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samodivaa · 7 months

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Training Techniques

Winter Soldier x Reader He is not allowed to move an inch—he can only watch you pleasure yourself—but why is there a ring on your finger?

Warnings - smut, light angst, mastrubation(f), rough sex, choking, breeding kink Words - 2600 ⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄ You have absolutely no pleasure in the work in which you sometimes so madly indulge—training the assets with delicacy of words with which their handlers don’t approve of—Soldat is your favorite, with his expression of endless and unconditional gratitude and a silent promise of complicity unto death—he may not remember your face, but he always remembers your voice, its' gentleness. The soporific air of your room, in the soft breath of bread and sweets—he was sent there, because he was misbehaving again.

It has not been in the pursuit of pleasure that you have periled this life and reputation—but here you are—on your bed trying to sleep when you see him sitting on the chair, waiting. And this isn't a romance. You're not a damsel in distress and he is not the handsome prince who comes to save you—this is his desperate attempt to escape from torturing memories, from a sense of insupportable loneliness and a dread of the impending doom, but they didn’t know that.

You know.

He can't stop looking at you—Soldat is gazing at a distant star. It's dazzling, but the light is from tens of thousands of years ago, because he is not allowed to move until you instruct him to.

Subconsciously, he licks his lips at the sight at your body in a night dress and wonder if he will ever just cum in your mouth as you suck him off to your knees…or if he’ll take you by the hair before he’s finished and fuck you into a sobbing heap before blowing his load. It doesn’t seem worth the risk —but he wanted this for so long now, he needs to voice it.

“Please-” —an irrational and indulgent mistake. you stand up on your elbows in shock at the word he utters—his eyes drift leisurely back up to your face and his lips twitch. Soldat has fallen into a state of feverish lust, but that is not a justification for his disobedience. His heart goes into a shameless delirium when your eyes meet. “Desperate?” you mock, but underneath the mockery Soldat finds a reservoir of understanding. You lay back on the bed as nothing has happened, and your voice takes on a restful strength “I still need to punish you for that, Winter” He behaves as naturally, with such discretion, that he does not lose his composure, not even when you remove your wedding ring—who committed the impertinence of marrying you? He goes through a crisis of disappointment, fury, jealousy, but this is your way of giving Soldat a layer of respect—he wants to call it loyalty. And maybe you can be his or maybe you will be entwined in this sexless foreplay tonight.

He wants to ask so many questions, but he can’t. Not now. There is a pent-up curiosity, hysteria of his unsatisfied needs, unnaturally suppressed communion and also a kind of tense respect, because if he is obedient enough—he will be rewarded.

“You will watch me, that's all you will do for now” you say, your voice has sunk to a whisper. Your words stoke a warmness in his stomach, a fire in his crotch. And he doesn’t care what you will do with him—even if you want to cut him, sharpen him however you please—that's all he knows anyways. He wants this memory to stay what it is, one intense moment, something that is strong and sweet enough to stand on its own. Your room has turned into an idyllic paradise for a good many years, your skin glistening in the light coming from the slits in the blinds as your hands play with your breast through the nightgown. He has lost his voice and a thread of cold sweat runs down the path of his spine, suffocating with heat, because of the black leather clothes—the stiff collar and the tight harness that is restricting his breathing, is becoming increasingly annoying.

His eyes are growing moist with indignation, with angry impotence, and for the first time, he is barely controlling himself. It is the natural sequel of an unnatural beginning—he needs to be patient, but it’s hard—not harder than his cock—It's more erotic, more intense to watch you touch yourself. He is master of what he does, but never of what he desires. You are greatly overestimating his self-control. But this is what you are testing tonight—his ability to subordinate the impulse to fuck you. Self-control might be as passionate and as active as the surrender to passion, but you need to show him who is in charge while your panties are becoming steadily slicker. All you need to do is to tell him to come, but you refrain from doing the thing you want so badly—to be consumed by Winter. You glance up to find his eyes blazing with raw need—blue orbits pleading for you to command him. You spread your legs open, positioning yourself in front of him—one hand still toying with your nipple while the fingers of the other hook in your panties and drag them down your legs slowly before throwing them in his direction. His breath stutters as they land on his left boot and Soldat eyes them wickedly, knowing that all he can do is watch.

"Good, very good, Soldat '' you coo, sliding two fingers into your core, scissoring and stretching, curling over the one sweet spot—imagining his metal digits. You remove them as your index finger takes their place, rubbing slow, torturous circles on your clit, sliding down to tease your opening, then back up. Over and over again.

He slides his tongue across his teeth, remembering the taste of your nectar, becoming more and more aroused with every beat of his heart that runs down his shaft.

“I want you so much, gosh” he is stirred by the lust in your smooth voice. You are breathing deep with your mouth wide open—he doesn’t blink, he doesn’t dare blink. Soldat can swear he feels the pressure of your palms on his cheeks—or is it a memory? Everything is a memory to him. “I want you here, fucking me” There is something raw and pleading in your voice that surpasses sexual desire, these fleeting moments of carnal craving.

With the auspicious attention of a strained killing machine, he examines your fingers, your shivering body and listens to your muffled moans meticulously. It is such a tumultuous and intemperate invasion to his mind—your scandalous behavior is pulling at every string of his nerves and self-control.

It is such a prolonged act, so meticulous, so rich in all aspects as you are giving yourself over to the deserved adoration of your own body and pleasure. It leaves Soldat breathless at the tremendous spectacle of your nudity and lack of shame as you bring yourself closer to the edge.

“Jesus-I am so close” You confess, surprised at how fast the arousal is budding. You arch your back and hips buckle like an electric current runs through your body, moaning, rubbing your clit faster, forcing yourself to let out a louder moan. The orgasm wrecks your body from head to toe and being watched by a ferocious male is exciting—all he needs is a feeling as primitive and as simple as that of love.

You see his eyes, still unblinking and you feel menaced by some invisible danger—you are keenly aware of every movement, every breath you take. Lust is a weed that grows in the vacant lots of an abandoned mind and the stacks of bad words that you have been forced to swallow, spills “Soldat, come here” you command, languid and serious.

You lick your lips, trying to quench the thirst for him. Your throat is dry as you watch him between your spread legs, getting up and slowly coming towards the bed as his thick, black pants fall to the floor around his feet, the belt clattering noisily. Winter craws on top of you and he cannot articulate a word, capable only of an animal sound, a strangulated wheeze that shocks him deeply, enraging him, this sudden loss of the faculty of speech that feels somehow bestial and forgotten. He breathes, his chest rising and falling so close to yours.

“Kiss m-” you whisper the words, and before you even finish saying them, his mouth is on yours and you are melting under his lips, eyes flutter shut—and it is blissful oblivion—giving you the most intense and explosive kiss you two have ever shared. With the coldness of his lips and the warmth of his tongue beneath yours, you vow an endless bliss. He pulls back with a groan—Winter’s sky-blue eyes stare back into yours, and in his eyes you can see no parting from you. You put your hands on either side of his face, and the room falls away. You have never gotten so lost in a kiss before. And the kiss is not gentle. It is a wrestle of who would lead the excursion into the territory of passion and ecstasy, heat and unending craving for one another. You suck on his lower lip between your teeth and he lets out a low groan. It sounds almost aggravated and definitely impatient. Fire looks into his quiet eyes, touches his dear, familiar face—you lean upwards for a moment and dip your head towards his ear, grazing his soft skin with your teeth, while your hand slides to the harness. Soldat stills, angling his mouth towards your bare, perfect neck. You feel a warm slickness on your skin, his tongue trailing a path towards your shoulder.

It is a wild, animalistic compulsion, an urgent need as he suddenly slots himself between your legs and you turn your head away. Your fear is returning, crawling through your limbs and leaving you numb to everything. You shut your eyes, gripping the sheets, and whimper when he pushes himself inside you. He releases a ragged breath before moving, slow but with purpose, and you simply take it with soft whimpers and gasps as he pumps in and out of you, now starting to set a steady pace. His eyes, the blue completely gone from his them, soften for a moment and he kisses you tenderly before he whispers in your ear, his breath puffs against your skin. He spends a good amount of time on your neck, a brief stop at the base of your throat—he wants to bite you, but he can’t—something melts inside Soldat that hurts in an exquisite way—you are not his. “Who did you marry, Snow White?” He asks, voice throbbing with menace—before slipping inside you again and burying himself to the hilt. Sex with you this time is different, he has never felt this dominant, this claiming. He is so far in that his balls are right against your lips. You arch your back and moan “It doesn’t matter” as he slides back out nearly all the way before slamming into you hard and fast. You wrap your legs around his waist as he slams into you over and over, the only sound in the room is the skin slapping. You close your eyes and swallow. Your mouth parts and stills—your voice is barely a whisper as his tip touches your cervix. “Pierce…I am closer to ruining his plans, closer to freeing you” Despite your eyelids being tightly shut, a single, hot tear runs out of your eye. You are so angry that it has escaped—so angry—he stops his trusts completely. You moan as you feel his movement out of you. Then, as he almost has the tip fully out, he slaps it back in. When your eyes meet his gaze as you are sitting here staring at each other, time stops. Your fingertips reach to trace the metal shoulder, but he grasps your hand with his own. He leans down, far enough that the ends of his hair brush feather-light against your face, catching in your lashes and tears.

His breath, warm and measured, hits your cheek. Two breaths. Three. Then you stop breathing, and a second later, you feel his lips on your mouth. It is hungry, desperate. His metal hand wraps around your neck, thumb presses into the skin—you moan, it ripples over your nerve endings. His breath caresses your ear again—his grip on your neck tightens. And this makes you always still and submit…the act of Winter taking shameful, contemptuous possession of you is the kind of rapture you want.

“Next time-” you try, but with your restricted of oxygen brain, you are not able to. He tastes passion. He tastes lust. He tastes his power over you. He tastes a world of stimulants he’d never imagined. You are right there in front of him, he can do whatever he wants. Winter loosens his hold—only to observe you as you breathe raggedly, sliding down slowly, a moan ripping from your throat.

“Next time he calls you in his house, I will be there, too”

I have nothing to give but my heart so full and these empty hands.

“I need to kill them one by one, Winter” His mouth curves into a smile—his eyes are light blue and dancing with life. He pauses for only a fraction of a second. Then he leans forward and presses his lips to yours "Okay, yeah, yeah" a devil-soft whisper. He blinks several times like he is trying to comprehend your plan word by word. His trusts become so hormonal—you want his roughness. His other hand slips to your waist, pushing you into the mattress as he fucks you. For him, sex intimately relates to the most primitive kind of human contact, which can satisfy all of his needs he has been deprived from. "Winter " you gaspe breathlessly "Slow down" You try to let out a choked squeal, but his metal hand tightens around your neck again, muffling any sounds, your toes curling as he brings you steadily closer and closer to orgasm, reeling from the thrill and the fear from both his forceful thrusts of his powerful hips and the choking. Soldat is unrelenting in his domination of your body. But you are his at this moment, your cunt clenching around him while you mewls and grunts fill his ears, he can’t slow down even one bit. Logic would say that this is insane, every other fibre of his being says it's right—he has to fill you up. You can't move. You can't breathe. And his pace. And the adrenaline. “I will cum inside—dear Snow White” This is his demarcation line, all of a sudden it seems unfair to withhold it from you. Your inner muscles tighten as waves of pleasure start to build and ripple out. You don’t normally get off this fast, but you are lost in the exquisite sensations—you put your hands on his metal arm as your body bursts into flames, your fingers curling into the metal. You can’t make a sound and it is a shame, because it is the best orgasm you ever had. It is unbearable, unreal, unimaginable—it is too much as your eyes can only see darkness due to the choking. You can only hear a broken and hoarse cry escaping his lips, his warm come filling you up completely.

You can hear his breath, as your vision slowly becomes solid—a stray lock of dark hair falls into his eyes as he is looking down—he moves his hips back and then into you again, enjoying his cock being in a tub of cum, swimming in your honey.

#I WAS POSSESSED #but this is real #metal arm kink fr #winter soldier x you #winter soldier smut #winter soldier imagine #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier fic #winter soldier fanfiction #smut #slight angst #bucky smut #bucky barnes smut #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #marvel x reader #bucky barnes imagine

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farfromstrange · 2 months

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I Want To Fuck A Priest | Matt Murdock x AFAB!Reader

PART 6 of The Vault

See this post for more information on my Valentine's Day Special & Follower Celebration, but these fics can be read separately!

Pairing: Matt Murdock x AFAB!Reader

Summary: You have a thing for the priest you met at a farmer's market. Thankfully, he has a thing for you, too.

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), porn without much plot, Priest!Matt, blasphemy (!!!), church setting, improper use of a priest's collar, improper use of a confessional booth, improper use of the act of confession, praise, prayer, oral afab!receiving, slight Dom!Matt, Catholic guilt, Fleabag reference, seriously if you are religious or triggered by the improper use of religion DO NOT read this!

Word Count: 2.8k

A/n: This is for those who watched Fleabag and then saw all the 'Imagine Matt as a priest' and 'Charlie Cox once played a Spanish priest' posts and thought, "Same!" when Fleabag said, "I want to fuck a priest." I see you, and I feel you. I wrote this after re-watching Fleabag one night, but I added a little poetic twist while editing because before, it was just completely plotless oral sex. While that isn't bad, I needed to add some vibes. You're welcome.

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.

The church bells ring as the clock strikes midnight. The night sky is void of dark clouds. In the darkness above the massive walls encasing the holy ground, the stars shine brighter than the city lights. New York City, the city that never sleeps, makes an exception for the house of God in the dead of the night, it seems.

It’s been…several years since my last confession.

The graveyard attached to the church looks threatening in its vacancy. It’s void of human souls except for the dead ones buried there. A raven claps its wings in the distance, following the gush of wind that brushes through the trees.

The bell rings twelve times before it stops, but the echo bounces off the stone walls and shakes the stained-glass windows, which seems to drag on for an eternity.

The last time I confessed my sins was before my communion. I don’t know if that makes me a bad Catholic, but lately, I’ve been having sinful thoughts, and I need to get them out of the way before I collapse under the weight of them.

You considered for the longest time whether or not you should come here. Faith has been your enemy for the longest time. You don’t believe in the Catholic Church, and yet you have found your way here, in the middle of the night, when everyone should be asleep in their beds.

This isn’t a normal night, by any means. You often lay awake at night and question your purpose in this life, but lately, you’ve been feeling like you’re drowning. Sins are subjective, and you never paid much mind to the term until now.

The thoughts you find yourself having late at night when you’re awake and lonely are far from holy. They aren’t ideal. They make you wonder just why you are thinking this way now.

But no man has ever been like him. And the worst part about it is that wanting him alone is an unholy train of thought you should have never submitted to.

You tried ignoring it, carrying it all by yourself, and trying to heal whatever complex you may have that could have led to this obsession in the first place, but your life has been a mess for long enough that it doesn’t even surprise you anymore, and no matter what you tried to do, you couldn’t stop fantasizing about him.

He is the reason you came to church tonight to confess your sins. But you’re not here to find your way. You’re not here to ask for guidance from God. You told yourself that the unholiness of your thoughts needs to be cured and that is why you came here—to make this situation better for yourself—but the thought is ancient; it’s the twenty-first century and you’re the kind of person who knows exactly what they want and how to get it. The truth is, you’re here to get what you want, even if it will land you in the pits of hell for all eternity. And even if it kills you.

“You don’t do this kind of thing often, do you?” the low voice asks from the other side of the confessional booth.

You shake your head. “Not at all, Father. When I went to Sunday Mass this weekend, it was my first time in a church in a very long time,” you admit to him, “and this is my first confession since I was a child. I…I’m not really a devoted Catholic, you understand. I’m merely struggling right now, and I…I am in desperate need of guidance.”

Your lip quivers. Your voice resembles a tidal wave that comes and goes as nature pleases.

He can’t see you. It’s not the curtain that is separating you and is starting to feel like worlds apart—he can’t see you. He can only hear and smell you, and that alone makes your thighs clench with need.

