#♡ : saint speaks

[sweetsaintess]

Your art is really cute!!

thank you so much, that makes me happy to know ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა ♡

[barbieb0y]

i dont think ive shared this before. and also i want an excuse to fagpost again SO ! me and my roommates made presentation slides of men we are/were into and idk about them but i still regularly update it to this day and i want to share this personal relic with all of you <3

you can comment on it and stuff. do whatever the hell you want with it. and yes i WILL add more men. this presentation is alive i tell you that

[jo-com]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆➛ Baby Fever

Charles Leclerc x fem!reader x Alexandra Saint Mleux

Summary: The three of you raised a child together, and for two years you guys kept it a secret, but after thinking it through, you guys decided that it was finally time to show your daughter to the world.

Genre: Fluff, throuple, pregnancy, overall adorable

words: 890

TW: just some sweet rotting fluff, some grammatical error, not proofread, google translated french cause i can't speak french, sorry if i wrote it wrong.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ➛ My Masterlist

─────── ─ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ─ ───────

After finding out that the three of you were pregnant, both Charles and Alex were over the moon—excited to meet their unborn baby. The baby hasn't even come out yet, but she/he has already been loved by all three of the parents.

Time had gone by easily; the once small bump in your tummy was now growing like crazy, it was like the size of a watermelon. Your back hurts like hell whenever you stand up but lucky for you, you had the most thoughtful girlfriend ever; always helping you up when you need to. Of course charles was also helpful but he was away most of the time leaving you and alex at home-- you didn't mind though, it was his passion and he loves it plus that's what keeps food at the table so yeah.

And just like that, nine months have passed; it felt like you were just pregnant yesterday and are now ready to give birth to the growing baby in your belly.

For nine whole months, both of them were supportive and caring throughout the whole pregnancy, always being there and staying by your side whenever you needed them.

...

"Are you sure you're ready, mon amour?" Charles asked, softly caressing the roof of your daughters hair.

"I am 100% sure, cha. I am ready to show Béatrice to the world, I think we kept her a secret for a long time now."

"We agree with you, mon cœur, but we just want you to be certain. We can still hide her from the rest and live this perfect little life of ours, just the four of us," Alex said with a worried tone. 

She grabbed your hand and intertwined it with hers, slowly brining it up her lips and softly kissing the top of your hand. "Nous nous inquiétons juste (we just worry). 

You softened at her touch and smiled. "I know you guys are worried, but I just want to show the world the love of my life and that I am living my best life with the two most important people in the world."

Charles and Alex looked at you with awe. They too want to show others the perfect life you guys have; they just worry that some people won't agree with what the three of you have. But they love that you're always optimistic about things, seeing the bright side of even the worst situations.

...

The very next day, you guys decided to watch one of Charles's races, of course, bringing Béatrice along with you.

Charles was already in the paddock, doing practice laps, leaving you, Alex, and your daughter to get ready.

"Are you ready to go, ma belle?" Alex asked, peeking her head in the door frame.

"One sec, love, I am just tying her shoelaces," you replied, tying the knots of her shoes and styling them up like a little bow.

"And....done!" Alex smiled at your adorableness and walked towards to where you and béatrice sat.

Alex was now standing beside you, helping you to carefully stand up. "You look so gorgeous, mon amour," she said, resting her hands on both your waists and slowly leaning closer to give you a kiss. 

You leaned in to the kiss, your hands travelling to rest on her shoulder.

"Maman, ouf (ew)," béatrice said, making you guys break the kiss and look at your daughter. Her tiny nose scrunched up to a frown. She was trying to look disgusted, but with her chubby cheeks, it was hard to tell; she looked like a bunny trying to twitch her nose. Alex only giggled and playfully rolled her eyes. "Tu es juste jaloux (you're just jealous)." "No!" your daughter argued, standing up and lightly smacking Alex's leg. Alex then picked her up and tickling her side making béatrice giggle out loud.

Y/n smiled contentedly, her heart feeling so full of love--there's nothing more heartwarming than the sight in front of her. 

"Ok break it up you two, we have to go now"

Alex smiled and put their daughter down. "Yes, ma'am!."

...

The three of you walked hand in hand in the paddock, earning a few quite shocked faces and jaws dropping from the sudden pressence of your guys's daughter. 

Charles spotted you guys and excused himself from the interviewer. He then quickly made his way to you guys.

"Ma vie, you made it" He said cheerfully; he smiled from ear to ear and just couldn't keep it on how happy he was that you guys were there. 

"We didn't want to miss it, béatrice Je voulais soutenir son père (wanted to support her daddy)" you said, caressing his broad shoulder.

Charles couldn't contain his excitement and kissed the two of you on the cheek. 

...

Throughout the day, you guys were bombarded with questions to which you politely replied. 

All the cameras were pointed directly at your daughter; there were people who were supportive, and there were just some who weren't, and it was alright with you guys. The only thing that mattered was that your baby was the life of the paddock; everyone turned their heads whenever she passed by, earning a few aws and coos from around the pit.

"I am glad we did this," you said, intertwining Alex's hands with yours. 

"Me too," she answered, resting her head on your shoulders.

...

Charles_Leclerc just posted!

Liked by y/nursername, AlexandraSaintMleux and 2,539,236 others.

Mon monde💗💋

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…

Short fluff, idk hope this is good also😭😭, thanks for the love that you guys showed on my last post!! Really boosted my confidence in writing!!💋💋

[barbiesmuse]

head barbie's ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ future works!

Head Barbie is constantly thinking about new fics for you, so here are her future works! Dates won't be released until the fic is actually written! Most of my fics are 18+, if not I will say so! Minors or ageless blogs who interact with my posts will be blocked!

| SugarDaddy!Ghost x innocent!reader - Simon is in the mafia and is set to kill readers family. Below is a preview of the fic. This will contain some serious dark content. If you are uncomfortable with guns, drug use, rough intimacy, talk of sexual assault, and more this fic may not be for you!

“She was a saint, I was set for hell. It was my first time laying eyes on her and I couldn't help but wonder how she'd taste. My eyes trail down to her chest. I couldn't have her, she wasn't supposed to be here tonight. This should've been a quick kill, no guilt flooding my senses. But then I watched how she interacted with her family, nothing but admiration in her beautiful eyes. Her scent was intoxicating. Her aura was captivating, everything about her drew me in. Then she smiles at me, and everything stops.”

| SingleDad!Ghost x godmother!reader - Simon is a single dad who's struggling to cope with his recent divorce while taking care of his three-year-old, daughter Stella. When you move back to the city relief washes over him. Stella's godmother and his secret crush since high school. You were perfect, exuding an air of kindness. But when friendly flirting and playful remarks begin to morph into something more Simon's stuck, he swore to himself he'd never fall in love again. Then you flutter your eyelashes at him teasingly, and suddenly he can't recall the promise he made to himself. This fic is much fluffier, not a lot of heavy themes, just soft intimacy and angst!!

“My daddy really likes you,” Stella says as you paint her nails. Tonight was the father-daughter dance, meaning you were free from your usual godmother duties. It was your first night out in a while, so you thought you'd enjoy it considering they were limited. You smile kindly at her before speaking gently. “Oh really?” You begin. “Well, I really like your daddy. He's a pretty alright guy.” You say, Stella giggles and Simon peeks his head in. Your eyes lock and he shoots you a wink. Maybe a night in, waiting for your two favorite people to get home didn't sound so bad.

| CollegeProfessor!Ghost x student!reader - The minute you walked into his classroom he knew he had to have you. He'd break every ineffectual rule to have you bent over his desk. His hands leaving rough red prints on her pretty little ass. His thoughts were shameful and perverted. The slutty little bows you wore in your hair drove him crazy. One day, he swore to himself that he would wrap the bow around your wrists as he fucked deep into you. This fic contains dark content!! Smut, angst, stalking, and drugging. This fic might not be for you!

| Stalker!Ghost x stripper!reader - Simon was always considered a loser, weird, and often ostracized for his lack of well, being. That's why he joined the military. They'd understand him there, they wouldn't push him for conversation. They'd know better. So they knew there was no better person to go undercover at a strip club than him. At least that's what they thought. Then he sees you, the way the lights shine on your body. The way you flip your hair, move your hips, spread your legs. The way you fucking own that damn pole. He was struck by you, he had to have you. This fic isn't super dark but there are dark themes! This fic might not be for you!

As you make your way onto stage your eyes meet Simon's. Your target for the night. Your eyes would stay directly on his for the entire performance. The way you practically fuck yourself on the pole drives him crazy. Your ass is on full display, his mind convincing himself this show is only for him. Your body is on display just for him. Your eyes never leave his. As you finish driving Simon crazy you blow him a kiss, and everyone's heads whip to meet his eyes. A blush painted his creamy cheeks.

| President!Ghost x secretary!reader - After Simon won the election he was ecstatic, he was at the ripe age of thirty-five. He was seen as a charming sweetheart who all the ladies batted their eyelashes at. He simply shot them a charming smile due to his devotion to his wife, until you came along. A young little sweet thing like you, as his secretary? You wouldn't last. He'd break you.

| Bluecollar!Ghost x wealthy!reader - After the death of your father you find yourself stumbling back into your hometown for his funeral. There, you're met with your high school sweetheart. He stayed the same and got a basic job while you were one of the highest-paid women in New York. He wasn't on your level, but he was yours. Your reputation, or the sweet boy you've always loved. What will you choose?

as I said above dates will come out closer to me releasing the fic! i'm so so excited to be active again!! i wrote this at like 2:00 so if this doesn't make sense give me some grace!! i love you all dearly from the bottom of my heart, natty raye.

[celestialprincesse]

Following up from this idea here!

⋆˙⟡♡

The last twelve months had been surprisingly productive for Simon. He'd been reticent at first, pushed back against the barrage of support provided for him by both the military and those who'd remained close to him outside of mere workplace obligation. That said, it hadn't taken him long to realise how big of a change a civilian lifestyle would be after twelve years of active service. Therapy had been an uphill battle, but Tina, the nice lady he saw twice weekly, who specialised in supporting veterans and those suffering with complex PTSD, was as patient as a saint, and had eventually helped him to open up.

He still, however, struggled to find a new sense of purpose. Life had become quiet, sluggish and static. When Tina had suggested he get a pet, he'd tentatively agreed.

"Hi there! How can I help you today?" Is the sweet voice that shakes him from his thoughts, bringing him back to reality only to realise he now stands at the front of the queue, before the desk of his local adoption centre.

"I'm looking to adopt..." He trails off, somewhat awkward and still a little unsure of whether there's some sort of protocol with these things. "A dog. I'm looking to adopt a dog."

After having quietly filled in the required forms, nervous under the warm gaze of the front desk attendant, he allows himself to be shown to the kennels in which the canine residents of the centre play, sleep and eat. With a nervous, almost shy gaze, Simon takes in the rowdy pack of dogs before him, before crouching to meet the crowd of wet noses coming to check him out.

"Have you got any preferences?" You pipe up from behind him, absently scratching behind the ears of a three legged Bernese Mountain dog, Lucky, who stands loyally at your heels.

"Just - um," Simon murmurs, looking between you, the dog at your feet, and a funny looking beagle, intent on sniffing at the contents of his pockets. "Just some company really. Therapist told me I needed a reason to get out, so..."

Taking his silence as an invitation to speak up, a pensive hum fills the room as you flick though the chart listing the animals currently up for adoption, and what their ideal situation would be. "You said you're quite physically active?" You probe, shooting him a glance.

"Yeah. I run and stuff. Like to try and stay fit."

Another hum of confirmation breaks the quiet as you rule out some of the less mobile options, and, having seen the way he grimaced at a slightly dishevelled Chihuahua, you take the incentive to rule out the smaller lap dogs too. You can't help but to note the way he looks between you and your own little canine friend, a look you've seen countless times on the faces of clients, the look that says that they're interested.

"I'd introduce the two of you, but she's already spoken for I'm afraid." You hum, a wry smile pulling at your lips when you note the expression on his face, surprised at your astute observation. "She's not exactly the most mobile, either."

"Oh, yeah. Right." He stammers back awkwardly, shooting you a bashful smile.

"I do, however, have someone that might take your fancy?"

Taking the laminated sheet from your offered hand, Simon is met with a grainy image of an earnest looking dog, big, marble eyes seemingly staring at him from off of the page.

"He only came in a couple days back. Golden shepherd mix from what we can tell. About four and really good natured. He's at the vet right now, but we could book you in to meet him when he's back?"

"I'd - yeah - That'd be great. Thanks." He nods, a pale blush colouring his cheeks.

Better still, when he leaves the adoption centre with a beginners pet care brochure, flipping through the pages on the walk back home, he's met with a hastily scrawled phone number, and a little smiley face below it.

⋆˙⟡♡

[redvexillum]

Thank you @alekminecraft for the request! You are right, we do need more Vox x Reader and I am more than happy to oblige! *waggles brow* This story is dedicated to @mraprilfools, honestly, his comment on the discord server literally birthed the whole smut scene for this story! Thank you boo!

