#minimal manicure

[foreverbaby25]

[the-maladjustedjester]

Found used copies of the blackgaard chronicles books, only to find out the fifth book in the series will arrive A LITERAL WEEK before the other four. Why has god forsaken me?

[alsaurus-loves-dean]

.

[naledi-xvi]

•@𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕖𝕕𝕚.𝕞𝕠𝕤𝕨𝕖𝕦_

[cujus]

[wandasaura]

PAINTED ALL MY NIGHTS

summary — your mommy was mean, but your daddy could be downright cruel. it makes for an interesting night when they both decide to leave you wanting until you’re not sure how much more teasing you can take, and even then, they’re not going to give in easily

warning(s) — established relationship, daddy kink, mommy kink, mild pet play, dumbification, humiliation, degradation, praise, teasing, butt plugs, dry humping, shoe humping, inspection kink, oral, fingering, choking, crying, pussy spanking, mentions of chastity belts, begging, orgasm control/denial, edging, overstimulation, forced orgasms, squirting, oral fixation (brief), finger sucking, ¿arousal tasting?, mean mommy wanda, cruel daddy natty, aftercare, men/minors dni

A soft current of chilled air swept beneath the thick desk your body remained crammed beneath, adding goosebumps to the array of blemishes against your satin skin. How you’d managed to acquire a collage of bruises on your shins wasn’t quite a mystery, but like a canvas speckled with vibrant acrylic paints, the evidence of their existence was undeniable and honestly laughable. The summer heat was thick, falling over your quaint little town as if its intention was purely to suffocate those that resided near the shorelines of New Jersey, but even beneath an office desk, curled into a tight ball, head resting on plush thighs the color of warm sand, the low thrum of the air conditioner remained a steady presence keeping you cool. A hum, softer than a whisper stolen in a overstimulating crowd, slipped off your lips when manicured fingers the color of divine cherries embedded themselves within your undone hair, scratching tenderly at your scalp that had yearned for attention since you’d wiggled your way underneath the desk your girlfriend worked at. That was how you’d acquired so many faint yet assuredly purple bruises, crawling across wooden floorboards and banging your limbs on hard wooden corners just trying to be close to the women that you love. 

Your eyes, a beautiful definition of color that had somehow become the lifeline your girlfriends hadn’t known they’d been missing until they met you, looked up, just barely able to steal a glance at the woman working at the desk you sat beneath. Her own eyes, a kaleidoscope of unreplicable blues and greens, were trained to the litany of emails that had collected since the night before when she’d sat in the same place for hours attempting to respond to them all. Perhaps you had been ignorant, but before your world had been remade into what it current is, you’d never given professional trainers much thought; had never dwelled on the profession long enough to consider how in demand they are amongst military units and police squads, but your girlfriend, the one who was just slightly older than the other, had made a name for herself out of that very profession, and each day that she wasn’t stolen from you by obligations to train the cities sharpest officers, she spent an unhealthy amount of hours answering emails that all demanded to know when she was free next, and how far she was willing to travel for her services. 

“You okay down there, puppy?” The tone of her voice was low, and admittedly husky from minimal use throughout the endless day that had befallen you, but equally soft as it fell against your attention deprived heart and showered you in warmth that wasn’t nearly as cruel as the unwavering heat that plagued the streets of West View. A sweet blush fell over your cheeks, a strangled whine slipping off your lips as you rocked your hips against the wooden floorboards, searching for something more; something adamantly forbidden. “Use your words, please.” 

With a displeased grunt, your brain foggy despite the little action your wanting body had seen since you’d woken up tangled within cold bed sheets, you pieced together a simple sentence, direct enough to convey your desperation, but just sweet enough that your workaholic girlfriend would forgive your bluntness easily. “Want you.” It was so simple, so telling, so pure, and yet it wouldn’t be enough to convince her and you knew that. Your Mommy was mean, that was an unchanging factor in your sexual endeavors, but your Daddy could be downright cruel if she felt like it. 

Another hum filled the air, though hers was prominent, filled with simple dominance that made your belly coil in unattainable pleasure and fear. “Is that so?” She chided, not tearing her gaze away from her desktop screen for even a second to take in the sight of you curled up so sweetly in a ball by her feet. Had she looked down, taken just a simple glance at your disheveled state, she would’ve noticed the dark patch adorning the center of your cotton panties, she would’ve noticed the way your pebbled nipples poked through the thin tank top clinging to your torso in an effortlessly enticing manor, she would’ve noticed your desperation glazed eyes and arousal flush cheeks, but she didn’t, and you knew that it was purposeful. She was diminishing you to be nothing but her brainless pet, and as hard as you fought to stay coherent and clear-minded throughout her trickery, it was working too well. 

You’d known the game she was wanting to play since she’d coaxed you into taking one of the fancier plugs that had been purchased for your puckered hole early that mid-morning. You’d been eager to play, wiggling your hips and pushing back on the fingers that gently worked you open at a pace so slow it rivaled drying paint, but she’d found restraint since the last time you’d played this game, and patience was ever so slowly ebbing away from your wanting body. A whine, high pitched and entirely petulant fell off of your lips when nothing was given to you in the aftermath of her taunt. You rooted harder against the light oak floorboards, bracing your palms mere inches in front of your body, hoping that the balanced pressure would provide you relief, but all you’d accomplished was alerting her of your sneaky actions, and so carelessly a shoe covered foot jutted out to become your undoing. A sob broke through your lips the second her shoe nestled itself between your trembling thighs, giving you a silent ultimatum that unfortunately, you weren’t desperate enough to take up just yet. The unspoken demand was simple; ride her shoe or stop whining, but humiliation was engraved in the degrading task, and your brain, a helpless pile of submissive mush, hadn’t been undone quite enough to take the bait. 

Settling back against the floorboards like you’d been prior to your short-lived act of defiance, her shoe a bulky presence beneath your body giving just enough pleasure to not be forgotten about entirely, you dropped your flush cheek to her upper-shin once more, nipping at her unblemished skin in frustration. Her fingers were quick to reprimand you, nestling into your undone hair and pulling sharply, giving you no ounce of grace despite being the cause of your misbehaving. 

Another hour passed after that without so much as a glance in your direction, and then another, and then another, until the sun was sinking beneath the shorelines of New Jersey being replaced by moonlight that glimmered against every reflective surface in the home office. Your girlfriend, the artist, was due home soon. She’d been called away to her gallery early, preparations for a mid-season showcase taking up most of her time nowadays, but you could always count on her comforting presence before the canvas of sunset could melt away entirely. You whined as you shifted against the floors, rocking your sopping cunt into your girlfriend's shoe incidentally, an electric pulse of pleasure shooting up your spine and tangling into the center of your belly where one off sparks had been shooting off at for hours. It hadn’t been intentional, your only intention had been to relieve your aching bones for a few simple seconds, but instead you found yourself tethered to the source of pleasure you found despite the humiliation that just barely crossed your mind, and again, your hips rocked, and again, pleasure shot through you like a bullet train. 

If your girlfriend noticed how you humped her shoe and clung to her leg and whined and whimpered and twitched with pleasure, which she most definitely did, nothing was said. There was no demand to stop that followed your curious movements, no assurance that despite your disgusting act you were good, so good, no verbal humiliation regarding how disgustingly needy your brainless pussy was. There was nothing, and the lack of attention only brought forth a new wave of discomfort. You cried out helplessly, uncoordinated movements becoming sloppy and desperate, but the tears that spilled down your cheeks like tantalizing rivulets did nothing to interfere with her concentration. It was becoming equally too much and not enough, the game was becoming less fun, less enticing, but you wanted her, and you needed her, and you hoped that eventually, before your thoughts spiraled so deep into despair that only Wanda could pull you back up, that she would notice. 

Miraculously, she did. When your grinding slowed, and your sobs intensified, and you weren’t sure if you were trembling as a result of found pleasure or desperation for her, she reached down, corralling you into her lap with gentle movements and tender touches. Your sodden panties dragged along the thin material of her biker shorts, and with a mind of their own, your hips searched for relief against her, grinding and humping and wiggling so intensely that the chair rocked in time with your movements. Your face found peace in the shallowest pit of her neck, lips sucking marks onto her smooth skin, tears dampening strands of hair that had become trapped between your body and hers. 

“Such a good girl, I have. The best girl. The best puppy.” She cooed softly, her fingers holding tightly to your waist, guiding your movements with leisure, inching you closer and closer to an explosion of relief that would have you falling deep into a pit of paralyzing submission for hours. When her other hand, the one that had never been laid against your waist, dipped further down, gliding against your spine until it reached the swell of your ass, you realized just briefly that this had been the end goal the entire time. She wanted you pliable in her hands, she wanted you so desperate that despite your conflicting emotions you sought pleasure from her simple body. A sharp moan fell into the air when soft fingers pressed against the plug nestled between the globes of your ass. The plug, a heart shaped jewel the color of your favorite shade of pink, pressed into you firmly, not entirely dissimilar to how it had pressed into you when you sat flush against the floorboards, but there was an added spark now that her fingers were the one provoking such sensations. “No, you don’t get to cum. Just feel it, pretty puppy. Just enjoy how good Daddy’s making you feel.” She was quick to reaffirm that forbidden rule, and your tears were quick to start again, blubbering sobs and pleas falling off your lips and you ground your clothed core into hers, your clit catching on the waistband of her biker shorts each time she guided you higher. 

“My my, what’s going on in here?” Another voice, a softer voice, broke through the heavy fog restricting your mind from fully recognizing what’s happening around you. You hadn’t heard the front door close, hadn’t heard her heels clanking against the floorboards as she discarded her blazer in the living room and set her thermos of coffee down on the kitchen island, you hadn’t heard her kick off her stilettos by the stairs before she padded her way up to Natasha’s office. You hadn’t heard any of it, but you heard her now, and you reached for her with determination, your face flush and damp with tears that your Daddy was far too proud to have been the result of. 

“M-Mommy!” You sobbed weakly, sparks of pleasure still paralyzing you in place on Natasha’s lap, however with Wanda home now, with your Mommy present, you could only hope that relief would make its way to your pulsating clit quickly. She never could resist the sight of your tear stained face, even if Natasha found it delectable. Mommy was hard, she was firm and she was ruthless, but at the end of the day you were just her precious little baby eager for attention and she was more than happy to give you that. It was Daddy’s puppy that could endure the wrath of denial and endless teasing, but now, your brain lingered on the verge of two headspaces that clashed so violently it was as if two separate people resided within your desires and neither one was ready to relinquish control, and your overstimulated, underwhelmed body wasn’t quite sure where to settle in the aftermath of such an emotionally charged lead up to this moment. Everything was too much, but nothing was enough to state the desire burning holes into your judgment. Natasha had broken you. That had been the game all along, you were just too naive to realize until now. You’d played the part of a dumb puppy seamlessly, grinding on her shoe, on her lap, biting at her legs and at her neck… you’d been the perfect puppy for a few agonizing hours, but now you were ready to be Mommy’s baby; her spoiled little princess. 

“Oh no, Mommy’s not going to save you now, little minx. You look so pretty making a mess on your Daddy’s lap.” Wanda’s laugh was your favorite sound. It was sweet and twinged with innocence, despite the hardships that had befallen her in life, but as if fell over you now, as it crashed against your shorelines it was harsh and unforgiving, cold and threateningly eerie. A sob rippled through your chest, and pathetically your head fell against Natasha’s shoulders, your hips fumbling to an abrupt stop as you gave up. It was too much, it was all too much. You needed your Mommy, you wanted your Daddy, you didn’t want to be the one pushing toward an orgasmic explosion of relief. You wanted it done to you, wanted to be their pretty little toy that they used however they pleased, and yet they weren’t giving you that satisfaction. “You need help, is that what this is about? Mommy’s little baby can’t do it on her own?” 

You peeked out from Natasha’s shoulder, beautiful eyes that stole breath from healthy lungs glazed over so heavily that the gleam of moonlight slipping in through the curtains framing the window reflected off of them dazzlingly. You wanted your Mommy, and she had so cruelly refused to help you. A guttural sob slipped off your tongue, and defenselessly you surrendered to Natasha’s persistent touches, your hips twitching of their own volition when she pressed harshly against the base of the plug nestled deep within your puckered hole with addictive strawberry flavored lube. The tank top that clung to your torso was damp with sweat and tears, giving easy sight to your pebbled nipples that rubbed and brushed against Natasha’s chest teasingly. You’d been successfully undone, not a single coherent thought in your head, and yet it wasn’t enough for them, it would never be enough for them. 

“Come here, my darling girl. Let Mommy take a look at what’s bothering you.” Your cheeks, already so tenderly flush that they felt hot to the touch, became alight with nervous energy as you wiggled out of Natasha’s grip and reached out firmly for Wanda, not willing to take her rejection again. It never came, thankfully, and within seconds you were nestled against your Mommy’s chest, breathing in the comforting scent of her perfume and acrylic paints. She preferred oil, but she’d been working on one last canvas that had only felt right to be constructed with vibrant purples and oranges from her acrylic collection. It didn’t matter much to you. Wanda smelt like coming home after a strenuous day, and so intimately you snuggled closer, still sniffling and writhing for pleasure to consume you. 

Her footsteps were soft, practically inaudible as she padded across the wooden floorboards and brought you to the bedroom that hadn’t been seen since you’d come to find Natasha when sunlight was still painting the endless sky a hue of admirable baby blue. Your back met the soft bed sheets when Wanda threw you down, her touch lost for merely a few seconds before thumbs, stained from spilled paint, pried your thighs open, leaving your sodden panties on full display for her to enjoy. A shy whine rippled through your chest as you attempted to close your legs, but all that came of your weak protests was a curt tutt and a firmer hold. 

“My my, sweetheart. Your panties are awfully wet. Mommy can see your little clit just begging for attention right through them. I bet that feels so icky, huh?” She cooed tauntingly, her unmanicured finger falling between your open legs, her paint stained nail tracing the softest line across the expanse of your clothed pussy, merely smearing arousal across the already sodden fabric. A strangled whine caught in your dry throat, your desperate gleam not nearly enough to convince her to relieve you so early on. “Let me have a taste, hm? Let Mommy see what all the fuss is about.” 

Her words alone hadn’t been enough to prepare you for the sensation of a warm tongue flicking curiously against your hardened bud, a mixture of saliva and arousal further dampening your panties as Wanda leaned down to firmly taste your glistening core, her strangled moans of enjoyment sparking sensations deep in your belly that had your eyes fluttered closed and your hips grinding up to find more; more pressure, more stimulation, just more. It was over as soon as it had begun, and a whimpered protest fell into the air as you blindly reached down to grab fistfuls of neatly tamed waves, trying desperately to pull her face back down to where you needed her most. She was unrelenting, smiling down at you so sickeningly sweetly that you yearned to kick her away and roll over in a huff of frustration, but temptation got the better of you, and desperately you rolled your hips against thin air, hoping to seduce her into giving into your desires. 

“M-Mommy! It’s achey!” You babbled desperately, wiggling pathetically against the bedsheets that had seen many strenuous endeavors over the last few months. Just the thought of how many times you’d come apart beneath them on these beige gingham sheets left you desperate, and the thought of adding another orgasm to the collection of passed ones had you panting. 

“Oh, I’m sure it is achey, sweetheart. Your little pussy’s so needy, Mommy might just have to lock her up, huh? She gets you in so much trouble, always crying for attention, always desperate to be full. I think it’s time we teach her how to act, hm?” Wanda continued to coo, all while her fingers rub soft patterns and shapes into the soaked fabric of your pastel pink panties, though the damp patch had turned them a hue so vibrant there’s not a single paint in Wanda’s collection that could match it accurately. You shook your head adamantly at the idea, a sob clawing up your throat at her proposed suggestion, and she laughed. “It’s not up to you what Mommy does, little girl. You’ll just take it like a good girl, won’t you? You’ll let Mommy do whatever she wants to you?” 

You couldn’t help but nod, blubbering into your hands that had come to hide your face at some point between her lips on your clothed core and her fingers tracing minuscule details. You whined when she spread your legs further, painfully aware of how your clit throbbed and pulsated against the fabric of your panties, enough for her to take notice and flick her fingers against your sensitive bud in tune with its rhythmic beating. A open palm slap was the sensation that startled you, and a pathetic whimper filled the room as your eyes shot open and you witnessed Natasha standing beside Wanda, her eyes trained on your core, her palm glistening despite the barrier between your core and her hand. 

“How many can this slutty puppy take before she comes from a spanking alone?” Her words are directed at Wanda, her attention split between your dazzling girlfriend and your glimmering core. Not an ounce of attention falls on you, from either her nor the artist also filling the space between your open legs. It’s humiliating, entirely dehumanizing, but it fuels your arousal further, and pathetically you grind upwards, hoping to come in contact with her palm once more, even if the touch is harsh and unforgiving. “Looks like the dumb pet wants to find out.” 

The first spank is heavenly, a harsh blow aimed directly at your quivering opening that’s been void of stimulation all day, but the second is cruel, aimed straight at your unsuspecting clit that throbs and pulses in the aftermath of the blow and has you writhing from that intense mix of pain and pleasure. A strangled sob rips your throat apart, your eyes wide and pleading for relief do nothing to soften Natasha’s reserve, and again she strikes you between your legs, and again your core reacts before your brain can catch up to what’s happening. It’s by the sixth that you can feel it happening. Your legs are shaking, trembling, fighting to close but Wanda holds them open and leaves you vulnerable to the assault. Your chest is rising and falling so fast that your breath comes out in strained pants. Your eyes are shut, fingers holding fistfuls of bed sheets that do nothing to ease your panic. You’re close, so close, one last hit and you’re falling over the edge into bliss that’s been sought after for days. It doesn’t come. That’s exactly what you’d been dreading, the edging. The signs had been painted across Natasha’s face since she pulled you up into her lap and had reaffirmed that you weren’t allowed to cum, but now it’s fallen over top of you like a bucket of ice water and it’s too much. It’s too much and it’s not enough and you can’t control yourself when you sob and kick at them, wriggling around like bed like the plush sheets beneath your hands will be any comfort. 

“Please please please please! No Daddy! No! No no no! Please! Please! P-Please! Been good! I-I’ve been good! Been a good girl! Pl-Please!” Your words are a barely coherent jumble of sobs, and you’re faintly aware of Wanda attempting to coax you back into place, but all that dwells on you is the constant denial of relief, of attention, of affection. It’s too much, and you’re so desperate, and you’ve been so good, and you know that you’ve been good. Why isn’t that enough? Why can’t it be enough? “Wanna cum! Please! Please Mommy! Please! Please I was good! I sat with Daddy and-and I kept the plug in and I-I was good! Mommy I was good! Please! No more teasing! No more! Please! I can’t! I can’t-”

You’re faintly aware of the bed dipping beneath the presence of another body, but only when Natasha’s firm hands cup your cheeks do you realize that she’s cuddled up beside you and her hands are tenderly brushing away rivulets of perspiration and tears from your face. She kisses you sweetly, slowly, savoring the sight of you so undone from their simple touches, but there’s an etch of concern entangled with her captivating features, enough to tell you that it’s ending, it’s finally ending. 

“Do you need to safeword?” She asks tenderly, brushing strands of unruly hair away from your damp face. There’s no sight of disappointment, of underlying anger, just genuine care and concern, which has been all you wanted for hours. 

You shake your frantically, soft cries slipping into the silence once again. The thought of losing them after enduring so much just to get that blissful reward of an orgasm has you scrambling to make sense of your feelings, but they’ve jumbled your brain, fried your independence. You’re at their mercy until you regain their bearings, all you can manage is a soft, frantically whispered. “J-Just want you. P-Please! I’ve been good!” 

“You’ve been so good, malyshka. So so good. My best girl. Let Mommy help you now, hm? Let her make all the aches go away.” Natasha speaks to you tenderly, resigning from her role as cruel daddy for the night, content to simply lay by your side, a reassuring presence as you prepare to submit to your Mommy. 

Wanda works your panties off softly, caressing your thighs as she brushes against them, taking in the sight of your cunt, bare of coarse hair and blemishes, looking absolutely delectable as it glimmers beneath soft ambient lighting and undiluted moonlight. Nobody had thought to turn the lights on when they entered, but the soft night light in the corner of the room provided more than necessary as she lowered her lips to your clit and didn’t hold back. 

The first suckle at your overstimulated bud was euphoric, and your back arched high off the mattress as you scrambled to twist your fingers into her hair, desperate to keep her close to your core though she wouldn’t have pulled away regardless of your persistence. She laps at you with intensity, using her paint stained fingers to hold your lower lips apart and dig right into her meal without care for how harsh or animalistic she appears, her nose bumps your clit as her lips moved south, her tongue poking into your weeping entrance and attempting to drink the arousal that had pooled there after hours of being trapped beneath thin panties. When her fingers slip into you, two to be exact, you can’t control your whines and moans, and so profusely you beg for permission to fall off the edge of the cliff and drown yourself in orgasmic bliss that rivals the chill of ocean waves in summertime. 

“Go ahead. Let go, baby girl. Make a mess on Mommy’s fingers. You can cum, it’s okay. You can let go now. You did such a good job, such a good job, my angel.” Natasha whispers into the darkness of the bedroom, her lips flush against your temple as she works you up more, her fingers pulling and twisting at your nipples still hidden beneath a sweat drenched tank-top. You feel disgusting, sticky and slick with sweat and tears, but it’s not enough to pull you away from this moment, and when her hand, the one that hadn’t been permanently glued to your breasts, found your throat, nor squeezing but applying just enough pressure that it reaffirmed her gentle dominance over you, you gave into the orgasm that had been begging to be unleashed. 

You didn’t have time to come down from that first high before Wanda was doubling her efforts between your legs, her fingers jackhammering into your entrance as her tongue traced circles and flicked at your once deprived bud of nerves. You shrieked, whining so petulantly that Natasha cooed sweetly against your temple and continued her gentle movements against your tits, pulling your tank top up just enough to reveal them to the cool breeze that swept through the room, accompanied by the low thrum of the air conditioner. 

“No more! N-no more!” You attempted to squirm away from the undeniable pleasure Wanda was provoking, but to no avail did you succeed, weakened from hours of crying and arousal. Natasha remained by your side as Wanda scratched at your thigh and hips with the fingers that weren’t knuckles deep inside of your cunt, leaving faint pink marks in the wake of her grip and touch. 

