#impure-lace

[sinners-go-to-drink-the-wine]

the sweetest, snuggliest, lazy morning sex with jake - but it's *you* pampering tf out of *him* for once

that is my DREAM. (if you haven't already, def recommend reading Taking Care 1 & 2)

Jake deserves to be taken care of. You'd just tell him to lay back and relax as you ride him slow and sweet. all the while you're kissing along his neck and cupping his face as you whisper filthy praise in his ear. And he's lazily running his hands up your thighs and over your ass, only gripping your sides as he gets close-

[bumblesimagines]

Prayer

Request: Yes or No

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader Summary: Alicent finds herself unable to escape her desire for a new face in court.

AHEM.

~~~

Her long, forest-green gown dragged along the cold floor, picking up the dust-caked along the stones. Her hands remained curled around each other in front of her, her head held high as she approached her typical prayer area. Those in the sept bowed to her and scurried away once she passed them, for the last thing they wanted was to disrupt the Dowager Queen's prayer time. It reminded her of the loneliness that plagued her, looming over her like a dark storm cloud. She'd been a lonely child, a lonely mother, a lonely queen. Nobody truly understood her, nor did they bother trying. 

With a soft sigh, she carefully lowered herself down onto her knees and lit one of the many candles, careful not to get hot wax on herself or the sleeve of her gown. Alicent swallowed and spared a glance around her. Ser Criston and another knight stood by the entrance where she'd entered and two handmaidens lingered by them. Enough distance for her to speak of her sins without worry of rumors spreading. Alicent turned back to the candles and stared at the flames, her fingers lacing together. 

Alicent had many things to feel guilty about; her unsalvageable friendship with Rhaenyra, her crumbling relationship with her own children, the pain in which her husband had been in for much time before passing, the self-pity that filled her veins whenever she looked upon her daughter. She thought about it all constantly. But the thing that'd led her to seek out the Seven that day... had not been among the things she truly felt guilty about. Sure, there'd been a prickle of guilt, but primarily felt because of her husband who hadn't passed that long ago. 

Her eyes fluttered shut and she bowed her head, whispering her apologies into the quiet, chilly air filling the sept. She apologized to Rhaenyra for failing her, to her children for being thrusted into duty before they could mourn their father, and to Viserys for not being there in his final moments. But her voice faltered when she thought of him. Her fingers squeezed tightly around each other as heat enveloped her face and traveled down the rest of her body, making her itch for a quick return to the castle so she could plunge herself in a bath. 

The Small Council's newest Master of Ships: (Y/N) Roxton, younger brother to Jon Roxton the Bold. Alicent had been uneasy the day he'd arrived at King's Landing with his devilish eyes and smirky mouth but Aegon had been delighted with him when they met, cementing his spot amongst the council despite merely being a few years older than Aegon and by far the youngest council member they'd thus yet had. Alicent attempted to keep her worries in check but they soon soothed when (Y/N) proved to be rather well-mannered despite the bloody reputation he and his brother had garnered throughout the years, although his youth showed through his flirtatious nature. 

Alicent found the attention pleasing, surprisingly enough. Her father had deprived her of the chance of a love-filled marriage and King Viserys had hardly given her the attention she would've wanted from a husband as he only paid her attention to fulfil his own desires. She enjoyed the flirting, even if she dismissed him with shakes of her head or gentle scolding, but the smile that toyed on her lips only led him to continue. Dreams plagued her sleep and bitter jealousy began filling her veins whenever she noticed him flirting with someone else. 

Her eyes snapped open and she inhaled sharply, the heavy scent of smoke and incense filling her senses. Despite how badly she fought against the thoughts circulating her mind. She was a devoted woman of the Seven who ought to still be mourning her husband instead of thinking of such impurities. Alicent rose unsteadily to her feet and turned swiftly, retreating from the sept and toward the awaiting carriage. She refused to meet the eyes of her handmaidens as they returned to the castle and ignored Ser Criston's questioning stare when she entered the castle and moved down the halls until she stopped before the doors to his bedchambers. 

"(Y/N) and I will be discussing some pressing matters at hand, Ser Criston. I do not wish to be interrupted." She told her Sworn Shield. Ser Criston's lips pressed into a thin line, head bobbing in a small nod before he opened the door, letting her step inside before shutting it and standing guard outside. 

(Y/N) lifted his gaze from a letter in hand, nursing a cup of wine in the other. "Your Grace," His lips curled pleasantly. "To what do I owe the honor of your presence?" 

"I must... speak with you about... things."

"Things? There are many things we could speak of, Your Grace. You'll have to be more specific." (Y/N) grinned at her and a heat bubbled in her stomach. She cleared her throat and strode across the room, managing to keep her composure under his piercing stare. Her eyes slid around the tidy room, the only sign of mess coming in the form of a table with papers scattered across it. Plans for new ships and other things Alicent had little interest in. 

"I believe you know." She spoke gently once she stopped at his side, trailing her stare away from the papers and raising it to look at him. He huffed a quiet laugh and finished what was left of his wine, his lips darting out to swipe over his lips. (Y/N) raised his hand toward her face, calloused fingers brushing over the soft skin of her cheek. His knuckles bumped against her earring, fingers dipping slightly into her auburn hair and curling, palm pressed to her cheek. 

There was a sweet warmth to his touch that had Alicent leaning into his hand, relishing the idea of being touched so gently for the first time in a long while. Her eyes fluttered shut when his head leaned toward hers, their lips locking together and sending a jolt down her spine. Her hands raised, planting themselves against his chest and curling around the fabric to pull him closer. She sighed softly against the kiss, her parted lips giving him leeway to explore uncharted territory. Her skin flushed immediately, only pulling away to release a soft gasp and take in some air when he effortlessly raised her up and onto the table. 

She felt giddy again, pleased as she used to be back when she and Rhaenyra would spend every waking moment together. Her heart hammered in her chest, both nervous and thrilled. Finally, she could take matters into her own hands. Finally, she could choose who she wanted to be with without someone else deciding for her. Alicent gently pulled him back in, rolling her eyes at the snicker he released before pressing their lips together again. His fingers balled up the fabric of her skirt and tugged it upwards past her knees until it pooled at her lap. The cool air nipped at the exposed skin and Alicent resisted the instinct to tug the fabric back down, her mind drifting elsewhere when his hand grasped the flesh of her thighs and squeezed. 

"How long until someone requires our presence?" He murmured against her. 

"We have plenty of time."

So there Alicent remained in his bedchambers; Ser Criston stationed outside dismissing any maids and such who wished to enter for whatever reason.

Much time had passed, nearly a full hour, but there she remained, her long loose curls sticking to her glistening, sweat-covered skin. Her dress had long been abandoned on the floor by the bed, discarded rapidly before it could be torn to shreds. His arms were wrapped loosely around her waist, keeping her flush against his bare chest and pressed down on his lap. Her nails dug into his shoulder, her hazy mind attempting to catch up while her body recovered, her hips and sticky thighs aching.

She'd have to drink moon tea, the rational part of her realized, but she merely slumped against him.

A breathy squeak escaped her when he moved them, her back meeting the silk sheets beneath. He chuckled into her throat, teeth dragging lightly across her skin and making her shudder against him. (Y/N) leaned back with a twinkle in his eye. "I'm not finished with you yet, My Queen."

[sashi-ya]

かんぱい！「part 2」 soshiro hoshina x f! officer! reader

a/n: I told you I wanted to write a " nsfw continuation" of the cuts of freedom fic. So, here it is! You can read it alone without reading the first part, or read it after the first one! You decide, enjoy! tw: mdni! sex explicit scenes. public. oral. biting and marking. vag. dry humping. creampie. wc: 1k // masterlist

Fast and silent. snatched from your waist, pulled to a very dark corner.

The sharp feeling of two hungry fangs carving marks on the small of your neck. Strong, yet delicate hands, squeezing the sides of your hips. Being lulled, by subtly whispers that invite you to sin, while the rest drink and eat.

“Come here, hehe ~” he laughs, kissing right over the bitten spots. “Here? vice-captain Hoshina, this is too risky” you murmur, unable to stop yourself from grazing your ass against his crotch. The powerful blade user is more than an amazing vice-captain and warrior;  you have become… addicted to the way he makes love to you.

One of his hand, a little cold, slides down your waist until your lower belly and from there right towards your core. He presses you, strongly and firmly, against him to make you feel how already hard he has become.

As you snake your hips side to side, you allow your superior and lover to dry hump you even with your uniforms on. While him, traces circles over your sex, precise and right over the perfect spot.

More and more bites are left on your skin, as the marks your teeth carve on your lips while trying to supress moans and whines. And it is that the little light coming from the dining hall can get you both discovered in such impure acts.

Alcohol and food fills the stomachs of your friends; they are celebrating Hibino becoming an official from the JAKDF and that -for now- everybody seems fine and healthy. A battle that left some bittersweet memories was finally over, yet not definitely, the war against Kaiju.

And there was also alcohol running through Soshiro’s blood. Maybe, it was that, and how beautiful you looked during dinner what made him follow you after you stood up for the bathroom.

“I wanna fuck you right here, pull those pants down…” he whispers, slipping skilful fingers in between your pants and your skin.

A shiver runs through your skin… one thing is playing, another very different is fucking. Wouldn’t this get you in trouble? Both of you? it is even ok to date -fuck- your vice-captain?

But can you stop? Can you tell him no? Would you? of course, not…

The lose pants that cover your skin while the antikaiju suit is off, fall and get stuck around your ankles. The fine lace panties, already dripping wet, also does.

“Mghhjj…” he scoffs, this time sexily in your ear, while sliding his index in between your folds. It gets absolutely dampened, a sensation he enjoys the most.  

Unexpectedly, such finger gets closer to your lips inviting you to taste a hint of yourself. And as you comply to his silent order, his index goes from your tongue to his.

Soshiro gets on his knees, spreading your ass cheeks with his hands for a better access, and right there he attacks your core from behind.

You try your best to cover up the whine you couldn’t stop from coming out; even if thankfully Kafka’s comic relief helped you out into preventing your friends from hearing you. He seemed to be choking with something, while Reno hits his back and everyone else laugh.

