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moncherellie · 6 months

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𓆩⚝˚‧no room for the holy spirit ♱꙳˚₊‧

a/n: finally it's here! been screaming into the void abt this one for... ever. a thousand thank yous to @thirsting-over-women who proofread this for me :>> my savior actually. if the religious themes offend you (whether you are religious or have trauma) i encourage you not to read, maybe check out my other works instead :D

content/warnings: 4,500 words, preachers daughter!ellie x fem!reader, nsfw, reader wears a skirt, semipublic/car sex, fingering, oral (r receiving), reader's first wlw experience, sexual awakening?, religious motif, christian themes, mild religious guilt throughout, mentions of religious homophobia, internalized homophobia, ellie smokes a lil, she's a bit mean, fuckin in a church parking lot

The pressures of being a teenage girl were hard enough without the pressures of being a gay teenage girl. Being a gay teenage girl was hard enough without the pressures of being the daughter of a fucking preacher. Ellie had never really bought into the whole 'organized religion' thing, ever the skeptic. Even as a puny 8-year-old, she asked why she had to wake up early every Sunday for something she didn't even like doing. Her attitude didn't change much after that, but her parents got stricter and stricter in an attempt to control her sacrilege. She didn't spend much time with her family, instead seeking familial bonds at school, especially with her mechanics teacher, Mr. Miller. But, you know what they say:

Strict parents raise sneaky children.

And it's true. If Ellie's dad knew what she was doing outside the holy walls of the ministry, he'd have an aneurysm and have her exorcised. But, she always thought, what he doesn't know won't hurt him.

You were the opposite. Raised the same as Ellie, you took to religion and fully participated, though mostly out of obligation. Just go every week for an hour and your family will leave you alone. This tactic, for the most part, worked. Your traditional family had their rough moments, specifically when they mocked the outfits you'd wanted to wear to service and called you some... unsavory names. But if you could avoid any similar incident, any clash with authority, you were taking the holy road.

On the outside, you were the purest of people. There was never a bad or dirty thought in your mind. You were a pillar of the community, someone that parents pointed out to their kids. "Be like them," they'd say. Your parents were proud, so you should've been proud. Should've.

You and Ellie had grown up quite close due to being in similar social groups and seeing each other every week at service. Since then, you'd grown apart as you took different paths in life, though you still felt a sense of commitment toward her; So when she cursed out her father in front of the clergy, your eyes widened.

"You fucking dick! You don't know shit about anything! You use all this- this... bullshit- as a crutch so you don't have to own up to your own baggage!"

As she stormed out, you silently move from your spot in the choir, doe eyes shining in the bath of stained glass light, and shuffle up to the front of the room.

"Father, if I may, I would like to go check on your daughter." You're a model fixture, a saint.

"Of course, my child. I hope someday she'll be more like you. I pray that-" You shuffle off again, not wanting to hear about how he wishes his daughter was different. He really wishes his child hid who she was, you think bitterly. You admired Ellie's rebellion, though you'd never say it, and you wished you were as strong as her.

You walk away from the church to the little park you and Ellie used to go to. Your memories flood with nostalgia for simpler times, and you smile to yourself, pleasantly strolling through the large trees and foliage and looking for the rough girl. You find her crouching against a tree, squatting with her head between her legs.

Is she crying?

"... Ellie? Are you alright?" You whisper, not wanting to startle her.

You notice Ellie tense up before quickly standing up and whipping around to face you, a hand behind her back. "Oh! It's... you. Hey. Aren't you s'posed to be inside?"

"Yeah, but I just wanted to check on you. That was intense in there."

"Mhm, I'm good. Just needed some, ah, fresh air. Y'know?" She sounds a little too jolly, weirdly chipper. It's suspicious.

"Uh-huh," you say, unconvinced. "Whatcha got there?" You point to whatever she's trying to conceal.

She knows she's been caught. Her attitude suddenly shifts from faux-innocence to her usual snarky persona as she rolls her eyes, leaning against the tree and revealing what she had. She brings her hand up to her lips. "Nothing."

"Ellie!" You shriek. "You can't do that! Where'd you even get a cigarette?"

She laughs as if you'd said the funniest thing imaginable. "You think this is a cigarette? Are you stupid? No offense. But are you stupid?"

You scoff. "No! I mean, you're smoking it. What else am I supposed to guess?"

"A blunt, idiot. Kush. Mary Jane. Weed. Ma-ri-jua-na." She spells out for you like you're a toddler.

You cross your arms defensively. "Okay, I know what weed is, smart guy. You still shouldn't have it. Where's it from?"

"Stole it. I just wanted to see why people liked it so much. They say it relieves stress, and I think yes." Ellie grins lazily, eyes lidded. "I got another. You want?"

The answer to your question only makes you freak out more. "No! And you stole?! You stole? Oh my goodness, Ellie, you're gonna get us thrown in jail or something!"

Ellie wordlessly watches your breakdown, eyes red and amused, the corner of her mouth turned up. "Relax, man, it's barely illegal. Who's calling the cops for a single gram? Don't be lame like that."

"Lame?" You scoff. "Are you a first grader? Ellie, it's against the law, you could go to prison. And it's not juvie anymore, you're gonna go to real jail!" Your hands flail around wildly as you explain the repercussions of her actions.

"Jail..." She rolls her eyes.

"Yes, jail! That's kinda what happens when you steal something, Ellie!" The high-pitched, prissy tone with which you said her name was starting to annoy her, but the way you looked when flustered was intriguing. Maybe in another context, she'd enjoy hearing her name fall from your lips.

Ellie takes another hit, looking up at you. She tilts her head, asking if you're being serious. "Jail? Over a single blunt? Who cares that much?"

You gasp when you realize: "I'm an accomplice!"

"You're not an accessory just because you're here." She chuckles as the wind blows past and carries her smoke near your head as you duck dramatically and swat away the smoke. She looks at you for a moment, slightly smiling. Her green eyes meet yours briefly before turning her attention back to the joint.

"Why are you using it anyway? It smells rancid."

"Already told you. I wanna know why people do it. It relieves stress and I'm plenty stressed. Plus, I look dope as shit with it, right?" Ellie leans against the tree, and a small part of you wants to say yeah, you do. "You should try it. Maybe get that stick out of your ass."

"You're gonna get addicted."

"God, it's just this once. What are you gonna do, tell my dad?" She chuckles to herself, taking a long drag.

She checks you out, head to toe, examining the flowy fabrics and neat hair and the Mary Jane shoes that drive her crazy. Who wears those? Her gaze returns to meet yours, and she looks utterly dumbfounded by you. Your eyebrows furrow as you see how her expression changes. "What's that look for?"

She shrugs nonchalantly. "I dunno. You're just so robotic. It's like you never think about stepping the teensiest bit out of line. It's creepy. You've never had an independent thought in your life. Have you ever done anything even remotely rebellious?"

You make a noise that seems to say Well why would I? "No! Of course not! And you shouldn't either, I mean look at your dad, he's-"

Her voice raises, a tone you've never heard and don't care to hear again. "-My father? You mean the preacher?" She mocks. "What about him? You don't know anything about my father." Ellie's look hardens, eyes steely and mouth pursed into a thin line. It's a look you've seen maybe twice before, both in much more tense situations. Her voice says that you can't change her mind. You don't care to try. Whatever she's referencing, you believe her.

"Okay. Okay... sorry." You say gently, losing the defensive energy you'd held a moment ago. Ellie sighs and takes an irritated puff. To relax, you think.

"And you always apologize. It's so weird. You need to loosen up a bit." Another long, somehow sarcastic hit. "What's the worst thing you've *ever* done?"

An embarrassing, very private thought crosses your mind. You obviously can't tell her what you think about at night- you're barely able to admit to yourself that you have such impure thoughts. Instead, you shake your head. "Can't- I can't think of anything."

You watch her forest green eyes roll up, then down. It's a very familiar expression on her. "Thought so." She grins up at you, and you look away into the treeline nervously. "Do you wanna try something fun?"

"Is it... illegal?"

"No. Don't worry about that." She motions for you to come closer, so you take a tentative step forward, eyeing her like a wild animal. She hates the way you look at her, making her feel alien. Just because she lives authentically. It makes her want to ruin you, to have you stoop down to her level. Then maybe you won't look at her as if she were extraterrestrial.

You need an attitude adjustment, you need to chill the fuck out, you needed to get fucked, and hard. Ellie thinks she can help you with that.

She grins that toothy smirk as she watches you step closer, taking a puff and placing the blunt between her slender fingers. She doesn't miss the way your eyes trail the two long fingers that hold it. You wonder if she's doing this on purpose.

Ellie backs you up against a tree, and you recognize is as the same old oak that you would climb with her as kids. The branches and bark have left scars on you that Ellie helped you heal. She wonders how they look now.

Your back hits the trunk with an unceremonious thump, and you startle. Ellie keeps walking toward you, now getting uncomfortably close. "Uh- so what are we..." You trail off, thinking she'll explain what she's doing right in your face. She doesn't.

Her arm raises, trapping you between the tree and her body as she studies you. It makes you want to crawl out of your skin, but feels incredibly electric at the same time- it's a sensation you've only felt around her, though you don't know why. She takes another hit and you nervously look away.

She tilts your jaw back to look at her. You have to face her pretty green eyes, unwavering as she stares you down, while you sneak glances just to check if she's still there. Your breath speeds up when she leans closer.

Ellie puts her stupid pink slightly chapped adorable smiling lips near the base of your neck.

"What are you doing?" You say breathlessly. You swear that you feel her ghosting over your skin, so close, yet not as close as you want her. Maybe if you lean in...

Before you can, she breathes out her smoke, lightly trailing her lips down your neck. Her tongue comes out to prod at the skin, tasting you. You whine. The smoke envelops the two of you, and your nose crinkles at the foul smell. You look down to chastise her but she's already looking at you with those eyes and that cheeky look. No matter what you say next to defend yourself, you know you're caught, that Ellie knows she's affected you. It's in your eyes, the way you've seized up so tightly, how you look at her like you can't wait to see what she does next.

She presses a chaste kiss on your collarbone and you crane your neck upward. You're not sure if you're trying to get away or if you're giving her more access. She pulls away and you find yourself leaning forward to try to get her back on you.

"Is that the most rebellious thing you've ever done?" She chuckles, taking another drag and blowing it over you, bathing you in the white haze. "You like being treated like that, huh?"

You shiver. "I don't get it," you say dumbly. You've never been this confused.

"What don't you get? I just think it's fun to make you squirm." She thinks you've had enough and blows her next exhale away from you. "I wanna corrupt you, sweetheart." It sounds derogatory coming from her but you find that you don't mind the tone. The spot Ellie had made contact with feels as if it's burning. You crave for that feeling all over your body.

You stammer over your words, pathetically unable to spit out any sort of coherent reaction to her. Any reaction would be better to tripping over your words. Fed up with trying to sound like a person, you decide to stop talking.

"You enjoyed that huh? Admit it." She inhales and repeats her action. "Makes you feel hot inside."

"What? No- no, are you insane?" The sane part of you is telling you that you shouldn't be doing this, especially not with Ellie fucking Williams of all people. She's everything you aren't- she's rude and snarky and devilish... and tall and strong and hot. Oh shit! The batshit insane part of you is slowly melting the angel on your shoulder, and you can basically see the little devil cackling as you feel yourself straying further from the good girl persona you'd cultivated. You feel your heartbeat in your pants.

Ellie begins to kiss down your neck, sucking and licking at your jaw and collarbone. This time, you're acutely aware that you're actively giving her access to do as she pleases with you. "Maybe I'm insane, but I can tell. You did like it. And if you deny, I'll do it again until you tell the truth."

"Well I didn't, so you can forget about-"

She places her thumb on your lower lip as you start your tirade, effectively shutting you up. "Too late." Ellie leans in and before you know it, her lips are on yours. Her arm snakes around the back of your waist and pulls you as close to her as you've ever been. That warm feeling flushes down your body, leaving chills across your skin. More. All you can think is that you want more. Your hands come up to grip her shoulders, you almost want to push her away, but you find yourself pulling her closer and closer. No room for the Holy Spirit.

Ellie pulls away, smugly looking down at you. "Told you you liked it."

"I didn't say that." You were being a contrarian on purpose at this point. Anything to keep Ellie treating you like this- you wanted to prolong this moment for however long you could. She hoists you up, bringing you out of the park and into the back of the parking lot. She throws you into the backseat of her beaten pickup and crawls atop you with darkened eyes.

You squeal in surprise. "El-lie!"

She continues to kiss you, making you wetter by the second. The heat pooling in your panties is so fucking embarrassing, but you find that you don't care how humiliating this is. You just want more.

"Els, what if someone sees?"

She scoffs as if the idea is preposterous; as if the prospect of getting caught is impossible. "Nobody can see us, and they won't leave until later. Don't stress about it." Ellie bites her lip and it makes your body get hot flushes. "I can do whatever I want to you. But you know what? I think you'd let me. Is that right?"

"...Maybe." Read: Yes, yes, anything! She leans down, placing her hand on the back of your neck and pulling your head closer up towards her. Her hand forces your legs apart further to allow her access. The way she lays on your inner thighs, atop your clothed core, makes you feel lightheaded. You love the way she manhandles you, and it's exactly how you thought she'd be. Every time she adjusts her position, your clit rubs against her and sends jolts of electricity up your body.

"I knew it. You're not as perfect as you try to be. You're dirty."

You want to deny it, you really do, but the evidence is clear. You're disheveled under her, lips swollen from hers, and she's pulling your panties to your ankles and shoving them in her jacket pocket, yet you're ashamed to say that you don't feel an ounce of guilt over it.

Despite how excited you are for whatever is about to happen, you're still incredibly nervous. This is the most physically vulnerable you've ever been with another person, and the fact that you're completely bare under your skirt makes your stomach flip.

Your face must betray your emotions because Ellie momentarily softens. She pulls her hands away from your hips and cups your face, peppering kisses across your cheeks and up to your forehead, making you laugh lightly. "You alright? We can stop."

"No... please don't." Her face lights up.

"Sorry, say that again?" You roll your eyes and she chuckles. "I knew you were like this. Not so pure now, huh?"

"Guess not."

"So you admit it?"

"...Fine. Yes."

Ellie sighs in relief as if her thirst were quenched- that's what she's been wanting to hear from you forever. She could see it in the way you snuck glances at her during mass, finding your wandering, hungry eyes from across the room. She could feel it in the way your hand lingered on her a little too long to be friendly, your touch suspiciously light, like if you touched her any harder you'd start to tremor.

But now, there's no semblance of the timid person you'd been. When Ellie pulls away, your hand comes up to the back of her neck to pull her back in. You're insatiable, and Ellie fucking loves it. She tugs at the bottom of your sweater. "Pull that fucking thing off. Show me those pretty tits." Her breath becomes heavy as you oblige and become needier. "Did you know you were this easy?" She teases.

"What? I'm- I'm not." Everything she says feels designed to evoke the biggest reaction from you. She keeps you on your toes, never letting you get too comfortable. How exciting.

"So it's just for me then?" You don't answer, and it excites Ellie to know that she's right. This reaction is purely for her. Nobody else has seen you like this, and she's grateful to be the one who gets to corrupt you. It really didn't take much effort. "You're so easy to control."

Her hands drift back to your thighs, sliding under your skirt, her lips press to your jawline. Hot breath trails along your neck, down further to your collarbone. Her fingers slide over your inner thighs, sensitive skin rippling as she applies light pressure, testing how reactive you are. You twitch, unwittingly opening your legs more and giving Ellie more access. "You look good like this, though."

Ellie's fingers dig into you, grasping the flesh of your ass and moaning softly into your ear. Her thumbs are on either side of where you desperately need her, and your hips buck up into her, seeking her touch. "Knew you had a nice ass, too."

"Shut up." You mumble.

"Why would I? You like it when I say things like that, don't you? You wouldn't be this drenched if you didn't." She swipes the pad of her thumb over your clit and applies delicious pressure. You nearly cum on the spot.

Is this what you've been missing? This pleasure, this euphoria? Ellie grins at your reaction, drinking in your desperation for her like a succubus. "Aw, sensitive little pussy. Haven't you touched yourself like this before?"

You had, a few times, actually, but it never went this far, deep-rooted guilt gnashing in your stomach and ending the moment before you'd been able to finish. After admitting this, she coos at you. "Poor baby." Her tone is so condescending, but it makes you clench around the tip of her fingers.

She slides the first knuckle of two fingers past your entrance, pumping them in and out painfully slowly. "Ellie, you prick. Come on." She continues her ministrations, gently stroking your entrance, never giving you enough to feel remotely satisfied. She uses this time to take in your disheveled, sweaty appearance. Your cute tits bounce as you shift uncomfortably, waiting for Ellie to please you. A bead of sweat rolls down and she can't help but bring her mouth up to lick at it as it slides over your nipple. Her mouth attaches to you and you sigh, holding her closer by her hair. She grins up at you, making eye contact through her lashes. You can see the tip of her tongue poking out, wetting your bud as the cool air nips at you, making you all the more sensitive. Even now, Ellie still hasn't stopped her teasing below.

"Can't call me a prick then beg for me to fuck you. 's not how it works, pretty girl."

"Then what do you want?" You whine.

Ellie can feel your clit flutter and pulse as she moves. "Fuck, you're so desperate for me, aren't you? I want you to tell me how bad y' want me."

"I- I d-" You begin to protest, being cut off with a squeal as Ellie licks a sloppy stripe up your pussy, finally tasting you.

"Don't bullshit me. If I'm gonna fuck you, I needja to be a little more honest with me. I see how you look at me. You been trying to push some thoughts down, huh?"

It was so humiliating how well she could read you. Whenever her tongue came out of her mouth to take communion, your eyes would be trained on the muscle, breath hitching as she would wink at you. Without fail, you would trail your gaze up her body when Ellie walked in with a suit, her way of dressing nicely for service. Always, always, she could feel the heat radiating off your body as she pulled you closer, not taking her eyes off the pastor speaking.

Your thoughts were impure, sinful, and how embarrassing that Ellie knew. You believed you were hiding it well- obviously not.

"Yeah. Maybe."

Ellie's big hands wrap around your thighs, fingers landing on the sensitive skin near your pussy. She looks up at you and you can feel her hot breath on your clit. It takes everything in Ellie to not eat you out immediately, but your embarrassment is too tempting to pass up.

"Tell me about it. You try to fuck yourself thinkin' of me?"

"I do. I- I tried to, at least. Doesn't work."

"Why not, babe? You're so responsive right now." Her fingers find their place back at your entrance, pushing in as you speak.

"I- oh, shit-" You gasp.

Ellie grins. "Talk to me."

"My fingers aren't good enough."

"Ah," she says, "and mine are?" She knows the answer.

"So good."

Ellie likes that she's made you desperate enough that you've abandoned your pride. She enjoys the flush on your face as you shamelessly admit your secrets to her, the good-girl persona a figment of the past.

She's so busy staring up at how your face contorts in pleasure that she doesn't realize that she hasn't moved her fingers in a hot minute. The teasing is torturous for you.

"Ellie," she hears you whine, "Please!" You rut your hips against her fingers and she feels lightheaded. Jesus fucking Christ.

"Sorry, pretty girl. Got distracted." She smirks. "I'll give you what you want now." Ellie finally moves her fingers, curling them in and out slowly. You groan again and she laughs. "Okay, okay! Sorry." Her face darkens and she bites her lip. "You want me to fuck you? Alright, I'll fuck you."

Ellie's fingers begin to pump inside you, hitting all the spots that make you jump and squirm, and you're sure the rusted heap of a car you're in is about to fall off its chassis. She's going so fast and hard that you're immediately overwhelmed and you don't know where to put your hands. In the span of a minute, they cup your face, a forearm slings over your eyes, and you throw your arms up against the window. Finally, you settle on cupping your cheeks, fingers slit open so you can peer down at Ellie's focus on you.

Her eyes haven't left your pussy since she started. She's absolutely mesmerized by how fucking wet you are, how you seem to suck her fingers back in as she tries to pull out and your body betrays how desperately you want her. Ellie's mouth is slightly agape and she can't help when her tongue flickers out to lick curiously at your clit, wanting to taste you again.

"Fu- fuck!" You yelp, bucking your hips up into her face. Ellie snorts as she watches how you squirm. You can feel something building and though you have an idea of what it is, it's building fast and slightly scaring you. "Wait, Els, hold on a second, something- ah- I think- I think I'm-"

You're nervous about how it creeps up on you so suddenly but you find there isn't time to be self-conscious about it because you cum, and you wonder why God could possibly think that doing this is a sin. How could it be a sin if it felt so right?

You don't know what sound you made or how your face looks, but by the way Ellie looks up at you, it must've been something. Her eyes flicker back down to how your clit pulses as you finish, leaking cum onto her fingers and trailing down her hand. You know what she's fucking thinking because you always do. Before you can form a sentence, she's licking up your cum like it's the best meal she's tasted.

You shudder violently. "Ellie, holy fuck, stop, I'm still sensitive! Oh m- Ellie, come on!" Only when you push her face up does she stop, giving you the cheekiest grin.

You roll your eyes and throw your head back against the car door, panting. The dull ache in your thighs is apparent when you attempt to sit, pulling your panties up and cringing at how your cum pools on them.

Ellie still hasn't said anything. You glance over at her, wondering how she feels about whatever just happened. She's looking down, grey hoodie still pulled up to her elbows, staring at the fingers she'd just fucked you with. She glances up at you, a shit-eating grin spreading across her face.

“That was hot.” Her hand rubs up and down your thigh, a kind of comfort you’d never received from her. It wasn’t unwelcome.

You don’t quite know how to feel. There are twinges of guilt gnawing at your stomach, that religious guilt creeping in. Had you done something wrong?

But at the same time, there was a warmth in Ellie’s gaze that made you feel like maybe, it was all worth it. Was it unholy? Almost definitely. But this awakening couldn’t be all bad if she kept looking at you with those soft, fond eyes.

my masterlist...

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x reader smut #tlou2 x reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams smut #fem reader #moncherellie writing #ellie williams oneshot #tw religion #tw religious trauma #tw #ellie williams

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obsessivevoidkitten · 8 months

Text

Your Guardian Angel

Male Angel Yandere x Gender Neutral Reader (CW: Extremely dubious consent, stalking, possessive yandere, jealous yandere, general yandere behavior, manipulative yandere, emotionally manipulated reader, reader dies nonviolently but the story continues with them in the afterlife, reader's boyfriend momentarily has cancer, religious themes and concepts, heaven, angel disguised as a demon, mild biting, soul claiming, heartbroken reader) Word Count: 2.5k (This was written within one late night/early morning writing session and was not beta read, I hope you all like it and I apologize for any errors.)

Not everyone receives a guardian angel, there are simply too many humans in the mortal plane to meet that type of demand. Instead guardian angels are allocated based on greatest need to those who might be most vulnerable to dark forces and to those with stronger souls who would be too dangerous if corrupted by the likes of a curse, demon, or vampire.

But you were one such soul. Perhaps the trials you had struggled through in life had left your spirit bruised and battered and dark entities were primed to take advantage.

Or perhaps the things you had experienced had strengthened your will and that was reflected on your soul, making it a tempting mark for corruption.

Either way it really didn’t matter, the result was the same. You had a guardian angel, Eriphel.

Eriphel was, relatively speaking, still somewhat new to the work of guarding humans. He had been at it for a few human generations. Which was very short, considering the immortal life span of an angel. He was one of the younger angels that had been created for this task.

He protected each charge he had with complete determination, always near his assignment, remaining unseen to the mortal realm despite being on a plane that overlapped with it.

When he started watching you when it became apparent in your early adulthood that you required a guardian the job was no different from any of the others that he had.

But… there was something about you that fascinated him. He hadn’t allowed himself to pay much attention to the personal details of his previous charges.

Eriphel didn’t know what was different about you but he couldn’t keep his eyes off you. No matter what you were doing he just had to drink it all in. Watching you do your job, watching you cook, watching you read, watching you do all your little human hobbies, watching you do anything filled his entire being with such foreign alien sensations.

His heart fluttered and his chest filled with warmth and longing. He even felt his pants tighten with arousal for the first time in his life. It was so euphoric… and torturous at the same time. The longer that he was around you the stronger all these sensations became.

After around a year it was no longer enough for Eriphel to merely watch you. To be only a passive observer as your life played before him like a movie he had no control over.

He started sleeping beside you in your bed, wrapping his wing around you protectively. Of course you didn’t know he was there, but your sleep did noticeably improve. No nightmares or insomnia, not on his watch.

Eriphel also developed a habit of hugging you at work, wrapping his arms around whenever you became upset or stressed. It helped your mood a lot.

The angel’s divine light was washing over your soul in these moments and even if you could not see him he knew he was the best thing for you. But he also knew that eventually you would pass away as all mortals did and your soul would slip through his fingers as it transcended to heaven.

He couldn’t allow that, he had to take ownership of your soul in the same way that demons did.

If he made a soul pact with you then he got ownership of your soul when you eventually moved on and then you would be his and his alone until the end of eternity.

But he didn’t have to rush it, you were not in any great danger and he could protect you and keep you alive from any external threat that could threaten you… even if it violated a few rules to intercept mundane physical threats.

He had plenty of time.

Or so he thought.

A bit of time passed and you met someone. A man by the name of Jason. A mutual friend had set the two of you up. You tried not to think too much of it at first, how could this tiny insignificant human have any possible influence on you when your souls had felt the holy embrace of an angel’s wings?

But as the days turned into weeks turned into many long months it became obvious you were in love with him.

Eriphel wouldn’t stand for it.

He had been with you for nearly two years by this point.

He knew your favorite color, he knew your favorite foods, he knew every single password that you had for every website, he knew what expression you had when you were deep in thought, when you were annoyed, when you were in the middle of an orgasm.

There was nothing he didn’t know about you.

