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bluemerakis · 4 months

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┌── ˚*❀*̥˚ ─── ˚*̥❀*˚ ──┐

✐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

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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.

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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

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#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

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wintersera · 5 months

Text

your order ma’am || g!p yujin x f!reader

notes: apparently my brain works at ungodly hours like its 8am rn??? ANYWAYS HAPPY BIRTHDAY @pupyuj <33 well happy belated birthday, but oh well

cw: g!p yujin, switch!reader, switch!yujin, praise, crack only bc i laughed a few times while writing, WEED USAGE!!, reader and yujin get high

wc: 1.5k

in the middle of your living room, smoke filled the air as you took another puff from your almost burnt out spliff. your eyes trained on the tv that had a random episode of spongebob on the screen. probably one of the random old seasons, the funnier ones obviously. the moonlight cascaded through your window illuminating the side of your face, blunt as well.

another smoke session today again. and for what? the nth time this week. to be fair it was a stressful month and no one was there to comfort you, except for the frequent delivery guys who’d deliver your food to you whenever you felt the need to snack on something. they wouldn’t comfort you, rather, you’d like to believe they’re comforting you with their presence. presence being them knocking on your door and leaving after 10 seconds.

every delivery was the same, the old ‘shove the bag into your face, ask if it’s you and then leave’.

tonight was different though. you ordered from the same place a good 30 minutes ago thinking your food would arrive on time, you’d gotten accustomed to their arrival times so you could just guess without having to look at your phone. yet the delivery guy never came.

“man.. where the fuck is my food at?” rolling up another blunt since your last one wasn’t strong enough. you sigh and stare directly at your tv once more. heh… funny spongebob episode. your lips met the tip of your freshly rolled blunt, lighting up the end and inhaling.

knock knock knock

the knock didn’t register in your head until you heard the person bang on your door three more times, although they seemed like very hesitant bangs, with an odd spacing between the second and the last one.

“oh fuck” immediately dropping the blunt upon the last knock, which somehow made you panic. why in hell did you think it was the police???

right, because the police were definitely at your house and not the delivery guy with a bag of food waiting for you.

i mean, you are high so…. but anyway, it was raining and you suddenly regained the knowledge that you ordered food. you reluctantly opened the door, with the thought of the police at the back of your mind, to find a pretty handsome looking woman outside your door.

“uh… why are you here” why the fuck did you say that? the taller woman scrunched her nose a little, maybe because you reeked of weed, looked around awkwardly and spoke to you without initiating eye contact.

“you called and i… came to your address to give you the pizza you ordered”

“how’d you know i lived here?” oh so now you’re interrogating the poor girl.

“wha- that’s not… anyway here’s your pizza ma’am” shoving the pizza box in front of your face. classic.

“ohhh shit pizza, okay nice. how much?” words slurring out of your mouth. your hands reached for your purse that you conveniently had in your pocket.

“it’ll be $18” looking around the place as if she had no time to stand around.

oh what the fuck.

where’s your cash gone….?

“don’t be alarmed… but i have no cash” you say with a smile, your eyes half lidded as you chuckle even though the opposing girl was nowhere near impressed. the situation was quite ridiculous to you, but you felt a tinge of regret after saying what you had said.

from what you could tell, it was her first time on the job. you had never seen her come round to your house on a random thursday night, no wonder why she looked so nervous “oh um, sorry i don’t have any cash i could….”

yeah, you’re high out of your mind right now. no coherent thoughts whatsoever, but she’s pretty, and you’re not thinking straight “i mean… i could pay another way. you wouldn’t mind would you?”

you beckoned her inside of your home, taking the pizza box and placing it beside your ashtray on the coffee table “how can you pay me back if you don’t have any cash? are you gonna paypal me or something”

“are you dense by any chance”

“n-no… i’m just confused. wait, why are you taking your clothes off?” you picked back up the disregarded spliff after you took your shirt off, inhaling and blowing the smoke in the opposite direction.

“paying you the other way, duh. like in those stupid porn videos where the delivery guy does whatever they want to the person because they didn’t have any cash on them… you don’t like the idea?”

“that seems really unrealistic and stupid, but um i’m not… uh how do i word this? i don’t m-mind” unintentionally stuttering, bewildered by the situation because honestly what the fuck is going on.

“come here…” you squint your eyes at her name tag “ahn yujin- your name has a nice ring to it” she sat on your sofa, shaking from what could be adrenaline or just anxiety. but considering you accidentally hot boxed her in your small living room, it’s most likely adrenaline.

you slid yourself in between her two thighs, smirking as you unzipped her jeans. you eagerly stripped her from her jeans, following her boxers? it’s 2023 you’re not gonna judge someone for wearing boxers, but-

oh?

yujin’s cock sprung up, which genuinely caught you off guard, moving back a little because of how shocked you were by the sudden reveal. my god, she was huge. bigger than the average man.

considering you were still heavily intoxicated, you didn’t believe it was real at first. you stared at it for a while thinking that maybe you were just- crazy? but no, it was very much real and very much hard.

“d-don’t look” muttering under her breath. yujin covered her face out of embarrassment “i swear it’s not what it looks like- mh”

“you got turned on by me didn’t you” giggling after kissing the tip of her cock “i bet you were waiting for this exact situation to happen, didn’t you?” you say before taking her whole length, the tip hitting the back of your throat with ease.

“f..fuck, it’s- mmmngh” she couldn’t do much, the air was thick with clouds of smoke due to the lack of airflow in your room. it was making her head hazy, unable to think coherently. yujin’s moans were soft and low, her hands roamed around and grabbed your pillow, her hips moved at the pace of your head going up and down, which in fact made you groan in approval.

in the meantime, your hand reached down to tend to your own wetness, caressing your folds as you continued to suck her cock.

without thinking, yujin lifted herself off the sofa. the marijuana made her move without thinking, grabbing you and tossing you onto the cushions “you hinted that i could do whatever, right?” you found yourself shocked, what made her suddenly so confi- the weed you dumbass.

“don’t think you're slick, i saw you playing with yourself” moving aside your panties while licking her lips, yujin shuffling in between your thighs “i think you should come around my cock instead” how, and when, was she this vulgar? she teased your hole before slowly pushing herself into you, her girthy cock filling you up in no time. you both moaned in unison, your fists balling the fabric of yujin’s shirt. it felt… it felt way too big for your tight pussy.

“y-yujin.. you’re too big, it kinda hurts-“ she gave you no time to rest, rocking her hips back and forth as soon as she got comfortable inside of you.

at first she was going slow and steady, but gradually she increased her speed. within minutes of slowly pumping her cock in and out, she was mercilessly ramming into your cunt seconds later. the pain at first was unbearable, she was just that big, but the faster she fucked you the more pleasure you felt. every part of her cock hit every spot you couldn’t find yourself, and god it felt way too good.

“so- so good… so tight.. mmghn fuck, your pussy feels amazing” embarrassingly enough, you moaned so loud at the comment. her praise alone was so comforting and so erotic that you couldn’t help but squeeze down on her length, she noticed how you reacted to her sweet words, wanting more of your reactions “you’re so pretty… under me. all fucked out, such a good girl”

her comment sent you over the edge, rolling your eyes back as your back slowly arches off the sofa. almost inaudible as you bite your lip to mute your own moans. yujin followed shortly after, giving one final thrust into you before stilling her hips and letting her warm cum shoot into you.

“that… was… so good” you mutter between breaths. you were completely spent, your legs were feeling like jelly but somehow yujin was still hard.

“still not enough. you still need to repay me more”

yeah no, you still needed to pay for service fees and shit. thankfully it was her last delivery for tonight.

#wintersera #ive smut #g!p ive #g!p yujin #ahn yujin smut #ive x fem reader smut #ive x reader smut #ahn yujin x reader smut #yujin x reader smut #girl group smut #kpop smut

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discotitsposts · 4 days

Text

i do

spencer reid x fem reader

spencer asks you to marry him and you get married in a quick ceremony (set in like season 11 in my mind)

a little short but silly and fun and i love happy spencer he deserves it

his ass looks so juicy here

—————

Spencer had been nervously shaking all morning. You were really worried about him. Why is he acting so strangely? You wondered while drinking your own coffee.

“Spence, anything the matter love?” You ask softly as you set his mug of coffee down on the table in front of him.

He just lifts his head and reaches into his pocket nervously. He slowly gets down on one knee in front of you. You realize where this is going and gasp. He pulls out a small black velvet box in the shape of a heart.

When he opens it carefully, there sits your dream ring. It’s absolutely beautiful.

“Will you marry me?” Spencer asked tears flowing from his eyes.

“Yes! Of course I will Spencer!” You jump excitedly.

“I know a pastor that can marry us in an hour if you’d like.”

“But I don’t wanna marry a pastor, I wanna marry you!” You pout.

“What? No that’s not what-,” Spencer starts confused.

“I’m kidding! Of course I want to marry you now!! Let’s go!!” You race to grab your phone and call the closest thing Spencer’s got to a real family. The BAU team.

The team was going to meet you down at the church. You had just snagged a wedding dress quickly from a bridal shop. It was beautiful and exactly what you wanted. You were now in an antique shop.

“Ok so your necklace is the something old, your dress is the something new. All that’s left is something blue and a penny in your shoe.”

You lift your heel so he can slip the penny in your shoe.

“What can we find that’s blue?” You keep looking and find nice cufflinks for Spencer to wear. He was currently looking at vintage suits.

“What do you think?” He holds up a dark blue suit.

“Honey I don’t think you can be my something blue.”

“I just happen like the color though.” He pouts.

“Then it looks very nice. Hey what about this?” You hold up a beautiful antique tiara littered with blue jewels.

“Beautiful. Let’s get it.” You both race to the church and change. The girls help you with your hair and makeup.

Spencer goes ahead to meet the pastor at the altar while you wait at the end of the aisle. The BAU team and a few of your friends are waiting there cheering you both on. The organist plays the wedding march and Rossi takes your arm and walks you down the aisle.

JJ’s son follows as the ring bearer.

You’re crying, Spencer’s crying, Rossi’s crying, everyone’s crying. Even Morgan.

You thank Rossi and step up. Emily, JJ, Tara, and some of your friends are bridesmaids and Penelope, being your maid of honor, lifts your dress’s train and adjusts it. Spencer’s best man is Morgan. Hotch and Will are up there with him.

Spencer takes your hand and you speak your quickly written vows. Then the pastor.

“Do you Dr. Spencer Reid, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

“I do.” Tears are streaming down his face.

“(y/n) do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do.” You’re smiling at him and squeezing his hands.

“You may now kiss the bride.” The pastor smiles proudly.

Spencer kisses you passionately. Then you throw your bouquet to the bridesmaids, Penelope catches it excitedly. Emily doesn’t even try to catch it.

Hotch throws some rice at you guys while laughing. JJ and Will are also throwing some.

Morgan shouts after you guys as you try to escape, “They’re excited to get started on the honeymoon!!”

After you guys leave he turns to Penelope, “Can’t believe the kid finally got hitched!”

That’s just what you guys did, hopped on a flight to anywhere you’ve always dreamed of going, got the biggest honeymoon suite the hotels offered, and enjoyed yourselves.

They lived happily ever after!

The End💘

————

i hope this was even a little bit fun to read, please let me know if you enjoyed.

______

tags-

@whoisspence

@lemonadeinfuser

@fictionalobssed

@exoticisles

@in-another-april

@gallifreyan-idiocracy

#criminal minds #spencer reid #mgg #matthewgraygubler #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid

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gatorbites-imagines · 3 months

Note

John Constantine x tattoo artist?? Smut or no (you choose!) I think it would be cute if john gets his tats from the reader (also kind of a possessive/marking quality there lol)

John Constantine x Tattoo artist male reader

Headcanons

Sorry there’s been no posts this week, classes have started up again, so as you can imagine I’m exhausted and have a lot less free time. I’ve been using most of my free time to read JJK, ngl.

Imagine being a magical tattoo artist, something like a seal maker. You do large complex and beautiful pieces, but you hide different seals and protection markers inside the patterns. It keeps the real purpose of the tattoo a secret, but is also pretty to look at.

John already has tattoos in the hellblazer comics, but imagine you giving him different ink. Something a lot less obvious and more attractive.

It makes him pass as a hot blonde British guy covered in a lot of fancy ink, instead of some brit with lotsa weird cult looking tattoos.

John becomes one of your most common customers, mainly because a lot of the tattoos you put on him disappear after the seals been used, since its all defense and storage. He might also use it as an excuse to see you more, so he can flirt.

John being John, would get a tattoo right above his crotch, think like a reverse tramp stamp, or a succubus tattoo, just so he can have you sitting between his thighs as he gives his flirting his all.

You definitely end up railing him within an inch of his life in the tattoo chair, tsking and “punishing” him for straining the tattooed area too much, and “messing up your work” when he writhes too much.

In the beginning its just a friends with benefits situation, something like a “happy ending” you might say. John wouldn’t be someone to do relationships for the most part, since most of the ones he’s been in haven’t ended great.

He subconsciously also wouldn’t want to paint a target on your back, since hes always involved with all kinds of stuff. But he cant help but always find himself back with you, getting some new seal inked onto his skin.

And if every visit ends up with him bent over the tattoo chair, or down on his knees to “thank you”, then who will judge him.

John would end up finally acknowledging his feelings when you save him from his big bad of the week, using your complex and intricate tattoos to pull out weapons and spells, and later seal the being that’s after him.

Its hard to deny how he feels after that, and though he wouldn’t put it into words, he would act differently. Like just showing up at your parlor to spend time with you without getting anything done, or sending you little protection charms or trinkets.

At some point you guys just start kissing and acting like a couple, without actually putting a name to it. It’s a dangerous life you both live, and words mean everything, so you never tell anybody you guys are lovers, since that would make the target on you both even bigger.

It doesn’t keep you guys from pretty much living together and acting all domestic, or being completely exclusive to just each other. John turning down all advances made on him confuses people in the beginning, until they just come to accept it.

John ends up with even more tattoos, these a lot more complex than average useable seals. These are the kinds that you have spent your entire life developing, and had only used on yourself because they’re that powerful.

The league are knocked back by how powerful his spells have become, and how much damage he can withstand. Only other magic users with the knowledge know just how amazing his tattoos are. He never tells them where he got them, just because he’s an ass.

You end up helping out more with his business, and he ends up being free advertisement for your parlor. Of course, no one gets tattoos like you or John, you would never give a possible enemy that kind of power, but it helps pad your pockets quite a lot.

John’s enemies end up targeting you as well, but they’re easily dealt with for the most part.

He ends up getting teased be friends and allies that he’s getting soft and domestic, cuz he doesn’t go out to bars like before, and wants to be home in time to watch a movie with you, or just go to sleep together.

He ends up a lot less stressed too, since you rock his world whenever he needs it, and become someone he can let down his defenses and just be vulnerable with.

In the end he probably gets pavloved to get in the mood when you tattoo him, or he hears the noise of the tattoo gun. John always blames you for making him this way, because you always go down on him after giving him new ink, not that he’s complaining.

361 notes · View notes

peeweekey · 13 days

Text

cliff talk | sebastian x reader

word count: 2.1k

summary: sebastian brings you on a ride.

tags: emotional hurt/comfort, slight angst, dialogue heavy, sebastian and reader have a heart to heart

a/n: i never thought i'd be writing for the emo boy but here i am. hope you guys liked this as much as i liked writing this! :D

Like the green rain phenomenon or the cute little junimo creatures that live in the community center, there’s always something new to experience in the valley. As odd as it might be.

Hunched over, tending to your crops—is like living in wait, the calm before the storm, the thrum of anticipation as you await the next exciting thing.

Like today—now.

“Ah, there you are.”

The garden shears in your hands are dropped into the thick down crawl of growing fruit. You look up, squinting your eyes due to the warm beat of dying sunlight.

“Sebastian?” you pause, looking up at him from your spot amongst growing melon vines. Your overalls smeared with dirt and damp with sweat—this is the last state you’d want to be seen in.

“Hey farmer,” The keys dangling from his index finger jingle as he gives you a close-lipped smile. “Wanna go for a ride?”

—

The place Sebastian stops at is quiet.

But not in the way most people think—the valley is never quiet, birds chirping, the breeze singing through tall grass and the rustle of branches swaying slowly. You’re aware of the sounds in the recesses of your mind.

The view is breath-taking.

