#Man-Size in Marble

[markgatissappreciationsociety]

And at the end of the article... "BBC Studios will distribute all of Gatiss’s “Ghost Story” specials internationally." Yay!

BBC Anthology Series ‘A Ghost Story for Christmas’ Sets E. Nesbit’s ‘Man-Size in Marble’ as Next Adaptation, Mark Gatiss Directs (EXCLUSIVE)

[jezunya]

Summer is the time when Rory stretches out and reminds me that he is, in fact, kind of a lorge kitty

Cat pics before I head off to bed. Good night!

[thr4shit]

Because this post is going to get long because of the RB-ing I'm going to be doing... click HERE to go back to the post BEFORE this chain of polls.

So in theory, if the Marble Hornets cast was a band instead of people working on a film...

[Part 1/7 : Lead Vocalist]

Full thing with all 7 parts is HERE in case you don't wanna sift through reblogs, I guess?

Please vote on ALL prompts if you can :']

[dotsayers]

caught the last three minutes of woman of stone and honestly? good for her

[gladiatorcunt]

- A ROTTEN TREE BEARS ROTTEN FRUIT | I.

god loves you, but not enough to save you

cw: kinktober prompt (whipping/flogging), blasphemy, inaccurate religious practices, lyrical sadomasochism (more so sadism on his part), erotic religious imagery and references, this dynamic is so weird, implied (as in in my mind) bi reader and charlie, plus sized reader, reader’s chest referred to as ‘breasts’ & ‘tits’ and their crotch referred to as a ‘hole’ but they do have a seperate one other than their ass, pregnancy fantasy, vomit mention, don’t know shit about the show fuck you ryan, blood kink, interchangeable ‘charlie’ & ‘mayhew’ based on pov

do not translate, repost, or feed this work to ai |

kinktober 2024

“Shh, let me clean you up, Father.” You smile, so softly, he could snap your neck if he squeezed hard enough.

You run your nails over his back, trimmed to an appropriate length. Father Mayhew sighs the way Adam might’ve when Eve’s walls clenched around him, God never being more important than this bliss. You’re so devoted, so devout in your worship but he’s beginning to think that you cry out to a different God than he does. If you even believe in an invisible one anymore when you have a savior in the flesh.

“Thank you, dear. That’d be great.” The pulls are pulled from his lips like rotund wooden beads, as if he has no choice but to endure the stretch as they exit his body one by one.

You shuffle off the bed and kneel behind him, stroking your fingertips down his back like he’s a marble statue you just can’t help but reach out and touch. The opposite of Delilah cutting Samson’s hair, you only want to imbue him with your pure love from the inside out. Spooning milk and honey over the tender welts.

His eyelids crinkle as you kiss the nape of his neck, blotting your lips with rouge. There is no inch of his back left without, and when you arrive at the bigger gashes you lavish the cut with your tongue. Drinking his life away and cleaning him up like a good little whore, servicing the man becomes the only thing of importance to you. You dip the tip of your tongue in the recess of the deeper wounds, and caress his tensing abs from behind when he grits his teeth and traps a curse behind them. You only kitten lick him, but often he wishes you would get real dirty with it, caressing your tongue over his muscles in broad and messy swipes.

His scars from previous lashings glint in the low light of the candles surrounding you. You give them their just desserts of course, grateful pecks of attention and acknowledgement. Soothing his pain, that is the only excuse you have to encroach on the verge of breaking your vows. Father Mayhew gives you a purpose and stops your bleating with a heavy hand if you forget your place. Stern hand to raw and stinging flesh.

Sometimes there is no pillow when you kneel behind him.

The next step is that you turn around and face the wall after picking up the cattail whip off the bed and returning it to its rightful owner. You’ve already discarded your habit, no tunic, coif, or veil left on your person. They’re folded neatly beside you, only your rosary nestled in the embrace of your heaving breasts. Your peaks harden in the stuffy humid air, all the oxygen in the world confined to this small room.

He saddles up behind you, his sweaty chest so close to the flesh and contours of your back. Father Charlie breathes you in, taking whiffs of your debauched scent in between silent prayers. He never allows himself to be as forward as you are, his thread of control over his desire has not snapped yet. There are boundaries he can push, but lines he can never cross.

“Good lamb, God recognizes your penance and forgives your soul.” He whispers, dragging the strips of leather down your back until goosebumps rise to the surface.

When you least expect it, he strikes. You muffle a shout into the wall and Father Charlie’s cock jumps under his towel. Briefly he imagines slamming into your tempting body dry, with no preparation, making you sure you feel as much pain as possible. The way you’d wince with every step around the church, the begging in your puppy dog eyes when you’d take communion. How he could hold it above your head like a bone in the shape of a fractured cross, dangling just out of reach of your gorgeous mouth.

The devil gives him dreams of fucking your throat until you’re vomiting and hoarse.

Every droplet of bed peeking out from the cracks of your skin to say hello nourishes him. He shushes you when you’re unable to hold back your sounds, cooing when he notices you humping the air after the fifteenth hit. You just can’t help yourself, nerdy by nature and nurture.

You start soaking the pillow beneath you, imagining what he must look like. A man and his broad hulking body curling around you as he hurts you. Your hole suddenly feels so empty, you have a night of riding your pillow ahead of you, you just want to be good for him in all the ways you’re supposed to be.

As you let a demon of sex control your body, he spies a flash of a white lacy thong nestled between your plump ass cheeks. He knows that if you had also worn a towel, he would’ve hooked his fingers under the fabric and pulled it off. You don’t get to hide any part of yourself from your Father. And he knows he will have to give himself another lashing for those thoughts alone. Even the secret wedding he plans as he strokes his angry red cock, always edging himself, he’s afraid of what would happen if he lets go. How loud the iron gates would be when they creak open. Like the way he wants to spread your ass open and toy with the hidden puckered hole.

His words are in his actions, reopening your old wounds and bringing the warm leather across your back one last time, he hopes your blood soaks through the material. Staining it, the way you have already stained his heart. Father Charlie grins despite himself when you slump against the wall, sliding his bible-roughened hands over your love handles and sticks his pecs to your shoulders.

“You did lovely, today. The Lord thanks you, and I’m so proud of you, you know that?” His thick fingers brush along the bottoms of your tits, never going higher.

He wants to slap them, wrap the beads of your rosary around them until the flesh bulges, painting your nipples in a mix of both of your blood. Marking your souls irreversibly. Marriage of the spirit, a ritualistic wedding in the eyes of the beholder. You shiver like a mouse in front of a snake, and beads of precum fall from his cockhead.

Did Saint Teresa have these feelings when she had the vision of an angel piercing her heart with their golden spear? Did Saint Sebastian when he was pierced by those arrows under the order of the Emperor? Did David when he wrenched Goliath’s head back by his hair and bested him into humiliation? Did it compare to the covenant he formed with Jonathan?

He kisses your glittering scars in thanks and washes your blood away with his lips and tongue too. But unlike any other day in which you’ve done this, he stands up with a grunt and pulls you up with him. Father Mayhew falls backwards onto his bed and so you follow dutifully, and because the hold he has on your wrist is strong to the point of bruising. You lay your head over his heart and pant into his skin as he teases your plush thigh, tracing crosses into the chubby expanse of skin.

“No one has ever seen God; but if we love one another, God lives in us and his love is made complete in us.” He cajoles, walking on that burning tightrope with you.

He wonders if your cunt would be just as chubby, if you’ve ever thought about humping the organ bench, riper than the forbidden fruit, and he mentally catalogs an extra long session of repentance. To be fresh and clean again. Father Charlie will go through his sermons with his lighthearted tone and charming personality, desperate to hide that he’s thinking of plunging his tongue in your asshole. Sipping and slurping up your musk like it’s the only holy water he needs to live. Or entice you into eating his ass, you would love being able to serve him properly, no doubt.

To nourish you with his fragments, his vertebrae and viscera. The body and the blood. The teeth and the testicles.

He’ll sit in quiet contemplation in front of the pulpit, pouring wine over your body in his mind. Following the red trail with his tongue as it trickles down the valley of your chest and dips in and out the folds of your belly. He’ll leisurely open his mouth on a silent moan at the top of your mound, the hairs like yellowing blades of glades against his philtrum, in a perfect paradise there’d be blood there too. His own personal, pervertedly literal, red sea.

You’d look so beautiful, swollen and fat with a child growing in your womb. A shame that can never happen, but a blessing that no heretic of a man could snatch you up and take you away from him. Your flock is here, and the heavy crook of his staff is all you need to guide you back home when you go astray. Trapped in his thighs, molded by his hands, punctured into line with his cock.

[soapcloth]

CW: Statue!Ghost x reader, size kink(?), horror aspects, scopophobia Pt 2 - not edited - dividers -> @/cafekitsune

In the museum storage where you work, you stare at the hard set visage of a man chisled out of marble.

hes a gargantuan thing, cold and smooth. Among all his little chips and fissures, one that stands out is a notch in his lip that must've happened somewhere along the exchange in the possession of this sculptural feat, you'd have to check his records to see.

It- you correct yourself, not him.

And yet, you can't help but feel his looming presence in the warehouse as you work about. There's a pregnant sense of tension in the stale air that makes you feel as if there are carved marble eyes locked onto you, something you manage to write off with the fatigue of a long shift. Sometimes if you get tired enough, you swear you can hear the low hum of a grating, scraping mass or the deep echo of shallow breath, a false phantom that pricks at your eardrums. Alive. Your mind would scream at you. He.

His documents, though dubious and questionable in origin had stated he had been in an army of some sorts- the history that had never been the kind to draw you to your job in the storage and archival of a museum; now, aside from a skull death mask in his perfectly chiseled hand, he stands completely bare, body heavier than his armor ever was.

Though you had tried to ignore him, he would defy you, silently demanding your regard.

Or, it had been silent until you started catching glimpses of a mammoth lugging its weight around the warehouse in the dead of night- acknowledging it had felt like bringing a curse upon yourself, the frequency of anomalous events increasing the more you accepted his presence in your mind. At first it was distant, far away enough to dismiss, but now you'd turn to find him dead still and watching, closer to you than he had been before; chasing you around when he knew you were alone until your shift ended.

When you'd leave the warehouse, you'd press your ear against the heavy door only to hear his rumbling breath right against the other side, daring you to step back inside.

[nemesyaaa]

pygmalion au // rafe cameron x reader

summary ; “ you love someone you can shape, who has no will to escape. ” artist!rafe x muse!reader.

warnings ; unsafe feelings. slight of angst. smut. kind of fantasy/magic. art glorification. attachment issues. innocent!reader. fear of losing somebody. first time. rafe being a lost boy. dubcon. pygmalion' weird story. toxic!rafe. mentions of drugs. oral (m. receiving). p in v. insecurities. praising. artist hands appreciation. minors DNI.

author's note : 3,5 k words for this. one-shot. also a lot of tummy appreciation (tysm @shawtycoreee 🫶🏿). out of the smut, i tried to write it so poetic 😭🤟🏿

— “ wrap me up, enfold me. i am small and needy. warm me up and breathe me. ” breathe me by sia.

it was alone and late at night that rafe cameron began to create you, not really knowing at the time he started his art what work you would produce. he only cut the stone with his hands. before forming your body, he fantasized about it internally, not really knowing what a woman's anatomy actually looked like. you were like a crazy dream he was trying to sort out, a fantasy he was trying to make real. he sculpted with his straight calloused and tired hands, manipulating the fragile and sensitive material with precision.

he hated doing badly, but it was what he did best. as he worked, he sank into his own fascination. you were magnificent, no, you were divine, the glorious treasure from his hands. it was scary and breathtaking. he had never done anything so beautiful, never created anything so charming. you had this firm, seductive chest, completely bare and hard, the movement of the stone making your belly round and chubby. you were carved in marble, an inanimate statue that had found favor in the eyes of his creator.

when he had finished your face,

he had been amazed but above all frightened by what his fingers had achieved. he had given shape to your lips, your nose, your mouth and your eyes. and now that you had a look, it was like you were confronting him. because now that you had pupils, you could look at him too, you could judge him too. you could be as superior as him, but also equal to his worth.

you were his most beautiful work of art, literally his ethereal and angelic muse. and above all, you made him nervous. not only were you realistic, but you were a woman, you were like one of the goddesses from greek mythology, completely naked.

it was unexpected, but he had knelt before you, before your altar, on his legs and his hands. he was so white and desperate like a lost sinner having only his god to pray and glorify in order to survive.

you had seen his lips part in a prayer, his mouth tighten in a whisper. and you had ears, certainly made of stone, but you had heard it. you had heard his wish lost in the void. yet he had nothing of a believer, you could hardly imagine this man on the benches of a church, but you were also cruelly incapable of seeing and understanding who he really was.

when he stood up, you felt his hands on your skin, the coldness of his ring, but also the awkwardness of his touch. you could tell it was the first time he touched someone intimately, because he didn't really know where to put his hands but he also didn't know how to touch you without destroying you.

rafe cameron was not a god. he could break anything he touched. and maybe that was why he was so nervous and pathetic. you belonged to him now that he had created you so he refused to lose you without even knowing you.

he had hoped that god would make you a real woman, because you were perfect, too sublime to be just a piece of stone.

he didn't need to pull himself up to reach you, he was much taller, more intimidating in terms of size. he could lift you up and control you with just one hand.

you looked so alive so why, why did he only hear one heartbeat in the room? why was he alone breathing in this cold and empty room? why did you only have life in appearance?

you could feel in his look that he was questioning, that he was troubled, that all the beauty of his blue eyes was overwhelmed. but you had also felt his face so close to yours, his breath fanning across your molded lips. he had been hesitant, but his mouth had finally found yours.

and you surprised yourself by loving the taste of his pretty lips, but above all by being able to touch it.

and it was like that kiss had been real enough of how he felt about you that god had decided to give him a chance.

you had sensed all the ivory of your body, of your muscles, becoming sublimely gorgeous, all your stone beauty becoming human and alive. as if his devotion had allowed you to be free and to exist.

when he felt your mouth melt on his, he pulled back in fear. you weren’t supposed to be real even if he wanted you to be. since when did statues come to life?

"oh fuck, what's going on here?... i think i'm going crazy...all that fucking coke…”

“you created me.” you replied, slightly hurt by his reaction because he was supposed to be happy.

"no, you're not supposed to be alive. i mean, you're art, you can't be human."

“i’m human!” you contradicted, stepping forward from your marble base.

rafe wasn't sure if it was a nightmare or a dream. but his gaze was anchored on you, he couldn't take every inch of his eyes off your body. he was magnetized by your magnificence.

you came just close enough to take his hand and place it against your chest. “don’t be cold to me. don’t leave me. what would i do without you? you can't reject me. you need me. ”

maybe that was the game changer for rafe cameron. because he had just understood that since you were his, you belonged to him, you were entirely dependent on him. you couldn't escape, and above all, you had no desire to.

he could do what he wanted, you were like a doll created to respond to the slightest of his favors without ever complacent. you were not only perfect but unimaginable.

” be on your knees for me.”

and the next second, you were staring at him waiting for another order.

"mmh...i know your body by heart. i shape all of this. but you have never seen mine. no worry, i'm going to fix that, okay? you're going to please me tonight and not make me regret 'have given you life?”

you nodded in agreement and he smiled because you were too innocent, too sweet for someone like him. he had unzipped his pants, making them fall to his legs like his boxers.

and it was the first time you saw a naked man in front of you, but it was also fair for you because you had no clothes. “let me help you…” he offered with a smirk. his thumb had rolled over your lips, creating a slight slit between them. “ you need to open that pretty mouth wider...” he added, taking advantage of your vulnerability to use you.

"you know it will only hurt if you don't relax. so don't be tense. because even if it's big, you're gonna take it, doll. not gonna be easy on you because it's your first time. show me what you can do baby, let me feel how grateful you are for your creator. "

he had pushed his tip against your lips, forcing his way into your mouth, making you open bigger to accommodate his cock in your cavity. it was new to you, and you weren't even sure if you could satisfy him because it was the first time you had done something like that, and especially used your mouth in that way.

you thought this area was used to create intimacy between people, not to do dirty things.

“baby, i really appreciate how sweet you can be, but don’t let me do all the work…” he had scoffed. and your heart skipped a beat when he shoved himself further in your mouth, so much so that you felt him hit the back of your throat, all the speed of his harshly strokes leaving you breathless.

you choked on his movements, saliva pooling and dripping between the corners of your enlarged lips. “that’s what happens when you don’t do your part of the job properly…” his tone was falsely accusatory as you couldn’t catch your breath from his pace. he had no pity, you had turned on him too much. and to fix it, he blamed you by harassing your throat with his fat cock.

