#GODS ABOVE GIVE ME GUIDANCE

[loveindefinitely]

༊*·˚ NEED TO LISTEN TO ME — price is disappointed in you and your other three lovers, and finds that some 'training' is in order

read on ao3.

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, poly tf141, ANGRY sex, mean dom price, angst, degradation, minor dom/sub, light humiliation, orgasm denial, dacryphilia, minor spit play, minor blood play (not really), rough sex, price orders EVERYONE around, price-centred, whiny johnny and gaz agenda

// NSFW CONTENT UNDER THE CUT //

You weren't scared of many things at this point in your life.

Being a signal officer for the military certainly aided that statement, but it was more the fact that you had four guard dogs in the form of the most seasoned special forces operatives you've ever known. Four very large, very scary men that you'd somehow found yourself lucky enough to get to call your partners.

Both on, and off, the field.

That being said, there was one thing you were terrified of. Like, to your bones, petrified.

And that thing had a name.

John Price.

He was formally the captain of your force for a reason, but he was also informally the captain of your relationship, as well. The one you all looked to in the most difficult of moments, the one that held reason and guidance above all.

It's been that way since the five of you met, and remains the same to this day.

Nonetheless.

It was a known fact between you, Soap, Ghost and Gaz that none of you liked seeing the man mad. You four could count on one hand the amount of times you'd witnessed it, all of which having been directed at either his superiors or an enemy.

But. Right now, in this office, seated on the small couch between your three lovers?

Yeah. You don't fear many things.

But John Price's disappointment is quite easily in your top three, and this situation only cements it.

"He's probably ordering our caskets," Gaz murmurs wistfully, eyes wide as he stares at his foot, tap-tap-tapping against the wooden floor. It's a nervous tic that gives him away too easily, but even with your hand on his knee, it doesn't seem able to quit.

You exhale a deep breath, squeezing your eyes shut. "I hope he gets me a cute one," you mumble back, tone matching the resignation that clouds your captain's office.

"You four. My office."

Those were the only words Price had spoken to you guys, before marching off to a meeting with Laswell.

To say that you and your lovers were mortified was the biggest understatement of the century.

Even Ghost, sat perfectly still, expression perfectly neutral beneath his mask, oozes trepidation like it's the carbon dioxide he exudes with every breath.

"I know 'm 'n tha military, but I still don't wanna die, ya know?" Soap whines, his head flung back and blue eyes glued to the roof as his hands shake in his lap.

You guys must look like unruly students sat outside of your principal's office to any onlookers, and it should be embarrassing.

It would be, if you could feel anything but mortal peril.

You're about to quip a reply to Soap, when the door clicks open, and the three of you sit ramrod straight, Ghost not moving from his already perfect posture.

Price steps in, the door shutting closed behind him.

The silence is a tangible force, and your mouth is so dry, you'd think you were in a desert, not in your lover's office.

His footfalls echo around the modest space, before he leans against his wooden desk, folding his arms over his chest, before directing his furious gaze to you four.

"When I give orders," he starts, and oh god, his tone, it's so unbelievably firm, "I expect my team to follow them."

There's no response, except for the overwhelming quiet coming from the usually passionate and comforting presence that underlies your entire dynamic.

Price clears his throat, meeting all of your eyes one by one. You wonder if you can see the glassiness of yours, the barely restrained tears.

"So why," he begins, before swallowing once more, determination settling in, "Did all four of my teammates rush into an unstable building after being ordered to keep out?"

You know it's not just the anger of a captain's orders being refused.

It's the anger of a lover having to watch all four of his partner's risk their death, while he can do nothing but watch from the scope of a sniper rifle.

The clock on the wall above the door ticks, and none of you make a sound.

Price grabs a pack of cigars from his pocket, quickly sliding one out, placing it between his lips, and shoving the pack back into his slacks. He then pulls out a lighter from his back pocket, lighting the tobacco, before exhaling his first breath of smoke.

In any other situation, you or Gaz would be chastising him, telling him to stop smoking, or to at least do it outside.

Neither of you say a word.

Rubbing at the furrow between his brows, Price then drifts his eyes to Ghost, the only one who hasn't said a word since the mission.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" Price says on a deep exhale, shaking his head. There's hurt there, genuine pain, and your heart stutters in your chest at the sight. "You're my lieutenant, Simon. I thought you'd at least 'ave the brains to listen to me when I make an order."

Ghost's hand tightens where it sit on his cargos, and even with his mask on, you can tell that a disgruntled frown lays beneath it.

"And you, Soap," he looks at the man to your right, now, and you can physically see him deflate at the disappointment in his captain's eyes. "Disrespecting authority is cute 'nd all, until it's me, mate."

Those words feel like a physical wound, even to you, and judging my Soap's crestfallen expression, for him, it must hurt tenfold.

And, then, it's your turn.

His mouth is set in a grim line, and you hope that he can see the regret, the genuine sorrow you feel at disappointing and -- and scaring your captain. Your lover.

"What were you thinking?" He asks, and your mouth wants to open, but it's as if there's an invisible force pinning it shut. "You weren't even supposed to step foot on enemy grounds, and you knew that."

And it's true. Your role is mainly with communications and technical supplies, not actual combat. You were trained, yes, but it has never been your role.

But you'd seen Soap rush in, Ghost trailing after him, yelling, and then Gaz not long after, and it was like your mind shut out any rational lines of thinking. There was no rationale when it came to your partners.

That was a flaw. A genuine character fault, and Price was cementing that fact in this very room.

"Kyle," Price runs his hand down his face, cigar in between his middle and index fingers, "Kyle."

The pain, regret, the melancholy -- it's its own element in this room, its own being, and it feels as if it's choking you from the inside out. Like a gas leak, or a grenade stuck in your throat, about to go off.

Ghost, shockingly, is the first to speak.

"Captain," he grits out. Not 'old man'. Not 'love'.

Captain.

"We're aware of our... misgivings," he states, the words coming off of his tongue like hot coals he needs to rid off, lest his entire mouth burns.

Price nods, slowly, eyes narrowing at Ghost. It hits you, then, how your lover's just dug all of your graves in one sentence. Gaz seems to realise, too, his eyes going wide, exhaling a low, short breath in surprise.

"Sweetheart," he quips, standing up in the transition of one moment to the next, eyes snapping to your glassy ones. The endearment holds no warmth to it, for the first time, and your heart shatters where it beats in your chest, shards of glass embedding into the muscle surround it. "Get on the desk."

He says the words, and in the next movement, sweeps his arm over his desk, causing all of his papers, his pens, his folders, to go careening to the floor.

Soap mutters a curse under his breath, and Gaz winces.

On shaky legs, you stand, walking the short distance to the wooden surface and sitting on it with short pants of breath.

His large hand grips your chin in a tight grasp, tilting your head back and forcing the eye contact between you both.

He leans in, mouth mere millimetres away from your own, before speaking. You can taste the tobacco as he does. "I'm gonna let every single one of my subordinates fuck your disobedient cunt, and it's not gonna get any cum. Do you understand that order, sweetheart?"

It's cruel. Patronising, and so unbearably condescending, but you nod, a tear finally leaking down your cheek.

With a calloused thumb, he wipes it away in one stroke. "Save that for the actual punishment, operator."

And then, he steps back, and takes a seat in his chair, allowing him a full view of the other three still sat at the couch, and your position in his desk.

"This is a lesson on following your captain's orders," Price barks his order, like most other men of his rank would. It's a stone cold contrast to the gentle, comforting way he usual spoke to the four of you. His voice, now, holds no love, no underlying adoration lacing through his words. "You will follow every command I give you, and hopefully, this training will carry onto our future missions."

You're all aware that if it gets too much, one of you will utter the safeword you're all aware of -- the weight of it almost embedded into your beings.

Price knows it, too. And no matter how angry he is, he'll always put you all first, listen to you when you genuinely need to stop.

The feeling in the room has shifted from one of heavy disappointment, to an electrifying anger that has liquid heat melting to your core.

"Simon," Price snaps his fingers, and it's almost as if you're in a parallel universe, because the large man immediately stands. "Lay 'er down on the desk."

Ghost only needs to take two steps from the couch before he's standing in front of you, hand fisting into your hair, before somewhat gently pushing you to lay flat against the smooth surface. Your breathing is harsh, your chest moving in quick rises.

"Strip 'er down," Price orders, voice gravelly as he takes another deep inhale of his cigar, folding his leg so his left ankle rests on his right knee, legs spread wide. He fills out the chair with his frame, and it makes you shiver as Ghost gets to work peeling your clothes off of you.

When your heated skin feels the kiss of the cool air, you let out a haggard breath, head falling back to hit the wood as you clench your eyes shut.

Ghost goes to spread your thighs, before pausing, awaiting Price's directions like a dutiful dog.

You never thought you'd see the day.

"She's wet enough," Price shrugs, taking another drag of his cigar. "Fuck 'er."

Oh, fuck.

He wasn't lying, you were soaking, something about the fear unknowingly having your inner thighs sticky and core aching to be filled.

But... not getting prepped? At all?

Ghost makes a surprised grunt of a noise, pausing for a moment, before recollecting his senses and unbuckling his pants.

Oh. Fuck.

He's really, properly following Price's directions, like the man had demanded. The guilt was eating all of you alive, and that festered in Simon's actions.

His deep brown eyes flick to yours, before he unzips his fly with one hand, gaze not moving from yours. There's slight apology in them, only a hint, before he leans down to spit on your cunt.

You inhale a sharp breath at the act, squeezing your eyes shut as his dick presses against your heat, rubbing against it slightly.

Then, he pushes in -- it makes you cry out, breath hitching as the tip enters. It's a tight fit, but he continues to push in, and it's almost as if you can feel the intrusion, the pressure in your chest.

"So you can follow orders, huh?" Price quips, almost nastily, and it has you shuddering as Ghost's hips finally flush against your own. You don't think you've ever taken any of them without foreplay, and it's a special form of torture. The pressure is almost too much, his cock filling you up so much.

Simon's head hangs between his shoulders, muscles tense as he stares down at you, the epitome of self-restraint.

He always was the most controlling one, the most calculating.

Not today, however.

That title easily belongs to Price, who merely relaxes further into his seat, as if he wasn't just mere feet away from the two of you.

"I said fuck her, Riley. Not stand there and keep it warm."

He's so fucking. He's fucking cruel about this, fully willing and wanting to make this hurt. It's so completely unlike the man you love, and it's psychologically damning in a way nothing else could be.

But, like directed, Simon fucks you.

He stops trying to be kind about it, stops wallowing in guilt. It's rough, forceful, urgent, unlike the way he usually liked to savour your pleasure, your pain. He usually delighted in the smooth, deep strokes, prolonging the passionate act almost vindictively.

No. Now, it's quick, punishing thrusts, and your head falls back and little moans escape your throat.

It's like you've both forgotten that Soap and Gaz sit on the couch, watching, waiting. Price has likely made it that way on purpose, to make them envy the attention you and Ghost are getting.

"Fuck," you moan, tits bouncing as Simon continues to fuck you relentlessly, harsh in his movements.

"Does he feel good?" Price is standing, and when you open glassy eyes, it's to see his face looking down at you. If you had the mind to, you'd flinch under his criticizing expression. "Answer me."

You nod, shakily, and when his brows narrow, you rush out a verbal response. "Yes, yes, he does!"

Price hums a noncommittal sound, before his hand slides down your stomach, leaving your hairs to stand on end, before his fingers reach your clit. In tight circles, he has you on the edge almost immediately, and you cry out.

"Gonna fuckin' cum," Ghost grunts, voice low as his eyes clench tight.

"Aww, you two close?" Your captain's voice is gruff, all too condescending, and just before you can find your release, his hand leaves your clit, and wraps around Ghost's neck. He leans into his ear, and his whisper is loud enough for everyone to hear. "Pull out."

Simon makes a noise suspiciously close to a whimper, and it's so unlike him that it has your eyes opening wide, before he does just as Price ordered.

He pulls out.

"Seriously?" You groan, filter eviscerated like your high was. You lean up, using your elbows for leverage.

Price raises one brow, before scratching at his beard almost absent-mindedly. "Got a complaint, sergeant?"

You shake your head, lightning quick, like a puppet on a string.

That's what you were right now -- what all of you were. Just puppets in whatever acts Price wanted to see you all star in.

It's exhilarating in the worst of ways.

"Soap, Gaz," Price snaps once more, and Ghost is nothing more than a neglected mutt. Which, really, is almost funny considering the amount of times the man teases you, Soap and Gaz about such a comment. You couldn't count the amount of times he's compare you three to 'needy puppies'.

Now, he was nothing more than that, and you wish you could enjoy that fact more.

