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myafterlifeisbetterthenyours · 2 months

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The angelic peeps (I don’t mind who) with a sinner reader who had been mistaken as angel because of their form. Just them getting shooed inside heaven and ends up being like 👁️👄👁️????

Hell is forever! And Heaven... is also forever?

Adam

Now, when you'd appeared, you had no idea where you were, or what the actual fuck was happening.

So when you witnessed an angelic figure slashing down some creepy little creature, you naturally freaked out.

When you were approached by an angel, if that angel shopped at forever 21.

The Goth angels having their weapons drawn you'd freeze, the two freezing as they stared at you.

"The Hell are you doing here?" One would as with a disnctly feminine tone.

You, completely off guard, would blurt out. "I'mmm... lost?" You speak, feeling like you were playing the greatest gamble of your life.

The two would look at each other for several moments before one would sigh. "Great, a normie?"

"We sure they're a Winner?" The second Angel spoke.

"Mmmm." The second hummed. "You ever seen a Sinner look as good as them?"

The second placed a hand to her chin. "... Nah."

The first groaned, rubbing her oddly yellow Gray face. "If this gets out, this is gonna be a mountain of paperwork."

"Uhhh, we don't have paperwork." The other hummed, raising a brow.

"Yeah well, if Adam finds out about this he'll make us sign autographs for him for the next 3 weeks."

"I don't know why he does that, he's the only one that uses them."

As the two grumbled between each other, you just stood there, waiting and unsure of what to do as the two bitched back and forth.

After a while more of this, they'd snap to you.

"Alright, fine, come on then." The angel grumbled, walking over to you.

You didn't get to react before she suddenly grabbed you, flying up into the air and scaring the crap out of you. It took a minute but they flew you through the massive hole in the sky.

She placed you on the cushy cloud like road, the Angel hushing you as she snuck you past St. Peter, popping open the gate and shoving you inside.

"Look, you didn't see anything. I didnt see you. You didnt see us. Got it!?" She asked coldly.

You just nodded back, the woman glaring at you before shutting the gate, leaving you... somewhere.

That answer was quickly, well, answered, as turning around you found yourself in... Heaven.

Oh, well that's...

Wait?

HEAVEN!?

Did you just... luck your way into heaven?

Apparently you did as you were quickly welcomed into heaven, the populous eagerly welcoming you.

And well... it was Heaven!

Everything was fun and carefree and there was So. Much. Singing!

It'd be when you attended a rock show, you eagerly watching as Adam himself played lead, the whole thing incredible.

Youd somehow end up behind the scenes after the show, a variety of virtue Winners all flaunting over the Band members, especially Adam, the man surrounded by Winners.

Of course, your appearance instantly caught his attention, the man perking right up and the next thing you knew the man was all over you, the man boldly chatting you up.

Now, Adam was... well, he was a prick, but he had a charm to him when he w a s trying to be charming, the man a mix of complements and criticisms, the man always sure to play himself up.

Now, look, your not entirely proud, nor ashamed, but well... you fucked.

And admittedly... it was pretty good. Adam was a dick but, well, he knew how to use his... mostly.

And that's how you fucked the first man.

Now, you have no doubt his initial interest was all about your physical appearance, after all, your body had been what got you into heaven in the first place.

Now you'd think after that first night you'd never see the Man again, expecting to be another one of his 'conquests', before he moved along on.

Okay, so yeah, you had his number.

And yeah, he regularly called you up for a booty call.

But its not like you totally hung out after said booty calls. Eating takeout and casually chatting.

Or just laying on his belly as you scrolled your respective phones, neither of you saying anything as you just chilled.

And you totally didn't perk right up when you saw his caller ID, greeting him as 'dickmaster', the two of you flirting hard before you'd end up at his place.

And sure, you had a drawer at his place, and a pillow, not to mention a bathrobe.

...

Well fuck.

Okay, yeah, so you were, uh, 'going steady', not that the first man would admit as much, but yeah, things were, well, fun.

Sure Adam could be a dick, but with some strick words, and a smack across the face, the man was surprisingly apologetic. Like, he was still a dick, and an ardent one at that, but behind closed doors he was amazingly simple, the man quite chill as you enjoyed each other's company.

Now, you'd always kept your status as a sinner hidden, I mean, it's not like anyone suspected you, how could a sinner end up in heaven, am I right?

But you were in Hell, and well, he wasn't super open about it, but it was clear Adam detested the Sinners, the man proudly speaking on how much he despised them.

Your relationship would develope on for several months before he noticed something off with you.

"Where's your Halo?" He'd ask so causally after you'd both chewed down on some Chinese food.

You'd freeze, mind rushing as you thought up a valid excuse, going over the several you'd made up in a paranoid stupor.

"It... uh, it's kinda ugly, I keep it stored away."

The man stared at you for several minutes, before shrugging, the two of you going right back to how you were.

And so, you went on for several more months like this, growing even closer, spending a great amount of time with each other.

It'd be one day as the man goes on and on about 'filthy sinners' you unsure how to react, as on one hand you kinda were a sinner, but on the other you could go the rest of eternity without ever broaching the subject.

But well, why make things easy.

So you brought it up, asking him what he really though.

Unsurprisingly, the man had not a kind word about them, so you asked cooly what if you were a sinner?

Of course, you asked it in a flirty tone, the two of you quickly getting playful.

He'd tell you how he'd have to 'punish' you, giving you his 'righteous sword', the two of you having some especially nasty sex.

Your life was good, you and Adam got closer and closer, to the point you ended up moving in with him.

Everything was perfect... and then it wasn't.

You'd been found out. Over something so simple too.

Your blood.

You'd cut your finger.

You bled.

Their blood was gold.

Yours wasn't.

It hadn't come up, but one of the seraphim noticed, and... well.

The courtroom was something.

Adam losing his shit over this whole thing, while you just kept quiet.

Eventually you'd confess, telling them how you'd been ushered in during an extermination, you honestly not even sure where you were supposed to be.

You'd apologise to Adam, in tears as you told him you loved him, and that you never meant to cause any of this.

Now, it wasn't just a one sided argument, Adam as well as many of your friends came to your defence, many pointing out how you'd fit right in in heaven for ages, and now all of a sudden it was an issue?

That would certainly cause some issue amongst Heavens leadership.

Adam was especially vocal, saying he hated Sinners more than anybody but you clearly weren't like the other scum that get spit out into Hell, you were... special.

Now, there's 2 ways this could go.

1. Heaven simply doesn't care, expelling you from Heaven leaving your friends and Adam to fight for you. I doubt Adam would fall for you, but he'd certainly keep fighting for you, ironically, in this timeline, Adam would 100% be on Charlie's side. Man absolutely all for redemption.

Especially if you joined the hotel, you kinda being proof Sinners could live in heaven.

It'd be quite the star crossed lovers situation, the both of you from different worlds, doing your absolute best to be reunited.

Or 2. You'd be put under 'house arrest', you being restricted to a very limit area, I.e. Adams apartment, the two of you under guard most hours of the day while they 'figured things out'.

And youd basically spend all your time with Adam, the two of you growing even closer, and again, he'd be on Charlie's side this time around, man eager not so much to work with Hell, but to see if there was a way to get you in heaven permanently, he'd bloody well fight for it.

Emily

Showing up to heaven, you'd quite literally run into her, meeting Emily, the young Seraphim eager and always happy to meet a new resident of heaven.

Especially one as appealing to the eyes as you were.

You'd have some fun moments, the girl eagerly showing you around.

Funnily enough, that'd keep happening.

You'd find her randomly, or she'd find you, the two of you bumping into each other often as she showed somebody around.

And so, you'd tag along, the two of you often showing new residents the ins and outs of heaven. You gaining quite a large pool of friends for your efforts.

The two of you would steadily grow closer through this, spending lots of time together, you'd developed a fairly flirty relationship, as while she was undoubtedly innocent and pure, she wasn't above some playful flirting, though she always kept it wholesomely chaste.

You'd spend more and more time together,

Spending long periods together, you'd grow closer and closer, you and Emily developing quite the... ship.

I say 'ship' cause it wasn't quite a friendship, nor a relationship. You were in a limbo between the two.

It'd be one day after you stood up for her with a particularly rude arrival, the man seemingly loosing his mind.

Not all too odd. People had very different reactions to finding out they're dead.

But it'd be as you helped her too her feet, gently cupping her face that you'd ask her out on a date. Like, a date-date, kinda date.

And with that adorable blush of hers, she'd agree.

It was a simple affair.

You'd take her to dinner, a simple, humble dinner. Nothing crazy or over the top, just an intimate little thing.

Just like your relationship.

And after walking her home, you started dating with a warm kiss, and not much really changed.

You still spent all day together, showing arrivals around and just having fun.

But now~ you got to kiss. And you had date nights. Your relationship and romance only growing stronger by the day.

You'd actually end up telling Emily about you being a sinner.

It'd be something you wanted to tell her for ages, you telling her about everything.

How you were in Hell, and ended up in heaven, and you'd been there for so long you honestly didn't know where you belonged.

Emily of course was sooooo supportive, the woman promising to keep your secret, swearing to protect you.

You'd honestly live a very happy life with her, the two of you happy with just each other, even as you hid your past, constantly paranoid somebody would realise it one day.

Now there's kind of two ways this could go.

The first; your found out and Emily gets exposed for hiding you. A very serious action, though teeechically not illegal as it'd never been done before.

But still, knowingly hiding a sinner was a serious offence.

So, it could go two ways, either heaven realises that you aren't this evil monster, likely confining you to your home, monitoring you at all hours, likely only letting Emily visit.

It'd be tough, but upon Pentious' redemption the question of you being opened again, Emily being even more eager this time round.

Or they outright exile you, Emily potentially getting into trouble due to it.

Regardless of what happened, you and Emily would love each other, through thick and thin.

Lute

NOW!

I think we all know Lutes opinion on Sinners, an opinion she'd make sure you knew.And while it was a major insecurity for you, terrified she'd find out.

Of course, Lutes wouldn't believe it possible, you being a sinner. You were waaaaay to attractive to be some filthy Sinner.

Yet outside of that, you had such a passionate romance, the two of you doing many, MANY unholy deeds in the bedroom.

Your romance was... let's say physical.

Lute was a dominant individual, forced to be when dealing with Adam most days, as such, easily took charge of most situations.

Now, you'd keep your past hidden, naturally, not wanting to destroy your relationship.

The purges would be... a contentious point. The girl no doubt telling you, either directly or indirectly, and while she thought little of it, it would shake you, knowing the person you loved relished killing souls so avidly.

Lute... well, she'd certainly have a reaction to this.

Having the person she loved challenge her beliefs would leave her a little off guard, the woman forced to really reassess her beliefs.

Now, I don't see her genuinely changing those beliefs entirely, but I could see her toning them down, the woman maybe even a little compassionate to their plight.

Now... there's a reasonable chance Lute would figure out what you were, despite your good looks, the woman has first hand experience with Sinners, so she'd know far better then most on what a sinner looks like.

But she also wouldn't care too much to pay attention to what makes a sinner a 'sinner'.

But... well, it'd come out eventually.

Likely you telling her, confessing to her that your not sure if your supposed to be in Heaven or Hell, Lute completely caught off guard.

She'd likely outright ignore it, shrugging it off, believing it all a misunderstanding. And if you pushed the subject she'd shut you down, telling you not to talk about it.

But it'd be as you held her to your chest, the woman crying as she sat in your lap, arm missing.

You'd tell her your sorry, that you love her, but you were a sinner, and that you understood if she despised you, but you couldn't live a lie anymore.

And so, after caring for her, ensuring her arm was cared for, you'd turn yourself in

Ironically just as Pentious was reincarnated and well, the next step would be on Lute.

Hey y'all, I wanna thank you all for 4 THOUSAND FOLLOWERS!!! I am so honoured so many have deemed me good enough to follow.

(I do want to apologise for taking so long, I've been dealing with a tremendous amount of personal issues and haven't had much time for writing.)

But seriously, I wanna thank every last one of you for being here and supporting me. I love every last one of you and I hope my content has helped at least one of you feel better.

P.s. I would have done more angelic character, and might in the future, but I was drawing a blank and wanted to get this out asap.

#headcanon #x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel headcanon #hazbin hotel x reader #to my followers #hazbin hotel adam #adam x reader #emily x reader #hazbin hotel emily #hazbin hotel lute #lute x reader

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apomaro-mellow · 10 months

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Hospitals still weren't Eddie most favorite place to be, even though they had technically saved his life once. He didn't give doctors the credit though. No, he reserved that praise for his husband who had literally carried him through hell, holding his guts together.

But alas, he was still only human. And thus prone to human ailments. Which was why he was currently in a hospital bed, preparing for a tonsillectomy.

"Steve, my love, my muse", Eddie took his hand and kissed it. "Should I not return from this-"

"Oh shut up. It's a routine operation." Steve could tell he was being dramatic to cover up the fact that he was actually scared. "You'll be fine. In fact, I'm going down to the cafeteria right now. You're not getting just any ice cream. I'm gonna bring you back a whole sundae."

Steve looked to the rest of the band, who had come for moral support. "Watch him please. And don't let him fall to hysterics." He left out, really hoping he wouldn't come back to an Eddie in tears.

"Sooo", Grant started. "If you don't make it, who gets your house?"

Eddie's brow furrowed. "Uh, my husband, duh?"

"Okay, who gets your husband?", Gareth asked.

Eddie saw the cavalry arrive in the form of Steve's true soulmate. "Robiiiiin", he whined. "You have to protect Steve from these vultures", he hissed the last word.

"We're just trying to hash out who has dibs on Eddie's hot husband", Jeff said.

Robin pointed to herself. "I made it clear to Eddie when he proposed that should the marriage end, either naturally or by divorce, custody of Steve would revert back to me."

"Not exactly the answer I was looking for Bucks, but as long as you keep Steve out of another man's clutches, I won't haunt you from the grave."

"Actually, I plan on setting him up with the first wealthy guy he meets", Robin said. "Thanks to your fame, I've become accustomed to a certain lifestyle. And also, Steve doesn't know how to be single."

The other CC boys nodded sagely.

"All the more reason one of us should get him. We can take care of him", Grant said.

"I can't believe this. This is a goddamn coup!", Eddie shouted.

Steve returned, none the wiser to their conversation. "You won't believe this. The cafeteria has chocolate syrup AND nuts? Isn't that wild? You're gonna have the best sundae of your life, babe."

He took his seat right next to Eddie's bedside and kissed his forehead.

"Angel, we're surrounded by snakes and thieves", Eddie said deliriously.

"What are you talking about?", Steve asked.

Having only Eddie in his line of sight, he couldn't see the others behind him. So he didn't see Jeff making kissy faces, Gareth making a circle with his hand and sticking a finger through it repeatedly, or Grant making a V with his fingers and flapping his tongue between them.

"Those traitorous lechers covet what is mine. And not even Robin seeks to protect your virtue!", Eddie said, desperately reaching out for Steve.

Steve kept his voice even and calm, trying to soothe his husband from whatever delusion he was having when the doctor came in. This guy looked like he played a doctor on tv. Chiseled jaw with perfectly manicured facial hair.

"Good evening", he greeted.

"Hi", Steve said, voice a little breathy.

"Oh he's perfect", Robin said, reading her friend perfectly.

"I'm Dr. Morip, I'll be performing your operation today."

"Morip?", Eddie tilted his head.

"Yes, as in 'more ripped than you'." Then he flexed and busted out of his scrubs and swept Steve off his feet, ignoring the cries of the invalid on the bed.

Eddie was tossing and turning even as Steve shook his shoulders to wake him up.

"You were having a nightmare", Steve spoke softly in the dim lamp light of the hospital room. "Was it 86 again?"

"Steve!", Eddie clung to him as best as he could. "You didn't leave me for Dr. Morip!"

"Dr. Morip? Eddie, her name is Dr. Hudson. And she's married and in her sixties."

Everything caught up with Eddie as his brain became more lucid. He'd already had the operation. That had all been a dream. The tension released instantly as he realized he wasn't about to die on the table and Steve would be scooped up by opportunistic friends.

"You're mine, you know that?"

"Really? Is that why I'm hand-feeding you ice cream?", Steve teased, holding up a spoonful to Eddie's lips.

"I love you", Eddie said, voice muffled from the food and a little watery too.

"I know, you dope. Love you too."

