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[ohbrotherthisblogstinks]

Eyes on me - Nanami Kento x f!reader

absolute pwp 18+ MDNI — cw: dry humping, oral, overstimulation, praise, throat fucking, a needy brat of a reader, and just all around self-indulgent filth

Fuck the euphemisms and the beating around the bush. You’re horny. You’ve been clenching your thighs all day at work. You’ve been indulging in dirty daydreams that always end in you bent over a desk. You’ve been doing kegels just to feel something.

But Kento is holed up in his office, ignoring you.

You pace back and forth in front of the door to his home office. You figure you should leave him be. He already hates overtime, and he’s probably in a rotten mood. But you’ve had such a long day, and you’re so wound up now, you won’t get through even the coldest shower without breaking and touching yourself. And to be fair, you’re usually fine with touching yourself. But right now, you need to be touched by him.

“I can hear you clomping around out there.”

You stop in your tracks, grimacing. You hear Kento sigh before he says, “You can come in.”

You open the door a sliver and peek in to see Kento with his head propped up in one hand, the other poised over a pile of documents. Still working, as you thought. And a full hour past quitting time, which explains why his brow is pinched with annoyance.

“What do you need, sweetheart?” he asks, eyes locked on yours.

“I was, uh…lonely. Just wanted to see you,” you grin sheepishly, stepping into the room and closing the door behind you. He says nothing for a moment, just looks you over with those sharp, observant eyes. Those eyes that burn through you, pooling molten warmth in your gut. You fidget under the weight of his gaze and squeeze your thighs together, trying not to look as desperate as you feel.

“Hmm,” Kento murmurs, sitting back in his chair with a wry smile. “Lonely isn’t the word I would use.”

You stiffen, crossing your arms over your chest. He’s right, but hey. “Well, what word would you use then?” you huff, bottom lip poked out in a pout. He smirks.

“Needy.”

You splutter for a moment, caught. You try to explain it away, tripping over your words, while Kento observes you with an amused smile.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he interrupts you once he’s had his fill of your stammering, eyes glittering with mirth. He pats his thighs, his slacks stretched deliciously taut over the thick muscle. “Come here.”

Your heart swells, embarrassment forgotten. You rush over with the intent of clambering into his lap. He stops you for a moment, holding you at arm’s length as he smooths your hair out of your face. You’re so pent up that even that innocent action makes you want to whimper. But his smile has tempered back to a serious expression, so you bite back your desperation and try to show him you’re listening.

“I need to get these papers sorted tonight,” he says. You frown, and he sighs. “I know, I don’t want to do them either, but they need to get done. It shouldn’t take long. If you can be good and occupy yourself until I’m finished, then…”

He trails off for a moment, grazing his thumb over your bottom lip. Your nerves buzz at the short, tender contact. “Then I’ll take care of you. Understood?”

Heat unfurls at the base of your stomach. “Understood,” you salute, overeager. He chuckles.

Kento leans back to make room for you. You settle yourself in his lap, facing him, hooking your legs over his hips and pressing yourself to his broad, warm chest. He’s so tall, it’s easy enough for him to hook his head over your shoulder and keep working. You press your face into his shoulder and breathe in the fresh, familiar scent of his aftershave. You should feel calm, content, like you often do when he holds you like this. Instead you just feel even more hot and bothered, and you can’t help but want to fidget and find some friction against him.

Kento said to be good. But he also said you could occupy yourself. And then he let you climb onto his lap. So, really, hasn’t he given you permission to occupy yourself… using his lap?

A little rub wouldn’t hurt, you reason. It might help ease the sharp burn of desire between your legs—reduce the tension that has you all strung out. He already knows that you’re all worked up. You’re just taking care of yourself until he can do it for you. Yeah, you think, a little rubbing would be fine.

You shuffle your hips against him experimentally, holding your breath for a reaction. Kento does shut down your bratty antics from time to time. But he doesn’t stir, doesn’t chide you, just keeps scratching away at whatever documents he’s tending to. You shift your hips down again, more deliberately—it can’t be mistaken for repositioning. Still, he says nothing. So you shift forward again, and this time you fully grind down with the pressure you need. The friction is delicious, and a little moan bubbles up from your throat.

You feel Kento’s hand come up to grasp the back of your neck, his thumb rubbing against the sensitive spot under your ear. You freeze, a pleasant shiver running through you. He hasn’t scolded you, but his gentle grip on your neck makes you feel like he wants you to ask.

“Kento,” you mumble into his shoulder, “…Is this okay?”

“Is what okay, my love?” he replies, seemingly indifferent—as if his warm hand isn’t smoothing down the length of your back before stopping to grasp at the soft flesh of your hip. You let out a shaky breath as you shudder.

“…R-Rubbing myself on you? While I wait,” you say in a soft rush of air. You press your face into his neck, cheeks prickling with warmth.

Kento lets out a slow, measured exhale and squeezes your hip. He chuckles, the sound low and rumbling and so obviously pleased.

“Do as you like, sweetheart.”

You hear him pick up his pen again, but his non dominant hand keeps a firm grip on your hip. You feel his promise to take care of you seared into you with each pad of his fingers.

You start grinding down on him again, building a rhythm. It feels so good— the pressure and friction and warmth of him against you, even through layers of fabric. You feel him start to harden beneath you, and you smile to yourself. Even if his mind is occupied with silly paperwork, Kento’s body belongs to you and only you.

A wicked little idea starts to take form in your mind.

You let soft, deliberate sounds of pleasure spill from your lips as you grind into Kento’s steadily growing erection. You pant as you rock against him, fanning warm breath across his neck with each exhale, your lips just barely brushing his skin. You relish in how your usually unflappable lover stiffens, your soft lips and sweet little sounds curling a shudder down his spine. You don’t push it too far—you agreed to be good after all. But you dance up to the line, feeling equal parts giddy and greedy.

Emboldened by Kento’s small reactions, you slowly swirl your hips the way you know he loves, and you let out a breathy sigh of his name. You feel the muscles of his neck tense, and he clears his throat. You think he might finally chide you, but he doesn’t. Wordlessly, he reaches between you to readjust his cock so it isn’t pinned to the side as it strains against his slacks. He aligns it vertically, his flushed tip peeking out from his waistband. You grin widely, having won your prize. You’re not the only one who’s needy now.

You press down against him, rutting your clothed cunt against the underside of his cock. His breath hitches as the soft material of your shorts catches against his sensitive tip, and you know soon it’ll be smeared with precum. You rock against him with a fervor now, trying to shift your hips at a better angle each time, pitching your pelvis forward to try and catch more of your clit on each down and upward motion. Trying to get more of that delicious friction that’s pooling wetness in your panties. But even as you pant softly into his shoulder and work yourself against him, you know it won’t be enough.

It’s all Kento’s fault. Before you met him, an orgasm was a simple delight that your own fingers could give you with ease. But now your body knows him. It knows how he feels pressed deep into you, snug against your cervix, filling you up completely. It knows the true depths of pleasure that you’re capable of feeling only when he’s inside you. Even if he hasn’t left any lasting marks, Kento has engraved himself into your body.

You need him to fill you. And right now, you’re warm and wet, but so empty.

You whimper, rocking yourself faster, more desperately. It feels good—really good—but the more you try to chase that goodness to an orgasm, the quicker it seems to slip away. You’re riding a wave that refuses to crest and crash down—it just undulates over and over. You screw your eyes shut, trying to focus on that small flame inside you, trying to get it to burn just a little bit brighter.

Then all of a sudden, Kento’s other hand is sinking into your hip and he’s griiinding up into you with so much pressure that you gasp.

“Not enough, is it?” Kento says, his voice husky and strained.

You let out a sound halfway between a whimper and a sigh of relief. “Not enough. I need you,” you pant, your hips still bucking against his—chasing the heat of his reciprocating friction.

Without warning, Kento stands up, and you squeal as you lose balance on his lap. You lock your legs around his waist and throw your arms around his shoulders to avoid falling. He uses one arm to hold you up, and with the other hand he neatly gathers and tucks his documents into a drawer. With a soft grunt, he sits you down on his cleared desk.

You start to release your koala-like hold on him, only for him to pull you into a searing kiss that has you scrabbling at the nape of his neck for purchase. His tongue licks into your mouth with a force and precision that makes you moan. You kiss him back in earnest, your legs still locked around his waist, drawing him in as close as you can.

You both part, panting. Kento caresses your cheek with his thumb as he looks at you with those dark, lust-glazed eyes that say without words that he intends to devour you. Then he places a hand in the center of your chest and gently pushes you down on your back. You stare up at the light fixture, dizzied, as he lifts your legs from around his waist and scoots you further back onto the desk.

You gasp when you feel him lift your hips and remove your shorts and panties in a single, sharp tug. You’re bare to him now—the cool air making your wet folds feel icy cold. But only for a moment. Because then he presses that searing hot tongue to your core and oh. You can’t help but arch up into the sensation as the flat of his tongue slides through your folds, lapping up the mess you’ve made while waiting for him.

“Sweetheart.” You feel the affectionate name rumble against your sensitive folds. “You’re dripping. All this for me?”

“Y-yes—fuck, Kento,” you whimper as he dives in again, working his tongue into your sopping entrance before slowly licking back up to your clit. “I couldn’t wait—I need you, Kento, please—“

You’re cut off by your own moan as he seals his lips around your clit and sucks. Your hips lift off the desk to meet the hot, wet suction as best you can. He lets you press yourself into his mouth, sucking hungrily at the sensitive nub until your thighs are trembling. Then he releases your clit with a wet sound, and he works back into your soaking folds to taste you again, groaning softly as he slurps and swallows down your arousal.

That small flame you were chasing while grinding against him is now building into an all-consuming fire. You can feel the pulse of it deep in you as the sensation mounts, stronger and hotter. The pleasure Kento gives you is so intense and sudden after hours of restraining yourself, you feel your body starting to run away with the feeling—a freight train gaining speed, out of your control. You’re going to come if he doesn’t stop, and this isn’t how you want it, even as good as it is.

“Kento, gonna come,” you gasp out, clawing at the smooth surface of his desk. “Don’ wanna come—stop, stop, I don’t want to come yet—“

Kento lifts his mouth from you the moment you say stop, but he doesnt remove his face from between your legs. He peers up at you from there with those sharp eyes, half-lidded and dark. The visual alone could send you over the edge if you weren’t desperately trying to stave off your own orgasm.

“And why don’t you want to come yet?” he asks with suspicion—seemingly resentful that you pulled him away from such a delicious meal.

You swallow, trying to catch your breath. You know what you want, and embarrassment aside, you’re determined to have it.

“Wanna come on your cock,” you say softly.

It’s not just dirty talk, or a move to play up his ego. You need it. You’ve needed it all day—to come undone with him splitting you open, filling every inch of you.

The moment you make your request, Kento’s expression shifts, and for a second, your desperate desire is mirrored on his face. Then in a quick succession of motions, he’s standing up, undoing his belt, pulling his cock out of his pants, and yanking your hips towards him with such sharpness that you yelp.

“You’re so good, you know that?” he murmurs as he leans over you, one hand aligning his cock with your entrance. He cups your face, tilting it so you look into his eyes as he presses the blunt head against your opening. You whimper at the beginning of the stretch.

“So fucking good for me. So perfect,” he rasps, his eyes burning. “Asking for what you want like a good girl. You want to come on my cock? Then go ahead and come, sweetheart.”

He slams into you in one precise thrust that has you squealing at the sudden, blinding-hot stretch of it—the press of it into the deepest parts of you all at once. Even if you’ve had it a thousand times before, the way he fills you still hits you like a boulder. He thrusts once, twice, three times, each devastatingly deep, and you’re gasping for air as if he’s fucked all the breath out of you.

This. This is exactly what you needed. To be taken apart by him in the way only he can. You can’t contain the blaze that’s been built by your dry humping, and the wet heat of his tongue, and him, just him—the man that drives you wild just by sitting there and doing paperwork. Kento holds your gaze as he fucks into you, looking at you like you’re a treasure, like he wants to eat you alive, so utterly devoted that it makes your heart swell, and it’s too much. It’s all too much, in the very best way.

Everything locks down and the heat explodes. You cry out his name when you come, your body shuddering and writhing with the force of it. Kento stills his hips and lets you pulse and clench around him as it works, and you swear you only ever want to come with him inside of you—the fullness radiating pleasure into the deepest parts of you.

When you finally come down from your high, you’re still trembling, and Kento is smoothing your hair out of your face as he studies you. His expression is soft but dark in an indecipherable way.

When your lucid eyes find his, he asks, “Did that feel good, sweetheart?”

You nod weakly, and you feel his cock jump a little inside you. He smiles softly, tracing his thumb over the apple of your cheek.

“Mm, that’s good, love. Now give me another.”

Before you can process it, before you can open your mouth to protest, he’s drawing out of you and plunging back in with full force, and you scream.

Your brain and body are already fried from your first orgasm, haven’t had time to recalibrate—and he wants another. And he seems determined to take it from you.

Kento sets an unforgiving rhythm, pounding into you with deep precision, bottoming out every time he rolls his hips into yours. Every drag of his girth against your walls feels like it sprays off sparks of electricity, and you can’t help but try to curl back from him, trying to escape the intensity of the feeling. Your recoiling is met with a firm grip on your neck—not enough to truly choke you, but enough to keep you from scrambling away.

“No running,” he says in a warning tone, snapping his hips forward with each deep thrust, never slowing his pace.

“‘s too much,” you slur out. You’re trying not to run, you’re trying your best to take it, but it’s so hard when every stroke feels so white hot.

“You can take it, sweetheart. Give me another, I know you can,” Kento coos—and you want to. There’s nothing you want more than to give Kento whatever he asks for, especially when he’s sweating and flushed and looking so in love as he thrusts into you.

“I’m trying, ‘m tryin’” you whine, hot tears starting to prickle in your eyes at the overstimulation.

“It’s okay, love, just let go. Let go and give me another,” Kento says, more softly now, moving his hand from your neck to cradle the side of your head. He presses a kiss to your forehead as he works deep in you. “You know what to say if you want me to stop.”

You shake your head, bottom lip trembling as the tears spill down your cheeks. “I wan’ to, I want to—but I can’t.”

“You can, and you will. You’re going to right now, love, I can feel it,” he says lowly, and oh. Oh. Oh fuck. He’s right.

Your body’s feedback to your brain must be delayed, because you don’t even feel your peak building until it’s suddenly there—looming over you, drawing your whole body up taut before crashing down like a tsunami. Your second orgasm blazes through you in an instant, and you let out a strangled cry as it takes you by surprise.

“Good girl, there it is,” Kento soothes as you writhe and sob through it. He finally slows his pace as you shudder and whimper and grab at his shirt to keep yourself grounded—trying to keep yourself from completely falling apart.

You lose focus of his face for a moment—your eyes must roll back, because you hear him say “Eyes on me, love” in that low, smooth voice of his. With some effort, Kento swims back into your vision—his expression a portrait of lust and reverence. If you weren’t in the throes of such miserable pleasure, you might notice how his hands are starting to shake, how his jaw is clenched, how his hips stutter as he slowly, slowly strokes in and out of you now—on the edge of losing control.

You gradually come down from your peak until you’re back on solid ground. You blink up at Kento, dazed, your head resting heavy against the hard wood of his desk. You devour the sight of him above you. He’s panting softly, a few strands loose from his usual slicked-back hair and now hanging into his eyes. His tie is loose and his dress shirt is rumpled from where you gripped it. An unkempt, sex-mussed Kento—the sight makes you throb, and you wonder how your body can still respond to him after coming twice.

At least his hips are still now, which is a small mercy for your blindingly sensitive cunt. You gaze up at him, eyes soft, as he wipes the tears from your cheeks with the pad of his thumb. You turn your head to catch his thumb in your mouth and suck it, and he lets out a low groan.

“Don’t do that unless you’re ready to give me one more, sweet girl,” he warns.

You promptly release the digit, which makes him laugh. He presses his thumb back between your lips and watches lovingly as you lave over it with your tongue then release it with a final, wet kiss. He can’t help but shudder a little, and you notice.

“Are you close?” you ask softly, and he nods.

“Don’t know if I can hold back. I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmurs, looking a little pained. You can see now the visible signs of his restraint, and it warms your heart that he’s worried about you. Even when he takes you beyond your limits, he’d never push you to the point of breaking.

“I don’t know if my pussy can take any more right now,” you admit, your thighs still trembling. “…But if you want, you can fuck my mouth,” you grin, your mouth watering at the thought.

Kento’s eyes widen, then darken, and a soft groan slips from his lips as he surges forward to kiss you.

“You dirty little thing,” he murmurs, nipping at your bottom lip before soothing over it with his tongue. “So good for me. Get on your knees.”

You scramble to comply, and Kento helps lever you up and off the desk so you can kneel at his feet. He grabs a cushion from his chair and leans down to slip it under your knees, pressing a soft kiss to your temple as he draws back to his full height. Your heart brims with affection at the simple sweetness of the action.

You look up at him with wide, adoring eyes, and press soft kisses to his thigh that make him shudder. His cock is hard and heavy between his legs, flushed and shining with your own wetness. You grab the base, testing the girth in your hands, and Kento lets out a soft, strangled sound.

“You really are close, huh?” you giggle, licking a stripe from base to tip, tasting yourself on his hot flesh.

He grits out a moan, squeezing his eyes shut as you take his swollen tip between your lips. You suck on him gently, circling your tongue around the head, and you feel him throb on your tongue in response. Kento’s hand finds its place in your hair, gripping firmly as he slowly rocks into your mouth. You open your jaw further and meet his shallow thrusts with eager bobs of your head, sucking greedily around him.

You love taking Kento in your mouth, if for no other reason than to drink in his reactions. The soft grunts and pants and groans you pull from him make you preen. You watch him through your eyelashes—the way his brow is knitted, his jaw slack and bottom lip trembling with restrained pleasure. You do your best to burn the image into your mind. Though there is one part of this gorgeous vision that could be improved. You pull off his cock with a wet sound and rest his throbbing shaft on your cheek as you squeeze the base with one hand.

“Eyes on me, Ken,” you grin, parroting his earlier words. The irony isn’t lost on Kento, who lets out a sound between a scoff and a chuckle. He dutifully opens his eyes and peeks down at you, his pupils blown wide with lust. When his eyes meet yours, he groans and turns his head away, his cock twitching against your cheek.

“I really won’t last if I look at you, sweetheart,” he says, his voice breaking with the effort to restrain himself.

“I don’t care if you last. I want to taste you already,” you grin. He huffs out a shaky breath as you rub his tip against your slick, swollen lips. “Fuck my mouth, Kento. I want you to come down my throat,” you urge him, your eyes burning into his.

His breath hitches, and you feel his hand tighten its grip in your hair. “…I can’t be gentle,” he warns you, eyes flaring and voice tight.

“Then don’t be,” you hum, smiling before kissing the tip of his cock. Kento’s hips twitch, and he groans.

“Fuck. I am going to ruin you,” he murmurs, cupping your jaw and rubbing his thumb over your bottom lip. “If you can’t take it, slap my leg. If you don’t, I won’t stop.”

A thrill runs through you, and you feel your pulse throb through your cunt. You nod, dizzied and giddy with the promise of Kento using your throat.

You slacken your jaw and place his tip on your tongue, then look up at him with expectant eyes—waiting for him to set the pace. He hisses a breath out through his teeth as he readjusts his grip in your hair—then he plunges his cock into the waiting heat of your throat.

