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visionsofmagic · 8 months

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◜ mk1 men breaking the bed/headboard while fucking you ◞

▸ characters: bi-han, syzoth, liu kang, raiden, kuai liang, johnny cage, tomas◂ ▸wc: 4k+ [wow]

▸ tags¬es: REQUESTED by @luvv4lurd. drabble but long (like very long), fluff, nsfw, breaking, licking, ropes, inappropriate usage of power/abilities, humiliation, rudeness, rough, biting, power, begging, fingering, swearing, monster fucking (kind of), power play, pet names, calling god/goddess, possessiveness, protectiveness & more in the work, enjoy! [didn’t want to write this long & I am not sure whether @luvv4lurd wanted it to be this long but couldn’t hold myself, they’re so cute! hope all of you like it, have fun!]◂ ▸ m.

BI-HAN doesn’t care about hurting you that much, yet, he gives you a safe word to make him stop when it is needed. clearly, he wants to fuck you well enough so that he can show you only he can fuck you like this. this goal of his brings him to an edge that he put your body down on the bed, ass up, cock thrusting deep inside your walls as your body jolts forward and backward in sync with his cock’s rhythm going in and out of your pussy full of cum - since you have cum like two times already.

he’s a bit rougher than he is usually because he heard a few other lin kuei’s members talking about you - how they are mesmerized by your presence whenever you come into view, however, they complained about how they can’t talk to you because you’re always with the grandmaster, sub-zero.

that moment, he decided to fuck you hard enough to make you have difficulties with walking, making everyone realize who fucked you - their grandmaster - they will know who you belong to and that was why he is rough right now.

you don’t complain though, well, until he makes you scream his title - “my - ohh - my grandmaster!” he loses his mind, releasing his power; hands get colder as ice appears on them from fingertips to the arm, and since his hands on the headboard, to hold it tight and fucking you with a great strength, it covers with ice, making the surface so easy to break into pieces and this is exactly what happens.

the headboard breaks into countless pieces, the room’s temperature going down in an instant, your eyes widen but bi han gains his mind’s control, hands turning to normal as they touch your waist, sending a chill down your spine with their coldness - bi han begins to fuck you harder as if it’s even possible, blaming you.

“see what you made me do whore? it’s only because of you! have to get a new one now, but you should pay for what you have caused pretty slut and you will pay by giving this beautiful wet pussy to me - to the rightful owner of it. will fuck you until you can’t walk for the next week, my dumb whore.”

SYZOTH tries his best not to use any of his strengths during the make-up sessions you share - getting intimate yet shy while doing it. he wants you to stay healthy even after the sex, only maybe some of the marks on your body that he likes to leave. however, sometimes you become a brat, acting naughty, trying to play with his nerves of pleasure and instincts enough to make him go rougher, and since he doesn’t want to hurt you, his hands find the sides of the bed while he’s fucking you with the position of missionary, green innocent eyes focusing on your face that full of cries, parted lips, half-closed eyes watching him with such delight he wants to prove himself further – wants to fuck you so good that your body cannot forget about it in the following days until the day he fucks you again.

and he loses himself when a hand grips him by the hair, pulling his face down at your level, ear to ear, you say in a whisper which is followed by a little moan afterward, “cmon pretty boy, I know you can do better than – ohhh – this!”

who is to decline your offer? who he is to hold himself still instead of fucking you harder – better?

syzoth whimpers at your words, he lets your legs hug his bare back, hands wrapping his neck as his hands begin to hold the surface of the bedsides tighter to find a balance after shoving his dick into your wider pussy rapidly than before, roughness and lust dripping from heart to body within actions.

“oohhh –“ he moans in sync with you, “tell me how good it is my love, please, please –“ he stops himself from crying by biting down your shoulder a few times, listening to your cries mixed with both pain and pleasure with full attention, and when you praise him, his edge comes, making him lose himself, and letting his nature form in some parts of his body; a tail appears on his back, it wags on its own – eyes turn darker green – and hands are covered with the skin of his true form, all green until it reaches to the arms.

all feelings double when his strength rises, weight becomes hard to endure, dick bigger – definitely rougher, going in and out of your aching yet wet pussy, and you reach climax at the same time – the exact time when a few crack sounds are heard, causing you to look into each other’s face – looking both excited and peaceful because of reaching the climax and shocked when the bed break into two, its middle swallows your bodies as syzoth hold you from the back from an instant, turn you around so that his back meets with the rigid surface of the floor under the bed.

hands on your back, hugging, turning into human form, and tail disappears as he looks at you with innocent and shy eyes as if you’re not lying down on the ground, inside a broken bed, cums still dripping.

“I’m so sorry y/n – but it – it was too much for me to handle. my love, how can I make you forgive me? I will do anything for you – just say it and I will show how sorry I am but please don’t judge me. I can’t hold my thoughts together when I have your pretty pussy.”

LIU KANG can be the steadiest person – or a god but you don’t know any other god aside from him, but not in bed, no, never. he is that steady, straightforward, gentle, cute, and all these kinds of things under the lights of daylight, however, when it turns into a dark sky when you visit him in his room – or you in yours, exchanging a few words, questions only to begin to fuck after the formality.

it’s not that he uses you as his fucktoy – yes, it feels like it because it turns you on, but no, he’s in love with you – so deeply that he loses his mind whenever he sees you, and when it comes to getting intimate, oh, he forgets about the timeline he has created entirely, focusing on you – your pretty face he likes to watch, your magnificent body he finds as the most beautiful thing on all realms, your voice that comes into his ears as prays while you moan his name and even his title whenever you feel like it, and oh, your delicious pussy that neither his fingers, his tongue nor his dick will ever get bored of – it will be such disrespectful thing to be bored when you open your legs wider to him, showing your pink pussy that begs for his caring and affection – that he gives you what you want right away.

he’s a god, yes, but he can kneel in front of you if it is needed – to eat you out, or even to beg you.

on a night, when he lets you do whatever you wanna do with him, you chose to ride him in order to show him how you love his dick so much as he watched you from below, making you feel so powerful because of having the god of fire, liu kang, under you – moaning your name, eyes blurry, a bit of fire travels on his shoulder since he hasn’t logical side in the brain, no longer when you ride him so good – it feels as if you’re his goddess and you can’t deny that it doesn’t turn you on just by thinking about it.

smiling widely, you let yourself get the pleasure at the highest level, so, you throw your head back, and hands travel on your body from hair to shoulders, from breasts to abdomen, from there to your ass – literally exhibiting your own body to liu kang while bouncing on his lap – pussy clench around his length whenever you sit down only to rise up and repeat the action rapidly, riding him, fucking him.

and liu kang’s last logical side screams him not to hold you – because if he does it, he is sure he will break you into pieces. he doesn’t want to hurt you, especially when he witnesses the sight in front of him – breathtaking, making him lose the balance of his strength. instead of holding you, he grips the headboard behind him as he sits there, having you on his lap – watching you riding him beautifully.

then, you look down, and chuckle, “let your goddess take you to the stars, pretty boy.”

he never had this kind of situation with any other person, so, when you reflect his own words with yours – ‘let your god take you to the stars, pretty girl’ – he really sees stars, hands get tighter, and he breaks the bed with his power of strength and fire, moaning your name loudly, “aggh – y/n!” as he cums hard into your warm walls.

the moment he opens his eyes once again, he sees your smirking face first, one of your soft fingers travels on his cheek as you kneel down closer, “oh, couldn’t pretty boy resist it and cum in an instant?” you chuckle, mocking him, “where is the god of fire, huh? maybe, you should be the one who calls me goddess instead.”

he doesn’t waste a moment, holding you from the waist, he closes the gap between your bodies – nose to nose, white eyes devour yours only by looking at them intensely, and he smirks – darker than yours, radiating fire.

“darlin’, you are already my goddess but you need to learn who you belong to. don’t worry, the lesson you will have now will be enough to make you remember it to no longer forget about it. I will teach you personally while fucking you on this broken bed.”

RAIDEN is a stranger to his own power that has been given by liu kang to fight with it to protect the earthrealm, however, now it sticks with raiden every second of the day and night, and he can’t leave it even while fucking you.

he says he should get used to it in every situation. he’s shy about it while saying it but you know that there are other reasons behind the desire to bring his lightning power into the bed ‘cause, that way, he can send a tickling jolt to your body – even to your pussy, making your pleasure rise up, wanting him to continue what he’s doing.

he knows you like it too – how he can’t anyway? you love seeing his eyes turning to light blue from time to time, love to let it flow through your skin, sending chills down your spine, getting you closer to the edge.

raiden discovers your kink contains electricity accidentally, and in a weird situation when he forgets to leave his amulet bonded to his hand while getting intimate with you.

he doesn’t realize holding it even when he goes hotter as he lowers down on your body, kissing every inch of you, reaching your exposed pussy soaking wet to the ground because of his gentle, slow yet effective approaches. he’s so gentle with you that he literally begs to taste your cum in his mouth.

letting him, you lean onto the headboard, wide open legs meeting with his soft-looking eyes, making him whimper at the sight.

you look so pretty that even after having your cum in his mouth, he can’t stop - he says he wants to thank you for letting him eat you out passionately by hovering over you, hands find the headboard behind you as he thrusts into your wet and fleshy pussy again and again with a pace driving you mad.

you scream how good he’s making you - to make it double, he uses some electricity that flows through your body without even noticing it, and the sudden sensation makes you clench around his length, swallowing it entirely, giving raiden a heart attack because of the pleasure he has never felt before, and it ends up with him using his strong muscles to hold himself in balance by gripping the headboard harder, making it crumble and break into pieces in a second.

to protect you from the falling pieces of it, he lowers down, covering your body within his but it makes all things go worse – or better as you say afterward; his cock reaches the end of your pussy, and it even becomes visible on your abdomen – and the scream, moans you made causing raiden to lose his mind – he begins to thrust into you, balls hitting your ass, forehead touches yours, eyes turn into light blue when you look at them.

“you have no idea how beautiful you look right now, my love. so – so beautiful. I am so sorry to break the bed but I can’t stop now. how can I? your pussy begs for me to continue fucking you. ohhh – it feels so good. I am offering myself to you as a forgiveness gift.”

KUAI LIANG is a man who lives to give you, his beloved lover, what you deserve – the whole world, as he believes. loving doing the things you want, he’s no longer a gentleman in bed as the bond you share grows more powerful as well as the intimate sessions you have an increase in passion and trust.

he becomes rougher when you need him to be. being such a needy lover for him, you choose to trust him enough to let him have you in ways you can never imagine on your own because he looks fragile from the outside – he still is but not when you get into the bed after a long and exhausted day, ready to find your peaceful hours, inside each other’s arms which turns into a hot moment since you can never resist the urge of getting closer – he turns into a beast, you can see the sparkes he has inside his eyes – reflection of the fire he has within his soul and body.

on one of the nights you become lustful for each other, kuai has you on your knees, ass up in the air, and your second cum’s juice flows through his thick warm cock onto your inner thighs and ass, however, he can’t focus on the mess you’re making because all his attention is on your wrists which are roped with his kusarigama – it has no kama yet the coldness of metal chains around your wrists are enough to send you chills since kuai’s entire body radiates warmness.

holding your wrist, he increases the pleasure you are getting from the way he fucks you into the mattress, moans coming from you mixing with the swears and praises he says between his rapid breaths, dripping sweats and moans – only you can make him so weak, so fragile yet powerful at the same time – it causes him to try to prove himself to you in a greater way that you can never forget about it, that your body screams his markings.

the sound that is created by the lewd sounds of his thrusts hitting your soaked clit build twist feelings inside your stomach that is pushed down onto the bed as his left hand holds the wrists that have chained while the free one is put on the headboard’s edge, holding it tightly because he needs to find a source of stability to stay still but it doesn’t work – not when he finds this new angle amusing, begins to shove his dick into your warm walls faster, then, when his climax hit, the solid tool cracks – collapsing.

when he comes to his senses, getting off his high, he realizes what he has made.

he looks a bit guilty, eyes finding yours, his face has an expression of a man who seeks forgiveness yet he seems to enjoy it, and he smiles when you chuckle, joking about how he can easily turn into a madman only because of having you like this.

as he agrees, he caresses your hair, hands playing with the chain to open it. he turns your body over, hugging you from the shoulder, he still doesn’t take his dick off of you.