#apo writes #stranger things #fanfiction #steddie #everybody loves steve

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capslocked · 1 year

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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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ddejavvu · 1 year

Note

could you write abt Spencer and reader finding out theyre having twins? ♥️

Morgan was thrilled to have the privilege of knowing your baby's gender before you did. You hadn't been aware of your pregnancy for weeks, attributing the morning sickness to a stomach bug that your friend had passed to you and passing off the slight weight gain as bloating. But Spencer had been surprisingly busy at work these past few months, and when you eventually realized that the last unprotected sex you'd had was around the time you'd started noticing these symptoms, you were both pretty convinced that it was an unplanned pregnancy.

It was difficult waiting to look at the ultrasound photos, and covering your eyes while the doctor checked on the health of your sweet baby was the worst part. But you wanted to announce both the pregnancy and the gender at the same time to the rest of the BAU, and Morgan was the first person you'd thought of to reveal the news. He'd been more than happy - smug, even - to be the first one to see any evidence of the little life inside of you, and he'd walked out of the doctor's office with you beaming bright enough to rival the sun.

Now, only one day after your first ultrasound, you're sitting around a table in Rossi's backyard. You're not sure how Morgan got Rossi to lend out his mansion without telling him about your pregnancy, but you suppose it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world if one more person knew. Really, you're more looking to make Garcia squeal so loud she sets off the neighbor's dog.

"Alright, alright," Derek taps his spoon against his glass. Garcia's eyes shoot over to him and she nearly jumps out of her chair, and you wonder if Derek had teased a surprise to her yet.

"There's something Mr. and Mrs. Reid want to tell you," He gestures to you, and Spencer looks to you for an introduction to the topic.

"Do you remember when I got sick a few months ago?" You glance around the table, and faces wrinkle in concern. You suppose everyone is expecting a horrible diagnosis, but they nod anyways.

"Yeah, Spence had to take off from work," JJ recalls, "Is everything okay? Did it come back?"

"Uh," You fiddle with your napkin, "No. Not really? Or- it sort of never left. And I won't be, uh, cured, for another few months."

"Was it a parasite?" Rossi wonders, brows furrowed.

"Well.." Spencer considers, "Technically? But, the good kind."

"The good kind of parasite..." Aaron repeats.

You can't stand the suspense, "I'm pregnant."

"Oh- oh!" There's a round of cheers throughout your guests, big beaming smiles and staccato claps that morph into bear hugs. Penelope giggles at the news, but you don't have time to ask if she's making fun of your sex life before Derek taps his glass again.

"Yes, okay, okay, fantastic work you two, but I'm not done."

Curious eyes turn towards him as he pulls a gift bag from beneath his seat, "I was selected to know the gender of the baby before any of you guys," He boasts, "And I've got a cute little outfit in this bag for the lucky baby."

"Let's see," You gush, "Open it, Spencer!"

Your husband's nimble fingers dig through layers of green tissue until they hit woven wool. He pulls out a blue-knit sweater vest, and his face morphs into a sweet smile.

"A boy!" He cheers, looking over at you with starry eyes, "Y/N, we're having a baby boy!"

"Oh," You gush, visions of tiny fingers and toes filling your mind, "Spencer, you're gonna be a boy dad!"

"Derek, please? Please can I do it now?" Penelope asks, effectively breaking you out of your reverie.

"Yes," Derek laughs, motioning her over to you, "Go ahead. Should'a known, patience is not your virtue."

"Shut up!" She gushes, yanking another bag from beneath her seat and racing over to you as best she can in heels on wet grass, "Y/N! A little something extra for mom."

"Oh," You gush, taking the bag from her, "You knew?"

"I needed her help," Derek explains, sorry that he'd spoiled your secret but rushing you to open the gift bag, 'Now hurry up!"

"Okay, okay!" You let out a breathy laugh, reaching into the tissue paper, "Y'know, I'm pregnant, you can't stress me- out..."

Your fingers hit tulle, and you pull out a pretty pink dress.

You're confused. Sure, girls can wear blue sweater vests, boys can wear pink dresses. But you'd assumed the colored clothing items pertaining to a gender reveal party would be fitting into more traditional gender roles for the sake of symbolism, and leave you with answers, not questions.

"Penelope?" You raise an eyebrow at her, and she grins gleefully at you.

"Twins!" She shrieks, "You're having twins! One boy, and one girl!"

Spencer drops the sweater in his hands.

"Twins," You repeat, mouth slowly falling open, 'Oh my god, there's two?"

"Twins," Spencer parrots, looking at your stomach with a growing grin, "Twins? There's two babies?"

"There's two babies," Penelope gushes, and Derek hands over an envelope of ultrasound photos, "You're gonna have two babies!"

"Three days ago we didn't even know there was one," Spencer marvels, and your hands tremble as you pull out the photos. There, clear as day on the grainy photo, are two outlines, one baby on the left and the other on the right.

"Oh my god," Spencer whispers, reaching over to brush his slender fingers over the photos, "Those are our babies."

"Those are our babies," You repeat, tears budding in your eyes, "Spencer, we're having twins."

"Congratulations, you two," JJ smiles sweetly at you from across the table, and Hotch and Rossi offer you similar well-wishes, "So Spencer, you're gonna put together two cribs?"

"I don't think it'll be safe for me to put together one," He remembers the time he'd tried fixing your broken kitchen chair, and your poor cat had made the mistake of jumping onto it. Needless to say, that incident produced not only a pile of wood, but an angry cat.

"I'll do it," Morgan chuckles, "I want both of your babies to make it into adulthood."

"And I'll buy two times the presents," Penelope promises, "But if they're anything like Reid, I might need help affording the two teeny tiny microscopes."

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid one-shot #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid headcanons #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid hc #spencer reid hcs #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid dialogue #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader fanfiction

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bruh-changbin · 11 months

Text

patience is a virtue

part 3 to invasion of privacy series

pairing: roommate!heeseung x afab reader

genre: smut, angst, minimal fluff (minors dni)

warnings: unprotected sex (be safe), use of the pull out method (do not do this), piv, tit sucking, nipple play, mutual masturbation, some indecent public acts, mentions of vomit, alcolohol consumption, heeseung is so bad at communicating it is actually physically painful, jake is still annoying and hoon is a film bro oh god

word count: 8.6k

a/n: pls don't gut me ik this took forever but i hope its worth it at least lawl enjoy yourselves (but not too much......) also someone needs to take ellipses away from me. also not proofread

read part 1 and part 2 first or else this won't make a ton of sense

[shithead]: you guys wanna come to the cave to play smash? i got some more of that indica and jay finally cleaned his bong 🙄

[grandfather]: come on dude it wasn’t even that dirty

[cullen tease]:..... no comment

[cullen tease]: but yea i’m down

[grandfather]: what about heeseung?

[shithead]: idk… it’s just been radio silence from him for like 3 days

[cullen tease]: yea what happened to him?

[grandfather]: well the last time we talked to him was right before he hung out with y/n sooo

[shithead]: no way

[shithead]: do you think she fucked him so hard he passed out for three whole days?

[cullen tease]: shut the fuck up jaeyun

[shithead]: i’m just saying!!! if i had a hot roommate like that i would gladly let her destroy me

[cullen tease]: that’s because you’re a man whore

[grandfather]: come on guys cut it out, you know how heeseung tends to get

[grandfather]: emotional

[cullen tease]: that’s the understatement of the year

[shithead]: wait what if…….

[shithead]: she killed him

[grandfather]: you’re an idiot

[shithead]: it’s a possibility! what if it’s like a jennifer’s body type situation

[cullen tease]: hold up, you’ve seen jennifer’s body?

[shithead]: duh… it has megan fox in it

[grandfather]: okay let's not stray from the situation at hand

[shithead]: wait hoon why is it so surprising that i’ve seen jennifer’s body?

[cullen tease]: i just didn’t peg you as the type of guy to enjoy films like that

[shithead]: what the fuck does that mean

[grandfather]: guys

[cullen tease]: dude come on, your favourite movie is grown ups 2

[shithead]: what’s wrong with grown ups 2?

[cullen tease]: what’s wrong with it is that it’s trash

[shithead]: are you fr? it is a cinematic masterpiece and i don’t appreciate you acting all high and mighty because you’re a fucking film major who likes boring and sad movies like the godfather or whatever

[grandfather]: can you two shut the fuck up? we need to figure out what’s going on with hee

[adult virgin]: i’m not dead

[cullen tease]: heeseung!

[grandfather]: heeseung!

[shithead]: heeseung! you’re alive!!!

[grandfather]: how you doin’ buddy?

[shithead]: yea what went down with you and sexy roomie at the drive-in? i just know the two of you got up to some freaky shit

[grandfather]: jaeyun i swear to god

[adult virgin]: i don’t wanna talk about it

[cullen tease]: uh oh

[shithead]: oh shit

[grandfather]: oh jeez

[shithead]: jay you question why we call you grandfather when you say shit like ‘oh jeez’

[grandfather]: now’s not the time jake

[cullen tease]: come on heeseung, i’m sure it wasn’t that bad

[adult virgin]: i’m never going on a date again

[shithead]: wait i thought you said it wasn’t a date???

[grandfather]: jake you are one text away from getting kicked out of this group chat

[cullen tease]: i say we kick him out now

[adult virgin]: can you guys please stop blowing up my phone?

[shithead]: no can do my friend

[shithead]: it’s time for an intervention

[adult virgin]: i’m good

[adult virgin]: the last thing i need right now is you guys screaming at me while i’m trying to cope

[shithead]: too late, jay’s already got the car running. i’m bringing weed!

[cullen tease]: i’ll bring the funyuns

[shithead]: see you soon hee!

[adult virgin]: guys fr i just wanna be alone

[adult virgin]: guys?

bang bang bang!!!

heeseung recoils when he hears his friends banging on his front door a mere 11 minutes after they said they were coming; a mere 11 minutes after he explicitly told them not to. he recoils even more when he hears you open the door for them.

“oh, hey y/n…” jay does nothing to try to hide his discontent when he sees you open the door and not his heartbroken friend.

jake, who’s lowkey wanted to bang you since heeseung first moved in with you, pays no mind to his friend's wariness and envelops you in a rib-crushing hug whilst shouting “i haven’t seen you in forever!!!!!”

“hey guys!” you say with a soft smile before patting jake on the shoulder in an attempt to let him know that he’s stealing all of your oxygen, “come in, can i get you anything?”

jay just scoffs, “no thanks y/n, we don’t need anything from you.”

a somewhat puzzled look makes its way onto your face, “ok… well heeseungs in his room if that’s what you’re here for.” you nonchalantly motion down the hall before returning to the kitchen, leaving the three boys alone in the foyer.

“damn jay, you could’ve been a little nicer. we still don’t know what even went down between them, remember?” sunghoon murmurs while leading the way to heeseungs bedroom.

“i guess we’re about to find out,” jay holds his breath before tentatively knocking on heeseungs door before opening it and stepping inside.

when heeseung sees his friends open his door and step into his room, he rolls over so his back is facing them. he thought he was very clear that he is not in the mood to talk. nevertheless, the three of them stride into his room like a boy band and close the door behind them. heeseung hopes they pay no mind to the piles and piles of bunched up kleenex littering his room that are all shrivelled up from his tears.

“heeeyyy buddy!” jay croons to his dishevelled friend as if he’s talking to a puppy or small child.

“damnnnn hee, that must’ve been some good pussy if it’s got you acting like this!!!” jake exclaims, which earns him an elbow in the ribs.

“didn’t i tell you guys not to come? i’m trying to latibulate in peace,” heeseung groans, his voice so monotonous and strained it sounds almost robotic.

“come on, you didn’t seriously think we were gonna listen to you, right?” sunghoon says matter-of-factly, his ebony bangs covering his eyes and making him look eerily mysterious.

heeseung just sighs. he feels his mattress shift underneath him and looks over to see that jay has taken a seat on the edge of his bed, his eyes full of what appears to be mostly concern, some disgust as he swipes a couple of dirty tissues onto the floor (he tries to cover this up with a crooked smile).

“sooo what happened?” jake breaks the silence and asks the question that’s sitting on the tip of everyone’s tongue. heeseung, now in a seated position, places his head between his knees and does his best to swallow his shame before retelling the event that took place a few days prior.

“well, we went to the drive-in…” he starts, voice muffled due to his head hanging low, “and at first it was fine, but then… an… intimate scene came on.”

sunghoon hangs his head at this, seemingly knowing where the story is going.

heeseung can’t bare to look at his friends faces as he proceeds, his cheeks ablaze with embarrassment as he recounts his unintentional virginity reveal, the two of you freaking it whilst surrounded by other movie goers, and the painful, painful silence that enveloped him for the rest of the night.

“and then she just… didn’t say anything. why the fuck didn’t she say anything???!!!!” he whines, his tone a complete 180 from what it was when he first spoke to his friends a short 3 minutes ago.

seemingly at a loss for words, jay just rests his hand on his friends shoulder, offering a gentle pat while sunghoon mumbles a quiet but heart-felt ‘beats me’ from where he’s leaning against heeseungs wall.

“females are so difficult to understand.”

“don’t say females jake, it makes you sound like an incel,” sunghoon suspires, the frayed ends of his hair fluttering in the process, “maybe she just thought you wanted to get it over with? or that you wanted something casual?”

“i don’t do casual.”

“okay, and how the fuck is she supposed to know that?” sunghoon retorts, defending you since you’re unable to defend yourself - jake subtly nods in agreeance.

“i don’t know! she’s way more emotionally intelligent than all of us combined so i thought that maybe she’d… pick up on it or something.” heeseung feels his energy depleting and he longs to simply curl up under his duvet and sleep the rest of the day away - or maybe the whole week actually.

“heeseung,” jay sympathizes, “we know you like y/n… but maybe it's just not gonna work out.”

jake interjects, “yea, and if she can’t see what an absolute package you are right now then maybe she never will! it’s her loss really,” he nods enthusiastically while looking at jay and sunghoon, prompting them to do the same - they do.

heeseung, with swollen cheeks and a bruised heart, can only offer a quiet “thanks guys” while wishing for the tears threatening to spill from the corners of his eyes to go away. he knows that moving on from you, whilst being extremely difficult, is the best thing to do.

after heeseungs feeble thanks, the room falls silent. so silent only that the hum of the a/c is the only detectable sound - that, and the steady inhales and exhales of the 4 boys trapped in heeseungs stuffy bedroom. someone exhales before the shuffling of feet and the creaking of floorboards can be heard. heeseung hardly has any time to react before something (or someone?) is flying through the air and is on track to land directly on top of him.

“DOG PILE ON HEESEUNG!!!” jake shouts while full-on launching himself onto heeseungs body, effectively squashing him into his mattress. the weight of his friend knocks the wind out of him and heeseung barely manages to croak “jaeyun what the fuc-” before the weight is doubled, then tripled as sunghoon and jay follow suit.

it’s hard to tell whose limbs belong to who as heeseungs friends tussle his hair and squeeze his cheeks (and crush his rib cage, but that’s besides the point) in an attempt to get their glum, heartbroken friend to cheer up. and, for the first time in days, a smile appears on heeseungs face.

order confirmed. you will be updated when your food is en route for delivery.

as if on cue, heeseung’s stomach lets out a cavernous growl. he pats it comfortingly as if to say ‘it’s ok, soon you’ll be filled to the brim with an ice cold baja blast and 2 crunch wrap supremes. just hold on a little longer.’

nothing quite like eating away all of your sorrows.

it’s easy to forget how pivotal a kitchen is in one’s everyday life until it’s stripped away from you like a baby from its mother. ok, maybe not stripped away. more like consciously avoiding it to make sure that you don’t have an awkward run in with your roommate who performed oral sex on you several days ago and is now sending you mixed signals. the thought of having to hold an actual conversation with you makes heeseungs skin crawl.

he’s been successfully avoiding you for 4 days now, ensuring that he only leaves his room when absolutely necessary - and only doing so when he’s positive that you’re in your room or out of the house. before exiting his bedroom he spends minutes with his ear pressed up to his flimsy bedroom door, making sure the coast is clear before making a break for it.

one may think he’s being extra. just talk to her for crying out loud! but heeseung has managed to convince himself that you think he’s bottom of the barrel scum; the last piece of bread that always gets tossed; the mosquito on your wall that you whack with a rolled up newspaper as soon as you see it.

trash!

and so, he spends his days rotting away in his bedroom, his mattress now donning a permanent indent of the shape of his body; his trash can overflowing with wrappers from taco bell and mcdonalds; his laptop struggling to keep up with all of the mind-numbing streaming of shitty television he’s been doing.

one time he gave into his hopeless romantic side and watched the notebook but it made him cry so hard he woke up with a migraine. another time he got an ad for top gun: maverick and he wanted to die. stupid top gun. stupid tom cruise. stupid miles teller with his stupid moustache. now, he sticks to scrolling through tik tok and watching reruns of below deck sailing yacht and survivor.

he can feel his eyes starting to get heavy when a vibration from his phone jolts him back to reality, scrambling to find the device that he so mindlessly tossed underneath his comforter. his fingers finally come in contact with it, and he peers at the lit-up screen.

your food has been delivered. receipt/tip available.

yes! it feels as if his stomach has been quite literally eating itself for the past half hour, so heeseung leaps up at the prospect of soon having food in his belly. in fact he’s so excited at the idea of his taco bell order waiting for him that the thought of doing his ritualistic check to make sure he won’t have a run-in with you completely slips his mind.

so, when he swings open his door and bolts down the hallway, head filled with nothing but thoughts of chowing down on a tortilla filled with meat, lettuce and cheese, his heart practically falls to his stomach when instead he almost literally runs into you. you, holding a glass of water with your eyes wide like a fawn, taking in heeseungs dishevelled appearance after not seeing him for over half a week.

shit.

shitshitshitshitshitshit.

this was not supposed to happen.

