#he can't hear the longing and the praying and the worship but it's THERE

[crookedteethed]

18+ Thinking about giving Eddie head while Wayne's giving him a talking to.

Eddie shuts his eyes tight and lets out a long exasperated sigh as he feels your dainty hand grip the base of his cock. Your eager mouth, which had been planting delicate kisses around the supple skin of his thighs to the happy trail of his stomach, finally makes there way to his eager cock.

Wayne thinks he has an attitude, which resulted in Wayne telling Eddie:

"You keep huffin' and puffin' like that and you'll end up without a roof under your head, boy, you hear me?"

By Wayne's serious tone and stern demeanor, you would think Eddie had called him every swear word out of the book and then some, but really, Eddie hadn't said a word to Wayne from now until Wayne first angrily stomped into the trailer door shouting Eddie's name; telling Eddie that he has to take on more responsibility in the house other than sitting at home and playing his guitar all day (and having sex with his girlfriend, which he'd been doing all day).

Adults have this way of thinking (especially during lectures) where they can't differentiate the chasm between silence and having an "attitude."

Eddie knew he couldn't say anything to Wayne. Fermenting saliva had been collecting in his mouth since he first felt your hands tugging on the elastic of his sweatpants. Wayne would kick him out if drool spilled from his mouth when Eddie went to speak.

A glob of your spit coax Eddie's cock. You begin rimming your tongue around Eddie's mushroom-shaped tip, licking and sucking whatever pre-cum is leaking from his hole, occasionally taking long, bold strides from his base and back to his tip.

"I--" Eddie begins, but he's cut off when he feels your plump lips wrap around his tip and start sucking him gently. He splurges himself in the mixture of warmth and moisture coming from your mouth. He melts into the hollowness of your cheeks and the swivel of your tongue.

You splurge yourself at the effects you hold over him. Though you feel bad, not wanting to get the boy in any more trouble than he's already in.

Eddie grips his fist at the mound of pillows and blankets that conveniently covers his entire lower half.

Wayne notices and says, "I hope you're not trying to hold back a fist."

What Eddie was trying to do was hold back a moan.

"No--Wayne--I." His voice comes out in deprived little fragments-- like a scratched disc.

"Well, what?" Wayne says, agitated.

You get ballsy and attempt to deep-throat him; as you inch his swollen length closer and closer to the back of your throat, Eddie feels that particular spot where his glans slip past your tonsils, and he feels the gushes of your saliva caused by him pooling around your mouth.

"Fuck." Eddie says, almost in a whisper.

"What did you say, boy?" Wayne urges. "Nothing."

You try your best not to make any sounds, tears streaming down your cheeks from holding back, but when Eddie slightly bucks his hips up, you find yourself gagging around his length. Eddie covers the delicious sound of you sputtering with a fake cough.

It was an intense feeling of worship for Eddie, and he needed to get Wayne off his case so he could at least witness you taking his cum down your throat.

"Look, Wayne." He pauses. "I'll do more work around the house. I can--grunts—even pick up a few more shifts at the hideout, if you'll like."

Eddie doesn't know how he got through all that without blowing his cover, but he was hoping he wouldn't have to go through that again and praying that Wayne would just leave.

Wayne stays silent--not for too long, but long enough to make Eddie think he had blown his cover, and Wayne knew that his nephew was getting blown under his covers.

But with a simple nod and a "ok." (Wayne didn't need much convincing), Eddie could forget his worrying (accompanied by the excitement that came from worrying).

Wayne finds himself standing at the door of Eddie's room. Before leaving for work, he asks Eddie if he's sick or something.

"You're sweatin' buckets and you're coughin' a lot." Wayne states.

You bring yourself back to the tip of Eddie's cock and, in a bobbing motion, bring yourself down back to his base; at this point, all Eddie could do was nod his head and let out a shaky "un hun."

When Wayne announces he's leaving and you both hear the trailer's front door shut, you pull the covers over your head.

You pull him out of your mouth to catch your breath; saliva drips from your mouth onto your chin, tears prickling the corners of your eyes, and those lips, those puffy red lips, twisting into an alluring smile.

"You think that's funny, don't you? Blowing me in front of my uncle?"

"Oh, please, you enjoyed it." You tease.

And you were right; he did enjoy it, the excitement bubbling down in his stomach at the thought of getting caught. That's why every time you were at his trailer, and you two were having sex, Eddie made sure to leave his bedroom door wide open and have his windows just cracked; then he'd have his music blaring loud so he couldn't hear anyone if they were to walk in.

#eddie munson smut #stranger things #stranger things fic #crookedteethed #eddie munson x reader #crookedteethed thoughts #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #fem reader #agoraphilia #y/n

[lunarw0rks]

Honestly need more twt links.

🫣

TWITTER LINKS [ 141 / LV + KÖ ]

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ 141 MASTERLIST ───have a request? ˗ˏˋ ASK BOX ˎˊ˗

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warning(s): literal p0rn, f/m, no hard kinks included!

•‧₊˚⊹ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT (18+) ‧˚₊•

PRICE

『 Price never has you on your knees.

Not kneeling on the wood floor, instead, on your hands and knees on the soft bed. His last wish is for you to be straining yourself, especially at the expense of pleasuring him. Wrapping your lips around his cock, short, sloppy bobs of your head echo through the bedroom.

John can't resist touching you, squeezing the flesh of your rear, whispering praises while your throat allows as much of him as possible. 』

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

『 You and Price sneaking off to the bathroom.

Going out to dinner with John and his colleagues, bored with mindless chatter and military talk that you don't understand. Finding yourself bent over the fancy vanity of the restaurant washroom, surely fraying the fabric of your evening wear.

Price holding back, not daring to go too mean of a pace, otherwise, everyone will hear. 』

SIMON

『 Using you and Simon's new kitchen for the first time.

New homeowners, determined to get good use of the new space. You were supposed to be unpacking utensils but ended the afternoon leaning over the unused dining table. Simon's fingers in your hair, bullying his cock into you — as he wants it to be your first memory in the home he bought you.

The best part of not living in a flat? No more holding back your moans. 』

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

『 The best way to keep Simon busy.

No more fidgeting while he stares off into space, he needs to do something, and it's you. Being directed to climb atop his face, grind your slick cunt along his tongue until you reach a sweet finish. And him, unable to resist palming and stroking himself through his jeans — the denim clinging to his aching length.

You're using his talents in the best way. 』

SOAP

『 Simple, shared pleasure with Soap.

Using one another's hands to dissolve into pleasure. Johnny's fingers swirl around your soaked entrance, swiping along your puffy clit and matching your hand's rhythm. You squirm against the mattress, allowing the pleasure to further the speed of your fist. Pumping his cock with one hand, clenching the sheets with your other. Getting each other off, Soap yearning for the cunt he's teasing to be twitching around the cock you're caressing.

Your soft hands are no match for his calloused ones. You simply do it better. 』

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

『 You and Soap celebrating his new rank.

He's been promoted to 'Captain Mactavish'; both exhilarating and ego-boosting for his career. Soap's newfound authority gives him an alluring roughness — a scarred, buff body capable of doing so much to you. Congratulating him by letting him use you, exert the frustrations of leadership into your cunt.

Supporting your husband and his stressful career, in your own way. 』

GAZ

『 Gaz is all about the little things.

His smooth lips wrapped around the mounds of your breasts, suckling and kissing the sensitive nipple. Kyle is practically worshiping your chest, without any expectation of the same treatment on his own body. All before the thought of pleasuring you has crossed his mind.

A little appreciation goes a long way. And speaks volumes, even when his mouth is occupied. 』

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

『 As usual, Gaz driving you mad.

From binging your favorite show to laying across his lap and writhing, yearning for his long fingers to fill you up. Instead, it's blissful torture; those fingers playing with your clit in a zig-zag motion, Kyle giving your heat light smacks as a way to further the tease. Whatever pixels displayed on the screen become an afterthought.

Gripping onto his arm, praying that your desperate squeezes will be enough to convince him. 』

ALEJANDRO

『 Alejandro never asks to switch positions.

Why not combine his two talents: agility and surprise? Rocking your hips on his cock, chest to chest. His mouth curved into a sneer as you're on the brink of coming undone; gushing around his length with shaky legs — just like he'd relished many times. Instead, he waited until your moans turned into whimpers, flipping the two of you until you lay flat. Your mind is dazed from the sudden change, but so quickly overcome with release.

The new position allows him to pound into you, using all the stamina he gathered from watching you bounce. 』

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

『 Office visits with Alejandro.

Privacy is among his many privileges on base. His large desk, the organized files, his tall bookshelves — and the seclusion of a Colonel's office. Usually, Alejandro is too occupied for any nonsense, even when you visit. You surely caught him on a good day, which was a rarity when surrounded by the chaos of Las Almas.

Against the tower of books that resembled a library; but no silence was necessary. 』

RUDY

『 Rudy ensuring your pleasure, first, second, and last.

His mouth's favorite taste, and his ears' favorite sound. Your thighs hooked around his head, heat grinding against his face at the same pace of his masterly tongue. Roaming in a circle around your trembling bundle of nerves, kissing along your sticky lower lips. You tangle your fingers in his dark locks, every rock of his head sending the tip of his nose into your clit.

One of the many ways of keeping you satisfied. 』

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

『 Morning sex with Rudy.

Shivering from the fan that's been rotating all night, but too occupied with each other to power it off. Or for Rudy to take his eyes off your nude body. Without blankets, every bit of you is in view, savoring one another's warmth, chest to chest as you practically tie tongues. He wouldn't have it any other way.

The perfect send-off before he's forced to get ready. If he can let go of you at all. 』

KÖNIG

『 The mere size of König.

He adores the size difference; the power of his abnormal height, as well as the obvious gift to come with it. Your body folded against the white sheets, his swollen, girthy length barely fitting into your soaked heat. König goes slow until he can't hold back — increasing his pace to hear the irresistible moans spilling from your lips, overwhelmed by his size filling you to the brim.

Half of his length, and you're stuffed full. König's already imagining the day you can take all of him. 』

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

『 Your quickies with König.

It's no secret that he's busy; busier than the average busy person. Sometimes, quick releases are all that's left with him. Either way, you're left shaking, and the release is as sweet as ever. Hovering behind you, quick ruts into your heat until you get off, washing away the stress of everyday.