“’m so sorry honey, didn’t mean to break the bed but weren’t it the head of the bed, I would break you – was so good – you feel so good. fixing it will be the first duty for me after I get more of you – can I? please say that I can because I need you – one more baby, please, give me one more. promise I will be more cautious with our surroundings. don’t want to get you hurt. you will only get pleasure until we’re done, my love.”

JOHNNY CAGE can be the most reckless fucker in the whole timeline. interested in you only, he loses the last logical side of his brain – if he has any when he has you in different situations yet each one of them is as effective as the others.

being energetic, having almost superhuman strength, and going wild in sex, he is sure unreliable while fucking. creating a sense of fear with excitement in your abdomen, ideas rush into your mind as you think about what he will do differently this time in every intimate moment. his uniqueness can be pointed out even while fucking you or letting you fuck him.

he’s also loud, talkative, preferring to let you know that you feel wonderful, perfectly taking his dick – or him, entirely, destroying his mind because of the beauty you have as lust cages him like a chain.

he seems like a madman too with his mind full of thoughts about how he can turn the sex you have into something more bustling, catchy, and entertaining for the two of you, maybe a little more for you ‘cause he prefers to be an unforgettable lover. he addresses you as his queen, and he is determined to prove himself right by treating you as one.

to do this, he tries to get his ideas turn into realities while fucking you.

not caring about your surroundings, not thinking consequences of being unconcerned, not realizing what he has done until his highness’ effects of being pussy drunk decrease. the reality hit his face when he saw the world around him, you still under him, mind dizzy, mouth dry because of moaning non-stop, eyes half-closed as you looked up at his face, cries cleaning your heated face.

the bed, worth a million dollars he chose to fuck you onto, now has a broken headboard – the pieces falling onto the floor and the bed’s soft white fabric. the memories of the moment before rushes into his mind as he looks at the broken material inside his fisted hands; he understands that he is the one that caused this. he fucked your wide-open pussy so mindlessly that when he gripped the head to find something to hold on to, he broke it without realizing it.

as you still soak wet with your cum, and his own getting out of you, he jokes about the situation; chuckling while pointing out the power he has enough to break the bed’s head in one movement, showing it to you with such proudness you roll your eyes – this time not because of his dick, but because of his silliness.

he puts his hands on your sides, smirking down at you, winking, and having no shyness about breaking the bed.

“oh princess, it was worth a million dollars but doesn’t matter. you are worth more than anything in entire timelines. to have your pussy, I can break all of ‘em pretty. but can we appreciate how strong I am? ‘is all because of how good you’re makin’ me feel – ohh, pretty lady, making my mind go crazy like that – ‘is because of you that I broke it, but, what about we break the couch too? wanna do it – wanna break it too while eating you out. c'mon princess, gotta fuck you in every piece of furniture in this house.”

TOMAS is not like his brothers – he is not like the rest of the men at all. he’s a lover who puts your well-being before anyone else, including his desires, and passionate when it comes to that decision in times he has you inside his arms, standing naked from head to toe, giving yourself completely to the man you trust the most, you love the most.

his fragile manner doesn’t let him go hard on you even if you want him to do so. afraid of hurting you even a little bit prevents him from becoming rougher and harsh to you. he listens to all your pleases, begging him to fuck you harder, wanting him to believe he can never harm you, yet, he chooses to stay still even when you act so bratty, trying to get into his nerves, making him let it go.

tomas, being a cute shy boyfriend, delicate when the matter is you, stays determined for a long time ‘'til the day you plan everything out and make him lose his gentle manner, causing the loss’s emptiness to be completed with the new one – greed.

the greed he has for you builds up from his deep soul to show itself through his actions after he sees you sitting on the bed, on your knees, the dress you wear is thin and represents the color of tomas’ armor, the delightful body underneath it is visible to his widened eyes, looking innocently yet devilishly to his eyes, smiling widely as you rise your hand for him to hold and get into the bed with you.

who he is to resist? his determination is not that great – and both of you realize it when tomas gets into the bed, a moment later, when his cock meets with your already soaked and prepared pussy after he fingers you, he feels warmness, fire building within his body, making him want to devour you, unlike the times you had before, he’s a bit dizzy now.

he moans your name over and over again, lips curl only to moan, whimper, and beg for more. you let him though, saying he can get what he needs – you say he can use your body for his pleasure, and when he finally admits it feels euphoric to go rough on you, moans coming out of your pretty pink lips like a melody to his ears, encouraging him further.

he grips you from the waist while fucking you; he uses your body as he pleases, moving your body front to back, his thrusts meet with your walls in mid-air, earning rhythmic moans from both of you.

throwing his head back, he decides to hold the bed under your body because he realizes the red marks on your waist due to the grip he has on there. when his hands reach for the mattress, he grips the white covers strongly, hands turn into fists, and those fists hit the bed’s rigid surface – the bed breaks into two the moment he cum carelessly into you after you praise him, call him your good boy.

he swears for the first time, eyes closed shut, his cum meets with yours, forehead connects with your chest as you hug him from the shoulders.

breathing deeply into your breasts, warmness flows from his breaths to your exposed skin, smoke appearing on the curves of his body slowly, and you feel his tears because of both pleasure he has felt and quilt coming from breaking the bed, making your bodies go lower a little bit.

“oh, I’m so sorry, so so sorry, didn’t mean to – I – I just want to prove myself and get lost when you moan my name like that, calling me your good – ohh – boy. ‘m so sorry my goddess, please, forgive me. wanna say it will not repeated but I can’t – it felt so good that I wanna do it again – right now. my love, would you let me do it again? say yes, and I will be a very very good boy for you – only for my goddess.”

what a journey of rut! here's a cake for you because you deserve it after reading this, bearing it with me! 🍰

❤️ tagging: @lookingforgoodthings , @snowprincesa1 [taglist]

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gremlingottoosilly · 16 days

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bunny hybrid!reader who is very easily spooked and shy, so monster!konig kinda gaslights her into lowering her guard down when they’re starting to get to know each other , until he finally shows his possessive side and makes her take his eggs and claim her as his the first time they have sex 🩷🐰🐙🩷

In a world filled with horny monsters, he is a gentleman. Never yelling at you, even though you are practically useless in a monster world - no claws, ho sharp teeth, only fluffy years and a breedable body that makes monsters around you only value you for what you can give to them. Konig isn't like this - he is kind and caring, brings you food, and even gives you a cushy position in the forces, letting you handle the reports and giving you leaves for times when your heat is too much to bear. He watches over you, the way you'd become even more shy than before, your hips rubbing against each other because you're too horny and too quiet to voice it. He cared for you - gave you a really nice little burrow made from blankets and old clothes, let you sleep in his quarters, safe from others trying to force themselves on you. He pets your ears when you do his reports and sometimes lets you nestle on the soft bed he has, letting you relax in his wake. This is why the thing that he did hurt you so much. You're in heat, of course - he wouldn't hurt you otherwise. He waited until you were pliant and adorable until you were ready to open your legs for him and let him fuck you for all your worth. You cling to him, crying from need, rubbing your wet pussy against his crotch. He fills you up with his tentacles and you cry, not ready to let him in so easily. You're almost choking, barely able to control yourself as you beg him to fuck you. Poor thing, so needy and pretty - Konig laughs when you try to push him away, your body betraying your senses. You want him, as much as you hate to admit it. God, how much you needed him. He makes you dumb on his cock, your stupid bunny brain makes you buckle your hips against his and let his tentacles fill you up with eggs. You didn't even notice that the only reason he was being so nice to you was the mate courting - and now his quarters literally have your nest, the only place you'll ever be allowed in...but at least he is still a gentleman. Just makes sure you're filled up with his eggs as well.

#cod #konig x reader #konig #yandere konig #cod x reader #yandere cod #monster!konig #tw: monster fucking

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laikabu · 3 months

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mr wasia himself… it’s pretty long, so i put all his info under the cut

“Makalu” Real name: (first name) Touden His real first name is sort of irrelevant since everyone calls him by Makalu.

Likes: Pastries Dislikes: Steamed vegetables

Has a Northern name, but everyone calls him by this one.

Despite looking a lot like Kabru, he has Laios’s face.

Doesn’t want to inherit the throne; instead, he desires to travel the world to meet new people and see real, live monsters with his beloved aunt, Falin.

Likes monster cuisine for the most part, much to Kabru’s disappointment, but he is a very picky eater. He doesn’t like monsters that taste like vegetables, for instance

Relationships with other people:

He finds Kabru boring and often zones out when scolded by him. However, despite this, Kabru is the first person he seeks comfort from. Kabru tries not to be overbearing, but sometimes he can't help but regularly interfere.

He loves Laios deeply but resents that Laios is too occupied with royal duties to spend time with him. Laios is thrilled to share his love of monsters with his son but fears his son will face the same ostracism he did as a child.

Marcille is very fond of him and tries hard to win his favor, but he often seems to ignore her (ow…). They were very close when he was a toddler, but she would always hand him over to someone else whenever he started crying.

Yaad always seemed to be on the verge of a heart attack around him. As a small child, he would always ask specifically for a piggyback ride from Yaad.

As a younger child, Izutsumi was his favorite person. Although she doesn’t feel strongly about him, she enjoyed cuddling with him to sleep when he was little because he was very warm.

Falin is the most beloved person in his life. They regularly exchanged letters and would always wait for her by the pier the day she arrives in Melini. She often sneaked into his window to take him out to visit caves and forests behind others’ backs. Both of them knew that she wouldn’t be able to take him out anymore if anyone found out, so it became their little secret.

Chilchuck would sometimes let him stay in his shop, and he's rather fond of him despite not showing it. As a toddler, he would always ask to be carried, but it always ended in Chilchuck complaining about a sore back. By the age of five, Makalu had already surpassed Chilchuck's height.

He doesn’t see Senshi as often as the others, but he loves Senshi's cooking. He would eat monster food that he usually doesn’t like when it’s cooked by Senshi. Senshi tends to feed him a lot, much to the annoyance of Kabru.

He’s rather fond of Milsiril, but he doesn’t understand why his parents won’t let her spend time with him.

#cringe fankid dungeon meshi oc little guy #he’s basically a kabru preset with laios’s face #my art #labru #makalu

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ladyloveandjustice · 10 months

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I saw a post in the My Adventures with Superman tag claiming that Lois "finally" has a character. I really like the show and it's version of Lois too, but I want to make this clear: Lois Lane has been around for over 80 years and she's always been a distinct, dynamic character with a lot going for her, every bit as admirable as Superman. This isn't a new thing!

Like any character Lois has had some bad adaptations, but she's been a great character from the beginning, and I wanted to show off some panels from comics over the years so anyone new to Superman lore can see why she's a beloved character and the MAWS portrayal is building on that, not starting from scratch.

