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sailoryooons · 20 days

Note

Incubus yoongi x reader

Go wild with smut maybe theres fluff and angst too! Love your writing so much

☾ Pairing: Incubus!Yoongi x archdevil!Reader

☾ Summary:

Sunder (sun·der) transitive verb : to break apart or in two : to separate by or as if by violence or by intervening time or space Sunder (sun·der) intransitive verb : to become parted, disunited, or severed

☾ Word Count: 5,297

☾ Genre: Smut, Forbidden Romance, Angst, Fated Lovers

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

☾ Warnings: Vague worldbuilding - this takes place in a Hell setting so.. Lots of talk of literal hell, implied violence and war, themes of classism/species racism, hint of political scheming, depiction of servants who are chained/collared, implications of sex work/incubi being bread specifically for sex work, honestly Yoongi and reader kinda give co-dependant vibes, explicit language, explicit sexual content including oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, a little bit of overstim, cum eating if you squitn, multiple orgasms, bleeding/scratching/biting, possessive themes… um I don’t know the smut scene is more PrOsEy than straight-up smut.

☾ Published: Sunday, April 7 2024

☾ A/N: We are using Forgotten Realms (dnd) lore because I was randomly inspired to do so. You need zero knowledge of Forgotten Realms or dnd lore to read this - there is vague world building and references to a plot on the side that I imagine Yoongi and reader are a part of but that does not happen in this little one shot. I just did it for the tension and because I’m out of control. 100% change I got some dnd lore wrong - don’t care, I kinda made it my own in parts as needed!!! Thank you!!!

☾ A/N 2: Dear anon, I don’t have a clue what this is, but it was inspired by a very specific scene in the movie Troy when Paris (Orlando Bloom) sneaks up to Helen’s (Diane Kruger) room while the Greeks and Trojans are downstairs partying and he’s like hehe let’s bang it out. That’s it. I really hope you like this because sometimes I fill requests and I'm like ..... that probably was not what they had in mind and yet here I am, delivering whatever ??? this is ??

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Main Masterlist ☾Filled Requests ☾ Masterlist Milestone Request Event ☾ Ask

Note: I don't use my tag list for requests!

A pair of dark eyes in the shadows around the party catches your attention as you listen to Archdevil Belial's drone about his victory in Phlegethos. The fiend’s words fall on deaf ears as your gaze narrows to a deadly point on the man lingering in the shadows across the room, keeping away from the revelry with a single chalice in his hand.

And he’s staring at you.

You feel your muscles constrict as you flick your gaze away, your heart rate picking up speed as you try and focus on Belial again. It isn’t a story you care to hear about - he’s been droning about his defeat of the Kelemvor worshipers on the fiery planes of Phlegethos. Hardly a battle as much as a skirmish outside of the city gates that demanded his attention.

Archdevil Belial is none the wiser that the creature he really desires to kill is lurking at the edge of the party, burning eyes on you as he cocks his head and glances toward the empty staircase that leads toward the living quarters.

There’s a twitch of irritation in your stomach as Yoongi turns and vanishes into the shadows. He is good at being seen only when he wants to, which works in his favor when he enters the hall of his greatest enemies, all in one room because of war meetings against the very fiend who now slips upstairs to your bedroom.

It was only a matter of time before Yoongi showed up - despite the level of stupidity it takes to show up in the hall of your sworn enemy. Yoongi likes to show off though. He likes to remind his enemies - and himself - that he is not so easily kept out of places that he wants to be.

Especially if those places he’s being kept from have you inside of them.

“Thank you for the conversation, Lord Belial,” you interrupt. The devil looks at you with his mouth open, eyes blazing as you interrupt him to dismiss yourself. You feel a small twist of satisfaction. “I must retire for the evening. I am returning home tomorrow before starting my campaign through the realms to ensure my father’s army are being… led properly.”

Belial’s face twitches in irritation. You’re above his station - though not too far - and decorum is everything in matters of spoken insult. “Yes,” he agrees. “It is important for our… figureheads to inspire. The Whip of Asmodeus paints a threatening picture, to be sure. It is hard to be of influence on the battlefield - we do appreciate your efforts off the field.”

A laugh like cutting glass bubbles from your lips. “You honor me.” You feel the ice in your mouth when you dip your head politely, pretending to be unbothered by the implication that you’re nothing but an empty threat. “I will see you in a tenday, Lord Belial, when I come to inspire in Phlegethos.”

With a curt turn, you cut through the party toward the stone dias. Those in attendance part for you like water parting around a sharp boulder, hurrying to get out of your way. Figurehead or real threat doesn’t matter - you’re the daughter of their lord and by rights their lady.

Your father sits on his throne of twisted bone and fire ahead of the party, crimson eyes drinking in all that happens from his seat of power. Yet he has missed something incredibly important that now lingers upstairs waiting for you. The thought makes your lips twitch in a smirk as you ascend the stairs to where Asmodeus sits, a giddy tingle in your belly.

A beautiful incubus boy sits next to the throne on the floor, a gold collar around his neck with a glittering chain that leads to Asdmodeous’ hand. The incubus looks at your father with adoration, gold eyes burning. Mouth agape. Breath catching.

You don’t know how much of it is performance. It’s always hard to tell with the lower level fiends what is real and what is an act. It’s part of the dangerous game they play, and thought you’re more accustomed to their kind - especially the one lurking in your room - you’re still unsure how to tell the difference with this one.

You catch the scent of honey and vanilla as you step nearer, though the incubus doesn’t look at you. You immediately feel the ebbing power of allure from the creature, battering your senses just being so close. Asmodeus seems unaffected by the battering power of lust radiating from the incubus, but you see the two guards behind him glance toward the creature on the floor.

You grit your teeth and ignore the twist in your gut, trying not to be irritated. Only one man has power over you this way. It isn’t the incubus’ fault that he’s doing what he was trained to do, but the sudden pitch in your stomach and dizziness you feel around him unsettles you.

“I am returning to my chambers, Father,” you murmur, bowing deeply. “I have grown wear of Belial’s peacocking.”

Behind him are two massive Orthons, no less than eight feet in height and wide like a troll. Their horns are curling and battle-scarred, ugly tusks showing from thick, fat lips. The beasts are hellish weapons from wars passed, now assigned to the personal guard of your father. You note that they also did not notice the shadowy incubus slipping into their party and up the stairwell.

It almost makes you tsk. Even for a creature as skilled and powerful as Yoongi, slipping past an entire party full of the most powerful infernals in the realms is impressive. He is, of course, more than just an incubus now, but still. The sheer magnitude of doing it successfully is not lost on you - and makes you worried for his sanity.

“Sleep well,” Admodeous voice rumbles, his voice like stones grinding together. “Tomorrow, you return to Malbolge and ready to set out on your campaign.” His fiery eyes turn to you and you feel the weight of the burning Nine Hells press against you. “They will feel the crack of the Whip of Asmodeous and know that we are mighty.

“It will be done.”

“She is as pretty as My Lord is,” the incubus boy purrs from where he sits at the foot of the throne. You glance at him, realizing that his golden gaze has broken away from your father and turned to you. Your stomach twists in equal parts anger, guilt, and disgust as you feel the lick of his power. “The House of Asmodeus is as beautiful as they are powerful.”

Again, it’s hard to discern if the incubus is performing or if he means it. Asmodeus pulls the chain hard, yanking incubus toward him. You hear his neck pop, though it doesn’t break as the creature wimpers at the sudden show of violence. “Do not speak to her, worm. You are nothing. She is the Heir Apparent and Princess of the Nine Hells. You are fodder.”

The incubus cowers, and ducks his head away from you, curling in on himself. The sensual allure to him lessens distinctly, the energy souring. You feel your fingers twitch as you think of Yoongi. It is not difficult to guess that Asmodeous’ newfound desire to humiliate and dissipate incubi and succubi are inspired by his hatred and inability to rid himself of Yoongi’s stain.

Swallowing thickly, you bow once more, slipping backward off the dias and toward the stairs that lead upward. No one guards them - there are supposed to be no enemies at this party - and shadow falls over them, the torches flickering as though watching you ascend.

Music and voices follow you up the stairs, the soft click of your shoes against the carved stone louder in the growing silence as you navigate to your bedrooms. The staircase winds and the sounds drift further away from you until it’s only the crackling of occasional sconces and your steps.

Two heavy doors in the west wing of the Citadel belong to your bedroom. The crackling energy of the arcana buzzing along them acting as a lock makes your skin tingle. You mutter the password and feel the pop of magic as it vanishes, allowing you to push heavily against one of the doors to grind it open.

The room is both yours and not. It was your room for most of your life growing up under the ruler of the Nine Hells, opulent and dark, full of old possessions and heavy, draping curtains to keep out the smoke and ruin, rich art painted by careful hands with red and purple splashed across canvas.

Now, it feels like a room that belonged to someone else entirely. You’re no longer the vicious little thing that thought would sit on the throne in Nessus one day. You’re no longer the unthinking weapon that Asmodeous uses to maintain order and public punishment.

A large bed stands on a lifted dais, covered in silks and piled high with pillows. They lay undisturbed as you close the door behind you and mutter the password again, feeling the static of magic seal them shut behind you. It would take a small army to batter through them, thankfully.

Your eyes scour the room. Embers burn in a smoldering fireplace, offering little light in the dimness of the bedroom. A large sitting area stretches to the right with leather chairs and velvet chaises, tables covered in untouched books and scrolls.

To the left is an open study, a heavy wooden desk in the middle of the room backed with bookshelf-covered walls and heavy chests locked with tombs inside. You see the cover of a journal flipped open, the only sign that Yoongi had been lingering in your study snooping.

Your mouth twitches at the corner as you look away from it. Yoongi leaving something out of place is only ever on purpose, a confirmation to you that yes - his visit has double meaning. You might be the primary reason the incubus and favored chosen warrior of a death god has snuck into his enemy’s home, but you’re not the only reason. Of course he is looking for any extra information he can use against his enemies.

It stings a little more than you’d like.

Stepping further into the room, you swivel your gaze back and forth, looking for a sign of the slippery man himself. A master of shadows, Yoongi is only seen when he wants to be. Strange, for a fiend whose very nature is to be seen and devoured, to give and to receive, to lure and enjoy. Most of his life has been spent in spectacle, and now he spends it in the shadows.

Warm breath brushes against the back of your neck, making your skin prickle. “I like this dress.”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Yoongi’s callused fingers brush up your arm. It’s a ghost of touch but it makes your eyelids flutter shut, warmth thrumming in your stomach immediately. Unlike the incubus downstairs, you don’t feel a magnetic pull that is arcane here. You just feel the pull to Yoongi - a desire that is your own and fueled by nothing else.

He has no reason to use his charm here. It makes you shiver as you lean backward into him, eager to feel the solidness of his chest and smell the sweet wine on his breath.

“You always say that,” he purrs, the words low and scratchy. His other hand comes up to brush his fingers up and down your other arm, pulling you toward him full. You melt, fading into him faster than you should. “When will you learn that I will go wherever you are?”

“Even if it means your own demise? You’re in the Citadel of Asmodeus.”

“He’s killed me before.” Yoongi’s touch is more solid now, hands exploring your waist and curves, squeezing your flesh, pressing you against his waist. You rest the back of your head against his neck, inhaling cedarwood and sage. “I’m not so easily destroyed.”

“Don’t.”

You don’t want to recall the many times Yoongi has been wrenched away from you. Each time a little closer to permanence than the last. Time and time again, he has been ripped from your hands as your father attempts to destroy the fate linking you, to burn it until there is no tether there.

“You’ve been good,” Yoongi notes. His hand goes to the silk strings on the side of your dress, pulling them undone. “He truly thinks you no longer think of me? That he has succeeded where he has failed a dozen times before?”

“Yes.”

“His arrogance knows no bounds. He’ll think he’s a god, soon enough.”

You turn your head to the side, brushing your mouth against Yoongi’s. His lips are warm and taste of wine, urging your tongue to swipe across his bottom lip for a taste. “Is he not?” you ask against his mouth, fighting the need to shiver as one side of your dress falls open. “He rules the Nine Hells absolutely.”

