#✦⠀⋯⠀In evil Sacrilege | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jessamine-rose · 1 month

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⋆˚♱ଘ Requiem for the Damned ଓ♱˚⋆

*holds head in hands* Idk why Dottore keeps haunting me with writing inspo. And for this idea to manifest just before Holy Week….fuck it, I hope you all enjoy the blasphemous tale of Priest! Dottore x Demon! Darling _:(´ཀ`」 ∠):

Tw:: yandere, violence, death, religious abuse, dubcon, mention of nsfw, MINORS DNI

Note:: fictional depictions of religion

♡ 2.7k words under the cut ♡

♡ Despite your status as a wandering demon, you have no place in human cognizance. Rather, you conceal yourself from mortal eyes in favor of close observations and whispered temptations. Humans, from your perspective, are interesting creatures—they are ambitious, easily influenced by spiritual beings, capable of both good and evil.

♡ And what better example than the one who summoned you on a starry night? Such rituals are not uncommon amongst heretics, but most only succeed in invoking the contempt of their fellow humans. And few would invoke your name, much less commit sacrilege within the walls of the Church.

♡ You sense danger immediately upon your appearance. Within the summoning circle, you take note of your sigil perfectly illustrated in blood against marble. Beyond it, what alarms you is not your sacred surroundings nor the fresh corpse mixed with your offerings of books and fruit. It is the figure standing over you, cloaked in moonlight, gazing at you with eyes the color of hellfire.

“My ritual is a success. Welcome to my humble church, o noble demon…or would you rather be addressed by your epithet? ______, Fallen Seraph, the Seeker of Forbidden Knowledge.”

♡ A glimpse into his soul is all it takes to strike fear into your heart. Within Hell, there are rumors of a small village in Sumeru. Its people are nothing of note, a congregation of simpletons whose lives revolve around the beliefs of their Church. The lone exception is the main priest, Father Zandik, better known as Il Dottore.

♡ The stories, passed through human voices, speak of a child ostracized for his unconventional beliefs and his interest in the macabre. Branded a madman, he was placed in the care of the Church elders who corrected his ways of thinking. Once he became of age, Zandik was given the choice to move out of the rectory or to remain as a priest; he chose the latter of his own volition.

♡ Since his ordination, Zandik has proved himself to be an exceptional priest. He educates the masses, reviews theological texts, performs exorcisms, and provides religious counsel for the doubtful. He even serves as the town’s doctor, fully gaining the acceptance of his community.

♡ The rumors don’t stop there. For Il Dottore earned his title by performing miracles. It is he who guides the people into religious ecstasy, he who cures the sick from mysterious curses, he who blesses the weak into “enhanced humans.” There are already whispers that once Dottore’s mortality catches up with him, he will surely be canonized as the Patron Saint of Doctors and Miracles.

♡ But spiritual beings such as yourself know the truth. That Dottore is neither a kind priest nor a devout believer, that his days in the Church only magnified his heretical inclinations. Disillusioned with God, Zandik decided to turn His religious sanctuary into his own laboratory, one where he could fulfill his lust for knowledge through a mask of holiness.

♡ He manipulates the people with false teachings. He triggers religious ecstasy with drugged incense. He singles out devotees to “test their faith” during the quiet hours of the Church. And what the town perceives as curses and miracles are actually scientific experiments in which Dottore plays god.

♡ It’s too late to escape. No matter your divine powers, nothing prepares you for Dottore’s traps. The incantations, the barrier of the summoning circle, an aura so holy yet sinister that it couldn’t possibly come from ordinary religious objects—all you can do is fall to your knees and beg for his mercy, all the while he watches you with a confident smile.

♡ His intentions are like that of any human: He summoned you to form a contract. In exchange for his soul, he demands your knowledge, your resources, your full servitude for so long as he roams the mortal plane. Your hesitation only triggers another wave of scorching pain, followed by panic as Dottore grips your horn and forces you to face him.

“Make no mistake, ______. The mere fact of your divinity does not make you indestructible. In exchange for your cooperation, you will bear witness to experiments of the same magnitude as God’s creations. What say you?”

♡ You have no other choice. And that is how, in the sanctity of the Church, you make a deal with the human named Zandik. Once the pact has been forged, Dottore admires the bright sigil on his chest, plucks a few feathers from your wings, and disables the summoning circle so you can leave. Thus begins your personal hell.

♡ It is easy for you to answer Dottore’s questions about the divine. The horror lies in assisting him in experiments, responding to his summons no matter the inconvenience, allowing him to extract your blood, tears, and feathers. No, what’s most humiliating is when he uses your body for his “research,” bending you over the altar and bringing you to physical ecstasy against your will.

♡ At this point, you don’t know who to pray to. One night, Dottore shows you a secret room in his laboratory. As soon as he lights the lamps, your eyes take in numerous bodies and skeletons of a different classification from his usual victims. The extra bones jutting from the scapulas, the amputated wings, the halos pinned to the walls, the holy aura you’d felt from his religious objects…instantly, Dottore’s powers make sense.

“This is my first specimen. She was my guardian angel…no, I jest. She was a mere messenger who implored me to repent for my sins. From her words, I deduced it had been within Heaven’s capacity to save me during my youth—and yet God only sent an angel to me after my first act of blasphemy.”

The angels…how many has he killed? Not even during your fall from Heaven did you feel such primal fear for your life. But you cannot scream—you have long been trained to resist fight and flight. All you can do is listen to Dottore’s explanation, watch as he approaches a pure white skeleton and wraps his hands around its fractured hyoid bone.

He gives you a calm smile. “Luckily, her body provided me with indispensable resources for my experiments and my procurement of her brethren. I believe her name was Sohreh.”

♡ Just when you think it can’t get any worse, Dottore points at the far corner of the room to reveal a space dedicated to demons. Four dead bodies, their causes of death vividly described. Horns, wings, and other body parts amputated in exchange for lives spared after exorcisms. And when Dottore returns to your side, tracing the wound from where he broke off your horn, you can only tremble and acquiesce to a checkup. It grows back fully by the end of the year.

♡ He has his moments of vulnerability, however. Perhaps it is due to your nature as a demon, a creature which represents evil, that Dottore does not hide his heart from you. Once, after his usual confessions—he always makes up trivial sins—he remains in the confessionary until his fellow priest has left. Then he goes to the altar and summons you.

♡ What catches you off-guard is not his lack of greetings. Rather, it’s the way he pulls you close to his body, lips ghosting the curve of your ear. There, in the heart of the Church, he whispers to you every sin he has ever committed. Despite his normal tone of voice, his words have never betrayed a language so guiltless, so sincere, so human.

♡ He asks how much of his madness is to blame on the influence of demons, or if he had been born wicked. He asks if humans were truly given the mental faculties to withstand temptation regardless of their circumstances. He asks if the same can be said for spiritual beings, questioning why former angels like you were also created with the capacity to sin. He even asks if praying for a demon can offer them any hope of salvation.

♡ It takes you a while to answer his questions. It’s just like him to put your emotions in disarray, to make you feel pity for the very cause of your current suffering. Against your nature, you wonder if there is still a chance for Zandik, if he can somehow repent or find a way to save himself from your contract and all of his sins. Even if it is too late, He has always been more forgiving to humans than angels.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨

“Do you know why I became a demon, Zandik?”

Your question is what prompts Zandik to pull away from you, though his touch lingers. His gaze, as always, is unfathomable; you can never discern what hides within those pools of crimson.

“No, I do not. Few demonological texts allude to your existence, and only the Lesser Key of Deshret cites your previous status as an angel of the highest ranking. I have made theories in relation to your epithets but I respect all possibilities. Now what would you, as the primary source, reveal to me?”

Now it is your turn to confess.

“Seraphim are the closest to God but for that reason, we are the most distant from His creations. Everything we know of the world is derived only from what He tells us, not our own insights. And so I defied His Word and ate the forbidden fruit from the Tree of Knowledge, committing the same sin which condemned all of humanity.”

The tip of your upper wing brushes against Zandik’s face, while your middle wings encircle his body in a loose hug. As for your lower wings…they are nothing but twin scars covered in short feathers. After your descent, it seemed like a rational decision to chop them off, broken as they were. It helped that your wings had just outgrown their original purpose.

For once, you barely flinch at the sensation of his touch against your scars. Many times, Zandik has inquired about the loss of your lower wings and even asked if he could have them. They still remain in Hell, tucked away in a corner of your home, eyes forever closed.

It takes a few seconds for him to respond. “Do you ever regret your decision?”

You shrug. “It was difficult at first, naturally. Many of my eyes were blinded—yes, that is why I rarely open the ones on my wings—but those which still function have seen so many wonderful sights up-close. Neither must I cover my face with my remaining wings. And despite being what your kind and my former brethren would dub a monster…I’m happier now.”

“I see, I see.” His curiosity appears far from sated, however, a sentiment you can empathize with. “As I thought, God is incomprehensible. For Him to deny even His greatest creation of salvation…it confirms that there are limits to the forgiveness of that which humans call a ‘loving god.’ Thank you for sharing this knowledge with me.”

And just as quickly as he initiated his confession, Zandik steps out of your grasp and dismisses you. But you make no haste, silently watching him after you “leave.”

His expression is thoughtful. A gloved hand touches his chest, right above your sigil.

Such an interesting creature.

Honestly, you don’t know what to make of your feelings for this human. Much as you despise his cruel treatment towards you, he never fails to capture your interest with his experiments and philosophies. Whenever he speaks of God, you wonder if a small part of him still desires to be saved. But that will never be.

Zandik preaches salvation with the knowledge that he will never receive it. For the Church never taught him how to love.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨

♡ Il Dottore never became the Patron Saint of Doctors and Miracles. Neither did he have a funeral mass befitting of a priest, nor a peaceful death from natural causes. Instead, he died young, laicized, once again denounced as a heretic by his community.