“heeseung!” you say with enthusiasm (and a bit of concern).

it is in this very moment that heeseung fully understands what a deer must feel like when falling in front of the headlights of an oncoming vehicle - frozen.

“uh…. heeey y/n.” his throat feels like it’s about to close. is he having an allergic reaction to you?

seeing as plan a (get his food and go back to his room while avoiding you all together) has fallen through, he attempts to resort to plan b: grab taco bell bag and run like hell back to the safety of his bedroom.

unfortunately plan b also falls through, for once he worms himself to the front door and grabs the slightly warm paper bag and drink left on his porch he whips around only to see you standing in front of him, blocking his path to the safe haven that is his musty bedroom, (he’s reminded of admiral ackbar in episode vi of star wars - ‘it’s a trap!!!’).

“wait, can we talk?” your face is one of disquietude, “i feel like you’ve been… avoiding me.”

upon hearing your concerns, heeseung does what he’s best at - playing dumb.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

your face quickly changes, brows furrowed and eyes slightly squinted as if to say ‘are you shitting me?’. in a split second it seems as if you’re able to read heeseung like an open book, much to his dismay, before you open your mouth to speak again.

“did… did what i do at the drive-in make you uncomfortable?”

“no…” more like what you didn’t do - profess your undying love and devotion to him with tears in your eyes while he reassures you that he feels the same way and the two of you ride off into the sunset on a horse and start a new life in venice or kyoto or somewhere romantic and secluded.

“okay, so then why are you acting so weird?”

“i’m… stressed. sooo stressed. classes are killing me and i have a huge paper due soon.” liar. he’s excelling in all of his classes and doesn’t have anything due for another 5 days.

“oh, well what’s it about? maybe i can help you!” you offer while taking a step towards him. usually his heart would be leaping at the prospect of the two of you having some one on one time even if it is for a class, but right now that’s the last thing he needs.

“it’s about….. shakespeare.”

“shakespeare? i thought you were an engineering major-”

“it’s an elective. i’m very interested in classical literature.” no he’s not.

“oh, nice. hey why are you talking so weirdly? you sound like siri when i ask her a question.”

that’s it. he needs to get out of this conversation before he raises any more suspicion.

“i’m way deep into the academic headspace. speaking of,” he motions towards his bedroom door with his index finger, “i need to get back to work.” more like he needs to wallow in his own self-pity.

“wait, can we talk more? i still feel like you’re not telling me something,” you say while looking like a kicked puppy, and heeseung tries to not fall into your glassy, pleading gaze.

“it’s fine y/n, i get it.” he thinks you’re the light of his life and you think of him as your loser roommate who was all whiny about being a virgin so you did what you needed to do to shut him up. case closed.

“get… what?”

heeseung doesn’t respond, doesn’t give you the time of day. he simply exits the kitchen and closes his bedroom door behind him. he spares no final glance behind him because he knows the sight of you standing there with a hurt and perplexed look on your face will have him crawling back to you on his hands and knees.

instead, he shuffles into bed and tries to focus on whatever he was watching on his laptop prior to the most painful conversation he’s ever had in his entire life, his now tepid crunch wrap sitting in his limp grasp.

salty crocodile tears start rolling down his cheeks for the nth time this week.

“i am gonna get sooo many bitches tonight.”

“you shouldn’t call women bitches jake, that’s rude.”

pre-gaming in the cave before going out is a must. the four guys play a couple rounds of pong and flip cup while jay and jake chug putrid pilsner’s and pabst blue ribbons while sunghoon and heeseung opt for a much more tame rum and coke.

tonight he’s being dragged to a place he seldom ventures: a club.

heeseung doesn’t really like clubs.

he prefers bars where he can sit and drink and talk to his friends instead of clubs where he has to (attempt to) dance and drink and shout over the blasting music to communicate with anyone. alas, jake was adamant on going to this one particular place downtown where apparently he got with 3 different girls in one night (everyone knows that’s definitely not true, but they continue to humour him).

furthermore, his friends have decided that the financial blow of cover fees and shots at a club is worth getting heeseung up and out of his frowsty bedroom that has somewhat turned into something you would see on an episode of hoarders, so tonight’s outing will be free (for him at least).

“okay hee,” jake grabs his friend by the shoulders and shakes him aggressively, as if they’re two football players about to head onto the field, “gimme the game plan for tonight broski.”

“i’m gonna forget about y/n, and i’m gonna find a pretty girl,” heeseung says in the most sportsmanlike manner he can conjure up, “and i’m gonna fu…… i’m gonna make love to her.”

jake simply shakes his head in dismay, “no heeseung, you’re gonna fuck her. got it? go ahead, say it.”

“i’m gonna…” his neck feels like it’s flaring up, “i can’t say it, it feels rude and misogynistic.”

“dude, girls like to get fucked. they think it’s hot!!! now say ‘fuck’,” jake attests before staring at heeseung expectantly.

“okay………………. fuck.”

“hell yea bro! fuck!” jay joins in while clapping heeseung on the back in support.

“yea, fuck!!!”

“FUCK!!!!!!” sunghoon joins as well.

“FUUUUUUCK!!!” heeseung screams. the liquor in his bloodstream, while not copious, is making him feel fuzzy.

and finally, jake closes it out with, “LETS GO FUCK SHIT UP BROS!!!!!!” before storming out of the door with sunghoon following suit.

jay swings a beefy arm around heeseungs blocky shoulders and drags him along, the two of them soon catching up to hoon and jake who are whooping and hollering about god knows what. in the back of heeseungs mind he wonders what he’s gotten himself into.

immediately upon arrival heeseung is reminded once again of his detestment for clubs. they’re too loud and ho, and impersonal.

the floors and walls are shaking with some throwback early 2000’s pop song and after about 10 seconds the soles of his shoes are already covered in sticky syrup from spilled drinks. he follows his friends into the sea of people trying to get drunk or trying to get laid or both.

in the midst of the crowd he brushes shoulders with a guy he swears he’s seen before, a tall brute guy with blonde hair tied into a man bun and a red flannel hugging his shoulders (who wears a flannel to a club?), but he can’t quite remember when and where they’ve crossed paths before.

as sunghoon shoulders his way to the bar to order a round of tequila shots, heeseung stays planted to his spot on the floor, his eyes scanning his surroundings and taking everything in to the best of his abilities considering that purple and blue LED lights are painting everyone and everything within the establishment.

his eyes make their way from the bar to the dance floor to a section of stand-up tables, where he finds a pretty girl in leather pants and a cheetah print corset top staring right back at him. when their gaze’s connect she flashes him a small smile, which he returns.

“jake,” heeseung smacks his friend’s shoulder, “that girl won’t stop staring at me.”

“see hee! we told you you’d pull someone.”

he smirks, then panics, “what should i do?”

“what’s going on?” sunghoon turns around with four shooters balanced between his spindly ple fingers, each one filled with a menacing clear liquor that will ultimately decide his fate this evening. you’re not you when you’re sober but you’re you when you’re drunk!

jake grabs a shot greedily, like a leprechaun stumbling upon a pot of gold, “some chick is ogling at hee.”

sunghoon’s lip curls upwards, “lets go dawg!” he cheers while passing heeseung a shot as if it's a reward for receiving attention from a woman.

heeseung stares at the tequila in the glass he’s holding with his thumb and index finger; it stares back at him. in one swift move he downs it, then does the same with jake’s, jay’s, and finally sunghoon’s, who all stare at him in disbelief. he tries his best to not make a sour face, but he can’t hold back the deep cough that leaps out of him as the tequila burns his throat on its way down his esophagus and into his stomach.

“wow, okay.” jay says in astonishment, which prompts him to start laughing; everyone else begins to laugh as well, including heeseung.

“go talk to her shithead!” jake exclaims while shoving heeseung towards the mystery girl and her friends with much more force than necessary, making him stumble over his own feet much like bambi attempting to walk for the first time.

when he’s close enough he flashes her a toothy grin, his eyes trained on hers; her pupils look like deep pools of ink in the scarcity of good lighting. she just looks at him, a pretty smile painted on her face that pushes the apples of her cheeks to the sky.

“hey.”

“hi~”

“i’m heeseung.”

“okay heeseung, wanna dance?”

“uh sure!” he exclaims, albeit maybe a little too much excitement in his inflection.

the cheetah girl doesn’t say anything, just grabs his hand by the wrist (and thank god his wrist because his palms are embarrassingly sweaty) and drags him in the general direction of the dance floor. before he becomes completely swallowed by the mass of swaying bodies, he catches sunghoon and jay giving him a thumbs up from across the room - jake is too busy making out with someone to do the same.

heeseung feels the fabric of his shirt sticking to his chest and lower back as he gets mixed up with the plethora of other sweaty bodies, trying to move in a sensual yet confident way that hopefully impresses the pretty girl he’s praying he’ll go home with. with his nose tucked into the crook of her neck he rocks his body against hers to the beat of the music, his pelvis bumping against her ass methodically.

“you’re so cute!” she squeals at his awkward attempt to grind up on her.

dear god. when oh when will he ever the patronizing, dehumanizing, emasculating label of ‘cute’? cute is what you say when you see a nest of baby bunnies, or an elderly couple on a date. heeseung is a grown man, he should be called handsome, statuesque, sexy even!!!

nevertheless, heeseung attempts to not let cheetah girl’s comment sour his mood. she’ll see how manly he really is, he’ll show her. in fact he’ll show her right now!

in this very moment he discovers why alcohol has been gifted the name of liquid courage since before he can even process what he’s doing he’s pulling cheetah girl out of the stuffy crowd of inebriated club goers, dragging her to an empty bathroom stall, and placing his tequila coated lips on hers.

she immediately reciprocates, because why else would she be giving him bedroom eyes across a crowded club if she didn’t want something along this vein to occur? despite being a virgin (? does getting your dick suck count as a loss of virginity?), he has made out with multiple girls on multiple different occasions prior to this one, so he lets his mouth and tongue and hands act on their own accord.

it feels as if his brain is swimming inside of his skull, making all of his senses blurred and fuzzy like tv static. he feels a pair of teeth sinking into his bottom teeth and he groans, his eyes squeezing shut impossibly tighter and his fingers digging into cheetah girl’s hips. she emits and airy moan in response, allowing heeseung to slot his tongue against hers - he tastes the vodka mixed with cranberry juice she was drinking when he approached her on the inside of her mouth.

the tip of his nose continuously bumps against hers as he sloppy sucks on her tongue and her teeth, his lips soon detaching to make their way across her jaw and down her neck. there he sinks his canines into her skin, causing her to hiss in both pleasure and pain before exhaling blissfully, her hot breath fanning across heeseung face as he reverts to kissing her on the mouth once again.

from the dj booth he hears the intro of a song that has his eyes shooting open - baby one more time by britney spears. the song that you alway play when you’re getting ready to go out, the song he chose to play during the car ride to the drive-in. he feels a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as he thinks about the way you touched him that night, the way you wrapped your hand and lips around his cock without a second thought. his jaw slacks and his hands fall to his sides as his brain starts to move at a million miles per hour.

a mouth that’s not yours is pressed against his while a tongue that’s not yours slips inside and traces his teeth. heeseung can hear his pulse in his ears beating faster than the bass that vibrates the floors and the walls and the ceiling of the club that he now so desperately wishes he wasn’t in. a hand that isn’t yours pops the button of his jeans and slips past the waistband of his underwear. all he can think is how this feels so not… right. none of this is right!

without properly thinking he somewhat shoves the pretty but unknown girl off of him, prompting her to shout “what the fuck asshole??!!?” before storming out of the stall and off to find her friends to undoubtedly complain about what a selfish prick he is. but honestly, he doesn��t care. all he can think about is you and your touch and everything you encompass.

with a considerable amount of shoving heeseung makes his way outside, paying no mind to the select people that shoot him dirty looks after getting elbowed in the side. too inebriated to consider ordering an uber or calling a cab, he begins the 20 minute trek back to his apartment where he’s praying that you’re still residing, likely settled in your bed reading a book or watching season 2 of the bear. the cool night air stings his lungs as he trips and stumbles on the concrete with every other step he takes on his way back home, his way back to you.

being outside does absolutely nothing to sober heeseung up (especially considering that he downed 4 tequila shots not so long ago), and when the familiar front door of your shared rental house comes into view he practically runs to it, swinging it open and letting it bang against the wall before calling your name and jogging down the hallway. his shoes clomp against the hardwood floors as he approaches your door, the soft yellow glow emanating from underneath it the only source of light in the dark hallway.

“y/n?” heeseung barges into your bedroom, almost ripping your door off of its hinges in the process. once inside he sees you perched on your bed, your sheets pulled over your bent knees and a book with a splotchy blue cover in your grasp.

“what are you doing?” he questions you breathlessly.

your glance shifts from heeseung to the open book in your hands then back to heeseung, “reading?”

“oh, duh,” he pretends to facepalm while chuckling, your eyes still trained on his with a glint of scepticism. the gravity of his situation starts to dawn on him and he braces himself against your doorframe in an attempt to get the floor to stop spinning.

you furrow your brows and stare at heeseung pointedly, “are you drunk?”

“a little,” he hiccups, “actually a lot, but that’s besides the point.” finally he feels the courage he had 20 minutes ago at the club surge through him once more and he stumbles into your room, stopping at the corner of your bed and gazing down on you like you’re an ant.

“i have to tell you something.”

“okay.”

silence.

“...what do you wanna tell me?”

“oh, right.” come on heeseung, it’s now or never. he decides to take a seat on the edge of your bed so he’s looking directly at you, and he picks at the holes in his jeans as he ponders how to start.

“uhh… i really like the way you fold the dish towels in the kitchen.”

a look of shock makes its way onto your face - you definitely weren’t expecting him to say that of all things. before you can utter a word, a sound even, heeseung starts to ramble.

“and you smell really nice. like, really nice. and i think you’re really pretty, e-even when you’re angry, like when i wake you up to ask for a ride to campus when i’ve missed the bus. and i like how you chew on the inside of your cheek when you’re focused, and how you ruffle my hair when i say something stupid… which is a lot.”

he pauses briefly to catch his breath, then continues on, “and i don’t let anyone eat my lucky charms except for you, n-not even my friends when they spend the night, because i know they remind you of being a kid and that you like to pick out the clover shaped marshmallows. and i like the way you draw smiley faces in the condensation on the mirror in the bathroom after you shower, and the way you exclusively listen to stevie nicks when you’re cleaning, an-”

“heeseung,” you interject, causing him to draw in a shaky inhale, “what are you trying to say?”

“what i’m trying to say is that i lo-” nope!!!!!! waaay too soon. luckily even drunk heeseung can recognize the damage an actual profession of love would cause. thank god he caught himself.

“i really really like you, ok? and i feel like you just see me as a-” here come the waterworks, “as a looooserrrrrrrr,” try as he might, heeseung can’t stop the pathetic, drunken sobs that escape his trembling lips.