"but since you leave me no choice, let me show you how to be a good girl for me..." he had plugged your nose, pinching it hard, forcing you to take him entirely, without being able to breathe. his length swallowed in and out, your tongue barely able to support his weight which grew as he bullied your lips.

you belonged to him so he didn’t care if he ruined you a little. he told himself that he would repair you.

he released your nose when he felt you were about to pass, with a sadistic giggle. your eyes were wet with tears. “oh baby, don’t give me that look, you’re wasting your time, i don’t feel pity. ”

you continued to pump him until your jaw arched tighten and become more tense. he pulled out for a moment, spitting in your tongue, before using your throat again. his grunts were frantic and rapid, hot breaths in sync with the pornographic sounds that emanated from your sucking. his large palm was wrapped around the back of your neck, controlling your posture. “ give me that sweet eyes again, and i will make them cry.”

he took so much pleasure in watching you swallow him hard, grunting every time he entered your throat hoping to relax it but causing the opposite effect. "'ot finished. take those balls too." he had pulled back to lift his painfully throbbing dick and place it against his stomach, you had started to lick them, letting your tongue work the entire surface, coating them with saliva. "feel? how full they are. they're gonna stuff you real bad. " you sucked on them when he pushed them directly into your mouth, making him let out throaty sounds. your mouth felt so good, he wondered if your pussy would be just as her.

between your legs, it was completely soaked. your sloppy slit dripping onto the floor. it wasn’t like rafe was ignoring that mess. he was just purely mesmerized by your lips, by the way you cupped his balls so well, and how his cock reacted to each of your licks.

you were definitely his best work. it was more than art, it was heavenly. he was incapable of not using you after creating you. he had his urges, and you had to respond to them.

he had started fisting his length, leaving you lapping at his genitals dangling above your face. the cum had gushed through the air, landing on you. he had rubbed his trailing tip on your cheeks, giving a new color to your skin.

he wondered if you were human enough to feel all this degradation. in a short movement, he had placed you in front of the standing mirror of the workshop, and had driven his body against yours. he spat into his hand before jerking off a little, pressing the head of his cock against your sticky dirty folds.

he placed his arm across your stomach, one hand gripping one of your breast, pressing it more firmly once lodged inside you and grunted as he felt how tight you were, how hard your pussy stretched in his path. thanks to the mirror, he could see each of your reactions, but above all, see your part pumped each of his inches. all his size had disappeared between your flowing walls.

your twitching cunt clenched around his girth, your canal squeezing him. his thrusts were merciless, burrowing into your soiled folds. rafe rocked his hips roughly, as his dick bullied your puffy core. he wondered how a loser like him could have created a goddess like you. and he was desperate to know if he could make you stupid, if his cock that destroyed and filled you was good enough for someone like you.

you had created a mess and frustration in him.

he was in love with the bouncing flesh on your tummy against his arm, your tits swaying when you took him. it was a grace.

he reached out and hit your spot every time he buried himself inside you, his face sank in your left shoulder. you could feel the strands of his hair against your skin, his mouth against your collarbone. you were his, he was fucking you like this. you were only alive when he touched you. you could feel his obsession and adoration in every thrusts, no matter how brutal they were. it was his way of showing you that you couldn't escape him and that you could never.

his rhythm was hard, as your pudgy tummy jiggled under his strong fingers who were digging into you. you were so giddy, fucked like a ragdoll not able to said if it was the butterflies that make your stomach spiraling, or that thick dick shoved inch by inch further into your messy slick. his other digits at your clit, massaging the small and eager bud. he was big enough to maneuver you and embraced your small frame with his muscular biceps.

you were too little, too fragile underneath him.

he was your creator, he gave you air but he could also take it away from you. you were completely dependent, not only you, but every crumb of your body. he was pounding into you with the inability to detach his cock from your fluffy pussy. he loved hearing your voice choked with tears and moans against his ear. it was a sweet melody, a symphony.

your body was perfect, straddling his, your skin slapping his. your lips gurgling around his fingers that you could no longer take without dropping them, because of his violent assaults. you drooled all over your mouth, struggling with the drool that splashed all over his hand.

you couldn't see anything anymore, it was blurry. you didn't even feel tired anymore, you felt like a stupid doll, unable to think and reflect, only able to take this cock nastily harassing you and stretching you violently.

with his muscular and heavy hand on your throat, he forced you to look at the mirror. there was something incredible and perfect in his hands, and you knew it from the moment he started sculpting you. they were so good and incredible, covered with veins that systematically bulged. they captured your belly fat well. “don’t hide this from me. it’s my property.”

he had harpooned your flesh between his fingers, making it move and hang down more as he fucked you senseless.

“if i shaped you like that, that meant i wanted you like that.” your tummy was caged in his grasp. “ i mean, look at that belly, it's all beauty, i swear.”

he had moved his hand to the lower part of your stomach, pressing that area of your skin, feeling his bulge farther in you. in this corner of the room, there was only you and him, only your whimpers against his fingers and the pleasure you felt. there was only this mirror that stared at you and reflected you in the darkness with the only light of the moon as a beacon.

you were divine, you had the perfect body of a goddess. and even having cum with you, even causing your third orgasm, he didn't want to pull out. it was as if he was afraid of the emptiness he expected after this. and maybe you too were dreading the emptiness inside you after he filled you up so well, your soaked pussy dripping with his cum, drooling all over the floor.

he had finally taken it out, his fingers entering you to collect his mixture and place it against your lips. “don’t let it go to waste.”

you had cleaned his fingers until they were pure again.

he had his eyes on you, like a human in front of art.

he still didn't realize. but he refused to let you escape. but it wasn't like you could. he had created a home here, all over this room and in you. he had established a domain in every inch of your skin. he only had to see you to know that you were his own creation.

you kissed him, slightly awkwardly but he made up for it with his mouth on yours. “you can’t abandon me.” he whispered. “i don’t want to abandon you.”

and it felt good to hear your words. you didn't know him well enough, or not really, to know how sick he was. but you felt grateful that he gave you life, because it was priceless. he had made you, and you were his.

“ what are you doing?” when you felt chains encircling your wrists, you weren’t sure if you liked it. "i really want to believe in you sweetheart but i also can't trust anyone. you have legs, you can run away from me but with this metal, you're stuck.”

“i don’t really like it…” you admitted and he replied “no one likes it but the difference is that you don’t really have a choice either. you're mine. your feelings, your body, your eyes, all of that is mine. even that pouty sweet face of yours. ”

you turned your head to let him know that you didn't appreciate it, and to give him the silent treatment. and he smiled. “it doesn't kill me, baby. you can pout. ”

you didn’t respond. "you really want to give me this treatment? maybe you really don't want me to be nice to you after all..."

he had smiled. “"okay...I'll give you what you want." he had disappeared for a few minutes before coming back with an object that you couldn't identify. " what is this ? "

"now, baby wants to talk...but it's a little too late, i'm making the rules here so...say hello to your new favorite toy. it's a gagball.”

you didn't feel it was useful until the ball went into your mouth and stopped you from speaking. you could only drool and grumble around the object.

"why that face, baby? that's not what you wanted? i swear you still look pretty. just quieter. i'm going to go to sleep. and tomorrow you'll show me how sorry you are for that attitude. you want to know if i would forgive you? maybe it would be too easy, you understand? you have all night to prepare excuses and they better please me because i can be even more creative than that to punish you. “

the next day he woke up in a good mood. and above all, you were always there.

he had picked up the bottle of water from his table, wondering if you were thirsty. but when he arrived in front of you, he changed his mind. he used it to wake you up.

"i'm so clumsy...sorry, baby." but there wasn't an ounce of regret in his voice so you knew he was joking. you learned to read his face.

“you know how sorry i am…” he added, facing your gaze.

“you’re not…”

"yes, right. such a clever baby. are you thirsty?”

" yes..."

“maybe if you show me how good and nice you are today, i can consider bringing you another bottle.”

"what do you want..."

“it’s not what i want, sweetheart. but what you will do to satisfy me. see the small difference ? ”

it had been several weeks, a month in fact, since the day of your creation. you had spent your time in this workshop, chained to this wall. you were only alone when rafe left, when he left you in the shadows.

in fact, he was clearly having fun with you. you were dependent on his affection, and he knew it. you reacted to the slightest attention he gave you, even the most mean and bad. but above all you were incapable of hating rafe cameron.

he had made you a magnificent creature, a living human, you would be even crueler than him if you hated him.

after all, you were his muse. he had the right to use you. that was also the thought he had drilled into your brain.

everything he did was for you. and you should be grateful.

but sometimes he wondered, if he killed you, would you come back to life? was there magic in you or was he just in a fucking wonderful dream? he did enough coke to get high for days but this time it lasted too long for it to be fake.

your relationship was strange because sometimes you felt loved, especially when he hugged you after being rough with you, his palm gently caressing your back. like any human, there was tenderness in him. he could be nice. he knew how to be one but that didn't mean he enjoyed being one. he just thought that if he was too mean, you would disappear.

and that was not something he could tolerate. during all this time spent with you, he had not learned, no, he had not succeeded, to live without you.

artists brought art to life, but art gave meaning to the artists' lives.

before you, he was alone.

he had prayed for you. he needed you. it was his final call.

rafe cameron fell in love with you before he created you, before he even imagined you.

and maybe that was why he was so mean to you, because he never knew love, so how can you blame him for not knowing if you loved him back or make fun of him?

he was pathetic, full of rage and violence. but you couldn't hate him, because you and him shared the same tears. the same pain.

he made you, and you made him. he was afraid and you were scared. you wanted someone to love you, and he wanted someone that could love him.

“ i swear, y/n. don't leave me alone. even when you looked away, you make me feel like a monster when i'm not. so please, do the same as me. ”

“ what ? ”

“ don't make me feel like somebody else exists. i'm the only world you can live in. ”

[wheresarizona]

Columba 

summary: It isn’t until you’re in his home that you learn it’s General Marcus Acacius who’s summoned you for your services—you’re not sure why he did, when the other courtesans standing beside you, hoping to be chosen by him, have bodies that look nothing like yours.

pairing: Marcus Acacius/Plus Size f!reader (Courtesan)

rating: E (18+!! This is smut. No y/n, explicit smut, plus size reader, courtesan reader, age gap (reader is of legal age in today’s standards), takes place pre-Gladiator 2, dommy Marcus Acacius (loves giving orders), he’s a tiny bit possessive, unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), creampie, rough sex, backshots, woman on top, oral sex (m receiving), vaginal fingering, breast worship, hair pulling (m receiving), slight breeding kink, (1) pussy slap, dirty talk, spanking, spit mention, some biting, with hair like that he wants it pulled, some sweetness at the end) 

word count: 4.8k+

a/n: I took one look at Marcus’ hair and immediately thought, that guy likes his hair pulled. I also decided that since he spends weeks to months with a bunch of men at a time, when he comes home, he really appreciates a curvy woman. Honestly, I didn’t think I’d be able to write anything for him until I saw the movie, but the trailer got me. This is unbeta’d, all mistakes are my own. I hope you enjoy!

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs feed me. I’d love to know what you thought!

Masterlist

It was the marble bust atop a pedestal that revealed whose home you were in. The opulence of the domus’ atrium, with its four tall marble columns surrounding the impluvium's shallow, sunken pool in the middle of the room and the compluvium’s opening in the ceiling above it, allowing the moon’s light to filter in, told you whoever lived here had notoriety—then you saw the face carved out of stone, recognizing the curls and strong nose you'd only ever seen as he was paraded past you down the street in honor of his latest victory, and you knew.

General Marcus Acacius is a man feared by many for his ferocity and skills in battle. It's been said Mars, the God of War, blessed his birth, while others believe his bloodline is descended from the God himself. What you know to be true is he's a gifted General that the Emperors and Gods have smiled upon, and in his presence, an intimidating figure you didn't dare look at unless you were addressed.

There are four women standing to your right, all of you younger than him, naked, and courtesans of the highest standard—well-educated and well-versed in politics along with the pleasures of the body—and highly sought out by society's elite. 

Marcus is at the opposite end, silently making his way down the line with what you can only assume is a scrutinizing eye, and you fear there's been a mistake that you're here—the other courtesans are all built similarly with small breasts, flattened stomachs and thinner waists than yours, whereas you’re curvier, and have more meat on your bones, with your bigger chest, soft noticeable belly, and grabbable hips. Clearly, he requested a particular type of woman, and it doesn't appear you're it. Staring down at the tiled floor seems better than seeing the disappointment on his face when he gets to you. 

His sandaled feet come into view as he stands before you, and you can feel his eyes roaming over your bare body—golden snake bracelets coil around each of your upper arms, and at the unexpected gentle touch of his fingertips to one, you flinch. 

"Do I frighten you?" His voice is a low, deep rasp that shivers down your spine. 

"No, Sir," you answer.

His thumb strokes over the snake's head and along its body. "Why do you flinch?" 

Raising your head, you see he’s wearing a white tunic with a gold pattern lining around his neck, down his arms, and along the hem, a belt securing it at his waist; golden cuffs covered his wrists. You’re met with dark eyes, a furrow crinkling between his eyebrows—his brown hair with a kiss of gray, curls like waves on his head, his facial hair dotted with a few silvery strands. It takes you a second to answer his question because the glimpses of him you caught during victory parades and the marble bust didn't prepare you for his beauty. 

Mars and Venus have bestowed their blessings upon him. 

“My apologies, Sir,” you finally reply. “It was simply surprise at being graced by your touch.” His expression is difficult to read, so you continue speaking, “I’ve heard of your prowess in battle that inspires songs and how your enemies tremble before you, but I do not believe I have reason to fear you—unless that is something you wish. Do you wish for me to be frightened of you?” 

Some men liked it if you acted afraid of them to feel powerful. Some men, usually the big, tough ones, liked to bury their faces in your bosom while you held them. The slight show of relief on Marcus’ face when you said you had no reason to fear him made you suspect he’d be in the latter category. 

“No.” His eyes are locked onto yours. “I do not need another to fear me. I wish for you to want my touch.” 

“I wish for more than your touch,” you reply. “I wish to feel your lips on mine and your weight on top of me, I wish to feel your cock inside me and to hear the sounds you make when you peak, and I do wish for your touch; I wish to feel your hands claim my body as yours.” 

His gaze turns to one of desire, and it makes you smile. 

"You," he says. "Stay. The rest of you,” he announces, keeping his eyes on yours, “leave us.”

The invitation the messenger brought to your home the day prior did not state who requested your services; it simply said the person was a public figure, and the woman picked would be paid handsomely.

The servants, who stood as still as statues against a wall, scurried to assist each of the other women with redressing.

"Come," he orders, offering you a hand you accept. He leads you to a room you realize is his personal quarters when you spot his armor in a corner, Medusa's golden head on the cuirass shining in the candlelight—she wards off evil and offers protection. There's a bed against the wall opposite the door, and he lets go of your hand, slipping off his sandals by the doorway before walking over to a thin table laden with a jug, cups, and a bowl of berries and grapes. 

"Care for some wine?" he asks without looking at you while pouring himself a cup. 

His body is tense, and you’re assuming you’re here to help him relax—he arrived home only days ago from war, and you got a chance to see him rolling down the street on a chariot as he waved to the cheering masses. It would make sense that he could use somebody with your expertise to get him to unwind. 

“No, thank you, Sir,” you answer, and he faces you again, taking a drink. “It’s a great honor that you chose me, and I do not wish to forget a single moment.” 

His cup lowers, and you're surprised to find he’s wearing a little smile. He twists to set his wine down next to the jug, and removes the cuffs from his wrists, setting them onto the table then his eyes are on yours. 

"Marcus," he says, and it only takes a few strides to have him in front of you again. 

"I'm sorry?" you ask.

His attention moves to your body, and he’s not looking upon you like an object or something he’s just purchased as most men do; his gaze is appreciative, the same kind of look you could imagine was on his face when he stared at art that pleased him. Your figure isn’t the ideal for most Roman women—your hips are too wide, your breasts are too large, your ass is too big, your thighs are too thick, and your stomach is too noticeable—yet, there are many men who sought you out and paid well for your time, and it seems the General is one of them. 

"My name." He walks around you, his fingers sliding along your upper back from shoulder to shoulder. “Call me Marcus. I want you to be familiar with how my name tastes on your tongue.” 

The touch and his words cause your nipples to harden and goosebumps to rise on your skin.

"Marcus,” you say. 

He’s in front of you again, his darkened eyes on yours. His big hands grip your waist, pulling you into him, and he shoves his face into the crook of your neck, feeling him inhale deeply. “Gods, you’re the best thing I’ve smelled in months.” The words are said against your flesh. “Like a meadow of flowers in Spring, and I fail to remember the last time I felt such softness.” He squeezes the fleshy handles at your hips and goes lower to grab handfuls of your ass, then runs his hands up your back. “Upon hearing your description,” he says, “I knew you’d be perfect, but what I imagined has no comparison to seeing your beauty with my own eyes.” His admission catches you off guard as it sounds as though he always intended to pick you from the line of women. It’s curious that he even invited the others if his mind had been set beforehand. He straightens, meeting your gaze. “Take off my clothes.” 

There's no need to reply; you just do as he ordered, getting his belt undone, the leather falling to the floor, then pulling his tunic over his head, it meeting the same fate as his belt. 

He’s completely nude, standing at his full height before you. 

You expected the scars etched all over his body, the evidence that he'd lay down his life for Rome without hesitation. There's a long, jagged one across his right pec, silvered with age, that has you forgetting yourself and softly pressing your fingertips to it.

He snatches your smaller hand, pulling it away from his marred skin. 

"My apologies," you quickly say, bowing your head in submission. "I shouldn't have touched you without permission." 

"You may touch me." Once again, he surprises you by putting the flat of your palm against the scar, his other hand grabbing your chin to lift your face. 

From his reaction to your fingers on him, you think he hasn’t been with a woman in quite some time, and you hope you can make up for all the nights he spent alone. 

It seems he's done with the pleasantries when his lips crush into yours. It's all of the encouragement you need, kissing him back while rubbing your palms up his broad chest, feeling his warmth. You snake a hand down his stomach through the trail of hair low on his belly to take his half-hard cock into your hand—he groans and twitches in your hold.

He truly has the Gods' favor—a talented General, handsome and well-endowed. 

With his hands on your waist, he walks you backward to the bed, laying you on the mattress. He's on top of you, deepening the kiss with his tongue pressing into your mouth, his hand palming your tit, making you wet with arousal and your body heat. 

It's fascinating how he's defying all of your expectations. The men who seek you out after spending months fighting are often rough and brutish, using you however they want to release their tension. There's never kissing or offers of drink; it's orders to suck their cocks, or to get on the bed in their desired position—and here's Marcus kissing down your body, along the skin of your neck to your chest. Most of his weight is on his knees between your legs while bending forward over you, and the only word you can think of to describe it is he's worshipping your breasts. He has them in his hands, moving from one to the other, licking, sucking, and nibbling on your nipples and soft skin, the sensations making your pussy weep with need. 

“Gods, Marcus,” you moan. He has you squirming with how good it feels, your fingers pushing into his curls. He takes a pebbled bud between his teeth and gently tugs. “Oh,” you gasp, your hands tightening in the tousled waves on his head.

He releases your nipple. “Harder,” he rasps, then flicks his tongue against your stiff peak, and you do as requested, pulling his hair harder. A loud groan rumbles from his chest as he continues laving at your tits, skimming his hand down your stomach, your skin tingling under his fingertips, until he’s sliding two fingers through your wet slit. You tighten your hold on his head, your toes curling when he starts rubbing your clit, and the realization hits that he intends for you to have just as much enjoyment as him. 

"Marcus," you whine.

He’s one of those men who has you praying that he’ll wish for your company again, and you wouldn’t even make him pay if you got another chance to warm his bed. 

The push of his thick digit into your pussy makes your breath hitch at the slight stretch, his thumb pressing to your sensitive bundle of nerves, moving side to side—you know he’s going to make you come, and you silently thank the Gods.

