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lovesickeros · 9 months

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☆ even the gods bleed

{☆} characters furina, neuvillette {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, multi-chapter, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood, injury, light angst {☆} word count 2.3k

What was justice?

Focalors had asked herself that question many times during the long nights she spends awake pouring over the prophecy of a dead God, words replaying in her mind like a broken record until the sun rose like a blooming flower.

She was the God of Justice, an Archon, yet she herself lacked the answer to such a simple and yet so very complex question.

How does one define what is just and what is not? How does she know that what she believes to be just is right? Is it justice if one being alone may sway the scales of justice on a whim? What justice is there to be found in the cold, watery grave that awaits her nation?

She does not know.

Perhaps she may never know.

What she does know, at least, is that this is not justice.

It is a mockery of it.

She stands before the bloodied, broken body like the judge, her sword held so tightly in her hand her fingers feel stiff, a dull ache adding to the weight of what she's seen. For a long, horrible moment she almost thinks they are dead – something she would have reveled in, only a day prior – before she sees the subtle rise and fall of their chest. Breathing, but barely.

The rain felt heavier upon her shoulders at the realization – she was not sure if it was in relief or horror.

Her nails dig into her palm, mind stuck somewhere between that abject horror and confusion so palpable she swore she could hear the gears in her head turning.

For a long, silent moment as she stares upon the body beneath the heavy rain..she wonders if this is how it all ends instead. If the world itself will simply crumple in on itself and cease – without its heart, it will wither, after all – long before the waters ever swallow her nation whole.

Because, try as she might to rationalize it, for every drop of rain that hits her like pins and needles, soaking her down to the bone..the body of the imposter is completely dry. Even the water pooling along the stones dares not to leave so much as a splotch against their ragged, torn clothes.

She remembers the meeting so very clearly, and she thinks she is a fool to not have noticed sooner – the Creator upon their gilded throne, finger pointed in accusation at the visage far too similar to their own. The imposter. She remembers the lilt of their voice as they called for their death as easily as one would speak of the weather – and to no one other then herself would she admit the spark of fear it had ignited within her. Because beneath the divine charade there was a sick enjoyment in the way they looked upon the imposter – like a bug beneath their shoe.

She understands, now.

She had thought that perhaps finally – finally – she could do right by her people, by her Creator, if she rid Teyvat of this..intrusion.

Now she sees herself as what it all really is – blind lambs following the herder.

Perhaps she would be considered a heretic under the eyes of the law – beneath the weight of justice, heavy as the heart that bears its sins. Perhaps this is a mistake, one she would come to regret.

But for now, she sheathes her blade with unsteady hands, the sound making her ears ring – for what she had almost done, what she had already done – as she stumbles like a newborn lamb towards the broken body of..

..What, exactly? Human? Divine? She is not so sure what to call them. Creator? No. The name is bitter upon her tongue, now, burning like liquid flame down her throat.

Where once she had spoken it in reverence and admiration, it felt hollow and empty, now.

Her vision wavers as she kneels down against the rain soaked stones, the rain upon her back growing heavier as she reaches a shaky hand forth – and for a moment, however brief, she feels the weight of expectation, of a title she fears she may never live up to, wash away with the waters that fall from the heavens.

The bruises and blood smeared across their skin are like strokes of a paintbrush, their body the canvas from which such horrid art is created. It makes her ill.

Doubt wavers her composure briefly – her position is already unsteady. She has never been seen as an equal to many of the other Archons. Her own people do not see her as their Archon, but an actor in a grand play that they shall simply toss aside and replace like a broken doll the moment she bores them.

What does she have left to lose?

She reaches out again, her hand settling onto their shoulder and turning them onto their back. She..isn't sure what to do, actually. She's never been particularly physically capable – she tended to avoid fights, even if she oft provoked them – and she was certainly no healer.

Yet what choice does she have but to march on anyway? She is in the heart of the city, it is far more dangerous here then anywhere else..she had little time to make her move.

Fontaine was, after all, a nation founded on the principle of justice. To know an injustice has been made against the most Divine..the entire nation was in a frenzy.

Her eyes dart around nervously, hands clasped tight on their shoulders and her lips drawn into a taut line – someone would notice her absence. One of the Archons would point out her absence in the coordination of the search.

Her options were just as limited as her time – she couldn't just take them out of the city. Security was tight, and as much as she fancied herself an escape artist – Neuvillette could hardly keep her in one place for too long – she doubted she could do the same with the limp body of the imposter in tow.

..The Palais Mermonia it was, then.

Her room had a secret entrance that few knew about, and even fewer would dare to traverse. She just..had to hide them there for a bit and hope Neuvillette wouldn't notice anything different.

Probably.

Still, there was the problem of actually..transporting the body. As grim as it sounded. Her only solace was the fact she didn't have to worry about them catching a cold, at least, and their breaths were still audible, if only barely. So she had to resort to some..unexpected methods.

Seeing the limp form of, well, the imposter – she'd really have to ask for something else to call them when they woke up – stuck in a bubble of hydro wasn't exactly on her bucket list.

Then again, neither was treason.

Well, first time for everything, right?

It wasn't breaking the law if no one else knew about it.

..Neuvillette didn't have to know about it, really. It was fine.

She could, of course, technically try to talk some sense into Neuvillette – he'd listen to her, right? She thought she was pretty close with him..but he was also the one person more obsessed with justice then she was. Such a stickler for the law..so maybe she's breaking a few, it's fine.

But he was also pretty devout, as much as he tried to keep his worship private – with Focalors around, nothing was really secret. Maybe she could get him to settle down long enough to prove it.

..How was she going to prove it?

An exaggerated groan escaped her lips as she led the bubbled imposter – she really wished she didn't have to resort to that, it would be a lot a more awkward to explain then dragging the body around – through the winding streets of Fontaine. She's just glad she's already memorized the entire city like the back of her hand..and a little dramatics went a long way. People listened when the Hydro Archon spoke, and she was suddenly very, very glad for that fact, even if they treated her more like a mascot then a God.

And partially because she, maybe, just a little..stole a few documents detailing the layout and a little personal exploration of her own – but what Neuvillette didn't know couldn't hurt him!

After what felt like hours, though was really no more then half an hour at best, she'd managed to drag herself – soaked to the bone with rain – and the conveniently bubbled imposter up through the secret entrance and into her room.

The perceived safety, as flimsy as it was, was..comforting. Until she heard the rustle of fabric, the clearing of a throat and the pop of a bubble as she, in her surprise, popped it – and then the thud of the imposter hitting the floor.

She felt a bit of regret about that part, at least, wincing.

"Lady Furina." His voice was as sharp and cool as she remembered it always being – like fresh spring water, she'd heard it described. Soothing. It did not feeling very soothing right about now.