“oh god, heeseung-” your feeble voice does little to drown out the wails emanating from the drunken boy perched on the corner of your bed, his hair a mess and his cheeks flushed pink; you’re unsure if it’s from the alcohol or the crying.

half a week of pent up confusion and sadness and heartbreak escapes him in the form of reverberating howls, his shoulders shaking even after you place a comforting hand on his back in an attempt to calm him down.

“and when you did… that at the drive-in, i thought that maybe meant that you liked me too.” he sniffles before wiping his nose with his sleeve; you reach over to your night stand and hand him a tissue.

“oh jesus, i’m so sorry hee i didn’t mean to confuse you i just-” you take a second to collect your thoughts, your thumb still caressing heeseungs backs through his shirt, “the way you were talking just made it seem like you just wanted to get it over with,” your hand doesn’t leave his back, “like, no strings attached, you know?”

“no… not no strings attached. i want strings attached. i want exclusivity. i want you.” his tears roll down to his mouth and he can taste the salt on his tongue.

“heeseung…” you all but whisper, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape.

he wants to say more, only when he tries to formulate his thoughts into words, he finds himself yaking all over your floor before passing out.

pain.

the first thing heeseung feels when he wakes up is pain.

not mental pain, which is what he’s felt for the past 5 days, but physical pain. an aching headache that shoots up from the base of his skull and wraps around to his forehead and flares at the back of his eyeballs. it’s settled, he is never touching alcohol ever again.

an acidic burn tickles his throat, and soon the memories from last night come flooding back to him. the cheetah girl at the club, the solemn and unsobering walk home, the drunken confession, and lastly, the puking.

he cracks his eyes open and immediately recoils, for the golden glow of the morning sun increases the aching in his head and behind his eyes tenfold. jesus, what time is it? a couple of blinks help his eyes adjust to the light, and he becomes aware of the figure sitting to the right of him. in a split second he soon realizes that he’s in your room, tucked under your sheets, inhaling the scent of your shampoo that’s become permanently woven into your pillows.

oh? oh. oh god. did you two….?

heeseungs restlessness draws your attention, and soon you're gazing down at him with a soft expression that makes heeseung feel all soft like honey.

“hey sleeping beauty.” you tease, your eyes still puffy with traces of sleep and the book you were reading before he oh so rudely interrupted you last night is in your hands again - a well-loved copy of murakami’s kafka on the shore, which you place on your nightstand for the sake of passing heeseung a tall glass of water and an advil. he downs both immediately.

“please tell me that the image i have of myself puking on your floor is something my brain conjured up while i was sleeping and not something that actually happened,” he rasps, throat stinging and nose stuffy.

“hate to break it to ya buddy,” you tsk while nodding sympathetically, “but that actually happened.”

heeseung shoves his head into your pillow, his thumbs pressing against his closed eyelids both in an attempt to relieve the ache and as an act of shame. he groans aloud, “oh god y/n i am so sorry, i-”

“heeseung it’s o-kay,” you punctuate, “shit happens.”

still unable to look at you, heeseung just nods, the friction from your silk pillowcase making a couple strands of his hair stand on end.

“besides, it was mostly clear,” you look off into the distance, “mostly.”

a second of quiet, and then you ask him, “how much of last night do you remember?”

he rolls onto his back, index and middle fingers of his right hand pinching the bridge of his nose, “most of it, it guess. i remember going out with my friends, stumbling back here and… telling you that i like you…”

“actually i believe you said that you really, really like me.” your sleep swollen lips curve into a teasing smirk.

“fuck off,” he jeers while playfully pushing your shoulder.

“woah!!! lee heeseung drops f-bombs now eh?”

he just chuckles, his hands moving to pass through his frazzled hair. as he shifts under your poofy comforter he realizes he’s still donning the clothes he wore last night - spare for his shoes, which he’s assuming you took off of him and likely put them on the shoe rack by the front door.

a silence settles over the two of you, but this time it’s comfortable. it’s not estranged or pointed, but hospitable.

“i didn’t know you felt that way about me.” you state. it’s not a positive or negative statement, simply neutral; an admission.

heeseung doesn’t say anything, just gazes at your side profile and admires the way your eyelashes grace the tops of your cheeks, the way your top lip converges at your cupids bow, the way your cheekbones are dotted with blemishes.

“can i kiss you?” he asks, “please?”

a plea.

and, in your secluded bedroom on this bright saturday morning, you answer him by pressing your lips to his.

it’s strange, since heeseung can’t seem to discern any actual sensations, he just feels incredibly warm. warm and soft, like taffy that’s been left out and has melted in the glow of the sun. his heart is flipping inside of the cage that is his ribs as he pushes his pursed lips against yours in reciprocation.

you detach your lips from his for a second only to reattach them moments later in a deeper, more passionate kiss that heeseung exhales into, the tip of his nose gracing yours as he tilts his head to sink impossibly deeper into you. his curious hands make their way up to the back of your neck where he grabs ahold and pulls you against him so your torso is on top of his own, your heart beating against his.

underneath the confines of your comforter heeseung feels your leg glide against his own, the sheets crinkling and tangling in the process. his mouth continues to dance against yours with his tongue experimentally poking out every so often before he pushes it past your lips and into your hot mouth. a whimper makes its way out of you and heeseung swears that if he were standing his knees surely would’ve given out from underneath him.

“heeseung…” you whine before nipping at his cushiony bottom lip, sucking at it to soothe the sting - and to make heeseung swoon even more. ugh! he just can’t get enough of you and your sickeningly sweet demeanour.

as you continue to kiss and suck at heeseung pouty lips and perfect teeth you become more and more restless, your hands moving to smooth over the expanse of his chest and the tops of his shoulders where they come to rest. the palms of your hands are soft and delicate and they send a shiver down heeseung’s spine as he feels them grace his cloth covered skin that’s slightly damp with sweat.

with (what seems like) some reluctance, you remove your mouth from heeseung’s with a wet smack. when he cracks open his eyes he finds you beholding him wistfully, your pupils dilated and lips swollen and glossy with lip gloss of his own making.

“can you show me how you get yourself off?”

your voice is deep and slow; sultry, like a glass of oxblood coloured cabernet sauvignon. his breath hitches in his throat once he fully registers the request you just made. show you? on his own??? he does his best to swallow his nerves.

“sure,” heeseung agrees bashfully, “if you can do the same.”

“okay.” you smile before tossing the blankets off of both of your hot bodies. a much welcomed gust of cool air causes heeseung to erupt in a fit of goosebumps (although he’s not quite sure if that’s from the change in temperature or his current predicament).

unsure of what to do next, he waits to follow your lead. with hungry eyes he watches you pull of your pyjama bottoms before tossing them in a heap on the floor, leaving you in a pair of plain light blue panties and an oversized band tee. in somewhat of a rush heeseung fumbles with the hardware of his jeans, struggling to pop the button and tug down the copper zipper at the fault of his nerves. eventually he does so successfully, discarding his bottoms before becoming stuck in limbo.

with deft fingers you begin to drag the hem of your shirt upwards, exposing more and more of your torso before stopping once you reach your sternum. the soft underside of your breasts are just barely peeking out from underneath the fabric.

heeseung watches with wide eyes and a painfully hard cock as you slip your hand underneath the waistband of your panties in one swift motion, a motion that he’s sure you’ve done hundreds of times before this. his brain swims as he thinks about all of the times you’ve touched yourself in this very room, in this very bed.

your knuckles strain and push at the fabric of your underwear as you play with yourself, your chest rising and falling steadily but with slightly more erraticism than before. heeseung follows in your footsteps and reaches to the thick elastic waistband of his boxers, hesitating for only a second before pushing the garment down to his hips, allowing his hard cock to slap against his tense stomach. he spits in his palm before wrapping his hand around the base of his shaft, giving it a few tentative strokes and watching the way his stomach spasms.

“i don’t think i said this before,” you purr, “but you have a really nice cock heeseung.”

your admittance has heeseung overheating, his cheeks and chest flushing a pretty shade of pink. his stomach twists and churns and he slowly starts to jerk himself knowing that you’re watching his every move, like a vulture stalking its pretty. to distract himself from his own ministrations heeseung looks at you, his gaze travelling from your hand in your panties to your chest to your face where he finds you staring back at him, causing him to quickly look away out of sheer embarrassment of being caught.

“what do you think about when you touch yourself?”

you. obviously.

but he doesn’t say that.

he just remains quiet, his eyes darting from place to place but of course, no answer does not satiate your appetite for knowledge, so you push further.

“do you think about me?”

yes. obviously.

he nods steadily in response before realizing that that simply isn’t a satisfactory response.

“always.” his voice is small yet unwavering.

you smile at his admittance, eyes hazy with desire and your cheek squished against your pillow due to your head being turned towards him. breathy moans and pleas tumble past your lips as you finger yourself, your hips rolling into the heel of your palm. slick wet sounds can be heard both from you and from heeseung, whose precum is aiding in his ability to pump his dick at an increasing speed. the burning pit in his stomach slowly grows and grows and he moans aloud, jolting slightly when the outside of your thigh brushes against his own.

as he feels himself approaching the cusp of an orgasm, the familiar sensation looming closer and closer like a moth drawn to a flame, your hand grabs his arm prompting him to stop, your middle and ring fingers wet against where they’re wrapped around his forearm.

in the next second you’re sitting up, hands grasping the hem of your shirt once again only to fully remove it this time, exposing your back back and tits to him rendering him speechless. you discard your panties as well, leaving you completely bare as you move to straddle heeseung’s tense thighs. all he does is look at you in astonishment, mouth slightly agape.

without thinking heeseung reaches forward and envelops both of your breasts with his big hands, his palms rubbing against your hardened nipples while his fingers gently dig into the soft flesh.

“your tits are perfect,” he rasps, hand moving in circular motions to massage your chest.

“really?” your eyes light up at the compliment.

he nods, his adams apple bobbing in his throat as he remains enamoured with your figure. your fingers tickle his sides before grasping at his shirt, tugging at it in a way that tells him you want it off; he sits up and removes the garment before you place a palm on his chest and push him back onto your mattress, the springs making a slight squeak at the force. your eyes rake over heeseung’s bare chest as he lays before you, a shaky exhale leaving him every few seconds or so.

“you’re so handsome lee heeseung.” you compliment.

“even when i’m hungover?”

“even when you’re hungover.”

you crawl over his body, just a little bit, so your hips are unbearably close to his aching cock, the tip an enraged red spilling pearly white beads of precum. heeseung tries his best to not shudder when you wrap your hands around his shaft, moving yourself to be perched directly above his dick. you drag his tip through your folds to be a tease, only when the boy beneath you begins to squirm do you line his cock up wit your dripping hole before sinking down on it ever so slowly, gauging heeseungs reaction with scrutiny. he looks quite pretty, with his eyes screwed shut and bottom lip tucked between his teeth, his forehead dotted with beads of sweat. once he’s fully inside of you you remain stagnant, hips flush against his own.

heeseung feels like he’s gone limp, his limbs turned to mush and inoperable. he keeps his eyes tightly shut as he becomes accustomed to the feeling of being inside of you, for he knows if he sees you sitting on top of him he’s going to have heart palpitations.

only once heeseungs face slowly starts to relax, his eyelids slowly fluttering open, do you begin to move, gyrating your pelvis against his at a leisurely pace. heeseung can’t help but whimper when he feels you grinding on top of him, his cock throbbing and sensitive inside the warmth of your pussy.

your hands rest on heeseungs chest to help you stabilize yourself, your nails digging into the soft skin covering his pecs and leaving behind deep red marks. heeseungs hands move to grab at your hips and you arch your back in response, teasingly shoving your tits in his face - he takes this as an invitation and pulls you closer to him so he can wrap hips lips around your left nipple, sucking on it while palming the other.

“oh my-, heeseung,” you moan as heeseung continues to play with your breasts eagerly. in response you increase the pace at which your hips are moving at, grinding against him in a fluid, persistent manner that makes heeseungs vision grow warped fuzzy. once again he feels the slow burn of an orgasm take flight in his stomach, slowly ebbing outwards as you work him towards his climax.

the moans and groans leaving him come out muffled due to his mouth still being wrapped around your breast, only detaching once the need for oxygen becomes stronger and stronger and his heart beats faster and faster. your fingers feel hot against his skin as you fuck him raw, the sensation of your cunt constricting around his cock feeling so other worldly that heeseung believes that you and your pussy and your body the only things tethering to him reality.

his name tumbles past your lips in the form of needy whines as your movements slowly become more and more erratic, your eyes rolled back into your skull as you chase your high. all heeseung can do is lie underneath you, his fingers back on your hips while the tantalizing promise of a mind blowing orgasm renders him almost immobile. sweat rolls off of his brows as he pants and groans, hips feebly bucking upwards in an attempt to make him cum faster.

“i’m so close y/n i-” is all he can manage to whimper to let you know that he’s about to finish, about to erupt into a thousand hot white stars. you moan an ‘i know’ in response before reaching down to play with your clit, your cunt tightening around heeseungs cock with each and every flick of your fingers.

you orgasm with a desperate whine, brows furrowed and eyes shut as you keel over heeseung. your pussy flutters around his cock and you manage to pull yourself off of him right before he cums with a cry of your name, spilling his hot sticky seed all over the expanse of his stomach, which twitches and spasms every so often.

the two of you lay side by side as you wait for your heart rates to lower, for your breathing to steady, for the aching in your lower abdomen to cease. there’s a slight ringing in heeseungs ears which slowly subsides overtime, allowing him to listen to the way your pants morph into heavy breathing. in his peripherals he can see your chest, see the way your eyes are heavy with pleasure. you move your hand just enough so that your knuckles trace across the back of heeseungs hand.

the room comes to a standstill, with the sun peeking through the slats in your shades falling across his tainted stomach that rises and falls with each erratic inhale and exhale he takes. you shift to lie on your side so you’re facing heeseung, allowing your fingertips to dance over his clavicle, his neck, his jawline.

bliss.

euphoria.

a happy ending.

a/n: and to think some of y'all didn't believe that i was gonna give you a happy ending.......... what do you have to say for yourselves now huh? HUH??????? here's you're happy ending i'm gonna go cry now bc i'm weirdly emotionally attached to this series.

patience is a virtue taglist: @hello-stranger24 @jainandan @yohanabanana @iamliacamila @nyanggk @chansmaze @beomgyusonlywife

#enhypen smut #lee heeseung smut #enhypen imagines #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen blurbs #enhypen x reader #lee heeseung x reader #lee heeseung fanfiction #lee heeseung blurbs #lee heeseung imagines #kpop smut

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blitzyn · 1 year

Text

special attention pt. 3

dottore x m!reader

Request : HI- I noticed you have your requests open so I'm super excited! I love your writing sm. If possible, can I request like a continuation of your Dottore and fatui! Reader? Maybe one where the reader (sub & bottom) is assigned under another harbinger so all of his attention has been on this other harbinger instead of on Dottore (dom & top)? If not then that's okay! - Anonymous

Synopsis: Dottore has enough of his subpar Agents and decides to take you back.

part 1 | part 2

a/n -> i did it omg. super sorry ive been gone again! life was a bit busy but now that summer is coming up i might be able to write these a bit faster. im not super proud of this one since im kinda rusty rn but i hope this is at least decent! also, sorry for the sudden change in appearance!

wc -> 3.4k

cw -> anal fingering, anal sex, spit as lube, desk/office sex, choking, slight overstim, pretty vanilla overall ig, he's kinda possessive so there's that, not beta read

"Stupid, incompetent—" The Harbinger before the cowering Fatui subordinate cut himself off with an agitated sigh. It was quiet for a few moments, save for the agent's nervous breaths. Dottore wasn't one to get irritated very often, let alone angry. Perhaps the results produced by his previous agent skyrocketed his standards – or maybe this one was just dumber than an idiot.

"Please, help me comprehend how you lost not one," The Agent looked just about ready to sink into the floor. "not two, but six bases?"

The subordinate struggled to answer, mouth gaping open and closed as their hands shook in ill-concealed fear. Maybe in different circumstances, he would've given an amused quirk of his lips, though this was the last thing he needed right now. Instead, his lips curled into a scowl.

"W-We were... Overwhelmed..." they stammered pathetically.

"Clearly," Dottore said, impatiently tapping his finger on his knuckle. "I'm certain you're capable of speaking properly."

"We were ambushed by a horde of Mitachurls..." There was a beat of silence.

"And?"

They did not answer. "Don't tell me you lost all six because of mere Mitachurls."

