18+ Blog - MINORS DNI. Themes of dark, obsessive 'love' and explicit language. You have been warned. Hey đš I'm Rose, I'm 28 and here you'll find random drabbles I create.
NSFW/MDNI. Rafayel body painting female reader. Slight possessiveness but nothing crazy. Sweet. Hoping he used non-toxic paint lmao 1Kish.
âBe still.â He hums, brows furrowing as he flicks his gaze from you to the canvas. His warm breath fans over your skin as he peers down at you, mauve hair falls in messy waves across his forehead. His eyes are lit only by the faint candlelight and the moonlight that poured in through the windows.
Itâs difficult, but you try to steady your breathing. Your arms ache from your position, and you squeeze your thighs together. Goosebumps erupt on your skin from the cool, briny air that billows in from the open balcony door. His eyes bore into yours, a frown playing on his lips. You fight he urge to lift your head, locked on him - always locked on him, the way a sunflower chases the warmth - as he carefully places the canvas aside with a tight sigh.
"This isn't working." he mutters. Pensive as your chest tightens at the thought of disappointing him. He examines his paintbrush, glaring at it as though it were deliberately misbehaving.
You're readying yourself to sit up when you feel the sudden lick of cold paint on your cheek. You blink, forcing your body to be still as you watch him advance towards you. Advancing over you until he takes up all of your vision. The smile that plays on his lips. The way his eyes skim over the way your nude body contracts, stuttered as his paintbrush swept down your cheek. Swirled down your neck, into the dip of your collarbone, and you writhed at the feeling of the cold paint tinting your skin a brilliant sapphire â
âStill.â He commanded. âOr do I need to tie you up?â
Heated eyes follow the brush as it dips to the swell of your breast. Your breath hitches as you feel the soft bristles circle closer and closer to your nipples. You startle as he presses down, firm and teasing as a little noise escapes your throat. You see him smile as he slows down, resting his wrist on your stomach. Violet eyes soak in your reactions as you shudder, shying away as your back arches.
âGood,â he purrs, voice uneven as he slowly trails the brush across to your breastâs twin. His free hand comes up to cup your freshly painted tit, smudging the nipple gently with his thumb. âYouâre so sensitive here, arenât you?â Your composure cracks as your hands fly down to grip his hands, writhing, wriggling your hips from how sensitive you are.
âShh,â he scolds gently, slapping your hand away gently. Thereâs no real heat in his voice as he continues massaging, eyes dark and blown as they watch how you react. Opening up to him little by little, like a flower unfurling, as the pleasure washes over you. His Adamâs apple bobs, his full mouth parting slightly as he feels the paint on your skin. The sight of you is so delicious it ached to watch, but he canât tear his eyes away. He lifts the brush from your nipple and sits back with satisfaction as your breath becomes labored.
âAre you worked up just from that?â He lets out a shaky breath, and the look he gives you then shoots directly to your core. Slack and awed and adoring.
âI have an idea.â He says, low. You hear the excitement thrumming through his voice and it sends a tingling thrill straight to your core. âAre you up for it?â He asks, quickly. An edge of impatience to his voice. Always so impulsive, your artist.
You manage to nod, barely, before he grips your thigh, staining you with paint there.
You try to close your legs, acutely aware of the small hairs that have sprung up since the days you have shaved. He nudges your legs open again, patiently, dark eyes flicking up to meet yours in silent command. The tension in your shoulders ease as you see the intensity in his gaze. It made you squirm, not only the way he moves the brush slowly, building everything up. It was the way he pored over you with those greedy violet eyes. Snatching up every piece of you. His eyes devour every little movement, focused on your core, parting your lips with his stained thumbs. He hums approvingly, snaking a pattern down your naval with his paintbrush, leaving a trail of blue in its wake.
âHow does that feel?â He whispers, voice hoarse. His eyes are two dark pools as he watches the way you twitch. He plucks another brush from his easel, firm and rounded. Dips the paint, this time a shock of emerald from what you can glean from the dim light. Circles your clit, gentle at first.
