in my dreams, you loved ME back♡

[MDNI] 19 [WARNING NSFW]

[lifegivesulemonsorwhatevs]

What’s your type?

Me:

DOG

[4pp135]

kenma never took volleyball serious.

sure, his teammates were nice. but if you were to ask him if he'd sleep in just a few minutes but miss his matches, it'd be a no-brainer.

he didn't know why he was getting so defensive all of a sudden. like the sudden dose of volleyball kuroo had injected in his veins ages ago was finally working.

“why, is he your favourite?” he mumbled, game long paused, but you didn't need to know.

you both were hunched over at his console. lunch boxes thrown to the side, as your anticipating breaths tickled the side of his neck.

you made a quick comment on how one of the character's moves looked partly like yamamoto's. suppressing a giggle at how kenma's player ran straight into a missile after the words left your mouth.

“you.. you watch the games?” the pace of his game slowed down, and so did the atmosphere around you both– sort of, the students were just leaving for their classes.

“sometimes. i mean all of my friends go, it's kind of hard not to.” you shrugged.

kenma recollected all the times he'd miss, or got bitch-slapped by the ball, wondering how you were still friends with him.

he thought about the time he sniffed his armpits once, just incase, heat prickled over to his cheeks.

he'd have played so much better if he knew you'd be the one cheering behind the stands.

then, something hit him.

“who's your favourite then?” he placed the console down on.

“uhh– no one?”

“tell me, , is it kuroo, inuoka? or do you not support nekoma at all?”

“i'm not trying to boost your ego or anything, but it's you.” you raised your arms up in mock-surrender.

not trying to boost his ego? bullshit. because he just felt it pierce through the roof.

“really?”

“yeah” you chuckled.

“but i play ass?”

“no, but the thing you do with your hand so smoothly is really nonchalant. i like it.” you sheepishly admitted.

he could do many things with his hands for you. he just wasn't sure if they'd remain nonchalant after a while.

[kararray]

MDNI - multi nerd!bf x f!reader headcanon ig? (idrk what this classifies as, please feel free to let me know)

A nerd boyfriend who is shy and quiet but turns into a confident very dominant freak in bed.

He’s huge in every aspect—tall, broad and muscular—his dick just as large as the rest of his body. Long and thick, being near you—even just thinking of you—leaving him painfully hard, leaking so much pre cum that sometimes he has to walk around with an embarrassing wet spot on the crotch of his jeans.

He hates boggy, needing to see your face while he’s fucking the shit out of you. He’ll let you take charge but it never lasts, his need for you makes him take control, using your body like he owns it while giving you the best pleasure of your life. It definitely helps that he’s studied so much on human anatomy, his extensive knowledge that came straight from his anatomy science textbooks unknowingly taught him exactly how to please the female body, and for that you thank those textbooks everyday.

[ohfreshlinen]

𓂃✍︎ 18+ mdni · pussy so good, sukuna taps in

Loving Yūji comes with a package deal you don't necessarily know how to deal with. Granted, you've loved him first before this whole ordeal even happened — it still is a matter of when and never an if, per se, when it comes to his special situation. 

"So tight, baby," Yūji says between sucking his breath. He's not quite sure whether to ram and go at a harsher pace or let you adjust to his girth first. His control is being tested too much right now. "Even after all that." 

You moan his name in praise before you lock your legs around his waist and pull yourself closer to him, effectively shutting him up from keeping things slow. You've always wanted things rougher, something that Yūji loves about you (but even then, he still wishes to take his time). 

"Oh s-shit, baby!" Yūji would've let his eyes roll back if he wasn't focused on keeping his entire weight off of you. "F-Fuck!"

"H-Harder, Yūji," you beg him, "please."

Yūji doesn't need to be told twice. He grabs hold of your thighs roughly and pounds into you like an animal in heat. You arch your back further for more, and he gives in. 

"So good, baby," Yūji drools, "so, so good. Oh my — fuck!" 

Just as you are coming down with your first orgasm, another voice pierces through the solidity of the air and breaks it easily as if he had done this countless times before. 

"Enchain." 

Suddenly you are flipped on your hands and knees. Your hair has been forcibly fisted and yanked until your head is pulled back enough to see your lover covered in tattoos, and a vitriol laugh teases your ears. 

"Y-Yū —" 

"Brat's not here," Sukuna's voice deeply rumbles against your skin. 

This is the first time he's ever made his presence known to you. You've heard stories of how Sukuna would pop on Yūji's cheek or his hands whenever he's got something to say (especially towards your sensei and Megumi), but not once has he ever manifested and broken through Yūji's control — and right in the middle of fucking, too. 

"Heh," he yanks you further until you can see his eyes gazing heatedly at yours, "pussy so good, my own vessel lost control. Let's see if you do live up to that expectation."

Then he slams your head against the pillow and fucks you senseless. It's wrong . . . to even feel how fucking good it is to be brutally pounded. 

Yet, here you are in the mercy of a sadistic curse, cackling like a bastard that he is. 

Sukuna had you spread out for him, as he continues to ram his cock up inside of you. One of his hands kneads your ass mockingly before he slaps each cheek hard. 

Your teeth bite into the soft fabric of the pillow, muffling your screams lest you want Megumi to hear you from the other side of the room. At this point, Sukuna slapping you might've really been a dead giveaway. 

"Y-Yūji —"

"My name, brat —"

"—Y-Yūji, Y-Yū—"

"— I said my name." He slaps your sloppily wet clit. 

You arch your back unknowingly to the sensation, and before you could have thought twice about it, your body yields and your mouth muddles the name, "S-Sukuna!"

"Good." He mutters darkly, "Good girl."

He fondles your breasts next. Then his tongue laps to the outline of your spine and back up to your neck, where he marks you. His canines have sunk into your skin so deeply, he can taste your blood, and that further fuels him into a mess of moans and praise as if he's drunk on an aphrodisiac. 

"Again." He orders you. "My name. Only." 

"Sukuna," you say. "Sukuna! Sukuna! Sukuna! F-Fuck, I —" 

"That's it."

The first of your orgasms comes to you like a torrent. It's harsh and unforgiving, much like how Sukuna doesn't even stop fucking you even as you try your best to squirm away. 

When you feel that he's finally slowed down, when his hands have released the hold against your body, and you allow yourself to breathe a little better, there's a sudden shift between you and the King of Curses. You realize that it's because you've been flipped back and your legs are locked around his waist again. 

"S-Sukuna?" 

"No," Yūji breathlessly says. He leans his face closer until his lips brush yours. "I-It's me, baby. It's me. I'm sorry. I-I lost control. Are you hurt?" 

You shake your head with a smile. "N-No, I'm fine. I'm more than fine." 

"Yeah?" Yūji perks up. You notice that his cock has hardened once more and he's repositioning himself to your abused cunt. 

"Yeah, baby." You laugh dumbly. "That was . . . quite exhilarating." 

Yūji bumps his nose against yours. The heat in his eyes is visible, but it is nowhere near as intense as the other pair you were forced to look at prior. 

"That was hot," Yūji admits. "Watching you . . . like that." 

"It was," you breathe out. 

When you peer below Yūji's eyes, you swear you've seen the glints of red and black squinting back at you as if to tell you that he's heard about your little honesty. 

Well, it really can't be helped sometimes. After all, loving Yūji does come with a deal. 

"Are you tired?" Yūji brushes your hair tenderly. 

You shake your head. "Not at all, baby." 

"Let me fuck you next, then." 

© ohfreshlinen — all rights reserved. do not modify, edit, steal, or plagiarize my content.

longer version coming soon. lmk if any of you want to be tagged! 🤍

[miusies]

SUPERSTAR ! ★

pairing timeskip!streamer!kenma x fem!famous!reader

wc 7.2k

warnings / tags mdni!!! reader is a famous actress, use of (name) for reader insert like three times, model lev appearance, lev and kenma siblingism, wingman lev if you squint, reader is a global brand ambassador for MiuMiu, reader wears a skirt, dubcon, reader and kenma are tipsy, raw pinv, cunninglingus, m and f orgasm, public bathroom s ex, condescending praise, kenma gets compared to a cat when going down on reader, baby and princess used as pet names for reader, mirror sex, spit used as lube, aftercare if you squint really hard, strangers to ?, nervous-ish kenma and nervous-ish reader, mutual feelings, sm ut, fluff

note at first i was going to base this fic off of superstar by jamelia but then i got an idea for i wanna be your boyfriend by hot freaks and it somehow came back to superstar, so enjoy being famous for 7.2k words..! (my longest fic yet omds)

update part two is now uploaded you can read it here!

"Hey chat, I told you guys that I would do a quick Q&A before I started playing today and my team found some really compelling questions that you all sent." Kenma's cat-like eyes looked into the camera, a content expression was on his face while he spoke to his larger-than-life fanbase.

After answering a few questions that hundreds of thousands people had asked the most, having fun laughing along with his chat. Creating new memories with his fans, it came time for the final question.

"If you have one, who's your celebrity crush..?" Kenma paused, leaning back slightly in his chair while he pretended to put deep thought into this question. All of it was just for dramatics though. "God that one actress in that new movie, (name) right? Yeah she's cute." Kenma's lips quirked up a little on that last part, and it didn't go unnoticed by his fans.

The chat erupted into various messages of shock, laughter, and slight anger from fans who thought they had a chance with Kodzuken. All Kenma did was softly laugh while he went to start up the game he promised his fans that he'd play today.

And that was all he thought would come from that situation, just an inside joke between him and his fans that he had a ‘crush’ on you.

You were sleeping in your bed in your high-rise apartment, unassumingly. While Kenma was doing a late-night stream somewhere his fans didn't recognize, they figured he wasn't in Japan though. He was rumored to be a guest at a MiuMiu event, some suspected he was able to get in due to Lev modeling for the brand. And you were confirmed to be going to that event, so fans of yours that were also fans of Kodzuken were littered throughout his chat while he streamed, trying to put two to two together.

Kenma didn't think too much about name dropping you, sure he had a million twitch subscribers and was the biggest user on that platform and had fan pages with hundreds of thousands of followers that only focused on clipping him to smithereens. 'But there was no way this would come back to you', he thought. A harmless statement saying that he finds you attractive was nothing newsworthy, but like always. People get attached to the silliest of statements.

Kenma didn't see these videos when they first released, just a mere hour after his stream ended. And you didn't see the videos when they dropped due to being asleep. But there were ship edits of you two, the devil works fast but his fans managed to work faster. Various cute songs like Shadow by f(x), Kinky Love by Pale Saints, and even the Snuggle Song by Schnuffel Bunny were played over videos of yours and Kenma's face while their creativity decided on how those pictures were intricately presented on screen. Honestly, if you had seen the videos you would've been impressed with their editing skills.

They even made Alternative Universe edits with you and Kenma. Kenma wouldn't see any of these edits until the morning, and you wouldn't see them until after the event. But they were there, the fanbase for you x Kenma was growing quicker than the two of you or your teams could have imagined it becoming.

“Over here Miss!”

“Look this way!”

“You look fabulous tonight!’

“I love that pose!”

A collection of people with cameras that were big enough to cover their face were calling your name, demanding you to look in various directions. Your ears were already annoyed before you stepped onto the red, velvety carpet, and their unnecessary yelling made it worse. You were sporting a fashionable look for tonight’s show, something your stylist put together for you. It was an outfit that was true to you, something you'd actually wear outside of tonight. You were proud to be modeling it for tonight, happy to be looking your best before you spent the rest of your evening drinking and socializing.

Your security detail and manager helped you leave the carpet safely, guiding you into the venue of where you’d spent a majority of your night. This was one of the biggest nights of the year for MiuMiu as they'd be showcasing their Spring/Summer 26 collection. And you were one of their best, and biggest global ambassadors. Your recent modeling campaign for them did incredible numbers. They loved you, and your fans loved you with them as they showed love to all of the photos you took for the campaign. And the best part of this whole thing was that your advertisements managed to grab the attention of the general public, people who had never heard of your name before saw the photo and video ads you did, and loved them. You were showered with praise from the minute your photoshoot with them dropped as people felt it was something new, you were fresh in their eyes.

People started using your pictures for profile pictures, making edits to you with pretty songs in the background. Your favorite one was a creative edit that had gotten almost three million likes, your face and body edited to ‘How to Pretend’ by Lucy Bedroque.

And not to mention the whole reason of why you were able to get a global ambassadorship with MiuMiu. Your recent work in the Hollywood acting industry, your talent was praised by numerous professionals and critics, despite this being your first ‘hollywood’ gig. Since you starred alongside an extremely well-loved and respected actor, people had no idea how the no-name next to them was going to blend well with their talent. And you quickly shut down all of their doubts, and now all of sudden you were a media darling. Various interviews and sponsorships came your way almost immediately, and about three months after your basically overnight boom in popularity, MiuMiu had reached out to you.

It was safe to say that this year was your year, you were at the top after what felt like ages of trying to 'make it'. You felt the love from your fans, the general public, and even the media that you thought only existed to tear people down.

But some people were curious about your personal life. You knew that parasocial fans would have come along eventually, but you didn’t think that they would be so fascinated with you. So you started doing vlogs, seemingly alone in your day-to-day life besides seeing your management team and a few friends. Fans were curious if you had a partner, to which you responded, ‘no’, whenever the question came up in interviews.

So luckily, tonight was a night that you'd be surrounded by people going through the same thing. Although some fans managed to come in as they were also journalists and had to report on the fashion show, there were also designers and plenty of other celebrities who were also brand ambassadors for MiuMiu. As your security detail helped you find your front-row seat, they walked away as you started to take in your surroundings. You checked your phone, seeing your manager sent you a text to 'let me know if you need anything or want to leave, don't worry too much about networking tonight if you want to rest. It's been a long year.'

You appreciated the thought your manager had for you, she knew better than to exploit you and work you to the bone. You had been grinding for a majority of the year anyway, now it was finally September and you had no idea what the rest of your year was going to be filled with. You auditioned for some projects, and some casting directors reached out to you offering roles. So you figured the next step was to start sifting through those with your manager and casting agent.

But the biggest thing on your mind, literally, was the guy sitting next to you. You didn't know his exact height but you knew he was too tall to not be on the runway with the rest of the lengthy models.

With shiny silver hair and striking green eyes, standing out must have been something he was used to. And his outfit was a collection of pieces that MiuMiu had created, so you concluded that he was an ambassador too.

"Hey," was all that came out of your mouth before you had even thought of how to approach this situation. His slithering green eyes looked in your direction, an unreadable expression on his face. "How are you?" You asked politely.

He smiled kindly, showing off his near perfect, white teeth, "I'm doing good! How about you?"

"I'm fine, are you an ambassador as well?" You asked, his face looked way friendlier now that he wasn’t caught off guard.

"Yeah, I am. I've modeled for them for quite some time now.. my friend Kenma hasn't though, he's not too into fashion." The tall man glanced beside him, leaning back slightly so you could see his friend.

You leaned forward despite his efforts, and saw one of the most beautiful men you had ever seen. His medium-length black hair had blond tips at the end, his golden cat-like eyes seemed so bored as he looked into his phone. You looked at his plush, pink lips, two silver rings adorned his bottom lip. Something that made you wonder how people tolerate the pain for certain piercings.

"Kenma, say hi man." The tall man, whose name you realized you didn't know, nudged his friend to look up from his phone.

As ‘Kenma’ lifted his head up, turning off his phone which looked to be pretty new. His eyes had a slight shock in them, his mouth agape, as if he wasn't expecting to see you.

"Hi.." Was all the shorter man could spit out.

"Hi!" You introduced yourself to him with your name.

"I'm Lev by the way." The tall man shot in, you gave him a smile and started up a conversation with him.

But 'Kenma' interrupted, "I'm Kenma," he said. "It's nice to meet you," he smiled softly while extending his hand to you, his eyes blinking slowly as he looked you up and down.

You took his hand, shaking it gently, "it's nice to meet you Kenma." The way you said his name with the sweetest look on your face, the soft grasp of your hand. He could feel himself getting harder by the second. Kenma knew he had to find a way to talk to you at the brand-sponsored afterparty, there was no way he was letting his opportunity go.

Before the show started, Lev started to show you something on his phone, some pictures from a recent trip he took with his sister. You leaned over to see it better, and no doubt that the two of you conversing together would become a viral moment later on as your every move was being recorded.

The large room was dim, with flickers of light scattered around it. It was decorated in sleek blacks, greys, and whites with the occasional pop of tan brown and light blue, and the words ‘MiuMiu’ were littered throughout the afterparty. For promotional photos no doubt. Most of the color in the room came from the outfits other ambassadors and partygoers were wearing. The bass from the music thumped against the floor and walls, you looked over towards the dance floor to see various celebrities around your age recording themselves dancing on their phones.

You rested your arms on the tall, black table, wondering where you should start for your evening of socializing. You were alone for the night as your agent thought it would do you some good to be solo for an evening as she was often by your side. But you preferred having a familiar face against a sea of unknown ones. I mean you knew who these people were, some of the most famous young people in Hollywood today. And judging by the statistics, you were the biggest at the current moment. So it shouldn't have been so difficult to find the courage to introduce yourselves to others.

But it was. So you stood at the table with a tall flute of champagne, wondering if you were able to go home early after shooting some promotional reels and tiktoks for the brand.

"Hey! I remember you!" You heard a familiar voice shout out, you saw the silver-haired model from earlier, Lev.

You sighed out of relief, seeing a face you recognized, "hey! I didn't know you'd be here."