Dottore's frown deepened. "That seems a bit coincidental, don't you think? If you're going to lie, do it well." He sighed. "Dismissed. I'll see to it you're placed back under basic training."

His voice held a monotonous tone to it that made the Agent fidget in place.

"It was a mistake—"

"Dismissed. I've already given you a chance to explain yourself. I have no need for your negligent incompetency."

He watched as the Agent hurried out of his office, and he had half the mind to yank them back inside when they slammed the door shut. He ground his teeth, irritated with the turn of events. He was going to need a new subordinate. Again.

He sighed. Not one of them managed to regain lost fortresses within a week, and he's been losing more than he thought possible. He, number 2 of the Harbingers, lost more than number 11. He was angry, above all else, but there was also the undeniable burn of humiliation at that fact.

It nearly surprised him how weak the soldiers sent to him were. Or perhaps they were always this way, and having you raised his expectations tenfold. He knew your strength and self-control were, by far, your best virtues, and it so happened to be what others were lacking. You were sent away to another Harbinger to keep the other Agents in check, and while he may have been the slightest bit proud to have managed to acquire an Agent that proved to be what everyone else needed, he was growing tired of having to wait for your return.

He shoved the articles that struck irritation through his chest into a drawer and stood from his chair. Quickly striding out of his office, he set out to search for you.

It didn't take him long to find you, though it was purely an accident. You were swiftly walking down the echoing hallways with a few papers and a relic that he didn't care to identify before he called your name.

"Agent [L.Name]," he spoke, his voice even.

"Yes, Lord Harbinger?" You paused in front of him after offering a slight bow. You fidgeted. "I apologize for the urgency, but Lady Arlecchino requests that I hurry with submitting my report."

"I am rescinding my permission to allow you to work under someone else." Even with your mask on, he was easily able to discern your surprise. The slight curl of your fingers was a dead giveaway, though, to any other person, it might've come off as idle shifting.

You were at a loss for what to do. You couldn't go against your current superior, but you also couldn't defy the words of one of the highest-ranking Harbingers that was still technically your boss.

"Lady Arlecchino said that I must hurry in delivering this item, and I'd rather not break her trust..." you trailed off as you observed him under your mask, something he was no doubt doing to you under his.

You nervously ground your teeth at the frown that crossed his face but remained steadfast with your words.

"Your loyalty is a virtue, but I'm afraid you've placed it upon the wrong person." He positioned his hands behind his back. "I will handle her when the time comes. Now, you respond to me."

"Yes, sir," you said after a moment. While you felt a tinge of relief at finally being able to work under him again, you felt a bit uncomfortable with leaving an assignment just as you were about to finish. But you knew you were going to have to set aside what you felt at the moment - you had a feeling something was off.

You thought about asking him what was wrong but decided against it with hopes that he'll bring it up himself. He wasn't the type to search for someone unless he needed them.

Your shoes tapped against the cold marble floors as you walked silently, following behind at a respectful distance. It didn't take long for you to reach his office, neither of you wasting time to get in.

"During your absence, many others have arrived to take your place. None of them have managed to produce quality or successful reports." He handed you a few papers for you to skim through. Without missing a beat, you did what was wordlessly told and blinked slowly underneath your mask. How could someone possibly fuck up this bad?

You startled a bit when you felt a hand rest on your hip, but maintained your usual demeanor.

"Would you like me to train the new recruits? Starting from there prevents more of this from happening," you questioned, curiously peering at him over your shoulder. "Or do you suggest otherwise?"

Dottore hummed. "I suggest that you assist me in relieving some of the irritation the others have caused."

You swallowed as anticipation bubbled in your chest. "Of course, my Lord."

"Mask." Was all he said, voice demanding and stern.

You wordlessly nodded, raising your hand to remove your mask and hood. There was a prickling sensation on the side of your face where his gaze bore into you, studying every twitch of your muscles. You could feel your skin grow hot, and with the way the corners of his lips slightly raised, he could see it, too.

Your nerves were abuzz with excitement, pooling in your gut that spread outwards towards your fingertips. You resisted the urge to rub your thighs together for some semblance of relief, clenching your jaw tightly.

"Already? Were you anticipating this from the start?" he mused, dragging his fingertips across your crotch. "How needy."

He squeezed lightly before abandoning the area, placing a hand on your chest to slip it underneath your thick coat, silently urging you to take it off. You did without complaint, finding the fur inside overbearing. You tried to toss it on the floor as neatly as you could before his hands found themselves beneath your shirt, gliding his cold, gloved palms over your scalding skin.

As quickly as they came, they left, only to push you down onto his desk. Your breath was caught in your throat, curling your fingers into a fist as you reveled in how he dragged his hands down your body to curl his fingers underneath the waistband of your pants. He wasted no time in sliding your pants off, swiftly pressing a palm against your aching cock.

You sighed at the touch, shifting your hips forward in search of relief. He gently squeezed and stroked you through your boxers with a quiet, condescending laugh.

He pinned you to the desk by the top of your back and began grinding against your ass, leisurely thrusting while observing the way your hands twitched to stimulate yourself even further.

With an amused smile, he suddenly pulled away completely. You shivered at the absence of his body heat, peering over your shoulder to send him a questioning look.

"I must thank you for your assistance," he said, rounding the corner of his desk. "I feel quite relaxed, now."

"I-Wh..." you stammered, trying to peer through his mask despite the lack of eyes.

"What's the matter? I'm afraid you need to speak up if you want me to understand you." He crossed his arms in a faux contemplative manner. Your face burned, unable to properly look at him.

"Oh, don't get shy on me now," he spoke with a mocking tone in his voice, standing directly across from you as he grabbed you by your chin. It was a firm hold, and you were unlikely to be able to free yourself from him - not that you wanted to, anyway. "It's a simple request. Tell me what you want."

Your mouth opened and closed pitifully before you finally responded, "I want you to keep touching me."

"See? That wasn't so difficult, now was it?" His grin widened a fraction and he returned to his place behind you. He enjoyed the way you were so easily reduced into a sheepish mess by just a few of his touches that you were sure were laced with some type of drug.

He removed his gloves and snaked one of his hands up your throat to your mouth, wordlessly commanding you to suck on his fingers. You readily complied and swirled your tongue around his skin which tasted faintly of chemicals and salt. Your heart pounded in your chest when he pushed them deeper, chest rising and falling in shallow intervals. You wrapped your lips around them and sucked, treating them as if they were his cock (which you secretly craved, but you supposed it wasn't much of a secret anymore).

Dottore could feel heat rising in his abdomen the longer he held them in your mouth, pleased with your eagerness.

A string of saliva connected you to him when he pulled away, his free hand sliding your underwear down your legs. He prodded your hole for a few agonizing moments just to listen to your hitching breaths before he finally inserted them inside you. His thick fingers provided a slight burn, but it quickly morphed into arousal.

He moved at a leisurely pace, enjoying your increasing impatience as you tried dutifully to keep your desperation at bay. He made sure to avoid your prostate to leave you needy for more, pressing against areas close to where you wanted him. You let out frustrated sighs but refused to voice out your complaints, letting him follow his own pace.

It was amusing to see you try hard to maintain your slipping composure, but he knew that soon enough, it would collapse completely.

You tensed when he removed his fingers from you, anticipating the familiar feeling of his cockhead against your hole, but it never came.

"You know, I think I may have had a change of heart," he said with a thoughtful tone. "Perhaps you should report to Arlecchino after all."

"Wait-" you pleaded, voice high and frantic. "S-surely you're not serious?"

"Oh? What makes you think that?"

You swallowed hard. Dottore is unpredictable - that much you learned. For all you know, he could be entirely sincere and you'd look like a fool, but a part of you believes that he's only messing with you. Getting you flustered was often a part of his intentions when he was around you, so it wasn't impossible.

"Because you do not back away from your plans when they're already set, regardless of how you think it may turn out."

"And might you enlighten me in what you think said plans are?"

You swallowed nervously as quiet words spilled from your lips. "To fuck me..."

There was a moment of agonizing silence (for you, at least) before a smile overtook his features. "I'm flattered you know me so well."

You bit your lip in anticipation when you heard the rustle of fabric behind you. You could hardly repress a shudder when you listened to him spit on his cock before pressing himself against your hole, holding your waist tightly with one hand while the other guided him inside.

You groaned at the burning sensation from the lack of preparation he provided you. Your dick ached to be touched, but you resisted and relished in the pain of having to wait.

"Fuck," Dottore hissed, fighting valiantly to keep himself from shoving his cock inside you. "You're tighter than the last time I fucked you."

"Just for you," your words were breathy, your rigid Agent persona slipping away by the minute. It almost made him laugh at how easy it was to break you down like this.

"For me?" he cooed, cock throbbing. "You poor thing. You had to wait so long just to finally have me fuck you, didn't you?"

You nodded, heavy pants exiting your lips. You peered at him from over your shoulder, eyes wide and watery; there was no calm Fatuus to be seen, and he found that he adored this side of you. He could hardly suppress a smile, instead focusing on how you tightened so pleasurably around him.

"It's almost hard to believe you haven't been whoring yourself out this entire time," he muttered, partially to you. "But I know that only I am able to satisfy you like this. Or am I wrong?"

He didn't expect an answer from you - not when you could hardly keep yourself standing. He curled his fingers in your hair and yanked, forcing you to look at him. Your incoherence wasn't going to stop him from trying.

"Well?"

"N-No... only you." Your cock throbbed.

"Thought so."

He let you go in favor of holding your hips firmly, pulling out briefly to slam himself back in. The sting of him stretching you out paired deliciously with the pleasure of his cockhead against your prostate, gradually speeding up until you had to cover your mouth to prevent your moans from escaping the office.

"None of that," Dottore muttered, pulling your arm away from your face. "Let them hear. Let them know you're not for the taking any longer."

Skin slapping skin echoed in the dimly lit room, accompanied by your noises that left no room for imagination. He pulled you by the waist and wrist, tugging you onto his cock as he thrusted forward.

Your dick produced precum that dripped into the cold, marble floor, aching to be touched. The need for release burned hotter in your abdomen, and you couldn't stop yourself from subconsciously moving your hips to fuck yourself onto him.

He paused for a moment to allow you to take a brief moment of control. A condescending smile overtook his features before he regained his previous pace, driving himself forward hard enough to sting. The pain only served to enhance the ecstasy that was brought upon you, lust pooling in the pit of your stomach.

It took a great deal of restraint to prevent yourself from reaching down and jerking yourself off, your nails creating thin indents on the firm wood of the desk. He could feel you tighten around him considerably and he nearly groaned, but let out a heavy sigh through his nose instead.

Snaking one hand up your throat, he pulled you to his chest and squeezed. You instinctively wrapped your fingers around his wrist but made no attempt to pull him away. He used his other hand to tightly grasp the base of your cock, interrupting your incoming orgasm.

You let your eyes flutter shut as drool escaped the corners of your lips, too hazy-minded to remember to swallow. Raspy breaths left your throat as your ears gradually began to ring, chest tightening with a need for air, but the deprivation only sent an addicting heat through your body.

You nearly choked on your saliva when his grip went lax, not entirely moving away, but enough to let you breathe. It was hard to inhale properly when he fucked the breath out of you, but you knew that that was the best part.

"Oh, fuck, pl-please," you babble, voice raspy.

"Please what?" Dottore spoke beside your ear. "I'm not a mind reader."

He subtly angled himself and targeted your prostate to hinder your words, a faint smile lifting his face at every stutter and cry you produced. You weakly tugged on his wrist in a vain attempt to tell him what you wanted, but he remained steadfast on hearing it from your lips.

"You can use your words, can't you?" He moved his hand from your neck to begin stroking your cock, the tip flushing an angry red.

"G-God, please-" you stammered before crying out, "Please let me cum!"

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" He relished in your pained groan when he briefly tightened his grip before releasing you, quickly guiding you to your orgasm with every flick of his wrist.

Electricity shot down your spine and pooled in your stomach as soon as he let go, catching you off guard. Your fingernails dug into his glove as you nearly curled into yourself, legs trembling so intensely it was a miracle you managed to hold yourself up thus far.

Your chest quickly heaved up and down. "W-Wait-"

"Quiet," Dottore shushed you. "You wanted this. Don't go back on your word."

You focused on his voice, noticing how steady and calm he sounded compared to your desperate pleas for release. A feeling of chagrin filled your chest, making an effort to control your noises, but your struggle was futile.

Tears dotted your lashes when the coil within your abdomen tightened until it finally snapped, the heat of your orgasm washing over you in powerful surges. You arched your back as your jaw went slack in a silent scream. Your cum spurt out of your cock and landed on the marble floor in a small puddle.

"I should do that more, shouldn't I?" Dottore said with a sharp-toothed grin. He wrapped his free arm around your waist when your quivering legs were unable to support your weight any longer, leaning your top half back on the desk.

You'd nod along with him if you were capable of comprehending his words, but the rhythmic pulses of burning ecstasy prevented you from replying - not that he minded. His dick pressed against your prostate despite you having just orgasmed, his relentless pace not once slowing down. The only sign of exertion he offered you was his labored breaths and occasional grunt, but even those were quiet.

You could feel his cock throb in a way that let you know he was close. You managed to strengthen your legs and started fucking yourself onto him, prompting him to straighten himself and watch.

"You just can't help yourself, can you?" he teased, hands resting on your hips. He leaned his head back and let out a satisfied groan that sent electricity shooting down your spine.

His fingertips gradually began to dig into your skin until he held you hard enough to bruise. He allowed you this semblance of control for a few more moments before yanking your hips to him with a few final thrusts, stilling as you shuddered at the feel of his cum coating your insides.

Your legs nearly went limp again, but you managed to keep yourself standing - albeit with an embarrassing amount of effort. You could hear his deep breaths behind you as both of you steeped in the silent afterglow. You suppressed a flinch when he decided to pull out, sighing at the uncomfortable emptiness it left.

You swiftly dressed yourself when you heard quiet shuffling, pulling out a handkerchief to clean your cum off the floor.

"Now, then," Dottore said as soon as you stood upright. "You have much to do since your absence. It'd be best if you began right away."

You nodded, slipping your mask back on your face.

"I don't care how you do it, I only want the results. Understood?"

"Of course." Your voice was back to its neutral tone, making the corner of the Harbinger's lips twitch upwards. It amused him how you responded so professionally despite him having fucked you not moments before. With a final nod, you left his office.

He turned to his desk once more, remembering the papers that he unceremoniously shoved inside the drawers. He sighed. It was back to work.

#genshin impact smut #male reader insert #reader smut #reader #genshin smut #male reader smut #male reader #reader insert #sub reader #sub male reader #dottore x male reader #dottore x reader #dottore x reader smut #genshin x reader

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devilat-thedoor · 6 months

Text

happy…..manic monday?😈

sinful jake thoughts, anyone?

he won’t put the guitar down. he won’t pay you any attention despite the way you’ve been lingering in his vicinity. you tried to coax his focus elsewhere; traipsing around in your tiny shorts and tank top. “Jakey….can you take a break for a bit?” you came up behind him, walking your fingers along his shoulders and down his chest, bending to place a soft kiss to his neck.

he pulled his hand from the strings, fitting the pick between his lips, and removed your hands from his body. when he took the pick out of his mouth, he looked over his shoulder at you, “sweetheart, i’m in deep here… go read a book or watch a movie for a little bit.”

you stomped your foot, ready to throw a tantrum, as you moved to stand in front of him. “you’ve been at this all day, Jake! i don’t wanna watch tv anymore, i wanna spend time with my fucking boyfriend!” you glared at him, hoping he’d get the hint.

“don’t be a fucking brat… i’ll give you all the attention you want when i’m finished.” he began strumming the strings again, effectively silencing you and ending the conversation. you breathed out a scoff and turned on your heel, stalking out of the room. Jake paid you no mind, his fingers steadily dancing along the frets as he picked out a haunting melody, only looking up to shake his head when he heard the bedroom door slam shut. “fucking pouty little crybaby…” he mumbled to himself with a chuckle. it didn’t take long for him to get lost in his music again, nothing on his mind other than the series of chords he was putting together…until his phone vibrated in his pocket with a text message. he placed the guitar on the floor, leaning it against his chair, to dig his cell out. “jesus christ…” his mouth hung open at the photo he’d received from you. you were laying across the bed, wearing nothing but one of his tshirts pulled up above your breasts to reveal your naked body to him. the simple text that accompanied the picture, keep playing your guitar, i’ll play by myself. he couldn’t deny the way his cock started to twitch in his jeans, but he remained composed as he typed out a response. before he had the chance to hit send, another message came through from you. a video this time. when he clicked play, he didn’t even give it five seconds before he locked his phone and stood up, bounding through the house. you could hear his footsteps nearing the bedroom, “alright, sweetheart… you got my atten- what the hell?” to his surprise the door was locked. he listened to the sounds of your soft moans through the barrier before knocking impatiently. “okay, very fucking funny. open the door, babe.”

you giggled, calling back to him, “i can’t open the door right now, baby…..i’m in deep here…” your fingers were swirling over your clit for a moment before you dipped them inside of yourself with a drawn out whine.

