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mypoisonedvine · 7 months

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𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | angus tully x reader

sequel to 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲, won't really make much sense without reading that!

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | holiday break can only last so long, but angus wants this to be more than a fling-- and you, as much as you want to deny it, already know it's more than a fling. the question remains if either one of you will admit it.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 5.3k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | SMUT (18+ only!!), age gap (not huge but angus is 18 and the reader is just out of college), semi-public sex, breeding kink, very inappropriate activities in a church, secret relationship, a wee bit of angst and fluff at the end!

part 3 coming soon!

“Fuck, I don’t wanna go back,” he groaned, dropping his head defeatedly into the crook of your neck. “I never wanna go back to that horrible fucking school.”

“I guess you’ll just see me at Easter break then, huh?” you purred, grazing your teeth over his ear.

“You know, if sex with you keeps lining up with the Catholic calendar, it’s gonna give me a complex or something,” he noticed.

“Oh, I can do better than that,” you beamed. “Next time you see me at Mass, I won’t be wearing any panties. And you’ll be the only other one who knows.”

He perked up again, balancing himself over you with bent arms against the mattress. “I swear, you’re a dream come true. A really fucked up dream I had after seeing a porno mag or something.”

You laughed, but it was cut off with him pulling you into another kiss— sweet and slow, with both of you smiling against each other. With your limbs tangled together under the sheets, you melted together into your bed; and no, none of it really seemed real yet. Every time this happened, you couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that you were hooking up with Angus Tully. Frankly, you were sort of trying not to think about it, at least not too much. If you really tried, you could look at his face and see the little kid you babysat all those years ago, and it just made you feel sort of awful about it… yet you couldn’t bring yourself to stop.

Your smile fell into a gasp when he started to kiss your neck, his hands guiding your back as it arched slightly. When he pressed his body against yours, you felt him getting hard against your leg, and you groaned softly.

“Fuck, Angus, again?” you whined. “We already went twice—”

“I’m leaving in two days,” he explained, “I need you as many times as I can get away with it.”

You wanted to protest, say something about how sore you were or about how he needed to leave and go back home before someone noticed he was gone— but his slender fingers were already diving between your legs and making you just moan instead.

“See? You’re wet already,” he noticed with a playful mockery to his tone. “I’ve gotta take care of you, baby…”

Oh, you couldn’t stand it when he talked like that— when he made you feel so vulnerable to him, so paradoxically submissive. When this started a couple weeks back, it was the other way around: you were the cool, older woman with all the power. You told him what you wanted and he was more than happy to oblige, never questioning you— he was obedient, basically. But once you’d had a few more encounters, he realized that you wanted him just as badly… that he could make you desperate, if he wanted. Once he’d had the smallest taste of control, he was suddenly a changed man; now, he loved to tease and taunt you, see how far he could push you, even once he made you beg— and you expected you’d never get to live that down.

He watched your face with a mischievous smile as he slowly slid two fingers into you, watching the way you winced and then relaxed. “I’ll be careful,” he promised, “I know you’re all sensitive still… thought you might wake up the whole house with that last one.”

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks flushed, remembering how he’d had to cover your mouth with his hand when he made you come. These were issues you hadn’t considered much before, since you spent most of the year living in a dorm where you didn’t really care if anyone heard what you were up to. Staying in your parents’ house again— and secretly fucking their friends’ son in your childhood bedroom— posed new challenges to say the least.

You gasped when his fingers curled inside you, rubbing that spot that made everything clench for a moment. “Mm,” he observed encouragingly, “like that?”

“Yes,” you hissed under your breath. Just when you began to let your eyes fall shut, they shot open when he added a third finger inside you. “Fuck!”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” he scolded, “you can fit three fingers just fine— my cock’s bigger than all that anyways.”

He twisted the fingers inside you as your hips rocked, shivers running over your skin. “Yeah, but still— fuck, it’s a lot…”

“You take it just fine,” he assured. “You take whatever I give you, huh?”

“Sh-shut up,” you whimpered, and he laughed softly.

“You’re so good for me,” he continued anyways, making you bite your lip in hopes he wouldn’t notice his effect on you. Whenever he said stuff like that, you just wanted to ask him who the fuck he thought he was— it made you want to shove him off of you and pin him down, remind him of his place. But you never did, because letting him take control always felt so damn good…

His head dipped down a bit under the covers— and his lips latched onto one of your nipples, making you gasp and grab his hair with one of your hands. “Oh god— yes,” you praised, shuddering a bit as he suckled hard on the bud.

He moaned around it, his free hand holding the other breast and keeping you down even when your back longed to arch deeper. “You get so wet when I do this,” he noticed as he pulled away briefly, moving to suck the other for a moment as his fingers gently pumped into you. When he pushed them in all the way to the knuckle, at the same time that his tongue swirled around your nipple just right, your patience finally gave in.

“Just fuck me,” you begged, tugging harder on his curls as you felt him smile against your skin. “God, I just— fuck—”

He pulled away from your breast with a pop and a grin. “Just ask nicely, baby, and I’m all yours.”

“I know you want to, just fuck me,” you growled, but he shook his head and you clenched your jaw.

“You can say it,” he encouraged, “just use the magic word.”

You rolled your eyes, hating the juvenile way of describing it, but his fingers were still moving inside you and you just needed it too bad— “Please,” you breathed. “Please fuck me.”

“There you go,” he praised, slowly pulling his drenched fingers out of you and moving his hips to line up with yours instead. He was so hard; you were almost impressed with his resolve, though at the moment you were mostly just annoyed with it. “Look up at me,” he demanded, making you meet his gaze before he pushed himself inside you.

It was almost too intense, looking right into his eyes as he thrust into you carefully— you bit your lip, watching the heavy sigh of relief leave him as he filled you.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his eyes scanning all over your face and watching your expression change as he pressed his cock as deep as possible. “You’re fucking perfect.”

You didn’t really believe that, but you at least would concede that this moment was perfect.

You held tighter onto him, legs wrapping around his hips, as he leaned in closer and moaned against your neck. “How am I supposed to leave when you feel this fucking good?” he groaned lowly, and you felt yourself already beginning to pulse inside as you moved closer to the edge. “I feel good too, right?”

Poor thing— if only he knew that it was his own fault you withheld praise, just because he sounded too precious when he asked you for reassurance like that. He was really fucking talkative, way more than you expected; sometimes you thought if you didn’t say anything, he’d just go off on these wild tangents about how bad he needs you. “You feel good,” you replied, trying to keep it a little vague so he’d ask for more.

“How good?” he asked with a grin, and you smiled, too, because he was wonderfully predictable sometimes.

“So good,” you cooed, “so fucking good that I’m gonna come way too fast.”

“Hey, that’s my thing,” he joked. His stamina had definitely increased a lot in just a few encounters, but he still had a habit of coming quickly if you got him a bit too riled up. Not that you really minded… it was still cute, after all, and he usually made it up to you one way or another.

He picked up his pace, letting out a low moan against your ear. “Tell me you want me to come inside you,” he ordered, panting with each quick thrust.

“Fuck, Angus, I want you come,” you replied, whispering against his ear. “I want you to fill me—”

“Fuck…”

“And put all your come so deep in me—”

“Fuck, baby,” he whined again. “I’m so fucking close.”

You whined, running your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, feeling your chest get tighter as you moved closer to the edge.

“Tell me you want me to breed you,” he added; okay, so much for predictable…

“Wh-what?” you choked, feeling suddenly hot all over. “Angus, I—”

“I know, you won’t,” he soothed, “it’s just, you know, pretend… just say you want it, please.”

You swallowed but nodded, holding on tighter to the back of his neck. “I… I want you to get me pregnant.”

“God, yes,” he whined through his teeth, fucking you faster.

“I-I want you to fill me up so I can have a baby,” you continued in a whisper, and he moaned again as his grip on your hips tightened. You could hardly believe what you were saying, nor that he had asked you to say it, and yet it made the most wonderfully bizarre feeling stir inside you— strangest of all, it was turning you on. “F-fuck, Angus, I’m gonna come.”

“You’re gonna come with me?” he pressed, sighing when you nodded. “Fuck, let’s do it— we’ll come together. That’ll definitely get you pregnant.”

“Jesus, Angus,” you hissed, “what are you talking about?”

“It doesn’t get you hot, thinking about it?” he challenged. “Thinking about us making a baby right now? Imagining how good it would feel to let me breed you and make you a mommy?”

“Sh-shut the fuck up,” you grunted, but you were already trying to hold it back.

“God, you want it so bad,” he noticed— how was he only this perceptive in these sorts of situations? “You want me to come in you and knock you up, I can tell. You’re gonna come just thinking about it.”

Even though it wasn’t really just thinking about it— it was him fucking you deep and fast and hard after a whole night of making love— you were forced to bite your lip and nod.

“C’mon, baby, I wanna feel it again,” he purred. “Feels so fucking perfect when you come around me— you’re mine, aren’t you?”

Your heart jumped and your eyes shut tight. “God,” you groaned in frustration, but he just smiled and held you tighter.

“It’s okay,” he cooed, “nobody has to know, it’s just me— you’re mine, right? Say it. Say you’re mine.”

You whined when it hit you— and nothing had ever hit you quite like that. Tensing up inside, pulsing uncontrollably, you felt the weight on your chest lift and you dug your nails into his shoulders as he fucked you through it. “Fuck! I-I’m yours!” you blurted out, unable to stop it when you were drowning in your ecstasy like that.

He swore against your ear, and gave you hardly one more thrust before falling over the edge himself, groaning weakly as his body sank down onto yours.

You hoped against all odds that he wouldn’t force you to address any of what you’d just said; he looked so exhausted that you almost wanted to let him fall asleep here if it meant avoiding that conversation. But it was just like him to only give you about ten seconds of silence before running his mouth again.

He started by just sitting up enough to kiss you on the cheek, then the lips, then the side of your forehead when you turned away. “That was so hot,” he announced, still catching his breath, as he grinned down at you.

“That was… different,” you admitted as you hoped your embarrassment wouldn’t show on your face. “You weren’t serious, right? I mean, you know I’m on the pill—”

“Yeah, of course,” he assured, “it’s just, I don’t know, a fantasy.”

You raised an eyebrow as you looked at him. “Respectfully, I thought it was more of a nightmare— you know, it’s kinda worst-case-scenario here.”

“No, no, I know— that’s why it’s fun,” he explained. “‘Cause it’s, like, bad. Well, not bad, but… scary. In a good way! Like a rollercoaster or something.”

“Yeah, sure,” you scoffed, “just like a rollercoaster. That’s why the maternity ward at the hospital looks so much like Six Flags.”

“You know what I mean,” he laughed. “It’s just… if it actually happened it would be a huge fucking deal… but just imagining it, just for fun I mean, it makes my heart race. See?”

He picked up one of your hands and put it on his neck, pressing your fingers into his pulse so you could feel its rapidness. “Fair enough,” you shrugged, “you sure scared the crap out of me for a second.”

“You liked it,” he cooed, kissing the tip of your nose. “You like being mine, too.”

Even if you could’ve hid the reaction on your face somehow, the way your weak muscles still found the energy to clench around his softening cock gave you away; he purred as he smiled, kissing you more tenderly on the lips this time.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered to you.

“I probably look like a mess,” you laughed quietly, “I don’t even want to know what my hair looks like after a night like this.”

“Yeah, that’s how I like you, though— you look pretty all fucked up,” he explained.

You glanced over as he moved to bury his face in your neck again, only to see the slightest blue glow in the window: the early light just before dawn. “Angus, it’s almost morning,” you noticed. “You need to go.”

“Not yet,” he begged, hugging you tighter. “I bet I can make you come again—”

“No,” you snapped, “if your parents find out you snuck out— and if anyone knows you came here—”

“Baby, c’mon,” he pouted, “I’ll be quick, nobody’s gonna know—”

“I swear to god, Angus—”

“Fine, fine,” he sighed, “then just kiss me before I go.”

He held your cheek and turned your face to his, and you kissed him; you hated these kisses, the ones that felt like goodbye. They were amazing, of course, but they always broke your heart.

“I’ll see you later?” he assumed.

“You’ll see me on Sunday,” you replied.

“Nooo, I can’t wait that long,” he whined.

“Yes you can,” you breathed. “Now get up, please, before I have to literally kick you out.”

“Fine,” he relented, climbing off of you and searching the floor for his boxers and t-shirt.

“I still can’t believe you ran here without even putting a coat on,” you remembered, “it’s below freezing out.”

“Whatever, it’s not even a block to my house,” he rolled his eyes.

“Mr. Lindy across the street takes out the trash insanely early in the morning— what if he sees you running back to your house in the snow without any fucking clothes on?!”

“He was young once, right? He’ll understand,” Angus laughed.

“I’m hoping he doesn’t understand,” you groaned, “‘cause if he figures it out and tells my parents—”

“I know,” he breathed, slipping on his shoes and leaning over the bed to kiss you quickly. “It’ll be fine, okay?”

“Okay,” you smiled back.

There was a brief pause before Angus dropped his arms down against his sides, hitting his legs; “Well, I… guess I’ll see you at Mass,” he announced.

“That’s gotta be the weirdest thing to say after hooking up with somebody,” you decided.

“I couldn’t think of anything else!” he defended. “I’m about to jump out your window, it’s already a pretty weird transition.”

“Okay, first of all, please don’t jump,” you replied, “but fair enough. I’ll see you at Mass.”

He hesitated, suddenly giving you one more kiss— one that lingered a little more— before opening your window and beginning to climb out.

Mass was certainly a lot more interesting when you kept feeling Angus’ eyes on you. His family had been just barely on time for the service, so you hadn’t been able to talk to him before it started; you could tell he was dying to know if you’d gone through with it.

You tugged on the bottom of your dress as you adjusted yourself in the pew; it was definitely a weird feeling, and you couldn’t stop worrying that someone, somehow, would see up your skirt and get an eyeful. The anxiety of it was oddly arousing, though— it made you understand a bit better what Angus had said about the whole scary in a good way thing.

When you occasionally spared a glance at him, you noticed that Angus still looked a little underslept; you’d both been up all night just a couple days ago, but the difference was that your parents didn’t really mind if you spent most of the next day in your room, so you’d had a chance to catch up— Angus’ parents were more determined to make use of his time off from school, and had him doing all kinds of chores and activities on Saturday that prevented him from getting more than a quick nap here and there.

And they’d tugged him out of bed bright and early for church today, so he was probably still feeling the effects of an all-nighter. That said, he certainly didn’t seem lacking in energy at the moment— he kept wringing his hands, constantly glancing at you, so noticeably that his mom lightly smacked him on the shoulder when she noticed it.

But you were looking across the aisle at him, too. If for no other reason than how cute he looked in his shirt and tie.

After the service, as everyone mingled around coffee and donuts, Angus made a beeline towards you— you’d kind of hoped he would be a little more subtle.

“Hey,” he greeted, and you just nodded at him with a smirk. “It’s been too long.”

He glanced at all the people passing by, stepping closer to you to let someone walk past but never moving back; he waited until no one was too close before he spoke again in a lower voice.

“Are you really not wearing any…?” he asked, an extra sparkle in his eye and a mischievous smile on his face. His smile dropped a bit when you nodded, though, and his eyes raked over you in the most intoxicating, lascivious way. You were sure you’d never had someone look at you like that, like they’d give anything to devour you right then— and with no panties to hold it, you felt your arousal slicken where your thighs rubbed together.

He cleared his throat and glanced over his shoulder, making sure no one was looking over at him as he adjusted his corduroys awkwardly; you licked your lips, a little too flattered by the effect you had on him.

“That’s, um, that’s…” he mumbled, tripping over his words. “That’s really… yeah.”

“Really what?” you challenged as you bit your lip briefly, moving closer to him and all but batting your eyes up at him.

“It’s really fucking sexy,” he whispered.

“Yeah?” you cooed. “I think it’s sexy that you think it’s sexy.”

“I haven’t stopped thinking about—” he began.

“I know,” you sighed, “me too.”

“I wasn’t even tired that day— I was wired, actually,” he laughed quietly. “I just… I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Your heart’s pace picked up a bit, and you glanced away briefly. “I, um… I thought about you, too.

“There’s gotta be somewhere we can go,” he whispered. “It’s a big place— everyone’s here, if we just… found an empty room—”

“Jesus, Angus— in a church?!” you hissed.

“Come on,” he begged, “I don’t know when we’ll get a chance again— and I’m leaving tomorrow— and I want you so bad—”

“Shh,” you warned him, making sure no one was nearby again. “We’ll figure something out— just not here. It’s too risky.”

“But I need you now,” he insisted, voice lower and darker as he stepped just a bit closer to you. “It won’t take us long— I mean, it definitely won’t take me long, after spending the last two days thinking about you.”

You crossed your arms, looking down at the floor, and you felt him lean in over you. “Please, baby?” he whispered under his breath.

Releting, you took a glance at the crowd and made sure nobody was looking in your direction. “You go find an empty room in the east wing. I’ll talk to a few people— so it doesn’t look like we’re going together— and I’ll come find you in a few minutes, okay?”

“Great,” he beamed. “Uh, which way is east again?”

You pointed him in the right direction and watched him bound away, sighing to yourself as you re-entered the crowd. You got a lot of questions about your plan now that you finished your degree— and you found yourself repeating the same stock answer about how your graduate program didn’t start until the fall so you had the spring and summer to stay home. Even though you knew you needed to kill some time to look less suspicious, you found yourself glancing constantly towards the east wing, getting more and more impatient for your chance to slip away as unnoticed as possible.