“Oh come off it,” He laughs. “You and I both know that isn’t true, otherwise he wouldn’t be in a civil war. Plus… I have recently acquired Avernus and Dis.”

You straighten and turn around sharply to look at him, brows furrowing. For a moment, you forget what it is he’s said to shock you. You’re hypnotized by eyes dark enough that they reflect the stars when in the mortal world, a mouth that is soft and sensuous, a gentle, round nose that is opposed to the way he can turn it up at someone in a sneer. A faded scar over one eye - one of many that he's received over the years.

Yoongi is beautiful the way the moon is, distant and cold, but with a glow of softness that is often underestimated.

You had made that mistake before. A long time ago, incubi and the lower creatures of the Nine Hells hadn’t been a blip on your radar. They were nothing to a princess of the Nine Hells, someone whose entire purpose for existing would be to one day step into ruling over all nine of the realms crushed in your father’s fist.

Now, you know better. You’d been a silly, arrogant girl then, head filled with dreams of ruling over the dread cities and bringing the dukes and duchesses to heel. You’d never considered that perhaps your existence was more for appearances and leverage than anything else.

A puppet.

Belial, was, unfortunately, quite right about that.

“What do you mean you have Avernus and Dis?”

“The skirmish in Phlegethos was a distraction. The dukes and duchess’ have been so frenzied about making sure they don’t have any disruptions in their rule that Belial scrambled to deal with his, turning his eye away from the others. Mammon… well you know Mammon. He is not a concern, for now. He cares little who holds Avernus and Dis.” You narrow your eyes at him. “I had help with Dis.”

That sours your stomach. “Bel.”

“He has no love for Zariel. And he’s from Dis.”

“He’s a traitor. You’d do well not to trust him. Who knows when he’ll turn on you if promised something.”

“The Nine Hells are full of traitors.” Yoongi’s deft fingers undo the other side of your dress. “Including me. You think I would not sell out every single one of my fighters for you, hmm?” Yoongi presses a wet kiss to your jaw. You lean your head back to give him access to your throat. “You think I wouldn’t throw away being Kelemvor’s chosen and carrying his mantle for a chance to have you forever?”

“You do have me.”

“Not in the way we are designed.” His voice is a growl as he bites at your throat, teeth scraping. You feel dizzy in his arms, but he holds you steadfast. “You were designed for me by the wheels of fate, and I for you. All of this - war, death, political scheming - it stands in our way and I would betray the god who gives me my many lives to cut to the chase in an instant.”

The rage-laced words are an anger you’re familiar with. Two creatures born to exist for one another - more than fated mates. Your very existence tied to Yoongi’s is a matter of universal balance, two threads of fabric that must remain woven together, lest the realms collapse.

Divine Scales. Two lives bound together that must remain in balance for the rest of the world to exist. You and Yoongi are not the only Divine Scales in the realms, but you’re perhaps one of the most difficult to balance in a world set on keeping you apart.

You, the daughter of the Archduke of the Nine Hells. Yoongi, an incubus servant whose purpose was to lure, steal, and spy on behalf of Asmodeus. It was an unfit match that your father was set on destroying - his daughter an heir would not be tied to a lowly creature of lust and servitude.

“Careful,” you murmur as Yoongi peels the fabric from your skin. The air is warm but you feel a shiver anyway, nipples pebbling at the temperature change. “Your god might not like to hear you say such things.”

“He is not my god,” Yoongi mutters. His eyes are hungry, burning with desire as he drinks you in, his fingers gripping the flesh at your hips. “He is a convenience. I need power to take control of the Nine Hells, he gives me power. You are the only being I worship. The only goddess I recognize.” Yoongi sinks to his knees and your stomach flips. He looks up at you, lips parted and pupils blown, eyes so dark you could spill into them and never find your way. “Let me prove my devotion. Let me worship the only divinity I’ve ever known.”

Yoongi’s words are a spell on you, and not because he’s in an incubus, created and bred to be alluring and lead mortals to the Hells to give up their souls. Yoongi’s words have power because he is Yoongi, a being who he designed to be your other half. Another being you love so entirely that you intend to sacrifice the realm you call home, that you actively betray the people you’ve known since you were a child in order to be with him.

These snatches with him are so few and far between. He fights a war against your father and his archdevils while you unravel them from the inside. Two knives carving away at the system which fights to keep you apart.

You forget about all of the atrocities committed and to come. You push away the anxiety that Yoongi is thwarting his power by coming to the seat of his enemy’s power, just because he can and because he wants you.

Instead, you focus on the way his mouth leaves wet kisses across your thighs. Yoongi’s fingers press into the back of your legs, holding you to him as his tongue lavs at a small scar on your hip, his teeth nipping the flesh.

Your world falls away as his tongue and mouth suck at your skin. Heat gathers between your legs, feeling the wet ache in your folds as Yoongi purposefully avoids going toward the apex of your thighs, instead showering your inner thighs, calves, and hips with soft kisses.

Strong hands pry your legs apart. You let him slide your foot over, widening your stance easily. You cannot recall a single person you have ever been pliable for. You are the Whip of Asmodeous, a sharp weapon made to force subservience and delve out punishment.

You are no whip in Yoongi’s hands. You are silk, sliding through his fingers as his mouth presses closer and closer to your heart. To everyone else, you are a weapon. To Yoongi, you’re just you. A mind to adore, a body to worship.

Your knees threaten to buckle when the first, slow swipe of his tongue runs up your drenched folds. Yoongi chuckles, the sound throaty. Gently, he lifts a leg and pulls it over his shoulder, providing a counterweight as you stand but also giving him access to your aching cunt, pressing his face close as he licks you from hole to throbbing clit again.

“Yoongi,” you whisper, a hand shooting to his hair. Your fingers slide through soft, silk strands and twist, rooting him there. He groans in appreciation, focusing his tongue on slow, up-and-down licks, avoiding your clit as he works. “Fuck.”

He hums, the feeling buzzing through your pussy as he closes his mouth over it, sucking gently. His mouth is wet and warm, tongue soft as it circles your aching bundle of nerves. Your legs feel gummy as you waver, holding onto him to keep yourself standing as much as you are to keep him in place.

Yoongi’s hunger can rarely be sated. He devours you, mouth eager as he sucks and licks at you, lips smacking loudly as he does. You barely register the obscene noise, canting your hips up into his mouth as the pleasure begins to build slowly.

A hand presses into your ass, pressing you harder against the flat of his tongue. Yoongi opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue, looking up at you with fucked out eyes as he urges you to fuck his face at your pace, to use him like a god would use a conduit.

Yoongi is your conduit, and you are his. You vowed centuries ago to be his whip, a weapon at his command. He vowed to be your shield, your knife in the dark.

The powers of the Hells would keep you apart. Beyond the impropriety that someone so lowborn could be fated for one of the highest powers among the infernals, the two of you together are too much of a threat. Too much power tied to one another, a divine match that cannot be broken.

Still, they try.

The two of you have died before. Keeping you dead isn’t easy, though. Neither can truly die while the other lives and no one has quite managed to kill you both simultaneously - a familial crutch that Asmodeus cannot seem to overcome.

You’d die every day to have this moment with Yoongi, your breath caught in your lungs, sweat beading on the small of your back, head tilted back as your heart beats so loud it's all you can hear. You feel every part of your body coil before there is a moment of white noise as your orgasm crests over, your cunt squeezing, your hand pulling his hair.

Yoongi drinks you in like he cannot get enough. Gluttonous, ravenous man, pressing into your heat as he sucks. Your hands tug at his hair, the stimulation going from warm and fluid to sharp and biting. He grows a little when you pull his face back by the strands of his hair, a picture of madness with the lower half of his face covered in your slick, lips red and swollen, eyes unfocused.

You pull and he stands, knocking you back as he does. You stumble the remaining footsteps to your bed, mouths connecting in a tangle of teeth, tongue, spit and cum. You taste yourself on him, sucking his tongue greedily into his mouth as your hands claw at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours.

He complies, letting you push the shirt off his shoulders as he climbs over you, pressing a knee between your legs as he traps your lips in a searing kiss again. Your lips feel bruised where you kiss, his mouth demanding. His hands claw at your hips, pulling you down into his knee, grinding your slick cunt against his leg.

You let out a breathy sound, both from the feeling of pleasure blooming between your legs once again and the warmth of his skin, your hands rubbing across his chest, seeking to chase the inferno within. Yoongi has always been warm, but something hotter burns in him now. Something divine, vicious, and powerful lurking beneath his skin, the unlikely power of a god of death lurking just beneath the surface.

You know that Kelemvor, the God of Death and Lord of Judgement has chosen Yoongi as a conduit of power because Yoongi seeks the balance of the world - he is a part of the balance of the world. His very existence is paramount to a deity whose very nature is to maintain the scales.

It doesn’t stop you from wanting to eat away at the divinity under Yoongi’s skin, to drive out the influence that isn’t yours, to assert your dominance over a god and remind him that Yoongi does not belong to Kelemvor, he is not an extension of death. He belongs to you and you alone.

It is an irrational, violent bout of jealousy that overtakes you for a moment. Your nails rake down his chest a little too hard, leaving trails of blood beneath. You bit his bottom lip a little too hard, the taste of iron and salt spilling into your mouth with his tongue.

Yoongi smirks against your scarlet mouth, pulling back to look down at you. He knows what it is you seek. Yoongi always knows. Your minds are not connected, but your souls are and there is little you can hide from him. “You cannot rip him out of me, no matter how much you want to.”

“I will try.”

“Good.” He leans down and bites hard on your collarbone, making you gasp. “I will tear Asmodeous’ influence from you in kind.”

Your hands are less harsh as you undo the laces of his pants, pulling them down powerful thighs. Your viciousness cools in the shower of the whisper of his love against your ear and the scrap of his tongue against your skin. Every single part of you burns hotter than the deepest part of the Hells, driven there by him alone.

You love him - such a simple word could convey it accurately, anyway.

It seems too small of a word, unable to fit the fountain of want, desire, trust, and yearning that spills out of you into such a small cup. You don’t know if love can truly hold everything you feel for him, if it conveys that there is nothing god, archdevil, or fate that would stop you from being here with Yoongi, getting to touch him, to taste him, to whisper into his mouth as he presses the head of his cock into your weeping entrance.

“You’re mine,” you gasp, rolling your hips forward to meet the slow, powerful strokes of his cock. Yoongi cradles you to him, his hands gripping you tighter as he presses your bodies together, as though you could meld. “Mine mine mine.”

“I’m yours,” he agrees, voice throaty and strained. “Who else could I belong to?”

You have no answer. Stars dance behind your eyelids as you move to his rhythm. Yoongi’s skin is heated and sticky as he moves against you. You feel his heartbeat in exact time with yours, twin rhythms. Your arms wind around his shoulders, fingers twisting in the hair at the nape of his neck. You feel the muscle of his back and shoulder flex as he fucks you slowly, each stroke pointed and driving you to the edge again.

Yoongi’s mouth brushes yours. You breathe in his air, unable to put anything else into words, thoughts consumed with him. With how he tastes, with how he smells, with how he feels. Nestled in the deepest part of you, you feel home. It is such a rare feeling, only discovered here like this, connected.

It makes your breath catch, barely audible above Yoongi’s low groaning and the loud smack of skin against skin. Your heels dig into the bed, head pressing into the mattress as you throw your head back, unable to do anything but take what Yoongi is giving you.

His pace quickens, slamming into your cunt with enough force to break you. But you do not break - you could never break with him. You squirm in his hold, babbling and panting and trying to breathe as he drives you to the edge of madness - and then you peak.

A wild sound escapes you as you seize into him, muscles clenching, cunt spasming. Yoongi’s thrusts turn vicious, fucking you through your orgasm as you clench down on him with a vice grip. His fingers grip the back of your neck, pulling you toward his chest as he leans backward, your legs sliding as he seats you in his lap, fucking up into you.

“Imagine thinking they could take you away from me,” Yoongi hisses. His thrusts are sloppy and hard, spearing you and sending you hurtling right toward the edge again. You submit to him, head lolling to the side as he takes you. “Imagine thinking that you could defy a prewritten fate that you are mine, that you are anything less than what was made for me.”