The two men adhere to the command, radiating nervous energy as they stand to attention, not unlike they would if they were in a standard military unit.

"Gaz, take her mouth," Price demands, before his hand buries in the short hair near the nape of Soap's head with a mean grip, meant to hurt. Soap barely hides a whine as Price tugs him, forcing the man to his knees as if he's nothing more than the mutt Ghost usually refers to him as. "You, lick 'er clean."

You realise, then, what exactly this is.

It's truly a display of power. Of control. Because you four took that away from him on the field, unrightfully so. There truly is thought behind his anger, his pain.

It only makes the ache in your heart burn, makes it bruise and bleed where the shattered pieces cut and embed into the innerworkings of your body.

This 'training' won't make up for what you four pulled. Not in the slightest.

But it's something to let John get some of his emotions out, in a somewhat healthier way than you lot usually resorted to.

You'd always offer your support, offer yourself, and he knows that.

He's deliberately taking away that option for you, taking control to comfort the side of him that is so deeply ingrained, so deeply relied on for him to live.

You love him. So effortlessly.

Those words remain accurate, even as Johnny first licks over your wet pussy, and Kyle's dick bumps against your lips.

Opening your mouth without a thought, Kyle's tip slips in, his pre-cum salty on your tongue as you flatten your tongue against it. Johnny's as enthusiastic as ever, maybe even more than usual, as he delegates all of his attention to your aching warmth.

John's grip doesn't release from Johnny's hair, shoving his closer against you, and the sight is so hot that you wish you could fully, properly enjoy it.

Another time, when you're all in better spots, happy and unapologetic, you'll ask them to re-enact the scene.

Johnny moans against your pussy, hands coming up to grip at your bare thighs, and you just know there'll be finger-shaped bruises come tomorrow morning. He's always been unaware of his strength, not understanding the proper damage he can inflict, especially in the bedroom. It's attractive as all hell.

"Yeah? She taste good, hm?" John nearly snarls, and you let out a drawn out moan at the pleasure and words. The sound is muffled by Kyle pushing in deeper, having you almost gagging on his length.

Your eyes flutter shut at the onslaught of feelings, but even with no sight, you can feel Simon's eyes on you like a physical weight.

You know what position he's in, without having to look. Leaning against the wall with a furious expression, large arms folded over his bulky chest. Maybe he's pulled off his mask, maybe it's just been hooked over his crooked nose.

"Fuck, cap," Kyle groans, bucking into your throat. "So fuckin' good--"

Johnny muffles a whine as his efforts nearly double, and you swear spots colour the darkness of your vision. You're already there, and it's not like you can say anything, with Kyle abusing your mouth like this.

"She's close, ain't she, Johnny? Feel her clenchin' on your tongue?" John taunts, and you can feel Johnny nod against your core, nose brushing your clit as he does.

John huffs a cruel laugh, before he abruptly pulls Johnny away by the scruff of his neck. You can't help by buck up, searching for touch, but none comes.

"Kyle," John's tone is one requiring no resistance, and with a shaky exhale, Kyle pulls out of your mouth, a string of spit clinging to his dick, before snapping and leaving your cheek covered with a line of it.

You shakily open your eyes, your pussy begging for a release, knowing that you won't get one. Not yet.

"You make a mess, you clean it up," John says.

So, Kyle leans down, his tongue licking over the spit trail, and really it should be disgusting.

Instead, it only makes you wetter.

Your thighs incessantly shake, no hint of stopping as your body aches. The emotional turmoil, mixed with the physical kind -- it's a concoction for torture.

With half-lidded eyes, you watch as John forces Johnny's head in between your breasts, pressing his face into them. It must be almost suffocating, but Johnny manages to whine as you feel John's hand wrap around Johnny's dick, positioning it against your twitching hole.

"Rut into her," John orders, before stepping back.

Johnny does just that -- he thrusts in, bottoming out with one push. Your moan sounds too alike to a squeal at the stretch, the sudden intrusion. Your arms wrap around his back, nails scratching lines down Johnny's back as he thrusts into you almost manically. You're sure that you're drawing blood, but it only seems to encourage the man rutting into you further, his thrusts urgent and feral.

"Jesus christ," someone -- you're sure it's Kyle -- murmurs, and you suddenly want to know what you must look like from a spectator. Ruined, probably.

Your breaths are harried as you feel yourself getting close once more, tears burning at the corner of your vision at the pure need coursing through your veins.

"Please," you whimper, squeezing like a vice around Johnny's dick. "Please, oh god."

"Now you want me to make decisions? Let you two cum?" There's a hand in your hair, and in any other situation, it'd be calming.

Currently, it feels like a thinly veiled threat.

"Please, John, 'm so sorry, please," you beg, eyes blurry as you look up into the man's stormy blue eyes.

Usually, they're comparable to a calm ocean, the beach mid-summer.

Now, they're akin to the darkest of storms, the ones sailors whisper about, the ones that haunt them while they're asleep at sea. Ones that cause shipwrecks to wash up on shores, ones that cause stories to be passed between campers on the scariest of nights.

"Now you're sorry, sweetheart?" And, oh, there's a sliver of the warmth you've come to crave, and it almost has you melting where you lay.

You're so close, you can taste it on your tongue, and your moans get louder, needier, more frantic --

"Stop, Johnny."

Tears fall, then. Hot and heavy down your cheeks, leaving sticky tracks in their wake. Hiccups fall from your lips as you sob from the deprevation.

Johnny whines, head drooped low as he stops, and you can feel him pulse inside of you, both of you at your wits' end.

"You follow orders so well in this room, don't you?" John says. The voice of a captain.

It's almost your last straw. The devastation is too great, the mix of physical and emotion stress weighing on you heavily.

"'M so sorry, shoulda listened," you cry, body trembling.

"John, please, we're sorry," Kyle insists, a furrow between his dark brows where he takes a step closer to you and Johnny.

Simon, although silent, is also closer to you both now than he had been, no longer stood against the wall.

Your boys -- they're so inherently protective, and it's such a nice feeling. No matter how guilty they feel, how genuinely sorry, they can't stand to see you or Johnny so weak, so vulnerable.

Love. You love them, in a way words can never describe.

John exhales. A deep, thoughtful one.

"We're talking about this, after we're all cleaned up," he says. It's the first hint of himself that you've heard tonight, and the relief is like an intoxicating drug.

It's like even the room itself takes a deep breath, dispelling of some of the tension lining every inch of it.

"Off 'er," John snaps his fingers, and Johnny pulls out with a small whimper, head still hung low.

Grabbing your hips, John flips you over, making you bend so your face is to the desk and your ass is in the air. His large hand presses against your lower back, bending you into an arch.

He slides in, and it's an easy entry. You don't think you've been more wet in your life, and gods, you need it.

Setting a ruthless pace immediately, every thrust forces a whimper, a moan, a whine out of your mouth, eyes dazed as your cheek presses against the wood. His hand fists into your hair, forcing your head to face the three men stood side by side, watching you both with a flurry of emotions behind heavy stares.

"Feel so fuckin' good, christ," John seethes, his grip tightening in your hair, causing your moan to become louder as it leaves your lips.

It isn't long before you're at that cliff once more, begging for a final push, just so you can reach that finish you ache for.

"Gonna, fuck, please, let me cum, John, I love you, I'm so sorry," your words aren't fully your own, and they come out in a desperate plea.

"Yeah? My girl gonna cum for me? Needy slut."

Those words are your undoing, your nirvana.

You cum, body strung tight as tears fall down your cheeks once more, your vision nearly blacking out with the strength of your orgasm. It's almost painful, the stimulation altogether too much, and not enough.

John finishes not long after, his cum filling you up with a loud groan from him.

He releases his fist in your hair, and you head falls to the desk, body slumping with the final release of pleasure.

Stroking a smoothing hand down your back, he pulls out, and you can feel his seed leaking down your thighs. You must be a sight -- all worn out and dripping with the white liquid.

"We don't getta cum?" Johnny whines, and you can hear the roll of Simon's eyes.

There's a hand stroking stray hairs off of your face, and from the texture and size of the limb you can tell it's Kyle.

"You won't get to tomorrow, either, if you keep tha' up," Price mutters, and you let out a delusional giggle at his words. You're cum-drunk, almost, from how drawn out your orgasm had been.

"We really are sorry, Cap," Kyle murmurs genuinely, and the hurt is a sharp barb on his tongue. "You know we love you, didn't mean to hurt you."

John releases a long, worn-out breath. "I know that. I do. But you're a bunch of reckless muppets 'nd you fuckin' went too far today. I'm your captain, lover or not."

"We'll talk it over later," Simon states, and you can't help but agree with the sentiment.

You will. And it'll be a painful conversation, but one that you all owe to your captain.

Because, at the end of the day, you four would do anything for the man that you love. That includes the tough words, the difficult exchanges.

John presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, and with complete certainty, you're sure that you're all going to be okay.

a/n. the day that i stop loving poly 141 is the day that i die. price needs all the love omg this one kinda hurt to write cause oof angst but hopefully it was an enjoyable read!!!! thank you to everyone who comments on my fics, your notes etc make me do a lil happy dance ily all!!!!!!!!!!!!

#⌨️ : love's writing #call of duty #cod mw2 #cod x reader #ghost cod #mw2 #simon ghost riley #soap cod #ghost mw2 #price x reader #john price #captain price #price #tf141 #cod #kyle gaz garrick #soap #gaz x reader #gaz garrick #soap x you #soap x reader #ghost x soap x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you #poly tf141 #tf 141 x reader #johnny soap mactavish #captain john price #tf 141 #cod modern warfare

[slavonicrhapsody]

Ranni has every reason to hate Marika. She is the figurehead of an order that has caused her and her family so much misery… and yet, in the Age of the Stars ending cutscene, Ranni holds Marika’s head with such gentleness. It feels less like Ranni is putting down a tyrant, and more like she’s laying her to rest, after many long years of torment. 

Ranni could have been Marika’s successor, but she rejected the guidance of the Two Fingers, slaying her own flesh in order to be rid of their influence: 

“But I would not acquiesce to the Two Fingers. I stole the Rune of Death, slew mine own Empyrean flesh, casting it away. I would not be controlled by that thing.”

Ranni goes to such drastic lengths because the most intolerable thing possible to her is to be a pawn; her will not being her own, but being at the mercy of a higher power. Ranni’s quest is above all about free will – it culminates with Ranni using the Fingerslayer Blade to tear her Two Fingers into bloody ribbons, at long last giving her full control over her own destiny.

Marika in the present day is a prisoner held in perpetual torment. According to Enia and the Two Fingers,

"Queen Marika is the vessel of the Elden Ring, carrier of its vision. A god, in truth. But after the Elden Ring's shattering, she was imprisoned in the Erdtree. A grim punishment for shattering the Order, despite her godhood. The Fingers speak... "Marika's trespass demanded a heavy sentence. But even in shackles, she remains a god, and the vision's vessel.”

Marika shattered the Order, going against the will of the Two Fingers, and was punished for it gravely. In many ways, Marika’s fate is Ranni’s absolute worst nightmare. This is exactly the fate she took such drastic lengths to escape… serving a higher power with her entire being, her will not her own, but the will of the Fingers, with any attempt at change met with violent suppression, her body essentially being used as a puppet to defend the last vestiges of the Order.

“I would not be controlled by that thing.”

I think that Ranni, seeing Marika’s broken body at the end of it all, felt nothing but pity for her in that moment, despite everything she’d done. To me, the act of Ranni holding Marika’s head in her hands feels like she’s saying, “you were my enemy. But there is no worse fate in this world than what you suffered. Now, you can be truly free."