“Told you he was going to be a great comic relief~” Soshiro adds, taking his whole face from your pudic anatomy only to go back immediately after.

Sometimes, in between the excellent usage of his tongue skills, your inner thighs receive kisses and bites.

And you, unable now to control your muscles from trembling and your core from tensing, press your forehead against the wall in front of you. Your hands, however, have reached for Soshiro’s purple tinted hair, pulling for him not to stop giving you an oral delight.

Enough with the tongue, what he wants now is to bury himself so very deep inside of you. And so, he does.

Soshiro stands up, gripping your hands tightly against the small of your back to keep you still. Once and many more times, you are not using his body… he is using yours.

His pants also fall down, the muscles on his abs tense showing through the compression shirt he loves to wear. His hardness, so deliciously tempting, menaces your entrances… oh, to destroy your insides in such way…

Eager, he however stops himself from fucking you instantly, and instead he only lets the tip graze your entrance. Raw, warm, dangerously mixing the honeys of your lusts.

“Soshi… Soshiro, please…” you plead, you want him so deep inside it probably hurts.

“Mmm… is that the proper way to talk to your superior, (name)-chan?” he laughs, subtly slapping your entrance with his sex. He probably enjoys the way transparent strings form in between your folds and his throbbing dick.

“Hoshina fuku taichou, please… fuck… me” you beg, lifting your hips enough for his hardness to slide a little bit into you.

“What a wonderful officer you are, (Name)-chan; allow me then to fuck you very hard”

You tremble, throwing your head back as he rams into you, mercilessly. His hand lands opportunely over your mouth to stop you from moaning loudly. “Silence, honey. You don’t really want them to hear you, or do you?”

You deny with your head, watching him from the side, in between a tear pooled in the corner of your eye. He is that good, you even want to cry.

Back arched, hands pinned back, and your mouth covered up. A total slave of his thrusts. But he is a human too, struggling to contain grunts as both of you reach for climax…

While voices asking for where you two are reach your ears, there is no doubt things should conclude fast. And it’s either stop or finish it up. And both, specially him and your spasming walls, chose exactly to fill and to be filled.

“I want you to sit back at the table with my cum still inside you… would you be able to hold it in for me?”

“Ye-yes, Hoshina fuku-taichou…”  

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ「part 3? here 」

[unholybacon355]

Kinktober Day 6 - Huh Yunjin x M! Reader

Kinktober Masterlist

It was no secret that a lot of people thought that the most beautiful and attractive feature on Yunjin’s face were her lips. Isn't like anyone could doubt her beauty, her almost angelic face, but her lips have something special that makes you have that kind of impure thought no one should have at a church. Not to mention that you were having thoughts about that completely out of place thing with the image of no other than the Pastor's daughter. 

Well, to be honest this was more than just your imagination. Oh boy of course this was more than simple thoughts because as the cliche dictamined Pastor’s daughter of your local church was filthy and rebel, was so far for the angelic girl everything thought she was that is like she has two different personalities.

One was the good daughter that made everything their parents say, and was always at the church on sunday. On the other hand was the girl who escaped through her window at midnight to go to a random party, get drunk, and even a little more.

Now you two were doing one of the most sacrilege things you had ever done. You were sitting in Mr Huh's chair at his office, with your pants and boxer around your ankles, and your hard dick covered in Yunjin's saliva.

The angelic Huh Yunjin was kneeling in front of you in her white dress, with her hair styled in two braids tied with white laces made of silk. This was her outfit for the sunday service her dad was about to give, but you two were taking care of another more important thing. Your sex drive.

Yunjin had one of her hands around the base of your dick, making small movements to masturbate you. And engulfing the rest of your stiff shaft with her wet mouth. The experience of having her perfect and beautiful lips around your meat was glorious, either was the amount of saliva she was putting on this.

Your dick was completely covered with her saliva, till the point some was dropping over her hand making it easier for her to stroke your dick. Also she was putting a lot of effort on practically sucking your soul ot of your penis. Isn't that you have a lot of experience but for you seemed like Yunjin deserve some kind of awar for her technic and expertise doing this.

Some rumors have flied to your ears about your girlfriend sucking other's dicks at those parties she frequently scape to. But you seriously couldn't be mad about that. Who sre you to private the world for this wonderful experience? Also maybe that's the way she bacame so good at this. So is a win win for everyone. Not to mention that as a good church girl Yunjin was saving her virginity for her future husband.

But you were more than happy to wait for more action if in the mean time you were receiving this incredible sloppy blowjobs from her. Also eating her ass didn't cout as actual sex according to your way to see things, so that was a little bit of motivation for you.

The way her cheeks were hollow to increase both of your pleasure, and how her tongue was drawing impossible forms over your tip. Or how she retired her hand sometimes to engulf your entire length till the point her nose was touching your pelvis was driving you crazy. Oh dear Lord! Even her throat was trained to give you the maximum pleasure during those moments, and you knew she enjoyed the power she had over you. Because after all these incredible sessions you always received her wet underwear as a last special treat. Because she loves being at the service with nothing to prevent her flooded pussy from getting exposed than her cute white dress.

In fact Yunjin was a dirty girl and you loved her. How could you not do it when aside from her filthy side she has always been a good and supportive girlfriend? Sometimes you think even better than what you deserve. 

“I-I’m clooose.” You managed to say while she was putting special effort on digging with her tongue on your urethral opening. Her response was taking off her hand from your base and without warning engulfing your entire length. The things her throat was doing to your glans were indescribably pleasurable, and by the way she was holding the gaze staring directly at your eyes you knew what she wanted. So you give it to her.

You shoot your load directly onto her throat, releasing all your milk for her enjoyment. The brightness on her eyes tells you that she clearly loves it. She loves the warm sensation of your semen going through her throat directly to her stomach.

Once the last drop of semen leaves your body she takes your shaft out of her mouth. Gasping for hair, panting to recover the right rhythm of her breathing, but with a smile on her lips.

“Put your clothes back, we're almost running late for the service.” And saying nothing more she takes off her panties, giving them to you. And you clearly could see how the fabric was completely soaked in Yunjin's slicks. “Come on, hurry up.”

[strawberriianime]

Surprise Visitor

♡ ryomen sukuna x reader

♡ Your good friend Itadori comes to visit you~?

♡ cw: 18+ content, oral sex (receiving), fingering, dirty talk, sukuna switches with yuji, sukuna's a flirt.

Hanging with Yuji is fun, however hanging around with his permanent special guest is not so fun. It's no secret that Sukuna has a thing for you, he makes it known out loud. He constantly plagues Yuji's mind with dirty images of you, impure thoughts that leave him up all night silently masturbating as Sukuna thought bout how your boobs bounced up and down earlier that day as you went down the steps.

One day you wore a pair of spandex shorts that caressed every curve so perfectly showing the complete shape of your ass. It took everything in Yuji's body to keep Sukuna at bay, as he constantly tried to catch Yuji in a weak moment so he could pounce on you. If he couldn't swap places with him he was more than okay with making extra mouth pop up to add his unnecessary commentary. "It looks like you're not wearing panties, let me get a taste." he was quick as Yuji slapped the side of his face leaving before you could respond. You had to reassure Yuji that Sukuna was just being Sukuna and his comments didn't affect you and you just brushed them off as he started to avoid you. It's been a while since you have seen Yuji but you simply brushed it off as he was busy.

Currently, you have just gotten out of the shower relaxing in your towel rubbing a vanillia-scented lotion on your skin when you hear a knock at your door. Hopefully, it was the food you had ordered as you were starving and they were definitely running late. Changing into your silk robe, you made your way to the door opening it only to be met with a broad chest. "Yuji," you asked gripping your robe as he stepped into your apartment. You closed the door, locking it and waiting for a response. "Guess again" a deeper voice replied. "Sukuna? Why are you here?" you gripped your robe even tighter as the man instantly moved behind you one hand gripping your lower waist and the other stopping right under your breast. "Please, you know why I'm here and what I'm here for." He pushed you back slightly allowing you to feel his harden length against your soft ass. "You've been teasing me and that's not fair. Wearing those short skirts with the tiniest pair of lace panties barely covering that greedy pussy" his lower hand trails along the material of your robe, rubbing circles on your thigh and moving closer to your heat. You pressed your thighs together to prevent his hands from moving any farther. To your dismay, he easily pried your legs apart warm fingers rubbing against your slick folds. "No panties on? Tch It's like you knew I was coming over." As much as you wanted to protest, you couldn't deny the amount of pleasure you were feeling. He used his middle finger to rub circles onto your clit causing your chest to heave and making the silk material of your robe slide over your shoulders. You felt his hand sneak up to grab at your breast, folding the flesh in his palm. You felt something wet along your nipple, sucking harshly at the bud sneaking in a few bites here and there. He pushed in two fingers causing you to let out a long sultry moan, you could almost feel his smirk. "Kids got taste, nice tits, fat ass, and a wet tight pussy not bad" he teased moving his fingers in and out slowly. He moved you two over to your living room chair, causing you to sit on his lap his fingers still inside you. Your legs were spread wide open giving him full access to your cunt. Pulling you out of your thoughts, you felt his pace speed up fingering you at a pace you've never experienced before. "A-aah Sukuna fuck!" The room was filled with wet, squelching sounds mixed in with your moans. "Listen to that, your pussy is yearning for my dick just begging to be fucked and stuffed with my cum" he growled in your ear and you threw your head back clenching around the fingers you were about to cum on. As if reading your mind, he pulled his fingers out causing you to sight. Your juices reflected on his fingers, watching as he brought them to his lips tongue licking around his fingers sucking your juices off them. "I want you to cum on my tongue" he was quick to sit you down, pushing your legs apart cunt shining under the dim living room lights. With no hesitation, he lapped at your heat licking between your folds tongue swirling around finding your clit sucking harshly at the bud. Your legs were getting weak, as you were still sensitive from the almost orgasm you had earlier. "Fuckk it feels so good" you moaned out feeling his tongue poke around your entrance teasing the hole. You felt his hands grip your waist pulling you closer and allowing him to push his tongue in even deeper. He could tell from the constant shaking of your legs that you were about to cum. "It takes a real man to eat pussy this good" he sucked greedily at your clit rotating between roughly sucking at your puffy folds. "A-aah I-Im cumming" Your back arched off the chair feeling the familiar sensation coming over your body. The rough suck slowly turned into gentle kitten licks lapping up the remainder of your juices. You felt his tight grip loosen and his body language change completely. "Yuji? Oh My God"

[xoluvx]

cairo's girl; cairo sweet

𝚜𝚖𝚞𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 @lovxlyvee 🤎

For as long as you could remember, it was her. You longed for her. Longed to be hers and only hers. Navigating life rotating around her axis like she was the sun and you were a measly planet.

