#and most likely more sin and testament

[antiv3nom]

there are so many guilty gear characters i have to draw over break besties SO MANY

[ravengards-rogue]

i lose control (when you're not next to me.)

javier escuella x reader

✧ tags : afab + fem!reader (gendered language + wearing dresses etc), established relationship, religious imagery (maybe sacrilege)takes place in ch.4 of rdr2, submissive!reader, soft dom!javier, some spanish petnames (mi amor mi vida, and hermosa i think), pillowing humping, penetration, very lovesick sex lol, veryy established dynamic, praise kink, written like. sooo explicitly for @nanamimizz, 18+

✧ wc : 5.2k (after editing mind you)

✧ a/n : this is fucking nuts LMAOO. i wrote this like. no bullshit in a day. i don't know how that happened. mentioned in the tags that this is for my beloved best friend but i think it's still okay to post. im losing it a little. i have hw due in an hour

✧ synopsis : javier can't help but feel some ways about the way you miss him. so dreadfully obedient. so apparently needy. how could he not adore you?

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

There’s something a little pathetic in the way you pine after Javier that makes him a worse man than he is. 

He’s good to you though. Always. Down to his bones, the core of him. The soul of him. It’s hard to be anything but good to you. 

In all of his life, across lovers, men and women - he doesn’t think he’s met a single soul who simply likes him as much as you do. Who preens so pretty with so little, who doesn’t need much at all. Never met a woman who tucks and folds herself into corners just to be polite. Never thought he’d find it so fascinating, either - but you prove him wrong often. 

It’s testament to Javier’s adoration that he can’t help but notice you anyway. That even when your featherlight footsteps and darling voice fall off and get caught on the wind and blown away - Javier will still manage to find you. Even with all of your attempts to make yourself small and unrecognizable, his sharp brown eyes will still catch on the linen of your skirts and the threaded gold of your cross necklace. Javier’s own body betrays him in his love for you, in his wanting. 

Even though he’s not interested in pretending he doesn’t love you, his eyes and mouth and hands would look and call and search. They’d never give him the opportunity to be anything but in love. 

It’s important that he makes that known. He’s only ever interested in being a good man to you. Holding you and kissing you and worshiping you until you’re melty between his fingers. Javier loves loving the resistance out of you and you always make it so easy for him. 

He’s a good lover by nature and by practice. Passionate and maybe a little conceited, it’s not his first brush with romantics. He can only hope it’ll be his last. 

Even so, he’s never been liked the way you like him. 

You like Javier in a way you seem embarrassed by when you remember. It causes you to act in ways out of character on the surface, emboldened. Maybe just needy. Enough to bask in his praise and affection once a little liquor has touched your mouth. You like Javier in a way that makes you lovesick and puppylike, all honeyed gazes and pouty lips. He’s never met somebody who likes him the way you do, without grandstanding. Just pure, puppy love. Almost innocent if you don’t look too long. 

Almost being what matters most. 

Javier knows the way you were raised, after all. Knows the intimate ways in which you fold yourself and tuck your wants between the pages of your diary and slip your requests under your tongue. It’s hard for you to want for anything too much because you’ve been told your whole life that wanting at all is a sin. Wanting may even get you killed. A good woman should want nothing but salvation. Anything more than that is indulgence and there’s nothing good about that. It translates in the way you carry yourself. You’ll stop and fumble and shy away before even fixing your lips to ask, like you’re planning on being rejected or told no. 

A good girl like you being told no so often, it’s made you all sacrifice and empty prayers. Javier often feels grief about your lives before each other but nothing makes it so evident as that. A good woman, a beautiful and kind and soft one like you should never hear the words no without the best of reasons. That’s what Javier believes for all of his lovers, but you’re special. 

And that makes it worse. 

For you he’d do anything. No price he wouldn’t pay, no place he wouldn’t go, nothing that’s too far out of his reach. He thinks maybe he’s so eager to give it to you because he knows you don’t have it in you to take it yourself. You won’t whine greedily even if Javier tells you too, so Javier’s giving is only a partial virtue. It’s mostly pride, after all. It hurts his ego a little when you refuse to bask in the love he so enthusiastically wants to drown you in. 