#elden ring #marika #ranni #ranni the witch #queen marika the eternal #thee mother-daughter relationship that wasn't!!! #also the parallel that the fingers will us to become marika’s consort as elden lord #whereas we choose to become ranni’s consort though she tries to warn people away with her message on the ring #also also ranni being fated to become marika’s successor but she instead follows in the footsteps of rennala #rejecting her godly mother’s destiny in favor of the traditions of her ‘chosen’ mother #there's just so muchhhh #ranni's pause while she's cradling marika's head towards her chest makes me feel something

[starrluvs]

the facesitting drabbles, ughhhhhh could you possibly do one with johnny cage & kenshi too?? doing gods work fr <3

𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍𝐍𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐆𝐄 | 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐇𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈 + 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆

cw: afab reader, oral (fem receiving), facesitting, established relationship, mentions of kenshi's tower ending

wc: 749

a/n: omg my second anon request! yall are already making me so happy, and i hope i delivered properly! and i wasn't expecting these facesitting drabbles to get so much attention, but tysm!! also my asks are still open, so feel free to request something! im in desperate need of ideas 😭

𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍𝐍𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐆𝐄

johnny was always adventurous when it came to trying new things in the bedroom. but when he asked you to sit on his face, you weren't too fond of the idea… what if you accidentally ended up hurting him? with a bit of (classic johnny cage) sweet talk, you reluctantly agreed. 

and you were very fortunate for giving in to him eventually because you felt as if you were on cloud nine. johnny always had a pleasure for pleasing partners, so he’s gone down on you multiple times before… but the feeling of literally having your pussy all over his face like this was certainly something transcendent.

all your worries were washed away as he worked his tongue inside of you, desperately trying to reach in as far as he could. johnny’s actions made your eyes roll back in pleasure as you let out a string of moans along with his name.

the actor chuckles underneath you and decides to change things up, relishing in all the reactions you offered him. his big hands secured a strong grip on your hips as he helped you ride his face at a steady pace.

you feel your clit occasionally bump on his nose, followed by the flat surface of his tongue collecting all your juices as he helps you rock back and forth above him. the feeling of him stimulating your core started to become overwhelming as that familiar coil starts to bubble up inside of you.

you grab johnny’s hair and an incoherent warning escapes your lips, trying to tell him you were close– but it proved to be useless as he felt your thighs spasming around his head. the actor grins as he looks up at you and lets you ride out your high with his tongue.

he could tell you finally washed away that worry of ‘hurting’ him once you looked down at him with lust filled eyes– your lips slightly parted as you were catching your breath. his well kept brown hair was now a disheveled mess and your slick was smudged all over his face.

your beloved hollywood star looked like a work of art.

𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐇𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈

gaining his new occupation with the outworld investigation agency meant kenshi became a very busy man. he knew how much time he’d have to put into this and he knew he couldn't always be there to coddle you. however, when he did get the time to make up for his absence, he knew how to properly deliver.

his apology this time around resulted in you sitting on top of the ex-yakuza’s face with his tattooed hands roaming all over your breasts, hips, thighs, ass, everything– all while his tongue licked fat stripes up your pussy.

your thighs felt like cushions around his head, and the warmness of it made him feel like he wouldn’t mind taking a load off from work and staying trapped beneath you forever. his tongue was warm and his occasional strikes against your clit were sharp and steady, making your head spin.

trying to hold back your moans, you cover your mouth with the back of your hand, causing all your sounds to come out muffled. much to the swordsman's displeasure, he bites your inner thigh and makes you yelp. knowing better than to test him, you whine and remove the back of your hand, allowing your noises to come out freely.

despite kenshi still being able to see in his own way with the guidance of sento and his ancestors, he had learned to deeply appreciate his sense of sound (and taste, in this position) ever since he was blinded. the ex-yakuza relished in your sounds much more than he used to before the events that transpired in outworld. 

muttering out an apology to him, kenshi smirks and dives back into your heat. his hands rest on your ass as he squeezes it and ushers you to grind harder on his face. you don't disappoint– grinding messily over his mouth while he attempts to catch it all with his tongue had you moaning in delight. 

you missed this, you missed him– the feeling of his tongue hitting angles inside of you that nobody else could. the feeling of his hands gripping at your flesh, urging you to chase your high. hell– even the feeling on his stubble scratching against the inside of your thighs and your puffy lips down there…

and fortunately for you, kenshi had no intentions of letting you rest tonight.

#johnny cage #kenshi takahashi #johnny cage x reader #kenshi takahashi x reader #johnny cage smut #kenshi takahashi smut #mortal kombat #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat smut

[igotanidea]

Just right: Anthony Bridgerton x reader

part 1 to too much

part 2 : not enough

part 3 : almost there

part 4: Stuck

A/N: I am NOT sorry for all the possible spellings and punctuation mistakes there. It's been almost 2 months since "Stuck" and I am FREAKING OUT posting this while crying because it's over. Enjoy and thank you <3

Warnings: end of series, 4082 words (!!)

***

He felt like a fool.

Reverting to his old ways instead of showing all the emotions coursing through his veins.

Turning around and walking away, leaving her alone, when all he wanted was to fall to her knees and beg for forgiveness.

But how would the viscount Bridgerton look, while doing so, observed by all the ton, including the two biggest gossipers in the person of lady Featherington and lady Danburry?

Seemed like whatever he would choose to do, he would end up being a dolt.

“Anthony!”

He didn’t even flinch hearing someone calling him, nor recognize the voice. Too stubborn to stop he only continued his marching pace, hoping for the love of god that whoever dared to try and approach him in this furibund mood would get discouraged.

Not very gentlemanly of him.

“Anthony!”

He quickened his pace.

“Anthony Bridgerton!”

“What?” he almost spat spinning around on his heel, leaving a dent in the ground, taking on his most stern expression. If his obvious ignorance of the caller was not a deterrent perhaps the frown and fiery eyes would.

Supposedly it might have worked on anyone else, but soon enough Anthony transformed from the head of a family and the viscount into a little child, upon noticing that it was his mother, exhorting him to the halt.

“Mother…” he muttered looking at the ground, having only confirmed his previous theory of his role in this entire disarray.

“Let us take a walk.” Violet smiled brightly taking her eldest’s arm and imposing a walking rather than soldierly pace. “What did you Anthony?” the gentle expression never left her face even when she was scoffing her unmanageable child.

“Why would you think it was me that--?” the viscount took the last resort to protect his own pride, but the tightening grip on his forearm betrayed the fact that Violet knew the entire backstory, behind the marital disagreement.

“I raised you. I daresay it gives me enough knowledge to not answer your question. “

“If you let me –"

“Don’t, Anthony. Y/N has been nothing less but charming since the beginning.. "

"That's the way to describe her--" the man muttered

"Strong-willed and persuasive, surely, you wouldn’t take anything but, but charming nonetheless. So do tell me so we could remedy the damage before it arises further.”

“Shall you mistake me for Daphne and ask about my feelings—”

“Anthony Bridgerton!”

“I am a man, mother. A head of the family.”

“Clearly said head has been missing guidance in the right direction.”

“Mother!”

“Do not raise your voice on me son.”

“Apologies…”

“Good.” Violet beamed serenely “Do you think me so little knowledgeable to ask your emotions? I do not. I’m merely asking for facts, which you clearly have such a strong inclination to.”

Anthony mumbled something once more.

“do you wish you lose your wife, viscount?”

“What?” such possibility never crossed his mind. Y/N’s anger, her hurt, pain and merciless avoidance – yes. Abandonment and lack of her presence nearby? No. She would never… She could never. Lord above, who was she thinking she was? A woman married into a noble family wanting to cause a scandal by resenting her husband?

And once again, while his heart should have been shattered and humble enough to clarify the turmoil, the sudden blood rush turned into clenched fists and ire. All because he could not bare the thought of losing her for good, however hiding behind all the negativity was easier. It was something he was used to for years.

Nevertheless it was impossible to deny the facts further. It was her influence that caused the improbable openness in his soul was the exact same reason of his spirit bleeding.

And he needed her back.

Each minute without her was a minute lost. A minute less in the so very limited time they were given as a miracle on earth.

“What do I do?” he raised gaze at his mother, now truly looking like a lost man. Man in love, who was probably not the most romantic and gentle one with words, but still deeply infatuated with the woman who gave her whole life to him.

“Do not fret my dear. We shall alleviate the situation immediately.”

***

Y/N’s feelings were beyond anything possible to describe with words.

There she was, with her feet rooted to the ground, wishing for – and willing to accept – apologies but met with the harsh reality of the stone wall of Anthony’s behavior.

Accompanied by Eloise, smirking like the know-it-all she was, and Benedict with the compassion written all over his face.

Presumably, shall they not be there, the young lady viscountess Bridgerton would abandon all the pretenses of a woman of her position and begun blubbering in the middle of the promenade. However, the most mischievous of Bridgerton siblings acted with wit and sense, involving their dear sister-in-law in a challenging conversation, capably hauling her away from prying eyes and gossipmongers, preventing any possible rumors about incongruousness.

***

For unmistakable reasons she was not in the mood to see their ludicrous older brother and with the sudden disappearance of Violet, Benedict and Eloise took the privilege to invite Y/N back to the Bridgerton’s family house and extend the invitation for indefinite period of time. After all, Anthony might have been the head of the family as he proudly announced to anyone who was willing to disobey his wished and/or not listen, but Benedict was the oldest bachelor of the house and was more than willing to make a few decisions of his own to finally be seen as something more than merely second son and waiting for his time. 

***

Violet returned home few hours later and accepted the presence of her daughter-in-law with a mysterious smile and not a single word of objection. As amazing and uplifting as such approach might have been, it was also highly surprising. Viscountess Bridgerton was well known for her mitigating skills and tendency to scotch conflicts almost immediately, especially in her own family.

And it raised a lot of questions and secrets that Y/N and Eloise tried to uncover spending the night in the former’s bedchambers, talking for hours, creating conspiracy theories and preparing for whatever may have been coming.

Cause the fact that Violet was going to help her oldest son in winning back his wife’s attention was more than conspicuous.

Only that Y/N, who was forgiving and accepting at the begging was slowly turning cold at the fact that her husband could not simply apologize but rather resorted to some intricate ways of regaining her favor.

After a year of marriage, should he not know her enough for independent ideas and not seek his mother's avail?

***

First thing happening in the very early morning, was Y/N’s most trusted servant humbly asking for her lady’s time, which was bizarre and – as any other family may have deemed – inadequate and even shaming.

Moreover, any other house would quickly discard the commoner showing at the mighty's doorstep but Bridgertons were prone to discarding rules in private and with those who earned their trust. Be it servants or nobles. And Y/N was no exception to the rule, welcoming her maid with a smile upon seeing the person from her own household.

“My lady.” The girl bowed so low, she almost touched the floor with her nose.

“My dear Laura, please stand up, there is really no need for that-“ Y/N grabbed her hands and forced the girl up. “I assure you that-“

“But Lady Violet and Miss Bridgerton –“

“I assure you that they do not expect you to kiss the ground they walk on.” Y/n almost laughed at Laura’s discombobulation. Poor one was doing everything in her power to not make her lady embarrassed and act like a good and obedient servant, almost expecting Violet or Eloise to be cruel and judgmental.

“Dear Y/N, did you give your helpers the idea that we are some sort of tyrants?” Violet send her daughter-in-law a honest smile, which immediately got Laura’s reaction in the form of blushing.

“Lady Bridgerton I apologies if my appearance is the dishonor on-”

She didn’t even finish the sentence, met with Y/N, Violet’s and Eloise’s laugh and a polite look from more balanced Francesca sitting on the chaise longue.

“Do not fret, my girl, we are more than happy to welcome you in our household.”

“Tha-thank you my lady…”

‘Now I assume you came to talk to your lady, so we shall give you some privacy. Come girls, make haste for the matter to cover is of utmost delicacy.”

“And how shall you know it mamma?” Hyacinth almost twitched her ears, not really understanding much of why Y/N was with them rather than with Antony, but curious as a young girl could be.

“Precisely mamma, how shall you know?” Eloise, immediately picked up her sister’s question, only not so susceptible to extenuations.

“Eloise Bridgerton, I shall expect you to practice the bowing before your incoming debut in front of the queen. Daphne made quite an impression and –“

“Daphne was deemed diamond of the season and such title is below my ambition.”

“Regardless, you do not want to trip or slip do you?”

Eloise (and everyone else) obviously remembered what happened to Featherington’s sisters and the embarrassment so with a heavy, exaggerated sigh and one quick, sharp, bright look at Y/N Eloise left the room, followed by her mother and sisters.

And once the lady and her trusted eyes and ears of the house were alone, who could stop the two of turning a lot more unmindful of societal norms?

“My lady, the lord has been quite annoyed since the quarrel you lordships have had. He even refused to eat his favorite meal.” Laura confessed with blushing cheeks

“Are you to tell me that Prescott prepared the roasted pork for Anthony after he was so unjust towards the lady of the house? I shall have a word about a loyalty with him upon my return.” Y/N satirized wholeheartedly.

“When shall you return my lady? Seeing as that viscount is not the one to have a change of heart and admit his wrongdoing easily?”

“He will Laura. One way or another I am fairly convinced my husband may take a long way to do so and take the aid of his mother whilst deciding. It’s just I am not fully convinced if the apology made with cheating are worth accepting.”

“Oh! You took the lower route here my lady forgive the audacity.”

“Just the route of a woman who expect honesty from her man.”

“Fair enough I suppose. But shall you be agitated my lady I take it you do not wish to accept the viscount bestowment?”

“Bestowment?” Y/N frowned a little in confusion “and what shall that be?”

“I do not know, my lady. I am merely a messenger—”

“I believed you to be on my side Laura.”