Too gentle. Not enough.
âGood,â you manage to choke out. âFeels good. But-â you hesitate.
âHm?â He hums in mock confusion. Dragging the bristles slowly over your clit and watching as your cute little stomach avoiding exactly the pressure you need. âUse your words, love,â he says softly, almost mockingly.
It takes a few tries for you to work up the courage. Swallowing, squirming, until the heat that was building up in your core was dashed again by yet another careless flick of his wrist. A whine, low and needy, escapes your throat.
âWords,â he murmurs, totally absorbed by this display, his own breath shallow and uneven at this point. He watches the way your bare hips roll upwards, seeking friction, and his own cock throbs painfully against the confines of his trousers.
âMore,â you breathe. âPlease.â
The smile that curls his lips looks sinful. He presses down, hard, his other hand coming to trace the folds of your pussy gently. Feather light touches. âGreedy,â he coos, lush with affection. You jolt a little as one finger enters you easily. Youâre soaking his lounge sofa, and let out a strangled moan as his fingers curl inside of you. He keeps lazily moving the brush over your clit as he begins to pump in and out of your squishy, hot cunt.
âGood girl,â he praises, as your hips move in rhythm with him. He edges closer to you, only pausing to change the position of your arms, splaying them above your head with the precision of an artist. âSo good, arenât you? God, youâre beautiful.â
âDonât stop,â you whine, head lolling back so prettily on the satin cushions. He grins at you, wicked for a moment as he slows â but he canât bring himself to tease you too badly, not when youâve been so good for him. Not when youâre splayed on his sofa. His muse. All his.
When your ecstasy crashes over you, you grip his wrist, keeping him there. Heâs so enthralled he forgets to scold you for moving without permission. He lavishes the sweet flutter of your walls around his fingers. He slides out slowly, savoring it. Teasing you, the way he does with everything. He brings his fingers to his lips and sucks on them leisurely, languid as a cat.
And just like that, he stills and something else seems to shift. As mercurial as the turn of the waves.
âPerfect,â he groans, grabbing his canvas and cradling it close to his chest as he pushes you down, keeping you pinned. âHold on. Stay like that. Donât move.â As he takes the paintbrush, soaked in lush paint and your arousal, and presses it to the canvas with renewed fascination. âPerfect. My beautiful little muse.â
NSFW/MDNI. Semi-submissive yandere x female reader, power imbalance if you squint, servant x noble kinda? Weird drabble
Your legs were trembling already.
The plush carpet beneath you tickled your neck as your head lolled to the side.
Eager, yearning eyes, black as pitch and fixed on you intently, drinking in every twitch in your expression. He lapped his greedy tongue from the bottom of your slit to the very top, lavishing over that sensitive pebble as one hand, practiced, skimmed up your thigh.
âLike this, mistress?â His voice was low but strained. You could hear it, that aching need to please, and some dark pleasure curled inside you at his words. You nodded as best you could with his tongue squirming over your most sensitive spot.
Those clever fingers, deft and slender, gathered your arousal and pressed a little against your entrance, teasingly light. You were breathing hard as he crawled between your thighs, nudging them slightly, and you marveled at how persistent he could be when he wanted to.
You wondered how much more he hid from you, how much of that meek demeanour was an act.
âShall I make you feel good?â His eyes flicked over your expression. Waiting, but you could taste the impatience on him as he dragged his finger slowly up to your clit, circling it slowly.
âYes,â you breathed, âMake me see stars,â and your hand found a handful of thick curls. He winced at the rough tug, but then he looked at you, slack with awe and â
A hunger. You saw a glimpse of it before he managed to mask it. A terrifying glimpse of utter adoration. The sensation of his finger sliding into yours â he peppered kisses on the inside of your thighs, gaze boring into yours as you adjusted. You were so wet, it didnât hurt, but he moved his digit in wide circles, feeling every inch of your walls, smiling warmly as your toes curled and your breath hitched.
âLike this, mistress?â He purred, and his voice was pure light. âOr this?â You bit your first as he curled his finger just right, fuck, the way he always did. The rest of your composure began to crumble.