As the crowd was clearing out and nearly everyone’s attention was turned onto somebody’s new baby, you took the opportunity to disappear into the dark hallway. As you peered around the doors, you saw Angus peeking out at you through one of the little windows; the door opened, and you slipped into an abandoned Sunday school classroom, barely having time to gingerly shut the door behind you before you felt his lips on your neck and his hand sliding up your thigh.

“That took forever,” he complained, and before you could remind him it had hardly been five minutes, his fingers were exploring between your legs. “Fuck, what’re you so wet for?” he teased, and you groaned as you pulled him closer by his pants and hopped up to sit on the low bookshelf nearby.

“Just hurry up,” you hissed, “we need to get this over with before somebody finds us here.”

He opened his fly quickly, but struggled slightly to free himself from the confines of his trousers; you hummed a bit when he got it out, pressing it against you right away as you moved your hips up.

Thrusting into you all at once, you both sighed slowly; you took hold of his shoulders, he grabbed onto your hips, and instantly he began to fuck into you impatiently.

“God, you’re so tight,” he hissed against your ear. “Touch yourself— I want you to come, too.”

You reached between your bodies to put a few fingers on your clit, rubbing fast in hopes that you could catch up with him.

“Do you always do what you’re told?” he mocked playfully.

“I think the fact that we’re doing this right after church proves that I don’t,” you replied.

“Guess you only do what I tell you to,” he shrugged, which really made you want to talk back, but you couldn’t because you were trying not to moan too loudly.

He moved faster inside you, and something about the angle of sitting up on the shelf was making him hit just the right spot— or maybe you were sensitive from the exhilarating fear of getting caught.

“What if I got you pregnant here?” he purred, making you arch your back slightly. “Wouldn’t that be funny?”

“You’ve got a weird sense of humor, Tully,” you breathed, struggling not to let your voice come out all whiny and weak.

“Knocked up at St. Mary’s… it’s what God would want, right?”

“Do you never shut up?” you hissed.

“No,” he smirked, “you’re cute when you’re ticked off at me.”

His eyes met yours, and you felt a strange emotion stir in your chest: you bit your lip, willing yourself to tear away from his gaze, but you found it impossible somehow.

One of his hands moved from your hip up to your chest, palming at you through your dress. You tensed up inside, making him wince a bit, and you couldn’t believe how close you were already.

“Oh god, baby, m’gonna come,” you whimpered, moving your hand even faster over your clit; he groaned in approval, leaning in to kiss all along your neck.

“Come for me,” he pleaded, “I’m so fucking close— please come, fuck—”

“R-right there,” you gasped, gripping his shoulder tighter— actually, that wasn’t the only place you were gripping him tighter. He was struggling to maintain the pace of his thrusts, in fact, with how hard your walls were bearing down on him. “Yes, yes, yes—”

“Not too loud,” he warned you, and you bit hard on your own lip to suppress your moan: it stayed in your throat instead, and you heard him gasp as he heard and felt you reaching your peak. He had to take his hand off your chest and put it on the bookshelf under you to help keep you upright, and he looked down between your bodies to watch himself give you a few final thrusts.

He stopped suddenly, whimpering slightly as he buried himself in you as deep as he could go; you sighed and laid back on the bookshelf again, having to tilt your head to avoid a figurine of some prophet or saint that you had absolutely no interest in identifying at the moment.

Angus took a moment to catch his breath, before looking back over his shoulder and through the door’s window to make sure no one was in the hallway. He pulled his cock out of you carefully and did his best to fit it back into his pants. As you felt a warm oozing feeling between your legs, your face began to heat up.

“Maybe I didn’t think this through,” you realized.

“What?” he mumbled.

“I’m gonna have to go out there with nothing on under my dress, with your come leaking out of me.”

He bit his lip.

“It’s not sexy, Angus! It’s very inconvenient!” you frowned.

“It’s both,” he insisted. “It’s very much both.”

Though you did get another chance to see Angus before he left, it wasn’t that sort of rendezvous, unfortunately. Although, just sitting and talking with him was wonderful, too— in an entirely different way. See, that was the thing that scared you most, even more than how badly you’d come to crave his touch: how happy you felt just being with him.

He was funny, and weird, and seemed to think your stories from college were fascinating; he was well-read, especially for a high school student, and you two could chat about your favorite books— a hobby most of your classmates in college found too nerdy to sympathize with.

It probably looked totally wholesome from the outside: two childhood friends catching up while they were back home for a while. And you, you probably looked normal and cool on the outside— you were trying to, at least. But inside, you were terrified. You wanted it to be like what Angus said— scary, in a good way, like a rollercoaster— but you were starting to just feel sick. You know, like an actual rollercoaster would…

“Everyone there is so… dumb,” Angus decided as he leaned back, looking up at the ceiling.

“That can’t be true, it’s a good school,” you tried to encourage him.

“I mean, maybe they could be smart, but they act like morons,” he clarified. “They hate me, too, and I don’t even really know why.”

“Probably because they can sense that you think they’re all morons,” you suggested; and he looked over at you, as if he’d genuinely never thought of that before.

But instead of addressing that, he sat up again and changed the subject. “My parents probably want me to go back and, like, put my trunk in the car and stuff…”

“Right,” you nodded, “you should go.”

“Yeah— b-but, listen, um, before I do…” he trailed off, leaning a little closer to you on the couch. “I wanted to, you know, talk. About something.”

“We’ve been talking for half an hour,” you noticed.

“Right, uh— I meant something specific,” he explained, his cheeks seeming to get a little bit more pink. “I… I won’t be back until spring break, you know…”

“Uh huh,” you nodded, raising an eyebrow as you wondered what he was getting at.

“And, you know, we’ve been having such a great time,” he went on, and your heart twisted. You’d heard this spiel before: the things are so good now, why do we need to put a label on it? why can’t we just have fun talk. The you’re great, but not good enough for more than this talk. You decided to jump in and spare him before he said anything too… honest.

“I get it,” you promised, and he looked at you nervously. “We’re gonna be too far apart for too long— and you shouldn’t, you know, feel like you’re tied down to anything. It’s okay— I didn’t think I was, like, your girlfriend or anything.”

“R-right,” he coughed, looking away and putting his hand on the back of his neck. “Yeah, that’s— that’s what I was gonna say. I knew you’d understand.”

You smiled, wishing you weren’t always so goddamn understanding. “But it was fun— a good way to kill time over the break, for sure.”

“Yeah,” he agreed alongside a thin laugh. “I… I think I’ll always owe you, for being my first time and all.”

“Well, you’ve certainly spent your first two weeks of not being a virgin pretty well,” you snorted. “I had a good time. We’ll call it even.”

“And… when I come back?” he pressed. “Maybe we can, I dunno… maybe we can do it again.”

You grinned and tilted your head. “Yeah, I like that idea.”

“But can I still call you?” he asked nervously.

“Of course!” you beamed. “You’ll have to tell me if you get any good books assigned this semester.”

“Yeah, I doubt it,” he scoffed, but his smile lifted just a bit.

“I can come see you off, if you want,” you offered, “but it might make your mom suspect something…”

“You’re probably right,” he admitted, “I wish you weren’t, but you are— but I’ll call first thing when I get there!”

You smiled, and he gave you a hug before he left; and he promised to call again, though you’d believed him the first time. And the next time you stayed up all night with Angus, it was on the phone— he snuck out of bed with a bag of quarters, and told you the phone was free so you wouldn’t feel bad, and talked to you about everything he could possibly think of.

Except, you didn’t quite make it all night: you fell asleep at some point, while he was talking about his English paper… not that he could blame you.

And for some reason, one that even he himself couldn’t quite explain, he kept feeding the phone quarters and listening to you sleep; he didn’t hang up until it was nearly morning and he had to sneak back into his room.

[series masterlist here]

#angus tully x reader #angus tully smut

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iznsfw · 8 months

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Reputation, Or Whatever That Is

IZ Days of Christmas 2023: Day 12 - Jang Wonyoung

IVE's Jang Wonyoung x Male Reader Smut

7,063 words

Categories | daddy kink, brat!Wonyoung, squirting, blowjob, please appreciate Wonyoung's power bottom capabilities

Sorry, Yena is coming out sometime but I wanted to finally write something timely. JANG WONYOUNG WHAT THE FUCKKKKK.

Please bear with the religious metaphors, I have Catholic guilt and Wonyoung reignites it. I'm not sorry for all the other fucked up shit here I'm just ooga boogaing because what the FUCK

It’s a little brighter today than usual. The sun surely knows what's about to happen upon its rising. It has no plans of telling you beforehand, so you’re forced to find out yourself.

You open Instagram, which is insane because you never bother to look at pictures—much less edited, filtered ones made for meaningless impressions. Your blissful ignorance of online concepts is what would make your fans hate you if they had space in their deluded hearts to. Or maybe that’s your age talking.

But today, clicking on that app is what you do, and that already should have been a sign that something’s not right. The usual run of your universe has gone off course. Who could have made that so?

Coffee. The black stillness that’s pure of sweetness and sugar. That’s supposed to keep everything normal. You sip on it as you scroll through clickbait, fan accounts, edits—

Then you wish you never took that hot gulp at all.

Wonyoung.

It’s all because of her.

She stands there from behind your screen, silky hair tangled in those lithe long fingers. She’s looking at the camera like she wants whoever took the time to click on her profile to come over and fuck her right now. Man or woman, poor or rich—it doesn’t matter. What ought to matter though is the fact that she doesn’t have someone’s hands slipped around her waist and pulling her close.

You shouldn’t even be thinking about it.

Usually, she’s dressed in knitted pink coats and miniskirts; looking fashionable but modest, modest but unplain. That’s what everyone loves about Jang Wonyoung: she’s prim, sweet, and the daughter of the nation.

Now, she’s the ideal girl to take right home and have your wicked way with. Yes, you’d feel guilty since she’s so young, just the little age of nineteen. Still, that doesn’t mean you’d have any regrets. She’s the kind of girl you can’t get away from. You’ll always come back for more.

You’d hate to be so upfront, but there’s no other way to interpret it.

There’s that fucking denim bra hugging her tiny chest, stitched up so high that her abs are on full display. That little pinch of a waist curves so perfectly right up to her wide hips that invite and invite and invite—

Remember to exhale.

So, yeah. That’s how Wonyoung ruined your day, and you barely had your morning coffee.

A text message from your boss appears. You nearly miss it because of how you’re staring all ogle-eyed at the tempting girl on your screen. Before you even click it, you already know what you ought to do.

hey, it reads, you need to—

—go to Wonyoung, and for such a scandalous photo, she’s chosen a remote but classy hotel only the biggest stars know of to shoot it.

There’s no going back when you drive like you’re running from the law when you’ll break one if you pull the wrong stunt with her. Your throat’s coiled with an unreleased breath that won’t go away unless you see her. It’s like traveling with the promise of meeting a goddess, and although you’re not religious anymore, you wear very, very close to rediscovering faith.

The hotel is grand—clear marble floors and shining chandeliers—and it’s no surprise. Wonyoung wouldn’t have things any other way. You know that when she’s come to your office to complain about her outfits and brands.

You go up to the desk with prepared evidence for what you’re going to say. “I’m an associate of your client miss Jang Wonyoung,” you say to the lady tapping away behind her computer, “and I’ve come to visit her.”

Associate? It’s more like mentor. You’re a veteran idol whose efforts inspire the rookies, therefore getting you the responsibility of looking out for Wonyoung. So, father figure, maybe? You wince at that.

She makes a polite sad look, still not removing her eyes from the screen. “I’m sorry, miss Jang doesn’t have—”

Slide your ID card on the counter.

She glances at it, stiffens, then looks up at you. There’s only one of you in the entire South Korea, and although the 1x1 traces back to when you were a bit more youthful, it’s not hard to put two and two together.

She apologizes quickly and offers you an elevator ride exclusive for VVIPs. Smile. It’s been a while since your last return to music, but everyone knows you here. Everyone knows your power.

Wonyoung’s place is the first room on the twelfth floor, a flinching irony.

Knock. You rap your knuckles three times for good luck and charm, because you’ll need it with her. Jang Wonyoung is everything save an easy girl. You remember the many times she refused to give up a debate on how she’s managed, how she’s styled, how she’s treated. She wants things to go her way only.

“Wonyoung,” you call out. Fidget with the handle of the door that refuses to budge. “It’s me.”

Knock a little more. There’s no eye behind the peekhole or a soft “come in.” You receive only the unlocking of the furnished knob and a welcome that makes you wish this could go the way your morals would want it to go.

The door opens you to a gorgeous suite that’s the supreme of all room tiers. This is the kind that only the richest of the rich are able to attain. Big as a house with a soft carpeted ground, there’s a queen-sized bed before a wide window of the city. Picture frames commissioned by the wealthy hang from the painted walls. All for the fucking aesthetic.

Even you, a star who paved the way for the Korean entertainment industry itself, aren’t used to this type of wealth.

Find her sitting on the ledge of the window frame. Wonyoung has her hands resting on the sides of the window frame. She doesn’t try at least a stance at nonchalance—no admiring stare at the beautiful view, no worried gaze at her clean fingernails. Her interest is you standing before her like you’re afraid to touch her. She might be right, but it’s not like you’d ever have it in you to admit that.

Even you, a man lusted over by girls and women all over the world, aren’t used to this kind of woman—the kind that eats away at you.

“Wonyoung.” Inside, you feel like the weakest man in the world.

She has this smarmy, confident smile on her perfect lips that tells you that it’s no surprise that you’ve come all the way here for her. No surprise at all. She expected it. Anticipated it, if you will.

Don’t mistake the coquettish float of her lashes for theatrics. No, Jang Wonyoung’s just naturally someone you’d want to fuck, no matter the politics of it. “Yes?”

Her voice is also just that pretty. That’s a large part of why it’s so hard to act professional in front of her when she’s your mentee. Even more so by the fact you’re someone she’s looked up to for the majority of her trainee years, which is already something that would make people’s brows lift.

“Wonyoung.” You let your shoulders rest. “Why are you still dressed like that?”

You know all the dialogue that passes around the general public. Oh, Jang Wonyoung’s so gorgeous! Jang Wonyoung’s even more beautiful in real life! You hate to say you can’t disagree. She’s deadlier in person; her body’s there before the glass like she’s waiting for someone to give in to temptation. That coy simper can ruin careers. It can ruin yours.

To think it all could be gone because of a nineteen-year-old celebrity with a tiny waist and legs you’d love to have around your head.

“Why are you still dressed like someone from the eighties?” Wonyoung taps her chin, then grins. She’s figured it all out. “Oh wait, you are.”

You’re not taking insults from someone who’s below you in experienced years and power. Unluckily, she’s not taking advice from someone above her or below her.

The step you take towards her, towards the little star seated comfortably waiting for you, feels like a sin.

“You’re incredibly unprofessional for a girl who’s worked her way up here,” you note. Cross your arms and give her a reprimanding look.

Wonyoung’s immune to nasty looks, too. She’s been doing this since she was a child. If someone gave her a glare that read all too well of a career assassination, she’d wink the bullet away sweetly. “Hm,” she says contemplatively, “I don’t think you get to say that, honestly.”

Your laugh is blunt and sarcastic. Unbelievable. Wonyoung’s the kindest girl according to the people who work for her, so why is she a rebel in your hands? It doesn’t make sense.

“Look here, we—”

You take three steps closer to her. You’ll keep your little rituals and superstitions to keep yourself grounded. Without them, you’d go insane.

Then without her having to do anything, she comes nearer, like a doomsday foretold by a ticking clock. Who knows? That clock could be a bomb, and that bomb would set off if you dare to touch her with a trembling fingertip. You’d leave the scene injured. And eventually, you’d die the moment they try to help you, because the deed’s been done.

“Oh, I’m looking, alright,” she chirps. She’s doing what you’ve held yourself back from doing: letting her eyes wander. “And I really, really like what I see.”

You’re someone several awards her senior, and you’re still quite intimidated by her at this moment. She’s so sweet yet so honest—she won’t make up a lie to make you feel better and she won’t hide the truth to make you comfortable. Refuse the truth her eyes locked on your crotch tell. You won’t accept it. It’s not right.

“I’m serious.” Approaching her makes you want to go on your knees and beg the lord for a little saving. Do it anyway. No one will rescue you. That’s what the industry taught you. “You’ve made it all the way up here. All by yourself. There’s gotta be something. What are you throwing it all away for?”

She laughs. Funniest thing she’s ever heard. “I’m not. How am I throwing it all away?”

“Those posts,” you hiss. Doesn’t she get it?

Before she could ask you what you’re talking about, you whip out your phone. Click on the app icon. It instantly shows you the opened tab containing Wonyoung’s recent Instagram posts. Look at her, wrapped in nothing, not even those curtains—giving the camera bedroom eyes when girls her age shouldn’t be shooting them at anyone or be aware of how to.

It’s already massed a million likes in under an hour. But you know what people who turn on anyone easily will say, and what they say could blot Wonyoung’s bright future by a lot. A million people around the world have caught sight of the abs she’s worked hard for, her toned back, and just about everything. A loud minority with frisky influences can sabotage her whole reputation.

“These posts,” you continue, shoving the screen into the poor girl’s face, “can take away everything you’ve worked for. All that fame, all that money, you can’t brag about them after this.”

Wonyoung looks on innocently. She stares at the screen with uninterested eyes, then switches them back on you. She looks like such a good girl in that second, with her hands seated beside her and that face so full of sparkling perfection.

Deception can’t lead you away.