“And I am, my lady! But one do not object the command of the lord, that is clearly ready to vent his anger on the first soul that happen to be unfortunate enough to be around.”

“My god, you are a prattler!” Y/N laughed “where is that gift in question? Cause since it is mine either way we might as well get a little curious, shall we? Would be such a shame to put it to waste.”

Laura stood up from her chair and started heading to the corridor, but Hyacynth was first to barge into the room carrying some parcel that was almost bigger than her.

“Y/N! Is this that gift from Anthony!?” clearly she was eavesdropping  “Can we take a look, please? It’s so big I wonder what it is? Come on, open it up! Open it up!”

“Curiosity killed the cat.” Eloise muttered but there was no denying she was equally curious as her sister.

Y/N only rolled  her eyes, inviting all the girls over and opening the box. Fishing out the most beautiful and definitely expensive new dress. The color was perfectly matching Y/N’s complexion and the material delicate yet durable – Anthony knew his wife and her adventurous tendencies.

“It’s so beautiful and elegant” Francesca whispered touching the dress with delight.

“So what, he think he can just buy her the garment and she will forgive him?” Eloise scoffed “Men are so simple minded and belittling of women!”

“Try it on, Y/N!” Hyacinth encouraged, almost jumping from excitement

“Do not try it on! This would be relenting!” Eloise objected.

“He made a gesture!”

“It’s not a gesture! It’s an attempt of buying her forgiveness!”

“Y/N!”

“Y/N?!”

“Quiet!” Y/N finally managed to break through the noise of two sisters. ““No offence girls, but this is my marriage and my decision. One I have to make by myself. So thank you “ she smiled brightly but with a hint of annoyance “for your positions on things, but I am perfectly capable of weighting the significance of the gift, on my conviction to forgive or not forgive him.”

“Uhm. My lady” Laura cleared her throat “I’d like to elaborate that the viscount also made an invitation to one special place….”

“Do not go Y/N!”

“Stop interfering Eloise! Y/N you have to go!”

“For heaven’s sake, Violet is truly a saint for surviving you two!” “Uhm. My lady” Laura cleared her throat “I’d like to elaborate that the viscount also made an invitation to one special place….”

“Do not go Y/N!”

“Stop interfering Eloise! Y/N you have to go!”

“For heaven’s sake, Violet is truly a saint for surviving you two!”

***

Anthony was waiting for her in the garden outside some estate she had no idea existed. After all, Y/N has spent her entire life in London, rarely being invited to the cottage. And in this case it could have been used a leverage, not that he was aiming for measuring forces and cold calculation.

No.

He was walking back and forth, almost trampling a path in the ground in a place where it should never be. Nervous enough to anxiously fiddle with his fingers like a lady before her debut entering the society. Hoping she would come. Wishing for any entity in heaven might want to listen that she would take this dress he send her as an expression of humility rather than boosting like a rooster. Praying that Eloise wasn’t there with her sharp tongue and unrestrained thoughts to discourage his beloved from accepting both the gift and the invitation.

The minutes turned to hours and even his father’s pocket watch refused to work with Anthony in this important moment. Having no regard to the poor flowers any other plants standing no chances against his heavy riding boots, the time seemed to stand still.

For whatever it was worth it, Anthony Bridgerton swore to himself that he would rather turn into a sack of boned waiting in this desolate place than walk away while there was still a glimmer of hope she might appear. He was done and fatigued with missed opportunities, poorly chosen and ill-spoken words.

It was never his intention to said all those atrocious words to her.

Too much.

Dear Lord.

Now that he was thinking about it, his heart was capering in a way that filled him with self-hatred. After all the pain he might have caused her during that little hurtful exchange while she did nothing more than be there for him. Even if he not exactly wished for it. Even if he himself didn’t know that her presence in his life was the best thing that happened since his father’s death. If not since forever.

Anthony wasn’t the one to believe in signs or any spiritual influence on earth, but the more he was dwelling on his own misery, the more deliberative of their first meeting he was becoming.

It was late lord Bridgerton’s death anniversary and as any other year – he separated himself from the rest of the family. To show how adamant his heart and mind was and to underline that this was nothing more than just another day in a line of any other similar ones. But the truth was, he wanted to visit his father’s grave alone without any possible disturbances or havoc that his younger siblings could have caused. None of them really knew Edmund Bridgerton the way Anothony did. The first born son, the heir to the title, deprived of his father’s guidance and presence and forced to take responsibility for the family in way too young age.

He needed to be by himself, cause god forbid anyone seeing him showing any signs of humanity and indulging in grief.

And his family knew and accepted it.

She didn’t.

Just a stranger, strolling by herself in the area, looking like a commoner, having no regards to the sanctity of the moment nor the place she found herself in.

And worse for her – spotting Anthony in the never-seen moment of vulnerability written all over his face.

“Lord Bridgerton” she bowed in a way that showed that the savage, Anthony took her for, actually had manners. And that he knew him, but this was not so unexpected.

He only grunted in response to annoyed by an unfortunate set of circumstances that worked against her. The viscount himself was not going to bow to a girl that was clearly a servant, with messy hair and in a dress that was far from anything a woman, even of lower position should be seen in.

“Don’t you have anywhere else to be, girl?” he muttered under his nose, throwing daggers with his eyes.

“I’m sorry my lord but-“

“You should be sorry. I am convinced your lady nor your lord will be pleased with the fact that their service wanders alone in an area that does not belong to them!”

“Service?” Y/N smirked looking at him with amusement and twinkling eyes. And Anthony with his youthful energy and virility could not miss the fact that she was actually pretty.

“Yes, service.” He hissed at her “now get out of here girl, before you get yourself in far more trouble from me and end up on the street!”

“I shall-“ she obviously was not going to let anyone maltreat her like that, but her acuity wore up that very moment. She noticed the weariness in viscount’s eyes, noticed the monument nearby, and realized what day of the month it was.

“Forgive me, my lord.” She bowed in respect “I shall be on my way. And I shall not mention this meeting to anyone, hopefully wishing for you to forget my impertinence.”

She was gone as fast as she appeared, and Anthony thought to never see her again.

Until the next rout Daphne was attending, where he actually did.

Immediately realizing the scope of his previous mistake, upon learning that the service girl was in fact Miss Y/L/N, the youngest daughter of Lord Y/L/N. And met with another look of those glistening eyes and amused face expression. Forced to accompany her for the evening, since apparently Lady Bridgerton and Lady Y/L/N has made some arrangements for the future.

He was thinking it was all just a coincidence back then, but now he came to conclusion that it must have been his father who send this girl into his life. Knowing better than him that she would turn his ways around, challenge him, test him patience mercilessly and yet – that she would be the one to love him unconditionally and whom he would love with all his broken and unperfect self.

And the burden of possibility of ruining it all for them was even more overwhelming.

He clasped his hands behind his back, walking shorter and shorter distances, turning back more and more often, stuck in his belief that he would stay here as long as she didn't show up, even if -

“Anthony.”

Viscount spun around so abruptly it almost caused him falling to the ground.

She came.

She truly came.

It was like meeting her all over again, back in time, back next to his father’s grave.

Only she wasn’t looking like a servant girl now.

She was wearing the dress he sent her, looking not only like a viscountess, but like a queen herself. His queen. His wife. His love. His everything.

Her skin was radiant due to the color of the material (just like Violet predicted), cheeks flushed, hair done in perfect curls surrounding her face, bright like a sun.

“Y/N….”

“It was so unwise on your part viscount to call upon me and invite me into a wild place a woman like me should never step foot on.” She said sternly, but the everlasting and never changing glistening of her eyes betrayed her true intention “and perilous, may I say? Far from the city? Lady travelling alone? So many hazards awaiting me on the way.”

“Benedict and Colin were following your post chaise.”

“Oh I knew I heard someone laughing on the way. But my coachman brushed my concerns off!”

“Did you really believed I would send my greatest treasure into the wild without proper security?” Anthony took a few steps forwards, reaching for her hands and placing gentle kiss on her knuckles.

“Your brothers?” Y/N let him show the courtesy, but raised eyes in skepticism of the words.

“Believe me my lady, you should never underestimate the man of the Bridgerton house.”

“In what aspect my lord?”

“In every aspect, dear.” He looked deep into her eyes.

“Why did you ask me to meet you here?” Y/N quickly averted her eyes, because Anthony’s gaze were so full of passion, love and genuine remorse and apology she found herself falling into his charms. And this couldn’t have been so easy for him. “You sister discounselled me on coming here.”

“And yet, you came my lady.” Anthony reached for her chin and slowly, gently and with tenderness turned her face towards him so that their eyes had to meet again.

“Anthony I –“

“My love, I am sorry.”

“this is not—”

“Let me speak” he hushed her, not breaking eye contact. “I asked you here, because this is the very place where my father asked for my mother’s hand. Where he pledged her his undying love, support and loyalty. And you, out of all people in the world, learned how much I cherish my father’s memory and his legacy.

“Anthony-“

“Therefore, here I am. Standing in front of you, expressing my deepest condolences-“

“Oh, dear lord, Tony!” she cried out in frustration “stop using the words you would say to me if Lady Whistledown were nearby! Tell me how you feel!”

How he felt was not with words.

How he felt was expressed by the way he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her to his chest, capturing her lips in the searing but gentle kiss that conveyed more than any noble and dignified words of a lord could.

I love you.

By his strong arms encompassing her like a shelter from the storm.

I won’t ever let go of you.

By tender caress of her hair and back.

I will always cherish you.

By the way his lips were moving against her, whispering silent words understood only by two souls forevermore yearning for each other.

I am sorry.

She was the first one to pull back for air, reluctantly so.

“My love. My beloved.”

She smiled at him, connecting their foreheads, allowing his arms to tighten around her waist and waiting for what was coming next to assess the truth behind his words.

“Am I too much now?” she whispered

“You are always too much. To much for me to keep. To much for me to even wish and pray for. Too much of a blessing in my life. Too much in the best possible sense and—”

This time It was her who cut him off by a kiss, silencing anything else that might come from his lips. He was honest and sincere. And if he was trying to apologize by saying anything else and backing out on what he said back there she probably would not forgive him sensing manipulation. But this?

“I forgive you.” She whispered against his lips.

“Thank God.”

“Is this cottage inhabited or--?”

“No. It’s not. And I intend on taking advantage of it right this moment.” He grabbed her and carried inside bridal style, ready to not get back to London for at least a couple days.

(spoiler alert below)

I got a request for a fluff pregnancy fic.... <3

@pietrawebster @chrissisheadisinclouds @fuzzym4m4 @gloomysel @urfavnoirette @dd122004dd @milkbummm @bevstofu @taniasethi @syraxnyra @christinabae @pandoraneverland @bevstofu @topguncultleader @jana-jaeynneee @myaa21212121 @ziarah @cat-lockwood @leaf-rose-thorn @elissanatok @lily3450 @nervousmumbling @budugu @frickin-bats @sillyfreakfanparty @amberpanda99 @nycthophiliaa @myaa21212121 @bananaadeleigate @everybodystaycalm @fmhcatt @sankareatheundead @cat-lockwood @1potato2rulethemall @bloommart @lorinevv @taylorswars @jessiegerl @glocuseguardian3rd @angiieguevara @laurasdrey @jholiday @smailaway @some-random-stranger-007 @beckahhope @bookishtheaterlover7 @eclecticcollectioncloud @thingfromlove @dutifullyannoyingfox @kitkat14sblog @dancingandreadingwithv @heyits-zedo @superhighschoollevelnerd-blog1 @ben-has-arrived @kindaslightlyacidic @espressopatronum454 @miluiel1 @powellssaturn @jess4rush @krismdavis @yourgirlypop

#anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton fic #bridgerton angst #anthony bridgerton angst

[tarjapearce]

I wonder what mama would be like when she was pregnant with benji? Was she more active?? Anyways, have a good day/night!

💗💗💗

Benjamin's Pregnancy

Suggestive, fluff and little angst. No proofread ~ c:

After the little stunt in the lookout spot and the police officers calling out your hornytis, you returned home.

But that only had you climbing Miguel like a tree as soon as he closed the door behind you. Not that he complained in the slightest.

"W-Wait" He was mumbling through kisses as you struggled to get his damned shirt out. Hormones running in a brazen flurry all over your body. A single purpose engraved in your grey matter. Make a baby.

"Te juro que si no me haces un bebé-" (I swear that if you don't make me a baby right now)

Miguel only carried your hormone crazed body over his shoulder and gave a low whistle.

"Espérate tantito, mi reina."(Wait a minute).

He tittered as his ears turned pink, like his cheeks, "Let me get the water first."

