cillivnz

[cillivnz]

[cillivnz]

[cillivnz]

I would die in a horror movie first because I would flirt with the killer.

[cillivnz]

She really loves her bull.

Cover art for an ongoing comic: patreon.com/monstercrave

[cillivnz]

omg lene you should do something about a 80's slashers au with rafe and the boys that would be soooo cool!! ❤️❤️

!!! omigod yesss i'm gonna start with 80's slasher!rafe if feel like he'd be a creepy little stalkerrr, def season 2 rafe 💞

𐦍༘₊ ⊹ warnings! 18+ - non con, violence, stalking, spanking, slight breeding kink, knife play, dark!rafe - ₊˚⊹

you sat in the comfort of your bedroom, bathed in the soft glow of lamplight, finishing up some homework while talking with a girlfriend of yours on the phone. you reach your hand out to your nightstand to grab the nail file when the sound of the door closing causes you to freeze, being left home alone, your heart starts to race, and you hang up the phone and walk up to your door. you pull down your pretty little white nightgown so it covers your ass as you press your ear to the door to make sure it was just your parents.

all you hear is silence so you shrug and convince yourself it was just your mind playing tricks on you, then the phone starts to ring again, thinking it was just your friend calling you back, and you pick up the phone. 

"hello?" you speak with your voice lowered.

"hey babyface" you stop moving when you hear a voice you don't recognize.

"who's calling?" you try to sound assertive but end up sounding like a scared puppy. 

"i've been uh- watching you for a long time, an' i figured i should introduce myself," he says, his voice all gravely. you grip on the handle of the phone and reach an arm over to close your curtains quickly.

"stop that! it's not funny, whoever this is leave me alone." you almost whine. 

"nah can't do that baby, you looked too pretty in that nightgown...you wearin' panties underneath?" he continues. 

"i'm gonna call my boyfriend an-and he'll find out who you are and beat you up!" you stutter.

"you're not gonna do that, cuz uh- i'm in the house, and if you hang up-"

"i'll call the police!" you cut him off.

"i need you to listen to me, if you don't wanna die, you need to walk down to the living room slowly- you try to run and i'll catch you. if you don't come down, i'll go up n'get you." he then hangs up, your chest heaving as tears start to form in your eyes, you think about climbing out the window but it is on the second floor and the man might catch you and kill you! you decide to grab a chair to put against the door to keep him coming in but it's too late, as you take one step backward trying to drag the chair you feel the blade of a knife press against your neck. you gasp, ready to scream.

"shshshsh, behave." the man shushes you, pressing himself behind you, god he must be tall. "told you to listen" he coos condescendingly. 

"please, please don't..." you sob. 

"hey, hey! shut up- listen to me alright?" he raises his voice causing you to shut your eyes and nod slowly in fear, tears spill down your face. "good girl. want you to lay down on your bed and stay there, don't move, scream, talk or do anything 'less i tell you." you nod again slowly and he removes the knife from your neck, you do as you are told and lay down on your bed, silently sobbing. 

you look at the man, face now lit up by the soft light of your nightstand lamp, you watch him come closer and wipe some of the sweat forming on his forehead under his messy hair with the back of his hand that's holding the knife. he grins, getting up on your bed and tossing the knife next to him as he pins you down. 

"r-rafe?..." you whisper, now realizing who it is.

"yeah! yeah baby it's me..." he continues to grin. 

"get off! please rafe, i don't wanna do this with you!" you whine and start to squirm a little bit.

"you don't really have a choice." he mumbles as he runs his rough hands up and down your thighs, stopping to grab the hem of your lace panties. "you wear this for me?" he says pulling them down as you really start to cry, trying to get him off of you by pushing at his shoulders but he's too strong.

"i have a- my boyfriend-" you start but then he looks back into your eyes and smiles again. "nah, you don't, i got rid of 'im... cut him up, he's in the trunk of my truck. wanna see?" he asks, his eyes following yours, bringing his hand up to wipe your tears away lovingly. 

"why!? why are you doing this!" you sob and try and move your face away from his touch. "i love you, i love you so much and you never talked to me or...looked at me and i need you to love me too…say it…" he demands. you shake your head no and try and push him off, pissed, rafe manhandles you. he flips you onto your stomach and lifts you up by your waist so your face is smushed against the messy sheets, ass in the air. "you fucking brat." he spits out.

he yanks your panties down and smacks your ass with his large hand, holding your wrists in the other. he forcefully spreads your legs and places a hard slap on your poor wet little cunt.

you let out a yelp as he "soothes" your throbbing pussy by rubbing your clit with the rough pads of three fingers. "are you a virgin princess?" he whispers, pressing a gross, sloppy kiss to your cheek. you whine out and try to move your face away. "what? you don't like my kisses?" he leans in again to give you a few more of those wet kisses, making taunting kissy sounds that make you scrunch up your face and mewl.

"gonna make you feel reeeally good baby, gonna make this little pussy cream all over me, yeah?" he rambles, grabbing the knife with his free hand, bringing it back to your neck. "please rafe, i've never- "

"you waited for me? huh? princess saved herself for me." you can hear his smile, he's almost relieved that he will be your first and last. he pulls himself out of his boxers and starts to line himself up. "i would'a stretched you out a bit first but this cunt is a dripping mess already so."

you scream as you feel his fat tip press against your entrance. "shhhhshh, s'just the tip." he murmurs, easing himself in slowly until he's stretching you as you've never felt, his tip kisses your cervix. "ow! it's too big, too much, too big..." you ramble, squeezing down on his cock unable to really move due to the knife.

"n'you are so tight, fuck, this is where you should'a always been..taking me like this babydoll." he grits through his teeth as he starts to thrust causing you to whine and to try and pull your hands away from his grip.

"keep cryin', it's only making me harder princess," he grunts, tears continue to stream down your face. he pounds into you now hard and fast, you wish you could grab onto his shoulders or hair as he starts to hit that sweet spot.

"stop it! rafeeee" you whine, he shushes you by tossing the knife on the bed again and covering your mouth with his hand as he continues his assault on your cunt. "i should cum in you, knock you up so you won't ever be able to leave me." he breathes out, he lets go of your face and wraps that hand around your neck to bring you up to kiss your neck. "no! no no please pull out! please rafe!" you cry.

he lets go of your neck and throws you back down you your face hits the mattress again, he lets go of your wrists so you are now gripping your sheets. "you know that's the knife i used to stab your boyfriend? he begged like a little bitch. he didn't deserve you." he reaches a hand around to grab your pussy and pull you closer to him, then rubbing your throbbing clit.

"m'na cummm" you mewl, body giving into how he's touching you so roughly yet gently.

"i know baby, give it to me, all over my cock c'mon" he encourages with that tone, and feeling him so deep in you and hitting that spot your body goes numb. shutting your eyes tightly as hot white explodes in you making you feel like you are on a roller-coaster.

he grips your waist and with the other hand, he's lovingly brushing back your messy baby hairs due to your sweaty forehead. "atta girl, thereee, see? i knew you could be good for me." he thrusts once more hard and deep, shooting his thick hot load all up in you causing you to whine at the feeling and making him groan.

he pulls out of you, sticking his two fingers into your pussy to push his cum back in, then leaning in to bite your ass. you let out a little scream, he flips you on your back and grabs the knife, gripping your thigh he brings the knife over to carve a little RC into the meat of your thigh. you try not to thrash around but you do let out another little scream at the pain.

"yer' all mine now kid." he smiles, exhaustion taking over as you let out shaky breaths and let him lean in to press icky kiss to your lips. ᥫ᭡

#sin suggests <3

[cillivnz]

"i'd kill myself for you. i'd kill you for myself."

ANAKIN SKYWALKER, SAM MONROE, STEPHEN GLASS

[cillivnz]

i feel like i’m so late to finding this but will u ever continue your marquis vincent series. it’s really good!

hello, darling!

thank you so much for your kind words, and yes, i will be continuing ITHYAMP!

i’ll just address the hiatus here, because i have been asked about this series or individual works for the Marquis, or even my other unrelated works of fiction. this year and even the past one towards the end has been extremely difficult to adjust to. from changes in work to the demise of many loved ones, i find it difficult to bring myself to sit down and write, and i would never write something halfheartedly and especially if a dear anon went out of their way to request that i write them their prompt. i find solace in writing which is why the minute i get some motivation out of my writer’s block (let’s call it that) i decide to post unrequested one-shots. i see your requests, i hear them, and i will always deliver. i apologise for delays, but i request your patience.

thank you, my lovies. you guys can’t fathom how much i love and appreciate you all. 💌

xo, sin.

