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dilfluvrr10 · 16 days

Note

Hello can you write a smut about virgin joost x virgin reader? Thankss

I wrote this pretty quickly so ignore any errors but this one's for all the horny bastards out there. I see you.

Stolen Glances ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

CW: Nsfw, age gap

word count: 2.5k

(I was writing from 1st person than kept randomly switching to 2nd person when I was thinking of Joost's pov, she's a little messy sorry)

My thoughts ran wild as I chewed on the end of my pencil. I was supposed to be revising for my biology exam tomorrow, but how could I when a man as heart throbbing as Joost was sat right in front of me. My father was a well-established manager who had represented the biggest musicians of my time. He had reached out to Joost after his breakthrough single ‘Friesenjung’ and together they had boosted Joost’s international stardom to new levels. My father always had a good eye for talent. They had developed a close bond over the short time they had worked together, my father, a clever and creative man who never stifled Joost’s artistry. Ever since I was a little girl I’ve always been involved in his work, going on tour, tagging along for press and having a string of musicians over at our house constantly. But this was different. Maybe it was just hormones or whatever, a part of growing up, or maybe it was because father was particularly fond of him, or maybe it was the way he always acknowledged me. I don’t know what it was, but he made me feel things I’ve never felt before.

He sat directly in front of me, discussing marketing for his next song, a favourable topic for both Joost and my father. They had been at it for hours, going back and forth intently at our dining room table when I walked in- deciding I wanted to do my work in more ‘natural light’. Of course, I just wanted to be around Joost, his entire demeanour utterly intoxicating to me. I sat at the end of our long dining table, and with my father’s back turned to me, I couldn’t resist stealing glances at Joost every chance I got. In a daze, I admired the way his brows subconsciously furrowed a little in concentration, the way he talked so expressively with his hands. His hands. My mind gradually became clouded with thoughts of his hands roaming my body, what his hands would look like around my neck. I bit down harder on the pencil, almost touching lead. Discreetly, I crossed my legs and squeezed my thighs together, feining for any pressure down there.

Joost could feel your eyes swallowing him whole. It was nothing new to him now, you always had your beautiful doe eyes plastered to him. He had no problem with the admiration you gave him, he understood your young curiosity. He also understood he could never act on it, could never betray his manager like that. Touching his daughter in all the places she daydreamed about, taking a bit of her sweet innocence away all for himself. No. He’d stay out of your way, be kind to you in other ways, like helping with your school work (even though he was hopeless in his own high school days) and making sure you weren’t too stressed with exams by making you laugh whenever he could. You had been staring at him for quite a while now, you must’ve been particularly horny today, he thought to himself. A slight smirk nipping at the corners of his mouth. He leaned back in his chair and adjusted his pants around his crotch knowing you’ll catch it.

I nearly threw up as he moved in his chair, legs spread as he leaned back adjusting his pants. My eyes grew wide with embarrassment when I noticed Joost’s gaze flicker towards me, evident he knew the affect he had on me. In a panic I hurriedly ran to my room. Tears welled in my eyes at the thought of Joost realising how I felt about him, all he’d ever been to me was kind and now he’s going to think of me as some naive girl with a hopeless crush on him. I cried, regret and humiliation in every drop that soaked my pillow. How could I have been so careless with my feelings?

A light knock at my bedroom door had awoken me from my tear-fueled slumber. Vaguely disorientated, I searched around for my phone. The bright, white light illuminated the room: 9:15pm. “Shit” I wasn’t meant to sleep all day. Groggily, I got to my feet and shuffled over to the door, questioning who it might be.

Joost could tell you had been crying, your eyes red-rimmed and still slightly swollen. He hated seeing you like this, “oh, I’m sorry did I wake you?” his voice soft and concerned.

“Joost…no, no it’s fine...everything okay?” the back of my throat burned, and my voice was faintly raspy.

“You left your things on the table, I just thought I’d drop them off before I went to bed,” he handed me my textbook and laptop but lingered in the doorway as if he had something else to say.

“Are you okay? You’ve been in your room since lunch, tell me what’s going on,” Joost always carried a comforting energy, I felt like I could tell him anything. But not this.

“Oh yeah I was up late last night, got really tired I guess,” followed by a small awkward laugh. Joost stood tall in front of me, having to look up to talk to him filled me with dirty thoughts. He wore a white tank, plaid pyjama pants and his night prescription glasses. His hair scruffy, signalling he had already been in bed. I began questioning the intentions of Joost’s visit, did he really just want to return my things? This late at night? No matter how guilty I felt, I couldn’t shake the butterflies growing in my stomach at the tension between us.

He looked down at you, you were avoiding eye contact now, your leg bouncing nervously and your fingers tapping the door where you held it open. Oh how shy he made you, how vulnerable and yielding. He felt bad after what had happened today, he contemplated for hours in bed if he should make it up to you tonight or just let it be. But seeing you now made it an easy choice.

“You know, I really don’t mind” he almost whispered, tilting his head and stepping ever so slightly closer. I glanced up once again, confusion and anticipation coursing through me. “Mind what?” I asked through a clueless façade. He shook his head, slowly stepping forward until he was completely in the confines of my bedroom, closing the door gently behind him. Just me and him. “I see the way you look at me…I’ve seen the way you cross your legs in the process” a wild smile danced over his lips, that’s when I realised this was all wildly funny to him. The entire time I’ve been losing my fucking mind over this man- he had been totally and utterly aware and amused. I scoffed at his upfront words, “God, what are you talking about Joost. You’re crazy, what are you getting at-” I was abruptly cut off by Joost’s huge hands firmly placed on my arms, pushing me back towards my bed.

“Sit.” With your lips still slightly parted with the ghost of whatever bullshit you were carrying on about, you obeyed, looking down into your lap and fidgeting with your fingers. Your surge of false confidence had been his last straw. He was going to give you whatever you wanted, all you had to do was tell him. He traced a tender finger along your jawline, he glimpsed your eyelashes fluttering from his angle, felt your breath hitch. He lifted your chin with his index finger, Those gorgeous eyes shimmering wide with unspoken desire.

Already, I was going to absolutely crumble under Joost’s very minimal touch. His fingers barely grazing my skin were well enough to send shivers cascading down my spine. I was timid and taken aback but at the same time I craved more; I wanted to feel him everywhere. “What were you saying?” he flashed another one of his cheeky grins I loved so much. His sly comment made me laugh this time around, turning the tense atmosphere surprisingly warm. He sat down next to me, causing fleeting touches of our arms and thighs. I was enveloped in his familiar scent, calming my nerves further. He placed a hand on my thigh, his tattooed finger drawing delicate circles as he spoke. “Let me give you what you want” his voice was low and hummed a beautiful harmony. I’d imagined this scenario countless times ever since I first laid eyes on my Joost. He had no idea what I’d let him do to me.

“Just be gentle,” the sweet sound of your consent aroused Joost more than he ever could’ve imagined. He wrapped his other hand around the back of your neck and pulled you in inches from him. With his thumb he caressed your bottom lip, your breathing heavy and erratic against every move he made. “I wouldn’t be anything else for you” he uttered softly, his words dripping with reassurance before grabbing your face and placing a light kiss over your needy lips.

For me, this small kiss was a revelation. The taste of him, the feeling of a mans lips pressed against mine while his hands caressed my body, it was a rush of sensations I’ve never experienced before. He lightly pecked my lips once more before smashing hungrily into me, kissing and sucking. With his hands still cradling my face and his lips still glued to mine he urged me to lay down. I wrapped one arm around his neck, and one hand curled around his bicep beside my head as he ruthlessly attacked my lips a while longer.

Heavenly whimpers escaped both you and Joost, still being cautious not to wake anyone. Pulling away and seeing your lips so swollen and kiss-bitten made Joost so proud.

My body ached for him, “I can’t take much more of this” I whined as he left a trail of kisses down my neck. He lifted my shirt up over my head and continued down my stomach, his hands eagerly grabbing the sides of my waist and tits. He stopped at the edge of my pants, sat up and came to rest his back against the head of the bed. “Come here baby” he softly instructed me while patting the space in between his outstretched legs. He held me steady while I took up position, my close to bare back comfortably leaning into his chest, the difference in size apparent. His arms draped down to my thighs, his fingers never failing to caress every inch. Waves of comfort came with the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as he lowered his tongue to the nape of my neck, licking a long stripe up to my ear.

“Just relax,” he breathed, making the hairs on my neck stand straight. His hands ventured back to my pants, pulling them off with deliberate slowness, I lifted my hips to help and kicked them off the bed. “You’re so beautiful,” each word warm against my skin. His tantalizing hands resumed their careful journey as the cool air nipped against my newly exposed skin. I sucked in an audible breath as his fingers trailed up my inner thigh, “Is this okay?,” he said pausing just before my underwear to gauge my reaction. A weak nod was all I could muster up, I couldn’t resist slowly rocking my hips back and forth against him from the thrill of his touch. With my eyes closed tight I buried my face into Joost as the pad of his thumb brushed over the delicate fabric along my wet slit.

You squirmed into Joost ceaselessly, as he applied more and more pressure, unknowingly giving him a massage of his own through his pants. Your panties were becoming increasingly more damp, to the point where they clung to you leaving nothing to the imagination. Joost took this as a sign you were ready for more. You hadn’t opened your eyes since he started, your head was turned to the side, buried in his chest resulting in your neck being awfully exposed. A hot half moan escaped your lips in surprise as Joost’s mouth worked skillfully on your sensitive neck, his tongue flicking against your skin before he sucked ravenously, drawing out even more of those sweet, breathless sounds. At the same time he slipped his hand underneath the waistband of your underwear. You clung to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders and mouth wide open as he stroked your swollen clit and folds. You were involuntarily trembling and bucking against him as he fingered you to the edge. Every muscle inside your body was quivering aggressively. Deep tremors formed in your core and rippled outward. All composure was gone under his overwhelming touch.

My breaths came in heavy, uneven gasps. My chest rising and falling rapidly. I was completely at his mercy as his fingers worked me closer and closer. Every nerve in my body was aflame, my senses so desperately flooded by the delicious friction and heat of his touch. I was right there, teetering on the edge, ready to dive into the abyss of ecstasy he had created. Then his hands pulled away.

The abrupt halt left me gasping, my body trembling with unfulfilled need and anguish. My eyes flew open to meet his, “Joost, why would you stop?” He ignored my question and kissed me in compensation. “Not yet” was all he gave me. I kissed him open-mouthed and needy, my heart ponded in my chest, tension lingering in my aching body. With our lips still attached I wrapped a hand around the firm forearm draped around my waist and guided him back to down to the hot mess he had left me with. Desire still burning hotter than ever.

“You need me that bad baby,” his accent a seductive melody. “Please,” the desperation in my voice so evident- my cheeks burnt red. He gave no resistance to the tiny hand around his wrist, full of urgency and insistence. This time your eyes never left his, the intensity of longing clear to him. He found his hand back where you needed It most, your hips arched, silently begging for his touch. The moment his fingers made contact once again, a shudder ran through you, a suppressed moan released. “Don’t stop,” you commanded. You had a certain feralness to you the second time around, showing him exactly where and how you wanted him. Never letting go of the tightening grip around his wrist. Your body was pressed tightly into Joost’s, using him shamelessly like a toy. You needed him to finish what he had started, and you weren’t afraid to show him how much you wanted it. The reserved nature he knew you by was overcome by an insatiable desire. He pushed his tattooed fingers deep into your gushing entrance, frantically pumping in and out of you. “Fuckk,” tears spilled down your cheeks as you finally came.

Joost’s touch softened immediately, noticing you were overstimulated. You turned to your side still heightened with emotions and riding out the orgasm. With tender care Joost cradled you in his arms, running his hand through your hair, soothing you through the storm. “You’re okay.”

Nestled into the curve of his arms, you felt a soft blanket envelop you, and with a sigh of content you allowed yourself to surrender to sleep.

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(And he never even took any cloths off)

Also just realised I never actually stated she was a virgin

#joost klein fanfic #joost klein requests #joost klein x reader #joost x reader #joost klein smut #justice for joost #joost klein #europapa

419 notes · View notes

thewritingrowlet · 2 months

Text

The Grand Prize, ft. tripleS Yoon Seoyeon

tags: male reader, first time anal, creampie, anal creampie, raw

word count: 8k+, almost 9k

author's note: the smut in this story is split into two parts with some basketball plot in between. Hope you like it! :D

p.s. I slipped an inside joke made with @praeluxius' username, so prael if you see this <3

It is December, you’ve been dating Seoyeon for over 3 months now; it has been a very fun and healthy relationship even though you have been spending less time with her despite living together as your schedules don’t really match hers; you’ve been busy with the basketball team as its captain and year 3 classes while Seoyeon has found a new busyness with the student council— “I want to continue my student council career, oppa”, she had told you after the Freshers’ Week. Not many know about your relationship, apart from your teammates and some friends of hers, as you both have agreed to keep things to yourselves. Your teammates were surprised that you have a girlfriend considering how long you’d been single, while Seoyeon’s friends thought that it was crazy that she managed to steal the basketball team’s captain’s heart and started dating him so soon. Honestly, you still can’t believe the way life has been turning out recently, but you’re ecstatic to see what else might turn up for you and Seoyeon.

[🐶❤️| 17:08]

Oppa, I’m going home after this meeting

What about you?

Have you eaten btw? I can bring some sandwich if you want

She texts you as you’re getting ready for warmup. Might as well reply now since you won’t have the chance to for the next few hours, not forgetting to apologize since you’re probably coming home late.

[🏀| 17:09]

I have practice, luv, will come home late

No need to wait if you want to sleep first

I had some noodles earlier, should be enough

Seoyeon hates you for not eating enough, so you make sure to not skip meals especially on the days when you have practice. She’s even brought you some food to eat before practicing before, which was how your teammates found out you had a girlfriend. She also made you eat in front of her, refusing to leave before you finish the food and return the box to her to bring home. You’re thankful for her attention and god-tier cooking but this habit of yours is really hard to rid, “baby, I love your food but I’m just not hungry at the moment”, you’ve told her once, to which she responded by pouting and looking rejected.

[🐶❤️| 17:09]

Okay, oppa

See you at home

Don’t get hurt

Luv u much

Her texts, no matter how simple, always give you a boost of energy and motivation, and with that, you’re taking on practice with excitement.

It is now a few minutes to 9pm and your team is wrapping up tonight’s practice. You’ve been practicing seemingly tirelessly for a few hours and your limbs are on fire thanks to the different drills your team has been doing. Coach Park has been increasing the frequency and intensity of the practices as the university is aiming for a top 3 finish under your captaincy in the upcoming national tournament; “we believe that you can lead us deep into the playoffs, captain”, the dean told you on Monday before practice, putting expectant pressure on your shoulders. You don’t have to worry about motivating your teammates since everyone knows how prestigious this tournament is but as the captain, you’re the one with the heaviest burden; everyone (including your beloved Seoyeon) will be counting on you throughout the tournament. You promise Coach Park, your team, and yourself that you’re going to give this run everything you have: “it’s ours, guys, believe that”, you tell them as the closing words for tonight’s practice.

You call an Uber after showering because you don’t feel like walking to your apartment after that exhausting practice. A few minutes of Uber ride later, you’re now at the front door of your apartment. As you’re entering the password, you hear footsteps from the inside, most likely Seoyeon’s as she’s running to greet you at the door.

“Oppa, you’re home! Welcome home!”, she says, the excitement obvious in her voice. “Yes, baby, I’m home. Sorry for coming home so late”, you say as you hug her and kiss her head. She presses her face on your shoulder, hugging you tight, “I know you’ve been working hard for the team and I’m proud of you, oppa, but I also miss you so much. Can we have a date soon? Maybe in the next few days? I-I hope th-that’s not too selfish of me”. Your heart sinks at the realization: you’ve been so busy with class and basketball that you’ve forgotten to make time for your lovely girlfriend. “I’m so sorry, baby. I don’t have classes or practice tomorrow; what do you say we have a little date at home? I can try and cook for us”, you say to her, hoping for a chance to make it up to her. She then looks up to look at you, her eyes hopeful that you’ll come through with your promise. “Okay, oppa. I’ll get home as soon as I can tomorrow. I’m curious what you’ll cook for me”, and with that, your date is set; you’re going to create your parents-approved spicy honey grilled chicken and fried rice for her and (hopefully) blow her mind with it.

A new day has arrived, the morning sun is beaming at you through your windows, but your sunshine is still in dreamland; “Seoyeon, baby, wake up. You have classes, don’t you?”, you say softly to wake her up. “Ngh what time is it?”, she says while gathering her soul after her deep slumber. “It’s almost 8, baby. I’ll run the shower for you so sit still for a bit, okay?”, you peck her lips as you get off the bed to prepare the shower for her. When you return from the bathroom, you see her peeking at you from under the covers, “any spoilers for today, oppa?”, she asks you, the covers muffling her voice a bit. “Of course, sweetie, it’ll be sweet and spicy”, you tell her as you get into bed to kiss her; you’d like to think that a kiss in the morning is like kick-starting a person, and that’s definitely the case for Seoyeon. After showering, Seoyeon leaves for campus half-running to avoid being late; “see you later, oppa. Love you”, she says, before giving you a peck and running out the door.

The clock now shows 15 minutes to 3pm, you have just over 2 hours to prepare the dishes. You start by taking the chicken out of the fridge and making the sauce mix for the grilled chicken. After glazing it for the first time, you throw it on the grill and let it cook, brushing more sauce as it goes so that the flavors can really seep into the chicken. Once they’re done cooking, you put them to the side to free up the space to make fried rice. For the fried rice, you start by tossing in some of your mom’s pre-made seasoning base into the flaming hot wok. Once that’s nice and fragrant, you throw in some diced chicken and let it get cooked before you mix in some well-beaten eggs. You then add in some salt, sugar, MSG (is it really fried rice without MSG?), sweet soy sauce, and hot sauce to give the fried rice its flavors. With about 20 minutes to spare before Seoyeon gets home, you’re finally finished and decide to take a shower first.

“Oppa, I’m home—what is this smell? It smells crazy good!”, she says as she enters the apartment, heading straight to the dining table. “Welcome home, baby, how was your day? I made you some spicy honey grilled chicken and fried rice—all using the recipes my parents approve of”, you welcome her into a hug and peck her forehead. “My day has been great, oppa, and it’s only getting better. Thanks for the meal!”, she says, getting a chicken thigh and some fried rice. You take a seat at the table and dig in together, “you like it, love?”, “this is soooo goooood, oppa. Didn’t know you were this good at cooking, what happened?”, she says with a full mouth. “I’d like to think I’m decent at cooking. I came up with this grilled chicken recipe when I was in high school, I’m glad that you like it”. It is one of those moments where the food is so good, you can’t help but enjoy it in silence because you’re just blown away by the taste, so the both of you just shut up and keep eating until the end of the meal.

