#Houses of Heaven Dissolve The Floor

[willalove75]

Can we get a pt 2 to the fake dating, when they get back to Rebecca’s place?👀🥹🫶

Yes!!! So sorry this took so long to get to! I try and respond to each request in the order I get them, thanks so much for the request!!💕💕

Warnings: Minors DNI This entire thing is smut (and some fluff!) did I even really need to say it?😂

Part 1

Rebecca pulls up to her house and you both get out and make your way inside.

She puts her bag down and takes her jacket off, hanging it on the coatrack near the door. You're standing in the foyer of her home admiring her home, it's well decorated and beautiful. Rebecca takes your bag out of you hand and places it down, you feel her grab the collar of your coat from behind as she slides it down your shoulders. Goosebumps run down your arms as you feel a warm kiss on you neck, you close your eyes and softly hum in response.

After hanging your jacket next to hers, Rebecca grabs your hand and looks into your eyes. Her green eyes captivate you while you stare into them, she brings her hand to your face and leans in and kisses you. The world dissolves when her lips make contact with yours, her soft lips feel like heaven. The world fades back into existence when your lips part, Rebecca gently takes your hand after you both kick off your shoes and leads you through her house and up the stairs.

In her bedroom you see the big king size bed, a fireplace, windows that face the front of her house, a big beautiful closet that leads into the gorgeous master bathroom. Your attention is stolen from the room when you feel Rebecca's hands on your hips, she gently kisses your neck and pulls you backwards into her.

"What do you think?" She whispers into your ear as she kisses up and down your neck.

"It's beautiful, I can't believe this is your bedroom."

Chills run up your spine when you feel kisses across the top of your shoulder blades. Rebecca's soft fingers sliding along your shoulders, they hook into the straps on your dress and slowly pull them down. She continues to kiss across your shoulders while she pulls the straps lower and lower, until your dress is hanging down around your waist. She unclips your bra and you slide it off, tossing it aside. Rebecca's hands find your hips and slowly and gently slides them up your waist until they're cupping each of your breasts.

A moan escapes from your lips when she pinches both of your nipples and rolls them between her fingers, you lay your head back onto her chest when your eyes roll. Her hands release your breasts and you turn towards her, pulling her into a deep kiss.

Your hands find the zipper on the back of her dress and you pull it down as your tongue explores the inside of her mouth. Once the zipper is all the way down you reach up and unclip her bra, Rebecca pulls her dress down and it falls to the floor along with her bra and thong. You take each of her breasts in your hands and gently massage them, rolling her hardened nipples between your fingers. Rebecca lets out a small moan into your mouth, you smile and move your lips down, taking one of her nipples into your mouth.

Her fingers tangle themselves into your hair as you lick and suck on her nipples, you graze your teeth across one and she lets out another moan. The sound of her moans flood your panties. After giving each nipple the proper amount of attention Rebecca grabs your hand and leads you to her bed. Before you lay down she hooks her fingers into the fabric hanging around your waist and pulls your dress down along with your panties.

She pushes you down onto the bed and takes a second to admire you.

"What do you think?" You playfully ask as she scans your body.

"Fuck you're beautiful."

She crawls up onto the bed and passionately kisses you. When your lips part you two look into each others eyes as your bodies are pressed together. You gently bite your lip as you look at her, your thumb caressing her cheek.

"I can't believe you got that jealous when I was with Brian, I never would have thought that was going to happen."

"I don't think I've ever been that jealous of someone in my entire life."

"How jealous were you?" You flirtatiously ask.

"Let me show you." A devilish grin comes across her face before she kisses you once more.

You moan into her mouth when she cups your dripping center. Her fingers gently circle your clit and you whine into her, grinding your hips into her hand.

"uh-uh," she says into the kiss. "None of that, let me take care of you baby girl."

Her lips part from yours, leaving you wanting more. She sits between your legs and continues to rub her finger in circles, gently teasing you.

"Please." You beg, desperate for her to satisfy you.

"You want more?"

"Yes, please, please."

"How can I say no? You're asking so nicely."

She slides her fingers down and slowly parts your lips, gently guiding them into you.

"Oh fuck." You moan as you feel her fingers slide inside of you.

"Is that good honey?"

"Yes, it's so good."

Another moan escapes your lips when she pushes deeper into you, curling her fingers into that perfect spot. She hits it a few more times and you feel your orgasm beginning to build.

Just as you're about to get close she pulls her fingers out of you, eliciting a desperate whine from you.

"Not yet baby, I want to taste you first."

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you feel her tongue lick up your dripping slit.

"Mmm, you taste to good." She says between licks.

A surge of ecstasy shoots through when she flicks her tongue over your clit, causing your back to arch. She hums a satisfactory hum into you as she latches onto your clit and gently sucks on it.

You cry out and grab hold of her hair between your legs. She flicks her tongue over it a few more times and you feel her slide her fingers back inside of you, your back arching once more.

"You like that?" She asks.

"Yes, fuck yes."

Her fingers thrust in and out faster, making you moan louder and louder. The pressure in your core increases with each thrust, each time she curls perfectly into you.

"Just like that." You cry. "Don't stop, you're gonna make me cum."

"You want me to make you cum?"

"Yes, please, mommy, make me cum."

A part of you can't believe you just called her "mommy", if you weren't in such a state of pure bliss you would be mortified. You're a little worried that you completely turned her off; you look down at her and notice her eyes are the darkest shade of green you've ever seen.

Rebecca is shocked that you just called her "mommy", but what shocked her more was the massive pulse that shot down into her core when she heard you call her that. She would have thought that someone calling her mommy sexually would turn her off, but to her surprise, it turned her on even more.

"You want mommy to make you cum?" She asks, her voice more sultry than ever.

"Please mommy, please fuck me."

You cry out when she thrusts harder and faster, bringing you closer and closer to the release you've been craving. Each thrust and curl pushes you closer to the edge. Right before you're about to cum your screams go up an octave, it's the signal Rebecca was looking for. She bends down and flattens her tongue against your clit while she thrusts, sending shockwaves up your body. She wraps her lips around it and flicks her tongue over it over and over again, you begin to clench down around her fingers and she curls hard into you again, sending you over the edge.

"Fuck mommy I'm cumming, fuck me oh my god." You scream as your body shakes, your orgasm ripping through you.

She slows down her pace and takes her fingers out of you as you come down from your high, your whimpers softening. A shock runs through you when you feel her tongue on you once more. She licks you clean and sits up and strokes your leg.

"What a good girl, cumming so well for mommy."

The room finally stops spinning and you look up at Rebecca, your panting beginning to slow. She brings her drenched fingers to your lips and you take them into your mouth.

"Good girl, you see how sweet you taste? The sweetest pussy I've ever had before."

Unable to properly respond, you just nod your head and mumble an "mhm."

When she takes her fingers out of your mouth, her lips take their place and she kisses you passionately. The reality of what just happened hits you and you start laughing.

"What's so funny?" Rebecca asks between kisses.

"I can't believe I just fucking called you mommy." You say as you laugh.

Rebecca starts to laugh and pulls away, unable to keep kissing you while she laughs.

"I can't believe you called me mommy and I liked it so much."

"There was a second where I was panicked and thought I totally turned you off, I'm so glad I didn't."

"Not even a little, if anything that turned me on even more."

Both of you lay in each others arms and laugh for a few minutes with some kisses sprinkled in between laughs.

Once the laughter settles, you decide it's time to return the favor and you roll on top of Rebecca, pushing her onto her back.

"Oh, I never expected you to be a dom." She says flirtatiously.

"I'm not, I'm just eager." You say as you begin to kiss down her body.

"Well good, because I'm not calling you mommy."

As you're placing a kiss on her belly you burst out laughing, you feel her stomach contracting under you as she laughs too. You look up at her while she laughs, you can't help but think she's the most beautiful person you've ever laid eyes on, and she has the best laugh in the world.

The giggling subsides as you continue to kiss down her body until you reach your final destination. She is wet, it turns you on a little to see how excited she got as she was fucking you. You drag your tongue up her dripping center and you hear her moan. Her pussy throbs against you as you lick her up and down, her back arches when you flick your tongue across her swollen clit and another moan escapes from her lips.

As you're focused on her clit you slide two fingers into her drenched pussy, her walls contracting around you as you slide in.

"Oh fuck." She moans when she feels you inside of her.

You slide your fingers deep into her and curl them into that perfect spot, making her cry out. Picking up the pace of your fingers you lick and suck harder on her clit, building both climaxes together.

"Yes, oh fuck, you're fucking amazing." She whines as her hips roll to the rhythm.

With the confirmation you're going in the right direction, you thrust your fingers in and out a little harder, curling your fingers into her on each re-entry as you continue stimulating her clit.

"Just like that, fuck I'm so close."

Her hips rock harder against your hand and you take it up a notch, causing her hips to lift off of the mattress. You can feel her beginning to tighten around your fingers, her cries getting louder and louder. She clenches down hard around you and you push harder, curling your fingers hard into her spot once more as you flick your tongue across her clit and suck on it.

Rebecca cries out your name as she explodes onto your hand. Her body shakes as you have her ride out her orgasm. She pulls her hips away from your mouth and throws her head back trying to catch her breath. You slide your fingers out of her and you place a light kiss on her sensitive bud, causing her to twitch and let out a small cry.

"Oh my god, that was fucking amazing." She says as she pants. "Did you just make me have two orgasms at once?"

You sit back on your heels and lick your fingers clean, a satisfied smile on your face.

"Basically, a clit orgasm and a vaginal one at the same time, the best kind in my opinion."

"Where the fuck have you been all of my life?" She asks as she pulls you into her and kisses you.

"Well, for the first 20 years-"

"Oh shut up!" She says and you both laugh, kissing and cuddling into each other.

Rebecca wraps her arms around you and holds you tight, you can hear her heartbeat as you lay your head on her chest, both of you enjoying the sweet afterglow.

The steady rhythm of her heartbeat relaxes you, you feel her run her fingers through your hair as she gently hums.

"Did you ever think we would be here when I agreed to come with you yesterday?"

"Absolutely not. I didn't think we'd be here until like, I don't know, three hours ago?"

Rebecca laughs and kisses your head.

"Oh man, Keeley is gonna lose her shit when she finds out about this." You say.

"Oh god." Rebecca groans. "Do we have to tell her?"

"Baby, we don't have to tell anyone if you don't want to." You say lifting your head and kissing under her jaw.

"No, we can tell her."

"We should send her a picture of us in bed together and send it to her. No text to go along with it, just the picture. She'll lose her fucking mind."

Rebecca busts out laughing, her laughter lightly shaking you as you lay on top of her.

"Oh that's brilliant." She leans over to her nightstand and grabs her phone and opens her camera.

"Oh god I was kidding!"

"Too late!"

Rebecca kisses you on the head and you bury your face into her neck and she snaps the picture. The both of you examine it to make sure no nipples or other sensitive things are in it. It's actually a cute, tasteful picture of the two of you, obviously naked, in bed together. Rebecca sends it to Keeley and almost immediately she gets a "read" notification.

"And now we wait." Rebecca says with a laugh.

The two of you lay in bed together, you slide your fingers between hers and kiss the back of her hand. Rebecca runs her fingers through your hair and down your back, tracing patterns across your skin. Both of you are laying there in silence with your eyes closed, just enjoying being with each other.

The moment is interrupted when you both hear a banging on the door.

"What the hell is that?" You ask.

"REBECCA!!! OPEN THE DOOR!!" You hear Keeley scream.

Both of you burst into laughter when you realize that Keeley never responded because she got into her car and came straight here. After contemplating on whether or not you two should get up, you both get out of bed. Rebecca throws on sweatpants and a sweatshirt and lends you a pair of her sweatpants and a sweatshirt to throw on. She goes to answer the door as you get dressed, you hear her open it while you make your way to the stairs.

"WHERE IS SHE?!" Keeley shouts. "THAT PICTURE HAD TO BE REAL, THERE'S NO WAY THAT WAS PHOTOSHOPPED."

Keeley squeals when she sees you come down the stairs.

"Shhh," Rebecca says. "I have neighbors!"

Behind Keeley, you see Roy walk in, he looks unhappy to be here so late, but you know Keeley dragged him along. There's a part of you that thinks he secretly enjoys the gossip.

"Okay, tell me EVERYTHING!" Keeley says as you all go into the living room.

Rebecca sits in one of the chairs in her living room and pulls you into her lap, you happily curl into her with a smile on your face. Keeley and Roy sit on the couch and you both recount what happened at the party.

"So it's safe to say, you bailing on me last minute was one of the best things that's ever happened to me." You tell Keeley.

"Me too." Rebecca says as she puts her finger under your chin and pulls you in for a kiss.

Keeley squeals and swats at Roy in excitement.

"And then you got back here and fucked?! How was it?!"

"I have no complaints." You say, smiling up at Rebecca.

"I don't kiss and tell, but I will say, I had a great time."

The four of you chat some more, Keeley tries to pry out more details of what happened when you both got home. The two of you stay pretty tight lipped, much to Keeley's dismay. Roy eventually pulls Keeley out of the house so they can go back home and you and Rebecca head back upstairs to go to sleep.

Curled under the duvet together, you and Rebecca gently kiss and look into each others eyes.

"You're not gonna wake up in the morning and regret all of this, right?" You ask, half joking.

"Absolutely not, I am very much looking forward to waking up next to you in the morning."

"So am I."

You lean in for a kiss. When your lips part you curl into her and begin to drift off.

"Goodnight Rebecca." You say, cuddling into her.

"Goodnight y/n." She says back, kissing the top of your head, wrapping her arms tightly around you.

#rebecca welton x reader #hannah waddingham #rebecca welton #willalove75 #rebecca welton fanfic #ted lasso #ted lasso fic #wlw fanfic

[bi-bard]

The Feather of an Angel - Dream of the Endless Imagine (The Sandman)

Title: The Feather of an Angel

Pairing: Dream of the Endless X Angel!Reader

Word Count: 1,127 words

Warning(s): imprisonment, mention of torture

Summary: In his hopes of capturing Death, Roderick Burgess holds onto an angel. He managed to capture the one angel with a personal connection to one of the Endless.

Author's Note: I rewatched the first episode and was given inspiration.

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Roderick Burgess was the closest thing that I had ever encountered to a monster.

I was an angel. I had seen all sorts of creatures. I had even met demons. None of them made me as sick to my stomach as he did.

I had been reckless. Foolish.

That's how I found myself hidden away in some backroom. The floor had a symbol carved into it. I was trapped.

The only hope I had was Morpheus.

Heaven didn't tend to keep track of low-ranking angels like me, but Morpheus... he was important. The two of us had been together for a long time. He loved me. I wasn't some small angel to him. I didn't have to be useful to be loved. He just allowed me to be happy.

He was the only one that I trusted. The only one that I was certain would come for me.

That's what got me through it all. When Roderick would scream at me, when he tortured me to collect some of my feathers, and when I curled in the corner of the cold room. Morpheus was the image I could see.

But he never came. And I never knew why.

Until I sensed a new arrival in the house.

After so long together, Morpheus and I were linked. He could sense me in the dream realm. I could sense him in the waking realm.

He was in the house. Trapped in the house.

Roderick was the one to give me all the answers that I expected.

"Your feathers have gone to good use," he smirked at me. "I wonder what else you could do if you stopped being such a pest."

I didn't look up.

I had hidden my wings after he tortured me. I kept silent and terrified. He didn't deserve any more of my power.

It wasn't until he walked away that I spoke up.

"You don't think I know who you have down in your basement," I asked. "He and I have become linked. I can sense him."

"Give me what I want and I can let you see him."

I chuckled.

"What," he asked. "What is it?"

"If I know he's here, then he knows I'm here," I replied, finally looking at him. "What do you think happens when you capture someone that one of the Endless loves?"

His jaw clenched.

"I would personally be more worried about me," I shrugged. "Because if you're still alive when I get free, I will remind you why an angel is the one ruling hell, not a demon."

Roderick didn't say anything else before slamming the door shut. I chuckled to myself. What a foolish old man.

I spent over a century in that small room.

When Roderick stopped visiting me, his son started. He wanted me to keep Morpheus from harming him in exchange for freedom. I had to be honest with him. Morpheus was more powerful than me. If he punished Alex, I could not stop him.

Alex gave up on me.

I had given up hope of escaping.

Until the door of my small room burst off its hinges and a bright light shot in. I yelled, pressing my back against the far wall. My trap limited my power. I couldn't do anything.

“My angel…”

I covered my eyes from the bright light, barely making out a shape against the light.

“My love,” I said softly, a grin starting to form.

“It is time we are both freed,” he held out his hand.

I reached out for him. The chains holding me close to the wall dissolved like they were nothing.

The next thing I knew, I was rolling to a stop on the sand of the dream realm. I took a deep breath before starting to push myself off the ground.

“(Y/n)!”

I looked up as Morpheus ran over to me.

“Morpheus,” I yelled, running to meet him halfway.

I had never clung to someone so tightly. My nails tried to dig into his back, scared that he would vanish from my sight if I didn’t ground myself to him. I felt him doing the same thing as he took a deep breath.

He stepped back, hands falling to my waist.

“Let your wings be free,” he said. “Nothing will harm them here.”

