lips as your cunt struggled to take all of him in.

the way he mumbled his sweet words into your neck and the slow stretch of his cock prying you open had your brain short-circuiting, the sweet tone of his voice once again making you lose all sense of what was unfolding before you. you winced as he tried to thrust his length deeper into you.

coriolanus didn’t like that. he took the sounds of complaint as direct disobedience. he wanted to hear nothing but your begging- he wanted you to thank him for letting you have his cock, and hear nothing but your loud moans and pathetic mewls as he fucked you. he grabbed at your bun, yanking your head back with such force that the once perfectly smoothed back hair came undone painfully, strands falling to your face and wisping at your shoulders.

“does it hurt?” he asked, and for a moment you thought he was trying to take you with care, but when you nodded and his grip tightened on your hair, you knew you were oh so wrong, “i thought i told you to be a good, fucking. girl.”

he thrusted into you harshly with each word and you cried out in pain, his cock stretching you out far beyond what you could handle, overstimulation making your knees buckle and tears fall from your eyes again.

“thats it, baby. take it, be a good girl and take my cock.”

your fingers dug into his back and coriolanus let out a loud, lewd moan, unable to peel his eyes away from the sight of his cock thrusting without preamble into the slick mess of your cunt. he threw his head back as you moaned through your cries, and thrusted even harder when you wrapped a leg around him to let him fuck you even deeper.

he moved to rip off the top of your leotard, licking his lips hungrily as he watched your tits fall and bounce in tandem with his thrusts. he dove his head down, latching his lips onto your hardened nipple and sucking harshly, nipping and biting the soft flesh while his hand pinched and flicked at the other one.

you were incoherent. your stop’s had turned into more’s and your sobs turned into that of pure desire. you threw your head to the side and gasped at the spectacle the two of you were making of yourselves in the middle of the dance studio. the mirror you were pressed up against had begun to fog up along the silhouette of your body pressed up against it, the cool glass dripping condensation onto your back and through your ruined clothes as coryo fucked you into oblivion. he looked right at you now, his fingers making their way to lace into yours as he pressed you even closer to him, your arms now bound against the coolness of the mirror.

“fuck, princess, you’re so fucking tight. so tight for me, yeah? gonna make this pussy mine,” your head spun with his words and the constant pumping of his cock, unable to contain the obscene sounds you let out. you were so close, and the way you tightened around him as you chased your release almost had him cumming prematurely.

“you gonna let me make you mine, huh bunny?”

“fuck, yes!”

“s’at right? gonna let me claim you? such a good girl.”

you moved your hips against his with no rhythm, simply in pursuit of the orgasm that coiled in the pit of your stomach. you kept your eyes on his, your mouth open with pants as you urged him to keep going. he hiked one hand behind the knee you had wrapped around him, the other one pulling you up so you were off the ground, letting him fuck you in a way that hit all the right spots in all the right places, and you just about lost it right there.

he smiled, “you like that?”

“uh-huh..”

“you want me to keep going?”

“please- please dont stop, coryo, please!”

his cries got louder, moans twisting up into a slightly higher octave, his face scrunched with pleasure as your cunt clenched around him with each of his words.

“gonna fill you up with my cum, baby. is that what you want? for me to breed you?” he babbled, voice trembling, “gonna fuck you full of cum ‘n make you mine. no one else can have you.” his voice got weaker as his hips pivoted upwards to thrust even deeper. he was in complete in control of you; his elbows hooked beneath your knees and opening a new gateway to your soul.

“naughty fucking girl, huh? ‘s alright, good girls get to be naughty sometimes..”

“i’m gonna cum,” you whined pathetically, rambling over and over as it was the only thing you could think of. you were so close, and each word he groaned at you brought you infinitely closer.

“you wanna cum?”

“i want- i want it so bad.”

“s’at right?”

“please, coryo- god, please! ‘m gonna be good for you. so good for you, daddy—”

your words collapsed into meaningless cries and shattered sentences— fuckyesyesyes— and cumonmycockbaby— as you worked each other towards release. you pulled him deeper to your center, tightening around him as the coil in your stomach finally burst and you saw white. you both came with a loud moan, yours no doubt shattering through the walls of the confined space, and coriolanus released his load into you with a long, droned out fuuuuuck as he slowly pumped his cum into you, mesmerised by the way it mixed and swirled with the mess of your own release. you whined at the overstimulation, body still jerking from the aftershocks of your orgasm, but coriolanus only felt himself grow harder.

“coryo, i cant..”

he snapped up at you, gaze softening as he took in your tear stained and fucked out face. he took your face in one hand, squeezing your jaw tightly and admiring the slight cross-eyed look you had on and the dribble of spit falling from your perfect lips. he cocked his head to the side, smiling coyly.