Unfortunately for König, his stress never leaves. Fortunate for you, that means more quickies. 』

╰┈➤ PREVIOUS 141 LIST // GAZ & SIMON LIST

˖⁺‧₊˚✦ divider cred. - cafekitsune ⊹₊｡

#mw2 #call of duty #task force 141 #141 headcanons #141 hcs #task force 141 x y/n #task force 141 x reader #141 task force #141 x reader #tf 141 x reader #john price smut #john price headcanons #john price x reader #john price x you #captain price x reader #price x you #price x reader #captain price headcanons #price headcanons #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon riley headcanons #simon riley x you #simon riley x y/n #simon ghost riley headcanons #simon ghost riley x reader #soap mactavish headcanons #soap mactavish x reader

[beanghostprincess]

I will forever love seeing Luffy and Nami holding Zoro's swords. He's so protective of those three but it's not even because he fears something might happen to them, but because he's scared something might happen to the crew and himself if he doesn't have them with him. They're like extra limbs. The ones he uses to fight and protect and breathe. He feels uneasy whenever his swords aren't around him, and that is just a fact. You can't deny that he feels comfort in having them by his side at all times, knowing that he'll be able to protect the crew from any dangers. They're tied to his heart and soul in a way that if he loses sight of them he might actually lose himself too. So he does not enjoy seeing his swords in somebody else's hands. They can disappear, he will find them. They can run away, he will follow. They can break, he trusts them not to but if they do, he will keep going carrying their bond with him still. But he doesn't like seeing them in somebody else's hands because those are his swords. His limbs. His heart. His soul. It's just not right. It never feels right. But.

But.

But sometimes Luffy acts like he knows what he's doing and actually asks for permission instead of just taking what he wants. As if crossing Zoro's boundaries would be unforgivable, when he knows Zoro would give him anything he wanted to take from him. But he asks. He asks, with a careful, polite, deep voice Zoro isn't used to hearing. But it always ends with the softest of smiles and the petition reaches a place inside of Zoro's heart that he just knows has also touched his swords. So he lets him, because how could he not, and he runs his fingers through all of them. Amazed. Astonished. Respectfully talking to them as if they could hear him. And they can. Zoro knows they hear and feel and love and crave and long for his captain's touch. He knows, because he does too. Because who wouldn't? Luffy holds them in a way he never holds anything else- Carefully. Like they aren't his. Like befriending somebody he fears might reject him. Like taking hold of Zoro's heart and holding him so gently in case he might break him. He worships them as if he weren't the god in this relationship. He looks handsome, too. Not pretty. Not cute. Handsome. Mature. His hat covers his adventurous gaze but leaves his mischievous grin for the whole world to see. And yet, the swordsman trusts him enough. Without any look or any word. He knows Luffy's face by heart, he realizes, now that he can picture his eyes quite too perfectly under his hat. His skin glistens under the sun and his tender fingers hold the sword with so much clumsiness it looks dumb. He doesn't know how to hold them, yet they don't want to move away from him. It's clumsy but it takes over them. Maybe it's his haki. Maybe it's the effect the future king of the pirates has. Zoro thinks it's just him. Luffy. And his heart stops the second Luffy smiles, as if he had just heard the sword respond to him. He wants to kiss him. Bite him. Let him bite back and draw blood and eat him. Let him hold him the way he holds the swords but tighter. Closer. Maybe he's in love. Zoro. With Luffy. It's not a maybe. Who is he trying to trick? He knows he is in love. With the way he smiles and the way he holds and the way he wants but respects and loves. It's funny like that, the fact that Luffy keeps being so careful when Zoro would let him tear his heart apart and eat it if he so desired. It's funny that the swords love him with such gentleness when they often demand power. Perhaps kindness is the most powerful weapon of all or, at least, Luffy's most powerful skill. Zoro hates it when somebody else holds them because they don't own them. They don't own him. He doesn't even own his swords, anyway. Nobody can. They're his the same way he's theirs, just with a bit more dominance and respect. But Luffy isn't owning them. He's praying to them. Talking to them. Befriending them. Loving them. And they would bow to him if he so desired. Zoro knows they would, as fierce as they are and violent as they seem and as sharp as they cut. They'd bow to him because Zoro would too. The uneasiness does not exist when Luffy is the one to hold them because, if Zoro had to give out his soul for somebody to take care of, that would be Luffy. And if he has to be unprotected. Naked. Bare in front of a thousand soldiers. He will if it's Luffy the one fighting instead.

Sometimes Nami wants to hold them just to feel what it's like to be in Zoro's shoes. It's a stupid reason. He refuses to let her do it as an instinctive reaction at first. She doesn't seem as interested in following the protocol as Luffy is, but she knows where to stop and she knows what to say to get on Zoro's nerves, anyway. She's equally as fierce. Equally as sharp. He won't let her hold any cursed sword, but it's not like she wants to. She's smarter than that. Careful and respectful but not that interested in the swords and what they mean, more in how they feel. Zoro gets it. Kind of. Somehow. She says something about always letting them eat her precious tangerines, so he should humor her by letting her hold Wado at least. She isn't pushing him. He knows she wouldn't. She's just teasing because she knows. She always knows. She knows he will say yes. Because he always does what she says, although he keeps demanding a bit of respect to not be treated like a dog. But Nami never forces him to do anything. He could refuse. She would give up at some point. But there's just something about her- Stubbornness. Strength. Love. So much love and care and worry and anger. And Zoro likes her. She's selfish, too, like a pirate should be. Stronger than Zoro in the ways that matter. Smarter, too, even if he wouldn't admit it out loud. But she leads the way and he follows, not because that's a dog's job, but because he wants to. He trusts her. Something he never thought he would. But he does. She's smart. She leads the way. She knows where they're going. They somehow are the same and totally different at the same time. Zoro grounds Luffy when he gets lost. Nami leads them both so they won't. So there's something about her curiosity that makes him soften. He never knows exactly why he does what she says. Why he indulges her like that. But it's satisfying, for some reason he refuses to read within himself, the satisfactory and pleased grin on her face when he hands her Wado. She's careful with her. Awful at holding her. Bad posture. Great smile. Horrible movements. Beautiful eyes. It's okay, though, he thinks. Wado likes her because Zoro likes her. Nami loses interest within a minute, complaining about the weight and the sudden realization of "you always have this thing in your mouth" which makes her want to give her back. But she stares at her for a whole minute. It isn't her thing, but her eyes spark when the sword is returned to Zoro. Trust. A smile. Thankfulness. Her bangs are getting a bit longer and one strand of hair gets in the middle of her teasing smirk. She says she prefers her clima-tact, but swords are fine, "I guess". "She's pretty" she says. Zoro thinks she is pretty. Nami. In a way he can't quite describe because he has never really been good at that. But she is. Like a blade. Sharp. But in the right hands this time for her not to cut the ones she loves anymore. She hands him a tangerine next, every time he lets her hold his sword. An exchange. "I give you something that matters. You give me something that matters". Zoro wants to say it's not the same, but the tangerine is sweet. Juicy. His fingers then smell strongly of citrus. Almost as similar as steel. If he can feel Nami's heartbeat in every bite, he wonders if she has been able to hear his in the hilt of his sword. Calm. Peaceful. Safe.

Zoro doesn't like seeing his swords in somebody else's hands because those are his swords. His limbs. His heart. His soul. It's just not right. It never feels right. But.

But sometimes it does.

#romance dawn trio my beloved #btw it's not meant to be romantic between zoro and nami they're besties and love each other deeply #however it is meant to be extremely romantic between zoro and luffy zoro is very very gay #what is this? idk. why did i write this? idk. #this maybe does not make any sense and i do not care okay #i am just vibing here #as you can see this was supposed to be a short post. it wasn't #i just think there's something about zoro letting nami and luffy hold his swords it makes me soft #this was supposed to be about ALL the crew but the bond these three have is important to me so let's leave it like this #one piece #roronoa zoro #monkey d. luffy #cat burglar nami #nami #romance dawn trio #zolu

[the-dendrophile-bookdragon]

Family

Pairing: Osferth x fem!reader

Warning: angst with happy ending, fluff, sad Osferth

Summary: Osferth had always yearned for his own family. In your eyes he sees it.

Osferth sat among Uhtred and his men as they sat around the table, talking and laughing over ale. He had laughed at some jests, but sitting opposite Aethelflaed made the pit in his stomach grow. Like he had swallowed a stone and is now lying uncomfortably in his stomach.

As Edward joined the table the pit in his stomach grew heavier. When his half-siblings began to joke around with each other. He was envious of their relationship. He had longed for siblings of his own, sometimes praying Alfred might acknowledge him and gift him with his younger siblings. But fate was cruel in that regard.

You watched him grow quiet next to you. Your light mood came to a halt as Osferth turned inward into himself. When he stood up as Edward had sat down you immediately were wrong. He had told you once while helping Lady Gisela in the household, he longed for a family, siblings. Somewhere he could turn when he needed warmth and companionship.

You smiled at him and told him he had Uhtred, Finan and Sihtric now. That Gisela already treated him like he was part of her family. And he could always come to you if he ever felt alone. He blushed softly, murmuring a soft thanks as you walked into the great hall with buckets of fresh water.

You looked over to the table he had sat alone. Your heart hurts as you see him hunched over his meal eating alone. You grabbed your ale and bowl of stew and walked over sitting on his right side. “Can I join?” You softly spoke.

Osferth looked at you like a thief caught red-handed. His cheeks grow warm at the sight of you. “Yes. Of course.” He stammered out softly. You smiled before resuming to eat. He watched you with soft eyes.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Your soft voice flew into his ear. He shook his head, looking at his stew. He was thinking about gorging it all down even if he wasn’t hungry anymore. “You know you always have a family with me?” He grinned softly at your soft words. “I know.” He whispered back.

For some time, he had been thinking of family. He had travelled with Aethelflaed for some time. Trying to come up with an idea of how to establish a sibling relationship. He failed miserably.

When he looked at you, all he could see was his own family. With you as his wife. Many children so they would know what it felt to have siblings who loved one another.

“And what if I want it? A family with you?” He asked shyly. His heart beating so widely he could hear his blood rush in his ears. You frowned softly in confusion. “I don’t know what you mean, Os?”

That damned nickname you gave him made his stomach erupt in butterflies. “I mean our own family. Me, you … and maybe children of our own.” He whispered under his breath.

Your eyes widened softly. The spoon you were holding fell from your hand into the stew with a soft thud. “I thought you were a monk. Isn’t it against-“ “I don’t want to be anymore. My father chose this path for me. I will still be devoted to god, but I want to worship you as my wife.” He looked over at you with his soft blue eyes. “I can’t stay quiet anymore about my feelings about you. I feel more for you than a brother should. And I am thankful we aren’t related. I would like to make it known we are a family.”

You bit your lip softly. An act Osferth found irresistible. It seemed like the conversation was over when you looked away. But your body language gave Osferth hope. You softly scooted over to him and laid your head on his arm. “I like spring weddings.” Osferth grinned at your whisper.

The pit in his stomach was replaced by a swarm of butterflies. He leaned down and kissed the top of your head softly.

Main Masterlist

Can't get enough? Tell me about it...

#osferth #osferth x reader #osferth x you #osferth fanfic #osferth the last kingdom #the last kingdom #the last kingdom fanfic #osferth fluff #osferth angst

[sorcerous-caress]

How do you think the party would react if Tav was a Fallen Aasimar? I sure it hinges on the God's aliment. What if it was a God they worship?

Reacting to a fallen aasimar Tav

[Bg3, fluff, nb!reader]

[Shadowheart, Wyll, Karlach, Halsin, Astarion, Gale, Minthara, Laezel]

You used to serve a god they worship/worshipped. I took some liberties with the godless characters.