You two get ready for sleep after cleaning everything up. You see her put on one of your T-shirts and a pair of shorts— “guess I’m not getting lucky tonight”, you think to yourself. As if hearing your thoughts, she notifies you, “I’m on my period today, oppa. I’m sorry”. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, sweetie. I would be more concerned if weren’t having your periods”, you assure her as you pull her into the bed. “But-but I should reward you for the meal”, she says as she palms your crotch, making you hard instantly. “Baby, please, when did it become an effort-reward relationship, hm? There’s nothing I’m asking you to do other than to cuddle and sleep next to me. That’s not too selfish of me, is it?”, you say to her while pulling her into a hug even though your cock is rock hard and ready for some action. “You’re always so sweet, oppa. Thank you for being so kind to me all the time. Will you be okay, though?”, “you deserve the best of me all the time, sweetie, and yes I’ll be okay”.

The rest of the month went by rapidly for you. Your team has been spanking your opponents left and right, breezing past round of 32, round of 16, and quarterfinal before anyone realized what had happened. “Alright, men. I know we’ve been dominating our opponents so far, but it’s only getting harder from this point onwards. We need to be in the right mindset and condition for it”, Coach Park said in the locker room after the quarterfinal. “Since the semifinal is on Saturday, I’ll see you all on Thursday for practice and we’ll rest on Friday. We’re going to practice some designed and after-timeout plays”, the coach continued.

The coach came through with his words: your team has been spending the last 2,5 hours running various plays designed for different players, including yourself. Coach Lee, one of the assistant coaches, has personally put together a handful of mid- and long-range scoring plays to create as many opportunities as possible for you. You’re worried that maybe the upcoming opponent has picked up all the tendencies that your team has—such as going through you heavily to score—but you can only hope that things will work as planned.

Saturday morning, it is. You wake up at around the usual time, while Seoyeon is still sound asleep. You didn’t do anything much last night since you were absolutely drained from Thursday’s practice. You look at the sleeping beauty: she seems to be in peace at the moment, sleeping oh-so-cutely on her side of the bed while being covered with a blanket up to her neck. After giving her a peck on the forehead, you get off the bed and head to the bathroom to take a shower. Your team don’t need to travel too much today since the stadium for semifinal and final is only 15 minutes away from campus, so you’re not running as tight on schedule as for the previous games. When you get out of the shower, Seoyeon is already awake. She’s leaning against the headboard while scrolling mindlessly through her phone. “Mmh? Good morning, oppa”, she says when she sees you, arms reaching out for a hug. “Good morning, baby. Are you going to watch the game today?”, you ask her while hugging her and showering her with pecks. “I am, oppa. I’ll be sitting pretty close to the court, so look at me every now and then, okay? Good luck, captain. I love you”, she says to you as she pulls out of the hug.

Here you are, just under 3 minutes, says the countdown timer on that big ass TV in front of you, before the semifinal starts. You can hear the crowd’s excitement from deep in the tunnel, ready to support their favorite team in the upcoming game. You take a deep breath to calm yourself and focus up. Turn to your team, time to fire them up: “let’s go, boys, we’re so close now. Let’s win this, alright? Win on 3: 1, 2, 3!”. After firing them up, a match committee personnel gives you a flag in the university color with the logo in the center of it, “this is new”, you think. As you take the flag from him, the arena announcer is yelling the team names and gets replied with loud noises from the crowd. Before you walk out, you make sure you look as cool as possible by leaning the flagpole against your right shoulder and putting on a cold face. Once the guy gives you the signal to go in, your team and the other start walking out to the court. You stand in the center of the 5 starters of your team, right under the rim. Before the ceremony ends, you want to look for Seoyeon so you can find her easier during the game, “you see my girlfriend, bro?”, you whisper to your teammate next to you. “Hmm let’s see—oh, behind the other team’s bench, I think. Is that her?”, he points to show you, so you look closely at the area he’s pointing at; and there she is, wearing one of your old jerseys that she probably found in the wardrobe. You give her a little out-of-character wink to acknowledge her presence and she winks back so cutely, making your heart rate jump.

After the first quarter of the game, it becomes obvious that the opposing team is more organized in terms of defending and adjusting to your team’s offense. You’ve been decent, though, putting up 9 points of your team’s 22 through the first quarter. Coach Lee tells you that you shouldn’t be too fazed by their defense since they’re going to get more lenient as the game goes on due to exhaustion from defending so intensely.

Another 10 minutes of playing have finished and now you’re in the locker room to have more conversations on how to adjust to the current state of the game. True enough, they’ve gotten more laid back with their defense, letting you take 4 shots, which you made 3 of, from the 3-pt area. However, they’ve also gotten hotter with their shot making, trailing by less than 8 points the whole quarter. The plan for Q3, Coach Park says, is for you to be more active on defense, especially around the perimeter, and play a more relaxed role on offense since you’ve got a bunch of points in the bag already.

Since you’re starting Q3 from the bench, you have some time to catch up with Seoyeon who’s now on your side of the court. You look up to say hi and get some motivation from her. “Oppa, you’re so good! They’ve let you score so many times this game, oppa!”, she says, the excitement and fascination flowing out of her lips freely with every word said. “I’m just following the plan the coaches have set up, love. I’ll be playing less intensely on offense, though. I’ll show you what defense is”, you tell her, your confidence through the roof. With less than 4 minutes left in the quarter, Coach Park subs you into the game— “great job, man”, you tell your teammate as he’s coming to the sideline, “shut these guys down, man”, your teammate says before grabbing a towel and sitting down. So, you do just that; you chase your assignments around the court on man-to-man defense, diligently switching back and forth with your teammates to prevent unfavorable matchups. Before you know it, the buzzer sounds, indicating the end of the 3rd quarter.

It is now the 4th quarter, the last 10 minutes of playing to secure a top 2 finish. Your team has an okay-ish lead of 10 entering the last quarter. The plan is to widen the gap by shutting down the opponent on defense while looking for easy scores on the other end, taking advantage of the fact that they’re tired despite being tired yourselves. You try your best to not look at Seoyeon this quarter so that her cheering doesn’t distract you from doing your job in the dying embers of the game. Your plan doesn’t last too long, though, as you scream in her general direction after forcing a turnover. You see her jumping up and down as she cheers for you, looking as fired up as you are about the defensive play. With this comfortable lead, it’s only a matter of time until the game ends and you’re sent to the final stage, fighting for fame and glory one last time this year. True enough, the final buzzer sounds loudly, and with it, the crowd’s emotions are divided; those who root for your team are screaming in joy, while the others are on their knees following the loss. “Hey, man. You did well, I’m sorry that it had to end like this. Let’s get on our feet, eh?”, you say to an opponent, pulling him up to his feet and hugging him—the feeling of losing while being so close to the goal is all too familiar to you.

After exchanging some motivations and talking to some people, it’s time to head into the locker room. Before you do, though, you look at Seoyeon who’s smiling and clapping her hands. She gives you a seductive wink and a lip bite while putting a hand over her crotch, mouthing “I’m yours tonight” to you. You can’t afford to get a boner right now, so you look away as soon as she’s done signaling to you and head into the locker room to celebrate the win and talk to the coaches.

You arrive at your apartment after taking a shower and chatting with a bunch of people about preparing for the final game. As you enter the bedroom, you see Seoyeon sitting on the edge of the bed, her body wrapped in a bath robe, “hi, oppa, welcome home. Did you catch what I said before you head into the tunnel?”, she asks, her hands getting ready to take the robe off. “I think I did”, you say before whispering in her ear, “you said you’re mine tonight, didn’t you?”, your deep voice sending shivers down her spine. “That is correct, oppa, so—", she says as she takes off the robe and kneels in front of you, “—do what you wish to me”, she adds, her mouth open and ready to take your shaft. You immediately drop everything you’re carrying on the floor along with your sweatpants and boxers and plunge deep into the warmth that is her mouth. She gags loudly and closes her eyes as she feels your tip hit the back of her throat. You lift her chin to look into her eyes; they tell you that she is so deep in the sea of lust, she might as well start drowning. You start thrusting in and out of her mouth, forcing her to take you deep into her mouth and making her gag every time. You want to turn it up a notch, though, “I want to try something else”, you say to her as you lie her on the bed, her head hanging off the edge, “You know where this is going, baby. Open”, you tell her before thrusting into her from a different position. You can’t help but let out groans and deep moans as you stuff her throat with your cock while playing with her tits. One last time before pulling out, you stick your cock deep in her throat and hold it there for a few seconds, making a mess of Seoyeon’s face as spit gets all over her face. Soon, you feel Seoyeon smack your thigh repeatedly, hoping that you’ll pull out and let her breathe. So you do just that, and she immediately gasps for air, “oh shit, oppa. I thought you were going to knock me out with your cock, fuck”, she says. “No, but I’ll be rough tonight. You know the safe word; say it if you want to stop”, you say, notifying her of your intent.

You tell her to move up in the bed, “you want me to wear a condom or no?”, you ask Seoyeon, who now has her head on the pillow while lying on her back. “Oppa isn’t talking as sweetly and softly as usual, I hope it means that he’s enjoying this”, she thinks to herself, “umm, yes, please”, she replies. You’re never one to do something to a girl without her consent, so you put on a condom before climbing into bed with her. You then get between her legs and fold them over her torso, “hold your legs for me”, you say sternly while aiming your length at her entrance. Unsurprisingly, she obeys right away; she holds her legs over her body by wrapping her forearms under her knees. Just as you’re about to push in, she fuels your fire, “give it to me, oppa, make me take it”. After being shown the green light, you push your cock into her tight hole, making her scream instantly. “Yes, yes, yes, fuck me, oppa”, she eggs you on. You put a hand on her neck and start squeezing it, and you feel her pussy get tighter around your cock, “oh, you like this, you slut? Fuck, so tight”, you say, attempting some dirty talk while thrusting roughly; you hope she doesn’t mind being called that out of nowhere. “Fu—oppa, please, ughhh”, she tries to say with the last bit of air in her chest, as a tear starts running down her face and her hands try to loosen your grip on her neck.

Feeling like you’re about to cross the line, you let go of her neck and pull out so that you two can catch some breaths. You see your hand leave a red mark on her neck, as she breathes with her mouth to get as much air into her lungs as possible. “Baby, you okay? That was too rough, right? I’m sorry”, you say, your mind no longer possessed by your cock. “Hah, hah—I’m-I’m fine—fuck. You were so rough, oppa. Didn’t know you had it in you like that”, she says, her eyes glassy from unreleased tears. “Do you want to stop, baby? Say the safe word, maybe?”, you ask to make sure that you still have her consent. “No, o-one more time. I’m so close, take me across the line, oppa”, she says, while grabbing her legs and folding it like earlier. “Let go of your legs, baby. You must be tired”, you say, while going in for a kiss. When you pull away, you see her put on a loving smile, “yes, baby?”, you ask her, not quite catching her signal. “I love you, oppa, so damn much. Now— “, she says while rolling onto her stomach, “—take me again, like this. You can be rough again if you want to”. “Okay, baby. Don’t forget that you can say the safe word”, you say, as you ride her thighs to fuck her from behind.

You plunge deep into her instantly, making her scream into the pillow. You like this angle as it makes Seoyeon feel tighter for you; “fuck, baby, you’re tighter like this”, you say with a deep groan. “Oh, oh, yes, I’m always tight for you, oppa”, she replies, her voice muffled by the pillow, moaning with every thrust you’re giving her. As you’re thrusting deep and fast, you see Seoyeon’s forbidden hole every now and then, peeking at you from behind her cheeks. You want to stimulate her more to get her closer to her orgasm, so you take your thumb and rub her small hole with it, making her gasp in surprise and turn her head to look at you. “Oppa, please, not there, please, please, please”, she says, panicking at the thought that you’re going to put something in her ass. You respond by grabbing a handful of her hair and pulling it, making her arch her back, “you’re mine, aren’t you? Have you forgot, you little slut? You’re entirely mine”, you whisper aggresively in her ear, getting rougher with your thrusts. “I—fuck, fuck, fuck—I’m cumming!”, she exclaims with a loud scream—you’re lowkey worried that a neighbor might call the cops on you considering how loud she’s screaming. “Cum, you slut, cum all over this cock”, you reply to her, not letting up the thrusts. You finally pull out when you feel her juice pushing you out, her legs shaking due to the hard orgasm. “Good job cumming, baby. I’ll get some water then it’s time to chase mine, okay?”, you tell her while petting the back of the panting girl softly before leaving to get some water.

When you return with some water for the both of you, you see Seoyeon still laying on her stomach while looking at you, seemingly sad about something; “oppa, you weren’t really trying to get in that hole, were you?”, she asks, referring to your stimulation on her asshole, “i-is my pussy not good enough, oppa? Bu-but you were my first—ah, I’m so sorry, oppa. I-I’ll do better next time”, she continues, tears gathering in her eyes. Your heart shatters at her words; you only meant it as a stimulation to get her closer to her orgasm, not to point out that something’s lacking—"tell her otherwise, now”, your heart screams at you. “Oh, love, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it like that, I was just trying to get you to your orgasm quicker. It is true that I was your first, and I’m forever honored and grateful for that. You’ve been the best girlfriend for me, so there’s no need to worry about being lacking, baby”, you tell her before pulling her into a hug and carrying her to the bathroom. “Let’s get cleaned up, alright? I think we’ve had enough tonight”. “Bu-but you haven’t cum yet, oppa. Plea-please let me down, let-let me finish the job”, she says to you half begging. “It’s fine, baby, I’ll manage. Let me take care of you, okay? I went so rough on you, I’m sorry”, you say to her as you open the bathroom door. “Can you stand up on your own, sweetie? Do you need a stool?”, you ask her before putting her down. “A stool, please, oppa. My legs are like jelly right now”, she replies to you, drawing a prideful smile on your face.

After setting the stool down and making her sit on it, you turn on the shower and start cleaning her up. You start by rubbing her nape and back with some soap before lifting her butt up so you can clean her cheeks. You then rinse the soap off her back and move in front of her to continue. When you get in front of her, you kneel and put a hand on her knee, “How are we feeling, sweetie?”, you ask her to gauge her emotions. She looks down at herself before looking at you, “oppa, you love me, right? You won’t leave me just because I didn’t let you in my ass, right? Please tell me you love me. Please, oppa”, she asks, her voice trembling from sadness. She needs assurance and comfort right now, and you’re ready to give her whatever she needs to make her feel better. “I love you, baby. Please believe me when I say that I’m not going to force you into anal until you’re ready, whenever that may be. Even if you end up never feeling ready for it, I’ll still love you with all my life; there’s no doubt in my mind about it”, you tell her with all the sincerity you can muster. “Please don’t feel burdened by any of it, baby. I won’t leave you, no matter what happens tonight”, you tell her while hugging her tightly, your promise true and sincere as ever. When you finally pull away, you see a small smile drawn on her face, “feeling better, love? Let’s finish this and then go to sleep, okay?”, to which she nods enthusiastically, straightening her back to give you access to clean her front.

Now that the shower has finished, you give her one of your jerseys to wear to sleep—the length enough to cover your little girlfriend down to her thighs—before putting her down on the bed. You wrap her in your arms while she tucks her head on your neck; “oppa”, she begins, “congrats on making it to the final”, she says. Surprised to hear her bring it up out of nowhere, you let out a chuckle, “it’s all thanks to you, sweetie; thank you for cheering me on, baby”, you reply. You can’t see her face, but you know she’s blushing right now. “Promise me that you’ll win, oppa. I, uh, may or may not have a present prepared for you—but only if you win”, she continues. “Present, hey? I like the sound of that. I’ll try my hardest, baby”, you say, feeling motivated by the promise of getting a present.

It’s been a few days since the semifinal and that night where Seoyeon tried being a subby baby for you—she chickened out when you teased her asshole, though, blue-balling you in the end. The grand final is right around the corner and you’ve spent the last few of days preparing for the last dance. You’re nervous out of your mind at the prospect of playing in the grand final, unconsciously speaking less day in and day out. Seoyeon notices this and tries to help you ease your mind as much as she can, being the angel of a girlfriend that she is, even when you forget to thank her—basketball is taking the entire space in your head right now.

After going through the past 2 days mindlessly, it’s now Saturday morning again, 12 hours before the final game of the season. You woke up not-too-smoothly, letting out a panic gasp as you felt your soul get shoved back into your body. You panic even more when you can’t find Seoyeon in bed, so you immediately jump off the bed and run out of the bedroom. After doing so, you hear sizzling coming from the kitchen— “is that Seoyeon?”, you think to yourself. When you go to the kitchen to investigate, you see Seoyeon in front of the stove, busy doing something. “Good morning, oppa! I’m making some steamed eggs for breakfast”, she says cheerfully when she sees you. Relief fills your head right away, so you hug her from behind without saying anything and rest your forehead on her head, “I panicked when I couldn’t find you in bed”, you mumble into the back of her head. “Sorry, oppa. Just wanted to make you some breakfast to cheer you up before tonight”, she says to you. You keep hugging her until she notifies you that she’s done cooking and asking you to sit at the table.

“My mom taught me how to make this, oppa. Hope you like it”, she says wishfully. You’re so captivated by the steaming pot of steamed eggs in front of you that you almost forget to thank the person behind it. “Ah, almost forgot—thank you, baby. You’ve been so kind to me these past few days—months, really. I’ll take you on a date after this is all done, okay?”, you say to her. Seoyeon can’t help but blush at your words, “oh-oh, I was just trying to help you, oppa. You-you’ve also been so kind to me”, she says before covering her face with her hands—you find it adorable that she still gets shy with you despite having been dating for a few months. “Thank you for the meal!”, you exclaim excitedly before sticking a spoon into the pot. You let out a satisfied groan after the first spoonful; it is so soft and well-seasoned, absolutely astonishing. “This is amazing, baby. Thank you so much”. “I’m glad you like it, oppa. I was so nervous if I made it wrong”, she replies.

After finishing the meal, you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom while Seoyeon washes the dishes. You then open the wardrobe to get some clothes and the jersey for tonight. As you dig through your part of the wardrobe, you find a piece of paper folded in half lying on top of your jersey. With a curious mind, you open it; “Oppa, this is Seoyeon—obviously”, the first line says, “I know you’ve been stressed out about the grand final, but I want to remind you that you’ll always be my number one regardless of the result tonight. Love you always, captain. Signed, your Seoyeon”, the rest of the letter says, her signature drawn on the bottom. As you finish reading it, you see Seoyeon enter the bedroom, “oh you found it already, guess I didn’t hide it well enough”, she says while smirking, pointing to the piece of paper on your hand. You can’t believe how lucky you are to be in love with such a sweet girl, so you can’t help but fall on your knees wordlessly. Surprised by the sight in front of her, Seoyeon rushes to you, “oppa, are you okay? Are you sick?”, she asks in panic, hugging you and putting a palm on your forehead. “Seoyeon, I.. I love you so much. Thank you for everything”, you say while looking deeply into her eyes. Seoyeon hugs you tightly after hearing your words, “no, thank you. I love you so much too. Go win this for me, okay? Fighting, captain”, she says to you.