You gag at the intrusion, but you do your best to open your throat, even as your body jerks as you choke around him. He sets an unforgiving pace, stuffing his cock down your tight, wet throat as you try diligently to take him—fresh tears burning in your eyes from the effort.

He moans as you take everything he gives you, his gaze fixed on the way your lips stretch around him—a slick mess of spit and precum clinging to his shaft and dripping down your chin as he fucks into your mouth. Tears are streaming down your cheeks now, but you don’t tap out—you just dig your fingers into Kento’s thighs, deliriously happy to choke around him if it’s for his pleasure.

“Fuck—sweetheart, you’re so fucking perfect—taking me so well, choking on me—gonna make me f-fucking come—“

Mindless praise spills from Kento’s lips like a prayer as he rocks into the wet heat of your mouth, his pleasure threatening to surge up and over the edge. You can sense how close he is now, and the thrill of it has your aching cunt throbbing again. Kento watches in amazement as you slither your hand between your thighs, rubbing haphazard circles around your clit as you gag on his cock.

You force your eyes open, tears clinging to your lashes as you look up at Kento, desperately wanting to see how he looks right now, so close to coming. You expect him to have his eyes squeezed shut with impending bliss, but you find he’s staring at you, mouth agape, gaze reverent and drunk from pleasure. And the moment your glassy, tear-filled eyes lock with his, he’s gone.

Kento comes with a choked sound, snapping a final deep thrust into your throat before stilling as his hot cum spurts down your throat.

You do your best to swallow it, but you can’t take it all. You pull off with a wet gasp, coughing and spluttering as you try not to choke on the cum coating your mouth and throat. Kento shudders through the aftershocks of his orgasm, transfixed by the sight of you gasping for air, thick strings of saliva and cum running down your chin and connecting your mouth to his cock. That heady mixture of spit and cum drips and splatters on your shirt, your thighs, the floor, as you cough and catch your breath.

Mind still hazy with pleasure, Kento fumbles around to help you. He digs through his drawers and finds a handkerchief. He kneels down, cups your jaw, and begins to wipe your wet mouth and chin. He cleans your face gently, dazed and murmuring praises—before you cut him off with a whine.

“‘M sorry, Kento,” you whimper, looking genuinely disappointed.

“For what, love? You were perfect,” he soothes, confusion knitting his brow. You meet his gaze with a frown.

“I wasted your cum. I really wanted to drink it,” you say glumly, staring at the mess of cum staining your shirt and your thighs.

A beat passes as Kento stares at you with amazement, then he huffs out an incredulous laugh. He pulls you to his chest, shaking with mirth, as he smooths a hand down your back. You melt into him, and he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“Oh, sweetheart, that’s alright. There’s more where that came from.”

You feel his wet, spent cock stir against your thigh.

———

a/n: the first time i had multiple orgasms i thought i was gonna die. idk how you guys are surviving 3+ back to back 😭 anyways I’ve looked at this way too long—please take it away from me 💀

[ohbrotherthisblogstinks]

you won't believe it but....after all this time a new fic is in the works.....and this time it's about a M*N.

details dropping soon,,,,stay tuned

[ohbrotherthisblogstinks]

Me when I open a fic that has a fem topping vs when i find out it has mommy kink

[ohbrotherthisblogstinks]

all good fics come from broke college girls or bad bitches who are 30+

[ohbrotherthisblogstinks]

Distracted Driving

pairing: Yuki Tsukumo x fem!reader nsfw: dom!Yuki wc: 1.9k author's note: I skimmed a motorcycle tutorial for this description: Yuki convinces you to ride her bike and rewards you for your bravery

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Yuki says, holding out her spare helmet.

You’re floored she would even suggest the idea. “I’ve only ridden on your motorcycle, what makes you think I can drive it?”

“You’ll be a natural,” she urges, pushing the helmet into your arms, “and this is the perfect place to try it out.” She gestures to the abandoned dirt lot you’re standing in; it doesn’t have much to crash into. The only other thing out here is the road lined with glowing streetlights heading back to a city you passed around fifty miles back, a distance like that meaning an ambulance would take forever to arrive if you had an accident. You can’t even get started about wait times in emergency rooms.

“You said we were coming out here to go stargazing, not to see how fast I can kill us both by crashing your bike.”

Yuki laughs and steps closer. “It’s cute when you get all worked up over nothing.” She presses a kiss to your flushed cheek. “What if I give you a reward for your bravery?”

“It’s not bravery, it’s stupidity,” you respond. This is a bad idea, no doubt about it. You have trouble driving a car, which has four wheels, a motorcycle only has two. It’s like making the jump between rollerskating and rollerblading, but with the potential of much more severe consequences. Your eyes flick back up to Yuki—she’s dressed in her stupid, dangerous, sexy motorcycle jacket and goggles—and see her watching you with a tilted head and smirk. She’s been your girlfriend long enough to know that curiosity is tugging at you and isn’t surprised when you look away and ask, “But…what is the reward?”

Yuki turns, walking back to her propped-up bike. “Only one way to find out.”

She’s such a tease. What’s more frustrating is how it works so well on you.

You huff, strapping the helmet on. “All right.” It can’t be that bad, can it?

It is indeed bad when you’re on the thing, the angry engine rumbling beneath you and the exhaust spitting out fumes of gray smoke. The glare of the headlights just barely scares off the darkness of the night so you can see the dirt a few feet in front of you. If Yuki’s arms weren’t wrapped around your waist, you would’ve been off the motorcycle in a second.

Your fingers tighten around the handlebars. “This is a terrible idea.”

“You’re gonna do great,” Yuki purrs in your ear, sending a tingle down your spine. Or is this death machine activating your fight-or-flight response? Either way, you readjust yourself in the seat.

“Okay, whatever, how do I even do this?”

One of her arms loosens from your waist and she lays her hand on top of yours on the right handlebar. Her riding gloves leave her fingers uncovered, so you’re able to feel her skin as well as the rough leather coating her palm. “This is the throttle, and you twist it toward you to move forward.” With Yuki leaning forward to demonstrate the mechanics of the handlebars, her chest is pressed against your back. Her motorcycle jacket would muffle the sensation if it wasn’t unzipped like it is now, so you can feel the plushness of her breasts on your shoulder blades as she’s describing another lever on the bike. “…is the brake. Got it, angel?”

“Um, yeah…yeah I got it.” Doesn’t seem that hard, just a few twists and levers. Maybe it is possible you’ll survive this ordeal.

“Okay, I’ll just–” You twist the right handlebar toward you and the bike kicks up and starts rolling forward.

Yuki laughs, “Attagirl! Look at you go!”

You laugh a little too, not because you’re amused, but because you’re in disbelief that you’re moving the thing and haven’t blown up yet.

Still cautious, you turn the throttle slightly further, bringing the speed of the motorcycle up past the pace of a casual walk. And when you steer the bike into a gentle turn at the border of the dirt patch, you find it easier to control than you expected. Soon you’re successfully circling the lot while Yuki cheers you on. As impossible as it first seemed, you’re actually doing it, you’re driving her motorcycle.

“That’s my girl,” Yuki says. You want to turn and show her the smile her encouragement brings to your face, but you’re not comfortable driving without looking straight ahead yet.

“This is kinda fun,” you say, still leaving room to change your opinion in case of the terrible crash that your nerves are convinced will happen.

“You’re so good at it,” Yuki responds, giving your waist a small squeeze with her arms.

These kind of situations are why you like dating Yuki so much, she knows how to pull you out of your comfort zone, help you grow and try new things. Despite your anxiety, every experience she’s helped you through, though usually miserable whilst occurring, has been rewarding after pushing through it. It’s how you feel now, you’re proud of yourself for doing something that scared you.

You’re about to express your gratitude when her hands unclasp themselves from around your waist and travel up your torso. Your brows furrow, but you’re able to focus on the upcoming turn until her fingers splay out on your breasts, squeezing and kneading them.

You look down to the gloved hands on your chest. “Yuki, what…what are you doing?” The motorcycle lurches to the side and you snap your eyes back up to the dirt ahead of you, scrambling to re-center the bike until it steadies. The close call leaves your heart pounding and breath short, but Yuki is unaffected.

“It’s your reward, silly.” Her fingers pinch your nipple through your shirt and you gasp. “For being so brave.”

“What?” you whisper. You can’t make sense of this. Heat burns through your body and you’re not sure if it’s from her touch or your panic. This has to stop. Where did she say the brake is? You can’t remember.

“If you keep doing this”—she nuzzles her chin onto your shoulder and nibbles at your ear—“we are going to crash. This is literally distracted driving.” You steer through another turn, having a much harder time with it than your first attempt. With her touching you like this, if you make the smallest mistake, like hitting a rock or going into a turn too fast, you’ll both get sent flying.

“Don’t worry about it,” Yuki coos, “I’ll make sure nothing happens. Just enjoy the ride, m’kay?”

“This–this is crazy, you know that?” A sharp exhale leaves your lips when Yuki moves from your ear to your neck, opening her warm mouth to lick and suck on your pulse. You shift in the seat of the motorcycle, trying to keep your attention on the land ahead while Yuki’s every movement is pulling it away.

“Fuck, don’t–” Her hands are moving downward, unbuttoning your pants and traveling underneath your underwear. Surely you’ll crash if she touches you there.

“You’re doing great, angel. Just keep those pretty eyes on the road.” You whine her name and she gently sinks her teeth into your neck, her arm slinking around your waist as other her hand descends to your heat. “Thought you’d be too nervous to be this wet,” Yuki breathes against your skin, hungry. The bike wobbles.

She slides her fingers through your folds and your vision blurs, the glow of the headlights melting into the dark of the night until you blink and refocus your eyes.

“Yuki–shit–I’m–”

You’re driving. You need to tell her to stop, but you can’t get the words out, you don’t know if you want to. Even if you think this is bad, idiotic, truly a one-way ticket to the hospital, the excitement flooding your core, swirling and churning deep inside you, is impossible to reason with. Any tension or tightness in your abdomen is softened with the swipes of her elegant fingers. You’re helpless when she’s making you feel this good.

It’s hard to keep your attention on the road, but you’re still trying, so you don’t notice how your hips angle themselves forward so she’s able to start circling your clit. You also don’t notice how your tightening grip on the handlebars—your body unable to bear the pleasure spreading out within you—causes the motorcycle to pick up speed, now traveling at the pace someone could pedal a bicycle at. The wind whisks your moan away into the night and the muscle memory built in the first few minutes of riding takes over to help you steer.

“I want…more,” you say, grinding your hips against her hand.

“Gotta focus on driving, angel,” she responds.

“I–fuck–I know, it just–feels so–”

“Uh huh?” Yuki skims her teeth over the heated skin of your neck.

“It feels so…good…when you touch me,” you say, and she kisses you. You try to keep your eyes from fluttering closed as she continues to swirl her fingers around you, tending to the pressure pushing up against your insides. It’s interesting how you’re being built up to an orgasm so much faster than normal. Splitting your attention between an activity like driving while pleasure is sailing through you wipes out any of those thoughts you have that take you out of the moment—how your body looks, whether Yuki likes what you’re doing, if you’re being sexy enough. In this moment, you’re out of your head, able to feel her touch without insecurity marring the sensation. Maybe Yuki knew this would happen. She knows you well.

You moan her name, doubling over. You shoot your head back up immediately, keeping your eyes on the road even though your legs are attempting to press together, trying to shut out the pleasure overwhelming your body, though the tangled metal of Yuki’s motorcycle keeps them apart and you susceptible. The bike rocks again.

“Yuki–I can’t–I can’t take anymore,” you plead, “I can’t focus.”

“I’ve got you,” she says, her hand stroking your waist. Her skilled fingers pick up to the pace she knows you like when you’re close.

“Fuck,” you gasp.

“It’s okay,” Yuki tells you, “Just let go.”

So you do. The rope holding you together snaps as strings of pleasure whip through your poor body. Any consequences of releasing yourself, thoughts of crashing, dying, long ambulance wait, it’s all washed away; you even let go of the handlebars. The motorcycle bucks for a second, but Yuki wrangles it with her free hand, holding onto the handlebar as you cum all over the hand working at your clit.

You grab onto her forearm, clamping down on it as pleasure rolls over you, making it hard to realize how reckless letting go of the handlebars of the motorcycle you were driving is. You don’t really care though, with this feeling washing through your body, you don’t care about the bike, your stupidity, or anything that doesn’t relate to the motorcyclist behind you who’s slowing her strokes and cooing in your ear as the last muscle spasms of your orgasm calm.

Yuki takes her hand from your pants and is unfazed by the wetness coating it when she reaches it forward and to the lever sitting underneath the right handlebar. She pulls on it and the bike slows to a stop. So that’s where the brake is. The realization makes you laugh a weak, fucked-out laugh.

She kicks out the bike stand and you unfurl from your hunched form and sit back so you’re leaning against her chest.

“That was insane,” you heave out, “and stupid and dangerous, and…”

“…and?” There’s a grin in her voice.

A hazy warmth settles over you. You pull her arms into your lap, running your fingers over her gloves palms.

“Thanks, I guess,” you say.

She knows you mean more than just for the orgasm, she knows you appreciate how she pushes you from your comfort zone and helps you try new things. Even if those new things are reckless and crazy.

Yuki leans to your side and presses a kiss to your cheek. “You’re welcome.”

[ohbrotherthisblogstinks]

LIQUID COURAGE.

pairing: himeno x afab!fem!reader

tags: nsfw!!, slight fingering, tribbing, soft dom himeno, reader has afab anatomy, use of pet names (“sugar,” “pretty girl,” “baby,” “princess”), alcohol, nipple play, mention of pubic hair, drunk sex, dubcon (you’re both drunk but are in a committed relationship), pda (she feels you up in a cab), neither you and himeno are virgins but it’s your first time together, sexualities are up for interpretation

synopsis: you and your girlfriend have been dating for a couple weeks. after a night of drinking, she drags you home and gives you what you both have been craving.

notes: i want her so bad all himmy haters can whine somewhere else.

they say that alcohol is liquid courage.

not that himeno needs any of that - if anything, alcohol in her hands is liquid stupidity, which you very quickly learned within the first few weeks of working with her. however, her idiocy came with its charms, and you couldn’t help but say yes when she asked you on a date two saturdays ago.

as she has with most of her coworkers, she drunkenly kissed you before you two even became official, which seemed to be nothing to her but everything to you. tipsy as you were, you were almost certain the heat in your cheeks had nothing to do with the beer that evening. since then, your now-girlfriend’s lips have been at the forefront of your mind.

so when you find yourself on her lap at a bar this evening, you naturally consume as much liquid courage as you can.

it takes but half an hour before you’re intoxicated enough to straddle her in the middle of the bar (which, thankfully, has nearly no lighting) and messily clash your lips with hers. in front of three other people from your division.

“ugh, get a room, you two!” one of them groans, “we get you’re drunk and in love, but don’t be in front of us!”

the words barely register in your mind as it is too preoccupied with thoughts of “god, finally” and “i need to breathe soon.” but himeno somehow catches on, and reluctantly pulls away long enough to pout at the others.

“no need t’be so rude,” she slurs, “i think we were just g’na leave anyway, right?” her visible turquoise eye peers up at you, and you swear you might melt on the spot at the near-predatory look she’s giving you.

unable to speak, you nod.

your girlfriend grins at you. “perfect, less’go get a cab then.”

on the way out, you stop with a stumble as himeno tugs on your hand. she pulls you up to the bar, and waves over the bartender.

“two shochu shots, please!” she beams, then turns to you once the bartender nods and goes to prepare the order. “for the road, sugar, it doesn’t hurt t’have a little bit more, right?”

her smile is just bright enough that you can’t help but giggle and scoot closer to her. you both down the alcohol with ease, then make your way to the door of the bar.

it’s not long before himeno’s waved down a taxi and climbed inside with you in tow. she drags her lips across yours with no regard for the cabbie in front, nor your racing heartbeat.

oh, how badly you’ve been wanting this. to have her mouth on you, tongue dragging over the soft skin under your jaw, leaving bites and drunken giggles at your jugular. you feel your legs shake and pray to whatever higher being there might be that she can’t feel it.

“nervous, pretty girl?” himeno murmurs. shit.

your fingers tremble as you feel her hand slide over your thigh. you can feel a buzz rattling your teeth, which you’re almost certain isn’t from the alcohol.

“himeno, please, wait ‘till-“

“are you wet?”

your voice comes to a screeching halt in your throat at her words. she barely whispers them, not loud enough for the driver to hear, but the accompanying hot breath in your ear brings a shiver from the base of your spine to the apex of your skull. you squeeze your legs together.

“i-“

“we’re here, ladies,” the driver calls, pulling to a stop in front of himeno’s apartment building. “have a good rest of your evening.”

you cannot get out of the car fast enough, face ablaze from embarassment and arousal, and himeno squeals as you yank her out with you. it takes a shameful amount of time to clamber up the stairs, and she thinks it’s a good idea to resume your kiss while fumbling with her keys, but you finally stumble inside when the door slams open.

it could be from a movie, how viciously she’s kissing you once the door is shut behind you. a whine escapes your throat when she pushes you back against the cheaply-painted wood, opening her mouth further to force yours to follow suit. her breath tastes like beer, and your head is swimming, and her hands are everywhere all at once.

“fuck, baby, lemme get this stupid shirt off of you-“ she whispers, cutting herself off by licking back into your mouth, to which you respond with nothing but another whine. her fingers fumble with the buttons of your work shirt, her concentration unable to be split between fervently making out with you and stripping you, so you nudge her hands away and work the blouse open yourself. she takes the opportunity to lick down your jaw, nipping at your neck, hot breaths fanning over your skin.

as soon as the shirt is undone and discarded in the entryway, himeno is locking the door behind you and dragging you to her bedroom. you barely have time to think about how this is only the second time you’ve been here, how maybe the two of you are taking things too fast. you certainly don’t have time to think about it when she’s pinning you to the bed with her thighs, unbuttoning her trousers and wiggling them down her hips before kicking them off. her shirt soon follows, leaving her only in her bra and panties while you lay under her, chest heaving and mouth dry.

her gaze falls to the way gravity pulls your breasts just a touch to the each side of your chest and reveals your sternum. the glazed over look in her eyes is nearly gone as she scans you up and down, admiring how the scarce amount of light reflects off of your skin in just the right places.

a few seconds pass, both of you still for what seems to be the first time in hours, and before you can say or do anything, she whispers:

“wanna do it?”

your tongue dries immediately. here she is, your girlfriend (whose lips you’ve been pining over for an eternity, practically), tits sat perfectly under her plain blue bra, thighs splayed on either side of your hips. asking you the question you once thought you would only hear in your most private fantasies.

“…huh? do…what?” you stammer. you know full well what she’s asking. part of you is scared you’re assuming incorrectly, part of you wants to hear her say it, and all of you is trembling underneath her.

she smiles coyly down at you, an unfamiliar glimmer in here eye.

“fuck…”

you can hear the smile in her voice when she says it. the sound itself is so delicate and sweet, you nearly forget the sinful intention of the word it forms.

your heart is pounding in your throat, and you nod. she giggles, then leans down to recapture your lips, your tits now pressing together. you hope and pray that she can’t feel how hard your chest is beating.

she tongues her way in between your lips again, pressing her mouth against yours like she’s savoring her last meal on death row, and grazes your bottom lip with her teeth before coming back up.