♡ You don’t know how his crimes were exposed, and why now. Perhaps it is God’s punishment for him, a blessing for his victims, or both. Either way, Dottore paid for his sins on a sunny day, burned at the stake before a disdainful crowd. Not long after his heart stopped beating, his belongings were thrown into the fire—research, tools, anything which carried his memory.

♡ You never left his side. After his last rites, led by an elderly bishop who condemned Zandik as he did in the past, you sat next to him and offered a final conversation. He didn’t express any fear nor sadness in regards to his imminent death, merely stating it a pity that his achievements could never be appreciated in his town.

♡ …He did ask if there is any chance of meeting again in Hell, but you reminded him that the punishment of sinners is out of your jurisdiction. Plus, it’s better that way—you have no desire to avenge yourself, and you’d rather not witness Zandik’s suffering for all eternity. You can only imagine the severity of his punishment, what more if he is assigned to one of the demons he exorcized.

♡ During his execution, you stood at the front of the crowd. You kept your eyes trained on him, for so long as his scarlet orbs remained open, whispering the prayers for the dead on his behalf. While a part of you felt liberated, another was mournful. You hope your last words to Zandik gave him solace in his final moments.

“Rest now, Zandik. God may never forgive your sins, but I shall.”

♡ And thus ends the life of Il Dottore. In the following days, the Church is purged of its holy, sinister aura, mainly because they discarded the religious objects tainted with angel remains. You continue your usual obligations as a wandering demon, but the humans you observe pale in comparison to your companion of many years.

♡ Not long after, you return to Hell for your other divine duties. As soon as you appear in your abode, however, something feels off. The sinister aura, the offering of books and fruit, your lower wings gone from their original place… The answer comes in the form of a hand grabbing you by the horn, pulling you backwards, twisting your body to meet a familiar gaze the color of hearth-fire. Only, this time, those eyes are brimming with pure joy, paired with a genuine smile.

♡ Apparently, Dottore’s soul did end up in Hell but not in the way you expected. In a proud voice, he explains that the Devil gave him a special fate. Whether it was due to vacant positions or everyone’s fear of the infamous “Demon-Killer,” you’ll never know. What Dottore does confirm is that as the demon bound to him via contract, you have to take responsibility and act as his companion in Hell.

“Rather than subject me to eternal suffering, the Devil believed that my talents would prove useful for the punishments of my fellow sinners. How wonderful is it for my achievements to be recognized in Hell? …Oh? I didn’t predict such a physical reaction from you. All of your eyes are wide open, and you seem to be on the verge of fainting.”

♡ You don’t know if you want to laugh or cry. To think your personal hell has been extended to eternity—are your sins enough to warrant such a fate?! But after confirming your misfortune, all you can do is sigh and tend to Zandik. He looks exactly the same, with the exception of a few burn scars on his body. And judging by the familiar black feathers on his person, he seems eager to discard his former religious attire along with his mask of faith.

♡ And when Zandik unfastens his scorched cassock, he takes your hand and places it on his unburned chest, right above your sigil. It glows vibrantly, brighter than any light you laid eyes on in Heaven. And beneath the flesh, you can feel his heart beating in sync with yours.

“Tell me, ______, do I still appear human to you?”

“You already know my answer to that question. But fine, I’ll admit it: Yes, you always have.”

♡

Note:: Church AU is still on my “will not write” list. I only wrote this because I specifically like Priest! Dottore and Angel! Capitano. Please do not send me any Church AU asks/ requests involving other characters or dynamics.

At long last, I am free from Priesttore…thank you to everyone. To my readers, to my fellow Dottore simps, to my mutuals who indulged my tortured DMs after midnight, to the artist whose fan art inspired this idea to begin with. May you all have a lovely day╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

Tag a Dottore enjoyer!! @leftdestiny-posts @beloved-blaiddyd @mochinon-yah @diodellet @lcveaesop @oofasleep @bye-bye-sunbird @yandere-romanticaa @boundinparchment @harmonysanreads @teabutmakeitazure @yandere-wishes @yanmaresu @nicebonescomrades @nimandu @lesanyanyas @moarar

#il dottore #dottore #dottore x reader #yandere dottore x reader #yandere dottore #yandere fatui harbingers #fatui x reader #genshin x reader #yandere genshin #tw: yandere #tw: dark #tw: blood #tw: death #tw: violence #tw: dubcon #spicy warning #mdni #g/n reader #jessamine-writing

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cherrystainedlips2 · 2 months

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To Tempt the Weak

priest levi ackerman x fem reader | historical au | 5.5k wc | nsfw ★

!!!cw- sacrilege, blasphemy, power play, loss of virginity, vag penetration, choking, whipping, sex in a church | ao3 version

synopsis: Father Levi believes you to be a demon in human guise. His only solution? To fuck the evil out of you.

With your head lowered and your eyes fixed on your shoes, you quickly traced the Sign of the Cross before a prayer tumbled from your lips, echoing in the dim confessional.

The sole source of light, a ray of sun, seeped through the lattice that served as a barrier between you and the unseen priest on the other side - a divide between innocence and sin. Although he was nothing more than a silhouette, there were instances where you could feel his eyes upon you, leading you to stumble over your words or to stutter.

When your prayer finally dwindled to a hush, a murmur sounded from the other side.

“Speak, child.”

And so, you obeyed.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” you began. Your words stirred a rustling from the other side. “My last confession was 17 months ago and this is my sin. I have harboured intense emotion towards another, Father. Of which… could condemn me to eternal damnation.”

“What emotion plagues you, child?”

“I…I dare not say, Father, for I am reluctant to utter such a thing within these sacred walls.”

“Child,” came gruffly from the other side, the force behind his words nearly palpable. “These walls were erected for sinners. If not here within these walls, where else shall you repent?”

You bit your lip, a bead of crimson blooming as you chewed on the plausible. His words bore truth - if not here, then where else should be more fitting? Yet, the hum of anticipation that pervaded the air made your palms slick with sweat and your tongue burdensome, as though it were forged from lead. The priest, however, remained silent, patiently waiting until you could muster your voice.

“I... I lust after him, Father,” you confessed a minute later, the admission leaving a foul taste in your mouth.

The priest, veiled behind the lattice, did not immediately respond. The stillness was near unbearable until his voice cut through the quiet like a blade.

“...Lust is a powerful force, my child,” he said, his voice low and measured. “So it is not uncommon. It is part of the human experience, the human consequence, and acknowledging it is the first step towards redemption.”

You swallowed hard, relieved by his understanding, yet the sting of shame lingered. “I am aware, Father, but it feels... overwhelming. It consumes my thoughts, my prayers. I fear that it is all that I am.”

“Lust?”

You nodded, a gesture unseen. “Lust. It all but runs through my veins.”

“Well, the path to-”

“-Father, you do not understand!” you interrupted, your voice bordering on a whine.

“And why might that be?”

“I cannot help but act on it…I...I touch myself. My fingers meet my warmth most days than not, an insatiable craving that haunts my waking hours. I find release as the sun rises, and again as it falls, the same man haunting my thoughts each night.”

“I see…” came the priest’s response, and silence descended once more.

You assumed that he was coming up with a satisfying response…something to quell your worry and to ease your mind. However, unbeknownst to you, on the other side of the confessional booth, a naughty priest was breathing raggedly into the palm of his hand as a tent grew in his breeches.

“Father…?” you called out, panicked. Had you stunned him into silence with your transgressions?

After a moment, there came a strained ‘yes’ before he cleared his throat. “Forgive me, pray continue.” His voice cracked. “For there is no surer way to be washed anew than to unburden oneself of everything.”

Your eyes darted to the side and you exhaled softly, picking up where you left off. “...I touch myself. And I imagine touching the one whom I desire. I imagine him taking me on this very ground with everyone watching, and within the confines of his house - loud enough for his neighbours to hear. For his neighbours to envy.”

The priest audibly swallowed.

“It is all just indecent up here, Father. Indecent, obscene, and vile. How can God find affection for one with a mind as corrupt as mine?”

“Child, how can He extend His love to any among us? We are all stained, all guilty of transgressions; it is His mercy that distinguishes Him.”

“But Father, do you, too, grapple with such earthly desires?”

“I am, after all, a man of flesh and blood.”

“Well how do you expel such thoughts, then? How do you quiet them?”

“With discipline,” he hummed. “Every thought that strays towards the profane, I counter with a prayer. Every desire that threatens to consume, I quell with a verse from the Holy Scripture. It is no easy practice, but one that I’ve grown to rely on.”

“And how might I cultivate such a habit?”

“Each time you find yourself stirred, turn to prayer.”

You pressed your lips together, tightly so, that your chin began to tremble. “...And what if it does not work, Father? That is what I fear most. What if the carnal urge is far too potent, that not even the Lord himself can tame it…that not even the Holy Trinity, in all their might, can dominate it in its entirety?”

“Do not speak in such a way,” the priest chided, his words tumbling out in a rush. “There is naught the Lord cannot overcome, and none the Lord shall forsake. Simply have faith.”

“I am trying but…”

“But what?”

You lowered your eyes, staring at your feet once again. The cool, worn surface of the confessional's wooden bench pressed against your palms. “Nothing, Father.”

And he said not a word in return. Not for a long while, at least. It was a silence that stretched on and on, a silence that threatened to engulf you, a silence punctuated only by a shaky exhale from beyond the lattice. "Tell me… are- are you a virgin still, child?”

“I am.”

He sighed, a sound laden with relief. “Then your temptation shall be greater than any others’, for the Devil desires to rob you of your innocence and purity.” He could see your hand rise to your mouth. “You must resist him, my child. You must counter your lewd thoughts with two prayers and quell your desire with two verses.”

“Father,” you whimpered, and his cock throbbed and pulsated.