Jake was still knocking incessantly, “Y/N, you made your point… baby, open the door. please…” you gave in when he began jiggling the door handle and got up to flip the lock. the second he heard the click, he flung the door open and rushed at you. he scooped you up and dropped you to the bed as you squealed. “you think you’re real clever, don’t you?” he straightened up to remove his shirt before moving on to unbutton his jeans.

staring up at him, you chewed on your lip with a smirk, “i got your attention, Jake…..so yeah…. i’d say i’m pretty clever.” you slowly parted your legs, watching his gaze travel from your face to your heat.

once his jeans were off, he kneeled on the bed, settling between your legs. he started running his hands up your thighs, feeling the warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips. “i’d wipe that smirk off your face, sweetheart……because you’re right….” his thumbs landed on either side of pussy, spreading it open to reveal your wetness, before he began tracing light patterns over your clit, “…..you do have my attention….. but i think you’ll come to learn that patience is a virtue, love….” when his sentence concluded, his thumb moved faster.

you were writhing on the mattress, moaning out for jake to keep going while his other hand slipped down to push a finger into you. “fuck, baby…. that’s so good.” when he felt you begin to clench, he removed his finger and let his thumb slow on your clit, causing you to pick your head up, “Jake, what the fuck?” you whimpered at the loss of contact, “why’d you stop?”

“patience, sweetheart.” Jake resumed his torturous swirls, smiling to himself at how easily you melted into his touch. “do you enjoy being a brat?…..” he added two fingers this time, curling them against your gspot.

moans and whines poured from your lips but when you didn’t answer his question, he started to slow again. “Jake, please….” you pleaded for him to keep going.

he stilled his finger inside of you, “answer me… do you enjoy being a brat? throwing tantrums when you don’t get your way?” his eyes locked with yours and you shook your head as you rocked your hips against his hand. his thumb stopped completely then, “don’t lie to me, Y/N. if you wanna cum, you gotta be honest.”

you were shaking your head frantically now, “okay! alright…..fine.” your breathing was becoming heavier as you chased a release. “i won’t lie, just- baby, please don’t stop again…” desperation seeped from your voice and it made him smirk with satisfaction.

he was putting all of his focus on the sensitive bundle, but his fingers remained motionless in your cunt. “say it…..i wanna hear you admit it.”

“Jake-”

“Aht… say it, sweetheart.”

you tried to hold your ground but it was bordering the line of overstimulation and your head was starting to spin. “fuck- okay, i- jesus!” he was finger fucking you before you could get the words out, but he still expected the admission and that much was clear by the way he cocked an eyebrow at you. “j- i…..i like being a brat, okay?” the words came rushed as you fought for a breath through your impending orgasm and jake started to move his fingers with a little more intensity, “i th- shit… i throw tantrums…..i do it because- because i know….it gets under your skin…”

“good girl.” he smiled wide and proud as your eyes rolled back and immediately lowered his mouth to your pussy, rolling his tongue over your clit. it was mere moments before you had your fingers twisting through his hair and you were grinding into his face. “come on, sweetheart. you can let it go now.” with one final push of his fingers and few flicks of his tongue, you were completely coming undone, calling out his name with a shaky voice and trembling body.

your grip loosened on his hair and you let your nails scratch at his scalp as he hummed against you, bringing you back to earth from your climax. “fucking hell, Jake…” as your breathing finally evened out, you couldn’t help the grin that stretched across your face when he looked up from between your thighs. “i know you said something about patience……but i don’t think i learned anything, baby.”

he met you with a challenging glare, “no? you didn’t learn?” Jake began crawling up your body, kissing his way up your torso as he stroked himself. when his face was inches above yours, he placed a single kiss to your lips before his own smirk grew wider. “maybe you’re a hands on learner, sweetheart….”

to be continued…..maybe?

tagging my babes that i think will appreciate this the most🩵

@ignite-my-fire @stardustvanfleet @jakesguitarsolo

#jake kiszka #greta van fleet #gvf #jake thoughts #jake kiszka blurb #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka x reader

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virtue-and-beneviolence · 2 years

Note

What do you like the most about eris ?

That they still put up with me 🥹

#its hard to put my finger on #ive not met someone who tries so hard to better themselves the way eris does #but still insists on making sure their friends are okay #i think theyre just an incredibly caring person and it translates into a very very easy comfortable friendship #actually scratch the wholesome stuff eris is the worst but theyre funny so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯#if it doesnt make sense #its okay bc it makes sense to me lmao n thbs is my buddy #eris deserves friends as good as eris 🥺#or maybe eris is simply the perfect type of person to be my friend idk #get your own #this one's mine #virtue babe shut up now

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twola · 1 year

Note

you mentioned wanting some smutty prompts; how about the opposite of Seven Deadly Sins?

what about Seven Heavenly Virtues with a high honor!Arthur and an F!reader getting into all kinds of NSFW shenanigans, except filled with turmoil and drama as i imagine a high honor Arthur wouldn't want to impose at first... 👀

Oh! I have thought about this in the past - this isn’t going to be anywhere near as ambitious as that, but here is a drabble post with the seven capital virtues.

Virtuous

High-honor Arthur Morgan x Younger F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

At least with you, he will try to be a good man. It doesn't come naturally, of course.

Chastity: the state or practice of refraining from extramarital, or especially from all, sexual intercourse.

You’re drunk. Rip-roaring drunk. Stumbling drunk. But on a night like tonight, you blend in. Tonight liquor is flowing and the mood is jovial: little Jack is back in his mother’s arms and for once in the past several months, everything seems like it’s going to be okay.

You aren’t as drunk as Karen, god, that’s a good thing, her drinking is getting a bit out of control. But you’re drunk enough to be troublesome.

You’re drunk enough to sneak away and climb into Arthur Morgan’s bed. He’s important enough that he’s gotten his own room, and as Javier belts out another refrain in Spanish, you sneak away and creep upstairs in the old plantation house, into Arthur’s room. The oil lantern casts shadows in the room, over shelves of ammunition, knives, and a map stretched out on a table.

You sway slightly, moving toward the bed. You’re not sure you’ve ever been this drunk before.

What you do know is how you’ve been watching him for months, probably since you joined this gang, nursing an infatuation for Dutch’s top gun. You know he’s older - you’re not much past twenty yourself, but it is him you see when you shut your eyes and touch yourself on lonely nights.

Kicking off your shoes, you crawl into his bed, pulling the sheet over yourself. Somehow, the whiskey in your belly burns in a smoldering frustration - you want him, you want him, and damnit, you’re going to do something about it.

Arthur returns to his room much later in the night, smelling like cigars and whiskey. He pauses, for a moment, seeing a huddled form in his bed, but quickly relaxes, taking his hat from his head and placing it on the shelf atop a box of rifle cartridges.

“What are you doin’ up here, little lady?” He asks in a patient tone, unwinding his gunbelt from his hips, spreading it over the map on the table.

“Waitin’ fer you, Mister Morgan.”

Arthur sits on the edge of the bed, “What could you possibly be waitin’ for me for?”

You push yourself to sit up on your elbows. “How come you don’t have a lady, Arthur?”

He snorts, smirking slightly and shaking his head while pulling one of his boots off, “None would have me, Miss.”

“I would.”

Arthur stops, turning around and looking at you.

“Little lady, you’ve had quite a bit to drink tonight. Talkin’ all sorts of silliness.”

You shake your head, your hair falling out of its messy braid, you reach over toward his arm, placing your small hand upon it, “I- I know I’m young, Arthur, but I could make y’so happy- ‘nd -”

A hiccup interrupts your confession. Arthur’s confidence is not inspired, as he turns back toward his other boot, sliding it off as it tumbles to the floor.

“ -’ nd, - and I know I could keep y’satisfied.” You punctuate the last word by running your hand from his forearm up his bicep to his shoulder, gently rubbing at it.

The liquor in your system has removed any sense of propriety from your mind. Every tawdry fantasy of Arthur Morgan you’ve had in the past months runs through your head, and now here you are, in his bed, practically propositioning him.

“Darlin’, this ain’t a good idea.”

You pull your hand back like you’ve touched a hot stove. “D’ya… d’ya not want me?”

He turns again, moving one of his legs onto the bed, and faces you fully as he takes a deep breath. “Sweetheart - I…that’s not…”

“I can go, I’m sorry, I’ll not bother-” You stumble over your words, trying to crawl out of bed.

His large hand on your thigh stops your forward motion. It also stops all coherent thought in your head.

“I ain’t gonna take advantage of you with you near fallin’ over drunk, little lady. But ‘course, course I want you - I don’t know why a pretty young thing like you would want an old man like me for.”

“Arthur-” You whine, and he blinks as seemingly all of his blood rushes to his groin at the needy sound of your voice.

“Y’need to get some sleep, then we can talk about this.”

“In the morning?” You ask, and he gently takes both of your shoulders and guides you down to lie in his bed.

“We can talk about it in the mornin’. After you’ve slept this off, alrigh’?”

“Promise?”

“Yes, darlin’. I promise.”

You take that to be enough and settle down in his bed to sleep. Arthur sighs, watching as you quickly drift off, and stands up, pulling an old chair next to the bed and sitting down in it. He runs his hand down his beard and stares at the cracked and stained ceiling of the room.

Christ, the girl in his bed was close to fifteen years younger than him. He shouldn’t be entertaining this at all, for her sake. Dirty old man…

But still, he did have a soft spot for the smiles you give him. The sway of your narrow hips as you walk in camp, the shine of your long hair, the freckles that have developed on your face, and decolletage under the Lemoyne sun…

And here you were, in his bed, pleading with him to sleep together.

Arthur crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back in the chair, knowing that for your sake, he had to be a better man.

Temperance: the quality of moderation or self-restraint.

The sunlight on your eyelids makes you scrounge your nose, and your eyes slowly flutter open. Your head pounds, but you blink yourself into self-awareness, realizing everything you said and did last night was not, indeed, a dream.

Arthur is sleeping in the chair next to the bed and nods awake when he hears you moving.

“How’re you feeling, little lady? Seems like you had quite a bit to drink last night.”

You rub your forehead, avoiding eye contact with him, a vibrant blush settling on your cheeks as you sit up.

“I c’n go get you some coffee.” Arthur stands up, moving toward the bed to put his boots on. At that moment, you decide to go for broke, reaching out to grab his arm.

“Mm?” Arthur hums, turning toward you. Your eyes flit from his, down to his lips, and you unconsciously lick your own. With the newfound courage of a woman with nothing to lose, you surge forward and press your lips against his. He is surprised and doesn’t respond for a moment, but after recollecting his wits, he turns fully toward you and wraps one of his arms around you.

You pull back, your eyes still looking downward. “I think we agreed that we was gonna talk.”

“We did,” Arthur says, but he leans in to press his lips against yours, his tongue brushing along the seam of your lips, demanding entrance. You sigh, leaning into him and allowing him so. His lips are chapped, but still soft, as his large arm winds around you.

It’s several moments like this, mouths moving against each other, until you maneuver yourself nearly into his lap, clutching at him desperately.

You pant into his mouth, reaching toward the button on his trousers. His hand catches yours, however, and a groan rumbles from deep in his chest.

“Arthur -” You whine, you feel your bloomers wet against your skin, and you’re sure that he’s hard in his trousers.

“C’mon now, sweetheart.” He grits out, pressing you away from him in the bed.

You pout, “You said we would talk about this in the morning.”

“I reckon we better start talkin’ then. Don’t think we were doin’ much talkin’ there.”

Patience: the capacity to accept or tolerate delay, trouble, or suffering without getting angry or upset.

Arthur was a busy man. As the lead enforcer of the gang, he was one of the men who brought in the most money - he could be very convincing at the end of a shotgun.

You knew Arthur did what he had to do: it kept you fed, clothed, cared for.

You were also annoyed that you’d barely seen him for a week: frankly, since that morning after Jack’s return, he’s been in and out of camp at Dutch’s beck and call. Only around to give you sweet kisses behind crumbling columns or trees draped with Spanish moss.

When you do get the chance, you clutch at him as if you could make him stay, pressing your tongue into his mouth, trying to pull him downward. It is really somewhat laughable, as he could toss you over his shoulder one-handed should he choose.

But he doesn’t choose.

He does pull you away after several moments, usually after the soft moan has escaped your mouth and you’ve pressed yourself against him.

“Patience, little lady. Ain’t no one ever tell you the best things come to those who wait?”

You pout back at him, deciding not to tell him how you’ve snuck into his room and touched yourself in his bed at night.

Diligence: having or showing care and conscientiousness in one's work or duties.

The afternoon heat hung low, sweat breaking out on the back of your neck as you rushed toward the back of the old plantation house, hiking up your skirts as you bound down the stairs of the back porch while no one is around. Bolting toward the old dockhouse, you grin as you see Arthur’s horse grazing in the fields at the back of the property.

He’s standing there, whisps of smoke drifting upward from the cigarette hanging from his lips. Leaning against a cypress tree eyes out on the horizon over the waters of the Lanaheechee.

He hears you coming, why wouldn’t he, you’re bowling through like a bull in a china shop. Arthur turns right as you come up to him, nearly launching yourself at him in delight.

“Whoa there, gonna run straight into the water now.” Arthur smiles, his hands on your shoulders.

You press forward into his embrace. “I knew you’d catch me.”

He snorts lightly, his arms moving to wrap around your small waist.

“Y’ready to get away for a bit?”

You look up at him, a head and a half taller than you, beaming, “Really?”

“Reckon I’ve done enough jobs to earn an afternoon off. C’mon, let's get out of here.”

He winds his arm around your shoulder and starts walking the two of you toward his horse.

“Where we goin’?” You ask as you reach the mare, and Arthur swings you up to sit on the horse’s rump. He taps your leg lightly.

“You’ll see, little lady.”

Charity: aid given to those in need

The picnic in the meadow outside Bolger Glade did not last long. A few canned peaches were consumed before you crawled into Arthur’s lap and drew him into a kiss.

This time, finally, he does not push you away as you press against him. Indeed, he does the exact opposite. He rolls you beneath him, flat out on the blanket, and moves his lips from yours down your neck, suckling gently at the skin there, before his hand ducks downward to gather your skirts up, fingers trailing up your legs underneath the cotton.

“Y’want this?” He pants in your ear as his rough fingers press against your bloomers, and all you can do is whine needily in acquiescence.

He pulls your bloomers down, down your thighs, down past your knees, and tosses them to the side before sliding his hand up your skirts again. You cling to his shoulders, eyes fluttering shut as a high moan as he touches your skin.

Arthur rubs in gentle circles against your folds, and your breath loudly hitches as one of his fingers pauses near your opening for but a moment before sliding inside.

Hopefully, you’re far enough from the road not to bring attention to the two of you, because you’re having an increasingly hard time keeping quiet, thrusting your face against his shoulder to muffle your sounds, especially when he slides another finger into your wet warmth.

It's only a few moments more before you keen, mewling into the linen of his shirt as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear: good girl, that’s it.

“Let me… let me make you feel good,” You pant, reaching for the buckle of his pants as you regain some of your wherewithal.

He gently swats your hand away.

“Hush, I ain’t done with you yet.”

You want to scream aloud when his head disappears under your skirts and you feel his tongue press against your cunt.

Humility: a modest or low view of one's own importance; humbleness.

You moan into his neck as you roll your hips in his lap, his hands spread wide over the globes of your rear and he pants in return, grinding you against the hardness in his pants.

“Fuck,” he swears, and lays you down on the blanket, looming over you, hands reaching to undo the buttons of his trousers. “Y’ready?”

“Y-yes.” You shiver, opening your legs for him and starting to pull your skirts up, uncovering inch by inch of your inner thighs up to the thatch of dark hair shrouding your cunt.

Your breath hitches as he fully opens his pants, about to pull his length from them.

