#idk how it will translate for the reader

[nothwell]

how much costume porn is too much costume porn

#fiorenzo #i'm neck-deep in 18th c. menswear research #and while this is all very hot and sexy for me personally #idk how it will translate for the reader #anyway hope everybody enjoys the titillating garter-tying scene

[satoruhour]

If you don’t mind (tho ofc you don’t have to write it if you don’t wish to), could we get a pt 2 of that priest geto fic? Where him and reader have been secretly fucking every damn where but especially in the church ever since that night, they both realise they have a thing for breeding kink so they don’t bother with protection either. Obv they have to hide what they’re doing and reader secretly gets away from her house at night to get dicked down frequently. and he knocks her up so they ultimately run away together ( or somewhere along those lines it’s totally up to you)

We missed you!! So good to have you back :D

DOMINE DIRIGE NOS !

wc: 7.8k (when will the horrors stop) / first part here ✶

warnings: DARK CONTENT, LORE, priest!geto, fem!reader, age gap (reader is in early 20s, geto in late 20s), christian references, religious themes used in inappropriate ways, questions of religion and life, brief mention of abortion, described scenes of f! and m! masturbation, face-sitting, fingering, clit stimulation, both f! and m! receiving oral, praise, mild degradation, sex in a religious place, semi-public sex (blowjob while geto is conducting mass oop), deep-throating, lots of unprotected p -> v sex, LOTS of creampie / breeding kink, multiple rounds, abandoning home, n*sfw under the cut

“father geto?” you curl deeper into geto’s back in the rectory, the uncomfortable mattress below you just reminding you of your upbringing in this suffocating town and the proximity of everyone. since that night, the two of you have been insatiable, using the House of the Lord for anything holy and instead are filled with violent moans and constant skin-slapping. even to you, the Church has started to look darker and darker, painted with the sin of Pandæmonium’s pillars, each time you enter it.

mass is all about locking eyes with the other, a game to see who falls first. sometimes you’d come in the shortest dress you can find, staring up at him from the second pew from under your eyelashes just like how you’d suck his cock. sometimes father geto would have his hair tied up, revealing his neck and jawline — the priest had not much to experiment with, but it took equal effect on you, anyway. clenched thighs, stuttered words, fluttering eyes.

father geto fortunately finds it easier to evade parishioners after doing his morning greetings to everyone; with another older priest who didn’t request the rectory, he could hide away to stroke at his cock all he wanted while the other took over the later masses. you, however, needed to reject the holy pastor ever so often to stop your mother from thinking vile of your absence.

it still was father geto, though, so whenever you mentioned his name after morning mass, she lit up like a switchboard, happily ushering you away to spend time because it was always encouraged to improve your faith.

— improving your faith in a non-existing god, perhaps.

“you don’t have to call me father when we’re alone, baby,” geto reassured, accommodating you when you turned around to meet him halfway.

“yeah?” you whisper, like someone could hear you. it was taboo, shameful even. the neighbourhood good girl with a deadbeat father coalescing with the newly transferred priest — it was the blasphemous, sent to be burnt at the pyre sort of sin. the rectory felt odd, your house felt odd; there was no place for people like the two of you, driven by lust and forbidden love and sin in the eyes of God, but what could people do when sin just felt so right?

you relish in the father’s gasp when you grind your butt against his crotch which are concealed behind his trousers, biting your lip with a smile when you catch his small grin at your mischief. you continue your ministrations, rolling your hips and bringing his hands to your chest. your clothing has become shorter and shorter ever since you convinced him of your little sin back in the confessional booth of skimpy tops and skirts. geto takes over, fingers slipping under your camisole to pull down your bra, fondling with your tits and playing with your nipples.

“sneaky little baby, hm?”

“s-suguru—” you whine, hips bucking and cunt already clenching. “need your cock, tongue, anything—”

“i’m getting there, doll, wait for me,” he pants, hurriedly unzipping his trousers. his erection is pulsing and throbbing by now, letting out a small sigh of relief when he finally pulls down his underwear, but you’re confused when you’re turned around and before you can reach to sit yourself on him—

“sit on my face first, darling,” he slyly smiles, beckoning you forward. here, father geto suguru looks anything like a pastor and if you close your eyes and listen, the repetitive tweets of the morning mass birds sound a little sweeter and the rushing water of the stream nearby remind you of a countryside house far away from your parents, your faith, your life. but forbidden has a time limit without the luxury of listening in, so you only settle for a pout when you hear the slick noises of him pumping his cock.

“you did say tongue,” he grins, “i don’t disobey scripture.”

“i’m not the Bible, suguru,” you jest with a small smile.

“you are scripture to me — anything you say and do, i’ll follow.”

and that’s the first time it’s truly cemented in you how much father geto was truly willing to throw away, but you hardly have any time to react before he easily settles one leg over and pulls you toward his mouth. it’s so violent, the way he loves you that there’s a small hmph that sounds from his throat when your sweet, wet pussy meets his mouth. after, it’s just endless groans as he laps at your clit while you fill the rectory with your sinful moans, grinding your hips into his mouth over and over while he just hums in agreement.

“that— that’s it, useme, useme—” it comes out slurred and slippery, just like your dripping cunt and his leaking cock, wet sounds that surround the both of you as geto’s tongue continue to assault your sensitive clit. he licks and sucks endlessly that you have no choice but to grab onto his hair for support and he does to same to both your thighs.

“father suguru—! hnfuck . .” you whimper out, looking down at him with hooded eyes while he meets you with the same intensity. below you are just streams and streams of your juices flooding his chin and hair; he just ever so lightly dips his tongue down to your needy cunt, plunging it in and your back arches involuntarily, “o-oh, god!”

geto laughs into your pussy, arm still clutching your thigh but the other goes back to his neglected dick, pumping it in time with his tongue as he swirls it around and you just clutch tighter and tighter. you definitely soaked through the sheets by now, but you follow his command, riding his face over and over until you feel that familiar feeling in your stomach.

“su— suguru, i’m g’nna . .” you moan out quietly, but your priest already knows what’s in store for him, abandoning his own ministrations entirely to please you as he pulls you all the way up to his face, positively cutting off his air supply in the process but he doesn’t care. he only suckles on your clit harder and with more pressure before switching to licking, abusing your puffy clit until you’re speechless and all that comes out of you are ah’s. “cumming, cumming— fuuckk . . !”

“cum on my tongue,” suguru manages to get out in between breaths, “give me all y’r cum, darling.”

those words are enough to send you over the edge, hitting your high with a soundless whine as your hips roll into his face and relentless torture, body continuing to convulse in his hold at the climax. if, before your continued praises sung God, now they were just full of father geto’s name, enunciated through the lips like a passionate blessing before mealtime. suguru, suguru, suguru, even Lucifer was ready to make ready his throne for the both of you.

“shit— sweet as always . .” father geto moans, slurping up all of your cum and making a mess, so much so that you’re giggling shyly at the lewd noises. you rest upon his heaving chest, noting wet patches that stain his black shirt — he came as well. “you treat me so good, don’t you, doll?”

your face twists, “i think i should be the one to say that, father geto.”

“don’t—”

“i like it. rolls off the tongue nicely,” you smirk, easily scooting downwards before settling your pulsing cunt onto his softening cock. but he knows you can get him up at any instance, just as you start grinding your clit along his shaft. the pleasure-filled moan he sounds out never gets old, echoed at the front of the Church of not, “father geto.”

all he shoots you is an unimpressed look, but he can’t keep his look up because the sight of you always inspires a thousand sermons and questions of morality.

“i like the dangerous aspect of it, father geto,” you reason with a sultry voice, grabbing his hardening dick and teasing his weeping tip along your folds. the both of you shiver. “it reminds me of how a holy man like you so easily fell for some pussy and got addicted to it.”

“pretty slut’s developing a dirty mouth,” he laughs, “carry on.”

“fucked a clueless, innocent girl in such a holy place,” you whined when his tip nudges past your pussy and into your gummy walls, spreading you open so deliciously.

“need my help?” you shake your head defiantly, sinking down slowly with calculated steps, gasps escaping your mouth as his cock continues to impale you inch by inch.

“and then claimed her right at the apse of the Church. on the altar, where bread is b-broken and wine is shared.” your eyebrows have knitted together from the pure stretch, descending down fully where you sit a little uncomfortably. no matter how many times you take him, he’s still big and full in you, needing a few moments to adjust as you wiggle your hips.

“can man prevent himself from chasing after his darkest desires?” father geto asks, bumping up his hips just a little and he grins at the little whine you let out.

“no, but God can,” you reason and yet you know you wouldn’t want anything to have changed between the two of you. you still would have wanted father geto’s downfall, you still would have wanted to see him stroking his cock behind the velvet curtains of the confession box.

you momentarily lock eyes with geto, drunk off the feeling of his length in you and the friction of your clit against his pelvis that you naturally gravitate towards him, feeling tired from all the grinding from earlier. he coos, receiving you without any judgement just like how a good priest should do and you feel most at home in his hug.