“let’s get the rest of these clothes off, huh?”

you nod meekly, awestruck yet unsurprised at her confidence. sure, this is neither of your first times, but surely she must feel a little nervous having sex with a new partner, right?

it certainly doesn’t seem that way as her fingers rake over your tummy, then hook into the waistband of your pants. she wastes no time in unfastening them, then sliding them down your legs with the help of you lifting your hips up and shimmying a little. now both of you are left in your undergarments.

“cute,” she says, eyeing your boobs, then down from the plush of your stomach to the apex of your legs, which you are desperately pressing together. “you sure you’re okay with this? if you’re too drunk, we can wait, y’know.”

she looks surprisingly sober and serious, and your nerves have cleared your mind up a decent amount, so you shake your head.

“what’s that mean, sugar?” she asks, “you wanna keep going, or no?”

your voice comes out in a whisper. “keep going. please.”

himeno smiles at that. “good girl. i promise i’ll make you feel good.”

gently, she climbs off of you and parts your legs. starting at your knee, she presses her lips to the pudge of your thigh and leaves a wet, glistening trail of kisses up your leg before prying both of them apart.

“what’cha want me to do, princess?” she asks, rubbing at the soft skin on the inside of your leg with her thumb.

“touch me, please, i don’t care how,” you whine.

your girlfriend smiles. “how sweet, leaving it up to me! sure thing, baby.”

your legs are shaking more than ever as she prods your clothed pussy with her fingers. you hear a squelch as she presses against your soaked panties, and feel your face and ear flush as she grins up at you.

“my goodness, you’re wet,” she marvels, “guess i was right earlier in the car!”

“himeno, please-“ you’re cut off when she presses her fingers further against your underwear.

“y’know,” she says, slowly rubbing her fingers up and down your slit, “i’ve fucked a handful of people, but there’s something i’ve always wanted to try…”

as she trails off, her hands loop under the sides of her panties. she pulls them down over her hips, giving you a first glance at her pussy. it’s nicely groomed, a light feathering of hair close to her center, and you suck your cheek between your teeth at the sight.

you don’t have much time to observe her before she’s climbing back over you, sitting her bare cunt on top of your clothed one and wiggling her hips. you can feel where her pubic bone is as it bumps into your clit, and you suck in a gasp.

“ooh, did that get you?” himeno smiles, grazing her core over you again. you buck as electricity shoots down your spine again, and she laughs. “you like that, huh?”

you can feel how her own slick is mixing with yours through your underwear, as if the wet sounds between the two of you aren’t enough. himeno sighs as she gently nudges her cunt against you, sitting up to reach behind herself and undo her bra.

you always knew and imagined your girlfriend was blessed, but it’s not until seeing the swell of her tits as they sit perfectly on her chest that you realize just how luck you are. they rest a little bit to the side, the weight dragging them down just a touch, and her nipples stand up beautifully as they make contact with the cool, air-conditioned room.

“holy shit…” you whisper.

she giggles. “you like ‘em?” you nod, unable to drag your eyes away. himeno leans down over you, and her tits are now close enough to you that you could easily take a nipple into your mouth.

“i know what you’re thinking,” she whispers, “go on.”

you don’t need to be told twice. your mouth almost immediately envelops her right nipple, and the sigh that escapes her lips nearly gets you drunk all over again. her pussy sinks down to yours, and the pleasure fills your mouth with saliva, giving your lips more slip as they suckle over her tit.

“ohh, that’s it,” himeno groans, “you’re good at th- ah!”

she’s cut off as your hips buck up into hers, telling her to keep moving. she ruts against you in response, then pulls away from your mouth, leaving you pouting and her nipple shining with spit.

“you’ve got more clothes on than me. that’s not fair,” she murmurs.

the liquid courage finally kicks in. you raise an eyebrow at her.

“so do something about it.”

smiling at your sudden bravado, himeno makes quick work of reaching under you to undo your bra. she makes a point to press her tits against yours, grinning cheekily as your eyes go straight to how they push up into your throat. her fingers drag over your shoulders as she pulls the straps down, then finally pulls off the garment and tosses it haphazardly to the floor.

her eyes don’t leave yours as her hands rake over your torso, leaving goosebumps in their wake, and she takes the opportunity to swirl her tongue around one of your nipples while she pulls your panties down over the curve of your ass.

“much better,” she smiles, following with a nip to the soft skin of your tit. “now we can keep going.”

you press your lips together in anticipation as himeno assumes her position on top of you again, holding herself up so her cunt is just barely above yours. your breath stands still in your chest.

“ready?”

you nod, a bit faster than you intend. she licks her lips, and drops down.

immediately, you can feel your pussy spread apart by her own. the following squlch! that follows punctuates the sensation, and you throw your head back and exhale. her cunt feels like heaven, and you think to yourself that you could die right here with no regrets.

himeno wastes no time in rutting her pussy against you. her voice keens as the her cunt slips back and forth over yours, her clit catching on each and every one of your folds.

with your combined wetness leaving nearly no friction between the two of you, himeno is easily able to ride your pussy. you’re overwhelmed by every sensation - your clit engorged by her entrance, the sounds of your arousal foaming between you two, the sight of her tits bouncing oh-so-close to your face - everything begins to melt together into what can only be described as euphoria.

himeno is faring no better above you, resting her weight on her arms as she desperately humps you, her mouth falling open as she pants and ruts and uses you. it’s truly a sight to behold. you can feel the combined slick dripping from your cunt and down the curve of your asscheek. it’s cold as it touches the air, but you barely pay it any mind as your girlfriend’s pubic bone catches in just the right spot.

“him-himeno! right there- oh my god!”

you feel no shame at your wanton moans as himeno focuses her thrusts right at your clit, finding the sweet spot where hers catches on yours and you both feel the pressure build.

“himeno, please- right- aah!”

she can’t even get a word out, gritting her teeth and focusing all her energy into fucking herself as fast as she can on your clit, chasing the high, the static heat that’s so close, so close to flooding your senses-

all of a sudden, the kinetic energy bursts, and heat washes over you. your head kicks back as a moan scrapes its way out of your throat, your body tensing up as your girlfriend continues to rut into your cunt.

she follows suit not long after, heaving breaths over you, hot air mixing for a second before her lips crash onto yours and you feel the drool that’s pooled in her mouth trickle into yours and out of your lips.

your cunt is a mess. himeno’s hips twitch over yours, her cum pulsing out and combining with yours while she eases herself to a stop. he hair falls over her face and tickles your cheekbones, and your tongue probes into her mouth.

as both of your breaths even out, himeno pulls away, just far enough to look at you properly. she gently lowers her hips to rest on yours, smiling when you jump slightly when she bumps into your throbbing clit.

neither of you can say a word. the alcohol long forgotten, your blood flows with something different, something that can’t be forgotten with water and a good night’s sleep.

himeno slumps to your side, holding an arm up to invite you closer. you scoot your exhausted body towards her with no hesitation, and her limb falls over you and pulls you closer.

there’s no need for words, no necessary confessions of love right now. your relationship is still new, after all, but you can’t help but feel yourself fall deeper as you tuck your cheek into himeno’s chest and smile as she presses a kiss to your head.

hoooooly shit dude. women <3

[ohbrotherthisblogstinks]

𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐍 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈

[ PAIRINGS ] Eren x f!reader, Grisha x f!reader, Zeke x f!reader [ AUTHOR'S NOTE ] My magnum opus /hj. Shout out to my dear friend Mica because I couldn't have written this fic without their support and guidance. And shout out to @strawberrystepmom because this fic is what brought us together lmaoooooo. [ SYNOPSIS ] Disillusioned by your current church, you find yourself drawn to a charismatic televangelist and his seemingly pious sons. [ WORD COUNT ] 14.6k [ CONTENT ] DARK CONTENT, tall-coded reader, sacrilege, incest (between Eren and Zeke), age gap (Grisha’s in his late 40s, y/n is in her 20s), masturbation, cucking, threesome, voyeurism, drugs (weed), dubcon (power imbalance, pastor x parishioner), degradation (during sex and just in general), angst, manipulation, creampie, thick Yeager dick, humiliation, y/n gets called “sister” while getting fucked but it’s in a religious sense, religious trauma, disturbing biblical imagery (violence), cigarettes (Zeke), biting, hair pulling, impact play (slapping), oral sex (m + f receiving), cum play, panty sniffing, spit play, blood (not in a sexy way), these men are strong and can manhandle/lift you with ease.

And I saw an angel standing in the sun; and he cried with a loud voice, saying to all the birds that fly in the midst of heaven…

The early vestiges of a Sunday morning didn’t inspire deep thinking or any form of reflection. It was a time to be brain dead, to indulge in the death rattle of public access television. You witnessed a zookeeper getting bit by a garter snake on a children’s program, families attending therapy while honing their dancing skills, deadly go-kart races, and a man demonstrating the superabsorbent qualities of chamois cloths.

It was welcomed. You needed to be numbed before meandering to the megachurch. Sermons were easier to suffer through if you were vaguely dissociative, your eyes glazing over as the exploiter behind the altar repeated his chicanery.

Salvation had to be earned. Consumption was godly. Wealth was bestowed to only the most pious of people. Sinners lived impoverished lives. They didn’t work hard enough. Your inability to line the pastor’s pockets proved you didn’t believe hard enough.

You weren’t sure if you called yourself a believer anymore. Church didn’t inspire you. It was just an unexciting compulsion. It signified the start of the week, the sun overtaking the hills. Nothing more, nothing less.

You don’t know what possessed you to tune in for Service For Shut-Ins that morning. Usually you knew to turn off the TV when twilight began to brew. But for whatever reason the show called out to you.

It likely had something to do with the emerald-eyed man on the television shouting, “Hey, you! Yeah, you!”

You were immediately transfixed. His chocolate brown hair was piled on top of his head in a messy bun, tendrils of hair haphazardly framing his face. His olive skin was sun kissed. He wore a crisp white button-down tucked into a pair of black straight leg trousers. His outfit was topped off with a pair of respectable, leather suspenders of a mahogany hue. He looked more like a model than a preacher.

“I think you’ve sufficiently startled the three people that are watching this,” a gruff voice muttered from behind the camera.

“Aw. Come on, brother. There’s at least five.”

The brunette smirked and flipped through a worn bible resting on the walnut wooden pulpit. The room he stood in was sparsely decorated. The walls were stark white. A blue velvet curtain hung behind him, giving everything a rather Lynchian appearance. It was the exact opposite of the flashy amphitheater you typically worshiped in.

“Do we start? Where’s dad?” The brunette asked.

“No idea. We’re live. Start without him.”

“With my luck he’ll get mad and not talk to me for two fuckin’ days.”

“Eren!” The voice hissed.

Eren shrugged and brushed his hair out of his face. He exhaled and cracked his neck, the sound echoing through the television. Just as he went to speak, a door opened and quickly  slammed shut. Solid footsteps emanated from beyond the frame.

“Glad you decided to show up,” Eren joked.

“Very funny,” a rather commanding voice replied. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood today.”

An older man walked into frame and shooed Eren away from the pulpit. His sleek dark hair was tucked behind his ears, much longer than the hair of your usual pastor. He was dressed exactly the same as Eren, though he looked more disheveled and unshaven.

The man stared down at his bible and smiled.

“Ah, excellent choice, Eren. The Gospel of Matthew.”

You heard the man behind the camera sigh and grumble something incomprehensible under his breath. It was pungent with annoyance. You couldn’t help but laugh.

The pastor stretched and cleared his throat. He dove right into the story of Jesus and the rich man, and how the rich man questioned Christ about how one can attain eternal life. He orated the story by heart; it was riveting. At your church the pastor relied heavily on cue cards when he was compelled to quote scripture. But this pastor passionately relayed how the rich man told Christ he followed all the commandments and was curious as to what he lacked.

“‘If you wish to be perfect, go, sell your possessions, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.’ When the young man heard this word, he went away grieving, for he had many possessions.”

He made direct eye contact with the camera.

“To some believers the rich man’s grief is understandable. But what Jesus witnessed was weakness in its purest form. A man too grounded in the luxuries of this world. It’s rather tragic, isn’t it? I can’t imagine having my self worth tethered to the things I own. If you know God, undeniably, you’d never cling to your possessions in the first place.

However, this is not to say the rich man is a lost cause. Everyone is capable of being saved, even the most disgusting and depraved of sinners. But as Jesus says, ‘It will be hard for a rich person to enter the kingdom of heaven. It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle.’”

A chorus of men chanted, “Amen.”

“You,” the pastor said, pointing at the camera and leaning over the pulpit. “I can feel your discontent.” He held his hand to his heart. “I know what it’s like to witness heresy itself. I know how it can make you question your devotion. You curse God, unsure if He is worth following. I want to tell you that He is. It’s undeniably worth living in His light. I tell you, it's not God you wrestle with. It’s the used car salesmen masquerading as your brothers, shrieking in arenas filled to the brim with lost souls. You wrestle with the demons sinking their teeth into your wallet, draining it of every dollar.” His tone grew more intense by the moment. “That is not godliness! That is chicanery! These men do not shepherd their flock with kindness in their heart! They merely want to shear and bleed the sheep, to sell their wool to the highest bidder!”

The chorus of men chanted another, “Amen,” their fervor growing. The pastor’s eyes softened and he gave a small smile.

“You don’t have to weather the storm in your soul alone.”

You were aghast, mouth agape. A tear trickled from your eye down your cheek, leaving a single, salty trail. You wiped it away with the back of your hand and sniffled. How did he know? How did he know you struggled with your faith? That you attended a megachurch run by rich freaks?

No, it was just a coincidence. But a lovely one. You were changed by the pastor's words. He was what you were missing. Him and this Eren. They saved you.

You eschewed attending your old church. Service For Shut-Ins was all you needed. You hung on Pastor Grisha’s every word. Every little thing he said filled you with unspeakable joy. He was intelligent and progressive in comparison to the sermons you used to suffer through. He was also significantly more handsome than any preacher you stumbled upon.

Your hands often found themselves in your underwear, breath hitching as he rolled up his sleeves. His toned forearms could send you spiraling into the depths of lust. Under his intense gaze as he recited scripture, you pretended he could see you delving your fingers in your dripping cunt.

Shame tended to follow after you came, but you couldn’t help yourself. You were smitten.

“I need to see him,” you exhaled.

You found the address for the church on their bare bones website. When you mapped out a route you were pleased to see the church was on the outskirts of town, secluded from the secular nonsense and false prophets.

Your nerves almost got the best of you when you saw the one room church resting near the coast. It was painted black with a white door and white windowsills. It was simple, a welcome change.

“Are you here for service?”

You turned to see a tall blonde-haired man smoking a cigarette. He adjusted his glasses and took a drag. He dressed the same as Pastor Grisha and Eren though the first few buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a hint of chest hair.

“Uh, yeah. I am. Am I… Am I allowed in?”

He chuckled.

“It’s a church, sister. Not a nightclub. Come on.” He tossed his cigarette to the side. “I’ll walk in with you.”

“Thank you. I won’t lie. I'm a little nervous.”

“Why?” He asked, smirking.

He looked so much like Pastor Grisha you wondered if they were related. The only difference being his flaxen, wavy hair and more muscular build.

“I have a complicated relationship with the Lord.”

“Don’t we all?”

He held open the door for you. You brushed up against his body and your breath hitched. Heat radiated off of him. You wanted to curl up next to him in the pews, have him be your security blanket until you got your sea legs.

“You can sit anywhere, but I don’t recommend sitting in the first row unless you want to get up close and personal with the fury that is Pastor Grisha.”

“Where do you sit?”

He patted your shoulder with his weighty hand.

“I don’t. I work the camera.”

So he was the mysterious voice you heard on occasion. You anxiously thanked him for his kindness before finding a comfortable seat in the middle of the pews. The only other people in the church were a handful of men all dressed the same: white button-down, black pants, leather suspenders. Not a single woman in the room. Suddenly you felt like even more of an outsider. A harlot considering you mostly came to gawk at a beautiful man of God. You nearly choked when he took to the pulpit, but to your dismay Eren was nowhere to be found.

Throughout the sermon you noticed the pastor’s gaze lingering on you. He seemed a little antsy, stumbling over his words, tugging at his collar. A sense of power washed over you. Never once had you seen him struggle to get through a sermon. It was charming.

Once the sermon was finished you quickly gathered yourself and headed towards the door. You caught the eye of the blonde camera operator. He latched onto your wrist as you tried to move past him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He asked, smirking.

“I was gonna go,” you conceded. “I don’t wanna be a bother, y’know?”

“You’d hardly be a bother if you stuck around.”

His tone was flirtatious.

“I—I, uh, okay,” you stammered. “I can stick around.”

His hand snaked around your waist and he started to lead you out the door. You didn’t know what was happening, but you were pleased Zeke took the initiative to take you under his wing. He was a good Christian.

“What’s your name?”

“It’s Ze—”

Before he could finish, you felt a hand on your shoulder. You turned around to see Pastor Grisha smiling warmly at you.

“Zeke, I hope you're not scaring this young woman away.”

“Oh no. You caught me,” Zeke said, his words dripping with sarcasm.

Zeke let go of you and trudged off, mumbling expletives under his breath.

“He wasn’t scaring me off,” you assured the pastor.

“I’m just giving him a hard time,” he chuckled. “Though he’s not exactly the most welcoming boy around. At least not in a traditional sense.”

“He was very nice. He calmed my nerves a bit,” you said, nervously scratching the back on your scalp. “It’s my first time here.”

“I’m well aware. You’re hard to miss. What’s your name, sister?”

You told him your name and thought it was funny he bothered to tell you his, considering you knew it so well. It was a name that often fell from your lips late at night when you’d let your lusty mind wander. When he shook your hand you tried to memorize how his skin felt against yours. You didn’t know when you would be blessed with such an opportunity again.

“A lovely name for a lovely girl,” he said, squeezing your hand.

You were awestruck and ready to sign your life away to him. No one ever told you were lovely.

“Are you in a hurry?” He asked.

You shook your head.

“Would you be interested in coming to the parsonage for tea? I like to get to know my new congregants lest they not be true believers,” he said with a sharp tongue.

Your eyes widened, terrified that you might not be considered a true believer.

“I’m only kidding, lamb. Come, let’s go.”

You followed him out the door. He directed you towards a little house closer to the cliff overlooking the coast. The architecture was similar to that of the church, but it had two stories and larger windows. The pastor led you inside and you marveled at the foyer. The walls were paneled with wide, oak slats.

“How do you take your tea?” He asked warmly.

You pinched your thigh, dying to know if you were dreaming or not. Luckily you weren’t; you were very much grounded in reality. You told the pastor how you took your tea.

“My office is down the hall, first door on the left. I’ll meet you there.”

You followed his instructions, eager to show him you were an obedient parishioner. As you made your way down the hall you noticed a door cracked open. You peeked inside and saw Eren sitting on his bed, back against the wall, fiddling with something in his lap. Your skin grew hot and you wondered if he was jerking off. You hated yourself for watching, but your curious nature overpowered you.

“Aw shit,” Eren muttered. “I just ground that up.”

He got up, moving a little plate that was resting discreetly in his lap. You sighed. He was just rolling a joint.

“I said it was the first door on the left, lamb.”

You spun around and saw Pastor Grisha holding two cups of tea.

“I… I… don’t know my right from my left.”

You gritted your teeth. It was one of your shittier lies.

“It’s alright. Come, come.”

You followed him into his office and took a seat across from him. His desk was large and made out of the same wood as the paneling on the walls. You dragged your finger across the top of it. It was smooth, not even a hint of splintering.

“Did you make this?”