You settled for the title of "best friend". Masking the affection. Looking elsewhere. Longing for that feeling of wanting and being wanted freely, knowing it could only truly be satisfied by her touch. A touch she teased. Dangling it over your head like an unattainable prize. A touch she simply forbad. Too preoccupied chasing her own forbidden and rotten fruit.

If that was the only way to stay close, you were taking it. Sitting next to her in the confines of her room. Bottle of wine half empty. Eyes teary eyes and vision blurry as you made questionable choices. Choices encouraged, no, forced by her languid words.

"Take off your shirt," she smiled wickedly leaning close. You could smell the alcohol on her breath. Her eyes pooled so big you could swim laps in her orbs. There was an implication in her voice that stirred the butterflies that had otherwise been numbed and placated by the booze.

Your eyes traced the depth of her body as she stood in front of the mirror. It was like you weren't even there as she removed her sweater. Talking about wanting to make out for him and not for you. It hurt. It hurt like a bitch hearing her spit those words as she disregarded the feelings you harbored for her. Feelings you'd teasingly revealed on multiple occasions. She just laughed them off every time.

"Well, it can be a little for me," you muttered into the void. She was selfish. Conniving as she kneed down on the floor and leaned over. Smile so playful yet you knew the meaning it held. You knew why she was doing this. Not for you. Not even a little for you. Not even for him. It was for her. All of it part of a plan you hadn't quite pieced together yet.

"How's this?" the smile never faltered as her eyes glazed over with quiet mischief.

"Yeah, good" your voice felt like it was giving out as you clung to the neck of the bottle. Your heart felt heavy. All sorts of scenarios flashing through your brain. Innocent, nasty, foul, vile, pure. All across the spectrum you could taste every little bit of longing and yearning. Yearning to be her girl. Cairo's girl.

"Your turn," she commented dismissively as you stood on your knees fumbling with the fabric of your shirt. That eery smile never left her face as you lifted your arms and she finished lifting the shirt over your head. You were a fool willingly walking into her trap. Her fool. Cairo's fool.

Your shirt hadn't been off your body for more than a second and she was already reaching for your phone. The fluorescent light bright and damning. The only witness to the events unraveling in her dark room.

She asserted her dominance as you awkwardly moved your body. You weren't used to this. Even if you were a fool for her, you were always the leader. The free spirit. Wild child. The one that told her what to do. Led her into the darkest parts of your friendship. You didn't know she possessed such power. Didn't know she possessed the ability to be just as dark, if not more.

Her delicate fingers brushed along your neck as she held the phone up. Light shining on your glistening faces. Eyes dazed and lips laced with liquor. This was your moment. This was happening right now. You allowed yourself to be led astray by the impure motivations of your best friend. Your eyes traced the curves of her face. Lips perfectly plump. Freckles scattered across her cheeks and the entirety of her face. Her beautifully crafted face.

When she turned to look at you. She smiled so sweetly almost as if she was reassuring you that this was all okay. That this was normal. That there were no ulterior motives to her actions. When she smiled so tenderly, you shied away looking down and feeling flushed.

"Ready?" she asked almost enthusiastically. There were no need for words. No need for confirmation. You'd been ready. You'd been ready for years. All that time you'd spent yearning and hiding your desire for your best friend had all accumulated to this moment. Even if her intentions were skewed. Even if she wasn't doing this for you. She was only centimeters away as you breathed each other's air.

Like a fool rushing in, you were the first to lean in. She stood still, her cunning smile fading as your lips ghosted over hers. Her lips parted, tongue peeking through her teeth as your lips hesitantly tested the limits of this moment. Was it happening? Was this real? Would she pull away and shove your shoulder like she'd done so many other times?

No.

No, she leaned in capturing your lips in what would result in a heated kiss. Your lips molded together so perfectly. Desperately connecting and reconnecting. Bottom lip shifting to top lip. Hands tentatively touching her waist feeling the scratchy nylon of her tights. Her hand cradled the back of your head as she snapped the photo. You were too enthralled by her embrace to notice.

When she dropped the phone, your arm wrapped around her shoulders. The kiss never faltering. Her arm hooked under yours pulling you closer. Hand still cradling your head as you leaned into her wanting to explore every inch of her mouth.

As you separated for a brief second, the only thing that held you together was the string of saliva that quickly snapped when she held your face pulling you in for another kiss. This one lacking purpose. Just lips molding. Tongues touching. Heads turning and humming and whimpering and bodies leaning into each other with desperation.

When you held the back of her head it was like something in her snapped. She pushed you away suddenly with a deadly stare. You came down with a painful cry. Watching her with wild eyes trying to decipher what happened. Did you do something wrong?

"Get on the bed," she huffed getting to her feet and wiping her lips. She paced to the opposite side of the bed as you nodded. Eyes big like a lost puppy as pulled your body on to the mattress. Hands nervously resting near your belly button as you swallowed.

When she stood at the foot of the bed she stared at you like a hunter spotting its prey. Eyes wide and hungry. Lips scrunched with anger? Nose crinkling as she palmed the bed frame. Knuckles white. You were holding your breath with anticipation as she inhaled and pounced.

Her ring clad fingers grabbing your legs as she pulling them over the edge of the bed. Black fingernails digging into your hips as she harshly tugged on the underwear yanking them down your legs before discarding them on the floor. She watched you closely. Eyes piercing through your soul as she got on her knees. Hands parting your legs as they draped over her shoulders.

There was a warmth to her breathing as she hovered near your sensitive throbbing core. It filled you chills. Shivering as you furled your fingers around the bed sheets, swallowing with anticipation. When her tongue brushed between your folds, you gasped and lifted your chest off the mattress.

The inexplicable feeling filled you with the heat of a thousand suns. She was your sun. Hot between your legs. Tongue wet exploring the most intimate part of your body. A part reversed for only the worthy and in your mind, who else was more worthy than her?

All the nights you'd spent talking about losing your virginities, it was here. Not in the way you'd expected and not in the way you'd discussed but in its own sweet - Cairo Sweet - way.

She lapped your pussy so marvelously for someone who claimed they'd never been with a girl before. When her tongue pierced through your entrance, a guttural moan escaped your body and reached down for her hair. Fingers tangling in her messy brown hair before pushing the hair out of her face. Her eyes were open. Piercing as you made eye contact. As your brows furrowed and your lips remained parted spewing curses and moans so sweet on your tongue because it was she who was responsible.

When her lips wrapped around your clit and sucked so gently, you caved. Your legs were shaking and closing in around her head. Your fingers pulled on her hair and pushed her face down closer to your cunt. Desperate moans and pleas spilled from your lips as she pulled you closer to the edge. Forcing you to jump when a single finger played with your sensitive entrance. The bundle of nerves unraveled on her lips as you convulsed and shut your eyes as you felt the electricity spark through your body.

Her soft lips dragged along your torso leaving a trail coated by your arousal as she inched closer to your covered breasts. She hummed as your chest rose and fell rapidly. Heart beating quickly. Legs quivering and hands clinging to her back. She bit down on your covered nipple and you cried out digging your nails into her back wanting to mark her. If not Cairo's girl, then she could be yours. Your girl.

Her tongue ran across your breast all the way up the side of your neck. Licking the shell of your ear where she breathed so seductively you were struggling to memorize every last little detail of what you'd happened.

"Thank you," you cowered still so totally helpless under her control and unaware of what else to say in this situation.

"So polite," she breathed in your ear. Hot and bothered. The stirring in your loins burning hot once again.

"Never seen you be so polite," she teased taking your wrists before pulling your arms over above head. Gasping, you looked at her innocently. Her hair cascaded down her shoulders as her nose brushed yours. Her lips so close you longed to taste them again. Longed to taste yourself on her tongue.

"Such a good girl for me," she whispered planting her body and straddling your waist as you whimpered. She knew exactly what to say. She knew exactly how to say it.

A good girl. A good girl for her. Cairo Sweet's sweet girl.

[pascaloverx]

DEVIL (+18)

Summary: You are a demonic creature, capable of doing whatever you please, whenever you wish. Your goal on Earth is to terrorize as many souls as possible. Until, in a small community, you find the perfect victim for your mischievous games: Father Charlie Mayhew.

Author's Note: Honestly, I’m not sure if this story will have more than one chapter, but it will contain adult content and inappropriate language. Violence may also appear. Frankly, I just needed to write something about this character portrayed by Nicholas Alexander Chavez. The character and others, apart from Y/N, are not my creation. They belong to the Grotesquerie (2024) universe created by Ryan Murphy. To anyone reading this story, I hope you enjoy it.

AO3 LINK TWO

ONE

How tedious human life is. Not to offend anyone, but you were already tired of all the petty, complicated, and disjointed problems humans have. Not doing what they want, fearing consequences, and not always seeking to take advantage of others makes humans seem so weak. Humans need automobiles to move around, they have no special powers, they feel guilty for the slightest act, and when they sin, they believe a priest can purify their wrongdoings.

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. At least that's what the movies say I should say when I enter a confessional. Unless you'd prefer something more modern, like, 'Father, I really messed up. I committed an affront to good morals. Blah blah blah…'" You enter Father Charlie Mayhew's confessional, waiting for his response. You can hear the muffled chuckle he lets out at your casual way of speaking.

"It doesn't seem to me that you are truly repentant. Taking advantage of the informality with which you are speaking to me, may I ask what brings you here?" For a human, he has a voice that, in its more serious and deep tone, can be charming; it's easy to understand why he became a priest. With a voice like that, he could easily persuade you to be a devoted daughter of God, even if you were, in truth, a demon.

