gods favourite

Like, pushing inside their tight wet hole, letting out a “fuck” right as they whimper out “oh my gosh”

Because come on, how much further do I need to corrupt you little one?

I’m already as deep inside you as I possibly can be, sitting snug inside the home I’ve carved out for myself.

I’ve touched parts of you so intimate, you wept.

I’ve seen every part of your soul, your sweetness mixing with my wickedness so closely they must be born from the same origin.

All of that, and yet you still can’t seem to utter one of those bad words I say so often. My perfect, precious thing.

Watching someone else take care of you? The one I’ve put effort into moulding into becoming my perfect mirror?

The one I’ve taught to come running at every message, every notification.

The one who sees me in their everyday life in certain stores or books or foods.

You think I write “my” in front of your name because it’s cutesy and it makes you feel good?

No. I do it because you, are mine.

Not theirs.

He finally relents, but only if they go with his friend. "I'll take real good care of them, man. You focus on your paper." His friend says with a grin. Big brother kisses his baby hard and reminds them to be in his bed by curfew.

Except what kind of big brother would he be if he didn't teach his little one a lesson? His friend gave them a drink way stronger than they were used to. It didn't take long for them to become sloppy, hanging off their brother's friend. "Don't you think you should say thank you for me bringing you out here?" He purrs and guides them to their knees.

“So…so am I your boyfriend now?” He asks in a broken voice.

cooing while he shoves his tongue down my throat, cupping my face with one hand as he tries his hardest not to grind into my babycunt. telling me, "it's okay, baby. just focus on daddy," as his pants get tighter w/ each second tht passes..