“I’m flattered you think I’m that handy, but no. My son did. He tends to do most of the building and upkeep around here.”

“Wow. He operates the camera and does the maintenance?”

The pastor stifled a laugh. “No, my other son. Eren.”

You took a sip of your tea. It was exactly how you liked it.

“So, what brought you here?”

“My feet. I’m kidding, uh.”

He smiled.

“I’ve been watching you guys on channel 5 for a few months. I figured it was about time I came to see you in person.”

His eyes narrowed. “To see me?”

“I mean like, you know.” You paused, your nerves getting the better of you. “I wanted to experience this in person. Your sermons.”

You felt like he was staring through you. Like he knew every lurid thought your brain dreamt up.

“I see.”

“I got sick of the church I used to go to,” you admitted.

“And which one was that?”

“Hope Springs Eternal Ministries. It’s the one tha—”

The pastor slammed his cup of tea back on the saucer.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled.

He ran his hand through his hair and sighed.

“There is no need to apologize. It’s not your fault you attended the most heretical church in town.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty bad there.”

“Tell me, lamb.” He leaned over his desk. “Were you happy?”

“Obviously not,” you scoffed.

“What didn’t you like?”

“Too focused on money and I never have any to spare,” you explained, taking another sip of tea. “Hard to stay a believer when your salvation is tethered to how much money you can throw at someone.”

“You poor thing. It’s a tragedy you and all those other cretins are cursed to attend such a disgusting testament to God.”

“Wow. Cretins, huh?”

He blushed. “I suppose it’s my turn to apologize. It’s not their fault they’re so small minded.”

The pastor’s pretentiousness sullied your deification of him. Granted it was your fault for putting a man on a pedestal in the first place.

“Am I small minded, Pastor Grisha?”

He rubbed his foot against your shin. You swallowed hard.

“I’m not sure, lamb. Have you cut ties with your old church?”

“I haven’t been there in a few months.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

You held his gaze and tried to ignore his foot rubbing up and down the length of your leg. Silence flooded the room.

“Yes,” you finally spat out. “I don’t associate with anyone from there. Not a single person.”

He leaned over his desk and beckoned you to come closer. You leaned in and your palms started to sweat. He smelled like cedar and juniper berries. Part of you wanted to kiss him, but you refrained. He cupped your face with his right hand and ran his thumb along your bottom lip. You couldn’t tell if you were turned on or on the verge of an anxiety attack.

“Poor thing. Tell me, are you lonely?”

You hesitated to answer. You were in fact painfully lonely, especially now that you rejected everyone at Hope Springs Eternal. Grisha’s stare was so intense you could have sworn he could read your mind. Just as you went to speak the door abruptly opened. Zeke walked through carrying a bunch of camera equipment. A lit cigarette hung precariously from his mouth.

“You have to tell Hannes not to show up drunk anymore. I spent ten minutes trying to clear him out—Oh, it’s you,” he said, setting the equipment on a plush couch on the other side of the room.

The pastor dropped his hand and leaned back in his chair.

“If I tell him that he’ll never show up again,” he rued. “I hate to think about the trouble he’d get into.”

You were frozen in place, struggling to see how the pastor could be so calm after Zeke saw you on the verge of sucking his thumb.

“Zeke?” He asked. “Are you listening?”

Zeke glared at you, his grey eyes colder than an overcast day in January.

“I heard you, father,” he hissed as he exited the office, leaving the door slightly ajar.

“I oughta go. I don’t want to intrude.”

“Will you be joining us next Sunday?”

“I think so.”

You wanted to bolt for the door but remained seated. The pastor seemed to have some sort of magnetic pull on you. Getting up was out of the question until he said you could.

“I’d prefer it if you knew. Why don’t you give me your phone number so we make sure you remember to show up.”

You gulped. “Alright.”

You scribbled your number down on a sticky note and grimaced. It was a tragic attempt at a smile, but your nerves tainted it.

“I look forward to seeing you again, lamb.”

“That’s if I come back,” you laughed.

His lips became a flat line.

“You will. I’m sure of it.”

The sentence reeked of ominousness. You excused yourself and slid out the door without a word. You feared that if you opened your mouth you’d just scream. When you entered the foyer you saw a very disgruntled Zeke and a sympathetic Eren. They glanced over at you. Eren’s demeanor changed, becoming vaguely welcoming. Whereas Zeke ignored your presence.

“Bye,” you said quietly.

Eren waved and resumed comforting Zeke. Shame came over you. You assumed you were the reason Zeke looked so bothered. Though your obsession remained, you had no intention of returning.

Your phone rang at 2 am, the chime blistering your ears. You didn’t recognize the number and opted not to answer. Just as you were about to fall back asleep, your phone rang again. You declined the call and turned your phone on silent. It didn’t take long for the screen to light up; the mysterious number demanded your attention.

“What?! What is it?!”

“Sorry to bother you. I do realize I’m calling rather late.”

It was Pastor Grisha, his voice clear as day. Not a hint of sleepiness to it.

“Oh fuck, I mean, damn. Dang! Uh, what is it?” You stammered.

“I just wanted to talk to you; that’s all.”

You swallowed hard.

“About?”

“Whatever you’d like.”

You furrowed your brow. Grisha’s actions felt odd and lacking goodwill.

“I don’t have anything to say. I’m pretty tired.”

“It doesn’t matter. Just speak,” he said, his tone finally revealing some hint of urgency.

You paused and tried to think of something to say. You looked out the window at the frost coating the grass.

“It’s been cold lately. I don’t know about you but I’m not used to it. Do you remember it being… this cold?”

You heard rustling on the other end of the phone.

His answer was a clipped, “No.”

“See I’ve seen people try to say it’s always been this way.”

“Ha—have you?” He sputtered.

“Yeah. Uh, like on the news. I feel like they downplay it on purpose.”

“Uh-huh.”

The pastor's breathing grew heavier and you heard him spit in his hand. You clenched your fists and tried to think of harmless things he could be doing. Maybe he had something stuck in his teeth and spit it into the sink.

“It’s gotta be an environmental thing.”

“Climate change,” he choked out.

“You know one of the reasons I started hating Hope Springs Eternal was the pastor not believing in ‘global warming.’ Shows how much he knows, huh?”

“Mhm.”

“I’m, uh, assuming you believe in it.”

“Yes,” he moaned. “It beckons the eschaton.”

You paused, trying to collect your thoughts and ignore what was happening on the other end of the phone.

“Did I tell you to stop?”

“It’s just… That’s a rather disconcerting thought, pastor.”

“Call me Grisha.”

“Okay… Grisha.”

You could hear his hand sliding up and down his cock. You paced around your room. You knew you should have hung up, that this was wrong. But the inappropriateness drew you in. You felt powerful knowing you managed to break down Grisha’s defenses and make him behave like a pitiful sinner.

“Are you close?” You asked.

“Y—yes,” he responded, the words stumbling out of his mouth.

“I hope you realize how loathsome this is.”

You heard a low groan followed by panting, and hung up. You were ashamed of the wet spot in your underwear. You thumbed through your drawer for a fresh pair, slipping them on before crawling back into bed. You lied awake, staring at the ceiling, and tried to make sense of what happened. Masturbating crossed your mind, but it would’ve been unholy. You opted to close your eyes and pray that morning came quickly.

You initially had no intention to return to the little church on the coast, but it wasn’t as if you had anything better to do. As you crested the hill you saw Zeke standing by the cliff, staring out into the ocean. The back of his shirt was speckled with red stains. A cloud of cigarette smoke lingered around him caught in the cold, morning air.

You walked towards him, your hands shoved in your pockets.

“Hi,” you said.

He perked up and side-eyed you.

“Yeah?”

“I just wanted to say good morning.”

“Well, you said it.”

He tossed his cigarette off the cliff and headed towards the church. You trailed after, embarrassed that you reached out to him. Entering the church you were pleasantly surprised to see Eren sitting in the pews. You grabbed a seat in the same row as him but kept your distance.

“C’mere. No need to sit so far away, sister.”

You scooched over to him. He was much more personable than his brother or his father.

“Sister? Wow. So formal.”

He blushed.

“Sorry. It’s a habit I can’t break for the life of me.”

“It’s fine… brother.”

He snickered. “You know for the longest time I used to say it like Hulk Hogan.”

“You mean like, ‘Bruhthurrrrr!’” You mimicked.

“Ha! Exactly.”

“What was your favorite verse? Austin 3:16?”

“You know it,” he said cheekily.

Service began and Grisha spent the majority of the time comparing various atrocities to the Book of Revelation. It was more militant than his previous sermons. Never before had he ever dropped a reference to a “holy war”, but today that seemed to be the running theme.

To say it made you uncomfortable would be the least. But still you found yourself hanging on his every word. You pictured yourself charging through a broken landscape. Flames ripping through cracks in the earth. Locusts fluttering about. The stench of carnage filling your nose. A hideous, rotted beast rising from a bottomless pit. The bodies of sinners heaped high into the heavens; those still cursed with life gnawing on their tongues in agony. It was horrific, but you felt pride. If you lived a virtuous enough life you could fight in God’s army and live in His light eternally.

You were ripped away from your nightmarish fantasy when Eren’s sweet voice blessed your ears.

“Was the sermon that boring?”

“What? No, I was just thinking about it.”

“It’s all good. Trust me, I zone out the second my dad starts talking.”

You wished that was what you had done. You missed the mindlessness you could indulge in on Sundays. Ever since you started attending service you were hypervigilant, bordering on too aware. You stretched your arms over your head and stood up, hoping it would quiet your disturbing thoughts.

“Shit. I should’ve introduced myself earlier. But, uh, my name’s Eren.”

“I know,” you laughed, and then told him yours.

“Now that’s a pretty name.”

Your face grew warm upon hearing his compliment. “Well, I’m off,” you said cheerfully.

“It was nice talking to you. Happy to be around a normal person for once.

You giggled. If only you were a normal person. You bid Eren farewell and headed towards the door. Just as you were about to step outside the threshold of the church, you felt a tap on your shoulder. You turned around to see Grisha.

“Where are you off to, lamb?”

“Home.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Why?”

“I was hoping you’d come back to the parsonage so I could properly apologize for my… indiscretion.”

You had tried so hard to forget about him jerking off while talking on the phone with you, how he punctured you with the sword of his mouth. You knew you should’ve declined his invitation and set a boundary between the two of you. But you were smitten despite how much the pastor unsettled you.

“Okay,” you relented.

Once in his office he collapsed onto the couch, resting the back of his hand on his forehead.

“So,” you began. “Are you going to apologize?”

“I think you should be the one apologizing to me.”

“What? But you said—”

“I’m well aware of what I said.” He fixed his gaze on you. “However, you tempted me to share in your plagues.”

“I didn’t do shit. You’re the one that called me up.”

“You didn’t have to answer.”

“You called me three times!”

He exhaled deeply.

“I suppose I am partially to blame.”

“Jesus fucking Christ! You’re fully to blame,” you seethed.

“Why are you being so hostile? Come, sit beside me.”

For whatever reason you did as you were told. You sat next to him and stared at your shoes like a child about to be reprimanded.

“I feel as though you solely exist to tempt me, like some sort of divine punishment. Tell me, lamb, are you clothed with the sun or are you a whore that sits on many waters?”

“I don’t know…” You thought about the lewd thoughts that often plagued your mind. “I guess the latter.”

“I see,” he said, placing his hand on your thigh. “I can save you, if you let me.”

“And how exactly would you do that?” You asked, glancing down at the bulge growing in his pants.

He squeezed your thigh and turned to face you. His eyes were dark with ardor. He only ever looked this passionate when he was preaching.

“I’d rather show than tell, lamb.”

He started to unzip his pants, revealing his hard cock. You turned away and stared at the wall. He latched onto your wrist and placed your hand on it. You prayed for God to stop your underwear from getting soaked.

“Are you afraid?” He asked.

“No. But this… isn’t right.”

“You have nothing to fear. I’m your savior. You should trust me.”

You faced him. He didn’t look untrustworthy. What would he gain from pulling the wool over your eyes? You needed to be saved. You were lucky this man had decided you were worth his time. You squeezed his cock, watching his reaction. He blushed.

“There’s no reason to be shy,” he cooed.

He repositioned himself so he was lying on his back, pulling you on top of him. He lifted up your dress and pulled your underwear off, throwing them to the side. You had taken to wearing prairie dresses with high necklines and white ruffled collars to fit in amongst the congregants. Oddly enough this made the men pay more attention to you, notably Grisha.

He guided his cock inside you. Your breath hitched as it stretched out your tight cunt. It had been years since anyone had fucked you. You gritted your teeth and breathed heavily through your nose.

“Am I hurting you?” He groaned while thrusting into you.

“Yes!” You yelped.

He placed his hands under your ass, lifting you up, leaving only the tip inside. You braced yourself by putting your hands on his tense shoulders. He peered up at you and tucked a lock of your hair behind your ear.

“That wasn’t my intention,” he grunted.

He pulled your body closer, keeping it flush to his, and started to ease his cock back inside you. You held his face in your hands and kissed him. Your lips overlapped his in a desperate attempt at intimacy. You wanted him to feel your passion and love, that you weren’t some trollop that waltzed in to simply whore herself out.

He slowly pushed his cock deeper into you, his hips rocking ever so slightly. You whined through the kiss before breaking it.

“Fuck. It’s too much,” you whined. “Can you get on top?”

He was more than happy to oblige, lifting you up and resting you on your back while his cock continued to throb inside you.

“How’s that?” He asked breathily.

“Much better,” you moaned.

He smiled and lifted your dress up higher. He pushed down the cups of your bra and groped your breasts.

“Harder,” you mewled.

He pinched one of your pert nipples, letting out a tiny laugh as you squealed. You grabbed ahold of his ass, driving his cock deeper into you. A few tears fell from your eyes as he bottomed out, his cock ramming into your cervix. You bit down on your bottom lip and tried to hold back an agonized moan. But the ache invading your body needed to be heard.

Grisha’s thrusts grew more erratic and his groans became louder. He had been starved of intimacy for so long. His desperate hymn radiated through your body. You found yourself being overcome by ecstasy. It was as if God was shining His holy light down on you. It took everything out of you to start babbling the Lord’s Prayer.

You happened to glance out the window and saw Zeke standing outside, partially obscured by a Monterey cypress. You knitted your brow and swallowed hard, nearly choking on your spit.

“Wh—what is it? Am I still hurting you?” He asked, thrusting away, his eyes now shut as rapture consumed him.

You squinted as if it would give you a better look at Zeke.

“It’s nothing. Keep going.”

You hugged him closer as his cock leaked precum inside you. You prayed Zeke couldn’t see anything. But alas you were wrong. Zeke had adjusted his position, revealing that he was fucking his fist. His pants hung around his ankles. It made you nauseous and you felt as if your entire body went cold, like your blood turned to ice.

“I—I’m going to wash away your sins with my seed.”

You felt disgusted by everything: Zeke masturbating to the sight of his father fucking you, Grisha’s ostentatious assumption his cum was a sacrament, the fact you still found yourself reeling from the rapturious pleasure of Grisha’s cock slamming into your cervix. He dropped one of his hands and rubbed your clit, leaving you a quivering mess.

You wanted to hold back, to have him come inside you and walk out of his office with some form of dignity. But it was impossible. Your unstoppable moans flooded the room.

“That’s it, lamb. Let it all go,” he grunted as he came, fucking his cum into your cunt.

Once he was finished he got up and tucked his cock back into his pants. You were rendered immoveable, body glued to the couch.

“It’s time for you to go,” he said solemnly, zipping and buttoning his pants.

You wordlessly tucked your breasts back into your bra and pulled your dress down. You scurried out of his office, passing Eren on your way out.

“Oh shit! Hey!”

“I’m leaving,” you mumbled, not actually hearing what he said.

“What?” He asked, his eyes filling with concern.

“I have to go!” You cried out while speed walking away from the parsonage.

You quickly glanced over your shoulder and saw him chasing after you, his long hair flowing in the wind.

“Wait up, sister,” he shouted.

“Leave me alone! Just… please. Don’t. I—I just wanna go home,” you said, having regained some level of composure.

You stopped; your feet felt like they weighed a thousand pounds. You felt Grisha’s come seep out of your cunt, dripping down the inside of your thigh.

“Did something happen to you?” He asked.

You shivered.

“No. No. No,” you repeated mindlessly.

He narrowed his eyes, his stare fixated on the rumpled state of your dress.

“Who was it?” He asked.

“No one. It was nothing,” you mumbled as your legs finally found it in them to move.

“Are you going to get home okay? I can drive you back to town.”

“Stop! I don’t even know you. I think I can manage on my own.”

Part of you wanted to collapse in his arms and weep, but you were sick of relying on these men for comfort, for a smidgen of solace. Eren didn’t seem to pick up on your distaste. He took a few more steps towards you before stopping.

“Tell me, sister. Was it my dad?”

“Didn’t I say it was no one?” You seethed, clenching your jaw.

You didn’t return to church the following Sunday or the Sunday after that even though Grisha incessantly called you. Instead you watched a live feed of the service at Hope Springs Eternal. You were able to lose yourself in the pompous extravagance. It wasn’t particularly pleasant. The sermon was the typical “poor people are poor because they don’t love God enough.” But it was nice to not hear rants about fighting in God’s army. Plus you thoroughly enjoyed roasting your old church.

“Idiots,” you muttered, shoving your hand in a box of cereal. “That guy doesn’t love God enough because his toupee isn’t on straight.”

You laughed with a mouthful of cereal and nearly choked on your giggle fit.

However you grimaced when the pastor brought out a rattlesnake. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he spoke in tongues.

“What is this? Fear Factor?”

Suddenly the crowd erupted into a shrieking mass of glossolalia, throwing themselves at the ground, as the pastor held the snake above his head. You were shocked to see the church had become such a spectacle while you were gone.

“Well that’s unsettling,” you said, turning off your television. “I hope the snake is okay.”

Pastor Grisha’s sermons suddenly seemed reasonable in comparison to whatever the fuck it was you’d just witnessed. You stared at your phone and picked it up. It felt like a stone in your hand. You called Grisha, hoping he wouldn’t answer.

Much to your disappointment he picked up on the first ring.

“Hi,” you said solemnly.

“My precious lamb, have you decided to come crawling back?”

You clenched your fists, your fingernails leaving valleys in your palm.

“Do you guys speak in tongues and handle snakes?”

“I run a church. Not a sideshow.”

“I take that as a no then.”

“That’s all ceremonial grandeur. It’s not of God.”

“Isn’t it in The Bible?”

“Much of The Bible is not to be taken literally.”

“Fair enough…”

“Why do you ask?”

You sighed. “Hope Springs Eternal livesteams their servi—”

“Heretical bastards!”

“Don—Don’t you broadcast your sermons on television? How is that any different?”

“Because I’m right goddammit! Even if I wanted to stop, I couldn't! It’s God’s will! How am I supposed to deny his desires?!”

“I—”

“What I do… What I do is necessary. It’s my duty. Only I can lead us on the virtuous path.”

“What about your sons?”

“Zeke’s more than capable, but he let his brain get eaten away by lust.”

“What about Eren?”

“He’s charming, but a lost cause. Noncommittal. He’s not a firm believer.” He exhaled. “It has to be me. There’s no other option.”

He sounded almost wistful, like he was being forced to do these things against his own will.

“It is how things are and have to be,” he mumbled. “I wasn’t exactly interested in this, but when God calls you don’t bury your head in the sand.”

