celestialseph

[celestialseph]

Our Merge is Eternal

Grotequerie: Father Charlie Mayhew x fem!reader 

Rating: Explicit (Minors DNI)

WC: 2k 

Prompt: “Can’t you see that you’re lost without me?” -Cirice by Ghost for @sweetspicybingo (Lyrical Bingo Collection)

Warnings: Oral (f receiving), religious imagery, religious guilt, handjob, public sex, spanking, whipping, pain play, penance, verbal humiliation, manipulation, bondage and sacrilege

Summary: Penance can be a beautiful, wonderful release

“Bless me, Father, for have I sinned. It has been two weeks since my last confession.”

It always started the same way: with you in the confessional booth, the screen blurring Father Mayhew’s face, and you squirming on your knees as your sins poured from your lips. It always ended the same way: blistering pain delivered with the palm of his hand, the sharp crack of leather or sturdy wood (penance), on your knees with his cock in your mouth as tears dripped down your cheeks (guidance) and curled in his lap as he wiped your tears away (forgiveness). He was careful, allowing only your mouth and hands to pleasure him, as he did the same with you, always avoiding fucking. The sin of fornication will not consume us, he had whispered against your wet thigh with his mouth coated in your juices.

“I absolve you of your sins in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”

Every two weeks, like clockwork. Repeat, Repeat, Repeat. It kept you going and gave you something to look forward to, even if something was twisted about it. You welcomed the dalliance, running headfirst into it and into the arms of Father Charlie Mayhew. Those brown eyes would be your undoing, but who better than to forgive you than a man of God?

The cycle came full circle once again as you entered the confessional, arousal pooling hot and thick between your thighs and causing you to press them together tightly to dull the ache. The partition whooshed open, and you began your confession. The vulgar words fell from your tongue as you admitted your sin of self-pleasure. You felt unnerved as you were met with silence. Perhaps this had run its course.

“I want you to meet me tonight in the church,” he whispered, his face obscured by the screen.

Your heart thrummed in your chest. You were used to it happening in his office after he had finished with confession. This was something new. A break in the usual routine. It thrilled you.

“Yes, Father, what time?” you asked, hands still folded before you.

“At midnight. I’ll see you then,” Charlie responded before slamming the partition close. You move your hand through the sign of the cross before hurrying away.

A storm rolled in that evening, making the air hot and heavy, and thick raindrops poured from the gray sky. Thunder cracked through the air as lightning lit up the dark sky with bright bursts. You shivered as you hurried through the heavy doors, rain soaking through your clothes and leaving your skin feeling clammy as you made your way into the chapel. You had attended midnight mass, but beautiful candles had illuminated the room, which remained eerily dark tonight. A loud clap of thunder made you jump, and a crack of lightning brought Father Mayhew into view.

He stood at the pulpit in his black cassock, his expression stern and a rope dangling from one hand. You swallowed, approaching him slowly, unsure of what would unfold this evening as hee stepped down to meet you.

“On your knees, sinful girl,” he instructed, and you obeyed without a second thought. 

Instinctively, you lifted your wrists toward him, your palms pressed together. He guided your arms straight up into the air, sliding your shirt overhead, and your cheeks burned hot as your bare breasts were exposed. He tutted, giving one of your nipples a chastising pinch. You watched with wide eyes and bated breath as he looped the rope around your wrist, securing them with an elegant knot. His hand gripped your chin, thumb pressing to your lower lip before tracing around the outline of your mouth. Your stomach twisted as heat palpated deeper. He tugged you to your feet with a firm grip on your roped wrists before circling you.

“You come to me repeatedly, confessing the same sin,” he stated, his dark eyes boring into you.

Your mouth felt dry. “I fear I need guidance, Father. I simply find myself giving into temptation.”

He stood behind you, his hand slapping down firmly against your ass and making you stumble over your feet.

“And if thy right hand offend thee, cut it off, and cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish, and not that thy whole body should be cast into hell,” he hissed into your ear, his hand crashing down against your backside over and over. Pain blossomed across your skin.

“Matthew 5:30, Father,” you sniffled as he pulled your body flush against his. Your back against his chest, and you could feel it heaving with every breath he took.

“Good girl,” he purred, one warm hand pressing against your stomach, fingers dipping into the waistband of your loose-fitting black joggers, “Is that what I should do? Cut off your hands to keep them from wandering between your thighs, to keep your fingers from dipping into your greedy little cunt?”

You let out a garbled cry, unsure of how to respond as his hand plunged into your pants and underwear, his fingers immediately seeking your drenched pussy.

“I fear for your soul, child,” he whispered as his fingertips skimmed over your folds. Your lower lip trembled. His hand squeezed your right hip, a comforting touch that kept you grounded and assured you that you were safe. All you had to do was utter a simple word, and he would stop, letting you go about your evening. Either of you could end this sinful dalliance at a moment’s notice, but it just felt so good.

“Don’t let me go astray, Father. Teach me, guide me,” you moaned, caught up in the moment and willing to explore whatever he had planned.

“I will do just that. Can’t you see that you’re lost without me?” Guide me, Father, for I am but a lamb lost among the wolves.

He pulled his hand away before pushing you onto your knees and then onto your stomach before removing your shoes and tugging the clothing away from your lower half. Your face felt like it was on fire as you were exposed in such a sacred, holy area. Your eyes flickered to the statue of Mother Mary, feeling her judgment upon you. Have mercy on me, Mother.

His hands roamed over your naked skin, squeezing your prickled flesh before resting on the swell of your ass. Tears burned your eyes as his hand smacked down, over and over, searing his burning mark into your skin. You squirmed against the carpet, feeling the rug burn, irritating your stomach. You choked on your tears as they rolled hotly down your cheeks, chasing this feeling and murmuring prayers of repentance. O loving and gracious God, have mercy. Have pity upon me and take away the awful stain of my sin.

Charlie’s body pressed ontop of yours, his teeth seeking out the soft curve of your throat. You felt the swell of his erection against your abused ass. His knee slipped between your legs, pressing against your dripping cunt.

“Even now, in the sanctity of the church, your penance doesn’t deter you from your sinful nature,” he hissed into your ear before sinking his teeth into your neck. Your eyes rolled back, relishing in the sweet pop of pain that throbs through your body, rutting against his knee. 

All you could do was mewl pathetically in response as he rolled you onto your back and then cupped your face in his hands. He took in the sight of your tear-stained face and swollen lips, a small pang thrummed through his heart.

“How can I judge you so? You are no more sinful than I,” he whispered, stroking his thumbs over your tear tracks. His lips pressed against your trembling ones before undoing the ropes and pulling away from you.

You sniffled, struggling to catch your breath as you watched him stand and stretch out his arms before peeling his clothing away. The lightning bathed his skin in an eerie glow as you drank in the sight of his muscular body. It seemed wrong for a priest to be so beautiful and tempting. But God tests us in mysterious ways.

“You are so gracious in guiding me onto a righteous path. Let me help you,” you offered, extending your hand toward him.

His gaze softened, and you were lost in those warm brown eyes for a moment—endless pools of amber that you would gladly drown in. He sank to his knees, pressing his hand into yours before pulling your naked body against his.

“Would you?” he asked in earnest.

“Yes,” you smiled, stroking your fingers through his dark hair.

He kissed you again before handing you his knotted white cincture, pure as the driven snow.

“Turn around,” you instructed, smoothing your hand over his bare chest before getting used to the feel of the item in your hands. The darkness consumed you both, and you knew exactly what he was asking for.

He presented his bare back, laced with scars and a few open wounds that must have been placed earlier today. You traced your fingers over his skin, memorizing the layout of the marks and making a map of the area to lay the blows. It will be less intense than the leather cat o’nine tails, but it will suffice for now. You brought down the knotted rope against his skin, delighting in the grunt that he emitted. It doesn’t draw blood, but even in the dark light of the church, you can see the bruises blooming-mottled and purple.

You tossed the cincture aside, dropping to your knees behind him. Your lips ghosted over the marks, tongue pressing against a fresh one, throbbing against his skin and tasting the tang of blood. Charlie shivered under your touch as your hand slipped down his taut stomach to grasp his cock. You gently stroked and tugged on his rigid flesh as he arched against your hand as you danced him to the edge of a blessed release.

“Come for me, Father,” you purred into his ear, drunk on the dark power flowing through your veins. 

He spilled into your palm, sticky and pearlescent, as the sweetess moan fell from his parted lips. His head lolled back, resting against the plush pillows of your breasts. He rested against you, gathering his strength, and your head spun as he lifted you into his arms, carrying you to the altar. He lowered you onto the draped table, and you squirmed as your bare, sore ass came in contact with the hard, unforgiving surface. Charlie looked almost devilish as he dropped between your thighs, splaying them wide for him before swiping his tongue over your quivering cunt.

“Recite the Act of Contrition,” he ordered before dipping his tongue inside you.

You gasped, threading your fingers through his hair and rocking against his mouth.

“Oh My God, I am sorry for my sins. In choosing to sin and failing to do good, I have sinned against you and your church.”

Charlie’s tongue pressed to your throbbing clit, tracing the delicate bud. It felt like wanton encouragement.

“I firmly intend, with the help of your Son, to make up for my sins.”

Your fingers tightened in his hair, needy whines spilling from your mouth as pressure built in your lower belly—unbearable heat, making you think of the hellfire burning your skin.

“And to love as I should. Amen.” The words fell, garbled, and strangled from your mouth before a loud moans bled through the hallowed alcove. An intense orgasm washed over you, the bands of pleasure snapping through your belly as Charlie’s warm mouth pleasured you.

“Amen,” he whispered against your warm, wet flesh before lifting his head. His mouth coated in your release, and his dark eyes seemed to glow. Sinners, both of you, fallible and susceptible to the temptations of the flesh. Tainted by the sin of lust.

Your eyes meet his, the realization that the two of you are forever intertwined in sin. Lost in the waves of immorality together.

The hot water scalded your skin as you stood under the pounding water pouring from the showerhead. You scrubbed at your skin, washing away the lingering transgressions clinging to your tainted flesh. The cycle repeats two weeks later.

[celestialseph]

and lead us not into temptation...

father charlie mayhew x fem!reader

© caileeflavoured 2024, do not repost, modify or translate!

synopsis: During Confirmation, God the Holy Spirit comes upon the person, accompanied by God the Father and God the Son. Father Mayhew, too.

a/n: ahhh, how good it feels so channel my religious trauma into absolute filth again. I was never Catholic so idk how accurate the stuff I said is but I did research and tried my best (really no one cares about Catholic accuracies why are you even stressing about this girl)

warnings: 18+, SMUT, dubcon, little bit of a corruption kink, innocence kink, clueless little church mouse!reader, blasphemous shit tbh, virginity loss, unprotected sex, a priest absolutely abusing his position,

wc: 3.2k

MAIN MASTERLIST | GROTESQUERIE MASTERLIST

They told you that the Sacrament of Confirmation was the most important event of a young girl growing closer to God. They told you it was an honour to attend this spiritual ceremony, that it was the culmination of forming a bond with Christ. They told you that it was high time you were finally sealed with the gift of the Holy Spirit.

Father Charlie Mayhew was adamant that you’d finally receive this great gift, having discussed the possibility of a personal Confirmation with your parents after Sunday Mass.

“She’s at an age where it should already have happened,” he told them. “I assume you wish her to get married soon. She ought to finally be strengthened for service to the Body of Christ.”

Your parents trusted Father Mayhew blindly, believing he was a gift sent to earth by the Lord Himself, and quickly agreed. They wouldn’t want their precious daughter to fall into disgrace should a proper suitor be found sooner rather than later.

The priest nodded, visibly satisfied with their consent. “I can arrange it for next week’s Mass, but I  would like for your daughter to come see me for a private confession. The Lord has spoken to me in my prayers, and has tasked me with properly preparing the confirmands. It’s a standard practice at my church.”

Only that it wasn’t.

Father Mayhew had spent many hours not praying, not studying the Scripture, not preparing new sermons since he first saw you in all your womanly glory at Mass. Instead, he often found himself in his office, his pants growing uncomfortably tight just at the thought of you attending Mass every Sunday like the faithful girl you are, hanging on his every word. 

And when you’d get on your knees during the Eucharistic prayer…

His hand would always find its way to his throbbing length during a quiet moment after Mass, the grip on his cock nearly painful as he worked himself towards the highest of highs. And more often than not he would later find white stains on his liturgical vestments, having to go through several clerical outfits in the span of only a few days.

“Tell her to come see me on Wednesday after general confession hour.”

So your parents sent you on your way, Bible in hand, rosary wrapped around your wrist. You entered the empty church, standing between the pews as you clutched your Bible to your chest.

“Father Mayhew?” A timid call for him echoed through the large building, and soon he appeared. 

His chest heaved as he appeared, his robe sitting weirdly on his shoulders as if he had pulled it over his head in a hurry. His hair messy, not slicked back like he usually wore it. 

The appearance caught you off guard, to say the least, and made your blood pressure rise.

“Ah, my new confirmand!” He greeted you with an open-arm gesture, then clasped his hands together. “Happy to see you. What an exciting time it must be for you.”

He closed the distance between you, turning to your side and placing his hand on your back as he led you towards the back of the church. “Let’s go talk in my office,” he said.

“I thought I came to confess?” You asked in bewilderment. “Oughtn’t we sit down in the confessional booth for that?”

But he was quick to shut down your confusion. “No. No, no, no. Let’s not stick to such ancient traditions. I’ve come to learn, in my time as a servant of the Lord, that private confessions are best made in the comfort of a priest’s office. Shall we?”

He opened the door to his office, letting you enter first before closing the door behind his back and quickly turning the lock before you would notice.

“Take a seat,” he motioned towards the armchair on the opposite side of his desk as he sat down in his own chair.

He leaned back and observed you with relaxed eyes. His stoic gaze was intimidating to you, your heart thumping against your ribcage the longer he stared.

“Father?”

The sound of your voice ripped him out of his dirty fantasy, his focus returning to the there and then, which, admittedly, didn’t help much when his hard cock ached from the torturing restraint of his pants.

“Right,” he cleared his throat, bending forward hoping it would cover the growing bulge. “Now, I have to admit I wasn’t quite honest with your parents,” he chuckled smugly.

The picture of you furrowing your brows as you slightly cocked your head to the side in a confused gesture made him lose a couple drops of cum into his boxers. How could a young girl be so cluelessly devoted to God. To him. It made him lose his mind, and throw his holy vows overboard.

To hell with abstinence. Some girls just asked for it. And he knew you were one of them. 

Gifted by the devil himself, a test of his faith and obedience — the bishop had warned him many years ago that the day would come when he would find himself face to face with temptation — and presented on a silver platter right there in his own church. To him, however, a young, ripe girl like you could only have found her way into his office so he could chase the feeling of his former life.

To remind himself how good it felt to lose himself in the warmth of a tight cunt.

“I understand your parents are hoping to find you a husband soon,” Father Mayhew began. “But Confirmation isn’t the only thing necessary in preparation for marriage. You know, there are certain… other things a young woman must be prepared for before she can fulfil her duties of a devout wife.”

“Father, I don’t—”

His hand shot up, immediately shutting down any doubts or concerns you might try to raise. “Tell me… Have you ever touched yourself? After all, this is some kind of confession here, right? God needs you to be completely honest with me.”

He could sense the warmth rush to your cheeks, the way your breath hitched in your throat as your gaze shifted to the floor.

“A simple yes or no will suffice, sweetheart,” he pressed. “This is crucial for your preparation as a confirmand.” His eyes searched for yours. “You can even nod or shake your head if that’s easier.”

Then, finally, he got a reaction out of you. A timid… shake from left to right. “It’s a sin, Father.”

The change in his demeanour evaded you. The way his eyes turned into slits resembling those of a snake, the way he ever so slightly shifted in his seat as his hand carefully moved to his crotch.

A moment of silence passed in Father Charlie’s office as he let your words sink in. You had been even more clueless than he’d imagined. An enticing temptation, one that he had no choice but to succumb to.

“That is very admirable,” he praised you. “However,” he got up, “as part of this… preparation I need you to be… how should I say this… open to… sexual activities.”

He walked around his desk in a few long strides until he stood in front of you and leaned against the edge of the table, folding in hands in front of his crotch as he crossed his legs. He could feel his cock press against his palms through the fabric of his pants, begging to be freed.

“Why should—” You tried to ask, but his hand was quick to shoot up in a silencing gesture. That’s when you first noticed the bulge in his pants.

With your eyes glued to his crotch, Charlie could barely hold himself back from dragging you across his desk and shoving his cock right into your tight little cunt, no matter if you were ready for him or not.

“Get on your knees,” he said in a plain voice. You obeyed instantly.

He took the Bible and rosary from your hands and placed them on his desk before standing up right in front of you, your mouth so perfectly aligned with his length. A few quick movements got him rid of his pants and boxers just enough to pull out aching cock, tip glistening with drops of precum.

He watched your eyes go wild in shock, although he silently wished they would have gone wide from excitement and lust. He’d get you there soon enough…

“From now on, I need you to listen to me, sweetheart,” he instructed. “No more questions, no ifs and buts, alright?”

His eyes stayed focused on yours until you nodded, and he pinched your chin with his thumb and index finger as a gesture of approvement. A pleased look on his face and a satisfied smirk on his lips, he then let his thumb graze along your lower lip before pushing it in.

“Open up.” His voice turned rough, strained even, as he pulled your jaw down and forced your mouth open. 

He could detect a sliver of fear glistening in your eyes as the tip of his cock met your lip, could sense your wanting to ask what he was doing, but was pleased to see you resist the urge to question his actions. 

So he pushed it in. “Yeah, that’s it,” he groaned, feeling your lips instinctively close around him. “Careful with those teeth.”

His hand found the back of your head, his fingers tangled in your hair to get a good grip and properly guide your movements. He pulled back and pushed back in, this time all the way until he heard and felt you gag around him. 

He stopped once he could feel the back of your throat, watching you struggle and start to panic, your hands moving up to the sides of his hips in an attempt to push him back. But, of course, he was too strong for you. 

“Shh, shh,” he cooed. “You’re doing so well.” 

He started to pick up a pace slow enough to relish the feeling of your mouth and not already waste his seed by shooting it into the back of your throat. After a few more thrusts, he pulled out, watching the string of spit connect his tip to your bottom lip with a grin.

“You see,” he started to explain, “in order to become a full-grown adult, which you will be after your Confirmation, you need to understand certain things. And, as the priest of your church, it is my duty to teach you the necessary lessons to let you go out into world with a clear conscience.”

He watched you intently, gauging your reaction to each and every word of his. You were still kneeling in front of him so he bent down, continuing to observe you at eye level. His breath came in slow, hot bursts as it repeatedly hit your face.

“You understand now why I have to do this, do you?” He asked.

You nodded, albeit hesitantly. 

“And you also understand that this is to stay between me and you, and me and you only, right?”

He waited for another nod, and when it wouldn’t come, he raised an eyebrow, his hand gripping your jaw tightly. 

“Do you understand?” He repeated with more force.

“Y-yes,” you mumbled. 

He let go of your jaw, clicking his tongue in approval. “Good. Now I need you to take your clothes off.”

His patience was starting to run thin, especially with the way he couldn’t find any release from this achingly throbbing tension. “Listen, we don’t have much time, and there’s nothing to be ashamed of. This body of yours…” 

This fucking body I need to desecrate. This body, this… tight virgin cunt.

“This body is a gift from God, wonderful and perfect like all His creations. And…” A mischievous smirk appeared on his face. “It’s not like I have never seen a woman’s body before.”

He watched your shy reaction, and your inhibitions crumble slowly. So he gave you one last push. “I’ll take my clothes off too,” he said, beginning to shed his clerical robes. “That way we’re even.”

Father Charlie watched you with satisfaction as you rid yourself of your clothes item by item. “Yeah, that’s a good girl.”

Once the last of his garments dropped on the ground, he told you to sit back down on the armchair, placing his hands on either side of you as he bent over you. His eyes travelled along your frame, wandering over the hills and valleys of your young, unsullied body.

“I need you to move your hand between your legs,” he said. “Touch yourself.”

This time you did what he said without hesitation. He could see your chest starting to heave, your breath visibly and audibly quickening as your hand slowly glided down your chest until it came into contact with your pure pussy for the first time.

“Fuck…” Charlie breathed, the grip on the armrest tightening as he fought the urge to fist his cock for at least some kind of relief. “Yes, just like that. Now push a finger in.”

You did.

“Does it feel wet? Does it slide in easily?” He asked as he observed how your lips parted at the initial sensation of pleasuring yourself.

You nodded.

“Try pushing in a second finger,” he commanded.

You did, your forehead creasing once it slipped all the way in.

“How does that feel? Tell me.”

“It feels…” You began, but couldn’t quite put it into words.

“Good?” He finished for you.

You nodded again.

“Try curling them upwards, like this,” he gestured a come hither movement with his own fingers for you to mimic.

And you did.

“But Father…” You gulped, “isn’t this… a sin?” You asked as you kept moving your hand.

He shook his head. “How can a natural urge be a sin? The Lord gave it to us.”

“I know, but—” His hand was back on your jaw, his digits pressing into the soft flesh of your cheeks.

“No ifs and buts, remember?” he reminded you, his gaze sharp. 

He quickly glanced at the clock. “You’ve been talking too much. Get up.”

You did as you were told while Charlie pushed the clutter off his desk, his movements rushed. He grabbed you by the back of your thighs, practically slamming you onto the desk and standing between your spread thighs.

So close to that heavenly cunt…

“The reason I’m doing this is because it is my duty as a priest,” he said leaning over you, his hand moving down your neck, over your collarbone, then closer and closer towards your chest.

“You need to know what it will be like to lay with your future husband,” he explained, his length pressing against your dripping core as his lips found your neck.

You reacted to his touches so organically, almost like second nature. Like this wasn’t your first time ever experiencing any kind of sexual activity.

Father Charlie knew he finally had you right where he wanted you. Where he needed you.

“It might hurt,” he mumbled against your neck as his hands cupped your tits, your nipples immediately trapped between his fingers as he pinched and pulled on them. “But that pain is gonna turn into something so much better. I promise.”

His lips travelled down your neck as he pushed you back onto the flat, cold surface of his desk, the temperature a stark contrast to your heated body. His tongue glided along your sternum, first to the left, around your now hardened nipple, then to the right, repeating the same process.

Charlie could hear your laboured breaths slowly but surely transform into hot gasps, soft moans falling from your lips whenever his tongue or fingers would graze the sensitive buds of your breasts. He knew he could take it further without much clueless confusion on your part.

He knew he could finally take you like he had wanted to for so long.

So he pushed into you in one rough motion, not stopping until he could feel the soft tissue of your hymen collapse under the pressure of his cock. 

You cried out, your hands instinctively gripping his strong arms, but he was quick to collect both your wrists in one hand and pin them above your head as he grabbed your thigh with the other. 

“Shh, shh,” he shut you up as he pulled your leg up and around his waist, allowing himself to fuck you from a different angle that would make it easier for him to fully thrust into your virgin cunt.

And, Lord, what a tight little cunt you had.  

His breaths escaped his lungs in ragged grunts as he pushed into you again and again, feeling your tight walls give in more and more to make him fit the longer he kept ramming his cock into you. The desk creaked under the pressure of his body colliding with yours, the wood bending with each new thrust that would allow him to slip further into your silky core. 

“Father—” You pleaded, arms unsuccessfully straining against his grip. “It… hurts.”

“Told you. But not much longer,” he said, his voice ragged as he ignored your attempts to make him stop. “Trust me.”

He could feel himself getting there, could feel how difficult it became to keep a steady rhythm. You were squeezing him in the best way possible, and he couldn’t even begin to think about how it would feel to have you milk his every last drop. 

His moans echoed off the walls of his small office when he felt you start to relax around him. “Yeah, that’s right,” he grunted, his voice nearly failing him. “Let me hear you.”

His thumb pulled your bottom lip down so your mouth would fall open, letting those sweet, clueless whines escape your throat freely. That was all he took as a confirmation of your starting to enjoy the way he was fucking you.

And that was all he needed to find his most earth shattering release so far. He pulled out quickly, finishing off with a couple more strokes before he shot hot spurts of his cum right onto your newly stretched and glistening cunt. 

“Look at me,” he groaned as he rode out his high, his eyes fixed on you, your heaving chest, your skin covered in a slight sheen of sweat, your cunt defiled and disgraced by your priest’s cum.

“Now you’re all set for Confirmation,” he said as he helped you up, then handed you a towel. “Make sure you’re clean before you come back for Sunday Mass. And remember, don’t tell your parents. If you can do that for me, I’ll show you much more if you want me to.”

They told you that during Confirmation, God the Holy Spirit comes upon the person, accompanied by God the Father and God the Son. They didn’t tell you Father Mayhew did, too.

[celestialseph]

୨୧﹕ forgive me .ᐟ oneshot

pairing ; father charlie mayhew x fem!reader contains ; tension , smut ( oral m receiving ) a/n ; i rewatched fleabag season two and HAD to write this for my own sake ( also havent proofread this,, so just ignore any mistakes pls. summary ; it has been 160 days since your last confession.

the soft hum of hymns filled the stone walls of the church, echoing through the vast, candlelit space. the congregation sat quietly, hands folded in prayer or resting on their laps, their eyes fixed on the alter.

the heavy scent of incense hung in the air, weaving between the polished wooden pews, where you sat toward the back, trying to focus on the words of the sermon. the light from the stained glass windows poured in, casting delicate hues of red, blue, and gold across the congregation, illuminating the man at the front of the church.

father charlie.

your heart pounded in your chest as you stared at him, your fingers nervously gripping the edge of the pew. you had tried to stop coming to mass, but something always drew you back here—drew you back to him. each week, you told yourself it would be different. you would listen to the sermon, find solace in his words, and leave without this gnawing ache in your chest.

but it never worked.

father charlie stood at the altar, the bible held firmly in his hands as he delivered his message, his voice deep and smooth, filling the grand space with a quiet authority. his tone was soft, but it held power, a magnetic pull that kept everyone’s attention on him. but while the others listened intently to the words of faith, of virtue and devotion, your mind was far from holy thoughts.

your eyes traced the lines of his jaw, the way the sunlight caught in his brown hair, making the strands shine beneath the dim lighting of the cathedral. his features were sharp but kind, his strong brows furrowed in concentration as he spoke about resisting the temptations of the flesh.

temptation.

the word reverberated through you, sending a jolt of heat to your core. temptation, the feeling you knew far too well. father charlie’s hands moved as he gestured lightly with his sermon, and you found yourself imagining those hands on you, instead of the bible. you swallowed hard, pulse quickening as your thoughts drifted to places you knew they shouldn’t go, especially here — especially with him.

he was the very definition of unattainable, a man sworn to a life of celibacy, of purity. and yet, you couldn’t stop the thoughts that rushed through your mind every time you looked at him. every sunday, you sat in the same pew, feeling that same magnetic pull toward him, a pull you couldn’t explain and couldn’t resist.

his robes hung loosely on his tall, lean frame, the fabric shifting with each subtle movement he made. beneath them, you knew there was something stronger, something more human than the holy image he portrayed. and the thought of that made your stomach twist with desire.

you could barely breathe, the church suddenly feeling too warm, too confined. you bit your lip, eyes darting to the floor as you tried to steady your racing thoughts. this was wrong. so wrong. but you couldn’t help it. every word that came from his lips only seemed to make it worse, sending your mind spiraling deeper into a fantasy you had tried so hard to bury.

you imagined it so clearly now — being alone with him after the congregation had gone. the church would be empty, the candles burning low, the flickering flames casting long shadows along the stone walls. you would step toward him, heart pounding, and when your hand brushed his, you’d feel the heat of his skin, the tension between you palpable. he would hesitate, of course. his vows, his faith — they would hold him back for a moment. but then, in the quiet of the empty church, his restraint would finally break.

your pulse raced as the image flashed vividly in your mind: his hands on you, pulling you close, his lips crashing into yours with all the pent-up passion he had kept locked away for so long. the forbidden thrill of it sent a shiver down your spine, your breath coming faster as you quickly glanced back up at him, half-expecting to see him watching you, knowing your every sinful thought.

but he wasn’t. father charlie’s gaze was still fixed on the congregation, his words steady as he spoke about virtue, about control.

you looked across the church, towards one of the many paintings of god, his expression seeming almost disappointed. you felt a flush of guilt, heat rising to your cheeks. how could you sit here, in a place meant for worship, and think these things? how could you look at him — father charlie — and imagine him like that? it was wrong. but that only seemed to make the ache in your chest grow stronger, the desire burning hotter with each passing moment.

the service was drawing to a close, and your heart pounded as you realised you would soon have to face him. father charlie always stood at the door after mass, offering a handshake and a few kind words to each person who passed. every week, that brief moment of contact set your skin on fire, leaving you wanting more.

and then you saw him — father charlie, standing by the entrance, his eyes warm and kind as he greeted the parishioners. you swallowed hard, heart racing as you approached. his gaze shifted to you, and for a moment, the rest of the world seemed to blur at the edges, leaving only the two of you.

