#thought to bring out her religious side

[isabelleneville]

𓅃 ANNE BOLEYN WEEK 2024 𓅃

day two | favourite historical Anne quote (either by Anne herself or about Anne)

"Remember me when you do pray that hope doth lead from day to day." - Anne Boleyn in her book of hours

[paradlselost]

. ⋮ ULTRAVIOLENCE .ᐟ ֹ

doctor phosphorus x female reader

⎨ 𝐀𝐍 ⎬ fun fact i’ve wanted to eat uranium for a long time so he is the worlds most perfect man to me . also sorry for not writing anything in so long , i’ve been busy and jumping from hyperfixation to hyperfixation for a while now as you can see by my unfinished mouthwashing fanfics . but i watched the show last night and he is my favorite and there’s almost nothing about him so i had to . enjoy !

⎨ 𝐂𝐖 ⎬ monster ! reader , mentions of body dysmorphia and imposter syndrome / depersonalization , religious trauma + blasphemy ( cause i can’t help myself ) specifically in catholicism , catholic rituals , depictions of eating raw meat , depictions of wounds , hurt / comfort , depictions of cannibalism , described body horror . smut : fire / burning kink , dry humping , fingering , male moans ( yay ! ) .

3 . 1 k words ++ not beta read .

PART TWO OUT NOW : CINNAMON GIRL

Eyes flutter closed, allowing darkness to wash over you. Soft sounds of birds chirping fill the room around you, drowning out the constant humming of the chip in the back of your neck. You’re hyper aware of everything, the fabric of the blanket that covers you and the cold air that stings your nose as you breath in; chest rising and falling in rhythm.

You remember how reluctant the guards that watched over you were to allow you the sounds you so desperately needed to sleep, not believing your pleas to quiet your constantly racing mind. Nearly a week without rest made them understand rather quickly, when, despite the power dampener locked around your neck, talons began to grow out of your hands and your spine contorted with the growing of fleshy wings.

It seems you’ve been blessed, something has gone right for once in your life as you’re now able to change the sounds to whatever you wish instead of the constant rushing of waves. Secretly, you’re happy to have been put on this mission. Grateful, even, as much as you could be to a monster like Waller. Perhaps you could even forgive her for the electrocution you’d been put through.

Weasel kips at the foot of your bed, stuck to your side since the day you had snapped at him: barred your fangs and shoved him away from you. Something about the beast had been so pathetic that you ended up apologizing and giving a hesitant scratch to the back of his ears. He’s good company, loyal if not a bit of a flea concern, and he listens when you speak to him unlike many of the others in the special containment of Belle Reave.

Nina was kind, as well, perhaps a bit out of her element, though. You’d once tried to make small talk with GI but that ended as quickly as it had started with his sudden interrogation on if you were a Nazi. And god, you wouldn’t dare bring anything up to the others.

Crickets chirped through the headphones you had been allowed to wear, owls hooting and birds calling. A forest at night, a beautiful scene you were sure you wouldn’t be able to see freely again, but you do not indulge in those negative thoughts. You can already feel it looming over you, exhaustion and stress mingling to bring it out. The thing that stirrs inside you, monstrous and ugly. Its hungry, and you know better than to ignore that hunger lest the Weasel that kips at the foot of your bed be more than a scrap of fur.

So, you stirr. Sitting up in the bed you remove your headphones and push the blanket from your form quietly as to not disturb him. He’s almost cute when he sleeps, like a crusty old dog that resembles more of a tattered blanket than a pet. Regardless, you close the door quietly behind you and walk down the long winding hallways of the palace. Truthfully, you had never been anywhere quite as lavish, never had a king sized bed all to yourself or a private bathroom. Its almost too big, especially at night when the shadows dance up the walls and cast an ominous glare over just about everything.

You know better than to gaze at your shadow as you pass the large walls with royal family portraits. Unworthy, unrighteous, evil. The rosary marks still pierce your skin, forced to pray this thing away day and night till your palms and knees bled. You’ve grown resentful towards the being that shares your body. It makes demands of you, to feast, a single slip can give way and allow it to control you. Some kind of devil, the reason you’re here in the first place.

Your mouth had begun to hurt in your search for the kitchen, gums beginning to bleed and pool against the base of your tongue.. You’d have thought you’d be used to this by now, that your world wouldn’t continue to be turned upside down, that the Lord’s Prayer wouldn’t recite involuntarily in your mind as it all starts over again. You stumble over your own two feet, finding yourself silently wishing you had that power dampener around your neck once again. Your stomach rumbles more.

It feels like an eternity till you finally find the kitchen, thankful that all the servants had retired for the night so you can spit your mouthful of blood into the sink. Crimson stains the marble, dripping from your chin as you turn on the faucet to wash your mouth of the taste. Your fangs had grown in now, taking space in front of your canines and piercing uncomfortably against your bottom lip whenever you close your mouth. Hunger gnaws at your stomach as if beginning to consume the lining itself.

You throw open the fridge door with little care of the noise it makes as it slams into the counter beside it. Eyes scour for something, anything, till you land on a large, raw goose marinating for tomorrow nights feast. Shaky hands reach out to grab it, allowing the glass tray it sits in to fall to the ground and shatter. The shards prick at your bare feet, cutting and marring your skin with more blood, though you don’t seem to notice.

Fangs sink into the bird, soft flesh breaking at the intrusion. The taste is almost euphoric, never had you tasted a meat so rich and fatty; your body had gotten far too used to the awful prison food they served in containment. You rip out a large chunk; tendons harshly snapping from the body as you swallow nearly without chewing. Your eyes gloss over as you devour the bird, reaching in to grab at the sausage links that had also been waiting to be cooked the next day.

You hadn’t realized how much you had truly lost yourself till a harsh green glow halted your feast. Head whipping around to greet the skeletal face of Phosphorus, a hiss falling from your lips that still wrapped around a chunk of meat like a food insecure cat. He was your least favorite of all, acting as if he knew everything simply because he had been a doctor before his incident. Not like it mattered in Belle Reave, and certainly not in the monster sector they were kept in.

“Woah. Calm down, I’m not takin’ that from you.” A huff came from him, head tilted to the side as he watched you, almost intrigued with the way you acted. He simply stepped past you, walking over to the sink and simply staring down at the blood that had graced the basin. “This yours?”

The link fell from your mouth, rolling into the shards of glass and crimson as the fangs retracted back into your gums, eyes returning to normal. All you could do was stare at him, as if he had asked the most stupid question in the world. Smartest man in the room your ass.

“Who else’s would it be?”

“Don’t know, thats why I’m asking. Flag and I got into a fight earlier and I totally won, so I’m just wondering.”

“Oh.”

He leans back against the countertop, facing you now, the sleeves of his hoodie protecting him from burning through the granite. Part of him had always intrigued you, in a way, everyone but Weasel had a signature outfit; but him? A hoodie and a pair of sweatpants. It was almost comical how simple he was, though you supposed there wasnt much he could keep. A step towards him, wincing at the sudden realization of what you had done.

His gaze followed yours, looking down to the glass and blood that gushed from your feet and ankles. The light from the fridge and his green glow illuminated the space between you two, dancing off the shards on the floor. Your mouth was covered as well, sloppily wiped onto your cheeks as you had feasted. God, you looked a mess, but the pain distracted you from that fact. Biting your bottom lip to muffle a pathetic whimper of pain.

“Cmon don’t cry, what’s a little glass among friends?”

“I am not crying.”

If he had eyes to roll no doubt he would’ve. Stepping over to you and hooking an arm around your shoulder to help you stand without any warning. Your first instinct is to fight him off, to tell him no and shout at him, but you don’t. Instead, you lean into the touch and allow him to help you hobble up the stairs to, what you originally assume to be your room, but soon discover he’s guiding you into his, and then, into his bathroom.

Theres something almost intimate about the way he grabs your hips to help you onto the counter so he can patch you up. You hadn’t asked this from him, but it didn’t seem to matter much now as he filled a bucket with warm soapy water, dunking a rag in a few times and using the help of tweezers to pick the glass out of your skin. You do your best not to flinch, using the time to preoccupy yourself with washing off the blood from your face.

John 13. You detest the thought, Belle Reave had ripped every ounce of belief from your body, but the ceremonies and rituals of your youth had not quite left your mind, and the intimacy of the moment didn’t help. Silence filled the room, the only noises being the soft sounds of the wash cloth being dunked into the water and squeezed out. You’d seen it before, a relatives wedding, the washing of the feet ceremony. It’s meant to be intimate, to be between spouses, to show commitment and love just as Jesus had to his disciples. You feel far more like Judas, however, with the monster that festers inside you.

“So. What was that?” His voice snaps you from your thoughts, eyes fluttering down to look at him, hesitating at his question. You don’t have a good answer, not one that wraps everything up into a neat bow at the least. Just what you know, which isn’t much.

“It’s the reason I’m classified as a monster. Theres… something that lives inside me, a devil of sorts I was always told. It’s been there for as long as I can remember, its why I had to wear the collar back in confinement. It starts to creep out whenever I slip, get too comfortable or let my guard down.” You’re quiet, not wanting to break the softness of this encounter. “I’m sorry you had to see it.”

“You don’t have to apologize. We’re all freaks, its the whole point of this task force.”

“I guess. I’m still sorry.”

A huff comes from Phosphorus as he grabs a clean washcloth, dunking it in fresh water and reaching up to wipe off some of the blood that you had missed, that still marrs your mouth and flesh. He’s close, now, very much so. He smells of sulfur, though it does not cause you to recoil or scrunch your nose; its a scent you’ve grown accustomed to with the monster that shares your body. Can a skeleton be attractive? Is that possible?

You lean into the feeling of the warm washcloth against your cheek; having been so long since someone had touched you. Before you had been arrested you indulged in sin, lust, it had engulfed your body and it wasn’t a feeling you ever wanted to encounter again. How it could consume your entire being, give control over to someone other than yourself. It’s a fine line for you, but you feel the distantly familiar feeling of butterflies flutter in your stomach at the proximity of him.

You feel sick; like bile will creep up your throat any moment, but it doesn’t feel bad. Not with how he lets the cloth be a barrier between the two of you, between his hands that will burn your body at his touch. You’d welcome it, to let him cauterize your wounds and fix you. Your hands creep up to wrap around the back of his neck, protected by the hood of his sweater as you pull him closer. He’s warm, comfortable.

“I don’t like you apologizing, you look like a kicked puppy.”

“You’re smiling, though.”

“Can’t help it, I’m a skeleton, doll.”

His voice is a giveaway, though, possibly the most upbeat you had heard him despite the quiet and intimate nature of the room. You feel it, the radiating warmth from his other hand creeping down to your thigh, rubbing soft, soothing circles against the fabric that protects your skin from his touch. It would hurt, but a part of you almost welcomes it, wants to feel it.

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, eyes focused on the hand that slowly crept higher from your thigh. He’s close, his heat rivaling that at your core. You miss the way his head tilts to the side at your demeanor, hands grasping and releasing the fabric of his hoodie over and over.

Phosphorus said nothing as he continued to wipe some of the blood from your mouth, lingering over your bottom lip while his other hand becomes preoccupied with cupping you over your pajama pants, skeletal fingers pressing in to give you some friction.

That nausea you had felt earlier returns tenfold, punishing yourself for feeling anything remotely good. The situation reminds you far too much of the last time, dipping too far into bliss. It seemed you had only blinked when the body of the lover you had found for the night was strewn across the room, spitting half eaten entrails out of your maw. He guides you to lean back against the mirror, your hand clasping over your mouth to muffle your sounds as he slips below the fabric of your nightwear.

You can feel it again, the hunger that rises to your chest. Your hands shake against your skin now, nailbeds aching with the growing of your talons. A whimper, squeezing your eyes shut. You are selfish, greedy. You’d rather relish in this than warn him, to have one moment that allows you to feel human, to feel wanted and loved.

A sudden burning feeling rips you from your thoughts, your hand had been removed from its post over your mouth and was held in his. Tears well in your eyes at the feeling, the searing pain that washed over your body and forces you to see white. It aches, branding you.

“Shit.” Is all that falls from his mouth, moving his hand away before you needily grasp it once more. Intertwining your fingers, keeping him there. The pain had forced the monster away, talons no longer threatening to protrude from your nailbeds and spine ceasing its contorting. You are lucky, graced with an opportunity to feel something beneath the endless pit in your stomach. To feel him.

“Don’t stop.” Your breathless words are more than enough to encourage his continuation, slotting himself between you legs and pressing the suddenly tight fabric of his sweatpants against you. A soft sigh falling from your lips, head tilted back, hair fluffing up on the mirror as he began to rock against you.

“I wont.” Slow, at first, as if testing the waters to gauge your reaction. Soft whines emitting from somewhere behind the skeletal teeth that were on display for you. Your hand scrunches up his hoodie, dragging his chest closer to you as he began to pick up the pace.

Needy and pathetic, his hips grinding rougher against your pajama pants, the tent in his pants catching on your covered clit; pulling a gasp from you as you arched your back. He focused his movements in that spot, up and then down to elicit soft whines and moans from you. Matching his neediness, having been touched starved for so long.

You’d grown up with depictions of heaven, imaginary white fluffy clouds somewhere high above the Earth. But here, right now, you’re more than convinced this is paradise. Rough fabrics rocking against each other, keeping you grounded on the countertop you sit on, the mirror behind you beginning to fog up with your heavy breathing. Your hands still intertwined, the harsh stinging drowned out at the near bliss you faced.

Hes sloppy now, nearing his finish far faster than you despite your state. Harsh whines fall from him as he grinds against you a few more times before panting and leaning against you. He’s winded for a moment, catching his breath, though the hand not holding yours travels back down to rub against your core.

Hes rough, guiding you to gush around nothing. You can feel your heartbeat below, drumming uncomfortably as you bury your face in the neck of his hoodie. His hand slips below your pajamas once more, continuing to tease your swollen clit and soaked folds as tears pricked at your eyes, squeezing his hand to single for him to stop.

Within a moment, he did. Ceasing the torment though not removing his hand from under your pants. Allowing your juices to pool against the cotton of your underwear before guiding his hand lower, placing his palm flat against your thigh and removing his other hand from yours. It stings, the cleansing fire emitting from him, your hand already burned as he brands your thigh with his handprint.

“Perhaps we should act like this didn’t happen… I’m sure it would make being on a team awkward.”

“I-... Yeah. Agreed. I should, um, head to bed.” Awkward you lift yourself from the counter and fix your pajama pants, slipping off the granite and setting against the cold tile floor. Your feet still hurt, though not nearly as bad as they had hurt before and surely nothing in comparison to the feeling of him against your skin.

He gives little more than a nod as you slink out the door, stumbling down the hall to find your own room and quickly running a hot bath. It would soothe you, make everything better, you deemed. Stripping to allow yourself to sink into the warmth as a sigh falls from your lips, eyes drawn to the handprint marked on your thigh.

You trace the outline with your finger, over and over almost obsessively and silently cursing him for his words. An asshole, you remembered, your least favorite in the little ragtag team. Though, with the way he had whimpered and moaned against you, you were halfway convinced you may be able to fuck the sarcasm and ill wit out of him.

[pullupinarari]

I can never get enough [LH]

author's note: me posting fics at almost 2 am again, what's new lmao I am not sure how I feel about this one, so I'm gonna post it and run to bed. Hope you enjoy this 🩷 mwah

• masterlist

wc: 2625 - english is not my first language! feedback is always appreciated

It’s been five months now since the day you found out you were pregnant. Your belly bump is now visible, and you are pretty sure that it has become your husband’s favorite sight - noticing how his eyes are always trained on your figure, adoring how no clothes can hide your baby now. 

To say that your senses have been feeling extra sensitive would be an understatement. Every little smell was enough to make you feel nauseous, almost on the verge of throwing up, making it hard for you to deal with the different scents traveling through your nostrils during the day. 

It started off gradually, as weeks went by. First, it was the strong smell of cheese erupting through the house when you went to visit your parents. Then, you realized you had to throw away the lavender air freshener that you had in your office - one of your favorite smells ever was now becoming the reason why your lunch was creating a rollercoaster in your stomach.

There are things that you are slowly discovering that help with your sickness, though. Like lemon tea and… your husband’s scent. It’s weird, but you grew attached to the smell of his perfume, and it seems to be one of the things that actually helps you calm your heightened reactions to other smells. 

It became a routine already: any time Lewis is home, you can always be found safely wrapped in his arms, your head ducked in the crook of his neck, slowly breathing in his fragrance. His hands slowly caress your back, drawing patterns on your skin softly as he leaves some kisses on your forehead while he admires your peaceful state. It really seems like he is the cure to all the nausea creeping through your body during the entire day. Whenever he is around, you feel better.

And today isn’t any different. After spending the entire day at work with a terrible feeling of heartburn in your chest, your stomach feeling weird due to the sanitized smell lingering in the air, you can’t wait to be back home - your heart racing at the thought of cuddling next to your husband again, feeling the warmth erupting from his body into yours, calming both you and your baby with his silky touch and featherweight kisses. 

Lewis is a loving partner and a dedicated father already. And when he realized that this specific perfume of his would help you calm your senses and your sickness, he put all his other fragrances to the side, religiously puffing the miraculous perfume on his skin every single day. 

However, your hormones make your mind feel like a mess sometimes. And while you are at work, this feeling of insecurity washes over you, the intrusive thoughts making you believe that maybe, Lewis might grow tired of the way you are always looking for him, for the spot in his arms to hold you close. Maybe he would enjoy some time for himself as well, some space of his own.

The thought of distancing your body from his is enough to bring some tears to your eyes, making your vision blurry as you try and fight the dumb tears, blaming the stupid hormones for your dramatic state. 

And while you are on the verge of tears at work, Lewis is going through his stuff, unpacking his gym bag, when he realizes that he is running low on your current favorite smell. He grows worried, deciding to go buy another bottle before you’re back from work - he can’t allow himself to run out of this specific perfume, not ready to deal with a moody, pregnant wife that is going to feel forced to drink lemon tea every hour of the day to help with her nausea. 

At the store, Lewis goes straight to the aisle where he knows that he will find the product that he is looking for. At first, he grabs just one bottle. But then, his brain wraps him in a tide of future scenarios, possibilities that could hypothetically happen: he could have an emergency trip at work, he could possibly have to stay away for more than he plans to - even if he refuses to stay away from you for long now. Or maybe you would just use the entire thing when he was away for that work trip, knowing how you like to spray the pillow with his perfume before lying down when he is not home. Or maybe, his perfume bottle could fall to the ground and break - and he could already imagine your crying state, calling him while sobbing because of a bottle of perfume. 

“Better to be safe than sorry” - Lewis thinks to himself, grabbing four bottles of the scent and heading back home. 

Putting the packs of his perfume on the bathroom counter, he hears the front door open. A content sigh leaves his mouth, alongside a soft smile that spreads on his lips as he walks down the stairs to meet you. 

Your husband shows up in front of you looking extra cuddly to your eyes. He’s wearing a white hoodie, his body being engulfed by the fabric of his clothes. Lewis gives you the most adorable smile you have ever seen, opening his arms to welcome you in his figure before your lips connect in a loving kiss. You wish you could stay in his arms for the rest of the day, but the voices in your mind are still calling you “clingy”, “needy”, “annoying”, so you decide to break your cuddle routine. 