“So, what’s it gonna be, Wonyoung?”

Long silence that builds up your frustration. Finally, she clicks her tongue. Gives you a shrug of her thin shoulders.

“You liked it.”

“What?”

She points to your phone. “You liked my post,” she repeats. “It says so right there.”

What the hell is she talking about?

You look at the device you’re brandishing. For a while, you can’t find out what she’s referring to. You can never take a liking to her posts, although if they switch on something you didn’t know you can feel. You’d die before—

The heart.

Wait.

The heart button below her set of pictures is filled with red.

Your heart pumps faster, a button pushed and played.

Fuck.

You turn to her and open your mouth. No sensible words come out. You swear you didn’t tap twice on her update or take it to a private setting. How did it happen? Worse, even if you say that to her, she’d take it as a pathetic lie.

Wonyoung giggles. It’s a tinkly sound that’s adorable, but you’ve long realized that being cute is not all there is to her. She rises slowly, sets her palms over your blazer-clad arms, and gives you an empathetic face. It’s so condescending that you want to dissolve.

“I know what men like you are all about,” she tells you. She speaks with a sultriness that makes you feel warm and has bumps appearing in masses across your skin.

She smiles. Her eyes disappear into crescent moons and the dimple appears on her cheek. You’re done for.

“Come on,” Wonyoung continues, squeezing your forearms. “Here you are, a big old man known for being a good singer or whatever. You’re so popular that the first thing that pops up on Naver is your face. Everything goes right for you, doesn’t it?”

You have no idea where she’s going with this. You’re afraid to even ask. Your teeth grit as her massages grow stronger, harder.

Something else is, too.

“Then, of course, you see me.”

Her hand. It’s curling around your wrist and bringing your fingers right around that flawless waist. She closes them there tightly.

It’s so bad that it’s good. You want to keep touching her, maybe slip your gliding fingers down her jeans. Oh, you shouldn’t. You can’t.

“You see me, and you get all hot and bothered. And what’s so funny is I’m not even doing anything. I’m just being myself, you know. Being young and rich… a beautiful girl…” Wonyoung is unbuttoning your shirt and you don’t realize it. “You can’t understand how I’m allowed to be this hot when you can’t even fuck me with a normal conscience.”

It’s all so wrong. You want to shake her by the shoulders and tell her to shut up. But if Medusa has her eyes, Wonyoung has her lips to turn you to stone. They keep opening elegantly to speak the filthiest, most fucked up shit, and you can’t deny anything.

Her eyes are creased with knowing pride. Her youth doesn’t rescue her from being so messed in the head already. Those thoughts don’t go along with such a pretty face.

“That’s why you like to get rough with me. You tell me to watch how I speak, watch how I act. You tell me to stop talking to you like you’re no one. You tell me that I’m such a little brat. But you only do that so you can get to control me. That’s your most fucked up dream, right?”

Her mouth is the tiniest space away from your chin.

You’re another word away from saving yourself a spot in damnation.

Her finger that scratches a flaw on your blazer beckons you to the fire. “You’re not breaking the law or anything,” says Wonyoung, “so why not break me instead, daddy?”

That’s a deal sealed with a rough kiss.

You grab her cruelly and cover her lips with yours. They’re more amazing than you imagined, soft and competent with how she pushes in deeper, depriving herself of the air she needs the most just to get what she needs just a bit more:

You.

Your tongues collide and clash, striving to get the most taste. She pulls your blazer off (because fuck professionalism, right?) while she kisses you with a hunger that’s equally mental and physical. It’s not like she’d bruise up if you didn’t get your hands on her yet it’s close to that.

And, in your case, it’s not like you’re breaking any law. She’s nineteen, not anywhere under the limits you’d kill others and yourself for touching. Nonetheless, you’re much older—by age, she could be your daughter; by career, she’s your junior; by power, you’re much stronger.

So, it’s still so wrong.

Can’t be when Wonyoung’s fist, firm around your cock, feels so right.

Can’t be when she lands on the edge of the bed with her lips parted in delight as she watches your dick stiffen under her service.

“There you go, daddy,” she coos, smirking. “Just get all hard for me, then you can stuff that big thing up in my pussy.”

Her thumb toys with your cockhead. You purse your lips to hold back a groan. Let go of it anyway when her smooth, closed palm rubs your sensitive flesh. She cups your balls lovingly before gliding her teasing fingertips under your length, right up to your tip. The girl knows how to do this; she’s good at more things other than MCing and performing.

Wonyoung hones this skill with firmer pumps, giving you the handjob of a lifetime. Her long fingers are just made to handle dick. Each stroke is perfection that holds and pulls and slides. You’re leaking so much already.

So you turn into the driver of the hate train, the press that loves getting her bad angles and the articles that slash up her name:

Blame it all on her.

Because you have here a girl, young and pretty and confident, so of course you have to scrape off your sins and nail them all on her, like a quivering hand to wood.

“You think you’re getting it that easily?” you say. Your moan is squeezed in your throat. “Baby, you’re not even close to it.”

Wonyoung smirks. It’s that self-assured, elegant smile that tells you that won’t work on her. She might be a rookie, but she knows how to play the game.

She tightens her grip painfully. That’s what you get for trying to one her up. Do that to anyone, just not Jang Wonyoung. Your cry goes unheard as she yanks you rather than jerks you off. Spits on your head for good measure. Wonyoung’s eyes make a connection with your soul and says, Yep, that’s what I’d do if you weren’t my senior. In fact, I’d do it regardless. I’d choke and spit and leave you to die, because a pretty Samaritan is better than a good one.

“You’re really out of touch, daddy.”

With Wonyoung slathering her drool all over you, you’re forced to teeter on the line between heaven and hell. It burns yet the offer of pleasure leaves you sated.

“You think I’m like the pretty girls out there? Other girls might have broken down and begged you to come back.”

Your rod is subjected to a brief torrid kiss, then a smile as the wicked girl looks up at you.

She laughs, gives you this smile full of haught and womanly power. “Too bad I’m Jang Wonyoung,” she says, her last words before taking you in.

Yes, it’s too bad she’s Jang Wonyoung. It’s too bad she’s not the other girls who’d kneel for a burning touch of stars like you. She wouldn’t be holding control over you with the power of her lips if she had sanity in that pretty head.

Her plump tiers wrap around you and seize everything, encasing it in softness and wetness. Her tongue, the one she uses as a killer expression for her selfies and Instagram updates, kills you all the same with how it swirls around your skin and tastes you. Trying to pretend the girl wasn’t a pro at this like she is with everything else is useless. She’ll keep proving you wrong and overpowering you.

The whole of your shaft is sucked in, then, when her cute nose is pressed directly to your stomach, she lets out a hummed laugh. You shudder—as much as it makes you feel good, fear grips your muscles and makes them limp. She’s loving how wrong everything is, and you’re not sure if you like it.

Her jaw slacks, and then Wonyoung’s swallowing you like you’re water. Can’t be water when you’re this solid in her throat. You let out a shivering groan. You can picture the bulge in Wonyoung’s neck and it’s the last thing you’d count on turning you on, but they did tell you to expect the unexpected.

Her saliva becomes excessive, resulting in some dribbles down her chin that help her work her mouth on you. Wonyoung’s drool sheens you entirely and she keeps adding more. On the occasion she pushes her face into your stomach, your cock gets wetter. She does, too.

“Fuck.” Cussing won’t help deter the onslaught of pleasure. You’re unsalvageable. Say it anyway. You babble meaningless, slurred words and not one gets to Wonyoung. All she can hear is the sound of your quivering moans and her mouth taking you all in.

She becomes less of an idol, less of the elegant princess for the cameras, and instead a fleshlight. However, she reminds you that it isn’t that way with a fierce sneer that stays on at all times. She’s not your girl—she’s Jang Wonyoung, and you’re already incredibly lucky that she chose to go down on you.

All that beautiful hair isn’t of any purpose if you don’t get to touch it, to gather it in a ponytail, to pull on it. Your fingers creep into her brown locks not only to give it a little meaning but also for sanity.

That isn’t a thing in Wonyoung’s world. She pulls your hand off and slaps it on your side. “No,” she says with a shake of her head. “Daddy can’t touch me, not when he’s pretending that he’s hot shit.”

Her nails bury themselves in your hips. Oh, the manicured talons of a gorgeous monster. Oh, the pain that runs through your sides. Should you run before she devours you? Too late for that.

“Wonyoung,” you breathe, and then ask, genuinely: “What the hell is wrong with you?”

She’s so proper and serene on her shows that not even her most desperate fan would think she’s a terror. They don’t know she’s a girl who likes older, weaker men who’d ruin her if she hasn’t the pretty face and attractively black heart to do them the favor instead.

“What’s wrong with you?”

You’d respond if you knew the answer.

Wonyoung rubs her thumb under your dick, sending little sparks aflying. “Why’d you kiss me earlier?” Her lipstick decorates it as a kinder girl would to your face. “Why didn’t you grab my hair and tell me to be a good girl? Why didn’t you leave? It’s not my fault you want to fuck me.”

All these words of destruction and your cock remains standing. It’s a staunch reminder to her that you can say whatever you want and the hard evidence remains. You want to fuck Wonyoung. You want to do it to a rookie who’d turn the story around on you if it ever came out. You want to fuck her so bad it’s borderline pitiable.

“I’m just giving you what you want, daddy.” Her fingers caress your sides. “Trust me, I could be a very good girl if I wanted to.”

You almost didn’t believe that until Wonyoung started to suck you off again.

Her lips stroke you effortlessly as if this were her pastime. That’s your most accurate guess, because this seamless performance—the one of her mouth working on you with the impression that this whole thing is nothing to her—can’t be a natural gift. The combination of dripping saliva and her soft lips is lethal.

It’s unbelievable how she manages to find all your tender spots. She preys on them, licking and licking until you’re very sure you were going to blow all over her. But you can’t give her that satisfaction.

You’re very close to doing so though. She’s perfectly sloppy and rough. You glare at her when she lightly teases her teeth on your girth. She winks at you in response. She leaves you breathless in so many ways.

“Wonyoung, Wonyoung, god—” you whine. It’s so hard to adapt to the girl sitting there with that innocent face and wild mouth that doesn’t dare give up on you.

Her expressions on camera are always poised. Off camera, there’s this one she flashes you as she shoves her face into your stomach that looks downright evil. Although she’s already fucking you with her throat, Wonyoung partners it with strong suction that’s sure to drain you.

“Yes, daddy?” She doesn’t pant when she goes up for air, replacing her sucking with her long fingers.

“I’m really close,” you admit. It’s obvious from your shaking legs.

Sounds of returned wet suction start to increase. Criticism and compliments prod Wonyoung on. How else would she improve in her idol life? In blowing you? In devouring you?

You realize you’re fitting the cliché. There’s you, an idol whose name is uttered on the daily by both young and old fans, igniting a scandal in the making by fucking a girl beneath you in everything. There’s this expensive suite where stars go for a little precious privacy to do what they want. There’s the two of you doing exactly what you desire: fucking each other. There’s the classic maneater trope with how it’s more like Wonyoung fucking you—she fucks you with her face, fucks you in the head, fucks with your righteousness. Well, fuck.

Wonyoung drools so much that you’re invited to a sea the moment your head pushes past her tongue again. It’s slicker, sloppier, and so much sexier because she’s so completely devoted to your cock. Her hypnotizing eyes trap you and so does her body, tight and tiny—that tummy is flatter than a board and only thin panties hide what her long legs lead to from the bottom.

The only time she stops sucking you is when she darts her tongue side to side with an unhinged pace on your sensitive tip. “Good. Cum in my throat.”

“Shit, god, I can’t—”

Wonyoung attacks you again, and there, in her warm orifice, your plentiful orgasm spends itself. Her throat welcomes you tightly every time. Her hot restricted breaths fan your groin and evokes more semen that spills with no care.

Your hands ball into fists. Although you’re hot and shaking, you can’t touch her. Why are you following her rules when it should be the other way around? It’s a reversal of roles, a Stockholm’s Syndrome of some sorts whose victim is your cock never wanting to leave from the predatory embrace of Wonyoung’s puckered kiss.

Of course, after she gathers all of your cum in the pool of her mouth, she swallows.

She really could be a good girl.

“Awh.” Wonyoung pouts mockingly. “Daddy, are you crying?”

Touch your face. To your horror, she’s right. The electricity and shock of her continuous blowjob results in a few tears on your cheeks. You haven’t done that in years. Wonyoung is the first one to make you cry like this.

You flush. What more to hide your weakness than anger? “Wonyoung,” you start, then you realize you don’t know what to say, “I—you—”

She smiles. You aren’t going anywhere.

She shoves you to the bed. You’ve reached rock bottom in spite of the softness of the quality pillows. You’ll scrape your way out if not for Wonyoung finishing the job by keeping you there assisted by her legs. They close around you with not even a courtesy false promise of an escape. No negotiation, no coaxes.

Wonyoung is sitting on your crotch but not on your dick, which is a problem. Which is a solution. Her hands are pinned to your chest while you try not to meet her eyes. It’s a losing game when your runaway glances are met by her grinding hips, silky thighs, and the hard, flexing abs of a perfection of a midriff.

Her fingers tug on the waistband of her panties before slowly slipping them off. Her pink pussy clear of blemish or hair comes in contact with your length. Up and down she goes, her dancing hips always seeking for more friction. You understand their need because you share the same—Wonyoung’s splayed lips on your member feel heavenly. It’s kind of disappointing that she might as well have climbed her way out of hell.

If she did, she’s the prettiest little devil you’ve ever seen.

“Ohhh, don’t you get it?” Wonyoung asks. She moves so smoothly, you nearly forget she’s humping you rather than dancing. Her soft moan brings you back. It’s the first time you’ve heard it, and you’re melting; it sounds so seductive and innocent in the same breath.

You know her. She knows you. So it’s clear: Jang Wonyoung can be anything—supermodel, actress, dancer—but she cannot ever be innocent.

Her gorgeous voice is silky when it twists into moans and gasps. Looking down at your crotches meeting and swaying is a better show than end-of-the-year performances. The blowjob and commanding you around must have turned her on by a lot—her flesh is hot and wanton with juices as it slides up and down you.

“You’re not going anywhere, daddy!” Wonyoung giggles. She kisses your nose, then your chest until her lipstick marks you. You burn up with feverish lust after each peck. “Daddy is only Wonyoung’s. And I knew your perfect cock would be mine when I posted those pics. I know men like daddy would do anything for me.”

“Wonyoung.” Breathe again, because you’ll need to after this, so why not do it now? “Why are you doing this?”

You thought her flirtatiousness in your office was just her coyness coming out to play. She’d rest her chin on your desk, suck a red lollipop on some days, maybe run her fingertips over your knuckles. Day in and out, she plays the same game. You didn’t know it would reach this level.

“Because I want to mess you up, daddy,” Wonyoung says. Her tongue swipes at the cavern of your mouth right until she nibbles at your lower lip. Her lipstick peppers your face. “I want to fuck my daddy up so bad he’ll never go a day without thinking of me.”

Swallow. The friction of your sexes is driving you crazy and close to the edge. All the same, you don’t want to make a fool of yourself cumming early for Wonyoung.

What happened to your dynamics? Your relationship? There wasn’t a romantic one, but it was always you holding the reins professionally and her just being an insistent passenger. Now she’s wrapping that rein around your neck and claiming you for her own. Looks like you have control everywhere excluding the bed.

“That’s it?” you ask. Shut your eyes—just seeing her grind on you with her utterly wet cunt can make you bust. “Your career doesn’t matter to you?”

“I could say the same thing to you.” Wonyoung lifts herself up and flashes that wicked smile again. “But I want to feel this in me before you wimp out.”

You and Wonyoung fall down a bottomless hole of consequence and wrongs but Wonyoung makes sure to bottom out the first time she sits on your dick. She engulfs you whole and traps you there with her soaked, grippy walls that slide all the way down.

You’d say her pussy has a vise grip, holding onto you like all goes wrong if it didn’t, except you think it has the grip of a vice. Need for her juices that coat you replaces the need for alcohol. Even if you get out of this suite alive, (which is a low possibility), you can see yourself always coming back for more. You could be addicted to anything—smoking, eating, cheating—but it just so happened your vice is Wonyoung.

“Daddy!” she yelps, and from there you can’t count the times she slams her cute butt down your thighs. “Oh my god, daddy!”

Her dainty, cute yells make you throb inside her. Perhaps it’s the kittenish quality of it that turns you on so much. She sounds so appealing, so fucking ruinable that it’s surprising to see that she’s doing the ruining here. Her expression in bed is more animated than the ones she makes onstage—her nearly closed eyes look upwards while her mouth falls open.

The squeeze of her tight, wet cunt renders your knees weak. It’s a good thing you’re lying down. Wonyoung makes sure you stay that way by penetrating herself with you over and over again. Her being barely a weight on you doesn’t stop you from lying there uselessly. You know better by now not to challenge her, not when each time you enter her vagina is better than the last. Her pussy is slippery and tight, proving to be the smallest and the best fit for your shaft simultaneously. Her hole is too tight and too good.

“Is this all for me, daddy? Huh?” Wonyoung circles her hips, making you moan, then continues her up-and-down movements. “You’re so hard, you naughty daddy. I know you got a b-boner when you looked at my posts. Now I’m giving you another one.”