She turned sharply on her heel, a forced smile tugging at her lips on reflex, every muscle in her body tensed – she probably looked like a wet cat right about now, soaked with rain, but that was the last thing on her mind.

"Do you mind explaining what, exactly, you did?" Not what you're doing, she notes – what she did. He was mad. Oh, she was really in for a scolding now. She twiddled her thumbs, laughing weakly, though it quickly dies out at the awkward, tense silence.

"Well, you see – it's rather complicated! I can– I can explain." Her attempts to diffuse are met with a raised brow and the sharp tap of his cane. Every single thought is plagued with the urge to run, but the unsteady breathes of the 'imposter' keep her rooted in place. "Well?"

She was sweating bullets, her nails digging into her palm as she scrambled for any excuse that could warrant her not getting hauled off and scolded thoroughly at best – she was coming up empty. How was she supposed to prove that the 'imposter' was very much not what the 'Creator' said they were? Their unconscious body was doing no one any favors, certainly.

"The Creator is lying," She blurts out, immediately regretting her impulsiveness when she feels the sudden weight of his stare – the piercing hues of his eyes that remind her just who is the strongest between them. It is not her, she knows. It never has been. "You can see for yourself! Don't you trust me, Neuvillette–?"

Her voice is cut off by the sharp click of his cane as he strides across the room in only a few steps, his height making her feel like a child about to scolded. She hated it, but she grit her teeth through the exchange. She reminded herself that this was for the sake of the 'imposter' and any affront to her ego was..tolerable.

To her credit, too, she didn't immediately lash out when she saw him poke at their body with his cane, turning them onto their back – she wanted too, though. She considered it, but the thought was quickly shot down when his stare turned back upon her, and she felt frozen in place again, her tongue a heavy weight in her mouth.

Yet she couldn't shake the sudden tenseness to his shoulders, his brows furrowed and a distant look to his eyes. It was..haunting, in a way.

She knows it well, she realizes. The realization and acceptance, the crumbling of every solid foundation you've ever known – leaving you to flounder in the waves, alone and afraid.

The gentleness in which he picks up the limp body surprises her though, his cane set aside. The rain howls like a horrid storm outside, but she cannot focus on anything but the furrow of their brows, the soft noise that escapes their lips.

"I trust that you know that this must stay between us," His voice is soft, like the gentle lap of waves against the shore, as he sets their body down against the bed, his hand lingering against their cheek with something almost like reverence – and if her eyes do not deceive her, affection. "Lady Furina."

She does not hesitate to agree.

"Well– well of course!" She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest and frowning at the feeling of her wet clothes clinging to her skin, a heavy weight that feels like it's dragging her down. "Just what do you take me for?"

He doesn't deign to respond.

It only makes her fume more.

Not that he seems to notice, unbuttoning his heavy outerwear and tossing it on the bed, rolling up his sleeves and focusing on the injured– er..yeah, she really needed a new name for them. Calling them imposter felt wrong.

"So long as you understand, then we will have no problems." She huffs again, pouting and puffing up her cheeks, sitting down on the other end of the bed with only an occasional glance towards him as he worked at peeling away the ragged clothes and examining the injuries marring their skin.

She suddenly felt out of place.

..What was she supposed to be doing?

As if noticing her sudden quietness, Neuvillette sighed, his back turned to her though his attention very much falling upon her. She really hated the feeling like she was being dissected whenever he looked at her. It was unnerving. She doesn't know how anyone else handles it..

"If you are so eager to do something, Lady Furina, then please have something brought up for when our..guest awakens. They will need to recover their strength."

Finally! Something she can do. She perks up, her heels clicking on the floorboards as she darts out like a bullet, unable to stay still for so much as a moment.

Neuvillette, for his part..

Feels an odd sense of serenity as he stares upon the troubled features of the..guest. A peace that lessens the burdens upon his shoulders, the weight of a nation upon his back.

He cannot hear the rain, anymore.

..It must have stopped.

#sagau #genshin sagau #self aware genshin #genshin impact sagau #self aware genshin impact #fic tag #imposter au #focalors #furina #neuvillete #a family can be a dragon an archon and his 300 other children who reverse adopted him #u date him its a package deal sorry #u now have like 300 children g-dspeed #also tagged spoilers on neuvi's part bc its kinda a spoiler??? sort of #also this can be read as platonic or romantic on neuvi's part #can u tell i like focalors btw :)#also gonna be swapping between focalors/furina bc SOMEONE sent me a theory and it sent me spiraling im gonna be ill #u know who u r and ur days r numbered #can be read as romantic between reader & neuvi but only bc i know focalors rubs it in his face she found the actual creator first #anyway can u tell focalors is my fav pt2 i wont shut up abt her its terminal atp #focalors..................#anyway *doesnt post fr months. randomly drops a 2k word fic. leaves and doesnt elaborate*#starts out v serious ends v silly #wrote this in one sitting im gonna go pass out now gn

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diedoverahat · 6 months

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teasing mike with an ice cube. 18+ mdi

not proofread don’t yell at me

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mike has been tied to the bed post for almost ten minutes now, and blindfolded for nearly just as long.

he’s fully worked himself up by this point. chest heaving, cheeks ruddy, lips slick and red, boxers tented deliciously. he looks perfect.

not to mention the thin lines of wetness trailing all over his chest and stomach, leaving little red paths from the intense cold in their wake.

you can’t remember who started this, all you remember is trying to fix mike and you a couple of drinks shortly after he got back from dropping abby at vanessa’s place. innocently filling each glass with ice cubes when mike slid up behind you, kissing your neck and whispering filth in your ear.

you rolled your eyes, feigning annoyance to rile mike up. it worked of course, he’s a simple man, but just not in the way you wanted it too. mike grabbed an ice cube and dropped it down the back of your shirt, and a small wrestling match ensued leaving both of you on the floor making out.

one thing led to another and mike hauled you up in a rush to get to the bedroom, you didn’t even notice he grabbed the glass full of ice cubes off the counter.

now you’re here, minus some clothes, sitting on mikes thighs trailing ice cube after ice cube over his sensitive skin on display.

“ah! mhm shit…” mike whimpers out when you run the cold ice over his left nipple, hands clenching and unclenching where they’re bound to the bedpost.

you hum back nonchalantly, mouth too occupied to respond fully. your lips wrapped around a piece of ice that’s quickly melting, you circle his nipple a few times drawing out little keens from him as you do.

the ice fully melts, leaving your lips cold as you trail kisses all along his pecs. you travel all the way up his neck, sucking at the sensitive spot behind his ear. mikes breathy moans make your heart race and fireworks go off deep in your stomach.

you take advantage of mike being blindfolded to surprise him, stopping your assault on his neck to kiss him properly. he responds almost immediately, craning his head up to desperately kiss you back and moaning into your mouth enthusiastically.

you smile into the kiss before you can stop yourself, mikes responsiveness to your touch never fails to make you giddy.

you pull back, breaking the kiss much to mikes dismay. he lets out an all suffering groan, trying his best to rear up in chase of your lips.

you sit back, just watching him for a second. the biggest drawback of the blindfold is that you can’t see mikes eyes. they’ve always been your favorite feature of his, they’re so expressive. you can read whatever he’s thinking by just looking in his eyes.

you reel back before you feel yourself starting to get too sentimental, that’s not what mike needs right now. that’s not what either of you need right now.