“what if my God is my darkest desire?” you barely make the connection before geto starts to thrust up into you, not too harshly but not too gently, either. you limp forward and just let him do the work, praising and worshipping you with every snap of his hips from below you.

“o-oh, baby, you’re so tight . .” suguru mumbles, littering kisses all over your neck and face while you struggle to keep yourself up, held up by your weak elbows as you try to meet his eyes. it’s the purple eyes you want to see as he fucks you dumb on his cock, full of lust and only on you as you drop all of your walls for him to enter. suguru tries his best, too, treating you as gently as he can out of the bedroom, which frankly isn’t much, but he tries. he brushes away your hair when it gets into your tongue during communion, he massages your knees in the rectory, he brings chocolate cake whenever he can.

he tries in the bedroom, too, but you are just too much for him. too much in the way that the devil’s whispers start to sound more and more like O Emmanuel and too much in the way he can feel the swell of his heart when even your name is mentioned. father geto doesn’t want to name it love, because in his position it will simply come off as manipulation, deceit.

father geto needs to know you are willing, too.

“father g-geto,” you whine, hands upon his face and sweat lining your brow, “faster, p-please—”

he chokes out a moan, “o-of course, sweetheart.”

you just feel so damn good, clenching so tightly around him that he cannot stop rutting his pelvis into you. he can feel the ripple of your ass with each thrust, the snugly fit tip hitting your g-spot ever so often to pull out the most beautiful moans from you. you’re both so wet and sloppy that you both can hear it — the squelching of your cunt paired with the pre-cum of his cock, mixing at your connected bodies in noisy pap! pap! pap!’s.

“s-suguruuu . . pleasepleaseplease.”

“whaddaya want, baby? words,” geto slurs as well, hips never stilling but now grinding in circles. his glutes and thighs burn but he won’t stop until you tell him what you want.

“i w-want your cum, inside me,” you mewl out like it’s a secret, like he hasn’t been cumming inside you for the past multiple times that you meet, “w-want you to breed me.”

suguru chuckles like it’s a dangerous bet, like he hasn’t emptied his balls deep in your pussy before, “you’re still on the pills, right, baby?”

ah . . the pills, that’s what you wanted to ask him to get more of at the beginning.

you nod hurriedly, “yes— i am, f-fuck—!”

“oh . . my darling’s close,” father geto grunts out, angling his hips so his cock reaches deeper in you, arms trapping you in an eternal embrace like Eve and the devil’s Serpent. you give him lazy, intoxicated kisses, sucking at the skin until there’s bound to be purple and he does the same to yours, albeit lighter.

“y . . yeah, i’m yours, suguru,” you whimper softly, voice breaking from the sheer pleasure once your hand sneaks in between to rub softly at your clit. you suck in a breath when both his cock and your hand find that sweet spot, moans suddenly overflowing into his neck with repeated “yes”’s and profanities until you cum with a cry of suguru’s name, juices spraying everywhere. it’s messy and filthy, your cum soaking his balls and staining the sheets.

“that’s it, thaaat’s it . . squirt all over my cock, baby,” geto continues to ram into your pussy as he praises, hips faltering in the slightest bit, “that’s a good girl.” it only makes you clamp down on his cock harder, making him hiss.

“i w-won’t last long, sweetheart—” he warns you but it’s not enough before he’s stilling in you, pupils blown wide as he shoots spurt upon spurt of hot cum into your cunt, filling you up to the brim as his cock twitches in you. you shiver at the feeling, breathing heavily in his arms as he continues to pump you full. slowly you recover but he stays plugged in, heading back to your position on elbows.

“she’s satisfied?”

you grin with a sigh, “very.”

“that’s all i ever want.” father geto smiles, gently bringing your head down for a gentle kiss on your lips. it turns heated soon enough, the gesture prompting your hips to move again on his very sensitive dick. but with the distant clack of shoe upon cobblestone that increases in volume, the both of you freeze.

“father geto?” it’s a boy’s voice, possibly one of the altar boys.

“what is it?”

the boy seemed to be relieved, as if stepping near the rectory was a sin in itself, “father nanami unfortunately can’t lead the night mass at eight tonight, will you be available?”

you shoot him a disappointed frown, but it is still his job after all. all he manages is a forehead peck.

“a-ah, yes, i am,” father geto thinks if it’s worth asking the next questions, “how many people usually show up to the night mass?”

“not too many, father geto, but it serves mostly the truckers and people in our town who have night shifts.”

you nod since you’ve never attended the night mass at all. father geto has conducted it; it was right on that fateful night where you had texted him about an unnamed confession.

“thank you, go in peace . .” geto shouts his reply and then looks at you with a small smile, speaking softly, “i have an idea.”

it’s only the afternoon when you make it back to your house for lunch before heading back out again like you planned with suguru earlier, following him from a safe distance until you’re out of earshot and sight of the congregation, even if no one was there. he kisses you gently in the sacristy, body pressed up against decades old of wooden cabinets and drawers. you have no idea what your priest has up his sleeve, so your eyes blindly follow his figure that brings out a toolbox proudly, taking out a hammer.

“don’t even know why the sacristy has a toolbox.”

“. . you’re insane,” your mouth drops open when he gives a hint of homily and sermon that you connect the dots, following him a little worried to the apse. there, stands the podium where he gives his readings and sermons, hands going straight for the board that’s nailed shut. turning the hammer around, using the claw at the back of it to remove the nails that hold it down, removing the nails of the lectern one by one with muscles bulking under his robes before it’s revealed.

“looks . .” he whistles lowly at the pristine condition of the wooden podium, “. . i forgot they gifted me a new podium when i transferred.”

“new priest privileges.” you nudge him in the side.

“i’m probably going to get transferred out soon, too,” he jokes with an arm around your waist, and in a perfect world, this would be the two of you looking at your newly built home in those terrible films. instead, you’re here, faced with temptation and sin.

“are you gonna be okay? we don’t have to do it if you don’t want to—” you cut him off with a hand to his crotch, sparing a glance towards the double doors. the church was small, yes, but there was still a good amount of people that attended it, even if the night mass garnered less.

“i’ll be okay, suguru. i’m wet just thinkin’ about it,” the other only hums at your revelation, bending down with you as you slot yourself into the dark place, pockets of light fighting to get in from the amateur job of the podium, “you better go prepare.”

“you’re a gem.” with a soft kiss to your forehead, father geto leaves just as the first parishioner shows up for mass: a whopping 43 minutes before the start of mass. you’re not surprised by the faith in this town, sometimes coming in to complete a rosary, do some extra prayers or partake in confession — but you realise you’re going to have to stay in this lectern for 43 minutes and more before he starts his homily. it’s a perfect fit, but trying not to rattle the box while adjusting yourself seemed to be the most difficult thing.

he had no helpers tonight, no altar boys, such a prime time to commit such a foul act in the eyes of God while he finishes up on the Gospel and you feel your fingertips tingling when he walks from the altar to the podium, dress shoes clicking against the wood of the floor of the rickety Church.

thank god the alb is huge and so is the podium, and thank god there aren’t any pews at the sides of the church. you know he spares some glances, too, so after a few moments of silence to reflect on the words of the Gospel, you’re lifting the alb right to where his boner was. you palm the area in wonder, at the clear sin of the act that you’re currently committing and this is all new to you apart from fucking when the place is empty.

“so big . .” it’s like he hears your whispers, cock twitching under your hold when you slowly remove it from his trousers, slotting his hardening dick through the boxers and zip hole without bringing too much attention. you trail your thumb over his tip that’s leaking pre, a difficult thing to see in such a dark place but you know it’s there when you kitten lick the mushroom tip.

you can hear a falter in his sermon, a stutter of words. leaning forward, you awkwardly switch onto your knees before wrapping your mouth around his length and it’s more clear now when you’re closer to the source of sound.

“. . ory of G-God, excuse me,” geto coughs as if he’s got something stuck in his throat, pulling at his chasuble that feels like choking him at the neck. your mouth continues its teasing, holding onto his thighs as you continue to suck on his fat cock. even now, you struggle to take it all in your mouth, pumping at the bottom while you bob your head. you can only pray that the broadcasted words of the sound system can cover up the obscene noises that your mouth makes.

“mmhh . . j—just, sorry,” the less-than-thirty church-goers don’t pay any mind when his hand snakes down from the top of the lectern toward you, offering his fingers and it’s like salvation after being stuck in there for God knows how long. you grasp at the hand, using your hand to stroke his shaft while you suck on his fingers. in a moment of bravery, you stick your head out as the other wills not to look down, but with a calculated glance to everyone that’s either asleep or zoning out, father geto rewards himself with one gaze while you switch from fingers to his cock.

“oh . .” he restricts himself before any pet name can escape, seeing your pliant mouth take all of him just like that first night but someone coughs and it snaps him out of the daydream, hand going back up.