I let my eyes flutter shut as my wings worked their way out of my back. I hissed at the sting. It had been so long since I felt safe enough to be my full self. Morpheus kissed my forehead, mumbling comforting words against my skin.

I had to separate his kiss as I tilted my head back. My wings stretched out, wind moving between each feather.

“Beautiful.”

As I tilted my head back down, Morpheus stepped around me. He pressed a kiss to each wing.

I stopped him after the second wing before pulling him into a kiss.

His lips were sweeter than before. Maybe that was the effect of being separated for so long, but I didn’t care. My kiss was turning frantic as buried my fingers in his hair. I only craved this. Being this close to him again. I never thought I could miss one person as much as I missed him. His tight grip on my sides was enough for me to know that he missed me just as much.

He pulled away first, much to my disappointment.

“I love you,” he mumbled.

“I love you too,” I replied, smiling at him. I glanced to the side. "Lucienne!"

I ran over and hugged her tightly.

"Oh, I've missed you."

"I missed you too," she said as I stepped back. "I thought Heaven had finally intervened. I was terrified."

"So was I," I forced a chuckle.

"(Y/n)."

I turned to look at Morpheus when he spoke up.

"Shall we make our way home," he held out his hand.

I walked over and held his hand. "Certainly, my love."

"My lord," we both paused, looking toward Lucienne. "I need to warn you. The realm... the palace... they are not as you left them."

The gates rumbled open. She was right. It was crumbling. Every part of it. Crumbling or dying. All of this from Morpheus's absence.

"My love," I whispered, looking back at him. His face had fallen. "I'm so sorry."

I turned toward him, pressing my lips to his cheek softly. I heard a heavy breath fall from his lips as he leaned toward me. My nose brushed his cheek.

"We'll find a way to fix this, my love," I muttered to him. "I will be here with you the entire time. That's my promise to you."

"Thank you, my angel."

I slowly stepped back, looking out at the decaying kingdom again.

"We need to get started."

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#dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless fanfiction #dream of the endless imagine #fanfiction #imagine #x reader #the sandman x reader #the sandman fanfiction #the sandman imagine #sandman imagine #sandman fanfiction #sandman x reader #morpheus fanfiction #morpheus x reader #morpheus imagine #dc x reader #dc imagine #dc fanfiction

[sacrilegious-skeletal-scribe]

on the inevitability of ghosts and house fires

it’s going to hurt me going to kill me the sky has laced its fury with the subtly of holy bodies and i should not have seen it

i do not know it’s name but i do not think it would be incorrect to call it god

a god

i don’t think there are any words that get closer to what it is, not ones ever spoken to human tongues

definitely not ones in english

just as well that the fear is coming in rounds, a pendulum swing to trace a great staring eye

not looking at you

looking at everything you could possibly imagine, staring into the whole world at once, a rock crawling with ants, and i at the top of the pile

hollowed and found wanting heaving convulsing praying praying praying praying

just as well i cannot speak once my tongue sieves through the chicken-wire terror, shifts past the lead plate and sobs

speaking words of anguish and confusion because there is something in the sky and the rest of the ants won’t look you in the eye if you start screaming in public

panic is hard to process when a jaw wires itself back shut as a safety precaution

when electricity and fire pitch a fight like you’ve never seen before

it is to watch the sky unmake itself and be turned from the end of the world with a pat on the head and a glass of water

there is blood and brain and soft earthen wax and you you you you melting out of your ears

it assures that you wouldn’t understand if you were allowed to look at it, anyway

it opened a sea above us and drowned me like a house fire

something consuming and entire, a crematory for safety and peace

it rides a horse made of teeth

and it makes death’s steed look flushed, beyond color and light, immediate, absolute, without mercy

nothing personal, kid. 

it is fear because there is nothing alike to it on heaven or earth

it is something horrific and lashing and rippling under the surface area a sea of clear liquid

a flesh without pigment, the clear of animal eyes, it is insect and equine and human 

and it sees you

but that’s not what tears at psyche, the little square peg glancing off the triangle smile eating at your liver

it is the sudden, unprompted understanding 

a lighting bolt, a long heaved threat dissolving the handcuffs as it eats your wrists

that dirt is the creature, that sunlight is the creature, that air and lungs and skin and teeth are no more removed from that terrible god than its exposed blood

and it knows I’m here

my family is in it and you are in it and the tendrils batter my doorstep not out of calculated malice but furious, unyielding unconsciousness

a dog kicking at fleas, biting until it’s muzzle is stained with blood and ligaments

a tapeworm, a child, a pox, a thing a thing a thing 

there’s something in your body skittering and screaming and feeding off you

it has been invaded and it wants its parasite out

tears meet saliva and vomit on their way to my kitchen floor

i cannot say i feel differently 

i cannot say anything

there is a god in my throat

in our eyes in our muscle in our meat our teeth our brain our veins god god god god god

but that’s how we got here, isn’t it

#existential horror #religious themes #poetry #spilled ink #*slaps roof* oh yeah this bad boy can fit so much #cosmic horror #religious trauma #maybe a hint of body horror #poets on tumblr #but compared to my usual fare this is downright tame #yeah it's been a week since the last time a posted right #definitely just a week and not a yawning absence #it is what it is

[voraciousvore]

The Half-Blood Giant (29/51)

***Contains sex, and a foot massage? 18+***

Chapter 29: Pleasure and Desire

Pedro struggled to calm himself down and focus on his job for the remainder of the day. He was shaken to his core after his alarming interaction with Hunter. He could tell that kid was going to be a problem. He failed to understand why the giant teen was so hateful towards humans, when he was half-human himself. The logic didn’t add up. 

He knew he should bring his concerns to the attention of the principal, but after what happened Pedro was desperate to get out of there. He’d meet with his boss tomorrow. For the time being, he didn’t want to leave the safety of his office, not with all those giants stomping around in the halls. He shriveled up into himself with terror, like a turtle hiding in its shell, even after the bell rang and the day was done. 

He experienced a jolt when a booming knock resounded from above. The door opened and Pedro was relieved to see Ray standing over him. “Oh, thank goodness, Ray! Hi!” Pedro called up to him, getting up out of his chair. 

Ray crouched down and swept Pedro off his feet. Pedro beamed as his fears dissolved away. He was relieved that Ray was here. He felt so much safer with the handsome giant around to hold him and keep him protected.  

Ray furrowed his brow. “Pedro, are you alright? I can feel you trembling.” Maybe Ray was just imagining things, but Pedro seemed pale and jittery. 

“It’s been a rough day,” Pedro admitted. “Look, I know we were talking about going on a date after work today, but to be honest, I think I’d rather just go to your house. If that’s okay?” 

The giant smiled gently. “Of course. Actually, I’m feeling quite tired myself.” He chuckled. “We can have a movie night at home.” 

As Ray walked home, he asked Pedro about what happened, but Pedro deflected. He didn’t want to relive the memory. He just wanted to snuggle up into Ray’s big, soft, warm hands and enjoy his company. Ray respected his boundaries and didn’t press. When they got home, Ray flopped down on the couch with a groan, setting Pedro down carefully next to him, and shed his shirt and police equipment. 

“Are you going to work out today?” Pedro asked. 

“Nah, not today. I’m beat,” Ray sighed. He winced as he took his shoes and socks off. “Man, I need some new shoes. My feet are killing me.” 

Pedro grinned. “I could give you a foot massage.” 

Ray blushed at the unexpected offer. “Oh, no. You don’t want to do that. I’ve been working all day; my feet are all gross and sweaty!” He slid his belt out of his belt loops to give his big belly some breathing room and tossed it on the floor. After a moment of hesitation, he scooped Pedro off the couch, laid down, and gently held him against his bare chest. “Is this okay?” he inquired timidly. 

Pedro found himself enveloped by soft skin, pressed between Ray’s huge muscular pecs down below and his large hands above. Ray’s heart throbbed around him, and his mighty chest rose and fell with his breathing. His chest hair was soft, making the dip between his pecs even more cozy. Pedro felt very small, as he processed the sheer scale of the bones and muscles and organs of the giant’s body beneath his skin, yet also comforted and protected. After his frightening, difficult day, this was exactly where he wanted to be. “More than okay. This is divine,” he murmured, curling up in heaven. 

Ray sighed deeply with satisfaction, and Pedro listened to the air filling his monumental lungs and whooshing back out. Pedro felt like he could fall asleep on his chest, if not for how aroused he was, to be so close to his sexy giant body. Ray shifted around him and groaned softly, grimacing with discomfort. 

“Ray, what’s the matter?” Pedro asked, idly running his fingers through his chest hair. 

“Oh, don’t worry about it, it’s nothing…” Ray answered, his voice filling his chest. He winced again before confessing, “It’s just my feet. They’re throbbing and hurting.” 

“Oh, you poor baby, let me help,” Pedro cooed. Ray was too fatigued to protest as Pedro stood up, freed himself from the giant’s hands, and hiked down his boundless landscape of flesh. The curve of his belly was like a big hill that Pedro couldn’t see over until he reached the top, with minor difficulty as his feet sank into the squishy fat. He slid down his belly to his pants. Pedro was tempted to stop there, at his crotch, but he wanted to relieve Ray’s pain first, so he kept going. He traveled down his incredibly long, thick leg. He could feel the majestic layers of muscle even through the fabric.  

Eventually, he made it down to Ray’s oversized feet. His feet were huge and hairy, with big thick nails on the toes. He gripped the hem of Ray’s pant leg to ease himself down to the couch cushion and circled around his ankle and heel. As Ray had sheepishly mentioned, his feet were a bit smelly and damp with sweat, but Pedro cared about the giant’s wellbeing and didn’t complain. He ignored the stench as he examined the soft, slightly callused pads of his feet and toes towering above him. The sensitive undersides were red and swollen. 

“Where does it hurt?” Pedro called over to Ray, projecting his tiny voice so the giant could hear him. He brushed his fingers over the tender flesh.  

With a sudden violent movement that startled the tiny human, Ray jerked his feet back and giggled. “That tickles!” the giant protested with a chuckle lacing his words. 

“Oh, sorry!” Pedro responded, clutching his chest. He was alarmed at how those giant feet had almost smashed into him. 

Ray carefully stretched his legs back out and laid his feet sideways so Pedro could reach their full surface area better. “It’s the heels and balls of my feet, mostly. Um... are you sure you want to do this, Pedro? You don’t have to, honest. I know my feet are a little nasty right now...” 

“Anything for my king,” Pedro said with a smile. Using a rough, firm touch, since he knew he was so much smaller than the giant, he pressed his hands into the sore spots on Ray’s feet, massaging hard. He kneaded the flesh with all his strength, using not only the muscles of his hands but his arms and back as well. He balled his hands into fists and pressed his knuckles into the padded skin. 

“Ahhhhh... that feels so good,” Ray moaned, wiggling his toes. “Thank you.” The experience was oddly sensual for Pedro; he liked making his partner happy and easing his pain. He focused on the most inflamed areas, but made sure to massage every inch, from the base of his heels up through the arch, all the way to his toes. By the time he finished with both feet, he was worn out. He slumped against Ray’s toes and sought to catch his breath. Ray sighed with contentment. 

“Wow, Pedro... that was so kind of you. My feet feel a lot better now.” Ray sat up and scooped Pedro into his hand. “I know you were pretty tired today. Let me return the favor.” The giant knew he needed to be very gentle, since the human in his palm was so tiny. Using only the tips of his massive fingers, he gingerly pinched Pedro’s arm and put light pressure on his muscles, moving from his hand to his shoulder in a soothing massage. He squeezed the muscles in his other arm next, then kneaded his legs from his calves to his quads. Pedro melted with pleasure in his palm as the knots in his muscles untangled. To be handled so deliberately, so tenderly, by such an enormous man was sublime. 

As Ray continued to give Pedro a full-body massage with his colossal thumb and forefinger, his huge hand that inevitably took up so much space happened to bump against the little human’s groin. Ray pulled away slightly as he realized what he had touched. Pedro was rock-hard. Ray felt his face grow hot and his heartbeat increase in tempo. 

“Don’t stop,” Pedro whispered with longing. Ray hesitated before gently touching his finger against Pedro’s diminutive chest. He ran the tip back down to the hard lump in his pants, brushing against it. Bringing up his thumb, he grasped the waistband of his pants and pulled them down to his ankles, exposing his erect penis. Pedro looked up at him with wide eyes. He bit his lip seductively and unbuttoned his shirt, shedding it as he simultaneously kicked off his shoes and pants. He splayed out stark-naked in the giant’s hand, burning with lust and eager anticipation. 

Ray experienced that fresh desire for the flesh of a human in his maw, so alien to his normal sensibilities but certainly not unwelcome now when he had a willing morsel in his hand. He leaned his head in, licking his lips readily. Pedro shivered with excitement as Ray’s vast visage loomed so close, right above him, filling his entire field of vision. Ray’s warm breath saturated his skin as his gigantic, luscious lips brushed against him with soft kisses. He tentatively touched his tongue to the human’s skin, tasting him. 

Ray was not prepared for the delicious burst of flavor that rocketed through his taste buds. Pedro tasted like fresh-baked double chocolate chip cookies. His salivary glands tingled as they released a flood of drool. Ray licked the tiny human eagerly with his immense tongue, savoring his taste as he slurped on his junk and nibbled with his lips. He nearly scooped the human up with his tongue in his enthusiasm. The eager strokes were highly stimulating to Pedro, who was unable to contain himself for long as his genitals were caressed and soaked with saliva. He moaned with escalating pleasure, gripping the hair of Ray’s mustache with his fingers as his giant lips and tongue worked their magic. Finally, he bust a nut with an ecstatic groan, and Ray was surprised again with the sweet taste of cookies and cream on his tongue.  

Ray had a very strong urge, then and there, to snap up the human in his mouth and swallow him whole. He resisted this compulsion, thankfully, and pulled his mouth away from his tempting snack. Pedro, breathing hard after his orgasm, glimpsed in the infinite blue sky of the giant’s eyes a flash of hunger that reminded him of Hunter’s unwavering predatory gaze, which chilled his blood. However, the harrowing gleam disappeared as quickly as it had surfaced, and Pedro believed he must’ve only imagined it. When he looked again, Ray had only soft kindness in his eyes. Pedro sighed, enchanted as he lost himself in those windows to his giant lover’s soul. 

The giant, trying to distract himself from his urge to eat the smaller man, unbuttoned his pants instead. He, too, was brimming with lustful desire. Pedro, understanding his next move, grinned and gave him an ardent wink. Ray stuffed him down into his pants where he contacted his hot bare skin. Pedro, positively giddy with excitement, jerked him off and played in his pleasure center, his playground of delight. Ray was amazed by his passion and skill, despite his size. He had anticipated some hesitancy, considering how intimidating it must be for a small human to make love to a giant man hundreds of times larger, but Pedro was more adventurous than he bargained for. The human had years of fantasizing under his belt to guide his hands and body and tongue as he rubbed himself all over the gigantic, glorious, throbbing shaft, giving care to the most sensitive areas. Soon enough, Ray reached climax, exploding with ecstasy. Ray rescued him from the confines of his pants and held him against his chest.  

Pedro gazed up at Ray lovingly. “Ray… my ray of sunshine… you are a dream come true.” He wrapped his arms around the giant’s thumb and beamed with joy. Ray tousled his hair with the tip of his finger and stroked his naked back. 

“I’m glad that I kicked you like a soccer ball, Pedro,” the giant replied with a chuckle. “You’re definitely something special.” He rolled over on his side and clasped Pedro against his cheek, nuzzling him and snuggling up to him. Pedro cuddled against him in return, curling into his soft skin. Before long, they were both fast asleep, their features serene in peaceful slumber. 