“How was work?” - he asks you, looking you in the eyes softly as he grabs a piece of your hair that’s in front of your features. His other hand caresses your bump lovingly, making a smile paint your features as well. Your nostrils immediately identify his scent, bringing you a sense of comfort and care that makes your heart feel warm. 

“It was okay” - you keep it short, feeling the hormones messing with you already, knowing that they can turn you into a crying mess in a matter of seconds. You step away from the hug, walking to the kitchen to try and distract your mind from the negative thoughts capturing you. 

Lewis follows right behind you, noticing how you seem cold, and bothered with something. He tries to test the waters and see how far you’ll go until you finally crack, telling him what’s bothering you so much. 

“And the nausea? How was it today? Did it get a bit better?” - your husband insists, trying to keep his body close to yours while you walk around the kitchen before reaching the living room. 

“Yes, I feel better” - you lie. You spent the entire day feeling like throwing up because of the smells that don’t leave your office, feeling so incredibly sick to your stomach that even the taste of water could make you vomit. 

Your body lands on the sofa while you turn on the television, putting on your favorite show while you hold a pillow close to your frame - trying your best to not make it look like you are avoiding Lewis. You just want to give him some space, that you bet he desperately needs.

The man sits beside you on the couch, his eyebrows furrowed when he notices that your limbs don’t reach for him, your body doesn’t try to pull him closer to you. Instead, you hold the pillow tighter, subtly trying to bury your nose further into the fabric of it, smelling some reminiscence of Lewis’ perfume from when he was lying down there this morning. 

Lewis is looking at you confused, trying to pick what is going on, but he can’t. He can’t wrap his brain around the fact that you’re not lying in his chest, like you always do when you’re back from work. He wonders if he has done something wrong, but he is pretty sure that the answer to that would be ‘no’. So he just decides to come forward and question you instead.

“Love, what’s wrong?” - he turns his body completely to you now, his eyes analyzing how you try to cover your face with the pillow. 

“Nothing” - you reply, your voice sounding muffled yet small, hoping that he would just drop the questions before the tears show up in your eyes. 

He sighs, knowing you like the palm of his hand. “Why aren’t you cuddling with me, then? Why isn’t your face buried on my neck, so you can take in my scent? Oh God, don’t tell me that now this perfume makes you feel nauseous as well? And I sprayed it all over me for your return from work” - his eyes widen at the possibility running through his brain.

You gently shake your head ‘no’ at his words, your eyes look big while the rest of your face is still hidden by the pillow. You could never grow sick of his scent, of his presence, of his touch. In fact, you are craving it so much that it could kill you right now, the thought of it making you want to cry already. 

“Then what’s wrong, baby? Just tell me, so I can help you. I hate knowing that something is bothering you to the point of you not opening up to me” - he admits, his hand reaching to grab yours, his fingers caressing your knuckles in a way to encourage you to talk.

“You don’t wanna cuddle anymore?” - Lewis asks again, his voice sounding smaller, his eyes trying to find an answer in you, afraid of what you might say now. 

“I do” - you finally speak up. “I just thought that you could get tired of having me wrapped around you almost 24/7, I thought that maybe you might want some space for yourself. I don’t want you to think I’m clingy” - you admit, sniffling quietly as some tears leave your eyes already, feeling way too fragile now. 

Your words make a confused expression show up on your husband’s face, and you watch how he gently removes the pillow from your face, his arms reaching for your figure as he slowly pulls your body to him. His arms immediately engulf your frame, and he can’t help but smile when he feels you ducking your face on the crook of his neck again - the way he loves so much. 

“You are so silly” - he chuckles while looking down at you. “I could never get tired of cuddling my wife, you are crazy for even thinking about that, let alone believing it. I love when I get to spend my entire day with you in my arms, I love that my perfume is able to help with your nausea. I love this whole new routine that we are creating, my love. Please, stop believing all that nonsense that your mind is creating” - his fingers play with your hair softly, his voice sounding like honey to your ears. He presses a kiss to your forehead, while his other hand caresses your belly. 

“I’m sorry” - you say, wiping the tears from your face, realizing that your thoughts weren’t making any sense. 

“I even went to the store and bought four bottles of perfume because I was running low on it. Just because I love the cuddles too much, I can’t get enough of it” - Lewis admits with a giggle, his sounds making a laugh escape your own lips now, having the ability to make you feel lighter and careless. 

“And how is my princess behaving today?” - your husband asks, a silly smile planted on his face as he talks to your bump now. 

The warmth erupting from his hands, hugging your belly, makes you feel loved and cared for, and you are sure that your daughter can feel the exact same, by the way you feel her moving gently to the sound of her dad’s voice. 

“Ugh, nausea was so bad today. I almost threw up at work” - you admit, seeing the look that Lewis gives you after you lied to him about it. 

“Grace, baby, listen to daddy. You need to stop giving mummy such bad sickness, you need to give her a break, princess” - he says to your daughter, his voice as soft and gentle as his touch on your skin. 

“Or maybe you can continue giving her just a bit of nausea, because daddy loves cuddling you and mummy so much. Shhhh, this is our secret! Don’t tell her about this” - he whispers the last part, pretending that only his daughter can hear him now, giggling at his own silliness as you shake your head at his words, a laugh escaping your lips. 

Lewis immediately knew the name he wanted to give your daughter once you found out it was a girl. Grace - means “blessing”, and there’s not a better word in this world to describe the way your husband sees the arrival of your baby.

It truly is a blessing that he can’t wait to hold safely in his arms, feeling excited yet impatient because “time isn’t passing by fast enough!!”, as he says sometimes. 

He wants to meet her, he really does. There’s not a day when he doesn’t daydream about his princess, feeling anxious already to play with her, to teach her everything he knows, to care and protect her from all the evil in this world, holding the most precious thing in his life close to his heart - dying to feel their heartbeats beating in sync. 

You place a kiss on his cheek lovingly, obsessed with these moments - with the cuddles, with all the times when Lewis has full conversations with your baby. You truly feel lucky, blessed, to have such a wonderful husband by your side, that’s becoming even a more amazing dad already. 

Lewis also feels addicted to this new routine, loving how these little things can make him feel more present as a dad, closer to his wife and daughter, feeding himself off of the idea of being able to make things a bit easier for you, even by just being by your side, cuddling you after spraying himself with perfume a crazy amount of times per day.

He would give you everything you would ask for. Ask for the world - it shall be yours. Anything you want, you have it. He would give you his life if needed, he would set his soul on fire just to warm you up, he would do everything for you and your baby in the blink of an eye. 

But you don’t ask for much. You just want his attention, his love, his presence, his loyalty. You never asked for his heart entirely, never dreaming about possessing him, but Lewis is way too devoted to you and your family not to give it to you, even without you asking for it. 

A smile bursts through his features when he feels Grace kicking against his hand at the sound of his voice - you can predict how much of a daddy’s girl she’s going to be already, and Lewis beams at the thought of spoiling his princess with everything he can provide for her. 

He lands a soft kiss on your lips, silently confessing all his love for you, all his faithfulness, making sure that you know that he means every single word, every single feeling running through his veins when it comes to you and your daughter. 

You could never imagine your life without him by your side, your eyes shining bright as you picture him with your baby already, eager to feel complete once she arrives. But you never have to worry about Lewis leaving, because as long as you want him, he - like everything else in this world - is yours. Forever.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Meat.

Pairing: Yandere!Ayato x Reader (Genshin).

Word count: 4.5k.

TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Branding/Burning, Prolonged Imprisonment, Forced Marriage, Possessive Behavior, Descriptions of Gore, Implied Stalking, Mentions of Pregnancy, and Suicidal Ideation. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

You always thought you would wear red on your wedding day.

It was a family tradition – passed down with dutiful care for as long as anyone could imagine. Your grandmother had given her dress to your mother who had gifted it to you, her only child, on your eighteenth birthday, years before you would so much as think about getting something as permanent as marriage. Still, you safeguarded it with a religious devotion, never going more than a week without laying it out to check for signs of moths or mold. When you found yourself on a boat set on a course for Inazuma and could bring nothing but what could fit in the space underneath your bunk, her dress was the only item you truly could not bear to leave behind.

It was one of the few things Ayato let you keep, when he first brought you to his estate. He hadn’t wanted to, but he’d known that you’d throw yourself off the nearest cliff if anything ever happened to that dress. You still would, if he so much as touched it without your permission.

The kimono you were being fitted for now was not red. The fine silk was pure white, the detailed embroidery along the hems and sleeves dark blue and bright, shining gold. The symbol of his archon glowed violet on the swell of the train – meant to appease the other factions of the tri-commission who protested when Ayato announced his intent to not only marry a commoner, but a foreigner. You hated that embellishment most of all, more than the sickly way his colors crawled over your body, more than the irritating smoothness of his favored silks where they hugged against your form and groped at your skin. It marked you as a tool, something to be used to one end or another. It marked you as a sacrifice – and an unwanted one, at that.

“Just as exquisite as I knew you’d be,” Ayato announced, his voice strong and unabashed. You’d begged him not to, but he’d insisted on sitting in on your appointment, making sure you couldn’t correct seamstress or overrule any of the choices he’d made on your behalf. The tailor hummed as she fastened a temporary sash around your midriff, tight enough to press uncomfortably against your ribs. If you needed to cry on your wedding day (which, in all likelihood, you would), it would have to be loosened. “How do you like it?”

You hated it.  You despised it. You wanted to claw it apart with your own pristine nails, separate each thread and seam with your very own teeth. You would’ve set yourself on fire just to see it turned to ash that much sooner.

“It’s perfect.” Your own voice sounded distant, distorted. There was no façade of sincerity. He knew as well as you did that there was nothing he could force onto you that you wouldn’t loathe, and you knew that any word uttered as to your hatred for him outside of the privacy of your shared bedroom would result in a collection of fresh rope burns to decorate your wrists, the better half of a night spent bent over his knee. “So long as it pleases you, my lord.”

You dropped your eyes to the floor, attempting to spare yourself what suffering you could, but your resistance didn’t matter; you could hear the sharpness of his smile, picture the way his head tilted to the side as he basked in his own self-satisfaction as he went on, addressing the tailor. “If there’s a veil, you can get rid of it.”

You didn’t think you would ever get used to the way his voice seemed to grate when he was happy with himself.

 “I think my heart might give out if I’m not able to see my beautiful fiancé’s lovely smile.”

~

After meeting Ayato, you began to dream in red.

It was more of a pink, at first – during the first few weeks of his courtship, when the extent of his intrusive affection was a few dendrobiums left on your doorstep and a lingering glance as the handsome young commissioner passed your stall during his weekly stroll through the city market. For a short while, after his possessive habits began to rear their head and you were able to catch his guards in your peripheral more often than not, your subconscious was tinted a near-violent shade of scarlet, the kind that would leave you drenched in your own sweat and half-suffocated by the time you forced yourself to wake up. Recently, since he announced your engagement, they’d taken on a darker shade; choking velvets and deep crimsons blurring the distorted setting as Ayato’s faceless body moved on top of you, as his mouth unhinged and his lashing tongue dragged you down his waiting throat. On your worst nights, he’d tear you apart with his hands, first, divide you into neat, orderly pieces that he could slip past his lips and savor one at a time, one after another, until there was nothing left of you. He’d always preferred you in your most consumable form.

It was ironic, really, considering just how little red he let seep into your waking life. Maybe you had a deficiency; like a pregnant woman craving fish to make up for a lack of calcium. The closest you got to red from the doorway to his study were a few cherry blossoms fluttering past the window, their color dulled by age and their tree nearly stripped bare by the approaching winter. He looked away from his paperwork as you shrugged past the screen door, his pale eyes lighting up as he saw the tea tray in your hands. It was Thoma’s handiwork, but you doubted Ayato cared. He wanted to see you in the role of a caretaker, playing out the part he wrote for you to the best of your limited acting skills. What happened behind the curtain was none of his concern.

“To what do I owe the honor?” he asked as you set the tray on his desk. “I can’t remember the last time you visited me on your own.”

You flashed him a small smile. “Can’t I dote on my soon-to-be husband freely?”

He visibly straightened at the word ‘husband’, a familiar zeal infecting his expression. There was a quirk to his grin, a light tap to his thigh, and the tea went ignored as you obediently fell into his lap, your legs hanging over the side of his chair as his arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you snug against him. If he was a monster, he’d be one with a thousand hands and a million fingers; he couldn’t seem to go a full minute without clutching at your hips, groping at your chest, burying his face in the crook of your neck with a deep, relieved sigh. “Husband,” he repeated back to you, all spellbound awe and deceiving wonder. “Archons, I can’t wait to be your husband.”

You wondered, sometimes, if it was his childhood that made him the way he was. After so many years of loneliness, so many tiny disappointments and frigid betrayals, you could only imagine he’d be eager to grab the first warm body he could and refuse to let you go. But, he let Ayaka come and go as she pleased, and seemed to take a certain delight in sending Thoma off on long-winded, far-flung errands. Whatever cruelty his upbringing had bred, it was clearly reserved for you.

His hand slid underneath the slit of your yukata, his breath turning hot and unpleasant against your collarbone, and you drew back with an airy laugh. “I do have an ulterior motive,” you admitted, hoping his curiosity would offset his insatiability, if only for a few seconds. “It’s about my wedding dress.”

“The breathtaking and priceless dress I’m having made by the nation’s most talented tailors so that all of Inazuma will know that I’m marrying the most beautiful person in Teyvat?” He raised his head, clicking his tongue. “What about it?”

“It’s not that I don’t like it,” you said, because he wouldn’t listen to you if you didn’t and you needed him to listen to you. “It’s just— I’m such a long way from home, and I know my family won’t be able to come, but—” You cut yourself off, swallowing back the bile that threatened to spoil your sweet smile. “I was hoping we’d be able to incorporate my mother’s dress, somehow. If it’s not too late.”

It wasn’t. You’d been tracking the progress of his tailors meticulously, counting down the days until your wedding like a prisoner waiting for their execution date, and if it was one of his whims, another row of bedding added onto the sleeves or a new embroidery pattern worked onto the train, you knew that there’d be all the time in the world to make any adjustments he asked for. Still, his smile wavered, a brief sigh slipping past his lips as he shook his head. “My love,” The petname lulled off of his tongue as if it’d been coated in sugar and syrup and all the worst things you could think of. “That’s quite the risk to take. The poor thing’s so old, it might fall apart as soon as the tailor’s needle touches it.”

He'd been crueler, before – called the dress a rag as he looked at you with disdain-tinted pity, swore that your reliance on the filthy relic must’ve been caused by some inherent failure of your homeland – but your heart still clenched just a little tighter in your chest at his veiled disdain. “I’d like to try, at least.” Your hands curled around his collar, your frown taking on a more pleading note. “Please, my lord?” A pause, a tightened hold. “Please, Ayato?”

It was his given name, loving and tender and so rarely spoken in your voice, that did him in. He relented with an airy groan, letting his head roll forward in faux exasperation. “We’ll see.”

You beamed, but he was too lost in you to notice, already preoccupied with pressing open-mouthed kisses into your shoulders, your neck. The sash of your yukata was drawn loose, your sleeves pulled down to your elbows and your body shifted onto his desk, where he could spread your legs apart and bury his face between them. Your eyes drifted back to the cherry blossoms trickling past the window, but whatever tree they’d been falling from had finally been stripped bare. All you could see was the bright, cloudless sky – blue enough to leave you burnt and begging for a storm.

~

Two springs ago, the Kamisato Estate had been overrun with finches.

It’d been a comedy of errors, in hindsight. Ayaka had taken up a fondness for a new kind of flower – one native to Sumeru, introduced to her by an outlander with golden hair and knowing eyes. Thoma, the miracle worker that he was, quickly found a way to propagate it in the estate’s garden, and within the month, little violet blossoms had consumed all that they could reach despite the best efforts of the gardeners to keep them in-check. It would’ve been a delightful problem to have on its own, but the peak of the infestation happened to align with an annual migration of a type of finch that happened to hold a particular shining for a plant with a similar shape and color and— well, anyone could’ve guessed what happened next.

It was a nightmare for Thoma and the other groundskeepers and, since Ayato was staying in the city on business, paradise for you. You spent your days in the courtyard, showing the servants’ children how to braid crowns out of vines and press flowers between the pages of books stolen from Ayato’s personal library. You and Ayaka fed seeds to the red-crowned invaders and coaxed them close enough to pet and sketch, as little talent as you had for the latter, and she listened as you rambled excitedly about the crane-headed whistles you used to make every summer for a very wealthy ornithologist with very slippery fingers. She was just as lonely as her brother, albeit significantly less deranged, and you – trapped, isolated, desperate you – were the perfect victim for her. The two of you were never quite friends, but you came close that spring.

And then, Ayato returned. The flowers were uprooted, the children sent back to their chores, and the finches driven away with nets and stones and salt. You sobbed for hours the day the final flock left, and by means of consolation, Ayato presented you with a blue-speckled wren in a cage of pure silver, silk flowers bound to the bars with yellow ribbons as a reminder of your lost haven. To this day, you still aren’t sure if he meant it to be as cruel of a gift as it was.

You made it all of two days before risking another month spent shackled to Ayato’s bed and sneaking past the guards posted at the estate’s frontmost gates, the golden cage tucked against your chest. You released it in the woods, somewhere with plenty of tree cover and places to hide while it remembered how to be a wild creature, and watched with a smile as it fluttered past the cage’s door and into the open air, eventually landing on the leaf-littered ground.

It hopped all of three tiny steps before a fox emerged from the underbrush and swallowed it whole.

~

“Are you still with us, love?”

You should’ve gone limp. You should’ve acted as if the pain had gotten to you. You should’ve pretended you were dead to the world and that you couldn’t feel his cock languidly thrusting into you and that you’d gone numb to the searing iron slowly cooling into against the small of your back but, for as resentful as your mind was to him, your body was entirely subservient to Ayato. You tried to respond verbally, and when your voice caught in your throat, you forced yourself to nod, the motion small and shaky. Ayato rewarded you with a breathy chuckle, a fleeting touch to the curve of your spine. A hundred pinpricks of purified agony accompanied his touch.

The silver brand had been commissioned from the finest metal crafters in Inazuma City, made to resemble the warped camellia that was the Kamisato Clan’s crest, and you let out an agonized scream as Ayato drew it back and pressed a calloused thumb into the tender patch of burnt skin. “You always do make such pretty noises for me.” He circled the shape of the white-hot bloom, drawing out another ragged whimper. “It’s a shame I only get to hear them when you misbehave.”

You wanted to apologize, to beg for his forgiveness, but try as you might, you couldn’t seem to remember what you’d done wrong. You hadn’t tried to run away. You hadn’t talked to any of the servants. You hadn’t done anything aside from smile and sit beside him as he spoke with the head of another clan – an older man whose eyes burnt into you for the entirety of their brief conversation. As far as you could tell, he was just a particularly shameless nobleman trying to decipher the curiosity that was the Yashiro Commissioner’s reclusive bride, but Ayato hated letting other men gawk at you at the best of times. Such prolonged exposure would’ve surely brought out the worst of his possessive habits.