“we should prioritise the Lord at every part of our day,” geto breathes heavily when he feels you deepthroat him, hands dripping the sides of the podium that you were sure the cheap wood would splinter under his grip. you focus on getting him in your mouth when he steps closer to you and you let out a small sound of surprise; he takes that small break to quickly bun up his hair, all wet from the sweat on his neck.

“mmf—!” there’s a small relief that leaves your priest’s mouth at having his tip hit the back of your throat, muttering a lot of uhm’s and repeated words. he wants to cum, and he wants to cum quick from how his hips thrust into your warm mouth, wanting to do away with conducting mass and to just be in your pliant pussy.

“. . a-and to make sure all our actions honour the Lord our Saviour,” his hips continue to move, continually buried up to the hilt in your mouth over and over as he fucks your mouth. you receive it willingly, hands taking action to play with his balls and that has his thighs tensing up. “and while you continue to live your life in praise—”

“f-fuck,” it’s whispered away from the microphone but you hear it, length twitching in response to your hands before you come off with to breathe. both hands stroke his cock while you suckle on the tip, driving him into insanity that he’s struggling to finish his sermon.

“you’ll be given the greatest graces in Heaven,” father geto shoots his cum down your throat and it’s so much, muscles pulled taut as he continues to buck his hips needily. you can feel him slump forward and out of breath while you continue to milk him and his words start to slur just a tad bit and while you clean him of his semen, you giggle to yourself under the podium as he gathers himself for another look down at you.

the final blow is how you stick out your tongue to show him the cum that’s left, a grin spreading that he just has to give you his hand again as you hold it gently, “—together in eternal life with God Almighty and Christ.”

“i hope i wasn’t too obvious on the lectern two weeks ago,” father geto laughs into your neck at your place, seemingly so long ago where he decided to step into your room and questioned your thesis on Paradise Lost. it felt like it was just last week he was bringing cake to your place, sitting in on dinner, walking with you around the town. now you sit in his lap in the living room of your house, unassuming because of the five day vacation that your parents decided to take. your mother stayed with your father for what, you never could figure out, but with the baby dropped off at the family across the street (your mother knew you’d be busy with university work) and them out to the next town, you did what every university student would do.

you sneaked priest geto in on sunday night, letting him take you on every surface he knew you’d spread your legs for him on, and now sat, freshly showered and the television turned down to a low, you could only hope this was what a life of matrimony could look like. all the dreams and fancy stories your mother tells you, you think you could twist this sick relationship and forbiddenness into something normal for at least five days if you convince yourself enough.

“you were stuttering on every sentence,” you mumble into his hair that starts to smell more and more like yours, arms encircled around his neck while he sits in a mere singlet. “you like my mouth too much.”

“ego te adoramus.” father geto hums quietly, pulling away from the embrace as he looks up at you and he sighs. if only he had found you sooner before starting his theology degree, before he could hear God’s call for him into priesthood. he would be happy being your childhood friend, anything.

“do you ever wish you weren’t a priest?”

geto swallows, brushing away the strands from your face and adjusts you on his lap, “sometimes.”

“my parents were open with my choice, as they always are, but they valued how much i liked to explore and try new things. they only said that i should choose this path carefully because they knew time is something that no one can get back,” he explains, hands stroking your sides carefully and you let yourself dream that you were just a normal couple, “some friends were weird about it, telling me i would miss having sex and whatnot, but i still value my relationship with God and the many things i’ve learned from my journey in the seminary.”

“but?”

“i didn’t expect to . . meet someone like you so soon,” suguru laughs when you shout a small hey!, feigning annoyance, “someone so bright, and loving and kind. someone that embodies what Jesus and the Church stands for, and something i’ve never seen in ages. unconditional compassion.”

“your praise is too heavy,” you swat away his hand, only attributing your disposition to your mother’s exemplary way of raising you, “is simple kindness that hard to see?”

“you shadow a lot of priests in conducting masses, baptising people, giving first communions, and you see a lot of personalities — some that are vile for people that regularly go to Church. it’s disheartening to see Christians who are clearly wrapped up in their privilege and pride and think they’re the most important religion to exist. you hear it in history books, through word of mouth.” geto looks just like a boy, frustrated with the world that he lives in that a scowl settles into his features and his hands ball fabric into tight fists.

you manage to relax him a little, running your thumbs over his face and hands; he twines his fingers with yours. “i thought that if i went in, i could at least try to reshape the community. bit by bit, open their minds about abortion, about the queer community, but it is proving hard when the first church you’re transferred to is a small town.” that gets a giggle out of you.

“you’re not wrong, suguru, for trying your hardest. it’s so admirable. i’m trying to unlearn things about the Church that my mom has taught me too, and it’s all interesting reads alongside my second year of uni. if you can change one mind, there’s the potential to change many others.”

geto lets you rest your forehead on his, closing his eyes to just feel you, “thank you.”

he’s not even sure when to tell you that he’s fallen in love, the hardest he’s ever done since in high school with his first love, or in university studying theology, and he’s not even sure it’s love. all he knows is that when he looks at you, a life until silver hair is all he can think about.

“you can do it,” you break the ice softly, placing a peck on his lips, “i believe in you.”

“i don’t think they would wanna believe a sex-crazed priest, darling, not when i wanna give you the life you deserve.”

you sigh, hiding your face, “i don’t think we can achieve that, suguru, not while you’re still married to the Church and i’m supposed to be celibate.”

“that’s out the window—” and he laughs when you slap him on the bicep, finding that you’d want him to laugh more. he does it sometimes when he gives sermons, recounting a specific story about his mother, or while baptising a baby. it’s pure like a young boy’s laughter, something to be protected, the way his eyes crinkle and lips stretch . .

“what if i break priesthood for you?”

what?

“no . .” you brows furrow, “don’t say stuff like that.”

“why not, my love?” you continue to shake your head, standing from your place on his lap and he’s confused — wouldn’t you want this?

“don’t call me that—” your safe space, your room is the only place all you can think in, and you escape to it before he can catch a thread of your clothing. father geto calling you that means he’s officially fallen, chained to the river Styx. the descent was fun, but you didn’t want to be the reason why he’d truly throw away all of his hard work, you didn’t want him to be shamed, nor did you want to be called out for being a temptress. self-serving while serving others — maybe that’s how Christians operated and you were the walking proof of it.

geto thinks he’s messed up big time and unsure of the reason why as he lets you stay in your room to cool down. he only sends out a text simply to check on you, but it takes you an hour before you’re ready; once he hears the click of your door, he’s heading up the stairs and pushing open the door gently.

just like that first night, he’s cautious when he enters your room as if touching your sacred place will have him reciting rosaries as penance, as an apology for staining your heart and your body. you stand.

“i don’t want you to leave everything behind just for me . .” you sound out, sniffling softly and the priest’s heart already shatters at the sound, “all your hard work, the years you did in the seminary and then just dumping it all just for a chance with a woman who you don’t even know whether will be suitable as your lover.”

geto’s expression softens in the dark room, only illuminated by fluorescent light from your bedside table lamp — “i won’t leave anything behind; all those years, all the studies, all of it mattered because somehow it still led me to you. if that isn’t God’s doing, i don’t know what else it was. my definition of Christianity has been entirely reimagined, entirely changed when i look at you, a person filled with nothing but pure lovingness and soft-heartedness and yet i still feel proud when you said you wished harm on your father because i know that Christ didn’t ask men to gouge their eyes out for nothing.”

he grabs your hands, stroking the back of your palms and stepping close to you as much as you will let him. suguru plants feather-like kisses onto skin before continuing, “i will always carry my Christianity with me, the shame, its history and if i fall, so be it. Lucifer had fallen many times after, crouching by Eve’s ear to whisper sin, turning into a serpent to give her the forbidden fruit, sentenced to rule Hell because he himself is Hell.”

“and are you dragging me down with you?”

“i have been dragged to the darkest pits of Hell from the moment i saw you, and if anything, while i worship God, i cannot ignore the olive branch that you hold out to me like a saving grace, like you ascend the same pedestal that the Trinity sits on.”

you swallow, eyes breaking contact and he’s quick to rectify that, both palms on your cheeks and your face is tilted upwards.

“our God will always be there for repentance if you wish so, but allow me to indulge in the blasphemy and filthiness and sacrilege of craving someone so desperately that my body burns from thinking about her and my knees want to strike the Earth whenever she’s around me.”

the sentence takes you aback before he’s leaning forward, but abruptly stops short— it’s rushed, can i kiss you?

“yes. yes, suguru—”

and he kisses you with the force of a thousand suns and the most detrimental winds of the pacific, arms going from your face right to your body as he wraps you in his love. geto deepens the kiss just as he always has, but the feelings that spark in you differ greatly from just mindless kissing during sex. it’s full of passion, full of possibly everything he’s kept bottled up as he walks you to your bed, yelping in surprise when the back of your knees hit the mattress.

“do you still have your pills, my love?”

your fingers bunch up the same sweater he wears on the first day, “i . . ran out . . a while ago.”