"Yeah, they invited me to go and my agent wanted me to get some pictures at this party. You wanna take a few?" He suggested, his kindness was so strong you could almost see it radiating around him.

"Sure!"

As he walked closed to you, placing his large hand on your shoulder. You saw Kenma from earlier, standing at the other end of the small but tall table.

He caught you so off guard you weren't able to properly pose for the picture Lev had quickly taken. You didn’t notice, but Kenma’s fingers were moving by his side. As if he was trying to regulate himself.

"Oh that is not a good one.." Lev murmured while scrolling through the three pictures he took.

"How about we take one together?" Kenma's gold eyes looked into yours as he took a sip from his own flute of champagne, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Yeah sure," you said breathlessly, you had no idea why you were all of a sudden so nervous.

Maybe it was the lack of emotion behind his eyes, everything seemed so causal for him. He was nonchalant! That's what made you nervous about him, you couldn't tell what he was thinking. His stare was intense, in a good way.

And it didn't help that he was obviously, very attractive. And more importantly, exactly your type.

Kenma walked over to you, placing his cold hand on your shoulder, just how Lev did, but this time it felt right considering Kenma wasn't completely towering over you.

"Say cheese," Kenma's smile was cheshire adjacent, his eyes looked like he was up to no good. As if his body was one place, but his intentions with this photo were somewhere else.

And you smiled, making sure to keep your eyes open as the back of his phone camera flashed. The sudden burst of bright light stood out in the dim room, a few heads turned in your direction before turning back.

"We should all take some pictures together then!" Lev suggested, you don't think you've ever seen someone look so happy from a mere idea.

You nodded your head, as you were already in between Kenma and Lev there wasn't much adjusting to do besides smiling and using your hand to create various poses that one of you would eventually post.

The next hour or so went pretty well, you talked to Lev and Kenma in the meantime. You discovered that they both knew each other from high school, playing volleyball together on a relatively successful team. You had wondered why they had such sibling-like interactions, you supposed knowing someone in their adolescence could have that same affect though.

You learned about how Lev got his start in modelling, his older sister, Alisa modeled and decided to force him to a casting call in which he swiftly passed. That being the start of his successful career.

"So what do you do, Kenma?" You inquired as you took a sip from your second champagne glass of the night.

"Nothing too much," he downplayed. "But uh, I go to college, I play games for a living- I'm a streamer."

Lev narrowed his eyes at the shorter man, looking at him as if he was guilty of something. Lev opened his mouth, "he also owns his own company! And he trades stock from time to time, he's a busy man!" Lev boasted for Kenma.

Your eyes widened after hearing all of that, what Kenma presented on his own was already impressive. But hearing everything else he did was the cherry on top.

"You like to keep busy?"

"Something like that.." Kenma trailed off, trying his hardest not to punch Lev in his gut like Yaku would've done.

You all continued to converse, Kenma tried to act causal while Lev wasn’t allowing him to do so. As you were speaking to Kenma, his gaze made your stomach flip, his gold eyes were so intense you felt as if you were being investigated for a crime. Kenma looked at you so intently as you explained how you interpreted your character’s morality.

“And the most interesting thing about her is that her father was a huge influence on her morals, but he’s never been shown on screen. So viewers just have to infer on what her father believed in through her, somewhat butchered, perspective on his teachings.” You explained.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah!”

Kenma laughed softly at your enthusiasm, “that’s cute. Seems like your character is deeper than people thought.”

His eyes were doing that thing again, you couldn’t tell what he was thinking but you knew he was thinking something. All you could make out was a glint of condescension, but he seemed like he was genuinely interested in hearing your interpretation of your character. But you two continued to talk, he asked questions about you, you asked questions about him. It felt easy to talk to Kenma, it was natural how your conversation flowed. Like how airy curtains flowed on a windy day after a window was opened.

You were feeling tipsy after three flutes of champagne but that just meant you could keep the party going without having to worry about what you were doing at the moment.

Without any reasoning, you grabbed Kenma's hand, the coldness of his palm sent chills up your spine. Kenma's cat-like eyes observed you as you guided him to the dance floor, your backside pressed up against him as you swayed to the beat. Kenma did his best to match you, his hands were placed upon your waist trying to follow your lead. You rested the back of your head on his shoulder, messing up your hair a little. But your somewhat disheveled appearance was worth the feeling of Kenma’s breath softly hitting your neck.

And as the two of you swayed, you had no idea another global ambassador was live-streaming. Her phone propped up on one of the tables as she stood there casually eating the 'food' the brand had provided. Conversing with some of her celebrity friends in a joyful manner, even if she took up the majority of her phone screen. You and Kenma were perfectly placed in the background of her live stream, the two of you looked real comfortable with each other too as people started to notice you two in the background.

"I lovee this song," you slurred, trying your best to grind up against Kenma. Even if his hands were cold, the rest of his body felt warm pressed up against yours.

"Yeah?"

"Mhm!" You just smiled, letting the bass thump in your ears.

It felt like you were on that dance floor for an eternity before you turned around to face Kenma. His face looked so beautiful under the pale, blue light the room was now covered in. You were so close to his face you were practically breathing in the air he was breathing out.

His golden eyes stared directly into yours, no longer emotionless but something else took over. He looked as hungry as a stray cat, one that hadn’t eaten in days. And you were the first piece of food he had stumbled across. As you continued to gaze into each other's eyes, the music sounded like it was muted. The various chatters of conversation that had surrounded you minutes ago ceased to exist in your world. It was only you and Kenma now, and you intended to make the best of your new reality. You stumbled into the bathroom before you could even realize you had walked over there. The bright, white light was a stark contrast from the dim, blue light from the party.

And luckily for you and Kenma it was a small, one stall bathroom with a lock that guaranteed nobody else could get in.

Kenma's cold hands cupped your hips as his plush lips pressed up against yours. Your lips combined made various smacking sounds as the kiss deepened, you couldn't tell if it was your spit or Kenma's dribbling down your chin as he lifted you onto the sink.

His hands traced pictures onto your thighs, you felt little x's and o's as his fingers danced on your skin.

"You know I'm an Emmy nominee?" You breathed out as you felt Kenma's hand itching towards your inner thigh.

"Yeah I do," he responded, looking at you, wondering why you broke the kiss.

"Just thought you should know.." You continued, "y'know I also have had multiple, successful global campaigns with brands people can only dream of working for?" You were nervous, rambling to soothe yourself.

"Because you're just soo great and amazing, right?" Kenma's eyes bore into yours, your stomach clenched from his stare. 

You had never imagined that your type, on paper, and print, would be into you. No matter how successful you became, but here reality was, proving you wrong in the best way possible.

It felt as if the world was rewarding you for being wrong for once.

"You're just so successful aren't you?" His condescending tone made your thighs press together, his salty praise lightly coated little fires across your skin, you felt yourself burning up.

"I am."

"You are." Kenma's smirk was something you had deemed dangerous from this moment on, that sly look you remembered from earlier. Like he knew something you didn't.

Kenma breathed out before going back in to kiss you, the sloppy kiss was filled with combined spit, and tongue sliding on each other.

His hands inched up further, pulling at the edges of your skirt.

Kenma broke the kiss, staying as close to you as possible. Your lips brushed up against each as he spoke, "can I?"

You pulled your head back to really look at him, trying to gauge what he was thinking. But as you searched into the golden abyss of his eyes, you weren’t able to come back out with a solid conclusion or theory for what was going on in that mind of his.

And that was all Kenma needed to hear before pulling you off of that poor sink and turning you around. His cold hands made contact with your warm skin, his chilled fingers grasped desperately at your thighs as if he’d die if he didn’t.

He got on his knees, placing his face right where your underwear was soaked with your juices, and smelt you. Kenma’s little sigh of relief made you bite your lip as you turned around to see the lewd position he was in.

“Now what?” You asked.

All Kenma did was smile, “what do you want me to do?”

“What were you planning on doing?” You pushed.

“Hm.. what did you think I was going to do?” Kenma pushed back.

You bite your lip, now too nervous to explicitly say what you knew he was going to do. You were starting to regret opening your mouth to challenge him.

“I want you to.. eat me out?” That didn’t sound as confident as you wanted it to.

But that didn’t matter, all Kenma did was chuckle at your sudden shyness as both of his hands gripped the sides of your laced underwear, pulling them down to your ankles as his face disappeared under your short skirt.

You looked into the mirror, wondering what Kenma was going to do now. All you could feel was his hands caressing your thighs, it felt like forever before you actually felt something.

But when you did feel something, it caught you off guard, just a little lick near your clit. Like a cat tasting new food its owner brought it, cautious to go all of the way. And another lick, this one was more daring, going from your clit to your hole. You shuddered as Kenma’s licks were starting to get to you, the sensation of his rough but gummy tongue up against your clit was giving you subtle pleasure. And you started to crave more.

You whined as you poked your ass out, hoping to inch your pussy closer to his soft lips. You felt the vibrations from Kenma’s laugh as he decided to stop teasing you and put his lips around you clit, and started to suck.

“Mmmh,” You moaned out as his tongue flicked back and forth on your clit, no longer kitten licking you for a mere taste test. Kenma decided that he liked the new food his owner brought him, hoping that they would remain loyal to this brand.

You leaned over on the sink, using it for support as your legs shivered from Kenma’s stimulation.

"Ha~ you taste so good baby," you felt Kenma's lip curl into a smile over your clit. His lips, now coated with your slick, continued to kiss your pussy, as if he was a cat grateful for the meal his owner granted him.

A knot in your stomach started to form, feeling ready to burst at any moment as Kenma sucked on your clit like his life depended on it.

"Kenma!" You squealed out as he switched between flicking his tongue and sucking on you.

You looked behind you to be greeted by the lewd scene, the streamer down on his knees, pleasing you.

"M'gonna cum!"

"Come for me baby," the vibration from Kenma’s groan was enough to send you over the edge.

His hands gripped at your thighs, keeping you up as leaned over the sink as the build-up of pleasure all came crashing down on you at once.

You were panting while looking at yourself in the mirror after coming down from your brief high. Kenma appeared behind you, his arms wrapped around your waist as he placed soft kisses on your neck.

"Wow," was all you could say. The warmth that was radiating from Kenma felt overwhelming, like you were burning up from a fever that there was no cure for.

"Was I good?" His lips felt so warm against your sensitive neck it felt like he would’ve left an imprint on you.

You hesitated to answer, even if you already knew how you were gonna respond, "you were good."

Kenma's cat-like eyes scanned over you, trying to observe how you were feeling. Seeing if it was okay to go further. Like a kitten trying to analyze an adult cat, stalking around it, softly placing its paws on the ground as it circles around it.

"Can I fuck you?" Kenma's blunt question took you quickly out of your post-nut clarity trance.

You looked at him in the mirror, just to see his eyes staring back at you. His pupils were so blown out you could barely see the gold in his eyes, his natural eye color was reduced to a small ring.

"Yeah,” was all you could say.

Kenma hiked up your skirt, your ankles still bound by your underwear. Your eyes focused on him, his long black hair that was tied in a bun looked cuter than it did two hours ago. His black strands acted as a curtain for his ears, but under the sterile, white lights you could see some of his silver ear piercings shining underneath the brightness.

You couldn't see what he was doing behind you, all you could see was him moving his arms around and the sound of a belt unbuckling and zipper going down.

"You ready?"

You nodded your head yes.

Kenma whimpered as his pink tip grinded on your pussy, his hand gripped his dick making it go back and forth. The only thing you could hear was 'shlick shlick shlick' as he tried to gather enough of your juices to use for a makeshift lube.

And you then felt it, a ‘ptuh’ sound came behind you. You could see the remnants of Kenma’s spit dribbling down his lip. He used his thumb to rub his spit on your slit.

You gasped softly as you felt yours walls being split open, Kenma slid inside of you slowly, savoring the feeling of your wet pussy inviting him in so sweetly.

"You feel amazing," he said as he bottomed out inside of you.

He took a moment, allowing you to adjust to his size before he started to move. His dick was bigger than you had expected it to be, it filled you up so nicely, as if it was meant to be there inside of you.

"Mmmh," you sighed, leaning your head back on his shoulder.

The way Kenma dick was bullying your insides, you felt your body start to falter. Your head hung over the sink as he pounded into you, unable to look at yourself in the mirror.

"Look at me while I fuck you princess," Kenma's voice filled your ear. But you were too overwhelmed to follow his orders, his dick thrusting in and out of you hitting that sweet spot inside of you so brutally. You whined as he used one of his hands to grab your face, guiding you to look in the mirror.

You took one of your hands off of the sink, and pressed behind you at Kenma's stomach. The pleasure covered you like a suffocating blanket, you couldn't take it anymore. Kenma's dick felt too good, you had to find some way to elevate the intensity of the pleasure.

But Kenma didn't care, "move your hand baby."

You just whined in response, not wanting to move the only thing that was keeping you from screaming from ecstasy.

"I asked you to move your hand, come on." Kenma's sickeningly sweet voice travelled from your ears, right to your pussy. The tone of his voice turned you on in a way you didn't think was possible.

Kenma grunted, grabbing you by your wrist and placing your hand on your stomach.

"Oh my god!" You squealed as Kenma pressed your hand into your stomach, the feeling on his hand on yours was enough to make you almost ask, 'what are we?'.

"Fuck," Kenma whispered as his tip kept colliding with your sweet spot. His thrust grew sloppier as he felt his release coming soon.

Kenma used his other hand to start rubbing circles on your clit, not wanting to cum first on your first encounter together. He couldn’t leave a bad impression for your first time together.

"Kenma you're fucking me so good ohmygod," tears threatened to fall from the corner of your eyes, you genuinely couldn't how well he already knew your body and you had just met.

But you were too lost in pleasure to see his catty eyes observing you so intently, his eyes and ears paying attention to what got the biggest reaction out of you as his dick was grinding up inside of you.

"Fuckfuckfuck," Kenma sputtered out, whining right into your ear as his clothed hips continued to meet your ass. "M'so close," Kenma whimpered.

And after the buildup of his dick hitting you that spot inside of you over and over again and his long fingers circling your clit, you came. You came hard, your legs were shaking as Kenma continued to thrust inside of you.

"Kenma please!"

"You're doing so good for me ha~" Kenma praised, now chasing his own release.

Kenma came with a loud whimper, but you sure were nobody heard it over the loud music. He pulled out, deciding to cum on your thigh rather than inside of your warm pussy.

You felt his torso meet your back, one of his arms wrapped around your waist and the other one was around your hip. In hopes of keeping you up as you tried to balance in your heels.

"Mm," you sighed, the sleepy smile on your face was enough for Kenma to know that he satisfied you fully.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" Kenma's rhetorical question made your lip quiver, you liked this side of him.

"No.. it wasn't."

"That's what I thought."

Kenma let go of you to grab some paper towel to clean up the cum that was now dripping down your leg. You pulled your panties up and looked over at Kenma.

"I'm gonna use the bathroom now.." You spoke out.

"Oh yeah, right." Kenma walked out of the bathroom, leaning against the wall. Waiting for you to come out.

After you used the bathroom, you washed your hands. And as you grabbed a paper towel to dry your hands, you looked at yourself in the mirror. Like really looked at yourself, wondering if any feelings of guilt were to arise. But they didn't, you felt good about this. About Kenma.

You felt confident in your decision in allowing Kenma into your world. You didn't know too much about him, so maybe it wasn't your proudest moment to sleep with a stranger. But he was cute, and you were both young and successful so why not?

You walked out of the bathroom, not expecting to see Kenma leaned up against the wall. Your eyes tried their best to adjust to the dim lighting of the party, a stark contrast from the surgical lights in the sterile bathroom.

"Wanna get out of here?" Kenma asked.

"What about Lev?"

"Right.. I'm sure he'll find his way back home."

"I think I'll just go home actually, I had a good time tonight though." You didn't know why, but you just wanted to go lay in your bed now. Most likely due to being up longer than you would have liked. And most of the energy you had left for the party, was spent on fucking Kenma.

"Can I walk you out, if that’s okay?" He suggested, like a gentleman.

"Sure-!" You cut yourself off, your legs suddenly fell weak.

Kenma's hands caught your waist, he wrapped his arm around your waist as he led you out of the venue. He decided that he would text Lev in the morning where he went for the night after unintentionally leaving Lev by himself.

And neither of you knew that Kenma's arm wrapped around your waist and your wobbly legs were in the background of that same girl's live. The small moment between you the two of you was to be picked and prodded at by tens of thousands of people on social media before the sun rose tomorrow.

You made it home safely that night. It was now 1pm, your eyes fluttered open as they adjusted to the light. You were just waking up after your satisfying night. Cuddled up in the warmth and unbelievable comfort of your luxury couch, in your well decorated living room.

You hadn’t heard anything from Kenma since that night, although it had only been a few hours since your encounter. You wanted some form of communication, but you didn’t want to reach out first. So instead of contacting Kenma like a normal person, you decided to obsessively look at all of his social media pages. His instagram, his twitter, his tiktok account (and even a few fan pages). Before you landed on his youtube account, where his profile picture had a thin, red circle around it with white letters that spelled out "LIVE" at the bottom.

You figured that you would click on it, see what he was up to since you were ‘clearly’ not on his mind.

"I mean yeah, those events are just usually like that, no? You just take pictures and talk and do interviews about yourself so it was chill, I met some cool people that night so I don't think those events are useless." You heard his calm voice from the other side of the screen, he was sitting at his desk. Nothing else on the screen but his attractive face, his microphone in the corner of the screen, and the chat filled with adoring fans.