#sin speaks #sin’s confessional

[cillivnz]

i am speechless.

the old man and the sea- a joel miller x reader fic

summary: grief is a sacred thing, a nasty thing, a sensual thing. it grips you from the inside until there's nothing left but a void of darkness- a void that can never be filled. joel miller knows this fact very well, and all he wants to do is save you.

warnings: girthed up age gap (college age!reader x 50’s age joel), i’m exploring a new type of writing ok let me COOK!!!! idk i am delusional, reader has hair that at least reaches her neck, cigarette use, this whole thing is basically an allegory for grief and growing but there also a lot of sexy smut soooo yeah. (mentions of death and two brief mentions of suicide, but nothing too detailed.) that being said, smut (f receiving oral sex, soft kissy missionary sex, unprotected piv sex, some 'dirty' talk, etc.)

note: this has NOT been proofread or edited. any mistakes are mine. i just hate going back and editing lmao. enjoy! xx

In the august days of your youth, when the rocky line of the coast line glimmered beneath the flame of the sun, when the foamy waves would pool by your sandy feet, you could remember the towering lighthouse just south of the beach, the way it stood tall and proud, like the statues of Roman soldiers you knew from your school encyclopedias. It was vibrant and alive, no more dead than the clams bubbling beneath the surface of the ocean, no more dead than the bellowing of the whales far off the shore.

You remember how it would speak to you, late at night when you would walk alone, hoping to catch the light reflecting off the tail of a pretty mermaid, hoping that the local legends of talking fish would come poke their heads above the water, speaking to you in riddles from days gone by.

You remember the words of the light which shone strong from above, circling above your head , like the passing lights of a traveling carnival, your eyes caught like a moth roaming towards the flames, lost in the eternal beauty of its golden light.

Come to me, child. Let the lighthouse unburden your pain.

But back then, when you were quick to scare despite your steadfast stubbornness, you never garnered enough courage to explore behind its walls.

Now college had passed, and you moved back home to your parent's rickety beach house, alone behind her comforting wooden exterior. This home. This home that was once so full of life. This home that held warm laughter and late night board games. This home that housed your closest friends and their secrets of crushes and undeciphered dreams. This home where you grew into a young woman full of life and beauty, clever and brilliant.

This home that was now empty.

You had got the call the week after finals.

We're so sorry, they went out fishing and a storm came. We never found them.

Oh, yes.

Adventure pumped through your veins, the taste for freedom like salty water on your tongue. You knew where you got it from, you always had. Your sweet family, your loving parents. Full of life like that lighthouse, full of of love like the sun.

Now they were nothing, and this house was nothing. Those years of laughter and secrets and adventure were nothing.

Nothing.

Your favorite word these days.

Going through belongings and shuffling through old books had taken almost a weeks worth of tears. Hot, tepid, angry tears.

How dare they leave you alone? How dare they forsake you like this?

The thought of crashing water and striking lightning was almost too much to bare.

When the storm had rolled in that morning, you had been tucked away in the alcove of your kitchen, nursing a steaming mug that was more cream than coffee. You watched the droplets of rain paint pictures on the window, you watched nature wring her tears across the fluttering branches of trees, cracking soft splashes across the pavement with each gust of air. Your chest felt heavy with thoughts of them.

Mom and dad.

Mamma and papa.

Perhaps it was in hopes you would feel some comfort, perhaps it was in hopes you would feel whole. If you could just stare out at the ocean that took them, maybe they would speak to you. Maybe those fairytale fish would poke their heads up from the water and exclaim to you how happy your parents were, how they were fitting right in, how they had invited Mrs. Dolphin over for tea last Saturday, and how they were finally warming up to the funny shark that always lurked in the seaweed.

You stood barefoot on the cragged rock, staring out at the roaring waves, with nothing but the lull of distant seagulls and the song of incoming thunder.

No fish. No parents. No Mrs. Dolphin. Just another season of storms and a crater in your heart.

Your throat was raw from all the screaming. You danced to your fight song as you let the rain take you, your clothes felt like skin from how soaked through they were. Heavy drapes of fabric that cemented you in place on that cragged rock. That cragged rock that dripped with the blood of your raw heels, your toes scraped and ruined from the sandy surface.

It was dark by the time the storm rolled out, dark by the time your back found the safety of the sand, dark by the time your hair clung to your neck and became tangled up with the seashells.

There was a glowing orb of light far off in the distance that you could just make out through the hazy fog of your eyelashes, and you realized it was growing closer, the old handle of a lantern creaking through the night.

"Hello?" The voice was rough and unknown to your ears, yet held a certain warmth despite the weariness.

"Yes?" You asked softly, refusing to open your eyes. If you opened your eyes, all of this was real, all of this was raw, all of this was right there.

"Are you.... okay?"

"Yes."

The lantern creaked once more, and you heard the shuffle of fabric as the man leaned forward, pressing his knuckles to your cheek. "You're colder than a reindeer's antlers, girl." His touch was warm, his hand a welcome solace from the rain. "You live around here?"

You didn't want to go back to that house. You didn't want to smell their detergent or see their old clothes. You didn't want to waltz through that kitchen or hear the creak of those old stairs.

Perhaps it was from the way your lip quivered, from the rain or from the cold, perhaps it was from the defeat in your voice, or the weightlessness of your soul, but the man before you knew he had to do something about it. How could he not? You were laying there like a pile of unfolded laundry, and no one else was around.

You felt an arm slip behind your back.

"C'mon, stand up with me. On three."

You groaned softly, using a thick arm as leverage as the mystery man helped you stand off the ground. When you opened your eyes, you saw a pair of umber orbs staring at you, tracing over your face, every line, scar, freckle, dent, he was soaking you in like a sponge, as though he wanted to know your face just from memory.

"I'm Joel."

Joel.

He was handsome, that was the first thing you noticed about him. You felt your stomach churn at the feeling, angry you could find him so beautiful, despite the darkness which shrouded over you. Joel was broad and rugged, no doubt rough around the edges. He was adorned with various scars and random freckles, with thick eyebrows and broad shoulders, plush lips and kind eyes- hardened by time, no doubt, but beautiful all the same.

You know you mumbled your name out somewhere along the walk, eyes cloudy with tears. It was a miracle you managed to speak anything at all.

As you neared the lighthouse, you realized just how foreboding it truly was. Its paint was cracking, yet its foundation remained firm, and it towered up into the clouds like a Medieval castle. Behind it's white structure you saw a small cabin, warm light seeping through the misty windows, painting the green grass with splatters of sunshine.

When Joel opened the door, an old dog sitting in front of the fireplace lifted his head, the soft thump of a tail beating against the wooden floors. His fur was gray and his eyes were old, his long fur a mixture of brown, black, and white patches. Like a makeshift quilt.

Quilts. Your mother used to make those.

"That's Moby." Joel explained, setting a kettle on the old gas stove. "Sit down. You're trailing blood." You felt embarrassment creep up your neck, and he must have noticed the way your eyes darted with shame. "No, no. I didn't mean it like that. Let me fix up your cuts. I-.... I wasn't trying to be a dick." He spoke like this was his first time having human interaction in a decade, and by the way he moved, you might have been right.

He fumbled through drawers and cabinets, eventually finding a metal first aid kit that had begun resting at the edges years ago. Joel pulled up a dining room chair in front of you with a loud screech, peering up at you as he shuffled through the remnants of the kit.

"What were you doing out there?" He asked, gently grabbing your ankle. He guided it to his lap, inspecting the raw flesh of your soles.

"Exploring."

"Exploring what?"

"Myself."

You felt his shoulders jerk with a bit of a laugh. Normally, you would not have gone home with a stranger. Normally, you would not have let a random man place your legs on his lap or nurse you up.

But then again, nothing was normal anymore. Normal was home. Normal was family. Normal was homecooked meals and late night board games and sleepovers and secrets and.... well, none of this.

The hot stream of tears threatened the dam that rest just above your waterline. Joel noticed, but he didn't say anything.

His calloused thumb rested on the side of your foot, the sting of alcohol soaked pads causing you to wince.

"I know." He muttered through an unlit cigarette which dangled from his mouth, the lines of his forehead prominent with each movement he made. "There we go. Right one's done. Let me see the left."

You obeyed wordlessly, gently propping it up onto his thigh. He repeated his previous work until that foot was cleaned and patched.

Joel stared at you. The tea kettle behind him was whistling for attention, its top sputtering from the roaring boil of water.

"Earl gray or green?" He asked as he rummaged for two cups, blowing the dust off of one. You watched Joel stare at one of the cups for a beat too long.

"Earl gray." You croaked, blinking hard. You felt wetness by your hand. When you looked down, the black nose of a dog was pressing into your palm. Your fingers found his fur, rubbing that spot right behind his ear that made his back leg go crazy. Who couldn't smile at that?

Moby laid down, his fur a puddle at the base of your chair as he rested his snout atop your foot. You stared at him, welcoming the softness of his body against yours.

"Moby is a sweet dog. He's old. Rarely gets up from that bed." Joel explained, handing you a cup. The words World's Best Dad were fading at the sides. This cup must have been older than you.