Should you be doing this in a church? Should you fantasize about a man of God and want to claim him, coming to his sanctuary to tell him the truth and mess with his head? You know that it’s wrong, but the wrong thing often feels too right to stop.

When you met him at the farmer’s market the other day, he was so endlessly kind to everyone, including yourself. He invited you to Sunday mass, and you went. You went on a walk with him afterward, and there seemed to be something there, but he couldn’t act on it because he is who he is and what he is. He made a vow. He can’t have you, no matter how badly he wants to, and one look into his unfocused hazel eyes when he took off those red glasses he always wears told you that he does want you. It led to another sleepless night among many, and now you’re here.

You’re so utterly selfish, but God, you can’t stop it. When you want something, you would do anything to get it. He makes you feel things you never felt before. It’s terrifying, but you have to allow yourself to jump into unknown waters if you want to learn how to swim.

He clears his throat, and you can hear the chair creak under his weight as he shifts. Is it possible that you’re doing the same to him that he is doing to you?

“I want to start by saying that you’re really brave,” he says. The sound of his voice is enough to make you shiver. “But God offers people guidance in a symbolic sense. I can take your confession, tell you how to repent for your sins, but I can’t tell you what to do.”

You sigh. “I wish you would though.”

A chuckle passes his lips. “Why don’t you start by telling me what’s weighing you down, sweetheart, and we will go from there?”

Sweetheart.

Yes, you think, this is your one-way ticket to hell.

“I’ve been having thoughts,” you confess.

“Thoughts?” he asks.

“Yes. Unholy thoughts.” Your breath comes in weak puffs of air. The booth seems to cave in on you. You wish he would step out of his booth into yours and stuff his cock into your mouth. For him, you would shut up. You would do whatever he tells you to do, and you would do so gladly.

Fuck. You want to fuck a priest.

But lucky for you, Father Matthew wants to fuck you too. He’s here, at midnight, because you were lost and he was still there—he told you he spends his nights at church sometimes because the city gets too loud for him. You couldn’t go anywhere else because any place where he isn’t doesn’t seem worth visiting.

Matt sucks in a sharp breath. You imagine him swallowing, his white collar constricting his labored airflow. You imagine him pulling at it to free himself, but he can’t. Those sinfully thick fingers of his would feel even better on your skin.

“Unholy thoughts,” Father Matthew asks, “about whom, sweetheart?”

He’s pushing your buttons with that nickname. It’s so not professional. The lines are starting to blur.

“A man,” you tell him.

“A man?”

“A man of God.”

The confession causes a bout of silence. You could have heard a hairpin drop.

His chair creaks again, and his voice reminds you of an animalistic growl right before an apex predator attacks its prey. “And what unholy thoughts have you been having about this man of God?” he inquires.

Your inner walls clench around thin air. Sweat drips down your temples, and the arousal soaks your underwear. Your nipples strain against your shirt. If you grip the seat any harder, you will soon find wooden chips under your nails.

You lick your lips. “I’ve been thinking about him touching me,” you whisper. “And I want to touch him.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere.”

“And in your thoughts, does he satisfy you?”

Your answer comes promptly, “Always.”

There is not a scenario in which Father Matthew could possibly leave you unsatisfied.

The chair creaks again. Something in the air shifts.

Your voice is breathless and needy, and so fucking desperate when you speak into the silence, “Just tell me what to do, Father.”

“Okay,” he says. His leather shoes drag across the floor of the booth and toward the curtain that marks the exit of his side. The next word out of his mouth knocks all the air out of your lungs, “Kneel.”

You don’t even have time to question his request. Within seconds, the curtain through which you’ve stepped into the confessional booth is torn to the side, and there he is, in all of his glory, right in front of you, and his thick cock is straining against his black slacks.

You pinch yourself, but you’re not dreaming. This is real. This is what you wanted, and you weren’t imagining the mutual attraction due to delusions. He does want you, and he is about to break every rule in his book—and the lord’s book.

You sink to your knees. The only thing you can see on his face is pure, unbridled lust and the ugly truth of Catholic guilt. He must loathe himself for wanting you.

Matt removes his glasses, revealing his beautiful eyes to you. In the dim candlelight, they appear almost black.

“What’s my sentence, Father?” you ask.

His hand brushes your cheek. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he breathes.

“I’m sorry, Father.”

“No.” He steps into the booth and closes the curtain behind him. “Tonight, call me Matt.”

That is the last thing he says before he gets on his knees before you, and he captures your lips in a bruising kiss that is strong enough to make the angels howl.

His hand rests around your throat, feeling your pulse. He may not be able to see you with his eyes, but the way he touches you paints a perfect picture of your presence, and you feel every last ounce of his devotion.

He explores the depth of your mouth with his tongue, tasting you, loving you. His hands feel beautifully rough against your skin, just like you imagined they would be after years of praying. He sees himself as the hands of God. A messenger. His goodness makes your heart swell and your core flood with more than unbridled arousal—this is human nature in all its emotional glory, and you no longer feel ashamed. You can’t possibly when he is holding you like this.

He exhales into your mouth—no, he breathes life into your soul. “You’re the most sinful yet purest thing I have ever laid my hands on,” Matt says.

You gasp against his luscious lips. “I wouldn’t want to make you turn your back on God, or–”

He cuts you off, “I did that when I first thought about your body on mine and coming so deep inside of you that you’ll carry me with you for days. I don’t care about God because if having him means that I can’t have you,” he says, “I don’t want him anymore.”

You swallow his words with a kiss. Turning a priest against God was never your intention, but you are not in charge of his feelings, nor will you ever be. Matt wants you badly enough to abandon religion, and you will carry that with you until the day you die.

He lifts you back onto the edge of the wooden chair, pulling at your clothes and your undergarments. The moonlight hits his face as the cold air of the church hits your bare pussy. He looks ethereal like this, on his knees for you. His hazel eyes bore into your soul. He wears his heart on his sleeves and a collar around his neck.

Your priest crosses his chest. He asks God for forgiveness. And then, with one gentle tug at your thighs, he buries his face in your wet cunt, and he feasts as if your sex was the last supper. As God’s disciple, he is determined to eat up every last bite offered to him. Every last drop from your cunt is his, and your lips part in a moan that echoes through the church like the bells did when it hit midnight.

“Fuck,” you cry out.

He flattens his tongue against you, licking a long stripe over and then through your folds. He twirls the tip of his tongue over your clit, stroking the sensitive bundle of nerves with such precision, your walls clench at the sheer explosion of pleasure. You have never felt anything like it. He turns something unholy into heaven, and you’re drowning in the river to the Garden of Eden.

His lips suction around your clit. The obscene squelching of your velvety walls fills the booth. It sounds deadly noisy to you. You want to cover your mouth to stop the moans from traveling, but he traps your hand with his, guiding them to his hand, telling you to guide him.

Instead, one of your hands moves to his collar. It’s his turn to moan. You tug at the symbol of his priesthood, forcing his tongue deeper into your hole. He laps up your juices as though his life depends on it.

“Forgive me, Lord, for I have sinned,” Matt murmurs against you.

You moan again, louder this time. He is repenting for wanting to dive into your pussy until he gets swept away by the tide, but it is far too late to back out now. Your pleasure has become his priority.

“Lord God,” he repeats, “in your goodness have mercy on me.”

The pleasure is turning into a tight knot in your lower abdomen. You can feel it consuming you and your senses. You’re floating. The light at the end of the tunnel is not so far out of reach anymore. Every suck and every lick at your folds, and every thrust of his tongue into your tight walls pushes you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy.

In your goodness, have mercy on me.

He bites down lightly on your clit. Your toes curl, and his name comes out in a groan.

Do not look on my sins, but take away all my guilt.

Right now, you are his God. By drinking your arousal like holy water and pushing you toward an orgasm he is repenting. The symbolism makes your heels dig into his back as you buck your hips against his mouth, and when he adds one of those thick fingers, curling them up against that sweet spot inside of you, you can barely stand it anymore.

Create me in a clean heart and renew within me an upright spirit.

“God, Matthew!” your moan interrupts his plea for penance only briefly.

He swats your thigh. “No blasphemy when I feast at the altar,” he says. The vibration of his voice adds to the knot, tightening it, and threatening it to burst.

You’re almost there. Almost…

“Have mercy on me, a sinner,” he continues. His tongue slides between your folds once again, gathering your slit. His fingers curl upward again. He’s mixing different prayers, or maybe these are his own words, but you are not sure how much longer you can hold it. But he wants you to hold it. You don’t want to disappoint the man who is worshiping at your feet, your pussy, his altar, and you are his salvation as much as you are his saving grace.

“In choosing to do wrong and failing to do good,” he prays, “I have sinned against You whom I should love above all things—but fuck, I don’t.”

Does that mean he loves you? It is too soon to tell that, but he is devoted, and devotion can be just as sinfully sweet as the rawest feeling of love.

“Have mercy on me, God. Amen!”

His collar is starting to tear under your vice grip.

Matt thrusts his digit into you until it disappears, and he finally decides to show the mercy he was begging for to you. “Come for me, sweetheart,” he says.

Your thighs lock around his head as the knot breaks in two. You come, hard, and the wave tears him down with you, shooting his cum into his slacks like the good Catholic boy he is.

You let go of his collar when your orgasm has done its damage.

“No,” he stops you.

“No?” you ask, still breathless.

“No,” he says, lifting his head to grin at you, not like a man of God but the Devil himself. “I have not done nearly enough penance.”

As a priest, Matt is used to being on his knees until they’re bruised; until he can’t stand straight anymore, so he has to remain there, cowering before a God he more often than not does not believe in.

Before you can protest, he dives back into your endless ocean, and you have no choice but to lean back and take it.

He is not the only one doing penance tonight, after all—you both are.

Matt Murdock Smut Tag List: @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @linamarr @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @ravenclaw617 @pigeonmama

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock smut #matt murdock x afab!reader #pwp #afab!reader #matt murdock x you #no y/n #priest!matt #matt murdock priest au #daredevil #daredevil x reader #charlie cox #from the vault #reader insert #inspired by fleabag #because who doesn't want to fuck a priest

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phasecornnuts · 27 days

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I would love to power bottom Valentino from hazbin hotel ples 😏 also I LOVE angst so maybe a bit of that 😌 head cannons or a fic doesn’t matter I love words

Hello again whores! This is over 16k words…. I think I may have a problem, but I cooked so whatever

Tbh I may open writing commissions bc I love y’all but if I’m writing biblical epics I lowkey would appreciate being paid (college is expensive) 😭

CW: For general angst and Drug use

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You hated working nights, but working for Val always meant you worked nights. If someone were to ask you to write a list of everything you disliked about the club, you’d swear the exterminators would be here by the time you were done with it. But alas, it was what it was and there was nothing you could do to change it. That fucking contract made sure of that.

There were a few things that could make your shift bearable though. You liked Angel, even though he didn’t really come by anymore because of that stupid hotel, you liked the free drinks, even though Val made sure they were watered down after you vomited on a customer, and you liked the pills Val would give you, even though they made you feel loopy when you preformed. Those were the shit. Grade A. Top tier. Happiness in a tablet the size of your fingernail.

In your dressing room you watched the clock, five minutes. God, you were already sweating in the shitty outfit Val made you wear for tonight. A frilly maid outfit with black lingerie underneath, the man wanted a strip-tease and he was gonna have it one way or another. With Angel gone, you were the only other person he thought was worth headlining. That felt good to hear, even if you were only second choice. Maybe Angel being gone was a good thing, not for him but for you, maybe Val would see that you’re better than him, that you tried more. Maybe then you could be the star, and not just the understudy. Maybe, maybe, maybe; The word’s rhythm wavered in your head.

Hoping for Val to want you was fruitless though, you knew. Angel was the golden goose- or spider, you supposed - and it would take an act of god for someone to eclipse him. You took your eyes off the clock, knowing getting lost in your thoughts would just lead to a spiral of self-loathing. You closed your eyes and released a heavy sigh. On your table, beside your makeup and phone stood a fluorescent orange bottle. Unscrewing the cap you let loose three in your palm before capping the bottle. You ran the pad of your thumb over the tiny white buttons, smooth and chalky, before placing them in a row on your tongue, all washed down with watery gin. A twisted communion.

You lean back in your chair, wondering when the pills are gonna kick in. About two minutes pass before you hear the door to your dressing room open and a tired waitress with smudgy blue eyeliner and a crooked wig tilts her head towards the hallway to tell you it’s time for you to get on stage. Walking past her, you can smell a heavy peach scented perfume she used to try to cover the smell of sweat. Your heels clacked on the tile floor as you walked up to the entrance of the stage. You scratched your back from the itchy fabric of the costume, then adjusted the tops of your stockings. The song that’s currently playing ends and the performer before you walks to the back, they’re huffing and tired. They stretch and pop their back before looking at you, mouthing “Good luck.” The DJ of the club took a beat before announcing you to the crowd. Rolling your shoulders, you walked on stage feeling the hot spotlights shine on you.

That’s when it hits.

All of the tension you held in your body lifted, and your mind began to swim as you felt the Oxy kick in. Fuck, they really were the best. They made you feel warm and floaty, made the world seem bearable. You swung your hips seductively as you sauntered to the pole, ready to begin your act. Looking around, all the faces of the crowd blended together. It felt like the world was painted in watercolor, all of its harsh edges gone, replaced with washes that drifted out into nothing.

A chemical confidence kicked in then. Those languid movements of yours had everyone entranced, grinding your sex to the pole as you teased eager watchers with a peek up your skirt. Over the music you could hear their hoots and wolf-whistles, then frenzy when you began to shimmy off your top, exposing that black bra you had on under. You throw it out into the crowd, grateful not to have that polyester piece of shit on you anymore. The way they all clamor to catch it made you bite your bottom lip with a smirk. They were all so pathetic.

You spun on the ball of your foot, but the weightlessness of your opioid addled body worked against you, making you fall. Luckily you caught yourself on your hands, pretending it was some sultry move like a lady in a porno. The crawling was good though, you pretended to fuck the stage before you got to the center. You leaned back on your hands, stretching out a heeled foot that they all begged to touch. One almost did, before you snatched it away.

Slipping off that ugly skirt and kicking it off into the drunken crowd felt so good. They were transfixed, enthralled, however you wanted to put it. Your high made everything better, blanketing your body in comfort- That was always the peak. Savoring those small moments that made them scream. Looping and spinning and sliding and going upside down, stretching your legs out spread-eagle. When you felt the room start to spiral you stopped with your back to it for support. With a fake sexiness you slid your hand down your stomach, into those thin painties before taking it out.

God, it felt good to be desired even if it was like this. Sure, Val didn’t want you, but they did. All those sinners and hell-born who clamored to touch you and have you touch them. How they fought over an ugly, scratchy top because you wore it.

Turning your head you saw a wide-eyed patron ignoring a half-drank glass. You smirk and crawl towards them, and their eyes turn to the size of saucers. Reaching the edge of the stage you lean over, hanging over their small table. You opened your mouth wide enough to kiss- But you didn’t. You let your tongue hang out of your mouth, letting a fat drop of spit land in their drink. That was all they could have of you; You smile and go back to the stage to continue your act.

You don’t know how long he’d been standing there when you saw him. Valentino. He nips at his cigarette while he looks at you, not knowing what he’s thinking. Your moves become bigger, looser, hoping to impress him. A glob of phlegm sits at the back of your mouth and you swallow, feeling the tenseness grow inside your body. I can be good too, see! I’m as good as Angel! Even better! Please…please don’t fire me.

He walks closer to the stage as you keep grinding on the pole. Your eyes meet for a second before you look away, unsure. When he reaches the edge of the stage is when you slam yourself to the floor- the crowd hollered. Val adjusts his glasses and takes a long, long drag from his cigarette. Your body cranes towards him, head lowered in reverence while you studied his face. Val was always so hard to read, that’s the thing you hated most about him - well, at least one of them- was he displeased, impressed, disinterested? Fuck if you knew.