You felt something tighten in your chest, catch in your throat, but you only realized you were crying when Ayato’s lips ghosted over your cheek, the gentleness of the gesture quickly replaced with the brutality of his fingers tangled in your hair, your head forced down and into the plush of his bed. You body threatened to collapse, but his free hand fell to your hip, keeping your back arched and your ass raised as he ground lazily into your cunt, in no rush to put you out of your suffering. “I think,” he groaned, lust heavy in his voice. “We’re going to have a big family. Half a dozen kids, at least.”

You beat your fists against the mattress, shaking your head violently, and he twitched inside of you. “They’ll have your eyes,” he went on, a sadistic delight in his voice. “And my swordsmanship, and I’ll love them as much as I love you.” He paused, the head of his cock scraping against something deep and vulnerable inside of you. “Well, almost as much as I love you. As much as I can.”

You tried to struggle, to get away from him, but Ayato held you close, his grip as unrelenting as his slow, aching tempo. With a calculated sort of grace, he leaned towards you, slotting his chest against your back and bringing his mouth to the shell of your ear. “You don’t think it’s too soon to start, do you, darling?”

All you could do was try and fail to scream in response.

~

The first gift Ayato ever gave to you was a necklace the color of freshly split sapphires.

He insisted that you not think of it as a present, that you consider it little more than justified repayment for an item from your stall broken by the clumsy fingers of one of his couriers, but it was a present, it couldn’t be anything else. His courier had paid for the ruined pottery days prior, and yet, he’d sought you out in person to apologize with that sun-bright smile, to let his fingertips brush against yours as he passed you a satin-lined case with a perfect, ocean-blue velvet choker tucked safely inside. It was a beautiful thing, embellished with silver and dripping with transparent crystals, but you’d liked the color most of all. It’d reminded you of Ayato, and there’d been a time when you treasured any excuse to think of him.

You’d worn it the first time you saw each other properly, too. The occasion wasn’t formal enough to warrant something so needlessly extravagant, but you couldn’t seem to stop smiling for the entirety of your brief-meal-turned-seven-hour-conversation, and as your night came to an end, perched on the edge of a cliff underneath the Raiden Shogun’s palace and breathless from laughing, he told you that if you weren’t careful, he might just fall in love with you. You’d told him that, if he waited a few more days, you might fall in love with him, too.

You’d been wearing the same necklace when he broke your heart for the first time. It’d been an overcast day, the sky a clouded blueish grey and the shogun’s fury just barely audible in the far distance. He told you, with that perfect grin and those lonely eyes, that it really was terribly improper for the lover of a commissioner to run some meager stall in a sweat-soaked market, that he owed you better than a cramped room on the outskirts of the city where you had to wade through hours of farmland to reach anything of importance. When you said that you enjoyed your work, that you adored the back-breaking labor of your craft and loved having neighbors who would leave baskets of cabbage and lavender melon on your doorstep in exchange for misshapen cups and off-pattern bowls, he laughed as if you’d said the funniest thing in the world and cupped your face in his hands, pulling you into a kiss deep enough and sweet enough to make you forget whether or not you’d agreed with him.

You were brought to the Kamisato estate less than a full month later and had yet to leave since.

~

The final garment was delivered two weeks before your wedding day. You watched from your pavilion as Ayato met the courier at the estate’s gates, accepting a large package wrapped in scarlet silk and brushing off the guards’ attempts to carry it on his behalf. You were embroidering, that day – a delicate, time-consuming art that Ayato praised in comparison to the messy, unpredictable medium of clay. You loathed the monotony of it, the strictness of the patterns, but it meant Ayato was less likely to break your fingers when he found you scrounging away spare mora in the hopes of some perpetually eventual escape and so, you embroidered.

“My mother’s dress,” you said, as soon as he was close enough to hear you. The wooden hoop was forgotten in your lap as you stared up at him, hope written clearly across your expression. “Do you know what they did with it?”

His grin widened. “Eager, are we?” You nodded frantically, and he added, “If I’d didn’t know better, I’d say you care about a dress more than your own betrothed.”

He settled next to you, the package laid across his thighs. He moved to unwrap it, then pivoted – his attention shifting as his gloved hand took hold of your wrist. He’d been touching you more delicately, lately, something you couldn’t help but link with his long-brewing but only recently materialized desire for children. It was a problem you elected to deal with later on, after the wedding, if only for your own inability to process just how horrific of a problem it was.

(There was a part of you which knew, even before your conscious mind could bear to accept it, that you would never be able to love something he put inside of you. Ayato’s obsession was enduring, able to feed off of nothing and contort reality to suit its needs, but your love had always been a rational thing, bound to end the moment it became inconvenient to house. Your love for your homeland died with your mother. Your love for Ayato died with your abduction. And, whatever love you could’ve had for a child— no, a shackle would die the moment the foul creature was born. You could hold no affection for a child that was made in Ayato’s image, that would be cleaved from your flesh for the sake of his happiness, and if by some miracle you did love the monstrosity, then you could only assume it would be because you’d abandoned all hope for yourself. Both futures seemed equally grim.)

“Ayato,” you simpered, leaning against his side. “Please?”

He rolled his eyes, playing soft as he handed you the oversized package. “It should be wrapped separately. I said I didn’t want to see the finished product until the day-of.”

Your hands shook as you undid the many knots. A smaller bundle sat within, separate from the tumor of ivory fabric you forced yourself not to linger on, and you took it up with a desperate sort of keenness, practically trembling as you tore it open with no regard for the integrity of its packaging. The crimson silk was torn away to reveal—

Blue.

Dark, never-ending blue.

“The color came out so beautifully. I’m glad you protested the way you did – otherwise, I might’ve never known we were missing something on our wedding day.” This time, you didn’t fight as he tore the remains of your mother’s dress out of your hands, holding out a sash the shade of apathetic night. You searched for something familiar, for something you could use to ground yourself, but it was absent of all recognizability, desecrated to the point of being all-but alien to you. “It had to be dyed, of course, but I’ve been told the process only cost it a moment of its integrity. The tailors—”

You blinked, but your vision remained black when you opened your eyes. Your body was lurching forward, and then you were in Ayato’s arms, limp and buzzing. Ayato was laughing, as shocked as you were drained, and you made no effort to pull away from him. “My poor little wife. I know – the anticipation’s almost too much to bear.” He pressed a kiss into your forehead. “Why don’t we spend some time together, like we used to? I think I can push my obligations aside for the day, considering the occasion.”

You didn’t respond, but he gathered into his arms regardless. He had always seemed to prefer you as dead weight.

~

You did end up in red on your wedding day, but you doubted you’d be getting married, anymore.

His own sword slid and out of his back with a wet, gripping noise – only interrupted when the blade slipped in your hands and hit bone rather than viscera. Blood splattered against the white of your kimono with every plunge, staining the susceptible fabric easily and leaving you struggling to keep your feet underneath you as the puddle of scarlet grew deeper, as the screen walls began to drip and your lungs filled with copper and iron. Ayato, the ever-worried lover that he was, had come to check on you before the ceremony, fussing over your blank eyes and the tear-tracks that had ruined your make-up twice, by then. He’d been concerned, but giddy, unable to keep himself away from you despite his many promises of tradition and decor.

He'd made it three, maybe four minutes before beginning to toy with the clasps running down your chest.

You’d taken up the first thing you saw – a hand mirror gilded with shining rose gold – and brought it down on his head.

That, on its own, would’ve left him with a scar and little else, but you’d worked quickly, drawing the sword from its sheath on his belt and bringing it down into anything that seemed vital, anything you could reach, anything that bled calming, soothing red. He stopped moving on the fifth strike, his uncalled upon Vision going dull on the sixth, and on the seventh, you heard someone call for the guards.

You waited until you could hear their footsteps before falling to your knees, bringing the point of your blade to your stomach and clenching your eyes shut, praying to any archon who would listen that you’d hit something they couldn’t be healed, that they’d lend you a more merciful fate than another jail cell, another lifetime of entrapment.  You plunged the blade into your stomach and—

And were met with little more than a cold, blunt sensation and a bottomless pit of despair.

You opened your eyes, your gaze flickering from your ice-coated blade to the doorway of your dressing room, now occupied by Kamisato Ayaka, one hand raised and her Vision pulsing at her side. Guards rushed in on either side of her, grabbing at your shoulders and wrists, but your stare never left Ayaka, her parted lips, her flushed cheeks.

Her bright eyes, just as blue and just as lonely as her brother’s had ever been.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

sin, sin, sin.

words: 1.6k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, semi public sex, catholic church setting, confessional, rafe kind of pretending to be a priest (itll make sense quickly), religious trauma, if youre religious and easily offended probably skip this one

rafe knows little about his mother, but the one thing he does know is that she was a devout catholic. maybe it's stories ward told him, or the fact that his strongest memory of her was her funeral, held in the same catholic church he's currently pushing the grand wooden doors to enter.

it's his last chance as he looks into the candlelit hall. to turn around and go back into the darkness of the night, let the inky blackness swallow him whole.

rafe feels a pang in his chest. good old catholic guilt his mother passed down to him. rafe lets out a curse before he steps foot into the church, wishing he got his father's fake christianity instead, going to church on holidays and only using the religion when it suits you.

rafe looks away from the altar, the cross hanging above it, and to the confession booth to the side of the pews. his feet carry them there with the false confidence he's always been able to paste on as a front.

rafe looks at the door and then swallows thickly. guilt, guilt, guilt. he's not sure anything could help, yet he opens the handle and steps inside.

the creaky door slams shut behind him as rafe sits and faces forward towards the screen, just opaque enough to make out a figure on the other side in the low light.

rafe realizes then that he doesn't know the words. 

“forgive me father, for i have sinned.” a voice from the other side suddenly rings out, a soft, feminine voice. rafe suddenly is aware of his mistake. “it has been two days since my last confession.”

rafe knows he should interrupt you, stop you from continuing on, but something in him stirs him to stay, his interest peaking.

“ive slept with another man. i know you're tired of hearing it, father. i just can't help myself. i can't seem to wait, it's like something takes over me. father, i feel as if i am possessed by some sexual demon.” 

you scoff and rafe can see your body crumple on the other side, becoming an even smaller shape.

“tell me what happened.” rafe says.

“i-i had a date. a nice catholic man, or at least who i thought was a nice catholic man. he took me to dinner, and then i thanked him by getting on my knees immediately after.”

“keep going…” there's something about your voice that stirs rafe, has his hand gravitating to his crotch, there's a sexual prowess in your voice mixed with the guilt and innocence, like you're describing the deeds of some other woman entirely.

“he didn't even initiate it. i did. i pulled him into my apartment when he was dropping me back home. can you believe that? he was being a gentleman bringing me back to my doorstep and i just had to be a total hussy.”

rafe presses his hand down against his growing cock, imagining himself as that so called catholic gentleman.

“i unzipped his pants and tugged them down. he wasn't even hard. i played with him over his underwear, kissed his length and sucked on it and everything.”

rafes hands follow your description as he leans back against the wooden wall, tugging down his zipper and closing his eyes to picture it even better, some anonymous bold woman.

“i then pulled his underwear down. right there in the front hallway. when i saw him… i knew i was going to sleep with him next.”

you pause for long enough that rafe realizes he needs to speak. he hopes his voice doesn't come out strained. “then you slept with him?”

“yes. didn't even make it to the bedroom, he took me against the dining room table. how am i ever expected to settle down and have my own children and a loving family when all i really want is that high.”

“how does the high make you feel?”

“it comes right before the orgasm, really.” your voice drops in octave, and rafe wonders if your pussy is getting wet reimagining the scene. “when he's inside of me, pounding hard, and i know he's about to lose it too.”

rafe pushes his underwear down and tugs his cock out, not kid himself any longer that he's not extremely turned on and cannot leave the confessional with his pants tented.

“we're moaning in sync, not worrying about the neighbors in that moment. im clenching around him and he's-” you hesitate for a moment, and rafe swears he hears a sensual exhale, as if you may be touching yourself on the other side of the booth. “he's stretching me out. i love the pulsing of right when he's about to cum-”

rafe lets out a moan as he strokes before he realizes and sits up suddenly, but his reaction is too delayed as you're out of your booth and opening the door to his.

“you perv! father-” you come face to face with a handsome young man instead of the elderly priest you expected. “you're not the father.”

your eyes then travel down to his cock and that devious part of you taking over again.

“it-it was an accident.” rafe says quickly, trying to explain why he's in the priests side of the confessional when you step inside and close the door behind you.

“i have another sin to confess.” you pull the skirt of your dress up, revealing that you're wearing nothing beneath, your glimmering wet pussy directly in front of rafes face. he could so easily lean forward and taste you.

“ive always wanted to fuck in the confessional.”

rafe grabs your hips and tugs you down. he doesn't even know your name. he doesn't need to as his lips smash against yours, wildly making out.

you reach down between your bodies, grasping rafes hard cock and giving it a few strokes before you line yourself up.

you hesitate for just a moment before sinking down as rafe moans into your mouth, hoping that his mother isn't up in heaven looking down at him desecrating this holy place with you.

you gasp and pull away from the kiss as you adjust, your pussy being stretched just the way you described liking it.

“fuck.” rafe hisses out.

“shouldn't curse in a place of worship.” you smirk at him, cutting off whatever reply he had as you begin to move, bouncing up and down.

rafe grabs your hips, helping you move. his hands are strong as they disappear beneath your dress, needing to feel your bare skin.

“so good.” you whimper, pressing your forehead against rafes, breathing heavily as the temperature in the small booth rises.

“fuck, your pussy-” rafe grunts out as his hips begin to snap up into your tight heat. 

“you ever had a good catholic girl like this?” there's a hint of playfulness in your voice that rafe is shocked you can manage with your labored breathing.

“from your confession, im not sure you're all that good.” rafe says, moving his hand to rub his thumb over your clit, mostly just to see the reaction on your face as you moan out.

hes thankful for the late hour as he doesn't move his mouth forward to silence yours, letting your beautiful symphony of pleasure escape through the confessional walls and fill the church.

“this high.” you arch your back, eyes rolling back in your head as your fingers tighten on rafes shoulders. 

he knows exactly what you're speaking of. that moment when you're both on the apex, his cock swelling inside you while his thumb rubs against your clit, doing anything he can to elicit a reaction out of you, to increase your pleasure even more.

“cum for me.” rafe commands in a shockingly even voice, even surprising himself as your body stills and then shakes, crumpling forward into rafes strong arms as your pussy clenches around rafes cock, and it's all he needs to release himself, thrusting upwards and spilling inside of your cunt.

you're both breathing heavily as you come down from your high, wrapped up in each others bodies and your own intersecting pleasure before you have to pull away, realization setting in.

“oh my god.” you giggle. “we just fucked in the church.”

“shit.” rafe laughs as well. this is certainly not what he meant to do when entering into the church, yet his soul still feels lighter as he looks at your smile.

“god,” you look up at the ceiling, as if you're talking to him directly. “im so sorry. im going to hell.”

“i guess ill see you there.” rafe chuckles before he's interrupted by a gasp as you pull off of him.

rafe is quick to get himself back together, very aware of the fact that you're still bare under your dress, his cum no doubt dropping down your thigh.

you push open the door to the tiny booth and take a breath of cool air before rafe is quick to follow you out.

“i thought i heard a noise.”

you both freeze as you look up to see the nun walking from across the aisle.

“do you need the priest? he's already retired for the night.”

“no, sister.” you respond, a soft, innocent smile gracing your features as you grasp rafes hand and pull him to continue towards the exit. “see you at service sunday.”

you both let out a laugh as you push open the large wooden doors and flee from any more questions.

“can i at least get your name?” rafe asks as you enter into the night, way lit by moonlight.

“no.” you smile back at him. “but i will have another confession to make. tomorrow. same time.”

[lewisvinga]

young and beautiful | oscar piastri x fem! reader

summary; due to her pregnancy, y/n wonders if oscar will always love her, if he will love her after she’s had their baby, after she’s no longer young and beautiful

warnings; mentions of pregnancies (duh), body image, insecurities, reader is mentioned as religious at the end but it will make sense 😣

taglist; @namgification

word count; 1.2k

note; think this is the longest written fic i’ve done lol

‘born to die’ series masterlist !

f1 masterlist !

“What should we ask Daddy to bring us, little bee?” Y/n hums, patting her swollen belly as she rummaged through her closet for her silly pajamas.

Oscar was about to leave a meeting and promised to bring her whatever she wanted. It seemed like the bee, their baby, was craving Mexican food. Y/n hums to a tune as she sends a quick message to her husband before grabbing the silky pink pajamas.

She kept her hands on her stomach out of habit. Now that she was nearing 8 months, her stomach had grown significantly. She missed her small bump from the first trimester, but having a huge stomach was inevitable.

Y/n lets out a deep sigh as she takes off the maternity dress she wore for errands. She glances in the mirror and notices the bright red marks on her stomach. She applied many types of creams to try to avoid getting stretch marks but she couldn’t avoid it.

As much as she loved how hard her body was working for her and her baby, she hated seeing those same red marks. Her mind wandered off to how she was going to look after having her baby.

She’s seen plenty of videos on motherhood. A few talked about how different a mother's body will be after childbirth. Many gain weight and many have loose skin that will stay forever unless they get plastic surgery. She’s also heard stories of women whose husbands or boyfriends left them due to how different their bodies looked afterward.

Y/n began to overthink as she stared at herself in the mirror, dressed in nothing but a comfortable pair of bra and underwear. She knew she would no longer have the body she had before becoming pregnant.

Her skin will be all loose. Her stomach will be all flabby. Her chest will become bigger than usual and most likely end up uneven from breastfeeding. She was absolutely terrified that Oscar would no longer love her.

Even if the Australian driver practically praised the ground she walked on, Y/n was terrified of him leaving all because her body wouldn’t look the same. She hadn’t realized how much time had passed and how her eyes were tearing up until she heard his voice.

“Y/n? Love, where are you?”

“I’m changing!” She calls out in a panic, pushing her thoughts to the back of her head as she rushes to put on her silk pajamas. She rushes out of their shared room and down the stairs. Oscar calls her to be careful as she approaches the dining room.

“Osc! We missed you.” She says with a soft smile, wrapping her arms around him as much as she can despite her belly. He kissed the top head in reply and gently patted her stomach.

“Hope you’re hungry because it smells amazing.” He says with a chuckle, taking the boxes of food out from the brown bag. Her craving for Mexican food quickly covered up her insecure thoughts from moments before.

She had forgotten about them until she had just finished doing her skincare routine before going to bed. She had struggled a bit to lean down to wash her face.

Oscar was quick to notice her mood as she walked waddled back into their shared room. She lets out a huff, laying down on her side beside him, and keeps her eyes on the TV playing some random movie.

“Love, are you okay?”

Silence fills the room as Oscar asks the question. Y/n couldn’t help but tear up at his gentle tone. She felt stupid for overthinking that he could ever leave her when he’d do everything for her, even stopping by the grocery store after getting take out because she only liked a specific vanilla ice cream with her churros.