He pumped you slowly at first. Relishing it. Even when you yanked his hair in warning, muttering between moans and gasps to stop fucking around and make me cum, hw juar hummed with that faux innocence and slowed down. His eyes rolled back as he felt the pain blossom at his roots, that delicious pain that told him he was yours, and he loved it. He loved everything you had to give him, pleasure or pain,
His own arousal was uncomfortably tight against his pants as he adjusted his position between your legs. His other arm was half asleep, prickling painfully, but his focus was razor sharp as he increased the pace. You looked so pretty like this, choking on your threats as tears brimmed in your eyes, so needy, and he had to choke back his taunts because he didnât want you to make him stop.
âDoes it feel good?â His own breath was labored now, curls falling in his face as your hand gripped his wrist, guiding him further in until you felt the pad of his finger brush your cervix. You felt yourself tighten around him as the feeling became too much, the warm wave of pleasure crashing over you and you arched your back against the plush floor. Your grip was punishing, and the pain screeching through his scalp throbbed deliciously as he brought you there. He slid his finger in and out steadily until your voice was broken as you told him too much, and he pretended not to hear until your wrist wrenched him out of you.
He was breathing hard, sucking on his finger before you could tell him no, resting on his knees as he watched the way your pretty cunt glistened and twitched. At the moonlight on your bare breasts, your robe fallen slightly, as you composed yourself.
âLick me clean.â You said without looking at him. Your voice was raw, calm. More commanding. More you.
He crawled forward, expression hazed and dreamy. He was shaking a little, you felt it in his strong hands as he delicately opened your thighs and stuffed his nose between your folds, eyes fluttering shut in ecstasy.
He took it too far, deliberately darting his tongue out to suckle on that sweet nub - he always did. You jolted, hissing something about overstimulation, but iit wasnât until you closed your legs on him that he realized you were talking to him. He felt your pillowy thighs close around his cheeks like the best vice he had ever experienced, and then your warmth was ripped away from him. He blinked, dazed, licking his lips and tasting you on him still as you sat up and wrapped your silken robe closed.
âThat will be all.â You said, voice colder, but still ruffled.
He sat back, trying to hide his smile. He didnât move, his cock pressing urgently against the fabric of his underdrawers. âJust that today, mistress?â His voice was smooth and heated. âYouâre still tense. Let me touch you again.â
âNo,â your voice was exasperated, but there was a note of finality to it that made his smile fade. That ache, the bittersweet yearning.
He would just have to lay in his quarters and use his hand, biting his pillow, imagining it was you.
Summary: An opportunistic farmerâs son has his way with you after you blacked out at a summer festival.
Cole watched you through the barn rafters, the dusty slats of wood, from above. Longingly, at how your hair stuck to the back of your neck in the humid summer night. How your head went limp against his older brotherâs shoulder as he helped you up the ladder, one shoe hanging from your foot.
His brother must have figured it would be easy to slip away, what with the party outside and all. He still heard the music, muffled and distant, the faint cheers and voices of the neighbors. He peered between hay bales at the snatches of skin he caught. He devoured them, dark blue eyes black in the low light as you laughed, slurred and slow, eyes half lidded as he watched his brother. You had a drink in you; he could tell by the sloppy way your fingers twisted around the ties of your dress, loosening them. He stared at the suggestion of your breasts through the pale summery dress with a kind of dumbstruck fascination that made every hair stand up on the back of his neck.
But the cold, roiling anger that boiled in his veins kept his focus.
Didnât he deserve it more than his stupid brother?
If he had been born two years earlier, he seethed to himself, he would have been the object of your crush. He was sure of it. So he stood with his jaw set so tightly he felt his teeth clench. If his brother caught him watching, heâd beat him blue. He had considered it, weighed the risks before he gingerly hopped over the boards he knew creaked and pressed himself against a wall of hay. It was soft. Not a bad place, he admitted to himself begrudgingly as he nestled himself to a spot where he could catch a glimpse between bales. Not where he himself would have chosen, of course. He mightâve chosen the lakeside â but then again, the mosquitos, he reasoned with himself. Or maybe risked it to sneak into the guest bedroom, with the embroidered bedsheets and the pretty wallpaper that hadnât peeled as much as the rest of the house. It had swallows on it, and Cole knew how much you loved birds.