"I like him." You let the liquid glide down your throat with each sip, savoring the warmth it provided you. At the first sign of a shiver, Joel had wrapped a blanket around your shoulders.

"Why are you being so kind to me? You don't even know me."

Joel sat back down across from you with a soft groan, the ache in his bones creaking like an old, rusting elevator shaft. "Because I know you."

"Have we met before?" Your eyebrow raised with interest, and you looked at him wearily, trying to deduce what he was up to.

"No. But I know what grieving looks like." There was a long pause before Joel decided to speak again. "Were you trying to kill yourself?"

"What? No!" You guffawed, neck snapping up to shoot him a scowl. "Of course not."

"Look. If you walked up on a half dead, soaking wet person on the shore, during the aftermath of a storm, you'd be thinking the same thing." He defended himself sternly, setting his cup down.

There was a thick moment of quietness.

"Those were your parents, weren't they?" His voice was barely a whisper. It floated through the air like smoke off a candle, hitting you in the face.

"Yes."

"It was all over the news. Loads of us went out there, tried to find them."

"They're out there somewhere. Fish food." Your voice was bitter.

Joel didn't say anything. He just sat and stared. You stared back.

It became a ritual after that night. You were over there every evening, usually with a paper bag full of groceries and treats for Moby. You taught Joel how to make Paprikash and Japchae, you taught Moby how to fist bump with his nose (old dogs can learn new tricks), and you taught yourself how to laugh again.

Laughing. Such an odd thing to do in the aftermath of grief. Such a weird feeling to allow ones self to feel after weeks of chaos.

And Joel, he had his uses too.

Joel taught you how to do a fishtail braid, he taught you how to use a fly rod, and what the inside of a lighthouse looks like. Joel taught you how to smile again, he taught you what the feeling of freedom felt like once more.

Summer faded into autumn, and the orange and yellow trees began to paint the prettiest of pictures on the canvas of the coast. It held a certain nostalgia that summer had always failed to do for you, and the promise of apple cider and pumpkin scented candles floated through with every passing day.

It had taken some convincing, but Joel had swayed in to your demands, and you both sat at a tiny table in a tiny cafe, the steaming pumpkin latte swirling between his hands.

"So?"

He stared at it for a moment before meeting your gaze. "It's.... not half bad."

"Well, well, well. Looks like I was right. I knew you'd like it." You smiled through your victory, drinking your own iced coffee.

"I haven't been here in years." Joel explained, looking around at the decorations. Local art, framed photographs, and signed albums adorned the exposed brick walls, the glowing salt lamps on each table bathing the air with warm, orange light.

"You've been here before?" This coffee shop was old, you knew that much, but even when you were younger and frequented its counter with your high school friends, you can't remember ever seeing him here. And this was a small town- you knew you would have remembered his face, despite the wrinkles and grays. He still would have been Joel.

"Over two decades ago. Sarah loved this place."

"Sarah?"

His upper lip twitched at the sound of her name. Joel looked at you with heavy eyes, glossed over with the mark of grief. The kind of grief that settles in to your body as though it's its home, the kind of grief that sits beside you on the couch and never leaves. The kind of grief you were learning to grow beside.

"My daughter."

The air hung above your heads like a rainy cloud, thick and desultory. It fell across your shoulders like a fur coat, and you struggled to shake it all away.

"I didn't know that you..." Words were useless. They always were when it came to matters like this.

Joel drank his coffee in silence, tracing the ridges of the wooden table out with his eyes. "Don't like talking about her."

"We don't have to."

"Yes, we do." His voice was stern as he looked up at you, your gaze connecting. Joel's eyes were far away, searching for something in the recesses of his memory, or perhaps gaining the courage to speak to you.

"I've been alone for over twenty years." His voice was softer than you had ever remembered it being. "And then.... you were there. Just there. Laid out on the shore like a beached mermaid, shivering in the moonlight. I didn't know you... but I knew you. You were me in that moment. I had been you."

Your lips were pressed into a tight, thin line, and you watched as he spoke. There was a subtle shake to Joel's hands as he picked at his thumb nail, a tick you had picked up on the first week you had known him. The bouncing of his knee vibrated through the table.

"I know what grief is. I know the stain it leaves on someone's face. It was all over you.. just-just dripping."

You hadn't noticed the tears welling in your eyes.

Joel reached over, his palm engulfing your cold hand like a blanket, warming your skin up with his touch. He laced your fingers tight in to his own, cradling your palms close between his two hands.

"I know what all this does to a person. How it rots, how.... how it erodes. I knew I needed to help you."

"What's why you took me back to your house."

"Yes. That's why I bandaged you up, that why I made you tea, that's why I let you keep coming back. Because I wanted to help you, because I lov-"

"Are we doing okay over here?" A barista walked up with a smile, a tray in hand. "I'm just going to take these empty cups away! It's such a beautiful day outside."

You managed to shoot her a smile.

As she walked away, Joel continued staring at you, and there was a sense of something..... else in his eyes.

"Lets go back home? To- well, uh, to my home."

You nodded silently, letting go of his hands as you both walked out the door.

There was something unspoken between Joel and you, and it had settled between the two of you over the months. You knew that he knew, and Joel knew that you knew, yet it was never brought up, it was never allowed to spoken out loud. If it was spoken out loud, then it became real, and if it became real, then it would end up being a burden. Or a promise. Or a nightmare. Or a dream. Or a beautiful, welcoming, loving thing that lasted until the day you died.

How terrifying was that?

You don't know when you had started holding Joel's hand, but the walk back to the lighthouse was quiet and chilly.

Because I lo-

His words echoed through your skull with every single step you took along the cobbled path.

Lo, lo, lo, lo. Love? Loathe? Long? Look?

Your chest compressed against itself as your thoughts wandered. You must have been squeezing Joel's hand too hard, or your nails must have been digging into his skin too deeply, because he stopped and looked at you.

"Are you okay?" He asked quietly.

"I- um. Huh?"

"You're practically making me bleed with those nails of yours. Are you okay? Thinking about something?"

"Oh, I'm sorry." You muttered sheepishly, gently recoiling your hand away. Joel stopped you, placing it back in the grasp of his own. "I just... what were you going to say to me?"

"Hmm? Say to you?"

"Back at the coffee shop?"

"Oh." Joel shuffled his weight between both of his feet, his eyes shifting to meet yours. His warm, gentle, dark eyes. Those honeyed orbs of warmth that you had grown to love so deeply. Love? Oh, yes. You were certain it was love.

What part of Joel Miller didn't you love? He had rescued you from much more than that shore on that fateful night. Fate. Hell of a thing, that.

Joel squeezed his eyes shut. It was like ripping off a band-aid. When he spoke, he opened them once more, allowing his words to drip off his tongue. They were soft, gentle, they swayed through the tresses of your hair like a breeze through a field of flowers.

"I love you."

And there it was.

Time must have stopped. Your ears rang with silence, the weight of the universe funneling and funneling, closer and closer to your head until there was nothing. No noise. No air. No nothing.

Joel stared at you with a blank expression on his face, as though he couldn't believe what he had just said.

"I shouldn't have... that was- I'm sorry."

You took a step towards him, his hand was still wrapped around your own. You felt the subtle sheen of sweat on his palm, you tasted the tang of metal on your tongue from biting your cheek too hard, too deep, too long.

You knew it as sure as the sun rose in the east, you knew it with every vein in your body, with every hair on your head. You loved him, too.

Oh you did, didn't you? What a fool you were for him. If he told you to jump, you would jump. If he told you to run away with him, you would ask where. Joel Miller had bewitched you, every ounce of you, and you couldn't bare the thought of leaving him, or forgetting him, or even worse- never meeting him.

Some brave rush of courage overtook you, and before you could think you had grabbed his face in your hands and pressed your mouth into his own, nearly knocking him off his feet with the force of your movement. Joel's hands instinctively grabbed your waist, and his back found the support of a stop sign. The tips of his fingers gently dug into your waist, and he held you close and tight to his chest. You could feel the beating of his heart against his torso, pumping and pumping and pumping its vibrations into your own chest, ricocheting through your body as you tasted him on your tongue.

You pulled away only when your cheeks ached, burying your face in to his chest, allowing the smell of Joel to overcome you. He always smelled like the sea air and cotton, sweet and nostalgic against your nose.

"Lets get home." He whispered in your ear.

Home. He hadn't corrected himself. Home.

Joel's fingers refused to leave yours, locked tight as you made it to his house. Moby greeted you with a kiss to the knee, waddling back to his bed with a heavy huff of air. You gave him the bone you always picked up for him on the way there, before turning around to see Joel in the kitchen, a cigarette in his mouth.

"Want one?" He asked as he brought the lighter to his mouth. You walked towards him, nodding. He took the item out of his mouth, before placing it between your own two lips.

Joel watched the way you took the cigarette, the way your glossy lips looked against the white sheen of paper.