“You wanted to cum, puppy. You wanted Mommy to make you cum, so now you’re going to take it, okay? Can you do that?” Natasha hummed softly, kissing you again, an easy method of distracting you though you didn’t protest, eagerly reciprocating the kiss and assuring that her own world was painted in vibrant colors for the few seconds that she allowed your tongue to tangle with hers. “Good girl. My good girl. You’re doing so well. So well for Mommy.” She coaxed you through the second orgasm that tore through your belly at an accelerated pace, just barely able to contain her surprise as your core released an onslaught of juices aimed straight at Wanda’s face. A cry of humiliation left you, but it was soothed quickly by the woman between your legs, her tongue soothing the ache in your clit before it was gone entirely. 

“Shh, we’re all done. All done.” Wanda’s mouth shone brightly beneath the moonlight with your arousal, her chin dripping as she leaned above you, offering her fingers which you eagerly took into her mouth. The taste of your core was prominent, familiar as you’d been in this position a few hundred times over, but it brought peace to your hazy mind and you melted firmly into Natasha now. “You did so good for me, my little princess. So so good. Mommy’s so proud of you.” She kissed you softly, replacing her fingers with her tongue that tasted so prominently of your orgasm and arousal that you couldn’t help the whine of submission that filled the air. 

“What can I get you, princess? How about some goldfish because I’m sure Natasha didn’t take a break for lunch like I told her to.” Wanda sent a pointed glare at Natasha, who bashfully shrunk into herself and shrugged half-heartedly. Lunch had most definitely slipped her mind, and she cursed beneath her breath when she realized you’d put up a fit if she tried to drag you downstairs for dinner. 

“Mommy stay.” You whined, attempting to reach out and pull Wanda down onto your body, but Natasha had already seen that coming, and had tangled her fingers with yours. 

“Mommy will be back so soon, pretty baby. She’s going to get you some fishies and a water, and she’s going to grab your favorite blanket from downstairs, and Daddy’s gonna wipe you down and get you dressed in some comfy pajamas. How does that sound?” Natasha easily directed Wanda to gather all of the things you’d undoubtably ask for in a few minutes when the haze of your submission lessened and your tired muscles became apparent. The Sokovian didn’t linger, instead she jumped straight into action, leaving one last kiss against your lips before she disappeared downstairs, hoping you had enough energy to get at least a couple of crackers into your body before you fell asleep. 

You only agreed because you hadn’t really had a choice to begin with, but still Natasha worked with your fussy attitude and got you wiped down with a damp washcloth and redressed in pajamas that were really just stolen pieces of her and Wanda’s casual attire. When the Sokovian returned, your favorite cup in her hands filled to the brim with room temperature water, you were cuddled into Natasha’s chest, biting softly at her fingertips as she attempted to keep you awake, some animated movie playing on the tv screen above the dresser on the wall opposite the large bed you occupied. She smiled softly, throwing a protein bar at Natasha’s head, before she took you into her arms, cuddling you into her chest, wrapping you tightly in your favorite throw blanket. 

You nuzzled into her chest, begrudgingly taking a sip of water when she held the straw up to your lips persistently. It soothed your scratchy throat instantaneously, subsequently allowing your previous hours of screaming and moaning to become a distant memory until tomorrow morning when you woke without a voice. The goldfish she did not get so lucky with, offering a small handful to you as you zoned into the sound of her heath beating rhythmically beneath your ear and focused on the kaleidoscope of colors morphing across the tv screen. You whined, wiggling away from her hand rather fussily, and she knew better than to agitate you farther, so rather than keep persisting, she ate them herself and pulled you in closer, her heart and soft whispering to Natasha lulling you to sleep in minutes. 

“You really have to stop forgetting to eat lunch.” Wanda sighed amusedly, bringing up the age-old concern that had a near prominent spot in their conversation log. Natasa laughed sheepishly, one hand falling onto the small of your back as you turned further into Wanda’s chest, while the other reached to turn off the obnoxious film you strangely adored. 

“It’s not my fault when this one decides to camp out beneath my desk.” She weakly defended, laying a tender kiss to the back of your head, your hair smelling faintly of the shampoo she kept in the upstairs shower. 

“Oh sure, blame her because she’s not awake to defend herself.” Wanda retorted, rolling her eyes in exasperated fondness as she tangled her fingers into your still disheveled hair, hoping that when morning rolled around, you’d still be soft enough to request that she did your hair before she left for the gallery. 

Natasha paused, a wrinkle of affection twinging her expression before she leaned forward and embraced Wanda in a tender kiss above your head. “I love you.” 

“I love you.” Wanda hummed against her lips, letting her eyes flutter closed as she took in the simplicity of this moment with the both of you.

[yeoslattes]

How We Live In Tokyo

Genre: Smut, TFATF: Tokyo Drift AU!

Word Count: 5.8k

Pairings: street racer Matz!Hwa x street racer fem! reader

Summary: You were notoriously once known as the drift princess, but now you're Hwa's girl. In attempt to reclaim your title, you race, pissing off Seonghwa in the process. You are also Hwa's number one cheerleader.

Warnings: Hwa comes off as a meanie during certain parts, VERY minimal description of reader, Hongjoong openly flirts with reader (his bffs girl...), Hwa confesses, possessive Hwa, weed use, high sex, manhandling, ruined orgasm, oral m+f receiving, eating it through the panties..., lots of spit, spanking, mentions of Hongjoong fucking you by Hwa, Hwa is low-key into it, choking, just rough asf, reader cries during sex, deepthroating, creampie (unprotected sex asf), use of sir like once, basically Seonghwa fucks you stupid, very minimal subspace by reader, aftercare

A/N: She's here, for my first smut after a while it's not too shabby. I'm an over thinker so I kept reviewing and editing just making sure I was happy with the final product. Also I based the reader's car off Suki's pink car in 2003 movie, just cause I thought it'd be perfect for her. I hope you guys enjoy this Hwa as much as I did!

“Ready! Set! GO!” You swing the red cloth in your hand down, the cars beside you rev noisily. Smoke from the tire burnout goes up in the air engulfing you in a heavy cloud, and just like that the first racers of tonight were off. This was one of your favorite parts of the night life in Tokyo, the races. You never intended to become a car girl, but after a couple flings here and there got you into nighttime racing, the rush and thrill it brought you was simply euphoric. The crowd cheers loudly, flip phones out recording and taking pictures, you jump in the air waving your hands cheering over the loud music and screams. 

While everyone was focused on the race at hand your eyes scanned the scenery for the only man that mattered to you, however he was nowhere in sight. You walked over to your pink Supra S2000 and leaned against the door. Your manicured hand ran over the sleek paint, you smiled at how smooth the finish felt beneath your fingertips. This car was your baby, everything was thought out and hand picked. Rolling around in a ride like your own had never made you feel anything less than superior. You were also Hwa’s girl and that in itself said enough. 

As if manifested by thought, the loud exhaust causes heads to turn, the familiar midnight blue body and chrome accents on the 350Z were unmistakable. Your eyes lingered on the white lettered decal spelling ‘MATZ’ on the upper windshield, you smirked slightly as he pulled up next to you. People cheered when Hwa stepped out, clad in a long fur coat and a muscle tee underneath, he looked delectable. Despite the layers, the large letters in black ink decorating his neck were perfectly on display. 

He greets his racing partner Hongjoong and the notorious KQ Fellaz who had also built an impeccable reputation amongst the Tokyo racing scene. He smiles at you as soon as he spots you. The glimmer of his grills catch the fluorescent lights of the crowded parking garage. “Hey.” He grumbles lowly in your ear, pulling you into him and pressing a searing kiss on your glossy lips. He looked down at you, long strands of raven black hair falling over his eyes. “You look good babe.” He compliments, long fingers coming up to tap on the hoops that were slightly hidden behind the layers of your hair. You smiled up at him, your legs suddenly feeling like jelly under his stare. 

The arm wrapped around your shoulder drops as he turns around to look at the S2000 you were resting your weight on. He walks around it, a singular hand running over the paint. He lifts the hood up, whistling when he sees the engine, “V8 is looking good babe.” He closes the hood after admiring, “Thanks, can’t wait to take her out on a spin tonight.” At your words Hwa’s face drops, his small grin being replaced by a disapproving expression. “Not tonight baby.” You huff in annoyance, see before you and Hwa had gotten together, you were one of the best female racers in this particular part of Tokyo. Every Friday night you’d come out to the streets and race against other girls and even guys. More often than not you’d end up winning. Slowly, you built up a reputation for yourself, even earning the nickname ‘drift princess’ in the process. But that was before Hwa came in and dethroned all the top racers and drifters, ending your streak as well. Eventually, you fell for him, and while he looked stoic and rude on the outside he was a sweetie behind closed doors. His charm was all you needed to become enthralled in him, needless to say you became his princess; you were Hwa’s girl as everyone knew. You ate that title up every single time, however, the singular con about being his one and only was that in fear of you getting hurt, Seonghwa didn’t let you race anymore, not against the good ones at least. He’d always let you go against the newbies, those who were still getting the hang of the Tokyo streets and drifts. 

“Seonghwa.” You begin in a begging tone, but he put his ring clad hand up, silencing you. You rolled your eyes, brooding against the Barbie pink car that was begging for a race. You watched as he went back to where Hongjoong stood conversing in a group.

A frown replaces the big smile you had just minutes ago.

You look around, hoping to find someone that’d wanna take you up on a race, even if Seonghwa had said no. Majority of the seasoned drivers were men, and due to their fragile egos, they wouldn’t dare race against you in fear that you might actually beat them and they’d never be able to live it down. 

You huff in annoyance, and pull your car door open, slipping into the pink leather seats. Your mini skirt is short enough that you feel the cool leather against the plumpness of your ass. You shake your own tan fur coat off, flipping your long hair over your shoulder to give your moistened skin some air. Rummaging through your glove compartment filled with body spray and lipgloss, you pull out a roll of bubble gum, shoving a fat piece in your mouth.

As you reapply gloss and fix your hair in the mirror a female voice catches your attention, “hey,” you looked up at your friend who was polishing the car door just a few minutes ago. She nods in the direction of Matz.

Your eyes turn into slivers when you see 2 girls chatting with Seonghwa and Hongjoong. Hongjoong has his arm around the slimmer girl, he gives her a cheshire cat like smile and you could almost see her swoon, but that’s not who you were worried about. Seonghwa, is leaning against his car, arms crossed, talking to the girl in front of him. Her dainty hand comes up to touch the fur sleeve of his coat, she says something with a big smile that causes Hwa to cackle loudly. She wears a low cut halter top and a mini skirt slightly longer than yours, but the expanse of her legs made it look like a belt around her waist. 

You rolled your eyes and stepped out of the car. You walk over to them, a big smile adorning your face, “hey baby.” You say in a sultry voice, your hand comes up Hwa’s arm and you proceed, “Who’s our new friend?” You turn to look at her, popping the pink bubble gum in your mouth. 

You can audibly hear Hwa sigh, he leans into your ear so only you can hear, “play nice.” He whispers, his cold hand resting against the warm skin of your waist. You continue to look at her, and she smirks, “who are you?” You chuckle loudly at her words, catching the attention of the people that were around. Seonghwa lets out an airy laugh looking back at Hongjoong as if to say ‘are you seeing this right now’ to which his best friend just raises his eyebrows and chuckles, fully invested in the face off. “I’m his girlfriend. Who are you?” People are starting to gather around, you step closer to her and feel Hwa’s hand squeeze your side as a warning but you ignore him. There’s a look of realization in her eyes and her face relaxes, “ahh,” she starts, “you must be the so-called drift princess.” Her faux friendly expression drops into a stoic one, “Where I’m from there are no nicknames. You’re either good or absolute shit.” She spits. 

Your heart hammers in your chest but you ignore it, “Is that a threat? Cause I bet you I can give you a run for your money.” At this point you’re so close to her you can see the glitter lining the underside of her eye. “If I lose, I’ll leave but if I win…” She pauses momentarily, looking behind you at Seonghwa, who stands arms crossed against his car, a serious look adorning his pretty features. He hated where this was going. “If I win I’ll have him.” You chuckle and so does Hwa, making the girl in front of you cock an eyebrow up in confusion at his reaction. “I hope you pick something else.” You say shifting your weight from one leg to the other. Her eyes wander to your right, “oof didn’t think the puppy had a designated owner but that’s fine. I’ll take your car.” People around you gasp and ‘ooh’ at her request. When you tongue your cheek, she feigns a pout knowing she’d hit the spot. “Deal, see you in 10.” She whips around and walks off somewhere. 

Before you can take a step, Seonghwa grabs your arm tightly, spinning you around to face him. “You must be out of your fucking mind. You bet off the car you’ve worked so fucking hard on?” He scoffs, his tongue pressed against his cheek in annoyance, “you’re fucking unbelievable.” He groans, your arms cross at your chest, resting underneath your tits, causing Seonghwa to glance down for a split second. “Oh but if it was you it’d make it okay?” You leave him with his words in his mouth, walking away before he even got the chance to get a syllable out.

Hongjoong laughs loudly at your attitude and Seonghwa’s distress, he slaps his friends back in amusement. “She’s giving you a run for your money huh Hwa?” He says. The annoyed man shoots his blonde friend a glare, resting his hands on his hips he throws his head back and huffs out a breath. 

You stand on standby waiting to get the okay from your girls as they check your car before the race. Your teeth toy with your bottom lip, nervousness settling in your tummy.

You hop in your ride and turn it on, the loud engine causing people to whistle. You might’ve been old to the game but the pre race jitters were very much real. Your opponent on the other hand seemed relaxed. Your hands are clammy on the wheel but with deep breaths you manage to bring the bile rising up your throat down. Hwa stands front row and you can see him through your windshield, he stares at you before whispering something to Yunho who was part of the KQ Fellaz. The tall and slender man draws his eyes to you as Seonghwa is in his ear, and he nods agreeing with whatever your boyfriend was saying. Hwa finishes and stands still in his spot, his jaw ticks, clearly upset at what was about to happen in just mere seconds. 

A girl in low rise jeans and a skimpy top comes between both cars, your foot presses on the gas, your car sputtering loudly. “Ready! Set! GO!” The pretty girl lifts her hand up and just like that your foot slams onto the pedal. You feel it before you see it as you zoom down the spacious garage. With your opponent already a couple feet ahead of you, your heart hammers in your chest, body running on pure adrenaline.

A tight turn is up ahead and you maneuver the wheel and use the e-brake to perfectly drift around until you’re heading straight again. She on the other hand turns slightly too wide slowing her down by a couple of seconds allowing you to zoom past her. The girl is hot on your ass but you keep her at bay not allowing her to get the upper hand. Her pretty face contorts in frustration as she struggles to make any moves. 

This is when you start to relax and it’s like you had never stopped racing. Your mind becomes so aware of your surroundings and what you were feeling. From the way your new wheels felt smooth on the cement, to the low vibrations shaking through you; this was euphoria. 

Your eyebrows knit together in pure concentration as you accelerate. You hit another tight turn, performing the drift that many struggled with effortlessly. Right before the parking garage ramp that spirals upward into the main street, you keep going straight. With a heavy foot you press on the gas, giving it all you got, you can see the exit of the garage and the final drift that everyone always anticipated. 

As you neared it you turned the wheel and pulled on the e-brake, successfully drifting up the ramp till you made it out, the hoard of people eagerly waiting. At the sight of the pink lights adorning the underside of your car, Seonghwa relaxes. You had fucking done it. Your wheels skid loudly as you slow down to park your car.

People high five you and jump on the hood celebrating what had basically been your comeback after so long. You hopped out the car, pulling your slutty skirt down and jumping on Hwa. His hands wrap around your waist, stuffing his face into your neck, taking in your sweet perfume. “Good job baby.” He whispers in that deep voice of his. “You’re so fucking hot you know that?” He says pulling you into a sloppy kiss. The girl who had raced you parks her car and hops out storming over to you. “That wasn’t fair.” She argues, “you are either good or absolute shit.” You shrug, reciting her words back to her. She grits her teeth and storms off, disappearing into the mass of people. You feign a pout and roll your eyes. As people start to head back down into the garage, Seonghwa pulls you into him. “Bad girl.” His words shoot straight to your pussy, a heat wave rolling over your body.

Another Friday rolls around, it'd been precisely one week since you won your first race back. It was already 11 PM but the streets of Tokyo were calling your name. Tonight’s outfit consisted of a low rise pleated miniskirt and a long sleeve crop top. You looked in the mirror, enjoying how your belly button jewelry dangled and glimmered under the warm lights of your room. Tonight would be special since Matz had gotten challenged by two random guys who wanted to claim territory. If there was one thing you loved to do on a night that Hwa would be racing was look pretty and sit like a good girl in the passenger seat of his car while he raced. I’ll be there soon baby, you sent Hwa a message through your pink flip phone hoping that he wouldn’t be too distracted to read it. 

Singular strands of your hair stick to your glossy lips as you cruise down the somewhat empty roads, the wind blows through your hair and you sing along quietly to the Nelly Furtado CD Hwa had gifted you. It wasn’t long before you were pulling up into the infamous garage. If there were alot of people last Friday, they had tripled today, of course just for Matz. You pulled into the spot next to Hwa, your loud exhaust catching his attention. He went from talking with Hongjoong to looking at you. He smiled at your car, still not over how perfectly the pink decked out car suited you. 

You killed the engine and hopped out, already feeling the eyes running over the expanse of your body, Hongjoong and Hwa included. If there was one thing about Hongjoong was that he did not care. Yes, Seonghwa was his best buddy, but he made sure to let Seonghwa know just how delectable you were with no shame. Still, in other ways he was respectful of his best friend’s relationship but he loved to take peeks anytime he could. 

You walk over to your boyfriend who instead of the iconic big fur coat wore baggy cargos and a muscle tee, his arms on full display. “Hey baby.” You say pressing a kiss on his cheek, you smile at the slight residue of your lips on his cheek. He grabs your chin and kisses you, you try to pull back but the suffocating grip on your face keeps you in place. His tongue toys with yours, and he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth before letting go with a final bite. When you pull away he grins at your flushed face and how he had basically eaten all the lip gloss off. 

“Hey Hongjoong.” You pant loudly, greeting the other man who had seen the entire exchange in front of him, he nods his head up at you, “drift princess has made a comeback huh?” He teases, you nod sheepishly. “Maybe next time you’ll take me up on a race?” You ask with big eyes and he smiles, “is that a challenge?” He asks, cocking his brow up, “of course.” He lets out an airy laugh, “that’s if Hwa lets you.” He teases, before walking towards his car. You turn to look back at Hwa who’s grip has tightened around you.

“Hongjoong is up first. Are you gonna be a good girl and cheer for him baby?” Seonghwa says leaning down so you could hear him. You nod and clap excitedly when you see Hongjoong’s car by the start line. As soon as Hongjoong takes off you and Seonghwa run towards the finish line, you both wait, watching through the small flip phone screens as people document the race. You cheer loudly when you notice Hongjoong’s car is ahead. In no time he is skidding up the ramp, drifting into the big pit. He had won! Hwa claps and whistles loudly at his partner's success, now it was up to him to win the second one to maintain the best of the best title. 

You follow your boyfriend down to the garage and hop into the 350Z, you inhale the fresh car scent mixed with his cologne. “Ready baby?” You ask him, he grips your hand and kisses it, “always.” 

Hongjoong peers in through the passenger side window, you buckle in as he talks to his best friend, paying no mind to what they were discussing. When he finishes he taps the edge of the window and sends you his infamous cheeky smile and a wink. 

You sit quietly, sucking in a breath and getting ready for the ride. Hwa exits the garage, and that’s when it becomes too real. One thing about Seonghwa was that he always preferred racing in the streets rather than the garage that almost every race took place in. You place a hand over your chest, feeling your blood pumping muscle thrumming beneath your fingers. At the sound of you sucking in another sharp breath Seonghwa turns his gaze to you. “Scared?” He asks, a teasing smirk playing at his lips. You purse your lips swallowing thickly, nodding. “It’s usually more dangerous Hwa, I hate when you do this.” You say, voice barely above a whisper. 

“Dangerous…” He scoffs, “That’s what I said last week when you raced and you still went against my word. So, sit, look pretty and hold on tight or get the fuck out.” He had gotten you there, regardless, there was no way to ever argue with Park Seonghwa. So, you shut your mouth up and look down at your fiddling hands.

The starter is another girl, she swings her bra up in the air and when it drops Seonghwa takes off. The g-force alone pulls you back into the seat, your hands grip the door handle and your seat, ironically your fear only grew. He hollers loudly already having a great advantage to his opponent, your body turns with the car as he drifts. You stared at his pretty features, his perfect skin and long nose bridge accompanied by his pink and plump lips. He’s too busy looking for the guy through his mirrors to really pay attention to anything else, the air blows violently into the car, your hair a mess now. The longer you sit in the car, the more you start to relax, the cool breeze in your face relieving your anxiety. 

Seonghwa startles you when he grumbles loudly, he hits the steering wheel out of frustration, his opponent had passed him. You weren’t too familiar with the path Hwa was taking, perhaps racing here once or twice before and if you remembered correctly he was more than halfway done. 

“Hold on!” He yells, he presses the red button beneath his thumb, immediately you are pulled back from the sudden acceleration. His 350Z zoomed by the guy in the other car and already you could see where the finish line was. Hwa keeps the man at bay as he rides his ass. As if it were clockwork the crowd of people disperse to make room for the infamous Park Seonghwa. He crosses the threshold into the pit of people, the car coming to a noisy stop. He cheers and you cheer along with him “I fucking love you.” He yells, you feel everything go in slow motion at that moment, the faces of the people cheering him on outside become a blur, it almost felt like you had ascended. “W-what?” you say in confusion, “I fucking love you. I am in love with you.” He says, smiling widely at you. 

Like a tradition, people hit the roof and hood of the car congratulating him on another victory. He pulls you into a heated kiss and when you pull away you lean into his ear. “I love you too Hwa.” He hops out of the car and you follow suit, instantly, he wraps his arms around you and lifts you up. Hongjoong comes up and gives him a hug, “we are still the best of the fucking best.” Hwa’s best friend yells.

The rest of the night you had spent velcroed to Seonghwa’s side, celebrating the win and watching other races go on. By 2am you were ready to call it a night. That's when Hwa pulls you aside, “wanna spend the night?” He asks tucking a loose piece of hair behind your ear. You nod eagerly, “we can get high and do whatever we want.” He whispers only for you to hear. His hands softly caress yours. “I’ll see you there baby.”

The drive to Matz’s garage is about 10 minutes, you pull in and park in the spot Seonghwa had reserved for just you.