“It’s stupid.” She mumbles, wiping her tears away before he could notice. Unfortunately for her, he immediately noticed. The McLaren driver furrowed up his eyebrows in concern as he shuffled closer to her, gently wiping away her tears.

“It’s not stupid if it makes you cry, my love.”

“It’s just-“ She began, pausing to take a deep breath. “My body looks so different. I appreciate it for growing our little bee but it’s going to look so different. I already have so many stretch marks and after I have our little bee, my stomach is gonna be all flabby and stretched out!” She cries out, turning to look at an even more concerned Oscar.

“Love-“

“And I’ve heard stories of husbands leaving their wives after childbirth and after getting older and having multiple children. I’m not gonna look the same as I did a year ago, Oscar.” Y/n takes a deep shaky breath, letting the tears go, “I’m scared you’re gonna take a look at me with disgust. Will you still love me after? When I’m no longer young and beautiful? I hope you will. I mean, I know you will. But it’s just-“

“Y/n.” Oscar interrupted her, cradling her tear-stained face with her hands. He wiped away the tears from her rosy cheeks as he gently kissed her. “I will always love you. From a year ago during hot summer nights in mid-July, when we were wild, to a year from now when we’re holding our baby in our arms. Y/n, you’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on. I love everything about you, your pretty face and electric soul. Yes, your body will look different but that’s because you’re working so hard to give our little bee the growth she needs. But I will always love you, when we’re young, when we’re old, and when we’re nothing but souls floating around.”

His words made her tear up even more. He lets out a chuckle, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and pulling her in close. “See this?” He questions, holding up his hand and showing the gold ring on his ring finger. “You’re stuck with me forever whether you like it or not, my love.”

Y/n lets out a shaky laugh, sniffing as she uses her tear-stained silk sleeves to wipe her nose. She looks up at him with nothing but adoration. Her face immediately seemed to light up compared to how she was feeling before. She reached up to gently caress his cheek. He was like her sun. He always knew how to make her shine like diamonds.

“Bee and I are so lucky to have you, Osc.” She whispered as she leaned in, kissing his lips softly. Oscar pulled her in as close as he could, deepening their kiss.

“More like I’m lucky to have you.” He whispers against her lips, “I’d be dead without you.” He adds as they pull away. She lets out a small laugh, lightly hitting his shoulder as they settle in bed.

She wasn’t overthinking anymore due to his reassurance. She lay against his chest as they watched the movie that was playing softly in the background.

Y/n started to get tired when she noticed Oscar became fast asleep. She lets out a yawn and gets comfortable against his side but not before whispering a quick prayer.

Dear Lord, when I get to Heaven, please let me bring my man. When he comes, tell me that you’ll let him in. Father, tell me if you can.

[elliesspacewalker]

I have been thinking about an all girls boarding school scenario with ellie where her and reader are roommates and reader is just like peak fertile period and she needs to get off but her roommate, ellie, is literally on the other side of the room

I'm literally fucking drooling about the thought of this, of course!! I AIN'T WEIRD SO READER ANS ELLIE GOT SEET BACK A YEAR SO THEY ARE BOTH 19!

CW: 18+ (mdni), transgender Ellie, breeding kink, self masturbation (r), slight degradation, slightly loser!ellie near the end, lmk if I missed anything

-

You had moved to an all girl's boarding school because your parents claimed you were "straying away from god" and that this "would help you feel better" your parents were religious but obviously you weren't- always thinking the most sinful things about your hot roomie Ellie fucking Williams

"mhm, fuck-" you whimpered out as you worked wonders on your clit while Ellie was out, praying she wouldn't come home anytime soon- so unbelievably wet due to your period being due in a few days, you needed to make a fucking baby.

Your body jerked as you felt yourself start to come undone, your pussy drooling, clit twitching- but who got you like this? That was your question, it wasn't the hot cheerleaders you hung out with. It wasn't your best friend Dina, it was Ellie—a girl so innocent and so fucking shy.

"s-shit, oh fuck fuck fuck fuck Ellie- fuck" you whimpered out, but immediately came to a stop as you heard the door of the dorm opening- quickly pulling your hand out of your soaked panties and acting like you weren't just whimpering her name like a fucking slut.

Fuck if only she came back 5 minutes later..

"sup" she says, pulling her jacket off- you squeezed your legs together as you looked at the slight bulge in her baggy jeans.... Of course, you're fucking ovulating-

You were so fucking horny and you needed this gone.

"you good?" She chuckles, looking at you, she notices you slightly moving your legs together for some friction- she tilts her head and bites her lip "you horny?"

"mhm" you nod innocently, fuck.

"come here" she says, sitting down and patting her leg indicating for you to sit on her lap- you get up from your bed completely defeated and straddle her hips, you look at her eyes and she smirks.

"what were you doing?" She pushes her bulge into your clothed pussy and a whine escapes your lips "don't lie" she adds on.

She brings her hand to your cheek and pushes it slightly so she can kiss your neck, your eyes roll back and she chuckles, sending vibrations all down your neck and spine.

"i was- touching myself" you grind down into her dick, to get some sort of friction to soothe the ache between your legs.

"if you're okay with it, lay on the bed?" You agree and lay on the bed so quickly, she moves on top of you and kisses all up your neck and grinds herself into your aching pussy, you let out a whimper and Ellie chuckles again...

"what were you thinking about? Where you worried I'd come home and see you touching yourself like a slut?" Her voice is low, but so fucking hot.

"I was thinking about you- fuck- I-" you stutter, "oh, poor babies stuttering, show me how you were touching yourself baby" she teases, your pussy clenches and you hide your face away in the pillow "come on baby, I know you can" she pulls a strain of hair behind your ear and turns your face to look her in the eyes- you whimper and nod, she moves off you and takes off her jeans exposing her hard dick under her boxers.

You move your small hand under your panties, and move one to expose your boob- you bite your lip and hold back a moan as you touch your clit, fuck she was aching for Ellie.

You whimper as you tease your clit, making her twitch.

"good fucking girl" Ellie coos, watching you masturbate right next to her...

"Ellie" you whimper, looking up at her with doe eyes "mhm?" She replies, "need you in me" she groans loudly.

"you want me to fuck you?" She questions, you nod "yes, please"

"fuck baby- I don't have a condom" she says, and you whine, pulling your hand out of your panties and touching her dick- it was so fucking hard, you stroke up it slowly and she groans.

"need you to get me pregnant, please Ellie, please" you beg her, she finally caves in.

-

"oh! Fuck! Ellie, fuck, harder please" you moan as Ellie fucks you hard from behind, the pace unbearable, she slows down her thrusts and grabs your hair pushing you down into the pillow as she groans loudly at the feeling of your pussy clenching down on her.

"this what you needed? Hm, fuck, needed me to fuck your silly and fuck a baby into you like the slut you are?" You moan loudly "yeah, you're a fucking slut... Gonna fuck the shit out of you- fuck" she groans as she grabs your hips to guide you backwards onto her dick.

She toys with your clit, making you moan louder, chanting her name like a whore. You couldn't stop fucking moaning, you felt so fucking close. You were too close, Ellie knew this and slowed down the pace so you could cum on her dick.

"gonna get you fucking pregnant" she moans, you feel yourself about to unravel

"Ellie! Ellie please m'gonna cum!" You moan out, "oh fuck yes yes cum on my dick" she stays the same pace.

Fuck, who knew she knew how to pleasure you so good, and make you feel so fucking good?

"oh fuck" you moan out, as you clench around her dick- finally cumming all over her, she whimpers loudly as she cums in you and continues to fuck you through your high and her own...

"you're a slut" she teases, smacking your ass and making you yelp.... "Gonna suck me clean at least?"

You turn around to see her innocent looking face, her dick still so hard- veins that run up to the tip of her dick, you nod and she lays down in bed and you rest your head between her thighs.

Sucking the tip so delicately, she holds your hair into a makeshift pony tail.

She moans loudly as you take her whole length "just like that, fuckkkkkk-"

"fuck, I'm gonna cum" she groans, holding your hair still and out of your face as you suck harder-

She chants your name as she cums in your mouth, she came so hard you're sure everyone at the school could hear her...

"you're such a good girl - fuck, thought you were innocent but yet here you are you fucking whore"

You giggle and hide away in her neck as she massages your arm .

"guess there's no need for your bed anymore huh?"

-

A/n: thank you all for the requests!! I am slowly making my way through them but there are so many! Keep sending them my way!!

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

istg i check your blog religiously 😭 can i request ghost x reader that is rlly insecure of how she looks and bc shes so shy, so she never expected to be in a relationship bc she doesn't believe she ever rlly deserved that, and thinks that ghost will leave her eventually, so when he finds out he comforts her. so like angst to fluff

—Nervous Eyes

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [No one understands how you two get along - not when you're so different. It makes you second-guess yourself. He notices.] ❞

You sit at the bar and turn around your glass of Bourbon, the amber liquid sitting at the bottom as you blink at your reflection with slow eyes. It was late, but you were far from drunk—not even a light buzz was addling your brain with honied thoughts or actions. No, there would be none of that tonight. 

Not when the woman was still hanging off Simon’s arm like a bad rash. 

She was pretty, you admitted; beautiful, even. A sort of natural confidence and the looks to pair—ones that most people would go under a knife for without a second thought. Swallowing down saliva and not the alcohol, you tighten your lips and shove down the feeling in your throat. You shouldn’t be acting like this; you had no reason to. 

There was no doubt in Simon’s loyalty or intentions, but your insecurities still lingered. He’d tried to shove the lady off of him as soon as she’d showed up—growling a ‘piss off’ and a flash of his dark brown gaze. Anyone without a death wish would have darted away immediately; maybe fled the country to be safe. She’d instead taken up the seat next to him and was talking up a storm as his fingers tightened over the tabletop. 

Breathing out slowly, you try not to look at her, generally placid nature a large factor in your hesitation to come out to this place at all. 

Simon was…a lot, you knew. 

Big, scary; all around intimidating with his balaclava, hoodie, and jacket atop. Black gloves—he screamed serial killer except for the fact of his dog tags that clinked with every swivel of his head to you. 

But the allure to his character was what charmed a lot of people, especially in bars when the drinks started to do the talking.

Sometimes you wonder if it was only a matter of time before he found someone better. Better suited to his… demeanor.

Simon’s fingers tapped the table twice to try and get your attention, side-eyeing you with a blank expression of annoyance at the lady’s constant prattle in his ear. 

The woman loudly continues to talk about her ex-husband not a foot away from his face, trying to get into his pants unabashedly. Rage simmers deeply in his chest, but he won’t cause a scene—he can’t leave either. Not without you, and right now, you’re not even glancing at him. 

When you don’t look up at his tapping, a strange emotion sitting on your normally smiling and bright flesh, Simon goes stiff. His shoulders tighten as he stares; attention entirely on you at all times. He sees your sigh, your intentful staring at your reflection with the occasional darting to the woman’s pristine features. 

It puts something into immediate focus, and the Brit’s eyes go to slits. 

Just as you decide it would be better for you to be drunk, staring to bring your glass to your lips, Simon snaps out at your side.

“Bloody slag,” the bar pauses at the monotone but subsequently harsh words yet quickly picks back up again. “Would you fuckin’ shut your mouth? Bastard’s runnin’ more than your damn husband did.” You choke on your drink, pulling back to cough into your arm violently with a sputtering inhale.

While you catch your breath, wide-eyed staring from over your elbow, the woman gapes and blinks like a deer that had been shot through the ribcage; gasping out stuttered questions.

Simon, in a wave of deep anger, takes out his wallet and slams bills to the bartop, sliding off his stool before gliding past you—taking the meat of your arm and pulling you along. Gently, only the slightest pressure to make sure you don’t stumble as your feet meet the floor. 

In your stupor, you follow after quickly, allowing him to drop his grip. 

“S-Simon, what are you—?” When you’re outside, you’re instantaneously corralled down the side of the bar, latched onto, and lifted easily so you’re over one of the man’s shoulders. You yelp, your face burning like fire as your voice goes high-pitched. “Simon!” 

“Seen the way you’ve been lookin’ at yourself,” He grunts out, gritting his teeth as your hands dig into his spine for stability. But he knew just the right amount of force to keep you from falling. “What…? You think I’d give that old broad a good shag? Throw away the prize that I’ve got right in front of me?” 

A harsh scoff echoes out, and seconds later you’re plopped down onto the top of a stack of pallets, hands slapping beside your hips and a clothed face millimeters from your own. You suck in a gasp and stare, entranced by how the lights burst inside of Simon’s pupils as he towers over you, a wall of muscle and will.

“I-I didn’t…I don’t,” you stutter, mouth opening and closing. “I’m not…”

His eyes narrow, scrutinizing you down to your marrow. “Not what, then? Say it.”

There’s no getting out of this.

“Simon,” you see his lips thin through his mask and you sigh, looking away instantly from the shame that courses your bloodstream. To force the words out was a physical pain to you, a dent in your lifespan. Your skin burns and the sting of embarrassment comes into your eyes. 

“I’m not…pretty…” The man stills to near stone, eyes twitching a centimeter wider before they, too, halt all movement. “You shouldn’t have to be bothered every time someone better looking comes over because they don’t realize you’re seeing me—because they’d never think we’d be together. I…I don’t want you to think you’re weighed down by a…a…” 

You lose your train of thought, and the only word coming to mind is a sharp knife to your chest. You glare at this chest, at his tags as they swing, and clench your jaw, taking down shallow breaths from your nostrils. 

Simon utters the very word you dread in a tiny voice, accent deep, “...burden.” 

All you do is shakily nod as the minutes roll past—the shadows grow longer and the night colder. Simon stares and stares, chest pounding with a fast heart and a tight wind of bulk. 

His hands at your hips tighten into fists, grunting, “That’s the worst fuckin’ thing I’ve ‘ad to hear in ages.”

You blink away your unshed tears, darting your vision back up before a hand connects with your jaw and angles it up, balaclava shifted to his nose bridge as Simon pressed his lips to yours in a breath-stealing kiss. Opening your legs, he drags you forward by the small of your back and presses you to him with a growl, hearing your small mewl in answer. 

His grip is firm and all-consuming, as it always is, and his mouth gives the tinge of alcohol and conviction. Hand on the back of your skill, you shudder and sink into him as he presses deeply, dragging each other back and forth with gasps and smacking flesh. Your hands grasp at Simon’s shirt, trailing his abs as he moves back with a grunt and a lick at his red lips.

Saliva gets caught in the corner of his mouth. 

“I’m not leavin’ you unless I get my head blown to bloody bits,” he frowns, dead eyes darting up and down your blown eyes and panting breath. A flicker of a smirk dashes his expression. “So forget about it, Love.” 

Simon’s gaze flashes with a soft reassurance, humming under his breath before he leans in once more. 

“No one tastes like you do,” you drag him back into you as he mutters on your eager lips. “Fuckin’ perfect.”

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[whore4gwen]

Bittersweet ﾟ･｡

Tired Agent!Rio Vidal x Reader

Tags; FLUFF, very slight angst if you really squint, secretive Rio, & I think that’s its tbh!

A/n: Welcome to my first AAA fic! I’ve been reading them religiously, so I decided to finally write one.

I desperately needed Rio fluff; I hope you all enjoy:)

-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-

The bite of autumn air sent a chill down your spine. The wind rustled through the trees bitterly. The faint residue of rain and mildew infiltrated the air around you bringing a sort of lightheadedness.

Swiftly, you unlocked the door to your lofty home and quickly went inside. The day has dragged by miserably.You wanted nothing more than to sit down and relax. Expectedly, you looked towards the couch thinking it would be inhabited by your girlfriend, but to your disappointment, empty. A small pout formed at your lips.

As the fire burned bright, Soft shades of yellow and red gingerly wrapped the living room in a cozy blanket. The heat from the flames provided an indescribable tranquility. A peaceful forcefield that allowed you to finally forget all your troubles, even for just a moment.

A soft sigh left your lips as you peered at your phone. It dinged with a message from your girlfriend, Rio Vidal.

‘Hey sweetheart, work ran a bit later than expected. Omw now.’

A smile tugged at your lips. How you missed Rio, as a fbi agent she's constantly on the clock. Even on her days off, she’s never really, truly done working. You suppose it's just a part of the job, which she does very well at.

A light thud outside the door dragged you from your thoughts. Excitedly you watched in anticipation. Nothing could beat the way you felt when you where with her.

“Hello my love.” Rio muttered whilst taking off her topcoat and hanging it on the ornate coat rack beside the door. “How was your day?” she asked after getting settled on the couch beside you.

“Terribly Slow. I missed you very, very much,” you exaggerate bashfully. A slow, rare smile lifted the corners of Rio’s lips at your confession. She reached forward and enclosed your hands with hers. “I missed you too, sweetheart.”

This was your favorite side of Rio. The soft, neutering, caring side that no one else had the fortuity of seeing. Every day she comes home from work and treats you the very same, regardless of whatever day she may have had. All mine, you thought to yourself happily.

“How was work?” You questioned, tilting your head, genuinely curious of how it went. She doesn’t seem to be in a foul mood, but then again, sometimes it’s hard to tell with Rio.

Momentarily, she visibly tensed at the question. “We got a lead on the Dawson case.” she answered, flicking her eyes between you and the black rug on the floor behind you.

You sigh in annoyance and gaze at Rio knowingly. She's holding back. A distilled silence settles between the two of you, neither one of you willing to make an effort to break it.

Slowly, you nod your head, deciding not to pry any further. Even if you wanted to, some things were left better unsaid, and if Rio wanted to talk about them, she would. As an agent there’s certain precautions she must take in order to efficiently do her job, and to protect you. You understood that, even if it hurt your feelings sometimes; though you tried not to take it personally.

Suddenly your eyes drop to your hands intertwined with Rios. Softly, you begin to caress the back of her hand, drawing soothing shapes mindlessly. Her smooth skin was soft and grounding; exactly what you needed at the moment.

Lightly, Rio squeezes your hand and hums in acknowledgement. Even if she doesn’t say out loud, she appreciates your gesture. She can’t help but find comfort in your warmth.

While maintaining your ministrations, you gently lay your head on Rio’s right shoulder. She tilts her head slightly while she lets you adjust to the new position. Rio then places a soft kiss on your forehead before she rests against your side. She wraps her arms around your waist, pulling you in closer, if that’s even possible.

Rio closes her eyes as she lets the comforting smell of you consume her senses. A deep, content sigh erupted from her chest. To Rio, every bad day felt worth it if it meant she could come home and hold you like this.

———————————————————————

A/n: My apologies for the short chapter, more is to come!

[wandaslittlelove]

Rio x religious!femReader? Full of smut, religious guilt and corruption kink ☺️ it could be set in the 1600’s

Only if you are confortable with it 😉

Blood Stained Altar

Pairing: Dark!Rio Vidal x reader Warnings: SMUT 18+ MDNI, Dark themes, Blood, knife, Noncon, Me not knowing religious things, Cunnilingus (R), Fingering (r), Spit kink, Marking, Choking, I think that's it.