"god bless you, y/n" father charlie said softly, his voice sending a shiver down your spine as his hand extended toward yours.

you hesitated for the briefest moment, your breath catching in your throat as your hand slipped into his. his grip was firm but gentle, the warmth of his skin sending a spark of electricity through you. you looked up into his eyes, searching for… something. some sign that he could feel the same pull, the same tension that had been building between you for months. but his expression was as serene as ever, his smile kind and distant.

"thank you, father," you murmured, your voice barely audible as you let go of his hand, your fingers tingling where they had touched him, before turning around to leave the sacred building. however, you stopped in your tracks.

turning towards him, you spoke timidly, "actually, father.."

as you approached, father charlie glanced up and saw you, his warm smile instantly making your heart skip a beat. his dark eyes met yours, and you felt that familiar pull, a flutter in your stomach that made your knees weak.

"yes?," he responded kindly, his voice a calm, steady presence that filled the space between you.

"father," you began, your voice shaking slightly as you stepped closer. "i was wondering if… there’s any chance i could confess later?"

there. you’d said it. the words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, you were certain he could see right through you — into your mind, your thoughts, your desires. you tried to keep your expression neutral, but the tension coiled in your chest made it nearly impossible to hide how nervous you were.

father charlie’s smile softened, a gentle, almost unreadable look crossing his face as he studied you. he took a small step closer, lowering his voice slightly as if sensing the weight of what you were carrying. "of course," he said, his tone compassionate, "confession is always available for those who seek it. Would you like to meet later this afternoon?"

the way he said it — just us — made your stomach flip. you nodded, unable to fully trust your voice at the moment. your throat felt tight, your thoughts tangled. "yes. that would be… good."

his gaze lingered on you for just a moment longer, his eyes holding yours in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. there was nothing inappropriate about it, nothing overt, and yet you couldn’t help but feel as if there was something deeper there, hidden beneath the surface of his composed expression. you tried to ignore the way your body reacted to it, the way your skin seemed to burn with the need for more than just words.

"come by around eight," he said, his voice soft but firm, as if he was giving you permission to unburden yourself in a way you hadn’t before. "we can speak privately in the confessional."

your heart raced as he said it, the reality of what you were asking for sinking in. it wasn’t just confession — not for you. It was a way to be close to him, a way to sit in that small, private space, separated only by the thin barrier of the confessional screen. the idea of it — of being so close, alone, with him — made your chest tighten with anticipation.

you swallowed hard, nodding again. "thank you, father," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

he gave you one last kind, reassuring smile before you turned to leave, the echo of his words still ringing in your ears as you made your way toward the exit. as you stepped out into the cool air, your body still tingling with the thought of what was to come, your mind raced. confession wasn’t supposed to feel like this — like a secret thrill, a forbidden opportunity. but that’s exactly how it felt.

and it wasn’t just the confession itself. it was him. the way he carried himself with such calm authority, the way his voice seemed to wrap around you, pulling you deeper into your thoughts. you had tried to fight it, tried to deny it, but there was no use anymore.

you wanted him.

by the time the clock struck eight, you found yourself back at the church, your heart racing as you made your way inside. the church was mostly empty now, the quiet stillness of the afternoon wrapping around you like a heavy blanket. you could hear your own footsteps echoing softly as you walked down the aisle toward the confessional booth.

you hesitated for just a moment before stepping inside, the small, intimate space feeling even smaller than usual. the soft rustle of father charlie’s robes reached your ears as he entered the adjacent booth, and your breath hitched in your throat. the thin screen between you offered a sense of privacy, but it did nothing to stop the electricity that buzzed in the air.

"whenever you’re ready," came his voice, low and soothing, sending a shiver through you.

your mind raced, the words you had rehearsed suddenly seeming inadequate. how could you confess these feelings to him? How could you possibly admit that the sin you carried was him? the thought alone made your throat tighten, but you knew you couldn’t back out now.

"forgive me, father, for i have sinned…" you began, your voice shaky, barely more than a whisper, "it has been 160 days since my last confession"

you weren’t sure how you were going to get through this confession, but one thing was certain — the desire that burned inside you wasn’t something that could be easily absolved.

you hesitated, grappling with the words that felt so heavy on your tongue. "i've been having… thoughts," you started, feeling your cheeks flush. "sinful thoughts that i know i shouldn’t be having."

"sinful thoughts about someone?" he asked, his voice a mixture of curiosity and caution.

"yes," you admitted, heat creeping up your cheeks. "someone i shouldn’t be thinking about. i know it’s wrong, but i can’t help it."

"tell me more," father charlie encouraged, his tone gentle but firm, as if he could sense the struggle within you.

"it’s... complicated,” you continued, feeling a knot tighten in your stomach. "i’ve been trying to push these feelings away, but every time i see him, it’s like i’m drawn to him in a way i know isn’t right."

"why do you believe these feelings are wrong?” he asked, and you could hear the slightest hint of tension in his voice, a challenge that made your heart race.

"because he’s... celibate,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. "and i shouldn’t feel this way about him. but i do."

the silence that followed was deafening. you could almost hear the clock ticking, each second feeling like an eternity. you held your breath, waiting for his response, feeling the heat of your confession hang in the air between you, "i don't know what to do, father. these thoughts won't go away"

the scent of incense swirled around you like a comforting yet suffocating blanket. you could hear the soft rustle of the priest’s robes on the other side of the screen. he took a deep breath.

"kneel"

the unexpected command took you by surprise. your heart raced at the thought, a mix of anxiety and anticipation flooding your senses. "kneel?" you echoed, trying to process his words.

"i want you to kneel."

you hesitated for just a moment, but something in his voice compelled you to comply. slowly, you knelt before the screen, feeling the coolness of the floor beneath your knees. your heart raced, each beat echoing in your ears as you sensed the shift in the air around you.

the curtain opened slightly, and father charlie stepped into view, his expression unreadable. the light from the candle illuminated his features, and for a moment, you were taken aback by the intensity in his gaze. there was a hunger there, a spark that made your pulse quicken.

father charlie looked down at you, bringing his hand down to your chin and tilting your head upwards to look him in the eyes. as the moment hung in the air, your heart raced, a wild drumbeat echoing in your ears. you could feel the heat radiating between you both, a magnetic pull that left you breathless. anticipation coursed through your veins, mingling with a desperate thrill that made your pulse quicken.

unexpectedly, he leaned down, stopping only inches away from your lips, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. you looked down at father charlie's parted lips, before looking back up at his eyes, glistening in the candlelight. your thoughts raced, much more sinful than they were before.

and just like that, father charlie closed the gap between you in a slow but passionate kiss. it felt as if you were breathing each other's air, your fingers moving up and tracing his arm. he then pulled away. you almost followed him, desperate for more, but you couldn't.

looking up at him, your heart raced, a needy look in your eyes.

the sound of father charlie unbuckling his belt rang through the church; anyone who walks in would know what was happening. but you didn't care.

he unzipped his pants before pulling them down, just past his underwear, the thin fabric revealing his large bulge. your was mouth already salivating at the thought of it. father charlie looked down at you with a nod, giving you permission.

your fingers made their way towards his waistband, slowly curling underneath his clothing before slowly pulling them down, just enough to reveal his erection.

gasping slightly at the size of him, you hesitated, your heart quickening.

father charlie moved his hand to the back of your head, urging you.

you couldn't wait any longer. you took deep breath before licking his tip, the taste of his pre-cum giving you the need for more.

desperately, your mouth took as much of him as it could, causing him to let out a soft moan as his tip touched the back of your throat. you looked up at him. the sight of him looking down at you with so much lust, so much greed in his eyes caused your stomach to flutter.

he grabbed onto the back of your hair, lightly pushing you back and forth before picking up momentum. father charlie threw his head back in pleasure, before looking into your eyes once again.

you moaned as the pace grew faster, causing his eyebrows to furrow at the vibration. and with that, he released, the warmth of it running down your throat.

looking up at him with admiration, he smiled slightly.

you knew this wasn't the last time.

[celestialseph]

penitent

[celestialseph]

you’re how i pray.

summary: reluctantly, you found yourself reaching out to the church for guidance, to better your “wrongs.” only to meet father charlie and realize there was a whole world of sins you’ve yet to indulge in. [REQUESTED.]

pairings: charlie mayhew x fem!reader

warnings: conversations about religion and moral, blasphemy (?), charlie is a manipulative freak!. SMUT: this is DIRTYYYY, fingering (fem), oral (fem), unprotected sex, manhandling, dirty talk.

WC: 3.6K (sorry, i got into it)

my masterlist!                     requests are OPEN!

Your steps echoed against the cold stone floors of the church. The towering figure of your aunt walked ahead, moving with self-righteous purpose. You rolled your eyes, biting the inside of your cheek to stifle the irritation that boiled beneath your skin.

Of course, therapy had been a good start. You had actually been making progress, learning to manage your anger, to quiet the voice inside you that urged you to rebel against every rule, every boundary. But your family… they believed therapy wasn’t enough. They had another solution.

Father Charlie. You had heard of him. A young priest, charismatic and well-liked by the community.

Your aunt wasted no time, walking straight up to the office where Father Charlie stood. His presence was larger than life, draped in his priestly robes, and yet his eyes—those piercing brown eyes—held a spark that didn’t quite match the image of a humble servant of God.

“Father Charlie, thank you for meeting with us,” your aunt began, already launching into a tirade about you. Words like rebellious, problematic, and sinful spilled out as though they had been rehearsed. You stood there, arms crossed, glaring at the rows of candles flickering on the altar.

Father Charlie nodded sympathetically but his gaze never left you. He didn’t interrupt your aunt’s sermon, though, and once the woman was satisfied that she had delivered enough holy condemnation, she patted you on the shoulder.

“Father Charlie will talk to you, sweetie. He’ll help you.”

With that, your aunt left, leaving behind a cloud of forced piety. The silence settled in as Father Charlie waited until the doors shut behind her.

“Guessing by your expression, I’m sure this wasn’t your first option, coming to me.” he said, his voice unexpectedly soft.

You shrugged, leaning back against one of the wooden furnitures of his office. “Yeah. My family has unfortunately convinced themselves that I’m a lost cause, and that only God can save me. Or so.”

Father Charlie smiled, and something about it made you feel more cautious than comforted. “Why do you think people see you that way?”

The question took you by surprise. Not the usual condescending lecture, not yet, anyway. “Because I don’t see the point in all these rules they’re obsessed with. I do whatever I want, and that annoys people. We’re born into this world, and instead of living the lives we want, we’re told what to do from the moment we can speak. Doesn’t that sound a little… cruel to you?”

“Rules are there to keep the community together. Without them, society would fall apart.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Maybe. But what’s the point if those rules only help some people? The rich keep getting richer, while the rest of us… we’re always at the bottom. And that’s okay as long as we obey, right?”

“So, you think life is about doing whatever you want? No restrictions at all?”

“Not exactly,” you said. “I just think people should be free to make their own choices. To live without constant guilt and fear hanging over them. This whole idea that we’re supposed to follow blindly or be damned… it doesn’t sit right with me.”

The priest studied you for a moment, and you could feel the intensity of his gaze. “Do you believe in God?”

Your lips pressed together in a thin line. “I don’t know. Maybe there’s something out there, something bigger than us. But the people in this community? The hypocrisy. The way they use their faith to control others. It’s toxic.”

Father Charlie nodded slowly. “You’re not the first to feel that way. But you’re not as alone as you think, either.”

“What do you mean?”

His smile was back, but this time, it held something else. Something darker. “Let’s just say… not everyone in this church follows the rules as strictly as you might think.”

A shiver crept down your spine, but you couldn’t tell if it was fear or something else. His words, his tone—they didn’t match the image of the holy man you had been expecting. You sat down on the couch, to keep some distance.

“Let’s talk more,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “I’m curious about your thoughts on freedom. On life… on sin.”

Your pulse quickened as he took a seat next to you, far too close for comfort, but you didn’t move. There was something magnetic about him. Dangerous, but magnetic.

“You know,” Charlie began, his fingers lightly tracing the soft edge of the couch beneath both, “a lot of people in your position feel trapped by expectations. You said it yourself: you don’t like the way rules seem to be designed to keep some people down.”

You nodded slowly, unsure where this was leading, but already feeling a shift in the atmosphere.

He tilted his head, his gaze holding yours, and there was a glimmer of amusement—something almost wicked—in his eyes. “You’re not wrong to want freedom. To want more. But what you have to understand is that most people… they’re too afraid to admit it.”

“Too afraid?”

“Yes. They bury their desires under obedience, hoping it will make them feel whole. But deep down, they crave… more. They want to push against those boundaries.” He leaned in closer, his tone growing silkier. “Don’t you?”

“I don’t know,” you said, though you did know. It just didn’t feel safe to admit it—not to yourself, and definitely not to him. “I mean, I get frustrated, but… it’s not like I’m going to rebel against everything.”

“What if you did? What if, just for a moment, you allowed yourself to explore that side of you? The one that questions. The one that craves freedom… and maybe, other things?” Charlie’s eyes sparkled with something that felt far more dangerous than faith.

Other things. The way he said it, as if it were an invitation, hung heavily between both. You could feel the tension building, the heat.

“I think…” you started, your voice shaky, “I think people would lose their minds if I did something like that.”

His lips curled into a slow, knowing grin. “Maybe that’s exactly what they need.”

He let the words sink in before continuing, his voice dipping into something darker, more seductive. “You don’t need to live your life based on what others expect of you. There’s power in choosing for yourself.“

This conversation wasn’t going the way you’d imagined. You had expected judgment, correction—but instead, he was… encouraging you.

“What do you want?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper now.

You looked away, feeling a flush creep up your neck. “I don’t know.”

“You’re lying,” Charlie said softly, his voice dipping even lower. “I think you know exactly what you want. You just haven’t allowed yourself to feel it fully.”

Your heart pounded against your ribs, and you couldn’t ignore the way his words wrapped around you like a dark temptation. There was a part of you that did want something—something wild, something free, something dangerous. But this? Here? With him?

“It’s okay to admit it,” Charlie said, leaning closer, his lips dangerously close to your ear now. “Sometimes… surrendering to what you really desire is more powerful than fighting it.”

Your breath caught, and for a second, you leaned into him, drawn by the magnetism of his words. It was intoxicating—the way he seemed to know exactly what to say. But you pulled back, confusion warring with the strange attraction that was blooming inside you.

“You’re a priest,” you said, as though reminding him—and yourself—would somehow break the spell.

Charlie chuckled, the sound low and smooth. “I am. But that doesn’t mean I don’t understand temptation. Sin is… fascinating, isn’t it? Especially the kind that makes you question everything you thought you knew about yourself.”

There was something so wrong about this conversation, and yet, you couldn’t deny the pull. The way he was making you feel—seen, understood, even desired—was something you hadn’t expected to find in this place.

He held your gaze, his confidence palpable. “You crave connection. An escape from the chains of expectation. You want to live life on your terms, even if that means stepping outside the lines drawn by those who think they know better. I admire that.”

“You really don’t know what you’re getting into,” you said, trying to regain some control.

“Perhaps,” he said, the corner of his mouth quirking up in that infuriatingly charming way. “But what if I’m willing to take that risk? To explore those uncharted waters with you?”

“Is that what you do with all the girls who come in here, Father?” you shot back, trying to mask the way your pulse quickened at the thought.

“Most don’t provoke me the way you do,” he said, his voice low and velvety. “They’re afraid to stray too far from the righteous path. But you… you have a light about you that beckons me closer. It’s intoxicating.”

Your cheeks warmed under his intense scrutiny, but you quickly shook your head, refusing to be swayed. “You shouldn’t say things like that. You’re a priest.”

“Ah, but that’s the thing, isn’t it?” he replied smoothly, his gaze unflinching. “What does that really mean? I wear the collar, sure, but I’m also a man—one who understands the darker desires that lie beneath the surface. You’re drawn to them, aren’t you?”

“Maybe I’m just curious,” you replied, attempting to sound nonchalant.

“Curiosity is a dangerous game,” he said, his voice a seductive whisper. “Especially when it leads you to someone like me. You could explore all the answers to your questions, and perhaps even find the absolution you didn’t know you were seeking—if you dare to take that step.”

“And what’s the price for that?” you challenged, not ready to give in but undeniably intrigued.

“Just your trust,” he said, his gaze piercing through your defenses. “Let me guide you. Allow me to show you that the rules can bend, that the lines can blur. And in return, you’ll discover a side of yourself you never knew existed. It’s a fair exchange, don’t you think?”

“Maybe,” you finally replied, your voice barely above a whisper, “but I’m not so easily led.”

He leaned in closer, their faces mere inches apart. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He ran his thumb delicately along your lower lip. “Lose yourself in me. Let me be your forbidden pleasure, your dark indulgence. Together, we can create a sin so divine, it will set your soul free.”

You feel his thumb diving inside your mouth. He pressed his thumb deeper, exploring the warm, wet cavern of your mouth as if mapping your innermost terrain.

“Mmmm, so eager to please," he purred, his other hand sliding down your side to grip your hip, holding you steady. "Your mouth was made for sin." With a subtle twist, he coaxed your tongue to swirl around the intrusion, a sinful game of give-and-take that left you breathless and wanting more. "Such a willing little temptress,"

And before you can process, he’s kissing you. And things gets heated, fast. It doesn’t seem to matter that you both were sitting on the couch from his office, inside the church. He claimed your mouth in a bruising kiss, his tongue plunging in to dance with yours in a primal, urgent rhythm. The scent of your arousal mingled with the musky undertones of his cologne, fogging the air with a heady, addictive haze. His hands roamed your body, possessive and demanding, as he pulled you closer, his own arousal throbbing against the confines of his trousers.

“So sweet," he growled against your lips, breaking the kiss only to nip and suck his way down your neck, leaving a trail of heated, open-mouthed kisses. "Such a delicious little sin."

His fingers deftly unfastened the buttons of your blouse, revealing the lacy bra beneath and the creamy swells of your breasts. You gasped, feeling his lips on your skin. Desperate and wanton, hungry.

He kissed and licked a path downward, pausing to toy with the lacy edge of your bra before tugging the delicate fabric aside with his teeth. His hot mouth closed over the swell of your breast, his tongue swirling to coax forth a responsive moan. His lips slid lower, fixating on your nipple. He suckled, the rhythmic pull of his lips and the scrape of his teeth sending jolts of pleasure-pain shooting through your sensitive flesh.

“Mmmm, you taste so divine," he purred, his free hand sliding up your thigh to brush against the damp fabric of your panties. "Every inch of you is made for sin."

You could foresee his intentions even before he started to move. His lips went lower down your chest, over your stomach, to the waistband of your skirt. With practiced ease, he slid his hands down your curves, peeling away the last of your garments with a hunger that bordered on reverence.

Your skirt and panties joined the discarded heap of your blouse and bra on the floor, leaving you bare and vulnerable beneath his intense scrutiny. His eyes raked over you, drinking in every inch of exposed flesh as if committing it to memory. The sight of you, spread out before him, was a feast for his sinful appetites.

“Exquisite," he breathed, his voice thick with desire. "You're a vision of decadence. I'm going to indulge in every moment of our encounter, savoring every morsel of pleasure you offer me."

With that, he sank to his knees before you, his fingers brushing against your inner thighs as he gazed up at you with a wicked promise in his eyes. He leaned in, his breath a hot whisper against your most intimate flesh.

And he went at it, eager to devour. He started off with a long, languid lick with the flat of his tongue, licking from the edge of your slit all the way to the clit. It was utterly sinful, erotic.

He lapped at you, his long, dexterous tongue swirling and delving with a sinful expertise that made you gasp and squirm. The flat of his tongue glided along your slit, gathering your sweet essence before he darted the tip to tease the sensitive bump of your clit. He licked and suckled, alternating between long, languid strokes and fast, frantic jabs of his tongue, each one designed to drive you a little crazier with need.

“You taste so good,," he purred, his words muffled against your pulsing flesh. "I could eat this sweet cunt all day and never tire of it."

Two fingers slipped inside you, stretching and filling you as his tongue continued its relentless assault. He pumped them in and out, matching the rhythm of his tongue's movements as he brought you closer to the edge. His fingers curled, seeking that special spot that would send you plummeting into ecstasy. With each pass, his touch grew firmer, more insistent, as if trying to coax the very essence of your being from your depths. His lips and tongue never ceased their worship of your clit, suckling and flicking against the throbbing nub in a maddening dance of pleasure and desperation.

He could feel you teetering on the brink, your sweet cum flooding his fingers as your hips bucked and writhed in mindless need. His tongue worked frantically against your clit, a dizzying whirl of licks and suckles that left you breathless and begging for more. One last, long lick, and you were sent hurtling over the edge, your orgasm ripping through like a thunderclap.

“Yes," he hummed, his voice a reverent whisper. "Let it happen. Let me feel you cum for me." And as the waves of your climax crashed over you, he remained, drinking in every last drop of your release like a man dying of thirst.

And you thought that would be it, but no. He rearranged you, laying you down as he stripped off his cassock in a hurried tug. The garment joined the pile of your clothes, and he wasted no time unfastening his belt and shucking off his trousers. His massive cock sprang free, the thick, pulsing length already flushed and throbbing with need.

He loomed over you, his thick, throbbing cock jutting out before him like a red-hot brand, burning with the need for release. With a knee, he pushed your legs apart, spreading you in blatant invitation, before positioning himself between your thighs. One hand tipped your chin up, forcing you to meet his burning gaze as he lined himself up with your most intimate entrance.

“Last chance to turn back," he growled, the tip of his cock notched against your aching flesh. "Once I sink into you, there's no going back. You'll be mine, body and soul." He paused, his expression almost wistful. "But I know you won't refuse me. You want this, as much as I do."

With that, he surged forward, burying himself in your warmth with a groan of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

He filled you slowly, deliberately, each inch a decadent slide into heaven as he stretched you impossibly wide around his girth. The sensation was overwhelming, the burn of his intrusion mixing with the sweet, tingling pleasure that only he could evoke. When he finally bottomed out, he paused, savoring the feeling of being completely sheathed within you. He was huge, and you could feel every throbbing inch of him as he pulsed and twitched inside you.

“So perfect," he breathed, his voice low and husky with satisfaction. He took a deep breath, his forehead coming to rest against yours as he fought to regain his composure. "You were made for me. Every curve, every hollow, every inch of your sweet cunt is tailor-made to take my cock."

He began to move, slow and deep at first, withdrawing until only the thick head remained before plunging back in, his strokes growing firmer, more insistent as he lost himself in the mindless pleasure of the joining. — He took you like a man possessed, his pace growing faster, more erratic as he chased his release. The couch creaked in protest beneath both, the sound mingling with the ragged breathing and the obscene squelch of his cock sliding in and out of your soaked pussy. Your back arched, pushing your pert breasts toward his devouring mouth as he feasted on one while still pounding into you. He growled against your skin, the vibrations adding another layer of sensation to the maelstrom of pleasure wracking your body.

Your eyes rolled back, feeling him pounding deep into your cunt as he suckled your tit. Wary, you used a hand to cover your mouth, trying to muffle the sound.

His mouth left your breast with a wet pop, and he sealed his lips over yours in a fierce, dominating kiss. His tongue invaded, claiming yours in a sensual dance that left both breathless. All the while, he continued his relentless pace, his cock pistoning in and out of you with brutal efficiency. He could feel your walls fluttering around him, your sweet cream coating his shaft as you teetered on the brink of another orgasm. With a groan, he broke the kiss, his eyes blazing with a primal intensity as he prepared to unleash his own release.

“Cum for me," he commanded, his voice a raw, desperate snarl. "Take my cock, just like that. Fuck- come for me. Come on my cock.”

The mix of the sensations and the sheer desperation on his voice, how needy it suddenly sounded did it for you. As your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your inner walls clamped down around him like a vice, cum gushing out to coat his cock and balls. The sensation was enough to tip him over the edge, and with a hoarse bellow, he buried himself to the hilt and came, his thick seed pulsing deep inside you as his body shuddered and spasmed.

“Fuck!" he gasped, his hands gripping your hips like an anchor as he rode out the waves of his climax. "Yes... oh, god... yes..." He collapsed on top of you, his weight pressing you into the couch as he struggled to catch his breath.

As you recovered, you started to process. Thinking to yourself. Did you- did you just fuck a priest? Maybe you ARE as troublesome as people claim.

He slowly pulled out of you, his softening cock slipping free with a wet plop. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a tender, lingering kiss, his eyes never leaving yours. "Don't overthink it, my sweet," he murmured against your mouth. "Just enjoy the afterglow."

He leaned on his elbow, his free hand gently brushing the hair from your face as he took in your flushed, sated features.

"We've both crossed lines. Lines we can't simply erase. But perhaps that's for the best. Perhaps this is the key to setting you free." A sly smile played on his lips as he stood, his naked form glistening with sweat in the dim light. "Now, how about we continue this little sin of ours in the bed, hmm?"

And as that idea enticed you… you realized that perhaps you ARE a lost cause.