It's only a few minutes before the grand final starts. You find yourself in the darkness of the tunnel again. “You’ll always be my number one”, Seoyeon’s words are repeating endlessly in your head. Your thoughts are cut short when you see the same guy and the flag from before make another appearance; “for you, captain”, the guy says. You grab the flag from him and put it against your shoulder like before. Unlike last time, though, everyone’s wearing a jacket now. Everyone wears it normally while you wear yours like a cape, making the name of the university clear for everyone to see. The guy gives you the signal to enter and start the pre-match pleasantries which you’re not paying attention to, your mind locked in for the game itself—you do hear the crowd cheer when the announcer says your name, though, so that’s nice.

The first half was hard; your team were trading points and exchanging leads back and forth with the opponents. During the break, Coach Park was putting more emphasis on steadying the game and scoring consistently in the second half while being tight on defense. Before heading back out, Coach Lee pulls you to the side; “we need you to score from deep, son. They’ve been covering you loosely this game, you must take advantage of that”, he tells you, to which you reply by nodding your head in acknowledgment.

True enough, they’re allowing you to have more space on the floor as you’re able to have uninterrupted looks to shoot every few possessions. As instructed by Coach Lee, you take advantage of it as much as you can, making 4 out of 5 shots from long range. Your team is now leading by 8, the largest in the game so far. Feeling uncomfortable, the opponent’s coach calls a timeout, sending both teams to the bench to talk. After the timeout, Coach Park decides to sit you on the bench for the rest of the quarter, giving you some time to catch up with your girl, who’s sitting in the same seat as last time. “Oppa, what are we thinking?”, she asks you. “We’re trying to keep this lead, baby. Pray for us, okay?”, you say to her, making it as simple as possible for her to understand.

3rd quarter ends with your team leading by 4; not big enough a lead to be comfortable, but you’ll have to make do with what you have. “10 more minutes, guys, come on”, you tell your teammates during the huddle, “let’s win this shit”, you add at the end. The approach now is to be intense on defense, forcing hard matchups and turnovers to turn into easy fastbreaks on the other end of the court. You’ve been taking a few elbows to your body throughout the game, hurting you little by little; “that’s basketball for you, just man up”, your brain says.

After forcing another turnover and turning it into an easy bucket, the opponent calls their last timeout with 1 minute left in the game. Coach Lee takes the floor this time, “we’re almost there, boys. Hang on for 1 minute and you’ll win it. Let’s go”, he says, before explaining some defensive schemes for the last minute of the game. The huddles break when the horn sounds, notifying both teams to get back on the floor with 1 minute left.

The opponents have the ball coming from the timeout. The guard is bringing the ball up the court while making a horn sign with his fingers. Everyone knows what to do, so each of you gets ready to react to the play. Unfortunately, despite having prepared to defend such play, they still manage to score 2 points off an offensive rebound following a miss, cutting the lead down to 2. After getting the inbound, you start bringing the ball to the other side with less than seconds left on the clock, calling for the circle play as an attempt to put this game to bed by scoring from deep in crunch time. You pass the ball to a teammate before cutting inside and circling outside the 3-pt line again—hence the “circle”—while another teammate sets a screen for you, leaving you wide open to shoot. As you shoot, adrenaline slows down the time, making it feel like it takes the ball forever to fly through the air and into the hoop. After keeping your eyes on the ball the whole time, you finally see the ball go cleanly through the basket, hitting nothing but nylon. With it, the crowd roars as you’ve grown the lead to 5 with almost no time for retaliation. After getting back on defense one last time, you hear the final buzzer roar through the arena— “is it done? Did we win?”, your brain wonders. As if hearing your thoughts, a teammate hugs you, “yo we win, man, we win. Can you believe that? We win!”, he says, screaming at you. After him, your other teammates start piling up on you one by one; “ah yes, we did win”, your brain confirms.

After exchanging emotions with everyone, you’re now left alone in the court. You find yourself on your knees trying to process everything that has happened, your emotions still at bay. Shortly after, you look up to find Seoyeon, immediately spotting her. She’s bawling her eyes out while having her fists in the air. You run up to her so you two can share this moment. You hold out your arms and she fills it right away, “oppa, you did it, you won!”, she says, her voice shaky from the emotions. “Yes, we did, sweetie. We won, and it’s all thanks to you”, you reply to her as tears start running down your face. After hugging for a few seconds, you pull away from her, “I’m going to the locker room, see you at home, love”, you tell her. “Don’t forget, oppa, I have a present for you, a huge one”, she replies to you, a mischievous smile drawn on her face.

You ended up spending an hour celebrating with the team and a bunch of professors who attended the game. You’re now in the Uber heading home, all refreshed and cleaned up after showering. You’re excited at the prospect of getting a present from your beloved—not long to go until you reach your apartment. As soon as you arrive at the door, you enter the passcode— “huh, no sound from Seoyeon”, you think to yourself. “Seoyeon, are you home, baby?”, you say loudly as you try to find her. “In here, oppa”, you hear her say behind the closed bedroom door.

After putting down your stuff, you knock on the door and enter the bedroom. You’re met with Seoyeon, who has her bathrobe on like last time, making your heart rate jump through the roof with excitement. “Congrats on winning the tournament, oppa”, she starts, “and with it, you’ve won the grand prize”. “Thank you, baby, and what’s this grand prize you’re talking about?”, you ask, ready to get lucky. “Your prize—“, she says while taking a few steps back and taking off her robe, revealing a very sexy black lingerie, “—is me”. Your cock hardens instantly at her words, “oh, really?”, you reply to her, your head full of lust— “when did she buy that?”, your brain asks. “Yes, oppa—or should I say, daddy”, she says while getting on her knees, “I’m entirely yours, daddy. Do what you want to me”. You walk up and kneel on one knee in front of her, getting on her eye level, “Safe word?”, you ask. “Same as always, but I don’t plan on using it tonight. Let me please you, daddy—use me”, she says, not folding to your deep gaze. You stand back up again to free your cock from its constraints, and that’s when she adds fuel to your fire, “All yours, daddy, including my ass”. Surprised to hear her offer her ass to you, you look at her, “I hope you’re sure because I’m not asking again”, you warn her. “I’ve given you my cherry, might as well give you the other one”, her reply stuns you. “Get on the bed like last time”, you command her.

Once she’s in position—her head hanging off the edge while the rest of her body is in bed—put your cock into her mouth. You see her chest go up and down with every thrust, trying to stay calm as your cock is lodged in her airway. Naughty as you are, you palm her neck with one hand. You feel her throat bulging every time you push deep into her mouth. This, however, makes her lose control and start gagging loudly. “Oh shit, I’m getting close”, you groan and she lets out a muffled whine as a reply. You pick up your pace, planning to cum in her moist mouth. A few thrusts later, you feel your cock twitch: a signal that you’re cumming. Trying to show her some mercy, you pull your shaft out but leave the tip in. “Fuck!”, you say as you cum in her mouth and make her choke on your cum. She waits for you to finish spurting your baby batter before tapping your thighs, asking for you to pull out. Once you do, you see that spit has run down her face. “Show me”, she opens her mouth filled with cum, “so?”, you ask. She puts her doubts aside and swallows it, earning a chuckle from you. “You’re such a good girl, aren’t you? Move up, get comfortable”, you say as you help her move up the bed, “I’m your good girl, daddy. I’ll do anything for you”, she says.

You walk over to the bedside table to grab a condom. Seoyeon sees this, and she rushes to you and holds your arm, “what is it?”, “fuck me raw, daddy—breed me”, she says with lustful gaze. Your cock gets hard quickly at her words, “careful with what you wish for, slut”, you say while holding her by the chin and she replies by smirking seductively. “Get on your hands and knees, now”, you say impatiently.

You kneel behind Seoyeon and stick your cock deep into her pussy, making her moan at the first penetration. “You want daddy’s cum? You think you deserve it?”, you say with a hoarse voice while aggressively thrusting into her. “Daddy—oh, I—ah, fuck—I’m your good girl—fuck—please give me your cum”, she says while moaning and cursing out loud. Not one to deny such request, you push her down so that only her ass is in the air. “As you wish, slut”, and with it, you start picking up your pace: giving it to her deep and fast, making her grip the sheets tightly while screaming into the pillow. “Oh God, you’re stretching me, daddy—fuck!—keep going, please. Breed me, please!”, she begs you. “Zip it, slut—fuck, how are you still so tight after all this time?”, you say before pressing her head into the pillow. “I’m not too far away now”, you announce, while Seoyeon is still screaming into the pillow, “I’ll need to give her a lot of water after this”, you say to yourself, making a mental note. “Fuck, I’m cumming. Cum with me, baby”, you say, breaking your dominant character before thrusting one last time and leaving your cock stuck deep in her pussy, filling her second hole with baby batter. You notice that she’s also having her orgasm as shown by her shaking legs and thighs. You pull out after the both of you have come down from your high; your cock is now shining thanks to her slick.

She’s laying on her stomach limply while you leave to get water. “Drink, baby. You’ve been screaming a lot”, you say to her sweetly while putting the glass close to her mouth, letting her sip some water. “Thank you, daddy. You’re so sweet”, she says with a grateful smile on her face. “So, what now?”, you ask her, hoping that she’ll keep her promise from earlier. “Fuck my ass, daddy. Take my last cherry and make me yours entirely. I’ve prepared the lube, it’s in the bottom drawer”, she says to you, her eyes full of lust again, ready to give you her last virginity.

You walk away from her and open the bottom drawer, and would you look at that: a sealed bottle of Prael Gel lube. “When did you buy this?”, you ask her. “Wouldn’t you like to know”, she says before chuckling, “do it, daddy—I’m begging you”. After slathering lube all over your cock, you get into the bed again, “how do you want me?”, she says as she gets ready to get into position. “Just lay on your stomach and spread these cheeks for me”, you tell her, spanking both cheeks and making them red. “As you wish, daddy”, she says while her hands are spreading her cheeks, letting you see the forbidden hole.

You get on top of her and set your knees on either side of her thighs. You slowly move forward until your tip reaches her rear entrance. Seoyeon gasps and turns her head to look at you, “slowly, daddy, please—be gentle with your slut, it’s her first time”, she says to you, “did she just call herself a slut?”, you think. You just give her a nod while pushing into her ass—her muscles are not letting you in, “relax, baby, let me in”, you say to her. You’re not entirely sure if she actually relaxes as you keep pushing forward and forcefully break in into her ass. You finally get past her sphincter, stretching her asshole and molding it into the shape of your cock. “Fuck, daddy, you’re so big! Please be gentle, please, please—God, fuck—it’s-it’s my first time, daddy—AHHHH!”, her screams muffled by the pillow but still loud enough to reach your ears.

Once you’re in, you start giving her deep but slow thrusts and let her asshole adapt to the large shaft lodged in it, “my God you’re so tight—fucking hell”, you exclaim while her anal muscles are squeezing your cock. “Alwa-always am, for you—oh my God, fuck!”, she screams into the pillow again when you reach the deepest point, “you’re going to ruin me, daddy—please ruin me, I’m nothing without you”, she says, making the fire in you rage wildly. “I’m going faster, keep squeezing my cock”, you say to her. Seeing her press her head into the pillow serves as a green light to you, so you start going faster while still hitting the deepest spot in her ass. “God I’m gonna cum again”, you groan as you’re inching closer to your third orgasm tonight.

Not wanting to leave her behind, you lift her ass up into the air again and begin rubbing her clit. “Cum with me or I’m tying you to the bed”, you whisper in her ear. Upon hearing your command, she replies, “oh, oh, daddy, please let me cum with you—AHHHHH PLEAAASE”. The way her asshole squeezes your cock is foreign to you, so you can’t help but let out deep groans of your own. After thrusting in and out about a few dozen times while her moans and whines fuel your lust, the familiar feeling of reaching ejaculation is creeping up on you. You rub her clit faster to get her to cum with you while you keep fucking her ass. “Seoyeon, I’m cumming, take it all!”, “DADDY PLEASE”, she screams in return, and with it, you’re releasing in her ass while she squirts for the first time.

Despite feeling weak in the core and wanting to fall over, you pull out of her ass, being shown the gape your cock has made of her ass. Seoyeon is not making any sound right now, so you hope that she’s just drained and still fine. You peck her on the back of the head before going to the bathroom to start the shower.

After making sure that everything is set in the bathroom, you go back to the bedroom and touch her back, “no, no, daddy. Pochacco, please—fuck—I can’t take it anymore, please, I’m begging you”, she says while panicking, saying her safe word for good measure. “Hey, hey, calm down, baby. We’re done for tonight. There’s nothing to worry about, okay?”, you soothe her while petting her head softly. “Let me take care of you, alright? The shower is ready”, you say to her before carrying her to the bathroom.

You sit her down on the stool since you figure that she won’t be able to stand up on her own after getting wrecked in all 3 holes. You start cleaning her back as usual before kneeling in front of her. “Oppa, did you like it? I-I hope I did well”, she says. “Baby, it was amazing and you did excellent. Thank you so much”, you say before going in for a kiss. “I thought my ass was on fire, oppa—“, she says after pulling away, so you hug her as a gesture of apology, “—but I think I liked it, you felt much bigger in my ass”. “Are you saying we should do it again? I think it was amazing”, you ask with hopefulness in your voice. “O-oh, yeah, sure”, she says before looking away, subtle pink tint on her cheeks.

You two get back into the bed after showering to start cuddling. You’re half-mindedly petting her head that’s currently tucked against your chest, inching closer to sleep before your brain reminds you of something. “Hey, baby, what happened? I thought you weren’t ready for anal?”, you ask her. “Ahh, oppa”, she whines cutely and slaps your chest lightly, “a friend told me that she had just given her anal cherry to her boyfriend as a birthday present, an-and I figured that maybe I could do that as well should you win the tournament”, she continues. “I must say that you’re crazy but I’m also thankful”, you say before kissing her head, “but where did the daddy kink come from?”, you follow up. Before saying anything, she pulls away from the cuddle and gets on top of you, “I.. want to be yours, like yours yours, you know?”, she says before looking away from your deep gaze, “I figured that I could be your subby baby and let you do whatever to me to prove my sincerity”. You’re absolutely stunned by her answer, “you know you didn’t need to do all that, right? You know I love you”, you say to her. “Yes, yes, you always say that you love me, but I still want to do it. Please, oppa, accept me”, she says. You pull her down and hug her tightly, “of course, baby. I love you so much, okay?”, you then whisper in her ear, getting back into the dominant character, “you’re mine from now on, and you’ll do whatever I ask you to, you understand?”. “Yes, daddy. From now on, I’m your slut”, she replies, her voice laced with submission to you. Satisfied with her answer, you wrap her in your arms once again and take her to the dreamland while the gears in your head start spinning, trying to come up with things to do to her in the future.

#girl group smut

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jockfootstories · 9 months

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Being convinced by your best friend to do whatever he said after losing the bet, a game the HS seniors went back and forth on, you saw him look over at his older college bro sitting behind the both of you, then glanced back at you, and said,”Your face has to be Jordan’s footrest for the duration of the next game.”

You looked at the huge bare feet of the college sophomore, home on break, and back at your friend saying,” What… no way!”

“Yes way. Lay down there and be his foot stool,” your friend replied smiling.

You looked over at Jordan, who raised one foot up, beckoning you to get down. Clearly being told before hand by his younger brother his plan and his college bro totally going along with it. Or so you figured. Seeing no way out this bet, you slowly get down on the floor, and scootch your face under the raised soles hovering above. You could detect a light, vinegary smell to them as the large, bare soles lowered themselves down as you. The peachy soles consumed your face, putting you in darkness, feeling their softness press into your cheeks. You heard the game announcer say oddball and you grunted at this as it could draw out to 15 minutes. One foot tilted over, now covering the middle of itself over your nose. You breathed in, the slight aroma filling your nostrils. “Like smelling those big feet footrest?,” you heard your friend jeer.

“I hate you,” you mumble into the padded sole. You feel the pressure as the college foot smears against your nose, rubbing the smell in with Jordan teasing,”Sniff it in.” You groan and move your face against the padded bottom. A few minutes pass before Jordan tilts his foot from your nose to the side, giving you a chance to breathe fresh air. You gulp it in and see the jock just casually staring down at you…amused. He smiles and tilts his other foot over, covering your nostrils with it.

“Nooo…mmmphhhfff,” you get out before taking a breathe in.

“Smell it,” you hear him say from above. You groan, trying to move your face out from under it. The large foot counters your movement, keeping itself firmly in your face despite your attempts. You hear your friend snicker and say,”How are those feet foot rest? Like it under there?”

“No… stink,” you reply before managing to get your face out from under the giant foot for a second. Jordan swiftly clamps his toes over your nostrils and squeezes. You grunt as you feel them flex and rub over your nose… a new wave of odor filling your lungs. You sniff in deeply. You make some attempts to dodge the oncoming toes but he keep’s your nose under their control easily. Seeing you groan and make feeble attempts below him, he casually grins down at you as he watches. “Sniff between them.” You do, before finally giving in, and submitting during the final third round of the game. In an act of pure dominance, Jordan repositions one meaty foot directly on your face before crossing the other one over it. Your nose sinks into the middle as you lay there looking defeated. You hear your friend’s mom call him into the kitchen and sense him get up. “Don’t move,” you hear him order,”the match is nearly over.”

Jordan nudges your face some and asks,”Like it down there?” You slowly shake your face ’no’ against the bottom. The foot rubs briefly on your face before the jock smothers you under the darkness of both soles. “Mmmm-hmmm,” he replies disagreeing. “Yah you do,” he teases and begins wiping them on your face. You feel a pressure on your stomach and grunt as your friend uses you as part of the floor upon coming back. “Ok, the match is over,” he says and the massive bare feet slide off your face. “Like being my bro’s personal footrest?,” you barely hear him say. You manage to boost yourself up on your elbows, feeling exhausted, and croak out,”Uhh no. I’m never taking that bet again unless it’s you losing and getting the same treatment.”

“Want a one on one, loser get’s the treatment again?,” your friend challenges. “You’ve beat me loads of times, it would be even match.”

You consider it for a moment and take the bet. You watch your friend set up the match and feel the ankle of one foot rest on top of your shoulder. You feel Jordan wag it some, the side of his foot tapping the side of your cheek. You know what happens if you lose but briefly consider throwing the match to become the ‘footrest’ again.

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dropsofletters · 6 months

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what's up, mr. hollywood?