As he stood before you in the dead silence of night watching your lover spoon you protectively tears rolled down his cheeks. He had never cried before, but he recognized the behavior from the humans he had watched over.

Something had to be done.

If he could just claim your soul then he wouldn’t need to worry about the relative tiny amount of time you spent in this world because you would spend eternity with him when you passed on.

Eriphel decided he would interact with you directly as you slept. He’d disguise himself as a demon and make a deal with you. Then you’d be his and everything would be alright. He was shaking with the sheer anxiety of what he was about to do, he had barely said anything to a human before and even then that was only with some who were deceased.

That night you had a vivid dream, it was so real. A demon came to you and made you a fabulous offer of wealth beyond imagining. You couldn’t remember what he wanted, but you felt the price was too high. You were scared. You turned him down and ran.

Eriphel should have known an offer of wealth wasn’t enough to gain what he wanted from you, still he thought it was worth a try. He knew you’d at least be tempted by all the good you could do with money.

When you next saw the monstrous demon in your dreams you remembered it even more clearly than you had before. You were in a pristine palace of obsidian and red, richly decadent but with an undeniably sinister undertone.

The demon spoke in a voice that sounded like several people talking in unison.

This time it offered to let your parents live longer, to give them pristine health for their age so that they could spend more time with you.

This time you were tempted, you hesitated. But after some consideration you still declined before fleeing. Your parents weren’t in bad health as far as you knew and them having a few extra years wasn’t worth the price of your soul until the end of time.

Eriphel was homing in on the solution, getting closer to the offer that would have you as his. But he wasn’t there yet…

A couple months passed and you and your beloved Jason moved in together. But tragedy struck as not long after that your boyfriend went to the doctor to get some worrying symptoms looked at.

Cancer. Inoperable brain tumor.

The news broke you, but you had to put on a strong face for Jason’s sake. He had always supported you and been the strong one when you needed him and now he needed you.

Jason fell asleep with his head on your chest as you held him in your arms. You made sure he was sound asleep before you let yourself cry silently.

It took a long time but finally the emotional toll of the day caught up with you and dragged you into sleep as well.

Once again you were in that clean, rich, sinister building of polished red and black. The horned demon standing before you again, terrible and proud.

“I can save him. I can cure him with a snap of my fingers. All you have to do is agree to hand over your soul after your death.”

You were shaky, you couldn’t think clearly after the events of the day, you wanted nothing more than for Jason to live the full life he deserved. If it meant you had to be a demon’s victim and tortured for eternity after your death then so be it, the years you had growing old with Jason were worth any price.

“Yes! Please! S-save him!!!”

He smiled and approached you, grabbing you by your clothing.

“Wh-what are you-”

“This is how a soul pact is sealed. You do want this deal don’t you?” You nodded and hung your head silently as he peeled off each article of clothing one by one. Suddenly you were in a different room, laying naked on your back with your legs propped up on the demon’s shoulders.

You knew he was a wicked and power hungry entity but the way he looked at you was almost like a human looking upon a holy relic. He took his time, shaking hands rubbing up and down every part of you.

This was not how a soul pact had to be sealed, but he couldn’t wait any longer to feel you.

The red skinned monstrosity kissed up your thighs, careful not to harm you with his horns. He was as gentle as a lamb.

When he finally got to the point where he was lining up his large cock with your hole he kept that same gentleness. You thought he’d have just ravaged you but he didn’t do that at all.

The demon slid his cock in you slowly, this wasn’t your physical body and no lube was needed, he glided deep inside you painlessly and moaned loudly as he did so.

Heaven was nothing compared to being inside his beloved darling who before today could have only dreamed of what it felt like inside of you.

As he slid his entire length in and out of you he bit at your chest, hungrily, but not very hard. Not enough to really hurt. Just enough to stimulate you and to taste your skin. He trailed up to your neck and licked, sucked, and kissed there over and over again like it was some drug he was hopelessly addicted to with no chance of quitting.

Your hands gripped the bed sheets feebly as he began to pick up speed. You felt a bit sick. You didn’t think that this would be pleasurable. You thought this would be as painful as he could make it, but it was so good. It made it feel like you were really cheating on Jason.

Even if this was probably just a stress induced dream your brain made to help you cope with devastating circumstances.

Eriphel couldn’t last long, being his first time and doing it with someone so supremely important.

His pace remained steady as his strong hands gripped your hips and pulled you close, slamming you down to his full nuts as he emptied them into you and the two of you shared a mind shattering orgasm. You could feel your very soul being claimed by his magical seed.

The demon kissed you passionately and then you and Jason both woke up to the sound of his phone ringing.

It was the doctor.

He was calling to explain that the machine was busted and was showing false tumors. He wanted Jason to come back in tomorrow for a scan on a different machine. He was probably okay.

The demon had kept up his end of the deal.

The two of you hadn’t slept long but now with the new test looming over the both of you neither of you could manage to go back to sleep.

When the time came the both of you got in the car with him driving and you in the passenger seat. Everything was fine and you both tried to calm yourselves and not get your hopes too high. Jason was likely okay, but there was always that small chance that he wasn’t.

You idly looked at the houses and trees as they passed when you saw movement from the rearview mirror. The demon hissing and lunging towards you. You screamed before everything went dark.

Doctors later examined your body and determined that you suffered a massive stroke. Not really what happened. Eriphel just couldn’t wait to have you, and he never said that he’d let you grow old with that… thing… you called Jason.

No, he said he’d cure him. And he had. It had been easy enough to reverse the magic he had used to give him cancer in the first place.

When you woke up you were in a large white room that looked like it was made out of marble, gold, and silver. The lights around the room looked to be carved out of pure milky white crystal.

You were confused. If you had died by the hands of that monster wouldn’t you be in the place you had seen in your dreams?

“Hello.”

You turned to see a tall lean man adorned in white robes, his hair was sparkling silver, he had a pair of great wings outstretched from his back, the feathers looked as if they had been dipped in the most thin and fragile layer of silver possible. His whole body glowed with a faint white light and his eyes were an otherworldly shade of shining gold.

“I understand you are confused. I am Eriphel, I am an angel that scours the mystic planes for demonic presence and eliminates it where I can. You were attached to a foul demon, a parasite of human misery. I noticed this just in time and snatched your soul at the moment of your death…”

You took in his words while staring transfixed at his beauty. You were really dead then. You introduced yourself and thanked him several times before calming yourself a bit and asking what you desperately needed to know.

“Is this heaven? Will I eventually be reunited with my boyfriend?”

Eriphel had to suppress a bit of rage that began mounting at that last inquiry.

“Sadly, your soul was marked by a demon, you can never enter the proper realm of heaven without being cast to hell, where that demonic entity would surely get you. But you are safe here, in my home. You will have to stay here… forever…”

His voice was mournful, and his eyes were wet with sympathy at your plight… or so you thought. Eriphel was really just crying because his fondest dream had come true. With no one else to interact with and his intimate knowledge of your every like and dislike you’d certainly fall in love with him.

The angel pulled you into a comforting hug as you sobbed into his chest at never being able to see Jason again, and he smiled wickedly as he rubbed your back. No one else would ever come between you again.

#yandere teratophilia #yandere terato #yandere exophilia #yandere exo #yandere angel #gender neutral reader #yandere x reader #male yandere x gn reader #male yandere x gender neutral reader #yandere x gn reader #My OCs #My OC Eriphel #yandere scenario

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satoruhour · 5 months

Note

If you don’t mind (tho ofc you don’t have to write it if you don’t wish to), could we get a pt 2 of that priest geto fic? Where him and reader have been secretly fucking every damn where but especially in the church ever since that night, they both realise they have a thing for breeding kink so they don’t bother with protection either. Obv they have to hide what they’re doing and reader secretly gets away from her house at night to get dicked down frequently. and he knocks her up so they ultimately run away together ( or somewhere along those lines it’s totally up to you)

We missed you!! So good to have you back :D

DOMINE DIRIGE NOS !

wc: 7.8k (when will the horrors stop) / first part here ✶

warnings: DARK CONTENT, LORE, priest!geto, fem!reader, age gap (reader is in early 20s, geto in late 20s), christian references, religious themes used in inappropriate ways, questions of religion and life, brief mention of abortion, described scenes of f! and m! masturbation, face-sitting, fingering, clit stimulation, both f! and m! receiving oral, praise, mild degradation, sex in a religious place, semi-public sex (blowjob while geto is conducting mass oop), deep-throating, lots of unprotected p -> v sex, LOTS of creampie / breeding kink, multiple rounds, abandoning home, n*sfw under the cut

“father geto?” you curl deeper into geto’s back in the rectory, the uncomfortable mattress below you just reminding you of your upbringing in this suffocating town and the proximity of everyone. since that night, the two of you have been insatiable, using the House of the Lord for anything holy and instead are filled with violent moans and constant skin-slapping. even to you, the Church has started to look darker and darker, painted with the sin of Pandæmonium’s pillars, each time you enter it.

mass is all about locking eyes with the other, a game to see who falls first. sometimes you’d come in the shortest dress you can find, staring up at him from the second pew from under your eyelashes just like how you’d suck his cock. sometimes father geto would have his hair tied up, revealing his neck and jawline — the priest had not much to experiment with, but it took equal effect on you, anyway. clenched thighs, stuttered words, fluttering eyes.

father geto fortunately finds it easier to evade parishioners after doing his morning greetings to everyone; with another older priest who didn’t request the rectory, he could hide away to stroke at his cock all he wanted while the other took over the later masses. you, however, needed to reject the holy pastor ever so often to stop your mother from thinking vile of your absence.

it still was father geto, though, so whenever you mentioned his name after morning mass, she lit up like a switchboard, happily ushering you away to spend time because it was always encouraged to improve your faith.

— improving your faith in a non-existing god, perhaps.

“you don’t have to call me father when we’re alone, baby,” geto reassured, accommodating you when you turned around to meet him halfway.

“yeah?” you whisper, like someone could hear you. it was taboo, shameful even. the neighbourhood good girl with a deadbeat father coalescing with the newly transferred priest — it was the blasphemous, sent to be burnt at the pyre sort of sin. the rectory felt odd, your house felt odd; there was no place for people like the two of you, driven by lust and forbidden love and sin in the eyes of God, but what could people do when sin just felt so right?

you relish in the father’s gasp when you grind your butt against his crotch which are concealed behind his trousers, biting your lip with a smile when you catch his small grin at your mischief. you continue your ministrations, rolling your hips and bringing his hands to your chest. your clothing has become shorter and shorter ever since you convinced him of your little sin back in the confessional booth of skimpy tops and skirts. geto takes over, fingers slipping under your camisole to pull down your bra, fondling with your tits and playing with your nipples.

“sneaky little baby, hm?”

“s-suguru—” you whine, hips bucking and cunt already clenching. “need your cock, tongue, anything—”

“i’m getting there, doll, wait for me,” he pants, hurriedly unzipping his trousers. his erection is pulsing and throbbing by now, letting out a small sigh of relief when he finally pulls down his underwear, but you’re confused when you’re turned around and before you can reach to sit yourself on him—

“sit on my face first, darling,” he slyly smiles, beckoning you forward. here, father geto suguru looks anything like a pastor and if you close your eyes and listen, the repetitive tweets of the morning mass birds sound a little sweeter and the rushing water of the stream nearby remind you of a countryside house far away from your parents, your faith, your life. but forbidden has a time limit without the luxury of listening in, so you only settle for a pout when you hear the slick noises of him pumping his cock.

“you did say tongue,” he grins, “i don’t disobey scripture.”

“i’m not the Bible, suguru,” you jest with a small smile.

“you are scripture to me — anything you say and do, i’ll follow.”

and that’s the first time it’s truly cemented in you how much father geto was truly willing to throw away, but you hardly have any time to react before he easily settles one leg over and pulls you toward his mouth. it’s so violent, the way he loves you that there’s a small hmph that sounds from his throat when your sweet, wet pussy meets his mouth. after, it’s just endless groans as he laps at your clit while you fill the rectory with your sinful moans, grinding your hips into his mouth over and over while he just hums in agreement.

“that— that’s it, useme, useme—” it comes out slurred and slippery, just like your dripping cunt and his leaking cock, wet sounds that surround the both of you as geto’s tongue continue to assault your sensitive clit. he licks and sucks endlessly that you have no choice but to grab onto his hair for support and he does to same to both your thighs.

“father suguru—! hnfuck . .” you whimper out, looking down at him with hooded eyes while he meets you with the same intensity. below you are just streams and streams of your juices flooding his chin and hair; he just ever so lightly dips his tongue down to your needy cunt, plunging it in and your back arches involuntarily, “o-oh, god!”

geto laughs into your pussy, arm still clutching your thigh but the other goes back to his neglected dick, pumping it in time with his tongue as he swirls it around and you just clutch tighter and tighter. you definitely soaked through the sheets by now, but you follow his command, riding his face over and over until you feel that familiar feeling in your stomach.

“su— suguru, i’m g’nna . .” you moan out quietly, but your priest already knows what’s in store for him, abandoning his own ministrations entirely to please you as he pulls you all the way up to his face, positively cutting off his air supply in the process but he doesn’t care. he only suckles on your clit harder and with more pressure before switching to licking, abusing your puffy clit until you’re speechless and all that comes out of you are ah’s. “cumming, cumming— fuuckk . . !”

“cum on my tongue,” suguru manages to get out in between breaths, “give me all y’r cum, darling.”

those words are enough to send you over the edge, hitting your high with a soundless whine as your hips roll into his face and relentless torture, body continuing to convulse in his hold at the climax. if, before your continued praises sung God, now they were just full of father geto’s name, enunciated through the lips like a passionate blessing before mealtime. suguru, suguru, suguru, even Lucifer was ready to make ready his throne for the both of you.

“shit— sweet as always . .” father geto moans, slurping up all of your cum and making a mess, so much so that you’re giggling shyly at the lewd noises. you rest upon his heaving chest, noting wet patches that stain his black shirt — he came as well. “you treat me so good, don’t you, doll?”

your face twists, “i think i should be the one to say that, father geto.”

“don’t—”

“i like it. rolls off the tongue nicely,” you smirk, easily scooting downwards before settling your pulsing cunt onto his softening cock. but he knows you can get him up at any instance, just as you start grinding your clit along his shaft. the pleasure-filled moan he sounds out never gets old, echoed at the front of the Church of not, “father geto.”

all he shoots you is an unimpressed look, but he can’t keep his look up because the sight of you always inspires a thousand sermons and questions of morality.

“i like the dangerous aspect of it, father geto,” you reason with a sultry voice, grabbing his hardening dick and teasing his weeping tip along your folds. the both of you shiver. “it reminds me of how a holy man like you so easily fell for some pussy and got addicted to it.”

“pretty slut’s developing a dirty mouth,” he laughs, “carry on.”

“fucked a clueless, innocent girl in such a holy place,” you whined when his tip nudges past your pussy and into your gummy walls, spreading you open so deliciously.

“need my help?” you shake your head defiantly, sinking down slowly with calculated steps, gasps escaping your mouth as his cock continues to impale you inch by inch.

“and then claimed her right at the apse of the Church. on the altar, where bread is b-broken and wine is shared.” your eyebrows have knitted together from the pure stretch, descending down fully where you sit a little uncomfortably. no matter how many times you take him, he’s still big and full in you, needing a few moments to adjust as you wiggle your hips.

“can man prevent himself from chasing after his darkest desires?” father geto asks, bumping up his hips just a little and he grins at the little whine you let out.

“no, but God can,” you reason and yet you know you wouldn’t want anything to have changed between the two of you. you still would have wanted father geto’s downfall, you still would have wanted to see him stroking his cock behind the velvet curtains of the confession box.

you momentarily lock eyes with geto, drunk off the feeling of his length in you and the friction of your clit against his pelvis that you naturally gravitate towards him, feeling tired from all the grinding from earlier. he coos, receiving you without any judgement just like how a good priest should do and you feel most at home in his hug.

“what if my God is my darkest desire?” you barely make the connection before geto starts to thrust up into you, not too harshly but not too gently, either. you limp forward and just let him do the work, praising and worshipping you with every snap of his hips from below you.

“o-oh, baby, you’re so tight . .” suguru mumbles, littering kisses all over your neck and face while you struggle to keep yourself up, held up by your weak elbows as you try to meet his eyes. it’s the purple eyes you want to see as he fucks you dumb on his cock, full of lust and only on you as you drop all of your walls for him to enter. suguru tries his best, too, treating you as gently as he can out of the bedroom, which frankly isn’t much, but he tries. he brushes away your hair when it gets into your tongue during communion, he massages your knees in the rectory, he brings chocolate cake whenever he can.

he tries in the bedroom, too, but you are just too much for him. too much in the way that the devil’s whispers start to sound more and more like O Emmanuel and too much in the way he can feel the swell of his heart when even your name is mentioned. father geto doesn’t want to name it love, because in his position it will simply come off as manipulation, deceit.

father geto needs to know you are willing, too.

“father g-geto,” you whine, hands upon his face and sweat lining your brow, “faster, p-please—”

he chokes out a moan, “o-of course, sweetheart.”

you just feel so damn good, clenching so tightly around him that he cannot stop rutting his pelvis into you. he can feel the ripple of your ass with each thrust, the snugly fit tip hitting your g-spot ever so often to pull out the most beautiful moans from you. you’re both so wet and sloppy that you both can hear it — the squelching of your cunt paired with the pre-cum of his cock, mixing at your connected bodies in noisy pap! pap! pap!’s.

“s-suguruuu . . pleasepleaseplease.”

“whaddaya want, baby? words,” geto slurs as well, hips never stilling but now grinding in circles. his glutes and thighs burn but he won’t stop until you tell him what you want.

“i w-want your cum, inside me,” you mewl out like it’s a secret, like he hasn’t been cumming inside you for the past multiple times that you meet, “w-want you to breed me.”

suguru chuckles like it’s a dangerous bet, like he hasn’t emptied his balls deep in your pussy before, “you’re still on the pills, right, baby?”

ah . . the pills, that’s what you wanted to ask him to get more of at the beginning.

you nod hurriedly, “yes— i am, f-fuck—!”

“oh . . my darling’s close,” father geto grunts out, angling his hips so his cock reaches deeper in you, arms trapping you in an eternal embrace like Eve and the devil’s Serpent. you give him lazy, intoxicated kisses, sucking at the skin until there’s bound to be purple and he does the same to yours, albeit lighter.

“y . . yeah, i’m yours, suguru,” you whimper softly, voice breaking from the sheer pleasure once your hand sneaks in between to rub softly at your clit. you suck in a breath when both his cock and your hand find that sweet spot, moans suddenly overflowing into his neck with repeated “yes”’s and profanities until you cum with a cry of suguru’s name, juices spraying everywhere. it’s messy and filthy, your cum soaking his balls and staining the sheets.

“that’s it, thaaat’s it . . squirt all over my cock, baby,” geto continues to ram into your pussy as he praises, hips faltering in the slightest bit, “that’s a good girl.” it only makes you clamp down on his cock harder, making him hiss.

“i w-won’t last long, sweetheart—” he warns you but it’s not enough before he’s stilling in you, pupils blown wide as he shoots spurt upon spurt of hot cum into your cunt, filling you up to the brim as his cock twitches in you. you shiver at the feeling, breathing heavily in his arms as he continues to pump you full. slowly you recover but he stays plugged in, heading back to your position on elbows.

“she’s satisfied?”

you grin with a sigh, “very.”

“that’s all i ever want.” father geto smiles, gently bringing your head down for a gentle kiss on your lips. it turns heated soon enough, the gesture prompting your hips to move again on his very sensitive dick. but with the distant clack of shoe upon cobblestone that increases in volume, the both of you freeze.

“father geto?” it’s a boy’s voice, possibly one of the altar boys.

“what is it?”

the boy seemed to be relieved, as if stepping near the rectory was a sin in itself, “father nanami unfortunately can’t lead the night mass at eight tonight, will you be available?”

you shoot him a disappointed frown, but it is still his job after all. all he manages is a forehead peck.

“a-ah, yes, i am,” father geto thinks if it’s worth asking the next questions, “how many people usually show up to the night mass?”

“not too many, father geto, but it serves mostly the truckers and people in our town who have night shifts.”

you nod since you’ve never attended the night mass at all. father geto has conducted it; it was right on that fateful night where you had texted him about an unnamed confession.

“thank you, go in peace . .” geto shouts his reply and then looks at you with a small smile, speaking softly, “i have an idea.”

it’s only the afternoon when you make it back to your house for lunch before heading back out again like you planned with suguru earlier, following him from a safe distance until you’re out of earshot and sight of the congregation, even if no one was there. he kisses you gently in the sacristy, body pressed up against decades old of wooden cabinets and drawers. you have no idea what your priest has up his sleeve, so your eyes blindly follow his figure that brings out a toolbox proudly, taking out a hammer.

“don’t even know why the sacristy has a toolbox.”

“. . you’re insane,” your mouth drops open when he gives a hint of homily and sermon that you connect the dots, following him a little worried to the apse. there, stands the podium where he gives his readings and sermons, hands going straight for the board that’s nailed shut. turning the hammer around, using the claw at the back of it to remove the nails that hold it down, removing the nails of the lectern one by one with muscles bulking under his robes before it’s revealed.

“looks . .” he whistles lowly at the pristine condition of the wooden podium, “. . i forgot they gifted me a new podium when i transferred.”

“new priest privileges.” you nudge him in the side.

“i’m probably going to get transferred out soon, too,” he jokes with an arm around your waist, and in a perfect world, this would be the two of you looking at your newly built home in those terrible films. instead, you’re here, faced with temptation and sin.

“are you gonna be okay? we don’t have to do it if you don’t want to—” you cut him off with a hand to his crotch, sparing a glance towards the double doors. the church was small, yes, but there was still a good amount of people that attended it, even if the night mass garnered less.

“i’ll be okay, suguru. i’m wet just thinkin’ about it,” the other only hums at your revelation, bending down with you as you slot yourself into the dark place, pockets of light fighting to get in from the amateur job of the podium, “you better go prepare.”

“you’re a gem.” with a soft kiss to your forehead, father geto leaves just as the first parishioner shows up for mass: a whopping 43 minutes before the start of mass. you’re not surprised by the faith in this town, sometimes coming in to complete a rosary, do some extra prayers or partake in confession — but you realise you’re going to have to stay in this lectern for 43 minutes and more before he starts his homily. it’s a perfect fit, but trying not to rattle the box while adjusting yourself seemed to be the most difficult thing.

he had no helpers tonight, no altar boys, such a prime time to commit such a foul act in the eyes of God while he finishes up on the Gospel and you feel your fingertips tingling when he walks from the altar to the podium, dress shoes clicking against the wood of the floor of the rickety Church.

thank god the alb is huge and so is the podium, and thank god there aren’t any pews at the sides of the church. you know he spares some glances, too, so after a few moments of silence to reflect on the words of the Gospel, you’re lifting the alb right to where his boner was. you palm the area in wonder, at the clear sin of the act that you’re currently committing and this is all new to you apart from fucking when the place is empty.

“so big . .” it’s like he hears your whispers, cock twitching under your hold when you slowly remove it from his trousers, slotting his hardening dick through the boxers and zip hole without bringing too much attention. you trail your thumb over his tip that’s leaking pre, a difficult thing to see in such a dark place but you know it’s there when you kitten lick the mushroom tip.

you can hear a falter in his sermon, a stutter of words. leaning forward, you awkwardly switch onto your knees before wrapping your mouth around his length and it’s more clear now when you’re closer to the source of sound.

“. . ory of G-God, excuse me,” geto coughs as if he’s got something stuck in his throat, pulling at his chasuble that feels like choking him at the neck. your mouth continues its teasing, holding onto his thighs as you continue to suck on his fat cock. even now, you struggle to take it all in your mouth, pumping at the bottom while you bob your head. you can only pray that the broadcasted words of the sound system can cover up the obscene noises that your mouth makes.

“mmhh . . j—just, sorry,” the less-than-thirty church-goers don’t pay any mind when his hand snakes down from the top of the lectern toward you, offering his fingers and it’s like salvation after being stuck in there for God knows how long. you grasp at the hand, using your hand to stroke his shaft while you suck on his fingers. in a moment of bravery, you stick your head out as the other wills not to look down, but with a calculated glance to everyone that’s either asleep or zoning out, father geto rewards himself with one gaze while you switch from fingers to his cock.

“oh . .” he restricts himself before any pet name can escape, seeing your pliant mouth take all of him just like that first night but someone coughs and it snaps him out of the daydream, hand going back up.

“we should prioritise the Lord at every part of our day,” geto breathes heavily when he feels you deepthroat him, hands dripping the sides of the podium that you were sure the cheap wood would splinter under his grip. you focus on getting him in your mouth when he steps closer to you and you let out a small sound of surprise; he takes that small break to quickly bun up his hair, all wet from the sweat on his neck.

“mmf—!” there’s a small relief that leaves your priest’s mouth at having his tip hit the back of your throat, muttering a lot of uhm’s and repeated words. he wants to cum, and he wants to cum quick from how his hips thrust into your warm mouth, wanting to do away with conducting mass and to just be in your pliant pussy.

“. . a-and to make sure all our actions honour the Lord our Saviour,” his hips continue to move, continually buried up to the hilt in your mouth over and over as he fucks your mouth. you receive it willingly, hands taking action to play with his balls and that has his thighs tensing up. “and while you continue to live your life in praise—”

“f-fuck,” it’s whispered away from the microphone but you hear it, length twitching in response to your hands before you come off with to breathe. both hands stroke his cock while you suckle on the tip, driving him into insanity that he’s struggling to finish his sermon.