“Let’s say it was a call of nature. In truth, I’ve felt impure ever since I witnessed something terrible.” You say, trying to sound as human as possible, feeling as if your skin were burning from being inside the church. Just kidding; in reality, demons can be anywhere, even in religious places.

"What is it, my dear faithful of the Lord, that you witnessed?" Father Mayhew speaks with a certain nonchalance, as if he's almost sure he knows your answer. You try to catch a glimpse of him through the confessional booth’s small openings. He seems like the very embodiment of sin, perfectly crafted for thirsty thoughts.

"Father, I witnessed a delightful scene. It was a priest known for his youthful appearance and modern style, masturbating while thinking about the beautiful nun he had recently met. In fact, there was another moment that I witnessed. The moment when this same priest let the nun touch him in a sinful way. Oh, this priest's mind could only hope that these private moments would continue." You provoke him, subtly revealing that you know of his most intimate sins. The priest immediately steps out of his booth and opens the door to yours. His expression is furious, while you wear your most mischievous smile. Your attire catches him off guard, certainly. You’re dressed in a nun's habit, but entirely unlike the usual. Yours is red—the color of blood—with black lace details. It is the perfect blend of religion and sin, a nun’s habit styled like lingerie.

"What are you?" the priest asks, not in fear, but with a steady gaze fixed on you. You rise and slowly walk toward him, your steps deliberate, as he retreats. You can see his eyes searching for answers, trying to comprehend what you are.

"I am merely a concerned devotee, worried about who is managing this church, of course. Father, it shouldn’t be me reminding you that sin is wrong. But I think you already know it’s wrong—you just can’t stop. If the wounds on your back tell me anything, it’s that you enjoy punishing yourself for being a naughty boy. Let’s just say I’m your newest form of penance." You speak as you circle around Father Mayhew, who watches you with a gaze of fascination. In truth, you had peeked into the mortal priest’s sinful mind, discovering exactly how to become an irresistible vision for him.

"Why are you tormenting me?" Father Mayhew keeps his eyes fixed on you as you walk through the church, surveying what is supposed to be sacred ground. It’s remarkable, entering the so-called house of God, where sins lurk behind the angelic façade, just as Father Mayhew hides his dark thoughts beneath his cassock. You smile as your fingers glide over the candles, feeling the warmth of their flames between your fingertips.

"Me? Tormenting you? I’m simply fascinated by that devilishly handsome face of yours and the way you blend love for religion with the lust locked away inside you. Sister Megan must have had quite the time running her little fingers over you. Honestly, you, Father, are trouble, and I want to help you." You speak, captivated by the lust in his eyes, even as he remains partly afraid that you might be a punishment from the devil himself. You move closer, touching his cassock, tracing your finger over the places where he is wounded, where he hurt himself.

"More…" he whispers, closing his eyes as he feels your touch. He begins to moan softly from the pain you’re inflicting. Your fingers tighten their grip on the bruises on his back as he groans heavily. You bring your lips closer to the back of his neck, placing a few kisses there.

"Father, Father, Father. You're visibly excited in the middle of the church. What would the Bishop say about this? Or your faithful and devoted followers, who trust that their priest will be the purest of men?" You speak softly against the back of his neck, feeling him shiver. He turns to look at you, eyes thirsty for the pleasure of the flesh.

"It doesn’t matter, not really. 1 John 1:9, 'If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.' God, in His glory, will understand that in the face of temptation, I could not resist my sinful nature, and for that, I have failed in His eyes." Father Mayhew speaks, his eyes lingering on every detail of your face, but especially your lips. In his depraved mind, he’s already imagining. Imagining how his cock would fit perfectly between your lips, or how your moans must be as delicious as the tone of your voice. He lets his imagination of touching you, tasting you take over and lightly places his fingers under your lips, massaging them.

"Father, you are a perfect creature, but you are trapped beneath this mask of a devout religious man. I promise I will return here to unlock your true potential. Until then, remain under the flame of lust. Oh, and keep recording those workout videos; you have no idea how many souls your face and body corrupt. Now, to seal our first encounter together, repeat after me: I, Father Charlie Mayhew, accept your demonic presence to torment me for as long as necessary, committing myself to serve you." You say, gazing deeply into his eyes, as he seems lost in you. It takes him a moment to repeat your words, his eyes lingering on your attire, contemplating the implications of becoming entangled with you.

"Was that all?" He asks after repeating your words, his tone low as if he’s embarrassed. "When will I see you again?" There’s a note of desperation in Father Mayhew's question, as he watches you, trying to memorize every detail. You smile, thinking that he probably wants to remember you so he can indulge in pleasure later.

"You'll see me when the time is right. In the meantime, keep being a naughty boy," you say, caressing his face. Then, with a single finger, you touch his lips, slicing them open. He lets out a soft moan as blood begins to seep from his mouth. "Now it's time for my triumphant exit. Goodbye, Father," you say, leaning in to kiss him, as if to draw his very soul through his lips. The taste of his blood lingers in your mouth, sealing the recent pact between you. You lick his lips and then disappear. Like an illusion, you are no longer there.

[cera-writes]

could I request some spicy priest!Kurt x reader?🙏🙏🛐

A/N: ooooh, yes anon. Yes. Song inspo: Worship - Ari Abdul Pairing: Priest!Kurt Wagner x AFAB!reader Tags: sacreligious sexuality, pining, smut, confessions, sinning, dry humping

Penitent Pining

The church bells tolled solemnly, echoing through the city as the sun dipped below the horizon. Inside the dimly lit confessional, you sat, heart pounding with a mix of guilt and anticipation. The wooden partition slid open with a soft creak, and a velvety German laced voice whispered, "What sins weigh upon your soul today?"

You hesitated, your voice barely above a whisper. "Father Wagner, I... I have impure thoughts."

There was a pause, then Kurt's voice, gentle yet tinged with a hint of curiosity, replied, "Tell me, Mein Kind, what are these thoughts that trouble you so?"

"I think about... us," you confessed, feeling a flush creep up your cheeks. "About being close to you, in ways that should be forbidden."

Silence enveloped the small space for a moment before Kurt spoke again, his voice lower, almost a murmur. "It is natural to have such feelings, but we must resist them. Tell me, how do these thoughts manifest?"

You took a deep breath, the words tumbling out. "Sometimes, I imagine you here, with me. Touching me, kissing me. It's wrong, I know, but I can't help it. And even as I'm sitting in the congregation, all I can think of is you pressed against me..."

Kurt's breathing seemed to hitch slightly, and when he spoke, there was a huskiness to his tone. "These thoughts are indeed sinful, but they stem from human desire. We must pray for strength to overcome them."

As he spoke, you could hear the rustle of his cassock, the faint scent of incense wafting through the partition. Your mind raced with images of him, his blue fur, his agile form moving closer to you. Unable to resist, you reached out, fingertips brushing against the wood, imagining it was his skin.

"Father, I... I need guidance," you pleaded, your voice trembling with suppressed longing.

"Perhaps," Kurt began, his voice a whisper now, "perhaps it would be best if I were to show you the path to redemption. To guide you away from these desires."

Your heart leapt at his words, a thrill of illicit excitement coursing through you. "Yes, Father. Please, guide me."

The confessional door clicked softly as Kurt emerged from his side. He knelt before you, his eyes a deep, soulful yellow, filled with a mixture of duty and something deeper, something yearning.

"Let us begin," he said, his hand reaching out to take yours. As his fingers intertwined with yours, a jolt of electricity passed between you, igniting a fire that neither of you could ignore.

Kurt's other hand gently cupped your face, his thumb tracing your lower lip. "We must be careful," he murmured, even as his lips descended towards yours. The kiss was soft, chaste at first, but quickly deepened, becoming more urgent, more demanding, more sinful.

You leaned into him, your hands gripping his cassock, pulling him closer. His tail wrapped around your waist, drawing you against him, where you could feel the evidence of his own desire pressing against you.

Breaking the kiss, Kurt looked into your eyes, a question lingering there. "Are you sure about this? Once we start, there is no turning back. I vowed to never marry... but, my vows don't pertain to taking, well, lusts of the flesh." His voice was husky, mixed with something akin to shame but also... need? Like a hungry wolf desperate to devour its prey.

With a nod, you confirmed your willingness, your body aching for his touch. "I trust you, Father. Lead me."

His resolve seemed to crumble at your words, and with a groan, he pulled you onto his lap, his mouth finding yours again in a passionate embrace. His hands roamed over your body, exploring, learning, as you did the same to him, each touch setting off sparks of pleasure.

In the sanctity of the confessional, under the guise of spiritual guidance, you and Kurt surrendered to the desires you had both harbored for so long, each movement, each gasp, a step further into the depths of sacrilegious passion.

The confessional walls seemed to close in around you, the air thick with the scent of incense and the musk of your shared desire. Kurt's hands were everywhere, exploring the contours of your body with a reverence that was both thrilling and forbidden. His fingers traced the curve of your spine, sending shivers down your back as he pulled you closer.

"Du bist so schön," Kurt murmured against your neck, his breath hot and inviting, lips tracing down your skin. His mouth followed the path of his words, leaving a trail of kisses that made your head spin. You arched into him, craving more of his touch, more of his attention.

"Father, please," you gasped, not sure what you were begging for, only that you needed it desperately.

Kurt's response was immediate and intense. He lifted you slightly, positioning you so that you straddled his lap, your legs wrapped around his waist. The fabric of his cassock brushed against your skin, a constant reminder of his role and the taboo nature of your actions.

"Just Kurt," he said, his voice husky with desire, tail flicking upwards to trace a soft pattern down your cheek, making you shudder pleasantly as you leaned into his touch.

With that, he began to move beneath you, slow and deliberate, his hips rolling in a rhythm that matched the pounding of your heart. You could feel the hardness of him through the layers of clothing, a physical manifestation of his desire for you.

Encouraged by his boldness, you let your hands roam over his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath, the strength hidden beneath his priestly garb. You leaned forward, capturing his lips in a kiss that was hungry and demanding, tasting the sweetness of his surrender.