Despite his complaints though, it’s a part of you that makes him so weak to you. That you want with such desperation but don’t allow yourself to take - so it makes you pliant and willing and terribly, adorably pathetic. You’re so weak for Javier. Just for him, you always say. Always with a hand in his, or wrapped around his bicep. All yours, Javi. Always his. 

That’s the thing. Javier wants to give everything in the world to you. He wants to be good to you, and he so often is. But you do things sometimes, all collapsed under the weight of your own desire that drive him insane. Make him act in ways he normally wouldn’t dream of doing. Depraved and filthy and unromantic in all senses of the word. 

It’s really not very polite for Javier to stand and watch you at his door - humping his pillow with weeps and huffs. It’s not kind to embarrass you. He’s a good man, and a good man would cover you with his coat and maybe smile about how much you care for him. 

But there’s just something about the look on your face when you do it, something about the tear stains in your lashes and the way your cheek is pressed in his jacket. Something about that needy, incessant little ache in your voice as you call and call and call for him. As if you’re hoping you’ll answer despite him not being there.

Javier is a good man to you. Maybe he could be better. Maybe he’s not good enough.  

He stands in the doorway of your shared bedroom with a soft, gentle grin. There’s no question he’s behaving a worse man than he is. Than he ought to be. 

He’s quiet as he shuts the door, balancing his weight to remain noiseless. 

Javier doesn’t particularly like being all the way out in Saint Denis nor is he fond of intel missions. The city is loud, the people unfriendly - though he likes the music and art. He prefers staying in camp if he can help it, but this big bank heist has everyone busy. He’s at least thankful that it’s given him an excuse to be with you. Your knowledge of herbs and poisons and the like have been helpful to gathering information. Been a lot of slipping things in drinks and making people forget. The sort of dirty work he’s accustomed too, while also getting a chance to be with you in a place with four walls and a bath. A dream for the future, maybe. 

It’s been nice, but he’s been out now for two days - out in the streets gathering information about Bronte’s people. A bunch of lowlifes just like them, but with their hands in the pocket of the city. He’s only been gone for two days, so there’s no reason you should miss him this much. And yet he hears it anyway. And it pleases him, truthfully. 

He takes off his coat as he listens to you at the doorway. Shrugs the middle-weight material of his sheen suit jacket over his shoulders and lays it on a chair, takes off his wingtip-gaiter shoes, undoes the yellow puff tie from around his neck. Nothing but a white linen dress shirt and the dark black slacks he’s been wearing for days now, some parts covered in bloodstains he only barely managed to wash out in the river not long ago. 

He’s thankful he took a bath before getting in now, listening to you moan. His hands being clean feel like a blessing - just his luck. 

He manages to remain quiet as he steps into the main room - a single bed in the center. Javier finds you there in a heap as he rests his body along the wall of the entrance to his right. He crosses his arms over his chest as he takes a minute to take in the scenery, admiring the soft lowlights and the way they cast shadow on your body. 

The wooden bed frame creaks slightly as you rut your hips. You’re out of it, Javier can tell, since you’ve yet to sense the fact he’s come in. The paintings along the back wall click against soft red walls themselves, over and over in an arrhythmic tic. Javier tries not to laugh. Gives himself a minute to admire the moment for what it is, the vulnerable desperation of your lust. He has to get over the disbelief, too. Over the fact your face is buried in the open part of his bluecoat and that you’ve got a hotel pillow(his hotel pillow) between your legs. One that you’re humping so frantically he can’t help but feel sorry for you. 

You’re making a mess.

You are a mess. The way the white chemise falls over your back and hips, and the lack of finesse in your gestures. If Javier had to bet money on it - he’d bet money on the fact you probably didn’t start this way. He figures you nested with his coat and pillow to go to sleep and then worked yourself into something senseless and desperate. And he’d figure if he didn’t show up, you wouldn’t cum at all. You’d go to bed all frustrated and tired and just wait for him like always. 

Any man would be pleased by it, he thinks. And a good one would never embarrass you about it. Javier tries his best. Weighs his options, but the words slip from his mouth before he can think to stop them. 