“you’ll be given the greatest graces in Heaven,” father geto shoots his cum down your throat and it’s so much, muscles pulled taut as he continues to buck his hips needily. you can feel him slump forward and out of breath while you continue to milk him and his words start to slur just a tad bit and while you clean him of his semen, you giggle to yourself under the podium as he gathers himself for another look down at you.

the final blow is how you stick out your tongue to show him the cum that’s left, a grin spreading that he just has to give you his hand again as you hold it gently, “—together in eternal life with God Almighty and Christ.”

“i hope i wasn’t too obvious on the lectern two weeks ago,” father geto laughs into your neck at your place, seemingly so long ago where he decided to step into your room and questioned your thesis on Paradise Lost. it felt like it was just last week he was bringing cake to your place, sitting in on dinner, walking with you around the town. now you sit in his lap in the living room of your house, unassuming because of the five day vacation that your parents decided to take. your mother stayed with your father for what, you never could figure out, but with the baby dropped off at the family across the street (your mother knew you’d be busy with university work) and them out to the next town, you did what every university student would do.

you sneaked priest geto in on sunday night, letting him take you on every surface he knew you’d spread your legs for him on, and now sat, freshly showered and the television turned down to a low, you could only hope this was what a life of matrimony could look like. all the dreams and fancy stories your mother tells you, you think you could twist this sick relationship and forbiddenness into something normal for at least five days if you convince yourself enough.

“you were stuttering on every sentence,” you mumble into his hair that starts to smell more and more like yours, arms encircled around his neck while he sits in a mere singlet. “you like my mouth too much.”

“ego te adoramus.” father geto hums quietly, pulling away from the embrace as he looks up at you and he sighs. if only he had found you sooner before starting his theology degree, before he could hear God’s call for him into priesthood. he would be happy being your childhood friend, anything.

“do you ever wish you weren’t a priest?”

geto swallows, brushing away the strands from your face and adjusts you on his lap, “sometimes.”

“my parents were open with my choice, as they always are, but they valued how much i liked to explore and try new things. they only said that i should choose this path carefully because they knew time is something that no one can get back,” he explains, hands stroking your sides carefully and you let yourself dream that you were just a normal couple, “some friends were weird about it, telling me i would miss having sex and whatnot, but i still value my relationship with God and the many things i’ve learned from my journey in the seminary.”

“but?”

“i didn’t expect to . . meet someone like you so soon,” suguru laughs when you shout a small hey!, feigning annoyance, “someone so bright, and loving and kind. someone that embodies what Jesus and the Church stands for, and something i’ve never seen in ages. unconditional compassion.”

“your praise is too heavy,” you swat away his hand, only attributing your disposition to your mother’s exemplary way of raising you, “is simple kindness that hard to see?”

“you shadow a lot of priests in conducting masses, baptising people, giving first communions, and you see a lot of personalities — some that are vile for people that regularly go to Church. it’s disheartening to see Christians who are clearly wrapped up in their privilege and pride and think they’re the most important religion to exist. you hear it in history books, through word of mouth.” geto looks just like a boy, frustrated with the world that he lives in that a scowl settles into his features and his hands ball fabric into tight fists.

you manage to relax him a little, running your thumbs over his face and hands; he twines his fingers with yours. “i thought that if i went in, i could at least try to reshape the community. bit by bit, open their minds about abortion, about the queer community, but it is proving hard when the first church you’re transferred to is a small town.” that gets a giggle out of you.

“you’re not wrong, suguru, for trying your hardest. it’s so admirable. i’m trying to unlearn things about the Church that my mom has taught me too, and it’s all interesting reads alongside my second year of uni. if you can change one mind, there’s the potential to change many others.”

geto lets you rest your forehead on his, closing his eyes to just feel you, “thank you.”

he’s not even sure when to tell you that he’s fallen in love, the hardest he’s ever done since in high school with his first love, or in university studying theology, and he’s not even sure it’s love. all he knows is that when he looks at you, a life until silver hair is all he can think about.

“you can do it,” you break the ice softly, placing a peck on his lips, “i believe in you.”

“i don’t think they would wanna believe a sex-crazed priest, darling, not when i wanna give you the life you deserve.”

you sigh, hiding your face, “i don’t think we can achieve that, suguru, not while you’re still married to the Church and i’m supposed to be celibate.”

“that’s out the window—” and he laughs when you slap him on the bicep, finding that you’d want him to laugh more. he does it sometimes when he gives sermons, recounting a specific story about his mother, or while baptising a baby. it’s pure like a young boy’s laughter, something to be protected, the way his eyes crinkle and lips stretch . .

“what if i break priesthood for you?”

what?

“no . .” you brows furrow, “don’t say stuff like that.”

“why not, my love?” you continue to shake your head, standing from your place on his lap and he’s confused — wouldn’t you want this?

“don’t call me that—” your safe space, your room is the only place all you can think in, and you escape to it before he can catch a thread of your clothing. father geto calling you that means he’s officially fallen, chained to the river Styx. the descent was fun, but you didn’t want to be the reason why he’d truly throw away all of his hard work, you didn’t want him to be shamed, nor did you want to be called out for being a temptress. self-serving while serving others — maybe that’s how Christians operated and you were the walking proof of it.

geto thinks he’s messed up big time and unsure of the reason why as he lets you stay in your room to cool down. he only sends out a text simply to check on you, but it takes you an hour before you’re ready; once he hears the click of your door, he’s heading up the stairs and pushing open the door gently.

just like that first night, he’s cautious when he enters your room as if touching your sacred place will have him reciting rosaries as penance, as an apology for staining your heart and your body. you stand.

“i don’t want you to leave everything behind just for me . .” you sound out, sniffling softly and the priest’s heart already shatters at the sound, “all your hard work, the years you did in the seminary and then just dumping it all just for a chance with a woman who you don’t even know whether will be suitable as your lover.”

geto’s expression softens in the dark room, only illuminated by fluorescent light from your bedside table lamp — “i won’t leave anything behind; all those years, all the studies, all of it mattered because somehow it still led me to you. if that isn’t God’s doing, i don’t know what else it was. my definition of Christianity has been entirely reimagined, entirely changed when i look at you, a person filled with nothing but pure lovingness and soft-heartedness and yet i still feel proud when you said you wished harm on your father because i know that Christ didn’t ask men to gouge their eyes out for nothing.”

he grabs your hands, stroking the back of your palms and stepping close to you as much as you will let him. suguru plants feather-like kisses onto skin before continuing, “i will always carry my Christianity with me, the shame, its history and if i fall, so be it. Lucifer had fallen many times after, crouching by Eve’s ear to whisper sin, turning into a serpent to give her the forbidden fruit, sentenced to rule Hell because he himself is Hell.”

“and are you dragging me down with you?”

“i have been dragged to the darkest pits of Hell from the moment i saw you, and if anything, while i worship God, i cannot ignore the olive branch that you hold out to me like a saving grace, like you ascend the same pedestal that the Trinity sits on.”

you swallow, eyes breaking contact and he’s quick to rectify that, both palms on your cheeks and your face is tilted upwards.

“our God will always be there for repentance if you wish so, but allow me to indulge in the blasphemy and filthiness and sacrilege of craving someone so desperately that my body burns from thinking about her and my knees want to strike the Earth whenever she’s around me.”

the sentence takes you aback before he’s leaning forward, but abruptly stops short— it’s rushed, can i kiss you?

“yes. yes, suguru—”

and he kisses you with the force of a thousand suns and the most detrimental winds of the pacific, arms going from your face right to your body as he wraps you in his love. geto deepens the kiss just as he always has, but the feelings that spark in you differ greatly from just mindless kissing during sex. it’s full of passion, full of possibly everything he’s kept bottled up as he walks you to your bed, yelping in surprise when the back of your knees hit the mattress.

“do you still have your pills, my love?”

your fingers bunch up the same sweater he wears on the first day, “i . . ran out . . a while ago.”

“i’m surprised those pills work even after i cum so much in you,” that really draws a hearty laugh from your stomach, “but whatever happens, i’ll be here.”

“the feeling’s just too good—” you giggle, squealing when father geto lifts you off the floor and puts you on the bed.

“if you test positive, and if you want to keep it or abort it, i’m okay,” geto hovers over you, looking at you with so much love you wonder how you miss it the many times you’ve been together, “i’ll support you in everything that you do.”

a peak of silver shines in the moonlight under his sweater and you realise this feels like the first time you lost control over your lust, the first time you touched yourself. like heeding a call, his crucifix falls from the safety of his sweater and almost hits you in the face if not for suguru pulling away in worry.

“was it just like this?” he teases with a small smirk, knees already nudging your legs apart, “you imagined me fucking you with this dangling in your face?” your face heats up at the mention, at the fact he still manages to remember that confession and you nod whilst biting your lip.

“well, you get to live it now,” geto grins, leaning down to plant a kiss to your lips before having his way with you.

and have his way did he — you aren’t even sure what round you’re on at the moment, simply subjected to getting you face smushed into your pillow as he pounds into you from behind. geto grunts as he eases his cum-filled cock back into your sweet cunt, hands travelling everywhere over your sweaty back.

“are you okay, baby?”

you turn your head with arms still buried in the pillow, a cock drunk smile on your face, “splendid.”

“goin’ in— shiit . .” geto sinks into you easily, your mixed juices proving easy before getting himself right up to the hilt. his mouth hangs open in pleasure, pants leaving both your lips before he starts to thrust and the wetness is just straight-up obscene. with a wordless tug, father geto brings you close to him, wrapping an elbow around your neck while the other settles for your tummy, feeling the muscle that curls around you. he doesn’t trap you so tightly, simply holding your limp body up as his pelvis rams into you.

“your pussy’s just so good, darling,” he mutters into your neck as your head tilts back in ecstasy while your body trembles in geto’s hold.

“s’full, suguru . .” you whine, hands flailing for his toned arms that encircle your body while he thrusts, cum spilling from where you were connected onto your sheets. it was a blessing your parents were out because father geto doesn’t hold back with the way he fucks you, voice carrying throughout the house and permeating the walls that you hoped the neighbours wouldn’t hear.

going for multiple rounds meant the two of you were highly sensitive, jolting when his hand sneakily drew circles along your clit and matched his pace, while his length in you kept twitching and pulsing from the way your gummy walls wrap around him. “s-suguru — i need you, p-please—”

“i’m here, sweetheart,” geto chokes out, hand wrapping around the expense of your neck and turning your face, indulging himself in a sinful kiss that you return immediately. tongue and saliva is everywhere, hands and hips never slowing down when it comes to you and your sweet pussy. “i’m here, always, amie.”

“i’m gonna c— fuck— shit,” you tighten around his cock at the name, moaning into his mouth like a mantra, like a mystery that cannot be solved as he cums with a guttural groan into you and you shiver from the feeling of him filling you that you forget all about your own pleasure, body shaking with mini orgasms instead. “lay forward . .”

it’s softly spoken, and you obey, eyes fluttering close when he pulls out slowly and geto’s fixated on the drip of his cum that falls from your pussy. flipping you over instantly, he smears your juices together and all over your centre, smiling at how your legs close in on each other at the sensitivity. his tip’s filled with your cum, a messy painting of your repeated rounds.

“you’re the most stunning right here,” he breathes out as he rests on his calves, cock still hard. his hand trembles as he strokes himself, moaning softly at the warmth that he misses already and he’s brought to attention again when you whimper softly. you’re fingers play lazily with your folds, finger rubbing circles into your clit and all he can think about is pumping you full of his cum again when you look at him from under your eyelashes, with a subtle pout and the plea of the eye.

“fuck me again, father geto,” you mumble, “fuck me until i’m full of your cum.”

the priest only grunts lowly at that, trailing his angry tip along your pussy and collecting your juices before slipping in. the both of you gasp at the sensation, more of you when his hands close around your knees and push. he’s forcing your legs right up to your chest the same time he enters you, sending you deeper into desperation that you writhe on the bed.

“ohh . . tha’s a perfect pussy right there . .” suguru slurs, body pushed against your bent legs as his cross swings back and forth like an omen, like a crow watching your movements, “will you be mine, my darling?”

your voice comes out in high-pitched whines at his question, so intimate, so loving in such a dirty space. you can only manage nods when he starts to move, this new position allowing him to reach much, much deeper into you that you preen at the overwhelming feelings that bubble in your chest.

“yesyesyes! r-right there, suguru—” your back arches off your childhood bed, where you first prayed, where you first read the Bible, where you did your homework, where you first fingered yourself, all overthrown by the sheer blasphemy that geto suguru wished to indulge in, and you give it to him just like that, “f-fuck! love your cock in me, father!”

“o-oh . . you’re playing a dangerous game, c-calling me that, baby,” his eyes also struggle to stay open, committing your pleasure-filled face to memory as your jaw slacks and your eyes roll back. he can see your tits move with his rough thrusts as well, licking his lips while feeling you fuck him back, “are you close?”

“mhmm—” you’re humming, mumbling incoherent sentences at this point as your mind fogs at the neck-deep euphoria you were in. with the room that’s filled with sex to the nasty, sloppy noises of his balls hitting your ass, and soaking wetness that can be heard from a mile away, the both of you are lost to the claws of Hell. geto knows you’re close with the way your cunt tightens and your breathing escalates, using his thumb to rub at your clit and now you truly feel like you’re going insane.

“c-close . . haah—” your eyes try to stay open to look at the sight above you: messy-haired and body lined with sweat, the beautiful entity of abstinence and temptation all in one person. you fumble with his shoulders, wanting to pull him closer so you can admire him up close while he drives you to your high. the moment of vulnerability only spurs geto on, drawing out the brutal, carnal need he has for you.

“is that it? you wanted this?” he grunts out through gritted teeth, “you wanted me to fuck your pussy until it knows the shape of my cock?” the words muttered sends goosebumps throughout your body. you nod, “you wanted me to defile this pretty pussy so no one else can fuck you, isn’t that right?”

you whimper at the words as he pushes your legs further into your chest, “cum on my cock, darling.”

and you do. generous with it, you’re gushing all over his length as he continues fucking you through your overstimulation, thumb slowing its ministrations on your puffy clit as he chases his own climax. “taking my cock so well, so good like the good slut she is,” the other says through a small grin, hips stuttering when you give him a small yeah in return.

“another load for you, baby,” father geto groans out loudly before he switches to quick, fast thrusts into your warm, welcoming pussy before cumming with a whine, shooting thick ribbons of white deep into your womb. your moans are swallowed by geto as he continues to fill you to the brim, painting your insides and enjoying your slow, needy kisses.

“she’s had her fill,” you mumble softly, feeling sleepy while the other only hums in agreement. slowly, geto lets your legs down which only plop down on the bed, unsheathing himself from you and relishing in the way the cum dribbles out, glob after glob of cum leaving your pussy and onto the sheets, “are you okay, suguru?” he takes your shaky hand, interlocking your fingers with his as he scoots up to you, closer until he’s just over you.

“always better with you here.” you roll your eyes, tugging on the crucifix and pulling him into you where your lips collide, feeling him collapse by your side even as your mouths continue their movements. all you do is smother each other with hands, one through his sweaty locks and his grabbing your waist. you want to live through the feeling of his front against yours for eternity, deepening the kiss with your tongue and moaning softly when his fingers squeeze your ass secretly.

“you just stay here and i’ll clean you up,” with one last peck to your temple, father geto navigates your house like he lives there, getting a rag and wetting it before he cleans you up gently, fabric travelling along your skin like a kiss of hellfire as he massages your legs, your arms. there’s a multitude of things before the two of you succumb to slumber, going to the toilet, grabbing something to eat and then wallowing in some late night conversations (“do you think you find me in other universes?” / “i’ll find you in every one.”) until finally, you two settle in each other’s arms.

it’s like a still painting that would be studied by future literature students, scrutinised by art critics all over the world of a sacrilegious relationship that should not have place for love, that should not have place for purity, but the feeling of geto suguru’s arms from behind wound tightly and protectively around your physique feels like both the good and bad of the secular world. love and lust can coexist.

just as father geto worships, your luggage is quickly packed up a few weeks later alongside a pregnancy test that looks awfully reminiscent of the cross in the church. picture frames emptied, laptop and papers packed, a barren land of what used to be the place of a God-serving, holy girl — and even if knowledge caused her downfall, she was more than willing to own up to it. the room looked larger and drab with everything gone; you aren’t even sure how you fit everything into the luggage.

the fallen angels watch over your encounters with crinkles of the paper of your farewell letter, the squeaky floorboards, and the atmosphere of the night sounding like vacuum from its sheer silence as you snuck out of the house and into the stark night, hands clasped within each other’s while gravel below your feet reminded you of your situation. you weren’t sure if you were walking to salvation or away from it, but at least you knew Eden was by your side, with the lavender scent of your shared shampoo on both your heads and his saccharine words.

after walking for what felt like forever to avoid detection, geto waves excitedly to a car in the distance which seemed to house two men — one blonde that looks awfully like father nanami and the other, a white-haired man.

“i called up some friends,” suguru brings your connected hands to his lips and his tired eyes soften even further, pressing soft pecks along your fingers and face. your priest catches you in a sensual kiss, humming into it and mumbling sweet nothings that sound just like Lucifer in Eve’s ear, but you’re too enamoured with the sparks you leave on one another to notice the commencement of your coronation at Pandæmonium.

“we’ll be okay, amie. ego te amo ut dum stellae luceant.”

“Rise, then, to the thrones of Moloch and Paimon, of Belial and Beelzebub, of the infamous angel who challenged his Creator and clawed his way from the Stygian pool to Pandæmonium made of demon blood and soot-filled fingertips. Rise to Lucifer, and take your rightful place on the throne overflowing with hate and vice and villainy, and rule Hell just as how he would’ve wanted it.”

a/n: another insane piece .. pls dont look / tagging @mysugu @slttygeto @screampied @suguruplsr @na-t0 @peachsayshi

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k4vehrtz · 2 months

Text

WHORETICULTURE. various jjk men / sub gn. reader

synopsis. filled with lust for some fucking guy.

who. nanami kento / satoru gojo / toji fushiguro / heian era! sukuna . ✦ . what. one night stand / unprotected sex / mild religious themes/ thigh riding / slut shaming / against a wall / mean dom (or just brat)! satoru / exes with benefits / exhibition / recreational drug use + alcohol consumption ergo dubious consent / oral (r giving) / body betrayal / brat! reader / implied cnc kink + masochism / domination loss / mild degradation + nipple play / double penetration

notes. terms are kept general thus gender neutral reader but it’s entirely up to your interpretation. a mini compilation of thirsts i had while attempting to fight writer’s block and an unforgiving schedule.

⸻ ## I KNEW IT WHEN I. . .

MET HIM !

[ NANAMI KENTO ]

nanami kento was the embodiment of the traditional man in every sense. he was a businessman — clad in a white button–down, black slacks, and a matching tie hanging around his collar. five days a week, monday to friday, nine a.m. to five p.m. a true provider.

that much you can assume from observation alone. he’s not like the usual crowd; the man stands out. so, it’s only natural that you become curious.

“i’m not above sex before marriage,” and when he speaks, he takes his time to carefully enunciate each word with practised precision. something you didn’t know you were attracted to until now, straddling his thighs.

“somethin’ tells me you’re not just a—” he presses a finger to your lips, interjecting, “if you’re suspicious of me we can always stop,” and you quiet down, rocking your hips back and forth as you feel his erection grow beneath your crotch.

the backseat of his car is a tight fit but it makes it all the more intimate. remnants of nicotine on his breath waft across your face, warming your skin.

“the windows are tinted,” he murmurs, tracing the outline of your lips with his thumb, “it’s as private as it’s going to get,” before inserting the aforementioned finger into your mouth.

you smile to the best of your ability, wet muscle swirling around the salty digit as you maintain your grinding. slow and steady, purposeful movements that prompt just the right amount of friction between the two of you.

“isn’t this—” nanami interjects once more (you can barely get a word out), by way of pressing his thumb against your tongue thus causing a copious amount of saliva to cascade down your face. it’s wet and messy and done entirely for his own amusement. “we’re not celibate.”

[ SATORU GOJO ]

“do you—” he pauses mid–sentence, startling blue eyes fixated on his cock sliding in and out of your puffy entrance before continuing, “usually sleep with the stranger that saves you from a creep at the club or am i special?”

if you could’ve, you would’ve rolled your eyes. he’s talkative — too talkative but you find yourself enjoying the sound of his voice anyway. your hole quivers and tightens, gripping him like a vice at the implication that hangs between the two of you.

“i’m not easy ‘toru,” you protest in a weak attempt to sound firm though it leaves your parted lips as a breathy whine instead. and satoru smiles at that, chest rising and falling rapidly as he laughs.

“when did i say you were easy, stupid?” he asks, feigning innocence as he tilts his head to one side, bringing one hand up to your face to pat your cheek.

the action being somewhat degrading in its own sense. but ‘toru — satoru — was just like that. saying one thing and meaning or doing another. you couldn’t wrap your head around him.

and he revels in the fact, his smile continuing to grow; the type that meets his eyes and makes them crinkle ever so slightly.

“you wound me,” he tsks, bringing his lips closer to your ear as your body jolts upwards against the wall in sync with his cock bullying your hole, “all i meant by it was that we just met and look where we are now.”

‘it’s the same thing’ you think, but that’s all it is — a thought. when your lips part, you only vocalize a string of moans. satoru was a labyrinth and you were lost in him — or rather the pleasure he provides.

“bet you’re already justifying this in your head.”

⸻ ## I LOVED HIM WHEN I. . .

LEFT HIM !

[ TOJI FUSHIGURO ]

“what —” he lifts the shot glass to his parted lips, “are you thinkin’ about?” before swallowing a mouthful of cheap liquor, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he does so.

it’s a good question; one you don’t know the answer to, but a good question all the same. you’re thinking about everything and anything while simultaneously not thinking at all — a blunt dangling haphazardly between your lips.

“you want to know what i’m thinkin’ about?” so you answer his question with a question like a smart ass instead, leaning in until you’re nose–to–nose with the man you swore you’d never see again. and he doesn’t hesitate, a half–smile playing on his lips as they ghost yours. they’re warm, lighting a fire beneath the surface of your skin in its wake.

“no, i don’t want to know,” he sing–songs in response, catching you somewhat off guard. what blindsided you though was him lowering the waistband of both his grey sweatpants and his boxers. his cock, exposed to the cool air of the alleyway, standing at full mast—a vein running from the base to the tip.

suddenly your mouth feels dry and your knees feel the slightest bit weaker. it’s muscle memory — or its evil cousin that encourages your body to betray you.

you’re sinking to your knees, blunt discarded somewhere on the concrete (for god’s sake, you don’t care). your lips part, cheeks hollowed and throat relaxed. quiet anticipation coursing through your veins as you feel the weight of his cock in your palms.

“you know what to do,” he rumbles from above you, picking at the beds of his nails. and he’s right, you do know what to do; how he likes it.

you take him into your mouth, dragging your tongue along the outline of his piercing some ways below the head of his cock. and toji lets out a satisfied groan. once, twice, and then a third time before you focus on taking his full length into your mouth inch by inch until he’s hit the back of your throat.

from there, you move your mouth along his length, tracing every inch of it with your tongue — imprinting its shape in your mind all over again. it’s more like refreshing an old memory rather than creating a new one.

“knew you’d—” he clenches his jaw, cock throbbing in your mouth as saliva mixed with his pre–cum slips past your lips stretched to capacity around him, “come back t’me.”

[ HEIAN ERA! SUKUNA ]

“i’m—” your breath hitches, catching in your throat in sync with the rise of your shoulders, “many things my lord, but sorry isn’t one of them,” as your hips stutter.

momentarily. one hundred and twenty seconds.

it takes sukuna less than thirty seconds to capitalize on your fault. two hands wrap around your hips, nails pressed into the tender skin forming crescent-shaped indents. you’re forced to move to his rhythm now; cruel and unforgiving.

“should’ve focused on what’s important little one,” he clicks his tongue in feigned disappointment. he’s far from disappointed though, his cocks — both of them — buried to the hilt throb inside of you. and an onslaught of tears blur your vision; your mind is clouded by a myriad of sensations.

you’re somewhere between excruciating pain and unbelievable feats of pleasure.

“this isn’t—” you try, albeit with great difficulty as your words come in between gasps. but sukuna interjects, the corners of his lips curling upwards: “fair? stupid, this game of ours was never meant to be but you know that already.”

two more hands make contact with your skin after that exchange; two fingers on one hand pinching your nipple whereas the other holds your face in place so that you maintain eye contact with him.

and sukuna rolls his eyes as soon as your gazes meet though it’s a somewhat playful gesture. something most would find difficult to picture. but not you — never you.

“stop pretending to be a damsel in distress i’m not a—” he pauses mid–sentence, smile growing as he thrusts his hips, “well, i’m not that kind of monster,” the sound of his skin colliding with yours echoing throughout the room.

you whimper, staring at him through half–lidded eyes and a curtain of lashes wet with unshed tears: “i like what i like.”

#x male reader smut #x bottom male reader #nanami x male reader #toji x male reader #gojo x male reader #sukuna x male reader #jjk smut #jjk x male reader #x sub male reader #jjk x y/n #gojo smut #gojo x you #toji x you #nanami x you #sukuna x you

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mo0nfairy · 9 months

Text

ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ UNCHAINED MELODY, PART FOUR !

summary :: surviving raccoon city together, you catch the affections of leon kennedy, ada wong, jill valentine, and carlos oliveira. six years later, you reunite with them and realize their obsession with you has increased tenfold.

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 19.5k (oops)

content warnings :: mdni! yandere!jill, yandere!carlos, smut, gender neutral reader, dom!jill, sub!carlos, switch!reader, nudity, noncon, penetrative s3x, unprotected s3x, oral s3x, masturb4tion, f1ngering, overst1mulation, edging, spitting, physical restraint, love triangle, kidnapping, stockholm syndrome, mild force-feeding, violence, death, manipulation, drugging, blood/gore, weapons, unhealthy religious themes, & just lots of creepy shit.