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, dual POV, rough s♡x, possessive!vox, jealous!vox, established relationship, misunderstanding, multiple ♡rgasm (f!receiving), gentle s♡x, miscommunication, aftercare, vox is bad with feelings, reader is bad with feelings, prequel to the story anniversary, related to mandatory overtime universe, using s♡x instead of talking it out, fluff, romance, vox being a simp

✨️ recommended to read mandatory overtime and anniversary first for a fulsome experience ✨️

The shift in your demeanour was subtle at first – just a slight straightening of your spine, an easier smile that seemed to find its way to your lips unbidden. But as the days passed, you could feel it blooming, like a secret garden hidden deep within your chest.  

You stood taller, shoulders pulled back in a confidence that felt new, almost unfamiliar. You’d catch glimpses of yourself on reflective surfaces, taking that extra moment to admire the polish of your makeup, the gentle curve of a perfectly placed smile. Clothes became something more than fabric; each piece felt like a promise, a flicker of anticipation. Maybe, you thought, he’d like this colour on me. 

At Voxtek, your patience with your less-than brilliant colleague was almost saintly, though in your mind, a quiet laugh reminded you that perhaps you weren’t quite so charitable as to call yourself a saint. Still, each silly mishap, each minor annoyance was met with a grace that even surprised you.  

How different you’d become! And for a reason so dangerously thrilling: you were dating your boss, the enigmatic Vox himself. It was deliciously reckless, a violation of company policies that held no real meaning here in Hell. Life – if you could call it that – had never been so thrillingly complicated.  

Your heart would flutter each time you checked your VPhone, hoping to find a message from him, something to acknowledge that this secret connection wasn’t only yours to nurture. But as the days crept by into weeks then into two months, your smile waned.  

You told yourself that he was busy, that running a successful business didn’t leave room for constant messages and weekend dates. Yet, the gnawing ache in your chest wasn’t as easily consoled. Day after day, the once – sweet anticipation soured, replaced with something dark, bruised. You felt yourself beginning to doubt, the loneliness slipping to quiet moments like a poison.  

Weeks turned into a month. The space he once filled with his clever messages, his small gestures, was emptier than ever. The pang of it felt like a betrayal. Was he treating you like some passing amusement, like those nameless sinners who drifted in and out of Valentino’s entourage? Each unanswered day may you feel more dispensable, more invisible, as if you were just a shadow flitting through the corner of his life.  

You fought back the frustration, resisted the urge to march into his office, to demand something – anything – that would remind you that this wasn’t a dream gone wrong. You told yourself that in Hell, beggars couldn’t be choosers. And yet, you weren’t just a beggar. You were his partner

...or so you’d thought.  

And so, as the days blurred into one another, resentment simmered, joined by the creeping insecurity that maybe he’d rekindled things with that damned moth demon Valentino. Your mind churned, frustration blooming into something darker. The thought twisted in your heart, each new day of silence leaving it tighter, angrier. You couldn’t keep swallowing the ache, the anger. You needed answers, clarity, a sense of what you meant to him.  

So today, you decided, was the day. No more silence. No more excuses. You would speak to Vox, and finally, figure out where you stood – whether you were his partner or just another fleeting entertainment.  

You climbed the stairs to Vox’s office, each step fuelled by a fierce resolve that burned hotter with every unanswered day, every silent hour he’d left you waiting. Your coworkers scattered at the sight of your face, expression flashing with shock, maybe even fear, though you barely registered it. Drama queens. Let them gape if they wanted. Right now, nothing else mattered but to reach him. 

You didn’t knock; you weren’t in the mood for niceties, and you knew, oh, how well you knew that he disliked it. Your petty rebellion made your pulse quicken, a small, desperate thrill that drowned out the whisper of doubt. The door parted, and you crossed the bridge to the circular platform where Vox was stationed.  

Rows upon rows of screens surrounded him, their dim blue glow casting shadows across his angular face as he surveyed his empire, Hell unfolding in fractals across the monitors.  

“Vox,” you called, voice sharp, slicing through the ambient hum of machinery.  

He didn’t turn. His shoulders tightened, the only tell that he’d even heard you. “Not now,” he bit out, his tone a frigid slap, cutting through your bravado with painful precision.  

The words hit you harder than you’d expected. That coldness, so unlike him when he looked at you, was suddenly stripped of the warmth you’d grown so used to, and it left you feeling hollow, exposed. For a moment, your resolve wavered, but you forced your heart to harden. You wouldn’t be silenced.  

Not this time.  

“I think now is a great time, considering you haven’t replied to any of my messages. Or my emails,” you said, folding your arms across your chest, the gesture an attempt to stop your heart from pounding out of your rib cage.  

He didn’t move, didn’t even look at you. “Was it personal or business?” he snapped, his voice as sharp and unfeeling as cold steel.  

A painful tightness squeezed your chest, stealing the breath from your lungs. Standing there, in the empty chasm of his silence, feeling the weight of his apathy pressing down on you...it made you feel small, like something easily brushed aside. Your throat tightened, your eyes stung, and you cursed yourself for the weakness. You knew Vox; you’d known from the beginning he was ruthless, an overlord who ruled with an iron hand and a closed heart.  

But you’d thought – no, you’d believed – that what lay between you both was different. You’d given him your heart, laid yourself bare before him, trusting that he’d shelter you, protect you, even if he never said it aloud. The confession of love you’d shared a few months back echoed bitterly in your mind. You’d been so naïve. So stupid. Foolish to think you could crack that iron mask and see the man beneath.  

Yet, despite the ache, despite the icy barb, you couldn’t just leave. You’d stayed by his side for years now, weathering his tempers and tantrums, and your loyalty had only deepened. Taking a steadying breath, you forced yourself to try again, voice quivering despite your best effort. “Listen, if you’re busy right now, maybe we could schedule something? Like, maybe a meeting...or even,” you gulped, feeling the sense of baring your heart to him once more, “a d-date, ‘cause you know,” you fiddled with your fingers, “it’s been so long.” 

The silence that followed was suffocating, the dark room pressing in on you, his back still turned as if you were beneath his notice. You fought the crushing weight, each second eroding what little courage you had left.  

Finally, he spoke, his voice slow, dripping with disdain. “Who are you to tell me what to do?” 

His claws tore into the metal console, the screech of rending steel tearing through the air. The unexpected violence jolted you, and your shoulders flinched despite yourself.  

“N-no, I wasn’t trying to tell you to-” you stammered, the humiliation sinking in, but he didn’t let you finish.  

“Shut up. You’re nothing but my personal assistant,” he sneered, standing up, his head lowered as if his own words repulsed him. His shoulders trembled, and you saw the fury emanating from him like a physical force. “Easily replaceable, and it seems you don’t realize that!” 

The monitors flickered, their glow casting strange, stuttering shadows around him, as if even the machine rejected his rage. His voice thundered through the room, harsh, merciless, each word a cold, jagged dagger that sliced into you. “All these lowlifes telling me what to do, people fucking screwing up, leaving me to clean up their fucking messes. All of them...useless!” 

With a sickening crunch, he drove his fist into the console, a crater splintering into the metal as sparks and a discharge of electricity exploded around him. The smell of burnt wiring and the sharp, crackling silence left in the wake of his outburst was suffocating.  

Your head spun, your mind desperately grasping for a reason, an answer to where this torrent of bitterness had come from. But his words sank in, piercing one by one, relentless. They reached deep, ripping open an ache you hadn’t even known was there until now. Shameful heat stung your eyes, and you fought it, fought the humiliating swell of tears that blurred your vision. It was like being scolded by someone you’d always looked up to – hard, unyielding, like a father too busy to care.  

“That’s uncalled-” You tried to retort, voice thick, but the words caught in your throat, and suddenly, with a sizzling snap, the monitors blew out, plunging the room into pitch-black darkness. The faint, ghostly blue emergency light by the gangplank flickered on, casting an eerie glow to the room.  

“Leave,” he said, the single word soft but deadly. He turned, and his red eyes glowed like smouldering coals through the shadows, his face lit with the stark, cruel illumination of his TV screen. Any trace of kindness, of even that dark humour, was gone. There was only contempt. “Unless you want me to fire you, leave now.” 

You stood frozen, staring at the jagged crack that ran from the left corner of his screen, but it was his words, like punches in your gut, that left you hollowed. You weren’t his lover at the moment. Hell, you weren’t even his coworker. No, the harsh truth settled like lead in your chest.  

You were nothing but his underling.  

Someone small. Someone worthless. Someone utterly dispensable.  

The realization sat thick and heavy, choking any response, your mind going blank under the tidal wave of hurt and emptiness. Pain throbbed in your chest, raw and unrelenting, filling every corner with your being, drowning you.  

Numbly, you managed a small nod, then turned away, your legs moving stiffly as if through deep water. Each step away pulled something else loose inside of you, a painful unravelling that blurred your vision until you couldn't even see the door. But you refused to let the tears fall – not here, not in front of him.  

It was only when you reached the hall, away from the heavy weight of his gaze, that your knees buckled, and you pressed your back against the door. You felt the burn of hot tears slide down your cheeks, one after another. A shaky breath escaped your lips, and your eyes closed, surrendering to the torrent, each tear like a wound laid bare. Appalled, you brought a sleeve up to your face, scrubbing at the wetness furiously.  

How had he reduced you to this? To a sobbing, broken mess over a few, careless words? It wasn’t supposed to hurt like this.  

It shouldn’t hurt like this.  

But the ache bloomed in your chest, expanding, each throb of sorrow underscored by a seed of something dark and new – anger, resentment, a furious, defiant spark that fought against the hurt. You looked down at your shoes, and the heels he’d once complimented, the ones that now felt sharp and constricting. They were like little cages that you’d endured for him, simply because he’d liked them on you.  

You were going to throw away these shoes tonight.  

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, low and hollow.  

He played you. 

The thought twisted around in your mind, cruel and undeniable, as you turned toward the washroom. Under the harsh fluorescent lights, your reflection stared back at you, each flaw accentuated in the artificial brightness. Smudged makeup, streaked mascara – nothing but a sad, painted mask of a clown.  

He’d played you well.  

You’d fallen for him, heart-first, with no hesitation. You’d handed over your trust, your loyalty, all the softness you’d fought to keep in a place like Hell, believing he’d hold it with care.  

And he’d only turned it all to ash.  

Another tear slipped down your cheek, absurdly out of place as laughter bubbled up from the pit of your stomach. If you meant so little to him, if he could ignore you for months then easily dismiss you as just an underling, a disposable pawn, then...then maybe... 

The logical choice was obvious. You should quit, walk away without a backward glance, cut him out like a cancer. But even now, the idea of leaving tugged painfully at your heart. It meant never seeing him again, never feeling the rush of his dark presence filling a room, and somehow...somehow, you weren’t ready to face that void.  

But no. If he wanted an assistant, then that’s precisely what you’d give him – nothing more. You’d be perfect, professional, every action polished and distant. The thought brought the faintest glimmer of satisfaction, though even as your lips curved into a grim smile, your tears betrayed you, slipping down with a quiet, unrelenting sorrow.  

You just needed to kill your heart. That was all. Easy enough, right? You’d done it before, hadn’t you? Built those walls back up, piece by piece, every time someone close to you treated you like an afterthought, like an inconvenience.  

It was survival. The only way you knew how to survive in this world, and, apparently, in Hell.  

Taking a shaky breath, you reached for the sink, splashing cold water over your face to chase away the remnants of emotion, scrubbing away the streaks of makeup until your skin was bare. You gathered yourself, smoothing back your hair and fixing what could be fixed, piece by piece, until the person staring back at you looked composed – untouched, unreadable.  

But when you finally met your own gaze, there was a hollowness there that hadn’t been before. You stood straighter, your shoulders squared, your lips set in an easy smile. 

Only your eyes betrayed you – cold, shuttered, and closed tightly around the world.  

Vox’s breath was ragged, a bitter edge on every exhale. He couldn’t remember how long it had been – weeks? Months?- the days bled together in a haze of stress and fury. Valentino had been on a reckless tear, sabotaging the company’s reputation with one scandal after another, Val’s prized puppet Angel Dust constantly being the catalyst of Val’s reckless actions.  

Frustration burned through him as he ran a hand over his cracked screen, the fresh memory of his latest, brutal confrontation with Val sending his jaw clenched tight. They'd nearly destroyed Vox’s penthouse this time, hurling words and blows, ripping the sleek veneer off his carefully curated life.  

When you walked into his office, unannounced, his fragile self-control shattered. He wasn’t ready for you to see him, to glimpse the evidence of his struggle. The weakness scratched under his skin like a raw wound.  

Shamed burned though him. What would you think if you saw him this way? The perfect, powerful, unbreakable Overlord...with a screen cracked from losing control. His pride buckled, a panicked voice in his head insisting he’d let you down, that you’d piece together every brutal fact.  

He needed you to be gone, anywhere but here. He lashed out, voice dripping with all the anger and humiliation he felt, and he watched the sting in your eyes as his words did their job. You didn’t argue; you just left.  

The silence in his office grew heavy, sinking deep into the cracks left by his outburst. The blue light of his monitors flickered erratically, casting shadows that mocked him in the silence he had demanded. As the scene replayed in his mind, he groaned, a dark wave of regret crashing over him.  