—SUMMARY: if someone hasn’t heard about jeon wonwoo, they must be living under a rock. one of the grandest stars in hollywood, face to rom-coms and thrillers, shows the spectrum of a real celebrity. though, that is ruined when a bitter ex-girlfriend decides to drop pictures of him almost naked for the world to see, splitting it in half—should he just do an underwear campaign or disappear from the limelight for good?

so, he decides to travel to the most secluded villa he can find, and in there, he happens to fall in love with books and a certain librarian who speaks too much and still, leaves him with too little information about her.

eager to get to know her more, wonwoo forgets that he’s actually a celebrity and that reality must strike at their door one day. hopefully, not any time soon.

—TITLE: what’s up, mr. hollywood?

—PAIRING: jeon wonwoo x reader

—GENRE: glimpses of notting hill!au ; strangers to lovers!au ; celebrity!au ; actor!au ; idiots in love!au ; librarian!au ; bookstore!au

—TYPE: fluff ; angst if you squint ; suggestive if you squint ; humor given by jun’s character lol

—WORD COUNT: 13,270 words

—NOTE: this was a kofi request! if you want to support me, you can ask me to write something for you over there.

He could get tied down by the diamonds that wrap around the wrists of the women that transcend in his life, like the pieces of paper of a script that he never really imagines in his list of cinematography. That way, it would be easier to wake up in West Hollywood, in a mansion so big that—sometimes, though he won’t admit—he gets lost in the rooms. Wonwoo wouldn’t have to think twice on promising with a band a supposed forever that ends in five months. Like everything in this plastic world does.

Wonwoo could get used to the sweet taste of fame, that bathes the gold of his latest Oscar for a film he knows will follow him to the grave. The flashing of lights, the egotistical boosting and the screaming voices that grant him the benefit of leading a generation while he feels inherently lost. Pursuing a fraction of what he was able to give through three years of pressure for completing only two hours of film, applauded by the critics, but now a shadow he will always have to follow, mimic and surpass.

He could get used to being famous.

He could.

The truth is, Wonwoo isn’t, doesn’t and won’t. He’s there, then he’s not. It’s been like that for nine days now. Spank Magazine! Decided it would be a great idea to plaster him in his most delicate and reckless state. Wonwoo had been sharing a few summers with the same woman, Courtney, a love that never really translated into nothing more than a week together, drinks to be shared, kisses to be yearned for and then, he’d leave London. With nothing to seek for other than the faint breeze that is the complete opposite of the blaring sun in Hollywood, and the idea that he has someone waiting for him in case he feels lonely in between films.

The drinks must have gotten heavy, or Wonwoo isn’t really as smart as he grants himself to be. Always. He thought he’d never miss a step and he almost hears his manager, Sandara, laughing at him straight at his face. If only she wasn’t trying to erase the image of Wonwoo looking out of a window in white boxers in some secluded penthouse in central London. This summer, it seemed like Courtney wanted something else. Fame.

He hadn’t realized the picture had been on her iPhone, neither did he think that the moment he got off his plane that took him back home he would have to see literal signs at the airport that showed him half naked. The first thing he did was hide, and the second…okay, he hadn’t really thought of a plan. Other than compulsively buy a plane ticket to a villa in France and hope, perhaps, that he won’t have to explain if his shoulders are really that big naturally or not.

“You could have totally stopped this from happening.” Sandara looks unlike how she does when they are in Hollywood. Normally, she’s wearing a straight pencil skirt paired with a button down and her hair in a ponytail. She never misses the coffee with three shots of espresso and perhaps, a line of sugar—or cocaine, her energy is unmatched—, but now, she’s trapping a croissant in between her hands and she has tried to make the enormous yellow sweater she has paired with green leggings work. The frog look isn’t half as bad on her slim body.

“I know.” Wonwoo walks slowly, while she roams around him like a puppy would. Sandara has always said it. Wonwoo’s weakness for complexity gravitates him to women that leave everything to desire. He pulls the cap a little over his head, covering more of his eyes in case anyone sees him while walking to the nearest library. “I never said it wasn’t my fault, but I’m giving you a vacation and running away from the chaos you were trying to solve.”

“I offered you a way of turning this around and you didn’t—”

Wonwoo scoffs at her words, rolling his eyes. “You knew I was going to say no from the get-go.”

“Wonwoo, people are not hating on you because you’re half naked. You just pulled a Miley Cyrus. Destroyed the whole poised, serious, intelligent guy persona and changed it for the hot guy in the white boxers thing.” Sandara pulls a finger up in the air, pointing out what she thinks is obvious. Meanwhile, the breeze plays with her hair until it is standing on various spots. “…Calvin Klein offered to help us out. A few campaigns with the boxers on, and then, we finish it off with a good sex scene in one of your films. You’re a man. If it was me on that magazine and I was famous, I would have been destroyed.”

Wonwoo hates that it is a reality, but he didn’t really intend on posing. Sure, he is not an angel. His career doesn’t let him stay with someone as much as he’d like to, for he always has to travel, film something else, prepare for a script or a new series to take on, but he also hasn’t done much else past the expected. Stories can be told about Hollywood that are rather true of orgy parties and eccentric relationships, but he doesn’t do much past the normal. Perhaps, a risky picture if he is feeling…rather comfortable, but he’s private about the matters that take up on the heart.

He just happened to be a bit tipsy, looking out of the window and not noticing that a picture had been taken of him, and while he’s pleading the case of using the law against Courtney for breaking his privacy, he’s also taking a break. And needing to read a book.

“I’m not saying it’s a bad idea,” Wonw0o starts, pushing the doors of the only library he could find in this secluded spot he had found in France. Sandara passes under his arm, still walking backwards and somehow not falling. “But it’s not who I am. I just don’t do soft porn.”

“Wonwoo—”

“My ass was displayed on a magazine. I’m lucky it’s not my dick, but I’d rather just not…milk it.”

“Oh, wrong choice of wording.”

“Sandara.” He groans, throwing his head back. The place catches his attention in the matter of seconds. The walls are baby blue, like the revelation of a child’s bedroom, with sprinkles of brick walls here and there in a beige color as an addition of texture. The tables are smaller in comparison to the rows of books, lined up by genre and color. It’s a pleasure to a thoughtful mind, as he traces the outline of the romance plethora. His least favorite genre. “You’re sexualizing your client.”

“I swear I’m not. You’re the one talking about milk!” She jokes around, laughing at the flush that he’s certain appears on the apples of his cheeks, before she’s grabbing one of the smaller books in the row, standing at the tip of her toes to reach it. “The Duke’s Final Wish. Oh, so the duke dies in this book. What’s the point of reading something you know everything about just by the title alone?”

He doesn’t understand it either, so Wonwoo shrugs. “I’m more of a thriller guy myself, but I’m in France, I’ve just dumped someone entirely from my life and…” His nose scrunches up upon the sight of the naked, sun-bathed abs on the duke on the cover. “Maybe, I just need to read softcore love times to feel less miserable about…everything.”

Sandara’s brown eyes turn mellow, sighing deeply. “Wonwoo, this is just another turn in your career. I promise everything will get better.”

It will, he’s certain. Matters always go back to place.

However, he remembers his start as an actor. He was this shaky, flimsy sixteen-year-old teen who cried on the outsides of a casting because he was tired of receiving no’s. Who wiped his tears on a pillow when he got called from another casting to participate with just one line. He’d wake up every single day at five in the morning; giving up adulthood, growing up, having friends, dating, studying, just for the sake of getting in better movies. He hit it big when he was twenty, skyrocketed in a military film, and from then on, he never rested. Movie after movie. A show, then another one.

And just like that, it lost sense. With every critic that shadowed him with that one big film he did last year, whatever product that came to fruition was worthless. It was a race with himself—and he’s tired of running.

And—

Oh, wait.

It smells like insect repellent…

“Roach, go away, you!”

“Huh?” Wonwoo’s curiosity gets the best of him, peaking from behind the shelf to see a slender, tall man holding, indeed, an insect repellent and spraying it on a blonde gentleman. He recognizes the first one—the attacker in question—to be one of the workers because of the uniform. A cloud sweater inside white pants, according to the name of the library—Somewhere On The Clouds—, but he’s flimsy in comparison to the buffer, taller man that he’s trying to go after.

The cockroach character, per say.

He hears more shushing and spraying, along with a woman’s name that escapes the blonde’s lips. “I wasn’t talking to you, Wen Junhui, my wife is over there and you’re not letting me talk to her—”

“She’s not your wife anymore.”

“You can’t physically get over someone so quickly.”

Another spray and now, this Junhui guy with the long brown hair and septum piercing, has finally landed on the taller man’s eyes because he hears a groan that reverberates throughout the library. “If it’s you the someone we are talking about, oh, trust me, it’s easy. No woman could ever—”

“I’ll close your mouth up with a good old fist, Junhui. Stop! Stop spraying me!”

He hears another commotion, of closed doors and shushes that follow after someone physically more peaceful than the other men. And for once, Wonwoo loses interest in physical matters like the cameras that could flash around him and the book at hand. His heart hums, singing a melody when looking at her. Her hair is tied in two braids and closed in a bun behind her back, glasses perched on the tip of her nose, looking at the blonde man with the firing rage of a million wars that went unfought.

Even Sandara is listening closely when she speaks. She’s rain in its biggest form; when it pours down and becomes unstoppable.

“I thought he said you could go away, Pierre.” She outs to the world, only to have the blonde man shaking his head, twinkling green eyes staring back at her.

“Love,” He’s trying to grasp her hands, wishing to say something more, but when their hands interlock, she slaps his away. “Don’t you push me away.”

“By law, you pushed me away yourself.” She instructs, pushing at his arms when he’s trying to get closer. “Pierre, I’m being serious. Stop disrupting my library and just go away.”

“But—”

Wonwoo is not a hero, neither does he think this is the situation for him to try to be one. However, he does accidentally—or not so much so—happen to slide his hand across a shelve that wasn’t holding up tightly. The books fall one by one, like a domino effect that gain him the attention of the woman with the attitude of an owner and a dislike for her ex-husband and the man in question.

He smiles, tight-lipped and shy, with the Sun blessing his cheeks along the lines of red coloring. He expects her to launch at him, ask him to leave Somewhere On The Clouds, but instead a gentle smile takes over her face. Oh, of course, someone like her would just know what he’s doing…and why.

“Let me help you with that.” She says, moving closer to him and crouching down at the same time that he does. Wonwoo is spurting out a short laugh as he hears whom he thinks is called Junhui pull Pierre away from the library.

“I’m sorry. I’m a total mess.”

“Or really observative. Guess we’ll never know.” She shrugs, smiling at him when standing up with a pack of books pressed to her chest and the lingering scent of mints following after her.

“Witty.”

“I’m a woman. One has to be.” The answer that leaves her lips has him grinning like a fool, looking down only to be blinded by her sight when staring up again. “I’ll give you a discount just for that.”

“There’s no need—”

The pocket of his jeans is filled by her hand, sliding something quickly there before she’s fleeting away with a simple: “Just take it.”

Half of his mind thinks she has left her number there, and he’d be more than happy. However, Sandara is looking over his shoulder by the time he takes the paper out, viewing a small coupon with clouds drawn all over it that reads off ‘fifty percent off your next order’.

“Dang, I thought it was her number.” Sandara whispers, snapping her fingers. “I’m going to get it for you.”

“No!” Wonwoo shrieks, plastering his hand on top of her arm and dragging his manager closer. “We’re…we’re just going to take the coupon. This is supposed to be a vacation. No love involved.”

“No love involved…” Sandara repeats, laughing at his words. “We’re calling your autobiography that. That’s for sure.”

Huh, even he admits it wouldn’t be a bad name. Much more if it was a rom-com of sorts.

But that’s not going to happen.

The sky looked like a child’s portrait, painted outside the lines. The stars blurred in between the deep shade, though he knew it could be that he needed a new pair of glasses. He kind of forgot his new formula back in Hollywood, and the ones he got were bought on a whim. However, he walks through the empty, too-small streets of the villa, hands fisted in pockets, trying to understand the change of weather. It was windy, but it was a kind of humidity that made him scrunch up his nose every once in a while to sniff a bit of snot.

Allergies. It’s whatever.

Wonwoo rolls on the heels of his shoes, looking up at the sky and wondering why the world feels so unlit as of lately. He’s at peace, but running away from something. Empty. Lonely. And sure, he has gotten used to solitude, at least for now, but what was once something he chose is now the only option that he gets to fulfill. Cornered, in some place far away from home, where he can only wish for life to be different, for better or for worse.

What interests him is the shout he hears after, a commotion of a solid against iron that has him rushing his step the slightest. He doesn’t know if he’s prepared to run or go help, but what he sees at eleven at night—when he should be asleep and trying to conceal a good night of rest with a warm glass of milk, as Sandara said—is rather surprising. The owner of Somewhere In The Clouds, a library that he has visited often in this past week, stands in front of a house’s gate, forehead pressed to the iron, hitting her boot against the surface once again.

“Shit.”

She looks rather different than she does with the pastel colors she wears at her library. Wonwoo has seen her a bit, with faint glances and a few exchanged words of good books and prices, but he has never fully developed a conversation. One that matters. Right now, he wishes he was braver, for the expanse of her back is shown in jeans that are falling off her waist and he swears he sees the hairs on her arms stand up upon the breeze that he can’t understand but seems to cherish her in shivers.

“This is all Pierre’s fault!”

She screams at the world, the sky, the heavens that decided divorce was meant to be on her side. But, instead of leaving it at that, she grabs a rock from the ground, molds it on her fist before throwing it at something. Something being Wonwoo, who shrieks at the touch of the rock against his cheekbone. Gasps mingle with the weight of her steps against the pavement when she rushes to him, shouting:

“Goodness gracious! I am so sorry!”

Wonwoo feels the warmth of her skin against his own, palms connected to him in the least delicate of ways, thumb and index finger tracing the cheekbone that must flourish with the tone of roses. However, when he opens his eyes, he realizes that her own hold a weight that he can’t understand. As if every speckle of golden that brims the natural color of them anchors him to a dilemma that he should not want to solve.

“I…I totally didn’t see you there. It’s all the gate’s fault.” She says, only to have Wonwoo clasping her hands on his own, pulling them away from his face softly.

“Where’s your key?”

“My ex-husband took the spare key and now that I left my keys inside, I don’t know what to do.” Her digits wrap around the gate once again, moving it from the front to the back in a motion that causes it to noisily make its state known. Closed as ever. “This is what happens when I decide to have a great time. Jun just…he just wanted to share some mojitos and now, I’m out here, probably a step away from sleeping in the cold.”

Wonwoo chuckles to himself, pondering: “And you’re telling all this to a stranger?”

“You’re not completely a stranger. Judging by your book selection, I can tell a lot about you.” She crosses her arms over her chest, beautiful as ever in the way the wind blows at her hair and connects it with the skin of her face. And on top of it all, she remembers who he is. “You’re not a complete asshole, and that’s enough for me to tell you that this fucking night sucks.”

Tipsy, she is, and Wonwoo chuckles at her antics softly. He remembers, before stardom, how he used not to give a damn about the world, quite like she does. “Alright, here’s what we’re going to do.” He crouches down, caging his hands together to make a socket for her to place her feet on. “You’ll step here and I’ll get you up the gate.”

He shouldn’t be thinking about doing this. For God’s sake, she’s not in her right mind considering there are, at least, three mojitos in her system, and she must think the same because she shakes her head.

“Wonwoo, I’ll crush you.”

“Or you’ll get home safe.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure I didn’t just decide to squat in the middle of the street.”

She rolls her eyes at his words, though a smile transcends to her features. She moves with carefulness, placing one boot on top of his hand and then, the other leg lifts up to follow after the trail of the gate. Wonwoo’s eyes go down her legs and he admits he does peek at the curves that form there, but soon after, he’s more worried about the way she’s clinging to the top of the gates to pass over it.

“Help.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Wonwoo mutters, hoisting her up in his shoulders before pushing her upwards by the back of her thighs. She clings to the metal with strength, only dropping herself when she feels safe, and though she lands directly on her ass, the thud is soft enough for him to ponder that maybe, it didn’t hurt her as much. “You okay?”

“In one piece, so…okay!” The smile that spreads across her features is worth a million dollars, and Wonwoo finds himself gravitating towards her, hands expanded on the gate, separated by the mere iron. He returns the grin, because a gift so beautiful can only be given back, right? “What are you doing out at this time of the night?”

Midnight, it strikes in the imaginary clock. He hasn’t checked his phone because he knows he’ll have missed calls from a sleep-dazed Sandara who wants him to return back to the place they rented for their time there. “Jet-lag has been killing me, and I just needed some time alone to think.”

“Jet-lag? Where are you visiting us from?” Leaning on the gate, her eyes close to slightest to rest, and Wonwoo knows soon will be time for him to leave.

“California.”

“Well, hope my villa traps you a bit longer.” She announces, yawning into her fist before smacking her lips together.

“You’re falling asleep.”

“Possibly, probably, maybe. All synonyms. All right.” Once again, that smile that could paralyze traffic if she dared is given to him, but she pushes herself off the gate. “Sorry for stepping on you.”

“No problem.”

“A free book will wait for you.”

“I can totally pay the next one I’ll buy, don’t worry.”

“Never deny a librarian the benefit of giving you a book.” She announces, pointing at him as she swings towards the door. “Wait, the front door is locked, too.”

She stops on her tracks and Wonwoo is ready to stay the night seated outside the gate, just in case someone causes trouble to her, for leaving a woman alone in the middle of the night is not precisely something he is thinking of doing, but when he opens his mouth, she’s already pushing the front window upwards.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting in through the window.”

“I’m not telling you, I’m showing you.” She announces and, for the first time in a while, Wonwoo full on laughs. He doesn’t remember feeling his chest so tightly put-together in a while. The more he sees her wiggle herself through the window, the more he cackles.

“Please, be careful.”

“I am!” And she is, waiving at him once she’s through the window, hair done a mess, shirt falling off one shoulder. “Thank you for your service, Mr. Hollywood.”

“Go to sleep, you.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”

The nickname, strangely, doesn’t settle badly in his stomach. Much less when he gets to see her turn off the lights and doze off to God-knows-where.

Wonwoo has made common occurrence for him to start a new book every Monday. He was on a reading strike for years, only yearning to find the next story he could act in, but it’s much different now. Much more after he decided to accept the book that the librarian had, oh-so-sweetly, decided to gift him.

The story read in utmost perfection. A thriller that chilled him to the bone and cradled him in fear late at night. Something different; and hell, maybe, he’s a little bit insane for wanting to feel something other than anxiousness. All he does is read the pages that week, weakened by the figure at the end of the road, in between clouds of smoke that the book always talks about. Is it real? Is it not? And why does the book end in a way that caused him to drop all the things that were on his hands as he was reading, perched in a boat in the middle of the lake near the library?

He dropped the damned book. He needed to return it. The worst possible outcome happened, because the moment Wonwoo decided to pluck it out of the water, the pages were torn, ink shredded, heart racing within his chest.

