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beanlot · 2 years

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OFFICER

PART 2

policeofficer!ellie x f!reader

a lot of officers can’t get their way with you, but this one knows just how to get knuckle deep

word count: 3.2k

genre: smut

warnings: this heavily revolves around cnc. if that is not your thing, do not read this - spanking, spit play, small blood mentions, ellie’s filthy language and non-law abiding acts, handcuffs, strap-on, oral/blowjob, brat taming

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“you gonna take me to the police station now?” your handcuffs chime, ogling at the honed eyes in the rearview mirror - sage and conflict.

and with your wrists paralysed under the iron, you were deviance; malefactor only addicted to the adrenaline of shattering car windows and hotwiring, and fuelled by the hightailing around suburban corners. but quite unrepentantly - being confined in the back of an officer’s car.

and this officer was delicious.

fingers that operated the steering wheel so superlatively, crepuscular ink that tunnelled up the arm and complimented the obscene veins that submerged her knuckles. she must’ve observed you by the way she rolled her sleeve up slightly, unveiling brawny skin suffocated under the sturdy material of her shirt.

“my arms hurt..” a whine resonates from you; as much as you gratified the wintry stroke on your wrists, the pins and needles convulsing through your biceps outweighed it. “can you cuff my hands at the front or something? this shit’s pissing me off.”

but she’s focused, inanimate.

“you don’t talk?” you solicit, desirous to hear that gruff voice that told you to put your hands behind your back when your sorry ass was caught red-handed. “that sucks, is it police conduct?”

but the ambience was inanimate, and you just had that feeling that this was gonna be fun.

“god you are mysterious, y’know that?” you exhaled insolently, “i like it. i like it a lot.” your head lowers when you stand and situate yourself circumjacent to the window, “it’s hot in here.”

“sit down.” you hear her snarl, a fathomless ultimatum that echoed in your ears and reminded you how onerous it was to stand on both legs without nosediving the fucking floor. “if you insist, officer.” you contend, wind fanning your cheeks once you had sat down - except upon noticing the small interstice of the window she had left open for you, you noticed the environment was unreservedly foreign; with saplings and deceased conifers enwreathing the car.

“where are we going?” your voice raised, and you felt your blood drain from your body when she gave you no response. “hey. can you hear me? where are we going?” you plummet back into your seat when the car judders, engine shuttling when her etched arm levers the handbrake forward. you can’t help but feel the zest in your stomach catalysing with ire, something you’d come to custom with as a defence mechanism when you were at the very face of shitting your pants. “just you wait till these come off, i’m gonna fuck you up s-“

her door slam withering the interior light’s flare, and it’s sinister tenebrosity when you realise you’re instantaneously left in the car.

not good.

the eruption of hyperborean air on your arms confirms she’s perched herself in the back; a wisteria scent drowning you - you feel as though you’re captive under hallucinogenics until you identify the brief outline of her hair, her breath brewing against your cheek. she leans herself in towards you, and you want to make eye contact if it wasn’t for the breeding sensation of am i gonna fucking live to see tomorrow in your stomach.

“what was that?” she questions, “i didn’t catch what you said, you’re gonna have to speak up.”

nevermind.

you survey her expression, but what was customarily child’s play for you became vacillating. you couldn’t backchat, you couldn’t laugh, all you could do was gawk at how her eyes tyrannised you so effortlessly.

“you don’t talk?” she sneers.

fuck.

you hesitate slightly, eyes sky-warding back and forth between her and that fucking uniform. “i said..” you maffle, irksome that you feel hollow under her; your bound wrists unfortified. “you wait until these handcuffs come off.”

it’s uncannily silent; her badge glinting in the light, and you can briefly outline the shape of her breasts under how tight her shirt is. you inhale the scent of oakmoss, under the impression that tantalising fingers slithering up your nape was only a side effect of her elixir, a vindictive touch that proliferates into your hair, seizing the roots. you’re throttled forward, tugged grimly so your stomach is compressed against her thighs - that etched arm holding you down and piercing into your spine.

really not good.

her fingers are prying your jeans down; glacial air belabouring your bare thighs. “what the fuck ar-“ you squeak when her palm pummels onto your ass cheek, tremor in your skin only searing with torrent red when her palm leaves it - her thighs warm and toned, simmering with ascendancy; you want to touch them, but your bound hands disregard that fantasy.