Vox thought back to the night you’d laid in his arms, your head nestled on his chest, sharing your fears about how others viewed you. You were like him, caring about the way you were perceived by others.  

You had been so open, so raw. You’d admitted you feared that your position as his assistant would always make you feel unworthy, that no matter how hard you worked, everyone would never see you for the brilliance and drive he adored. You’d worried that you would always be seen as his arm candy, not a partner.  

He remembered the light in your eyes, the way you tried to brush it off, flustered at showing such vulnerability, how you’d laughed softly to cover it up. But Vox hadn’t forgotten. That moment had etched itself into him deeper than he’d realized. That was the night he’d started to consider the terrifying possibility that he didn’t just want you in his life – he wanted you by his side, forever.  

The regret festered as he sat there alone, rubbing his forehead as he thought of how he’d fix it. He imagined the gifts and the plans he’d make to show you how much he truly cared. Maybe a day away from all of this with you, maybe a whole week dedicated just to you – anything to make up for the times he’d neglected you.  

But when he finally saw you again, the person who greeted him wasn’t the same. It was like you’d drawn yourself up in armour. Your hair was swept up in a neat, impersonal bun. You wore plain, conservative clothes, all your personality hidden behind a wall of professionalism. Even your voice, usually warm with laughter and teasing, was clipped, cool, and indifferent.  

You were perfect – impeccably efficient and guarded, just as you had been on your first day at Voxtek. But that warmth, that spark he craved...it was gone.  

You glanced up from your screen, fingers pausing mid-keystroke. “Yes?” You asked, voice clipped, cold as steel. “How can I help you, sir?” 

The word sliced into Vox. Sir. It had been months since you’d addressed him like that – so formal, so detached. The way you used to call him when he was just the boss, and you were just his assistant. He felt your anger in every syllable, but he forced himself to stand taller, clearing his throat as he revealed the bouquet of glass roses he’d crafted just for you. The petals, tinted a deep blue and shimmering with electric veins, pulsed with a soft, otherworldly hum. He’d infused his own energy into the glass, hoping you’d see the beauty, the effort, the love in it.  

“Sunshine!” he tried, letting out a small, forced laugh as he placed the bouquet on your desk. “Look what I got for you.” He leaned against the edge of your desk, trying to meet your eyes, attempting to recapture the playful glint he adored. “Thought of you this morning,” he added a flirtatious grin, “and wondered if you might be free after work.” 

Your face remained impassive. “Sorry, I’m not,” you said simply, your voice colder than he’d ever heard it.  

He felt his heart sink, your rejection landing a bit too close to his memories of failed relationships. Time and space, he thought. She’s just still angry. She’ll come around...won’t she? Trying to smile, he forced a nod. “Right, right...well, maybe next time?” 

“Mhm,” you replied with a nonchalant hum, your gaze already drifting back to your work. “Is that all, sir? I’d like to finish this project.” 

Vox’s forced smile faltered, and he nodded stiffly. “Yep. That’s ...all.” He hesitated, hoping for a sign – any spark, any trace of the affection that once lit up your gaze. But you were a closed book, and he was left feeling like a stranger, the man who stood on the wrong side of your heart.  

In a flicker of electricity, he vanished to the nearest security camera, leaving you to your silence.  

But your silence lingered. You’d never come back to him.  

Six months. Six long, aching months of sparse, hollow exchanges. He had hoped, counted the days, replayed your conversations in his mind, but each interaction became more distance.  

Good morning, you’d say, and nothing more. All set on the report, you’d text, signing off with your usual efficiency. 

He scrolled through the messages you’d sent before that fateful day: Good morning, sweetie; don’t work too hard, silly, I miss you, loser, with the tongue out face that always made him smile. Messaged he’d been too busy to respond to, too buried in his work, too tangled in Val’s mess.  

Vox exhaled, tension twisting his gut. How long could he expect you to forgive him? How long did “time and space” mean? Six months...half a year...and you still felt like a stranger, slipping further and further away.  

Anxiety tightened in his chest. He bounced his leg, drumming his claws against his desk. The thought of losing you, truly losing you, clawed at him. No, he thought, unable to bear the chill of your indifference. I won’t let you go. I’ll fix this. 

Tomorrow, he’d planned to sweep you off your feet. A lavish dinner at Hell’s finest restaurant, endless gifts – a whole Hellsgem jewellery set, a new car from Voxtek’s latest line, every luxury he could think of to make you feel adored, desired. He’d even made arrangements for a personal assistant to help him plan it all, to ensure every detail was flawless.  

But as the hours crawled by, the weight of your absence ate away at him. He couldn’t sit still, couldn’t shake the relentless ache that only seemed to grow with every second. His heart raced, the fear too potent, too real.  

Before he knew it, he’d shot up to his feet, a self-deprecating chuckle slipping out. Time and space...he thought, booting up his laptop. I think I’ve given her enough of that. 

Vox’s finger flew over his laptop, scanning through the surveillance feeds until he found you. Relief washed over him at the sight of you – until he saw another man leaning far too close. His blood ran cold. His mind blanked, replaced with a singular thought that flared like lightning, transporting him instantly.  

He appeared beside you with a crackle, his fury barely concealed behind a stiff smile. “Sunshine!” His voice was forced, his grin strained, desperate. “Didn’t think you’d be taking a break so soon!” He laughed, insincerity dripping over it. He reached out to place a possessive hand on your back, but you stepped away. He blinked, stunned.  

Did you just...avoid him? 

“It’s the end of the day, sir,” you replied, coolly, your expression as unreadable as stone. “Papermint and I were just heading out for dinner.” 

Vox’s eyes darted to the other, unimportant, assistant, Papermint. He stared up at you, blushing like a love-struck fool. And then he noticed the look on your face – the way your eyes softened as you caught sight of his flustered expression, the delicate curve of your lips as you smiled.  

It was a look Vox knew all too well, one he’d hoarded all for himself. His chest tightened, and he felt a flicker of rage ignite in him.  

With a low snarl, Vox grabbed your wrist, and before you could react, pulled you with him in a flash of energy.  

The moment you landed in his penthouse, you dropped to your knees, momentarily disoriented, your head reeling as you struggled to get your bearings. When you finally rose, fury blazed in your eyes, and you yanked your wrist from his grasp. “What the actual fuck, Vox?” you shouted, your voice a mix of shock and anger as you tried to smooth your dishevelled hair.  

He gritted his teeth, his jaw tight. “I could ask you the same damn thing. What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” 

“Oh, you don’t get to pull this,” you spat, marching through his penthouse like you owned the place. You stormed into the bedroom and went straight to the vanity, sitting down in the same spot where, in quieter times, you’d start your mornings after spending the night together.  

Frustration lined your face as you began undoing your hair, letting it fall loose. When you opened the drawer, you paused. Your eyes flickered with an unreadable expression as you stared at all the products you used, untouched. You grabbed a familiar bottle and pumped it into your hand, rubbing it into your hair to smooth all the frizzes from travelling with his power.  

Silence stretched between you, thick and tense. Vox watched as you worked, your face flickering between confusion and anger in the mirror’s reflection. His anger simmered under the surface, his mind racing. She thinks she can flaunt that fool in front of me? His fists clenched, eyes narrowing as he kept his gaze locked on you.  

Finally, you stood up, your hair glossy and perfect, every bit as stunning as the first day he’d laid eyes on you. With an icy calm, you muttered, “If you’ll excuse me,” and made for the door, high heels clicking defiantly across the floor.  

Vox moved instantly, blocking the doorway with his arm. “Where do you think you’re going?” his voice was low, demanding, his eyes flashing. “We need to talk.” 

You laughed, a short, bitter sound. “Talk?” The word was venom on your tongue. “About what, boss?” you spat, glaring up at him with eyes that glowed with barely contained fury. “I finished my work for the day. You don’t get to tell me how to spend my free time. So, move. Now.” 

Vox’s mouth opened, word momentarily failing him. He hadn’t expected this anger, this defiance, like you’d been holding it in for far too long. What’s happened to us? He took a breath, eyes darkening, and his grip tightened as he pulled you back into the room. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he snapped, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “You think you can just fucking walk away from me without a damn word about what you’re doing?” 

In one swift movement, he turned you, guiding you toward the bed. “Sit,” he commanded, his voice leaving no room for protest. “Let’s finally fucking talk this out. Right now.”  

Your laugh cut through the air like a blade, sharp and dripping with anger that had Vox stiffening in place. “Talk?” you sneered, voice raw and unfiltered. “You think we should talk after you treated me like I was nothing, then just threw some fucking roses at the mess and expected me to smile?” 

The room vibrated with Vox’s rising fury, the lights flickering in tune with the storm behind his eyes. “I gave you those fucking roses,” he barked, voice crackling with barely restrained anger, “and you repay me by acting like a bitch and fucking cheating on me with Papermint – of all the fucking lowlifes?” His voice was rising, his chest heaving with every breath. “I thought you had more class than that, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe you’re just some fucking cheap who-” 

Before he could finish, you grabbed him by the lapels, yanking him down to face you, so close his electric crackles buzzed against your skin. “Go on,” you dared, eyes glinting with fury and hurt. “Finish that thought if you’re stupid enough.” 

Something changed within him, a dark hunger flooding down to his gut as you challenged him. For a heartbeat, the anger seemed to melt, replaced by something even more intense. His hands found your hips, his grip unyielding as he leaned in. “Oh, I see it now,” he murmured, low and dangerous. “This little stunt of yours...you just wanted my attention.” He pressed his hips flush against yours, his arousal growing at the very heat of you seeping into him. “Well, doll, now you’ve got every damn bit of it.” 

You met his gaze, refusing to back down, lips curling in a cruel smile. “Attention? I don’t need it from you.” Your voice as cutting as glass. “And believe me, I’ve been thinking about finding someone else – a real man who’ll actually be worth my time. Hell, maybe Papermint would be a better fuck than you.” The words dripped with venom, but a slight tremor slipped into your voice, and Vox seized on it like a lifeline.  

The room grew darker as, one by one, the lights exploded in a burst of sparks, littering the floor with shards of glass. Vox’s patience snapped. With a growl, he shoved you onto the bed, his grip firm on your thighs, wrapping them around his waist. “Fuck you. His voice was a low, dangerous snarl. “Doll, I’m the best fuck you’ll ever have in this Hell, and deep down, you know it.” 

You met his gaze with a cold, derisive smile, unyielding. “Is that why Valentino threw you aside? I hear he’s got quite the size on him,” you taunted, digging your nails into his shoulders to pull him closer to you. “Ah, that’s what I should do,” you slowly grinded against the bulge in his pants, “I should find someone who’ll make me forget all about you.” 

Vox’s restraint broke, his hands tearing through fabric as he ripped your clothes apart, each move charged with a possessiveness that left no room for anything else. “Forget me? Fuck you, you fucking bitch,” he growled, the words raw as he flipped you onto your stomach, his hands rough on your waist as he pulled you to him. “I’m going to make damn sure you remember exactly who you belong to.” 

You knew you shouldn’t have said those words to him. Deep down, you weren’t interested in Papermint, but it felt intoxicating to bask in the glow of someone’s adoration, even if it was just a fleeting moment.  

Each day Vox failed to show up and apologize chipped away at your self-esteem, leaving you feeling disposable. Maybe you had let slip a little white lie about your supposed interest in Papermint, but God, you were so furious with him. How dare he try to control who you saw after treating you like a fool.  

When he appeared next to you, grabbing you and whisking you away to his penthouse, a surge of conflicting emotions coursed through you. You hated yourself for feeling that familiar spike of desire, even as your heart raced from the frustration simmering within.  

You could feel the tension radiating from his frame, an electric heat that mingled with the anger rolling off him in waves. And as he pressed himself against you, you couldn’t help but notice the telltale hardness of his arousal, a fact he seemed oblivious to while you were throwing barbs at each other.  

It was as if all the pent-up anger and sexual frustration had built up in a perfect storm, finally peaking and ready to explode. You had told yourself you were done with him, yet you hadn’t sought anyone else because, deep down, you didn’t want to accept that Vox had truly thrown you away.  

Then, in a swift motion, he flipped you onto your stomach, his hot, thick member pressing against the cleft of your ass. A soft moan escaped your lips as he slowly rubbed his cock against your slick folds, teasing you with delicious friction. It was ridiculous – months of silence, and here you were, ready to fuck him the moment you came face-to-face.  

How typical of both of you.  

“Hah,” he scoffed above you, his voice dripping with condescension. “I’m a bad fuck? Look how fucking wet you are, doll,” he growled, his tone low and commanding. He ground his cock against you, igniting a wave of pleasure that made you moan into the sheets.  

His claws dug into your hips, sharp sensations igniting your skin as he held you in place. And then, in one fluid motion, he plunged his cock deep inside you, filling you to the brim.  

“FUCK!” you screamed, your body arching at the overwhelming stretch as he relentlessly shoved deeper, each thrust reaching the opening of your cervix. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” you cried, your body instinctively wiggling against him, a primal response to the intoxicating pleasure.  