You always thought of Wonyoung as justifiably confident yet arrogant. She told you once at your desk that she doesn’t deserve a stylist who only has a four-star rating. She lamented about the lack of competence of her staff preparing her comeback stage. All those you turned down to give the topics of her complaints the benefit of the doubt, but you know she’s right. She doesn’t deserve less when she’s better than the best. She doesn’t deserve less when she knows her place: a royal throne. So you can’t deny that she’s too hot to handle, undiscriminating to you whose connections always have impossibly beautiful women somewhere in there.

She’s so hot that her small breasts bouncing from behind that denim bra and tube top looks appealing. She’s so hot that the heat between her legs grows wetter. She’s so hot that when her soft ass crashes down on you again, you don’t find it a repetitive bore.

She’s so hot that you’d let the slim, tall girl use you until dusk turns to dawn, even if the curtains behind her are drawn apart and the secret cameras get to snap a photo.

“Shit, Wonyoung,” you say, your core squeezing. “You’re so fucking tight.”

“I bet you’ve thought about this, daddy. You thought that one night, I’ll be so bad that you could book us a whole hotel and fuck me in all the rooms, just like this one. I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Yes, fuck yes.”

“You wanted to open my legs and use my little pussy all day long, huh? Until I’m yours to throw around and do whatever?”

“Y-yes.” Nod. Your face twists—she shouldn’t speak when she’s fucking you because all the filth she says makes you want to blow inside her already. It’s the kind of truth that arouses rather than hurts.

Wonyoung’s riding switches to a rapid intensity that makes you yell. She lets you in so deep to the point that her butt cheeks touch your heavy balls. She’ll drain them for sure; the pace she sets is terrifyingly quick. It seems that she becomes tighter after each bounce, and it’s not helping you hold out at all.

Watch the wildness in Wonyoung’s eyes become animalistic. It makes you all the more certain now of one solid fact: there is something seriously wrong with Jang Wonyoung.

She smirks. “Well, you got it wrong. I’m not all yours, daddy.” She leans down, resting her palms on your shoulders. “You are all mine.”

Her hands might as well be a chained collar waiting to close around your neck. Her devilish simper is supposed to scare you, not turn you on. Somehow, it does both.

She flicks back her hair as she sits up again. Through it all, her riding doesn’t stop. “This cock?” she asks before slamming her pussy down it with a different kind of ferociousness. Cry out but she shuts you up with a furious kiss. “It’s gonna be my dirty secret. I’ll always go to daddy after my schedules so I can make him cum—over and over again.”

To think that a young girl like her has you at her beck and call is laughable, but there’s no laughing now. As you stare at Wonyoung’s fluid body and her hair bouncing beautifully, you realize she actually can have you for herself. It only took one Instagram post to lure you to her. She sees you’re falling deeper and deeper for her.

She didn’t exactly tell you how to escape.

“You gonna cum, daddy? Is my perfect pussy milking you?”

You can do nothing except nod.

“Of course, I can feel you throbbing, i-it’s making me lose it,” gasps Wonyoung. Her whines are making you lose it yourself. “Let’s cum together, okay? You can only cum when you feel Wonyoung squirt all over your massive cock.”

She squeezes tighter on top of you when she reaches down to rub her clit. She’s in search of any kind of stimulation: the slap of her ass on your thighs, the upward shoves of your erection, the pulse of her clit. Her moans increase in their whiny girlishness. Their tender vulnerability makes you think she should be the one underneath your body though you’re aware that’s never going to happen. Wonyoung belongs on top, just the same with her name in first place in the list of brand reputation rankings, browser searches, followers.

Once upon a time, you took charge over her. You managed her lessons, her videos, her behind-the-scenes duties. Funny how it’s the opposite now, wherein she jounces on you freely with the domineering message of caution: don’t cum until she does.

And god, is she making that hard. Everything about her is so attractive, from the bounce of her hair to her midriff showing your entering cock to her pretty pink pussy clutching you. What gets you, however, is her face—everyone loves looking at that face. Today, you’re under an aphrodisiac for it: you’re in love with the roll of her eyes as she rides you, the pink on her cheeks, the part of her lips.

“Fuck yes! Ugh, daddy, you feel so good inside me…” Wonyoung’s core clenches and slides your penis along its textured, sensitive walls. Her gasp is straight out of fantasies. “You’re balls deep, see? Look how your meat’s filling me. My pussy’s going to be so sore after this.” She chuckles. “Wait, who says we’re stopping?”

You shudder. You’re getting very close. Your earlier orgasm still has its effects on you. You’re afraid you’re going to do something you shouldn’t under her bedroom law. She’ll imprison you with her thighs and waterboard you with all the girl cum she promised until you confess that she’s the best fuck you ever had.

“Daddy’s going to cum so hard he’s probably going to breed me. Then I’ll, oh, I’ll feel it inside my tummy and it’s going to be a scandal. Wouldn’t you like that? Getting to knock up Jang Wonyoung? I can hear you moaning. I think you really like that. I think that’s why you’re thrusting up in me. You want to be a real daddy and make your baby girl a mommy. That’s so fucked up, you know that, right? You shouldn’t be having sex with me, let alone breeding me. But you’re a fucking weak old man, so of course you like that.”

You’re burning up. They’re the signs of what’s to come. If her confident words inspire her young fans, her monologues of lust make you feel like you’re the worst person in the world. Of course, the boner is part of the effect.

You groan. “Wonyoung, baby girl, please—”

“Oh god, daddy, I’m going to cum!” she squeals. Her emotions control her and tell her to go harder, bounce harder, squeeze harder. She’s pushing past her limits. “Agh, agh, you’re cumming, too, right? Cum for me. You’ll be—fuck, my daddy’s going to make me cum! I’m squirting all over his cock!”

She slams herself down roughly and repeatedly till your lower body’s flooded with her cum. You can’t take it anymore. It feels like dying because you swear you can see stars in the ceiling, stars of lust in her eyes. La petite mort. How poetic, since Wonyoung’s screaming still sounds as beautiful as her singing and speaking.

Her shouts are close to breaking the windows’ glass. Anyone can figure out what’s happening without the destruction of the pane—the curtains are wide open, letting the world see the youngest icon of the new generation pumping herself onto her co-worker.

You wonder if there’s actually poor watchers out there seeing you cream Wonyoung’s princess pussy, grab her ass to guide her, and kiss her when she leans down.

Wonyoung tastes the best when she’s squirting.

Consequences always catch up no matter what. You can hide under a cloak, in another country, underneath the earth in a secluded bunker and all that won’t help. You’ll be stuck dealing with the outcome, thorns from a rose you thought was too pretty to have some.

That’s the first thing you remember when you wake up, wrapped in the bed sheets and by Wonyoung’s arms. Someone’s calling you. Bad news: it’s your boss—the ringtone itself sounds angry, too.

“Hello?” you ask. You can’t help the grogginess of your morning voice, try as you may. If your boss didn’t know what happened, he can perfectly guess from the exhaustion riddling your greeting.

“You dumb little shit.” You can feel the spittle of your boss’ insult from miles away, cities away, screens away. “You’re lucky I’m friends with the fucking CEO.”

“What happened?”

“Don’t give me that. Some janitor saw you from the wing. I needed to hear it from you: did you fuck Jang Wonyoung?”

Unexpectedly, a veiny hand you remember holding something else grabs your phone. Wonyoung leans against your shoulder wearing nothing as she holds the phone to her ear.

“Why?” she quips, loud and clear. “Wouldn’t you?”

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bloop-bl00p · 2 months

Text

So there’s Voodoo but no Lwas?

Before everyone decides to jump me just know that I’m black, I grew up in a very Catholic environment and my grandparents implemented African traditions to worship God. Throughout the years of my dear old childhood, I also witnessed cults and beliefs outside of Christianity and know briefly of a few African Deities, spirits, syren, and many more.

So I can talk about voodoo, I still tried to do as much research as possible, and if someone sees any mistakes in what I say I apologize, be polite when pointing it out to me and I’ll modify it.

So here’s the first thing I want to address…

White people can do voodoo… what? You don’t believe me, here…

It’s been done since the 19th in New Orleans and whoever can worship is a much more nuanced issue.

You see in voodoo, there are these things called Houses (Humfo). It’s a temple where a community of people worship diverse Lwa and are led by a priest or priestess.

It’s a closed religion which means that you have to ask before entering one House. Some may refuse you because you have European ancestry, and I won’t lie Voodoo is mainly dominated by people with African origins due to its roots. You still could eventually find a house that’ll accept you but you can’t randomly start on your own without going through the process of initiation. Don’t mess with African spirits or spirits in general, voodoo is a group activity for a reason.

Now that all of this is cleared I want us all to come to one conclusion. Voodoo is only and ONLY for the people who will respect it. This applies to all religions.

And to writers.

Write about what you know and if you don’t know something research it! Don’t stop at Wikipedia, go on other sites, see documentaries or videos, and get books from the nearest library. Maybe you know someone who is more experienced in the subject you’re trying to write about?! I know it can be a long boring and annoying process, but sweetheart who told you writing respectfully about a preexistent thing was easy? If you’re unable to sit and open Google for research then don’t write about it!

Now that we all agree on something, do these scream respectful representation to you?

[“I care about representation!” Sure Viv, we believe you.]

Okay, voodoo dolls aren’t used for harm. That’s a myth from Pop Culture and Hollywood and it’s one of those examples of African religion being deemed as malevolent by popular media. Thank you Vivziepop for contributing to the stereotype, a big thanks. 🙂

Seriously, the usual voodoo dolls we see in media are usually tourist traps sold in New Orleans but aren't used by actual practitioners. But, there’s a thing called fetish or bocio, usually, those are figurines made of wood and hung on the tree in front of cemeteries to maintain a spiritual communication between the deceased and the living.

From a personal experience, when I was like 10 or 11 my parents saw safou (African fruit) growing near a restaurant, and the owner said to not get too close as fetishes were hung to avoid people from stealing the fruits. So it also has a protection function.

But I’m not here to talk about my childhood, see I mentioned something called Lwa, let’s see what those are.

Voodoo is a monotheistic religion, it teaches that Bondye [Bon Dieu in French literally Good God] is the supreme creator of this universe mirroring him to the Christian God. But he has no evil counterparts so no Satan or Lucifer.

Bondye is disinterested in humanity and innacesbile to us, but he still keeps tabs through the Lwas giving a polytheistic aspect of the religion. People pray to them and give specific offerings depending on which Lwas they want to please.

They also can communicate with us through dreams and possessions. All Lwas have multiple domains of expertise and if you want something specific you’ll have to call a specific Lwa.

Each Lwa has a symbol related to them they are called Veve. It helps them manifest in the physical world, offerings, sacrifices, foods, and drinks are placed upon them.

“Where are you going with all of these informations?”

Here are the symbols that appear every time Alastor gets spooky or threatens someone.

These symbols alone don't mean anything but they are drawings that can appear in multiple veve. Veves are usually much more detailed and they used complete ones with little simplification in the Pilot, since it’s still canon I’m counting it…

My little theory is that if they decided to simply it is because the animators were already suffering so they lifted up the pain by sparing a lot of details. I mean they used the complete symbols for trading cards.

With all of these it is natural for me to come to the conclusion that to get his powers Alastor calls on the Lwas that grant these extremely powerful ✨tentacles✨, weird red gremlins voodoo dolls thingies, deals-making abilities, and probably other things we haven’t seen yet.

Which means that Bondye exists—

“Th3r'$ n0 God in HH. 🤓☝️”

Sure I can work with that, the Lwas exist and are independent, I guess Viv still has creative liberties.

Since Alastor depends on them that means that he chooses specific spirits to gain the specific power that he has, so I decided to search for a few symbols that have a resemblance to the one of Alastor and we’re gonna test Viv's ability to make something consistent.

A rant about Alastor’s power:

Obliviously they are not all of the symbols in correlation with the one in Hazbin Hotel. I just took these to showcase something fascinating with Viv’s writing style.

1. Marassa-Dossou-Dossa:

They are androgynous twins. They represent the power and purity of children, families, and procreation alongside benediction, love, justice, and innocence. They are children, usually, you can offer them candies, drinks, or banana leaves. They are summoned at the beginning of each ceremony after Legba to signify their importance in the religion.

The Marassa are extremely powerful despite being represented as kids. They usually help people who have issues with getting a child or other important aspects like the death of a newborn. While they are mostly nice and all, they are responsible for bad luck and bring sickness when not correctly served or forgotten.

2. Damballa:

He is one of the Loa who helped Bondnye when making the cosmos and, you can imagine, a very important figure.

Damballa is represented by a giant snake and is often associated with St Patrick's. He is the keeper of knowledge, wisdom, and healing magic representing the symbol of life, peace, purity, and goodness. His partner is Ayida-Weddo who forms rainbows, together they use the same Veve.

They are extremely strict with rules regarding their ceremonies. Everyone needs to be dressed in freshly cleaned clothing, women need to wear a white headscarf made of silk. Alcohol, nicotine, and else are forbidden when calling upon him.

Damballa doesn't have legs, so during the possession, the possessed will fall and wiggle on the ground like a snake and sometimes hiss.

3. Le Baron Samedi:

He’s the spirit of the dead, resurrection, and the giver of life, it’s him you need to call if you wanna get in touch with your ancestors. He avenges the souls of the dead (witches, those who were wronged, etc, …)

Le Baron Samedi will heal your wounds if you’re willing to pay back, while it’s not his only ability the rest may be considered sinister since he’s a master of black magic and curses. If someone sends you a hex that brings death so long as Le Baron doesn't let you, you won’t die. Oh and you see the Christian Cross, it’s also his symbol.

Le Baron can manifest himself in our physical realm through specific rituals I won’t bother to describe how he presents himself just search his name on Google and look at the image. Despite being married to Maman Brigitte, he is still known for cheating. He’s also openly lewd quick to swear and likes to mess with people with a big ego.

Usually, his followers can be seen wearing black and purple as he favors these colors but it’s not obligatory.

4. Ayizan:

She’s a sweet grandma and protector of commerce. You can see her with a white dress and deep pockets buying groceries in local markets, and she gives candies to children and people who are respectful.

She’s associated with the rites of initiation in the religion, which is a ritual or ceremony to signify when someone passes from one group to another it implies a change of status in the society. (ex: passage of child to adult)

She’s a typical priestess and knows of the many wisdom and mysteries regarding initiation and the natural world. She’s one of the greatest healers of the pantheon and while she doesn't heal physical wounds, she heals psychically offering health.

5. Papa Legba:

He’s the spirit of crossroads, both metaphorical and literally. It’s symbolizes choices and opportunities. He’s also the intermediate between men and the spirit world people said he’s always in front of Houses. Papa Legba is invoked at the beginning of ceremonies to open the way for communication with other sprites and deities. While he’s mostly benevolent, he can be stern and enforce spiritual rules.

Some may also depict him as a fertility God, a tricker, or a protector of children. In Haiti, he facilitates communication, speech, and understanding. Children like him and he’s often asked to babysit.

He’s associated with Saint Peter since this figure also has keys that grant access to an afterlife.

Debrief:

With all of this informations, we can all agree that none of these spirits works with Alastor as there’s mainly associated with what we could consider a positive aspect of spirituality. Alastor isn't really an example of purity, goodness, and else. Plus his powers have no links to any of the–

“But there’s Le Baron Samedi, he does Black Magic.”

That’s true and he’s actually the only Lwa from my list who could potentially work with Al but there are a few issues. Le Baron Samedi messes with people with a big ego, even if Al decided to work with him it would be quite complicated. Add to that Alastor's respect for women, I don’t think he’ll like to work with someone who cheats on his wife.

But let’s actually think of the potential here, making him a tangible entity Alastor could speak to, would have led to interesting character dynamics with Le Baron mocking Alastor and making him rethink his decision every time he tries and acts selfishly. Le Baron Samedi could have been the one slapping Mister Deer Boy to reality.

Personally, I think it would have been cool to add hints of the partnership by making Alastor’s suit black or giving him purple accessories but Viv's palette of colors is unfortunately very limited to the same shade of red.

“You only listen to 5 deities that appear to be popular, maybe somewhere there’s actually a Lwa that is working with Alastor and you simply didn't choose to show it to us.”

There’s actually one spirit I can think of. Bakoulou Baka, I did not find pictures of his veve unfortunately.

What I can say about him is that he grants powers and wealth. But since he’s associated with dark energy, those things are finite and you’re royally fucked if you don’t repay him in time. He is so evil that people are scared of calling upon him.

Baka in general is a term used to refer to spirits willing to deal with very powerful sorcerers. They pretty much will do anything only if the price is right, they are malevolent spirits who’ll turn on you if you don't do your part of the deal.

Alastor was mentioned to be stuck in a deal, it would be a great twist if the one who got him in this situation was an Evil Lwa he underestimated and failed to repay when he was alive. But we know Vivziepop that won’t be the case.

“You’re too harsh on her those will be obliviously mentioned in season 2.”

Think back to all of the things I said in this post, the different terms like House, initiation, Lwa even the word Voodoo itself, are they even mentioned ONCE in the show? Did Vivziepop make an effort in the FOUR YEARS of production to include them? Did she make the slightest bit of effort to make sure that the new audience knows that Alastor practices voodoo?!! Even by watching the pilot you can’t tell it’s mentioned once fastly by Charlie AS A JOKE.

“IT’$ h@rD t0 Do that.”

Yeah, writing is hard you have to deal with it. And be for real, there’s a scene where Vaggie enters Alastor’s room and sees him eating a deer, rather than see him in the middle of breakfast that could have gone like that:

“What the hell are you going?

– Just a few offerings to keep the Lwas happy.”

Smart people would have been like “What What the hell is a Lwa?” They would have searched it on Google, and Bam people know Al does voodoo.