“I guess. But you could stop. You know that, right? It doesn’t have to be like this.”

“Who am I to question the Hand of God, lamb? I’m a mere man. If He isn’t guiding me, I’ll stray. It’s—It’s hard… for me. You’d know that better than anyone.”

You held your breath. You were used to a level of opaqueness he operated under. To hear Grisha express doubt in the Lord bothered you. He was supposed to be different, to be stronger than the average pastor. One that was steadfast in his beliefs.

“I’ve missed seeing you,” he sighed.

“I doubt that.”

“It’s true. I need you. I’m lost without you.”

“I thought I was a temptress, a whore sitting on many waters or whatever.”

“Hush, lamb. Promise me you’ll come back next Sunday,” he pleaded.

“I’ll think about it,” you hissed before hanging up.

You were pissed Grisha’s plea managed to convince you. You showed up at the church the next Sunday dressed in a plain black prairie dress, something that wouldn’t make you stand out amongst the plain clothed men. You took your seat in the pews and didn’t make eye contact with anyone.

A familiar voice coming from behind you. “Hi!”

“Hey, Eren,” you said, a small smile crossing your face.

“It’s nice to see you, sister. I was worried about you.”

“I’m alright. No reason to be concerned.”

You wanted to placate him, but your tone was too clipped. It was like you were brandishing a knife after every word. Eren’s green eyes were tinged with worry, but he grinned and took a seat beside you. Service began as it usually did, but you noticed Zeke and the camera equipment were nowhere to be found.

“Are you guys not filming anymore?” You asked in a hushed tone.

“Hm? Oh, not today.”

You raised an eyebrow and decided not to think about it.

Grisha’s sermon ended up being much more benign. There was little talk of violence and not a single reference to God’s wrath. As he preached you zoned out.

“Am I boring you, sister?” Grisha asked pointedly.

You perked up and shook your head. He glared at you briefly before resuming the sermon. Nothing weird was happening, but there was an oddness in the air, like something unseen to only you was brewing. Even Eren started to look a little antsy.

“Who here needs to be healed?” Grisha suddenly asked.

You turned to Eren, but his eyes were fixated on the floor. Your body went cold. No one was speaking. Everyone’s eyes were trained on you. You sunk down into the pew, hoping people would forget you were even there. Out of sight, out of mind.

“Sister,” Grisha suddenly said.

You weren’t used to him addressing you in a formal way.

“Yes,” you said cheerfully. You wanted to pull the wool over everyone’s eyes. Maybe if you were pleasant, the mood in the church would change.

“Do you need to be healed?”

“Nope. I, uh, I think I’m good.”

“Who here thinks our sister needs to be healed?”

The men all raised their hands at once. You were aghast to see Eren slowly raising his hand, eyes still focused on the floor in front of him.

“Seriously?” You asked in a hushed voice.

He gave you nothing in response.

“I think we’ve come to a consensus,” Grisha said, leaving the pulpit. “Let’s gather around our sister.”

Everytime he said “sister” you felt like you swallowed a razor blade. You hated hearing it, but speaking up was thankless. It wouldn’t do anything. You were outnumbered. The men gathered around you, all with rather blank looks on their faces. Their eyes were flat and shark-like.

“You guys can’t be serious.”

One of the men placed their hand on your shoulder. The others followed suit and placed their hands on your shoulders, back, and the top of your head. You directed a pleading stare towards Eren.

“It’s fine. They’re not gonna hurt you,” he muttered.

You wanted to attack him like a wild animal, rip into his skin and pluck out his pretty, green eyes. You barely knew him, but somehow this was the ultimate betrayal.

“Fucker,” you said under your breath.

You breathed deeply to calm yourself. It was true. The men weren’t hurting you, at least on a physical level. The church was silent other than your labored breathing and the offshore winds occasionally rattling the windows.

“Do you have anything you’d like to repent for?” Grisha asked.

You flared your nostrils. “No.”

“Are you sure?” A drunk parishioner slurred.

You refused to answer.

“Are you sure?” Grisha repeated.

“Yes,” you answered in your most authoritative tone.

“You made eyes at me during service,” one of the men said. “You gave me a look.”

“What? I don’t even know you.”

“I saw you do it,” another one said.

Another tightened his grip on your shoulder.

“We all saw,” he rumbled.

The door of the church flung open. For a brief moment relief came over you.

“Sorry I’m late—Oh, so we are doing this,” Zeke said, fastening the last few buttons on his shirt.

“You’re just in time,” Grisha said cheerfully.

“Is this really necessary?” Zeke asked, surveying the situation.

“Do you doubt me?” Grisha asked.

Zeke nervously scratched behind his ear. “No.”

He took a seat on the floor near the door and stared at his feet much like Eren did. You wanted to scream, but you were frozen by God’s apparent will. The men continued their chorus of “I saw you” and proceeded to accuse you of other minor offenses you never committed. Every so often you denied the accusations, but after a while your mind began to slip. Had you given a lusty stare to someone? You couldn’t be sure anymore.

“I did it,” you finally said dejectedly. “All of it.”

The men removed their hands and went back to their seats. Grisha sighed and returned to the pulpit.

“Don’t you feel better now? Don’t you feel cleansed?”

You mindlessly nodded.

“Did you finally let the Lord into your hideous heart?”

Again, you nodded. The service ended with little fanfare and everyone left quickly. You found yourself tethered to your seat, unable to move lest you be accused of heresy. Eren remained as well.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“No. You’re not… But it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine.”

“Well then why didn’t you help me? You were right there.”

“I don’t know.”

“Is it because I deserve it? Am I that bad?”

“No.”

“Then why did they do that to me?!” You shouted.

“I don’t kn—”

“You don’t seem to know anything, brother.”

“I said I was sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t mean shit!” Tears welled up in your eyes and your throat burned from yelling after being so quiet. “I… Fuck!”

You kicked the pew in front of you. You didn’t know what to do. Eren probably was sorry. He probably didn’t have much pull over Grisha. What could he have done? You knew you were innocent; none of those sins were yours. The parishioners hadn’t even brought up your daliences with Grisha. Though it’s not like they’d have any information that would make the pastor look bad.

“I don’t think this will make you feel any better. But it’s happened to me a lot. I know how it feels.”

He scooched closer to you and cleared his throat.

“My relationship with God is complicated. It has been since my mom died.”

“That doesn’t make me feel sorry for you,” you hissed. “Everyone has a complicated relationship with God.”

He kept talking. “It usually goes longer. The last time it happened to me it was two hours of getting told I was useless. A drug addict. One guy even called me the Antichrist which made my dad stop everything. He ended up punching him.”

“That’s horrible.”

“It sounds worse than it actually is, sister.”

You couldn’t imagine suffering through an hour consumed by hands laying upon you. You were angry Eren downplayed it, trying to act like it wasn’t all that bad. It was a horrific experience. Not one you’d ever want to return to. You stood up and walked away. You didn’t bother saying goodbye to Eren. He was too lost in his own mind.

Once outside you saw Zeke standing near the edge of the cliff smoking as usual. You made your way over to him. The sunlight danced behind low hanging clouds, occasionally illuminating him in a heavenly way. Instead of the usual scowl, he gave a solemn, “Hello.”

You hated how much he looked like his father. It made you want to be mean to him.

“Are you alright?” He asked, taking a drag off his cigarette.

“I guess. I don’t know. I can’t tell yet.”

“Ah, yeah. That’s the worst part. Don’t worry,” he said, stretching his arms. “You’ll realize how awful it was when you’re trying to sleep tonight.”

You were already plotting how to induce insomnia. Zeke placed his hand on your shoulder. You were too exhausted to flinch. He took a few steps closer until you were finally in his arms, your face buried in his neck. He rubbed your back and you proceeded to sob. You felt silly for breaking down in a stranger’s arms, but Zeke was there. He was tangible, something you could hold onto.

His hands trailed down your back, resting them on your ass.

“Need a distraction?” His breath was hot against your ear.

You sniffled. You could feel his semi-hard cock through his pants.

“I guess. I—I have no idea how you could help me though,” you muttered dejectedly.

“Trust me, sister. I have plenty of ideas.”

He tightened his grip on your ass and rubbed his erection against you. You stared out over his shoulder at gentle waves licking the shore. You wanted to lose yourself in his broad-shouldered embrace.

“You can do whatever you want,” you mewled.

He let go of your ass and held onto your face by the jaw. His fingers were calloused, but the roughness of his touch was spirituous. He forced his leg between your thighs. He had a sick grin on his face. You tried to ignore it as you rubbed up against his leg. Instead you focused on how good his body felt on your clit. You dragged your throbbing cunt up and down his thigh, your breath hitching when the friction became too much.

He forced you to look him in the eyes as you pleasured yourself against him. You wanted to find kindness in his gaze but there was none, just lust. You started to unbutton his shirt while he hurriedly unzipped his pants. You kissed him, biting down on his bottom lip. He groaned and pulled away.

“No biting,” he chastised.

You frowned and lied down in the grass. You hiked up your dress, revealing your glistening folds. Zeke got on top of you, stroking his cock. It was girthy like his father’s, but more veiny and it lacked any sort of curve. You guided it inside you, watching Zeke’s reaction as he was greeted by your tight cunt. He looked so lecherous, so hungry for you.

“Oh God,” you moaned.

Zeke slowly thrusted; his cock filled your cunt. He stared down at you, eyes partially obscured by his glasses.

“How does that feel, sister?”

“Like heaven.”

“Ca—can I hit you?”

The idea of his hand gracing your face thrilled you to no end. You welcomed any sensation that would make you forget the numerous hands that had previously invaded your body.

“Please.”

His hand was swift across your face, leaving a stinging pain in its wake.

“Again,” you pleaded, stroking his cheek.

He was more than happy to oblige. He thrusted his cock deeper inside you and slapped you again. You pulled him into a kiss, pushing your tongue past his teeth. His tongue tasted of tobacco. The woody, sour taste overtook your mouth.

His hands roaming your body was a blessing. His touch healed the wounds left behind the parishioners. You never wanted to let him go. Your fingers were tangled in his soft, flaxen hair. You twirled a lock in between your fingers and tugged on it. He let out a muted yelp you soon swallowed. He broke the kiss, panting as he bottomed out. Your body writhed underneath his, swimming in the shadow of this saint.

“How does it feel, sister?” He asked, holding you down.

“Good,” you gasped.

He grabbed ahold of your jaw again, his grey eyes tunneling holes through yours. You wanted to live in his light, until your body rotted away into dust. You tightened your walls around him. He groaned, his hips bucking against your limp body. You were putty in his hands.

You slid his suspenders off and yanked down his pants. You held onto his plush ass, pulling him towards you so his cock kissed your cervix. His hips seemed to skip a beat as his cock leaked precum inside your cunt. A needy moan fell from his lips and he shut his eyes.

“Can I come inside you?” He quickly asked.

You eagerly nodded. He let out a few desperate whimpers as he drove his cock in you, your fluids intermingling. He was panting harder, his cheeks now a pretty pink. He bucked his hips as his cock shot cum into the depths of your cunt.

“Do you like that, sister?” He asked, fucking you harder.

“Yes,” you squealed.

Once he finished he slid his cock out of you and lowered himself down to your cunt. He lapped at the cum seeping out of it, tongue flicking your clit.

“Say my name when you come,” he ordered.

You dug your fingers into the grass as your body quivered. Zeke ran his hands up and down your legs as he sucked his cum out of you, the lurid noise harmonizing with the waves.

“Zeke,” you mewled as you saw white.

You felt like you were ascending as your body squirmed against his face, his beard tickling the inside of your thighs. You were too lost in your orgasm to hear the footsteps stomping through the grass. Zeke looked up at you, smiling. He rested his head on your thigh and sighed dreamily.

“Are you interested in doing anything else, sister?”

You ignored his question and posed your own. “Why were you jerking off while I was fucking your father?”

His gaze hardened.

“It’s not as if I was looking at him.” He kissed your thigh and took on a kinder tone. “It’s not our fault none of us know how to behave around women… It doesn’t help that we all have a sick crush on you.”

“How are you gonna solve that problem, huh?”

“I did talk to you first. If you belong to any of us, it’s me.”

“I don’t belong to any of you,” you said, unable to hide your disgust.

“Don’t you want to be mine?”

You rustled his hair. He was cute in a tragic sense. It was strange to see such a domineering man rendered down to an endearing puddle of goo. You alternated between wanting to toss him off the cliff, and marrying him.

You were ripped from your peace by the sound of rustling grass growing closer and closer. Zeke glanced up and his face fell. You craned your head back and saw Grisha standing there, clutching his worn down bible to his chest.

“How could you?” Grisha lamented; his question directed at you.

Zeke sat up and pulled your dress back down.

“Are you jealous?” He taunted.

Grisha glared at his son. Although Zeke’s expression was haughty, it had a tinge of uneasiness. It was warranted. The pastor launched his bible at his son, hitting him square in the nose. Blood seeped from it, staining his white shirt red.

“You’re going to hell for that,” Zeke said, covering his nose with his hand.

“Well I’ll see you there, you disgraceful whoremonger!”

You frowned at the notion of you being a whore. It was an accusation you never got used to. You weren’t chaste by any means, but this was the most action you had in awhile.

“Did you not lie with her too?” Zeke asked, standing up and stepping over you to get closer to his father. “I saw you. I bore witness.”

Grisha blushed, clearly horrified by this revelation. “I—I was saving her!”

“You have a really funny way of saving people then.”

You grew tired of their bickering. You found your underwear hiding amongst the cat grass and slipped them on. You bounded off to the path that led down to the beach. Neither of the men noticed you left.

The wind had calmed down, making the journey less precarious. You kicked off your shoes and dug your toes into the sand. Such a simple thing and yet it was the best you felt in years. You walked closer towards the ocean, digging your feet deeper into the sand with every step. Once the water licked your heels you swam out, submerging yourself in a mellow wave. You held your breath as it washed over you. You dove deeper as the currents pulled you further from the shore.

Salt water weaseled its way into your eyes, killing any sense of comfort you found in the lull of the waves. You let your body float to the surface. Resting on your back, you stared up at the overcast sky. You looked like a pathetic version of Ophelia, madness driving you out into the sea. It was hard to be serene while coughing. The salt burned your throat and left your tongue numb.

You were decidedly less glamorous than any Millais painting. But that didn’t matter. You couldn’t care less about how you appeared. Maybe this was pathetic. Maybe you were wading in madness. But was that a bad thing? You’d be in good company. Even Jesus’s family and followers thought he was insane on occasion, possessed by demons, riddled with paranoia. And yet he was a paragon of holiness, of a just life.

The sun peeked out from behind the low-hanging clouds, a little beam of sunlight bled through. The first you’d seen in awhile. It looked like glitter ebbing along with the waves.

“Nice,” you whispered.

Your phone rang constantly. You thought about blocking Grisha's number, but you wanted to hear the desperation in his voice and if he still thought he could save you. Much to your disappointment he never left a single voicemail.

Nothing seemed to completely sever the attachment you had to them. You thought about Zeke fucking you in a field constantly, though on occasion you imagined he was Eren. You found yourself missing the brunette. He was always nice to you. His only major misstep being that he didn’t help you when you were assaulted.

Twinges of resentment remained a plague. You knew Eren was just as much a victim as you. But there remained a pervasive sense of betrayal. It was such a strong feeling for someone you barely knew.

There was some relief knowing they were no closer to God than you.

Eventually one early Sunday morning, your curiosity got the better of you and you answered when Grisha called you for the umpteenth time. You reclined on your couch, watching Hope Springs Eternal’s live stream with the volume turned down.

“Did you call to jerk off to the sound of my voice?” You asked haughtily.

“What? No, sister. I’m not a pig.”

You were surprised to hear Eren’s voice.

“Oh… Hey? Why are you calling from your father’s phone?”

“Psh. My dad wishes he had his own phone. We all share the one in his office.”

“Okay. Uh, what’s up? Did something happen?”

He sighed. “No. I just miss talking to you.”

“I’m sure there are other parishioners to talk to.”

Eren paused. “Actually there aren’t any. My dad stopped opening up service to the public and kicked everyone out. We just do the TV thing now.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Last Sunday he said something about someone taking his lamb to the slaughter? And how he is not fit to be a shepherd because he tasted the waters of Babylon. I tried asking him about it, but he didn’t want me to bear his burden which I appreciate. But on the other hand, I’d like to know what the fuck is going on.”

You knitted your brow and asked, “How’s Zeke?”

“A disaster. He smokes inside now. I can’t remember the last time I saw him with a shirt on. And he’s been asking me for weed which is… I don’t mind sharing, but my tolerance is high. It takes a lot to calm this mess down.” He punctuated his sentence with a soft chuckle. “Also he films dad at a Dutch angle. I don’t know, sister. It’s all bad.”

You wanted to hug him, hold him close and like a vice.

“I guess I can stop by, if you want.”

“Really? You’d be down?”

“As long as I don’t see your father, I don’t mind. He’ll be busy preaching, right?”

“Yup!”

“I’ll see you in a few then.”

“Wow. Really? It’s okay if you don’t want to.”

You assured Eren it was no problem and hung up.

Looking through your wardrobe, you hated yourself for getting rid of all your secular clothing. You burned it all in a religious fury, replacing everything with long dresses, with high necklines accentuated with oversized collars, and long sleeves. Your most plain one was still stiff with ocean water. You ended up settling on one in your favorite color.

When you arrived you expected the church to be in ruins. It was a rather hyperbolic thought. But given what Eren told you, your mind felt free to wander down darkened paths. You didn’t dare approach the church proper, instead heading for the back door of the parsonage.

The tide was low, the stench ever present. You dry heaved every couple seconds. You stepped closer to the cliff and saw the rotting carcasses of fish. You hadn’t heard anything about a major die off. You pinched your nostrils shut and swallowed the spit collecting in your mouth.

“It’s gross, ain’t it?” Eren said, walking over to you. “Let’s get inside.”

He held the door open for you and shut it tight. The sound of door slamming made you jump.

“I’m sorry. I’m tryna keep the smell out as best I can,” he said sheepishly.

“It’s okay. I’d rather you be aggressive towards inanimate objects than smell death.”

“You want coffee? I just made a pot. Or do you like tea? I can make tea. Or we can have both. Best of both worlds. Like Hannah Montana,” he rattled off nervously. He shut his eyes tight and sighed deeply, very much aware of how silly he sounded.

“Coffee is fine.”

“How do you take it?”

You explained in great detail how you like your coffee. Eren was shaky and needed the specificities even if your request was on the simpler side. You took a seat at the dining table, one he clearly built. He carefully prepared your cup and placed it in front of you with a very prideful grin on his face. You thanked him and took a sip. It was perfect.

You wasted no time and started to question Eren on the current state of the church the moment he sat at the table.

“Pastor Grisha kicked everyone out?”

Eren winced, hearing you call his father that.

He took a sip of his coffee. “Yeah. He won’t tell me anything though. He does his sermons and then he spends the rest of his time in his office, muttering weird shit like ‘Where did I go wrong?’ and ‘He slaughtered my little lamb.’’

You snicked. “He’s talking about me.”

“What makes you so sure, sister?”

“I fucked your father, brother.”

“I know,” he answered casually.

“And I fucked your brother. Your father caught us in the little clearing by the cliff.”

“I told Zeke not to do that.” Eren said, the vibrancy of his eyes completely dulled.

“You knew?”

“Duh.. He’s my brother. I know everything about him.”

“Did he tell you he jerked off while your dad fucked me?”