[celestialseph]

DADDY — FATHER C. MAYHEW

synopsis: you’re sinless; sent to father charlie mayhew to study beneath him.

cw: NSFW-MDNI HEAVY corruption, blasphemy, inaccurate religious practices, daddy kink, fingering, mentions of age gap (reader is 18), misogyny, mentions of abuse, power dynamics, sorry this is super long :c

it had been four days since you’d last seen home. at this point, you are still counting the days away from it. you weren’t necessarily complaining, though. according to your father, it was the path god wanted you to take. as such, you had his full guidance and protection.

you were to study beneath father charlie mayhew. it was an honor to you and your family; poor, religious commune natives. aside from it being one less mouth to feed — a woman, no less — it was also the biggest opportunity you would ever get to learn about god in a prestigious manner. college was out of the question.

father mayhew was waiting for you at the airport. you weren’t certain why, but you didn’t expect to meet him immediately. you guessed a man like him would just send a car, but alas. he was tall and exceedingly handsome. handsome enough that it made you blush upon making eye contact with him. you decided that your reaction was fine because you could still focus properly in the meantime.

the first few minutes of the car ride were awkwardly silent, passing by painfully slowly whilst father mayhew exited the airport parking deck. by the time you were able to leave, fathew mayhew finally spoke first, “i know so little about you. please,” he insists, glancing over at you with a soft grin, “tell me about you.”

so you did. you felt embarrassed, going on a tangent to include the poverty, religious society, any education you were ever blessed with came directly from the church; your father called it god’s mouth. normally, your explanation as to your backstory ellicits a distasteful response. you’ve heard of abuse and misogyny from hateful people, often accompanied by a wince or shutter. but not from father mayhew, who nodded and listened intently without any god-straying comments in mind. it made you feel at ease.

“you consider yourself to be close with god?” he asks after you finish telling him about your desire to learn. you nodded hesitantly, shyly agreeing but still somewhat doubtful in your mind.

“there is still more to learn,” you finally say, your eyes catching onto father mayhew’s hands as they grip the steering wheel, thankful that your with someone capable of teaching you.

“of course,” he agrees, “but not tonight, i’m afraid. you must be wide awake.”

he was correct. you were extremely jet lagged from traveling across the country, and you had not eaten since the detroit airport the day prior. your nerves were shot for a majority of the trip, allowing you to go long hours without sleep and practically forgetting to eat until you’re on another plane with an hour until touchdown. currently, it was nearing ten p.m.. you nodded, agreeing and he smiled again.

finally getting to his home, there was little discomfort by this time. you felt strangely secure in charlie’s presence despite just having met him. unlike men you were accustomed to that often made you feel uncomfortable, father mayhew seemed above that; a god-abiding man full of knowledge he wants to relay. you didn’t fear inappropriate comments or impure thoughts with father mayhew.

you follow his lead to the front door, his scent enough to make your knees weak as you remained close. he opens the door, turning to face you better as his left hand moves to the small of your back, inching closely to your ass. he guided you inside, a gentle act of kindness you decided. father mayhew was not your regular guy. he didn’t indulge in temptation, nor was his mind filled to the brim with twisted fantasies.

charlie moved ahead, leading the way towards the dining room, which had an open view to the kitchen area. in a separate room was the couch, it’s room lights turned low until it was nearly pitch black everywhere else except for the kitchen.

father mayhew, despite being an evolved and sophisticated man, still harbored uncertainties. his gaze was dark; nothing like the gaze of your previous pastors or priests. it was a visual that was almost capable of running a shiver down your spine. “i don’t want you to feel as though you’re alone, right now.” he finally says, approaching you closer until he’s able to usher you into the living room after flicking on the lights.

you listen carefully, ensuring you understand what you assume to be ground rules. you expected as such, being a newcomer in someone else’s home often came with strings of some sort. with this, you had no desire to disappoint father mayhew.

“because, you’re not,” he finishes as the two of you sit down. politely, he turns closer to you, able to stare into the depths of your eyes if you let him. “while you learn, it’s my job to learn about you,” he says, his fingertips barely grazing against the hem of your skirt. “so you must tell me if anything makes you feel uncomfortable.”

you nodded simply, though you doubted there was anything father mayhew could do to make you uncomfortable around him.

“i don’t imagine that would be a problem,” your quiet tone announces. father mayhew smiles softly, as though to thank you, and it easily melts the goosebumps of terror down your back. despite carrying an energy that reads him as irritable, he was quite the opposite.

“if this is going to work, you must be comfortable with me. it’s my job to protect you while you’re with me, so i need you capable of telling me what you need, or want.”

you nodded again, gaining the bigger picture that father mayhew would act as a guardian of sorts during your time studying under him. while you never had the privilege to attend college, it was easy to pretend and think of father mayhew as a professor, you his student.

“do you know what you want?” father mayhew’s voice nearly made you tremble, interrupting your inner thoughts as you imagined father mayhew as your professor. certainly, he would be extremely kind as a professor, too.

“to be closer with god,” you reply out of instinct, having only one objective in your mind since you were young. he smiled, and almost laughed but stopped himself.

“no, with your life. certainly, there’s something you’ve wanted,” he says, “you don’t travel all that way for nothing.”

he was correct. thousands of miles later to end up on father mayhew’s couch seemed unlikely. god hasn’t directly spoken to you about this move, but you knew it to be the correct path. aside from getting closer with god, you couldn’t easily recall anything you’d wanted in life that was anything more than replaceable.

well, there was one thing you could think of, but decided against saying it aloud. not only was the prospect of it insulting to your faith, but you seriously doubted it was anything father mayhew wanted to hear.

“is it sin that holds you back?” he asks, his voice softer now as he noted the change in your expression. you’d only just thought of something and are now trying to hide it, he could tell by the shift.

you only nodded. you were a sinner, despite not having the guts to say it aloud.

“tell me your sins,” he encourages, leaning in closer to you but still keeping a comfortable distance. you hesitated, but recalled that father mayhew required you to be completely honest with him.

“it’s lust, father mayhew,” you confessed quickly, feeling a small weight removed from your shoulders and added to you stomach. you were terrified of his possible reactions, certain that he’d ask you to leave mere hours after you just arrived.

“i see,” he says beneath his breath, “it’s a normal vice for some to share. you’re only eighteen; certainly, you’ve never been in an intimate relationship?”

you shook your head, embarrassed. so embarrassed, in fact, that you didn’t notice the difference in father mayhew’s pants as he struggled to keep his erection under control. you felt the burn behind your eyes as tears made their way. you were not expecting such a confession within the first day of meeting him. “i’m not a whore, father mayhew. i can’t stop thinking about it.”

“i know you aren’t,” he quickly replied, his hand gently placing against your cheek as he swiped his thumb along your tear trails. “love keeps no record of wrongdoings. god forgives you; there is no reason other’s can’t.”

you nod weakly, despite your mindset staying the same. you couldn’t forgive yourself for your temptations; you were deadly curious, wanting to know how it felt to be held by a man.

a man like father mayhew. while it felt utterly sinful to think of him in any way other than as your mentor, you couldn’t help but wonder if the touch was at all similar to the feeling you got when father mayhew touched your cheek and rid your tears. you inspected his free hand while he didn’t notice. you saw the veins; felt the calloused padding of his fingertips against your cheek.

“it’s curiousity, isn’t it?” he asked, the faintest of grins on his face as he inspected your flushed face closely, his hand now busy moving hair out of your face. any excuse to touch you a little bit longer.

you nodded, thankful that father mayhew was able to understand your predicament.

“it’s human nature,” he eases, your eyes finally meeting his before he finally moves his hand down, a soft grin present, “you’ve never been kissed before? touched?”

“no, father mayhew, absolutely not,” you assure quickly, shaking your head briefly, “i’m saving myself.”

“for god,” father mayhew finishes with a subtle nod. you debated on correcting him before lightly shaking your head.

“for a man of god,” you correct him awkwardly, “preferably.”

something changes in his expression at your words. perhaps a brow raise or a signature, subtle grin, but he looked at you differently now. it was a good different, certainly, but still new and strange.

you felt ashamed; confessing to your mentor, a priest, of your worldly desires. you had no interest in the tangible — money, cars, properties — but instead, the intimate love of a man. you could feel your cheeks burn with embarrassment once more, this time a fire that seemed to light all over your body.

still, father mayhew remained quiet, his hand now resting extremely close to your thigh. he seemed lost within you, simply watching you with a somewhat amused expression. for a brief few moments, you assumed father mayhew would assure you that your sins were capable of being forgiven, or that perhaps there were methods to avoid temptation.

but he never did; the empty air filling the house quickly until the only thing you can hear is your heart thudding beneath your flesh.

“how did you avoid temptation, father?” you finally asked, your voice small, terrified that you may disturb some form of peace he had found. still, his expression didn’t change. if anything, he seemed lighter.

“it’s not without difficulty, of course,” he assures. he seemed nervous, now. his eyes couldn’t hold your gaze for very long anymore, “i’ve come to accept certain things, one of those being that i’m a man with needs, much like every other man. the initial task of maintaining celibacy was for eve and adam. while we want more people to join the church, we must also accept that temptation will follow. the advancement of the human race relies on men like me, and women like you, after all.”

men like him and women like you. his words replay in your head approximately twenty times and you still were unsure if you’d heard them correctly.

silence lingers between you. your mind felt fuzzy for nearly five minutes, processing father mayhew’s words carefully. you were certain you’d heard him correctly. you were certain you’d understood him perfectly.

you looked at him again. he seemed closer now, glancing down at your lips when you nervously bit the bottom one. you studied him entirely; your initial impression that he was handsome still standing strong. even now, he was capable of making you feel secure, despite the uncertainty lurking. “our god sees all. he knows your true desires, even if you can’t admit to them. what you’re experiencing isn’t sin, but a test; i can help you understand it better.”

his voice was so quiet you’d hardly heard him speak, capable of brushing it off entirely if it weren’t for his hands. one rested on the meat of your thigh, his fingers dipping ever so slightly beneath your skirt.

your breath caught in your throat, vividly memorizing the warmth that spread throughout your body, and how warm father mayhew was.

“would you like to know a man’s touch?”

you feverishly nodded, feeling his warm breath dance across your neck as you were thrown in a daze. his touch felt so pleasurable already; you could only imagine if he were to continue. besides, father mayhew was a man of god — likely the closest man to god for many, many miles.

if father mayhew partook, there was no possibility it could stray you from the lord. he was gentle, using his free hand to grab onto your waist, pulling your body onto his lap with ease, his fingertips never leaving your thighs for too long.

“have you ever touched yourself?” he asked, his tone low and raspy as his lips lazily dragged along your clothed breast, making your lips quiver.

“y—yes, father,” you reply shamefully, despite the fact that he now had his hands all over you — his mouth, too.

“did you ask for forgiveness?” he asked quickly, to which you proudly nodded in response. “good girl.”

the sentiment made your core tighten for a brief second. your panties fell damp, feeling pathetic that it merely takes his voice to summon your arousal. it almost made you feel embarrassed when father mayhew’s hand slid beneath your skirt, feeling the wet cloth covering your heat.

instead, he smiled softly, his fingertip swirling around the fabric as you bit down on your lip, unsuccessfully suppressing whines everytime he grazed against one particular spot.

“i want you to feel comfortable with me,” he spoke softly, as though his fingers weren’t actively pulling your white panties aside. your gaze met his again, starstruck by the sincerity of it. you wanted to keep looking at father mayhew while he made you feel good. “i want you to call me daddy, okay? no more ‘father’.”

his fingertips traced down your heat, your mind immediately turning into a pot of sinful thoughts as the dam of temptation shattered. you weren’t certain if the sensation made you want more, or if you were teetering on dangerous territory.

“okay?” he asks again, his voice still soft and quiet, as though he’s speaking to a stranger. you simply nodded; the only gesture you could make without embarrassing yourself further. you were trembling, and there was no doubt he could feel it.

his finger traced down your clit again, hovering over your hole before restarting the process all over again. your breaths were becoming riggid, and something clawed at the back of your throat, desperately attempting to get out. it wasn’t until his fingertips expertly began circling your sensitive nub did you recognize what it was clawing at your throat for release; you shivered and whined involuntarily, your breaths becoming your words as they grew louder and louder.

his hands were so warm, so much larger than your own and felt infinitely better. not knowing how he will touch you next was part of the thrill, keeping you dangling for more and more. out of options, your arms clung around charlie as the floating sensation returned. when his head slightly turned to plant a swift kiss against your clammy hand, you couldn’t stop yourself anymore. you’ve never before experienced a moment in which you genuinely didn’t use your head until now, feverishly kissing him despite your amateur skills.

it wasn’t like it mattered — your skills, that is — because he was quick to take charge again, incapable of being left in the dark for a moment. in addition, his hand that was once busy with your clit now began prodding at your cunt. “oh, god,” you sigh quietly, feeling the tip of his finger gently prod into you, minimally stretching your virgin cunt.

“he isn’t here,” father mayhew’s voice was quiet as you continued to softly moan against his every movement, “only me.”

his fingertip dug deeper, making you squeal and instinctively close your thighs around his hand, restraining his movements despite his finger’s continuing assault against your wet cunt. the pinch of discomfort dissolved quickly into pleasure, the sensation allowing your legs some rest. father mayhew smiles softly, noting the change in your reception.

“fa — daddy, it’s —” you struggled to speak up, his finger burrowing deeper and deeper into you. he made a noise that resembled a chuckle — perhaps a satisfied one — as he slowly stroked his digit in and out of you.

“so wet,” he mindlessly says, “so special and pure.”

he seemed ignorant to your reactions, simply observing as though he had no power to control it. he enjoyed watching you, and you were beginning to think you enjoyed being watched.

“it’s why god brought you to me,” he finishes, mumbling against the skin of your neck. softly and desperately, he gently nips at your skin, leaving a trail of saliva down your throat. you moaned, the sensation of his ring finger joining his middle inside you to stretch you beyond what you ever knew before.

“it’s — ah! — i’m gonna —” your announcement dissipates into feverish, loud moans. something was overcoming you quickly; a warm gush of wetness and tension nearly bursting.

“cum for me. trust me, angel,” his voice remained soft but held a dark undertone, as though he was daring you to unravel on his hand.

you didn’t have much of a choice in the matter as your resolve crumbled. an implosion of pleasure pulsating from your wetness, which spilled all over father mayhew’s hand as you squealed once more.

“good — good girl,” he praises again, his long fingers brushing against your clit as you came down from the orgasmic high. his soft lips gently laid kisses against your neck as you caught your breath.

it seemed you’d made a deal with the devil; your body in exchange for god’s everlasting mercy.

[celestialseph]

Doing It All For Love

𐙚 Reeling after her meeting with Rhaenyra in the sept, she takes advantage of the one thing that reminds her most of her true love; you. Even if you are Aegon’s wife, Rhaenyra’s only daughter and technically, her step-granddaughter.

𐙚 Alicent x Rhaenyra's Daughter!Reader (tw: step-incest, age gap; alicent is reader's step-grandmother and 38/reader is 20, manipulation, slight dub-con)

AN: i am still writing lamb to slaughter i am just rlly turned on by alicent being manipulative and being in power <3 reader is of age, no i am not doing the math

Alicent can't breathe. The power, her very control on matters is slipping. Aegon is lost, Aemond a violent monster. Helaena lost to her grief. Matters possibly be any worse. Of course they could. They always can.

She had told Rhaenyra to her face that war was due, that it was inevitable. Alicent knew the succession had not been changed, that Viserys did not change his mind.

But was Alicent to blame for wanting power of her own? To have developed a taste for it since it was first forced down her throat? Was it so bad of her? Her father had drilled in her so hard Aegon’s claim that had to be what she truly wanted. Why else would she forcibly usurp the only person that has ever loved her.

But it was far too late. All of it set in place. The board was set. Time to play the game before them. But she couldn't deny her feelings. Noy truly. She was angry. Angry at her father, angry at her king, at Aegon.

“Your grace?” you call softly.

Alicent half smiles, but it isn't sincere. She isn't the queen anymore, you are. She foolishly thought if she rushed and married you to a newly crowned Aegon that Rhaenyra would bend. She didn't know Daemon would simply declare war for his better half as you were now considered a 'hostage’ in the capital.

“You are the queen. You can call me Alicent, or mother…” Alicent walks towards you, and allows her hand to reach your face. “...or grandmother.”

“You're so young to be a grandmother.” you assure her.

“You think I look young?” Alicent feeds off your validation, so eager to please. You don't know if it's sincere or a survival tactic but she doesn't care, it turns her on all the same. “You’re such a dove, aren't you? Flaunting about the keep as you please. So insistent on making me and your betters happy.”

“I just want to please you all so you don't take my head.” you admit rashly.

“Take your head?” she cocks hers. “Why would we?”

“Because my mother is…my mother is a traitor and so is my father. I have traitor’s blood.” you say softly.

“You have the blood of the dragon and you share Aegon’s blood. Not all is treacherous.” Alicent tries to calm you, even though the words affirm what you fear people say about you is true. You are the blood of a whore, a traitor. And the worst is you are no bastard, but the daughter of an even worse fate, Daemon Targaryen.

“I wish to be a good queen to you, to Aegon and them.” Alicent reaches to hold your hand and pulls you closer. You gaze up at her.

“You are a good queen. Probably more loved than I.” Alicent’s voice is calming, but not to be sweet or kind or caring. No. She wants you in a false state of comfort.

The more Alicent looks at you, studies your face. The more you look like Rhaenyra. She could see why the court confused you two at times. You didn't have a shred of Daemon in your face, she thanks the gods for that. But you have her former friend’s face. The friend she so desperately clung to as a child. The one who turned her back on her. And now her daughter was clinging to her.

Alicent leans in and kisses you, it’s gentle and she can physically feel you react to it.

You immediately pull back, “Your grace-”

“I am not the queen, you stupid girl.” she grabs your hands firmer, her nails digging into you. “You took that position, usurped it from me.”

“As you have usurped my mother.” you speak back, matching her cold tone. As soon as the words leave you, you regret it.

“I am so sorry, have I hurt you?” she asks as she brings your hands to her face to inspect. Her tone changes to soft again, as she watches blood pool around the moons her nails left in your skin.

“I want to go home!” you admit, tears streaming your face. “I want my mother.”

“I wanted your mother too once. She was my…friend. But she has turned her back on me, on you.” Alicent kisses your hands gently.

“You lie.”

“Do I sweetling? Where is your mother? If I had heard my daughter had married my enemy I’d swarm the palace with my dragon and burn it to ash. But she has not yet even made a move and it has been weeks.” she shakes her head at you, almost mocking you for being so naive.

Alicent holds your head, and leans in to kiss you again, this time more roughly. You don't react, you let it happen. Alicent controls it, every movement she has the power and orchestrates it. And you're so stupid, naive and powerless, you let her.

“What would Aegon say?” you break away, mostly to catch your breath.

“He's with painted whores as we speak.” She licks her lips. You taste like fruit, something she knew you were fond of. She watches your face fall. “Does that upset you?”

“No.” you shake your head. “I do not think so. I don't love him.”

“I know.” Alicent goes to kiss you again, and this time you kiss back.

Your hands go to her waist and you whimper into her mouth. Her hands begin peeling you of your gown, a soft white and gold, and you work to untie the strings on the back of hers.

It’s all happening so fast you can't control anything, she's in charge. You can't help it, you miss your mother. Your gown is slipped off onto the floor and Alicent reaches to pull you closer, gently turns you and then throws you lightly on her bed.

“Have you two lied together?” she asks, finishing stripping her gown down, the dark green material pooling at her feet.

You can't help but stare at her body, despite four pregnancies her body still was slender, and a soft warm color painted her skin. You watched Alicent remove her seven pointed star necklace, kiss it and set it down.

“Have you ever been with a woman?” she asks, beginning to sit beside you on the bed.

You shake your head and watch her take pieces of your silver hair in her hands. God you looked so much like Rhaenyra, she needed to have you.

“Can you kiss me again?” you ask, snapping her out of her trance.

She smiles, mostly because she knows she has you, and she does. She kisses you again, and places herself above you.

You wonder what Rhaenyra would say, what she would think. They had been childhood friends, and now you were kissing her old friend and newest enemy, about to sleep with her. It was all entrancing. Would Daemon have your head when they eventually stormed Kings Landing?

Alicent dips her fingers in her mouth, coating them with spit before settling inside your cunt. You groan, and arch your back at her touch. Pure pleasure shoots through you as she continues to pump her digits in and out of you. She watches you with hungry eyes, picturing your mother in your spot.

You're a gentle little girl, always so keen on pleasing others, Alicent smiled slightly at you finally being pleased. She knew Aegon did not take your pleasure into account, her nasty excuse of a son could not please anyone. Not even the maids he took his pleasure from.

“Feel good sweet dove?” Alicent coos, voice full of sex.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” you cry out, pressure building as you become closer to orgasm. “Please don't stop.”

“I won't, I won't.” she says softly, mostly to herself.

You looked good like this, sweat stuck to your forehead, writhing in pleasure, pleasure given by her. Alicent pulls her fingers out, which causes you to omit soft pleading for her to go back to what she was doing.

She settles between your legs, and gives small kisses on your thighs.

“Don't tease me, please your grace.” you beg.

“I’ll do what I want, won't I?” Alicent doesn't wait for your answer until she's latching her mouth on your now wet cunt, sucking and licking away, the sounds of your moans growing louder and filling the chamber.

She didn't care if maids heard, or passed by and saw. All she cared about was that you were close to cumming on her tongue. She traced your cunt up and down with the wet muscle, ensuring your clit got the most attention.

Your orgasm hits hard, causing you to wrap your legs around her head, “Gods gods gods gods!”

As you ride your wave of pleasure, Alicent licks up the mess and gives your cunt one last kiss before pulling up and looking at you. Her mouth was wet, no soaked with your cum. You blush at the sight.

“Sweet girl.” Alicent wipes her mouth on the duvet, and lays beside you.

“Do you want me to…please you, your grace?” you ask.

She shakes her head, “Dowager queen.”

As you cuddle into her side, still breathing heavily, the one thing that crosses Alicent’s mind is your mother.

[celestialseph]

Closer to the Gods || Alicent

Years into her marriage Queen Alicent permits only you to share in the more intimate parts of her routine. Despite the deep bond that connects you to Her Grace you are not certain that your feelings are returned – until she shows you.

Pairing: Alicent Hightower x lady-in-waiting!reader

Content: 3.1k words, repressed feelings, yearning, religious guilt, somewhat post-partum alicent, no y/n, smut (wlw, thigh riding, body worship, oral, v fingering, gentle smut), 18+ MDNI

Masterlist – Ao3 link

Her hair smells like citrus. The fragrance, enhanced by the steam of the hot water rising from the surface of her bath, mingles with the one of the perfumed oils that slick your hands as you weave them through her tresses. The scent makes you light-headed, as does the sight of her bare skin above the water. Her Grace sighs deeply when you massage her scalp, leaning into your touch with all the weariness she carries. You breathe her in, subtly, applying some pressure to her temples where you know her headaches to linger.

Born into a lesser house you were sent to be raised at court at a young age, a token of loyalty after the coronation of King Viserys. However, life at court changed after the death of his first wife and as a lady-in-waiting you soon became the new queen’s favourite. Ever since the birth of her first son she keeps you closer than any of the other ladies, allows you to take on the more intimate chores such as dressing and undressing her, brushing and washing her hair, keeping her company during the late hours of the day, singing and more often than not reading to her. Two years into her marriage now the queen will allow only you to take care of her in such a way and send away her servants once the more menial tasks such as filling the tub have been completed.

By now you know her whims and preferences better than your own. You feel an intimate affection for her Her Grace and it translates into the gentleness with which you touch her. Most evenings it is only you and her – unless the king requests her presence. Those nights you spend thinking of her in her soft white nightdress with her auburn hair falling in waves over her pale breasts underneath. You try to distract yourself from the thoughts of him touching her smooth skin, lacking the gentleness you know she desires. No one else but you is allowed to see her in any state of undress, let alone touch her. But he simply takes what he wants, what he thinks he is owed by right of being her husband. By right of being the king. Would that you could give her what he does, but you can never sire a son, you could never be anything but what you are now.

In front of the fire with your hands covered in scented oils you feel a shameful heat rising to your face, the immoral thoughts of replacing her husband a constant source of guilt. Rinsing her hair, you finish your routine. The water has cooled down and you know Her Grace will want to retire soon. During these moments she prefers solitude, as she told you once, dedicating herself to prayer or silent contemplation.

“I will have the servants remove the tub.” You absent yourself from her side, drying your hands on a piece of cloth. “If that would be all, Your Grace, I shall retire for the night.”

You are already turned around, placing her nightdress on the nearby table. Your hand traces the delicate ornaments of Myrish lace when her voice reaches you again. “Wait.”

You hear Her Grace stepping out of the tub and keep your gaze lowered respectfully. Once her robe is fastened around her narrow waist you dare look up again. She approaches you on bare feet, drops of water glistening on her skin like morning dew on the petals of a soft pink rose.

A damp thumb comes to swipe along your cheekbone as she considers you, soft eyes roaming your face. “You look lovely with your cheeks flushed.”

Her lip trembles as she says it, as though the confidence she displays is nothing but an act. Your queen has complimented you many times before but never in a such a way that you feel her words caressing your very soul. For a moment you are quite out of breath.

Her fingers dance along your collarbones then, toying with the seams of your dress. “I do not know why you should be allowed to see me and yet I am deprived of the same pleasure.”

“My queen, I do not know–”

Her face falls as she misreads your words for rejection. You catch her hand before she manages to tear it away and press it to your heart instead. Looking down you see that she must have been biting her nails again, her skin red and scabbed where she pulled at it.

“What I mean is…” You feel tears gathering in the corners of your eyes, the sting of insecurity and hesitation. “I am not much to look at. Not compared to Your Grace.”

She shakes her head, dismissing your words. “Call me Alicent.”

“I would not–”

“Please, for once let us not hide behind curtesies. I have grown tired of it, I have grown tired of you leaving when I want you the most.”

Her words claw their way underneath your skin, your heart racing at the implicit confession. You always thought your feelings to be unreciprocated, that Her Grace merely considers you a companion, perhaps a friend. But her eyes are wet with unshed tears, her hand pressing against your aching chest as though she is trying to reach inside.

“You would truly want me?” you ask, your voice barely audible.

“Every night you leave,” she says and it sounds like an accusation, laced with pain and longing.

“But Your Grace, you wished it so– I did not–”

“I know,” she interrupts. “I know.”

Her other hand moves to cradle your cheek, wiping a stray tear from your skin. She looks away for but a moment, as if to collect her thoughts, and when your eyes meet again her gaze is fierce, determined.

“I have tried to repress my feelings,” she says, her lips trembling again. “But I cannot stop– I cannot stop thinking about you. When you are not here I have to restrain myself not to call for you. I have to fight off the urge to run to your chambers to be near you. I am… so tired of pretending.”

You lean into her touch, closing the gap between you to rest your forehead against hers. “So am I, Alicent. So, so tired.”

“It is sin,” she whispers, brushing her nose against yours, her fingers ghosting over your lips. “To covet another, to covet–” Her words trail off, the thought left unspoken. “And yet I never feel closer to the Gods than when you touch me.”

Your queen swallows the air between you when she presses her lips to yours. Tentative and searching her mouth moves against yours with a softness that almost pains you. She tastes like sweet wine, smells of lavender and citrus. Unsure where to touch her you mirror her movements, stroking along her warm cheekbone, tracing the line of her jaw down to her neck where a few droplets of water have gathered. Your other hand still holds hers against your chest but then she slides it upwards to grasp your throat and you gasp into her mouth, warmth pooling into your belly. Her tongue grazes yours and she winds her fingers around the curve of your neck until they press against your spine and she can pull you in closer, lips firm and bruising.