His chest heaved as he reclined against the bench, trying his hardest not to palm his crotch, though it was proving more difficult by the second. He found it repulsive and vile that he was growing aroused at a penitent’s vulnerability, at their struggles. But your whines and your fantasies had gotten the best of him. Perhaps, he too, needed to repent.

“It must be done, lest you wish to be defiled.”

You felt a surge of heat in your veins, a fire that burned your flesh. You knew not what to do, for you were torn between obedience and curiosity. What was this strange feeling that stirred within you, this longing that you could not name?

“Father,” you whispered, “please, have mercy on me. I do not understand what is happening to me. I do not want to sin, but I cannot help myself.”

He spoke in a stern voice, as if to scold you. “My child, you are under the influence of a dark and powerful force. A force that preys on the weak and the innocent. A force that lurks in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike. A force that you must resist at all costs.”

And it was then that you realised what this longing was. This longing that you could not name.

“Father…”

You wished to be defiled. To be ruined by a darkness that you could not see, could not touch, but could very well touch you. You wished for it to slither into your room in the dead of night, to use you, corrupt you, until your legs could not hold you up any longer.

“Let us pray,” the priest declared, and rustling sounded.

You bowed your head.

“God the Father of mercies,” he began, “through the death and resurrection of His Son…”

Your breast heaved, and your breaths grew short and sharp as a heat bloomed within you.

“...has reconciled the world to Himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins.”

Your hand crept from the bench to the lap of your gown, slowly and without your registering it.

“Through the ministry of the Church, may God give you pardon and peace.”

Your palm glided across your thigh and to your clothed crotch.

“I absolve you from your sins, in the name of the Father…”

Your breath caught as a lone finger swiped against your slit, and you repeated the motion to re-experience the blissful feeling.

“...and of the Son…”

You threw your head back as your fingers picked up pace.

“... and of the Holy Spirit.”

Distracted by the heavy breathing that he assumed was a result of weeping, the priest opened his eyes with concern and peered through the wooden partition, through a small hole, scarcely large enough for a finger.

Through that hole he saw you, a vision of sin, splayed across the bench with your legs spread and your mouth ajar like a harlot who knew no better.

He knew it. He knew it well, then. You could not be saved, for you were-

“Amen,” you moaned.

The priest closely watched as your eyes widened and your fingers slowed, and as you hastened to compose yourself, even though you thought none could see you. You crossed your legs, concealing the dark stain on your gown’s crotch, before smoothing your hair and clearing your throat.

“It is alright, Child,” he said, eyes still fixed on you. "God has forgiven your sins. Go in peace.”

You nodded tautly. “...Thanks be to God,” you murmured.

The priest slowly nodded and inhaled, and he could smell your arousal from even from where he sat. It was a stench that filled the box, a poison that seeped into his nostrils. He could not wait to be rid of you.

He quickly drew the Sign of the Cross, his hand lingering on his right shoulder as if to ward off an evil. “You have confessed and sought forgiveness,” he said solemnly. He gathered his belongings, a Bible and rosary, and prepared to leave. “As penance, you must recite ten Ave Marias, five Pater Nosters, and one Actus Contritionis.”

“Yes, Father.”

You bowed your head and kept it low, lifting it only to exit the booth when you felt it shake with the momentum of being closed. You rose from the bench, your soaked underwear rubbing against your thighs, before you turned the latch on the weathered, wooden door.

Once you emerged from the confessional, you were surprised to be met with a dim chapel. Just how much time had passed? Your eyes flitted through the pews in search of another, only to realise the chapel was deserted, save for the priest whom you bared your soul to.

You looked for him then, head pivoting left and right until you caught sight of him upon the pulpit, blowing out the candles that adorned where he stood one by one.

You strained your eyes trying to recognise who he was, following him in his graceful pursuit to each candle. It was only when he turned his profile that you recognised him. Father Levi.

Warmth spread across your face as you recounted everything you confessed.

In your yearning, you had hoped the confessor would be an elder figure, someone who you cared little for and someone certainly not the object of your desires. Father Levi must have known that it was him you spoke of - that it was he whom you wished would take you on this ground and within his home. He had to have known.

The countless times he caught you gazing at him, fixating on the movement of his rosy lips, or that one instance when your gaze lingered a moment too long on his—

His eyes found yours over his shoulder, piercing through the shadows. You quickly averted your gaze to the floor. Christ, you thought, nibbling on your lips, had he caught you yet again?

With your head down, you scurried to the nearest pew and knelt, facing the altar. You shut your eyes and began to recite your prayers, your voice wavering slightly as your mind strayed to being alone with the mid-aged priest. He was so near - so within your reach, so alone. Was this fate?

On the fourth prayer, you heard a faint shuffling in front of you. Footsteps. But you ignored them. Alas, a cold hand on your shoulder is what drew you from your prayer, causing you to flinch.

“Be not afraid. Pray, go on,” Father Levi said, his handsome face smiling down at you. You remained at his waist-level as you recited them.

But how could you go on with him standing right in front of you? All you had to do was move your head, the slightest of the slightest, and you’d be kissing the fabric over his groin.

Through the veil of your eyelashes, you peered up at the priest, who regarded you with a stern expression - as though he heard every filthy word you’d just thought.

He frowned. “It is alright, my child. God rejoices in your penitence.”

You held his gaze as your prayer poured from your lips.

After a while, his austere demeanour softened, surrendering to something less severe as you reached your seventh Ave Maria. Your breath hitched as he began to rub your shoulder.

“That is it, you’ve but three more.”

“Yes, Father,” you whispered breathily, relishing in the tender pressure of his thumb gliding along the curve of your neck.

With closed eyes, you surrendered to the caress, a moment of long-desired fulfilment. Yet, in an instant, his touch transformed, slender fingers encircling your throat with a sudden ferocity that left you gasping for breath. “I know what you are,” he snarled, bending over so his angular face was mere inches above yours.

“Father, what are you doing?”

You tried to free yourself from his vice-like grip, to rise to your feet and gain some advantage, but he was too strong, and he forced you back down onto your knees. With a wicked smile playing on his lips, he leaned closer to your ear.

“Did you take me for a fool, child? Did you think I would not notice how you have poisoned me? Tainted me?”

A shiver coursed through you as his breath brushed your cheek.

“Please, Father, have mercy,” you begged. “Whatever I have done, please have mercy.”

“Mercy? You do not know the meaning of mercy. You’ve never even seen her, spawn of Lucifer.”

“W-What?”

In a tone that resonated with an otherworldly chill, he hissed, “Confess, child, for the devil has taken up residence within you. Your sins are a stench that even the hounds of hell recoil from.”

Then, fear gripped you tighter than Father Levi ever could. “Father, please, I am not what you think. I know not what you speak of.”

“You lie. I am not as weak as Adam. I will not be so easily deceived by Satan and his marionette. What other would be stirred by lust within the sacred sanctuary of a chapel, worse still, at the hands of a priest?"

“Father…please…”

“Do not grovel so. It is a pathetic sight. What worth is a demon if he is feeble?”

“So then I am no-”

The priest’s fingers dug deeper into your flesh. “Quiet with your nonsense,” was forced through clenched teeth. “I’ve grown tired of your excuses. You are a demon, sent to tempt me, to test my faith, to make me fall.”

“You speak of faith as if it were a fragile thing, easily shattered by the likes of me,” you retorted, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice with all of your might.

“Enough.”

“Is this the strength of your faith, Father?”

“Enough!” he bellowed, releasing your throat and shoving you into the pew as if eager to relinquish you from his grasp. Like you were nothing more than vermin.

“You shall not make me falter. You shall not sow seeds of doubt within me, you cursed creature!” His face contorted into something so uncharacteristically grotesque, filled with a rage so fierce it could cast angels from their heavenly perch.

With trembling hands, you instinctively sought your throat, quickly drawing in air that your lungs so desperately yearned for. Each breath a gasp that tasted of dust. Through your blurred vision, you could see Father Levi’s figure retreating.

“Father, where are you going?” you managed to croak.

“I am going to fetch the whip,” he said. “You need more than words to atone for your sins. You need agony. You need blood. You need God's wrath.” You watched through lidded eyes as he ascended the steps to the pulpit and vanished behind the heavy drapery. You trembled against the cool floor and rasped the remaining of your ten Ave Marias.

As you lay in your heap, something dawned upon you: You could have fled. You could have escaped and hidden within the refuge of your own abode. You could have condemned him. But instead, you remained, awaiting the lash upon your flesh.

Is this what you desired? Were you indeed…corrupted? A vessel for Satan? There was no other answer, for why else would you harbour such thoughts… and why else would your underwear be dripping?

You heard his footsteps echoing in the corridor, growing near’r and near’r, no doubt with the instrument of your punishment in hand.

You watched as he slowly descended the steps, brandishing a braided whip with a handle adorned with symbols of crosses and saints. The silver metal of the whip glinted in the dim candlelight as he held it aloft, but none shone brighter than his cruel smile.

He seized you by the hair and thrust your face into the cold floor where many had trodden, your arse high in the air. “Are you ready, child? Are you ready to feel the wrath of the Almighty?” he asked.

The flickering light from the remaining candles cast long shadows, gracing you with the ability to see his arm rise. You heard him murmur, “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

And then, you felt the whip strike your back, tearing your flesh, drawing forth a crimson tide. You screamed, a sound driven by sheer ecstasy, and he struck again. And again. And again.

You lost count of how many times he lashed you, how many times you cried out, how many times you begged for mercy only to appease to his iniquity.

“Oh, God!” you cried out at one point.

“How humorous. You are turning to the wrong Father for refuge. My God has forsaken you, little demon. He is unresponsive to your pleas.”

You buried your face into the crook of your sweaty arm, stifling a sob behind the prison of your teeth.