Cause in truth, you wouldn't give him a rest. Not until your body knew that it was enough. It both amazed yet low key terrified him. He'd awake sore and stiff, spent and completely drained while the overall glow oozed from every pore of your body. Both sex's drive were high, but when ovulating, he had to acknowledge your stamina undoubtedly outmatched him. But the goofy and spent smile you'd awake with later was the perfect reward.

With a roll of his shoulders and a water pitcher on hand and some glasses, he closed the master bedroom's door and begun his work.

----

Your grip only tightened on his waist as tears flowed down your cheeks. He showered your face in soft kisses and loving praises upon watching the positive outcome in the pregnancy test.

"We're having a baby!"

God, he loved the excitement in your voice, the way your tears were out of joy, and the fact you were gonna make him a father, again. It was impossible to not feel the same amount of excitement you were experiencing.

His big hands wiped your eyes and cupped your cheeks while kissing your forehead.

"Can't wait to tell Gabi. She'll be over the moon!"

Now that the first step on his husband duty was completed, the second was just starting. Spoiling you until you were ready to pop his child.

To your surprise MJ gave her own news on the girl's chat group. It was a good distraction for a freshly broken hearted Jessica. A celebration ensued.

Peter was asking Miguel for guidance as you gushed with MJ the future changes her body would take.

Miguel's lips turned into a fond smile upon watching you. Your married ring fit perfectly in your hand, and shone brighter, like your smile whenever you rubbed your belly.

Never once the doubt of you being a bad mother crossed his mind, despite your inexperience and both being young, you had done a pretty good job with Gabriella. And this new stage in your lives would only polish some skills that needed a bit more refining.

----

His heart nearly stopped when the doctor said it was a boy. So far, as long as his kid was healthy, the rest was just a bonus. But now that he'd have a boy it both worried and excited him.

It worried him cause he had no paternal figure to grow with, but like you had told him once.

"You're not your father. You're way much better than him. Look at the wonderful child you've raised, without his help. Be proud of yourself, Mi amor."

He adored your reassurance, and now he'd teach his baby boy everything he had to learn on his own. He'd be a good father.

----

The tidal craving waves made you scourge the fridge at random times thorough the night.

The first crave was simple, jalapeños smeared in peanut butter. You didn't know how, but the flavor was way too good for you to just eat one.

Miguel would find you guzzling his own can of jalapeños while scooping up a spoonful of peanut butter.

"You'll get sick if you eat that much spiciness"

"No, Miguel, wait!"

"Uh-uh. You'll get cramps and-"

Oh shit.

Your eyes turned glossy as he placed the can above the fridge. A spot you certainly didn't reach.

Shit.

"You're so mean."

A hiccup echoed between you two, followed by a sniff.

"Mi reina" His tinge amazed and full of disbelief, "I don't want you to get an upset belly, that's all."

"But I am hungry! They're not even that spicy!"

You sobbed and half yelled. Miguel could only sigh and take the can back

"Here."

"I don't want it anymore."

You took another spoonful of the butter and walked back to your room.

Great.

He rubbed his face in defeat. Now he felt like an idiot for not giving you the canned spicy goods. And definitely that night you didn't cuddle him.

Hormones were surely making a mess out of your emotions, and it took him a bit to adapt at the quickening pace they often changed. Exercise and long walks helped you to keep relaxed and active.

The next day you were crying while apologizing, only for him to hold you and offer you a couple of jalapeños in return. He even tried the odd mix with you to try and understand why you loved that specific combo. Neither good, neither bad, like something he tried before. But glad you were no longer at odds with him.

But soon they stopped being your obsession, instead strawberries and tuna came up. And just like Gabi, you'd wake him up in the middle of the night at the devil's hours to get him to fetch you strawberries cause you had ran out of them. Or called him when he was a few blocks away from your home to let him know and God forbid if he returned with empty hands.

The dangerous months had been long gone, and seeing your baby bump growing with each passing day, made his phone to be filled with a daily picture of you, holding it. Gabi occasionally appearing it them with a goofy grin.

One particular rough day at work, had his energies and emotional reserves drained. But changed immediately when he saw you laughing as Gabi painted over your belly.

"Papa! The baby is kicking!!"

Gabriella gasped and pulled him to place his hand over the clean parts devoid of paint in your belly to feel his baby boy kick.

"Look at that." Miguel huffed in child like wonder as he felt every powerful little kick. He then kissed your belly and your forehead with new energies.

You and Gabi were the reason he'd wake up and work. You'd help him with paperwork at home whenever he needed it.

----

Hormones kicked in harder in the last trimester, everything was a trigger for tears to fall down.

You couldn't reach your toes? You'd cry. The cream cheese was too perfect for digging a spoon in it? You'd cry. Gabriella existing around you and being a happy kid? You'd definitely cry. And if Miguel couldn't find his sock in the washing machine, you'd cry harder.

It was low key funny for him, even had some compilations of you crying over the littlest things in his phone. He'd watch them over and over whenever stress was rampant on his office.

But also, would stare both in awe and hungry when he saw your body bouncing ontop of an exercise ball.

"It brings back memories." He muttered while your cheeks flushed. It was the exact way you rode him while making your baby boy.

When hormones hit between your legs, you wouldn't let him go until he came out of the room, drenched in sweat and breathless. That's where he discovered his lactation kink.

But all horny and sexual thoughts were sapped out his body when he saw you curled in bed, crying and wiping your eyes with tissues. A couple of them used and gathered before you.

"'Tas bien?" (You alright?)

Another muffled sob.

This wasn't the usual hormone craze that made you cry over dappy things, but true and unadulterated sadness. His brows creased as he sat before you.

"Wanna share what's wrong?"

"I feel so useless, Miguel."

"Useless?"

You nodded while sobbing a couple of fresh tears and covered your face with your hands, ashamed.

"I can't even put my shoes on my own. And-" A sniffle, "I feel like I'm leaving all the load to you. It's not fair."

Even in your condition, you still worried about him and his stress. It humbled him.

"Mi reina." With a gentle, yet firm voice he sat next to you and wiped your eyes with utmost care, "You're growing my child. Do you know how important that is?"

You hiccuped and shook your head.

"I wanna do more. Help you around. Not just being a housewife that leeches off-"

"No, no. Stop. Stop." the last word said with a warning tone.

How could you think of yourself such way?

"Pinguinita, mi amor, look." His shoulders slumped with a deep sigh, "For how long have we been together? Ten, twelve years now?"

You refused to look his way, but his hands gently pulled your chin towards him. Makin your gaze meet his.

"In all those years, I've worked for us cause I wanted to. And I don't want you to work because you already do more than enough here."

His lips were warm, conveying all his love in another kiss.

"You're growing my child, Mi reina. Pregnancies are hard. And look at you, doing your best. Cause that's all I could ask from you."

He cradled your shoulders and kissed the side of your head with a gentle smile.

"You've taught me how to be a good parent, even now, you are teaching me things I didn't believe myself capable of doing. I'm a better man thanks to you."

His hands rubbed your lower back in soothing yet shapeless patterns.

"And now, I'll be an even better father. All thanks to you."

His words were like a soothing balm from your doubtful and insecure heart.

"You'd still love me if I was another ten pounds heavier, right?"

"The question is offensive in itself. But yes, I would. Come here."

You basked in his affection, all you could do was let him love and pamper you.

The footrubs and backrubs were a staple on your pregnancy, like the hammock in the porch. The cotton nightgown he gave you while pregnant with Gabi had been such a wonderful gift that came in handy when the last trimester's hot flashes appeared.

You'd sit in the tub with him, Miguel rubbed and caressed your shoulders, eased the tenderness in your breasts and helped with the sore points in your. lower back.

"What about Miguel Junior?"

He snorted while lathering your back in the lavender scented shower gel.

"No. I don't want a traditional name for my boy."

"Me neither, I mean, Max doesn't sound bad-"

"That's a dog's name, mi amor"

Your laugh was like music to his ears. He rinsed off your back with the tepid temperature water.

"Short for Maximilian."

"Junior doesn't sound that bad now that I think-"

"Wait! I know! I know. Benjamin."

"Benjamin" He tried as the name rolled off his tongue, "I like it."

He kissed your neck. Fresh lavender scent etched to your skin.

"Benjamin it is."

-----

Little Benjamin "Benji" O'Hara was born at 3 pm. Nearly putting you under a c section. Miguel had been there, cheering you on as soon as complications arrived. But thanks to yours and the doctor's efforts, his baby boy wailed healthily as soon as he came out of your womb and the touch of the nurses alarmed him. They weren't you. Benjamin needed his mama.

Miguel showered you in kisses and praises while the nurses cleansed him and dressed him up with the clothes you had provided them.

And finally, you could hold your baby boy in your arms, immediately feeding him and silencing his acute cries.

"Míralo nomas. Mi campeón. No parece que casi lo hicimos en el auto." (Look at him, my champ. He doesn't look like we almost made him in the car)

Miguel fixed the tiny hat ontop of his head, some lovely and dark chocolates curls twisted ontop and around his forehead as you tittered, exhausted.

" Stop, oh my god."

"He's definitely have your curls."

Gabi was allowed to enter a bit later and her lips pursed

"I wanted a sister."

"I know, Solecito. But we did our best"

"Still... I was prettier, right?"

Jesus. Like Father, like daughter.

"Of course you were, Gabibi."

Miguel was ready to start his lessons as a father. With a baby boy on hands, he'd be the dad he never had.

#miguel o'hara #t writes✨ #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #soccer family ⚽🕷️ #gabi o'hara #miguel o'hara fluff #mama o'hara #benjamin o'hara #wife reader #dad miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel x y/n #miguel x you

[sea-drifter]

As much as I like the idea in sagau that once you transport to genshin, you get memories or sumth that you created that world and you're their God and stuff, I never rlly got my head around it.

I kind of like to think that we're less of god and more of a minor deity or sumth [idk anything abt god hierarchy].

Idk how to explain it, so here's a somewhat explanation through a short fic, idk-

-------———————————————---------

Once you teleported into teyvat, everyone kept singing praises and such. Calling you "your grace" and "creator."

But you know you didn't create Teyvat.

The game devs did.

Hoyoverse did.

You wanted to tell the truth instead of living a lie, but it would be pretty heartbreaking for them to know that their world was just a mere plaything for the ones they call Gods that was above Celestia.

So you somewhat create a tale.

You gathered the people of Teyvat, ready to tell them "the truth of this world."

"I'm not your creator." You start, causing confusion among them.

"But that is not to say that I was not with you throughout your journeys."

"Your world has many others like it. The same, but also different. Each one has its own deity, like me." You continue. Calling yourself a deity to try and somewhat lower your position from God barely made it feel any better, but it you had no choice.

"There's many of us, and your creators are of the same likeness as us, despite everything."

"What do you mean your grace?" Nahida asked, confused.

"Us deities have our own roles, such as that of the archons in celestia."

"Some deities create worlds, while other deities like me cultivate them." You were pretty much bringing all your braincells together to put together whatever you were saying at this point.

"Many like to cultivate other different worlds as well, of course. For me, i also guided a non-blood-related family who travels through the stars as they each find what they're missing and who they truly are. I help them grow and give them guidance, as much as i do to your world."

"But, don't you get tired of it your grace? Having so much work to do, taking care of different other worlds?" Asked Venti, his cheeks on both palms as he listened.

"There are frustrations here and there, but at the end of the day, it's a pleasure to watch each of you grow."

As much as that sentence would probably make a stranger cringe at you when you're talking about genshin characters. The sight of seeing each character built with the best stats made you really proud whenever you played the game. It was small things like that that made you enjoy this game thoroughly.

-------———————————————---------

Well, that's all rlly.

-Check out some of my other stuff here if ur interested-

#genshin impact #fic writing #genshin #gaming #fiction #genshin sagau #writing #genshin impact sagau #sagau brainrot #sagau

[theminecraftbee]

[writing found in a floating temple belonging to an unknown player on a distant server. while there were no signs of life in the temple, there were signs of life in the caves below it, including some rusted armor sets, complicated machinery overgrown by birch saplings, and a small robot with a tag on it that read “lil buddy” and a battery clutched in one of its claws. despite all attempts, researchers could not find the portal that is normally found by those players taken in by the vault gods, though given the presence of an altar, it is certainly nearby, and the area has been quarantined until that portal’s location can be ascertained.]

I asked Idona to save me the other day.

It feels fickle; it feels like the sort of thing I only said because that’s what one ought to say to gods, when they want something from them. “Save me, Idona.”

They did no such thing, but I didn’t expect them to. I knew them when they still demanded blood sacrifice; now that they merely demand challengers at their altar instead of anything so obvious as the blood of their enemies, it can be easy to forget how malicious they had once seemed. It’s easy to forget that asking things of them had once ended poorly.

