#hearing his confession turned prayer and holds him close

[hitmeupaep]

dean 10000% has confessed his love to cas in the shower

#the first day they get into the bunker and dean can fianlly get a nice and warm shower #his shoulders relax and the water feels warm agonist his skin #and he sways there for a moment and before he realizes it his mind drifts to cas #and that thought leads elsewhere #and it ends with him on the floor of the shower #water turned cold #sobbing #johns words still sting all these years later and the heat just reminds him of that #“why did it have to be cas” he cries into his knees knowing more than anything he has ever known that he wouldn’t have it be anyone else #“i love you so much it hurts” #“i wish you would want me. i wish i could have you” #he stays there #dreaming of some world where cas appears in front of him #hearing his confession turned prayer and holds him close #but the water turns off and there is no angel to be found #guess that dream will have to wait #sorry just rambling about them #like the thought of dean writing down all his feelings for cas one drunk night and just burning it or something #idk idk #destiel #dean winchester

[comfortless]

Priest!König and succubus!reader perhaps 👀? (Unless you're uncomfortable)

cracking my knuckles… sin??

18+. minors do not interact. this is a little shameless. corruption kink, religion, implied virgin!König, cunnilingus, come eating, a little angst.

It’s rare to find a parishioner in the confessional this late; the church’s doors were always open, their opening and shutting is not what had König stirring from a restless sleep, but the creaking of the old hinges in that little booth certainly had. The priest hurriedly dresses himself in his cassock and makes his way to the opposite end, closing the door behind him as he wearily drags himself to his seat.

“Father,” the voice greets on the other side, so soft and quiet he can hardly hear her at all. Shy, almost. The woman on the other side seems to shift, her movement rustling against the boards of wood that separate them.

“Bless me… I have never made a confession before.”

Not a parishioner, then. A stranger coming under the veil of night… König allows a silence to settle over the confessional for a moment before he produces the holy text and sets it in his lap in preparation to free this poor woman from the sin that binds her.

“Go on then, child,” he encourages, tone mirroring her own. The priest anticipates the usual: admissions of lust, falsehoods, or the common doubts. He has pages dog-eared in his book that list of scriptures for those common problems, the ones he would easily find the words to pray for, to cleanse her soul, to hopefully return to his bed to sleep before morning prayers.

There’s laughter from the other side of the booth, muffled as though an attempt to stifle it beneath her palm had been made. Then, “Father, what if I do not wish to be absolved?”

There had been no preparations made for that, but something in the tone of her voice holds his attention. His side of the booth regains its silence as his brow pinches, determined to piece together some reasoning as to why someone would choose to play some dull prank on him of all people…

“Let me see you.”

Her demand catches him off guard again, but of all things this is hardly strange. Her tone suggests nervousness, a feeling he knows all too well as he wrings his hands and rises with a heavy sigh. The door shuts quietly behind him as he waits for the woman to follow suit. A soft rustling follows his leaving from her side, and when she does step out…

No amount of internal Hail Marys could keep his stare from lingering upon the sight of a woman nude: it isn’t that he hasn’t fantasized before, he would take his lashes and fastings and sit in the quiet of his room to comfort himself with prayer after a weak defeat to his own sins. Still… imagination could not compare to the real thing; he takes note of each soft curve, each dip and line and groove of her. Her breasts are soft, her hips enticing, the length of her legs and what lies between her thighs…

He damns himself the moment his cock twitches to life below the cassock, there’s no slow tensing; only the immediate feeling of feeling horribly confined within his own clothes. He breathes out a drawn out sigh, feigning disinterest when his eyes squeeze shut and he turns his head from her.

“… You need to leave.”

The woman’s lips purse in a small pout when he does will himself to meet her eyes again- just her eyes. No part of him wishes to lose his place in heaven, let alone take advantage of some poor lady who clearly must have lost—

“But you are so lonely… I only want to help,” she whispers, her eyes are wet and pleading, expression only further softening as she gazes up at him with an adoration he hasn’t even seen on his flock.

And those words… something shatters in him, breaks into a thousand tiny pieces when he recounts all of those miserable nights lying in bed alone, imagining a woman as he pulled his cock free and gave himself so many weak, dull orgasms that the skin of it began to sting. If God could forgive him for his weakness then… surely, just once he could allow this.

König sighs again when her hands move to free him of the cassock, but he does not take her wrist to stop her. Even with each hesitant motion, he doesn’t take her wrists into his hands or push her away. He lets her strip him bare, lets her see the way his cock drools at the sight of her and his breath seems to stutter in his chest.

“See? It’s alright,” she coos as she takes his face into her gentle hands. There’s Hell in her eyes, the devil on a forked tongue, but he allows her to guide his face downward, to bring his mouth to her tit, and he feasts upon her. To have his last supper be forbidden fruit… all of the metaphors buzz in his head when his tongue begins to circle her nipple, then the other without her even needing to prompt him.

He could not even begin to describe the sounds she made, like the softest of voices amidst the roaring of a choir in his head, Hell’s wailing and Heaven’s chiming all at once as he licks his way down her sternum, her middle and finds his nose pressed to her mound. Nothing in Heaven could have tasted as sweet as her, no amount of lashing could pull the same shudder from him as he feels course through each knob of his spine when his tongue lathes over her slit, up to the hood of her clit and back.

The sounds of her pleasure only increase further when his grip on her thighs forces her to kneel. He maneuvers her onto her hands and knees to lick her properly, eat her out in ways he had only imagined himself doing before as he grips his weeping manhood in one hand and grips her ass with the other. His tongue sweeps over her in repetition— sloppy, clumsy even as he tries to keep himself from spilling into his palm from her taste and the sight alone.

He gets… curious, flicks his tongue over her other hole too and his fingers move to graze over her clit. She encourages him with soft squeals of pure delight, even draws her hand back to touch herself while he spears his tongue in her hole. If it’s only once, he would be sure to make the most of it.

Lust is not his only sin, because pride wells up deep inside of him the moment she orgasms. He smiles, grins, before he buries his tongue back into her leaking cunt, desperate to consume her, lapping inside, around, over her her until she shivers and whines, saying that it’s far too much.

He doesn’t know how to fuck her properly, admits it sheepishly when she lies back on the floor intent to have her take him in some gentle manner, sweet for her sweet priest. Missionary of all things seemed most blasphemous considering where they are, beneath a holy roof.

So, she opts to climb into his lap, seats herself on his cock in one go. He knows he’s well-endowed, thick and lengthy, and he babbles his concerns about breaking her in a weak string of words. Her cunt is too tight, he feels the way she stretches to accommodate him, each ridge of her walls when she squeezes him… The woman only tosses her head back and laughs, digs her nails into his shoulders as she bounces on his cock with such an easy grace he can’t watch— can’t because he already feels himself beginning to tense, feels the blinding heat spread from the pit of his stomach to pull his balls taut.

He swears he sees the angels right before she pulls off of him, leaves him a trembling, aching mess where the wetness of her own arousal has spilled down to his thighs.

“I want you to pray,” she suggests, sweetly peppering his face in the most chaste of kisses. “Pray you get to finish in me.”

She wants to ruin him, wants drag him down to Hell with her. There are no protests when she bends over to present herself to him; the priest does as she asks in a whisper, pleads for her and when it’s done, his reward in in the form of two words “good boy” and her tight, pulsing heat wrapped around him again.

He doesn’t last long, doesn’t even try to anymore for fear she may decide to leave him high and dry entirely. He ruts into her with a grip on the back of her neck and the plushness of her hip, leans his weight entirely over her as the sounds of impact fill the hollow church. God isn’t watching, but the little succubus below him is so appeased and her favor is all he can care for anymore.

When he comes, he fucks her through it, doesn’t even attempt to slow down as he whines into her ear about how good she feels, how they could get married, have this forever and he will show her the light. Fuck, he would leave the church behind entirely for her if she would just let him feel this every night. His thrusts only slow when he grows soft, when he can’t even keep himself inside of her cunt, slippery with his own seed.

She lies back, spreads her legs and lets him see what he’s done, fingers herself and presses his own come to his lips. She tells him he’s fed her better than anyone else, tells him to have a taste too and he does. He laps at her fingers as desperately as he had her pussy, until she pulls away, wipes his saliva onto her thigh and asks him if he’s ready to sleep.

The bed feels so much warmer with another person present, safer somehow even if he’s never felt himself in any danger… not here. He falls asleep in her embrace, the most blissful sleep he’s ever had. It’s only a shame that he had… because when he wakes in the morning the woman is gone. He misses his prayers searching for her, for even a trace of what occurred between them. There’s no stain on the floor or clothing in the confessional… not even a note to suggest she would return.

He goes back to his sad masturbation sessions, doesn’t even repent for the way he wanders into the confessional after service to fuck his fist and imagine her voice calling to him from the other side. He pictures her body beneath him, thinks of her praise and the way she damned him when he shoots spurts of wasted come against the boards. There’s no love, no woman at his side when he returns to his bed at night, but he has his imagination for that too.

#könig x reader #konig x reader #do not look at me

[kentosbabes]

Forgive me Father Nanami for I have sinned.

Cw: sacrilege, priest, corruption, oral and explicit sexual content

You sit down in front of him, the confessional booth feeling tight and humid due to the heat of the summer. “Go on.” His smooth voice drawls. You look down, ashamed- your voice quiet. “Forgive me father, for I have sinned. I was at a sleepover with some girl friends and the topic of porn came up.” You paused to better figure out how to finish your confession without Father Nanami believing you engage in sinful behaviour regularly.

Nanami was glad you couldn’t see him, adjusting himself. He could see you biting your plush lip, deep in thought through the crisscross pattern of the screen. “Do not fear, God will forgive if you repent, so do not leave anything out.”

You nodded to yourself, “I admitted to my friends that I haven’t watched it before and they decided to watch it on my TV screen. I’m not sure what overcame me but a heat started to grow down there. We watched it for a while and I started to rub myself with a pillow that was nearby because it was too overwhelming and painful to just sit there. I don’t know what happened Father Nanami. It felt so good. I excused myself after they turned it off to go to the bathroom but when I went in I saw my panties were all wet.”

You paused again, tears welling up this time, “I don’t want to go to hell Father, this is the first time I’ve ever seen that before.” The corner of Nanami’s mouth lifted into a smirk. He quickly schooled his face, “please, kneel and repent with me. Can I ask what about it made you feel so good?” All he could think was how pretty of a picture you look, looking up at him on your knees.

You thought about it, “The man started kissing the woman, down there… He started to tell her things. Dirty things, while he was doing it. Then he pushed his penis in her, she looked and sounded like she was enjoying it.”

“What kind of dirty things did he say to her, don’t worry sweetheart this is only between me n’ you.” Nanami was palming himself over his clothes while asking, trying to even his breath to sound normal.

“Ok… he started off by saying that he was rewarding her for being such a good girl then how good she was taking him, he would call her ‘his pretty little whore’ and other pet names like ‘beautiful slut’.” Nanami didn’t know he could get harder but hearing words like slut and whore from a girl who doesn’t even know what they mean is really jarring.

He just wanted to corrupt you. “Close your eyes and pray after me,” your knees hurting slightly from the cool tile flooring you have been kneeling on. The words of prayer and repentance come easily to you. So easy in fact you couldn’t hear the door opening and closing. You felt two hands start to massage your breasts and hot breath behind your neck. You reasoned that he must have a reason for this, and if Father forgives you then god is surely going to forgive you as well.