“Your resilience is admirable,” he snarled, his voice a low growl. “But futile. You are mine, little demon. And I will break you.”

As the whip found its mark on your arse again, the sting faint now, he fisted your hair and wrenched your head back to face the vaulted ceiling. “Now, tell me, just how did you do it? How did you poison me? How did you breach the sanctum of my mind?”

You parted your parched lips to answer, but he interrupted. “Do you comprehend the extent of the erection I endured tonight? No? Allow me to enlighten you, then. It hurt to sit. To think. All that consumed my thoughts was the desire to relieve myself within that confessional.” Your breath caught in your throat. “Which was unlike me. Unlike what I stand for…yet it was all I craved. I wanted nothing more than to pump my shaft until I had given my all. Until I was worn and spent upon that bench, and until you had finished in the room over.”

A strangled noise escaped your throat. He had seen you?

“Yes, I saw you,” he admitted, a flicker of regret crossing his features as he realised his slip of the tongue. All he could do now was deflect. "Not only did I see you, but God saw you as well. Have you no sense of shame?”

Without thinking, you ground your hips back into his crotch, his bulge grazing against your clit. You both moaned before you could suppress it, and he quickly released your hair, his hand shifting to your hips.

“Sex-crazed beast. Sex-crazed demon.”

He ceased in his lashing, dropping the whip to the ground, and brought his newly freed hand to your other hip as you continued to grind against him. “You satisfy yourself during prayer and you satisfy yourself even now. Is that all that you are?”

“I told you, Father!” you moaned.

“You did,” he murmured, his grip growing tighter. “You did. You are a paradox. A sinner who revels in sin.”

“Yes!”

“But when I am done with you, you shall become something holy.”

You only let out a whimper, one of which was laden with anticipation.

With your face still pressed against the floor, you shivered as the chill of the air unexpectedly met your skin as your gown rode up. It rose from your ankles to your knees, before the priest bunched it up over your waist.

“Your smell is so potent I can taste you on my tongue.” He hooked a finger around your underwear, slowly revealing your tight pussy to the chapel.

“You’re sodden,” he declared. “You’re filthy. It is only right that I, the vessel of sanctity, be the first to take you, to taste you, to fill you with my sacred essence to your brim.”

You licked your lips, salt coated in its cracks. Your tongue lingered momentarily at the corner of your mouth, a fleeting contemplation. With all the desperation you could muster you whispered, “Purify me then, Father.”

The priest needed no more from you. He began to undo his cassock, slowly freeing each button as he watched your puffy pussy clench around nothing.

“Are you certain that you’re untouched?” he asked.

“I am certain. I have allowed no other to touch me, Father. Pleasure has only been derived by my own hand.”

“And now, my own.”

Father Levi, with the speed of a starving man, unzipped his trousers and lowered his underwear, his cassock at his sides, before he freed his cock and held it in his hand.

It was a burning red, far too long neglected, and bubbling with beads of precum at the tip. He rubbed his thumb across his slit before dragging it down his shaft, lubricating it before he’d press into you. For your sake.

“Try to still in your excitement, harlot,” he grunted as your hips swayed. As your bosom heaved. You reached an arm behind your back, fingers hoping to revel in the touch of another, but the priest swatted your limb away.

“We are not making love. Do not reach for me.” His pale skin stretched taut over the hardness of his cock, the veins pulsing as he stroked himself with his calloused hands. He stole a glance upwards and feasted on the sight of you laid bare before him, his eyes round with greed. Oh, how you glistened in the candlelight.

He situated himself between your parted legs, leaning his weight forward against you.

The warmth of his chest bore down upon you, his breath hot as it escaped his parted lips. He rubbed the tip of his cock against your folds, your pussy practically drooling, before he dragged it down to your opening and your thighs tightened around him.

“Father!” you panted, but it was not enough. Not for either of you. The feeling of him bare was enough to send you over the edge, but if you finished, then you knew there would be o more of this.

“Worry not,” he rubbed your lower back with his thumb, “The pain shall only be brief.”

The priest spat on the crown of his cock, anointing himself. Then, without warning, he shoved his cock into your tight, virgin pussy, a gravelly groan slipping past his lips at your warmth. He could hear a small wail from beneath him, from you, but it was muffled by the floor, by his breaths, and by the sound of skin slapping against skin.

Your cunt eagerly swallowed him, your walls gripping him so tightly that all the priest could do was groan. He relished in the pleasure of it all, his cock finally wrapped in the embrace of another, celibacy broken and ethics aside. Far aside. Granting him the freedom of animalistic grunts as he pumped in and out of you with a wild abandon.

But eventually, your pleasure gave way to pain, and you let out a second wail. “Father, it hurts!”

A virgin’s first is scarcely easy, so Levi paid little mind to your suffering. To the feeling of your hymen tearing around the tip of his cock as he slid against your walls.

Perhaps, he should’ve prepped you first - softened your impending agony. But you were a demon. Demons needed no sympathy. Demons needed no mercy.

Instead, he rutted his pelvis into your plentiful, supple backside and said, “Your screams are a symphony, a hymn to the fallen. Let your cries reach the ears of the devil, for even he shrinks at the price you pay for salvation."

“Yes, Father! Yes, Father,” you chanted, toes curling at the sweet agony of his fullness.

“Do you sense it?” The nails of his fingers pierced into the soft skin of your round hips, leaving crescent moons in their wake. “Do you sense the ebbing of the darkness?”

You only nodded.

His grip tightened, the coldness of his touch a stark contrast to the burgeoning warmth that spread throughout your being. With hasty hands he shoved the skirt of your gown to your shoulder blades. “That is the Lord’s will. With every thrust I draw out evil, and with every moan it escapes through your breaths. Yield to it, my child.”

“I do, Father. Make me clean. Make me sacred - something the Lord can cherish.”

He leaned over and licked the contours of the welts on your back, born from the numerous lashes you endured. As you felt the warmth of his tongue against your even warmer skin, you mewled, and he pounded into you even harder, fucking you into the floor. “You shall be purified.” A shaky moan slipped past his lips, “Christ, you shall be purified.”

“Fuck, I…need you, Father Levi!”

“You do need me. For whom else could save you?” A vulgar squelching echoed throughout the chapel, a product of your bodies and your pleasure.

“Only you, Father.”

“Only I,” he affirmed.

The priest watched with a slight frown as you took his cock, sucking it in with fervour and clenching around him until all he wanted to do was come inside of you. To fill your womb with him and watch as your stomach bloated. He was miserable.

Above all, he yearned to rub your swollen clit, to grasp your erect nipples, to fuck your mouth until his seed was all that remained. Until eventually, you’d have to swallow all of him. But he had to remind himself that this was not the pursuit of pleasure. That he could not act on his mortal impulses.

But as you writhed beneath him, your moans blessed to his ears and your juices dripping onto the floor, Levi felt that the Devil, too, might have made his mind his living-quarters.

“Stop that,” he whispered harshly, eyeing the sheen of your sweat, trying to focus on something else.

“Ah-” you whimpered, your throat hoarse. “Stop what?”

“Tempting me.”

“It is not by my will, Father. I do not know how to.”

“It is by your will, vixen. Break the connection you have on my mind.”

By now, your thighs had begun to burn, and your knees began to ache. You couldn't hold yourself up any longer. But as your form began to collapse, the conflicted priest seized your hips tighter and rammed into you from an entirely new angle.

You let out a surprised cry. "Yes, Father! Fill me up."

Your words were met with a grunt. You could feel his cock twitching and pulsing, ready to burst. And you too, were ready. With a shaky arm, you weaved it beneath your torso in search of your clit. The lack of stimulation was almost too much to bear.

But as your fingertips ghosted your mound, a mere stretch away, the priest caught your wrist in his grasp and pulled your arm back roughly.

“Look at you now. How can you claim to not be a demon and yet act as you do?”

“Father, you’re hurting me.”

“For the wages of sin is death. But the gift of God is eternal life. You will not rob that from me.” His eyes, twin pools of righteous fury, bore into you, unrelenting. “Your pleas for mercy are but the siren’s song of the damned.”

Releasing your arm, he seized your chin once more, his fingers clutching your face as if fearing you'd vanish before him. “Beg for forgiveness.”

When you said nothing, he pressed himself further into you, kissing your cervix. “Beg. Beg loud enough so that the angels above can thread through your words.”

“Father,” you began, your frustration getting the better of you. “Perhaps you are just weak.”

You heard a growl before a rough slap marked your arse. “I should just strangle you right here,” he hissed.

“Then do it, Father,” you challenged, you begged, and the words cascaded from your tongue without a second thought.

The priest pressed his nose to the back of your ear and drew in a sharp breath. For how long could he steel himself in his duty? “You are so…”

He dared not say more, afraid of what might come out. ‘Deliciously sinful’ died on his lips, and he exhaled softly as if to blow the remnants away. He then rolled his hips against you, heavy balls, aching for release, slapping against your backside rhythmically as he needily whimpered in your ear.

He had lost control. You could feel it in the way he clung to you, in the way he fucked you, in the way he moaned. It may have begun with the intent of purification…but it morphed into something else. Something more vulnerable.

The wet sound of sex was all the noise he could manage - all the noise you could manage. The two of you, bound by your own sins, were unable to utter anything else.

As you arched your back to feel more of him, his breathing grew irregular and curt, and a low, guttural groan was all the warning you received before the warmth of his seed splashed inside of you, coating your walls and dripping onto the floor. You clenched around him, milking him for all he was worth as his thighs quivered and his nails split your skin.

When he released all he could, cock still throbbing, he pulled out, his cum trickling down your trembling thighs and onto the floor, creating a puddle right beneath you.

He withdrew his hands from your hips, and as his touch relinquished its hold, your body crumbled to the unforgiving ground, spent and bereft of support. A pallor of exhaustion clung to your form as you lay there, chest heaving in tandem with the rugged breaths from behind you.