Lois in the golden age comics (1939 through the 1940's) was shown to be a career-driven woman who didn't take shit from anyone. This was an era where a lot of women were entering the workforce because men were serving in WWII and there was excitement and change in the air, and Lois was meant to be a reflection of that. She fought against the sexism of her boss sticking her with the advice and gossip columns because she was a woman, and she was go-getting reporter out to get a real story. From the beginning she was fearless (sometimes reckless), driven, and had no patience for Clark Kent's (feigned) cowardice (and was always full of sick burns). She never let anyone push her around.

And she's been pretty consistently like this her entire run as a character. Of course, there were some bad writers, and there was a time in the 50s when all female characters had to be marriage obsessed (Lois wasn't the only one hit with this, Wonder Woman was too), but she reverted back to her firebrand self in the 60's and 70's, and when the 80's came along, characters started getting more filled in backstories, including her- this was where we started seeing stuff about her home life, her childhood moving around as a military brat, and her troubled relationship with her father and sister. She had an interior life, inner conflict- and she still kicked ass and always got the last word in. As someone invested in journalism, she is THE coolest fictional journalist to me.

This was also when comics started focusing on Clark being who Superman WAS rather than a pure act, and we got to see their relationship really grow and Lois fall for Clark, not Superman. So here, have some panels of Lois being great and see the scope of her own personality.

Lois also has lots fun little quirks and hobbies comics readers know about- she takes her coffee a certain way, she doesn't cook much because she's so on the go (so Clark is the one who cooks in the fam), she likes to sit on Clark's desk when they're talking (this happens in other Superman media too), she REALLY likes monster trucks and Clark REALLY doesn't but will support her anyway:

Also, she's always seen through to who Clark really is:

Anyway. Have more of my favorite Lois panels because I have a lot:

also this one because I'm gay:

#lois lane #superman #my adventures with superman #dc comics #clark kent

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porcelainseashore · 3 months

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Heavenly Creatures

Pairing: Altar Boy! Leon Kennedy x Catholic School Girl! Reader

Summary: Growing up in a conservative, Catholic community, you and Leon were kept apart as kids for your own good. However, a fateful encounter at church many years later causes you to question those boundaries.

Content & Warnings: 18+ Smut, porn with plot, unprotected p in v, oral (m & f receiving), rimming (f receiving), semi-public sex (church), Catholicism, religious imagery & symbolism, temptation, guilt, shaming, name-calling, growing up, smoking, swearing, romance, fluff, secret relationship.

Authors' Note: Leon and Reader are in senior high and 18 when smut happens. No guarantee that you won’t burn in hell after reading this 🔥😂

Special thanks to AliBelleRosetta for being my sounding board + shadesoflsk & Cameron for your helpful feedback.

AO3 Link

Snake. Devil. Satan’s spawn.

Those were the names you had grown accustomed to as a child. You didn’t know why you were called them, instead of the one your parents had given you. You were too little to understand. All you knew was that you were made to feel different. Maybe you were really an anomaly from the rest after all.

Instead of being quiet and shy, you were loud and boisterous. It was natural for you, seeing as you were going through your tomboy phase, which was the exact reason your parents had stuck to when they received complaints about your behavior. They laughed it off, while others reigned their daughters in, forcing them into perfect Sunday dresses, braided hair adorned with pastel ribbons and clean, black Mary Jane shoes. Good enough to fit into a pretty gift box with wrapping paper. But you would tear it all down, before anyone could lay a finger on you.

Growing up in a place where other children were told to shun you was difficult at first. But then, you learnt to play by yourself and relish in the power of make believe. You climbed trees, rolled in the mud and ran through the forest fending off imaginary monsters. Sometimes, when you bumped into other groups of boys who threw stones and made fun of you, you fought back, further earning the title of crazy witch! Who needed these idiots anyway? You were your own best company.

One day, you sat in your disheveled, cream cotton dress, swinging your legs from a tree in your front lawn as usual. It overlooked the suburban neighborhood street, giving you a bird’s eye view of your surroundings. You noticed a family of three strolling along the sidewalk, though the couple gave you a disapproving look as they walked past, and whispered to their little, adolescent boy. They thought they were being so discreet, but you could hear every single word they were saying.

“Don’t pay attention to her. She’s bad news.”

Regardless of this remark, the boy gave in to his curiosity and as he peered up, you held his wide-eyed gaze. His irises were azure in color, glowing as it caught the early dusk light from different angles, shifting across a stunning spectrum of bluish, iridescent hues. You were captivated by them, and as you continued staring, his cheeks turned rosy red, though it seemed like he could not break away from you either. That moment was abruptly cut short, as his father smacked the back of his head, chiding his son for disobeying him.

“Come along now, Leon.” The older man wrapped an arm around the boy’s shoulders, turning him away from your direction.

Leon. So, that was his name. As you watched them turn the corner at the end of the street and head off, you wondered if and when you’d see him again.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Leon had heard the stories passed around about you. His parents had often commented about your family as being one of those ‘weird, hippy types’. Frankly, this didn’t scare him, but rather, it fascinated him. They made you appear like something he had read in a book about myths and legends, and he wanted to see if it was real.

The next time he went out to play in the field, he walked by your place again on purpose, even though it would have been the longer route. As he had predicted, you were up in the tree again, lounging across its branches with your eyes closed, like a slithery snake basking in the sun. Your dress was stained with grass and dirt, and your feet were soiled and filthy. Twigs poked out haphazardly from your knotted, messy hair.

You looked like a creature of sorts, alright, he thought.

He inched towards the base of the tree trunk gingerly, trying not to stir the sleeping beast. But as he got closer, he accidentally stepped into a pile of dead leaves, which crunched underfoot.

You roused from your slumber then, rubbing your eyes as you stretched your arms out with a lazy yawn. He flinched when you looked downwards at him, as if you might strike out, but you just smiled and said, “Hi.”

He was confused then. From the descriptions of you, he had expected you to breathe fire and gnash your teeth at him fiercely, but you were just a normal girl. He gave you a puzzled look, nodding as he greeted you with a stutter, “Hi… I-I’m, uh, Leon.”

“I know.” You grinned.

“You do?” He looked astounded, as if you’d conducted some dark ritual to find out.

You picked up on this and teased him, wiggling your fingers as you mouthed, “Magic…”

He laughed, relaxing his stiff shoulders and asking you for your name. He’d only known you until now as that girl, or one of those nicknames people gave you out of spite.

You introduced yourself and offered him a half-eaten apple you had munched on before napping on the tree. He hesitated at first, regarding it as if it were a forbidden fruit, but eventually he reached out for it. Gratefully, he bit in, savoring the flavorful burst of its juicy flesh.

“Do you go to church?” He asked suddenly, out of the blue.

Shielding your eyes from the afternoon sun with your hand, you squinted at him. “Yeah, why?”

“Oh.” He paused, considering his next words, though he blurted out with unfiltered honesty, “Well, my dad said that demons can’t enter hallowed ground.”

“I’m not a demon,” you huffed indignantly.

“No, you aren’t,” he agreed, waving his hands in the air apologetically, trying to salvage the situation. “I think you’re nice, actually.” His face was warm and pink again.

“I think you’re nice too.”

And it continued on like this. Some days, he’d pop over to visit and speak with you from below the tree, when he was sure no one was watching. Until a day came where he wasn’t as careful, and was spotted by a concerned neighbor, who ratted him out to his parents.

You were sad that he wasn’t allowed to see you again, but you’d grown used to being alone for most of your childhood, so you tried to put it behind you and move on, unaware that he’d often look out for you at each week’s Sunday Mass.

━━━━━━━━━━━

A number of years passed, and you filled out into your own body. You were in your senior year of an all-girls Catholic high school, and had recently turned 18. Reaching womanhood also meant that you became acutely aware of the changes in the way society treated you now, as compared to the opposite sex. Heads turned as you stalked around with one of the more unruly cliques in your school. Instead of being name-called after otherworldly creatures, you were reduced to bitch, slut, or whore.

People hated what they couldn’t understand or control. You’d been giving the nuns a hard time by asking controversial questions about the biblical text you were meant to study and recite blindly. Detention was nothing new to you and your friends, whom you’d been caught smoking cigarettes together with on school grounds. You were a rebel at heart, and the rest of the law-abiding community wanted to crush that and make you conform.

Leon, on the other hand, had been going to the all-boys school next door, which shared a brother school relationship with yours. He was in the same year and age as you, though being a man meant he had the privilege of getting away with certain things you couldn’t. Even there, your name wasn’t safe from being circulated around the rumor mill. You were the subject of boys’ locker room talk. They associated you with the ‘bad girl’ crowd, highlighting your love for reading banned books and boasting about supposed sexual escapades with you.

“She’ll do favors,” they said, making vulgar gestures by moving their fist back and forth in front of their mouth, while poking their tongue against their cheek.

Leon slammed his locker door shut and stormed off. It made him uncomfortable that they gossiped about you that way, but he was even more ashamed of the fact that he made no effort to stand up for you. He hardly knew you, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that what they were doing was finding a scapegoat to blame. That, unfortunately, time and time again, happened to be you.

Most of the students there were sexually active anyway, but no one had complained about them. As long as one kept things on the down-low and upheld a certain moralistic façade, they were considered as ‘innocent’, ‘pure’, or ‘normal’ even. For one, he was pretty sure that his father was having an affair with the church choir mistress, but that seemed to go overlooked.

Everyone’s such hypocrites, he pondered, frowning in distaste. Including himself. Although he liked to think that he was brave and courageous, in actuality, he was afraid of rocking the boat. Fitting in was more important, just as his parents had taught him from a young age. It was the side of him that he hated the most, but could not get rid of.

Gathering his belongings, he left school and hurried off. He’d been requested last-minute to serve at Mass that evening, as one of the other altar boys had fallen ill. At church, he exchanged his school uniform for the standard black cassock and white surplice, before starting with the Introductory Rites.

You, on the other hand, had been singled out along with a bunch of other troublesome girls to attend Evening Mass with the Mother Superior that day. It was just your luck that you had to devote an hour of your time to a set of outdated rituals and prayers, with the aim of reflecting upon your sins. The most frustrating part of this exercise was that all of you were placed in the front row pews, so there was no chance of daydreaming or dozing off in front of the priest. You’d never been much of a believer, but sometimes you did speculate if God was watching your every move from above.

As you stood up for the entrance procession, which signaled the start of Mass, a familiar mop of dirty blonde hair and dazzling blue eyes passed by. You’d recognize that anywhere, but it was a wonder how you hadn’t realized that he was serving as an altar boy all this while. Maybe your Mass timings hadn’t aligned? Or maybe you just never paid much attention in church. You’d only seen him here and there when he attended Mass with his family as part of the congregation, but you ignored him back then, because you didn’t want to remember the feeling of losing the closest thing you had to a friend in your pre-teen days.

When Leon turned around to face the congregation for the greeting, he gulped as he saw you, standing almost directly in front of him as both of you made the Sign of the Cross. Speak of the devil, he muttered internally, before chastising himself for unintentionally insulting you and shook that thought away.

You gave him a coy smile as he scampered off to where he was meant to be stationed. For the first time in a while, you took the chance to admire his chiseled features and how much he had grown. He had always been attractive, but he was no longer the little boy you used to know, and instead now a fine, young man, in an even finer religious attire. Puberty did him good, you mused.

All at once, a mischievous plan flashed across your mind as you plotted how to win his attention. It would be an entertaining way to pass the time in this mundane institution. Viewing the school uniform as yet another means for the authorities to curb people’s freedom and creative expression, you had a habit of violating the dress code by making minor adjustments to it. Whether it was shortening the hem of your skirt or wearing below the ankle socks, you went for it. And today was no exception.