With one hand he pinched your face, between his pointer and thumb. He pressed his mouth to yours, filling it with all of that warm smoke. The roof of your mouth hurt so much, but the rest of your body trembled. He’d never been this open, kissing you, watching you dance, it felt so, so good to have his attention. Val pulled away, pink cloud leaving your parted lips.

Valentino leaned in, “Meet me in the back.”

“I still have five minutes left…”

“I’m your boss.” There was a vague sternness to his words, what were five minutes compared to his regard?

You breathed heavily. “Gimme a second.”

Quickly as you could you got off stage. Your head was spinning and you couldn’t tell why- was it the Oxy? The drink? The dancing? The cigarette? All of them combined. The backstage was full of cold air, making goosebumps prickle over your legs. You crossed your forearms and leaned them on the wall. Eyes closed, you counted backwards from 100; 100, 99, 98, 97- Val with his cigarette showed up in your mind, how he pulled your mouth to his, how you shivered, how you liked it. You tried again, but he kept lingering. Another restart, going a bit longer this time, but you gave up somewhere around 56.

Through the backstage hallway you walked to the back, The Velvet Rooms. Those fancy, gilded places hidden away that only those Val liked - or who could afford it- could enter. Valentino hid himself away in the biggest one, a room within the wall closed off with heavy dark blue curtains. The Velvet Rooms were where Overlords and certain Goetia came to be spat on, spanked, and other “peculiar wants” that Val catered to.

Opening the curtains you were struck with the heavy scent of his smoke. You closed them shut, the room illuminated by a faint pink light. Val sat on the couch, legs spread wide and arms slung over the top, his heavy coat thrown to some unknown corner. Seeing him reminded you of how little clothes you had on. Val’s second set of arms beckoned you over, you obeyed. He rested them on your waist, idly feeling the texture of your garter belt.

“Good of you to come carino,” He kissed your stomach, tittering at the way you quivered. “You did so good I had to meet with you privately.”

“How could I deny you Valcito?” You responded in a honeyed tone that made him chuckle.

“Valcito?” He smirked.

“Aren’t you?” You tilt his head up to see your smiling face, dressed with sultry bedroom eyes, “My little Valcito who liked my dancing.”

Val showed off that gold tooth of his; He kissed your stomach again, leaving a little red mark.

You dropped your hands to his arms, sliding up to his biceps. You bit your lip, so hard and toned. For so long you were curious about Val’s body, his sex, his libido. You wondered what he did to Angel to make him so sore and his voice so hoarse. It was embarrassing how many nights you spent thinking about what he tasted like- though now there was no point, you knew now, cigarettes and citrus vodka.

The tips of his fingers traced along your hips, fingering the thin strap of your panties. Your voice grew weak as he nipped again and again at the soft flesh of your stomach. Mind in a daze, words slipped out of your mouth.

“You know, I’m surprised you called me back here…” A kitten-lick across your navel that made you squirm.

“Why’s that Carino? Don’t think you’re pretty enough?” His voice teased.

“I thought you didn’t like women”

“Why would you think that?” He looped his finger around the hip strap again

“Angel.” He snickered.

“Oh Carino, don’t worry. Angel is just the soup D’Jour,” His finger dipped forward along your hip bone, “Men, women; Women, men; all of those sweet things in-between, how could you pick just one?”

“How poignant.” You said with a bit of a flat affect. His waxing-poetic seemed so unimpressive to you. Though, you felt a stab of guilt for thinking so.

“You, Sugar, I just can’t deny,” Val moved his hands up along your torso, stopping just underneath your breasts, “Good tits, nice stomach, pretty face,” his attention went back to your panties, “You coulda been on the cover of Hustler. Hhhnn, maybe I’ll make you the centerfold this month…”

You leaned over him, pressing your face to his. Fuck, his tongue felt so good in your mouth, making your stomach start to knot and squirm. He took your bottom lip between his teeth, making you whine before you pulled away. Placing tiny nips on his neck, you felt the heat in your stomach grow hotter and hotter and turn to slick. You wanted to touch him, feel him, consume him, and be consumed.

Val pulled away for a second, but it felt like forever. He reached into a shallow pocket and produced a button of something. It was a tiny tablet, waxy and fat, and pinched between his two fingers. You wondered what it was, it didn’t look like Oxy. You hoped it was something stronger, desiring the out of body experience you’d been losing since you started to grow tolerant of the opiate.

“You ever play a game of rolling roulette Sugar?” Val asked, you shook your head no.

“You trade the X tongue to tongue, and whoever’s it dissolves on is the lucky winner.” Oh so it was Ecstasy, now that’s good shit.

Val pulled you onto his lap, cupping a breast, “C’mon Baby, let’s go on a trip together…”

That’s all it took.

The tiny pill teetered between both of your tongues as you kissed, growing smaller and smaller and smaller. Val’s spit was thick and sweet and wonderful, something about it making your body go alight with electricity. The X melted so easy, like blue cotton candy; You could feel the serotonin swell in your brain like a party balloon.

When the first roll happened you moaned into Val’s mouth. All of your nerves were standing on edge, shivering with anticipation. He removed your bra, placing a nipple in his mouth as you felt his cock grow harder. It felt so much better than your other highs. The Oxy only ever calmed things, washed them out. The X was so different, so so much better. Everything seemed to shimmer, like the whole world was wrapped in cellophane. How could you think the absence of feeling was so wonderful when this existed?

Your mind was in a twinkly daze when you started to undress him. He kissed and licked at your neck while you felt your way through unbuttoning his top. Fuck, his skin was so smooth and warm; He pressed you closer, teeth bit into your collar bone before dragging his tongue over the marks he left.

You kissed your way down Val’s body. At his chest you lingered, leaving tiny red marks on the trail to his V-line. Valentino’s head lolled back on the couch as you unzipped his cock with all of its dark hair. You put it in your hand, running your thumb over the leaking tip. He swore under his breath as you pumped him slowly, up and down up and down.

The warmth of your tongue dragged along his thick shaft. Your stomach gets a sharp squirm to it, same as your cunt. It’s hard to tell because of the drugs or how sexy Val looks with his legs wide open and his cock needy for your touch. Looking up at him, you’ve never wanted anything more in your life.

His breath hitched when you took him in your mouth. Your tongue twists and swirls around his cock, savoring the feeling of him hitting the back of your throat, making you gag. To try to calm that darling pain between your legs you rubbed your thighs together, but that didn’t help. All it served to do was make your cunt needier. You push his member deeper and deeper into your mouth; You moan into his sex, making him squeeze the palmful of hair he had in his hand tighter.

“You’re so good, Carino.” He says, breathless. You start to suck him faster, blowing and kissing and licking. Val kept sprinkling compliments throughout. It felt so good to be praised by him; All of those sweet things he’d save for everyone else, but never you. You’re so good, you’re so sexy, you take me so well, you’re so pretty, you make me so hard.

“‘M close.” He grabs your hair again, pulling your face in. Feeling devious, you pulled away, savoring the flustered look on his face. Val is huffing, fucked out, and dazed out of his goddamn mind on X.

“You can stand to wait a little longer Valcito~” You nip at the inside of one of his thighs, making his voice hitch into a falsetto. You dragged the tips of your fingers up to his sensitive stomach, mouth leaving a hard bite outline near his ribs. Tracing him was so wonderful, feeling all of those hard edges give into softness. Nursing on his neck, your thumb and forefinger followed his neck muscle and collarbone, dipping into their crevices.

“Valcito~” Your breath was hot against his neck. He mumbled something under his breath and tried to slip his hand into your panties. You caught his wrist and pushed it away, biting hard on his collarbone. You can wait.

Again your mouth found its way south, the want in your cunt becoming more and more painful. You took him in your mouth again, your saliva getting thick and syrupy. Val seized the opportunity and shoved your head down on his cock, chasing the release you denied him. Your teeth grazed his member before pulling away again. Val whined, his eyes pleading. A dark smile grew on your face before you took him again.

He let out a sharp breath and pressed his hands onto your scalp. You went faster, letting the flat of your tongue trace the vein on the underside of his cock. It was fun playing with him like this, having a little control with him for once. Val’s hands tensed in your hair when he warned you he was going to cum.

When he came he wailed, filling your mouth with his salty taste. Looking up at him, you opened your mouth. Val’s thumb traced your bottom lip, admiring his work.

“You look so good like this, Carino.” He huffed.

Pushing yourself from your knees you kissed Val, his seed still in your mouth. That’s all that took to make him go feral. He pulled you to his lap and laid you down, wrapping your legs around him. Without taking his mouth off yours he took his top off, ramming into your needy sex.

Fuck, Val was bigger than you thought he was. His pace was hard and fast, making you scratch your nails into his back. Your kiss tasted like everything good in the world- cum and grapefruit and cigarettes and cotton candy and euphoria. Both of you swallowed, pulling your faces away to catch your breaths. God, you were so wet, Val’s cock slipped in and out of you so easily and it felt so goddamn good. Better than any finger or cock or toy and it made you squeeze him tighter.

You pressed your forehead to his neck, mumbling nonsense. “I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.” Val spat on his fingers and slipped his hands between the two of you. You didn’t know what he was going to do until you felt his wet fingers graze your clit. He got rougher with it once he found it, making you squeal and cum on him.

That didn’t stop Val though, and god did it feel good. He kept fucking you through your release, making you cum another two times. Your legs felt like jelly, body weak and weightless. The X was releasing its last wave of chemical joy as he fucked you, pleasure rippling inside of you. He came inside you, making you sob into his neck. Val pressed you closer to him, whispering in your ear as you felt your release drip out of your cunt.

“You’re so good baby, so good and pretty.” Pleasepleasepleaseplease, say the magic words.

“I love you, you’re my perfect girl, my pretty baby.” You came again.

His thrusts got sloppier and you could tell he was gonna cum again. “Please, please, please, let me be your favorite, I’ll be good, I’ll be good, I’ll be good.” You whimpered.

The anticipation of an orgasm built up, shivering and needy. Val grazed your face and kissed you, “Oh you’re my favorite, baby. My little sullen girl~” He held you closer, savoring the way you squirmed when you came together.

When he was done he stayed inside you. Val pressed his head on the couch beneath you. You traced the scratches you left on his back, feeling your high from the X begin to ebb. Your breath felt so heavy and your mind so fuzzy. That all didn’t matter though, Val wanted you now. He’d been inside you, kissed you, felt you, squeezed you, and couldn’t get enough. He wanted you. So what if it was only for the moment, so what if this meant you could disappoint him, so what if you’re only a place-holder until someone better comes. You’re the favorite.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #fanfiction requests #valentino #hazbin hotel valentino #valentino x reader #valentino x you #hazbin hotel imagine #the vees

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horanghater · 6 months

Text

Honey Where Your Mouth Is

Summary: You and Joshua make a lot of promises to each other. The question is: who will actually keep them?

▸ Pairing: Joshua x F!reader

▸ Rating / Genre / AU: 18+ / pwp, comedy / f2? If you are a minor AND/OR if your account has no age in the bio, you will be blocked upon interacting (liking/reblogging) with this post.

▸ Warnings: mutual masturbation, fingering, use of pet names, smidge of blasphemy if you’re catholic (sorry)

▸ Word Count: 2.4k

▸ A/N: 🎃 Happy Halloween! 🎃 This has been brewing all month and is finally here! Hugs, kisses, and a big fat bouquet for @gyuhanniescarat who beta’d the absolute fuck out of this piece!!! Enjoy!

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Joshua is way too good at sexting. Whether it’s because he’s naturally talented or he has a lot of prior experience is irrelevant — all that matters is the ding! of another notification hitting your phone. The way he innocently pulls you in and then has you falling apart at the seams with just a few texts alone is a display of dominance you've never experienced before. It’s so fulfilling that you’re fine with this downlow arrangement, but one chilly October evening, Joshua opens the door of further opportunity: show him that you’re not all talk at Soonyoung’s Halloween party.

The theme of the party is heaven and hell. You’re one of several skimpy angels, but there are just as many Jesus’ lounging about the expanse of Soonyoung’s living and dining rooms. None of them are Joshua though. He hadn’t told you what he was coming as, so you’re stuck craning your neck every which way, trying to pick out his face from a lineup of devils and clergymen.

You find yourself wandering into the kitchen next, where you spy some familiar faces, coming into contact with Mingyu and Seungkwan – two members in yours and Joshua's friend group. Seungkwan is a monk tonight, brown hood pulled over his head as he sips an unknown liquid from a solo cup. Mingyu is…something else.

When you approach the two men both extend you a fond greeting, although Mingyu isn't meeting your eye contact. The tips of his ears grow conspicuously red when you ask about his costume. There’s a badly applied – and not at all blended – bald cap on his head and he’s wearing a sleeveless black shirt with jeans. Sans cap, it’s a decent outfit, but it clearly doesn’t match the evening’s theme. He mumbles a response as he takes a drink as well. Beside him, Seungkwan is barely containing a chuckle.

“Sorry, what’d you say?”

“I said Min…”

“Mingyu, speak up before I beat you up.” You could never beat him in an actual fight, but Mingyu fears your wrath regardless.

He clears his throat and mumbles a little louder this time, just barely loud enough for you to hear. “I’m Min Diesel.”

“...What?”

“Jeonghan told him the theme was movie stars!” Seungkwan mirthfully illustrates, dancing about, hell-bent on the opportunity to parody and rag on his friend openly tonight.

The outfit. The bald cap. Oh. You point at the man excitedly when it clicks. “The Fast and the Furious! Min Diesel’s funny!” The realization is of no comfort to Mingyu, as he’s currently trying to shrink inside of himself. Just then, Soonyoung the Priest wedges himself into your kitchen formation and offers a bowl of communion wafers to everyone. “Eucharcrisp?”

You all balk at him before Mingyu asks warily, “Can you do that?”

“What’s wrong? Why does everybody keep saying that?” Soonyoung studies the wafers thoughtfully. “I got them online really cheap. There were a lot of options - lots of people must buy them.”

“Churches buy them,” you add.

“And so do normal people!” Soonyoung defends, hugging the bowl against himself when it’s evident that no one will take him up on his offer. “Whatever. There’s pizza on the way anyways, but I was trying to be a good host by providing snacks.”

Soonyoung exits the circle just as quickly as he arrived, indignation in his gait. “We still appreciate you! Don’t let Joshua see though!” Seungkwan calls after him.

“Oh yeah!” Soonyoung whips around, placing a wafer under his tongue and holding it there. “Yoschewa ish ooking for oo! Upschtaws.”

Right. Your “date”. Joshua. Of course he’d be upstairs — he’s supposed to blow your back out tonight. Or are you blowing him? You suppose you could blow his back out if that’s what he wanted. What does he want? Obviously to fuck, but how? You have a lot to prove. Fuck. Right.

You’re not sure if you even say goodbye to your friends as you walk away, but Mingyu raises his eyebrows and Seungkwan whistles proudly as you retreat to the stairs. Given the two man-babies' reactions to your departure… Maybe this situation isn’t as downlow as you thought?

Soonyoung’s house has three bedrooms, and you know which are meant for guests, so you find the one Joshua is in on the first try. He’s sitting on the bed, leaning back on one hand while the other lazily scrolls down a feed on his phone. When you enter, he sits up straight and places the device down, sides of his mouth quirking up into an inviting smile. He’s gorgeous even when he’s swallowed up by a black robe in dim lighting. The air doesn’t feel mischievous at all — so why are your hands so clammy?

You’re frozen in the doorway and he has to call your name a few times to bring you back from the mess of thoughts racing through your head. “H-Hey,” you finally say, voice meek.

“You made it! I’m glad to see you.” “You too…”

“I’m not gonna bite you, y’know. You can come in,” Joshua chuckles, gesturing and then patting the empty space next to him.

You close the door behind you and sit next to him the same way you have a million times before. Joshua is calm in a way that only makes you more nervous. He’s so….unburdened by the knowledge of what you two had discussed before tonight. In an attempt to break the ice, you make the dumbest attempt at conversation that you have in a while. “So did you see Soonyoung’s–”

Joshua sighs dramatically, rolling his eyes. “Yes, I have, regrettably, seen Soonyoung’s Eucharist.”

