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Ngl .. Ion Care About Nothing Else … This Man Was Right Down The Street From My House 😫

the cinematography of it all

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Featuring: Damian Priest x Fem Reader Word Count: 1.6k Warnings: 18+, NSFW, smut, and soft (and briefly rough) dom play. This is my first Damian one shot, please be nice about it, omg. 🫣 And thank you to @joannasteez, @theninthwonder, and @southerngirl41 for inspiring me to finally write for Goth Papi. Y'all are the best. 🥰

Happy reading! Read my other WWE fics here, if you'd like. ✨

Such pretty things were meant to be admired. 

The soft locks of your hair framing your pretty face. The gloss glimmering on your pretty, thick lips, a hint of pink on them. The pink and leather collar laced around your throat, a gold heart charm dangling from it with your name inscribed upon it in cursive. Not the one your mother gave you, but the one Papi did.

“Mi cosa bonita.”

A pretty thing you were to him. His slant eyes shone deep brown and full of admiration for the way you perched yourself on the floor between his thighs. He was still fully clothed in his black t-shirt, matching jeans, and leather vest but demanded you to be bare, appreciating your curves and how obedient you were as you sat with big, precious eyes gazing up at him. He would adorn you, certainly, reward you for being such a good girl for him. 

His long and thick fingers came down to fondle the side of your face, watching you nuzzle your cheek into his large palm with eyes closed and cherishing his warmth before he combed those fingers through your hair. A thumb returned to your cheek with a caress and brush along your bottom lip, smudging the gloss to his skin that he brought to his mouth to taste. Sweet like cherry, sweet like you, sweet like your eyes beholding the flash of his tongue as he appreciated the flavor he picked for you. Wishing he would appreciate you the same way and soon.

The plush carpet under your knees was comfortable enough but would begin to nip and gnaw at your skin the longer you remained on them, the longer he made you wait. And yet you’d remain on them and wait as Papi wouldn’t like you to fidget...and he would make it worth your while. You just had to sit pretty for a little while longer. 

Wait even when the minutes crawled and stretched like time was in no hurry to bring you to your desires. Even when the air in the room became thick and sultry with your and his body heat trying to melt and meld together as his hulking thighs closely surrounded you without touch. Even when his fingers fondled the back of your head, massaging to your scalp as his other hand fondled your chin. His thumb dipped in for another taste of your gloss but let you taste it this time, a sweet, gentle sweep at your tongue until you nestled your lips around him. A sweet adornment to hold you over but for how much longer? How much longer for a sip of him, for him to sip on you?

His eyes were steady on your plump lips suckling with the softest hum of a moan for him, his teeth softly sinking into his own lip at the pretty sight. At his pretty thing. He’d keep you waiting if only to admire you like this. His desperate, little thing.

“So eager,” he said with a quiet laugh and a shake of his head. Was it so obvious the silent tremble that danced with goosebumps on your naked skin before him? Was the hushed heat in your eyes so telling as it burned lower and throughout you? He studied you and the slip of spit that followed his thumb as he retrieved it from your mouth, placed it on his tongue to admire your taste before he spoke knowingly. “You would lose yourself in seconds. Can’t have that.”

“Papi—”

“Patience, hermosa.” 

His fingers didn’t dip where you gathered with slick that threatened to drip to the floor, wearing nothing but the collar he’d bought you, but they slipped along the leather, a slight pinch of the charm between his thumb and pointer. He used it to lure you up as he leaned down, his lips a warm whisper against yours with an even warmer breath becoming your own as you gasped with eyes falling shut. Waiting for at least a kiss and yet he only gave you a stroke of his fingers in your hair and a husky murmur, “Gotta learn to take your time. Nothing worth having comes so easy.”

And you murmured back in a whine, “But you take too much time, baby. I’ll still be good if you—”

His fingers abandoned your charm to seize your throat, just beneath your jaw. Cool silver from his heavy rings pinched to your skin, grip gripping in tight and leaving only a sliver of space for a subtle whimper to leave your lips. No longer did his fingers carefully stroke your hair but rather cinched in with a fist, yanking back to fill your view of him above you, making you witness his patience abruptly run out.