He always paid attention. Dylan never did, even as you fawned over every idiotic thing he said. His fist closed around a handful of hay as he watched his brother lay you down. He was bigger than Cole, though not by much. But enough, a bitter part of him whispered. Enough to ruin everything.
But his brother wasnât half as cunning. Cole gathered up the bucket, stepping quietly until he reached the edge. Sucked in a little breath. A dark thrill of satisfaction ran through him as he let the bucket fall. It clattered down to the floor of the barn, near the door where you had been carried in.
He watched as his brotherâs shoulders tensed up. He released you suddenly, spooked, and Coleâs eyes narrowed as your pretty hair fanned out around you and your head knocked slightly against the hay-strewn floor of the loft. You opened your eyes, mumbled something, but you were almost out cold as Dylan scrambled back down the ladder.
He watched his brother look around wildly. He glanced up, and Cole felt his heart skip a beat as he stared right at him through the darkness. He was more than a little drunk, too, and he watched with cold intensity as he turned the bucket in his hands and glanced back up at the ladder, expression foggy. Cole snorted softly as he watched him, eyes shifting around in the darkness. He could pinpoint the moment his brother lost his nerve, how he hurried out of the barn door, banging it closed behind him.
That was his brotherâs problem. He had no tenacity.
Cole stepped closer to you, still gingerly as though the creaking of wooden boards might wake you. You really were drunk. Fascination mixed with pity as he saw you there, all spread out in your nice summer dress.
âBastard,â he whispered low as he saw how your chest rose and fell so slowly. His brother must have given you the moonshine. You almost never drank, but here you were, laid half naked in his familyâs hayloft.
A cold fury racked his body, sliced through every semblance of reason as he imagined breaking open his brotherâs skull. But it was impossible to linger on the thought as you laid there, so peacefully.
He swallowed and settled down beside you. He went through his plan again in his mind, and a giddy feeling rose up in his chest. He would wake you up, gently help you back down, and promise not to tell anyone. He studied your sleeping expression as he considered it. Youâd be grateful tomorrow. Embarrassed, but that worked in his favor. Heâd be the good guy.
His eyes darted to your sleeping form. Almost guilty.
Almost.
Would it hurt just to look?
He chewed his lip and fidgeted. Already, his blue jeans were tight around his crotch as he lifted the hem of the dress slightly. Hesitant. He tilted his head slightly, considering. He had never seen you this close when you were asleep, and he drank in the sight, his gaze intent, as he considered you. That dull ache, the familiar skip in his chest jolted as he took you in. Heâs loved you for as long as he could remember, but seeing you like thisâŚ
He wet his lips. Just a look was fine, right? To see if his brother had messed with you. Yeah. Just one look. Didnât he deserve that much?
After all, Cole had stopped him, didnât he?
The floral pattern of the dress was slightly faded. It barely rustled as he lifted it up to your stomach, fingers trembling. A hand-me-down. He sort of recalled seeing it once on your big sister once, a few summers back, but his throat got all tangled up as he looked at you in it now, at how it fell gently all around your curves. It looked a little tight on you, a little see through. He was hypnotized as he traced the outline of your breast with his gaze. He inhaled sharply as his eyes caught on the little blush of nipple that kissed the white fabric. It sent a jolt of raw arousal straight through him, so powerful it made him laugh in utter disbelief. He crouched low, eyes wide and blown so that only a slice of blue was visible on the rim. Â He leaned over you from the side. Slowly, so slowly, he licked his thumb and forefinger. Brought it to the peak of your breast and rolled the nipple between his fingers.
You stirred slightly, a little half sigh twitching on your lips. The sound was sublime. He bit his lip so hard the taste of iron burst in his mouth. He sat rigid as he looked down, at your perfect nipple as it stood erect now, and he swallowed a groan.