“how’s it feel?” you ask softly, running your hands up and down his chest.

mike shivers under your light touch. “feels weird,” he breathes out quietly, “feels so fucking good though.”

“yeah?” you ask hotly, reaching out to pluck another piece of ice wasting no time before popping it in your mouth and shuffling down mikes body.

“ah!” mike exclaims as you start up on his chest again, circling his right nipple a few times before making your way over to his left to repeat the process.

only this time you dare to go lower, dragging the ice down the center of his chest to his stomach to trace shapes with the ice. a circle, a square, a heart, you even spell your name out. mike yelps, his abs tensing.

“shit! baby oh god,” he babbles incoherently, head trashing back and forth on the pillow.

you trail the ice all the way to the hem of his boxers, kissing along where the seam meets his skin while raking your hands up his legs.

mike keens, his legs fight to stay still. “fuck yes, don’t stop. please don’t stop.”

hearing his desperate pleas and whines spur you on enough to stop teasing him. you roughly yank his boxers down, his hard dick bobbing out to slap against his stomach. you moan at the sight of him, flushed red and wet at the tip.

sparks go off at the base of your spine. you need him in your mouth now. you crunch down on your ice enthusiastically, swallowing the bits and pieces left.

you know your tongue, lips, and mouth are still cold from how many ice cubes you’ve gone through. apparently, mike didn’t think of that, so the cold kiss you plant on the tip of his dick takes him by surprise.

“fuck! oh fuck fuck fuck-“ he breathes out roughly as you run your cold tongue all over the length of him, kissing and suckling as you go.

you kiss your way up to the tip of his dick, gripping the base in your hand and wrapping your lips around the head.

“s’good baby, feels so good.” mike slurs quietly. you squeeze his thigh with your other hand, starting to bob your head in a steady rhythm.

you pull off, letting the spit that gathered in your mouth drip down the length of mikes dick before you continue bobbing your head. the lewd sound of slurping that fills the room makes your ears burn in the best way possible. the familiar weight and taste of him on your tongue leaves your pussy aching.

mike’s a incoherent mess at this point, reduced down to making needy sounds and tugging at his restraints in vain.

you plunge lower, down to the base of his cock and swallow around him. mike yelps.

“shit baby i’m gonna-fuck-i’m gonna fucking come.” he’s unable to stop the praises that flow out of his mouth. his legs are kicking out erratically, but you’ll give him a pass just this once.

you pull all the way off mike’s dick, using your hand to stroke him quickly. “do it mike. come for me,“ you purr hoarsely. “be good and come for me.” your lips brushing against the tip of mikes weeping dick has his orgasm hitting him like a train and spurting his come into your parted lips.

“fuck!” he shouts, voice raspy and loud. you bob your head down again to swallow his release, tearing an overwhelmed keen from mike’s chest. he’s rocking his hips mindlessly up into your mouth to ride out his orgasm.

you can tell that he’s extremely sensitive, but that doesn’t stop you. “oh shit–” mike gasps as you continue to suckle at his sensitive spent dick, coaxing out tiny drops of come.

“s’to much, i can’t!” he cries, hips pressing into the mattress trying to squirm away from the pleasure turned overstimulation. you take pity on him, and pull off after one long suck, pressing one last kiss to the head.

you slide up the length of mike’s body, pulling a blanket up with you to cover you both. his chest is heaving and he’s covered in sweat. “i’m gonna take the blindfold off.” you say softly, reaching up to gently remove the blindfold. he only grunts in response.

mike has his eyes closed when you take it off him, still coming down from his orgasm. then you undo the tie you used as a makeshift rope to free his wrists from the bedpost. tossing both items aside you finally lay down and cuddle up next to mike.

he turns his head to you, eyes open and looking into yours. “hi.” you say with a soft smile.

mike laughs weakly, strong arms circling your waist to pull you closer. “that was… holy shit.” mike says reverently. you laugh, tangling your legs with his under the blanket. “you’re welcome.”

mike doesn’t respond, instead leaning in to kiss you. the two of you slowly make out, hands roaming each others body’s contently. you pull back just enough to rest your forehead against his.

“you want that drink now?”

——————————

taglist!

@yuenity @ebodebo @mfdxz

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heartchoi · 10 months

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himbo!yeonjun who doesn't even realize that you’re thirsting over him in broad daylight …

it would be summer, the blazing sun leading yeonjun to wear a loose tank top while you two hang out, showing off his defined arm muscles as he talks to you about some movie he watched recently.

the thing is... you can barely even register what he's talking about. hell, you can't even hear the words leaving his lips, eyes trying their hardest to maintain eye contact with him. but it doesn’t work; your eyes somehow trail down to his biceps like magnets.

there’s something that attracts you to his muscles, but you can’t quite pinpoint it. perhaps he could manhandle you, using his strength to put you into any position he desires; missionary, doggy, mating press, you’re sure he could do it without any trouble. you’re willing to let him put you into any position he likes, all pliant, just for him.

you don’t notice you’re staring until yeonjun waves a large hand in front of your face — damn, even that looks good. his hands would be great for a necklace.

yeonjun has a puzzled look on his face, eyebrows twisted in confusion. “are you okay?” he asks. “is it too hot? do i need to get you some water?” yeonjun questions, slowly becoming worried. you shake your head no as you feel your skin heat up from embarrassment, but yeonjun takes it the wrong way.

“gosh, you look like you’re burning up! i’ll get you some water, i’ll be right back.” he assures you, getting up quickly to find a bottle of water somewhere.

fuck. maybe you’ll have to tell him the real reason sooner or later, he might be willing to try if you’re lucky.

#txt smut #yeonjun smut #txt hard thoughts #yeonjun hard thoughts #i just wanted to write some himbos tbh #and then i remembered … TANK TOP YEONJUN!#i wrote this in one sitting i believe i might be crazy Tbh #🍒.yeonjun

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harbingersglory · 4 months

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hii could i req an soft dom arlecchino x sub/fem reader?? something w a really needy whiny reader n maybe like a mommy kink or thigh riding IDK tysm for ur time !

{☆} characters arlecchino {☆} notes drabble, fem reader, sub reader {☆} warnings 18+ content

"Slowly, doll. We're not in a rush." Arlecchino reprimands lightly, squeezing your hips with just enough force to keep you unmoving on her thigh– she was still being gentle, but the subtle warning in her tone spoke to how easily she could push you against the desk and turn you into such a mess that you couldn't even remember your own name..just that you were hers.