Chapter 30

Chapter 1

#the half-blood giant #nsft

[fantasyideas1]

Aphorisms And all the rain of all times will not wash away my sadness, in the ocean of tears I know the truth of sincerity, every drop asks why I am, oxygen cylinders of illusions, the lifeless beauty of the temptation of materialism, the soulless paradise of egoists, the lost insensibility of souls, the neon fog of illusions, the colors of life are blurred in glaucoma egoism, through the cosmic space of the wisdom of times, through the paradoxical voids of illusions and false hopes, lost consciousness in abundance of temptations, drugged by self-interest, plump girls are actually full-fledged beauties, city roads like lava, endless paths of inevitability, now loose sands, now burning coals , we are microparticles of our own mechanisms of egoism, aimlessly careless, detached blind in the general dream of life, The city is a canyon in which lava flows, buildings are computer electronics mechanisms, in an absolutely disoriented society of egoists, a masterpiece of insensitivity of society, lifestyle and climate form anthropologically different types of thinking, anatomical abundance of various types of philosophies that have a single essence of the truth of goodness and light, the city is cemetery of souls, time will hide us in the void, we become part of the fog of timelessness, epilepsy from the neon lights of temptations in the midst of the darkness of the void, the lies of a disconnected consciousness ooze, Poems You are divine sweetness, your kiss draws you into the soul, to the paradise in which I want to live forever, I love you to infinity, You are my absolutely uncontrollable lust of infinity of passion, our consciousnesses are one in a kiss, I see your soul when I kiss your lips, I see through the senses, the fire alarm goes off, because you are a very hot beauty, there is nowhere sweeter, the light of your beauty illuminates the soul to the very depths of the soul, the hot temptation of sweet erotic passion, you are my deep sex addiction of love passion, you are so sexy my balls are like in a toaster , and the sausage is on the grill, you want an omelette, blissful tenderness dissolves in love turning into a cloud, feel heaven in your kiss, jokes Falling thermonuclear bomb in the form of a middle finger gesture A technician in an expensive store, all the time wiping the floor, that is, the drooling of visitors in this museum, where you can’t afford to buy anything You spent all your nerves, but what about pension contributions Lechbee club dot ji, here the speakers emit vibrations from which the girls themselves squirt and an x-ray with which you can see who has socks in their bras, silicone, and money in the pockets for bartenders A man has a golf club between his legs and two balls that are looking for a lumka (girl's intimate places) Yes, and your wife is so fat that to get to her holes, you need to go there with a flashlight, well, I climbed, wish me luck You are so angry as if you drank something diuretic Why do you have an electric kettle, it automatically turns off when it boils, and why, because I don’t want to die, I’m at the computer all day, but yes, the house will burn down That is, from a hairdressing salon and an epilation salon, they collect hair and dye it, and sell it to a salon of chic women's fur coats He was offended and sharply turned his neck to the side, and pulled the muscles of his neck Two guys are watching a flutist play, you also got up, how she plays on erogenous zones, what notes and melodies of orgasm Is it dark or cloudy in your eyes Your nerves are like nicotine gum Oh, you read like that, he meant you read his work, and combined two words, you think so and read

Author: Musin Almat Zhumabekovich

#quotes

[stu-evans]

Seal Deluxe Edition

Let me take you back, dear reader, to 1991. Operation Desert Storm arrived in Kuwait, The Soviet Union began to dissolve the USSR, Grunge is about to take over MTV, the enigmatic Freddie Mercury sadly passed away and my beloved Tottenham Hotspur won the F.A Cup (thirty one years later and I’m still waiting for another WEM-BER-LEE victory) 

Riding the crest of a musical wave however was Henry Olusegun Adeola Samuel AKA Seal. ‘Killer’ a song written alongside acid house DJ and producer Adamski was all over the pubs, clubs, radio stations and Ministry Of Sounds. Despite the single being released a good year before the album came out, it was still a certified banger by the time this debut album was released. It still remains a massive dancefloor tune and has stood the test of time, still influencing the dance masses to this day. 

Killer, however, is only one track, and to dismiss the rest of this record would be doing Seal and those who have worked on this record a major disservice. The beginning starts with exactly that ‘The Beginning’ is a great way to start the record, it introduces us to what we’re about to hear. There’s soul, RNB and dance laden hooks through the song and Seal’s voice, pure like golden honey is at the fore ‘The music takes you round and round, hold on to the love’ he pleads as the outro leaves us with an aching acoustic guitar. 

This album has a lot of heavy influences on it, listening back with older ears as they are now, I can pick up a country feel on ‘Deep Water’ it’s a really heavy song ‘a shade of pain and then we die’ it is mournful, sad and yet quite beautiful. I’d forgotten this song existed, shame on me. 

As strong as the aforementioned ‘Killer’ is, I was always more of a ‘Crazy’ fan. It is almost the elder relative, it is still a dance floor classic but it has a deeper meaning ‘in a sky full of people only some want to fly, isn’t that crazy?’ hell yes it is. This song still moves me, and surely that’s the definition of classic. 

The production on this record still stands up to this day. At the helm was Trevor Horn, who not only produced the album but released it on his own, newly formed, record label  ZTT Records. Horn declared this record as a turning point in his career and it is easy to hear why, tracks like ‘Whirlpool’ seem pretty simple but dig deeper and you’ll hear gospel and soul flowing through the speakers. 

The album was famously released twice, Horn was not happy with with original version so decided to remix a few of the songs, most noticeably on the song 'Violet' and reissue the album only a few months after the original had been in the shops.

It would be fair to say some the songs haven’t aged so well ‘Wild’ doesn’t live up to its name at all, but to be fair on the deluxe edition the live version definitely has the funk the recorded track lacks. ‘Future Love Paradise’ also seems to lack the drive I seemed to recall it once having. 

Closing the album then is ‘Violet’ a beautiful 80′s influenced soul ballad, hints of Cocteau Twins (I seem to recall Seal declaring himself a fan)  it drifts along with spoken word in the background, not in an Alexander O’Neal way thankfully. Has this record stood the test of 31 years? Yes and no, in some parts it sounds as fresh as it did back in 1991 and in others not so much. Now about that bloody Tottenham Hotspur and winning the F.A Cup...... 

The extras in this deluxe edition offer a peek into the late 80′s and early 90′s dancefloor. The William Orbit remixes are the ones that stand out for me (much as his work with Blur is my favourite of theirs) get your glowsticks out for KIller. There are A LOT of remixes, seven versions of Crazy alone! If remixes are your bag you’ll be in heaven. 

The live album was recorded at The Point in Dublin and does showcase Seal’s wonderful voice. It is a lovely addition and one I’d recommended checking out over the remixes, especially ‘Violet’ and ‘Show me’ 

As a trip back to 1991 this album wouldn't have been my first choice (Ten & Nevermind ruled my world back then) but as a more mature listener I really enjoyed the record and of course I dived in and listened to 'Kiss From A Rose' straight after. It gets my Seal of approval!

7/10

[musicdiaries]

House of Heaven - Dissolve The Floor

#house of heaven

[infernal-general]

Bellum, Ignis Inferorum

Nothing could rile her up more than the meetings with the other commanders. Bunch of incompetent, ridiculously stupid fools pretending to be experts in warfare just because they got a dick between their legs. At first, she tried to be civil, reasoning and trying to get attention in ways still faintly considered polite. It was useless, despite her latest achievement only a few tamed and actually listened to her. This time even the gritty howl of the hellfire went unheard and even worse: laughed at.

Fine. They might listen to an another cry. With that thought she grabbed the still chuckling commander on her right, slammed his face against the table and her hand holding him lit up with crimson. A small smirk of satisfaction at the now quiet stares of horror at the agony filled shrieks and molten flesh beneath her cursed power. A power which exceeded all of theirs combined.

“As I was trying to mention previously” her voice smooth, unaffected, perhaps a little smug. She didn't spare a glance at the now unconscious commander sliding off the desk once her brutal hold let up, only wiped her hand in his cape during the movement.

In her house, she stared at the conjured chessboard with a calculated gaze. As much as she didn't want to acknowledge, with each death in her legion she felt not only unspeakable emotional anguish but a speck of power added to hers. The flame within the soldiers rejoining with the original entity. This discovery urged Rozália pursue, to test whenever she could draw more, more from beneath the ground. Her first lava bath in the Wrath Ring proved the theory true.

'Lucifer's dog'. She has heard and felt that sentiment and didn't bother correcting it. After all, being underestimated, unseen was much better from a strategic point of view. Not many knew who she once was. The Viper; who slaughtered everyone once the so thought control over her wanted to suffocate her. And history had a tendency to repeat itself.

The chessboard dissolved as Rozália walked to her windows, the noise of metallic talons amplified by the stone floor. Slit pupils bore into the bustling city, her lips sometimes curling into a sneer whenever her eyes laid on a sign or an object associated with someone whose second death only haven't reached them, because nobility decided to clip her wings after witnessing her force that put even Ars Goetias into her graveyard. Because Satan forbid her maintaining an afterlife with less evil seeping from every corner, corrupting almost everything to the point of no return.

‘Wouldn't it be great to see it on fire?’ the imaginary sight once again sparked satisfaction along with an involuntary twitch of restless fingers. The amount of self control needed to snuff out the urge grew greater every time the thought crossed her mind. The sheer terror on their faces when they realize they cannot flee from the cursed fire. To have them trampling each other at the barrier of the Ring, like the desperate animals they are as she walks closer from the destruction. Then marching straight to the royal castle as they realize that she was never an attack dog they had control over, but a dragon. It might be her last journey, but a worthy one.

All these fantasies of being reckoning itself and the actual process of bringing it were halted by one thought: her army.

‘A terrible inconvenience.’ and this time she couldn't tell whenever it was the Hellfire speaking or not.

Those vicious serpent eyes closed at the wave of guilt. They were her family. Her friends. They trusted her. Followed every command in almost blind loyalty. She would do anything to protect them; and loathed how that thought was indeed true in a sense.

Rozália knew a lost war when she saw or participated in one, she might win stellar battles, but ultimately Heaven will massacre the remains of her army in the long term. She didn't choose this fate. She hadn't agreed to any deal, contract which would've resulted in her current position. Neither did her warriors. Crimson eyes snapped open once again; she was only stalling the inevitable.

Of course she made use of the gained time. Drained the roaring fire in Wrath little by little enough to permanently bring the whole Ring's temperature down a few degrees. Siphoned Sloth mercilessly; she has heard demons dying from the cold. Ah well, war had its casualties. Rozália refused to touch Greed, Gluttony and especially Envy; suspecting its rulers would be more in tune with the faintest change. Of course she didn't plan to leave them completely untouched, just not yet. She was the reason behind Pride's climbing temperature, slowly coaxing the fire closer and closer to the surface.

She would've loved the confusion mixed realization on Lucifer's face upon finding out that the Hellfire wasn't responding him, or at least not immediately and without the usual force. Her position on the chessboard was unchanging, but as the knight the hussar she was capable of many surprising maneuvers. The battle was unwinnable, and when she was robbed of everything was the point she decided to stop playing fair & flip the entire board. Until then, she will be waiting, lurking with claws ready to sink into flesh, flames eager to destroy without limits. She will not be controlled and anyone attempting, attempted to do so will pay dearly until they manage to finally kill her.

Often Rozália couldn't tell herself apart from the Hellfire possessing her.

Although there was something more frightening: her lack of care at the discovery.

#⚔ stories 🔥 | when the music stops; the cries die down; memories crawl out of the grave; the soul can never find peace #⚔ alright/encourage to like and reblog 🔥 | no grave can hold me #the Pride Ring is like Gotham but unfortunately Rozy is not Batman. #slightly sequel to the Fire Within trilogy

[sluttyten]

craving you like the devil craves heaven

summary: you’re a succubus (a female demon that seduces men to death) and you task yourself with seducing someone difficult. enter mark lee, a priest with a vow of celibacy that he’s already struggling with. you think you’ll have some fun. (based off this message from an anon)

length: 8,622

warnings: religious themes, sacrilegious, corruption, demons, priests, oral sex, masturbation, sex

As a newly-made succubus, you wanted to impress your peers and superiors, and therefore decided to challenge yourself by making your first time special and big.

“A priest?” Your direct superior shook her head in disbelief. “Most would start with a regular mortal who is much, much more likely to succumb to sin. Are you sure you want to commit to seducing a priest? You realize they swear to be celibate, and typically they’re committed to destroying demons like you and I?”

You do realize all of those things, but you’re sure if you find the right one you can do it. Not all priests are perfectly perfect and holy.

All it took was a little bit of divine intervention (or rather you intervening in the divine), tapping into that holy line of mortal prayers. A little eavesdropping, careful listening, and at last you plucked the correct line, listening to the reverberating prayers of a holy man dealing with such sinful thoughts, praying for help in remaining faithful to the vows of the priesthood.

It was night in this place where the young priest was. Cool and dark, the air was damp and would surely make you shiver if you were mortal, but the cold didn’t affect a demon like you, nor did the mist as it clung to your eyelashes and the strands of your hair. You stood across the street from the rectory, standing in the shadow of a doorway, gazing up at the faint golden light of a window on the second floor of the holy man’s house.

You could still hear a whisper of his prayers.

“Lord, it’s me, Mark, your servant. I pray you give me the strength to resist these desires, the sinful thoughts.” He prays, and you can almost picture him kneeling with his hands folded before him, head bowed, and lips moving slightly as he repeats the words of Latin prayers.

You decide to study him.

That night you stand there on the street and watch the house, listening to his dreams, and catching glimpses of his neighbors’ dreams, as well as the other two priests who share the home with Mark. And in the morning you shift yourself to match the wall behind you, to continue your observations as the young priest rises and dresses and walks down the street to the church. You watch as he passes through the cemetery tucked behind the church, and he pauses at some of the headstones to straighten flowers or offer a prayer, and then he enters through a side door, and you stand outside, waiting.

Several hours later a crowd begins to arrive, passing inside through the large, ornate front doors, and soon after music swells, voices rise, and you hear the chanting of prayers upon prayers. You watch as Mark emerges from the church among his parishioners, as he smiles and talks and shakes hands with them.

You take special note of the way that his eyes repeatedly flick toward another human, near the same age as himself. You notice the way his eyes follow their movements, how he smiles when they meet his eye.

Ah, this one. That one is the source of the young priest’s sinful thoughts.

You observe as the crowd thins, disappearing from the front steps of the church until it is only the priest speaking to a mother and her toddler that keeps tugging on her hand and crying, and Mark tries his best to pay full attention to her, but the lovely human who has attracted his notice stands a few feet away, holding a folder in their hands.

Eventually as the bell tower above the church chimes the hour, Mark excuses himself from the mother, stating that he has an appointment to get to, and you watch with renewed interest as he leaves the mother and beckons the nervous-looking folder-wielding individual to step back into the church with him.

They pass through the nave of the church—their footsteps echoing up to the vaulted ceiling, through all the empty pews—and bow at the altar before stepping around to the side, and passing through a doorway tucked behind a statue of a saint. They shut themselves away in the priest’s office, and you listen eavesdrop from your hiding place across from the church, a safe distance from all the blessed holiness that would try to keep you out.

You can’t quite hear Mark’s thoughts, but bear enough to it, sensing the fluctuations in his emotions as the parishioner shows him the divorce file, and pleads with him to help them resolve the issues in their marriage to their spouse in a way that won’t end like this.

You can feel Mark’s tension, the conflict within himself. It’s his duty to help. But the desire he feels for this person sitting across from him.... it’s sinful, it goes against his vows.

That night you watch him walk back to the rectory after another mass, several meetings, a meal at the home of one of his parishioner’s. You listen as he prepares himself for bed, as he prays once more for the strength to get passed this way he feels because he knows it’s not right in the eyes of the church and God.

And that night, after Mark’s window has at last gone dark, after he’s fallen into dreams, you decide that your time for first contact has come.

Mark’s dreams are easy to intrude upon. The boundaries upon the rectory, blessed though they may be, are old and worn and leave several gaping holes for you to slip through and into his mind.

What you’re doing isn’t possession. That’s not in your repertoire.

In his dream, you take the form of Mark’s desire. You form the dream into what you require, setting up the scene as being back in his office, that desk between him and you, the future-divorcée’s file open on the desk.

Mark doesn’t notice a thing, he just slips right from his normal dreams into this one, picking up his lines without a skip.

“....and pray to the Lord. You and Alex can get through this. Counseling and prayer works miracles.” Mark says, and just as he’d done earlier in the day, he reaches across the desk and takes the hand sitting there atop the file.

Unlike earlier though, you’re in control of this dream. You’d felt Mark’s mind buzzing when his hand came in contact with the hand of his secret desire, so you turn that to your benefit now, making your first changes.

“I know it’s wrong,” you say in the voice of the divorcee, “But sometimes I think there’s no use saving the marriage. Alex feels one way about it, and I can understand that. Alex could fall in love with someone else and be happier and I want that for my spouse, of course I do. And if I could fall in love too....” Your look up at Mark sitting across from you, his hand still on yours, and the look on your face is one that you put as much want and lust into as you can.

Mark gulps. His fingers twitch against your hand. “Sometimes people fall in love with someone else. A peaceful resolution to a marriage, the dissolvement, annulment.... that can happen and both parties can remarry happily.”

He’s trying so hard, the poor thing. One look into his eyes and you can see the nervousness and excitement, the way his mind is rushing at this news that the person sitting before him might want to look for new love.

“Sometimes the person that we’re meant to be with is actually right in front of us.” You say.

Mark nods, swallows again. You test the waters, stroke your thumb over the back of his hand.

He jolts in his seat and stands, rubbing a hand over the top of his head as he paces over to a water disperser in the corner of the office, and he fills a small paper cup for himself, gulps it down. And you take this as your next opportunity to try to twist this dream to your advantage.

“Father Lee,” you step closer and closer, coming up right behind him.

His hand shakes as he fills the cup again, but before he can quite lift it to his lips, you curl your hand against his, and take the cup, bringing it to your lips and draining it while you look at him. He watches with his lips parted, eyes wide. Mark drinks too—drinks in every detail of you wearing his desire’s face and putting your lips where his had just been. You can hear his adorable thoughts—the innocent rush he gets from thinking that’s like an indirect kiss.

Things are moving too slow now, you can tell that even in a dream, even when you’re offering everything up for him to make the move, Mark won’t take the opportunity. He’s trying too hard to hold back, and you just want to seduce him.

So you push things ahead just a little bit, rearrange the dream to your liking, which is you sitting on the edge of the desk, leaning back on your hands with Mark’s hands on you. He’s got one hand tangled in your hair, the other on your waist, and the overwhelming sexual frustration you taste on his tongue as he kisses you is so fucking sweet.

Mark murmurs your name.

Well, not your name. But the name that belongs with this face. You press closer, kissing him back to make him shut up, to keep him distracted and enchanted by the lust of the dream.