──── Five months; 153 days. That is how long Jill and Carlos have spent in the clouds of heaven with their one and only, Y/N L/N. So much has changed in such little time. Drastically, but all too invigorating in the same breath.

The two people who have claimed to be your lovers tell you tales of what horrors are rooted in the place you once called home. How they lathered your brain in their lies and how they thread through your veins with manipulation — five months have passed and you still cannot believe it to be true. They provided you shelter, comfort, and love; they lent you a rope to climb when you were left for dead at rock bottom.

Even with the clutter of Jill's studies she shows to you as proof, the way she clenches her jaw when you speak of them makes you regret ever mentioning the subject. Even with the scars Carlos shows you from when he had worked for the corporation, the vein that bulges above his brow when you speak of them makes you recoil with apprehension.

Your days and nights have been spent pondering what lies outside of these walls. This sudden contrast in your life doesn't fog your judgment entirely, though. With every day the rain falls, you have come to learn several new things.

Oh, how Jill Valentine loves the taste of Y/N L/N.

It is evident throughout every day, where fragments of her obsession are sprinkled into every moment you spend together.

When dawn arises and the birds begin to fill the air with their melodies, Jill awakes and you are the first thing she sees. And the precious imagery alone causes all higher brain function to abandon her. Being here with you, the only reason she continues to live on is breathtaking. To wake up and find the star of her dreams beside her while the presence of her nightmares fade away — there is no high quite like it.

With a lanky arm wrapped firmly around your waist, the other treads across your flesh. The stripe of your jaw, the expanse of your eyelid, the apple of your cheek. To touch you, never has Jill been so happy. A hum of laughter vibrates in her chest when she takes notice of the string of drool leaking from your mouth. Too damn cute. She restrains herself from cooing and instead, focuses on the way her sweatpants grow tighter when her mind wanders.

Jill drags her calloused fingers among the wet surface of your parted lips and collects the excess saliva, all without a hint of guilt or hesitance. Fervently, like some sort of starved beast, she shoves the digits into her mouth and ensnares her wriggling tongue around them. The constriction is almost suffocating; the flare of heat inside her is almost overwhelming.

Jill could stay here forever, relishing in the absolute euphoria only you are capable of bringing her. However, the day calls out for the two of you (as well as a man who is just as needy as she is for your attention).

With leisure efforts, she pulls the expensive comforters off of your warm body. She gently nudges your arm and purrs out your name. Five months later, there is still nothing that has her heart melting quite like the groggy, all-too-adorable look of lethargy on your expression. The way you rub the sleepiness out of your eyes and groan for "five more minutes," it takes Jill all the strength within her to not lock the door and spend the day drowning you in her love. Sometimes, she waves a white flag to her desires and does such, despite the grizzly bear banging on the door and demanding she let him see you.

Rainfall hastens as light envelops the land. You and Jill arrive at the kitchen where you find Carlos at the stove, laboriously working on something mouthwatering.

Upon your entrance, Carlos beams and risks the fate of burning the food in favor of greeting you. An embrace, one that rivals two lovers who haven't seen each other in decades, is what you're met with. A kiss on your forehead and an affectionate tap to your chin follow, as well as a promise that "breakfast will be ready soon, honey-bee."

Jill averts her gaze from the lovesick man. The sight may convince her to snatch an impromptu weapon from the knife block and slice his throat. Despite the elation of having you at her side, the possessive roots within her will always reside, unfortunately.

Two plates are soon set before you and Jill. For a number of times you cannot possibly fathom, Carlos sits beside you. Shoulders pressed to yours, he wastes no time in scooping a mouthful of delectable food and pressing it to your mouth. You thank him, as you always do, and he gushes about how much of a sweet thing you are. Meanwhile, Jill remains silent and scarfs down the meal with no regard to the effort he put into crafting it (there is much less effort in her dish than there is in yours, but not that she acknowledges).

Carlos refused to cook for her before, claiming that she can "get her own damn food." Though, your kind heart offered some of your breakfast to her and Jill resorted to feeding you with that irritatingly-smug look on her face. From here on out, he'd always leave an extra plate out for her. Carlos would prepare Jill an entire buffet if it meant he'd still possess his role of being your personal fork-holder. Nobody else.

After a night spent in cold sheets, Carlos proceeds to hog you as a child would with their favorite toy. The sleeping schedule you three have fluctuates every other night, to where you'll spend the evening with one of them and the next with the other. The two bedrooms within the home are assigned to Jill and Carlos, where they get to spend the precious time indulging in the joy of finally being alone with you. Evenings with Jill often fuel the gnawing need this man has to have you close. The similar way it does the other way around, as well.

With the rainfall now intensely heavy and engulfing the green atmosphere, you had deemed yourself fully satiated with love. Managing to slip out of the house for some fresh air after Carlos had so greedily taken yours, you stumble into the garage. From there, you find Jill, whose clothes and skin are adorned with stains of grease.

Wrench in hand, she works tirelessly on her motorcycle. She makes some flirtatious introduction that makes your face hot, as she was always skilled in getting under your skin with her provocative attitude. And for the next several hours (and an inconspicuous task given to Carlos so you'll receive a few seconds of time away from him), you aid Jill in her efforts to patch up her bike. Apparently, an animal had squeezed through some cranny and claimed Jill's baby (besides you, of course) as its dinner. With how deliberately it seemed that the vehicle was unable to function, you wonder what actually occurred during the night.

Never once in your life could you have ever considered fixing a motorcycle to be quite a fun process. And never could you have considered being covered in motor oil to be something so intimate, the inside jokes and coquettish comments from Jill adding to the romance, too.

Absorbed in patching up the complex structure of the fuel system, you don't realize how the hem of your sweater falls from your shoulder. Jill notices, however — oh, how she notices. If you hadn't been so engrossed in the activity your hands were occupied with, you'd see how her eyes latch to your naked skin and the way her mouth waters at the sight.

"Done!" Reaching your hand over, your sleeve treads lower when you set the pliers down upon the rusted tray beside you, exposing even more of your skin. You subconsciously pull the garment to shield your shoulder from the gusts of wind permeating the room (or the hungry eyes that crave to see everything torn from your body).

With a lack of knowledge about motorcycles in general, considering you have never been on one in your life, you make a quirky remark about "testing the new ride!" and sit down on the leather-threaded seat. Though, you sit entirely backward on the vehicle without a spark of false nature in your expression. Do you really think that's how you're supposed to ride a motorcycle? God, just when Jill thought you couldn't get even more adorable, you draw a new line in the sand.

“You tryna' turn me on?" Her voice drops to a low husk, a tone she has never presented but has always been reserved for you, anyway.

"What?" You furrow your brows and quirk your head like a puppy dog. And the sight does not aid the mayhem within the pit of her stomach.

She stands from the rolling stool and slowly treads to the back of the motorcycle, now standing right in front of you. The way you look up at her makes her absolutely exasperated with desire.

"'Too damn good at getting my attention. 'Got me all wrapped around that lil' finger of yours, huh?”

"I... I don't know what you're talking about...?"

"Really now? Sittin' reverse cowgirl and you expect me to not want to tear you apart?"

You flush in response to her insinuations, babbling jumbled nonsense in an attempt to explain your honest mistake. Jill leans closer to you, mere inches of space between you now. Resting her hand against the seat to support her weight, the other toys with the hem of that damned shirt in the way of what she wants most. She can practically feel the warmth radiating off your cheeks, and God, does it make her feral.

The expanse between you two hastens with less and less room, to where you lean backward in response. It isn't until you are entirely draped among the bike does she finally halt and hovers over you, practically bathing in how you blush from the intimacy.

"... Jill...?" You exhale breathlessly, your flustered state adding fuel to the fiery state of her inflated ego.

Despite the fantasies she's had of this moment, the scene she constructed won't be brought to light today. All the teasing, toying, and images where she'd force you to beg for her touch — she has dirtied her brain in the most pleasurable way possible. But, she's far too greedy; way too impatient. There is no possible reality in which she could restrain herself at this moment unless she was somehow physically tied down. Still, she'd find a way to wrangle herself out of any barrier if it meant you'd be lying beneath her like this. So inviting, gorgeous, and ready for her.

The kiss she pulls you into is suffocating.

The fervent, honeyed look trapped in your eyes, how could you expect her to resist? To control herself? Jill indulges herself in the taste of you and places a gentle hand against your waist. Despite being stuck in a cloud of dizzying enrapturement, she is still wary of pushing your boundaries.

Always so eager, however, mere seconds have gone by before Jill converts the intimate kiss to practically shoving her tongue down your throat. She lathes the appendage over the grooves of your teeth, the plush surface of your delectable tongue, and just everywhere she can possibly reach. Almost as if she were a dog, she's lapping every bit of you she can garner from your mouth.

You're dazed with lust, as well. Every little whimper for more is muffled against her greedy mouth but still succeeds in pushing Jill further into a sort of monster-like ravaging. What finally drives her over the edge of becoming an absolute beast is when you grasp hold of her free hand and guide it under your shirt, gasping when her frigid fingers make contact with your nipple.

She doesn't acknowledge how your desire looks like a mere breadcrumb in comparison to her own colossal need for you. Jill is too caught up in reveling in your reciprocation and her own burning hunger to pay the thought any mind.

For the first time in what feels like an eternity, she parts from your mouth, a string of saliva connecting you to one another.

You're not given a moment to catch your breath, not when a sudden gasp escapes your mouth as Jill begins to tear your clothes from your form. You're gasping her name, using your limbs to shield your naked skin while she continues to rapidly undress you. Every single part of you is now on display for Jill to watch and indulge in. Before you can express your shock at the fucking animal she has abruptly become, she locks a hand around your jaw and forces your gaze on her.

"Open." The authority in her tone doesn't grant you a second to even consider disobeying her. Without words, it is clear as day that Jill Valentine is the one in control.

Letting your tongue loll out of your mouth, you await her next actions with anticipation. She spits a glob of saliva onto the muscle and her supercilious laughter fans against your face. How precious it is the way your eyes perceptibly glisten from her actions. A sharp demand of "swallow" and you obey once more, never ridding her of the intense eye contact she has trapped you in.

Her index and middle finger prod at the flesh of your lips, where you eagerly invite them into your mouth. She sighs out a curse at the feeling of your tongue wrapping itself around her fingers and how you slurp the digits like a goddamn popsicle.

"Dirty fuckin' thing, aren't you?" Jill's fingers delve deeper, losing herself in the way you gag around her and whine out a muffled "mm-hmm!" as a reply.

Pulling her fingers from your mouth with an animated pop!, Jill's eyes never leave the ocean of passion in your eyes as she treads her hand lower.

With teasing efforts that her greedy self doesn't indulge in for too long, her fingers soon nudge against your sex. The contact causes a gasp to flee from your mouth. Circling around your entrance, you're only able to squeeze in several pleas for more before she's forcefully shoving her fingers inside of you.

While you throw your head back with a sharp moan, Jill's jaw drops as she realizes how she is finally able to feel every sliver of you. Inside and out. The spongy expanse of your walls; the silk of your essence mixing with the saliva you left upon her fingers. The garage is painted in the lewd sounds of your whimpers and the squelching induced by her fingers. Everything is perfect.

“Jesus Christ, baby... I could fuck you like this for days.” Her voice causes you to squeeze around her as if you were trying to physically cling to the mind-numbing sensations she's giving you.

Within seconds, Jill finds your sweet spot and begins to torture the love-button. Her calloused digits penetrate deep against it and the stimulation shifts your moans up an octave. With a "yeah? feelin' good?", you can only nod and succumb to the sounds that fall from your mouth.

With how paradisiacal the vehemence her fingers bring, you aren't able to ponder over how this woman is able to magically know your every weak spot, every sensitive bud, and the exact rhythms you prefer without ever informing her. Almost as if she's seen you do the same to yourself.

Soon, however, the heat becomes too much for you to handle and you begin to squirm in her grasp. Even when you whine pathetically about how it's too much, Jill doesn't falter her efforts in the slightest.

"Can't stop, baby... 'Clenching 'round me too tight, got me stuck in here." Her condescending tone and sultry smirk make you cry out in heavenly misery. God, it's only two lanky fingers and you feel more stuffed than a Thanksgiving turkey.

Her digits soon accelerate in speed, your body jolting from the force and legs beginning to quiver. A fire pervades in your core with how forcefully she massages your sweet spot and you let out pornographic "ah!"'s with every thrust she forces into you. The smirk on her face vanishes when you bring your forearm to your mouth in an attempt to muffle the unruly noises tumbling out. She swats your arms away, never ceasing her endeavors to bring you the most Earth-shattering pleasure you could ever know.

"Car-Carlos... He'll hear..." You manage to squeak out. And the sudden shift in her expression makes a surge of fear course through you.

"Carlos? 'Fuck you thinking bout' him for?"

Roughly, Jill pulls one leg of yours to your chest and is able to drive her fingers in deeper. You didn't even think it was possible, hence the shock and sucker-punched look on your face. She sharply reminds you of how it is only you and her together. Not in an attempt to comfort, but to emphasize the territory she has marked. And you can barely hear her possessive tangent through the sound of your own heart racing and the wet, sucking sound of your walls latching onto her. The mewls escaping your mouth have increased in volume and intensity, Carlos now nothing but a distant memory in your foggy brain.

"Y'know I once caught him sniffing your sweater like some sort of depraved junkie? Hand stuffed in his pants like a fuckin' pervert?" You can barely hear the woman speak, not when she's simultaneously turning you into nothing but a pile of mush.

“Bet he’s biting his damn fists thinking about me fuckin' you like this. 'Crying like a bitch knowing you're getting the best fuck of your life out here.” Once again, you're too dumb with pleasure to remind Jill you are also biting your fists and crying fat tears, but for different reasons than the vision she painted of Carlos.

“All mine, all fuckin' mine, baby. No one can fuck you like me, no one...” Her free hand finds its way to your nipple. The pulling and tugging earn her a loud cry from your throat that she practically revels in.

That familiar, but now incredibly stifling and heart-stopping, pool of heat begins to build in your tummy. With a slack jaw and incoherent ramblings, you attempt to find your voice and express the inevitable incoming through your incessant wailing.

"Jill, I-... I'm gonna- Fuck- I'm gonna...!" Jill quirks a brow in response.

"Gonna cum, baby? Hmm?" She exhaled with a quick chuckle, fully splitting you open with her fingers at this point. "All your fault, all your fault for being this fuckin' pretty. Can't fuckin' resist.”

“No, I-... I can’t help it when your fingers are just- just fucking stretching me out.” You throw your head back once more. The way the motorcycle juts uncomfortably at your skull fails to overpower the sheer fervor you're feeling.

Jill merely laughs in response. “Yeah? 'Gonna get all messy on my fingers? Get your fuckin' cum all over my bike?” The heat within you builds and builds until it becomes suffocating for your sweaty body to contain.

"C'mon, pretty thing. Cum f'me..."

With that, the damn breaks and it's as if you had released an entire tsunami the way you spurt around Jill.

Her mouth latches to yours during your peak, tongues mashing against one another. Chest pressed against yours, all your senses know are Jill, Jill, Jill. It is practically agonizing, how gut-wrenchingly pleasurable the orgasm is.

And Jill, all she can do is coo, tease, and watch in absolute wonder at how perfect this was. How perfect you are. When your peak is finally pacified into calm waves, your body goes limp against the bike and your essense leaks onto the clean leather. The entire room seems to melt away while you're brain is still scrambling to garner any brain cells Jill had managed to fuck out of you.

She removes her fingers from your heavenly heat and just stares at the way your slick paints her digits. Standing, Jill uses her heel to kick the rolling stool behind her. Her slender figure is finally able to rest as she sits down, heavy gaze still locked on the captivating sight of you all over her fingers. She brings them to her lips, eyes watering when she is able to catch a whiff, but stops herself before they can reach past and show her tongue what heaven is.

An idea, albeit a bad one (something Jill is notorious for), sprouts in her mind. The part of your body she has so kindly destroyed is sitting right before her, like a grand meal crafted by the most talented chef, just for her. Surely, a meal better than anything Carlos has ever made (which she knows he would certainly agree with, but she digresses).

With a kick to the cement floor, the stool slides across the room. Hastily grabbing a few random cable ties, Jill then swerves back to you. A gentle hand on your cheek, she presses yet another kiss to your whimpering mouth. It is soft and sweet, but it is easy to notice the dominating tendencies that lie beneath the surface. You reciprocate the affections, albeit clumsily, due to your dazed state.

While your tongues practically cuddle with one another, adorning the other in heaps of saliva, you can barely feel how Jill grasps hold of your wrist. She then presses it against the motorcycle handlebar. With her mouth latched to yours like a leech, she uses the cable tie to restrain your wrist to the handle. The other wrist is tied to the adjacent bar swiftly, to where you are now entirely restrained to the bike.

What she plans to do will be far too much for your exhausted body to handle. So, she must ensure that you stay pliant and accept even more heaps of the torturous zeal she intends for you to endure.

Fortunately, you don't seem to mind one bit. Your poor brain still hasn't processed that you will soon go through that same overwhelming, almost-painful pleasure once more. Scooting closer to you, Jill's heavy breaths fan against your sex and earns her a faint gasp from the light stimulation. Mere inches away, the scent of you floods her senses and further envelops her into whatever magic spell you put her under.

Six years. Six whole years.

Through the depraved loneliness of being without the one she loves most, there was always a curious desire that prodded at her brain.

How would you take her? Would you like it rough and intense or soft and tender? What sounds would you make? Would you be shamelessly loud or try to restrain your cute whines? How much stamina would you have? Could she make you weak with mere minutes of intimate contact or would you challenge her to hours of bringing you venereal satisfaction?

The mere idea always sends her hands downstairs, vowing that she'll find you and make you feel even half the sheer euphoria you gift her. And as if the heavens had heard her prayers, despite her irreverent mentality, you have finally returned to her.

With that, Jill lets her jaw drop and tongue fall. Greedily, yet savorly, she drags the muscle from the bottom of your sex to the top.

And the ecstatic delirium that floods her body rivals any drug she could ever pump into her system.

You yank against your restraints and cry from the sudden sensation, her hot breath against your most sensitive parts only adding to the overstimulation. A pleasured groan absconds from Jill's muffled mouth. She has teased this idea numerous times, but the fantasies she's had where she wondered how your essence would sit on her tongue, none of it compared to the real thing.

Better than the most arduous whiskey, better than the ripest fruits, better than water after an eternity spent in a desert. She'd give anything to spend the rest of her life down here.

"Jesus- fuck, baby." Her curses are muted due to the close contact, but with a licentious squelch, she casts her gaze to your face. "If I was on death row, I'd choose this as my last meal... Oh, I'd die a fuckin' saint."

The lewd noises and dirty talk only make you flush more. With your arms restrained, there's no shyly covering your face or hushing your salacious noises. You are entirely vulnerable to whatever Jill intends to put you through.

And as quick as she pulled back to express the thoughts running through her mind, she dives right back into you. There's no gradual descent, no build-up. Just an unadulterated, hungered frenzy that Jill takes out on your poor body. Every devouring suckle has your legs squirming, which she is able to hold down with ease. Nothing can prevent Jill from indulging in the absolute nirvana leaking out of you. Nothing.

Slurping and sucking like a goddamn vampire, you whimper about how the pleasure is too much for you to handle. A hushed chuckle escapes from Jill and reverberates through your entire body, the appending commotion sending a warm tremble down your spine. She could never stop so soon, not with your candied flavor and gorgeous sounds enveloping her like a soft embrace.

Jill was never one to simply flick her tongue, either. No, she was insistent on having your juices explore every inch of her mouth, no matter if it strained her jaw or numbed her tongue. God, this woman was practically drunk on you.

“Could never be done with this pretty body, baby. Never.” Everything you are now experiencing has your brain blanking, entirely unable to process any of her words.

Even when you try to put on your best puppy-dog eyes, as it always makes her weak, she refused to abandon her desires. Your relentless pleas for mercy simply fall on deaf ears. Through all her snarky comments and cocky remarks, it's almost comical how the only way to shut her up was for you to just let her put her mouth all over you.

And everything is just so lewd, so sloppy, so rough. Crescent-moon shapes are carved into your thighs as she pins them down, allowing her greedy mouth further access. Satisfied groans escape from Jill as she just revels in how good it is to be smothered in the absolute love potion pouring into her mouth. Bony hands cling to your hips as she rolls you in a rushed rhythm, needily grinding you against her mouth. Lapping at you like a goddamn slushie, all you can do is lay back and accept the relentless torture. And God, it drives you fucking insane.

You don't even recognize yourself anymore; you've become reminiscent of a famous pornstar the way slobber leaks down your chin and how your moans bounce off the walls. And Jill is just drinking in this sight. She hopes that if she stares long enough, this image will forever be burned into her memory and imprinted behind her eyelids. An eternal porno crafted just for her.

With another flare of heat building, one far more intense than ever before, you truly begin to lose yourself in the whirlpool of soul-crushing pleasure. And every suck and churn of her tongue has your back arching uncontrollably, pushing you further and further to that edge.

Everything intensifies and before you can whimper out a warning, the mob within you releases and you practically gush onto Jill's face.

You cut off her animalistic grunts with the loudest sound you're positive you have ever made. Not even the screams of terror you let out back in Raccoon City could compare to the sheer volume that escapes your throat at this moment. Your entire body is enveloped in violent shivers, to where Jill has to cling to you to prevent the shocks from sending you to the ground. Her covetous tongue guzzles every last drop of you.

It isn't until she hears a cry framed with more pain than pleasure does she finally snap from her libido-filled daze. This doesn't prevent her from indulging in one last obnoxious slurp before finally parting from the best meal she has ever had.

From the jacket she had thrown indolently against the table, Jill reaches over and pulls out her rusted pocket knife. She scoots closer to your face, heart lurching when she sees the tears painting your cheeks. She wipes them clean with her thumb and presses a languid kiss to your sweat-ridden forehead.

Swiftly, Jill cuts the ties around your wrist while remaining ever-so careful to prevent harming your precious skin. Now free, you let out a feeble whimper and grasp hold of her shoulders, outright begging for her care. And Jill practically melts into a puddle at the sight. She encases her constricting arms around your waist and relishes in the way your wrap your arms firmly around her. God, you make her so fucking weak.

You never need to ask her for affection. She would give you absolutely anything.

"Sweet butterfly, you did so fuckin' good. 'Came so hard f'me."

You wrap your naked legs around Jill's form as a means to get even closer to her. In response, she has to keep the sudden flare of desire derived from the action at bay. She's put you through enough, after all. Someone as drop-dead gorgeous as you, anyone in their right mind would plead with the universe to feel those beautiful legs wrapped around them. However, she can't indulge in the fantasies that consisted of you latching onto her like this. Oh, another day. Another day...

When your brain is able to clear through all the dissipated fog, you find yourself in the bathroom with the woman who brought you pleasure you didn't know existed. Stifling water pours down your body, and you are locked in Jill's nude embrace.

Taking a shower with her — this was nothing out of the ordinary. For the five months you have spent here, she has always insisted on washing you with a myriad of excuses. From wishing to show you a new body wash to insisting you were too ill to do it by yourself, cleaning yourself alone is a privilege you haven't known in ages.

The scent of your favorite body wash now sits on your wet skin. Her calloused fingers massage the ambrosial suds into your body and you swear you could fall asleep from the peaceful rhythm. Pampering you, despite your assurances of how you can take care of yourself, is something she has always loved to do. With how easy it is to send you into a state of tranquility, it never fails to make her laugh. Like a sleepy puppy, she jokes to herself.

Ever so greedily, Jill grasps your jaw tenderly and ushers you to meet her gaze.

“C'mon, give me a kiss, baby. Taste how good I made you feel.”

In response, you make weary endeavors to place your lips against her chapped ones. She hums, how cute.

Taking the full initiative of effort, Jill moans as she molds her mouth against yours once again. Her tongue slithers in, allowing you to bask in the flavor she has developed a newfound addiction to. The act of affection is quick, considering how the heat of your nude body and your mouth against hers may push Jill into numbing your mind with pleasure, once more.

From here, she lets you rest your head against her shoulder and your tired body against her form. She continues to massage the fruit-scented soap into your skin, indulging in the satisfied hums she earns when she massages certain knots out of your muscles.

"Y'know, Carlos had a fuckin' field day when I took you back into the house. 'Thought I was murdering you in there, heh." You've been steered into such a meditative state, your exhausted brain fails to process any of Jill's words.

"It's a fuckin' miracle he let me be alone with you right now. 'Had to threaten him with telling you what I caught him doing with your sweater. Fuckin' idiot was so scared, he doesn't even know I already told you."

She presses an abiding kiss to your head before continuing.

"Do you remember, baby? Or were you too fucked out to use your head...? Kinda hard to listen to me when I'm fuckin' your brains out, huh?"

Other than being between your thighs, Jill could spend forever here.

Nights spent trying out facemasks with ridiculous scents, drawing hearts and your initials on the steamed shower walls, and the adoring giggle you give her when she lets you use her hair and face to make soap mohawks or soap beards. There is nothing in the universe that could equate to the ineluctable love Jill has for you. Absolutely nothing.

As every night goes, she massages fragranced lotions into your flesh and dresses you in cloud-soft pajama bottoms. This time, however, she reluctantly wraps one of Carlos' shirts around your form as compensation on his end for what she put you through.

Speaking of the devil, her fingers merely hover over the lock on the bathroom door and he is already trying to force his way in. With a hushed yell of "They're sleeping, can you chill the fuck out!?" Carlos is barrelling into the room, shoving past Jill, and rushing to where your unconscious body is resting on the bathroom counter.

In an instant, his always-gentle hands are on your body, checking for injuries, and faintly whimpers out "My baby" and "What did she do to you?" Jill rolls her eyes and scoffs at how dramatic he is. She would never hurt you, he should know that by now.