The garage was Seonghwa’s and Hongjoong’s working space, it was scattered with car parts as well as half built vehicles. You stepped out of your pink mobile and headed up the metal stairs, your boots stomping loudly, sending vibrations up the railing. Hwa stands at the door and lets you in.

You stepped into the warm apartment, fully expecting Hongjoong to be there but instead it's quiet. “Where’s Joong?” You wonder, not wanting to impose on his personal space and most definitely not wanting him there if you and Hwa got to it. “Found some girl at the race tonight so he won’t be here.” 

As always Hwa hands you an oversized shirt, it was a routine any time you stayed at his. Given that your clothes weren’t always the most comfortable, he’d always have an oversized tee on deck just for you. You strip in front of him, already feeling his gaze burning holes into your supple skin. You sigh gleefully at the feeling of the tight clothes being off your body. 

Seonghwa sparks the blunt, his slender fingers bring it up to his lips, he takes a long drag and hands it to you. “I don’t know if I should.” You say quietly, weed just wasn’t your thing like it was Hwa’s. “It’s indica this time baby. You’re here with me, it’ll be okay.” You take the burning blunt from him and raise it up to your lips, praying that you wouldn’t end up panicking like the first time you had smoked with him. Your eyes close softly, as the smoke rushes into your lungs, affecting all your senses.

You hold the smoke in for a couple seconds, handing it back to your lover. Seonghwa takes 2 long hits, relaxing into the couch you two were on. Your eyes linger on  him, you could see his eyes drooping slightly from the marijuana. His limbs are loosely splayed on the couch, blunt hanging loosely between his pointer and thumb. Without much thought you reach for the burning plant and take another hit, that was enough to have you feeling like you were melting into the couch. You didn’t know how, but Hwa always managed to finish the blunt, this time was no different. 

“I’m pretty high right now.” He mumbles thoughtlessly slouching down even further. As the minutes tick by you feel yourself get more and more intoxicated. You felt tingles run up and down your arms and legs and your eyes felt heavy. Seonghwa drapes his fluffy blanket over the both of you when he notices your body starting to shiver. Normally, you’d be freaking out but for some reason you felt fine, just high. Seonghwa lays his head on your lap, eyes on the TV. You looked down at him watching his eyes slowly blink as he focused on Finding Nemo. The chills had subsided, if anything you felt warm now, even warmer as you felt Hwa’s hand trailing up and down your bare thigh. 

He grins slightly when he feels your thighs twitch beneath him. He kept this up for what felt like ages, never getting close to where you really needed him. Seonghwa shifts down, the full weight of his head now resting on your left thigh. You lean your head back on the couch when he runs his hand between your legs this time. He fully reaches your hot heat. “H-Hwa…” You whimper weakly, you pout when he looks up at you. He sits up, one leg pulled in and the other one resting on the floor. He presses his lips against yours, his hands gripping your face. Nothing was neat about the kiss, it was filled with hunger and lust. His spit coats your chin now and you moan when his tongue snakes between your parted lips. He roughly pulls you onto his lap, large hands going directly to rest on your ass. You pulled away momentarily, to mumble a quick “I love you Hwa.” He pauses his actions, fingers brushing messy hair strands away from your face, “I love you too baby.”

Seonghwa grunts when you grind down forcefully on him, he pushes you off him roughly, and drags you into his room. You bask in his sheets, his scent completely engulfing you, you felt like you were drowning in him. “Been wanting to fuck you ever since I saw you in that stupid slutty outfit of yours.” He tugs his shirt off you. Immediately his lips latch onto one of your buds while his free hand toys with your other tit. You felt like you were floating and in a way he felt so far yet so close. All your senses were on overdrive thanks to the weed. “Seonghwa please.” His hands wrap around the back of your knees to flip you onto your belly, 

His hand comes down heavy on your plush ass. Hwa smiles sinisterly at the red hand print forming, he feels himself twitch in his pants. He delivers a couple more slaps, “don’t think I have forgotten how you’ve been flirting with Hongjoong.” You lift your head up to protest but he shoves you back down and you let out a yelp. “What a slut. My best friend? Really?” He grits out as he works on the button of his pants.

You can’t push down the tears that sting your eyes, despite his words you knew he knew you’d only ever pick him, he just wanted to pick on you. 

You rest tummy down one cheek pressed against the mattress, “Hongjoongie keeps messing wi-.” You’re cut off by Hwa’s hand landing on your already abused skin. “Don’t try to make it his fault.” He grits, leaning his torso to get closer to your ear, “but honestly if I was him I’d wanna wreck you too.” A wave of arousal crashes over your body, shooting straight south. 

 Hwa pauses, watching the way your thighs pressed together. You sniffle, tears rolling freely now out of frustration. “Are you fucking crying?” Seonghwa says brushing your hair away from your eyes. He scoffs, “no way you’re fucking crying.” Seonghwa clicks his tongue in disapproval.

“It’s okay baby, maybe one day I’ll feel nice and let him fuck you too. Would you like that?” He teases, flipping you back onto your back. You shake your head ‘no’. He spreads your legs open and toys with your sensitive bud that your panties outline. “No? Because you’re soaked right now.” Without slipping the dampened undergarment  off he leans down and flattens his tongue against your cunt, soiling the fabric even further with his spit. 

Hwa works his long tongue languidly against you making you writhe in his grasp. “H-hwa.” You moan attempting to shove your hips against his face. The grip he has around your thighs prevents you from doing so. He presses harder against you and loosens his grip allowing you to fuck yourself on his pretty face. You groan, involuntarily grinding against him desperately trying to chase your high. “Cum baby cum.” He sounds muffled, the weed heightening every sensation has you teetering on the brink of your orgasm rather quickly. Right before you fall over the edge he pulls away; waves of what could've been your orgasm roll through you but fade as quickly as they came leaving you unsatisfied. 

You groan in annoyance, tears pooling in your eyes yet again. “You’re leaking from both ends now, that’s new.” Seonghwa says as he cups your chin, he leans down so his droopy eyes are directly in front of your teary ones. “There's no reason to cry so stop before I give a reason to.” His words make the tears actually roll down your face this time and he grins at the sight.

He flips you back onto your belly, “all fours baby.” As high as you were, you did your best to move into the requested position, your limbs moving slowly due to your impaired motor skills. He pulls your underwear down, sniffling slightly. You can feel his cockhead prodding at your sopping hole, you whine, wiggling your hips back against him. His large hands come to your shoulder blades to hold you down while he pushes in. You gasp at the intrusion, the stretch so delicious you squirm back to get more. “Stay still.” he grumbles annoyingly. He fucks into you hard, his hips being unforgiven against the globes of your ass. You keep shifting to which Seonghwa stops and places a hand on your lower back to deepen your arch. “Don’t move.” He keeps you there, his thrusts are deep and forceful, hitting that spongy spot deliciously. 

Your mouth is agape but there’s no sound coming out. “God- fuck Hwa,” you pant, tongue lolling out of your mouth and your eyes rolling back to your skull. “Feels good huh baby” He grunts, his own pants and groans filling the room, “so fucking perfect- you’re perfect.” He whines desperately, rutting into your wet pussy, you fight for air, your gasps sounding high pitched every time you sucked in air. 

He pulls out, “Get up quickly.” He commands, grabbing you by the arm, he manhandles you on your knees. “Open.” Your mouth drops open, tongue out ready for whatever he had to give you. Seonghwa wastes no time shoving his cock down your throat. You relax as much as you can, spit pooling in your mouth and falling onto your chest in thick ropes. Through the slits of your eyes you can see Seonghwa looking down on you with heavy eyes, the ‘Matz’ scribbled across his neck stretching beautifully as he throws his head back. Spit bubbles at the corners of your mouth and he grabs your head and shoves his dick desperately as far as he could until you are fighting to pull away.

You push back, resting your ass on your heels, fighting to catch your breath. “Good fucking girl baby. Cmon get up so I can’t fuck my load into you.” Hwa says, slightly out of breath. You lay back on the bed, hips hanging slightly off the bed, he slips right back in. Your spit mixed with your wetness, allows his cock to enter your walls smoothly. Your back arches off the bed as he fucks you hard, his hands push down on your waist once more to pin you down. 

The fat head of his cock hits your spot again. Everything feels far away now, but your orgasm is fast approaching. “You’re fucked d-dumb aren’t you. Does my dick do that to you?” He asks, his tongue running over his pink lips, “look at you can’t even fucking answer me.” Seonghwa’s hand wraps around your throat tightly while his free one toys with your clit, stimulating you to the brink of your orgasm, a couple more strokes and your legs begin quaking on his shoulders, “Fuck Hwa, sir too muc- I can’t.” You cry out, bringing your arms that suddenly feel so heavy to push him off but instead he wraps his hands around your wrists and presses them into the bed, “it’s o-okay baby. I’m almost there.” Sweat drops are now falling on you. He slows down his thrusts, he grinds himself into your cervix that sends him over the edge. His hips still and he groans loudly emptying his load into you. You whine, weakly trying to get him off, but still relishing in your postorgasmic bliss. He pulls out watching the way you weakly curl into yourself, his spunk seeping out of you and he can't help but smirk. 

“Don’t float away from me yet baby.” He says tapping your cheek. He slips the same shirt you had on earlier over your head and wipes you down. Slipping on some sweats and an old shirt he tucks himself in bed with you. Your eyes are now closed, the cloudiness of your high slowly dissipating but still, you felt exhausted. You slowly blinked, now realizing that Hwa had turned off the lights and you sleepily admired the way the neon purple lights from the signs outside illuminated the room.

“Hwa?” You ask into the darkness. “Hm?” He responds, not moving from his spot, “I might’ve agreed to another race next weekend.” You say sheepishly, he rolls his eyes in the dark, and you can feel the disappointment and annoyance radiating off him, “you’re in big trouble.”

[et6rnalsun]

i want to deal with a sleepy! chris but at the same time that can't sleep.

his head resting comfortably on your chest which at that moment felt like a cloud — the reason why he kept snuggling into it, rubbing his cheek against your skin soft and smooth. his hair was messy from how many times you had run your fingers through it, caressing his scalp with your manicured nails, but he didn't care. at that moment he could feel the frustration of the fact that despite his efforts he couldn't sleep, but with you next to him everything seemed so minimal, not worth the attention.

you were used to his sleepless nights, it happened often, and you knew that he was like a baby of only a few months who sought comfort in his mother's arms every time. “do you think you’re my girlfriend in all universes?” his sleepy voice reached your ears with that unfamiliar question, and you almost chuckled — biting your lip to hold it back. "i mean... maybe?" you didn't know exactly what to say, so you shrugged as your fingertips caressed his cheek. “‘m not even sure other universes exists” you added, a yawn escaping your lips.

that made him look up with a little pout, light sleepy eyes and a confused expression. "what do you mean maybe? i don't think it's a maybe, i mean, if you're mine in this you're mine in all of ‘em baby. don't make me mad" towards the end his tone became ridiculously whiny, and you couldn't contain your little giggle anymore as you lowered his head back down, playfully rocking him to sleep. "don't you think it's too late to speak about it, huh? we'll finish this conversation tomorrow"

“but—” you cut him off by covering his face with one hand, shushing him as you closed your eyes as well, only met with a couple of protests before he eventually managed to sleep. for your luck.

[yunhoszn]

motive

PAIRING choi san x f!reader

WORD COUNT 3.37k

GENRES kinda fluff ig﹒smut

WARNINGS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, mature language, friends to lovers, reader is lowkey down horrendous, but san is too i guess, um tbh this is just porn with minimal plot… 😭, reader gets jealous, Tension, i can’t think of anything else for the tame aspect so, making out, exhibitionism, soft dom!san, marking-ish, scratching, vaginal fingering, multiple orgasms, they’re like kinda clumsy in the way that everything is a fucking joke to them, actually a lot of kissing, san’s a sweet talker, public sex, shower sex, unprotected sex (pls be safe), creampie, cutesy ending

SUMMARY it’s annoying that your gym partner constantly gets flirted with right in front of you, especially when you have a crush on said gym partner. good thing your gym partner has a crush on you, too.

MORE HELLO oh my god okay, this is my first written fic on this blog and im actually so nervous posting it… but fuck it! we ball! this wasn’t originally the first fic i was gonna post but,,, the other one is still marinating in the drafts so you get mr. choi san instead <3 ALSO THANK U SM FOR 100 FOLLOWERS HELLO. my blog is 2 weeks old that’s insanity 🤕 big thank u to the loml @kimsohn for betaing for me ilysm maya <<3 pls reblog if u enjoyed and pls moot me :( i need more atiny friends 💔

“Wow, San, you’re so strong,”

You scoff to yourself as you watch the trio of girls surround him, dainty fingers touching anywhere they can. He laughs sheepishly, shifting his seat on the weight bench. You think it’s funny, really, the fact that he was eating up their attention and acting like he was so shy about it. He was supposed to be your gym partner. 

With a small grunt, you take the dumbbells in front of you and focus on your form in the mirror. You make attempt after attempt to ignore the commotion behind you, but ultimately fail. How could you not stare with all the obnoxious giggling? Even as you lunge, eyes zeroed in on the perfect 90° angle your legs make, you can still make out the group’s reflection in the mirror. 

Every drag of a manicured nail along his bicep, each twirl of hair, it was pissing you off. You had no real right to be mad, though. It’s not like San was your boyfriend or anything. You were just friends, and he’d volunteered to help you out when you mentioned struggling at the gym. What started as him spotting you when needed and giving tips to help improve your workouts, turned into waiting around for him to stop flirting with the girls who flocked over to him. 

Maybe you were being a bit dramatic. It’s not like this happened every time you came to the gym, but it was enough to be irritating. There was also a very high probability that it ticked you off so much because you had a crush on San yourself. Your infatuation was less superficial, however. Yes, he was an attractive man, that was one fact that couldn’t be refuted, but there was more to him than his big muscles and handsome face.

You’d known San since you met in your first year Anthropology course. This was way before he started hitting the gym and building his physique. He used to be this thin, pretty boy. Girls thought he was cute, but that was about it. No one was jumping at the chance to ask him out, or giggling at his every word. No one except for you.

He was not only cute, but he was sweet and funny and just about every good quality you could think of. You didn’t want to be one of those people who thought you were special because you knew him before his insane bodily transformation, though in a way you were. San was your good friend above anything else, and you had a fear instilled in you that that’s all he would ever be. The idea made your stomach churn.

”Do you think you could bench me?”

A sigh pushes past your lips when you see one of the girls get a little closer to him. You’re over working out at this point, ready to just call it a day and go home. What were you doing here if your partner was going to ignore you the entire time? You set the dumbbells back on their respective rack, grabbing your phone and water bottle while simultaneously turning up the volume on your headphones to drown out everything around you. 

You don’t bother telling San that you’re leaving, making your way into the changing rooms to grab the rest of your things from your locker. The frown etched onto your face as you do so serves as a reminder that he would never see you in that way. Perhaps you were perpetually stuck as the girl space friend. With a giant emphasis on the space. 

There’s a gentle grasp around your wrist, making you jump in surprise. You turn around with wide eyes, pushing your headphones off your ears. San stares back at you with an unreadable expression, lips slightly pursed.

”God, San, you almost gave me a heart attack,” you hold a hand to your chest, heaving up and down a little.

”I tried calling your name, but you didn’t hear me,” he shrugs, releasing your arm and shoving his hands into the pockets of his athletic shorts. “Why didn’t you tell me you were ready to leave?”

”You looked busy.” Really, you wanted to hide the jealousy and bitterness from your tone, but ultimately failed, even throwing in an unintentional scrunch of your nose. It feels like your heart dropped to your stomach, resembling a prey caught by its predator when you realize the connotation behind your words.

San smiles at you, a smug grin that’s so out of character for him, you’re a little nervous now. He takes a step forward and you back up until you reach the lockers, one of his hands coming up to rest on the surface near your head. A small chuckle breaches the sound barrier, his eyes drinking in your figure like he might never get the opportunity to do it again. “Y/N… are you jealous?”

Instinctively, you shake your head. What he doesn’t know can’t kill him. But then he’s raising an eyebrow in question and you feel like a puppy with its tail between its legs. You blink up at him, nails digging into your palms to keep your composure. “Should I be?”

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, that same cocky smirk on his features. He knows what he’s doing, you think to yourself. He has you cornered and he’s using it to his advantage. The hand that isn’t holding his weight comes up to your face, fingers gliding along your jaw with a feather light touch. “No, I don’t think so. The only girl who’s attention I really care about is right where I want her.”

Your breathing stutters, halting in your throat and momentarily winding you. Choi San might very well be the death of you. Especially with that darkened look in his eyes, the chocolate brown color now resembling the night sky. His thumb swipes across your lower lip, letting it resume its original place. “What do— what do you mean by that?”

He was giving you a bone, a hint that he could potentially feel the same as you, but you wanted to hear him say it. You wanted the words to leave his mouth and verbally confirm that for you. Want wasn’t even good enough. You needed it. 

“There’s no way you don’t know,” San says, voice hushed. “No way that you don’t know how badly I’ve wanted you since first year.”

Something similar to a choked groan departs from you, your pulse racing in your ears, thumping beneath your chest. You’re too stunned to move, frozen in your spot in case this is all some fucked up dream. It doesn’t even occur to you that someone could walk in, doesn’t even cross your mind that you’re in too public of a setting for this conversation or where it could go. 

“I don’t— I didn’t…” Your eyes attempt to stay on his, but keep flickering down to his mouth. 

“It was so hard for me to play nice guy for so long,” he whispers, a pout adorning his expression. “And today? I couldn’t even stare at you shamelessly because of those damn girls. It’s so fucking annoying when they bother me while I’m trying to flirt with you. But since I’m Nice Guy San, I can’t be rude.”

“You flirt with me?” You snort, your shell shock wearing off and a goofy smile worming its way onto your face. He laughs along with you, tilting away to hide the warmth blooming on his cheeks. The tension is still present, but it’s a lot more bearable.

”I guess I’m not very good at it if you couldn’t even tell,” he glances down at his feet, the confident San from before long gone and now replaced by a bashful version. “Am I going crazy, or is this gonna go somewhere? I don’t want to misread anything and ruin what we already have. The ball is entirely in your court.”

It’s your turn to be shy, shrinking in on yourself slightly. Acknowledging that you had feelings for San was a separate can of worms. There was a big difference between him confessing to you and vice versa. You know if given the stage, you’d just start blabbering on and on about how you feel for him, and that would just be embarrassing for both of you. So instead you say, “Can I show you?”

When he nods, your fingers raise to his jaw, cupping it gently as you lean up. Your lips brush his softly, barely grazing them. His eyes flutter shut, a shiver running down his spine simply from your kiss. A pleasant buzz courses through your veins from your lips to the tips of your fingers. You’ve wanted this forever, you don’t think you could ever go back.

You pull back and San fists the fabric of your t-shirt on your waist, eyes still closed as he chases your mouth. “Fuck, Y/N, can I kiss you again?”

“Please,” you whine, enveloping your lips with his as soon as you get the green light. This time is desperate, noses bumping each other. You’re going lightheaded and dizzy, already intoxicated by him. Your back presses into the lockers behind you, arching into his chest for more. 

He deepens the kiss and it’s almost too much. You’re overwhelmed by the emotions taking control of you, not at all prepared for what would come with actually being with San. It had always been a distant fantasy, something that felt so completely out of reach that you didn’t dare let yourself indulge in the notion for too long. The way his lips lock with yours, fluidly and synchronously like missing pieces of a puzzle, you think you can die happily. 

“As hot as it would be to fuck you right here, I’d rather not get kicked out of this gym,” he chuckles breathlessly. “And since we’re both sweaty from working out, I think we could use a shower. Don’t you?”

You leave a kiss on the corner of his mouth, nodding frantically at his suggestion. Though you imagined your first time with San being in a bed, slow and sensual, you’d be so stupid to complain about this. Fucking in one of the gym showers, where anyone could hear you? Go big or go home. 

He scopes the area to ensure the coast is clear before hauling you into one of the stalls, dragging the curtain shut. You kiss roughly between removing articles of clothing, San turning on the water while his lips make quick work of your neck. Goosebumps form on your skin when the cool water hits it, your fingers combing through his wet hair as he sucks harsh marks into your collarbone and sternum. 

“You’re so gorgeous, babe,” he mutters into your skin, nipping lightly at the tops of your tits. One of his hands travels south, sliding through your folds with ease. He rubs tight circles into your clit, prodding at your entrance with his ring finger. “I need you to cum for me once before I fuck you for real, okay?”

“Mhm,” you moan quietly, hiking one of your legs around his waist. His finger pushes inside you to the knuckle and then curls. Your eyes all but roll to the back of your head, back arching off of the tiled wall. “Feels so good, San…”

“Yeah?” He smiles against your skin, trailing pecks up your neck and along your jawline. You whimper in his ear, cunt sucking in his finger greedily. He adds a second, the middle one, and applies pressure to your clit with the heel of his palm. The sight of you falling apart by his hand alone is sending blood rushing to his brain. 

Your body feels hot to the touch, risking a downwards glance at where his fingers disappear into your pussy. It forces another whine out of you, your head tossing back. You tug at the strands of hair that stick to the nape of his neck, steeling yourself the only way you can in this position. San just seemed to know you, to know exactly what you needed without you having to tell him. Either he was really good at guessing, or everything he did seemed to be perfect, because you’ve never climbed to the summit this quickly before. 

There’s a knot in the pit of your stomach that weaves itself tighter and tighter with each curl of his digits and each swirl of his thumb on your clit. You think you could cry from how attentive he was, from how determined he was to provide you pleasure. Your cunt contracts around his fingers, and he can sense the precipice of your orgasm, speeding up his pace. 

You squirm around in his hold, allowing him to spread apart your thighs so he can brush the pads of the digits buried inside of you up against that spongy sweet spot. You’re trembling now, nearing the edge of that familiar cliff. “San, baby, I’m— god— I’m so close,”

“Let go for me, my love.” He coos into the corner of your mouth, hushing your moans. He doesn’t slow his assault, inching you further and further towards your release like it was his own personal mission. That knot in your belly begins to unravel until it slips through your grasp completely, your orgasm rocking into you like a tidal wave. 

San aids you as you ride out your high, already spent before he’s even gotten the chance to be inside of you. He kisses you tenderly, pulling out his fingers with caution since you were still so sensitive. Your nails claw down his front, scratching his abdomen with a purpose. He shudders beneath you, lips curling up into another soft smile. 

“What?” You ask with a giggle, mirroring his expression when he wipes water from your face. 