Perhaps that’s the Paradox that they are showing me; I had asked Idona to save me because within that Paradox, they would build a mine. That a blood god now offers mines and blacksmiths to me instead, in a place I can design to access myself—well, it’s easy to forget how I once knew them.

It’s easy to forget how often their challenges killed me once, too, back before I knew the trick to finish them quickly. The Gods had seemed just as cruel and capricious as always when I’d simply failed to find enough of the chests they’d laid out and they punished me by causing my health to steadily fade away.

That rarely happens anymore.

You see, yesterday, I killed a wither with a single hit from my javelin and a single hit from my sword. As I flew home, a nether star clutched in my feelers, I felt very little. It was hardly a challenge compared to the vaults; I don’t know why I’d expected more.

The gods have challenged me; I have risen to that challenge. I sweep through vaults, their minders at the side of my head, until I find their altar to bow at, find their altar to make promises of being the challenger they’re looking for at. I know the tricks to find my way around a vault, after all. I spend more time there than the overworld.

I wonder if I’m becoming arrogant, actually.

Even without my armor or sword, I’m too strong for the endermen I used to accidentally release from my farms. I hit them once and they die; if the punch doesn’t work, a javelin or a cast spell will. With the endermen, it’s fine.

With my parrots or dogs—

I have Lil Buddy now. He can’t die because I’m not meant for the overworld anymore, I don’t think.

I wonder if that, too, is the Paradox. The gods are gifting me unlimited power. I step into a vault I have designed myself, under their guidance, and I pull untold riches from it every time. The gods are gifting me strength, which I can call from an altar at any time. No threat can step near me without either being poisoned or scratched by the strength of my blade.

But I have not had a pet that is not made of metal in—I don’t know how to count days any longer. Time passes strangely inside of vaults. It is Wendarr’s trickery. I simply know I haven’t since I was level 70, and that feels like ages ago.

That’s about when I realized perhaps I am untouchable to that which I want, too.

Maybe I should ask Idona to save me for a reason that was not me, desperately trying to seek out their altar for jewels I hardly need these days; maybe I should ask Idona to save me from sacrificing more than I can give.

I know them, though. I’ve known them since they’ve demanded blood.

They won’t.

And one day, I will give them everything, and I will thank them for it. The one god that even they worship above all others, after all, is greed, and that is an altar I cannot simply stop going to.

#vh talk #vh logs #vault hunters #a bee fic #I was playing vault hunters tonight and DID ACTYALLY SAY ‘save me idona’ #and it was a joke but it made me think #so here! some fanfic of my level 95 sona realizing that they are untouchable these days for better or worse. #me realizing that I am currently REALLY USED TO being a late-game rpg player that deals ~150 damage an attack with regularity #me realizing how untouchable that makes me to. anything that can’t punch through 115 armor points and like 300 DPS #late-game vault hunters is wild man.

[thesirencult]

THE TRUTH ABOUT ESCAPING TWIN FLAMES AND OTHER MLM NEW AGE BULLSHIT

"You don't get rich writing science fiction. If you want to get rich, you start a religion."

L. Ron Hubbard (Founder of Scientology)

I won't lie to you. What got me into tarot was a very raw and real dream about a man I've never met in my life. I had this dream when I was 15 and it felt like I was floating in a parallel universe.

Dreams with this "stranger" kept coming and going and during a search I stumbled upon the concept of "twin flames".

As with anything NeW AgE it is nothing new. All New Age bullshit are concepts familiar to human civilizations for thousands of years. In all ancient cultures these concepts show up again and again.

Astrology, cartomancy and other forms of divination and guidance have been used by Mesopotamians, Egyptians, Greeks and Hindu people for centuries. They were villainized after the come up of Christianity.

I always have believed there is a higher power. Some name it Allah, others Moses, other Dias etc. Doesn't matter, it's one God above us. Actually contrary to what many want you to believe the Ancient Greeks didn't have "12 Gods" but 12 (and much much more) expressions of DIVINITY. Metaphors and symbolisms.

Hermes Trismegistus has written everything about "manifestation". Others just repackaged it. Some help us understand the concept and others just want to make a quick buck.

All people have some primal needs. Connection and love. Money and wealth. Wanting to be beautiful and powerful. Some people prey on that and, in my opinion, the self-improvement industry will only keep on growing.

The concept of twin flames can be found being expressed by Socrates in the dialogue "Symposium" by Plato :

“Now, since their natural form had been cut in two, each one longed for its own other half, and so they would throw their arms about each other, weaving themselves together, wanting to grow together...

This, then, is the source of our desire to love each other. Love is born into eve­ry human being: it calls back the halves of our original nature together; it tries to make one out of two and heal the wound of human nature.

Each of us, then, is a ‘matching half’ of a human whole, because each was sliced like a flatfish, two out of one, and each of us is always seeking the half that matches him."

Sidenote: Obviously I used only two snippets of the dialogue. Socrates' stance on homosexuality and other matters of love can be found in there and it is a good read. It will definitely show you that some concepts have been around since humans walked on this earth.

Moving on, I want to give you some tips on how to best use astrology and tarot/oracle cards as TOOLS to better yourself.

1. First try them yourself.

Don't let others dictate how you see astrology and tarot. Go online and search up your birth chart on astroseek or visit the Light Seer's Tarot/Muse Tarot website which has an incredible pick a card feature.

Don't contact an astrologer or tarot reader before familiarising yourself with the tools and "taking the magic out" of them.

2. No one and mean NO ONE can predict the future 100%.

In our lives there are moments who seem synchronized. They make you believe in fate. I do believe that God intended for us to live through some things but I also absolutely believe in FREE WILL. I always say that to clients especially those who have tarot readings.

Tarot and astrology can help you see the paths laid in front of you. They help you dive in your unconscious mind. Don't let anyone fool you that they are magical and whatever the cards say can not change.

3. If you purchase a reading don't purchase a love/romance one at first.

Don't get me wrong. I love love and romance. I love doing love readings. They are sweet and sexy.

BUT. Even in my love readings I incorporate a "general energy of you" for the person. I do that cause I want to show to my client, who trusted me and chose me that a tarot reader can be vetted.

Sadly even with PAC readings I can see that the romance ones are read and reposted way more than ones that assist with personal development. I try to keep a balance and do both.

The thing is a good tarot reader, astrologer even a therapist or a fitness trainer want to help you become INDEPENDENT. I don't want you to keep coming back and purchase love readings about your ex.

It's toxic. I won't accept that.

4. You are perfect the way you are.

Telling you that "yeah, you have an issue right here and it can be fixed by doing so and so" is okay.

Telling you that "YOU SHOULD LOVE YOURSELF. YOU DON'T LOVE YOURSELF THAT'S WHY YOU WON'T FIND LOVE UNTIL YOU DO THAT" is toxic. People control you this way.

It's like saying give me more money. Ask me how I can make you LOVABLE.

Your other half won't cheat, manipulate or make you feel awful. Your ex who was an asshole is not your Twin Flame.

Light up the flame within and love out your dreams. You will attract people who will adore and love you by being AUTHENTIC.

Anyone that abuses you and puts your flame out should GO.

5. All big corporations prey on your weaknesses & Do not trust anyone who tells you they are the only ones that can set you free or solve your issues.

Be disciplined. Control yourself and your mind. Read "The 48 Laws Of Power" and other books on influence and manipulation. Learn how narcissists and cult leaders operate.

All big companies do not sell you products (I will probably post this part by itself too).

They sell you emotions, feelings, status. BMW doesn't sell cars, it is selling power and prestige and confidence.

Nike doesn't sell shoes and shirts, it is selling dreams of being powerful and different, of making it in the jungle, of WINNING.

But there are some companies which I'M NOT GOING TO MENTION by name who influence you by breaking you down. Astrology apps that send you negative predictions about your day to make you anxious so you will check back every single hour. Cult like influencers who sell "How to get rich quickly" courses that cost thousands of $ and offer no value.

Be careful. Be prepared. Be strong and firm.

I hope everyone who was taken in this cult (wait ! myy username is the siren cult, lol) can find peace and the power within them.

#astrology #tarot reading #tarot #pick a card #pick a pile #pac reading #level up journey #pick a photo #pick a picture #soulmate #self education #self development #hypergamyblr #personal improvement #siren energy #femme fatale #dark feminine energy #art of seduction #astrology tumblr #astrology tips #astrologer #astro notes #tarotblr #tarotcommunity

[poppy-metal]

mafia!jordan :( want to eat them out

🦸‍♀️

promise i will be back on my a game soon school has been kicking my butt

jordan has a fat clit did u know :((( its an outie, peeks out from their mound - all flushed under the patch of hair between their legs.

them straddling your face :((( their sweet little wife so trusting and submissive under them, the desperation to please them apparent in your wide eyes as jordans cunt hovers above you. them carding a hand through your hair, soft with you, other hand coming down to spread their lips - smirking when you whine low in your throat at the sight of their wet slit and that chubby clit twitching making your own thighs clench.

"you're gonna be a good little wife for me and eat daddy's pussy?"

god, god, god, you want to be the best wife ever. nodding eagerly, cheek brushing the inside of their thighs. licking your lips as you look up at them for guidance - "wanna make you feel good - wanna be good for you."

"fuck." you're just so fucking cute, that devotion to them. that innocence. they feel slick slide from their hole and their clit throb. they rock their hips just above your lips, you dont dare move up, waiting for their command. the heat of their cunt on your face making your pussy ache. "you remember how i play with that clit? daddy's is bigger - just - open your mouth for me -"

you do so, laying your tongue flat and jordan groans as they lower their cunt against your face. clit dipping right into that wet open mouth, your lashes flutter and a whimper leaves you immediately at the musky tang of them hitting your tongue immediately.

" - just like that, baby. wrap your lips around it -" they cut off with a hiss when your plush lips close around their juicy clit , the salt of them more potent as saliva fills your mouth immediately around them. your head already starts to feel floaty, something new you didn't know could happen with sex. but you're learning alot from jordan. "shit - that's good. suck on it now, like you do on my cock."

your cheeks hallow out as you suckle on them, and jordans hand tightens in your hair. "oh fuck." even with how fucking good it feels, the tight wet suction around their sensitive clit they keep their eyes on you, so fucking pretty. "stay just like that. gonna fuck your mouth - "

tingles spread through your body, warm and elated. something so happy inside you to be good, to be used. jordan starts rocking their hips, and clit fucking in and out of your mouth, and you take to keeping your mouth a tight hole for them to dip in and out of, occasionally kitten licking and getting a sharp hiss from jordan in return. you feel their juices start to spread over your chin, the fat lips of their labia humping over your mouth and chin as they fuck your mouth.

looking at them above you as they rut against you - the slight bounce of their tits - the dark heat in their eyes - the glint of the silver chain around their neck. its so overwhelming your eyes flutter shut - only for jordan to immediately reach down and lift their pussy off your face just a little, give your cheek a light slap.

"nu uh, open those eyes - fucking look at me."

god, that tone. you listen and your eyes are wet now. big and doe eyed and helpless and jordans fucking leaking when they push back down against your mouth, keeping your head in place as they fuck you into their wet pussy.

"you're so fucking pretty, shit. you were made for me - fucking made for me to use and fuck and take care of - goddammit - " they lift up again, rubbing at their clit in tight little circles, hand still fisted in your hair, keeping your mouth centimeter from where they're rubbing , two fingers on either side of their clit, almost like they're jerking it off "stick out your tongue - gonna cum all over that cute fucking face."

fluid hits your tongue and cheeks and chin, splashing from their pussy and soaking your lower face completely - jordan groaning so fucking loud at the way you stay still in the position they told you to keep.

its not over though, when they stop gushing - they still feel that throb in their belly - clit too fucking sensitive to fuck your face again, panting above you - n something about your tongue still being out -

"dont move - "

you gasp when they shift - hands coming up to grip much more muscular masculine thighs on either side of your head. you feel soft balls brush your chin as the heavy weight of their dick bobs above your face now. flushed and hard.

they shuffle back a little, and the sight of their wet glistening tip unfurling from their foreskin as they stroke it back - mouth watering all over again.

"can't fucking get enough of this mouth -" they trace the seam of your lips with the ruddy head of their cock, the precum dripping from the slit slicking the two pillow soft petals. "fucking landed the jackpot with you as a wife, huh? tight fucking pussy and wet little throat -" they lean up a little so their cock is at an angle above you, the rings of their hand flashing as they grip themselves around their thick base, directing their cock so its in position to plunge right down into your open mouth. a string of their pre drips from them and you shiver when it touches your tongue. this new musky flavor meshing with the heady taste of their cunt. "fuck, look at you drool for it. here you go -"

they feed you their dick slowly, moaning deep in their chest as it slides down your throat - wet throat muscles hugging the intrusion.

their head is thrown back, mouth open in bliss. already their balls are pulling tight, full and ready to pump cum into a warm hole.

they still manage to cup your face tenderly, even as they drag their cock in and out of your mouth, the wet gurgling suction of the motion filling your bedroom. how they manage to look at you with such adoration even as they use you like this - you'd be married off to them a million times.

their thumbs stroke over the apples of your cheeks. close to unloading inside you. and you'll drink it all down. like a good wife.