“I’m just massaging you to get rid of the devilish thoughts that have taken hold of you.” He whispered, it felt wrong but right. He could feel your heartbeat rise. His touches being more rough, circular motions making you arch your back. Swallowing a moan. Nanami notices this, “let me hear you, unless you aren’t repenting your actions?” He asks with a raised brow.

“Ah, forgive me, I am heartily sorry for having offended thee,” you started to whine, a mantra of apologies and moans of “Father Nanami” falling from your lips.

“You don’t seem to be repenting properly, perhaps I should help you.” He unzipped his suit trousers and hooked his finger around his boxers, painfully hard cock finally free. Nanami tugged on it, gracing the tip of his cock over your moving lips. “Did I tell you to stop?” Allowing those reverent words spill over his throbbing dick.

“I d-detest all my sins,” Nanami grabs your face with his index finger and thumb, opening up your jaw. He helped himself into your warm mouth. Giving a low, appreciative noise around him, it send vibrations of pleasure down his spine, your fingers wrapped around the base of his cock as if you were worshiping him, as if you were seeking repentance from him.

Groaning, blonde stands of hair fall into his eyes. Tucking them behind his ears and rolling his eyes, lolling his head back- only to see religious stained windows. Nanami bucked his hips further down your throat, unable to stop himself with how good you felt with your mouth wrapped around him.

Tears were cascading down your face, you could feel spit flooding your mouth, and still he held you down. A lewd popping sound echos the booth as he takes out his cock.

“Please,” you whisper brokenly because you just need it so bad, need something.

“Repeat after me, I detest all my sins because of thy just punishments, but most of all because they offend Thee” Nanami started to pull your skirt down along with your white lacy underwear. He laid you down flat from your kneeling position.

His tongue laps all your fluids dry, his insatiable thirst no longer concealed. He doesn’t care anymore, you are the last person in the church due to the late hours and the booth is soundproof. Hearing you whines and moans made him even harder.

Nanami whispered out, “my God, who art all good and deserving of all my love.” You repeated after him, stuttering and stumbling through the words. The words hot on your pussy. You could feel him smile on it, his nose nuzzling your clit.

He gritted out, “God.” Your tainted body needing to be soothed and caressed by his pure and holy mouth.

“God,” you croak out slowly. “Oh fuck. Okay. Fuck.”

He pried open your legs wider, pausing. “Language or I’ll punish you in the name of his Holy Spirit.” You nodded and incoherently started to babble your apologies. You could feel a knot tying up in you, this is a first for you. It feels so good but the pressure is getting too much. You tangled your hands in his blonde locks, pulling him closer to you. He put in two fingers, you started to rock back and forth in a pattern with him.

Your nipples strained against the thin material of your top as he hummed against your clit, lapping it up and suckling it as though he was a man, starved. You shuddered, “I firmly resolve with the help of Thy grace to sin no more.” But sinning has never felt and tasted so sweet. You came on his face but what surprised you was him licking you to clean you up, not sparing a single drop. Then licking his fingers dry, all with a dark look on his face and in his eyes.

“I still feel like you have sin in you, to remove this I must go deeper. To protect the safety of your soul.” He monologued into your ear, you were scared but curious to what he meant by going deeper. Did he mean he would do like the man in the video and fuck you? You didn’t know if it was bad to crave a man so much you would risk going to eternal damnation but if that was the cost maybe you wanted to pay it.

You nodded, “I want you to use your words sweetheart,” he replied.

“Please, Father for I have sinned, please save my soul from damnation by going deeper in me.” You said with tears welled up in your eyes. His cock twitched at your language, “I am only doing my duties.” But my God what duties they are.

Nanami placed his tip at the entrance of your pussy, rubbing you. “Please, ah,” you bite your lip, “no more teasing I can’t take it.”

He nodded solemnly, pushing himself into you, “You’re so tight, fuck.” Your body began moving in tandem with his, he slammed into you from behind, grabbing and pawing at your hips hard enough to promise tiny bruises the following morning.

“Oh my god, you're such a good little fuck, shit.” You whimper quietly, shaking so hard now, and you nod. You’re a good little fuck, only for him.

Nanami thrusted up harder, the bulge in your stomach prominent. He leaned down, pressing wet, open mouthed kisses all over it. “Fuck, you’re so perfect, such a perfect little slut, it’s like God put you down here just for me.” You could hear the echos of Father Nanami’s grunts, his voice matching yours in breath in the booth.

His cross necklace dangling over you, the cool metal touching your breasts. Pebbling your nipples. His fingers slipping out of you and into your mouth, stuffing them full.

He brought his lips to your neck and started to kiss you, causing you to clench down and convulse on top of him. “Repent daughter of the church,” he gritted out. Your moans and whines turning him on, the idea that he, a symbol of good and purity, is corrupting you makes him closer.

“M’ cumming, I’m going to cum in you, May God free you from your sin.” He groaned, his head falling back giving you a view of his prominent Adam’s apple. He bit into your shoulder as he came inside of you, drawing just enough blood to make him moan into your back as his hands swept up your stomach towards your tits. You came with him, moaning pleads to Father Nanami and God.

Your breathing matching in synchronicity, “You will be back on Sunday to continue your repentance, you don’t want to go to hell do you?”

“No Father, thank you for everything. I’ll be back on Sunday.”

#kentosbabes #jjk headcanons #kento nanami #nanami headcanons #nanami kento x reader #jjk smut #nanami kento #nanami smut #nanami kento fanfic #priest au #priest kink

[tojisun]

military man simon (ghost) riley x nun!reader

!! suggestive - minors dni, heavy on catholicism; play on blasphemy; im ignoring the code of canon law (of confession and absolution) so yall should too!!; it’s all one-sided btw; female reader

song playing: the apparition (ST) // prev posts: 01, 02

simon feels the hesitation surround his throat, coiling past the shame before settling in his stomach.

he is hovering, he knows that, but simon will have to disappear for a year at least and while the duration has never daunted him before, he couldn’t say the same now anymore. things have changed. because this time around, he has someone he wants to return home to.

sure, you do not love him that way, but simon chases the affection in your prayers, licking the remnants of your devotion from the edges of your words. he pretends that it is enough. pretends that he is not woken up in the middle of the night by the explosion of his desire, ever so expanding in its carnality.

pretends that there is something else for him in this chapel.

his lips twitch when you finally turn to him with a smile.

“mr. riley!” you greet, walking to him excitably.

“just ‘simon’. please.”

simon’s aware of how his body reacts to you. how, as you draw close, he shifts, muscles rippling to see you better. to hear you better. to pretend that he can ever touch you.

but he doesn’t have to wait. not when you take his hands in yours, holding in a way that is so gentle and sacred, the shame he tried to stomp down begins unfurling from the base of his lungs to tickle the base of his throat, ready to spill over.

“you’re usually not here for the sunday services, simon,” you say, and simon tries to suppress the tremors that racked his body upon hearing you say his name.

again, he wants to plea. say my name again.

but you are looking at him with worry, and while simon is a greedy, greedy man who wants to at least have your concerns if he can’t have your love, he doesn’t like the way your face falls as you fret.

so he smiles, crooked as it is, and tightens his hold on your hands, careful not to do any more lest it just pushes you away.

“yeah,” he replies, his voice croaking. “may i request something, sister?”

sister. it leaves such a vile taste in his mouth.

“of course.” your eyes are still furrowed, your lips downturned in a sorrowful pout. “anything.”

simon breathes in sharply, the weight of your words punching the air out of him, and he buckles, folding into himself as he chokes on his words.

your worry explodes, gentle prodding now a panicked cry. “simon!?”

“it’s nothing,” he lies. “i’m okay.”

you let his hands go—simon tries not to whine—only to feel you pull him closer, short arms curling over his back, your warm palms rubbing soothing nothings against the plane of his spine.

this feels like torture—your kindness will be the death of him.

“please, tell me how i can help you,” you whisper, darling even as you look as lost as you feel. “the church is here for you, simon.”

“i know,” he says even though all he wants to say is ‘all i need is you.’ he breathes in, staggered rasps not quelling your worries, but simon bulldozes past your gentle touch, afraid that he’ll get addicted to this.

“i need your help,” he continues. “help me repent.”

you blink, going slack. you begin to pull away and simon, a man who has faced more painful things more than the feeling of your warmth separating from his, shakily lets you go.

“i cannot give you penance, simon. only the priest can do this—i can go get him-”

simon pulls you close again when you begin to stand up, surely to locate the priest that gave the service today, but simon doesn’t want him. he doesn’t want a stranger to hear the rising tides in his heart. he doesn’t want someone to forgive him for his guilt.

“no,” he whispers, his voice so quiet. so vulnerable. “i can’t-…”

your lips are pursed but your eyes are alight with wonder. with consideration.

simon prays that you will grant him even this.

a heartbeat passes, a stuttering silence ringing in his ears, and then, “okay.”

simon smiles. “thank you.”

-

the rite started like this: with simon sinking into the confessional, watching you from the thin divider as you do the same, noting the way your fists are balling your habit, your hands trembling at the sacrilege.

because simon knows. before coming here, before bowing into himself in front of you, simon already knew. he knew that you could never give him the penance he told you he seeks for. he knew that this—you sitting in the confessional—is a chip to your vow.

he knew that you’ve, once again, put him before the lord.

simon aches to sink his teeth in the plush flesh of your body. to worship you the way you deserve to be. instead, he ignores the festering desire, swallowing the yearning he feels as he does the sign of the cross.

“bless me sister for i have sinned.” he licks at his dry lips. “it’s been…” he hesitates.

“tell me,” you say when his silence draws on. “this is not a place of judgement and forsaking.”

tell me, is what simon hears instead. tell me, i will understand.

“it’s been eighteen years since my last confession,” he continues, breathing raggedly, his face burning up as the words begin spilling. “these are my sins: i am lusting for her, i cannot stop thinking of her.”

the gasp on the other side of the confessional makes his blood jump, his mind feeding him images—is this how you would gasp out if you give yourself to him? is this how you will sing when he takes you, gently and deeply? is this how?

“i dream of a life with her. i dream of the way she will fold herself into my arms, tucking my sharp corners into her tender parts. i dream of the way i can touch her—all-consuming and ravenous. i dream of how she will feel when she’s with me. how she will taste like when i’m with her.”

simon breathes in deeply, the sound slicing through the heavy silence in the booth and passing through his teeth like a hiss.

“i want to devour her. i want to strip the layers of her honesty and fill her with me. just me.”

he clenches his fist, preparing for the last of it all.

“i want to worship her.”

the weight of his words fall like judas’ tender kiss, resounding in their immorality.

“for these, and all my sins,” simon begins after the stretch of silence. “i am truly sorry.”

“i see,” you whisper, breathless yourself. simon wonders how you must look; would you have your eyes open in surprise? would you have your lips pursed in distaste? would you look at simon like the sinner that he is? would you begin to leave him be?

“pray with me,” you say, ripping him from the depths of his uncertainties.

simon lets your words wash over him, dripping down the lines of his veins and dragging across the stretches of his scars. he knows you couldn’t possibly offer absolution, but simon feels forgiven.

more than that, simon feels seen.

he feels raw, his vulnerability exposed to the very person simon who makes simon’s knees buckle, but it feels correct. it feels like this is where simon should be.

at your mercy.

when the confession is over and you two have stepped out of the booth, simon relishes in your shy gaze, eyes fleeting between him and the altar. he smiles, his eyes crinkling, because simon’s heart truly feels at ease.