“i’m surprised those pills work even after i cum so much in you,” that really draws a hearty laugh from your stomach, “but whatever happens, i’ll be here.”

“the feeling’s just too good—” you giggle, squealing when father geto lifts you off the floor and puts you on the bed.

“if you test positive, and if you want to keep it or abort it, i’m okay,” geto hovers over you, looking at you with so much love you wonder how you miss it the many times you’ve been together, “i’ll support you in everything that you do.”

a peak of silver shines in the moonlight under his sweater and you realise this feels like the first time you lost control over your lust, the first time you touched yourself. like heeding a call, his crucifix falls from the safety of his sweater and almost hits you in the face if not for suguru pulling away in worry.

“was it just like this?” he teases with a small smirk, knees already nudging your legs apart, “you imagined me fucking you with this dangling in your face?” your face heats up at the mention, at the fact he still manages to remember that confession and you nod whilst biting your lip. 

“well, you get to live it now,” geto grins, leaning down to plant a kiss to your lips before having his way with you.

and have his way did he — you aren’t even sure what round you’re on at the moment, simply subjected to getting you face smushed into your pillow as he pounds into you from behind. geto grunts as he eases his cum-filled cock back into your sweet cunt, hands travelling everywhere over your sweaty back.

“are you okay, baby?”

you turn your head with arms still buried in the pillow, a cock drunk smile on your face, “splendid.”

“goin’ in— shiit . .” geto sinks into you easily, your mixed juices proving easy before getting himself right up to the hilt. his mouth hangs open in pleasure, pants leaving both your lips before he starts to thrust and the wetness is just straight-up obscene. with a wordless tug, father geto brings you close to him, wrapping an elbow around your neck while the other settles for your tummy, feeling the muscle that curls around you. he doesn’t trap you so tightly, simply holding your limp body up as his pelvis rams into you.

“your pussy’s just so good, darling,” he mutters into your neck as your head tilts back in ecstasy while your body trembles in geto’s hold.

“s’full, suguru . .” you whine, hands flailing for his toned arms that encircle your body while he thrusts, cum spilling from where you were connected onto your sheets. it was a blessing your parents were out because father geto doesn’t hold back with the way he fucks you, voice carrying throughout the house and permeating the walls that you hoped the neighbours wouldn’t hear.

going for multiple rounds meant the two of you were highly sensitive, jolting when his hand sneakily drew circles along your clit and matched his pace, while his length in you kept twitching and pulsing from the way your gummy walls wrap around him. “s-suguru — i need you, p-please—”

“i’m here, sweetheart,” geto chokes out, hand wrapping around the expense of your neck and turning your face, indulging himself in a sinful kiss that you return immediately. tongue and saliva is everywhere, hands and hips never slowing down when it comes to you and your sweet pussy. “i’m here, always, amie.”

“i’m gonna c— fuck— shit,” you tighten around his cock at the name, moaning into his mouth like a mantra, like a mystery that cannot be solved as he cums with a guttural groan into you and you shiver from the feeling of him filling you that you forget all about your own pleasure, body shaking with mini orgasms instead. “lay forward . .”

it’s softly spoken, and you obey, eyes fluttering close when he pulls out slowly and geto’s fixated on the drip of his cum that falls from your pussy. flipping you over instantly, he smears your juices together and all over your centre, smiling at how your legs close in on each other at the sensitivity. his tip’s filled with your cum, a messy painting of your repeated rounds.

“you’re the most stunning right here,” he breathes out as he rests on his calves, cock still hard. his hand trembles as he strokes himself, moaning softly at the warmth that he misses already and he’s brought to attention again when you whimper softly. you’re fingers play lazily with your folds, finger rubbing circles into your clit and all he can think about is pumping you full of his cum again when you look at him from under your eyelashes, with a subtle pout and the plea of the eye.

“fuck me again, father geto,” you mumble, “fuck me until i’m full of your cum.”

the priest only grunts lowly at that, trailing his angry tip along your pussy and collecting your juices before slipping in. the both of you gasp at the sensation, more of you when his hands close around your knees and push. he’s forcing your legs right up to your chest the same time he enters you, sending you deeper into desperation that you writhe on the bed.

“ohh . . tha’s a perfect pussy right there . .” suguru slurs, body pushed against your bent legs as his cross swings back and forth like an omen, like a crow watching your movements, “will you be mine, my darling?”

your voice comes out in high-pitched whines at his question, so intimate, so loving in such a dirty space. you can only manage nods when he starts to move, this new position allowing him to reach much, much deeper into you that you preen at the overwhelming feelings that bubble in your chest.

“yesyesyes! r-right there, suguru—” your back arches off your childhood bed, where you first prayed, where you first read the Bible, where you did your homework, where you first fingered yourself, all overthrown by the sheer blasphemy that geto suguru wished to indulge in, and you give it to him just like that, “f-fuck! love your cock in me, father!”

“o-oh . . you’re playing a dangerous game, c-calling me that, baby,” his eyes also struggle to stay open, committing your pleasure-filled face to memory as your jaw slacks and your eyes roll back. he can see your tits move with his rough thrusts as well, licking his lips while feeling you fuck him back, “are you close?”

“mhmm—” you’re humming, mumbling incoherent sentences at this point as your mind fogs at the neck-deep euphoria you were in. with the room that’s filled with sex to the nasty, sloppy noises of his balls hitting your ass, and soaking wetness that can be heard from a mile away, the both of you are lost to the claws of Hell. geto knows you’re close with the way your cunt tightens and your breathing escalates, using his thumb to rub at your clit and now you truly feel like you’re going insane.

“c-close . . haah—” your eyes try to stay open to look at the sight above you: messy-haired and body lined with sweat, the beautiful entity of abstinence and temptation all in one person. you fumble with his shoulders, wanting to pull him closer so you can admire him up close while he drives you to your high. the moment of vulnerability only spurs geto on, drawing out the brutal, carnal need he has for you.

“is that it? you wanted this?” he grunts out through gritted teeth, “you wanted me to fuck your pussy until it knows the shape of my cock?” the words muttered sends goosebumps throughout your body. you nod, “you wanted me to defile this pretty pussy so no one else can fuck you, isn’t that right?”

you whimper at the words as he pushes your legs further into your chest, “cum on my cock, darling.”

and you do. generous with it, you’re gushing all over his length as he continues fucking you through your overstimulation, thumb slowing its ministrations on your puffy clit as he chases his own climax. “taking my cock so well, so good like the good slut she is,” the other says through a small grin, hips stuttering when you give him a small yeah in return.

“another load for you, baby,” father geto groans out loudly before he switches to quick, fast thrusts into your warm, welcoming pussy before cumming with a whine, shooting thick ribbons of white deep into your womb. your moans are swallowed by geto as he continues to fill you to the brim, painting your insides and enjoying your slow, needy kisses.

“she’s had her fill,” you mumble softly, feeling sleepy while the other only hums in agreement. slowly, geto lets your legs down which only plop down on the bed, unsheathing himself from you and relishing in the way the cum dribbles out, glob after glob of cum leaving your pussy and onto the sheets, “are you okay, suguru?” he takes your shaky hand, interlocking your fingers with his as he scoots up to you, closer until he’s just over you.

“always better with you here.” you roll your eyes, tugging on the crucifix and pulling him into you where your lips collide, feeling him collapse by your side even as your mouths continue their movements. all you do is smother each other with hands, one through his sweaty locks and his grabbing your waist. you want to live through the feeling of his front against yours for eternity, deepening the kiss with your tongue and moaning softly when his fingers squeeze your ass secretly.

“you just stay here and i’ll clean you up,” with one last peck to your temple, father geto navigates your house like he lives there, getting a rag and wetting it before he cleans you up gently, fabric travelling along your skin like a kiss of hellfire as he massages your legs, your arms. there’s a multitude of things before the two of you succumb to slumber, going to the toilet, grabbing something to eat and then wallowing in some late night conversations (“do you think you find me in other universes?” / “i’ll find you in every one.”) until finally, you two settle in each other’s arms.

it’s like a still painting that would be studied by future literature students, scrutinised by art critics all over the world of a sacrilegious relationship that should not have place for love, that should not have place for purity, but the feeling of geto suguru’s arms from behind wound tightly and protectively around your physique feels like both the good and bad of the secular world. love and lust can coexist.

just as father geto worships, your luggage is quickly packed up a few weeks later alongside a pregnancy test that looks awfully reminiscent of the cross in the church. picture frames emptied, laptop and papers packed, a barren land of what used to be the place of a God-serving, holy girl — and even if knowledge caused her downfall, she was more than willing to own up to it. the room looked larger and drab with everything gone; you aren’t even sure how you fit everything into the luggage.

the fallen angels watch over your encounters with crinkles of the paper of your farewell letter, the squeaky floorboards, and the atmosphere of the night sounding like vacuum from its sheer silence as you snuck out of the house and into the stark night, hands clasped within each other’s while gravel below your feet reminded you of your situation. you weren’t sure if you were walking to salvation or away from it, but at least you knew Eden was by your side, with the lavender scent of your shared shampoo on both your heads and his saccharine words.

after walking for what felt like forever to avoid detection, geto waves excitedly to a car in the distance which seemed to house two men — one blonde that looks awfully like father nanami and the other, a white-haired man.