Carlos then brings you into his arms as if he were cradling a baby bird, carrying you out of the ensuite and to the lavish sheets of his bed. Two sets of glares at each other, as if they were teenage girls fighting for the heart of the dashing quarterback, and Jill begrudgingly leaves the bedroom.

Locking the door behind her, Carlos wastes no time in climbing beneath the expensive covers and enveloping you in an embrace. The anger poking at his sanity is eased from the warm weight of your body as he snuggles into you. You've always had a knack for mending even the worst parts of him, after all. Still, the rage provoked by what that monster put his precious bumblebee through simmers beneath the surface.

"I should have stopped it. I should have been there..." Carlos places a hand against your chest, searching for the sound that he is wholly convinced can mend any and all turmoil. "But, she would have taken you from me if I stopped her... I'm so sorry, my bumblebee..." The familiar ba-bump! beneath your flesh rivals a genuine lullaby.

Hours passed, and your heartbeat soothes Carlos into a deep slumber. Those protective arms never once weaken from around your body.

Moonlight now paints the bedroom and frames your face; Jill thinks you were painted by Da Vinci himself as she admires you in your unconscious state. The way you so frivolously make her heart grow without lifting a finger should be considered a crime. Though, the sight of you in handcuffs may convince her to give you a lighter sentence. Several gentle nudges to your arm and your eyes flutter open. A finger is pressed to your lips when you try and inquire about her intentions.

"Wanna get outta here?" The prospect of being out of this prison cell makes a smile grow on your lips. Slowly, you remove the constricting arms of Carlos from around your waist and escape the warm expanse of blankets.

Tip-toeing through the home, hushed giggles fill the silent air as you and Jill finally arrive at the garage. Another idea, albeit a bad one (once again, something she is notorious for), had sprouted in her mind. A quick ride on her new-and-improved motorcycle and you'll be back before Carlos even notices you're gone, she assures you. To let you momentarily venture away from this humble abode like a bratty child whose time-out has ended was all you truly wanted.

She has her signature battered jeans on with her biker jacket. Meanwhile, you're stood with your fluffy pajama bottoms, t-shirt beneath a chunky sweater (since Carlos insisted you'd get cold during the night), and bumblebee slippers. The teddy-bear necklace he gifted you is adorned around your neck, as well. You always feel a strange familiarity when you catch sight of the bumblebee necklace he is never seen without. Where have you seen it before?

You'd feel like a loser in her presence if it weren't for those damned heart eyes she's giving you. Jill loves you. So, so much. Even through everything that has happened in these few months, that much is for certain.

"C'mon, wasn't it you who said you wanted to test out the new ride? Or do you not remember that, either?" She taps the seat behind her as a gesture for you to join her.

You fumble to catch the spare helmet she chucks your way and copy how she fastens hers around her head. If you had learned anything that day, motorcycle logic is something you are certainly not familiar with.

Before you are able to sit in the exact spot you had lost all rational thought in just hours ago, Jill halts your actions. She stands to her feet and begins to scrutinize the state of your helmet, all to ensure everything is secure and protecting that pretty face of yours. Despite her reckless nature, anything that could jeopardize your safety has alarms blaring all throughout her thoughts. Still, you deserve to partake in the adrenaline-inducing excitement only she can bring.

Propping down onto the seat (correctly, this time), your arms hover around Jill's waist in an awkward attempt to respect boundaries. Impatient and needy as ever, she revs the engine and the sudden, thunderous roar has you clinging to her body in startlement. The sound will surely wake Carlos, despite his deep-sleeping nature. Swiftly, before the angered grizzly bear can storm out and drag you back to safety, Jill hastens down the long driveway surrounded by empty forestry.

Making a mental note of any potential landmarks was fruitless. There is absolutely nothing that could verify where on planet Earth you were right now. Through the grapevine, or just the instances you've eavesdropped on Jill and Carlos' arguments, this home you've resided in was apparently in Spain. Where exactly in Spain do the three of you live, you haven't a clue. Any inquiries you have expressed have been neglected.

She then accelerates her speed in a teasing manner just to feel you cling harder to her, knocking the thoughts from your brain. With the few vehicles that have passed by you both, you still make effort to scrutinize their identity. All attempts were jeopardized by Jill who sped past them. As a last resort, you had considered jumping from the bike and making an abrupt dash into the woods. However, with broken bones and no ears to listen to your cries for help, that plan was abandoned as quickly as it was formed.

At least the sex is good, you shamefully muse to yourself.

It had only been a mere 20 minutes before you returned to the dirt roads leading to your "humble" abode. From the garage, you see how the golden kitchen light glimmers through the windows and you mentally prepare yourself for the hurricane swarming your way.

With how engrossed you were with your mind, you haven't processed how Carlos will react to you being out of his train of vision for more than several seconds.

Jill's boot knocks the kickstand into place, seemingly reveling in her last few moments before you'd inevitably be snatched away from her. Despite how malleable Carlos was with a few empty threats regarding you, she knows that she crossed a line and nothing will make him bend. Still, she has no regrets whatsoever. Any moment with you is absolute paradise, no matter what consequences may follow afterward.

As if you were two teenagers who snuck out past curfew, you both walk through the front door with your tails between your legs. When you had fully expected Carlos to sprint over to you, the entire opposite happens. Upon your sudden entrance, all he does is sit at the kitchen island, staring blankly into the empty counter. The clutching of his fists, the bulge above his brow, the strain of his clenched jaw — all the telltale signs show that he is absolutely enraged. And the sheer aura of his fury is enough to make you capitulate into the corner.

An arrogant remark sits right on the edge of Jill's lips, but with a wave of your hand, you stop and assure her of how you can handle whatever tantrum is imminent. Approaching slowly, as if Carlos were a feral animal ready to maul anything that moves, you tread behind the island and halt straight across from him.

"I... I wore a helmet...?" You cringe at your own attempt at reassurance.

Face sheen with enmity, Carlos merely turns his head gradually and shifts his full attention to Jill. For the very first time in five months, your presence is ignored. It is almost as if you aren't even there.

You go on a clumsy tangent about how the entire stunt was not devoid of any safety precautions. Still, Carlos' full attention remains on Jill, who stands complacent as she practically revels in his dismay. Day after day, she has always won against him. Twisting his words, pulling his strings, declaring empty threats — he yields to her time after time. How terrified he is of the capability she has to destroy what little piece of you he has.

At this moment, however, this wrath within him has boiled over like a soup left behind on a burning stove. And the way he now looks at her is terrifying. If she goes missing before dawn, you won't be surprised.

In an attempt to save you from your awkward (albeit too-fucking adorable) rambling, Jill opens her mouth to deliver an eloquent explanation. She is able to verbalize a mere syllable before Carlos slams his fist into the countertop, the surface cracking beneath the force of his strength. You cower away from the sudden shift in his energy, which he fails to notice.

Standing abruptly, he charges at Jill in three large strides. Winding his arm back, he surges his fist forward and strikes her in the nose. She grunts, stumbling in her stance from the contact. The room is overwhelmed by silence, accompanied by two sets of panting breaths. Jill spits out a large web of blood onto the hardwood floors and without flinching, she forces her nose back into place with a gut-wrenching crack.

Entirely flabbergasted, you merely stand like a dumbfounded fool while you watch the following events play out.

"That's all 'ya got, pussy? C'mon, man. Hit me!" A smile painted with blood stretches on her face and Carlos ignites with rage. He wants her fucking dead.

Another strike lands on her face once more, to where she slumps to her knees when her legs fail her. Quirking her head, she looks up to Carlos with that annoyingly-smug smirk. Coughing out a bitter chuckle, Jill can't refrain from expressing how hilarious she finds Carlos' pathetic attempt at taking you from her. The way he stands before her, so overwhelmed with farcical rage. How can expect her not to burst out laughing from the pitiful sight?

And without words, the tense gaze they share with one another expresses the same declaration. No matter how much blood is spilled, you can't take them away from me. Using the wall for stability, Jill is able to lift herself from the ground, sharp eyes still attached to Carlos' glower.

"You want a fucking piece of me!? I'll kill you right now, pack my shit, and then take Y/N somewhere you won't ever hurt them again!" The second the words fall from his mouth, that familiar, pompous expression plastered on Jill's face suffers from an abrupt shift.

The sheer audacity this man has to feel entitled to you baffles her. Especially after such undeserving kindness she has shown him. Informing him of your location in Umbrella's sanctuary, the mere act of allowing him in your presence was far more than he could ever deserve. Every day of the past six years had been spent tearing her soul to indistinguishable shreds before sculpting every piece back. And like Hell, she'd let this underdog rid her of the most important thing in her life.

A gasp is precipitously torn from you when Jill withdraws her pocket knife from her leather jacket. With a swift stab and a loud roar, Carlos manages to block her efforts. Still, he remained one second too late when she managed to slice into his arm. He squalls from the harrowing contact but is swift in his recovery.

Despite the blood rushing down his forearm, he surges another punch toward her face. Jill is able to dodge his angry fist, dropping her beloved knife, before launching a brutal blow to his jaw. The force sends Carlos tumbling to the ground with a harsh clamor. After several years of heavy lifting to relieve stress, Jill has built quite a lot of strength. Carlos, as well, but the sheer rage she now possesses could combat even the strongest of brutes.

She punts the knife across the floor and away from his reaching grasp, hereby declaring to send this man to his demise with her bare hands. Straddling him, he has no time to defend himself when she begins to send punch after punch wherever her fists can land.

"Try that shit and I'll gut you like a fuckin' fish!" Jill's newfound tone is reminiscent of an actual monster. The tone has you shuddering in your stance as you can only stare in sheer dread.

The sight of splattered blood and blooming bruises causes nausea to squirm in your stomach like an unwelcome insect. All the words and pleas you wish to scream out are seemingly trapped in the expanse of your throat. Trying to physically separate the two rabid animals may cause you to be harmed in the crossfire. You fear what infantilizing, guilt-ridden treatment you may receive upon that probability. Instead, in a quick flare of rationality, you conjure up an idea you are positive will end this sudden explosion of violence. An idea you know will make them weak.

Without a second thought, the words are spilling from your mouth in a desperate shout.

"I'M LEAVING!"

Voice cracking and laced with awkward nerves, your sudden uproar still succeeds in capturing both of their attention. And the alter in their behavior is so abrupt, it is almost as if they weren't ever at each other's throats. In seconds, they're scrambling to their feet and rushing to your aid, the bloodied knife and fallout of savagery now nonexistent.

"You've seen there's nothing out there for miles, you'd be chow for the wolves!" Jill's voice has returned to the familiar tone she has claimed for you.

Eyes now shimmering with the desperate softness you're so amicable with, it is bewildering how swift these two are to team up when they need it the most.

"Not much different than what's in here..."

If it was audible, the sound of their hearts shattering would burst your eardrums from the sheer mass. Carlos' reaction is overtly emotional, as he always is. Jill perceptibly abates from your words, the sudden sorrow enveloping her expression a shock to you. That collected nature she always acquires crumbles right before your very eyes.

Before she can cling to you and vow to give you whatever it is you want, as long as you stay, Carlos falls to his knees and grasps your full attention. With his head against the floor and his hands clinging to your legs, he proceeds to grovel for you. Warm tears cascade onto your feet and you discern how the raging storm has finally eased. All that is left now is the sound of Carlos' raucous crying and Jill's stressed suspires.

Casting his gaze upwards, Carlos' face is twisted from the sobs jutting out of his body. "I'm so sorry. I'm so, so, so, so, so, sorry. Hit me, stab me, skin me, do anything! Just... Just don't leave me...”

A gentle hand to your forearm and Jill is whispering of how it's time for you to go to bed. You clench your teeth, ready to inquire if she was genuinely serious. However, the notable guilt in her manner informs you of the actual demand she asks of you. Please, end this. It is only you who can calm us.

From this revelation, you oblige by her orders and begin to stride away from this mess. To feel you move from his tenacious touch, further away from him, Carlos suddenly springs to his feet. He envelops you with his full body weight, another whimper of "don't leave me" whispered into your neck. Never weakening his grasp, you guide him out of the kitchen and you both amble together to Carlos' bedroom. Meanwhile, Jill plants her head in her bruised hands, a sigh of defeat escaping her from how disastrous she has let this day become.

Tonight, Carlos sought any inkling of solace you have. Anything to promise him you are still here with him.

Attempting to flick off the lamplight, your efforts were futile when he practically chucks you into the comforters. Despite his aggression to keep you close (and away from that barbarian), he holds you as if he were handling glass. As he always does.

With a heavy-set preference, he adores sleeping in any position that grants him the privilege of listening to your heartbeat and inhaling your wondrous scent. The combining senses serve as an enlightening reminder that you are alive and here with him. This night was certainly no different, as Carlos clambers into bed with you, albeit clumsily due to his large figure. He then nuzzles his head between the expanse of your shoulder and neck comfortably.

The human-weighted blanket resting on top of you mollifies your exhausted body. Carlos has an earthy scent, like Summer air and fresh grass right after a rainstorm. It soothes you into dreamland and this fact fills you with shame, as well. This sudden contrast in your life doesn't fog your judgment entirely, though. With every day the rain falls, you have come to learn several new things.

Oh, how Carlos Oliveira loves the scent of Y/N L/N.

It is evident throughout every day, where fragments of his obsession are sprinkled into every moment you spend together.

Taking a deep inhale, the serenity that courses through his bones causes his eyes to roll back into his skull. How absolutely serene it is to feel your fingers combing through his thick hair, arms adorned around his brawny figure, and tender lips pressed to his forehead. His cries, now reduced to soft whimpers, tickle against your skin.

No matter the circumstances, being enveloped in your embrace as the day comes to an end will always make his heart swell. To climb into bed and find the most beautiful, breathtaking sight at the edge of his fingertips — there is no bliss quite like it.

The aroma that sent him to heaven six years ago, how he had searched high and low for anything reminiscent of it. A multitude of soaps, air fresheners, perfumes, laundry detergent, and just anything that contained a similar scent to you encircled his home. Despairingly, he has tried to recreate this and pretended it was your fragrance pervading from your warm, lively body. Nevertheless, his efforts were futile.

The scent you possessed was evocatively ambrosial, but it was utterly human. It was so unique, he felt like a fool for believing something as mere as a lit candle or a stick of deodorant could ever replicate that perfection.

At this moment, however, Carlos inhales your scent from your body as if he couldn't breathe. And he is positive there is nothing in the world that could rival the sheer euphoria it gives him. Within minutes, the man using you as his personal mattress begins to snore like a lawn mower. Soon, you fall asleep within his tenacious embrace, as well.

Once morning draws and you blink into consciousness, you find yourself entirely by your lonesome. No clinging Carlos, no amorous Jill. Just sheer, unadulterated solitude. You hadn't realized how familiar the prospect of waking up with company had become, especially after years of early-morning seclusion. The rain still falls; the birds still sing. And for the first time in months, you are alone.

This revelation is short-lived when the man who had clung to you for the entire night soon enters the bedroom. The wound on his arm has since been tended to, the bruises left behind are now affixed to his skin, and his face is puffy from the tears that cascaded just hours before. Through all of this, an almost-manic smile is planted on his face. All as if nothing had ever happened.

A delectable scent follows his presence when he brings a serving cart into the room. On the cart, he had perfected a myriad of dishes for you to enjoy. A stack of French toast, a steaming frittata, scattering scones, multiple parfaits, and numerous other gourmet dishes you can't even dream of pronouncing the names of. All of this for three people, you fear that Carlos will make you devour every last crumb and the ongoing effects it will have on your poor stomach. The way he normally does to ensure you aren't left hungry, as every morning consisted of something along these themes.

In this case, however, the belligerent display of affection and the lingering shadow of last night's events differ immensely from what you had adapted to.

Gleefully, Carlos sits at the edge of the bed beside you and drapes a bed tray upon your lap. A mug painted in your favorite color is full of tea and sits on an neighboring coaster, while he sits and waits anxiously for you to pick your first dish of the day.

When you notice the single set of cutlery, reserved for just you and him to share, you furrow your brows. Where is Jill's set? And why hasn't she prevented him from cooking such an obnoxious amount of food?

Carlos' body goes rigid the instant you speak her name. With an alarmingly flat tone, he claims that she is gone for "work purposes," and despite your hesitance to believe him, he speaks of nothing but the truth.

After such a vicious outburst, Jill had humbly concluded that her relentless torture against Carlos must falter. Not for his sake, but for yours. Now, she will gift him a single day (nothing more) to entirely immerse himself in your healing presence, the same way a child needs to snuggle their teddy bear after a nightmare. While she is away, however, you and your well-being are stamped in her mind and prevent her from completing any work. It makes her sick with worry.

The event affected all three of you, physically and mentally. The several seconds spent with Carlos informed you entirely of his current state, but Jill remained a mystery.

And when Carlos had first entered the bedroom, the sight of your bleary eyes and drooping eye bags almost made him burst into tears right then and there. Unfortunately, he had broken down several times during his tireless efforts to make you an entire buffet for breakfast. However, with what little strength he was able to muster, Carlos is able to dry his tears in your presence. Still, he cannot ponder how you may have feared him in that moment or he might just collapse into a mental breakdown on the floor.

His hands, slower and softer than ever before, find their way to your face. Cupping your cheeks, you find a tornado of swirling emotions within his eyes. Devastation, regret, devotion, guilt, obsession. It is bewildering and terrifying in the same vein.

"You know, last night, I..." The featheriness within his voice is a major contrast to the infuriated uproar you witnessed last night. "I thought you were gone. For good. Still, I… I should have controlled myself. I should have stopped Jill from taking you away, I mean you could've-..."

When those all-too-familiar tears prick at his eyes and threaten to fall, you know his strength has been worn thin. "I just- I-I don't know what I would do if you-"

Carlos cuts himself off with a cracked sob. A wobbly "I'm sorry" is whispered before he excuses himself and abruptly leaves the bedroom. The sounds of his unruly sobs follow him in his footsteps.

After such an intense evening, the consequences of the aftermath haven't truly settled in for you until this moment. Enveloped in silence, you ponder over how one sentence of yours had led to such a disastrous outcome. You contemplate how you had merely met these two in a random city and set them on a lifelong quest to make you forever theirs. At this moment, you question just how much you are capable of.

Plucking a random plate from the tray, you grasp hold of the cutlery and dig into the succulent dish. You eat alone for the first time in five months. You don't know what you have done, but you know you have to clean this mess. Might as well have some fun before it depreciates...

Caring for you, it is certainly no secret how much Carlos enjoys the act. With every assurance you are not some impotent child, all efforts fall on deaf ears. Though, you realize you may be able to mold this to your benefit.

Tending to your every need, it is not done out of upholding a burden. You can take care of yourself, but you do not have to. The look of gratitude you give Carlos when you thank him is reward enough.

This leaves him in Jill's ensuite bathroom, where a hamper overwhelmed with dirty clothes resides in the corner. Being your devoted house-husband practically makes him giddy, so the sight is never onerous in the slightest. Jill, being the slob at heart, did leave a few articles of clothing on the ground, despite the hamper being mere feet away. As irritating as this was, Carlos merely decorates his brain with delusions of the two of you living alone together. This phenomenon has aided him through his efforts in enduring her presence, living in his imagination where you and he live happily ever after. Far, far away.

The sole reason Carlos was not glued to your side at this exact moment was due to how he had just put you in bed for your afternoon nap. Your insistent remarks of how you do not need to sleep in the middle of the day, once again, fall on deaf ears. You have no choice but to rest while he tends to every burden of yours; all responsibilities you possess have now become his. And he could not possibly be happier.

At first, you had stubbornly stood by your exclamation that it would be impossible for you to fall asleep. However, with closed curtains enveloping the room in darkness, peaceful incense pervading the air, soft lullabies harmonizing from speakers, and comforters that could rival lambswool snuggled around you, it didn't take long for you to succumb.

With you now fast asleep, Carlos works hastily, yet thoroughly, around the house so he can return to the love den where you lie. Rubbing circles into your back that soothe you further into sleep, it never fails to make him beam with happiness. And despite his tireless efforts, the disgusting scent of Jill reeking from her clothes protrudes into his beloved fantasy.

A sneer forms on his lips as he pinches the garments with his fingers, touching as little of them as he could, before chucking them into the hamper. The force of the launch sends the entire hamper tumbling over, to where the mess of dirty laundry scatters amongst the clean tiles. He grumbles, once again using minimum effort to collect Jill's clothing while cooing upon holding every crumbled attire that belongs to you.

As he returns the laundry to its respectful place within the hamper, Carlos gleefully grasps hold of one of your henley shirts. What lies beneath causes him to freeze, however.

Shamefully, he salivates at the sight of your underwear.

Several times, this offer has tempted him. To revel in how your essence wafts from the garb, any sane human would want to breathe in that scent forever. But he is not like others; he is stronger than them. For you, he will tie his immense cravings to a leash and restrain them, however long and tight you seem fit.

Due to recent events, however, the structured guard he built brick-by-brick has suffered numerous blows. All at the hands of Jill Valentine. There is not a place in the universe where you could be a burden to him, but her? She is the only reason why anger still makes a home within him.

Carlos needs you. He selfishly needs every last sliver of you, everything Jill had robbed him of the previous day. The self-control he prided himself on has seemingly abandoned him. Then again, how could he control himself when this opportunity has fallen from the hands of God and directly into the palm of his hands? How could he control himself when the purest form of you sits right there, practically calling out his name in the sound of your voice?

With that, he rips the bandaid off. Faster than the speed of light, he yanks your underwear into his hands and practically shoves them into his nostrils. And Carlos moans, so loud and blatant, as the fragrance of you invades every sense in his body.

Familiar, but suddenly overwhelmingly sweltering, a tightness forms within his pants. His vision goes black as his eyes roll into the back of his skull, a sudden flash of light then enveloping his eyesight; his knees resort to jelly, to where he has to cling to the edge of the bathroom counter to maintain his balance. The other hand still clenches your underwear protectively and dependently, as if he were an Art Conservator and he was holding the beautiful Mona Lisa. Oh, it is absolute heaven.

"Is that my...?"

As quick as he had practically inhaled the garment entirely, Carlos had rid his body of the pleasure induced by your scent when your dulcet voice filled the bathroom. Tossing the clothing with the others in the hamper, he pretends to lean against the counter with a rushed "what?" coming out in a quiet squeak. He stands with a hot face provoked by utter humiliation. How did he not hear the door open?

However, there is no loathing or repugnance in your expression, like he had originally anticipated. There's a look of hubris that washes over you when your brain scrutinizes just what you had stumbled upon. An unfamiliar glint sparks in your eyes that he is unable to read. It intrigues him, still.

Mere seconds feel like an agonizing eternity as he stands in the depths of his selfish libido. Instead of cursing Carlos out for his perverted nature, as he, once again, had originally anticipated, you do the very last thing he expected. Your fingers grasp the hem of your shirt before you pull the garb from off your form. And the preposterous gasp that is exuded from him in response almost forces a boisterous laugh out of you.

Your pants follow after, the soft whomp of the clothing hitting the ground remaining the loudest sound in the silent, reticent room. Lastly, you slowly strip yourself of your underwear, the very last thing protecting you from exposure. And you don't have to shift your gaze to know this man's wide eyes are glued to every inch of your naked skin.

"If you like my clothes that much, all you had to do was ask! I have so much already, take as much as you'd like..." The feigned generosity seeping from your tone does not mend the disorder within Carlos' pants.

Hooking your finger around your undergarments, you stride toward the man who is left entirely flabbergasted by your actions.

Chest-to-chest, you speak to him in a low whisper. "Wouldn't you rather have something fresh, anyways?"

You use your free hand to toy with the edge of his shirt, admiring the way his strong physique juts against the fabric. When your finger makes contact with the raw flesh of his abdomen, Carlos heaves out an uneven, stuttered breath. Almost as if he had run a marathon, your mere touch sends him tripping face-first into oblivion. The firm hand he placed upon the counter surface hastens into a desperate gasp to keep his balance, once again.

Just when Carlos had thought he had stumbled upon the gates of heaven, you purr out praises that make his eyes roll back into his head for the nth time. How strong he was when he defended your life back in Raccoon City to how he always managed to carry the groceries with one hand. Your candied words provoke a dreamy sigh out of him.

The silence on his end is bridging on the cusp of awkward. His gaze is hazy and drooping as Carlos stares into your eyes, nowhere else.

"S-Sleep..." You could hear a pin drop before you could discern his nervous tone. "You should... You-You should be sl- sleeping..."

"Alone? Or... Would you rather I sleep with you?" Another gasp flees from Carlos. His entire body breaks out into a shiver from your implications.

As much as his brain practically pleads him not to, he shifts his gaze away from you and to the boring ceiling in a weak attempt at maintaining courtesy. The single act is more difficult than any obstacle he has faced in his entire life.

As shameful as it is, however, Carlos has thought of this scene plenty of times. How he fantasized about enhancing the flavor of his food by mixing your delectable juices with the dish. How he winced listening to every pained whimper Jill pulled from you, but how his active imagination was contaminated with visions of gratifying you more than she ever could. You deserve every inkling of happiness the world has to offer and Carlos vows on doing everything within his power to grant you such.

The garment once in your hand is now long forgotten on the bathroom floor. Your pretty fingers barely hover over the expanse of his happy trail, adorned in thick heaps of jet-black hair. And he goes lightheaded from the faint contact alone.

You've already taken notice of the way his member protrudes through his jeans, but it is now clear as day how desperate Carlos wishes for you to choose him instead of your afternoon nap. Fortunately for him, you venture further, further, and further into his pants until your hand cups around his cock, nothing but the thin layer of his underwear separating you two. Carlos is never one to swear around you, (except for last night, but that is irrelevant) claiming you deserve tender praises instead of such violent language. Though, when you touch him, he growls out the most guttural "fuck!" you've ever heard part from someone's lips.

Perceiving how something wet leaks through his underwear, you furrow your brows as the revelation settles. Did you bring this man to orgasm just from being naked? No wonder it is always Jill who washes you...