But the barest hint of stimulation from her slacks pressed against your throbbing cunt had you twitching, barely able to form words. All you could think about was the scorching, twisting need building in your stomach, desperation for relief slowly climbing until you'd think she was doing this on purpose to drive you mad.

"Please– 'm a good girl, right? I've been good.." You choked out, only to be met with the rough, husky laugh echoing in your ear that made you feel dizzy with a rush of need, her nails gliding along the skin of your hips as she pressed you down even more firmly– you couldn't see her face but it was easy to imagine the crooked smile twisting her lips at the way you inhaled sharply and tried to buck against her thigh.

"Shh. I know, doll. I've got you, just relax." She murmured in that sickly sweet tone that always had your knees buckling, the raspiness of her voice sending shivers down your spine. It was almost impossible to relax with her so close, the notes of metal lingering on her skin despite how well she presents herself– but you trusted her, despite how you know you shouldn't.

"There we go. Good girl." Arlecchino's grip on your hips loosened just enough for you to move if you so wished, and oh did it take every ounce of restraint to not do just that..she hadn't said you were allowed to, and you weren't about to spoil her good mood by being a brat. Not tonight, anyway. "Do you want to cum, doll?"

The fervent nod you offer in place of words draws a laugh from her lips, one that is almost mocking, making your face flush in embarrassment– but the sudden tap against your hip makes your mind go blank to the point you forget it all together, focused only on the feeling of her thigh rubbing against your cunt as you bucked against her thigh, the fabric slick and wet against your inner thighs. You'd have half the heart to be embarrassed about that, too, if not for the sudden brush of her thumb against your aching, neglected clit. Just that small touch has you speeding up your movements, practically drooling as you whimpered like a dog in heat.

"That's more like it, doll. Such a pretty girl." Arlecchino hummed, her other hand trailing up your stomach, between the valley of your breasts and ghosting across your throat before settling on grabbing your jaw in a firm, yet almost tender touch as she tilted your head to the side just enough for her to pull you into a burning kiss. It left you lightheaded, grinding down against her thigh as she claimed your mouth as her own, her thumb still ghosting over your clit sporadically.

She'd spent so long teasing you, constantly touching you but never where you needed her, that you already felt like you were going to snap like a wire. She must've been in a really good mood, then, when she pulled away from the kiss with an almost predatory lick of her lips, yet she settled on pressing kisses to your skin rather then the usual sharp bite of her teeth as they sunk into the curve of your shoulder.

"Are you close? Go on. I want to see your face when you cum– you look the prettiest when you finally break apart, doll." Arlecchino mused idly– as if she wasn't talking to you while you continued to rub your aching cunt against her thigh, chasing your own release through shaky, strained breaths. Her thumb swiped over your lips, brushing strands of hair stuck to your skin from your face– at the same time as she swiped her thumb more firmly against your clit, creating a vicious contrast that had you both melting at the barest hint of almost softness from her and the touch of her hand between your legs, dragging you into an orgasm that leaves you trembling and, had she not shoved her fingers into your mouth, screaming, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes.

"All done, little doll. Take it easy." She murmured, voice so quiet you almost didn't hear it, thumb swiping across your cheek to wipe away the stray tear, her hands pulling away to settle on your sides. "You did well– good girl. Let me take it from here."

#genshin impact smut #genshin smut #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #minors dni #writing tag #arlecchino x reader #arlecchino smut #i considered the mommy part for half a second but i see arle as the biggest butch and i didnt want 2 swap it on the fly looks around #the projection is just a little too hard my bad. i am obnoxiously annoying abt butch arle...#n e way ough soft arle...........not done enough......arle being rough is a given bc shes Like That but like #soft.......#i am weak for a woman who can do both and switch on a dime #arle imo leans like. 80-90% towards rough but shes got a soft spot if shes in a good mood yknow..#i wrote this at 1 am on like uhhh 2 hrs of sleep if it isnt good uhhhhh blame it on that lol #im just feeling it out rn anyway tryna get into writing proper smut again its been a hot minute oop #passes out and dies ough......................#also did NOT spellcheck i just wrote it all in one sitting and called it a day i am gonna pass out now so if u see a typo....#no u didnt #im not done yet wait a minute okay now just. soft arle got me okay. its rlly rare but shes good at playing nice okay #the appeal of arle is fucked up little creature but sometimes u want 2 be pampered i get it #OKAY im actually shutting up now passes out in the middle of the road

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macfrog · 7 months

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if patrick bateman were a woman

cowboy like me [bonus chapter]

surprise!! happy halloween!!!! may your day be spooky and your sex be filthy. here's a bonus chapter of clm to celebrate. love y'all !!! despite being cowboy joel and his reader, this is not canon. does not happen in the cowboy like me series. i wish. it's just a little bit of spooky szn fun with my two favorite star-crossed lovers. !!!

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

summary: sarah throws a halloween party. you and joel have a little too much fun.

warnings: as pwp as a macfrog fic can get, age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), lil bit titty appreciation, a singular daddy mention, a single slice of degradation, but also praise kink, unprotected piv sex, creampie, it's set on halloween, alcohol consumption, cursing

word count: 4k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🧡

Ice, pretzels, lime juice. Ice, pretzels, lime juice.

I’m giving you one job. Ice, pretzels, lime juice. That’s it.

That sounds like three jobs, you’d said.

Sarah ignored you. Be here at seven, alright? Ice – pretzels – lime juice!

It’s seven thirty. You’re finally on her front porch. The tiny section of bare skin between your stockings and black skirt is pimpled with goosebumps. With each inhale you suck in the sickly-sweet scent of fake blood, splattered across your face. You have a bag of ice slung over one arm, a bag of pretzels balanced on top, a bottle of juice hanging from your fingers and an axe under your elbow.

Only – it’s not lime juice. And the axe is plastic.

Sarah opens the door and spots your blunder instantly. “That’s lemon.”

“I know. They didn’t have any lime.”

“They didn’t have any lime? Where the hell did you go?”

“It’s Halloween, Sarah. Everybody and their fucking grandma is drinking tonight. Lemon tastes the exact –”

“Ah!” She holds a finger up. Her red cape flutters in the breeze. “It does not taste the same. Otherwise, why would it be two separate things?”

“Hey, Wonder Woman,” you drone, “mind letting me in? I’m fucking freezing.”

She scoffs, and steps aside. Mutters, “’s not the same thing,” as you pass.

You click down the hall, head rolling to check out her decorating. The living room and kitchen are lit by constellations of tiny tealights, flickering and blinking and casting tall, warped shadows across the walls. There’s a purple neon sign sat against the wall that reads Spooky. By the fireplace sit the two pumpkins she and her boyfriend carved last night; she’d sent you photos and asked you to pick a winner. When you chose the Iron Man head over the silhouette of Tinkerbell, she sent back a middle finger emoji.