Arthur stops, looking at you, studying your eyes, your face, before frowning. “You’ve never done this before.”

He leans back up onto his knees, shaking his head. You rocket up in concern, afraid he’s going to leave, god, that would break your damn heart.

“Tell me the truth.” He asks, his tone firm.

You shake your head and Arthur sighs, staring down at his hands in his lap, the swollen tenting of his half-opened trousers, his cock still steel hard.

“I - I ain’t worthy of this honor, darlin’. Y- you should have a far better person than me bein’ your first.” Arthur says, one hand moving to redo the buttons of his pants.

“No,” You cry out forcefully, grabbing his hand, “I want it to be you, Arthur.”

“Little lady-”

You interrupt, grasping his hand in your own and interlacing your fingers. “You’re kind, and you’re wonderful, and I know you ain’t gonna hurt me.”

You lay back on the blanket, your hair fanning out, and still holding his hand, you pull him toward you. Arthur closes his eyes, visibly struggling with himself.

“I-”

He trails off, and after several moments, his eyes flutter open again. You’re spread out beneath him, his knees framed by your open legs, your face flushed, your cunt wet and needy and ready for him.

“Arthur. I want it to be you.” You say, with more force behind your voice.

He breaks.

“Alright, sweetheart… Alright.”

Kindness: the quality of being friendly, generous, and considerate.

Arthur pulls his cock from his pants, stroking himself several times, and as you watch him, your hand moves down between your legs, touching your glistening folds as he grunts in approval. After several moments, he looks back at you, a serious heaviness in his eyes.

“You tell me if it hurts - you hear that?” “Yes,” you whine, gasping as he moves over you, placing his elbows on either side of your head, capturing your lips as he presses his length against your core, parting your folds, gently jutting his hips back and forth, covering himself with your slick.

The head of his cock hits that bundle of nerves and you moan loudly into his mouth, and he jolts against you, pressing his length even harder against the seam of your body.

He curses against your lips, pressing himself up with one arm, balancing on his other forearm, as he reaches down between you to grasp the base of his cock. He slowly pulls it down, down the seam of you until the head catches at your weeping opening. He presses in slightly, enough so that he can move his hand, and immediately moves up to cradle your cheek. His thumb traces your jawline for a moment, his blue eyes flutter as he begins to press forward.

Your breath escapes you as you throw your arms around his neck, his flesh splitting you open - it does hurt, but god, if he were to stop, your heart might hurt even more. He’s about halfway in when he starts peppering kisses over your brow, his thumb drawing gentle circles over your cheek.

“Y’okay?” He asks, his voice not more than a whisper.

“Yes, please… please.” You plead, unable to articulate any further.

Arthur groans, pressing completely inside you, his girthy cock fully seated, and he remains still as your fingers dig into his shoulders, his work shirt saving his skin from your nails.

After a few moments, you unclench your hands, one moving up his neck to grasp the ends of his short hair. “Arthur,” you moan, in a high, flighty voice that gives him permission to move.

He slowly, gently, retracts his hips from yours, and then presses back forward, intently watching your face for any twinge of pain. When he sees none, he repeats the process a little faster. And again, a little faster.

You gasp and whine in tune with his thrusts, and finally, he lets out a groaning whimper after he’s sure you’re enjoying it. “God, you’re so tight, squeezin’ me like this-”

You mewl as he lowers himself completely over you, your ankles crossing over his lower back. The sounds coming from your mouth edge on obscene, as Arthur thrusts into your accepting body over and over again.

“That’s it, that’s it, c’mon, darlin’, let go.” He grunts into your ear, nuzzling against the side of your head.

You cry out, your back arching up as you convulse around him, crying his name in absolute adoration.

Arthur presses his forehead against yours, gritting his teeth and screwing his eyes shut as he thrusts a handful of more times before pulling himself from you, reaching down and stroking his cock as he finishes, his spend coating his fingers and dripping to the blanket beneath you.

He pants, leaning on his side as he lowers his hip to lay beside you, your legs falling open. He kisses your forehead, one of his large hands pulling your skirts down over your knees and thighs as you catch your own breath.

“Good for ya?” He rumbles, his hand finding purchase on your soft belly.

You open your eyes, smiling up at him. The sunlight pours through the tree you rest under on the warm afternoon.

“You’re so good for me, Arthur.”

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption #red dead fanfic #arthur morgan smut #rdr2 fanfic #red dead fandom #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 #twolafic #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #red dead smut #tumblr prompt #voluptatem

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whiteheartlight · 5 months

Text

the concepts of Karzahni and Artakha as Heaven or Hell archetypes fit a lot better in the time period when the Red Star was still active. If you could never truly die, there was no spiritual Heaven or Hell. Instead there was a place on the physical plane that you could go by being extremely moral (which in the Matoran world, mostly means dutiful - and, in Artakha, extends to mean very skilled at your labor) or extremely immoral (lazy, undutiful, or acting against destiny or unity). The importance of being moral was given weight by these possibilities.

Makes it pretty messed-up that your Turaga was the one who could decide, apparently arbitrarily, if you should be sent to Karzahni. You could really get a dictator Turaga, or, of course, a mad one like Lesovikk's who just sent everybody away.

anyway, it seems like the practice of sending Matoran away to these realms was lost after the Red Star stopped? maybe they no longer knew how to send them, or Artakha closed his realm off in some way. now you can die, but the horrible part is that, from what we know, the only fate awaiting anyone was to live as some kind of zombie on the Red Star for all eternity (okay yes I hate the Red Star arc and I hope Kopaka and Pohatu shut the whole place down permanently. with explosions)

just thinking. morality being based on the three virtues rather than on the actual inherent goodness or badness of an isolated action is also pretty curious. in theory you could justify a lot of bad stuff in the name of unity duty or destiny

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estrellami-1 · 6 months

Text

If I Should Stay

WARNING to all underage peeps: DNI with this part! It is NOT essential to the story and you WILL NOT miss anything!

For those of you who do read: please be nice!! This is my first (published) attempt at smut and any mean comments WILL be deleted 😚

Part 1 | . . . | Part 45 | Part 46 | Part 47

Steve leads Eddie down the hall to a guest bedroom, then stops in front of the door. “If… I don’t want you here because it looks like I need it. If you’d rather-”

“Hey,” Eddie interrupts softly, grabbing his other hand, “I want to be here. Okay? I want to be here with you. Don’t try and let me out of it now that I know what I want.”

Steve looks at him, wide-eyed. “What do you want?”

Eddie drops his hands to cup his cheeks. “Maybe this’ll explain,” he murmurs, before pulling Steve into a soft, sweet kiss.

Steve melts into it, letting his eyes shut as his hands find purchase on Eddie’s hips, pulling him closer to wrap his arms all the way around Eddie’s waist in a hug.

After a minute Eddie pulls back, just enough so they can look at each other, and Steve smiles when he opens his eyes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees. “So let’s go to bed, okay? We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

Once they’re settled under the covers, facing each other, Steve sighs. “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

Eddie hums. “Promise me something?”

“What?”

“You’re not gonna jump between me and a bullet.”

Steve widens his eyes. “Eddie-”

“No. Stevie, I’m serious. I know why you came back in time, okay? And I know you’re hoping to save me this time around, but I won’t let it be at your expense.” His eyes are shiny. “Okay? I need you to promise me that you’ll make it out, too.”

Steve looks at him, then. Looks at his eyes, one blink away from tears, yet sure in what he’s saying. The slight scrunch of his nose. The barely-there tremble in his lips. His uneven breathing. “Okay,” he says, and surges forward, connecting their lips again.

Eddie hums against his mouth, and he crowds forward, pushing their bodies flush together. “Is-” he pulls away to pant. “Is this okay?”

“Jesus, Steve,” Eddie groans, gripping his hips. “Is this okay, he says, like I haven’t been dreaming of it since I first saw you.” He rolls his hips up and they both hiss at the friction. “Are you- the scratches, it’s not- we’re not-”

“You’re fine,” Steve promises him. “More than fine, Eddie, c’mon, please-”

“Yeah, okay,” he breathes, rolling them over so he’s on top. “This okay?”

“Jesus,” Steve chuckles, “y’gotta stop asking and just start doing, man, or d’you want me to be the first person to ever die of blue balls?”

“Hey,” Eddie mutters, pressing his hips down, “patience is a virtue or whatever the fuck.”

“Fuck your virtues,” Steve says nonsensically, which causes Eddie to freeze and stare at him with narrowed eyes.

Finally, he responds with a shit-eating grin. “Actually, I’d rather fuck your virtues.”

“Shut the actual fuck up,” Steve mutters, gasping when Eddie thrusts particularly hard. “Oh, Jesus, fuck, Eddie, please-”

“Yeah? Feel good?”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, letting his eyes flutter shut when Eddie ducks his head to mouth down his neck. “Nothing that shows,” he murmurs, even as he tilts his head to allow Eddie better access.

“Y’want?” Eddie asks, not disconnecting from Steve’s collarbone.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, rolling his hips up just as Eddie rolls his down. He chokes on an inhale. “Eddie-”

“Yeah,” Eddie murmurs, sucking a mark into his shoulder. “What do you want?”

“Just—oh, Jesus—your hand, Eds, c’mon, please, please-”

“I’ve got you,” Eddie murmurs, “I’ve got you.” He works his hand down between their bodies until it reaches the elastic of Steve’s sleep shorts. “Need your help here,” he murmurs, tugging in example.

Steve grunts and lifts his hips just long enough to get his shorts down. “You too,” he murmurs, kissing across Eddie’s chest, nipping at his collarbone.

Eddie groans, throwing his head back. “‘M not gonna last,” he manages.

“God,” Steve laughs breathily, “Me neither, c’mon, get your hand-”

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, placing his palm under Steve’s chin. “‘S too dry,” he whispers. “Spit?”

“Jesus fuck,” Steve mutters, rolling his hips up, searching for friction. He gathers enough saliva to let it pool over his tongue, onto Eddie’s hand, before he brings it down and around both of their cocks.

The first slide up is heaven.

The second is fire, coursing through his veins, burning him up until all he can feel is Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

He twists his wrist at the end, flicking his thumb over the head of Steve’s cock, and Steve thinks he sees the face of God.

Suddenly the fire is back, all-consuming, burning everything in its wake, and Steve chokes on an inhale. “Gon’- gonna, Eddie, gonna come,” he whispers, dragging his fingers down Eddie’s back, trying to find purchase before he shakes apart.

Eddie lets out a sharp breath. “Me too,” he says, and then they’re not saying anything as their lips meet.

It’s not a kiss; it’s too hot and wet and dirty for that. It’s nothing more than them panting into the other’s mouth, sharing breath, reassuring the other that they’re still there, that they’re not moving away.

The fire burns brighter, the flames lick higher, and suddenly there’s a supernova inside Steve, burning brighter and hotter and brighter until it explodes and everything fades to black.

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#stranger things #if I should stay #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #time travel #fix it fic #time travel fix it #time travel fix it fic #how tf do i tag this #smut #I guess?????#someone please help me #minors dni #starambles

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proverbsss · 7 months

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treating you right (father paul hill/john pruitt x reader) -nsfw

(pt. 3 of "reading you right" series linked here)

Father Paul Hill, Midnight Mass

reader(s): thank you so much for your compliments and encouragement, I'm so grateful we can share our carnal need for this man together : ) // this is a WIP without an ending, as I've lost a little muse. Hopefully someday I will update!

notifs: paul hill is a tease again!! ; you got ate out too good and it shut your brain off; hierophilia + Father ment. ; one 'Daddy' mention

"Father, I need--"

"I know. I know, it's okay," he's off the end of the bed in a swift movement, kicking off his boots. "Take off your shirt too." he instructs.

He's barely able to slow down and striptease you, peeling off his shirt and revealing his belly, his chest, his shoulders--all of which he's well aware you love. His major preoccupation, like thirst, like hunger, is the throbbing incomparable feeling of his cock hard in his jeans and getting as naked and free of these inhibitors as possible.

He's almost talking to himself, that soft, sweet, guiding tone, "You thought you could get me to switch harder than that and you ended up needing me inside you, it's okay."

You keen, incapable of refuting him. He swiftly climbs back over you, making the well-used bed creak underneath you both, his expression tensely focused. Just the look on his face, faintly sticky with your cum, his lips certainly still drippy with it, feels like it gets you close to another orgasm. You're caged between his arms and legs and he's the world. And your cunt /aches/ for him.

"Uh, fuck, please, need you now, please-"

His underwear are still in the way of what you both need. You could see before, and now you feel brushing your leg, your thigh, just how wet with pre-cum the front of them is. Paul's cock isn't too big for you, it is a little thicker than you're used to, and it is certainly a thing of beauty. You yearn to touch, taste, feel him and he insists on cradling you like this.

"A little patience is a virtue," he murmurs, his face once again hovering above yours.

"You stretching me the fuck out is a virtue. Bless me, Father."

He growls, an amused, primal sound. "What did I tell you about talking like a dirty movie?"

"I don't /feel/ like a dirty movie, please," you take his hand in yours and direct him to cup one of your tits. That lovely amber-rich color of his eyes envelops you as yours meet them.

"That you don't." he concedes, looking down, a drop of pity tugging at the edges of his mouth. That mouth that sent you reeling in pleasure moments before, your heartbeat still hasn't calmed down. "I think these need a little attention--" he shifts a bit down your body, delighted at the way your gaze follows him, and takes one of your nipples into his mouth. You cry out and your hips buck. Haha, Paul thinks, now /you're/ the one humping at nothing.

"What?" he laughs, nipping at your tit and relishing your reaction. "You get to drag it out for me but I can't do it to you? Talk about double standards." His hands find your hips and clarify a little who's in charge. "No, these tits are what I want to play with, so I'm going to." The tips of some of his teeth graze the underside of your nipple as he sucks gently at the sensitive flesh. You cry out again. "Mhm?" his eyes flick up to your blissed out face. "You need me to make you feel real? Is that it? Every time I push inside you, you get to let go of everything, is that what you need?”

“Yes Father.”

“Good girl.”

Paul can’t be deterred from lavishing a little more attention on your tits before he moves ahead though. What you don’t know can’t hurt you, Paul smirks to himself as his tongue and teeth explore you. What you don’t know can’t do anything but make you whimper and put your hands in his hair; his sacramental bloodthirst is still a secret Paul keeps from you, but he can expose his fangs just a little and nip at the sensitive bud of your nipple with that much more pressure.

“Ohh-” You utter a whine that sounds something like a question, pleasure peaking at the feel of his teeth. No partner you’ve been with before has ever made you question whether you could cum from just your tits being touched—with Paul you have to wonder. Why is a priest so good with his mouth? One of life’s mysteries. You cover your own as he tweaks the one bitten nipple between his index finger and thumb, and teethes at the other.

“No—” Paul surprises you, taking his lips off your breast and scolding you, “No, I let you get away with it before. Hand off mouth. I’d like to hear how well I’m doing,” then when you hesitate, his voice gets a little brusquer. His eyes almost seem to—glow? “Off mouth.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and try and get some part, any part of him, against your needy cunt. Paul laughs and lets you chase the substitute for real authentic friction. The laugh reverbs on your tit, against your tummy.

“Please…” your voice is unsteady as you beg. “Please more please more please—”

“More? I wonder what you mean…More of my mouth?” You whine. Somewhere between now and that instant several moments ago when you looked down and saw Paul Hill, tongue out and face wet with your juices, shaking his head and humming obscenely into your clit—whatever was left of your conscious cognitive abilities left your body on his lips.

“Please-” you don’t know if increasing the severity of the plea will get across the message you need it to, but desperation is one of few resources left to you, you might as well try it.

“Ah…Not my mouth. I’m almost hurt. You’ll have to help me get over the wound to my pride, you think you can do that, puppy?”

You make a verbal noise that’s a gasp of consonants, nothing like spoken English.

“Yes? You want to be Father’s bitch? I could see that on you. Collar for me, collar for you.” He’s grinning, intensely pleased with himself, grinding against you now as rhythmically as you are him. “Good girl. Ask me to take myself out now.”

Another keening noise from you. Hopefully Crockett Island both assumes their pastor just has a very uncomfortable stomach cramp, and also forgets how low the cadence of his voice is.

“Dnnn, fck—F’ther—please—” He cocks an eyebrow at you, like he might if you made an off-color joke after Mass, or spilled something on yourself. It’s pure patronizing and you feel yourself clench around nothing at the look of it.