Shadowheart - Selune

Assuming it happens either after the game ends or in an alternative universe where Shadowheart never abandoned Selune. Then she'd be very conflicted.

What could you have possibly done to have the most gentle of goddesses stripping your wings? Moonlight melting your silvery feathers until they're nothing but abyssal black and ash.

Her lady is wise, therefore she will be very wary of you. Yet at the same time, she can't help but feel a sense of familiarity when she looks at you. It drives away her prejudice for a moment and lets her judge you for your action, no matter how blasphemous the act of questioning her goddess's judgment might be.

Wyll - Tyr

To fall from celeste is to become a fiend. How are you any better than the devils below in the hells?

If he was his younger self, he wouldn't have hesitated to deliver you to justice, and yet the horns on his own head weight heavy like a crown paid for in a lifetime of experience. He knows better than anyone that nothing is ever what it seems like.

This Wyll is wiser, more understanding and open. He's willing to extend the same courtesy to you that he wished someone would've done to him before.

Let him hear you out, friend. Tell him what befelled this fate upon you.

Karlach - Tymora

She is more confused about how you managed to anger the smiling lady herself. It takes a special kind of asshole to turn their back on good fortune and lady luck.

An aasimar at that too? A messenger of luck?

She's never been big on the whole religion thing, to be honest with you, yet the wamrth and good fortune her goddess extended to her is still one of the best gifts she has ever been given.

So what happened? How did this even happen?

She'd never be hostile towards you nor exlude you as long as you don't do anything sinister. She genuinely belives in sharing her good fortune with everyone no matter who.

Halsin - Silvanus

Oak father preserve him. To Halsin, seeing you brings as much joy to him as seeing the shadow curse spread.

His God's teachings aren't that hard to follow, just respect the natural order and preserve all living beings. He has been diligently upholding this code through his life and spreading the teachings back at the grove.

Yet, the oak father himself marked you as an endangerment to the very being of nature. To the ancient trees and sprouting spring flowers, you reprsent the slithering all-consuming wither and rot.

He is very uncomfortable around you, not just on his guard, but you can see that he would rather be anywhere else than near you. Yet, feels like he had to keep an eye on you just in case you burn down a forest or something behind his back.

Astarion - Corellon

Honestly, he doesn't even remember worshipping the old elf or anything. He just assumes it given his previous stature and ancestry.

Not that the self-proclaimed protector of all elves has ever given him a single second of his time since he became an undead. No matter how much he prayed, it seems that the blood running through his veins barely counted anymore when it wasn't his own blood to begin with.

Fuck him, along all the other gods who turned their back on him for 200 hundred years of pure shit. It's a good thing you fell, he tells you, at least now your powers are yours alone. What's a god if not just another master to get you to do their biddings?

He is interested in you, mostly in your powers, to be more precise.

But it also encourages you to seek your own path and never think of grovelling for forgiveness or your feathers back.

Gale - Mystra

He makes a lame ass joke about if that makes him your stepfather. Dad puns included.

Surprisingly, he doesn't make a big deal out of it, even if it was before he fully got over his ex.

He's a scholar first and a lover second. He is genuinely very interested in learning about you and aasimars. Meeting one in a lifetime is a miracle. They're so rare that they're barely documented even. So imagine meeting a fallen one? He is beyond intrigued by you and your nature.

Sure, your morality might come into question, but he will worry about that later. For now, he is more interested in inspecting your wings and asking borderline intrusive questions about how serving Mystra was like.

Evil alligned deities.

Aasimars don't have many rules about them in dnd, but for one, they are classified as celestial beings. So technically, they can't ever serve evil alligned gods. It's never officially stated, tho so it is up to interpretation.

Devils or fiends serve the evil deities instead, so i thought why not make the reason the aasmire fell is because they decided to serve the evil god for the character.

In the next headcanons, falling is considered a good thing. Whoever your previous good god was that you used to serve, you abandoned them and went to serve an evil deity instead which is why you fell.

Laezel - Vlaakith

A good choice, a wise choice even. Laezel might not be versed much in the gods pantheon but she is sure whoever your old deity was, they couldn't have compared to her queen.

You have her respect, the same respect she'd extend to a kitherak even. In her eyes, you're the embodiment of the red dragon and rider knight both in one. Your wings and shinning blade speak for themselves.

She is honoured, fascinated too. Yet her admiration is a double edged sword, for she will hold you to impossible standards and consider it meeting the bare minimum.

Minthara - Lolth

She almost pities you, willingly becoming another pawn in this endless chessboard of drow conflict. Another gem to decorate Lolth's whip with as she inflicts it on whoever she sees fit.

Either you're foolishly naive or a complete masochist to dedicate yourself to the spider queen. Either way, she will test you herself to see exactly what you're made of.

As someone who abandoned Lolth, she'd be wary of anyone who serves her goddess. Yet you haven't cut off her head yet, how strange?

Minthara doesn't hide her disdain for Lolth around you, both warning you of the cruel fate awaiting you no matter how much of a good pet you're to your goddess.

For the longer you stay loyal to Lolth, the more of an endangerment you become to Minthara herself.

Shadowheart - Shar

Another child of the darkness, another sibling of the night to guide her through this journey. Shadowheart thinks your meeting was fate, a reward from her dark lady.

Especially if you saved her from the ship, she'd see you as her hero, a shining black diamond amonst the rubble and mud.

Mirroring how Laezel would've acted in fact, their dangerous fickle admiration of you that you never asked for would force a magnifying glass over both your flaws while exaggerating your achievements.

She doesn't hide her Shar worship from you this time around. She is proud, especially by you by her side. She will be your shield and recovery as long as you be her sword and wings.

#♡Wyll #♡Karlach #♡Astarion #♡Gale #♡shart #♡Halsin #♡Laezel #♡Minthara #♡fluff #♡Aasimar reader #wyll x reader #astarion x reader #shadowheart x reader #gale x reader #laezel x reader #minthara x reader #halsin x reader #karlach x reader #baldur's gate 3 x reader #bg3 fluff #fallen aasimar Reader

[honeyhotteoks]

i genuinely can't stop thinking about yunho as a fallen angel... like...

yunho’s catholic confirmation name is stefano, which is i believe a reference to saint stephen. saint stephen is the patron saint of several different things, but the one that caught my eye was the patron saint of coffin makers. ive had that knowledge churning around in my brain for a long time, especially after watching the kdrama doom at your service, but after seeing these pictures my mind is absolutely spinning with fallen angel soulmate yunho brain rot……… so come along with me

•

fallen angel yunho. he's been wandering the earth for years, passing through life and people and history and he's never known the reason that he was cast out until he meets her, you. he hears you first, a distant voice in the back of his mind, a prayer to his saintly name, a name he hasn't heard in what feels like a millennia. a whisper to saint stephen, the man he used to be, many years and many bodies ago.

no one prays to him anymore, not really. certainly not a voice like yours, ringing clearly and angrily in his ear, a bitter request for a coffin to be ready in early spring. he thinks about the way it's almost winter now, the air turning crisp, and he wonders what in your life has you so angry and yet so practical about death.

he thinks of you for days, weeks, idlily waiting to hear the voice again. he dreams of it, sometimes wakes from a stone sleep to your bitter tenor, the clear catch of tears in your throat, but it's always a memory. he finds himself wandering the city for you, searching through churches, reverent houses of worship that you might be hiding away in. he doesn't expect to find your voice ringing out clear as day across the crowded room of a museum, full of life and joy and the picture of health.

he finds a way to speak to you, he's practiced in the art of conversation, of seduction even when the end goal isn't sex. he just wants to know you, to hear your pretty prayer in person, to understand your voice just a little and why in the world you were praying to him and not god himself like everyone else. in the midst of many, he makes a space for you both alone, the connection and the pull immediate and essential.

for a while, you make him smile, laugh, relax, he feels more at ease and more like a person than he ever would have expected. he doesn't understand you or your prayer though, not until you cough painfully, fitfully into your sleeve and he sees the bright kiss of blood at the corner of your lips. he never imagined you sick, but he supposes it makes sense. in all the versions of meeting you he imagined, this outcome wasn’t one he ever entertained.

he's never watched someone he's loved die before, at least not since his first life, and shamefully he barely remembers the names of his family from then. but somehow he knows he'll remember yours, the way he aches is altogether new and even though he knows it would be better to watch over you from afar, he just can't. and it doesn't help that you keeps finding your way to him around every corner of the city, coincidence after coincidence. so easy to joke about how it must be fate when it is in fact fate, pulling you tightly together and tying the knot tight.

he allows himself to love you then, and you allow yourself one last, good thing. he never lies about who and what he is, and you never really believe him, for all you know he's just a figment of your imagination. a hallucination from one of your tumors like the doctor warned you about. you think if cancer can give you one gift before dying, at least it's him.

for a little while yunho thinks his purpose in falling from grace was to love you, after all you prayed to him, no matter how bitterly. but he understands the truth the moment he meets your daughter, the moment he realizes his purpose for you is much more than momentary, final happiness.

and so he carries you forward through those final months, easing your pain and your giving you one last chance at real, lasting love. and he helps ease you into the other side, his promises whispered tearfully into your hair, that he'll see you again but only after he stays by her side. your child's own guardian angel, happy to watch over her and guide her until it's her time to come home too.

and of course, that means he has to wait. you both do, but he's already waited, even when he didn't know what he was waiting for.

#this is straight rambling #but i know i can commit to writing this fic #so please have a wildly fleshed out idea #honeyhotteoks updates #yunho brain rot #cw cancer #cw death #but like i’m so sorry yunho is prime soulmates fic fodder #like red thread of fate!!!!!!

[viennafantasies]

hey can I request dating damon salvatore hcs?

heyy, of course I can do that for you. this might be a bit terrible bc it's my first time, but I'll give it a go! <3 18+ warning (kind of)

Damon's love language is physical touch. He's always trying to find a way to touch you. He gets super jealous if anyone touches you in some way, even if it's a simple brush of hands.

Damon worships you; he sometimes jokes around . If you walk into a room that he's in, he goes down on his knees and says soft words: 'my saviour'. If he gets horny (which is easily) he'll say 'I pray to be in you right now.' He's not usually the religious type because of how the church disgusts people like him but he'll definitely do a little roleplay in bed. ;)

If you and damon ever get into an argument he'll never break first because he thinks he's always right. He will definitely keep a grudge until you say sorry first. He'll hardly say it but if it's been too long and he misses you he'll say it just to kiss you. You're usually the one saying it first.

Damon would do anything for you; he'll travel the whole entire world to find something that you need because your his priority.

Damon would definitely kiss you bridal style. He always dreamed to marry the girl of his dreams - which spoiler is you. He'll kiss you passionately most of the time if your in bed or lounging away.

Damon for sure is obssessed with your ass. Don't get me wrong he'll of course love every part of you but he obssesses over that physical part of you. Anytime you're in front of him he'll grab your ass saying 'can't wait for you to ride me later so I have a perfect view of your ass.'

Damon is extremely protective, he made multiple enemies in the years he's been a vampire and his weakness is you. So if they find you he'll get super angry.