“thank you,” simon murmurs, hands twitching by his side as he yearns to reach out and pull you close.

“of course,” you reply, bravely holding his gaze. “always.”

that night, in the comfort of his room, simon traces the hardening length of his cock. he shuts his eyes and conjures the image you made—shy, quiet, flustered—and the sounds that spilled from your lips—breathy, choked out, hesitant—and fists at his flesh, thinking.

dreaming.

ending with an a/n: growing up in a private catholic school and seeing all the censorship pushed sm of us (in school) to romanticize blasphemy n transgressions tbh sooo heres the continuous manifestation of that indulgence (mentioned in pt 01)

#suns #nun!reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley #female reader

[enkvyu]

5:22pm — gojo satoru ;

there's a kind of urgency in your steps that parts the crowd of onlooking guests, and they split in half to avoid the trailing hot path you leave in your wake. cold, hard shock twists your stomach and wrings it out, heaving about the wine and finger foods you had consumed when you were still ignorant.

the clicking of your heels echos in the silent ballroom, the bottom of your gown sweeping up the marble floors and the frantic clacks only enhances your horror. if only someone could talk and shatter the silence so you no longer had to be suffocated in your own traitorous thoughts, if only someone could laugh away the situation, though you're sure you'll forever see this scene illuminated on the back of your eyelids for weeks to come.

"let the celebrations resume," a voice answers your prayers, but it is the person who says it that causes you to clamp a hand over your mouth.

even now, you can hear the beginning whispers of small talk and chatter, gossip spreading through the lavish room. it trails after you like a pungent smell, and you're certain the morning news tomorrow will have your name lined in big, bold letters on its front page.

footsteps chase after you, and you curse your gown for slowing your pace. it's inevitable that he catches up to you, just as you exit the grand hall into the balcony, and his hand closes around your arm, pulling you back.

loose strands of your hair whips across your face as you're forced to turn to your pursuer. "gojo." you swallow hard as the foreign syllables leave your mouth. "what do you want?"

the crown prince has grown over the last few years, you think. there's an aura of arrogance he lacked when he was younger, a certainty that straightens his back and the kind of confidence that allows him to chase an older lover out into the night.

gojo's eyes are haunted when he looks at you, really looks at the person you've become in his absence. the hand holding your arm trembles and falls. "why aren't you happy to see me?"

you bark out a cruel laugh. out of all the things he could ever say to you, after the raw anguish that you've never been able to express, after all the silent midnights, interlocked hands pressed tight together praying to the moon that his death was all a big, cruel joke, that was all he could say?

"do you seriously believe i would feel happy seeing you, after all this time?" it's hilarious, and you don't hesitate to let your laugh show it.

"all i could think about was you." he confesses but it's too late, years far too late.

"why didn't you tell me?" you ask instead. "did you think i could see you again and forgive you? on the spot, after leaving me in the dark for so long?"

gojo is still frowning, and you hate that he can't ever see the errors of his ways. perhaps that was the single thing that remained the same. "i couldn't put you in that kind of danger."

"gojo, i thought you were dead!" you finally explode, and the relief it feels to finally tell someone overwhelms you. you choke on the raw emotion, balling your hands by your side. "you still are to me. what did you think i would feel? i finally, finally, got over you, i finally accepted that you were gone and now you're back? now, of all times? i was going to get married, gojo! i was going to have a family, and kids, and finally live my life again. why did you have to show up?"

"your husband is a gambling addict." he says drily. "i wasn't going to let you marry some bastard like him."

"well, thanks." you say, voice flat. typical of him to only hear what he wants to hear, what he can find a response to. "thanks, gojo, is that what you want me to say?"

gojo clenches his jaw and when he grabs a hold of you again, it hurts a whole lot more. "listen to me, i didn't have a choice."

and again, you shake it off. "fuck you, gojo."

"i came back as soon as i could. i prepared all of this for you!" his voice raises and raises, and it's such a contrast to the sweet nothings he'd whisper in your ear when you were only two secret lovers hiding in the stables. “you were the only thing that kept me going and this is what you have to say now that i’m back?”

"and i would throw it all away if it would mean you had told me you were still alive."

"i didn't have a choice." he says again. "if i did you know i would have come back for you."

"do i know that?" the wind picks up and you shiver. "i waited for you. for months i thought this was just another scheme. you would find your way back to me again, because you always did. you always survived, no matter what."

"i did survive."

"but i didn't know, gojo, don't you see?" was it really so hard to understand? had it ever been so hard to convey your feelings to him like it was now, two strangers seeing a different image before them?

there's a creeping sense of foreboding that starts in your stomach and overcomes your mind, a sense that things will never be the same again. even if you were to meticulously piece back a broken faith, even if you were to abandon all sense and throw yourself into a deceitful love, the memories you crave will never be re-experienced, you will never know the pure love of gojo again.

too much has changed.

you shiver and it isn't the cold that shakes you.

gojo takes off his coat at the sight, throwing it over your shoulders and holding it tight in front of your throat. once, your heart might have leapt out at the warm gesture, but now it feels like a noose around your neck.

"i don't need your coat." you say, past all the memories. "what would your wife think?"

gojo groans, brushing back his hair as the wind rustles it in front of his eyes. "is that what it is? me being married?"

you flare up and the cold no longer seems an issue. "of course not! god, gojo, you would be the only one who would think as shallowly as that. you were dead! i saw your corpse tonight at the ball and you have me to believe that all my tears, all those sleepless nights, was because i was jealous?"

gojo breaks away, exhaling deeply. he shoves his hand into his pant pocket and shakes his head. "sorry. i just, you didn't seem happy to see me."

"you sound like a broken record." you remark. with his hands away from the coat, the sleeves flap away in the wind and it's less suffocating, but also less warm.

“i came back for you tonight.”

you were already shaking your head before the last of his words leaves his mouth. “it’s too late.”

“you don’t get to tell me that.” he growls and it’s the second time in one night that he has shown you this feral, aggressive side. “i won’t let you let me go.”

you want to cry. how long had you wanted, needed even, to hear those words? words you were sure would heal the wounds of your heart, words that would fix the world as you know it and lunge you back into the joy of past memories.

those memories are dead now, a part of you whispers, mockingly. you can’t seriously trust him again. can’t you see how he’s aged into a person you no longer know?

you curl your fingers into your dress and pierce your thigh through the fabric. “why did you chase after me?”

maybe gojo senses his chance because he answers the question without another thought. “i needed to talk to you. i needed to see you again and have you see me back.”

“well, we’re both here now. don’t miss your chance.”

gojo takes a step forward. "i'm here to tell you i'm alive. that i've been alive for the past ten years."

"i know."

"and that i'm the crown prince now."

"i know."

"i'm also married now."

"god, you're really bad at apologies." you sniffle, taking a hold of the coat and pulling it tighter. it's because the wind was getting to you, you reason. "but, i know."

"do you, do you have someone you like?" gojo coughs out, feigning indifference. your jaw drops at the topic of conversation.

"gojo, i haven't even forgiven you yet."

"i just wanted to know! the man you were meant to marry tonight, do you...?"

"no."

"okay." gojo says, and exhales. "okay."

"is that everything?" you ask, and you painfully wish that it isn't. you want him to chase after you, to hold onto your hand and keep you there by his side, to want you again. because god knows all you've ever wanted was him.

gojo raises his head at your words, searching your eyes for permission. there's a hard tint to his face you don't recognise and the blue you've once called your sanctuary is duller, lacking light. an aged scar runs across his neck, and a shoot of bitterness surges through you as you realise it had healed in the time that he was without you.

still, you let him take a step closer. closer, you can see everything that has changed at the hand of time. it makes his unfamiliar, different, your old lover wearing a stranger's skin, but it's still the gojo you know.

you have to believe that.

so when he reaches up to caress your cheek, running a thumb over a falling tear, you subdue the shiver that runs its course through you.

you bite your lip and it draws blood. gojo sees it, tracks it with his eyes and even when your tongue has swiped across and licked it away, his gaze still lingers.

"i really did miss you." he whispers and you feel his breath against your wet lips. "you were all i could think about."

"me too." you confess and his eyes flicker up to yours.

"does that mean you forgive me?" and though he smiles, there's a nervous quirk to it that you're sure only you would recognise. this was a side of him that only you saw, only you were allowed to bask in.

"what about your wife?"

"i'll divorce her. i was already planning to, we never married out of love. you know you're the only one for me."

“i know.” you lie. what did you even know about him?

“i love you.” he says and you nod, not trusting your voice to answer. “god, i love you so much.”

when he dips to capture your lips in a sweet kiss, you fight the urge to push him away when he no longer taste like how you remember.

i know you guys want that part two of the gojo imagine but listen to me, 2.5k is a lot to edit when there are tears in your eyes from chem 😮‍💨 i promise i'm not ignoring you guys i js have a lot of studying to do so !! i wrote this quick thing as a filler

#gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo imagine #gojo drabble #gojo fluff #gojo angst #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo hcs

[throneofsmut]

Kintober Day Twenty-Five : Glory Hole

Cassian x Female Reader

“Sweetheart ?” Cassian called out.

“Sweets ?” He tried again.

“Y/n !” He yelled this time.

“What, Cass ?!” You yelled back.

“I just feel like you’re mad at me, but I didn’t do anything. So I’m mad at you for being mad at me. For no reason !”

You could hear the smirk in his voice, frustrating you even more.

Sexually.

“Cass.” You practically whined his name, slumping down against the wall that separated the two of you in the House of Wind.

“So don’t even try to talk to me, I’m mad. Pissed.”

“Cass! This is your fault!” You yelled, voice sharp.

“What-“

“And I’m not mad, I’m frustrated.” You whispered the last two words but you know he heard.

Cassian’s voice was hoarse when he responded, “Frustrated. . . Like sexually ?”

“Yes, Cassian! And it’s all your fault, I told you we shouldn’t have fucked in Rhys’s office and now we can’t even leave our rooms because he warded them. And I want your cock in my mouth and inside my soaked cunt.” Screwing your eyes shut, thighs rubbing together for some friction, as the last sentence leaves your lips, your head knocking softly against the wall. “So, yes, it is your fault that I need you and I can’t have you the way I want.”

The shuffling from his side of the wall had you opening your eyes.

“Cass, What are-“

“Back up.” He rasped out.

“What ?” Your voice muffled and confused.

“Get the fuck away from the wall!” He growled.

You stand up and back away from the wall like he ordered.

“Are you out of the way ?”

“Yes.”

As soon as that little word leaves your lips, Cassian’s fist breaks through the wall. Your breath catches and now you feel like you’re drowning in your arousal. Kneeling in front of the hole he just made, you clean the plaster off of his hand, looking for injuries. When you see none you place teasing kisses on his knuckles before sucking on his thick fingers.

“Fuck, sweetheart. You’re gonna be the death of me.” He confesses softly.

You hum against his fingers, pulling off of them with a pop. “Let me see it.”

Cassian chuckles, amused by your eagerness, then he responds, “Yes ma’am.” Followed by the sounds of his leathers coming undone. Suddenly, the head of his cock pokes through the hole. His hips push as close to the wall as they can, showing the rest of his long length, only making your need for him grow stronger.