The sun set long before you arrived on Sebastian’s cliff side spot. It’s cool and grassy, ticking your ankles as you walk through the field. The air, no longer warm but a cool breeze that you greedily inhale.

You stop right before the edge, there’s a big drop that you'd rather not slip and fall into. Zuzu city lay just under the horizon, a smatter of light in the otherwise now-dark forest. A cluster of flashing lights that remind you of stars—that have fallen and gathered from the night sky.

“Amazing, I know.” Sebastian says, a few steps behind you. He’s leaning against his bike, staring at the same view as you. “Zuzu city is miles from here, but there’s so much light—you can see it even from high up.”

You fold your arms, turning your back at the view—facing him. “Well, it is nicer from afar.”

Sebastian gives you a look, then nods his head to the grassy patch behind him. “Mhm. Let’s sit?”

You settle down together, side by side. You, him, and his motorbike beside him—there’s barely any space between your legs. You feel the warmth of proximity—so close. What you’d give to bridge that gap once and for all.

“Want a drink?” he asks, pulling out a beer bottle from his hoodie pocket—your brow raises, a miracle it didn’t break on the way. “Only got one though.”

You shrug, taking the bottle. It’s warm—warmed by his body heat. “S’okay with me. We’ll just have’ta share.”

He looks at you, eyes momentarily flickering to your lips as you use your teeth to pop the bottle cap off. “I guess we do.”

—

The beer is settling warmly low in your stomach, loosening every tightly wound muscle in your body. You feel weightless, the edges of your mind made fuzzy.

“I’ve been savin’ up a lot,” he suddenly says, picking absentmindedly at the blades of grass underneath him. “Almost have enough too. Once I do, I’m skipping outta this town on my bike.”

You nod your head. “It is a pretty cool bike.”

“Mhm,” he drawls, patting the side of his motorcycle—almost lovingly. “It’s gonna take me all the way to Zuzu city.”

“Zuzu city,” you repeat slowly, feeling the sound of the words in your mouth. It’s unpleasant, Zuzu city is a place you’d rather leave behind. You look down at the view of it, squinting. “Why go there?”

He pauses, inhaling the cool night air deeply. His fingers itch—like they’re searching for the comforting hold of cigarettes he so enjoys.

A part of you wishes you didn’t ask. Difficult conversations and cliff sides don’t mesh well together, you think. You don’t dare move a muscle as you wait for him, your eyes drifting back to the glittering light-filled view of Zuzu city.

“It’s suffocating here—everything about the valley,” he replies mirthlessly. “I live in the basement of my mom’s house for fuck’s sake. I know how she looks at me, like she could’ve done so much more to make me less of a shitbag. Maybe she could’ve, I don’t care. It’s way too late now.”

A low whistle escapes past your lips. You swirl the beer bottle loosely in your grip. “I see…”

Sebastian narrows his eyes at you, scoffing. “You’re pretty shit at comforting words, y’know that?”

“Harsh,” you look at him quizzically, shoving the beer bottle into his hands. He accepts it immediately. “What do you want me to say, Seb?”

“Nothing,” he smirks, downing a generous gulp of beer, the bottle is a little less than half full now. “‘m just teasing. Don’t gimme that look. I didn’t want comfort anyway, I’ve had enough of that. I want you to tell me the stone cold truth.”

“Promise not to get pissed off?”

Sebastian clicks his tongue against his teeth, then smiles. “Depends on what you say.”

“Wow, guess I’ll have to lie.” you joke.

“Hey—”

“Kidding.” You laugh softly at his pinched expression. His eyes narrowed—lacking any real aggression—at you as you poke harmless fun.

You grin, slowly turning back to the view. “You won’t find yourself there,” you say simply, taking a slow sip of beer, the smoothness of it running smoothly down your throat. “Believe me, I’d know.”

Sebastian turns to face you, irritation spelled out in every feature of his face.

“Smartass…”

“Hey, you asked for the stone cold truth,” you lift your fingers into air quotations to emphasize your point.

“Tch. Tell me this then. If I can’t find myself there, or here in the valley. Where the hell do I go?”

You pause, clicking the bottle with your nails idly. He’s irritated obviously. But you think more frustrated and confused than anything.

You sigh, then smile. The valley hasn’t been the kindest to its resident shut-in.

“Mid-life crisis at 24,” you tease gently, poking at his side. Sebastian shoots you a heatless glare. “Don’t worry too much Seb, your hair is gonna turn gray.”

“Ha-ha,” he replies sourly. “You talk as if that isn’t the same reason you moved to the valley.”

“Hey, I gave a generous amount of my life to Joja,” you snort, shifting your feet into a better resting position. “I paid my dues over there before I found some semblance of peace here.”

“I can’t just sit around and wait my whole life.”

“Then don’t,” you reply simply. “God knows I wish I followed my dear old gramps’ footsteps sooner.”

“It isn’t that simple.”

“Yep. It isn’t. It does get easier though.”

“You say it so easily.”

“Sometimes, it just is.” you reply. “Only sometimes, though.”

For all you remember, your grandfather absolutely adored the valley, though he couldn’t convince you in the height of your angsty teenage phase to do the same. You’re long past that now, life didn’t go as planned and you ended up right where your grandfather said you would be.

Funny, how fate works so mysteriously, so weirdly.

You shake that thought away, turning to Sebastian—who has the same contemplative expression as you.

He’s silent, thinking. His fingers grasping and twirling the drawstrings of his hoodie. “You never told me the story.”

“Well,” you purse your lips, handing him the bottle. He drops the drawstrings to grab it. A wordless agreement between the two of you to share what remains of the liquid. “You n’ver asked.”

“I wanna hear it,” he says, looking at you at the corner of his glittering obsidian eyes. “please?”

“How polite,” you laugh, he lightly hits you on the back of your head with his palm. “Ouch. No need to be rough w’me, I’ll tell you.”

You clear your throat with an obnoxious ahem. “Once upon a time…”

“—C’mon farmer, stop messing around. I wanna know your story,” he interjects, and it almost sounds like a plea. “No theatrics.”

Your lips flatten into a grim line. He’s being unusually insistent on the topic. But now that you think about it, you haven’t told anyone why you moved into the farm. Not your mother, not your father, and definitely not anyone else in Pelican Town.

Sebastian may be your first, you think to yourself—innuendo unintended.

You hug your arms closer to your chest, the cool draft sliding over your skin—making you shiver. No better way to battle the uncomfortable situation with an even more uncomfortable conversation. You take a deep breath.

“I was a fresh graduate when I started working at Joja—worked my way up from customer service to marketing. Crazy, right?” you chuckle, though it sounds hollow even to you. “All the pretentious proposals I would write and those useless meetings that’d take forever. There wasn’t a day where I didn’t hate my 20 year old self for starting at Joja. 5 years down the fucking drain when I quit. Let me tell you, it’s the best decision I made in my stupid corporate slave life.”

Sebastian says nothing, he hands the bottle back to you, which you take a generous swig of. You grip the bottle tightly around its neck, the warm feeling of alcohol loosening your tongue.

You exhale deeply through your nose. “I was in my cubicle when I just ‘bout had enough—by the way, I hate that they’re called cubicles, I felt like a number in some executive’s spreadsheets instead of a living breathing person.” all that talking and your throat itches for more of the sweet burn of alcohol—you oblige it with another weighty gulp. “Grandpa left me this letter, told lil’ old me not to open it until I really, really needed to. Now that I think of it, he knew.”

Your voice cracks by the end of it. Your tongue feels way too thick for your mouth. And your eyes blur—there seems to be twice as many stars as usual.

Sebastian stays quiet, reflective even. Though his hands have stilled, and he feels closer than he was earlier. It’s warmer, you think.

If he asks, you’ve decided you’ll blame it on the alcohol.

—

You and Sebastian talk for hours after, the bottle of beer being passed between the both of you too often. You feel a tad tipsy—having drank the lion’s share of beer. Your head lolls onto your arms as you talk about everything then nothing.

There’s a fair moment of silence that blankets the two of you after—certainly not uncomfortable. You feel Sebastain knows the fact more than anyone. He seems to thrive in the quiet moments.

“I don’t think I’m leaving the valley any time soon, though,” he says softly, breaking the tranquil silence.

So he’s been thinking. “Why so?”

He shrugs his shoulders, taking the final sip of beer that finishes the bottle. “Something’s makin’ it worth staying a little longer.” His eyes meet yours, albeit for a second—before he refocuses on the cliff side view.

Ah, you understand.

Suddenly, alcohol isn’t the only thing making you feel so warm. You thank the stars for the dark, for hiding any warm pinkness in your expression. You smile, more to yourself than anything. Taking the bottle from him, brushing your fingers over his perpetually cold ones.

The bottle is lighter than it was at the beginning of the night—your shoulders too, less achy, less stiff. With all that weight off of them, you can afford to be less wound up.

You tip the bottle over the grass, nothing but a single drop comes out. You watch it fall and drop into the grass. “Good. This something thinks you’ll come to like it even.”

Sebastian tilts his head, a tentative smile playing on his lips. “That’s presumptive.”

You shrug, smirking. “I have a sense for this type of stuff.”

“Really now?”

“Mhm. I don’t just lie for no reason. And my senses are telling me you’ll be alright.”

You hear the silent hitch of his breath, the momental widening of his eyes and the tremble in his jaw. It saddens you slightly, no one has probably reassured him of it before.

God knows you needed some while working at Joja, you’re just returning your dues to the universe—and to him.

He laughs softly, and bitterly. His fingers twitch again—for that darn cigarette. “God, I sure hope so.”

Sebastian will be just fine, you know that. And it’s about time he knew it too.

221 notes · View notes

dabislittlemouse · 7 months

Text

tainted angel 🪽 (pt.2)

PART 1 // PART 3 // PART 4

ෆ DABI X HAWKS’ LITTLE SISTER

ෆ cw: Dabi being a flirt and a pervert, corruption kink, smut and dubcon incoming

“So.. Dabi”

A red feather quickly finds itself on my neck, its sharp point pressing against my pulse.

“Let’s start by telling me what the hell you’re doing here. And being friendly with my sister, out of all people” Hawks asks sternly and I can’t help the grin on my face. He is fuming and I’m living for it.

“Hey now, you’re being rude” I rasp out, faking a hurt expression. “Is this how you treat your friend?”

“Enough with games. We’re no friends and you know it. How did you find this place? I swear if you hurt any of the-”

“Chill birdie..” I interrupt him, rolling my eyes. “I’d appreciate first if you got this feather off me. Before I burn it down, that won’t be fun for ya, will it? The little angel inside told me how sensitive feathers can be, even when they’re off your back. Really interesting.. ”

Hawks swallows and removes the feather, letting out a deep breath and trying to calm himself down. Probably mentally cursing his dumb little sister for spilling so much information to a man like me.

“To cut things short I tried to find some information on my own, cause see, I don’t really trust ya, hero. I’m sure you’ve been doing the same behind our backs, searching information regarding any villain in our squad”

Hawks chuckles, clearly a forced one. I’m one second away from blasting flames on his face.

“Come on Dabi.. you’re way too paranoid. After I’ve proven myself loyal to the cause multiple times? It’s kinda unfair don’t you think? Other members of the liberation haven’t gone through such intense stuff so you could trust them. But you still think I’m suspicious.”

“We’ll see about that when the time comes.” The smug smile fades off my face, seriousness replacing it. He needs to know he can’t fool anyone, not me at least.

“It wasn’t hard to find out information about you. But of course finding out that you got an angelic sister was the cherry on top of it all! All sweet and nice to savour~”

Now Hawks was the serious one here.

Ouch, struck a nerve there?

“Listen here, and listen well. I’m all in to help you guys achieve this cause and join forces, but I want you to stay out of my life. Away from my family, you’re going too far Dabi” he growls, approaching closer, while I stand there looking down on him. He really is shorter than me, such disadvantage.

“Tch, you really think I’m gonna hurt em?”

“Who knows, will you?” he replies, golden irises focused on my teal ones.

“I won’t hero, that’s all about it” I smirk, stuffing my hands in the pockets of my jacket. “If you’re fully loyal to us and to the cause, then why so paranoid? Why so scared? I would never harm someone who is loyal, or their family for that matter. I’m not that fucking stupid”

I let my words sink in and the hero stays silent for a while. This is all a game and I know exactly how it’s gonna go. Especially now that I got myself a little gem, Hawks is going to think twice before doing anything funny.

“Alright, all I’m saying is, do not involve her or anyone else in this. She is neither a hero nor a villain, let her live her normal life and don’t mess it up. She doesn’t know who you are, nor my association with the League. I’d rather kept this all hidden for both of our sakes, won’t be beneficial if the word gets out”

“Y’got it” I click my tongue, fully aware that I will do the opposite. I didn’t have time to have further conversations with my angel. Besides from being a sight for sore eyes, I want to know all the thoughts in that brain of hers. What goes through her mind, her opinions on different topics, what does she think of hero society? Does she have her own ideologies and beliefs? For sure she is not just a brainless doll who does nothing but sit pretty all day.

Still, even if that’s the case, I will use her whoever I see fit. Been a long time since I had some real fun, and having a brainless little doll sitting nicely on my cock sounds just about right.

Fuck, thinking such nasty thoughts when her brother is right in front of me.

Little does he know that I got her number.

*2 days later*

As I head back to ReDestro’s mansion, familiar voices of my comrades fill my ears the moment I step inside.

“Hey Dabi, where have you been dude? You can’t keep ignoring your duties as a lieutenant!” Twice says.

“Don’t worry about that Twice” I sigh, ignoring his gaze and heading upstairs to my room.

Though it’s not that easy to escape their interrogation the moment that psycho sticks her nose in my business. Fuckin’ great.

“Mmmm, do you smell this?” Toga asks Twice as she comes closer to me. “Such a sweet pleasant scent~ can’t believe it’s coming from you out of all people, Dabi”

Ouch.

“And what do you mean by that?” I raise an eyebrow, annoyance clear on my face. “Careful with your words psycho.”

“Ahh no didn’t mean it in a bad way! Usually you just smell like cigarettes.” she giggles, then her eyes widen in realisation. “Wait, don’t tell me you are seeing someone?”

“Dabi seeing someone?” Spinner says from the other side of the room, Compress turning his head as well.

Yep, that’s my cue to leave.

“Hey Dabi don’t ignore me!!” Toga pouts. “Tell me is it a girl? Who is she? She smells so sweet!”

Damn it angel, the trouble you already got me in.

“None of your goddamn business.” I say sternly, though I can’t help the small grin on my face. That’s all it takes for the little psycho to blush and squirm in excitement. God knows what kind of romantic crap she’ll be daydreaming from now on.

Laying down on my bed, I let out a sigh and grab my burner phone. It’s strange though, how I’ve always been chasing my goals and dreaming of revenge, my mind focused nowhere but only on the hatred burning deep inside of my core.

My only goal was to bring down this society built on false heroes, but as my eyes laid on her, it was like a ray of sunshine swept through the dark clouds in my life. I never gave a fuck about having fun around with women, I’ve been focused on more important things to let distractions take over me.

But when it comes to her, I am a depraved man.

I dial her number, and patiently wait for her to pick it up.

“Hello?” she answers with a sweet voice that has me biting my lip already.

“Hey angel~”

She paused, her breathing changed. Bet she’s blushing the moment she recognises my voice and the nickname I gave her that day.

“Dabi?” she replies, her voice a tone higher, clearly filled with excitement.

“That’s right” I grin. “Kinda missed your pretty ass you know?”

“Missed me?” she giggles. “We literally met just two days ago, how could you miss someone you met for the first time?”

“Got no idea, you sure you don’t have some kind of seducing quirk? That scent of yours been lingering on me for too long. Anyway, I hope Hawks didn’t make a big fuss that day, angel”

I remove my jacket and shirt off, feeling hot and bothered already.

“He is very overprotective sometimes, it’s annoying” she replies. I can already imagine her cute pouty face.

“That’s how big brothers are, way too overprotective of their little sisters. Can’t really blame ‘em”

My mind suddenly goes to Fuyumi. Was I overprotective of her too? Can’t remember.

“Princess.. you got any plans tonight?” I whisper.

“Mm not really” she mumbles. “Why? You wanna visit me again?”

“Why not?” I smirk. “Seems like you enjoyed my presence that day”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. I just want to make sure guests feel comfortable that’s all” she snaps back, but I know too well that’s a lie.

Before I can say something back, I notice the bulge in my jeans growing.