"God you guys are running these piercings into the ground, I thought this ear map would suit me. You all voted on it," his laugh was soft and raspy, that kind of laugh that made you smile unintentionally.

"But did I have a good night?" Kenma's cat-like eyes had found a new emotion to display, anyone could tell he was reminiscing on something. "Oh I had an incredible night, I was in the bathroom for most of it though." He smirked while the chat exploded.

As you wondered what he exactly meant by, ‘Oh I had an incredible night,’ you skimmed the chat for clues.

"OMG SO THE RUMORS ARE TRUE"

"Kodzuken getting play before GTA 6 😭😭"

"bro linked up with (name) and it's all he can talk about now"

"stop you guys would be such a cute couple"

"You should invite her on stream!!"

The various messages made you conclude that people had known that you two had hooked up at that gala. But how? I mean sure, it's not like you two were super discreet, both heading off to the bathroom area at the same time. And you were a little tipsy so you might have misremembered a few details, but nothing was completely omitted from your mind.

You knew following your dreams of being on screen meant that all eyes would be on you, but not like this. And you could tell that Kenma hadn't said anything too explicit, so how the hell did everyone seem to know?

You decided to go back on twitter, since they usually had most of the 'drama' in the most straight-forward way. You scrolled, seeing various tweets with your name and Kenma’s.

"Did you guys see Kenma with (name) at the MiuMiu party last night??"

"I can't believe we saw Kenma and (name) in the back of her live"

"the way they snuck off to the bathroom after grinding on each other.. this buzz!!"

"Streamer x Actor strikes again, hope this goes well for (name) streamers are gutter though im ngl"

"THIS (NAME) AND KENMA EDIT GET INTO THIS BUZZ OMG"

“Bye why do they look like they’re in a movie”

You closed out of the app, throwing your phone across the room, upset that you apparently weren't as discreet as you thought you were. You were lightly embarrassed at the fact that it seemed like everyone had the information to infer that you and Kenma had slept together. But luckily your phone landed on a pair of one of your shoes, so it wasn't damaged.

You turned around and buried your head in one of your too-comfortable pillows thinking, 'this could not be happening right now.'

It seemed like individual fan accounts were responding well to you 'allegedly' hooking up with Kenma at a party though. But what would the commercialized media have to say, would there be articles about this situation. Were people going to think that you were a whore, would Kenma's fans start attacking you for 'stealing their man'?

You had so many questions swirling around in your mind, it felt as if a mini tornado was running rampant in your brain. After being a media darling for so long, you had no idea if you were going to keep that image up after this 'incident', if you could even call it that.

As you started to become trapped by your thoughts, you heard your phone softly vibrate in your shoe. You looked up from the pillow, deciding to see what the notification could possibly be. Even though it was probably just your phone telling you if your screentime percentage was down or up from last week. You got up from the couch to grab your phone, just to sit back down on the couch to read the notification.

[kodzuken] Kenma hey, how are you today?

A simple message showing interest in you, you started at the notification for what felt like hours before you unlocked your phone and went straight to instagram.

You wasted no time in thinking if you should respond, you didn't want him to know but you had been waiting for something from him. Whether it was a text or seeing that he had blocked you on all platforms. Any reminder that he remembered your existence would have made you content.

[you] I'm doing fine, how about you?

[kodzuken] Kenma i'm a little tired but i promised my fans a stream tdy did you see anything about us from that party last night?

[you] Yeah I did actually.. you didn't say anything explicitly about what went down that night did you?

[kodzuken] Kenma nah i didnt, figured it wasn't my place. i wanted to talk to you about it though

[you] what's up?

[kodzuken] Kenma i was wondering if i could take you out on a date? i'm still in LA for another week or two, are you busy saturday?

[you] not that i can remember.. but i'll have to check in with my manager.

[kodzuken] Kenma cool, just let me know i'll set something up :)

You still thought the tone in which he said he had an 'incredible night' was weird, so you knew not to forget to bring it up whenever you two eventually went out on Saturday.

And you knew you had nothing going on this Saturday, it was one of your only free days this week. Courtesy of your agent and manager who decided you deserved the weekend off after months on end of promotions and filming, not only on set, but commercials and interviews too.

You laid your back on the couch, gazing at your too-white ceiling. You took a deep breath in as the blue sky was in the corner of your eye, the light shining through your living room was natural, a gift from the sun.

And you couldn't help the smile that was forming on your face after replaying Kenma's texts in your head, how he ever so causally asked you out on a date. Being gentleman enough to set something up for the two of you, and hopefully it wasn’t a scheme to use you for your fame.

You hoped he genuinely wanted to get to know you, not the you who had countless billboard ads across the country. Not the you who was an Emmy nominee off of her acting debut, the you who modeled for high-fashion brands, and the you who went viral every other week,

But the you who liked sitting in a moving car just for the sake of going on a drive, the you who liked going to countless museums and admiring the artwork of the talented individuals. The you who posted on your instagram story of you trying out cafes in different cities, the you who had a genuine passion for acting and who decided to audition for the role of the lifetime.

And you decided then that you wouldn’t want Kenma if he didn't want to get to know the real you. After your interaction with Kenma last night, you hoped he understood that you were interested in getting to know Kenma. Not just the Kodzuken everyone ‘seemed’ to know.

[mysterystarz]

sweet things the haikyuu boys do - a quick lil braindump ft: miya osamu, akaashi keiji, sugawara koushi, kita shinsuke, daichi sawamura cw: suggestive content in some parts — read at your own risk! a/n: kita anon <3 this is for you — ily (also if you have others you'd like to see, tell me!)

MIYA OSAMU:

⟡ if you have any softness to your body, osamu cherishes it like you are his personal gift sent from the heavens above. you could be sitting idly on the countertop, watching him cook, and one of his hands will idly come to trace your thighs. there's no motive, at least, not at first. he simply enjoys the feeling of your skin against his palm, plush and warm and all his

⟡ he loves to kiss your exposed skin. any bare skin under his eyes is skin for the kissing. you could be explaining something important, and his lips will trail down your bare shoulder, pressing sweet kisses to the tops and sides. even if you protest, he'll skate his lips down your arm and smirk just the littlest bit. he can't resist ⟡ he loves making out when your thighs are straddling his hips. his lips are on yours, hot and needy as his hands scramble for purchase on your hips. you press against him, feeling him, his need, his tongue sliding gently across the seam of your lips. "someone's needy," you smirk across into his mouth, pulling away just enough to see his lips, pink and kiss-bitten, reach for you once again. he stops just short of your face, cupping your cheeks lovingly before gently rolling up into you. your breath hitches. "yer' just so sweet. we'll see who's needy when i'm done with ya'."

AKAASHI KEIJI:

⟡ keiji loves your hands in any condition and always treats them gently. after a long day at work or whatever else you've been doing he'll come over to massage them a little bit, pressing kisses to your knuckles and fingertips. to him, they're the hands that work so hard to bring you two the life you want, and so he adores them. plus, the better loved your hands are, the better they'll feel gripped on his back when he....shows you how much he loves you

⟡ he loves to lay in your lap while you recap the events of your entire day. you're on your couch, keiji's head draped across your thighs. he smiles gently, tugging your fingers to comb through his hair. as always, he melts into your touch. your day doesn't have to be eventful for him to love these recaps — he simply enjoys the sound of your voice talking through a cute mug you found, or pretty places you want to visit with him. it's his favorite part of the day, being enveleoped in your scent, your voice, and feeling your lips pepper kisses to his forehead every now and then.

⟡ a guilty pleasure of his is sitting between your thighs as you read. in his personal opinion, books are so much more interesting when he's kissing your legs, pressing kisses behind your knees, and watching your thighs shake in anticipation. "what was that?" he mumbles, his lips slowly inching up your thigh. your face flushes, the book trembling in your grasp. "t-the main character is about to fight the prince. she thinks he's evil." you shiver when keiji's tongue traces a heart into your inner thigh. "oh?"

SUGAWARA KOUSHI:

⟡ koushi loves carrying you bridal style. there's something so whimsical about lifting you off your feet, holding your weight in his arms. he's especially happy when you loop your arms around his head and lean in to give him a kiss. he feels like the prince in a manhwa or shoujo manga

⟡ he loves kissing your neck. koushi is a big enthusiast of lazy makeouts. he traces little hearts into your skin when he presses you against the wall, his lips tracing a heated path down your neck, collarbone, and dipping to kiss your sternum. he does it specifically so he can feel your hands wrapped into his shirt, the sweet little hitches of your breath spurring him further

⟡ he loves when you just lay on top of him. there's something so comforting about it, his hands wrapping firmly around your waist and burying his face into the crook of your neck. he could just disappear from the world. usually these cuddle sessions stay wholesome until his hands wander beneath your shirt. he says it's just to feel the warmth of your skin, but before no time he's flipped you over and pulled one of your legs over his hips.

KITA SHINSUKE:

⟡ shinsuke loves holding your hands when you walk together. there's something so divinely perfect about the feel of your hand in his, your fingers lacing together like puzzle pieces that were crafted together. he can hold your hand for what feels like centuries, rubbing his thumb gently across your skin to remind you that he'll forever be by your side. when he gets the chance, he slides his lips over your knuckles, a reverent pledge of love

⟡ if you have any moles on your body, shinsuke kisses every single one of them. your arms. your legs. your chest. your face. his personal opinion is that it's a little personal treasure that he gets to find and cherish. he firmly believes in the idea that your moles are where your soulmates kissed you the most in a previous life. he ensures he kisses every part of your body enough so that if there's ever another birth where he finds you, you'll be covered in all the relics of his love

⟡ when the two of you make love, he's not done until you're done. the first time he told you this, he was so earnest about it, and sure you believed him, but you never thought it could be like this. "shin!" you choke out desperately, hands scrambling to grip something, anything. kita's lips drag down to your neck, nibbling ever so slightly, his one free hand wrapped around your back to keep you close. you whimper into his mouth, overwhelmed by the sensations of his hands doing things nobody's hands should be able to do. "is this alright?" he smiles, leaning to kiss your forehead sweetly while your thighs tremble around his hands. "ya' deserve to feel so good."

DAICHI SAWAMURA:

⟡ sawamura adores back hugs, especially when you're in his clothing. it's morning — early, but not enough to be offensive, and you're in his old jersey from his karasuno days, hung as a relic in his closet. he pauses at the sight of you, dripped in sunlight and angelic, thanking whatever force gave him this sight. he pads over on the kitchen tiles, sliding up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist. in his arms, you're warm and secure

⟡ he loves having a hand on you at all times. it doesn't matter what it is you're doing, but he'll always be around. when shopping for groceries, he has an arm around your waist (it's just potatoes, but he's invested in them if you're beside him). you're working on a project and his hands massage your shoulders. you're watching a movie and suddenly, he's shifted you onto his lap. it's for warmth and comfort (he claims), but the reality is he's addicted to your presence

⟡ he might not seem it, but he is a hickies kind of man. there's something so.....romantic, he thinks, leaving hickies where nobody else can see them. it's your little secret. however, his style isn't just bite and bruise. no. it's not a good hickey if you can feel it at all. "oh my goodness." you shudder, a vice grip on his arm as his lips suck kisses into your skin. "please don't make me wait." daichi smirks. "you and i both know they feel better when you're blissed out. let me take care of you." with a grin, he goes back to trailing his kisses down your stomach.

© all content belongs to mysterystarz 2026. please do not copy my works onto any other website/platform (including but not limited to tiktok, instagram, wattpad, ao3, or any AI chatbot)

pspsps tags: @cowboylo @karnevil @brooksviolin

this was......fun to write actually. let me know if you have others you'd like to see!!

[pushinpieta]

Osamu x freader smut (NSFW)

Sum: Osamu is railing your guts when you suddenly hear a sound…then you come face to face with a surprise guest…who could it possibly be?? Gasp…ATSUMU!!! Wc: 1.1k

A/n: this is my mbappe special. Okay?

Warning: pet names, p in v, creampie, unprotected sex, biting, getting heard having sex, swearing, pet names

“Look at ya, baby, yer such a fuckin’ mess for me, aren’t ya?” Osamu panted, pushing your knees to your chest as he pounded into your dripping wet cunt.

You couldn’t respond, mouth plugged by his fingers shoved into the back of your throat while you gagged and drooled all over them. He just watched, sweat dripping from his forehead, gathering on his raised brows as he fucked you through it.

He came back from work frustrated after a long day. Shoulder slouching in his tight, black, full sleeve shirt that always hugged so deliciously around his biceps. Broad shoulder expanding and strong. His hair was nappy from sitting under his work cap all day as he stroked it with a heavy, frustrated sigh. You offered him a massage, innocent, sweet. Hoping it would help relieve the tension built up in his muscles but that never went straight.

So, here you were: getting used and gutted like a toy by your husband.

“Cmon, girl, say somethin’” he chuckled, pinching your clit to earn that loud squeal from you that got him off even more.

“Mmmfffgggg—“ you gagged, gripping his wrist for mercy.

Osamu only picked his pace up, cock curving into all the spots that begged for him, filling you up in a way that you couldn’t move without moving his cock that was inside you. The bed frame shook with that loud squeak that would make anyone flinch with concern.

Your shared bedroom smelled thick, heavy with your scent and his mingling together into something addictive and dizzying, making you both lose your sense. The world blocked out in your shared state of intensity and lust. He took you like he’d been holding back for centuries, slamming into your stretched out hole with zero mercy.

“Samu— please— no more!” You mewled, spit trailing from your mouth as he pulled his fingers out to card them into your hair instead.

“Take it.” He ordered through gritted teeth, fingers yanking your head back, giving him access to the length of your neck.

He lightly bit down on it, suckling on the flesh with a moan. A sound similar to one whose thirst was quenched. You whimpered, feeling both his hands find your hips as he picked up his speed, his eyes boring into yours— demanding you look back at him.

“Look at me.” He smushed your cheeks lightly, “Don’t even think about taking yer eyes off me when you cum, Kay?”

“Mhmm—“ you nodded frantically, feeling your body stuttering and your toes curling.

Jaws falling slack, you came breathlessly around him, milking him. He groaned, nodding with approval, eyes glued to yours with hunger and adoration all at once. Your moans grew louder, traveling through the cracks of the bedroom door and the opened window.

“That’s it, honey, squeeze this cock just like that, mhmmm.” He groaned, pressing his forehead to yours.

Your arms slung around his shoulders, wrapping him into a hug as he kissed you through his orgasm. Filling you up with his hot load. It was a lot, heavy and unrestrained.

“So much…” you whimpered, feeling your stomach full with his seed.

“Fuck, yer so sexy,” he chuckled slowly starting to pull out from your bullied little pussy.

But a sound— a clatter caused you to snap your head towards your bedroom door with your eyes wide open.

“Samu, did you hear that?” You ask, gripping his arm while he stayed panting on top of you, still taking his time to pull out.

“Huh? What sound?” He asked, going quiet to hear what you heard.

Then another clank. Osamu froze, turning to you with a paranoid look. For a moment, you stared at each other, hearts still beating from your little deed earlier. Then he slowly got off of you, placing a finger to his mouth to quiet you.

“Are we gettin’ robbed?” He whispered, shoving his boxers on with speed.

“Well, it sounds like it.” You whispered back, feeling fear replace the remaining pleasure in your core, “did you forget to lock the door when you came in?”

“Course’ not, I always lock the door…” he quietly slid open the drawer of your nightstand, searching for a weapon.

Choosing an empty bottle of lotion from months ago.

“That is the worst choice of weapon ever.” You scolded quietly, shaking your head, “I knew we should’ve slept with knives under our pillows!”

“Yer insane,” he argued back, “I’ll go check, you stay here, alright?”

You perched up, shaking your head “What? No. I’m coming with you!”

“No, stay here.” He instructed, tip-toeing towards the door.

“Samu. I’m coming.” You said, fighting your way out of the bedsheets.

“Well, put some clothes on. Here,” he said, tossing you your oversized tshirt.

You quickly threw it on, adjusting yourself. From the night stand, you grabbed a charger as a weapon, motioning for Osamu to open the door. Of course it made that irritating creak that would give away your movements.

Both of you moved like special forces, swiftly moving down the hallway towards the kitchen where the sounds came from. Then, Osamu took the leap, turning the lights on with a loud: show yerself, fucker! all heroically. It wasn’t the moment to laugh but you almost snorted regardless of the situation.

You lassoed the charger, charging at the perpetrator, earning a loud yelp.

“Calm down, you idiots, it’s me!” An annoyingly familiar voice shouted into the tense air.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Atsumu?!” You screamed, placing a hand to your pounding heart in relief and concern all at once.

“Tsumu? How the hell’d ya get in here?” Osamu dropped the empty lotion bottle with a sigh.

“Well, the heating stopped workin’ at my apartment and I was freezin’ like a lamb so I came here!” He explained, “Remember when you told me the passcode into yer house was y/n’s birthday? That’s how I got in.”

“Oh…,” you rubbed your temple, baffled by the whole thing, “you should’ve called us, dimwit. It’s like, what? 1 am!”

“Sorry…didn’t wanna call ya at this hour…” Atsumu scratched the back of his head apologetically with a sheepish grin on his face.

Your heart dropped at his expression with embarrassment. Did he…did he hear you and Osamu?

“Atsumu…” you started, “when did you get here?”

“Err…” he chuckled, “bout an hour ago.”

“Fucker.” Osamu scoffed, punching Atsumu on his arms.