You waited until it was time to be seated before attempting to catch his gaze. Within a few minutes, he sneaked a peek your way and you stifled a laugh. Bingo. As you continued looking straight at him, you stretched your legs out cautiously, so as not to alert the Mother Superior, who sat beside you, to your antics. His eyes widened and flickered, as you showed off their length, rotating your ankles in small circles languidly. The other altar boys started to take note and whispered in hushed tones amongst themselves. But you only had eyes for Leon, scrutinizing him like a hawk, as you bared your teeth with a sly grin plastered across your face.

It was only a matter of time before the Mother Superior rapped you on the legs with a thin, wooden cane she carried around for doling out such punishments. The other girls in your row giggled as you returned your legs to a respectable position, disregarding the smarting pain that had accompanied the blow.

It was worth it, you reasoned, spotting Leon’s lopsided smile, as he turned away to hide his blush.

This soon carried on like an unspoken game between you and Leon. You’d attend Mass whenever he was serving as an altar boy, and he’d look out for you, exchanging glances like a secret code shared between the two of you. A sense of thrill arose within him each time, as to what you’d try next. If only he knew what you were capable of.

At some point, you grew bolder. During the Holy Communion, where Leon had been helping the priest to hold the patina under the chins of those who received the Sacred host, you made sure once again to make eye contact with him the whole way through. Your mouth was slightly agape, as you extended your tongue, clasping your hands together in a pious prayer position. When the priest placed the host in your mouth, you swallowed it suggestively, licking your upper lip for a finishing touch. Leon nearly stumbled over backwards as his face turned bright red like a tomato. The last thing he heard was your silvery laughter, and you returned to your seat as if nothing had happened. You had ensnared him now.

When Mass ended, you slipped him a note, asking him to meet you at the confessional when everyone else had been ushered out. You knelt in the penitent compartment, waiting for him to arrive, confident that he would show up. A few minutes later, you heard someone enter the booth where the priest usually sat.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” you began. Through the latticed screen, you could just about make out Leon’s face as he chuckled.

“What are you playing at?”

“You tell me,” you challenged, testing the waters. “I haven’t received any complaints.”

“Well, I have a question,” he mentioned quietly. “Do you still remember when we hung out back then? At the tree.”

There was pang in your heart, as you recalled your childhood memories. “Of course, you were the only one who bothered to speak to me.”

You pursed your lips before taking the plunge. “I really appreciated that.”

There was a momentary pause, as he took your words in. “I wish they didn’t separate us.”

“It isn’t too late to start over.” It was humiliating how eager you sounded. No matter how much you tried to repress it, you yearned to rekindle that connection you had with him once.

“Listen, I like you,” he admitted, sighing heavily. “But, I can’t go public with this. My parents-”

“Who says it has to be public?” You retorted defensively.

His heartfelt confession emboldened you, yet a part of you felt dejected that this was the best option he could offer. However, you didn’t want to concede without giving it a shot.

He made a noise which sounded like he was in disbelief. “You mean-”

“Shall I come over and show you?” You interrupted, already getting up before he could answer.

“Y-yeah,” he stammered. “I-I’d like that, I guess.”

Exiting your compartment, you stepped out and swiftly went over to where he was, closing the door behind you. It was crammed and stuffy in this tiny box with two people, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Giving him a once-over, it struck you that he was still in his altar boy attire and perhaps what you were about to do was wrong on so many levels, but you brushed those thoughts aside.

“Um-”

Before he could speak any further, you ran your hands up along his chest and planted your lips onto his, soft and pillowy in texture. He let out a low moan, easing into your embrace as he kissed back, holding onto the back of your head for better leverage. His tongue grazed across your lips and you parted them in response, allowing it to slip inside as you tasted each other. Grabbing the collar of his cassock, you pressed your bodies together heatedly. You sucked on his tongue, eliciting another moan from his throat, as you shuffled him around, pushing his back against the wooden wall with a loud thud. Both of you had lost yourselves in a whirlwind of kisses, oblivious to the outside world and the ruckus you were making.

However, it was hard to ignore the hymn that was being sung when the next Mass started. Leon froze, before pulling away hastily. His mouth was red and swollen, and a pearly string of saliva connected it with yours.

“Shit, we lost track of time,” he panted.

If you didn’t want to be seen, you’d need to remain where you were until the Mass ended. In other words, both of you were trapped here for at least another hour.

Not being one to let such matters ruin the vibe, you responded, “That’s not a problem for me.” Trailing a lone finger down Leon’s body seductively, you let it come to rest above the growing bulge in his cassock.

“Are you serious?” He breathed, as you cupped your hand around it, palming him through his clothes.

“You got a better idea?” You murmured in his ear, squeezing his erection a little as you continued rubbing against it.

“Don’t get me wrong, it feels amazing.” His voice was strained as he spoke. “But, it’s just…”

“Catholic guilt?” You teased.

“Yeah, probably.” He nodded sheepishly.

“Well, maybe if we get you out of this thing.” You gestured to his attire. “You might relax into it more.”

“Makes sense,” he agreed, tugging the surplice over his head and discarding it to the ground. “Though it never really goes away, does it?”

You shrugged, shaking your head. “I still get it, but it’s less of an issue now.” It made you follow up with a question of your own. “Does that mean I’m a bad person?”

His eyes crinkled as he grinned. “You're doing it again.”

“Hm?”

“Guilt,” he indicated. “But to answer your question, no, I don’t think you’re a bad person.”

“Doesn’t matter anyway.” You tried to deflect the topic, knowing the rumors that people spread about you. Leon had probably heard it all. “At least there’s still hope for you.”

“Thanks?”

“Don’t thank me yet.” You winked, removing the sash from his cassock as he unbuttoned the rest of it, revealing a plain white shirt and a pair of shorts underneath.

He snickered as you clucked your tongue at the sight. “What did you expect me to do? Go Commando?”

“Would’ve been hot,” you pointed out.

Leon had always been perceptive. From your interactions, he began to suspect that sometimes you relied on lighthearted banter as a way to mask your nervousness and other underlying emotions.

Nestling his fingers under your chin, he turned you towards him. “You sure about this?”

“Mm hm.” It was sweet of him to check in. Most guys never offered you the same courtesy. “Been thinking about it since Communion,” you added brazenly.

He snorted as you gave him a quick peck on the lips. Working your way down, you kissed his clothed body, pulling the waistband of his underwear and shorts to his ankles. Kneeling before him, you reached for his cock, smearing beads of his precum carelessly along his velvety skin, while you pumped his hot shaft slowly.

He inhaled sharply, snapping his eyes shut, as he tilted his head back in pleasure. In the background, you could hear the priest’s sermon droning on.

With a smug smile, you warned, “Do me a favor and try to keep it down, will you?”

Before he had a chance to react, you filled your mouth with his cock, sliding all the way down its hardened length.

“Jesus,” he groaned.

Instantly, you released it with a pop and tutted in mock disappointment, “Taking the Lord’s name in vain?”

“We’re so going to hell for this,” he laughed faintly, tangling his hands in your hair.

“Ah-” He gasped again, as you held onto the base of his cock, lifting it to flatten your tongue on its underside. Slathering it with saliva, you took his balls into your wet mouth, one at a time, sucking on them delectably. “Fuck!”

“Don’t you ever shut up?” You joked.

“Not if you keep doing what you’re doing, angel.”

Angel. That was a new one. You’d never been called that before, but you liked the sound of it.

Wrapping your lips around his cock, you started a steady rhythm, bobbing your head up and down his shaft. Each time you came up, you flicked your tongue at the tip, licking it as you stared up at him. His eyes flew open, gazing at you with lust and arousal while you sucked him off more vigorously.

Sliding his cock in deeper, you allowed it to hit the back of your throat, causing you to make a guttural noise. Clenching his fist, he bit down hard on his knuckles to stop himself from crying out. If this was hell, he’d stay right here with you. He couldn’t think straight anymore, as he bucked his hips forward in response.

Grabbing his ass, your fingernails left crescent shaped indents on his skin, as you let him fuck your mouth to chase his high. Tears lined your eyelashes and sweat poured down your brow. It had gotten incredibly hot and humid in this enclosed space. But his muted moans only served to turn you on even more. You wondered how perverse and trashy you looked in this position, though Leon could only mumble the opposite in his feverish state.

Soon, he tensed and quivered while hissing through gritted teeth, “God, I’m gonna cum.”

Lady Luck appeared to be on your side, as the congregation were in the middle of singing another hymn, which inadvertently muffled whatever sounds were coming from the confessional. He struggled to hold in his groans as you felt a thick, salty load of his cum wash up against your throat. You choked a bit before swallowing it whole.

Collapsing backwards, you leaned against the cool surface of the seat behind you, wiping the edges of your mouth. Tucking his spent dick back under his clothes, he sank down beside you, kissing you gently and tasting himself on your lips.

“You ok?” He brushed his thumb along your cheek.

You nodded silently and smiled, contemplating if there would be a future to what you had with him now.

“I ruined you,” he jested, showering you with kisses along your jawline.

“As if.” You rolled your eyes, but deep down, you knew it was the truth.

And, just like he had read your mind, he uttered the magic words, “So, when will I see you again?”

━━━━━━━━━━━

Since the encounter at the confessional, you continued your clandestine meetings with Leon, just like back in the old days, except both of you were now wiser in covering your tracks. In public, you pretended not to know each other, yet shared furtive, longing glances when you were in the same vicinity. Sometimes, he would make an excuse to brush past you, his touch ghosting across the curve of your spine, your shoulders, the back of your hand to the tip of your pinkie finger. Away from prying eyes, you hooked up passionately, damning each other further to hell. How many levels were there again? You’d lost count.

You enjoyed the moments spent with him. The aftercare and cuddling. The long talks into the night. You understood each other somehow, it wasn’t like this with other people. So, if the Day of Judgment arrived, why would God not sympathize with you both?

Despite that, neither of you had put a label on where you stood with each other. How did this secret relationship work? If you were found out, would he ditch you like before? Would you be thrown under the bus, so that he could be purified again? It wasn’t long until insecurity reared its ugly head, gnawing at you from within.

Leon sensed something was off as you lay in his arms, naked while he spooned you in the back seat of his car, parked along a desolate dirt path near the forest. You had that pensive look on your face, like you were in a world of your own, one where he couldn’t enter.

Pulling you close to him, he kissed the top of your shoulder, coaxing you out of your reverie. “Wanna talk about it?”

You hummed noncommittally. After a long pause, you asked, “Are you embarrassed by me?”

He was caught off-guard by the question and his breathing stilled. “No,” he argued. “Why would you think that?”

“I’m just tired of hiding,” you sighed. “It’s like I’m making you do something bad.”

There was a brief ache in his chest, as guilt swelled up like a wave. Coward, an inner voice spat.

Carding his fingers through your hair, he pressed his lips against the temple of your head. “You make me feel like the best version of myself.”

“Hm.” You pinched your lips together, wanting to believe him, but you weren’t convinced.

He observed this, but decided not to press the issue any further, knowing that you needed action, not words.

She’ll be your downfall. A surly voice piped up within him, like fire and brimstone. He shook it off, ignoring the moral tug-of-war that had occurred once he made that statement, as he vowed to prove himself to you in the coming days.

━━━━━━━━━━━

The next time you’d agreed to meet was in church, after the very last Mass of the day. He was serving as an altar boy again, and you were intrigued as to whether he had planned to reenact the entire confessional scene or switch it up with something new, like making you go through the Stations of the Cross while fucking you. You giggled at the idea, only to be shushed by a fellow parishioner, whom you had disturbed in meditative prayer.