“think you’re a smartass, huh?” you hear her gravel, humiliation boiling your ears, involuntarily flinching when another smack lands on the other cheek. “a smartass probably wouldn’t be on my lap getting her ass spanked.”

and although this was remotely embarrassing being led out on her lap, head tilted downwards - you look up at her with a smirk. “i’m loving the probably.” you tease, your breath being cut short when you’re yanked back up; she’s not tender on your body, and you’re starting to feel as if you hear strands of hair being ripped from your scalp.

her hands frame your flushed face consummately, humidity more agonising than the objectification of looking up to globes of juniper - you can’t decipher the wrath bleaching them, only the bewitchment of sexual hankering when you feel your bottom lip pulled down only slightly. “open.” she whispers, allurement not enough to manipulate you as you shake your head; you’re reluctant, because you know what she’s about to do. but you’re oblivious to the whole package, agonising tingle on the side of your face and eyes squinted with torment when her palm smites you.

she slaps hard.

and you love it.

and before you have time to inhale the air that was seemingly walloped out of you, her domineering grip is clamping your jaw closed - forcing you to look up at her with embarrassed tears glossing your bloodshot scleras. “open.” she repeats, that same stare that’s starting to make your clit throb, so you open - very sluggishly, doe eyes that make you look exemplary in the twilight. “let me see that tongue you use to run your fucking mouth,” she whispers, forehead against yours.

you know you have no choice, and you’d much rather get this over and done with without getting slapped repeatedly.

you slowly lay your tongue out - eyelashes fluttering against your cheeks, one slightly more cherry than the other. “fuck, look at you..” she whispers, kitten licking the tip. you memorise how her tongue feels against yours - silky yet so patronising. and in the politest of terms, one half of you wants to tell her to fuck herself yet another wants her neck-deep in the nerves necessary.

you try shuffling back when you see her adjust herself above you, but she’s authority in every aspect, and you watch as a line of spit drizzles on your tongue. the grip on your jaw rigidifying, girding itself up to be annihilated with the prepotency oozing off her fingers. “swallow..” she whispers, her voice a delusion mystifying your head - the ideal catapult to send you into nirvana.

and you swallow, savouring what had tasted like saccharine streamlining down your throat; drunken not only under the hypnosis of obeying her so blindly, but the pure taste of her sanctifying your bloodstream. fingers slinking their way up your ribs, palms teasing against your breasts and only amplifying the sensitivity against your nipples when her fingers keep fucking gliding over them on your shirt - this was punishment, punishment that you started to crave, a punishment you didn’t realise you’d desired for so fucking long until it was happening. “i can feel them getting hard, you whore.” she hisses, and you look down to your nipples becoming erect under her touch, sighing when your hips are instinctual to rub against her.

“fuck you.” you whine, turning a blind eye to her fingernails scraping themselves along your skin, your shirt hitching up. she villages herself between your legs, examining your bare breasts that recoil from the hefty material with such calculating optics of olive, ones that you knew were so deeply fucking engrained psychologically that no antipsychotics were capable of eliminating them. you exhale at this, doing your upmost to proximate your thighs together but her hips being the spanner in the works obstructing it.

you see her shadow incline into you, breath fanning against your chest until you feel a warm stroke on your nipple. you involuntarily twitch at this, ogling at the way her tongue coats it enticingly; a surreal diversion pulsing in your clit. it was innate to grind against her thighs, supplementing the elysian pool between your legs when a string of spit glistens against your nipple when she detaches it from her lips.

you try and itch yourself away from her, but those fucking hands are inveigling you into a reservoir of ecstasy. “you’re disgusting.” you groan, wrists tender to a greater degree under her mastery, cunning and artful.

you feel the same slathering warmth on your thighs, crisp air numbing at your legs as your jeans are trawled off; goosebumps perforating your skin with the chasmic contract of her tongue ambling along your hips. and you have no idea what she’s chuckling at, too busy trying to balance out your breathing from the weight against your ribs from lewd intoxication; her forefinger rousing up and down your clothed slit. you feel the purification on your skin, the lincoln green on your fingertips of every promised land you’d fantasised about when two fingers slew into your mouth.

you know she’ll hit you if you don’t do as she asks, so you’re at the horns of a dilemma as your head lowers to glissade them further down your throat; you swallow the taste of her skin, patchouli syrup blissful as it cudgels your tongue. “well, look at that.” she whispers, heartbeat in your clit when you look down, scrutinising how your soaked underwater sinks in; the way she’d been avoiding your clit isn’t serving justice either (pun intended).

“you’re not talking much now..”