His finger is pushing in and out of you, his thumb continuing its movements, and he lifts his face to look you in the eyes, his own are so black there’s hardly a sliver of brown remaining. "Come for me," he commands, slipping a second digit inside you—you’re so wet you can hear the slick slide of his fingers pumping into you. The muscles in your belly are tightening, and the fire in your core is building. "Come for me, sweet girl." His head dips to lightly bite your nipple before soothing it with his tongue. "Once you come, I'll do as you wish and sheath my cock into this perfect cunt." 

The hot heat of his mouth envelops your pebbled bud, and he sucks—it's your undoing; your eyes close as you fall over the edge, coming with a moan of his name. His digits and mouth continue to extend your ecstasy while your chest heaves with labored breaths and your heart pounds. 

He lets go of your nipple with a wet pop, his hand sliding from your pussy, up your stomach, leaving a trail of your release on your skin. His voice deepens, “You’ve done well for me, and I keep my word—turn over.” 

He helps you to roll onto your front, and you get up onto your hands and knees—a familiar position. He takes a moment to admire you in front of him, his palms feeling the thickness of your thighs and hips. His fingers dig into your plump asscheeks as he spreads them and dips his head, hearing and feeling him spit between them, the hot saliva dripping from your asshole down to your opening. He shuffles up behind you, sliding his cock through the wetness of your come and his spit to lubricate himself, then notches it at your entrance—you both moan as he slowly starts feeding himself into you. 

Gods, he’s big. 

There’s a slight burn with how he’s stretching you, your inner walls having to accommodate his ample girth, and once he’s pressed all the way to the root inside you, a breath leaves you that you hadn't realized you'd been holding in. 

He has a tight grip on your waist and pulls out almost all the way, immediately pushing back into you hard enough there's a clap when his hips hit your ass. This was expected, Marcus setting up a rhythm that punches the air from your lungs each time he thrusts forward—he’s working out what he doesn’t wish to feel, and with how slippery it is between your legs, he's moving easily, and the brutal pace feels amazing. 

Many times, you’ve had to fake your enjoyment to make those employing you think they’re talented lovers—the majority are selfish in bed and care little about your comfort but want their egos stroked. Marcus, on the other hand, earned your favor when he took the time to ready you with his fingers and allowed you to climax. 

He's pounding into you, the collide of his body against yours making your asscheeks shake, and with how his cock is pressing into something truly divine, he’s also earned your screams of his name and whatever incoherent words are babbling from your mouth—he has you dizzy with pleasure, heat coiling in your belly, and there’s no doubting the Goddess of Beauty and Sex has given him her blessing. 

Sounds are spilling unbidden from your lips, Marcus loudly grunting with each stroke, the wet slap of skin hitting skin echoing in the room, and you look over your shoulder—the candlelight around the room shows the glisten of sweat on his golden skin. His head is thrown back, his eyes closed, and his jaw slack. Hair is sticking to his forehead, and a beautiful rosy flush has begun on his chest, rising up his neck to paint his cheeks. You can't think of another you've laid with who looked so breathtaking while taking their pleasure, and you could only imagine how glorious he’d look on the battlefield. You don't know what comes over you, reaching your hand back to touch his hip, and suddenly, he’s looking at you, his eyes glazed with lust. 

It’s as though he’s been in a trance, losing himself in your body, and now he’s come back to be in the moment with you. He falls forward, his hands sinking into the mattress on either side of you, blanketing your back and slowing his pace. His chin is on your shoulder, and he bites the shell of your ear; all of his weight goes onto one arm to free up the other that roughly grabs your breast and plucks at your nipple.

“You take me so well,” he says into your ear, his cock continuing to slide in and out of you. “Your sweet little cunt will milk me dry, and then I’ll have you again and again after that to keep you full of my seed.” 

His words steal a moan from your lips. 

“Does that please you, my sweet girl?” he asks. “You wish for more of me? Has another ever fucked you so good?” He gets his hand between your legs to circle the pearl of your pleasure, and your jaw drops, eyes closing—he’s going to make you come again. “Answer me,” he growls, lightly slapping your clit, and you clench around him. 

It’s challenging to think, but you say, “No,” and push your ass back against him as he thrusts forward, fucking yourself on him to get closer and closer to your end. “I’ve never had such fortune.” 

“You do now—by morning, I’ll have you ruined for any other man, and your cunt won’t soon forget the shape of my cock.” 

He means every word that slips from his tongue, and it sets the fire in your belly ablaze. You’re holding yourself up on shaky limbs, the muscles in your stomach knotting up—you’re close.

“Marcus,” you moan. 

His warm breath tickles your ear as he speaks into it: “I love how my name sounds from your lips. I know you’re close. Give in so I can feel you ascend to the heavens.” 

His words, the fullness of his thick shaft moving in and out of you, and his fingers swirling around your sensitive bundle at the apex of your thighs has you shattering—stars burst behind your eyelids as white-hot pleasure erupts in your center, your pussy clamping down on him hard enough he slows to a stop, and groans in your ear.

You exhale panted breaths, your heart beating rapidly, and the blissful euphoria ripples through your body, slowly ebbing away. 

Somehow, you find your voice, "Allow me to ride you." 

He kisses your shoulder, his beard scratching against your bare skin. "You want to mount me?" he asks. 

"Yes."

"Then you shall." 

He pulls out of you, an achy groan leaving him as he lies beside you on his back, and you get up onto your knees. He draws your attention with how he’s splayed out on the mattress, his long legs slightly spread and arms crossed over his head. His cock is still hard, it shiny with your juices, and resting against his lower belly, cushioned by the tantalizing path of hair that led directly to it—and he’s looking up at you, his eyes dark with want that keep lowering to your bosom, and back up to your eye line, the pink of his tongue wetting his bottom lip, that you suddenly wish to bite. 

There’s the common knowledge about Marcus all of Rome is aware of—the family he comes from and the military achievements that have led to him being the victorious General the Gods have blessed the city with, and now you’re versed in his more private attributes—he likes his women to be sturdy with sizeable breasts, he enjoys the pleasurable pain of his hair pulled, he’s a generous lover, he prefers to be in control unless you can tempt him enough to hand over the reins. It’s quite tempting for him to lie back and watch your tits bounce as you ride him. 

Shuffling in place to face him, taking his hard length in hand—he didn’t ask, and you didn’t offer, yet you want to take care of him like he took care of you, so you scoot back enough that you can bend down at the waist, wrapping your lips around the tip of his cock.

The sound of Marcus’ loud moan and the way his back arches as if it were the string of a bow shoots straight to your cunt—you can taste the mix of your essence and his arousal that’s steadily dribbling from the sensitive head that you lick and suckle; your hand easily stroking up and down the sheath of skin on his shaft. The muscles in his thighs and stomach have tensed like it’s taking everything in him to hold back and not fill your mouth with his come.

“Enough,” he grits the order through his teeth, and his palm lands on the side of your ass with a hard slap that echoes against the walls, the sharp sting getting a moan out of you—your head lifts off of him to see he’s scowling. “I’m not spilling down your throat,” he continues and smacks your ass again. “Ride me, or I’ll have you under me.” 

“Apologies, Marcus,” you reply demurely and sit up on your knees once more. Quickly, you move, throwing a leg over his waist to have your thick thighs hugging his hips. You rise, grabbing his cock, you press to your entrance, and you watch his face as you slowly start to impale yourself on him, relishing in how his mouth falls open and the tight grip he has on the meat of your thighs, his fingers digging into them hard enough it bordered on painful. 

The fullness is incredible when you sit flush against him, and you love how he fills you. Your palms find purchase on his broad chest, and you rise until only the tip of him remains inside of you, and you drop back down—the rhythm you set has you moving in his lap, up and down in quick succession, Marcus groaning, his eyes locked on the jiggle of your breasts. 

Sweat forms on your skin, feeling it on your forehead and a single drop sliding down your spine, your eyes closed as you focus, your moans stuttering each time you sink onto him. 

His hands are resting on your backside, rising and falling with you, his voice rough with pleasure, “That’s it, ride me, bounce on my cock.”

This isn’t about you, and though it feels good riding him, your goal is helping him achieve his own high, and you’re determined to do so—your hands leave him to press your tits together, and you gasp in surprise when he sits up and shoves his face into them. Your pace doesn’t waver, and you look at him to see he’s keeping himself up with an arm braced on the bed behind him, the other hand grabbing a handful of your ass, and you know he’s not going to last much longer. 

Your fingers slide into the unruly curls at the back of his head, and you yank them hard to make him look at you, Marcus hissing while his cock twitches inside you. In this position, you’re taller, and he gazes up to meet your eyes. 

“I want you to come,” you pant, continuing to fuck yourself on him. “I want to feel you flood my cunt with your seed.” The noise he makes sounds like a whine. “Then I want you to do it again, and again after that—I want you to fill me to the point I’m brimming with you, and you’re in me for days.” 

He squeezes his eyes shut as he groans out a long, drawn-out Fuck

With his beautiful neck on display, you duck your head and lick up the taut skin of his throat, wishing you could suck a mark into it to remind him of you for a while after you part ways. His free hand roughly grabs your chin to pull you close enough for him to slot his lips against yours, and you have to slow to a grind as he messily kisses you, shoving his tongue into your mouth. 

He breaks away to fall back onto the mattress, his fingers getting a tight grip on your ass, the muscles in his arms flexing as he lifts you enough to start thrusting up into your soaked pussy rapidly—he’s grunting while baring his teeth to chase his high, and all you can do is press your palms to his chest for balance while keeping yourself raised enough for him to pound into you. 

The slick push and pull of him, moving in and out of you, has you chanting his name, and it sounds wet between your legs, hearing the clap of skin on skin of him plowing into you. Perspiration makes his tan flesh glint under the candle's light, his hair is a mess atop his head, and his expression is wild; it’s no surprise when his strokes get uneven and his eyes close. Marcus tugs your ass down to bury himself as far as possible in you as he gives in, coming with a guttural groan—you feel his cock jerk and the wet pulse as he paints your insides with spurts and spurts of his spend, wringing himself out until his body goes completely lax.

He pulls you forward to lie on top of him, wrapping his arms around your middle, and turns you both onto your sides. There’s a hiss that slips from his lips when he removes his softening length from your cunt, and you smile at Marcus sliding down the bed far enough for his face to nuzzle in your bosom while hugging you tight. Your fingers stroke through his sweat-damp curls, his hums of appreciation sounding like the purr of a cat. 

Minutes pass in silence as your breaths even out and your hearts slow. After some time, he says something you can’t make out.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you,” you reply. 

His head lifts, and he kisses under your chin. “Stay,” he says again. 

“I have no intention of leaving. I’m here until you send me away.” 

“And if I don’t wish to send you away?” 

His lips trail along your jaw. 

Your eyebrows pull together. “As I said, I’m here until you request my leave.” 

“And if I never request your leave?” 

He’s kissing your neck now, the question making your eyes round. “You intend for me to be your mistress?” 

It’s not uncommon for a courtesan to become one’s mistress. Some of you are from families of wealth and do this line of work for the powerful connections, while others are freedwomen who’ve worked their way up to earn their notoriety—either case, courtesans are respected and thought to make great mistresses. 

“That is all I can offer since I have no plans to marry,” he answers. “You can stay here with or without me when I’m ordered away, and whatever is left of my salary and spoils of war after the household debts are paid, you may keep.”

He makes you frown. 

“Why me?”

Marcus gets his arm out from under you and scoots up the mattress to look you in the eyes. 

“You’re everything I desire in a woman with your beauty and intellect, and you can sate my needs in bed—you’re perfect, and I want you all to myself. I do not wish to share you with anyone else.”

It’s in this moment you realize you’re the one in control here—you don’t need him, you’re self-sufficient, and there are many who’d eagerly take his place, but your looks are rare in your profession, and he needs his deal to be enticing enough for you to take it. 

“What if I decline your offer?” 

“Then I pray you’ll allow me to keep your company until I receive my next orders.” 

He seems to be a good, honorable man who wants to please you, and he had you tempted to accept on the merit of his skills in bed alone—there’s just something that won’t leave your mind. 

“Before I make my decision, answer this question: if you believe me to be so perfect, why were the others here?” 

He presses his large palm to your cheek. “It was in your power to deny me your company, and though the other women weren’t of my tastes, they were better than nothing.” 

You see no flaws in his answer. 

“I accept your offer on one condition.”

“And that is?”

You no longer find him intimidating, and you’re now comfortable brushing errant hairs off his forehead and sliding your fingers through the curls above his ears. 

Your eyes lock onto his. “You return home to me,” you tell him. “You fight with the might of Mars, and you always return home to me.” 

That earns you a small smile, and he takes your hand into his, kissing the center of your palm. 

“I will, my Dove.” 

Masterlist

Thank you for reading! If you’d like to be tagged in my fics, please fill out the form in my bio, on my masterlist, or just let me know!

[evilgwrl]

DBF!John Price x Reader

Daddy’s Girl

Summary: He’s supposed to be your dad’s best friend…

CW: DADDY KINK, PIV unprotected sex (use contraception irl), breeding kink, age gap (u r legal.), size kink if u squint, degradation, praise, sub/dom undertones, public flashing of your coochie, fingering, breast play, abuse of power ?

It was so wrong.

So, so wrong.

Maybe that’s why you did it, for the thrill, the burning satisfaction that reeks through you, curling under every vessel as you stare at him with those oh-so-innocent eyes. You watched him from across the backyard, broad muscles bulging out of his shirt, almost too tight as they squeezed against his biceps like a vice, snaking veins out of his battered and scarred skin.

John was a friend of your father’s, a good one at that, always being invited to the family barbeques and he’s canoodled amongst family members and close friends, working his way around the room with a cocky confidence that only spurred your thoughts on. There was a beer gripped in his right hand, a smug smile on his face as he cracked a joke with your dad, both blabbering on about God knows what.

He was attractive, his hair a mocha brown, slight strays of grey sneaking their way into an occasional strand. His moustache was thick, hair connecting across his face, complimented by a thick beard that merged into his sideburns. Cerulean eyes occasionally darted to you, observing you as you watched him with a sweet expression, twirling your hair as you blatantly checked him out.  

You were sat on a lawn chair that faced him, everyone else mingling amongst one another, leaving you alone. A sundress adorned your skin, hugging your features in a flattering way as the bright colours complimented you.  He turned away from the grill, standing in your direction as he nursed the beer to his thin lips, his stare penetrating through you. Your legs uncrossed, twitchy fingers pulling at the hem as it glided up your thighs, your game almost dangerous if anyone saw you.

You watched his chest rumble as he cleared his throat (which was an obvious decoy), eyes glancing away as you let out a shallow laugh, his reaction stirring something dark through you. Your dress rested at the very top of your thigh, legs clamped together as you waited for his steady eyes to fall back onto you.

Like clockwork, they did.

Your legs cocked up slightly, your dress slipping up more skin before you spread your legs, lack of panties evident as your folds glistened under a peak of sun. You watched his knuckles turn white as he gripped the glass bottle, eyes furrowing in both shock and another emotion you couldn’t quite place.

You adjusted your dress, standing up as you walked over to the man and your father, an innocent smile adorning your face as you shielded your eyes from the sun.

“Nearly ready, daddy?” You asked, talking to your father yet staring right at his friend.

“Nearly, sweetheart. Bout 10 minutes. You hungry?”

“Starving,” you said, licking your lips as you walked away, brushing past John as you headed inside, practically begging him internally to follow, your hips sashaying in a poor attempt to further seduce the older man.

Shaky hands poured the champagne into a flute, bubbles sizzling through the air as you raised the glass to your lips before a rough cough interrupted you, the liquid splashing down your chin as it dribbled onto your display of cleavage. You turned around, your eyes almost widening as you took in the sheer size of Price, thick arms crossed over his chest as he glared at you. You didn’t miss the way he glanced down at your wet chest before he looked back up at you.

“You playing a game with me, sweetheart?”

“No, sir. What makes you say that?” You ask, faux purity lacing your tone as you lean over the kitchen island, breasts pressed against the marble as you look at him.

John stepped close at an alarming rate, heavy footsteps pounding against the floor as he approached you, fist curling around your hair as he tilted your head up harshly.

“Playing a dangerous game, darling, something you’re not fit for.”

“Anything can fit with a little bit of effort,” you smiled, staring up at him.

His movements were rough as he lifted your dress, bare ass exposed as he cracked a hand down on it before groping it harshly, nails digging into the flesh as he growled against your neck, facial hair tickling you as you gasped at the sudden impact.

“John-“

Another slap.

“Not my fucking name, is it? What’s my fucking name?”

“S-Sir?”

Another slap.

“Too much of a whore to use your brain?”

“No daddy,” you whined before he smiled against your skin, teeth nibbling against your flesh as he fondled with your ass, admiring the red prints, the stain of his hand print.

“That’s it, maybe you’re smarter than I thought.”

“Not here,” you whined, pressing your ass closer to his hands as he ground his pants into the crevice, bulge pressing against you with a hard poke. He let out a huff before pulling your dress down, both of you eagerly descending up the stairs to your room.

John’s hands were all over you, pulling your dress down your chest as he wrapped a hand around your neck, holding you in place as he licked at your cleavage, cleaning up the sticky champagne that stuck to you.

Your nipples pebbled in the air as you whined, his spare hand tweaking one as you bucked your hips. “Need you to fuck me, daddy,” you mewled, a growl leaving his throat as he tugged you over with ease to your bed, sliding the rest of your dress off before it was discarded into a pile of clothes.

“Desperate whore, aren’t you? Showing me your pussy while I’m standing next to your father? How many of his other friends have you done that too?”

His tone was rough as his fingers found your pussy, smearing around your slick in a messy manner as he tightened the grip around your throat.

“None,” you hissed as he toyed with your clit before delivering a harsh slap to it, the pain jolting through your body as you jumped.

“None who?” He snarled as he dipped a finger into your heat, curling it around as he felt your gummy walls.

“None daddy, just you- fuck.”

Another finger worked their way through you as you moaned pornographically, eyes rolling back as he rubbed against your sweet spot, pleasure multiplying through you as you rolled your hips.

“You fuck up again and I’ll leave you here like this, understand me?”

“Yes daddy,” you cooed, staring up at him with fanned lashes.

He grumbled out a ‘good girl’ as he began to quicken his pace, fingers moulding inside you as you slurred out a mix of moans and whines, your lip tucked between your teeth as blue eyes watched you.

John’s mouth dived down to your chest as he held a hand at your throat still, his squeeze tight as he relentlessly fucked you with his fingers. A sensitive nipple was wet by the flat of his tongue before it was curled into his mouth, teeth grazing against it as you yelped, arousal leaking out of you like a faucet.