A sob slips through your lips. You cannot think of a response, only able to cling to him as though to say yes.

“They cannot take you away from me,” he growls. “I will destroy this world again and again if they try. They cannot sunder what is here, they cannot rip you away from me any more than you can rip the stars from the sky.”

Just as you begin to teeter on the edge, Yoongi slams his hips home, clenching as he comes. “You cannot be anything else but mine.”

It sends you hurling over the edge again, so powerful that you forget where you are for a moment. It is intoxicating, this bliss that unfurls like the flowers of a petal. Nothing exists here but calm water and the scent and taste of Yoongi. There is no war here. No fight to keep you apart. No demands, no expectations. It’s just you and him. Like it was always meant to be.

Slowly, awareness creeps back toward you. It is a lumbering, lazy thing. You only feel somewhat aware that you’re in a bed and that you feel the heat of Yoongi next to you, the press of his mouth against your shoulder. The aftereffects of sleeping with an incubus are not lost on you, even as a powerful infernal.

Everything feels melted, like it could fall through your fingers like grains of sand. Perhaps you could float away if you tried, but Yoongi grounds you. The feeling of his hand on your hip and his mouth on your skin is the most solid thing that exists in this world in between, keeping you tethered to something real. Something substantial.

When you blink away the sticky high of the post-orgasm daze, Yoongi is watching you with soft, round eyes. The burning desire is still there, but at the forefront is adoration. Worship. Love. Anything stronger than words can describe.

“Are you okay?” he kisses your jaw before drawing back to examine your face. You nod, head heavy. “Too much?”

“No. Not with you. Never with you.”

His mouth twitches like he’s unsure. You nestle closer to him, closing your eyes as you’re cupped in the safety of his presence. “With Avernus and Dis at your command, you can take Phlegethos,” you murmur. “Mammon will give you Minauros if you can do that.”

“Hmm.”

Your eyes flutter open, watching as Yoongi closes his. You can tell by the twitch in his mouth that he is thinking. “I will deliver you Phlegethos.” He cracks an eye open and looks at you, seeing the hunger that burns there. “Belial needs a good whip to put him in place.”

“The Whip of Asmodeous?”

“No.” You grin. “The Whip of Kelemvor’s Chosen.”

#yoongi smut #suga smut #min yoongi smut #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x reader #bts suga #bts fanfic #minors do not interact #minors dni #bts suga smut #i forgot how to tag at this point its been so long #also raise ur hand if you cannot pronounce phlegethos

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adorethedistance · 6 months

Text

Baby Fever - Trevor Zegras x Reader

Hockey Masterlist

Warnings: swearing, smut adjacent content (post-sex interaction/make out), a joke about cheating, a joke about death, and semen... in that order...

Words: 2322

Requested: Can you please do a trevor blurb where him and y/n go to a pumpkin patch with their nephew and Trevor's playing with their nephew and y/n gets so much baby fever please

A/n: Hey y'all! I'm taking a break from the Jamie series of firsts with a requested fic. I kinda riffed on the request so there are some things you need to know beforehand: 1) they're not babysitting a nephew, they're babysitting Troy Terry's kid Greyson 2) I'm aware Greyson is currently an infant but in this fic he's a toddler 3) I understand you asked for a blurb but I'm ass at writing blurbs 4) therefore this is a part 1. (Part 2 coming soon ish?) Enjoy!

Troy Terry had sworn to never let Trevor Zegras supervise his son. Or at least, before I was in the picture anyway. I had befriended Dani over the course of several Ducks’ games after Trevor and I became official. We somehow managed to have the same schedules despite having vastly different lifestyles; at the time, she was a new mom adjusting to domestic bliss, and I was a senior at UC Irvine preparing for my post-grad plans. Now that I’m not overwhelmed with work as a student, she and I grew pretty close. More often than not, we found ourselves having several hangouts without our guys present. Naturally, I saw Greyson a lot, considering the fact that I would spend my time with Dani in the Terry residence.

Our latest hang out consisted of us gabbing about the latest drama with Greyson’s preschool over a glass of wine. In telling me that Greyson was between daycares right now, I offered to take him off her hands for a night so she and Troy could have a much needed date night. At first, Dani refused, not wanting to dump the responsibility on me, but I insisted. There were several pros: I love kids, Dani has done plenty of favors for me before, Greyson’s already comfortable with me, and they wouldn’t have to pay for a babysitter. Pleased with my argument, Dani agreed and the plans were set.

This Friday, the team had a day off and rather than having the guys disappear onto the nearest golf course, Dani and Troy began planning their night off, as did Trevor and I.

“Hey, babe, I was thinking about how to spoil you and thought we could get a table at The Ranch tonight. What do you say?” Trevor asks, holding my hips and subtly pinning me against the kitchen counter.

“About that.”

“What’s up?” He asks, deviously dipping his head down. I don’t give in to whatever seduction game he’s playing, and quickly peck him on the lips.

“I kind of made evening plans.” He takes the kiss in stride and looks at me teasingly.

“Is your boyfriend back in town already?”

“Yeah, he wanted to go to The Ranch, too. I just can’t have my boyfriend and my side piece in one place, soooo.”

“I’ve been demoted to ‘side piece’? Ouch,” Trevor laughs before sliding his hands along my waistband to clasp behind my lower back, and pull me into him so our hips touch. “Fuck. Now you’ll never pick me over him!”

“Oh, that was always the plan. Don’t get it twisted.” He laughs once more before asking,

“What’s going on tonight?” I open my mouth to answer and as I do, he slips his hand down to grab my ass, catching me by surprise.

“Hey!” Right as I scold him, Jamie walks into the kitchen to refill his water bottle. I try to bite back the smile that creeps across my features, flustered by Jamie’s newfound presence.

“Hey Jamo,” Trevor says casually, to try and ease the awkwardness.

“You guys know I still live here, right?”

“Sorry, Jamie.”

“I’m going grocery shopping. Just try to keep it in your room, Z.”

“Keep what in my room?” He asks, playing dumb, much to Jamie’s dismay. He merely shakes his head and leaves the kitchen. Watching Jamie leave, Trevor follows with his gaze, tracking Jamie’s movements to the opposite direction until he hears the front door open and close. After, he turns back to face me, “You were saying?”

“I told Dani I would watch Greyson.”

“What?!” I half expected Trevor to be upset, but he’s sporting the widest smile I’ve ever seen.

“Yeah, she and Troy were due for some alone time, so I offered to take him to the pumpkin patch tonight.”

“When?”

“They’re dropping him off around 5.”

“5. What time is it now?” Trevor leans away from me to look at the clock on the oven that reads 2:57. “Oh, we have time.”

“Time for wha-” I cut myself off with a screech as Trevor picks me up and sits me on the open counterspace. He pushes my knees apart to stand between them, the dominant action in tandem with the cold countertop underneath me sends shivers down my spine. He then kisses me passionately, trailing his fingers up the length of my exposed thighs. His hands find the top of my waistband, running along the hem as he presses his hard on into my core. I hold either side of his face in my hands, squeaking once more as Trevor picks me up and carries me to his bedroom.

___________________________

Panting and still slightly sweaty, I check my phone to see the clock reads 4:43. “Shit.”

“What?” Trevor asks curiously. He’s laying on top of the covers, fully nude and sprawled out, after having collapsed on the bed next to me.

“It’s 4:43,” I say between sticky breaths. He shuts his eyes and groans loudly,

“Give me, like, five minutes.”

“Uh, no sir. You need to get me a towel so I can get up and pee.” Trevor’s eyes shoot open and he sits up.

“Right. Boyfriend duties await.” His expression is humorous and I can’t help but notice the way his abs flex through the movement. If it weren’t too late, I’d have jumped him again, then and there. He rolls off the bed, sliding on the nearest pair of briefs he can find. Trevor then grabs the towel hanging on the doorknob, and walks over to where I am on the bed, propped up on my elbows. The gravity of holding myself up causes the beaded sweat to roll down my cleavage, and on to my stomach where Trevor had finished a few minutes prior. He doesn’t say anything but I clock the way his eyes are trained on my chest as he approaches me. I hold out my hand for the towel but he holds it out of reach.

“What are you-?”

“Lay down.”

“What? Why?”

“Just do it!” I confusedly put my head back on his pillow and Trevor grabs both ends of the towel, opening it up to lay it over me. “I’m calling it. Time of death, 4:44 PM. Rest in peace, Y/n, I’ll miss you.”

“Oh my god,” I say from under the towel. Pulling it off my face, I sit back up to find Trevor snickering at his own joke. “Are you proud of yourself?”

“Very.” He leans down and places a sweet kiss on my lips. When he pulls away, my eyes flutter open and he gently lifts the towel to cover his hand, then wipes off the leftover fluid. I look up at him as he moves, a soft smile of adoration painting my features. Trevor looks down at me and widens his eyes teasingly before relaxing to smile at me again.

The sound of the front door opening echoes down the hall and from the entrance we hear Jamie call, “I’m back! Please tell me you’re clothed!”

“Don’t worry about it, Jamo!” Trevor calls back before wadding up the used towel and throwing it at me.

“Ew!” I should’ve known him being sweet wasn’t going to last. Sliding off the side of the bed, I pick up my clothes and walk into the bathroom to pee. After I’m dressed again, I come out to see Trevor had thrown on the outfit he was wearing earlier: a v-neck polo and board shorts.

“You can’t wear that,” I say in disbelief.

“Why?” Trevor looks at me in confusion. Turning to the mirror that hangs on the back of the door, he takes in the fresh hickeys littered across his exposed chest. “Oh shit.” The revelation is perfectly timed with a knock on the door. Nudging Trevor out of the way, I exit his bedroom and leave him to change. Jamie is unloading groceries with his airpods in and I wave when I walk by to signal that we’re done and he can exist peacefully again.

Answering the front door reveals Dani and Troy in the nicest casual clothing I’ve ever seen. The Terry’s smile upon seeing me and I look at Greyson who’s sitting on Dani’s left hip.

“Hi Grey!” I cheer and he immediately smiles. I then notice Troy holding what seems to be Greyson’s booster seat and as I go to reach for it, Trevor appears behind me. Greyson runs inside and begins punching Trevor’s leg with all the might his almost-four year old arms can manage. I laugh but Dani scolds,

“Greyson, we don’t hit people, remember?” He immediately stops, thinks for a moment, and then proceeds to throw punches at Trevor but without making contact. Dani sighs exhaustedly before saying, “Good enough.”

“How’s it going, man?” Trevor asks Troy, causing Dani and me to look at the guys incredulously.

“You saw each other yesterday,” I tease. Trevor shrugs as he takes the car seat from Troy.

“Terry’s my boy though,” He responds somewhat jokingly. Greyson then speaks up,

“What about me?” The group laughs about the sweet question but Greyson isn’t amused. He looks around, confused, before stepping further into the apartment to scope it out. Greyson then yells, “I wanna go to the pumpkin patch!”

“Read you loud and clear, bud,” Trevor replies. Then, Dani asks practically,

“What time do you need him out of your hair?” To which I reply,

“Oh don’t worry about it, we can hang onto him for as long as y’all need.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course.”

“Okay, well, his bed time is eight, and that’s usually around when we get tired anyway, so we’ll be here around then?.”

“8 it is,” I say with a smile, leaning away to look at Greyson fully. He smiles shyly before hiding his face against Trevor’s leg. “Why are you being shy, Grey-Grey?” I ask, looking down at his level.

“I think he has a little bit of a crush on you.”

“Really?” I ask with a tiny bit of a laugh. Troy chimes in,

“Yeah, he was super excited when she told him you were the one babysitting-”

“He’s been looking forward to it all week.” Dani finishes Troy’s sentence before they look at one another and smile, “In fact, he told me he has something to tell you, right Grey?”

“You’re pretty, Y/n,” He admits before running away, which causes the four of us to laugh.

“I told you my boyfriend was back in town,” I tease, which then makes Trevor laugh heartily. Turning back to Dani and Troy, they both look confused and I feel my cheeks grow warm in embarrassment.

“Inside joke,” I reassure. They nod and offer a few goodbyes to me, Trevor, and Greyson, before heading out for good.