Shit. All it took was her voice.

Lazily I unzip my pants, while I let her talk.

“Tell me angel, you already got a man in your life? Didn’t get the chance to ask earlier..”

“If I had a man, I wouldn’t be talking to you right now” she says, I can hear the teasing smile in her voice.

“Is that so? You that loyal huh? Such good girl” I say as my hand lazily strokes my cock.

A soft gasp leaves her mouth at the praise and I squeeze myself slightly, precum already leaking down my shaft.

“W-Well, that’s how everyone should be” she continues. “But to answer your question no, I don’t have anyone”

Even if you had, they wouldn’t live to see the next day.

“And in the past? For sure a gorgeous thing like you has both men and women salivating”

My mind goes on her swollen tits and soft thighs, my breathing gets harder. That plump lower lip of hers..

“N-None of the sort. I don’t have much experience in relationships” she says shyly. This grabs my attention, little angel is inexperienced. My cock throbs in my hand, I swear if I keep edging myself like this-

“Ngh- Y’gotta elaborate on that sweetheart” I manage to reply. “Y’never kissed someone, been intimate and stuff like that?”

“I’ve had my first kiss but- whenever I tried to go further I just couldn’t..” I can feel her breathing get irregular again.

My chest gets heavier as I edge myself at her voice, my hands moving faster, the tip of my head red and swollen, begging to be stuffed inside that sweet cunt of hers. Just the mere thought of it has me salivating, abusing her pretty hole until her voice goes sore from screaming and her eyes puffy from crying. The metallic piercings decorating my shaft heat up, making the feeling more tense as I reach my high. Like a drug, her voice is sending me over the edge

“Umm Dabi, you still there? You alright? W-what’s going on?”

“Mmhm yeah. M’still here-fuck” I let out a grunt, trying my best to keep quiet as I bust on my hand. Hot thick cum coating all my fingers, and I can’t help but think what a waste this all was. I could’ve filled her up to the brim with this.

She swallows nervously. “Anyway I think it’s time for me to sleep. It’s getting late. We can meet another time”

“Yeah sure thing” I say, trying to catch my breath after that orgasm. “Sweet dreams, doll”

After she hangs up, I look at the mess on my hand. So filthy. And for some reason I do not feel ashamed of this behaviour. Probably for the fact I’ve made my mind up that she is mine, so I can do whatever the fuck I please.

And with that being said, I decide to pay the sleeping beauty a little visit tonight.

Tagging: @touyalove @awalkingshame @mostlyheinous @dabislittlebeaniebaby @dabihawksluva @syrenkitsune

#B.writes #dabi #touya todoroki #mha dabi #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi x y/n #dabi smut #bnha smut #mha smut #bnha x reader #mha x reader #hawks #keigo takami #x reader

503 notes · View notes

sugrhigh · 1 month

Text

BACKSTAGE - ( m.s )

REQUESTED**

summary- your best friend caught the eye of the bass player in a band local to boston, your hometown, so you’re invited to the second to last stop of their US tour. they can definitely put on a show, and all of them are very welcoming when you meet them backstage. then there’s the asshole grumpy drummer with the inflated ego, who can’t seem to stop staring.

warnings- cursing, smoking, drinking, ???

band au (triplets are in their mid 20s)

drummer!matt x fem!reader (this song ^^ inspired me and it’s good af so i’m including it)

a/n: this has been brewing for a while and i kinda forking love this concept, i hope i brought it to life well! hope u enjoy and as always my inbox is open for whateva #kisses ****part 2 to come

@fawnchives @55sturn @teapartyprincess4two @l9vesick @sturnlova @cupidsword @junnniiieee07 @mattnchrisworld @cherrypostsposts

“are you sure you want to do this?” you ask her as you two linger by the bar at the back of the venue.

people are clearing out, all happily chattering after an incredible concert. you have to admit that it was a great performance, and the sold out crowd helped.

they’re a pretty talented band. and the bass player really wants your best friend.

all it took to get him interested was a single comment on one of his recent posts. adelaide is undeniably gorgeous, and she’s also built a decent following through her recent modeling jobs.

she stands out in any comment section and in crowds like these, so it makes sense that he hit her up. that’s why you’re here anyways.

mister bass player had invited you guys to the first of two sold out shows in this place. it’s the last stop on the band’s US leg, in their hometown, which happens to be where you and adelaide live.

“yes dude, for the hundredth time, im sure. and he’s waiting on us, so stop stalling. i know you have more balls than that.” adelaide gives you a pointed look.

you can’t help but roll your eyes. “i promise you i don’t care enough about what these guys think to be scared.”

“now that sounds more like you.” she teases as she pulls her phone out of her back pocket.

the light from the screen illuminates her face, and you watch as she taps something out quickly.

“chris said someone is gonna come get us.”

“can’t wait.” you smile sarcastically as you respond.

addy doesn’t even get the chance to yell at you about your attitude before a big buff guy dressed in all black approaches the two of you, dark hair slicked against his skull. SECURITY is printed across his jacket in bold yellow letters.

“you ladies enjoy the show?” his voice is deep, which matches his huge stature perfectly.

“oh, it was amazing! i’m assuming you’re jason?” adelaide beams at him, pushing her dark curls out of her face.

he nods once. “that’s me. you guys ready to head backstage?”

“yup, just lead the way.”

the two of you follow jason back down toward the front of the stage, around the protective barricade to a door that almost blends right in with the venue’s dark walls.

he knocks on it three times. another tall man opens it for him and ushers the two of you inside before people start to pay too much attention.

“dressing rooms this way.” the new guy leads you through the backstage area, down a narrow hallway until he stops in front of one of the doors. there’s a little placard with their band name on it, which is cute.

this time nobody thinks to knock, because it’s already pretty loud. once the door swings open the sound is even more overwhelming.

you count seven people, all sitting around on the couches and vanity seats in the dim lighting. three of them are nearly identical, which surprises you. you thought there were only two brothers in the band.

several bottles of champagne crowd the coffee table already, and they’ve only been off the stage for ten minutes.

all of them are watching the two of you now, and it makes you want to crawl out of your skin.

“look who it is.” one of the twins (or apparently triplets) that’s sitting on the couch sets his glass down and gets up to greet you.

his brown hair is long, longer than the others, hidden slightly by a black boston hat. he’s dressed in a celtics jersey and baggy jeans, clearly happy to be representing his city tonight.

“good to see you, chris.” adelaide smiles into his chest as he pulls her into a tight embrace that lasts for a few seconds too long.

“i promise it’s better to see you.” he smirks as he finally pulls away, not even trying to hide his gaze as he admires the way her outfit hugs her body.

then he turns to you, and you suddenly feel like a spotlight is shining directly in your face.

“it’s nice to meet you too, y/n. addy tells me you’re even cooler than she is.” chris says, wrapping his arm around your friends shoulder lazily.

“can’t argue with that.” you shrug with a grin, impressed that he remembered your name without having to ask.

he looks around and clears his throat, and the others stop chatting. “everyone, this is adelaide and y/n. introduce yourselves.”

one of the clones that was sitting beside chris speaks up now. “shouldn’t they know who we are?”

he looks directly at you with an uninterested gaze that��s somehow still so intense you almost lose your breath. he’s in all black, fluffy hair styled a bit shorter than chris’s.

his harley davidson muscle tee is cut off right above his black pants, revealing just the smallest sliver of his stomach as he leans back against the cushions casually. so many tattoos, so many rings.

it’s annoying that you notice this, even despite how pissed off you are at his stupid question.

“i hate to burst your bubble, but i wouldn’t be able to guess your name even if someone put a gun to my head.” you bite back without thinking, and laughter erupts around you.

“that’s exactly what you deserve for a dickhead comment like that, matt.” another currently-unnamed guy says.

he’s on the other sofa with the last of the carbon-copy brothers, arm around the waist of the beautiful girl that’s perched on his lap. the couple smile at you and adelaide.

“feel free to ignore him. i’m nathan, lead guitar.” he introduces himself.

“i’m his girlfriend jen.” the dark-haired woman chimes in, offering you a friendly wave.

“im nick,” the triplet sitting next to them finally reveals his name, “i’m not in the band, i’m just their tour photographer. my brothers got the musical talent.”

“kids a genius with a camera though.” chris adds, still sidled up against adelaide.

“names sam. i’m the singer.” a blonde boy with hair cropped close to his skull says with a nod.

he’s sitting on one of the vanity chairs that’ve been set up in a half circle, tipping the rest of his champagne back after he speaks.

“and i’m just his older sister gabby.” the girl beside him sticks her hand out, and you take a step forward to shake it.

“dont say just. and i love your necklace.” you compliment the barbed wire chain around her throat, and she waves her free hand at you, flushing slightly.

“you’re sweet.”

“it’s nice to meet you all. the show was fantastic, we had a blast.” adelaide addresses everyone with that award-winning grin you know and love.

chris leads her over to the couch and they sit down, pressed against each other like they’re attached at the hip. you have to admit it’s a little cute. you take the open chair next to gabby, opting to avoid sitting next to matt just to be near your friend.

“are you both from boston too?” sam asks, reaching to refill his drink.

jen gets up from nate’s lap to grab two more glasses from one of the cabinets, which is a kind gesture that you weren’t really expecting.

“yeah. we met in college and ended up staying in the city together.” you answer as he moves to pour your champagne next.

“that makes you what, 22? i am about to serve you alcohol.”

you can’t help but laugh, so adelaide answers instead. “we’re 25, but i’ll take that as a compliment.”

he puts his hands up in apology as you grab your glass. “so not recent graduates then, my bad.”

you can still feel matt staring at you, and when you meet his gaze over the rim of your drink he doesn’t shy away. your own eyes narrow slightly, because you dont understand why he won’t fucking quit it.

“what do you do for work?” nathan questions, and you finally break out of your trance to look over.

“i was in publishing for a bit, but i mainly model now.” addy responds first.

chris’s hand goes to grip her thigh endearingly as she sips her champagne. “can’t you tell?”

“stop it.” she nudges him slightly, though you can see a faint blush appear beneath her bronzed skin.

nate rolls his eyes before looking your way. “and you?”

“i’m a media manager for a few different brands.”

“really? like who?”

it’s matt speaking, you know even before you turn your head to meet his cold eyes once more. he’s challenging you, inked arms crossed over his chest defensively as he waits for an answer.

“well for one, those pants you’re wearing? i work with that company.” you reply bluntly.

you’d recognize those cargos anywhere, the faded star patches are a dead giveaway. matt’s face drops in surprise, and nick snorts, giving you a nod of approval that doesn’t go unnoticed.

“i can’t believe you work for vamped. we all get like, half of our wardrobe from there.” he admits.

“raiding her closet is a real treat, trust me.” adelaide makes it sound like a joke, but she actually does love to come over and steal all your favorite pieces.

it would be annoying if you didn’t love her so much.

jen smiles, cuddled back up on her boyfriend’s knee as she looks between the two of you. “i like you girls already.”

“yeah, and i respect anyone who can humble matt that quickly.” sam nods along in agreement, and you recognize that he’s talking about you in particular.

“oh, so i take it he’s like this all the time then?” your question is directed at sam, but you’re looking at the subject himself as you ask it.

“pretty much.” chris nudges matt with a silly grin, and he scowls in return, though he’s still watching you.

you can’t decipher what he’s feeling, what he’s thinking, and you don’t like it one bit. to be fair, you don’t know him at all yet, but you know the type.

you’ve met enough high profile people through vamped to understand that this kid thinks he’s some kind of god, probably because his friends tell him so.

but you’re not his friend, and you don’t owe him any politeness if he can’t bother to reciprocate it. you keep your eyes on him as sam redirects the conversation away from the two of you, another challenge of your own, and he finally looks away a moment later.

you take it as a win.

a few rounds of drinks later you can feel the heat creeping up your cheeks, blissfully tipsy as you continue to swap stories about anything and everything with the rest of the group.

chris and adelaide are in their own little world, whispering shit back and forth to each other like school girls.

matt hasn’t said a single word to you since you name-dropped your highest paying client just to embarrass him. he watches the rest of you interact, though that burning gaze of his always seems to meet yours anyways.

its driving you crazy, and you’re itching for a quick pause from the socialization, as nice as (almost) everyone has been.

“i’m gonna go for a smoke.” you address the group, mainly adelaide, and you’re met with a couple nods.

“same.” matt replies gruffly, and your heart falters.

of fucking course.

he pushes himself to a standing position before you can protest, or say anything really. his shirt is even more cropped now that he’s stretched to his full height, and you’re staring straight at his exposed happy trail and v-line. you’re pretty sure you see the top of a small tattoo by his hip.

your mouth goes dry, and you busy yourself grabbing your little purse from the floor.

“hurry back, i wanna hear more about this PR box fiasco.” gabby points a finger at you as you get up next, and you smile even though you know it’s a weak attempt.

“i’ll be quick.” you promise her.

adelaide gives you a little wave goodbye, which doesn’t quell your nerves as you turn to follow matt, who doesn’t wait for you to catch up.

he just throws the dressing room door open carelessly, letting it swing back so you have to stop it with your hand before it hits you. you glare at the back of his head, though you follow him in silence because you don’t know the way outside.

another security guard stands in the hall, and matt greets him with a quick nod as he heads outside, once again neglecting to hold it for you.

you mutter a quick hello to the man before stepping onto the little back patio. it’s the end of summer, edging toward fall now, so there’s just a slight chill in the air.

he’s already leaned up against the brick wall, situated on one of the steps down to the gated parking lot. for the first time tonight, he’s actually not looking at you, and it’s somewhat of a relief.

you dig around in your bag to retrieve your crinkled carton of cigarettes, flipping the lid open to pull one out and stick it between your lips. you’re about to put them away when matt clears his throat.

“can i bum one?” he asks softly.

it’s the least aggressive he’s been all night, and it throws you so off guard you can’t find anything to say back so him. so you just nod slowly, grabbing another cigarette for him and passing it over.

“thanks.”

“you got a light? couldn’t bring mine in.” you mutter, though your words slur because of the cig that’s between your teeth.

matt nods, ruffling his hair with one hand as the other slips into his back pocket. he pulls out a red disposable lighter and ignites it in one swift motion.

he holds it up to your mouth, burning the end of the thin roll of tobacco. he’s staring at your lips, thinking about how soft they look wrapped around that filter paper.

matt doesn’t want to be wondering what it would be like to feel them against his own, because you embarrassed him. he hates being embarrassed, especially by someone who walked right into his dressing room like she owned it.

you’re unlike any girl he’s ever met, and he’s fucking entranced.

you inhale, glancing to meet his blue eyes as the smoke fill your lungs, completely unaware of his thoughts. it’s familiar, and it calms you down a little bit.

you pull it from your mouth to exhale, watching as he lights his own before slipping the plastic device back into his pocket. he slumps back up against the wall, kicking one leg up to steady himself.

it’s silent again for a moment while you both enjoy the brief hits of nicotine, letting the clouds swirl up into the night. you both go to ash at the same time, and he breaks the tension first.

“so, what did you think of the show, sweetheart? your friend spoke for you, but i’m sure you have your own opinion.” he says, one side of his mouth tilted up.

you weigh up his statement, rewinding to an hour ago. you guys were in the upper wing, right by the stage in the front row. the view was great, and the energy was definitely there.

you remember matt, sweaty and focused as he banged on those fucking drums like his life depended on it. your eyes were drawn to him for a lot of the performance, to the intensity he brought to the stage.

that was before you knew about his superiority complex, though you should have been expecting it. he is, after all, a rising rock star.

“it was good.” you reply bluntly, shrugging as you bring your cigarette back to your lips.

he fully smiles now, though it’s not a warm one. then he follows your lead and takes another drag as well, his tattoos shifting as his muscles flex and relax due to the movement.

“don’t fucking humor me.” matt finally says seriously, and you narrow your eyes.

“i wasn’t, but it doesn’t matter either way. you think you’re the shit regardless.” you snap back.

matt softens a bit at your tone, but he’s also backed into a corner. you confuse him, because you’re impossible to read. that’s never happened to him before, and it’s annoyingly enticing.

“you don’t know a damn thing about me.”

“i know your type.” you argue sourly, sucking in another mouthful of smoke.

he turns his full attention to you now, shifting so he can look you right in the eyes. you wish it didn’t intimidate you so much, but the way he’s been leering at you all night makes you sweat.