“i called up some friends,” suguru brings your connected hands to his lips and his tired eyes soften even further, pressing soft pecks along your fingers and face. your priest catches you in a sensual kiss, humming into it and mumbling sweet nothings that sound just like Lucifer in Eve’s ear, but you’re too enamoured with the sparks you leave on one another to notice the commencement of your coronation at Pandæmonium.

“we’ll be okay, amie. ego te amo ut dum stellae luceant.”

“Rise, then, to the thrones of Moloch and Paimon, of Belial and Beelzebub, of the infamous angel who challenged his Creator and clawed his way from the Stygian pool to Pandæmonium made of demon blood and soot-filled fingertips. Rise to Lucifer, and take your rightful place on the throne overflowing with hate and vice and villainy, and rule Hell just as how he would’ve wanted it.”

a/n: another insane piece .. pls dont look / tagging @mysugu @slttygeto @screampied @suguruplsr @na-t0 @peachsayshi

#is the end too dark LMFAO #the latin at the end is: 'ill love you as long as the stars shine' #i used a translator tho so idk how accurate but i put it in the previous part that he studied latin so i just slotted that detail in lol #asks #anon #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen geto #geto x reader #geto smut #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru #geto x you #suguru x reader #suguru smut #suguru x you #jjk x you #jjk scenarios #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen getou #jujutsu kaisen fluff #getou smut #getou x reader #getou suguru x reader #suguru geto smut #suguru geto x reader

[solacium]

presence // aventurine

he'll never outrightly ask you what it is, not at the outset.

he might find you curled on the couch, quiet, trying to breathe out the something in your chest that writhes and constricts, or in tears, but he won't ask, only sit quietly with you, lean against you, the weight of him enough to reassure you of his presence. maybe you reach for him, curl into the hollow of his body, and he'll let you, hold you until the tears stop, or you can feel your hands again, or you fall asleep, to the steady rhythm of his heart.

you'll wake, or look at him, and he'll speak, then, maybe look back at you with those iridescent eyes that you love, as he asks, softly, if you're feeling better, if you want to talk about it.

he'll keep you company, either way, listening. there is a steadiness in the weight of his arms around you, in the even beat of his heart against your back. you'll have to move, eventually, one of your legs falling asleep under you, and you'll both laugh, and shift. he gently disentangles himself from you, to get you something to drink. you settle back down, curled around each other, talk quietly until the sunlight changes.

#here's more of my ven i guess #tiny one this time i'm working on another thing but the muse is steadfastly ignoring me #but he will give me this i guess #i actually really love reverse comfort but here is some not reverse comfort #bc jfc the other day i had to translate something that yeeted me straight out of my body into depersonalisation #and i had to sleep that shit off #so to make my brain wind down i wrote this #idk how ic it is but uh #come get your aventurine cuddles i guess #honkai star rail #hsr #aventurine #aventurine hsr #aventurine honkai star rail #x reader #reader insert #aventurine x reader #aventurine x you #solacium.scriv

[aryomengrande]

izatina ⋆˙⟡♡ / tokrev collab w @half-baked-biscuit

→

#tokyo revengers #tokrevcollab #fromaryg #art #digital art #anime #izana #kurokawa izana #izana x you #izana x reader #izana x y/n #ofc i made a full version of christina's commission #to add to the izatina lore lmao #hindi na maliligaw means one would never be led astray or would be lost #idk how to translate it better huhu

[romance-rambles]

ROSES FOR THE BLUSHING BRIDE

Your attempt at killing your kidnapper goes awry. How tragic it is—that the man who killed your love wore his face first.

— word count: 2.1k

— pairing: [unspecified] alkaid mcgrath x little painter/you

— tags: mentions of murder, suicidal thoughts and suicide, alternate universe - vampire/vaguely historical/reincarnation, mentioned non-con kissing+biting, unhappy ending [neither of them are mentally well - possibly ooc?]

— note: inspired by my little ramble in the tags of this gif post so it's technically PL but it could just be au alkaid. not sure if i did it justice but also, i wrote this over the course of two days so!! small victories!!! 🎉

return to lbc masterlist | series: none

THE DOOR CREAKS LIGHTLY AS it opens, the warmth of your candlestick highlighting the steps beyond it. The monster that resides in this manor is foolish, and your Alkaid is—was—not. The hefty lock that once guarded against you sits carelessly beneath a portrait of a woman who looks like you—who was once you, if the ravings of a mad man are to be taken seriously.

And if they are, then you will meet him soon—the man you were set to marry, with the same bright green eyes and light blond hair, and a warmth that the lord of this manor greatly lacks.

And if they aren't, then, that is simply not possible. Because, you think, how else can this be explained?

Your fingers lightly graze over the most recent puncture wound at the base of your neck. They play connect the dots and the monster's claim draws a circle. It ends where it starts, with the gemstones on the dagger's obnoxiously decorated hilt digging into the palm of your hand and your teeth gnawing at your bottom lip.

There sits a bruise there, the likes of which you've only ever allowed one man to gift you. You can still taste your own blood upon your tongue, metallic and bitter, but you can no longer remember your lover's smile.

Yearning overwhelms you, for a man long dead. It is something you can fight off almost as well as the monster. And it is a maddening thing—the way your carefully-groomed nails desire to claw your skin off. The way your hand twitches, dagger still in hand.

It is a mistake to think of him at all.

You cannot afford any mistakes, not when your weapon has been promised a different target. You cannot afford any mistakes, when your next life is to be a happier one.

So, the candlestick lifts higher.

Heels you might've chosen for yourself in another life clack against stone, the sound echoing throughout the darkened chamber. Yet, the monster still slumbers, oblivious to your intrusion. At the very end of the room lies a coffin, and there he waits, surrounded by white and green. By roses and their stems carefully preserved, a silent mockery of the promise Alkaid once made you.

Eternal loyalty—but this is not the eternity you desire.

In hopes of composing yourself, of chasing away the familiar disgust, fury, loathing, you tear your gaze away from the coffin. The grey floor has borrowed an orange hue from the candlelight. As you cross the distance, you do not look at the portraits that line the walls, with their never-changing subject, the contents of which you know only because the monster brought you to his lair exactly once.

You, with the same dead eyes and the same dead love and the changing fashions doing little to distract from your likeness. You, who were unfortunate enough to fall in love with that monster in some other lifetime, having been blinded by his pretty face.

And the bile that climbs your throat at the thought, which you choke back with a tired grimace—that, too, is familiar.

WHEN YOU REACH THE COFFIN, the first thing you do is yank the flowers out of your sight. Your dagger comes in use much earlier than expected, handling all that your hands cannot.

It is the least you can do for Alkaid.

The monster remains asleep throughout. It's convenient—if you'd known it was that easy, you would've done it sooner. You would've avenged him sooner. Alkaid was a light sleeper, and you had assumed the same held true for the monster.

With the same hand that carries the dagger, you open the casket. It takes a bit of effort to ensure you never lose sight of your target—quite literally. The payoff lies in the way the candlelight illuminates the man resting within.

His lighter hair takes on a warmer hue, thought it's incomparable to the way Alkaid's hair would gleam golden under the sunlight. He is blue, dressed in an outfit that looks to be the furthest thing from comfortable sleepwear. Alkaid was beige and green, and he was always getting on your case about dressing comfortably.

Marking the spot where your hands should hover, you set the candlestick beside you, careful to ensure its enthusiastic flame avoids the hem of your dress. You're almost giddy with excitement.

You'll see Alkaid soon. You'll get to him, even if it takes ten or twenty—

The monster mumbles your name lovingly.

Alkaid?

The dagger freezes just before the blade can slice through the layers of fabric guarding his heart. Your heartbeat quickens. You watch the figure warily, waiting for anything that could signal his monstrous nature.

Why would Alkaid be here when he is meant to be dead?

But the monster has never said your name before. You are simply his bride, just the most recent in a long string of replacements. If you did not share the same name as all the rest, you're certain he wouldn't know what it was.

And if it is Alkaid, if he has turned into a monster, if he is just as much a victim as you—

How could you ever dare to hurt him?

You can't lose him again. His family and yours, if they're still alive, would gladly testify about the absolute wreck you'd been when he disappeared a few days before your wedding.

It was only when one of his friends mentioned that he had seen Alkaid near the monster's manor that you'd found the resolve to crawl out of your bed for the first time in weeks.

Of course, you hadn't known just yet that there was a monster at all. You hadn't known of all that was to transpire—that had already transpired.

Your grasp on the dagger's hilt tightens—you don't want it anywhere near Alkaid. You want to know if he's Alkaid. You want to shake the man awake and ask, Are you him? Are you the one I've been searching for? And what about the monster?