"You're so damn beautiful. God, I just..." Joel shook his head as he kept his thoughts to himself, lighting another smoke before tossing the half empty pack on to the table.

"You just what?" Your voice echoed through the bellow of smoke, and you leaned against the counter, challenging him with your words.

"I just... got so many things I want to do to you."

You smiled, alluring eyes beaming up at him as you puffed and exhaled, slowly putting out the embers on the clay ashtray you had bought him months ago. "Like what?" Your words were teasing.

Joel watched you step towards him, and his chest rose and fell underneath the unlit kitchen light. He took in a deep breath of tobacco before flicking it in to the metal sink.

He'd deal with that later.

"How 'bout I just show you, baby?"

Your lip caught between your teeth as you nodded.

Joel had never moved so fast in his life, whisking you off to his room with a loud bang of his door. He had you nearly naked and on his bed in record time, his knee resting between your legs as he kissed you, the hair of his moustache tickling your nose.

He allowed you to grind yourself down on his leg, soft moans flooding in to his mouth as his tongue explored your own, tangling and dancing with one another as his fingers worked the back of your bra. Joel threw the material across the room, your breasts pressing in to his chest, nipples hard and tantalizing.

That was the first time Joel had pulled away. He left a trail of wet kisses down to your nipples, his lips wrapping around the stiff bud. You watched him suckle at your flesh, shivers causing the hair on your arms to stand up. His curls became tangled with your fingers, a leg resting on his shoulder as he adjusted himself, sucking and licking at your tits as though he were starved.

Your sweet melody of arousal was like music to Joel, who finally gathered the strength to pull away from your chest and move down between your legs, his mouth planting a flurry of pecks to your stomach. He hooked your panties in his fingers and tugged them off, large hands resting on your thigh as he spread them.

Joel stared at your pussy, now open and bare for his eyes. It glistened with arousal, the soft pink of your flesh causing his mouth to water.

"Jesus." He breathed out slowly, eyes darting up to your gaze. "You were made just for me, weren't you?"

You felt your cheeks heat up. You were. Oh, God, you were!

His free hand snaked up to yours, and you held it tightly, nervously. His hand was your anchor, tethering you to the ocean floor of his bedroom.

Joel leaned forward, his tongue pressing flat against your clit. You whimpered out once. He sucked it in between his lips. You whimpered out twice. He worked your aching bud until you were singing a song composed just for him, pants of hot, heavy air swirling through the four walls of his room.

He was devouring you. You were his Eucharist and your pussy was his prayer. Joel worked you in ways you had never been worked before, licking and sucking your pussy with the fervor that could only ever be found in a religion. You were his religion. His idol. His worship. His solace.

Oh, solace. What a sweet, sweet thing when it was found in you.

Joel's chin was quickly soaked in your sweet wetness. He would have drowned in you if you had let him.

His tongue pushed deep in to your folds, exploring your most precious pf places, tasting every inch of you like a starved man, like a frenzied man, like a mad man.

You were his. He was yours.

Your hips were bucking, your body like a wild animal caught in a trap. Except you weren't in a trap. You were in his arms. His strong, thick, heavy arms, and ecstasy was overtaking you. His tongue was coaxing you towards an explosive orgasm, the likes of which had never been known to you. Not one so intense. Not one at the hands of a man who loved you.

Joel's grip tightened around your own, his lips sucking at your clit, tongue tapping and swirling, licking and lapping.

You could barely get any warning out before your orgasm rushed through you, thighs shaking with earthquakes of pleasure. Your fingers tugged at his hair, holding his head tight in place. Joel licked you through the height of your euphoria, sucking softly at your bud before you could barely take it anymore, before you had to gently push his head away.

"Joel." You whispered, staring at the ceiling as the white hot heat of your climax rushed over you. "Joel." You spoke it like a mantra. His name was a promise to you.

"Baby?" He climbed over you, weight supported by his elbows, and allowed the tip of his nose to gently brush over yours.

"Take me." You whispered, the palms of your hand moving to his cheeks. They were warm, and you could smell your pussy on his facial hair. You leaned forwards, kissing him, tasting your cum and his spit. A moan tumbled out of your mouth, straight through your teeth.

"Make me yours. Fuck me." You begged, although Joel didn't need any begging.

"Anything for you."

His boxers were off in the blink of an eye, and you glanced down at his cock. Tanned, slightly curved, hanging low and heavy, the mushroom tip gleaming with pre-cum. Your mouth was watering at the site, but his grasp on your chin moved your line of sight to his face.

Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, and a soft gasp escaped you at the feeling of the tip of his cock pressing against your folds. He grinded against you, his shaft rubbing up and down the folds of your pussy, jolts of electricity causing you to shiver each time he brushed your clit.

Joel was teasing you. He was making you in to a mess. A mess all for him.

His eyes never left yours. Joel watched you lovingly, noses pressed tight, lips brushing past the others. You were as close as two people could possibly be, and you were unsure where his skin ended and yours began. Stray curls of his hair tickled your forehead, and your chests rose and fell in unison.

"I love you." His breath was hot against your face.

"I love you too-" He pushed his length in as you spoke, stretching out the lips of your pussy, hitting deeper than anything had before. You moaned out a wanton noise you had never heard before, nails gently digging in to his shoulders.

Joel sat there for a moment, heavy eyelids half closed. He was soaking you in, literally, allowing himself to relish in the feeling of being inside of you. Of being one with you.

He had not afforded himself many of life's pleasures. Not after Sarah had died. Not after he had let himself go. He had paced the same shore as you many moons ago, gun in hand, trying to urge himself to just put the barrel in his mouth and pull the trigger. It sounded so easy.

But something had stopped him. Something hadn't let him.

He had wondered, many years after that, why he hadn't done it. He had wondered what could possibly be worth living.

And then he saw you.

In that very same spot, rotting beneath the silver light of the moon.

It was you. Everything had been for you, hadn't it?

And now there you were, beneath him, as pretty as a picture, the embodiment of everything he had ever yearned for, everything he had ever dreamed for. You were everything to Joel, and he was everything to you.

And now there he was, deep inside of you. You were all he could feel, all he could smell, all he could see. You, you, you. The most beautiful thing he had ever saw, the most wonderful thing he could have ever waited for.

The shiver of your body brought him back down to reality. He kissed you deeply, and all you could do was smile against his mouth.

Lucky. That is what you were. That is what you both were.

"You feel so good." You whispered softly, hands gently running down the back of his head, finding a resting spot on the broad stretch of his freckled back.

Joel rubbed his cheek against yours, slowly moving his hips, grinding down against you, eliciting a sweet moan out of you. "Yeah?"

You both giggled in unison, and he watched your eyes shut as he began to pump deep inside of you. The feeling of your nails pinched at his skin.

Joel glanced down, watching his cock disappear into the depths of your cunt, sloppy noises of your arousal filling the air. Your pussy lips looked so pretty wrapped around his length, your wetness looked so pretty glistening off his cock.

You were made for him, and he for you.

"Take me, Joel." You begged, and his movement increased, growing slightly rougher as his forehead met yours, lips pressing together once more.

"God, you're so beautiful. So fucking beautiful. So fucking pretty. You feel so fucking good. This pussy.... fuck. Fuck, I never want to leave it." He was rambling through his thrusts, hand reaching down to rub at your swelling clit.

"Fuck me, Joel. Fuck me." You whined out, bucking up against the touch of his fingers as he fucked you harder in to the mattress.

"You're my girl. You're my beautiful fucking girl. God, you're everything to me. You're my world." His breath was hot against your face as he kissed you, coaxing you towards another orgasm with each rub of his middle finger across your clit.

"That's a good girl. I can feel you getting closer. I can feel that pussy tightening against me."

Your back arched off the mattress as you cried out his name, moaning as his praises filled your ears. Joel rested his face in the crook of your neck, hips slapping in to your thighs as he filled you up with every inch of his length.

"That's my girl, that's it, baby. Cum for me."

You did as he said. There was no use in holding back. As your orgasm rushed through, his own was approaching. Your name tumbled off his lips, the only word he could remember, as he came deep inside your walls. His hot cum filled you to the brim with a warmth you had never experienced, and Joel kept slowly pumping as his high rushed off, as his orgasm died down.

You shivered beneath him, another kiss being planted on your mouth. Then you cheeks. Then your nose. Then anywhere else Joel could get to.

A moan tumbled off Joel's tongue as he slowly slipped out of you, falling beside you before grabbing you and pressing you in to his chest.

"Stay with me."

"I always do." You whispered in to his chest.

"No, stay with me. Permanently. This can be our home."

"Our home." You whispered quietly, nuzzling closer into his body.

"Our home." He established firmly, resting his palm on the crown of your head.