Closing the door behind us, Trevor sets down the car seat and says,

“I gotta up my game now that I have competition.”

“Yeah, so behave!” Trevor touches his left hand to his heart, giving me a look that reads melodramatically offended, “You’re currently in the lead, though.”

“I better be,” he bites back, wrapping his arm around the back of my body, coming to rest his right hand on my hip. His thumb brushes the hem and I look up at him over my left shoulder,

“You’re still turned on?” I whisper, in shock. Trevor doesn’t reply. His hand slinks down to my ass as he kisses my lips heatedly, before he goes to follow Greyson’s path. I follow close behind and see Greyson’s found Jamie in the kitchen.

“Can I have one?!” Greyson shrieks upon finding a box of fruit by the foot. Jamie laughs at his excitement before asking,

“Do your parents even let you have sugar?” The dry humor is lost on the young child but I snort a laugh.

“I��ve had these before in my lunch!”

“...Okay, sure. Let me open it for you. I don’t trust you to not destroy the box.”

“Jame, can you keep an eye on him for a second so we can get shoes on?” Trevor asks.

“He just got here and you’re already pawning off your responsibility on me?” Jamie playfully accuses Trevor, who looks offended. I laugh, partially at Jamie’s joke, and partially at watching Trevor misunderstand his roommate in real time. Jamie looks at me and we laugh about the joke going over Trevor’s head.

I then head for the bedroom to search for the shoes I was once wearing. Trevor enters a little after I do to pull a pair of white sneakers from his closet. He’s uncharacteristically quiet. I almost want to ask what for, but then I’m overcome with the desire to let him stew in the silence. If I wait long enough, he’ll have to speak. He always does. Or, at least, he usually does.

“Do you want kids?” He works up the nerve to ask, quickly adding, “Someday?” in hopes of softening the blow of the genuine conversation topic.

“Probably someday,” I answer simply, which sends him back into an introspective silence for a moment.

“How many kids would you want?” I look over at him to see he’s staring at me, as if tearing his gaze away would shatter the moment. I continue putting on my shoes,

“I think two is a good number. That way they can have a sibling, but not so many that they would feel their needs went unmet. Why?”

“I could do two,” Trevor says assuredly, ignoring my question.

“Well, I’m sorry to break it to you, but you’re about two rings short of trying to have a baby with me right now,” I assert in a teasing way, although I’m not joking. The tension of the conversation dissipates as Trevor laughs.

“Fair point,” Trevor squints his eyes at me, “But we can still practice, right?” I laugh again before nodding,

“We can at least agree on that.”

***

a/n: hope y'all enjoyed that and stay tuned for part 2 that'll drop sometime this week or next. let me know if you have a request for either Trevor or Jamie bc I'm on a ducks kick rn! Sidenote: is anyone else absolutely obsessed with the fact that we can copy paste tags now?? saves so much time !!!

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capslocked · 1 year

Text

MANAGE (THIS) TROIS

male reader x wonyoung && yujin

12k words

It’s how your Sundays spend you, if you’re to be honest. It’s a day for rest, for sobriety, for virtue and measure, the Lord’s day if you’re at all particularly reverent (citation probably needed), and why Wonyoung is that much more annoyed when Yujin shows up dressed the way she is.

"Uh." Wonyoung laughs and it’s recognizably derisive. "Are you kidding?"

As some may or may not know, the three of you have been friends for ages; the spontaneous combustion into laughter, the ribbing, the teasing, the playful banter, it’s how you’ve always got on—the fact now that the sex is toe-curling and irresistible and downright sinful? An entirely separate issue.

Surely it won’t complicate things.

Technically, you’re all equally at fault the moment Wonyoung spies you making eyes at Yujin as she struts through the living room. She’s wearing only a tank top and a pair of fluorescent pink sports shorts that barely manage to wrap around her thighs, the seam of which gape perfectly to show you just how long her legs are, to the point your bones nearly start to ache.

The truth that Yujin will later vehemently deny is that things spiral out of control on account of the fact that she simply cannot keep her mouth shut, as is usually the case. You’ve come to assume that rather than possessing a shameless love for her own voice, she does it deliberately—to egg Wonyoung on, because the only thing she enjoys more than getting the younger girl flustered, red in the face, and reduced to an incoherent mess is arriving there before she even lays a finger on her.

However, if Yujin’s plan is to get Wonyoung all bent out of shape and worked up and beside herself to the point that she has no other choice than to take it all out on you, it backfires spectacularly.

Wonyoung’s nose scrunches and all her angelic features sharpen to a point as she watches Yujin crash onto the sofa next to you; sends her hands to her hips when she sees that warm arm wrap around your waist—palm flattening against your stomach a moment before sliding into the waistband of your joggers.

"What in the living fuck do you think you’re doing?"

"The way I see it," Yujin starts up again, and even though her words are clearly addressed, enveloped and stamped for Wonyoung, you’ve got the sultry color of her voice flirting in your ear, mouth skirting across your neck to find the gentle marks and bruises she’d made a silent promise to return to. "Miss I-give-the-best-head really shouldn’t have a single thing to get jealous over now should she? I mean, you sounded so sure about it."

"All I said was I have a proven method."

Yujin scoffs. "It’s not a precise science, sweetheart. Different strokes for different—"

"All sciences are precise," Wonyoung snaps back, one elegant brow arching skyward and arms crossing, "that’s what science means."

"Well, I think that’s open to interpretation."

"How… extraordinary."

To Wonyoung’s continued annoyance, the genuine throaty sound of your laughter doesn’t inspire confidence. Neither do the fingers you’ve got sinking into the round of Yujin’s perfect ass as she shimmies onto your lap, but it’s kinda the point. Because you know that the way you have Yujin sinking into a kiss, her hips rutting against you, lips sliding wet and easy and smacking across yours like you don’t care who’s listening—

"Oh, okay sure, let’s see…" Wonyoung pulls a fist out and begins to count on her fingers: "it’s my apartment. That’s my couch. And he’s my boyfriend."

When Yujin pulls herself off from your lips, her fingers continue on raking through your hair, and she just smirks—nearly grinning stupid because she knows how this always ends. Urges you gently as she pulls you by the wrist to grab a second handful of her chest. She’s delightful. And if there’s anything in particular that she flat out refuses to learn from this peculiar arrangement, it’s that you never ever ever try to goad Jang Wonyoung into anything.

"A little possessive, isn’t she?" Yujin asks as her hands, in a near-rehearsed motion, run down across your chest to where she can hook a few fingers into your pants. Gets them just down about the middle of your thighs to pull your cock out far enough to start stroking it.

And when Yujin also says right after—voice lilting into this familiar tone, something Wonyoung should absolutely know better than to walk straight into—that maybe if your girlfriend could take better care of you, that the truth might be: "I dunno, have you considered it could just be, like, personal preference? That he’s dying to bend me over instead? Would rather get my legs folded up into my chest and pump me full of hot cum just like that? I’m sure it’s nothing personal, little dove. I mean look at me: I’m built for it."

Wonyoung floats her fingers to her face, pinching the bridge of her nose.

(Here’s the thing about Wonyoung: she’s quiet, incredibly pretty, reserved and sugar-sweet, and plays her cards close to her chest. With all that dark wavy hair spilling over her shoulders without fuss or pother, deep brown eyes easy to get lost in, she’s the quintessential angel the devil might spend countless nights in fantasy about plucking right out of the heavens and dragging straight to hell. In fact, so angelic is she that Yujin had begun to grow increasingly concerned that all your hard work had possibly been for naught—that for a long time, all those flashes of wicked lust in her eyes may have perhaps not been what you thought they were, those naughty quips and innuendos that never just landed as something you could quite laugh off were possibly a misread; Yujin had an incredible talent for determining which potential conquests were open to a little conquering—but with this girl, she was at wit’s end, had nearly given up. Wonyoung would blush and simper one moment, pale and avoid her the next. Oh, there’s wicked fun to be had in turning a wholesome and prudish princess to her more kinky side, though only if the princess is willing.

Wonyoung, so it seemed, was an incredibly difficult princess to read.)

"Brat," Wonyoung spits, shadowing in behind the girl on your lap and lets her voice lower into a dangerous growl, gets close enough so that Yujin practically winces when she feels the moisture in her breath against her temple. You watch as she gathers Yujin’s hair into her fist. It’s enough to tilt her head back until Yujin opens her mouth in surprise—something Wonyoung knows instinctively to kiss and suck and lick at until her lips grow swollen and tender. Whether or not it had always been the case, the truth could never have delighted you both more: the girl’s no angel.

"Mmmnph." Yujin melts further into your lap at the feeling of the tongue sliding languidly past hers, and you can hear all these little satisfied hums leak out of her chest in droves. When you ball the slippery polyester front of Yujin’s tank top between your fingers, her breasts spill out on either side of the fabric close enough to your face that it takes nary an effort to give one of her small dark nipples a wet kiss—an intense lips-puckering suck to the other.

The moment your mouth gets involved, lapping and licking and caressing her hardening nipples, Yujin starts to squirm. Each flick against her pushes a soft moan straight into Wonyoung’s lips; in many ways, that’s a familiarity the three of you all always manage to return to. Especially now that she’s got her hands wrapped and twisting around your cock, jerking you slowly like she has all the time in the world, like you and your girlfriend aren’t going to fuck her six ways to Sunday and still find her begging for more.

"Aight, listen here," you say finally with calm command, and both girls nearly startle. "It’s my cock you’re stroking. So I’m either fucking somebody or I’m gonna have to go take care of this myself."

The two of them get their eyes on you, both pairs of perfectly sculpted eyebrows ever-so-slightly furrowed. And when you unclench your grip on Yujin’s pliable ass, stretching your fingers wide to run it up her back, their gazes are rapt. Interesting. You file that away.

"Nope. You’re not going anywhere," Wonyoung says, having pulled away from the kiss and let a smug quirk settle into the corners of her mouth—apparently come to grips with the fact that, yes, you are going to fuck Yujin’s body until she’s incomprehensibly stuttering and blabbering, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it.

In tacit agreement, you slap Yujin’s ass through her shorts hard enough that she yelps. She’s not wrong—not that you’ll let her hear you say it—but she is built for it. You nearly snort, saying, "well hurry up and figure it out, who am I fucking first?"

Wonyoung leans in further to get her point across, to get her hands all over the girl in your lap. "What do you think about that, hmm? How does getting that cock inside you sound?"

"Oh, love." Yujin steadily starts stroking you faster, fingers tightening and loosening in a steady rhythm. Because if there’s anything in the world that turns her on more than Wonyoung abandoning all that about perfection and innocence, it’s feeling your cock grow harder in her hands. "Please please please tell me that it’s me."

She slumps forward at the touch of your fingers searching about the heat between her legs, arches her chest toward you to feed her breast back into your mouth—oh, of all the ways to die, surely. There’s a wistful sigh she lets on, a similar thought brewing and simmer as each touch from your deft fingers arrives closer to where she wants you, voice shuddering along a pleasant note.

"C’mon," she whines, "you get to fuck him all the time. No harm, no foul, right?"

From the way her pussy feels beneath the thin material of her shorts, you realize she’s made the decision to not wear any underwear, made the decision long ago that she’d be fucking herself with your cock and nothing else. A quickly drawn breath of air past her teeth clues Wonyoung in that you’ve got your fingers against her clit and she’s that much closer to begging to let her share you, closer to pleading Wonyoung to let her take your cock and ride it until every muscle in her legs are sore and aching.

You spit Yujin’s nipple from between your lips and laugh out loud.

"Yujin, you slut," you start, "you’re not even wearing anything under here."

There’s another rise out of the girl when you press your hand up against her pussy, close enough to slide a thumb between her lips, close enough that you can feel her heat, her gentle tremor, the way she begs for the friction of your fingertips, your tongue, your cock—anything thing firm and unyielding and attached to you.

"Didn’t stop you from you looking," Yujin insists, arching further back to the grip Wonyoung keeps tight in her hair, whimpering again as she gets her lips hovering beside hers. "Bet he’s been thinking all kinds of things, Wonyoung."