“I thought it was Euchacrisps?”

“The body of Christ is the Eucharist.”

“Right. Sorry.”

Finally, Joshua laughs in earnest, clapping you on the back. Wow, his hand feels so big. “I’m kidding!” He elbows you in the ribs gently when you hesitate. “I don’t actually care — it’s not that serious. Are you ok? You seem stressed out.”

Is he for real? “I– Are you not? Aren’t we gonna…? You know…” You don’t know you’re wringing your hands in your lap until Joshua dwarfs them with his own enormous hands. He’s so warm, but his touch ignites a wave of goosebumps all over that wash over you like ice. Or are you still just clammy? Thankfully you don’t have time to dwell on that, not when your eyeballs are tracing the veins in his hands up to the cuff of his sleeve.

Joshua’s gentle tone doesn’t match the devious glint in his eyes. “I’m down to do whatever you want, sweetheart. Fuck you, eat you out, anything. You know that. Where’s all that bravado?”

You’re not sure why you’re shocked at his forwardness. This man literally guided you in delicious detail through foreplay and fucking yourself just a few days ago. As if he’d commanded it, his body switches from cold to hot instantly. Goosebumps turn into fevered flesh and you involuntarily clench around nothing, making you adjust your legs. Painfully observant Joshua tsks and taps your knee, knowingly. “Don’t be shy now. You can always back out, but don’t hide from me. Ok?” You nod and he taps you again, more insistent. “Ok?” Joshua told you from the beginning of your textcapades that when it comes to real life, when it comes to taking what he gives you, you have to speak; have to use your words. “Ok,” you confirm, exhaling in an attempt to expel the tension that nips at the heels of your excitement.

It must not work, because Joshua offers something else. Not his tongue or cock, but: “Why don’t we start off easy, hm? You want my fingers? What’d you say the other day? You wanted to feel how thick they are, yeah? I’m happy to demonstrate.”

Minutes later you’re naked and on your back, bed pillows stacked and supporting your neck because Joshua insists that you watch. You watch him take off his robe, stare intensifying as he tweaks his own nipples, eyes widening at the sight of him reaching those beautifully wide hands slide down into his boxers and pulling out his already half-hard cock.

And he meets your gaze, a devilish grin forming in response to the anticipation, followed by confusion that spreads across your features when he commands you to touch yourself.

“Gotta warm that pretty little pussy up, baby. Come on, do it like I taught you, princess.” Joshua spreads his precum over the head before pumping himself lazily. “Run your fingers on your thighs and over those cute lips down there. Slow, remember. And don’t touch your clit.”

You’ve barely started and you’re whining already as you follow his instructions exactly. Joshua always called you his good girl when you said you were doing as he advised and you needed that now more than ever. Now, while he’s real and here and not bubbles typing something salacious on a screen.

You ghost two, then eventually three fingers across your skin for what feels like forever, ignoring the way your arousal begins to drip from your opening like honey. Joshua’s eyes are locked on your core as he continues to work himself up, leading you along a hypnotizing chorus of sultry “yes”s and “just like that”s.

“You’re doing such a good job for me,” he coos when your wrist just barely bumps your clit and you jolt. “So, so good. Let me reward you for being so patient, sweetheart.”

Your own hands are batted away and one of Joshua’s cups your pussy and squeezes. With how on edge you are the pressure is enough for the room to white out for a second. Joshua leans over you to swallow the moan that it rips out of you in a kiss. It doesn’t last long enough — he pulls back too soon. Your vision returns and you see why; there’s a trail of precum on your stomach, messy and smudged from the way his cock has dragged across your stomach.

Joshua won’t let you comment on it. One of his fingers scoops up your own pre and then enters easily. Your eyes snap back up to see him studying you smugly as he familiarizes himself with the feeling of you.

“Ok so far?” he asks. Once again, his words are so much softer than his actions and it’s maddening in a way that has you tightening around his digit pathetically.

“Y-Yeah,” you breathe out, back arching slightly in a silent plea for more.

“Excellent.” Joshua wastes no time adding another finger, looking down at you gleefully when your eyelids flutter at the intrusion.

Joshua is just like you’d imagined: confident, firm, so much thicker than your own fingers. The way his fingers spread and prod and search has pleasure radiating through your body – it’s unbelievable that you can feel this good without cock even entering the equation yet.

Then he finds that patch that snatches a gasp from your lungs and has you bucking against him. “There she is,” he lauds. “This is what you’ve been dreaming of, isn’t it, princess?”

If you were speeding toward the edge before, Joshua just put a brick on the gas pedal to make sure you can’t stop. All you can do is groan in response as he continues to pry open the floodgates. He’s kind enough to show you a little mercy and not force you to say anything coherent anymore. “Yeah, I know it is.”

The weight on the bed shifts and you peek down past your body to see Joshua on his knees, one hand still working you open while the other clasps his dick at the base,

“Baby,” he moans almost pornographically, “I want you to cum for me. Show me you can really listen. Mmkay?”

It’s hard to keep listening when his fingers are so relentless, but it’s so so so much better than anything through the phone. You’ll hang on to every word even if he’s got you screaming too loud to hear him clearly — and you wish he were, but you do have an entire party downstairs and in relative earshot.

Hearing Joshua grunt and feeling the pace of his fingers falter is just as satisfying though. His words are breathy as he coaxes you toward your orgasm. It must not just be you - Joshua is headed to his own end as well, smooth words and all.

“Now, sweetheart, now.” He twists his wrist around so he can press his thumb on your clit. It’s more of a slide, though, with how your wetness is coating everything. Nonetheless he applies the perfect amount of pressure, circles your nub just so and you instantly snap. Your mouth widens in a perfect ‘O’ and your vision goes out completely as the current thrusts you into a violent wave of ecstasy. There’s a distant tickle of something warm splattering on your abdomen and then silence.

By the time your breathing slows down, Joshua’s voice is gingerly pulling you from the flotsam. “You’re ok,” he whispers. “You’re ok, sweetheart. You were such a good girl for me.”

It’s not until a warm washcloth is washing you off that you return to the present, your gaze drifting down to Joshua as he kneels between your legs to clean you up. You shift a little and he peers up at you, satisfaction evident even from down there.

“Welcome back~”

As comfortable as Joshua made you feel, the more sensible part of you eventually returns and makes you a little embarrassed to face your friends right now.

Joshua is as casual as he was when you arrived, throwing his robe back on to grab pizza for the both of you to share in the guest room.

He takes it off again as soon as he returns. A show of solidarity as you remain exposed to him. The two of you eat cross-legged on the bed, leaning against each other shoulder-to-shoulder while you eat. “So!” Joshua starts after you’ve comfortably demolished two slices each. “How was it? Good, right?”

You lick some excess pizza sauce from your finger and grin at him playfully. “What, your costume?”

If he hadn’t just fucked you on his fingers, you’d think that the look of irritation Joshua gives you is genuine. “My hands - my fingers playing with that pretty pussy.”

Despite all of this, you’re still thrown when he’s so…blunt. “You were right, it was great. You’re great at that. Oh my god.”

Without missing a beat, Joshua fires back, “Yeah, I’ll have you saying that next time on my cock, darling.”

There’s only so much flattery that you can handle in one night. Next time you’ll be ready to take him on for real, to walk the walk you once talked. But for now, you want to just bask in the afterglow with your fuckbuddy? friend.

“What is your costume, by the way?”

Joshua scoffs, offended. “A choir boy! It was obvious!”

“Mmm, I think Min Diesel’s got you beat.”

#kvanity #svthub #hong jisoo #joshua hong #joshua x reader #jisoo x reader #svt x reader #joshua smut #jisoo smut #svt smut #joshua fic #jisoo fic #svt fic #seventeen fic

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milkteamoon · 4 months

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2023 fanfic review ✨

Meant to do a wrap up a few days ago but I got busy — so I'm doing it today! Here's a big long list of fics I read and enjoyed in 2023 (not all were published in 2023, but several were!). Ratings may vary, so please read the tags!

▷ Ask an Exec by shinyopals — (rated T, complete, 6/6) A series of posts to a workplace management advice form made by a particularly strange poster. This one was so fun to read along with, and Opal always nails it with the unique storytelling methods.

▷ And We Are Full of Stories to be Told by saintbleeding — (rated T, oneshot) a meeting somewhere else. Just...just read it. You'll like it, I promise.

▷ Particular by aza — (rated G, oneshot) Jon doesn't like anyone, but sometimes he likes this one. I love a good ace Jon fic.

▷ Stay Here Under My Tail by ravenxavier — (rated M, oneshot) after Jon's statement habits are discovered, him and Daisy take a ride. I love this fic's depiction of Jon and Daisy's relationship, with just the right amount of s4 anxiety.

▷ The Wounded and the Blessed by hihereami — (rated T, oneshot) an au set in the 1950s where a priest makes friends with a very lonely doctor. Y'all, the yearning in this fic...... literally left me staring at a wall for hours after finishing. A must read.

▷ Strange Manner by inkfingers_mcgee — (rated T, complete, 17/17) needing money, Martin signs up for a dubious app for blood donors and meets a very particular vampire in the process. Also kept up with this fic as it was coming out and had so much fun being tugged along for the ride. A great universe and a great lot of fun!

▷ A Measure Outside the Lines by rend_herring — (rated E, oneshot) after fleeing to Scotland, Jon and Martin navigate their post-Lonely relationship. I know there's a million safehouse fics out there, but this one is just...so sweet... There are so many lines I want to quote but I'd just end up quoting the whole fic haha.

▷ It Blooms by godshaper — (rated M, oneshot) Martin meets a mysterious stranger the day before his wedding. Fae au!! This one has a really fun universe and a deliciously excellent fast burn.

▷ On the Factual Particulars of the Death of Mrs. Blackwood by saintbleeding — (rated T, ongoing, 5/?) primarily sourced accounts from one Mr. Martin Blackwood regarding his new job at The Magnus Archives. This is a really fun victorian au that really nails the style and character voices.

▷ Sun in an Empty Room by transjon — (rated T, oneshot) the in between after the apocalypse. I love a romantic bad-ish end fic, and this one is very fun.

▷ Communion Past the Need of Speech by pieandsouffle — (rated G, oneshot) a hologram and a former borg drone have a lunch date. Star Trek au anyone?? Star Trek au.

▷ Gertrude is Still Around by occudo — (rated T, series) an au where Gertrude is still archivist and the archival crew members are her assistants. This one is technically a comic series but I'm putting it on this because it's my rec list and I can do what I want okay!!!!!!

#thanks for the fun this year!!!#I read a lot of good stuff this year it was hard to narrow things down haha #fic rec #tma #the magnus archives

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http-paprika · 3 months

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Heaven / Simon "Ghost" Riley

so i wrote this back in august, completely forgot it existed until the other day. and since I'm in a writing slump don't ask about the next bite the hand chapter i decided to finish the draft, edit it and feed you lovies a bite.

MDNI / wc 470 / pairing simon "ghost" riley x f!reader / no use of y/n / warnings inexplicit sexual content, religious imagery /

⋆★⋆ ════ ⋆★⋆ ════ ⋆★⋆ ════ ⋆★⋆ ════ ⋆★⋆ ════ ⋆★⋆ ════ ⋆★⋆

There was limited light in the room, the occasional flash of lightning broke through the window into the small room. Flashing against the two warm, bare bodies, the noise of thunder and rain hid the panting and huffing that escaped their mouths. Simon groaned against your neck, trying to reason with himself and how he’d ended up in such a vulnerable state with you. Skin against skin, yours soft and a vision to him and his war-torn hands.

Once strangers, now wrapped around one another, bed groaning under their weight as you repeat his name like a prayer, it spills from your pretty lips between kisses that were divine, like communion wine that washed away his sins. Begging you to free him while your hands brush against scars and marks, he trembles with his caring touch as Simon gives himself away to you. Anxiety struck him like the bolts outside, how could you trust him like this? You an angel, glorious and merciful, and he felt so lowly, so unforgiving. Simon felt as if he couldn’t give you anything outside of this room and moment, and so he gave it all.

“Simon-” How you said his name made Simon’s stomach knot. When was the last time he trusted someone to call him by that name, when had it sounded so sweet? It had been so long since he’d heard it with such love, the adoration making him see stars. Lord knows he needed to hear you say that name, to drag him to his senses and separate Simon from the myth of the man everyone else knew.

His mind wandered back to the night when everything shifted, the light from the apartment shining on you like a helo. Bitter confessions and silent admittance that stayed unspoken of for weeks, but your eyes haunted what dreams Simon witnessed. Your voice was honey to his ears, and when you spoke every faded away. An invisible sting kept tugging at him, any time his hands grazed your skin, he wanted to take hold, wanted more than his fair share.

Burying his nose into your neck, Simon let out shallow breaths. His sweat stuck to her skin, mixing with stray tears that burned out of his eyes. A sensation he’d refused to let himself indulge in for so many months. Your hands wrapped around his shoulder, keeping him safely on the shore, no longer sinking. Simon was there in that cramped room, there under the roar of thunder and pounding rain, there in your loving embrace.

“So good to me.” He mumbles, his lips trailing down your throat; the lingering smell of perfume intoxicating. “My pretty girl is always so good to me.” And if heaven were real, it would be right there. Safe in your arms, safe from all the noise and chaos.

#call of duty #call of duty mw2 #simon ghost riley #cod mw22 #ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #fanfic #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley #simon riley x reader

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aziraphales-library · 4 months

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hi! i was looking for some fic recommendations with a sort of trans crowley lens. it doesn't necessarily need to portray him as trans (though that's also okay), i was mainly looking for something where his angel name was treated as a sort of deadname? as in, his Fall was basically a parallel for transitioning? i remember reading a few fics with that premise back in 2019, but i can't seem to be able to find them anymore...

thank you!

I was trying to search for one fic where Crowley's pre-fall name is censored out with a strange illegible font, but I couldn't find it. If anyone knows that one, let me know! Here are a few others for you...

imagine a time before by AnonymousDandelion (G)

In the time before time, in the world before the world, bathed in the amorphous starlight and mists that had not yet solidified into creation, two angels shared each other’s company. They talked, and laughed, and smiled, in the easy communion of friendship without complication. “What was that idea you had mentioned?” Aziraphale asked, when their shared chuckling had died down. “Oh. Right. It’s a new one. And nothing to do with constellations, this time.” The angel who would one day be Crowley hesitated. “Can I show you?”

Refuse Thy Name by theycallmeDernhelm (G)

“You were an angel, once.” “That was a long time ago.” Crowley drunkenly lets slip an ancient memory, which sets Aziraphale looking for answers.

Gravity, or The Law By Which We Fall by rowenablade & sammininoofthelord (G)

Before Crowley was a demon, he was an angel who made stars. Before Aziraphale was a principality, he was a soldier in a universe that had never known war. They're on opposite sides when they meet, but neither knows how to treat the other as an enemy. They're on their own side, when they remember.

How Do They Fall Down? by CynSyn & TawnyOwl95 (M)

In Heaven every angel knows their place. Almost. A Senior Astral Design Technician (who will one day choose to call himself Crowley) has questions. He thinks the Archangel Lucifer may have answers. This is only partly fueled by the Crowley's growing fascination for the Principality with the kind eyes who is so far out of his league it's embarrassing. Not to mention socially impossible. But as discontent in Heaven grows boundaries begin to blur and all the angels will have to choose where they belong. Or, five times Crowley didn't have the nerve to talk to Aziraphale and the one time he did. (Which made all the difference to the World)

Sweetest of Words by shadowintheshade (E)

Aziraphale calls Crowley by the wrong name during sex and it almost kills Crowley, re-awakening memories of who he was before the fall, memories Aziraphale has never lost. Aziraphale gives up a chunk of his soul to save Crowley from dying, guilt and angst and comfort ensue as they both work out who they are and where this new/ ancient relationship is going.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #pre-fall #angel crowley #names #aziraphale and crowley met before the fall #mod d

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rookieleonskennedy · 11 months

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unholy communion

Just posting one of my fics from ao3 onto here (:

Rookie!Leon x fem!reader

Description: “What a pretty angel, letting a devil split her open on his cock.”