“Ugh, fuck you and your tight fucking pussy,” he snarled, pulling back before slamming his hips back in, knocking the breath right out of you. “You think you can just ignore me while you’re that desperate for my cock?” he growled, the raw possessiveness in his voice sending shivers down your spine as he pounded into you relentlessly. His heavy balls slapping against your clit with each thrust.  

It was animalistic, the way he gripped you, his claws drawing blood as your face pressed into the bedsheets. Drool pooled at the corners of your lips, a testament to the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you. Your fingers desperately gripped the sheets tightly as you balanced on all fours, surrendering yourself to the feral rhythm of his relentless pounding from behind.  

“I’m not good enough for you?” he panted, each thrust punctuated by the sounds of the bed creaking and groaning under your bodies. The lights in the room flickered, the distant pops fading into darkness, heightening the tension that crackled in the air. “Doll, you’re a fucking liar,” he hissed, pressing his chest to your back. “Your cunt is fucking greedy, drooling all over my cock.” With a thrust that sent shockwaves through you, he angled his hips just right, rubbing against your g-spot and making your body quiver.  

“F-Fuck!” you cried, your voice barely more than a gasp as pleasure spiralled inside you, a wave cresting toward an inevitable climax. “I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum” you repeated, breathless.  

A sharp tug on your hair pulled you flush against him. His cock twisted within you, making you feel tighter, more vulnerable, as he continued his relentless pace. His claws dug into your breast, their sharp points puncturing your skin, igniting a fiery mix of pleasure and pain that made you moan with abandon.  

“Fucking coming on my cock, huh?” he murmured into your ear, his voice low and primal as you bounced on him. “You gonna squirt for me, doll? Wet my sheets? It’s been so fucking long,” his fingers swirled over your soaked clit, the slickness of your arousal mingling with the sounds of your bodies colliding.  

“Yeah, yeah,” you moaned, your head falling back in ecstasy, tears of pleasure welling in your eyes as the pressure in your gut built to a fever pitch. “Fuck, Vox, I-” 

His fingers continued their relentless assault, a blissful combination of pleasure and overstimulation that matched the urgency of his thrusts. You felt a brilliant flash of white before the floodgates opened, a spray of wet arousal erupting from your pussy and soaking the sheets in a deep blue puddle, just as he had predicted.  

“Fuck, doll, look how well you came for me,” he growled, his cock still hard, throbbing and desperate as he thrust into you with abandon. Each movement stretched you further, melding pleasure with the remnants of your orgasm as waves of ecstasy washed over you.  

Thoughts slipped away, replaced by a chorus of moans and breath pleas of “yes, baby, just like that,” echoing in the dim room. A haze enveloped your mind, pleasure flooding every sense until he finally slowed his pace, pulling out completely.  

He gently laid you back on the bed, your body sinking into the soft sheets, still pulsing with aftershocks of pleasure. He knelt over you, his cock jutting out, glistening with your slick. The air between you thickened with heavy breaths, desire hanging palpably in the darkness. 

“Come here, sweetie,” you beckoned, opening your legs in an inviting display, your arms reaching out in a gesture of warmth. “I want you to feel good, too.” A sultry grin danced on your lips, the high of pleasure still coursing through your veins.  

Vox hesitated, his eyes narrowing as they drifted down to your chest, his expression shifting to one of concern. You followed his gaze and noticed the scratches, the blood, and the marks he left on you. A thrill shot through you; what was a little blood if it meant he was giving you a good fucking? 

“Vox?” you called out softly when he didn’t move closer.  

As if shaking off a trance, he wrapped his arms around you, lifting you against him, pressing your head against him. You felt the steady thrum of his pulse beneath his skin. Confusion knitted your brows; this was new. The roughness, the passion, all wrapped in an unexpected tenderness that left you both breathless and yearning for more.  

His claws wove through your hair, each stroke sending a shiver down your spine as he laid you back down, his breath hitching with desire. His arms bracketed your head, the weight of his body bearing down on you as his eyes bore into yours, a fiery intensity igniting the air between you. As he slowly entered you, the world around you faded, leaving only the overwhelming sensation of being filled by him, his size stretching you deliciously, a sharp gasp escaping your lips. 

Moaning in delight, your toes curled, and your chest arched up to meet him, the remnants of your first orgasm still thrumming through your body. “Sunshine,” he groaned, his voice a low, sultry rumble as he thrust in and out of you with exquisite slowness, as if you were a precious treasure, fragile and irreplaceable. “Sunshine, don’t you know,” his claws traced delicately along your brow, “how dark my office was without you?” 

A part of you wanted to roll your eyes at the cheesiness, to throw out a sarcastic quip. But the softness in his gaze, the way his body slowed to savour every inch of you, stole your words. You felt the walls of your heart soften as he indulged in you, burying himself deep, savouring the warmth and tightness of your body. 

“Sunshine, I missed you,” he whispered, his voice cracking with raw emotion. His eyes flickered with something fierce, a primal need that made your core ache with longing. “You’re my sunshine,” he grinned, that cocky smirk you had fallen for, “please don’t take my sunshine away.” 

A bubble of laughter escaped your lips, but it quickly turned to tears, shimmering in your eyes as your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer. Your lips brushed against the heated surface of his skin, and a delicious thrill raced through you. “You’re so cheesy, Vox,” you teased lightly, despite the moisture threatening to spill over. “Who does that while fucking?” 

“What if I’m making love to you?” he countered, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. His claws caught a stray tear sliding down your cheek, the intimacy of the moment overwhelming. “Can I tell you how much you mean to me?” 

Stunned into silence, you let his words wash over you, his gentle thrusts igniting every nerve ending in your body. The way he rolled his hips, slow and deliberate, filled you with warmth and love, deepening the bond that had always been there, even in the chaos. You basked in his affection, your heart and mind colliding in a beautiful mess of emotions. 

Each grind of his hips sent waves of pleasure through you, the tension building like a simmering volcano. You trembled beneath him, a soft moan escaping your lips as you felt the pressure coiling tighter and tighter. And when you finally hit your peak, it was a gentle, shattering bliss, a soft gasp spilling from your mouth as pleasure crashed over you like a warm tide. 

Vox closed his eyes, his own moans filling the air as he lost himself in you. With each thrust, he pressed deeper, filling you completely, his hot seed bursting forth, flooding you and marking you as his. You could feel him pulsing inside you, both of you lost in the haze of drunk, heady pleasure. 

As your breaths intertwined and slowed, he rolled over, cradling you against his chest. You felt his heartbeat, steady and strong, a soothing rhythm against your skin as his release mixed with yours, dampening the sheets beneath you. 

In the warm, dim light of the room, his claws gently brushed through your hair, sending pleasant tingles through your scalp. “Every year, no matter how busy we are, let’s make sure we spend time together on this day,” he murmured, his voice thick with sincerity. 

You furrowed your brows, a soft chuckle escaping your lips. “Sure, Vox,” you replied, closing your eyes and surrendering to the comforting embrace of his body, the thrum of his heartbeat lulling you into a tranquil state. 

You and he made promises all the time. 

Promises to cherish each other. 

Promises to communicate, to be open. 

Promises to carve out time for one another. 

But you both knew that as time passed, those promises often slipped away. After all, this was hell, where eternity stretched endlessly, and the weight of promises could never bear the burden of forever. 

66 years later, you stood outside VoxTek Aquarium, the warm hellish air brushing against your legs as your loose white dress swayed gently with the breeze. The plunging v-neckline gave the soft fabric an elegant flow, but the empty street surrounding the aquarium was unsettling. The eerie silence was in stark contrast to the usual bustle, the crowds that typically lined up for hours on end nowhere to be seen.   

As you approached the doors, a small sign with different shades of blue balloons swaying side by side caught your eyes. 

The sign read: Our 66th Anniversary, with a giant heart drawn right below it.   

Follow #vexitober 2024 to read my questionable kink/fluff stories!

[jessamine-rose]

⋆˚♱ଘ Requiem for the Damned ଓ♱˚⋆

*holds head in hands* Idk why Dottore keeps haunting me with writing inspo. And for this idea to manifest just before Holy Week….fuck it, I hope you all enjoy the blasphemous tale of Priest! Dottore x Demon! Darling _:(´ཀ`」 ∠):

Tw:: yandere, violence, death, religious abuse, dubcon, mention of nsfw, MINORS DNI

Note:: fictional depictions of religion

♡ 2.7k words under the cut ♡

♡ Despite your status as a wandering demon, you have no place in human cognizance. Rather, you conceal yourself from mortal eyes in favor of close observations and whispered temptations. Humans, from your perspective, are interesting creatures—they are ambitious, easily influenced by spiritual beings, capable of both good and evil.

♡ And what better example than the one who summoned you on a starry night? Such rituals are not uncommon amongst heretics, but most only succeed in invoking the contempt of their fellow humans. And few would invoke your name, much less commit sacrilege within the walls of the Church.

♡ You sense danger immediately upon your appearance. Within the summoning circle, you take note of your sigil perfectly illustrated in blood against marble. Beyond it, what alarms you is not your sacred surroundings nor the fresh corpse mixed with your offerings of books and fruit. It is the figure standing over you, cloaked in moonlight, gazing at you with eyes the color of hellfire.

“My ritual is a success. Welcome to my humble church, o noble demon…or would you rather be addressed by your epithet? ______, Fallen Seraph, the Seeker of Forbidden Knowledge.”

♡ A glimpse into his soul is all it takes to strike fear into your heart. Within Hell, there are rumors of a small village in Sumeru. Its people are nothing of note, a congregation of simpletons whose lives revolve around the beliefs of their Church. The lone exception is the main priest, Father Zandik, better known as Il Dottore.

♡ The stories, passed through human voices, speak of a child ostracized for his unconventional beliefs and his interest in the macabre. Branded a madman, he was placed in the care of the Church elders who corrected his ways of thinking. Once he became of age, Zandik was given the choice to move out of the rectory or to remain as a priest; he chose the latter of his own volition.

♡ Since his ordination, Zandik has proved himself to be an exceptional priest. He educates the masses, reviews theological texts, performs exorcisms, and provides religious counsel for the doubtful. He even serves as the town’s doctor, fully gaining the acceptance of his community.

♡ The rumors don’t stop there. For Il Dottore earned his title by performing miracles. It is he who guides the people into religious ecstasy, he who cures the sick from mysterious curses, he who blesses the weak into “enhanced humans.” There are already whispers that once Dottore’s mortality catches up with him, he will surely be canonized as the Patron Saint of Doctors and Miracles.

♡ But spiritual beings such as yourself know the truth. That Dottore is neither a kind priest nor a devout believer, that his days in the Church only magnified his heretical inclinations. Disillusioned with God, Zandik decided to turn His religious sanctuary into his own laboratory, one where he could fulfill his lust for knowledge through a mask of holiness.

♡ He manipulates the people with false teachings. He triggers religious ecstasy with drugged incense. He singles out devotees to “test their faith” during the quiet hours of the Church. And what the town perceives as curses and miracles are actually scientific experiments in which Dottore plays god.

♡ It’s too late to escape. No matter your divine powers, nothing prepares you for Dottore’s traps. The incantations, the barrier of the summoning circle, an aura so holy yet sinister that it couldn’t possibly come from ordinary religious objects—all you can do is fall to your knees and beg for his mercy, all the while he watches you with a confident smile.

♡ His intentions are like that of any human: He summoned you to form a contract. In exchange for his soul, he demands your knowledge, your resources, your full servitude for so long as he roams the mortal plane. Your hesitation only triggers another wave of scorching pain, followed by panic as Dottore grips your horn and forces you to face him.

“Make no mistake, ______. The mere fact of your divinity does not make you indestructible. In exchange for your cooperation, you will bear witness to experiments of the same magnitude as God’s creations. What say you?”

♡ You have no other choice. And that is how, in the sanctity of the Church, you make a deal with the human named Zandik. Once the pact has been forged, Dottore admires the bright sigil on his chest, plucks a few feathers from your wings, and disables the summoning circle so you can leave. Thus begins your personal hell.

♡ It is easy for you to answer Dottore’s questions about the divine. The horror lies in assisting him in experiments, responding to his summons no matter the inconvenience, allowing him to extract your blood, tears, and feathers. No, what’s most humiliating is when he uses your body for his “research,” bending you over the altar and bringing you to physical ecstasy against your will.

♡ At this point, you don’t know who to pray to. One night, Dottore shows you a secret room in his laboratory. As soon as he lights the lamps, your eyes take in numerous bodies and skeletons of a different classification from his usual victims. The extra bones jutting from the scapulas, the amputated wings, the halos pinned to the walls, the holy aura you’d felt from his religious objects…instantly, Dottore’s powers make sense.

“This is my first specimen. She was my guardian angel…no, I jest. She was a mere messenger who implored me to repent for my sins. From her words, I deduced it had been within Heaven’s capacity to save me during my youth—and yet God only sent an angel to me after my first act of blasphemy.”

The angels…how many has he killed? Not even during your fall from Heaven did you feel such primal fear for your life. But you cannot scream—you have long been trained to resist fight and flight. All you can do is listen to Dottore’s explanation, watch as he approaches a pure white skeleton and wraps his hands around its fractured hyoid bone.

He gives you a calm smile. “Luckily, her body provided me with indispensable resources for my experiments and my procurement of her brethren. I believe her name was Sohreh.”