"such." thrust. "a good." plunge. "fucking wife."

yeah.

#ask #🦸‍♀️ anon #hi so i lost my mind #pussy clenching and pulsing and such writing that #mafia!jordan #jordan li smut #jordan li x reader #mafia!jordan li n their good little wife. good golly ❗️❗️

[pouringmyheartoutforpaper]

stevie boy with a virgin gf that’s all shy and soft and giggly, he was her first kiss after being friends for a year or two, and i just can’t stop thinking about how careful steve would be with her daddy kink involved for sure and how devoted he always is, how in love. gods, he loves her so much. he calls her all the pet names he can think of, kisses her all over all the time, praises her and shows her off, babies her every day, treats her like a princess, always spoiling her. and she’s just as crazy about him!!! so proud to be his, so clearly in love, and steve isn’t used to this level of reciprocity!!! even though she blushes whenever he’s sweet to her and giggles when he makes her flustered and how she melts when he takes care of her and always needs his guidance and touch and protection— imagine his cute little gf is just obsessed with his cock, even if he hasn’t given it to her yet, and steve knows… he knows he’d have to be slow and soft and careful with her, to get her worked up to taking his cock. steve would ease her into the sexual part of their relationship only when she’s ready ofc with such care and softness :( and she just loves having him pressed against her, all of him all over her, just covering her with his body lots of size kink i think and she loves having his cock smushed against her when he hugs her from behind or sits her between his legs. even when he’s soft, ‘cause he’s still big and chubby and she needs to touch!!! she’d be so eager to move forward and have sex with him but steve takes it slow to make sure it’s perfect for her, to get her used to intimacy, to not hurt her, and he often has to remind you that you have to take it slow! that his cock is too big! you need to work up to it! don’t be a brat! be a good girl and listen to me! i—

😫😫😫😫😫

oh my GOD HARMONIA. first of all youre my favorite celebrity ily im freaking out that you sent me this.

i hope this is something like you imagined ! <3 im actually working on another “first time” fic rn so there is more to come <3

every-time he stretches or she thinks he isnt looking her eyes go straight to his dick and shes just drooling. but shes so obvious about it. she really thinks he doesn’t notice but god he does. in fact, she will “sneak” a glance at him, and then a few minutes later she looks again and its bigger? and then shes trying to figure out why hes turned on and is so confused. poor girl is drooling over his cock and hasnt even seen it. hes so hard all the time. of course he wants to take things slowly but shes making it so difficult for him. he has to fight every bone in his body not to indulge her and let her touch him. but hes a gentleman, so of course hes not going to do that.

when the time comes, shes grinding down onto him, the feeling of his cock against her making all rational thoughts go out the window. hes laying her down and working her up. first with his fingers, then with his mouth.

“want you steve”

“ you arent ready yet lovey” with the fondest smile shes ever seen.

“please can i touch you?”

how can he say no to that? letting her go down on him, she pulls his cock out and is mesmerized by the way it almost hits her in the face. hes literally about to hyperventilate above her. the sight of her right by his cock, finally getting to see it. the second thing she notices is that hes huge. a good eight or nine inches and thick. she wraps her pretty hand around the middle and gives the tip a little kiss. the sigh that leaves his lips makes her look up at him. and she goes back in to touch him more and he just picks her up and places her back on the bed cause he knows hes not going to last long if she keeps doing that.

he pushes only the tip inside her at first, spreading her lips open by moving her thighs a little farther apart. he know how to make it as painless as possible, making sure her hips are propped up on a pillow. shes wet enough and open enough that the entry is pretty easy, but the stretch isnt. shes whimpering from the pain, but it just feels so good that she cant stop herself from wanting more. especially since hes rubbing soothing circles into her hips and reassuring her constantly.

“shhh, its okay baby, ive got you. you want me to stop? you dont hav-”

“no! … want more…” a little shy as she finishes her sentence.

hes smiling so softly at her because why does she make it so hard for him to tell her no.

“not yet honey, youre still getting used to it.” and youre arching your back and writhing beneath him, “you gotta tell me when to move.”

and of course she wont lie and say it doesnt hurt. but she just wants to be full. so shes whimpering and moaning while steve occupies himself with her breasts and waist. “doing so good baby, be a good girl for me okay? love you so much.” the pain finally subsiding completely. he can feel her relax around his cock.

“more please steve”

“ok sweetheart, hold onto me alright? ive got you.” and hes pushing himself deeper inside her, having his arm around her waist keep her grounded and his hand on her face to keep her looking at him. her mouth wide open as he finally bottoms out.

“such a good girl. such a good girl baby. good job beautiful.” before lacing their hands together. <3

#steve harrington smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve stranger things #steve harrington fluff #steve smut #steve x reader #steve x you

[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

[stitchdfox]

Eddie is on tour pt 3

His eyes blur as he stares at his phone. The phone app open, taunting him with Steve’s contact info. His thumb hovers over the green call button. Hesitant.

“Come on, Munson. He told you to call him.” Eddie mumbles to himself.

“Joining us tonight?” Their drummer Gareth asks as he slaps Eddie on the shoulder.

“Ah. No. Gotta make a call.” Eddie holds his phone in the air.

“Who’s Steve?” Gareth asks.

Eddie blushes and locks his phone.

“Come on, Gar.” Jeff pulls him away as he flashes a knowing smile at Eddie.

Gods. He owed that man a shot of tequila and the best wingman award.

Eddie takes a breath. Finally tapping the call icon.

“Hey there.” Steve’s voice is groggy.

It only rang once. Was he waiting for him to call?

“Hey.” Eddie smirks. “It’s like 3 am in Indiana. What are you doing up so late?”

“Well, I’m actually in Chicago so it’s only 2 am. And I’m working on an essay for school. Deadline is coming fast.” There’s a rustle of papers being gathered. “May have accidentally dozed off…”

He’s so cute.

“Whatcha gonna be when you grow up, Stevie?” Eddie cringes at his awkwardness.

“Guidance councilor. Hopefully. Schools not the the easiest for me so, it’s been a lot of late nights.” Steve yawns. “How was the show?”

“Surreal.”

Steve hums.

“Honestly, I don’t think it’ll ever not be surreal.” Eddie stares up at the clear night sky above him. He’ll stay with the van outside the venue until the guys get back.

“I’ve loved music all my life. My uncle used to play the radio while we made breakfast. He shared his old records with me when I was old enough to understand how fragile they could be. From there I saved up for my first guitar, my baby, and I knew from the moment I first held her there was no turning back.”

“Wow.” Steve breathes low.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to—“

“Don’t be sorry, man. That’s so cool. What bands inspired you?” Steve asks, urging him on.

“There’s a few,” Eddie holds up his fingers as he names them. “Metallica- Master of Puppets was the first song I taught myself. Wild. You know how hard that song is to play? Worth it though. Then there’s Dio, Megadeath, Black Sabbath and Ozzy of course.”

“Of course.” Steve says.

“Do you even know who Ozzy is?”

“Yeah. I know who Ozzy is. He was on that reality show where they swore a lot.”

Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose. “No Steve—“

“Yes Eddie. He was on that show.”

“Okay, yes he was on the show but do you know his music?” Eddie can’t help the smile that grows on his lips.

“Guess I have some more homework.”

“Steve, you don’t have to listen to them. I’m sure they’re not your taste.” Eddie runs his fingers nervously through his hair.

“I want to. If you like them then they have be pretty good.” Steve says.

“Don’t give me too much credit here, sweetheart. I’m just the guitarist of a small metal band.” Eddie slumps his shoulders.

“Come on! You’re on tour, literally right now on tour, with a big name band that invited you to join them. That’s huge.” Steve’s voice is loud and excited. “Like, where are you guys right now?”

“Denver.” He says low.

“See. I’ve never been west of St. Louis.” He goes quiet. “Anyway, it’ll be nice change of pace from my Harry Styles kick.”

Eddie let’s out a guffaw. “I would be into a One Direction fan.”

There’s silence on the other end of the line.

“Shit.” Eddie says to himself as he squats down, wrapping his arm around his bent knees.

“You’re… into me?” Steve asks with an air to his voice.

“I… um…”

Silence again.

“The honest answer?” Eddie sighs.

“Mhmm.” Steve’s voice is soft.

“Alright. Here goes.” Eddie stands up, a little light headed from the action. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I called you by accident that night. I don’t even know what you look like and it wouldn’t matter at this point. There is something so… so…” he’s at a loss of words.

“So what, Eddie?” Steve’s voice is a whisper.

“Amazing. Wonderful. Heart stopping. I want to write songs about you. And now that I’ve put myself out there I don’t even know if you’re into guys, let alone a stranger and—“

“Eddie.”

“I’ve ruined this like I ruin everything.”

“Eds.”

“I’m such an idiot and—“

“Babe.”

Eddie stops pacing in a circle and let’s that word settle in.

“I know it was your turn to spiral this time but you’ve gotta breathe.” Steve waits for him to take a deep breath. “It is a bit crazy but I… I mean… Me too! I was being honest when I told you I drove my best friend crazy talking about calling you.”

They both laugh and Eddie sighs.

Steve speaks again. “Okay?”

“Okay.” Eddie taps the back of his head against the van.

“I should let you go, sweetheart. I’m sure you have class tomorrow.”

“I do. I’ll text you when I get home and maybe we can talk again?” His voice is a bit shaky. Nervous maybe.

“I’d love that.” Eddie’s heart threatens to beat out of his chest right there in the venue parking lot.

“Sweet dreams, rockstar.” Steve teases.

“Good night, big boy.” Eddie hangs up the call before Steve can respond.

His muscle loosen as he leans against the side of the van. His phone vibrates once in his hand. He looks down to see a message from Steve.

“Hope your imagination didn’t oversell my good looks. 😉”

There’s no way the picture to follow is of a real human being.

Steve has a strong jawline, moles dotting his face and neck, his hair is auburn and a bit on the long side, not that he had anything on Eddie’s length.

His eyes were bright and hazel. His smile wide and perfect.

Eddie opened the van door to dig in his bag. He pulls out his head phones, flops on the middle bench, and searches Spotify.

If he pulls up the “this is Harry Styles” playlist it was nobody’s business but his own.

——

Part 1 here.

Part 2 here.

Part 4 to follow. I’m kind of in love with this AU rn.

If you’re interested I’m posting on my Twitter as well.

#Steddie #Eddie Munson #Steve Harrington #modern au #they’re already in love #fan fic #fan fic update

[mitskijamie]

Kinkiest Roy/Jamie thought - Go!

KinkiEST omg...how do we quantify this....

I guess in terms of the most extreme kink....total power exchange. Jamie giving Roy full control of everything in his life for mutual enjoyment/benefit <3 The idea of a full-time, all-encompassing d/s dynamic makes so much sense for them and I think about it literally All the time. "I thought you said I couldn't have beer anymore" "you're with me so you get a pass"....

Basically. Roy wants to be needed and valued and clung to. He wants to be the most important thing in his partner's life, bar none. He wants to be worshipped. He's deeply insecure, and he wants a partner who will fuel his ego by putting him above anything else. His relationship with Keeley ultimately fails because she doesn't need him in the way he wants to be needed, which makes him feel unwanted and lonely (he has an emotional affair and everything, because he's insane). Keeley is completely self-sufficient and independent, and I honestly think Roy feels threatened by that. Keeley is literally insulted by the idea of needing Roy so badly that she would ask for his input on the basic tenants of her daily life ("maybe I should ask for your permission every time I have to make a decision, then"/"my bladder is full, can I go pee?"), but that's exactly what Roy wants. He wants someone who actually leans on him like that!!!!!

Jamie actually does worship Roy. Jamie has been worshipping Roy for most of his life. Jamie values Roy's guidance more than anything else in the world, because Roy is his God. Roy is his role model, Roy is his inspiration, Roy is his hero, Roy is his coach, Roy is everything. Roy is everything to him!!! Jamie lets Roy decide when he should wake up in the morning and what he should eat and what he can drink and how he should work out, because he just thinks that highly of him. Roy shapes his career, Roy shapes his routine, Roy shapes his body, and that's okay with him because Roy is everything!!! And that treatment is what Roy needs to feel like a person!!!