“Good boy.” You praise, your voice dripping with lust while you wrap your hand around him. Feeling him tremble at your touch, squeezing him harder just the way he likes it earning a groan from him.

“Please, sweetheart.” He mumbles, his forehead pressed against the wall.

Tilting him up in your hand slightly, licking a long strip on the underside of him. Using your free hand to grope at your own breast - wishing it was his hands - you moan at the feeling. There’s a bead of precum on the tip, glinting under the soft fae lights and you can’t stop yourself from lapping at it.

Cassian whimpers, your name a prayer on his lips, as you swirl your tongue around the head of his cock. Before flicking your tongue on his slit and then sucking on his sensitive tip.

You can hear his body buckling against the wall, large hands pressing further against it, like it’s taking all of his strength to hold himself up. His cock pressing further into the hole. He pants louder, more desperate.

Taking it as a sign to take him further into your mouth while your free hand trails lower, into your pants. You run two fingers through your wet folds, circling your clit - trying to mimic the way he does it - you whimper with him in your mouth. Making his hips buck into your mouth.

“F-fuck, if you keep going i’m going to cum.” He gasps. You hummed around him in encouragement, the vibrations making him shudder. “Please, I-I wanna cum inside you, sweets.” He begged.

Pulling out of your mouth, voice hoarse, “Turn around and touch your toes.” He orders.

You scramble, moving to do as he says and before you can even brace yourself, he’s shoving into you. Letting out a lewd groan while you cry out from the stretch. “Fuck, Cass !”

Then he’s pulling back and plunging right back into you. You nearly fall forward from the strength of his thrusts. His hips slamming against the wall at inhuman pace. “Fuck, sweets. I can f-feel you clenching around me. Squeezing me.” He growls, frustrated that he can’t take you the way he wants.

Feeling the heat in your tummy, you whimper, moving one of your hands to circle your swollen clit again. Now it’s your turn to beg, “Please, Cass.” He groans at the sound of your words, hips moving even faster, fucking you harder.

“Cass, I’m gonna c-“ He cuts you off, “I know, baby i know. Me too.”

His words are the final push, you fall over the edge, legs shaking, your hands braced flat on the floor are the only thing keeping you upright. Cassian continues fucking you through your orgasm as his hips begin to stutter, cuming with a low groan.

#a court of thorns and roses #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar smut #cassian lord of bloodshed #cassian general #cassian x reader #cassian smut #cassian #lord of bloodshed #general of the night court

[sireditsalot4]

Only She’ll Know

Summary: After Viserys’s death, Alicent goes to pay her respects in the candle room. When someone unexpectedly shows up to do the same thing, something happens that both parties will regret.

Warning: Smut, riding, Sister in law/Brother in law relation, Semi-non-consent

A/N: If you don’t like Alicent or don’t want these characters to happen don’t read! 🤷🏽‍♀️ TRIGGER WARNING for semi non consent

If any grammar error I apologize. This was rushed lol

It was Viserys’s burial day. The king laid to rest.

After the funeral and everyone said their ‘apologies’, Alicent strolled to the prayer room where she knelt in front of the goddess statue and lit a long match with one of the small candles and turned the fire towards a black, long candle made especially for the king for a situation like this with dried up white wax around it. Tears fell from her big brown eyes. Hearing footsteps, she stopped and right away knew who it was from their presence. “This is new,” Alicent says lowly. Turning her head, she sees who she expected to be there. Daemon remains quiet. Turning back to the statue, she puts her hands together, closes her eyes and starts to pray. Alicent feels Daemon kneel next to her, not looking up she feels him rustle to pray- or so she thought.

The next second she feels a hand on her waist pulling her towards him and she quickly opens her eyes “Nope-No,” and is captured in a kiss. Pulling away, Daemon keeps her trapped against him in a vice like grip, clenching his hand on her waist. Alicent pulls her face to the side trying to avoid him but he doesn’t light up. “He was your brother.” She protests, pushing against his chest. Daemon sits on the floor with his back fully against the stone candle wall and he pulls her onto him, one leg on either side of him. “Please,” she pleads one last time.

“He never deserved you, any of them.” He confesses before reaching down underneath her black, mixed with green in the front, color dress rustling with it to get to where he needs. Next thing a tear comes from her underwear. A shot of arousal shoots to her core.

She shakes her head in denial at his words, even though some part of it is true, she deep down knows Viserys loved her. Part of her is telling her to call the guards, to knee him in the crotch and have him beheaded for his crimes. Damn the consequences with Rheanyra. Letting go of the red head, Daemon works on his pants, a little smirk on his lips as he sees Alicent still on him even after he’s let go of her, and pulls himself free. Gods, forgive them. Grabbing a hold of his shoulder, she lifts herself, aligns her sinfully dripping cunt entrance with the tip of his cock and looks up at the Goddess statue, feeling a bit of shame as she slides down on him until their hips meet. Daemon lets out a growl, gritting his teeth as he fills her, feeling her, his dead brother’s wife stretch for him. Just for him now. He grabs a handful of her ginger locks and roughly pulls her head back while thrusting up into her as he licks and bites her neck. Only she’ll know.

#house of the dragon #daemon targeryan #alicent hightower #daemon targaryen x alicent hightower

[little-diable]

The Rosary - Priest!Tom Riddle (smut)

It's been a while since my last priest imagine - what a shame. Please reblog and like if you enjoyed reading this, and don't forget: don't like it, don't read it. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Priest Riddle takes the reader's confession, and yet he does it quite differently than all other priests. Pwp.

Warnings: 18+, oral (m), wrong use of a rosary, religious connotations, unprotected sex, power play, spanking, spitting

Pairing: Priest!Tom Riddle x fem!reader (1.4k words)

“Lower.” His voice echoed through the church, gaze focused on her frame. She jumped, not expecting to hear his voice breaking through the calm afternoon air like a shot fired in the depth of the night. Slowly she turned towards the priest, eyes struggling to meet his darkening ones. 

He was sitting on one of the wooden benches, hands holding onto the rosary he had been praying for the past minutes. The priest stared at her with a gaze so threatening (y/n) felt her knees trembling, about to give out, forcing her to her knees like a sinner begging for forgiveness. 

“You need to bow lower if you want his guidance.” His voice carried something she couldn’t decipher, as if he was teasing her, making fun of the woman that clearly didn’t know how to speak to the One listening from above. 

“I’m sorry.” It was nothing more than a whisper, clearly projecting the uncertainty thumping through her veins like the sins she had been carrying around with herself, weighing her down. Her eyes wandered back to the wooden cross hung above the altar, staring down on her, well aware of every sin she had committed. 

“Come, sit.” Priest Riddle’s voice guided her towards him, forcing (y/n) to sit down next to the tall priest. Silent prayers rolled off his tongue as he got back to praying the rosary, eyes shut, lips slightly parted – allowing (y/n) to study the handsome man. She had always found herself drawn to him, urged on by the forbiddenness of the situation. 

Her gaze wandered down to his slender fingers, watching him roll the pearls, a routine he clearly knew by heart as if he was breathing in the vowels of the prayer, keeping him alive. She was sitting close to him, could easily touch the priest’s thighs with hers, and yet (y/n) didn’t dare move, unsure how the man would react. There was something between them, something keeping her alive like a fire needing wood to crackle on. 

“And may the souls of the faithful depart, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.” His voice echoed through the church, filling her with excitement as he opened his eyes once again, finding (y/n) already looking at him. He made the sign of the cross before he let the rosary disappear in his pocket, rising from the wooden bench. “Follow me.”

Wordlessly they walked down the aisle, past the altar and down the hallway to his office. He let her step inside first, allowing her to be swallowed whole by the darkness lingering inside the room. She couldn’t move, felt herself frozen to the spot, pushed forward by his rather ungentle touch. (Y/n) stumbled further into the room, caught by his hand shooting out to grasp her wrist, catching her before she’d lose her balance.

“Tell me, are you here to confess?” His breath teased her neck, words leaving her trembling as an all too quiet “Yes” rolled off her tongue, spoken out into the darkness. He had taken her confession numerous times before, she knew the routine, just like he did, and yet there was something awfully thrilling about this, very well aware of his rather unchristian way of taking her confession. 

“Onto your knees then, child.” She dropped to the ground, kneeling in front of the man that towered over her like the Tower of Babel had towered over those building it with their bare hands. He moved away from (y/n) to alight his desk lamp, offering some light that could guide the two of them through the upcoming moments, a guidance like the comet on the dark firmament, betokening the birth of the saviour. 

“Open your mouth.” Wordlessly she parted her lips, staring up at the man who spit onto her tongue, forcing her to swallow every drop of his saliva. She was his, belonging to the priest with a twisted mind and a rotten heart. Skilled hands undid his trousers, freeing his hardening cock for (y/n) to wrap her lips around the tip.

Their eyes kept holding contact as he jerked his hips, forcing his cock further down her throat, making her choke around him. He fucked her mouth with no mercy lingering in his system, a mercy he’d spare to the ones seeking his help – all but her were fortunate enough. 

Saliva dripped from her chin, one by one like the tears the ones watching Jesus die on the cross had cried, one with the soil they were now buried in. New life may grow from the cold soil, soil that was one with the silent whispers of death. 

“There we go, breathe.” His commands left her humming around his cock, drawing a moan from his parted lips. She felt him twitch in her mouth, very well aware of his rising high, a high that would pass like the parted waves of the red sea, not yet ready to roll upon them. He gave it a few more thrusts before he pushed (y/n) away, forcing her to her feet without another warning. 

She was pushed against his desk, front pressed further against the table top as he pushed her trousers and soaked through panties down her legs, not wanting to waste any time. (Y/n) had a hard time breathing as she felt him brush the tip of his cock through her dripping folds, teasing her for a moment or two before he spoke up once again. 

“Confess now or stay forever silent.” (Y/n) stumbled over her reply, struggling to properly pronounce her words as she confessed. He carefully listened to every word rumbling through her like the screams of those begging for forgiveness, one with the sins flooding through their veins like consecrated wine. Only as she stopped speaking, eyes fluttering close in shame did the priest start moving once again. 

Her eyes found his hand, holding onto the rosary, he moved his fingers to her mouth, forcing her lips apart with the metal cross. Wordlessly she bit down on it, holding it between her mouth as he got back to touching her, pushing into her before she could close her eyes. 

The priest fucked her hard, not holding back as he speared her on his cock. Whimpers, moans and cries clawed through (y/n), sounds dampened by the cross held between her teeth, not allowing her to properly part her lips. Her body trembled as if she was caught in the earthquake hitting the city of David, shaking through every limb. 

“We both know you’re sinning because of your insatiable need for my touch, a pathetic try to offer your body to me.” She was sacrificing herself for simple touches, and yet the situation was everything but simple. (Y/n) was caught in a web of lies, of passion, and of hunger, a hunger no man but the priest who was currently fucking her from behind could still. She was his, had lost all privileges, but she couldn’t pull away from him, not now, not ever. 

Their bodies met with every thrust, cock buried deep inside of her tightness, a feeling so addicting, (y/n) could barely breathe on. She struggled to find something she could use to hold onto, hands trembling as her neck gave in, forehead pressed against the table. She’d cum any moment now, walls fluttering around his twitching cock, even though (y/n) found herself praying that this moment may never end.