Kurt's hands moved to your hips, guiding your movements, teaching you how to move with him, how to bring him pleasure. Each thrust, each grind brought you closer to the edge, the thrill of the forbidden heightening every sensation.

"Look at me," Kurt commanded softly, his yellow eyes locking onto yours.

You obeyed, drowning in the intensity of his gaze, lost in the connection that went beyond the physical. With each movement, you felt a part of yourself melding with his, their boundaries blurring in the heat of the moment.

The confessional seemed to fade away, the world outside forgotten as all that existed was the space between you and Kurt, the space filled with whispered confessions and silent prayers for forgiveness. But in that moment, neither of you wanted absolution; all you wanted was each other, completely and sinfully.

As the intensity built, you clung to Kurt, your nails digging into his shoulders, your breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. He held you tightly, a pillar of strength amidst the storm of your passion, his own breaths ragged and uneven. "Mm, Kurt!" you hissed, feeling your pleasure build.

"Zusammen," he whispered, just as the wave of pleasure crested, sweeping you both away in its relentless tide. You cried out, a sound muffled against his shoulder, as the world shattered into a million pieces, each one reflecting the depth of your connection, the weight of your transgression.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your mingled breaths, the echo of your hearts beating in unison. Then, slowly, reality began to seep back in, the chill of the confessional walls reminding you of where you were, what you had done.

But even as guilt began to gnaw at the edges of your consciousness, you couldn't bring yourself to regret it. Not when the memory of Kurt's touch still lingered on your skin, not when the taste of his kiss still tinged your lips.

Kurt seemed to sense your turmoil, his arms and tail tightening around you protectively. "We will face this together," he promised, his voice a low rumble that resonated deep within you.

And as you looked into his eyes, seeing the same mix of desire and fear reflected there, you knew that whatever came next, you wouldn't be facing it alone.

"Is this a bad time to say forgive me Father, for I have sinned?" you smiled sheepishly.

Kurt only hummed in amusement.

[sinners-go-to-drink-the-wine]

JAKE IN LINGERIE JAKE IN LINGERIE JAKE IN LINGERIE JAKE IN LINGERIE JAKE IN LINGERIE JAKE IN LINGERIE JAKE IN LINGERIE

(post in reference)

I would absolutely love to write it! I love the idea of clothes sharing (hello dirty laundry fic), and I love the idea of dressing jake up for ✨fun✨, but also genuinely sharing clothes with him, and encouraging him to try new stuff and not feel weird maybe wanting to dress more feminine some times. It'll definitely be in the works soon~

[sinners-go-to-drink-the-wine]

and how he’d love the little gasp you’d let out when he first slid them in...

can we talk about how thick Jakes fingers are…it’s for science

[foxy-eva]

Lavender & Lace

Summary: Spencer didn't know how much fun going shopping with his girlfriend would be

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Smut 

Content Warning: (18+, minors DNI) lingerie, semi-public sex (in a dressing room), almost getting caught, fingering, unprotected penetrative sex

Word Count: 1.6k

Masterlist

When you initially asked Spencer to come shopping with you, he expected to see you in different options for new work attire, maybe some casual clothes as well. What he hadn't expected was you grabbing one piece of very alluring lingerie after the other with the prospect of letting him see you wearing each of them. 

Spencer, currently standing right behind you, was holding four different types of bras for you while you inspected some more underwear that would leave very little to the imagination. 

With a smirk spread over your face, you wondered, "What do you think about this one?"

"Uhm…," was all Spencer had to say to that. 

It was getting harder by the second for Spencer to not imagine you wearing all those tempting clothing options. He knew that if he'd allow his mind to wander that things could get very inappropriate very quickly. There was no denying the disadvantages of the male anatomy when it came to impure thoughts in a public place. 

"I think I'll just have to try on everything!" You chirped as you grabbed your boyfriend's hand to lead him to the fitting rooms. 

When you wanted to pull him into the confined space, Spencer hesitated, asking, "You want me to go in there with you?"

"I need to know what you think." Pointing at the clothes Spencer was still holding for you, you added, "Unless you want me to walk out of the dressing room for everyone to see me wearing this."

After contemplating his options for a split second, Spencer stepped into the changing room with you and closed the curtain behind him. Sitting down on the little chair in the corner, he handed you the first bra to try on. You were quick to undress and noticed how Spencer's cheeks began glowing once your chest was exposed. 

It was obvious how hard he tried to be respectful but he couldn't help but shyly take a glimpse of your curves. You found his reaction endearing, especially knowing how different he usually was when he saw you naked in another context. 

"Spencer, you have seen them a million times," you giggled.

He found your eyes and corrected you, "It's only been 158 times. And I still can't believe how beautiful you are."

For a moment you tried to recount if this number could be accurate but you knew Spencer never made a mistake when it came to math. You almost wanted to tell him that you couldn't believe he knew the exact number but the truth was, you weren't surprised at all. 

Spencer's eyes followed every one of your moves a lot more blatantly than before as you tried on the first piece of clothing. You started with the most modest one, a bra with a color similar to your skin tone you could wear in your everyday life. Your boyfriend almost seemed relieved when you picked that one to try on first. 

"It works but it's not really what I'm looking for," you said as you reached back to unclasp it. 

Once again Spencer's eyes fell to your chest and you couldn't help but laugh, "My eyes are up here."

"Sorry," he mumbled, his entire face colored in a lovely rosy shade. 

You reached for a more alluring piece of lingerie, something you thought Spencer would really like on you. 

As you brushed over the lavender-colored lace, you announced, "I think I'll try that one next."

Spencer audibly gulped before clearing his throat but he didn't say anything. Once the bra was in place, you noticed how thin the fabric was. It was barely covering the curve of your breast and your nipples were visible. Nothing you owned came even close to how daring this bra was. 

Spencer noticed that, too. 

He also noticed how his pants suddenly got a lot tighter, his attempt to keep his thoughts decent failed at last. His mind raced to a image of you wearing that piece of lingerie together with a matching pair of panties that he would just push aside to fuck you. 

The soft tone of your voice brought him back to reality. "Could you help me adjust the straps?" 

He got up from the chair, aware that he was unable to hide the bulge in his pants from you. At this point he had already abandoned his hope to be able to keep up a decent demeanor. 

"Looks like you really like this one," you purred once you noticed. 

Spencer stood behind you, finding your eyes in the mirror. 

"I do," he confirmed. "I love that color on you." 

When his fingertips made contact with the skin of your back, a shiver ran down your spine. He was quickly done with adjusting the straps of the bra but let his hands linger anyway. His eyes were dark and filled with lust, a look you usually only got to see when you were alone with him. 

"What are you thinking?" You breathed as if it wasn't obvious. 

Still acting too reserved for your liking, he answered,"I'd rather not say."

You didn't let go just yet, encouraging him to speak his mind by saying, "No need to be shy."

Spencer leaned down to find your ear, his breath feeling hot against your neck when he groaned, "I'm thinking about what I want to do later."

One of your hands reached back to feel his hardness through his pants, whispering, "Why wait?" 

"We're in public," he reminded you as he removed your hand despite his desperation to find some relief. 

Your hands flew to your pants, undoing them as you cooed, "Guess I'll have to be quiet then." 

Spencer looked at you in disbelief, clearly hesitating to bring to action what both of you longed for. Once your pants dropped to the floor, there was no more holding back. He pressed himself against your back and let his hands wander over your body. One of them made contact with the curve of your breasts, brushing over the thin lace of the bra until your peaks hardened. 

The other hand descended down your stomach until his fingertips carefully parted your folds to access your most sensitive spot. He teased you for a few moments until he was certain you were ready for him. With a firm push against your shoulder he slightly bent your body until your palms met the mirror. 

His mouth found your ear once more, breathing, "One sound and I'll stop."

When you heard the sound of him undoing his belt, you felt like you might lose your mind. Gone was any trace of the shy man who barely dared to take a look at the lingerie you picked out. The way he let his eyes roam over your figure now excited you more than you could put into words.

Through the mirror you watched him spit in his palm to give himself a few strokes. You stood on your tiptoes and tilted your hips a little more to give him access to your body. He didn't hold back in the slightest, pushing into you with one swift motion while his mouth kissed along your neck. Biting down on your own lips, you tried your best to hold back the moans that usually escaped your mouth in moments like this. 

The sensation of creating such an intimate moment in an almost public setting like this was too much for you to handle. Usually Spencer took his time with you, teasing you with slow thrusts until you begged for more. Today was different. He pushed into you with purposeful motions, making it clear that he wanted you to fall over the edge within just a few moments. 

You locked eyes with him through the mirror and admiring the rosy shade spread all over his cheeks and neck. It was obvious how much he was enjoying this moment, almost forgotten was the possibility that someone could disturb the two of you. 

Until you heard a stranger's voice from the other side of the curtain. 

Spencer instantly stopped moving while placing his hand over your mouth. You were sure that this would be the end of your encounter, making you abandon your mission before either of you had found relief. But your boyfriend just listened and waited with a lot more patience than you'd expected. 

It appeared that the stranger was talking to someone else and soon walked away from their place right in front of your dressing room. When he was sure that nobody knew about the lewdness happening behind the curtain, Spencer began moving again, harsher and quicker than before. 

"You better hurry or we'll get caught," he whispered before kissing the side of your face.

He kept his hand on your mouth, not fully trusting you to stay quiet. It proved to be the right choice once you entered a state of pure bliss, the sounds of your pleasure muffled by Spencer’s hand pressed against your lips. The second he felt you pulsing around his hardness, he let go as well. He shared your warmth with you until neither of you had anything left to give. 

When your bodies parted, the remains of your shared desire began dripping down your thighs. Spencer was quick to hand you a tissue from your purse and helped you clean up any evidence of impropriety.

Once both of your pants were back in place, Spencer found your eyes and softly asked, "Are you okay?"

Smiling at him, you nodded, "Yes, are you?" 

"Yeah but…," he paused and placed his hands on your waist, gently moving them up until they brushed over the purple lace of the bra. "I think I'll need to see you wearing that again at home." 

"That can be arranged," you snickered. "I'm pretty sure there's also a matching pair of panties." 