“and what type would that be, hm?” matt goads.

you nudge at the concrete with the toe of your sneaker, pausing briefly to compose your answer.

“you’re arrogant, which either comes from the fame or the praise, or most likely both. in fact, you’re so cocky that you probably can’t be around anyone without patronizing them. i bet they all tell you how talented and badass you are, but you wanna know what i think?” you ask him, taking a hit of your cigarette for dramatic effect.

and it works. matt is hanging onto every word, waiting for you to deliver the final punch as you take a step closer, blowing the vapor toward him.

“i think that the whole time, they’re just waiting for you to shut the fuck up.”

for a second the world is still, and neither of you move an inch. he’s just studying you, eyes skipping across your face like he’s trying to commit it to memory.

“you want to know what i think?” he questions you quietly, and you can’t help but watch his lips as they move.

so pretty and pink, and you know he would taste like tobacco and sweat. you want to give in, but you won’t. one thing about you is that you’re stubborn, and you refuse to make the first move for this asshole.

“i think you like it.” matt finishes, so close to your lips now that he’s practically whispering his words against them.

just as you think he’s about to kiss you, to give you the power you crave, he tosses his cigarette to the ground and snuffs it out before stepping around you.

the only reminder that the moment was real is the door slamming shut behind him.

#matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #drummer!matt #fanfic #matt sturniolo smut #band au #matthew sturniolo x reader #Spotify

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ereardon · 5 months

Text

The Backup || Jake Seresin x Reader [teaser]

“That can’t happen again.”

“It will.”

You sighed loudly, flinging yourself backward onto the mound of pillows, knowing that he was right. Jake rolled off the bed, tugging on his boxers.

He grinned. “Any more bad dates planned for this week?”

“A blind date on Friday,” you replied, rolling onto your side to face him as Jake got dressed. “Someone that a secretary from my work knows.”

“A blind date, really?”

Ignoring his comment, you replied, “What about you?”

“No plans.”

“Which means that you’ll have a date lined up by Thursday.”

“And it’ll be a flop and we’ll be right back here on Friday night.”

“I’m serious Jake, this can’t keep happening.” You stepped out of bed, slipping on a silk robe and tying it tightly around your middle. “We can’t be each other’s fallback every time a date goes sideways.”

“So end it,” he said. “You’re the one that called me tonight, remember?”

“I’m weak,” you replied and Jake chuckled.

“You’re a lot of things, sweetheart, but weak isn’t one of them. Except when it comes to those mall pretzels.”

“Well those are objectively the best.”

“True.”

You watched as Jake finished getting dressed, tying his shoelaces, slipping on his jacket. “Can I ask you something?”

“Always.”

“Are we fucking each other up by doing this? Like are we the reason that every single date goes bad? Because I feel like lately they all end up sucking.”

“The dates are bad because our options are bad,” Jake replied. “We’re not cursed, Stinky. That’s just how these things go. You date and date and just when you think you want to fling yourself over the Golden Gate you find one person who suddenly makes things work. And then you live your weird Hallmark lives together forever.”

“You, Jake Seresin, believe that?” You raised your eyebrows. “What happened to the guy I met three years ago who didn’t realize that girls don’t want to come over to your fucking Tenderloin apartment and see a bed without a bed frame?”

“I loved that apartment and it was dirt cheap,” Jake argued. “Besides, you’re not much better. Remember when you thought guys actually liked girls who wore Birkenstocks?”

“They’re comfortable!”

“You looked like you were going to yell at me for not using a reusable jar to grind my own peanut butter at Whole Foods for twenty dollars an ounce. It was heinous. Also they smelled like ass.” Hence, the nickname that you hoped would die but never did.

“You’re just saying that because your type is girls who stomp around in size five Aquazzura heels on Market Street and have their daddy’s Amex card numbers memorized.”

“Better than your type. Mr. Couch potato, looks practically homeless and asks you to split the check at dinner because he’s too cheap to pay for your baked potato.”

“That happened twice, that’s not a pattern.”

“More than once is concerning.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re lucky you’re good in bed because I can’t fucking stand you.”

“Stop stroking my ego.”

“Goodnight, Seresin,” you said, walking toward the kitchen, your back to him. “Slam the door on your face on your way out, won’t you?”

“Night Stinky,” he said and you could hear his footsteps trailing down the hallway. “See you next weekend!”

You grabbed a half-empty bottle of Sauvignon Blanc from the fridge door and slammed it, a little too hard, the sound of bottles inside rattling as you unscrewed the cap and chugged directly from the bottle. It was acidic, probably too old, but it would do the trick. Anything to block out Jake’s words that haunted the quiet air of your apartment even after he was gone.

He was right. Somehow the two of you always fell into bed together. The dates always went belly up. Hinge, Raya, Bumble, League. No app worked. No blind set up. It was like clockwork: you’d spend an hour getting ready for a date, and within five minutes you’d know that at the end you’d call an Uber to take you to Jake’s. Or vice versa: he’d show up at your door with a pocketful of condoms and a smirk. It always ended the same way. For almost a year, you and Jake had been filling the gaps of your dating life with each other. Friends with benefits. No strings.

And, of course, you made a point to keep it from the friend group. Coyote would throw an absolute fit if he found out.

[Note: Special shoutout to @clancycucumber230 for the idea!]

#jake hangman fic #top gun fanfiction #jake seresin #top gun imagine #jake hangman x you #jake seresin au #jake hangman imagine #hangman fanfiction #jake seresin x y/n #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman x reader #hangman x you #hangman x reader #top gun x you #top gun x reader

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fruity-mega-coconut69 · 9 months

Text

Thunderstorm

[Pairings]: Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader

[Summary]: There is a power outage due to a thunderstorm and you and Tara enjoy the quiet hours together.

[warnings]: little blood, cursing. kissing, my writing, not proof read

A/N: Oh my god, guys. i'm so sorry for not posting, but I'll try to post more!

-----------------------------------------------------------

“Damn it!”

You curse quietly to yourself when the knife you’ve been cutting some vegetables with caught your finger, making blood drip from it slightly. The lights had gone out and your vision was clouded by the dark.

“Baby? Are you okay?” Tara’s worried voice can be heard from the living room. Soon, you hear footsteps and your small kitchen is lightened up by Tara’s flashlight on her phone as she slowly approaches.

“Yeah, uhm, can you pass me a band aid from that cupboard?” You point at said cupboard.

“Of course” She puts her phone down and reaches up to open the cupboard. After a little struggle, she opens it and takes a band aid out. Tara turns around to face you and steps closer. She takes your ‘injured’ finger in one of her hands after she unwrapped the band aid and puts it on the cut gently. Tara leans down and puts her lips on the band aid-covered cut softly, pulling away after a moment. “There. All better.” She smiles and takes a step back.

“Thanks.” You smile and cup her face with your hands to bring her into a sweet kiss. After she pulls away, she sighs and glances at the half-cut vegetables on the kitchen counter.

“I think dinner will have to wait.”

You roll your eyes. “I know. But I’m hungry” She chuckles then looks out the window, seeing rain practically pouring from the sky.

“Come on. Let’s go to the living room” She takes her phone off the counter then takes your hand in her, starting to head towards your living room.

“Wait. I’ll get candles.” You grumple out, letting go of her hand and going into the storage room. A minute or two later, you walk out with a couple of candles in your hands and Tara laughs. “What?” You furrow your eyebrows in genuine confusion as she continues giggling.

“Nothing. Nothing. You just look adorable. Come on, let me help you.” You scoff and walk past her.

“I’m fully capable of carrying candles. They’re just slippery.” You huff, but soon regret going ahead of Tara when you are, once again, engulfed by darkness. You stop in your tracks and turn around to look at Tara, standing in the hallway with her arms crossed and her phone in her hand, flashlight still on.

She immediately loses her serious demeanor and her arms fall to her sides as she smirks. “What? Are you scared of the dark?” She asks, walking over to you while chuckling.

You roll your eyes. “No. But I’d like to make it to the living room without breaking my fucking leg, Tara.” You mumble as the two of you start walking towards the living room.

You arrive in the living room and you put the candles on the couch while you take your lighter out of your pocket. Tara puts her phone down and picks up a candle, holding it out to you. You light it and she puts it on the coffee table. You light the rest, too, and soon the dimmed flames of the candles light up the living room.

After you’re done, you plop down onto the couch with a sigh, Tara following after you.As Tara scoots closer to you, you take your phone out and unlock it, only to see that there is no wifi.

“Oh, come on!”

Tara takes the phone out of your hands and moves closer, your knees and shoulders touching. “You know, this is kinda romantic. Don't you think so?”

You furrow your eyebrows and slowly turn your head to face her. “Wh-how is this romantic? We literally have nothing to eat.”

Tara rolls her eyes and looks at you. “Are you serious? You can only think about food? “

“I love to eat, T. I can’t help it—-”

Tara shuts you up as she presses her lips to yours. You let out a surprised gasp but kiss back nonetheless. Her hands gently cup your face and she slowly moves to straddle your legs. Your hands rest on her lower back as the two of you keep kissing. A minute later, she pulls back.

“But, I mean I could eat you.”

Tara groans and slaps your shoulder-which causes you to frown and rub the spot she had slapped. “You–I…you’re unbelievable.” She is about to get off of your legs when you stop her by placing your hands firmly on her waist.

“Wait.” You mumble, pulling her closer, your noses touching. “I’m sorry.”You look into her eyes and she smirks, her hands go back up to cup your face and she kisses you again. As the two of you continue kissing, the heavy rain falling outside and the occasional rumble of the thunder makes the moment a hundred times better.

“Apology accepted.” Tara mumbles against your lips before pressing hers to them firmly once again.

A/N: I know, It's short. I'm sorry

#jenna ortega x fem!reader #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #jenna ortega x reader #scream franchise #tara carpenter x you #scream vi #jenna ortega #scream fanfic #jenna ortega x you

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angelwonie · 2 years

Text

LIKE YOU || choi yeonjun

PAIRING: fuckboy!yeonjun x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 16.4k

GENRE(S): smut, fluff, slowburn, college!au

SUMMARY: when your school’s infamous fuckboy, choi yeonjun, sets his eyes in you, he's determined in his mission to make you his. only the task turns out harder than he'd initially expected.

WARNINGS: smut [unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), praise, overstimulation, slight corruption kink], consumption of alcohol, smoking, yeonjun is a menace and a flirt

Choi Yeonjun didn’t mean to fall in love with you.

Really, he didn’t. He didn’t plan on falling in love with anybody, actually. He just wasn’t the type of guy to chase after one girl, especially one who showed no initial interest in him.

Until you came along, that is.

—

“Gosh, did you really break up with her? And here I was, thinking this one would actually last longer than two weeks.”

Yeonjun only rolls his eyes in response to his friend’s nagging, his back resting against the cold stonewall of the school as his shoes sink into the soft grass surrounding them. It's the place he, Soobin and Taehyun go to complain about homework, classmates, or in his case, girls, and it was carefully chosen by them so as not to catch the attention of any annoyingly nosy teachers. It is also the place he usually brings girls to make out with – at least those he won’t even bother taking out on a date since they’re way too boring. Most people would be surprised to know just how many girls aren't worth knowing.

He sighs deeply, fidgeting a little with the hem of his ripped jeans before fetching a pack of cigarettes from the pocket. His eyes scan the area subconsciously, not searching for anyone in particular but looking for anything interesting to latch onto. “Oh, quit complaining, Soobin. Why do you care, anyway? It’s not like she was your girlfriend.”

‘Girlfriend’ is a bit too much of an exaggeration, even he has to admit – all that girl ever was to him was a quick fuck. Not that it matters. It doesn’t exactly occupy his thoughts whether she’s taking their ‘breakup’ well or not. He sighs, tearing his gaze away from the crowd as nothing – and nobody – catches his eye. Ignoring his friend’s judgemental stare, he lights a cigarette, bringing it to his lips and inhaling the calming aroma, before breathing out a cloud of smoke.

“No, but she seemed to like you a lot.” Soobin says, and Yeonjun lets out a snort of laughter, which earns him another death stare from his friend. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll run out of girls to hook up with?”

“I can always go to a bar and find some new ones. Seoul is full of girls, which makes it even more embarrassing that you’re incapable of finding yourself one.”

“Oh, shut up. It’s not like you’ve ever had a proper relationship, either. I’d say that’s even more embarrassing.”

“How is it embarrassing? I’m living the dream, man, admit it.” And as if to prove his point, he takes another drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke directly into his friend’s frowning face.

And then he looks at the crowd of students again, totally uninterested as always. At least until his eyes land on your frame and he’s suddenly feeling more interested than he’s ever felt before. Because, holy fuck, who is that girl and why has he never seen her before? For a moment, he’s just staring at you, eyes running over all your features as if not to forget any of them, mind racing with the thought that you might just be the prettiest girl he’s ever seen in his entire life. And then you disappear into the crowd again and all that’s left is his burning determination to make you his.

“Who was that girl?” He asks his friend, finger pointing in the direction of where you were standing just a moment ago.

Thankfully, Soobin seems to have seen you, too. “Huh? Oh, her? That’s Y/N.”

“You know her?”

Raising a brow, he responds skeptically. “Yeah, why? She’s the class president in my class.”

Oh, wow. Class president. He's never been with a class president – mostly because all of their school talk was impossible to endure – but that shouldn't be much of a problem. You are still a girl, after all, and girls are his specialty.

It only takes a few more questions directed at a not-so-happy Soobin to find out that you work as an assistant at the school library during breaks, and so Yeonjun has found his destination. He's so quick to run into the school that it's not before he's spent five minutes looking for the library that he realizes he has no idea where it is. Groaning in frustration, he asks one of the bypassers to show him the way, but it takes another three minutes for the girl to stop blushing and giggling, which makes Yeonjun question whether it's worth it to even go there.

But then he's reminded of how pretty you looked from a distance, and he knows he has to see you up close. So he lets the girl bring him to the library, and he's quick to realize that this might just be his least favorite place in the whole school. The room is filled with nothing but shelves of books and the girls who are sitting by the tables are nowhere near as pretty as he'd like. And they're also not even paying him a glance – something he finds a little weird. Now he just hopes you're good with your mouth, so that his time doesn't go to waste.

“Do you need help with anything?”

He hears from behind him and yes, his eyes weren't playing tricks on him earlier – you're even prettier up close. Of course you'd come up to him first – he'd doubted your ability to take initiative since you are a class president, but it seems that he'd overestimated people's capability of resisting his good looks. You are just making his task so much easier.

“Not really, no,” He grins widely, running his ring-clad fingers through his hair. “Just wanted to ask you if you’re free this weekend.”

He watches as you scrunch up your nose in confusion – it’s kind of cute – and awaits your answer with the grin never leaving his face. If there’s anything he’s good at, it’s asking people out. Though the fact that he’s had a 100% success rate all his life probably helps with the confidence. You sigh a little and it brings him to reality, making him realize that you’re taking a little too much time thinking and too little time agreeing to go out with him.

“Sorry,” You say finally, gaze so uninterested that it kind of reminds him of his. “I’m not interested.”

And just like that, you walk away from him. Totally unfazed, too, like you didn’t just reject Choi fucking Yeonjun. It makes him furious. But for some unknown reason, it also makes him interested. And when Choi Yeonjun is interested in someone… Well, he’s not going to give up that easily.

—

“What do you mean Choi Yeonjun asked you out?” One of your friends exclaims as you sit in the cafeteria, your hand quickly coming up to cover her mouth so that nobody hears what you’re talking about.

“Would you quiet down a little?” You hiss in her direction, removing your hand when she rolls her eyes. “I mean, he asked me out. When I was in the library. Just appeared out of nowhere, asking me if I have plans for the weekend.”

“Oh my god, that’s amazing! What did you say?”

“No, obviously. Why would I wanna-”

“What do you mean you said no?!” There it is again – a high pitched squeak and a facial expression of someone who was just deeply offended. And knowing your friend, she probably is. “Are you fucking insane? Why wouldn’t you want to go out with the Choi Yeonjun? Literally every girl at this school would kill to get asked out by him.”

“I wouldn’t,” You say, going back to your food. “He hooks up with every other girl he sees and smokes cigarettes. I don’t want anything to do with him.”

“Sure, you don’t,” You hear your friend scoff in annoyance, but this time you choose to ignore her. It’s not like you could ever convince her to stop admiring the guy, so why waste your oxygen trying? Honestly, it’s all getting on your nerves – how everyone seems to adore him. Girls want to date him and boys want to be him. You’ve never quite understood why.