You kneeled in front of the Altar. Hands clasped and eyes closed as you prayed. Lately there has been a shadow in your room every night. It felt like eyes were watching you everywhere you went. Feather light touches in the middle of the night. Things in your room moving and disappearing. You were convinced it was a ghost. So you came to the church your father owned every night in hopes of praying whatever was bothering you away.

“Dear heavenly father, I am not sure what has been watching me this last month but I can tell it is not one of your creations so I pray for protection. For you to keep me and my family safe. To not let anything happen. I ask-” The lights start flickering and a sharp breath makes its way into your lungs. Trying to ignore it you close your eyes again but suddenly you hear a loud cackle before you feel hands on your waist and a breath on your neck.

“You can’t pray me away darling.” Her hands held your waist tightly as she placed feather light kisses on your neck. “I’ve been watching you. Waiting for the right time to make you mine. You are my prize. A gift” Her words trail off into a whisper as she pulls your back flush against her. You are frozen in fear until her hand starts to slip under your shirt. Quickly you scramble out of her arms and turn to face her. She stands with a smirk on her face as she steps towards you. You step back again but are stopped from going too far because of the wall behind you. You go to run but a vine wraps tightly around your ankle to keep you in place. Two more come up to wrap around your arms keeping them firm by your side.

“W-what are you?” You ask as you struggle against the vines causing them to tighten their hold on you. The woman chuckles as she continues to step closer to you.

“The green witch. Death. But you may call me Rio or mistress.” As she steps back into your personal space her hand comes up and she brings a nail to run along your jaw. You looked away from her but her hand roughly gripped your face and turned you to look at her. Her eyes were almost black and her nails sharply dug into your skin. You knew there would be marks later.

Your mind raced at her words. Witches were told to be cruel beings that practiced dark magic. People who worshiped the devil. They were also told to be ugly but she did not look ugly. No, she was beautiful. You cursed yourself for thinking that and almost as if she could hear your thoughts she chuckled. She leaned closer so that you could feel her breath right against your lips as her nails dug harsher into your jaw.

“You're a pretty thing,” She whispered. Suddenly her lips were on yours. Your eyes widen and you go to push her off but the vines keep you still. After a few moments her tongue licks at your lips wanting entrance but you keep your mouth closed. A growl escapes her and her nails dig hard into your waist drawing blood causing you to gasp. Quickly she shoves her tongue into your mouth and groans. A fog-like haze takes over your mind and for a second you kiss her back feeling her smile against your lips. When she pulls away your lips are slightly swollen and she smirks down at you.

“Let me go. Please” You beg as her hands start to wander your body. 

“No” Her voice is firm as she speaks and you gasp as she undoes your corset. It falls to the floor with a thud. You struggle and thrash in her grip not wanting her to get any further but with a roll of her eyes and a flick of her wrist your dress is gone leaving you only in your bra and panties. Her eyes travel along your body, her hands following the movement. Her hands run down your shoulders pausing at the tops of your breasts peeking out over the bra then slowly down your stomach until one comes to grip your hip harshly. The other cups you over your underwear and she lets out a groan at the damp spot.

“You're enjoying this” She teases as she drags her fingers up and down over your covered core. “So wet for me. What a little slut.” Her nails graze your clit and you can’t help the whimper that gets let out. You had never felt like this before. Had never been touched in this way. It felt so different. So good. But you knew you couldn’t let her touch you like this. Couldn’t let her take what is supposed to be saved for your future spouse. 

Thinking fast you take the leg that is free and kick her. She stumbles back a bit, cursing. You look at her smugly for a moment thinking you have won but then her gaze is back on you. Her eyes are almost black and narrowed. Her lips curved into a snarl. A whole new wave of fear and arousal though you would never admit that rushes through you. Before you can blink her hand is gripping your throat tightly and she is slamming your back onto the altar. Your gasp for air as her hand tightens. 

“Do that again and I’ll kill you” She hisses. Her hand stays on your throat but loosens enough for you to get air back into your lungs and the other pulls your bra down allowing for your breast to be exposed. The cold air hits your nipples causing them to harden slightly. Her smirk grows as she runs her thumb over one of them gently. Your body betrays you and arches up into her touch. You never realised that someone touching your nipple could feel so good. But right now with her her fingers softly pinching and pulling it sends another wave of wetness into your already soaked panties. The pleasure is short lived though as she quickly becomes rough again. Her once gentle fingers pinch harshly and pull causing a cry to fall from your lips.

“That hurts!” You cry as she repeats the motion on your other breast. She looks at you with a fake pout before pinching again. After a few more times tears start to fall down your face and she finally gives your sore nipples a break. You breathe a sigh of relief but your breath quickly gets caught in your throat as her hand pulls your panties off. The air is cold and you can feel the wetness dripping down your thighs. 

“Beautiful” She whispers as her thumb comes to rub small circles on your aching bundle of nerves. Your body jerks at the feeling and before you can stop it a moan makes its way past your lips. Her eyes snap up to your face at the sound. “Such pretty noises. Do it again” Her voice is commanding and you can’t help but to obey. Your thighs attempt to clench shut and you can’t decide if it’s to keep her hand where it is or to keep it away. Her magic quickly opens them again though. Keeping you spread out wide for her and her gaze. She leans down hovering her face right above yours. Her breath on your face is what makes you snap out of your pleasure filled haze.

“You- Stop” Your words are not very convincing as there followed by a moan and your hips bucking into her hand. She chuckles at you and leans down to place a small kiss on your lips. 

“Why would I stop? Doesn't it feel good” She mocks. You shake your head denying it but she knows you're lying. The wetness coating her fingers and the little noises leaving your lips tell her differently. “I bet this will feel better” One of her fingers comes to circle your entrance dipping in slightly only to pull back out. The feeling turns your brain fuzzy. You don’t understand why it feels so good. It should only feel good when your husband does this. At least that’s what your father and everyone else told you.

“Don’t” 

“Shh my love. Just feel” Her lips press down onto yours just as her finger slips into you fully. It hurts and is a bit uncomfortable at first. The feeling foreign. But it soon turns into pleasure as she begins to pump it in and out while curling her finger. She starts out slow giving you time to adjust before she picks up her pace. Her mouth parting from yours to look down at the sight of your heat taking her finger. “So tight. Going to have to stretch you out” She grunts. You don’t understand what she means. Not until a second finger joins the first and she stretches them apart. It feels so good. You feel so full. A tightness begins to form. Almost like you have to pee. 

“Feels weird” You cry as your hands start to struggle in your restraints. She doesn’t respond, instead she grips your jaw and orders you to open. Opening your mouth you feel her spit into it.

“Swallow,” She demanded. Once you do she gives you a smile and begins to kiss down your body. Her mouth stopped briefly to suck and nip at certain spots leaving a trail of hickeys in her path. Slowly she works her way down. And your hips buck again when you feel her breath right on your mound. Her fingers continue their assault inside of you. Causing the feeling to get tighter. It’s intense but nothing happens. Almost like you need more. She seems to notice this to as not even a second later her mouth is on your clit. She sucks it into her mouth and you can only describe the noise as filthy. The room is filled with the sound of her fingers pumping inside you, her sucking on your clit, and your moans. Before you know it the knot inside of you explodes. Your vision turns white for a second as you let out a loud cry. The air feels like it’s getting sucked out of you. It’s intense. So intense that you don’t even register the pain on your thigh until Rio pulls away. When she does though there's a blade in her hand dripping with blood. Looking down you see that your thigh is bloody and something had been carved into it. You let out a cry of pain as she swipes her thumb over the wound the letters R.V. causing blood to leak onto the altar below you. Her face comes back up to yours as you cry from the pain and from the realization of what has just happened. She shushes you as she tries to bring you comfort,

“I know baby but we have to let this heal naturally. If I heal it it won't stay. Let’s get you home. We have to get that cleaned and bandaged. And then” Her voice drops as she gently lifts you into her arms “Then I’ll take your virginity fully. You're mine now.” 

[nebbyy]

Please write a fanfic about King Baldwin IV from KoH, where he fell in love with female reader. The plot is up to you. Please make it a serious love story with slight fluff 🤗🤭

Baldwin IV x reader - Life always comes down to a game of chess

A/N: You have no idea how much I love you anon, this was one of the prompts I already wanted to write omgggg!! For this fic I kinda got inspired by this painting (which, for everyone interested, it’s “La belle dame sans merci” by Frank Dicksee), and you’ll see how and why reading it;)

Summary: King Baldwin IV receives an offer from an Italian nobleman to marry his daughter; unsure of whether to accept or not this compelling offer, Baldwin decides to do what he does best…

Warning: there are some mentions of christianity and religious references along with some hints at the misogynistic ideologies of the time (about the woman being “owned” by the dominant male figure in her life) ((I don’t condone this ideology at all but I thought it’d be fitting to add it anyway to give some accuracy to it)).

Word count: 2637

King Baldwin couldn’t quite wrap his head around you. The day that he was informed of your engagement, he felt himself quite skeptical of the idea of marrying someone. After all, ever since his leprosy had been diagnosed he had to get used to the idea of living a life of solitude, forced into a lifelong chastity, for no sane man would ever marry off their daughter to a leper. With time, he had found solace in nurturing his own knowledge and virtue, elevating himself to a level of wisdom that very few could boast at his young age.

During the following days, the young king's mind was plagued with thoughts, considerations he was making to weigh the choice. The benefits of marrying Lady Y/N were many, first and foremost securing a connection to the land of Italian speakers, allowing for easier trafficking of crusaders arriving in the Holy Land, not to mention the abundance that would be the young lady's dowry. And not only did marrying her mean strengthening the economical side of his reign, but it also meant giving the impression to the public that the king's health condition was improving to such an extent that he considered that to be an ideal time to marry. His most trusted men and all of his advisors kept repeating to him, marrying Lady Y/N would’ve been  comparable to a blessing.

But despite all the benefits this union seemed like it would bring, Baldwin continued to hesitate to make a decision. What left him so undecided was the possibility that this was some kind of deception, a conspiracy orchestrated against him, hidden in the form of the most convenient of marriages. It was up to him to decide whether it was worth taking these risks in favor of the benefits that would come if his concerns turned out to be unfounded. 

Like everything else in his life, this choice came down to a game of chess…

It was this idea that prompted him to make a decision. Baldwin had a messenger called, to be sent to Pisa to give the news to Lord Y/F/N that the king wished to report his decision to him live, at his court. For the lord to arrive it would have to wait, but Baldwin has always been a man of exceptional patience.

Four months passed, when at the dawn of Lent it was announced by a Pisan messenger that Lord Y/F/N and his daughter had come to Acre, and would soon be coming to Jerusalem. Another week passed before father and daughter, riding two white horses and accompanied by an escort of knights arrived at the royal palace.

When he first saw you, Baldwin could have sworn he saw Mary himself. You walked with such grace that you almost seemed to float. Your face looked serene, despite the anxiety that had been devouring you from within ever since the day the invitation from the king of Jerusalem reached you; a blue veil covered your hair, framing your face and falling over your shoulders. You bowed to Baldwin as was proper to do before a king, yet he felt so tempted to interrupt you, prevent you from bowing to him, perhaps even bowing to you himself.

At that moment he felt like Lancelot before Guinevere, completely mesmerized by your beauty, one who seemed more fit to an angel than a woman. But, he gave no sign of his true emotional state; after all, a gorgeous woman does not mean she can be fit to serve as queen. Her answer will be decided when she has had a chance to hear you speak, away from the judgmental stares of the court, free from any influence that might change what you really think.

As the sun shone bright in the sky, the banquet took place inside of the palace. The king excused himself before going to eat by himself in his chambers as usual, leaving his guests in the company of his sisters and his court. Loud chatter filled the room, goblets were raised to get more wine poured, courses flowed onto the set table, a tribute to thank Lord Y/F/N for making such a journey to fulfill the king's request. All this noise, yet in your ears all became quiet when a servant approached your chair, whispering a few simple words, "The king has requested your presence at dinner."

Your blood froze in your veins in surprise, and you could almost feel your father's thrill as you rose from your seat, having the servant guide you toward the king's study. Walking through the halls of the palace, you could do nothing but feel so small in comparison, you almost seemed to disappear, enveloped by the magnificence of everything around you that, if all went well, you would have called your own.

You were brought back to reality when the heavy doors of the king's room were opened by the two guards who stood at his sides. An enveloping fragrance, a mixture of myrrh and frankincense filled your senses with a feeling of serenity, an almost familiar feeling. In the center of the room, a hooded figure, dressed in silk as white as snow. "Come forward, my lady. I apologize for my absence at the table but," she interjected for a moment, rising from her seat and revealing her face-or at least, what was not covered by the veil-"many might find my appearance somewhat...disturbing during a meal." He chuckled a little at that last part. You wondered if irony had become a kind of means for him to soften his own hellish condition. 

As soon as he turned around you could not help but study the appearance of what will hopefully be your future husband. Rumors about his condition had been swirling since the day he was crowned, so you had been prepared to be confronted with a horrifically disfigured man. Instead, although part of his face was covered by the thin veil, it was like an instinct for you to try to study his features. You could vaguely make out the golden hair that adorned his face, although it was covered by the veil. His voice had intrigued you; it sounded so jovial and yet so deep. A melody that sang of the young monarch's endeavors. It intrigued you, you wondered what his lips looked like, whether they matched the sound of his voice.

But what really caught your interest were his eyes. They were blue, but of a color so deep, so intense, it reminded you of tales you had heard about the northern seas, of the waters that dark and deep seemed to beckon sailors, to lead them to drown within them. Likewise you felt mesmerized by such intensity. And you wondered, how much of this would remain the same as his illness progressed.

You recovered from that momentary trance, wasting no time to bow, but this time Baldwin stopped you before you were able to bow more than your head: "Don't bow, please. Such reverences are not necessary here." You looked at him a little dumbfounded, but despite the king's unusual attitude you did not object. He stepped to the side, revealing a finely decorated chessboard, with all the pawns already set in place. "Do you play?" he asked softly, and you finally mustered up the courage to speak "It's been some time since I last did," as you approached the table, taking your seat opposite Baldwin. He took his seat again, and for the first time in your life you found yourself face to face with a king. 

You quickly realised that he had assigned you the white pawns, the small courtesy of moving you first. You took a moment to think of an initial strategy, and moved your first pawn. A horse. Baldwin raised his eyebrows, surprised by your decision. "Aren't you going to move the pawns first?" You kept your gaze on the chessboard, partly out of respect and partly out of fear, still unsure why the king would call you to his chambers, if indeed it was all just to have a playmate. "I always prefer to start with the horse. I like to think that the pawns would be frightened to charge against the enemy without a knight to guide them." You looked up, meeting his eyes that studied you intrigued. Chuckling at what you had just said, you continued, shaking your head slightly, "Forgive me, it was just a silly thought."

"Not at all, my lady," he replied, studying your every detail, "I find it fascinating." It was his turn to move, and as per rule, he moved one of the pawns, the one in front of the queen. "So you think good leadership is better than letting the individual decide for himself?" There was a spark that had lit up in his eyes, something playful. It was clear that you were intriguing him, surprisingly in your eyes, since you had been instructed to stay behind your father's shadow, not to express your thoughts or externalize your ideologies.

Everything had to be perfect, one could not risk the futile mind of a young woman ruining the marriage that would have been so beneficial to her dukedom, but above all to her family. Yet at that moment she felt that expressing what resided in her own mind was exactly what Baldwin wanted from her. Something lit up in her too, and he in turn caught the same spark in her eyes. Could it be that she had figured out the trick...? 

Another pawn moved, it was Baldwin's turn to move again. Your eyes seldom parted from each other, just for that moment necessary to make your own move. "Independence is not always what benefits a man. Certainly, it is tempting, but in moments of indecision it risks leading to oblivion. An infantryman needs a leader, a young man who is lost in the woods needs a hunter to guide him out..." Another move, the white bishop points directly at the black king "...an indecisive man needs an outside opinion to make his decision."

You smiled, and like the sweetest of plagues you infected him too. You had deciphered his little deception. An innocent deception, with the purpose of seeing with your own eyes how you, in a condition so similar to what is the duty of a sovereign, would have acted. 

After all, his life always came down to a game of chess....

"So you understood..." Baldwin whispered, again sitting in his place. For the first time in his memory, someone had managed to leave him speechless. His witty mind seemed to have died out all of a sudden, the knight in him unarmed by the woman sitting in front of him. Maybe the deception wasn’t as occult as he had planned, or maybe this young lady was really able to stand up to him.

You smiled at him proudly, be proud of your intuition but also relieved that your thought had not turned out to be foolish. Your pride had removed from your mind every rule, every admonition that had been given to you from the moment you set foot in the Holy Land; your mind was now like a river in flood, finally free to flow out according to its natural course. "I do not blame you, my lord. I realize that this is a difficult choice for you, and that the factors at stake go far beyond your individual will."

"And what do you think about that?" Your smile acquired a bittersweet scent, and you answered without almost hesitation: "I am only a woman, my will is that of my father and it will be of my husband. My family prays that this role will be filled by you, and for this to happen I have been instructed to be fit to reign at your side."

“That I can clearly see, but what truly urges me is to know what your own will says. If we were to marry, you would be the bride to a wretched man, one whose fate has already been announced by God. My demise won't be far off, you’ll be left a widow in a foreign land. And before this… curse gets the better of me, there is no saying that it won’t get to you too. If it did, you would suffer the same fate I had been given.”

It took you a moment to let his words sink into your mind. He spoke the truth, a future with him would be filled with sickness and uncertainty; you would have to live in a court far from your home, where everyone was waiting for the king’s death like a flock of crows flying above a dying man. You took a deep breath, feeling as everything came down to this very moment. “I won’t lie to you, my lord, the future that awaits me while standing by your side is not an easy one by any means, and I’m very much aware of that. I do not expect my future to be easy, for it would be an excess of greed. So if I can have a saying in my own future, I’d like to say that I would much rather all the time that is given to me by the Lord standing by the side of a man filled with virtue, than by the side of a man too full of himself to see anything just an inch away from his reflection. There would be no greater honor for me than to stand by your side, for as long as you still have to live, my lord. And if I ever was to catch this disease as well, then I would have no other words to say other than God wills it.“

At your words, the young king had to shake himself up, now more than ever necessary for him to say something, anything really. “For you, my lady, I shall always be just Baldwin.” His tone was softer than ever, a soft breeze that reached to you and whispered I am but yours now. It was unsaid, but decided. Once this meeting would be over, the king would come to your father, and confirm his decision to accept the proposal. Only problem was, this meeting seemed to have become endless. What was supposed to be a quick meal, accompanied by a game of chess, turned into a lively exchange of political views, then silly childhood anecdotes, then again into a walk in the inner courtyard of the palace. Baldwin tried hard to keep you in his presence for as long as was deemed decent for an unmarried man and woman. He kept you with him as long as he could, and when that was no longer possible, he led you back into the great hall, gently holding your hand over his. Soon after the announcement of your engagement, the wedding was set to happen during the following Easter, and the banquet made in honor of his guests was prolonged until the sun had been long set, this time in honor of his betrothed.