You can feel her body through the garments between you, soft and pliable. She deepens the kiss and you get dizzy, your head spinning at the taste of her. The sensation is new, thrilling and addictive. When you break away she glances down at your dress and you make to untie it, glad to have chosen one that is not quite so hard to take off.

In your shift, you feel well-nigh naked. The cool sea air has goosebumps spreading all over your body, a breeze streaming in through the wide windows that overlook Blackwater Bay. Alicent takes you in, her eyes following her hand that drags the neckline of the sheer fabric down your shoulder until her fingers dance across your bare skin. The loose undergarment falls once it slips from your arm and you are fully bared to her. Instinctively, you cross your arms in front of your chest but she soon takes your wrists to pull them down.

“You are beautiful,” she whispers. “Do not hide from me. I have longed to see you as I have felt seen by you for a long time. Let there be nothing between us from now on.”

You nod and she unties the robe around her waist and lets it fall from her shoulders, silky fabric pooling at her feet in iridescent waves. Even though you have seen her bare many times before this time feels different. You do not have to hide your admiration, do not have to worry that she might catch you staring. Instead you allow yourself to revel in the sight of her, a body that has never truly been her own, changed from the months she carried her child, from the way she lent it to the king so he might have his son at last. Even though she does not look much changed when she is wrapped in her beautiful gowns you are witness to the subtle changes she wears underneath, the lines that run across her abdomen where her skin used to be stretched, her hips fuller and her breasts hanging lower than they used to.

To you, she is even more beautiful than ever before.

“May I kiss you?” she asks. The answer is a desperate nod.

She is more bold this time, even if you still hesitate, still wonder how you can ever touch her freely when she is your queen, when she can never truly be yours. The apprehension soon dissipates when you get drunk on the taste of her, of the feel of her soft curves following the shape of your own when she pulls you close. Her nipples brush yours and you moan wantonly, craving her so much that the feeling is akin to physical pain. Your whole body is burning, melting, your blood hot and heavy as it gathers between your legs.

You tentatively begin to run your hands over her body, following the line of her hips over her lower back, then up the ridges of her spine. She shivers underneath your fingertips, the same goosebumps that cover your body spreading across her still damp skin. As her tongue flattens against yours, her own hands curling firmly around your backside, you cannot hold back the desperate whimper that falls from your lips.

“I want you,” she whispers into your mouth. “I want all of you.”

“I am yours, Alicent,” you say. “I will always be yours.”

She breaks away and takes your hand to lead you over to her bed. Your lips are already swollen, your mind clouded by your need of her. She gently pushes you onto the soft mattress, expensive, silken fabrics welcoming you in her space. It feels too intimate, to be here, to lay where she lays. When she comes to rest on top of you it is like a vision from the Heavens, her slowly drying curls falling like a veil over your face until it is only you and her, breathing in tandem as the world around you blurs into nothingness.

Her mouth is hot when she kisses you and you meet her eagerly, pull her down until your bodies touch and you feel her weight on top of you. She moves her leg between yours, her thigh pressed against your core, and you whimper as the warmth of her touch spreads within you. A throbbing pain settles there and you cannot help but cant your hips to rub against her, soon grinding more feverishly as her tongue delves into your mouth. Alicent's hands roam your body but you hardly take note of each individual touch, so focused on the pleasure that builds inside of you.

"Please," you whisper, inching ever closer to a tipping point, your lungs struggling to inhale enough air.

Alicent looks down at you through heavy-lidded eyes, as though she wants to fully take in your reactions, helping you along as she presses her thigh firmer against your cunt, fingers teasing at your nipples. You gasp, forgetting to breathe as the pleasure tears through your body in hot tingling shudders. Alicent swallows your moans with her mouth, reaching between your legs now to feel your release, two fingers pressed against your wet core until they enter you easily. She carries you through your crest with slow rolls of her hand but soon the pressure builds again and you clench around her intrusion, unable to hold back.

When the rolling waves of pleasure finally subside, kisses turn slow and aimless and you take a moment to calm your racing heart. Alicent presses her lips to your face and neck with an ardent intensity while you hold her in your arms, fingers curled around her thigh. You can feel her arousal dripping against your fingertips and begin to stroke her there, revelling in the gasps she releases against your skin. The gentleness with which she touches you sends tears to your eyes, for what you are not quite certain. Perhaps it is the realization that you have never been loved like this, the fact that it is your queen, the woman you have been dreaming about for years, who holds such affections for you.

"Alicent," you say and she lifts her head to meet your gaze. "Please, I want to taste you."

At first she seems hesitant, almost like the young girl she used to be, uncertain whether your intentions are true. But after a moment she seems to come back to herself and remember who you are, her gaze softening, gaining confidence and trust. She settles on her back beside you, propped up by silken pillows with her skin glowing like embers, draped in the faint light of the fire and a dozen candles.

She is beautiful with her lips swollen by your kisses, her pale breasts exposed and hardened, a faint line of hair leading from her belly button to a thicker tuft at the apex of her thighs. You admire her for a moment, kneeling in front of her with your limbs still trembling in the aftermath of your pleasure. What love you held for her before this night has grown insurmountably and you believe with all your heart that this cannot be sin, that it cannot be wrong when it is nothing short of worship.

You gently spread her thighs, revealing her to you fully. Reverent kisses to the insides of her knees, down her thighs that feel so soft against your lips. She moans when you caress a particularly sensitive spot and the sound is like music, urging you to leave more kisses all over skin, following the lines on her abdomen up to her breasts. You take one into your mouth, sucking gently at her hardened nipple until it is pink and swollen. Alicent weaves her fingers through your hair, the other hand caressing your shoulder. Her hips buck, wanting for attention, and you finally succumb and settle at her core.

With your eyes locked on hers you leave a kiss on her mound. Alicent links her fingers with yours and presses your intertwined hands to her abdomen as if to ground herself. Her other hand brushes a stray curl from your forehead. You slowly press your mouth to her cunt, tongue dipping between her folds to taste her. She moans again, louder this time, and you continue to attend to her, dipping your tongue into her and kissing every part you can reach. You forget yourself after a moment, lost in the whimpers and gasps that fill your ears, her soft skin and sweet taste.

As her pleasure builds, Alicent's hand fully tangles in your hair and she pushes your face deeper against her, her other hand gripping yours so tight that you begin to feel a distant pain. You cannot help your own wanton moan, wanting to make her feel like she made you feel. As you focus on her pearl, applying gentle pressure to her most sensitive areas, you use your second hand to spread her folds and dip your finger into her entrance. When you meet no resistance you add a second one and begin to rub them back and forth inside of her. It does not take long until her hips stutter as she rolls them against your face, the music falling from her lips now muffled by her hand.

You can feel her release as though it is your own, her muscles clenching around your digits, her release wet on your tongue as her whole body shudders. You continue until she pushes your face away, looking up at you see chest rising and falling rapidly, her brow damp and lips parted. A sense of deep bliss settles inside of you at the realization that you made her feel such pleasure, that she allows you to see this intimate side of her that you are not sure anyone else has ever seen.

She releases your hand to brush her hair back and you sit back on your heels to clean your face, taking in the sight of her without shame this time. You are not sure you could leave her now, not sure if you could ever have enough of her, already feeling the need again to touch her, kiss her, worship her.

After a moment Alicent reaches out, her hand wrapping around your wrist before she pulls you toward her. Curling against her side you sigh at the softness of her body, hiding your face at her neck. She welcomes you, arms slung around you tightly as you notice her calming down more and more. You are exhausted, in a way, and yet you are not sure that the night will come to an end so soon. Her hand in your hair and the fingers trailing the curve of your breast remind you that she has not had enough of you either.

For the moment you are both content holding the other close. You breathe in the scents of her bath, listen to the slowing rhythm of her breath. Alicent trails gentle kisses along your brow, then her arms tighten around you and her mouth comes to rest by your ear.

"Promise you won't leave again."

You pull back, shifting to bring your mouth back to hers. “Promise you won’t make me.”

Thank you so much for reading! Kudos, comments, reblogs etc are as always much appreciated but most of all I hope you enjoyed the story ♡

Masterlist – my Ao3

[celestialseph]

The Queen

summary: dairy/letters & lingerie kink || alicent stumbles across a secret of yours and is more than happy to make it come true

pairing: modern!alicent x f!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, wlw, pre-established relationship, dom!Alicent, sub!reader, queen honorifics used in the bedroom, lingerie kink, use of a leather crop, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, thigh riding, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 3.3k

a/n: happy day seven of 12 days of smuff!! i went into a fugue state and wrote 10 pages in 2 hours. the hold that olivia cooke has on me should be studied by science. anyway.

12 days of smuff masterlist!

gif creds to @olliviacooke

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!

Alicent’s POV

She was humming, swaying her hips to a new album she’d downloaded earlier that week as she smoothly moved the duster along the wooden surface of your nightstand, careful as she guided it between the lamp and the small potted plant you loved so much. Getting a bit too into the music she was listening to as she tidied up your shared bedroom, though, she accidentally bumped against the growing stack of books on your nightstand. 

“Shit!” Alicent hissed as a few went tumbling to the ground. Sighing, she bent down to grab them, half-heartedly cursing you for insisting on buying new books before you’d finished the ones you had. 

“Huh?” She wonders outloud, pausing the music on her phone when she sees her name scrawled in your familiar handwriting. Her fingers brush over the soft, leather bound book as she picks it up, her lips pursing as she reads the words “Personal Journal” embossed on the front in fancy gold lettering. Her brown eyes widen and quickly glance around the room, despite the fact that she knows she’s the only one home. Biting her lip, she runs a finger over the spine of your diary, weighing her options. On the one hand, she knew it would be a horrible invasion of your privacy to look but… well, what if it was something important? 

She shook her head at the thought. She wasn’t going to be one of those snooping partners! You already told her everything anyway, it’s not like there would be anything in your diary she didn’t already know! You were basically an open book, in fact, it was one of the things she loved most about you – your willingness to be so honest and transparent. 

No, she thought, carefully setting the diary back on your bedside table, I’m not going to! I’m simply – 

Okay, sue her. She’s only human and her name was right there! She’d make it up to you. 

Glancing around one more time, she flipped open the leather-bound book, flipping through it to the page she’d spotted a moment ago. She found it pretty quickly and nervously bit on a nail as her eyes scanned over the page, noticing the date first. It was from only about a week ago. She read on.

I’m not even sure how to bring up the topic, it doesn’t really seem like something you’d just bring up at the dinner table? Like, “Oh, honey, yeah work was great today! Kevin from accounting is finally getting married, I know! Can you believe it? Oh. yeah, one more thing! Can you boss me around in the bedroom like a drill sergeant?” I mean, come on. 

What if she isn’t even into it? What if she wants to be the submissive one? I don’t think Alicent’s totally vanilla, I mean, there have been so many sparks of… something. Sometimes she tells me to do something, usually innocuous like making sure the door’s locked before we leave or to get the laundry hamper from the closet but… God, the way she says it makes me shiver. And when she’s talking on the phone to someone at work? That authoritative voice makes me melt. 

Sigh. I just need to find the courage to ask. 

Alicent finally finished the entry and looked up from your journal, blinking as thoughts raced through her head. After a minute, she closed the notebook and placed it carefully back on your bedside table, just like it was before it fell off the table. 

She could barely keep the smirk off her face as she grabbed her purse and keys and shut the front door behind her, a devious, delicious plan quickly forming in her head. 

She knew exactly how to make up for her actions. 

Reader’s POV

You sigh as you unlock the front door, quickly tossing your keys into the small bowl on the entryway table before kicking off your shoes.

“Babe?” You called, furrowing your brows at how unusually quiet the house was. Alicent’s car was in the driveway and normally she’d be playing music by the time you got home but today… nothing. You’re about to call out again when the sound of heels clicking down the hallway makes you stop in your tracks, your bag falls from your hand as your girlfriend finally appears from around the corner.

“Good day at work?” Alicent asks coolly, tilting her head as she leans against the doorway. Meanwhile, you feel dumbstruck as your eyes scan over her appreciatively, taking in every dip and curve as if you’d never seen any of them before. Your eyes skim over her outfit, a black, lacy bustier perfectly framing her chest, with a matching black thong clinging to her soft hips, fishnet stockings held up by an enticing garter belt, all the way down to black, pointed toe heels. She’d even taken the time to straighten her usually curly hair, smoothing it down into a clean, nearly intimidating style. 

She smirked, brown eyes sparkling at your awe-struck expression, smiling when your eyes finally landed on her face; you couldn’t help but swallow when you saw that she was wearing that expensive red lipstick she only brought out for special occasions, the one you love so much. 

Her heels click on the wood floors as she strides over to you and it’s only then you realize that she has something in her hand – a black leather crop. The sight of it makes your knees weak. 

“I asked you a question, baby,” she says gently, locking eyes with you as she gently cups your cheek with in her hand, “It would be rude not to answer.” There’s a hard edge to her voice that makes you lose what little train of thought you had.

“I… uh,” you stutter, blush rising to your cheeks as you stare helplessly at her, fighting to keep your gaze locked on hers, “W-Work was good, yeah. Same as… as usual.” You finally finish, your chest already heaving as you rub your thighs together, desperate before you even know what’s going on. 

“How wonderful,” she smirks and leans in, giving you a sweet kiss like she normally would, but today it has your head spinning, “What do you think of my little surprise?” She asks, though there isn’t really a question in her tone – she already knows your answer.

“I love it,” you breathe, hardly giving her time to finish speaking as you let your gaze wander over her yet again. “What, uhm,” you cough nervously, “What gave you the idea?”

She smiles again, shrugging; you nearly jump out of your skin when she softly runs the leather crop up the inside of your thigh, starting at your knee and stopping tantalizingly close to your core. “Just got the sense that maybe you’d be into it…” She says casually, like you’re talking about the weather, “Was I right?”

All you can do is nod your head, but that’s not good enough, apparently. Her eyes narrow and she wraps a hand around your neck, not too harshly, mostly just sitting it there but it’s enough to make you whimper in the back of your throat, breath catching as her perfectly manicured red nails just barely dig into your delicate skin. “I don’t think that’s the proper way to address me, is it?” She coos, a faux pout to her lips. 

“N-No,” you say shakily, your eyes searching hers, “No… ma’am?” You try, inwardly cringing at how your voice squeaks. 

She clicks her tongue like a disappointed mother, the sound going straight between your legs, as she fixes you with an intense stare. “Baby, you know how I sometimes call you princess?” She asks, smiling proudly when you eagerly nod, “Well, tell me. Who’s more in charge than a princess?”

Your throat goes dry and you swallow thickly, darting your tongue out to wet your lips before speaking. “T-The queen?” You ask softly, pride feathering out in your chest like the train of a peacock when she smiles and nods again.

“That’s right!” She praises, almost as if she was speaking to a child; perhaps you should be offended at her condescending tone, but, if anything, it just makes your heart beat faster. “The queen. Do you want me to be your queen today, sweet one?” Again, you nod, so she continues. “So, address me properly.”

“Yes, my queen.” You breathe the words, core clenching softly around nothing. 

“Very good,” she praises, leaning in and lightly brushing her lips over the pulsepoint on your neck, “Do you want to keep being a good girl for your queen?”

“Yes, your grace, please.” You say with an eager nod, feeling like you’ll explode if she doesn’t touch you, or so something soon.

“Then be good for me and go to the bedroom,” she nods as she speaks, her big brown eyes looking directly into yours, “And strip.” She finishes coolly, leaving you no room to argue. 

You nod quickly and practically leap down the hallway, blushing when you hear her giggling behind you. As soon as your feet hit the soft rug in the bedroom, you tug at your clothes, quickly shedding your sweater and work trousers before unclipping your bra and sliding your underwear down your legs, haphazardly shoving everything into the hamper because you just know she’ll say something about the mess if you don’t. Finally, not knowing what else to do, you stand by the bed, arms clasped in front of you.

She doesn’t make you wait long and you bite your lip in anticipation as her heels click slowly down the hallway, smiling shyly when you finally meet her gaze again as she enters the room. Just like you knew she would, her eyes immediately dart to the hamper and her smile widens when she sees your clothes from today resting on top. 

“What a good girl I have,” she praises as she saunters over to you, her hips swinging enticingly as she moves. Without another word, she sits on the edge of the bed and gently places the crop down next to her on the bedspread, before she beckons you over with a crook of her finger, “You like your queen’s special surprise for you, huh?” She questions, tilting her head as she peers up at you, her hands resting gently on the curve of your hip. 

“Yes,” you nod, your eyes trailing down to her cleavage before you can help yourself and it’s only then that you notice that she’s breathing nearly as hard as you are, a blush extending down her pale neck and chest, “I love it, my queen, so much.” You nearly whisper, dizzy at the thought that she might be enjoying this just as much as you are. 

“Don’t you think you should thank me for your surprise, princess?” She asks coolly, smirk widening as she sees a look of realization in your eyes. 

“Yeah, yes, please,” you nearly beg, already tempted to sink to your knees.

She smirks at your eagerness, all but laughing when you whine as she pushes herself back further, out of your grasp and into the center of the bed, making enough room for you in front of her. Again, she crooks her finger and you hastily follow after her, kneeling between her fishnet-covered legs. With another smirk, she silently spreads her legs, bending them at the knee enough that the heels of her shoes dig into the bedspread. 

Something between a gasp and a whimper escapes your lips as you let your gaze travel down, between her legs, where you’re met with the shocking realization that the black thong she has on is indeed crotchless. Your eyes stay glued to her center, now beautifully framed by two strips of lace fabric; the sight makes you lick your lips without thinking, taking in the way her folds shimmer, even in the low light of the bedroom. Finally, you manage to rip your gaze away and lock eyes with her again, your blush deepening at the hazy look in her eyes as she leans back on her elbows. 

“Go on, princess,” she breathes, that familiar, aroused rasp finally present, “Thank your queen.”

You spring into action, wrapping your hands around her soft thighs as you lean in, kneeling between her legs. Your eyes flutter as you look up the length of her body while you press soft, sweet kisses to the inside of her thighs, your eyes widening when you see her lean over and quickly grab the crop. 

You jolt as she brings it down, smacking one ass cheek with it, not enough to hurt but enough to leave behind a pleasant little zing. “I don’t believe I asked you to tease me,” she admonishes, a playfulness to her tone still as her other hand brushes into your hair, red nails scratching soothing against your scalp, “Thank me properly.” She commands, guiding your head to exactly where she wants it.

You’re more than happy to obey and you press a kiss to the center of her folds, right on her clit, moaning against her as you feel it twitch against your lips. She lets out a breathy moan as your tongue licks a long, straight line up her center, right down the middle, before your lips gently seal around her bud. 

Your eyes flutter closed again as you softly suck at her clit, moaning lowly in your throat at her familiar sweet taste. You move in just the way she likes, kissing and licking over her heat with a practiced ease, pride blooming in your chest with every moan, whine, and sigh of your name. You shake your head against her, attempting to bury your tongue in her twitching core as the tip of your nose teases her clit, your chin dripping with her when you finally pull back. 

“Princess, fuck,” she breathes above you, head tilted down so she can watch as you feast on her, “Fuck me, come on.” She orders, giving another sharp little spank to your bum with the crop. 

You do as she says, smiling as you flick your tongue over her bud while you glide two fingers through her folds, making sure to get them nice and wet before you slide them carefully into her, relishing the long moan she lets out as you do. You can’t help but whimper as her walls clamp down tightly, pulsing around your fingers as you crook them up in the way you know she loves, your lips sealing softly around her clit again, eyes fluttering as you watch her chest heave. 

“Good fucking girl,” she whimpers, accentuating each word of praise with another slap of her crop against you, the pleasant sting you clench around nothing, “Make your queen come, princess, good girl.” She moans, tilting her head back as you redouble your efforts. 

Your arm aches as you fuck your fingers into her, keeping them quirked up against that small rough patch within her, but you pay it no mind, focusing only on the hand in your hair and the taste of her in your mouth, your hips canting desperately in the air. 

You flick your tongue against her bud once more, in just the right way, and it sends her over the edge with a gasp. You moan into her as the hand in your hair tightens and her walls rhythmically squeeze against your fingers, nearly tight enough to push them out. You move steadily, bringing her through her high as you have so many times before, only stopping when she finally goes lax against you. 

You press kisses against her thighs and hips as she comes down, breathing heavily above you. Eventually, the hand in your hair tightens once more, and you sigh happily as she pulls you up. 

“You did so good,” she praises softly, her voice breathy as she presses her lips against yours; she moans softly as your tongue licks into her mouth before she pulls away to trail kisses down your neck, “So good for your queen, my sweet princess.” You sigh happily, eyes fluttering shut as you straddle her, one of her legs between yours.

Your eyes shoot open as she bends her leg, pressing her fishnet covered thigh firmly against your center with a knowing smirk. “Goodness,” she gasps, her beautiful brown eyes widening once she feels how wet you are against her, “I think you deserve a reward too, for treating your queen so well.”

“Please, holy shit,” you gasp, your hips already moving on her leg, the pattern of her stockings adding a delicious friction, “P-Please, your grace.” You quickly correct yourself when she brings her crop down once more, making your back arch. 

“Good girl,” she whispers, mouthing at your neck. She lets the crop fall to the bed again as she cups your ass with both hands, guiding your hips as you move against her, “Take what you need, princess, you earned it.” She breathes, smirking as you shudder above her. 

You nod mindlessly, swallowing thickly as you already feel the knot in your stomach tightening dangerously, each drag of your clit over her stockinged thigh sends shockwaves up your spine. Your breathing gets heavier and heavier as you get closer and she smiles happily, bouncing her thigh against your wet core in the way she knows drives you insane. 

“My beautiful little princess,” she whispers, red lips ghosting over your chest, “Behaving so well for her queen.” 

You fall apart once her lips seal around one of your nipples, sparks of pleasure bursting behind your eyelids as she carefully sucks the sensitive bud into her mouth, gently teasing at it with her teeth. Your body tenses up as your walls clench again and again, your fingers grabbing at the sheets as you gasp her name. 

Finally, your eyes flutter open as your high subsides. Thankfully, you have just enough presence of mind to roll to the side, cuddling against her as your chest heaves. 

“Holy shit,” you breathe through a small laugh, your face flushed as your eyes meet hers. 

“So, you liked it?” She asks, a shy lilt to her voice now that both of you have had the chance to come down. 

“Liked it?” You question, staring at her wide-eyed, “I… I loved it. That was incredible.” You breathe, pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder, “Where on earth did all that come from?”

She giggles softly, a guilty look appearing on her face. “Promise you won’t be too upset with me?” She asks softly. 

“Of course,” your reply is instant as you card your fingers through her soft hair, “Just tell me.”

“I was cleaning a few days ago, when I had that day off,” she explains, swallowing as you nod along, “And I… may have accidentally knocked your diary off the table and then got curious when I saw my name and… yeah.” She finishes, teeth biting at her lower lip. 

Your face reddens a bit, instantly knowing which entry she must’ve seen, but you merely shake your head, about to tell her not to worry about it when she starts speaking again.

“I do feel really bad about it,” she sighs, continuing quickly, “I know it’s a breach of trust but I saw my name and then… I’ll make it up to you, I pr – !” 

She gasps as you cut her off with a sweet kiss, shaking your head dismissively, “Consider it made up.” 

“You aren’t mad?” She asks hesitantly.

“Mad?” You echo, laughing softly, “My sexy girlfriend bought ridiculously hot lingerie, and a riding crop, just to surprise me and fucked me to within an inch of my life and I’m supposed to be mad at her over a little diary?” Both of you dissolve into a fit of giggles as you finally finish, nuzzling happily against each other, “I think not.” You quip, smirking as your eyes search hers. 

“Okay, yeah,” she says with a small eye roll, “I am pretty great, huh?”

“And oh so humble,” you laugh, pressing kisses over the curve of her shoulder before leaning back to smirk at her, “Your majesty.”

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[celestialseph]

𝐟𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐠𝐨𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐬

summary: you wear Marcus’s gold laurel crown while he worships you.

pairing: Marcus Acacius x afab wife!reader

warnings: 18+ mdni. smut. body worship. basically, treating you like the Goddess that you are. feels. praising. oral sex (f). fingering. cream pie. i'm sure there are inaccuracies so just don't pay them any mind. reader is abled bodied. no y/n. no beta. w.c: 1.6k

an: so i had this thot the first time i saw Marcus and i haven't been the same since.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐅𝐢𝐜 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐬 ⋅ 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐬 𝐀𝐜𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐮𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

War is dreadful and barbaric.

Marcus plots the Emperor's commands despite the incessant regret that sours his stomach. His army of men slay soldiers and pillage towns. There is savagery wherever he looks. As he's aged, he's become callous to the bloodshed, no longer the feral ravenous beast he once was.

Finding you warming his bed is a sight bestowed to the Gods, he thinks.

His body aches, muscles sore from weeks on the battlefield, but the moment he sees you, all his pain vanishes. His white and gold armor rests against the foot of the bed; signs of war have no place in this sanctuary.

You beckon Marcus in the silence of his bedroom, lit only by candles that make the room glow an ethereal hue, while your supple body is wrapped in his cream-colored sheets like a bouquet. Your fingers find his as he climbs into the bed, interlocking like vines along a lattice as he lies beside you. He rests his laurel-crowned head on your lap like a child longing for warmth and compassion.

Marcus gazes up at you, his other half in this forsaken world, his goddess.

"You did well today." You praise, smiling down at him, remembering how regal he looked in the golden diadem as he gave another victorious speech to the crowd.

Marcus hums as you run your fingers around the golden leaves and through his curls. He allows himself to rest in your divine embrace, if only for a moment. Your heavenly harmony soothed his worn, remorseful soul.

"I do it all for you, my Lady." the General purrs, tenderly lifting your hand to kiss your knuckles.

Marcus's white tunic shifts as he rises to his knees and plucks the crown from his head. His curls bounce with the movement before he places the crown atop your own.

You timidly raise your hands, feeling the intricate design and the solid gold leaves as the crown sits heavy on your head, but he looks at you with awe.

"I've never seen such beauty in all my days." Marcus compliments like a man staring at the sunrise for the first time.

You were the shining beacon that kept him sane during the days of war, and he would make sure you knew the effect you had on him.

"My Empress," Marcus gently tugs the sheets, dragging the cotton down your body. He relishes your voluptuous form with a soft groan. "It's been too long since I gazed upon you." The skin at the corner of his eyes crinkles as he trails his gaze from the tips of your toes to your gilded halo.

His hands burn. He flexes them at his sides as he hungers to feel your tenderness, warmth, and compassion. "My goddess."

Your face flames as your lashes flutter to the sheets, overwhelmed by Marcus' adoration. If he only knew that you'd happily drown in the wake of his love.  

A solid finger lifts your chin to meet his sober stare. "Do me the honor of watching me pour my devotion upon you."

A lithe gasp falls from your lips as he drops his hand and lightly cups your breasts. Worn and calloused, the hands of a known killer, though he's always so gentle with you, your nipples pucker as he skims each bud with delicate circles.

Your lips part with a gasp, chasing his hands when he withdraws. He chuckles at your panting breaths. "Do not fret. There is still much time to ravish you."