“But th3 szeN3 w@s to sh0w h3 was a canibal.”

We’re talking of the same guy whose bestie is the cannibal queen, when Rosie proposed fingers to Charlie he could have accepted it. Good now the audience knows he’s a cannibal too, yay!

Religion is an important aspect of characters as it explains most of their behavior. That’s the type of thing you introduce in the first seasons then expand on the second.

And we’re talking of the same show where Husk looked at the screen and told us each of the main character archetypes. I’m surprised Alastor hasn't been called Voodoo Man or something.

I thought of those rewritten scenes in the span of two minutes and you’re telling me Viv couldn't in four years?!

“But HH is b@seD 0n B|blic@l t3xt. Voodoo |s DifeREnt. 🤓☝️”

Are you aware Voodoo is essentially a very big salad of multiple beliefs mixed together rights? You know that one of them is Christianity right?! Some Lwas are associated with Saint, so nothing prevented Viv from making a new class in Heaven called Lwa whose job is to assist the Saints in their task.

When Charlie and Vaggie presented themselves in front of the gates, Saint Peter could have been the one holding the keys and Papa Legba would have been the one reading the book to know who was entering or not.

With the bare minimum in terms of research (1 week), I managed to think of quick easy but effective ways to implement voodoo in the Hellaverse in the span of 2 poor minutes. So why can’t Vivziepop do this when she had FOUR YEARS?!!

Or maybe it’s just that… she doesn't care.

She doesn't care

You need to have a very VERY blatant lack of care for the source material to present voodoo the way Vivziepop did it. Every time the veve appears around Alastor it’s to communicate one thing danger and threat, it’s a harmful stereotype that needs to end people pointed it out she refused to listen.

And it’s because of this lack of respect that bullshit like these happen in her fandom.

Alongside this, you can count the many comics of Alastor using voodoo dolls to hurt/control someone. I’m not blaming any of these fans, I’m blaming Vivienne Medrano for feeding such harmful ideas about the community and not making it clear enough that those symbols are part of a rich culture that people hold dear to their hearts and NOT A FUCKING AESTHETIC

You want an actual example of respect for foreign beliefs?

In the movie Exhuma, the main characters are a shaman and a geomancer, obliviously those who worked on the movie took creative liberties regarding shamanism in Koran culture BUT they actually called a Shaman. There’s a scene where one of the main characters is supposed to do rituals, the actors learn an actual choreography and do it as accurately as possible the shaman was there to supervise everything from beginning to ends.

All I’m asking is for Vivziepop to open Google and do a deep dive. It’s like a school presentation, you sacrifice at least 2 or 3 hours of your days to research your subject, and she had 4 years to do that a little bit of everyday.

Noo it’s too complicated apparently and come on look at these beautiful veve! It’s edgy if I draw them with red on a dark background they look EeViiiIil.

I said it I said it again, if you’re not willing to research as much information about a preexisting subject.

Don’t write about it.

If you don’t have a little bit amount of respect for a religion and care about representing them properly.

Don’t write about it.

Don’t be like Vivziepop.

#anti vivziepop #hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel criticism #vivziepop critical #vivziepop criticism #vivziepop critique #hazbin hotel critique

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outlawinthisworld1117 · 2 months

Text

Perhaps in another life | Fleabag AU

☆ pairing: priest!Yunho x fleabag!(fem)reader

☆ genre: Angst, Smut, there is some light fluff as well because I genuinely cannot resist writing it in everything I do.

☆ summary: It's just a Fleabag au... I don't really know what to say here. Yunho is the Priest and you are Fleabag…

☆ warnings: 18+ MDNI!!! Religious themes, fingering, oral (f), Praise kink?, edging, vaginal sex, protected sex, aftercare (idk if I need to put a warning for that? but I've seen other ppl do it before so...), pet names (Angel, baby, good girl), Priest kink??, reader does call him Father sometimes, requited love that can't be pursued... ouchie.

☆ word count: 3.8k

☆ authors note: I heard that Yunho is (most likely) Catholic and my religious trauma manifests in interesting ways >:). This work is fiction and purely self-indulgent (really as all fanfics should be), it doesn’t reflect any of the members personally. The fourth wall break text is highlighted in red!

You weren’t good at love, never had been, and probably never would be. But it wouldn’t stop you from trying because he was all you could think about. Day and Night. Always on your mind. You met him at a family dinner you were unwillingly dragged to. Jeong Yunho. Pretty name. He was the only one that asked about you the entire night. No one ever cared to ask about you, but he did. How could you not form an attachment? You ran into him again while on your way home from work. You were able to see him better in the sunlight. Beautiful smile, really tall, kind eyes… his hands. Oh, Lord. His hands were gorgeous, and his neck was so— Shit… He was wearing a clerical collar. Fuck. He was Father Yunho.

He’s a priest. I want to fuck a priest…

That didn’t stop you from seeing him though, nor thinking about him the way you did. How could it? Religious trauma manifested in strange ways. You would visit him at his church. He always welcomed you with a smile, and you would talk for hours. Sometimes about God, you weren’t religious and probably never would be, but sometimes he would ask about you. How you were doing. What your job was. How long you’ve lived here. Where you grew up. Your favorite color. The movies you enjoyed most. Your ex-boyfriends. Your future plans. What you ate for breakfast. He was so curious about everything you had to say. Shit. This was dangerous. You didn’t care though. You would ask about him and the more you learned the more you felt yourself falling for him. Your conversations started to become more intimate. Oh fuck. You were so attracted to him and you could tell he felt the same way about you.

How you ask? Well, it’s simple. Let me recall what happened yesterday, shall I?

“I’d better get going Father, lot’s of stuff to do today—”

He grinned, “Oh fuck you calling me Father like it doesn’t turn you on just to say it”

That’s how…

And we made out in the confessional box right after.

You felt sick. Nauseous. Your head was pounding.

I really shouldn’t have gone out last night.

Or maybe your headache wasn’t from the ridiculous amount of alcohol you consumed, but instead, of each thought about him that consumed your very being. You didn’t know. What you did know was that if your bus didn’t show up in the next couple of minutes you were probably going to throw up all over the bench you were sitting on. Putting your head in your hands helped distract you from the throbbing against your skull. Though it couldn’t help you with what would happen next. Taking a deep, mind-clearing breath, you lifted your head up from your hands and there he was. Sitting right beside you. Like a damn apparition, waiting to jump scare you.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry!—” He waved his large hands expressively.

“How long have you been—”

“Literally like two seconds,” He clarified quickly.

You exhaled, what felt like your entire soul, out, “W-why? What are you doing here?”

He smiled at you. It always made you feel weak. Such a beautiful smile, but it was quickly replaced with a pursed frown. His eyes became serious as he stared into yours. Then at your lips. Lingering for a moment before going back to your eyes.

“I don’t think you should come by the church anymore. Actually, I don’t just think… this is me pleading with you to not come by anymore.”

You just stared at him, unable to breathe, your chest felt so tight.

“And I mean that with the greatest of compliments,” he gushed before he got up and left. Just like that. He was gone as quickly as he had arrived.

What. the. fuck…

Regardless of his intent, it didn’t matter if you never went to that church again because you would still see him. At your house. Later that night. Knocking on your door like his life depended on it. So when you opened it up for him, he rushed in looking frantic. Pacing back and forth in your living room before sitting down on your couch, imploring you to do the same. So you did. He wasted no time to speak.

“I’ve sacrificed a lot for this life— I…” His words faltered, unsure of what to even say or why he came to your house in the first place.

You seemed to understand why he was there though. Nodding you took his hand, squeezing it gently in hopes that it would provide him some shred of comfort.

He took a relaxed breath, staring at the floor for a long time before he spoke again, “I shouldn’t have done what I did yesterday. I have to make sacrifices, yet I chose to be selfish. You…. You make me want to be selfish more than anything.”

You didn’t even realize he had moved until you felt his breath tickling your face. He was so close to you. Staring into your eyes, searching, begging, praying that he would find an answer he so desperately craved.

“It’s okay to be selfish, Father,” You whispered, “You’re not going to burst into flames. It just makes you human.”

His palm was on your cheek, caressing it as he moved just a little bit closer to you. His breath seemed strained, building up to being labored. You had no idea the effect you had upon him, “I know. But… I can’t. I can’t allow myself to be selfish with you.”

Oh my god. We’re going to fuck.

“Why not allow yourself to, Father?”

He’s totally going to fuck me right here.

“I cannot be intimate with you—”

Oh, yes, yes he can.

“— oh for FUCKS SAKE. What is that?” He leaned back from you, his hand moved from your face to your thigh as his eyes were once again searching yours.

“What is what?”

His hand is…

“THAT! Right there. Where do you go when you do that?” His eyes were locked in on you, with extreme clarity, like he could effortlessly read the inner workings of your soul.

“I— I was just thinking…” You whispered, overwhelmed by his detailed observation. No one had ever noticed you like he did. No one. It made you feel hot.

“What are you thinking, Angel?” He pleaded sweetly as if he didn’t just shock your entire being.

Angel…

You stayed quiet, feeling exposed in front of him, worried that he could read your thoughts. He started to rub along your thigh, stilling before he spoke with a deep husky tone, “We’re going to have sex, aren’t we?”

You nodded slowly, “Yeah…”

That was all he needed before moving his other hand to cup your face, quickly closing the gap between you as he ardently placed his lips upon yours. He started slow, mapping out your lips with his. He was so observant, noting every touch, taste, and feeling with small, curious movements. Warmth blossomed in your chest, he made you feel so wanted and cared for. He always made you feel this way. And then, as if he was suffocating and you were his oxygen, he began kissing you fervently. Pouring every ounce of selfishness he could into this act like he would never get to do it again. You carded your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer, never wanting to let go of him out of fear he would slip away forever. Begging to be let in, he pressed his tongue lightly, and you gladly obliged, parting your lips like they were the Red Sea. He tasted of red wine and he always smelled so good. Like a room full of unscented candles that were just blown out. Smokey and sensual. It turned the warmth in your chest into a burning desire. You couldn’t help the sounds you were letting out as his hands explored over your body. His dexterous, long fingers traced along you, memorizing how you felt beneath him.

“Do you know what you do to me, Angel?” He moved your position so that you were lying down, his weight pressing on top of you, enveloping your senses completely. You could feel what he meant on your hip. Oh; And his pants were restraining him. A lot. Oh, Jesus… Hallelujah.

“Yunho…” You breathed lightly, aching for more of him. To which he understood, perfectly, like he always did.

You wrapped your legs around his waist when he picked you up from the couch. Easily. His arms never letting go of your ass on the way to your room. He groaned at the friction he was getting from you as he walked. Once he set you down he began loosening his collar. You watched tantalizingly as he began to slowly unbutton his shirt. He was so beautiful, his chest was lean and sculpted, like a marble statue. You whined when his shirt slipped off completely, feeling embarrassed from the noise that escaped your lips. He grinned at you as he moved forward, causing you to lay flat against your bed. His long fingers teased at the hem of your shirt before he pulled it over your head. His breath hitched when he saw your bra. A black, lacy one you bought recently in the hopes he would be seeing it.

Dreams do come true.

“Stop that. I want you present here with me,” He begged, tipping your chin so you were looking at him again, as his lips attached to your neck in a feverish haste. Nipping and licking along you like you were a sweet treat he was enjoying for the first time after Lent. Small moans escaped his lips, causing heat to shoot to your core. He moved down from your neck to the mounds of your breasts, kissing lightly while his hand explored your inner thigh. Every small movement made the warmth inside you grow. Snaking his fingers up to the button on your pants he undid it quickly, expertly removing your pants and tossing them to the side with the rest of the discarded clothing. Your panties matched the bra, earning a small hiss from him that shot a thrill through you.

“You’re quite good at this Father. Like you’ve done it before?” You teased him. His eyes were dark and needy, admiring you lying beneath him as he towered above you. The dark patch from your core caught his attention, hitching his breath. He looked different from his normal self. Hungry. Possessive. Almost like a demon had taken over. An incubus of a man before you.

“I had a life before the church, Angel,” Was all he avowed before kneeling down to worship you. Sliding his fingers under the waistband, he grabbed the edge of your panties with his teeth, and slowly… pulled… them… off. The act made you arch your back and let out a gasp; It was singlehandedly the most toe-curling thing you had ever witnessed. He trailed kisses along your leg, starting at your ankle and moving up. Feathery kisses on your calf. Light ones at your knee. Nibbling on your thigh, and ending up between them, where you needed him most. Your breath had become ragged, matching his. He shuddered when he looked at your core, pulsating around nothing.

“Oh fuck… look at how wet you are for me,” He whimpered, gathering your arousal on his fingers, and showing it to you. You moaned at the sensation of him touching your folds. He sinfully grinned at your reaction before latching on to you with his mouth, swiping his tongue along you salaciously. It ignited a fire with you. Each lick felt like a pleasure you had never experienced before. You were more turned on than you had ever been in your entire life and it was all because of him. His touch made your skin feel like it was on fire in the best way.

“Please— I,” Moaning out, unable to express how he made you feel. You could feel a familiar coil building within you, his ministrations against you were heavenly, “Yun, that feels so good.”

He slipped in one long finger, curving it up, immediately finding your g-spot. He was so fucking good at this. It shocked you. A celibate man who still had all this expert knowledge years later. God, what couldn’t he do? The spring inside you was close to snapping, and he grinned against you, “You gonna cum, Angel?”

“Y-Yes I’m gonna—” He pulled away from you, leaving you right on the edge of bliss. Release escaped you and you cried out, “No, no…Please, Yunho, please.”

You grabbed him gently, but franticly, by his hair, trying to put him back. He just chuckled, the vibrations of his voice buzzed through you, “What’s the rush baby? You’ve waited a long time for this. I’d like to make it last.”

He crawled up to you so that your faces were parallel once again. Kissing you softly, you could taste yourself on him, which made you shiver. Arching your back, he took the opportunity to take off your bra swiftly. He looked at you with heavy-lidded eyes, breathing you in, and then commanding, “Take them off.”

So you did. Unbuttoning his pants quickly so that he was free of them. You might just convert to Catholicism after this because you don’t know what you did to deserve that. He was perfect and painfully hard; there was precum already leaking from his pretty red tip. Experimentally, you reached out and wrapped your hand around him, and the sound that he let out… was pathetic. He screwed his eyes shut and whimpered into the crook of your neck, “FucK-uh! Angel… not yet. Please”

He hadn’t been touched in so long that he was afraid he would burst at the slightest stroke from you. It made you feel unbelievably powerful, so, teasingly, you did it again and he grabbed your wrist, “Behave. Don’t make me say that again.”

“Or what, Father?” You purred into his ear.

“Or I’m going to have to make you repent, Angel,” He glared at you lustfully. It shot a thrill through your entire being, “I’d chose your next words carefully…”

You stayed silent, not out of obedience, but because you didn’t know what to come back with. When you first met him you never would’ve expected him to be like this, but you weren’t going to complain. He grinned, thinking that you had learned your lesson, “Good girl.”

You could’ve come right then. Good girl? It’s like he was trying to kill you. You loved hearing him praise you and he caught onto it quickly. He trailed his fingers lightly up and down your inner thighs as he kissed along your jaw, it made you shudder.

“You’re going to keep being good for me now, okay?” He sighed, breath quivering. You nodded numbly, enjoying this unseen side of him.

“Yunho, please…” You begged him to do something, anything.

“Of course Angel, you’ve been so patient,” He kissed your forehead before he rubbed his fingers against your folds, teasing around your opening. You gasped when he pressed two digits in, all the way to the knuckle, he hissed, “Fuck… you’re so tight, baby. I’m going to have to stretch you out first.”

He began to move them, curling into your sweet spot again, pumping in and out while his thumb found your clit; he could already feel your walls loosening around him. As he worked you down there, his lips attached to one of your nipples. It made you cry out. He licked and tugged at the swollen bud before moving to the other one, repeating his actions. The coil in your abdomen wound up quickly and you knew that he wouldn’t have to go much longer. Grasping at his back you took a second to look at him, his face was flushed, and his lips were red from kisses. He was so beautiful it made your heart hurt. Lazily he rubbed circles along your clit as he continued his movements, “Can you cum for me, Angel?”

His words sent you spiraling into ecstasy, your walls trembling around his fingers as he skillfully guided you through your orgasm. Waves of pure pleasure crashed over you, and for a fleeting moment, you could have sworn you glimpsed heaven itself. You took a moment, trembling and breathing heavily, to gather yourself. It was undeniably one of the best orgasms you had ever experienced. When you finally opened your eyes, he was positioned at your entrance, condom already on. His eyes found yours, like a prayer for your consent, to which you nodded in reply. He rubbed slowly along your folds, gathering slick before he steadily began to enter you. He was stretching you out way more than his fingers did, but it wasn't painful; you gasped as he finally bottomed out, “You take me so well, Angel. Are you alright?”

You nodded your head lazily, “More than alright, Yun.”

He kissed you, so lovingly, so sweetly, it made you blush. Every movement of his lips against yours was infused with a depth of emotion, while his hands lovingly caressed your face, his thumb softly brushing against your cheek. He obviously couldn’t say how he felt, but you knew. You knew unmistakably in that kiss. It brought tears to your eyes and, of course, he knew why they were there. You two just understood each other so well. He was inside you, and yet that was the most sacred, intimate thing he could have done. He delicately kissed away the tears on your face until they vanished, and then, tentatively he began to move.