The world would always spin, and sorrow would always lurk. That was how the world worked. That was the way of the universe. When you both awoke in the morning, the pain of yesteryears would still be there. The horrible, nasty tug of old memories and distant lives would always be somewhere deep within you.

The cosmos, however, were full of possibilities. You could have stayed in your parents home and succumb to a darkness greater than yourself. Joel could have drank himself to death or tasted the metal of a bullet. Those waves could have taken you, and he could have never decided to take a walk down to that beach.

There were many what if's.

But right now you were alive with passion, eyes wide and awake with a newfound love. The bitterness had gone, and something much brighter and better was waiting for you in the future.

Beside you, Joel Miller sat puffing on a cigarette, smiling at you through dreamy eyes. The sheen of sweat was still glistening across his chest, and the gentle smirk on his lips reflected the tales of a lovesick fool.

"Ready to go again?" He asked cheekily, handing you the smoke.

You took it with a smile.

For now, grief would have to wait.

#sin sixx’s raison d’être

[cillivnz]

ROCKSTAR!SAM — chunky boots and cigarettes

[cillivnz]

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

frat!rafe x tutor!reader who are mortal enemies until one day rafe is begging her to help him study for finals. “please. i wouldn’t be here on my knees if i didn’t need this.” she’d pull him up by the collar of his shirt, dragging him to an empty aisle in the library. “fine! just stop. you’re embarrassing me in front of my book club.” she’d scribble down her number, pushing the pink sticky note into his chest before walking away. frat!rafe who pockets a pair of her panties when she brings him to her dorm for the first time. tutor!reader who scolds rafe when he’s too busy flirting with her instead of focusing on his work (she secretly loves it).

frat!rafe x tutor!reader whose study sessions slowly started turning into movie nights and staying up till three in the morning. “i think it’s time for you to let me stay the night.” he’d stretch out on her mattress, his outfit striking a stark contrast to her hyperfeminine bedding. “sure, on the floor you go.” fifteen minutes later, and they found themselves awake in the dark, rafe painfully hard in his boxers while he laid on the fluffy rug next to her bed, and reader sexually frustrated that a man as hot as rafe was in arm’s reach and she couldn’t do anything about it. tutor!reader who started wearing mini skirts, pretending to drop stuff around her dorm in hopes of rafe catching a glimpse of her ass.

frat!rafe who definitely notices the reader’s advances and is struggling everyday not to slut her out the way he so badly wants to. tutor!reader who finally lets rafe play his music, flashing him a fake smile everytime he turned to see if she approved of the future lyrics emitting from her laptop. frat!rafe who stopped going to parties on the weekend so he could stay the night at reader’s dorm instead (yes, he’s still on the floor). tutor!reader who starts feeling sad that finals season is coming to an end, because she thinks rafe will go ghost now that he technically doesn’t need her anymore. frat!rafe who shows up to reader’s dorm, worried but still frustrated since she had been ignoring him for a little bit over a week already. “did i do something wrong? i’m just a little confused here..”

tutor!reader who finds herself bent over rafe’s lap, crying out in both pleasure and pain from his hand delivering harsh smacks to her ass. “don’t you ever ignore me like that again.” rafe would say through gritted teeth. frat!rafe who finally gives in, making her keep on her mini skirt and kitten heels while he fucks her into oblivion. frat!rafe x tutor!reader who both pass their finals with flying colors, and go public with their relationship the very next day. “my girl is beauty and brains, it doesn’t get more better than that.” he’d be admiring her from afar, gushing about her to all his frat bro’s.

#sin sixx’s raison d’être

[cillivnz]

need a man to spank me for every porn link i’ve bookmarked, and every smut i’ve written.

König with a reader who falls into the sweet and innocent trope he’s looking for. That is, until he gets his hands on her phone and it’s just pure filth. The most searched porn category is either size kink or corruption kink. Do you think he’ll be a little disappointed reader wasn’t as pure as he thought or do you think he’s a little excited that they’re ticking off the boxes for one another, maybe even teasing reader for her innocent face but filthy little mind?

At least now he knows how he scored such a pretty thing like you. At least now he knows why you're so into him. At least now...at least now, he has a pretty solid reason to spank you like a dumb and unruly girl who needs to get her priorities straight and stop looking for erotic content when she literally has her amazing boyfriend do everything she wants.

And here he thought that he was corrupting his pure and innocent wife, making her addicted to his cock like the good girl she is...Konig is almost angry that you were playing him all along - that you were the one to initiate everything, even as you tried your best to deny this...such a pretty, adorable girl you are - you really can't do anything but lay on your tummy as he pounds into you, spanking your ass for every porn site he found bookmarked on your phone.

He can't help but love you like this – he can understand everything now, fulfill your every nasty request. A girl like you should be fucked with everything he has – especially if you can't master the courage to tell your desires properly. Konig sits you on his lap, pushing you around like a little doll, and asks about literally every porn video you have saved. It's embarrassing and hot at the same time, you feel like he is going to drive you crazy asking for every detail. If you want to be chocked, he wants to know how – with his palms, with his arms, msybe with his muscular thighs...if you want to be degraded or praised, if you want to invite his friends...

He is a bit more reluctant about the whole thing if you like to watch gang bangs – he has a few good friends, yes, but he doesn't want them to have an interest in his pretty little wife...unless you beg him to invite them.

#sin sixx’s raison d’être

[cillivnz]

‘I am in urgent need of having my lips sealed with kisses.’

Franz Kafka, 1912.

[cillivnz]

this pretty boy has such kissable lips

[cillivnz]

DRUNK ON YOU

journalist!anakin skywalker x f!ice skater!reader word count; 4,344 warnings; unprotected p in v sex, verbal and physical abuse from an ice skating coach?, anakin may or may not be following reader idk who knows!! summary; ice skating has been her life for as long as she can remember. she's not sure why her head hasn't been in it lately, and her coach certainly has something to say about it. thank god the cute and awkward journalist anakin was there though, right?

 “Have you forgotten how to land a fuckin’ axel?”

 Cold bit into her palms and pain flared up the muscles of her thigh as she pushed herself onto her knees, lips agape as she panted. She’d fallen so hard, bile was beginning to brew at the base of her throat, burning the pipe. 

 “Hey, are you even fuckin’ listening to me?”

 Her hands were starting to numb and she should really get herself up off the ice. She was creating a scene— although this was a private lesson, she knew there still remained one man in the stands, one who she could see’s gaze fleeting back and forth between her and the ground from her periphery. Normally, she’d care enough about her dignity to get herself up as if nothing had ever happened. 

 But she was just so tired, so frustrated. Her legs hurt like hell, her feet feeling like they’d pop off any moment now. And her son of a bitch of a coach’s voice was really starting to irritate her. 

 “Hey!” Speaking of her coach, she was skating her way, deep rouge lips pursed in vexation. Her eyelids fluttered themselves closed as she sighed, rolling her head back to hang towards the ground below. 

 Finally, she pushed herself off the ice, wiping her palms against her leggings and the moment she opened her eyes, her coach was in her face, fingers that weren’t her own tangled in the hair on the back of her head. She pressed her lips together to stifle any sound that may come out of her mouth, a sharp exhale still sneaking its way past her nostrils as her coach tugged on the tendrils she had between her fingers, angling her face so that she had to look up at her. 

“Where the fuck is your head, huh?” Her coach practically spat in her face, lips curling in disgust. “We’ve a competition in one week and you’re here actin’ like a goddamn fool,” she hissed. “You like embarrassing me?”

 She said nothing, her eyelids narrowing as she stared back at the stormy irises of her coach. Her coach sniffed and leaned away, recognizing the narrowing of her eyes for what it was— a challenge. 

 “You wanna embarrass me here, kid?” Her coach said after a long moment of silence. “Fine. But trust me,” she stepped closer, too close to ensure she could look down at her student. “You don’t wanna fuck around and find out what happens if you try me out there.”

 “You’re the one embarrassing yourself,” she spat in a low, hushed whisper in retaliation, glancing towards the stands where the man watched alone, a notepad clutched in one hand and a pen in the other. His head was bent down towards the notepad but even from here, she could make out the way he stared from between his top lashes, the bill of his navy hat casting a shadow over his face.

 A journalist, she guessed. 

 Her coach whipped around to face whoever it was she was referring to, dropping the fistful of hair she had in her claw-like grip just moments before. Relief washed over her as the pain at her scalp finally began to subside and she rubbed her palms over her elbows as she watched her coach skate her way to the exit of the ice where the man sat, glancing away from his notes when her coach’s voice thundered through the rink.

 “Who the fuck are you?” Her coach asked as she, too, began to skate her way towards the stands, her bag only a few seats away from where the man sat. As she approached, the man glanced her way, the dark blue waves in his irises crashing into her own. 