This should have been evident in the sudden acceleration of his breathing, the dreamy, lust-stained glimmer engulfing his eyes, or the way his body trembles as if had been stuck in a mid-Winter storm. He practically chucks his head back and rests against the bathroom mirror; his chopped fingernails could tear the counter in two with how firm he clenches onto the surface.

More gasps and soft whines escape his slack jaw, obviously abstaining from screaming how good you make him feel. And every pant of your name escaping his breathless self causes flares of heat to imbue your body.

More assembles of pre-cum amalgamate with the previous mass of still-warm seed and bleed through the fabric. You lift his shirt a mere inch to allow you easier access. But, Carlos is swift to obey what he assumed to be your command and he eagerly tears his shirt over his head.

A heavy set of mouthwatering abs sheen with sweat, a display of disheveled chest hair, and two pairs of beefy, scar-ridden arms is what you are met with. You do not put any effort into masking your obvious gawking of Carlos' build. And he is elated to have your eyes on him.

When he had assumed Jill took you from him the day before, never to be seen again, this heavy dread has sat cozy in his gut since. Today, to have your full attention on him as he presents how every inch of his skin is for you to own, the pressure lightens and flutters away like a Monarch Butterfly.

“Oh, my g- my goddd" Carlos whines out after one particular harsh thrust of your palm.

He begins to twitch in your grasp when your efforts accelerate; his eyebrows curl upwards beneath the canopy of his mop-head hair. Carlos hasn't dared to shift his eyes down to you. Out of reason of deference, as you deserve. Though, he knows as a genuine fact that a single glance at your naked body, intense gaze, and the sight of your hands all over him would thrust him like a football into an earth-bending finish.

Restraining himself was an absolute pipedream, however. Your voice, your touch, and your scent pervade and overwhelm all senses within him. When your nimble fingers ghost over the sensitive expanse of his balls, he almost keels over and can't obstruct the words that bubble in his throat.

“You're gonna- You're gonna make me cum again...!” Promptly, you then yank your hand from the warm depths of Carlos' pants, practically roistering in the way he genuinely cries from the loss of contact.

When you expect him to initiate a swarm of stuttering beseeches to please continue, please make him feel good, please send him to the absolute nirvana only you can give him, you are met with the opposite, instead. Much to your surprise, he begins to thank you profusely, over and over and over again.

To beg you for anything would go against all of Carlos' morals, as every breath out of your mouth is pure gospel. And he'd be damned if he were to ever let himself be selfish with you, hence why he drowns you in gratitude for ever-so kindly giving him even just a speck of pleasure. He does not deserve more of you; it should be him on his knees at this moment, worshiping all of you.

The facade you had painted with confidence begins to crack when you become genuinely concerned for his well-being. You had only fondled him for less than a minute, had you broken him already?

The way he's heaving and gasping ushers you to believe he may blackout on the countertop. You wonder what Jill would think if she came home to found Carlos shirtless and unconscious on her bathroom counter, while you stand entirely naked with cum caked onto your hand. The thought is snatched from your mind when he begins to speak, almost as if he had magically sensed your attention reverting to her.

"Y/N... My-My honey, I can't stand just sitting here..." His adam's apple bobs when he swallows the salivation foaming in his mouth.

"Please let- Please let me make you feel good... Ask anything of me and it’ll be yours. There is nothing in this world I would ever deny you..." Carlos' tangent appeared like a bolt out of the blue.

Although your veneer had minor fractures due to your own shock, you still upheld your smug guise. With his eyes shut, still not daring to bask his undeserving gaze on your saintly body, you answer him with the same tone that never fails to make his knees weak.

"Take me to the bedroom."

Peeling his eyes open and casting his gaze on you, Carlos searches your expression for any sign of falter in truth. Another tremble reverberates through his body when he blesses his vision with the sight of you. After all, no matter how far he has fallen into the depths of enrapturement, any demand you throw his way will immediately be met.

He then clumsily stands to his feet. Fully expecting to walk there together, you take a single step away before a sudden yelp is pulled from you. With pure ease, you are suddenly scooped into Carlos' strong arms. When you encase your arms around his neck, the clammy state of his skin catches you off guard. Without a single speck of sweat on your entire body, you're perplexed he had been driven to such an exerted physical state from your trivial palm.

With how exhausted every fraction of Carlos seemed to be because of you, your heart caves. You shuffle from your spot in his arms and attempt to usher him down to the bed, where you would sit atop his body. This demand, despite his winning strike with following all, was rejected. His tender hands halt you from your efforts and hoist you back into his hold, once more.

"I'm sorry, honey-bee, but I-I can't let you work. Please- Please lay back and let me do everything I can to make you feel good... It's what you deserve; it's what I need." Even if you had turned his brain would mush, his relentless obligation to serve you could conquer through anything.

Arriving at your shared bed, Carlos drapes you among the silken sheets and is just in sheer awe of you. The atmosphere is uncomfortable as he hovers over you and just leers into the abyss of your soul. You then resort to pulling him against you by the back of his neck and enveloping him in an aggressive kiss.

The way Carlos kisses you has always been overwhelmed with reverent fervor. Now, however, there's a perceptible undertone of intense avidity in the way he molds his mouth against yours. And in the absolute best way possible, your scent overwhelms him like Summer sunlight beating against his skin.

Carlos has teased this idea numerous times, but the fantasies he's had where he wondered how your scent would sit in his nostrils, none of it compared to the real thing. Better than a crisp breeze in a mountaintop meadow, better than garden-fresh flowers, better than air after an eternity spent beneath the water. He'd give anything to spend the rest of his life with you.

Pulling away to allow your tight lungs the privilege of oxygen, Carlos immediately begins to fill the air with feverish, puddle-brained chatter. “Honey... Y/N... M’gonna take such good care of you, 'gonna do everything I can to make you happy. Won’t let anything happen to you, won’t let anything or anyone upset you... 'Gonna make you so happy.”

A tug to his belt loop and Carlos obeys quicker than you could ever verbalize your desire. He tears his jeans off as if the garb had been on fire, exposing his toned legs adorned with dark hair.

Reaching your hand out just an inch, he seems to have read your mind and carries out your unspoken demand, once again. He strips himself of his underwear, to where he now towers over your form entirely naked. And you have to restrain yourself from physically expressing your astonishment at the sight. When you had thought you had drawn an accurate picture of him while your hand was exploring downstairs, you hadn't prepared yourself for how everything would sit before your eyes.

The most perceivable sight was how much girth Carlos possessed and the slight tinge of fear you felt for what it may do to your body. With a rough estimation of nine inches, his sticky tip blares an annoyed red, the same hue as his desperation. His happy trail had led to even more heaps of bushy hair. A prominent vein runs diagonally down his curved shaft. The thickness grows in width from the base to the very tip of his cock. A set of heavy balls, the same expanse of sensitive skin that had him shaking beneath you, sit beneath.

“You deserve everything, Y/N. You- you deserve it all. Please... Please tell me everything... Tell me what I can give you, I-I'll give it all to you...” The lack of vocal indications on your end has taken quite a toll on him. No verbal commands sent his way and he's on the verge of tears.

Your words, your body, your scent — everything about you has Carlos stumbling to another early finish. His lips seem glued to yours, as well. Tongues cemented together as his hands caress all over your perfect body.

With his heartbeat skyrocketing, his figure tense with shock, and the way his chest rises and falls with heaving breaths, it was crystal clear just how hard he was resisting the urge to give in and fuck you into the next week. But, you're his sweet bumblebee, his darling deity. To be so selfish with you would make him deserving of a punishment worse than death.

“Carlos..." He nods in response to you so eagerly, you wonder if the force had sent his brain slamming against the walls of his skull. "... I want you to fuck me and fill me up over and over again until there’s no possible way I can escape the happiness you bring me.”

The growl that erupts in response to your filthy words was something akin to an animal. His hands, now propped against the side of your head to prop himself up, now clench the bedsheets with enough force to rip them.

Eyes practically burning holes into his, you grasp hold of his dick and revel in the way he trembles in response, before aligning him with your entrance. Appallingly, a tube of scentless lube had been hidden in the bedside drawer for the entire five months you've been here. Just waiting for this moment.

Now entirely slick with lube and pre-cum (you wouldn't be surprised if Carlos' tears were in that mix, as well), you playfully nudge his bulbous head against the edge of your hole. For the second time that day, your free hand finds the back of his neck and pulls him into another burning kiss. With a deep inhale of preparation, you slide him into you with steady effort.

And the way Carlos whimpers against your mouth makes you inadvertently clench around him.

With the mere tip inside of you, his voice raises several octaves and his eyebrows furrow from the sensations flooding his body. The kiss is broken by Carlos involuntarily, to where his open mouth moans against yours shamelessly. His mind is plagued by every inch of euphoria he didn't think was humanly possible to conjure, to a point where any rational thought had been robbed.

The further your silken walls adjust to his girth, the more you guide him inside. Every whine, every moan, every breathless tangent about you're perfection in all of its glory — it has you hazy with salacious desire. His hands continue to fondle you passionately and his lips still plant love all over your face and neck. You never thought someone could treat you with such doting care, especially after Jill's rough tactics from the day prior.

When he is entirely buried within you, it ejects an abrupt sound out of both of you. A gasp escapes your throat from how full you are at this moment. Two lanky fingers had nothing on the sheer girth of this cock sitting inside of you. Carlos practically yelps at the feeling of being swathed in your heavenly heat. The revelation of what is happening finally settles and he can hardly contain the sheer exhilaration that seeps from his body.

The tears that had been bridging in his eyes release and cascade down his cheeks, another physical representation of how devastatingly devoted he is to you. The number of curses and pornographic moans he releases into your ear seem almost exaggerated, but if Carlos is anything, he is surely not a liar. To lie to you, of all people, would be pure sin.

“I can’t lose you to her...” He babbles mindlessly yet honestly, “I’m so fucking obsessed with you, I-... I really can’t lose you, baby-bee... You’re taking me too fucking good. God, please!”

"Aww, you poor thing..." You mockingly coo to him. "Are you 'gonna cum already? You said you'd take care of me, but here you are saying all this dumb gibberish just from having your dick inside of me."

Unbeknownst to you, the 'dumb gibberish' you assumed to be the product of a sex-drunk mind was the unadulterated truth.

You thought of his state as pitiful, but if you had known how every plead of his was genuine, you surely would not poke the bear. Meanwhile, every gentle thrust has Carlos whimpering and crying as the sheer love he has for you devastates his entire being. You could degrade him, insult him, beat him to within an inch of his life and he would still come back to you again and again. All as if he was born for the sole reason of making love to you. As if God crafted his mind, his body, and his soul for the sole purpose of bringing you pleasure.

And as endearing as the slow, sensual motions were, you have now fully adjusted to his size and you were craving more of what his body is capable of giving you.

"You said you'd do anything for me, yeah?" His reserved attention escapes from your body the second your voice pervades, to where he nods avidly without hesitation.

"Then fuck me like you mean it."

A hand against his tailbone, you usher him to accelerate his speed. And to call his rhythm messy would be generous.

Riddled with gut-wrenching pleasure, Carlos can hardly keep the pace he had used for the one-night stands he had years ago. Every random bar hopper or coworker he had in his sheets was nothing short of utterly boring. Still, he enjoyed the inflation they gave to his ego when they moaned in annoying tones about how he was the "best fuck of their life." With you beneath him, all finesse and skill had been fogged by the sheer eroticism he possesses for you.

Since you had waltzed into his life, those random hookups dulled so obnoxiously in comparison to you, not a single soul could get his blood pumping the way you do. Not that he ever attempted, however. Any attempt at buying him a drink or fluttering their lashes would be met with an unforeseen roar of fury. To interrupt the time he spent with you in his head was a death wish, after all.

In present time, more importantly, Carlos begins to plunge into you with religious fervor. Those muscles you could never grow tired of admiring become taut as they strive to send his dick as deep as it can go. His strong, dominant physique does not match the noises tumbling from his mouth, however. Labored praises and desperate wails pant against your face before he delves into another frenzied kiss of millions.

With what little knowledge that managed to survive the muddled storm reigning havoc within his brain, Carlos uses his free hand to stimulate your sex. You throw your head back against the cushioned pillows from the new, sudden flare of pleasure. Instead of the boost it gave to his self-esteem, the way it did with others, it feels as though someone had clenched his heart with their fist. To know he is making you feel good has no difference with absolute heaven.

The sensation of his cock twitching within the expanse of your walls has you giggling from how ephemeral he lasts.

"Are you gonna fill me to the fucking brim? Have me walk around the house with your hot cum leaking down my thighs? Let Jill see how fucking good you make me feel?"

“Fucking-" The way Carlos growls is almost monstrous. A grunt follows at the prospect of claiming you from Jill.

"Yeah? You like that idea?"

“God-fucking-damn, you know how much I fucking love that idea." The voice that had grown high-pitched had suffered from a sudden descent, his tone was now entirely guttural. Despite this, his hands always remain tender and those whimpers still sit on his tongue.

Carlos pulls his body upwards, grasping hold of your legs and setting them on his shoulders. Now in a mating press, your nipples and sweaty skin are practically snuggled into the hairy expanse of his chest. He cages his forearms around your head, hastening his sporadic assault inside of you.

The sudden force has your eyes crossing and your head dizzy with jubilation; the lavish bed frame squeals with every thrust sent into your body. That smug facade you had crafted for this event begins to melt into the sheets. From the bliss claiming your body and how overwhelmingly loved you feel, that familiar heat inside your gut intensifies. Feeling the absolute paradise of your walls begin to flutter around him, Carlos is completely lost in empyrean ecstasy at the sight of you so overwhelmed with happiness. Still, you deserve more. You deserve happiness that even he cannot give you, but he is more than willing to hunt down every sliver.

I can't let you go, Carlos thinks to himself, If anything tried to take you from me, I'm scared of who I'd become...

"Please, honey... Please cum for me. Need to- Need you to feel good. Need you to cum around me. I don't care about me, I only care about you. Please, I-I'm begging you... Please..." It seems as though the heavy set of balls slapping against your ass weren't begging to release inside of you. Everything and anything is for you, after all.

In spite of your egoistic nature being squished with every thrust, a fraction of it remained.

"I'll cum if..." You teasingly bring your finger to your chin as if you were deep in thought, while Carlos anticipates your response. "I'll cum if you can tell me the first tooth I lost and how old I was..."

I've got him there, you muse to yourself. You entertain what kind of mindless delirium he'll plead out for you when it's impossible for him to guess the answer.

"Second premolar. Five years old."

The five words are said within a single breath.

And you don't have much of a chance to delve into how the fuck he knew that, not when his cock is sending you to cloud nine.

You retort with another demand, pretending you had never tried to make such a senseless joke in the first place.

"I... I'll only cum if you cum, too. 'Wanna feel your load inside me, 'wanna have proof of how good you treat me."

Carlos practically explodes into you from the words you whimpered out.

There is no build-up; your mere words control his body like a puppeteer and have him spilling out into your guts. A pleasured bleat, one that would emulate even the most expensive worker at a high-end brothel, escapes from him. Like some sort of slut he doesn't recognize, he wails out incoherent, babbling words of devotion.

Thick, sticky, warm seed paints your walls and oozes onto the fancy sheets below. Still, the sheer power of his thrusts does not waver in the slightest. Even with the fatigue settling into his body, Carlos' cock hardens instantaneously in response to your heat swathing around him.

“Finding me in RC that night was the worst mistake of your life.” Even in the face of the absolute mess you have turned him into, Carlos' voice still contains that deep, husky tone that sends chills down your body. “You’ll never be rid of me now. Wherever you go, I will follow. You will never escape my love; you will never escape my worship..."

You're practically crying at this point. From the satiating pleasure overwhelming your body, but also the terror-inducing undertones that stain all of Carlos' words.

You will never escape this pleasure, you now realize.

And he is fully convinced you are God, how you tighten and moan for him. You had leaped down from the clouds, left behind an army of angels and devoted followers, and fallen right into his arms. All for him to dedicate his life to glorifying.

Toes curling and fingers clenching the sheets, the orgasm that soon hits you is adorned with love but is unbelievably severe in the same breath. A shriek of pure delectation sprouts from your throat and envelops the air. Meanwhile, the sight of you in the peaks of exhilaration pushes Carlos over that edge, once again.

“Fuuuuck. Give it to me, honey. Give it to me. F-Fuck…!”

Carlos' stomach sucks in, suffocating him entirely and confining around his gut like a tight knot. Another deafening curse follows when that string is cut and another load of seed is spilled into your body.

With his mind now past any barrier of chivalry, he has fully granted himself permission to subsume every inch of you. The sheer sight of all your skin is so impeccably paradisiacal, his body can't refrain from reacting.

In the height of his pleasure, he ponders over how if you were a religion, he’d live in the attic of your church and bathe in holy water every day. His knees would become numb from the hours spent praying at your altar; his eyes would become dry from the hours spent reading through the bible and analyzing every detail. Any syllable out of your mouth would be met with immediate agreement and any treacherous remarks others make adhering to you would be met with the barrel of his gun. Carlos is your most devoted follower, your most loyal servant. Always and forever, he is for you to use to your liking.

Languid and muzzy compliments kissed upon your skin tell you of how you have left Carlos entirely brain-dead. For a moment, you think you may have fucked all obsession out of him when his peak simmers down (although this prospect is impossible). With the sweat, lube, cum, and god-knows-what else is on your body, all you crave at this moment is a bubble bath. Then, you'll abide by the rules set out for you and indulge in an afternoon nap.

With that, you take advantage of his nearly-unconscious state and muster enough strength within you to shove his limp body off. A bereft whimper escapes his throat in response but is quickly overpowered by the sheer euphoria flooding his body. Soon, Carlos returns to mumbling nonsense about the perfection you possess and other incoherent babbles of captivation.

Standing, albeit wobbling slightly due to your woozy brain, you tread to the ensuite bathroom where this mess had first begun. You ignore the mess of dirty clothes scattered around in favor of cleaning your lethargic body.

A swift churn to the valve and lukewarm water begins to spread throughout the sumptuous bathtub. Several spurts of your favorite soap into the running faucet, the pleasant scent soon spreads throughout the room. Five months and the simple act of enjoying a bath in solitude was almost unfamiliar to you. Since then, you had forgotten just how meditative it was to let your body melt into the relaxing, warm water without any wandering hands. Massaging your muscles and scrubbing every mess from your smooth skin, it felt amazing and empowering to have control of yourself for once.

For the hour spent soaking in sheer tranquility, you then unclog the drain and watch as the water drains. Drying your body with an expensive towel you can't fathom the price of, you cast your gaze through the large window.

Outside, the only thing accompanying this house was trees. More heaps of rain scatter the area enveloped in late-night hues, accompanying the heavy fog that sat upon the forest floors. If it was merely that easy, you'd launch your body through that glass right now and dash for your freedom. But, you know your efforts would never be brought to fruition. Instead, you apply a set of perfumed lotion to your skin and dress yourself in a fresh set of clean pajamas. Again, something you had rarely been given the advantage to do yourself.

When you leave the ensuite, however, you are thrown into a loop when you witness what now lies within the bedroom.

Candles and incense scatter the dark room, illuminating the array of rose petals adorning the floors. The bed was now completely clean with a fresh set of sheets, pillows, and comforters. A tray table is set upon the blankets. Sat on top of it, you find a mug of your favorite tea and a glass of water with cucumber and lemon slices for him (it has always been his favorite, after all). Two plates of spaghetti with one fork accompany them, as well. In addition to this, a charcuterie board enriched with all sorts of delicious snacks was rested by the delicious meal.

The most unforgettable part about this sudden scene, however, was Carlos. In the hour you had spent alone, not only had managed to cook a variety of dishes for you, but he had also managed to shower in Jill's ensuite, style his hair, patch up his stubble, and dress himself in a tailored suit.

All you can do is stand on the threshold and question how in the fuck was he able to do all of this within a single hour? You are so flabbergasted in fact, you ponder if the bathtub behind you was actually a portal to an alternate reality. Additionally, you can't refrain from laughing to yourself over how he is surely the only man on Earth to set all of this up after sex.

With pure ease, once again, Carlos trudges over to you and scoops you up into his arms. Even with wet hair, pajamas, and tired eyes, it shocks you how this man still looks at you like you're a model fresh off the runway. Or more accurately, an angel that had descended from the clouds and into this bedroom.

"You know you didn't have to do all of this for me, right?" For the umpteenth time that day, Carlos sets you upon the fresh set of bedsheets, tucking the high-quality comforter around your legs.

"There is no line that I wouldn't cross for you..." A smile quirks on his lips. The horror-stricken connotations reside beneath the dreamy sheen of his gaze.

From here on out, Carlos sits on the edge of the bed and oscillates between feeding you and himself spaghetti. And the way he crafts the dish is easily the most delectable piece you have ever tasted, which is never a surprise when it comes to his culinary skills.

During the process, it seems as though everything has returned to normal and the events that had taken place on this exact bed had never happened. It isn't ignored out of embarrassment or regret, though. Instead, it is from absolute disbelief that such an amazing thing had happened to someone like him. He can hardly contain the gratitude and heart-stopping rapture coursing through his body, hence the dramatic measures he took to express these feelings.

With an onslaught of cheesy jokes and praises that would put Romeo and Juliet's love to shame, that smile you give Carlos makes everything he has ever done absolutely worth it. There is no greater happiness he can feel than when he is witnessing your own.

When you attempt to pluck a grape from the grape cluster rested upon the board, though, Carlos is brought out of his haze and he halts your actions. He grasps the cluster for himself, tilting your head back with a gentle tap to your chin, and proceeds to feed you grapes as if you were some divine being. And in his eyes, you are all that and more. It is evident in just how blissful he feels from feeding you, the act of worship far better than any drug.

When the cluster of ripe fruit was reduced to nothing but lone twigs, the disappointment within Carlos' expression was almost palpable. The sorrow is short-lived, however, when he resorts to feeding you more heaps of spaghetti.

If you were honest, you have lost count of how many times you have eaten this exact dish for dinner. At first, you were confused as to why you were all eating spaghetti almost every night. That is until you realized Carlos was attempting to reenact the adorable scene from Lady and the Tramp. It would have been romantic if it weren't for the third party practically glaring daggers into his soul every time he strived for this outcome. Without Jill here, you swallow your pride and indulge him in what he has been craving for months.

You bite down on the edge of the spaghetti string and hold the other end with the fork, ushering him into the act of affection. And God, Carlos lights up like a kid on Christmas morning when he finally computes your intentions.

Eagerly taking the string into his mouth, he does not savor the moment in the slightest. Before you can garner even an inch of the delicious capellini, Carlos is practically slurping the strand down his throat as he hastens closer to you. There's a wild glimmer that twinkles in his eye as he continues to accelerate.

A deep, shaky exhale is released from him when your lips finally meet. He tastes of his normal tang of mint and lemon but with the added flavor of his homemade marinara recipe. Using your teeth to cut the spaghetti string in two, your attempts at establishing how the romantic scene was over were never acknowledged. Large hands cling to your face and indulge in any last sliver of you he can hoard.

"I love you, honey-bee, I love you so much. You've saved my life over and over and over again and I will do everything in my power to show you how grateful I am..." Carlos' words are sweet and ridden with unhealthy amounts of ceaseless worship. Meanwhile, you chase your breath when he finally releases your mouth from his relentless, loving torture.

Soon, every crumb from all plates has vanished within your stomach, despite your assurances you have been fully satiated.

A tinge of guilt eats away at you when you realize just how much this man has done for you. The trance he is lost in whenever he tends to you has seemingly gone unbeknownst to you, even after all these months. You offer to take care of the dishes, but the way he tenses in response makes you recoil. It had been two months since it happened, but Carlos remembers it like it was a mere second ago.

When you had tended to the mess left after breakfast, your butterfingers had dropped a glass, causing it to shatter against the tiled floors. Fortunately, you had managed to lift yourself onto the counter in a swift attempt at protecting yourself. Despite these efforts, one minor, practically microscopic, cat scratch had been left on your shin. And Carlos lost his mind.

Since then, you have been banned from partaking in any house chores. This rule had stood before this incident, but with the new underlying fear, he was far more strict with this order. After all, you could clear your throat and he'd convince himself you were having an asthma attack.

Now, however, he reminds you of how you are still on bed rest from the night prior, before leaving a prolonged kiss on your forehead and leaving with the dishes.

The door closes and you immediately escape the restricting sheets surrounding you. Venturing onto the balcony, you rest against the ledge and admire how the stars scatter among the night sky. The bright moon complements them and dazzles you. All those nights in the sanctuary spent looking at the same sky, you wonder what your friends were occupied with right now.

Are you still considered missing or have you been presumed dead by now? Did they all know you'd be taken away or are they still trying to search for you after you mysteriously vanished?

Carlos returns in record time and you are swift in wiping away the evidence of tears brimming in your eyes. He informs you of how you should be in bed and attempts to sound strict, but the permanent, loving tint in his expression jeopardizes his efforts. With a face like yours, how could he ever be mad?

When you ask to stay, he hesitates. But, when you give him those puppy-dog eyes that never fail to make him weak, he caves in. With an assurance of how you could stargaze on the porch swing together, as well as an additional remark of how he is more comfortable than the bed, his cheeks grow warm and all rules he had set are thrown out the window.

Sitting in the exact seat you had suggested, Carlos pulls you into his lap. Another stupid joke of millions is made by him before he blows a raspberry into the side of your face. The burst of laughter and heart-wrenching giggles he earns makes him feel weightless. A trail of kisses are left down your right arm, an act of affection he had always initiated in regards to the injury you faced six years ago. And by giving him a compliment about his suit and a nickname of "teddy bear" (his favorite), you have now melted this man into a puddle of sugary words and dazed devotion.