On top of the hero-worship element, Jamie wants to be praised and loved and paid attention to, and that's exactly what Roy gives him. Jamie is constantly vying for attention and praise, especially from older men, which is something he feels like he's missing:

And that's what Roy gives him!!!!! All the time and attention and special treatment from daddy that he could ever want!!!

So like in a total power exchange, Jamie gives Roy everything he wants - devotion, obsession, worship, submission - and in return, Roy gives Jamie everything he wants - attention, praise, and structure from an older man.

It's literally perfect for them

#now normally this might be toxic but given who roy and jamie are as individuals this is far and away the healthiest option. #royjamie #ask #i know this is a lot im happy to tag it if anyone wants

[untitled-writer-013]

Could you do a alt Gabriel x reader who is a Nun? Idk maybe he comes to them and they kinda start to see Gabriel as God or something when he starts telling them he is the true savior? (Just a suggestion Im sure there are many things with this request you can do)

It's fine if not of course, thanks for reading my request either way!

Alt Gabriel x Fem!Nun!Reader

warning(s): mentions of religion, manipulation, reader is a nun, god complex if you squint.

(Y/n) (L/n) had become a nun when she turned twenty-one. She had been feeling unsure and doubtful of her life, and hoped that perhaps some form of religion would give her guidance. And if not, at least she had something to occupy her time. She would make sure the church was kept nice and tidy, ridding any webs and wiping down the stained glass windows, getting rid of dust.

As she entered the church, yet again praying to whoever would hear her, she heard a response. She looked to see who or what was there, letting out a sharp gasp as she spotted a tall man.

“Do not be afraid, my dear. I have great news. I am your true savior.” Gabriel stated, his voice barely above a whisper as he spoke, a gentle smile on his face as (Y/n) looked at him in awe.

“R-Really? Is it true? You’re my true savior?” (Y/n) asked, clasping her hands together over her rosemary, making Gabriel hold back a flinch, biting back a hiss as he spotted the cross around her neck.

“Now then darling, there’s no need to wear that anymore. It’s disrespectful to believe in an object as being holier than your savior.” Gabriel stated, his demeanor and tone still calm.

(Y/n) didn’t hesitate, taking off her rosemary, taking out her Bible, and casted them both aside. She only longed to listen to her savior, after all, how else could he have wings? There was no other explanation. She would do whatever he asked of her, no matter what it was.

“There we are, much better. Now, listen to me, and I shall answer all of your questions in due time.” Gabriel stated, making (Y/n) nod as he began to speak, preaching his own teachings, weaving his beliefs with the teachings of the Bible enough to not give away his true intentions.

(Y/n) was shocked as she learned of many new things, including things called ‘alternates’, which helped Gabriel with his teachings. She listened intently, eager to learn more from Gabriel. Gabriel would talk with her for hours at a time, instructing her to not share knowledge of his existence with anyone, telling her he would reward her if she did as he said. So, without thought, she listened. She did everything that was asked of her, and Gabriel enjoyed every second of it.

Once the alternates had been released among Mandela County, Gabriel was quick to sweep (Y/n) away, making up an excuse that she’d need his protection from the sinful creatures. He had her stay in a house away from the downtown area, where his alternates were most active.

Gabriel would use his alternates to scare (Y/n) into staying inside, convincing her that there was no need to visit the church anymore, especially with how dangerous it was to go outside.

He would have her believe that he was preparing for a rebirth of the world, and she was one of the lucky few that would be allowed to live with him. Her faith in him grew and grew, which only satisfied Gabriel, glad to know he had succeeded in gaining an iron grip on her life.

And nothing was going to make him let go.

~fin~

author’s note: sorry for the long wait, i’ve been busy with balancing school and writing, but i hope you all enjoy! i don’t plan to quit posting anytime soon, so please know that i am writing whenever i can! <33

#original writing #taking requests #x reader #alt gabriel #alt gabriel x reader #fem reader #alternate gabriel x reader #yandere tmc #yandere alt gabriel

[cho-aaacho]

(Flufftober 2023) Massage

Main Masterlist I Archive of Our Own

Flufftober 2023 Masterlist I Prompts List

Tags : Fluff, Romantic Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Massage, BSAA Chris Redfield, Flufftober 2023, Reader is genderless

(Flufftober 2023 Day 17)

Chris couldn't help but feel himself bathed in the romance situation. Above his head, there is a crystal-clear chandelier emanating a glow, showering the entire room with its light.

The romantic music flowed through the ceiling and the marble floor, promising the entire ballroom with its celestial melody.

Chris stood gracefully, his whole presence bathed in the soft glow of the chandelier. A sweet, gentle hum allured the ballroom, melting his very soul as he meandered his eyes towards the main entrance, only to discover a young, beautiful, and charismatic being drawing near him. Moving only for him.

With a bouquet held romantically in his trembling hands, a slight, soft smile curls on his lips, rendering him even more handsome.

His heart fluttered like a golden butterfly, so glowing that it almost overwhelmed him. It feels like everything around him has transformed into a garden of Eden.

At that moment, he understood exactly what happened to him; he knew very well what kind of disease had contaminated him.

Ah...

"I'm sorry, I'm late, Redfield." You smiled as he handed you a bouquet.

...yes, in love.

"No, that's fine. We didn't miss our last dance." He replied, his voice wrapped in a serene tone. You couldn't recall where or when he talked to you with such a calming tone.

He was a stern captain in the BSAA; his words were always full of soldier etiquette, and sometimes you couldn't imagine what he looked like without those uniforms. There are always dark clouds following his head every time you talk with him; there is always a gap between you and him.

Everyone is afraid of Chris, including you. But Piers had sworn that off-duty Chris was a different man. And from this point, you chose to believe in Piers.

"Was it your driver who made you late?"

He inquired, extending his hand toward you. You shyly accepted his hand. You couldn't lie, but you were feeling nervous around him. Because, oh God... he's so different from what you saw at the BSAA office. His smell, the way he locked your eyes—everything is so different.

With his guidance, you embarked on a journey toward the ballroom.

"I have no driver. I came here by myself, Redfield."

His laughter was followed by a soft smile on his face. "No need for such formality with me. You can call me Chris, or perhaps you've got a nickname for your captain?"

"Uh... Okay, Chris?"

"Okay... shall we dance?"

In an intimate embrace, his arms wrapped around your waist and guided you to a romantic connection. As the romance music blended with you, he swayed gently from side to side never stopping to gaze at your face. His lips were sliding sensually along the curve of your neck and then planting a passionate kiss. You're a bit confused at first, but after time passes, you're quite enjoying that kiss.

As your fingers accidentally brush against Chris' waist, he moves his body to the back. His expression changed to a burden of pain. You didn't know what happened to him.

"You okay, Chris?" you inquire, momentarily halting the waltz.

"You know," he began. "My waist is kind of hurting after falling from our last mission—so when someone touches there—"

"What? How about—I want to see that; maybe I can give you some help?"

Chris didn't say anything; he was just following your guide somewhere. Somewhere, he didn't know where it was. The two of you ended up in the bathroom, where you were alone inside.

You assured. "I don't want to be rude or sound perverted. But I want to see which part of your body is hurting. You know I'm quite good at giving someone a massage."

"I don't—"

"You need proof, Chris?"

With a tender touch, your finger squeezed against his waist, and a weird thread connected between you two. Unaware of Chris' expression, you didn't have time to witness something like that. Because you have something important here, right?

You furrowed after discovering something. "Well, I think your muscles are a little tense. How was your sleep? I can guarantee that after you get a massage from me, everything will be okay."

Chris chuckled. "So what should we do? Take you to my home."

Note : Uuuhhh. Sorry for the delay, but I promise I will finish Flufftober. Anyway, I'm rewatching Death Note this time, and once again, I fall into N and L brain rot. So you can blame the delay for this. //Slaaaaap

The next part will be Ethan Winters.

#resident evil #resident evil chris redfield #resident evil chris #chris redfield x you #chris redfield x reader #chris redfield fluff #chris redfield #flufftober2023 #flufftober #resident evil fluff

[hushcaringdemons]

A Druidic Demonolator's Guide to Invocation

I have been asked many a times to kindly offer guidance on how to do ritual invocation for demonolatry. I will oblige those inquires now, and all future ones by revealing how I personally do invocations as a syncretic theistic Satanist and Druidic Pagan. This is only one individual’s example. Yours will surely be different based off of tradition, experience, and preference. (Please with all gratitude credit back to Hushcaringdemons when sharing.)

THE SACRED CIRCLE

In order to conduct ritual, one must call upon the elemental forces and balance the spiritual energies within and without you. This sacred space is brought into existence by the might of your own Will. It serves as a gateway between the Mundane and the Spirit World as well as a stabilizing force during your ritual workings (especially if this involves working with a spirit like a Daemon). Depending on the tradition, a wand or a ceremonial dagger is used to summon and direct energy. A hand with the pointer and middle finger extended can fill the role of a ceremonial tool if one is absent. A scared circle can be cast pretty much anywhere.

THE WATCHTOWERS

Watchtowers refers to the cardinal direction (East, South, West, North, and Center), their elemental association (Air, Fire, Water, Earth, and Spirit), and the spiritual entities that represents them. Calling upon the spirit of the Watchtowers instills their power in your circle and rite. What spirit is called upon varies between traditions as well as practitioner preference. Direction and elemental associations are very open to interpretation, especially in the case of Pagan Gods where it is largely a modern invention. It is the metaphor that matters here.

THE WORD OF POWER

Choosing a Word of Power to shout at the end of prayers, blessing, or invocations serves as a release of spiritual energy in accordance to your Will. Give it focus and some oomph. Like Watchtower spirits, Power Words vary by tradition and preference. Examples include:

Amen - Useful for practitioners with leanings toward Traditional Ceremonial Magic. A Jewish word meaning "So Be It" inherited by Christianity and Islam. If one comes from a culturally Abrahamic background and is unbothered by that, it is a perfectly serviceable word.

Amun - It is a common falsehood in magic communities that the true origin of the word Amen comes from the name of Amun, a High God of Ancient Egypt whose dominion is the deepest and most hidden parts of the cosmos. I list it here as an example because calling upon the highest, and preferably most primordial, entity or force in your pantheon sends out your magic intent to those parts of the universe. For me, that name would be Satan who I view similarly representing the hidden and the primordial.

Awen - Useful for druidic practitioners such as myself. Awen is divine inspiration in the Welsh bardic tradition. Neo-Druids have expanded it to encompass the animating force of the universe.

A STANDARD RITUAL INVOCATION

Now, lets put all of the above components together. The following instructions will be using my personal invocation as a template.

Turn to face East, and use your ritual tool to point outward. Starting from the East, the direction associated with the sunrise and new beginnings, is a common way to start Sacred Circles through out traditions. Beckon:

“HAIL LUCIFER, Prince of the East. Spirits of Air anoint thee for thou art Truth and Enlightenment amoung them all. HAIL AND WELCOME.”

Turn to face South, and use your ritual tool to point outward. It is another common tradition to use clockwise motions in order to create. Beckon:

“HAIL ASMODEUS, Prince of the South. Spirits of Fire anoint thee for thou art Passion and Desire amoung them all. HAIL AND WELCOME."

Turn to face West, and use your ritual tool to point outward. Beckon:

"HAIL LEVIATHAN, Prince of the Wests. Spirits of Water anoint thee for thou art Chaos and Rebirth amoung them all. HAIL AND WELCOME."

Turn to face North, and use your ritual tool to point outward. Beckon:

"HAIL BELIAL, Prince of the North. Spirits of Earth anoint thee for thou art Filth and Fecundity amoung them all. HAIL AND WELCOME."

Hold your ritual tool high over your head, and state:

“HAIL SATAN, Master of Darkness. All Spirits are within thee.”

Say the following as you move clockwise, weaving all the elements and directions together with your ritual tool:

“Thou art the Adversary, the Black Goat, the Ram-Headed Serpent.

All that is Above, and all that is Below.

All that is Hidden Without, and what is Hidden Within.”

At this point you should have completed your circle. Hold your ritual tool high over your head again. Stand tall and proclaim:

“What is hidden in me! Myself! I am God!”

(This is technique I stole from LaVeyan Satanism. A little puffing up of the ego helps with energy building.) Maintain your erect pose as you conclude the invocation:

“By the Might of the Four Watchtowers

And by the Binding Power of the Baphomet,

I proclaim this ritual circle cast.”

Use your ritual tool to draw a sigil in the air such as the pentacle or pentagram, and declare:

“It is my Will, and it is Done.”

Complete the invocation with your Power Word. Congratulations, your Sacred Circle is cast, and you are now ready to proceed to your ritual.

#demonolatry #theistic satanism #left hand path #magick #witchcraft #ritual magic #dear reader