Starting slow, he gently pulled out a bit at a time, allowing you to fully adjust to the movement. When he sensed that you were ready for more, the pace quickened. You clung to his back, as he withdrew to the tip and then thrust back into you. It was as if he was perfectly made for you, with every thrust meeting that sweet spot inside you over and over again. The heat in your core began to intensify, each whimper and moan from him sending waves of pleasure coursing through you, “FUck-ah! Mmm Angel, fuck you feel s-so good.”

“F-Father…” You tightened around him with each thrust, the room alive with the sounds of squelching and skin meeting skin, intertwined with the breathless whimpers from both of you. It left you feeling delightfully dizzy. He pressed his face into your neck, teasing, and nipping along it, leaving behind little marks that would greet him in the morning light, “God… Yunho, Please, more please.”

He was ramming into you at an ungodly pace with an intensity that felt almost divine, the coil inside you teetering on the brink of snapping once more. Attacking your neck with fervent nips and tantalizing licks that sent waves of pleasure humming through you. His movements began to grow frantic, his rhythm wavering as he neared the edge with you. Your second orgasm surged through you unexpectedly, his clumsy thrusts elongating the pleasure to new lengths. With a few erratic movements, he tensed in your embrace, a chorus of moans, whimpers, and whispered curses escaping his lips as he reached his peak. He relaxed in your arms, letting his full weight rest on you as you both came down from your highs, feeling the rhythm of each other’s heavy breaths intertwining in the stillness.

“I can’t believe you did that, Father,” You whispered, in a post-high clarity.

He chuckled against you, resting his chin on your chest, smiling as he looked up at you, “Yeah… me either.”

He tenderly kissed your cheek before pulling out and disposing of the condom. With a gentle smile, he got up and went to your bathroom, returning with a warm, wet rag to clean both you and himself with. After he was done he grinned, “Go use the bathroom, Angel, and then come back here, okay?”

You came back out from the bathroom wearing a comfy T-shirt and a fresh pair of underwear, and he was waiting on your bed, with his boxers back on. He looked absolutely adorable with his tousled hair and those sleepy, drowsy eyes. He pulled you back onto the bed, nestling close to you, awaiting blissful sleep to lull over you both.

His hair softly ticked you awake. He was wrapped around you like he had used you as a body pillow at some point during the night. You hadn’t slept that great in a while. Your stirring had woken him up. He inhaled deeply, holding you tightly for a moment before releasing you. A radiant smile lit up his face, and you could see the gears behind his eyes whirring with life.

“What are you thinking about?” You titled your head to capture his attention.

He just grinned at you, “I just… I don’t know what this feeling is.”

“Is it God or is it me?” You playfully joked.

“I don’t know,” The smile on his face wavering slightly, taking your question seriously into consideration. It made your heart drop a bit.

Your feet ached from a long, exhausting day at work. You were glad to finally be on your way home. Looking up at the bus stop schedule you saw that yours was about twenty minutes away.

Great…

You heard a sharp inhale next to you and a small chuckle, “Might be quicker if you walked, Angel.”

Yunho was sitting next to you at the bus stop, once again.

“Long time no see stranger,” You smirked.

He smiled at you warmly, but there was a look in his eyes that squashed your joking mood. He just dryly laughed and stared into your eyes for a good while. Those loving brown orbs of his were full of sincerity and anguish. You nodded slowly, a suffocating ache in your chest made itself present.

“It’s God… isn’t it?” You choked, the lump in your throat had become overwhelming.

“Yeah…” He sighed, taking hold of one of your hands in his.

You just let out a small laugh and smiled, tears welling into your eyes, making it hard to see him, “You know, the worst thing is that I fucking love you. I- I love you.”

“Angel—”

“No, no. Let’s not. Let’s just leave that out there for a moment okay?” You interrupted, the tears breaking free from your eyes to roll down your red cheeks, “I love you.”

He squeezed your hand, a warmth that provided little comfort to you now, before he whispered, “It’ll pass”

You bit at your lip, trying to prevent yourself from having a breakdown at the bus stop. So you plastered on a fake smile, choked back your tears, and nodded. You stayed like that, with your hand in his, for what felt like a fucking eternity, until he got up.

As he began to walk away he paused, turning to you one last time, confirming what you already knew, “I love you too.”

Fucking hell...

And then he was gone. Your bus was there, magically, and he was gone. Perhaps in another life, he wouldn't be. But this was the one you had.

a/n: This is my first time writing smut and posting it somewhere. So I am very open to feedback and constructive criticism. If you enjoyed please consider reblogging, it lets me know that I should continue writing <3

Masterlist

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fallstaticexit · 1 month

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Prev / Next / Beginning

Trigger Warning: Drug Use (Marijuana) / Discussion of death & loss / Transcript under the cut

Nancy: Are you going to tell me where we’re going?

Vanessa: Ever heard of savoring the moment? Basking in the adventure of the unknown?

Nancy: This sounds like a slasher film in the making.

Vanessa: You’re no fun, but fine. We’re going to my secret spot.

Nancy: Why are you taking me? What if I told someone about it?

Vanessa: You said you’re not a narc. Besides, we broke bread together.

Nancy: Oh, I see. I have dirt on you, so now you have dirt on me?

Vanessa: Wooow, Blondie! You have some serious trust issues.

Nancy: [mutters] Well. I don’t know you all that well..

Vanessa: I’m not mad. That makes sense. That just means I have to work extra hard to get you to trust me. I must warn you, I’m annoyingly persistent.

Nancy: What?

Vanessa: Nothing!

Nancy: Ok, seriously. What are we doing here?

Vanessa: Looking for my stash...ah fuck! Did someone jack my- ah-ha! Here she is!

Nancy: Who?

Vanessa: [sings] Mary Jane, I love her just the same.

Nancy: You brought us all the way out here to smoke pot?

Vanessa: What, you’d rather do it in front of the nuns? Get in here.

Vanessa: So, what’s your deal?

Nancy: My deal?

Vanessa: Yeah, like, why are you here? I doubt you saw a packet in the mail and thought, ‘I’d sure love to spend my senior year at a boring Catholic boarding school’. Unless you heard about all the hot guys here, then that makes sense.

Nancy: Wasn’t my idea.

Vanessa: Ok. So, what happened?

Nancy: [huffs] Well, if I talk about it then it never goes away, does it? That’s kind of the whole point.

Vanessa: [hums] Well, you’re in the right place, that’s for sure.

Vanessa: [murmurs] All you have to do is pray, and it all goes away.

Nancy: What’s your story?

Vanessa: Not much of a story. I was raised in the church. Heir to my family’s fortune. Blah blah blah. You know how it is, being a Landgraab and all.

Nancy: It wasn’t always like that. My brother was supposed to be next in line, but he died when I was 4.

Vanessa: Fuck, I’m sorry.

Nancy: It’s- I barely remember him, so..

Vanessa: [after a beat] My mom died giving birth to me. My father says I’ll spend the rest of my life being great to atone for it. That’s actually all he says to me.

Nancy: I don’t think my father knows he even has a daughter. I bet he doesn’t know the color of my eyes- he hasn’t looked me in them my whole life.

Vanessa: [laughs] What the fuck? We're really messed up, huh? You know, you’re not like any of the other girls here.

Nancy: Is that a bad thing?

Vanessa: No. I’m not like any of them either.

Nancy: [coughs aggressively]

Vanessa: [laughs] Don’t swallow it! We should head back before they start room checks. You do not want to catch Sister Anges in the halls after curfew.

Vanessa: [cackling] Move your ass, Landgraab!

Nancy: Shhh! We’ll get caught!

Sister Agnes: And where are you two coming from?

Nancy: We? Um. We...

Vanessa: From the greenhouse, Sister Agnes. I was just showing the new girl around. Nancy says she loves her some pot-

Nancy: -tted plants! Potted plants!

Sister Agnes: You should know the rules better than anyone, Ms. Villareal. No loitering in common areas without a chaperone. Up to bed now.

Nancy: Pot? Really?

Vanessa: I thought it would be funny!

Vanessa: Today was pretty fun. You should come hang out with us during rec. Dina and Nina are total bitches but they’re funny.

Nancy: Sure. Yeah. Cool.

Vanessa: Cool. ‘Night Blondie.

Nancy: Goodnight...Red.

#the art of being seen #Part One- Youth #the landgraabs #sims 4 story #mini series #sims 4 simblr #sims 4 stories #ts4 simblr #ts4 story #tw drugs #tw trauma dumping #tw loss #nancy landgraab

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morganski-19 · 5 months

Text

part 1, part 2, part 3

Wayne stays at the hospital longer than he should. Rubbing his fingers along Eddie’s pick necklace like a rosary. Hoping that if he just prays hard enough, if his voice can be heard, Eddie will wake up.

The prognosis isn’t great. Each day that passes marks another day where his chances of waking up get lower. Even though many people have woken up from medically induced comas much later than this. According to the doctors. According to the pamphlets given to him at the start of all of this shit. But those are just words. Words he doesn’t believe fully.

Six days with no changes. No improvement. Just a tube to make sure he’s breathing regularly and an IV to make sure he doesn’t die of dehydration or starvation. The doctors say that his brain still shows activity, and his heart hasn’t missed a beat since he was last revived. Eddie’s alive, but just how much?

How much longer will Wayne sit in this agony waiting for him to wake up? Or how long until the string of hope just ends six feet under?

Religion was something that Wayne dealt with sporadically. He was raised Catholic, sort of still is a practicing Catholic. Goes to church when he isn’t too tired, still prays, and goes to confession sometimes. Just didn’t always make sense. But now, it’s all he’s got.

Eddie’s in God’s hands now. Whether that’s the God in the Bible, or some other deity of the many other religions in the world, Wayne doesn’t care anymore. As long as he’s heard, and this being knows his boy is good. That he was taken far too soon.

Eddie liked to say there was nothing much for him past high school. That he was going to run out of town as soon as he could and fight to make something of himself. Be a struggling musician, find odd jobs. Anything to keep him out of the monotony of a corporate job. Get him away from the conservative views and stuffiness of this town. Somehow get big enough to prove them all that he wasn’t a failure. Or never come back to prove them all right.

It would be a sad day when Eddie finally left for good. The trailer would seem empty without the life that Eddie brought. The peace and quiet that Wayne always asked for not bringing any peace because it was too damn quiet. He knew this now because it’s what’s keeping him here each day.

The beeping of the heart monitor was like the heart beating in his chest. Some noise came from Eddie to prove that he was alive. Almost like he was acting himself again. The motel room he was staying in was too quiet. No music down the hall, no clanking around the kitchen, no yelling at the TV or a book. Just the occasional noise if there were neighbors and people driving to the hospital. It was all the wrong noise, though.

“Excuse me,” a nurse says as she enters the room. “Visiting hours are over, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Wayne nods, getting up from his chair. Back screaming as it pops itself back into place. It’s his day off, or night off tonight, so he can actually sleep. If it ever comes to him. Might be one of those nights where the ceiling and him have a staring contest. He’s been close, but never quite won one of those yet.

The Chief’s car sits outside of the motel as Wayne pulls up. It’s only been a day since they spoke last, there can’t be that many updates. Wayne can’t think of any other reason he’s here.

Wayne invites him into the motel room, the urge to offer him a drink screaming at him, but he has none to give. Hospitality doesn’t come with the room fees.

“I’m guessing there’s something new, that’s why you're here.”

“Not necessarily. I’m still trying, but until the one guy I normally negotiate with comes out of hiding, that’s when the real talking happens.”

Wayne sits down on one of the chairs, too tired to keep standing. “Why’re you here then?”

“To check on you. I know the hospital life well. It’s no picnic, especially if you’re doing it alone.” He pulls another one of the chairs over to sit down.

There’s no lie in that. “I’m about as good as anyone could think.”

The Chief pulls two beers out from under his coat, handing one to Wayne. He takes it faster than any beer he has in his life. Pulling out his pocket knife to take off the cap.

“How long till that friend of yours comes out of hiding?”

Hopper shrugs. “Don’t know. Sent him a few threatening letters, and he still owes me one, so we’ll see. If things were better here, I’d go hunt the man down myself.”

Wayne nods. The company’s nice, he can’t lie. Sitting in solidarity with someone who knows what you’ve been through. Making sure nothing’s going worse than it already is. Like a sponsor through the hospital proceedings.

When the sun finally finishes setting, the chief excuses himself. Not before handing Wayne a slip of paper with his number on it, just in case anything happens.

The more days go by, the more Wayne is reminded that he’s not alone in this. Not fighting this battle alone. People believe him, more than just kids. People with influence. It shows in how people keep coming in and out of the hospital room. Saying how they know he’s innocent. That he’s guilty of some things, but not this.

It makes him think back to that afternoon, snapping at the Harrington kid. It’s so easy to be angry at people who are better off, in so many ways, that vision gets blinded. Seeing someone who went through something similar to Eddie get out, and be conscious while his boy is still asleep. Probably will never have to worry about hospital bills and medical debt. It makes him angry.

Even if the kid doesn’t deserve it. Wayne has no clue who this kid is and how he knows Eddie. Why he claims to have been there in the week Eddie was missing. What it all means. It doesn’t make any sense. None at all.

But then the next morning when he’s getting coffee, there’s the kid again coming in beside Dustin. Talking to someone at the front desk before heading down the hall. Right to the elevator, and up to the floor Eddie’s on.

Wayne heads back to the room, ready to kick him out again or apologize. He’s not sure yet. But, the room is empty. Steve is instead down the hall, talking to Susan Mayfield. Looking serious as hell, and halfway ready to cry.

Another kid comes out of the room, one who’s stopped by a few times to check on Eddie. Lucas, Wayne thinks is his name. Remembers it only because Eddie had ranted a few times about some kid named Lucas trying to be on both the basketball team and part of the Dragons club.

The kid says something to Steve before he’s being wrapped in a hug and starts crying. Steve just holding him as this kid breaks down. Presumably about the person behind those doors. Wayne assumes it’s probably Susan’s kid. Remembers hearing that she was in bad shape. Hopefully, that didn’t get any worse.

Wayne returns to his room, not wanting to intrude. A nurse comes in a while later and asks him to step out for a bit.

“What for?”

“Eddie’s breathing has improved over the last twenty-four hours. The doctor came in to check on him early this morning, and said that if by noon it was the same, the breathing tube could come out.”

“And that’s a good thing?” Wayne’s hesitant to believe anything these days.

The nurse nods. “As long as his oxygen levels stay, well level, then yes. It means that his body is well on the way to recovery.”

Wayne nods, taking his coffee to the waiting room. There, he just waits.

Next part

Note: The next part of this will get a bit interesting. I've been having ideas for a while now of making this duel POV between Wayne and someone else, maybe Steve. Mainly because I keep thinking of conversations that would happen, but Wayne would be nowhere to witness it. But I think what this fic needs is a POV not directly in the main relationship that will be happening, to keep it an outsider POV fic. So I'm thinking that the second POV would be from either Robin or Dustin. I'm currently deciding between the two so let me know what you think. I'm also going to start posting this to ao3, and will provide the link to that once I think of a title. I will continue to post the smaller parts here on tumblr, and you will not be missing out on any of the story if you only follow it on here. For now all of the parts will also have the tag #morgan's wayne POV. If that changes, as it probably will since this is no longer just a wayne POV fic, I will let you know. Also, Max is alive, they just got a heavy diagnosis that you will learn of later.

tag list, let me know if you want to be added or removed: @the-they-who-nerded, @insteviewetrust, @croatoan-like-its-hot, @jettestar, @tinyplanet95, @steddie-as-they-go, @slv-333, @littlecelestialmoth, @thatonebadideapanda, @fandomsanddeath, @marismorar, @wonderland-girl143-blog, @glass-bottle03, @gutterflower77, @here4thetrama, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @jaytriesstuff, @cryptid-system, @manda-panda-monium, @resident-gay-bitch, @anaibis, @xxsutherlandxx, @forevermineliv, @mugloversonly, @gregre369, @n0-1-important, @different-tale-student, @spectrum-spectre, @tartarusknight, @devondepresso, @swimmingbirdrunningrock, @cheertain, @anti-ozzie, @autumncrocusandladybug, @greeniebean911, @cr0w-culture, @stillfullofshit, @connected-dots, @daisynotquake, @morgannotlefay, @a-little-unsteddie, @dolphincliffs

#stranger things #wayne munson #jim hopper #dustin henderson #susan mayfield #lucas sinclair #steve harrington #pre steddie #post season 4 #eddie munson #eddie in a coma #everyone lives/nobody dies #chills right to the marrow fic

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abiiors · 11 months

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everything is blue ✨ // matty healy x reader

a/n: nnn. that's it, that't the plot. gotta thank @theungracefulgrace for the idea, i hope i did it justice <3 cw: smut, thigh riding and matty is a bit pathetic in this lmao, maybe even subby??? is this my subby matty debut??? wc: 1.9k (smaller than i thought actually...)

“you two are disgusting,” george snickers from behind his drums as you make your way onto matty’s lap.

it’s light-hearted and teasing—your friend taking the piss out of both of you but matty scoffs and you stick your tongue out.

“jealous,” you tease, “i’m going to wait until charli shows up and then we’ll talk.”

“yeah let’s talk then, mate,” matty quips from next to you and it only takes him another second to push his hands inside your t-shirt and place them on your bare stomach, almost caressing your ribs.

it tickles and you squirm away, alerting george once more.