You know that if he says he was the monster all along, you'll forgive him with an ease he would not deserve.

Again, the man mumbles your name. It does much to distract you from your spiralling thoughts.

After all, it sounds like coming home.

You want to believe it sounds like coming home.

"Al—"

As if sensing that his name is on the tip of your tongue, the man rouses himself from his slumber. The first thing he seems to gaze upon is you—and the dagger you've pulled close to yourself.

Ah.

You tremble. His gaze is cold and his grip is bruising. Alkaid has never looked at you so unkindly. You used to find it disconcerting how easily the glare on his face would slip away if he glanced at you. Now you wish for it more than anything.

What have you done wrong? Why is he upset?

In your desperation, you almost beg: Alkaid—

Then, you blink, remembering the weapon in your hands. It coincides with the moment that a sense of clarity washes over you, beckoning you to recall your mission. To remember—

This man isn't Alkaid.

"Oh." Your heart flutters strangely. You want to claw it out too. "The monster."

Alkaid is dead, after all.

"Yes," the monster agrees.

The dagger plunges into his heart.

AN ORDINARY MAN WOULD KEEL over from the pain. The monster only grunts. You might as well compare it to bumping into the furniture by accident, with the way he seems so unfazed.

His gloved hand climbs down to your clenched fist, as if hoping to wrench the dagger away from your fingers. He is a monster and your Alkaid was not—that is what makes the difference between living and dying.

"You didn't die," you note, disappointment plainly evident in your tone. "Did you know?"

Did you know this would happen when you gave me this dagger?

"I'm difficult to kill," he responds flatly.

You wonder who the scorn in his voice is directed to. His gaze seems distant—which one of your predecessors is he thinking of? But you've never learned to tell the difference, so it's not as though the answer would make any sense to you.

"Unlike Alkaid?"

The monster remains silent. It only infuriates you more.

"I hate you," you spit out. Tears well up in your eyes, though for what reason, you're not sure. "I'm sure they all hated you too."

Anger briefly flashes across his bright green eyes. Instinctively, you pull your hand away, pulling the dagger along with you. Blood drips onto your nightgown, dying its white fabric a bright red.

Beyond an sharp inhale, the monster's expression remains unchanged. You're almost surprised at how easily he lets go of your hand, at only the slightest show of resistance.

"I know they did," he says, eyeing the new stain on your dress. You don't want to put a name to the emotion on his face. A monster like that doesn't deserve it. "They all told me as much."

You fill in the blanks yourself. Before they died. But they must've been the same as the monster when they died—that is why he refrained from performing that particular act with you. That is why the blemishes on your skin have nothing to do with any sort of traditional violence.

He hates it when you're hurt.

"And how did they die?"

He doesn't care enough to see that you're past that point.

He looks haunted. "That's not something I want to tell you."

A spiteful part of you delights in watching his expression. It wonders how much more his face will crumple when you meet the same fate. Dying is the only part of your gambit that was guaranteed to work out flawlessly in the end—the only time you've ever tried to trust the monster sitting in his coffin.

(I will turn you only if you truly desire it.

...I don't believe you.

Do as you please. I will hold onto my word regardless.)

The dagger is still in your hand. You pull it away from the monster's reach and nod almost imperceptibly. You cannot kill him because you do not know how.

But you are not beholden to the same laws of nature as him.

"And you won't tell me where to find whatever it is that killed them either?" you ask, though you know it's useless to ask.

For you, it is either death or a life spent with the very monster that stole your lover away. You will remember nothing of this conversation, nor of the pain you went through when you awaken once again. And you will go through the same pain and suffering, all the while cursing your predecessors for not taking care of what should be their mistake.

But you can still meet your beloved.

You want to meet your beloved.

"You have no need for such a thing," he says, with your name on his lips.

That is enough for you.

HIS EYES ARE GREEN JUST like Alkaid's. It's something you've noticed before.

As the dagger pierces your flesh, they widen in horror. You can't feel much of anything—if your hands were not holding onto its hilt, you wouldn't know you'd been stabbed.

There's an odd expression on the monster's face. Pained and familiar. It reminds you of the time you tripped over your own two feet, leaving you with scraped knees and elbows, and your dinner for the night littered across the ground.

You'd left Alkaid behind in a hurry, the siren's call of a warm meal too difficult to resist, and he hadn't been quick enough to catch you.

But the man in front of you is not the man you love.

Your lips pull into a faint smile regardless.

You're not sure why.

THE HANDS THAT WRAP AROUND are so terribly cold. You know for certain they belong to the monster. His tears drip down onto your cheek and you're surprised to learn that he can cry. But the blood on your hands, on the dagger lodged into your stomach, is sticky and warm.

Your neck remains untouched. His previous words echo through your mind—a man can only watch the woman he loves die so many times, after all.

You think you might pity him.

That is, before the memory of his confession, of the way he killed your love, leaves you with nothing but fury coursing through your veins.

You think you curse him.

You think he welcomes it.

#fics by aya #lovebrush chronicles #lovebrush chronicles x reader #for all time #for all time x reader #alkaid mcgrath #alkaid mcgrath x reader #lbc alkaid #lbc alkaid x reader #lovebrush alkaid #lovebrush alkaid x reader #rambles from here on -> #looking up card arts and guessing what's going on seems like a very productive use of my time #i already have a second alkaid card in mind (it's wedding unascended) #but i don't know what the plot is even though ik i want it to be witch!alkaid+reunion #some kind of friends to strangers deal like my mind is saying time travel shenanigans waking up 10 years in the future #also have something for ayn but it's more mundane “oops accidentally got married and now we have to live together” #or something along those lines—there was another card where he was the most beautiful man alive but #idk how to translate that into plot #im thinking late night return from a trip turns into a proposal from mc or something—he was REALLY beautiful #that or idol boyfriend shows up at 3 am at your door for some godforsaken reason and it's still a proposal #also for some reason i really love alkaid and white roses...which—fair enough

[clover-46]

the writers on here making the miguel fics need to remember his fangs inject paralytic venom hes not a real vampire it was just a joke in the movie 😭

oh but i still want him to bite me don’t get me wrong idgaf if they have venom 🤷🏾‍♀️🤷🏾‍♀️

#the copious amounts of smut i’ve seen with this man and the fangs is crazy #y’all need to tone it DOWN wheres the fluff omg?? #there’s like so many smut x reader fics clogging the miguel o’hara tag and people can express their creative liberties or whatever but it’s #getting CRAZY #like why is almost nobody talking about his character and writing an analysis on him #AND WHY ARE SO MANY FICS WRITING HIM TO BE SOME FERAL AND MEAN BEAST #firstly it’s feels racist to write a brown latino man that way. #second it feels fetishiz-y with how people only sexualize the fuck outta him and talk about nothing else when it comes to him #to add onto that people are drawing him with a MUZZLE on #at first all this didn’t really register in my head as bad but after seeing so much i see it 😭 #also some spanish speakers have said people are using incorrect spanish when writing dialogue for him and thats kinda funny #don’t use google translate please 💀 #miguel o’ hara #spiderman 2099 #across the spiderverse #i also saw someone say miguel would not be a good partner or something and i just know you didn’t pay attention #and i wont go into why because its spoilers but we have seen him be soft and happy with someone he cares about it’s just trauma that has #made him mean and depressed #he was obviously projecting onto miles in the movie when he acted like that let’s be fr #why am i writing a novel down here idk i just wanted to talk about it a little #i love the smut (trust me) but pleaaseee don’t start being fetishize-y

[sonicunleash]

society if the dungeon meshi anime actually had texture and kept ryoko kui's personality in the artstyle instead of doing generic thin-lined flat colors flat shading streamlined anime face style. i know ppl have mixed opinions on some of these examples but i reallyyyy wished they went stronger on the mangas artstyle like say haikyuu season 4 and demonslayer did.

like i think heavier shading and use of lineweight and black shading would already do a lot for the texture... more frequent use of that nose shading ryuko kui uses a lot, like here? ALSO BRO THEY GOT RID OF LAIOS' UNDERCUT like okay tbf in some of the colored manga references he doesnt have that but also how else do you interpret his hair in this panel

anyways in general just throwing in some more hatching like using it more common as an art style for texture instead of just roughed up clothes/appearance would do some wonders. also softening the palettes i feel like theyve made things too dark and idk how to explain it its like they filmed the manga through a samsung camera

disclaimer i know most of these changes would cost more money and time and effort to do. the solution to most of this would probably just be to give them a bigger budget

#tbh though i didnt even care that much for the very painterly styled intro either though. its a better display of animation talent but #i feel like the tone and artstyle are very generic for the genre #and misunderstand the like... vibe that dungeon meshi is supposed to have #everything about the animes execution feels too generic tbh. like the ppl directing it themselves dont actually know #what the stories about and its themes and where things are gonna go theyre just #directly translating what they see in the present chapter straight to animated form while cutting as many corners to #fit into the episode window as they can. and to fit in the overly long cooking segment #but i feel like if they actually knew the manga they were recreating well they would know stuff like #marcille fighting namari and shuro on staying to save falin is very important characterization to be cutting out #idk. i now understand how why manga readers act the way they do about almost every anime adaptation ever

[unraveling-plot]

I'm thinking about gender in ORV, which is always a dangerous game

#orv #orv spoilers but sometimes i think about the fact that yoo sangah ended the novel in a body that belonged to a man when he was alive #and no attention is called to it- shes just yoo sangah #and comparing with how jang hayoung and nirvana are treated by the narrative but also different translations #and now the side story with all the different gender body swaps #i find the absolute lack of consistency interesting #thinking about the motivations of how different characters get gendered by the author/translator/narrator #and more how they get misgendered #like with kyung sein whose original name i am struggling to find #iirc takes being referred to with a different name and she/her in stride #and most of the readers go by different names and are trying to act as the people they appear to be #and gender is just another thing like height and age that's different now #idk. I'm thinking about it

[unfortunate--moth]

what if i somehow modge podged my two hyperfixations (rain code and milgram) together. what if i did that. Probably won't make a fanfic but I have ideas I could share to the world. maybe i'll write them out and post them late.r..