♡ Just when you think it can’t get any worse, Dottore points at the far corner of the room to reveal a space dedicated to demons. Four dead bodies, their causes of death vividly described. Horns, wings, and other body parts amputated in exchange for lives spared after exorcisms. And when Dottore returns to your side, tracing the wound from where he broke off your horn, you can only tremble and acquiesce to a checkup. It grows back fully by the end of the year.

♡ He has his moments of vulnerability, however. Perhaps it is due to your nature as a demon, a creature which represents evil, that Dottore does not hide his heart from you. Once, after his usual confessions—he always makes up trivial sins—he remains in the confessional until his fellow priest has left. Then he goes to the altar and summons you.

♡ What catches you off-guard is not his lack of greetings. Rather, it’s the way he pulls you close to his body, lips ghosting the curve of your ear. There, in the heart of the Church, he whispers to you every sin he has ever committed. Despite his normal tone of voice, his words have never betrayed a language so guiltless, so sincere, so human.

♡ He asks how much of his madness is to blame on the influence of demons, or if he had been born wicked. He asks if humans were truly given the mental faculties to withstand temptation regardless of their circumstances. He asks if the same can be said for spiritual beings, questioning why former angels like you were also created with the capacity to sin. He even asks if praying for a demon can offer them any hope of salvation.

♡ It takes you a while to answer his questions. It’s just like him to put your emotions in disarray, to make you feel pity for the very cause of your current suffering. Against your nature, you wonder if there is still a chance for Zandik, if he can somehow repent or find a way to save himself from your contract and all of his sins. Even if it is too late, He has always been more forgiving to humans than angels.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨

“Do you know why I became a demon, Zandik?”

Your question is what prompts Zandik to pull away from you, though his touch lingers. His gaze, as always, is unfathomable; you can never discern what hides within those pools of crimson.

“No, I do not. Few demonological texts allude to your existence, and only the Lesser Key of Deshret cites your previous status as an angel of the highest ranking. I have made theories in relation to your epithets but I respect all possibilities. Now what would you, as the primary source, reveal to me?”

Now it is your turn to confess.

“Seraphim are the closest to God but for that reason, we are the most distant from His creations. Everything we know of the world is derived only from what He tells us, not our own insights. And so I defied His Word and ate the forbidden fruit from the Tree of Knowledge, committing the same sin which condemned all of humanity.”

The tip of your upper wing brushes against Zandik’s face, while your middle wings encircle his body in a loose hug. As for your lower wings…they are nothing but twin scars covered in short feathers. After your descent, it seemed like a rational decision to chop them off, broken as they were. It helped that your wings had just outgrown their original purpose.

For once, you barely flinch at the sensation of his touch against your scars. Many times, Zandik has inquired about the loss of your lower wings and even asked if he could have them. They still remain in Hell, tucked away in a corner of your home, eyes forever closed.

It takes a few seconds for him to respond. “Do you ever regret your decision?”

You shrug. “It was difficult at first, naturally. Many of my eyes were blinded—yes, that is why I rarely open the ones on my wings—but those which still function have seen so many wonderful sights up-close. Neither must I cover my face with my remaining wings. And despite being what your kind and my former brethren would dub a monster…I’m happier now.”

“I see, I see.” His curiosity appears far from sated, however, a sentiment you can empathize with. “As I thought, God is incomprehensible. For Him to deny even His greatest creation of salvation…it confirms that there are limits to the forgiveness of that which humans call a ‘loving god.’ Thank you for sharing this knowledge with me.”

And just as quickly as he initiated his confession, Zandik steps out of your grasp and dismisses you. But you make no haste, silently watching him after you “leave.”

His expression is thoughtful. A gloved hand touches his chest, right above your sigil.

Such an interesting creature.

Honestly, you don’t know what to make of your feelings for this human. Much as you despise his cruel treatment towards you, he never fails to capture your interest with his experiments and philosophies. Whenever he speaks of God, you wonder if a small part of him still desires to be saved. But that will never be.

Zandik preaches salvation with the knowledge that he will never receive it. For the Church never taught him how to love.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨

♡ Il Dottore never became the Patron Saint of Doctors and Miracles. Neither did he have a funeral mass befitting of a priest, nor a peaceful death from natural causes. Instead, he died young, laicized, once again denounced as a heretic by his community.

♡ You don’t know how his crimes were exposed, and why now. Perhaps it is God’s punishment for him, a blessing for his victims, or both. Either way, Dottore paid for his sins on a sunny day, burned at the stake before a disdainful crowd. Not long after his heart stopped beating, his belongings were thrown into the fire—research, tools, anything which carried his memory.

♡ You never left his side. After his last rites, led by an elderly bishop who condemned Zandik as he did in the past, you sat next to him and offered a final conversation. He didn’t express any fear nor sadness in regards to his imminent death, merely stating it a pity that his achievements could never be appreciated in his town.

♡ …He did ask if there is any chance of meeting again in Hell, but you reminded him that the punishment of sinners is out of your jurisdiction. Plus, it’s better that way—you have no desire to avenge yourself, and you’d rather not witness Zandik’s suffering for all eternity. You can only imagine the severity of his punishment, what more if he is assigned to one of the demons he exorcized.

♡ During his execution, you stood at the front of the crowd. You kept your eyes trained on him, for so long as his scarlet orbs remained open, whispering the prayers for the dead on his behalf. While a part of you felt liberated, another was mournful. You hope your last words to Zandik gave him solace in his final moments.

“Rest now, Zandik. God may never forgive your sins, but I shall.”

♡ And thus ends the life of Il Dottore. In the following days, the Church is purged of its holy, sinister aura, mainly because they discarded the religious objects tainted with angel remains. You continue your usual obligations as a wandering demon, but the humans you observe pale in comparison to your companion of many years.

♡ Not long after, you return to Hell for your other divine duties. As soon as you appear in your abode, however, something feels off. The sinister aura, the offering of books and fruit, your lower wings gone from their original place… The answer comes in the form of a hand grabbing you by the horn, pulling you backwards, twisting your body to meet a familiar gaze the color of hearth-fire. Only, this time, those eyes are brimming with pure joy, paired with a genuine smile.

♡ Apparently, Dottore’s soul did end up in Hell but not in the way you expected. In a proud voice, he explains that the Devil gave him a special fate. Whether it was due to vacant positions or everyone’s fear of the infamous “Demon-Killer,” you’ll never know. What Dottore does confirm is that as the demon bound to him via contract, you have to take responsibility and act as his companion in Hell.

“Rather than subject me to eternal suffering, the Devil believed that my talents would prove useful for the punishments of my fellow sinners. How wonderful is it for my achievements to be recognized in Hell? …Oh? I didn’t predict such a physical reaction from you. All of your eyes are wide open, and you seem to be on the verge of fainting.”

♡ You don’t know if you want to laugh or cry. To think your personal hell has been extended to eternity—are your sins enough to warrant such a fate?! But after confirming your misfortune, all you can do is sigh and tend to Zandik. He looks exactly the same, with the exception of a few burn scars on his body. And judging by the familiar black feathers on his person, he seems eager to discard his former religious attire along with his mask of faith.

♡ And when Zandik unfastens his scorched cassock, he takes your hand and places it on his unburned chest, right above your sigil. It glows vibrantly, brighter than any light you laid eyes on in Heaven. And beneath the flesh, you can feel his heart beating in sync with yours.

“Tell me, ______, do I still appear human to you?”

“You already know my answer to that question. But fine, I’ll admit it: Yes, you always have.”

♡ 

More Church AU here!! Capitano ๑ Arlecchino ๑ Pantalone ๑ Pierro ๑ Dainsleif

Note:: Please do not send me any Church AU asks/ requests involving other characters or dynamics who are not listed in my masterlist.

At long last, I am free from Priesttore…thank you to everyone. To my readers, to my fellow Dottore simps, to my mutuals who indulged my tortured DMs after midnight, to the artist whose fan art inspired this idea to begin with. May you all have a lovely day╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

Tag a Dottore enjoyer!! @leftdestiny-posts @beloved-blaiddyd @mochinon-yah @diodellet @lcveaesop @oofasleep @bye-bye-sunbird @yandere-romanticaa @boundinparchment @harmonysanreads @teabutmakeitazure @yandere-wishes @yanmaresu @nicebonescomrades @nimandu @lesanyanyas @moarar

[xeeljii]

F for the prompt list 👀🤭

Thanks for the letter! -`♡´-

────୨ৎ────

ᯓᡣ𐭩 F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

CW: 18+, f! reader

cowgirl —You are on top of him softly moving up and down his length, his back is pressed on the couch, couldn't even wait to take you to bed, too eager when he came back home and found you wearing one of his shirts and nothing else underneath. And it is not just the visual that gets him, it is the knowing you are his, sitting on. his couch, wearing his shirt, with hickeys he left on you still fresh on your skin.

You feel his mind is wondering off a little but with at this point you can somewhat tell it is about you, it is always about you.

"Good?" Your voice sounds like warm honey, he is close.

"Perfect" Joost replies almost breathless.

He is holding you by the waist one strong hand massaging at your back and other holding tightly at the fat of your ass helping you move. The fabric from his shirt bunched up around your middle, but he wants more so he grabs at it and pulls it up revealing your tender skin, the bunched up fabric is close to your mouth before he speaks again.

"Open." It could sound demanding if only he wasn't so sweet, he doesn't really have to demand anything when he is so easy to spoil, so you just do as he says. He pushes the white fabric into your mouth and you bite down holding it in place.

He looks at you chest moving hypnotized the familiar heat on his gut bubbling and threatening to spill over soon, he thinks probably if you tried you could make him cum untouched but he doesn't say it too scared still of the possibilities that could open, his love is always bordering on obsession on fixation and fascination all at once, he never wants to overwhelm you but you can read him like the back of your palm, the way his hard picks up and his dick pulses inside you, you can see right though him like he is made of glass. He loves it.

His hand leaves the fat of your ass to travel to you lower belly pressing, he caresses at the soft flesh with his tattooed knuckles before softly pressing there, just to feel the muscles of your abdomen twitch under him. His hand settles right over your cunt petting soft circles on your clit that send waves of pleasure through your body and cause you to spasm all over him.

He pushes himself higher up on the couch grabbing you securely with one big palm on your back so you won't fall, on his new position his face is right in front your your breasts that are bouncing wildly with your new speed, right in front of his eyes and he is so starved, he always is. He must have been a saint in a past life to deserve this kind of treatment he thinks, makes mental note to thank his lucky star.

You grab harder at his shoulders, your nails dig into his skin, he likes that, the marks you leave to prove that he is yours. You raise to put all you weight on the ball of your feet so you can move faster, take him deeper, so close to your high you know he will follow.

"That is it baby, make yourself feel good for me." He loves it like this when you chase your pleasure using him, it is exhilarating to know you want him so bad.

He catches on of your tits with his mouth sucking greedily on you, feels you clench around his length, and happily smiles rubbing his face closer to your heart, the fact that your breasts are on the way is just a happy accident and he does enjoy the fast thumping of your heart, to feel you so close as if you are one. He sucks around your nipple hardly, bites softly at the sensitive skin and feels how you push against his touch, he lets go for a second looks at the tender skin shiny with his spit and red from his doing, he goes for the other repeating his treatment.

"You are enjoying yourself too much." You say with a smirk seeing how lost he is in the valley of your chest, he looks up at you still with your perfect bud between his lips, so tender swollen and shiny and smiles against the skin before he keeps sucking, he could live like this forever.

[lovelylambi]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒𝐓 † . ☥

warnings — nsfw, hierophillia, sacrilege, religious themes, corruption kink, blasphemy, finger fuk¡ng, prohibition, overstimulation, subordination, dacryphillia . *

this is my first written smut so enjoy as i wrote is as best as i could ♡

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍

The night was rainy in the midst of the night. You arrived to the empty candle lit cathedral, expecting nobody but you. Not a single soul was seen as the rows of seats sat ghostly empty. You were all alone, alone to pray, except you weren't alone, the priest's figure stood ominously, turned away from you.

Every time you'd visit your sermons, you'd always meet his gaze, a sinful feeling of shame lingered everytime you had thought about him. The way his roman cassock suited him as he'd stood there, speaking his sermonic lectures, his image had lingered even after you went home. You knew you had to repent your sins, as it had consumed you. A confession you'd regret but had too for the lord to not make you crave a sinful consumption of guilt and shame, to be forgiven for such impurities.

Your heels tapped against the marble floor beneath you as you walked closer towards the stage of the church. Surrounded you was empty abyss that occupied the rows of seats. The Priest was turned away, lighting candles and praying away as the lights dimly lit the whole cathedral, his figure casting a shadow onto the walls.