"And I suppose you figure you deserve that much, don’t you," says Wonyoung callously as she starts kneading her fingers into Yujin’s perky breast, the one you’ve left neglected. "Deserve to have this cock pounding you deep and hard and you probably want him to fuck a load of hot cum into you too."

Yujin just nods.

"Figure I’ll get my tongue on your clit for you and make you cum that way, huh?"

"Need to get fucked so bad," Yujin whines at Wonyoung, in the increasingly brief spaces between their loud, lip-pulling kisses—pauses that fill quickly with heated breath and the lust in her unsteadied voice.

Your girlfriend is hardly impressed. She says as much, and then laughs into her ear, pressing a quick kiss to her temple, and chides, "greedy."

Yujin immediately goes pliant, a little whine escaping her that neither of you bother to soothe. She repeats herself several times, "I’ll be good. Promise."

"Oh, I know you will." Wonyoung skates her thumb along her jaw until she finds her fingers threaded beneath her chin, gets her face pointed up so that she can see just how clear and articulate her eyes are, cast down the regal length of her nose and smoldering dangerously into hers. "But I think you’re still entirely way too coherent right now."

Yujin presses her lips against Wonyoung’s again, gets her fingers up over the head of your cock to lather precum into her thumb and drag it all down your length before pumping you in earnest. Wonyoung’s the one who knows you like the back of her hand, how to get you groaning and gritting your teeth with her fingers, her lips, her cunt, however she chooses, but Yujin’s never been far behind. She just smiles when she brings a touch down to your balls, and purrs: "Then that just means you aren’t distracting me enough."

Wonyoung flashes you a grin, and, oh, do you know the look, always mirthless and every bit as cunning—the same whenever she feels the urge to taunt you into sparring with her. She gets it exactly right, the perfect severity to an austere tone that makes Yujin’s hair stand on end at the next thing out of her mouth:

"Bedroom. Now."

It’s almost predictable. Yujin just looks at you with these wide eyes, soft and unassuming like she’s some lost puppy, knowing she’ll want for nothing once she’s in your hands—the way you and Wonyoung always take care of her, how you get her cumming over and over until she’s near hysterical and so overstimulated she has to beg you to stop.

"Best not keep her waiting," you tell the girl in your lap as you press your thumbs down into the curve of her soft, milky skin and massage a few circles into her thighs, "we both know she can quite be the handful."

And but so it’s the three of you—that common plurality coming to a head, you peeling your pants from your waist as you go, staggering not even a few feet down the hallway before Yujin says something that tests the limits of Wonyoung’s patience. You don’t quite hear what it is that sneaks out of her mouth, but whatever it is, you know it’s petulant.

Wonyoung pins the older girl to the wall, hands splayed around the bones of her hips, and there’s nothing forceful about it—the kind of authority she exerts a subtle thing. The two of them exchange more kisses, two curtains of dark silky hair cascading into another and only coming apart as Wonyoung lands fingerprints down the rise of Yujin’s shorts. When Wonyoung raises her face again, letting her breath kiss the tender swell of Yujin’s lips, she’s watching the way she throws her head back to the wall, throat exposed and begging to be marked, marred and bruised.

Wonyoung pushes her tongue between her lips, run semi-circles across them to remind Yujin of the big picture. "You’re fucking wet, Yujin."

"Better do something about it," Yujin chokes out, gentle features wincing again as Wonyoung’s hand slides lower, dipping and diving between her thighs.

"Strip," Wonyoung commands abruptly, liking the way it makes her shudder.

Say what you want about Ahn Yujin, no one thinks she’s stupid—Wonyoung might be the one to take the reins, call the shots, press the two of you under her thumb, but at the end of the day, Yujin always, always, gets what she wants. She starts at the top, raising one arm and reaching it behind her back so that her rack is fucking presenting, all while she shimmies her way out of her shorts, the flash of neon puddling into the floorboards at her feet. Yujin’s body is incredible, all angles and curves in the right places, pointed and soft in this juxtaposition that gets your head spinning—it’s a work of art regardless if it’s underneath you, on top of you, squirming into the cushions of the sofa, the springs of the mattress; it’s the angle, the framing, the change in perspective that always manages to guide you to new conclusions and interpretations.

"Good girl," Wonyoung mutters, and bites off a pitching moan as she seals Yujin’s lips with her own.

The two of them, like this (and in so many other ways), are so aesthetically pleasing. Beyond the way the pair gets their hands on each other’s skin, holds each other, ruts against each other, kisses each other like it’s some overflow of passion ten years in the making, they’re simply breathtaking and stupefying to the point that if you weren’t sinking your teeth into your lower lip while you stroke your own cock at the sight, your jaw would drop. As if the Creator, in their making, that meticulous work, had endeavored to pour as much unbridled, raw appeal to their figures, their forms, and pack an even more ungodly amount of lust into the two of them so that they might wreak havoc on anything they touch.

(And so often is it you, the recipient of all that lust and desire, you poor, poor thing).

But the thing that ultimately gets you behind Wonyoung, hiking her pleated skirt up around her hips and sunk to your knees isn’t so much that you feel left out as much as it is that you can’t let her be the first one to take Yujin apart—before you get your cock in her, get her clinging to your name like a lifeline, muttering it like a prayer, cursing at the top of lungs until she cums all over you and shakes and convulses in your arms. You simply can’t allow it, can’t do anything other than get Wonyoung’s stockings frayed, furled and fucked between her thighs and stick your face straight into her cunt.

"Oh, what’s the matter, little dove?" Yujin asks, eyes smug and content at how you have Wonyoung’s lithe frame curling into her, the choked back whimper you force out of her throat as you tear through the sheer fabric of her leggings. "Maybe… perhaps… you’re dying to get fucked too?"

"Watch it," Wonyoung growls.

"Or what?" Yujin just laughs, even though Wonyoung’s fingers continue to twist and dive inside her, start to make her cheeks flushed and stained, she’s purring: "Oh I know, you’re going to have to punish us both… like what a total drag."

She’s not going to be in a state to do much of anything, is how you see it, pressing your lips harsh to Wonyoung’s pussy, drawing out circles with your tongue on the hot, sensitive skin—drawing out a broken gasp that has her shooting up a hand to cover her mouth. But it’s too late. Yujin sees the opportunity for what it is.

Though you suppose there’s only patience enough for the first few buttons from the top of Wonyoung’s collar before Yujin decides to tear the garment from her shoulders, sending buttons flying and rolling across the floor. Wonyoung flinches while trying to retreat from the touches Yujin reaches up her skirt, and she simply backs up further into your face. You’ve got your tongue splitting her lips, tasting her entrance and making her pretty mouth—usually so poised and elegant and polished—start to cuss and swear.

"Baby, baby, baby," Yujin says, voice trailing, and she starts to preen Wonyoung’s hair out of her face so she can look her straight in the eyes, "You ride this cock every day, and here you are: even more desperate than me."

"Hey now, that’s not fair," you say as you surface from between the backs of Wonyoung’s thighs with a scowl, and seemingly without even thinking, pull your grip off her tight cheek to slide two fingers into her. You listen to her keen as you get two, three knuckles deep inside her hot cunt. "She doesn’t always ride."

"Hmmm." Yujin wraps her arms around Wonyoung and grabs your hips. "What do you think? The bed? Or fuck her right here?"

You still have your digits curling inside her, so she hardly minds at all when Yujin grabs her firm by the chin and slips her tongue in her mouth—for someone with such a strong resolve, she’s awfully sensitive, shockingly easy to unravel—minds even less when you lean over her shoulder and get your voice in her ear, teasing, "would you like that, princess?"

"Yujin," and she has it choked up so bad you can’t help but laugh as it nearly gets caught in her throat on the way out. She swallows, gathers her fleeting composure and wrestles herself from the girl’s grip before reaching her hand behind her and onto your waist, putting a stop to you fucking her right then and there. Makes you settle for sliding your cock between her cheeks.

"Yujin, darling," she starts again, voice again composed and unsheathed and apparently risen from the ashes—fashioned into a sharpened edge and held firm at the girl’s throat—only instead of terrifying her, it merely has Yujin licking her lips, struggling in anticipation. The three of you are only ever right where you’re meant to be. "I thought I told you. Get on the bed."

Wonyoung takes a beat to finagle with the rest of her clothes, removing the stockings you’d ruined and tossing them into the bin before sliding her skirt down around her ankles. Just like anyone else, she steps one foot out of them, and then the other, but the whole motion looks elegant and poised without even trying. She really is incredible like that. You’re always sure to remind her of it. And you can tell she’s rolling her eyes when Yujin makes a comment about not having it all down to a science in what is possibly the least sincere apology to date before dragging her tongue up the length of your cock, a loud kiss punctuating the end of the gesture as she reaches the tip.

Yujin’s on Wonyoung’s bed, again the familiarity something to marvel at, belly down and knees bent with her feet kicking over her frankly immaculate ass as she props herself up onto her elbows to properly lick you. She teases again, fitting her lips around your head and letting spit run down your cock. I hope you don’t mind, she efforts to say with her mouth stuffed, garbled and muffled and almost unintelligible.

Almost.

"At this rate," Wonyoung pipes up before settling in behind you, arms running around your waist and holding you by the base of your shaft, "both of you’ll be lucky to have much left to mind when I’m through with you."

Yujin pulls her mouth off you, lips smacking. Laughs out loud at the thought, and you watch her pull a bundle of hair back past her ear, angle her mouth better to meet your cock, and start to tease, "there’s our princess."

"Want your mouth too, Wonyoung," you say over your shoulder, and even if you’re pushing your luck, you know that deep down, Wonyoung can’t refuse a chance to show off, another opportunity to put Yujin in her place. "Maybe show her how it’s done."

She nearly snorts. "You’re spoiled."

She’s a slut for your cock anyway, you figure is what Yujin tries to say, but it gets lost in translation as you push your way between her soft lips, choking her for a brief moment with your cockhead in her throat. It’s all slippery and shiny with her spit after you pull your hips back, and it’s an invitation Wonyoung shakes her head at, until finally capitulating, "fine."

This silent competition that they settle into sees you as its sole beneficiary—your cock hardly left untouched, unlicked, uncared for by either of their mouths. They each have that burning desire to be the one that makes you melt, gets you to curse and moan and point your cock at their pretty face while you cum. Given that their goals are hardly aligned, it’s astonishing that they work in such beautiful harmony: Wonyoung licks your shaft, Yujin at your balls; kisses reach where another cannot, and you’re at the complete mercy of all the sinful motions of their tongues and lips—they’ve made you cum like this plenty of times before and they know they can do it again.

"Fuck," you curse, letting it slip, letting them each know you’re that much closer to being the first one to go. "Feels so fucking good."

The moment you start to bundle and brush all that dark silky hair from their faces, weave your hands into it at the napes of their necks, the movement and response is so elegant that it appears choreographed, rehearsed, and to some extent, that’s not far off. In tandem, Yujin and Wonyoung’s tongues slide across your shaft; their lips meet, pull apart, drag wet against your cock and kiss once more—these soft, ephemeral touches that leave all three of you yearning. Every now and again, one of them will take you further into the heat of their mouth, but it’s nothing selfish or ambitious, as they’re soon back to giggling and making out like the head of your cock isn’t resting every so reliably between them.

"Should make him paint our faces," Yujin says, smiling and rolling her fingers through your balls.

Wonyoung scoffs, "don’t get ahead of yourself."

This how your Sundays spend you, if you’re to be honest. The three of you never do make it to church (Saturday evenings so quickly turn to night to morning in the flash of an eye, and you’re all too sore and aching to get out of bed), but there’s no lack of worship to be had at the edge of Wonyoung’s bed—heads bowed in reverence as these two sets of heavenly lips cushion the length of your cock, tongues lathering and slipping about its sensitive skin. No, it’s not any substitute for a pew: they’re not kneeling or genuflecting or gazing up at you with their big wide eyes, watching for a sign from above—that you might wince and furl your brow; pull your cock back and jerk off until you paint over their angelic faces.

But as you run your fingers through their hair, gently fuck the unholy union where their soft, wet lips meet, the only thing curling off your tongue is an irreverent hiss, "fuck, girls, Jesus, I probably could cum like this." You reach forward, and plant a hand on Yujin’s ass, watching her soft skin ripple at the impact—she just squeals when you do it again, harder. "Fuck."