But perhaps doing that pushes it too far.

Mark breaks away, gasping, “No, wait. I can’t do this. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Irritation flashes through you, and for a split second your true self shines through.

Mark’s eyes widen and he gasps, the whole dream fluctuates, shaking and tipping to the side, and then you’re ripped back to reality, just a monstrous succubi hiding in the space beneath his bed.

You hold still as Mark staggers to his feet. Bare feet brush across the floor, and you hear him slapping his face, pinching at his inner arms, and then you hear him murmuring prayers again.

“Father, I’m sorry for my sins. Please forgive me.” and “Father purge these demons from my mind.”

You wrap your arms around yourself under his bed and smile. You don’t plan to go anywhere.

Several more days pass and you let Mark be. You even return to Hell for a few days to update your supervisor on your progress, and while it’s not as much as you’d like, they are impressed with your target.

By the time you return to watch Mark again, he seems to have calmed down a bit from that naughty dream you’d given him. You return just in time for him to say his nighttime prayers, and once more you wait for him to fall asleep before you enter his space.

You bring yourself physically into the space—at first incorporeal, but then you manifest a tangible shape that you personally admire for all of your earthly adventures, and you settle in to do your work for the night.

Even with a real body, you’re still light as a breath of wind, so when you climb onto the bed and settle over Mark’s chest, he doesn’t stir. Nor does he do anything as you step into his dreams.

This time you observe the dreams for a moment.

You seem to be in a memory. Mark’s brother and himself when they were younger, riding bikes down a street that fades off into white nothingness at the edges, not that either of the two boys seem aware. The dream shifts naturally from that bike-ride to sitting in a car, the windows rolled down, a night breeze filling the interior and raking its fingers through Mark’s hair. There’s a girl sitting in the seat beside him, talking and smiling and dressed cute with a milkshake in one hand that she pauses her story every now-and-then to take a sip at. A girlfriend or a first love. When she reaches over and lays a casual hand on Mark’s thigh, he jumps a little. It’s close enough to what you need, so you grasp onto it and take control of the dream like you’re the one driving a car.

You wear the dream-girl’s face as easily as you’d worn the one in the last dream. You move her hand higher up his thigh.

Mark turns his head to the side with a sharp inhale, staring at you. And then you realize, startling even yourself, that he’s actually staring at you.

The dream ripples and you can feel it pulling away from you, Mark resisting your attempt to control the dream.

“Who are you?” His voice asks, but the Mark in the dream before you doesn’t move his mouth. The voice echoes and booms from all around you.

Abort. Fleeing a dream, tearing yourself from the web of his mind, abandoning your victim in a situation like this seems like the absolute most perfect idea.

But tragically, it seems impossible.

The dream closes in around you, squeezing tight as if holding you there. You grapple with Mark’s mind, and then suddenly the dream releases, Mark gasps awake, trying hard to suck in breaths against the new weight of you sitting on his chest, a succubi filled with the lust and dream-energy you’d been siphoning from him.

Before you can truly flee, dissolving back to your incorporeal form and slipping out into the free night, Mark’s hand closes around your wrist, and with a strength and agility you didn’t expect, he flips you under him, pinning your form to his bed. Trapping you between his warm body and the firm mattress.

“Who are you?” Mark hisses.

You let your true eyes shine through, hoping that the dimly glowing sulphuric color of them will frighten him into letting you go.

Instead, he reaches into his shirt and draws out a cross on a silver chain. You flinch back into the sheets as Mark asks the same question again.

“I’m here to help you.” You turn your gaze away from the cross, locking your eyes on his. “You’re so loud with your lustful thoughts, and I’m here to help you feel better, to tame your lusty sins.” You buck your hips up, pressing up against his hips.

Mark swallows hard. “I don’t know what you are or what you’re talking about.”

“Ah, so you don’t want to fuck that sexy, soon-to-be singleton you were dreaming about the other night?” You bring your hands up both of his arms until your fingertips are under the sleeves against his biceps. “Oh, Father Lee, don’t you know how sinful that is? What would your fellow priests think? What must He think?”

Mark’s jaw tightens, and he brings the cross closer to your skin. Your body tingles and burns.

“Let me up.” You tell him. He doesn’t budge. “I swear to all things evil, let me up or I’ll scream and moan, transform to look like your secret desire so when your Brothers came running in here all they’ll know is I’m moaning your name, and you’re....”

Mark moves.

“Demon.” He spits the word at you like an insult.

You sit up, fixing your hair, and you wink in his direction. “You got it.”

“Get out.”

“Hey.” You stand, raising your hands innocently. “You’re the one that summoned me here. I’m a succubus, and the amount of sexual frustration radiating off of you was too delicious to pass up.” You lean in and sniff at his neck, just to take the opportunity to make him uncomfortable because he’s cute like that. “I just want to help, to show you that you can still feel good, Mark. And anyway, is it breaking your vows if I was just trying to entice you in your dreams? It’s not real is it?”

Mark shakes his head, taking an unsteady step backwards. “Even thoughts are sins.”

You roll your eyes and sink back down onto the edge of his bed. “That’s such a modern misconception. Back in the early days of your faith, people weren’t quite so... prudish. They had sex, some even saw it as praising Him, thanking him for the goodness of it all. Some people still do, why do you think people scream His name during the throes of ecstasy?”

Mark blushes. “Stop it. I know what you’re doing.”

“I’m just trying to help.” You reply, leaning back on your hands and looking up at him. “You’re horny, I can feel that. You’re channeling all of your lust toward one unattainable person because they’re married, Mark. Not to mention, they call you Father Lee, which is very unsexy, might I add. But if you would just give in to your dreams, have a hot little dream of making out, getting down and dirty in your office, then that would give you a bit of satisfaction, right? Have a wet dream like you haven’t since you were a teenager? Or at the worst, wake up with a boner, take care of it yourself. You do jerk off still, don’t you, Father Lee?”

Mark frowns at you. “Shut up.”

“Is that a no?” You gasp, sitting up. “Seriously? But you’re still so young, you’ve got all of these hormones, this energy that you need to release. Even if you feel you can’t release it with someone else, do it yourself.”

Mark turns completely away from you then, but you can still see him reflected in the mirror across the room. “Get out.”

His tone is so dour, dark and serious, that you do get out. You flee into incorporeality, still able to observe the look on Mark’s face when he turns around a second later and sees you’re gone, can still see the shape of where you’d say on his bed. He runs his fingers through his hair, and then begins to whisper prayers to his God for forgiveness for his weakness.

You let a few more days pass before you return, scared that coming back too soon would cause too much damage. But several days, you think, gives him time to think more about what you’ve said. You do watch him though, you watch closer than you’d done before, and you see Mark clumsily try to touch himself, as if thinking about what you’d said, but he always pulls his hand away after a moment with a groan of frustration.

On the fifth night since you’d last appeared to him, Mark lingers in his office at the church, pouring over papers, notes from meetings, notices from the parish school. In the yellow half-light cast off by his desk lamp, Mark looks so much older and more tired than anyone should look at twenty-five.

“You need to do something to relax,” you tell him as you manifest right behind his seat, already rubbing at his tense shoulders.

Mark spins his chair around so quickly, he nearly falls out of it. His pupils expand with fear, his chest rising and falling with the surprised, panicked breaths you’d startled out of him.

“How are you in here?” He asks, his eyes darting around the room to the closed door and the latched windows. You know he’s thinking about how the doors of the church are locked (because he’d checked them earlier after the last service for the evening), and then you can see the switch flip in his mind as he starts thinking about how you’re a self-confessed demon currently standing on holy ground. “How are you here?”

You shrug and step around him, sitting on the edge of his desk and plucking a paper from the middle of one of the piles. “It’s easy to be here. I just feel all tingly in all the good places.” You wink at him.

Mark groans and punches the bridge of his nose. “Am I going crazy? Is that what this is? You’re a manifestation of my mental breakdown?”

“Absolutely not,” you laugh. “I’m real. See?”

You take his hand from his face and bring it down between your thighs, close enough that Mark can feel the heat radiating off your skin, but before you can actually make him touch any part of your body, Mark jerks his hand away. You sigh sadly and return your focus to the paper in your hand.

“So, marriage counseling going well for the unhappy couple?” You scan the document which is notes Mark had taken during the counseling session for his crush. “From the looks of it they have issues. The unresolvable kind. Alex just won’t put out, and your sweetheart has needs, huh? But you know all about that, don’t you, Mark?”

Mark snatches the paper out of your hands. “That’s a confidential document.”

You hold out your hand, and right before Mark’s eyes another page from his desk appears in your hand, and this time you read aloud. “When we first got married, we would have sex regularly. At least once a week, usually more.” You raise your eyes to look at Mark. He’s trying so hard not to blush; you wonder how he got through the session. The next few lines of the message are more whining about the current lack of a sex life, and then it’s gets into the sordid, juicy details that you feel certain Mark had struggled to copy down, but had done so for the specific intent of reliving the rush he felt hearing about the sex life of someone he desires.

So naturally you read that part aloud to him as well, and Mark just squirms in his seat. You look up at him and see that he’s definitely blushing, his hands folded as he stares down at them with such a forceful look of concentration, that you’re surprised they’ve not burst into flames. He’s so determined to ignore you, you can hear the prayers racing through his mind.

But when you toe off your shoes and bring a foot up into his lap, you’re amused to find a raging erection hiding there. Mark shudders as the sole of your foot caresses him. His hands untwist, and one moves to your calf, curling around it, but he doesn’t push you away. Not as you keep moving your foot over him like this. His eyelids flutter.

You don’t dare speak, just let the silence hang in the room as you rub Mark’s erection with your foot, his hand on your calf, the other clenching into a fist on the arm of his chair. His lips part, small sweet-sounding sighs falling free. His eyes close, head dropped back against the headrest of his fine leather seat, and his hips shift beneath your foot.

He looks beautiful like this, you think.

Half-lit by his lamp, blushing and glowing with list and finally-felt pleasure. Your body tingles with your own pleasure, the success of doing this.

Mark’s teeth catch his bottom lip, trapping a grunt within his lips. You press your toes to circle them at the tip of his erection, and Mark’s hips lift up, chasing the feeling, grinding against your foot. He sighs, soft moans and pretty sounds, and then at last, he whispers “oh God” and then shudders and slumps back in the chair.

You feel the wet heat beneath your heel, Mark’s cum filling his trousers.

Satisfied, you vanish before he can open his eyes.

You return the following night. This time Mark is in his room at the rectory, sitting up in bed. His eyes are closed as he leans against the wall, his bedsheets pooled in his lap, his hand resting there. He’s not touching himself, but you can tell that he’s challenging himself not to. He’s hard again, and the moment you present in the room, his eyes open as if he could feel the change in the air.

“Demon,” his eyes narrow. “What did you do to me last night?”

“Why? Did it feel good?” You smile. You don’t walk straight to his bed, though you know you’ll end up there. You walk to the closet, run your fingers over the hangers, you skim your fingers through the dust gathering on the books lining the shelf on his wall.

When Mark clears his throat, it’s then that you finally look at him. “Why are you here?”

“Because you need me.” You nod at his lap, wave your hand in a long gesture at his whole body. “I’m telling you, Mark, the energy coming off of you, it’s a wonder you don’t draw every succubus in Hell to come seduce you, drinking up all this juice you’ve got, I’ve never been so full.”

Mark’s eyes flash darkly, his eyes stuck on your face. “Well you had your fill last night right? I can’t believe.... I’ve prayed to the Lord for forgiveness so many times since last night I went to confession earlier today.”

“Oh did you?” A burst of excitement goes through you, and you hurry to sit on his bed, taking up his hand. “What did you tell them about me?”

Mark shakes your hand off. “I didn’t mention you. Why would I? They’d either think I’m losing my mind, which I’m still not convinced that I’m not, or they’d think that I’m just breaking my vows and having sex with someone. I just confessed that I lost my battle against lust and took care of myself.”

You tut at him disapprovingly, shaking your head as you say, “Lying in confession? Isn’t that an oxymoron? And a sin?”

Mark’s hands clench at the sheets. “I wasn’t lying really. Not if I believe that you’re a figment of my cracking mind.”

You smirk, and when you lean closer and lay a fingertip on Mark’s cheek, tracing along his cheekbone and then dropping to outline his lips, you whisper, “And do you believe that? Truly? That I’m just a figment of your imagination?”

“I don’t know what I believe,” Mark whispers hoarsely. “I don’t know if it’s better to think I’m doing this to myself or that there’s a demon taunting me.”

“Maybe I’m actually an angel in disguise, sent in answer to your prayers.” You shift onto your knees, and lean close to Mark’s face. You hold just an inch away from his lips. He goes almost cross-eyed trying to keep looking at you. “In which case, you should take advantage of this opportunity, no? Let me help you, enjoy it.”

Mark pulls his head back, closing his eyes tight as he drops his head back gently against the wall. “This is a sin. I’m a priest, I can’t be doing this.”

You roll your eyes and move.

Mark peers curiously, and almost fearfully, through a cracked eyelid when he feels your weight leave the bed. But a split second later you’ce settled completely in his lap. He goes stiff, murmuring prayers under his breath as well as something that sounds suspiciously like some sort of chant to banish you.

You stay firmly in your spot. “Why did you become a priest, Mark?”

Your question catches him off guard. His prayers cut off and he opens his eyes, looking directly at you. “What? Because I was called. I heard His voice calling me.”

“When?”

“The first time I was young. Fifteen, I think.” He looks up at the ceiling, remembering. “Again when I was eighteen. I entered the seminary at nineteen, studied until I was twenty three, when I became a deacon, and then I was ordained earlier this year. At twenty five.”

You shift your weight. “And you never doubted it? That this was what you wanted to do? That you wanted to swear yourself to celibacy? Never have sex, never allow yourself to experience pleasure? Tell me, Mark, are you a virgin?”

Mark’s blush returns, flooding his face with heat. “Why do you care?”

“Have you ever been touched by another person?” He stays silent, and you think about what you’ve observed in him. You think about him clumsily touching himself before giving up, about how easily he’d fallen apart under your touch the night before. “Have you ever touched yourself, Mark?”

You can feel how hard his heart pounds now, and in each loud beat you hear your answer.

“Cute. Little virginal priest.” You put your hands on either of his cheeks, turning his face so he has no choice but to look right at you. “Was last night your first orgasm?”

Mark breathes through his nose, holding your gaze, trying to steady his racing heart and mind. “Can you stop.”

“But aren’t you curious? Don’t you want to feel it again?” You drop your hands from his face. “I can give that to you again. I can make you feel even better, actually. If you let me, Mark, I can open up a whole new world to you.”

When his eyes close you can tell that he’s thinking about how to banish you, to send you back to hell. You find that very attractive, particularly when a muscle in his jaw flexes.

“Mark,” you whisper, and you lift a gentle hand to his neck, tracing a finger along a vein that stands out there. “Mark, what if I’m just a figment of your imagination? It’s not wrong then, is it? To want to feel good like you did last night? I can give that to you again, I can make you feel better. Just tell me yes.”

The silence buzzes in the room as you wait for him to speak or do anything.

“Yes,” Mark’s voice comes out shaky, hoarse. “Yes, okay. Just one more time.”

You move before he can decide to change his mind. Mark just takes steadying breaths as you sink down the bed, slipping beneath the covers, fitting between his thighs. He holds his breath when you tug down the waistband of the plaid flannel pants he’s wearing, when you touch his bare erection with your fingers, the tip of your tongue, your lips closing around him.

You’re not sure that he breathes until swallow around him, pushing to take more of his cock down your throat. Your body buzzes with the heat coming off of him, the energizing power of making him feel good.

Mark doesn’t touch you. He clenches his fingers in the bedsheets on either side of his hips as you give him his very first blowjob. You can’t help looking up at him as you do this; watching every look of pleasure and satisfaction cross his face, unrestrained. And when he moans, they’re soft moans, always conscious that you’re not alone together in this house of holy men, that there’s another priest just two doors down, an empty bathroom in between.

You keep sucking him off, taking him as deep into your mouth as you can when he blows his load for the first time.

Mark bites his knuckles to keep quiet. You pull off his erection, keeping your fingers on him, playing with him as he shudders through the last waves of pleasure.

“Look at that, would you? Felt good? How could that be a bad thing?” You drop a tender kiss to his tip, and then sit up, feeling very satisfied in yourself. “Do you want more?”

“More? No. I shouldn’t. I really, really shouldn’t.” He put his hands over his face, pinching at his nose. “Shit. What am I doing? You need to leave.”

You look at him with his face covered, his body on display to your eyes. “Well, if you want more, I’m sure you can look up a summoning ritual for me in one of your holy books, Father Mark. Call me.”

You stand up, and it’s not like you’re going to leave by the door, or anything, but you turn to look around his room one last time. You’re done here. You seduced the priest, drank energy from him, there’s nothing more to be done. You’ve enjoyed your first time, but you’re not going to do the full succubus job to this man, you’ve enjoyed him too much. You won’t drain him and leave him sick. You just hope you opened his eyes.

“Wait.” The young priest grabs your arm before you have the chance to disappear. “How do you expect me to summon you if I don’t know your name?” He says it lightly, almost joking, as if he’s still not sure that he can really take this seriously, this whole you being a seductive demon thing. But the look in his eyes is hopeful.