He had to taste it. He crooked his head over your chest, being careful not to put any pressure on you. If you woke up now, he knew you would hate him, and that thought made an awful panic flare in his chest, but he still advanced towards you as though in a trance. He lapped his tongue over your nipple, closing his eyes at how soft and how firm you were at the same time. He swore your breath caught, so he jerked his head back. He froze, his heart pounding as he held himself still.
But you didnât wake. You rolled your head from one side to the other, and he touched a shaky hand to his lips as he stared at the wet spot he made over your tit. He could see you clearly now, the fabric clinging to you. He faintly wondered if he might die with how much blood flooded to his cock at the sight.
He clambered even closer. Lower. He pressed his fingertips to your thighs â fuck, they were so soft, so pillowy, even as he felt the leanness underneath â and tried to pull you closer to him, where the moonlight cast through the open window of the barn and a little breeze came through. You made a noise, a sort of half murmur, and he nearly jumped out of his skin.
He could feel the warmth radiating from your skin and it made him ache in the best way. Made him aware of how painfully swollen his cock was as he slowly pulled your panties down. Like opening the best goddamn present heâs ever had. They were simple, cotton, a little worn like the rest of the things you wore. It took a lot of effort to roll them down your thighs enough, but oh, was it worth it.
He made a low, rough noise as he finally saw you. Saw the dark thatch of hair between your legs, the slight glistening of arousal.
He lowered his face to your cunt and inhaled deep, his eyes fluttering until they almost shut. Please, yes. He dug his nails into his thighs as he buried his nose deeper in your bare slit. You twitched, and his heart stopped as you made a low noise, but he couldnât stop now.
His tongue must have been warm as it darted out, because he felt your thighs twitch around him. He held onto your hips and flicked his tongue out again, experimentally. His heart was fit to burst with how hard it was beating. He half wished you were awake, so tell him if it felt good, but he kept prodding, his eyes nearing rolling back at the taste of you, oh fuck, and he rolled his hips uselessly and moaned into your cunt as he tried to gather friction.
Then you made another one of those soft whimpers, and your legs trembled a little, and he knew it must have felt good for you. The raw, hot satisfaction that ripped through him made him nudge further into you, breathing shallowly, smelling your musk as he latched onto your clit. Swirled his tongue around, peering up at the rest of your body, as your chest rose and fell rapidly. You stirred, but not much. Not until he pressed even harder with his tongue, sucking on you, drawing out that labored breath until your legs seized up around him. He savored it, pressing down firmly until he had wrung every little tremor from your body.
Then he sat back, breathing hard and quick, trying to be quiet as he shakily wiped his mouth. Licked the sides greedily as he unbuckled his jeans and thrust his hand around his cock. Heâs done this countless times, squeezed the base to the point he almost hissed in pain while thinking of you, but you were really here now. Under him. You were a little more disheveled than he usually imagined, and obviously not awake, but he bit his lip hard as he heard your breathy little sounds, wet and soft from sleep as he pushed a finger inside you.
His breath stuttered as you sucked him in. You were so warm, so wet. So relaxed. He let out a little huff of incredulity as he curled his finger and watched your hips wiggle slightly, your head toss, arms still splayed out above your head. He wondered if you slept like that all the time, dazed, as he began to pump his fingers inside of you in rhythm with his own cock.
He loved it. Feeling this close to you. He had to fight to control his breathing, his pace, to savour it. He tilted his head back, eyes half-lidded as he fixed them on you, his pumps sloppier. Fuck, it was so hot, those squelching noises as he slipped another finger in. You stirred, and he didnât slow down, breathing hard. Even as your eyelids fluttered and his heart plummeted to his stomach, as he felt your legs jerk in response to him, as the noises that poured from your lips became more shallow and squeaky.
He squeezed his cock, hard, and moaned low as his cum spurted out in ropes. It hit your perfect thighs, dripping down and mixing with your nectar, buried in your pubes as he frantically stroked himself. Sloppy and desperate as he curled his fingers until he felt your walls flutter around his fingers.