Pure elation in his words wrapped up in a smug delight. “Aye, hermosa - you’re gonna ruin my things you know?” 

Your reaction is what he expects. You jump out of your skin first, sitting straight up. Javier bites back a laugh as you do, big wide eyes like a deer caught in the scope of a rifle. You look around the room, worried you’re imagining him. Once you’ve come back to reality enough to realize he’s real and tangible - all the neediness washes right back into your expression. 

“Javier,” You sniffle and god. Javier hopes the heavens are more merciful to him than he is to you. “Javi,” 

“I’m home,” He voices in a partial tease, walking towards you. He can tell you want to run to him. To crawl into his arms and lap and collapse there forever, but the dull throbbing between your legs is stopping you. “I would ask if you missed me but, somehow I get the feeling you did.” 

You let out a soft, sniffly whine as Javier sits in the bed next to you. He turns his body to face you a little better but keeps distance. You turn your face towards him. Javier cups your cheek in his palm, eyes tracing your features. Your lips are bruised like you’ve been biting on them to keep the noise down and your eyes are wet with tears, red stained in the waterline. His thumb brushes along the thin skin of your lower lip, clicking his teeth at you. 

“Look at you,” He reprimands, his voice tender as he leans in to give you a little relief. You kiss Javier too eagerly, impatient and lacking your usual timidness. It’s how he knows how far you’ve fallen. How simple and easy your reactions are. “You’re going to hurt yourself pushing so desperately,” He laughs again, a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Does it feel good, at least?” 

“It’s better when you do it,” You admit, falling forward. Javier doesn’t let you drop, but he doesn’t comfort you right away either. He laughs and lets a hand rest on your lower back, relishing in your reaction. You shiver, sensitive and overstimulated with so little at all. 

“I know,” He coos with as much faux-sympathy as he can manage. “Couldn’t wait for me a little longer? I’m hurt.”

“Nooo,” You draw the words out, pitiful and upset “I’m sorry. I missed you,” 

“It’s okay,” Javier says, knowing he wasn’t mad in the first place. Not even a little. “Ahh, what should I do with you now, do you think?” 

It’s hard not to laugh at the immediate noise of disapproval. He’s sure you’d be able to ask him for what you want if he coaxed you into it. One whispered word of tell me what you want, and you’d be begging for his cock with ease. Filthy words from such a pretty mouth, he likes the idea. 

But he’s feeling… something. Something on the border of sadistic and loving that has him instead thinking. 

Pretending to think. 

“Maybe you should keep going, hm? You’ll think clearer once you’ve let it out, don’t you think?” 

“I can’t,” You bemoan, pleading with him. “I’m trying but it’s—it’s not enough, Javier, please.” 

He shakes his head. “Oh, man. What am I gonna do with you? Should I help you, mi amor?” 

You nod your head rapidly. As if he’d ever leave you out to dry when you look all pretty helpless. He doesn’t mention it to you. “Please,” 

“Yeah? I’ll help you then.” He offers, taking your hand and guiding you to his lap with his legs stretched out. He sits you over his thighs, glancing back at his jacket and pillow, brows raised when he sees how sticky they both are. Your habit of drooling and your cunt soaking his pillow case, he laughs just a little seeing the state of them. You must notice because you hit his shoulders weakly. “So needy,” 

“Javier.” 

“Alright, alright,” He laughs again, kissing your cheek as he brings you to him. You frown but comply with his handling of you, strong hands pulling you over his thigh. He sits you down until your bare cunt is pressed against the clothed muscle. It dawns on you what he’s doing as he’s doing it, a noisy little whimper sounding as Javier pulls you close. Close enough to wrap your arms around his neck. He puts a hand on the back of your head, encouraging you to bury his face into the space of his shoulder. He can feel the relief in you when you do, slumping into him a second time today. “You have to move on your own, you know? I won’t help you.” 

“You’re being awful,” You say with no real malice or bite. 

“I’m a little hurt, that’s all. And I’m helping you aren’t I? Is that not what you want?” 