“Nothing,” he shakes his head, grin unwavering. “You just look really pretty like this.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to get into my pants, Choi San.” You tease, yanking him down for a saccharine kiss. He reciprocates without hesitation, drawing his palm on your thigh so he can wrap it around his waist again. 

“Me? Never…” He laughs along your mouth. “Is it working, though?”

You roll your eyes playfully, reconnecting your lips. “Are you gonna fuck me for real now?”

“What kinda question is that?” He glides the tip of his cock between your folds, shutting you up instantaneously. He’s heavy where he sits, slipping the shaft through your lower lips. “I’m gonna fuck you so good, you forget where you are, baby.”

Before you can even let out another sound of appreciation, he’s stretching you out, cock thrusting up into your pussy without warning. You jump up a bit to hook your other leg around his hips so he’s supporting your whole weight. The new angle makes it easier for him to delve deeper in your cunt, his dick accessing places you’d never knew existed. 

After he’s sure you’ve adjusted to his length, he starts to move, pistoning in and out of you much more forcefully than he did with his fingers. Your lips part for a voluminous moan, but then you hear a group of loud girls entering the shower area and San slaps a hand over your mouth. He makes no effort to stop, fucking into you without a single care for the people on the other side of the shower curtain. 

“Did any of you see where San went? He disappeared so fast.” 

You recognize the voice as belonging to one of the girls who was openly flirting with San while you were working out. Not even needing to see her, you can picture the exaggerated pout on her face based on her tone alone. 

“He probably followed after that stupid bitch he’s always with.”

Your half lidded eyes meet San’s but he still pays no mind to them, digging his nails into your plush thighs. He pulls all the way out, just to slam his cock all the way back in. His pace leisures, but his power doesn’t, abusing your cunt with every snap of his hips. 

“I think I’m gonna ask him out next time I see him. I have to stake my claim before someone else does.”

He holds back a laugh, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. You drown out their conversation after that, too focused on the feeling of his cock dragging against your walls so deliciously to even worry about those idiot girls. Little did they know he was closer than they thought…

Thankfully, they leave not much longer after that, and he uncovers your mouth. You gasp for air, panting feverishly when he picks up his speed again. Your bottom lip quivers with a whine, too fucked out to conjugate words that make sense. 

“You’re taking me so well, baby. Taking me like a fucking princess,” San praises. He groans, water droplets slipping along the valleys of his sculpted chest and abdomen. It drips with every roll of his hips and every thrust of his cock into your pussy. This was what he had been building up to, what he’d been dreaming of for years. “Who’s fucking you like this?”

“Mmm,” you moan, supping him in deeper, further, as cavernous as humanly possible. “You, San— fuck— y-you are.”

You arch your back, sneaking a hand in the middle of the two of you and pressing the pads of your fingers harshly on your clit when you do so. San holds you closer to him so your pelvic bones nearly clash each time he punches into you. The change in depth that he fucks you has your cunt squelching, any semblance of coherent thought escaping you. 

Your vision goes blank, stars decorating the backs of your eyelids as your second orgasm blindsides you. Not a sound leaves you after it knocks into you, cumming with so much force you think you might pass out in San’s arms. When you’ve finished, you let out a guttural groan, walls fluttering around his cock. 

“Gonna cum— shit— where do—“ you interrupt him with a whimper. 

“Cum inside of me,” your begging tone has him spilling into you practically on command. He fills you up perfectly, a moan from deep within him reaching your ears. You both stay like that for a moment, skin sticking to the other’s due to the thin sheen of sweat coupled with the steam of the shower coating your bodies. 

You can feel the rise and fall of his chest when he breathes, one of your hands coming up to caress his back gently. He pulls out with a wince, palms resting on either side of you as he recuperates. He breathes through his nostrils, forehead glued to your shoulder. His hands rub up and down your sides soothingly. 

“It’s safe to assume you’re gonna turn that girl down when she asks you out, right?” You ask suddenly, attempting to diffuse whatever’s in the air between you now. San laughs into your shoulder. 

“Y/N, I’m turning down any girl who asks me out from now on,” he stands upright, biting his lip before kissing you gently. “I don’t think my girlfriend would appreciate that very much.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Girlfriend?”

“Am I being too overzealous?” His nose scrunches up. 

“You’re being the right amount of zealous, I think,” you brush away a strand of wet hair that falls into his eyes. “But I think your ‘girlfriend’ would like it if you actually asked her to be your girlfriend.”

Choi San is the prettiest man you’ve ever set your sights on, but somehow, he looks even prettier smiling down at you after having sex with you in a gym shower. It’s a feat that should be considered illegal, and you should receive restitution for the distress it’s caused on your heart. 

“Will you be my girlfriend, Y/N?”

And well, maybe you’d deal with that later. It was kind of difficult to ignore that sparkle in his eyes, especially when it was directed at you. You nod without a second thought. 

“I would love nothing more.”

© yunhoszn. do not steal, claim, or repost. 

[stuckinapril]

Earthy tones, heart-shaped jewelry, chai lattes, golden hour, soft curls, minimal makeup, emphasis on skincare, science whore, bibliophile, oscillating between sexy masculine and girly fits, chronic daydreamer, so many interests at once, skin scents, dainty gold earrings, gym streaks, simple but classy looks, red manicures, pale pink lip gloss, bolder fashion every now and then, caramel and vanilla scented lip balm, more potted plants in my bedroom!!!, kitten heels, mini skirts, dressing for comfort, all-day studying, much less phone time, sustainable quality pieces, more time devoted to friends and family, oversized rib-knit sweaters, making friends w wiser older beings!!!, more volunteering, more smiling, more pictures

[foreverbaby25]

[atinystaypixie]

Lesson of Rejection

Summary: You are a princess, and as a princess, you don't take rejection well. When your top guard does reject you, its only natural you teach him a lesson.

WC: 2.5k+

CW: 18+, MDNI!!, gang bang, spit roasting, unimplied unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, especially in these situations), cumming in pants, oral (m&f receiving), bondage, public (ish) setting

Requested by: @princeasimdiya12 thank you for waiting luv!

Nanami is a well respected man. Every subordinate looks up to him, all fellow guards admire his strength, and no one is trusted like him. Your father adores him and is the only man he allows to be close to you.

He is always close to you, watching you, and if you look close enough, admiring you. In the comfort of your room of the large palace, you wear minimal clothing and his eyes will occasionally scan the enticing skin of your body. You are a smart girl, and can clearly sense when a man is interested in you. Especially when the well reserved man is caught with the tips of his ears turning red from helping you undress.

You had stormed to your room in a fit of anger after the meeting with your father and your supposed future husband. The man he introduced to you made your skin crawl. A creepy smile, weird stitches across his forehead, and such a disgusting way of talking down on others. But for some reason, your dad couldn’t stop praising him.

“I mean how could he?! He didn’t even ask if that’s what I wanted! Marry THAT man? That disgusting man? How dare he?!” You exclaim stomping around your room and throwing your jewelry about. He told you to come your best dressed and you took your precious time getting all pretty just to be met with this bullshit.

“Don’t just stand there! Help me get this off!” You directed your anger towards Nanami. He understood you were upset, so he didn’t take offense to you raising your voice at him. Usually the maids would help you with this task, but in your fit of rage you told no one to enter your room and that meant only Nanami would be near you. He always is there with an open ear when you go on tangents.

“He’s just marrying me off like some kind of property! Am I not human?” His callous fingers work the laced up ribbons undone. Your dress slipping off your body leaving your backside completely exposed to him. The panties and bra leaving little skin covered. His mind wanted to be respectful and look away, but his eyes stared longer than what could be considered an accident.

“I will not-,” you stop ranting as you turn around. He’s closer than expected and his eyes are hooded. It’s not for long and he quickly changes back to his professional poker face, but it was long enough for you to catch. He turns his head giving you the view of his ears. You suppress a smile and go back to blowing up about your father. Tonight’s events aren’t even a worry anymore, it’s being exposed and forcing Nanami to stay in close proximity for as long as possible.

For at least ten more minutes, Nanami was forced to endure your nearly bare figure strutting around. Your words go in one ear and out the other. His eyes were doing the best to not land on you, but you were making it difficult by making sure to stay in his line of sight. You finally stop dramatically in front of him. The jiggle of your breasts catch his lowered eyes.

“Nanamins, I refuse to be given to that man. He’s not even my type.” Your voice is lowered and dripping with seduction. A well manicured finger pressing against his firm chest through his clothes. It was fine until you started dragging your finger lower at the end of your sentence.

Any other man would have folded right at that moment, any other man would have gone in for a kiss, but Nanami was not any other man. His hand wraps around your wrist halting your actions.

“Miss. I am afraid you are extremely frustrated. It is best if you get some rest. Have a good night.” He gently releases his grip and turns on his hills. This did not sit easy with you. Yes, you were teasing the man and didn’t truly expect for things to go far, but the fact he completely just rejected and left you? That was not going to fly over well.

Nanami didn’t release the effect his actions had. He didn’t realize the fire pit that being professional and sticking to his duties had thrown him in.

It wasn’t until he found himself in the current predicament that he released just how bad you didn’t like being told no.

He entered the training room with powerful strides as usual. You had ordered a special session and without question he showed up along with the other higher ranked guards. He was informed on the information while having tea with you. You were close to him and would often ask him to drink with you. It wasn’t as if he could truly refuse, he was your personal guard and would have to be in close proximity while following every order anyways.

“Today, I would like to do something different.” Your head held high and you spoke to your guards. Nanami internally raised an eyebrow, his curiosity never playing across his face. He knew something was completely awry when you ordered each of them that this session would be kept from your father. “With this session, I want to practice, how should I say,” you do a humming sound of thought, “rejecting.” A smile etches onto your face. The word spikes Nanami’s attention. He was top guard for a reason and his wit was a part of that reason. Unease wasn’t an emotion he felt often, but after the events of the other night, he couldn’t help but feel as if that night and this session tied together.

“Yuki,” you call to the female guard who acts like more of an assistant than anything to you. “Pass me what I asked you to bring.” There is a silk covering on what appears to be a cart. “Gojo,” this time your attention is directed towards the tall, white-haired guard, “take off your pants.” If his eyes weren’t covered, they would be seen popping wide before relaxing again.

Gojo couldn’t say he quite understood the command, but either way he liked where this was going. It was no secret that most, if not all, the guards had an attraction to you. So if you commanded the man to take his pants off, he would gladly do it for you. He was almost too eager, making you swallow a scoff. Your deviant eyes flicked to Nanami and he was still standing straight and at attention without a noticeable shift in demeanor. He wouldn’t be like that long.

A series of orders were thrown out. The guards moved quickly and swiftly as each had a separate one directed towards them. In all their time of training, in all their time of serving, none of them expected to ever be in this situation.

Gojo and Sukuna stuff you full as Nanami is tied with his hands behind his back. His cock straining against his pants as he watched your pussy wrap around Gojo’s dick and your pretty lips soak in your own spit as Sukuna fucks into your throat. You knew that Nanami was suffering, and suffering badly at that. The tea you had him drink this morning had more than sugar added to it.

“Such a slut, Princess.” Gojo spoke, still pistoning his hips forward aiming to reach the deepest pits of your insides. The squelching of your pussy sounds every time his hips connect to your ass, skin to skin filling the room. At this point your eyes were glazed over and sweat was coating your skin. Any moan you had was immediately caught by Sukuna’s dick, turning into gurgles.

Your ears perk at the deep whine that just graced them. Despite having two cocks filling you, your senses immediately clear and your eyes snap to the blonde haired man. His eyebrows tightly scrunched, chest rising and falling heavily, and a red tint to his cheeks. The moans leaving you turn into a choked laugh.

Sukuna groans when he feels your hand push at his hips, removing him from your mouth. “Nanami, was there something you wanted to say?” Your neat eyebrow raises as your hand wraps around the long dick in front of you, your tongue swirling around the tip as you hold eye contact with the restrained man.

“-ease” his words are breathy and low. His body is in so much need of even the simplest touch that he can barely speak.

“Speak up.”

“Please…please, Miss.” The hips that were once rocking into yours stops, Sukuna’s focus is no longer on your plump lips, and Yuki’s face is showing clear shock. They had never heard Nanami sound so needy, so submissive. Their head guard speaking without the normal command in his voice threw all of them off and they didn’t know what to do. “Please, I need relief,” he begged.

“Hmm…,” a heavy pause weighs in the room, “no. We’re working on rejection, remember? I know you are all too familiar with it.” A smirk plays on your lips as you signal Gojo and Sukuna to get back to work. Their egos boosting from getting to fuck into you while the one man who has infinite access to you suffers.

Your walls squeeze around Gojo making his head fall back and eyes clamp shut, “fuck! Princess, if you keep doing that I won’t be able to hold it.”

You release Sukuna with a pop, “go on. I’m not stopping you,” is all you say before going back to sucking. That’s all he needs to feel his balls tightening and dick twitching. He hurriedly pulls out of you and covers your pussy in his seed. The white substance landing on your puffy clit and pussy lips. He lets out deep moans and grunts as he strokes all of his cum onto your cunt.

Sukuna wasn’t far behind, your mouth was so warm and wet around him and it didn’t help that your hand was stroking the parts of him that you couldn’t fit. Your tongue running over his sensitive tip at just the right times had him in the same position Gojo was in moments ago. His eyes were clamping shut and his lips were parted releasing moans.

“Princess, I am close. Please.” He said in broken breaths. The hum you did around his dick letting him know that he could sent him over the edge. His abdomen clenched as he released his seed on your tongue.

Nanami couldn’t take seeing two men release their seed onto you. He was on the verge of cumming without even being touched. Although his skin was hot and his dick was angrily throbbing, he noticed that you hadn’t come. But he didn’t need to say it, because you were already getting up and walking over to him on shaky legs. You grabbed his chin and made him look up at you.

“Look at you,” you scoffed. “Clean me up.” He felt your fingers grip the locks of his hair and before he can say anything, your cum covered pussy meets his lips. If he was in his right state of mind he would have immediately resisted, but he wasn’t. Your clit hitting his nose and his tongue greeting your used hole had an animalistic moan rising out of his chest. He couldn’t bring himself to care that he had to clear another man's seed to get the full taste of your pussy, his body was in so much need that even sniffing your used cunt was making him spiral more.

“Good fucking boy,” you bit your lip as your eyes stayed focused on him. The view was perfect. Your legs widen and his face directly between them as you humped on his face. He was licking at your cunt like a starved man, his tongue lapping up your slit and catching your clit before pushing back into your hole. Gojo and Sukuna might have just got done using you, but Nanami’s tongue was making your body weak. He was making sure to catch every drop of your juices and the pleasure you were feeling was obvious from the way you were moaning. Your moans making the two already spent men feel their dicks start twitching again.

You felt the coil in your stomach getting ready to pop. Your fingers gripping tighter at the blonde strands between them and your hips bucking with more aggression.

Without warning, you cum in Nanami’s mouth. The taste of your release making his dick immediately spurt cum into his pants. His body was shaking while whimpers and moans fell from his lips. His hand rested against your thigh as he caught his breath.

The laugh you let out as you moved his head from your thigh was condescending. You lower to in front of him and unzip his pants reaching your hand in. “You came in your pants,” you stroke his sensitive dick causing another whine to come from him before pulling your hand back out. “I mean look! You made such a mess and I didn’t even touch your dick!” Another laugh left you, off to the side small chuckles could be heard from Sukuna and Gojo.

Your laughs die down and you lean close to his ear and whisper, “the next time you reject me, I won’t be so nice.” You pull away and wrap your cum covered hand around his chin, “thank Nanami for today’s session. Clean up and continue with the day,” you look at Nanami again, “except you. Stay like this, cum soaked pants and everything for the rest of the day.” You gather a robe off of the cart you ordered Yuki to bring you earlier and exit the room.

In passing later, you see that the guards have all returned to their fixed attires and two especially have wide grins on their face. As Nanami returns to you, you see he has done as you asked. The proof being the clear stain at the front of his pants.

“Miss, I am sorry for rejecting you and I have reflected, but could you please allow me to change so I may look appropriate in appearance.”

Your answer comes quickly and without a bat of the eye, “no. Everyone feels the need to tell me what’s going to happen despite my wishes lately. I don’t like it, so in a start to correcting it, you’ll stay like this until the end of the day.” He didn’t protest or speak further after that, he knew it would only make it worse. In any other situation he would have tried to talk you down, but he had suffered enough embarrassment of the day. Before returning to you, Gojo, Sukuna, and Yuki had their fun mocking him. It wouldn’t be the end of it either because he still had a training session to lead later on in the day.

But Nanami was the head guard for a reason, he was the guard entrusted to be close to you for a reason. He couldn’t be deemed the top guard if he didn’t realize the tea he had with you countless times before tastes different. A small aftertaste and the heating of his blood gave away all he needed to know. The guards may have something to mock him about now, but they won’t be the ones inside of your tight pussy for many nights to come, nor will they be the reason your pending marriage will fail.

✨

Thoughts of a Slutty Virgin ~ 🧚🏾‍♀️

Whew it has been a while! This was requested so long ago and I really am thankful for the patience. I will continue to work on the requests that I have yet to put out. PIXIE'S BACK!

ENJOY! Reblog, like, and comment💜

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[thaleleah]

𝓗𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓻

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x Fem!Academy!Reader

Warnings: Dub-Con, Seduction/Manipulation, Oral (female and male receiving), Handjob, Food Play (feeding each other/licking stuff off bodies, but its more of a seduction tactic), Finger Sucking, Ruined Orgasm, Slight Overstimulation, Slight Dacryphilia Kink, Reader is spoiled and delulu, Sub!Coriolanus

**Based off this irl porn post (takes you to Twitter/X).

Word Count: 10K

A/N: Literally just started the book today so Coriolanus is probs wayyyy out of character but . . . just go with it lol. I wanted him to be ✨subby✨

Summary: When you find out that the great Coriolanus Snow is not as financially well off as he makes himself out to be, you can't help but take advantage of his vulnerability.

Hunger is a weapon - every Capitol citizen knows this. 

It’s the most useful piece of knowledge used when carving down an enemy. The people in the districts need to be taught fear, obedience for their devastating betrayal to the Capitol. If they thought they knew oppression before the First Rebellion . . . well, they just didn’t know how good they had it. 

Things are back as they should be now. The Capitol stands at the top of the hierarchy, the districts fumbling below in their failure as they suffer their punishments and try to make amends in order to have the favor of those in charge. 

Your family was lucky, surviving the war with minimal losses and maintaining your excessive wealth in the process. It’s a life of luxury for you - one of comfort and ease. You want for nothing, desire for nothing that you can’t have in a split second with a snap of your fingers or a hopeful, doe-eyed pout at your father.  

Nothing, except one thing. 

Him. 

Coriolanus Snow.

He walks with such confidence, lean body moving gracefully and an air of arrogant smugness following him around as he vies for the Plinth Prize. He’s smart, very smart - top of the class at the Academy, and you can’t help but admit that you find his intelligence extremely attractive. 

He’s beautiful, angelic blond curls always strategically fluffed, the perfect contrast to the Academy’s rouge uniforms. And sometimes, when he’s leaning down to scribble in his notebook during class, a few rogue curls will fall across his forehead and into those eyes - those eyes that sparkle despite his constant controlled and put together facade. You want those eyes on you. Want them to see you, follow you around as you walk the halls of the Academy, never leaving your visage as you sit prettily in class, back straight and legs crossed under your desk - your posture a solid reminder of your high stature within society. 

You want them wet with tears, pupils blown wide as he stares up at you while you ride him, hard and fast as his mouth begs for mercy despite his pretty blue eyes begging for more.

You’re a prize, he’d be lucky to have you - and yet, whenever he looks your way, it’s with disdain. 

You’re a fucking goddess, beauty unmatched. He should be falling at your feet just to get a second of your time. But no, instead he ignores you, never once looking your way other than when studiously listening to your response to a question asked during class before those blue eyes make their way back to the professor. They never linger, never once. And that realization makes your blood boil.

He’s smart, but you’re smart too - spite and bitterness reenergizing your academic drive. He wants the Plinth Prize and you want him. So you do the only thing that you can think of that will ensure his focus lands on you no matter what.

You go for the Plinth Prize too.

You’re on his ass in academics - every test and every project leading you closer and closer to over taking him for the win. His eyes can’t leave you now, always following you, narrowed and hateful as you smile smugly back at him. Sometimes you think you can see fear in them, like he can physically feel your sharp, manicured nails digging into the vulnerable balloon of his dreams and can hear the shallow hiss of escaping air through the punctures. 

You hope he can feel your metaphorical breath on the back of his neck.

The mid semester review comes around and classes are canceled for the rest of the day as professors meet with their students to go over their academic standings. You walk into the building just minutes before your scheduled meeting time, bag slung over your shoulder and a dried fruit bar in your hand as you climb the stairs towards Professor Rosebloom’s office. Normally, you would be at least 15 minutes early, punctuality and proper time management drilled into you from a young age. However, Professor Rosebloom likes her schedules, the exact measurements of time, and plans out each class and meeting down to the minute. It’s useless to assume there’s any wiggle room for early arrivals or dismissals. It’s not beneficial - not when the door to her office won’t open again until the very moment it hits your scheduled appointment time. So you take your time climbing the stairs, taking a bite of your snack bar when you see him. 

He’s leaning against one of the pillars in the middle of the hall, back pressed against the rounded edge as he bites into a cookie. He looks stressed, body rigid as he chews, the back of his hand coming up to wipe at his mouth after each bite. You smirk, eyes narrowed in glee as you stalk towards him like a predator sneaking up on her prey. His mind is elsewhere, completely unaware of you coming up next to him until his gaze falls to your shadow overtaking his own along the glossy floor. 

He has only a second for his brain to register your presence before you speak, a smooth and sweet, “Coriolanus,” that nevertheless has him jumping in his spot against the pillar. 

You watch as he fumbles the cookie in his hand, the half eaten treat falling to the ground, breaking into smaller pieces under the impact. His face is rather comical as he stares down at the ruined cookie, eyes wide and mouth agape, and you swear you see his hand twitch just the slightest bit as if he was going to pick it up off the dirty floor before he takes a deep breath and those piercing blue eyes cut to you. 

“What?” He asks, voice sharp.

“Aw, sorry to make you drop your snack,” You say, feigning sympathy. “It looked yummy,”

His eyes fall shut for a moment, long eyelashes creating shadows along the top of his cheeks as he fights for composure. “It was,”

“You should have saved it for after your meeting,” You say, stepping closer to him, just far away enough to still be considered a proper amount of space, but close enough for him to have to tilt his head downwards to maintain eye contact. “As a condolence for when you hear that I’m the top student and a shoo-in for the Plinth Prize and not you.”