When Mass ended and everyone except yourself had left the nave, you waited patiently for him in the pews. After a while, you felt a tap on your shoulder and turned around to face Leon, who had changed into his casual clothes. As you got to your feet, he cupped the sides of your face in his hands, closing the distance, and bringing your lips to meet his in a fervent kiss. You were slightly taken aback by his initiation, since he was usually the shyer one out of the two of you.

Claiming your hand in his, he led you to the front, where the altar stood before the austere crucifix that hung from the wall. He smirked, noticing the look of shock and incredulity on your face, as it gradually began to dawn on you what he had in mind. However, he was anxious too, you could tell from the way his hand was trembling. He was sealing his fate, and you were both going down together. Nothing could bring you back after this ultimate act of blasphemy.

At the foot of the altar, he caressed his lips against yours. “I guess God is our witness now.”

Leaning in, you found yourselves consumed in a lip lock, which deepened with each passing second as you helped each other out of your clothes, kicking them off unceremoniously to the side. He spun you around, bending you forward against the smooth, marble top of the altar. The cold surface caused your nipples to harden and goosebumps to form on your skin. You shivered as he spread your legs wider apart and knelt down, holding your thighs as he licked a firm stripe along your silken folds.

As he continued to lap at the sensitive flesh, he brought a hand towards your clit, stroking it softly with his middle finger. You jerked from the sensation, whimpering as he alternated between thrusting his tongue into your heat and suckling it with his lips. There was a slight pressure as you felt one of his fingers sliding into your pussy, already soaked with arousal. At the same time, his tongue trailed up towards your rim, teasing it with long, flat licks.

“Oh my god!” You gasped, gripping the edge of the altar, as an electrifying tingle coursed through your veins.

There was a playful smack on your ass. “Forgotten the Third Commandment already?” Leon scolded.

“Huh?”

“Taking the Lord’s name in vain,” he mimicked your tone from when you had teased him at the confessional.

“Ugh,” you whined. “I’m sure this is the least of our concerns.”

You felt his hot breath against your asshole before he dipped his tongue in lightly. Simultaneously, he pumped your pussy, pushing in another finger and stretching you out, before his tongue went back to circling around your rim, inciting a string of moans from your mouth.

“Feeling good?”

“Mm, yes,” you replied hoarsely. “But when are you going to fuck me?”

He coughed out a laugh at your bluntness, before imparting a piece of unsolicited advice. “Patience is a virtue.”

You groaned at his quip. “Really, Leon? Are you-”

He interrupted rudely, pressing his hand on your back as he entered you, burying his cock deep into your cunt. You nearly screamed in ecstasy as he pounded his hips against your ass repeatedly, already setting a brutal pace from the beginning. Maybe you should’ve been careful of what you wished for.

“What was that again?” He taunted.

You growled, clenching your jaw as you felt his dick dragging against your sensitive walls. The lewd sound of skin slapping against skin echoed across the space. Your mind fogged up in an insatiable haze as you pushed back rhythmically against his thrusting, allowing him to penetrate you further, and taking pleasure in how his head brushed against your cervix with each stroke.

“So close,” you rasped, your core tightening as if it was about to burst.

At this, he pulled away briefly, flipping you over as he lifted you onto the altar top. He had a bruising grip around your thighs, which you wrapped around his waist instinctively, interlocking your ankles behind his back to draw him closer. Bewitched, he took a moment to drink in the divine sight of your flushed, moist body, supple and wanting in his arms, before kissing you sloppily on the mouth. Pressing his forehead against yours, he asserted, “You don’t know what you do to me, angel.”

With that, he rutted into you relentlessly, your breasts bouncing as you clung to the back of his neck, crying out in rapture. When you finally snapped, a glimmer from the gold cross necklace he wore daily flashed before your eyes. You looped your index finger around it, tugging at it as you peered up at the bleeding face of Christ looking down at you ominously from the crucifix. The last remains of the day’s light filtered through the stained glass behind him, casting a kaleidoscope of mottled colors across your bodies, the altar and the stone floor, like a disease.

You realized you had tempted Leon beyond salvation. But in spite of it, he had followed you willingly. This was the proof he had wanted to show you. You were the angel he would desecrate everything for. He’d cut your wings off so you’d be his and stay.

His cock throbbed with desire as he rode you through your orgasm. As he neared the edge, he pulled out, finishing himself off. Nuzzling his face into your neck, he murmured a mixture of curses and professions against your skin, while spurting hot white cum over the mound of your pussy. Holding onto the marbled structure for support, he bent over you, placing tender kisses on your eyes and your lips.

It seemed as if he had turned his back on God and worshiped you now. But instead of a guilty conscience, you felt nothing but love. Silently, both of you cleaned up and got dressed. He delicately reattached the butterfly clip that had come loose in your hair, while you wiped away the lipstick that had smudged onto his face. There would be no signs of what had transpired, except he had another surprise lined up for you.

Upon exiting the church doors, Leon took your hand, lacing his fingers through yours, as you walked out onto the street together. You were his - he’d show you off to the whole damn world without shame.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy fluff #religious au #church au #resident evil #porcelainscribbles

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solarmorrigan · 6 months

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Steve Harrington is absolutely the sort of person to become emotionally dependent on a pet. He grew up lonely and he loves taking care of things, and here's this creature that loves him unconditionally and is dependent on him for care? He's a goner

He finds a kitten in his backyard, wet and cold and alone, but in pretty good shape, all things considered. It hisses and swipes at him, but it's also mewing pathetically, and Steve can't just leave it, so he manages to get the thing inside with minimal blood loss (all his) and cleans it up and feeds it. It's a lot more amenable to the idea of Steve once it's warm and dry and full, and by the end of the day, it's curled up and purring in the crook of his neck, and Steve is already prepared to die for this thing

He does recognize that the right thing to do is to ask around and see if anyone is missing a kitten, which he does do, but no one on his street or the next one over lays claim to it, and there aren’t any kind of wanted posters going up for it, so Steve decides he is now the proud owner of a cat

He names her Baby and dotes on her accordingly. (In his defense, the name is Robin's idea; she tells him that he treats the cat enough like a baby, so the name might as well fit. Steve's always been shit at coming up with names, so he just goes with it)

Baby is the world's most spoiled cat, which Steve readily admits. But isn't that what cats are for? She's a wonderful cat and she clearly deserves nice things and Steve is going to get them for her. Toys, treats, a plush cat bed, the best food, whatever he thinks she could possibly need or want. If "I work hard so my cat can live a better life" t-shirts had existed in the 80s, Robin probably would have gotten one for him and he probably would have worn it

Of course, it helps that Baby actually does adore Steve. With everyone else, she ranges from frosty to outright hostile (she's taken a particular dislike to Eddie, of all people, which is unfortunate, because Steve really, really likes Eddie); she'll consent to be admired, and she'll accept treats, and she might even let more familiar people pet her, but in the end she is very much Steve's baby. If he's home, she's stuck to his side like a burr, curled up wherever he is and purring away, content just to be with him. She still snuggles up in the crook of his shoulder at night, just like when she was a kitten, even though she's bigger now and is a bit less easily accommodated

It goes without saying that Baby is strictly an indoor cat. Steve lives right up against the woods and there are predators out there, and people in town drive like assholes, and Steve won't take the chance of her being eaten or run over or meeting some other horrible fate. He really doesn't think his heart could take it

But of course, because all cats are terrible bastards at heart (affectionate), Baby darts out the back door one day as Steve is coming in off the patio, chasing after some other small animal that Steve can't even see, and she's out of the backyard and up towards the trees before Steve can do much more than make a grab for her

And Steve, who has survived interrogations and monster attacks and many situations objectively much more stressful than this, does not panic. He does spend half the night wandering around in the trees with a flashlight, shaking a bag of cat food and calling for Baby, but that's not panicking, that's problem solving

He eventually gets too cold and too tired to keep going and has to pack it in for the night. He holds onto some shred of hope that she'll be waiting by the back door when he wakes up, wondering why the hell it's taken so long for him to come let her in, but apparently that's not the way life works, because the patio and all areas around the house are still distinctly catless come daybreak

Eddie shows up sometime mid-morning, just as Steve is preparing to head back out and look for her. He has genuinely never seen Steve so upset; he looks like he might actually cry if he doesn't find that damn cat, which just isn't something that Steve does. But he's actually fucking distraught, and Eddie simply can't have that, even if Baby is his nemesis, so he goes to the phone and makes some calls

He cashes in on favors, he makes promises, he actually agrees to pay Mike ten bucks to show up, but he gets the kids, all the older teens (the only reason Robin hadn't been there already is because Steve hadn't paused long enough to tell her what was going on), and even the Corroded Coffin boys up to Steve's house to comb the woods for Steve's damn cat

It's Eddie who finds her in the end, a shock of pale, mewling fur actually stuck in a fucking tree. The cliche nearly kills him – either that or trying to climb down a tree one-handed while holding a cat. He's surprised she actually lets him pick her up, but then again, she's been out here all night, she's cold, and at least she recognizes Eddie. Maybe this is the beginning of a truce

Or, she might go back to hissing and swiping at Eddie any time she the mood takes her, but Eddie doesn't even care, because Steve is elated to have Baby back, so fucking happy that he doesn't even seem to notice that she's digging her claws into his arm as she clings to him for dear life all the way back to the house. Eddie will deal with anything that Steve loves that much

Steve pays for pizza to thank everyone for putting their Saturday on hold to search-and-rescue a cat, and everyone warms up and eats their fill before slowly filtering back out of the house. And later, after Baby's been cleaned up and fed and properly doted on and is purring away curled up over a heating vent in the living room, Steve takes Eddie upstairs to show his thanks in a much more thorough manner

After all – Baby is very important to him, and he's more relieved than he can say to have her back, but she isn't the only thing that Steve adores

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #eddiesteve #while I'm sure steve would love a dog too I just really see him as a cat person #he wants to spoil the shit out of something and that's what cats are made for #meanwhile Eddie is losing his mind because cats love him normally. they LOVE him! what is wrong with Steve's cat!#(she does not like sharing steve. that's it that's the reason)#solar wrote

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churipu · 5 months

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JJK MEN & THEIR SLEEPYHEAD GF !

featuring. toji fushiguro, yuuta okkotsu, choso x fem! reader

warnings. absolutely nothing

note. anon, first of all, again, i'm so sorry i accidentally put your post up in the queue list when it was unfinished and the pen symbol wasn't there so i screenshotted this before deleting the og post. i hope this post comes to find you by itself :(( second of all, thank you for liking the first part, means a lot to me <33 last of all, hope you enjoy this one!

TOJI FUSHIGURO. i feel like he's the kind of person who doesn't mind having a sleepyhead gf, in fact he'll gladly sleep with her no matter what time or place. he'll just look and then you're asleep, all of a sudden he's asleep too.

people find it odd how you and him are able to just doze off anywhere, especially toji being a pretty "busy" man. would ditch his work sometimes just to have a nap with you, and i feel like he's the type of guy who would use you like a bolster when you both sleep. so you just lie there, arms by your side — while he on the other hand, is all up on you, holding you close to him.

sometimes toji would chuckle upon seeing you asleep at the most random time and places, in a diner, in a fast food restaurant, in the park standing up (and you woke up because apparently a kid bumped into your leg), just anywhere. he finds your sleepy habit quite interesting really.

"toji... 'm tired."

"when're you not, hm?"

he absolutely loves it when you just clung onto him like a koala for a nap, makes him feel proud (oh and i feel like he's the type of person who would take pictures if you sleep with your mouth open with a string of drool coming out of your mouth, he says that it's adorable. you don't think so though).

