bran barks out a laugh for this, and it is as if you had shook off your troublesome unseriousness and it had found shape in him, in his bones or in his tongue, silver heavy — if only for the mere moment your dynamic flipped . “i do not believe in your Lord —” bran is smiling, all teeth, now. he is a boy, but you know of these teeth, these carved pearls like a wolf’s — “then, am i blessed too?”
you wrinkle your nose and the devilry returns to you, the weight of it fleeing from him. you push at him, but he and his hogor are unyielding. “you are cursed, brandon stark, so do not compare yourself to me falsely.”
at this, bran laughs again, louder, clear as rainwater — he is all teeth this way, all wolf.
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of course all of the bg3 companions have tragic backstories. even before the tadpoles forced them together they were still d&d adventurers, if they had decent home lives they would be at home. it takes a certain kind of person to search for purpose and catharsis in lopping off goblin heads and walking lonely roads. you arent gonna run into normal people in that business. honestly the least realistic bit is that only one of them is named shadowheart
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sold to @ultrainfinitequest !!!! thank you so much!
UNIDENTIFIED FUCKING THING!!! $25 minimum, highest offer at the end of next week will own it [: don't be afraid to offer the minimum, I understand! paypal or ko-fi only, apologies!
saving for uni, share if you want to!!
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holy
a/n: decided to take some inspo from that very first fic I wrote so tada. It’s a long one so buckle in folks- also some reader dialog because it was needed for plot :/
minors DNI I’m fr.
phillip was a good man, a holy man, a priest. He had sworn celibacy a long time ago and has kept it every day even when the prettiest boys would look at him and his heart ached to feel their touch. He had his church and his small town and he was happy with just that and nothing more- until the little town he loved started to change around him, the church got hard for him to sit in with the feeling of burning pain coursing through him every time he preached.
he just couldn’t understand it?? Why had his god cursed him with these sudden pains in the place he called home? Why has his house felt so hauntingly open to the world as if someone was following him, watching him. And it didn’t help that every damn night he felt as if someone or something was in bed with him and teasing his senses and urges with every passing second.
he had searched his entire apartment, throwing things and moving chairs and desks to try to find where the hell this feeling had come from- only to find a small pentagram on the floor of the last owners carpet which he jumped at.
he fell back on the ground with a thud, his cross necklace falling directly onto the pentagram as a hazy feeling filled the air that made him want to gag or run away on his heels like a child.
your shadowy figure stood over him in silence- long horns, sharp claws, a tail and folded wings; a demon. God what had he done! He didn’t want this, he didn’t want to be killed or dammed or anything else! He was too focused on this thoughts to even feel your hand grip his chin and tilt his head up as if you were inspecting him
“ah. A pretty little priest, hm? Almost a shame you summoned me- although you’re stuck with me now either way.” You hummed with a smile, his eyes widening at your voice and your claim alike
“leave me be!! Creature of Satan-!” graves said in a surprisingly shaky voice for someone so educated on demons
“Aw, it’s not like I’m going to hurt you- but your stuck with me now” you hummed as you knocked him out with a simple tap on his shoulder due to his fear and carried him to his bed.
over the weeks he had gotten used to you. Your figure haunting over him while he tried to sleep and the burning he could feel when he was inside the church with you silently stalking outside past the windows of the church as if you were a normal person- god he even started to like having you around. your handsome voice ringing in his ear or your calloused hands touching him when you moved him around the house… but that would be wrong! You’re a demon, a creature banned by his god!
He tried ignoring it, he really did. But the feeling of your hands gripping at his hips and the feeling of your hot breath on his neck kept reminding him of those sinful ideas; yet none the less it sent his blood rushing to his lower half. Especially when you insisted to sleep next to him every night.
This morning when he woke up he would have to pry himself out of your grip to get ready for the day per usual. Although the feeling of your member practically flush against him was making him whine- he couldn’t contain the urge to nestle up against you and grind against you ever so slightly like a dog in heat. He felt horrid for doing this, sinful even.. but he continued anyway till you woke up with a lazy chuckle, soft pleas already falling from his pretty lips.
He only stopped when he felt your hands grip his hips and play with the waistband of his boxers, his entire body shuttering as he felt your warm hands tease his rim. He knew this was wrong, he knew this wouldn’t be something he could make up for with god- but it felt so good.
he practically lost his breath when he felt one of your digits slip into him slowly, the painful stretch making him scramble to try not to make noise as you played his body like a fiddle. He could already feel a hot coiling sensation slowly tense and build up in the depth of his mind. his pretty little jaw slack and tears dotting his eyes as you slid another finger in and pressed against his prostate softly; his cock twitching against his now tugged down boxers with pathetic whimpers to accompany the sensation. He clenched around your fingers like a vice as you prepped him, half out of it by the time you pulled your digits out.
he wiggled around a bit searching for your fingers again before he felt the burning pleasure of your members head against his rim, the slow push making him feel as if it was in his throat or skewering him whole. He was moaning loudly by the time your hips were flushed against his, his lips bruised from how hard he tried to keep his mouth shut.
his breath was sharp as he desperately tried to focus on the way you bucked into him and bruised his hips With your grip.. god how has he sworn to not do this!? He couldn’t even put together a sentence as he painted the sheets white, clenching around you so tightly that you did the same inside of him. his back arching so prettily when you pulled over and kissed him on the cheek as if he was yours…
he didn’t like the fact he had broken his oath, but he would sell his soul to you just to do it again.
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idk if someone else has mentioned this but whatever: in the scene where Ballister and Ambrosius are at the bar and The Director is being live-streamed and claimed that the video was fake, she said something like “the monster can come after us, and could be anyone: your spouse, children, or even the person next to you’’ and that TOTALLY REMINDED ME of conservative “Christian” bigots trying to scare people into believing that queer people are “dangerous” and “grooming your children”
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