WARNINGS/tags: MDNI, dominant Leon, spit kink, religion kink, religious imagery, praise kink, size kink, breeding kink, choking, unsafe sex, PWP, no y/n

Enjoy!

The motel room Leon found for you two after the events of Racoon City was modest at best, but to your weary and sore bodies it might as well have been a five-star resort. Leon had taken the initiative to check you two in, as you trailed behind him blindly, exhausted from the day’s events.

“I hope you don’t mind…” Leon began, giving you a shy look over his shoulder as he began to lead the way to where you would be sleeping for the night. “I only got us one room. It’s just…after the events of today I didn’t want to be alone.” He cleared his throat hastily, “Didn’t want you to be alone, I mean.” His voice trailed off at that, cheeks flushing red.

You smiled at his bashfulness, “I don’t mind that at all Lee,” you said honestly, as you felt the same as he did. Knowing that he would be close by throughout the night relaxed you, and you felt an invisible weight lift off your shoulders. You knew that if he had gotten you two separate rooms it was unlikely you would have slept at all.

“I can’t wait to wash all this fucking grime off of me!” You groan, looking down at your hands in disgust. They were practically grey, covered in God knows what. Leon chuckled heartily at your exclamation, looking down at his own hands in agreement, “You’re telling me.” He mumbled, finally stopping at one of the motel room doors.

“This is us,” Leon muttered, fumbling with the room key as he worked to unlock the door. You almost collapsed in relief at his statement, your body yearning for the warmth of a shower and the comfort of a bed. He finally opened the door, and you could have sobbed in relief at the sight before you. A beautiful king-sized bed lay in the middle of the room, looking like it could swallow you whole in its comforting down.

“You take a shower first,” Leon stated, nodding toward the bathroom at the back of the room. “I’ll check out the surrounding area to make sure we’re safe while you’re in there.” You hum in grateful acknowledgment, already headed in the direction he motioned to.

You set the water just shy of scalding, shedding your dirtied and destroyed clothes before stepping into the hot spray. You moan at the feeling of the hot water running in rivulets down your skin, taking the dirt and grime from your earlier adventures down the drain with it. Thankfully, the motel provided bath products for you to use, and the calming scent of lavender overtook your senses as you freed your skin from the blanket of grime encapsulating it.

When you were done, your skin was raw from all the scrubbing required to cleanse yourself, but you didn’t care. You were just glad to finally be clean. Toweling off the excess water that still clung to your skin, you found a plush cotton robe to pull on hung in the bathroom and then wrung your hair mostly dry with a towel. You headed out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom, finding Leon sitting in one of the chairs by the bed.

He smiled at you as you exited the bathroom, “Well, well, look at you!” He exclaimed, flashing you a playful wink. “All cleaned up and feeling better, huh?” He asked, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees as he looked at you, and a blush rushed to your cheeks.

“Mhm,” you hummed. “I feel so much better now.” You flashed a smile at him. “Your turn to clean up, you stink!” You tease him as you sat on the bed. “I’ll order us food while you’re in there.”

Leon laughed at your teasing with a shake of his head, “Okay, okay. I guess that’s only fair. Make yourself comfortable on the bed, I can stay in the chair next to it tonight.” He headed towards the bathroom to clean himself up, and you ordered the food to be delivered to the room.

A little while later Leon walked out of the bathroom wearing a cotton robe just like yours, his wet hair pushed back off his head to reveal his whole face to you. Your face heated once more. While his bottom half was completely covered by the tied robe, the top part was slightly loosened, revealing his bare, toned chest to your gaze.

“Food on the way?” He asked with a grin in your direction, catching you staring at his chest. “U-uh, yeah. It’s coming.” You stuttered, flustered at the sight before you. Leon chuckled at your reaction. “You okay?’ he asked, seeming genuinely concerned for a moment before he winked at you playfully once again. “Your face is pretty red,” he added with a kind smile. “I’m not that pretty to look at am I?”

Your face reddened even further at being caught ogling him before you looked down at your fidgeting hands and whispered “You have no idea how good you look, Lee.” You hoped that he didn’t hear your quiet declaration.

If you had been looking up at him instead of your hands, you would have noticed the slight pink blush that had risen to his cheeks, as he heard you, but decided not to comment. He distracted himself from responding by looking for the remote, which he produced with a triumphant little “Aha!” aimed in your direction. You raised your eyebrows at him, mirth written in your eyes.

He waggled the remote at you, “Anything, in particular, that you feel like watching?” He asked with a small smile. You settled back into the bed with a hum, shaking your head slightly. “Whatever you want is fine, Lee.” He nodded, once again sitting in the chair next to the bed while scanning through the channels for something suitable.

Soon he found some silly reality show on the television, and it had both of you giggling like crazy at the shenanigans happening on screen. The food had arrived shortly after he put the show on, and both of you ate ravenously, bodies craving nourishment after the strenuous events of the day.

Both of you had finished your meals, and Leon had graciously cleaned up the trash before resuming his spot in the chair next to you in the bed. His eyes were glued to the TV screen, while yours were glued to the shape of his jaw, outlined in the soft glow of the show flashing in the corner of your periphery. Your chest felt warm with affection and anxiety, as you worked up the courage to ask him a question.

“Lee?” You spoke softly, trying to grab his attention. He looked over at you with a soft smile, blue eyes searching for yours. “Yeah?” He replied, just as soft as you. “What’s up? Do you need something? I can get it for you.” He could tell by the look on your face that you were nervous, but for what he didn’t know. His own chest fluttered in anticipation.

“Earlier you said that you were going to sleep in that chair…” You fidgeted with your hands, pulling at your fingers in nervousness. “But, can you come and stay in the bed with me, please? I like having you close after…everything.” Your face burned from embarrassment, ready for him to reject you for such a childish request.

However, his face lit up at your words, as he had secretly been craving the closeness you desired but was too timid himself to say anything. He smiled warmly at you, his heart picking up pace inside his chest. “Oh, of course,” He replied immediately. “I would never say no to that.” He was actually quite giddy that you had asked him to share the bed and had no qualms about it. “It’d make me feel better too.” He added, coming to rest next to you under the soft covers of the bed.

You scooted closer to him, the warmth of his body pressing into yours was a soothing balm on your frayed nerves. Tentatively, you rested your head on his chest. “Thanks, Lee,” you whispered against his skin delicately.

His shoulders relaxed upon the contact of your head on his chest, for having you close was as much a balm to him as it was to you. His arms encircled you, pulling you ever so slightly closer, and squeezed you gently. “You comfy?” He asked, genuinely curious, as he brushed your hair back from your face and behind your ear. “I can readjust if you’re not.”

You hummed in the affirmative as his hand stroked your hair affectionately, nuzzling into his firm chest and relaxing at the safe feeling his arms around you brought. His gaze on you was tender, and he smiled down at your figure resting on his chest. He gave your body another squeeze before a hand trailed down to your back and began tracing your spine through the robe in feather-light strokes.

“You’re safe now,” He murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head in promise. You kissed his chest in response, your hand coming up to stroke his midriff gently. You felt him shiver under your fingers at the touch.

“Lee?” You whispered, looking up at him through your lashes from your position on his chest. “Yes, dear?” He responded softly, raising his eyebrows slightly as he looked down at you. He gave you another comforting squeeze, letting you know that he was listening to whatever you wanted to say to him.

You took a deep breath, eyelashes fluttering. Your gaze flickered between his eyes and his lips quickly before you spoke, “Kiss me?” you whispered, as butterflies took flight in your abdomen.

Leon’s own breathing had hitched beneath the ear you rested on his chest, his eyes immediately flitting to your lips. He swallowed nervously, heart pounding in his chest. His face had a beautiful pink blush as he responded, “U-uh, yeah. Y-yeah I can do that.” He answered in a hushed tone, as if speaking too loudly would make you change your mind.

You smiled up at him in relief, but made no move yet, wanting him to initiate the contact. Leon took a moment to steady himself before placing his hand beneath your chin and guiding your face up to his ever so slowly. You both closed your eyes, noses brushing together tenderly. Leon gently placed his lips upon yours, in a soft, sweet peck before moving back in a bit more insistently. His arms then wrapped around you tightly, his hands desperately winding themselves in your hair. The kisses he gave you were filled with nervousness, but also excitement, hope, and adoration.

You sighed happily into the kisses, your own hands resting on each side of Leon’s neck. His pulse fluttered like a bird’s wings beneath your touch. His lips were unbelievably soft against yours, plush like fine velvet. You shuddered at the feeling of his hands in your hair, your skin flushing red at the intimate touch.

Wanting to be closer to him, you threw a leg over his hips, allowing you to straddle him. The new angle allowed the two of you to kiss deeper, more passionately, and you felt Leon groan heartily into your mouth at the heightened sensations.

His hands traveled from your hair and down the robe covering your sides, coming to rest on the swell of your hips. He was lost in you, his whole being now simmered down to the connection of your lips on his. You felt the same, your world had condensed until all that existed was the man beneath you. His body was the only galaxy in which you existed, and the constellations covering his skin were now yours to chart.

Your hands roamed across Leon’s chiseled chest, thumbs reverently caressing each side of his neck before your hands found themselves tangled into his damp blond hair. Your chests pressed firmly together, and you could feel Leon’s pulse hammering alongside your own.

The revelation that he was just as affected by you as you were by him sent a beam of heat straight to your core, and your thighs tightened briefly. You swallowed the soft moans emanating from Leon’s mouth at this motion eagerly, offering a few lewd noises of your own in return.

The feeling of your hands in his hair had Leon leaning into the touch, a groan rumbling in his throat. Hearing your moans mingling with his own sent him into a frenzy of passion, and he began to kiss you more intensely, your bottom lip becoming entrapped between his teeth. You gasped at the pain as it melted into pleasure, tugging sharply on Leon’s hair in response.

His breathing became ragged at this, a loud whine escaping his throat. The grip he had on your hips tightened, before his hands began to travel back up your sides and then threaded themselves in the hair at the nape of your neck. With a sharp tug, Leon pulled your head back, tearing your lip from the hold of his teeth and angling your neck to the side for easier access.

He began to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down the soft expanse of your throat, his teeth grazing your pulse point hesitantly before he finally gained resolve and sank them gently into your skin with a possessive groan. His body trembled like a leaf beneath yours as the sensation of his teeth marking your neck caused you to keen, high and reedy, in the back of your throat.

You were panting in desire at this point, the arousal coursing through your veins felt like shooting stars beneath your skin, a sensation like no other. “Lee,” you whined. “Feels good.” He huffed against your neck, continuing to softly pepper the skin of your neck with mottled bruises.

A fire was kindling low in your stomach, but you wanted more. You tugged his hair, removing his mouth from your neck, his gaze meeting yours inquisitively. “You don’t have to be gentle with me, Lee. I won't break.” Something ignited within his baby blues at this revelation, his pupils overtaking the soft hue of his iris.

With a desperate moan, he began to handle you more roughly. His teeth sunk into your skin harder than before, and his hands moved beneath the cotton of your robe to squeeze the globes of your ass tightly.

“Oh God,” you keened, your head thrown back in otherworldly bliss. The sting of his teeth on your neck and the brush of his hands on your skin felt like rapture, an exaltation of pleasure you would continue basking in for as long as he would let you.

Looking down at him, and seeing the way he had lost himself in the touch of your skin sent sparks dancing across your nerves. “I’m yours Lee,” you gasp, the words falling from your lips like a lost sinner’s confession. “Do whatever you want with me.”

Leon’s hands shook against your skin as he took in your words, his forehead coming to rest upon the small patch of your chest that had become uncovered in the midst of your kissing. Your words were a hymn that he had once thought to be long lost, a hymn that he thought would never bless the ears of a reprobate such as he. This was a gift he would not squander and a song that he craved to hear forevermore.

He planted a swift kiss on your chest before speaking, “I’m going to take my time with you.” His tone was low and husky, and he flashed you a devilish grin before placing more kisses across the swells of your chest.

A shiver wracked through your body at his darkened tone, your hips undulating down upon his lap beneath you, searching for sinful friction. Having nothing on beneath your robe, you could feel, very well, the bulge that resided beneath Leon’s own covering against your dripping core.

He groaned softly at your movements against him, his face flushed a dark red. His breath was hitching in his throat, and you knew that your hip’s rotation against his was riling him up. His hands fluttered from your rear to the tie of the robe at your waist, fingers slowly but nimbly undoing the knot he found there.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me, sweet thing.” He chuckled. You pulled his head back sharply by his hair in response, making him look you in the eye as you ground your hips downward forcefully, gasping as his bulge grew under your gyrations. “I think I have an idea,” you managed to whimper out, eyes fluttering at the sensation beneath you.

Leon let out a whimper of his own, his eyes widening when you grind down on him. “Fuck,” he whispered, looking into your eyes with desperation. You were a new messiah above him, an idol he could gladly worship for the rest of his days. “You like what you feel? What you see?” He continued hoarsely, arousal clear in his voice.

You moaned loudly, dragging his spit-slick lips up to meet yours in a bruising kiss with a rough pull of his hair. He could have sworn he felt God at that moment. “Yes,” you breathed into his open and panting mouth, “I like it so much, Lee.” His eyes fluttered closed as his lips locked with yours and he groaned into your mouth. His teeth nibbled on your bottom lip, another moan escaping from your throat as he did so. His face was dusted red with lust, his hands fervently trailing across your skin under your now untied robe.

He broke the kiss to take a deep breath, his head thrown back against the headboard as he helped you slide the cotton material off your body. “God, fuck.” He panted, eyeing your now naked form, before reconnecting his mouth with yours forcefully. You continued to grind down on his lap, the friction feeling like heaven on your needy and swollen clit.

“Lee,” you whimpered needily. “Touch me, please.” You were practically begging, needing more of Leon. Needing him closer, needing him deeper than sitting astride his lap would allow.

You were an angelic vision in Leon’s eyes, a holy temptation sent from some higher power to break him down until he was nothing but an obedient servant to you. He would readily tear himself apart for this, would gladly bare himself as a sacrifice at the altar of your body day after day if it meant that he could hear the saccharine words of sin spilling from your lips above him again and again until the day he died.

He let out a soft, needy, whimper. “My God…I will.” His hands caressed your sides before resting on your inner thighs with a rough squeeze. He could see the wetness pooling between them, the manna he craved to devour so close, but he could not give in to his temptation to eat just yet.

“I’ve gotta go slow, make it worth the wait for you.” He panted, fingertips moving ever so closer to the wet apex of your thighs. You keened as his fingertips got closer, but not nearly close enough, to where you wanted them.

“Need you so bad, Lee,�� You pulled at his hair in sexual frustration, “Wanna make you feel good.” He gasped at your admission, a flustered moan leaving his lips. Your words made him feel weak, like an ancient temple crumbling into ruin.

“I know, Angel. And you are making me feel so good, I just wanna make sure you feel the same way.” His hands cupped your face, “Patience is a virtue, remember?” He smirked at you teasingly.

You leaned into his touch on your face with a small groan, “Damn my virtue, Leon. I want you more than I want it.” As soon as the words had left your mouth, Leon knew that a new Psalm had been written. One that he knew he had to get you to sing, one that he knew he had to sing with you.

With an animalistic groan, Leon flipped you onto your back, shedding himself of his robe while he did so. His cock was hard and proud against his abdomen, and you moaned at the sight of it hovering above you. Swollen and red, the tip leaked a steady stream of precum onto your stomach while Leon’s arms bracketed your head, and his lips swallowed yours in another heavenly kiss.

Your hands found themselves tangling in Leon’s hair yet again, using the leverage gained from their grip to hitch your hips up slightly and run your wet folds across his throbbing cock with a gasp. His answering noise was absolutely sinful , and one of his hands came to wrap around your throat. “Please,” he whimpered, squeezing his hand around your throat. The pressure he applied on your neck was just enough to have you seeing stars, your eyes rolling back into your head from the sensation.