“I’m going to bed.” You announced, face dropping with mortification as blood rushed to your face and ears.

Praying that the earth would split open and suck you in right then and there.

“I’m sorry! Didn’t wanna interrupt ya!” Atsumu threw his hands in the air.

“Oh, fuck off.” Osamu rolled his eyes, following behind you.

Because you were the best sister-in-law ever, you added: “Make sure to wash up and sleep in the guest room.”

“Alright!” Atsumu saluted, waving you both goodnight with a shit-eating smirk on his face.

[idealanimations]

Kita would eat you out on his birthday. Multiple orgasms later, you're sobbing, shaking, barely able to think. You're pushing his head away asking for a break - not even to stop, just for a second to catch your breath. He'd pout up at you, bottom lip jutted out, swollen pink and shiny with your slick, and he'd say "but it's my birthday". If you weren't so delirious, you'd notice the smirk he's trying to fight and the devious glint in his puppy dog eyes.

[human-slop]

yandere x reader

the crown prince becomes interested in you.

(soft yandere)

notes: i know NOTHING about royalty so i made stuff up, this might be too slow. Also if this is too “x oc” in personality, let me know (for future tagging)!

~

The level of the tea in the cups wobbles only slightly when you take steps like a metronome. It’s the only thing you need to focus on, since the rest comes naturally. If you had no tray, you could go with your eyes closed. And at this time of day, you would know where you were by when light shines on your form. 

You slow when your peripheral vision catches the door of the Duchess’s chambers ahead. 

The door is left open. You tilt your head.

“Stand up straight.” Their words are sharp. “You’re slouching still. Is this how you want the future king to see you?” 

Your vision goes back and forth between the door and the inside of the room as you approach. The Duchess sighs loudly before continuing. “You should be focused but not desperate. Wait, but only a few moments before responding.” The daughter nods.

She suddenly stands and takes quick steps. “Stop that. Stop it right now.” She grabs her daughter’s hands and drags them up. “You know better, don’t fidget.”

Your eyes linger, but when the Duchess notices, she briefly motions her hand for you to come inside. You move inside and stand, like a child waiting for a parent, in front of the two of them with your tray. 

“Let’s move on.” The Duchess takes a step backwards.

“His favorite color is turquoise, so we will all need to wear something of that color. He likes horseback riding and literature so have something to say about those things. Don’t bring up anything related to his duties or his future as king. He wants to forget about it, so let him for now. And don’t bother with the other brother tonight.”

“Do you understand all this?” She doesn’t wait. “Now go.” The daughter turns around as the Duchess waves her out. You set the tray down for her as she sits.

Her shoulders drop, and after a moment her eyes land on you.

She reaches out and tucks some stray hair behind your ear. “You will be coming to the banquet as well. The outfit for you is already provided.”

You nod as well. With nothing else to engage you, you suddenly remember something she sometimes asks after their conversations. “Would my lady like for me to rub your shoulders? Or draw a bath?”

“The shoulders would be nice.”

When you return to your room, you notice the outfit right away. It’s laid out on the bed. It’s teal, and it shimmers even in the dim light as the day ends. It’s softer than the blanket your fingers brush against when you pick it up.

You hold the clothes up to yourself, and it looks like it fits.

It doesn’t really look like it’s meant to be in your room, even though it’s nothing compared to the outfits of the Duchess. You look around for somewhere to put it besides your bed. There’s a small dresser. But on top of it already is a half broken cup you decided to keep, with freshly picked dandelions inside, and next to it is your comb. There's a wooden chair by the door though. You can have it there for now.

You wonder if you’ll be allowed to keep these clothes.

~

You're standing against the wall of the banquet hall. There’s numerous conversations going on, but it’s all noise. The region you all come from is near the border of the country, so the language at this banquet isn’t comprehensible. The Duchess has said you aren’t here to be having long conversations anyway.

Her glass is full and her clothes are smooth. She’s not looking at you.

That’s good. All you need to do right now is watch.

The mention of the crown prince catches your ears. They look around the room, but don’t seem to find anything in particular. One man sets his glass down firmly and starts speaking for a little while as another person shakes his head slowly. The Duchess brings up another familiar name she’s spoken of before. A princess he was supposed to marry. Even if you knew the language, they spoke too quietly for the tone of the conversation to be understood. 

Eventually, someone waves their hand and speaks audibly again. They shift their chairs a bit to allow everyone to lean in and look at the same thing, the other prince speaking to a group of people across the room. They nod along this time.

Your eyes drift away from the Duchess’s group as you shift your feet back and forth. Her daughter is speaking to a small group of women. She’s laughing, and she bends her head down before stifling the noise with her hand. You’re not used to it.

Her posture is perfect.

“Go see how my daughter is doing for me.” You snap back, not realizing the Duchess had approached. With a bow of your head, you leave to check on her. She seems tense when you approach, even though there’s nothing off about her features that you can point out.

“My Lady.”

“I do not require anything from you.” She nips any talk in the bud, speaking quickly.

…

Maybe you shouldn’t be surprised, but your hand awkwardly fidgets with the fabric of your outfit. You're unsure of what to say. 

“B-but, your mother asked…”

“I know. What my mother says.” It’s firm but hushed. She then sighs and shakes her head after a few seconds of silence.

You glance back at the Duchess. You can’t just go back to her with nothing, and even saying what her daughter told you will be a problem for both of them. You bow again, and decide instead to go the opposite way, outside.

~

Greenery catches your eyes, and you decide to walk in that general direction, following the stone pathway. It smells nice, like flowers. And there are flowers! Colorful ones, a little different looking than the ones at home. One turquoise flower stands out, that would be perfect for your room. Nobody is around, so you won’t be taking up too much space if you decide to go and hold them in your hands. 

Your walk hastens as you move over to look at them. But before you can even peek, there are footsteps. Two people, dressed in uniforms of servants, one of them holding a drink. You turn around, and because of it you catch their eye. They’re shuffling over to you now, and when they call out something you tell them “I’m sorry, I do not understand…” right away.

They speak to you in a louder voice than is necessary, and are pointing at your clothing. You look down, and nod a little. You’ve known from the beginning it’s a bit unusual for you to be wearing this.

One of them comes closer to pinch your clothing, moving their thumb back and forth to feel the material, which makes you remember that there’s a bed of flowers right behind you. You repeat yourself, that you don’t understand what they’re mumbling to you, as some lint is picked off your shoulders by the other person.

There’s another voice that makes everyone turn to them, the person leaning against the wall of the building. It’s not loud, since he doesn’t need to be for them to realize who they’re talking to. The two of them let go like they put their hands on the stove. They say something with a laugh, the tone making you think it’s an apology.

He says something to you, and pushes himself off of the wall. When he gets a few feet away, he speaks again. The way their voice ups in pitch at the end of the sentence makes it seem like a question.

But. …his collar isn’t folded the right way. The top few buttons on his coat aren’t done. The sleeves are rolled up a little, and they’re all wrinkly too. If something were to be done, the collar would only take a few seconds. You blink, and now you’re starting with putting your hands on that collar.

SLAP!

Blinking again, you’ve flinched and taken a step back. Your hands. They’re stinging. You give him a look while rubbing your hands together to soothe the pain. What comes from that mouth is still short and bitter.

You speak in reply, but no matter what you tell them, their response is the same because–

Oh. You don’t speak the language.

He sighs, pressing fingers to his forehead. The bitterness must have drained out of him, since now his voice is gentle. Which you can’t understand. He just stares at you for a minute, crossing his arms.

“Ah, I am sorry.”

Waiting for a few moments more, he takes a step forward. “Good?” Another sigh. “...Okay? Bad?”

A nod from you. He brings his hands up, shaking them a little, eyes widening. “What.” You’re not really sure what’s so confusing, but he keeps on moving his hands around and waving them. And then the hands drop back down. “Nothing…!” He walks right past you, plopping down on a big stone.

“I can not do that. I am not better to them when. For you, when I…” You tilt your head. He’s talking a bit more now. You glance away from him, back to the sound of the banquet. The Duchess and her daughter are there. His clothes, despite their dishevel, are very good. One of the best.

You take a few steps forward, and seat yourself on the grass a few feet away. He’s back out of your language, syllables pouring out of his mouth like water. Some languages have different tones to them. Or something. Maybe it naturally tastes bitter to you?

You keep on nodding with him as it flows. You could hug him or rub his shoulders, the stinging mostly gone, but being swept by current isn’t preferable. What are you supposed to do though? He isn’t telling you a thing, but he wants something.

Ah. There’s something to be recognized here, hearing the Duchess and her daughter by name. You’re finally making eye contact. But then he looks up at the sky. What could he be thinking? He collapses on his back, not watching you perk your head every time it’s mentioned.

You collapse, going along. Your view of the same sky is obstructed by blades of grass. That current eventually becomes peaceful waves. His hands are still gripping the grass, and it all makes sense now. That’s it, then. He’s not thinking about doing anything important at this moment.

“Sorry.” It’s all of a sudden while he’s talking, as he rests his head on his hand. “I don’t know, what–”

You get up and walk away. He lets out a groan, but it’s okay. You have something for him. The one thing you know about him is that he likes seeing turquoise. So you lay the gift at his feet. It’s that flower from the garden, in his favorite color. It’s everything you have, all for him.

He stares at it for a minute. You can’t read his expression. He lets out a cold laugh, though his face is hot.

He gets up, and walks away without a word, holding the flower.

~

The rest of the night goes on without event. You do not see him again. Even when you apologized to your lady for disappearing, she said you did a wonderful job tonight. She lightly chides her daughter for dismissing you. “It was expected.” When her daughter talks about nobody saying a word to the Prince tonight.

Eventually, he will have to visit. That was only one event.

It just means more tasks to complete on that day. Most of your time is spent helping to prepare, the food, the cleaning, the likes. There are many of you to shoulder what’s more than normal. 

You count the number of times the broom sweeps the floor. There’s not much else to do, other than double check there’s ‘not a speck of dust.’ Though, you’re not sure how to count how many specks there are. Huh. Staring at the ground, can… you see any?

“I missed you.” 

He’s here again. 

There are voices you can barely hear at the turn of the corridor. “Please, forgive me for last night. It is very unlike me to treat a subject that way.” He holds out his hand to your eyes, and slowly glides it to your lower back, taking brisk steps to a door leading outside. 

He lets out a sigh of relief once it shuts. “Thank you. That night, I was…” There’s a soft smile you haven’t seen before. “I was…”

…

Nothing else comes out.

…

Your eyes dart around for something to think in this silence. His hand is still holding your back, and he’s just standing there, not far from your face.

“Haha, I like you. Your gift.”

He moves away from your back, instead using that hand to hold your chin, redirecting your eyes and keeping your face still. It’s warm.

“You are full of something precious I have not seen before. It would be a shame to not see it at least once more. I find myself thinking that I have been blessed by the heavens, to reveal a hidden gem to me after so long.” His voice is low, and melodic in the way he manages to turn the syllables to music. Emphasized by the contrast of previous stutters.

"For you." He tilts his head and smiles more widely, before taking your hand. He lets go after a moment, and you look down and see what he has given you.

It's dandelions.

How sweet.

Impulsively, you decide to blow on them. Some of the seeds float into his hair.

He doesn't pick them out.

...

The two of you have been staring at each other for a moment. Well, you are looking at the dandelion seeds, resisting the urge to pick them out after what happened with the collar. He notes the color of your eyes.

But he looks away when he hears his name being called inside. He shrugs his shoulders and turns around with a laugh.

"Until next time."

[rachflora]

Yandere!Hero x Kidnapped Fem! Villain Reader 

->Click here for the introduction of Yandere!Hero.

Click here for my full masterlist.

CW: yandere, kidnapping, forced isolation, hero is a masochist and apathetic to others, reader is a little violent towards hero (nothing too extreme), manipulative, reader is considered unconventionally attractive but no specific traits mentioned, hero has questionable morals, and small mentions of pregnancy (afab reader). 

Helios felt conflicted about whether to keep his relationship with you private or public. And in each route, there are very different endings… 

In the private route, you refuse to speak to him for the following two weeks since you captured him, and then he captured you back. Sure, his penthouse was huge, the ceilings were high, and you could tell he had hired service there. BUT you despised this man, and it only made him fall for you harder. 

Helios had a set of rules for you; they were simple yet exact. You were not permitted to leave the penthouse unless he accompanied you. You must allow him to check in at least every three hours to ensure your well-being. Lastly, communicating or talking to others, even through your phone, is prohibited. He allowed you to keep your phone with very strict restrictions: you can only text and call him, his assistant (if he’s busy), and the private chef. You can play any games or read online, just no social media. 

Helios keeps leaving you roses everywhere around the bed. In a sickeningly sweet and corny way, too. It was only when you were in the middle of coming up with a plan to attack that you saw a trail of rose petals leading all the way over to him, sprawled out on the bed. In response, you throw the nearest object at him (a laundry basket) and leave the room. 

Much to your dismay, he upped the ante on the theatrics. He would shower you in expensive gifts, he would profess his love to you when you just woke up out of bed, and worst of all, he would lift you in the air with his wings and fly you around the city. 

Despite his strict rules, you could move around the penthouse freely. He finds it thrilling when you devise traps or engage him in a struggle. Every attempt you have made has failed, but you have not given up! But to the detriment of seeing him get turned on whenever you insult him or try to swing at him...

There are rare moments when you allow yourself to sit near him in the living room. He perceived your utter exhaustion as you finally crumbled under the pressure. At this one moment when the news was playing, he says a bit of a questionable line, like ‘they should have seen what was coming going into a dark alley,’ when the news reported an instance of a villain mugging a civilian. 

Moments like these reminded you how different he was from the perceived image he had to the public. He truly is an apathetic monster disguised as some elegant angel. And now it felt like his wings were suffocating you. 

In the public route, you may think you have more freedom being in a public relationship with Helios, but in many cases, it was way worse. He is far more manipulative in a public relationship compared to a private one.

For instance, he would bring you to random events like charity balls or award ceremonies to keep you on a leash. He knows these events are slowly chipping at your resilience, and he enjoys watching the fight in your eyes die out. 

You cannot outwardly fight the heroes at these events because you’d easily be subdued. Instead, you make petty remarks to the other heroes in a witty yet subtle fashion. One time, you commented on a new hero’s recent failure on the field that you know will sting, but you smiled as if you felt bad for him. You get away with it because you’re Helios’ woman, and he’s one of the biggest donors at these events. But you HATE them, truly all of them. When you react like this, Helios just looks at you with lovey-dovey eyes and coos. Because, of course, this freak loves when you’re mean. 

The media was finding ways to tear you to shreds. First, you being a ‘non-user’ was the biggest one they kept mentioning. The ones saying this were mostly heroes themselves, as to them, this was a business. If you reproduced with him, there was a chance that one of the greatest heroes would have a non-user child. That would be a disaster, especially when you consider the industry's financial investment. The other half of the media was his fans. And of course, his crazy fans started going after your looks! Whatever reason they could think of, whatever flaw they could find in you, they’re using it. 

But the media underestimates Helios’ patience, as he is not letting that slide. Now he’s even more aggressive with his affection for you in public. During interviews, he’ll randomly blurt, “I love my wife.” Any chance he gets, he’s talking about you. He praises you for your strength and how ambitious you are regardless of your status. Oh, and whatever traits his fans called ‘undesirable’, he is raving on and on about how they’re the most beautiful features a person could have. 

Helios does not care that your kid might be a non-user. He’s still on the fence on if he even wants a kid with you because a kid would take up all of your attention. But he won’t lie; the thought of your belly swollen with his child does get him giddy.

[butteronabun]

cw: suggestive

More than once, you find yourself walking outside the lighthouse’s threshold with slightly messed up tresses, disheveled clothing, and skin littered with marks, in a daze. There’s no doubt that once Jahoda, or even Linnea, see you in such a state, they’d double take and say the same thing: ‘Wow, you’re glowing.’ ( Jahoda may even be shocked, while Linnea may put on her glasses and gasp in fascination. )

That is, if that is truly going to happen, because your fae of a husband has no plans of letting you go just yet. You sense his presence from behind, and you blink when you hear a deep, amused chuckle.

Oh, no—

A gloved hand appears, and you release a yelp when you are tugged back inside.

[ushiidoll]

Haikyuu boys twitter links

contains: STRAIGHT UP PORN, timeskip! Haikyuu boys (obviously.), whimpering, pnv, doggystyle, jerking off, moaning, eating, overstimulation, humping/dry humping, size kinks, etc.

18+ warnings nsfw!!! watch at your own risk must have X account or some might not work :(

teasing atsumu while he whines and cries

Osamu is the best eater!!

yamaguchi sending you a video at home while you’re gone

Tsukishima jerking off to the thought of you in that cute outfit you wore today

Nishinoya loves any form of sexual activity. even if its your feet

Osamu + Atsumu front and back

Jerking kenma off while he’s gaming

Oikawa overstimulating you with his fingers

Kuroo letting you hump his abs

Bokuto has insane stamina AND energy..!

Ushijima fucking into you while you still have the lingerie he bought for you (Ushijima AGAIN.)

Showering with kageyama didn’t end as you were expecting it to..

Sugawara wants to give you the treatment you deserve

Dry humping Hinata til he cums :(

Morning sex with daichi before he goes patrol

Suna LOVESSSS recording you while he plunges his dick inside you 💕 (another suna video)

Aone and his size kink

Coach ukai pounding into you from behind

More characters of your choice:

Tag teaming on him>>

Him jerking off to a video of you

Helping him solve his morning wood

Eating you out <333

A/n: this is definitely a new post, i dont think ive done twitter links yet but Ive seen that it’s very popular so might as well give it a try!