You think back to that day fondly, as you lay on your bed, in the comfort of silky sheets and soft pillows. One of your hands holds your head while the others traces the patterns of the scars in your husband’s face that have considerably worsened during the years. Aside from the bed, sitting on a table, forgotten as long as the night reigned over Jerusalem, were two crowns, along with two chess pawns. A white queen and a black king. Both came from the set that had been used the day the two of you met, a reminder for Baldwin of the day God had merged your destinies in one.

A/N: wowww that came out longer than I though oopss. ANYWAY, this was my interpretation of your request, anon, hope you like it!! Also, for everyone who’s gonna read this, feel free to leave any constructive criticism since this is my first fic and I would like to improve a looot more in my writing skills. That’s it now have a nice day y’all <3<3

[candycandy00]

HI❤️ for your 2k follower event can you write

Character: sukuna

Setting: church

Spice: NSFW

Mood: Dark

Kink: Praise kink+breeding

🙏🙏🙏

Dancing With the Devil - A Sukuna x Reader Fanfic

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. AU. Sukuna as a priest. Praise. Creampie. Voyeurism. Humiliation. 

Part of CandyCandy’s 2k followers event! Any and all feedback is adored! Dividers by @benkeibear!

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.” 

The priest on the other side of the wooden grate-covered window greets you in his smooth voice. “Tell me your sins.”

You know who sits only inches away from you, separated only by the thinnest of walls in the confessional. Father Sukuna is a new priest at the church, having only arrived six weeks ago. 

His appearance was quite a shock to the congregation. Pink, slicked back hair, eyes that were as red as a demon’s, and a huge muscled frame all turned heads. But most of all, it was the intricate pattern of black tattoos lining his face that had everyone talking. 

What kind of person had he been before joining the priesthood? That was the question on everyone’s mind. But one of the other priests was quick to remind everyone that Father Sukuna had turned away from a life of sin, and the Bible taught you all to “judge not”. 

So while some people still wondered and whispered about him, most people in the church accepted him without asking questions about his past. 

However, you’ve solved the mystery, entirely by accident.

The first time you saw him, you thought his tattoos were somewhat familiar, but you couldn’t quite place where you had seen them before. Then one day you visited the church to drop off some fresh lemonade for the men working on some repairs on the outside of the building. 

It was a blazing hot summer day, and as you stood chatting with one of the men, Father Sukuna peeled off his T-shirt to get some relief from the heat. Your eyes were instantly drawn to his sweat slicked body, incredibly well sculpted muscles rippling in the haze of the sun. And those tattoos. 

You recognized them at that moment, and a deep red blush spread over your face. 

Almost a year ago, a friend who knew you had a thing for tattoos sent you a video to watch online. It was a porn video featuring a handsome, well built man with black tattoos lining his whole body. His face was blurred out for some reason, but the rest of him wasn’t. You had watched it, enraptured by the way his body moved, way too many times to count. 

There was also a woman in the video, and you had grown wet watching her struggle to take the man’s impossibly huge cock, enormous even by porn star standards. When she moaned and writhed beneath him, you imagined you were her. 

You tried to find out who the man was, only so you could look for more videos featuring him, but his name remained a mystery. But by searching for terms like “male porn star black tattoos huge dick”, you found two more videos he’d done. Both also blurred his face. 

Countless nights you spent watching them, one hand in your panties, between your quivering thighs, wishing you knew what name to moan. 

You would know those tattoos anywhere, would be able to recognize that chiseled chest and back lined with black ink if you were half blind. 

The next few days, he was all you could think about. When he gave a sermon, his delicious voice carrying through the speakers and filling the church, you pictured him naked, fucking you right there in front of the entire congregation. 

You don’t know what’s wrong with you. You’ve never been very devout in your religion, but you still grew up fairly sheltered by your religious parents, so you never really had a “wild phase”. The “wildest” you got was sneakily watching porn after your parents went to bed. Even now, living in your own apartment, you have a pretty boring life. 

But Father Sukuna brings out every naughty fantasy you’ve ever had, right in the middle of church, of all places! So now that you’re in the confessional, inches away from him, talking about sin, you can’t hold back. 

“I’ve been watching pornographic videos online,” you confess.

“Ah, I see,” he says. “It’s hard to resist that temptation. But with God’s help, you can turn away from your lust.”

“There’s three videos in particular that I watch all the time,” you add, growing bolder. “I’ve been watching them for nearly a year, and I can’t stop.”

This time he hesitates for a moment. Is he catching on? Then he asks, “What makes these three so attractive to you?”

You lick your lips and take a breath, then press on. “It’s the man who stars in all three. He’s mesmerized me. He’s very handsome, and his body is covered in tattoos…”

This time he has to know exactly what you’re saying. You wonder if he’s embarrassed, if he’ll ask you not to tell anyone.

Instead, he’s sleek voice carries through the grate, “Do you touch yourself while you watch them?”

Your face heats up. You were not expecting that question! But after only a moment of hesitation, you reply, “Yes, Father. All the time.”

“Describe it to me.”

You blink. “Huh?”

His voice is so close, so honeyed, as he says, “Describe how you touch yourself, what you’re thinking when you do it, how it feels. Your confession needs to be thorough.”

Oh god. Can you really say stuff like that to the very man you’ve been masturbating to? But your panties are growing damp as you shift nervously in your seat. 

“I… I watch the videos in bed, on my phone… and I reach one hand down to… touch myself.”

“How? Where? Leave no details out,” he says in an authoritative tone. 

You take a deep breath, fighting back your embarrassment. Your face feels like it’s on fire. “I rub… my clit, with one finger.”

“Describe it more. Paint a picture for me,” he tells you. 

Your own voice is getting shaky. “I spread my legs open on the bed… hold the phone with one hand so I can watch the videos, and move my other hand down between my legs. I dip my fingers between the folds… to smear my wetness around… then I use one finger to rub circles into my clit.”

“And what do you think about while doing this?” Father Sukuna asks. 

Your breaths are shallow and quick. “I imagine the man with tattoos… forcing his giant cock inside me while I whimper underneath him.”

There’s a pause, then he speaks again, not a hint of surprise or struggle in his silky voice. “And do you cum?”

“Y-yes. Everytime. It feels so good, Father. I can’t stop.”

He hums as if thinking deeply, then says, “This sounds like a serious problem for you. I think you need some further counseling. Can you come back tonight and see me for a private session?”

Your heart is hammering in your chest. You know what he means, what he’s asking, and you’re afraid there’s going to be a sticky puddle on the seat when you get up. 

“Yes, Father Sukuna! I can come. Back, I mean. Tonight.” It all came out sounding rather breathless. 

“I’ll be waiting,” he says, and your fate is sealed. 

When you return to the church later that night, both terrified and excited, you find it empty. You’re not sure where Father Sukuna’s office is, or if he’s even waiting for you there, so you walk down the aisle toward the altar. Should you offer up a prayer asking for forgiveness? 

Before you can decide, you hear a loud clicking sound behind you. Turning around, you see Father Sukuna standing at the door, locking it up tight. You swallow a lump in your throat. 

He turns to face you, giving you a smile as he steps toward you. “I’ve locked all the doors. I’m the only one here tonight. We’ll be discussing private, sensitive topics, after all.”

Nothing he’s saying is inappropriate, there’s nothing threatening about his movements, but you still somehow feel like a fly caught in a spider’s web. 

“Th-thank you, Father,” you say, avoiding eye contact. This is the first time you’ve been face to face with him since your humiliating confession, and your face is already hot with shame. You can’t believe you told him how you touch yourself! You’ve kept that a secret from literally everyone, even your closest friends. 

He moves past you and sits down on a pew, his motions smooth and graceful. He’s a man who knows exactly how to move his body.  He pats the spot next to him and says, “Sit down.”

He has a way of saying things that makes you want to jump to obey every command. You walk over and sit down beside him, perhaps a little too close. You can smell his cologne. 

He turns in the seat to face you, one arm resting on the back of the pew, close enough for his fingers to touch your hair if he wants. “Now, tell me again about your sinful lust. You desire this man in the videos, the one with tattoos?”

Flustered, you look away from him, nodding your head shyly. It’s so much harder to talk about this when you can look him in the eyes! 

“And if he were here right now, what would you want him to do to you?”

You look at him sharply, eyes wide. “Huh? Uh… I don’t….”

He leans closer, red eyes boring into you. “Be honest. Confess your sinful thoughts.”

Your voice comes out in a breathless whisper. “I would want him to fuck me.”

A grin breaks across his face, a gleam in those red eyes. To you, he doesn’t look like a priest now at all, but a devil sent to destroy you. 

“Such a sinful girl,” he murmurs, scooting even closer. “Is your pussy wet right now?”

You jerk away from him in shock. You’ve never heard a priest speak this way before. “No! I’m… it’s not!”

He’s staring into your eyes. “Really? Show me.”

Your breath catches in your throat. “What?”

“Show me your pussy. I’ll see if you’re a liar as well as lustful.”

Oh fuck. Oh god. You know you’re soaking wet. The thought of this gorgeous priest looking at your dripping pussy has you heating up with both shame and arousal.

Slowly, you pull your modest skirt up your thighs, bunching it at your waist. Then, breathing fast, heart racing, you slide your panties down, lifting your hips from the pew to pull the silky fabric all the way down your legs. They fall off your ankles, and for a moment you sit there, blushing, not looking at Father Sukuna. 

“Open your legs so I can see how sinful you are,” he commands, again with that tone of authority. 

You carefully spread your legs apart, and Father Sukuna moves from the pew to squat in front of you, giving himself a clear and perfect view of your bare, glistening pussy. He makes a soft “tsk” sound. “You lied. Your pussy is drenched. Your sins keep growing, but I can help you.”

Finally gaining the courage to look at him despite your deep burning shame, your eyes teary, you ask, “How?”

His eyes shift to your face. “Have you heard that some parents, upon catching their child smoking a cigarette, will force them to smoke a whole pack to get them to stop?”

You nod. You have heard of that before. 

He grins. “That’s how I’m going to help you. To make you turn away from your lustful behavior, I’m gonna fuck your pretty little pussy until you beg me to stop.”

You inhale sharply as he stands up and pulls his priestly robes off, revealing those beautiful tattoos covering his torso. He unbuttons his pants, and you watch with anxious, rapt attention as he pulls out the beast you’ve been waiting to finally see. 

It’s even bigger in person. 

Your mouth goes dry as you try to figure out how this is going to work. You’re inexperienced, having never had a serious boyfriend and being watched carefully by your parents until you moved out. The massive organ between Father Sukuna’s legs is intimidating, but god do you want this. You’ve thought about how he would feel inside you for almost a year now. 

While you sit there, practically frozen to the spot, he removes your shirt and bra, so that the only thing left is your wadded up skirt around your waist. Then he pushes you back in the pew so that you’re lying on your back, lifting one of your legs up and hooking it over the back of the pew while the other dangles off the front. This leaves you spread completely open for him, your shamefully wet pussy exposed to his gaze. 

Your chest is heaving with your rapid breaths as he climbs on top of you, his huge frame dwarfing yours. One of his hands squeezes your breast, his rough palm brushing over your sensitive nipple. Then he moves down, his thick, warm fingers opening your slippery folds. He circles your clit with one finger, making your hips buck slightly off the pew. 

“Is this how you touch yourself while watching my videos?” he asks. It’s the first time he’s acknowledged that he’s the man in those videos, and even though you knew it already, the admission sends a thrill through your body. 

“Y-yes,” you say, your legs beginning to tremble as he teases your little nub. 

His hand slides down a bit, and then you feel one of his fingers pressing inside you. It’s big, and you feel like it’s stretching you already. 

“So tight… Are you a virgin?”

Too embarrassed to speak, you nod and look away. 

He laughs. “I can’t believe a virgin has been rubbing her little clit and cumming to my videos.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, and you feel his finger curl slightly within you. “Don’t close your eyes. I’m trying to get this cute little pussy ready to take my cock.”

You open your eyes and look at him just as he pushes a second finger inside. You squeak out a strange little sound, surprised by the sudden fullness. It doesn’t hurt, but you feel a sense of pressure, and your pussy clenches his fingers. 

He lightly pumps them in and out, making an obscene squelching sound that echoes in the church. With his free hand, he rubs your clit, making you let out small gasping moans at the pleasure. You had no idea his fingers could feel so good! 

Just as you feel like you might cum any second, he pulls his fingers out, leaving you feeling empty. You whine by reflex, looking up pleadingly as he licks his fingers clean. 

“You’re being so good for me, so I’ll give you what you’ve been wanting,” he says, pulling your hips into his lap and getting into position. “This might hurt a little, but you can take it, right?”

You look at him with big, wet eyes. “Yeah… I can take it,” you say, your voice quivering. 

He grins like a demon about to devour your soul, then you feel the tip of that rock hard monster of a cock press into your entrance. You shudder, hissing at the stretch as he keeps pushing in. Oh fuck it’s still going in! 

He moves in slowly, inch by inch, going deeper than you thought possible. When you wince, he reaches down and rubs your clit again to ease your discomfort. Soon, he’s all the way in, his firm body pressing against yours. After a moment to allow you to catch your breath, he begins moving. 

With the grace and strength of a tiger, he moves over you, thrusting in with smooth, practiced motions. He knows exactly how to make you feel good, to hit the spots that have you moaning and gripping his tattooed shoulders. 

For months you watched him fuck other women in his videos, always imagining being them. You wanted to feel what they felt as they cried out in pleasure, to know what his powerful body felt like on top of you. Now you finally know, and you’ll never be able to give this up. 

Your arms wrap around his neck as he leans down closer, kissing your lips. He tastes like sin itself, and you wonder if he’s dragging you straight to hell. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. 

His thrusts go deeper, harder, until you’re crying out his name, tears in your eyes, desperate for release. Three more thrusts later, each one hitting hyper sensitive spots, and you’re cumming around his cock, clenching him as tightly as you can. 

You look up at him through the haze of pleasure, and he’s wearing that devilish grin. “Good girl,” he says. “I knew you could take me.”

You can’t even form words, only nodding weakly while his cock is still buried inside you. When he begins thrusting again, it’s faster, rougher, until he grunts, squeezing his eyes shut and tossing his head back. Before you can say a word, he cums directly into your womb in thick spurts. 

When he pulls out, you can feel his cum leaking out of you, and you’re reminded of similar shots from his videos. You drop your head back on the pew, exhausted. 

He’s hovering over you, looking down with a disappointed expression. “Don’t fall asleep now. We have all night. I intend to fuck all the sinful thoughts right out of you.”

You raise up in alarm. “Wait… I don’t think I can handle any more!”

He’s already pushing your legs apart again. “You can handle it. If you’ve watched my videos then you know how much stamina I have. Try and keep up.”

You groan, realizing this is going to be a very long night. 

[hup123hup123slapslap]

So a thought has been kicking around my head for a bit...what if Helio knew exactly what he was signing up for by making Kristen his chosen one?

It has always struck me as odd that when describing Doreen in Helioic heaven, Brennan mentioned her flirting with men and women. It also strikes me as odd that Kristen never got any pushback from Helio about turning her back on him. Even if he was similarly 'out of the picture' like sol was while Arthur was wrecking havoc, Kristen's powers should have faded when she fully committed to not worshipping him. You need to worship a god to get powers, and this is emphasized heavily in the latest episode. Kristen worshipping the vague idea of religion but Definitely Not Helio just doesn't cut it. Sure, taking away a PCs powers wasn't really in the cards in season one, but Brennan works very well and very caringly with what he has to establish as canon.

Kristen was looking for a reason to drop Helio from the get-go. His frat boy appearance and non-answer to a nearly impossible question didn't truly matter at the core of her feelings. She wanted an out from the prison she was trapped in with the Helioic faith, even if she didn't realize it fully. She had tension with her mom and her ideals from the scene one! She wanted to connect with people the church actively shunned. Helio was never the true problem.

Now, gods are shaped by their worshippers. So on some level Helio is shaped by people with shitty ideals. But there's still a foothold of good, especially if there are out and proud gays in heaven. Especially if Kristen Applebees of all people is the chosen one.

When you have worshippers misinterpreting your whole deal, going with Sol's shitty messaging and transferring it onto you and using it for bad things, what can you do as a god? Because you ARE what they say you are. So how can you fight back?

Well. You make your chosen one someone that embodies your true heart. Someone that can actually turn the tides of your worship.

There is an emphasis on tracker reinventing and revitalizing her religion. Changing it for the better. Taking the old and not tossing it out, but making it better.

Isn't that what Kristen struggles with the most? That's what she needs to learn how to do.

Tracker also established that she can worship multiple gods when she helped with Yes?. Kristen doesn't need to settle for one even if she (fingers crossed) brings Kassandra back.

Because the season opened with the slow apocalypse of endless night. Endless daytime would end similarly. There has to be a balance. They are two sides of the same coin. Day and night. The surety of the sun and the doubt of the shadows.

Kristen wants both. And she can fucking have it if she decides to.

Ally once said they appreciate that the enemy is always the church. Organized religion. Kristen is perfect for disorganized religion though. Chill frat boy vibes and anxious doubts and the ultimate message of 'just do your best'.

I think religious trauma is a compelling, close to the heart topic for a lot of people. And some turn away from religion entirely and wash their hands of it. But some people don't. Kristen is a cleric. She can't. She wants a god, she wants answers, and she just can't find them in the established community she was raised in. That doesn't mean the core of her religion was wrong. The church was. So you take the religion and you harness it in a way that means something to you.

Maybe Kristen being desperate enough to invite Helio back into her life is what this has all been leading to.

She can remake a god. She's done it before. Because Kassandra was good at the core. Maybe Helio can be too.

[wandanatswitch]

Hour of the Owl

Pairing: Dowager!Queen Alicent Hightower x Targaryen!Fem!Reader

Genre: Angst w/ happy ending

Summary: “Love can become both a sanctuary and a peril”

Warnings: NSFW +18 minors DNI, age gap (reader is aprox 18, Alicent is aprox 37), step-cest?, mentions of targcest, fingering? (reader receiving) oral (reader receiving), semi-public sex, mentions of infidelity (not between the main characters), religious shame and guilt, mention of suicidal thoughts, emotional dependency/obsession, mentions of homophobia, kinda? Toxic relationship, manipulation, I kinda wrote the reader from a BPD perspective so she could have some traits. Let me know if there's anything missing! NO DANCE OF DRAGONS AU! Note: English is not my first language! And this is my first time writing a fic so please let me know what you think <3 Also there is very few use of Y/N! 

Words: 2.9K

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“May I join you, Princess?” 

The oh so familiar voice echoes through the empty gardens of the red keep perturbs your quiet late night stroll.

“Of course, Your Grace…” You reply while looking at the bushes filled with different coloured roses. “Is something the matter?”

 You wished to deny her, you really did… but as always, you failed to do so, you just could not bring yourself to say no to her, nor to reject her presence, the one that made you feel that stupid agonising passion that made you wish it was possible that two people were one. You wanted to be binded to her. You wanted to lay down under the same tree where you kiss her so desperately, and merge with her so you could never be separated from one another ever again.

She approaches ever so carefully, moving her hand slightly forward, making your hands faintly touch… An innocent mistake is what she would answer if you reproach her.