Damon knows when your upset; so even if you try and hide it with a fake smile he'll always find out. He'll do anything to make you happy even if it means risking his own life for your safety.

Damon worries about you every day, you're a mere human unfortunately. Thus, if any vampires, hybrids, werewolves or any other mystical beings try to kill you or turn you he'll protect you at all costs.

Damon thinks you're the most beautiful girl he's ever lay eyes on. Therefore, you occasionally catch him staring at you with a charming grin that makes your cheeks turn pink.

Damon made a vow to you that he'll never kill a human being again. Which is extremely hard for someone like Damon who's only way of living is to feast on mortals. Not even blood bags will suffice the hunger he has once he hears or sees a drop of blood. Hence, if his hunger is stronger you'll always try and give some of your blood to him even if he refuses multiple times.

A/n: Thank you so much for reading this and if you've got to the end. This isn't proofread so it might turn terrible. I hope you enjoyed and I wish you an amazing day, byee. <3

#tvd #the vampire diaries #tvd x reader #tvd x you #the vampire diaries x reader #the vampire diaries x you #damon salvatore x reader #damon salvatore #damon salvatore x you #ian somerhalder #ian somerhalder x reader #ian somerhalder x you

[gothicflowers]

Black No.1

Alex Keller x Goth!Reader

Warnings: Slight NSFW. MDNI. golden retriever man and goth woman. I definitely wrote this for myself.

She's in love with herself, she likes the dark

And on her milk-white neck: The Devil's mark

Now it's All Hallows Eve, the moon is full

But will she trick or treat? I bet she will.

She’s polar opposite of him. He is every bit of blonde pretty as they come. His eyes always bright and charming. She is mystified energy wrapped in black cloth. He appreciates your taste in music. He even indulges in it sometimes. Your endless records are always playing on the turntable

She's got a date at midnight with Nosferatu

Oh baby, Lily Munster ain't got nothing on you

Well, when I called her evil she just laughed

Well, cast that spell on me, boo bitch-craft

He was attracted to her energy. She doesn’t need a man’s attention or approval. She walks with her head high and demands respect. First time he seen you walk into a room all he could hear is the ringing in his ears and his eyes glued to you until you decided to stare him down in response. You made him blush so much he had to look away and fidget with his hands.

Yeah, you wanna go out 'cause it's raining and blowing

You can't go out 'cause your roots are showing

Dye 'em black. Ooh, dye 'em black

Black heels, black pants, black nails, black lipstick. That black eyeliner he loved to see run down your face when you just can’t take anymore of the pleasure he gives.

Black, black, black, black number one

Black, black, black, black number one

He loved watching you get ready. You took pride in your appearance. Everyday you’d apply your makeup and do your hair. Alex loved the lip color you always wore. It looked beautiful on your lips, and on his after passionately kissing you. The only lights on in the house at night were candles light. Softly illuminating the rooms creepy but cozy.

Little wolf-skin boots and clove cigarettes

An erotic funeral for which she's dressed

Her perfume smells like burning leaves

Every day is Halloween

Your perfume could always be smelled when you walked by. And your hair always smelled clean, Alex always thought he was smooth hiding that he was smelling it when you cuddled on your black silk sheets in the early morning. Your sent drives him wild

Alex loved buying you new clothes. He loved when packages came in and got to see you try everything on. He loved you in black lace. You did all the technical stuff for the 141 so you didn’t need to dress in combat gear. Instead, dressing like the mistresses of the night. Men’s heads would turn from the sent of vanilla when you walked by and to glance at your fishnet covered legs paired with a black pencil shirt accentuating your plump thighs and ass.

In the beginning it bothered Alex knowing that all the men around him craved you. You were a feast laid out before starving men. But he grew to know your loyalty to one another was fierce. He got you chain necklace with a small heart pendant with his name engraved on both sides. A subtle way for any man that looks at your soft breasts to know that you are taken.

Love, loving you was like loving the dead.

You clash against the camo clad men. You’re a reminder that there is something outside of war. A beautiful darkness that tells a story. Your soul that understands his fears, needs, joys, wants and desires.

It was like fucking the dead

Your long pointed nails would leave marks up his back. Your sent that stuck to the sheets. Your moans that would fill the air. Your need to be worshipped. His need to pray to your mind, spirit and body. Your delicate hands that would grab his jaw when you wanted to pull him down to you for a kiss. He loves how different you look from him and everyone around. His soft pants and whimpering meshed with your moans and cry’s from the pleasure his hands and tongue would bring you. The way he’d run his fingers along your back tattoo when you’re bent over for him.

#alex keller smut #alex keller x reader #alex keller x you #alex keller cod #alex keller call of duty #flowerwrites #call of duty #gothic #Alex Keller

[starliights-shining]

One more Star thought before I got drown in fanfics somewhere.

Prowl finding a planet where everyone worships a god/goddess. It's weird he thinks, but isn't one to judge if it keeps them happy. He spents a lot of time there and is like why do you guys keep talking about this godd/goddess, i wanna know what the hype about them is. He thinks they're worshipping a statue, or a figure from a book, but when the locals bring him to the temple its an actual living breathing being, and its you. You're sat in a room decorated with pictures of you and other important figures or moments in history. You're drapped in pretty fabrics and fancy jewlry. Now he sees why everyone is so obseesed, why every single person worships the groud you walk on.

He's in love, wishing he could stay and do exactly like your followers. Wishing he could be the person standing next to you, feeding you grapes, holding your hands, kissing your feet, being the whole source of your pleasure and happiness. It hits him hard how he can't be the one, the one to take care of you.

He finds himself praying to you, asking Primus to keep your wishes in his favor. Praying to your sun and stars as he enters more danger. Praying that he will return to your home planet and see you each time. It cost him more fuel and time, but he doesn't care.

When he's finally graced with the chance of meeting you after years of dedicaded support. He is greeted by one of your temples keepers, their sun, moon and stars get-up catching him off guard. He questions if theyre real, were they really going to take him to you, but when he sees the look of others, he takes it serious. He ushered to the last temple he saw you at. He recalls the image perfectly in his processor. Your bare feet peaking from under your dark draped clothing, your hair long and flowy as you smile down at the onlookers, their hands reaching up to you in hopes of a blessing. He could have sworn you were looking right at him that day. Eyes catching his as you smiled, a blessing is all he thought. You just gave him a blessing.

Now here he is, actually getting to talk to you, hold a conversation, worship the ground you walk, he thinks maybe his praying as finally come true. Your own delicate ears hearing his words and asking for him. He pulled into a room by the temple keepers, the room light with all the things they said you had in the books and stories. He watches the keepers fall to their knees, heads bowing and eyes closed. He looked in front of him and there you stood. Your beauty finally being seen by his very own optics. He soon follows suit, falling to his kness, unable to bow his head and close his eyes. He was awestruck, unable to tear his optics from you, slowly making your way to him. You'll stop in front of him, a small smile on your face as you take in his image. His lips parted and optic blown wide as eh stares up at you. You'll just stare at him. A hand coming up to the side of his helm. Your felt his melt plating, thumb rubbing over flat and smooth surface.

"Leave us,"

You tone was quiet, almost unheard by him. The keepers with bow once again before swiftly leaving and closing the door behind them. Your other hand raising to his face as you move closer to him, his chin now mearly inches away from your stomach.

"For what is it you want My sweet boy."

He blinks, his processor short circuiting as he takes in the way your voice sounds. All he can do is mumble a what. optics swirling as he stares into you. He is lost, trying to come up with the meaning behid your words.

"I see you around me keeps often. So you must have a request, a need, a want. What is it?"

You voice is still soft, soft enough that only he can hear it. Your tone is endearing, your eyes soft, and lips even softer looking. Your skin is smooth and dewy. You glow in the light of the room, a shining God/goddess. Your thumb rubbing over the metal plating of his face, as you gaze down at him. He finds the needs to stablize himself, a need to know this is real. His servos find their spot on your hips and rest there.

"You, it is you I wish for."

"Then it is me you will have."

You smile, thumb running over the plating below his optics. Its in this moment he realizes, you truly are deserving of your place, for your worships, of your following, of his love.

#stars talking #transformers #transformers x reader #tf x reader #tf #prowl x reader #tf prowl #prowl #idw prowl #prowl g1 #transformers prowl #I LOVE THIS IDEA SO MUCHHHHHHH

[rancidpancakebatter]

🛁 : A bathing headcanon

Peter Parker is a lover. And boy, does he love you. If he could do it professionally, and completely devote his life to loving you, he would. In a fraction of a heartbeat. And while you both know this, Peter often feels guilty that so much of his time isn't devoted to you. And while you seem more than content with late night, at-home, dates and broken flowers, Peter can't help but feel like you deserve more- more than he can give.

Being Spider-Man is very stressful. And sometimes he can't leave work at work. His mind will wander to the pain and suffering he witnessed, the death and grief he couldn't stop. Sometimes he feels like he's fighting an endless battle for New York's very soul, losing pieces of himself with every cut, scrape, and sacrifice. But when he comes home, he can fall into your arms and you can begin to mend him again.

Peter loves closeness with you. His "job" makes him miss you constantly. Every night he's out, all he can think of is you. How much he loves you, cares for you, and desires you. So when he finally gets home, he can't wait to hold you close, because he's been dreaming about it all day.

Peter loves physical touch. It's his main love language. He also really loves your body. And not even in a super sexual way, he just loves you. His heightened senses allowed him to enjoy you even more, like how soft your skin is, how warm it is. He can see the flecks in your eyes, twinkling in the sunlight. He can hear your breathing and your heart's beating. He can never get enough of you.

With your weird schedules, sometimes the only time you guys get together is at the end of the night. He'll often stumble through the window as you're tucking yourself in. So, you've both made bedtime quality time. You'll get ready for bed together and catch up on your days.

Peter loves bathing with you. He gets to take the time to help you unwind and dote on you like he should. He adores your body and all of your wonder. He gets to pull you to his chest and just be close- like you always should be.

It's kind of awkward with his long gangly limbs, and you often laugh when he kicks his feet out of the tub to make room for you. But he gladly suffers. He would go through hell and back if it meant he could hear your relaxing sigh as you sink into the water that he warmed to the perfect degree. He would fight endless battles if it meant he could massage your soft flesh for the end of time. He would push any amount of boulders uphill if he could feel the way you start to fall into him while he works his hands from your neck to your lower back, chasing away the drops of water with his lips. He would fall to his knees and pray for the chance to worship you for the rest of his life.

Hey! I'm so sorry this has just been sitting in my ask box forever. I completely forgot about it. I hope this is what you were looking for! I'm finally getting back into writing, so stay tuned.