He followed her down the edge, leaving his stain on her behind as he pulled out, releasing himself with a groan leaving the priest. For a few seconds they stayed like this, catching their breaths, hoping to make it out of the fog of lust dampening their thoughts. The cross was pulled from her lips, back tugged against his front, and with his hand finding her throat, he whispered quietly, “You’re free of your sins. May the Lord guide you to heaven when your time comes around.”

#Tom Riddle smut #little-diable priest #Tom Riddle imagine

[awanderingtortoise]

my love mine all mine (zoyalai short fic, 600 words)

i miss these dumbasses sm i picked up right from the end of the confession scene in RoW ('she obliged him') and extended it because damn JUST one kiss?? we all needed more than that. so heres like-- two more kisses i think.

They are general and ruler but they are also just them, just Nikolai and Zoya; young and tired and tried and tested in wars of country and heart. So when she draws him back to her, she does it like an act of surrender: need and love and longing bared in the motions of her hands, her lips. Damn pride and damn reason, he was here and he was hers.

Nikolai responds in kind, still kneeling before her; ever golden, ever earnest. There is nothing trite or clever in the way he kisses her, only an desirous honesty; mouth fallen open, hand reaching desperately to cup her face, thumb run across her cheek, insistent, over and over again; that rapid fire, joyous beat of his pulse that resonates through her rib cage when she holds him closer than she has ever dared to even dream of. Neither of them are ever much good at saying what they really, truly feel, but there is no need for words, now; she thinks. There is no need to say what she can feel through every inch of her skin.

When they part it is only in a rush for air like it is the secondary need and closeness the first, wordlessness ceasing only when he speaks, solely to say her name; to gasp it on the millisecond he takes for breath; Zoya, voice breaking on the verge of delirium, then he is kissing her, again and again. At some point she regains enough self possession to throw one hand out and slide the deadbolts of the door closed with a gust of wind at the same time as her other drags at the buttons of his shirt. Nikolai pulls back suddenly, and the sound that escapes her as he does makes his own breath hitch so sharply he wonders how he still remembers he intended to say anything at all.

“They’ll— be expecting- us,” he manages, chest heaving, pupils blown wide. “To— speak. Again. Just so you— truth be told I can’t make myself give a damn but I know you might be— I mean. It would be practical. To give another address. To—“

“Nikolai.”

“Mm.”

“Right now,” she starts, pushing his hair back from where it had begun to plaster haphazardly on his forehead, and he melts easily into the touch. “I really don’t care.”

“Oh,” he says helplessly, his gaze falling back down to her lips. “Really? Fantastic. Well, in that case—“

She rolls her eyes and he laughs a little, dropping his forehead against hers.

“All Saints,” he breathes, his gaze locked with hers. “I love you. Have I said that yet? I love you, Zoya. I’ll love you for a lifetime if you’ll let me.”

He had said it, a hundred times over: in gazes held and stolen glances, in touches meant and yet never given meaning. But to hear it aloud, fervent like a wish, soft like a prayer– a quiet ache rises in her chest, her throat.

“You’re a fool, Nikolai.”

“Yours,” he counters, and she feels the breath of the word warm against her lips.

She only smiles, turning her head to kiss him once more, wordless, and yet every cell of his body feels her reply. Yours, yours. Mine. 

#zoyalai #tortoise tries to write #zoya nazyalensky #nikolai lantsov #zoyalai fanfiction #shes not a words of affirmation girlie #actions speak louder type beat #yeah idk how theyd go on from there theyre in a fucknig meeting room #full of like chairs and benches or smth like what #its ok i believe in them

[nicgoldomens]

The Metatron sat across from him and spoke kindly, softly and persuasively. Aziraphale found it hard to keep his focus, listening to the words spoken by the chosen Voice of the Almighty. The words repeated to him over and over like a prayer

" I told you he doesn't love you Aziraphale. I told you he would never come with you. He despises angels. I'm sorry you have been used and manipulated by this evil demon calling himself Crowley, but believe me it gives me no pleasure to tell you the truth of it. He doesn't love you, he never did, he has no capacity for love. "

The Metatron's voice sounds soothing and musical as he continues to speak, no matter how cruel and devastating what he says is to Aziraphale. Aziraphale stares ahead at an unseen spot past the Metatron's head and squeezes his fingernails into his palms to stop the tears from flowing. He mustn't show any sign of feeling but it's so hard to keep control. Could it be true, what he is saying? How could it be? He thinks of yellow eyes and soft snarly lips but the Metatron is still talking softly, rythmically

" I told you he doesn't love you Aziraphale. I told you he would never come with you. I'm so sorry but as I showed you, the footage we reviewed proves this demon, Crowley, has used you for 6000 years. Yes, I'm afraid to say right from the moment you met he decided for his own amusement to take advantage of you and garner favour with Satan. He saw your weakness when you gave away the flaming sword and knew he had an angel he could turn from God! Turn away from us, your Heavenly family. Now don't cry Aziraphale, the truth may hurt but you need to hear it. Crowley doesn't love you, he never did. He was laughing at you all this time, I really am truly sorry. I know how deeply you loved him, but it was all a lie, a ruse performed for Satan's entertainment. Listen to my words Aziraphale"

The Metatron's voice was even softer and his eyes connected finally with Aziraphale's own as he glanced upwards but could no longer stop the tears from falling. Could it be true? How could this be true? He gripped his head with his hands and closed his eyes, trying to block out the Metatron's voice. He thought of holding Crowley's hand, the softness and suppleness of Crowley's fingers, he remembered dancing with him in the bookshop. The Metatron appeared to sense his renewed calm and continued with words which now dripped like poison

" I told you he doesn't love you Aziraphale, I told you he would never come with you. It pains me terribly to say this, but why would Crowley love you, why for that matter would anyone love you? You are a failure and a disappointment to everyone who has tried to help and guide you. You are lucky that in our infinite mercy Heaven does still have a place for you so be cheered by that. But you must admit your mistakes, confess your wrongdoing and accept that this demon whom you have held so dear to your heart, was in fact empty of light and goodness all along. Your 'friendship' was never real and he does not love you. Crowley never loved you Aziraphale, he never will."

Aziraphale listens to these words, which have been spoken to him day in, day out ever since he returned to Heaven. He clenches his eyes shut and imagines Crowley's face in front of him. He wraps his arms around himself in a hug and rocks gently whilst the Metatron watches. Aziraphale begins to mutter under his breath, then louder and stronger

"He does love me he does love me he does love me he does love me he does love me!"

Aziraphale smiles, his eyes still closed and presses his fingers to his lips. He can still feel the fierce pressure of Crowley's lips on his and the exquisite taste of the tip of his tongue on his own tongue. The Metatron sighs angrily and walks to the door.

" Well Aziraphale, we'll talk again tomorrow. I know you will be made to understand eventually, we have all of eternity to convince you"

He waits until he hears the Metatron lock the cell door and walk away, footsteps echoing in the cold emptiness. Then Aziraphale whispers

"Crowley will be here tomorrow. That was the plan. He loves me and he's coming for me. He would never leave me on my own"

#some Aziraphale angst for a change #though it was hard to write this #it will all be ok in the end #they love each other #good omens #good omens 2 #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #metatron #good omens mini fic

[persephonewritessometimes]

Moon Song / part five: the day after tomorrow

Summary: Y/N is surprised by a letter from someone on Christmas Eve. The letter changes everything.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x (AFAB) Reader

Word Count: 2138

Warnings: ANGST, ANGST WITH A HAPPY ENDING, lots of emotions, confession of feelings, Hotch is apologetic

Playlist: Link

Author's Note: Thank you all for reading! I have one more part after this and am very excited for you guys to read it!

This work is meant for readers aged 18 and over. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

-Christmas Eve-

   It comes faster than I thought it would, and soon enough I’m dressed in borrowed clothes from Oak; a pretty red dress that falls to my knees. All three of us are going to church tonight, and we make the short walk to the gray building, Aaron greets us as we walk in and then take our seats. The service is beautiful, all about the gift of peace and forgiveness, and I feel content. The service is only an hour long, somber yet full of hope. We hold candles and sing Silent Night, and I can’t help but cry a little bit. The choir at the front is ethereal, their voices ringing out above us. They leave the lights low as the service ends and people make their way homes with their families.

   “Can I just sit here for a second? I’ll be home when I’m done.” I say to Oak and Bobby.

   “Of course, Y/N. Take your time.” They leave me, and the chapel quickly empties out. I hear the mirth in people’s voices as they’re getting their coats, hugging each other, and wishing each other ‘Merry Christmas’. I think about all my prayers, ones that I believed to fall on deaf ears. Tell me how does God choose, whose prayers does he refuse?

         “This seat taken?” I hear from behind me and turn around.

         “Spencer?” I say, surprised. “Uh, no. What are you doing here?”

         “I didn’t want you to be alone on Christmas.”

         “Spence, I’m with my sister, I’m not alone,” I say, picking at a loose thread in my dress.

         “You know what I mean.” He says, taking a seat in the pew beside me. After a couple of minutes he says, “It’s beautiful in here.”

         “I know. I’ve been coming here a lot.”

         “That’s what your sister said.” I shoot him a confused look. “I ran into her on the way in here.” I nod. “How are you feeling?”

         “Good, actually. Despite everything I’m doing okay.” I smile at him, and he smiles back.

         “I’m happy to hear that. I have something for you. He didn’t want to send it in the mail.”

         I blink in surprise. He knows they sent me a letter. Spencer pulls an envelope out of his back pocket. It’s a little wrinkled, but I would recognize that handwriting anywhere.

         “I’ll be in the entryway when you’re done,” he says, handing me the envelope and getting up to go.

         “Spencer.” He pauses, looking back at me. “Thank you.”

         I open the letter carefully with shaky hands. There’s two pieces of paper inside, and I read the top one.

         Y/N,

         You are my home. I miss you. It took losing you to make me realize that. I close my eyes every night and I dream that I can hold you. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel, about the blood that’s been spilled but I know one thing for sure – I love you. To the ends of this earth, I will love you. Every time I look at you, it takes everything in me to not fall on my knees at your beauty. I know I don’t deserve you and I’m sorry for everything. Come home when you’re ready, I’ll be waiting for you.

         Love,

         Aaron

         I look at the second piece of paper and gasp. It’s a copy of a divorce page. Signed by him and Haley. It’s dated a week ago. I close my eyes and hold the papers to my chest. My breath is raspy in my lungs, and I don’t know if I’m going to scream or cry.

         He did it. He did it for me. He loves me. And I love him.

         I read the letter again. Then a third time, and then the tears do fall. I’m careful to not get them on the letter. I get up, quickly, and make my way into the entryway. I see Spencer talking to Aaron, and Aaron looks at me.

         “Let me guess, your old boy finally came around, didn’t he?” I nod, laughing through my tears, and wave the letter.

         “Yeah. He did.” I smile at Spencer, and we excuse ourselves, walking into the cold air. We don’t say anything on the way back to my sister’s house, he just holds my hand, squeezing it occasionally. I let us into the house and Bobby and Oak are waiting in the kitchen, I can tell they’re expecting something.

         “Spencer, good to see you again,” Oak says, smiling.

         “Thanks for looking after Y/N for us.” He says, smiling back at her.

