Bloodline of the Sacred Dragons - Chapter 2-7
[warning for violence and dismemberment on this one. yes you read that right. as opposed to me who did not pay attention to this on my first read. lol.]
The group emerged back into the fields, after safely crossing the mountains. They hurried on their journey, heading towards the Pao Plains.
By Krin and Tyrin's calculations, they should be a day ahead of the monsters. If they could get the mercenaries at Pao and come back, they would be able to ambush the enemies at the mountain path that led to the plains. The devils wouldn't be able to escape a trap in such a narrow pathway.
In the forest, Karin replaced Randolf as the lead. Tyrin gave the general directions by her side, and she decided the exact path to traverse according to the condition of the plants and other forest signs. Bleu was speechless on how observant she was, not letting the slightest detail pass unnoticed.
Bleu struggled the most with the thick cluster of trees. Unlike Camallia and Karna, he didn't have the power to heal everyone's exhaustion either. He grew frustrated with himself. Once they got to a wider place or a road he'd be able to stretch out his wings. He did his best to put up with it.
Once the sun had gone down, the group had finally come out the end of the forest, reaching the road between Bustoke and the Pao Plains.
And there, their calculations failed them.
They ran right into the monster squad that had stolen the Manual. A sudden encounter, one could say.
"They shouldn't be here by our calculations, so why…" Krin complained about the unexpected turn of events, as she stared at the twenty or so monsters that had appeared in front of them.
The devils were just as shocked as them.
"Impossible! Why is there a Sacred Dragon here?"
One of the monsters, accompanying the squad of harpies and armed lizardmen, stared wide-eyed at Bleu, with empty eyes devoid of light. Those eyes caught sight of Camallia by his side. The devil then understood everything.
"So you survived. And you guided them here. It's always you, always… Fine, if you'll be this much of a hindrance, then I, Ziduur, will end you just like those pursuing mages."
The monster's fangs showed over the corner of his lips, and his two horns, atop his head like a moth's antennas, swung backwards in a menacing stance. Deep crimson hair ran from the nape of his neck to his back like a mane, bristling. As if answering to that, the lizardmen raised their slimy triangular heads, their bifurcated tongues flickering through their lips. The harpies let out ear-piercing shrieks.
"If you want this, come and take it."
Ziduur held a box made of ebony. It was full of intricate inlay decorations with a foreign feel.
"Sir Bleu, there's no doubt, the Manual is in there!"
With Tyrin's shout, the battle began.
"Randolf, Tyrin, take care of the girls!"
While shouting, Bleu bolted towards Ziduur, as if drawn to the Manual in his hands. Cerberus followed behind him.
"Wait, don't just rush in, it won't go well if we fight separated," Randolf hastily stopped Camallia, who wanted to jump ahead as well.
"Bleu, come back right now! Bleu!"
Karin's voice did not reach Bleu, and he began to fight the harpies in midair.
All his pent up feelings were unleashed at once. And at the same time, he had confidence in being the one who always broke through the enemy lines. With that amount of enemies, he believed he could strike the commander at once and end the battle with that. There was no reason to eliminate them all. Once he retrieved the Manual, he could just disperse the rest of the enemies. The shorter the battle, the less likely it would be for Karin and the others to get hurt. And by defeating all the monsters himself, he could prove his power to them. Maybe then the girls would stay behind without a fuss, Bleu thought.
However, his reckless advance did not go as he expected.
Superior to him in speed and number, the harpies put up a tough fight against him. Wanting to rush to Ziduur straight away, he had become isolated from his allies.
Randolf and Camallia shielded the others, facing the incoming lizardmen head on.
"Bleu, I'll burn down these enemies, get out of the way!"
Krin began chanting a Blaze spell, but Karin stopped her. If she cast the flames in a wide area, Bleu would certainly get caught in them.
"Krin, give up and target a single enemy," Karin ordered, while shooting down an enemy away from Bleu with perfect accuracy. Their lack of coordination was apparent. Karin bit down her anger at Bleu's stupid actions.
"I won't show mercy to any who interfere. Join the hateful corpses that sleep under this earth."
Ziduur took out a piece of a crimson jewel, and held it tightly within his left hand, as if squeezing it. Beams of light came through between his fingers.