The cathedral was hauntingly quiet. Faint organs played when nobody was even there, you can almost hear the dead saints singing a choir. You walked closer, creeping behind the priest until he gazed behind his shoulder, soon turning around, fully meeting your innocent eyes. His tall dark figure stood there while you fiddled your hands together. He scanned you up and down, noticing your quiet timidity. "Father..." You softly gulped down as you felt your throat tighten. He spoke softly while the shadows had caressed his face. His face, soft and comforting, but also cold and emotionless. "Yes my child?" His voice echoed throughout the church, it was authoritative and soft. His hazeled eyes were just as soothing as his words. He slowly blinked at you, his gaze almost staring through your soul. Despite his words being gentle, a hint of danger dwelled in his eyes. You couldn't help but to melt as his scent filled your perimeter, it smelled of subtle incense and cologne. "I – I have something I need to confess, father...." You timidly spoke. His presence seeped into you like a knife. He spoke soft and warm, almost tempting and soothingly haunting, "You do?" The Priest had a strong aura about him that you just didn't even have the mind to back away. You stood before him with your knees trembling, and you could feel his gaze scanning you.

The Priest gently shuts a bible in his hand and places it onto the podium. He then stepped backward, gesturing for you to follow him inside a dark, empty confession booth. His footsteps echoed into the dark booth. You could feel his presence lingering behind the wall, the air felt heavier in there somehow, almost suffocating with the guilt and shame of sin. You didn't know if you'd want to leave while you still can. His presence alone just caused you to quiver at the thought him. He closed the booth and stood there, leaning forward. His shadow casted across over the wall, you couldn't help but stare at his outline. With only the sound of his faint breath, with a sheer wooden windowed–wall separating you, you could hear him quietly utter. "What do you have to confess my child...?" His voice soft. "I have been thinking sinful things... father... things I might not be forgiven for." You spoke in shame. You could feel the guilt loom over you like a shadow. "Sinful things?" His voice echoes out softly, you felt his gaze wander on you like a sharp arrow in the darkness. You couldn't help but to feel your breathing become heavy.

Even if he was the priest and was meant to protect you from sin, the thought of him being alone with you made your heart beat. But you also couldn't help that the sensation was somewhat soothing... but it was wrong, it fueled inside your bones like a disease... "Yes..." You clenched your legs together while you grasped the lining if you skirt as you sat there. You could feel the sinister thoughts not going away, as if god was almost listening. "And what are these sinful thoughts lingering inside of you..?"

"You..." You suddenly spoke of it, the humiliation of coming forward. You almost wanted to cry as you perch your head down in shame and guilt, for someone who's to forgive your sins, you felt an immense burden as it was your own priest that you were sinning for. "Tell me my child..." You were nervous, the thought of what he would do now was worrying. You worried about how he saw you now, as you were an impure girl, not to you, but to him also. You'd always see him at church, but now you see him in a much more sinister light. "What is it that you've thought.. ?"

"I – I can't say, father." Your voice almost plead with a sharp breath. His voice slowly drifted out again and was now more menacing. "Tell me." You felt like a criminal. He knew that the more you'd keep it in, the more guilty you'd feel. Your breathing was getting heavier, it was becoming harder to confess under his gaze. Your legs felt weak. Was this wrong? He was a priest devoted to god. Your voice fell in desperation, "Father.... I want do die for how I am sin itself..."

The Father leaned forward the booth's window, listening carefully to what more you had to say. The only noise was your trembling voice speaking through the gaps of the booth. Your hands clenched tightly together on your lap, hoping for forgiveness, hoping to be cleansed from your sins. He listened intently, soft and calm he was. His gentle voice filled the booth once again, "The lord forgives you dear child..." He was remorseful.

"Father... I repent..." You plead with a soft cry. His voice was deep as he kept leaning in closer. "Now that you've confessed your sins.. you must atone for them."

"Atone them..?"

His voice lowered into a deep whisper. You felt your body grow hotter by the second as he spoke. "Yes... atone..." The way he said it made it sound as if you were about to be punished... you felt even more nervous now, you almost couldn't take it... "Repenting is one thing, but the Lord does not forget easily. You will have to make up for it my child, or else the Lord will not forgive you." You felt yourself shiver at the sound of his words. "How will I... father." You spoke soft and sincere to him. His voice was full of authority, he knew exactly how to get a little lamb full of sin and somber to shiver. "Repentance requires atonement. The only way to truly repent for your sin is through me..."

"And how exactly.." You softly murmured. Listening carefully through the other side, it was cold and silent, as if he wasn't there at all. "Father....." You spoke out once again. No answer...

Soon the door swung open, revealing the dark figure of the mysterious priest. You flinched at his sudden appearance. He gestured you step out of the confessional booth, stepping aside. You brush past his way and followed him towards the stage of the church. The Priest came to a stop near a marble slab table, columns vertically placed onto the sides. The big gothic glass pane window ominously glowed an almost reddish.

You stood in front of him, wondering what he wanted. What you needed.. "Get on your knees..." He demanded. Abide by his command, you knelt to the cold bare floor on your bare knees. "Pray..." It was almost a threatening command.

You prayed for the sins to be forgiven as you closed your eyes and placed your palms together in prayer.

You prayed. Hoping for forgiveness. It was all you could do for the sin you had confessed. The candle flames dancing against you. You fluttered your eyes innocently up towards the priest, your eyes sparkling with the candle lit flames. Praying for any saint that would listen to you and spare you from the sin as you and the father's eyes conjured, his gaze watching your every move as you worshipped for forgiveness. He watched from above like the sinister thoughts you've thought about, it was no different. You closed your eyes and spoke, "Lord, I am a sinner, forgive me for I have sinned before you. Wash away my sin, purify me, and help me turn away from this sin....." You sincerely repented, words slipping softly out of your tongue. You opened your eyes once more, his grimace gaze filled you again. "The lord forgives child, but in this world of impurities, I have not, not quite yet.." He spoke coldly. You slowly stood up, wondering why the prayer hasn't satisfied him.

"Father....?" You questioned. He gently grabbed you by the shoulders and backed you up against the edge of the marble table, his presence looming over you, entrapping you against your will. He didn't dare touch you, not yet.

As stared at you closely, you knew he was about to do something sinful for he is a priest... Yet you felt no remorse. You were his sacrificial lamb to kill. He leaned in, making you more nervous than you already were. His lips merely inches away, you couldn't help but flutter your eyes to his lips. You were in desperation, he was giving you something you wanted, desired. You felt the resurgence of your fantasies, you couldn't help it, he was taunting you. You couldn't take it anymore.

Soon, you couldn't help yourself, as you leaned your lips closer and closer, your lips softly latched onto his like a desperate puppy. His lips devoured yours relentlessly. He grasped his hand on the nape of your neck. There was a taste of chocolate, a sweetness lingering. His lips tasted of salvation that was soon filled with sin. You were now his. You couldn't help but moan for more to consume you, to drown you and take control of your body. To lose you in his lips. His body pressed against yours tightly. The candles danced against the shadows that surrounded him.

You were all his to worship. All his to cleanse. You began to shiver as you unlatched your lips from his, gently pushing him away. "This is all wrong....." The prohibition of it all made you crave for more. It was taboo as you were abide by a man of god. "Forgive me father... I beg you..." You switch between both of his eyes. You were in the sick of it all, as you begged for his redemption. You knew you couldn't redeem yourself anymore, as you had sinned worse than your own thoughts. His face was almost warm and expressional, his eyes giving away lust. "Let the lord forgive me.... I'll do anything... father." You pleaded. "Anything?" The Priest says low and hypnotic. "Yes...." You gave in.

He smirked softly. Your obedience was all he wanted. With just one more step, his lips would finally surge yours once more. His fingers almost reached your lips but didn't. He kept playing the game of your obedience, enticing your innocence and virtue. His voice grew lower. He was almost whispering his words. "Would you do anything and everything I ask of you without hesitation.....?"

You shook your head hesitantly as he slowly wrapped his hand around the nape of your neck once again, softly gasping a sharp breath from his touch. He was merely inches away from your lips. You felt almost lost in the temptation once again. Those warm and gentle lips only the father possessed, was meeting yours once more. You softly whimpered underneath your breath, your palms clenching the table tighter as they soon travelled along his chest, you could feel the remnants of the cross on his neck, making you feel more guilty as you felt his tongue against yours.

The Priest's soft and gentle hands lingered onto your waistline as he kept his mouth against yours, you could almost faint from your delicate and sensitive touch as soft whimpers escaped.

The only thing that mattered now was your sins that were now about to be committed by the one who was supposed to cleanse it.

His soft touch around your waistline picked you up and placed you onto the marbled table, making you wrap your legs around the priest as you felt him against you. You were wrapped in the heat of the Father's body. His hot breath against your neck, his hands wandering around the curve of your waist.

He was taking control. He began to slowly travel his hand along your thigh, gently caressing his hand along your soft delicate skin. Your breath shuddered with each passing moment. Your moans grew into something more passionate as he reached his fingers higher and higher on your thighs, until he reached to your white linen underwear, you knew you were going to repent for life...

Your sudden shutter of soft moans spilled out of you as he touched you. It was almost sadistic with the way he gazed into your eyes. The Priest gave no mercy as he slipped inside of your underwear and mercilessly rubbed your cunt. Your body began to quiver. Nobody had touched you like this. You were his virgin mary, he knew he would make you pray for more.

He seeped his fingers in. Making you shutter your head backwards as you bit your lip. Your soft whimpering moans grew slightly more as he seeped his fingers more and more inside of you. The innocence you wore was an illusion, you were nothing but a a sinful girl that was taken advantage by the Priest. "More...." You pleaded, moaning in desperation. Grasping the black cloth of his clothes. He took in your request, sinking his fingers deeper and deeper inside the abyss of you, in and out of you. He could almost see tears in your eyes, knowing you wanted to cry because of the guilty pleasure you felt from the sins he was committing, making you the left ruins of a sacrificial lamb in his presence.

You were repenting to him, worshipping him as he made you lose control of all your senses, receiving uncontrollable pleasure from a man devoted to god. You felt yourself lose grip with each kiss you made. You were being cleansed in the ultimate sin. Sin which would send you to hell but you didn't care as the priest was only taking you there for his pleasure, you deserved it as you are the sin itself, you were a disgusting girl. You gasped out more whimpers, unlatching your lips from his suffocation. You started to feel overwhelmed at the pleasure, you wanted no more as you begged. "No more, please...." You softly cried out. He didn't care as he continued to finger you with no remorse, his fingers covered in your cum. He thought how impure you were to have to get wet at the priests touch ever so easily. You kept whimpering, wanting him to stop as you became overstimulated with sensation. His hands only travelled further inside of you as you begged him. You could feel the sensations of shame filling your body for your pleas for him to stop were nothing but begging for more to him. You were his to take. He could make you sin over and over again. Your whimpers was the sound of your repentance to his ears. Your pleas for him to stop were simply fuel to the flames that were burning inside you. You felt your mind slipping as he watched you orgasm, your legs quivering. You tried grabbing his wrist but he continued to pleasure you. You were losing yourself, the innocence was slipping through your fingers, the sins were consuming you. The pleasure was overwhelming you. You couldn't help it. The priest couldn't help it either. Each kiss was bringing you both towards the edge. Your whimpering cries becoming more uncontrollable as the pleasure overwhelmed you.

Soon his fingers slipped out of you as you then fall back against the top of the marble table, twitching as you clasped your knees together, your hands grasping at your pussy. The priest seemed to be done with his baptism. He blinked slowly as he was finally satisfied. He walked around the table, reaching to the other side where your head laid, he overlooked you from above as you notice him towering over you. "You're forgiven for all the sins....." He soon reached his wet cummed covered fingers slowly into your mouth. You whimpered as you didn't want to, but he insisted as this was part of your repentance. You licked them clean, quenching the taste of your own cum.

[sweetsaintess]

i'm saint! i'm an eldritch angel🪽 ꒰ v-artist ꒱ ‧ ꒰ cutesy × spicy illusts ꒱ ₊˚ ⋅

i love bunnies, cute things, pretty girls and horrors beyond human comprehension. thank you for stopping by! ♡

⋅ art cmms ・ website ・ get blessings ♡

[aggro-my-beloved]

Shaw Pack HC’s (1/?)

note: I promise after this I’ll get some sleep…and dream about more redacted audio HC’s, that is

• Sweetheart has made it their mission to teach Aggro the most random tricks, without Milo’s knowledge. We’re talking fetch, speak, high fives galore. Sweetheart still isn’t sure how Milo hasn’t noticed the cat’s recent weight gain from all the treats he’s been given for “motivation”. It wasn’t until one fateful night that Asher and Baaabe were invited over to break in their new house and Asher left his mode of transportation lying around (him and Baaabe arrived separately since she was working late) that the result of their secret training lessons were exposed.

“Uh, sweetheart,” Milo begins, voice curious and steady.

“Hmm?” His mate hums, craning her neck to peer at Aggro flawlessly passing over the hardwood floor of the living room. It’s yet to be adorned by a rug of their choosing.

“Why is our cat on a skateboard?”

♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡

• Baaabe has never encountered a physical fight in their life. Always one to stay out of trouble, they keep to themselves and never enter any altercation that involves a clean uppercut or south paw, because they’d surely fail.

Or so they thought. Hell, even Asher did when he begged them to join him in his adventure to the arcade and purposefully led the two of them up to the Boxing Punch Game. It’s the first time Baaabe is seeing the name of the machine, but they are familiar with it. The player decks the red punching bag dangling before them and watches the score tally up to deduce whether they are as strong as they thought or indeed a weakling.