The coil in your stomach began to build, simmering inside you as your hips worked with his pace, eyes a bleak white as they rolled into your skull at the intensity of the feeling before it was gone, orgasm broiling away with a disappointing sensation as John slid his fingers out, slick coating them in an arrogant fashion as he pulled them apart, admiring the webs that weaved between his digits.

John was quick to rid his pants, letting them pool at his ankles as he glared at you, almost begging you with his eyes to complain so he could bend you over his knee and spank you raw.

You crawled up the bed, thighs twitching with eagerness before his hands were at your ankles, pulling you towards the edge in a dominant fashion as he took in the way your breasts jiggled at the movement.

“You gonna be good for me? Gonna let daddy split this pussy, hm?”

“Y-Yes daddy,” you stuttered out, asshole soaked in your own slick that pooled between your bruised cheeks.

“Good little slut,” he smirked before he was gripping his cock through his boxers, precum staining next to the mushroom head in a lewd manner before they were pulled down, heavy cock slapping against his t-shirt as you whined.

He was big, his girth almost scaring you as it flushed a deep red, multiple veins running across the shaft that connected with thick curls of dark pubes, his balls hanging as he leaked at the sight of you, so complacent underneath him.

Slowly, he lowered his cock, pressing it against your hole as you winced, gripping onto his large bicep as he towered over you, pulling away from your lips to look at you.

“You ready?”

“Yes daddy, please-“

His cock split through you inch by inch as he slid it into the tight crevice, walls expanding to his sheer size as you whined, a hand pushing against his chest as you gagged into the air at the burn.

“Move your hand,” John growled, nipping at your wrist as you complied, wrapping it around the back of his head as you gasped, the stretch searing through you.

“Too fucking big, daddy. I- can’t-“

“You can fucking take it.”

In a swift movement, he had bottomed out, a cry shedding from your lips as you shifted underneath his large frame, your legs still spread without your hands now as you clutched onto him.

His hips began to move, pulling out almost all the way before he rocked back into you, knocking the wind out of your lungs as you bit down on the air. He gradually fastened his pace, balls slapping against the back of your ass as crude slurps of your pussy squelched against the walls of the room, the sound bouncing from ear to ear as you moaned.

“F-Fuck daddy,” you slurred, your brows furrowed as you looked down, watching the way your pussy absorbed his cock, the length disappearing into you.

“Tight fucking pussy, all for me- all for fucking daddy.”

You nodded, the pleasure causing you to blabber as you whaled out noises, barely able to form a sentence. Your walls were gripping down on his cock as he worked into you, eager to coat your walls a pearly white, staining you with his seed.

“Oh my god,” you babbled as you lowered a hand to your clit, rubbing it with fervour as he pounded into you mercilessly, “don’t stop daddy, please.”

“You gonna let me cum in this pussy, sweetheart? Gonna make me an actual daddy?”

“Ye-yes daddy, please fill me up-“

He growled at your utter submission, hips bruising against yours as his pace fastened, the coil from before building again at a quickening rate as you cried out at the feeling, clit pulsing under your touch.

It wasn’t long before the build up snapped, clit throbbing with eagerness as your moan broke into the air, your head thrown back as you clawed at his back, orgasm ripping through you as your walls clenched around him deliciously, eager to milk his cock as he groaned.

“Good fucking girl, making such a mess on Daddy’s dick,” he spat, kissing you as he fucked you through your release, your body spasming as your thighs wrapped around him harder, locking him in place as his thrusts grew sloppy.

“Gonna ruin this pussy with my cum, plant a fucking baby in you- all fucking mine.”

“All yours daddy-“ you slurred, holding onto him before he stilled, a gush of cum pumping through your pussy as he painted your walls with thick coats of ivory, a whine leaving you as you clutched onto him harder.

John stayed inside you as you both panted, his arms resting against your face as he pressed a light kiss to your forehead in a comforting manner. You laughed, pecking his lips as he slowly pulled out, cum leaking from your abused cunt.

Your body ached as you winced at the empty feeling, almost desperate to have him back inside you.

“You got tissues, sweetheart?”

“Mhm, in my drawer-“

There was a light tap on the door before a familiar voice called out to you, “Honey, the foods gonna get cold, what’s holding you up in there?”

[tohokuu]

there’s only one bed left - tengen, akaza, rengoku, giyuu

REBLOG MY WORK.

warnings : suggestive, fluff, smut in giyuu’s

a/n : they’re so cute and fluffy i love and omg k want this to happen to me so bad. also, can you guys tell i love akaza???

TENGEN

you and your current boyfriend had offered to take you on a vacation to turkey. you agreed, happily ready to see the mountains and planes of turkey. upon arrival at the hotel, tengen took both of your suitcases, handing them to the bus boy that was at the door to carry your luggage for you.

“tengen, i could’ve held it.” you insisted. he shook his head. “it’s not very flashy.”

you raised an eyebrow, sighing and giving up because there was never any good reason to argue with him and win.

you two walked up to the reception, a kind old man standing behind the counter.

“a reservation for uzui tengen, please.” tengen crooned. his body seemed giddy and the hair on his arms rose. maybe he was cold?

the bus boy carried your luggage onto a cart. you felt bad for him. no one was helping him and he was pushing a card with a total of 12 suitcases with him. he couldn’t see ahead of him but neither tengen helped him, nor did he allow you to.

you pursed your lips, hoping the awkward silence would pass by quickly in the elevator.

at the ding of the elevator, you all stepped out and tengen was gracious enough to carry 4 suitcases on his own, not even breaking a sweat.

his work out routine was rough.

upon arrival, you looked into the large spacious king suite. two beds settled into each side of the room, 5 feet of space between both of them.

tengen walked through the threshold in shock. the smile on his face replaced with a shocked and confused expression.

he threw his arms out forward, bending and looking at the two beds.

“what the fuck!? i asked for one bed!”

AKAZA

“there’s only one room left and it’s got a single queen sized bed.” the receptionist said as she looked up at you and akaza.

you and him turned to look into each others eyes, dumbfounded expressions on your face.

“uhm… are you sure there aren’t any more?” he asked her. she shook her head. “i’ve checked twice, sir. this is the only room available. there will be more later tomorrow.”

you observed your situation. would you drive through the pouring snow for another hour for the next hotel, or sleep in your car and risk freezing to death?

what could you do? because you’d rather sleep on the edge of a volcano than sleep in the same bed as akaza.

not that you hated him or anything. it was his sheer attractiveness that pulled you in. he was so handsome and so sweet and respectful, but he was also strong and kind.

there was nothing to dislike and that’s exactly what bothered you. you liked him.

so how could you be able to handle sleeping with him??

“does the room come with a couch?” he asked. the receptionist shook her head.

“i’m afraid not, sir. there’s only one room available with one bed.”

akaza sighed and looked at you. “we can stay if you’d like, or i can go find a different hotel .” he quickly offered. you shook your head.

“it’s too cold, akaza. just stay here, we’ll figure it out.”

-

just like that, you two are forced to be in close proximity together. akaza had tried to take the floor but the cold marble was freezing and you’d rather not make him suffer through that.

so your next option was to sleep together with pillows put in between you two as a barrier.

the silence was awkward.

there was so much tension, it could have been cut with a knife. sleep wouldn’t come easy either, you were too stressed … and a little bit hot.

“akaza, it’s hot in here.” you whined. he sighed, knowing it was because the hotel had racked the heater up so high and the pillows and blankets you used to separate yourselves wasn’t helping.

“let’s get rid of the pillows, then.” there was hesitation in his voice. he wasn’t completely sure if you’d be okay with taking the pillows down. you sighed, thinking with your cunt instead.

“it’s perfectly fine.” you smiled, leaning back on your elbows as you stared at him from across your little wall.

the pillows were thrown on to the floor by the both of you in a comical manner. you pushed the comforter down a bit, revealing your tiny shorts and crop top.

this felt a lot better.

but akaza warmed up. he realized how close to naked you were lying next to him on this big bed. what was to stop him if he wanted you?

his brain, of course.

“can we cuddle?” he asked. his voice was filled with that same hesitation from earlier. you turned your head to look at him.

“what?” you asked.

even in the moonlight, you could see the redness of his cheeks and the way his long lashes fluttered over his blue eyes.

“nothing, i-… i just-“

your wave of confidence washed over you as you turned towards him, hooking one leg over his waist and wrapping your arms around his neck.

his body was frigid. he didn’t know what to do. your own was excruciatingly hot because how on earth did you manage to do this?

a moment of silence and pure awkwardness passed by until his arms wrapped around you, a little bit tighter as he nuzzled his face into your neck.

“you smell good.” you two whispered at the same time. a laugh booming into the air as you realized your mistake. he laughed too, eyes shutting closed while peacocks formed at the corner of his eyes.

he looked back at you, smiling in content in this position he got himself in.

a hand trailed up your neck and as if the world has slowed down and the wind had began to blow, you felt the searing touch of akaza’s lips slot against yours.

you whimpered into his mouth, kissing back with just as much passion. he held onto your face he tenderly, cradling it as though you might break.

“i like you.” he whispered against your lips.

“i like you more.”

RENGOKU

“rengokuuuu!!” you wailed. he turned to look at you, his eyebrows knitted in concern.

“what happened, y/n?” the orange haired male asked.

you pouted, explaining to him that there was only one cabin left and the cabin only had one bed. rengoku smiled as if there were no issues. “that’s quite alright. i can take the couch!”

you shook your head. “no, absolutely not. i’d feel terrible.” the smile never faltered from his face. he was an endless ray of sunshine that kept you warm for days.

“don’t worry, my dear y/n. we’ll figure it out. don’t worry.”

-

you wondered how he’d ended up in your bed. he was shirtless, hair sprawled out messily on the pillowcase and his abs were on full display.

you lay against him, his arm pulling you over his chest. then you looked down…

‘why am i fucking naked??’

rengoku was also naked… does that mean you two?..

you looked in the corner at the empty bottle of whiskey. your face felt impossibly hot but a wet feeling erupted in between your legs at the idea of rengoku being the one to pleasure you.

still, you sat there in shock. how could you have spent a night with rengoku and not even remember it?! this was absolutely atrocious.

“good morning, my flower.” a voice interrupted your thoughts. it was deep, coming from the broad chest of the man you slept with last night.

“g-good morning, rengoku…” you replied, swallowing an awkward lump in your throat.

“rengoku, did we… did we fuck last night?” you asked him sheepishly, holding the bed spread tightly to your chest. he looked confused, still half asleep.

he peered one eye open, looking to check if he was nude.

he was.

with that, he shot up. a blush enflamed his cheeks. what the fuck..he thought.

“n-no.. i didn’t just fuck you for the first time and not remember it.” he whined, worry deeply set in his voice. you calmed him down, rubbing a soft hand up and down his chest.

“we have many more opportunities to make love again.” you reasoned. you had been with the man for just a few months, wanting to take it slow and surely not sleep with each other until you were both ready but this… this was quite different than what you planned.

“i know, but angel, this was the first time.” he whined softly.

you pulled his head onto your chest. running your fingers through his hair, trying to get him to stop being mean to himself.

“it’s okay, baby.” you cooed. “we have all the time in the world, don’t worry.”

“well in that case…you wanna go round 2 right now?”

GIYUU

“there’s only one room left, sir.” the receptionist called out. giyuu sighed. “we’ll take that one.” he didn’t give you much of a choice. dragging your luggage and his with him up the elevator, he hadn’t said a word.

you figured he was already quite annoyed about the pompous amount of rain outside. you two were traveling for a meeting and the rain had delayed both of you. it bothered him endlessly that he was going to miss such an important meeting.

you chose not to speak, not wanting to irritate the quiet male.

he set down your luggage on the side, next to the bed. his clothes came off next. jacket, sweater and a black tank top that he chose to leave on. he took off his jeans, lounging around in plain black boxers.

“take the bed. i’ll be fine on the couch.” he grumbled. you nodded, heading to the bathroom to change into something more comfortable to sleep in.

-

you walked back out in a large t shirt and panties. you figured it didn’t matter much because your t shirt was so big that it reached the middle of your thigh, anyway.

but giyuu saw. he was turned towards you when you reached down to put your phone on charging, your ass on clear display for him.

he breathed sharply through his nose. it was simply a bad idea to even have turned facing your direction. he felt his dick semi-hard.

turning around, he ignored it, choosing peace instead.

it was later that night that something woke him up. was it the rush of heavy rain? the hotel telephone? or … heavy breathing coming from your side of the room.

he quietly listened, steadying his own breathing.

his eyes widened as he heard everything that fell from your lips, dick straining against his boxers.

fuck.

you were touching yourself… to the thought of him.

the mewls were hushed, doing your best to keep quiet. the air was hot and heavy and when he slowly peeked to look over, he saw you with your legs spread. they stretched far apart as your pretty pussy was on display. he could hear how wet you were, fingers sloshing around in the mess inside of you.

“g-giyuu…” you breathed heavily. he couldn’t help but trail his own hand to his cock, rubbing it uncomfortably against the palm of his large hands.

“f-feels so good.” you whined softly.

he could only imagine. he could think of 10 different ways that he could make you cum. 10 different ways to make you go stupid and crying for him and his cock.

he rutted against his palm harder, trying to keep the grunts of pleasure in. he was so close to his orgasm, just needed a bit more, and you gave it to him.

“ ‘m gonna cum so hard,, g-giyuu..” you cried softly, the tears in your voice apparent.

then what giyuu got up, trailing his way to your bed. he pulled the covers farther down, revealing your calves.

your eyes shot open as you stopped, the pleasure long gone.

“g-giyuu, this isn’t what it looks like- i swear!” you shouted.

he put a hand over your mouth.

“shut up, i’ll take care of you now.”

REBLOG MY WORK.

taglist form.

©️ tohokuu. do not steal or plagiarize.

[oneofreid]

Under the Table

Summary: Smut without any plot.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: (18+ Content) Handjob, oral with m receiving, explicit language, unprotected sex, p in v, all the good stuff, Spencer being the secret dom we all know (and don’t deny it, love), use of calling a man daddy lol, etc.

A/N: raw. next. (if you saw the first draft where i had a typo, no you didn’t) k, here’s my masterlist

“Good girl….that’s a good fucking girl.”

You moaned in response, shoving his cock even further down your throat. The enlarged veins rubbing your mouth completely raw while you gagged on his above average size. Still shocked at how such a lean, and to be honest skinny, man could fit that into his pants.

Struggling to fit all of him in, his hand grabbed a fist full of your hair to steady himself. Leaning his head back to close his eyes, clenching his jaw from the overwhelming yet exhilarating feeling of your lips wrapped around his shaft.

“Fuck, yes. Just like that, baby,” Spencer Reid moaned.

The cool marble tile of his hotel room floor making yours knees ache. Yet, you could care as you continued to swirl your tongue around his shaft, your mouth growing sore due to the weight and size of him. His cock slipping out of your mouth just before the tip only for him to thrust full force. Jamming the back of your throat while tears continuously ran down your cheeks.

His warm brown eyes never leaving your teary eyed ones. The sight of you bruising your precious knees as you took every inch of his cock sending him absolutely feral.

“You take me so well, honey,” Spencer praised, “Mouth full of me. You like that huh? I can only picture how beautiful your pussy would look wrapped around it.”

A strangled moan escaped from your mouth, your thighs already flooded with your own arousal at the thought of you bouncing on his dick. Or your legs over his shoulders as he deeply penetrated the furthest parts of you pushing you to climax.

His hand softly caressed your jaw while you stared up at him, a sight he would truly never get tired of. Seeing you submit yourself to him. His thrusts only gaining more momentum, more sloppy with every hit that it took towards the back of your throat.

Every moan that escaped from your mouth vibrating off the base of his cock. Pushing him further and further towards his own high that he chased.

Feeling one last twitch of his cock before his release spilled all over your tongue. Slowly retracting his dick from your mouth. Your eyes still completely on him as you swallowed every last bit of his cum. The bitter, yet sweet and familiar taste, lacing your throat with some relief.

Spencer brushed his thumb against your cheek, wiping the remaining tears that had fallen. Slowly collecting the saliva and left over cum that had dripped down your chin, grazing his thumb against your bottom lip while you sucked on it.

He couldn’t help but smirk, cock still at your eye level as he slowly began to pump himself. Rubbing his own hand up and down his already hardening cock. “What do you want darling?”

Growing impatient (and more needy) at the cocky and unbearable teasing man who stroked his own dick in front of you. Your thighs still completely covered in arousal as your knees continued to dig into the floor. Desperate to feel him deep inside of you. You snapped, “You know exactly what I want.”

His eyes furrowed, your heart sinking as you realized the mistake you had just made. If there was anything about Spencer Reid, he hated your sometimes spoiled and bratty attitude when you were horny.

“I would watch that pretty little mouth of yours, darling. You wouldn’t want me to give you a lesson on manners, right?” Spencer taunted.

Yanking you by the arm to stand off the floor you had grow very accustomed to within the last thirty minutes since you have arrived. Pulling you towards him in a heartbeat, his lips fiercely kissed you. Hungry to taste you, the lingering taste of his own cum still on yours. Lips melting over your own as he bit your bottom lip roughly, earning a moan from you. Slipping his tongue into yours while moving your sweaty bodies towards the bed.

The back of your knees hitting the plush white comforter before Spencer tugged you down. Hovering over top of your already naked form as he continued to pepper kisses along the side of your jaw.

Your hands roamed the chiseled muscles of his chest only to fall to palm his dick. Pumping his cock with your own hand, up and down, gripping ever so slightly as you reached towards the tip of his cock. Leaving him completely breathless while he sucked on the skin of your left breast. His tongue finding its way to circle your nipple, drawing intricate patterns.

“I need you,” you managed to get out in between the collection of moans that came from you two.

Moving yourself to straddle him, placing each of your thighs on either side of his legs. Grinding your hips forward as his erection ran slid across your slick folds.

Spencer’s breathe hitched, “You’re fucking insane.”

You had no time to respond before Spencer grabbed you by your hips to place you on your back. Placing your legs up to your chest as he centered his dick to your entrance before pushing you deep into the white plush comforter.

Giving you no time to adjust as he thrusted roughly in and out of you. Looking down at the delicious sight of your soaked cunt taking him completely whole.