"That light!" Camallia shouted, alerting everyone.
Ziduur punched the ground. Thin sparks of crimson lightning ran at once over the surface.
"What did he do?"
Karna watched in awe as the ground in front of her began to stir, and something jumped out from within.
"Eep!" She let out a strangled scream as she came face to face with a skeleton.
"Get down!"
Hearing that shout from behind her, Karna got down while covering her head with both arms. The end of a flail flew past her, sending the skeleton's skull flying like a football. As she pulled the weapon back, Camallia smashed its upper body as well.
In the brief moment where Karna breathed a sigh of relief, more skeletons jumped from below, one after the other. Those skeletal warriors, carrying all kinds of different weapons, were the warped forms of monsters once defeated in that land, and the travelers they once killed.
"Are we surrounded?"
Watching the growing swarm of skeletons and lizardmen around them, Randolf swung his Battle Axe once again. If the monsters attacked all at once, they certainly wouldn't manage to defend against all of them.
Karna shouted for everyone to get closer together.
"O benevolent ones who watch upon all, please hear our prayers. Gather the righteous light within our hearts, and make it into a shield of holy brilliance!!"
By her incantation, the faint shine of the supporting spell Boost enveloped the whole group from within. The monsters with no flesh nor blood were driven away by that light.
Not wasting the opportunity, Randolf and Camallia attacked. The mages covered the openings between them, Tyrin freezing the enemies to stand as shields, and Krin erecting walls of fire with her Blaze spells. They were doing their best to defend themselves, but the situation still wasn't good as they were outnumbered.
On one swing, Camallia's flail became entangled in another flail wielded by a skeleton. The resulting forces made both of them lose their grips on their weapons. Without delay, the skeleton took a short sword from the back of its shield, and charged at the now empty-handed girl. Another short sword was thrown at the skeleton as it did that. By reflex, the skeleton knocked it down with its shield. Camallia jumped at the fallen sword, grabbing it and swinging it at the skeleton's leg to cut it down. The monster fell down as it lost its balance, and Camallia stepped on its bony body from over its shield, using all of her strength to crush it.
"Thank you, Sir Randolf."
Picking up her flail, she stood back to back with Randolf, who had moved backwards. She extended a hand in his direction, trying to return his short sword that had saved her from her predicament.
"I don't mind. Keep it. Without a spare weapon, something like this might happen to you again."
Answering that, he swung his blade at another monster.
At that time, Bleu was also surrounded by even more enemies than before.
Sacred Dragons had tough bodies and powerful attacks, but were in no way invincible. Their thick hide was hard to penetrate with a blade, yet at some point he had been wounded, and it bled. While he had finished off many of the harpies, he had also hurt his wings. The injury was not severe, but it made him unable to fight the remaining harpies in the air. Having fallen to the ground, Bleu faced a concentrated assault from the group of enemies.
Sustaining minor injuries all over his body, Bleu had made a pile of corpses out of his enemies. Yet he was clearly exhausted. Taking a fierce blow to his chest, he began to cough violently.
In this terrible moment, a lizardman brandished his Large Axe. In Bleu's current condition, he couldn't dodge or spew out his lightning breath.
The monsters became agitated.
Steeling himself for the fatal blow, Bleu saw a silver blur pass through the corner of his vision. Fresh blue blood spilled by. With a deep gash on his torso, the lizardman turned around only to be cut again like a paper doll by sharp claws, this time on the chest.
"Zylo!?" Bleu exclaimed in surprise, seeing the werewolf that had showed up behind the fallen lizardman.
"It's been a long time, Bleu."
Zylo's eyes had the glint of a wild beast hidden within, and he narrowed them in recognition for an instant.
Taking that as an opening, the harpies attacked from the sky.
"Watch out!"
Faster than Bleu's cry, Zylo jumped to the air. He spun next to harpy like a gear, hitting it with a somersault, and knocking it down hard to the ground. The blood from the harpy's torn neck ran in lines across her dead body.
"Before worrying for others, worry about yourself. Honestly, what a pathetic fight you put up. Have you forgotten your past experience? I'll show you how it is to fight as a group. Watch and learn."
Zylo howled.