“Not yet,” he ground out, hand releasing your throat. “Be a good girl and let me have my fill, and then you’ll get stuffed full of my fat cock. That okay?” He tapped the side of your face twice as he said this, waiting for your response. “Yes sir!” You whimpered.

This new, dominant side of Leon sent your head spinning. He looked at you reverently, like an apostle looking at their messiah for approval. Having given him yours, Leon moved down your body, whispering praises against your skin as he made his way down to your throbbing heat.

Settling himself between your shaking thighs, Leon looked up at you from his position and groaned in pleasure.

You were the Ark of the Covenant, a beautiful and sacred relic seated before him, forbidden to be touched and sullied by the likes of him. But he had fought his temptation for you for so long, and he was nothing but a dirty sinner, after all. Finally giving in to the carnal desires of his flesh, Leon’s mouth found its way onto your dripping cunt with a hum.

Your body came alight at the touch of his mouth on your core. Your back arched, your hands flew to his hair to lace themselves in it, and your heels dug into his back.

The fervent strokes of Leon’s tongue against your folds was your resurrection. Before this moment you had perished, your body slowly returning to the dust from whence you came. But with each suckle on your clit, and each lap of his tongue against your greedy hole, Leon had gifted your once withering body with the breath of life.

His mouth was insistent, never breaking from its attachment to your wet heat even despite the way your body undulated beneath his divine ministrations. His tongue lapped at your cunt like it was holy water, blessed for Leon by God himself. He would rather be damned than waste a single drop of the liquid manna that had been bestowed upon him.

You cried out in bliss as Leon worked, hands and thighs tightening around him. “M’gonna come,” you slurred, eyelids heavy from lust as you peered down at the man worshiping your cunt.

The sight before you had the fire within your stomach roaring into an inferno, an orgasm washing over you, consecrating your body into hallowed ground.

Leon’s hair fanned out between your thighs like a golden halo as his sapphire blue eyes met yours while you came undone on his face. He looked saintly , an absolute picture of sinful devotion painted between your trembling thighs. You wanted to capture this profane image of him and have it turned into a prayer card, one whose iconography you would eternally devote yourself to.

Leon moaned deeply at the feeling of you unraveling on his tongue. Committed to giving you as much pleasure as possible, he continued fucking you with his tongue until your delicate hands were no longer pulling him in, but rather pushing his head away.

He traveled up your body slowly, placing reverent kisses to your skin as he made his way up to your face. Hovering above you, he was enraptured. Your face was flushed red with arousal, eyes cloudy from the post-orgasm haze. You looked like lust personified, your body the picture of cardinal sin.

“Please, let me fuck you.” His words fell upon your ears not as a mere plea for the secular comfort of your flesh, but as a devout prayer. Here he knelt before you, begging for your intercession on behalf of his engorged cock.

Who were you to deny such a pretty prayer? He had been most devoted to your pleasure, therefore it was only right to answer his request in the affirmative.

“Fuck me.” You said as you nodded, spreading your legs, revealing the altar of your body to him once more. Ever the acolyte to your demands, Leon wasted no time situating himself between your spread thighs.

You helped him guide his aching dick to your entrance as his forearms came to rest on either side of your head. Your noses brushed gently, a gasp being passed between the two of you as his tip slipped past the first ring of muscle separating your sex from his.

He kept pushing forward, and one of his hands moved to cup your jaw as his own went slack at the feeling of you enveloping him. Your pulse danced beneath his hand, and your eyes rolled back into your head as the sweet pressure of him filling you overwhelmed your senses. He was so big, and so thick. You were uncertain if your body could make a home for him inside itself.

That thought quickly banished itself, however, when his dick finally made its final push to seat itself inside you. With a breathy moan, you relished in the feeling of having Leon seated snugly inside you.

He had you crucified on his cock, and yet your body still craved more. Your hands scrambled to find purchase on his shoulders as you mewled at the euphoric sensation of his member stretching you out.

“Oh, My God.” Leon groaned against your mouth, your fluttering walls squeezing him so tightly that he was unsure he could move within you.

“Please move, Lee.” You whined, and ground yourself down onto his cock. His hand on your jaw spasmed, squeezing your face briefly in surprise at your movements.

He gasped, and pressed his lips to yours in a heated and sloppy kiss. The hand on your jaw shifted to your neck, and with a gentle squeeze in warning, Leon began pistoning his hips into yours.

Your nails dug into his shoulders, leaving marks in their wake, and your legs wrapped themselves around his hips for stability. The drag of his swollen cock against your walls sent your mind reeling, and you swore to yourself. “Fuck!”

This was an ascension. Leon’s hand squeezing with the perfect pressure against your neck, his lips continuously meeting yours in brutal kisses, a litany of filthy and vile invocations leaving his lips between each one, his dick being angled at just the right spot to make you see stars, and each slide in and out of your squelching wetness had you swearing that he was bringing you closer to heaven’s gates.

Leon growled, his voice demanding and wild. “Are you gonna let me come in you, my angel? Gonna let me stuff your pussy full of me?” You keened at his words, the fire in your stomach heating to an inferno once more.

“Yes,” you panted. “Give it to me, Lee.”

With a moan, Leon released your throat, only to use his now free thumb to force your mouth apart. “Open up.” He demanded, and when you willingly complied, his thumb brushed past teeth to rest on your tongue, and he spat into your mouth with a dark laugh. “What a pretty angel, letting a devil split her open on his cock.”

Swallowing his spit around his thumb greedily, you moaned, clenching even tighter around his cock as it continued to forcefully fuck in and out of you.

The feeling of your walls clamping down on his dick, and the visual of you eagerly swallowing his spit, sent Leon flying over the edge of pleasure. His hips stuttered, burying him as deep in you as he possibly could as his cum painted your insides white.

Seeing Leon come undone above you, and feeling his warm release spill inside you, you were sent careening into ecstasy alongside him. Your cunt clamped down on him hungrily as you came with a small yell, your muscles working to keep his seed inside you, a communion offering you were determined to savor.

After a few moments spent catching his breath, Leon pulled out of you with a soft whine, collapsing next to you on the bed. He shuffled a bit before pulling you into his chest and under the covers with a soft, “C’mere.”

You nuzzled into his sternum when he prompted you closer, and you felt him press soft, sweet kisses to the crown of your head as you pressed one to his chest. You two stayed that way throughout the night, sleeping soundly in the arms of one another.

#leon kennedy #leon s. kennedy smut #leon x reader #leon x reader smut #rookie leon kennedy #rookie leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy smut #reader insert #rookie writes

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romanarose · 11 months

Text

Gift Giving with the Triple Frontier Boys

Triple Frontier Master List All fanfic masterlist

Thoughts on the TF boys expressing their love for you through gift giving, and you returning it.

Acts of Service Word of Affirmation Quality Time Physical Touch

Warnings: Mentions of smut, pregnancy, nightmares involving death, drinking problem, addiction/rehab, past child abuse (sorry Millers lolololol), Not very smutty this time, lo siento.

************

Santiago Garcia

After Santi and Fish went back for the money in the canyon, they split it with the Millers, but that still eft each with a hefty sum. Anyone who grew up poor like Santi knows its easier to make money when you have money, and after a few smart monetary choices, Santi found himself in a good financial position. He still considered what he has somewhat blood money, although you frequently remind him that it was Tom that fucked it all up, so Santi makes sure to donate to charities close to his heart. However, Santiago adores you, and he'd me amiss if he didn't use that money to spoil you. Maybe it's dresses, maybe it's leather pants that show off your ass, maybe it's you're clothing taste is more simple but he indulges you in t-shirts from Star Wars, Doctor Who, and what's the stupid Marvel show? Moon Night? Whatever, he'll get you the goddamn Moon Night back back. If you like make up, fancy head coverings or wigs, he's got you, anything to make his girl feel special. You go to a concert, merch tent is yours. You don't even bring it up half the time, he'll catch you staring at a dress at the mall or 'recently viewed' will pop up on amazon and he'll just get it, as a treat. And if you have a fancy event, a quince, you're nieces first communion, or an Afghan wedding with multiple clothing changes, you bet you'll have the best. Oh, and you BET your wedding dress or suit will be the one you want, and you're ring? On point.

You and Santi took things slow. Maybe it's for religious reasons, maybe it's because you have had bad experiences in the past, or maybe you just wanted too, but you hadn't had sex yet. You'd slept over, keeping things modest but intimate, him holding you close and yeah, you maybe had to ignore a boner or two. He couldn't help it, it was biology, but he was nothing but respectful. However, when the time came you found you were ready.... you had a plan. It was his birthday, and after a very loud, very fun event with all his family and his friends ending with Will half-dragging his brother out because Benny kept saying goodbye for 40 minutes, you found yourselves alone.

"I've got a surprise for you" You gently push Santi back, lifting up your dress to reveal a lingerie set that made you look good and feel comfortable.

The dumbfounded look on his face and immediate bulge in his pants made it all the more impressive that he gulped, and stuttered out an "are you sure? you're absolutely sure?" before diving in on you. It wasn't the only gift you had gotten him, of course, but your body might be his favorite.

Benny Miller

It had been a bad day, but when you called Benny on your break and asked how he was, it was clear Benny was having a rough day at the gym. Benny vented to you, you listened, offered advice where he wanted it and allowed him to complain about the little things that nothing could be done about where he needed. By the time your hour was up, your food was ate and both of you felt better. Even just talking to your husband brightened your day, even if you didn't tell him that you were frustrated. However, work continued to suck ass. When you get home, however, you start on diner because you know Benny had a tough day and food made him happy. When he came home, however, he had a few things. In one had was his keys, water bottle and barely gasping a case of beer (jesus christ his hands are large) and in the other, a Hostess fruit pie from the gas station that he handed to you. "What's this for?" You ask, surprised by the treat. Benny shrugged. "I saw it and thought of you. You said you used to eat them a lot as a kid?" You did... you said that... about 3 years ago you made an offhand comment, and he remembered. Benny was nearly tackled by the hug, and you could not imagine having a better partner in this life.

Benny was a silly lil guy. Not to say he couldn't be serious. He was there for Frankie through his addiction, but Benny's best support was offered through his shinning personality, like visiting Frankie in rehab and making him laugh. Likewise, he was there to listen and genuinely help you with problems, he was fiercely defensive of you, and was serious when needed, but what you loved about him was how much you genuinely had fun together. None of this is to say Benny doesn't have his struggles. You told him he needed to get him drinking under control before you would date him, (although you supported him with that even through the 'friends for now' stage), and Benny clearly had PTSD from serving and from his childhood that he tended to bury under her sunny exterior. You notice him slipping, his nightmares getting worse; nightmares of his dad killing Will, someone hurting you or Santi or Fish, Tom dying... you figured you needed to make him laugh. So, you sit him down and gift with him with a pair of boxers that say "this ass belongs to-" with your name on it. Benny's face splits into a wide, genuine grin. He laughs so damn hard and hugs you so damn tight you feel a little bit better. You tell him you got him a gift because you've noticed he's been struggling lately, and open up a conversation about what's been going on... and maybe, if he's up for it, talking to a doctor at the VA about getting on some anti-nightmare medication.

Frankie Morales

When Frankie came into your life, you knew before you ever dated that he had a daughter, and none of that phased you. She was a good kid, and you had gotten along well with her. Frankie was slow to introduce you, of course, not wanting women in and out of her life, but as you and Frankie grew closer you met her, and were thrilled to be spending more time with her as Frankie thought was appropriate. It was still early in your relationship when you came over to his house only to find Fransico Julio Morales Andala with a tiara on his head, covered in glitter, sitting at a kid sized table with craft goods stone across it... girl dad life. You smiled fondly at him, and chuckled as him and Adrianna yelled at you to wait in the living room until they were done. So, you sat on your phone listening to the father-daughter pair whisper and giggle and argue before they bring their finished product. A Valentines day card, ugly as all hell... but so clearly both of them. Franki drew a helicopter, Adrianna drew a castle, Frankie drew you and him holding hands, Adrina drew a dead "bad guy"... you weren't sure what that head to do with Valentines Day but oh well. And together, they had glued on dried flowers, lace, Star Wars stickers, and a fuck ton of glitter for you. It was entirely too much, would glitter-ize you and your apartment for weeks... but god dammit you were crying and now you had to frame it.

You were nervous, as far as fathers days go... Frankie wanted this, he said he did, but less than 2 months of marriage seemed... soon? You did the math, and he knocked you up your wedding night. Still, you wanted to give Adrianna a sibling... Frankie had spent the day with her, but you really wanted to talk to him alone, and you really thought today was fitting... so Santi took her for diner. He was a father figure to her, after all. It took a while, but halfway through diner was when Frankie asked, worried, 'Something wrong, hermosa?' You couldn't wait any longer, and told him you were pregnant with his child. You watched as the shock filled him, tears misting his eyes before he came over to your side of the table and pulled you to your feet. Frankie picked you up, making you squeal and both of you giggled as he spun you around before setting you down on the floor.

"Best father's day gift ever"

Will Miller

It was a military ball, and although you tried to keep it lowkey... you were thrilled. You hardly got a chance to dress up, and when was the last time you wore a dress this fancy? Will knocked on the door before entering when you called him in, a move you thought was a bit silly considering you were married and it was his savings that bought the house, but Will thought you should be allowed your privacy either way. You turn from where you sit in the vanity mirror, finding Will blue eyes and soft smile trained on you. 'You look beautiful, princess. I'll never get tired of telling you, every damn day.' He kissed the top of your hair, very careful not to mess up your up-do and walked over to his drawer. He began a preamble that you didn't have to wear it if you had other jewelry plans, but you but him off. Whatever he gave, you'd proudly wear. Will walked back behind you, and you are struck once again by how such a large man can manage not to look the slightest bit intimating. not you at least. But maybe that's because you know him, and despite whatever he had done on the military, he was the gentlest soul you had ever met in your life. He pulled out a neckless, stunningly sparkly and bright, with your favorite jewel and fucking hell it must've been expensive. He clasped it behind you, sealing the act with a kiss on your neck, a hint of what no doubt will happen later tonight... And you will, in fact, be showing this neckless of all night, just as Will is going to show off you.

"Honey, I'm home!" You call as you step in and Will beckons you to the guest room where he is fixing the closet door. Will turns around to greet you, setting the tools down so he could take you in for a kiss, something you two promised to try and do every day, when he saw what you were holding, flowers. Confused, he kisses your cheek. "Are we visiting your grandma today, honey?" He asked, and when you said no, he had a few more possible reasons for the flowers, even so far as to ask if this was your way of reminding him he forgot an important date. You laugh, as if he would ever. You finally tell him, "They're for you, silly." The man was too stunned too speak. "For me? Why?". You explain you don't need a reason, that he's your special man and he deserves it. You explain how you were driving home and saw a pop up flower stand, and realized that your kind, thoughtful, gentle, hardworking husband had probably never gotten a bouquet in his 30 something years of living. And what a shame that was! He deserved flowers. Pretty ones, too. Despite the strength he held, and the way his arms wrapped tight around you, he knew his strength and did not squeeze to hard... but it was a firm hug, and as he buried his face in your neck, you swore it was a little wet as he whispered "thank you, beautiful." Even in his childhood, no one had treated him with such soft kindness as you did, and he'd do everything in his power to not let you go.

*************************

SORRY THE LAST ONE TOOK FOREVER i was uninspired but the oscar isaac discord im in helped me get on my feet.

If you liked this one make sure to check out the other 4 love languages!

@whatthefishh @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @kittyofalltrades @luciannadraven33 @littlenosoul @jake-g-lockley @milkymoon2483 @howaboutcastiel @miraclesabound @bitchyglitterfox @missdictatorme

and bc

#triple frontier #santiago garcia #oscar isaac #benny miller #garrett hedlund #charlie hunnam #will miller #pedro pascal #frankie morales #santiago garcia x reader #benny miller x reader #will miller x reader #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier fluff #fluff #comfort

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seaofimaginarysins · 3 minutes

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Ibaraki, preference between getting a blowjob and facefucking a cutie?