You hadn’t come yet. Would he-

“Cleanse yourself and then depart,” came harshly from the priest, and you peered over your shoulder to see him buttoning his cassock, his focus seemingly anchored to his hands.

“...What?”

His eyes lifted to meet yours, and for the first time that night, you noticed the grey hue of them. “Cleanse yourself and depart. There is a washcloth near the confessional should you need it.”

His abrupt shift was nothing short of maddening. You found yourself wobbling to your feet, attempting to conceal the parts of you that your tattered gown failed to cover - despite the fact that he had already seen your entirety.

Anger was not a sentiment you often indulged in - you seldom did. Yet, as he fiddled with the sleeves of his cassock, you felt a gale of fury brewing within.

“So, it seems I am worthy of your touch when it serves to satiate your desires, but once you have found your satisfaction, I am cast aside, relegated to being filth once more?”

“Thank you for your time. The angels weep over the heathen that was you.”

“Father!”

“I shall see you the coming Sunday.”

“I can hardly stand, I... it’s dark out, how shall I fare the walk home?”

“Remain here, then. There are ample pews to choose from.”

“You cannot be serious.”

But he offered nothing in return. He turned and walked up the pulpit, past the heavy drapery once again, before dropping to his knees once on the other side.

“Father, please forgive me, for I have sinned.”

He truly was weak.

#attack on titan #levi ackerman #levi aot #aot fanfiction #levi smut #levi x reader #priest kink #corruption kink #levi ackerman smut #hierophilia #lettasfics #priest smut #ao3 fanfic #ao3feed #levi x you #levi x y/n #levi ackerman x you

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chosos-mascara · 11 months

Text

lord

𝙨𝙪𝙠𝙪𝙣𝙖 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 - After confessing your sins, Sukuna is unsatisfied by your devotion to an undeserving God.

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 - priest! sukuna, demon! sukuna, true form! sukuna, sacrilege, themes of christianity, sex in a church, unprotected, devotion to sukuna, power dynamic(?), god! sukuna, god complex, sukuna calls reader a whore,

2.5k words

"Forgive me, Father." The words roll from your lips, cherry flavoured chapstick streaked over tongue as you nip at the skin, a tight clenching within chest before you begin the confessional. But, for your own sanity, and your deep faith, you'd needed to come clean. "I have sinned."

Sukuna shifts in the stall, a tightening of fist and curl of lip, anticipating your admission of guilt. Confessionals had been his favorite part of the role he'd found himself within; to hear the deepest aspects of a human's life had been entertaining within this dull life, as well as a chance to feel the fear plaguing their auras. Though, the added factor of unknowing souls confessing sin to a demon so evil to be banished from Hell itself - that had been icing on the cake. And, with a screen between himself and any unknowing devotee, Sukuna could freely grin as he'd absorbed negativity and fear from the soul beside him.

Rain had pattered over the stained glass with gusts of wind blowing below ornate doors. Sukuna knew no one would be visiting in this weather, and with that, he'd have you to himself.

"Confess your sins, girl." His voice was abrasive and unforgiving, a harsh tone you'd felt you'd deserved, though he'd been far from angry. After you'd caught his attention during a Sunday mass, he'd waited patiently for you to arrive with sin in mind. As a demonic being with heightened senses, your presence had an effect over him. Taunting, he'd call it. But, Sukuna had loved every second of it. With you sat the other side of the booth, deep breaths and shaking soul, he'd felt his own hardness over the length of thigh. With your innocent stare and pure scent, he'd wanted to corrupt you more than most; to manipulate and devour your soul until it had been as stained as his.

"Well, you see..." You sighed, closing eyes and leaning forward in the wooden seat. "I've been paycheck to paycheck for a while now, and it's been really hard to afford things like food, gas-" The excuses had been a way for you not only dress up your story, but to lessen the damage of your sins before you'd told them. Maybe this way, you could save yourself from the shame you'd been burdened with.

"Get on with it, girl." Sukuna had understood the harsh mannerisms he'd displayed had only caused your thighs to clench harder - he could smell the nectar of your body's natural lubricant and the guilt you held for wanting something you'd been taught was wrong. He'd wondered if your confessional would be a facade when you'd felt so easily aroused by his presence - had you simply wanted to see him?

"I stole money from someone." The admission hung in the air as it had left your bowed head, hands idly fiddling within your lap in an attempt to distract yourself from the overhanging statement. Sukuna's silence had only caused more array, leaving you to wonder how abhorrent he'd found you when you'd so freely admitted to sin.

It had taken a minute of silence for your trembling face to turn, and your gaze to set over the grates, checking if his shadow had still been seated on the other side. "Father?" You speak once more, though your growing anxiety is met with a dry laugh. Furrowing brow, your heart racing, you begin to question his quietness.

"That's your confession?" Sukuna's laughter brings you to confusion as you await further explanation, a stuttering mess behind the walls while you try to muster a response. "I think you've done much worse than stealing, dear. Don't be so naive to think I wouldn't know about your other sins."

Your mouth drops wide as he speaks, nausea within your body rising to throat.

"You have stolen from many others before. Why do you only confess to this one?" "I-" "Do you think I wouldn't notice the disgusting way you act around me? Oh please," Sukuna stood, and somehow much faster than you'd felt to be humanly possible he'd been within your side of the booth, hand around throat as he'd pulled you to the open. You were pulled toward the benches, body folded over wood and trousers pulled down to expose bare skin, cotton thong allowing nothing to the imagination.

"Spare me your niceties and show me the real whore you are." A harsh slap bestowed onto your ass had caused you to yelp, a burning sensation rippling over skin to leave red marks. "Repent for me, girl." A second and third slap came in quick succession, your eyes squeezing closed and face scrunching with each surge of pain. Sukuna's hands were large and his slaps firm, and with the fourth he'd chosen to leave his hand atop skin to squeeze the thickness.

"I'm sorry, father." Your voice trembles, head bowed into your folded arms as you struggle to keep yourself in the bent position, hands clutching to the old wood beneath you. "It's not me you should be apologizing to." For a second, his grip loosens, and you sigh in relief. Though, it's almost immediately returned when Sukuna grips wrist and hip to have you stand, pulling you toward the large cross behind his usual podium. There, he has you kneel, facing the dark wood cross.

"Apologize to the Lord for your sins, and may you be forgiven." Sukuna's words are like venom in your ear, hand gripping your chin and nails digging to your cheek. "Lord, I-I'm sorry for stealing, I swear I won't do it again-"

Sukuna laughs maniacally, second hand clutching your shoulder while remaining in a crouched position. He's careful not to place a knee on the ground and offer submission before the cross - something he couldn't understand why humans had done so freely. "You're not apologizing for that, are you?"

Your face contorts between his fingers, confusion written over features as you search his eyes for answers. It's now that you notice the red hue - or had they always looked like that?

"You need to confess the true sin you're entwined yourself within." His voice was lower now, a deep reverberance within chest as his pointed smile grew. "Father, I don't understand-" Your question is timid, and when he laughs again you flinch. "Do you think he hasn't seen the way you flaunt yourself before me, a demon? The slick betwixt thigh when you should be repenting for him - you're awful." The final word is more enunciated than the rest, Sukuna sure to break your mind before he can make room his his true intention.

"I'm sorry for being a whore, I promise I won't act on these impulses within me, Lord." There's not much room for silence before Sukuna speaks again, a tut as he voices his concerns. "That's a little better, but I fear something is missing..." The sincereness to his voice had been too nonsensical for it to be true - this was another game he would play with you.

"Ah, I have it." A snap of fingers confuses you, for both of his hands had been holding you tightly in kneeling position. "I think you need a new God to worship. This one won't do for someone as depraved as yourself."

"Father-" You begin your protest, but Sukuna doesn't allow room for your thoughts. "Worship me." With his hands over your body, your gaze forced to his, you'd taken in the true face he'd worn. The gentle expression and brown eyes you'd come to lust had long since gone, a demonic replacement of four glowing eyes and black markings etched over skin. The snarl he'd worn had seemed to contort his teeth too, fangs sharp and pointed.

"Let go!" Your plea had been more energetic than before, fear surging and a fight or flight response causing your stomach to churn. The rush of adrenaline had been enough to make you feel dizzy, but despite your efforts, Sukuna offered no leniency or reprise.

"That's no way to treat your Lord now, is it?" Sukuna held you in place as you'd trembled in his grip. "You'll have to ask for my forgiveness, won't you?" The superiority of his voice had belittled you in nothing more than a few words, body's struggle fizzling out as you'd succumbed to his authority.

"I'm sorry." Your relaxed frame caused his grip to loosen slightly, the anxiety within you suddenly merging into something more. "Good girl, that wasn't so hard." When a hand had come to caress the crown of your head, you'd finally looked to his torso. From there, you'd discovered his true form - four arms had emerged from chest, uniform torn in two to accommodate the extra set of limbs. His stomach had large ridges of muscle, the black markings from his face now decorating flesh previously hidden. As much as you'd hated to admit it, there had been something overwhelmingly enticing about Sukuna. The fear for your life had appeared to die out, and you'd seen him in a new light.

His gentle touch had soothed you, fingers caressing cheek and head as all four eyes had set on you. Had this been the draw of a God?

"Now," He'd spoken in a sincere tone, though you'd known within your core that he hadn't meant it. "I need an act of devotion, a display of adoration for your new Lord."

His lips were close to your ear as he'd spoken, a pair of hands moving to grope your chest above the shirt you'd worn and you'd stifled a moan, leaning into his touch. With this, Sukuna had pushed your body to the stone floor, a quick tare of fabric to leave you exposed to his gaze. There had been something freeing about your nudity before him, chest raised as you'd drawn teeth over lip. The air was cold, yet you felt heat radiating from Sukuna's body - a frame that had practically doubled in size as he'd pinned you to the ground. His grip had settled over your neck, with another set of fingers scratching over the skin of your stomach.