The lizardmen and harpies flinched at the incoming chants of beast hunters. From its direction came the rushing sound of rain. A merciless rain of arrows…
Once the synchronized barrage of arrows ended, Zylo had also disappeared. Too fast for Bleu's eyes to keep up, he ran between the disoriented enemies, cutting them down as he passed them by. One by one they fell to the ground.
Having broken through the enemies surrounding them, Zylo reached Karin's group.
"It's Zylo, the king of Bustoke."
Krin calmed down the others, who were on guard, unsure if he was a new enemy.
"We'll regroup with Bleu. Follow me without delay," Zylo ordered, and turned away from them without waiting for an answer. He spoke as if certain that they'd obey. Not forceful. Just showing unwavering confidence.
"Diane!!" He shouted. In answer, a squad of archers appeared from the forest shadows, led by an elf girl. Their bowstrings rang as they once again released their arrows in unison.
Diane's archers concentrated their assault on the skeletons. The ropes tied in their arrows perfectly wrapped around their enemies. The skeletons hit by them fell down and tumbled through the ground. It seemed as if they knew what enemies they'd be facing, which made Krin impressed, but also a bit suspicious.
"Let's go!"
Zylo dashed away, heading towards Bleu, who had recovered some energy and continued to fight on his own. The others ran behind him as fast as they could.
"Karna, Camallia, heal Bleu, quickly!"
As Zylo and Randolf took the surrounding enemies down, Karin immediately asked the priests to tend to Bleu. While the archers of Bustoke kept lending them support, Camallia healed everyone who had been injured with Aura, the high level healing spell.
"Thank you, Camallia. You too, Karin…" Bleu thanked the girls.
"There's no time to waste," Zylo urged Bleu. "Let's retrieve the Manual at once with this."
Led by the wolf king, the group split apart the confused enemies. Separated from each other, they had no time to recover, and were shot down by Diane's squad.
"Now. Sir Bleu, the Manual!" Tyrin shouted.
Spreading his healed wings, Bleu flew over the skeletons. The monsters were knocked down by the wings and the gust of wind.
Ziduur held up the ruby in his hand. His body was enveloped in red light.
"Like I'll let you teleport!"
The monster had jumped away, but Bleu sliced him with his claws.
Ziduur's arm was torn and sent flying, tracing an arc in midair, weighted down by the ebony box it carried.
Bleu had his attention drawn to the Manual for a moment. Ziduur didn't miss that, casting a Blaze spell in that time. Bleu crossed his arms in front of him as the flames burst in front of him.
"Bleu!!"
Karin and Camallia left the few remaining monsters to Zylo, and ran to the dragon.
He looked down bitterly at the space Ziduur had teleported away from. It shimmered like hot air, proving that a devil stood there just a moment before.
He picked up the box with the Manual, and Camallia saw that both his arms were bleeding.
"Are you wounded?" she asked, walking to him.
"It's no big deal. Just scratches."
"Even a small injury cannot be left alone."
While he insisted that he was fine, Camallia softly kissed his wounds.
Bleu suddenly felt eyes on him, and tried to pull away from her.
"Please stay still."
Camallia's warm lips moved over his skin as she said the words. Her hot tongue traced over his wound, licking off the blood. Her throat made a glugging noise as she drank it. Her lips continued to move over it, trembling with her incomprehensible chants and sighs.
She let go after a while, and no trace of the wound was left.
"Bleu, the king of Bustoke is calling."
Karin only said that before turning her back and running away.
To next part>
Translation notes:
"Zidur" is apparently a word of a power to summon one of the creatures in the Necronomicon by Simon. I know nothing of that book other than a cursory look so I can't talk much about it, but do you know how hilarious it is to google a Shining Force thing and come up with a pdf full of demon rituals and absolutely no other results? Unparalled experience.
Also, the character's name does have a longer "u" sound so I reflected that in my translation as well.
I don't recall Ziduur being explicitly referred to as a man, but his speech manners are pretty rough and he'll eventually be using the rough and masc "ore" pronoun, so unlike Otrant I just made the call to use he/him pronouns for him.
Zylo's species in the original game is given as "wolfling". His base class however is "werewolf", so nothing wrong here.