“not going to start snogging in front of me, are you?” he turns around making an exaggerated vomiting gesture and scrunches his face at you. matty, almost predictably, takes that as a challenge.

within moments, you feel his fingers lightly closing around your jaw, turning your face and capturing your lips in his. matty’s chest is pressed against your arm and his heartbeat echoes through your entire body, thrilling you to your very core when you feel the slight spike in it as your tongue grazes his bottom lip. his other arm snakes around your waist, pulling you closer as matty deepens the kiss and hums in your mouth, sending vibrations through your entire body. in turn your heart skips a beat. you don’t break apart until you hear a loud cough in the vicinity. and george stares back at both of you, truly disgruntled now.

“bleurgh,” he makes a face. “like i said, digusting.”

“and like she said,” matty snorts, “jealous.”

“simp!”

“idiot!”

“oh, very clever mate!”

“oh—”

“alright, that’s it!” you interrupt matty before he can retort any further and he glares at you in return. “you’re fighting like twelve year olds.”

matty smirks. “weren’t snogging me like—”

you clamp your hand over matty’s mouth before he can finish his vulgar sentence earning you two juvenile giggles—one slightly muffled by your hand.

“you are like an animal,” george teases again, earning an expression of utter betrayal from matty.

“how dare yo—”

“prove it then!” he challenges. his mouth curls into a smirk and your eyes narrow. you know this expression on george. you know he’s up to something.

“we are in november,” he grins cheekily. “the month of chastity and all.”

“can it!” you warn but it’s too late. matty’s smirk already mirrors george’s. you can practically see the cogs turning in their heads and you know what’s about to happen.

“a bet,” george shifts in his seat looking eager and devious. matty does the same, gently setting you off his lap and placing a quick apologetic kiss on your head when you protest.

“a bet,” he repeats.

and then with utter disgust, you watch the two men in front of you spit on their hands and shake on their deal.

at first it’s fun—watching him turn red and squirm every time you get out the shower with just a towel wrapped around you. a few times, you even see him immediately sit on his hands or busy himself in his phone, making you giggle. the few times after that, he leaves the room entirely—practically running away like a virgin catholic school boy.

the first few days are okay, fun even. you send him a selfies—towel just high enough for your nipples to be covered, barely covering your ass, showing its curve very well with the way you pose; on your bed, wearing his t-shirt and only his t-shirt, hand buried suggestively between your thighs—matty threatens to block you, accusing you of wanting to make him lose.

he kisses you like usual, though. that’s the one thing he can’t stop doing. if anything, it feels like his mouth is attached to yours any chance he gets. it’s like he’s compensating, even letting you straddle him and deepen it until he has to pull away with a pained expression.

“how would george know?!” you whine and watch him pout.

“trust me, he would,” matty sighs, shoulders slumping, “i would stop looking so fucking miserable for one.”

you fume quietly, realising you let yourself become collateral damage. he is so close that his cologne permeates your fucking lungs—earthy, sweet and matty. always surrounded by the smell of cigarettes and now his body wash that’s somehow become the most enticing scent in the world.

“can’t lose one week in, baby.” his face pinches into one big sad expression and you frown at him.

one whole week of being so close to him and cuddling at night in bed, one week of feeling his leg part your thighs in his sleep, of feeling his thigh graze against your clit and making you hiss. one week of having him right here but not having him at all.

you shift on his lap, feeling the coarse material of his jeans against the insides of your thighs—not that you’re wearing much, just a big t-shirt and underwear, while he’s still in his jeans and t-shirt and not yet ready for bed—and an idea sparks.

“so don’t lose,” you smirk, moving again, straddling him with a hand on his chest. “the bet was for you to not cum. i am nowhere mentioned in it.”

“what a-are you doing?” matty stutters. he actually fucking stutters, eyes wide and roaming all over your body, particularly focused on where you’re pressed up on his thigh and already on your way to discarding your underwear.

“what does it look like i’m doing, baby?” you lift up slightly, quickly sliding your underwear off and deliberately stuffing it in the pocket of his jeans.

he whines and the muscles of his thigh shift right under your bare cunt.

as if on auto-pilot, his hands grip either sides of your waist, pressing you down onto him even though his face looks utterly devastated and hungry.

“maybe i could do this with your pillow instead, hmm? cum all over it while thinking about you?” you taunt, gyrating your hips and grinding all over his thigh, already soaking his jeans with how turned on you are. it has the precise effect you’re hoping for.

“no–fuck,” he whines, “stay here. use me, please, but stay here.”

“use you, yeah?” your mouth ghosts over his, hand trailing up his chest and tracing the contours of his throat with your nails, tracing all the delicate veins and the flutter of his rapid pulse. matty’s breath quickens and comes out in sharp pants. it’s almost like he can’t handle it, like he doesn’t know what to do with himself anymore.

“touch me, touch me please!” he begs, eager and desperate when you quirk an eyebrow at him.

“touch you how?”

instead of answering, matty takes your hand off his throat and presses in on the bulge in his jeans, sighing at the pressure. he’s practically twitching under your hand, squirming even before you’ve properly even touched him.

“can’t lose now, my darling, can you?” you marvel at the way your voice sounds, sultry and dominating with just a hint of condescensation. it’s power like you’ve never felt before. it makes the blood in your veins heat up even more, makes it flow faster.

so you dig the heel of your palm onto his crotch, drag it up and then down and feel him twitch. feel him grow impossibly hard. matty's body shudders on the sofa like he's not even in there—just a puppet lying there pliant for your pleasure.

“but—”

you bend down to kiss him and feel all his complaints die on his lips. matty whimpers, moving his hips against your hand, thrusting forward almost, but you put an end to it almost immediately and laugh when he whines into the kiss.

“i want to cum, fuck, need to so so bad!” his curls droop over his eyes. eyes that stare at you with such blatant lust that it throws you off kilter, almost makes your hips stutter but the pressure feels so good! the friction is enough to reduce every single thought in your brain down to a lumpy mush.

“yeah?” you whisper in a tightly controlled breathy voice, “but you look so pretty when you beg sweet boy.”

he swallows roughly, transfixed on you and looking utterly fucked and unable to do anything other than keep his hands on your hips and help you ride his thigh, let you get off on him while he watches helplessly and writhes under your touch.

“baby…” he whimpers again when you move your free hand through his curls, tugging at some of the strands and pushing them out of his eyes.

your thighs burn with the strain, a delicious fucking ache that starts from deep within you and slowly spreads to the very tips of your fingers and the wet, sticky spot on matty’s jeans grows larger, right as your moans grow louder.

“fuck, matty…” you bend down, mouth right next to his ear, right on his sweat soaked skin, “so fucking good for me, my pretty boy. make–shit! making me feel so good.”

your movements gain speed and you throw your head back, ignoring him entirely and chasing your own pleasure. no doubt he’s rather occupied with your tits bouncing in his face, seeing as how his hand trails up to trace them, to pinch your hard nipples between his fingers.

“shit!” you cry out, “gonna cum baby. make me cum okay? good boy…”

matty’s back arches off the sofa—eager to obey, so so eager to please—pushing your t-shirt up and flicking his tongue over your nipples, nipping them with his teeth. matty alternated between tongue and teeth, licking and sucking the sensitive skin until there are bruised on your breasts, until you can barely distinguish one thought from another. until finally, you tip over the edge.

there’s a moment where all you recall is crying out his name, breathing harsh and uneven, and then a moment stretched on to infinity that’s just pure fucking bliss. undiluted ecstasy. and then your hips finally stutter to a stop, just as you open your eyes hazily.

the sight in front of you almost brings you to your knees again. matty’s jaw hangs open, mouth wet and red and raw and bitten—the absolute portrait of being fucked, and yet he hasn’t even been touched yet. hasn’t shed a single item of clothing. tears of frustration gather in his eyes while his hair falls all over his forehead. he can’t even make a single sound. not even a peep.

this must have been torture for him and you know it. a sadistic side of you even relishes in it. “did you have fun?” you tease. “i certainly did…”

when you kiss matty again, you can physically feel the jolt in his body, as if his heart restarts, thumping in his chest wildly while he’s still speechless and focused entirely on you.

matty makes a broken sound in his throat—somewhere between a “yes” and a “please” and maybe even your name. but you don’t let him finish.

instead, you swipe your fingers through your soaked folds just as the trembling in your body subsides, collecting your slick and bringing it up to his lips that are still parted in shock.

“a little thank you,” you place the fingers on his tongue, laughing when he swirls his tongue around them. “for being such a good boy.”

“a good boy…” he repeats, voice hoarse and barely even audible. and you know the fun is just getting started…

lemme know what you think <33

taglist: @scooby-doodoo @partoftheairforce @justgoatsbreakinghearts0855 @beachesgetpeaches @you-muppet @mcabister @alexmarie29 @at-her-very-foreign @hfkait @squishysoupy @sierraeslaprincesa @harrie-fic-center @alien-girl-violet @thereisaplaceintheheart @kennedy-brooke @lolidontknowanymore @theoriginalwhatsername @celestcies @sugarkane1001 @ari-turner @thewaywewereinsaigon @daphnesutton @beliefandsayingsomething @ros3chu @nothingrevealedeverythingdenied @zzzhealy @mattymybeloved @fck-off @indiaamars @sofaritsalrightt @k4tie75 @wondersecret @humptyhoran @indierockgirrl @hanbiior

add yourself to the taglist

#matty healy x reader #matty healy x you #matty x reader #matty x you #minors do not interact #subby!matty

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anniflamma · 7 days

Note

This isn't a question, but rather a love letter to your art<3.

Thanks to you, I've started enjoying Greek mythology and the Bible again (I mean from a point of artistic, mythological, historical, and theological analysis; my status with any kind of religion is being agnostic XD).

And I already enjoyed Epic the Musical, but I really love the designs you make, how you empathize with the symbolism and lore of the Gods when designing them, and how you make Odysseus so human with his crude expressions that makes me empathize with him (And he's one of the characters I hated the most from Greek mythology lol)

And then there’s your art about the bible, I have to admit that I tend to avoid the biblical religion because of the weight it still has on our daily lives, the damage it has done from the past to this day, and how they deny it with current hypocrisy (I live in Spain, there the official religion is catholic), but your lgbt drawings have really encouraged me to open the bible and see it from an objective and neutral point of view, and just enjoy it as another book and not as something I’m forced to follow.

Also I didn’t know there was so much LGBT content in the bible XD Seriously, thank you so much, if you had a patreon, I would pay you for the amount of happiness and culture you have given me (^///^)

By the way, reading your posts I found out that you recently experienced an internet drama that has become so popular lately. I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry that both you and that poor artist had to go through this, that human hypocrisy has no limits or shame, and that I agree with everything you say. Just because we like a character or an author doesn't mean we agree with their crimes or ideologies.

I hope you have a nice day<3

Hi! I’m sorry it took me a while to respond! I mean it, I’ve read this over and over, and it makes me so happy. I’ve been thinking about how to respond, but sometimes it's hard to get it out into words.

It makes me so happy that my biggest interests make others interested in it too. Heck, when people ask questions, I get all giddy!

Talking about biblical/christian saints, greek myths, history, different cultural views and changes was kind of the whole point of why I started this tumblr blog. I have so many drafts filled with random info about LGBTQ+ saints..... Now… I post mostly thirsty drawings of greek gods with hairy chests... T.T

And I sympathize a lot when it comes to religious trauma. I consider myself lucky in these matters, my mom is Catholic, and she has her views that I don’t agree with and hurtful. Yet she still supports me in her way and watching my bible retelling animatics, everytime I post a new bible animatic, she writes me: "What have you done to Daniel..."

I also have my hurts and anger towards hypocrisies too, and I guess this is my way of countering that?

LGBT content in the Bible is something that really fascinates me. I think it's important to keep in mind that people from about 2,500 years ago had very different views when it came to gender and sex compared to how we see it today. In a way, the Bible does have strict social gender expectations, and if you didn’t fit in, then you weren’t considered part of that gender. But at the same time, it acknowledges that your sex. I think it’s in the Talmud were it discusses the fact that, throughout the Bible, there were about eight genders:

Zachar: male.

Nekevah: female.

Androgynos: having both male and female characteristics.

Tumtum: lacking sexual characteristics.

Aylonit hamah: identified as female at birth but later naturally developed male characteristics.

Aylonit adam: identified as female at birth but later developed male characteristics through human intervention.

Saris hamah: identified as male at birth but later naturally developed female characteristics.

Saris adam: identified as male at birth but later developed female characteristics through human intervention.

Some scholars even believe that Abraham and Sarah were Tumtum. A Tumtum is not considered to be very distinct but rather flexible between male and female sex/gender—"sometimes he is a man, and sometimes he is a woman." The simple fact that God said Abraham had a womb and from it, he would have children. Some say that this is why he is a Tumtum, while some historical linguists argue that ancient Hebrew didn’t have the vocabulary for male genitalia yet. Both arguments are valid, and I like them both!

There’s tons of stuff I could bring up—Joseph with his princess dress, Naomi and Ruth, David and Jonathan, and the discussions around whether Daniel was a Saris Hamah or a Saris Adam. We know he was called a saris, but we’re just not sure which. And then there's Jael, whose story is filled with a lot of phallic symbolism, and even her name is very gender-neutral.

I think I’m going to end here. I could yap about these things forever! But thank you again taking your time writing to me and I hope you also have a nice day! <3

#asks #bible #ancient queer history

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pettyprocrastination · 1 year

Text

The Deathly Devout

Pairing: Executioner!König x Nun!Reader (Medieval au)

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: Religious themes and settings, talk of death, religious guilt, nothing much this is pretty tame. I have very little knowledge of how catholic confessionals actually go especially in a medieval setting forgive me. probably many spelling errors im sorry.

Author’s Note: was talking to @thesadvampire about @hffhifjou fucking amazing art of the 141 as knights and now we have Executioner!König. This is mostly just a word burst from this morning but I really like this concept and wanted to share with you all

Tagging some mutuals I think might enjoy this: @sprout-fics @humanransome-note @moondirti @fnny-bnny @yeehaw-djarin @captainsamwlsn

_______________--

It was quite amusing to see the executioner in the confessional booth.

That isn’t to say that he doesn’t visit often, no. If anything it’s the exact opposite, Father Montomgery sees him more than any pious banker or self-hating gambler in the city. But the man was monstrous, broad in his shoulders with thick arms and legs to match, resulting in him having to twist and fold his body to properly fit into the little wooden booth. He could see the silhouette of the poor man’s shoulders hunched in and head tucked low.

It almost made up for how absolutely aggravating he was to listen to.

“Forgive me father for I have sinned.”

“May God, who has enlightened every heart, help you know your sins and trust in his mercy.”

König swallows.

“I killed a man this week.”

The priest, knowing this voice better than others and the hulking silhouette it belongs to, sighs.

“The thief, then?” He asks, voice dripping with indifference. “The little painter who was caught stealing?”

“Yes father.”

The “little thief” has been a blossoming apprentice under a most respected artist within the city, only for the truth to come out that he had been stealing funds from his mentor for months on end. The king had suggested König simply cut off the painter’s hands and let him live out the rest of his days in poverty. “What better punishment for an artist than a life where he cannot create?”

But the end ruling was for the artist to lose his head in the town-square and König’s hands delivered the blade to his neck.

“That was simply an act of your work, my child.”

“But-”

There is a deep sigh from the opposite side of the booth and König falls silent, like a scolded child.

The irony isn't lost on the priest, that a man who must associate himself with the macabre so often is incredibly devout in his worship. But the humor was drowned out by how astonishingly self-loathing the poor bastard was.

“My child, do you believe our king is the one true king?”

“Of course father.”

“And do you believe our God is the one, true, God?”

There’s a garbled noise that comes from the larger man, an incredulous sputtering at how the priest would ever assume he would say otherwise.

It makes the man chuckle.

“Of course father!”

“Then acting out the King’s law is acting out God’s law, is it not?”

There’s a pause, the priest can see the man shrink down into his seat even further, if that was even possible with how he contorted the bulk of his body to squeeze into the wooden booth.

“I’m not saying you cannot feel-” He waves his hand in the air, despite the fact that König cannot truly see him. “-conflicted, about your career. It’s not one that comes easily, I’m sure. But it is not one that makes you a monster, despite how many people would try to have you believe that.”

“Yes father.”

The man’s voice is a shred of what it should be- all but a trembling whisper that makes even the exhausted priest frown.

“Being an executioner isn’t an easy job. But it’s one that is needed nonetheless.”

König says something softly to himself, but the priest cannot be bothered to ask what.

“For your sins I-”

“Actually, father-” the wooden step creaked under his weight as he shifted on his knees. “There’s something else.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve been having impure thoughts about a woman.”

“Oh.”

The priest blinks. He had never heard the man speak of any sin aside from the violence he acted out on the King’s word. Truth be told he had begun to think the lad was so devout such a concept was all but foreign to him.

But this?

“I’m listening, my child.”

This was far more interesting than listening to him bemoan about a town square beheading.

“She is-” König chews on the inside of his cheek, chipped teeth digging into the formed scars he has had since childhood from the nervous habit. “Promised to somebody else.”

The priest hides a snicker behind a well placed cough.

“Married?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

“I haven’t…acted upon them.” The man who has killed week after week fiddles with his hands, face turning bright red as simply speaking of his attraction toward the woman. The priest couldn't help but wonder who she was. Whether it be a kind tavern girl who ignored his gaze each day he walked by or a local prostitute that urged on his affection as long as he could afford her time.

It’s no secret that few women would concern themselves with the local executioner, if not even look him in the eyes.

“She’s a good woman of proper virtue, I would not sully her name in such a way.”

This poor bastard.

“Is she beautiful?”

“I’m sorry?”

“The woman you speak of, do you find her attractive?”