Your eyes rolled towards the back of your head. Mewling at the sensation of his cock stretching your velvet walls, the tip hitting your center in spots it has never reached before. Spencer’s mix of praises and degrading remarks sending you completely over the edge.

“You like it when I fuck you like this? Yeah.”

“Who has the biggest dick? You know nobody can fuck you the way that I can, I make you feel so good”

“My dick looks so good inside of you”

“You take it so well, baby. Just one more.”

“That’s it, sweet girl. About to have you struggling to walk for days.”

“Who’s gonna be daddy’s good girl and wait till I let her come?”

Gasping for air, you struggled to regulate your breathing as your stomach tightened. The coil building as Spencer continued to pound into you. Your hands still restrained by his grip on yours as you cried out to touch him.

“Spencer, please….Please. I can’t.” You cried.

His loose hair falling over his face while his warm brown eyes stared lovingly, hungrily at your own. Another stream of his release building in his stomach as he watched you plead for him to let you come.

“I’ll tell you when to come,” he demanded. Continuing to thrust into you. At this point, you were sure you were starting to see actual stars.

Becoming a withering mess underneath him, you sobbed as you begged Spencer to let you come. The pressure that grew in your stomach becoming all too much.

“Please, Spenc-“

“I told you to wait. Now be a good fucking girl or else I’m never going to let you come.”

Your walls clenched around him causing his cock to twitch inside of you. Spencer’s thrust becoming rapid and lousy as he dipped his head down to finally press his lips onto yours.

One last moan leaving his lips as he filled you up. His cum coating your walls as his cock continued to pulse inside of you. The warm sensation dripping down your thighs.

Spencer broke apart from your heated kiss, pressing his forehead against yours, nodding at you. Giving you the approval to come around him as you ran your hand through his curls. Deepening the kiss between you two as you moaned into his mouth, finally reaching your own high. His last few thrusts sending electric shocks through your body.

His sweaty body falling on top of yours. As you both laid there, your chests heaving up and down from the sudden rush. Spencer looked up at you, reaching up to brush a few damp strands of your hair from your forehead. Placing a delicate kiss on your temple.

Lust still clouded his warm eyes as he longed into your gaze. His cock twitching for another orgasm from you, missing the feeling of your warm cunt soaking his length.

Pressing your lips to his, you moved to straddle Spencer’s lap again. Grinding your hips against his again, rubbing your palms down his broad shoulders. Slowly working your way to squeeze his triceps, his cock twitching at the touch.

Spencer sucked in a breathe, “You’re such a tease.”

Sucking in your own breathe, you began to roll your hips on his groin. Feeling him grow hard beneath you with every circular motion you made. Your pussy beginning to soak him in your arousal once more as you toyed with him.

His patience wearing thin as his hands gripped your waist. “What are you doing?”

Cutting him off before he could get an answer out of you, you pushed your lips onto his. Lifting your hips slightly while your one hand guided his tip into your entrance. Sinking down as you adjusted to his immaculate size again, a moan erupting from the both of you. The exhilarating and electric feeling of being connected once again surging through you both. You continued to bounce up and down as Spencer bottomed you out. Thrusting into you from underneath. His hands roaming to touch every part of your body, from your thighs to your breasts.

Both of you becoming a heated mess all over again as you continued to find your rhythm. Allowing yourself to explore each new angle he hit with every thrust as you bounced on top of him.

One hand against the headboard while the other gripped his shoulder for support. The coil in both of your stomachs quickly forming. A sign that you were both reaching your peak.

You watched each other intently as you both came completely undone. A combination of both of your cum dripping down your thighs and over his lap. Moaning, panting, and a spill of profanities that surely the room across could hear. Yet, you didn’t care.

Catching your breathe, you just laid there on top of Spencer with no energy to climb off of him. Finally taking time to recover before one of your many orgasms of the night. His brown eyes never once leaving yours as he traced pattens and shapes on your sides.

[lokisgoodgirl]

Teenage Dream [Loki x Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: A trip to Asgard means a visit to Loki's childhood bedroom - and his teenage fantasy. (w/c 1.9k) Warnings: 18+ only. Loki x Female Reader. Established relationship. Smut. Body fluids etc etc. Language.

“This is your childhood bedroom?!” Loki’s arms spread wider, turning in a lazy circle as you gape at the high ceilings and golden cornicing. Open archways lead to a balcony which runs along the full side of one wall, Asgard sprawling below in afternoon sunlight. It’s huge.

“What did you expect?” Loki shoots a lovingly indignant look over his shoulder. “Some kind of hovel-sized quarter the kind of which Stark has bestowed on Lang?”

His boots thud in quick succession on polished marble before he jumps through the air and lands on the modest queen-size with a bounce – a hand balled at his temple. The sheets have clearly been replaced since he last laid in it, but old habits die hard. The green and gold of his colours is in full effect in this room from the curtains to the tapestries and the quilt draped across the mattress. “Lie with me,” he says, looking up through his lashes. “Please?”

Something about seeing Loki dressed in his, what he still calls, ‘Midgard garms’ suddenly seems ridiculous in one of Asgard’s royal bedchambers. A pair of tight black jeans cling to his muscles, denim shifting as he draws one knee over the other to rest on the bed. His forest green t-shirt has ridden up at his lower stomach, a victim of the obscene measurements of his stretching body. He chuckles lightly, making a thick line of his obliques tighten as he slips his fingers further into mussed hair. "I told you I was a prince," he says sheepishly.

You make your way to the bed and he flips to his back, releasing a happy groan as you straddle him. His eyelids droop, a flash of his upper teeth as he bites his bottom lip. "Frigga will be expecting us," you say as you roll your hips against his crotch. "Uhhh...gods-" he grunts, large palms rubbing up your thighs tight on either side of his chest. ‘Frigga can wait. I said I would give you a tour, and give you a tour...I shall.’ "Not from down there you won’t."

You yelp as Loki sits up and his lips fasten to yours, hand cradling the back of your head and forcing you in a violent kiss. He bites your bottom lip, sucking out gently. You moan softly as his hands begin to rub your thighs again. He’s needy. The sentimentality of bringing you Asgard for the first time is doing a real number on him. Your fingers run down his neck, down the hard dips and ridges of his abdomen through the t-shirt.

“I used to pleasure myself in this bed, dreaming of a woman like you-” he says huskily, beginning to thrust upwards. The painfully tight erection bursting against denim rubs against your gusset, toying back and forth. You feel a swell of arousal web between your folds as your eyes dart towards the open door. Just a crack, but it’s enough. The guards are never far in the palace it seems, even for a Prince who’s all grown up.

“Say more,” you tease. It’s a whisper, but it seems to echo. Loki chuckles quietly into the curve of your neck before he tips you easily to the side. You meet the mattress with a bounce, your head disappearing between the crevice of two plush pillows. Loki’s long form rises above you, impossibly rectangular, spread on his knees, the denim screaming around his crotch.

“It may come as a surprise to you that I was an awkward young man,” he starts, riding up the hem of his t-shirt. His leather belt sits maddeningly at the dent of his hips, perfect alabaster skin of his stomach flashing into view. “No!? I would never have guessed...” you joke, surprised at your ability to think straight as Loki’s shirt pops over his head. He throws it away, skittering gently across the marble floor. His eyes flash mischievously.

“But I had urges, of course; fucked myself night after night like a demon; elaborate fantasies formed in my head with excruciating detail.” He falls forward against the pillows, the bulge of his shoulders tensing as he cages you.

“I wouldn’t let myself cum until every detail in my head was perfect,” he breathes, letting long tendrils of hair drag against your throat in time with the filth of his dulcet syllables. “Again and again. It was enough to drive a young man to madness.”

“Did you ever have-?” you start, cut off by a pathetic moan as Loki drags his bound cock against your clit. “Never," he whispers. "This bed is as virginal as myself when I left it.”

The warm glow of his magic pulses from his skin. Loki’s jeans are gone, replaced by a green silk robe open at the waist. It's Asgardian craftsmanship, that much is obvious. Gold weaving edges the hem, its age betrayed only by the sleeves which are a little too short. The sage shimmer melts into the wave of his hair, and for a second you can’t bring yourself to believe there wasn’t a line forming outside his bedroom every night after he came of age.

He rests back on his haunches between your legs, flipping out the robe at the nip of his taut waist. Loki’s eyes smoulder, waiting for you to ask.

“Which one do you want?” you say. It times perfectly with a twitch of his proud cock as he draws a finger back and forth along its length. His chin dips and a small smile creeps at the corner of his lips.

Loki raises a hand, a theatrical snap of his fingers making the ceiling height door to the chamber swing closed with an almighty clang. Even under normal circumstances, doors don’t close quietly in the palace; it is by design.

“My goddess riding me,” he says, raising his gaze to yours. “Then once I’ve filled her, she crawls to my face; smothers me with her perfect, dripping sex; calls my name so loudly in ecstasy that my brother hears it all the way in the taverns.”

Your brows raise. “That’s quite specific.”

Loki shrugs. “I told you. It needed to be perfect. I spent a lot of time thinking about it.” You shuffle up on the pillows, curling one side of his silk robe in a fist and pulling his mouth to yours. He manoeuvres around, lying back against the pillows with bright eyes while you crawl on top of him once more.

“Are you my sweet virginal Prince?” you ask, batting your lashes. Loki snickers. "If you like." “I do.” “Aright then,” he sniffs. “Although I should warn you, for a virgin – I am rather an expert.” “Shhh-” You press a finger to his lips. "I read a lot of books," he explains with overly-earnest eyes, muffled against your finger. “Let’s get you some practice, then..” you whisper, rolling your hips up the length of his cock. Loki whimpers, brows slanting. You can't tell if that part is for show. With a slip of his hand against your ass you feel your dress dissolve, the nip of a breeze through the open arches making your nipples stiffen. Loki’s head leaves the pillow and catches one in his mouth as your hand guides his cock between your legs. You rub the tip against your slit, slipping back and forth as guttural groans roll in his throat.

"My virgin Prince," you coo.

Loki’s head falls back to the pillow, a warning brow rising. But his eyes sparkle. Slowly, you sink down onto his cock; each hard inch of muscle tugging against your walls as you settle to the hilt.

“Every time you do that,” Loki rasps, “it’s everything I ever dreamt of in this bed, I swear.” You flatten a curl of hair back from his forehead, rocking your hips back and forth. His hands slide up your waist, cupping your breasts as he pants beneath you. A vein in his neck throbs as he grits his teeth to the ceiling. He won’t last, not today. And that’s just fine.

You press his shoulders down, limiting his thrusts. If he wanted to, he could overthrow the touch in an instant. But he wont, not today; not in this bed. Every time you reach the tip of his cock you squeeze and his lips part; every time you sink him deep into your cunt they press together, like he doesn’t trust himself not to howl. The squelching is louder now. The moaning, too. You and Loki have fucked many times, in many places – in every conceivable position, each time you think you could never be more aroused, he proves you wrong. But something’s different about him here. When his beautiful eyes open, the dark fan of his lashes seem to pop against the vibrant blue ringing blown pupils.

Loki’s fingers sink deep into the plump of your ass. He pulls in time with your rhythm, drawing the flat of his feet up. In seconds, he sits up to meet your mouth; his tongue lapping against yours with quiet desperation. Your fingers run down his abdomen and you feel his stomach clench.

“Fill me, baby-” you whine into his open mouth, “show me what Asgard’s finest cock can give me.” Loki grunts in pleasured anguish, thrusting in erratic shudders as he erupts inside your heat. The angle is tight. Fresh seed creams at the seal of your slit and wells around the rim of his half-sheathed cock as he comes undone with a ragged exhale of your name. He captures you in a messy kiss, falling away from your mouth to your chest before collapsing back to the pillows. He squints with one eye, a lazy hand beckoning. “You sure?” There’s an unusual shyness in your voice. Loki nods with a wolfish, lopsided grin; drunk on sex. You shuffle up his abdomen, feeling a thick roll of hot cum settling against your inner thigh. Your fingers curl around the wooden headboard, Loki’s large palms settling on your ass and keeping you high. His head tilts, warm tongue tracing your inner thigh and sucking his seed from your skin. A violent shiver of desire rolls down your spine, making you thrust towards his face.

“I’ll try my best-” he purrs in character from between your legs.

His eyes are all you can see as his tongue outstretches. They disappear as he dips further back, running his warmth between your folds. He tilts his chin up, a white pool collected on his tongue. Loki of Asgard looks up from bottomless eyes, the planes of his cheekbones sharpened. You shoot down and jam your tongue into his open mouth. His cum swirls within the kiss, mingling with the earthy taste of your own pussy – swallows and moans and filth sliding down your throats. Loki gasps loudly as your kiss breaks with a slurp. “Was that in your fantasy?” you ask innocently, resuming your position above his head. “I regret now, that even in the depths of my teenage depravity, it was not,” Loki growled, squeezing your ass-cheeks. He nudges you closer. “Now, finish me,” he orders as he pushes you down against his face. The flat of Loki’s tongue meets your plump clit. Each flush and fat stripe of the muscle has no pretence – he intends to make you climax; and climax hard. Your nails dig into the headboard, scratching down pristine oak lined with gold. Images of Loki as a virginal youth rear in your mind, thrashing in these sheets, under this very ceiling, twisting and unravelling beneath the beat of his fist. Your thighs begin to tremble, held steady by his fingertips sinking deep into the curve of your ass. Loki’s tongue is relentless; it swirls and captures every flush of sparking orgasm and tends it with the next lap of his attentions. Before long, your legs tense – and somehow, one of your hands has tangled in his hairline, pushing him deeper, his nose slotted perfectly at the lip of your mound. The sight is all it takes. “Loki-” you choke, punctuated by a final devastatingly soft lick of his flat tongue over your sex. “Mmrph…” he grunts, brow furrowing. You hold your breath as climax shatters you, the exhale a strangled sob of his name that sings around the ceilings and tumbles out the archways.

You collapse on his chest, the two of you panting heavily. A thin sheen of fresh sweat clings to his skin. You trace the angle of his jaw, smiling as a dream-like peace descends on his features. “Do you think Thor heard?” “From Midgard? I doubt it,” Loki sighs, letting one of his legs fall open to the side. He’s hard again. “But I can let that part of the fantasy slide. Everything else was...perfection, my love.” You prop a fist beneath your chin. “Maybe we just need to try harder.”

“Fuck harder, you mean?” Loki says, a smirk curling the corners of his lips. “You did promise me a palace tour…” you say, drawing your knuckles up the velvet skin of his cock stretching against his stomach. Loki’s smirk grows wider.

Tags (continued in comments)

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[cranberrydietcoke]

bride to be - father charlie mayhew

content: 18+ !! mdni !! father charlie mayhew x female reader, coercion/dubcon, religious guilt, degradation and praise, slapping, crying, fingering, abuse of power, innocent!virgin!reader, toxic!pervy! charlie, oral (m receiving), p in v, unprotected (don’t be dumb yall), kinda breeding, size kink if u get a microscope

wc: 4.8k (sry i went a lil crazy)

a/n: hi yall this is literally my first fanfic ever ! drew some inspo from @hoffmansgirl @tokyoghls & @lucyisdoingfine

sundays were your favorite days. you were a good little church mouse. eager to serve. eager to please, always wearing white to early morning service. it was evidence of your innocence. father charlie always says your innocence is precious. valuable. your bible study together always left you so impressed, how a man can look at one paragraph and be able to take away so much. you had reached out to a deacon at the church, inquiring about some guidance in the word, expecting to be put in contact with a nun-in-training with less important things to do. that’s how you wound up in the priest’s office every sunday night. he said he needed to ‘connect more with his congregants.’  he knew you would believe it, and so would your parents.

the calming bustle of churchgoers finding their seats was abruptly cut off by the deep, layered boom of the organ, signaling the beginning of the service. you shift in the wooden pew, brushing your dark curls over your shoulder and adjusting the lace strap of your dress, preparing your heart to hear the word of god. the vibrations rattled deep within your chest, making you clutch the diamond cross adorning the center of it. the spotlight snapped on, an oval of light encompassing the priest as he eyed the pews almost nonchalantly, his vacant eyes wandering as he approached the pulpit, clearing his throat.

“brothers and sisters, we serve a just god,” his veiny hands gripped the worn oak of the stand, turning pale red as he supported himself, leaning forward toward the parishioners. you sat in the front row, eyes wide and glazed over as if you were looking at the god he spoke of.

“confront the reality of your desire, of your sin. because as we see in his word this morning, the wage of our sin is death.” he paused, letting out a heavy breath and loudly thumping his bible before shooting his empty gaze at you.

“what would your heart look like,” his chest fell ever so slightly, almost defeatedly, “when stripped naked before a holy god?”

charlie knew he was preaching to himself, coddling his guilt with verses as he always did. this wasn’t a message for the church, but rather for him. desire was a reality he needed to confront. the service slipped by as you hurriedly took notes in pink glitter gel script with doodles lining the sides.               ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚romans 6*:ꔫ:*+ﾟ.

“the lord be with you”

“and with your spirit”

applying a fresh layer of lip gloss, gathering your bible and smoothing the back of your dress, you and your mother shuffle out of the pew. your shoes tapping on the marble as you all headed towards the stained-glass doors where father charlie stood talking to the other congregants as they left.

“mrs y/l/n, always good to see you.” he remarked, giving a venerating nod toward your mother as the two of you stopped in front of him.

“father, beautiful service as always.” she said through a smile, leaning in to give quick air kisses on each side of his face. she looooved her some father charlie. you really are your mothers daughter. “so hows bible study goin’ with you two?” she mused, motioning to the both of you limply with her hand before placing it on her hip. his eyes snapped to yours, hands clasped behind his back as he anticipated your words, searching for reassurance in your expression.

“very well. we’ve been going through the old testament, some hard stuff. she’s a good listener.” he replied. your face stayed neutral, but inside, your nerves were tangling into knots.

“did you see both of christie’s girls got engaged? and joe’s daughter. got me thinking about y/n, her future.” your mother went on. charlie gave you a stern look as you rolled your eyes and hid your face in your hands.

“she has a lot to learn still. being a wife, i-i can’t say she’s ready. she’s so blessed to have the guidance of a godly man like you. just, uh, help her out.” she continued with a cheeky smile, patting the priest on his bicep.

now twirling a piece of hair between your fingers, you steal a passing glance at the father as your mom ushers you through the front door. “i’ll see you at seven, okay?” his finger hovered down at you.