“go fuck yourself, perv.” you seethe, her gelled fingers leaving your mouth before a strike is administered to the same tormented side of your face, pleasure disguised as affliction. and your eyes are dopey, blemishes of amaranthine that haze along your perception, distinguishing how the bleak air whirls against your folds when the thin material covering it is draped to the side, your leg hoisted onto her shoulder and incising into her hair.

delirium flooding your insides when you feel her breath against your slit, molten antihistamine acting as instant relief when her sultry voice projects against your folds. “do you want it, sweet thing?” and you exhale, because fuck, she was mincing you to cadavers under her stupefaction - you hadn’t realised how truly malnourished you were until you’d gotten just a quick taste of what being caught felt like. “do you want my tongue on your clit?” her lips peppering kisses against your inner thighs, and you’re dumbfounded that gleams of gilt weren’t left on your skin from how fucking sedative it felt.

and it was amelioration to beg, you wanted it and more. your fingers felt the desideratum just to get a taste of what pinching her shoulders felt like, how the ecru strands of hair twirled around your fingers and fed you the narcosis you so deeply were deprived of. “please take these off..” you whisper, back arching to alleviate the oppression on your wrists. but she’s vindictive, lips smirking against your folds with a callous

“no.”

her tongue trickles up your slit, and it’s anticipatory when it situated itself below that heavenly bundle of nerves, benevolent to flick against your clit with such insistence. and of course, you can’t repress the intrusive quavering against her shoulders when she conquers just the right spot; psychedelic havoc in your hips that make it hard for you to think of anything else.

“sensitive, huh.” she hums with taunting, lips enshrouding your clit and sucking mercilessly - the sounds you produce are inhumane, unable to be repressed, and you’re grinding impotently against her face. “making a mess all over me, sweet girl.”

she’s the lock to the key, the whetstone that blunts all your serrated edges; she knows she’s competing against your body, influential enough against every nerve that made you quiver the most, accelerating her assaults on your clit when she notices what parts make you react.

and if it couldn’t get any fucking worse, you feel a willowy finger streaming into you, curling just right when another enters. you can feel yourself leaking onto the seat, especially when her fingers were unrelenting, hammering into you.

she gave you no time to get used to her.

“oh fuck,” you cry, nerves collapsing. every pornographic hormone blossoming into your brain and overdosed the nurturing effect it had on you, you were mindless with intangible ether. and you feel it with every assault against that internal target, spongy bullseye threatening to erupt with efficient rapture.

it’s scorching, the heat of utopian sun against your cheeks when you feel as though you’re levitating under how paradisiacal her spit rivulets into your hole, the expertise of her lips against your clit. “you gonna squirt all over my car, dirty girl?” she hums against your folds, nose prodding against your mound. and you nod, that orgasmic sneeze corkscrewing around your hips, and just as you’re about to spurt your cum into her mouth..

she stops.

“huh?” you whine, tears blinding your dopey eyes, because you feel that preternatural corkscrew fading into abyss - and it’s gone as quick as it came. it’s sadistic, and you plummet from the arcady castles in the air that your body had constructed so superficially to fire and brimstones, the heat on your cheeks welcomed to the depths of the netherworlds from how fucking sexually frustrated you feel.

but you feel the liberation on your wrists when titanic hands slither behind your back, ringed with cerise when you look down at them, an irritable imprint of mulberry that is glazed with the indecent touch of her fingers. it’s like she’s reading your mind, medicating the appetite for her touch - so she brings your palms to her cheeks, and it’s satisfactorily plumose. your skin felt decontaminated under hers, yet infected with a contradictory dose of vulgarity when you feel strands of her hair spoke at your knuckles.

your seat sinks in as she advances towards you predatorily, keeping you adhesive against her when both lewd palms plant against your thighs. you don’t resist, not that you want to, not that you could even if you did - but it’s imperial when she tilts her head, lips superior against yours that it made you meek to move against her. her top lip wallowing against your bottom, initiating the rhythm between you; the wet sounds of her lips leaving yours only liquifying the elation in your cunt.

you felt above cloud 9, you must’ve been on cloud 18.

but you bite down malevolently on her bottom lip, hardware iron taste on your teeth as she recoiled. “fuck!” she shrieks, arm compressed against her mouth - a rufescent shade on her etched moth when she looks at it to see the damage you’ve done to her incredibly hot face.

but you cackle, a justified smile smeared on your face. you hadn’t considered for once that it was a bad move, only indulged in the metallic taste of victory when you swallow - but it spoils when you see how the garnet paints her lip so homicidally. “you wanna bite?”