Y: It’s cleaner cut. What do you expect? Shoddy work, Miller.

S: asshole.

Sarah’s slotting the ice into the freezer. Struggling, by the sound of it. You swing back into the kitchen to find Wonder Woman on her ass, hammering her fist against the frozen pack to fit it in.

You’re about to offer help, when someone else does it for you. Someone lower, gravellier. A voice like thunder in the distance, a storm approaching.

“You need a hand?” he asks, and when you turn, you almost drop your fucking axe.

He glances to you as he emerges from the dark hallway, the warm glow licking at his graying flicks of hair, nestling in the deep-set lines on his face. His eyes dart down to where your fingers now clutch the plastic handle, holding it against the hem of your skirt like it’ll do anything to cover your modesty.

Your modesty, meaning – the line of sexy black lace curling around your thighs, snug against the supple skin.

What the fuck are you doing here? you mouth, as Joel paces across the kitchen towards his daughter.

He shrugs, palms outstretched. It’s my house?

You roll your eyes, run your tongue like lightning across your scarlet lips. Sarah straightens up, huffs hair from her face and stares blankly at Joel.

He bends, takes the entire bag in one huge palm, and reorganizes the drawer with the other. Your eye drifts to his bicep, flexing under the tight seam of a dark tee. The bag of ice cradled in his arm leaves weak little droplets, running down the tan skin to the crook of his elbow. You want to fucking lick them up, gather the frozen beads on your tongue, hike up up up to the curve of his shoulder, the crook of his neck, the –

“Hey.” Sarah clicks her fingers in front of your face. “You hearin’ me?”

“Huh? No, yeah. No. I wasn’t lis– What did you say?”

She sighs again. Joel groans as he pushes off his knee and stands tall behind her. Wipes the water from his arm with one swipe of his palm.

“Would you put these in a bowl?” his daughter asks, shoving the bag of pretzels into your suited chest. She shuffles off, announcing she’s going to pick a playlist for the night.

Suited is perhaps giving you too much credit. You’re in a mini skirt and waistcoat, a red tie slung loose around your neck. You’ve a clear poncho draped over your shoulders, but with the heat from the million and one fucking candles – and the flush that the forty-something-year-old with his wide frame and fitted sweatpants and toned chest and his big fucking hands has cast over you – it’ll soon be discarded to the newel post.

But when you reach up for the bowl on the top shelf of the cabinet, pushing forward with a palm on the countertop, the marble digging into your pelvis and forcing your ass to jut out – you think yourself pretty fucking smug to be in a skirt that hugs your cheeks and not much else.

You turn, the lip of the bowl in your fingers, and smile sweetly at Joel, whose gaze returns north as you approach him.

“You got nothin’ better to do with your night than babysit a bunch of twenty-five-year-olds?” you murmur, spilling the bag into the blue bowl. You place a pretzel on your tongue, humming at the taste.

Joel smiles, popping the cap off his beer. He spills the amber liquid into his mouth. “I’ll be in my room.”

Your eyebrows lift. “That so? You need any company in there?”

“Nope. Rangers game is on. I’ll be busy.”

The words ghost across your lips. You’ll be busy, you breathe. Joel nods. Then looks you up and down.

“American Psycho?”

“What?”

He flicks his wrist up and down your figure. “What’s his name, again? Pat–”

“Patrick Bateman,” you say together. You nod.

“That’s the one.” Then he turns, leans his jaw nearer until his lips line with your ear. Your eyes shoot across to the empty doorway. Sarah’s skipping song after song in the living room.

Joel’s finger slips beneath the lace trim of your stockings, tugging gently. “I don’t remember ‘im in these, though,” he says, voice low.

You gulp. Swallow to push your heart back into place. “Well,” you glance down, lifting your thigh closer to him, “if he were a woman, he woulda dressed like this.”

“That’s somethin’ I’d like to see,” Joel murmurs, eyes locked on the place where lace separates from skin.

“Yeah?”

He nods. Growls, “Yeah.”

And then he’s walking away.

Within an hour, the house is jumping. Literally. Almost.

You sit at the kitchen island, sipping on a beer, staring down the hall at the sea of bodies – of nylon and polyester, of purples and oranges, of headbands and props and cloaks and hats. There are a lot more than forty people here – a lot more than Sarah intended to turn up.

A lot more than you know, too. She’s barely even four years younger than you, but most of these kids look like they just walked out of middle school. Of the handful of faces you recognize, one is sat opposite you, his arm draped over Sarah’s shoulder, her hand locked in his. She and Ty have been dating for a year now, surviving long-distance when she jets back off to school every few months.

The other you know, unfortunately for you, is swaying by your side. Leaning a little too heavily into you. Asking you questions about college, and then talking over your answers to tell you stories about his college. Asking you questions about films you like, and then interrupting to gawk at the titles you reel off. The only times he doesn’t jump in over your answer, are the times he’s asking who you think might win in a fight between prime Mike Tyson and prime Muhammad Ali. And that’s only because you don’t have an answer to give him.

Jace. Ty’s best friend. Fucking – loser.

“And who the fuck are you s’posed to be, anyways?” he asks, slinging a heavy arm over your shoulder. He reeks of beer, warm and stale. His jaw’s swinging, cheeks popping and suckling on a shriveled piece of gum.

You scowl, shrugging the uncomfortable weight from the nape of your neck. “Patrick Bateman,” you mutter.

“Who?”

“Christian Bale. You know, when he –” Sarah mimes lifting an axe over her shoulder, takes a swing through the air, across the island to Jace.

“No fucking idea,” he says, shaking his head. You’re not surprised.

“Where’s your axe?” Ty asks, as Sarah nuzzles back into his side.

You shrug. “Saw someone using it to stir the punch earlier. ‘s probably in the toilet or something.”

He laughs, flashing his dimpled cheeks. He’s got glistening eyes beneath long, black eyelashes. He’s handsome. Sharp jaw, full lips. Sarah links her fingers at his side, plants her cheek against his shoulder. She’s comfortable. She’s safe. Your chest warms at the sight.

He squeezes her arm, and they share a meaningful glance before there’s a yell from across the kitchen, and their attention is diverted.

When they turn to watch two of Sarah’s high school friends sword-fighting, wielding a plastic lightsaber and your axe, you slink off, swiping two beers from the fridge. Swift and silent, you scale the stairs and fade into the darkened hallway at the top, in pursuit of your own dark-eyed, sharp-jawed comfort.

The sliver of light at the end of the hall draws you in, footsteps silent along the soft carpet. Up here, tucked away in the corner of the house, far from the rattling music and rumble of boisterous chatter – you can hear the soft roar of a crowd, the crack of ball against bat.