With a light touch to his chin, you lean in, and whisper your name in his ear.

Months pass in mortal time. You move on from the young priest, seducing many men and some women, draining a few of them dry until they’re just shells of their former selves. You’re currently seducing a wannabe actor, literally sitting on his dick, when you feel a tug inside you. It’s a strange feeling, nothing you’ve felt before, and it’s not pleasant at all.

You push at the man’s chest, the unpleasant feeling spreading through you. “I’ve got to go,” you tell him, and then you turn and vanish, following the strange feeling.

You find yourself in a strange room, a small bedroom.

“So you really never came back to me.” A voice says from behind you.

You spin around, noticing all at once the candles, and then right before you--

“Forgive me, Father. I thought you didn’t want more from me.” You reach out to Mark, standing right here before him for the first time in so long. You missed him. You missed teasing him.

“I didn’t expect you really wouldn’t come back.” Mark stands there just out of reach, his arms folded across his chest. And he looks so good, so handsome in a black button-down shirt and gray pressed slacks. But he’s barefoot and his hair is messy, adding a toned-down casual level to his attractiveness. He clears his throat and you look back up to his face as he says, “I had to make do without you around, you know.”

That piques your interest. “Oh? Did you finally learn to jerk off? Have you been touching yourself? Here in the priest house?”

Mark shakes his head. “Look around, does this look like my room there?”

No, actually. It doesn’t at all. And a quick look out the window shows that you’re in somewhere completely different.

“I left the priesthood,” Mark explains. “What you said, what you did to me, I realized that the priesthood wasn’t what was the best choice for me. I can still serve the Lord in other ways, other ways that will allow me to explore the side of me that you awakened.” And now Mark steps closer to you. At last, he reaches for your face, slipping his fingers into your hair. You practically purr at the contact with him. “I’ve been busy since you left me.”

“Oh?” You lean into his touch. “From priest to manwhore in just a few passes of the moon.”

Mark nods. “I tried to stay on that path for a little while, but I just couldn’t. I craved more, that same feeling you gave me.” He nibbles his bottom lip nervously for a second before admitting, “I actually slept with a woman before I decided to give up on the priesthood. I prayed for forgiveness afterwards, but it just felt like I fucked up too much on that one, so I decided to leave. I moved away, started over, slept around, but none of them touched me the way that you did. Nothing feels better than you.”

You shrug. “It’s part of the job description really. I’m a seductress. You think I’m not going to be the best you’ve ever had? Is that why you summoned me, you want more at last?”

“Demon, I want to make you a deal.” Mark caresses your cheek. “I am a man of faith, and you’ve steered me down some side path that I had absolutely no intention of going down. In the past, I didn’t know what to do with you, but I wanted you. Now, I still want you, but I know what I’m doing. I know about you. I did research about your kind while I was looking up how to summon you again. I want to make a deal.”

“A deal?” You pull back from him, breaking all contact. “Mark, what the hell. Don’t you know what making a deal with a demon means?”

He cuts you off with a shake of his head, dismissive. “I don’t care. I know the risk, but, fuck, I swear you got me addicted to you. Just a few hits, and I crave you.”

“Why would you want to make a deal with me? A binding pact?” You push at his chest and Mark takes a step back to balance. “Are you fucking stupid? You think I want your soul, Mark Lee? You had a good soul, a pure one. That’s why I left you and never looked back! Some things are too good starting out, and tarnishing them with my hands....” You look down at your hands, and you can see through the glamor you wear, down to your real form the ashen hell-burnt flesh.

Mark’s watching you when you look up at him. But he doesn’t look afraid, doesn’t look sad or sorry.

His eyes still burn with need.

“I don’t want your soul,” you tell him, “So I don’t want a deal.”

Mark takes another step back from you. “But I want you. So take the damned deal. Fuck me.”

“And what do you get out of it? You won’t get fame or fortune or health from this deal. You literally just get to fuck a demon until you die, so no, that’s not good enough.” If you were human you’d be sick to your stomach right now. What Mark’s offering you, if he were anyone else you would take the deal, but Mark Lee was a good man when you met him; he was cute and innocent, a pure soul that you wanted to protect so you left for his own good. You couldn’t make him pay the price of being with you.

No, Mark shakes his head in denial and desperation. He comes close to you again, standing just an inch away from you, close enough that both of you can feel each other, but not close enough that any part of you is actually touching.

“Just touch me, please.” Mark pleads. “I miss your touch. The way you made me feel, I’ve been chasing that high for months, and nothing compares. Please.”

You want to touch him. You really, really do.

With a groan of frustration, you cup Mark’s face in your hands. “I’m going to be the death of you,” you tell him in the moment before your lips meet his.

The kiss is absolutely intoxicating. Mark moans and wraps around you, moving backwards toward his bed, limbs tangling together as you both collapse onto his sheets. You pin him beneath you, kissing the air from his lungs, your fingers sliding down the front of his shirt, buttons falling open just at your touch. And when your fingertips move a bit lower, grazing the front of his pants, you find that he’s devastatingly hard.

He rolls his hips up against your hand, groaning into the kiss, whimpering delightfully when you squeeze his erection.

You sit up on him, and Mark follows, needy for your kiss. His mouth crashes against yours, sharp and hot. You push his shirt off his shoulders, and you let him roll you under him, your body nestled into his sheets as Mark unbuttons his fancy slacks, pushing them down enough that you can see his cock pop out.

You grab onto the edges of his pants, dragging him forward up your body, and you all but throw your mouth onto his cock.

Much like the last time, Mark seems caught off guard by the way you make him feel. He moans loudly, fingers knotting in your hair. But unlike the last time, he quickly recovers, seems to know what to do to get exactly what he wants, using his hands in your hair to direct your mouth.

When you can see it in his face that he’s enjoying this a bit too much, you pull off, using your hand on him instead, looking up at him as you jerk him off over your chest.

“Mmm, fuck,” Mark moans, a hand running over his chest and down his abs. “No one makes me feel this good. Not with anything they’ve done to me.” He thrusts forward into your hand. “I need to feel you around me.”

You nod. You want it too. You’re ready for him, and he’s clearly more than ready for you. Mark quickly disposes of his pants, climbing back on the bed, sinking in to kiss you again, and you fall into the kiss, more intoxicating than anything you’ve ever felt. With a hand to his chest, you press Mark onto his back, and you climb over him, straddling his thighs.

You don’t break the kiss, just reach down as you move forward to situate yourself over him. Teasing the head of his erection against your wet, dripping entrance, Mark whines, shifting his hips up eagerly. “Patience,” you murmur, and you leave his lips behind to kiss down his throat, down the center of his chest, and you glance up at him as you allow his tip to slide inside you just as you circle your tongue on one of his nipples.

He bucks up, wanting to bury himself inside you, but you’ve already pulled away again.

“Thought you said you’d know what to do now?” You ask, flicking your tongue over his pebbled nipple. “When are you going to prove that? Because from where I’m sitting--” you sit upright, right down on him so his erection is trapped between his abdomen and your wet heat, “--you’re still the innocent boy who doesn’t now how to fuck me.”

You’re not entirely sure how he does it, flipping from submissive boy trapped beneath you to you suddenly being on your back with Mark’s mouth ravaging your throat, and his cock rutting between your legs, still not inside you, but now it’s you who groans at the tease. His erection glides over your clit, and each time you feel a zip of pleasure.

You grip at his arms, fingers digging into muscle, and then Mark’s cock slips and on the next thrust, he fucks right into you.

Both of you moan as he sinks inside you, his teeth catch at your throat, instantly soothed again by his lips. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Mark mumbles the words against your skin. “You’re so soft, warm. Heavenly.” He buries his face in your neck, his entire body presses against yours--chest and hip, legs tangled together as he shallowly fucks into you while sucking at your throat.

This is intimate and strange and fascinating and fantastic. Your usual partners are just quick fucks that you feed off of their sexual energy and then you leave. It’s not intimate at all, no matter how many times you’d fucked them, there was no intimacy--rarely were attempts made by them, and never by you--but here you can’t get enough of this. You just want Mark closer until you can’t feel where your form ends and Mark begins.

Your fingernails scrape the back of his neck, twisting in his hair as you bring his busy lips from your throat to your lips, needing to satiate the hunger.

This is pure lust, addiction to him and his addiction to you.

You’re not even feeding off the sexual energy of this intercourse, just existing in the moment for the carnality of it all.

Mark’s thrusts grow bigger, deeper, more powerful, and you wrestle with him, letting him stay on top until suddenly you want him beneath you. You want to fuck him, to ride him, and that lasts for a bit until you’re on your belly pressed into the bed, Mark thrusting into you from behind with his lips against your cheek as he murmurs praises. There’s teeth and nails, Mark’s hair sticks to his forehead with sweat. He shivers in delight when you press him again beneath you, circling your hips on his cock, tracing your fingers over the raised pink lines from your nails down his chest.

He looks high, his pupils wide, his skin flushed, and he’s alive with a glowing energy that calls out to you, begging you to drink it in. But you don’t want that here. You just want this, to feel a part of this, to make him feel the best you can because experiencing sex like this with Mark where you’re not using your demon powers feels absolutely insane, makes you feel even better than when you do answer that call, and drink off the energy of your partner.

His hand snaps against your ass, and you realize you’ve just been sitting there, gazing down at him in admiration. “Move, baby.” And he does it again.

“Fuck, Mark. Do you go to confession and tell the priest that you dream about getting fucked by a demon like this?” You roll your hips, sinking forward until your lips are beside his ear. “Do you confess your sins. Forgive me, Father, but I let a demon into my life. She fucked me so good I stopped being a priest because her pussy is worth it.”

Mark moans.

“Forgive me, Father, but when I was a priest, she made me cum for her in the Church, on holy ground.” You squeeze around his cock, and he lets out a beautiful sound. “Mmm, forgive me, Mark, but I think no amount of confession will make up for sinning like this, loving every single thing we’re doing right now.”

“Holy--!” Mark’s voice cuts off as you sit up, curling your delicate fingers around his throat. His eyes roll back from the pleasure, and you just smile down at him, applying pressure to his throat and circling your other thumb around his nipple. He blinks and looks up at you, his mouth hanging open in soundless awe and appreciation, his eyes glowing with lust and something else. You just want to make him feel good.

You press forward, unable to hold back, needing to feel his lips on yours as you ride him, as you feel that pleasure seeping through your body, a warm silvery-golden glow as your toes curl and your body goes warm and light and fuzzy.

Mark’s hands are on you -- on your hips and your hands and in your hair and on your thighs, touching you all over, pressing you down as he bucks up into you, and then he’s cumming and it feels so good too, better than when the others have done it.

You keep kissing him, rolling your hips down on him, wanting to keep this feeling going. It’s one you’ve never truly felt before.

But eventually it must end, and you roll off to the side, and Mark follows, not wanting to let you get too far. He tucks his face against your neck, breath hot and damp on your skin, and his thigh slips comfortably between yours. You feel sticky and sweaty all over in places you didn’t know you could be sweaty, and you feel like you need to catch your breath.

Mark drops a singular tiny kiss to the center of your chest, and then he pulls back, his head resting on one side of the pillow, yours on the other, only a few bare inches between the tips of your noses. You’ve never been this close to a human before (on multiple levels) and you don’t pull back.

“I made a deal with a demon,” Mark whispers, and he uses a finger to brush back a section of sweaty hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear. “Or at least, I meant to. Don’t leave me.”

“Mark, I won’t kill you.” You tell him, absolutely refusing to let this go where he seems to carelessly want it to go.

His fingers tighten in your hair. “Then give it up. I want you. All the time. And it’s not just because you’re a succubus. I know that’s part of the enchantment, I completely understand that, but I know in a deeper place in my heart that I crave you in a way that’s separate from your crazy, mystical demon powers, okay? Give it up.”

You stare into his eyes, his wide and innocent and hopeful eyes. You want to do it for him. You want to give Mark whatever he asks for. But... “I can’t. This is who I am, I can’t just give up being a succubus. It’s what I was brought into existence to be.”

Mark shakes his head. “I refuse to believe that. You’re a demon, but what are demons except fallen angels.” His thumb strokes over your cheek. “And I see an angel when I look at you.”

You roll your eyes and push his hand away. You sit up, ready to leave his bed, to flee into the unknown from him. But Mark’s fingers circle tightly around your wrist.

“I know how to summon you, I’ll just bring you back,” he says.

“And if I asked you not to?” You flex your wrist, testing his hold. “If I told you that I truly wanted you to leave me alone. What then?”

Mark’s hand falls away and he closes his eyes, turning onto his back to face the ceiling. “I would leave you alone. I would wish I could have convinced you to stay. Because I can see that you want to be here as much as I want you to stay.” He opens his eyes, looking right at you. “You gave me your name before you left, you opened this path for me to find you again, so you must have wanted me to, right?”

Right.

“So stay. I’m a theological man, and I’ve done my research into demonology and the supernatural, into good and evil. You think you’re just a demon, but I think you’re an angel, and somewhere in between where you stand and where I stand is a happy medium, a place where you and I can have this--” he gestures between your two bare bodies in his bed “--without you being afraid of destroying my soul.”

This is absolutely ridiculous.

You want it more than you can explain.

“Make a deal with me, demon.” Mark says, taking your hand in his, guiding it to his chest. He presses your palm flat over his heartbeat. “Stay with me, and I’ll help you become the angel that I know you are.”

This story began with a demon set on destroying her sexual victims and with a priest certain of his fate as a celibate holy man, and now you’re here. Both of you have already come so far from where you began.

You take Mark’s hand, guiding it so his palm lays over where your heart would be.

“The deal is true.” You tell him, and Mark gazes into your eyes as he repeats those words back to you, and just like that a bond is formed, a pact made, and you sink down against him, pressing your cheek to his chest as his arms wrap around you.

And this time you stay.

a/n: oops, I knew as soon as I first read this message that it was probably going to end up as a drabble, but damn I didn’t think I’d make it this long lol

If you liked it please reblog, like, comment. If you’re into the corruption of religious figures thing, definitely also check out Righteous a 5-part series by the wonderful @skzctnightnight​ it’s not got demons but it does have seminarian student Mark being tempted by the reader and it’s very hot and good

#mark smut #mark lee #mark lee smut #nct smut #nct 127 smut

[postpunkindustrial]

CUTUPS - "ECSTATIC PANIC"

ILLUSIONS vol. XXI

Twenty-first mix in the #ILLUSIONS mix series,

Recorded at the end of 2021

mixed by cutups

dark synthpop, neo-wave and post-modern punk

More info:

www.facebook.com/illvsions

hauntedshit.com/events/illusions/

blog.cutupsmethod.com

www.youtube.com/channel/UCfmg3--e3YSsMhiJO3SOmtA

tracklist

riki - charming world

house of harm - valentine

choir boy - complainer

wingtips - accidental effigies

kite - hand out the drugs

sidewalks and skeletons - char

houses of heaven - dissolve the floor

leathers - missing scene

profit prison - cleric

korine - uncrossed

mutant - just one touch (kontravoid remix)

boy harsher - electric (kris baha remix)

minuit machine - sisters

cold cave - night light

soft kill -cicero

vlure - shattered faith

odonis odonis - more

kaelan mikla - osynileg

lebanon hanover - the last thing

nuovo testamento - the searcher

hammershoi - allegorie

shad shadows - bound

xeno & oaklander - raingarden

double echo - resilience

bizouo - glass lips

tragic figures - IV

night ritual - like a ghost

actors - like suicide

perturbator - lustful sacraments

choke chain - despondency

hecate legacy - the lost pages of bestiary

silent servent - slasher

ritual veil - keep looking down

jason priest - be thankful, billy

vvv - viroco

body maintenance - death's hall

#cutups #experimental #synth #electronic #goth #gothic #new wave #neo wave #SoundCloud

[mayasaura]

Alecto, The River, and Colum Asht

I’ve been working on a few different Harrow the Ninth meta theories, and I noticed some threads that seemed to pull them together. Maybe you could call this another megatheorum, but I’m not sure it’s comprehensive enough for that.

I think whatever kind of monster Alecto is, the clues we need to guess are in salt water and the death of Colum Asht.

Salt water leads us to the River. @ovrgrwn @sauntering-vaguely-downwards ​ and I were talking about the symbolism of salt water in the series, and Ovrgrwn mentioned both that Alecto is a “saltwater creature” and that the River isn’t salt water. The thing is, I realised later that the River is salt water.

One of the biggest puzzles we were left with pieces of in Harrow the Ninth was "What is Alecto?". She's been called a lot of things, but we know very little abit definitively. There’s a theory that I was discussing with @thunderon and @asimovsideburns that Alecto is something like a Resurrection Beast, in that she and Harrow are both communal souls forged through human sacrifice. There’s a theory that maybe she was someone else before the Resurrection and in trying to pull her soul back John accidentally got a whole bunch of souls instead. Or she could literally be Alecto the First the way Harrow is an entire generation of the Ninth, with every soul that used to inhabit the world of the First packed into her body. I like all these theories—it feels like we’re on the right track, but also like we’re missing something. This by itself doesn’t seem like it would be so viscerally terrifying to Augustine and Mercy, who were present for the creation of Teacher and the revenant constructs in Caanan House. If she’s an overstuffed suitcase of ten billion souls, why is she a saltwater creature? Why does Teacher call her tomb a zoo, and why are her eyes Like That?