His mustache tickles your skin as he leans and sucks your left breast into his mouth. Tounging the pert bud, he brings succulent pleasure to the surface and a soft cry from your lips. He massages the right with expertise, kneading and pinching, knowing exactly how much pressure to apply until he has you squirming.

He strives to leave no spot unclaimed. He's a man of his word; nothing can stop him once he's begun. Stone walls and fleets of men wielding swords and canons cannot stop him.

Soft lips trace under the arc of your breasts before moving to your ribs. A mischievous tongue darts out at the curves, tasting the thin layer of salt on your skin.

"I'd sail across the ocean for you." he professes; the timbre of his voice is as deep as the sea.

A barrage of kisses presses to your waist and the softness that you carry. Marcus's stormy beard lightly grazes your skin as he makes his ascent, leaving pebbles in its wake.

"I'd fight my own army to get to you."

Your fingers card through his locks as he settles between your thighs, making room for himself and pushing your legs apart. He hooks them over his broad shoulders with a devilish smirk. A wry tongue licks a straight line from your pulsing opening to the crux of your mound, making you tug his hair with a wanton mewl.

Marcus stills, like a predator, having just sunk its claws into prey, and presses his scarred, aquiline nose into the soft curls that top your mound. His nostrils flare as your heady scent invades his senses. A low growl rumbles from his chest as he lowers his head, watching you from under his lashes. His once enchanted eyes have now become slivers of torrid black as he latches his teeth into your fleshy mound.   

You cry out from the impish bite, hips unconsciously grinding toward your lover as he unlocks his jaw and finally smothers your cunt with his mouth.

Your nerves sizzle from the immoral embrace as his tongue dances over your clit. Nimble fingers trace your sticky petals, dipping in and out of your hole, drawing more blood to fill your already throbbing folds. Your heart beats in time with the pounding of your lower half as Marcus takes his time to worship you.

"Seems my Lady enjoys my touch." He purrs— a slick, shiny grin plastered on his face.

Your body bends, curving sharply like a bow aimed and waiting for the charge. Marcus keeps you primed like the General he strived for ages to become. "Tonight, you will not want," he claims, notching two fingers at the opening of your core.

He holds your fiery stare as he presses into your soaked channel. Your head lolls, and your eyes flutter like butterflies as his thick digits widen your velvet passage.

"Always so good to me." Marcus coos, curiously curling his touch along the hidden ridges deep inside. His cock aches, soaking the sheets with his pearly spend, desperate to be inside you. "Letting me adore and worship as I please."

You want to hold him in your arms and repeat every word he praises back to him in a whisper, but Marcus is a man of his word; tonight is about you and only you.

His shoulders stop your legs from closing as a violent wave of pleasure rolls over you. A wicked laugh rumbles from the man as he suckles your inner thigh. "So close, my Lady. I can feel it." Marcus works his fingers in and out, driving you to the edge, and there's nothing you can do to stop it.

Slick, drenched kisses stain your skin, another sign of his devotion, as your limbs tangle even more with the stoic man. His rough hands easily hold you down as you wriggle in his grip. Your breathing escalates, and blood pulses in your ears as the eager desire to come consumes you.

"Yes, my Love, take what I give you," Marcus begs, thrusting his weeping cock against the bed in time with his fingers, working you higher and higher.

Marcus wraps his lips around your clit, suckling and swirling the tiny bud until you're chanting his name. He tortuously hooks his fingers onto the spot behind your clit, forcing you to swell and explode into a mass of sparkling particles.

The moment your eyes blink open, having floated back down from your glorious high and into the comfort of Marcus' bed, he notches his cock at your creamy opening and thrusts himself to the hilt.

Your jaw drops with a silent cry. It's devastating and empyreal but your body welcomes him home like always.

"Her embrace is so warm and tight. Like how I dreamt on all those lonely nights", Marcus groans, dropping his head to your shoulder.

The image of Marcus touching himself in the darkness of his tent after a day of savagery makes your cunt quiver. The power you hold over this man is not to be taken lightly.

As you become one, your breasts press against his broad, dewy chest as he blankets your smaller frame and pushes you into the mattress with every cant of his hips, driving his length into the deepest depths.

Crescent moons pepper his freckled back as he shows you sights you've never seen, eliciting his name from your lips with a broken, gasping prayer. Your hold tightens around his bouldering shoulders, his thrusts gaining immense strength as the end closes in, shoving you up the bed.

Marcus noses your cheek, drawing your attention from the blissful heaven. "My Love," his hands encompass your face, from chin to temple, so cautiously, like he's holding a newborn. "I've never experienced such wonders than when I am inside you."

He continues to rock you in the safety of his arms and his bed, hurrying his thrusts when your eyes roll and your limbs become stiff. Marcus wants to meet the Gods with you and feel the rapture and glory as they carry you off into the heavens as one.

Marcus growls with bared teeth as he comes; his spine flexes as he spills his seed and fills you to the brim. He doesn't stop thrusting until his come is leaking onto the sheets, and your folds can no longer hold his offering.

You are his temple, and he will worship until the day he falls.

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

reblogs & comments are extremely appreciated! follow @ozzieslibrary for new fic updates!

[celestialseph]

Slick

Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x Lucius Verus x Female Reader Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: A new day dawns and your soldiers are still with you. Warnings: ALL PORN NO PLOT. (Like they don't even move from the bed.) SMUT, MMF threesome, man on man action, soft dom marcus, subby lucius, fingering, anal fingering, unprotected p in v, anal sex, pussy eating, mutual dick sucking, lots of praise kink, oil, body massage, a call back to S2E3 but this time with DUDES, reality? get that out of here! we've got roman dudes covered in oil fucking, not beta read, very lightly edited because your girl wants these horny words exorcised out of her loins. Words: 4,000.

A/N: Hi. It me.🧍🏼‍♀️ I've returned to offer you more Gladiator II sex. Read their prior adventures here and here. I had this pretty close to done well before the RUSH of all of the Pedro/Paul content today, but tonight I finished and lightly edited it (please accept any mistakes and overly repeated words). This is the first time I've written this form of male on male, so I hope I did well. Also, shout out to @magpiepills for being my smut guiding angel for some wording, @yopossum for the pink donut pic (I swear, this is not a euphemism), @itwasntimethatdidit40 for being just as enthusiastic about these three as I am, and as always forever and ever @ohheypedrito for shouting at me in text when she read it. And now in the words of @luxurychristmaspudding...

Trēs Masterlist Masterlist

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Morning dawns and your soldiers are still there. Marcus holds you tight, his strong arms still wrapped around you. Your fingers trace the lines of his face, resting easier in slumber. He awakens at your touch, stirring and tightening his arms around you. His brown eyes flutter open, his dark lashes framing his tired eyes that focus on your face.

“Angel,” he whispers, voice rought with sleep. His hand slides up your back, fingers tangling in your hair as he pulls you closer. His lips capture yours, kissing you deeply and slowly.

His tongue teases your lips, urging them to open as he deepens the kiss.

His other hand roams your body, slipping between your thighs, fingers ghosting over your folds. “Need you,” he rumbles against your skin.

"But first, I need to get you nice and wet for me," he purrs. His thumb circles your clit as he sucks a mark onto your collarbone.

You arch into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips. Marcus chuckles, the sound vibrating against your skin as he works his way lower.

You feel Lucius wake behind you, a soft gasp escapes his lips.

Marcus lifts his head, looking over at his young soldier. “Salve soldier,” he rumbles. “Watch. Watch as I fuck our angel.”

Lucius swallows hard, his cock already hardening against your backside. “Yes, M-master,” he responds.

The general shifts you onto your back, spreading your legs wide as he settles between them. His brown eyes lock with yours as he lowers his head, his warm breath ghosting over the sensitive skin of your neck. You shiver in anticipation, your hands gripping the sheets.

Lucius props himself up on his elbows. His wide blue eyes watching every movement with his plush lips agape. You turn your head and watch him watch as Marcus dips a hand down between your bodies.

Marcus's thick fingers slide through your folds, spreading your wetness. He teases your entrance, circling it slowly before pushing two fingers inside. You gasp, arching into his touch as he pumps them in and out.

“Already so wet for me, aren’t you Angel?” Marcus groans against your neck.

“Yes,” you moan, staring into Lucius’s eyes.

"That's it," he growls. "Open up for me, open up for my cock.”

His fingers work you open, curling and scissoring inside you as his thick thumb circles your clit. Your hips rock against his hand, seeking friction.

Beside you, Lucius’s breath comes in quick pants, his eyes darting between your face and Marcus’s hand.

Marcus's fingers pump steadily in and out of your slick heat, stretching you for his thick cock. You writhe beneath him, soft moans falling from your lips as pleasure builds within you.

"Please," you whimper, your hands grasping at his broad shoulders.

He chuckles darkly, nipping at your earlobe. "Patience, Angel. I want you dripping for me first."

His thumb presses firmly against your clit, rubbing tight circles as his fingers pump you. Your back arches off the bed as waves of pleasure crash over you.

"That's it," Marcus growls approvingly. "Cum for me. Show my soldier how good I make you feel."

Your eyes lock with Lucius's as your orgasm washes over you. His blue eyes shine as he watches you fall apart underneath his General’s touch.

You whimper when Marcus withdraws his fingers. He holds them up in awe of how they glisten in the soft morning light, coated with your arousal. "Taste her," he commands Lucius, holding his fingers to the soldier's lips.

Lucius eagerly obeys, running his tongue along Marcus's fingers and moaning softly at your taste. Marcus's eyes darken as he watches, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

"Good soldier," Marcus praises, pulling his fingers from Lucius's mouth with a wet pop. "Now watch closely. See how I take our angel.”

He positions himself between your thighs, his cock brushing against you. You cry, grabbing at the skin of his strong arms desperate and needy to feel him inside you.

He grips your hips, holding you steady as he slowly pushes inside. You gasp at the delicious stretch of him, your walls fluttering around his cock as he fills you completely.

“So tight,” he groans, his eyes locked on yours. “So perfect.”

Lucius watches with rapt attention, his chest heaving quick breaths. His hand moves to grip his own hard cock, but Marcus stops him with a sharp command.

"No touching, soldier," Marcus says firmly.

Lucius obeys. His hands fisting in the sheets instead.

Marcus begins to move, his hips rolling against yours in steady rhythm.

He thrusts into you, his power stretching you with each deep stroke. His strong hands grip your hips, his fingers digging into your skin as he guides you in a steady rhythm.

“That’s it Angel,” Marcus growls, his hips snapping against yours. “Take it, show my soldier how good I make you feel.”

You moan in response, your own hips grinding against his. With one hand on your thigh, Marcus lifts your leg higher around his waist. The change in angle causes him to hit that spot deep inside you, making a sharp cry escape your lips.

"You're mine,” he declares. “Mine to fuck, mine to pleasure."

Lucius whimpers softly. His blue eyes are dark with lust as he watches his general claim you. His cock stands proudly, leaking precum onto his toned stomach.

“And who do you belong to Soldier?” Marcus asks, turning his head towards Lucius.

“You, Master,” Lucius groans, his voice strained. “I belong to you.”

“Look at how much she loves it,” Marcus continues, his gaze never leaving yours as he drives deeper. “She can’t get enough.”

Your eyes dart to Lucius, whose breath comes in desperate gasps as he watches you both. His body trembles, his teeth clamp down on his bottom lip.

“You want to touch yourself, don’t you?” Marcus asks him, his voice taking on a more dominant edge.

Lucius nods frantically. “Yes, Master.”

“Not yet soldier, not yet.”

Marcus increases his pace, his thick shaft driving into you harder and faster. The slick sound of skin against skin fills the room, mingling with your cries of pleasure and his deep grunts of exertion.

Marcus senses your orgasm, his thumb finds your clit and begins rubbing tight circles. "Cum for me, Angel," he commands, his voice rough with desire. "Let my soldier see how good I make you feel."

The dual sensations of his cock and thumb push you over the edge, your orgasm crashing over you in intense waves. You clench tightly around Marcus's shaft, milking it with every pulse.

"Good girl," Marcus praises, continuing to thrust through your orgasm.

Beside you, Lucius whimpers, his hands fisting the sheets tightly as he watches you come undone. His cock twitches against his stomach, leaking steadily.

As your orgasm starts to ebb, Marcus slows his movements. With a groan, he pulls out of your still quivering heat. You whine at the loss, feeling empty without him filling you.

Marcus settles on his back next to you, his cock still hard and slick with your orgasm. He reaches over and grabs the oil cannister.

“Rub me, both of you,” he commands in a low voice, shifting slightly to make room for Lucius beside you.

Your hands tremble slightly, your body still overwhelmed by the orgasm Marcus just gave you, as you take the cannister from his grasp. The smooth glass feels cool against your skin as you pour a generous amount of golden oil into Lucius’s outstretched palm before you trickle a stream of oil down Marcus’s broad chest.

His deep brown eyes move between you and Lucius, something akin to adoration flashes quickly through them.

Your hands glide over his broad chest, Lucius takes care of his strong legs.

Marcus’s body is peppered with scars from his many battles, your hands soothe each mark.

His skin almost glitters in the light of the rising sun. Every curve and ridge of his body gleams like he’s made of bronze.

Lucius’s hands glide over Marcus’ toned thighs, working the oil into his skin.

Yours and Lucius’s hands worship the General’s body, your eyes fixated on his cock, standing hard and tall in between his thighs, twitching.

His body is soon covered in golden oil, slicking down his body. You slide your hand down his stomach down to his cock, looking up at his eyes for silent permission. He grunts and nods, raising his hands to cradle the back of his head.

You trail your fingers along the length of him, mesmerized bu the way his skin shimmers under the oil. Lucius’s eager hands mirrors your movements.

“More,” Marcus orders, his voice rough with desire. “I want to feel both of you on me.”

He looks like a Roman statue posed like this. His body covered in shiny oil, his posture relaxed and strong.

“Show me how much you want it,” Marcus commands, his tone low. “Both of you.”

You kiss your way down his chest, your lips tasting the rich taste of the oil on Marcus’s body. You reach his thick cock, pulsating with need and look at Lucius in silent communication. You both share a smile before leaning in closer together, your breaths mingling as you let your tongues dance around the head of his shaft, both of you savoring the taste of him.

“Fuck,” Marcus breathes, his voice gravelly as he watches you both work in harmony. His gaze flickers between your mouth and Lucius's like a predator reveling in the beauty of his prey. “Worship me.”

You take turns tracing your tongues down the length of Marcus’s throbbing cock, his hips jut up with a hiss with each gentle flick and teasing spiral.

You take turns alternating between drawing your lips around the head of his cock and kissing up his shaft, each time making sure to lock your gaze with Marcus's. His brown eyes blaze through yours, your body feels alight with satisfaction knowing how much you affect him.

Lucius leans closer, his breath mingling with yours, and together you both envelop Marcus's cock.

Marcus lets out a deep chuckle as you and Lucius moan around his cock before he reaches down, gripping Lucius's chin to draw him closer. Their eyes lock before Marcus pulls him up into a heated kiss that makes your whole body shiver. Their lips meld together, grunts and groans escaping their lungs. You watch, enamored by the two strong men getting lost in each other. Marcus’s large hand glides down Lucius’s back, pulling him closer. The General and his soldier entwined in raw desire for each other.

Marcus pulls away, glancing down at you. “Look at her,” Marcus breathes against Lucius’s lips, his voice thick and primal. “She’s waiting for us.”

Lucius’ blue eyes are filled with lust when he looks at you.

“Sit on me Angel,” Marcus orders.

You swallow hard, feeling a rush of heat bloom across your skin at the command. With a slight nod, you shift your body, feeling the slick oil coating your skin as you rise from your spot and position yourself above Marcus.

You meet his gaze—intimidating yet tender—as you slowly lower yourself on him, feeling the broad head of his cock press against your entrance.

You pause for just a heartbeat, relishing the tense stretch of him him. Lucius watches intently, kneeling next to Marcus on the bed.

“Go on, Angel,” Marcus urges, his voice a low rumble. “Take what you need.”

With a deep breath, you sink down further.

“Gods, you feel incredible,” Marcus groans, his hands gripping your waist firmly, guiding your movements as you settle fully upon him. “Now move.”

You lean forward, resting your palms on his broad chest for balance, gripping his skin as you slip from the oil, your breath quickening as he begins to rock his hips beneath you.

Lucius watches, shifting closer, his hands wander over his own body, slick with oil.

Marcus presses his heels into the mattress, driving up into you with powerful thrusts that makes you see stars. You moan loudly as you feel Lucius inch closer, drawn to you.

“Faster,” Marcus growls, his hands tightening on your waist, urging you to pick up the pace. You obey willingly, relishing the way his cock stretches you open, filling you completely as you rise and fall atop him.

“Good girl,” he grunts, his muscles tense beneath your palms as he drives deeper, brushing against that sweet spot inside you. “You’re doing so well.”

You’re a mess of oil and sweat, Lucius’s hands run along the curves of your breasts before he leans down and takes one into his mouth. You gasp at the sensation of Marcus thrusting beneath you while Lucius’s warm mouth envelops your breast, his tongue swirling around the hardened peak of your nipple.

“Take it all, Angel,” Marcus growls, his voice thick with approval as he watches Lucius worship you. “Touch her soldier, help me make her cum.”

You ride Marcus harder as Lucius slides a hand down your torso, tracing a path until his fingers reach your sensitive clit. You gasp at the sensation, your body responding to the touch of both men.

The room is filled with the sounds of your moans and the wet slap of skin on skin as you ride him, Lucius’s fingers pressing and circling your clit.

Your orgasm flows through you, your legs shaking, head thrown back, eyes fluttering shut as you cum on Marcus’s cock.

Marcus's grip on your waist hardens, guiding you through the tremors of your release as he thrusts upward with primal intensity. His breath comes in ragged growls, his body flexing beneath you with feral energy as he watches you unravel.

Lucius doesn’t relent either, his fingers still circle your clit, pulling every last shudder from your body as the waves of your orgasm still crash into you.

Your hips undulate atop Marcus, your voice ragged from screaming and moaning as you still ride the earth-shattering orgasm.

Lucius’s mouth moves to your lips, kissing you deeply, swallowing all of the sounds that escape your throat.

“Lay back, Angel,” Marcus instructs, as he shifts beneath you. You feel his hands release their grip just enough to allow you to move. You push yourself up from him, feeling the slickness of oil coating your skin as you slide off his cock, a gasp escapes your lips at the sensation of emptiness. You turn and lay back upon the soft bedding, the fabric cool against your heated skin.

Marcus stands, heading over to the amphora and pouring himself a glass of wine.

"Soldier, attend to her," Marcus orders. "Lick up the mess I've made of our Angel."

"Yes, Master," Lucius replies eagerly, quickly shifting to settle between your spread thighs.

He gazes up at you reverently for a moment before lowering his head and running his tongue along your slit, lapping up your wetness. You moan softly, threading your fingers through his dark hair. His tongue delves deeper, thrusting into you and moaning at the taste.

Marcus watches, his eyes dark with lust as his soldier pleasures you. He takes one last drink of wine before reaching for the vial of oil, pouring some into his hand. "On your knees, soldier," he commands gruffly. "Present yourself to me."

Lucius obeys immediately, raising his hips while keeping his mouth latched onto your core. Marcus moves behind him, spreading Lucius's firm cheeks to reveal his tight hole. The general drizzles the warm oil down Lucius's crack, letting it trickle over his entrance.

He shivers at the sensation, a muffled moan vibrating against your cunt. Marcus sets the vial aside and begins massaging the oil into Lucius' skin. His thick fingers rub firm circles around the tight ring of muscle, coaxing it to relax.

Lucius moans into your wet heat as Marcus slowly pushes a finger inside him, working the tight ring of muscle open.

Your fingers tighten in his hair, holding him close as his tongue adores you.

"Get nice and loose for your general's cock,” Marcus rumbles approvingly, pumping it in and out.

The soldier's hips jerk, grinding back against Marcus's hand as he eats you out with renewed fervor. His tongue swirls around your clit before sucking it between his lips.

"Ohh," you cry out. Pleasure crashing over you as Lucius works you higher up the cliff.

Marcus continues fingering his soldier open. "Look at you, so eager for it," he praises. "Such a good soldier, servicing our Angel while I open you up."

Lucius rocks back to meet each thrust, whimpering and moaning into your slick folds. His tongue moves erratically against you as Marcus takes him apart with his fingers.

Marcus gazes down at you as he opens Lucius with his fingers. Your thighs begin to tremble, another orgasm building rapidly under both men’s attention.

“Close… close,” you moan out, your hips rolling to meet Lucius’s movements.

"Cum for him, Angel," Marcus commands, voice deep and authoritative. "Cum on my brave soldier's tongue."

With a sharp cry, you shatter, inner walls clenching rhythmically as ecstasy crashes over you. Lucius moans deeply, lapping at your release.

“Beautiful,” Marcus admires, pouring oil on his hard cock and stroking it. “Now Angel, watch as I take my soldier.”

Marcus grabs Lucius by the hips and with one swift, possessive motion, he sheaths himself deep inside Lucius. Both men gasp, Lucius buries his face into your thigh, his hands gripping the bedding as Marcus starts to thrust, deep and slow.

You feel each powerful thrust with each tremor that moves through Lucius against you.

You watch in awe, heart racing, as your General begins to claim his soldier.

“Take it, soldier,” Marcus’s voice is a low rumble against the backdrop of Lucius’s soft whimpers. “Show our Angel how well you take me.”

You grab Lucius’s chin, tilting it up to look him in the eyes, staring into the ocean of blue gazing back at you filled with waves of admiration and arousal.

You watch as power and submission join, filling the room with a symphony of skin slapping against skin and sounds of shared pleasure.

“More,” Lucius gasps, his body arching towards Marcus, urging him to give more of himself. He takes your breath away, vulnerable and fierce beneath Marcus’s strength.

Marcus responds with a feral smile, increasing his pace, each thrust hammering deeper into Lucius, pushing them both closer to that cliff.

“Let her hear you,” Marcus urges, his own breaths growing ragged. “Let her hear how good I make you feel, soldier.”

“Angel,” Lucius cries out for you, his voice raw and needy, his eyes staring into yours. His muscles tense and flex with each thrust that rolls into his body.

Marcus looks at you, his strong brow furrowed in determination as he spits in his hand and leans forward, wrapping his arm around Lucius's waist to firmly grasp his soldier’s cock.

“Feel it,” Marcus grunts. Lucius's eyes flutter shut, his mouth falling open in a silent moan. He squeezes your thigh harder, pulling you closer grounding himself.

You lean in closer, mesmerized by the scene unfolding before you, wanting to be closer to Marcus. He reads your body like a battlefield.

In one fluid motion, he lifts Lucius against his chest while still thrusting inside of him. Gasping, Lucius clutches at Marcus's larger hands and holds them tightly.

“Come here Angel,” Marcus grits, his tone dropping an octave sending goosebumps up your spine. “Help me make my soldier cum.”

You obey without hesitation, moving quickly to kneel in front of the two soldiers. Your fingers glide over Lucius’s taut chest, tracing the muscles that ripple beneath your touch as Marcus continues to claim him, thrusting deeply, rhythmically.

“Just like that,” Marcus growls, locking eyes with you. “Touch him Angel.”

Your heart races as you curl your fingers around Lucius’s cock, stroking him in time with Marcus’s thrusts. Precum drips out of the tip, your hand gliding smoothly along his length.

“Together,” he commands, his voice a possessive whisper that resonates in your core. “Let’s take him apart.”

You lean closer, your breath ghosting over Lucius's ear as you begin to quicken your pace. His body responds in kind, every stroke of your hand pulling more desperation from him.

“Angel,” Lucius groans, his voice trembling with need. “Master.”

You lean forward, sealing your mouth over his, kissing him. You swallow down his moans as Marcus drives into him, each snap of his hips against him a declaration of his dominance.

“Don’t hold back,” Marcus growls, the echo of his voice vibrating off the walls of your bedroom.

Lucius's breathing grows more shallow against your lips. You hold onto him tighter, mimicking his every movement as he responds to the General's touch. He pulls away, biting down on his lip before begging. "I can't... I can't keep this up much longer."

“Cum then soldier,” Marcus demands. “Let it all spill for our angel.”

“Cum Lucius,” you whisper, your fingers tightening and twisting. “Cum for us.”

His breath hitches and with a low moan, Lucius breaks, his body tensing and tightening. “I’m—” he gasps, eyes squeezing shut as his length throbs in your hand.

Marcus thrusts harder as his soldier’s body quakes against him. With a battle cry that echoes, Lucius spills himself hot and thick across your fingers. You caress Lucius’s flushed face, brushing away the sweat that formed on his brow. He pants, his eyes rounding with affection as he stares into your eyes.

“Good soldier,” Marcus grunts before letting out a primal growl and pulling out. “Lay with our Angel,” he commands, “I want you to watch me cum for you.”

You spread out on the mattress, Lucius collapses next to you, his chest heaving, his blue eyes still glazed with pleasure.

“Keep your eyes on me,” Marcus growls, standing tall looming over the bed. He towers over both of you, golden skin glistening in the soft light, each muscle defined as he strokes himself. “Watch me cum for you two.”

His hand works his length, teasing the tip as he stares down at you both. Lucius's hand finds yours, intertwining his fingers with yours as both of you watch Marcus in awe.

“Tell our Angel what you are,” Marcus demanded.

“Y-Your obedient soldier,” Lucius answers, never breaking eye contact with his general.

“And what do we crave?” Marcus growls, voice deep and rumbling.

“Our Angel, sir,” Lucius responds, his voice hoarse with need.

Marcus grunts, his grip on his cock tightening as he thrusts his hips forward.

“Marcus,” you moan. “Cum for us, General.”

It is as if his name on your lips was enough to shatter him. With a guttural groan, Marcus’s hips buck forward, his thick white ropes flying over both of you, hot and sticky against your skin.

“Angel,” he growls, collapsing onto the bed and crawling to lay next to you.

He catches his breath, his large chest heaving up and down.

“Kiss her soldier,” he sighs, grabbing you and pulling you close against his sticky skin. “Taste my Angel’s lips for me.”

You giggle as Lucius nuzzles his nose against yours and chases your mouth, needy and desperate for your kiss. You moan as his soft lips part yours and taste all of his desire for you.

Marcus chuckles softly behind you, rumbling against your back. “Just like that,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse and satisfied. “Let her feel how much we crave her, and then, we shall rest and bathe.” 

[celestialseph]

Dual

Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x Lucius Verus x Female Reader Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: Marcus and his soldier return from battle. You take care of them before they take care of you. Warnings: ALL PORN NO PLOT. SMUT, MMF threesome, soft dom marcus, subby lucius, double penetration, 69 (duuuudes), fingering, anal fingering, unprotected p in v, anal sex, creampie, anal creampie, pussy and ass eating, mutual dick sucking, lots of praise kink, oil, bathing, a tub that can fit three people, ignore how dirty the water would be, pretend it’s magical water that heals so they can fuck, when you go to the dick store and get the BOGO deal Words: 4,400.