"Ain't nothin' better than plowing a cutie's throat, y'know?" She's too impatient for it to go any other way, she'll just wind up taking the lead and going all out anyways.

#oni of the valley || ibaraki #communion with the stars || asks #landoflustfulladies

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beyondthevisiblebackground · 14 days

Text

When I contemplate your heavens, the works of your fingers, the moon and the stars that you have set there, I ask myself, "What is man that you think of him? What is the son of man that you take him into account?" Thou hast made him a little lower than the angels, and crowned him with glory and honor. You gave him dominion over the work of your hands; you put everything under his feet. Psalms 8: 4-5

Cuando contemplo tus cielos, obras de tus dedos, la luna y las estrellas que allí fijaste, me pregunto: "¿Qué es el hombre para que en él pienses? ¿Qué es el hijo del hombre para que lo tomes en cuenta?". Lo hiciste poco menor que los ángeles y lo coronaste de gloria y de honra. Le diste dominio sobre la obra de tus manos; todo lo pusiste bajo sus pies. Salmos 8: 4-5

We aren't an accident without destiny

Constantly we experience battles in our flesh that are a reflection of what is going on around us. Many times we aren't aware of the spiritual world around us because we can't see it, and that leads us to lose a battle that we don't know we are fighting.

One of them is to test our knowledge of God and thereby cause us to doubt our purpose and what He says about our value and identity.

We all have an emptiness that only God can fill. Human beings were created in His image, so it's normal to live on the edge of need and feel empty when we are far from our Creator. The original plan was for man to be in communion with God, otherwise, "feeling empty" would be one of the many consequences of being far from His presence.

Who knows the work of art better than the artist himself? No one knows the works better than the one who created them. God knows our needs because God is our Creator. That "vacancy" that inhibits us from living a full life will always be God because God is the only and greatest need of man.

"Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, and before you were born I sanctified you, I gave you as a prophet to the nations." Jeremiah 1: 5.

No somos un accidente sin destino

Constantemente experimentamos batallas en nuestra carne que son el reflejo de lo que ocurre a nuestro alrededor. Muchas veces no estamos conscientes del mundo espiritual que nos rodea porque no podemos verlo, y eso nos lleva a perder una batalla que no sabemos que estamos luchando.

Una de ellas es poner a prueba nuestro conocimiento sobre Dios y por ende, hacernos dudar de nuestro propósito y sobre lo que Él dice de nuestro valor e identidad.

Todos tenemos un vacío que solo Dios puede llenar. El ser humano fue creado a Su imagen, por lo que es normal vivir al filo de la necesidad y sentirse vacío cuando estamos lejos de nuestro Creador. El plan original era que el hombre estuviera en comunión con Dios, de otro modo, “sentirse vacío” sería una de las tantas consecuencias al estar lejos de Su presencia.

¿Quién conoce mejor la obra de arte más que su propio artista? Nadie conoce mejor las obras más que aquel que las creó. Dios conoce nuestras necesidades porque Dios es nuestro Creador. Esa “vacante” que nos cohibe de vivir una vida plena siempre será Dios porque Dios es la única y mayor necesidad del hombre.

‭"Antes que te formase en el vientre te conocí, y antes que nacieses te santifiqué, te di por profeta a las naciones." Jeremías 1: 5.

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copiousloverofcopia · 1 year

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Because I couldn't help myself... Enjoy 😈

Jesus He Knows Me

Also available HERE on A03!

Definitely NSFW below the cut!

He walked towards his car, parked just outside of the house of the Lord he called his own. It was late, street lights lit up like stars illuminating the street as he took his leave. The dear priest sighed to himself, another long day spent with his right hand lifted in praise of Jesus and the other handing out the collection basket. He kept his true self hidden in plain sight from the masses and knew his time for penance would come before the dawn.

Jim pulled loose his collar, tucking the white tab in his pocket as he reached for his keys. His ear, ever listening—waiting. It wasn't long before, and as if by magic, that the telltale sound of blasphemous rock music came rolling up behind him. The eerie melodic sounds coming from an otherwise quiet car. The vehicle was long and sleek. Black as the night and tinted windows that dare not even let the light of God inside them.

Father Jim smiled, pulling his key back out from the lock and turning to face the car as it pulled up behind him. The priest, standing there in the moonlight ready for them. His body shadowed over by the large cross that stood proudly atop the steeple. Within seconds a familiar man in a mask had rolled down the window. Not a man at all but something else, something that looked of science fiction and deceit, beckoning Jim to listen as he addressed him. "Father…"

"Yes, my child?" Jim asked smugly.

"You know where we're going?" The masked ghoul asked, his sharp canines catching the glint off the street lights as he smirked.

"Of course." Jim nodded, the door to the back seat opening up for him.

Before he knew it, they had arrived. Car pulling up to the large wooden doors outside the Ministry. Father Jim bit his lip. Tasting the tang of his blood and feeling his pants tightening up at the mere sight of the building.

The masked man opened the door for him. The father stepped out, adjusting the lay of his jacket as he walked inside. This church belonged to a much more malevolent God, or so he preached compared to that of his own. He made his way to the chapel, giddy as a schoolgirl for what awaited him inside.

The doors pulled wide open, revealing his true place of worship. The chapel was open and quiet, the smell of ashes and incense filling his senses. Father Jim's eyes, darted straight to the lavishly dressed and skull painted man at the lectern. Papa Emeritus IV had called for him—and like a good Catholic boy he did as he was told.

"Jim…" Copia said, acknowledging his presence and finishing up a note before looking up from his papers.

"Papa." The priest responded, falling to his knees before him in the center of the nave. Copia looked down at him, cracking a smile before rounding the lectern and standing before him. He was menacing and beautiful, Jim thought to himself.

"So eager to please are we?" Copia teased, watching the swell beneath the Father's trousers grow.

"Always Papa…ah…" Jim whimpered as Copia pressed his shoe against the his hard cock.

"Hmmm…Jimmy. How delicious is the sin of Lust for which all of his wayward flock succumb." Copia hissed. Father Jim's jaw, becoming lax and mouth falling open. A trail of saliva finding its way along the side of his lip.

"I'm hungry Papa, please." He begged, Copia quickly removed the shoe from his crotch and turned around. Pacing the room in thought as he secretly wanted to watch as the clergyman suffered.

"Have you been sinful? Greedily spreading the so-called 'word' of you God...only for your personal gain?"

"Yes, Papa...I must confess. I have been prideful and gluttonous." He admitted. Copia turned to face him. White eye, burning with need. Jim swallowed back, feeling his heart pounding within his chest and his blood surging through his veins..

"Good. That's what I like to hear. Now come to Papa and receive communion." Copia purred. Jim attempted to stand up when Copia growled at him. "No! Crawl, crawl on your belly like the serpent. Show me how much you really want to be saved."

"Yes, your Excellency." He abided, crawling towards Copia on his belly and slowly moving to all fours. The front of his pants dampened, leaving a streak across the marble tile in his own precum. The scent of lust, emanating from him as he got closer. Copia took a deep inhale just as Jim reached him.

"You smell of semen, fitting for a filthy slut such as you are. Your kind, living in the new Sodom and Gomorrah of the times." He responded, sending a wink to the ghouls to leave them. Copia pushed his ornate blue and bronze robes to the side, freeing himself. Jim could hardly believe it as Papa's magnificent cock hung in front of him. Like a vision from Heaven above, revealed to the Father for worship. Leaky and thick, begging to be taken.

Papa took hold of Jim's jaw, running his thumb along the fluff of beard hair that graced it, pulling it all the way open for him. Allowing Jim to watch as he stroked himself. Jim felt his own cock twitch and pulse with anticipation. The Father's drooling, becoming obscene as he stared hungrily at the phallus before him.

"Please Papa. I have been such a good boy." Jim whined, shifting on his knees below him.

"Tell me what I want to hear. The words so sweet from your lips the night before your God's resurrection… tell me them and I will slip my cock into this greedy, filthy mouth." Copia commanded, running the swollen red tip over Jim's anxious lips.

"Hail Sa–" Jim began before cutting himself off. Suddenly Copia's shoe was back on his erection again. Pressing so hard Jim couldn't help but let out a yelp.

"I said SAY them Father, and I did NOT stutter." Copia snapped, continuing to dig his heel into him.

"Hail Satan!" Jim cried out, feeling as though he might explode. Copia began to chuckle, continuing to pleasure himself—his own hand brought him close to the edge.

"Good boy. Now you want the Eucharist Father? Then you shall have it in HIS name." Papa groaned, hands firmly grabbing the back of Jim's head. Slamming his cock past his lips into his throat. The father gagged a bit, tears pricking his eyes as he swallowed and gulped. Taking every inch of satanic panic he could.

Copia moaned, relishing the feel of his cock in such a pious mouth. Jim hummed along Papa's length, slurping and licking as his other hand reached to caress Papa's tensed sack. Copia panted heavy as the two men worked together as one. Thrusting into Jim's willing throat, the priest desperately trying not to cum on himself as he sucked on Copia's swollen shaft.

"Hsssss….no teeth." Copia groaned as Jim's teeth grazed the underside of his cock. Jim tried to mutter an apology, but his mouth was so full it only sounded like an amalgamation of disconnected, wet syllables between moans.

Soon Papa was close, his belly taut and his cock pulsing and ready. He drove himself deep into the back of Jim's throat a few times before popping his cock out from the Father's mouth. Spit stringing in the air like webs between them. Copia took his sex back into his own hands. Jerking himself hard and fast until he spilled his hot seed all over the father's face. fathery Jim's beard and mouth covered in sinful bliss as he smiled.

The father licked his lips, savoring the bitter yet salty taste of damnation Papa so graciously bestowed upon him. Copia stumbled over to the altar. Breathing ragged and cock soft and spent. Trying to compose himself before he spoke again. Jim got up on his feet, pants covered in cum from his own inevitable release.

Copia saw it, tightening his grip on his alb before letting out a groan. "You slut. How dare you cum without permission. Now be a good Father and drop the pants. Give me that tight hole of yours. Tonight is my time to rise again and make you mine. But not JUST mine Jimmy...you make wonderful fodder for my ghouls once I'm done with you." Copia hissed, Jim nodding in acknowledgement.

The rest of the night was a blur. Sex, fire, pain, pleasure. It all swirled together to where one was no longer distinguishable from another. Father Jim, the devout Catholic who led his parish with a heavy emphasis on giving—without getting, had been got. A man of the cloth, nothing but a heathen in the night. His ass offered up to Papa and his ghouls over and over again until they needed him not anymore. Leaving his clerical suit, covered in sweat and cum from his worship.

Jim was slowly coming to. The memory of the night before, returning to him as he opened his eyes—unsure of how he'd gotten home. It was then he realized the sun was too bright for behind his window. The smell of the air, too crisp and fresh from within his room. The birds chirping loudly finally alerted him to what he feared.

He sat up quick to find his naked body, covered in scratches and sticky from cum, on full display in the front of his church. His true nature—unhidden by his faith or cloth in front of everyone on Easter Sunday. He scrambled to collect himself. Rushing into the church, past the parishioners like lightning crashing to the sky. Papa had outted him on one of his holiest days. He was a whore and a sinner—and what a common sinner that he was.

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dexabite · 2 years

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because i'm bored: here's what i think about the characters of ride the cyclone!

ocean o'connell rosenberg:

definitely was a huge snob. in my language, we call those kind of people "maldita" HAHAHAH

she sounds so much like a high school bully that it's hilarious... but also, i feel like she was bullied in elem and was consequently also mean in highschool? idk she gives me that energy

DEFINITELY the kind of person to love legally blonde and mean girls and just projected it onto her persona LMAOO

though she's probably really very much a big softie once she developed at the end of the musical, but still hides it behind her bitchy and rude exterior

she looks like she would take someone's phone and squint whenever someone shows her a meme, like the way a mother would

noel gruber:

mean gay. that's it.

it's canon that whenever he's nervous or uncomfortable, he picks on his nail polish! and i love that! he's just like me fr!

i think the thing he really wanted was just a life outside of his simple one when he was alive... and i think monique gibeau was his drag persona

that said: NOEL DRAG QUEEN AAHHHH

feels like he would be more reserved because he's trying to look normal because of his mom yk, so he probably didn't have many friends outside of the choir (who weren't very close to begin with, judging from the way they talk in the beginning of the musical)

but besides that, he wants to be FLAMBOYANT and FEMININE and i love him

mischa bachinski:

iconic. stole boxes of communion wine for his eight year old cousin because of birthday. im in love with him.

sorry to noel, but he's the REAL most romantic boy in town. nothing compares to the way he sings about talia as if he couldn't live without her. get yourself a man like mischa.

probably loves ridiculous memes. would laugh at them for so long and show everyone in the choir

i think he doesn't actually watch horror movies but watches analysis videos on youtube about them like i do.

when he actually watches horror movies, he squirms around and does all of these weird movements and noises to cope with the fear 😭 not outright scream though, he's too emasculated /j

ricky potts:

he is an oc writer just like me. i love him for that.

was most likely into warrior cats as a kid, obviously marvel comics and star trek too. no way he wasn't.

he mooost likely didn't want to be in the choir in the first place but ocean forced him in it, based off his reaction to ocean trying to get people to like her again after singing about social darwinism 😭

that said, he's just like me fr... using escapism as a coping mechanism for his lonelines... i love you ricky and and your sexy cat ladies from zolar

and actually, i think he's one of the most underrated characters apart from constance which is such a SHAME...

he's so nerdy and JUST LIKE ME FR!!!

i think that before his hands degenerated, he was an artist. not a good one, but enough for people to recognize it!

jane doe:

CREEPYPASTA ENJOYER I CAN SMELL IT OFF OF HER.

creepy... i love her...

and i think that she's really good at crocheting, to add onto the whole doll aesthetic. makes tiny sweaters for ricky's cats, probably made a phone case for constance made out of wool... no matter how inconvenient it was

i think that noel would've painted her nails black too because she deserves it!!!

anyway, her and ricky are the "the bad bitch i got thanks to my autism" meme definitely. going both ways

anyway her actor's voice always sounds like an opera singers it's so impressive! that's why i believe that she can actually sing opera if they ask her to

definitely knows obscure facts about medieval torture and lions... just because!

FOORNICATION UNDER CONSENT OF THE KING!!!!

constance blackwood:

HER SONGS MAKE ME FEEL SO MANY THINGS IT'S CRAZY

the unique lesson of "there's no shame in loving my small town" ...my god you never hear that in musicals EVER

it's always "GET ME OUT OF HERE PLEASE!!!!" not the lesson that's in sugar cloud

that said, god... the fact that she doesn't like being called nice because it means that no one truly got close enough to her to know her for her goofiness... her weird thoughts, and her silly mannerisms and she had no one to vent to </3

hell, even her so called BEST FRIEND is mean to her!!!

but i feel like they'd still be close, despite that yk? best friends always stick together and as ocean develops more i think that they'd get closer until they're literally the only two who knows the other better than themselves

OH and i think that constance would've loved writing fanfic... she just has that kinda energy yk? she and noel would bond over writing and they'd talk about what they write and constance would hesitate because she doesn't want to admit that she writes gay fanfiction on ao3 😭🙏

#rtc #ride the cyclone #rtc musical #ride the cyclone musical #rtc jane doe #rtc constance #rtc mischa #rtc noel #rtc ocean #rtc ricky #i love this musical with all my heart and soul.#rtc hcs #ride the cyclone headcanons #ride the cyclone hcs #rtc headcanons

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snugglesquiggle · 21 days

Text

i feel a lil bad asking this right when a lot of people are excited for hostile takeover, but for financial reasons, i might need to start putting some of my energy into more serious original projects again.

i'm not pausing HT — i don't think i could stop thinking about those lezbots if i tried — but being able to take breaks to work on other things tends to be good for my energy levels in general.

and honestly, when i first started, i thought HT itself was just going to be a quick break from those projects, and now i'm four months in and my plans keep growing >.>

anyway, the purpose of this post is that i wanted to gauge interest. i know most people follow me for murder drones stuff, but do any of the original stories i'm considering interest you?

more detailed pitches for each of these can be found under the cut. honesty is appreciated.

a note before i pitch them — when i write original fiction, i post it to my site and a site for original fiction called royalroad. i'll probably reserve my ao3 account for, yknow, fanfiction.

the plan is that while the stories will eventually be available publically, supporters to my patreon will get to read several chapters ahead of everyone else.