Edit: fixed the unavailable videos and added more because why not lol

credits to original creators and banners!!

[oichitsubaki]

お許しください...長政様...

("Forgive me, Lord Nagamasa")

[Yandere King x GN Reader]

Sora notes : yay first fic! I'm so happy I finish this one because it has been sitting on the draft for a months—anyway enjoy reading!

—————————

IMAGINE A KING THAT LOVED HIS SLAVE MORE THEN HIS QUEEN

The King has no feelings with the queen whatsoever,they are only together because politics reasons and have to created an heir together.

The King who do not care what the queen wants and just let her doing whatever she wants,he doesn't even bother to ask.

The King who one day, see a merchant arrived at his throne to sell off some of their slaves, the king was looking through the selection.

The King is not impressed by the merchant slaves but... His eyes caught onto someone—and that person is you.

The King doesn't understand why he feels the connections between you and him,then he tells the merchant he wanted to buy you.

The King after buying you he put you to the nicest room the castle, comfortable clothes and the maids took care of you when bathing.

The King Always feed you on his lap at breakfast and dinner, doing this action Infront of the queen (she was livid).

The King have you be on his side on the throne room, sitting on his lap of course— you are His.

One day when the King have to go to a diplomatic meetings, you were left alone. In the gardens you were just admiring the flowers and birds chirping. When suddenly you were splash with a dirty water from above you, look up and see the queen with a disgust and angry face—she then push you to the grass and started to berates you then also slapping your cheek,the queen maids hold you down so the queen can continue her harassment.

Hours later you were in the bedroom just trying to patch your injury—crying to yourself. The King slam open your door just too see your body heavily bruise and scratches. The King quickly goes to you and checks your body—then he asks you who did this, you try not to say the queen—but the King grips your cheek hard for you to tell him.

The King saw red when you said the queen who did this. He let a doctor to properly patch you (you did a terrible job doing the bandages) He left you with the doctor that he trusted and he goes quickly to the queen chamber—where she gladly open her arms thinking that the King finally loved her but just for the King slaps her hard. The slaps echo's through the queen chambers, the King grab her neck and choked her. The royal guard's try to stop the King until for 5 minutes he stops and let her gasping for air at the ground.

The King knows he can't kill or executed her yet because he need her politics power—so he let her live for now. But he warns her if she did it again,he will make her life a living hell. After that—he goes out of the queen chambers not looking back whatsoever,leaving her behind with a broken heart.

The King he goes back to your chambers to check on you again,you were on the bed—the doctor have been patch you up nicely,he goes to your side quickly and started to pampered you and hand feed you in bed. The King didn't leave on your side that day,even brought you to his meetings not caring by the stares at the others people's in the meetings.

You never ever leave this kingdom,even if you wish to leave you can't. He has the castle lock tight and have him always by your side after the accident with the queen. You never leaving him—you are stuck with the King forever...maybe after when the King is done the politics matters with the queen he will divorce her and banished from the kingdom.

"Ah My dear loved... I will give anything to you, my head...my heart...even my body as you wish...but please don't ever leave me... Always by my side...I'll never let you go..."

[hypnoism]

Warnings. blood, death, stabbing, jealousy

Jealous yandere! roommate would literally find ways for you to break up with your boyfriend every single time you get one.

She's been friends with you for far longer than any stupid man that comes in the way between you two. She doesn't understand why you keep bringing them in though, don't you love her?

She'd go as so far as to fuck your boyfriend and set a trap for you to come in on the two. At the time, she argued that he came on her and somehow, you believed it.

All of your friends warned you about her, noticing her odd behavior far before you did. You only notice when you're on your 7th boyfriend.

The first one you've ever had, before she came into the picture, was of course the longest that you've had— only breaking up after you were assigned as her roommate.

She's been reassigned to a new dorm very often and a bunch of her previous roommates have started to approach you throughout the months to tell you to escape while you can. You thought they were just paranoid.

You come home one day— unaware of the horrors going inside your shared dorm.

She's sitting on top of your bleeding boyfriend that's lying on the ground. The scene in front of you is violent, blood starting to stain the rug beneath the both of them and a knife that's grasped tightly in her hands.

To your surprise, it's not fear or regret in her eyes but one of excitement.

It took her a while to finally notice you, but when she did, it was sobs. For the first time in your life, you believed the others.

She's fucking insane.

"[Name]! He's crazy. He tried to stab me before so he could have you all to yourself but I managed to take the knife and stab him," she drops the knife before going up to you, fake tears streaming down her face.

"You crazy bitch," you mutter, distancing yourself away from her.

"W-what do you mean?" she stops the crying, a seemingly darker entity starting to possess her entirely. "He started this— not me,"

"No, he didn't," you reply sternly, telling the hard facts she doesn't want to face. "Get away from me,"

She starts sobbing again, but it's mad. "BUT I DID THIS ALL FOR YOU! YOU WITH YOUR STUPID BOYFRIENDS THAT NEVER DESERVED YOU!"

You don't say anything, only watching her break down in front of you, his blood all over her hands. There's guilt that builds up in your throat as you ask: "what did you do, jennie?"

"I GOT RID OF THEM ALL— FOR YOU! THEY TOOK YOU AWAY FROM ME! THEY JUST KEPT COMING BUT I SAVED YOU FROM THEM!" she continues yelling.

That's when it dawned on you: you're fucked.

[hanxku]

ever heard of the tag..."improper use of vision" ? for all my lohen lovers fellas dying under the warm weather recently, take this.

it's warm lately in mondstadt. even at night. so warm you might as well consider refreshing up in natlan.

during this warmth, lohen decided to share a bit of his coldness with you...

lohen's body radiates cryo as his hips slam against yours.

every thrust is deep and rough, making your skins slap and the bed frame groan, the sounds resonating through the favonius quarters. if one were to walk past the room, they would see soft blueish cryo air escaping from under the door.

"look at that..." his hand reaches around and grabs your hip to anchor you even deeper into the bed, his pelvis thrusting down in the same mouvement. "cold enough ?"

"yes. fuck yeah" you'd groan back if you weren't overwhelmed by the pleasure.

lohen's breath comes in ragged and shaky hitches, panting out frozen air between his teeth like a machine. his wine-red eyes are glowing slightly under the effort, staring down at you, freezing that picture of you in his mind. you try to look at him through the soft moonlight but your eyes keep rolling back under his assault. "don't try...." he pants out in a sneer, the effort making his voice shake. "just melt into it...melt into me..."

nothing else mattered. just him, his cold body against yours and his burning eyes on you.

“g…god…” lohen’s hips speeds up, going in and out relentlessly, his eyes fluttering shut under the pleasure. you hold yourself on the bed sheets to take his assault, moaning out in ecstasy. "take it all....take all of me..." his breath is ice-cold against your ear, his shiny frozen earring rubbing your cheek softly. "please...please please take it all...." his tone is shaky and manic.

lohen doesn't have time to say another thing. you grab his snowy cold hair and take his cold lips to your warm ones in a starving kiss. the knight groans and drools coldly as he melts against the it, his cock throbbing between your warm walls, releasing cold liquid, similar to cryo slime.

his moans and pants quicken as he grabs your hips firmly and raises them with all his strength, ramming himself in like a bunny in heat. “oh…god…” finally, in a last agressive thrust, he releases into you, reaching into your deepest parts, sneering out loudly in the high. your nails scratch all the way down his back as you follow him in his high, making his hips shudder against you as he takes the delicious pain.

your eyelids try to blink away the stars. glimpses of him through the moonlight. ice-sweaty, panting, muscles twitching. his cheeks, usually pale, colored in a soft red. his eyes glowing warmly.

such a pure, intoxicating contrast.

his cold hand reaches up for your forehead, brushing away your hair softly. “feeling colder ?” his tone was meant like a mock. but his eyes couldn’t lie.

ice never felt so warm.

[applefishing]

priest caleb x virgin reader virgin reader confesses her lustful thoughts to her kind and gentle priest, unaware of his own battle with temptation. 11k words. read on ao3

You were a good girl.

Good girls weren’t distracted during Sunday sermon. They sat still and attentive, obediently absorbing lessons to carry with them throughout their lives. Good girls were never distracted.

Especially not by their priest.

They weren’t distracted by the hair curling around his neck in pretty little flicks of brown, or by the look in his gentle eyes when his gaze lingered on them in the second row of pews, or by the ways his long fingers firmly gripped the Holy Book as he held it high—far out of reach of the average person.

For two whole years, you remind yourself of these things. You sit through Sunday mass every week without fail, hands folds neatly in your lap, and you ask for forgiveness on your knees beside your bed each night when you realise your focus had drifted from the Lord to His messenger.

It felt much like a test you were failing, over and over and over.

His fingers.

His fingers, above all else, were your undoing.

The Communion procession shuffles forward slowly, drawing you towards your ultimate weekly test. Behold him who takes away the sins of the world. You repeat the words to yourself as the line carries you closer to him. Behold him who takes away the sins…

“Amen,” the elderly woman in front of you mutters under her breath.

And then it’s your turn.

His eyes are gentle and kind, fixed on you as soon as you step forward—unwavering—even as he reaches for the sacramental bread, a small perfectly circular wafer. This was the part that played over and over in your mind as you tossed and turned at night. This was what you asked forgiveness for, above all else. Your heart races in anticipation as his eyes flick to your lips.

You obey his silent request, parting your lips in preparation to accept his offering. He would place the delicate wafer on your tongue with practised ease, careful not to touch you. And then he’d hold the chalice of wine to your lips—helping you take a chaste sip. His eyes would never leave you, and your face would shamefully heat in response.

One small moment of intoxicating proximity.

Repeated, week after week; never changing.

His warm eyes fix on yours as the small wafer approaches your waiting tongue, and you savour the details of his face—surrendering to your habitual sinful indulgence.

Something is different.

You replayed this never-changing ritual in your mind for years. You knew all its minor details. You knew it intimately.

Something is different.

His bottom lip trembles slightly and then drops—falling away from his upper lip. And at the same moment you watch his mouth part, mirroring yours, something else new draws a tiny gasp from your lungs.

His warm finger touches your tongue.

Every week, for years, he repeated the motion of chastely placing the small disc on the tongues of the congregation.

Never before had he touched you. Not once.

“The body of Christ,” he says, hushed, like this was normal.

His parted lips, a touch of his fingertip to your wet tongue, and then, to finalise your torment, he brushes your bottom lip in his retreat.

It’s only the well-formed muscle memory that draws a quiet “Amen” from your lips.

That night, after kneeling and begging forgiveness, you crawl under your covers and desperately will sleep to take you—to free you from your spiralling, sinful remembrance. You toss and turn. You stare at your ceiling. Eventually, you open a window and sip from a glass of water as the cool night air soothes your heated cheeks. And it would be that small sip that finally unravelled you, drawing your mind back to the moment he pressed the lip of the chalice to your lips—the lips he’d touched.

Your cotton nightgown bunches up around your waist as you roll onto your stomach and slip your hand between your legs. It was the way he guided you—the look in his eyes—like he might reach out and wipe away any wine that spilled down your chin if you were too eager. It was the way his pretty fingers wrapped around the cup. It was knowing their warmth. The way they felt on your skin. On your tongue.

He would guide you so gently, if he were here with you now. You’d imagined it before: him watching over you as you traced your fingers through your slick. But never had you imagined him touching. Touching was forbidden. A step too far. He did not touch.

Until now.

A heavenly addition to your sensory experience of him.

It’s what draws the sinful noises from you now: shameful whimpers and gasps as you picture his finger in place of yours—dipping a little inside you.

How could this be such wicked depravity if his finger slipping past your lips could be part of a Holy Rite? Was there really such a difference between two parts of a body? What made the wet heat of your mouth so different from the wet heat between your legs?

It’s these spiralling thoughts, and the flood of tears that follow your cry of his name at your peak, that finally break you.

You were not a good girl.

You were damned.

And only confession could save you.

If you were brave, you wouldn’t hesitate. You’d march through the open church door at the first opportunity and take a place in the pews among a spattering of familiar faces, each waiting their turn to speak to him.

Instead, when weekly confessional hours do arrive, you sit on a small stone bench in the church graveyard and watch people filter in and out. You notice the little changes in them as they leave. Eyes that had been focused on the pavement instead look up into the trees. Their steps are lighter.

A mother who had first passed you hurriedly, tugging her small child behind her, leaves with him in her arms. She pauses and points out a little white rabbit at the edge of the churchyard, bouncing the toddler on her hip a little as she cherishes his reaction. And when the rabbit dips into the bushes, she continues her leisurely pace, engaging with the child’s chatter.

The weight of your burden seems to grow heavier the more you watch them all relieved of theirs. If you hadn’t hesitated at the sight of the open door and rerouted to the small stone bench, you could’ve avoided this. Instead of watching them, you could’ve been sitting in the pews watching him. He would’ve made the child laugh, settling him, so he could talk to his mother.

You loved watching the way they all reacted to him, adored him.

That’s what you should have done; what you should do now. But when you stand, instead of heading inside, you find yourself turning the way you came—scurrying from the church grounds, no braver than a little white rabbit.

When Sunday comes, for the first time in years, you don’t attend.

It’s all the hesitation your body allows before you are nearly sick with anxiety. Wanting it over, you take up position on that same stone bench during confession hours, again. And like the week before, you wait. You watch as a spattering of congregants seeking opportunity for repentance come and go. An hour passes, beyond the departure of his final visitor. Again, you’d let the official hours come and go.

The sky turns a golden yellow as the sun dips behind the trees, and you wrap your small cardigan around yourself as the temperature dips with it.

And then a familiar, warm voice calls your name.

He stands in the stone arch of the old church's entryway, looking out at you. “You must be cold,” he says in his gentle, patient way. “I thought you might be waiting to speak to me last. Some people prefer knowing there’s no one waiting their turn.”

You take a small step forward, arms around yourself in a self-soothing hug. “I was,” you confess. “I’m sorry, I–”

“It’s alright,” he says gently, mercifully cutting you off as a visible shiver takes hold of you. “Come inside, please.”

He stands in the entrance, turning his body to the side as you pass. Somehow, he feels larger—taller—when you’re alone with him. Much like the empty church makes you feel small when its empty of its congregation. He towers over you.

“It must be serious,” he says, his voice echoing slightly. The large wooden door closes as you linger in the aisle between pews. A closed door meant no more visitors. You were the last allowed entry. “Serious enough for you to prefer turning to ice rather than speak to me about it.” He’s slightly teasing as he approaches—clearly trying to ease the tension that has you still wrapped around yourself—cowering like a scared little lamb.

It’s a warm, comforting sort of teasing. Familiar. It’s his natural warmth that contributes to his busy visiting hours. You’d never heard a bad word spoken against him.

It makes your guilt so much worse.

Shame wracks you, suddenly faced with the reality of confessing your wickedness to a man so good and kind. A man so rare. You had been all alone for so long. No family to guide you with unconditional care. He was a little spark of genuine warmth and care, irresistible to someone starved of it.

You couldn’t imagine returning to Sunday mass every week after this, knowing that he might think back to this night every time his eyes landed on you in the pews.

Soft footfalls approach as you stare at the stone floor.

He speaks your name in a hushed, gentle command.He wants you to look at him. To face your shame.

And when you refuse, eyes stubbornly fixed to the floor, you must deal with the repercussions.

For the second time, he touches you.

His fingers rest under your chin as he lifts your head with a gentle pressure. He’s warm. Warmer than he’d been last time. At least, that’s how it seems as your chilled skin leaches the heat from his fingers. They linger, just for a moment, holding you in position as his eyes flick across your face.

Then they’re gone.

“Would the booth make it easier?” he asks, hushed enough to avoid the echo.

There was no shame in hiding, you tell yourself. It was the only way you’d ever manage it. How could you ever tell him the truth with his eyes warming your skin?

He sees the answer in your eyes. And you’re grateful when he takes the lead without further question, letting you trail behind him to the small confessional booth in the corner of the empty church.

“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen,” you begin. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It is… three months since my last confession.” Three months. The last time you’d convinced yourself to confess, only to find yourself listing off trivial everyday faults instead.

The sound of your breathing seems far too loud in the small wooden chamber. So much so that you take in shallower breaths in the silence that follows, self-conscious.

“Are you unwell?” he asks as the silence stretches, kind—like he truly cared. When you hesitate, confused by the unexpected question, he adds, “You were absent on Sunday. I assumed you might’ve been sick, but you look healthy. Nothing serious, then.” The last part isn’t a question. He says it like he’s reassuring himself, like he really, truly cared.

Always so caring, of everyone. It makes it worse.

Your gut flips, anxiety rushing through you. You remember why you’d listed of a few trivial things and escaped in your last attempt. It was unbearable.

You couldn’t do this again.

“It’s a kind of sickness,” you confess, relying on the echo of the box to carry your hushed words through the small hatched window in the divider between you.

He’s quiet, letting you elaborate in your own time.

“I’ve been distracted. I haven’t heard your sermons. Not really.” You dig your fingernails into your thighs. “Not because they aren’t interesting… or helpful. It’s me. I’m full of—” One of your knees starts to bounce automatically. “My head is full of… sickness. Sick thoughts. They won’t stop.”

You focus on his steady breathing in the lull between your confession and his answer, letting the even rhythm of it calm you until your leg stills.