“Unfortunately. He… He was desperate and he really likes you. I’m not saying it was right. He’s got some shit to work through.”

“You really care about him, huh?”

“Why wouldn’t I, sister? I love him,” he said cheerfully.

“Where is he?”

“Probably asleep. Service doesn’t start for another hour and a half.”

“I’m very much awake,” his voice boomed from down the hall.

He stepped out of his room clothes in only a tiny pair of grey underwear that left little to the imagination. His back was covered in spindly welts. He had no shame, not an inkling of it. He sauntered into the room and took a seat next to Eren. He glanced back and forth at the two of you. A skimpy joint was tucked behind his ear.

“What’s she doing here?” He asked Eren.

“You can ask her yourself. She’s right there.”

Zeke turned his attention towards you. “Who invited you?”

Eren groaned. “I did. I wanted to hang out with her.”

“Oh yeah, I’m sure you’re just ‘hanging out.’” He said, laughing.

“I have no one to talk to! Dad's on the path to being one of those embarrassing street preachers that scream about the end of days. And you never wear clothes and only ever talk to me when you want weed!”

“Do you need a hug?” Zeke asked, his tone comically serious.

“What?! No. Go put pants on.”

“Fine. I’ll conform, if that’ll calm your ass down,” he said.

“Is he high?” You asked.

“Terminally.”

You mouthed a “wow”.

“I can’t decide what pants,” he yelled down the hall. “Come help me.”

Eren sighed. “Let’s humor him.”

The two of you made your way to Zeke’s room. It was rather barren. He had a nice sized bed, with crisp white sheets and a turmeric colored quilt folded at the foot of it. He had a small desk made from birch wood stained a muted black. The chair was the same, though a small pillow softened the seat. His closet door rested on the ground. Zeke explained it fell off the hinges and didn’t care enough to fix it. His room looked like something out of the past. The only modern thing in it was the camera equipment.

Eren frowned and lightly kicked Zeke’s broken door.

“I said I would fix this for you, dumb ass.”

“You’re so cruel. Now! Let’s get down to business.”

He grabbed a lighter off his desk and lit the joint he had behind his ear.

“What about the pants?” You asked, trying not to stare at his cock.

“The what?” He waved his hand as if that made the previous conversation disappear. “Who cares? Here, take a hit.”

“I’m okay,” you demurred.

“Aw, come on? Do you not like me anymore?”

You rolled your eyes. “No. I just feel like getting high in a parsonage goes against God’s will.”

He patted your head and passed the joint to Eren. Zeke sat down on his bed and gestured for you to join him. Briefly you resisted but he was too handsome and too willing. Maybe it was God’s will for you to merely sit beside him.

Eren took a seat next to you while puffing on the joint hanging from his lips. He passed it back to Zeke.

“I’m good for now,” he relayed.

Zeke stubbed the joint out in an ashtray and opened a window to let the smoke air out. The haze that had once permeated the room slowly ebbed out into the cold wind. You tried to focus on that instead of Zeke’s cock which appeared to be a little stiff.

“I know you’re looking, sister.”

“I am not!”

Eren laughed. “If you want I can, uh, leave you two alone.”

“No way. I’m here to see you, remember?”

Zeke rested his head on your shoulder.

“What are you saying? You don’t want to see me?”

You rustled his hair. “No. That’s hardly what I meant.”

Eren wrapped his arm around you, pulling you close to him. There was a territorial tinge to his eyes. You struggled to stifle your laughter. All of the men in this family seemed to be desperate for your attention, even Eren who on occasion seemed like a normal guy.

Zeke looked over at Eren and narrowed his eyes.

“Are you jealous I found my way to her before you?”

“Are you jealous that dad fucked her first?”

Zeke scowled. You sighed deeply and tried to ignore your attraction to them. It was a thankless task.

“Do you want to lay with me, brother?” You asked on the verge of hysterics, playing up the religious pleasantries.

Eren blushed.

“He does,” Zeke said as he sprawled out across your lap. “He told me.”

Eren was staring out across the room, desperately trying to ignore Zeke and you.

“Is that true?”

He ran his hands through his long, dark hair, the silky tendrils finding their way between his fingers.

“Yeah. Happy?”

You gazed at Eren. Your vision blurred around him; he was all you could focus on. You carefully slipped your hand under his suspenders and ran it down one of his pecs. He shivered at your touch. You rubbed his delicate nipple with your thumb.

“Get on top of him,” Zeke suggested, his head in your lap. “I’ll eat your ass if you do it, sister.”

Eren’s eyes widened. The prospect of Zeke eating your ass was very appealing. As you went to straddle Eren, Zeke grabbed your shoulder.

“Not here. The office.”

“What?! No,” you exclaimed.

“Would it make you feel dirty because that’s where you fucked our father?”

“What if he catches us?” You panicked.

“Don’t worry about it. Your brother isn’t going to let anything bad happen to you, okay?” Zeke cooed.

Eren fake gagged and corralled you into Grisha’s office. Zeke’s words did not set you at ease.

You and Zeke took a seat on the couch. He rambled on about how Pastor Grisha now ended every sermon with “Jesus wept.” Eren took off his suspenders and his pants, folding them up neatly. He stood still for a moment, caught up in his own thoughts. You were getting impatient listening to Zeke ramble on. Your desire to fuck Eren was unbearable. All your attention was focused on him.

“Alright. I’m rea—Jesus Christ! Show some restraint!” Eren shouted.

You looked over at Zeke who at some point took off his underwear. He had a smug grin on his face. His cock was standing straight up, veiny and thick as ever. He was raring to go and you hadn’t even noticed.

“I don’t like to waste time,” he responded.

You and Eren both were a little perturbed, but not enough to turn back. Lust flooded your core; you could feel it bubbling up your throat. Zeke’s cock demanded your attention, the tip of it like a red beacon. You leaned in a little closer to him and cupped his balls, squeezing them with your gentle touch. You rubbed them, your grip tightening. Zeke exhaled and lazily threw his head back, eyes shut with pleasure. He beamed; you didn’t realize he was capable of such contentment.

“I’ll let Eren fuck you first, considering I already blessed you with my seed.”

“More like you filled her with your dirt,” Eren groused.

“Just let me have this,” Zeke complained.

If you weren’t so turned on, you would have stood up and walked out the door. But you were hopelessly tethered to them, your body devoted to their light. The holiness you perceived in them made it okay.

Eren gazed at you, his eyes as fertile as a verdant field. He held out his hand which you took and walked to his father’s desk. He kicked his father’s belongings off and gestured for you to sit on it. You happily obeyed. Your total willingness made him nervous. His hands quaked as he lifted your dress and peeled off your underwear.

“Over here,” Zeke said, holding his hand up.

Eren balled up your underwear and beaned them at Zeke’s face. Zeke didn’t seem to care and took an audible whiff. Eren gripped your hips and pulled you closer to the edge of the desk. He swiped his fingers against your cunt, coating them with your fluids.

“Open wide.”

You parted your lips and sucked them clean, running your tongue along the pads of his fingers. Your cunt throbbed, aching for his touch. He spread apart your labia and ran his cock down your slit. You whimpered as he slowly plunged it inside you.

“You guys are boring,” Zeke heckled. “She’d be ruined by now if I was fucking her.”

Eren let out an annoyed groan and started to thrust. Zeke reclined on the couch, happily watching the two of you. Eren grunted as your cunt hugged around him. His movements were slow and precise, lacking any of the urgency Zeke or Grisha’s had. You wondered if he was more experienced. You thought about him fucking his way through town, not a person untouched. He was certainly handsome enough.

“Pick up the pace,” Zeke said, stroking his cock.

Eren gritted his teeth. “For the love of God, please shut up. I’m begging you.”

“I’m getting bored though. I want to hear her squeal.”

“It’s not about what you want.” Eren turned his attention towards you. “Right?”

You nodded. Zeke sighed audibly and absent mindedly stroked his cock. You couldn’t help but stare; you wanted it in your mouth.

Eren took notice and began to fuck you harder, the length of his cock consuming your cunt.

“Don’t look at him,” he sneered, grabbing a hold of your face with his free hand. “Open your mouth again.”

You did as you were told. Eren spat directly in your mouth, the action full of derision. His saliva was sweet, tinged with coffee and citrus. He glared down at you and held you by the neck, his palm barely grazing your throat. His touch was gentle unlike his gaze. He clenched his jaw and thrust into you, groaning as he bottomed out. He erupted into a symphony of grunts and moans. His long hair hung in his face and he tried to tuck it behind his ear with no luck.

You heard Zeke laugh and get up off the couch, walking over. Zeke positioned himself behind Eren and reached over his shoulders to tuck his hair behind his ear.

“You looked like you were struggling,” Zeke cooed.

Eren let go of your throat and looked over his shoulder, mildly perturbed, and nodded.

“Why do you still have your shirt on, puritan?” Zeke coyly asked, as he started to unbutton it.

“You’re pushing your luck,” Eren grunted as he drove his cock into you.

Zeke snickered and helped Eren take off his button-down.

“Now it’s a party!” He cheered, resting his head on his brother’s shoulder.

Zeke gazed down at you, the weight of his body pressed up against Eren. You were a panting mess and tried to cover your face. Your shame always got the best of you. After all, you were a Christian. The brothers loved every second of it. Your whines and sighs were their favorite hymns. Zeke grabbed your hips and pulled you closer to Eren.

“Ow!” You yelped as Eren’s cock collided into your cervix.

You gazed up at the men lording over you, their eyes devouring every inch of you like a couple of jackals.

“I’m having a hard time focusing with your cock wedged between my ass,” Eren mumbled.

“Is it too weird?” Zeke asked, backing away.

“I have an idea,” you said, pulling Eren’s cock out of you.

You sat up and gestured for Zeke to sit behind you. He happily got up on the desk and sat behind you. You nestled in between his legs, letting his cock rest up against the small of your back.

“Why do you still have this on?” Zeke murmured in your ear.

His dexterity was impressive; he managed to quickly undo all the little buttons on your dress and pulled it over your head. You could feel his heaving chest up against your back, the hair tickling your spine. Eren unhooked your bra and tossed it to the side. He guided his cock back inside your weeping cunt and began to thrust.

“That feel good?” Eren grunted.

“Y—yes,” you choked out. “So good.”

Zeke groped your breasts, tweaking your nipples in between his rough fingers. Eren gave a smoldering glare to Zeke.

“What is it, brother?” Zeke asked sarcastically. “Did you want her all to yourself?”

Eren continued to force his length into your tormented cunt. He was blushing, still glaring at Zeke. His lush brown locks hung in his face. He almost looked like Jesus. Zeke went to speak, his eyebrows knitted with concern, but Eren interrupted him with a rough kiss, ripe with insatiable yearning. He continued to thrust wildly, delving his cock into your dripping cunt. Eren was close. His moans obscured by the kiss. Zeke pulled away and cleared his throat. You managed to catch a glimpse of his beet red face as you felt a spurt of warm fluid on your back.

“Sorry, sister,” he murmured.

Eren’s balls clapped up against your taint as he pounded away. Your body tensed up in anticipation of your orgasm. Eren’s cock filled every inch of your cunt, stretching it out as his hips grinded up against you. Your skin felt like it had electricity running through it, the Holy Spirit imbuing you with its light. Your body contorted in rapture as your vision faded. All you saw was light. You felt like God Himself.

Zeke lazily started to rub your clit, lubricating his finger with your fluids, which sent you to the brink. You were entrenched in ecstasy as your orgasm crashed over you. You tried to speak but all you could do was babble, the only coherent sound being you sputtering out Eren’s name.

Eren smirked and slowed down his pace, becoming more deliberate with his thrusts.

“You’re so fuckin’ tight,” he moaned.

He tossed his head back and filled you with his warm, milky cum. His hips bucked a few more times before he slumped forward, resting his head on your shoulder. You kissed the top of his head.

“I wanna worship you both,” you said breathily.

“Oh yeah?” Zeke asked.

Eren chuckled. “How do you plan on doing such a thing, sister?”

“Come down my throat.”

Zeke tumbled off the desk and quickly got to his feet. Eren helped you off and stood next to his brother. You got on your knees and gazed up at them. They were regal and beautiful, painfully so. You could bask in their presence for ages and never tire of it. Eren met your gaze and smiled. He stroked your cheek.

“Need some help?” Zeke asked Eren, pointing at his semi-hard cock.

Eren’s eyes widened.

“It’s cool if you don’t! I just thought since… You do realize you kissed me, right?”

Eren huffed. “Yes! I was hoping dad would walk in.”

“It’d really ruin him if he caught me jerking you off, especially so close to his precious, little lamb.”

Zeke had the mind of a demon. It disturbed you to no end, but it was just as alluring. Both of the brothers were blushing, their chests as pink as their cheeks. Eren looked down at you for guidance.

“Let him help,” you replied.

Your tone was marred with shame. You were still scared by the sin of it all, but traumatizing Pastor Grisha had its appeal after everything he had done. You needed your wanton desires to triumph, to horrify the holy man.

Eren let out a muted moan as Zeke gripped his cock. You eagerly watched as Zeke squeezed the length of it. Eren’s expression exuded an alluring agony. You lapped at his balls as Zeke hesitantly jerked him off. You rolled your tongue along the raphe, relishing in his rapturous groans. You flicked Eren’s aching cock with your tongue like a serpent.

Eren’s body relaxed a little, his shoulders not held as high. You sucked on his cock, savoring the precum dribbling from it. You worked in tandem with Zeke until Eren’s cock was throbbing and glistening with precum and spit.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Zeke asked. “I’m not playing coy. Was that okay?”

“I guess,” Eren mumbled. “Yeah.”

“Let’s just think of it as a really fun Eucharist,” Zeke replied, hip checking his brother.

You stared up at Eren and Zeke, eager to service them. You took Zeke’s cock in your mouth and swirled your tongue around the tip. He patted your head as you sucked. Drool trickled from the corners of your mouth. Eren watched intently and stepped closer to you, his erection demanding your attention. You caressed it with a tender touch. His verdant gaze fixed on you, heavy with ardor. No one had ever looked at you like that before.

You released Zeke’s cock from your mouth and masturbated him using your free hand. Zeke’s gaze matched Eren’s, his grey eyes boring holes through yours. You beckoned them to stand closer together and frotted their cocks, suckling on the tips in between jerking them off.

The sound of heavy footsteps ripped you from your debauched trance.

“Did you hear that? I think I heard—”

“Suck us off at the same time,” Zeke pleaded.

Eren nervously looked to the side, but gave you a nod. You resumed holding their cocks together and eased them into your mouth. You felt like the corners of your mouth were going to tear as you struggled to fit them in.

“Atta girl,” Zeke purred.

The footsteps grew nearer.

“Boys? We ought to start service,” you heard Grisha call out.

“Zeke,” Eren muttered.

“Hm?” He said as he watched as tears ran down your cheeks.

Eren cupped Zeke’s face in his hands and kissed him as the knob of the door jiggled. It was ripe with desperation like the previous one. Eren bit down on Zeke’s bottom lip. Your cunt throbbed at the sight. You gagged and took their cocks out of your mouth, opting instead to jerk them off.

Grisha opened the door and stepped inside. He let out a little sigh before he noticed the depravity taking place.

“Oh God, no!”.

Eren laughed, breaking the kiss.

“Why? Why would you do this?!”

You lapped at Eren and Zeke’s cock, relishing in the pained shouts coming from the pastor. Zeke bucked his hips against your fist, fucking it furiously.

“Give me an answer! What did I do to either of you to deserve this?!”

The brothers ignored his cries. Zeke nuzzled his face into Eren’s neck and rubbed the back of your head.

“I’m close,” he whimpered. “Can I come on your face, sister?”

You nodded with a big smile on your face.

“How could you do this?” Grisha asked dejectedly, holding your gaze.

You didn’t answer. Grisha was of little importance. All you cared about were his sons.

“Sorry, father,” Zeke moaned as ropes of cum splattered across your cheeks.

“I—I raised you better than this!”

Eren clenched his fist while his erection dwindled.

“I don’t think you did,” Eren replied.

Grisha was stunned. “Excuse me?”

You let go of Eren’s cock and tried to wipe away Zeke’s cum with the back of your hand. You only proceeded to make a bigger mess. Zeke got to his knees and licked the remnants off your face.

“Look at us,” Eren said. “Zeke’s been convinced he’s going to Hell since he was four years old.”

“That has nothing to do with me! I never once told him such a thing.”

“It was implied,” Zeke whispered.

Eren was undeterred. “Did you know he flagellates himself? Or do you just not pay attention to the blood stains on the backs of his shirts?”

“I can’t be aware of every little thing that goes on, Eren. You… You could have told me!”

“And what good would that have done? Would you’ve cleaned his wounds at two in the morning? Let him sob in bed with you until sunrise?”

Zeke’s eyes had glazed over, not a hint of light to them.

“I… I d—don’t know,” the pastor sputtered.

“Exactly,” Eren laughed. “See, I didn’t even have to think about it. And you know what’s really fucked up? I didn’t learn that from you.”

“Eren, I…”

“And it’s not like I came out of this unscathed! Why do you think I’m high all the fucking time? I can’t deal with the overwhelming guilt an—and shame for not being whatever it is you wanted me to be.”

You wanted to run out of the office and leave everything behind. The situation was too much to bear. Eren’s rage, Zeke’s dissociation, the fact the three of you were still naked.

“I’m… going to go,” Zeke said suddenly.

He stood up and breezed past his father like he wasn’t even there. You remained a distressed heap on the floor.

“Eren, I’m sorry,” Grisha whispered.

“Oh my God,” Eren laughed again. “No. No, you’re not.”

Grisha’s face fell and he turned his attention towards you. You were to bear the brunt of his discontent.

“This is your doing, isn’t it?”

“Don’t try to pin this on her. She was just a catalyst.”

Grisha shook his head, resuming his previous pathetic visage. “My son, what can I do to make this right?”

Eren held out his hand to you and helped you up. You quickly found your dress and yanked it over your head.

“Nothing. You fucked up,” he responded, getting dressed. “You might as well find some poor woman to bear you a new son. Maybe you won’t fuck him up though you never seemed like the learning type.”

Eren led you past Grisha and out of the office.

“I know this is asking a lot, but could I stay with you for a bit?” Eren asked matter-of-factly.

You tried to shake yourself from your daze. Grisha’s words still haunted you.

“My apartment’s kinda small, but sure?”

“Thank you. I’m gonna go grab some stuff and then we can head out.”

Eren left you in the foyer to grab his keys from his room. Grisha approached you, desperate to convince you to stay with him.

“My precious lamb—”

“Don’t.”

“Please, I want to explain.”

“Stop talking to her,” Eren called out, pulling on a jacket.

Grisha glared at him momentarily before sighing and walking off. You didn’t think he’d give up on you so quickly. It was strange to see him so subdued and broken. You felt a twinge of sympathy, but it was gone as fast as it came. Grisha didn’t deserve any goodwill.

“You’ll be back,” he murmured, stepping into his office and slamming the door shut.

Eren and you set off for his car and hopped inside. It was a boring sedan, an older model from the early 90s, and it reeked of marijuana. He put his keys in the ignition as a smile crossed his face.

“You alright?” You asked.

He started the car and drove away from the parsonage, a few tears fell from his eyes.

“Yeah. It… It was a long time coming, but honestly I have no idea what I’m gonna do now.”

“We carry similar burdens. We can figure it out together.”

You liked the idea of healing with Eren, growing past your oppressive Christian upbringings and seeing the world anew. He rested his hand on your thigh and looked in his rear-view mirror.