“Not at all” She gently caresses the edge of the rose petals in front of you. “I simply wished to know if you have received any letter from my son” A lie. “I know i have not received one since he left” Another lie. You knew for a fact that Aemond had written to the Dowager Queen, he told you himself in the only letter he had written to you, and you had heard Princess Helaena trying and failing to tell Aegon about what their brother had written to their mother… “Mother said he was vague , but that he was well… he wrote that he is not bored as he expected to be and that he is actually having a good time…” is what you heard Helaena say, but you stopped listening when Aegon groaned at his sister-wife’s words.

“What is your need to lie to me, Your Grace?” You did not look up from the flowers, you did not dare. “You always lie, at this point i find myself believing that lying is the only thing you know how to do”

That gained you a sigh from her “You are right, I apologize…” she whispers “I just wanted to be alone with you—”

“Please, do not say anything else and just leave” you cut her off in a hostile tone but whispered voice “You said it yourself, we are sinful. This is a sin. We are wrong and the Gods will punish us if we do not stop whatever twisted and vile-” she cut you off when she placed her hand on your cheek, caressing it gently with her thumb.

“I know, my darling but—” she tries to plead, but her words get cut off again. You step back, causing her hand to drop back to her side. “You always do this!” you whisper loudly “You always do this! And it is not fair that you get to treat me like a stupid toy that you only wish to hurt!” Tears are rolling down your face at this point, much to your dislike.

“I am so stupidly tired of this, and I simply cannot bear this anymore…” You closed your eyes and tried to be strong and take a deep breath, but it came out shaky and broken. “...I have two children, Alicent… What am I supposed to tell them when they see me cry in front of them because I just can’t take it anymore? That their grandmother's favorite pastime is to hurt me…? 

“Princess, you are speaking foolishly—” The Dowager Queen tries to say calmly, but once again, she finds her words being cut off.

“Am I?!” You are shouting at this point. The anger, the frustration, the pain, the hurt, everything, finally finding a way out. “Yes you are!” The older woman shouted, matching your tone. “My goal has never been to hurt you! Your pain is the last thing I would ever wish for! Ever!” “You are a liar! You have proven yourself to be—”

“I do not lie to hurt you, I lie so I do not lose you!” She starts to lower her voice, although her tone is still full of frustration. “I love you, you know that very well” “No you do not, if anything you despise me” The Targaryen princess tries to say firmly, but her voice wavers from the tears she has spilled “You would have to despise someone to hurt them like you have hurt me” You look at Alicent right in the eyes “Maybe is not me who you wish to hurt. Maybe you wish to hurt my mother and I am nothing more than a discardable piece to accomplish it.” Your breath quickens, your heart hurts and you feel like dying… you feel as if nothing matters anymore, and at this very moment you just wish to die. 

“You just cannot stand the fact that my mother is Queen, can you? And you are not only taking your frustrations out on me, but you are also trying to hurt her through me. That is what I am to you, right?”

“I will not allow you to say such idiotic, and simply untrue words” Alicent is angry. Angry at herself, angry at the Gods… but she is not angry at you, not fully at least. How can she blame you for thinking that? 

She should have been smarter about this whole relationship, the Hightower thought to herself. She should have never given into her sinful desires, but the want overpowered her… If she didn't know better, she would have thought that you were the reward the Gods had given her for enduring more than fifteen years of not only being Viserys' wife, but also a Queen… Turns out you were not her reward, but her damnation.

“I love you, Y/N” She states, her voice unwavering “I do. I love you more than i have ever loved anything before” The auburn haired woman lets out a tired sigh before walking closer to you. She lifts a hand to place at your waist out of pure habit, but she decides against it when she sees the anger and hurt still lingering in the younger girl's eyes. “I do not feel angry at the thought of Rhaenyra sitting on the throne, I promise you that. If anything, I am relieved… I do not have as much responsibility as I had before… And I do have more liberties too, the eyes of the court are not on me anymore, at least most of the time they are not… If Aegon had been crowned king, most of the responsibility still would have been thrown at me, besides I know he would have not been a good king…” Alicent fidgets with her hands as she continues “And the stupid anger i had for your mother, the foolish one sided fight i had with her for years… is over. I know the tension remains, but I promise you, Y/N, I do not hate her, nor do I wish for her downfall or to cause her pain. I wish her well in her reign.” The older woman’s hands grip the fabric of her dress in an attempt to keep her emotions at bay. “So no, you are not “a discardable piece”, Princess” The Princess does not know what to say, so she ultimately decides to sit at a nearby bench in complete silence. “My dear…” Alicent whispers to the younger woman. “I do not believe you.” The princess does not look up from the ground. “I do not believe a word of what you just said.” Alicent has to swallow a sob, but she cannot hold the tears any longer.

“...Why not?” The Hightower whispers as she tries to wipe her falling tears.

“Why…!?” You stand up from the bench and walk towards her, “Why do I not believe you, you ask?! Because like I said before, you have proven yourself to be a liar, Alicent!” The Princess looks up in an attempt to stop more tears to fall, but quickly realizes that it was a futile attempt to stop what she cannot control. “And because you have never once told me about what you just said. You never open up or tell me how you feel! So how am I supposed to believe you?!” The older woman tightens her lips before speaking up. “Alright. You want me to open up? i will.” Alicent steps closer to you and lifts both of her hands to place them on your waist, and this time she decides not to stop the action. “I wish I was born a man so that I could have you like your husband has you. I wish that I was a man so that loving you was not a sin, but I have slowly come to accept that I would gladly be damned to any of the seven hells if it means that I get to have you, to love you, or to even see your face every day. But I still wished that I was born a man… because it is not fair that my own son gets to have you but if I do as much as to touch your hand I will be considered a sinner by the Gods.” She sounds desperate… She looks desperate. 

“I wish I was a man, so I could grab you by your waist, and push you against a wall, and kiss you until you stopped breathing, and do it without fear” Her hands move to your hips. “….If I were a man, I would use you, I would spoil you, I would devour you, but above all I would love you without fear” Alicent’s grip tightens against your hips. “Oh, Princess… How I would love you… If only fate would have been kinder…”

You have stayed quiet up until this point, the words you are hearing have both made you feel like the most loved woman in the seven kingdoms, and the most doomed one at the same time. “...I do  not want you a man, I want you…” You whisper, but your voice does not lack certainty. “I want you as you are…”

Alicent’s eyes look at your own. She is looking at you with such love and tenderness… the kind that makes you melt and doubt if anyone has ever been loved like that before. “I know, sweetling…” The woman’s right hand moves to your tear stained cheek.

You look at Alicent with a pained expression “I love you” Your hand reaches her cheek as you lean forward for a kiss. You kiss her softly, trying to demonstrate with a kiss all the love you feel for her.

On the other hand, Alicent needs you. She needs to feel you, she needs to taste you, she needs to love you… So she deepens the kiss and squeezes your hips. You break the kiss, but not the distance. As you two look at each other, Alicent’s hands move up from your hips to your back. She wastes no time in starting to undo them with practiced ease. “Alicent—” She finishes unlacing your dress, making it loose on you. “Shhh my dear…  We will be fine…” The older woman utters before kneeling on the soft grass and extending her hand to you, a silent invitation.

As soon as you kneel, her hands are on you again, taking off your dress. You gently grab her face and pull her in for a hungry kiss, which makes her moan in your mouth. 

The princess’ hands are tangled in the Hightowers' hair, pulling her as close as possible, trying to become one with the woman that she loves oh so dearly.

As soon as your dress is out of the way, and you are only covered by your undergarments, Alicent’s mouth shifts to your collarbone, peppering kisses as she works on removing your undergarments. She was like a woman starved. She needs you, and you need her just as much. When your undergarments are not an obstacle anymore, her mouth reaches your breasts. She kisses the soft flesh with a mix of love and hurry, making your throat release sweet gasps and making your back arch.

Oh Gods, the sounds… They only fueled Alicent’s want more and more, and it did not help that your fingers had started to unlace her dress, making it each second more and more loose.

You needed that damned dress off of her, you needed to take it off of her just as she had taken yours off of you. You needed to feel her bare body against yours. You needed her in the way you have never needed anything else… In fact, you are sure that nobody else has ever experienced this kind of need and want.

Alicent continues worshipping your breasts as if they were deities themselves. Her tongue licks your nipple while her hand massages the other, and the moans that come out of your mouth are inevitable.

You finally manage to take the dress off of her, leaving her only in her undergarments… But still, that was more clothing that you wanted her in. “I think it is a little unfair that you have those on while I am almost completely bare, do you not think so?”

The older woman sits up a little bit, stopping her ministrations on your breasts. “You are right, princess… It is not at all fair” Right after she says those words, she removes the upper part of her undergarments, leaving her chest exposed to you. Your mouth finds itself immediately in her breasts… kissing, biting, licking…

A sweet moan falls from her lips , causing you to softly moan in return.

Alicent gently pushes you to lay on the grass, but not before putting your dress as a blanket for you to lay on, causing you to smile at her caring act. “I love you so much… I did not think it was possible to love this much…” You whisper to her, and those may be the truest words you have ever said.

“I love you too. More than anything” She lays down next to you, and instantly kisses you again while she runs her hands through your body. “You are all I need, and there is no such thing as something that I would not do for you, my sweetest girl”

Alicent’s hand reaches your hips and as soon as she grabs the hem of the bottom part of your undergarments, she slides them down your legs.

“We should go to my chambers… or yours, anyone could see us here—” Your words are stopped when two of her digits rub your clit in the way only she could “Oh Gods…!”

Any thought of getting caught had suddenly vanished from your mind, and instead, it was replaced by pleasure and Alicent’s name.

“No one will see us, my darling” She moves her fingers faster, while her other hand caresses your hair “It is the hour of the owl…” She stops her movements so she can position herself between your legs “And everyone knows that this pacific garden is yours, my love, no one will come, do not worry in vain” She reassures you once she is kneeled in between your legs. 

The only response you could give to her was a weak nod, but that quickly changed once her tongue made contact with your core, making you moan her name. 

Your hands made their way to Alicent’s hair, tangling themselves between the strands. The only thoughts you had were of Alicent, nothing more, nothing less. 

One of Alicent’s hands grips one of your thighs, while the other one travels up and towards your chest.

The Dowager Queen was lost on you. On your taste, on how you feel, on how you sound… This is everything she could ever want.

“Alicent…!” You moan loudly as your back arches, involuntarily searching for more. “Alicent I’m close…!”

The older woman's hand reaches for your own, stopping her movements on your breast , and instead intertwines her fingers with yours.

“Go ahead, my darling” Alicent says without moving away from your clit, softly moaning at the taste.

Your grip on your love’s hair tightens, and your eyes roll back. It felt as if you were on fire, and you never wanted it to end… You moan and gasp Alicent’s name as you reach your climax,  your hips bucking up towards your lover’s mouth to ride the last waves of pleasure.

Alicent crawls up and lays next to you… Her hand gently caresses your body as she places a sweet kiss on your lips, when she pulls away she takes her time to admire you… spent, panting, and underneath the moonlight. 

“...Run away with me…”

[bradshawssugarbaby]

God, Your Mama and Me (Jake Seresin x Reader)

A/N: told y'all I listened to country music and it inspired me. Inspired by and quotes God, Your Mama and Me by Florida Georgia Line. I'm not religious but that song gets me all heart-eye emoji every time.

pairing: Jake Seresin x reader (I'm 99% sure I kept reader GN the whole time with no mentions of appearance)

content/warnings: reference to God via the song (the line is "no one's ever gonna love you more than God, your mama and me"), Jake being adorable and trying his best to be romantic but he's more awkward than he wants to be bc he doesn't do PDA, brief references to potential character death (I promise no one dies)

word count: 1.6k

Jake took you by the hand, running playfully through the sand. Coronado Beach was where he’d taken you for your first date. It was where you’d met, where you spent every free weekend, where you’d meet with his friends at The Hard Deck for drinks on Friday nights and where you’d sit and watch the planes taking off from North Island as you waited for him to come home, not knowing what each day would bring but hoping and praying he’d come home to you safe and sound every time. 

For the last three years, Coronado was an integral part of your life. It was where you’d held Jake’s 35th birthday party, a spontaneous beach gathering complete with a cooler of chilled beers and a portable speaker belting out country tunes. Despite the groans from others, the music had a magical effect on the usually reserved Jake, prompting him to join in with spirited, off-key singing every time. 

It was where you and Jake had shared your first kiss, where he’d first told you he loved you - a sentence he admitted he never thought he’d say to anyone, swearing up and down he’d lead the bachelor life until he either died or retired, whichever came first. He’d always claim it was because he just “wasn’t the settlin’ type”, but his friends always saw right through it. 

“He’s just scared,” Bradley had assured you one day over a beer while Jake tossed darts effortless at the board a few feet out of earshot. 

Reading the puzzled look on your face, Natasha hummed playfully as she sipped her drink before raising an eyebrow at you. 

“He doesn’t want to settle down because he’s scared,” She and Bradley nodded in unison. 

“Yeah, doesn’t wanna leave behind a war widow kinda thing,” Bradley shrugs, “You’d think it’d be me who feels that way considering my dad died when I was literally a toddler, but no, apparently it’s Blondie who’s got the commitment issues.”

The first time Jake referred to you as his girl, the usually chatty Bradley had been rendered speechless, mouth agape while Natasha had choked and sputtered on her beer as she looked wide eyed at Bradley and back at Jake. Jake shrugged it off as if it was nothing, but everyone, even you, knew it was uncharacteristic of him. 

The following weekend after stunning his Navy buddies, he’d been called away to the first mission since you’d started dating. You weren’t expecting it, but you got a heartfelt, emotional goodbye from Jake, one that was genuine and raw, a side of him you’d never seen before. He’d hugged you tightly and kissed you slow and sweet, making it last, permanent on your mind in case he didn’t make it back. As he promised you he’d return, you could hear his normally velvety smooth Southern drawl crack as his voice caught in his throat. 

When he came home a few weeks later, you’d greeted him with a warm embrace, and he held you tighter than he ever had before, his first true public display of affection towards you. Bradley and Natasha could be heard whispering, while Bob simply looked on smiling, knowing how in love Jake really was, watching as it mirrored Bob’s own relationship with his girlfriend. 

“Jake, where are you taking me?” 

You laughed as you snapped back to the present, raising an eyebrow at him as he continued to lead you across the sand. His cargo shorts were hugging his hips perfectly, golden-tanned skin from the California sun illuminated in the light of the setting sun. His green eyes were full of a child-like excitement, his signature grin plastered on his face, looking like it couldn’t be wiped off even if you tried.

“Just trust me, ok? You trust me, don’t ya, Sugar?”

“Alright, alright, I trust you.”

“Atta girl, c’mon, almost there.”

You shook your head and shot him a playful eyeroll as he continued to guide you along the shore. Your mind flashed back to when you and Jake had first slept together - instead of the playful arrogance, overwhelming confidence and cocky egotistical attitude he gave off around his friends, he was the opposite when it came to loving you. He was gentle, caring, passionate and considerate. He checked in with you, making sure you were comfortable and enjoying it. He was selfless in the way he loved you - making sure you were taken care of in all aspects before he was, and if for whatever reason, his climax came before yours, he made a point to bring you to yours by whatever means necessary. 

When Jake asked you to move in with him, the look on your face was one of pure shock and disbelief, you were sure you were dreaming it. Your wide-eyed gaze and raised eyebrows were enough to make Jake laugh, shaking his head at you.

“Now that’s not how I thought you’d react, babe.”

“I’m sorry…I just…can you say it again?”

“Ask you again?”

“Yeah, please?”

“Ok, Sugar, you’re losin’ it, but sure, I want you to move in with me, that sound alright to ya? We both complain we don’t see each other enough, and well, I just feel like it’s time we do somethin’ ‘bout it, right?”

You nodded your head and simply threw your arms around him, letting Jake embrace you tightly as he kissed your cheek. He had his friends help you pack and by the end of that week, you were moved in with him, sharing the little house on base together. His Cowboys jersey hanging in the closet next to your Commanders one - your teams were bitter rivals, and Bradley, who had come from Virginia, your home state, was beyond shocked to see Jake allowing you to wear a Commanders jersey to their Sunday night football watch parties. Bradley, forced to wear a jersey for another team, pouted at Jake.

“How come when I wear my Commanders jersey, I get told to fuck off and stay outside?”

“You don’t look cute in Washington’s colours, Bradshaw,” Jake replied matter of factly as he kissed you on the cheek, leaving Bradley to pout once again.

Jake stopped in front of you, turning his body to face you, bringing you back to reality for another moment. His unwavering grin still on his face, smiling at you as if you were the only sight around him for miles. Your heart melted when he looked at you - it always did - the love he had for you was always evident on his face, his gaze full of admiration and affection for you.

Your eyes widened as Jake went down on one knee in front of you. The sounds of the waves crashing against the sandy coast echoing softly around you. The odd passerby gawking as they went for their stroll in the dusky glow of the beach as the sun began to set on Coronado. Jake beamed up at you from where he stood on bended knee, his eyes matching the seafoam that was pooling around you, inching closer and closer to where you stood. 

“Darlin’, remember that date I took ya on, where you made me dance with ya on the beach, after I swore I never would? That song you made me dance to, the one by Florida Georgia Line?”

“I remember,” you said, gazing at him with tear soaked eyes.

“Sugar, you know I’m not good at this kinda stuff - it’s more Bradley’s thing, being all sentimental and shit, but I’m gonna try my damnest, ok? You know how that song goes, “Baby you know my love is never gonna run dry, never gonna come up empty, now until the day I die, unconditionally,”

Jake’s cheeks blushed a soft pink as he tried his best to carry the tune, serenading you by the oceanside, “then it’s like, “You know I’m always gonna be here for ya, no one’s ever gonna love you more than God, your mama and me”? Guess that’s what I’m tryin’ to say here, no one on this earth is gonna be able to love you, or anyone else more than I do. I’m sure of it. I didn’t even think it was possible for me to love you as much as I do, but Baby, do I ever love you.”

“Jake,” you started, feeling yourself becoming breathless with excitement as he spoke.

“Babygirl, will you do me the greatest honor ever, and become Mrs. Seresin? I never thought I’d ever marry anyone, but I’d be a fool to not marry you, darlin’.” 

Speechless, you nodded your head quickly, unable to make any sound other than an excited squeal of delight as he slipped the ring onto your finger. As Jake stood upright, he wrapped his arms around you, enveloping you in a loving embrace, his lips crashing against yours as he kissed you passionately.

From behind you, you could hear familiar voices cheering - you broke the kiss and turned to see Reuben, Javy, Mickey, Bradley, Natasha and Bob standing there, all beaming at you. Bradley wiped a single tear from his eye in his usual dramatic fashion, while Bob gave a proud thumbs up to Jake. A congratulatory smile formed on Natasha’s features, while Javy, Mickey and Reuben all applauded you both. You were overcome with emotion as you shared this moment with Jake and your friends. 

“You all knew?”

“Of course we knew, Jake can’t keep a secret to save his life,” Natasha grinned, shrugging her shoulders.