“Has something happened?” he asks. “Something is bothering you.” A pause. “Someone?”

“Someone,” the word leaves you on an exhale.

His next question leaves him faster than any of his previous responses. You haven’t even managed to take in another breath. It’s a falter in the calm rhythm you are used to, catching you off guard.

“Who?”

“It… doesn’t matter.”

It did matter. You’d lied. One moment of impulse and you’d lied. If your distraction had been a man in the pews instead of the one standing at the pulpit, it would be a different matter entirely. You’d have asked Caleb for advice years earlier.

You’d have confessed your eyes had been drifting in the pews, distracted by temptation, instead of focused on him, as they should be. There’d be no confusing, twisted entanglement between his guidance and his unwilling involvement in your sin.

“Gideon,” he says, disrupting your spiralling thoughts. “He’s only been attending a few weeks. I haven’t seen him approach you. Was it after service?”

You’d never heard the name in your life. You hadn’t even noticed a new face in the congregation.

If only you had. If only it was that simple.

When you fail to answer, mind whirring, he continues, “Is that why you weren’t here Sunday?” The fabric of his pants brush across the wood in a way that signals his movement. His voice is a little clearer when he speaks next, closer. “Has he hurt you?”

“No,” you answer, quickly. “No, I—”

“You’ll be honest with me,” he interrupts. “Won’t you?” He sounds a little like a parent about to catch their child in a lie. Not quite stern, but the authority in his tone has you biting your lip.

“It’s not Gideon.”

“Who?”

“That’s what makes it so wicked, Father. I’ve been so afraid—” Movement again, through the divider. It breaks your momentum. You fall into silence.

Like his face, you know his voice. You’ve studied it intently, every week, for years. All the warm, gentle kindness is missing when he interrupts you, “Afraid?”

You pick at the skin at the edge of your nail.

“Of you,” you finish.

Silence follows, except from your breath.

His, for the first time, is inaudible.

You should continue. You should take the silence as opportunity to confess the depths of your depravity. Your lips part, ready—

“Communion.” His voice fills the box—fills your head.

He knew.

He must’ve seen it in your face. Of course he did. He was good and pure and righteous. He would have seen that lustful wickedness on your face each and every time.

Had he been waiting for you to confess it? Had he expected it from you each and every time you came to him, only to be disappointed when you failed to admit to your true sin?

Shame. Embarrassing, pitiful shame.

Your voice is shaky, emotion thinly veiled. “I’m sorry, I—”

“No.” He cuts you off quickly. “This is my weakness. I should be asking your forgiveness.” A bump against the wood. Maybe his elbow. Your eyes lift to the small window separating you for the first time as you turn his words over, confused. “I took advantage of your innocence. I didn’t think you’d notice. I was weak. If I knew you’d see—feel my…” he trails off, sucks in a breath, then, “I shouldn’t have touched you. Forgive me.”

Your heart races as you put together his meaning.

He was talking about his accidental touch of your tongue… and lip.

No, that wasn’t right. He was confessing it was… intentional.

He was confessing.

It’s like a sedative: the daze his words puts you in. Suddenly, instead of being hyper aware of your body, of your anxiety, you feel entirely outside of it—floating outside of yourself. “I don’t understand,” you mutter, disbelief stuttering your ability to process. He was good, and righteous, and loved, and kind, and virtu—

“You dont—,” he starts. “You don’t understand?”

He’d wanted to touch you? Why would he—

“Talk to me,” he adds with a hint of urgency. “You don’t understand?”

“It was on purpose?”

He’s quiet. Then, “You said you were afraid of me. If it’s not that—”

“You wanted to touch me?” you whisper, hardly hearing his questioning through your ongoing daze.

“Yes,” he answers quickly. “I succumbed to—” He sighs. “I gave in.”

He had... lusted. He’d lusted… for you. And even if it had been a one-off moment of weakness, unlike your own, his sin had reached out to brush yours…

Something releases inside of you. Confession rushes from your lips, unrestrained. “Father, bless me, for I have sinned. I’ve also given into lustful thoughts.”

Silence.

Then, “These are your… sick thoughts? The sickness distracting you from sermon?”

You nod. “For two years now.”

“Two—” he cuts himself off abruptly. “During mass.” He shifts. “And when else?”

The marks in your thighs capture your attention again. You scratch at them. “At night,” you confess, hushed. This… is where your sin diverged from his. Shame surrounds it still, heavy.

“Your indulgence…” he trails off.

“Yes, Father?”

A bump against wood. “Why were you absent this past Sunday?”

“I—” You tug the hem of your dress down over your knees. “I was afraid to see you.”

“Because of Communion? Because I—”

“No.” You shake your head, despite knowing he couldn’t see it. “I was ashamed.”

He’s quiet.

It stretches.

Finally, “We all have moments of weakness—”

“But it wasn’t a moment,” you interject. “There’s something wrong with me. Father, it’s—I can’t—My Sunday’s aren’t spent in worship of the Lord, they’re—” spent in worship of you.

You drop your head into your hands, incapable of speaking the words aloud. Then, so quiet you aren’t sure he can even hear you with your head bowed the way it is, “I’d never done it before you.”

When he doesn’t respond, you raise your head. “I’ve never thought about anyone but you. What is wrong with me? To lust for the first time—to lust only for a man of God?”

You focus on his breathing in the silence, hoping to let it calm you like it had before. But it’s different now. It’s uneven, heavier. It stirs your unease instead.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he says, finally.

“But—”

“There is nothing wrong with you,” he insists, firm, without room for argument. “You are… perfection, sent to tempt me.” The wooden bench he sits on creaks with his movement.

“Tell me why you wore that dress,” he adds, gentler.

You look down at the plain dress, hem resting at your knees where you’d tugged it down. Did you have a reason? You hadn’t worn it in while, and the weather was just about to get too cold for you to wear it again for months. That was all.

At your hesitation, he continues, “You wore that the first day I gave in. Apple red.”

“…gave in?” you question, a little wobble in your voice. You know what he’s implying, deep down. But it’s all too much. One thing after the other, shattering all you thought you knew.

And then, unaware of your imminent collapse, he deals the final blow.

“The first time I wrapped my hand around myself and thought of the way looked up at me, all sweet and trusting. You look at me like—”

Your small sob cuts him off, and you press your hands over your mouth, desperately trying to stifle the sounds escaping you without permission.

He stands, draws his curtain back, and exits his half off the booth. Your hands are still pressed over your mouth when he pulls the curtain in your little part of the box aside.

You look up at him with watery eyes, a towering dark shadow. And when he slowly enters and kneels in front of you, his large body fills your little section of booth. “Are you afraid?” he whispers. “Did I scare you?”

You shake your head, hands still clasped across your mouth.

You aren’t breathing at all when he leans a little closer and gently guides your hands from your face into your lap instead. His thumbs brush over your knuckles in soothing caresses as he speaks again, “Why are you crying?”

Months and months of inner turmoil spill from you in shaky half-sobs that you fail to hold back. You look into his eyes—gentle, familiar, warm. He’s an angel filling your vision, dressed in black—sin and salvation. His skin is hot where he touches you. And your eyes flutter closed when his hand lifts to your cheek, ghosting over your damp skin—like he meant to wipe away your tears but wasn’t sure he should.

With a slight tilt towards him, you close the distance.

His knuckles brush your skin, gently wiping at your tears. “I’m so proud of you for coming to speak to me,” he says, voice still lowered. “You’re so good.”

You shake your head quickly, looking down.

He lifts your chin, guiding your focus back up to him. His eyes flick across your face. “Why are you crying?” he asks again.

You suck in a shaky breath, “I don’t know.”

“Overwhelmed?”

You nod, exhaling.

“Mm,” he hums, taking your hand in his. “That’s okay.”

Gently, he guides you from the box. He stands before you, closer than he stood in Communion—a wall of black fabric. You watch his chest rise and fall, rise and fall. Then you tilt your head back to look up at him.

“Deep breaths,” he soothes as your breathing evens out.

His thumb strokes across your knuckles again.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe into the space between you.

He shakes his head, and his palm lifts to your cheek—making proper contact this time. “Don’t. Didn’t I say you did good? I’m proud of you,” he whispers.

“But—”

“Would I lie to you?”

You look up at him with glassy eyes. At your priest. Loved and trusted by all. Gentle and kind and good.

“That’s it,” he breathes. “That’s how you look at me—how you’ve always looked at me.” His fingers slip behind your ear and eventually curl around the back of your neck, holding you steady. “Thought it was your love for the Lord. That I was a privileged conduit, sampling all that sweet love you carried around inside you.”

His fingers press into your skin. “…but it was for me,” he finishes, breathy.

You whimper, tears forming again.

“Shh,” he coos, breath tickling your lips as he lowers himself to meet you. His hands are all gentle again after that brief moment of pressure. One trails up your arm as the other cups the side of your head, thumb stroking across your temple. “Please don’t cry.”

“It was wicked,” you whisper. “I’ve been wicked.”

His hand comes to rest on your shoulder, rubbing back and forth—comforting. His eyes drop to watch the way your cardigan slips off, folding down to expose the thin shoulder strap of your red dress. “No, sweet girl,” he says, distracted. His eyes move across your upper chest before returning to meet your gaze. “You were worshipping the Lord through me.”

His hair looks darker than you’d ever seen it before. The sun is gone now. You’d never seen him by candlelight before. “I was?” you sniffle.

He drags your cardigan back up over your shoulder. “You’re a virgin?”

You nod. Another sniffle.

“And you’ve only touched yourself when you were thinking of me?”

He doesn’t let you drop your head when you try, so you nod—eyes darting to the side in shame.

“What could be more sacred?” he breathes.

His lips ghost over yours before landing on your cheek in a feather-light kiss. You close your eyes, savouring his touch as he leaves a leisurely trail of them across your face. Tender kisses anointing your skin in patient reverence.

“A sweet..” Kiss. “Innocent…” Kiss. “Little lamb.” Kiss. “Using her body to worship Him. You love Him through me. That’s all.” He returns to your mouth, holding your head steady as his warm lips slide across yours—your first kiss. “Through my body,” he finishes, warm breath mixing with yours.

That made sense, your hazy mind offers. It’s why it had consumed you all these years; why you’d never felt it for anyone but him.

Light, bubbly, warmth rises in your chest as the guilt lifts.

Caleb would not lie to you. It was an impossibility.

He watches the smile take over your face with a look you’ve never seen on him before. Then his head drops to your neck, and he’s lifting you into his arms. He doesn’t move. He just stands there, holding you to his body—breathing in the scent of you. He groans something into your neck, a word you can’t decipher. Then he withdraws.

“Would you let me guide you in worship?” he says, a little shaky with his uneven breathing.

“Mm,” you hum, nodding. Whatever that means. It didn’t matter. This was good. Everything was okay now. You’re practically limp in his arms, releasing yourself to his will.

He takes a few step backwards, and then lowers himself into a pew. You sit in his lap, knees at either side of his thighs—relaxed as his strong arms hold you against him. “I’ve resisted for so long,” he says, fingers tangling in your hair at the back of your head.

Then he drags you to his mouth, messy in his indulgence. He’s eager to please the Lord, your mind supplies, as his tongue dips between your lips to meet your own. You have no experience. You don’t know what you’re doing. So you let him take you. There’s a moment, when you are limp in his arms—eyes closed, chin wet with drool—that he dips his long fingers between your lips to play with your tongue. He takes it between his fingertips. Toys with it.

When your eyes flutter open, you find yourself transfixed by the expression on his face as he plays with you. His own lips are parted to accommodate his ragged breathing, and his eyes are hooded, locked on his fingers in your mouth.

Eventually, he lowers you onto your back across the pew and crawls over you. It’s only now you notice his black shirt untucked from his pants. Then his mouth is on yours again, devouring you with a low groan. The wood is cool against your back, contrasting with the heat of him above you—with the heat of his mouth. He tasted a little sweet, like the hard candies he kept at the entrance of the booth.

He’d sucked on one while listening to confessions.

He’d heard their sins, in all his virtuous kindness, and he’d let the sweet lolly melt in his hot mouth.

And now you were tasting it.

You were tasting your sweet priest.

His warm breath tickles your neck when he parts from you.

Then his fingers return. Slipping between your wet lips and into your mouth, he plays. In and out and around your tongue, he explores your mouth like it hid something he treasured. You take in as much of his face as the dim candlelit space allowed. Lost in worship, you hardly process his words when he finally speaks.

“Body of Christ,” he mumbles.

He holds your jaw, wet fingers against your cheek. And you lay limp beneath him, willing to receive, as he hovers over you and spits into your mouth.

You swallow without hesitation, indulging in the brand new expression painting his pretty face. Hunger and satisfaction combined.

He pets your hair with one long gentle stroke, adoration flooding his eyes as he gazes down upon you. It’s a look that has your heart fluttering in your chest as your mind drifts further and further outside of your body and into the space above you—light and free.

As his thumb brushes across your glistening lips, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake, a question flitters across your vacated mind. “Is this sex?” you mutter in a dreamy breathy sigh.

He stills.

You watch the muscles move in his face as his expression shifts. His brows tug together, then relax. His wet lips part, then close, then part again.

“It’s worship,” he answers. Your cardigan had fallen off both your shoulders at some point. He gently lifts the soft fabric back over your bare skin now, putting you back together. “When it’s with me, it’s worship.”

You release a shaky breath. “So I’ll still—I’ll still be a virgin? After?”

His fingers trace over your collarbone, then wrap around your neck lightly. His voice is as gentle and warm as always when he answers, “Only when it’s with me. No one else.”

“No one else,” you sigh, blissful under his exalted guidance.

He nods with an approving hum, fingers slipping from your throat down to your chest. He traces down your body, making little patterns over the fabric of your dress as he goes.

“When I fill you with my cock…”

He makes a pattern over your lower belly as he speaks.

“…and your untouched cunt clings to me…”

His fingers brush at your thigh, where your hem bunches up. “…I might say some terrible, vulgar, things. Perverted depravity—” His fingertips dig into your skin. “—is only natural as such perfect worship is filtered through our imperfect human bodies.”

His warm breath tickles your thighs as he lifts your dress, exposing your cotton panties to the cool air, and to his eyes. He looks up at you through the brown hair that falls over his face. “No matter what I say, remember this is worship. Okay?”

“Okay,” you sigh with a nod, entirely surrendered to him.

“Good girl,” he breathes, the warmth of it tickling you through the cotton. “Angel.”

His finger makes a single light stroke down the centre of the fabric, tickling your clit as he passes. Immediately, your body tenses as you attempt to curl in on yourself, overwhelmed by the newness of the feeling. You’d expected it to feel like it did when you’d slipped your hands between your legs yourself.

It didn’t.

He traps your thighs in the firm grip of his hands, preventing you from escaping him.

“It tickles,” you confess, embarrassed.

“Here?” He brushes over the fabric again, and it’s only his firm grip on one thigh that prevents you clamping him between your legs.

His hands slip just under the dip of your lower back, and he tugs you down the bench a little, towards his mouth. Then, as you look up at the vast vaulted ceiling, he kisses the cotton. It’s nothing more than a peck. And somehow, it feels closer to sin than anything prior. More than his tongue in your mouth, or his candy-flavoured spit.

But this wasn’t sin.

Another gentle kiss, directly over your clit.

This was worship.

“Father?”

“Mm?” he hums.

You can’t see him, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“Should I… kiss you too?” Your cardigan falls off one shoulder again. “I mean like you are. Worshipping your body is worshipping Him?”

He crawls up your body, filling your vision as he hovers over you again. His eyes fall to your exposed shoulder briefly. This time, he doesn’t fix it. “Where I kissed you?” he asks on a ragged breath.

Your eyes drop to his chest, and you fill in the rest of the path down to his belt in your mind. “Between your legs,” you whisper.

His thumb swipes across your lower lip, then he strums it a little—letting it bounce back as he watches its movement intently. “You want to kiss my cock?” he asks, a little rumble in his voice—dropping it lower than you’d heard it before.

Your eyes widen a little, still unused to his vulgar language.

“Remember what I told you,” he adds. “It’s natural, hm? To speak like this.”

You nod.

He lowers his face to your neck, and you look at the ceiling again and he inhales deeply, nose against your skin. Then, “Say it.” His lips tickle your neck as he speaks. “How do you want to worship m—Him?” His chest presses into yours. “Say it.”

The ceiling is a void of darkness. His body separates you from it, warm and safe. You turn your head and breathe in the scent of his soft hair. “I want to kiss you… kiss your cock.”

You jolt a little beneath him as his teeth sink into your skin without warning. “Good girl,” he groans. “So good. So proud of you.” A kiss where he’d bitten you… then another behind your ear… then your cheek… the corner of your mouth. “Just let me taste you a little first,” he whispers. “I’ve wanted to taste you for so long.”

You expect him to take your mouth again.

But he disappears, back down your body, to his position between your thighs.

You close your eyes rather than stare up into the darkness again, focusing on the warmth of him between your legs… on the delicate way he plays with the little strip of cotton covering you. His fingers lift the edges just a little as his breath fills the space he occupies—warming your thighs and cunt alike. “No one has seen it?” he asks as he toys with the fabric.

You shake your head and drop an arm across your head, over your closed eyes. “No, Father.”

“No one has touched it?”

“Just me,” you answer quietly, embarrassed, still.

His finger dips far enough under the fabric to sample the wetness beginning to leak from you. You should be ashamed, wracked with the guilt of sinful indulgence of the worst kind. Instead, a small high-pitched sound escapes you.