YUUTA OKKOTSU. yuuta is just so adorable. i feel like he gushes out a lot when you fall asleep on him, like he will silently fawn over you but at the same time he doesn't know what to do. should he let you be? wake you up so you could sleep in a more comfortable place? or carry you to the said comfortable place?

he just ends up waking you up because of how fidgety he is, "yuuta?"

"i'm so sorry, did i wake you up? sorry.."

honestly, you don't even care about the whole wake up thing. you just wanted to sleep so you always end up latching onto his side like a baby, "five more minutes."

it's never five minutes, longest is twelve hours. although yuuta doesn't mind — he even joins you for a bit, and if he has to go, he will make sure you're tucked in well and comfortable with a pillow fort he built just for you incase something (the monsters comes for you) happens.

CHOSO. i feel like he gets confused at first to why you're always falling asleep near him, he even asked this "Google" to that — and Google did not in fact help, but instead drove him into a state of panic because it told choso that you were dying. so when you fall asleep the next time, choso wakes you up almost immediately.

"don't die on me."

you didn't know what he was talking about and assumed that he was just messing around so you closed your eyes, and he had a full blown breakdown because he thought you were actually dying.

but when you told him it's because you feel safe to sleep near him, he's never been so much happier. and whenever you fall asleep, he always has a blanket ready for you both. so here's how it goes, you fall asleep and lean your head on his shoulder, he drapes the blanket over the both of you, he leans his head onto your head and falls asleep.

you both always end up in such an uncomfortable position after (either with your hand or foot in his face, or vice versa), but you guys never cared, at least the sleep was good.

"cho, get your foot out of my face before i bite them off clean."

"'m sorry, it just happens."

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fluff #fluff #toji fluff #fushiguro toji #toji fushiguro #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x reader #jjk toji #choso #jjk choso #choso x reader #choso kamo #female reader

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chronically-ghosted · 1 month

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iron and charcoal

rating: explicit 18+ pairing: pero tovar x f!reader word count: 6.9K summary: Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. But there would be no tomorrow. No future, no light of dawn – not without – Her. He’d never heal because tomorrow would never come. OR Pero falls hard for a princess and doesn’t know what to do with himself on your wedding night. warnings: angst, brief classism/xenophobia two very stubborn people, pero experiences one Human Emotion and cannot fully process it, arranged marriage, yearning, smut LIKE WOW, soft!pero that i broke my own heart with a/n: Thank you so much to @perotovar for this request: "congrats on your milestone, my love! so happy for you <33 i'm sending a little astrology 💫 + pero & #6 on the fluffy list OR #1 on the smutty list (whichever is speaking to you), because i wanna see your take on him 👀” – of course I chose the slutty one, just for you 😉 I’m actually pretty proud of this one - please consider reblogging if you like it too!

*the image in the header is for aesthetic purposes only and does not reflect the appearance of the reader*

🤍Masterlist 🤍Pero Tovar Masterlist

💜come see what else we've done to celebrate 1K followers

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana.

Sometimes before battle, the clatter inside Pero’s head goes silent. It listens. It waits.

Other times, it roars. Memories of family, of dead amigos, of mujeres he fucked – they all buck and scratch for a chance to blaze across his mind like a dust storm kicked up by an unbroken mustang.

He doesn’t know which one he prefers or which one will win out. They both have their uses, necessary states of mind to survive whatever is barreling towards him – an ax, a monster out of legend, some other drunken mercenary he intentionally pissed off. It’s an unconscious decision, yet one that has served him well so far. He wouldn’t be alive today if some deep, primal part of him knew what he needed to live through another battle.

And yet, his own trunk knocking against his hips as he climbed the sickly ostentatious stone steps to the top of the parapet, the handles starting to pinch his fingers, the barest – nearly invisible – tremor in his knees, he cannot fathom, for the life of him, why that singular phrase from his abuela played in his head like water swirling around and around a cenote.

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana.

His inner voice, taking on a myriad of forms, of sounds and voices, never quite standing still, the one companion he could always rely on.

Maybe it was warning him. Dust yourself off, boy, you know exactly how this was going to end.

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana.

But there would be no tomorrow. No future, no light of dawn – not without –

Her.

He’d never heal because tomorrow would never come.

He feels sweat escape from the nape of curls at his neck, his cheeks warm and chest hot. Two more flights, he can manage two more flights.

His abuela also liked to tell him something else: if hell doesn’t get him, his pride certainly will.

It’s certainly what got him into this ridiculous farce in the first place. Because he can’t alchemize whatever is in his gut into vocalized syllables, he instead has to climb a truly incalculable amount of stairs, while carrying a ragged, torn trunk that weighs as much as his armor.

Because he can’t form the right words, any words, about what he carries lodged beneath his breastbone for her. What draws him up and up and up and up because it’s lighter than hope, makes him lighter than air, and yet it clogs him up, chokes him out all the same. His pride, his vanity, cuts through it, through her – enough to keep him tongueless and dry but not enough to offer this lightness in his chest to her, for her. He can’t take the light out of him or else he fears what he will truly become.

So, he walks, he goes around and around on unforgiving stone steps until finally there is a door. He thinks about waiting, to catch his breath, but he knows he will just as easily turn around and go back the way he came, trunk still heavy and knocking against his hips, and that pride will be the death of him. So he keeps going, opens the handle, and makes abrupt eye contact with the two guards outside her door. They seem uninterested and unamused in his sweaty, stilted breathing, but by his less-than-royal attire, they easily clock him as one of their own; a man who fights to make his way in the world. The one on the left nods jerkily at him.

What they see him as, what he will always be, is nearly the reason he kicks that fucking trunk all the way back down. Instead, he nods back, shoulders rounded, eyes down.

“The princesa - the princess - is requesting the last of her things, to be b-brought up from the stables –,” he clears his throat, “drop this off for her and –,”

“Can’t let you in. King’s orders.” The one on the right sees him as something else – a foreigner first and foremost, their similar stations in life irrelevant. His bright blue eyes rove over Pero’s dark skin, dark hair, jagged scar, distaste and disgust smearing his already ugly features. But he had been dealing with men like these all his life.

“Bueno, you can explain to the King himself why his daughter’s belongings were lost and disregarded. I hear she’s very fond of the Italian prints at the bottom of this . . .”

The guards glance at each other, calculating way above their paygrade. Pero jostles the trunk as if to show he is not above throwing it out the window.

“Fine.” The second one snaps. “Drop it inside and come back immediately.”

He drops his head, a good little foreign boy. “Gracias, señor.”

The heavy wooden door opens beneath the iron lock and the instant he is through, he bolts it behind him. Waits to see if the guards notice. They don’t. Perfectamente – all the time in the world.

All in the time in the world – for what?

To fail? Again?

He stows the trunk in front of the door, extra time, a few seconds maybe – as if she wouldn’t just tell him to get out the instant she laid eyes on him. Only time will tell.

Out of the atrium, another door, this one set deep into the wall. A last line of defense. He knocks, once, then twice, then waits. El orgullo chokes him again but fuck it, he’s come this far. He knocks again, knocks something in his chest free and, with it, spill the words:

“Princesa? It’s me. I –,” it throttles him, “princesa, can you open the door?”

Silence. His heart sits, buried in that trunk. Then –

“It’s unlocked, Pero.”

His heart in his throat, he opens the door to presumably what will be your marriage bed. And yet, by the state of things, you could have been moving out of it. Trunks and bags stack high against the far wall – those fucking trunks he made such a scene over because the unnecessary weight would slow them all down remain untouched, arranged as they had been when they had been first brought in. He didn’t quite know what to make of that, his thumb absently pressing into the callus of his other hand as he glanced around. It is a beautiful room – tall windows, etched in scarlet drapes, to match the scarlet curtains around the bed. With gold thread and impossibly detailed paintings of the countryside, it is fit for a princess, a some-day queen. This is where someone with royal blood deserved to be, not in the back of a hot carriage for weeks on end, surrounded by dirty, loud, rough men.

And yet, with your hair down, expansive gown from the ball tonight replaced with a simple cotton dress, you could not have been more out of place. Pero’s heart lurches briefly, moisture seeping from his mouth, as he realizes this is the same dress he bought you when the two of you had been accidentally separated by the caravan and your previous dress had been ruined in the mud. He had no idea you still kept it, much less wore it ever again.

But if anyone asked him, you look more beautiful in this than any silk or velvet.

Instead of unpacking, settling into your new home and eventual role as wife, you sit hunched over at the intricately carved mahogany desk, eagle feather quill scratching against parchment. You finish with a flourish and look over your shoulder at him, your eyes annoyingly unreadable.

“Yes?”

A stupid brute some may call him, but he wasn’t entirely without awareness. Observation of your customs and what you considered inappropriate only encouraged him: if you really didn’t want him here, you would never have let him see you in this state.

But it’s hard to remember that under your icy stare.

“Y-your things, Princesa. The last from the caravan.”

Your eyes slide over him, to the trunk in the shadows of the atrium. He can tell from a single glance that you know as well as he that trunk is not yours, that no one told him to come here with it, and yet he did it all the same. Something flashes over your eyes but it’s gone by the time you meet his gaze again.

“Thank you. I am, as always, indebted to you.”

He hates your words, but warmth spreads in his gut at the way you say it. That’s how it’s always been between you and him – saying one thing but meaning another. He’d never appreciated a sharp mind like yours until he realized you wield it as he wields a sharp sword.

There are many things he’d never even dreamed of before he met you.

“Then, this means you’re leaving, I suppose.” You draw your sword against him. The metal flashes in your eyes as you stand, one hand against the curved tip of your chair. A bronze halo rims your outline, the fire behind you burning bright and hot. He knows if he touched your shoulder, your neck, your skin would be wonderfully warm.

He wets his lips. “Si. Our contract with your father is done.”

You drop his gaze, your lips tightening for a minute, your fingers running through the carvings of wood on the chair. “Even with William in his state? Would it not be better for him to stay and recover? The journey home is –,” you pause, as though someone had thrown a hand over your mouth, “– the journey back east is long.”

All the longer without you.

“William, he is not an idle man. Two days of bedrest is often all he can take.”

You grin, in spite of this thing circling you both. “Unless he finds the nun attending to him beautiful.

“He finds them all beautiful.”

Your smile expands wide across your bright face when you find him smiling at you too.

This – if this is to be his last memory of you (his heart wrenches at the thought) – this is the you he wants imprinted on his soul: smiling and glowing by firelight.

But as quickly as it came, that grin that warms him down to his bones, fades. In an instant, your eyes grow soft, your mouth twisted, jaw tight.

“Where will you go?” you ask, in the quietest voice you’d ever addressed him with.

It pains him, physically aches within him, to hear the distress in your voice. He hasn’t even thought about the next contract, the next royal cabrón who intends to yank him all across God’s green earth to perform a task he can’t be fucked to take on himself. How can he possibly answer you? Nowhere, without you. To rot in a dark hole in the ground? Off a cliff? What answer would provide you or him any sort of satisfaction?

“Wherever the coin goes,” he says and the words scrape his tongue like bile. That ache in his chest spiraling rapidly, deep into his gut – like a poisoned limb he cannot amputate – he does the same thing he always does when he’s hurt: he makes others hurt until they leave him alone. “You do not have to worry, princesa, your new husband will keep you in such comfort you will never wonder where the coin comes from.”

He must be a truly sick man, for the knife-sharp glare you throw at him only knots arousal around the base of his spine. It tugs on something attached directly to his groin which, in turn, yanks the next words out of his mouth.