Up to this point I had been calling the dog "Cerberos" because that's closer to the japanese reading and I didn't think to look it up, but I was recently reminded that the games use "Cerberus" instead. I'd rather stick close to the official translations when it doesn't matter so I've updated past posts and will be using the game romanization from here on.
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one amazing thing about the Owl House finale is that it finally contextualized for me one of the central metaphors of the show. Spoilers for the series finale Watching and Dreaming ahead.
we good? no one spoiling themselves? beauty
for a long time now, I thought we had a pretty standard coming-of-age metaphor dichotomized by the show's central antagonists. you've got your protestant witch hunter Belos who introduces a maturity and ugliness to Luz's narrative; he clearly represents a particular, restricting form of adulthood, and just when Belos becomes his most threatening, boom, enter the Collector, Luz's dangerously naïve inner child to ruin all her development on the Boiling Isles. Seems simple enough
what I didn't anticipate was just how specific and personal their roles in the story actually are to Luz once you have the full context from the series finale
look again
this story - this whole series - is about the grief that a neurodivergent kid experienced at a young age, introducing the cruelty of loss and adulthood before she was ready to handle it. and, how to reclaim a more whole understanding of herself as she rebuilds her life with people who get her
Belos is designed to infect the titan carcass like a disease. a cancer. it's super goddamn significant that the titan is King's dad (King, who became Luz's younger brother). they set up Belos not just to be another fascist kids' cartoon villain (although yeah, he do be doing some of that), but to specifically become a force that oppressed the weirdness from the one place that understood Luz. the Iles. the dad. And by the end of the story, Belos's goopy body-horror isn't just for show, he's just like the cancer or other terminal disease that took Luz's dad from her
he's the thing Luz hasn't processed in season 1 that comes in at the end like a warning. he's the threat that forces Luz to grapple with her own humanity, feeling somehow (often completely unjustifiably) harmful to those around her, through the grief she doesn't want to be a burden or the weirdness (neurodivergence) others don't understand. he's the force that says there is something wrong with you, Luz, give in to your grief, this is what you can't face. this is the lie you've been telling to those closest to you: that you're okay
then you have the Collector. (notable that he's a collector, and we see Luz's mom and dad had quite the collection of nerdy memorabilia)
the Collector is the child too young to understand death. Too young to understand consequences, or why their playmates don't feel like playing anymore with someone so weird and maybe a bit too involved in their own world. The Collector is Luz's inner child, that kid we see right before the "worst week ever" — the one who didn't and couldn't understand what was about to happen even as it was going down. unapologetically weird, a bit destructive and short-sighted, but wholly colourful, wholly themselves. that's why the Collector wants to live out Luz's adventures, but without all the depth. just the fun escapist fantasy
but don't think I forgot the internal conflict! :D
because Camila's role also gets an added depth too: Camila was framed at the outset of the series as someone who loved Luz, but wanted her to fit inside a box that she just didn't. later, Luz completely misconstrued her mom's breakdown when she learned that Luz chose to run away. as many people have pointed out by now, Luz misremembers the actual dialogue that Camila says: Camila only wanted her daughter safe, not to lose her. Luz meanwhile felt like she had to choose to destroy this part of herself, or give up her connection with her mom altogether
but we know now Camila actually deeply relates to Luz. she may not understand Luz's fascination with horrific things like on the boiling isles (very akin to a kid getting more grim hobbies in the wake of a death, like Luz's taxidermy), but she loves Luz for who she is. all of her. she never wanted Luz to change
Luz was the one framing the central conflict of the show as go back to her mom or stay in the boiling isles. Luz was the one who felt like she had to punish herself by rejecting the one place where she felt like herself. once Camila realizes what's been going on, and how deeply connected it is to the loss of Luz's dad, she knows Luz is trying to make a "very bad choice for herself." And she won't let that happen (what a great mom!!)