"Don’t," Wonyoung snaps. "That’d be, like, a total waste." She gets her fingers on your balls, and tells Yujin, breath hot and kissing the skin of your cock, "now watch me sweetheart. You start first, here, slow at the tip—"

The little kiss that Wonyoung plants at the end of your cock quietly makes it way down and around your shaft, and then it’s her tongue reaching beyond her lips to swirl and twist about your sensitive shaft. Yujin takes a mental note, grinning and teasing her fingernails across your stomach like she’s was watching it all for the first time, whenever Wonyoung makes you groan.

"Well, aren’t you lucky," Yujin tells you, as she studies the masterclass that is Wonyoung sucking cock. She strokes you every now and again, bringing her own hands into a cadence that matches how Wonyoung fucks you with her lips, even if it’s almost an afterthought.

"Her pussy’s better," you admit, even if she can easily get you shaking and cumming with only her tongue. Railing your girlfriend’s cunt is a completely different kind of pleasure, but you’re not one to look a gift horse in the mouth or the lips or wherever it is your cock is being serviced—it’s ecstatic perhaps, diffuse, expressive, the way Wonyoung takes you in her mouth. She twists. She laps. Her cheeks hollow and she sucks. In the right hands—and Wonyoung is absolutely on that list—you feel intensely wanted, intensely taken care of and it makes your balls ache, your cock twitch.

"I can feel you throbbing," Yujin says, eyes beaming up at you and swiveling her hips about, ass waving ever-so-raised in the air above Wonyoung’s bed sheets—that’s an image you’ll tuck away, be sure to return to.

"Yeah," you manage, and you’re reeling when both girls get their fingers locked around your shaft, pumping you in a perfectly fucked harmony. "It feels, ugh, incredible."

"If she isn’t every bit as dangerous when she goes down on me." Yujin laughs, knowing that Wonyoung’s mouth is warm and wet and perfect. Knowing that she’s begging for stern recourse when she fists a handful of her luscious dark hair and pushes your girlfriend’s bobbing head down nearly to the base of your cock, continues to egg her on while making her choke and spit, "oh, good girl, suck that cock, you lovely, pristine, whore—"

The ire in Wonyoung’s face—brow twisting and eyes narrowed—says it all when she pulls herself off you. There’s a visible tear or two forming on the end of her long lashes and a hand pumping your shaft to make sure you’re hard and every bit as unyielding for Yujin’s throat. "Fuck. I suppose you don’t have to learn anything, you brat."

You catch the devilish glimmer in Wonyoung’s eyes as your eyes meet, and the corners of her mouth twist into this smug smile as she tumbles backward and lands at Yujin’s hips—gets them propped up and her face between her legs.

"Oh fuck," Yujin says as the realization comes to her, in the breath before you get your hands in her hair and slip her mouth around your shaft. Her tongue flutters beneath the sensitive belly of your cock, nothing controlled or meticulous, but to her credit, you’re also punching straight to the back of her throat, these choked sounds spilling up from her chest each time your cockhead brushes with the hot, wet space you can only reach from her perfectly slacked jaw.

Now you have to pay close attention to something that’s going to seem obvious at first: the two girls are nothing alike. Wonyoung has you mapped out and understood to a dangerous degree, can make you cum and wail and gnash your teeth (the kind of skillful tonguework that now has Yujin humming and moaning onto your cock as it currently arrives between her thighs), but the thing about Yujin—her mouth is simply made for fucking—as if each time you socket your cock away in her throat, she’s gained something for it, simply delighted, finds her calling, her purpose, and it gets her reaching her fingers around you, splayed out into the back of your thighs to reel you into her lips again.

Forced to answer—and goodness, you hope the day never comes—it’s impossible to pass up.

She shuts her eyes tight when you draw your hips back, swirls her tongue over where you ache and throb, and relaxes to let you deep into her again. You grunt, she chokes, you might both be tearing up—the wet sounds from both your crotches totaling to a sum greater than its parts—this is pleasure exquisite, and if you’re considering your vices, your virtues, neither of you can quite figure out what happened to temperance.

"Fuck me, Yujin, your mouth," you say, sinking your teeth into your lip until it stings, and your moans start to come out in involuntary dribbles. It’s hard not to note how the corners of Yujin’s mouth smirk as it opens wider to take you in between her lips, granting you more warmth and wetness to fuck your length into. There’s a clear irony in the way you brush those stray hairs out of her face, keeping her image elegant and faultless; you’re aware of it, all at odds at the way you grip her hair into a rough pony tail and fuck your length into her—pull your hips back and guide her down onto your shaft again.

"Feels so fucking good," you repeat, breath heavy at the beck and call of your cock lodged deep in Yujin’s mouth. She coughs again, and you can feel the wet slick of her spit lather you, find you that much easier to take. When you pause, because god knows if you keep at it, you’ll be flooding her throat with a hot load—one that’s been building and aching since the girl pounced on you in the living room and decided to stroke you through your shorts and get you all hard and needy—she simply picks up the slack, gets her hand on your shaft and pumps and twists you until you’re making a promise, "gonna cum, god, keep doing that, wanna cum in your little mouth."

Only thing is, Wonyoung finds a loose thread and pulls Yujin apart first. It’s clear as anything: that fucking tongue is made for eating cunt. Each lick against Yujin’s aching entrance returns her further and further to the basics—breaks her apart slowly so that Wonyoung might know just exactly how to put her back together and do it again.

And you’re left so very needing when she lifts her face off you, letting these loud, harsh gasps replace the sound of her lips around your cock, the sound of you fucking her face and getting spit and pre-cum all over your waist, her chin—it’s a mess. It’s hot and sinful and you’re biting hard into your lip that you might find some way to resolve the issue of needing a hole to fuck your cum into. A total mess.

You watch her spine arch magnificently, thighs shaking and quivering, head thrown back into the fireworks of it all—Wonyoung doesn’t even surface, she’s not there to bring the girl to her orgasm and then cuddle her after, drift away in the pillow talk and the gentle petting and kissing; she continues licking hard and fast still at the girl’s pussy, fingers gliding through the aftermath of it all while she’s sensitive and aching. Her eyelids are softly shut, peering out just over the beautiful mound that is Yujin’s ass while the girl writhing about has hers clenched tight, the over stimulation become too much to bear.

"Oh god, fuck, fuck, oh fuck," she whines, collapsing into the sheets, muscles tensing and freezing until her mouth hangs open—the dam within her at a point that cannot do anything other than simply break.

Wonyoung doesn’t even flinch. You can hear her fingers get messy and sloppy as they continue to fuck Yujin’s tight hole while she steadies the girl with another hand on her waist. It’s always been the truth: Yujin loves to be manhandled, yearns for it, even if it’s Wonyoung’s dainty wrists holding her in place—so it’s to her added pleasure when you swing yourself over the bed and tell your girlfriend you’re going to get your cock in Yujin’s cunt too.

"Gonna fuck her," you spit, pulling Wonyoung up off the quivering, aching mess that is Yujin on the bed. Her body is practically limp, all those muscles she’d spend hours in the gym working to maintain do nothing beyond lie still for you and only jump back to life at the feeling of your cock slapping her ass, labor to voice out a silent cry when you point it towards her sopping, needy cunt.

"Remember," Wonyoung says with an obvious lethality in her voice—oh, she can kill, do it all with a smile—still wiping Yujin’s slick from her mouth with the back of her wrist, "she asked for this."

You curl over her rear and the soft skin of her ass presses into your hips, spreads out across your stomach—it’ll be red and aching and she’ll love you for it. A kiss at her temple, and the promises you’re whispering in her ear make her fucking whimper, "Gonna cum in you, babe. Gonna get you all worked up and cumming again and clenching down on me and I’m gonna fuck this load deep into you."

Yujin worries her lip between her teeth as she nods and mewls like the fucked mess she is. Thoughts sent spiraling at the idea of your hard shaft railing between her legs, the promise of being packed full with your cum—and the kiss your cock makes against her as you align yourself between her wet lips sees her nearly collapse. She just rasps, breath broken and uneasy and you’re not even inside her yet, "Yes, please—need it."

"Oh my god—" Yujin gasps out loud as you slip inside her. She’s not incoherent yet, but all that’s got to be close; you can feel it.

"Hey, don’t cum right away," Wonyoung tells you, "I want to see her cream all over that cock of yours, show me how you fucking ruin her."

It’s a tall order, sinking into the overwhelming tight heat that is Yujin’s soaked cunt. She takes you easily, all worked up and fucked from Wonyoung’s mouth, the expertise of her tongue against her clit—almost too easily. "Fuck, wanna cum," you breathe, curses and expletives flowing like water.

"Oh, I’m sure you will," Wonyoung says from behind you, lips pursed at the sharp blade of your shoulder as she massages circles into your hips. "But you know how it is: only good girls get cum in their pussy. Don’t make love to her. Fuck her. Use her."

It’s almost insane that you listen, that you let this girl who weighs half of what you do sit in the saddle—oh, because how easily you can get Wonyoung underneath you and fucked and falling apart just as fast, get your fingerprints up around her the hollow of her throat until she begs you to make her cum—insane that you’re not starting from where you left off in Yujin’s mouth, pounding and fucking with that selfish, industrious alacrity. That in spite of it all, your hips draw back, and when they dive back in, it’s no more than a slow, methodical, purposeful thrust. Yujin simply fucking keens as you stretch out her cunt, and the sensation overwhelms her, filled so perfectly that all she can do is sink her face into the pillows.

"That’s it, face down, ass up, like a good slut," Wonyoung croons from over your shoulder, voice growling into something dangerous. "Nice and slow, really make her feel it."

You’re still cooling down from the moments that had you almost unspooling and unloading ropes of cum into Yujin’s mouth, but the girl you’re fucking is on the other side of all that, turned the page and blissfully quivering and still in the high that had spilled her slick all over your girlfriend’s chin. You adjust her between your hands, gripped firmly onto her waist—noticeably narrow and tiny to the point that says, oh, you can break her, but then there’s the round ass that cushions your thrusts into her cunt, and it reminds you, oh,she can take more. A lovely paradox to ram your cock into.

"It’s so good, so good, just like that," Yujin keeps repeating, throwing herself back into you and chasing her own high. There’s all this desire, all that neediness, she’s simply incorrigible—and her anticipation begins to consume her. "Yes, yes, yes—oh my god."

"You’re fucking creaming," you tell her, like she doesn’t know it, and you slap her perfect ass so hard she yelps. Massage circles into it before getting your hand sunk into the other cheek. All three of you know it: her ass is fucking delightful. You could get lost in those dimples that sit just below where her waist flares into those wide hips (and you most certainly have). All the curves about this canvas of beautiful satin-smooth skin. As you get your voice out to remind her how stunningly beautiful she is, start telling her to cum on your cock, Yujin practically screams.

Sure, sometimes it may appear like you’re being too rough, too risky, that you’re causing harm, doing damage, and you get how it can come to seem that way, given how you’ve got her body writhing beneath you, fucked and mewling, but here’s the thing you have to remember, and Yujin said it herself: she’s built for it.

"You gonna fill me?" Yujin asks, gasping for air like she’s just washed up on shore, "Gonna make me your cumdump, daddy? Go ahead, do it—fucking use me."

Your thumb is searing its print harsh into her jaw, and you pull her up into your mouth so that your words are clear and painfully articulate, "needy brat."

Her words come out shaky, punctuated by the way you pound her into the mattress, into nothing less than submission. "You—love—this—needy—brat."

She knows it, you know it, because it’s all too true. Because you are ramming, bulldozing, ruining her aching hole; every stab into her tight cunt has her curves rippling and her voice shattering into a million pieces. She moans hard when you bottom out inside her.

"Please." Starts sputtering when you do it again. "I can feel you so fucking deep."

"There you go," Wonyoung says, the sultry sound in her voice tickling the shell of your ear, "fuck her like she deserves, look… she needs it so so bad."