“oh, bunny, you don’t have a choice..”

౨ׅৎ

@dumbsoftheart, 2023

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus smut #coriolanus snow smut #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes

557 notes · View notes

littledollll · 3 months

Text

Her favorite dancer

Ballet teacher!Larissa x ballerina!reader

A/n: I started watching Black swan in the living room tv today and was quickly humbled by the amount of sexual scenes, quickly cut that out.

Warnings: unhealthy teacher/student relationship, sexual undertones, condescending, manipulation, slightly mean Larissa

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“Perfect.”

You lived to hear her utter those precious words. Every second of every day revolves around it. Around seeing that proud smile that would reach her eyes, her chin tilted up as she, admired you.

She, the one who should be admired.

The soft, recorded piano music played, surrounding the empty room with its beauty. An unplanned choreography, you were instructed. The music played and you were to follow, let your creativity and desires use your body as a vessel.

Larissa admired the way you moved. The fluidity of your movements. How every muscle tensed and released with each movement. And as you stepped into an arabesque, the dreadful word came out of her mouth. “Hold that.”

You sighed, your position wavering. Larissa tilted her head, stepping behind you.

“You can do better than this. Your leg goes up to your ear, there’s no reason that leg should be so low to the ground.” Her hands found your waist and thigh, fixing your position.

“I want a your leg to be at chest level, minimum. But I know you can do better.”

“Your body was built for this. Your legs are strong, your back is flexible. Use this to your advantage.” She spoke into your ear. “Have you no idea how many girls would kill to have your body?”

“Lean. Feel the weight of your body on your toes, focus the pressure on your hallux. You should know all of this by now. I haven’t been teaching you for months, only for you to still need my corrections.”

“It hurts.” You uttered in a small voice. Larissa chuckled. “Aww it hurts.. are you just a fragile little girl? Is that it? Are you weak?” Her hands tightened around your waist, fingers digging into your skin painfully.

“The stage is no place for weakness. Nor is my studio. If you think you can’t handle it, I encourage you to leave.”

“Beauty hurts. Art hurts. That is no excuse. I say you’re simply being lazy.” You went to speak, defend yourself but she was quick to shush you.

“Silence. You know better than to speak during my class. I don’t need any more words from you.”

There was no softness in her voice. None of the usual smoothness she spoke with. Larissa could be strict when she needed to, truly she often was. But not to you, for some reason.

“I believe I’ve failed you then. Is that what you’re saying? Are you showing me that my teachings have been ineffective to you, girl? Have you managed to learn nothing in all this time, nothing?”

No no no. She couldn’t think that. Not ever. You owe everything to her. Every bit of your talent has been expanded and bettered because of her.

You whimpered, taking a deep breath in and tightening up your position. She nodded approvingly.

“Good.. you wouldn’t dare make me have my very first failure of a student. You won’t tarnish my reputation like that, would you, my beautiful girl?” You shook your head as best as you could without moving too much.

“You should know I expect better from you, little girl.” She sighed.

“Stretch those lovely arms of yours, aligning with the tip of your nose and your ear.”

You shifted as told, of course. But her body against yours wasn’t helping. It was harder to balance with her pressed against your back, making your body subconsciously support itself against her. “Very well done.”

Larissa knows. She’s been teaching for decades, of course she knows that she’s only making you struggle more. Not that she cares. She’s refining you. Making your practice harder only so you can come out on top. That’s what you tell yourself anyways.

“I will not let your talents waste away simply because it ‘hurts’, my dear. The more it hurts, the better you’re doing.” She said as she stepped back, allowing you to find your balance on your own.

You quivered for a moment but didn’t let yourself fall.

“If you fall from that arabesque you will not like the consequences, my beautiful girl.”

You tightened up in a second. You didn’t want to know the consequences. And you surely didn’t want to disappoint her.

You found your center. The raised leg lifting, ankle height going past your shoulder. Your face spotted, unmoving from one of the walls of mirrors.

“Look at that line.. you’re stunning. This, this is why I work on you the most. You have so much potential yet so little dedication. You need me to guide you. One day, you’ll become my prima ballerina. But only if you put your life into this. Into me.”

Yes, you could do that. You could do it for her. You wanted to hear that word again, to hear her smooth voice call you perfect in that proud tone. You wanted her to show you off, be her model student, her star.

“Give me a nice lift, I want to see that knee in line with your head.”

She watched you through the mirror, as you lifted your torso, rib cage tight in its place and slowly lifted your leg as high as you could. “Hold that.”