“And now me,” he says, low enough you almost miss it. “You’ll let me take these off, won’t you? You’ll let me see?”

“Mm,” you squeak with a nod.

His fingers hook into the waistband. You expect him to take them off quickly, like removing a band-aid.

“This is only for me,” he mutters as he lightly tugs at the fabric, inching the underwear down in a torturous lazy indulgence. “This is worship.”

You nod. “Anyone else would be sinful.”

“Mm. That’s right, angel. That’s good.”

Just before your twitching cunt is exposed to the room, he stops. You open your eyes and watch as he kneels beside the pew so he can guide your underwear down your legs and over your feet.

Then he stands.

He looks down at you.

And you watch as he brings the white cotton to his face and breathes in.

He turns and takes a few steps away. You watch him inhale again.

Then he shoves them into his pocket.

He stands there, with his back to you, lit by the candles at the entrance to the booth.

“Father?” you prompt after a long lingering silence.

His shoulders rise on a deep inhale, then he turns. He stands there, looking at you with his hands in his pockets, just far enough away that you can’t make out his expression in the darkness.

Even when you sit up, he doesn’t move.

You tug your dress down over your knees. “Did I—Did I do something wrong?”

He takes one step forward, the sole of his shoe squeaking over the stone tiles in his haste. But then he freezes again.

“No,” he answers simply.

You tilt your head, trying to make out his expression. The dark empty church seems bigger now. It’s dark corners seem darker. You resist turning around to check nothing is creeping from the dark while your back is turned. The cold starts to bite at you again. You miss him.

It’s only when you wrap your arms around yourself—much like you had when he’d found you on the bench—that he seems to break from whatever invisible string held him back. He surges towards you and drops to his knees at your feet. “Forgive me,” he pleads, wrapping his arms around you and pressing his forehead to your stomach.

Your red dress rides up to your thighs again. He takes the chance to invade the space between your thighs, gripping onto you like a lifeline.

“This is wrong,” he says, head still bowed, pressed against you. “Forgive me.” He grips the dress at your back in closed fists. “I gave in. You’re too sweet. I’ve never strayed before. Forgive—”

“I don’t understand.”

“—me. You’re—”

You shove at his shoulders.

It’s enough to halt his speech, but it does nothing to loosen his hold on you.

“Father?”

He looks up at you. Tortured. That’s how you’d describe the twist of his pretty features now. “I told myself I’d let myself have you once. That it’d be enough. That it’d fix it.” His fists flatten against your back. “But it won’t ever be enough,” he breathes. It leaves him like a confession. But instead of it making him lighter, he sags. His hands slide down to your hips, then a little further. He plays with the puddle of fabric where your dress bunches up at the top of your thighs. “I’m sick,” he mutters, sounding defeated.

“But it’s worship. It’s okay.”

He looks up at you from between your legs, through the hair that falls over his eyes—messier than you’ve ever seen it before. “Mm, it’s worship,” he says. “But it has nothing to do with God.”

You look over to the altar, then to the crucifix on the wall behind it.

Then, you look back at the man kneeling at your feet.

“It didn’t feel like sin.”

His eyes drop to your lips, and then his fingers wrap around your thighs, just below your hem. “No?” His hands warm your thighs where he touches you, squeezing and releasing you in a comforting rhythm. “It did for me, angel. So much I nearly lost myself to it. It was so easy. I’ve spent so long resisting you and all it took was a little confession, and I nearly had your—”

He swallows.

“I’m a bad man.”

You shake your head emphatically, quickly covering his hands with yours. “Don’t say that. Please.”

He looks down at your hands covering his own, lingering there, even when he speaks. “You should find a new church,” he says, entirely unmoving. “Or I’ll leave, if that makes it easier. I can leave.”

He sounds a little like he’s trying to convince himself at the end.

And when he shifts, attempting to pull himself to his feet, you panic. “No!” you cry, wrapping your arms around his neck and dragging him back into you. You wrap your calves around him for good measure. “Please don’t leave me. Please? I’ll be good. I won’t bother you again. I swear I won’t bother you.”

He breathes heavily as you cling to him, forcing his head against you again.

Then, when the tension leaves his body, and you’re sure he’s not about the leap to his feet, you loosen your hold on him enough that he can look up at you. His hand lifts to your cheek. “You are good,” he says. “You’ve always been so good, and you’ve never bothered me. Never.”

“But—”

“I’ll give in,” he interrupts. “I’ll give in eventually. I want you so—” he sighs. “I’ll give in.”

Your eyes flick to the altar again. Just briefly.

A door was opened now, one you’d kept locked and buried deep inside you. His tongue between your lips had been the key to unlock it, and the prospect of him pulling away—of losing him—had swung it wide open on its hinges.

Nothing mattered more to you.

No one. Not even God mattered more than—“Caleb,” you whisper.

His eyes dart to yours. It’s the first time you’ve called him by name. You hadn’t meant to say it aloud.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

He looks at you in a way that makes it immediately clear that you’d never truly seen his gentleness more. Not really. You suppose you’d seen part of it. Maybe a little sliver. But the way he looks at you now fills you with a desperation unlike anything you’ve felt before. A desperation to cling to him. He looks at you like he could offer you everything.

You couldn’t part from him now.

Not ever.

“Have you really thought of me before? In sin?”

He doesn’t look away when he answers. “Many times.”

Even after having his spit dribbling down your chin, you struggle to comprehend the idea of him… touching himself. Especially thinking of you. Was the man before you now really the same pious one you’d idolised all these years?

“And you asked for forgiveness?” you ask softly. It was comforting to imagine someone like him kneeling beside his bed in prayer the same way you had.

His eyes drop now, shame crossing his face.

He grips the bench either side of you and slumps forward, until all you can see of him is the soft brown hair at the crown of his head. Then, “No, I haven’t. Not for this. Not from Him.”

His breath tickles your thighs as you battle your confusion. It’d been a self-soothing search for comfort, not a genuine question. You hadn’t considered he might say no.

“I’ve never strayed before,” he says, head still lowered before you. “Not before you.” His arms move to your back again. He takes hold of your dress and tugs you forward until his head rests on your stomach. “You are my greatest sin,” he confesses, sounded closer to distress than you’d ever heard him. “I don’t understand it. I’ve sat as a helpless passenger as it’s wrapped itself around me—inside me.” He looks up, glassy eyes meeting yours. “You’re inside me.”

Your lips are slightly parted in awe—in stupor.

You weren’t alone in this feeling.

The door—unlocked by his touch—falls off it’s hinges entirely. You could never close it again.

With his glassy eyes still on you, you gently nudge your cardigan from your shoulders and let the warm fabric fall into a pile around your hips.

“What are you doing?” he asks, his eyes widening slightly.

“I feel it too,” you answer, hushed. “I want to be wrapped around you. I want to feel you inside me.”

He shakes his head, and you feel his body tense, like he might try and escape again.

Quickly, you wrap your arms around his neck and fall forward, falling onto him. He keeps his balance for a moment, but gravity wins. He lands on his back, and you manage to cradle his head—preventing it making contact with the stone tile floor.

He’s entirely still.

“Caleb?” you whisper with a little tilt of your head, resting comfortably on top of him.

A muscle in his jaw ticks. “Please—” He swallows. “Please, sweetheart. You shouldn’t—we can’t do this.”

It only takes a little adjustment for you to brush you lips over his. “Why?” you whisper.

His lips tickles yours as he speaks. “I’m sick,” he breathes. His hand glides up your back as he says it, until his fingers wrap around the back of your neck. “You make me sick.” His grip is firm now, fingertips making little indentations in your skin. “I’m supposed to guide you, protect your sweet soul as you walk through this sick world, and instead, I look at you, and all I think about is plucking you and keeping you. Greed and depravity and lust and—”

A little whimper from you silences him.

His eyes flick across your face, studying, and then he takes your bottom lip between his teeth—tugging just a little, then releasing you again. “I realised it when I couldn’t find you in the pews—when Gideon was absent too: it’s not just lust,” he continues, keeping his hold on you. “It’s anger, and violence, and jealousy. I feel it all.”

“Father…” you breathe into his mouth. “I don’t want anyone else to see me, or touch me.” Gently, you cradle his warm cheek in your palm. “No one but you.”

His nostrils flare slightly.

Then his hand drops from the back of your neck, leaving you entirely.

His eyes flick down your bodies, to where your thighs cradle his stomach. Then he turns his head to the side and closes his eyes, shaking it a little, like he’s trying to erase whatever thought his mind had conjured.

You sit up, straddling him. His stomach is firm beneath your palms and you shimmy down a little more, until you’re resting just above his belt.

His brows draw together as you roll your hips, bare pussy separated from his skin only by the cotton of his dark dress shirt. The friction of it feels a lot like your pillow had on nights you’d writhed against it and thought of him.

But you can feel his warmth, seeping through the fabric.

He must feels yours too.

It was your warmest place, after all.

His eyes open, and for a moment, he stares out into the darkness. Then, slowly, he turns his head and looks directly at you—watching as you move against him. Watching as your lips part and you let a few little sounds of pleasure slip out.

His shirt nudges higher with your rhythmic movement.

He does nothing to fix it.

He doesn’t move. Except for his eyes.

They move between your face and the red fabric covering your shame.

He knows his shirt is nudging higher.

He doesn’t look away.

And when it finally creeps high enough to allow you to drag your slippery pussy over his warm stomach for the first time, his hands snap to your hips.

He holds you so tightly, you are forced to halt your movement entirely.

“Stop it,” he scolds, stern.

You tilt your head. He says it like he hadn’t been watching, waiting—as if he hadn’t been anticipating the feel of your messy cunt against him.

“But I need—”

He sits up suddenly, supporting you with a hand to your back as you slip into his lap. “What?” he demands. “What do you need? You came for confession. You needed to confess and be heard. That’s my purpose. That’s what I am to you.”

“Are you angry with me?”

He leans forward, holding you firmly against him. “Why is your little flower all messy? Hm?”His eyes drop between your eyes and your lips, over and over. “What kind of girl rubs her juicy little cunt all over the priest who was supposed to protect her perfect, pure, sweet soul—on the floor of His Holy Sanctuary?”

He bites at your lip before you can even process the lewdness of his words. “Your body is a temple of worship,” he continues, a hint of anger still darkening his voice in a way you’d never heard before. He presses you into him, forcing your breasts to compress against his chest.

You didn’t need to wear a bra with this dress. It wrapped around you so perfectly that it supported you fine all on it’s own.

“Please don’t be angry,” you whisper. “I—I—” Tears swell in your eyes as you stutter, quickly breaching your lower lids and streaking down your cheeks.

As your vision blurs, your world tilts. Your back meets the hard floor gently, and the shape of him hovers above you—obscured by your tears. It all happens in one smooth motion.

And then, without another word, the sound of tearing fabric fills the empty church.

He tears the red fabric from your skin, split from the neckline down the centre of you.

Your chest rises and falls heavily in the stillness that follows.

He’s a blurry figure above you. You haven’t had time to blink away your tears.

His breathing is uneven and heavy, to match your own.

Then, as your vision starts to clear, he falls forward and wraps his warm lips around one of your nipples. There’s no build-up. He starts in a frenzy—a chaotic tandem of his wet swirling tongue interspersed with desperate feral suckling. It fills the echoing darkness with vulgar symphony.

It drags desperate whimpers from your lips. And when one of them sounds like a high, broken cry of his name, he surges into you—wrapping his arms around your back and tugging you a little off the floor and further into his mouth. He hums something around you, the muffled words vibrating around your nipples.

Your eyes lock on the crucifix behind him as he ravages your breasts, animalistic in his intensity. It felt like all-consuming reverence, adoration… worship.

It was worship.

Worship was good.

He was good.

You aren’t even aware you are doing it when you start muttering. It’s only when he detaches from you with gasping breaths and looks up into your eyes that you realise it.

What had you been saying?

Your nipples, wet with his spit, pebble tight in the frigid air.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

That was it.

You had been thanking him.

He sucks in a long shaky breath. Then, with his eyes fixed on yours, his large, warm hand cups your breast—covering it entirely. “These were made to nurture new life,” he begins. He’s all gentle, guiding authority figure now. This was how you’d always known him. He has the same cadence he used in the booth when he was offering up the Lord’s teachings. “They’re His perfect design.” He palms your breast, massaging it without hesitation or restraint. “Don’t you think it’s right—” He takes your other breast in hand and leans back a little so he can watch as he gropes you almost painfully. “—that we honour and cherish His perfect creation?”

He swings a leg over you, never ceasing his rough kneading. “Take it off,” he instructs, rolling his hips towards you. “Undo the buckle.”

His belt is hidden under his loose shirt. You fumble a little with it, half-blind. He doesn’t stop to help you. He plays with your breasts instead, looking down at you from above.

“That’s it,” he coos in gentle encouragement as you slip the leather through the loops at his waistband.

It’s only then that he lifts his hands from you.

He sits above you, one leg on either side of your body—holding his weight off you. And you watch as he unbuttons his shirt. The collar goes first. He tosses the white strip aside without looking at it’s landing place.

His pretty fingers work at the buttons.

He makes it about half-way.

Then he grips the fabric and tears. Buttons pop off and scatter across the stone around you.

And then he’s bare.

Muscle sculpts him like a living, breathing work of art. He’s— “Beautiful.”

His chest rises and falls heavily as he gazes down at you, head tilting a little as the word slips from your lips involuntarily.

“Mm?” he hums, falling forward over you. “What was that?”

When you avoid his gaze, he grips your jaw in his palm. “Touch me,” he says, “as I touched you. Worship Him through me. We are created in His image.”

He takes your hand, falls back on his heels, and lift you to your feet as he stands.

You are bare, and he is half-bare. Somehow, he feels taller than he ever had before.

Then he places your palm on his chest, flat against his warm skin. “This is my body,” he says, dark hair falling over his eyes. “Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, which you have from God…” He quotes the passage as he guides your hands across his torso. “So we treasure it, and and honour Him through it.”

His stomach is firm under your palm, rising and falling shallowly as he guides you to the little trail of hair that disappearing down into his waistband. “Look at me,” he commands.

You obey, fingering brushing the hem of his underwear.

“I’m a bad man,” he says.

You shake your head, frowning. He was wrong. He wasn’t bad, he was everything good and safe and warm.

He catches your chin just as it dip downwards; as your attention is drawn to the movement at his hips. He keeps your eyes fixed on his as he undoes his fly with one hand. “I’m a bad man,” he repeats. “I want to fuck you,” he breathes, a little ragged now. “Pretty little virgin comes to her trusted priest asking for forgiveness and he lowers her to the cold floor, naked, and tells her he wants to shove his leaking cock deep inside her. Is that a bad man?”

You can’t respond. Not with the way he grips you.

“He tells her he wants her to kiss his throbbing cock. To worship him, like he was her god. He wants her to put him above all other gods, above her God. He’s a jealous man, without exception.” Fabric hits the floor, and slowly, he guides your hand into the elastic of his underwear. “He wants her on her knees, looking up at him with her sweet, devoted eyes, promising she’ll put no one else above him.” You gasp as he guides your fingers around him, hot and thick. “Is that a bad man?”

His other hand slides up your stomach to wrap around your breast, still wet from his spit.

“He wants to fill his pretty little angel with his hot cum, until she’s bred nice and full, and then when her pretty tits ache with sweet milk—” He squeezes at your breast as he speaks, over and over. “—he wants to suck at her until it dribbles down his chin. Is that a bad man?”

He leans down and places a gentle kiss to your lips. “He wants her to call him Father when he’s inside her,” he whispers. “He wants her to cry as she sucks at his cock with her naughty little cunt because she knows it’s bad.” He squeezes your hand around his erection. “You know it’s bad, don’t you, angel?”

One shaky breath. Two. Then you nod.

He lips curve into a little smile, proud. “Good girl,” he whispers. Then he steps away from you, separating you from him.

You take a small step to follow.

“No.”

You freeze, wobbling a little on your feet in your haste to obey.

“Go lay down on the steps and spread your legs.”

Your eyes flick to the stairs leading up the pulpit, then back to him.

You rock on your feet again, this time in hesitation.

The stone is cold on the soles of your feet. If you stood there long enough, they might go numb.

But the steps are covered in a dark, red carpet.

He takes a small step towards you. “Didn’t you come here to confess? Hm? Show me. I need to see the part of you that aches for me.”

His eyes heat your skin as you slip past him and climb the steps. There’s only a few.

He’s closer when you turn.

And he’s entirely bare.

He stands in the candlelight, just in front of the first pew, watching you—waiting for your obedience. And as you lower yourself onto the steps, leaning back to prop yourself up on your elbows, his hand wraps around himself.

You can still feel the heat of him in your palm.

“Spread your legs,” he commands.

“Mm,” you nod. “Yes, Father.” Then you drop your knees, exposing your messy centre to his hungry eyes and the cold air. He’s silent as your cunt clenches around nothing, wanting. He strokes over himself in gentle twists, base to tip—eyes locked on your offering.

“Are you going to ask me what I think?” He doesn't look up from between your legs as he speaks. “That’s what you came here for, isn’t? For help?”

You nod, readjusting yourself on your elbows a little.

He closes the distance between you and lowers himself onto his knees on the bottom step. “I can see it clenching,” he murmurs. “Greedy. Hm? Is it greedy, angel?”

Your lips quiver as you suck in a shaky breath.

“Mm,” he hums. “Tell me why you touch it. Help me understand.”