But Luz does have one real choice ahead of her
because of the inner child who once again has to confront death (this time, Luz's own), Luz is able to connect with a father figure, the titan, the one place she feels understood. in the form of a power-up that makes her into a fantasy witch straight out of the Good Witch Azura, the one place she got joy after that huge loss, the titan gives her the strength to face the cancer—a force draining everything good in her life from her and making her question she deserves it in the first place—but only if she can choose herself
and that means choosing happiness, choosing found family, choosing love and friendship and self-discovery in the place she feels most at home! every bond she's forged, everything she's worked for, it all comes down to choosing to face grief and move on in life with weirdos who stick together.
hoot hoot, that's some good metaphor
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character: ryomen sukuna
warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, rough sex, daddy kink, true form sukuna, size kink/size difference, oral fixation, lil bit of mindbreak, implied fem!reader, toxic relationship, dacryphilia, blood
words: 1.2k
Sometimes, when Sukuna fucks you real good, past the point of coherency, when your words have turned to liquid, all garbled with drool as they ooze from the corners of your mouth to stain his sheets, and your bones have melted and your muscles gone to mush, body perfectly pliant (just the way he likes it), and the only concept your fucked-stupid brain can comprehend is his name and his title, he’ll give your empty, slack little mouth one of his wrists to gnaw on.
The grabby hands are cute, and they let him know that your cognition has been eroded by immense pleasure, intense pain, and that you need something to ground you.
It’s pathetically precious, honestly, how unbelievably needy you become when he fucks you past the point of lucid thought and intelligible speech, desperate for something to occupy that pretty little mouth of yours, to serve as a point of reference, a heavy and sure weight that keeps you tethered to this world.
“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy,”
Oh, he knows, baby, he knows.
You prefer his wrist to his hand, claiming it rests better between your teeth, but he doesn’t mind either way—it’s easy to shove one of his free forearms in your gaping mouth, obedient and open, wide and waiting. His flesh muffles those pretty little huffs of cracked breath and the mosaic of whines and whimpers and mewls he’s continuously fucking from your chest, smothering them to little more than damp exhales slicking his skin.
It’s barely a hitch in his movements at all, to wedge one of his large wrists between your eager teeth, two hands curled tightly around your hips as they hold you in place, pinning you to the mattress, another hand splayed wide next to your head, supporting most of his weight.
You alternate between sucking and biting, wholly dependent on how hard his hips are snapping, and he loves to feel those little stuttered sobs flutter against his flesh, exhaled in juddered hiccups.
And, God, it’s so fucking pretty—he isn’t sure he’s seen a prettier sight in his millennium of years, he wasn’t sure something could even be this goddamn pretty—glittering streams of salt streaking your cheeks, their flow steady and constant as warm tears pool around the seal of your lips, soaking into his skin; your mouth stretched wide around his arm, teeth grinding over that prominent bone in his wrist, scraping over the bump in rhythmic motions, back and forth with each strong piston of his hips; saliva trickling from your bottom lip in heavy, viscous cords to smear across your chin in a thick coat and drip off your jaw, stringy and sticky, substance already gone cold by the time it drizzles over your collarbone.
That thick black band encircling his wrist looks so gorgeous lacquered with your spit, gleaming in the dim light as he pounds into you.
He’ll rotate it in your mouth a little, so you drench his entire wrist, coating him in one of your many essences. he loves the smell of you on him, his favourite scent to wear, makes his cock twitch with each whiff of it as your drool steadily soaks into his wrist, steeping his tissues and saturating his blood, dousing his wrist until his skin has gone puckered from the wetness.
Other times you won’t ask for it, because you physically can’t ask for it, tongue gone sluggish and stupid from intense pain.
During instances such as these, it’s up to him to read you, to decode and decipher the beat of your sobs and the melody of your whines, to care for you properly like all good Daddies do, like all good Daddies are supposed to, eager to nurture his most prized possession, to give her want he knows she needs most.
It’s easy to tell, even when your face is buried in his bed, webby smears of saliva streaking his dark sheets as you sob into the mattress—ugly chest-wracking things that leave your ribs heaving and your entire body quivering, fingers curled so tightly in his silk pillow that they’re frozen stiff, aching joints creaking as he uses one of his four hands to uncurl one, then uncurl the other, fingertips pressing tenderly into your knuckles and massaging the numbness from them, the gentleness a stark contrast to the brutal snapping of his hips.
His remaining two hands stay curled around your hips, keeping them hoisted high and held still as he rams into you. A flash of heat spreads throughout your spine as his body blankets yours, his broad chest pressed flush to your sticky, sweat-glazed back, his lips moving along the shell of your ear.