#rancid replys #rancid writes #peter parker imagine #peter parker x you #spiderman x reader #andrew garfield #peter parker fluff #spiderman #peter parker #peter parker headcanons #peter parker headcanon #andrew peter parker #andrew garfield spiderman x reader

[captain-mj]

Hey, 🦭 here back from the grave (was just resting after a hellish week of school)

I have been obsessed with Sleep Token especially their song called 'Chokehold' which in think is very eldritch GhostSoap coded, with Ghost being an eldritch god and Soap being his most devoted follower (iykyk)

And Ghost who just adores his follower and can't help but grant Soap's indulgence and desires because of his own selfishness

Could you possibly make a fic like that? Pretty please with a bit of dynamite on top :3

-🦭

(The brainrot is brainrotting /srs)

I love that song so much, I can of course do that!! Also, it's nice to see you again :)

Ghost sat in his temple silently. He observed those who came in and offered things and those with entertaining tales or genuine needs were given what they asked. Most requests though were... petty. Indulgent. A desperate plea for more attention, more money, more pleasure.

Ghost wanted to lash out at them some days. And he did. He'd curse them with impotence, poverty and isolation at the drop of a hat. It had become a known risk to everyone but...

Johnny.

His favorite follower.

He lifted his hand, letting the priest cut his wrist so blood would flow.

Ghost listened intently, letting the other prayers fall away like rushing water.

"Ghost." His name on his tongue was beautiful. "I am here to request something." Normally, Ghost would listen to his request, answer it immediately and let Soap leave. But today, he wanted it to be different.

Gently, not wanting to hurt him or any of his other loving followers, he spoke. "Everyone must leave except the current person praying."

His priests hopped to it, herding everyone out. It left Soap alone in the place of worship.

Soap looked up at the depictions of Ghost. Of dark wide eyes staring into the souls of anyone who came in. Ready to dismiss them or bless them on a whim.

"My God." He moved to kneel, averting his eyes. "I always feel your presence here. I never thought I'd be chosen to hear your voice or hold your attention like this."

"You think you hold all of my attention?" Ghost had created universes. Species. Had senses that would melt Soap's brain to even be explained. But yeah, Soap did in fact have all of his attention. He just shouldn't assume he did.

Or he could. Ghost doubted, even if he disrespected him to his face, he could stay mad for too long.

Soap tensed. "No! Of course not, it's just more attention than I'd ever expect. I'm...."

"Keep your eyes on the ground." Ghost stepped in front of him. Smoke billowed off of him, form fading in and out of existence. "Wouldn't want to drive my favorite follower insane."

Soap's breathing hitched. "Favorite?"

Ghost ignored him. "What is it you want?"

"I..."

"Spit it out."

"Health. For my family."

Ghost hummed. "Granted. What else?"

"What?"

"That's for your family. Would you like anything?"

"I... um..."

"Anything you want."

Soap nodded. "I... I don't know. I don't have anything else I desire."

Ghost hummed. "I see. How sweet." He trailed around him in circles. "Power beyond wildest dreams? Friends and worshippers? Enough money to indulgent in all forms of debauchery?"

"No. I don't find much interest in those."

Ghost nodded. "Well, I want to give you something for yourself. Selfishly of course."

Soap almost looked up before quickly remembering his place. "If you'd so please, my holiness."

My?

My??

Ghost touched him, feeling him shiver and shake, almost doubling over. Soap whimpered, burying his face on to the floor as sensations rushed through him. He ended the contact and watched him sink further.

"You're interesting, Johnny."

Soap took a deep breath and nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Your family will be healthy. You have given me enough, today."

"If I found something to wish for, could I come back tomorrow?"

Ghost paused and mulled over it. "Come at night. You could spend it with me." He'd have to be so gentle, but the idea of holding Soap in his hands. "I won't fault you if you don't."

"I will. I'll be here. I promise, I'll..." Ghost grabbed him by the scruff and felt him twist in his hands, overcome with feelings again. Soap grabbed his leg for support and whimpered. It wasn't the most pleasant sensation for most people, but like he predicted, Soap liked it. Maybe it would become an addiction. That way Soap was just addicted to his presence as Ghost was becoming to Soap.

"You will. And I'll grant you all of your desires."

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #call of duty modern warfare ii #cod mw2 #ghostsoap #cod #soapghost

[valiantstarlights]

[Priest Hob AU sequel] Some Months Later, December 24, Evening.

Tagging @alexxuun because they deserve credit for the AU. 😊 I can't tag the anon who requested a sequel in an ask, but here you go! I hope you like it. 🖤

--

"I don't...I don't understand." Hob clutches at Dream's arm when he realizes where Dream has transported them. "Why are we here?"

'Here' was the corridor they got married in, months ago by now. Nothing has changed. The fourth window left of the door was still cracked, and the tile near the first pillar was still placed unevenly. Time has passed, surely, but Hob doesn't know the time difference between Hell and Earth. For all he knows, only a few minutes have passed since he was last here with Dream.

"To pray, I suppose," Dream replies, sounding amused at his question. "Is this what being in my presence does to you, Father Robert? Have you forgotten the purpose of churches?"

Panic flared bright in his chest. "No, please, don't call me that. You know I'm not...I'm not that person anymore. I'm your husband now. Right? Dream?" His heart was suddenly beating so quickly. Dream was looking at him strangely, all traces of humor gone from his handsome face. "Why are we here? Have you...have you grown tired of me? Is this you returning me to my old life?"

No. No. Anything but that. Anything but the crushing loneliness, the prayers that ring hollow when he recites them, the misguided belief that suffering brings you closer to heaven. That it is worth being miserable your entire life, giving and giving until you have nothing left, for the sake of having a place in God's kingdom where it would be more of the same: worshipping an absent, indifferent being, the air filled with songs of zealous, nauseating praise, fake beatific smiles on the face of everyone you meet.

Hob would rather die than live that life again. He would rather starve in the streets and die a peasant's death than leave Dream's side. If his husband has fallen out of love with him--

"Hush, my love," Dream says, and then Hob is enfolded in his strong arms, Dream's dark wings also moving to shelter him. Hob immediately clings tight. If Dream wants him to let go, he's going to have to break Hob's arms first. "I am here. I will not leave you. You are mine until the end of time."

"Then why?" Hob asks against the rich fabric of Dream's robes. He still sounds panicked, short breath coming in gasps. "Why are we here? I don't want to be here."

Dream rubs Hob's back comfortingly, up and down and up again, sometimes brushing his long fingers through Hob's hair, until Hob calms down. Until he can breathe normally again. Hob doesn't know how much time has passed, but their surroundings are undisturbed and not a single person walks by them.

And then Dream asks, "Are you sure?"

What?

Dream sighs but continues his soothing gestures. "I know you miss it. I hear you hum sometimes, when your mind is focused on a task. Religious melodies. Christmas songs, of late. I don't think you notice it, but some of the staff do. Lucienne tells me you must have wanted to visit, but are too afraid to ask me." He leans away from Hob so Hob could see how sincere he looks, but all Hob reads in Dream's face is the sadness in his eyes at the thought of Hob not trusting him enough to tell him his wishes.

"I do not want you to think that you can never visit again," Dream tells him, soft and a little vulnerable. "I do not want you to think that by marrying me, you have lost your freedom." He looks around them, at the high ceilings and the tall windows. "And so here we are."

"Dream," Hob says as earnestly as he could. "It's just a habit. I hum when I feel like it's too quiet. It just so happens that the songs I pick are...well. But if you enchant a violin to play by itself and follow me around, I assure you the humming will cease, or if it persists, then it would be to the tune of Mozart or Bach or whichever composer you pick."

He places his hand against his husband's cheek and watches as Dream leans against it before turning his head to kiss his palm. Hob's heart breaks at the tender movement. How long had Dream been worried about this?

"As for my freedom," Hob says, "You did not clip my wings. You unbound them. And since you have, I have never felt happier. With you by my side, I feel like I can achieve anything. You opened my eyes and taught me better. Helped me unlearn all the false teachings I grew up believing to be true. You have made me into the best version of myself I could ever hope to be, and I would not have anyone else by my side. I'm glad I'm spending my eternity with you."

Dream's eyelashes flutter in pleasure at his words before he leans in and gives Hob a soft kiss on the lips. Hob returns it with a passion, wanting Dream to understand that Hob has already decided his fate, and that he has chosen Dream. Will always choose him. Each and every time. Hob needs him to understand that. But how..?

An idea forms in his mind, and as soon as their kiss reached its natural conclusion, he pulls Dream towards the church proper.

"Hob?"

"Come, husband," he says, still filled with a giddy kind of joy whenever he says the title. "I want to make something clear to you."

Dream follows him.

A few moments later, the two of them stand in front of the door that would open to the main hall of the church.

"Is it empty?" Hob asks.

"Yes," Dream says. "The midnight mass won't be starting until later this evening."

"The midnight mass?" Hob repeats in shock. "Is it already Christmas Eve?"

Dream nods.

"Good," Hob says firmly. "Even better." He opens the door, and indeed, there was no one inside.

Hob marches them past the rows of votive stands, past the carved wooden pedestal holding the lit advent candles nestled upon a wreath of evergreen, and right up to the altar. Then, with only a moment's worth of hesitation, Hob shoves everything on the altar crashing down on the ground: the book stand, the large Bible it's holding open, candelabras with unlit candles, and a couple of flower vases. He winces as the objects make a dreadful amount of noise, the water from the vases seeping onto the pages of the Bible, the heavy book stand crushing the flowers, the candelabras dented in a couple of places, the candles placed upon them rolling across the floor.

"Is there a point to this destruction?" Dream asks behind him, sounding adorably confused as to why his usually mild-mannered husband is acting this way.

"No," Hob says, then turns back to Dream. He wants to see his husband's face for this. "I just wanted to clear the altar for my offering."

"Your offering?"

Hob starts to strip, and Dream immediately shuts his mouth, eyes darkening as he understands what Hob is trying to do.

"I am offering myself to you," Hob says, and starts reciting Dream's many titles. "--King of Dreams and Nightmares, One of the Seven Rulers of Hell, and my beloved husband. I would have you stake your claim on me in front of all the angels and saints, right at the altar of the god I used to worship."

Dream stares at him, now fully naked and slightly shivering from the cold air, his nipples pebbling. "You do not know what you're asking for, Robert Gadling," he says, though if the echo of Nightmare's voice tainting his is any indication, then Hob knows exactly what he's trying to do. "This would be unlike our marriage. Offering yourself to me in this way..."

"Can I be any more owned by you?" Hob asks, genuinely curious. "Am I not offering you myself, body and soul, so in the future you will not do stupid things like think I would want to be away from your side? Away from our home?"

"You would be offering yourself body and soul to me, Hob, this is true," Dream says. "But you must know that in offering yourself to me the way you are planning, naked and willing upon an altar, you are also offering to bear my children."

"Your chil--" Hob gapes at him and looks down at himself, at his own body, which is still very hairy and very male. "You can get me pregnant?" He asks, only sounding slightly hysterical.

Dream nods gravely. "And now you see why offering yourself this way to me would be unwise. However, I have noted your intention, and will try not to do...foolish things in the future."

"And if I want it?" Hob asks, unwilling to leave just yet without being fucked here, in the place where he went through life like a ghost, upon the very altar he stood behind and spoke words of faith while having none in his heart. He feels his cock growing hard under Dream's eyes, the hunger in them barely restrained. "If I want to become pregnant with your child?"