         “Well? What does the letter say?” Oak says, seeming as though she can’t take it any longer. I chuckle and say,

         “It says everything. He divorced her.” Oak gasps, hands coming up to cover her mouth and I see tears in the corner of her eyes.

         “Oh, Y/N. I told you it would work out, didn’t I?”

         “Which is why I need a plane ticket. For tomorrow.”

         “Y/N, it’s Christmas, and the flights are outrageously expensive.”

         “I don’t care. I need to go home.” I need to go home to him.

         “Well, you’re kind of in luck, Y/N,” Spencer says, scratching at his face awkwardly when we all turned to look at him. “I kind of figured what was in that letter, and I may have two tickets on a flight back to Virginia three days from now. I know it’s not as soon as you’d like, but all the other flights were full.”

         “Oh, Spencer! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” I shout, grabbing him in a hug and squeezing him tight. He chuckles, patting me on the shoulder. Oak thanks Spencer, and she actually does cry this time. I drag Spencer to the guest bedroom to grill him about the team and what’s happened since I’ve been gone. He obliges me and we talk late into the night until we both fall asleep on top of the tan comforter on the guest bed. I awake to Spencer’s alarm in the morning, a little disoriented. “Merry Christmas, Spencer,” I say, voice scratchy from sleep.

         “Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

         We had already opened presents on Christmas Eve, so we just had a nice big breakfast on Christmas day. When breakfast is over, I go back to my room to power on my phone. I can hear Reid telling Bobby and Oak about some of the cases he’s been on – they’re hanging onto his every word, and I smile. My phone finally powers on, and there’s only been one text message. I open it.

         Hotch: I’m sorry.

         The date is the same day he was shot. I sit there for a while, deciding what I want to say. Finally, I type:

         Y/N: I got your letter, and my plane will touch down on the day after tomorrow.

         Succinct, and to the point without giving too much away. I hit send and put my phone away but leave it on. I’m antsy the next two days, I show Spencer around my hometown to pass time, and he lets me. I show him my old high school, my parent’s old house before they sold it and moved to Washington, the small diner where I had my first date. He lets me ramble, understanding more than anyone that if I don’t word vomit, I’ll combust from the anticipation of going home.

         The day of the flight, we wake up at 6:00 AM, Spencer having crashed with me in the guest room while he was staying here. We packed our bags the night before, and I get dressed in the en suite bathroom, pulling on a soft blue sweater and jeans. Bobby and Oak drive us to the airport and my sister hugs me tight before we go through security.

         “Thanks for everything, sis,” I whisper into her hair.

         “Of course, Y/N. Next time you visit, bring Aaron with you.” She says, and I hear the smile in her voice. We say our goodbyes and get through the airport to get to our terminal. It’s a short flight to Virginia, a mere hour and a half, and my stomach is in knots the closer we get to home. I feel a hand on my knee as the pilot announces we’re making our descent.

         “You’re shaking your knee,” Spencer says quietly.

         “Yes, because I’m nervous,” I whisper.

         “Don’t be nervous, just think of it as a reuniting of star-crossed lovers.”

         “Spencer that doesn’t help!” I exclaim putting my face in my hands.

         “Hey, hey, I’m just messing with you. It will go fine, I promise.” The plane lands without issue and we retrieve Spencer’s car before making our way back to Quantico.

         “I feel like I’m going to throw up,” I say as we pull into a parking spot at our building.

         “Well do it before we go inside.” He says cheekily. I glare at him, and he holds up his hands in mock defeat. My hands are shaking as I open the car door, and we silently make our way into the office. It’s getting close to closing time, and some people have already left. JJ sees us walking in and shrieks, grabbing me in a tight hug.

         “I can’t believe it! You’re back! I’ve missed you so much!”

         “I’ve missed you too, JJ!” I say, chuckling and hugging her back.

         “Y/N has some unfinished business to attend to, JJ,” Spencer says, winking at her.

         “Oh my god, right, of course. Go get your man!” She shouts and I giggle, making my way into the bullpen and up the stairs to Hotch’s office. My heart is in my throat when I rap the door frame with my knuckles and say with a shaky voice,

         “Are you busy right now, sir?” He freezes when he hears my voice, and very slowly puts down his pen. I watch him take a few seconds to collect himself before he looks at me, eyes lined in silver and saying,

         “I’m not, come in, Y/N.” I take a few steps into the office and shut the door behind me. He comes out from behind the desk and gets on both knees in front of me, looking up at me. He doesn’t say anything.

         “Why are you just staring at me?” I whisper thickly.

         “You’re beautiful.” He murmurs, and I close my eyes.

         “I’ve been saving all my pain,” I say quietly.

         “I’m here. You can let it out. Scream, cry, beat me to a bloody pulp, I don’t care. All I care about is that you’re here. I deserve anything you want to do to me.” I open my eyes and he’s openly crying, not touching me, just waiting for what I’m going to do. I take a deep breath, and my decision is made. I step forward making the decision I knew I would always make and hold out my hand.

         “Get up.” My voice is quiet but strong. “We’re going to fix this together. We’re going to do this right. We’re going to go to therapy. We’re going to talk about our feelings. And we’re definitely not going to step in front of a bullet for each other.” I glare at him and a smile fights its way onto his devastated face.

         “I can’t make any promises on that last one.”

         “Yeah, I figured.” He takes my hand but he’s still on his knees. “Come on, let’s do this,” I say, lightly tugging on his hand. He gets up slowly as if he doesn’t want to startle me or like he doesn’t believe what’s happening. When he’s standing, I say, “Even when I hated you, I loved you. I could never stop loving you.” My voice cracks.

         “I know, I’m sorry.” He squeezes my hand and that breaks the dam inside of me. I close the distance between us, wrapping my arms around his torso and burying my face in his shirt, breathing him in. Now it’s my turn to cry. It’s ugly, heaving, wracking sobs. My chest shakes with the force of them, and his chest is shaking too. I calm down after a few minutes, pulling away only a little bit as he won’t let me too far now that he has me. I let out a wet laugh.

         “I left a huge wet spot on your shirt.” He sniffles and says,

         “Well, I think I gave you an impromptu shower with my tears, so we can call it even.” He smiles down at me, just looking his fill before he asks, “Can I kiss you?” I nod, not trusting myself to speak. He leans down and kisses me softly and it feels like the promise of something new. Something different, full of hope, without pain, just light and love.

         And only lucky ones come home,

         On the day after tomorrow.

---

part six: punisher

---

TAG LIST (want to be added? click here!): @helmihotchner @hausofwhores @stxlemate @heidss @justjoyceme @bxtchopolis @art-and-thoughts @morgthemagpie @rousethemouse @ssamorganhotchner @mrs-ssa-aaron-hotchner @sebastiansstanswhore

#hotch x reader #hotch x y/n #hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #criminal minds fanfiction #moon song hotch

[toiletwipes]

hello! its that cabin au part 3! know that meme, i can fix him? we're making them worse!

part 1 / part 2

————

After an… exciting day of hiking, where techno has taken many chances to slip inside of you, watching you cry into his neck trying to muffle yourself… and the hike back to the cabin of course, it is perfectly okay to say that everyone is exhausted.

And well, you’re one to tap out after strenuous but after a three hour nap, and your boyfriend boiling you in the dead of summer, you’re not shying away from the cool night on the porch, on the swinging bench.

Your feet scrape the wooden boards gently, brushing against it as you let your legs do some of the work, the breeze cooling your burning face and neck faster than you anticipated. Your head tips to the left, leaning against the arm and closing your eyes. The sounds of the night lulling you into a sleep, the crickets chirping and the owls hooting every now and then. It’s pretty nice.

Then someone opens the door and you’re not that quick to open your eyes. The door shuts with a quiet click.

Your name is murmured within a scratchy throat, and you lift your head, rubbing your eyes open as you turn to look at the father of your boyfriend. “Hey, Phil, couldn’t sleep so I figured I should sit out here for a minute,” he nods, taking the seat next to you, the bench creaking the tiniest bit under his weight, nothing like the sounds it’d make if his boyfriend was the one next to you.

You’re tempted to do something but something about the peace, the quiet and existing next to him is something you haven’t had in a while. Yes, you enjoyed feeling good while making this man feel good, while under the current, rigid circumstances, but there’s a reason why you loved Techno’s family the way you did. They were not only interesting but incredibly kind to you. (Not to mention, unbelievably hot.)

“You’re good for my son, I’ve never seen him happier.” Phil’s low voice hums next to your ear, mumbling to you or himself, you’re not sure. “I don’t know why I’m meddling with it.”

You smile, shifting in your seat and give him a side-look, “you know I’m not good for him for that exact reason. And… I don’t think I want to stop anytime soon.” Your hand slides over his pajama pants, squeezing his thigh a little bit. You lean close, your mouth parting as you kiss his shoulder. “But if you ever want to stop, then tell me.” You slip your hand away, sitting straight up while you pull the cardigan over your chest, “I'm not going to be an asshole.”

You hear him shudder a breath, a shiver rolling down his spine as his hand stops you from leaving, encircling around your wrist soundly as you turn to stare at him. You watch him hesitate to form words but with the way he’s stopped you… you know he’s not going to stop this little thing between the two of you. (You’re certainly not, if you can help it.) 

“I don’t want to stop. I’ve never felt more alive,” he confesses and you reach up with a free, slow hand. Caressing the side of his face and watching him lean into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut and you nearly coo, enjoying this bit of peace with him. You nearly feel bad at ruining it when you tug your hand out of his hand, cupping his junk and feeling him stiffen against you. “You gonna let me suck you off while everyone’s asleep?” You whisper to him and his head tips back, a quiet groan escaping his lips while you move to get on your knees, getting comfortable while you fish his cock out, wetting his head with the tip of your tongue and sucking it into your mouth.

His hands come up to hold your head, his hands gripping the sides and making you feel hotter in a way you didn’t come out here for.

His muted moans, only quiet because of how hard he’s biting down on his lips, you’re sure, they set your insides on fire, knowing just how much chaos the cabin would be in if they found the two of you like this. Phil’s tiny ponytail slowly comes undone while his jaw is lax, prayers being mouthed to the ceiling of the porch, and no doubt, the reason being why the most incriminating. You, on your knees, lovingly tending to his dick, slobbering over and taking it into your throat even when you felt you couldn’t breathe, your lips will no doubt be puffy. And when his thighs tense, his fingers dig into your skull, a little dull tugging at your scalp making you moan, you know he’s close. So what do you do besides flick your tongue over his piss slit and suck at his head until he shoves your head down all the way, leaning forward as he curls into your mouth, pulsing as spurts of cum are shot down your throat.

You finally come up when he relaxes against the bench, massaging your head and giving you a look with his half-lidded eyes, kissing his tip goodbye and you press one into your fingers, fingers against his lips. “See you in the morning.”

“Can’t I return the favor?” He asks, hand sliding up to kiss your knuckles, looking up as you stand.

You hum, thinking to yourself how you should return to bed, Techno will probably wake up any minute and the faster you two part, the safer you should be from the consequences of getting caught.

And the thought of getting caught leads to you pressed against the cabin from the outside, gasping as your legs are over Phil’s shoulder, his tongue lapping over your clit, over your labia and pulls not one but two orgasms out of you, the sounds of slurping too addicting in your ears to let him stop at one.

You gather your breath as Phil wipes his mouth across your thighs, smiling to himself as he says goodnight, entering the cabin. Still breathing heavily and legs shaking as you approach the bench swing, you take what feels like an hour before going back inside, being sure you could actually walk without seeming weird.