Not that it matters – now that you’ve told him off there’s no way he wants anything to do with you. Right?

Wrong.

You realize just how much you’re mistaken already the next day as you’re hurrying to class, four textbooks huddled in your arms as you push your way through the crowd. It's 9:21 and your class started six minutes earlier, leaving you with no choice but to pay no attention to your surroundings and focus on getting to the classroom. Which turns out to be a very bad idea the moment you run straight into something – no, someone – and drop all your books on the floor. Not to mention that it feels like you just broke your nose.

“Ow,” You mutter under your breath, and you hear a low chuckle that makes you look up at the person you just ran into. And, holy shit, there's just no way someone can be this unlucky.

“Where are you going in such a hurry, sweetheart?”

You furrow your brows at the one and only Choi Yeonjun, who's standing in front of you with his hands buried in his pockets and an annoyingly attractive smirk on his face as he eyes you up and down. Did he just call you sweetheart? You suppose he did. Not that you feel special or anything – he probably calls every girl that.

Just like he probably picks up every girl's books when she drops them – which is what he's doing right now as you still try to recover from the shock of seeing him again after such a short time. You don't even get to protest as he kneels down, before picking them up and handing them to you with his cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. It should be a repulsive sight, but it's actually ridiculously attractive on him.

“To class? Where else would I be going?” And before he gets to reply, you're already pushing past him to leave the conversation. But after barely two steps you feel his hand on your shoulder, turning you around to look at him again. “What are you doing? I need to go.”

“Come on, it won't kill your teacher to wait another five minutes,” He tilts his head to the side, studying your face so intensely that you're afraid he'll see the way you're not as calm as you appear to be. “Don’t you wanna go outside and take a cigarette with me?”

“I don't smoke,” You say. “Especially not with people like you.”

For a moment, you're scared he'll get mad at you for saying that, because his smirk drops and his eyes grow darker – as if what you said hit him a little too hard. But it's most probably just your imagination playing tricks on you, because in the blink of an eye he's smirking again, this time with a hint of amusement in his gaze.

“People like me? What's that supposed to mean?”

Um, I don't know, fuckboys who change girlfriends every week and don't give a shit about other people's feelings, maybe? But you don't say that out loud. Instead you shake his hand off of your shoulder and ignore the feeling that something's missing when you no longer feel his touch.

“I have to get to class.”

And just like that, you walk away from him for the second time. Only this time, he's not the only one with this strange encounter on his mind.

—

You've only met him twice, and both times you spoke with him only briefly, but that doesn't change the fact that Choi Yeonjun is the one occupying your mind for the next couple of days. What's even worse is that you're not sure just why you're thinking about him – whether it's because you've had enough of him, or the total opposite. But since you're a rational person, you settle with the first one: that you're simply thinking about him because you don't want to see him ever again.

That is actually something you've managed to do for the last few days – you haven't even seen him in the hallway. Which is refreshing, because it means you're back to normal, being the class president who can focus on school and not some annoying troublemaker. You've purged all thoughts of Yeonjun that were left in your head by the time you're in the cafeteria, hungry as hell. Saying a quick goodbye to your friends, you head over to one of the vending machines in order to buy yourself an iced coffee – you deserve it after all the schoolwork you've done today, that's for sure.

When you've chosen your drink, you press your card against the sensor and wait for it to withdraw the money, but after a few seconds a message saying 'card rejected' pops up on the screen. You sigh softly, trying again.

“What the fuck?” You mumble to yourself as your card gets rejected by the paying machine once again.

“You sure you have enough money on that card, kitten?”

You jump slightly at the sound of a voice barely two centimeters from your ear. Your hand instinctively comes up in order to cover your mouth to muffle your gasp as you turn around only to be met with a pair of deep brown eyes, belonging to none other than Choi Yeonjun himself. He only laughs at your reaction, letting one of his hands rest on your shoulder as he leans over the vending machine with his card between his fingers.

“What are you doing?” You finally ask as he hands you your card, pressing his against the machine instead.

“What do you mean?” He fetches the drink from the vending machine and holds it out in front of you, urging you to take it.

“I mean, what do you think you're doing?”

“I’m paying for your coffee, that's what I'm doing,” He says it like it's the normal thing to do, but you both know this isn't how he usually acts. And it freaks you out, knowing that he's acting nicer than usual. Because what the fuck does he want? “Now would you please take this from my hands? It's a little rude not to thank me when I'm being so generous, don't you think?”

So you grab the drink, eyeing him cautiously as he walks over to the nearest table before plumping down on one of the cheap chairs. He looks so out of place here, with his dark hair and silver rings adorning his long fingers that have already fetched his phone from his pocket. You don’t recall ever seeing him here, actually – you’ve heard from your fanatic friends that he always eats lunch at the cafe close by the school. You’re not sure why – maybe because he feels too cool to eat in the school cafeteria or maybe he wants to avoid all the giggling girls that are looking at him with eyes full of adoration. Whatever the reason, he never eats here.

And yet he’s sitting right there, scrolling through his phone with no apparent wish to get out of the cafeteria anytime soon.

“Are you just gonna stand there or what?”

“Huh?” His words bring you back to reality and you realize you’ve just been standing a meter away from the table with your coffee clutched in your hand this entire time. You hadn’t even noticed that he’d looked up from his phone, that annoying smirk plastered back onto his features as he speaks.

“Aren’t you gonna sit down?” Seeing your expression, he chuckles softly, and for some reason you don’t find his laugh that annoying – it's quite pretty actually. Has a nice ring to it. Not that you care what his laugh sounds like, of course. “What, you don’t drink coffee with people like me, either?”

You don’t respond, instead opting for sitting down by the table, across from him. You’re not sure what possessed you to do that – whether it was the embarrassment from earlier or the way that Yeonjun’s burning gaze is too much to handle while standing up – but you don’t miss the jealous stares from the nearby-seated girls, reminding you that there’s literally no reason for you to be talking with Choi Yeonjun right now. Or ever, for that matter.

“Give me your number,” He says once you’ve taken a sip of your drink, making you almost choke on it.

With a bewildered expression, you look at him and the phone he’s shoving in your direction. The ‘create a new contact’ function is open and it’s obvious he wants you to write your number there. For a moment, you’re about to do it, the way that he said it with so much confidence somehow making you weak in the knees even when sitting down. Now you can understand how he can pull every girl he wants. But then you’re able to think clearly again, and you realize that phone probably contains the numbers of tens of girls whom he’d hooked up with.

And you know for a fact that you’re not about to become the next checked-off item on his list.

“Why would I give you my number?” You say to him, pushing the phone away from you on the table.

He raises an eyebrow in amusement, smiling a little wider at your response and it makes you groan internally. Why must he be so hard to upset? “God, you’re really stubborn, huh?”

It annoys you that his voice holds an amused tone, and it annoys you that he finds your attempts at rejecting him funny. Shouldn’t someone like him – someone who isn't used to being pushed away by anyone – be much easier to discourage? Why is he so fucking persistent? Why is he ignoring your uninviting demeanor, when he could be chasing after any other girl – a girl who’d have no problem falling to her knees for him in the span of two seconds. But you suppose it’s partly your own fault since you’re not making any particular effort at leaving the scene.

“You don’t know anything about me.” You hope your voice sounds as confident as it did in your head when you let those words leave your mouth.

“Well, I want to get to know you.”

“No, you don’t,” You scoff, letting your eyes meet his this time. “You want to get in my pants.”

“What’s the difference?”

Even though you kind of expected that kind of response from a well-known fuckboy, it still makes your mouth fall open. “Are you serious right now?”

“No.” His lips spread in a smile as he rests his chin on his hand, eyes glistening with amusement as he observes the change of your facial expressions. “But I bet you thought I was.”

He’s absolutely right and it makes you feel exposed in a way. Like you’ve been thinking there’s no personality to him, and now he’s proving you wrong. That’s what he’s acting like, anyway. Like him knowing the difference between getting to know someone and wanting to sleep with them makes him any less of an asshole. If anything, it’s the opposite – it means he deliberately chooses to play with people’s feelings, and since you know he’s good at it, the best choice would be to leave now, before his demeanor somehow grabs your attention and interest.

“You don’t know very much about me either, do you, sweetheart?”

Your breath hitches a little as his hand accidentally brushes against yours when he puts it on the table, and you’re quick to pull it back to you and rest it in your lap instead. His eyes won’t leave you alone as he yet again pushes his phone towards you, further proving your theory that the man just won’t take a hint. “I’m throwing a party this Saturday. You should come. I’ll text you the address, so give me your number.”

“Can’t you just tell me?” You cock an eyebrow at him. “Besides, what makes you think I wanna come to your party?”

“I think,” He leans a little forward, and you try to slow down your heart that’s started banging against your chest a little too loudly. “You like being around me a little more than you let on. And I think that you want to get to know me, too. So this is your chance. And if I can’t convince you to give me a chance by then, I’ll leave you alone. Okay?”

“So you need to be at a party to show me that you’re worth knowing?” You taunt, again a little disappointed when you see that all your words cause is a short laugh. “But fine, I’ll come.”

You’re not sure what got into you, but the moment you say that, you realize the thought of coming to his party is making you excited. And even though you know it’s foul, the vision of showing all those shallow girls that you’re the one he spent time hitting on, that you’re the one he put in effort for, is tempting. You don’t want to be another girl he throws away when he’s done with, but you also can’t help the way his perseverance is slowly, but surely pushing down the walls you’ve put up around yourself.

“Perfect.” And it feels like a crime to have butterflies swarm in your stomach as he sends you a smile – one that feels so genuine that you almost forget he’s nothing but a player. Almost.

—

It goes without saying that your friends were thrilled to hear that you, out of all people, are invited to Choi Yeonjun’s party, and their excitement went over the roof the moment you told them you’re bringing them along. Now, bringing your Choi Yeonjun-obsessed besties to his party might not be the brightest idea, but at this point it’s your only option, since there’s no way you’re going alone.

Why? Partly because you’re straight up terrified of parties, but mostly because bringing your friends along is a good opportunity to discourage Yeonjun from further pursuing his determination to get in your pants. There’s no way a guy who only wants sex will care enough to put up with your crazy friends and your aversion to partying. At least you hope so. Lately, Yeonjun has been proving every assumption you’ve ever had about him wrong.

Nevertheless, you’re sure he won’t prove this one wrong. Because he is still a fuckboy, after all, and fuckboys are only interested in one thing – getting their dicks wet. So when he doesn’t get that from you, he’ll leave your life and so will this strange sense of attraction you feel every time he speaks to you.

“Are we at the right place?” You ask your friends as all three of you stand in front of the house that Yeonjun told you the party would be at.

“Are you stupid or what? Of course we are, don’t you see the people passed out on the lawn?”

Of course, you do. It’s not like you’re blind. Just nervous. Really fucking nervous. For a moment, you question whether you should just go back to your dorm and read a book like you normally would on a Saturday night, but unfortunately, you doubt you could’ve focused on the words knowing that somewhere out there, Yeonjun is waiting for you to show up at his door. Maybe even thinking of you, of getting to know you. No, Y/N, he doesn’t want to get to know you, you mentally scold yourself. He wants to fuck you. So get yourself out of this ditch before you fall in too deep.

“Right. I’ll knock then.” Your friend looks at you expectantly and you clear your throat before ringing the doorbell with shaky fingers. Fuck. What are you so stressed about?

Much to your poor heart’s dismay, the one opening the door for you is Choi Yeonjun himself. He’s looking even more annoyingly handsome than he usually does, with a silver chain around his neck and his shirt half unbuttoned, the sleeves of it rolled up to reveal his forearms. And god, is he a sight to see. It makes you understand the girls who swarm around him at all times. Especially when he leans on the doorway, licking his lips in a seemingly innocent manner that unintentionally makes your heart beat faster, before inviting you inside with his signature smirk planted to his face.

“Y/N,” He says and the way your name rolls off of his tongue sends shivers down your spine. It’s the first time you’ve heard him say it, and it makes you grateful he’s never called you by your name at school because the subtle warmth laced in his voice is very distracting. “And friends, I suppose.”

Oh, right. Your friends. Who you brought here to annoy the guy whose voice you just internally drooled over. In your head, you thank Yeonjun for the reminder as to why you're really here – because it's surely not to shamelessly stare at his veiny hand that is wrapped around a plastic cup.

“Oh, yeah, these are my friends,” You say, pointing to the two girls that are practically drooling as they look at Yeonjun. But you suppose you're not allowed to judge them anymore, not after basically doing the same thing. To your defense, every girl would look if Choi Yeonjun stood in front of her like that. Or at least you hope that this isn’t a sign of you getting too attached.

“Wow, Yeonjun, you look much more handsome in real life than on instagram,” One of your friends gushes as he opens the door wider, allowing all three of you to enter the packed house. The moment you step inside, you’re hit with the strong smell of alcohol and sweat, as well as loud music that you can already sense is about to give you a headache. “You wouldn’t mind giving me your number, right?”

The moment those words leave her mouth, you’re whipping your head around to look at her half-surprised, half-mad. Why, you’re not sure, but the thought of her hitting on him makes something twist in your stomach unpleasantly. The death stare you send her doesn’t seem to have any impact, but Yeonjun’s words do as he drapes his arm over your shoulders before sending you – not your friend, you – a teeth-flashing grin. “Yeah, no, sorry, I’m kinda busy right now. Talk to you later, uh, whatever your name is.”

And just like that, he walks further into the crowd, pulling you with him, and you’re too shocked by the whole situation to even react, only managing to look back at your friends for a mere second. But, for some reason, their shocked faces don’t even make you feel that bad about walking away, partly because they pissed you off, but also because Yeonjun’s arm fits strangely perfectly around your shoulder, and his fingers grazing the exposed skin on your arm bother you way less than they should. Even the girls sending you ugly stares manage to be somehow drowned down by his light, but heart-stirring touch as he leads you to the kitchen, before finally letting you go.

“If you brought me here to seduce me, don’t hold your breath,” You tell him as he walks over to the counter, grabbing a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. “I didn’t come here for that.”

There's a small smirk on his face as he looks up at you. “Then what did you come for?”

“You forced me to, remember? I came so that you'll finally accept your defeat and leave me alone.”

A chuckle leaves his lips as you watch him open the bottle, realizing that there's actually nobody except the two of you in the kitchen. The walls provide a good exclusion of the loud music, and there's some kind of peace to the atmosphere. It's the first time you're alone with Yeonjun in a room, but it doesn't stress you out at all – actually, it’s calming.

“You know, that’s what I like about you,” He smiles, pouring the alcohol as if he didn’t just say something that makes your heart drop to your stomach for just a second. “That you always say what you mean. No matter what, you do what you want to do and say what you want to say. It takes a lot of courage to do that, you know.”

You scoff at his words, sitting down on the floor with your back pressed up against the counter. “Just how drunk are you? You’re talking nonsense. Everyone says what they wanna say and does what they wanna do.”

“Really?” He cocks an eyebrow, before sitting down next to you and handing you your drink. For just a short moment, your fingers graze his skin as you're taking the glass from his hands, and goosebumps spread across your whole body from the contact. But then he lets go, and the sensation disappears, leaving you feeling somewhat empty. “I don’t.”

You furrow your eyebrows, taking a sip of your drink and instantly frowning afterwards, the strong taste burning your throat. He laughs at your reaction – not in the cocky way, but warmly, like he genuinely finds you amusing, but his smile fades when you speak. “What are you talking about?”

“I don't even know,” He sighs, lighting one of his cigarettes as he leans his head back and inhales the smoke, and it feels like an eternity before he speaks again. “Sometimes I just feel like I don't even know who I am anymore.”

He doesn't even expect you to react in any way. Why should you? He's been all but bothering you the last few days, doing absolutely nothing that would prove wrong your assumptions about what kind of a person he is. And yet he's telling you things – things he's never told anyone before, things he thought he'd never say. Part of him hopes you just won't say anything, that you'll leave and forget he ever brought this up, but at the same time, he wants you to listen, because it's his chance to prove to you that he's something more than just the facade he's been putting up around himself.

But you don't owe him that. You don't owe him anything, especially not listening to his problems. He doesn't owe you an explanation, either, though, so maybe he should be the one to stand up and leave the scene. Or maybe he does owe you an explanation, after all, for spending so much time with you even though everybody knows he doesn't like wasting his time. You're probably left wondering what the hell he wants with you, and frankly, so is he.