and you’re pummelled face-first into the seat, pirouetting clouding your vision when you try to blink through the nausea; foundations of heliotrope and lapis when you close your eyes in the murk, and you try to neglect the incoherent murmurs in your ear. “i wanted to go easy on you.” it’s calculating in your ear, a brume that tunnels through in eternal echoes.

and you feel the dip beside your head, lids doing the whole nine yards just to make introspection of the situation when you feel her salacious fingers grasp your jaw and drape you up. you blink through the discolourations of mulberry, and find yourself staring at a 7-inch silicone cock framed by burly thighs clad against the seat; it debilitates you, and you’d be able to scream if it wasn’t for her plugging your throat instantaneously - and if only you could’ve gone back a few minutes, you’d know not to pull something so fucking stupid. you can taste the saltiness of your tears, the ignominy on your tongue when she grates herself into your mouth further.

she elevates her hips against you, a villainous twinge in the back of your throat. “try and bite now, pretty girl.” she asserts through your jagged breaths of indignity, you want her to know you’re sorry; that you’ve learnt your lesson, but she wants her last piece. and although you’d woolgathered over the daydream of clawing at her thighs, this wasn’t the romantic scenario you’d mused over.

because if you weren’t gagging before, you were most definitely gagging now.

she’s torturing you, letting you feel the depths of perdition, the purgatory of feeling as if you were suffocating. and just as you feel your head becoming light, limbs feathery, at the face of tribulation - she’ll release your head, and you spring backwards; that appeasing heave of air curing that hermetic chokehold on your lungs when you breath in.

and just as you’re neutralising your breath, stabilising the intake of the atmosphere around you amongst the cedarwood essence - your ass is being elevated, utilised by an unassailable touch streaming down your spine. “no..” you whimper, hand a limp failure to try and push her off, only fanning rubbing the salt in the wound when she imprisons it (pun intended again) against your back. “please don’t..” you beg, shaking your head into the seat.

but it shreds into you regardless of your self-pity, an insistent mortification tearing into your insides. it’s so painful that you can’t even make noise through the agony, tears gliding your cheeks of mahogany with such shame. she’s decimating you, quite literally, with lightning vibrations so excruciating that your legs can’t even escape the paralysis of being stiff under her. “does my sweet girl like being fucked by strangers? is it her fantasy?”

the vehicle rocks back and forth violently, silicone feeling like fucking knives - blades splitting you with dire trespass. and you feel no pleasure, no pleasure at all, until she slows. what was afflictions designed to fragment you descended into thrusts of seemingly sympathy, tender to stroke that spongy target inside. she’ll ease out of you, before skimming back inside with more compassion, cock curling just right.

bullseye.

and just like that, you’re too long gone to monitor the whimpering leaving your throat; too much pouring out at once to comprehend what needed to be repressed and what didn’t. “oh fuck, oh fuck..” you repeat breathlessly, that familiarised explosion she was negligent to earlier reanimating with every thrust against your hips. it was vanilla, and then it was therapy, and then it was aphrodisiac flourish in your stomach when her arm ravels around your body - finger stimulating against your clit.

you feel it threatening you, the urge to detonate so primitively inside, but you don’t have high hopes that she’ll let it.

“you wanna cum all over my cock?”

“please.”

“does my dirty girl like this?”

“yes, fuck yes.”

“say you’re sorry.”

“no.” you hiss, but when she slows down, you feel the delectable latchstring in your core fading. you clench around her, trying to hightail it back, but it’s her perfect weapon - only useful under her command.

“fuck, i’m sorry..”

“you’re sorry?” she rocks into you slowly, the pleasure snowballing again.

“yes, i’m sorry.”

“you’re sorry for what?” she expedites, and it’s so close to overdrive - the mountain of rapture in your hips and clit amplifying; you can’t stop the pathological trembling of your legs, an inveterate missile climaxing in your core.

“i’m sorry for biting you, officer.”

“and?”

you’re wailing unconsciously, blether only seeping out of your mouth under the pressure of feeling every wall drown you.

“for wasting your time, officer.”

and it ignites.

you twitch violently against her, a corruption of blest blossoming through your body - your hole contracting around her cock, and you’d finally gotten the antidote of what seventh heaven felt like. it’ll poison you for a minute or so, dreamy against the seat as you lay stomach-flat; barbarity on your body when you can’t stabilise your jagged breath and the palpitations in your thighs. her hand caresses your back, so soft and contracting against the customary calloused touch you got used to.

“you’re bleeding a little, sweet girl..”