With the swinging of the chair, the tender caresses to your body, and the soft breeze from the late-night air, you soon drift off in his arms. In 24 hours, Carlos has concluded that he may forgive Jill for what she did to you if this is the product of all her wrongdoings.

Once more, with every day the rain falls, you have come to learn several new things.

Oh, how Jill Valentine and Carlos Oliveira love Y/N L/N.

It is evident throughout every day, where fragments of their adoration are sprinkled into every moment you spend together.

Life with these two is mellow, but intense in the same breath. You're treated like royalty, never allowed to lift a single finger. However, never once in your life have you been indulged in such intense displays of devotion. You'll be worshiped like a deity, soon to be smothered beneath their suffocating embrace without any room for dispute. You are never alone; if you're not with one, you are certainly with the other. Whether this is rooted in their overprotective nature or the simple desire to be with you at all times (or possibly even both) will forever remain a mystery to you.

Jill is overwhelmingly possessive and never refrains from proving how easily she can claim you. Displaying her strength throughout the day, expressing the barriers she's overcome to save you, and bragging about the fights she's won. You would be fearful of her violent tangents if it weren't for the swirling adoration in her hazy, blue eyes.

There is no need to take that cutthroat, bad-cop exterior to heart, either. Not when the box hidden beneath the floorboards tells an entirely different story. Just don’t be surprised if your nail clippings and underwear suddenly vanish out of thin air.

Carlos has a warm heart reserved for you, but the organ is astonishingly jealous, as well. Constantly cooking myriads of dishes for you, cleaning every speck of dust to ever exist, being your teddy bear. You would be overwhelmed by his aggressive affections if it weren't for those tender hands soothing his baby of any restless sorrow.

There is no need to take that tenacious, puffy-eyed exterior to heart, either. Not when the journals hidden beneath the floorboards tell an entirely different story. Just don’t be surprised if you find pages covered with your name and proclamations of devotion, all written red with his fresh blood.

Life had been adorned in these matters for a while. Another month has tread by and all wounds, both physical and mental, have fortunately healed. As well as the poor kitchen island, which has now been revived with a sleek marble finish. You'll just choose to ignore how Carlos and Jill had locked you in the bedroom when the repairman spent several hours patching up the counter, ensuring he didn't wander off. If he found you, he'd surely want you for himself, the two are sure of it.

Instead, you swerve your attention toward how all conflicts have been reduced to minimal bickers. Though the jealous glares and backhanded comments will always remain, your days together have shifted toward much brighter circumstances.

With the presence of Spring lurking, the golden sun has escaped through the clouds and now engulfs the world in its warm hues. Your relentless suggestions of enjoying the pleasant weather had originally been brought to zero fruition. Especially with what occurred the last time you had left. Danger resides around every corner, they claimed. Outside these suffocating walls, you would be exposed to this. Even from something as little as nearly tripping over a protruding tree root, the thought made them both aghast.

However, when you look at them like that, they can feel their stern exterior crack beneath the harsh blows your adorable self delivers. And the look of surprised joy in your expression when they introduced the idea of enjoying a picnic by the private riverside erased any restriction either of them had.

The wicker basket sitting on a picnic blanket is full of numerous delicious treats, all crafted by Carlos' hands. With your fresh pair of expensive boots on (after Jill insisted on sitting you down and quadruple-knotting your shoelaces), the three of you are leaving the house at each other's sides. More so, Carlos is shoulder-to-shoulder with you and flinching at any feeble sound while Jill remains level-headed, soaking in your enthusiastic state of mind.

The wooden, decaying trail was adorned with unkempt debris, a considerable contrast to the pristine appearance of the house. With a hand around your waist, Jill guards you against the protruding nails and chunks of sharp wood threatening to bring you harm. The sight of several goosebumps littering your arm and Carlos strips his coat off and fastens it around your form. All as if you weren't wearing clothing thick enough to be considered armor. You're surprised he hadn't suffocated you with bubble wrap before you left.

Despite their suffocating and infantilizing treatment, you do not let them spoil this experience. For months, you have only ever seen this wondrous rainforest through a window. Now, being within the genuine physicality of it was nothing short of breathtaking.

Gentle rain patters against the healthy leaves; birds squawk and chitter throughout the trees. The thunderous sound of a heavy waterfall echoes throughout the expanse and has you mesmerized. And you cannot forget the fresh air invading your lungs and just how much you had longed for it.

The scent of rainwater and late-morning fog complement the state of serenity you're in, as well. You almost step directly into the adjacent river from how captivated you were by the beautiful sight. From behind you, Jill's voice pervades the peaceful atmosphere.

"Careful, baby. 'Don't want you gettin' wet. Rather it be in another wa- agh!" A rough grunt is pulled from Jill before she can complete her sentence. Abruptly, she is shoved to the forest floor.

Her well-being is entirely ignored by Carlos, who chooses to ensnare you in his protective hold instead. Letting your vision absorb what had occurred over your shoulder, you see a man dressed in a white-lab coat towering over her. When you see that familiar Umbrella symbol on his shoulder, you are ashamed to feel a sense of safety in their presence. They had provided you with the only place you were ever able to confidently call "home", after all.

When you attempt to wrangle from Carlos' suffocating hold, your efforts halt when he whips out a handgun and points the weapon at the assailant. Did he really bring that to our picnic?

A harsh kick to his crotch and the man above Jill keeled over, granting her the opportunity to spring to her feet and race to your aid. She then grabs hold of the handgun she brought, as well. Why on Earth did they both bring weapons!?

Never one to hesitate, she flicks the safety off, juts her finger against the trigger, and a permeating bang! thunders against your eardrums. Before you can witness the aftermath induced by her bullet, Carlos' hand shields your eyes from the sight. A heavy set of numerous footsteps follow the silence left after the gunshot and strengthen the dreadful fear in your gut.

When they begin to hasten towards you alone, a flurry of gunshots echo.

Amid the chaos, an unseen force from behind yanks you out of the strong arms locked around your form. You splat harshly against the ground and the contact robs a groan of pain from your chest. Attempting to identify what was responsible for the sudden altercation, you find another stranger at your side who was dressed in the same white garb. The terror envelops you in its bitter embrace as you anticipate his next move.

Before he can even think of touching you, however, he is violently tackled to the ground by Carlos. Glancing past him, vomit threatens to escape from your stomach when you find several other men lying lifeless. Pools of blood mend with the soil and paint your shoes; the scent of iron and gunpowder make your nose twitch from the unwelcome pervasion.

"Put a fuckin' finger on them and I'll leave all of yours at your mother's doorstep!" It doesn't surprise you that Jill was responsible for this flare of savagery. Gun in one hand, pocket knife in the other, the blood of your assailants adorns her entire body as she continues to combat anyone standing in her way.

"How dare you put your fucking hands on them!? I'll spend eternity making sure you're rotting in Hell for what you’ve done!" Carlos did not differ from her state, either. Your attacker had already been presumed dead, but the man above him continues to surge his fists into the gorey expanse of his deformed face.

And much like the brawl between Jill and Carlos, you were left in a state of shock and unable to make any coherent actions.

All you do is sit at the stump of this tree and watch as the hysterical display folds out before you. The carnage satiating your senses is enough evidence that these two will conquer this battle. But as they claim more bodies, more heaps of men adorned with the same Umbrella patch follow.

Jill and Carlos quickly become overpowered by the sheer amount of violent people closing in on them. Through every punch, every slice, every gunshot, all advantages used to defend themselves are stolen from them. Several men now hold them compliant to the muddied ground as the two roar out curses and threats.

Another man soon joins the scene, verbally tutting at the impact left behind, before turning to you. And when you fully take in his features, your heart sinks to the pit of your stomach.

Doctor Gorkis, or 'Matt', as he insisted you to call him stands by your feet.

He had aided you during the precarious descent into your new life within the sanctuary and remained your friend throughout the years. And if you were honest with yourself, you have always harbored a sort of childlike crush on him. The knight in shining armor; the prince who saves you from the evil dragon. The feelings you had for him were something along those lines. If Jill and Carlos knew this, they'd surely rip his head off, but that presumption was irrelevant right now.

Matt bends down to your level, the violent shouts of "don't you fucking touch them!" from behind him nothing but a mere passing car, a drifting thought.

"Hello, Y/N..." When you hear his voice, you finally comprehend how much you have yearned for your old life, for him. It is soft and euphonious, but still possesses a friendly shimmer that could melt even the coldest of hearts, you're sure of it.

Shifting your attention away from your old friend, you look to Jill and Carlos. They both struggle and shout beneath the weight of their attackers, more desperate than you have ever seen them before.

Poor Carlos is just sobbing. All his speech is sullied and incoherent, far too overwhelmed by the weight of his emotions. Shockingly, you see Jill weeping, as well. This is the first occurrence in which you have seen such acute emotion within her, within both of them.

A single night in heaven granted them six endless years of torture. Then, they were gifted six months of sheer bliss. To know that in the blink of an eye, this stranger could unsheathe a weapon and take your life right then and there, while all they can do is watch in horror — it destroys them.

Your gaze is soon forced back onto Matt. Albeit forcefully when he tilts his head into your train of vision, intense eyes peering into yours.

"A lot has changed since you were taken from us. Our organization has changed for the better and we have taken extra precautions to ensure our patients' safety. Your safety. You will be safe now. That is... If you'll come with me...?" His words confuse you.

"Butterfly, don't you dare listen to him! He's full of shit!" One on hand, you're convinced Jill and Carlos had saved you from a corrupt company.

"Sweet Bumblebee, you are the only reason I am alive! Don't listen to him...! Please, don't listen to him..." On the other hand, the familiarity of Matt's presence lulls you into complying.

"Those two don't care for you, not like me and all of your friends back home. If you come with me, you can see them again..." You don't know who to believe.

The fear paralyzing your body, despite how meager it was compared to everything else, is all the proof you need to decide what path you should venture on.

You cannot trust anyone, so you choose to trust yourself.

You were never meant to be in the restricting paradise of Umbrella's sanctuary; you were never meant to be locked away with your two corrupt lovers. Maybe you were always meant to be alone.

Using the tree for stability, you stand on your feet. Matt follows your movements, seemingly guarding you from the two feral dogs pinned to the forest floor.

With the ball in your court, all three of them hastily anticipate your answer.

A step away and your answer is clear.

You choose no one.

And you choose to ignore how Jill and Carlos practically screech for you as you walk away from them. But, you couldn't choose to ignore Matt when he follows you in your path and closes the short distance between you two. He pulls out an anesthesia mask with his gloved hand and presses it to your face, ensnaring you in his arms.

As you are soothed into unconsciousness, he reassures you that everything will be alright. And if you choose to ignore the desperate shouts of your name fading out, you could almost believe him.

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

THE BONUS TRACK !

❝ LOST IN THE LABYRINTH

OF MY MIND . . . ❞

bc i can't control myself, here are more visions of jill and carlos' house. here, here, here, here, here, and here.

gif credits :: jill & carlos.

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testrella · 3 months

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you're my religion priest! s. geto x f!reader pt.1→pt.2

synopsis: y/n moved into a small and tight knit town to take care of her elderly grandmother. what happens when she attends a sermon with her grandmother, and finds herself lusting over someone she cannot have.

fandom: jujutsu kaisen ⌗ priest suguru geto x female reader⌗ modern au content warnings: mild cursing, smut, head (giving), religious themes(?), slight degrading at the end, angst(?) public sex, NSFW.

author's note: over 11k words, u guys have fun

“..in the name of the father, and of the son, and of the holy spirit. amen.”

father geto finishes off the sermon with the routine prayer. he takes the opportunity being on stage to scan the loyal audience. it was the regular, older people he preaches to. the same people who boast about him being so devoted to God at such a young age. how that when they were his age, they were off sinning. he thinks about the constant praises about being a young devoted follower, but it immediately stops when he sees her.

a young lady, who seemed to be around the same age as him, sitting in the very back with an elderly woman. even though she was dressed as modestly as possible, the black floor length dress immersed your body in all the right places.

when did he allow his immoral thoughts come to mind

“oh father! you must meet mrs. johnson’s granddaughter- maybe you can convince her to turn to God.” an elder of the church whispered to the priest. she gently pulled him to the side, off of the stage.

“as you must have heard by now, edith’s grandbaby is out of control. rumor has it that she’s been caught using multiple different contraband, and premarital sex! can you believe edith would allow this to go on for so long?!”

geto mentally sighs, gossiping was always an issue at church. especially since it was located in a very small town, there wasn't much to talk about. when you were new to town, the locals went wild. fabricating very detail of your life, and spouting that nonsense through their teeth.

“with respect dear mary, the scripture speaks strongly against gossip. i’ll talk to the young lady, but please watch yourself. for there is no greater sin than sin.”

she nods while looking down, unable to meet geto’s gaze. too embarrassed to voice her concern furthermore, she mutters “yes father, please forgive me.”

“i am not the one you should be asking for forgiveness, ask the man above. now if you’ll excuse me, i’ll introduce myself to the newest member of our church.” he smiles gracefully before making his way towards mrs. johnson and her ‘scandalous’ granddaughter.

he takes small steps towards you, puffing his chest out as he walks with a sense of pride. sure you were a pretty girl, but he was only interested to guide you through your religious journey.

“father geto, i introduce you to my granddaughter. this is y/n. she’s only 20, and she recently moved into town to take care of me. isn’t she the kindest?”

he loses his train of thought. he's unable to bring himself to utter a single word. you were much more gorgeous up-close. if he were to describe your beauty, he’d be too overwhelmed, and wouldn’t know where to start. maybe he’d start with the way your nose fits your face perfectly. or, how your smile molded perfectly with your faint smile lines.

geto snaps out of his trance, and quickly introduces himself.

“i’m father geto. welcome to this church, i hope your stay has been great so far.” he purred.

you squint your eyes at him. almost as if you already knew the rumors going around. nonetheless, you shake his hand.

“like my grandma said, i’m y/n. i do hope we cross paths alone in the future.”

he blushes from the way you shaked his hand, but also put your other hand on his. solidifying the handshake more than it needed too. not only that, the last comment you made. crossing paths.. alone?

“my confessional booth is always open before my sermon, and at 9 PM on sundays. if that’s what you mean of course.”

you puff your chest out and let out a dramatic sigh. taking in your arms, and letting them rest to your side, you open your mouth to speak. he stares at your lips, refusing to make eye contact.

“the sermon did end, i guess i’ll have to see you later tonight.” you assured him before walking over to your grandmother who made conversation with someone else. he watched you walk away, allowing himself to sneak a peek from behind.

later that day, geto was having lunch. he finds himself unable to focus on his best friend's story, the words going in one ear and out the other. all the plays in his mind is you, and what you could possibly up to.

“satoru, i think i was seduced today after my sermon.” he spilled out, no longer able to contain his thoughts.

“gross! how old was she? 50? 69? HA, get it? 69?”

geto rolls his eyes at the blue eyed ‘man’ who acted immaturely any chance he got. maybe he really should have kept his thoughts to himself. it was better than trying to converse it with an actual man-child.

“goodness satoru, no. she was a few years younger than me. 4 years to be exact. she’s one of the elder’s granddaughter, and the way she spoke to me made me feel like i was sinning. i didn’t even do anything!”

“well..”

his eyebrow quirks as satoru began his sentence.

“did she have big tits?”

geto’s face quickly turned from curiosity to disgust. he abruptly stood up from the table, placing both hands on it for support, and got all up in satoru’s face.

“how could you ever speak so unashamedly about a lady like that?! let alone speak like that in front of a priest!”

“well forgive me father, i didn’t mean to offend you and your girlfriend,” satoru said sarcastically while putting his hands up defensively. “i’ve said worse, and you’ve never had a problem with it until now. she must’ve had big tits for you to go all preacher mode on me.“

as much as geto didn’t want to admit it, satoru was right. there were many time's geto allowed the white haired man to say the most diabolical stuff known to man. even listening when satoru would describe women’s bodies in detail and occasionally his one night stands. why was this any different?

“excuse me, is that you father?”

there is was.

the seductive voice he met only hours ago. both boys slowly turn their heads to the h/c girl standing right in front of them. their eyes met with the beauty talked about earlier. only now you were wearing a shorter version of the dress you wore earlier.

“m-miss. y/n? i’m afraid you’ve caught me at a bad time. what brings you here?”

you only acknowledge one of the two men in front of her, and of course it was geto. your eyes met his, and never shifted away. it was almost like a dance of temptation, daring him to do further than just eye contact. the dark aura coming from you was overwhelming him, or maybe it was just your strong perfume.

“i apologize for the disruption, father geto. my grandma asked me to run some errands. i guess i’ll have to speak with you later tonight.“

before geto could get a word in, you once again walk off. just like before, he once again glances down there.

forgive me Lord, for i have sinned.

“dude what the fuck was that..” the white haired man questioned. he also noticed the thick tension that was stirred by non other than you.

“i d-don’t know. i cannot see her tonight. i’m scared she might tempt me into.. into doing something that’s against the scripture.”

he now finds himself in the confessional booth, anxiously waiting for your arrival. it was currently 9:47 PM, you were late. it did not help his anxiety at all. he’d give you until 10:15 for you to arrive. anything later would have to just be scheduled on another sunday.

he lets out a deep breath before he hears the clattering of heels. geto takes a peak out of his curtain only to be met with a sultry gaze. he quickly closes off his curtain, and subconsciously wipes his sweaty palms on his lap. this was like any other confessional, there was nothing to be conspicuous.

“father geto? are you there?“ you ask in a voice just above a whisper.

geto swallows whatever was in his mouth before speaking.

“of course i am.“

“ahem, forgive me father. i have sinned since i first moved into this town. actually, i sinned today after the sermon.“

he stays silent. he’s tempted to ask what you’ve done, and if it possibly had something to do with him. but you answer his unspoken questions before he can think about it for too long.

“before moving into this lovely town, my grandmother sent me a picture of her priest. goodness, i didn’t know what to do with myself.“

he was determined to stay stoic, and not to speak unless it was to say a prayer. but her hushed voice and the strong tension made it difficult. the air seemed to thicken every time she finished a sentence. geto couldn’t escape your magnetic pull of lust.

“a-and if i may ask, what did you do to deal with your problem?”

“i couldn’t resist myself. after i saw the photo of him, i began to have lewd thoughts. every night leading up to my departure, i’d touch myself thinking about him. then..”

she lets out a small moan, but geto would describe it as a small whine. now he was breathing heavily as his boxers started to tighten up. there was no way he could get hard in the church. it was sinful. but he was here to help you, and allowed you to continue.

“i met him today. after the sermon i started using objects to make myself feel satisfied. but it was nothing compared to his large hands shaking my hand. i can only imagine him using his hands going inside of me instead of holding a bible. even now, i cannot resist his voice..” you confessed as heavy breathing came from your end.

“..come over to my side dear. let me help you.” he whispered.

you waste no time he notes from the sounds coming from the other side. your heels clacked once or twice before you pulled the curtain from his side.

he studies your face very carefully. there was a light red tint spreading across your cheeks, and your ears were bright red. his eyes then wander down to your very revealing shirt that showed a lot of cleavage. the shirt was accompanied by a matching skirt, a very, VERY, short skirt.

you walk into the tight fitting booth. before he can get his hands on you, you kneel down in between his legs. your pretty little head lays on his left thigh.

“forgive me father. how can i ever make you forgive me for my sins?” you lift your head and your hands start to wander on the edge of his pants. “tell me father, there must be a way..”

geto feels a bead of sweat going down his forehead. there were many times that grandparents introduced their grandchildren to him, in hopes they get married. or, when satoru would convince him to agree to a blind date. his answer of rejection was always the same.

‘i am devoted to the man above, i musn’t be distracted.’

where was his reasoning of rejection when he watches you pull both his pants and undergarments off?

you grab his dick and painfully slowly lick the tip of it. leaving any pre-cum on his tip, now in your mouth. a slight moan leaves his mouth. this was a pleasure that he’s never experienced before. devoting all 24 years of his life to God has never brought this much fulfilment.

where was his reasoning of rejection when you put his whole dick in your mouth without any hesitation?

your sudden move of deep throating him caught him off guard. he’s now holding your head in a gentle manner, as gentle as he can be. geto is lost at words, he can only moan uncontrollably while playing with your hair. the only thing he can fixate his eyes on was your beautiful hair getting tangled into his fingers.

where was his reasoning when you made him finish in under five minutes even though it felt like an eternity for him?

you continue to suck him off, hollowing your cheeks for a better suction. your hands wander down to his balls, giving it a small massage. you're not sure what you did right, but it worked. geto was now praising your name instead of the lord’s. he feels an unfamiliar knot unwinding itself.

“y/n.. please i feel..” he lets out a breathy moan instead of finishing his sentence. his eyes shut close to full enjoy the euphoric feeling. why did he want to reject your advances in the first place? he can't seem to remember.

“father..” you cooed while taking off his shirt. of course, the hot pastor with a big dick was also very nicely built.

“oh geto, why do you hide this from me?”

your hands wander his chest then it starts to follow his happy trail. your movement was haltered when he reached out for your chest.

“the same could be said for yourself. show yourself to me, please. i beg.”

his eyes looked like a puppy who had been kicked. there was no sane woman in the world who would say no to his violet eyes. your hand then reaches out for his, and then place his hand on the hem of your shirt.

“take it off for me, father geto.”

being enchanted with your hypnotic gaze, it drew him like a moth to a flame. he lifted your shirt, taking your bra off as well, and stared with admiration. you had an art of seduction that was compared to no other. he watches you sit on his lap as you lift your skirt.

this is sin. he was sinning.

but he didn’t stop you as you sat slowly onto his dick, moaning in joy. he watches you go up and down painfully slow.

“c-can you go a little faster..?“ he moaned into your ear. being too embarrassed by his request, he buries himself on the side of your neck. taking in your scent, leaving small pecks on the spots you sprayed perfume.

“you’re t-too big geto~” you whined into his ear before you attached your lips onto his.

he was an inexperienced kisser. an inexperienced everything actually. it was easy for you to take the lead by biting onto his bottom lip. he opened his mouth to let out a small whine of pain and you took the opportunity to slip your tongue in.

you feel yourself juices slide down your thigh onto geto’s lap as you continue to bounce on his dick. large hands start groping your ass, giving you a smack on one of your cheeks. you yelp in response. it was unexpected from a priest.

“father, use me. be as rough as you want with me.” your hands start undoing his bun, turning his hair into a disheveled mess.

“i-i shouldn't be so mmm- rough on you.”

you felt honored by his insistence on being so gentle. his grip on your waist tells you a different story. it was obvious he wanted to go faster than the pace you set.

“please geto, for me at least.”

oh, how could he ever deny your requests?

his grip on your waist tightens as he lifts you up and rams into you. all pent up sexual frustrations he’s ever had in the past 24 years are being taken out on you. throughout the heavens and earth, you were his only sole purpose in life. the way you took him in so good without any complaints was proof enough.

marks form on his shoulder and back from the scratches you were leaving. it was the only way you could hold yourself up. if not, you’d fall right into his arms while he’d continue to show no mercy on your pussy.

geto was starting to feel what he felt earlier when you were in between his legs. his eyes gaze at yours, and gets a site he’d never unsee. small tears started forming, threatening to leave your eyes. your mouth agape as one hand held onto his shoulder, the other groping yourself.

“father geto, i-i’m ahh, i’m so close~”

on sync, the both of you came at the very same time.

geto found it more ironic than disgust when he saw the scene unfold. priest of six years, never had a temptation once in those six years. his lap was now covered in cum from not only his but the new girl in town. the new girl who easily seduced him

“forgive us lord, for the father and i have sinned.” you purred right into his ear, almost biting it.

he massages your waist before finally putting you on your two feet. you're barely able to stand up without the support of the wall.

"y/n, we can never do this again. never speak to me unless it's about my sermon."

now it was his turn to leave before you could get a word in. he pulls his pants up and swiftly puts his shirt back on.

"you were sent by the devil, and i've failed my lord. stay far away from me you whore."

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nyxyxx · 5 months

Text

Godly Desires - Part 3

The Diluc chapter woohoo (he may be a little ooc but thats cuz im very inexperienced at writing him) The yandere stuff will gradually get more intense as the story goes on but for now its super super mild. I. II. III. IV.

Warnings: This story contains yandere content and religious themes

-3-

"A friendly drink"

You had just arrived with Diluc at Dawn Winery, and you couldn't help but notice the glances you got from all of the workers as you walked past them. Something about it seemed odd, but you didn't have enough time to figure out what was wrong. You trailed after Diluc as he led you into his office, and shut the door behind him.

"Please, sit," he said, watching you awkwardly stand by the chairs. You nodded and hesitantly sat down on the cushioned seat, and you couldn't even believe how comfy the seat was. Well, you had just been spending all of your time in the wild outdoors so having a nice chair to sit in was very unusual.

Diluc walked over to his chair, on the other side of the desk, and sat down. He pulled a bottle out from underneath his desk. "It's grape juice, is that alright?" He asked, suddenly nervous. He didn't want to give you a bad first impression, although it was already a little messy because of what happened down by the lake.

"Oh sure. I don't mind." You answered. The corners of his lips rose ever so slightly, and he opened the bottle of grape juice. You were engrossed in the way he carefully held the wine glass, gentle but firm, and the charming way he poured the juice into the glass. Something about it was surreal. Elegant even. He had an air of nobility around him life that.

However on his part, what he noticed was completely different. He felt that his hands were too shaky. That he was taking too long to pour the glass, and the silence that hung in the air was becoming thicker. He could barely breathe at the prospect that you were even here, in his home, sharing a drink with him. It was unbelievable, really.

Once he was finished, he handed the glass over to you, and you took it from his hand, your fingertips gently brushing against his. The tips of his ears turned a very light pink, but he was lucky that you hadn't been paying attention to that.

He hated that he felt so nervous. He should be elegant and charming, and leave a very good impression on you, so that maybe, just maybe you might see him favorably. He despised how weak he felt, but it was only natural for him to be nervous in the presence of a being like you.