Dreams eyes are turning so dark, it was like the stars in them have started to go out one by one. The end of multiple universes. "Hob."

"I am willing," Hob says. "And while I am no longer a virgin, I had been when you first--"

"You should not say these things," Dream says in Nightmare's voice, stepping forward into Hob's space. The shadows were gathering around him and slithering around Hob's feet like snakes. "Not unless you want me to fuck you pregnant in the house of your god."

Hob steps closer until his naked body is flush against his husband, precome staining Dream's dark robes, then leans upwards so he could kiss Dream's and Nightmare's fanged mouth. They nip at his lips and push him back against the altar, the stone cold and hard against his back. Hob moans and twines his arms around their neck, letting them lift him so he could sit on the altar. "Haven't you heard, my husband?" Hob murmurs against their lips. "I worship a different god now."

--

"More," Hob begs, an indeterminate amount time later. Dream's cum drips from his hole and onto the altar, but still Hob spreads himself open. "Again."

Dream kisses him lovingly and obeys. Half of his face is Nightmare and the other half is Dream. He only gets this way when he's feeling so much pleasure that both sides of himself come out to play. Hob loves him like this. Dream is generally a gentle lover while Nightmare prefers a hard fuck. But both of them at the same time means petal soft kisses from Dream while Nightmare chokes him with a hand around his throat as his cock jackhammers into Hob.

"Insatiable," Dream says in Nightmare's voice as he thrusts hard into Hob. It's good that the altar is made of stone or else it would have broken under their vigorous fucking. "Do you really intend for me to breed you here? Are you not going to be satisfied until my seed takes?"

Hob moans. Yes. That would, in fact, be the ideal outcome. He spreads his legs wider.

"And to think you had been a virgin when I married you," Nightmare says in Dream's voice, possessive and fond at the same time. "Your hole was so tight I had to spend hours with my tongue between your legs to loosen you up. And now your body knows my cock so well you can take me with minimal preparation."

Hob squeezes him as much as he could in retaliation, though it was a weak little thing, his hole already fucked sloppy and loose.

"What a slutty husband I have," they tell him. "Uncaring that at any point now, the deacons and the sacristans will be arriving to do last minute preparations. I doubt they'll have anything to say about the mess you made on the floor, not when they see a former priest of this church getting fucked like a whore right on top of their sacred altar."

Hob mewls at that, aroused beyond belief. He knows he probably shouldn't feel that way. How he should instead feel humiliation flooding his veins at the thought of being found in such a position by the people who used to respect him.

But oh, to be found pleasing his eternal husband, undeniably marked with his teeth and claimed by his large cock...

"Want it," he gasps. It was so hard to speak and his thoughts are a scattered mess. "Show. I'm yours."

"You want me to continue fucking you in front of them?" Nightmare asks, delighted. "You want me to laugh in their faces as they wield their wooden crosses at me when they try to banish me? Shall I bathe them in flame and watch them burn alive when they do?"

Hob doesn't care. He could barely remember them anyway.

"It is tempting," Dream admits. "I want to see the look on their faces when they realize that Father Robert didn't just disappear mysteriously, but was instead granted a better life. However," and here he grinds harder to emphasize his point. Hob keens, toes curling and legs shaking. He has lost count of how many times he came, but he could feel the pressure building in his stomach once more. He'll probably cum dry this time. Or totally lose control of his body and squirt all over Dream. It's already happened once. "I do not want anyone else to see you like this. Only I should have that privilege. Don't you agree?"

Hob nods frantically. Whatever his husband wants. Fuck, his cock feels so good. Hob wants him to fill him up more until he grows round with his cum.

"No, I think we'll just leave them a nice little Christmas present." And with that, Dream wraps his hand around Hob's cock and starts stroking him to the rhythm of his thrusts. Hob practically seizes, wailing, cumming dry, as Dream pounds him harder through his orgasm before shooting another batch of cum straight into Hob's newly formed womb.

--

When the first group of deacons arrive to make the final preparations for the Midnight Mass, the mess on the floor that Hob created is not the first thing they see. Nor do they notice that the altar was desecrated by a truly overflowing amount of both human and demon cum.

They would have noticed these things, but Dream kept his promise and left them his Christmas present, to help make the church look more festive at such an important time in their liturgical calendar.

He did this by covering every interior surface of the church, from ceiling to floor, and not missing a single statue, with fresh, bright red blood.

#Priest Hob AU #CW: blasphemy #i'm not joking or being cute about this #the blasphemy level in this is so high that I the author herself am warning you about it #CW: altar sex #CW: nightmare!dream #honestly just assume that things are gonna be unhinged whenever he's present #am I intentionally posting this on a Sunday? N-no #if this were a vine it would be the 'you're all going to hell 😊 goodbye 👋' one #if this were doctor who this would be the christmas episode #I'm gonna end up calling it that aren't I #2000 plus words wtf #good job my thumbs #dreamling #the sandman #my writing

[the-moon-loves-the-sea]

Pride's a strange time for me. For years it was a quiet, sad, hopeful little silent celebration for me -- for as long as it took to get my family all the way out of the cult where we trained, and worked, and worshiped, and lived.

Whenever we run into people from the cult who've made it out -- really out, not just left but stopped believing in the demons that haunt forbidden things waiting to latch onto us, and the immediate perfection of the soul, and our responsibility to personally bring about the imminent end of the world -- when we find them it's like finding family. They know what it was like.

So we sat around the table, the other night, talking about how the church attached to it closed down, and how much worse we felt for a while after we left, and how much better we feel now. And then one of them said that the cult might be about to close too. They're running out of money. They have been for a long time, but they've got no land and no companies left to sell.

So I went into Pride with a strange feeling of collapse -- restraint gone with the walls of the place that used to stand between me and the rest of you.

My sister just left a few months ago. My mom a few months before that. Neither of them has really processed how it was, though they've started to understand a bit. When I try to talk to them about it, they shut down. The boundaries of the things they're not allowed to think still hold. They might always. Hell is a deep fear.

It's strange that the one thing I'm thankful I took from the cult was my partner. I'm so glad I've got him -- me, a dyke, not that I knew that when I got married; my first kiss was my wedding day and we hadn't done more than hold hands. He was the first one to ask if I wanted to leave. He wanted me to be okay more than he wanted me to stay. He's been the first one to gladly hear all the things I was doubting and all the forbidden things I'd learned. He's made space for me and kept liking me while I've learned how to be angry and sad and assertive and tired. He's figured out how to be my partner now that I can't be his wife any more.

For a while we had plans to separate as soon as I finished college. My cult's college degree is unaccredited and I have no work experience outside them and the church. I don't even know how to write a resume. We've had to postpone that indefinitely. Kiddo has multiple disabilities, and one of us needs to stay with her, and my partner has work experience, so he's bringing in the income. We're in a holding pattern. And yet.

Our house does not belong to them. None of our income comes through them. They don't have access to records of our spiritual care or our mental health. I have an ex-fundie lesbian therapist, and meds, and friends. I've got a queer book club. I can go to Pride with my family, look across the street at my friend from the cult praying and protesting the event, and know that if she sees me, it doesn't matter any more. I own my soul.

Year by year the boundaries of me get clearer. I don't feel like a ghost now, and I'm figuring out how to be a person.

I've been here on tumblr for twelve years, over the whole course of this slow escape, from the year I married my husband until now. A lot of what I saw here helped me imagine a happy future for us, and learn about queer history, and give a sense of family and a place in the world. I know some of you are coming from similar pain, and I hope you know I'm with you. And I don't talk about my life on here that often, but it's good that I can. The only people left living with me love all of me. Happy Pride, y'all.

#i couldn't post anything like this till they let us turn off reblogs #im not ready for this one to go around #but i wanted to say it. #i'm glad i'm here #posting this is still hard #some part of me feels like they’re going to see it #and there will be some nebulous consequences #but most of me just feels pride.

[a-gal-with-taste]

Unholy (NSFW)

(Or, one of the many, many times that Father Silco has committed direct-blasphemy in the privacy of a confessional, in his own place of worship.)

Silco/F!Reader

2,400 WC - Oneshot -  AO3

Warnings: Priest!Silco, secret relationship, implied sex-work, fingering, P in V, breeding, slight use of ‘Daddy’, dirty-talk, mutual feelings/pining?

A confessional made in candlelight... nothing else in this mortal-coil had ever been so sinful. Except, perhaps, in the knowledge that this was not a confessional of transgressions, nor even of action, thoughts of impurity that would bring shame in the name of their Father.

No.

This was a confessional of the flesh.

Flesh that is reddened, pinched by nails, and growing with bruises from his blessed hands - truly, every mark is a new mark against him, a new tally on his list of sins. A list that, thanks to you, is growing and growing.

However much the Father will pray for forgiveness at a later time, with clasped hands and commit to private penance for his transgressions, he cannot regret what happens in the moment. The moment where - forgive him - God amounts to nothing, and sin is only a matter of temporary, mortal shame.

May the afterlife have mercy on his damned soul, but when you gasp out his name so horribly, sinfully sweetly, Father Silco couldn't care less about the indignity, the shame.

Because when you breathe out his name, his title, it makes his future-stay in Hell all-the-more worth it.

"Father, oh, father...!"

"Shall I pray for you, dear girl? You seem, hm... quite incapable," He purred against the tip of your spine, his huff of laughter tickling the hairs at the base of your neck. You gasped - both from that sensation, and that of the pads of his long, calloused fingers, so used to coursing through pages of a Bible, exploring the soaked folds of center as you quiver in his grasp. "How will God hear you, if you don't speak his name?"

"H-his means nothing to me. Only you, only ever you, Father," You gasp, one hand reaching up from where you're held captive against his chest, spread wide in his lap, finding his face behind you. Cupping against the ruined-part of his face, Silco managed to bury his nose and mouth against your hair before the way he hums in approval, in bliss, becomes audible. "I only know your name, Father. It’s the only one I want to pray to, the only one I need-"

Based on how loud you cry-out, and writhe in his lap with a string of babbles that loosely resembles his name, Father Silco imagined you didn't need any kind of God, as you needed his fingers plunging straight into your soaked cunt just-so.

His other fingers come up to curl beneath your chin, trapping lips that part in a cry beneath his index and middle, so as not to have your moans of need echoing in the confessional-booth.

"How blasphemous," He says mildly, pumping his fingers within you with a growing tempo, in direct contrast with his slow-words. "Worshiping idols is bad enough, but to worship a fellow mortal? That irreverence could damn you, girl."

A sharp curl of his fingers, pressing sharp and fast like a strike against your inner-walls, has you quivering with a broken sob against his fingers. You reach desperately towards him, like someone indeed damned reaching towards the light, with your own fingers tightening on a grip on his hair-

Leverage, Silco realizes too late, as you jerk his head down in time with yours coming up, mouth pressing against his throat heaving-out a breath before you drag your tongue along the line between skin and clerical collar, "We're all damned, Father."

And God knows he is.