[Image: It came down around her in shreds, as light and insubstantial as drifts of spiderweb. The water sprayed through white holes, rushing in with a pounding roar: that brackish, bloodied water that only existed within the River. She was bouyed up by a spray of ice water and filth - but she wasn’t; she seemed to be walking down her long black corridor again-]

In chapter 53 when Harrow tears her way out of the bubble of the false Canaan House, the River is described as “brackish, bloodied water”. Brackish water is the water that’s found at the place where a river meets a sea; too salty to drink, but not as salty as sea water. The River is brackish salt water, and Alecto is a saltwater creature.

Brackish water is mentioned only one other time in either book.

[Image: She appeared behind the grey-thing-that-had-been-Colum. She took its twisted neck in her hands as calmly and easily as though it were an animal, and she tilted it. The neck snapped. Her fingertips dipped inside the skin; the eye-mouths shrilled, and the tongue around Gideon’s neck flopped away, and both those mouths dissolved into brackish fluid. The body dropped to the floor—]

When Colum Asht dies in chapter 34 of Gideon the Ninth, a brackish fluid runs out of his eye sockets. Whatever creature was inside Colum, it came from the River. And then there’s the description - it’s too long and spread out to quote in full here, but the details are that his eyes went liquid black, and he moved “like there were six people inside him, and none of those six people had ever been inside a human being before”. There are lights under Colum’s skin and things pushing and slithering along his muscles as he walks. When he opens his eyes again, they’re toothed mouths with tongues, and Colum’s tongue has become long and prehensile and it wraps around Gideon’s neck like a tentacle.

The stoma at the bottom of the the River, the mouths to Hell that only open for Resurrection Beasts and the Emperor, are described like this:

[Image: It was a huge, hideous, dark expanse, and it had seething, weird edges; it took the lights pattering over them for me to see that the edges of the hole were enormous human teeth. Each one must’ve been six bodies high and two bodies wide, with the dainty scalloped edges of incisors. The teeth shivered and trembled, like the hole was slavering. And that hole had nothing in it; that hole was blacker than space, that hole was an eaten-away tunnel of reality.]

[Image: Streamerlike lingual tentacles emerged—the unassuming pink you got on normal, non-Hell-bound tongues—easily a thousand of them, jostling, questing, blindly thrusting up out of that mouth. Pyrrha flinched.]

Colum’s eyes have become miniature stoma. It’s interesting that while the thing possessing Colum advances on and kills Silas first, the stoma don’t open until Gideon attacks it. It uses Colum’s sword to kill Silas, but draws Gideon in with its tongue, like the tongues from the stoma at the bottom of the River draw her father the Emperor and Augustine in. But that’s another meta post.

Perhaps the stoma are creatures, sentient hellmouths lurking at the bottom of the River, and it’s stoma that are possessing Colum the Eighth. Maybe it’s the river itself possessing Colum, and the lights under his skin are souls. Maybe it’s something from beyond the stoma, something that came out of Hell. It’s an important question, but not one I have an answer to right now. I am confident in the connection between the stoma and the Eighth House. In chapter 36 of HtN Augustine accuses Mercy of not taking the stoma seriously “which is why your whole damned House sucks at it like a grotesque teat-”. Mercy’s House is the Eighth House, so whatever the metaphysical effect of siphoning is, it presumably involves the stoma. What interests me most about Colum’s transformation for now is that his eyes went full liquid black, and that he was possessed by a creature that left salt water behind it.

Still with me? Now we tie it all together with Alecto’s eyes, the eyes currently in the face of God, the Emperor of the Nine Houses. Like the possessed Colum, their sclera are black. Unlike Colum, their eyes have irises and pupils. The irises are “dark and leadenly iridescent - a deep rainbow oil slick, ringed with white.” Even before I had any idea about Alecto, I wondered what sort of soul the God who was once a man had consumed to have eyes like that. The way Ianthe’s eye colors swirled and merged when Naberius was fighting her, I wondered if his dark iridescent irises were the colors of ten billion souls swirling together, but that wouldn’t explain the black sclera. Now I think the Resurrection Beasts, the stoma, and these theories about Alecto are offering an explanation.

Perhaps Alecto is an enormous collection of human souls, like in our theories, but she is not only human souls. Whatever was possessing Colum Asht is also a part of Alecto. The black sclera she gets from the River, and the iridescent irises she gets from thousands or millions or billions of human souls. Depending on how you interpret what possessed Colum, that could mean a few different things. Maybe she's a human stoma, a human soul merged with the mouth of hell. Maybe she's a tributary or avatar of the River, and the power of all of history's death runs through her. Maybe she's partially comprised of a creature from the incomprehensible chaos of Hell.

The stoma option seems like the most likely to me, to explain the fear and disgust that Mercy and Augustine feel toward Alecto. An avatar of the River is terrifying, but also awesome. That's not the right vibe for 'put that thing down before it hurts one of us'. It was implied in the conversation about Hell and the stoma at the end of chapter 36 that nothing had ever been observed coming through the other way, and it's plainly stated by the Emperor that nothing which goes in has ever come back. If Mercy and Augustine were aware that part of Alecto was from Hell, I would expect it to be hinted at in that scene, and it wasn't really. I did notice that Augustine is more scared of Alecto than Mercy. When Mercy thought Alecto had come to kill her, she spoke to her. When Augustine thought he had seen Alecto, he turned and ran. Maybe Mercy is just braver in general, but Mercy is also less afraid of the stoma than Augustine.

As a closing note, evoking the stoma or what might lie beyond it would explain the only line in Annabel Lee as a metaphor for Alecto that puzzles me.

And neither the angels in heaven above,

  Nor the demons down under the sea,

Can ever dissever my soul from the soul

  Of the beautiful Annabel Lee

#the locked tomb #tlt meta #alecto the first #alecto the ninth #harrow the ninth #htn spoilers #tlt spoilers

[forever-rogue]

Hot Chocolate Kisses

A/N: It’s nothing much, but it is something so tender and soft. I love Frankie and fluff! Why not have both? Tis a little thank/happy holiday gift from me to you. Enjoy 💕

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: pregnant reader, references to sex, sweet sweet fluff!

FRANKIE MORALES MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

"Good morning," the sound of his soft voice accompanied by the feel of his arms around your midsection was enough to make your heart flutter. He placed a soft kiss to your shoulder before resting his head there and humming in content, "how are you, honey bee?"

"Good morning, mi amor," you replied softly, taking one of his hands that had been resting on the gentle swell of your belly and bringing to your lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles, "I'm perfect. What about you, Frankie? Did you rest well?"

"Like a dream," he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head before reluctantly letting go and moving towards the coffee pot. Once he poured a cup and made it to his liking, he came over, and followed your line of sight out into the yard.

There was nothing but mountains of glittering snow coating the entire neighborhood as far as the eye could see. Small children were already playing outside, all bundled up in thick snow jackets and woolen hats, while dogs ran around their yards barking and biting at soft, fat flakes that were gently drifting down from the heavens.

"Record snowfalls," you looked at him with excited eyes, "which means we are snowed in and work is canceled. Do I even try to pretend to be upset?"

"Hell no," his smile was infectious as his singular dimple appeared and his soft eyes crinkled in the corners the way you adored, "I get to spend the say being lazy at home with my girl? I'm not going to argue with that."

"You know what today calls for," your eyes were wide and bright as the two of you knew exactly what a snow day meant. You'd come up with your own little traditions a long time ago and always pulled them out on days like this.

"You just want an excuse for hot chocolate!" Frankie's tone was lovingly accusing as he crossed his arms over his chest as he took a sip from his mug.

"No!" you insisted firmly, offering him a small little pout, "your daughter is craving some. Ever since you knocked me up that's all I've been wanting! And I don't need any excuse for hot chocolate. Hot chocolate isn't a crime!"

"First of all, this -" he pointed tenderly to the small bump just visible under your sweater, "was a team effort. Secondly, you've always loved my hot chocolate, long before any of this. She had nothing to do with this!”

"Obviously," you stuck your tongue out at him, "but you make it all fancy and gourmet. How can I say no? She's not helping though! I swear it's a craving."

“Your mamá is already using you as an excuse,” he laughed as he rested his hand on your belly. You instantly felt her move and flutter under his touch; she always seemed to be more active when he was around. Even though you were trying to have a seriously teasing conversation, the moment was enough to make your heart melt, “can you believe it, mija? She just doesn’t want to admit she’s addicted to the world’s best hot chocolate.”

“I can quit it any time I want,” you snorted with laughter at his silly antics, “I just choose not to. Now, don’t deny your pregnant wife what she wants!”

“What does she want?” there was a wicked little glint in his eye as you raised a brow at him.

“Well for starters,” you pointed at the cabinet, “some hot chocolate later. But how about breakfast for now? And a warm bath after that? I swear I’m getting as bad as you old man, my back is killing me.”

“Hey now,” he warned with a small boop to your nose, “you’re getting awfully cheeky for someone who wants my hot chocolate. You’re on very thin ice, honey bee.”

“You know I’m only kidding, Francisco,” you gave him a quick kiss as you went to the refrigerator to start gathering ingredients for breakfast, “besides, you’re my favorite DILF.”

“Oh no,” his laughter was a loud, beautiful thing as it sounded throughout the kitchen. You turned to him and shot him a cheeky little wink, “not you too! Everyone’s calling me that lately, I swear.”

“They can look but they can’t touch. I mean, have you seen yourself Frankie? You’re handsome as hell, you’re amazing, wonderful, kind. Everything,” you insisted as you rejoined his side, You could already see the light flush of color in his cheeks as he relished your words, “and you’re all mine. Besides, I’m half the reason you’re a DILF. Where is my recognition in all of this?”

“I love you, honey bee,” he stared at you in awe for a moment before turning so he could kiss you properly. It took you by surprise but it took even less to respond back; kissing him was such saccharine bliss, “you are everything to me.”

“Good,” you beamed at him, “now let’s get this ultimate lazy day started!”

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Those might have been our best pancakes ever,” you wolfed down the last syrupy bite before pushing away your empty plate, “I feel as stuffed as a damn turkey.”

“You’re the most beautiful and radiant turkey I have ever laid eyes on,” he joked as you lovingly groaned at his silly words, “I’ll clean up and you can start the bath. Plan?”

“Plan,” you agreed as you slid off the bar stool and started padding towards the kitchen. As Frankie busied himself with gathering up the empty dishes, you turned around and watched him for a moment, nothing but a gentle warmth radiating throughout your body, “Frankie? You’re going to join me, right?”

He turned to you and offered you his megawatt smile as he slowly nodded, a rogue curl bouncing around and falling onto his forehead. Gods, he was so effortlessly handsome and sweet. You couldn’t stop yourself from rushing over to him, delicately grabbing his face as you pressed a kiss to his lips, still tasting the faint sweetness of the syrup, “what was that for?”

“Nothing,” you grinned breathlessly, “I just love you is all.”

“Oh,” a flush of pink tinged his cheeks as he brought his hands to your face, delicately tracing over your features before pressing the softest kiss to your lips, “I love you too.”

“I know,” you beamed, “now hurry up so we can take a bath!”

»»————-　♡　————-««

You were humming under your breath, sitting at the edge of the large tub as you watched it fill up with warm water. There weren’t very many requirements you had when the two of you had been house hunting before deciding to expand your family - but a large bathtub was one of them. Moments like this made you glad for it; you loved being able to slip into the tub, often dragging along Frankie with you, not that he had any complaints of course. It was perfect for the two of you, and now that you seemed to be growing by the day, it was even better. 

Pulling your favorite bottle of bubble bath off the shelf, you poured some in, inhaling deeply at the relaxing scent. All the stress and worries you had were already dissolving away with each passing second. Once you were satisfied with the copious amounts of soft bubbles, you threw in some Epsom salt for good measure, hoping it would help your aching body. Deciding to make it even more festive, you grabbed the speaker from your bedroom, and turned it on, opting to play some soft Christmas music in the background. It wasn’t like you were going to be paying much attention to it anyway; your conversations with Frankie always seemed endless, no matter how long the two of you had been together. 

“Close your eyes,” Frankie came into the bathroom just as you were finishing getting everything ready. You closed your eyes, making a show of putting your hands over your eyes as you heard him shuffling in, “okay, pick a hand - left or right.”

“Hmmm…” you mused for a moment, “how about left?”

“Lucky guess,” he chuckled as he pulled your hands from your eyes. A little grin spread across your features when you saw what he was holding in his hands, “surprise!”

“Frankie,” his name was but a mere soft sigh as you reached for the soft, cozy pajamas he was holding out to you. You could spy a matching pair for him on the counter, your heart fluttering in delight. It had become a sort of little tradition for the two of you to get new matching holiday pajamas every year. It was just some silly thing, but it still meant the world to you, “I love them. Thank you so much - you remembered.”

“Of course,” he held out his hands to you, slowly hoisting you to your feet, “I wouldn’t ever forget.”

He slowly reached for the hem of your sweater, gently pulling up and over your head and outstretched arms before tossing it on the floor. He followed suit with your bra, unclasping it before letting it join your sweater and doing the same to your leggings and underwear. It was such a small intimate thing, the way his eyes looked over you was nothing short of adoration and reverence. 

“Your turn,” you whispered before starting to unbutton his flannel, taking your time to undo it one by one. Shrugging it off his shoulders, you pressed a few kisses to the soft, golden skin of his shoulder before moving onto his jeans, wicking them down his legs along with his boxers. He made a small sound in his throat before stepping out of his jeans and pulling you into his arms. The gentle coolness of his wedding band on your back was wonderful; a delicate reminder of just how much he loved you.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered as he trailed kisses along your jaw and down your neck, a hand running down your side as he rested it on your waist, taking solace in the gentle swell of your belly. He still couldn’t believe your daughter - his daughter, one that came as a small surprise and blessing was in there. One he had never known he wanted so much until you told him you were pregnant and he broke down crying, as emotional as you were. You, the two of you, were everything for him. 

“Hmm,” you mused, “you’re not so bad yourself. I guess we both got pretty lucky, huh? I love you so much, Francisco. More than you will ever know.” 

He looked back at you with those brown eyes you adored so much, and you could see that they were glossy, close to spilling over with tears. You reached up and touched his cheek before brushing away a stray curl. 

“Come on,” he held your hand as you motioned towards the tub. He got in first, settling down before holding his arms out to you. Carefully, you settled in next to him surprising him for a moment as you occupied the other side. Before he could say anything, you gathered up a handful of bubbles, and blew them at him, watching as they stuck in his dark mop of hair, “playing dirty are we?”

“Maybe,” you splashed him with the warm water, “you have to play nice, I’m pregnant!”

“You started it!” he splashed you back as you squealed in delight, “don’t start what you can’t finish!”

“Oh, it’s on! It’s so on,” you laughed as you tried to move the bubbles closer to your half of the tub, “you’re going down!”

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Do you have enough blankets, honey?” Frankie walked back into the living room, arms filled with a few more big, fuzzy blankets. You looked up from the comfy couch, during the numerous blankets you’d already secured and gave him a big grin. You were already feeling so toasty and warm in your new pajamas after your bath, and this just made it so much better. He snorted with laughter at the sight of only your head poking out, “oh.”

“It’s freezing!” you insisted, digging your arm out and pointing at your feet, “pile them on! The only thing I’m missing is your body.”

“I have a few more things to do first,” he put the blankets down and wrapped them around your feet, “gonna start a fire and then go and make the hot chocolate. You, my little bee, are in charge of finding our first movie. Think you’re up to the challenge?”

“As if that’s a question,” you joked as you reached for the remote, as he went over to the fireplace, “you just need to hurry up!”

"You are getting so demanding," he laughed as he kneeled next to the fireplace and started to pile some of the logs in. He started to hum softly under his breath as you watched him, absolutely in awe of the man you were able to call your husband. The sight of him in the same pajamas as you was endearing and caused you a moment of pause as you pictured doing this next year with him and your daughter. 

You often wondered what she would like, although you both knew that the only thing that mattered was that she was healthy and sound. But a small part of you hoped she'd take after Frankie, to have those gentle chocolate eyes and dark curls. Maybe she'd take after you, or maybe -

"Everything alright?" Frankie turned and caught your distant gaze on him as she started to light the fire. You hadn't realized you'd gotten so lost in your little daydream. 

"Yes," you smiled at him, "just thinking..."

"Thinking about...."

"Its silly..."

"If it matters to you then it's not silly," he insisted, making a small sound of satisfaction when the fire started to crackle away merrily.

"I was just thinking about next year," you admitted shyly, "you know how we do the matching pjs every year? I think it would be fun to do that with the bean next year."

"I love the sound of that," he agreed, "that'll make a great Christmas card!"

"Yeah," you agreed as he brought you a pillow to rest your head on, "you really do think of everything, don't you?"

"Only for my bee," he promised with a wink and a kiss, "I'll go and make the hot chocolate. Classic for you today?"

"Surprise me!"

"Be back," he promised as pointed at the television, "now pick something good out!"