“Does it hurt, baby?”
“Uh—Uh-huh,” you wail out, head nodding in sloppy motions, turning your head so his lips brush your cheek.
“You need Daddy to pacify you? Huh?”
“Yes, Daddy, please, Daddy, yes, Daddy!” you’re crying, mouth already wide open and waiting, tears leaking past the corners to stain your tongue with salt.
“Oh, my poor little princess,” he’s cooing as he wedges a thick wrist between your parted teeth, your jaw immediately flexing around it. “Needs Daddy to give her something to gnaw on while he fucks her,” he tuts his tongue, as if it’s such a shame, as if he genuinely pities you, but you can hear the notes of sadistic glee infusing his voice. “How utterly pathetic.”
The insult is spit in your ear, fading to a growl at the end, a singular sharp huff of air against the curve of your cheek.
And then his hips are pounding again, fucking into you rough and ruthless, the hands on your hips an anchor keeping you from being jostled up the bed as your front teeth involuntarily dig into his flesh.
“Is that better, sweetheart?”
An affirmative hum vibrates up his arm, your head nodding in quick little motions, glassy eyes desperately trying to glance up at him as weighted lids struggle to stay open.
But that just isn’t good enough.
A large hand tangles in the hair at the back of your skull and yanks, your teeth latching onto his wrist tighter, the sudden motion forcing them to scrape against his flesh, a pleasured hiss slipping through the gaps of his teeth.
“Fucking answer me when I ask you a question.”
Yes! you yelp around the wrist crammed in your mouth, instant and instinctual. Yes, yes, yes!
“Good,” he snarls in your ear before shoving your head back into the mattress, front teeth gouging into his arm in the process.
And it’s real sweet, the way such a simple, primal action—a body part shoved between your lips, little tongue curling around the bones of his wrist, sucking it harder, further, deeper—can provide such an immense amount of comfort; sobs calming to sniffles, limbs gone languid and limp, whole form malleable between his large palms.
But he loves it just as much as you do. Because despite the fact that it muddles your pretty sounds, it also leaves the cutest little bracelet of indents around his thick wrist, something he wishes he could wear forever, something that fades much too quickly for his liking.
There’s nothing better than when you break the skin, little pools of blood filling the notches of your teeth until they overflow, drops of crimson streaming down his forearm and along the lines of his palm, because those ones scab, which means they last a little longer, look a little brighter, leave a lingering reminder.
One day, he hopes you’ll scar him with all your gnawing, carve something permanent into his skin just as he’s done to you countless times before, stamp him with your unique signature and claim him as yours, eternally.
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for request ⊹ maybe someone makes a comment about how reader looks so rafe shows her just how beautiful he thinks she is.
I hope this was what you were wanting 🖤 thank you for requesting!
Beauitful -
warnings - people calling reader ugly, language & fem receiving oral. (18+)
“Baby! Where did you- why are you crying? What happened?”
It feels like the world stops spinning when his eyes land on you, tears soak your face, harsh lines from where your makeup once sat perfectly blended where smudged and wet. Your eyes bloodshot and sad, Rafe is pulling you against his chest, your tears start falling harder the moment his hand cradles your head. “Can we please go?”.
He’s escorting you out of the party, wrapping his arm around your head to shield you from prying eyes. He sent angry glares to anyone trying to take a peek at you. “What happened baby?”
You shake your head, you know you shouldn’t be crying. People have been cruel your whole life, always picking on something. Most of the people who were rude were people jealous of your family's wealth, jealous of your relationship with Rafe. “It doesn’t matter”
Rafe stops you abruptly, cupping your jaw tightly. He has a deep crease between his eyebrows as he stares at you in annoyance. “No.. you're not doing that. You don’t get to cry and then tell me it’s nothing.. you wouldn’t be crying if it was nothing”
Squeezing your eyes shut in shame, it was such a pathetic reason to be crying. He was just going to laugh and tell you to get over it. “Just a stupid group of girls being bitches”
Rafe steps closer to you, caging you against the car door. “What did they say?”
“That they don’t know why you love me.. that I’m worthless.. that I’m ugly” you hiccup the last part, biting down on your tongue to stop the sobs.