“Is that?” He said, his green eyes popping out of his head.

It was Zeke, hauling ass after the car. He was sprinting like he was competing for a spot in the Summer Olympics. His form was astounding. He always looked like an athlete.

“Oh shit,” Eren said, stifling a laugh. “Hold on.”

He pulled over and waited until Zeke tapped on the window. Eren unlocked the car and Zeke crawled into the backseat. His shirt was barely buttoned and his fly was down. His flaxen hair was more askew than usual.

“I can’t believe you were going to leave me,” he said, catching his breath.

“You wandered off! I didn’t know where you went.” Eren scrambled for the right words. “I—I would’ve called you.”

“How? I don’t have a phone and neither do you.”

“Well, you’re here with us now and that’s all that matters,” you said, trying to settle the brothers down.

It seemed to work. Zeke exhaled and rested his head on the window, gazing out into the ocean. You weren’t sure how you’d make this all work. Your apartment had a single bedroom and not much space for two grown men, but you were determined to make it work. After everything you all had been through it was crucial you remained together, at least until the wounds healed. And the stinging guilt of turning your back on Pastor Grisha and God subsided.

“This is gonna sound kinda stupid, but… I don’t know what I would have done without you guys. I felt lost for so long. Going to church and hating myself for not being the most pious person. Getting wrapped up in your father’s crap. But you, uh, you both changed that. You saved me.” You tacked on a nervous laugh. “Somehow.”

The car fell silent and you felt silly for making such a claim.

Eren broke the silence. “We saved each other.”

[ohbrotherthisblogstinks]

Imagine laying in bed beside Shoko, face pressed half into the pillow while your eyes are struggling to remain open. She's lighting a cigarette, a blissed-out smile on her face as she relaxes into the blankets. She had just finished fucking you into the mattress.

"Shoko..." you mumble weakly, lower half still throbbing from the aftermath of her work. She smiles when she hears your tone, she knows she did a good job if you sound like that. "What is it, pretty?" she pulled the cylinder from her lips, puffing out the smoke and watching it swirl around the air before dispersing.

"Want you..." your arm is reaching over to her, there was less than six inches keeping you apart but it felt like a chasm. "...more?" she seemed a little surprised, especially with how tired you looked. "No...no not more sex..." you laughed a bit, scooting closer despite your limbs feeling like lead. "Oh I see..." she turned on her side, letting you bury your face in the crook of her neck.

"You just want more of me..." she hums, one arm hooking under your neck while her other is bringing the cigarette back to her lips. "Always." you breathed out, inhaling her natural scent as your body fully relaxed into her embrace. "I did a number on you, hmm?" she says even though she knows you are falling asleep. Her voice has always been a comfort to you so she knows it's fine.

You give your girlfriend a half-hearted hum, way too tired to actually speak anymore. Shoko grins, puffing out more smoke before reaching behind her to snuff it out in the ashtray. "You did so good for me, just like you always do." Your body was covered in her love bites, scratches from her nails, and nice dark hickeys. Ones you’d complain about tomorrow when you had to leave for work. but for now you’d enjoy them.

“Sleep, when you wake up I’ll make you dinner and a bath.”

You smiled into her skin, finally letting your body relax in her warm embrace, completely and utterly content.

[ohbrotherthisblogstinks]

closer to you than your next breath, my dear

ੈ✩‧₊˚ reze x fem reader synopsis: you and your girlfriend christen your new apartment! warnings: oral (f. receiving), biting, hair pulling, teasing (?). idk this is a pretty tame one fellas other warnings: self indulgent as fuck, mention of shower sex, i decided that reze is strong as fuck and is capable of lifting a king mattress on her own yes the title comes from this song stfu

“I think that’s the last box,” you sighed, flopping down on the bare mattress. Your girlfriend flopped beside you, bangs clinging to her forehead with sweat. She offered you a lazy high-five.

“You didn’t carry me over the threshold,” she joked, turning to you with a teasing smirk on her face.

“You should carry me instead! You literally deadlifted the mattress. It's, what, like, 150 pounds or something?”

“I still don’t know how I did that.”

“Also I feel like I’d hit your head on the doorway or something and I’d feel terrible about it for the rest of my life.”

“I could go on your back.”

“I love you, but with all due respect I refuse to lift anything else today.”

“Next apartment, then.” Reze rolled onto her stomach and started twirling a strand of your hair between her fingers. There was a light in her eyes, a true happiness behind her smile that you hadn’t seen before, and it made your heart soar. It certainly hadn’t been easy, but the two of you had made it. Or, you’d gotten as close to making it as possible. It was a new neighborhood in a big city, full of new people. You had to settle for an old one-bedroom apartment in a dusty, drafty building, but you were with Reze now, and that was all that mattered. You’d never felt more at home than you did right now, surrounded by boxes upon boxes of her stuff and yours. 

“I can smack your ass whenever I want now,” you said, wiggling your eyebrows and making her laugh. 

“Not while I’m cooking, though. Unless you want to fucking die.” 

“That’s right! I’m living with a master chef now.”

“Oh, stop it,” Reze scoffed, playfully smacking your arm. “I can’t make you anything for a while, not until we unpack all my kitchen shit.”

“Oh my God, I don’t want to even think about unpacking right now.”

“That reminds me, how are we gonna set up the bedroom when the goddamn mattress takes up the whole room?”

You looked at Reze, then down at the mattress, then up to her again, and the two of you burst out laughing.

She had convinced you one night a few weeks back that a king-sized mattress was a good investment, and after lugging the behemoth out of the store and into the parking lot, the two of you jammed it in your car after nearly half an hour of pushing and pulling and cursing. In retrospect it wasn’t the best idea, as your building was quite literally ancient and didn’t have an elevator. Now it took up nearly all of the bedroom. 

“That’s a problem for another day,” you sighed, stretching.

“We should have gotten the queen.”

“That’s what I kept saying! But you gave me a whole fuckin’ sales pitch on why the king was a better idea.”

“Then maybe I’ll sell mattresses instead of getting another shitty waitressing job.”

“You’d be fantastic at that.”

“Seriously, though, I like this mattress. And it gives us enough room to, you know, do stuff.” 

You smirked and looked back over at her. She was grinning ear to ear. 

“And now that we’re alone together, we can have sex wherever and whenever we want. And we don’t have to worry about getting caught.”

Your face immediately lit up. She was right, you were no longer relegated to each other’s creaky old beds when either one of you came to stay the night. 

“How about we christen our new space?”

“Come here, then.” You laughed and pulled her on top of you, kissing her. She smiled into the kiss and gently bit your bottom lip, eliciting a surprised squeal from you. You felt her nimble fingers unbuttoning your jeans and sliding them down your legs along with your underwear, and after a quick peck to your forehead she shifted to settle between your legs. She gave you what you wanted almost immediately, making you sigh deeply and tighten your thighs around her head. 

You reached down to tangle your fingers in her hair, tugging harshly at it whenever she’d roll her tongue against your clit. With each tug she’d moan softly into your pussy, creating even more pleasure for you. As soon as she added her fingers, curling two of them inside you as she worked, you were done for. You felt your orgasm approaching quickly, and brushed her cheek with the side of your hand to alert her. She giggled and sped up the pace of her tongue and fingers, and soon you were seeing stars, squeezing her with your thighs and grabbing a fistful of her hair. 

She propped herself up on her elbow after the tension in your thighs subsided, gently caressing your hips and smiling up at you. You sat up, leaned back against the wall, and beckoned for her to come to you. She grinned and wiped her mouth and chin with the back of her hand, beginning to crawl your way.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” she asked, tugging on the waistband of her skirt. 

“Looks like I was,” you said, gently turning her around and pulling her onto your lap so her back was flush against your chest. You took your time with her, slowly unbuttoning her blouse while pressing soft kisses to her neck and shoulders. She sighed and leaned back as your hands went lower, fingertips dipping below the hem of her skirt and brushing over her lower stomach, making her squirm and grind against you.

“Just touch me already,” she whispered, reaching behind her and clawing at the back of your neck. “I’m already fucking wet enough.” You loved to tease her from time to time, because you knew it pissed her off and you found it fucking hilarious, but you were just as eager to see her absolutely melt when you touched her where she needed it most. 

You gave in eventually, teasing her with one finger, then two, and then finally a third, making her throw her head back on your shoulder, a comically girlish moan escaping her throat.

“Fuck,” she whimpered, grinding down against your hand. She tugged at her blouse for relief, and with your free hand you helped her shrug it off. 

“We don’t have to worry about being quiet anymore,” she whispered, a devious glint in her eyes. You smiled and gently squeezed her hip, remembering all the times you’d have to keep one hand over her mouth while your unsuspecting parents were just one room over, or when she’d practically shove your face into her pillows when she knew you were getting close.

“Make all the noise you want,” you said, pushing your fingers in deeper and making her arch her back and whimper. You pressed gentle kisses to the side of her face and neck as you continued, making her writhe in pleasure. Once her breathing became even more erratic and her face started to flush, you knew she couldn’t last much longer. She was making the prettiest sounds now, her mouth hanging open and her eyes squeezed shut as she continued to writhe against you.

You held her close against you as her legs started to shake and her whimpers grew louder, and soon she squeezed her thighs around your hand and slumped back against you, tilting her head back to look at you with heavy-lidded, hazy eyes. Once her heavy breathing subsided, she hopped off your lap and slipped her shirt back on, and she lay back down on the bed, covering herself with the thin cotton sheet that you’d haphazardly thrown into the room while making room for boxes.

“I can’t wait for you to fuck me on every surface of this apartment,” she giggled, peeking out from underneath the sheet.

“Oh, I’m the one who’s gonna fuck you?” You dipped under the sheet and lay down beside her, the warm breeze from the open window brushing against your bare skin.

“Didn’t you always want to fuck me in the shower?” she asked, cocking her head to one side. You tried to laugh but a yawn came out instead.

“That can wait for tomorrow morning.”

“It’s a date.” She smiled and snuggled closer to you, and you kissed the top of her head, inhaling the scent of her hair.

“I love you,” you whispered, taking her hand in yours. Any time you cuddled with her, she radiated warmth, and you smiled to yourself at the thought of falling asleep in her arms this coming winter.

“I love you too. Always.” She pecked your cheek and pulled the sheet over the two of you. She snuggled a little closer, trying and failing to hold back a yawn. 

You closed your eyes and gently squeezed her hand, taking in the soft creak of the ceiling fan and the chirping of crickets outside. Within a minute Reze was asleep, breathing slowly and steadily. You opened your eyes again to look at her in the moonlight, and you could have sworn you saw her lips curl up into a faint smile. 

You were finally home.

[ohbrotherthisblogstinks]

киска милфы

ੈ✩‧₊˚ balalaika x fem reader

synopsis: your hot cougar girlfriend has the audacity to bring you flowers :0 warnings: 18+, nsfw, female reader, gratuitous praise (use of ‘good girl’, pretty girl, etc.), implied consumption of alcohol, oral & fingering (receiving), edging/teasing and overstim, rough sex if you squint, striptease, biting &marking other warnings: gratuitous smoking (cigars, cigarettes) because obviously, implied consumption of alcohol but no one’s drunk, y/n is needy as fuck and aggressively bratty, it’s implied that y/n has a past as a dancer, Balalaika generally being the absolute gigachad she is, and implied age gap bc shes cougar milf i love this woman <3

You were absolutely certain that everyone was watching you and internally laughing at your misfortune. You figured the two men chuckling at the bar and grinning at you were placing their bets on whether or not you’d been stood up. The sounds of indistinct chatter, knives and forks scratching against plates, and the clink of wine glasses were slowly starting to drive you insane. The sheer presence of the couples at the surrounding tables was enough to throw you into a rage. You shifted in your seat as you glanced at the door yet another time, agitated. Your date was never late, and it was making you even more bothered. Perhaps you just weren’t that interesting to her anymore, and the thought of this had you fuming. 

It had been almost three weeks since the two of you had last spoken, as a trip overseas had required her attention. You were never happy to see her leave for business without you, as you usually accompanied her, and this time around resulted in a teary goodbye at the airport. She’d promised you over and over again, suitcase in hand, that she’d call you whenever she could, as you clung to her and cried into her overcoat. The only contact you ended up having with her was one choppy 20-minute call from a payphone. 

The sound of the door and a gust of cool air from outside caught your attention, and you lifted your eyes to see her walking towards you, a rare wide smile on her face and a bouquet in her arms. She looked so unbothered, and it made your blood boil. You’d normally rush right into her arms upon her return from a trip, but instead you stayed seated, blankly staring in her direction. She shot you a confused look, but nonetheless leaned in to greet you with a chaste peck on the cheek, resting the bouquet on the table. 

“I missed you, sweetheart,” she whispered in your ear, giving your hand a quick squeeze. You gave her a half smile and pulled your hand away, making her furrow her brow in concern. 

“Is something the matter?”

“No,” you said flatly, looking away from her to take a sip of your drink. 

“I’m finding that hard to believe.” She shrugged off her overcoat and draped it over the back of her chair. “What happened? Was someone bothering you?”

“I said nothing was wrong.” You continued sulking and avoiding her gaze, and you heard her huff in frustration.

“Well, I thought you’d be happier to see me.” 

“I’m not.” You looked up at her, staring at her blankly.

Her glass hit the table with a loud thud, making you jump. She glared at you, and you shifted in your seat, absentmindedly twirling the straw in your drink around.

“You’re not happy to see me?” 

You shook your head and slumped back in your chair, crossing your arms.

“And why is that, darling?” Her tone was beginning to frighten you, but you decided to continue playing with fire for as long as she’d let you.

“I think you know why,” you retorted. She scoffed and lit a cigarette. 

“It’s a shame. I was telling the man at the flower shop all about how excited I was to see my pretty girl after being away for so long.”

“I’m sure you left out the part where you barely spoke to me for two and a half weeks.”

“Ah. I figured that’s what this is all about.” You glanced down at your hands in your lap, and you heard her scoff. “I know I told you I wouldn’t have a lot of free time, darling. Don’t you remember when I said that?”

“Yes, but-”

She prodded your leg with her shoe. “That’s your explanation, then.”

“Twenty-four hours in a day and you couldn’t give me a call for one?”

“I’ve already explained myself.”

You slumped back in your seat and sighed.

“You’re mean.” 

She laughed, blowing a cloud of smoke your way, and you scowled at her. She snuffed out her cigarette and leaned in close to you. You drew in a sharp breath as she reached under the table and squeezed your thigh, hard, digging her nails into your skin and making you wince.

“Keep on being an ungrateful brat, and I guarantee that you’ll regret it later.” 

The smirk on her face made blood rush to your cheeks, which you unsuccessfully attempted to hide by taking a sip of your drink. 

She gripped your hand, almost painfully so, when she guided you out of the restaurant and into the ride waiting for the two of you. The wordless drive home was an indication that you’d definitely gotten yourself into hot water. You were still pouting, slumped against the door and shooting her a glare every now and then. You’d set the comically large bouquet down on the seat as a barrier between the two of you. She didn’t even look in your direction, and she stared straight ahead, tight-lipped, with her arms folded. 

Upon arriving home she unlocked the door and all but herded you into the room, and after she hung up her coat and yours, she guided you over to her desk, her hand resting on the small of your back.

“Still pouting?” she asked you, raising an eyebrow as she sat down in her desk chair. You sighed, leaning back against the cool wood of the desk to face her. You felt her hand squeeze your thigh, and she chuckled at your stubbornness. 

“Be a good girl and pour me a drink, will you?” Her fingers moved up your thigh to play with the hem of your dress, a pretty white silk slip that hugged the curves and dips of your body. She’d bought it for you on your first trip together a few years back, and she still remembered how your face lit up when you opened the box, how you kissed and hugged and thanked her over and over again, telling her how much you loved it. 

You nodded and wordlessly obeyed her, wandering over to the cabinet of fancy liquor along the wall. You took your time picking out a bottle, and swayed back to her, drink in hand, still avoiding eye contact.

“I’m going to bed,” you said plainly, setting the glass down on the desk. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

You slowly turned to leave, but you felt her arms snake around your waist, and she pulled you into her lap, her grip firm around you. 

“Do you plan to behave like this all night?” You felt her breath fanning against your exposed neck, and her hand moving up your inner thigh, making you shiver. “Or will I need to fuck the attitude out of you?”

You drew in a sharp breath and squirmed in her lap. 

“All flustered now?” She brushed her lips against your neck, gently kissing your hot skin as she squeezed your thigh. 

You whimpered and squirmed some more in her lap when she gently bit down on your neck. 

“Ah~” you breathed as you felt her fingers brush against your inner thigh, toying with the lace of your underwear.  

“Get up.” She let you go with a squeeze to your waist, and you stood and turned around to face her, timid as she scrutinized you with her icy gaze.

“Take off your dress and your tights for me. Put on a show, like old times.” 

Your eyes widened. Your days as a dancer were far behind you but it was how you met her, after all. Once in a while she’d ask you to strip for old times’ sake while she looked you up and down, a smirk on her face as she smoked one of her fancy cigars. It always ended with you beneath her on whatever surface was readily available, unsuccessfully trying to stifle the cries she elicited from you.

You fumbled with the sleeves on your dress, loosening them and sliding the sheer fabric down your body until it fell around your ankles. You stood in front of her in your underwear and tights, your face even more flushed. You were barely able to look her in the eyes, so you stared at the ground.

“Keep going,” she ordered, and you heard the creak of her chair as she leaned back in it. “I know you heard me correctly.” You nodded and slowly slid your tights down around your legs, stepping out of them daintily. 

“Come sit.” She gestured to her lap and motioned for you to come towards her. 

You walked over to her and straddled her lap, and she pulled you in for a kiss, the first real kiss she’d given you since she left. Even though it had been years since you met,  her touch still flustered you, making your face flush and your heart race like it had the first time she’d ever kissed you. You kissed her needily, almost feverishly, moaning into her mouth when she gave your waist a gentle squeeze and bit your bottom lip. Desperate for any kind of relief, you started to gently grind against her thigh, but she stopped you, holding you still before you could get any satisfaction. She pulled away from the kiss, and gently brushed a thumb against your bottom lip. 

“Can you sit on the desk for me, love?” she said softly. You obeyed her immediately, shivering as the cold wooden surface met your bare thighs. You crossed your arms, suddenly feeling conscious of just how little you were wearing, and how the thin lace adorning your body left very little to the imagination. You felt your face grow hot again, and you looked down at your hands in your lap.

“Look at me.” She tilted your chin up, and your eyes reluctantly met hers. There was a wry smirk on her face, and it made your heart skip a beat. 

“I gave you this set for your birthday,” she said softly, brushing her fingertips against the lace of the skimpy bra you wore. “It’s still your favorite, no?” You nodded.

“It looks beautiful on you.” She gently tugged at the pretty bow between your breasts. “You must have worn this for a reason.” 

You found it nearly impossible to keep eye contact with her, and your eyes wandered back down to your lap, making her chuckle. 

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” she asked you, teasingly. “ You’re acting like I’ve never seen you like this before.” She ran a hand through your hair and suddenly pulled you closer so your face was inches away from hers. 

“Where’s all that attitude you gave me earlier, hm?”

“I-I’m sorry,” you squeaked, “I-”

“Seems you wanted this to happen all along,” she giggled, leaning forward to suck at the exposed flesh of your neck. You gasped as she bit down on the soft skin, trailing her fingertips down your body until she reached the waistband of your underwear. She tugged at the thin lace, helping you lift your hips to slide it down around your ankles. 