A/N: Well. I've gone and written another threesome fic. Read their prior adventure here. This is the first time I’ve stepped into dude on dude stuff sooo I hope I did it justice. I told myself to kinda take a step back from posting so much but your girl just can’t help writing filth while sitting on her patio with her headphones in. Life in America a month before an election is stressful AF so I escape with dicks. Thank you to @ohheypedrito for her 20 texts after she read it and @magpiepills for her encouragement. Please know this is just pure filth.

municipium: town | domus: home | subligaculum: underwear 

Trēs Masterlist Masterlist

Word spread through the small municipum, General Acacius was victorious in battle. You wonder if they will return to your domus— Marcus and his blue-eyed soldier. You dream about them, remembering the heat of their bodies pressed against you, the strength of their arms wrapped around you as you drifted off to sleep between them. But, by the morning they were gone. The only sign of them being there was your dress laying on the floor and the chair Marcus had sat in remained in the same spot he had left it.

—-

“Angel,” a gruff name calls out for you as heavy footsteps enter your domus.

Marcus.

You turn the corner and spot him, battle weary and tired looking. His face is streaked with crimson and soot. Lucius stands behind, his blue eyes are set deep in exhaustion.

Your heart races when you see them. Relief and desire bursting through your body. You rush over to Marcus, your hands reaching up to touch his dirty face.

“You’re back,” you whisper, feeling the rough texture of dirt and dried blood against his skin.

He grunts, his large hands reaching for your waist, pulling you against the metal of his appliques that now press into your skin.

He breathes in your scent while you smell the remnants of metallic blood and smoke on him.

You look to Lucius, extending your hand to him.

“Come,” you beckon. He moves slowly, limping, his muscular body taut with tension. You pull him close, sandwiching yourself between the two men.

“You both need tending. Let me take care of you.”

—-

The water from the fire warms the pool of water in the tub. The water ripples as you pour a small container of olive oil smelling of juniper into the bath. Sprigs of lavender float delicately on the surface.

Lucius dutifully helps Marcus undress. The strong general grimacing as he stretches his arms out to remove his armor. You watch them, working in silent cooperation with each other. Lucius’s hands move deftly, undoing each strap and buckle, doing everything he can to help his general.

As Marcus unwraps his subligaculum, all of his golden skin is revealed to you. He’s now peppered with fresh cuts and bruises, signs of the brutal battle he has just survived.

He steps into the bath, groaning as he settles into the warm water. He sinks down, the water lapping at his broad chest, his brown eyes close as he allows himself to relax. You kneel beside the tub, grabbing a cloth and dipping it into the water.

“Let me,” you murmur, gently wiping the grime and signs of battle from his handsome face, the tension leaves it as you wash him.

Lucius stands to the side, still fully clothed, awaiting instruction from his general. You glance up at him. “You too,” you say. “There’s room for both of you.”

He hesitates. His blue eyes look to his general for permission.

Marcus opens his eyes and nods. “Go ahead soldier.”

Lucius sheds his armor and garments, the flickering light of the lamp highlights every well-defined muscle of his toned body. He stands naked and glorious, his cock stands throbbing in between his powerful thighs, obviously turned on by the sight in front of him.

His moan is low and quiet when he sits down, across the bath from Marcus. His body, like Marcus’s is marred by fresh cuts and bruises.

You continue to wash Marcus, your hands running across the wide breadth of his shoulders, kneading the tense muscles. He lets out a low rumble, Lucius adjusts in the tub, his bright blue eyes turning darker as he watches you move your hands down to wash Marcus’s broad chest.

The water clings to his skin, droplets collecting on the light smattering of hair across his chest. Lucius’s eyes watch your every movement, his nostrils flaring as his breath quickens when you lean forward, pressing a soft kiss to his general’s shoulder, now clean and fragrant from the bath oil.

“Angel,” Marcus sighs. His eyes flutter open as he turns his head and captures your lips between his.

You part your lips, accepting his tongue into your mouth. A moan breathes out against his mouth when his calloused hand cups your cheek, a stream of water trails down your neck. He growls low in his throat when you nip his plush bottom lip, before soothing it with your tongue. You can feel yourself growing wet, aching for more of his touch, knowing that Lucius is just across the bath from you watching.

The cloth trails farther down, gliding across his torso and the plush of his stomach before dipping down to caress his thick thighs. Marcus hisses when you brush the soft fabric across his half-hard cock.

Lucius shifts again, a quiet whimper escapes his lips. You and Marcus turn your attention to him, your eyes locking with his. His chest heaves up and down against the surface of the water.

“Come here,” you beckon. “Let me take care of you too.”

Lucius glances at Marcus, silently asking permission again. His general nods. The water sloshes against his body as Lucius moves towards you.

You shift, the cloth moving down Marcus’s legs and onto Lucius's thighs as he kneels between Marcus's open legs.

He shivers as you move the cloth up his muscular body to his well-defined shoulders bathing him with the same care and attention you gave Marcus.

“That’s it Angel. Don’t neglect my brave soldier.” Marcus reaches over and begins untying the knot of your dress, his wet hand rubbing up and down the smooth skin of your back. “He fought valiantly, protected me in battle, he deserves this, don’t you soldier?”

“Y-yes Master,” Lucius gasps as your dress falls from your chest and you lean forward. The washcloth runs across his handsome, chiseled chest, his blue eyes looking into your eyes the whole time.

“Now, Angel, join us,” Marcus instructs, grabbing your hand to pull you forward. Your dress falls off your body as you crawl into the water and lay your back against Marcus’s chest. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close. Lucius’s hands fist at his side as he still kneels, now between both yours and Marcus’s legs.

Marcus's hands slide up your sides, cupping your breasts. His thumbs brush over your nipples, causing you to arch into his touch with a soft moan. You feel his cock hardening against your lower back.

"Touch her, soldier," Marcus commands gruffly.

Lucius’s hand tremble slightly as he reaches towards you, his palms gliding up your thighs. You spread your legs wider, inviting his touch.

Marcus’s lips brush against your ear. “That’s it, Angel. Show him how much you want him.”

You moan. The solid heat of the general behind you and his soldier’s hesitant hands exploring your curves lights a fire inside you. You recall what it felt like to be held in Marcus’s hands as Lucius’s tongue explored your cunt.

Lucius leans in, pressing a gentle kiss against your lips before licking his way down to press open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone.

“Good soldier,” Marcus praises, one hand leaving your breast to tangle in Lucius’s dark hair and guiding him lower.

Lucius take your nipple into his mouth, sucking gently as his hand cups your other breast. Marcus’s other hand trails down your stomach to between your thighs, dipping his hand in between your folds.

“So wet for us already, aren’t you Angel?” he growls, his thick finger circling your clit. His hand stays wrapped in Lucius’s hair yanking his head over to pay attention to your other breast.

Your hands reach up, wrapping one around the base of Lucius’s hard cock, the other forming around his smooth balls. He whimpers against your nipple, biting and sucking harder as you move across his length.

“She feels good, doesn’t she soldier?” Marcus asks against your neck before gently nibbling your skin.

Lucius grunts in agreement, too busy licking and sucking your nipple to say a word. Marcus pulls against his hair, lifting his head up. “Answer me soldier.”

A wave of want crashes through your body at his firmness, a moan escapes your mouth.

Lucius blinks up, staring at Marcus. “Yes Master, y-yes. She feels amazing.”

Marcus's powerful chuckle rumbles against your back. "Good. Now show her how grateful you are.”

Lucius nods eagerly as his hands roam down your body and dip below the water, his fingers replacing Marcus's at your core. He circles your clit slowly before sliding two fingers inside you.

"Oh," you moan, arching your back against Marcus's broad chest. His cock throbs against you as Lucius pumps his fingers in and out.

"That's it, soldier. Make her feel good," Marcus growls, his hands pinching and rolling your nipples as his soldier works between your thighs.

The water sloshes around you as Lucius shifts closer, his muscles pressing against yours. His lips find your neck, sucking and nipping as his fingers curl inside you.

"More," you whimper, overwhelmed by the touch of both men.

Marcus's hand slides down to join Lucius's, his thick finger rubbing tight circles around your clit as Lucius continues to pump in and out of you.

You’re surrounded by their heat and strength, your body left writhing and overwhelmed by their touch and attention.

“That's it, Angel," Marcus rumbles in your ear. "You took care of us, now let us let us take care of you."

Lucius latches onto your breast again, sucking hard as his fingers curl and hit that perfect spot inside you. You cry out, your hips bucking against their hands.

"She's close," Marcus says gruffly. "Let’s make her cum, soldier."

Lucius pumps you harder, Marcus rubs your clit firmer, the duality of their attention pushes you over the edge. Your orgasm splashes through you, much like the water does in the tub as you shudder between the two strong men. Your hands grip Lucius’s firm shoulders, slipping under the wetness of his skin.

“Lift her soldier, move her to her bedroom,” Marcus instructs. “I have plans for both of you.”

Lucius gently gathers you into his arms, cradling you against his chest as he steps out of the tub.

Marcus rises, water cascades off of his body. The curls of his wet hair clings to his forehead and streams down his face and chest. Water hits the floor, dripping onto the tile as he steps out.

Lucius walks you into your bedroom. The cool night air on your wet skin makes you shiver, you press yourself closer to Lucius’s warm skin.

Marcus’ heavy footsteps follow closely behind, you look over Lucius’ shoulders at him. He gazes forward powerfully, as if he’s headed into battle.

The oil lamp casts an orange glow across your bedroom. Marcus moves to the middle of your room, his large body looms over yours and Lucius’ body.

He looks down at you, cradled in the arms of Lucius. His hand reaches to caress his soldier’s cheek, his thumb tracing over his lips.

“Do you want my soldier, Angel?”

You nod, lost in the darkness of his brown eyes.

“Both of you, on your knees,” he commands.

Lucius carefully lowers you to the floor, before kneeling beside you. Your eyes both gaze up at Marcus, waiting for his next order. Water drops still follow the curves and planes of his body. His cock stands hard and glistening.

"Show me how grateful you are," Marcus says, running both of his hands through yours and Lucius's damp hair. "Both of you."

You lean forward, running your tongue along the underside of Marcus's thick shaft. Lucius mirrors your actions on the other side, his blue eyes flicking up to watch his general's reaction.

Marcus groans, his fingers tightening in your hair as you and Lucius worship his cock with your tongues. You swirl your tongue around the head while Lucius licks and sucks at the base, your mouths working in tandem to please him.

"Good," Marcus rumbles, his hips rocking slightly. "Such eager mouths."

You take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks as you suck. Lucius's lips brush against yours as he moves to lick and nibble at Marcus's heavy balls. The general's breathing grows heavier, his powerful thighs tensing under your hands.

"Enough," he grunts, gently pulling you both back. "On the bed. I want to watch you both.”

You both gasp for air as you scramble to the bed. Lucius’ back hits the softness of the mattress as your body hovers over his. His blue eyes are dark under his thick, furrowed brows as he looks up at you. He reaches up, running his hands along your neck down to your breasts touching you with something akin to reverie.

Marcus walks over to the bed, his body casts a shadow over you as he stands holding a carafe full of oil. “Stay still,” he commands, his voice low and gravelly.

You and Lucius follow his direction, your bodies pressed together, skin still damp from the bath. Marcus tilts the vial and a thin stream of oil cascades down, landing first on Lucius’s broad chest. The oil pools in the dips and valleys of his muscles before trickling down his sides.

Marcus moves the vial, pouring a line of oil down your spine. You shiver at the cool sensation, goosebumps rising on your skin. The oil drips down the curve of your ass, some of it running between your cheeks and mixing with your own wetness.

"Rub it in," Marcus orders, his eyes dark with desire as he watches you both.

You begin to move your hands over Lucius's chest, spreading the oil across his skin.

Lucius's hands glide up your sides, spreading the oil across your back. His calloused palms knead your muscles as you grind against him, your slick bodies sliding together. You lean down to capture his lips in a deep kiss, moaning as his hands cup your ass.

Marcus's low growl sends a shiver through you both. "That's it," he says, his voice husky. "Show me how much you want each other."

You roll your hips, feeling Lucius's hard cock slide against your wet folds. He groans into your mouth, his fingers digging into your flesh.

Marcus reaches down, his large hand wrapping around Lucius's hard cock already slick from rubbing against your wet pussy. He pours the oil, letting it drip down the soldier's thick shaft. Marcus's hand glides up and down. Lucius moans at the sensation, his hips bucking up involuntarily.

"Turn around, Angel," Marcus commands as he sits on the edge of the bed. "I want to see you pleasure each other."

You obey, shifting and turning until his mouth is aligned with your aching cunt, your mouth positioned just above his cock, leaking with precum.

You run your tongue along the length of him before taking him into your mouth. He shudders underneath you, his hips jerking up slightly. His hands reach up to grasp your thighs, spreading them wider and pulling your cunt down to his mouth. His nose taps against your sensitive skin as he swipes his tongue against your clit, making you moan around his cock. His tongue devours your wet heat. He sucks your clit between his lips, flicking it with his tongue.

“Beautiful,” Marcus’s deep voice rumbles beside you. He gathers your hair in his hands maneuvering you up and down his soldier’s shaft.

“Stretch her out for me soldier,” Marcus orders. “Fuck her with your fingers.”

Lucius slides two fingers into your heat as he continues lapping at your clit. His fingers pump you, scissoring them to give you the delicious stretch you welcome.

Marcus’s hands tighten in your hair, guiding you faster up Lucius’ hard cock. “That’s it Angel, take him deep,” he growls. Your throat relaxes, taking Lucius all the way down to his base. He whimpers against your cunt, his hips jerking.

“Good girl,” Marcus praises. “Now soldier, add another finger. Stretch her nice and wide for me.”

Lucius obeys, slipping a third finger inside you. The stretch burns deliciously as he pumps them in and out. His tongue circles your clit relentlessly, pleasure spreading through your body.

Marcus lets go of your hair, running his hand down your back and around the curve of your ass.

“Lick her little asshole soldier,” Marcus instructs as he massages the puckered bud of it. “Get it wet for me.”

His tongue moves up your cunt to your asshole, licking and laving before he spits across it. Marcus hums an approving noise as he sticks his thumb in his soldier’s mouth and wets it.

Marcus’ thumb, slick with Lucius’s saliva, circles your tight entrance. You whimper and moan around Lucius’s cock as he slowly pushes the pad of his thumb inside. It’s so intense, a new sensation you’ve never felt, but your body yields to the pressure.

“Relax Angel,” Marcus murmurs, his free hand soothingly stroking down your spine. “Let me in.”

You breathe deeply around Lucius’s cock as Marcus works his thumb deeper. The fullness between his thumb and Lucius pumping his fingers in and out of your dripping cunt sends sparks throughout your body, lighting you from within. Lucius’s tongue laps eagerly at your clit as Marcus begins to slide his thumb in and out of your ass. Your thighs begin to tremble, your body quivering as you struggle to hold yourself up.

“That’s it,” Marcus growls approvingly. “Open up for me. You’re doing so well. Isn’t she doing good, soldier?”

“Y-yes,” Lucius grunts against your cunt.

Your orgasm is right there, right at the cliff ready to jump.

“I think she’s ready,” Marcus says, pulling his thumb out. “Up, Angel.”

Your body tightens. You whimper as Lucius’s mouth and fingers leave your aching cunt. Marcus helps you sit up, pulling you against his broad, warm chest. His hard cock pressing insistently against your lower back.

Lucius lays spread out on the bed, his hard cock standing at attention, twitching with need.

Marcus snakes a hand up your chest, spreading his hand against your neck and pulling you closer. "Now Angel, I want you to ride my brave soldier, I believe he’s earned it. And while you take his cock, I’m going to take your sweet ass," he growls in your ear.

A shiver runs through you at his words. You nod eagerly, lust coursing through your whole body. You’ve never had anyone there before, and Marcus’s cock is quite intimidating, but you welcome the promise of feeling so full of these two brave soldiers.

Marcus guides your trembling body to straddle Lucius. He grips his soldier’s thick shaft, positioning it at your entrance before you slowly sink down. You both moan as he fills you completely.

"That's it," Marcus praises. "Take him nice and deep."

You rock your hips against him, adjusting to the stretch of Lucius inside you. He grips your waist, guiding you as you ride him. Marcus tips you to lean forward, your hands brace on Lucius’s strong chest as you feel Marcus position himself behind you.

“Relax my angel,” Marcus says, his large hands kneading the globes of your ass. More oil is poured on your ass. His thick finger circles your asshole, before he pushes it inside, stretching you for him further.

Your body tenses slightly, Lucius reaches up to cup your face, his blue eyes locked on yours. “It’s okay,” he whispers, thumb stroking your cheek. “Just breathe.”

Marcus moves a second finger in, scissoring them to open you up more for him. Your hips jerk, grinding down on Lucius as Marcus slowly moves his fingers inside you.

"Good girl," Marcus rumbles. "You're taking it so well."

You pant and whimper out into the cool night air, your body burning hot from feeling so full, and Marcus hasn’t even fucked your ass yet.

Lucius still stares into your eyes, his movements gentle and caring, softly telling you you’re doing so well and you feel so good.

Finally, Marcus withdraws his fingers. You hear the sound of him slicking his cock with more oil and pumping himself. You feel the thick head of his cock pressing against your entrance, it feels so much larger than his fingers.

“Breathe, Angel,” he whispers.

You inhale deeply, steeling yourself as Marcus slowly pushes inside. Ohh, the stretch. It feels like so much, bordering on pain. Your head drops, Lucius presses soft kisses to your lip.

“I know. Relax,” he whispers. “Let him in.”

You exhale slowly, deflating your lungs, allowing your body to relax and accept him. Marcus slides in deeper with a long, low groan.

“So tight,” he grunts. “Perfect.”

You moan, the fullness overwhelming you.

Marcus's thick cock stretches you wide as Lucius throbs within your cunt.

Marcus stills, allowing you to adjust even more for him. His hands grip your hips, holding you steady. “That’s it, Angel. You’re taking us so well,” he praises.

Lucius tenderly kisses you, his tongue sliding against yours as Marcus begins to move, slowly and pulling out before gently pushing back in.

Your body feels alight, burning with desire for the two men currently fucking both of your holes.

“Move, soldier,” Marcus commands.

“Yes Master,” Lucius grunts against your lips, rocking his hips up into you as Marcus pulls back. The two men set a steady rhythm, one sliding in as the other pulls out. You gasp and moan, drunk on their cocks as you’re caught between their strong bodies.

“Don’t s-stop,” you whimper and cry, your fingers digging into Lucius’s smooth chest.

The sound of skin slapping against skin and deep groans fills the room, soundtracking the two men’s movements inside you.

Marcus’s hips snap against you harder. “Such a good girl,” he grits. “Taking both our cocks so well.”

Lucius matches his general’s movements, thrusting into you harder. The fullness is overwhelming, pleasure radiating across every nerve in your body.

Marcus’s hand snakes around to rub tight circles on your clit, your body begins to tremble. “Cum for us Angel. Let us feel you. Make your pussy cum all over my soldier’s cock.”

Your orgasm crashes through you in waves, your body clenching around both men as you cry out in ecstasy.

"That's it," Marcus growls. "Milk our cocks."

Lucius moans beneath you, his hips jerking erratically as your cunt pulses around him. "M-master, I'm close," he whimpers.

"Hold on, soldier," Marcus orders. "Not until I say."

Marcus's thrusts become more erratic, his grip on your hips tightening as he nears his release. His deep grunts fill the room as he drives into you harder.

"Fuck," he groans. "I'm close. Soldier, cum with me."

Lucius whimpers beneath you, his hips snapping up frantically. "Yes, Master," he pants.

With only a few more powerful thrusts, Marcus buries himself deep inside you with a loud roar. You feel the hot splash of his release filling you as he pulses within your tight channel.

Lucius cries out, his cock throbbing as he spills inside your cunt. The dual sensations of both men cumming inside you triggers another orgasm, your body clenching around them as waves of pleasure crash over you.

Marcus holds you steady as aftershocks course through all three of you. Slowly, he eases out of you, causing you to whimper at the loss. He gathers you into his arms, lifting you off Lucius's softening cock and cradling you against his broad chest.

“Shh, Angel,” he murmurs, holding your shaking and overwhelmed shell of a body. Your back molding to his front. “You did so good.” He looks over at his soldier, catching his breath, still laid out on the bed. “You did too, Soldier.” He spreads your legs wide. “Now, clean her up.”

Lucius groans, sitting up and crawling across the bed to settle between your legs.

Lucius's eyes flicker up to meet yours as he lowers his mouth to your sensitive flesh. You whimper and squirm in Marcus's strong arms as Lucius's tongue laps gently at your swollen folds, cleaning away the mixture of your combined releases.

"That's it, soldier," Marcus rumbles approvingly. "Taste how good she is."

His mouth moves lower, licking against your asshole with gentle care.

Marcus's large hands caress your body as Lucius works between your thighs. He kneads your breasts, rolling your nipples between his fingers as his lips brush against your ear.

"You were perfect, Angel," he murmurs. "Taking both of us so well. Such a good girl for your soldiers."

Your hips rock slightly, seeking more of Lucius's tongue.

“Greedy girl, aren’t you?” Marcus chuckles, his chest rumbling against your back.

He pinches your nipples, making you gasp. "Don't worry, we'll take care of you.”

Lucius’ tongue dives deeper inside you, to lap up every last drop of cum. His large nose bumps against your sensitive clit, sending little sparks of pleasure through your body.

“That’s it soldier. Make her cum again on your tongue.” Marcus encourages before he kisses and licks against your neck. He holds you firmly against him, keeping your legs open wide for Lucius.

Lucius sucks your clit between his lips, flicking it rapidly with his tongue. The dual sensations of his mouth on your core and Marcus's hands on your breasts push you over the edge once more. You cry out, your body arching and shuddering as another orgasm washes over you.

Marcus holds you in his strong arms through it, praising you softly, in between open mouth kisses all over your neck and shoulders.

Lucius gently licks up your release before pulling away from your overworked core. His face glistening with your release.

Marcus gently lowers you onto the bed, your body trembling from the intensity of the night. He lays down beside you, pulling you close against his broad chest. Lucius crawls up to your other side, hesitating for a moment before Marcus nods his approval. The young soldier curls up against your back, sandwiching you between their warm, strong bodies.

The room is quiet, save for the heavy breathing of the three of you as you all come down from your orgasms.

“You did so good for us Angel,” Marcus proudly tells you as his fingers lazily trail up and down your arm. “Didn’t she, soldier?”

“Yes Master,” Lucien responds, nuzzling against the nape of your neck. “So good.” 

[celestialseph]

Christmas Karaoke | E.M.

He wasn't a Christmas guy, being the town freak and his all together hatred of capitalist bullsh*t, but when he saw you smile like that, your eyes dancing like the twinkle bulbs, he thought maybe he could be.

feat. Eddie Munson x fem!reader

SUMMARY: You go out to Christmas karaoke with your friends Robin, Steve, Vickie, and Eddie and get a little wild, liquid courage and some classic carols giving you the push you need to claim your man.

CW: MDNI 18+, smut, eddies pov, drinking/getting drunk, protective!eddie, mentions of blood/fighting, eddie is the sweetest (and filthiest) man alive, oral (f&m), dirty talk

Eddie flipped down the visor on the van, checking his hair and making sure he didn't have an spaghetti sauce on his chin from dinner at Wayne's. The van was idling outside your door, thick clouds of steam obscuring the outside world.

He was picking you up for Christmas Karaoke with Steve, Robin, and Vickie at the Hideout. It was a normal thing, he'd picked you up countless times for countless reasons, so why the fuck were his hands shaking on the steering wheel?

He clenched his hands, knuckles white and rings digging into his skin, and tried to take a deep breath. Things had started to change for him over the summer, after Eddie got into a fight with a handsy lifeguard at the pool.

He wasn't a violent man, truly. But when that fucker put his hands on your skin, glowing in the afternoon sun and dripping with chlorinated water, and your face screwed up with disgust and fear, he saw red.

It took an hour to clean the blood from his rings, and you'd been gracious enough to help him. Cramped into the trailer bathroom, scrubbing at his Cthulhu ring with some Palm Olive and an old toothbrush, your brow crinkled in concentration.

Now, he couldn't even wash the fucking dishes without thinking of you.

Every since that afternoon, he was a nervous wreck around you, clumsy and awkward, though you were too sweet to ever comment on it. You were oblivious to the change in him, at least as far as he knew.

He flipped up the visor and sagged into his seat, turning that Cthulhu ring on his middle finger. It was just karaoke, he could do this—

“Hey, Eds!” You chirped, tugging open the van door and climbing in.

His greeting died in his throat when he saw your outfit. Leather mini shirt and ripped tights, heavy boots, eyeliner…and what had to be the ugliest patchwork Christmas sweater he'd ever seen.

But somehow, you made it look sexy as fuck.

“What? Too much?” You asked, pulling at the hem of your sweater with a smirk.

Eddie clapped a hand over his eyes, letting go of the wheel. “You're gonna have to drive, babe. My eyes have melted from the hideousness.”

You laughed, the sound like Christmas bells, and swatted his arm. “It's not that bad! Robin helped me!”

“It's grotesque.” He smiled, dropping his hands to start driving. “And I love it—”

“You do?” You beamed so brightly, he almost didn't finish his sentence.

“Sure! The way I love “Night of the Walking Dead”, or when Ozzy bit the head off that bat—”

“Ha ha, go fuck yourself.” You stuck your tongue out at him and he huffed a laugh.

“I'm teasing you,” he chuckled, adjusting the radio to your preferred station. “It's perfect. And only you could pull of that kind of monstrosity.”

You smiled, settling into your seat, and cranked up the music.

It took a concerted effort for Eddie to keep his eyes on the road. The color splashed against your skin was so pretty, and the soft smile on your face every time he passed a particularly elaborate house made his heart forget how to beat.

He wasn't a Christmas guy, being the town freak and his all together hatred of capitalist bullshit, but when he saw you smile like that, your eyes dancing like the twinkle bulbs, he thought maybe he could be.

“So, will we get a Corroded Coffin performance?” You asked, jarring him from his fantasies.

He snorted. “Unlikely.”

“I’m sorry, you, Eddie Munson, who sings more than he speaks, aren't going to participate in karaoke?”

“It's not like Judas Priest has a Christmas song,” he chuckled. “I don't have the range for Sinatra. Though I'm flattered you think so.”

“What if I pick it for you?” You asked, batting those pretty eyes at him.

He sighed, thunking his head back against the headrest. “Stop lookin’ at me like that, it's not fair.”

“Like what?” You tilted your head, glossed lips pursing slightly.

He wanted to sink his teeth into that pout, see a sticky ring of your lip gloss around his—

“Fine, fuck. One song.”

“Yay!” You leaned across the seat, planting a smacking kiss on his cheek, and he nearly swerved off the road in his shock. “You won't regret this.”

“I don't believe that for a second, sweetheart,” he said, praying you chalked his blush up to the multi-colored lights.

“Oh god, not you too,” Steve said when you bound towards him through the crowd, Eddie on your heels.

“You love it, Harrington,” you teased, stealing the beer in his hand and taking a few, long gulps. Steve and Eddie’s eyes met over your head, both wide with surprise.

“Woah there!” Robin said, appearing to Steve’s left, dressed in an equally ugly sweater. “That kind of night?”

You set the now mostly empty beer on the counter. “Yep. What's a Mistletoe Mayhem?” You called out to Nick, the bartender.

Nothing good, Eddie thought.

“Green and sparkly,” the bartender replied.

“Perfect,” you grinned, slapping your ID on the counter.

“Make that two!” Robin chimed in, and Steve groaned.