 For a moment, all was silent and for a moment, she couldn’t bring herself to tear her gaze away from his. There was something so… alluring about him. He wore round glasses and a navy Puma hat, locks of dark blonde hair peeking out from the sides, just above his ears. His stare was dark, like a raging sea on a gray, stormy day. The longer she stared, the more she felt like she was drowning, as if she were astray at sea, helplessly fighting against the crashing waves. 

 His gaze dropped from her eyes to her lips and she felt herself flush, forcing her eyes away from him so that she could make her way over to her bag and get the hell out of here. 

 “Hey!” Her coach yelled again. “Did you hear me? Who are you and what the fuck are you doing here? This is a private lesson.”

 She huffed as she sat herself down onto the seat beside her bag, leaning down to unlace her skates, sighing in relief when she pulled the first one off her feet. 

 “Just taking notes,” the man replied simply and she turned until she could see them out of her periphery, watching as the man held his notepad up for her coach to see. “Notes?” Her coach questioned in a scoff as she tugged her other skate off her feet, her lips falling open in a soft gasp as she stretched out her toes and rolled her ankles. “What? You some perv or something?”

 “No ma’am. I write for the New Repub–”

 ‘I don’t give a shit who you write for, you realize you’re trespassing on a private lesson?” Her coach raised a hand to interrupt him. “That girl over there has a competition in a week and I won’t let some lowlife reporter let it spill that my client is incompetent enough to not know how to land a fuckin’ axle!”

 Her eyes rolled in their sockets at this as she slipped her socks on over her feet, tugging her boots on over them. She rummaged in her bag for her hoodie and stood as she pulled it on over her head, slinging the strap of her bag over her shoulder.

 “Relax, coach,” she cut through the argument as she approached, willing herself to not make eye contact with the man as he turned to look at her. “Besides, with the shit you just pulled, I’m surprised my axel is at the top of your priority list.”

 Her coach parted her lips, a remark surely on the tip of her tongue but when the man turned back to raise an eyebrow at her, she closed her mouth and huffed as she skated away towards the other side of the rink’s stands where her own bag was. 

 For a few prolonged moments, silence fell between her and the man still sat beside her, and it wasn’t until he rose from his seat and cleared his throat that she allowed herself to look at him again.

 “Sorry for causing such a scene,” he said at last, ducking his head so that their eyes could meet once more. She rolled her bottom lip between her teeth and shook her head just as she felt color begin to warm her cheeks once again. “Sorry about… her,” she replied, gesturing towards where her coach was angrily tearing her skates off her feet across the ice. 

 “Yeah, she’s…”

 “A bitch.”

 “Well…” the man rubbed the back of his neck, slapping his notepad down against his thigh with the other. “Yeah.”

 She glanced down to his notepad against his jean-clad thigh, tilting her head curiously. “You doing a story on me or something?” She asked, daring to look back up at him. Color rushed to his cheeks and he turned to stare off into space, as if it had the answers he couldn’t quite seem to form on his tongue. 

 “Um, well I…” he stammered before dropping his head in defeat. “Sort of?”

 She raised a brow at this, suddenly wary of the man before her. She was quick to let his looks fool her into thinking this man could be harmless when in reality, he could very well be far from it. He was alone, intruding in on a private skating lesson after all, taking notes on who knows what. 

 “What’s that supposed to mean?” She questioned, her wariness evident in her tone. He must’ve picked up on this and sighed in defeat, a nervous smile tugging at a corner of his lips.

 “Listen, I’m a journalist for the New Republic magazine and I was at your competition working on a story last week and I…” he trailed off, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth as if contemplating his next words. “I was really intrigued by you.”

 She nodded, understanding finally washing over her. “Ah. So you’ve been following me.”

 The man’s pink lips parted and closed and repeated, and she fought the grin tugging at the corners of her lips. “Well no. Yes. Maybe? Ugh, I’m…” the man’s chest heaved as he drew in a breath, holding his free hand out for her to take. “I’m Anakin. And I haven’t been following you. You know, not in a creepy way.”

 Amusement finally got the best of her and she chuckled, allowing her smile to take over her mouth as she took his hand, warmth pooling into her skin. “Nice to meet you, Anakin. I’m not sure if I’m fully convinced that you haven’t been following me but I’m finding this really amusing so I’ll let it slide. For now.”

 Anakin chuckled nervously and smiled, white teeth peeking through the space between his lips. Her breath hitched in her throat at this and their eyes met once again, seemingly stealing the breath from her lungs. 

 He was… beautiful.

 She wondered if this man really had been following her over the course of the past week. Certainly she would’ve noticed him had he been stalking her before, right?

 The longer she stared at the man called Anakin before her, the more she wished to convince herself that he was harmless, that there couldn’t possibly be anything nefarious or sinister behind such a gorgeous smile. But when she found herself being sucked into the waters of that raging sea in his sockets like his voice was a siren song and his eyes were a wild, angry sea, she realized that maybe she wouldn’t care, so long as he looked at her like that.

 “What if I could convince you over some dinner on me?”

 It was safe to say that dinner went well.

 Too well.

 Ridiculously well.

 His hands were all over her as their mouths ravaged one another, hardly making it inside his apartment before she was pressed against the door, the thin straps of her dress falling loose down her shoulders. Anakin’s palms were pressed against the small of her back, the other firm and gripping onto the hair at the back of her head. Unlike when her coach had snatched her hair only the day before, Anakin tugged with enough pressure to have her mewling for more. 

 Her hands were entangled in the dark blonde curls atop of his head as his tongue demanded control over hers, his kiss making her feel weak in the knees before his lips trailed down to her jaw, to her chin, to her neck.

 She gasped when he nibbled on the space between her neck and shoulder, his name falling in a breathy whimper from her lips. His mouth kissed and sucked marks down to her chest where the tops of her breasts were spilling from over the hem of her dress. Anakin growled as he reached behind her to tug furiously at her zipper, tugging the dress down her body until it could pool in a puddle of fabric at her feet. 

 “Ana… Anakin!” She moaned as he unclasped her bra with one hand, tearing the glasses away from his face and tossing them into the wall beside them with the other. Neither were in the rind headspace to even care for the more than likely cracked frames as Anakin drew her back into his body, his mouth attaching to her nipple, her head falling backwards in ecstasy. She could feel the curve of his grin when she gasped as he nipped at the sensitive bud, guiding her back towards his bedroom with his hand against the small of her back, his mouth never once leaving her breast.

 It wasn’t long until she was nude and exposed on the plush of his mattress, blinking up at him as he stared down at her through hooded eyelids, tugging his shirt up and over his head. She eyed the defined lines of his chest and stomach as he breathed, working at the buckle of his pants and discarding it across the room, his pants falling loose down his legs. Her heart thud against her chest in anticipation as he crept his way onto the bed above her, hovering over her like a looming predator.

 She looked into the depths of his deep blue eyes now and was completely lost, blinded with libido, with the want for the man above her. “Please Anakin,” she whimpered, a hand slithering around to cup the back of his neck, desperate to bring their lips together once again. She couldn’t quite reach, unfortunately, but his breath was still warm against her face and she could still make out the outline of his smile against her mouth.

 When she opened her eyes again, his own were somehow a shade darker than they were before, the sweaty blonde curls damp against his forehead making his face darker than the shadows already made him out to be. He was beautiful, yes, but he was dark, and an enigma. Through the haze of her mind, however, she couldn’t quite bring herself to figure him out. She wasn’t even sure she cared right now. All she cared about was the feel of his skin against hers, the feel of his hard length against her thigh, the way he was staring at her now as if she were his last meal. It was impossible to think rationally when such a man wanted her the way she wanted him.

 “I’ve dreamed of this,” he whispered, bowing his head so that their lips were touching nut not quite, at least, not in the way she was wanting. “Anakin,” she panted his name again, a hand against the curve of his shoulder, the other tangled in the hair on the nape of his neck. She was so wet and she could feel it, could feel the evidence of her lust as it streamed down her folds, creating a pool on the duvet below. “Please,” she whispered again, her gaze surging into his, her brows furrowing in hopes to coax him inside of her. 

 Anakin took his time. He pulled his face away just enough to take a long look down her body, his hand not supporting himself on the mattress tracing a line up and down the curve of her waist, of her hips, the crease between her thigh and torso. She gasped when the tip of his finger came so close to where she was throbbing for him but yet again, not quite. 

 He was teasing her now, as if playing with his food.

 She could practically feel tears stinging the outskirts of her sockets, every ache in her muscles screaming for him, every throb she felt in her core pleading with him to just touch her. Anakin cooed when his gaze found hers once again, shushing her and using the edge of his forefinger to wipe away the tears that had leaked from the edges of her eyes. 

 “I can’t believe you want this as much as I do,” he whispered as if in awe. “You know, the second I saw you, you had just stepped onto the ice and all I could think was wow. And then you started doing all those tricks and shit that I can’t even wrap my head around and I knew that all I wanted was you. I didn’t care how much or how long it would take, all I wanted to have was you.”