“Don’t backtalk me. Do I make myself clear?” A firm tug at your throat, the charm of your collar jingling at the swift punishment. The demand on his lips grazing yours as you attempted to nod once. 

Yet the bulk of his grip limited the movement and he didn’t let go until he hoisted you onto your feet, standing with you and standing tall like a mountain you could not pass or go around. A mountain that wanted you to run like a river beneath it, your body cascading onto the bed behind him after he laid you there, your thighs flowing apart with his hands to guide them, his eyes taking in your essence flowing and glistening to the sheets.

And where you thought his patience had been lost, he restored it merely to watch you struggle with those silent trembles and hushed heat. Watched how it made his pretty thing try to writhe in his hands, thumbs digging into the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs, yet too far away from where you craved them to make you blossom, make room to plant his tongue. Taste his sweet, little thing.

“Por favor.” A short, shudder of a plea, touching the ceiling as you couldn’t bring yourself to look down at him and his beautiful aura at the edge of the bed with his luscious touch edging closer without you running the risk of imploding. Too eager, he called you, and perhaps he was right as the simple thought of his full, pink lips meeting yours, glossing themselves with your nectar, kissing softly and lapping messily—“Mmnh. Papi, I’m sorry…please.”

Your back curled with a little arch, a quiet tremble suddenly loud and needy when you felt his blunt nails at your skin, fingers squeezing in to command future bruises when they lifted, and his breath a subtle lick to your yearning that he was almost ready to indulge. Almost.

For you were at your prettiest when you were falling apart before he had even adorned you properly. His sweet, pathetic girl. It softened his ire already fading because he couldn’t hold it against you, not when you begged for him so sweetly like that.

“¿Por favor que, mi cosa bonita?” A purr as soft as it could be with his bellowing tone, his eyes admiring how his voice stirred you, your pretty pussy clenching at nothing. The same nothing that would hold true if you even thought to rush him again.

“Taste me. Please.”

“Promise me you won’t cum. Not ’til I say.”

“I-I promise.”

Another breath of his rolled over you, a contented sigh from the sound of it, a relieved one escaping your lips when his fingers soothed the ache he created on your thighs, smoothing closer with wide thumbs gently pulling and parting your slick, soft folds which were the same pretty pink as your collar that felt too snug when you swallowed a sob rather than air. 

How could you not prefer pleasure over breath when he stole it, anyway, with lush licks from the tip of his tongue growing thicker the deeper it sank inside you? Your pussy expanded around him thrusting in, slurping sticky, searching lazily for your sweet spot that would make your knees buckle and shake around his head. Your body was already coming undone at the seams, your chest rising and falling with the prettiest cries, your arms stretching over your head with nails clawed into the sheets, and your hips grinding down on the length of his warm, wet tongue. 

And you didn’t mean to lose yourself. You didn’t mean to lose your mind when he let two fingers delve between your folds, just above his nose, to spread you for his tongue to flick up, long and fat with filthy noises. Soft, suckling sounds when his mouth closed around your delicate, little nub before you felt his palm pressing the back of your thigh, pinning it to the bed and out of his way when you tried to close it on his head. You didn’t mean to let that hushed heat devour you like flames, pussy fluttering and dripping even when he pulled away too late to tame the fire that claimed you. You didn’t mean to break your promise.

One of your hands released the sheets to find its way to your essence, sliding over the tender throb of your clit with fingers that swirled heavy and frantic until you uttered his name, until the heat took its time to lull into a simmer once more. And despite his own judgment, he observed it all, wanting to find frustration in you doing precisely what he warned against, yet finding fascination, instead. 

Fascinated with the pretty sound of you, the slosh of your fingers and your little huffs and moans. Fascinated with the pretty sight of you, the fanning of your hair above the twist of your body like a painting on the canvas of sheets. His mouth was still hungry to feast on you, his delicious, pretty thing. Beckoning him to forsake his patience again, condone your bad behavior, as his every limb and muscle longed to taste you deeply, adorn you wholly.

For such pretty things were meant to be admired.

. . .

His Pretty Thing

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