König swallows. “Yes, incredibly. Her smile rivals that of the sun and-”

“That’s more than enough.” The priest grins into his hand as the airy tone the executioner’s voice took on, like a poet reciting his latest venture. The man was properly lovesick, how charming. “I do not believe you have committed any sin in appreciating a woman’s beauty.”

“I haven’t?”

“Admiring a woman’s beauty is like admiring a piece of art, is it not?” The priest offers. “You are simply taking in the art that God has created with his own hands, my child.”

Before König has a chance to respond, through the lattice he sees a flash of white through the corner of his eye. A soft voice humming a tune fills the air, echoing through the church hall like a well-respected hymn. In a panic, König begins to stand his full height before he is halted in his tracks as the top of his head slams into the confessional roof.

“My son?”

“Ah, apologies father! But I have to leave because of-”

The priest nods. “Yes, yes of course.You are absolved of your sins, give thanks to the Lord, for He is good.”

The final word is drowned out by the slam of the confessional door opening the man’s thundering footsteps receding from the booth.

The executioner stands to his full height as he exits the church. He shields his eyes as he steps outside, suddenly overwhelmed by the burst of sunlight.

In his haste, he did not see the figure at his side.

“Good morning to you, König.”

The man jumps, twisting around to face you where you stand at the bottom church steps, broom in hand and a smile on your face.

“Ah! Yes! Good morning to you as well, sister.”

“A lovely day, is it not?”

Heat creeps up the back of his neck and he struggles to find the words he wished to speak to you. But you, ever patient and kind, wait without judgment.

“Yes, quite lovely.”

As König stares down at you, his heart beating as he watches the sun shine on your figure and your smile, he finds himself thinking of the Holy Father’s words.

“You are simply taking in the art that God has created with his own hands”

What beautiful art indeed.

#executioner!König #könig x reader #König x you #König x female reader #the priest is like. super chill because König comes in EVERY WEEK and hes like YES i KNOW YOU KILLED SOMEBODY WHATEVER MAN #but also said priest is most likely corrupt and gambles and takes bribes and shit. so he doesnt really give a fuck #but anyways. konig big soft for nun gal #konig x reader #konig x you #konig x female reader

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ghoulette-knell · 10 months

Text

In the Name of Research

Copia x Fem!Reader

You’re Copia’s personal assistant, and the two of you get onto a very interesting conversation regarding the most intriguing sin.

🔞MDNI🔞

TW: Power Play; Friends to Lovers; Marking; Cunnilingus; Dirty Talk; Rough Dom!Copia (kinda???); Cum Swap; Vaginal Penetration.

Word Count: 3,133

You were Copia’s assistant, mainly dealing with his paperwork and helping him translate any newly-obtained Satanic texts into English for all of the Siblings of Sin. It was a very important part of the job that remained mainly forgotten. You didn’t mind though. You had a good and healthy friendship with the newest anti-pope.

You sat on his office floor as he walked in. As Copia wandered in, he sat at his desk, “How’s the work going?” he asked with an amused smirk at the sight of you on the floor.

“Long. It’s been very long,” you commented while shuffling through another pile of endless text, “The ghouls brought all of this in. Apparently an anonymous source gifted them with these papers. I was sceptical about its legitimacy… but it seems real now that I start reading them. It’s nothing we didn’t already know that’s to our bible, but the more records we have of such texts, the better.”

Copia was looking through some notes; getting onto the floor beside you to investigate, “An anonymous source? That’s interesting.” he said in thought as you gave your input, “It’s a bit disheartening that we already know everything in the texts, but I agree, cara— the more proof we have of Satan, the better.”

He stretched out a bit, “What do the texts say?” he asked you, curiosity getting the better of him. Copia was never one to waste time.

“It’s concerning one of the seven deadly sins. Lust, to be exact,” you grumbled while watching Copia go through his side of notes; reading them to basically sum it up as quickly as possible.

“It emphasizes the importance of ritualistic sex. Ritualistic sex pleases the Dark One, which we already knew.”

Copia nodded, “Not exactly groundbreaking information. It makes me wonder if this unknown source has any more than this.” he said in thought, “What other texts are in this pile?”

Copia picked up the other texts from the piles on the floor to look through, “Lust has always fascinated me, though.” he added, shooting you a short, intrigued look, “I think it’s the one that the Dark One loves most. What do you think?”

“It’s definitely the sin Lucifer treasures the most,” you nodded in agreement, very slightly catching Copia’s suggestive look, “The Catholic bible, because it praises abstinence, makes lust very fickle, even for the most loyal Catholics. That is how the Old One gets his most followers.”

Copia nodded, “Lust tends to be a powerful force and Satan certainly uses it to his advantage.” he said slowly, his multi-coloured eyes lingering on your face once more.

“I can certainly see why it’s the most alluring of the seven sins.”

He smirked at you, “What about you? Do you think you’d be susceptible to the lures of lust?”

You chuckled lightly, a slight blush dusting your cheeks as you placed the texts on the carpeted floor in front of you. “Who wouldn’t be? There’s a reason lust is Satan’s most reliable sin. I’m not powerful against lust, Copia, just as no one else is.”

Copia smirked at you, his eyes following your flushed cheeks. Copia, still on the floor across from you, scooted over on his butt, getting closer to you. “That’s an honest answer.” he said, “How much I’d like to test that…”

The anti-pope finally scooted all the way next to you, “All in the name of research, of course.” he said with a grin. He leaned in closer to you.

Your face flushed an even deeper shade of red at this. In the name of research…

Yeah right, Copia.

You cleared my throat in an attempt to help your obvious blush disappear, and shot him an amused look, “Papa, I’m surprised at how forward you’re being.”

Copia laughed at your words, “Does that surprise you?” he asked, “The Old One has a reputation for being a tease, no? And he lives through me.”

You could help but chuckle, tilting your head slightly so you could look into his multi-coloured eyes. You’d always been intrigued by the Papa, but it had always been limited. Your contact with Copia was always professional, so this was a very unorthodox conversation.

You didn’t mind, though.

Copia looked into your eyes, “Is there something wrong with that?” he asked, playing innocent. He couldn’t help but notice your silence.

He began to lean in close.

He smirked, “Or would you rather me back off?” he asked, his voice low and husky.

“I don’t think I want you to back off, Papa,” you replied while shifting your weight so you were sitting while facing him, “I believe Lucifer would be very disappointed in me if I didn’t accept this research project. He sent us these texts on purpose so we could experience lust, hands on.”

Copia’s smirk grew wider, “Then let’s not disappoint him.” he said, his voice low. Papa leaned in closer to you, “For Lucifer.” he murmured.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, bringing you even closer to him. He pulled you into a kiss. It was slow at first but soon grew more passionate. Copia’s kiss was firm and his hands squeezed your waist.

Copia was sitting cross legged on the carpet. As your lips grazed his and slowly began to melt into something much more passionate, you slowly made your way onto his lap. You grinded down lightly, little moans leaving your lips as the two of you made out.

You would occasionally open your eyes and notice how Copia’s face paint on his lips was beginning to grow smudged from your saliva coming together through the heated kisses.

With every shift in weight, there was a loud creak from the floorboards. Copia looked around the office briefly before turning back to you, his hands sliding up your upper body.

This wasn't just research after all. He needed this.

He needed you. You needed him.

Copia’s gloved hands squeezed your waist roughly again; his arms quickly beginning to guide you to grind against his clothed dick. You could feel the hardening of it beneath his pants, which just made you grow wet with anticipation.

His tongue moved with your every kiss, pressing on your tongue, slowly exploring it. Copia’s hands held you tight as his body was growing warmer by the second. Copia was growing more and more tempted to remove your articles of clothing, one by one.

Copia tasted absolutely amazing. You could taste his morning coffee on his tongue… his toothpaste as an after taste. He smelled amazing too, likely being fresh out of the shower.

The anti-pope’s gloved hands began to creep up your shirt, and you felt a pulse beginning to hammer in your core. You continued to grind against his hardening member from beneath his pants. You needed the friction against your swelling clit or else you might die.

Copia’s hands continued to explore your body, his hands squeezing and pressing different parts, as he pulled up your shirt, leaving you in a tank top. He lovingly kissed the exposed parts of your neck, leaving little marks. He couldn’t hold back his moans of delight as he saw your bruising neck, proving his ownership.

Somehow, Copia knew hickeys were your weakness. Getting marked… showing everyone else that you’re spoken for… you wanted nothing else but for Papa to suck every part of your exposed skin, leaving hickey after hickey to show everyone how he made you feel.

How he made you groan and writhe as he took his time with you. All in the name of research, of course.

Copia’s hands gripped tight around your loose tank top as he moaned, before he bit your neck, kissing all over it. Without any warning, Papa shifted the weight you both shared.

The anti-pope wrapped his arms around your torso and pushed you to the carpeted floor below. His body was on top of yours, his weight making you squirm slightly.

“P-Papa!” you moaned in surprise as Copia took the reigns, forcing you off his lap and onto the floor below him. You felt his hips forcing yours to the floor, which caused your eyes to roll into the back of your head from the sheer pleasure… the sheer idea of Copia dominating you on this dirty floor…

Copia’s lips had moved down to your neck, where he bit and kissed you all over. He had successfully identified your sweet spot on your neck; enacting little squeaks and mewls of pleasure as his tongue did laps around it. Copia’s moans grew louder as he bit your neck, kissing and teasing you.

Copia was breathing heavily, his body pressing against yours. The anti-pope began to kiss lower down your body, exploring every inch of your skin. His grip on you was firm and it kept you from squirming away. His other hand moved under you, beginning to unbutton your pants.

Your hands immediately tangled into Copia’s hair as he rushed in unclasping your pants. You were so aroused right now that you were certain Copia could smell it if he placed his face close enough.

“Oh, Satan. You’re driving me crazy, Papa!” you whispered as you writhed underneath his chest and hips.

Copia’s hands expertly undid your pants and he began to pull them down, revealing your underwear. He chuckled while eyeing you in amusement. You were wearing lacy black panties, which made the anti-pope stop to laugh a bit.

“It’s like you were prepared for me to fuck you today, no? Did Lucifer himself come into your dreams and tell you what I would be doing to you, mio tesoro?”

You squealed and hid your face in embarrassment over Copia’s words and movements. You were easily flustered, so the anti-pope was likely having a good time watching you writhe and squirm under him.

Copia chuckled, “I love the way you squirm. The way you’re so hot for me is driving me insane, cara,” he said in a low, teasing voice. He continued to hold you by the waist as he moved his hands down, undoing his own pants.

“These need a little help.” he whispered to you, “Care to help me with that, my little assistant?”

Copia was breathing deeply now, his body shaking slightly as he was more than excited for what would happen next.

“Yes, of course, Papa,” you sputtered while removing your hands from your face to help the man unbuckle his pants. Your hands shook from being so flustered, which caused another amused chuckle to leave Copia’s throat.

Of course he didn’t need help pulling his pants down. All he wanted was to see your blushing face as he relentlessly teased you through the night.

Once Copia’s pants were undone and he pulled them down, he was revealing himself in all of his glory. He was around 7 inches long and quite thick. His tip was swollen; a bit of precum glistening against the low office lighting. Your mouth watered at the sight.

“Like what you see?” Copia asked, his voice low and quiet. Copia’s hands were holding your legs down, occasionally giving your thighs squeezes. as he began to kiss them, marking them with hickeys as he had done to your neck.

You moaned and groaned in anticipation as Copia kissed and licked your thighs. You couldn’t help yourself in this moment.

Your fingers trailed down to your panties, which still remained on your body. Your ring finger began to rub and massage your sensitive nub as Copia left his ruined face paint on your thighs.

Copia enjoyed the reactions you gave as he kissed and licked your thighs, “It seems someone is very needy.” he said with glee, as he kissed you again, “Perhaps I should reward you for your obedient behavior?”

Copia’s hands moved to your panties as he pushed your fingers aside, “Let your Papa do it for you.”

Papa slowly began to remove your panties. It was agonizingly slow. Every touch of his finger as he removed them drove you crazy. Little moans of anticipation left your mouth as he fully stripped you naked, “Please touch me, Papa,” you groaned; your pussy already dripping from just his kisses and subtle touches.

Copia smirked down at you.

“I think it’s time I reward you.” he said in a low voice.

All of a sudden, you felt something wet and warm slide up your cunt, trailing to your swollen clit. Your back arched immediately, a choked groan leaving your mouth.

It was undoubtedly Copia’s tongue.

Copia gave a smirk, “You like that, cara?” he asked low and sultry, “Or should I do this instead?”

He shifted slightly and moved his fingers to your entrance. He slowly inserted his gloved finger into your soaking pussy, conjuring another strangled moan from your throat.

All in the name of research...

Then, he began to lick and suck at your clit, as well as fingering your clenching hole that was begging to be filled with something.

“F-Fuck, Copia!” you hissed as your hips involuntarily bucked into his fingers and his mouth as he continued pleasuring you. This brought out chuckles from the man.

Occasionally, Papa would lift his face up from your cunt to shoot you a seductive look, and you couldn’t help but moan as you saw your juices coating his lips and nose; smearing his face paint on the inside of your thighs.

His gloved hands held down your thighs as you thrusted up to meet his mouth.

“So eager, no? It’s precious to see how much you want my tongue, (Y/N). It’s borderline pathetic how wet you are, how my every touch has you screaming.”

“Less talking, more w-working!” you breathily commanded, ignoring his jab at how wet you were, “I’m close, P-Papa!”

An amused and almost sadistic laugh left his mouth as he dived right back in. You could help but shriek as his swollen lips wrapped their way around your clit; sucking as hard as he could.

Your lower half was screaming for release as his tongue slurped up the rest of your juices. “Oh, fuck!” you screamed while attempting to wrap your legs around Copia’s head… but unfortunately, he continued to hold you down, “Please -fuck- just stop the teasing!”

Your teeth grinded together as Copia chuckled into your heat; the vibrations just being enough to put you over the edge and summon your first orgasm of the night.

Your legs stiffened up as the muscles began to contract. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, and Copia could only chuckle again as your juices coated his face. Your stomach filled with pleasurable pressure as Copia slurped up your cum.

“You taste so good for your Papa, hmm?” he hummed while carefully crawling up your body and planting his lips against yours.

You could taste yourself on his lips, and that reignited your arousal. Without hesitation, your hand wrapped around his cock; a squeak leaving his lips as you began to pump his length in your palm.

“I see Lucifer isn’t done with you yet.”

You didn’t tease him for very long. You were very horny. You needed him inside of you now! You quickly lined his dick up with your entrance; mewls of desire flooding through your lips as his leaking head rubbed against your sore clit.

Copia roughly grabbed your torso and flipped you over so you were on your hands and knees in front of him. You obediently arched your back, causing your face to fall to the floor and your ass to rise into the air.

“Mi cara~,” the anti-pope groaned as he slowly pushed into your soaking hole, “You take your Papa so well, sí? Ah. -fuck-.”

He bit at your ear as he fully mounted your backside. Your back arched into his chest as he began pumping in and out of you at an agonizingly-slow pace. It made you groan with a increasingly desire for him to pick up the pace, “Papa, please!” you squeaked like a cock-hungry whore, “P-please go faster!”

Copia purred and dug his gloved hands into your hips, speeding up slightly, “You want your Papa to speed up? I was going slow for your comfort, sweet girl.”

“Trust me, Copia. I am more than ready for you to move faster,” you hissed in annoyance while thrusting your hips backwards to meet his as he began to angle his dick to hit just the right spot during his thrusts, “If you don’t start moving, I am going to push you onto your back and take over this whole thing.”

“I’m not gonna say no to that,” the anti-pope growled while eagerly speeding up his thrusts.

You groaned and mewled as his dick began to gingerly slam into your g-spot, causing your eyes to roll into the back of your head. Your legs and arms shook violently with each thrust, as they were already weak from Copia’s mouth making love to your pussy only a few moments before.

“You take me so well,” he whispered while biting your ear as he swivelled his hips into yours, “Goddamn it, (Y/N). You feel so good, -fuck- you drive me crazy!”

“P-Papa!” you groaned while meeting his thrusts; your juice streaming down your legs as the anti-pope pulverized your sensitive pussy, “I’m gonna c-cum!”

You could hear Copia chuckling in your ears as he hooked his arms around your waist, holding you in place as he continued to rut into your pussy.

“Cum for me, sweetheart. Vieni per me, tesoro.”

You growled as your orgasm wracked your body violently. You absolutely adored when Copia spoke in Italian. Just his words alone could push an orgasm onto your body. He could be calling you a cock-hungry stupid slut and you’d still come completely undone for his words.

Copia came in sync as your pussy clenched around his cock; the most beautiful noises of pleasure leaving his lips. As his moans subsided, he had no choice but to remain attached to you; his cock still buried deeply into your pussy.

You panted and groaned as your head grew fuzzy from the intense orgasm. You slowly rolled onto your back as Copia collapsed onto your chest. As you wiped the sweat from your brow, Copia leaned forward and softly kissed your lips.

“You took me so good, bella. You’re such a good girl for your Papa,” Copia purred while leaning his forehead against yours; his eyes fluttering shut.

You chuckled lightly in exhaustion and cupped his perfect face into your hands; lovingly stroking away the remainder of his face paint with your thumbs, “Do you think Lucifer is pleased with our research?”

“Oh definitely,” Copia laughed in amusement; little creases appearing at the sides of his eyes, signifying his smile and laughter was legit, “All in the name of research, eh? NemA.”

“NemA, Papa.”

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