He runs away for a while. Escapes the library in hopes of her thinking that he’s just taking a little bit more to finalize the capturing pages of a well-written text. However, life isn’t so great when the next Wednesday, he comes face to face with her. She’s not in her work clothes, hair pulled away by a hair-clip, eyes a little drowsy with sleep as remaining pieces of her mascara cling to her eyelashes. Her hands hold a bag of groceries weakly, a little bit lazily, and while Wonwoo is trying to grab a snack to continue his Wednesday movie marathon—You’ve Got Mail is paused on his screen because he just wanted something salty—, he comes face-to-face with her.

Alright, the anxiousness is back.

“Do I terrify you?”

Wonwoo fixes his glasses, crossing his arms over his chest. Magazines would have torn him apart from the plaid shirt he is wearing today, antique and brought out of a film from the early nineties. He stammers. Gosh, when was the last time someone made him stutter? “Uhm, no?”

“You haven’t gone back to the library, and I’m not certain if it was because I gave you a thriller book or if it was because you saw me drunk out of my ass.” She’s speaking rather quickly, scoffing out a laugh that dies down soon after, rubbing the back of her neck out of nervousness. “I’m sorry. Uh…I must’ve looked like a total serial killer giving you a thriller book.”

The book. What can he say about the book? “Not at all. It was one of the best books I’ve read in a while.” He admits. Too bad it is in the depths of the ocean by now.

“I’ll give it to you, then. The copy, I mean.” She shrugs her shoulders, biting on her bottom lip and staying silent for a brief second that he takes to study her face. Something about her is always rushing; as if she can’t stay still for too long in fear of being caught. By life or someone else, he doesn’t know. Or catching feelings, like he musters could happen if he doesn’t get away soon.

“I wish I could read it again.”

“Then, do it.”

“…I accidentally dropped it in the local lake.” Wonwoo whispers, expecting her to get mad, but she extends a hand on top of her chest and starts laughing. “I—I’m sorry. The ending surprised me that much. Stupid hands.”

“I imagine. I imagine.” She hums, mimicking his pose and crossing her arms over her chest. “How are you making it up to me, Mr. Hollywood?”

He’s knowledgeable in the art of flirting. Not because he has mastered it, but rather because Wonwoo is the one of the being-flirted-on end. He must be reading into it, but the twinkle in her eye incites him, bringing him closer as he shrugs his shoulders.

“Anything in mind, Mrs. Countryside?”

“Ew, I don’t know why I don’t like the sound of that.” She enunciates, only to have him laughing. He sees the portions of her that are fractured, from the way she covers her mouth when laughing, to the slow blink she gives after a minute of silence. As if she wants to be awakened by her thoughts. “Mhm, how about burgers?”

“Burgers?” Wonwoo asks. “That’s what would make you forgive me?”

“A great burger can make me consider forgiving you.” She answers, pressing a hand to his shoulder to balance her weight as she takes her phone out of her pocket. “Write your number down there.”

Wonwoo jots down the digits that he has learned just the past few days, smiling at her. “Alright, you’ve got a free coupon for limitless burgers until we find a book as good as that one.”

“You don’t know what you’re promising.”

“Possibly. But it’s an excuse. Either we find the greatest burger or another good read.”

“Huh, you’re right.” With that, she puts her phone back in her pocket, smiling at him with her full teeth. “I’ll text you for my price.”

“Anytime.”

He would be lying if he said he wasn’t looking after her step after she left. How someone so gorgeous hid in such a secluded villa? He would never understand.

The Headlock For Two Challenge.

When Wonwoo ventured into one of the best rated burger places in the villa, he didn’t expect it to be…so simple. Wooden walls and heated tables in bright red, with towers of meat and chicken stacked with perfectly-spiced veggies and sauces that would mingle into one’s tongue for an entire day. She seemed to be impressed when he linked her over to this place only three days after they started talking through text, but she was equally as interested when she read about the challenge in the menu that was presented to them in a small piece of wood, carved letter after letter, honoring the toughness of the place.

“We can totally down this one between the two of us.” She turns the menu around, showing it to a wide-eyed Wonwoo. When he sees the picture, he doubts they can for a little bit. His glasses push his hair away from his face when he takes them off to check it out a little closely. Three layers of bread. This is final—he might die if he takes up on this challenge.

“What’s the price?”

“The burger is a price on its own.” Claiming, she turns the menu around once again before clearing her throat. “We’d also get a picture of us hanging from these very own walls, and, if that’s not a lot on its own—a grand price of a month-worth of free French Fries.”

“You bought me with the fries. I’m not much of a picture guy.”

He has gotten pictures of him taken from every angle and while he adored to catch a sight of the world from another point of view, he hates the way he has been portrayed in such imagery. He’s always perfect. Never himself. And yet, never enough.

“Waiter!” She lifts a hand in the air, catching the attention of the short man with the buttons of his shirt almost popping out from how closely it clings to his belly, but the smile he gives through plump cheeks and a dense moustache would have anyone trusting him with their orders. “We’d like to take over the challenge.”

“Oh, really?” The waiter starts jotting down on his notepad. “A group of men tried to take it down a few days ago. Couldn’t make it without throwing up.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Wonwoo asks and he sees her spread a hand on her stomach.

“I meant it when I said I was hungry.”

“Fine. And two glasses of cola with that, please.”

“On our merry way, sir.” The waiter gives a sharp touch of his pen against the pad before closing it and leaving to the kitchen. This is the moment he gets to see her again, closely as she lifts the sleeves of his yellow sweater up to her palms and leans her cheek against one of them, elbows well-prepped on the table.

She tried a little today. He has been under the limelight for long enough to know that there is a glimmer of pink on top of her cheeks, paired with sweet highlighter. She has a red lip on, eyelashes curled until they seem like her eyes are flirting with him just by sharing a glance.

“Why here, Wonwoo?” She asks. “You were in California. Everyone dreams about being there, around celebrities and all. Why here?”

The column of his throat contracts at her words. He almost fears that she has caught him for who he really is—a well-known actor.

“Take my word for it. There’s nothing special there.”

“You’re awfully negative, aren’t you? Here we are, in a villa that no one knows, where the lake could eat me alive one day and no one would remember me, but in a city so grand, where every step someone takes feel like part of a movie, you wish to run away.” She’s babbling, eyes twinkling with excitement. “Isn’t that exciting to you?”

He shakes his head. “No.” Wonwoo adds. “Because in a city so big, only a few people are remembered. We don’t choose what we are remembered for, either.”

“Oh, trust me,” She says. “You’d be remembered by good. Everyone in this city coos about the possibilities of you.”

“And that’s the thing. I don’t like expectation.”

“I understand.” She stops. “So, reason—?”

“I’m negative, but you’re good at prodding.”

“I was once a journalist in the making, but I ramble too much. I’d get in front of a camera and freeze, or say something really stupid. Probably both.” She conquers, sighing into her hand. “But you don’t have to answer, actually. I just want to get to know you. You could ask me something of your liking, too.”

He could ask about her library, but they have talked about that through text. He knows that it’s a family’s tree doing, where she loved literature and happened to continue down the road that was crafted for her. A place that was meant for her to walk on, but the wood on the floor was not precisely brought to life by her.

“Why didn’t it work out with your ex-husband?”

The reason why he left California is, perhaps, as personal as her divorce. She doesn’t swallow thickly, but she is left thinking for a moment, looking ahead and towards where he is, before the waiter returns with the burger in his hands and three glasses filled with a yellow, pink and white sauce.

“Thank you. This looks delicious.” Wonwoo compliments, only to have the waiter nodding.

“We start the timer now. Thirty minutes to finish all of this.” Just as he clicks the clock, she takes the half of the enormous burger and places it on her plate, and while he gives it a huge bite that fills his mouth and leaves his jaw hurting, she eats it bit by bit, plucking the food and swallowing it quickly.

“Probably my best kept secret.” She says, shrugging her shoulders. “I was promised until death, and then, I realized living one more day with him would be the cause of my death. It’s like…being pricked little by little, being married.”

“In general?”

“To him, precisely. Pierre has his own issues to figure out. He has…these experiences that he wants to go through in love. He wants to try with other people. And I wasn’t going to wait there, watching him mindlessly flirt with people, asking me if I’d ever been with more than one person, until I was finally hurt by something I expected.” She motions, sighing. “And now he’s trying to come back, so maybe, he already tried and thought returning home was the solution of the mess he made.”

“That’s pretty common. I happen to never last more than two months with somebody.” Wonwoo cackles at his own state in relationships, moving his head from side to side. “For a while I thought it was me.”

“How so?”

“Uncapable of being loved, if that makes sense.” Wonwoo announces. “I’ve never tried hard enough to make someone stay.”

“So, you’re the complete opposite of me. I have a hard time letting go.”

“I have a hard time making someone stay.” The mingle of tastes inside his mouth makes him wonder if she just wanted an excuse for them to try something good and new, not precisely break a challenge. Make herself memorable. Or maybe, that’s just her personality. Not everyone has to be trying all the time. “It probably is me.”

“Everyone has their little glimpses of red in their flag.” She jokes, tilting her head to the side when Wonwoo groans. “But hey, I’m a divorced woman, who am I to judge?”

“So, California…stinks a little bit, feels way more dense than this villa does, and it just…it reminds me of who I could’ve been. And who I am not, clearly.”

“Well, Wonwoo,” She picks up a portion of her burger, dipping it in what he thinks is corn sauce, before lifting it up in the air. “Cheers to that. We can be remembered for the picture we’ll have hanging here later this night.”

“Not at this pace.”

“Just say ‘yes’ for once. I promise, it doesn’t hurt.”

She could teach him that life is not filled with ‘no’ responses all the time.

Wonwoo thought the following times they’d see each other; they wouldn’t have any interruptions. However, much to his distaste, the moment he steps inside her house for what she called through the text ‘dinner and a movie’, there was another person invited.

The library’s worker, Wen Junhui, is not commonly known by him, but he has heard wonders about the man around town. As it goes, no one could ever tame him. Not from going around dating, but from being less eccentric. He sits in front of the TV they could have been using, holding fried chicken in between his digits after dipping it in barbeque, and he’s watching some Steve Harvey show that he is not quite sure he’d getting a glimpse of before. Too old for his liking, maybe.

“We have…companionship.” Wonwoo whispers to her, feeling the weight of her hands glide down his arms as she takes off his jacket. When he turns around, he sees her hanging the jacket, running her palms over it to keep it straight before humming.

“I didn’t know we had some either, but I totally promise Jun movie night every Friday. I can’t just kick him out. Or I can. But like, look at his face,” She points a hand towards Jun, who is still munching happily and laughing at whatever the host of the show had said. “One can’t just break a heart that easily. At least, his.”

Wonwoo can accept that Jun, while wearing a tank top and shorts, looks entirely different. A bit childish, with his bangs pushed back by a small clip, eating to his heart’s content. “I’m not saying you should kick him out.”

“But you had the hope it would be the two of us.”

“Awfully conceited, woman, don’t you think?” Wonwoo jokes around, the corner of his mouth lifting in a half-grin. He’s normally not a sweet talker, but he’ll take the merit he can.

“Anyone would want to spend alone time with me.” One of her shoulders shrugs up, the structures of her face fighting their hardest to let out a smile. “Would you want some water, coffee, tea, juice, cocktail? I don’t know how to make cocktails, but I can fetch something up.”

“None.”

“Oh, maybe some energy drink, perhaps? Or, oh shit, you’re from Hollywood, maybe you’d like sparkly water, or bubbly water…”

“Trust me, we have normal water in Hollywood. I think.” He leans down to fix her hair over her shoulder, jotting his chin towards the TV. “Are we ordering something else or we’re sharing chicken with Jun?”

“He will notice there are only two pieces left in a few minutes and order some for everyone, so we just wait.” With that, she walks ahead of him, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to snuggle to the density of her white sweater, or that he’s not a bit enamored of the way her thighs fill the ripped jeans around her hips. She’s unique—so homely in a way that he hates he can feel that a little more time with her could end up in him in love.

“Wonwoo!” Jun speaks through a mouthful and in the month that he’s been there, he has gotten to know him a bit. The man is as sweet as one can get, but he’s also a bit odd. “I didn’t know you were coming. Do you want some—?” He stops on his tracks when extending the takeout bag towards Wonwoo, looking down at…yes, two pieces of chicken left. “Let me grab my phone,” He speaks after plopping his thumb in his mouth to lick the remaining sauce off. “And order something else.”

“Told you so.” She mouths after sitting down next to Jun, who is in between them like a child would. “Would you mind ordering a pizza? I think that’d last us some more than the chicken.”

“Oh, totally. There’s a two-for-one coupon in my phone case.” Jun is mumbling to himself, tossing glances towards the TV screen every once in a while before returning to his phone.

“I’ll pay for it. Don’t worry.” Wonwoo announces, but Jun shakes his head.

“The whole coupon thing is true—”

“But I want to pay, let me.”

That’s how they end up watching old marathons of family shows, with one hand holding a slice of pepperoni-filled pizza and the other on the couch behind them as they sit on the couch. When he can, he looks over to where she is and he catches her looking back, with eyelashes fluttering against her under-eyes and lips mingling in a small smile. He’s a bit surprised, however, when Jun is rambling with him about nineties shows, because a hand lands on his behind her friend’s back.

The touch of gentle fingertips hold back when tracing the outline of his knuckles, hesitantly slipping in between his own. Wonwoo feels his heart hammer against his chest, a beat that almost leaves him with ringing in his eardrums, for the blood rushes through his entire body until he can’t mask a smile. And sure, Jun may think that he’s smiling towards him, immersed in a conversation that now is a stammer in his head, considering her thumb is drawing on the veins of his wrist, like the gentle kiss she is not promising, but is making him think about.

In the midst of a villa, Wonwoo starts thinking about possibilities, and percentages have never been his thing more than art does, but the interlude of this story starts to make him think about staying. When Jun leans to grab another slice of pizza, Wonwoo takes this moment to bring that hand closer to his mouth, slotting his lips against her knuckles and watching her widen her eyes while staring at the screen.

Their little secret, now even more engraved in his brain by the expression on her face.

The inhibition of love is a saddened matter. Wonwoo never thought he’d be on the end spectrum of not being able to fully open up. After all, acting takes up the imagery of shredding every portion of himself in order to make a character come alive. He needs to unalive his motions in order to be someone else in front of a camera. However, when laying on that bed of his, in his place in the villa, that had felt more like home than any mansion could ever do for him, he is awfully aware of the person next to him.

“Do you have…um…any idea why I call you Mr. Hollywood?”

The question is soft against the sheets. She’s laying on her side, knee angled until she is almost resting a thigh over his hip. Wonwoo shakes his head, turning his head to look at her from up close. She has forgone the makeup today, hair a bit dirty and laying on top of her head by a ponytail. When she opens her eyes, he’s staring back at her.

“You didn’t answer.”

“Oh, I thought I did.” Wonwoo mumbles, trailing a finger on the side of her face before shrugging. “I have no clue. Anything in particular I should be aware about?”

Wonwoo, when asking to spend time with her almost every day, is knowledgeable of the fact that she’s a very smart woman. However, as the night slips through his clear curtains, cascading along her features in the moonlit nature of a November midnight, his mind forgets the fact that he’s Jeon Wonwoo, and that maybe, his stigma as a person is harder to hide than he thought.

“…I saw you in a movie once.” The confession has his heart hammering against his chest, and he sits up immediately. Not angered, but terrified. Afraid of being used for what is always loved about him—his power, love for acting, his money. “I want you to listen to me, okay? You’ve been here for almost two months and I feel like…it’s time to tell you something. Nothing bad. Just something.”

“You talked to me because of me being an actor?”

“God, no. I didn’t want to talk to you for the same thing. You terrified the hell out of me.” She says, sitting up with him and pressing a hand to his thigh in order to keep him in place. Her eyes beg him to stay close and somehow, he does. Though the alarms in his mind tell him to fleet. “You still do, but for different reasons. I saw you in this movie…Stay With Me? The one where you played a secondary character. The main guy’s best friend. I didn’t recall enough about the movie, but I knew that face. I thought you were…good looking. That’s all. I’m not a fan.”

“That’s a very old film.” It was in the start of his career, when rom-coms would call him just to play the knowledgeable best friend. He has the face of a man who knows how to give advice, they told him. “So, you call me Mr. Hollywood because you know who I really am outside of these walls I’ve built to run away?”

“To remind me you’ll leave, I guess.” She sighs out, running her free hand through the locks of her ponytail. “Calling you Mr. Hollywood reminds me you’re…you know, somehow unreachable.”

“Gosh, I am not!”

“Come on, Wonwoo. I’m just a woman who happens to sell books for a living. Each day, I wake up to a bed on my own, wondering what kind of legacy I’ll leave in this world, but I am also timid enough to not want to be remembered. And it’s the paradigm of being…just somebody else. I won’t be listed as one of the most gorgeous women, neither one of the most talented, but I can reassure you…Wonwoo, anywhere you stand, as an actor or not, you’re special.”

He has seen love in scripts, written to be perfection, clouds of pink that cascade the fall of a person who would have never thought romance would be on their way. He has acted it out, softened eyes and sweet words that come with the clash of lips, but he doesn’t expect how love really feels like. Numbed out of every word that could make him feel insecure, trapped in the odyssey of wanting a kiss that has him leaning forward, capturing her face in his palms and looking into her eyes, not seeking softness, but the reassurance of something else. Of the feedback of warmth.

“And I am just a man who wants you to see him as he is. Hollywood or not.”

“I see you, Wonwoo.” She mumbles, and that’s enough for Wonwoo to lean forward. Fill her with a kiss that threatens to whimper in her mouth when her mouth parts and clashes against his.

Wonwoo feels complete, like a thread follows after him and whispers in his mouth everything he wants to hear without a noise at all. Her hands mingle on the back of his head, legs interlocking with his own. And he hates that even when he is kissing her with fervor; tracing the outline of lips that he wishes to remember to the day of his death, there is still a voice of insecurity.

He leans back on the bed, with her body trailing after his, settling a leg in between his own and pulling away to press a chaste kiss to his jaw, soon after pressing her mouth to his neck. Both of his hands expand on her back, under her shirt to feel the softness of her skin when he whispers:

“Could you please turn off your phone?”

“Excuse me?” She questions, only to have Wonwoo shaking his head.

“I…I got some pictures taken of me. I was intimate with a woman I used to date on-and-off and now…everyone has a picture I didn’t consent to of me in my boxers.” Confessing it has his cheeks blaring in heat, and he expects her to laugh. “And sure, you may think it’s stupid, but—”

She settles her hips on top of his, sitting and reaching for her phone in the bedside table, only to show the screen turning off to him. “It’s not stupid to me. Whatever makes you feel comfortable, I can consider.”

“Where were you my whole life?” Wonwoo asks, feeling her mouth return to his neck. And she laughs against his skin, drawing sparkling stars in his stomach and letting them tingle with…whatever feeling he’s starting to let cascade over him.