"Hey, I know how to fuck," you curse, eyes rolling back over your shoulder, and it’s a mistake. Before you can continue the thought, Wonyoung kisses you hard—hungrily licking and pulling at your lips like she needs you more than girl at the end of your cock. She’s got her hands all over your chest, your sides, fingernails scraping light across your skin and relishing the motion of you pounding her mess of a friend, the way you’re slicing her voice to ribbons and flooding her throat with wanton moans and squeals and whimpers. And when you’ve got your shaft so deep in Yujin’s perfect cunt that your lips part briefly to make some foreign noise of your own, Wonyoung seizes the chance for what it is, slides her tongue right between them. Nothing shy or reserved about it.

"Mmnnph." She can probably feel your heart racing, feel you coming higher and higher, feel the way you shudder when you get Yujin’s hips further elevated in your grip, settling fast into this angle that lets you stab deeper, fuck harder. But with the two of you briefly silenced, it becomes just the soundtrack of your cock boring hard into Yujin—the harsh thrust of your hips against that fucking perfect ass, the way she’s whimpering in delight—that you have to hold onto, keep yourself distracted from the wet and blistering heat you bury into each time you rail into her needy cunt.

"Oh, of course you do," Wonyoung finally breathes against your lips, a dangerous smile forming on her own, "Why don’t you remind the girl moaning and creaming all over your cock. She’s practically sobbing. Go on, I think she’s earned it."

The way you have Yujin remember it, the pleasure she can only find at the end of your open palm, arrives quickly and without warning—when you bring a hand down onto her ass cheek, print outlined in white and quickly fading, Yujin’s voice leaks out, shattered: "Oh fuck, please." She slides her hands forward, back arching into a curve that makes you dizzy, ass still presenting and proffering toward you like it’s her duty. And whether it’s purposeful or not, she clings to the word like it’s her lifeline, no more suitable to moor herself to than the sheets she bundles and pinches between her fingers, "please, please, I just need… please…"

"Look at that, you’re fucking owning her pussy," Wonyoung purrs, noticing it well before either of you, too distracted in the throes of your own sex to see the signal flares, the warning signs laid out in front of you, Yujin’s knees fucking wobbling and her hips chasing back as you draw your cock out of her cunt. "She’s going to cum again."

"N-Need more… please… more… harder…"

And at the end of a long, deep thrust into her wet, well-fucked cunt, she absolutely does.

"Cumming," she pants, twice.

It’s every bit as incredible as ever, her mouth hung open and barely able to form the words she needs. Your hand is flush against her ass again, meeting the rosy pink glow of that growing stain, and this time Yujin doesn’t simply bounce back, elastic, resilient. She starts to babble, curses and names and thoughts all trading meaning and purpose as she crashes her whole body to the bed—clenches tight around your cock to the point that it’s a challenge to keep yourself between her slick thighs and buried deep between her ass cheeks as you fuck relentlessly into her prone form—however the extent to which it slows your effort, if any, is unclear.

"God fuck, I can’t get enough of you, Yujin, your little cunt is just incredible," you rasp, teeth gritting as your limbs spill over the top of her exhausted body—before a groan, loud and obscene, has the broken edges in your graveling voice striking at a vein laid deep within her, something foundational and base and instinctual:

"Cum, want you to cum, want to feel you—"

"On your back, dear," Wonyoung says flatly, taking enjoyment in the way she writhes beneath you. "Let him fuck you nice and deep, Yujin."

Yujin is nothing if not compliant, putting up no fuss as you turn her hips in your hands, get on her back and those long legs onto your shoulders. You fill her to the hilt. Make her blather and gasp, mewling, moaning, collapsing. You’ve got fingers leaving bruises in her thighs like she’s yours and always will be and she fucking loves it.

"Fuck her hard, love," Wonyoung urges, eager to see her fall further from grace. "Show her how she needs your hard cock. Show her what a slut she really is."

You can’t help but study the way Yujin holds her mouth agape, frozen in delight, tiny breaths punched out at increasingly short interval on the end of your sharp thrusts—incapable of retaliation, some cute quip or needling retort uncharacteristically absent—Wonyoung makes the same observation, swings her thighs over the girl’s face, gets her pussy resting on her lips and lifts a sweetly challenging eyebrow at your perplexed expression.

"Oh? What is it? No good?" she asks, rubbing her fingers into Yujin’s tits, holding them in place while you pound at her hot cunt. "You going to tell me you want to kiss her while you get off and fill her up?"

"If you don’t mind," you choke, uncrossing Yujin’s legs from in front of your chest— because yeah, too tight.

"Ugh, how cute and wholesome is that." Wonyoung slides backward, reaches down to get a kiss in of her own before whispering, "He treats you so good—so open your legs wide for him darling, show him what a good little fuckhole you can be."

You watch as she closes her eyes, pulls at the sheets. She’s unbelievably pretty, and even hotter when she’s all fucked and bothered—blush burning in her cheeks and sweat building at her brow, lips parting and muttering: "Love that… love it… please, you own me. I belong to you, please just fuck me."

Yujin’s such a ruined mess and Wonyoung is enamored with the fact that you make her way, legs opening and wide and letting you sink in. The way you’re moaning together—it’s filthy, it’s indulgent, it’s so unbelievably hot.

Invested now in seeing how it all comes apart, Wonyoung’s holding Yujin still as you bring her knees to her shoulders, nearly fold the girl in half and get her bent at an obscene angle—bottoming out into her pussy, fucking her hard into the springs of Wonyoung’s mattress and crossing those familiar boundaries, the precipice of your own undoing. There’s no backing out. You’re going to cum, going to fucking use Yujin like the perfect little cumdump Wonyoung reminds you she is, and there’s no other way you’d have it.

Your girlfriend’s just dragging her fingers through Yujin’s hair, thumb rubbing gently at her cheek, caring and intimate even though her words cut deep, slice straight to the bone, "Hey, do you know why they call it a mating press?"—there’s no time wasted getting her fingers between your balls, knows with a touch here, a touch there, she can get you to fucking explode—"He’s gonna cum so deep in you baby, gonna fill you up, gonna breed you."

Fuck, you are shaking. Her pussy clenches, grips, and it’s just that good.

"Please, please, I want to feel it. Need to feel you fucking burst." Yujin’s got her palms flat on your stomach, bracing herself, just whimpers in a half response—too raw to be a grunt, too shaky to be a cry of triumph—sounds effortlessly elated all the same as she makes a series of tiny nods, pleading, do it.

"That’s right, take what’s yours," Wonyoung says into your ear, clearly holding back a laugh at the sight of your depravity—still too poised and composed for your taste, but it’s a bridge too far to care. "Do it. Cum. Just fucking use her."

It’s only a handful of pernicious strokes that make it happen. Really, you can count them—one, two… five… six… seven… eleven—Yujin’s breathing in fits and starts at the end of each one. At Wonyoung’s command, that light squeeze from her slender fingers, you’re there: crashing your mouth onto the girl beneath you, kissing Yujin hard and moaning brazen into her lips. They’re soft and cool to the touch even though her breath is heated and hazarded by the way you’re pumping cum into her cunt, fucking it deeper inside her as you continue to thrust and pound and use her like a toy—Yujin barely manages to moan back; she’s yours; you’re hers; the two of you both so absolutely spent, dismantled, fucked.

(Honestly, you spill like it’s the first time in weeks, like Wonyoung hadn’t milked a load out of you and onto her flat tummy with her hands just earlier this morning, and you’ve got hot cum pooling deep in Yujin’s pussy, leaking down her thighs, and making you nearly slip out from between her legs.

Yujin’s hands are soft on your hips, those small movements pulling you somehow closer into her fucked, exhausted, collapsed body; Wonyoung’s fixing your hair, thumb along your spine, to the nape of your neck and rubbing as if to say, you fucked her so good sweetheart.

It’s absolute and total bliss.

The important thing here is not how long you lay there before Wonyoung gets her dangerous fingers back inside Yujin—scoops your cum out from her cunt and slips it between her lips—only that it’s warm and hot and perfect and you wouldn’t mind if you never left.)

"Because it’s fucking sensitive," you tell Wonyoung, and your eyes flick up to the whine in the shower’s pipes coming to a sudden stop, the glass door sliding in its track.

"I don’t care."

Wonyoung clambers across your legs, reclaiming your attention as she settles her weight onto your thighs with little to no fanfare. You barely have the time to register her touch across your abs before it’s gone again, and there’s no hiding the lethal quirk shadowing in at the corner of her lip when she ruts herself against your hips, glides herself over your shaft and tells you, "You’re going to fuck me."

Even if it’s the usual fair—you laying there, just under Wonyoung’s weight, all her milky soft skin spilling on top of you—she’s perfect in so many ways. In your arms, in your lap, on your cock, it’s hard to pick a favorite.

"What’s the matter?" she asks, smirking and holding back a laugh (that’s her brand, you’ve come to realize, manifested into something of a trademark; it’s killer), and she slaps your shaft twice against the concave flatness of her stomach. The visual of your stiff cock beneath her navel is absolutely everything: look at how far you’ll fill her, how much you’ll stretch her.

"Oh surely you didn’t think I was going to let you call it quits?" Wonyoung pumps her fingers up and down your length once. Adds a little twist to the end of it when she starts to repeat the motion. "C’mon, now," she murmurs, half smiling against your temple because what a way to set the scene, "talk to me, wanna hear that pretty voice of yours baby."

"Haven’t been doing a whole lot of thinking if I’m being honest."

She laughs out loud. Postures herself, gets her hands raking through her hair, letting it cascade perfectly off her shoulders, her collarbones—makes sure that if you’re going to be fucked, it’ll be underneath the sheer image of perfection. "I’d suggest you keep at it then."

Both of you watched the girl you’d fucked into a hot mess stammer on about the shower as she made her way off the bed—got your heads pointed on an identical tilt when she strutted into the bathroom, cum still leaking down her thighs and her hips positively swaying. If Yujin had become liquid, malleable, in your hands, you’re about to fucking puddle in Wonyoung’s.

"You should hear how she talks about you," Wonyoung says, right before taking a beat to adjust, the serene and elegant lines in her face faltering for only a moment when she sits herself on your cock. "The girl just goes on and on about how amazing your cock is, how you make her cum, that heaven-sent look on your face when you’re ravaging her pussy—"

"Fuck," you hiss out, barely making it through the word’s elegant simplicity. Entering Wonyoung for the first time is always an experience. Wetter, hotter, impossibly tighter, with every inch, and it practically makes you shiver. Though, she hardly makes any notice of it beyond the self-satisfactory hum in her throat, that you’re frozen, dazed, coping with the fact that your world had straightened on its axis.

She lifts her hips up. Drops them back down on you. She’s hot and wet and so fucking incredible, you’re aching. The growl you finally let slip is something feral. Of course, Wonyoung just smiles, a million dollar look, and draws a circle across your chest with a fingertip.

"You know…" Her voice trails. "Sometimes I almost catch myself feeling jealous."

You swallow back on a drying moan. "Yeah?"

"But then I realize something every time."

Like there’s nothing to it, her hips sink onto you once more; it’s pain, it’s pleasure, it’s the wind right out of your fucking sails, and you’re so overcome with all of it when that saccharine sweetness in Wonyoung’s voice starts to dance through your thoughts. The very same instant she surrounds you again in her heat. It’s so surreal it’s fucking intoxicating.

"Oh, do tell," you barely manage to gasp out, reeling at the point of impact: her thighs flush against yours, clenching hard onto your cock. There’s never been a question; Yujin can drain you, but Wonyoung’s pussy is so hot, so silky-smooth-perfect, so criminally tight it finds you speechless. You, with all your charm and wit, silenced like it’s nothing.

"I get to fuck this cock."

You don’t even manage a strangled moan. Completely mute when she crashes onto you again. Envelops you in that tight, blistering heat.

"Whenever."

—and again.

"I."

—and again.

"Want."

Now it’s not like you should be surprised by any of it. On a scale of one to ten, Wonyoung is an eleven, though you imagine if you asked her, she’d give herself a twelve. The entitlement isn’t anything new, nor is it all too undeserved.

So, let me take care of you, is how she says it, which is a sort of comedy gold given the context. It makes her out to be some sort of saint, chasing some lofty and altruistic goal that has no care or regard for the knot twisting in her stomach, the fucking absolute neediness of her pussy leaking and creaming all over your waist.