After placing a kiss on your lips, Spencer chuckled, "I can’t wait to see that."

If you enjoyed reading this story you should check out the other fics in my NSFW Masterlist!

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[crguang]

ocean eyes

You’ve never seen the ocean. Kafka introduces you to it.

fluffy as fawk, recycled the idea from that fic but it’d be like a prequel technically, 2.3k words

A/N: couldn’t stop thinking about kafka loving the sea she’s made for me atp. title only makes sense because of the other fic lol

The sea breeze washes over your being, it caresses each strand of hair and softly touches your skin like gentle hands cupping your cheeks. You feel it in your ears, a sound you’re hearing for the first time; its warmth seems to enter your lungs and clear it of past impurities with every inhale, and you wish to take a deep breath to keep it inside your chest forever.

The sensation leaves you immobile. In front of you, the ocean. A myth come true, its beauty rivaling Idrila’s. It’s vast, bigger than your mind can comprehend even after so many years spent traveling the cosmos, and a deeper blue than the sky it’s reflecting. Water has never been so alive, with waves crashing on the shore and currents on the horizon, you are facing an entity larger than life. Its depths create and harbor life that you won’t ever get to see. Your mortal eyes can only perceive a fraction of it, so small and significant. You didn’t think it was possible for water to kiss the sky, having the proof before you fills you with wonderment. Among it, some strange feeling nestles in your throat. You stand as it curls around your vocal cords and leaves you mute. Words are useless in front of something so grand, you realize, they fade away as if they've never existed at all. You lose yourself in cold blues and the occasional whites of flying seagulls, in salty air that quickly becomes your favorite scent, and you can’t speak for a long moment.

Lithe fingers, laced with your calloused ones, tighten their hold on your hand. It takes a couple blinks to tear your eyes away from the boundless sea, and you turn to Kafka’s fond smile. She’s watching you, drinking you in like you’re the precious sight and not the limitless expanse of water on the coast. A thumb swipes over the crease of your eye, lingering at the corner for a second too long, and you realize she’s wiping a tear away.

“Oh,” you exhale softly, bringing your free hand to your face. Your cheeks are wet with silent tears and you sniffle as you wipe them from your skin. “I didn’t even notice.”

“What were you thinking about so intently just now?”

You look back at the sea, an ache in your throat. The sun hides behind thin clouds and paints the world in soft colors.

“I was wondering if my planet was ever this pretty. I wish my mother could have seen it.”

Your home world fell victim to a Stellaron, like plenty throughout the galaxy. It dried most of your rivers and evaporated many of your lakes, transforming seas into lands full of sand. Water was a limited resource and a tedious thing to acquire. You remember stumbling on a picture book with various shades of blue filling some of the pages and asking your mother about it. That evening, she explained the ocean to you; never-ending, deeper than mortals can comprehend and filled with creatures your childish mind could merely compare to alien life. You thought she was making stuff up, maybe embellishing a mundane truth, but she spoke of the sea with the same tenderness she used to tuck you into bed. As you grew, you understood that it was longing in her words, a deep desire for something she would never experience in this lifetime. To you, it felt pointless to yearn for something she didn’t know; your mother was born long after the Stellaron infected your planet and spread its cancer to the roots of your world. You didn’t understand how this desire was born, where it came from. Yet, in her eyes resided a wistfulness that was only extinguished the day she died. She left the waking world longing for the sea, and memories of her constrict your chest as you stand at the edge of it.

Kafka hums, pivoting to face the water. A gentle silence settles between you as you watch the waves rise and fall on the shore. Her bare palm is warm against yours, it grounds you to the sand beneath your feet. Seagulls make a grating sound, you discover, but even their squawking can’t ruin the view before you. You feel a sudden restlessness to touch the water, to have it envelop you entirely until you feel yourself disappear in it as if absorbed.

“Can we go in the water?”

Kafka smiles. “Sure.”

Your hand slips from hers and you step out of your slides, sinking your toes into the hot sand of the beach. Sand is something you’re familiar with, it reminds you of your mom and your broken world. Comfort fills you with every step towards the waves. Kafka follows beside you, used to the sights and the sensations. She comes here every summer, but this is the first time she’s brought you along. You understand why she’d want a place like this all to herself, it brings forth a sense of serenity best enjoyed in solitude. Or, at least it did, before. Before experience brought you closer.

You hesitate somewhat once you reach the water. Your feet are submerged in it and suddenly its vastness becomes a little terrifying. Kafka walks in further until she’s standing waist deep in the water, circling hands creating ripples around her. She turns to face you with a silent question on her stretched lips.

“…I don’t know how to swim,” you confess uselessly, prompting a chuckle out of her. She knows that, obviously, since you’re unfamiliar with large bodies of water.

“We can stay on the shallow end. Don’t want you drowning on my watch, I’d get in a lot of trouble with the others.”

Kafka holds out her hand. You take it with some reticence. She brings you close enough for wet fingers to squeeze your waist affectionately. Her easy expression makes you at ease, she seems different on this planet, more carefree. She’s not wearing her contacts and her ponytail is lower than usual, its tie looser around her long locks of hair. You’re privy to a side of her you had no idea existed and you’re honored by the trust she puts in you.

“Nice, right?”

“It’s cold,” you reply, looking down at your wobbly reflections.

“Mm, I like it.”

You dip your hands beneath the water and turn your palms to the sky. Algae brushes against your calves as you move around. Kafka lets you explore, head tilting back to face the sun. You venture a bit further until your neck is the only thing sticking out of the water. Impulsively, you squeeze your eyes shut, pinch your nose with two fingers and sink into the water. Every sound is muffled in your ears, and in the darkness everything is pointless. This is different from a shower or being caught in the pouring rain, you feel light. weightless, insignificant. You wonder if that’s what your mother longed for, this freedom to be anything and anyone, drifting through the boundless sea. You emerge with a little gasp, rubbing the water out of your eyes before blinking them open.

You’re careful not to stray too far from where Kafka is drinking in the faint sunlight. Her eyes are closed when you glance back at her, chin tilted to the heavens. Her shoulders have turned a rosier color from the sun and her dark, backless bathing suit contrasts beautifully with the clear ocean blue. You walk towards her, flicking your wrist to send water flying her way. Her brows twist for a second before she looks at you with a small smile. Kafka always smiles a lot, more often than not to unsettle her opponent or prey, but there’s a softer edge to the ones she’s had since you arrived on this planet.

“What do you usually do here?” You ask, moving closer to her.

“Float. Wanna try?” Kafka holds onto your waist when you’re close enough to reach, pulling you towards her. “I can show you.”

“I don’t want to drown.”

“You’re not going to drown.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Kafka playfully rolls her eyes and takes hold of your chin with a few fingers. Her gaze follows the movement of her thumb across your jaw, then flicks up to meet yours.

“I wouldn’t let you,” she says, leaning in to press her lips on yours in a soft kiss. Your eyes flutter shut as her mouth slowly moves against yours. She pulls away after a moment and looks at you. “Do you trust me?”

“At times.”

“Well, trust me now.”

One of her hands is placed on the small of your back to support you, the other gently guides you onto your back by applying pressure on your chest.

“What if I float away,” you say, a tinge of panic enveloping you, and you grab her wrist to stay upright.

Kafka can’t help the amusement on her face. “To where?”

“Far, I don’t know.”

“Would you miss me?”

You pout. “It’s a valid fear to have.”

“It’s really not.”

“What if I float to the deep end, then it’s too late to come back and I drown because I can’t swim?”

Kafka looks at you for a moment, eyelids lowering and an amused smile on her lips. She doesn’t say anything, just stares at you like she’s thinking of something funny.

“What?” You ask, eyes narrowing.

“You killed three flying beasts twice your size at once, last week. You're scared of a little water?”

“Fuck you,” you try pushing her away, but she only presses you further into her with her arms around your waist, a laugh escaping her. “There’s nothing little about the fucking ocean.”

“Relax,” she drawls, “it won’t work if you’re tense.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing.”

Kafka curls a hand around the back of your neck and suddenly brings you closer to capture your lips with hers. Her head tilts to kiss you better, and you can’t focus on anything but the sweet kisses she presses against your mouth. Your wet hand trails up her spine, causing droplets of water to slide down her back. Your lips part to deepen the kiss when her tongue swipes over your bottom lip. You forget the argument, your muscles relax as her chest touches yours, and by the time she pulls away with a soft exhale through her nose, you almost forget your surroundings. You chase her lips as she leans back, planting a few more chaste kisses on her mouth. She indulges you for a minute, the fingers on your nape tightening their grip for an instant. You’re breathing heavier when she separates from you for good and smiles.

“Now, let’s try it again, mmh?”

Kafka teaches you how to float in the water with firm hands and occasional teasing jabs to which you would respond if she wasn’t the one standing between you and drowning. In the end, you spend most of the day at sea, learning how to keep water from going up your nose without using your fingers and the basics of swimming. Your fingertips are pruned hours later as you emerge from the water. Kafka’s still under— you bet on who could hold their breath the longest— so you dive back beneath the surface as quietly as you can. She calls you a cheater afterwards, but you distract her with wet, slippery kisses.

You’re drying yourselves on the beach as the sun sets below the horizon. You sit on your towel next to Kafka, who’s reclined on her elbows. Her eyes are closed, not a crease between her brows, and her head is tilted upwards. Before, you thought she was sunbathing, but now the temperature is slightly lower than this afternoon and the sun is no longer visible in the sky. You think perhaps she’s simply enjoying the sound of the waves and the salty air like you did earlier. It’s funny, she hasn’t told you what this place means to her; it clearly holds some sort of significance if she returns to it annually. Her way of revealing herself is unconventional at best and a little clumsy, like a fawn taking its first steps. She presents you the sea, this part of her she keeps hidden from everyone, and says nothing else. You watch the lines of her nose, the curves of her lips and their pretty pink color. Her face is bare from any makeup, her hair loose and her expression so relaxed she might’ve been asleep. She’s beautiful. You’re no longer gazing at the ocean, though you feel a familiar sense of wonder as you observe her. Your heart is light in your chest and you suddenly understand how your mother could yearn for something she’s never experienced before.