“Far, far away.”

“But I found you.”

“…You found me.” She interlocks their hands together, smiling at him. “Thank God, you found me.”

“What is this?”

Sandara positions three things on their coffee table in a specific order. A cup of coffee, with a savory smell of Bailey’s that he has been obsessed with every since he tried it on a café shop downtown. A croissant, with an extra layer of powdered sugar on top of it, and of course, what takes him off guard. A stack of papers, placed neatly like a script would. He picks up his coffee, giving it a taste even though he’s eyeing the paper, not touching it.

“Well, we’ve been here for almost three months…” Sandara sits down on the couch next to him. Her hair is shorter than how it had been when they got there, and she has dyed it back to a light brown. She moves it to a side on its entirety before pressing her knuckle to her cheek. “I think it’s time we start to think of a comeback. I was introduced to this idea where you’d star with Cillian Murphy, and I just couldn’t say no. You’re totally reading it.”

Acting is a prolongation of his anatomy. Wonwoo can’t exist without acting, but taking a break has never hurt anybody. He believes that most good actors take one in their lifetime. However, being pushed into stardom once again it’s not something he had thought about. Or he has, but he has always pushed it to the back of his head. That would mean going back to Hollywood, casting interviews where he’ll have to talk about the whole photo incident, perhaps take up on that Calvin Klein campaign that Sandara was so excited about…and that all sounds like a ton of work.

“You didn’t ask me about this.” Wonwoo announces, but Sandara is already placing the script right on top of his lap, pointing at it with a manicured nail. “Sandara—”

“I didn’t ask you, but you need to continue, Woo.” She says. “You’re one of the biggest talents of this generation and you’re throwing it all to Hell because of a picture? No. That’s the answer. We’re not letting that happen. We’re going to meet the team the following Monday and Cillian is going to be there. We can read over some—”

“What?” Wonwoo stands up, throwing the script on the table and shaking his head. “I didn’t consent on going back to Hollywood.”

“Wonwoo, it’s where you’ve grown to be the person you are today. You can’t escape it forever.”

“Yes, but I also don’t have to return just because you’re telling me to. It’s more complicated than that.” Hence, he has spent almost every day sharing kisses, touches, stories and whispers with a woman that he has promised is not temporary. It’s been almost a month since they shared their first kiss…and from then, they have fallen into the comfort of…

A relationship, maybe. That’s what he calls it inside his head, but he’s too afraid to voice it. For reasons as such, like this, when he will need to fly away to Hollywood just because reality is calling.

“They are offering millions of dollars for this, and Wonwoo, you’re going to miss acting eventually. I’m sure you do now, as you are standing here every morning just reading books and doing nothing.”

“Healing is not doing nothing.” Wonwoo corrects, and when he tosses a look at the script, he can admit he is a bit intrigued. How can a person be both here and there at the same time? How can the man he has grown to be in the villa meet the celebrity that he really is?

“Just read it. We both know you want to.”

“And then, what? I never come back here. I have a…someone, a girlfriend, maybe, and I don’t want to leave that behind.”

“I’m not—Just don’t get ahead of yourself. Think first about what you want to do and sure, if it’s staying here for a while more, I’ll accept it. But this is such a good film that is going to rise from the ashes and I want you to be part of it. You need to. It’d be iconic, Wonwoo, I swear.”

Does he want to be remembered by everyone as the actor who could do it all, battle against the tabloids and shine as one of the best performers of the generation? Or perhaps, does he want to be remembered by one person as the man who mended her heart after not wanting to believe in anyone because of a horrid break-up?

“I’ll think about it.” He feels bad about saying it and sitting down with that coffee and croissant to read the first page. “Just leave me alone for a while, will you?”

“Right.” Sandara presses a kiss to the crown of his head, patting the hair soon after. “I’m only doing it for you, I swear.”

“I know.”

That’s the only whisper he can muster to give her as he traces the outline of the title. The ink, the indents, the fresh paper…he misses this, but at the same time, he doesn’t feel ready to return to the emptiness that is felt when going through stardom. He’s enamored of reality, and that isn’t supposed to be a sin.

The more he reads the script, the more he likes it…and he starts to wonder if there are two men living inside of him, or if there is one that perseveres more than the other.

Molding against somebody’s body is a connection on its own. Wonwoo could get used to the dance of breathing that comes with laying next to somebody, when his chest connects to her back, arm weighting her waist down, chin squished to her shoulder. However, this morning is different. They don’t wake up to the sound of her alarm but to something else. His ears make out a noise that is familiar to him.

Flashes.

Clicking.

Shouts.

His name.

Her name.

Why do they know her name?

Wonwoo stands up, breathing quickly with the flaming hope of only being in a nightmare. However, the coldness of the floor seeps through his bare feet when he moves towards the window, moving the curtain to the side in order to see a herd of paparazzi standing outside of her home. Jun is in front of them, waving his hand like an idiot and posing for the camera. Quite like the characters in White Chicks would.

“Love, where are you going?” She’s mumbling against the pillow and for a moment, all Wonwoo sees is white. He feels let down by the woman waiting for him in the mattress. How could they have found him here, when he has gone months to no end completely unnoticed by the citizens? And Jun is enjoying the attention, that has to say something.

“Nowhere. I am unable to go anywhere because there are fucking paparazzi in your front yard.” Wonwoo lurks through the clothes left on the floor, running the fabric of a cotton t-shirt over his body and sighing in distaste. He’s walking from side to side in the bedroom. The paparazzi will only leave when he gets out of that door, after all.

“What?”

“Just tell me the truth. When did you call them? I was with you the entire night.” Wonwoo points out the obvious, placing his hands in his waist and frowning towards her. Her eyes widen and he swears he sees the little, fragile glass that she has within her chest playing as a heart breaking with one look alone. “You did exactly what everyone did before you—”

“Fuck, Wonwoo, what are you even saying? I would never do that to you!” She stands up and though he wants to believe her, he has heard that before. She’s walking towards him, sheets pressed to her chest, pleading at him with her vision alone. “Let me see.”

“No!” He shouts, taking her by the arm and keeping her away from the window. “If they take a picture of you, it’ll be everywhere in a second.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know how t—these things work.” She stutters, pressing her hand on top of his and trying to rub at the skin there. “Wonwoo, you have to believe me. I would never betray your trust like this.”

“Your roomie is out there making a show out of this.”

“Jun would never, either! He’s probably just enjoying the attention.”

“My God.” Wonwoo takes another glimpse out of the window, feeling his eyes get filled with tears. “How…How am I supposed to believe you when it all ends like this? Another scandal. I don’t deserve to be in the highlights of a magazine once again!”

“I’m sorry…” She mumbles, trying to catch him in her arms but he’s moving. Walking out of the bedroom, he goes down the set of slim stairs as he prepares to go through the masses of paparazzi and perhaps, lose himself in the process of stardom once again. Vacant answers, eye-rolls, and the undignified tilt of his head looking down because of the flashes and the lack of sincerity towards his self. “I don’t want you to leave. I’m—I’ll go with you, just let me get dressed and I’ll talk to them with the truth. They just need to know who you really are.”

“You truly believe that being sincere is what helps me here?” Wonwoo turns around, looking down at her and scoffing. “Sunshine, I’ve tried to be sincere in a world where they only want to see my worse and I expected you to understand that.”

“…You know, I’m starting to feel offended that you don’t believe me. I understand you, but I would never do this to you.” Wonwoo sighs at her words, sparing one good look at her face. He will miss the shared laughter and even more so the love that she had gifted to him without nothing in return. Nothing more than loving her back.

“I’m sorry for the inconvenience in your home.” Wonwoo says, putting on his jacket and his sunglasses before turning around and nodding at her. “And thank you for giving me the benefit of loving you.”

“Wonwoo—”

He opens the door in a hassle, eager for paparazzi not to see her in her pajamas and shred her to pieces. Jun greets him happily, offering him a cup of coffee that he ignores as he walks through the masses. The cameras go wilder for him, asking him questions:

“Where is your new love?!”

“When are you returning to Hollywood?!”

“Is she aware of your soft-porn pictures?!”

“Is this the end of your career?”

At this last question, he turns around, grabbing the microphone from the journalist’s hand and adding: “I don’t know, you’ll be the judge of that.” With that, he gets inside his car, hands trembling as he years to get out of there. They will follow after him, but the best he can do is reach Sandara and hope that she can take care of it.

With a broken heart and his wheels swirling, Wonwoo gets out of her life for good.

And he doesn’t look back.

For twenty-one days, she curses believing in love again. Even so, she starts to ponder if she should take out the entirety of the romance shelf off her library, but Jun is the one to stop her before she wiped out the best-selling row of their plethora of books. A fraction of her being understood where Wonwoo was coming from, and maybe, that’s the reason that upon hearing he’d be holding a press conference in a city nearby her own, she decided to go give it a glimpse. Perhaps, be another fan that just happened to get a little too close to the star.

“You’re losing your damn mind.” Jun says when following after her, entering the crowds of people that mingle to get a glimpse of Wonwoo as he’s expected to enter one of the most popular hotels in the city. “And I’m starting to like it. You’ve never acted like this before.”

“Jun!” She drags, a little mortified that she’s here. She has tried contacting Wonwoo, but the last thing she heard about him is that he had taken a plane back to Hollywood. She was even a bit surprised that he had come back. Everyone was trying to deduce who was the one that had captured him for three months in some secluded villa that no one had been able to find him in, but the masses of rumors were met by silence from his team as they announced his new film. “I shouldn’t even be here. He hates me, and for pictures that I wasn’t even in.”

“And I finally got the number of the girl in the supermarket because she saw me on TV. One of us is winning, so that makes two of us winning.” Sometimes, she wishes to pluck each hair of Jun’s head one by one only to see if he has a proper adult reaction. However, her best friend wraps an arm around her shoulder, grinning at her. “Are you sure you want to be around here? I looked up the best places to visit around here and we can totally go. It wouldn’t be on vain either.”

“I want to see him. One last time.” She ponders, humming at his words. Though, she has to scream a bit, considering the fans are going crazy, talking within themselves about the announcements he was supposed to be making today. “You know, maybe I can pluck him out of my heart that way.”

Though, that thought completely vanishes when looking at him. Wonwoo has decided to wear a long brown coat, sunglasses propped on the tip of his nose, getting out of a limousine as two guards help him get through the groups of people. A black shirt enters his black slacks, accentuating the waist she’d rest her cheek on when hugging him from the side as he poured coffee for her in the early mornings. She had lost that, along with the smile that characterized him when being with her. Though, she can say it had been taken away from both of them.

They are placed in a corner of the grand room in the hotel that is supposed to be taken up by Wonwoo and his team. He’s seated on a table, well perched and high on the stage, with Sandara on one side and another man whom she does not recognize on the other, but he’s making sure that the microphone is working well. The fans, such as them, are on the side to support him as the journalists take up most of the space.

Like parasites, she realizes, when the interview starts to enroll.

It’s supposed to be a press conference to announce the return of Wonwoo to acting and stardom, but they have made it all about the pictures that months ago had reached a magazine because of his ex…situationship, and also included glimpses of her. Of the mysterious woman whom he can’t find words, for he chooses other questions and gets shouts from the journalists who want more from him. He does admit to have signed a contract for a film, and she’s entranced in the way he speaks about the plot and what he wishes out of it.

A woman in her forties stands up, heels clicking when she plots her hip to the side, grabbing the microphone in between her hands with expertise before adding: “We have gathered information and found out, Mr. Jeon, that you have lived in the villa for almost four months by now. Reading books, having coffee, just living the life of a man in his fifties while also being in your twenties. What was the reason to stay out of stardom for so long and do you wish to go back to it any time soon?”

Wonwoo is uncomfortable; she can tell by the way he wrings his hands and turns them pale after taking off his sunglasses. He’s rotting in between the sense of lying or being truthful to himself. However, before Sandara could say to ask another question, Wonwoo leans over the microphone and sighs.

“Because I…happened to meet people who made me want to stay, and I sadly did not have the chance to stay for longer.”

“How so?” The journalist keeps prodding now that he has answered, and Sandara takes up over the microphone.

“I think it’s time we cut this round off—”

Though, Wonwoo gently pushes her away, rubbing at one eye before clearing his throat. “Because, as an actor, I have played enough roles for people to visualize me as such. I wanted to be someone normal for once, and reading books, like you said, made me unite with the citizens around the villa. I—I would have stayed if I could, but…reality wants me here. This is who I am.”

That could be the finalization of them, and it should have been, but damn her for being stubborn and knowing precisely when a good person is leaving her life, because she places a hand on top of Jun’s shoulder and whispers in his ear:

“Hoist me up. I’m going over the gate and getting to him.”

“What?”

“I can’t let him leave like that. Not without knowing I love him, at least.”

“Alright. If you’re going to jail, I’m going with you.”

What a paradox, it is, that the start of their story included him helping her get over her own gate and now she does as such, earning gasps and shouts from the masses of people as the guards rush towards her and catch her just in time for her mouth to let out:

“I just—Hey, I just wondered, Mr. Jeon, if you’d like to hear something from one of the citizens!” She’s battling against the strong hands of the guards trying to drag her away, feet kicking and asking to be given a second by Wonwoo.

She swears she sees a smile creep up his features when he leans over the microphone once again and says: “Let her go. I know her.”

The strong pair of arms unravels from around her waist and she sighs out in glee before she’s granted a microphone. She fixes her hair, stands up a little straighter and hates the fact that she didn’t try to look better after twenty-one days of missing him. “I was wondering, Mr. Jeon, if there was anyone who would have made you stay in that villa if it weren’t for your duty calling you. If…if it hurt you leaving the villa at all.”

She should expect the worst, judging by the ways cameras start flashing and people start whispering within themselves. However, Sandara is talking in Wonwoo’s ear, eager to get him to say the right thing, but as they look at each other, they are back to the nights in which she’d ask him to turn off the lights because she didn’t want him to see her without makeup or sick and he’d shrug his shoulders without a care in the world. They are back to the first time he was able to sleep next to her without turning off all the phones in the house.

It’s just the two of them. Their world. Their villa. Their three months.

“…You. You are the only one who could make me stay.”

That’s what makes everyone talk louder, after the bead of silence that leads up to the grandest reveal. The cameras turn towards her and she’s afraid of how she’ll look after, but that won’t matter if Wonwoo returns…one day, even after the movie, even for the weekends or when he’s free.

“That’s…that’s lovely.” She says, looking up as not to feel shy or embarrassed by what she’s about to admit. “Because I want you to stay, Wonwoo.”

“Um, I think we need to return to the questions—” Sandara is speaking, but Wonwoo has lifted his eyebrows, smiling softly and standing up from his spot and going over to where she is. Each step slows down the closer he gets, and the guards move to his place in order not to have journalists or fans jumping at him.

“Before you say anything,” She starts, interlocking her hands together in front of her body. “I…I love you. I just need you to know that. I don’t need anything else right now.”

Wonwoo quirks his head to the side, cheeks blushed and hands fisted in his pocket. “Well, I was about to offer three months in Los Angeles to film a movie and then, back to our villa indefinitely but—”

“You have to be joking.” She coos with a smile on her face, but Wonwoo shakes his head.

“Pretty honest. I am characterized for being such, aren’t I?”

Before she knows it, she’s launching herself at his arms, lips jotted to his own and even though everyone is looking, she couldn’t care less.

Indefinitely. That starts to sound a lot like forever, and with him, that doesn’t seem impossible.

“I love you, too.” He whispers as she hides her face from the cameras in his jacket, laughing at his words.

dedicated to @wisteria-woo

#wonwoo x reader #wonwoo scenarios #seventeen x reader #seventeen scenarios #wonwoo #seventeen #kpop scenarios #writing #actor!au #notting hill!au #and my return from writing after months be nice to it omg

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thebibliosphere · 3 months

Note

hey, noticed you talk about having POTS, hope this is okay to ask -

I'm looking into a diagnosis myself, so

1: what made you first consider POTS as a possibility for you, and

2: what advice might you have for anyone new to managing their POTS? all the health website article suggestions seem pretty weak

thanks for taking the time to read this!

I've technically got two types of dysautonomia, one of which is "presumed to be POTS" and the other which is listed as "non-specified" because I've got MCAS and that can trigger all kinds of 'fun' autonomic dysregulation.

I was diagnosed after several years of suffering from vertigo, rapid heart beat, problems with blood pressure regulation and severe headaches.

I did a tilt table test which was juuuust under the threshold for diagnosis (a shift of more than 30bpm is considered worthy of investigation. Mines was 29bpm), but give the rest of my symptoms, the doctors had the sense to go "yeah, that's dysautonomia" and started me on treatment.

When you say the suggestions seem weak, what does that mean?

A lot of POTS/dysautonomia management starts with very basic things, like adequate hydration with electrolytes and boosting salt intake to increase blood volume.

Other common advice is to wear compression garments to keep blood flow from pooling in our outer extremities. On bad days, I wear the medical equivalent of Spanx to keep my blood flow in my core; otherwise, it pools in my legs, and I faint.

Sounds silly, but it's the nature of the disorder.

Eating smaller, more frequent meals, which is frequently recommended, can also sound like hokum, but it can help because it puts less strain on the nervous system. If you're eating heavy meals 3x a day, that pulls blood flow to your digestion, and that can make POTS symptoms worse, which is why you'll sometimes get advice to graze throughout the day instead.

There are medications you can take, such as beta-blockers, if you need them, but before that happens, a knowledgeable dysautonomia doctor will absolutely put you on the "drink more water and eat salty snacks" method of management to see if it helps.

It's basically one of the "the body has forgotten how to body" disorders, and treatment can range from extremely basic but effective to complicated and (hopefully) effective. It really depends on how severe the individual is.

#chronic health tag #dysautonomia

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phoward89 · 4 months

Text

Banner by me, dividers by @saradika-graphics

Based on this ask

Head Gamemaker!Coriolanus Snow, Young Politician!Coriolanus Snow, Coriolanus and Reader are 25 in this.

Warnings! Cussing, Premature labor, mention of suicide, mention of death, heavy angst, underage smoking um I think that's it...

Hate That I Love You

There's an old saying that goes 'There's a fine line between love and hate'. An old saying that would ring true about your relationship with Coriolanus Snow.

Coriolanus needed to marry for power and money in order to cement his path to political (presidential) success. Which is why he married you.

Lucky you…

Anyways, he brokered an arranged marriage with your step-father, who was a high ranking general in the Peacekeepers, by reminding him that your real father Colonel Halvir had served with his father, General Crassus Snow. That they had died together in the woods of 12 by the hands of rebels and it's only fitting that the heirs of both military greats marry.

Honestly, he just wanted your step-father’s money and political support. What better way to get a seat on the war council then to marry the step-daughter of the Head Of The War Department.

Yea, your step-father was given that position after Dr. Gaul met a tragic and accidental death. It's such a pity that she ‘accidently’ slipped and fell into a tank of deadly mutts.