"Perhaps, you can be my Lilith." His statement had little meaning to you and had been more of an utterance, though for some reason you'd felt a hum in the pit of your stomach.

There had been a twang over nipple, a swirl of tongue to leave you gasping and confused, half lidded eyes set over a mouth manifested on the palm of his hand. The tongue had drawn over the bud, drawing circles over hardness and causing your back to arch on the stone tile. "Do you love me?" His words felt sinister but you couldn't help to nod, light headed from his touch.

"I love you, Lord Sukuna." The phrase had been stuttered through whines as you'd pressed your chest into his hands more, a mouth latched onto you to cause ecstasy. There hadn't been a statement you'd felt more sure about within your life - you were completely enamored by the entity above you. "Show me, then."

You'd peered down with reluctance, and had been left in awe at the sight before you. Sukuna had peeled the busting cotton from his legs to reveal his endowment: that of two lengths, both thick and extensive. The view had caused some nervousness to stir within you, though a second hand finding it's way to your slick had made your mind numb.

"So sweet." Sukuna had uttered to your ear as he'd bitten over the flesh, pulling another lewd and blaring moan from your lips. The mouth had lapped over slit, circling your clit before moving downward. There had been a few thrusts of tongue before he'd lowered himself further, a stripe over your lowest point.

At first, you'd felt shocked at the movement, yet when feeling the thick appendage tease your opening to finally fill you, you'd spread your legs wider to accommodate more. He'd laughed, positioning the lowest cock to the dripping entrance and easing in. If he'd gone faster you were sure he'd have split you in two, though with the fullness of length and tongue, you'd been left to relax on the tile and take what you'd been given.

Your walls had hugged Sukuna well, his rough rocks allowing a squeeze over cock he hadn't felt before. He'd been right on his initial guess that you were simply something else, something he wouldn't share with others. He'd make you his, he'd make you worship him. With you as a devotee, Sukuna had been sure he wouldn't need another. The feeling of your tightness milking him and the pure moans of pleasure erupting from you had made him want to pillage the entire world to leave only you within it.

What he'd felt had been greed. He'd wanted to take all he could get from your pure form, an unknowing and dainty human fallen within his trap. Like a spiderweb, you'd been tangled in his clutches and left for him to toy with.

A finger had circled your clit as his length had stretched you to brim, the thick arousal coating your folds allowing pad to slide easily over bud. Sukuna's touch had been enthralling, the perfectly timed movements and actions leaving you unable to love another as you had him. No one would give you the pleasure he'd bestowed to you, and you would give him absolutely everything in return.

You swore under your breath, vision blurred. You'd been able to make out his looming body above yours along with the motions of his hips, and with head tilted to the side, you could see the wooden cross he'd defiled you beneath. Even if your mind had raised alarm bells at the sacrilege you had committed, something about the sight had only caused the coil within your core to snap, a sudden wave of intense pleasure to wash over your body. Something that had been coaxed by no one other than the demonic entity you'd allowed inside you.

"Come for me, whore." Sukuna's length had continued to stretch your body with his, leaving an ache between thigh. You were sure walking home wouldn't be an option after this - if he'd permitted you to leave.

"You belong to me, now." His words were aggressive as he'd stuffed you to fullness, your legs locked in position with an inhuman grip. "I belong to you, Lord Sukuna." The phrase had left your lips without thought, and you'd felt nothing other than a deep devotion as Sukuna pushed himself to your limit, the second twitching length lef tto rub over your stomach as the bottom had worked inside.

The feeling of heat had washed over chest as it had your insides, Sukuna's release covering the exposed skin as he'd held you roughly to the ground, inhuman sounds echoing within his body while he'd decorated your weakness with his arousal.

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gretavanlace · 10 months

Text

Valtava

Josh Kiszka x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual content, unprotected sex, pain during sex (this is handled gently and lovingly) language, dirty talk, etc.

Everyone thank our dear @jake-kiszkas-smirk for the scene where his head is resting on her stomach. I’ll say no more to avoid spoiling it, but it’s delicious and it was her idea that she so kindly left in my hands. Thank you, you filthy genius, you. I love you madly. Also, I no longer remember who to credit for this pic of Josh, it’s been in my camera roll so long. But I couldn’t not use it for this…that’s dangerously close to sacrilege.

“This scene right here,” Josh speaks over Ray Liotta’s musings, one arm stretched across the back of his couch, the other bent to stroke his thumb along your jawline, absently “This is where Scorsese really stretches his wings. Here we are, watching the heinous discovery of murder after murder while Layla, a song about love and lust, lulls us. We feel both safe and shaky.”

His fingers now wind through your hair, relaxed and warm, with your head in his lap. “I think it serves as a reminder that even ugly can dip its toe into the waters of beautiful, if you squint hard enough.”

He pauses and talks over his own stream of thoughts, “Well, most ugly things, anyway. Someone saw these murders as a necessary evil. Something to ensure the world they had built for themselves, for their families, stayed clean. Someone went home and slept a little easier knowing there was one less heart beating out there ready to turn state's witness on them.”

You nod and hope for him to keep going. The way his mind works fascinates you, as does the unique lilt of his tone, and the excitement that sharpens his gaze when he is ruminating on something that really spins the wheel for the hamster in his brain.

Catering to your unspoken wish, he carries on, “And maybe even the victims were in on the method to the madness, y’know? They chose the life they chose, they understood how quickly loyalty and love can shape- shift into survival and self preservation. Layla helps the audience understand. It marries the beauty and the bloodshed for the people in the seats.” he shakes his head in wonder. “It’s fucking genius.”

“Thought your brother was the big Marty fan?” You ask, studying the perfect cupid's bow of his lips from below.

“Jake?” His eyes are on the screen, but his focus is on you. “Tarantino. I dig the use of his nickname, though. Marty. It makes it seem as if you have him over for dinner regularly.”

“Maybe I do.” You tease.

You earn a smile, but still not his gaze. “And what do you serve?”

Adopting a tone of nonchalance, you shrug, “Usually, we make love until dawn and then share cold spaghettiOs right out of the can.”

“Ah,” He nods seriously, “the opulence. It’s all very grand.”

A comfortable silence wraps itself around you both until you have a thought that pokes to be shared.

“Do you suppose Scorsese might have chosen Layla because of the double-edged sword it also happens to be as a piece? Since Clapton wrote it about his best friend's wife?” You feel a blush heat your cheeks, and immediately wish you hadn’t contributed. He knows so much about film and you know so little.

True to Joshua-form, however, he hushes your unease effortlessly. “Shit! I’d never even considered that. The beauty for Clapton was the ugly for Harrison. God, I’m so in love with the way your mind sees everything that’s invisible to mine.”

I’m so in love with…

He means the ideas in your head, the quiet corners of your thoughts, but it quickens your heart and nudges the butterflies in your stomach to life, nonetheless.

So, you pull yourself up, a thigh nestled on either side of his waist in the blink of a breath.

“Hi.” You long for the timid smile dancing shyly on your lips to morph into something sultry. Something sexy. Something that might flicker the darkened flame, that hides down deep in his belly, to life.”

“Hi.” He grins back, allowing you to wiggle around until you’re comfy in his lap. “If Goodfellas is boring you, I stand zero chance of keeping you entertained, baby love.”

Your fingers worry over the beads looped around his neck and then twist into the soft pink linen of his shirt, finally coming to rest at the button fastened nearest to his throat. Your eyes travel over him, hungry to soak him in. To tuck this image of Josh, so quietly content with you perched above him, away in your heart…a pretty picture to revisit when he inevitably becomes a memory.

What is he thinking? That question seems to occupy your mind more often than any other. He is an enigma. A mystery parading as wide open sunshine.

Intrusive thoughts, cruel and unrelenting, silently bully you. You’ve become quite adept at ignoring them over the years, opting for at least some semblance of normalcy in your quest for a happy, healthy life. Whatever that means.

But these thoughts in particular are cloaked in far too much truth…too many signs pointing to the worst being the obvious…to be easily disregarded.

You want to say these things to him. If only to bask in the assurance you might catch in his reply. But to risk the absence of said reassurance, is a feat too great.

Instead, you begin a tentative roll of your hips as you lean in close to meet his pillowy lips with your own. He tastes of mint, and the IPA he has been nursing, and Josh.

Like always, he indulges the kiss, but stills your hips, and you long to vanish into thin air, leaving nothing more than a coiling wisp of smoke in your wake. The rejection comes with a throbbing ache in your chest. Is your heart truly breaking? Now you’ll be forced to offer it to him in pieces.

And he isn’t the only one to indulge in old habits, because, also like always, you crawl into the safe embrace of humor. “You’re right, Joshua…you’re boring me. Back to the brilliant mind of Marty, my beloved.”

You slide off of him and stretch back out on the couch, focusing on the screen to hide your tear glossed eyes as he gets comfortable behind you.

“Scorsese, you bastard,” he shakes his fist in mock indignation, “how dare you steal the affections of my woman?”

A forced laugh comes out sounding a little too close to a sob. You play it off as best you can. Nothin’ to see here.

Alas, he catches it. And, of course, he won’t leave it alone, though you certainly ask him too.

“What is it, baby? What’s wrong?” He turns you toward him, hovering over you as you lie on your back and long to melt away. “Talk to me.”

“I just— I mean,” death seems of great comfort. “Is it me? Do you not… are you not… am I not pretty enough? Or sexy enough? Or… I don’t know,”

A frown of deep concern furrows his brow as his palms move to cup your face, “What? Are you not…Jesus, baby, of course you are. Fuck, if anything you’re too much. Too pretty, too sweet, too smart, too sexy.”

Your words come quiet and small, quivering with painful vulnerability “Then why?” You close your eyes, and thankfully, he allows you to hide this way.