He is, but he can't find it within his conscious to care, not as he feels the scrap of your teeth against his skin with a gasp, the curl of his fingers pressing firmly against a spot that has your body go rigid in his grasp, as still as one of the grand-statues within the worshiping-hall.

Admittedly, Silco would not be ashamed to pray solely to the image you make now, this picture of ecstasy that deserves his worship.

When your body releases its marble-like tension, it does so with a loud, low moan spilling between your lips and his fingers. It leaks from you as your juices do, filled with murmurs of his name like devotions and a desperate canting of your hips as you chase after your orgasm, perhaps seeking another.

Lust, and gluttony. Two unforgivable sins, and one the Father punishes swiftly by smoothly removing his fingers, dragging the pads along your inner-walls just to feel you twitch, and hear your mournful whines.

"Scripture tells us that silence can help us avoid sinning," He murmured in warning as your head rolls back against his chest, a shuddering exhale escaping as you watch his dripping-fingers be raised towards his mouth. "Damned we may be, but are you truly prepared for the nine-circles, dear?"

Hoarsely you speak, though whether it's derived from the pleasure, or from the sight of him delicately lapping, quietly slurping the evidence of your ecstasy from his fingers, Silco is unsure. "Y… you know exactly what I'm prepared for, Father."

He does.

The way you're turned in his lap, facing him with eyes hazed, cheeks still dark with a pleasure flush, is nothing short of a practiced movement, one that's been done many,  too many times prior. Equally, it's almost second-nature with how quickly the clergyman thumbs open his dark trousers as you loop your arms around his shoulders.

Both for security, and to keep from falling off of him - you're trembling, Silco realizes, and he slows.

"Something to confess, dearest?"

Another pant, this one partially mixed with laughter. Your forehead brushes against his when you lean in, inhaling before words flow out with a slow exhale that brushes against his lips, "Just… never thought someone would be willing to be damned for me. It’s flattering, in a way."

Flattery, in the form of a sin.

“How romantic,” He murmurs, both as a reply and as a voice to his thoughts, at how curious such a remark was, made curiouser with the timing. “You see the fall of the holy as something amourous?”

“What could be more so, Father?” A hand snakes up, fingers carting and curling though the softer-hairs at the base of his skull. “What’s more romantic than a holy’s fall?”

The Fall. Surely, the logical endpoint for anyone once held in the good-graces of the Graced, and an endpoint any other in his position would fear of, trembling just at the thought of.

But Silco trembles for another reason entirely, and that is how your warm breath ghosts across his face as you sigh-out his name, an action that spurs him to move and quickly, frantically unbutton his trousers.

If he’s predestined to fall, there might as well be a good reason for it. And what better reason is there, than to coax his name to spill out in a barely muffled cry behind his palm, as he’s soon rolling his hips to feel you clench around him. “This isn’t romantic… human-nature at it’s finest,” He breathes against you, watching your eyes falter and roll with a pointed jerk of his hips, hitting a spot deep inside your walls that leaves you rigid.

Sliding his palm from across your mouth, he slides the saliva-slicked surface across your cheek. Fingers that are practiced with fiddling rosaries, or flipping pages of scripture, curl into your hair in order to give it a rough tug, soon exposing the expanse of your neck to his tongue and teeth as he thrusts up harsher into you, choking off your pleasure only with more arousing pain.

“F-father…!”

“Shall I bless this union?” He growls into your skin, pulling back only an inch to drag the flat of his tongue along your racing jugular, the chill of the confessional and his low, curious tone, leaving you to shudder. “Blessings come in a singular form, from what I know… Shall I bless you with child?” His palm comes to lay flat on your lower abdomen, low enough for him to stretch a long thumb further-down, and leave you wheezing at the careful thumbing of your clit.

The thought isn’t just damning - it’s an idea that would remove him of his collar entirely. Disowned and disavowed by the church, should they ever know… but the secrecy of the sin is already so heinously pleasing, when the images of past-meeting roam in his mind during times of prayer.

Seeing the evidence of the secrecy, in plain view, in the eyes of mortals and God alike… Perhaps it was some form of complex. Perhaps it was blasphemy in its purest form, to flaunt his misconduct in such a way, but it matters not.

The idea lingers, and with your desperate, hoarse plea, to fuck you until you’re full, until you’re bred, it’s an idea put into motion with a firmer, harsher grip placed upon your hips, and a biting grip of nails to hold you as he thrusts into you.

Striking perfectly with reckless, damned-near ravaging strokes against that perfect spot inside of you, Father Silco fucks you with all the disregard any Godless man would give - like this was simple human nature, and not a transgression that would damn his very soul, certainly shaming you forever.

That is, if the piercing, barely-audible shrieks you give behind bitten-lips is any indication that you hold no such shame, not even in the smallest atomic amount within your body. Eyes rolling-back as you rock in time with his thrusts, pleasure overwhelming, blinding, as the intensity leaves you mindless and unknowing to all but your new-god in human form-

Hell will be worth it, oh yes.

The burning pits, eternal torture and timeless agony will be completely and utterly worth every second, if only the Father could see the way your mouth parts and a whine of his name - his name, not even his god-granted title of a clergyman - releases like the sound of a breathless divine in her most holy form, brought to the most sinful form imaginable.

At such a revered sound, Father Silco finds his own viewing of the sight rendered interrupted as his eyes squeeze shut and his head falls back against the seat. Filth spills from his tight-teeth in the waves of his climax, syllables forming your words in slow prayers of your name as your walls tighten around him, and his release fills you as a heavenly fog fills his mind… it’s enough to forget, for a moment.

Forget that he is not just a man, but a vessel of God’s great words. Forget that said-God is merciless, and there will come a day where vengeance against his transgressions - not just of this evening but the many, many others that come before it - will one-day come swift, spiteful and even Father Silco can admit, justified.

“Silco,” You murmur against his jugular, after having grown lax and close to him in the euphoria of his climax, your soft pants warm against his skin. Licking his dry-lips, he parts them for a moment in preparation of a rebuke, a stern reminder… and only ends up with a quiet chuckle, a rolling sound that leaves you to shudder.

“Father to you, dear… perhaps a title that will have more than one meaning shortly, Gods-willing,” He muses with a short roll of his hips, leading a sharp exhale to leave goosebumps over his skin. You echo his sentiment, more of a weakened taunt than a true prayer to the holy, before you ease yourself upright, staring down at him with heavy-lidded eyes and parted lips.

Lips that beg to be captured, and with a sudden, stern reach up to curl his fingers beneath your jaw, he does so with a quick collision of tongue and teeth.

A more perfect sin would be to stay here. To remain in this moment, still within you and seed inside, in the process of bruising lips and perhaps even beginning a second-round within this box meant for confessions. To perform a second confession of flesh - it’s a tempting thought, but the time of giving into temptation has passed, in time with the local tolling of bells.

“Pity,” He murmurs after releasing a bitten lip from his teeth, pulling back to observe the swollen flesh before his gaze travels up to yours. There’s a flicker of regret - no, disappointment in your eyes - but it’s coaxed away by his hand reappearing from the folds of his dark-robe, producing a small-leather pouch resting in the center of his palm.

“Go with my blessing, girl,” He murmurs, offering the barely-there tilt on his lips to compare against the grave, somber tone his profession demands. “In both moral, and physical sense.”

“You mean monetary sense,” You murmur, but take it nonetheless. The weight of your hourly-rate is heavy in your hand, not only with the respectable due a lady of your nightly-profession demands, but here's an enjoyment in her presence he’s not eager to lose.

A decent tip of a tithe to sweeten the deal of sinning, is more than enough to keep you returning.

And perhaps even more unholy, there’s another reason you return consistently and routinely to pleasure the holy-man with reckless abandon. The Father dared not to speculate - the one line he dare not cross, even as actions, words and thoughts prove his penchant for sacreligion, Silco dared not to truly desecrate his holy mind with the one, singular theory he had in regards to you. A forbidden line of thought, that voicing was impossible, and confronting was even more sinful than every action he had taken this evening, all that came before and all that will come after.

You, however, have no such restraints with pushing the limits of your transgressions with your reverence, and lean forward to kiss the Father of the church with reckless, impious abandon.

Most sinful of all, you kiss the priest almost lovingly, fingers coming up to curl into the soft, short hairs above the clergy collar that, for a single moment, Silco wants nothing more than to rip off the evidence of his holy-restraint from kissing you back in such a way.

“Pray for me, Father?” You murmur upon his lips, in way of a goodbye.

A request he is bound to comply with, though he doesn’t just pray for your already damned soul - he prays for his own, and most sacredly of all, that you would return to him in-time.

Neither of you deserve it.

But he prays, nonetheless.

#silco #silco x reader #arcane #arcane au #silco fic #arcane silco #arcane x reader #silco arcane #mdni #18+ #sinday #sinday came early

[the-illiterate-pirate]

Well, that hiatus didn't last long. Anyway enjoy more priest porn

Worship Like a Dog

Notes: NSFW, fem!reader in mind, use of vibrators, priestly worship, dom Pucci, improper use of Stands, ⚠️spoilers for the Heavy Weather arc are included, if yk, yk.

You listened to him softly speak the words of the lord in a voice so elegant it made your spine tingle. His voice echoed through the quiet church for all to hear. But he wasn't alone.

Maybe it was just you. Maybe nerves made you think the soft vibration coming from your panties was a lot louder than it actually was.

You tried to keep still. But the pleasant vibration inside you was far too good to ignore.

The way it rubbed against your clit. The way the vibration tickled your walls so continuously without fail made you want to double over and moan to the heavens. But you were in public... Sat next to his brother, no less.

"Are you all right? Your face is flushed."

Domenico. Sweet, so caring Domenico. How he moved his face close to yours so you could hear his whisper over Pucci's sermon only made you feel worse.

"I'm f-fine. Just a little queasy."

"Are you sure? I know Enrico wouldn't mind if I took you home early."

"Not a problem!" You squeaked out once Pucci put the vibrator on twofold suddenly. The weight of his gaze on you was suddenly very noticable. "Thank you, Dom. But I couldn't bare to miss one of his services. I'll be fine." You tried to give him what you hoped was a reassuring smile and he finally seemed to back off.

You both settled back into silence as the priest finished his first reading from the great book.

"Thank you. Now, please rise for the mornings first pray."

Oh boy.

The church stood together with bowed heads and closed eyes. All except for you. Not with this thing in you, even standing was making it worse, like your legs crossing was forcing it deeper in you.

You forced yourself to fold your hands in front of you, but didn't close your eyes. You kept your hooded gaze forward to look at Pucci, who looked right back with a lustful wink. Between his own clasped hands was the remote to his vibrator, where only you could see it.

Minutes ticked by like hours. You could've sworn you felt sweat bead down your neck. Throughout the service he wouldn't let the toy in your panties reach over a medium buzz. Pucci would switch it between barely felt and just enough to drive you crazy but not enough to satisfy you. Your panties had to be soaked now.

It was the last hour of the mornings service. Pucci's melodic voice continued to drone on about biblical themes. You couldn't understand any of it. You were too busy watching the hands on the clock tick by so slowly. It was like he could tell, as the vibrations rocketed again.