Well, Coriolanus was given her position as Head Gamemaker at only 23 while your family got an even bigger boost in political power.

Of course, your step-father agreed to the match. Your mother was leery about it and your older brother, Rein, honestly didn't give a shit since he was off in one of the districts serving as a peacekeeper. Your younger half-brother, Darius, thought that you were marrying a cold blooded snake.

Oh, how he couldn't be more spot on if he tried.

9 months of marriage (7 of them being pregnant) and your husband was still cold and offish to you. He seemed to avoid you, unless he wanted to get his dick wet.

Hell, he even avoided eating meals with you.

It was a miracle that he even ate Sunday dinners with you, considering he would grab the plate you made up for him and take it to his private study to eat.

All alone and locked away from you. As if you disgusted him.

You'd be lying if you said it didn't bother you, because it did. It hurts (especially since you were pregnant) having a husband that hates you. What makes it worse is that you fell in love with the cold hearted bastard. You don't even know how you managed to do that, but you did.

And on top of everything, your pregnancy wasn't the easiest one either. Even though you’re young, you've been extremely stressed (of course you're stressed, look at who your husband is) and your OBGYN told you that you needed to calm down or else you'd be at risk for a few health issues.

Mostly high blood pressure and…well…you didn't even want to think about the other one the doctor mentioned.

Of course, since your husband’s too busy campaigning for the Senate (he claimed that he needed to become a Senator before he could even think about running for President) he never went to any of your appointments. He offered though. He always offered to go with you, but you always waved him off and told him to worry about his campaign.

That you'd be fine going to the doctor by yourself.

But the truth was, you just couldn't handle pretending to be a happy couple in at the doctor's office. It was easier to let everyone at OBGYN’s office to believe that Coriolanus was busy with his political ambitions along with being the head gamemaker then having them see how uninterested he was in your pregnancy.

How fake his smiles were; how his hands shook with disgust when holding yours.

You were afraid the little cracks in the facade you put on with Coriolanus for the public would crack in the doctor's office. It was too much of a close, intimate setting for the cracks not to be easily hidden.

It wasn't like when he drags you around to galas, showing you off on your arm to the right people only to shoo you off to talk to the rich Capitol housewives. You didn't spend too much time at galas with him. You spent your time playing the part of a pretty perfect housewife that got along with other rich women while your husband spent his time networking.

Talk about your husband, Coriolanus was currently in staring at his reflection in the floor length mirror near the closet while tying his red and black damask tie in a Windsor knot. He looked perfectly handsome today. His platinum hair (Which you were shocked to find out was natural. Say what?!) was perfectly styled and slicked back with gel and his face was freshly shaved. Like always, he was dressed in one of his custom suits that cost more than what somebody in the mines, fields, and factories of the districts made in a month.

It was a black one with a matching waistcoat. Which was a far cry from all white and various shades of red he wore.

Hell, it wasn't just him that wore white and various shades of red, but you too since he deemed what dresses were in your closet. Eh, at least he had his cousin design you some pink dresses to wear in-between all the white and reds he curses you with.

Pink was your favorite color, but you know that he's got no clue. Having his cousin design a few pink dresses for you was just a coincidence.

It didn't mean anything.

As Coriolanus tied his tie with a Windsor knot, his icy blue eyes watched you from the mirror. You were across the room, sitting at the your vanity. Your were brushing your hair and looked a bit lost in your thoughts.

He wanted you ask you what was on your mind, but he was…

Scared.

Yes, he was scared to put himself in a situation where he had to have an actual conversation with you outside of the clipped responses and simple questions that are detrimental to married life.

Coriolanus was afraid that if he talked, truly talked with you, then the well kept secret he's been keeping for the last few months would come spilling out. That he'd have to confront his feelings for you because he knew that once he started to listen to you share your thoughts that he'd be a goner.

That his hard, cold mask he wears around you would shatter.

He just couldn't have that.

He couldn't allow himself to admit that he's in love with you.

Coriolanus swore to himself that he'd never fall in love again. That he'd never give somebody so much power and control over him and his emotions ever again.

That he'd never make himself become weak for a woman.

After Lucy Gray broke his heart by betraying him, manipulating him, and using him to keep her ungrateful ass alive, he swore off love.

Love was painful.

He learned that the hard way.

Love was a weakness that he couldn't afford.

So, he decided to marry somebody that he felt that he'd never be able to love. Somebody that he could even hate. And that's why he picked you.

Yes, your step-father was a very prominent general, but it was your mother's blood running in your veins that made you the perfect candidate for marriage. It was the worst best kept secret in the Capitol that your mother, Helenium, had baby trapped your father, an officer in the peacekeepers, into marrying to rise out of poverty in District 12. The fact that you had district blood, not any district but 12, blood running in your veins was reason enough for Coriolanus to hate you.

So, assuming that he'd hate you til her grew old and died, he approached your step-father about marrying you.

Unfortunately, he didn't anticipate how easy you truly were to fall in love with.

Fuck!

He hated it.

Coriolanus hated having feelings for you.

He didn't like feelings.

He refuses to acknowledge them.

As long as he ignored his feelings then he couldn't get hurt. You couldn't hurt him.

He's never let himself get hurt over love ever again.

Coriolanus was about to turn away from the mirror and walk out of the room, but stopped himself whenever he heard your breath hitch and saw you quickly place your hand on your rounded belly.

Was something wrong? The last time you had a doctor's appointment he intended to take the morning off, but you insisted that he meet with his political team and work on his Senate campaign. But when he got home he asked you how the appointment went and you told him everything was fine.

Did you lie to him?

Turning around to look at you, he asked, “Are you alright, Y/N?”

You powered through the sharp pain and nodded, “I'm fine, Coriolanus.”

“Are you sure?” Your husband asked, starting to make his way over to you with worry in his striking blue eyes.

“I'm sure, Coriolanus.” You lied.

You weren't fine. You were having sharp pains; felt a bit nervous too since you were only 7 months along in your pregnancy. But, you couldn't tell your husband that.

Coriolanus was as cold as his name- Snow.

He didn't give a fuck about you.

Hell, you could die in childbirth and he wouldn't even care. He'd just hire a nanny to raise his heir, your baby boy Cassian Xandros, and then he'd just find somebody else to marry. Somebody else to hate and make miserable.

You felt that Coriolanus wouldn't shed a single tear if something went wrong and you died in childbirth. That he wouldn't mourn you, wouldn't give a shit if your headstone was overrun with weeds and overgrowth.

You were so wrong though. So very wrong about that.

Coriolanus would be utterly heartbroken if he lost you the same way he lost his mother and baby sister. He'd blame himself.

He'd be eating a bullet and joining you in that graveyard, making your son an orphan, if you died in childbirth.

A thin, but fake smile, graces your lips as you assured him, “I'm fine, Coriolanus. It's probably just braxton hicks or something.” You felt him stop right next to you as you set your brush down. His shadow fell over you, but you refused to look up at him. Instead you reached for your powder compact.

Coriolanus gave it to you as a gift after you told him you were pregnant. It was silver and had roses engraved on it. The face powder inside of it smelled like roses too.

Unknown to you, him giving you that compact was his love language.

It belonged to his mother.

The first time he gave it to somebody it was filled with poison to help that manipulative performer of a bitch Lucy Gray to cheat in the arena during the 10th Hunger Games.

The second time he gave it to somebody, the reasoning wasn't twisted, but was genuine. Coriolanus thoroughly cleaned his mother's compact, filled it with rose scented face powder, and gave it to you after learning that you were carrying his child.

He gave it to you because you made him happy. Because you were giving him a family.

It was also the moment when he realized he didn't hate you at all, but actually had feelings for you.

Coriolanus would never admit it, but your pregnancy wasn't a happy one for him. He imagined that he'd be more involved, but you were pushing him so hard to focus on his campaign.

Even though he avoided talking to you for longer then he had to, he still wanted to be involved with your pregnancy. Maybe the next one’ll be happier since he won't be campaigning.

And yes, he planned on having at least one more child with you. Cassian Xandros needed a sibling after all.

Opening the compact and grabbing the puff inside, you told your husband, “I'm fine, really.” Patting the puff into the compact’s powder, you urge him to leave. “If you don't go, you'll be late for your political meetings and duties as head Gamemaker.”

Coriolanus nodded, only to rub your shoulder and say, “If you need me, call me.”, before pivoting on his heel and walking out of your master bedroom.

You thought that your pains would ease up, but they didn't. As the day progressed, so did they.

It got to the point that as you gazed outside the window, looking at the bustling city streets below, you debated on whether or not to call your husband.

Coriolanus told you to call him if you needed him. But, did you need him? Maybe. Hell, you didn't know. All you knew was that he didn't care about you; would probably be upset that you called him. He was a busy man; you doubt that he actually meant it when he told you to call him.

He probably just said it because it was the husbandly thing to say to a wife that seemed upset.

He didn't mean it. No, he was cold and unfeeling towards you so the less you bothered him the better.

Coriolanus was busy preparing for the start of the games and running a Senate campaign. He didn't need to be bothered by you and your pains.

You let out cry, feeling like a thunderbolt has struck your side. Oh god, the pains were getting worse.

Clenching your teeth, you turned away from the window to shuffle over to the phone.

You weren't going to call your husband. No, you couldn't do that. But, maybe you could call your doctor instead.

You never called your doctor.

Your sure as hell didn't call your Coriolanus either.

Instead, your 17 year old brother did. And that call, well, it gutted your husband.

He just replayed it over and over again in his mind as he rushed to the hospital (opting to snag the car keys from his driver, Bentley, and just gun it to Capitol General Hospital himself).

“This is Head Gamemaker Coriolanus Snow, to whom am I speaking with?” Coriolanus answered his office phone, like he always did, with a polite but professional greeting.

“Coriolanus, bro, it's Darius-” Your brother began to say, only for the aspiring senator to cut him off with a question of, “Darius, what are you calling me for? Shouldn't you be in class at the Academy right now?”

“Dude, you're the damn Head Gamer, did you forget how the top students are stuck mentoring tributes from districts without Victor's to act as mentors?” Darius asked in a ‘duh, you're an idiot’ type of tone. “I'm stuck being a mentor for District 8 and was given half the day off to go to the Tribute Housing center to make sure everything's all prepared and shit. So, before going over to that shit hole of a glorified hotel, I went to visit my sister, but I found her passed out and bleeding. I had to call the medics.”

Coriolanus’ couldn't believe his ears. You passed out and bleeding! Were you alright? Were you hurt? Was something wrong with the baby? Were you downplaying your pains this morning so he'd go to work instead of staying home with you?

So many questions ran through his platinum blonde head, but before he could string his thoughts together to form a coherent sentence, Darius told him, “You need to get to the hospital quick, Coriolanus. I'm just her brother and can't make any medical decisions for her since she's married to you.” Your little brother let out a shaky breath. “They saved the baby; it's in the NICU cause it came so early, but it's touch and go with Y/N.”

“What?...” Coriolanus let out in a whooshing breath.

Touch and go…

Did that mean?...

No…

No!

He couldn't lose you. Not now, not when he finally realized that he didn't hate you at all, but truly did love you with every fiber of his being.

“I’ll be right there. Thank you for calling, Darius.”

“Don't thank me, Coriolanus.” Darius spat, only to go on a long rant of, “I only called you because I can't make medical decisions for my sister and the hospital staff’s pussies that are too scared shitless of you to do it. If it was up to me, I wouldn't have called cause you're a cold hearted snake that doesn't deserve my sister. Y/N deserved a man that actually cares about her, not somebody that just takes her off a shelf and plays with her like a fucking doll when the mood hits.”

All Coriolanus could do was blink as his brother-in-law hung up on him.

Coriolanus' knuckles were holding onto the steering wheel with a white knuckle grip as he broke every traffic law known to man to get to the hospital.

The fact that he could lose you just like he lost his mother was fucking with his head. It was breaking him in ways that he never knew he could be broken.

Love is a painful thing. Love hurts. Love is the only thing to bring him to his knees. A feeling that he hates.

A feeling that he's tried to avoid.

But he couldn't avoid his feelings for you anymore.

Once he reached the hospital, Coriolanus inquired about your room, only to rush to your side. When he reached your room, you were hooked up to some machines and monitors.

Your little brother, Darius, was by your side. He was smoking a cigarette (which is not allowed in a hospital, by the way) while watching the Makary Show, which was a TV talk show where district women dragged peacekeepers and Capitol men they claimed were their baby daddies to do paternity tests.

“You can't smoke in here, Darius.” Coriolanus told your little brother while making his way to your bedside.

“It's a private room, cause the name Snow gets the VIP treatment, so it ain't like anyone's gonna complain bout it.”

“Y/N doesn't need to be exposed to it while she's fighting for her life. Be considerate of your sister.” Your husband hissed at your little brother.

“Oh, so now you give a fuck about her all of a sudden? Oooo…that's nice to know.”

Coriolanus' frostily stared Darius as he seethed, “Don't stand here and assume you know how I feel about my wife because you don't. Now, you need to leave.”

“I’ll let my parents know what's going on with Y/N.” Darius sighed, tossing his half smoked cigarette into his water cup before standing to his feet.

Without another word, your brother left your husband alone in your room.

Coriolanus took vigil by your bedside. He never left your side. Not even when a nurse came in and asked if he wanted to be escorted to the NICU to see his son.

He refused, saying that he'd see Cassian Xandros with you when you woke up.

The nurse sadly nodded and left him be. She thought he was grasping at straws since there was a chance that you wouldn't wake up.

Coriolanus begged you to wake up. Promised to make an effort to be around more of you'd only open your beautiful eyes from him.

And finally, after 3 days in a coma, you blinked your eyes open. At first your vision was a bit blurry as you heard a gasp from next to you. As your vision cleared, you saw your that your husband's face was near yours.

And he was crying.

He was crying?

Why was he crying?

You took in his appearance and realized that he looked like shit. His platinum curls, usually slick back with gel, were disheveled and greasy. He also had light blonde stuble covering his jaw.

But it was his icy blue eyes that tooth your breath away.

They held so much relief in them as they welled with water.

“Corio-” You began to ask, only for your husband to cut you off. “My darling, I thought I was going to lose you.” Coriolanus held you close to his chest and his voice cracked.

“Lose me? What happened?” You asked, pulling away from his hold to look up at him with confusion shining in your eyes.

“Darius found you passed out and bleeding, Y/N. You've been out of it for roughly 3 days.” Your husband explained, his usually firm voice a bit unsteady.

The air was knocked out of your lungs as the realization of what happened hit you. “The baby?...” You shakily asked, hoping that your baby boy survived.

“Cassian Xandros is strong and a survivor, just like us.” Coriolanus smiled. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, he explained, ‘He's in the NICU; the nurse can take us to see him.”

Assuming that Coriolanus has seen your son already, you innocently asked, “Does he look like me or like you?”

“I don't know, darling. I've been waiting for you to wake up so we can see him together.”

Your husband's answer blindsided you. You weren't expecting that.

But what he said next, well, that rendered you speechless.

His baby blue eyes met yours as he poured out his blackened soul to you. His fingers threaded with yours as he confessed, “I was terrified that you weren't going to make it, Y/N. I was afraid that I'd have to go through the pain of heartbreak all over again.”

Your eyes widened at his words. Heartbreak? Did that mean…

“The first time I fell in love it was 7 years ago, when I was Lucy Gray’s mentor.”

You didn't need to hear that. You already knew he fell for her. Hell, everyone that was in the Top 24 of the Academy graduating class of 10 ADD knew that (yourself included).

Great, so he was going to tell you that he was still hung up on his lost first love while you lay in the hospital bed? What a cold hearted man you were married to. Hell, why would he even do that.

A glazed over look appeared in his eyes and his baritone grew tight. “I nearly destroyed my entire life for her. For love. And you know where it got me? Heartbroken, used up, betrayed, and alone.”

“Corio-”, You began, not understanding where he was coming from, only for him to interrupt you with the simple request of, “Please, call me Coryo.”

You nodded, prompting him to continue his holy confession, “Lucy Gray and her love left me feeling like a fool. I hated feeling like that and swore that I'd never let myself feel that way again. That I’d never fall in love again.” Coryo's thumb brushed over your knuckles. “I swore to marry a woman that I could never love, but only hate in order to never feel weak, broken, humiliated, and manipulated again.”

Great…so now it's confirmed that he hates you. You always suspected it, but now you know the truth for sure. You swallowed down a lump in your truth and softly said, “I understand, Coryo.”

“No, I don't think you do, darling.” Your husband shook his head, making his blonde curls rustle around. “I hate myself for loving you, my darling rose, because you have the power to destroy me if you wish.”

“Y-you love me?” You gasped as tears began to tickle your eyes.

“Yes.” Your husband smiled. “Very much and it frightens me because of what happened between me and that manipulative bitch all those years ago.”

Oh wow…Lucy Gray sure did do a number on your husband. Oh, if you ever got your hands on her, you'd rip hair hair out and claw her eyes out for the emotional turmoil she put Coriolanus through. If it wasn't for her breaking his heart so badly, you would’ve had a better marriage.

“I love you too, Coryo, and I'll never hurt you the way she did.’ You promised your husband.

“You better not or else I'll burn down all of Panem this time in the wake of my heartbreak.” Your husband teased before pressing a kiss to your lips.

A kiss filled with every single emotion he's ever held back from you these last few months. His lips fit perfectly against yours as he drank in your soul with every moment they made against yours.

You broke apart whenever you heard a nurse loudly clearing her throat. Once you looked to the woman, she smiled and simply said, ‘I’m glad to see you're up, Mrs. Snow. How would you like to see your son?”

3 Months Later…

The way Cassian Xandros Snow entered the world was very dramatic but you wouldn't change a thing about it. In fact, if it wasn't for his dramatic birth then you and your husband might have gone your entire lives without confessing the love you have for each other.

Oh, that would've been horrible.

You were sitting in a white glider, rocking your son to sleep after feeding him, whenever the sound of barefeet slapping against the marble floor made you look up towards the doorway.

“Happy anniversary, darling.” Coriolanus smiled, single pink rose in his hand, as he walked into the nursery.

*Happy Anniversary, Coryo.” You smiled back, watching your husband as he made his way over to your side. Flickering your eyes between the pink rose and his icy blue eyes, you remarked, “I was expecting a white rose, not a pink one.”

“Yes, well, it's only fitting that I give you a pink rose today. After all, pink roses are your favorite; the white ones are mine.”

“How did you know that? I never told you?”

“I can be quite observant and a bit obsessive when I'm in love.” Was Coriolanus' answer as he passed you the rose, only to take your son into his arms.

Pecking your husband on his plush lips, you honestly told him, “And I wouldn't want you any other way, Coryo.”

Because, honestly, you preferred his obsessive love over his cold and distant hate. After experiencing both, well, you quickly discovered that it was better to be the center of Coriolanus Snow's world than to not be in it at all.