“Lean back,” she said coolly, firm hands gripping your thighs and pushing them apart. You nodded and obeyed her, resting against the cool surface of the desk. You gasped quietly when you felt her brush her fingertips against your inner thighs, and she shifted closer to the desk. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll give you all the attention you want,” she whispered. You felt her fingers part the folds of your pussy, and you let a quiet moan escape your lips. 

“So wet already,” she chuckled, gently sliding a finger inside you. “So pretty.”

She started to fuck you on her fingers slowly and sensually, making you writhe on the surface of the desk. Her pace was painfully slow, and you began to whimper in frustration. She smirked at you and continued her gentle pace. 

“What is it, darling?”

“Nothing, I-“ you stuttered, leaning on your elbows to look at her. “I need more, please. Please.”

“More? But I’m already making you feel so good, aren’t I?”

“Y-yes, but I-“

“Be a good girl and take what I give you.”

You felt her lean forward to press kisses to your thighs, her warm breath fanning against the exposed skin and making you squirm. You whimpered when you felt her flatten her tongue against your pussy, and you sighed when she started to kiss your clit. 

“I-I missed you, I’m sorry…,” you babbled, frantically pulling at her hair and grinding against her face. 

“I know, sweetheart,” she whispered. “I missed you too.” You moaned again, louder this time, at the feeling of her fingers filling you again, and you writhed beneath her, grabbing her free hand and interlocking your fingers with hers. 

You started to shake and your moans grew more desperate, and she pulled away just as you reached the edge, making you whine and huff in frustration. She chuckled and kissed your thigh. 

“You didn’t think I would let you off that easily, did you?” she asked you teasingly. 

“Please let me-“ You were silenced by her lips meeting yours, the taste of her fancy cigars lingering in your mouth and her cool hands cupping your flushed face. 

“Patience, darling,” she giggled, resting her forehead against yours when she pulled away from the kiss. 

“I just want to feel you,” you whimpered, looking up at her with pleading eyes and toying with a loose lock of her hair. 

“And you will.” She continued to tease you, leaving hickeys down your neck and on your breasts, making you moan and tangle your fingers in her hair.

“Do you know how much I missed you?” she whispered, pressing kisses to the skin of your stomach. “I thought about you all the time, darling. I missed how you taste, how you feel, all those pretty little sounds you make.”

Your back arched off the table as you felt her tongue against you again, and by now your cries were frantic and desperate. You were almost certain unsuspecting passersby could hear you through the open window in the corner of the room, but you were too caught up in her to care. 

After a while you’d lost count of how many orgasms you’d had, how many times you’d clenched your thighs around her head or her hand. You were flushed, panting, and practically sobbing, your back arching on the surface of the desk as you writhed while she held you down. 

“I-it’s too much, please-“ you blurted out, grabbing her wrist and feebly attempting to tug her hand away from between your legs. 

“Oh, darling, it’s too much? I thought you wanted all my attention, so why are you crying?” She turned your head with her free hand so you were looking her in the eyes. “I think you should actually be thanking me.”

The pleasure was so intense you could barely speak, and it was verging on pain. You squeezed your eyes shut, but she grabbed your face roughly this time, squeezing your cheeks and forcing you to look at her again.

“What did I say?”

“Thank- fuck! Thank you,” you gasped, tightening your thighs around the hand between them. 

“Good girl.” She leaned in to kiss you and hush your cries as you were hit with yet another orgasm, sucking on your tongue and nipping at your lips until they were red and swollen and glossy with spit. She thought you were a beautiful mess like this, your chest heaving and your skin flushed and covered in her hickeys and bite marks. 

“Clean me off,” she ordered, sticking her slick-covered fingers into your open mouth and nearly making you gag. You immediately obeyed her, your wide and glassy eyes fixed on her. 

“Do you still think I’m mean, love?” she asked you, brushing the sweat and tear-soaked hair away from your forehead. You nodded once you caught your breath, making her laugh. She kissed your forehead and helped you sit back up, a gentle hand rubbing the small of your back as you sat in front of her. 

“Are you all right?” She asked you, taking your hands and squeezing them gently. You nodded, and she pulled you in.

“I love you,” you mumbled into her hair as she held you.

“I know, darling. I love you too.”

You giggled as she scooped you up in her arms and carried you to the bedroom, where she laid you gently on the bed and sat beside you. 

“Tired?” she teased, twirling a lock of your hair between her thumb and forefinger. You nodded and snuggled against her, laying your head in her lap.

“I’m not finished with you yet, darling.” She sighed and began to undo the buttons on her blouse, and your eyes widened. You really should have known better.

“Don’t look so surprised,” she teased. “You still have to take care of me, remember?”

You nodded, your face still flushed. She kissed you, taking your hand and guiding it over to the zipper on her skirt.

“Be a good girl and get on your knees.”

[ohbrotherthisblogstinks]

IN VINO VERITAS

ੈ✩‧₊˚ himeno x fem reader

synopsis: you and your hot new friend, who you’re down cataclysmically for, bump coochies in the woods 👉👌

Warnings: 18+, nsfw, fem bodied reader, praise (use of ‘good girl’), consumption of alcohol, dubcon (since you’re both tipsy), semi-public sex (y’all are at a campsite and it’s implied there are other people nearby), oral (f. receiving), tribbing, edging (kinda), choking (kinda), Himeno is the dominant one but not a dom, gentle biting, mention of masturbation

Other warnings: smoking (cigarettes), Himeno calls Aki an emo twink, age gap (ish, Himeno is about 5-6 years older than reader), there is no puke in this fic even though we have the combination of Himeno and alcohol :), reader is a bit needy and a bit of a perv lol

“You okay?” Himeno’s voice pulled you out of your daydream, and you realized you’d been clutching the armrest by the passenger seat, your knuckles white.

“I’m fine,” you said. “I just zoned out.” 

“I was gonna say, I don’t think I’m that bad of a driver.” She flashed you a smile before looking back at the road. “Although come to think of it, I did fail my permit test about four times.”

“That’s reassuring.” You stretched and yawned, glancing at the clock.

“We should be there by six, and that’ll give us enough light to set up the tent. Unless we fuck up and it takes us forever.”

“Which will probably happen, knowing us.”

“That reminds me, if Aki came with us he’d have his shit together and he certainly wouldn’t have gotten us lost.”

“Well, detours are fun.”

“You’re too kind.”

Aki had dipped out of the trip at the last minute, claiming he was feeling under the weather. He urged you and Himeno to go without him, and as a consolation gift, gave you two bottles of wine to sneak into the campsite. They were rather poorly hidden under the back seat, wrapped in one of your old sweatshirts. You glanced back at the contraband to make sure it wasn’t too conspicuous.

“Hey, do me a favor,” Himeno said, tilting her head towards the lighter sticking out of the cup holder. You nodded and reached for it, as she quickly retrieved the cigarette that was behind her ear. Throughout the long drive to the campsite you’d been the one to light her cigarettes for her while she talked your ear off about whatever came to her mind. She liked that you were a good listener, and you liked the sound of her voice, so it was a win-win.

Your crush on Himeno was a little more obvious than you’d like it to be. As she smoked with one hand gripping the wheel, her window rolled down and the wind whipping her hair around, you caught yourself staring. Your mind wandered, making your face grow hot. You wanted to know what the hand around the wheel would feel like around your neck as she feverishly kissed you. It was rather embarrassing to admit, but when you had time alone, thinking about her sometimes resulted in your hand down the front of your pants.

You’d been friends with Himeno for about six months now, after Aki had introduced the two of you, and ever since you met her you’d get butterflies every time you saw her. She sometimes caught you staring and would give you a knowing smirk, making you quickly look away. You had a feeling she was onto you, but you were never confident enough to say anything. After all, she was five or six years your senior, and she was an enigma of a woman. You could never quite figure her out, whether she was flirting with you or just being herself, and it made you far more anxious than you’d like to admit. 

After you and Himeno finally reached the campsite and spent an embarrassingly long time pitching your tent, you poked around in the back of her car for the bottles of wine while she set up two lawn chairs by the light of an old lantern she dug out of her trunk.

“We forgot to bring glasses,” you called over to her, clutching the bottles to your chest as you kicked the car door closed. 

“One bottle is mine and one is yours, then,” she quipped, and flopped down in her chair. You joined her and muscled open the bottles, passing one to her. She nodded thanks and took a long drink. The two of you sat there for God knows how long, talking and talking until you were almost certain you saw the sun beginning to rise. You curled up in your chair and stifled a yawn, and Himeno noticed and giggled.

“Am I boring you?”

“Not yet.” You tried and failed to hold back another yawn.

“Did I ever tell you about how I cut Aki’s hair that one time?”

“You what?” Your eyes widened, and you started laughing.

“Yup. He fell asleep and I was drunk and found a pair of scissors, and the rest is history. He was so mad at me, I felt terrible, but it was fucking hilarious.”

“He never told me about that.”

“I hurt his pride, that’s why.”

You cocked your head to one side. “Were you guys ever…a thing?”

“Oh, God, no. I wanted us to be at one point, but he made it abundantly clear that he wasn’t interested.” 

“You still like him, don’t you?” you teased, prodding her leg with your toe.

“Oh no, that ship has sailed. And it probably sank too.” She laughed heartily and ran a hand through her hair. “I have a bad habit of falling for emo twinks.”

You snorted, making her laugh even harder. 

“Honestly, though, don’t worry about me. I’m no competition if you’re trying to get a piece of that.” She sighed and leaned further back in the chair, setting the bottle on the ground.

You suddenly stood up and lurched over to her, gripping her chair for balance, and sat right down on her lap, putting your arms around her neck and laying your head on her shoulder. 

“Oh?” She raised her eyebrows, surprised. After a few seconds had passed, she timidly placed her hands on your waist. “Did I say something?”

“No,” you sighed, pulling back to look at her. You absentmindedly twirled a lock of her hair between your thumb and forefinger. “Well, kinda.”

“What is it, then?” 

“I have a crush on you.” You hung your head, looking down into your lap. You couldn’t look her in the eyes, you couldn’t stomach it. You heard her sigh, and you prepared yourself for the worst. After a few excruciating seconds, she finally spoke.

“I know,” she said softly, lifting her hand to gently pinch your cheek. “It’s very obvious.” Your eyes widened. 

“Is it really?” You looked back up at her, and she nodded. There was a glint in her eye that wasn’t there before. 

“Are you gonna do anything about it?” she asked you, that same knowing smirk spreading across her face. 

You kissed her without hesitation, making her giggle against your lips. You felt her squeeze your waist and pull you a little closer until you were snug against her. She gently laid her hand on the back of your head and slid her tongue against yours, making a soft moan slip out of your mouth. 

She pulled away and looked at you quizzically, still smirking. You stared in disbelief. You’d really done it, you’d kissed her. It could only get so much better or so much worse.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted out, still in a trance. 

“Don’t apologize.”

She suddenly snaked an arm underneath your thighs and picked you up bridal style, making you squeal, and you held on tight as she carried you in the direction of the tent. She smelled like sweat and sunscreen and smoke, but in a way that was strangely pleasant to you. She grunted as she struggled with the flap of the tent, and you felt yourself beginning to slip.

“If you drop me, I swear to God,” you giggled. 

“Fuckin’ help me, then!”

After a comically long struggle with the tent flap that did indeed involve being dropped by Himeno, she stumbled into the tent and pulled you down onto the cot with her, making you laugh even harder. She zipped the door closed, and crawled over to straddle your waist.

“Are you putting me to bed?” You squinted up at her, your eyes adjusting to the dim light inside the tent. 

“Yeah, something like that.” 

“Are you gonna kill me or something?” You started laughing again, blindly reaching for her, and you felt her grab your hand and squeeze it. She leaned in closer to you, hovering over you and smiling, her hair brushing against your face. You blinked up at her, doe-eyed.

“You’re so cute,” she marveled.

“You think so?”

“Mmm-hmm. And you’re all mine.” She leaned down to press kisses to your neck, gently nipping your skin every now and then and eliciting whimpers from you. Her fingertips felt cool and soothing brushing against your flushed skin, and you felt her tug at the hem of your shirt. You raised your arms to help her remove it, and she resumed her kisses once she tugged it off you. 

“You’re not wearing a bra.”

“Brilliant, Holmes.”

She snort-laughed and poked you in the rib, making you yelp. 

“You have pretty tits.”

“Thank you?”

“No, I mean it. They’re cute.” She brushed some hair out of your eyes and smiled at you. “I want them in my mouth.”

You burst out laughing again, thankful that the dim light was hiding the raging blush spreading across your cheeks. Himeno gave your neck one more gentle nip before moving her hand up to cup your left breast. She inched further down and swirled her tongue around your nipple, making you gasp. 

“You’re so fucking cute,” she whispered between kisses, and you felt her start to move further down, her fingers slipping under the waistband of your shorts. You almost immediately lifted your hips to help her pull them down, and she chuckled at your eagerness. 

Once she’d completely undressed you, she sat back on her heels and ran a hand through her hair, looking down at you with hazy eyes. 

“Please touch me more,” you blurted out, reaching out and gripping her arm as she ghosted her fingertips across your bare skin, making you shiver with anticipation. 

“What do you want me to do?” she asked you, her lips curling up into a cheeky grin. She continued brushing her fingertips against your skin, just barely touching you and avoiding where you needed her most. 

Your breathing had gotten shaky and erratic, and you couldn’t think of anything other than her, the sound of her voice, the intensity of her touch. You looked up at her with pleading eyes, your grip on her arm tightening.

“Please fuck me,” you whispered, and she smiled and leaned down to peck your forehead.

“Good girl. That’s what I wanted to hear.” She gently spread your legs and crawled down to settle in between them. She hooked her arms around your thighs and looked up to you inquisitively, silently asking your consent. You nodded vigorously, making her laugh. 

She was so close to you now, her grip on your hips making your skin tingle and her hot breath fanning against your aching pussy. You let out a surprised whimper when she finally flattened her tongue against your pussy, licking a thick stripe all the way up to your clit. She continued, making you squirm and whine and grind against her face each time she flicked her tongue against your clit. 

It was close to the best feeling you’d ever felt, the strong grip of her hands on your hips, the sloppy kisses she’d give your clit when your thighs tensed around her head.  She pulled away right before you could get your satisfaction, making you huff and whine in frustration.

“You gotta be quiet, baby.” She rested her head on your thigh and smiled up at you, gently rubbing your lower stomach. 

“I-I’m sorry, I- fuck!” She resumed going down on you, making you squirm and cry out. You brought a shaky hand up to your mouth, and grabbed a messy handful of her hair with the other. Your thighs shook and your back arched as you came, your eyes rolling back as you tried not to scream from the pleasure. She finally pulled away when you gave her hair a harsh tug, and crawled up to kiss you, silencing your whimpers. 

“You okay?” she asked you upon pulling away, brushing some hair away from your sweaty forehead. You nodded, your chest still heaving as you tried to catch your breath. She pecked your forehead and sat back up, straddling your waist. 

“I wanna try something,” she whispered, and your eyes grew wide as she peeled off her shirt and started to unhook her bra. “It’ll feel really good. I promise.” You nodded.

“Don’t just stare, help me,” she giggled, noticing your gaze. You quickly propped yourself up and started to unbutton her shorts, which she flung into the corner of the tent along with her underwear after some shuffling around in the dark. After pushing your legs apart, she inched closer to you, and lifted your right leg so your calf rested on her shoulder. 

“Stay like this for me, okay?” You nodded obediently, awaiting her next move. She gently ran a hand over your lower stomach and lowered her hips to meet yours.

You gasped and grabbed her hand as she started grinding against you, and she chuckled quietly, giving your hand a tight squeeze. 

“I told you.”

She gripped your leg with one hand as the movement of her hips became more rhythmic, letting the other wander over your bare skin. She brushed her fingertips across your stomach, then your tits, then gently placed her hand around your neck and squeezed ever-so-slightly, at which you arched your back and let out a breathy moan. She chuckled and maintained her gentle grip on your throat, her gaze fixed on the way your face contorted in pleasure with each thrust of her hips.

“That feel good?” she asked you breathlessly, knowing you could barely form the words to answer her. You could only nod and whine in response, making her lips curl upwards into a satisfied smile. She could tell you were close by the way you were breathing, the way the muscles of your thighs and calves and stomach tensed as she touched you. She was quite close herself too, sweating and flushed and barely able to control the movement of her hips.

You clawed at her arm, your eyes wide and almost frantic, and she held eye contact with you as you came undone beneath her, firmly pressing her hand over your mouth to muffle your whines. Her own orgasm soon followed, and she let out a low moan, her fingernails digging into your calf and making you whine in pain and pleasure. 

She pressed sloppy, open-mouthed kisses to your calf as she rode out her orgasm, then gently pulled away from you and rolled onto your back. You instinctively reached out for her, and she pulled you in, sighing contently. You wrapped your arms around her and snuggled tighter against her.

“You okay?” she whispered, smoothing out your messy hair. You nodded and pulled back a little to look at her, smiling with hazy eyes. 

“Can I take you out for breakfast tomorrow?” you asked, resting your forehead against hers. 

“I would love that. I’m paying though, you can’t change my mind.”

You huffed in protest. “Fine, as long as you let me be big spoon.” 

She grinned.

“Deal.”

[ohbrotherthisblogstinks]

BLACK LAGOON

киска милфы: balalaika x fem reader

-your hot cougar girlfriend shows up with flowers.

CHAINSAW MAN

closer to you than your next breath, my dear: reze x fem reader

-you and your girlfriend move into your new apartment (GONE WRONG) (GONE SEXUAL)

in vino veritas: himeno x fem reader

-you and your hot friend, who you’re down cataclysmically for, bump coochies in the woods. 

JUJUTSU KAISEN 

-nothing here yet bear with me owo

ATTACK ON TITAN

-might repost the old stuff we'll see

[ohbrotherthisblogstinks]

venus, 22, she/her :3

about me┊rules/byf ┊masterlist┊ ˚✧

welcome!!1

[ohbrotherthisblogstinks]

please do not:

>be a dick

>repost, translate, or plagiarize my "work"

>follow or interact if you are under 18

please do:

>say hello! let's feed into our delusions together

[ohbrotherthisblogstinks]

>>venus, 22, writer (sometimes) and reader 

>>i love: overanalyzing any piece of media in any form, bombay cats, white tea, balloon sleeves, spring rolls, warm weather, cute stationery, cumbia, charcuterie boards, photography/filmmaking, historical fiction, & looking for bugs 

>>i don’t love: gas station carts, seafood

>>music: bleached, mazzy star, yeule, la femme, the brian jonestown massacre, pixies, the rolling stones, uncle acid and the deadbeats, melody’s echo chamber, lana del rey, black sabbath, jex thoth, shonen knife, palehound, los bitchos, shilpa ray, mitski, the apples in stereo, the memories, cocteau twins, the velvet underground

>>anime/manga: chainsaw man, jujutsu kaisen, black lagoon, evangelion, cat’s eye, sailor moon, saiki k, attack on titan, anything by junji ito, more that im definitely forgetting lol

[ohbrotherthisblogstinks]

erm is this thing on

hellooooo! my work was previously on @gapingdarkhole (my main) but will eventually all be reposted here. if we were mutuals I’d love to connect (be delusional) with you again so pls smash that follow button! (can’t guarantee how often I’ll write though)

working on a masterlist/pinned post, etc. stay tuned!

xoxo penus