A low rumble bursts from his throat and he pushes off of the pillar to tower over you, glaring down at your shorter figure as he growls, “That’s not going to happen,”

His closeness makes your heart race, and you want nothing more than to drop the fruit bar from your hand and tangle your fingers into his fluffy hair. You’d do it too - would risk everything, the perfect image you’ve cultivated and the resulting embarrassment of seeming needy - if only you knew he would reciprocate. But he’s stubborn, you don’t know, and your pride gets in the way of any impulsive decision you might make, no matter how hot the desire burns through your veins. 

Instead, you bring the snack bar up to your mouth, perfect white teeth sinking into the sticky bar as you keep your eyes locked on his. Your intense focus on him is the only reason you see how his eyes falter from yours, the furious fire in them dimming into a softer need as they fall to your mouth. 

Your glossed lips pull into a smirk. Finally, finally, he’s getting the picture. You knew it was only a matter of time. He was a man after all, and men are weak when it comes to the wiles of women. It was bound to happen, no one with eyes or any sense of a brain would be able to resist you for too long - Coriolanus was just a slight exception. 

But you’ve got him now, can see in his eyes how badly he wants you. His eyes are locked on your lips, following the movement as they press together and move as you chew. The bright light in the hall is probably glittering off of them right now, making them look even more plush and enticing as it glistens off the thin layer of gloss that coats them. He’s probably thinking about how much he wants to kiss them right now. Imagining them wrapped around his cock and how soft they would feel as you plant sweet and teasing kisses along his shaft before taking him completely into your warm mouth. He’s probably kicking himself, wondering how he could have been so stupid as to push you away for as long as he has when he could have had you all to himself this whole time. 

All the time he’s wasted because of his pride and ego. 

The hand holding the fruit bar lowers slightly, teasing words of victory on the tip of your tongue as you open your mouth to gloat about your obvious success and his pathetic loss as he succumbs to his own desire for you. But you freeze when his wanting gaze doesn’t stay on your lips like you expect. Instead, they fall with the snack bar, following the food source like a puppy waiting for its master to grace them with a treat, and your words die before they can make a sound. 

The food? Seriously? He was looking at the food?!

As if on cue, his stomach growls. He snaps out of his daze at the sound, a hand shooting up to press against his belly as if trying to quiet the noise. 

You stare at him incredulously, eyebrow arched in disbelief. “Hungry much?”

He scoffs. “I missed breakfast this morning and now you’ve made me drop my snack. So, yes. I’m hungry.”

His words come out confident - practiced and dismissive in the way they would lead someone to believe his verbal jab in a heartbeat. But you’re too close to him right now for it to have the same effect that it normally would. You’re too observant, too eagle-eyed when it comes to all things Coriolanus, and now you're kicking yourself for not noticing it sooner. 

The way his eyes flash with a moment of panic before they roll in annoyance, feigned annoyance, because there’s still nervousness clear in those beautiful blue orbs. The way they can’t help but flick just for the quickest of seconds towards the bar still in your hand and your own snap down to the movement of his stomach as he sucks in his belly, an obvious attempt at trying to use the muscle movement to starve off another growl. 

The buttons on his shirt aren’t completely round, you notice. They do a good job at pretending to be, but under further inspection you realize that some are more oval than round. A couple are even slightly jagged. They remind you of the tesserae tiles you’ve seen in the maid’s bathroom - nearly a perfect match. Your critical gaze follows the rest of the length of his body, looking for anything else that suddenly seems off about the only son of the great Crassus Snow. Years ago, your father had mentioned rumors that the Snow family might not be in the most opulent financial standing. You hadn’t believed him at the time, the Snow family had always seemed very well off whenever you would see them around the Capitol or at events. Coriolanus had never once let on that they were living in anything less than a life of luxury during all your shared time at the Academy. 

And yet, when you reach his feet, it becomes an undeniable reality. There, on the feet of the boy who you’ve been lusting over for the better part of two years, is a pair of too tight and just this side of too worn shoes.

You’re just barely able to hold back your gasp at the realization. He’s always been thin, but you chalked that up to him just being tall and lanky. But this? This is so unexpected. 

Coriolanus Snow is . . . impoverished? Penniless. 

Needy. 

The idea comes to mind before you can even think about it, eyes sliding back up to meet his as you take another slow and mocking bite of your fruit bar. 

“What will you do?” You ask, tilting your head to the side in question, slowly chewing the sweet treat. “When I win the Plinth Prize,”

“You won’t,” He answers quickly, and the raw determination in his voice makes you grin.

You take another quick bite of your bar and offer a small shrug of your shoulder. “Why don’t we be smart about this, Coriolanus? Put aside our teeth gritting rivalry in exchange for some good old fashioned, friendly competition.”

“What are you suggesting?” He asks, suspiciously. 

“You can come to my home this weekend. We can study together. Make it a fair fight for our next exam,” And then, casual as ever, you add, “I’ll make sure we have lots of snacks at our disposal. Fuel for our brains, yes?”

Coriolanus pauses, clearly torn, and it’s unbelievable how someone who's always put on the face of confidence and self-assuredness can have their mask slip so carelessly so many times within a few minutes of interaction. 

The door to Professor Rosebloom’s office opens and out comes a disgruntled looking Festus Creed. He glances at you and Coriolanus standing just feet away from the door, but surprisingly has nothing to say for once as he walks past and down the hall towards the grand staircase. Professor Rosebloom stands at the door, calling your name and gesturing inside her office with a sharp nod. 

You look back at Coriolanus, a sickeningly sweet smile on your face as you walk backwards towards Professor Rosebloom. “Tomorrow, okay? See you then!”

The feeling of his eyes boring into you as you turn and disappear into Rosebloom’s office makes you feel unstoppable. 

Coriolanus arrives at your house the next day around mid-morning. 

He greets your parents respectfully, sharing a firm handshake with your father and nodding kindly at your mother, thanking them for allowing him into their home for the day and politely ignoring the looks of displeasure they both send him behind their masks of well-mannered hosts. 

You guide him up the stairs to your bedroom and sit yourself on the bed, smirking when he stands awkwardly in the doorway, one hand gripping the strap of his messenger bag. 

It’s so interesting to see him out in public, without the guise of an event or school trip to dictate what he wears. Today he dons a regular pair of pants, nice fitting around the waist and legs, but just a little too short around the ankles. You’re not sure if you would have noticed it had you not been looking. His sweater is a deep burgundy, thin lines of golden embroidery stitched around the collar and wrists to give an otherwise simple garment a taste of class. You don’t even want to look down at his shoes. If his nice dress shoes were looking tight and worn, you don’t want to see what his casual shoes look like. 

It doesn’t matter anyway, everything he’s wearing is going to be on your floor in a little while anyway. 

“Sit down, Coriolanus,” You instruct, pulling a book from your own bag and laying it out on the bed in front of you. “Don’t be shy.”

He takes a quick look behind him, checking to make sure your parents aren’t trying to spy from the hallway to catch them in the act of anything inappropriate despite this being a genuine study ‘date’ - at least on his part anyway. They won’t. Your father will be leaving for a lunch meeting in the city soon, and your mother will use the time to meet with her lover in one of the barely used guest bedrooms while he’s away. 

Coriolanus clears his throat before walking over to the bed, sitting tall on the edge, one of his legs bent at the knee to twist himself to face you while the other leg hangs off the side.

“We should start with the top three points that we think are the most important of each chapter,” he says. He pulls his book and a small notebook out of his bag before placing it on the ground next to the bed and out of the way. “And then we can discuss and expand on each point together.”

“Sounds good,” You nod. “Let’s begin.”

Studying has never been difficult for you. You find yourself blessed with a remarkable brain and an even more determined sense of spite that makes remembering factual information simple. Thoughts of Coriolanus often plague your mind during your study sessions. He is, after all, the reason why you study so hard in the first place. But when the thoughts get too much, thoughts of kissing those plush lips of his, whispering dirty things in his ear and having him moan filth back to you - wanting to thread your fingers into his golden hair and push his head down so it fits between your thighs where it belongs . . . A power break, you call it. A moment of respite from studying in order to take power over your overflowing desire for the only man who’s been able to resist your temptations so far. Your hand would find its way inside your pants or underneath your dress, fingers dipping into your drenched hole and rubbing furiously at your clit imagining it was his until the pent up release sets you free and you're able to focus on your work again. 

But with him actually being here, here in front of you, it’s a bit more difficult. Your pen stopped writing a while ago, eyes locked on the way his lashes flutter against his cheeks with each blink as he focuses on his notes. He bites his lip sometimes, teeth pressing into the plump flesh before he seems to catch himself and releases it, leaving behind twin red marks in the skin that you wish were imprints of your teeth instead of his. Your eyes travel down further to his throat, wanting to taste the smooth skin there under your tongue, and you can feel how wet you are already in your panties. 

After about an hour, a maid enters the room with a tray of snacks. She’s right on time, entering through your doorway at the exact moment you had instructed her to, but you're so worked up from Coriolanus just existing a couple feet away from you on your own bed, that you glare at her like you want to bite her head off. 

She doesn’t waste time, even more so when she sees your expression. The maid deposits the tray of food on the bed between the two of you and places a bottle of wine with two glasses on your side table before hurrying out of the room. 

Coriolanus looks up from his notebook the second the food is placed in front of him, eyes immediately locking onto the tray. It’s obvious how badly he wants to go for it, but he holds himself back. 

“Looks yummy, right?” You say, slyly, nodding to the small assortment of bread, cheeses, jams, and fruit. “Great brain food,” 

He nods, throwing in an indifferent shrug as he responds, “Yes, it’s—it’s fine.”

You grab the wine bottle from beside you, uncorking the bottle with practiced efforts. “I also asked for some tastier things too,” You say, gesturing to the wine and the small bowls of chocolate sauce and whipped cream also adorning the tray. “A little reward to us for all of our hard work this semester.”

It’s funny watching him just sit there, struggling to appear calm and collected in the presence of such delicious foods. What do poor people even eat anyway? Maybe nothing. Maybe he survives on water and the lunches the school provides. What a shame, he’s too pretty to suffer. But if he is going to suffer, you're excited that you at least get to reap the benefits. 

You pour two hefty glasses of wine, handing one to Coriolanus and bringing the other one between you, signaling for a toast. “To study dates and good food.”

The corner of his mouth quirks up in an aborted smile, and, to be honest, you’re not sure if he means it or not, but nevertheless he clicks his glass against yours anyway. “To study dates and good food.”

You watch his face from behind your glass as he brings his own to his lips. His eyes flutter shut at the first taste of wine against his tongue, and you wonder how often, if ever, he’s had the experience before to make him make such a euphoric face. He licks his lips, catching the stray drops of wine on his upper lip before he clears his throat.

“It’s nice,” He comments, nonchalantly. “Sweeter than the wine I’m used to.”

“Oh, yeah?” You grin, swirling your wine gently in the glass. The wine aerates under your nose as you breathe in the sweeter notes of its smell. “The Snows prefer the taste of drier wines, huh?”

“Yes, we do,”

He cuts the conversation short, looking back down at the plate of food. He still has his pen in his hand, the other hand occupied by the glass of wine, so you take the opportunity to put the next step of your plan in motion. 

“Keep writing,” You say, waving at his pen. You place your wine glass back on the side table and grab a small slice of bread from the tray. “You’re on a roll. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of this.”

He clears his throat again, pressing the pen to the paper, but he can’t write anything. His eyes are glued to where you're prepping his snack, spreading a thick layer of creamy cheese on the bread before topping it with a few swipes of spiced jam. You want to laugh at how his mouth practically waters for it, lips parted in want and his pupils are unusually large against the bright blue canvas of his irises. 

“There we go,” You coo, holding up the savory treat between you both. “Open up, Coryo. The jam on top is to die for.”

You watch in glee as he opens his mouth, letting you bring the bread to his lips before he bites down on it. It’s quiet, too quiet, but the room is quiet too - so no matter how concealed he tries to hide his small moan of pleasure, you hear it anyway. And the sound shoots right to your dripping cunt. 

You feed him another bite, and then another, and you’re a little shocked that he’s even letting you feed him at all without protest or a show of pride, but you don’t complain. There’s a small smudge of jam smeared at the corner of his mouth. His pretty blue orbs never leave yours as you slowly trace along the sticky corner with your thumb, gathering up the bits of jam and popping it in your mouth letting out a small moan of your own at the taste. 

“So good,” You say again. He gulps, trying to hide his nervousness behind another long sip of wine. “You know what else is really good? This chocolate sauce,”

Your middle finger dips into the chocolate bowl, chocolate coating your finger as you pull it out, the excess dripping back into the bowl. You pop your finger into your mouth, humming at the rich taste as it soaks into your tastebuds. Coriolanus’s eyes follow your movements, still dark in want but also colored with confusion. Poor baby, you think. If you were a better person, you would feel guilty about manipulating him so badly.

But you’re not, and the bitch inside you roars in delight at how well you have him exactly where you want him. 

“Hmm, so good,” You whisper, slowly dragging your now clean finger back and forth along your bottom lip. “It’s William Dean, the best chocolate connoisseur in all of Panem. His chocolates are the best luxury, I’m sure you know, but I always prefer the chocolate sauce to the chocolates themselves.”

Your finger finds its way back into the chocolate before hovering it in front of Coriolanus’s slightly parted lips. “Don’t you wanna try it?”

There’s hesitation on his face, eyes flickering with uncharacteristic uncertainty from yours to your dessert covered finger and back again as he thinks. In the end, the want wins out, and he opens his mouth more to let you slip your finger inside. The inside of his mouth is warm and wet, the strong muscle of his tongue licking along your finger as he sucks off every single bit of chocolate offered on it. His tongue vibrates under your finger as he moans, louder this time than the last, eyes fluttering shut at the taste. You wonder if it’s just from the taste of the chocolate or from the combined taste of your skin and spit too. 

“Delicious, right?” You ask, slowly pulling your finger from between his plush lips.

When his eyes open again, his pupils are blown wide - only a thin band of blue around the edges - and you can’t help but smirk at yourself in their reflection. 

He nods, as if dazed, letting out a low “mhm” in agreement.

“Here,” You grab a strawberry off the tray and coat it with the melty chocolate just like your finger. “Try it with this.”

He doesn’t even hesitate as you bring it up to his mouth, lips parting as his teeth bite into the red fruit. You almost can’t believe how blissed out he looks, just from a few bites of food. His chewing is slow, like it’s purposeful - dedicated to savoring every second as he enjoys what he never gets to have, eyes hazy with an almost far away look to them. 

Poor Coriolanus Snow, how the mighty have fallen. 

You quickly bite the other half, barely registering the sweetness of the fruit mixed with the richness of the chocolate before tossing the green leafy top back onto the tray. Instead, the visual of him licking the leftover chocolate left on his lips from the bite into the fruit sears into your brain. 

“It’s probably the best you’ve ever tasted, huh?” The dig comes out without your permission, but it doesn’t matter because while normally his clever and quick mind would have had you scrambling for a response to whatever his snappy comeback would have been, he doesn’t seem to catch on to your implication.

He’s too drunk right now. Too drunk on the few sips of wine and small bites of food he’s had. Too drunk on savoring everything, desperate in the way his gaze drops back down to the small feast in front of him. 

“Hey,” You call, bringing his attention back to your face. He looks like a puppy waiting for his next command. “Are you going to thank me for being such a gracious host?”

“Thank you,” He whispers. 

“No, Coryo,” You say, a wicked grin pulling at your lips. “Thank me,”

Your previous dig might have gone over his head, but the unspoken demand doesn’t. Hazy blue meets your own hooded ones, a breathless moment between the two of you as your words sink in, and then he’s leaning forward - soft, pouty mouth pressing against yours gently. 

Victory burns through your veins like fire. The urge to scream like a madwoman, the sound feeling stuck at the back of your throat, urging you to let it out just so you can relieve some of this overwhelming excitement that runs through you. But no, you have to be calm about this. Strategic. Don’t fuck this up, you remind yourself. Don’t scare him off. 

But your hands itch to bury themselves in his hair, wanting to grip the golden strands between your fingers and tug hard enough to make him whine against your mouth. His lips feel like heaven against yours, the soft press of his bottom lip fitting between yours before he pulls back, breathing into your space for a moment, before coming back in for another kiss without you even having to tell him. 

His lips move against yours with an intoxicating combination of shyness and want. He’s still gentle, way too gentle for your liking - you didn’t wait to have him for this long for him to be soft about it. You want the roughness, the passion, the desperation where he wants you so much that he can’t bear to not have his hands on you for even a second. But there’s also power in the shyness, in the nervousness that you have erupting from every pore of his body. 

When he pulls back again, you don’t hesitate to move your lips to his cheek, kissing across the cool, smooth skin. His hand has long since dropped the pen by now, now choosing to fist into the lush fabric of your very expensive sheets while the other somehow still holds onto his half filled wine glass. His breathing is starting to get shaky - unsteady shallow breaths puffing out next to your ear as your lips trace the line of his jaw. 

Without even having to look, you grab another strawberry, dipping it into the chocolate and bringing it to where your mouth is pressing hot, open mouth kisses to Coriolanus’s jaw. 

He jumps at the first touch of the tip of the fruit against his neck, a confused grunt escaping his lips as he mutters a quiet, “What are you doing?” But he doesn’t move away, doesn’t pull back from the way your lips nibble at the sensitive spot behind his ear. 

You drag the fruit down the long column of his neck, leaving a line of tempting chocolate in its wake as you whisper a soothing, “Just relax, Coryo. I’m eating,”

Your tongue finds the bottom of the trail, pressing flat and wet against his neck as you lick away the chocolate in one long seductive lick. You're quick to repeat the process, dragging the fruit down the column of his throat, a delicious line of sweetness you can devour while tasting the distinct flavor of him underneath it. His head tips back to allow you access to the trail of chocolate on his throat, and you reward his cooperation by holding the fruit above his upturned face so he can sink his teeth into it while you sink your teeth into him. 

His throat bobs underneath your lips when he swallows. 

The whipped cream still sits untouched in the bowl, and your neck still stays untouched with Coriolanus’s kisses. So you grab his chin, dragging his face back down to yours once again.

“You hungry, baby?” You ask, your eyes locked on his. “You wanna eat, too?”

“Yeah,” He breathes, nodding frantically against your grip. “I’m starving.”

Whipped cream sticks thickly to the spoon as you pull it out of the small bowl. The white substance sticks to your skin as you drag it down along your neck, your body heat melting some of it directly upon contact and small streaks of white drip down to your collarbone. The spoon isn’t even moved away yet when he leans forward, pink tongue laving eagerly against your skin as he licks up the cream. 

His tongue is so soft, wet and hot against your neck, warm breath fanning across the wet skin as his tongue follows the scattered drippings down lower. You're quick to add more whipped cream to your body, smearing it lower across your chest and over the swell of your breast peeking out from the top of your dress. The feel of his mouth on your breast makes your jaw drop, breathy sighs falling from your lips as you watch him lick the cream off your chest. His pink lips look beautiful on the round swell, thick lashes brushing the tops of his cheeks as he latches onto the top to suck gently, still trying to get every last taste of cream onto his greedy tastebuds. 

Gripping his chin again, you pull him back up to your face, capturing his lips in a hungry kiss. He groans when your tongue pushes through into his mouth, sliding against his as you suck the taste of the whipped cream off his tongue. His hands come up to hold your face, one hand cradling your cheek while the other hand, still holding the glass of wine, reaches up to touch your jaw and helps to tilt your face up to his. 

Your fingers grab the thin straps of your dress, pulling them down over your shoulders and freeing your breasts from the cups. You hate to drag your lips from his, teeth digging into his plump bottom lip and pulling as you pull back, grinning at the groan it rips from him in return. You grab the glass from his hand, arching your back slightly to puff out your chest more as you spill a little of the wine over it. Coriolanus groans at the sight of the red drink running down your chest, cascading over your breasts and dripping down further to soak into the material of your dress. 

“F-fuck,” he whimpers, and immediately takes the hint, large hands gripping your waist to hold you still.

His pink tongue draws along your chest, cleaning the spillage from your skin as he nibbles along your breast. His plush lips wrap around your nipple, tonguing the hard bud with the tip of his tongue before sucking gently. 

“Good boy,” You coo. You’re trying for a taunting tone, but the words come out more gritted than you would have liked as you feel your panties completely soak through. “Clean it all up for me,”

His pretty eyes look up at you as he sucks, dark with desire as he stares up at you through his lashes. He pops off your nipple with a wet sound, tongue dragging across the swell of your breast as he makes his way to the other one. When he’s done, your chest and tits are wet with his saliva instead of the sticky wine, and you shiver when his warm breath fans over the damp skin. 

You lean back against the bed, holding the wine glass straight up as you lie down flat. His hands stay on your waist, seemingly unable to loosen their grip on your sides as he follows you down. He leans over over you, watching with wide eyes as you hike the bottom of your dress up so that it bunches up below your bust and out of the way. Your beautiful body is now on full display for him - soft, smooth, and well fed as his gaze feasts on the bounty now in front of him. His eyes lock onto your white lace panties, now practically translucent with how wet they are, but you steal his attention back with a quick call of his name. 

With his eyes now back on yours, you tilt the glass over you, pouring the wine into the divet of your belly button and letting it pool there. Some of the liquid spills over, tickling your skin as it runs out along your belly and sides. Immediately, his head is at your belly, catching some straying droplets before they can soak into your sheets before his lips suction over your belly button, licking into it and sucking out the sweet drink from its makeshift cup. 

Your fingers thread into his soft hair, locking into his fluffy curls, and when there’s no more wine to drink on your body, you push his head down further. His breathing is quick and excited as he allows you to push him down to your core, little pants of hot air hitting the drenched fabric of your panties as he peers up at you. 

“Please,” He breathes, and you can’t help the smirk that pulls at your lips from the sight of him between your thighs.

“Go ahead and eat your meal, Coryo,” You say, leaning up on your elbow to watch him better. Your other hand casually keeps the still occupied wine glass upright and out of danger. “If you’re good, I’ll let you eat plenty more.”

He’s a good boy, you always knew he would be. Despite his air of confidence and ego he tries to emit daily at the Academy, you’re good at seeing through people’s disguises. Coriolanus is soft - a lost boy trying to find a place among the vicious sharks of Capitol people. 

Ready to follow your every command in hopes you deem him worthy enough to throw scraps to.