Your hip nudges the door open, trickle of condensation running over your knuckles. Joel’s eyes are already on you. He’s laying on his bed, legs outstretched, knee cocked. One arm lies idly on his thigh. You get the feeling he shifted it quickly when he saw the door move.

He balances his chin on the end of the remote, purses his lips and lifts his head. “Now,” he mumbles, “you’re s’posed to be downstairs.”

You shrug, holding the bottles up. “Thought you might need a top-up.”

His eyes thin. He sits up straight, swings his legs over the edge of the bed. You come to a stop between his knees, holding the beer down to him. He hums, taking it with his eyes locked on yours.

“Thanks, darlin’,” he says, and his eyes begin to drift down.

You tilt your head back at the same time he does, lifting the lip of your own bottle. The cold drink washes over your tongue, bitter and blunt in its taste, leaving a furry feeling on your gums. When your chin lowers again, Joel’s hand is on the back of your thigh.

He’s staring at the two knolls between you – your breasts round, nipples peaking under the tight waistcoat.

“Welcome,” you reply, swirling the liquid around in the curved glass. Your voice is barely there. But he hears you, and he must hear the want laced deep through that one quiet word, because he instantly slides his beer onto his nightstand.

He curves both hands around your thighs, fingers lifting higher and higher between your legs until they’re crossing over lace and onto bare skin.

You shuffle forward, leaning your arms on his shoulders and propping your knees on the bed either side of his body. Your skirt rides up, exposing the shard of shocking red lace beneath the pinstripe material.

Joel sees it. Like it’s a rag and he’s a bull. It charges something deep inside him. Something that awakens beneath the thin line of fabric between your legs.

You can feel your pulse in your clit. Fluttering, fucking – hammering. Your cunt feels painfully empty, clenching around nothing. Joel’s palms surf across the tops of your thighs until his fingers are teetering along the hem of your skirt.

“Off,” he instructs, swatting the poncho away.

You shake it from your shoulders the same way you shook the blond downstairs off. Joel nods as the material crumples to the floor. He hooks a hand under your knee and yanks your body closer to his. You almost throw the beer bottle across his bed.

“J– fucking hell, my –”

“Shut up,” he clips, and grabs the beer from your grasp to deposit it alongside his own.

His hands find the tiny buttons of your waistcoat, fingers slip through the gaps between them where your skin peeks through. You can feel his hot breath on your chest. A wave of need washes over you, a desire from deep within your marrow to feel him everywhere. His breath, his tongue, his hands. All of him.

Your entire body weight rests on his shoulders, your fingers locking his shirt in two tight fists. Joel doesn’t seem to mind. Barely seems to notice. He pulls apart the first button, watches with a dark gaze as your breasts spill over. The second button pops open easily, and they bounce lower. When he unhooks the third, they drop into place, nipples pointed, welcoming him in between them.

“Dirty fuckin’ girl,” he whispers as he leans in, mouth flattening against the smooth skin between them. “No bra or nothin’.”

“Knew you’d be here,” you reply, head rolling back as he licks a trail across to the darker flesh of your nipple. His lips close around it and he suckles gently. Your nails dig into his scalp.

He pushes the waistcoat over your shoulders and it drops to the carpet, pooled inside the shell of poncho. As soon as it falls, his hands begin the climb up the seam of your thigh, resting on the brush of red – where he feels the quickly dampening mark on the fabric.

“Thought as much,” he says, head cocking to watch your expression warp as he rubs slow circles into your clit. His voice is as soft as his touch, innocent almost, when he asks, “She like that?”

“Ye-ah,” you choke, leaning back.

“Yeah,” he agrees, and uses his other hand to fish beneath his sweatpants. He rubs himself under the gray cotton, watches as your fingers clutch at the waistband to tug it down, releasing him.

His heavy cock springs up between your bodies, dabs precome on the pointed tail of your tie. You giggle, loosening the knot and pulling the thin silk over your head. Your hands wrap around him, twisting and pumping and dragging the milky arousal from his slit down the smooth, warm skin. Joel’s breath catches when your thumbs swipe across his head.

His fingers slip behind your knees and pull them apart, pull them wider on the mattress. You lean forward, chest brushing against his parted lips, taking your panties in one hand and guiding him along your slit with the other.

You cover him in your arousal, the veined skin soon slick and pearlescent. His wide head slips between your opening, notching against your entrance and forcing the breath from your lungs.

His hands sit firmly on your waist, pushing down on your hips, pushing and pushing until he sinks snug into your cunt. When he pauses, his mouth agape and eyes stuck on the sight of his body connecting to yours, you whine.

“More,” you mewl, voice dripping with need, drizzling all over him.

“We gotta –”

“More.”

“Baby,” Joel says, voice flat but crumbling. “We gotta go slow. I’m gonna – You’re gonna make me come, dressed like that, if we go too quick.”

But fuck, you want to feel him. Want him to buck his hips and fill you in one go – fuck the pain. Fuck the discomfort, fuck the way your walls would clamp in a vice grip around him. You want him to fuck you. Want to be fucked so good that you have to time your moaning with the bassline of the music downstairs, unable to contain the sounds in your throat. Fucked so good that you waddle out of the room, that you fling yourself back onto the couch and wince in pain, a sharp memory of the breadth of him shooting between your legs.

Your hips circle, the heat of your cunt swirling around and around on his tip. He groans, hands tightening on your waist to hold you still.

“Stop it, darlin’,” he growls, the words clawing from between his teeth.

“F-fuck me, then,” you moan, curling your back to slowly edge down on him.

“Ask nicer.”

You smile, heavy lids falling closed. “Please?”

His hands roam around the curve of your ass. He starts to push again. “Nicer.”

Your mouth opens wider the further he slides into you. The more he claims of your body, the further you open for him, the warmer your welcome. Your head tips back, eyes tighten until you see stars. When you feel a weight around your neck, you flutter your lashes open, blink the cyan-colored sparkles from your vision.

Joel pulls your jaw back down to face him. Squeezes on your pulse, holding you between his middle finger and thumb.

“Nicer,” he demands.

You lean in, small hands linking around his thick wrist. “Fuck me, please, daddy,” you whisper.

And he smiles like a fucking devil. Eyes drawn black like ink. He pulls you in until your chin brushes against the rough bristle of his own, lines his bottom lip with yours.

Into your mouth, he asks, “You think you can take it, babygirl? Think it’ll fit?”

You nod desperately, anchoring yourself on his wrist. “Know it will.”

He’s only halfway in. Your heartbeat is thudding around your body, focusing hardest on your clit. Your hips move again, and Joel allows it, sitting back to watch as you sink down further.

“Go on,” he says, watching your body slowly attach to his, “’f you think you can do it. Be a big girl ‘n take it. Slow.”