 If Anakin hadn’t been dipping his hand in between her legs and brushing the tips of his fingers against her swollen clit, she might’ve had the sense to stop and really consider the meaning behind his words. With every stroke of his fingers up and down her folds and against her aching bud, he was reducing her mind to slime, turning each and every single one of her thoughts into nothing but putty. He was possessing every inch of her as if he were a parasite, as if he were doing some sort of mind trick on her, like he had her under some kind of trance.

 And when he dipped a single finger past the barrier between her folds, she couldn’t quite bring herself to care.

 Her back arched off of the bed and her lips fell apart in a gasp, Anakin watching in awe as she mewled and squirmed beneath him. He ducked until his nose was against the crook of her neck, breathing her in like a vapor, letting her fill in his every sense. He was drunk on her, on the way she looked, the way she breathed, the way she smelled. She was just so beautiful, and now she was his.

 “I couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to have you,” he whispered as he added another finger inside of her, his other hand kneading at her breast. “Every time I went to bed, I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he said, leaning down until his lips were against the shell of her ear. “I couldn’t stop touching myself thinking about you.”

 She whimpered again when he added a third finger, pressing his lips against her ear before leaning away, kissing her jaw before pulling away altogether. She whined at the loss of his digits inside of her and Anakin watched as her cunt pulsed and throbbed with the yearn for him. He was aching for her as well, maybe even more than she was for hin. His cock was so hard it was beginning to feel painful, having edged himself for so long.

 But he could let go now. He had her. He had her right where he wanted her all along.

 Anakin leaned down to press his lips against hers and she eagerly drank him in like wine, mewling against his lips. He could feel the mix of her sweat and tears against his face, and he smiled against her mouth again. 

 And he let a hand trail down between their bodies until his hand was wrapped around his length, giving himself one solid pump. Then, with one snap of his hips, they were one.

 She cried out in bliss as he entered her, back arching off of the mattress, her chest heaving into his as he sheathed himself inside her. Anakin pressed his lips together and grunted, wrapping his arms around her body to hold her close to him as his eyes rolled into the back of his head, throwing his head back in pleasure as he savored how good she felt wrapped around him. 

 Perfect, everything about her was simply perfect and made for him. He couldn’t believe he hadn't found her sooner, that she was the one he was waiting for all of his life. This was what he’d always needed– this girl underneath him, wanting him, wrapped around him, burning for him. There was no way in hell he was going to let her go now that he had her. 

 “Ana–!” She cried. “Anakin!” She barely managed to choke out the rest of his name when he snapped his hips against her again. She was just so full, so overstimulated that she couldn’t even form a single coherent thought. 

 Ice skating came like second nature to her. It’d been that way for as long as she could remember. But she swore, if you asked her to do anything now, she wouldn;t even know how to begin. All she could think was Anakin, Anakin, Anakin. He’d somehow found a way to put her under his full control until she was reduced down to nothing more than a mindless zombie for him. 

 “Oh… fuck,” Anakin cursed beneath his breath, using his hands against the mattress as leverage to stare down between their bodies where they were connected. His cock glistened with a mixture of their juices and oh, his mouth watered for a taste. He reached down until his fingertips were against her clit, her toes curling at the pressure and she cried out when he dipped his fingers inside of her for the briefest of moments to gather their mixture. 

 Anakin’s mouth was practically watering, fuck, he was drooling by the time he finally brought his fingers to his lips, moaning and his eyes rolling when their mixed arousals coated his tongue. “Fuck,” he moaned again once he had finally licked his fingers clean, snapping his hips before wrapping a hand around the base of her neck. “Come here.”

 He met her halfway so that their lips could crash against one another and she hummed into his mouth when she tasted both of them, following his lips when he pulled away. 

 “Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted,” he murmured, grabbing a handful of her hips with one hand and reaching forward to grasp onto the headboard with the other. “I can’t wait to taste you once you’ve come.”

 Her eyes were rolling into the back of her head as Anakin pistoned his cock inside of her, quick to find that spot deep inside of her that had her seeing stars. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been fucked like this– no, she’d never been fucked like this. No man had ever been able to make her feel the way Anakin made her feel now, she knew that for certain. No man had ever been able to make her dumb to the point of no return, to make her so drunk on their cock that she couldn’t form a coherent though other than their name. No, only Anakin had ever made her feel like this. 

 Anakin thrusted into her again and again and again, ravaging her body like his life absolutely depended on it. There was something animalistic about the way he fucked her, something territorial as if this were the beginning of something she couldn’t quite wrap her head around at this moment. Not when she was so close that even Anakin could feel it, could feel it in the way she pulsed and throbbed around him. He gripped onto the headboard harder as leverage to give her everything he had, the bedframe making noises so loud that it was a miracle it hadn’t broken yet. 

 She was almost there. She was so close that she could already taste it, could already see it. She closed her eyes until she was submerged into a dark, seemingly endless tunnel. But there, off in the distance but approaching at rapid speed was a white, blinding light that she knew was her orgasm. She began to race towards it, meeting it halfway until they crashed together like a supernova, her back arching off the bed, her toes curling, fingernails clasping around Anakin’s wrists and burrowing deep. 

 Tears fell like rivers down the sides of her face as she thrashed, feeling so full and satisfied and overstimulated that she couldn’t take it anymore.

 “Oh shit, oh fuck,” Anakin panted, his thrusts sloppier but still as forceful as ever. “Almost there, almost there, almost the– fuck!” He growled as he bottomed out with a single forceful thrust, spilling himself into her. She could feel rope after rope of his seed bursting inside of her and her vision blurred until all she could see was watercolor. She barely even registered the moment Anakin’s cock slipped out from inside of her and he kissed a trail down her body until his mouth was ravaging her sore, fucked out cunt. 

 She cried as she gathered a fistful of the duvet below, squeezing her eyelids shut, her head rolling until her cheek was flush with the mattress. Anakin’s tongue swirled inside of her as if he were hunting for every last drop of her spend and her eyelids fluttered open, her vision murky with bliss. She blinked away the blurriness as much as she could, making out photos on the wall beside his bed that somewhere in the back of her mind, she felt like she’d seen before.

 It was hard to focus when Anakin was practically digging another orgasm out of her with his tongue but she zeroed in on one of the photographs, recognizing it as one of her from a competition she had done months ago. Her eyes darted to another, all of her, her at competitions that she’d done more than just a week ago, but some of her out and about on the street, at the grocery store, at the bar just a few blocks away from her apartment. 

 She wasn’t sure where these photos came from– she’d never seen any of these specific ones before anywhere. It meant that Anakin had to have been the one to have taken them but surely this wasn’t true– he said he’d only found her a week prior to her being fucked on his bed, didn’t he?

 “Taste so fucking good,” Anakin purred against her pussy, hooking his arms around her thighs and burying his face in even closer. Her heart was pounding against her chest at the realization that even despite her horror, she couldn’t tear herself away from Anakin. Maybe he really did have her under some sort of mind trick, some kind of trance. Maybe she really was drowning, falling into that raging sea in his eyes with no hope of ever resurfacing. 

 She knew how wrong it was, how disgusting it was, but it didn’t matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t help but reach down until her fingers were woven in the dark blonde curls on his head, pulling him in even closer to her throbbing heat. 

a/n; so hey! i've had this sitting around unfinished in my drafts for, like, ever and i finally just now got around to finishing it lol so sorry for not having been active! as some of you may know, i've been working on a book for the past couple of months on top of being in college and having a job so i've been pretty busy lately! i hope you all don't mind and still enjoyed this one nonetheless 🤭

TAGLIST;

@your-nanas-house

@chaoticevilbakugo

@k1ttenmittonz

#sin sixx’s raison d’être

[cillivnz]

König Bottoms Out For the First Time

Pairing: König x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, gentle sex, size kink, bottoming out, praise, clit stimulation

A/N: The big man needs big love.

"König... too big... it won't fit." Your eyes watered as you looked at his huge cock pushing into your tight pussy. After he's been eating you out for hours he finally felt like you were ready for his cock. You fucked him many times but he'd always held himself back. Not tonight, tonight he goes all out because tomorrow he's leaving for a few months.

"It will fit. You're wet, so wet, taking what I give you. You can take this final inch for me can't you? My beautiful girl." König's hand pressed against your tailbone to push your hips further up while his other hand traced from his cock to your clit.

You let out a broken whimper at the added stimulation, your body reacting accordingly. The tightening of your pussy around his girth didn't make it any easier for your big boyfriend's cock. He enjoyed it all the same, the feeling of your inner walls sucking him in.

"Too... much... I can't." The cry you let out wasn't because of the discomfort or pain but because you felt as if you were letting him down. Not one to give up, or liking it when you cried, he needed to prove you wrong.