He licks over the lacy material of your panties, and you can’t help the deep shiver that wracks through your body at the tease. His nose presses against the lace, the tip brushing over where your clit sits beneath it before he hooks a finger under the material and pulls it to the side.

His tongue feels like silk against your drenched folds, the wet muscle flattening against your slit as it slides up the length of your pussy. His hands grip your thighs, using the leverage on them to keep you still as he circles your puffy clit. You briefly consider telling him to put his hands behind his back, just to add to the image of him serving you - being your ‘good boy’ - but the vision of him between your thighs, face finally pressed against your cunt where it always belonged, has you momentarily thrown for a loop.

He looks so pretty down there, blond curls messy where you had your hand in them. You’ve waited so long for this moment. Dreamed about how good he would look between your legs, disheveled and wanting as he begged you to let him eat you out. Begs you to grace him with the privilege of fucking you. And now here it is. The moment you’ve worked so hard for. 

And the payoff is gorgeous. 

His eyes are half hooded in pleasure, mouth licking and sucking greedily at your juices, moaning into your pussy like he was retasting the wine for the first time again. His moan vibrates through your entire body from where his lips are wrapped around your clit, more wetness leaking out of your soaking hole at the pathetic sound. 

You wonder what you taste like to him. Probably like honey.

The sweetest kind he’s ever tasted. 

“Do I taste good?” You ask, breathlessly. Coriolanus ignores you, seeming to not even hear you as he shakes his face against your puffy pussy, too intoxicated on your scent and taste for your words to penetrate through the fog clouding his mind. You grin, speaking louder to catch his attention. “Snow, eyes on me,”

Immediately, those baby blue eyes are focused on you and your breath catches in your throat in excitement. That’s right, gorgeous. Keep your eyes on me.��

“I asked if I taste good,” You repeat. 

Coriolanus nods, mouth never letting up on the suction around your clit as he hums out a little “mhm”. You squirm a bit, switching arms so your weight is being kept up by the elbow of the arm cradling the wine glass while your now free hand reaches out to nudge at his head to urge him down further. 

“Put your tongue in,” You demand, fingers gripping his curls again as you shove him down. “Fuck me with your tongue.”

His eyes flutter as he follows your instructions, ever the diligent student, and your mouth falls open at the feel of the tip of his tongue teasing your entrance before it pushes inside, spearing you open around the thick, wet muscle.

“Yes,” You moan, fingers leaving his curls to rub frantic circles around your pulsing clit. “Fuck me faster, Coryo,”

His fingers dig into the plush skin of your thighs, fingertips sure to leave bruises as he desperately pulls you closer, tongue digging as deep as it can into your depths as you clench around it. The coil in your belly tightens, pleasure ripping through you as you bite back the loud cry wanting to burst from your throat as the coil snaps and you cum on Coriolanus’s face, squeezing tightly around his tongue. 

You huff for breath, fingers still greedily rubbing at the sensitive nub trying to soak up every last shock of bliss from your orgasm, even as Coriolanus pulls his tongue from your insides, panting. His face is drenched in your juices - debauched and dirty because of you, and the sight alone makes you want to lock your fingers in his golden hair again and pull him back in for round two.

You sit up, listening to the desire to dig your hand into his hair, but instead of dragging him down again, you drag him up, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth before licking up the side of his face, tasting yourself on his skin as you clean him up. He’s still breathing hard when you get to his lips again, and your eyes meet his as you press small teasing kisses to his frowning lips. 

He’s confused, you can see it in his eyes. Can see the gears in his brain trying to make sense of what just happened and how he’s ended up in the position that he’s in. He’s thinking too much. Coriolanus Snow - always thinking himself stupid. And you're clearly not doing your job right if he’s still able to think after a session with you. 

“Hey,” You murmur against his lips. Your hand frees his hair, trailing down his chest and stomach before gently cupping the prominent bulge in his pants. A shocked puff of breath exhales harshly against your lips. “Just go with it.”

“Are you trying to distract me?” He asks, lips brushing against yours with each word. “Keep me from studying so you can with the prize money for yourself?”

“Oh, honey,” You giggle. “We studied plenty today, didn’t we? And besides,” Nimble fingers slide up the smooth line of Coriolanus’s throat, curling around his jaw as you kneel up, angling his face up towards you as you gaze down at him. “You won’t forget a single thing you learned today after I’ve finished with you.”

Your fingers dig into his jaw as you press another head spinning kiss to his lips, completely obsessed with the way they mold against yours, soft and yielding against your demanding mouth. When you pull back, it’s with a wild heat in your eyes that you can see reflected in his own. 

“Lie back,”

You watch in muted glee as he does, lying back flat against the sheets even as he scoots back further towards the center of the bed. Your legs move with him, following him back as you crawl over his sprawled out body, taking a small sip of wine as you settle on his hips. His cock pulses in its confines against you, pressed tightly against your soaked panties as you slowly rock your hips along the thick bulge. Pretty moans threaten to escape his lips, only muffled by sheer willpower to not open his mouth to let the sounds out to their fullest potential. His golden curls are unkempt, fanned out against your silk sheets like a halo, and you can’t help but think he looks like an angel like this.

An angel you can’t wait to ruin. 

“Hold this for me, won’t you?” You say, pressing the wine glass into his hand. He grabs it as if on autopilot, holding it up prettily with the stem between his middle and ring finger, like a proper gentleman. 

Impatient hands paw at his burgundy sweater, bunching the material up as far up as you can get it to reveal his long, skinny torso. Immediately, your mouth is on his skin, lips brushing lightly over his side, soft enough to tickle as they brush over the all too prominent ribs. You look up at Coriolanus, meeting his baby blues as he watches you kiss each individual bump along his side. His eyebrows are furrowed, lips parted as if wanting to say something, and you can only imagine the nonsense that could come out. He has to know that you know something’s up - normal, well-fed young adults don’t clearly have emaciated bodies like this. You have to admit, he’s done an admirable job at keeping the Snow family misfortune under the radar, but you’re not about to let his pride and ego get in the way of you and your prize. 

“It’s learning by association, right?” You say, cutting him off before he can form his excuse. You lick a long stripe across his belly, his very flat belly - warm breath fanning across the wet path as you pull back to speak again. “We’re in the classroom, right? And you’re stumped on a question. So you’ll look over the balcony and down one row to the left, where I sit, and see me sitting there all pretty and hard at work,”

Coriolanus lets out a shuttering sigh when you scoot further down his body, pressing another gentle kiss just to the right of his belly button. “You’ll stare at my glossed up lips, all shiny and tempting in the light, imagining them pressed against yours,” Another kiss to the opposite side. “And you’ll remember the date the Treaty of Treason was signed into effect.”

“F-fuck,” Coriolanus whines as you hold his hips, using your grip to keep him steady as you trail your kisses lower and lower towards the waistband of his pants. His cheeks are so flushed, red flaming at the pale skin even as he drags his hand over his face. He’s trying to hide - how adorable. 

“You’ll remember the various ecological disasters that brought about the creation of Panem everytime you think about my tits,” You continue, nibbling along his jutting hip bone. You draw a playful heart on his skin with the tip of your tongue. “About how soft and perfect they are,”

Your eyes drop down to the bulge straining in his pants, the dark material only made darker by the wet spot on them made from your own juices. 

“The five major economic benefits to a split District-Capitol government will pop into your mind whenever you think about how I tasted on your tongue,” Coriolanus moans desperately when you lick across his clothed erection, hips jerking despite your hold. 

Excitement fills your chest as you work the front of his pants open, quick fingers easing the zipper down over the thick bulge and working his gorgeous, gorgeous, oh so gorgeous cock free from its prison. You’ve waited a long time for this moment, and your greedy eyes don’t let it go to waste. 

His cock is every bit as magnificent as you knew it would be. It stands tall and hard, thick with the head already coated with precum as it springs out and slaps against his belly. He’s going to fill you up so good, fill you up until you’re so full you think you might just burst from it. You want it. You want it so badly that you almost hate that you’re going to make yourself wait for it. 

His bottom lip is caught between his teeth, body just barely trembling enough with nerves that you're able to see it through your own distraction. Your fingers sneak their way towards him, loving the way both Coriolanus and his cock twitch at the feel of your fingers wrapping around the heated length. 

“And when you need to remember which US states combined to make up the districts,” You breath, head lowering down, your breath fanning across his weeping tip. “Just think of my mouth sucking on your pretty cock.”

The sound he makes when your lips wrap around the head of his cock makes you want to laugh. It’s pathetic, a high-pitched gasp that rips from his throat as his back arches against the bed. But the taste of his precum coating your taste buds as you suckle on the reddened tip has you distracted. He tastes so good, so much better than you think is fair. He already invades your thoughts and dreams with his too pretty face and better-than-you attitude - he doesn't need to taste as good as he does on top of everything now that you’ve finally got him. 

There’s a moment when you consider reaching over to grab a spoonful of the whipped cream still sitting on the now forgotten tray. The food isn’t for you, it’s a means to an end - but there’s a part of you that can’t help but want to see what it looks like smeared against Coriolanus’s cock. You can picture it in your mind already, the flushed tip just barely hidden under the dollop of cream, the heated skin melting the topping just enough for it to start dripping down the sides of his cock before you can lick it all up. 

You don’t do it, not willing to part with the much tastier treat you’ve won. Your mouth stays happily in its place as you work your way further down his length, humming as his cock slides across your tongue and brushes the back of your throat. The sounds trying to erupt from him make you suck harder, sucking in your cheeks as you bob your head, tongue laving across the underside of his cock with each up and down motion, greedy to get its fill. His hand clasps over his mouth, eyes squeezing shut as he tries to muffle his moans of pleasure. A pang of irritation zips through you at the thought that even as he’s giving into you - giving you what you’ve always wanted - he’s still being a stubborn asshole and keeping you from fully enjoying your success.

Those sounds are yours. They belong to you. You deserve to hear each and every adorably pathetic whine and gasp that creeps its way up his throat. 

You’ve earned them.  

He’s trying, he really is, but even his palm can’t keep his tortured groan quiet when you press down just a little too deep, nose aiming for that soft patch of golden curls at the base of his cock but not quite making it there as your throat spasms around him - choking and gagging around the thick length as you use it to bully your own airway. 

Thick strands of saliva connect your mouth to his cock even as you pull off. Your hand strokes to make up for your missing mouth as you lean up, only pausing to press a couple of teasing kisses to the underside of the swollen head as you go. 

“Open your eyes,” You demand, waiting for him to comply before slowly teasing the tip of your tongue along the slit on the top, just to watch his eyelashes flutter as his pretty eyes roll back. The sight makes you grin, the smug pull of your lips present even as you sit up, hips straddling his thighs as you perch yourself up. 

Your nipples are so hard, pebbled and begging for his attention. You wish he could read your mind right now, so he would know to reach out and grab at them - squeeze your breasts in his large hands, message them and play with the tightened buds between his clever fingers. You wish he would pull on them, twist them enough to make you gasp and arch your back, and you’d reward him with tightening your grip on his cock, wrist twisting your palm around his tip in mimic of his own action. 

He doesn’t, of course, hand still clamped over his mouth like it is. Still muffling those pretty, clit-throbbing sounds that belong to you. 

Your right hand slides around his cock, using the copious amounts of saliva you left behind as a lube, spreading the wetness around his pulsing length and getting it nice and slick. His wet cock glistens in the overhead light of your bedroom, and, honestly - you never thought a cock could look so beautiful. Your other hand reaches out to grab Coriolanus’s wrist, yanking his hand away from his mouth so you can hear his sounds, undisturbed, as you jerk him off. 

“Stop that,” You hiss when he tries to pull his wrist from your grip. “Don’t hide them. Wanna hear you. Wanna hear how good I’m making you feel.”

“Ah-hmm,” he moans, wrist ripping from your grip. But he listens, and rather than going back to cover his mouth, his fingers twist into the silk sheets instead, bunching them up in his fist as he watches you with wild eyes. 

“Yeah, there we go,” You coo, fist stroking over his hot flesh as you work him faster. There’s a pearl of precum beading up on the tip of his cock, more pushing out the tighter you squeeze each time your fist gets to the top. Wet, slick sounds fill the room in time with your strokes, his pleasured moans cutting through the wet noises like a lewd symphony. “So much better, right?”

His thighs shake underneath you, hips stuttering and trying to buck up into your hold but the prison of your body weight on his thighs keep them pinned down. His moans turn into helpless blabbering - a endless string of ‘oh fuck, y/n, please, fuck, fuck–’.

The sound of him moaning your name sends a new gush of wetness into your already soaked panties. Your neglected clit aches for you to rub it, to grind the swollen nub on his thigh for relief - you think another wet spot on the dark trousers would look perfect. 

You double down on your stroking instead, your other hand curling around his hip to keep it pressed against the mattress as your hand speeds up on his cock. Every time the wetness making him slick starts to dry up, you add more, leaning down just a bit to let another long line of saliva fall from your wet lips and onto the red flushed tip of his cock. 

He’s so loud. The visual of you spitting on his cock is just way too much for his poor, inexperienced self to handle. The sounds coming out of his mouth are pure filth - hot and stomach clenching as you grin in satisfaction. It makes sense, you think. He’s loud and confident at the Academy, boisterous in his achievements as he speaks with a fake humility. It makes sense that he would be loud in the bedroom, unable to keep his voice down as he moans and whines like a slut. 

“So loud, baby,” You tease. The hand gripping his hip finds the forgotten food tray, two fingers dipping into the almost empty chocolate sauce bowl. “You’re distracting me. Shh,” 

Your fingers press into his open mouth, his lips automatically closing around your digits with a whimper. He sucks the chocolate off of your fingers like a good boy, eyes wide and wet making him look like he’s on the verge of tears. You want it. Want that push that’s going to make those pretty eyes spill out waterfalls over his flaming cheeks.

Just a little more.

Your hand moves faster on his cock, fist focusing cruelty on the top half of his shaft, palm twisting over the sensitive head with each stroke. The fingers in his mouth push back further and he gags, body jolting from the gag even as he moans around them again. The remaining wine in the glass sloshes from his jolt, but the crystal stays clasped between his fingers. 

And there they are: twin trails running from his red rimmed eyes. You coo at him while the overwhelmed tears become victims to gravity. Instead of trailing down his cheeks like in the image in your head, one trails across his temple and soaks into his hairline while the other pools up along the side of his nose - and your empty, aching hole clenches tightly around nothing at the sight. 

His cock throbs in your hand, hot and heavy as it twitches in the tight cage of your fingers, pretty red tip coated in a mixture of precum and spit disappearing and reappearing with each quick stroke of your fist. Fuck, you want it inside you so badly, want to feel him stretching you out. You’d make him cum within two seconds of being inside you, your pussy is just that magical. So warm and tight and perfect that men just can’t control themselves when they get inside of you - or so you’ve experienced with the other Academy boys who you’ve deemed worthy enough (although just barely) to have their moment with you. Poor pretty boy Coriolanus wouldn’t stand a chance. Frankly you’re shocked he’s even lasted as long as he has. You thought he might shoot his load in his pants while eating you out, although you’re glad he didn’t or this current playtime would have been unfortunately halted. 

He’s so close, just a hair away from falling apart in front of your eyes. And you’re so hungry - so hungry for him.

The whines are muffled around your invading fingers, but they’re a constant now, no time wasted between them as he babbles around your fingers. The words come out garbled, but they sound a lot like ‘I’m gonna cum, please, please, fuck’. So you giggle, light and airy as you breathe, “Go ahead, baby. Cum for me,”

You don’t want to stop touching him. It’s addicting, making him moan and cry for you with just a few practiced strokes from your hand. You’d never stop if it was up to you. But your hand stops stroking his cock the second his eyes roll back into his head, just keeping a firm grip on the base to keep it still even as his body shakes. His cock twitches for a second, reddened head glistening before the first spurts of his release shoot out of the tip. They travel far, dirtying his stomach and splattering the smooth pale skin with white, some even making it as high up as his ribs, just barely missing the burgundy of his sweater. He cries around your fingers and you're sure the lack of stimulation is absolutely killing him. But he made you wait. He made you stress and work hard and put in effort just to get him. He needs to be punished for his crimes against your ego and libido. 

He’s so pretty though, so so fucking gorgeous it makes you sick, and your willpower has just about been all used up. You stroke up his twitching length again, working him through the tail end of his orgasm, fist tightening and twisting at the top to milk out any lingering cum from the swollen tip. He’s still whimpering when you pull your fingers from his mouth, those same wet fingers moving to steal the glass from his hand, your eyes locking onto his as you finish the rest of the sweet drink in one last long victorious gulp.

Both of his hands find their way to you as his orgasm comes to an end, clutching at your thighs as the pleasure subsides but your movements don’t. He tries to push your hand away with a tortured groan, the stimulation becoming too much too quickly, but you easily slap it away. He’s weak, poor pathetic baby is too weak to make you stop - bones like jelly and brain still malfunctioning, no doubt. So you take advantage of all he’s worth even as you remove the circle of your fingers from around his cock and switch to palming the oversensitive flesh where it sits against his stomach. 

“Ha- fuck, y/n, s-stop p-please,” 

Your hand finally leaves his cock, choosing instead to wrap gently around his throat. Stop, he says? No. There’s no stopping now that you finally have him. 

“You want me to back off the Plinth Prize, Coryo?” You rasp. “You’re gonna have to earn it,”

[bzurk]

what gets dirtier the more it cleans?

series masterlist: cw: DUBCON, verging on NONCON, oral (m recieving), soliciting, coersion, slapping, bullying (fr it's mean) tuesday, week one:

You were given three rules when you accepted this job.

Don’t make any loud noises. Leave the lights on when you’re in a room. And most importantly, don’t get in their way.

It seemed straightforward enough. You were prepared to be as inconspicuous as a mouse if it meant securing your paycheck.

You could sympathise. A group of retired veterans reacclimating to civilian life. It couldn’t have, can’t be, easy, transitioning from the battlefield to the mundane. The constant vigilance, the hyper-awareness, must be ingrained in them.

The uniform you’re forced to wear by the organisation that found these potential clients is stiff and uncomfortable, but neat and agreeable. You drag your fingers across the embroidered logo adorning the breast pocket of your collared shirt, tucked neatly into tailored black slacks. The household had wanted to meet you before agreeing to let you into their home unsupervised as their maid, and you had to look perfect for it, had to make a good impression. Your rent was relying on it. You tie your hair back tidily, smoothing any flyaways. Your makeup was minimal and clean, professional. You looked put together.

The drive there is nerve-wracking, but you keep it together. You watch as your humble, working-class neighbourhood gives way to a parade of mansions, one after another, the gentrification painfully obvious. You feel out of place immediately in your modest car, almost as if you’re committing an offence by defiling this pristine street with your humble ride. You slide your car into park and stare at the house you’d researched prior, though seeing it in person puts its sheer scale into perspective. It’s enormous, with landscaping meticulously groomed and clearly maintained by professionals. You eye the clock, and the time is right, regretfully. You force courage into your chest and climb out of your car, the slam of the door sounding like funeral bells in your mind.

The sight of the expensive house gives you pause, the amount of square footage suddenly seeming like too much, an impossible task for one person.

The front of the house is a quintessentially British two-story home, exuding both luxury and comfort. The exterior is a blend of red brick and white stucco, with ivy climbing gracefully up one side, giving it a timeless charm. Tall, mullioned windows framed with dark wood sit symmetrically on either side of a grand, arched front door painted a deep, inviting green. The door is flanked by stone planters overflowing with vibrant flowers, a riot of colour against the muted tones of the house.

A cobblestone pathway, meticulously maintained, leads up to the entrance from the driveway, bordered by perfectly trimmed hedges and blooming roses. The front garden is a masterpiece of landscaping, with a lush, manicured lawn and a variety of shrubs and trees artfully arranged to provide both privacy and beauty.

After scanning the exterior of the house for a few minutes and picking your jaw up from the floor, you return to the very polite message from its inhabitants, even though you’ve already scanned it five times, to solidify the expectations that you’ve so readily agreed to.

Toilets, tile scrubbing, vacuuming, kitchen duty, laundry, organisation, dusting, pool cleaning, take out trash…

The list goes on and on. As your eyes scan the neatly arranged list, you begin to wonder why you’d accepted the job in the first place. While some of these tasks are certainly something you’d performed before for yourself, the high expectations make the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Then, you read it.

...A completely satisfactory compensation equal to or surpassing your listed asking price.

Four years of tuition and rising rent loom down at you from your aching savings account, and you’re reinvigorated. These people are obviously well-off and willing to pay you handsomely. You would just have to be careful not to undersell yourself; after all, you can always negotiate.

You have to muster even more strength to ring the doorbell. Your hands shake before you politely clasp them together in front of you, awaiting their arrival. When you hear the mechanisms of the door rattle, you force a smile onto your face that you’d only just then realized was missing.

The first thing to greet you when the door swings open is a blinding smile.

"Hi there! You must be the new maid. I'm Kyle Garrick," he says, extending a hand warmly. His grip is firm but friendly, rough with callouses, and your brain immediately thinks capable, dependable. He is intimidatingly tall and athletic, his posture speaking volumes about his background, shoulders and back straight. His dark hair is neatly trimmed, and there's a spark of genuine interest in his eyes. Worst of all, though, is that he’s gorgeous.

"That’s me!” You chirp out with a wide smile before giving your name. “It's nice to meet you, Mr. Garrick," you reply, trying to steady your nerves as you shake his hand.

"Please, call me Kyle. No need for formalities here," he insists, his smile widening further. "Come on in. I’m sure the place can seem a bit overwhelming at first, but it’s not so bad, promise!"

You step inside, the cool air of the house a sharp contrast to the warmth outside. The interior is just as grand as the exterior, with polished wooden floors, high ceilings, and tasteful decor that speaks of both comfort and sophistication.

"So, tell me a bit about yourself. How long have you been working in housekeeping?" Kyle asks as he leads you through a spacious foyer adorned with a large chandelier and a sweeping staircase.

"Well, I've been doing this for about three years now. Started part-time while I was studying," you explain, trying to keep your voice steady. "I enjoy the work, and it’s always interesting to see different homes and meet new people." Your brain was working overtime to send words to your mouth, and your cheeks hurt from holding the cordial smile. While it’s true you’ve been working at your job for a while, you did not enjoy seeing different homes and meeting people.

But hey, at least it isn’t retail.

Kyle nods thoughtfully. "I can imagine. We’re a bit of a unique household, as you probably know. Your boss told us great things about you, though. We’re happy to have you here."

"Thank you, that means a lot," you mumble, running your clammy palms across your pants. Beautiful, and nice? Your heart may as well give out now.