Something caught between a laugh and a whimper drags between your painted lips – something dripping in desire, built from a need to prove yourself to him, to take all of him inside your body, to feel him in the deepest parts of yourself. You push on him, loosen his grip around your neck and flatten your palms on his chest. And you curve your back, pushing him deeper.

“’s my girl,” Joel says, quietly, as if to himself. “This what you wanted? Comin’ up here, dressed like that?”

Your teeth hold onto your bottom lip. “Like what?” you purr, leaning forward until your noses brush.

Joel tips his chin up, lips flush against yours. “Like a little fuckin’ slut.”

You laugh weakly, feeling him finally in his entirety. “Fuck.”

Joel’s hands take your waist, pushing you down until the pain sends bolts of lightning across your vision. The bruising feeling of his head against your cervix. The sweet stretch of your skin opening around his.

“Beggin’ for it, weren’t ya? ‘n now look, you can’t hardly take it.”

“I can take it,” you hiss back, bracing yourself on the mattress. Your hips lift, holding onto him, bouncing up and down steadily. “I can take it,” you repeat, like a mantra, like the only thing keeping you in the room still. The only thing reminding your body to keep moving.

Joel holds a palm steady against the bottom of your stomach, rubs his thumb delicately against your skin. “So deep, baby. ‘m so fuckin’ deep inside you. That feel nice?”

The meat of your ass slaps against the tops of his thighs. You’re quickening, eyes screwing shut. He feels so good. Fills you up so fucking good. Your legs start to loosen, knees weakening the more you fuck yourself on him. Your head drops between your shoulders when his thumb lowers, circles gently at your clit.

“Keep – keep doing that. Fuck, Joel – touch me. Keep touching me.”

“’boutta come, ain’t you?”

“Sh-shut up.”

“Yeah,” he says, “she’s about to come.”

“Shut up,” you hiss, hips rolling now, losing rhythm between the split of his cock inside you and the lull of his thumb on your clit. Your back arches, vision begins to blur. Your lungs close in on themselves as you give one final gasp to the ceiling, and let go.

Your walls clamp hard around him, and in one swift movement, your bodies are flipped. When you open your eyes again, you’re on your back, Joel’s figure towering over you.

“’attagirl,” he mutters, palms flat against the underside of your thighs. He pushes them flat, folding you in two, your knees resting by your shoulders. “So close, darlin’. Ain’t gonna last.”

You’re shaking your head, holding onto his neck, thighs trembling. “I – can’t, Joel.”

“Yeah, you can. You can,” he assures, dipping his head to place his lips on yours. Your mouth opens up for him, tongue falls against his own. It’s barely a kiss – you’re licking at one another, sure, but there’s nothing tender or gentle about it. Joel pulls away only to glance down and guide himself back inside you. “Gonna be my good girl, aren’t you? Gonna make me come.”

With one seamless thrust, he’s back inside you, pressing your legs harder against your torso. You whine, a blur of pain and pleasure mixing where he fucks you.

“Good girl,” he says, tongue skimming along his top lip. “Nice ‘n wide, that’s it.”

Your back arches into him, arms tighten around his neck, lips settle curved around his own. You’re moaning, his name releasing itself from your mouth in shots of breath. Joel takes your knee and hooks it over his shoulder, letting the other fall to his hip. The angle forces him deeper. Deeper and harder.

But he’s starting to jump. Bucking randomly. He’s panting your name, teeth grazing against your neck in attempt to hold on just a little longer, feel you squeeze him a little more.

“You’re close,” you slur.

“’m close,” he says.

“Gonna come in me –?”

“Baby –”

“– ’n send me – ah – back downstairs full of you? Runnin’ outta me?”

Joel’s head shakes. His eyes tighten. “Fuck, darlin’. Dirty fuckin’ mouth.”

“C’mon,” you beg, “give it to – m-me.”

His hips hammer against yours, punching against the edge of your cunt harshly. You sob out, nails digging into his shoulders, until he halts, and you feel the warmth of him spurting deep inside your body. Feel the way he tenses, empties, and stills.

Your head falls back against the mattress. Joel’s still nuzzled against your neck, breathing labored, lips soaking wet against your skin. You sift your fingers through his hair, combing through it as he comes to.

His chest rocks against yours. Feeling starts to sharpen again, the orgasmic haze starting to bleed into the past. The walls of the house thud with the music from downstairs. You feel the weight of his body on top of yours again.

“Up,” you groan, pushing on his shoulders.

Joel scoffs, pushing against the mattress and rolling over beside you. He slips out, his spend seeping out and spilling onto your thigh.

Your fingers intertwine with his by your side, your nails scrawling into his knuckles.

“I miss you, when you ain’t around,” Joel whispers, glossy eyes blinking at the ceiling. “I’m bored up here.”

You roll onto your side, run your fingers over the halo of sweat around the collar of his shirt. “Good think I ain’t far, then. ‘m only downstairs.”

He smiles. “Downstairs is too far.”

You lean over him and place a soft kiss on his rough cheek. “Just have to keep you at my hip then, don’t I?”

His head turns and his lips find yours. He cups the globe of your head, pulls you harder against his jaw, runs his tongue along your teeth. When you pull away, you shift the damp hair from his glistening forehead.

“You ruined my tie, by the way,” you tell him. “The hell am I supposed to say that is?”

Joel shrugs. “If Patrick Bateman were a woman, ‘n all that.”

#i wrote this in one sitting so please forgive if it's garbage #but halloween has SUCKED for me this year and it's my favorite holiday SO i had to mark it somehow #anyways #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #tlou fic #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal joel miller #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel

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naivegh0ul · 6 months

Note

that post about ghost being into you ignoring him,,

I thirst for more

the brainrot is reeeeaaal ughhh

I wanna cockwarm him but instead of grinding and whining and complaining that I want him to fill me so good like I usually do I wanna just sit there and actually cockwarm him, pretend he isn’t there, go on my phone and maybe respond to all the guys in my DMs right in front of him, maybe linger on one dick pick from some rando just to rile him up and watch out of the corner of my eye as his twitches in frustration, but he won’t say anything about it :(( I wanna be sitting in the living room on the couch all sweet and pretty and have him come up to me and try to grind on me or get me to touch him but all I’ll do is lay there and read my book or watch my show, pull my hands out of his when he tries to pull them towards his cock for me to stroke him :(( he’d be so mad and pent up after probably only a day, and when he does get to slip his cock into my tight hole?? baby I’d pretend I couldn’t feel anything and start reading some yummy smut while he ruts into me :(( but it’s okay bc he likes it and it gets him off and makes him try harder to please me, so it’s a win-win!!

YESSS you get me this is exactly what I was thinking.

He thinks that if he gets you in his lap and stuffs you full of his cock, he'll get a reaction. Maybe have you squirming and whining. But you just sit there, on that stupid little phone of yours.