It was a long while before he slowly slid his fingers from you. He sucked them thoughtfully, dark eyes drinking you in, blown and dilated as he carefully rolled your panties back up your thighs.
By the time he had done his zip up and carefully placed the hem of you dress down over your cum-soaked legs, he had a plan.
It made it easier to leave you like that, knowing how he would âfindâ you at dawn, the sweet concern he would plaster on his face. All sheepish smiles and shy laughter, with your missing shoe in his hands. The thrill he would feel as he would sit next to you, knowing he was still on your skin. Knowing he could still smell you on his fingers.
Knowing you were his, even if you didnât realize it yet.
A pure, blinding wave of irritation washed over him again as he ripped the knife along the hem, skimming up your legs, precise but quick. Just hated them, with the complicated belt, the oversized buttons at the top.
Beneath him, you twitched, strangled sounds coming from behind the gag. His chest tightened with pure elation as he took a moment to sit back on his haunches and watch you. Your eyes were on him, and he felt a little thrill at that. You were twisting your wrists, rubbed raw, and your face was red with exertion. He calmly put his weight down on your ankles. Lowered his face to your free calf and pressed a soft kiss there.
âI told you.â He hummed, his voice vibrating on your skin as he set to work again. His hand slid up your thigh, and he smiled as he felt your legs tense, as the knife came close. You were going still. Scared. How cute. He sliced along the hem of the thighs â first the left, then the right - humming tunelessly, until finally he had reached the top part.
With a careful flick, he destroyed the zipper. The buttons pinged uselessly to the side. You made another noise that sounded like you were trying to say something, probably to plead. He gazed at you again, at that serious face lit up with panic, at your wide eyes. âWhatâs wrong?â He was mocking as he ripped the rest from your legs, the strength pulsing in his arm. You were trembling, he saw with relish, and underneath the crotch of the jeans that fell away with satisfaction in his hands, he saw you were wearing a lacy thong with ribbons.
He laughed in pure delight and you turned your head away, fallen silent. He traced a careful finger over the fabric, loving the way your throat bobbed, the way you twitched as he circled your clit with a feather light touch. âWow,â his voice was low and intense. âSo this is what youâve been wearing all this time? I knew it. Knew that you were just begging for me to take you, right?â
You were still looking away, eyes closed tightly as though to shield against the sensations, and this wouldnât do. He squeezed your nub gently between his thumb and forefinger, lips curling against the skin of your thigh as you jumped. âLook at me.â
Your eyes reluctantly locked on him. He knew his curls were tickling your thigh. He held your gaze, steady, intense.
âYou should always be in skirts,â He watched every single expression as his tongue slid over the fabric, wet and insistent and obscene, as his wrist worked. Knife in hand, he nicked the sides of your panties and let the lace fall away. âI want to be able to take you like this whenever I want.â His tongue, flat and heavy, slid over your clit as he pushed your thighs upward. Your breathing was erratic, uneven, as you squirmed, but a little reminder with the knife â lovingly weaved along your skin, on the top edge, obviously, he didnât want to really cut you, of course â and you went stock still. Dark satisfaction thrummed through him to see you looking at him with that pleading expression, trembling but still, being so, so good for him.
He lavished between your thighs, dragging his tongue, closing his eyes as he tasted you. He knew you was getting close by the way your breath quickened, by the way you kept trying to hide from it, pressing your thighs against his cheeks, hard, until all he could see was you. He roughly held your down and redoubled his efforts, sucking gently on the nub until he heard that half-muffled, broken sound from the gag, until your legs were stiff as he lifted your hips and drove his tongue forward. He sucked until you were trembling, squirming in discomfort. Riding the waves until it was overstimulation. He looked up with dark, blown lust and didnât stop until he was ready to. He licked his lips, glistening with your arousal, and pressed a hot, sloppy kiss to your thigh.
âGood,â He breathed low, sucking in shallow air. âKeep being good for me.â