Too afraid of what their results may yield, Baaabe volunteers Asher to go first, which he does without complaint. The sound of his fist colliding with the bag echoes across the arcade hall and perks a few ears, and his score grazes the seven hundreds. Baaabe feels her toes curling in anticipation while Asher keeps on encouraging them to just give it a shot, and that “the score doesn’t matter. You’re unempowered after all, I have a bit of an advanta—“

The rest of his sentence gets caught in his throat, his jaw slack as her numbers climb and climb to over a thousand total points. But even more shocking—to Baaabe’s total disbelief and Asher’s amusement, the punching bag lie on the floor, disconnected from its machine.

Yup. Baaabe broke the fucking game. All from a single hit.

It made Asher hard a little scared of his mate’s true strength. He did the dishes that night without complaint.

♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡

• Clumsy as they may be, I think Angel is secretly good as secretly good as sewing. Perhaps they worked as a part time seamstress for a past job, maybe a uniform store that involved hemming a measurements. This is a wonderful tool to have for emergency instances, like that broken zipper on Baaabe’s wedding attire which Angel resolved with ease. Baaabe would claim the rest of the night that Angel really is a saint sent from higher deities out of our control. Everyone will blame these babbles on the mate’s alcohol intake.

But in the comfort of their home, Angel uses this power for pure, ungodly chaos. Including, but not limited too:

1. Slightly hemming Davey’s tank tops to fit him slimmer around his waist. His mate loves how it shows off his physique.

2. The clothes he hasn’t worn in a while will be cropped to better fit Angel. How they gaslight David into believing his security hoodies keep shrinking in the wash and he needs a better vendor who uses less cotton is still a mystery.

3. Three Words: Ugly. Matching. Sweaters.

4. The entire pack has one designed by Angel personally and almost everybody loves them. Milo pretends not to be offended when he is gifted his sweater that’s two sizes too small. David rarely wears his unless Angel pulls out the puppy dog eyes, which he can never deny pleasing. Baaabe and Asher wear theirs religiously, even if it’s the dead heat of summer.

[ddollfface]

is it possible for you to expand on the alphabet ‘H’ for yandere!athlete? I’m just curious to see the full extent of his punishment when he ‘snaps’. You don’t have to. This is my first ask so I’m just curious

— 🐏 anon

𝐀 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐔𝐧𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝

𝗟𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗦𝗶𝗰𝗸!𝗔𝘁𝗵𝗹𝗲𝘁𝗲 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

"I'm not feeling myself today, so it's alright if I feel you instead?"

Trigger Warnings; bad writing, lovesick behavior, manipulation, toxic relationship, love bombing, reader is called 'girlfriend', fake emotional cheating (it'll make more sense later), um I think that's it, pretty tame ngl, honestly it's shorter than my usual posts sorry(( If I missed anything, then please let me know ♡ You are now 🐏!Nonny! Congratulations, you now have your own tag! I hope this is up to your standards... I kind of went on a tiny, just a tiny tangent, but what's new lol

Okay, ngl, I've been waiting for someone to ask about this, so thank you 🐏!Nonny for asking)))

Now, to the question. I would like to preface that it would be very, very, very difficult to make LoveSick!Athlete 'snap', seeing as he's a very patient person, especially with those he's close to. Growing up, he had to be patient and easygoing. He was the oldest of his siblings, so he had to be responsible; had to step up as a father figure for his younger siblings, as he never had a real dad.

He's very soft with you, always speaking kindly, and never letting his anger or annoyance get a hold of him. He wants to be the best for you, truly, but there are just some things that make people... y'know snap. Even for people like LoveSick!Athlete, who has the patience of a saint.

So, now that we know this, we have to think of a scenario of when and why you'd ever push LoveSick!Athlete over the edge; what would've you said to make him that angry?

It'd probably be something along the lines of questioning either his loyalty to you, or the caliber of his love for you, and how much he provides for you. You'd have to take away his purpose and smush it; dragging it through the mud, and spit on it. Now, that would get him going. There's one thing that LoveSick!Athlete hates, and that's someone who's ungrateful.

He's done so, so, so much for you, can't you see?

It would've started from an argument, likely you bringing up how he seems too receptive to other girls on campus, too willing with their antics. And that just didn't sit right with you. You didn't like your boyfriend, in this scenario, hanging around with girls, who you thought to be very, very, very pretty.

Of course, LoveSick!Athlete thought this to be insane, something he hadn't even thought about. Ever since the two of you started dating, he hasn't even looked at a girl, let alone thought about sleeping with one. How could you even say that?

In this scenario, I can see LoveSick!Athlete being petty and becoming flirtatious with other girls just to show you that his behavior before was nothing. If you thought that was flirtatious, then wait until you see him now. Instead of pushing the girls to the side, excusing himself before they could corner him, now he's looking the girls up and down, giving them a little smirk, leading them on. He might even set a hand on their lower back, leading them through the party, maybe even kiss her on the cheek, if you've been rather ungrateful.

Now, LoveSick!Athlete isn't enjoying this, after all, you're his one and only, but you have to learn your lesson. You have to understand that he's been so kind to you, so appreciative of your relationship. Don't you understand? He doesn't like doing this; it's a punishment.

You, seeing all of this, would obviously be distraught. You'd feel so, so, so betrayed. Where had your sweet, loving boyfriend gone? Why was he replaced by some sleazy womanizer? You'd be both sad and pissed the fuck off. You wanted him to tone it down, not multiply it by one hundred!

No matter what, even if you're angry as hell, you'll end up in LoveSick!Athlete's arms, hugging him tightly. He'll find a way to sweet talk you back to him, telling you that you're his only one, that he's just showing you that it wasn't that bad. He'll explain his public image to you; he's gotta stay on top of it, surely you understand, babe? I have no interest in those girls. They're just thinking with what's between their legs. You have to trust me.

Now, that's if you question his loyalty to you, but if you question how much he loves you (which is kinda of related to loyalty, but just ignore that), then you'll face a different type of manipulation. Mans got a whole tool belt on him (I've been waiting to say that lol).

Questioning how much he values you, your affections, your words, and your presence, will lead to love bombing. And for those who don't know what love bombing is, it's a manipulation tactic where the manipulator will use excessive affection to make their victim depend on them for love, believing that they'll only be valued by the manipulator.

LoveSick!Athlete is very familiar with this form of love since he grew up with a mama who has bipolar disorder-

(To be clear, I don't mean to say that everyone with bipolar disorder is a mass manipulator or anything. In certain people, especially mamas who are juggling an abusive marriage, two children, and postpartum all at once, it can be a lot and lead to bad behaviors. Just wanted to say that as someone who deals with a mama with bipolar disorder)

-Now, as a young adult, he's grown the habit of absentmindedly using manipulation tactics to get what he wants. It'll all start with a small argument, you'll question his lover for you, if he even cares for you. After all, he seems to be more attentive over his image than you, his girlfriend!

And all LoveSick!Athlete will do is smile at you, saying that he understands your concerns and that he'll do better. Obviously, this will confuse the hell out of you. Who responds to an argument like that? Certainly, no man you've ever dated!

Even if he doesn't realize it, he'll begin to show excessive amounts of affection after the argument. He'll constantly be giving you hugs, clinging onto you like a leach, and spamming you with messages/calls. You'll grow accustomed to the overbearing affections, allowing it to become a part of your daily life, but the moment you're used to it, he'll rip it away.

Suddenly, it's as if you don't even exist, like you're just another girl to him. Of course, he'll acknowledge you as his girlfriend, but he's no longer touching you. He's not hugging you, having an arm wrapped around you waist, nor is he holding your hand in public. It's as if he's embarrassed about your relationship. You'll begin to think that LoveSick!Athlete is cheating on you (he's not).

And this sudden behavior change is so delayed that you won't even relate it to your argument, thinking that it was a whole separate issue. And LoveSick!Athlete won't realize it either; it's just subconcious decision he made without knowing.

At some point, you'll come crawling back to him, desperately wanting the affection you used to be overwhelmed by. Of course, LoveSick!Athlete will be overjoyed, welcoming your upfront behavior with open arms. To you, this is like whiplash. Just a few days ago, he was off-putting, giving you the cold shoulder, and now he's leaning on you as if he can't stand himself, what the hell is going on?

And that's when you realize that you're not dating the most... stable individual...

Not to mention what he let his teammates do to you... but that's for another ask, yeah?

[asmoslverboy]

To love the devil; Dottore x GN!Reader.

He is who he has always been. Despite the centuries he's had to accept and embrace his darkness, though he claims otherwise, he can't help but try to hide away from you. Neither one of you's a saint, but through his eyes, you're an angel. CW! Angst, immortal × immortal, Dottore is referred to as "Zandik", self sabotage on Dottore's part♡, dottore being emotional (ooc tbh, im self projecting on him)??

932 words

Dottore has many sides to him that he'd rather hide off from you. For someone so egotistical, so full of pride, you'd never expect him to be ashamed of who he is, who he has become. And he's not— shame, embarrassment— those aren't emotions that he's familiar with.

But fear, now that's a whole other conversation. It's not like you don't know what he's done, the things he's guilty of, his list of crimes, and of unethical desires he's tried to fulfill. It's not like you haven't personally seen him drown in sin over the 400 years of knowing him.

"Zandik, did I upset you?" You ask him as you're sitting on top of his desk while he's in his chair, looking up at your figure. He's been quite distant lately, more than usual. You could easily assume that he was having one of his isolative episodes, but he doesn't seem to be avoiding anyone other than you.

"Hm?" That's all you get from him, accompanied by a raise of his right brow, but his focus soon goes back to his notes, going over them, rambling about how he needs his next project to be the embodiment of perfection. Creating an aranara, was it? Some things, it seems, never change. He was so obsessed with the idea of capturing one of those little creatures of nature, back when the two of you were still students.

The next few hours pass by in the same cycle of events. You try talking to him, he shrugs it off and continues digging his head deep into his research files.

Do not expect any more of him for the next days, weeks even. It's like your existence no longer matters to him. All you see is the man that you've been with throughout basically your whole entire lives, acting as if you were a mere accomplice. He has repeated this type of scheme in the past, more than once, but it never lasted as long as it did this time.

Each of your attempts of getting a simple response out of him, one that requires actual words instead of some grunt or hum, has gone to waste.

You're unsure of what to do. Should you be more worried for him or for yourself? Is this the time it all ends between the two of you? Should you really just give up on him at this point?

"Zandik," you called out, but not to him, nor to anyone else. Sitting by a lake, all by yourself, no one to your company, other than the thousand microorganisms that lived and thrived in the waters. "I wish you would just speak to me."

It's not like you lack friends to confide in. But would anyone be as understanding towards him— the one who was labeled a monster, by all who've known him and by himself first and foremost— after you tell them about his present behaviors?

You laid your head on the cold, wet grass. Surrounded by nature, the collective of existence. You could never be alone in this world, not as long as you believe that everything around you is as alive as you are.

But are you truly alive? If, in the past, your definition of the word was to express yourself in every way, to feel and to be felt, would you consider yourself alive at this very moment?

Another day has come— it seems you had fallen asleep on the ground. You awoke, a couple ducks quaking as they poke you with their beaks. They didn't mean to hurt you, though. And if you think about it, your beloved is much like these ducks. He does what he thinks would best help you. Even if it has opposing effects.

"You shouldn't stay," he told you, his tone felt like it could cut through metal. You were back at his office again, figuring you could at least help him out at work, if unable to help his inner world. He was taking off his gloves as he was done inspecting some ancient Khaenri'ahn technology items. "Do you want me to—"

"I've given you every reason to leave. Yet you still cling to me like a bloodthirsty eel." He cut you off. He has never spoken to you like this (not whilst he was sober, nor whilst he was in his right mind). He was calm, but he spoke as if you were an object to be dismissed.

"Do you not love me anymore?" You wanted to ask him so, so desperately. But the potential answers to that question shook you to your very core. So you dared not speak.

Such conflict within you. Shall you leave him be? Shall you listen to his words instead of pursuing him any further? You're painfully aware of his nature; to push you away when he needs your presence most.

But it's been going on for far too long, has it not? If he's not allowing you to help him, then really, what else is there to do, if not fend for yourself?

"You deserve better," he wrote to you, in a letter that'll never reach your sight. "Your love should not be limited to one who can not accept, nor react to it," he wrote again. But who is he trying to fool? He knows that this piece of paper, along with all the other ones he's tried to write, will be crunched up and disposed of.

Not even once, for the sake of the person who's loved him through it all, will he allow himself to be heard.

[ayanominitrash]

Geto Suguru x reader // of all the days//

life is unfair, but Geto is thankfully a saint

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

thinking about how you're the 4th student of the second year in Jujutsu High - the batch with the strongest sorcerers of your generation

you have a huge crush on Geto Suguru but always have his best friend Gojo Satoru cock blocking you, or should I say pussy blocking you?

you can't help it, Geto is quiet, gentle and kind. his dark eyes shine into yours, making butterflies in your stomach go berserk

so, not a day goes by where you don't try to convince the annoying white-haired man to leave out a mission so you can partner up with Geto for once. it's always the two of them, while you have to get left behind with Shoko Ieiri, who isn't assigned to many missions as she's only one of the few sorcerers who can heal

"as if you're strong enough to take on one of our missions," Gojo would scoff at you every time you beg him. "Geto's mine. Or I could fuck you over and have him partner with Shoko instead."