He's almost set on leaving, but then he hears your voice laced with concern, and when he whips his head around to look you in the eyes, he sees it's paired with an expression of genuine interest in your features, and he knows that even if he tried, he wouldn't be able to leave now.

“In what way?” You're asking him, tilting your head a little to the side. “I thought you would be the person to know exactly who you are and what you want.”

“Well, I did tell you you don't know much about me, didn't I?” He grins, but seeing your awaiting face, he stops. You're really serious about this, and it makes him question whether he should have said anything at all. “Besides, there's not much to say. I created the problem myself when I decided to become the kind of person people like you stay away from. It's not like I can blame people for seeing me as just an asshole if that's all there's ever been to me.”

“Is it, though?” You ask, eyeing him cautiously as he places the cigarette between his lips again. “Is that all there is to you?”

It takes him a while to respond, his mind stirring with thoughts as he wonders, what else is there to him? He's promised to show you that he's worth knowing, but now that he's to prove it, he has no idea what to say. That's a first. It's also a first that he doesn't feel like he's wasting his time getting to know a girl – actually, he can't get enough of the way you're observing him as if you really care.

“No. I don't think it is.” He says finally. “Because there are still things I want to do. There are still pictures I'd like to take, songs I'd like to play and places I'd like to go. And there are people I'd like to know.”

“Like who?” Your question is genuine, he realizes, and it makes him laugh, because still, you somehow haven't put the pieces together. Class president, yet you can't seem to understand he's flirting with you.

“You.” And it's no secret that he enjoys – a little too much, maybe – watching how your caring expression turns into one half-annoyed, half-flustered. He thinks you're adorable, scoffing to hide the way his words have an impact on you. Or at least he hopes they do.

“Why are you telling me all this, out of all the people you could've chosen to say it to?”

“I don't know, honestly,” He sighs, throwing his cigarette away. “You’re the only one who’d care, I suppose.”

You can't help but giggle, probably influenced by the alcohol. “The only person who'd care is the one who told you to fuck off the first time you met her?”

“Yeah, I know, it's fucking ironic.” He laughs, too.

And for some unidentified reason, you realize you wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere else at this moment, than here, in the kitchen at a party, next to the biggest fuckboy of them all, Choi Yeonjun. If anyone had told you three weeks earlier that you'd grow to enjoy talking to a guy like him, you wouldn't have believed them, but it's true that the smile plastered onto your face is genuine. And silently, you hope Yeonjun’s is, too. It's a stupid thing to hope for, you know that. Especially since he’s known for breaking hearts. But pretending to not give a fuck would be just as stupid at this point.

Suddenly, interrupting this peaceful moment, a load of drunk teenagers barge into the kitchen, each one shouting louder than the other. You frown as the loud music from the other room hits your ears, and curse them silently for ruining what was a very enjoyable interaction.

You're just about to stand up and leave as you feel the warmth of Yeonjun’s hand as he laces his fingers through yours like it's the easiest thing in the world, before leaning to the side to whisper in your ear. His lips just barely craze the shell of your ear, and you feel a little lightheaded, though you're not sure whether that's from the alcohol or being able to feel his breath tickling your skin as he speaks.

“Do you wanna get out of here?”

And there it is. The words that bring you to reality, that remind you that Choi Yeonjun is, after all, your school's well-known fuckboy who just wants you in his bed. And though you already knew that, it hurts a little stronger because for a moment you felt like there was something more to him than that.

“And go to your bedroom? No, thank you,” You’re quick to pull away from him, but your hands remain interlaced because his grip is too tight to escape instantly. His brows furrow at your words, but he lets go of your hand when he sees you struggling to get out of his grip.

“You should chill out a little, kitten,” His mildly annoyed tone catches you off guard – you’ve never thrown him off before. Is this the moment he stops talking to you entirely because you didn’t let him get what he wants? “I actually wanted to take you home. It’s getting late and you don’t look like you’re enjoying the party.”

Oh. Oh. He wants to take you home. Choi Yeonjun wants to take you home. Now you most definitely feel like an idiot. You’re so shocked – and humiliated – that you can’t even say anything, so instead, you just follow him through the crowd as turns around to leave, heading towards the exit. Sensing he’s somewhat upset, you stay quiet, but you truly regret not holding his hand as you push through all the dancing people. You shouldn’t be thinking like that, you’re aware, but it bothers you that you judged him like that. Even though he deserves to be judged, he’s a player. And an asshole. And you don’t even want to get to know him. You don’t care what he thinks of you. Right?

“You’re not mad at me, are you?”

Wrong. You do care. You hope he doesn’t hear it in your voice, but it’s pretty much obvious from the way all arrogance is wiped from your face and you’re looking up at him with expectant eyes as he pushes one of the curtains away to look out the window. For the brief moment that his gaze isn’t on you, you allow yourself to admire him – his hand that brings his drink to his lips, his dark eyes in which you can see the luminescence radiating off of the moon from outside. And you realize you don’t want to part from him just yet.

“No,” He says finally, letting go of the curtain and looking you straight in the eyes. This time, his gaze has softened and although you’re not sure exactly how you acquired this information, you know he’s sincere. “I’ll walk you home, it's dark outside already.”

He’ll walk you home? Part of you is curious as to why – you’ve heard from your friend that he’s always the last one to leave parties, especially those he throws himself. But another part of you, a bigger part, is feeling euphoric about spending more time with him, so you don’t really question him. You’ve done enough of that for one day. Waiting for Yeonjun to put on his jacket, you open the door, only to be met with a gush of cold wind and the sound of raindrops hitting the pavement outside. It’s fucking pouring.

“Fuck,” You mutter under your breath, catching Yeonjun’s attention.

“Wow, miss class president, you should watch your language. You’re setting a bad example.”

“Yeah, whatever,” You say with a smile. “It’s raining.”

You watch as he opens a closet, searching for something for a few seconds before he reaches you an umbrella. Opening it, you realize it’s decently big and will work great in stopping you from getting wet. But as Yeonjun closes the closet without taking out a second umbrella, you raise your brow at him questioningly. “What about you?”

“There’s only one. And you'd think a rich family like Taehyun’s would have more umbrellas.”

You hand him the umbrella as he walks over to you, figuring that it’ll work better if he’s the one to hold it since he’s taller. He doesn’t even care enough to bid his goodbyes, which surprises you a little – it’s his party after all – but after all you’ve witnessed today you conclude that you do, in fact, not know much about Choi Yeonjun, so there’s no point in assuming anything. Besides, a small part of you is hoping that he forgot to say goodbye because he was too caught up in you. Minimal chance that it applies, but still. Let a girl dream, right?

The two of you walk outside together, his arm bumping into yours as both of you try to fit under the umbrella. The weather is truly horrible, but luckily – or not, you’re not sure – the way home isn’t very long. You shiver a little as the cold breeze reaches your skin, regretting that you didn’t bring a warmer jacket. Oh well, it could've been worse. You could’ve been stuck in this weather alone, with no umbrella at all.

“Are you cold?”

“What?” You look at him, a little confused.

“You’re shivering,” He points out, handing you the umbrella and sliding his jacket off of his shoulders before you can protest. “Here, take this. I’m hot anyway.”

You take the jacket from his hands, and he waits with the umbrella directly over your head as you put it on. Starting to walk again, you can't help but inhale the smell that hits your nose when you bury your face in the fabric. It smells mostly like Yeonjun’s cologne – the expensive one that you felt for the first time when he picked up your books for you in the hallway, but underneath that there's also a scent that can't be anything but him. Is this what his skin smells like? If so, you're not sure you ever want to give this jacket back to him.

“Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” He shrugs, but you partly hope it isn't actually nothing to him. Because it's definitely something to you.

You both stay silent for a while, and it's a little weird seeing him so quiet, but you savor the moment nevertheless. At this point, it's evident that your original plan has failed – because if there's anything you haven't done tonight, it's getting rid of the connection that seems to be forming between you and Yeonjun. Truly, though, you can't bring yourself to think about that now. Rather, you turn your head to him and for a split second, you're taken aback by how close your face is to his when he turns to look at you, too.

It takes a couple seconds for you to realize that he only turned to look at you because he felt your gaze on him, not because he can read your thoughts or anything.

“By the way,” You say to him. “You said something about Taehyun’s family being rich, yet not having enough umbrellas. But I thought we were at your house.”

“My house?” He laughs a little, as if the idea throws him off. “Nah, I don't really invite people over there. It's messy and small, and Taehyun’s house works much better.”

“You’d think fuckboys would have plenty of people to invite over.”

“Never said I don't have anyone to invite over. It's just that most people I know aren't worth inviting over.”

“Oh,” You say. What's that supposed to mean? Does he mean that you, too, aren't worth inviting over or what? You almost regret that he's proven not to be the person you'd expected him to be, because if he fit into that little bison you had of him, it would've been much easier to read him. “Well, someone you know must be worth inviting over, right?”

You hope to god that he doesn't hear the longing in your voice, but from the way the corners of his lips lift up in a smirk and he places his hand on your shoulder to stop you from walking any further, you can tell your prayers haven't been heard. Not even giving you a chance to defend yourself, he's turning his body towards you, pulling you closer by your shoulder. When he leans down, his face is so close to yours that you fear he can hear your heart that is on its way to beat out of your chest.

“Well, I suppose someone is.” He purrs, bringing one of his hands to pick up the strand of hair that's stuck itself on your skin and tuck it behind your ear. “You know that if you want to spend time with me, you can just ask, right, kitten?”

If his goal is to make you have a heart attack, then he's on the right track for sure, because you're feeling extremely dizzy now that his eyes are focused solely on you and his hand is resting against the skin on your neck. You wonder how he's able to keep his cool – this is probably nothing new for him, but still, it's like you're breathing the same air. That must surely have some kind of impact on him, right? But even if it does, he doesn't show it, because the smirk on his face doesn't fade – if anything, it grows wider at your flustered state.

“That’s not what I-”

“It’s time for us to move past the lying stage, don't you think?” He runs one of his fingers over the skin right below your jaw, and it takes every bit of willpower inside of you not to lean into his touch. “It’s getting a little old.”

One of his rings comes in contact with your flesh and it makes you shiver – something you could've probably covered up by saying it's from the cold, but something tells you that there's no point in lying to him. Part of you wants to break the tension and pretend like nothing happened at all, but you're way too caught up in him to look away. Your eyes move from his eyes to his mouth and back again, and you wonder if his lips have always looked this kissable.

For a split second, you think he's thinking the same thing; with the way he's licking his lower lip, inching a little closer to you it seems like he's about to break the distance between you. And in that moment, you realize that you'd let him. If he were to kiss you right now, you wouldn't even have thought of pushing him away. Actually, you realize, you really want him to kiss you right now. You really, really do. But then his phone starts vibrating in his pocket, and slowly, but surely, the breathtaking moment is coming to an end as he stands up straight again, his eyes now glistening with annoyance rather than desire.

“Shit, it's Soobin,” He mutters, removing his hand from where it was resting against your skin, leaving you feeling somewhat empty. “I need to pick up.”

He doesn't walk away since it's still raining like crazy, but he turns a little away from you as he talks to his friend. You could've probably listened in on their conversation, but you're not very interested in it, and honestly, what occupies your mind more is the occurrence that took place just a moment ago. What the fuck just happened? Was Choi fucking Yeonjun just about to kiss you, or was it just your imagination playing tricks on you? Either way, you're both frustrated and relieved that this situation came to an end.

You're drunk. You can't think straight. That's why you let him tuck your hair behind your ear and look at you as if you were the only girl in the world. That's why your heart fluttered when he smiled down at you – that goddamn smile that makes everyone weak in the knees. But if that's the only reason, then why is your heart still beating quickly even though he's not touching you? And why do you feel more sober than you've felt your whole life?

“Hey, miss president,” He says, catching your attention. You look up at him, and you're surprised to see his classic smirk missing from his features, replaced by a frown. “I need to go back to the party. Soobin says they're planning to jump on the glass table or some shit, and trust me, Taehyun will kill me if something happens to his parents' furniture.”

“Oh,” You say. “Alright then, I’ll just take the bus, since the station is right here.”

You're lucky, that's for sure, because the bus station is merely twenty meters or so away from where you and Yeonjun are standing. You'll still have to walk in the rain for a while to get home after taking the bus, but you don't mention that, since Yeonjun looks annoyed enough as it is. As to why that is, you’re not sure, but you partially hope that it's because he's reluctant to leave you. Because you’re personally very hesitant to say goodbye.

“Yeah, do that,” He says. “And text me when you get home, just so I know if I have to find myself a new girl to annoy. And make sure I won’t have to, because finding girls worth inviting over is very difficult these days.”

And before you can even respond or fully register what he just said, he winks at you and starts walking away, leaving you alone to sort out the chaos in your head. First of all, Choi Yeonjun just asked you to text him when you get home. Which means, that to some extent, he must genuinely care for you. Secondly, he indirectly said you’re worth inviting over. Even though he doesn’t normally invite anyone over to his house. Which might – just might – mean that you’re more special to him than those other girls. And thirdly, he just winked and left. Without his umbrella or jacket.

“Yeonjun, wait!” You shout before you’re able to stop yourself. Fortunately for you, he’s close enough to catch your voice and he turns back, walking over to you again. His black hair is completely wet now, and so is his white shirt that has now become useless because it’s sticking to his skin, outlining his abs and biceps very well. Too well, actually, because you catch your eyes flicking down to stare at them even as you talk to him. “What about the umbrella?”

A smile spreads itself on his face and you’re this close to having your knees buckle at how gorgeous he looks in that moment. You'd never tell him that – it’d only heighten his already inflated ego, but you’d be an idiot not to admit it to yourself, at least. Your mind can barely register what he says when he answers your question. “Keep it. I’ll just run.”

“But-”

“Just keep it, I said. Or you might catch a cold,” Goosebumps spread themselves across your skin like fire, and you know it’s not from the wind. The way he’s looking at you doesn't help either, with his warm eyes staring into yours so fondly, that if you didn't know any better you’d say he was infatuated. “Besides, I’m sure you'd like to have something that reminds you of me in your room, right, sweetheart?”

“As if,” You say, but your voice sounds too weak to convince him that you actually mean it. “Go, then. Before they completely wreck the house.”

“Bye, Y/N, I had fun today,” He says, a little bit louder than normal so you’ll hear him over the rain, and you can see a hint of something you wouldn’t consider anything but pure bliss in his eyes. “Oh, and keep the jacket, too. It looks much better on you, anyway.”

With those words, he walks away quickly and you stand looking after him until he’s completely out of your sight. Only when you’re entirely certain you can’t catch a glimpse of his white shirt somewhere in the distance do you start moving towards the bus station, thinking to yourself that this night did not go as planned. Not at all. But it doesn’t really matter, because for the first time in a long time you feel like you don't want to spend the next day alone.

That maybe, just maybe, you want to spend it with Choi Yeonjun.

—

You've heard multiple times that rumors spread faster than wildfire at your school, but you've never really paid it any thought – you were never involved in said rumors, anyway. Until now, it seems like, because the moment you enter the school on Monday morning, everyone's eyes are on you. Most of them don't even try to hide that their conversations are about you, some even point their fingers in your direction as you enter the hallway.

At first, you're all but confused. Do you look weird or something? Why have they all taken a sudden interest in you? But then, as you walk by a group of frowning girls, you overhear the words ‘Yeonjun’ and ‘his new girl’, and immediately, you know what this is all about. Hanging out with the school’s most popular boy has some downsides as well, and this is one of them. Everyone knows, after yesterday's party, probably, that you're the girl who piqued Choi Yeonjun’s interest, and since you so sensibly chose to wear the jacket he borrowed you to school today, you've gotten rid of everyone's doubts.

But it's fine – the girls at your school have a talent for finding new things to gossip about very fast, so you don't doubt that by the time you're back from chemistry class, they'll be over it.

Class goes smoothly as always, you take some notes and pay no attention to the few girls that whisper to each other about you, because you're sure that rumor will die down soon. Besides, it's hard to feel uneasy when the first thing you see as you take out your phone is a text message from none other than Choi Yeonjun, reading ‘hey miss class president, when do ur classes end? i’ll come meet u’.