“He looked especially happy with you in his arms on the dance floor tonight.”

The icy shards in your eyes go brittle and crack. His heart races; he’s overplayed his hand.

“You watched me dance?”

“All guardsmen were required to –,”

You shake your head, eyes bright and searing through him. “No. It was only the King’s Knights there in attendance.”

Your hand trailing off the edge of the chair, you take a step forward and he feels his weight shift back onto his heels. But he remains firm.

Sana, sana.

“Pero, why did you come here tonight?”

“To return the last of your things, princesa. What else is there?”

You flinch, as if he had raised his voice to you. What else is there indeed?

“Not even to . . . say goodbye? Sixteen weeks on the road is an awfully long time to be around someone, only for them to . . . leave so soon.”

He locks his knees to keep them from shaking. “Do you wish for me to tell you goodbye, princesa?”

There’s something painfully sad about the way you smile at him. “I wish for whatever would make you happiest.”

Anger roars within him, hungry and hot, like a burn from a white flame. Why can’t you just admit it? Why do you avoid it time and time again? He knows he hasn’t misread anything you’ve sent his way, so why? Why are you so vested in torturing him this way?

“Coin makes me happy and, now that I have it, there’s nothing to keep me here.”

There, that hurts you too, just as he meant it.

“Then leave.” They could make ice fortresses out of the strength of your bone-cold stare. “If you have nothing else to say, then take your goddamn trunk and get out of my sight.”

The flame scorches him, ripping him apart and in his anger, making him cruel.

He bows to you.

“I imagine you will be very happy with your new husband, ranita.”

The term slips from his lips before he can stop it, but his throat and cheeks blister so badly, he physically can’t open his mouth to correct his mistake. Instead, he turns and strides towards the door.

He thinks he hears a gasp from behind him, a sharp sound like breaking glass – small, tinkling, tragic. It spears him through his chest, pierces his heart.

He gets to the door and pauses.

If you have nothing else to say . . .

Of course he has something to say – words in English and Spanish and broken dialects gathered like poisonous lichen all churning in the boiling cauldron of his mind, but nothing will suffice – nothing reflects or compares to the grief he is already feeling, the despair, the anguish that has settled into all the fleshy joints in his body. Not his pride, but this, saying goodbye to you, this is what actually will kill him.

Every word imaginable crawls up his throat and rages in his mouth, presses up against his teeth, begging for something, anything to be let out, to be free, to tell you that he cannot fucking live without you–

Nothing comes through, but one single word.

“Don’t.”

The fire crackles in the silence, a wicked god pleased at the display of carnage.

“What did you say?”

A dull thud echoes from where he drops his forehead against the wood of the door, all anger flooding out of his system. Do you have any idea the power you hold over him? One request, one tremor in your voice and his knees all but buckle at your altar.

Fuck it.

He always thought he’d go out in a blaze of bloody glory, but he’d never expected to be so exposed, so flayed like this.

“Don’t,” he repeats, his throat as dry as sand. “Do not . . . marry him. Please.”

The vision of your great warrior slumped against the door frame, his neck bent, shoulders curled up to his ears has your already pounding heart leaping forward into a gallop. He is defeated, laid low. You watch his guts all but pool out on your hearth.

He looks about as hopeless and anguished as you feel.

Your soldier, your man of iron and charcoal, goes blurry in your eyes.

“And what would you have me do, Pero?” Your plea is damp, malleable at the edges. You press your hand flat against your chest, near your throat, as if you could pull the grief lodged there with your fingers. “I have been engaged to this man before I was even born. How can I stop this?”

“Fight.” The word snarls against his bare teeth. He turns, his eyes liquid ink, and suddenly he has you by the shoulders. His thumbs nervously skitter around the curve of your shoulder, gaze just as unsteady and unfocused as it wavers between your hands, your earlobe, your neck. "Where is my brave girl who fights for what she wants, hm? Fight – for me, please.”

Fight, he asks – but in spite of him or because of him?

You lay your hands on the silver shine of his breastplate, watch as they rise and fall with his steady flow of breath. How many nights had you woken up against that shine, in the crook of his arm for warmth, or protection? You didn’t cherish it at the time because you never knew when it would be your last.

“Why won’t you fight, princesa?” His voice is low, strained, the groan of a wagon wheel before it breaks. You meet his gaze and the exposed look on his face, softening every line on his mouth and around his eyes, nearly sends you into hysterics. You swallow the tears, swallow the hook in your throat as your fingers curl around the clasps of his cape.

"Because if I don't fight then I can't lose.” His fingers slip from your shoulders, to your elbows, to your waist. You inhale and the scents of warm leather, oil, and ash flood your mouth. The tip of your nose is inches from the scruff of beard against his cheek, the ruddy brown of his sun-drenched skin. He has curled you into him and this, you do not fight either. His massive palms map your back, against your skin, but without any urgency or control. “If I can’t lose, that means I don’t lose you. You'll just be . . . gone."

That last word is a lie. It hangs in the air like a sweltering humid rain and you both know you’re lying. He has you wrapped up in his arms, you didn’t stop him even for a second, and you are all too aware that it would take some great, insidious alchemy to ever truly tear him out of you.

You stare at his silver collar, defiant against the waves you had managed to shackle down until this very moment: a wave of hopeless crashes into you, a wave of heartbreak, a wave of helpless that fills your eyes to the point of spilling with that very same salt water.

He touches your cheek delicately, fingers rough with callouses, and the floodgates break open with a sob.

“Preciosa,” he rumbles softly against your hairline, “hush. You break my heart with your tears.”

“Do not mock me, Tovar. Not now.” you sniff, trying to turn your face but his wide hands catch you around the cheeks.

“You are beyond mocking. I’d show you my heavy heart but I do not wish that weight on anyone.” The snag of his rough thumbs against your cheek draws your watery gaze to him. His mouth is a flat line, barred against whatever climbs his throat, but his eyes move like mercury across your nose, your eyelashes, the arch of your cheek. Your fingers wrap themselves around his wrists, a grounding agent against the waves that threaten to pull you under.

“Pero, I –,”

“I have fought you, tooth and nail, for days without end. Every favor, every breath, you have forced them from me. I fight my own mind when I sleep at night. Sueños, always of the same woman.” He smears away the tears with his thumbs, gently, sweetly, before pressing his lips to your wet flesh by his knuckle. He inhales deeply, eyes closed, mouth hovering stationary above the skin of your cheek. “You fight me every step of the way . . . and I am so tired of fighting.”

For all your struggling, for all your tearing and clawing and snarling against the blooming in your chest, nothing is as easy as it is to turn your head and press your lips to his.

The brush of his bristled mustache against your upper lip. His warm, rough palms holding you steady. His lips soft and hot. You are overwhelmed by the scent of him.

There is nothing like, and nothing will ever be like, finally kissing Pero Tovar.

All it takes is the movement of his hands from your cheeks to your lower back, the light trace of his tongue against your lips, and the yearning you’d been smothering for weeks now roars to life. His hands squeeze your hips and you can suddenly barely breathe.

“Pero–,” the noise in the shape of his name that escapes you is near a whine, begging. He nips at your lips, hand firmly at the cup of your jaw, mouth now rough and insistent, and your fingers claw up his neck, wrapping themselves in his dark curls. You tug, nails scratching his scalp, and he groans into your mouth as if you’d just kneed him in the gut.

A thread-bare gasp of your name from his lips splits you from him, then his hand on your hip and the back of your neck pushing you backwards gives you enough air to breathe – to think.

"Your husband will know you're not a virgin,” Pero warns, breathing hard and fast, his eyes like black flints, “if we go on."

You curl your fingers around his neck, dragging your mouth near his jaw, the soft skin at the edge of his ear.

"Then he will also know my heart is not his either.” You ask everything of him with this. His armor blocks his warm body from you – you want to sink inside his hard shell. “If you’ll have it.”

He is not himself, half-human with an inhuman want, with the snarl that leaves him.

“Don’t make such promises, dulzura –,” A threat, a dog forced to expose its underbelly, fear radiating like the pain from a broken bone. Your fingers dig into the buckles of his cape, steadying you against a sudden terrible awareness that bloomed, purple-bruised.

“Unless you don’t want –,”

The desk rattles when your hips break against it, the force of his kiss enough to topple over your inkwell, spill rolls of parchment to the floor. The wood groans under your weight when he gathers the thick swell of your thighs in his hands, heaves you onto the flat surface, and spreads your knees around his waist. He is as hard as the iron on his chest.

“Can you feel how much I want you?”

A frantic sigh of relief, a groan shared between two pairs of lips, seeking skin and warmth and other hungry places.

He drags you onto his chest, your skirt bunched up around your hips, the rings of his armor digging into the soft flesh of your thighs, his mouth covering yours in wet pulls, and he stands up right, as though you weighed less than his sword.

A stumble, and he spreads you out on the velvet covers of your marriage bed, his hands imprinting on your hips, your knees, the supple meat of your calves. The touch of him on your bare skin feels like the licks of flames, the smoke of arousal blurring your awareness and dragging your eyelids half-closed. On his heels at the edge of the bed, the flint shards of his eyes drift over the bones of your ankles, the bend of your knee, your heaving chest, hair in snarls around your neck and caught behind your back, and finally to your cunt, hidden by the folds of your dress.

Velvet hums as you slide your ankles to the curve of your ass, widening your legs, parting your knees. His lips part open, dark want etching every line of his face. You feel the wet linen of your dress cling to your achy cunt. He swallows, unbuckling his cape one latch at a time, his eyes nowhere else. The metal clatters as it falls to the floor.

Piece by piece, the chinks in his armor fall away. Piece by piece, he is revealed to you. Your hands rise up, up your thighs to your knees, your thumbs rubbing soft circles. He watches, never tears his gaze away from your sticky hole, his nimble fingers working away the buckles and knots with practiced precision. You can see it in his eyes – memories of bedrolls by firelight, of such a deep painful, yearning ache, separated only by thin tarp, they are a physical weight beside you in this marriage bed.

You see them because they’re there for you too. You see them because you've been here a dozen times, on your back, legs spread wide, your hands circling but never dipping, waiting. Wanting. For him.

His bare chest is warm, the wings of his ribs expanding around short, half-drawn breaths, as he crawls up into your pliant mouth. The kisses are slow, like before, with a crackle of heat just beyond them, his hips slipping into the cradle of your thighs, the wet warmth of you separated by the thin linen of your dress. He sucks the tendon below your ear, a whine slipping out of your mouth, fingers spreading over the harsh planes of his back, and his cock bobs against your thigh.

Pero is bare and warm and entirely yours. All man beneath the sweltering armor.

“Amorcita,” he drips into your ear, kisses smeared against your collarbone, your mouth, your earlobe, “amorcita, amorcita . . . ranita, let me take you.”

He starts to use teeth, a harder nip behind his kisses, when he dips down to your chest. A wide palm with stocky fingers grasps at your breast and it’s a startling sensation for you both.

“Soft,” he moans before licking up under the supple curve of your breast, mouthing at what his tongue missed. He slips your erect nipple into his mouth and twists it between his teeth. “Sweet,” he murmurs with your nipple firmly between his lips.

This is unlike anything you’ve felt before. You deliriously thank the gods that he hadn’t touched you like this on the road; you would have kept him, your own wild animal, in bed without rest for days on end.

Pero plucks just as aggressively at your other breast, the spit-wet nipple that preoccupied his mouth verging on purple and aching. He cups you from the outside this time, squeezing and massaging, ringing your nipple with his tongue until your back bows and you let out a whine that has his eyes flickering up to you, the scent of wounded prey filling his nostrils.