He hated that he loved you, but you loved that he loved you.

Tags: @kuroosbby001, @purriteen, @poppyflower-22, @meetmeatyourworst, @whipwhoops, @bxtchopolis, @readingthingsonhere,@savagenctzen, @ryswritingrecord, @erikasurfer, @tulips2715, @universal-s1ut, @thesmutconnoisseur, @squidscottjeans, @sudek4l, @wearemadeofstardust0, @mashiromochi, @gracieroxzy, @belcalis9503, @shari-berri , @aoi-targaryen, @whiteoakoak, @spear-bearing-bi-witch, @gisellesprettylies , @loverandqueenofdragons, @qoopeeya, @mfnqueen1

#coriolanus snow #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games #thg #coryo snow #coriolanus snow x reader #tom blyth #coriolanus fanfiction #tbosas fanfiction #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coryo #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus x you #coryo snow fanfiction #coryo snow x reader #tbosas x reader

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doobean · 7 months

Text

AN EASY A - NAGI SEISHIRO

synopsis: There's a problem student in your class and he just can't seem to understand that he needs to put in the effort. You've already given him three chances to make up his assignments - all of which he ignored. But what happens when he suggests another alternative during office hours?

contents: explicit content, afab!fem!reader, age gap (he's 22 and reader is 27), student-teacher (duh), reader kind of a tough professor lol, also a bully too ig, sex in teacher's office, masturbation (reader), power imbalance, nonconsensual video recording, vaginal sex, unprotected, creampie, breast/nipple play, dom?reader, switch!nagi, cunninglingus, cumming on face and inside, degradation, name calling (brat x 2, good boy x 1), nagi having a big dick, happy ending :) word count: 3.7K a/n: part 3 of my kinktober event :3 SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG LIFE TOOK OVER BUT I HOPE THIS MAKES UP FOR THE LOST TIME ;; I WILL MAKE THE LAST KINKTOBER FIC EXTRA SPICY TOO DONT WORRY FAM - also im super proud of myself for literally scraping the draft and rewrote this within a span of two days?? like wow the pressure is on.

There are some habits that never seem to change — even with age. You’ve seen it all, experienced it too, from emailing your teachers last minute about having to make up an exam worth over half of your course grade to faking a family death in order to get an extension, or — and this is more for students who are a bit too ‘brave’ — blaming the teachers for their inability to do their jobs. You knew what you would be getting into when you went into this job, from having to do the last minute panic pleas to now being on the receiving end of it. And you now actually feel sorry for having to bombard your past professors like that.

You release a deep breath from your nose and flick the red gel pen across a student’s exam, circling the large failing number by their name. “I’ll see you next year.” You try to sound less harsh, more on the sympathetic side, since you’re relatively still within the same age group as some of these students, but who wants to hear that? That they have to repeat a course and be stuck a graduation year behind? Absolutely no one.

You want to look away as you hand the student back his exam scores because you just know it’s going to end with tears and meaningless pleas but that would be unprofessional on your end. Instead, you give the student a small smile and a couple of pieces of candy from the glass bowl next to you.

“Sorry if it’s not much but it’s better than nothing?” God, you need to work on your pep talk. These students are basically adults, not elementary school kids.

“A-Are you sure I can’t do anything else to boost my grade?” The student starts to whimper and you have to tense your whole body from cringing at their quivering voice.

Ugh, it’s useless. Why bother begging if they haven’t bothered to study the material?

Still, you manage to whip up an emphatic frown and shake your head, voice sounding more motherly. “I’m sure it’ll be easier for you to understand next time.”

Another whine and then a final huff before the student storms out of your office. By the time the door shuts and their wails are out of ear shot, you slump back into your chair and groan loudly into your palms. Your body aches from being at your desk all day long — your mind is doing no better, having to deal with students’ cries and unwarranted trauma dumping. Seriously, when are they going to pay teachers more to deal with this type of stuff?

On the bright side of things, your office hours are officially over. Final grades will be up by tonight and you’ve completed most of your tasks with all but one student being a constant no show for the eternity of the semester but that responsibility doesn’t fall onto you. He and the handful of others can just show up again next year.

You spend some time debating your options, eating a nice, warm bowl of noodles sounds good for now but… you did spend nearly eight hours cooped up in your office and you are feeling a bit high energy right now, so stress relieving might be a good answer first.

“Now, where did I put that thing?” You reach down your desk, pulling up your purse and rummage through it looking for a very specific purple ‘massager’.

It’s super rare for you to ‘release’ stress while on campus grounds, this might be one of the few times, with others following the same patterns, but you feel the utter need to reward yourself after today’s events. It’ll only take you maybe ten minutes max, afterwards it’s dinner and then a quiet train ride home. Plus, not like you have a partner who can do this for you — you barely have time to take care of yourself, let alone be in a relationship or commit yourself to a random hook up. Sometimes, it’s just better to handle the situation yourself since it is your body.

A breathy sigh leaves your lips as you place the vibrating head against the soft cotton fabric of your panties, already soaked through by just the thought of de-stressing yourself. You throw your head back, with one hand steady with the magic wand and the other traveling up to your blouse, unbuttoning the top and allowing your black bra to be exposed in the room. As you increase the pressure from the vibrations, your free hand spills your breasts from its cups, your thumbs and digits immediately running over the sensitive nubs and plush flesh of your chest as you start to chase your high.

“M-Mhm—! Right there…” You roll your head to the side and shut your eyes, imagination fleeting to the thoughts of a male seated in between your legs, his tongue desperate and latching to your overwhelmed clit and folds while your thighs keep his shoulders in place.

You think it’s so unfair that your other friends have already settled down with partners of their own. When holidays come around the corner, when you finally catch a break from all the whining and fake wolf cries, you just have to hear your friends gush about how romantic their partners are to them. You secretly hate winter because of it. All those talks about Christmas gifts, their New Year’s couples resolutions, their stupid fancy ski trips that cost close to thousands of dollars, and then top it off for Valentine’s Day. Summer is more bearable, only because of the lack of romantic holidays, but you still get bitter from seeing their beach photos and international trips.

You change the position of your magic wand, facing it closer and pressing it harder down your clit, nearly drawing blood from your lips as you suppress back a frantic moan — a moan that’s a mix of both pleasure and frustration.

Fuck the students. Fuck your friends. And fuck this job.

“H-Haah—! Oh my god…” Your hips buckle feverishly, body quaking in your seat as you start to feel a familiar coil tightening in your stomach and a rush down below. A build up of tears start pooling at the corners of your eyes as your vision starts to grow hazy. Your heart heaves forward, about to burst out of your chest, the imaginary man just about to finish you off—

Creak.

Your eyes immediately pop open and the color drains from your face at the squealing sound from the door. You don’t have enough time to cover yourself up when you realize that a student is standing by the entrance, wearing an equally shocked expression on his face. A tousle of white shaggy hair, large gray eyes, appearing at a staggering height with—your gaze trail to his hands and nearly faint from the sight—his phone.

The sound of the door creaking again snaps you out of the phase and your arms fly over your chest, the words stuck in your throat and your vibrator falling to the floor.

Shit, what should you ask first? Has he been recording you this whole time? When did he even show up? You’re positive that you were the only one left in the academic building, so what is going on?

“Um,” The male has the audacity to walk in the room, his gaze fixated on everything but you. “Are office hours still open?”

What. The. Fuck.

You blink once, twice, and, when the student is still standing there, confirming your thoughts that he isn’t an awful mirage sent down by the Lord himself, you feel yourself internally shrinking.

“I-Is that the first thing you want to ask me?” You stifle back a laugh, or at least you think it’s a laugh. Maybe even a few waterworks for later. “Just who are you?”

But then it hits you. The black and blue duffle bag he has by his side had his name engraved on it. You don’t need to take a closer to recognize the national team’s logo and you certainly don’t need a Google search to realize that Nagi fucking Seishiro, a soccer prodigy and your apparent student for the semester, might’ve just recorded you masturbating in your office.

You manage to find an old jacket from one of the drawers at your desk and throw it on before pointing a harsh finger at the man. “Delete it, now.”

“Will I get an A?” Nagi is surprisingly blunt and, now looking back, this might honestly be the first time you’ve ever talked to him out of the whole semester. He seems to catch your perplexed look, shooting you a pair of creased brows back as he explains, “All of my other courses were remote because of training and football games… You were the only professor that denied it.”

You huff, seemingly annoyed that he thinks he can be an exception to your course rules. “I don’t hand out favoritism to just anyone and,” You glare at the phone in his hand, sneering right back at his uncaring facial expression. “I’m definitely not going to pass you if you’re threatening to black mail me.”

“Maybe we can help each other out?” Nagi offers, maybe a bit too fast and too eager.

You cautiously sink back in your seat, eyes narrowing at his suggestion. “What are you implying, Nagi?” The male shuffles awkwardly in place and your gaze flicks down, eyes widening for the nth time today and an audible gasp slips out. “You can’t be serious.”

“I need to pass and you—” Nagi clears his throat and motions to your slick covered vibrator, which is still very much on and buzzing away on the wooden floor boards near his feet. “You didn’t finish.” He rakes his fingers through his hair and adjusts the semi-hard length through his sweats with his other before finishing his offer. “I’ll delete the video, help you, and you’ll give me an A?” Nagi lamely suggests.

You want to scream, dig yourself a ditch large enough to fit you and the rest of however much pride you had left, and wither away. You’ve had students coming to you with plenty of other excuses, much more tamed than whatever situation you’ve found yourself in. And, regardless how much shitty this actually is, it doesn’t get rid of the fact that: one — you’re still sexually frustrated from having your orgasm ruined by this oversized, lazy fucker, two — you literally just got this job a year ago and getting fired for masturbating on campus might not look so great on your record, and three — if Nagi is true to his words, maybe you both can just forget about it the next day.

“You don’t get the control, I do.” You rise from your seat, allowing the jacket to fall from your frame. Your gaze hardens on the male subject in front of you as you bend down to reach for your toy, turning it off and putting it away in a nearby drawer that’s most likely filled with other student’s graded assignments.

Whatever, they’ll probably cry more fluids on it when they get their results back anyway.

Nagi tenses when you reach over to touch his arms, feeling up his toned biceps and rest of his upper body underneath the black hoodie, and he doesn’t dare to move unless you tell him to. You let out a scoff, feeling satisfied that he’s already willing to compromise so quickly under short notice. With a light tug on his sleeve, you drag him closer to your desk and settle yourself on top of it. You hike up your pencil skirt to your upper thighs and spread your legs wide enough for the width of his shoulders.

“On your knees, brat.”

He silently obliges, bending down on one knee and his hands find home on your inner thighs. You resist the urge to squirm under his touch, still feeling rather sensitive from your earlier chase and not wanting to give him any ounce of satisfaction. Without any audible exchanges, he allows you to direct his head closer to the heat of your sex, the combination of your increasing wetness and the hot puffs from his breath makes your stomach twist in anticipation.

With a quick swipe, his fingers brush aside your panties to the crease of your thighs and lean in, giving a few experimental licks to your slicked cover folds before burying the rest of his face in. Your reaction is instant. Your fingers claw their way deep into his shoulder blades, thighs threatening to squeeze the living life out of him, but Nagi’s grip is even more threatening. He stays rigid, palms glued to your thighs and keeping them in place as his tongue flicks against the stiff nub — drawing lazy circles.

Your mouth betrays your character as he suddenly decides to insert two digits, scissoring their way into your velvety walls. Nagi grunts in response at just how lewd you sound right now.

“Soaking wet…” He observes with careful eyes at your sex before looking up, a playful smirk flashes across his face when he notices the flush in your cheeks. With another twirl from his fingers, combined with the slow swirls from his tongue, your head rolls back as the torrent seems to be relentless.

With the next extra pumps, you cum hard with a shudder, vicing your thighs against his head. You can feel the leak of fluids slide out of your folds, and Nagi pushes his face inward, making sure he slid his tongue against that sweet spot of yours again. It blinds you with a final surge of pleasure, and you cry out as your orgasm shakes you to the core, nails biting into his shoulders.

You’ve never experienced an orgasm that intense before, even with the usage of your vibrator — hell, you can’t even remember when’s the last time a man has made you reach that high. Bright colors cloud your vision as you tumble through what seems like an endless bliss. Your body goes slack, back now flushed against the office desk, but Nagi’s body is still tense, his muscles twitching as he gets to his feet and lifts your legs off his shoulders.

“Hey,” Nagi slurs, wiping away your slick with the back of his hand. “We’re not done here.”

“W-What are you talking about—ah!”

Your vision is just beginning to clear up when you find yourself trapped between Nagi’s arms. He’s hovering above you, a certain dark look casts over his gray hues as he bores into your own. You swallow hard, heart beating faster when you look down to see his sweats already laid around his thighs and his cock springs free, head spilling with heavy amounts of pre. Nagi’s length twitches at the sounds of your moans and the male takes that as a sign of approval.

“What?” He leans forward, his bangs brushing against your forehead. “You’ve never seen a penis before?”

“Don’t get smart with me, brat.” You spit back, immediately tearing your gaze away from his rather impressive size. Might be the biggest you’ve ever seen in person outside from those awful porn videos online.

If you can find the energy to, you might’ve laughed at his lame attempt to have the upper hand, but Nagi doesn’t waste his time. He closes the distance, smashing his lips against yours, tongue already dragging its way down your throat. You choke back but recover quickly, hands flying to his locks, grabbing fistfuls, and rocking your hips against his hardened appendage. A sinful groan slips from his lips and lifts one of your thighs up, your ankle resting on his shoulder while he wraps the other around his waist.

You part your lips when he breaks away from the kiss, a thin trail of saliva connecting you two, and a whine spills from you as Nagi begins sliding his cock in between your folds. He sucks in his teeth, breath hitching sharply at the sight.

“Wanna put it in so bad—” He shudders seeing your slick engulfing his length. “Can I—Can I please put it in?” His monotone voice now replaced with a shaky resolve, almost as if he’s seeking for your next stage of approval and pleasure.

You reach up and cup his cheeks in your hands, eyes softening at his glassy ones. “Promise to delete that video and you might get a chance, Nagi.”

“Sei,” The male breathes out.

You tilt your head. “Huh?”

Nagi leans into your touch, nuzzling his cheeks into your palms. “Want you to call me Sei… Can you do that?”

“Sei…” You whisper out, suppressing back a laugh when you see the towering male tensing at the sound of his name. The twitching from his cock brushes against your clit making you squirm. “Sei, make me cum around that cock of yours.”

A cry escapes from the both of you when he slides in, inching bit by bit and holding your waist with both hands as leverage. You can’t do anything but throw your head back, sounds leaving your hoarse throat at the sheer size from him. Your hands can only reach his thighs, nails leaving their crescent marks on his skin as Nagi bottoms out inside of you with a long, agonizing stroke. Nagi takes his time, building a slow but steady rhythm, staring down at you with intense gray eyes and making sure the thickness of his cock stretches your walls as he continues. You suddenly feel grateful that you came earlier, the extra slick and foreplay made the insertion easier because you’re certain without it there’s no guarantee that you would’ve been able to handle this mind numbing fucking.

After a few more experimental strokes, Nagi finds a comfortable pace. You’re now starting to get used to him and it feels so, so good that you’re finding everything in your power to spread your legs as far open as they would go. Sensing your struggle, Nagi lifts one hand to push your thigh back even further, and you let out a yelp, whining when you feel him brushing against that sweet spot inside of you again.

A warm rushing sensation starts building in your stomach again and you feel as if you’re about to jump off a cliff. Your walls clamp down around his cock, wails starting to bounce off the walls and legs shaking without any means of control. You’re absolutely floored by the way Nagi’s able to make your body react this much under his touch. It’s only your first time having sex, yet it feels like he’d been making love with you for a lifetime.

Your eyes fly shut as the feeling of his callous thumbs make their way onto your swollen clit, rubbing and tapping away. Flames are riding your nerves, you can’t hold back any sort of resistance in your voice as he picks up the pace, hips slamming into yours and sounds of sex filling the air. Nagi moves swiftly and punishingly, holding your hips still and not allowing you any room to move around as his cock tears against that spot that had tears finally spilling down your flushed face.

“Sei,” You choke out a sob, throwing a hand over your mouth to try and suppress some of the noise. Though, you and him both know it’s a futile effort.

The build up of pleasure is so binding that you’re beginning to lose sense of time and place, feeling only the desperate and feral thrusts from your student. Your second orgasm fades slowly, leaving you in a pool of ecstasy, but that doesn’t stop Nagi.

Still hard and pumping, his grip on your hips only tighten and he grunts out a lustful moan. “Feels good, right? Cumming all over me?”

You look up to him, tears of pleasure disorienting your vision, and in a state where you’re too incoherent to speak — pleading only with your doe eyes.

Nagi understood immediately. He slows down his pace, leaning forward, making sure the head of his cock kisses the inside of your cervix before bending down to place one on your own gaping lips.

“Such a good boy, aren’t you?” You manage out.

He groans at the pet name and peppers your face and neck with wet kisses, lifting your leg with one hand so that he can slowly stroke back and forth inside.

One of your hands reaches for your chest, fondling and toying with your nipples while your other hand reaches for the back of his head, gripping his white locks and pulling him down for another feverish kiss. Your lips remain sealed and pressed together in a battle of tongues as he rocks inside of you, sending you yet another orgasm as he moans into your mouth.

“H-Haah—I’m close…” His hips buck wildly. “Gonna cum inside of this pretty pussy…”

Nagi finally comes undone inside of you, his whole body shuddering as coats of white paint the insides of your velvety walls. A heavy pant from him catches your ears as he pulls out slowly, eyes admiring the hot, white trail that travels down your thighs and onto your desk.

By now, you can barely keep your eyes open, both mind and body exhausted. You try to get up, only to find zero strength left in your limbs, but soon you feel a pair of toned biceps around your waist and Nagi pulls you into his firm, yet comforting chest.

You want to ask him something again, something regarding that video he took of you earlier, but you’re beginning to lose your train of thought as exhaustion creeps up. Your entire body aches and your pussy is still emptying his remaining orgasm. But, strangely enough, you find yourself not caring about it anymore.

A smile makes its way onto your features as you drift off to sleep, making you miss the fact that Nagi did delete the video shortly after and scribble a quick note next to your purse. It’ll be another hour before you have the chance to read it.

‘Don’t forget that A. XXX-XXX-0506 - Sei.’

KINKTOBER TAGLIST (PART III)

@milkistoshi @mareonyan @saenora @blissblossom @wowonamo

#doobean:kinktober23 #cw: power imbalance #cw: video recording #cw: age gap #bllk #blue lock #bllk smut #bllk x reader #nagi x reader #blue lock x reader #nagi seishiro #nagi seishiro smut #nagi seishiro x reader #blue lock x female reader #bllk x female reader #doobean writes

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