You smile involuntarily upon thinking about meeting him and you're quick to write back: ‘at 2pm. don't be late.’ A mere second later comes a reply reading ‘wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart’ and in response, you only grin to yourself, heart already beating in excitement. The second the bell rings, you're out the door, fixing your hair hastily as you look into the camera of your phone. It's not like you want him to notice the efforts you're putting in to look good, because he'd probably figure out it's all for him way too quickly, but you can't help feeling a little nervous about meeting him. Though you shouldn't, because who is he to make you feel this way?

With your thoughts occupied by Yeonjun, you don't even realize you've run into someone before you feel yourself stumbling backwards, your bag almost falling off of your shoulder.

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry,” You say quickly, eyes scanning the face of the girl you just bumped into for any signs of bruises. Thankfully, there is none, and after bowing your head a little, you’re about to leave again. Yet, for some reason, the girl steps to the side to block your way and you see that her and her friends are glaring at you threateningly. Wow, are they this upset that you ran into them?

“Look, I’m sorry for bumping into you, but I’m kind of in a hurry, so-”

“Who exactly do you think you are?” You’re caught off guard when the girl speaks, her tone laced with venom as she crosses her arms over her chest. What the fuck? You can't recall ever seeing any of these girls before, so why are they suddenly acting like you stole their boyfriends or something?

“Excuse me?”

“I said, who the fuck do you think you are?” She repeats, just as venomously, rolling her eyes in the process. God, this girl is really getting on your nerves – especially since Yeonjun is most likely going to arrive by the cafeteria in a minute or two. She really couldn't have picked a worse moment to torment you. “Like, seriously, who are you to spend so much time with Yeonjun? What makes you so fucking special, that he decided to just beg for your attention, even though he never does that?”

Oh, so that’s what this is about. Of course. They’re asking you questions you don’t even know the answer to yourself. Why does he keep acting so interested and genuinely curious about you? It’s a thought that has been tormenting your thoughts ever since he picked up those books for you in the hallway.

And after the party on Saturday, when he was walking you home, he was so sweet and alluring, you’d managed to convince yourself that he did actually care for you. Because otherwise, how would you explain him borrowing you his umbrella, even if it meant him having to walk back in the rain? And why would he tell you to text him when you got home if he didn’t care? And, most importantly, why would he tuck your hair behind your ear and look at you as if you gave meaning to his life and lean in to kiss you as the rest of the world dissolved behind the rain?

He couldn’t have done all that without meaning any of it. You know that. Just like you know those girls think otherwise only because they don’t know him. And they never will, either. Because he wants to know you, not them. Something about that fills you up to the brim with joy. And even though part of you still wants to play it safe and keep your undeniable feelings towards him hidden away, it feels so much better to just let them bloom inside of you and wait for what will become of them.

“Are you deaf or what? Why does Yeonjun hang out with you all the time?”

“I don’t know, maybe because he likes it,” You retort, feeling your blood start to boil as the girls roll their eyes for the nth time. “And I know this kind of exceeds the amount of information your brain is able to process, but it’s dumb to refuse to believe that he’s found someone he enjoys being around just because he never cared enough to tell you himself.”

A few seconds pass and all you can see in her face is pure shock which slowly, but surely transitions into rage. Before you can even react, the girl has taken a step forward and pushed you with probably all her force, because it makes you stumble over your own feet and lose your balance. A hiss leaves your mouth as your bare knee comes in contact with the pavement, scraping your skin. “You should watch what you say, bitch.”

You’re just about to respond when you hear a familiar voice from somewhere behind the girl and it makes you groan in frustration that he had to arrive at a moment like this.

“What the fuck is going on here?”

Yeonjun looks as handsome as ever, his hands buried in his pockets and a chain hanging from his neck as he stands a few meters away from the scene, his eyes scanning the area before they finally land on you. You’re not certain, since he’s far away, but you think you can see his gaze soften a little when you meet his stare. It’s only for a moment, though, because next thing you know, he’s looking angrier than you’ve ever seen him before, his jaw clenching as he pushes past the girls and kneels in front of you.

“What happened?” He asks through gritted teeth, his touch soft as he examines your scraped knee.

“It’s nothing,” You mumble, keeping your gaze fixated on the ground. You're both embarrassed and scared to be caught in a situation like this. It's mostly because you're afraid that Yeonjun will stop spending time with you when he realizes what problems it causes, but also because he looks ready to punch someone and you don't want him to get into trouble because of you. Though he doesn't seem to care about that as he keeps pushing.

“I didn't ask you if it was something, I asked you what the fuck happened,” His voice is serious – more serious than you've ever heard him. “Just answer my question.”

“It’s not that important, okay? Let's just go.”

“But-”

“Let’s just go, Yeonjun, please,” You plead, finally meeting his gaze and watching the anger in his eyes slowly melt as you tug on his sleeve as if to keep him away from the girls behind him. All three of them are eyeing you, faces scrunched up in both shock and irritation. Yeonjun is paying them no attention right now, though, rather looking at you with an expression you can’t quite read.

For a moment, he just stays like that, staring at you for so long you start wondering if he’s studying your bone structure. But then he sighs deeply, closing his eyes for a second before draping his arm over your shoulders and helping you stand up, the warmth of his body against your side bringing a small smile to your face.

“You can walk, right?” He asks and when you nod he continues. “Let’s go to the infirmary, then.”

“It’s just a scratch, though.”

“So?” He leads you towards the school building, leaving the girls behind. “I already told you it’s hard to find pretty girls to annoy these days, so I’d rather be safe that you won’t die from this.”

You roll your eyes at his antics, but inside you can feel your heart speeding up dangerously as some kind of heavenly warmth spreads across your whole body. You might be a fool for feeling so captivated right now, but hearing him call you pretty most certainly made your blood pressure rise. It’s not like you didn’t know he finds you attractive – it’s the reason he approached you at first, after all. But it’s different somehow, hearing him say it so openly, like he’s totally unashamed of feeling that way.

It all almost makes you want to tell him that he absolutely does not annoy you in the slightest, and that if he’d ever stop giving you his attention you might just die from emotional misery. And while it is embarrassing to admit, you can’t deny you’ve grown attached to the type of affection he showers you with – the smiles he sends you, the jokes he tells, and the small, featherlight touches that he leaves on your skin like an everlasting mark.

“The infirmary’s this way, right?” You're torn away from your thoughts as you hear Yeonjun’s voice right above your ear.

“You don’t know where the infirmary is?” You ask him, smile tugging at your lips as you try to hold back the laugh that threatens to spill out of your mouth. He acts so tough, yet he doesn't even know where the school nurse resides. You're unable to keep your giggles inside when you see his annoyed expression, eyes glaring at you from above.

“Well, I haven’t had to deal with girls unable to take care of themselves before, have I?”

“Alright, then, if it’s so much trouble, I’ll just walk home and put on a bandaid myself,” You scoff at him, trying to wriggle out of his grip. That turns out to be a challenge, though, so it's your turn to glare at him.

“Cut it out,” He sighs, pulling you along as he starts walking through the hallway again. “I never said it was too much trouble, so stop acting childish.”

You smile a little to yourself as he pulls you closer to him, the scent of his perfume filling your senses as the two of you arrive at the infirmary. Unfortunately, Yeonjun lets go of you to open the door and you feel a little disappointed now that his skin isn't touching hours. Yet you walk inside nevertheless, looking around for any sign of the nurse. You can hear the door close from behind you and you turn around, letting Yeonjun know that there's nobody here.

“She’s probably on break,” You add.

You can see him roll his eyes as he walks over to the nurse’s desk, opening up the drawers in search of something – a bandaid, probably. You want to tell him that he shouldn't be doing that since the nurse isn't here, but seeing that he's already a little upset, you decide not to. Besides, he is Choi Yeonjun. He's done worse things than break into the nurse’s office to find a bandaid for a girl. A girl you're starting to wonder if he likes a bit more than he lets on.

“Sit on the desk,” Yeonjun says, making you furrow your brows in confusion. “I need to put on the bandaid, so sit on the desk.”

“Oh, okay,” You do what he says, letting your legs dangle off of the table as you sit on it, doing your best not to spread your thighs too much since you're wearing a skirt.

You can see how Yeonjun’s eyes follow your movements, and before you can even protest, he's taking off his hoodie and draping it over your legs, so that only your knee and the skin under it is exposed. Muttering a small ‘thank you’, you subtly let your eyes rest on his frame as he kneels in front of you, pouring some rubbing alcohol onto a damp cloth. He's done this before, probably, with how many times you've heard that his friends get into fights for fun.

“I can do it myself, you know,” You tell him when he brings the cloth to your knee, carefully brushing it over your scratch.

“I know.”

But he doesn't move away, nor does he meet your eyes as they look down on him – seemingly neutral, hopefully hiding the way your heart flutters at his words. Stupid heart, you think to yourself, reacting like that even though he didn't do anything much. Though that changes the moment his fingers come in contact with the flesh on your thigh as he places the bandaid on your scraped knee, brushing over it with his hand to secure it in place and at the same time, making sure that your heart gets no rest. His touch feels strangely comforting, even though he's just barely grazing your skin with the tip of his fingers. The warmth that spreads through your body at his actions disappears way too quickly when he finishes putting on the bandaid, pulling away and looking up, finally meeting your gaze.

But he definitely chose the worst moment to do so, because the look in your eyes evidently gives up what you were thinking about just a mere second ago. Who you were thinking about, that is. A moment passes by and you can't read his expression, but then a smile tugs at his lips and he gazes at you in a way that has you feeling lightheaded, head spinning in the best way possible.

But that is nothing compared to the way you feel when he stands up, moving his face so close to yours that you're breathing the same air and bringing his hands up to caress your cheeks. His gaze flickers from your eyes to your lips, and then back again, but you can't seem to gather your thoughts enough to even focus on one part of him, eyes taking in every bit of his beauty that they can gather. Your breathing is erratic and your face is burning up under his touch, heart banging against your chest and palms getting sweaty. You're warm, burning up almost, yet he manages to spread goosebumps all over your skin by just running his thumb over your lower lip, looking down on you like he's waiting for your permission.

And though it's almost embarrassing just how quick you're willing to give it to him, you don't really care at that moment. All you can think about is him – his eyes, nose, and lips that you want to kiss. So you move closer, even if by just an inch, and you know he understands what you mean by it. And you're impatiently waiting for him to do something, so infatuated with him that you can't even think straight.

It's worth the wait, though, because as he leans in to connect his lips to yours, you feel happier than you've ever felt in your entire life.

It's perfect, the kiss – slow, soft and delicate, the movements of his lips gentle, like he doesn't want to scare you away. And he's perfect, too, with his fingers touching the skin off your cheeks, caressing it like it’s his dearest possession. Your tongues melt together in a perfect combination of bliss and desire, the whole world drowned out by the taste of his lips. He's the only thing you can feel in that moment – you’re breathing his perfume, getting completely lost in the sensation of his hand dropping down to your thigh, grazing it ever so slightly and making you gasp quietly into the kiss.

He’s never touched you like this before – with so much tenderness in his caress – and you love it. You love how all of his attention is on you, and how he’s taking his time, kissing you like it’s the last time. But you hope to God it’s not, because you’re not sure if you could’ve ever moved on with your usual life after feeling his lips on yours, taking every worry and doubt off of your mind.

Your noses bump into each other, breaking the kiss and it’s an empty feeling that fills you as he pulls away. But your misery is put to an end as you open your eyes and find him still there, only an inch or so away from you with a smile on his face. And it’s a real smile, a genuine one. Not a smirk or pitiful look. It’s just pure elation radiating off of him and it makes your heart swell in your chest.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

The words roll off of his tongue so easily that you would've thought that he'd just asked you for help on his homework; not confessed his feelings for you. Which, by the way, makes your heart stop by itself because one thing is being kissed by Choi Yeonjun – being told that he fancies you is another.

“What?”

“I think I'm in love with you,” He repeats, tone dead serious and the smirk you've grown to see on him nowhere to be found. You’re pretty sure your heart has stopped beating by now, mouth hanging open as you attempt to process what’s happening.“I smile when you're happy, I miss you when you're gone, I hate it when you're sad. And, most importantly, you make me want to become a better person. If that isn't love, I don't know what is.”

Saying that you’re left speechless would be an understatement. His words quite literally make your stomach do flips, your heart basically beating inside your throat. Part of you had dreamed of this, hoped that he actually cares about you, but it's hard to wrap your head around the fact that he's not kidding. That – for the first time in his life, probably – he’s serious. And that he's awaiting an answer.

“You’re not gonna say anything?”

“Well, I’m sorry if I’m a little quiet after the school’s handsome fuckboy just told me he loves me, but it’s kind of shocking news,” You say sharply, furrowing your eyebrows when you see the smirk you know all too well spread itself across Yeonjun’s lips. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

His smile only widens as he leans down to place his face mere centimeters away from yours. For a moment, you think he's going to kiss you again, and you're about to close your eyes, but your plans are cut short when he starts speaking instead.

“So you think I’m handsome?”

You roll your eyes, half-disappointed and half-relieved that he didn't kiss you, because you're not sure whether you wouldn't have died of a heart attack if he did. “I think you’re annoying as fuck.”

“And you know what I think?” He leans forwards again, this time resting his lips against the shell of your ear and causing your breath to hitch as he speaks. “I think I’m making you nervous, sweetheart.”

You don't get to say anything – though you're not certain you would be able to, either – before his lips move to your jaw and he presses a soft kiss to the skin right below your ear. It makes goosebumps spread across your whole body and it doesn't exactly help that when he pulls away, he sends you the most knee-buckling smile paired with an outstretched hand to help you get off of the table. With slightly shaky hands, you reach for him, trying your best not to faint when he interlocks his fingers through yours. None of you bother to clean up the nurse’s office, walking through the school halls again, this time heading out.

“So,” Yeonjun says eventually, swaying your interlaced hands a little and by that, making butterflies swarm in your stomach. The grip he has on you is really annoying sometimes. “Will I get an answer? Do you feel the same way or do you not date people like me?”

You stop in your tracks, sighing softly as you turn to face, deciding that you can't hide from the question forever. Your gaze rests on your hands for a second as you gather your thoughts, before you actually look into his eyes, hoping that he can't see how anxious you are.

“I do. Feel the same way, I mean.” You take a deep breath before uttering the words that you wish you’d said sooner, because they'd been a lingering weight on your shoulders the past few days. “I think I’m in love with you, too, Yeonjun.”

“Good,” He smiles, letting go of your hand to bring his fingers to your cheek instead. “Because you have no idea just how long I've waited to do this.”

And just like that, his lips are on yours, hands caressing your cheeks so softly that it's a big contrast to the way he's kissing you eagerly. You're quick to reciprocate the actions, letting your mouths move in a steady rhythm as you slowly, but surely forget your surroundings, nothing but Yeonjun on your mind. He knows exactly what to do to make you crave more, with his hands just barely grazing your skin, leaving goosebumps on it. But when it comes to the kiss, he can't seem to hold back either, already pushing you against the wall in the hallway after only a few seconds.

You wince a little at the cold stone against your back, and instantly, he's pulling away to look at you worriedly. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” You reply, not bothering to explain what happened, because your lips are already aching to kiss him. So you put your hand on the back of his neck to pull him closer, capturing his lips in a messier, needier, but just as euphoric kiss.

Yeonjun most certainly enjoys this new side of you, smiling into the kiss as his hand comes down to touch your thigh, making you gasp. Naturally, he takes this opportunity to slip his tongue inside your mouth, and pretty quickly you're met with the taste of cigarettes and something more subtle – the taste of him. It's addicting, all of it. His taste, his touch, his smell. And he knows perfectly well how lightheaded he's making you feel when his fingers move higher up your thigh, touching the hem of your skirt now.

“Can I?” He pulls away to ask, motioning towards his hand that is on its way to slip under your skirt.

You waste no time in letting him know just how much you want him, pressing your lips to his instead of responding and guiding his hand further up your thigh, until it rests against your already damp panties. He smiles into the kiss again, running his knuckles over your clothed core, satisfied as you audibly moan into his mouth. Words can't explain how many emotions that are stirring up in your mind at this moment, but uncertainty most definitely isn't one of them. So much is evident in the way you're grabbing onto his hair, whining when his fingers run over the thin, and almost completely soaked through, fabric of your panties.

This is so new to you, but so amazing, too. It feels like heaven to have him touching you like this, to have him looking at you so lovingly, and yet so passionately.