He gestures towards a doorway leading into a large, open living area. "Here’s the living room. We spend a lot of time here, so it can get a bit messy. Just a heads up," he adds with a chuckle.

You take in the room, noting the plush sofas, a grand fireplace, and a large bay window overlooking the garden. It’s clear that, while the house is grand, it’s also very much lived in and loved. Opposite the fireplace is a giant television flanked by bookshelves, brimming with titles you couldn’t make out. The stand beneath was home to multiple game consoles and controllers and a mess of cables. A plush rug covers the floor beneath the couch and coffee table, and blankets rest haphazardly over the arm of the couch.

"We'll head to the kitchen next," Kyle says, guiding you through the house. Despite the grandeur of the mansion, there’s a warmth to it, largely thanks to Kyle’s easy-going nature.

But you know you are completely out of your element because the kitchen alone is the size of your entire apartment. The idea of scrubbing this place clean fills you with more anxiety with each room that he shows you, but you keep it together enough to maintain a confident facade.

Mostly.

As Kyle led you down yet another dimly lit hallway, a behemoth of a man suddenly stepped out ahead of you.

And oh my God, he's huge. He fills the entire doorway from which he emerges, phone to his ear, glaring down at the source of the apparent bothersome noise that interrupted his call. With a wave, he acknowledges Kyle, hardly sparing you the dignity of a glance. Kyle quiets down immediately. The man's piercing, dark eyes say everything he doesn't need to, shadowed by the jut of his brow. For a moment, you're certain no one else on this Earth could be as intimidating. The sheer breadth of his shoulders and chest strikes a primal fear into you, making you question your faith and leaving your lips pursed shut in complete silence, your body snapping into utter stillness lest you be a bother. Prey frozen in front of a predator, hoping to remain unseen.

Satisfied, he returns to the room from which he emerged, shutting the door behind him as his deep, guttural voice rumbles an apology into the phone’s receiver. It's so deep, so guttural, you swear it reverberates in your chest.

After the pleasantries are over, there are just two rooms left to discover: the one that Dark-and-Scary emerged from and the door opposite.

“Don’t worry about Simon’s office,” Kyle dismisses. “He’d probably rather you not go in there.”

As if the guy couldn't get any scarier. You decide to avoid the room like it's radioactive, an easy decision to make. You eye the closed door as Kyle knocks on the other.

“Come in,” a deep, gruff voice grants permission from within.

Kyle opens the door, revealing a room that exudes authority and wisdom. The space is lined with dark wood panelling, and the air carries the faint scent of tobacco and aged leather. A large oak desk sits near the back, its surface meticulously organized with papers, a laptop, and a small lamp. Behind the desk, an imposing figure stands, looking up from a stack of documents.

"Captain- er, Price, this is the new housekeeper," Kyle introduces, his voice slightly more formal than before, his posture straighter.

Captain Price, a man with a rugged face and a neatly trimmed beard, offers a nod. His eyes, a steely blue, assess you with a mixture of curiosity and scrutiny. "Nice to meet you," he says, his voice gravelly yet warm.

You muster a smile, hoping it doesn’t come across as nervous as you feel. "You too, sir. Your house is lovely."

Price gestures to the chairs in front of his desk. "Have a seat. 'M sure Garrick has given you a lot to think about already."

You nod and sit down, the leather chair creaking slightly under your weight. Kyle takes a seat beside you, his presence reassuring.

"So," Price begins, leaning back in his chair. Seated and relaxed, he still seems to take up the entire room, authority lingering in the air like the scent of cigar smoke. He's intimidating, but not in the same way Simon was - a hulking behemoth. Not that Price isn’t a large man himself; his shirt stretches across a broad chest, pulled tight over sculpted biceps and shoulders. Even slouched in a plush leather desk chair, he towers over you. "What do you think so far?"

Price is intimidating because there is a magnetism about him. His beard is trimmed and neat, speckled with greys, and creases tug at his eyes whenever his expression changes. In his right hand, he spins a pen over his fingers, thick and scarred and rough. He’s a man of experience, of hardship, but it’s concealed by a calm and composed veneer. He demands respect without having to open his mouth.

You pause, carefully considering your response. "I think your house is beautiful," you say, hoping it sounds convincing. You fold your hands over your lap to hide the shaking. "A bit intimidating, but I’m up for the task."

Price nods, seemingly satisfied with your answer. "Fair enough. We value hard work and dedication here. As long as you do your job right, we'll get along just fine." He leans forward, his gaze intensifying. "But understand this: our privacy is paramount. What happens in this house stays in this house. We have our reasons for being particular about who we let in."

The ice from his eyes pierces through your veins, flooding your blood with cold. You nod quickly, "I understand, sir. I’m here to clean, nothing more, nothing less."

Price leans back again, his demeanour softening slightly. "Good. Then I think we’ll get along just fine. I hope you find everything to your liking. When would you be able to start? Our old schedule was Tuesdays and Thursdays,” he smiles again, placating, and you’re grateful that this is almost over.

“Most weekdays we’re on base,” Kyle adds. “But our schedules aren’t consistent.”

“Tuesday and Thursday are fine,” you confirm, knowing full well that today is Sunday. Your mind races with the laundry list of responsibilities that you would need to get together by Tuesday.

“Fantastic. Now about your compensation…” Price continues, drumming his fingers atop the desk.

Your ears perk up.

“How about $200 for the travel and $300 for the work?”

You’re glad that he’s the first to throw out some numbers, considering you didn’t know they’d be covering your travel times as well. Still, even with the bonus, it seems low. “$300 per day?”

Price’s eyes crease as he raises a brow. “Per hour, love.”

You startle at that. You must look like a deer in headlights considering Kyle’s sympathetic pat on your knee.

“Su-sure! Yes, that is um…” you stutter, knowing you look like an idiot but helpless to do anything about it. “Agreeable.”

He nods in affirmation. “Excellent. I look forward to seeing you on Tuesday. Just let yourself in through the garage, the code is 5768. There will be a list on the counter of your duties. I’ll be home around six, but it’s alright if you’re not done by then. Don’t burn yourself out on the first day.”

You memorize that number like your life depends on it. You exchange contact information with Price and Kyle. You want to ask if Simon will be home on Tuesday, but you resist, not wanting to ask too many questions with a promised salary over your head.

Finally, once you’ve exchanged your goodbyes pleasantly, you’re free to go. Outside, you take a deep breath, glad that the meeting went as well as it did. Cleaning this place must take at least a few hours, and at that rate, you’ll be paying off your loans in no time.

You focus on the suddenly attainable dream of financial freedom as you make your way home to prepare. 

—

Tuesday comes far too quickly for your liking.

Getting into the house feels more scandalous than it is. Your heart drops at the sight of a car still in the garage, though you suppose that doesn’t mean anything for certain. Rich people usually have multiple cars, right? You hope that you’re alone, away from the scrutiny of an overbearing homeowner, as nice as they may be.

You remember Simon with a shiver as you make your way inside the house, the memory making you close the door quietly behind you, recalling the home’s layout and making sure to check the kitchen counter for the list. You find it with ease, and the amount of tasks is shorter than you thought it’d be.

You collect the supplies you need and set out, starting with the living room. The TV is so massive that you could mistake it for a wall feature. You blink away the disbelief and start dusting, arranging the decor that adorns the surfaces and arranging throw pillows across the expanse that is the couch that wraps around the room.

You make quicker work of the room than you’d thought. You save the vacuuming for last when you’ll do it for the entire bottom floor as the note specifies. Stepping back, you take in the big picture of the room and you’re quite pleased with yourself. You suppose you weren’t lying when you told Kyle you were detail-oriented. You were good at what you did.

You turn back towards the kitchen to assess the note and hopefully cross off some tasks, and your entire soul leaves your body.

You startle back, a sharp gasp bursting from your chest, terrified. Jesus Christ, where did he come from? Was he always there? He’s just standing there, mug in hand, leaning against the counter, but his sheer presence was enough to spook you to your bones. You clutch your chest and almost laugh nervously, dissuaded by the stern look on his face, somehow making a black henley menacing. Shit, he’s ripped.

“Mr- Mr. Riley,” you regard him, taking a moment to remember his last name. Simply calling him by his first name is too informal, even if that is how Kyle introduced him to you. “My apologies. You scared me.”

“Hmph,” he dismisses, taking a sip of his tea before regarding you again. You take the brief time to force your heart to stop pounding in your chest. “Usually the maid comes around two or three.”

“I’m sorry,” your voice shakes as he regards you. How long was he standing there watching you? “I can come back at another time?”

“’s fine,” he nearly rolls his eyes before laying his sights back onto you. “Jus’ make sure you use the shit that smells like pine.”

“Yes! Yes sir,” you nod hurriedly. “Pine-scented-”

“Are you doin’ the beds today?” he asks before you’re finished speaking.

“Yes,” you blurt before swallowing. “After I wash the sheets.”

Simon swirls the tea around in his mug with a few controlled rolls of his wrist. “Use extra fabric softener, but not with Johnny’s. And make ‘em tightly.”

“Of course. Yes,” you are anxious to get this conversation over with. Simon makes your every muscle taut with anxiety. His stern words are all business, and you’re rather thankful for that in a way. There’s no second-guessing.

He glares at you through the furrow of his brow before turning towards the foyer. He speaks to you again without turning back around to face you, “Did you close the garage door?”

Shit.

“N-no, sir,” you answer honestly. You don’t consider lying to him for a minute.

He doesn’t move. Your heart speeds back up regrettably.

“Always close the garage door,” he insists darkly before approaching the entry door to do so himself.

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again,” you convince, wishing you got a better look at exactly how he did so. He closes the entry door before you have a chance to see, and you definitely don’t have the balls to ask.

“Don’t make too much noise, either,” Simon demands, raising his voice to ensure you’ve heard him despite the increased distance between you. 

“Of course,” you chatter, drilled into place as if he’d filled your shoes with lead.

You hear a door shut, and suddenly you can breathe again. Still, the minuscule noise of the air through your nose is too loud, you decide. You try breathing quieter despite the dizziness plaguing your head, only to give up a few moments later. You wait for him to come back and yell at you again for a few minutes before mustering the bravery to continue to the kitchen to retrieve the list.

Suddenly, it’s a mile long.

Since Simon mentioned the beds, you figure you should start there. You hurry up the stairs, tiptoeing to avoid making them creak, and quickly strip the beds of the surprisingly sparse amount of bedding (like seriously, only one pillow? Psychopaths) before carrying the bundle downstairs and into the laundry room. Getting the cycle started is a bit like rocket science given the high-tech nature of the machine, but you figure it out, extra fabric softener in place as ordered. You allow yourself to take a breath as you recall the master bedroom, as extravagant as you’d expected it to be. Daydreaming about a king-sized bed and a fireplace in the bedroom distracts you from Simon enough to accomplish a few more tasks, crossing them off the list as you go.

The last thing to do as you wait for the bedding to dry is clean the bathrooms. Kyle so kindly writes that you “don’t have to go crazy with it”, but you will anyway. You collect your supplies, rubber gloves donned, and head towards the first bedroom adjacent to the foyer.

“Oi.”

His voice sends needles down your spine. You’d almost forgotten he was there, naught but a peep to be heard from beyond his office door. Now, he stands in the doorway of it with his arms crossed to address you. He’s so tall that he has to bend his neck to look at you, lashes long and dark as they cast shadows across his features. His scarred, mangled features that rocket fear up your spine.

“Yes?” it comes out as a wheeze, your lungs robbed of breath.

“I spilled something in ‘ere, can you get it? Have a call in ten minutes, make it quick,” he explains, the most you’ve heard him speak. Even though he phrases the request as a question, it’s anything but; you are to report to duty immediately. You mentally salute him.

“Of course,” you prattle before shuffling your supplies in your arms. He makes way for you, sticking close by intentionally, his arm raised above your head to hold open the door, a lion’s paw about to come down on a mouse. He’s never been scarier than he is in that moment, brushing past him to get into his office, the difference in size between your bodies starkly and embarrassingly apparent.

You arrive at a sparsely decorated office with a deep mahogany desk at the very centre. Your eyes scan the floor but find nothing out of place, unsure if you should enter the office further to investigate or just wait for Simon to point the mess out to you. 

He steps past you to return to his desk, sitting in a tall chair before swinging his legs up onto his desk. He narrowly avoids the computer there, and you notice that his boots pretty much dwarf it, before a smash.

His thick-heeled boot knocked right into an empty glass perched precariously on the corner of his desk. It comes crashing down onto the expensive carpet beneath, shattering into countless sharp shards in a messy circle. You watch this happen with your own eyes, but you’re not sure it really happened. It’s not until Simon removes his feet from the desk to cross them normally that you understand what’s happening.

“Whoops,” he mutters sarcastically with a dismissive wave of his hand before tucking his arms into a cross. He never once breaks his stare at you while doing this, especially now. He waits for you to make eye contact before blinking. It’s long and slow, like he’s showing it off. Like he’s telling you just how relaxed he is while you’re a complete mess.

“I-” You’re stunned, insulted, and frankly frustrated.

“There’s a mess. So clean it,” he states plainly.

“Of course,” you swallow your pride and every curse word that bubbles up into your throat. You sink onto your knees, and the movement almost sickens you. You remember a time when you wouldn’t give an ounce of your pride to rich assholes like this, back when circumstances were different.

The loans, just think of the loans…

You use a small brush and dustpan to sweep up the glass shards, the sharp fragments catching on the fibres of the carpet like stubborn burrs. Simon's legs stay in your peripheral vision, an unyielding presence that looms over you as you work on your knees. You try to ignore the weight of his gaze, focusing instead on the painstaking task of collecting each sliver.

"I- I think I need the vacuum," you murmur, your voice barely more than a whisper. You pour the shards into a small container, a brittle symphony of tinkling glass, and rise to your feet, clutching the dustpan like a lifeline, as if it could protect you.

“Vacuum is too loud,” Simon scoffs. “Figure it out.”

You hold back a grimace, your eyes lifting to meet his, searching for any sign of leniency. But his expression is carved from stone, cold and unyielding. Defeated, you drop your gaze and return to the task, plucking out the smaller bits of glass with your now bare fingers, each prick a tiny sting of defiance against your skin.

Halfway through your meticulous work, Simon's desk phone rings. The sound slices through the tense silence, and he forgets about your presence, lifting the receiver to his ear.

"Now's fine. The maid's here, but no matter." His voice is stripped of its usual menace, a disconcerting change that sends a shiver down your spine. "No, s’not Faith. New one. Knocked over a glass.”

You scowl, your fingers pausing as his words sink in. The other line responds, and Simon smirks, a cruel twist of his scarred lips.

You clench your jaw, the glass shard embedding itself deeper into your finger. You hiss between your teeth. The words you want to hurl at him burn like antifreeze, bitter and corrosive in your throat. The money on the table feels like a shackle, binding you to this humiliating role. Any protest would likely cost you this job, and you can't afford that.

Simon shifts to business talk, and you tune out, the fumes of your rage and indignation fuelling your efforts. The fear you once felt towards him dissipates, replaced by a simmering resentment. He’s not as terrifying as he first seemed; just another arrogant, condescending douchebag. Still, you don’t dare rise until every speck of glass has been meticulously collected.

You stand, eager to escape the oppressive atmosphere. Gathering your supplies, you head for the door, your steps hurried.

"Hey," Simon's voice halts you, and you turn to find him pointing at the floor by his side. Your heart sinks as you assume you missed some glass, and you crouch at the side of his desk chair. Before you can react, he moves with startling swiftness, swivelling his chair and knocking you off balance with his boot. You wobble, falling forward onto your knees and scraping them against the carpet, your hands landing on his thighs, and your brain short-circuits, hitting factory reset in your fear. You scramble to push off of him, to crawl backwards and create some space, but Simon grips your hair with a vicious tug, forcing you to remain between his legs.

The pressure on your scalp is excruciating, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You can smell the faint scent of his cologne, mingling with the bitterness of your fear and anger. It clogs your throat, shame and embarrassment and disgust all boiling in your gut. The shock feels like the shards of glass you collected pouring over your head, tickling and slicing against skin.

He holds you there for a moment, his grip tightening just enough to make you whimper, cheek pressed against his thigh until you can feel the warmth of his skin through his jeans, abrasive against the sensitive skin of your face. You can feel the way his thigh flexes when he leans back in his chair, all muscle and brute strength. His grip moves from your hair to the nape of your neck to hold you still when you struggle again.

You bite your tongue, literally, to keep yourself from losing the only job that you’ve been able to get.

Loans, loans, loans… Bills, bills, bills…

For a moment, he’s just staring at you, smirking, and you realize he’s finally placed the phone back on his desk, yet his grip remains ironclad around your neck. The rage builds, and your hands ball up into fists, and you take a breath to will yourself into silence.

You’re shaking now, a quick glance towards the door securing your escape plan. Simon notices, but he doesn’t move. Your eyes flick to the dustpan of glass next, too far for you to reach, and you know deep down that you would never be quick enough to slice Simon. He’s ex-military, for fuck’s sake. You know he’s followed your gaze when his thigh flexes again under your cheek, his boot coming to rest between your knees, ready to knock you back down if you so much as flinch.

“Mr Riley…” You cower, your voice muffled against his jeans, weak and snuffy. He merely tilts his head at you. “I need to get back to w-work.”

You flinch away violently, and he forces your head further into his leg as he opens one of the desk’s drawers. He could be reaching for a knife, or a gun, and you’d be completely useless to stop him, scruffed like an unruly cat and sat at his feet like a pet. You choke back a sob, hands gripping around his calves.

He wields a stack of cash, rolled together with a rubber band. You can’t help but stare at it, bright, crisp bills nestled in the palm of his giant paw. He tosses it up and catches it above your head, as if it were merely a baseball, and smirks at your wide-eyed reaction. Your eyes follow it like a baby to a mobile.

“So predictable,” he murmurs, snapping the rubber band off to stack a few of the bills atop his other thigh, right in front of your nose. A puff of breath from you would be enough to scatter it to the floor. 

You force your eyes from it and compose yourself. A few hundred dollars is hardly worth selling your dignity for. You’re not entirely sure what he’s getting at, anyway. 

“What- what are you talking about?” you finally decide to ask, much less confidently than you’d hoped you would.

“You’re pretty useful around here. You should show me just how useful you can be,” he croons, leaning down and curling over your head, your proximity to him keeping his voice perfectly audible despite the quiet, deep nature of it. You meet his shadowed glare with furrowed brows and watery eyes, lips taut, as you finally realize what it is that he’s asking of you when he rubs your face against his jeans again.

With his free hand, he grabs the few bills he placed on his knee and slides them under the waistband of your slacks. You can’t stop the squeak that eeks past your lips.

“What? No!” you resist, trying to throw your head back and out of his grasp when he lets go suddenly, and the back of your skull knocks into the desk painfully, ornaments jostling from the impact. You’re glad nothing falls, not wanting to deal with that at the moment. Not with your dignity apparently for sale. “You’re- No, no- Price would have my head!”

“And he isn’t here, is he?” Simon interrupts before you can make an even bigger fool of yourself. He leans in further, caging you between his knees and the desk until the distance between you is negligible. He grabs your chin this time, his pointer and thumb panning from ear to ear across your jaw, and slips anther bill down the front of your shirt until his abrasive fingers tuck it into your bra, his touch searing against the sensitive skin.

“You can put up with a lot, love,” Simon coos deeply. He slides another bill into your bra, tucked under the strap, as you start to feel dizzy, unsure if this is really happening. There’s at least $500 tucked into your clothing at this point.

You stare into his chest, the calculated rise and fall of it doing little to slow your own. God, he’s just so huge, and you’re cornered, your escape plan evaporating with his presence. You’re not sure you could squeeze past him even if you tried. An immovable object.

When he slides another bill against your skin, you open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. This is so reprehensible that you struggle to find the appropriate words to describe just how disgusting all of it feels. The money burns, sears, branding your shame into your skin permanently. A tattoo in the shape of your weakness, your gullibility. Your gut twists and aches, your hunched shoulders so tense with the pull of your muscles that you might make yourself faint.

Another bill, another moment of terse silence. Tears finally spill over your lashline.

Shit… how much is that, now?

This has to be some sort of test, right? Simon has made it perfectly clear that he enjoys messing with you. This has to be one of his games. One that you so happen to have fallen hook-line-and-sinker into.

Another bill. Your bra struggles to hold them. You’re pretty sure he brushes them over your nipples on purpose.

Well, if he’s going to play a game, maybe going along with it is exactly how you get out of it.

“What are you asking me to do?” you utter, squeezing your arms against your breasts to keep any of the cash from spilling out. You can hear the way it crinkles.

“I’m not asking,” Simon murmurs, his voice a rumbling bass given the closeness to his chest. You can feel the vibrations of it deep in your ribs. “You’ll do it eventually. We all have a price.”

Your eyes flutter closed at that, with his breath ghosting over your face. You feel – you are - completely stuck. You force your eyes open, but still can’t muster the balls to meet his gaze. He taps your nose with another bill, the rhythmic tap-tap-tap driving you crazy until you swipe his hand away. Are you really someone who has a price? 

Yes.

“Suck me off,” he demands plainly, and the words completely steal the breath from your chest. You don’t breathe, you can’t breathe, the absolute ridiculousness of it all weighing heavily on your conscience. He starts the tapping again, though it’s slower, now. You blink away the tears, completely preparing yourself for the verbal onslaught that you want to inflict upon this fucking creep for insisting you do such a thing.

The taps slow into an excruciating rub across your cheeks before Simon simply lets the bill flutter to the floor, discarded like trash before trying again with another one.

Well… It is a lot of money…

You swallow, almost rolling your eyes as you close them again. If this is a game, it’s a really fucking sick one. He tosses that bill to the ground too and repeats the movement, this time sliding the bill across your cheek, over your nose, tracing it down to your lips before letting it flutter to the ground.

“Just- just a blowjob?” you utter, voice as weak as your moral convictions.

That makes him chuckle, the noise of it sinister, more akin to a deep growl than a laugh. He knows he’s won, this little game that he indulged in. He leans back, proud, to assess his work: you, flustered and flushed and way too hot, avoiding eye contact with him at all costs as you crunch the bills in your hand. “Just a blowjob.”

He leans back in his chair smugly, arms resting against the armrests and his fingers drumming against them. You’re not sure if you can get out of this by citing your inexperience, or if that would just intrigue him further, so you keep your mouth shut. No, he had ensnared you long ago, and you were just along for the ride. Simon was taking his position as your superior with delight. Or, well, whatever it is that Simon can experience that might be considered delight by any standards besides sadistic.