And when you slip into the shower, scrubbing your scalp with the delicious smelling shampoo, you’re too content to check whether the person slipping into your shower is actually your boyfriend when you greet him with a groggy voice.

“I thought you were asleep,” you say as he pulls the curtains back, hands coming around to settle at your waist, squeezing and pulling you close to him, and when you didn’t immediately feel him slip inside of you, you’re curious. You hum a question as you open your eyes, looking down and seeing the music note tattoo on the inside of his wrist, you know it’s Wilbur holding you close in the warm water.

“Would you believe me if I said you kept me up?” He kisses the back of your neck, hands slipping towards opposite directions, one curling around your neck and one hand pressing a digit inside of you, pressing you closer and closer against him.

You bite your lip, one of your hands coming up to cover your mouth and he shushes you quietly, “none of that, c’mon pretty girl, let me hear you.” And you have to pull him by his neck, pressing your needy moans into his mouth so you would have a chance at actually fucking without getting caught. He slips a second finger, and you’re twitching, needing more of his long, cold fingers inside of you.

“That’s it, that’s it, I got you,” he bites your lip, fastening his pace and guiding you over the edge, pushing you into a freefall of an orgasm, shaking in his arms and nearly falling over. You let him press you against the wall, the water cascading over the sides of you two, as he pulls one of your legs up, sinking his dick in so easily, so good for him. He murmurs in your ear how good you feel, nearly whimpering when he has to hold himself still, how you feel too good and how he might just cum right then and there.

His hips move slowly, inch by inch, groaning with how your walls clench around him. “You’re gonna- fuck, oh you’re so good, my good girl, right?” You nod, trying not to lose yourself in the dizzying pleasure, gasping against the onslaught of water.

“Letting me f-fuck you like this, oh fuck, so close to him and yet you’d let me bend you over in front of him and show him who owns this pussy, wouldn’t you? Yeah? You’d show him who fucks you better?” You weren’t processing his words at all, only knowing it made your stomach flutter at the thought. 

“Tell me,” he gasps in your mouth, one of his free hands dipping down and circling your abused clit, pulling every sound he could out of you. “Tell me I fuck you better, tell me you’re my good girl,” and you say every word. Well, the best you could when he fucks you in the shower while trying to not wake your boyfriend. In between whines and crying, you tell him. You tell him everything he wants to hear and more because it all sounded so, so good in that moment.

And when he’s down cumming inside, he doesn’t hesitate to drop down to his knees and clean his mess.

He leaves the shower not long after, a kiss pressed to your forehead and promise on his lips.

You don’t even make it to your shared bedroom, you just curl into the couch and pull the thin throw blanket over your body, too exhausted to do much else. You know that among most nights, this was the riskiest. And the thought only makes you smile, the danger buzzing underneath your skin, sending you to sleep.

Tonight was too risky but you couldn’t find yourself to care.

If anything…

You had even more… daring ideas to try next time.

#wilbur soot x you #philza x you #techno x you #wilbur soot x reader #philza x reader #techno x reader #technoblade x you #technoblade x reader #wilbur soot smut #technohblade smut #philza smut #tw: cheating #cw: cheating

[demigoddessqueens]

but I can’t have you

A super angsty “what if?” where each of the members had confessed their feelings but it’s not reciprocated. Based off the other confession prompts I’ve gotten.

You had been with them for as long as you could remember. Going to the ends of it all with them, and never leaving their side. Yet, you could never admit your true feelings. Maybe they felt otherwise for you, but you could never see a future with them. It had been one too many times before in your past life, and you didn’t want to take that chance again. When their hearts are poured out to you, sparingly over the days, you tense up.

“I should have told you. You weren’t supposed to fall in love with me.”

Or B) how dare you hurt them? Good luck staying long with the party!

Percy 👓

He liked you. Like, he didn’t like most people, let alone tolerate, but he liked you. A lot! You listened to him ramble, let him be himself without the judgement and praised his skills and inventions. Surely you must have felt the same as he did. Wrong. He swears the demon whispers in his ear and ice has consumed his heart, the only element barely keeping the shattered pieces together.

Keyleth

There was a time she thought it impossible for her to fall for someone, let alone you. But you stayed, and listened. Supported her and checked on her like you would anyone else. So why did her heart leap whenever you were close? The pride in your eyes at her coronation made her think otherwise, until you gave her your true answer. Now the bitter tears sting her cheeks instead of placating this ache in her heart.

Pike

She hopes her mind isn’t playing tricks with her. That it’s not a silly daydream her mind has wandered to. Sure she likes how you fight, you’re getting along with Grog (and maybe Scanlan), and the shared connection to her cleric goddess. It would make sense that this just happened, right? So similar that everything would just fit? No. Now her prayers and meditations for the “why”, why couldn’t you feel the same are met with whispered comforts from Sarenrae.

Vex’ahlia 🏹 🐻

Guarded and protective most of her life, the archer only trusted as many as she could count on her fingers. And even that included you. The one she trusted as much as she did with Percy. She wanted to be around you, to hear any mundane thing you had to say. Besides Vax, you were another that she trusted to enclose her deepest fears: any hour of the day, and sometimes all throughout the hours of the night. So why? Tell her why it hurts so much all the time. Just hold her, so she can feel you, and tell her why your feelings aren’t the same as hers.

Scanlan

Sure he was a flirt, a philanderer, but he was also a “master of his craft” as you often reminded him. Entertaining his jokes, going back and forth on the bantering schemes and antics, it just came naturally. Sure, he flirted and had escapades with others, but with you…he wanted it differently. That doesn’t mean it sting any less when you turned him away. He just wishes he could have done more to show you that he genuinely cared.

Grog

It’s a simple thing that only he can describe. You’re not just his best friend like Pike and Scanlan. He likes you. More than any of the gold or ale or treasures that you all could find. It was a strange feeling when you’re around, chest tight and a fluttering feeling whenever you brush by. You make him feel….different. Different than when he’s around his friends. Your hugs and gazes are two things he starts to adore the most. Even though you don’t feel the same, the barbarian would give anything to just go back to how things were before.

Vax’ildan

He was wracked with nerves, pacing back and forth and wringing his hands. How could he tell you? What could he say? That your face is one of the few he sees before, during and after his sleep? That when you hold his hand when you’re afraid he wants to grasp it tightly forever? That your smile is one he wants to be the cause of every day, and how it would feel to kiss those curved lips. When all is said and done, he can’t fathom the pain that builds when you rebuff. Eyes not seeing past the glistening that wells with emotion.

#critical role #headcanons #tlovm x y/n #tlovm imagines #vox machina #fanfic #critical role x you #critical role x reader #critical role x y/n #vox machina x you #vox machina x y/n #tlovm x you #vox machina x reader #tlovm x reader #vax’ildan #vex’ahlia #keyleth of the air ashari #pike trickfoot #scanlan shorthalt #grog strongjaw #Percy de rolo #percival fredrickstein von musel de rolo iii #percival de rolo iii #writers on tumblr #this hurt to write!! 😢 so much!!

[apilgrimsjournal]

Clear As A Crystal

I have been asking the Lord to give me a clear indication about my recent decision. I was willing to recant what I said and admit how wrong I was if the Lord showed me reasons that I really did wrong. You know how much I prayed to you, Lord: “If that is the person you want me to marry, please give the clearest instruction that I made a wrong decision to say no to him and I will admit my fault, humble myself and love him as I ought to. No more wrestling and bargaining with You about my forgotten feelings. And awaken them once more.” I was even beginning to slowly regret my decision while waiting for Your answer because most people around me seem to all think that I should have said yes to him. After all, he is well known for his good repute and leadership in the church.

However, yesterday, he told me that he realized it was all infatuation on his part. “I realized I was more in love with the thought of you than the actual you.” He clearly said that and his feelings are gone. I was trembling in pain while listening to his words. I even asked again because I might have misheard him about being just infatuated but the answer did not change. He was just that. I could not hold back my tears while talking to him. My tears could not betray what was in my heart that I was shedding them as I talked to him. I was in shock, Lord. My chest tightened for I could not believe what I was hearing. He did and said all the right things. He professed his “love” for me to my leader and father. He even told it to my disciple. He recently just organized a party for my birthday. He gave me a book which was so hard to find and more time and efforts than I could recount. I could not understand how can anyone do and say such things only to realize it was shallow all along. After the call, I wept uncontrollably. I became more afraid and untrusting. My tears would not stop falling. I do not know which hurts more: being led to believe he loved me, believing he would accept me for who I really am, or being professed to be married to me one day. If I said yes, and he realized this in the middle of our relationship, I would have died a thousand deaths. Would he just go on with it until the end even after finding out that it was all infatuation because he could not turn his back to what he already professed? The horrors of what could have been! I even wonder if it was necessary that I heard that. He could have just told me he lost his feelings and would not wait for me anymore and be done with it. Even in the name of being honest, it was still somehow cruel. I know I hurt him but I was hurt way before he was. He knew how much I yearned for him before he even confessed to me. If that was a payback, I honestly believe I suffered enough from wanting to be with him. Do some men change for the unimaginable when they get hurt? I hope I am wrong on it. I just never imagined that of all people, he could be that cruel.

Just to be sure, I am not mad, angry, bitter, or even indignant at him. He is my brother in You, Lord. He is also my dear friend. I have no ill feelings and unforgiving heart toward him. He made a decision as I did and I respect him for it. If anything, I am glad and relieved. After years of liking and waiting, no more what ifs and maybes with him. What could be clearer? You answered my prayer the best way possible. He is and will not be my husband. That chapter is closed; the end of an era.

As to my future husband, I hope he comes to me after being found by the Lord first. May he be rooted and flourishing in the Lord before he is sent to me. At this point, I honestly could tell him that he is worth all the “No” I have been telling some men. I would not mind breaking more hearts if it means I will be with him. And I know he will be a man who is strengthened by trials and disappointments. His love will endure and grow ever stronger in those times because that is what I pray to the Lord that he becomes.

Now, I rejoice with the fact that the Lord answered my prayer specifically. I asked Him and He heard me. Thank you for confirming to me that I made the right decision that was ultimately from You. You see through hearts, hear conversations I do not, and know motives I cannot possibly perceive. Thank you for protecting my heart once again, Lord. Waiting and surrendering to You is the best decision I have ever made. Blessed is the man who makes You their refuge. A blessed resurrection Sunday it is!

#christian #hope #jesussaves #confession #love #jesus #heavenlyfather

[itsscatballou]

“I Should Like to Worship You Tonight”

This is probably (definitely) the most niche smut I’ve ever written, or even daydreamed up. I grew up in the Bible Belt and Feature Films for Families were a staple in our home. Rigoletto (1993) was my favorite. I’m a sucker for a Beauty and the Beast themed story, and the music was so beautiful. And of course, as an adult, I’m wildly attracted to the MMC. (Confession - I find that with any BatB story, I tend to prefer the “Beast” before his transition in the end. What does that say about me? Maybe I’ll ask my therapist.) I recently rewatched the movie a thousand times, and I have a whole fic plotted out with stories before this one, but I needed to get this one out of my head an onto “paper.” I hope someone enjoys my warping of a family movie into something not family friendly at all. ;-)

It had been three nights since I was last alone with him, my brooding master of the manor. Three nights since I’d somehow mustered the courage, or maybe it was simply a lack of inhibition?, to boldly confess how my body ached for his touch and burned with the thought of his lips trailing kisses down every bare inch of my skin.