Kafka’s eyes slowly blink open. She tilts her head to meet your stare with a smile, and you long to love her like your mother longed for the sea.

“Let’s stay a little longer.”

You nod. Your limbs move before you can stop yourself; you straddle her waist, sitting on her lap and snaking your arms around her back. Kafka lets you bury your nose in the crook of her neck, using a hand in the sand to support the both of you.

“What’s that for?” There’s a teasing lilt to her voice as you breathe in the smell of the sea on her skin.

“Nothing,” you lie, pressing a kiss to her skin.

Your mouth trails up her neck to her jaw, tasting salt, and Kafka hums when you kiss her lips. It feels different to kiss her after getting acquainted with the ocean because you finally have something to compare the weightlessness that overwhelms you with each of her fervish kisses. A hand tangles itself in your hair, pulling you closer until she reclines on the ground and your body follows without missing a beat, lips locked.

You pull away to breathe in, only slightly, reveling in the sensation of her hand up your back.

“You’ll get sand in my hair,” Kafka mutters into your mouth.

“I’ll wash it for you.”

On a deserted beach and with the sea as your witness, you kiss her until the moon ascends in the sky and the waves grow stronger behind you.

[cyberwhumper]

It’s almost ridiculous how easy it was to take him. An ironic anticlimax, a sardonically unsatisfying nothingness, like a round of Russian roulette played with a malfunctioning squirt gun. Stupid enough that War can’t help a huff of disbelief, almost disappointment, as he stands on the glossy floor of his throne room, prize in hand, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It never does.

Slowly, tectonically, the Horseman’s face splits into a grin.

Victory is his.

⭑⭑⭑

There hadn’t even been a fight.

Victory would probably be ashamed of himself, if shame was an emotion the angel had ever been capable of feeling. He had been drunk, of course. He usually was. Anything to drown out the intractable boredom of the endless campaigns Heaven waged, those sterile scourings of the unclean and impure that were more a science than an art at this point. The cacophony of wingbeats and platinum swords that had once made his heart flutter with anticipation now lulled him halfway to sleep. As long as he was here, there was no contest. Every engagement was a rout, every triumph swift and sound.

It wasn’t fun anymore.

So he drank, and waited, and picked up flowers and shell casings, and stared vacantly out over the gore-splattered squadrons on their fields of slaughter while he stood apart, resplendent and redundant.

War had taken him effortlessly. He had dozed off at some point after running his fingers through already-pristine feathers for the millionth time, floating cozily on champagne and cynicism. When he awoke, however, it wasn’t hungover on a bed of silks, but rather hungover in a burning-hot darkness so total he briefly wondered if he’d somehow failed to open his eyes.

And then there was light—not the searing white purity of Heaven, but a primal, animal sort of glow, fever-hot and ruddy, assuring him that his eyes were, indeed, open, and making him immediately squeeze them closed.

“Ow.”

⭑⭑⭑

War stares down at the angel, crumpled like wet paper on his hall floor, a mixture of curiosity and derision in his carved face.

“So this is Heaven’s lucky charm,” he muses, voice dripping with command. “Look at me. Open your eyes.”

Victory shudders, a little whine escaping him.

War raises an eyebrow. Stubborn. “Open your eyes.”

The angel shakes his head, curling acid-white wings over himself. Whines again.

War draws closer. Victory is completely harmless, dazed and bound in chains built to restrain much stronger beings than he is, but the general still feels, somehow, on edge. “Open your eyes, little angel. Or are you afraid?”

“Not afraid,” comes the grumbled reply. “Headache. Stop talking.”

That stops War in his tracks, blinking. There are few creatures in Heaven or Hell who aren’t afraid of the Horseman, and those few are either very powerful or very stupid.

Victory, War thinks, is very, very stupid.

He smiles, for the second time that day, running his forked tongue over triplicate canine teeth. Ridiculous. Victory is his, easy as breathing.

And if taking him was that easy, well. Breaking him will be a breeze.

⭑⭑⭑

So he’s in Hell.

It’s been days, or millennia. Who’s to say. It’s not as hot as he expected, honestly. Sure, the air itself feels acrid and alien, infernal energy making him feel shaky and nauseous long after the hangover has cleared, and the chains lacing his body are as heavy as lead, and he lives inside a hanging birdcage with bars the same molten gold color as War’s eyes. But it’s not that hot. If anything, he’s actually cold, that prickly kind of bone-chill that comes with a fever, spiking every time the demon lord comes near him.

Such as now.

Victory shivers, drawing his wings protectively around himself as War idly taps the bars of the cage with his pronged tail, setting it slowly rocking.

“Didn’t take you for the bashful type,” he says, voice as deep and smooth as wine.

“I’m not,” Victory responds, feeling very far away. Above him, his halo flickers.

“Then come here. Let me see you.”

Victory cocks his head. “Why?”

“Because you’re mine.” War’s face is impassive on the other side of the bars. “And I command you to.”

Well, Victory can’t argue with that. Literally, can’t. It’s like he’s under some fucking spell down here, the poisoned air, the Horseman’s voice, everything conspiring to make him want to be pliant and obedient. God, he thinks the water’s drugged.

But he wasn’t lying when he said he wasn’t shy. He unfurls his wings, baring himself to War, all long lines of muscle under sun-bronzed skin, smears of ash and grime providing more coverage than the few scraps of silk still clinging to his hips.

“Closer,” says War.

Obediently, like a lamb, Victory crawls to him.

He slips his arms out through the bars, the chains on his wrists clinking almost musically against them despite their weight. “Like what you see?” he murmurs. For everything else he is, War is a man. And Victory can work with that.

“Yes,” War says plainly, and something flutters low in the angel’s belly. The feeling strengthens as War reaches between the bars and strokes clawed fingers across his cheekbone, jawline, throat. His halo flickers again, reflected brokenly in War’s eyes, gazing openly at him. “Come here.”

Even if Victory could resist, he wouldn’t have. War is handsome, in a wicked, cruel sort of way, all hard angles and corded muscles that bely the hypnotic grace of an apex predator. The whole demon thing aside, you just don’t get guys like that in Heaven. War unlocks the gilded cage and coaxes Victory out almost gently, letting him stand on unsteady legs as he continues tracing massive hands over the angel’s features, running fingers through his tangled hair, razor-sharp claws ghosting along his skin.

“Beautiful,” the Horseman murmurs. His hand pauses on Victory’s wing, feeling its liquid softness, feathers glossy as pearls beneath the layer of dirt, the intimacy of the touch making Victory have to choke back a moan. “Mine…”

And then, quick and snake-like, War sinks his claws in and twists.

Victory screams.

Face still blank, as effortlessly as if he was plucking a ripe fruit from a vine, War tears the angel’s wing off.

“Beautiful,” he repeats.

Yours, Victory thinks, and then, mercifully, he passes out.

⭑⭑⭑

It really is that easy.

War savors the destruction. He takes his time with the other wing, using his favorite hunting knife to carve it free without damaging a single feather, disarticulating the delicate flight-bones and ligaments with a finesse that would almost seem loving were it not being used for butchery. They truly are beautiful, long and slender and elegant, glimmering with the iridescence of a soap bubble, their stark whiteness absolutely reeking of Heaven. His herald, a primordial demon with an inexplicable knack for interior design, helps him mount them on the wall behind the infernal throne, flanking it, brilliant and ghastly trophies making for a downright ostentatious display of power and dominion.

“You are keeping it?” the herald asks in his lilting voice, poking the unconscious angel with one cloven hoof. The pool of mercury-colored blood he lies in smells like burnt sugar and champagne.

“Of course,” War replies. He hauls Victory up by the hair, eyes running up and down the limp body like it’s a cut of meat. He’s already curious about how that blood tastes, what the candy-coated entrails of an angel look like up close and personal, just how many more pretty little noises he’ll wring from those soft lips when he sinks a claw in and splits that bronze skin from collarbone to pelvis.

Victory is flightless, his divinity staked into the wall of Hell’s war council hall. All War needs to do now is bind him, snap his faltering halo and stain his soul with the sigils that will ensure his eternal obedience. Heaven will be fucked.

And given how easily Victory fell, into his domain, into his arms, well. It shouldn’t take much.

Again, War smiles, wolfish.

“To the winner go the spoils,” he quotes. “And Victory is mine.”

------------------

Fic by the incredible @bxtterflystxtches ! Please show him some love!!!

[OC INDEX]

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[sinners-go-to-drink-the-wine]

AND WHY ARE WE RESISTING THE THOUGHT? I EMBRACR THE THOUGHT EVERY DAY

Trying so hard not to think about running my hand down the curve of Jake's back to his ass GOODNIGHT

AND IM TRYING DESPERATELY HARD TO NOT IMAGINE SINKING MY NAILS INTO THE SOFTNESS OF HIS MUSCLES ABOVE HIS ASS ANYWAAAAAAY

[cash-111]

Random filth,

My hcs for the Slytherins

Pairings: female reader x Theodore/Mattheo/Draco/Enzo/Blaise/Tom

CW: explicit talk of sex and kinks under the cut.

A/N: it’s that time of the month. Don’t come for me.

You can tell I got tired near the end lol

Theodore is an absolute munch. I see him being obsessed with oral far more than any of the others. He’s had a rough day? Smothering your lips until you squirm, and everything else is drowned out by your cries of pleasure, will cheer him up. He’s had a particularly good day? Gotta celebrate with his favorite activity, which, coincidentally, includes his favorite person.

on this line of thinking, I could see him being into food stuff. Especially for Italian!theo, food is super important in Italian culture and I can see it being a big comfort for him, if not just something he finds pleasurable. He’ll feed you strawberries, fill you a nice glass of wine, and ‘accidentally’ spill some chocolate fondue over you… well, your clothes are ruined now, so you might as well take them off? Just lay down and let him take care of the sweet mess he made, just for him to make an even worse one out of you. <3

Hot take, but I think Mattheo is a switch. He’s got that sweet burnt out golden child flare: high expectations and in turn high standards for himself, all the while upholding a public reputation (good or bad). I think this flows into spikes of dominance and/or submissiveness; he can absolutely be arrogant and imposing, he’ll have you melting and behaving for him one way or another, but we all crave intimacy and the freedom to be vulnerable too, and he’s no different.