“y-yes father! see you tonight!” you called out, voice growing fainter as you were dragged away and out into the sunlight.

the last few months had been excruciating for him. every saturday night, he dreamt about what white dress you would choose to wear, what fragrance you would spritz on your neck. he had gotten you more comfortable over time. you were showing your personality, asking more questions, confessing more sins. he loved it when you confessed. he got high on the essence of your pure shame and desperation, pleading for help on what to do, crying to him about how guilty you were. he wrote about you in his sermons, dreamt about you, imagined you bent over his desk begging for it harder. this could be his opportunity to make a real woman out of you. your mother’s words echoed in his mind as he wandered through the convent. he was determined to make you the perfect godly wife.

the orange hue of the sunset beamed through the windows on each side of the chapel, casting shadows that danced with the movement of the trees and birds flying by. the bright white of your lace-lined dress in the sunlight nearly blinded charlie as he emerged from a side door, hidden away by velvet curtains.

“y/n, just on time, as always.” his welcome was steady and warm as he approached nearer, a hint of a smile touching his lips.

the parallel clicks of his red leather boots and your kitten heels filled the still air of the room, each step slicing through the reverent silence.

“of course father, i wouldn’t miss it” you answered, looking up at him as you walked side by side to his office. his hand found its way to the nape of your neck as he led you, the softness of your tan skin and the scent of vanilla nearly making his eyes flutter. he was so wrong for this, but he didn’t care. you had to learn one way or another.

 you took your usual seat in the black leather chair opposite him, only separated by a large wooden desk. bookshelves lined the walls. a small crucifix hang in the empty space above his seat. he sat, flicking around a ballpoint pen and thumbing through his bible which sat open on the desk.

“so,” he sighed as he leaned back in the chair, legs spread as his hands glided over the thigh of his black dress pants, “tonight’s one is really important. i took some time to think about what your mother said, and i agree." he nodded, "i think a girl of your age is ready to learn.” his pointer finger tapped slowly on his right knee.

“yes, father. i think so too. i just don’t even know where to start.”

“well that’s where i come in,” he smiled, not like when he welcomed you in, it was different. almost predatory. “that’s why i’m here, my child.”  your eyes were glued to the floor, while his were busy surveying the curve of your hips as you sat. so soft. so perfect.

“what book are we gonna be in, father?” you asked absentmindedly, your long lashes brushing against your cheeks with each unhurried blink. you got comfortable in your seat as you opened your bible, pink faux leather full of sticky notes and neon-highlighted prophecies, promises, and judgments.

“we’ll actually be flipping back and forth a bit tonight,” he explained, clearing his throat and adjusting his papers. “the goal here is that you leave feeling prepared to be a wife, one that serves the lord, and her husband. do you understand?”

you nodded, your glossy eyes locked with his. “good. can you go to colossians 3 verse 18 and read that for me, please, sweetheart?”

“wives, submit yourselves unto your husbands, as is fitting in the lord.” you read.

“yes, submission. the definition is skewed nowadays.” he muttered, waving his pen around musingly. “christ did submit to father god, although the son has no less authority. you see?” he leaned forward, gripping the edge of his desk to stand up, circling to your side, bible in hand.

“go to first corinthians chapter 7, it says ‘the husband should fulfill his marital duty to his wife, and likewise the wife to her husband.” he chuckled lightly as you highlighted the verse in lavender. this poor girl has no fucking clue, he thought as he slid his papal ring off. that’s what drew him to you in the first place. he reclined against the side of the desk, legs crossed at the ankle.

“what does that mean father? how will the duties of a godly woman change once she’s married?” your pitch heightening with each question. “like cooking and cleaning? are they the same for bo-“ with a raised hand, he stopped you in your words.

“yes, y/n, yes. you’re eager aren’t you?” he breathed out, a wide grin plastered on his face. “it does include domestic things but also emotional things. honest communication, faithfulness…and physical things too.” he traced his words as he looked at you, “that’s what really changes when you get married.”

his eyes lit up as your jaw went slack at the realization of what he meant.

“oh…i see.” your shoulders slumping and eyes drifting to the marble floor. he could feel the disappointment in your sigh.

“where’d that smile go, sweet girl? what’s wrong?” he chided, a faux frown on his face.

“i just, that’s- i don’t know.” you huffed, “how am i supposed to know what to do on my wedding night? it’s just so unfair. an-and scary!”

“well,” he let out a shallow breath, reaching out to tuck a silky strand of stray hair behind your ear, “i can help you with that too, sweetheart. if you let me.” his fingers curled around the nape of your neck, steady and with purpose. his eyes bore into you as he tilted his head, attempting to coax your gaze up towards him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet them. the foreign heartbeat between your legs became a knotted bundle in your stomach, making you squeeze your thighs together. he traced his index finger down your collarbone, gripping the chain of your necklace between his fingers. he stopped, thumbing at the karats of your crucifix, lost in thought.

he drops the charm with cold indifference, then turns, pacing in circles. “first corinthians seven- thirty four. a married woman is concerned about the affairs of this world, how to please her husband.” the bass in his voice snapped you out of your daze, finally looking up to return frantic little nods and blinks.

“right, o-okay. but father,” you said, lowering your voice ,“i’m not married.” your eyes scanned around dramatically as if to search for witnesses, “we-we’re not married.”

he neared you, placing both hands on each arm of the leather chair, trapping you in. “we can pretend, okay? this’ll be how we conduct our lessons.” he could feel the heat of your breath mixing with the strawberry on your lips. “your mother said you have a lot to learn.” he said almost accusingly, but full of pity. “no more questions, sweet thing. i’m here to guide you, remember?” his words were coated in a nauseating sweetness, seeping into your impressionable mind and persuading you to trust him.

the scent of his cologne was overpowering, making the glossy stain in your baby pink cotton panties worsen. he was only inches away, his shadow encapsulating you as his eyes roamed your face, gauging every reaction as he carefully crept his fingers to play with the lace hem of your dress. sunday’s best.

“have you ever touched yourself, y/n?”

your breath caught in your throat. maybe this would have felt different from the safe shadows of a booth, but this confession was much different. embarrassment sent warmth rushing to  your cheeks as you looked through father charlie rather than at him. you nodded your head, “only once.” you spoke, a broken kind of whisper. he was tracing spirals into your thigh, immediately pausing after hearing that you, the purest little flower he’d ever known, had snuck under her nightgown to play with her pussy. immediately and without moving his head, his eyes flicked up, a sick smile curling on his lips.

“you poor thing…you didn’t cum?” he said with faux sympathy. your eyes widened, almost popping out of your head, as the cross resting just above your cleavage swayed with each breath. up and down. up and down. you shook your head, tears of vulnerability stung in your eyes. “hey…hey. it’s okay! we all start somewhere, right?”  he cooed, almost manic as his hand raised to pass a thumb over your blushed cheek. “i promise by the end of our sessions you’ll feel prepared, yeah? the duties of marriage include knowing your own body. and your husbands. that’s not a problem, is it?” his fingers laced with yours, thumbs tracing the valleys of your knuckles. your hand was so small in his.

“if that’s what the lord calls me to do, i have to listen.” you choke out, a single tear falling down onto the freckles of your thighs. he had never given you a reason to be afraid, but you were, the heaviness on your chest becoming unbearable.

after a long pause and a heavy sigh he whispered, “i knew you would be a good girl, so obedient,” wiping the stain from your face. “get on your knees for me, like you’re gonna pray.” he mumbled, drunk off his own words. hesitantly, you rose and knelt to the floor, palms flat on your thighs as your frightened gaze fixed on the man before you. a man of god. a man you could trust.

“let’s get some practice in, okay?”

his voice was soft but left you understanding you had no say in it. he bent down, his fingers gently hooking the straps of your dress, sliding them slowly down your shoulders until the fabric gathered at your waist. you watched him as he did so, his frenzied eyes not matching the tenderness of his touch. he groans at the sight of your barely covered chest, lace and gems adorning your push-up bra. he undid his buttons with a swiftness you’ve never seen before, now shirtless in front of you.

standing upright, he delivers two tiny taps to your jaw. light, but deliberate. urging you to open up. this was okay. you were husband and wife. the clinking of his belt being slipped off just sounded like wedding bells to you. by the time he shimmied and stepped out of his pants, you were spellbound - mind soft and yielding, ready to mold to whoever he needed you to be.

 your mouth lay half open, satin tongue hanging over your bottom lip and leaving it with a glossy sheen. standing over you, he grasped your jaw, tilting it up to guide you as he released a string of spit that connected his lips to your tongue as he hummed in approval. he clasped his thumbs on the band of his briefs until they fell around his ankles, freeing himself. your tears multiplied as you saw the inches slap onto his v line, twitching and bobbing in the air.

“see, this is your fault. open up real wide f’me.” he huffed as his thumb went to align himself with your mouth, tapping the tip on your tongue. a confused whimper escaped your gaping mouth as he pushed his length further in. musk and salt sat on your tastebuds as he instructed you to tuck your lips, collecting your hair in his fist as you tried to gloss his entire dick with spit. he started off slow, seeing you furrow your brows and gag, looking up at him for approval. he thrust into you as he guided your head, the grip on your hair making your scalp burn. your moans of protest were muffled as he fucked your face, tears now streaming down your chest. you tried pushing at his thighs, digging your almond french tips into the muscle, but it only made him go harder.

“nuh-uh, you’re gonna have to learn.”

as his head massaged the back ridges of your throat, his large hands cupped each side of your head with a commanding grasp, forcing the tip of your nose to meet his happy trail and holding you in place. his chest glistened with sweat, heaving as he looked down at you with absent eyes. the room was humid as your nose drew in wet, shaky breaths, gagging around this thick length.

“do you see now, why i have to do this to you?” he cooed, looking down as you struggled to breathe, blowing bubbles of slobber that collected at the base of his shaft. your face screwed as you sobbed and squirmed on the cold floor, dick down your throat. “you’re wildly unprepared.” he hissed, shaking his head, unimpressed. “look at you,” he spat, pulling you off, leaving you gasping for air as if each inhale would be the last. “why fight it?” grabbing your cheeks, causing your lips to pucker, all swollen and slick. you flinched at his touch. “a good wife isn’t supposed to be defiant. we just read that.” he scoffed, “i don’t even think you were paying attention.”

you clenched your eyes shut to avoid looking up at him, just shaking your head. “i was, i promise i was!” you attempted to cry out, but all that escaped was whiny mumbles.

 “no, no, look me in the face. give me some fucking respect,” he muttered, tightening his grip on your jaw, yanking it close. you forced your eyes open to meet his. breath hot on your lips, he was growing visibly more impatient. his irises were pure black, like that of a shark. one that could sniff out innocent little girls like human blood.

“i see righttttt through you, tryna hide behind your rosary, your psalms, your fucking dresses.” he mocked, hand leaving your face to tug the remainder of the lace mess down your legs, leaving you in your bra and panties. “but i see you. i see what kind of slut you are. looking up at me in the pew, coming to my office until well after sundown. fuckin’ asking for it.” he stepped back, his narrow eyes examining you in disgust.

“father- no i just, please,” you choked out, shame turning into stickiness between your legs.

“please?! please what? i’m exposing your sin!” his voice rose to a yell, dragging his hands down his face before gesturing toward you dismissively as you sat motionless on the floor. “no manners whatsoever,” he sighed out. your face dropped as he tapped the wood of his desk. “come, sit. spread those legs.” he commanded.

without thought, you rise from the floor and take a seat where he had told you to, ankles dangling in the air as you shyly open your thighs. anything to make him happy again. he bends over, gently running two fingers over your clothed pussy, noticing a wet mark right in the middle. “oh wow, i knew you wanted this,” he chuckled, holding one leg open while the other rubbed circles into your panties. “so wet, so ready.”  

hiding your face in your hands, you watched through your fingers as he focused on the growing puddle in the fabric of your underwear, attention solely between your legs. “this is the y/n i know…mhm.. always so good for me. i don’t know what got into you, huh?” he hummed. you could feel his words on the inside of your thigh as he continued to study you, making you whimper. before you could question anything, he was sliding the boyshorts past your knees, whispering praises as you kicked them off.

“fuck,” he moaned out, breathlessly admiring you while running his hands up your stomach to your chest. he traced the wire of your bra to the back, unclasping it with a pop and discarding it on the floor. your tiny, uneven breaths filled the air, giving way to quiet moans under his touch. he glided his hands on the underside of your thighs, spreading you gently with his index and middle fingers.

“awh, my pretty pink girl. so pure.” he spoke almost to himself as he bent over, playing in your folds. deep down, you knew you shouldn’t let him do this. but it felt so good. and he knew best, right?

his fingers ran the wetness up and down your pussy before working in his middle finger, forcing you to hear yourself, how bad you really did want this. you gasped, sitting up on your hands and looking down at the priest who was now pumping his whole finger into you. words tangled on your tongue, babbling and moaning with furrowed brows.

“ohh my god,” you managed to squeak out. he softly shook his head, never slowing down his pace.

 “no, baby. just me n’ you.”

he pulled his finger out, making you clench at the emptiness. encircling your slit, he lined up a second finger, slowly stuffing it into your leaky pink hole. you cried out, digging your nails into the wood of the desk and writhing against him. twisting his fingers in you, he started to speak. “this is the next step in becoming a real adult, y/n. as your priest, i have a responsibility….” his free hand dug into your hip, holding you in place to stop your squirming, “a responsibility to make sure you’re educated on certain things. ready for the real world.”

his fingers continued their assault on your pussy, fucking you open as your feet stirred aimlessly in the air, helpless and overwhelmed. “father f-fuckk i - ” you stuttered, attention being brought back to reality by a rough slap, one so hard it caused your ear to ring. your fingers trembled against your burning cheek, lips parted and eyes wide with panic.

 “watch your fucking language, how do you expect to find a husband with a mouth like that?” he huffed, removing his hands from you completely. how ironic. you sniffled and nodded, pushing yourself up, wanting to bridge the distance left by his absent touch. his thumb gripped your chin, guiding your eyes to his. “i think you’re ready though, don’t you?” his fat tip was now rubbing up and down your petals, as you babbled i can’ts and i dunno’s.

he lay his length against your stomach, touching your belly button, perversely rubbing it against the smooth of your skin. you rolled your hips against the desk, staring up at him. “will it fit?” you mewled, cupping your heavy tits in your hands and pressing them together. you were learning so well. he led himself to circle your clit, collecting your glaze and spreading it around. you threatened to cry out, the only thing stopping you being the sharp bite on your bottom lip.

“yes angel, i’ll make it fit…just a part of it” he breathed out, softly pressing his lips to your forehead. “this is what husbands and wives do..” trailing off, trying to distract you as he stuffed the tip in.

your gasps and whimpers of discomfort subsided to pornographic moans as he slowly worked himself in, bucking himself against you until there was nothing left to fit. cradling the back of your head in both hands, he forced you to watch yourself get filled up as he stretched you with slow, grinding movements. you brought your knees to your chest, spreading yourself more for him, little ah ah ah’s drifting from your tongue.

“thaat’s my girlll,” he hissed, knowing he was holding back. “now..” he paused, making you squirm your hips in search of friction, hands still entrapping your skull, eyes piercing yours, “i’m gonna fuck you stupid, okay? and you’re gonna be grateful.” his soothing tone not matching the brutality of his words.

your head nodded mechanically with a vacant stare, mouth agape. maybe it was a good thing your priest was taking your virginity. he was a man of god, after all. his grip on your scalp tightened as he repeatedly slammed into you, hitting that deep, spongy spot that had never been touched before. he angled you to watch every stroke, pressing on the bulge in your lower tummy. “you see that, dumb girl? does that feel good?” he grunted out, filling the room with sloppy noises each time he thrust into you.

“y-yess, soo good,” you squealed, leaving a creamy ring around his shaft.

another slap. but he refused to let up on your cunt, quickening his pace and violently snapping his hips against the back of your thighs. tears welled in the corner of your eyes as you got filled up.

“yes who?” he demanded, almost growling as he pressed his chest to your legs, folding you in half.

“yes fatherr, feels so so good, pleasepleaseplease,” you had no clue what you were even begging for at this point. his length was relentlessly sliding in and out, beating up your cervix.

“mhm, our little secret. our little fucking secret,” he whispered on repeat. like a mantra. a perverted one-on-one devotional. his hands, large and assuming, glided over your body before finding your throat, squeezing both sides. waves of pleasure washed over you, eyes rolling into the back of your head. “hnnmpphh- i can’t, please- it’s too much,” your hands rake at the muscle of his chest, searching for any mercy.

“ohh, sweet thing, you’ve been taking it so well.”  he soothed, finally slowing down for only a moment, “no fussing, just cum for me.”  

he immediately resumed brutalizing you, thumb circling your swollen clit. both legs spasmed as you came undone, juices leaking down onto the polished wood. any rational thought had left your brain, as a matter of fact, so had any thought at all. your absent, glassy eyes crossed and rolled with each motion, eyebrows knitting together in a blissful frown. he moaned shakily, making sure you felt every inch.

“tell me what god said to noah after the flood.” he grunted out, lips ghosting over yours, hand still tight on your neck. you were barely coherent, essentially speaking in tongues. a harsh slap landed to your cheek, jolting you into reality from the haze of your orgasm.

“c’mon kid, genesis 9, stay with me,” he snapped.

“be fruitful…” you yelped, straining through clenched teeth and a constricted airway, cupping your cheek, “increase in number, fill the earth.”

“mhm, we’re gonna make him proud, okay?” he coaxed you to agree. he knows you’re too braindead to comprehend, just obediently nodding your little head to whatever he asks.

“gonna give you my cum till it takes,” he pants out, loosening to grip on your throat to lock his hands to your hips, guiding your body up and down his inches with relentless force. your head bobbing loosely as he slammed into you over and over and over again. “god, fuck- gonna put a fuckin’ baby in you,” his hips stuttered, spilling his seed into you and pounding it deep into your cervix.

pulling himself out with a sigh, he watched with hooded lids as his cum dripped out of you in pearlescent globs. his hands smoothed the mess of hair on your head, sealing it with a tiny kiss before cleaning you up and retrieving your panties from the floor without words. his hands enveloped your waist, lifting you effortlessly to your feet beside the desk as your knees faltered. he bent down, holding open the legs of the undergarment for you to step in, gripping onto his shoulder for balance as you do so. next the dress. then the heels, sitting you in the black leather chair as he slides them onto each foot, clasping your ankle strap before placing a wet kiss to each knee. a small act of worship.