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PART 2

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #ellie x reader #tlou #the last of us #the last of us x reader #tlou x reader #ellie williams smut

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demonslayedher · 10 months

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Kanroji Temple: A lesser-known KnY Holy Site... which is a holy site anyway

There are actually a few Kanroji Temples throughout Japan, but one very small one in Wakayama Prefecture embraces the namesake in some subtle ways. The platform-only train station which shares the name also got in on the fun with green and pink "love" banners with cherry blossom and cat motifs. Although there is not as much to see there now as there was in 2020 during a short promotion they did, there's still a few cute vestiges.

To borrow a previous analysis of Mitsuri's name: 甘露寺: "甘露 Kanro" is "Sweetness" (in Japanese Buddhism, this is considered a virtue, perhaps you could think of it more like a heavenly sweetness than a gluttonous one) and "寺 ji" ((Buddhist) Temple). Rather than looking at this and thinking "wow, her family is so Buddhist" you could look at it and think "wow, they're probably pretty well-off." It's a wide generalization, but surnames which are also temple names imply that the family was long a (presumably wealthy) patron of the temple, and it carries a high class ring to it.

Besides the name, there are another couple reasons this is such a nice little Mitsuri related spot.

This temple was already known as a bit of a matchmaking spot, because there is a conifer on the premises with leaves that, once they are dried, don't break if you try to pull them apart. In addition, there are little protective "inome" (boar's eye/snout) marks around the roof, which people nowadays look at as upside-down hearts. There was also some romantic episode between the couple who started the Kamakura shogunate here, Minamoto no Yoritomo and Hojo Masako, but Mitsuri and Masako have very different personalities so I'll leave that there.

I did not realize this until I was on my way, but you know Tama, the station master cat? And Nitama, the successor? Kishi Station is the very next train stop. Mitsuri would be thrilled! I was also thrilled to encounter a celebrity, which was not at all on my itinerary for the day. Even got to ride the Tama train.

It seems that during the Mugen Train hype of 2020, the temple had as many as 200 visitors in a single busy day, when they were displaying a wider banner with the temple's name and a pretty green and pink background. There were signs that cosplayers could hold in front of it, as well as a "love pillar" temporarily installed in the little courtyard. Cosplaying in public isn't welcome in many areas of Japan, so this feels a bit like the equivalent of Christian churches having welcomed Pokemon Go players after they became gyms. This temple does, after all, function first and foremost as a religious institution, specifically for the Jodo sect of Pure Land Buddhism. Still, they are flexible and open-minded with it. Back in 2020 they had Rengoku's words about how growing old and weak being what makes humanity precious written as words of wisdom on the post outside the temple where words of Buddhist-style wisdom are typically posted. Nowadays, although there are also signs saying that the inside is off-limits to anyone not there to worship, there was also a sign saying, "Come, everyone, let us go and pray... (Himejima Gyoumei??)" I love that nod, because Himejima's repetition of the nembutsu (Namu Amida Butsu) is stressed in the Jodo sect.

Speaking of! Besides o-mamori (protective amulets), it is very common for shrines and temples to have go-shuin, a stamp or handwritten seal, in exchange for a modest fee (more technically, a donation). Many pilgrims (or tourists, that's fine) collect these directly in fancy books, but you can also just take the paper home to put in a book later. Although Kanroji Temple had their own version of these before their unexpected namesake popularity, they now have a second version on green and pink paper. It is the nembutsu written in a "rikenmyogo" calligraphy style. That is, "sword style" calligraphy.

While the "demon slayers use swords!" association is clearly there, and in their explanation they make a lot of clever use of the 滅 (eliminate) character so prominent in the KnY world, the sword is in regard to how when Buddhist figures are depicted holding swords, this is not so much to slay the enemies of Buddhist teachings, but to sharpen oneself and cut away ones' evils, faults, and worldly attachments--the sources of worldly suffering.

That said, no one is making the fans get rid of their attachment to a hit manga/anime, and there are still a few signs to hold in "I was here" photos.

The train station, which is surrounded by cherry trees and had a tiny heart graffiti etched into the sign, still has their "love" banners up, as well as a clearly inspired illustration of an anime girl reminding people to show their train passes clearly to the conductor when disembarking (because there are no gates on this train station platform).

So if you ever find yourself a couple hours away from Osaka on your way to visit Nitama the celebrity station master, just remember you can make another nearby stop in honor of the Love Pillar. If you don't have the luck of riding the Tama train, you might get to ride a strawberry train too.

#kny in real life #kanroji mitsuri #nitama the station master cat

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