Aurora Moonrise

It is the nature of comets to dazzle and destroy. These eldritch spirits from beyond the stars grind kingdoms to dust with joyful ease. Only the power of a daughter of the moon can repel them. There are none left. Aurora knows she is different. Her father is a plain man, and her mother is a mystery. Her prismatic hair, her divergent mind, her inability to weave common enchantments — it must come from her mother's side. But her mother is gone and no one will say why or where or anything. It's enough to make her want to fight someone. And Aurora fights — people, animals, spirits, it doesn't matter. She doesn't want to hurt them, but it's thrilling. She'll just have to become a knight — knights get to fight things, right? And knights get answers to who their parents were. When a cursed storm leaves Aurora glowing in the light of the full moon, she awakens new powers she can't control. Powers unheard of, except in those old stories. But the word on the lips of churchmen is witchcraft — communion with unnatural spirits that spells doom. Will she defend humanity? Or is she a threat to it?

pitching this one is hard, because the most interesting thing about is a twist reveal at the end of the first arc. at first, you can see it's framed to suggest — and Aurora initially believes — her mother is a "daughter of the moon", but of course, she's actually a comet.

as the poll option suggests, her inhuman heritage makes urges her to fight and hinders her ability to understand the basics of human social interaction.

this would be a long story, lighter in tone than the others, and structured like a fantasy trilogy, about Aurora journeying across the land doing what she thinks heroes do. along the way, she picks up several party members with their own weird baggage. all of them girls, of course, and it gets very gay by the end — but it's slow going because, yknow, aurora doesn't understand romance, either.

i'm very excited about this project — just thinking about it is enough to get me bouncing. you can actually read a four chapter teaser right now, and i have over 70k words of notes past that, with the whole thing outlined start to finish.

Thy Wretched Mask

Everyone wants to peel off their skin and scream into the night. You're just supposed to keep a handle on that. Beca's trying. Now on the run, she'll just have to get it right in a new town. She's got nothing to her name save a pet raven, but a little pickpocketing will change that. Maybe a burglary or two. As long as she doesn't tear someone's flesh apart in broad daylight, she could keep things controlled. It's a lonely life, but friendship is only temptation. She should just keep to herself. So why does she listen when the woman from the shadows talks? They're making an offer that could lift her off the streets for good. The catch? She has to kill someone. Again. That's definitely too much temptation.

once again, the most interesting parts of this are a surprise. Beca isn't human; she's saddled predatory instincts she doesn't understand. the "fungal possession" comes into play several chapters in. it gets intense enough that i believe it's one of the few times i've teared up while writing something, and it's so far the first and only time i've written something that explores topics of plurality, which is pretty personal to us

i say HT is the first time i've written romance (and it is), but TWM came close, and would have gotten even closer if i continued it.

i've already written over 20k words of this (unpublished), but due to the writing exercise it began as, it requires substantial rewrites; i cringe when i try to reread it, and it honestly makes the prospect of returning a bit unexciting.

this would probably only about the length of a novel. (original projection was novella length, but i think i want to flesh it out more.)

of all of my potential projects, i think this one is probably the biggest thematic overlap with Hostile Takeover. but uh, it's dark enough to make that look like a sappy romance >.<

Running Out of Skin & Time

Tomorrow, a lord will be flayed alive. Once his flesh, freely given, is woven into a vast frame, enchanted scars will turn him into a living portal, a gift that could turn a blightstricken town into a bustling trade nexus. Apnoe has woken up beside the same dead girl three nights in a row. The lord's flaying is tomorrow — same as it was for the last three nights. She's the only one who's noticed. Assassins lurk in the flaying festival's crowds, and when they strike the lord dead, the whole town watches their dreams crumble, and then Apnoe wakes again as if from a dream. She knew this quite well; on the first night, she had killed him. Scarred flesh grants magic. How deep a wound did it take to make every living soul in the city relive the same day? It wasn't Apnoe's, and she doesn't know why only she remembers, but then again, most scar magic treats her differently. After all, she's dead half the time. Apnoe would kill to end this nightmare — but it seems the only way out is saving a man who'll die tomorrow anyway.

of all the options, this story is the least well flesh out (no pun intended), but it has a lot of potential. a "time loop" where a character relives the same day over and over is something not enough stories explore well

(if it means anything to you, the inspiration for this fic was literally just thinking "what if the Shibuya Incident was a time loop?")

i call this "superhero fantasy" because, while i havent figured out the tech level (it's industrial, but how modern?), the magic system gives everyone unique and specific abilities that are easiest to imagine as superpowers.

the time loop effect itself is the rube goldberg interaction of half a dozen powers, and part of the fic is puzzling out just how it works, as well as puzzling out how to overcome the various powers arrayed against the lord.

it would be a very complex, cerebral fic, all about power progression and fight scenes, but at its heart, i want it to be the story of two dead girls who love each other enough to unravel fate itself

A Chimerical Hope

Duskroot is destroyed. A minor stronghold, its enemies were cunning and coordinated and its allies didn't lift a hand. As vultures at a corpse, mercenaries hunt for survivors. Awelah escaped Duskroot. She lost everything. Vengeance drives her, but can she kill a angel beyond death? Ooliri's mission is to aid the refugees. He has to prove he belongs in a family of medical geniuses. But healing isn't enough — can he bring the dead back to life? Makuja seeks safety among the refugees. Death and servitude leaves her gaze empty. It's easy to be a follower, but is there a purpose worth living for? First, the three need answers. A grand scheme is unfolding, and Duskroot was only the first step.

unlike all of the others, this isn't an idea for a story, or a plan for a story, it is a story, one i've written 100k words for. you can read it here

it's set in an expansive setting i've spent literal years thinking about with giant insects empowered by virulent mutant bat blood and cold black corruption pouring out from a hole in the sky.

it's also, shamelessly, only avoids being called naruto fanfiction by dint of sheer weirdness

Aurora Moonrise may be the story i'm most excited about, but ACH is the one with the most ambition and purpose behind it. if i could only ever tell one story in my life, it'd probably make it ACH. it might be over a million words if i ever finish it

but i also think it's probably too weird to get very popular.

And so on

if you can't tell already, i have a LOT of story ideas. before i ever watched murder drones, would you believe i was literally already working on a story about killer lesbian robots on a inhospitable frozen planet haunted by a creeping cosmic horror?

and i'm kind of tempted to work on a story about modular mushroom creatures that live underground. or a fricken pokemon mystery dungeon self-insert i've already finished one chapter of.

and of course, i have several other stories i could continue working on.

but like, the stories i've listed are the ones i can honestly say i might work on right now. and, practically speaking, the stories that might genuinely takeoff, if i dare hope.

#🐍#my squiggles #my writing

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supermarine-silvally · 2 months

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❤️ + Portada pls!! -🍂

Part 2 of this!

❤️ first kiss / realization

Something was terribly, horribly wrong.

Ace had first noticed it at breakfast. He had stuffed his plate with as much bacon as Thatch would let him get away with and sauntered over to his usual spot, wedging himself between Yara and Marco. The First Division Commander had greeted him as per usual, but Yara didn’t even bother to glance up from the saddest bowl of oatmeal Ace had ever seen; the only garnishing on it two solitary raisins.

(He knew for a fact that she didn’t even like raisins. They reminded her too much of the crappy communion wine at the convent she grew up at, she’d told him once, scrunching her nose up in that adorable way she did whenever she found something particularly unsatisfactory.)

Throughout the rest of the day, things seemed to only get worse. She kept her gaze down and her answers monosyllabic whenever he tried to interact with her-- and that was when she didn’t outright leave the room as soon as he entered.

“Trouble in paradise, yoi?” Marco had asked him when he caught Ace moping around on the Moby Dick’s upper deck.

Ace let out a massive, depressed sigh in response, draping his arms over the gunwale. Part of him almost wished a strong gust of wind would come along and knock him into the water. “I think I did something wrong, Marco. I haven’t seen her this upset with me since before I officially joined the crew.”

The doctor placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You need to talk to her about it. I’m sure whatever it is can easily be fixed. Yara may be stubborn, but she’s not unreasonable.”

“That’s… true,” Ace conceded. He stood up straight, his determination renewed. “I’ll go find her. The sooner I can sort this out, the better.”

“Good luck, yoi,” Marco said, giving him a firm pat on the back.

And that was what led him here, hanging out near the entrance to the mess hall, biding his time. There was no way that Yara could avoid him forever… could she?

“Ace.”

He instantly perked up, a relieved grin spreading across his face as he caught sight of her heading towards him, a file stuffed with papers tucked under her arm. She, however, did not return his joy, but instead stared emotionlessly back at him as she handed him the file. “Pops said to give this to you.”

He nodded, receiving it from her. “Oh, thanks! …Right, these are the maps I wanted to see.”

Yara gave him a curt nod in return before pivoting back towards the entranceway.

“Wait, where are you going?”

She stopped, turning to face him again, her eyes narrowed. “I came. I gave you the file. And now I’m leaving.”

“Yara!” Ace called out after her, dropping the file onto a nearby table. He reached for her hand, but his fingers passed straight through her. His brow furrowed, confused. Now she was using her Devil Fruit powers with him? She never did that.

“I’m not in the mood, Ace,” was all she replied, her tone icy.

His entire body wilted, heart thudding pitifully in his chest as she left the mess hall without so much as a second glance. Oh, he had definitely fucked something up.

☠-----⚔-----☠-----⚔-----☠

“Yaraaaaa…” Ace knocked on her bedroom door. “Can we talk? Please?”

He held his breath, waiting. Finally, after a moment, the latch clicked. Yara opened the door a crack. She was wearing her nightdress, her loose hair cascading down her shoulders. Ace couldn’t help but notice the dark circles lingering under her eyes as she stared at him.

Swallowing, he took a step back. “Hi.”

“It’s late, Ace.”

“I know. I couldn’t sleep.”

“Then I suppose you’ve come to let me down easy,” she said with a sigh.

His brow furrowed. “Let you down what?”

“Never mind. I shouldn’t delay the inevitable. Shall we go somewhere more private than the living quarters?”

Nodding, he allowed her to step out of her room before following her down the hallway. She led him down the stairs and outside to the second level balcony. The stars glinted overhead as the Moby Dick gently careened along its path, cutting through the ocean’s calm surface. Yara leaned against the railing, the faint breeze catching the edge of her nightdress. Just the sight of her underneath the moon’s light was enough to make Ace’s stomach twist into knots.

He sucked in a breath. There was no way he could let this go on any longer. “It’s the stupid dare thing, isn’t it? That’s why you’re upset with me.”

“I’m not upset with you,” Yara replied evenly. “I’m upset with myself.”

“What? Why?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does. It matters a lot. Especially if I… if I did something to hurt you. Please, Yara. You’re…” He swallowed. “You’re one of my best friends. Whatever it is, I’ll make it right.”

Yara glanced away from him, a conflicted look flickering through her eyes. “I… made a foolish miscalculation,” she said after a moment. “I thought that… perhaps you might…” She hesitated. For a moment, he could’ve sworn he saw a faint blush spread across her cheeks. “That, well… That kissing me wouldn’t have been as intolerable for you as it evidently was.”

“Intolerable?” His brow furrowed. “Kissing you wouldn’t be intolerable.”

“Oh, please.” Her glare narrowed as it returned to rest on him. “You dragged your feet and then turned away at the last second. How the hell else could I possibly interpret that, Ace? From my standpoint, it was a fairly obvious rejection.”

Ace’s heart was practically beating out of his chest as the realization slowly dawned on him. “Hold on a minute. You… wanted me to kiss you?”

Yara’s nose scrunched up, her mouth drawing into a tight line like it did whenever she was frustrated by something. Finally, she turned away with a sigh. “…You’re an idiot of the most hopeless variety. Let’s just forget this ever happened.”

“Yara, wait.” He reached towards her, catching her hand. This time, her flesh stayed solid, and he curled his fingers around hers as he pulled her in.

She let out a surprised gasp as one of his hands moved to her waist, the other tenderly cupping her face. Her skin felt so soft as he lightly stroked her cheek, the butterflies that had been nesting in his stomach bursting to life.

“Last night, I really, really wanted to kiss you,” he breathed.

“Then why didn’t you?” she whispered, eyes widening as his fingers traced along the small of her back.

“Because I didn’t want our first kiss to be something either of us would regret,” he confessed. “You’re too special to me for that.”

“Ace…”

“I never thought I’d meet someone like you, Yara. Someone who just… accepted me so easily. Who didn’t care at all about my good-for-nothing father. The last thing I ever would’ve wanted is for you to think I only kissed you because Haruta dared me to, and not because I’m madly, stupidly in love with you, and I have been ever since Pops brought me onto this ship.”

Her eyes went unnaturally wide. “What?”

“Oh.” Ace blinked, his hand leaving her waist to awkwardly scratch the back of his neck. “Shoot, did I just say that out loud?”

He took her stunned silence as an affirmative. “So, uh… would it be okay if I kissed you now?”

“Please,” Yara breathed, leaning in. Their foreheads pressed lightly together, noses brushing as they revelled in each other’s warmth. His arms wrapped around her waist, the cotton fabric of her nightdress bunching between his fingers as he pulled her tight to his chest. She clung to his bare shoulders, the tips of her fingers smoothing along his collarbone, each feather-light touch setting off fireworks in his stomach.

“You’re so beautiful, Hellcat,” he murmured against her lips, feeling her breath hitch.

“Kiss me already, Fire Fist,” she whispered, the neediness in her voice sending a jolt of pleasure throughout his entire body, small flames flickering involuntarily off his skin.

He wasted no more time in closing the gap between them, lips slotting into place as if they were always meant to do so. The whole world ceased to exist around him as their mouths moved in sync, the taste of her flooding his senses, all the pent-up love he’d kept locked in his heart for so long finally flowing freely through him.

One hand slowly drifted upwards, tangling in her long violet hair as he cupped the back of her neck, pressing himself forwards to dip her down, stealing a tiny gasp of air before continuing the kiss. He could feel Yara’s lips twitch upwards, the sensation making him grin into the kiss as well.

They broke away, foreheads coming to rest against each other’s as Ace cradled Yara’s cheek in his palm. “I love you,” he admitted. “I’m sorry for not telling you sooner, and for being such an idiot last night.”

Yara laughed softly. “After that kiss, you’re definitely forgiven. And I…” Her face flushed, looking away for a moment before returning her heterochromatic gaze to meet his dark eyes. “I love you too, Portgas D. Ace. You dummy.”

“You love me too,” he repeated, unable to keep himself from grinning wildly. His heart felt as if it were on fire, burning with an intense, aching passion. I never thought I’d ever hear anyone say those words to me. I’m hardly deserving of them, yet… Yet it still feels so nice.

He slipped an arm around her waist, letting her rest her head on his shoulder as they both gazed out at the moon and stars beyond. “So… where do we go from here?”

She shrugged. “Wherever we want, I suppose. We’ll figure it out together.”

Smiling, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “That sounds perfect.”

tagging: @auxiliarydetective @oneirataxia-girl @daughter-of-melpomene (and @box-of-bats too if you want the narrative resolution to the last prompt hehe)

#oc: bravada yara #ship: portada #otp: i'd burn the world for you #portgas d ace x oc #asked and answered #my ocs #my writing #chats with alvita #tysm for the prompt!! i'm having WAY too much fun with these #and i legit think i'm getting better at writing kisses too #as i said before things will play out differently in 'and i'll surrender (myself to you)' but regardless #i do love a good confession scene #i am in FULL portada mode rn lol

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