“my little bride-to-be...” he whispers, now standing over you, caressing your smooth skin with his thumb, trying to drink in the hollow stillness in your head.

“same time next sunday, alright?”

[comatosebunny09]

tempest | sylus q.

summary: sylus sabotages all your attempts to move on. things come to a head after you grow tired of him giving you mixed signals. genres: angst, erotica warnings: melodramatic af, alcohol, jealousy, unprotected intercourse, size difference, written with female reader in mind, dirty talk, restraints, profanity, emotional hate sex, “slut” used like once notes: a consequence of staying up past my bedtime, this late night/early morning blurb was born. thank you so much for reading, lovely! hope you like it! ❤️❤️❤️ now playing: masc - doja cat

Nothing seems amiss tonight, Sylus thinks, leant against the rail of the second-floor balcony in his club.

He studies the crowd—the sea below of writhing, sweaty bodies. The floor thumps beneath his feet from the bass of the music. Red strobe lights briefly highlight his features, revealing a pristine glass of whiskey poised at his lips. Nothing in particular seems to capture his intrigue. There are no suspicious-looking people sinking into the crowd. No dancers to protect, no fights to break up. He’s about to retreat into the quiet safety of his office, but—

Oh, what’s this?    

Something finally does pique his curiosity tonight. That very something being you, and he finds his brow ticking upward at what’s got you so tickled. You come to him in a flash of sensual grins and carnal titters, tucked away in the corner of the first-floor VIP section. Sylus bristles at the sight, blood turning to icicles in his veins.

You’re not alone, much to Sylus’ chagrin. Shacked up with another performer, and Sylus doesn’t like how close he is to you on the red leather couch. Doesn’t like how he nuzzles into the hollow of your shoulder, whispering God knows whatever obscenities into your ear. And his hands are on a languid excursion over your waistline, down the swell of your thighs...

You don’t push him away. Instead, you encourage his advances with a hand clasped around his neck, an airy sigh parting your lips. Your laugh pierces through the dense fog and thumping melody, heard only by Sylus. And the sound of it curls its fingers around something hidden in his chest, squeezing.

Sylus sets his jaw into a rigid line. Narrows his eyes. The whiskey glass suddenly explodes in a flurry of jagged, glittering shards in his palm. He ignores the lazy drip-drop of his blood pooling on the marbled floor, unable to tear his eyes away from you so effortlessly entwined with another man. What’s more off-putting is that you’re doing it of your own volition, blatantly playing in Sylus’ face. In his club, no less.

His girl. Enthralled by someone else. 

The iron-wrought rail screeches and bends under Sylus’ crushing grip. He turns away from the scene with a tempered rage, stalking into his office. None the wiser to your eyes, boring holes into the space between his shoulder blades as he retreats. 

—

You have a thing for blondes.

Platinum blondes, to be specific, the unnatural sheen reminding you of a figure stuffed in the darkest reaches of your fantasies.

He talks too much, you muse, tugging at the give of your newest conquest’s belt. Still, he’ll have to do for tonight. 

He chuckles, hot and lustful against your shoulder, open-mouthed kisses emblazoned into your skin. He promises the best of things whilst his hands smooth over the silk of your nightgown. He bunches it between your thighs as he seeks out the searing heat of your womanhood. 

You roll your eyes. You’re all too familiar with this song and dance—a convenient face in your bed to chase away the loneliness, whispering hollow words. White noise in the muddled mess of your mind, your need for instant gratification blotting out all thought and reason. Tamping down your dignity, your pride. 

You giggle despite yourself to play up the theatrics. Act all docile so you can get what you want as he moors you to the bed beneath him, branding your throat with kisses. Despite the angle, his belt finally gives, and he sighs something relieved as he slots himself between your thighs.

At least he feels good, you reason, lying back once you’ve unfastened the buckles of his jeans, and you grant him whatever claim he wants on your body. Your eyes slide shut, your mind spilling into a fitful haze. You will yourself to relax. Will away thoughts of a man clad in black and his stupid hair and equally stupid, stunning eyes boring into you. 

But it seems fate has other plans for you tonight.

He comes to you in a flourish of inky feathers and sparkling, claret orbs of energy at the foot of your bed. 

Initially, you mistake him for a trick of the light, your bedroom’s muted, amber glow distorting your vision. Desire dulling your senses. There’s no mistaking the shift of pressure in the room, however. The air crackles with static, the hairs adorning the back of your neck standing stiff.

“What the fuck?” you mutter over your counterpart’s shoulder, sitting up as best you can with the hard press of his body weighing you down. You find your blood running cold, your breath corked in your lungs.

It’s him, alright.

“What’s wrong?” asks the man between your legs, all breathy and concerned through the fog of lust. He ingests you with mussed hair and lidded eyes. Kiss-swollen lips part, and he scrutinizes you before chasing your line of sight over his shoulder. 

What greets him turns his body to stone.

“Mi-Mister Sylus?” the man cowers, scrambling off you. He stands at your bedside, bowing profusely beneath your intruder’s glare. “I-I didn’t know this was your ho—”

“Leave. Now.” The control of Sylus’ voice leaves no room for argument. Promises the worst of things if he’s not heeded, the glint of his Evol on his fingertips driving his point home.

Your former one-night stand books it, scooping up his clothes to slip past your employer out of your abode with his life intact. You sit up on your elbows with a scowl, your body awash with the heat of embarrassment when Sylus’ disapproving gaze slides over you. 

“Un-be-fucking-lievable!” you grate, clambering out of bed. Under normal circumstances, it would be comical to watch you tumble to the floor, fighting with your sheets. But now, you crave nothing more than to distance yourself from the center of your heartbreak. 

“What is? Me catching you screwing around with the help, or your state of dress?”

You give him a sharp look, ignoring how the rake of his eyes over your form makes your body hum. Fixing your negligee, you stalk out of your bedroom, Sylus hot on your heels. 

The gleam of your decanter on your counter calls to you. You snatch it up without thinking, the dark, viscous fluid inside violently sloshing about. The cork popping is jarring in the stillness of your kitchen, contending with the violent thrum of your pulse. You greedily drink straight from the bottle, caramel streams of bourbon easing down the sides of your face, your neck.

When the acrid sting reaches your nose, you slam the decanter on the counter. Just in time for Sylus to blur into frame, and he props his hands on your kitchen island as he watches you with his mouth carved into a tight line.

You pace. Massage your temples and smooth back your hair with a shaky hand, finally giving in to your frustration. “What the fuck are you doing here, huh? What the fu—what do you even want with me?”

Sylus’ shoulders drop the slightest. He exhales slowly, the red wash of his irises glinting dangerously in the light above your stove.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice you sneaking around with my staff?” He quirks a brow at your scoff, the tendons in his jaw jumping. He otherwise appears composed, clicking his tongue and shaking his head with disdain. “This is very unbecoming of you, sweetie.”

“Are you kidding me,” you say with a bitter laugh. Against your better judgment, you maneuver around the island until you’re standing before him. He swaddles you in his imposing aura, peering at you with an air of indifference, a silent rage brewing beneath the surface of his skin. 

You’re breathing hard over crossed arms. Refuse to back down despite every synapse in your brain alerting you to flee. “Didn’t you once say I can have whoever I want?”

He bristles at that, squinting at your brazenness. You’ve struck a nerve. Buried the knife to the handle and twisted.

“Since when do you give a fuck who I sleep with? I never gave you shit for chasing that—” In a fit of rage, you kick one of your stools over, the clatter of it against the hardwood not once deterring Sylus’ stare. “—fucking Hunter around like a lost puppy!”

He scoffs bitterly. “So that’s what this is about?” It’s infuriating how calm he is, contrasting the tempest raging behind your ribs. “Petty revenge?”

“Oh, fuck you,” you seethe, stepping around him. 

You barely take two steps before limber fingers wind around your forearm, searing you to the bone, halting your escape. You stiffen. Surprise briefly glazes your features before you give him a haughty, sidelong glare. His own holds a warning. An alarm you don’t heed, trying vainly to shake yourself out of his grip.

“Let me go!” you snarl, struggling to no avail. You’re grossly outmatched. Can do nothing when he effortlessly pulls you stumbling in front of him, irritation coloring his features. 

He passively waits for you to finish thrashing about. For you to stop shoving the heels of your palms against the rigid pane of his chest in an effort to free yourself. You pause to catch your breath, glaring daggers between the divot of his collarbones.

“Are you quite finished, sweetheart?”

The childish look in your eye begs to differ. 

The air shifts. His expression warps into one of conflict as if he’s waging an internal battle in his mind. He huffs out a breath, fixing you with a look that sets your body aflame.

“Do you love me?”

The question catches you off guard. Floors you, and you replay it in your mind, unsure if you truly heard it. You blink dumbly at him. “Do I—huh?”

“Are you in love with me,” he repeats as if it isn’t the most earth-shattering thing. “And don’t lie to me because I can very well see through your ruse.” 

Sylus leans closer, the warm scent of his skin overhauling your senses. His right eye glows a sinister red as he threatens to tap into the power of his Aether Core. Like a door being knocked upon, you feel him poking around the edges of your mind, those sickly tendrils of power begging for entry.

You avert your gaze to the side. Even without the use of his Evol, he reads you like the deckled pages of a book. 

Of course you care for him, your feelings rooted deep like a sturdy tree. You’ve been his ace for years—his trump card. Yet, he’s treated you with nothing but kindness. Built you up to believe you meant more to him than just a tool to lure out and kill off his competition. The errant touches. The unguarded words he whispered…

Dammit.

You were foolish to think you could ever erase the thought of him with cheap carbon copies and one-night stands.

“Let go of me,” you say again, though the fight’s left your voice. 

“Answer me.” The hard edge his tone once held is traded for something softer—more beseeching. “Please.”

You reply with a sardonic chuckle, the taste of the truth pungent on your tongue. “Even if I were in love with you, it wouldn’t change anything. I’m nothing more than a pawn to you, Sylus. A pretty face. Your moneymaker. I’m damaged goods. ‘m nothing like her, and I never will be. So, would you—”

You try weakly to free yourself, your chest swelling with emotion. God, why do you feel like crying? “—would you just piss off?”

It is his turn to look wounded. You stiffen when the callused fingertips of his opposing hand graze your cheek to sweep some hair away from your face. You don’t deserve this tenderness—his pity. His hand falls listlessly at his side, and his trembling lips part, voice abrasive with the strain of whispering. “Is that what you think of me? That I don’t care about you? That I’m using you?”

The tremor of his voice makes your stomach pinch with regret. Its painful, sharp talons sink into you. Despite it all, you refuse to face him fully, instead swept up in your own head.

He laughs bitterly, disbelieving your apathy. There is no warning. No preamble when he suddenly hefts you onto the counter by your waist, the air pinched from your lungs as the brisk countertop touches your thighs. You blink at him disbelievingly, rooted to your spot.

“What the fuck? Are you putting me in timeout?”

Sylus doesn’t dignify you with a response, instead shrugging out of his overcoat and ducking out of sight into your darkened entryway. You watch the path he forged with your mouth agape, ears straining for every bit of sound. Every flicker of static. 

He returns soon after placing his coat on the rack. And you’ve nothing but the gleam of red and rigid hips bullying their way between your legs as preparation before he snatches you into a kiss that siphons the breath from your lungs.

“Sylus, what the f—” you pant between the fusion of your mouths. You push against him, scrambling for reprieve. He doesn’t let up, instead using your shock to his advantage. He slips his tongue into your mouth, leaving no part of it unscathed, greedy as he swallows the noises you make for him. His grip on the nape of your neck is almost bruising. Desperate as his lips slant possessively over yours.

Your pounding fists devolve into weak thuds against his chest. You find yourself melting into the warm pull of his mouth. Find your ire petering, something hot pooling in the pit of your stomach. He breaks away with a sticky click, his hands finding the crooks of your knees to tug you impossibly closer. You share a breath out when your chests crash together. He doesn’t grant you the luxury of an inhale, his lips sealing to your neck, blistering the column of it with sweltering, open-mouthed kisses.

You instinctively wrap your arms about his shoulders, weighted fingers sifting through soft strands of white.

“It seems you need to be reminded of your place,” he huffs, highlighting his words with a sharp nip to your flesh whilst his hands smooth up and down your sides. Curl around your ass, squeezing and kneading, eager to lay claim to whatever parts of you he can reach.

You snort incredulously, doing nothing to deter his ministrations. Breathless as you are, you still taunt him. “And what is my place, Sylus? Curled up at your feet like an obedient little dog?”

That gets his attention. 

He draws back to fix you with a simmering look that makes your limbs sparkle with anticipation. “No.” You suck in a breath, gritting your teeth against a moan, when his wide palm slips between your bodies, digits pressing into the seam of your muff. “You’re mine. Have I made myself clear? Mine.”

Arousal dampens the seat of your panties. Your scent betrays you, radiating in the space between. He hovers his mouth over yours, breathing hot and ragged while he strokes you with meticulous arcs, dredging the prettiest little sounds from your throat. “Were you really about to give this to him,” he husks, smug in the face of your keening. “My body? My cunt?”

Try as you might, words elude you, the tremor of your body belying your earlier fight.

“Fine. If you wish to act like a brat, then I will gladly treat you like one.”

He snatches you to him, your legs impulsively encircling his waist. With one hand sealed to the small of your back, he spins you ‘round to walk you towards your living room. His effortless display of strength makes the apex of your thighs throb. You’re a mess of shaking tendons when he deposits you onto the shag rug, peeling back to snatch his sweater from his shoulders. To fret with the buckles of his belt, freeing his girth pushing against the stitch of his slacks.

Saliva puddles in your cheeks. You missed the sight of him. Hard planes of muscle rippling and contracting, his gaze predatory from above. You reach out to touch him, to familiarize yourself with the tan stretch of flesh covering his abs, to chase the neat trim of hair dipping beyond the waistband of his briefs.

But he stops you. Snares your wrists in one hand, and your throat burns with ash when the smoky stems of his Evol materialize in its place. He lifts a brow in warning. Behave, his expression reads. Once perfectly coiffed hair falls into his face, adding to his wolfish appearance. 

Soundlessly, he eases down the sprawl of your body, blazing your stomach with languid kisses. His eyes never disconnect from yours as he pushes your negligee over the ripple of your ribcage, dipping his face between your thighs. You arch with anticipation. Why is it so damn hard to breathe?

Deft fingers bow beneath the waistband of your panties, tugging them down none-too-gently. He drags them over your ankles, flinging them over his shoulder, and the warm musk of your sex causes his eyes to smolder and his lips to part. Drawing your thighs further apart with one hand, the other seeks refuge at your bosom, curving around a swollen breast, thumb grazing over your pebbled nipple.

Your lips part with a sigh of his name. You don’t know if you’re begging him to leave or stay. He reads between the lines, parting your sticky labia with the upside-down V-shape of his fingers before diving in for a taste of your pretty pussy. 

You scramble for purchase of his locks. Drive your fingers between the strands, tugging, burying his face deeper into your muff. He feasts like a man starved, his appreciative groans growing in volume and tingling your stomach whilst he relentlessly sucks on your clit, alternating between licking that sticky bud of pleasure and tonguing the pucker of your pussy.

You chase that cresting wave of pleasure, your hips surging off the floor. His hands mold around the globes of your ass to keep you fastened to him. To keep you nice and open, humping pitifully against the glide of his tongue. 

Your toes strain with the effort of keeping you up, your head thrashing, and you’re pulling so roughly on his tresses, his grunts of satisfaction intermingle with those of pain. You don’t care. Not thinking straight, your mind a nebulous cloud of pleasure. Pleasure you’ve missed, pleasure that only he can give you.

With another succession of licks, you come undone in his mouth, your orgasm spilling through you like warm liquid. You sigh all hot and wanton, your hips slowly meeting the ground with your exhale. You shake like a fawn when Sylus laps up the remnants of your orgasm, and you tug at his hair with your manacled hands when the stimulation borders pain.

“Done already, sweetheart?” he goads huskily, sitting back on his haunches, eyes shrouded by alabaster bangs whilst he swipes his thumb over his cheek to chase the last vestiges of your nectar away. Such a feral sight makes you clench, a reawakened surge of need rippling through you. 

“Too bad,” he croons, coaxing and tender, the texture of his voice betraying the sinful things he’s doing with his hands. He palms himself, lip pinched between his teeth. Reaches beneath the band of his briefs to pull his cock free, and it slaps intimidatingly against his navel. “I’m just getting started.”

The head burns an angry red. Shines with a pretty, pearlescent bead of pre-spend, and you swallow, watching his fist swallow up the bulk of it whilst he strokes himself. With a devious cant to his lips, he taps the milky mess of your cunt with his cock, and you gasp, your hips twitching whilst your sex throbs in protest.

There’s no preface when he takes hold of your hip, effortlessly flipping you onto your stomach. The carpeted rug bites into your naked torso, leaving pretty, raw indentations on your skin. You peer over your shoulder, a flash of crimson alerting you to what Sylus is up to behind you.

He rucks your hips up until you’re on your knees. Positions himself between your splayed thighs, fisting his cock. You’ve nothing but the crisp kiss of an errant breeze on your sticky cunt as a warning before you feel him pressing into you, the engorged head of his cock slowly feeding into the clench of your pussy. 

His groan is strained from the force of your union. You quiver around him, and despite your overstimulation, you suck him in so greedily. So filthy, your pussy squelching as he sinks further in until his hips notch up against your ass.

His grip is vexing on your hips. For a moment, the pair of you sit like this, the searing channel of your sex readjusting to his size. It’s been far too long since you’ve felt like this. Felt so full, your stomach pinching pleasantly. 

When you clench around him, finally reacquainted with his girth, he moves. Slow and steady at first, drawing out the agony, killing you with suspense. You grit your teeth as your arousal resurfaces, your cheek buried in the carpet. His pace quickens thereafter, and he alternates between sharp snaps of his hips and shallow thrusts that leave you keening and leaking.

He gathers your makeshift restraint in his hand, tugging on the band of his Evol as he fucks you, your arms awkwardly folded behind your back. 

“This is what you wanted, right?” he huffs amid the lewd symphony of skin slapping skin, your bodies adorned in a fine sheen of sweat and slick. “For me to fuck you like old times?” He slams into you with a particularly violent thrust, punching the air from your lungs, your body painfully scrubbing against the high-pile rug. “To fuck that little attitude out of you?”