Exactly what you knew would happen, happens. He lies without lying. “Why, what?” He sounds of feigned confusion. He knows what you mean.

Throat now constricted and pulsing with a wringing pain, you close your eyes tighter, unwilling to bear witness to whatever lie will follow his last. “Why don’t you want me?”

A tear breaches the dam you had hoped was impenetrable. You loathe and curse it.

“Hey, shhh…don’t do that. Don’t cry.” He brushes the tear away and then kisses over the path it took.

“Don’t cry?” You snap. A twinge of regret flares to life within you. You’ve never spoken to him unkindly, and could it be that there’s no going back? Perhaps this is it; the end of the road you’ve been heading inevitably for.

To your great surprise, he laughs. You crack an eyelid open to find it sincere. “So, she’s capable of something other than sugar, spice, and everything nice, after all.”

His hand smooths down your chest - can he feel the violent rattle of your heart as it thrums and beats out of control?

When at last he speaks, there is an edge to his tone you’ve never heard before. It warms you clear through to your curling toes “You think I don’t want you?”

You shrug, all pink cheeks and complete ineloquence.

“Well,” he soothes, drawing gentle patterns upon your temple and forehead, “you should know, that is far from the case.”

But, rather than take the moment further, as he so easily could, as you so desperately want him to, he sinks into an innocent position - resting his cheek on your stomach as you struggle to keep it from rising and falling too rapidly, his eyes, once more, on the screen.

The film drones on; mafia murders and cocaine swirling down flushed toilets. Betrayal and 20/20 hindsight…

…and on you watch, on the surface - in reality, you can think of nothing else other than the weight of his head on your stomach.

There is a dull ache there, inside you, gripping at every nerve ending all at once. He knows what you want, and he very obviously doesn’t want the same thing. He doesn’t want you.

He speaks first, and there’s too much truth in it. He knows you too well. “I need you to stop that.”

“Stop what?” You stupidly offer a tiny shrug, but for what? He isn’t even looking at you.

“Your walls, I can feel you stacking bricks. Stop, or I’ll take a wrecking ball to them.” he pets over your forearm comfortingly. It doesn’t help.

“Alright, Miley,” you toss the joke out like a life preserver for yourself. “Just don’t start licking sledgehammers and we’ll be alright.”

He gives you the softest laugh. It more closely resembles a sigh, “Is it only sledgehammers that you are opposed to me licking?”

Oh.

When he coolly pushes your shirt up and begins dragging his lips, licked slick and warm, around your belly button, you think you might burst into tiny, burning, longing, pieces. God, how you want him.

“You like that, baby love?” He speaks the words melodically into the room like a lullaby, hushed as a priest absolving you of your sins in a darkened confessional.

A whiny hum is all you seem capable of, but it doesn’t look like it matters much to him.

“Yeah?” He’s teasing now, and you think it might kill you. Your hips begin a barely perceptible rock in response. “Can I touch you, sweetheart? Do you want that?”

“Josh, please,” his name is less than a whisper. It’s a plea gasped into the dark, dancing with the flickering glow of the tv as it blinks and changes like lightning.

The warmth of his hand between them causes your thighs to twitch and tremble, but he hovers just above making actual contact. “God, look at you. How could you ever doubt how much I want you? So pretty. Can I touch you here, baby? My pretty, pretty girl.”

With a soft moan, you lift your hips, pressing into his palm. He doesn’t push for words, your body has given him all the consent he needs, and the want in your eyes reiterates.

His mouth is wandering your soft, flushed, stomach as he slides your pants away, gentle and sure, the tip of his tongue bridging the distance between his kisses.

Your hands weave down into his wild curls, comforted by the way they wrap themselves into your touch, spiraling around your fingers as you tug at them and tenderly scratch over his scalp. A particularly sweet drag brings a shiver to life on his shoulders. He groans in appreciation and runs away with another piece of your heart.

“Oh, fuck,” you murmur, surprised and grateful, when at last, he sinks a single finger into your warmth.

Should you at least have the decency to feel shy about the sound it makes? About the way you must be soaking his skin? Perhaps. But you don’t, and judging by the curse he secrets into the still of the night, there isn’t any reason to.

“Does that feel good?” He isn’t taunting you, it’s a genuine question, but there is a hint of a teasing tone there as well, peeking out from around the edges of his words and you think it might just be the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard.

“So good.” You’re whining and writhing beneath him, tiny pouty huffs of breath tumbling off your lips over and over…but you don’t care about that either.

His finger slips out and you mourn it pitifully, until it swirls around your swollen clit, tearing a shaking cry out of your chest. And then, there it is again, filling you as his thumb begins a slick trail of tight circles just right.

“You want more?” Oh god…the way he sounds, the way you feel. He’s setting you further and further on fire with his gentle, decadent, prodding. With his breathy, gingerly obscene questions. Flames - scorching and crackling - lick up inside you. Incinerating as they consume.

“More?” He asks again, rasping the word, wantonly urging you on.

“Yes!” You nod frantically, spreading your legs further. You want him, need him, so badly…coveting the very breath in his lungs for its privilege of being inside him in a way you’ll never know. You long to trickle down into his pores and vanish.

A second finger - they feel longer than they have ever looked - joins the first and then begins a perfect, guiding, curl.

Tucking into that perfect place inside you, he fucks the pads of his fingers against it ever so carefully. Gently spinning your head in every direction.

He rests against your belly as the muscles inside churn and flex beneath his ear, watching intently as his hand fucks away at you. He wonders what it might be like to stretch you to almost breaking. How it would feel to push another finger inside, and then another, and another. When would you tell him to stop? Three? Four? Could you take that burning stretch? Would you relish it and ask for more? Fuck, he hopes so.

But you feel so tight around him…just two fingers full and you’re squeezing like you’ll never let go. He worries, and the pounding pulse of neglect that aches rhythmically in his cock, reminds him that he worries rightly so.

He has always believed you to be the most beautiful thing his eyes have ever had the pleasure of landing upon, but he’s never seen you like this - spread open, soaked and puffy with want. With need…for him. It doesn’t seem possible.

The way you move…fluidly, like ripples chasing over the surface of a placid lake, urging him along with your body. Your gorgeous cunt sucking his fingers in. A goddess, a beckoning siren, an angel…he can’t look away.

Can’t until he hears it, until he feels it, how close you are. Wild, frothing, horses couldn’t keep him from the gift of watching your face as you fall apart. An army of men wouldn’t stand a chance. He wants this moment with you, and he will have it. He wants to make you cum, and he wants to watch your eyes go blurry with it, and so watch he will.

“C’mon, baby…” he goes breathless when his face tilts up to meet yours. You are flushed and panting, lips parted. The soft pink of your tongue just barely visible, blushing like saltwater taffy in your mouth and he wants to lick against it, wants to taste you.

The smallest blips of a sound he can’t describe chase each other out of that beautiful mouth he wants to kiss so badly. Tiny uh’s that shift into gasps of desperation. You’re right there, and he wants it more than you do.

With his bottom lip caught between his teeth, he eases his chin into the softness just below your navel, creating a delicious pressure, and crooks his finger so perfectly, pressing and stroking until it feels like you’re floating and the only thing holding you in place is him.

It is celestial. He is every constellation and you are the astronomer, feet held to the ground by gravity, eye pressed against a telescopic lens hopefully, frantic for a glimpse of his wonder.

There is only Josh.

“Almost there, pretty girl,” he nods, gaze glossed with lust and something that looks like love. “You gonna give it to me?”

You are. You’re going to give it to him. You couldn’t stop it now if you tried. Fluttering walls trap him inside you as his stare fixes, unmoving and heated, with yours.

“That’s it, baby love, that’s it.” He urges you on, leads you deeper and deeper, those long, warm, perfect, fingers working you like he’s been there a thousand times before. “Shh, you’re alright. I’m right here, just breathe for me.”

That’s all it takes for you to realize your lungs are burning for a breath you’ve been unknowingly denying them - and with that hissing, hungry, gasp for air, you explode under him.

He watches, mezmorized, as your eyes roll back, teeth clenched like some ethereal, feral creature. It bursts out of you, clear and shimmering, like liquid diamonds, but you don’t know it yet, he can tell…you’re too far gone, and he fucking loves it. He fucking loves you.

He has said it aloud. I love you, sweetheart. I love you so much. I love you.

But that’s the thing that he doesn’t know yet because he’s also too far gone.

You’re quiet, gentle. Sweet, whining whimpers floating out of you as you vibrate and spill.

On your end, you hear the confession of how deeply his feelings run, but you don’t register…it will settle in later and you’ll weep for not saying it back. Though you don’t need to, he knows.

Once you’ve settled, he pushes up until you are eye to eye, lapping your release off his fingers. You’re sweet enough to lick off a whisk like cake batter, and he tells you so…but you can focus on nothing but the shining glint of you that he wears so well.

Shocked by the sheer amount, you blush hard and hot. Burning brighter still when it drips from his hand and lands on your lip. In an act you don’t seem aware of, you lick it away like a raindrop. The very sight of it, the somehow still innocent depravity, weakens him until he is forced to swallow a whine.

“Had I known what I was missing,” he grins lazily, “I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself.”

The confusion sends you crashing back to reality.

“But why stop yourself at all?” Your eyes are so wide and clear. It makes him want to gather you up and keep you safe.

Once more, it crosses his mind that you’re an angel. He wonders where your wings have gone.

“Because, I—“ he falters, shaking his head as if he might rattle his thoughts into place. Finally, he opts to show, not tell, pressing his hips against yours so you can feel him.

And feel him, you do, but only for a moment. He’s so hard you’re cozy from the heat of it through the sweats he was lounging in when you arrived.