Those times he wishes you would take care of him too, let him be whiny and delicate, breakable. He’ll grip at your flesh like a thirsty man grapples at water, thrusting up with you lazily, whimpers against your soft skin about how “you feel so good… so good” spilling over and over from his mouth.

I also think he carries a lot of guilt with him, so on a particularly bad day he’ll let you completely ruin him, rub him so raw he cries for you to stop. His throat is soar, his chest puffing, and his lips a slick blood red from all the biting and drooling. The overstimulation is too much, but even though he could easily break free, he surrenders, hoping the hot of his skin will burn down all of his impurities.

I’m sorry to all my tall girlies, but I think he’d have a thing for size difference. If you’re shorter, it’s just so perfect to him: he loves to make fun of you, rile you up and savor the cute spectacle you make for him; he loves how he can encompass you when you sit on his lap, and has to fight the urge of eating you up every time you’re in public; and when you hug his waist, hold his bigger hand, or do anything stupidly cute, he just wants to scoop you up and whisk you away. And he probably will.

Draco is similar in the way he also has high expectations to deal with, but I think he’d see it more as a loss of control, with his father cutting out a perfect path for him, his wish is to take his fate into his own hands. This results in a more domineering nature during sexy times, but I don’t think he’d ever be outright disrespectful, even on the spur of the moment.

Unless you ask for it, he’s not the type to let all instinct take over and risk hurting you. I adamantly believe in mama’s boy Draco, he may not respect dreadful Potter, or be influenced by a strict purist household, but he surely respects women.

One word. Possessive. What’s his is his and once you commit there’s no going back. He’ll guard you like a dragon does to his stash, a hand unconsciously always searching for you: an arm draped over your shoulder, curled around your waist, fingers laced with yours, or a firm grip on your wrist when he’s more nervous.

For this reason I think he’s hand-dominant when it comes to pleasure. He wants to feel, feel, feel. When he’s caught up in the delicious delirium you cause him, his hands will be all over you: your breasts, neck, arms, thighs, waist, there isn’t a stone left unturned. He’ll definitely lose himself in the trance of all the sounds he can get from you while his fingers are buried deep into your warm, pulsing core. And don’t you dare look away from his eyes, Merlin knows what happens when you do.

Some would have you believe Enzo is the most innocent of the group, but I actually think that boy is a wolf in sheep’s clothing: with a fervid imagination and a lot of love to give, Enzo is helpless to his mind’s work when it comes to you.

He will try not to let it show, but images of you plague his mind and blur his vision, so much so that he tries to avoid you, but, instead of toning it down, your absence just makes his fantasies that much more desperate.

Only one freaky (and with a solid parental background) enough to consider sharing you. He’s obsessed with your pleasure, he wouldn’t mind sitting back for a bit and just observe you, he knows all the sweet sounds you make are for him.

Hot take, but kind of a sadist (in a sweet way). Mf loves to watch you unravel and ‘humiliate’ you about it; would coo and say filthy things in your ear, a hand to the neck or on your hair when you both get really into it. I see him having switch up moments sometimes where something more primal engulfs him, it’ll have him rail you to the end of tomorrow in a way so contrasting to the sweet person he is, you’d wonder if it’s even him, but you can’t really think during those times…

Blaise is a chill man, I don’t think he’d have many depravities, but he’ll try anything at least once, if it’s to your liking. And you can bet he’ll give it his all, he just wants to have a good time with you, so it’s only natural he’d give everything a fair shot. Very soft top of him.

Only more out there thing I really see him actively bringing into your relationship, would be semi-public escapades. I think he loves the thrill of having you two almost caught, and certainly enjoys making it into a game of who can get the other to break first, before going back to a more secluded, private, area.

He will have you squirming in your seat during meals, or in the back of the classroom, hand stuffed down your panties. You’re helpless to stop him, a hand gripped tightly around his wrist, while the other tries to muffle any whimpers he tears from you. He’ll smirk as he wets his lips, acting like you’re the only compromised one (while his cock strains painfully in his tight uniform trousers, tip leaking and crying for attention), and whisper into your ear, his other hand tracing featherlight on your other side. “Just admit you need me”. He’s an ass, but you do.

What I need you to understand for Tom, is that, in French spirit, his whole stigma is about being grand and iconic (💅) , he’s a psycho and you’re his devoted pet.

Will hold you a collaring ceremony. You’re his pretty little thing, in the literal sense. You’re his possession, and as such you will do anything for him. If you’ll be good, he’ll make sure to take care of you. Since you’re an extension of him, he can’t have you being damaged or neglected (in the face of the public. That’s very important). You need to shine for him, like a pretty jewel: make him proud. Unless you want to be bad, reject him, demean him. Then he’ll have no mercy, using you as an outlet, bullying you with his cock, until you forget where you are, and throwing venomous words at you, until you remember your own place. (… and who knows, maybe you planned for it)

Isn’t affected much by physicality, but is absolutely obsessed with lingerie. He finds it classy, intriguing. He’ll bring you endless racks of it: you’re expected to try each and every one, and always wear it when meeting him. Also perfumes, he’s very opinionated and has a sensitive nose, which he’ll push deep into your neck when he unravels upon you, groaning against your marked skin.

[yanderenightmare]

this doesn’t need to be a full story I’d just love to see some of scummy kirishima trying to refrain himself from forcing himself on his darling but she makes it .. so hard

BNHA ! THIRST

Kirishima Eijirou x darling

TW: NSFW, yandere, noncon/dubcon, misogyny, prohero au, inappropriate thoughts in the office… 

I took liberties - made darling a supervisor-type from the Hero Commission fsr

It's as though every inch of you begs him to pounce. From the free-fall of crispy-done curls that cascade down around your shoulder to the perfectly placed red-lined lips you smack once talking down to him about proper hero protocol and the subsequent punishments that follow insubordination and how you'll have his license revoked if he doesn't start playing by the Hero Public Safety Commissions rules.

You make him want to gather your expensive haircut in a tight-knit fist – smudge all that red over your pretty face when taking his cock so far down your bratty throat you choke on all the prissy words kept on your tongue for him.

Strutting in that tight black pencil skirt that cinches your small waist – making it look so perfectly receptacle for his large hands – above those firm hips and those doughy thighs he wants nothing more but to squeeze into and make jiggle as he buries himself deep between them. You make his balls itch every time you stomp away from him – with the cruelly tall peekaboo slit splitting your skirt open – teasing him with every loud step you take in those slick black stilettos - showing ankles and legs and knees and thighs, up and up but not far up enough to quench the feral hunger it edges deep down in his gut.

He'd shuffle on his knees – bite his knuckles in restraint – all to cop a feel of that ass and how you sway it with the same sass of an alley-cat. He can imagine it receiving his greedy hands so well – letting him carve in so far he might see his fingers completely swallowed in the fat. Leave his handprint in stinging welts that make you weep for kindness, bent over his lap with your wrists in his fist – only to be answered by his sharp teeth sinking deep into the supple flesh – making you scream.

You don't make it easy for him… being so tiny and snatchable. It would be the easiest thing – to take and tame you – to pull your much smaller body right off your feet and push you tight against the nearest wall – all your important documents on the floor beneath his dirty boots as you take his cock between your ribs and choke on the moan it gives you.

He can barely listen when you berate him – telling him his pay will be redacted if he doesn’t try harder at keeping the wreckage of private and government buildings to a minimum – unable to block out all the impure thoughts that go bubbling from his balls, making his throat tight as you stand there so primly in your glossy silk shirt with buttons so flimsy he bet they'd pop off on the slightest little tug. He imagines it as you continue your rant – your finger pointed at him strictly, and all he’s able to think about is how your breasts would spill out and he’d get to see whatever chic lace brazier you have on underneath.

Gnashing his teeth together, gritting them tight at how painful his boner is, kept inside the strict confines of his boxers while he imagines chewing on the pretty pearls you keep around your throat – thinking about tugging the necklace tight in a strangle, making you squeak and groan as he pounds you harder and harder from behind.

He bets only one of his big hands in your hair would have you completely humbled. Bet you'd cower in cries and do exactly whatever he'd tell you in fear of having your pretty body hurt.

He bet he'd get away with it, too – that's the worst part – that the crime he wants to commit the most is one without consequence. He'll think about it until his abdomen feels like it's about to burst – until his head's so hot and pounding it hurts, and he might very well blackout and give into all of it without further thought.

It would be as easy as pulling on a ski mask. He knows exactly how he’d do it – has your entire routine mapped out and knows exactly what empty building is still under construction in exactly what shortcut you go through to reach your apartment. Knows exactly which slab of still dusty concrete he could bend you over and push your little tear-stained face down against – watching the chub of your cheek squish against the cold stone as you moan on hot cries and plead out fruitless whimpers for his mercy. 

He imagines taking his sweet time with you – getting you real nice and ready for him, playing slippery patterns between your folds where he has your feet kicked apart in a spread. He'd rest his pained and pulsating meat between the valley of your asscheeks as you shake and whine – rubbing against the soft plush skin with a rumble in his chest until you're perfectly puffy and wet for him – tight cunt suckling lewdly on three of his fat gravely fingers stuffed inside it.

He knows you don't get around much – knows you're too busy and otherwise too stingy to let any random person fuck you, so he can only imagine how sweet and sensitive you'd be for him – so needy for the attention, you'd probably start cheering him on once feeling how good he stretches your cock-starved pussy out. 

He imagines your moans are real girly, too – that you'd squeal so nicely once split apart on him. And how your thighs would quake, receiving every inch of his length inside you – toes curling in your stilettos once he's completely bottomed out – nudging his fat cockhead right up against your cervix.

You’d clench on his shaft – milk him for cum – desperate for it.

And he’d give it to you – paint your walls thick with it – cream your tight little cunt so full of it you’d moan out the prettiest breathless thank you as it spills in beady pills down your thighs into your expensive power-heels – properly put in your place.

tip-jar: Kofi