“I’m sorry, I don’t speak mutt. Try again.” Then for good measure he whispers, hot breath against your belly, “I believe in you.”

“Daddy—Father—please—fuck my pussy…I wanna be good puppy for you.”

His eyes flash, that illusion of gold again, at the sound of another unexpected honorific off your lips. Definitely something to explore later. He can’t resist the warmth of your skin, which is dire. Because if he lets himself go too far with that he’ll draw blood and Satan take the hindmost. He nips lightly at your tummy, just under one of your tits. Breathe, John. Hm. His name. Another secret she doesn’t know. Will there be time to tell her? Will there be a sign to give her the same gift that’s been given him?

He’s awakened from his stupor by you clapping your hands on his shoulder blades, his arms, anything you can reach to tell him without words that you can’t be empty much longer.

“Please take your cock out, Father, please I need you to fuck me.”

He takes a beat just holding your gaze, one of the most erotic moments suspended in time as you've lived it. You see the sheer thirst in him by that look. You see yourself as a meal, a toy, something to be played roughly with and ruined.

The effect is just as devastating on him. Your eyes are lyrical. You actually, truly beg with your eyes.

Finally his hands are fumbling in your periphery to shimmy his underwear at least off his length for his dick to start toward somewhere it can do you both good.

____________ to be continued _______________________________

#my blabber #john pruitt #father paul hill #father paul smut #father paul x reader #hamfam smut #fic tag #nsft

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piratefalls · 8 months

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i really did not expect the kind of response these lists are getting. i just do these for fun, but thank you for interacting with them! as always, if you want to be tagged in future lists, just let me know!

with that said, it's wednesday. welcome back to the shit show.

list one. list two. list three.

everything's growing in our garden by matherine

That night, in the safety of his hotel room on the outskirts of the Olympic Village, Henry couldn’t catch his breath. He coughed and coughed, feeling like he was choking on nothing, but there was a scratching sensation in his throat that he just couldn’t shake – until a single blue petal flew past his lips, landing in the porcelain bowl of the sink. After an hour of painstaking Googling, he learns that it’s a Texas bluebonnet. He also learns what the fact that he’s coughing up petals means – the beginning stages of Hanahaki Disease. Rare, but not unheard of, according to the NHS website he browses in an incognito tab. Common in royal bloodlines (thank you, inbreeding). "Only curable if the afflicted’s love is requited with a declaration," he reads, and slams his laptop closed with a bitter laugh, wet with tears. "A surgical procedure removing the afflicted’s capacity for love may be performed if the love remains unrequited. Otherwise, the condition is terminal." So, then. He has no chance.

he is exactly the poem i wanted to write by metacrisis

There is no Turkey in Alex's room this year, but there is a prince. AKA, Henry spends thanksgiving with Alex after the election and reflects on all of his dreams coming true.

(Im)patience is a Virtue by clottedcreamfudge

"Why don't you want to fuck me?" Henry just about manages to avoid spluttering Earl Grey all over the coffee table, but it's a close thing. Alex is staring at him, looking kind of annoyed. "Excuse me?" He's never refused Alex a thing in his whole adult life. Also, he very much wants to do that, but Alex hasn't said anything and usually Henry can't shut him up; he'd assumed Alex would bring it up when he was ready. Which appears to be now.

Handprints in wet cement by kiwiana

“I like learning about all the things that make you you. Especially the sexy parts,” he adds with a grin, and Henry couldn’t contain the laugh that escapes him if he tried. “As long as they’re not, like, bad memories for you, I want to hear about them.” Or, five things Henry learned during his Oxford Slut Phase that he shared with Alex, and one thing they learned together.

best laid plans by rizcriz

Henry knows. He knows Alex is planning a big, extravagant proposal. He shouldn’t know, but he does. He also knows that the ring tucked within his own pocket was purchased long before Alex ever even considered a proposal. Long before either of them should have ever feasibly even considered such ideas as proposals. Alexander Claremont-Diaz, genius that he is, is blissfully unaware of all of that. -- Or, Henry just really wants to be the one to propose, okay?

Soft Shock, Put a Spring in My Step by Mags (sparklepocalypse)

“What, you don’t remember every instant of our torrid fuckathon?” Alex asks, pulling an exaggeratedly offended face. “I am hurt. If I can remember all your middle names, you should be able to remember that time we were so horned up on our new relationship that we managed like, seven positions in a night.”

you know i love a london boy by coffeecatsme

“A very special friendship bracelet,” Bea corrects, with such a delight in her voice that Henry is immediately suspicious. He grabs the darn thing and twists it around, glittery beads shining under the lights of the room. A phone number, if Henry is counting them right. Despite himself, his heart skips a beat. “From the one and only Alexander Claremont-Diaz.” She grins, bouncing on the balls of her feet—the day she stops playing matchmaker for her brother will surely be a cold day in hell. The sole excitement of her life since she doesn’t do romance. Henry twists the bracelet in his hands, counting the numbers again, and then looks up. “Who?” Or, 5 times Alex and Henry keep their relationship a secret and 1 time they don't.

Burnin' Through the Sky by cricketnationrise

This whole thing is Nora’s fault, actually, and he will hold this against her for the rest of their natural lives. Possibly into the next. His personal life is fine. It’s possible he was whining about not having dated anyone since his last boyfriend, but this event is so clearly not going to fix that problem. Or: Alex wasn’t expecting to meet anyone at speed dating, let alone anyone like Henry.

it's (not) the end of the world as we know it by viciouslyqueer

BREAKING NEWS: SHOOTING AT NYC’S GAY CLUB ‘Ritz Bar and Lounge’. June is saying something. He can’t hear her – or anything else for that matter. It’s like his brain decided to shut down and not comprehend anything in front of him. The only thing he’s aware of is a thought at the back of his mind, hitting him with such force it’s all he can focus on – no matter how much it makes his knees give out under him, how his heart feels like it’s being ripped out of his chest and stabbed repeatedly with a sharp knife, cut into a thousand pieces with no possible repair. Henry is in New York. — Actors Alex Claremont-Diaz and Henry Fox meet on the set of ‘Roses, Wisteria, and Royal Bluebells’, and stay friends after filming is over. When a catastrophe happens that tips Alex's world off its axis, he realizes just how deep his feelings for Henry run.

General Incivility by cmere

"Okay, kids, settle down, we're all friends here," Nora cuts in. "And we haven't discussed where the night is going yet. I'm of the personal opinion that we should offer our British guests the quintessential American coming-of-age experience." Alex's eyes widen in what can only be sheer delight. "What, like beer pong?" June says, nose wrinkling. "No," Alex interjects. "Truth or dare." "You read my mind, Alexander." Nora turns to open the mini-fridge. "What would everyone like to drink?" "Henry and I will take vodka if you've got it," Pez says. Henry narrows his eyes at Pez, trying to communicate his alarm, but Pez simply grins back, feral, licking his top teeth.

the conclusion literally any normal human being would come to by chaa_kiao

My [21M] flatmate [20M] gives me forehead kisses when he thinks I'm asleep. How do I ask him to do it when I'm awake, too? ____ Henry and Alex are roommates quarantined together. Henry takes to Reddit when Alex's behavior gets too confusing for him to sort out on his own. Surely this will have zero impact on their completely platonic relationship, right?

all's well that ends well to end up with you by karish

“Fuck, thank you, you’re a lifesaver, Hen,” he says as he closes the small distance between them and places a faint kiss on Henry’s lips. His lips are soft and Alex melts into it for a second before pulling away. He bumps their noses together for good measure before stepping back and grabbing his bag from the chair. When he turns back to look at Henry, he’s still standing still, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open. Alex can even see a dark flush starting to spread over his face. It looks cute. Alex wishes he could– Oh. Oh shit. Fucking goddamn shit. He just kissed Henry. Fuck.

no sweeter innocence by extasiswings

"Well. Babe. You've been wanting him to dick you down forever, right?" [Or, the one where Alex does, in fact, finally get what he's been waiting for.]

Heartaches and Cupcakes and Sunshine Boys by everwitch

After a public fight involving a little too much cupcake frosting, romance writer Henry Fox must deal with the obsessive speculation that one of his most despicable characters is based on the very successful model turned photographer Alex Claremont-Diaz. Which couldn't be further from the truth. There's a reason for why Henry's love stories are almost always unrequited, immensely emotional yet devoid of any real hope, and that reason is currently vagueing him in a series of scathing tweets that has Henry's publisher calling a crisis meeting. The solution? Henry must rewrite his upcoming sequel in a way that redeems the character in question completely. The problem? Henry's attempt to get away from it all so he can actually write leads to a direct confrontation with Alex himself. After a series of clandestine kitchen encounters, the two of them end up with a very fragile truce. But can you really find friendship, or maybe even more than years of achingly unrequited yearning, when you don't have the courage to let your disguise fall? How do you really tell the difference between fiction, and the truth?

washing machine heart by pissedofsandwich

This time he cannot escape. It's not like the night at the lake, where he can dodge and blame it on mosquitoes, write a stupid note and flee the country. This time Alex keeps him, and he does not let go.

Powerless by floatingaway4

“Do you know what I’ve had to put up with in the last twelve hours?” Henry wants to point out that in that same twelve hours he’s had his body sliced open and an organ removed, but this doesn’t seem to be the time. He also got to sleep through his experience, while Alex was very much awake while dealing with Henry’s family. And Henry got the nice drugs, while Alex looks like he could use a drink.

Someday We'll Know If Love Can Move a Mountain by allmylovesatonce

The emails were never leaked, but the Queen has forced Alex and Henry apart. Alex believes they're biding their time until they can be together for real. One day at work, he's forced to confront how wrong he is when Henry's engagement is announced. With both of them miserable and neither wanting the wedding to happen, they grapple with how or if they could even stop it. Or even if they should.

"Exclusive Top" My Non-Virgin Ass by QueenKatelynTheAristocrat

"It all started when Henry and Alex were guest judges on RuPaul’s Drag Race..." Also known as: a queen on Drag Race made a joke about how Alex Claremont-Diaz is clearly an exclusive top, and now the internet can't stop talking about it, and Alex can't stop thinking about it, and maybe he kind of feels like he has something to prove. In which, Alex bottoms for the first time. And the entire thing is a beautiful emotional roller-coaster, just like we'd expect from these two.

wondering if there's anything to say at all by dearestalez

It was Alex, and not a motorcycle that had managed to grow opposable thumbs and open their front door. He was untying the laces of his shoes while David snuffled up against him, eager for pats. It was noticeable and honestly quite concerning when Alex pointedly didn’t pet him and instead tiredly pushed him away.

Body Count Baby! by orestespdf

“Okay,” Henry says eventually. “What do you want to know?” Alex raises an eyebrow. A small smile plays on his lips. “Can I ask you anything?” “Within reason, you hellion.” Alex flops back down and grins, a new vigor running through him. He rubs his hands together, clearly thinking hard. When he finally looks back at Henry, his smile has turned mischievous. “Am I the best you’ve ever had? Like, has anyone been better than me?” ----- Henry and Alex talk about how many people they've been with.

shake the glitter off your clothes by demigodbeautiies

It was meant to be a short thing, a fun trip, tacked onto the end of a frankly dull conference in Nevada. But getting drunk in Vegas has the potential to go very, very wrong, in some pretty unexpected ways.

Seven Years by LolaLand (Lola_di_Penates)

Seven different places, seven different timelines, seven different meetings, seven different Decembers. And still, Alex and Henry find each other in every universe.

my heart in a house (half a planet away) by annesbonny

“I miss you.” It’s the first thing Alex says when Henry answers the phone. He gets a soft huff of laughter in response. He can picture the quirk of his perfect brow, in the dim light of his Kensington bedroom. Alex wants to be there to straighten it out with his thumb, and kiss the growing concern away. 5 times Alex misses Henry, and 1 time he realises he doesn't have to miss him anymore.

All the Old Showstoppers by chamel

“Dunno, kinda looks like you know what you’re doing. Are those macarons?” Alex asks incredulously after a little while, and a moment later Henry sees him start slowly approaching out of the corner of his eye. “I didn’t know princes could bake.” “I’d wager not many of them can,” Henry replies as he works, letting one corner of his mouth tug upward. (In a universe where Alex didn’t go to the royal wedding, three years later Alex and Henry find themselves both competing on an episode of The Great Celebrity Bake Off. Will old hostilities lead to disaster, or is there something else causing all that tension in the tent?)

One Number Away by smc_27

“Hello?” a confused sounding voice on the other end of the line says. It is not Pez. Pez doesn’t answer like that. With the fanfare of “my dearest Hazza” or “my sweet prince” or “you absolutely unforgivable scoundrel.” Only the first of these has any root in truth or accuracy. Also, Pez is not American. “I’m sorry. You’re not…Not Pez. Right. I’m sorry.” OR: Henry dials a wrong number. Alex answers.

Screw Your Courage to the Sticking Place (and forget macbeth is a fucking tragedy) by Celaestis

"You don't owe me anything." "Of course I do. If you have time now...there are things I'd like to say." Alex hesitates. "I know I don't have any right to ask you to listen," Henry adds. He sounds so hopeful though. A little closure doesn't sound like a terrible thing. Agreeing to go with Henry, alone, to Kensington Palace sounds like returning to the scene of a crime. It's been over a decade since their breakup - Alex is now a single dad forging his career as a lawyer, and Henry's finally getting the courage to stand up to his grandmother. In finding themselves, can they also find their way back to each other?

A Goddamn Fairytale by toffrox

Henry wants to be angry. He does. He wants to feel it simmering in his chest, wants to be sitting there like Alex is next to him with his eyes smouldering. He wants to be like Bea, pacing the room with her fists clenched, absolutely livid. "You can't let her do this!" Bea cries. "It's just one tiny part of the day," Henry says with a sigh. "Everything else will be exactly as planned. I'm just not sure it's worth having a big fight over." Bea glares and looks like she's going to rant when Alex cuts in- "Fuck. That." - The Queen makes some uninvited changes to the upcoming Royal Wedding plans, but Alex is determined to give Henry the fairytale wedding he deserves.

the key that unlocked me by railmedaddy

Something sharp presses against his collarbone – the key that Alex wears around his neck – before he rolls his hips and Henry moans. Alex lifts his head and grins. “You like that, sweetheart?” he asks knowingly, rolling his hips again. He’s got his arms braced on either side of Henry’s head, looking down at Henry with dark, sparkling eyes and his mouth curved into a lopsided smile before raking his lower lip through his teeth. Alex’s curls have fallen forward into his face and at this angle, so close, he’s devastating. Instead of answering him, Henry tugs at the chain around Alex’s neck with one hand, pulling him down for a kiss. He gives in, sliding one hand into Henry’s hair as he kisses him deeply, letting Henry take what he needs. or, Berlin, from Henry’s POV

go the distance by indomitablelove

His legs are like jello. He’s not entirely sure how he’s still upright. He’s running on fumes and the energy gel he’d been handed about forty minutes ago by one of the secret service as he’d passed by. Fumes, energy gel pouches, the roar of the crowd against New York streets, and pure adrenaline because he can see the finish line. He knows what’s there: June and Nora and Henry. Henry. The reason Alex is doing this whole damn thing in the first place. --- Alex decides to run a marathon. It's all Henry's fault, really.

making the headlines by stardisnight (athousandrooms), villageidiot

For no other reason than sheer boredom, Alex decides to set up a Google alert for the exact phrase "HRH Prince Henry." When Henry asks why, he quite literally cannot come up with a reason for the decision. He just… wants to. Also: five times Alex overreacted to a Google alert (and one time Henry did)

Captious (calculated to confuse, entrap or entangle in argument by lucky (revolutionbarbie)

“I’m so sorry I’m late.” Alex hadn't intended to be 45-minutes late to his blind date, he really hadn't. Thankfully Henry - broad-shouldered, blond, British and downright beautiful - didn't seem to mind.

and you would be there too by smc_27

It’s mostly dark out here, just the lamp poles in the parking lot casting a warm yellow glow across the packed snow. “We’re closed.” Henry spins around, heart racing, and sees the beautiful man from the café and from earlier at the shops. He cuts a stunning image, swinging one leg over the wooden fence rail and stepping into the parking lot as he pulls a red and black plaid shirt over his shoulders, his tan pants tight enough across his thighs to make Henry blush for noticing.

until next time!

#rwrb #firstprince #red white and royal blue #fic rec #rwrb fic #rwrb rec list

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