"Mm...thank you" You said, as you took a sip of the grape juice. It was sweet, but not too sweet, and had a little bit of sourness to it. It was refreshing and cold, but made you feel warm. Out in the wild, you had occasionally found fruits and just drank the juice from them, but this was a little different.

"Please, there is no need to thank me, it is my honor," He said, taking a sip from his glass. You thought he was just being a gentleman, but in truth he was all euphoric on the inside.

In the silence, your mind began to wander. You started to doubt more and more if this was actually a dream or not. Of course it had to be, because this place wasn't real. Diluc wasn't real. That should be the case, but yet, you felt like you've been here for such a long time already. When were you going to wake up from this dream?

You thought it strange how real everything feels, from the cold water, to the rich taste of the grape juice, to the hunger and thirst you had experienced, it was all so vivid. Could this really be a dream? You've heard that it is possible for people to experience very real sensations in their dreams, but you never thought it would be as convincing as this.

Well anyway, there was no point in worrying about the details. You had no idea how long this dream was going to last, so in the meantime you might as well have fun with it. After all, there was no harm in having fun in a dream right?

The glass in your hands was now empty, the juice all gone. "Thank you for the drink, but I should probably get going now," you said, rising from your seat. You already missed the softness of the chair. You looked at Diluc, who sat their blankly staring at his empty glass. Shrugging, you began to walk towards the door, only to stop upon hearing his voice.

"You should stay the night here. It is already getting dark outside. It will be dangerous." He said, quickly rising from his chair. He walked over to you carefully, and smiled. He was just trying to be considerate.

"I mean, is that really okay? I don't mean to impose..." You trailed off, while that was true, you also did feel a little bit awkward about the situation.

"I assure you, it is not a big deal. I'll have a guest room arranged for you." He said, without waiting for your answer. "Then you can leave first thing in the morning." but please allow me just a bit more time to be near you, is what he didn't say out loud. You simply sighed and agreed. It would in fact be easier just to stay here until morning. Then you could find your way to Mondstadt without it being the middle of the night.

Taglist: @justyoureader; @mmeatt; @iamapotatoe; @clavichordcleffa; @yu-ulda; @c3rtifiedsimp; @eravariety

#genshin sagau #sagau cult au #sagau x reader #genshin impact sagau #cw yandere #genshin cult au #genshin impact x reader #sagau #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact #yandere diluc x reader #yandere diluc

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t-tomuras · 3 months

Text

† ─── •𝐅𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬

Pairing: Alastor x F!reader

Warnings: Use of petnames ( dear, sweetheart, darling, dearheart ), reader has ears and a tail ( mhm ), religious themes / comparisons, mild biting, ( very slight ) injury, creampie, slight overstimulation

Wordcount: 5k

Notes: HA HA HA I've no excuse for this. canon is what I make of it.

“If you truly want a shot at redemption, my dear, you must actually make attempts at changing your behavior,” the muffled sound of Alastor’s voice seems far closer than the simple radio on your bedside table; the one that you continue to ignore with each morning’s wake up call. Reasoning that Sir Pentious must’ve turned the volume up on it when you caught him skulking around in your room or maybe it was one of his simpleminded minions mixing up the rooms they were allowed in.. again.

Regardless, you shift further into the plush comforter, whining louder at the sound of radio static but you don’t open your eyes. Reaching blindly about hoping to wrap your hand around the infernal contraption to continue blissful sleep but to no avail.

“Five more minutes,” barely audible through the fabric of your comfortable pillowcase. Whines muffled by the material that you keep your face buried in.

“You said that an hour ago, dearheart,” he speaks again, volume louder this time. It causes your ear to twitch wildly in an attempt to pinpoint where his noisy little box was without fully rousing from slumber. Groaning as you feel around blindly, m grasping at nothing but air for a spell until you think you’ve got it. A triumphant little smile spreading on your still hidden face when your clawed fingers brush over something cool. Closing your fist around it with a delighted hum before a proverbial bucket of cold water is dumped on you at the sound of Alastors voice once again. Closer this time, more clearly and obviously not emanating from anywhere but the source itself.

“I believe I’ve been lenient enough with you,” you gasp when cold fingers wrap around your wrist, lifting you up while you scramble to grip at your covers. Scrounging to maintain some decency and not reveal your bare chest to the hotelier himself.

“Alastor,” sighed breathlessly while vibrant crimson hues scrutinize you, cheshire grin unwavering in his judgmental gaze before you’re dropped all together, “what are you doing here? You never come personally for a wake up call.”

Usually it was one of the other staff members like Nifty, sweet Charlie or indifferent Husk; hell sometimes even Angeldust but it’s never once been the boss himself.

“It’s your first day on the job sweetheart, I don’t approve of tardiness either,” you clamber to sit up with your covers clutched closely to your chest. Swinging your legs over the side of the plush mattress top after Alastor gives you his back. Glancing to the side for whatever you’d taken hold of to see his staff set against your nightstand. Gaze flickering from it to him as he crosses the room in confident strides to your wardrobe. Taking a moment to rummage through the hanging clothes until he procures an empty hanger from the rack before returning to your bedside.

Extending his arm out with the metal wire hooked on thin digits as his other hand gestures towards it in show. His lids fall shut, bowing gentlemanly as he presents you with a white dress shirt and sleek black pencil skirt to compliment as well as a blazer you’ll forgo despite how it’s meant to complete the ensemble.

“I had it tailored specially for you,” Alastor bends at the waist, lifting his head for his gaze to rake over your form, enjoying the way you squirm under the scrutiny. “No more embarrassing wardrobe malfunctions over that tail of yours! This will be your uniform while you work as my assistant.”

“Assistant?” You blink owlishly, gingerly taking the outfit after Alastor holds it out to you.

“Yes! My assistant,” his voice warbles like an old radio that wavers in signal before it stabilizes once again, “you see, your gracious host believes the best suited action plan for your soul's salvation is to actually put forth some effort towards your community.”

You’re standing now, pout on your lips as you tilt your head. Fastening the buttons to the crisp dress shirt of your new uniform, “and my community would be?”

Though you regret the question the moment the words leave your lips, ears flattening against your skull they almost blend in with your hair at the sight of the telltale twitch to the Radio Demons eye. He doesn’t falter for long, taking hold of his staff and resting both of his hands over top one another against the spit guard of his mic. Taking your silence as understanding before he continues, busying himself by pacing about your room nonchalantly as you finish dressing.

“I agreed with her and as of late I have been in dire need,” his head makes a sickening snap as it spins fully around to face you before his body follows, “of an extra set of semi competent hands for my laundry list of duties to accomplish in a day!”

With an ostentatious gesture of the pommel of his staff, Alastor signals the end of his spiel, “that is where you come in, my dear. Two birds with one stone and all that jazz.”

You heave a bereft sigh as you pull on the tight pin skirt, shimmying it over wide hips but for once you don’t encounter a lack of space for your bushy tail. Spinning around to catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, a tentative smile finding your lips as you smooth the fabric down the curve of your ass before you’re reminded you aren’t alone in the sanctity of your own room.

“And don’t you look ready for the day?” Stifling your yelp when your new boss appears behind you, hands resting on your shoulders as he looks you in the eyes of your reflection. Nodding with a sheepish grin when he responds, “Marvelous.”

Hoping he didn’t take notice of the shiver that wracks down your spine before he turns on his heel. Spinning his staff around in his hand as Alastor takes his leave, projecting his voice as he makes no effort to wait for you, “come along now dear, we have much to do.”

Unfortunately for you, Alastor wasn’t being hyperbolic either. Toting you all over town before shoving a list of remaining tasks to do while he attended another meeting with the overlords. Groaning over each item you move to after completing the previous one, snarling incredulously as you shift his dry cleaning from one hand to another.

“Where the fuck am I supposed to find venison at this hour?” Where were you meant to find it at all, rather. Perhaps you’ll call for Angel’s aid with the promise of your top shelf absinthe that Husk selfishly hoards for himself.

In moderation, of course! Lest Ms. Morningstar force you to write out the importance of considering others' journeys to recovery. Tossing the plastic bag protecting his tailored suit over your shoulder to rest against your back to reduce the chance of wrinkling.

“Kinda fucked up that he eats deer though,” commenting offhandedly to yourself as you send the proposition to Angel before, for the third time today, Alastor startles you.

“It’s an acquired taste sweetheart,” he coos as he materializes from the shadows, falling into step with you effortlessly, “however I have taken notice of your lingering gaze, perhaps you possess the peculiar taste yourself.”

Your ear flicks wildly in minute agitation, chest warming with embarrassment. More than accustomed to how aware Alastor was to most things deemed important but you didn’t think that included you by any scope of the word.

What purpose could he have for watching you? Alastor doesn’t give you much time to dwell on it nor explore the thought before he’s pinching the list he’d given you earlier to steal it from your grasp. Humming, what you think is, anyway, approvingly over all the marked off items.

“Your last errand for me today is to help me set up for my broadcast. I've been so occupied with our little passion project that I fear leaving it to those little egg creatures has left my booth in a state!”

Alastor glances back at you with his signature smug expression, your tired body slouching forward as you follow him down the street as sinners quickly dive out of his path. “Fine, fine, as long as I can catch a break after this.”

“Of course my dear, I’m no slave driver.”

But a state is an understatement for the utter disarray Alastor’s booth was in upon both of your arrivals. You almost think this is a form of torment on the Radio Demon’s part for dealing with your tardiness but that notion is quickly dismissed upon seeing his reaction.

A tight lipped grin (more akin to a grimace) on his features telling of his agitation even without the twitch to his lid or the vice grip Alastor has on his staff.

Trash strewn about, broken glass and spilled drinks over the soundboard and overturned furniture. You could only imagine what could have occurred with the moronic minions, but you’re certain this transgression against Alastor’s prized space will not go unpunished.

You see it as an opportunity for an owed favor, not that you couldn’t barter with Sir Pentious to do what you asked of him but this will leave you without haggle for certain. Thankful for his odd adoration of the incompetent creatures.

Allowing them to see another day as you chirp quickly, “I’ll clean the mess if you repair the broken things.”

Playful as if that’ll placate the man but he hums dryly, using his magic to mend the glass while you tidy up the old fashioned way. Sweeping up shards and crumpling up what you hope were unimportant scraps of paper the eggs used for ‘arts and crafts’.

Though you do keep one that involves a crudely drawn Alastor with one of the eggs holding his hand, signed by name: Frank.. with a backwards R.

Your sleeves are rolled up by the time you’re done, fanning yourself before finally taking down your hair to admire your work. The space near pristine save for the Radio Demons oh deer mug and a few scattered transcripts of requests that’ll never make it to the open air of his broadcasts.

“Well done my little languorous lady!” You’re not sure if he’s being genuinely sarcastic or not, his tone frequently facetious sounding in nature but you choose not to take offense. Swiping your forearm over your brow as Alastor taps the reupholstered cushioned seat next to him, “that’s all for today. You may rest now.”

“Gladly,” you all but groan as you flop into the seat next to him, slumping against its back as you glance over your shoulder through the window. Lidded gaze taking in the liveliness of the city below the hilltop of the hotel before you stretch out tired limbs. A yawn overtaking you as you allow yourself to relax. Uncaring that you’re still in the presence of a menacing overlord.

You nod off with an ease that’s almost impressive. Slowly leaning against his shoulder until your limp body slumps further into Alastor, causing a stiffness in him as he looks over you. Scrutinizing for a moment as he contemplates if you’re feigning sleep for a brazen attempt at contact with him but the thought is quickly dismissed.

You were a sleepy creature, after all.

And for a long moment, his arms hover away from you in his surprise. Poised with the option to either shove you from his lap or hold you closer and in the absence of questioning eyes (not that any wretched soul dares to do so), Alastor chooses the former.

His fingers come to pet along the curve of your skull. Combing through the bumps in your hair from the professional updo that you’d so proudly put effort into.

With an almost bereft sigh despite his unwavering cheshire grin, he adjusts you carefully so you’ll curl with more ease in his lap, your nose pressed to his throat after he’d thoughtfully angled your head to his shoulder. Finally situating you in a way he could still reach his coffee and begin his broadcast. Alastor supposes you’ve earned this uninterrupted rest in his presence.

Just this once.

He supposes he shouldn’t be at all surprised with how your slumber remains wholly uninterrupted even while he talks or sings into his mic. Unmitigated volume but at least you remain quiet, not a peep from you not even a whine.

He could almost praise you, but he’s already done so once today. And the notion is completely out the window whenever he shakes you in an attempt to rouse you at the end of his broadcast.

Enough that you whine and shift in his hold but only further wrapping yourself around him. Arms coming to loop around his throat and link your fingers on the shoulder opposite of the one you rest on, shocking even him when you nuzzle into the juncture of his jaw.

What a lucky thing you were, not to be punished for the over familiarity with him even while unconscious.

Alastor takes in a deep breath, chest expanding with the wide berth before he exhales long and slowly. Hooking his arms around your shoulders and the backs of your knees, for an ample amount of support of course, as he moves to stand. Sidestepping from his seat and descending the stairs that connect Alastor’s booth to the hotel.

Features an impassive, muted smile as he treks quietly through the halls until he reaches the floor you stay on. Snapping his fingers to open your door and close it behind him upon his entrance, closing the distance to your messy bed with little effort.

“Perhaps you’ll need to spend the day with Nifty soon,” said in jest when you seem to rouse ever so slightly.

“Mmm, no,” playfully petulant with a smile gracing plump lips as you use your cutest sounding sleepy voice, “trying to send me away? Didn't I do good for you today?”

“You did, let’s try and make it a habit,” a little snide but you understand, even in your half asleep haze, it isn’t inherently directed at you. It’s like second nature to him now, the sarcasm and glib attitude.

You giggle over it, humming in affirmation as you’re gently laid to rest but he's warm against your body. You cling to it, whine with furrowed brows as his fingers wrap around your biceps in a bid for you to loosen your hold.

You tighten instead, flex the muscles in them defiantly even as he pulls away, “five more minutes Alastor.”

“You always say that darling.”

“And it usually works,” a childish rebuttal but you can tell when to take an inch or a mile depending on Alastors mood. Despite his unamused expression, you figure it couldn’t hurt to attempt the mile, “five minutes. You’re warm, I’ll fall asleep quickly.”

To your surprise, but not without a defeated sigh more than telling of his annoyance, he agrees. Resting his knee on the edge of your mattress and you take it as your sign to let go of him so he can crawl in after you. Excitedly lifting the downy comforter in invitation before fluffing it over the both of you once he lies down.

Rigidly and awkwardly, taking one side of your bed as if there was a physical diving line while staring up at the ceiling, but in your bed nonetheless; that doesn’t mean you won’t pout about it however. You��ve already taken one mile, what’s another few feet?

“I took care of you aaallll day,” uttered as a sweet purr while you scoot closer, ignoring how pinstraight he lies beneath your covers. Alastor only hums sardonically, even in the dark you can see his smile. You prop up on your elbow, resting your cheek on the back of your hand as you petulantly furrow your brows over how he lies flat on his back staring up at the ceiling.

Only sparing you cursory glances before his lids fall shut under your unwavering gaze, “five minutes isn’t a very long time, you know.”

“Rude,” scoffing indignantly, flopping next to him, close enough Alastor can feel your breath fan against his cheek. It bothers you how it seems like he’s ready to leave, the nonchalant, indifferent air about him palpable at your side as a silence falls between you. Causing a ringing in your ears before you disturb the peace once more.

“I kinda liked it yknow,” you start slowly. Turning over until you’re half on your stomach, half on your side. Testing the waters by placing your palm on his chest, continuing when Alastor only gives you a sideways glance, “bein of some use to you.”

Drumming your fingers against the fabric of his blazer, fingering a button as you wait for any response, good or bad, from Alastor. Touching him brazenly, however slight and innocent it may be, but it’s encouraging how he doesn’t recoil from the contact. It emboldens you, even under the intense gaze of glowing crimson; it goads you into testing further. Hooking your leg over his hips, waiting with bated breath to see if you’re pushing your luck but your self preservation skills were always in a severe deficit.

“Two minutes left, sweetheart.”

You swallow thickly at his warning, sitting up as you pull yourself to straddle his hips, “maybe I could do a little more for you.”

He glances downward, brow quirked upwards as he watches you hover above his pelvis. Careful not to rest your weight against him, just in case.You’ve piqued his interest and curiosity in tandem.

“What more do I need of you, then, dearest?” Dare you think there’s a coyness to his tone?

Finally, you lower yourself against him, skirt hiking further up to the point it’s bunched at your hips. Leaning towards him until your chest is pressed to his and your elbows rest on either side of his face. Close, as if to share a secret as you whisper, “you need me sir.”

The moment breaks the second the statement leaves your lips, Alastors pupils now morphed into the radio dials as his sclera darken to deep voids and irises glow brilliantly.

You’re on your back in a flash, positions flipped with your boss for the day caging you in beneath him. Imposing his weight against you as he invades your personal space now, “and who are you to tell me what I need?”

Though you’re far from dissuaded with this reaction. If he wanted to kill you he would have, “can I call it a suggestion instead? Or is my desire merely projection?”

A beat of silence passes between you, then another. The blood coursing in your veins, roaring in your ears does little to drown out the sound of radio static emanating from Alastor. You worry your lip between your teeth, making the already plump flesh swell from the gentle abuse.

All the while under the microscope of Alastors piercing glare until all at once, he relaxes above you. Shoulders slacking and, with a blink, you’re met with the familiar dual tones of crimson and vermillion, “I enjoy your company, sweetheart, I won’t lie to you there.”

You relax in turn, tilting your head into your pillow as you bring your hands up to your chest. Testing over your sternum as if to manually slow your rapidly beating heart before steadily undoing the buttons of your blouse. Heat rising from your throat to your cheeks despite how he definitely saw your naked chest earlier in the day.

It’s different now though, having him watch you undress compared accidentally and innocently seeing you in the nude earlier. You exhale your trepidation though, tossing away your shirt and arching up without touching Alastor who makes no move to aid nor assist you to unclasp your bra to shed away as well. Settling back down the pillow top, resisting the urge to cover yourself despite the inadvertence to one sided vulnerability; you’ve come this far, you’ve no desire to turn back.

Meeting his unwavering eye contact with your own, stone faced while Alastor grins as you shimmy your skirt and panties down your hips until they slip down your calves to pool at your ankles. Lifting your legs ever so slightly to kick them away, spreading your thighs thoughtfully to frame his hips.

Now laid completely bare beneath a still clothed Alastor but you’ve steeled your resolve, tucking your chin down to achieve a sultry look. Bringing your fingers between your thighs to swipe slow circles against your clit. Dull throbs of pleasure gradually flooding your system the louder the slick clicks grow from your ministrations.

Lips parting around a breathy sigh as your hips twitch into your touch, all while the Radio Demon watches you with muted intrigue.

It excites you, warms your chest as your arch with a soft moan. Batting your lashes up at him, “your turn..”

Alastors grin grows impossibly wider, watchful eyes dragging down your naked body then back up again, “you’re still mine to command for the day.”

A whine leaves your lips next, knees falling inward and resting against either side of Alastors tapered waist. Shoulders creeping higher as he leans down to husk in your ear, the usually threatening electronic warble of his voice makes your puffy throb with need at commanding, “undress me yourself.”

A coy smile splits your features, pointed canines digging into your lips darkened by the rush of blood as you raise your arms. Resting your hands on Alastors chest before pushing into the sleeves of his blazer, away from his shoulders and he’s gracious enough to lean slightly on his haunches to shed it while you work at the buttons of his shirt. Unfastening each one with a fervor, eager to see and feel his skin against yours.

Growing more bold as you lean up with him, dragging your palms along Alastors triceps as his shirt follows his blazer. Stalling minutely when your nose brushes against his, focus darting between his eyes to his lips and back again before you close the gap. A tentative brush at first but your grow confident easily, one hand cupping the nape of his neck just below the curve of his skull while the other ventures between you.

Fingertips grazing his abdomen while you work at his trousers, laughing breathlessly into the kiss in a subtle bid for air when you feel a firmness at his crotch. Palming it testingly after you’ve undone his button and zipper, humming a pleased noise before you push at the pooling waist of the garment as you fall back against your pillows.

“That isn’t your staff this time, is it, Alastor?”

Alastor scoffs as he tosses away his bottoms, ridding himself of his final article in the meantime so you can appreciatively drink in the sight of him.

“Playing coy isn’t your strong suit dearest,” you shiver at the hint of agitation in his tone, but with delight this time.

But even still, as you lose yourself to the overwhelming desire for him, your confidence wavers with his lack of enthusiasm over physical engagement. Peering up at him with a pathetic look about you, knit brows and a slight pout to your lips.

“Whatever the matter, are you losing your nerve?” Alastor teases as he lowers himself to you, hard cock sliding against slick lips, a gasp ripping from your lungs at the contact as you shake your head emphatically. Looping your arm beneath his to drape along his shoulder blades, ever so slightly pressing him more firmly against you. His head dips lower, allowing you to tuck your head into his throat and with his lips by your ear he growls out a simple, “lovely.”

Your hips twitch reflexively into his at the sound, delighted thrill dancing down each vertebra of your spine only to race back up when his mushroomed tip nudges against your clit. Sighing a soft sound as you chase the feeling, feet flat on the mattress top as you grind up into Alastor who chuckles bemusedly at how so little elicits so much from you.

But he can admit to himself that you feel a kind of sinful he hasn’t partaken in for quite some time— if at all. He doesn’t remember, it’s never been a priority to him but it never hurts to indulge yourself every now and again.

His arm slips beneath you, fingertips pressing into your back to force you to arch further into him as he reaches to firmly grasp the back of your thigh. Pressing his thumb into the flesh while his hips roll into yours, coating himself in your wetness and filling the room with sticky clicks until his cockhead catches on your entrance. You inhale sharply at the initial stretch, eyes rolling back behind closed lids causing them to flutter and Alastor to chuckle until he’s fully sheathed in you.

“Sweetheart you are divine,” ironic, given where you’ve ended up for eternity but the praise adds to the pleasure Alastor causes. Falling into an easy rhythm with the pace that he’s set.

Even and calculated, satisfying with each rut of his hips into your warmth. Your legs raise until your ankles hook at the base of his spine, heels resting gently at the small of his back and the position cants your hips just so, allowing Alastor to drive into that patch within you that you swear has you seeing Heaven's light.

Singing his praises with saccharine sighs and pitched moans that break the syllables of his name that punctuate each thrust he delivers.

Like music to his ears, and Alastor grits it out in so many sounds rather than sentences, a first for the Radio Demon for certain; a loss for words. If not for the choked grunts when your tight walls pulse in time with your heavily beating heart, you’d think he was enjoying himself far less than you were as the telltale coil tightened in your lower belly. Assured of his pleasure as he hastens in pace ever so slightly, rut of his hips hurried almost imperceptibly— or perhaps you were just too lost in the throngs of pleasure on the precipice of euphoria to notice.

“Where would you like me dear,” the sound of his voice barely grounds you, blinking a few times before he repeats his question as your hands cup either side of his jaw.

“You’re pretty old fashioned, h-huh? How about th— ah, good ol pull n’pray?” You giggle over your own joke while your fingers thread into the crop of his bob. Tugging gently before pointed claws scrape softly, soothingly, at his scalp while Alastors grin grows tight quickly. Hips stuttering out of rhythm while you’re wholly unaware of how your laughter forced you to grip him tighter so deliciously that it was the final nail in his proverbial coffin. Velvet walls constricting around his sensitive cock so sinfully and it ultimately leads to his demise. The lights of your room flickering and his eyes glow brighter with the warble of his voice contorting his groan.

His nails dig into your skin as his body seizes while spilling into you, giving you surface level puncture wounds. The combination of pain and pleasure occurring simultaneously while Alastor fills you full has you following him into sweet rapture. Cells alright causing you to arch into him, emitting a throaty moan that drags out the final letter of his name.

All while Alastor continues to work you both through the experience. Each of his movements deliberate in order to prolong the feeling but it does well to overstimulate you in the best of ways. Body twitching as his hips drag backwards only to push in with a salaciously lewd squelch, his spend dribbling from you as he fills you full.

Too full, overwhelmed in the best way that you can’t stop yours from splaying your palms out over his back. Digging your heels with a little more pressure in incistance for closeness as your teeth sink into the soft tissues where his throat curves into his shoulder.

Drawing a surprised snarl from him and biting out “careful now darling. Don’t get too carried away.” Breathless post ecstasy as his hips slow and you utter muted apologies, dotting tentative kisses to the marks blossoming in your wake but you’re more than glad to have left some tangible evidence of your coupling.

Even if not a soul besides yourself will ever see them, it’s enough to know they’re there and this isn’t some very vivid perverse dream.

A calm falls over the room as Alastor detangles you both from one another, his lids fluttering shut when you stretch before settling down. Turning over on the stomach and he’s certain you’ll slip into unconsciousness within a few minutes— figuring then is the time to take his leave.

He recovered first, anyway, sitting up while his fingers smooth down any unruliness your activities might’ve caused before he shifts. The motion draws your attention and, despite how badly you want to remain on cloud nine now that you’ve achieved it with a blissful shortcut, you crash from the high. Alert now as a bit of worry spikes in your bloodstream.

You reach out, just like you have a multitude of times today alone but Charlie did say the road to your redemption was seizing opportunities whenever they present themselves. Fingers encircling his thin wrist, the touch earning a questioning sound from him.

Squirming under his gaze, suddenly the slightest bit self conscious as you ask the same thing that always tumbles from your lips with ease, “five more minutes?”

And for the second time today, Alastor complies. Turning on his side as you brighten and beam at him before closing the distance with a swiftness. Nose to his chest while your arms weave around his torso, humming contentedly when you both settle between the sheets.

“You always say that.”

#vixen writes

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