My work had certainly suffered in the days following, constantly drifting into a daydream -memory, really- of the passion that followed . I’d find myself forgetting why I entered a room, not knowing how long I’d been standing there staring at nothing, or holding an item I didn’t remember picking up. The trance his touch had left me in… the spell I was under… it was incurable and unbreakable, save one remedy.

As I tiptoed through the dark manor, conscious of every little sound, my heart racing at who might be around the next corner, who might catch me on my secret quest, I prayed he was awake and as hungry as I.

I’d had little opportunity to be near him, and none at all to be alone with him since that night. Hans, the ever loyal manservant, had -unfortunately- finally recovered from his days long illness that had allowed me such closeness with Ari to begin with. I’d made sure to tiptoe past his door first, where I was relieved to hear him snoring like a bear.

As I descended the last few stairs to the main foyer, the door to his study and music room in sight, my prayer was answered. He was awake, and playing his pianoforte, as he did more often than he didn’t. It was his most beautiful quality, although his voice rivaled it, and the songs he made the instrument sing often filled the halls of this enormous house. I had been haunted from my first day here with the enchanting loneliness of the tunes that seemed to pierce straight to my soul. As the days went on, though, they turned to somewhat brighter notes, lonely but with a tinge of hope. From there they drifted into scores of longing, an unrequited love. Since our union three nights ago, the halls had been filled with lovely romantic tunes, sometimes sultry and passionate, sometimes light and airy like rays of sun slipping through the trees in the early morning hours. It was this type of tune I followed now, my bare feet padding lightly on the wooden floors.

I slipped through the sliding door of his study, silently closing it behind me, and through the open doors into the room beyond I saw him, his long, dark hair shining in the gentle candlelight. I could see the shadows dancing on the scars of his face as he moved with the music. I thought to walk over and touch them, to caress the evidence of all the pain of his previous life. But tonight, I was feeling a bit playful.

As his tune drifted like those morning rays of light over a misty field, warming and awakening something deep within me, I began twirling and moving with the rhythm. I have never been accused of being a lovely dancer, but I felt graceful as I lightly moved across the room. I stopped in front of the bay window, opening the curtains to let the rays of moonlight in. The beauty of the full moon illuminating the front courtyard gave me pause and for a moment I was lost in the night, with the low, beautiful melody of his song in the background.

I don’t know how long it had been, but I suddenly became aware that the music had stopped some time ago. I turned my back to the window and found him still at the piano, but with his hands stacked on his cane, watching me. I had the feeling he’d been staring at me for quite a while, and the feeling brought a blush to my cheeks. I felt bared naked, though I was still wrapped in my silk robe.

“You are a goddess,” Ari finally broke the silence.

I smiled shyly at him, trying to think of something clever and flirty to reply. My words failed me as he rose. The light tap of his cane filling the quiet room as he moved slowly toward me.

He towered over me, his gaze piercing mine, as he held my chin between his thumb and forefinger. I closed my eyes, desperately wanting him to close the distance between our lips, to start our dance together.

His hand left my chin and as I opened my eyes in confusion, I felt the belt of my robe tugged undone. As he slipped it from my shoulders, baring my completely naked body, my breath caught in my throat.

“I should like to worship you tonight,” he continued his thought, his eyes raking over every inch of my moonlit form.

His hand found my waist and gently pushed until my back touched the window, a gasp escaping my mouth at the shock of the cold glass on my skin.

He grinned devilishly at the sound, and using his cane for support, made his way down onto his good knee. Before I could make another sound, he’d lifted my leg and draped it on his shoulder, baring my flower to his hungry gaze.

He began with slow, warm kisses at the top of my thigh. It tickled and I giggled, but ran my hands through his thick hair in encouragement. His kisses moved inward, finding my petals, and the tickles quickly turned to tingles. He moved inward still, his lips finding the center of me, and his kisses became sucks. His tongue began making long, lazy strokes, and I knew I was dripping wet from more than his mouth. My groans could not be stifled as he continued, alternating between sucks, licks, and kisses.

The sudden sensation of fingers entering me caused a yelp of pleasure, and I felt him smile against me before continuing his skilled work. His fingers moved as expertly as his tongue, and I soon felt the crescendo of an orgasm building within me. My hands tugged in his hair, my back arching away from the window and pushing my core further onto his face. His remaining hand cupped my ass, and as he forcefully sucked one long time, I unraveled against him, gasping sharply and exhaling his name, “Ari”.

He was gentle as he continued his work while I came down from my high, and when he finally set my leg down and rose, his own arousal was evident under his robe.

He stopped me when I moved to reach for his erection, more than willing to return the favor. He smiled as he kissed me, moving my hand to his face.

“I said I would like to worship you tonight,” he whispered onto my mouth, “how should you like to be worshiped next?”

I kissed him deeply, and then led him by the hand back to his piano bench.

“With the piano, I think,” I said, giving him a sincere smile.

The melody he played will follow me the rest of my days- it’s beauty, I’m convinced, can never be matched.

#rigoletto #rigoletto movie 1993 #ribalde #smut #I’m sorry if I ruin your childhood with this one #don’t judge me

[sribbles-drabbles]

Talk To Me

Another shorter fic just to get stuff on this account going!! This is a short Satoru Gojo x GN!reader!!

TW: ANGST, mention of injury, mention of death, tears, abandomnent and distancing

Dw this is hurt comfort!! There IS a happy ending I promise— 🥲

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Birds chirp happily outside and warmth fills the quiet early morning apartment in which I live. I wake up to the sunlight softly streaming in though a crack in the dark curtains that hang in my bedroom window. I hum tiredly and stretch my limbs and back, still stiff with sleep. I then go to snuggle into my husband, only for him to not be there.

Satoru’s spot in our shared bed is empty. This is how it’s been for the past two months. He leaves before I wake, comes home late, and barley speaks to me. It feels as though I’m living with a stranger.

Satoru Gojo and I met as young and dumb teenagers, maybe when we were about seventeen and both in the academy. We started off as rivals but we also hit it off. He confessed to me at graduation, straight up telling me that for someone so hot-headed and annoying, I was cute, and that he’d like to take me out sometime.

Here we are, years later. Things were perfectly fine until two months ago. We lived as any normal long time couple, hell, Satoru even brought up the idea of a romantic tropical vacation for just the two of us a few months ago. Where did everything go wrong?

I stare at the dark fluttering curtians. Satoru must’ve opened the window after getting up this morning. I feel the spot where he lays. He even turns his back to me when we sleep. I run my fingers softly over the wrinkles his form made, and then touch his pillow. I take said pillow, a single white hair on it and hold it close to me. The pillow smells like him, although he’s present in my life, he feels absent.

I miss him so much....

I clench the pillow with all my force and cry into the fabric. Why??? What did I do?!?! SATORU COME BACK!!!! Please.....

I lay there and sob my heart out into the pillow, wishing to feel the white haired man with me. To feel his warmth, to hear his mischievous chuckles and to have him kiss me like I’m the only person in the world.

As if whatever’s out there heard my prayers, I hear the front door creak open amidst my sobs. I stop, and then the bedroom door creaks open. Should I fake sleep? Did he hear me cry? What is he thinking? Is he worried?

“I know your awake.” He chimes, walking past the bed and to his side. He enters my vision, dark blue uniform, fluffy white hair, and black blindfold. He ignores me however, and instead he simply goes to his nightstand.

The way he even refuses to say my name is cold and without even a sliver of affection. It’s full of apathy and I feel as though i’ve been stabbed straight though.

He really doesn’t love me anymore. It hurts. I sit up and stare at his back. He continues to ignore me.

“Satoru, we need to tal-“

“I don’t have time to talk, I have a important mission and have got to get going, if this is not complete soon, people could die—“

“But-“

“NO buts. I’m heading out”

He goes to head out of the room but in a moment of desperation I leap out of bed, grab his wrist and pin him to the ground beneath me. I rip the blind fold off of him but he keeps his eyes closed. His long white eyelashes shimmer in the light, hiding his beautiful electric blue eyes. The eyes that sent pulses of cold electricity though my body the first time I saw them. …He hates me that much that he refuses to even LOOK at me???

“Why...?” My inner thoughts come out now, and my voice cracks as it does. My vision becomes blurry as an ocean overtakes my eyes, running down my dusted cheeks and dripping on to Satoru’s face and chest below me.

“What did I do to make you hate me....? Tell me....I-I can fix it...or at least try....” I sob into his chest, clinging to his shirt as I kneel over his waist. He remains steeled and silent, and I simply sob more into this chest.

Then a gentle hand tangles in my hair. I sit up slowly, still blinded by tears and feel another hand gently wipe them from my left eye.

Below me, Satoru looks at me in guilt and hurt, eyes open, and shimmering like broken glass. An endless frigid ocean. His lips are pursed and he looks afraid to speak. Is he scared of...me...?

I then quickly scramble off of him and back away. “Oh....oh god...Satoru I’m so sorry....I did’nt mean to scare you, I just....wait...” Satoru stands and without a word pulls me close to him.

“Don’t you DARE apologize to an idiot like me....I’m sorry love...I wanted to push you away so you wouldn’t get hurt, not again...” he whispers, voice shaking.

I then think back. He stopped talking to me about two months ago, and the only other event from around that time was a mission to find a special class artifact. He and I were on it together and it shouldn’t have been a problem, however, he was showing off, being cocky, and having fun. I was watching him with a smile.

The curse was not that strong but apparently, it was smart. It had the ability to elongate it’s limbs, nothing Satoru couldn’t handle. The curse apparently went to strike him, but it was a faint, and it went for me instead. It scratched my cheek, I sat there stunned, and Satoru, freaked out. I realize then that:

I was fine.

I thought he was fine too….

I was wrong.

While that curse didn’t leave a mark on me, it apparently left My dear husband shaken. It probably reminded him of the past. The freinds we lost to curses…Nanami, Geto, Riko. It probably also reminded him that we’re both human, and that we can both die at any moment. That’s why he pushed me away, out of shame, guilt, and fear.

I look up at Satoru, clear spring-water tears leaving his eyes. I gently cup his face with my hands and bring my face down to gently and sweetly kiss his lips, then his nose, and lastly his forehead. I wipe his tears as he did with mine and hold him. He hides his face in the crook of my neck, and I play with his soft snowy white hair.

“You’re such an idiot...you scared me for no reason....but I guess I’m an idiot too for not noticing how much that mission two months ago shook you...I’m sorry...” I hum and he shifts, looking at me with his normal, goofy and lopsided grin.

“I guess we’re both idiots then...” he chimes lovingly.

“Yeah, two idiots who will do dumb shit for the people they love...” I giggle. We stand there in silence for a minute simply looking at each other like we did ten years ago.

We’re still young, dumb, and in love I suppose.

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#jjk satoru #gojou satoru x reader #gojo imagine #jjk fluff #jjk angst #jujitsu #anime writing blog #fanfic #headcannons #writing #requests #taking commisions #satorugojo #jujutsu kaisen satoru #jjk gojo #gojo x gender neutral reader #gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo #x reader #jjk imagines #gojou headcanons #gojou x reader #hurt/comfort #angsty #happy ending #fluffy