Everyone's head came up from the final pray and began to make small talk around the church. You on the other hand had places to be now that the priest wasn't on stage.

You said your quick goodbye to Domenico before speeding away out of sight. The church grew colder as you made away from the main hall, taking some twists and a turns to the private room where Pucci waited for you.

He was sat in a love seat on the farthest wall, a book in hand as he pretended to read. Pucci put the book down after you walked, legs shaking like hell still. He stared at you with those beautiful eyes of his, shining in the bright light from above.

"My dear what's wrong? You look a little sick."

He clicked a hidden button and the buzzing became louder than ever before. The force of the new sensation on your clit sent you to your knees crying out his name. He took his damn sweet time making it over to you. He only watched while you became a wet moaning mess at his feet.

"Pleeaaase Enrico! I can't take it, I'm gonna die if I keep this thing in me for any longer! Take it out, please!"

"You're so needy, dear." Pucci leaned down the slightest bit to cup your chin in his hand. His hold was soft like a feather, barely felt but cold like a ghost's. "Maybe if there was some way you could show me your appreciation for me, show me how much you need my help, maybe I could lend myself to you."

"Y-You, you want me to beg? I'll beg then! I'll kiss your shoes. Please help me, Enrico! You're incredible, the most amazing priest, a beautiful man of God. Please give yourself to me, I'm so incredibly in need of you, your body, your everything! A sinner like me doesn't deserve you, but could you let me indulge in you if only for this moment?"

It all spewed out like water over a cliff. You needed all of him so bad, to feel his thick cock force itself into your hole, pressing against everything all at once and overstimulate you until you're nothing but a babbling mess on his dick.

He pressed his thumb against your lips, not letting you speak another word. Everything he did was so elegant, so poised and perfect. It fucking made you hornier.

"Now, now, my dear. I can't have you sounding like some common harlot... I'll help you this once, just open your self to me and get ready for our session together." How he licked his lips after speaking made you feel like you were going to combust.

You did as he told and fervently undressed of all your clothes excluding your panties. He told you he wanted to do that himself. So he picked you up and strode to the alter in the middle of the room. With a gentleness he hadn't shown before he laid you down on the pedestal between your open legs. He raked over your needy body with his beautiful eyes before slowly peeling off your panties from your wet bottom half.

"My dear girl, so needy for me...Now now, don't whine, I'll take care of you." In a swift move he took out your vibrator, still going and letting of it's small noise. Pucci watched it for a second before turning it off, then putting it to his lips, taking it into his mouth to suck it clean and lick at the part that had just been inside you. He let out the most delicious moans, hearing them made you feel wetter. "Love, your juices can rival even the blood of God."

Enrico pulled you closer by your thighs until the v of your legs pressed against his hard crotch. The impact of hitting his dick just right let loose a moan.

"And that voice... It's more beautiful than any choir. I simply can't get enough of you."

He trailed his tongue up from your collar to your neck to nibble at your ear. His hot breaths mixed with yours while he clambered on top of you. You didn't hear his belt or his pants hit the floor, but you felt it as he thrusted all of him deep inside you in one move.

"I could just devour you whole."

His voice rattled with his alluring words as he drank up all of you. His eyes fluttered shut while he indulged in your wet heat before he began his merciless thrusts. You held on to his shoulders for dear life, sobbing his name as his cock pressed into your most sensitive spots. He filled you entirely and didn't let up for a second.

"Oh, God. God. God. Fuck, yes! Enrico please give me more!"

He was silent, but did as you asked. The hands that had wandered to your hips made it down to your thighs and legs, and forced them close to your chest. You cried out in extasy as this new angle forced all of him deeper inside you. Pucci drank in the cock hungry face you had, with tears staining your cheeks and drool falling down your neck. Your breasts heaved with every intake of breath you couldn't catch, your senses were overloading, thinking and feeling and smelling and seeing only him, him, him, him... Until it was too much and you came like a freight train, squeezing so tight around his dick, screaming his name like a righteous hymn and clawing down his back.

Pucci took his own time coming to his end. He ignored the strangled overstimulated whimpers creeping from your throat until he silenced you by putting his thumb in your mouth. By subconscious habbit you started to suck.

His thrusts grew harder, bruising your pelvis with every sharp burst forward. He finally came with a low groan, his cum poured from his tip deep inside of you, filling you up in slow, thick bursts.

He left you shaking on the podium while he fixed his robes and cleaned the rest of the room of evidence. Once he was done his gaze swept over you with bored but satisfied eyes. "That was good fun, my dear. I thank you for your time... But unfortunately I have to bring it to an end."

You were too out of it to reply. He suddenly cupped your face in his hand, the cool contact had you nuzzling deeper into his palm despite his threatening words. You grew drowsy, and as your eyes slid close for sleep the unmistakable sound of a disc slipping from your temple was heard. "You wouldn't forgive me for being so forceful on you... But make no mistake, I'll be sure to keep these hidden away for more private affairs." Pucci chuckled lightly, staring down adoringly at your unconscious body. He'd make sure to take care of you, of course. Maybe some day he could give you back the memory of this lovely scene, and make more with you. Until then, his sinful use of your body would be his own little secret.

#jojo no kimyou na bouken #jjba #stone ocean #enrico pucci #pucci x reader #steamy #jjba x reader

[aggressivenesswhilecrying]

Does it truly matter?

Summery:

The world has ended. No real surprise about that, huh? Zombies and everything horrible taking over, and Charlie thinks he might honestly be one of the only people out here anymore.

One night while trying to get sleep possible. He finds his vision blossoming in white, and his head pounding.

TWS THERE IS A BLOODY SCENE AT THE END, GODS, THERES A GOOD BIT OF RELIGIOUSNESS INVOLED.

Not beta reader edited!!

(@qsmpbur hiiii!! Sorry it took a hot second, and kind of sucked a little, button, I'm your pinch hitter, and this is your fic!! It was scu, bit. Idk, it's kinda not anymore, it went weird. But I hope you enjoy it!!)

(@mcytblrholidayexchange)

Charlie will never say he's a religious man, by no means is he a man of worship. 

When he awoke, and the end of the world was upon him, he never prayed. He never found the point. No, as the sun set beyond the horizon, and all he can see is bloodied, mangled bodies, of humans and zombies alike, from his home on the roof top. He can't say he's particularly religious.

In those moments he clutches the cross around his neck. He holds it, feels his blood pound. And then he retreats to bed. Not a prayer on his lips.

Tossing and turning. All night. His eyes are so so heavy. Staying shut despite his best wishes, and yet he can't fall asleep. His limps feel like their dragging him into the mattress. And yet his pillow hurts him neck, and no matter how he lays, his back aches. 

He hurts.

The pounding of his head mixed with the general aching leaving his groaning as he sit up.

“God damn it….” just hearing his tired voice makes his nose wrinkle, as it would take an idiot to not hear the pain laced with every noise.

His feet hit the hard wood under his feet. Cold but more then welcome. His far too tired eyes open, feeling like they're dragging against his very eyes. He leaves his glasses on the nightstand as he lets himself stare at the wall in front of him. It's so empty in the room it almost hurts. So quite and dark. 

He couldn't tell you what time it is, clock's had stopped working and being trust worthy, long, long ago. And wll, charlie doesn't remember his life before this, and therefore, doesn't believe he knows just, exactly how to tell the time without a clock. 

The dark hurts his eyes to stare at, feeling the shapes change beneath his eye, and his head spin. The old falling off the wall poster becoming something from his nightmares. And suddenly.

There's light. Almost blinding. His arms coming up to sheikd his face as the world spins. He couldn't tell you how long it had been, or just how sudden the light had game. His mind reeling back.

“Hellooooo…?” A voice he can almost recognize calls out, voice teasing, and like honey in his ears. Sweet and syrupy, clogging all his thoughts.

Slowly hands move away from his face. The blinding white compared to the dark sad room he was in before leaves his head pounding, and he almost can't tell the difference between the air around him, and the figure infant of him.

Wavy brown hair curling and falling over one of its pure white eyes. White eyelashes giving an impossibly, almost holy look.

A ring of wings surround the back of its head, all with normal looking eyes That look directly at him. 

Long white, silky fabrics barely held on, yet draped in a way to conceal everything. And Charlie could see the hints of ache bumps on both its shoulders and its face. Stretch marks curving up and wrapping around its stomach.

Oh. And it was giant. At least a million times bigger then him. A large finger, at least double his height came, just barely tapping him and he swore he lost his breath no matter how small of a tap it was. He couldn't very distantly tell he was staring at it. But to be frank? He didn't care much.

“holllllyyyyyy fuckkkkk…” he lets his voice drag out, breathy and awestruck. The being in front of him just had a growing smile.

Wilbur. His name was Wilbur. The being of too bright lights, wings and eyes, called itself Wilbur.

“Did…don't tell me you picked it out..?” He said, voice edging on a laugh, he honestly can't be sure he's processed any of this. From dark room, to blinding white light, to sitting, and just…talking with a semi person, just…getting to know it.

“What's wrong with Wilbur? I thought it sounded rather dashing!!” It's weird British voice laughed out, almost teasing tone as it's face wrinkled at Charlie. Nose scrunched up, and laugh on the tips of its voice. Mouth quirkedup at one end as Charlie couldn't help himself from laughing, shaking his head.

“Nothing nothing, just sounds a bit like the name of, of an asshole, yknow? You have the name of a man that would cry if his beer was bitter..!!” He chuckled, tilting his head at the God, before watching it recoil, too thin and feminine hand coming to its chest, other on its hip as it leans back, gasp on his voice, wings around its head flaring out. As it acting rather offended. And he could feel his heart race, pounding in his chest, begging to get out.

“I much prefer wine, thank you very much!!” the far far too tall being squawked out. Voice jokingly offended. White eyes glaring deep at Charlie, a pout on his lip, and wings flared back.

There's a deep sense in Charlie's guy, maybe, just maybe a God Like being being a little upset at him is, very possibly, a very very bad thing but at some point, he doesn't find he cares, letting himself laugh, loud and hard, hurting his chest in all the rights ways. Making his face strain, and cheeks hurt, with the most hes smiled in far too long.

And the room is silent, silent outside of his laughing, the God kneeling were his face is in front of Charlie, a soft, over confident grin spanning his cheeks, the glowing of his eyes, not changing the lighting in the painful white area. All the eyes on Charlie and to be fully, and truly honest? He doesn't find he minds the attention.

After this, after the soft moments, charlie finds himself there every night. Every single night,long after his eyes have closed. He finds Wilbur in every little thing. A dove of the roof, a too white wall. And in the lilies he finds growing far too quickly in every area he's in.

It's easy to see Wilbur in day to day life, his only consistent company in the hell hole of the now world. 

As the bullet kicks off, charlie watches through the scope as the zombie is sent hobbling back, a hole in the green for head gushing out, dripping down its nose, and slowly into its own mouth, charlie can almost hear Wilbur whisper of headshot!!

#fanfic #aggressivewrites #fanfiction #slimecicle #charlie slimecicle #wilbur soot #zombie