“I get to be best man, right?” Bradley grinned as he clapped his hand onto Jake’s shoulder in a congratulatory substitute for a hug. 

[shojizbae]

Peeping Tom

Tamakixreader x mirio

Word count: 4K

Warnings: smut, voyeurism, oral (m&f receiving) jerking off, safe sex practices

Mirio didn’t mean to. He really didn’t. UA had very recently moved into the dorms when it happened. It was a Friday night, and he just finished a shower after getting home from his work study. Apparently, the walls were a little thinner than he expected.

Sometime around 8:30, he heard it. It started slow at first, talking. A movie played, but it changed so often that he couldn’t figure out which one. He had only a pair of sweatpants as he toweled off his hair when he heard it.

“(Y/n), woah!” It was the voice of his best friend and neighbor, Tamaki. His shy, elvish friend had finally confessed to his now girlfriend three months ago. (Y/n), a kind but rambunctious girl who had been dropping not-so-subtle hints for almost two years was one of Mirio’s favorites in the class.

Since getting together with Tamaki, she had drawn him out of his shell. It seemed tonight she would drag him out a little more complicated.

“What ‘woah’?” She gently placated

Now, Mirio, of all things, was not a snoop, but he was curious. Luckily, he wasn’t a cat, so he pressed his ear to their shared wall.

“W-we were just watching a movie. I didn’t expect you to get all handsy.” He said, and even through the wall, he could hear his best friend tucking his chin into his chest in embarrassment. So, they were finally gonna have sex?

Two weeks ago, Tamaki came to Mirio and Nejire with this concern. (Y/n) had very nonchalantly asked if he was ready or could consider getting physical with her. After about twenty minutes of gently calming him down, as he seemed to begin hyperventilating, he managed to say something he wanted meanly. Although his anxiety could try your patience occasionally, you were proud of the semi he was sprouting at the mention.

After that conversation, he went to Mirio, who coincidentally was with his girlfriend. He knocked at the door open (Y/n). Want to have sex with me!” He proclaimed in the closest voice he could muster. Unfortunately, he entered a scene from a magazine in the back of the store.

Nejire was in her school skirt and bra, her hair was disheveled but tucked to the side, and she was lying/ straddling Mirio's lap. Mirio was only in some checkered boxers and had one hand on her boobs and the other on her ass below her skirt. He managed a squeak before he spun around and slammed the door shut behind him.

His friends dressed quickly and chased him down, finding him with his head shoved deep into the dorm refrigerator.

“Uhh, Tamaki?” Mirio scratched his cheek but couldn’t hide his smile and his friend's antics

“Yeah, M-mirio?”

“Whatcha doing, man?”

“Uh, just getting a tea?”

“Yeah?” Nejire confirmed, “I thought Yaobara took the last ginseng one. And you hate the matcha ones?” Hado placated

“No, I think I see a Yuzu one back here.” He reached in and pulled out a can of lemonade and cracked the can open. He toon a sip just for show although not bringing himself to make eye contact “mmm refreshing. Well gotta get back to my dorm!” He tried to breeze past the couple until one of Mirio’s giant hands pushed him back by his chest.

“Slow down there, partner! What was this you said about you and (Y/n) having sex?”

“Mirio, not so loud!” Amajiki exclaimed

“Yeah, babe, why don’t we take this back to your dorm?”

“Right,” Mirio looked at his girlfriend with smitten eyes, then at Tamaki’s cherry-red eyes. “Why not yours?” He offered. Tamaki hung his head and pathetically followed the couple to Hado’s dorm room to discuss what this meant.

That was two weeks ago.

Ever since Togata had been anxiously waiting for some kind of sign that (Y/n) had gotten Tamaki into the sac. He felt like some religious fanatic awaiting a divine character, and here it was. Giggles and sighs, and the TV in Tamaki’s bedroom turned up a considerable few clicks.

He kept his ear pressed to the wall, but his curiosity was getting too powerful for him. Accidentally or subconsciously, he slipped through the wall, so his head and left should be passing ghostly through the barrier.- Now his head was in Tamaki’s dim closet where he always left his doors cracked for a long-standing fear of monsters. From his angle, he saw a scene that was downright painting-worthy.

You were sprawled over Tamaki’s lap with both hand tangled into the hair at the base of his neck. Tamaki had one hand up the back of your cardigan which was slipping down your right shoulder. It seemed he was fumbling with your bra clasp which frustrated Mirio because they had spent a considerable amount of time teaching him all about bras.

Frustratedly, you sat up and whipped your cardigan to the side, unclipping your bra and pulling it out of the front of your camisole slowly to tease your boyfriend. With the news he could see, Tamaki looked downright disfigured. His tie hung off his bedside lamp, the top three buttons of his school shirt had been hastily undone, and a speckling of hickies already decorated his neck and chest. Mirio heard him whimper below you as he braced his hands on your thighs.

“You’re beautiful (Y/n).” Tamaki proclaimed, which shocked both who’d heard it

“You don’t need to butter me up, babe, I’m already so wet for you.” You purred as you sunk back to his lips. Tamaki did his best to keep up with you, but the overwhelming barrage of kisses and the constant figure eight of your hips against his was becoming too much for him. Mirio watched in delight as you climbed. His best friend was like a hungry cougar. You gently placed your hands in each of his collarbones, pushed him back onto the plush pillows, and placed a gentle peck on his lips before shimmying down his thighs.

You landed softly on the carpet on your knees with your hands braced on his thighs.

“Uhh (Y/n), what are you…?”

“Shhh, babe, I want this to be special for you.” You held your pointer finger up to your lips in a hushing motion. Then you dug at his belt and enjoyed the iconic sound of a metal clacking against metal.

“(Y/n), You really don’t have to.” He anxiously pleads

“But, Ama, I want to.” That made something in Mirio’s stomach do Olympic gymnastics. There was a pleading glint in your eyes as you begged him silently. He closed his mouth and eyes and gave the subtlest nod known to man, and you dove back in. You tucked some hair behind your ear and undid the button and zipper of Tamaki’s green trousers.

“Take off your shirt, babe.” You ordered, and he obeyed happily as you tugged his boxers. He wriggled around and tossed his shirt into oblivion, and you fished his dick out of his briefs. “Woah, babe, you have such a pretty cock.” You stated proudly.

Mirio had to agree. Of course, he had accidentally caught glances in the locker room, but he was seldom hard in those situations. He could tell from this distance that your statement wasn’t just flattery. It was above average in length with a plump cockhead and perfectly flushed pink. Mirio watched as you took a lick from base to tip, and Amajiki warbled beneath your touch. You took his balls in your left hand and played with them.

Amajiki was notoriously neat, so he wasn’t shocked to see his friend had done some manscaping.

“(Y/n)~” he drawled the final syllable as you slowly sucked on his tip. Mirio could see his friend's abs flexing and twisting as he struggled under your mouth. “(Y/n)!” He groaned. Suddenly, he touched your shoulder and pulled off with an almost cartoon pop.

“Why are we stopping? Is it bad?” You added anxiously

“No! No, it’s. He wiped his eyes and tried to collect his thoughts. “It’s really, uhuh, really good. I don’t think I’ll last one second if you keep going.” He wiped his sweaty brow

“Aww,” you gave a downward smile, proud of yourself for being a natural. You started climbing up him again and gave him a long, searing kiss so he could taste his own precum on your lips. You started reaching behind you for the zipper of your skirt, but Tamaki caught your wrist before you could retake the lead.

“I’ll be taking care of that.” He stated as a wave of confidence overtook him. He held under your armpits and spun the both of you around, so he landed with a giggle in the tangle of his blankets. Often, you forget how strong your boyfriend is. Partly because he rarely wore tight or revealing clothing that showed off his sexy, lean muscles. They didn’t exude the confidence typical of people as powerful as him.

As he stood, he tucked himself back into his boxers but shucked off his pants and folded them at the waist before tossing them to the side. You laughed at his continued clean behaviors, and Mirio just enjoyed it. He claimed back over your abdomen to kiss your lips and your forehead.

Sensing his tiredness, Mirio returned his whole body to his bedroom and got some water. He brought his fist toward his chest in victory and recapped some water. He’s seen plenty more than what is appropriate, right? There should be no need to keep snooping? Right?

Mirio checked the lock on his door, relieved that he remembered to lock it while changing. Although it’s not as if everyone in the class hadn’t seen some part of him during training. He took another sip from his water bottle and plunged his head back into his ‘peephole.’

What he saw was miraculous.

Amajiki was laying shooter style between your spread legs. He had his right hand stuffed deep in your cunt, and with his left hand, he was holding yours.

“L-like this (Y/n)?” He sought your guidance and received only a high-pitched sigh

“Yeah! Mhmm,” you attempted to clear your throat to gain some composure. “Yeah, just like that, Ama.” You sighed

“Ok, but how’s the pace, or should I do anything else.”

“Y-you c-could play withhh my clit?” You offered. Mirio was gobsmacked. How did his shy, reserved best friend get his girlfriend to stutter like him?

“O-ok.” he unlocked his fingers from yours and started making gentle circles. He tried to find it, but notoriously, it seemed to be the eighth wonder.

“Um, a little higher, baby,” you took your once-connected hands and guided his left hand up to your clit and hiccuped. You found it, and Tamaki's gentle hands lay you out.

“Like this?” He smiled up at your pinked face

“Yeah, just like that, baby.”

“So this is good?”

“Yeah, hun, this is euuh,. This is really good,” you accidentally interrupted yourself. Jeez, Tamaki, Mirio thought you really needed more confidence.

“You know,” Tamaki jumped at the sound of your voice, “nothing's wrong, babe, just if you wanted, you could use your mouth.”

“D-do you want it?”

“Only if yoUU!” Before you could confirm, he placed his mouth right where his left hand was. The squee you let out emboldened both boys witnessing you. Until now, Mirio had been balancing on his knees and his right hand while his left hand pushed against the wall. Now, his left hand slid down to his navel and slipped under his champion sweatpants. There was a considerable pile of pre that had pooled in his pants, and he thanked his twenty-minute earlier self who had chosen to forgo underwear.

Quickly he was able to grab onto his cock as his gaze was fixed on you, the porno in front of him. Amajikis left hand had vacated your clit as his mouth took the promotion. Instead, he was grasping desperately at one of your boobs, and his right did its best to assault your g-spot.

Evidently, his right hand was doing a good job, and you moaned and writhed beneath your boyfriend's ministrations.

“Fuck baby, keep going,” you looked your leg over his shoulder and locked him closer to your pussy. Mirio started to circle his cockhead with his thumb as he heard your moans pitch up.

You sunk your right hand into his hair, which made Tamaki groan a little. Your left hand flew out to grip a nearby pile of comforter.

“Tama, uhh, I’m so close! Please, whatever you do, don’t stop or change anything.” And he obeyed happily, maybe adding to the intensity only emblazoned by your tenacity. Your other leg wrapped around the side of his ribs as you reached climax. All coherency left him as you came a jumble of Tamaki's names and various moans and squeals.

Mirio gripped his dick a little harder, and you squirmed and relished the first orgasm someone had provided you. Tamaki sat on his knees and wiped his mouth as he admired how wrecked you looked. Your hair was spread in a million directions, and your tank top was ridden up so he could see your belly as it rose and fell. Your skirt was flipped up, and your panties hung off one of your knees. Even your socks seemed to be slipping if your body as your boyfriend devoured the sight of you.

He had watched many a dirty movie, but nothing compared to how sexy you looked right now. Sweating, shaking, and your face was completely red.

Tamaki was doing much better. He, too, was out of breath and slightly damp, but most noticeable was his cock dancing and straining against his navy blue briefs.

“Aww baby, that looks like it hurts,” you reached for his waistband and tugged him so you were both sitting on the bed, “why don’t we take care of you.” You sat his back against the wall and almost tore his boxers off him. You stood up and pulled your camisole over your head, and brandished it to the side. You gave him a smile as his eyes locked onto your breasts. You saw him swallow and, for the show, fanned himself like a lady at church with his hand.

Boldly, you pulled the zipper of your skirt down and let the green pleats free fall, and you stepped out of it. Despite being buried in your pussy just a minute before, the sight of you completely naked and on display for him was golden. His cock stood at attention, painfully awaiting you.

You climbed back onto your boyfriend's and kissed him sweetly to reassure him. His confidence broke briefly as he awaited your insight.

“Here, hold onto my hips.” You place your hand over his and guide them to the fat of your hips. You rose slowly on your knees and used your right hand to guide his cock to your awaiting pussy. You paused right as you made contact.

“Fuck! I forgot condoms!” You put your forehead on his collarbones in defeat.

“That’s okay, baby,” he secured a hand on the small of your back and leaned the two of you forward. He slowly opened the drawer and pulled out a box of condoms, pulling out the roll and ripping one off.

“How did you?”

“After that night, I went out and bought some. I-I had to call Mirio for help.” He admitted, ashamed.

“Aww, baby.” Mirio stopped his hand as he smiled at the memory. It was nine at night when he got the call. It took ten minutes to calm down a very overwhelmed Tamaki and explain that most of the scented or rubbed condoms were not a good choice and that he should go with latex unless he knew you were allergic to latex. You weren’t, so he got some pretty generic-looking lubricated condoms with a little doctor-recommended check. He didn’t make eye contact with the cashier; he only handed her enough cash to pay and grabbed the box before she could give him change.

You both settled back into position and he ripped the foil open with his teeth. Your knees buckled a little at the sight and you helped guide the condom down his dick. As you slid him down your folds you paused right at your pussy and looked in his eyes.

“Mhmmm,” he managed to grit out, and you slowly sunk his head in. Both of you seemed to moan and were keen on the contact. Your hands flew up to grip his shoulders, and he sunk into the small of your waist. Mirio gripped his cock reignited by the double loss of virginity. Slowly you eased down his cock and experimentally brought yourself up and down once. You shuddered in his lap.

Tamaki slid his hands down your waist to your hips, and you picked up the pace, bouncing up and down his lap with more confidence. With his help, you rode him with a passionate curiosity.

Mirio picked up the pace as you two seemed to find a groove. The purple-ette enjoying the sight of you taking him for his pleasure and the satisfying squelch of your pussy around him. Every lift and drop of your hips forces his eyes to shut a little, but every time, he forces them back open to allow himself to soak you in.

You’re not doing much better. Already sensitive from cumming minutes earlier, the excitement of finally getting to fuck Tamaki swirled into a greater pleasure than you could imagine. Unfortunately, it was interrupted by the ghost of cowgirls.

“Ow ow ow!” You settled your hips

“What? What is it, baby?” He clamped his hand on the side of your face.

“Foot cramp.” You shook it and winced

“D-do you wanna switch?”

“Mhmm,” you nodded, and he kept his hold on the side of your face but gave you a gentle peck. Then he slid his hands under your legs and picked you, only to slam you down on the mattress. You bounced and laughed as you held his face for another kiss. You tucked some stray hair out of his face as he guided himself back into your sweet, warm pussy.

You made eye contact as a slight gasp slipped from your mouth. Tamaki leaned over you and placed your arms around his neck. He placed both hands by your ears and started up a slow and gentle pace. Before he realized your eyes were going the same rolling back/ force open pattern.

From this position Amajiki was hitting all the best angles. Mirio thought he was spoiled for getting the pleasure of witnessing this. Every grunt and every sigh even the squeak of the mattress beneath Tamaki’s knees was only fuel for his fist. He brought his hand up to his mouth so he could collect a weight bead of spit which he spread over his throbbing cock. He could feel his balls keening with the need to release but he was trying to time it with the movie he was witnessing.

On your side of the wall was bliss. You kept your arms around his neck but still wove your fingers through the thick hair at his nape. When you gave a particularly strong tug Tamaki crooned into you touch. He moaned a little harder as you tugged on him.

“D’yo like that, Ama?”

“Y-yes,” he managed to plead.

“Y’want me to do it again?”

“Yes-fuck, please!” You were shocked to hear your typically formal boyfriend swear at you. It was hot, so you pulled harder in his gorgeous silky hair. You only pulled more erotic sounds out of his lips, which were coated in a thin layer of saliva from chewing on them.

“Fuck again! I-I’m gonna cum!”

“T-Tama!” You nearly started laughing in surprise at his foul mouth. But the obsessive rhythm of his hips was bringing you closer to the edge again. “Just keep going. I’m ughh,” you groaned against your will as he teased your G-spot.

“Deeper Tama!” You begged. He grabbed each of your ankles at your request and brought them up by his ears. He leaned down on you and landed a searing kiss on your forehead and then brought his pace a little faster, lingering at the depression of his thrust.

“Ahh, right there! Please don’t stop!” But he was sputtering out from exhaustion and being on the precipice of an orgasm

“I can’t- I’m not gonna!” He sounded absolutely pathetic

“It’s fine, baby. Just keep going.”

“Do you want me to pull out?”

“Why would you wear a condom? Inside please” At that, any scrap of reserve fell away as he pounded into you, desperate to cum.

“(Y/n)! Uh, I’m gonna!” He parked his hips deep in your pussy as he came with a whimper. Your eyes rolled so far back that he was nervous; they might not return. As he came to, he felt like he was strangled by your pussy, clamping down and spasming around his cock. You raked your hands down Amajiki's back, desperate to cling onto something for fear you might float away.

If he were to look back on it, Mirio would say that the noises you made as you came sent him hurtling over the edge. In a split-second decision, he permeated his other hand through the wall to bite so he could damper his sounds. He shuddered, and his ear rang after he came. A nasty white matter on the wall was evidence of his Tom peeping.

He pulled himself back through to his room to assess the damage. He would need to change his sweatpants because of a big precum stain on the grey fabric. He laughed at himself and how live-action porn got him so riled up.

“Oh jeez,” he put his clean hand on his forehead. Directly after he had hidden the evidence, a pounding at his door nearly scared him out of his skin.

“Miri! Togata! Why is your door locked?” He zipped over to his door, unlocked it, and gave his girlfriend a kiss on the forehead as she sunk into his chest.

“Long day, baby?” He similarly caged her in

“So long,” she whined

“You want to hear something that will cheer you up?” He pulled back so he could look at her adorable little face

“Always,”

“They finally did it.” He admitted with a downward smile

“YOU SHUT YOUR DAMN MOUTH!” She leaped back, accidentally activating her quirk

“Yeah, I heard it all.” He smirked proudly. “You wanna go over and bust them?”

“Yeah!” She cheered sharing similar smirks and penchants for mischief. Mirio threw on a t-shirt and they crept next door. Stupidly the couple had forgone locking the door. The two bust through the door to reveal what could have been a sweet wholesome moment.

(Y/n) had her head laid on Tamaki’s chest and Tamaki had an arm over her shoulder and was stroking up and down with his finger tips. But as the couple blew threw Tamaki’s door sending the couple flying up and out of their sheets.

(Y/n) grabbed the nearest blanket and held it to her chest to conserve some of her modesty.

“What are you doing get out!” You screeched in embarrassment while poor Tamaki cowered, mortified.

“Ok ok,” Mirio backed out in surrender “did you kids have fun?”

“Out!’l you hollered. The incident did not stop you by any means from continuing your fun. You just remembered to lock the doors. But no padlock could keep out your neighbor of a peeping tom.