"God—gah—you are so tight, Wonyoung, fuck."

You shoot your hands forward to get them on her tiny waist, brace yourself against the next bounce from her thighs, the insane grip she has on you. It’s a misstep; and it triggers a riposte. She executes flawlessly—gets your wrists pinned to the bed above your head—reminds you that she’s always in control, and starts to ride you in earnest.

"Let me," she repeats, twice, and you’re at her mercy, entirely doubtful you’ll receive any. She looks at the way you wince, the way you grovel; she softly sh-sh-sh’s you to silence, rolls her hips on you fast and hard and starts to fuck at a tempo that is for her. Her hand is on your jaw and her thumb drags along your lip when she asks you, quietly, "It’s better, right? You love fucking this pussy… need me so bad, don’t you? Tell me."

"The best," you say, voice drier than either of you expect. "So fucking good."

Even if you are hanging on by a thread, you figure she believes you. Because the smirk on her lips grows in intensity, its smolder just as damaging as the way she finds herself fucking you at that angle, that depth—gets her hands planted firm on your chest and sends your teeth into the raw swell of your lip. She holds you there, captive, and makes only the slightest motions; it’s no different than the way she’d take you in her fingers in the mornings—get you cumming and moaning beneath the sheets with these minute, focused touches.

"Ah, I can feel you. Feel you throbbing, aching. Need you to ride that edge, baby," Wonyoung rasps, letting nothing slip or falter in the way she moves—this entire litany of precise, meticulous movements her hips drag out along your shaft—and fuck. Okay. Okay.

Her hand cups the back of your neck. Urges you to sit up, and when you do, you’re at her chest, the soft skin mapping out along her collarbones. She leads you to her subtle cleavage, has you splitting with your nose, your lips, taste of salty sweat on your tongue. There’s the familiar lines of her body—the way the curves and edges of her lithe frame weave perfection, how they all come crashing down at once on your cock. That voice in your head telling you bite your cheek, clench your knuckles, because she’s far too much, she’s far too perfect, she’s everything—

"Oh, because of course." Yujin appears from around the bathroom door post wearing nothing but a towel tucked neatly beneath her arms, the effort at something like modesty a day late and a dollar short. Her hair is still damp, tied up above her shoulders, and she’d wiped all that ruined makeup from her eyes—she’s gorgeous as ever, and clearly a little annoyed that you two started again without her. Smirking, fingernail between her teeth she asks, "did watching your boyfriend fuck me get you all hot and bothered? Oh, I get it. You must be jealous."

—well, almost everything. It’s the fact that binds you all. Yujin simply cannot keep her mouth shut.

"Sit," Wonyoung says pointedly, and gestures at the chair beside the bed. "You are going sit and watch."

"And now you." Wonyoung holds your chin between her thumb and fingers—her eyes ablaze with an emblematic glimmer, that ever present noblesse oblige, and she’s got her words curling her off tongue, arriving like a dagger to your throat, "show her how you really fuck."

If you’re not looking closely, it’d be reasonable to assume there’s something present that catalyzes the following series of events: the ease with which you wrestle the reins away from the girl in your lap, some shift or another in the balance of power. It’s nothing like that. Even in those occasions where you’ve got Wonyoung folded beneath your weight, her face smashed into the pillows, or your hand up around her throat, it’s only ever because she invites it. So when you’ve reached around her tiny waist, gotten your fingerprints all over her hips and found the gentle curves of her slender body easy to move, to lift, to fuck, to dominate, to conquer—yes, you’re chipping away at that facade every time you glide upward, deep into Wonyoung’s cunt, forcing her shallow and ragged sighs to grow more frantic, more agitated, more needy. No, it doesn’t take her long to reach the point where her cheeks are flushed and she’s chasing her breath. None of it changes a thing. The way Wonyoung sees it, you belong to her.

"You—are dangerous," she murmurs against your mouth, lips slanting into a half-smile, and her ankles lock behind your waist.

When you get your hand in her hair, raking your fingers through those dark, smooth locks—gently pull back on it—you are presented with her neck, the gulp that travels through the hollow of her throat when you push your cock deep into her cunt. She’s giving it up to you: all this beautiful porcelain skin simply begging for your lips. Oh, you’ll leave bruises, you’ll make marks, those sinful reminders you’ll later come back to.

"Yeah, yes, fuck," she gasps, several times. Her eyelashes flutter each time your cock fills her completely—when you pull out and pull her hips down hard on you again.

Something must hit the right spot, because her legs tense up around your waist. The first time she cums, she’s all huffs and sharp draws of air. Unlike Yujin, there’s no herald or warning, but it’s still obvious as day. And it comes in waves: first a little shudder, then another. Her back arches into you, face falling into the nook between your neck and shoulder, and she begins coming perfectly undone. She’s sweating, her cheeks are so red, and she can’t stop digging her nails into your back. Princess, you tease dangerously into her throat, and she’s gone, a total wreck.

You expect something, anything, from Yujin—there’s never been a better chance to goad and spur the girl practically melting to a puddle in your lap. But as you fuck through the torrid collapse of Wonyoung’s orgasm, the only thing you hear is that slight whimper from beside the bed. Even though her knees are closed, towel stuck between them, you see the hand she has playing between her thighs.

"Look at that," you start, still moving and gliding into the fucked mess of a lapful that is your girlfriend. "Yujin’s touching herself. You look so good getting fucked—look so fucking pretty on my cock, sweetheart, it’s driving her crazy. She can’t help herself."

Wonyoung just sighs, gets arms over your shoulders and her body even tighter against you.

"Do you think she’d like watching me fuck you from behind? Get your perfect mouth on that needy cunt of hers—what do you think of that princess? I bet she’d fucking lose it."

"And have her… watch you… fuck my ass," Wonyoung pants, and the sharp gasp that suddenly fills the room is priceless. The three of you might be inseparable, but there’s no lack of secrets to hide, stories to tell.

Though it’s a thread to follow for another time, because when you swing your legs off the bed, lift Wonyoung’s slender frame into your arms, get your hands under her thighs and her ass spilling through your fingers, and start fucking her—truly fucking her—she nearly cums again. There’s less distance to fall, certainly less composure to break, and as she starts to clench and tremor around your cock, she finds her voice rasping, begging, "please, I want it—make me cum again, please make me cum again."

It’s Wonyoung’s long legs wrapped perfectly around you. It’s the way she loses control of her breath, gasping as you fuck your length into the mind-numbing intensity of her little, sopping cunt. You wouldn’t trade it for anything, the fact that she’s practically royalty and she’s a fucking mess and she’s cumming all over your cock.

"Jesus," Yujin mutters, "You’re making her cream so fucking bad. She’s so close, fuck her harder, fuck our little princess like she deserves—pound her like she needs."

Wonyoung raises her face, eyes cast in yours, these beautiful pools of earthy gray, to a long silence; a real silence, without even the hint of a muttered curse or blather about your name—she seems completely overcome, overwhelmed, overindulged. There’s a tiny tug at a smile in her lips, and a volcanic rush of heat to her face. You recognize that look: the first you’d ever seen it was when she’d had first had your cock and simply could not believe it could ever feel that good, the way it could get her stomach smoldering and thoughts spinning. It’s half surprise. It’s half unadulterated lust. It’s all this want and need and it says without saying, fill me.

"That’s right," Yujin teases, "make her cum on your cock—"

"Yujin, why don’t you get on your knees for me, and have a taste," you offer, but you’re not really asking, hoisting Wonyoung’s exhausted, still-aching cunt off you enough for Yujin to obediently kneel in front of your cock and get her mouth all over you, licking and kissing Wonyoung’s slick right off your shaft.

As you draw yourself out of Wonyoung’s cunt—slip in seamlessly between Yujin’s lips—the girl suspended in your arms whines: that prospect of you not filling her so perfectly a reality too difficult to bear. She gasps. She shudders. And a sudden relief pours deluge-like through her ethereal visage when you knead fingers harshly into her ass, spread her legs wider over your elbows and place her back on your cock again. She’s so fucked and wet and needy that filling completely in one harsh motion barely even elicits more than wanton groan from her chest.

"Where are you—fuck, I," Wonyoung curses, drawing harsh breath and clenching down on you, onto the absence of your shape when you get your cock again into Yujin’s mouth. Her voice is still ragged and wrecked, but she holds tighter to you, asking, "Want you to—where are you going to—?"

In the back of Yujin’s throat if she’s not careful, is your first thought given the way her tongue flicks and flutters and teases the sensitive underbelly of your aching shaft. Deep in this cunt, follows logically right after that, gliding yourself back inside Wonyoung. If there was ever a lesson to be had in gluttony, in indulgence, this is probably it—and considering the third thought that grows quietly in the corner of your thoughts, you’re probably missing the mark.

"On your knees," you whisper against Wonyoung’s cheek, and she laughs silently to herself. Laughs because she knows exactly what you want. Because it’s hardly anything new, novel, or unique.

(For a brief moment, you consider the current circumstances; should probably consider donating to charity. Who could be so lucky? How often have you fucked both these girls, been the only man with the full pair? That you’re gripping a fist around your cock, stroking and pointing it at two open mouths, those wanting tongues—all doe-eyed and docile and they’re so fucking pretty and they’ll look pristine painted with your cum.)

Good lord, it’s a heavy handful: cum splattering all over Wonyoung’s face.

Never have you been one to play favorites; god only knows it’s a dangerous game, but that’s just how the ropes fly—into the valley of Wonyoung’s tongue, across a cheek, the bridge of her nose, she flinches as you get cum on her brow. Oh, she’s perfect, always has been, and you’ve got her marked and marred, debauched and debased with hot, creamy white like she’s never known another purpose.

"Fuck," you sputter, because you need to catch your breath.

There’s this heavy silence; you’re positively mesmerized. Yujin doesn’t even complain, just captures Wonyoung’s cum-covered face in her hands and brings her mouth to hers. Pulls at her lips with this hungry, consuming kiss until finally, lips smacking, she drags herself away—skates a finger across her cheek and slips more cum past Wonyoung’s lips.

"Did you say in your ass?" Yujin asks, brow twisting inquisitively over a glance that flicks up to you, and Wonyoung lets out this genuine laughter as she allows that kernel of shame to grow ever-so-slightly inside her.

"Yep."

Yujin laughs out loud, toothy grin come to bear. "You slut."

You are dozing, curled on your side, and your mind is supplying to you the loveliest dream—or perhaps a memory? It’s hard to tell, but it’s awfully vivid. Someone’s mouth on your own, warm… urgent; the feeling of arms wrapping around your neck, legs brushing about your waist, a familiar hand on your face. Some of it is fuzzy, unclear, as though the experience is coming to you through the fog of a rain-stained window, but then some of the details of the dream solidify, take shape, and you’re—

Is that lavender?

You blink, inhale sleepily, go to stretch, and that’s when everything starts to elucidate.

All around you is the pleasant smell of Wonyoung and Yujin; the feel of an arm around your waist; Yujin’s wavy curls tickling your nose; she’s got one leg hooked around yours and a thigh in your crotch in a way that feels awesome, feels too real to not be a dream, and—oh, wait a minute, that’s because it’s actually happening. Like, right now.

You’re snuggled up with the blankets on Wonyoung’s bed. With the two perfect forms on either side of you.

"Hey," says Yujin, half-sleepy, at half-volume to not wake up the sleeping beauty nuzzled up to your back. She grins because, lord, you are rock hard between your legs—something like an occupational hazard you promise—and she blinks her eyes slowly a few times as she gets her hand wrapped around you. It’s just one pump, it’s experimental, and she has a finger on her lips, whispering, "Shh, gotta be quiet."

The sun’s not quite trickling in through the blinds; you’ve probably all napped past dinner. As always, there’s a week ahead of you, and now you’re aching, sore, exhausted and you can’t refuse her even a bit. It’s a tale as old as well, not that old, but you figure that’s how your Sundays spend you.

#wonyoung smut #yujin smut #ive smut #kpop smut #male reader #kpop fanfic #ive yujin smut #ive wonyoung smut

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