“I want one!” Vickie emerged from the dance floor, also wearing a hideous sweater, though it was tied around her waist.

“Three Mayhem's coming up,” Nick chuckled, skimming ids before passing them back and moving down the bar.

“And can I get another beer? No? Alright,” Steve sighed, leaning back against the bar. “What's up, Munson?” He said, waving Eddie over.

Eddie tore his eyes away from where you were gushing with Vickie over the bars tiny Christmas tree and moved towards Steve.

“Oh, nothing. Kids have been asking me to put together a festive quest for our session tomorrow. Best I can do is Krampus.”

Steve chuckled, smiling when the pretty female bartender slid him and Eddie some beers. “Not into Christmas, huh?”

“Are you?”

“Nah, Mom was always the Hallmark family Christmas type, just felt so phony, y’know?”

“I do. Poor Harrington with his mountains of presents and immaculately decorated house,” Eddie teased, and Steve rolled his eyes.

“It wasn’t a mountain.”

“Oh, I apologize. A rather large hill of presents.”

“Three Mayhem's up!” Nick called, and the three of you bound out of the crowd like puppies called for dinner. Nick set down three fishbowls full of green, glittery liquid, topped with cranberries and limes, and a sprig of mistletoe.

Steve wrinkled his nose. “That looks dangerous.”

Eddie agreed, but held his tongue.

You took a big sip, needing two hands to hold the giant glass, and immediately pulled a face before unleashing a hundred kilowatt grin. “Very dangerous,” you hummed, taking another sip, and Eddie felt his cock twitch to life at the wicked gleam in your eye.

It was going to be a long night.

Karaoke began half an hour later, with Steve and Robin kicking things off with a dramatized rendition of “Baby, It's Cold Outside.”

Eddie was following you around the bar like a shadow, scaring away anyone foolish enough to look at you twice. But you were none the wiser, already buzzed and dancing around like a Christmas elf on crack.

You were already one Mayhem deep, and he bribed Nick to tell you they were out of the mix to spare the consequences of a second. But you just ordered a double margarita instead, so his efforts, and $20, were forfeit.

But Eddie was more than happy to be your guard dog for the evening, so long as you were having fun and safe. It's what any good friend would do. But when he ran into Gareth and they started talking about the new Slayer album, he lost track of you.

“Shit,” he cursed under his breath, surveying the crowd for your sweater. But with the fog and throbbing multi-colored lights, it was impossible to see anything clearly. “Excuse me,” he said, interrupting Gareth in the middle of a sentence.

He bee-lined to the high top where your friends sat.

“There he iiissss!” Robin yelled, waving her beer glass in the air. “Where ya been Edward-ed-son?”

“Have you seen y/n?” He asked, mostly to Steve, who appeared to be the only other sober person on the entire establishment.

“Thought you had her.” Steve shrugged. “Got my hands full.” He nodded towards Robin and Vickie, who were now loudly singing along to the karaoke.

“I did, but then Gare—”

The crowd erupted in applause as the song ended, cutting Eddie off.

“That was greeeaaat, Tina. Now, let's welcome y/n singing a classic, ‘Santa Baby’!”

Eddie whirled around to the stage and your friends burst into cheers. You sauntered out in your little skirt and insane sweater, grinning ear to ear as the spotlight swung towards you.

“Found her,” Steve chuckled, pulling out the chair beside him for Eddie.

Eddie dropped into it, rolling his eyes and laughing. He should have known. “What's ‘Santa Baby'?” Eddie asked as the song started.

Steve gave him a sympathetic look and clapped him on the back. “Oh, you'll see.”

You stepped up to the mic, the one Eddie's used on countless occasions, and wrapped your little hands around it. Something about it being his mic your lips were so close to made the primitive part of his brain purr with delight, and he relaxed into his seat, hiding his growing erection under the table.

Steve slid his beer to Eddie, who took a grateful sip, his mouth dry as the desert.

“Santa Baby, just slip a Sable under the tree, for me,” you sang, your voice breathy and so sweet. “Been an awful good girl.”

Your eyes locked on Eddie and he nearly choked, his cock lurching painfully against his jeans, heart pounding in his ears.

Surely you didn't mean to look directly at him, right? He had a habit of searching you out during shows too, you were probably just mirroring that. Looking for a familiar face in a sea of strangers.

“Santa Baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight.” You dragged your hands down the mic stand, swaying your hips to the music, and Eddie thought he might faint.

He maybe would have, if it wasn't for the roaring men pushing towards the front of the stage drawing his attention.

But your eyes were still locked on him, ignoring them entirely, and he gave you an encouraging thumbs up. He wasn't about to let his stupid crush, or a bunch of leering creeps, ruin your fun.

You kept singing, your voice a little wobbly, but airy in that way that made his pants tighten and his mind wander to places it definitely shouldn't. You looked so beautiful up there, laughing and swaying to the music, that Eddie found himself smiling too.

“Lookin’ a little lovesick there, Eds,” Steve teased, nudging him with his elbow.

Eddie waved him off. “Nah, just making sure she has someone that isn't a perv to look at.”

Steve nodded, popping some nuts into his mouth. Steve was the only friend of theirs that seemed to clock Eddie's shift in demeanor, though he mostly kept it to himself. Eddie knew he knew, and Steve knew that Eddie knew he knew, and that was good enough.

You wrapped up the song with a flourish, doing a little curtsy in your mini skirt, and Eddie cheered as loud as he could, ensuring you heard him over the roar of douche bags.

He jumped up, rushing to meet you at the edge of the stage before someone else could, adjusting himself as went. The crowd parted and there you were, bright as the morning sun, bounding down the stairs and into his arms.

“I did it!” You cried.

“You were amazing,” he murmured, lifting you up and spinning your around. It was totally platonic, but the rest of these fucks didn't know that.

“Phew, what a show. Next up we have a familiar face! Eddie Munson of our very own Corroded Coffin singing ‘Blue Christmas’!”

You squealed in delight and Eddie's jaw dropped. “Go, go!” You shoved against his back, pushing him up the stairs as someone handed him a guitar.

“Figured you didn't need the track, yeah?” Danny, the stagehand said with a grin.

“I don't know this shit, man,” Eddie protested, but Danny rolled his eyes.

“I'll play it in the background, you'll pick it up!”

Suddenly Eddie was in the spotlight, and you were jumping up and down on the side stage. It was far from an atypical experience for him, but butterflies still churned in his stomach. He never got used to you watching him perform, even if it was something as silly as Christmas karaoke. The pressure to impress you was paralyzing, but if it would make you happy…

The track started rolling softly in the background, and he focused on his fingers, finding the simple chord and replicating it with relative ease. The audience cheered even louder, and he smirked to himself.

He risked a glance over at you, confident he had a handle on the notes, and you were practically glowing with joy.

Shit, maybe Corroded Coffin needed to add some Christmas song to their set.

Words started to roll across the small screen at his feet, and he stepped up to the mic, absolutely delighted to find a smear of your lipgloss on the net.

“I’ll have a blue Christmas, without you,” he crooned, putting on his best Elvis impression, and the roar of the ladies was deafening. “I'll be so blue just thinking about you.” He let his eyes wander back to you at the end of the lyric, wondering if you understood just how close this song hit home for him.

You were grinning ear to ear, swaying happily to the music. Oblivious.

“You’ll be doing all right, with your Christmas of white. But I'll have a blue, blue blue blue Christmas,” he continued, finding that he did, in fact, know this song despite his earlier assertion.

C’mon, who didn't know Elvis?

Thankfully, it was an incredibly brief song, and he finished off with a freestyle riff, earning another cacophony of drunken cheers.

He bowed and hustled of the stage to where you waited for him, arms open. He held the guitar behind his back and scooped you up around the waist with his free arm, lifting your feet off the ground.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, wafting your sweet perfume and the bitter sting of alcohol over him. “That was amazing!” You gushed.

“Thanks, sweetheart. But you were better,” he replied, passing Danny the guitar. He started to carry you down the steps, but you shook your head.

“Wanna go backstage,” you murmured against his ear, and his heart stopped.

He pulled his head back to look at you, eyebrows raised. “Backstage? Why?”

You worried your lip between your teeth, eyes like melting honey. “Please, Eddie baby?”

He could do nothing but obey, backing up the steps and ducking behind the curtain with you still in his arms. He shifted his hold you, your legs wrapping around his waist, mini skirt pushing up to enough to give him a glimpse of the cherry red of your panties.

You dragged your nails down his shoulders, your lips finding his throat and leaving soft, sticky kisses along his jugular vein that may as well have been along his cock for how intense the contact felt.

“Honey,” he grunted, stopping to press you against a dressing room door. “How drunk are you?” he panted, eyes crossing when your tongue laved over his pulse, your teeth grazing his pierced lobes.

“Not too drunk, I promise,” you said, pulling back to look him in the eye. “Been wanting this for so long, Eddie, please—”

He swallowed your sweet words with a kiss, tentative at first, but quickly devolving into a sloppy mess, your cherry flavored lip gloss and the lingering taste of cranberry vodka flipping a switch in his brain that had his long-held control unraveling. This was his one shot to impress you, his one shot to get you as addicted to him as he was to you, and he was not about to fuck it up.

Eddie was the town freak, and dating him came with all the baggage of that title. But he’d show you the benefits of it, too.

He had to make like Santa Clause and fucking deliver.

With a quick turn of his wrist, he opened the door to the dressing room and carried you through. He dropped you onto the leather chaise before climbing up your body, capturing your lips in another hungry kiss. Your tongue probed at his lower lip and he opened for you, your smaller muscle licking curiously along the inside of his mouth, when he felt the tip of it brush the warm metal of his tongue piercing.

You gasped, apparently having forgotten about that particular modification, and pride blazed through his chest like an inferno.

He leveraged your surprise to turn the power into his favor, driving his tongue into your mouth, feeling drunk himself on the intoxicating taste of your drool. He dragged the piercing over the roof of your mouth and you shivered, your hips rising to press against his thigh.

He pressed his leg harder against your deliciously warm cunt and you whimpered, you hips rolling in a more deliberate motion. He brought one of his hands down to grip your hip, his rings digging into your soft flesh as he helped you ride his thigh.

“How long you been wanting this, baby? Huh?” He rasped against your ear, hearing your breath hitch. “Barely touched you and look, so desperate already.”

Your hands curled against his shirt, your hips stuttering against his thigh as the pleasure mounted, your slick starting to seep through your panties onto his jeans. “Fuck, feels s’good,” you whined, burying your face into his neck.

“Yeah? Little pussy getting nice and wet for me? Such a good girl. Look so sexy riding my thigh.” He encouraged, noting the way his words made your hips move incrementally faster, the filth spurring you on.

Despite thoroughly enjoying the sight of you dry humping his leg, his mouth watered for something even sweeter.

He moved his thigh back, the denim wet with your honey, and he lowered to his knees on the ground. “Can I taste, sugar? You’re not the only one that's been waiting ages for this.” He started kissing up your inner thighs, wet and loud smacks on your tender skin as he moved closer to your sopping panties.

“Please, Eds, wanna feel you,” you panted, spreading your thighs wider for him like an angel opening heaven’s gates.

His heart gave an elated thump. How could this be real life? Here he was, moments from devouring your drooling, pink pussy and you were saying his name like that? Asking to feel his tongue against you? Maybe he really had gone to fucking heaven.

“Fuck, so pretty. So fucking perfect.” He dragged his tongue over the clingy fabric of your panties, sucking the material into his mouth to taste you. His eyes rolled back in his head—so fucking sweet.

With deft fingers, he slid them down your legs and stuffed them in his back pocket, before settling back between your legs.

You were trembling with anticipation, worrying your lips between your teeth as you watched him through your painted lashes. With a flattened tongue, he licked from your entrance to your clit, feeling the heat, the velvet softness of your slit without obstruction.

You keened, throwing your head back onto the arm of the couch when he swirled the tip around your clit, flicking his piercing over the sensitive bud.

Shit, he could do this forever. Just live between your legs, making music with the most beautiful instrument he'd ever played: you.

With two fingers, he dipped into the pool of slick at your entrance, lubricating himself before easing them inside, watching your face over the stretch of your body for signs of discomfort. But you only continued to moan, already looking gorgeously wrecked.

He worked you with his tongue and fingers, finding that spongy spot inside you that made you sing, and let himself get lost in the rhythm, the mind-numbing bliss of pleasuring you.

“Eddie baby, fuck. M’getting close,” you whined, and he could feel the truth of your statement, your walls starting to twitch and clench around his fingers, your clit swelling under his tongue.

“That's it, sugar. Come all over my tongue, wanna drown in you—”

You cry drowned out his words, the cunt clenching hard around his aching fingers, a fresh gush of honey soaking his palm and chin. Pride soared through him, and he greedily lapped up every drop you released for him, watching your body twitch and writhe while you came down.

“You’re a goddamn dream, baby. Did so well f’me,” he cooed, easing his fingers out of you and cleaning them with his tongue before placing a final kiss on your puffy clit.

“Fuck, Eddie,” you panted, pulling him up onto the couch with shaky arms. “You're too good at that.” You leaned in for a kiss, dragging your tongue over his lips before smushing your lips together in a quick, sloppy press.

“Thank you, honey,” he hummed, feeling like a damn king. The luckiest bastard alive.

But then you shifted off the couch, settling on your knees between his thighs, and his brain turned off.

“What are you—” His words fractured into a strangled moan when you dragged your tongue over the hard swell of his cock, separated by the rough fabric of his jeans.

You continued to mouth at his bulge while undoing his belt with quick little fingers, unzipping his jeans. He reached into his boxers and freed himself, still half-dazed by the sight of you on your knees for him in a dirty, dive bar dressing room.

He was painfully hard, the head and angry red and leaking, his balls already tight and hot. And you, being the sweet thing you are, didn't waste a second, popping the head into your mouth and sucking the precum from his skin.

Your mouth was scalding, melting his mind at the wet pliancy of your tongue and cheeks while you took him deeper.

“Fucking shit, baby. Oh god—” he fisted the couch cushions, the temptation to fist your hair and push you deeper overwhelming. But he wanted to see what you would do on your own.

You hollowed out your cheeks, bobbing your head up and down his shaft with messy, drooling strokes, your hand wrapped around his base. His vision went fuzzy, heat curling low in his stomach as pleasure spilled through him.

Shit, you were too fucking good at that.

“Baby, baby, baby,” he chanted, head thrown back against the couch, and finally he let himself place his hand on the back of your head, careful to keep his rings from catching in your hair. You leaned into him, moaning softly around his length.

He picked his head up, needing to watch you as you reached the base of him, a sticky, soaking mess in the thatch of his dark pubic hair.

“That's it, sugar. Just like that—fuck,” he grunted, his hips canting up when he felt the tightness of your throat, your tongue lapping at the throbbing root of him. He was deliriously, embarrassingly close already, but he didn't have the heart to slow you down for even a second.

You pulled back, suckling the head with your plush lips while your hand twisted up and down his slippery shaft, the swallowed him down again with a sinful slurp.

Like a bolt of lightening, his balls drew up and he was coming, unable to give you more of a warning than his hand flexing, his cock swelling on your tongue. Sparks danced behind his eyes, his nerves frying beneath his skin as he released rope after rope of come down your throat.

And like a good girl, you swallowed it all and sucked him dry, broken whines falling from his lips as your nursed his oversensitive head.

“Baby, fuck, take it easy on me—”

You released him with a pop, flashing the sweetest, most angelic smile with your chin covered in drool and lipgloss, and he dragged you up into his lap, desperate to hold you close.

“I do good?” You asked, batting your lashes at him, a smug little smirk on your face.

“Good? Honey, you rocked my world.” He pulled you in for a kiss, toothy and playful since neither of you could stop smiling, giddy with the shock of it all.

You giggled as his rained kisses over your face, down your neck, his fingers tickling along your hips and up over your ribs. He wrapped his arms around your waist, leaning back against the couch as he slowed his movements, coaxing you to relax into him.

“Wanted you for long,” he murmured into your hair. “Please tell me you'll be mine.” The words came out so soft, for a second he wasn't sure if you'd heard him.

But then you pressed your hands to his chest and sat up a little, looking into his eyes. “I already am, Eds.”

He grinned, cheeks sore and heart pounding, and kissed you again while a terrible rendition of Ella Fitzgerald's “I’ve Got My Love To Keep Me Warm” bleed through the thin walls.

Looked like it wouldn't be a blue Christmas after all.

[celestialseph]

All Yours

"I'm going to fucking ruin you." / "I won't apologize for marking you up, everyone should know you're taken." / "I don't want anyone else. No one can make me feel like you do."

@somethingvicked tagging you because I accidentally deleted the original ask 😬 just wanted to say thanks for the request and a big, fat SORRY for taking so long. i was scrolling through my drafts the other day and saw this was like a year old and the shame managed to motivate me enough to finish this. Ooops again and I hope you enjoy!! Comments, likes, and reblogs are always cherished 💖

Eddie Munson x F! Reader

AN: 18+ only!!!!!!, car sex, partially-clothed sex, piv, semi-public, titty worship, humping, dacryphilia, unwarranted jealousy, porn with a little plot, eddie's self-depricating at the beginning but he fucks like a god, very possesive! eddie, multiple orgasms, one (1) mention of pregnancy but it's off-hand and mostly unrelated to the sex, unprotected sex, I took the spirit of the prompts more than the literal wording, this is very different for me and maybe rushed? idk you tell me 🙃

Eddie always jokes that you're his second love.

His van—with its stained upholstery, rattling frame and the battery on its last leg—was here first, he says. And despite everything previously mentioned, he treats that car like his baby.

So when he slams his door hard enough to rattle the glass in the window, it wouldn’t take a genius to know something is up.

Eddie sits silently in the half-light, gripping at the steering wheel with both hands and gnawing at his bottom lip until the skin turns white.

"Everything okay?"

He won't even look at you when he shoves the key in the ignition.

"Sure," Eddie says, but there's a bite to his voice, quiet over the roaring grind of the starter, "why wouldn't it be?"

The car does start—despite his abuse to the engine—and you prop your feet up on the dash, raising your brows as he tears out onto the empty street.

"Ohhh-kay. Is this about—"

You don't even get a chance to take a guess.

"It's not about Steve."

Eddie spits Steve's name at the window and the passing trees, their leaves blurring into inky smudges. You watch his jaw tick, eyes flashing from the road to the rear-view mirror, but never to you.

His resolve falters with the press of your hand against his on the gearshift.

"Really? ‘Cause I was going to ask if this was about Patrick Swayze?”

The speedometer ticks up for a quick beat, and then drops, and Eddie squirms in his seat.

He steers off to the right, and the van shakes as the tires bump off the smooth pavement to the gravel edge of the road, little twigs snapping off on the trees outside against the fading paint.

"Fuck," Eddie grumbles, quiet, like he's having a conversation with himself. His fingers catch in his curls when he takes the other hand from the steering wheel. It's dark out here, away from the street lights, but you still catch the shine glazing his lower lashes, the way he blinks to keep any tears from pooling there.

"I mean, it's no big deal," you tell him, petting over his knuckles with your thumb, "I just wish you would have said something."

You're not sure what lies were spread to make sure the goofy little pre-teens didn't show up for movie night and try to break down Steve's door. You just knew that—for once—everybody piled on the couch in the living room was of legal age.

It seemed like an exciting prospect when the night started, but everything was pretty much the same: just more beer, and fewer voices shouting about whatever movie you were gonna watch.

Nancy and Robin were a united front when they pulled out Dirty Dancing, and you joined them, mostly to annoy Steve when he pretended he wasn't interested.

Eddie grumbled about the choice, arm slung around your shoulder, but he came around, eventually. Nobody can resist the allure of Johnny Castle.

However many beers you had may have been one too many, though, because as soon as the credits started rolling, Steve had yanked you from Eddie's grasp and onto your feet as Nancy and Robin were cheering jump jump jump and you ran, stumbling into Steve's arms with a surprisingly powerful leap. Then you were floating, high above the living room with a bird's eye view of the crushed beer cans and Hostess wrappers littered over the carpet for one glorious second.

Until you landed in a giggling heap with Steve groaning beneath you, the room shaking with laughter to the point of tears, until Robin threatened to pee her pants.

Now that you've sobered up a little, you recognize that Eddie hadn't been laughing along.

He lets his head fall back against the headrest, eyes big as saucers, pathetic like a little dog who's about to get yelled at for pissing on the couch, and he twists the hand that's resting beneath yours until your fingers intertwine, gives you a squeeze—a move you recognize as an apology before he's got the words for what he's feeling.

"You know I'm not interested in Steve, right?" you ask, squeezing back.

Eddie nods, but his eyes tell a different story. He carries this thing with him—a kind of self-conscious bewilderment each time you reach for him in a crowd, press your lips to his, call him your boyfriend when there are people around to hear it.

It's kind of funny how much it doesn't make sense to you, how you assumed that, deep down, Eddie knew that you loved him, but also how badly you wanted him. That it wasn't some kind of fluke or coincidence or apathy that kept you here.

Eddie's breath catches in his chest, like he's trying not to cry, and you know you were wrong. You're not doing nearly good enough a job at making Eddie feel half as loved as he is.

You slip your hand from his, resting it just above his knee—an innocent start for your more illicit plans—scooting in your chair until you're almost nose to nose, lower your voice into a whisper.

"I'm serious, honey. You've got nothing to worry about."

Your plan is working already. Eddie swallows hard enough you can see his adam's apple jump in his throat, and his gaze keeps flickering from your eyes to the hand you've got on his thigh, climbing higher with each soothing stroke.

"Yeah, I-I know, baby, it's just—" his breath hitches, but he's fighting to get the words out, wet lips parting with a heavy breath as your fingers travel higher, thumb in the crease between his thigh and his crotch, "it's Steve Harrington."

His voice jumps an octave on Steve’s name, and your quiet laughter comes out in little breaths.

“I don't want to talk about Steve Harrington."

Your words hit his mouth in a puff of hot air, and Eddie gasps into the kiss that follows, moaning a little when your palm meets the zipper of his jeans and his swelling cock beneath. The tip of his nose digs into your cheek, one of his big hands finding your waist, trying to pull you closer, or as close as he can with the center console in the way.

"God, baby. Need you- need you so bad," he huffs, but you’re already breaking from the kiss, lifting your hips from the seat as you crawl into the space between Eddie’s warm chest and the steering wheel.

“Then you can have me,” you tell him, settling your weight in his lap, grasping around for the lever that’ll give you a little extra space. The seat rattles back until it stops with a heavy clunk, and Eddie has to dig his teeth into his bottom lip to keep quiet when your body lurches into his.

He won’t meet your eyes, looking out the blackened windows, checking the car like somebody’s gonna pop out from the back seat.

“What? Uh, I mean—like, here?”

You take Eddie’s face in both your hands, relishing the scratch of the sparse stubble peppering his jaw. Out of habit, his hands come to rest on your thighs, and you hum in approval.

“Whenever–“ you whisper, shifting your hips back just to bring them forward again, the crotch of your jeans meeting the bulge in his, rattling the chains hooked to his belt loops. Eddie’s neck goes taut, head pressed back against the seat.

“Wherever– “ you place your lips at the delicate skin he’s revealed, just brushing along the column of his throat. When you meet his eyes again, Eddie’s pupils are blown wide.

“And however you want me, Eddie. I’m all yours.”

“You’re all mine,” he repeats back to you, and his hands echo the sentiment, his confidence growing as he moves around to grip at your ass cheeks, pulling you more fully against him until he can grind up on you, his lips at your neck now, planting messy kisses at the edge of your throat that have you digging your fingers into his hair just to keep him there.

Your boyfriend's got a big dick—fucking hung like a horse, although he doesn't seem to know it, and he's already throbbing and heavy in his jeans, bucking his hips into you like he's trying to get you pregnant before he’s even inside you.

"Eddie," you sigh his name, just to admire the feeling of it, and he lets out a groan that has you dripping, the damp fabric of your panties sticking to your cunt and dragging over your clit with each shift of his hips.

"Yeah, baby?" he asks, and you hardly notice his hands at the zipper on your jacket, trailing it down, down, down until he can slip it from your shoulders, gripping at your tits through your tank top.

"You feel so—fuck," he's cut you off mid-sentence, pulling the neckline of your top down until your breasts are free, nipples already pebbling in the cool air. Eddie pinches one of them in between two fingers, the metal of his rings biting at the other until you gasp.

"Yeah?" he repeats, harder this time, the word mumbled into your tits. Eddie's smothering himself, licking and kissing and teething his way as he moves to replace one of his hands with his mouth over the dark, stiff peak.

He sucks the bud between his lips, glides his tongue over the sensitive skin there. The sound of your moans fills the car, and suddenly the pressure of his cock isn't enough when there's so much fabric between you. You can't pull away, though, not with how his free arm has circled your waist, forcing the sway of your hips.

"Eddie," you call out again, but he just grunts, onto the other breast now, fucking devouring you in a way only he can.

He's not stopping, teeth scraping at your skin and his lips pursed, sucking the life out of you while his other hand pinches and flicks the other stiff bud, still damp with his spit.

It's almost frightening how close he's gotten you, and just from this—the movement of his hips and his worshiping mouth.

"Eddie."

There must be something different in the way you say it this time, because he listens, finally, snaking his hand down between your bodies, slipping the button on your jeans and shoving his fingers inside until they reach the apex of your aching cunt. Your vision goes foggy, on the verge of tears from the relief of something solid pressed right up against your clit.

And his mouth doesn't stray from your tits, single-minded in a way only somebody like Eddie could be, sucking at your nipples until they both shine.

His fingers curl, perfect, sitting right where you need them as you grind and grind and grind your hips, brain turning to jelly with the way he's making you feel.

You feel Eddie's teeth bite a perfect circle on the inside of your breast, and that's what pulls you under.

You're practically screaming, and Eddie still won't stop, letting you ride out the perfect feeling of him, maybe hoping you'll remember this moment the next time Steve sees you. Just the idea of meeting up with your friends again after this has you flushing so deep you think you might combust right here.

The sparks fade slowly, your pussy still shaking and empty, wet enough you're sure you've soaked Eddie's fingers and he finally relents, his plump, pink lips tracing your collar bones, stopping at the edge of your jaw. He takes the delicate skin their between his teeth and sucks, hard.

That jolts you from your stupor. You press his head back, one hand on his forehead so you can make him look you in the eyes.

"Hey—that's gonna bruise."

You're scolding has no effect; Eddie's on a different plane now, cocky from making you cum so easily and still a little peeved from earlier, pressing past your hold on him until he can reattach himself to your neck.

"Not sorry," he tells you, marking you up between staccato shifts of his hips, "wanna make sure everybody knows you're mine."

It's impenetrable logic—you couldn't argue with him if you wanted to, and you really, really don't want to when he makes his way to your mouth, kissing you, his tongue against yours and his hot, heavy breaths, one hand balled in the fabric of your tank top at the middle of your back.

"Turn around," he tells you, guiding you into compliance with his hands at your waist, and it makes you dizzy, feeling like you'd end up on the ceiling if Eddie didn't keep his grip on you, pulling you tight against him until your back meets his chest.

It’s like he's touching you everywhere, hands on your hips and your tits and pushing your hair up off your neck—looking for more skin that he hasn't painted yet—so you're not prepared when the chair falls back, left breathless and unmoored, staring at the stained upholstery on the roof of Eddie's van.