#rain code #milgram #moth speaks #happy double day btw I cant watch it yet #gonna scream and cry and vomit #just thought about if I make rain code as milgram into a fic #i could do a fun thing where readers can vote like for milgram at the end of chapters #that'd be cool but also im already writing a long fic #also idk how i would translate songs into fanfic.

[muninnhuginn]

using the spy x family anime vs manga translations of examples of translation vs localisation

#spy x family #by this I mean the fact that the anime is as far as I can tell a decent translation #however! #the manga actively chooses to adapt certain lines (usually jokes/gags) so that they make more sense to English readers #rather than simply being literal translations. and I feel that this approach massively increases enjoyment for English readers #(examples: 'plosives' + 'you always want to use the c4' in bond arc and 'swole chihuahua' in yuri study chapter) #I understand that people don't want the meaning to be altered from the original language but the thing is #especially with gags/jokes that aren't going to be plot-relevant it seems fair to me to go much more with the spirit of the joke #rather than the specific meaning #and tbh. whilst some of it may be luck I think it does say something that the choices by the manga TLer hold up when those jokes return #(although again I want to reiterate the anime TL is still good and makes sure to adapt anya's speech etc #it's possible they're not able to easily reuse the manga TL's choices because of legal reasons or sth idk #but I do think the manga TL is a v good example of localisation done well #and as a non jp speaker the anime keyed me into just how good the manga translation was by the points of contrast?) #(also just looked it up and sxf manga translator appears to be Casey Loe so shout out to them ig) #(queueing this so I can jumpscare myself about having posted Opinions on the internet)

[mejomonster]

i still think about that post that mentioned different levels of reading comprehension... i’m going to look for it to reblog again...

just like. i don’t usually think of adult reading comprehension in ‘levels’. i tend to assume ‘oh everyone can understand when a narration is emotional, its biased and implying information about the narrator’s emotions and biases and is not necessarily reliable’ and don’t realize some people comprehend a bit less, just the face value of ‘narration says X is disgusting, so X is, narrator says Y is true so its true’ and interpret texts based on that. and some comprehend less than that, not noticing there’s even an emotional overtone anywhere, and the writing says X so X is simply true. 

A lot of these skills get taught to some degree in school, when english classes made us do literary analysis of texts. And perhaps more important since it involves factual information, when school would make us evaluate sources for our essays and figure out what bias writers have and evaluate which part of articles is writer’s opinion and which part is actual facts. Critical reading skills we need to determine if something is an ad trying to convince us of something or an informational update, to determine if something is trying to manipulate us, to determine if the information portion we read is backed up by other sources or likely not actually true, to determine the biases of all informational media we consume (because even simple stock updates and history books all have some tinge of the biases of the writer/presenter). These skills help keep us safe on the internet, help us look for information to make decisions, help us recognize when we are being manipulated, recognize various media’s goals toward convincing us of things and still being able to sort through for the facts connected. For example when there is a shooting at X with Y people injured, that’s a fact, and then everything the reporters say beyond that about ways it could be prevented/shouldn’t have happened is their opinion, and how the words they use to describe the facts themselves like if ‘kid’ or ‘criminal’ is used to describe the shooter and what words describe the police and victims etc all are still used to push the writer’s opinion.

I would like to hope, since figuring out facts versus opinions is such a vital skill for simple online safety (from malicious ads, propaganda, dangerous groups) and for simple real life safety (figuring out if a recall for food happened, figuring out if a location in the state is currently unsafe to travel to), that hopefully most people learned that ability to discern. I also realize now that I’m older, how useful that skill is, and how I still have more to learn and practice in being able to do it. 

Well, that skill is vital in discerning fact versus opinion of nonfiction and opinion media. But it’s also a skill needed to understand stories, fiction, and again it just. Surprises me how its not actually a given that readers who find something, watchers who find something, will actually have the full ability to discern the intent and meanings that a creator put into something. 

#rant #i just. idk i think about this and get how people see something like #idk old school Xmen and DONT see how its allegory calling out conservatives making discriminatory laws #i think about this and it explains so much about how media especially perhaps media widely engaged with and #engaged with a younger audience. can get misunderstood. #a person without this skill cant tell rage against the machine isnt actually about hating technology #a person without this skill cant watch Not Me and get that Sean is like he is because of his traumatic upbringing #and that Sean grows and does not start perfect. #a person without this skill may read an mxtx work like svsss and not GET that its satire making fun of and making POINTS about the genre its #referencing. get that its commenting on the black lotus character type. the overpowered harem novel stories. and commenting on webnovel #culture's toxic traits in general. #mxtx fandom sometimes has infighting thats like X is good but Y is bad. and all is by same author #and sometimes i think some of it is a reading comprehension difference depending on different readers #like. even just understanding 'this is a translation. its unlikely to perfectly communicate the original texts intent/style/meaning' is #not always thought about or considered #it always shocks me to remember such a simple thing. #that of course not all people have reading comprehension to the same degree. #because i usually read stuff that requires a high comprehension of whats implied and NOT on the page directly stated. #because even in chinese and french i am so used to looking at that level that i practice doing it in my other languages too #even before i could read perfect. the idea of not noticing the authors style and how it affects their effect/meaning/point #how what tropes they pick and what biases they put in the narration TELL you things. how the things they omit TELL you things. #i guess tldr: if you wonder why ppl dont get a point in media you get? maybe they just are not comprehending that layer #and its always good for all of us to practice critical reading skills #because even when we think we know how to do it. there's real life spheres like news and ads #where their goal is to hide the intent layer of their content. and its important for us to still be able to determine their intent.

[layzeal]

hmm, everyone knows i'm a teen wangxian enthusiast and i love coming up with AUs for them and all that, but if we're talking about actual canon, i think my unpopular opinion would be that i.... really really don't think wei wuxian liked lwj "that way" in his first life

#and i think the way people eill soread it as fanon that wwx was in love with lwj since he was 15 #is just sorta setting up new readers for disappointment #because wwx rly does think lwj is funny and amusing. but i've read the flashback sections so many times and I really really can't see it #especially when we have post-timeskip to compare to. when we DO see how wwx acts when he's falling in love #and if we're talking about authorial intent (which u can take it as gospel or ignore it completely. idrc about it personally) #the novel is tagged as “单向暗恋-双向暗恋感情” on jjwxc #which translates to something like ''one way secret love to two way secret love'' #or basically ''unrequited pining to mutual pining'" #idk !! this is my own personal interpretation nd ofc ppl are free to interpret what they want but #i just don't /see/ it. to me wwx was not romantically interested on lwj in any point of their first life #i just can't see any sort of desire the way we see later on. and i've tried!! #like. he thinks he's really pretty and all. but wwx thinks almost everyone is pretty skdhsjdh EVEN JIN ZIXUN #he's a guy with an eye for beautiful things. and Iz happens to be a very beautiful thing #but to use that alone as a ''he was in love with him since the beginning''? idk i always feel like it's such a stretch #modao #lace speaks

[royalberryriku]

I'm not very far through it, but 'The Library of Broken Worlds' by Alaya Dawn Johnson is delightfully new and inspiring.

Maybe this is a little pessimistic to say, but I always figured that most stories have already been told to some degree, in the sense that we will all inevitably write using a pre-existing archetype in world building regardless of if we intend to, and only different variations on these archetypes were left to tell, but this book is proving me wrong left and right; showing a world that is so thoroughly unique and beautiful in its creativity and world building that I can't help but reevaluate that mentality. I have yet to know more of the story or the overall theme, but so far this book has proven to be wonderfully delightful in its handling of a whole new and distant world and incredibly original. It's written in such a compelling way that reveals its lore and rules spectacularly and uses a very unique method of writing that, while has been done before, feels fresh in its delivery. It's one thing to tell a story, but another to tell it to a god. I highly recommend it even if I'm only going from the first one and a half chapters; that was all it took for this book to blow me away.