Part of you wanted to turn around and slap her every time she said those damned words. But you held. Your supporting leg was cramping up already, your calf feeling that painful strain. Your back felt like needles being stabbed all over and then her hands were on you again. One placed at your knee and the other a little too close to your chest.

She supported your torso as she forced the leg up further, further, further until you winced in pain. “That, is your line.”

“Look at that beauty, look at yourself from this mirror, beautiful girl.” You did. It truly was impressive, but you couldn’t reach that without unbearable amounts of pain, and even less without her hands forcing it. You couldn’t do it on your own.

“One day, my star. Very soon, this will seem like nothing to you. You’ll be able to do it all on your own.” She murmured, dropping your leg but not moving her other hand from its position.

She watched your leg drop in the slightest, you not being able to hold it as she had it. “We’ll work more on this, don’t you worry, little girl.”

“Drop.” She commanded, and you couldn’t stop yourself from falling into the ground, smacking your supporting leg in hopes to ease the cramp. “A little more graceful than that, next time.”

“Yes ma’am.” You said with a shaky breath, looking up at her. A sliver of tears were gathering in your eyes.

She loved it when you called her that. That sweet voice of yours, a little pained and shaky. “Oh it’s alright.. stretch that leg sweetheart, I’ll help you.”

She got on her knees before you, taking off your points shoes and rolling up your tights on that leg before she began to give you a gentle massage. “The trick is to do it in the opposite way you put pressure on it. So up, instead of down. Smacking never really helped me, plus we wouldn’t want to bruise that pretty skin of yours.”

“Thank you..” you said quietly, and Larissa looked up at you with a sweet smile, bringing a hand to caress your cheek. “Of course, my beautiful girl.”

“Did- did I do good?”

“You did wonderfully today. My favorite little student, you’re always a good girl.”

You blushed, resting your head against your knee as you looked at her with a tilted head. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Larissa nodded, patting your cheek. “You may leave now, sweet girl. Don’t practice at home tonight, okay? I don’t want my favorite girl straining herself. I’ll be seeing you here tomorrow.”

#larissa weems #principal larissa weems #larissa weems x reader #gwendoline christie #principal larissa weems x reader #larissa weems x female reader #larissa weems x f!reader #wednesday larissa weems #larissa weems wednesday

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shibaraki · 7 months

Text

PAS DE DEUX ┊ GOJO SATORU

tags: GN reader, no curse au (ballet), principal dancer gojo, reader is a photographer for his ballet company, fluff, flirting + casual touch, barre exercising, getting together, first kisses

wc: 2.4K

Gojo Satoru is just a man.

Albeit a coveted man, able to do anything on stage exactly as he would in rehearsal. High arabesques and tight pirouettes. Otherworldly form. Broad hands able to memorise another’s centre of gravity within the first twenty seconds. Swan-like and slender. All agile limbs, a body brazen with self-assurance and packed with strength, reflected in how effortlessly he can catch, spin, and dip his partners. Low, on perfect pointe.

A beautiful, talented, annoying man. That which has chosen to breathe down your neck as you fiddle with your camera, rather than occupy any other corner of the large studio.

“You’re distracting me, Satoru”.

“How am I distracting?” he asked, inclining his head. You gave him a look, and emphatically motioned at him from head to toe. Satoru cracks a grin, those piercing blue eyes gleaming, “By existing?”

“No, because you're all up in my space. I’ll show you the pictures in a second so back up,” you snap, your hand fluttering dismissively at him. “And put a shirt on!”

A low, vibrating hum, and a smile that holds a sincere gentleness to it that you wouldn’t have expected to find. He looks almost boyish. You turn from it and feel his presence move away like the sun being blocked out, steady warmth then the absence of it.

He does not put his shirt on. Instead Satoru takes position at the barre and walks his fingers along the top. Dawn filtered in through the small windows, casting a spotlight onto every dip and curve. You resolutely do not look at that narrow waist, nor how closely his tights clung to his hips, his thighs. Pulled over his soft soled slippers are a pair of grey stirrup leg warmers, bunched around his calves. He’s—

You draw a sharp inhale and refocus on the LCD screen, the neckstrap suddenly uncomfortably heavy.

Satoru is a bit older than most of the other dancers you photograph but no more mature for it. Granted he’s gentler in his discipline, more experienced, and always less eager for the practice to be over. He liked the day to drag on and on, especially if someone was watching him.

People said he was arrogant. Maybe that was a little true and with good reason. But your lense saw through the veneer that Satoru wore. Session after session, through rehearsals and classes and auditions, you saw pride for his craft, and how deeply he loved imbuing that love into his juniors.