You stuff the cash from the floor in your pocket, along with your pride, and finally look him in the eye. He simply waits for you, as if you knew the first thing about these sorts of situations. He must enjoy watching you fumble with yourself internally, piercing brown eyes like daggers into the gears mashing around in your head, jamming them in place.

“Well?” Simon lilts.

You obey his unspoken command, swallowing thick spit and frowning deeply. You crawl closer on your knees, the plush carpet suddenly suffocating. Simon has that stupid expression again, spreading his legs wider to encourage you between them. You’ve seen things like this in bad pornos, but you don’t have the first clue how to handle any of this.

“’m not paying you to stare,” Simon derides. You know that you should be doing something, anything, but with the flood of thoughts and doubts and impulses flying past you, you simply can’t piece together what he wants from you right now. He’s jammed the gears in your head, his derision a knife between cogs.

You watch his hands fumble in the fly of his jeans. Your eyes widen with the sudden spring of flesh that makes itself very apparent, his cock bouncing towards his belly. The idea that he’d gotten hard from messing around with you is repugnant and vile, and you wonder just how depraved he is. You’d seen a few cocks before, mostly in college during some bad decisions, but his is just so foreign. Developed in a way that only age could afford; huge and heavy, hindered by its own weight. He presents it so unceremoniously, so matter-of-factly, that it catches you more off guard than you thought it would.

He pats his knee twice, as if he were summoning a dog. From your place at his feet, you felt like one.

You rise on your knees, placing your hands over his thighs for balance. You can’t help but keep your eyes locked on his cock, towering, framed by a plush covering of dark hair.

He grabs the base of it and jiggles the flesh, inviting you impatiently. “Open up.”

Your jaw trembles as you oblige, just barely parting your lips enough to expose your tongue. Simon waits for you to inch closer on your knees, really nestled between his legs now, and there’s no going back. You don’t like when he tells you what to do, but at the same time, you’re completely lost without his guidance. You give it your best shot, licking a stripe just beneath the head of his cock. You wince, the taste off-putting and the smell of him unusual.

He surprises you, grasping the back of your neck with his free hand. You startle and whimper, reflexively clutching his knees to keep your balance. He isn’t particularly rough, but the sudden nature of it scares you.

You are impossibly in over your head.

He keeps your head in place as he angles the tip of his cock between your lips with his free hand. He sighs when you instinctively close your mouth around it, tongue wiggling beneath the pulsing flesh as you try to swallow. A tear creeps its way from the corner of your eye, sliding down your cheek with shame.

“Suck.”

You close your eyes as you give that your best shot, cheeks hollowing around the intrusion in your mouth. Your tongue is more useful, here, given the increased friction. You lather it around languidly, unsure if that would even feel good, but Simon doesn’t tell you to stop. You just want to get this over with as quickly as possible. You open your jaw ever-so-slowly with each tentative suck to accommodate the girth, spongy veins pressing along the heat of your tongue.

He squeezes the back of your neck again, and you know what you need to do. You start to bob your head to the fullest extent of your limits. Just when you think that Simon is fully hard, he gets even harder, the size of it quickly becoming difficult to handle. You start to choke when the tip prods the back of your throat, but when you try to back off, Simon’s firm hand across the back of your neck keeps you in place. You break the suction to force a breath, gaping your lips to puff out a breath around the intrusion in your mouth. Simon didn’t seem to like that, pushing you farther down towards his groin.

You wince and more tears come, either from the activation of your gag reflex or the sheer mortifying pain of doing something like this with someone like him. You feel like a filthy enabler, giving him what he wanted so easily.

Simon pulls your head back, his cock slipping from between your lips with a wet noise. You cough, though your little pity session is interrupted by him slapping the meat of his cock against your cheek. Now that it’s out of your mouth you can really size it up, brows furrowing at the intimidating bulk of it as he drags it across your face. You’re not ashamed to admit that you’re intimidated by it, as arousing as a cock of this size would be in any other circumstance. You scowl at the wet heat of your own spit slathered across your face and the degrading nature of it.

“You better figure this out before six o’clock,” he gripes, and you squeeze his calves with fear. You know exactly who would be getting home around then.

You open back up after he jerks himself haphazardly against your cheek a few times, glaring up at him for a split second. He lets you do it, relaxing his hold on your neck as you take up a quick rhythm. Being reminded of the impending consequences speeds up your motivations, bobbing messily around his cock until you manage to earn a heated groan from his chest. His hand trails to the back of your head, more of a cradle than a hold, fingers embedded in your mussed hair.

You grasp his thighs instead, using his body to adjust for the recoil of your rhythm. He gradually presses on the back of your head, a gentle insistence that you take more than just half the length. You force your throat to relax as best you can as you try to accommodate him, tongue draped across your lower teeth. You’re deathly afraid of scraping him, especially with the increased depth. He gets thicker towards the base, too, tempting the limits of your mouth and your ability to keep your lips clamped around the length of it.

He grunts when he meets a resistance that you truly wish you didn’t have. If this is what he wanted, so be it. But you can’t, your eyes clenching shut at the intrusion, trying to compensate with more half-hearted dips of your head. Simon’s fingers curl into your hair, suddenly holding you still, stinging your scalp with his grip. Your attempts to placate him apparently aren’t enough.

“Take it,” Simon growls, his upper body curled over you for leverage. You manage to take a short breath before he plummets back inside, fighting the sideways turn of your head as you try to resist it. He ploughs into your throat like a battering ram, fucking it deeply, uncomfortably. You feel your sinuses sting, bile creeping into them as you try to flail away. “Fucking take. It.”

You try your hardest. It’s much easier said than done.

Simon keeps you firmly planted between his legs, both hands now clasped around the back of your head, his weight pinning you down, a calf slung around your back. Your neck aches with the angle, your chest burning with the lack of air. What does he get out of this? Is it simply to make you suffer? You wouldn’t put it past him.

Your tongue lingers across the base of his balls where sticky spit begins to accumulate, strands of mess connecting your chin to his balls. You claw into his thighs, tapping, anything to get him to stop. You swear you hear him snicker, the noise dampened by the blood rushing past your ears. Your eyes open just to roll back, searching for any sense of empathy no matter how shrivelled it may be.

Finally, he releases you, just a moment before you either throw up or pass out. You throw yourself back, falling onto your ass, coughing and crying. You swipe the mess from your face and force deep breaths into your aching chest, too distracted by your misery to notice Simon standing to approach you.

“Stupid cunt,” he spits, taking your hair back into his grasp. He forces you to look up at him, and you’re not sure why you expected to be treated any differently than this. 

You burst into a startled scream when he tugs, wrapping your now loose hair into his fist. Before you can even cry, he’s quick to shut you back up. 

He cranes your neck back uncomfortably to stuff his balls along your chin, dragging the length of his cock across the bridge of your nose. He’s more forceful with it now, rutting his balls against the exposed meat of your tongue as it peeks from between your lips. His hips roll, back and forth, mushing your face around with his cock. The salty taste downturns your mouth, a bitter mixture of skin and sweat.

Now that he’s standing, he has greater leverage over you. You feel even more powerless than before, impossibly, held in place by the sheer power of Simon’s grip. Your mascara was running before, but now it’s coated your under-eyes in a haphazard, dripping mess. Remnants of other bits of your makeup dredge Simon’s cock, his hips finally reared back.

“Open your fucking mouth,” he growls, more of a whisper than any command he’d given you before. He barely waits for you to obey before thrusting his length back into your mouth. He hisses through his teeth when your own scrape against it, the affront enough to invigorate him into a hurried and brutal pulse of his hips. 

You give up on breathing. If you’re going to pass out, you’re going to pass out, and there’s nothing you can do about it. Your nose burns from the scrape of his pubic hair across it, and your little whines are suffocated by the bulk of his cock pounding into your throat. He’s much quicker now that he’s standing, having given up hope of letting you take any semblance of an active role. Your throat makes embarrassing, wet, choking noises as he pummels in and out of it, nothing more than a hole for him to take advantage of.

He slides out just to slap your cheek, spit flying from the impact. He doesn’t hit hard, but he’s accurate, the reddened shadow of his hand starting to blush across your cheek. He’s quick to get back to work with a grunt, craning your neck back again to stuff his cock back inside. You gag, but he doesn’t care, pushing past the resistance once more to enjoy the tightness of it. 

You give up knocking against his muscular thighs, simply grabbing hold of the hem of his shirt as he fucks your face relentlessly. You’re dizzy, snot streaming from your nose, spit flying from your chin and onto the floor. Simon, who once seemed all too concerned about cleanliness, seems to relish in making an absolute mess of you. You try rising from your knees in a last act of defiance, but his hold on your head keeps you in line, stuffing your nose into his groin as if to mock your attempt at escape.

“Fuck,” he groans, little pumps of his hips taking full advantage of your throat now that he’s buried inside it. Your eyes roll back, the crinkle of money sharp in your bra. You focus on the feeling of it as Simon grates the abused interior of your throat, your chest quivering instinctively as it struggles for a breath. “Look at me.”

You force yourself to look up through the sticky mess of your mascara, tears blurring your vision. Still, past the trail of hair leading from his groin to his belly, you can see the beginnings of his face. His jaw is tensed, lips parted with exertion, beads of sweat dotting his forehead as he glares down at you with what you can only interpret as rage. He’s angry, pulling your hair just that much tighter when you dare to blink or try to look away.

Finally, finally, he relents. Even though he pulls out of your mouth, he keeps you firmly planted exactly where he wants you. You clench your eyes shut to avoid watching Simon jerk the length of his cock against your face, his hot breaths sticky as he looks down at you. Heat spurts onto your cheek and you grimace, having little time to enjoy your precious breaths before snapping your mouth shut. His heavy balls bounce against your face with the rhythm of his jerking, scraping your cheek with the hair across them. Your body still forces some coughs through your suppression of them, erupting from your throat with disjointed, garbled noises, and your lips part just barely. Threads of cum breach the space between your lips, the bitter taste seeping into your mouth against your will.

Simon, in a new low, adjusts his hold on your head to spread his fingers across your face. He rides out his orgasm with your face at his disposal, globs of cum marking your forehead, cheeks, chin, and everywhere in between.

He sighs, a long, droning noise that is as much a relief for you as it is for him. You sob quietly to yourself, hands raising to wipe the mess from your face as best you can. His body, warm and stocky, glistens with a sheen of sweat. He throws his head back as he releases yours, caring not about where you end up now that he’d discarded you. He wipes the tip of his cock across your lips in a final bid to clean it. 

You can’t believe that you’ve just done that. You curl into yourself on the floor, still trying your best to keep your uniform unsullied. When you’re able to open your eyes again, you realize how silly that aspiration is; ropes and speckles of cum, spit, and sweat stain the delicate fabric. You may as well stay on the floor… it’s where you belong.

You’re not sure how much time passes before Simon speaks again. His words are muffled by something.

“Towel,” he utters, suitably calm now. 

“What?” your brain simply doesn’t comprehend the word.

“A towel,” he says more sternly this time. “You know where they are.”

You’re not sure you can even stand. Nevertheless, after staring at him in disbelief for a few moments, you force yourself onto your feet. You watch him flick a lighter and ignite a cigarette, the smell out of place given your once-pristine surroundings. You’re shaky, suppressing a few coughs and cries, looking away from the fresh plume of smoke to head towards the bath down the hall. You drag your feet, seeking support from the doorway to keep your balance. You grab the closest non-decorative towel that you find, sending a stack of them cascading to the floor. You don’t care, barely regarding the heap as you make your way back to the bedroom.

The smell of smoke stings your abused sinuses and throat. You hold the towel out to Simon, who so graciously opens one eye for you before smiling, cigarette dangling between his lips.

“Your job is to clean, so clean.”

He mirrors a previous conversation, and it sickens you, your hands shaking with a mixture of exhaustion, rage, and fear as you grasp the towel. Apparently, your mouth didn’t clean him well enough. Well, this is hardly the worst thing he’s asked you to do, at least…

That fact obliterates any shred of self-respect that you have left.

You bend down to attend to his needs, spit and cum cooling quickly in the dustings of his hair. He hisses, slapping away your hand with a sudden disapproval.

“Gently,” he scowls. The hypocrisy of the request settles heavily in your gut, but you have no option but to oblige. You simply have no idea how to handle a cock with your hands, what pressure is appropriate. His cum slicks your face, but of course, you need to be concerned with the integrity of his balls before that of your own face.

It takes some doing, but you get there. He’s as clean and dry as you can get him, only to be rewarded by a thick puff of smoke in your face. He smirks at your indignant frown and the way you turn away for fresh air, the cigarette glowing red as he takes another long inhale.

“‘S fine,” he murmurs, smoke billowing from his nostrils. “Clean yourself up and get the fuck out of here.”

You use the same towel despite the disgustingness of it, desperate to get the sludge cleared from your face. You’re half as successful as you’d like, a nice hot shower sounding better than the fistful of hundreds bundled in your pocket. You collect the few bills scattered on the floor without a word, shameless, lightheaded from the exertion of it. You sigh with relief, dropping the towel where you stand and sauntering towards the door without a word. 

“Oi,” he cajoles as you grasp the door handle. You turn back just enough to regard him, eyes rimmed red and face painted black with mascara. “Did you do the dishes?”

You merely nod twice, and it’s enough for him, apparently. He dismisses you with a huff and a wave before letting his upper body lean back against his chair. “See you next week.”

Next week. Not Thursday.

A sinking feeling settles in your gut as you realize this won't be the last time. Come next Tuesday, if Simon is here, he'll have another bonus for you. You’ll just have to make sure you’re well out of his way.

You finally leave a little past four o'clock. The day has slipped away, a surreal blur of time. The sharp scent of Simon’s cologne and the taste of bile burns your sinuses, as painfully persistent as your wounded pride.

The shower you take once you get home is hot, but not hot enough. There isn’t water hot enough in existence to burn the shame from the deeply embedded streaks across your face, scouring you from the inside out.

You worry that perhaps Simon swindled you and snuck some singles in the stack of bills that he gave you, but he didn’t. The “bonus” just barely covers your credit card bill. But hey, at least it doesn’t overdraw.

Silver linings.

[girlietips]

Hot Girls in Summer Know…

The difference between sleeping in and wasting a whole day. Get up and enjoy the day.

Water proof gold jewelry is the move.

A fake tan before you go tanning is optimal for getting a glow.

A clean room and open window is how the day should start and end.

To wear a swimsuit with thicker straps while tanning for clear tan lines (they are cute fight me)

Summer is the best time to declutter.

The joy in fresh flowers and farmers markets.

Minimal makeup >>> cakey makeup

Outside exercise is so much fun (+tanning+good weather+healthy girl)

Pedicure always done and manicure short and neat.

Braids with bows and bandannas>>>

Everything showers after tanning is pure bliss

Making bracelets and necklaces with friends while you watch bad romcoms

Eating way too much fruit.

Ice water with lemon

Wear a cap while you tan to prevent sunburn on the part of your hair.

To put glycolic acid on your arm pits to help with darkness.

Spray toners for after workouts and time in the heat.

Sunscreen always and everywhere.

Hot girl walks everyday.

Cute summer dates hit best with your friends and not guys.

[savorypink]

focus!

you are everything. he's just alex.

smut.

"You said I'd get an A. What is this?"

You toss the paper in his direction as if it's contaminated. The B minus scribbled in the corner of your paper marks the beginning of the plague of imperfection threatening to riddle your body. If you held it any longer, your fingertips would've turned black. Alex merely stands there, but his heart begs to jump out of his chest.

"Well, uh," He stammers, admittedly cutely. "I had other papers to finish, and you asked me to do yours while I was busy..."

Your lips curl into a pout, and Alex feels his jeans tighten. "So, I'm not a priority?"

"No, no, no! It's not like that!" His voice is drenched in panic while yours remains coated in molasses. "I just...had things to do, y'know?"

"Important things? More important than me?"

You bat your lashes this time, and his knees turn to pudding. "Never! No!"

Opening your laptop, you ignore his reddening features and click on your e-mail. "Here's what's going to happen: I'm going to ask for a rewrite, and you're gonna write me a brand new paper—one that'll get me an A. Understand?"

He nods frantically, but you don't see with your head buried in your computer. "Verbal confirmation, please." You reiterate. 

"Whatever you say."

You peer from your laptop to smile at him, sweet and warm as spring. "You're the best, Aly."

Alex granted every wish you pleaded for whenever you waved a manicured finger. Your friends had been kind enough to direct you to him at a campus party. Timid and reeking of cigarettes, he fumbled with his flirting as he tried to keep his eyes off your chest. Your gaze proved too intense for him, and it wasn't like you were listening anyway. You gathered that Alex majors in monkeys and is in a band called Literature. Something tells you that you've mixed those two things up, but as long as he agreed to do your work, it didn't matter what he did on the side—or what he did at all. You ruled the pristine hallways of your university while he meekly sniffed the breeze in your wake. You've given more attention to the gum underneath your shoes.

It plucks your nerves when you realise he's still standing there, but you open your Myspace and begin scrolling. "You can go now. You have a paper to write."

Your brutal, icy shoulder only makes him eager to restore your warmth, but Alex isn't partial to a little bit of snow, and you could be a blizzard at times. "Well, I did write your paper, and um—"

"And what?" Your fuse is as short as your skirt.

His shaky fingers fiddle with the white sleeves of his hoodie, nausea and lust churning and warming his stomach. "You still haven't paid me. And there's the paper before that..."

And the one before that, too. You haven't been holding your end of the bargain, and the poor boy is within his right to complain. But, oh, you're just so busy! Sports, school, getting your nails done—okay, you may have told a tale or two to get out of doing your assignments, but what did he think making a deal with you would entail? If anything, he should be thankful for the attention. You don't have time to waste on boys.

Closing your laptop, you rise from your desk. As you take two steps forward, Alex takes two timid steps backwards until you've backed him into your bed.

"But Aly," you whine as you straddle him, "I told you I was busy that day! And I don't pay you to write papers that don't get me an A. In fact, I think you've been slacking."

Alex begins fisting the pink bed sheets in abundance, the sweet scent of your cotton candy perfume inescapable and dizzying. "No! 's not true!"

You pout with faux sympathy as your fingers work on unbuckling his belt. "Yes, it is! I'm worried about you, actually..." You cup his chin and turn his head to examine the acne along his jawline. "You're breaking out like crazy! Stress causes pimples, you know!" You exclaim. 

Your touches, while minimal and featherlight, nearly make him cream his pants. His large Bambi eyes look up at you in spectacle and guidance as you pull him out of his jeans, the leaky tip of his cock barely grazing the silk of your panties.

"My poor Aly, you're stressed 'cause you're not focused!" You pull your panties to the side before sinking onto him. Your hand clamps over his mouth before he can let out a pathetic, low groan. "You gotta stop worrying about everything and focus on me!"

"Y-yeah? You think?" His body melts into the sheets as your core swallows him whole, his eyes painfully rolling behind his skull. "Fuck, you're so tight..."

You take his lifeless hands and guide them under your skirt. His clammy palms restore to life to squeeze the supple flesh of your ass while his hips needily buck into you, a plea for movement on your end. Since you're feeling generous, you peel off your shirt and toss your bra to the side. Part of your deal was that he only saw you naked when your grades were above average. You begin with small, courteous bunny hops on his dick, and Alex is already mewling, his nails digging deliciously painfully into your skin. You hiss, and you remove his hands from your ass and place them on your chest, bouncing on him harsher and faster.

"You're not even looking at me! It's like you don't even care!" Your frown is prominent in your words, and you know he'll light himself on fire if it means you'd never have to cry. His eyes creak open, albeit slowly. The sun outside your window casts warm rays onto your form, your skin and hair shimmering brightly without effort, evidently celestial. The only thing you need is a halo.

"Huh?" His tone is reminiscent of how he stares at you, love-drunk and in a blissful, rose-coloured haze. Your bouncing slows, and Alex quickly throws a fit, languidly and whiny, squeezing your breasts needily. Your core tightens its embrace around him, your slick dribbling hot and slippery down his weeping cock. The bed creaks as you dip to his eye level, the bubblegum flavour of your lipgloss mere kisses away as your lips ghost over his trembling mouth.  

"See? You don't even listen!" You wail as you glide your pulsating walls up and down his cock at a snail's pace. "I've been so kind and sweet to you, and you can't even get me an A. I thought you liked me. I thought you'd be good for me."

His grubby paws claw and clutch at your skirt while his legs kick wildly at nothing. The movements rumble your bed, and your meticulously positioned stuffed animals fall to their sides. Your name spills from his mouth like a broken faucet, and your hips show no sign of speeding despite your core being enamoured by his desperation. "I'm good! Promise!"

"I know, baby. You just need to focus!" You kiss his flushed cheek before towering above him again. "So, what are you gonna do for me?"

You resume your bounces, and Alex rejoices with a hoarse moan. His large hands enclose your breasts to toy with them roughly, squeezing and kneading until your nipples respond in stiffness. "I'm gonna write you a paper. A good one! Really good..."

You give a roll of your hips as a courtesy. "Good boy."

His sloppy hips meet your bunny hops halfway as something sticky and hot begins to trickle down his cock. Your ride gets slippery and, to your annoyance, messier. You mask your desperation with aggression and bounce faster, your hands full with the sweaty fabric of his polo shirt. A particular spot within your core is struck, and your walls quiver around him in surrender, and, just this once, you moan. Alex stumbles in your wake, weakly moaning as he splotches your walls with his warm, irritatingly gluey release.

His whining and pants persist as you climb off his lap, ricocheting off the walls of your small dorm. You give him one last once-over as he liquefies into your sheets, churning into a puddle of pathetic lust and goo. You dig through your chest underneath your bed and fish out a fresh pair of panties, pulling off your worn ones and tossing them across Alex's deflating and expanding chest. He flinches cutely.

"For your troubles." You snort as you pull on fresh panties. You don't realise how low on panties you are until you pull on your shirt; perhaps you've been too generous with your handouts.

"They're doing dorm inspections today, so don't overstay your welcome. And clean yourself up, please?" you instruct, pulling on your jacket before throwing your gym bag over your shoulder. "I'd invite you to my practice, but I know you'll be busy with my paper tonight."

"Yeah..." He huffs. "Busy..."

You swing the door open and smile. "You're the best, Aly."

As you exit, your descent downstairs halts when you pull out your phone to relay a message your favourite puddle of goo.

There's Clearasil and pimple patches in my drawer. Thank me later. x

Opening the outside door, you remember one more thing.

And I want my panties back!!!