The words sting your throat as you repeat them back to him, heart pounding harshly against your chest in embarrassment. You can't bring yourself to look at Rafe, you knew he was rolling his eyes. “Hey.. look at me. Don’t listen to those fucking idiots, your perfect, your beautiful.. I love you because your the light to my darkness”
Looking up at him through your lashes. The corner of your lips curve into a smile, surprised with how he was reacting to your words. “You’ve never let anyone’s words affect you before, don’t let it affect you now. Not when your the most beautiful person on this island”
His lips are on yours before you can comment, pressing his body to yours. Your mind goes blank for a moment, letting the taste of his tongue blind you from the hateful words floating in your head. “So beautiful baby.. look at these goddamn perfect lips” he grunts, pressing a chaste kiss to your swollen lips. Running his hand down the length of your arm and curling his fingers around yours. “Look at these perfect hands.. the only hands I want to touch me”
You're grinning now, staring at him with bright eyes. He returns the smile reaching around to grab the car door, he pulls you against him as he opens the door and escorts you to the back seat.
“Let me show you how beautiful you are”
He crawls over you, closing the door behind him roughly. The car shakes slightly as he settles between your legs, kissing your ankle and up your calf. “Beautiful, so fucking beautiful” he kisses the side of your knee, pulling you closer to him. All words have become liquid and pooled in your panties, he leaves open mouth kisses up the length of your thigh. Leaving your cunt untouched, raising your hips to chase his lips only for him to press you firmly against the back seat. His nose brushes your dress up past your belly button, biting softly at the skin of your lower belly. “Beautiful”.
Slipping his hand under the strap of your dress and tugging it down, your nipples hardened under the intense gaze of his eyes. “These… these are extremely beautiful” his tongue drags up and back down between your tits, using both palms to push them together on his face. “So perfectly round, so soft and so beautiful”.
His mouth envelopes your nipple, sucking and biting softly. Your hips tilt upwards until you create a delicious friction on his belt bucket. “Fuck” you breath, arching your back from the seat. “Your fucking moans are even beautiful… never listen to those assholes baby girl.. your so fucking perfect”.
He skims up the back of your thigh grasping the material of your thong, yanking it down your legs and tossing it to the front seat. Hands gripping the back of your thighs to angle your wet heat to his face, his eyes locked on your soaked hole. “I don’t know how many times I can say this but it's beautiful.. this pussy, absolutely magic. The only god damn pussy I need or want”.
He licks a harsh stripe up the length of your cunt sending shivers up your spine, eyes going crossed at the action. Sucking your clit into his mouth with such force has you jutting from the seat, he holds you firmly against his face. Your body convulsing from his abuse, tongue and mouth working overtime on your sensitive pussy.
Without warning he pushes all three fingers into you, scissoring and pounding. A dull ache finds home in your lower belly, thighs clamping around his head as your orgasm forms. “RAFE… holy shit- I oh fuck” your a sobbing mess, grinding your cunt into his face and fingers. The sound of your wet pussy edges you further into bliss. “That’s it baby girl… show me those beautiful sounds”
“Yeah.. yes yes yes oh fuck like that Rafe! Harder shit”
The moans and cries from your lips has Rafe painfully hard, but this was about you. Not him, so he pounded his fingers into you harder, curling them until they caressed the soft spongy part of your cunt. “oh my fucking god- I’m cumming!” You screamed, eyes screwed shut, toes curled and body shaking as your orgasm flooded you. When it finally settled and his fingers slipped from within you, you dropped back to the seat dazed and fucked out. “So beautiful baby.. do you feel beautiful?”
You nod your head, finally bringing your eyes to his. His mouth and chin glistened with your arousal, his pupils blown out. You reach for his belt buckle, wanting to free his aching cock.
“Nuhuh this is about you.. making you feel good baby”
“Please” you whine, palming him through the material of his shorts. His fingers grip your wrist, pulling them above your head roughly. “I just made you cum, isn’t that enough?”
“Your cock makes me feel good.. so fucking good Rafe, please”
That’s enough to have him reaching in his pants and pulling his hard heavy cock out, your mouth salivating at the sight. “Do you understand how beautiful you are yet?”
“Yes Rafe.. so beautiful. Now please put your cock inside of me”
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