»»————-　♡　————-««

It seemed like it had been a small eternity since Frankie had left to go on his little adventure of hot chocolate making, and you'd long since found a suitable movie. You started it but kept it paused as you waited. But soon you felt a flutter in your belly. A contented sigh escaped your lips as you put your hand on your tummy where you felt her moving around.

"I know baby bean," you told her gently, "I miss him too. Even when he's gone only for a few minutes. You're gonna love him so much, just like me. He's going to be the best papá. We already love you so much. We can't wait to meet you."

"Talking to yourself?" just in time your knight in cozy pajamas came striding back in with two delicious steaming mugs of hot chocolate. 

"I am never alone anymore," you reminded him as he came and cozied up next to you, "I've always got the bean. And we were having a private conversation, thank you very much."

"Please don't let me interrupt," he passed your mug over before pulling blankets over his form and you curled up in his side. You grinned at the full mug, admiring how perfectly he had made it. It was a classic, a layer of mini marshmallows followed by a layer of whipped cream and drizzled with chocolate and caramel syrup.

"Thank you, Frankie," you beamed as you took a long sip, savoring the creamy sweetness on your tongue. You heard a soft chuckle before Frankie reached over and wiped off the whipped cream from your nose, "oops!"

"Good?" he asked as you nodded eagerly. Before he could stop himself, he leaned over and gave you a soft, saccharine little kiss. He lingered against your lips and you could taste the sweetness of the hot chocolate that was clinging onto him. He grinned before giving you a few more pecks, each sweeter than the last, "even better. Now, start this movie and let's get this marathon on the road!"

You clutched your mug to your chest as Frankie brought an arm over your shoulders and you pressed play on your first cheesy holiday movie.

»»————-　♡　————-««

It wasn't long before you felt your eyes start to get heavy as you finished your mug of hot chocolate. You were about to move it to the coffee table, but Frankie beat you to the punch, grabbing it from your hands and setting down before pulling you into his lap.

He wrapped his arms around you as you laid against his chest and let the soft rise and fall of his chest relax and lull you.

Soon enough your eyes closed and everything seemed distant. You didn't even try to fight it as Frankie pressed a kiss to your cheek. One hand was holding yours, your fingers laced together and the other was resting on your belly. It wasn't long before you were completely under the siren spell of sleep and snoring quietly in his arms.

"I love you, honey bee," he whispered ever so gently as he relaxed too, growing more tired by the second, "and you too, baby bee. You two are everything."

»»————-　♡　————-««

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#frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x fem!reader #frankie morales x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #triple frontier #francisco catfish morales #cattfish morales x reader

[rhinozilla]

So the fic that I’m writing demands plot, but I’m just full of Connor/Julia fluffy ideas and it's Valentine's Day, so I’m dumping them here.

Connor standing behind Julia during a Very Important Squad Meeting, just playing with her hair. Braiding it, unbraiding it, tying it up, combing it with his fingers. Just using her hair to fidget while he focuses on the meeting. Meanwhile, Julia is just sitting there in heaven at how nice it feels.

Them moving into their first house and immediately making sure their yard is securely fenced, to make room for as many rescue dogs as they can handle.

After they get married, they love just calling each other “husband” and “wife.” They can’t say it without smiling and giggling, like “Hello, wife.” *giggles and grins* Or Connor does something cool, and Julia is cheering like “YES! That’s my husband!”

Their marriage forces Connor to develop a better tolerance for spicy food.

“Julia, you are the light of my life, you are my soulmate, and every moment that we are apart, I ache to be near you again...But if you make me eat one more bite of this ghost pepper burrito, I will divorce you.”

Julia is dealing with someone being nasty to her, and she’s handling it just fine on her own. Nevertheless, Connor is bluntly standing nearby behind her, glaring daggers at the person harassing her. 

Connor is dealing with someone being nasty to him, and he’s handling it just fine on his own. Nevertheless, the person can feel a threatening gaze on them, coming from somewhere in the room. They can’t see her, but they can sense her and her silent rage. 

Connor and Julia slow dancing, and he whisper-sings along to the song with his lips against her hair.

Connor wearing his formal dress blues to an event. Julia tries not to blow a fuse after seeing how good he looks.

Julia bribing Coda into going shopping with her so she can make sure that whatever clothes that she’s buying Connor as a gift will fit perfectly.

Connor doing the same with Polly.

Connor picking up Julia’s habit of crinkling her nose when she smiles.

ST300s tend to run warmer than other models, and Connor just wraps himself all around Julia in his sleep. She loves the sleepy cuddles.

Connor’s sexy undercover alter ego “Calvin” doesn’t work on Julia. Calvin is a smooth flirt and has confident, scandalous pickup lines. The man Julia fell in love with once apologized to a chair after he bumped into it.

On the flip side, if Julia does or says something flirtatious towards him, Connor will lose his entire goddamn mind, and he will blush, squeak, and dissolve into a pile of goo.

Connor comes home to find Julia lying on the floor under a pile of their rescue dogs. He promptly joins her on the floor with the pups.

If Julia gets into a verbal altercation with someone, like Gavin, Connor will just haul her over his shoulder and carry her off, while she continues to try and fight the person.

If Julia is in the mood to get on Connor’s nerves and annoy him, she will purposefully mispronounce Star Trek characters’ names. Specifically pronouncing Data as “D-ah-ta.”

To get back at her, he will refer to her as his “ex-girlfriend” instead of “wife.”

“This is why you’re my ex-girlfriend.” “I’m your WIFE.” “Exactly, you aren’t my girlfriend anymore. You’re my ex-girlfriend.” “BOY, IF YOU DON’T--”

Julia sleeping in Connor’s pajamas when he’s out of town or on an overnight mission.

#detroit 07 #im on mobile and im stupid #so i cant put this under a cut #so you all get to suffer for it #sorry

[watermelonlipstick]

Dreams, Chapter 15

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

Title: Dreams, Chapter 15

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 3310

Summary: The reader and Sam take an irrevocable step forward.

Warnings: angst, FLUFF, swearing, s l o w  b u r n, this section is emotional smut

           The drive home felt electric and giddy and nauseatingly tense, like driving back from prom with a little foil packet burning a hole in your pocket. It had been delicious agony working through the rest of the shift on stolen hand grazes and smirks across the length of the bar, suspense winding in your throat, especially wearing Sam’s shirt, the incredible scent of him floating around you in a halo every time you moved. Now that it was so close you didn’t know what to do with it. At the very least, Sam didn’t seem to either as you noticed him swallowing far more often than he needed to and cranking the stereo. He drove fast, almost like—no, don’t think that, not right now—and you watched for deer on the sides of the road partly to keep from getting into an accident and partly for something to distract even a fraction of your mind from the way Sam’s lips had felt on yours when he had finally let go, how they must feel everywhere else.

           When he pulled into the driveway, you both sat still in the front seat for a beat of silence.

           “I’m—uh, I’m going to take a shower,” Sam said, looking toward your side of the car but not quite meeting your eyes.

           “Yeah, okay, good idea,” you answered. You were still sticky with the broken-keg-beer from hours ago and a shower sounded divine, but you knew saying something about getting cleaned up too wouldn’t land right in the charge of this moment. The two of you awkwardly walked inside, a movement you’d done so many times that suddenly felt so unfamiliar it was a little spooky. Sam ducked into the shower without another word and you didn’t know what to do in your own house.

           Digging through your clothes, you finally found a matching bra and panty set you hadn’t worn in…you stopped yourself from thinking about exactly how long. It was black and lacy but in a sort of sensible way; probably wouldn’t have been fancy for a person who didn’t usually buy her undergarments with durability and lack of movement while running and fighting in mind, but it was what you had and it certainly seemed like a more appropriate thing to wear than one of the old t-shirts of Dean’s you normally changed into after work. You bit your lip and beat back a moment of frustrated nerves, imagining the extremely awkward put-on seduction of walking through the cabin in just the set, and grabbed a black tank top and yoga pants out too, bundling all the garments together.

           Sam walked into the bedroom with a towel slung sinfully low on his hips, and the sight made your breath catch in your throat. The tension required to hold the terry in place flexed one pec as a few droplets of water shook loose from his hair and slid down it.

           You grabbed the bundle of clothes in your hand and gestured behind him. “My turn.”

           Sam nodded, side stepping to let you out of the doorway.

           It was a longer shower than you’d taken in a long time, going over your legs obsessively with the dullish disposable razor you’d been using and washing your hair twice to make sure to get any residual beer out of it. Finally you knew you couldn’t keep stalling and got out, running a palm of lotion over your body and putting on the black set, yoga pants, and tank top. You turned your head over to flip your hair a few times, hoping for a little more volume and a little less wet rat, and wished that you’d had some kind of perfume or something, had held onto anything from back when you thought things like that had a point, when you cared about being enticing. How glamorous, all this old cotton and dripping hair for what felt like a monumental turning point. No time to think about that now. You threw your towel up on the rack and headed back to the bedroom.

           Sam was sitting on the edge of the bed with his elbows resting on his ankles, wearing a t-shirt and jeans, bare feet tapping on the floor. Something about knowing that he had gotten re-dressed and not even in the old sweats he normally slept in, had thought about it for at least a moment, made you feel better. His head snapped up when you walked in. “H-hey,” he breathed.

           “Hey.” You noticed he’d straightened the already made up bed and taken the pictures of Dean off the wall, neatly stacked on the dresser in the corner of the room.

           When Sam saw your eyes linger on the spot they had been, he opened his mouth. A small shake of your head stopped him from saying anything and you sat beside him. “So.”

           Sam chuckled. “So.”

           “I feel like we just got shut in a closet to play 7 minutes in heaven.”

           “I know I said I’m ready but we don’t have to—”

           “No, that’s not what I mean. Sorry, I just—I haven’t felt this nervous in a long time.”

           “Me neither.”

           You flopped back on the bed, feeling your wet hair fan out a touch around you and looking up at the ceiling. The mattress shifted under Sam’s weight when he laid back next to you, and after a beat you turned to your side, propping up your head on one palm and feeling the oppressive sparks of the moment burn into your skin, heat your cheeks. “There are so many times I could’ve said this, Sam, but you saved my life. I don’t kn—there’s just no way I would’ve made it by myself.”

           He dipped his head toward you, the low light casting a severe shadow off of his jaw and highlighting the contrast between the concentric rings of green-blue-honey in his eyes. “I could say the same to you.” You waited a second, dragging your eyes down the high slope of his cheekbone and counting the tiny dots of stubble where its gradient began on his cheek.

           Slowly, you tipped yourself over him, looping one leg over his waist and placing a hand above each of his shoulders on the mattress. Feeling the heat of his body between your thighs made you feel a bit lightheaded and the way Sam was looking up at you didn’t help, eyes bright and hopeful and a touch awestruck like a true believer listening to a sermon. Big hands floated to your hips, light as anything but each fingertip was rooting you together, connecting you as irrevocably as welded iron. You poured forward into him, stopping a few inches from his face. “I’m—” you started.

           “I love you,” Sam stammered, looking almost surprised when it tumbled out of his mouth, but you caught it between you and breathed it back into him, catching his lips and holding back the groan you wanted to release at their softness, somehow even better than the memory you’d been amplifying in your head all night. You kissed him like a prayer, like saying thank you over and over again for the things he knew you wanted to acknowledge and for all the things he didn’t, every single dried teardrop and gummy worm a pass of your lips against his. One hand moved to your lower back, pressing you together while the other spun through the wet hair at the nape of your neck, thumb cradling the sensitive skin behind your ear and brushing softly back from it, a tiny affection you might not have noticed if everything about this moment wasn’t so amplified.

           When you nipped gently at his lower lip, Sam made a sound close to a whimper deep in his throat before slipping his tongue against yours and drinking you in. He shifted his hips underneath you and used the hands on your back to guide you easily to the mattress, taking care not to place you on top of your hair. You wound your fingers in the fabric of his t-shirt and pulled him closer to you until you were pressed against the full firm stretch of his torso. As you passed your fingers under the hem, Sam leaned back for a second to tug behind his collar and toss the shirt to the ground in one fluid motion, coming back to lay a trail of kisses down the hinge of your jaw and neck, light suction on the exact spot it sloped into collarbone. It was your turn to get out of your tank top; the moment of widened pupils at the reveal dissolved the nerves you’d had about the lace and gave you the confidence to hook your legs around Sam’s hips and drag him as tightly to you as his jeans would allow.

           He slipped tentative fingertips into the waistband of the yoga pants and you parted to let him shimmy them off of your legs, surprised when a tear almost welled in your eyes at the kiss he pressed into the side of your calf—an impulsive reflex betraying Sam’s affection. You sat up, tried to unbutton the worn cotton of his jeans, and realized your hands were shaking. He took your face delicately in his hands and kissed you, soft as anything, and it was Sam, person you knew best in this world, who’d saved your life over and over and over again; if you couldn’t trust him, then who could you trust? The moment was enough to settle you, button coming undone smoothly. He eased off the bed without breaking contact with your lips to shake them off, tipping you onto the mattress delicately when his legs were bare. Arching your back to unhook your bra, you shucked it off carelessly into the depth of the room. Sam raked his eyes over your body and you tried not to shy away from it. “I—uh—are we going to be okay?” he whispered low into the space between you.

           “I think so,” you answered, and it was as much affirmation as you could give, because truthfully you didn’t know. It felt right but your instincts had been wrong before. You wished more than anything that you could’ve kept the sexually charged impulsivity in the bar’s cooler earlier that night, when you were moving on instinct and need and didn’t have time to analyze.

           But Sam was so beautiful, so present and real, almost too warm under your touch, and you reminded yourself that he was the only real thing in your life. He brushed a stray piece of still-damp hair back from your face before bending to his knees on the side of the bed. You got up to your elbows and watched passively as he took the rest of your lace off, leaving you completely exposed save for the cover of his kiss on your inner thigh. Swallowing hard, you felt your lips part as you watched the long muscles of his back pull taut when he moved you to the edge of the bed. The hot breath between your legs was enough to make you see stars around Sam’s head like a halo and then he swirled his tongue around your clit softly, almost too softly, just enough to make you feel hungry with desire. A whine passed your lips and you barely even registered it, so focused on watching the precise even muscles in Sam’s jaw flex and ripple against his cheek, matching them to the mazes he was drawing into you. Wrapping an arm around your thigh to hold you in place, Sam flicked his gaze up for confirmation as he snaked an arm under you, sucking two fingers with his eyes locked on yours before gliding them inside you.

           You gasped creakily as he hook-pressed, the strength of his hands feeling familiar if the feeling wasn’t, tugging out sweet sin rooted deep in your gut. It wound you into a tight coil ready to crack with tensile strength, cables of a centuries old suspension bridge rattling through every muscle in your body. With your back arching into the mattress, Sam lapped and swirled and spoke tongues into you, sturdy latch on your thigh until it was absolutely too much, sent you snapping into a thousand sparking live wires around him as you tried to steady yourself with handfuls of duvet. When you had enough of your wits back about you, you slipped your hands through the drying silk of Sam’s hair and guided him back up, kissing the taste of yourself off of his lips, his chin. Sam laid against you unfurling his body like a scroll, the heavy length of his cock grazing your thigh through his boxers. You gently push-pulled his shoulders to flip him onto on his back, a dazed smile on his face when you licked a stripe down his chest and lightly ran your teeth over a nipple. His chest heaved once when you brushed against his cock and then his breathing went shallow. With your mouth centimeters from his skin, you met his eyes. “Is this still okay?”

           “Y-yeah, yes—yeah,” he said, way too fast to pretend at any semblance of nonchalance, more than fast enough to send you grinning as you tugged the elastic down his hips slowly and caught the weight of him in your palm, hot and crystallized beneath a shimmering drop of precum that you lapped reflexively, drawing a sharp inhale from Sam. Now it was your turn to swirl, rolling the head around your tongue sloppily before taking the first few inches of him into your mouth and sucking against a spinning hand until you built a rhythm. His head rolled back into the bed and he closed his eyes, letting them fly open only when you eased the full length of his cock into your throat slowly, willing your muscles to relax around him and relishing the fuzzy blown-out look in his eyes. You let the withdrawal drag, slipping frictionlessly over his now dripping cock as spit flowed through the gaps between your fingers. Sucking along the underside before taking him down again, you could feel the muscles in his abdomen starting to tense and pulled off, kissing a hip bone before straddling Sam and guiding him inside you carefully.

           To his constant credit—as though there was anything you wouldn’t give him credit for—Sam held perfectly still as you stretched around him. It had been so long, and he probably would’ve been a challenge even if it hadn’t been years since these muscles had been flexed. The knowledge that it would calm down pushed you through the almost-tearing feeling you had, finally resting an inch or two above being flush together and taking a few deep breaths.

           “Are you okay?” Sam asked, cheeks pink and eyebrows showing his concern even as the tendons in his neck flexed with restraint.

           “Yeah, I just—out of practice,” you answered with a sheepish smirk. He traced down the sides of your thighs with velvet fingertips like a metronome until your body relaxed around him and you began to slide and grind against Sam in earnest.

           He half-raised himself to meet your lips, curving you down so he could kiss you as you moved together. For the second time that night, he took you in his arms and turned you onto the bed, deftly switching your positions without disconnecting from you. His hand still cradled your head protectively while he touched his forehead to yours. Twin exhales mixing in the slowly humidifying air between you, there were so many things you wanted to say but none of the words you could think of felt like enough to encompass the comfort-love-grief-thanks-apology. All you could do was kiss him.