You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of saying so, but watching him dance felt transcendent. Whoever the pair, he made every pas de deux seem seamless, like two halves of the same entity coming together. Solo he was in a league of his own. Sometimes he danced as if he loved beyond the scope of his skin. Sometimes he danced as if the whole world had betrayed him.

“How’d I do this time?” you hear him ask in that very cavalier way that betrayed his interest immediately, becoming antsy in your prolonged silence. “Pretty good, right?”

Today you managed to shoot him demonstrating a particularly heartbreaking variation of a grand jeté. He reached the peak and fell so gracefully that you’d felt the whole room hold its breath. Another beep and the camera screen flickers to that very photo. Right leg stretched anterior, his left posterior to his body, evenly split into a horizon as he soared through the air. Rather than poise to mimic an elegant wingspan he had curved an arm into an arc over his face, almost as if in anguish, while the other draped behind him.

“Why ask if you already know?” you deflected, switching to the next photograph. “You definitely have a flair for the dramatic”.

“Maybe I want to hear it from your mouth,” you can hear the layered petulance behind his words. It makes you restless to think your praise could hold any significance to him. “Tense today, aren’t we? You should do some barre exercises with me. Loosen you up a little,” he continues, clicking his tongue. “I could even teach you some steps”.

You snort lightly, “That’s a ridiculous idea”.

“I don’t think so,” Satoru disagrees, a contemplative tone to his voice. Intensity returns to his gaze as it roams over your form. “You’re the only person in the company I haven’t danced with yet. Can you blame me?”

“It wouldn’t be dancing, Satoru. You know I can’t dance,” you insist, or so you think, the weak response barely audible over the heartbeat flooding your ears. “I’d look like a fucked up marionette”.

A hand crosses your line of sight. You hadn’t even noticed his approach. Satoru plucks the camera from your slackened grasp and slips the neckstrap over your head in one swift movement. “Then let me pull your strings,” he teases, proffering his open palm. Your throat grows dry.

“That was awful,” you tell him, clutching to whatever dignity you have left. Then you take it. Long fingers enclose over your knuckles and he smiles.

Sometimes when you want something you’ll take it in whatever manner the universe is willing to give it.

“Ha. Worked though”.

As mercy would have it, Satoru guides you as he would a beginner. You’ve lived and worked amongst dancers for years. Your mind is familiar with the lifestyle, the lingo and the routine, but your muscles are not. “Another rep. Heels together with your toes turned out—that’s it, bend slightly,” your pulse rockets at the light touch to your hip, firm yet gentle in encouraging you to bend. The room is much hotter than you recall. “Place one foot in front of you. Point. Now sweep it around to the back in a C-shape,” warmth lingers where his fingertips had been as he steps back. “Point your feet,” he says, his lips suddenly close to your ear.

“What—?”

“As you circle,” Satoru repeats. “Point your feet.” You exhale and repeat. “Hm. Good at taking instructions, aren’t you?”

“I’m going to kill you,” comes your shaky response, already feeling clammy. It doesn’t escape you that he still hasn’t put a shirt on. Your inner thigh muscles are burning. Satoru laughs and the irritation ebbs away because he sounds happy. Giddy, even.

“This one will open your hips nicely,” Satoru finds your waist again and pivots you to face the barre. His body heat seeps through your t-shirt where he’s pressed against your back. Hands slide beneath your arms and down to your wrists, delicately placing them atop the barre. “Keep taking deep breaths for me. Bend your knees—hold,” the ache forces your eyes shut for the five seconds he keeps you inert, plunged into fleeting darkness with just his low, honeyed voice to guide you.

This really was a terrible idea.

“Rise to plié,” Satoru murmurs. “Up into demi-pointe. There you are, now hold again”.

Shadows pool into the studio space as the evening draws on. You’re rendered a sticky mess, and not in the manner you’d have liked. Wondrously, and despite the soreness that will no doubt wear in tomorrow, you had begun to feel you were working with your body and not against it.

Satoru had barely broken a sweat. You take comfort in the splotchy flush covering his cheeks and how his chest rises and falls, both signs of exertion. Equally as distracting. “You’re almost a natural,” he says, running a hand through his silky white hair.

Unsteady on your feet, you roll your eyes skyward while the burning in your lungs dwindles. “Sure. We’ll be onto our own pas de deux in no time,” you joke offhandedly. But Satoru’s expression wanes into something like longing in your periphery. Fondness, and then to amusement.

“Maybe not. Your pointe needs work,” he says.

“Well excuse me, big shot. I’m not even wearing the right shoes—”

“Want to try some lifts?”