You can only pant, a hot film of tears blurring your vision. Your mouth hinges open, saliva leaking from between your distended lips. Feels so good. Hurts so good, and you can hardly speak, trained only to the sensation of him moving inside you. 

“It seems you only understand me when I’m using you like some wanton slut. Is that right, sweetheart?”

Of course you can’t respond, your voice siphoned with each pump of his hips. He clasps your ankles, drawing your legs up until your heels dig into your buttocks. And he digs a little deeper with this angle, his thrusts growing erratic as he batters against the swell of your cervix.

Finally, finally, his hips stutter. Stiffen, a groan pushed through grit teeth. You milk him, hot, furtive spurts of cum bathing your sex a milky white. So much, it seeps down the inner curves of your thighs, pooling in the carpet. Slowly, he draws out of you, releasing your ankles and freeing your wrists of the harsh pull of his Evol. You lay flat on the floor, thoroughly spent and heaving breaths, something between a laugh and sob caught in your throat.

He leaves you sprawled out like this, and you’re remiss of his warmth. He doesn’t leave you for long, coming back to you with a towel he’s procured from your linen closet to clean the aftermath of your union. There’s reverence in his ministrations, contrasting the beast he was mere moments ago. As if he fears causing you further harm, gentle as he cleans around your swollen sex, whispering words of praise and reassurance.

The remainder of your time with him slides into a confusing blur. With him helping you stand, arms snaking around your waist to keep you steady. He kisses you like you’re something fragile. Like he’ll never see you again, though you doubt this will be the last of your encounters like this.

You help each other with your clothes. And there’s an unbearable silence between you when you watch him leave through the doorframe of your front door, bidding him a fitful goodnight. 

“See you tomorrow night, sweetheart,” he promises, a smile that doesn’t quite touch his eyes, cresting over his lips. You nod quietly, and you’re surprisingly lovesick mess as you close your door behind him, battling with a new onslaught of emotions swelling in your chest.

[soapcloth]

Statue!Ghost x reader - pt 2

CW: 18+ MDNI, noncon/dubcon elements, size kink, horror aspects, scopophobia, temporary loss of movement, derealization(?), large insertion, reader gets fingered by a statue pt 1 - not edited - dividers -> @/cafekitsune

It’s been getting worse. 

Ever since you became fearful of a giant marble statue prowling around your place of work, the duration of your shifts would stretch out- mangled and twisted by his presence. No one would pass through the warehouse, causing the towering labyrinth of stock to feel more like an ancient crypt than a museum's storage. 

In light of the phrase 'Out of sight, out of mind.' you had employed the company of a radio that hadn't seen daylight since the nineties to chase away the dread laving across your spine. It helped at first, finally letting you plug away at work, but it was shortlived- only lasting a moment before all sounds started to slowly wither away, leaving only you, your thoughts, and the distant scraping echo.

You couldn't decide which you disliked more; when you’d look away only to find him contorted into a new position, or when you actually saw it happen. Things that big, things with no fibrous muscle or supporting bone to speak of should not be able to move.

The hulking figure was fond of defying nature. 

He had begun to do something much worse than the previous two options, though. The first time you experienced it, there was a quiet rolling noise, distant and unfamiliar. Your base instincts screamed at you not to look, and yet.

He was in a new pose this time, playfully holding his skull-shaped death mask against his face. That itself would not have been too bad if not for the two gaping black pits where his unblinking gaze had resided Two eyes, wet as your own and boasting irritated veins peered at you from the hollow holes through blown, pitch black irises. Following you. 

Slowly, accompanied by the low hum of moving stone, the mask lowered to reveal his usual carved visage. Nothing was stated out loud but you could tell that against your will, something had shifted. 

He approached, agonizingly slowly, but directly and with thundering footfall. He knelt down before you, head swiveling as he got closer inorganically. You could hear laboured breath whistling through the notch in his still lips, examining it at this angle revealed a small hole that hadn't been there before. This alerted you to a fact that gave you pause- below thick stone skin there was a cavity with room to accommodate something you couldn’t possibly begin to fathom rattling around inside him. The thought sat at your eyes, too difficult to be transmitted through their receptors into your brain beyond a surface level acknowledgment. 

Up close, you could see that his motions were not as smooth as you had initially assumed; every inch moved labourous, awkward, and accompanied by the incremental jerk. 

He would get closer until his lips, though much larger, were level with your own. 

The contact came contradictorily, both expected- welcomed, and unheralded, an ice water shock to your system.

Something in your mind that had rationalized him as a thing had told you he was of flesh like you, but the kiss was chilled and unmoving. Stone fingers digging into the cement floor told you he was expecting reciprocity, leaving you with no other options but to accomodate embarassingly and press warm lips to stone. 

His marble head nudged to the side softly, leading you like a lamb to the notch. Your lips slowed as you were hit with the nausea that accompanied peering into a hollow otherside, too dark to see anything in there- and there was something in there.

All at once, you were accosted by visions of a man, a victor- every glimpse lasting only microseconds and each one incredibly overwhelming. 

Dizzy. 

You fell back with a crawling sense of paralysis taking over your body, and with a freezing touch, more gentle and reverent than you could have ever expected- he cradled you, dragging his big body back to his ornate podium to pet and nudge at you, head uncannily tilting with curiousity for each sound he managed to pull from you. 

Pulseless fingers prodded at you as you looked up at him and for a passing moment, he was man, both of the earth and grounded as a large finger slipped under your shirt, soft grit tracing at your belly. For a passing moment, expressionless monochromatic eyes were those of man too, incredibly melancholic and lonely before the emotion vanished, gone all to soon. 

Your monolith breathed as his finger curled downwards, dipping into your undergarments, playing with the hidden flesh, absorbing your warmth for himself. 

His touch heated, and you could hear distant cheers of a battle hard won and a band- no, a single instrument, perhaps a lyre? It sounded far off and intimate, but it was there; it's dulcet tones swimming around your head.

A big, warm hand fussed with your pussy, pumping in and out with an unspoken worship.

Too focused on the feeling, you could only barely make out his deep voice murmuring as he talked you through his touches, the blurred looming silhouette of your giant somehow bigger made mortal than he ever seemed in his effigy. 

With heavy lids you blinked, and then through your bleary gaze you caught sight of those crystal clear bloodshot eyes set over a black void on his undefined face. You gasped, pulling away as he examined you, invasive and unwelcome gaze the only thing you could make out of his vague form. Like you had been scorched by fire, suddenly all you could feel was the hot freeze of a stone finger dug inside your folds, pumping you full. he continued to nudge around inside you experimentally, stretching you out far beyond anything you were accustomed to. he kept the same deep and agonizingly deliberate pace as you writhed beneath his bulk, squinting as humid, laboured Shallow breath fanned your face, painting you in a wet sheen. You clenched around the solid intrusion; crying out as you came on the numbingly cold marble that met your skin.

You panted, sprawled across stone with swelling lungs as you gazed upwards at the silent image of a man. Coming to, you blinked as sunlight bled in through the raised skylights, soaking the back of his head in a white glow. He stared back through unmoving spheres as you gave a shaky, torturous heave, pulling yourself off him. Ache scorched your inner muscles as you staggered through the warehouse and to the stairwell doors. As with all things relating to him, the sting only got worse the more you acknowledged it. Pushing the pain to the back of your mind, you stumbled towards your waypoint, everything around you becoming more tangible as ambient sounds flooded and warmed your ears. You didn’t look back at the carved idol, but that was fine- watchful eyes would find you through troubled dreams.

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

Can't Leave Me

Pairing: Dark Hawks x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

Female Reader

SUMMARY: Seeing a darker side of Keigo has you rethinking your entire relationship. But it’s not like Keigo is planning on letting you go. 

WARNINGS: Murder; Kidnapping. 

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback.

–

His hand rubs comforting circles over the expanse of your back, innumerous apologies being mumbled as he kisses the crown of your head. 

“I should’ve eased you into it. I‘m so sorry, baby.” his tone is apologetic, almost regretful, but you can’t be bothered by that.

Not after what you witnessed. 

The queasiness in your stomach increases, and you swallow hard, closing your eyes in a poor attempt to control both yourself and the wave of nausea that threatens to rise. 

“Next time, I promise I’ll let you know beforehand, ‘kay? No more nasty surprises, I promise.” his cooing has you pushing your palms against the edge of the marble kitchen island, and you take a few stumbling steps backwards.

“I really thought you’d like to see my patriotic work.”

“You…” his golden eyes squint for a second when you dodge his hand from touching your arm, “That man-”

“He’s no one. Just some fucking dirtbag I caught the other day on patrol. No one even cares that he’s gone, if that makes you feel better.”

You look at him in bewilderment, unable to believe his words. Was Keigo - always so sweet and gentleman - trying to convince you that killing people was fine? That it was okay for his basement to have pools of blood and pieces of human limbs?

The pungent smell of fresh blood is still haunting your nose and you scrunch it, remembering the nasty scene your boyfriend presented you. 

When Keigo asked you to come to his house, telling you he had a surprise stored in his basement for you, your mind wandered to the idea of receiving a sweet gift.

Maybe a painting or a bracelet, anything with a romantic meaning. A normal thing. 

But when Keigo took you to his basement, chest inflated with pride at what he called “city scum cleaning” it wasn’t at all what you expected. 

“You’re worrying too much.” he sighs, his wings ruffling behind him. “I’m cleaning the city from the filthy scum, nothing else.”

“They’re human beings, Keigo. You can’t take justice into your own hands, that’s not your job.”

Keigo only shrugs his shoulders, disinterested at your attempt to bring some conscience to him.

“I know this upsetted you, baby, so why don’t we change the subject? How about we start making dinner and then watch a movie? I know you’re excited to see that new action movie, right?”

His proposition makes you feel sick to your stomach for more reasons than one, but the realization that your boyfriend is trying to distract you from the fact that he’s a serial killer is too much.

You need to leave. Immediately. 

But you’re scared. Terrified of becoming Keigo’s new addition to his basement, if he realizes that you’re not on his side. You’re not sure if he loves enough to spare you from such destiny.

You’re not sure of anything anymore. 

You shift the weight from one foot to the other, eyes drifting to the kitchen door. 

“I think…” your voice shakes, and you attempt to clear your throat, “Maybe I should go,  Keigo. I’m not…feeling great.”

His expression drops for a moment, cold anger being replaced with feigned sympathy so quickly that you almost believe you imagined it. 

“Sweet cheeks, if you’re not feeling well, then you can just sleep over.” he takes a minuscule step in your direction, his wings stretching behind him for a moment. Demonstrating their enormous size before he pulls them back.

A not very subtle threat.

“I can prepare a warm bath for you, and then get you in bed with some painkillers. How about that?” 

You shake your head, feeling helpless. 

“No, Keigo, it’s fine, really. I can just go home and-”

“Nonsense. Besides, I don’t like the idea of you all alone in your apartment, especially if you’re feeling sick.” he brushes you off, “I can’t have you puking or passing out when you’re on your own. What kind of boyfriend would that make me, am I right?” 

A few of his feathers gracefully fly in your direction, gently but effectively pushing you forward. 

The conflict inside your mind only fires up, but you’re hardly able to bitterly swallow down all the shabby excuses and useless begging that would only result in angering Keigo. 

Your body bumps against his and Keigo instantly wraps his arm around your waist, replacing the feathers that rejoin his wings. 

He kisses your cheek with an arm tightly gripping your waist, as if he’s waiting for you to bolt and run away. You’d be lying if you say the idea doesn’t seem awfully tempting.

Maybe if he looks away or gets distracted…maybe then  you could take the chance. 

“C’mon, let’s get you a bath, ‘kay? You’re really not looking too good.” 

The melancholic moonlight hits you in the face, seeping through the locked window. Your eyes are wide open, despite the ungodly time of the night. It’s quiet now, aside from the light cricket’s sounds and the occasional car speeding up through the street.

You barely move your head as you glance towards the fluorescent numbers of the digital clock on the bedside table next to you, careful enough to shift as little as you can.

The arm draped across your waist feels like a rope, keeping you bound to Keigo.

But it’s better than the red wing that lays wide open in all of its immense size, acting as a second blanket to your body, caging you to the bed with its oppressive weight. 

Despite your objections of becoming too hot during the night, Keigo still insisted on covering your body with it, shutting you down with a gentle kiss.

He sleeps soundly, his chest a few inches away from your chest, his deep calm breathing hitting your ear and neck. 

You can’t sleep. Your mind is too bothered, too upset to even consider something as futile as sleeping when there are more urgent necessities. Such as escaping this house. 

Keigo fell into a deep slumber a few hours ago while you remained awake, thinking about your next steps. You have to leave the bed, leave the house, leave him. 

But even the last step seems complicated when you can’t even pull yourself out of the bed - out of Keigo’s suffocating embrace. 

You’re frozen with fear, you begrudgingly admit. Scared of accidentally waking Keigo up and in the process, to wake a side of him that you don’t want to see. 

You have to do this.

The first step is to test the waters.

You take a deep breath, slowly shifting your body, your hand gently pushing his arm down and away from you. Nothing happens.

Your heartbeat speeds up as you embrace yourself for the final step. 

Looking down at the impending problem of escaping the red wing, you take the decision to slide underneath it. 

It’s awkward and embarrassing when you weirdly dive underneath the wing, squishing yourself against the bed as you try to touch the feathers as little as you can. They don’t pulse or move, remaining completely still as you make your escape. 

A relieved sigh gets caught in your throat when your feet touch the floor. Just a little more, you think, bending your body to slide down the curve of the bed. 

Premature hope makes your breathe faster. Maybe you can actually get away.

Oh god, you’re actually going to get away. 

Your whole body freezes for a scary moment when Keigo mumbles a few incoherent words, shifting and turning in bed, but thankfully he remains asleep. You can breathe again.

It’s a bit hard to walk in the darkness, only the dim light of the moon helping you guide yourself, as your feet take baby steps and you prod the walls with your hands until you finally find the closet room.

The door creaks slightly as you slowly close it, and you hold your breath for a moment. Nothing happens. 

You open the light, hoping it doesn’t infiltrate through the door’s crack and search the place with your eyes, looking for your clothes. Keigo kept them there before handing you one of his shirts earlier in the night, saying that it would be more comfortable for you to sleep in his clothes than in your outer clothes. 

It’s easy to find your shirt and pants, both of them tucked away in a corner of the room, the evident contrast between Keigo’s expensive clothing and your cheap casual outfit standing out. 

You quickly put them on, looking around for your purse before remembering that you had left it in the kitchen. Fuck. 

You close the light, and silently leave the closet. 

“Babe.” 

Your blood runs cold at the sight of Keigo casually standing in front of you, arms crossed in his chest. There’s no anger  in his face - nor sleepiness, you notice - but there are hints of annoyance. Did he really expect you not to try and run? 

“I’m kinda disappointed, I gotta say.” he shakes his head with a tired sigh. “I was really hoping you wouldn’t do anything stupid tonight. Guess I was wrong.”

“I wasn’t-” your words lose strength, and for a moment, the idea of dashing for the door with all of your speed seems incredibly enticing, “It’s not what you think.”

“Yeah? Pfft, c’mon, you seriously think you’re gonna fool me into believing any crappy excuse? Like I didn’t just catch you trying to sneak off on me?” he clicks his tongue, messy strands of blonde hair falling onto his forehead, “But you know what?”

It’s now. The moment he switches the flip on you and beats you and-

“Let’s continue this tomorrow, alright? It’s late, so how about we sleep on this and in the morning, we’ll talk.” 

You look at him, surprised. Isn’t he gonna drag you by the hair to his basement and beat you? 

Keigo directs you back to the closet, watching as you hesitate to change back into his shirt. 

“That was never gonna work, you know that, right?” he says. “It’s not like you could outrun me. I’m too fast for you, with or without quirk.”

When you get back on the bed, his wing covers you once again and his arm pulls you flush against his chest, suffocating you with his presence.

He kisses the nape of your neck. 

“Sleep tight.”

You wake up startled, mind buzzing with a chilling nightmare. Red blood and sticky viscera follow you even though you rise away from the realm of dreams. 

You breathe in. It was just a dream. 

Distant sounds coming from another room catch your attention and you remain quiet, catching the tiny rays of sunlight that come through the curtains, basking on pacific solitude. 

What are you supposed to do now? Relent and pretend that everything is peachy, to act as if the basement isn’t torture chamber and that your boyfriend isn’t some cold-hearted killer? 

You roll to the side, yelping when your leg gets caught on. 

A chain. 

A soft leather wrapped tightly around your ankle, connecting it to the links of metal that keep you in a short leash. There’s barely any length to it, meaning you won’t even be able to reach the bathroom if you need to. 

This can’t be real. 

You persistently rub your eyes, shaking your head as fear threatens to spill in the shape of a panic attack. 

Keigo wouldn’t do this. He can’t do this. He just can’t. 

Much to your consternation, you don’t wake up. This isn’t some wicked dream, after all. 

“No, no, please, no.” you cry, pulling and tugging on the solid chain with both of your hands. It doesn’t work, despite all the clicking it does. Doesn’t so much as move away from your ankle.

But it does make a shrilling noise and soon Keigo rushes into the room, a worried expression on his face before he understands what you’re doing. 

He plops next to you, firm hands pulling your shaky ones away from the chain, despite you not giving up and you yelp when he uses his strength to expertly twist your wrist, forcing you to let go of the chain.

“Keigo, please, don’t…don’t do this. I promise I won’t run away, I swear!” you plead, snot and tears pathetically dripping down your face as Keigo pulls you into his lap, a large hand securing both of your wrists. 

“Keigo…”

“Shh, it’s okay. Everything is fine, it’s all okay.” 

It only makes you cry harder. One of his hands rubs your back while the other holds the back of your neck, pushing your face to his chest. 

“C’mon, don’t cry.  You know how awful that makes me feel.” he presses a gentle kiss to your head, rocking your bodies back and forth, comforting you as if you were a child throwing a tantrum.

“You left me no choice. You were gonna leave me, abandon me like I never meant anything to you.” his voice is almost quiet and you know that if you looked up, his face would resemble a kicked puppy.

It almost makes you feel bad until the stupid chain in your ankle clinks, reminding you that Keigo isn’t a good man. 

“But it’s okay now. I know you’re not happy with… our current situation, but you’ll soon see it my way. I’m doing this for you - for us.” 

His arms tightened around your wriggling body, keeping you close to him. 

“I’m not letting anything get between us. Not even you.”