           The two of you fit together exactly and you cupped the back of Sam’s neck as he rocked into you. Weight supported on one hand, he swept a thumb along your cheekbone before leaning down, touching his lips to your forehead, and taking a deep breath of your hair. Such a clear punctuation on his tenderness swelled up hard in your throat and you had to gulp hard to settle it, concentrating instead on the heat pooling in your core through Sam’s deliberate movements. The crescendo reached a fever pitch when he slid a hand to the small of your back and tilted your hips justrightjustlikethat, pressure drilling right into that perfect spot and after a few seconds it was all you could do to throw your head back into the mattress and crack in half.

           Sam sucked at your jugular while you fell to pieces and in other circumstances you might’ve been worried about walking around like a teenager with a hickey, but all you could think of was him around you, inside you, on you, and you wanted as much as you could get. Tugging at his hair and latching your legs around his hips in frantic reflex shoved him over the edge, muscles in his back rippling under your other hand and sweat glistening over the expanse of his neck as it rolled back. He eased off of you, laid down beside you, and wrapped you up in his arms.

           A few hot tears dropped to the bedspread and almost surprised you but didn’t seem to phase Sam, who just tightened his embrace so your cheek rested on the slope of his chest. Time stopped as you lay there, having disappeared between the fissures of reality and straight into Sam. You resisted the impulse to think too much. It was enough to be there, feel the mist of sweat and freshly washed hair cooling into the ether, the comforting heat of Sam’s body where he draped over you. After your muscles resolidified you turned up and kissed him once, more to check in than anything else.

           “So…what now?” you asked, voice sounding muffled and weird after the long silence.

           Sam smiled looking fatigued and content and nervous all at the same time. “Well, we haven’t been struck down yet. Are you tired?”

           It was likely close to 4 or 5 in the morning but sleeping felt like a trap—with all the information you’d gathered about the dreams, it seemed like if you didn’t have one about Dean tonight then you’d both severely misjudged what was happening, which then put the legitimacy or ‘blessing’ of this new relationship with Sam in jeopardy. But it wasn’t like you could stay up forever. And maybe everything would be fine, maybe you could still have your cake and eat it too by staying with Dean at night and carrying on during the days with Sam, holding his hand and starting to see beauty again through its reflection on his face.

           You brushed your teeth in the bathroom mirror together after throwing on the first t-shirt you found, trying not to put too much stock into it when it ended up being Dean’s Poison one with the tear on the left shoulder. It felt right, natural still to be sharing even this little space with Sam, and that had to mean something. He didn’t even look twice at the shirt but was only wearing boxers, having foregone the flannel pants and/or t shirt he normally wore to bed. You weren’t complaining.

           Cuddling up next to Sam didn’t feel odd as it probably should have so long ago. The only differences were the interlacing of his fingers into yours as he covered your lower ribcage with his hand and the way he tucked his chin into your neck as he folded around you. “I—Sam?” you whispered.

           “Mm?”

           “I’m—uh, just. Thank you.”

           Sam didn’t react for a beat, considering or waiting for you to continue you didn’t know. He simply pressed his lips to your stretched-out collar and melted so that his body sunk into yours. It didn’t take you as long as you might’ve thought to fall asleep.

-

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 16

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

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[cherrywoes]

crimson king. [i. cruor.]

i. cruor.

♛

“The Prince of Flame, dark of heart, is

Said to be one of immense power, the

Only demon which makes the entirety

Of Devildom tremble in fear. Whether

Or not this is simply speculation or a

Well known truth is yet to be known.

I, however, aim to find it for myself.”

— the diary of Maddi, High Witch

♛

prologue | masterlist | ii. dignus.

a/n: contains nsfw content, blood, death. read at your own risk.

“MY PRINCE!” A GASPING, pleading cry, sent towards the heavens—the sweetest of sounds, muffled by a set of long, calloused fingers shoved between pink, plush lips. Drool collected around those fingers, studded with exquisite gold rings and tasting of iron, and collected in the basin of protruding collarbones, dark and blue and littered with bite marks from unnaturally sharp teeth. “Please—”

“Silence.” Another hand gripped her jaw fiercely, pushing it shut over his fingers. She gurgled pitifully over them, tongue sliding over gold and rubies as she gasped for air. Her lungs heaved, her back arching high as he forced her head back, blood running a sinuous path down the swanlike curve of her throat and over her breast, collecting upon a pert nipple in a tantalizing bead. He dipped his head to collect it, suckling the aroused flesh ever so softly and with a nick of razor sharp teeth, the bead dissolving on his tongue and vanishing between his lips. “Your whining is getting on my nerves.”

Her responding whimper, high pitched and needy, sent a wave of frigid cold through him. He abruptly pulled his fingers from her mouth with a wet pop, his other hand abandoning her jaw and leaving fingerprints in their wake. Her whimpers immediately silenced, eyes opening as her pleasure abated from lack of stimulation, legs slick with cold sweat. Her chest rose and fell, blood trickling down her body from his bite marks, and while he might have once been aroused at the sight of a high and mighty demon girl covered in his marks and her own blood, it sparked nothing in him but disgust.

“My Prince,” she demurred, carefully propping herself up from the desk under his gaze. His seed spilled from her and onto the polished hardwood, ruining all of his hard work in an instant. His eyes flickered up from between her legs, his mouth settling into a grim line as she carefully worked her way to her feet. Her knees shook from aftershocks of multiple orgasms, but she managed to approach him, pressing a hand to the golden skin of his chest, raking sharp claws down over his pectoral. “Do I not please you?”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. He reached up and enveloped her throat in his large hand, squeezing against the arteries and her esophagus, stare darting up and down her abused body in contemplation. He paused momentarily on the shape of his hands on her hips, such a deep blue they were almost black, admiring, but that admiration quickly faded as he took in the wanton, power hungry aura surrounding her, and his grip tightened.

“M-My Pr-rince—” she croaked, her hands coming up to claw at the skin of his wrists as his grip grew tighter and tighter, bones grinding and cracking underneath the pressure. She choked on her own air when her esophagus gave out, the vertebrae in her neck snapping clean.

The life left her eyes and he allowed her to slump to the floor, her nude body crumbling into char black ash at his feet before she ever touched the ground. He rolled his neck and shoulders, huffing, and rolled the rug beneath his chair over the ash with his foot. His tongue prodding his cheek in thought, still tasting her blood in his mouth, he pulled his pants on, fumbling idly with the button and buckle. His eyebrows furrowed when he found the ashes smeared where he had stepped, and made to wipe it off on the rug, when a knock sounded at his door.

“Another one, my lord?” Barbatos entered his office smoothly, making nary a sound as he approached the mound of ash in the rug and his master. “You do know you can’t kill human girls as is custom here, I’m certain?”

“Of course not, Barbatos.” Prince Diavolo was all teeth when he smiled, but this had genuine joy behind it at beholding his favored servant and friend. “I would never kill human women.”

“As you say.” The butler nodded his head and with a snap of his fingers, the ashes and rug were gone, likely on their way to the laundry room for the maids as they spoke. The teal of his eyes sparkled when he produced a letter from thin air, stamped with an unfamiliar seal. “Greedy demonesses aside, the official roster for the Bride Hunt has been drawn up and awaits your approval. Queen Cordelia seeks your approval before she officially recognizes the competitors in any capacity. She is… concerned some of the girls may not fit your tastes.”

Diavolo’s eyebrows rose. He took the letter, which was quite heavy, and sat down at his desk, flicking it open with a letter opener. Inside, there was a letter, penned by the Queen along with a few names, as well as photos—albeit somewhat grainy photos, but better than he would have expected humans to be capable of.

Unable to make heads or tails of which girl was who, he skimmed the letter’s contents, Barbatos reading over his shoulder inquiringly.

‘Dear Prince Diavolo,

It is my pleasure to announce that the girls for the Bride Hunt have been selected. It is truly an honor that you have decided to pick a girl from my kingdom—they are all quite lovely, I assure you. I send this correspondence to affirm that they are to your tastes and that the Hunt may proceed as advised; please let me know your answer at your earliest convenience.

The first girl is Navena Dane, of House Dane. She is quite the spitfire but has the mouth of a sailor—”

He found the picture of the girl, the first in the pile. Pretty but plain, with dark hair and even darker eyes. There was a cruel twist to her mouth that he didn’t quite like.

“The next is Kalliane Fairchild of House Fairchild. She is bookish and keeps to the stacks, I hear, but there is a streak of defiance I believe you might admire within her.”

His opinion was strong: mousy, meek, unbecoming of a Queen. Defiance does not a queen make. He skipped past two other names with equally as boring descriptions, but paused on one, slight interest alighting his visage.

“The last is [Name] Gascoigne of House Gascoigne. Not only does she have a rich dowry, she was ill for most of her season, so she is a year or so below your specified age range. However, she is quite opinionated, and does not fit the mold of nobility here. Should she not succeed in the Bride Hunt, I fear she will accept no man of her own standing—if this decision does not interest or please you, I will withdraw her at your will.

Swift prayers,

Queen Cordelia.”

“Gascoigne,” Barbatos noted, familiarity in his tone. “An old and ancient family. Mammon dealt with them heavily a few decades ago, I remember; had quite a time with the daughters of that house, I recall. He was never quite the same after that—he shuddered any time they called for him.”

Diavolo picked up the photo of the girl in question, curiosity in his surprised grunt. [Color] hair, [color] skin, with a tilt to her head that did not suggest arrogance, but demanded respect, unlike the other photos; there was no sultriness, no deception. She almost appeared as if the whole affair was beneath her. “I wonder what could have possibly made Mammon, Prince of Greed, shudder in fear.”

“Who knows with him.” Barbatos shook his head and scooped up the photos and letter, tossing them into a bin and setting them on fire with a candle. When Diavolo sent him an inquiring look, he explained,”We wouldn’t want any vindictive witches finding photos of these poor girls, would we?”

“Ah.” He nodded in understanding, then. “Yes, I… forget about her, at times. Very well. Send a letter that the matches are fine and that we will arrive on the morrow.”

“The morrow?” The butler parroted back, surprised in his tone. “May I ask why, my lord? That’s nearly two weeks ahead of schedule, and the Queen will not take kindly to your intrusion so early, I believe.”

Diavolo shrugged, leaning back in his chair. He was the very picture of an indolent king, running his tongue over his teeth in thought. “I see no reason to wait any longer, and, besides, the sooner I’m out of Devildom, the faster I’ll be away from power hungry demonesses.”

“I see.” Barbatos nodded. “Very well. I will pen the letter; and, my lord, if I may?”

“Hmm?”

“Be wary,” he advised. “Humans can be the cruelest creatures of all if given reason enough.”

taglist (open): @cuteunicorns11 @yakus-yakult @crashica

#obey me #obey me diavolo #diavolo x reader #obey me diavolo x reader #diavolo x mc #obey me x mc #diavolo x y/n #obey me mammon #obey me luke #obey me solomon #obey me simeon #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me lucifer #obey me belphegor #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #obey me satan #obey me levi

[strrawberrii]

love loop {one} myg

that pesky little thing called fate really is a bitch. 

pairing: min yoongi x reader

tag / warnings: some cursing

author note: sorry for being gone for so long! life happened. but i’m back with our favorite mint haired boy, min yoongi. this chapter really is an opener for the oc and her life. watch out for a certain mint haired boy. i hope you enjoy <3

The red string of fate. That pesky little thing called destiny that was tied to another person and locked in an eternal circle; a love loop. The very thing that changed the trajectory of my life, that blossomed chance and coincidence, that pushed me onto a different path and had me headed towards an individual that was about to make my life a living hell.

It was like the world had become suffocating and the days seemed to stretch endlessly and blur together in a way that made me anxious. It was times like these that made my head spin as I tried my hardest to look past the haze and fog that somehow became a permanent resident in my head to think of the last time I had even eaten anything. The listless weeks that stretched on seemed to always end like this; questions bogging down my body and mind until I just couldn’t take it anymore and would eventually let myself fall into a restless slumber. Life had become one long spin cycle and I was starting to feel like there was really no exit sign to the monotony of it all.

But, in all reality, it really was all my fault.

I’d lost the only thing I’d ever really cared about when the company I’d started to work for after college got bought out by a larger one. They dissolved my department and thus all the workers in it. I’d been surviving on endless cup noodles and cold tea ever since as I bounced around from one part time job to another just to make the bills on time. If it hadn’t been for some of the leftovers from my cafe job as the owner took pity on me, I think I would have at one point or another completely starved to death.

As if, I thought bitterly as I wiped down the last table of my shift, I’d ever be so lucky.

The sound of the clock was alarming as it ticked...ticked...ticked...ever so slowly and it was all my mind could process as I tried too hard to let the time pass without obsession. This night needed to be done and over with. This month was the coldest of the year so far and the dreary sky outside did nothing to help with the depressive mood that succumbed me. As much as I tried endlessly to think of anything else, it was futile. The gurgle in my stomach proved as much as I sighed as realization hit that I’d more than likely have to walk all the way home to afford a hot meal or sacrifice dinner for some fleeting warmth. As much as the owners of the small cafe let me have my fair share of meals, it was by no means a solution to the issues I found plaguing me at the end of every day and I would by no means take advantage of their kind hospitality. It was, after all, all my fault I found myself in this mess.

I couldn’t help but sigh a long and aggravated breath. Art and design, I thought sourly again. Who was I to think that I could pull that off? That I would actually have a life and a career out of something like that? It was thoughts like these that occupied my mind a lot these days as the clock continued to tick...tick...tick and I continued to berate myself so much that I felt hot tears forming at the corner of my eyelids. The department I had worked in had been so small that it was only made up of a handful of people and I had been so elated when I got that job, thinking that life was actually starting to look up from everything I’d been through before, only to realize a beat too late that a happy ending just wasn't in the cards for me it seemed. At least, I thought as I tossed the rag I had been holding down, not in something I loved.

“You’re free to go, dear.” Kyung-Hu, the owner of the cafe, patted the top of my head to gain my attention and snap me out of my sulk fest. He was a greying old man who had taken pity upon me when he found me sleeping at the bus stop a street over from the cafe front. He’d been letting me work crazy hours to try and afford to be a human ever since. “Try not to fall asleep this time, yeah?” Despite my foul mood, I could never ever deny that Kyung-Hu and his wife, Ji-hyun, had saved me in a time when I was at my lowest. I felt a smile willingly break out on my chapped lips as his eyes crinkled when he did the same.

“Are you sure? You don’t need me to close with you tonight?” I watched as he sighed, shaking his head as he patted mine again. In most cases it felt that Kyung-Hu and Ji-hyun treated me like I was one of their children. Something that, although I would stubbornly never admit to, made being alone in this big city not so bad. Thinking that I also thought of my own parents and how, the last time we’d spoken, things didn’t go so well.

“Go home. Get some rest, okay? This old man will be fine to close alone.”

“If you’re sure.” I couldn’t help but smile again despite my disappointment that he was sending me home. Even though I wanted the night to be over with, that didn’t mean that I wanted to leave the free heat or leave the old man by himself. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Gramps.” He laughed at the nickname as the bell over the door signaled that we had a customer as I turned around to walk towards the back room; thoughts wholly preoccupied with the dilemma that faced me and no longer any concerns for customers since the old man had freed me of my duty to care.

Food or warmth? I wracked my brain, going back and forth. Food or warmth? Would I rather walk an hour in the slushy cold or have a full belly? Sighing, I picked up my belongings and walked back out onto the floor, no closer towards an outcome of food or warmth or, really, anything to solve any problem in my life as the list was vastly long and overwhelming. The only thing I could be thankful for in that moment was the warmth the cafe was gifting me as I was currently trying my hardest to remain inside the slower and slower I walked towards the bitter air outside.

The cafe, Fleur de Seoul, was small and tucked away in an endless row of buildings that housed everything from karaoke bars to office spaces. It was in a good neighborhood and was very popular amongst the twenty-somethings and young business crowd for it’s endless layers of nostalgia for a fairytale-like space - walls covered in art, a book exchange tucked in the corner underneath a news clipping of their opening that, no matter how many times you tried, would never hang on the wall straight. Dried flowers hung from the ceiling so the whole place was coated in a field of beauty and smelt like heaven with the notes of coffee and flowers wafting every which way. It was nice, nestled underneath ivy and baby's breath that Kyung-Hu liked to freshen every other week and it was by all means my second home. I had started to sit inside on days where I had nothing else to do but bum the heat off the old man when I couldn’t afford to get mine turned back on, get a cup of hot tea and sketch for hours until I had to walk back to my cold ass hole in the wall.

I couldn’t help but curse as my thoughts were stuck, dreading the thought of what I was going back to. So lost in thought, in fact, that I didn’t notice the mint haired boy narrowly miss me as I passed through the cafe unaware that despite not really believing in coincidences, the red string of fate was tugging at my pinky as I tried my best to drown myself in layers of clothing to bite off the nipping and inevitable cold. I needed to be reminded that, while fully unaware that my trajectory of life was about to completely change, fate was in fact a cruel bitch who was out to get me.

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