A stone of dread drops into your stomach. The barre digs into your lower back as you lean against the wall, “We do some—some routine warmups and you think I’m ready for partnered lifts?!”

Satoru’s voice remains steady but his lips are starting to purse as he mirrors your posture, “I can take your weight”.

You didn’t doubt it. Satoru’s ability appeared to defy physics all together and that translated well with his counterparts too, whoever they may be. You’ve seen him lift people of every different shape and weight. Each one would become weightless in his embrace.

“No. No lifts,” you tell him, trying for a cadence that inspired authority. Satoru arched his brow and you got the sense that to him you were akin to a small disgruntled cat. Whether it’s the fatigue that lowers your inhibitions or plain pettiness, you hear yourself say, “I think you just want an excuse to touch me more”.

A pulse of magnetised desire rippled through the atmosphere. You don’t miss the way his breathing hitched, or how the hand absently rubbing the back of his neck stilled only for a moment before falling to his hip. Satoru swallows. Your eyes follow how his thumb strums the waistband of his tights—tights that leave very little to the imagination.

Anticipation prickles through your belly when he takes a step forward, then another, until his nose bumps your own. “You’re not supposed to say the quiet part out loud,” he murmurs, a little breathless. It ghosts across your lips. There’s trepidation in his gaze, searching your expression for rejection or discomfort, neither of which he will find.

You are reminded again that for all his apparent confidence and talent, Gojo Satoru was still very much human.

Your hands lingered in the narrow space between your bodies. Restlessly clenching, uncurling. Not knowing where to put them. The bare skin of his abdomen brushes your knuckles. “Satoru,” you begin.

He hums, palms coming to rest on your hips. He leans into you, emboldened by the invocation of his name, and echoes yours back.

“Did you seriously…” your thoughts drift as he dips lower, lingering. The blood rushes to your head. You could easily tip your head, align your mouths, and bring him into a kiss. Somehow the simplicity of that makes this whole charade even more laughable. “Don’t tell me you made me do a workout instead of just asking me on a date like a normal person”.

The response registers visibly on his face. He blinks, delicate pale lashes fanning over his cheeks, and in the next breath he’s lighting up, eyes first, glittering urainian blue. “That was hardly a workout,” he says, warmth bleeding into his voice. “It was a warmup”.

“Warmup my ass”.

“Can, if you want”.

Laughing, you cradle his jaw and say, “Stop being annoying and kiss me”.

Satoru’s hands have slipped beneath your shirt. He squeezes, smiles at the feel of soft flesh yielding under his thumbs, “Alright”.

Always has to have the last word, you think amusedly. Satoru pressed impossibly close. The barre has since become numb where it prods at your back. Your lips part as he tilts and your mouths brush, want knotted deep in your belly. It is slow at first, hesitant. But every movement of Satoru’s lips turns into sweet affirmation. Quick, then long, then greedy.

You wrap your arms around his neck and feel him shudder as you suck gently at his plush bottom lip. He paws at you with more fervour, languidly licking into your mouth. Soft wet sounds reach your ears and a contented hum reverberates through your skin that you can’t help returning. You feel his lips stretch thin into a smirk.

When you eventually part for breath your chest is pounding. He watches you closely. Half lidded and entirely too pleased. Something about the certainty and satisfaction stunned you then. Coloured the world around you in roseate. “You really do like me, don’t you?”

Satoru doesn’t falter. Quiet and deeply amused, he replies, “What gave it away? The constant pestering, the always staying behind after hours, the never wearing a shirt, the—?”

“Okay, okay. I get it,” you sighed, smoothing your palms down his bare chest simply because you can. “…I like you too, you know”.

“Yeah?”

You hummed. “What gave it away? The constant pestering?” you kissing the corner of his mouth, “The always staying after hours?” and then his cheek.

Satoru turns quickly to chase as you recline, nipping at your mouth. “Point taken,” he rumbles, pinching at the fabric of your shirt and lightly tugging it. “Pattern dictates this should go, next”.

“You know we need to lock up. If I let you start we’ll never stop,” you laughed, wriggling out from his embrace. The studio will be shrouded in complete darkness soon, and now you both need to shower. Satoru reluctantly lets you go, trailing after you as you collect your camera and pass it between your hands.

The screen flickers on, back to that incredible grand jeté. Satoru hooks his chin over your shoulder. “You really do photograph beautifully,” you think aloud. His jaw shifts and you can tell he’s smiling. “What were you thinking about, when you jumped?”

Satoru sniffed, not even pretending to think of something profound. “Mochi stuffed with whipped cream and zunda”.

You sigh fondly, eyes falling closed. Beautiful, talented, annoying man indeed.

#jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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