And god, if you even dare start looking at some other guy's dick pics? He gets so mad, hands balling into fists and his eyebrow twitching in annoyance. He knows he should control himself, at least on the outside.

On the inside, he's fuming. He's picturing kicking that guy's ass, beating him to a pulp and then sending you a photo of his limp, unconscious body. Just the thought of it gets his cock twitching inside you, has him groaning and bucking his hips up into you.

You're so right about sitting and looking all pretty on the couch for him. In your cute little pyjamas, book in hand as you smile and get butterflies from what's happening in the story. You haven't look up from your book in ages (it's been 10 minutes) and he really wants you right now.

He tries so hard to get your attention, pulling out all the stops. He spreads his thighs, rubbing them lightly as he groans and shifts his hips. No response. So he tries something a little more hands on, shuffling closer to run his hands along your torso and chest. Still, no response.

When he tries to grab your hand to pull it away from the book, you let him; teasing him a little, leading him on. You let him pull your hand towards his crotch, his sweats tented from where his cock is hard and leaking but you don't let him put your hand on it, simply pulling your hand back and flipping the page nonchalantly.

Once this goes on for longer than a day, and you're denying him what he wants, he gets really annoyed. He's walking around the house with a permanent hard-on, sometimes waking up to find himself grinding against your ass.

It's torture and he loves it.

When he finally manages to get his hands on you, it's over for him. He's cumming before he's even fully inside you, just the tip pressed into your hole as he moans and throws his head back. You don't care, acting as if you can't feel Ghost's thick cock stretching you out and twitching inside you as he cums.

And Ghost is determined to make you react. Anything, a shaky sigh, a tiny moan, anything. Just something to show that, yes, he does affect you. His balls slapping against your ass does affect you.

He does affect you - he does have you fingering yourself in the bathroom when he goes to bed because you're so pent up from not letting Ghost touch you - but he doesn't know that. To him, you're completely fine. You don't care when he bottoms out and cums again, choosing to rut against your ass slowly so he doesn't shoot his load for the third time.

Don't even think about pulling up some smut on your phone because that will be his last straw. As much as he absolutely loves being ignored, loves seeing your bored little expression as he fingers you open, he wants you to react. He needs you to react.

So that phone is being tossed onto the carpeted floor and you're being flipped onto your back, your legs slung over Ghost's shoulders as he puts you into a mating press and enters you again, leaning down so you're face to face and Ghost can watch the minute details of your expression, checking to see if your eyebrows furrow a little or if your eyes cloud over and your lips part.

#i wrote this all in one sitting #without my glasses on #sorry for any mistakes #gender neutral reader #ghost cod #ghost #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x gender neutral reader #simon riley x gender neutral reader

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jungwondazed · 6 months

Text

18+ only / emotion heavy sex w heeseung

i think there’s a loneliness hidden deep inside heeseung that is sort of masked with his flirty and bold interactions with fans. he’s charismatic, no question but i like to think there’s some of us who can kind of see through that.

i believe he longs for a love so deep it could heal the innermost parts of him, the parts of his childhood that he couldn’t live out regularly due to the stress of trying to debut. growing up in the spotlight under strict scrutiny and never having the chance to be like any other young adult, leads me to believe that heeseung craves a genuine relationship.

he’s gentle with you, patient. he plays his role of a man well. protective, caring, and nurturing you in the times that you need. when you come to him about personal problems he nods with every sentence you express, he tilts his head at your hurt, and wraps his hand around your fingers, reminding you of his presence. heeseung is anything but abrasive and abrupt, he is the wind blowing through a field that follows you every way.

he loves so hard that it hurts. there is no getting mad at him, he’s never wronged you of any sort. he’s sensitive, more than most guys are. as tough and head strong as he is, when he welcomes someone like you into his life that turns him into a vulnerable man there are softs spots that you must tip toe around because loving him is learning the parts of him that needs healing.

with his emotions set in place, it translates over to how he takes physical affection, and he is a fool for it. heeseung would never casually sleep with anyone, his values and life experiences has shaped him into a guy that can only get off if it’s with someone he desperately loves.

“is this okay?” he asks every single time like this isn’t anything you aren’t used to. you nod, and he continues, his breath staggering when you grind down and he pushes up.

heeseung doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to this overwhelming feeling of love and warmth through genuine and meaningful sex. the way your skin presses on him, the outline of your body in the dark when you ride him, how pretty your face is so up close he could kiss every inch of it. there were days when he was so alone that even if a thousand people showed up at his door the isolation swallowed him whole. with your one body on his, he thanks all his lucky stars that he was patient enough to await for someone like you. the nerves on the pads of his fingers are stimulated by your breasts, how he loves feeling them knowing you gave all yourself to him. his grip on your waist as you fuck yourself is tight, not wanting to ever let you go.

heeseung stares at you like the world gives him a few seconds of more time, his gaze lingering down your face and body like there is no tomorrow. he soaks in the image as if there aren’t plenty of more chances to make love, yet he treats you with speciality each time.

“ah”s and “oh”s fall from his lips, some stuck in his throat when you stroke him with your walls. he feels your love in every way like this, never closing his eyes despite how good it truly feels.

“i love you, ____” he’s the first to say those three words each time, and you kiss them right from his mouth, giving it to him like he needs it.

he fucks like both of your lives depend on this one moment, thrusting up into you when you’re too tired to keep going, showing you how love is supposed to be. that we bear the weight when the other can’t, that there is a pleasure is doing the labor for our partner.

“feels too good hee,” your grip on his shoulder almost hurts but that thought vanishes in seconds when he hits it right where you love it. he keeps his pace at that same spot, listening as you tell him over and over again how good he makes you feel, how you love him so much, drinking your words up.

he presses you tight against his chest when you’re both close, trembling as each passing stroke inches you towards your high. there are moments in life heeseung looks back on that makes him think every hardship he has encountered was worth it. some of them being his first call back, first congratulations from his family, and a performance here and there. but the majority of those moments are all linked to you. memories of how you look when you cum on him flashes through his mind, because there is no closer bond in love than through feeling a moment so intense together: with you struggling to take it, spitting out i love you’s and every word of affirmation there is, he’s delighted that all the sacrifices and tears that he gave, rewarded himself with you. he cums in you deep, almost whining by the time it spills into you. he loves you so much, the feeling of his orgasm and his never ending affection for you is euphoric, you experience it in every part of you. he is raw and tender, making you feel like it was the first time after each one ended.

“i love you so much, ___, i love you, just so you kn-“ and you’re all over him again, not once letting him slip out of you.

#i wrote this all in one sitting because i just had a thought #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen hard hours #enhypen smut #enha smut #jungwondazedheeseung #heeseung hard thoughts #heeseung hard hours #heeseung smut

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