You’ve noticed. Of course you have. You’ve stolen a glance or two when he wasn’t looking. How could you not? You’d just always thought, and not to be crass, you’d always just assumed he was a shower, rather than a grower.

Now you aren’t so certain. He felt massive during the short amount of time he was rocking into you.

“You’re thinking very hard, baby love.” He smiles down at you. “Are those thoughts in my favor, or…?”

He trails off and awaits your answer with that Josh-like patience. Rather than speaking, you curl your hands around the waistband of his pants and then cast your eyes up, in silent question.

Nodding the go ahead, he continues watching you closely…studying your reaction as you tug him free.

“Oh, fuck,” the expletive sighs out of you as the tip of his cock - leaking, angry and swollen - slaps up, well above his belly button, with a solid thump.

He’s big. So big. Long and thick, beautifully shaped. Blushing pink at the head, and visibly pulsing under your awestruck scrutiny. You absently wonder how he isn’t light-headed for the amount of blood it must require to bring him to such full attention.

“I didn’t want to hurt you.” He explains softly, finally letting you in on the secret of why he’s been so skittish, “And I didn’t want to…”

His confession loses traction as he watches your mouth rather than meeting your gaze.

Your palms reach for him, cupping his angelic face with as much gentleness as the renewed desire racing through your veins will allow. “You didn’t want to what?”

While he searches for the words, you curl your thighs around him and pull him in, moaning out his name like a mantra when you feel him against you, skin to skin.

“God damn, baby…” he rocks his hips closer to yours and then remembers what he’s doing. “I didn’t want to scare you. And I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Yeah, you said that.” You tease, trying to lighten the heavy load of his anxiety.

“I know.” His mouth meets yours, searching out a slow, needful kiss. “But I kept imagining hurting you, and you being too sweet to say so. I’m still imagining it.”

Your tongue licks into his mouth as you wrap your fist around him. “Look at you, Josh,” you smile shyly through a kiss that is anything but shy. “My fingers don’t even touch.”

“Grew up under some power lines.” He teases, relaxing as he pecks along your jaw.

“I want you inside me.” You sound despondent, and feel just as forlorn, the look in his eye warns you may have a fight on your hands.

“Pretty girl,” he tucks himself away and begins kissing a slow, serpentine trail down your body after he flutters your shirt, indicating he wants it off. “I could barely get two fingers in your sweet little pussy. Why don’t you just let me kiss it? Don’t you want to cum on my tongue, hmm? Won’t that feel nice?”

Such filth is a captivating development, and one you like very much…but, you stop him all the same. Grabbing him by the hair with enough force to tilt his head back, pulling his mouth away from your straining nipple, you issue a demand you intend to make sure he fulfills, “I said, inside, Joshua.”

He raises an eyebrow and suppresses a grin of dirty glee. “Joshua?”

Ignoring him, you watch as he licks the pad of his thumb and then arch away from the cushion when he begins a steady, swirling journey over your clit with it. “Gonna make you cum first, love. Again and again. I’m gonna baby this gorgeous cunt until my name is the only word you want in your mouth…and then I want you to fill my mouth.”

“Jesus, Josh…” you’ve never wanted anything more, but you can hardly force the words out to convey just how fucking agreeable you are.

“You want that?” He flicks over you faster and faster, indulging in your pouty, needy cries, praying they never end. “You want to cum in my mouth? Feed me something sweet?”

“Easy, baby love,” he coos, whispering to you like you’re a tiny, broken bird, fallen from the nest and afraid. “You’ve got to relax a little more for me.”

“Yeah…” you nod, staring up at him as if he painted your entire world into existence. And maybe he did.

No longer able to count the number of orgasms he’s gifted you with, you feel like liquid silk. Or clay in his palm, happy to be molded to his liking.

“Yeah?” He drops a kiss onto your forehead and pushes in just a hint further, eyes darting up when you hiss with discomfort.

You offer a smile for him to continue and he returns it gently, but the way he’s fighting for breath betrays him. He wants you badly, he’s going slowly mad with the need to bury into your body to the hilt.

His fingertips skate a ticklish trail down the curve of your waist and then grip into your thigh, spreading you open a bit wider.

Both bare now completely to each other for the first time, you’ve given yourself over right there on the couch. The room is silent, save for hushed words and choked breaths twisting languidly through the air, the movie long since over.

He’d wanted to carry you off to the bedroom, but you refused.

You want him here. You want him now.

Palm cradling the back of your head, he brings you forward until your mouth is sucking at his shoulder. “Just like that, sweetheart. Good girl.” His praise flips your stomach. A violent somersault of carnal need. “You just suck and bite all you want. I’m gonna take care of you. You know that, don’t you?”

Nodding urgently against him, you’re far too interested in the marks you're leaving against his overheated skin.

“Words for me, okay?” He coaxes so gently it makes your chest ache.

“You’re going to take care of me.” You mumble through a long lick along his collarbone.

Without reply, he slides in deeper, yet still not much more than the tip rests inside you.

A shocked cry escapes you before you can stifle it and his face snaps up, searching your own for tells of pain that he doesn’t have to look all that closely for. “Baby,” the pet name sings out of him, a soft crooning apology. “Let’s stop, I…”

“No, please!’ The frantic want bubbling up inside you colors your voice and surprises you both, but he masks it well.

“Hush, love. No one’s stopping yet.” he soothes, massaging your hip carefully. Just wisps of touch, but you relax beneath it like a sleepy babe cradled up snug and safe.

You’re not fond of that ‘yet’ he tacked on to the end of his promise.

“Deeper.” Your hips lift, forcing his hand while you gulp down another sound of discomfort.

“Don’t.” His grip is suddenly digging into your waist, no longer careful, but swift and insistent instead. “Let me take my time. Let me be gentle. I don’t want to hurt you.”

He’s right, and you tell him as much as he begins a slow, stuttering journey. Starting and stopping as you writhe with impatience and uncomfortability in his capable hands.

Reaching up, he guides your fingers down until they brush over your sensitive clit. “You take care of this for me, okay, baby? Help me make this easier for my pretty girl…I can’t stand the thought of hurting you.”

“Please, Josh…” you sound a mess, and who gives a damn? “Please!”

You’re right, it’s time. He knows it better than you do. He can wait no more. There isn’t far to go anyway.

Suddenly, with one firm thrust, he drives in all the way to the base, shuddering as you coil around him like a hot, wet, fist. Squeezing harder and tighter and fuck….

“So fucking tight.” He is trembling, fighting the urge to let go already. “It’s like you don’t want to let me go. Pussy so pretty and soft. Like the sweetest thing all dressed in pink. Aren’t you fucking gorgeous?”

Your eyes drift closed, breathing through the last remnants of the biting sting. You’re so full, it feels so good. So right. So completely perfect, you cannot begin to fathom how you’ve lived all these years without him inside you.

“Say it.” He sounds like an angel clawing his way closer and closer to something he can’t survive without any longer.

“What?”

“Tell me you’re gorgeous.” He’s fucking you faster now…and it stings, but it hurts so good you want to feel the burn forever. “Say you’re my beautiful girl. Come on, I wanna know that you know.”

“I—“ your face flares as pink as the cunt he’s currently locked inside

“That’s it, baby love…” he coaxes, pumping into you with long, torturous strokes. “C’mon,”

A little less tentative now - he effortlessly makes you believe - the words finally come “I’m gorgeous.”

He smiles so wide his nose crinkles as he nods and dips his lips to meet your own. “Fuck yes you are. My pretty girl. You’re doing so well, look at you. Just taking and taking and taking me.”

Pulling you up and away from the pillow gently, he guides your line of sight to the sinful image of him gliding in and out of you. His cock, glistening and covered in your unbridled desire - it catches the light and steals your heart. Is it possible to be in love with a cock? Or are you just in love with the man who wields it?

Both. Most definitely, both.

“Look, baby, look…” a quivering huff escapes him. “It’s like coming home. Being inside you is like coming fucking home.”

“Harder,” you beg, winded and lost. He feels so good inside you. Stretched further than you ever thought possible around him, you clench and twist a fist into the throw pillow beneath you until your fingernails threaten to rip it open.

“Just…fuck,” his pretty face buries itself in the crook of your neck with a whimper as he falters. “Just a little.”

The room is hazy and blurred, filled with sounds neither of you can seem to quiet. Each moan and breath filling your head up until you feel feverish. Every groan and gasp pushing him closer and closer to the edge.

Your bodies meet in a sweat glazed dance that causes your teeth to grit together - biting down hard to suppress a scream that he might confuse with pain.

He tucks his own teeth into your throat deeply, growling out a melodic sound that sets you on fire, when the salt of your skin hits his tongue.

A shaky, “I’m gonna cum, baby love…where, baby, where?” Pants out of him with a desperate urgency the moment he releases your skin from his bite.

“Inside…” you plead, clawing at his waist as your thighs lock him in close. “Cum inside me…c’mon. Please,”

“Pretty girl begging for my cum. Begging me to ruin this beautiful little cunt…” he sounds as if he’s talking to himself, like he’s trying to convince himself that you’re real.

“Ruin it, baby,” your palms drift up his back, slow and steady…urging him along gently. “Ruin me.”

A sound so exquisitely angelic rumbles up out of his chest. Deep and primal, but somehow gentle and submissive, like he wants to fall at your feet in veneration of something holy and ancient.

He falls against you, pulling you as close as he can get you, and then draws the scent of your hair in only to feel that much closer. Rocking into you as he slowly comes down and finds himself.

Gathering you in his arms, he lifts you away from the disheveled couch, ignoring you when you protest weakly that you can walk.

A bath is drawn and laced with plain epsom salt to soothe your throbbing muscles. He slips into the steaming water behind you, cradling you as he drags a washcloth over your skin.

Quiet verses of a song you’ve never heard are whispered in your ear as you drift into a light slumber without worry, confident that he will keep your head safe above water.

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