"You good?" Eddie asks in response to the gasp you let out, urging your hips into the air as he tugs your jeans and your underwear down around your thighs.

You just nod, too desperate for any explanation, to say anything at all. Eddie's turned you stupid, has you whining into his neck when you lean your head back on his shoulder, looking up at his jaw with wild, tear-filled eyes.

"Gonna ruin you for anybody else, sweetheart," he tells you over the sound of his jangling belt, his hot cock pressed against your back. "Gonna make sure you never leave me."

You nod, fucking rabid when he shifts and you can finally feel the fat tip of his dick at your entrance, smearing the first taste of his cum over your lips.

"Nobody else, Eddie," you promise him, "just you."

Eddie takes his cock in his hand, teasing it over your pussy, nudging it against your clit until you jump in his arms. He grips tighter at your waist, holding you just under your tits to keep you still.

"Promise?" he asks.

The tears that slip down your cheeks and onto his neck must be answer enough, because Eddie slides inside you, just the tip, and the relief at even this small feeling of fullness has you crying out.

Eddie's thrusts are methodical and relentless, slow at first, but they build quickly, his hips slamming into you, his grunts from exertion and from pleasure low in your ear. And you're moaning, too, like putty against him, totally enraptured as you watch the muscles in his jaw flex, beads of sweat collecting at his hairline.

He keeps hitting this spot inside you, has you full to the brim, and you're so wet you half-wonder if your pussy juice is soaking into the seat.

It feels like the van is rocking with the force of his thrusts, steam collecting around the edges of the windows from your shared breaths. It’s obscene how in to this you are, how loud it sounds, the wet squelch of your poor cunt echoing around the interior of his van.

"You're gonna cum for me, baby," he tells you, "wanna feel you squeezing my cock."

Four of his fingers meet at the top of your thighs, rubbing steady circles over your clit. You think you might be screaming.

Eddie has you cumming like you're being raptured, twitching in his lap, tits bouncing as he fucks into you, deeper than before until your vision blacks out and you can't see or feel or think of anything but perfect Eddie Munson and his perfect fucking cock.

It's dark when you come to. Maybe he fucked you blind.

Your vision returns, though, just in time. Eddie's chest heaves beneath you, and he pulls out with a grunt, his cum and yours dripping down your thighs in a sight so lurid it's got you flushing down to your neck.

That's definitely going to stain the upholstery.

Eddie doesn't seem to care, stroking his heavy hands over your thighs, pulling your clothes back into place—gentle where they had been rough, his mouth dotting soft kisses against the back of your spine.

Eddie shifts you around in his lap, let's his big eyes find yours. Your fingers twine with his, and he laughs a little when you kiss at his knuckles.

"You know," Eddie says, cheeks pink and a stupid smile on his face, "now that I think about it, Dirty Dancing might be my new favorite movie. I mean, who doesn’t love Patrick Swayze?"

[celestialseph]

† 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 — charlie mayhew x f!reader. | mdni

tags: mature content・mentions of religion・angst・flashbacks of smut・fem!reader・self-inflicted flagellation・blood・not proofread / wc: 1158

⟡ a/n: sorry if there are any grammatical errors or mistakes. english is not my first language

father charlie mayhew sat on the edge of his narrow bed, the white walls of his private chamber closing in around him. the small space was sparse, almost ascetic, with only a few religious artifacts cluttering the windowsill. the emptiness mirrored the discipline he tried to embody—from the polished metal sink in the corner to the stiff, neatly made bed beneath him. everything in his life was governed by order, by control—everything except you.

he glanced toward the tiny window where rain trickled down the glass, his chest tightening with a dull throb. leaning forward, he buried his face in his hands, fingers pressing into his temples as if he could will you away like a migraine.

but you were always there.

your fingers clawed at the buttons on his collar, desperate and needy—tugging him closer as he struggled to cling to any vestige of control he possessed. plushy lips brushed the edge of his neck, and he could hear the slight tremor in your breathing. “charlie,” you pleaded. not “father” this time. you had stripped him of that sacred title, and reduced him to a man in your arms—a sinner. your body pressed against him, warmth seeped through the fabric of his robes into his bones, hands traveling down the line of his chest, and it was at that point when he realised… he didn’t give a damn about sin or salvation.

rising to his feet, he stripped off his cassock, letting it slip past his shoulders before pooling on the floor. cool air bit against his skin, the bruises and scars on his back crisscrossed the pale skin in a web of guilt. charlie didn’t dare look in the mirror, couldn’t stand to see the evidence of his weakness. instead he knelt down and stared at the cat o’ nine tails resting on the bed before him, its nine strands splayed like serpents awaiting to strike. the handle was a rough wooden club, and as he gripped it tightly, his fingers brushed the frayed ends of the ropes, already darkened with blood and sweat from last night’s penance. he rearranged the nine strands carefully, spreading them out methodically before each lash.

he began to ease himself inside you, the tightness and warmth making him groan into the crook of your neck. he paused briefly, allowing you to place your hands on his shoulders, before fully sheathing himself, dragging out a broken moan from your lips. then he curled an arm around your waist, slowly withdrawing his hips, before thrusting inside you again.

he slammed the whip across his back, the sharp crack echoing through the small room. the nine strands bit into his skin like the nails that had once driven into his saviour’s flesh. pain was instantaneous, cutting through the haze of memory. he sucked in a breath as the second strike followed, then a third.

the heat of your skin burned under his fingertips, the sheets had tangled around your legs in a twisted mess of linen and heat, as you arched beneath him, crying out his name—charlie—over and over, like a prayer. his hand tightened on your waist, guiding your hips against his, guilt warring with the heady pleasure that coursed through him with every deep thrust. he pressed you into the mattress, lips tracing the column of your throat as your thighs clenched around his waist.

charlie’s grip faltered, his body hunching forward as he gasped for air. he could feel blood dripping down his back, onto the floor, but he didn’t care. he deserved this. he needed this.

the punishment was supposed to cleanse him. it was supposed to scourge away the sin. (it never worked, not really.)

he laid the whip down, trembling as he reached out to rearrange the strands, spreading them evenly across the bed before lifting it again. his hands shook as he braced himself for the next blow, muscles tensing as if to ward off the pain he knew was coming.

“don’t stop,” you begged, voice cracking as his body moved against yours, the sudden clench of your walls leaving him dizzy. the sheets were a tangled mess, your hands clutching at them. but it hadn’t been the sheets you clung to in the end—it had been him.

with a swift motion, he brought the whip down again. the impact sent a shockwave of agony through his body, his knees buckling slightly under the force. a guttural sob tore through his chest. fresh welts overlapped the scars from the previous nights, the pain melding together into one throbbing, pulsing reminder of his weakness.

(charlie mayhew was a weak, pathetic man.)

“you’re so beautiful,” you murmured as your nails scraped along his back, leaving faint red marks in their wake. his hips rutted into yours with a rhythm that had made him forget who he was. hand slid beneath the sheets, fingers digging into your flesh before he buried himself deep inside you. you let out a strangled moan, biting down on your lip as your eyes fluttered shut in pleasure, and it took everything in him not to cry out in response, to keep his own sinful need locked behind his clenched teeth.

the pain was nearly unbearable now, his skin raw and bleeding from the repeated lashes. but still, he struck again, his eyes squeezing shut against the images of you.

(the memory of you writhing beneath him, the sheets twisted around your bodies as his hips rolled into yours, was burned into his soul.)

agony built to a crescendo, the sharp sting of the rope tearing at his flesh, but it still wasn’t enough. it was never enough. chest heaving, he let the whip fall from his hands and clutched the edge of the bed for support. his back was a mess of blood, bruises and torn skin, but the pain in his back was a dull throb compared to the ache in his chest.

you had told him, in the quiet of your shared sin, that you loved him. he hadn’t responded. he couldn’t. because if he had said it back, it would have made everything worse. he couldn’t love you—not the way you wanted him to. not the way he already did.

charlie ran a hand through his hair, slick with sweat, staring blankly at the white walls that had seen too many nights like this one.

he didn’t know how many more nights like this he could endure. how many more times he could sit on the edge of his bed, flogging himself for the pleasure he found in your arms. how many more lashes it would take to absolve him of the sin of loving you.

you were worth every drop of blood, every sting of the rope. you were his temptation, his punishment, and his salvation all at once. he would willingly suffer for you, again and again.

masterlist

 fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[celestialseph]

i don't think i could stand to be where you don't see me

rhaenyra x alicent, modern day au: Rhaenyra shows up on Alicent's doorstep with an arts and craft project for the next concert they're seeing together. Alicent plays dress up for Rhaenyra without totally meaning to. Neither girl is good at communication, it would seem.

content: 18+, minors dni. . . smut, religious themes & guilt, spanking, dom/sub undertones, dubious consent, angst, degradation, wlw, explicit photography, best friends to lovers

word count: 3,860

“Is this silly? I know we’re halfway through it, but maybe this was a silly idea,” Alicent mumbles from her spot on Rhae’s couch.

Rhae is across the room, struggling with her needle and thread. She laughs, but the sound is forced. “You don’t have to wear them if you don’t want to. At this rate, mine won’t even be legible.”

“Oh, Rhae,” Alicent sighs, looking over at her friend. “Here, stop that. You’re staining them so much with blood that the thread isn’t going to show. I’ll do yours.” Rhae gives in, throwing the hot shorts to the side with a frustrated noise. She pulls the tip of her forefinger into her mouth, sucking at one of many pinpricks. Alicent swallows as her eyes linger on the image, then looks back down with shame. On Alicent’s own project, the thread has become clear words, although the embroidery has been done in such a way so that the lines are somewhat sloppy, rugged. Such is Alicent’s own artistic take on the project. Across the front of the shorts, right over where her pelvic bone would be, now reads the words Rockstars Only.

A few months ago, Alicent’s mom came home with tickets for an up-and-coming band she claimed the girls would adore. Alerie worked for recording companies in their PR departments, and had always gotten them tickets for different artists depending on what label she was working for. 

“You’re really gonna like this band, guys,” Alerie told Alicent and Rhae the night she came home with the tickets. “And,” she started, with a twinkle in her eye, “the bassist is super hot.”

Alicent had seen pictures. The bassist was hot. And the lead singer. And the drummer. And the guy on keys. Or, Alicent figured they were hot. The boys certainly seemed like the other rockstars and boy bands that girls her age went crazy for. A few weeks ago, kind of laughing about it, Alicent and Rhae had come up with the idea to wear bras and skimpy shorts, with the embroidery they were working on now. Alicent wasn’t sure she had meant it at the time, but Rhaenyra showed up earlier tonight armed with clothing and red thread.

Alicent looks at her own work, which she really only needs to tie off. And then she glances to Rhae, who had discarded her work at Alicent’s offer and is now scrolling on her phone. Thread drips off the side of the chair that Rhae’s socked feet dangle from, and Alicent’s eyes trace from the bottom of the thread, to her friend’s ankles, then her legs, then her hips. . .

By the time Alicent gets to Rhae’s face, Rhae has turned to make eye contact. “You done? Go try it on then!”

“Oh, I don’t know. . .” “Ali, just go try it on. If the vision doesn’t work I won’t make you finish mine.”

Alicent nods, and ties up the thread on her own shorts. The words stare back at her. What was the goal? To get a band member to take them back to the bus, like groupies dying to be fucked by men they don’t even know? Alicent grimaced. 

But Rhaenyra wanted to see the finished product, and see it she would. Alicent never denied her best friend of her pleasures. And this did seem to be a pleasure to Rhae. She was practically kicking her feet as Alicent went to her room to change. “You’re gonna look so hot!” she hollered. 

“Shut up!” Alicent squealed. Rhae made her so happy, it made her forget any thoughts of icky band members and their gross dicks.

In her room, Alicent strips down to her underwear. First, she put on the bra. It’s a deep red color that matches the thread. It scoops in a way that none of Alicent’s bras do, but she knows this is the cut that Rhae prefers for herself. And sure enough, it manages to give Alicent a type of cleavage that she usually avoids.

Besides her underwear, Alicent had left one other article on her body. A cross hangs from her neck. A black chain, with red rhinestones decorating the middle of the pendant. Her fingers trace the shape, feeling the edges of the plastic and metal. Part of her screams at how wrong it feels, to see herself so nude and performative while still wearing her necklace. It was a gift from her father, who had passed down his own strict view of religion onto Alicent’s conscience. 

He lives in Seattle now. Alerie divorced him years ago. On her birthday, Alicent still gets a card. But besides that, this necklace is what she has of him.

She knows she should remove it if it makes her feel this bad. Whether it is the bra or the necklace, she isn’t sure. But they go together so well, in a way that feels. . . raunchy in a way Alicent has never felt.

She quickly pulls on the shorts. They’re simple, creamy cotton. They may as well be underwear, with the amount of ass they show in the back. But the cut isn’t quite right. Alicent’s actual underwear pokes out the top and the bottom. It makes her pout, and takes away the inflated confidence she was trying to avoid that came from the bra. 

The idea that comes to her feels bolder than anything she has ever done. But, she thinks, if she doesn’t feel comfortable she can always just say it didn’t work.

Slowly, Alicent slides the shorts back down her legs. And right after, she slides her underwear down, too. She looks at herself in the mirror, in nothing but the bra Rhae picked out for her, and her cross. There is a cropped thatch of hair between her legs. Alicent is almost certain it will show through the fabric. She trims, but she doesn’t shave; too afraid to cut herself with the razor and have to tell her mom.

Without breathing, Alicent slides the shorts back up without her underwear on this time. Even though she and Rhae are recently twenty, and she knows Rhae owns all assortments of thongs and bikini-cut underwear, she herself has been unable to purchase anything beyond her standard, full-coverage Hanes. Another remnant of her fathers teachings on modesty.

The shorts hug her in a way they didn’t before, free from odd lines caused by her underwear. Alicent turns in the mirror, and her jaw drops at just how much cheek hangs out from the sides. And, as she suspected, the cream color is just not dark enough to hide the brown, wiry hair on her pelvis. It’s a scandal just to watch herself in the glass. 

Initially, she is certain she will not go to show Rhaenyra. The appearance is vulgar, sinful. But, almost against her will, she moves on autopilot. She grabs red ankle socks from her drawer, and her Mary Janes.

She goes back to the mirror, with socks and shoes now on for the full effect. She reaches up, and pulls out the claw clip holding her curls. All of her hair falls down at once, framing her face, and covering her back. Alicent can’t be sure if she’s beautiful or not - all she knows is that she’s never looked like this, and she wants Rhae to see her this way.

Taking a deep breath, she walks out her bedroom door and down the hall to where Rhaenyra waits.

Rhae is still lounging in the chair, but she’s moved her shorts onto the couch for when Alicent comes back to finish or discard them. She mumbles along to a video on her phone, still sprawled with her legs over the arm of the chair. Alicent clears her throat.

Her friend smiles, turning off the phone and setting it down before looking at Alicent. Rhae’s face drops, her mouth hanging open on the first syllable of a word as she stares in wonder at Alicent’s final outfit.

Alicent wonders if she is imagining the way Rhae’s eyes stick on her pelvis for a second longer than they do everywhere else. “Oh, Alicent. . . you have outdone yourself,” Rhae whispers.

“I guess I’m finishing yours then,” Alicent jokes, trying to cut what she now feels is a new kind of tension she isn’t sure she has ever shared with her friend. Rhae meets Alicent’s eyes, fully sitting up now. She meant that she liked them, right?

“Are you wearing underwear?” 

Alicent feels herself blanch. She had not been imagining then, but maybe it was for the wrong reasons. Suddenly she feels gross, like she has done something wrong. “Oh, yeah. Ha. Shorts looked weird with, uh, granny panties, as you like to call them. I can go change. I was worried it was a bad move.”

“Don’t!” Rhae exclaims. Alicent’s eyes widen. “I mean. I mean. Sorry, I was just curious. You know I’m all for going commando.” A playful spark ignites in Rhanyra’s eyes. “I think I’ll do the same when we go tomorrow.”

A slickness appears between Alicent’s legs and she feels herself grow embarrassed at its presence, especially considering the color of the shorts and the fact it probably won’t take much to make her problem clear to Rhae.

“Right. Okay. I’m going to go take this off and then get started on yours.”

“When you got all dressed up? No, c’mon, we’re gonna take some pictures.”

Alicent thinks she’s going to throw up. “We can take pictures tomorrow,” she says weakly.

Rhae shakes her head, smirking. “You look good, Ali. We’ll take more tomorrow, but I want some now.” Rhae stands, grabbing her phone and Alicent’s hand. “Come with me.”

This is not a change Alicent is prepared for. Suddenly she’s on autopilot again, following Rhae to the sliding glass doors that lead onto the balcony of her mom’s apartment. Rhae slides the door open, and ushers Alicent out.

It’s sunset outside, and below people honk their horns in five o’clock traffic. Alicent lives eight stories up, so the wind is blowing constantly on her balcony. A breeze shoots by now, ruffling Alicent’s hair.

Rhaenyra ponders for a second, then seems to decide how she wants Alicent. This is always how it is with Rhae, with her moving Alicent like a mannequin to take pictures whenever she wants. Alicent isn’t sure why Rhae likes having so many pictures of her. The one time she asked, Rhae only said she liked having pictures of her best friend, and why make it more complicated?

Pale hands move Alicent until she’s against the railing. “Trust me, okay?” Rhae whispers. Her eyes are a deep blue, and they stare into Alicent with a ferocity that makes her feel hot behind her cheeks. Alicent allows Rhaenyra to push her chest until she’s hung over the railing and her eyes are trained on the sky. Then, gently, Rhae pulls both of Alicent’s hands to spread across the iron bar her back now arches on. 

In her ear, Rhaenyra whispers, “Cross your legs for me. At the ankle.” Alicent does, but mourns Rhae’s hands on her, doing the posing for her. She hears Rhaenyra step back, admiring her work. “That’s good. Hold onto that,” she says, and then Alicent hears one of the balcony chairs scrape and presumably Rhae stand up on top of it. Alicent closes her eyes, feeling the wind pass over her. Her stomach, her arms, her breasts. . .

“Okay, that’s good. Stay just like that, but spread your legs as far as you can.”

Alicent’s eyes pop open in shock. She doesn’t move an inch. “Rhaenyra. . .”

“Just trust me! You’ll like what you see.”

Slowly, trying to ignore the wetness that has only gotten worse in her crotch, Alicent begins to spread her legs. She screws her eyes shut, feeling mortified. There is no telling whether her shorts are showing what she’s going through right now, but if they are there will be no hiding from it. She feels debauched now, and pathetic. 

Rhae groans, annoyed. “Bend your knees, it’s not quite right. Now spread further. Okay, keep your knees bent, but pull your knees in. Like inwards, don’t push them more outwards. Ugh!” 

Alicent’s best friend is not known for her patience. And though she is trying to listen to instructions, she knows she isn’t doing it right when she hears Rhae get down from her chair-perch. Delicate, chilled fingers graze on the insides of her knees, and it makes Alicent shiver.

“Like this, Ali,” Rhae says, pulling her left knee inwards. She does the same to the other knee, and then Alicent feels her friend stop moving entirely. She holds her breath, but Alicent just knows. She knows Rhae has seen a wet patch between Alicent’s legs. And Alicent nearly screams at herself when she feels her cunt clench from the realization, forcing more slick out.

Hot air hits Alicent’s thigh, and it feels so new and different that it makes her groan aloud before she can stop herself. She slaps a hand over her mouth, in shock at her behavior. She hears Rhaenyra move back. “Stay just like that,” Rhae says, sharp and clear. “Keep your hand on your mouth, too. I like that.”

She says nothing else, but Alicent can tell she leaves the balcony to go inside. A few moments later, Rhae returns. Alicent still cannot see her, but she doesn’t hear her get on the chair this time. There is silence, and then the next thing Alicent hears is a click, click, click.

A camera. Rhaenyra has retrieved her real, expensive camera, rather than continue using her phone. “I wasn’t even sure you had sexual desires if I’m going to be honest with you, Ali,” Rhaenyra says. Her voice is strong, and gives nothing away. “You’ll have to forgive me for wanting to capture this moment on film. It’s not everyday you see your best friend give into kink for the first time.”

“I’m not-” Alicent’s voice breaks, and she curses herself. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

“What made you wet, Alicent? No panties? Being photographed like this? Or is it the thought of one of those band boys seeing you in this. . . getup?” Suddenly, Alicent realizes that Rhaenyra sounds angry. Almost vengeful.

“I’m- I’m-”

Rhaenyra makes a mean noise. “I’m- I’m-” she mocks. Then Rhaenyra reaches forward and grabs Alicent by the shoulder. For a short moment, they’re face to face, and Rhaenyra snarls. “Get on your knees.”

Alicent doesn’t hesitate. She drops to her knees so fast it hurts, but she likes the way they scrape on the concrete. Makes her feel like she’s paying for this in some way, whatever she has caused in Rhaenyra. Tears spring to her eyes. She keeps her vision upwards, on Rhaenyra. A part of her is begging for clarity, to understand this sudden shift in Rhae’s tone. But another, newer part of her is worried clarity would bring an end to whatever this has become. She lets her gaze fall to the ground

“Look up at me,” Rhaenyra mutters the minute Ali’s head drops. Alicent listens, and one single droplet falls from her eye to her cheek. She can’t see Rhae behind the camera now, but she hears the click and sees the flash to let her know that Rhae can see her, and she finds the image photo-worthy. She takes a few more like that, with Alicent gazing up with big, pleading eyes. Then Rhae moves back into the apartment, and gets down on one knee. Without removing the camera, she orders, “Start crawling to me. All fours.”

Alicent gulps. Surely Rhae can’t be serious? But as her friend trains the camera on her again, Alicent knows there is nothing to do but follow instructions now. She crawls towards Rhaenyra, and she feels her pussy throbbing against her shorts as she does. Rhae takes multiple photos again, then finally puts down the camera. Alicent freezes, staring and not moving until told. “I’m tired of this weepy, begging bit,” Rhaenyra claims. “Roll onto your back.”

By now, something has begun boiling in Alicent’s groin that cannot be undone. And she feels herself become almost stupid in its wake, not knowing what to do but listen, obey, do as she is told. Rolling, Alicent watches as her friend stands and walks around her, grabbing her phone from outside and then closing the door behind her as she comes back in. The room goes quiet once the noise from outside is no longer present. Looking up, Alicent is silent as Rhaenyra comes to stand over her, then drops down to her knees at Alicent’s feet.

“Spread your legs again,” Rhae says, still sounding annoyed but more removed. Alicent frowns, but still follows Rhae’s instructions. As soon as there is room, Rhaenyra scoots in closer. Without another command, Rhae grabs the camera again and brings it to her eyes with one hand. She points the lens at Alicent’s face, and Alicent is so wrapped up in staring at her own reflection that she doesn’t notice Rhae’s other hand moving swiftly toward her chest.

The moan Alicent lets out is unseemly, and she feels her eyes screw shut again - in pleasure, this time - as Rhae fondles her through the bra. She hears the clicking of the camera shutters again, but it hardly matters to her as she loses herself to the sensation of being touched where no one else has touched her before.

Rhaenyra squeezes her fingers, and Alicent’s back arches off the floor at the foreign feeling. Her clit aches, and she feels another rush of slick from between her legs. “Rockstars only, huh? Or does anyone get to touch sweet, virginal Alicent if she gets to be on camera?”

Alicent knows in her head that Rhae has got it all wrong. But now she can’t think straight with Rhaenyra’s hand on her, and she can’t make words come out. All that leaves her is whimpers and moans at the camera clicks and Rhae squeezes and gropes. 

“You’re making a mess in your brand new shorts, Alicent,” Rhaenyra notes, and then before Alicent can protest she feels the hand on her breast move down between her legs as Rhae cups her cunt with her hand.

“Rhaenyra!” Alicent screams. Rhae moves two fingers against the shape of Alicent’s hole, and her palm digs into Alicent’s clit. It’s like nothing Alicent has ever felt before, nothing like she has been able to do to herself. “Uhhhngggg,” she moans, and her eyes roll back into her head. Distantly, she hears more clicking.

“Is this what you want that bassist to do to you, Ali? He won’t. He’ll use you to get his dick wet and you’ll be lucky if he remembers your name long enough to sign an autograph.” Rhaenyra is panting, and Alicent opens her eyes enough to see the camera get put down. Rhae’s now-free hand goes back to Alicent’s chest, and it all begins to seem too much for her. She screams again, a tidal wave inches away from crashing over her.

Rhae’s other hand, still firm on Alicent’s cunt, suddenly is gone. And then immediately it comes back, striking Alicent’s mound with force she isn’t prepared for. Alicent’s whole body arches from the floor, and her hand comes to grasp her cross as her heels dig into the carpet. Fingers push into her hole as much as they can from the other side of the fabric, and Rhae’s thumb rubs fast and hard circles onto her clit. 

Her vision goes white, and her ears begin to ring as Alicent feels herself come on Rhae’s fingers, arch into her friend’s hand on her chest and her pussy. Vaguely she thinks she may be screaming in a way that could concern neighbors if she doesn’t stop. 

And then the world comes back into a hazy, light existence, right where Alicent left it a few minutes ago.

The hands disappear. There are shutters clicking from miles and miles away. A dazed expression rests on Alicent’s face as she gasps for air without a thought in her head. And then she realizes Rhae has gotten up and is moving to pack her things away. “Rhae?” Alicent asks, her voice shaky and weak. 

“Finish my shorts for me, you’re better at embroidery than I am. I’ll be by tomorrow a couple hours before the concert to pick you up so we can walk together.”

Rhaenyra does not look at Alicent. Alicent feels herself begin to cry. “Rhaenyra, why did you do that?”

The pleading in her voice must be what stops her friend cold. Rhaenyra turns to Alicent, the venom gone from her eyes that was there throughout the impromptu photoshoot. “Did you. . . not enjoy it?” Rhaenyra asks, her gaze downcast. Ashamed.

“I-I did, but. . .” But not for the reasons you think, is what Alicent leaves unsaid, unable to finish the thought.

“Well then. Consider it prep for the drummer. Or the bassist. I’m sure any of them will like what they see,” Rhaenyra spits, then finishes grabbing her things and storms out the door.

After the door has closed, into the silence Alicent says, “I don’t want them. I wanted you.” She curls into a ball on the carpet, and lets the tears fall freely. Finally, Alicent feels everything she wanted to tell Rhaenyra come to her, but it is already too late. They’ll see each other tomorrow, but what will it matter then? Everything will be different. And the moment to speak will be gone.

Alicent lifts her head to gaze at the shorts Rhaenyra has left for her to finish. She’s going to have to undo all the stitches Rhae did, Alicent can tell even halfway across the room. But, feeling her strength begin to come back, she has an idea that will either permanently damage what is left of her friendship with Rhae, or fix everything she couldn’t come clean about today.

Pulling herself together, Alicent stands and walks to the shorts to begin her work.

part ii here

[celestialseph]

Price eats pussy slowly. He’s savoring every single second of it.

He’s using his fingers to stimulate your g-spot while he sucks ever so gently on your clit.

He tells you to cum whenever you’re ready, then edges you for hours.

Oh you already came? That’s too bad cause he isn’t done yet. He doesn’t care how overstimulated you are, he wants to drown in your pussy.