König pulled back out and then slowly back in, not pushing past your set limit yet. His meaty thighs smacked against your ass, the bed protesting under you but holding strong. His fingers stayed on your clit, rubbing, pinching the sensitive bud between his fingers. Your pussy didn't get a moment of rest, constantly stretched and filled and adjusting to his huge cock.

"You can take it. Want to know why? Because you're perfect for me. This pussy was made to take my cock, it was made just for my cock, a perfect tight, wet hole for me. I'll make his pussy remember the shape of it so that when I get back you'll have no problem taking all of me." This was his way of promising to come back to you. And with his cock bottoming out, with his balls smacking against you, full of cum, he sealed that promise. "You did it, you took all of me. Look, look how perfectly we fit together."

You let out a slightly pained moan from being stuffed so full. It was more then you ever had in you in your life, your pussy was sore already. But there was also a pleasantness that came with feeling König's whole cock pulsing inside your cunt.

#sin suggests <3

[cillivnz]

Sour Switchblade … Priest! Vincent Renzi x fem! Reader

Synopsis: She tempts him, just like she did before.

Content Warning . 18, MDNI Age Gap, blasphemy, religious themes & references, a plot with no context, demonic reader? Mutual masturbation, degradation, dom! Vincent

Author’s Notes: what I mean when I say that I need him biblically.

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

It starts with the simple art of a short dress and a prayer.

Vincent’s eyes roam to her from across the church pew, blue orbs peeking out through a see of browns, greens, and other blues. His hand adjusts his priests collar as she moves towards the center of the room. Another priest settles a wafer into her mouth, which she takes with a soft tongue. Vincent’s eyes can’t help but wonder down her body after that, as she takes a sip of communion wine.

Her dress, a lacey white thing with puff sleeves, adorned with white tights and thigh high stockings, will surely be the talk of the church going women later. Especially with the way her breasts seem to spill out of the fabric, the red bra that is already showing through threatening to make itself fully known.

Vincent almost can’t breathe.

He knows it’s wrong to look at her like this. He’s a priest, and on top of that, she’s significantly younger— not underage, obviously. Maybe in her early twenties or so. But it still makes the man confess his sins almost every night.

And even with how taboo his stares are, she seem to look at him right back, everytime, exactly the same. Her lashes seem to flutter, her eyes seem to have a glint to them whenever he nervously mumbles a prayer or greeting to her. Even now, as she takes a sip of the red wine, her eyes meet his.

He smiles. She smiles back. The communion is over.

And now, the confession begins.

Vincent sits in the compartment a mere hour later, waiting for her to show up. She always seems to have something to confess when he’s the one in charge and it’s his last shift. Vincent twirls the cross necklace around his neck in anticipation.

It’s a few seconds before he hears the cluttering of the confessional door. Her scent evades his nostrils— sweet vanilla, chocolate, and something earthy underneath. Something that makes Vincent’s eyes want to roll to the back of his head.

“I’m here to confess.”

Her voice is a soft lilt, something tinted with mischief. She’s trouble.

“And what would you like to confess, my child?” Vincent asks. He can hardly see through the film between the two of them, but he sees a flash of white, then red.

“I’ve been bad,” she replies. And then, in almost a whine, “I’ve sinned, father.”

His lips part. His cock kicks underneath his robe, but he’ll have to wait for that— wait for later, when he’s alone in his chambers and can touch his cock freely, in secrecy. Priests are supposed to sustain abstinence— Vincent is no virgin, but since his training and initiation as a priest he hasn’t had sex since. Masturbation is forbidden, but it isn’t something he can control in himself. It plagues him every day.

It’s a lot harder for him than the others, he thinks, to contain his urges when he’s already felt the warmth of a woman’s touch. But he’ll try this time. He won’t make another mistake. By God, he won’t.

“What have you done?”

“I’ve been…” she pauses, sighing, and he hears the rustling of fabric. He wonders what she’s doing on the other side of that barrier. “I’ve been having these… dreams, father. Dreams where…”

Vincent clenches his jaw, his palm gripping his cock through his confines. By God, he’s a sick, perverted man.

“We all have dreams,” Vincent says gently. “Dreams that may help us along our path. What have you dreamt about, child?”

He’s shaky as he says the last line, hopes of her lying to him furrowing in his chest. Hopes of her leaving it alone, this entire thing. This entire game.

God does not come through for him. Perhaps he doesn’t want to, or perhaps he can’t. Perhaps she is the one to stop him.

“I’ve dreamt of you, Father Renzi.”

Vincent’s head tilts back, a small gasp leaving his throat. His hips buck against his hand. No no no no..

“What do these dreams entail?” He asks, breathless. He can hear the amused tone in her voice.

“You start out by giving me communion,” she explains. “You hold the wafer out so I can put it into my mouth, but instead it’s your tongue that lands against mine.”

Vincent’s eyes clench shut. His hand moves against its own accord. God help him. She continues with a drawn out, airy lilt.

“You touch me in a special place. It feels so good that I cry out your name like a praise. It makes me tingle all over, makes me lose all control,” and then, with a pause as she hears Vincent’s robes lifting, “Do you have dreams like that, Father?”

His cock is straining against his dress pants when the robe’s hem is pulled to the top of his thighs.

“I do,” he admits, popping the button on his pants. He’s hypnotized, her smell and the image of her body in his mind making him lose it. “I have them often, little one.”

And it’s true. He dreams of her painted in red and white, dreams of her, a she demon, on top of his body, writhing. Him, hands curling against her skin, under her spell. She is his temptation, and Vincent is sure that she will be his destruction.

She’s just as desperate as him now. He can tell because she lets out a sweet, sultry whine, a wet sound reverberating throughout the small compartment.

“Vincent,” she lets out, keening. He doesn’t remember if he told her his first name, but he has a feeling she figured it out either way. He groans, thankful that the church is nearly empty now since the service had just ended.

“espèce de petite prostituée. What would your parents think?” You little harlot.

“Are you touching yourself?” she asks, ignoring him. And then, after a wet sound and a cry, “I’m.. I’m touching myself too, Vince. I’m so wet.”

His hand slips past the waistband of his pants and he dips it inside. Wet, warm flesh and pleasure behind his eyelids emerges as he strokes himself up and down and catches a whiff of her natural scent.

“Fuck,” he grunts, arousal pooling in his lower abdomen. “Cheríe, what are you doing to me?” Sweetheart.

She lets out a tiny giggle, scissoring her fingers inside herself as she hears the man beside her fall apart. Vincent is her favorite— he gives her the most fun she’s ever had.

“My fingers are inside, Father,” she whimpers. “Fuck, I’m so warm.”

Vincent’s cock, red and tip dripping pearls of sweet arousal, slaps against his stomach when he finally gathers the nerve to pull his pants and underwear down past his thighs. He spits into his palm before stroking himself again.

“You are unholy,” Vincent states, though his mouth falls open when he hears the increasing sound of her wetness. “Fucking yourself like this, like a dirty whore… your cunt is drenched, isn’t it, chérie?” Sweetheart.

She grasps the side of the confessional, heat spreading up her neck and down to her toes. None of them have ever made her feel like this.

“Yes,” she says, rubbing the bundle of nerves in between her cunt lips. She’s close. “Father… sir. I want your cock.”

Visions come to Vincent’s mind, plagued thoughts of her kneeling down and taking him into her mouth, of him choking all words out of her. His cock thrusting into her roughly, stretching out her tiny hole and bringing her to her peak over and over. That would be her punishment for teasing him, for being such a godless creature. He would ruin her, just as she’s ruined him.

“You want it, yes? You want me to stretch your little cunt and leave your legs shaking,” he chuckles, almost darkly. She brings out the worst in him. “You want my seed dripping down your thighs, putain de salope.” You fucking slut.

She cries out, legs spreading further as she nears closer and closer to her peak. Vincent continues to speak, almost as close as she is.

“Your cunt in my mouth. Licking you, tasting you..” and then, with a delicious whisper, “Chérie, how do you taste?” Sweetheart.

That last sentence has the girl seizing up, her pussy spasming as her orgasm overtakes her. Sweet arousal gushes around her fingers, thighs, and underneath the seat below her. Her eyes roll back and she cries, “Vincent!” like a prayer.

This has the man on the other side whining, his teeth biting into his wrist as he spills over his fist with a loud grunt. He fucks himself through his orgasm, hearing her precious sounds overcoming him like a heavenly sin.

When the man comes down, his spend is drying on his hand and pants.

He sighs, satisfied and spent. He’ll have to confess this later, won’t he?

Maybe it’s best if he doesn’t.

Her voice rings out, smooth and teasing.

“Until next time, Father Renzi.”

He hears the open and closing of the confessional door, and out she goes like Lilith with her wings.

:: @mysticpenguincreation @nightmare-niko @iheartinkonpaper @claireyberryy @becauseseaotters @emmalandry @princesstiti14 @aerangi @kaithoughs @jamespotterismydaddy

#sin sixx’s raison d’être

[cillivnz]