You're red in the face in your anger, "Principal Yaga or the higher-ups would never take her out on missions too much, you know. Just this once!"

Gojo hums in thought, hand caressing his chin. then finally looks at you with a smirk, "No"

"fuck you with all my being" you glared at him before stomping away

"that's not a threat, considering how short you are!" he shouts at your retreating figure

on your way home from a mission with Shoko one day, you find the perfect bribe for Gojo to sit one mission out - it's a limited edition daifuku, his favorite dessert

"Principal Yaga, believe it or not, I'm not feeling all that great today. I think I got the bad btch disease - that said, I'll let Y/N take the next mission with Suguru, -bye!"

"he's all yours," The tall man says before biting into the tasty treat

Finally, you meet up with Your Crush Geto Suguru, who smiles at you before opening the car door open so you can go in first

Your Crush Geto Suguru who was kind enough to ask you if you're nervous about the mission, in which you joke to him that you'd be more nervous if you were on a mission with Gojo with how reckless he can be sometimes and likes to go solo - Geto chuckles at you, eyes disappearing in the process

Your Crush Geto Suguru who politley ushers you forward once the two of you reached into the buidling of said mission, a light push from his hand on the small of your back. Once the curtains are pulled down by the assistant that drove the two of you there, he speaks in a soft voice about the situation. You nod at his words, trying to not get distracted by the gloss of spit on his bottom lip

Your Crush Geto Suguru who lets you sit down first while he clears the first floor of the building. You feel an uneasy pain in you, but you don't mind it. Instead, you help yourself to watch how Geto's broad shoulders move as he exorcise the low grade curses, his brows pinch together in concentration.

Your Crush Geto Suguru who asks you in concern when you told him you can't exactly stand up, he looks down at you with those pretty dark eyes, it makes you weak in the knees. But that's not the reason why you told him you can't stand up from your seat. Of all the days, it just had to be the day that you're finally in the mission with your crush, only to have your period come in early.

Your Crush Geto Suguru whose eyes widen when you tell him of your little unfortunate incident. You probably think he'd be grossed out by you or turned off. Or probably annoyed because you're insinuating to let him handle the mission all by himself.

Your Crush Geto Suguru who only voices his concerns for your being - are you hurting? can you move? Is there anything that I can do to help? You heart can't help but flutter of how considerate he's being with you. You tell him that you can still go on the mission with him but your skirt is probably soaked from your backside area. Maybe if you're lucky, you can find some pads in the abandoned building - gross, but what are you to do?

Your Crush Geto Suguru who removes his jacket uniform and wraps it around your waist "It's just the two of us, but if this will help you feel less uncomfortable around me, please take it."

Your Crush Geto Suguru who only puts his hand on the small of your back again as he ushers you forward to the next floor, shutting down your protests about using his jacket as your cover, how you're afraid about the stains.

Your Crush Geto Suguru who does most of the work, exorcising curses along the way so you don't have to push yourself.

Your Crush Geto Suguru who bridal carries you out of the building after the mission because your cramps got worse. You'll never forget the feeling of his strong arms around you.

Your Crush Geto Suguru who asks the driver to stop at a convenience store on the ride back to the school, so he can buy you some much needed pads and sweets.

Your Crush Geto Suguru who gives you that sweet smile of his when you return his uniform jacket the next day, all washed and clean.

Your Crush Geto Suguru who asks you if you two can eat lunch together that same day.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

(❀❛ ֊ ❛„)♡ reblogs and comments are appreciated//do not repost my work anywhere

//

This is my first time writing - I think this is called a drabble? brrttt I was gushing while writing this Daddy Suguru PLEAASEEE

[kazutora-kurokawa]

I just loved the Hakkai and black cat reader headcanons.

Could you write something like :

Imagine Mitsuya somehow finding out that Hakkai lost his v-card (he's so nervous about it that it probably slipped from his mouth mid convo). And Takashi is like "wtf? You did it first?!".

I think he would be either laughing or too shocked to say anything. 🌞

Beat Me To It: Mitsuya Finds Out Hakkai Lost His V-card

♡ SFW, suggestive, mentions of virginity, Hakkai talking about you a little too much, Mitsuya teasing Hakkai, designer!Mitsuya, model!Hakkai, Yuzuha is Hakkai's manager and pops in the room very briefly ♡

note: Just something short, this was a funny little idea anon, thanks for requesting 🩷

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Hakkai was rambling, per usual, to Mitsuya. Mainly about you and work. Mitsuya was sitting at his desk, working on the finishing touches of a new design he had whipped up.

"She's just so perfect Taka-chan, she's like if an angel fell from the heavens."

Mitsuya looked up at him in amusement.

"She's like a fallen angel? So she's the devil?"

"Wait that's not what I meant!"

The door to the room opened and in walked Yuzuha, his manager and sister, holding bundles of fabric.

"Who's a devil? Here's the fabric you asked for Mitsuya."

She sat her purse and the fabric on the couch and waited patiently for an answer to her question.

"Thanks and y/n apparently."

"I wasn't calling her the devil! She's an absolute saint, even in bed."

Yuzuha and Mitsuya looked at each other then back at him. Hakkai put a hand over his mouth as if it would take back what he just said. His mind was so late to process it.

"I meant-"

"I'm gonna stop you right there so I can leave the room. I don't wanna know what you and your girlfriend do. I'll see the both of you later, Kai don't be late to the photoshoot today!"

Yuzuha grabbed her purse off the couch and walked out the door, leaving Hakkai to fend for himself.

"Wow..I can't believe it! How did you lose your virginity before me? The fact that you even have a girlfriend is astounding to me...no offense of course, but you're kind of a nervous wreck man."

Hakkai looked at Mitsuya with an annoyed look on his face before chuckling.

"No need to rub it in, I know I'm a nervous wreck. It's different when I'm with her though."

"Please don't get all sappy on me, you're gonna make me sad that I'm still single."

"Not my fault you're a workaholic."

"I know I know, I can't help it though. I just have so many ideas racing around in my head, I gotta put them on a page man."

"Yeah I can understand that."

He checks his watch.

"Speaking of work, I got back to back photoshoots today."

He grabbed his jacket and headed to the door.

"Well you better get going and call me when you're done, that is, if you aren't too busy with y/n."

"Haha very funny Taka-chan. I'll see you later!"

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

Taglist

@arlerts-angel @i-literally-cant-with-this @trevengersprincess @giugiette @katshimizuu @happy-trenchcoated-impala @kazubarbie @drunkcheesecake @darkstarlight82 @reiners-milkbiddies

[ariiadnes]

╭ ㅤ ⿻ ･ everybody's gone to the rapture

you'll get it in the next life , where you don't make mistakes . do what you can with this one while you're still alive.

-ˋ ♡ ◞ ais. touchstarved. quote cr : disco elysium. repost.

ー THE CHOIR ONCE SANG :

ACT ONE : DRINK FROM THE WELL / CONSUME THE ICHOR / FEEL IT DRIP DOWN YOUR CHIN, POOL IN THE HOLLOWS OF RUIN, AND CONSUME YOUR BLOOD. IN YOUR VEINS THE ROT DECAYS / HOLINESS REVIVED AND RAVAGED / AND YOU WILL BE ONE AND YOU WILL BE MANY.

ACT TWO : DRINK FROM THE WELL. CONSUME THE ICHOR. RELEASE THIS CURSE AND SURRENDER THE MIND, BUT YOU'LL STILL SUFFER IN THE END, AND YOU'LL STILL BE SOME KIND OF DEAD, ANYWAY.

ー AND SO YOU WHISPERED : you'll still be some kind of dead, anyway, but you won't be yourself, so what does it matter?

( IT DOESN'T MATTER ; YOUR HANDS NO LONGER AFFLICTED WITH VIOLENCE, MIND A BLANK SLATE.

NONE OF THIS MATTERS, SO WHY DOES YOUR REFLECTION IN THE DEEP RED HOLD SUCH A DEVASTATION? )

ー BUT SOMEONE IN THE CHORUS WATCHES, SILENT, FEELS THE MANY EYES OF A SOULLESS AND WICKED BEAST. OH, DEAREST TRAGEDY, HOW THEY PITY YOU SO :

you are not meant for the seaspring : this decrepit, vast emptiness. the endless bloodied waters, murky and thick with sin and the groupmind of sinner and saint. what lingers under crimson eyes and crimson gazes is akin to a vessel of truth and madness, a converged consciousness of craze. you are not meant for such self-destruction, even if your past and terror you have invoked on others deems you so.

ais finds you here too often ; your presence always known and understood. the sight is a familiar one nowadays, neither comforting nor alarming. your worn body sits so still before the red lake, gaze twisted into something of lament and contemplation. how melancholic this scene is : it reminds him of a false deity, this setting -- a lost lamb in the midst of judgement, a sanguine altar, and the musing of salvation over sacrifice.

something echoes in his mind, speaks through riddled tongues, but he understands. you could lose yourself here so easily -- a simple push, a drowning guised as purification. too easily, ais thinks, and the higher being that resides in his mind laughs and laughs and laughs, slaughter under means of sanctification the highest form of cruelty.

ais inhales deeply, rids himself of such venomous thoughts. his coexistence with another is a curse in itself, but the violence in his blood is his and his alone ; he will not subject you to it.

an echo of approaching footsteps. you recognize it, know it to be the devil himself, but the fear that was once in your heart has faded now, changed into something of unspoken fondness. he sits beside you, shoulder to shoulder, and you almost smile, knowing it is a silent teasing. there is far too much emptiness in a place once filled with old comrades gone missing ; such little distance between your bodies is entirely unnecessary.

you stay, anyway.

"you'll think your pretty little head off, sparrow. still wondering if it's worth it?"

the seaspring seems to come to life at the sound of his voice. a ripple, seemingly small, then a sequence, a disruption of the flow, a violent wave crashing against another in a mere second. you blink. nothing. a single ripple, silent. alive.

"always wondering." you murmur, brows knit in slight confusion. you fail to see ais smirk at your bewildered expression, but it quickly falls, turns into something somber. "you told me that i survived this far, got away with this for so long--" you look at your bandaged hand, watch how it trembles ever so slightly. the words turn into something incohesive, something so horribly hard to speak that they lodge themselves in your throat, make you feel like a fool.

"you're still wondering."

you swallow. something hurts.

"yeah."

and you wish he would talk you out of it, tell you that there's another way, that you shouldn't give up hope yet. but he doesn't, because no matter the choice, he'll respect it. whether friend or foe, lover or enemy, no matter whether you give yourself up or save yourself through other means, ais won't stop you. he won't intervene because he knows the seaspring by heart and he knows you by heart.

this is not his story.

( he silently hopes that you don't give in, make the same mistakes he once did. he begs, pleads, but he's too prideful, too cold and warm all the same. this is not his story to tell and this is not his choice, so he'll stay by you, close and too far, and he'll wait and watch. )

no one speaks, but that's okay. there are no words to be said, but there's still something that threatens to choke you, weaves itself into your skin and wraps around your throat. maybe you are choking on the tale of this calamity they call your existence. maybe you are choking on the guilt of all you have harmed. maybe you are choking on your death.

you tilt your head back, breathe deep. your eyes sting. ais watches you fall apart, little by little, but he cannot fix you. he knows that. you both do. neither of you will try, anyway. that's not how the story is supposed to go. tragedies become tragedies and stay that way; no loss if there is nothing to lose.

something is choking you. it's hard to breathe, hard to see. your eyes still sting, so you look down, because it's better that he doesn't see the tears you will endlessly shed in the realization that you were born into a death you cannot escape.

you look down, refuse to look anywhere else, and that's alright. ais makes sure he's in your view, reaches his hand out, palm up, and offers himself to you. he doesn't say anything at first, doesn't feel the need to until he sees your shoulders tense. bandages or not, there is always a risk, always a chance that something could go wrong. your lips part to speak, protest, heart beating too quickly in both fear and wanting, but he reads you loud and clear.

"it won't hurt me, sparrow. your bite did more damage."

you look up for the first time in minutes, catch sight of his lazy smirk. there's something so incredibly gentle about it that it makes you defenseless, so hopeless and hopeful, and you do not know what to make of it. you both lie in wait, one in the calm, one in frenzy, but neither knows which feeling they drown in, and neither of you dare to dwell on it.

slowly, carefully, you place your bandaged hand on his, and it shakes so violently that you almost think to pull away, but he squeezes your hand with such a softness that you could never imagine him capable of.

something is choking you. it's hard to breathe. your eyes sting, but this time it's different. better. this time it's something of relief, something of starvation, something of love unspoken. you cry even harder, but he says nothing, only squeezes your hand, once, twice, five times, and in those gestures is a don't go. stay with me.

( but you don't know this-- you never will, he thinks, because he has lost everyone he's ever known, ever cared about, and even the devil cannot stop the evils of the earth, even if he has become an evil himself. )