“I don’t know,” you mutter with a shake of your head.

“You’ll tell me the truth,” he orders. It’s not like earlier, in the booth—when he was still the man you’d thought you’d known these past two years. He’s all stern authority now. There’s no doubt. You will tell him the truth.

“Felt empty,” you confess in a little whine and roll of your hips. “I felt so empty.”

He leans closer. “Yeah? Poor little baby. A virgin with an achy little hole…” His fingers wrap around your ankle. “Empty,” he mutters. "So proud of you for coming to me,” he says as he strokes up your calf in a comforting caress. You struggle not to squeeze your thighs together, tortured by the lack of friction and the pulse of your cunt under his lingering gaze.

Then he lowers himself down between your legs. His finger strokes the skin just around where you want him most. “Sweetheart,” he breathes. “You need filling with the Holy Spirit. You’re all empty, yeah? You came to me because you knew I could fix it? Because I can fill you?”

He’s asking you a question, but he’s focused entirely on your twitching pussy as you flinch under this teasing touches. There is no logic to his questioning regardless. He’s consumed by the lust you share—slave to it.

“Who better to fill you than me?” he mutters as his fingertip dips into your hole. It’s barely a prod, easing back again as soon as your soft entrance offers a little resistance.

“Just for you…” you breathe.

“Hm?” He looks up. “What was that?”

“Only want you.”

He crawls over you slowly, forcing you to look into his eyes as he asks, “Me? Yeah? You came to your priest to fill your empty little pussy?”

“Forgive me,” you whisper.

He brushes his knuckles from your temple down to your chin. “I’ll help you, angel.” His lips brush over yours. “My angel…”

When he climbs off you and stands to his feet, a tiny part of your brain fires off in panic—afraid of him leaving you. But then his pretty fingers wrap around the thick length as it bobs above you. “It needs anointing,” he says with a gravely darkness in his voice.

He towers above you, skin glowing golden as the candlelight bounces off him. The same strong fingers that gripped the Holy Book high above his head each Sunday glide over the length of him as he looks down upon you.

He takes one step backward, down the steps. “On your knees,” he instructs. His aim becomes clear as he takes one step closer again, levelling himself at the perfect height for your mouth. “Tell me,” he prompts. “Where do you want to kiss me?”

On a shaky breath, you exhale, “Your cock, Father.”

You watch his closed fist stroke over his length, from the base to the tip. There’s a little shine there, at the end of it, leaking from the slit. “Alright, angel. Anoint my cock with your drool, hm?” He lets go of it, and you watching it bob a little—heavy. Looking up at him for reassurance, you level yourself with the head and touch your lips to him tentatively. One gentle kiss. “That’s it,” he coos. So you place another to his skin, right at the very tip. It bobs a little as he shifts his weight. Then you dip your tongue out, catching a little of the shine at the slit.

A bird calls in the night as it flies somewhere nearby.

His head drops back.

“This is what you needed,” he sighs. “This is what you came to me for. Isn’t it?”

You nod with a hum as you take the tip of him between your lips, tongue working in clumsy little swirling flicks—confidence building.

“Good girl,” he praises, looking down at you again. “Oh, my good girl. Just play with it. Just like that. Sweet little kisses for Father’s cock. Oh, Fuck. Oh God,” he groans.

He slips from your lips as you startle a little, looking up at him. The vulgarity had become your new normal. But this was new.

“What is it, baby?” he coos, stroking your hair. “I shouldn’t take the Lord’s name in vain. I’m sorry.” He takes his cock in hand as he apologises, standing on the steps of the pulpit, in the empty church where he gives his sermon each Sunday.

No one else would ever see him like this. He was too good. He was loved and trusted and righteous. And his cock was wet with your spit.

When you stand to your feet at his guidance, he still towers over you from the step down.

“Are you gonna put it inside me now?” you question with a little tilt of your head.

He takes one step down and runs his fingers through his hair. For a brief moment, it almost looks like he comes back to himself—to the version of him that almost left you—good and virtuous. It fights to take over.

So you take one step towards him.

He takes a step down again, in return, away from you.

“I’m so empty, Father,” you whine, slipping your fingers down between your legs. “Need you to fill me up again. Please.”

A further step down has him standing on the stone tiles.

So you lower yourself onto the steps again, leaning back and parting your thighs.

He stands there as you play with yourself, slipping your fingers through your slick until your clit is as sloppy as the fluttering entrance you leak from.

His heavy cock twitches as you watch each other. He doesn’t touch it.

“Please, Father,” you plead with a half-sob, on the edge of tears. “My pussy…”

He takes a small step towards you and pauses again.

“I know it’s bad,” you continue, somewhere between a sob and a whine. “It’s wicked. My naughty pussy wants to worship your cock, Father. Wanted it so long. I think about it during mass. I imagine you inside me. I come every week for you.” You dip your finger inside yourself, whimpering a little. “Don’t you want me?”

His chest rises and falls heavily as he approaches. He’s slow, like a predator stalking.

“So bad,” he mutters as he lowers himself onto the steps between your legs.

He watches as you play with yourself, messy and clumsy.

“Sent to tempt me,” he continues muttering as his fingers wrap around himself again. “That’s what you are, aren’t you? Are you from the Devil? Made to look like a perfect little angel? Is that it?” His hand strokes along his whole length, base to tip, over and over in a slight twisting action as he speaks. “You were made for me, weren’t you?”

It sounded right. Made for him. You’d never wanted anyone else.

He lowers himself over you before you can answer.

“I’ll never stop wanting you,” he warns. “It’ll get worse and worse. I can feel it. This obsession.”

His forehead drops to yours. And with your eyes closed and his warmth over you, the slick tip of him slides over you for the first time. You want to kiss him, but he doesn’t let you get close. Instead, he breathes into your mouth as his tip collects all the slick between your folds and spreads it in an obscene mess between your thighs. “This belongs to me. Only I get to fill your greedy little pussy, yeah?”

His lips brush yours.

“No one else touches it. No one else looks at it.” He prods at your virgin hole, indulging in the sweet spongy heat that presses back at him. “This is worship,” he breathes. “You’ll suck me inside your sweet cunt, all needy and sweet and looking at me like you do in Communion. You’ll worship me. Above all else.” A chaste kiss. “Then I’ll flood you with cum, so you’re nice and full, yeah? Does that sound nice?”

“Inside,” you plead as you squirm, trying to take him in as he slips over you again and again.

He breathes into your neck as he prods at you a little harder. “You gotta let me inside. Can feel you sucking at me. Take me inside, sweet girl. Come on.”

He kisses your neck as you try to take him, letting your muscles go slack under him as he eases inside you over and over. “There you go,” he mumbles. “Fuck, that’s it. Perfect fucking cunt. Mine.”

It’s just the tip of him. It fills the ache beyond anything you’d managed with your fingers. His breath, his voice, his warmth, and his thick hot cock stretching your walls open.

It’s enough to drag tears from you again.

He kisses them away as they wet your cheeks.

“You’re inside. Inside me.”

His brows draw together as you squeeze at him, clenching rhythmically.

“Thank you, Father,” you whisper.

He groans, and then he shifts, and impossibly, he fills you further—spearing apart your walls until it feels like you might look down and see the shape of him in your belly.

“We shouldn’t—” he mutters. “Forgive me.” His hips drag back, and then he’s pressing into you again. “Forgive me.” He bites at your earlobe. “Naughty pussy. Naughty girl. Desperate for her priest to fill her with cock. Fuck. Fuck, you feel so good.”

“This is sex,” you mewl.

He bites into you, feral, and the obscene slap of skin echoes from the pulpit steps as his hips slam into yours. “This is sex,” he answers, breathless. “This is what you wanted. You wanted to suck on my cock with your perfect little cunny. You wanted to be full of me, hm? This is what you wanted.”

“He’ll forgive us,” you whisper into his ear. “I’m made for you. He made me for you. How can it be wrong?”

“Yeah?” he rasps, looking a little frenzied when he lifts his head to find your eyes. “You made for me?”

“Can’t you feel it?” you ask with a roll of your hips.

You watch his eyes flutter shut.“Yeah. Yeah, sweetheart, I feel it. Wrap around me so perfect.” He grinds into you, indulging in the feeling of your walls rippling around him in desperate waves. “I’m keeping you. You’re mine now. My pretty girl. Mine to fuck, and kiss—” He licks at your jaw. “—and breed.” He drops his weight onto you, smothering you in his heat. “Gonna keep you safe and warm. All mine.”

“Do you think He’s watching?” you whisper in his ear.

He groans into your neck. “Tell me who you were thinking of,” he orders, low and gravelly. “When you looked up at me during Communion. Tell me.”

“You.”

He draws his hips back and begins fucking you just with his tip in shallow little rocking thrusts. “No one else before me, hm?” he prods as you clench rhythmically around him, attempting to draw him back in. “You worship me with this cunt. Only me.”

You nod desperately, emphatically. “Only you.”

Pleased, he sinks back inside you with a low groan.

All your life you’d believed your body was a temple of the Lord; that you were filled with His Spirit; that you carried Him inside you always.

But you’d been empty. You’d been so, so empty. Longing to fill the cold, hollowness inside you. You’d desperately returned to this church week after week, believing the man at the pulpit was merely a messenger between you and your heavenly God. Believing your fixation was your failure—that he was temptation, and only in submission to God could you be delivered from him.

But with his cum anointing your skin, and his large warm body sheltering you from the cold, you know the truth of it all: anything, or anyone, which worked to separate you from him, could be nothing but the greatest evil. He was your salvation. And nothing would come before him.

Your face is quickly wet with tears again as you roll against each other in the dark, empty church—indulging in your mutual worship. His mouth adorns your neck in messy kisses as you mutter in his ear: praising him, worshiping him. You can’t stop, desperate to release the intensity of your adoration upon him.

And when he cradles your cheek in his hand and gazes down at you from above, you see it in his eyes: love, devotion. “My good girl,” he breathes.

[pearlescenthoney]

my dearest honey!!! congratulations on reaching 2k followers. that's such a huge achievement, and honestly—so so so well deserved. you have earned all this love and support, every nice comment and every single like. that's youuuu baby! we love and appreciate what you do for this community every single day, so grateful you are here to share your angsty & nasty ideas with us. <33

enough yappin' . lets come to my requests (u can pick the one u like the most!)

rival kingdom's king!rafayel x princess!reader + brat taming

pervy roommate!rafayel x innocent nerd!reader + breeding

best friend!rafayel x camgirl!reader + toy usage

thank you so much for considering, the requests u have done so far are super yummy <33

best friend! rafayel x camgirl! reader + toy usage

a/n. so sorry for the wait! i made raf a bit of a shy nerd to hit two birds with one stone and do @uninterestedseductress ’s request as well! thank you for the nice words, i hope you enjoy this! ❤️

event page | event masterlist

the bedroom was bathed in the warm amber glow of your ring light, casting soft shadows across the rumpled sheets where you knelt. your broken tripod was propped up in the corner, long abandoned, and your new camera… cameraman, rafayel, stood just behind the adjacent door of your bedroom.

camera in hand, his knuckles white around the device as he angled it through the intentional gap.

“you’re sure about this?” he’d asked earlier, his voice strained, eyes refusing to meet yours.

“raffy, please.” you’d begged, and the nickname sealed the deal.

he’d nodded, swallowed hard, and positioned himself exactly where you needed him for your lewd POV video — being caught masturbating.

now you were on your hands and knees, the pink silicone dildo buried deep inside your cunt, your hips rocking back against it with shallow thrusts. your thighs trembled from the effort, slick arousal coating the toy and dripping down your inner thighs in glistening streaks.

“f–fuck.” you moaned, loud enough for the camera to catch, loud enough for rafayel to hear.

your head was down into the sheets, hair spilling around your face like a curtain as you fucked yourself stupid on the toy.

“mhm, yes, right there–”

from behind the door, you heard rafayel’s sharp intake of breath, the barely audible hitch in his throat as the toy went deeper inside you.

he’d seen your content before, you knew. that accidental glimpse of a leaked post months ago, the way his face had gone scarlet and he’d stammered through an apology even though you’d laughed it off and told him it was fine.

you wanted your best friend to see you like this.

but this was different. he was watching live. watching you perform, watching you fall apart, watching the way your greedy cunt swallowed the dildo again and again as you moaned like a whore.

your arm burned with the effort of keeping the angle right, fucking yourself for the camera’s benefit.

but your mind was elsewhere — on the man behind the door, on the way you’d caught him looking at your lips one too many times, on the tentative touches he’d always pull away from too quickly.

you wanted your best friend to give in.

“r–rafayel.” you whimpered suddenly, the name rolling out of your mouth naturally as the tip hit a sensitive spot inside you.

that made your arm falter, fingers trembling on the suction cup and with that...

the dildo slipped from your grip, detaching from your pussy with a wet pop and landing on the sheets with a soft, slick thud. your body felt empty, aching, your hole clenching around nothing as you turned your head towards the door.

with the sweetest pout.

“rafa–yel.” you said again, your voice breaking from the lost pleasure. “please. please come help me.”

a long, agonizing silence. you thought he would refuse the invite; value your friendship more than a romantic relationship.

but then the door creaked fully open, and he stepped into the room.

he looked absolutely wrecked. his purple curls were disheveled, like he’d been running his hands through them. his cheeks were flushed a deep red, and his eyes were dark, pupils blown wide as they raked over your naked body. he was wearing loose sweatpants and you could see the obvious tent straining against the fabric, the outline of his hard cock pressing insistently.

your pussy throbbed at the sight.

“i...” he cleared his throat, unable to look at your face, his gaze fixed somewhere on the sheets. “i got it… the video. should i stop recording?”

“no.” you breathed. “keep going. i need you to– i need more footage. but i need your help first.”

the hand between your thighs, soaked in arousal, beckoned him to your bed. only to point down at the toy.

he stepped closer, his movements jerky and uncertain, his boner swinging in his sweatpants tentatively. when he reached the bed, he bent down and retrieved the discarded dildo, holding it awkwardly in his palm like it might bite him.

it was covered in your slick, glistening under the warm lights.

“h–here.” he offered weakly, extending it towards your dangling hand. “go on...”

you shook your head, reaching out to wrap your fingers around his wrist and press the tip of the dildo to your fluttering cunt.

you heard him groan behind you.

“raffy...” you said softly. “i want you to do it. please, help me put it in.”

his breath shuddered out of him. “i don’t... i don’t know if i should–”

“please.”

the plea hung in the air for a second. you watched the war play out across his face — the shy, respectful best friend who’d never pushed, versus the man who’d been dreaming about this exact scenario for months.

his jaw tightened as his decision was made.

“okay.” he whispered. “okay, yeah, i can– i’ll do it.”

he moved around you, still clutching the camera in one hand, still thinking it was just for a video. you repositioned yourself, arching your back and dropping your chest down to the mattress, offering yourself up to him like you always wanted.

the position put your soaked pussy on full display, shining with arousal, your folds swollen from your earlier ministrations.

“fuck.” he cursed under his breath as he took in the view.

he positioned his body behind you, bending slightly to be closer to your entrance. the tip of the silicone dildo pressed against your hole, teasing, and you whimpered, pushing back against it.

“tell me.” he said, adam's apple bobbing with need. “tell me what you need.”

“i need you to fuck me with it.” you gasped. “hard. i need it deep. please, raffy–”

“shh, i’ve got you.”

the toy pushed inside you in one smooth, wet slide, and you cried out, your fingers fisting in the sheets. there was no rhythm — he was shaking, his grip on the toy unsteady; but he was thrusting, driving it into you with increasing urgency. the angle was different from before, better, hitting something deep inside that made stars burst behind your eyes.

“like that?” he asked, checking on you. “is that– fuck, you’re so wet. i can hear it, i can–”

you were so loud, the obscene squelch of the toy moving in and out of your cunt filling the room. your thighs were trembling, your toes curling against the sheets. you could barely breathe, could barely form words, but you managed to whimper out his name like a mantra.

“yes, yes, raf–”

the camera shook in his grip, barely catching you in the frame now. but you didn’t care — this wasn’t for your fans anyway.

this was for him, for the friend who’d been too timid to make a move, for the man whose cock was straining against his sweatpants and making your mouth water.

“rafayel.” you pushed yourself up on one arm, twisting to look over your shoulder at him. his face was flushed, his eyes wild and fixed on where the toy disappeared inside you. “i ugh– want–”

“what?” he slowed his thrusts, his breath coming in harsh pants as he remembered why he’s doing all this — for your account. “should i change something?”

“y–yes, the dildo– ’want you.” the words tumbled out, raw and desperate, your hand jumping from beneath you to grasp one asscheek and open up.

“not the toy. i want your cock. i’ve wanted it for so long, raf–”

his eyes snapped to yours, wide with lust, his dick throbbing in his pants at your words. “huh?”

“please.” you begged, letting your skin jiggle free and reaching back to grip his thigh, brushing at his tent. “please, i need to feel you. i need your cock inside me.”

a shudder ran through him, and for a moment, you thought he might say no. but then the camera was thrown away at the edge of the bed, his (now) free hand clutching the flesh of your ass.

spreading you once more.

“ra–rafayel?” you moaned into the sheets as he pulled the toy out fully, only to jam it back in with a loud squelch.

“ah, for that…” he muttered between gritted teeth, hand thrusting the dildo deep inside you until the silicone balls slapped your aching clit.

“i ngh– need to stretch out your cunt more.”

©pearlescenthoney 2026. do not copy, translate, or claim any of my writings or works as your own.

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