You can't stop the small noises from leaving your mouth when Yeonjun’s fingers start drawing small circles on your clothed pussy, your panties rubbing against your heat and creating a pleasant friction. He's not kissing you now, having pulled away to look at your features and listen to all the sounds that you make at the smallest touches. Even as he pulls his hand away, you whine for him, bucking your hips a little so as to not lose the sensation.

“You’re so cute,” He coos, fingers tilting your chin upwards the moment you try to look away from him, embarrassed. “This little is enough to get you so needy.”

Before you get to say anything, his lips travel to your jaw and then your neck, spilling kisses across your skin. You gasp when he sucks on the flesh, hard enough to leave a mark, before his mouth moves upwards again, resting against the shell of your ear.

“Let’s go somewhere else, though, okay, princess?” He whispers into your ear. “This isn't exactly the ideal place to… you know.”

And just like that, his touch is gone and you're allowed to calm down a little, though the heat between your legs doesn't disappear so easily. You fix your skirt a little, a little embarrassed after turning into a whining mess for him so quickly, but he doesn't seem to mind – a bright smile on his face, so you only smile back at him and grab his outstretched hand.

“I thought you didn't have a problem fucking girls on campus, though?” You inquire as he leads you through the hall, his hand warm in yours.

“No, but I do have a problem with not taking the girl I love to my house before fucking her brains out.”

These words both cause your heart to swell and your pussy to throb painfully from between your thighs. Now you’re definitely convinced that Yeonjun’s goal in life is to make your blood pressure rise to dangerous levels. How can he say he loves you and that he wants to fuck you in the same sentence? You might have already kissed him and had his hand between your legs, but that doesn’t change the fact that your knees threaten to give in when he winks at you and continues walking like nothing even happened.

“Wow, you're really good at this boyfriend stuff for being a fuckboy,” You tell him when you’re sure your voice won’t quiver, and you’re surprised to find an even wider grin on his face when you turn to look at him.

“Oh, so I'm your boyfriend?” He wiggles his eyebrows at you, and you scoff in response, rolling your eyes to assure that he doesn’t notice how your heart skips a beat.

“Shut up,” You say, but there’s no annoyance in your voice. “Yes, you're my boyfriend, happy now?”

“Yes,” You feel your whole face heat up when he presses a kiss to your cheek before the two of you finally reach his car, and he opens the door for you. “Very happy.”

—

After a few kisses and a drive that lasted only a few minutes, but felt like an eternity because of the throb between your legs and Yeonjun’s warm hand that rested on your thigh the entire time, the two of you finally arrive in front of the block in which you assume Yeonjun, your boyfriend, lives. God, it feels so weird to call him that. And to think he was a complete stranger to you less than a month ago. Now, though, you're wishing he'll never let go of your hand and your cunt is throbbing with excitement as he leads you up the stairs to his apartment.

You’ve barely made it through the doorway before Yeonjun’s slamming the door shut and pushing you against it, just like he did in the school hall earlier. Only this time, he's not holding back – his hands slipping under your shirt with ease, finding your tits and his mouth attaching itself to your neck. You let a few sounds escape your mouth when he runs his tongue over your skin, before sucking on it harshly. You're about to comment on his actions, say that he must really be into marking, but the words get lost in your throat when he rolls his hips into yours.

“Oh,” You're both fully clothed, but that doesn't make the tent in his pants any less obvious as it rests against your thigh.

Yeonjun’s expression turns into a frown immediately, and he’s quick to pull away and look at you in concern. “Are you okay? Do you want to stop?”

“What? No,” You shake your head a little too eagerly, though you suppose your irrational actions could be excused due to the intensity of the situation. You are about to get railed by the one and only Choi Yeonjun, after all. “No, I'm just worried, you know, like, it won't fit.”

The worry in his eyes dissolves at your words, replaced with a hint of amusement and cocky grin that makes your knees grow weak. You wonder whether you just should've kept your mouth shut, because what you said seems to have inflated his ego even more. Still, you don't exactly get to ponder that for long because before you know it, his hand is caressing your cheek, thumb swiping over your lower lip and you're already feeling dizzy. That dizziness all but intensifies when he leans down to let his mouth hover over your ear, barely grazing it as he speaks.

“I’ll make it fit, then.”

And just like that – as if he didn’t just knock the air out of your lungs – he grabs your hand and leads you further into his house.

As you walk inside, you're met with a simple interior – a living room connected to the kitchen and two doors, one probably leading to the bathroom, while the other to his bedroom. What surprises you the most is the clean state of the apartment. You would've mistaken it for something he'd rented out for one night if it weren't for the unwashed dishes and a pair of boxers lying on the floor by the couch. His bedroom isn't very different – a few shirts are scattered on the floor, but his bed is made and he's got a shelf full of books.

“Wouldn’t have taken you for someone this organized,” You comment with a smile, “You’re good at keeping this place clean, for sure.”

“Well, I'm good at a lot of things,” He purrs as his hands grab your waist and pull your body close to his, nose brushing over yours and his breath hot on your lips. Just like that, he's reminded you of why you're here and your stomach stirs in excitement as you speak in a quivering tone.

“Yeah? Like what?”

A smile sets on his features and he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, eyes fanning down to your lips for only a moment before they meet yours. Your breath gets caught in your throat yet again when he teasingly runs a finger down your collarbones, before he lets it run over your arm and hip. Finally, it rests on your upper thigh, so close to your clothed cunt that if you moved your hips a little forward, his fingers would brush over the fabric of your panties. You don't have to do that, though, because a mere second later, the palm of his hand is pressed flat against your clit and you whimper loudly from the feeling.

“Like stuffing this cute little pussy full of my cum.”

And as if to mark his words, he starts rubbing his hand against your cunt, slowly drawing circles on the thin fabric of your panties which are now so wet that you fear your arousal will start to drip from them and onto your thigh. Yeonjun seems to notice this, too, because before you know it, he's pushing you onto his bed and spreading your legs, eyeing your cunt hungrily.

“So fucking wet,” He says, pushing your panties aside and pressing a finger flat against your pussy, moving it up and down painfully slowly. “Tell me, are you always this needy, baby?”

“Just–” Your reply is replaced by a whimper when he starts moving his finger faster, now also paying attention to your clit. Upon seeing his awaiting expression, you inhale sharply, trying to gather your thoughts, though that isn't very easy when Yeonjun is smearing your arousal all over your cunt. “Just for you.”

Satisfied, he smiles down on you, albeit a little condescendingly, and you take that as an opportunity to buck your hips upwards to create a little bit more friction. That doesn't seem to be Yeonjun’s plan, though, because he's quick to push your hips down again, a disapproving look on his face. You're about to complain, but before you can do that, he delivers a slap to your pussy that makes you whimper and your thighs instinctively start to close.

“Yeonjun,” You whine as he pryes your thighs apart again, still teasing you with the way he's slowly rubbing your clit, fingers barely grazing it as he does so. His touch is featherlight and you need more, or else you're certain you're going to go insane. “Please…”

“God, you're so cute when you're needy,” He coos, hand slipping under your shirt to play with one of your tits. “Now, be a good girl and let me take care of you, okay?”

You nod vigorously, and he pinches your nipple slightly before his fingers start working faster on your clit. The sudden change in pace makes your back arch and you can't hold back the moans that slip from your lips when he pushes one of his fingers inside of your pussy. His hand that is caressing your breast moves to stroke your hair as he adds another finger, stretching you out and making you clench around his digits. He's pushing them in and out of you quickly now, hitting all the right spots and definitely enjoying how you're moaning his name.

“More, please, it feels so good,” You basically cry out, rolling your hips against his hand.

This time, he doesn't tease you anymore, moving his hands to your thighs as he leans down to press an open-mouthed kiss to your clit. You whimper softly at the contact, bucking your hips up again, although your movements come to an end as he licks a stripe up your pussy, before twirling his tongue over your clit. Moaning his name, you grab at the sheets, probably ruining them in the process. Not that you care right now, because with his two fingers pumping in and out of you and his mouth sucking on your clit, it's hard to focus on anything else.

“Too much, Yeonjun, it's too much,” You whimper, grabbing at his hair, half pulling him closer, half pushing him away.

He only smiles against your folds, tongue plunging deep inside of you to replace his fingers that are now rubbing your clit quickly. One look down is enough to see that at this point, his sheets are stained with your arousal, and your pussy tightens around him at the sight. You can feel him smile into your cunt, his nose rubbing against your clit.

“Too much? If this is too much, then how are you going to handle my cock, baby?” He mumbles against your pussy and you shiver, clenching and unclenching around his tongue.

It doesn't take long before the familiar feeling of rapture stirs up in your stomach, and you know you're close to your orgasm. Yeonjun has no trouble understanding that you're about to cum from the way your hands are grilling at his hair and whimpers are leaving your mouth in series. He does nothing to slow down his movements, though, actually speeding up the way he's lapping at your pussy, his tongue reaching places you didn't even know was possible and his hand holding your hips in place so you can't move away, even when the pleasure becomes too much to handle and you're whimpering his name.

“Yeonjun, please, I–” Your voice breaks into a moan as his teeth graze your clit, and you're basically squirming under him now, thighs shaking with every lick at your pussy. “Gonna cum.”

The knot in your stomach tightens quickly, and when you're at the very edge, you pull at Yeonjun’s hair harshly to bring him as close to your dripping cunt as possible, eyes rolling to the back of your head. It's completely over for you the moment he groans into your pussy, pleasure spreading across your body like wildfire when you reach your high, a loud moan falling from your lips and your eyes screwed shut.

You stay like that for a few seconds, catching your breath, and when you finally open your eyes you’re met with a sight that instantly makes your swollen cunt start throbbing again – namely Yeonjun licking his fingers clean of your juices, a smirk on his face the moment he catches your captivated gaze.

“You taste like fucking candy, baby,” He says, moving up so his face is at your level and he can press a kiss to your jaw before he whispers directly into your ear. “If I could, I’d eat you out for hours on end, but I suppose there are other things we need to take care of first, hmm?”

You would be lying if you said he wasn’t getting you all riled up again, your pussy already acquiring its own heartbeat when you feel his hard-on pressed up to your thigh. It's straining against his pants like crazy now, and he thinks he's going to go insane if he has to hear your pretty moans again without stuffing your pussy with his cock first. Luckily, you’re thinking the same thing, tugging at his collar a little with a pout on your face as you speak.

“Yeonjun…” Your voice is shivering – there’s no doubt that you’re feeling fucked out from your recent orgasm, but that doesn’t prevent you from grinding your hips against his leg that he’s resting between your thighs. “Want your cock, please.”

Yeonjun can feel his cock twitch in his pants at your words and it only takes him a glance at your fucked out expression to give you exactly what you want – his hands coming up to help you unbutton his shirt before he discards it somewhere on the floor. Next to go are his jeans and boxers, and you can't help the way your eyes grow wide when he finally lets his dick spring free.

He’s big, and even though you knew that already, it creates a pool of arousal between your legs. You don’t even try to hide that the sight of him is turning you on, your eyes traveling around his naked body so shamelessly that you could’ve never done it if it weren’t for your current state of desperation.

You want him. Bad. And you know he knows it, too, because soon enough, he’s smirking as he hovers above you again, his breath hot on your face and his bare cock resting against your skin enough to make you feel lightheaded.

“Yeah? My fingers weren’t enough, you want my cock, too?”

You nod vigorously – it's the best response you can give at this point. Luckily for you, he doesn’t demand for you to use your words this time, instead positioning himself at your entrance straight away, the tip of his cock grazing your clit. Biting your lip, you send him a pleading look, but he only grins back, dragging his cock up and down your folds. You whimper when it rubs against your clit, throwing your head back in pleasure and grabbing at the sheets again. It feels good, but you need more of him, so you thrust your hips up to meet his, the amused look on his face telling you that he does this just to mess with you.

“Please, Yeonjun, more.”

He gives into your pleas this time, enjoying the way you whine when he removes his cock from your clit, only to reposition himself at your entrance and push into you slowly. You gasp at the feeling of being stretched out, his cock already making you feel full and you clench around him, drawing a soft groan from his mouth. You’ve barely gotten used to the feeling of him inside of you before he continues entering you – making you realize that he was merely halfway earlier.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” He mutters, hands tightening on your hips and you realize he’s resisting the urge to move.

It’s painful, the stretch, and it basically has you gasping for air when he bottoms out, your walls sucking him in and tightening around him in a way that allows you to feel every part of his cock clearly. He waits for you to get used to him, one hand slipping under your bra to play with your breast, soft fingers running over your nipple and making you arch your back, pushing your chest against his hand.

“You-” You begin, cut off by the way he pinches your nipple, making you whimper, the sound bringing a smirk to his features. “You can move now.”

And move he does, thrusting into you slowly, but strongly enough to make your eyes roll to the back of your head, mouth falling open and moans spilling out of it.

“Yeah? Feels good?” He asks, moving in and out of you leisurely, seemingly unfazed by the way you're clenching around him like crazy.

“Mhmm,” You moan in response, pulling him closer to you with your legs.

He takes the close proximity as an opportunity to move his hand from your chest to your jaw, moving it to the side so that he can lean down to press kisses to your neck. The movement makes his dick sink further into your wet cunt, and it has you closing your eyes, whimpering. His lips suck marks into your sensitive skin, nose running over those he left on your neck earlier while he keeps thrusting into you, now with the palm of his hand pressing down on your clit.

You spread your legs wider for him when he starts rubbing your clit, and he smiles against the skin of your neck before pressing one kast kiss to it, pulling away. He's looking down on you now, watching your tits bounce with every deep thrust, your vision cloudy already. The lewd sounds your pussy makes when he slides in and out are enough to make him twitch inside of you, aching to move faster, and your moans are exactly what prompts him to do just that.

He speeds up, his hand positioning your leg higher on his hip so he can pound into you from a deeper angle as he watches your face contorted in pleasure. You're grabbing onto his shoulders for dear life as he fucks you into the mattress, your head turned away and your lip between your teeth to muffle the embarrassingly loud moans and whimpers you're letting out.

“Look at me,” Yeonjun’s not having any of it, fingers sinking into the soft skin of your cheeks as he turns your head so you're forced to look at him. “You wanted me to fuck this pussy so bad and now you can't even look at me while I do it?”

It's shameful how you instantly clench around his cock when he says that, but he seems to enjoy how you react to him, fingers gripping your jaw tighter as his thrusts manage to become somehow deeper. He's making you see starts with the way his hand moves from your jaw to your throat, fingers wrapped around it as he splits you open with his cock. Your thighs are starting to shake, the knot in your stomach tightening and there's no point in attempting to hold your moans back – they manage to escape past your lips anyway.

“I’m close,” You warn him, but it sounds more like a whimper than a sentence.

This only fuels him on, his fingers working wonders on your clit while his dick reaches sensitive places you didn't know existed. You're basically drooling onto his hand now, vision hazy and whole body trembling with pleasure. The feeling of fullness is making you dizzy, making it hard to make out coherent thoughts.

“That’s it, keep taking all I give you like the good girl you are,” He groans, his cock twitching inside of your cunt. “Nobody takes it as well as you.”

You let out a loud, broken moan as you teach your high, nails digging into his shoulders and pussy clenching around his dick. Not a moment later, he's shooting his load inside of you, filling you up with his cum as you moan his name repeatedly, eyes rolled to the back of your head from the pleasure. A moment passes by for you to catch your breaths, before he's pulling out to lay down next to you.

You’re left feeling a little empty, but it doesn't matter the second Yeonjun’s arms come to pull you in for a hug. Your head rests in the crook of his neck, eyes still screwed shut as you listen to his heartbeat, and you're pretty sure it's the prettiest sound you've ever heard in your entire life. It's steady and loud against your ear, and his hot breath hitting the top of your head feels comforting.

“You look so pretty like this,” You hear Yeonjun’s voice after a while, his hand coming up to stroke your hair. “So, so pretty.”

You fight the urge to leave your eyes closed – your exhaustion finally catching up to you after two orgasms – to look up at him, and it’s definitely worth it. He looks beautiful – even more than usually – with his hair sticking to his forehead, eyelids heavy and a sheepish smile on his face. You reciprocate the grin as he presses a kiss to the top of your head, before you're lying down on his chest again, sighing softly.

“Let’s stay like this forever.”

You can feel his chest rumble with the chuckle he lets out, before he picks your hair out of your face to whisper in your ear.

“I’d like nothing more.”

And you know he means it.

#ficscafe #choi yeonjun smut #yeonjun smut #txt smut #choi yeonjun x reader

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