That whine of pleasure elongates into a whimper: “please.”

“Tranquila, ranita.” His touch is softer around your bruised tits, but he keeps one hand bagging the weight of your breast while the other slips beneath your skirt.

The pads of his fingers brush your creamy cunt and with a yelp, you grab him by the wrist, your eyes open with a familiar emotion he draws out of you: rage.

“Pero Tovar, if you value your life you will take me under the covers and put your —,”

He chuckles, his cheek against yours, nose rimming the velvet hairs on the ridges of your ear. The vibrations liquify the tension in your bones, loosening your grip. Your eyes flutter, slick obviously running down his fingers. “Ranita, I don’t think you know how you want to end that sentence..”

His words roll like honey over the heat of your skin. It makes your skin tremble. Your grip tightens on his wrist and you roll your hips, your swollen clit finally relieved by the pressure of his palm.

“Oh, oh, Pero—,”

With a grunt, he shuffled closer, elbow by your shoulder and he cups your entire wet cunt in his hand, pushing the heel of his palm flatter against you. You cry out, a sparkling kind of pleasure radiating out from where his hand rests. You buck your hips faster, complete release flickering through your outstretched hand.

“Can you come like this?” You nod, eyes squeezed shut as you barrel towards escape, and you feel him shudder next to you. You are intimately aware that he’s rubbing his cock on the crease of your hip bone but that only drags you faster towards the light. “Then come, ranita, come and I’ll fuck you.”

The wet, curling heat growing between your legs descends, then in a bright snap, explodes across your body.

“Fuck!” You tear open your eyes to find them damp, Pero’s massive hand cupping your cheek towards him, his stallion eyes dark as his fingers drag on the soaked material of your dress, your hips slowing.

“Amorcita, breathe.” The words are torn from his chest, all cock-suredness gone from his frantic gaze. You gulp in air, the weight of his body over yours grounding and smothering you all at once. He pulls his hand away from you, rides it up your thigh to your waist, looking for something to hold onto. He strokes his thumb once against your overheated skin and you’re wriggling up out of your dress.

“Help,” you hiss and his fingers nearly tear the fabric off you.

With a few undone buttons, you shiver out of your dress, the slick-drenched spots catching on your warm skin. He flings it behind him, near the fireplace.

He takes you barely beneath the thick covers before you welcome him back to the heat of your open legs.

But instead of reeling back and plunging his aching cock into you, he takes the time to kiss you. To praise you in all the ways he fears his mouth will end up short. He kisses you, grateful, reverent – wonderful to be swallowed by but also a distraction.

When he lifts your knees by his waist, your hips automatically tilt towards him and for the first time, you feel his red, sore cock between your tacky lips. The dual sensation nearly drags you over the rack of delectably delicious pleasure, as does his worn, broken groan in your ear.

“More, please, don’t stop.” You cry against the bristles of his beard, his hand dropping between your sweat-slick bodies, finding yours already there to guide him. The press of him spreads you open, filling you one sinking notch at a time. The sensation of your pink, dripping walls moving to take more of him in has you arching up into his chest, nails dragging into his back. His dry lips stifle the moans escaping from your mouth.

Pero takes both of your hands in his, dragging them above your head, his fingers locking your palms together as his hips roll forward. “Cálmate, amorcita, cálmate,” he murmurs between distracted presses of his mouth against your chin, your cheek, his breathing heavy and stunted. You writhe, pinned open by his hips and his hands, his cock filling you all too slowly and not fast enough.

With the last few inches, you take him completely, your cunt throbbing, heart pounding, intoxicated by the sensation of being so maddeningly full. Pero drapes over you, his head tucked into your neck, forearms straining with the tension of gripping your hands tightly.

“Santa madre . . .” He is not a warrior right now. He is but a man, cunt-drunk and heaving.

His name is pushed out of the bottom of your lungs with the first swing of his hips. You cling to him, knees at his ribs, unwilling to let even an inch of space between your bodies. But this becomes increasingly difficult as his thrusts gain speed. His flushed lips stain a sticky line against your jaw, down to your throat, and he releases your hands, the oak of the bed creaking beneath the force of him drilling down into you, he props himself up on his palms, his shoulders bent and curled over you, biceps straining, hairline damp, eyelids fluttering. The scar on his cheek is flushed pink.

“Look, amorcita, look how well you take me.”

His words tear you from your nebulous high, the grit of them forcing your head down to the obscene squelch beneath the sheets. The thatch of rough curls over his groin is drenched in slick, his thick cock soaked to the point of shine as it drives into you again and again. The heavy draft of breath the sight steals from him, the tap of his cock against a place so deep you didn’t know your body possessed, draws the spooling bliss as tight as a wire.

Your trembling thighs squeeze him tighter, that hot pressure rendering you speechless, except for the most pathetic whine. Please, Pero, please, you think, you mutter, you whisper, your body rocking damp against the sheets.

With a sudden snarl, he takes the chunk of your hair at the base of your head flat in his fists and tugs. A shoot of bright pain sparks bliss down to your tight and bruised nipples, and you cry out again.

“Stop fighting, puedo sentir cuanto la quieres. Let me have it.” It is the following word that splits you open like lighting carving apart a tree. “Please.”

The wail that you release is the rush of gooseflesh over your skin alchemized into audible sound. Heat radiates through you, sucking the air from your lungs, your vision going blurry, then black as you clamp your eyes shut against the rush, the final release, that curls you into his arms. His warm, flushed arms, shaking with strain. A final wobbly thrust or two and his elbows are buckling, sweat-drenched chest pressing into your own.

Distantly, you are aware of the warm, slick drip down your thighs, his cock pulsing the last drops into your cum-flecked cunt, and the dangers this sort of intimacy poses. You can’t gather enough breath, enough sense to settle the spinning room, to worry or even care.

Your his, and he is yours. That is all that will ever matter.

The crackle of wood burning is the only other sound than your ragged breaths, the silent roll of sweat from sticky hot skins into the bedsheets. The stone walls of the castle’s room entomb you together for a brief stretch of infinity.

Pero moves and you think he’s going to back out of you, but instead, he merely adjusts, his head fully on your chest, thick fingers clutching your bruised waist, the shift of his cock pushing more of his release out of your oversensitive cunt. But you’ll take overstimulation over his absence every time. You run your fingers through his damp curls and he hums.

“I’m sorry,” he huffs into your humid skin. “I’m sorry I let my pride keep us apart for so long.”

You grin lazily to the ceiling, your breath settling as affection takes its place in your chest.

“You were not the only one blinded by vanity.”

“But I’m not blind. Not anymore.” He lifts his head, eyes as dark as your spilled inkwell. “I am never letting you go.”

You smile at him, fingers soft against the back of his neck. “I don’t plan on wandering away.”

His oil-black gaze drops to your lips and he leans forward to take your mouth against his. Gentle, but with the promise of more.

“Mi ranita,” he purrs to break the kiss.

“You call me that all the time, Pero. What does it mean?”

At that, a nearly shy expression crosses his face. He shakes his head, shifting onto his elbows to lift off you. “I can’t tell you. It will ruin your good mood.”

You gasp, offended, and you grab him by the ear and twist. He chuckles through a grimace. “You will tell me what that means, Pero Tovar, if you value your appendages.”

“Órale, princesa, retract your claws and I will tell you.”

You release your grip and settle against your pillow. Grinning bashfully, he kisses your neck briefly.

“Remember that I love you after I tell you this.”

Your heart nearly stops, the absence of a steady beat nearly drawing tears to your eyes but you hold firm. You breathe deeply against the fluttering in your stomach and pin him with your glare. Of course, this is how he would profess his love to you – when he’s trying to get out of trouble.

“Tell me, Tovar!”

He chuckles again and preemptively picks up your hands. He kisses the inside of your palms, settling himself between your thighs.

“It means little frog.” Your mouth falls open in a gasp and you struggle to yank your hands back from him, hissing like a tea kettle, but he uses his weight to press down on you. He nips at your nose. “I call you that because when you’re upset with me, much like you are now, you puff up like a bullfrog, your cheeks like this–,”

He rounds his cheeks full of air, crossing his eyes, and you simply cannot take the slight anymore. You push roughly against his gut, the breath trapped in his mouth escaping in a hot puff, and you twist him onto his back. He lets you, of course, his bold, full laughter rendering him defenseless. His body shakes beneath you, his beautiful eyes squeezed shut, his mouth open wide as he laughs and laughs and laughs. You take him by the wrists and push his limp hands over his head, pinning him as he had you. You pinch his chin with your teeth, your messy cunt over his stomach, as his laughter subsides.

“Have you had your fun yet?”

“Barely,” he chuckles, turning his big nose against your cheek and inhaling. He hums.

“Is that all I am to you? A joke?”

Pero opens his eyes, sober as death rattle. He takes you in, not in a hungry, all-consuming way, but in a look that speaks of awe and rapture.

“You are everything to me.”

You sigh, releasing his hands and curling into his chest. He kisses the top of your head, your eyes on the roaring fire. His thumbs rub your shoulder blades, trace the lines of your spine.

“You’re so very lucky I love you too.”

His wandering against the expanse of your back stills, just for a moment, before his fingers slide into your hair, around the nape of your neck, holding you to him with the intention of keeping you there forever.

“I know, ranita, I know.”

He watches you sleep as the sky lightens beyond the tall windows on the opposite side of the bedroom. The dying fire traces your edges in gold, settling heat in the curve of your lips.

His heart lurches with the wanting of you.

There’s more terrible things to come, he knows that. The plan the two of you concocted in the early morning hours will be dangerous, deadly even. But dying together instead of living apart would be much more tolerable, you told him earlier that night, your hand on his chest.

He would kill if you asked. He would kill, even if you didn’t, to keep you safe and by his side. You’ve proven yourself capable of living a life away from this spectacular opulence, but it pains him to know he will never be able to give you anything nearly as lovely as the velvet dresses in the closet, the gold jewelry in your trunks.

Instead, all he has to offer is himself. His strength, his hands, his heart. It’s his own fear that tells him that’s not enough, because you remind him again and again that’s more than you ever wanted.

He traces the curve of your cheek with the hovering pad of his finger, brushing your hair away from your face. How he ended up so lucky with your love, he’ll never know, but he will spend the rest of his days proving that he’s earned it.

You stir in your sleep, sensing him above you, and he hates to steal even a few minutes of blissful sleep from you, knowing the endless nights that are coming. When he steals you away from all that you’ve ever known.

The sleepy grumble in your throat resembles his name as he curls around you, but your eyes remain gently closed. He pulls you against him, the air that leaves your mouth and sits between your chest and his something he covets with his whole heart.

I love you and I’m disgustingly lucky and I love you.

He is a man made of dust, serving men made of silver. He is a man of dust, loving a woman made of gold.

El orgullo? No, Abuela, his ranita will get him first, last, and every time.

Translations:

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. - This rhyme is typically said to children when they have just hurt themselves. The parent (or grandparent) usually rubs the part that is sore and sings this little tune. Literally translates to: "heal, heal, little frog’s tail. If you don’t heal today, you will heal tomorrow."

el orgullo - pride

dulzura - sweetness, romantic connotation

amorcita - little love, romantic connotation

Tranquila - quiet, as in "be quiet" or "relax"

Cálmate - take it easy, or take it slow

puedo sentir cuanto la quieres - I can feel how much you want it/love it

Órale - okay, or an exclamation expressing approval or encouragement.

ranita - little frog, but you knew that already ;)

the rest are cognates (or familiar words) which you can probably guess the meaning of, but feel free to message me if you don't know!

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