#alaya dawn johnson #the library of broken worlds #I need to get into more of her(?) novels and short stories #what an incredible writer to be able to reveal such a refreshing new world in a way that is understandable and coherent to the audience #it's such a remarkable skill to be able to go down the show as is route rather than conveniently translate #which isn't to say the latter is at all bad in fact I love it and it's very helpful #but it's an amazing skill to be ABLE TO show a world and its rules without using translation and simply SHOWING a world so different to ours #it's actually very effective in showing readers how little we know and much more we can learn of a new culture and world(s) #it's so interesting and compelling #idk how to even word this in a way that gives it justice #but it's just so good #actually tangent but it's part of why I love the writing done by some friends of mine who do similar things #esp when they incorporate old folklore into fantasy and sci fi?? Like esp from their own cultures and incorperate it I love that sm #Amd the way they disgard translation to SHOW that culture in its beauty rather than try to water it down?? I love that so much #And it just takes a really skillful writer to be able to pull people in who don't understand or may even refuse to leave what they know #That's such a wonderful skill and I will always love it when a writer takes us from what we're used to into what we don't #and what we SHOULD learn if only we had the courage to leave the comfort of what we know and understand #Anyway yeah don't mind me I'm jusy gushing again

[britishchick09]

this thing rewrite christine and nadir say to each other throughout the story is really sweet...

but christine's part kind of wouldn't work in her native french? 😅

#whoopsies... #it's such a sweet exchange though! #christine and nadir sharing each other's language! :) #the last 'good night' is mostly for english readers who aren't as familiar with 'bonne nuit' #but christine would be extremely familiar with that! #so... idk how to fix it! #maybe i'll leave it for the sake of english people and let a translator figure out the french stuff! ;) #also the rewrite in french tho! ;D

[anantaru]

can i have some sunday headcanons, if you are okey with that?

⊹ ‧₊˚ ᰔ synopsis. spicy sunday headcanons that live rent free in my head, cw. idk just horny, messy, pussy eating, all that stuff and i almost forgot: he has a fat cock, fem! reader // ꒰ᐢ⸝⸝⸝⸝ᐢ꒱ ♡

sunday catches himself day dreaming a lot, and it's mostly poles apart from what he's usually preferring in the bedroom— by all means, it's nothing too out of the ordinary, but the man had developed a strong liking towards trying out new discovered kinks between you two.

to sunday, the most important entity of trying out new kinks was your comfort, he loves and respects you, and he wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable in any way. in fact, before you dabbled through those new twists, you both agreed on a safe word to keep you from crossing each others boundaries.

alas, exploring them along with how well he would fuck you only added to the arousing press inside your belly. sunday wants to taste you absolutely everywhere until his senses were occupied by nothing but your scent and flavor— to trace the flat of his tongue between your fat folds until your skin was hot and quivering, your hands clenching in his hair and you're begging, hoping he'd push you over the edge until you come and come and come against his wet muscle playing with your clit.

you should tug his hair more often too, or even better, stroke over his wings with your digits until sunday gets aroused by it.

to elaborate further, the moment you begin to subtly squeeze and tug on the feathers, he could never recover from the loss of your hands against them, it's as if the man had grown addicted to you battering your palms across his wings that he never wanted it to end.

he slurrs his words as he kisses your clit before silently licking across your belly, slow huffs and ragged groans along with the laps of his tongue crossing your entire body.

he assured you he's going to taste you everywhere, didn't he? after all, he'll give you anything you want— like the pleasure you deserve.

shortly after, he settles between your legs and slowly fills you to the brim, adding inch after inch until his erection was snugly compressed by your walls, the thickness of his shaft pressing down on your nerves and making you feel like you're flying rapidly without moving.

at last, sunday finds your lips and grinds himself into your warm core, your breasts crushed against his chest as he thrusts into you before bringing your knees up so he could press them against your chest.

the man was beginning to shift his weight to pin your hips with the weight of his body, before applying a brief kiss to the inside of your knee as you look at him in awe, head lolled to the side with your eyes glowing clear and wide.

you cannot stop yourself from admiring your boyfriend, and neither could your body get used to his erection crushing your insides— turning your skin hot, warm, cold, quivering, searing, until your bodies touch and stick together like burgeons of fire. your pussy lips swollen up and your eyes soused in a haze as sunday smiles at you lazily from above, lovingly patting your head;

"you're holding up great, my dearest,"

..."i'm so proud of you."

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

#hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr smut #honkai star rail smut #sunday x reader #sunday smut #hsr x you #honkai star rail x you #sunday x you

[mattyriddlesbitch]

Theodore Nott talking dirty in Italian to fem reader who doesn’t know Italian but finds it super hot, with a smutty ending?

Yes! I love this idea. I think he'd love it a lot if you didn't speak Italian, just so he could tease you more. Also, I used google translate, so idk how accurate it is, but hopefully it works.

Dirty Talking

Theodore Nott x F!Reader

Warnings: Oral(Male receiving), cussing, unprotected sex, creampie.

18+ Minors DNI!

You always loved when your boyfriend would talk in Italian. Something about the way it sounded and rolled off of his tongue just did something to you. He could be saying anything in Italian and you’d want him to just take you right there as he kept talking.

And Theo noticed. He wasn’t stupid. He saw the way you would blush ever so slightly and press your thighs together. He just never said anything because he liked watching your reactions and he knew you’d try to stop your reactions if he mentioned them.

But when he was arguing with Draco about the quidditch practice as you all were heading back up to the castle, he slipped into Italian as he cursed him out. You suddenly got flustered and blushed. Theo noticed this, forgetting about the argument with Draco as he waved him off, dragging you away into a broom closet. He was frustrated and needed a release and he could tell you were turned on.

“Theo, what are you doing?” You asked as he closed the door behind you two.

“Ti scoperò.” He said into your ear as he pushed you against the wall, pressing kisses down your neck.

“Wait, what?” You asked, your brain trying to catch up with his actions as he spoke Italian.

“Ti scoperò. Sii buono con me.” He said before kissing you. It was rough, a hand in your hair and another on your waist. He pulled back and pushed you onto your knees, undoing his pants. “Così bello.”

“I don’t know what you’re saying.” You said, but you could feel how wet you were becoming.

“You love it, though, don’t you, cara mia.” He smiled down at you as he pulled out his cock. “Aprire.” He said as he tapped his tip on your lips as he grabbed your hair.

You had no idea what he was saying, but you opened your mouth and he pushed your head down his cock until you gagged. He let out such a hot moan before guiding your head up and down his cock, tears building in your eyes as you held onto his thighs.

“Così dannatamente sporco. Look at what you do to me, principessa.” He moaned. “Mi prendi così bene.”

God, his fucking deep voice with those words. You didn’t even care what he was saying, it just sounded so good, so filthy to you.

“Merda. You’re so fucking good to me.” He said before pulling out of your mouth and up off the floor. He pushed down your panties before turning you around to press your front against the wall. “You’re so fucking wet from me talking in Italian, huh?” He slipped his fingers through your folds, feeling how soaked you were.

“Yes, fuck! Yes, it’s so good.” You moaned.

“Così sporco.” He said before removing his fingers and teasing your folds with his cock. “You want me to fill you up, mi amore?”

“Yes, please!”

“Who knew a little Italian would get you all slutty for my cock.” He teased before thrusting into you. He covered your mouth before you could make a sound. “Stai zitto. You want everyone to hear?”

He started thrusting, using his free hand to wrap around your front, holding you closer to him. You were moaning and crying out into his hand, your hands holding onto the wall for support.

“Così buono. You’re taking me so well.” He said quietly in your ear before kissing your neck. His chest was pressed against your back, trapping you against the wall as he kept fucking into you. “Do you wanna cum, principessa?”

You nodded against his hand, moans only getting louder as he angled his hips slightly to hit that spot that makes you see stars.

“Sei così avido. Sei così sporco. Lo adoro.” He said, moving his hand that’s wrapped around you to play with your clit. The combination of his dick inside you, him playing with your clit, and the Italian were enough to have you cumming in mere moments, trembling and crying out into his hand. “Brava ragazza. Good fucking girl.” He praised, helping you ride out your orgasm. “You gonna be a good girl and let me cum in you?” He asked as his thrusts sped up, chasing his own orgasm. You nodded against his hand again, whining and whimpering as he overstimulated you. He cussed as he came, slipped between English and Italian as he moaned in your ear, filling your pussy with his cum. He removed his hand from your mouth and pulled out, slipping your panties back up with a smile as he kissed your cheek. “Guess I found another weakness, huh, cara mia?” He teased.

#slytherin boys #slytherin boys x reader #slytherin boys smut #thedore nott x reader #theodore nott #theodore nott smut #theodore nott x reader smut