You groan against the skin of his neck. “I want your…ngh,” 

He hums against you, decides to be merciful since he’s teased you plenty and he’s going to tease you more. 

“Wanna feel me right here, don’t you?” He puts a hand between your bodies, pressing the back of his hand into your stomach. “I know, I know. But I want you to cum like this first.”

“Can’t do it by myself,” You sniffle. Don’t even try to push back, so obedient and willing. Javier hums sympathetically. 

“I’m here right? I’ll help you, mi vida. I’m not that mean, am I?” 

You shake your head no. He most definitely is, but maybe he can keep that a secret from you a little longer. 

“Here,” He says. Javier pulls your chemise up until it’s pooling at your waist. Strong, tan hands hold at your hips, squeezing the soft skin with a warm sigh. You keen immediately. He pushes his thigh up just slightly to give you the right kind of friction. Hiccuping in his lap, he sets a pace for you to grind yourself on him. A slower back and forth. When you get too wet, too needy - you get sloppy. Sometimes he can give it to you hard and fast but you’re sensitive. Sensitive to the point it’s easy to make you hurt, make yourself hurt if you’re too clumsy. 

You’re always chasing pleasure but you don’t know anything about build-up. For a girl who tends to keep to herself and is always so meticulous - there’s something about seeing you get so sloppy that turns Javier on. When you’re wet and can’t think straight “Not too fast, okay? You’re sensitive, need it slow at first to make it feel good if it’s like this. Did you forget?” 

You nod, then moan hotly against his throat. Javier shivers at the way your tune changes. He can feel you breathe in his scent and relax as he guides your hips. He eventually stops touching you. Lets you take control of the pace just like he shows you. You manage to pace yourself despite how much you want to cum. Javier can feel how pent up you are. The fabric of his slacks going sticky, tacky from cum and arousal. 

You smell nice and soft, like baby powder and something floral. 

Javier’s been hard since he got in the door, but it’s starting to fog his mind up. Feeling your tits press against his chest, feeling your skin against his. Soft and pliant and beautiful. He kisses against your shoulders as you slowly start to build your orgasm up again. Not that it’s hard. 

You pull away from him, briefly - and your face makes his dick twitch. You’re always pretty but you’re especially pretty like this. Drool drips from the corners of your mouth, eyes lidded and barely blinking.

“Javi,” Your words are slurred. Javier laughs but doesn’t clean you up. “Kiss me,” 

“Sure,” He replies, though he’s all too happy to do it. Javier kisses you with tongue. He knows it’s what you want. Your hands curl up at his chest as he brings his own to cup your head and pull you to him. His tongue in your mouth is invasive but precise, knowing all the ways you want him to nip and kiss and suck on your mouth. You whine in complete pleasure, drunk from the sensation and he’s hardly touched you at all. 

He thinks of how he’ll fuck you as he kisses you. He’ll touch you more than he is now and you’ll fuck like lovesick rabbits until sunrise. It’s less something Javier decides and more something he knows. Like once he opens the door to pleasing you like this, it’ll be tough on him to close it again. 

“Javi,” You keep calling his name. It might be the only word you remember. Always seems to be when you get like this. “It feels so good. Feels so good when you touch me,” 

Javier kisses against your bare shoulder and neck, teeth scraping soft against your clavicles. “Mm. You’re doing well. A very good girl today,” 

You shudder at the praise, all the hairs on your neck raising from the drop of it. Javier laughs. You whine his name again but he doesn’t reply. He can feel you more than he can see you. Your body is twitching against his thigh and your muscles are tight where you hug against him. Javier calms you. 

“Gonna cum soon, huh?” 

You nod over and over, but can barely keep your head up to do it. And he laughs, full of fondness and affection as he peppers your face with kisses. He doesn’t have it in him suddenly, to tease you about it any more. He encourages you instead, hand on your hips to give you more friction as you start to grow erratic in your breathing. You pant hard against his ear, like you’re chasing something. Little bunny rabbit, he thinks. Your voice is little more than a croak. 

“Oh,” You moan, loud and helpless and needy as you cling to him. Your hands fisted in the back of his shirt as you cry out his name one more time. A prayer, maybe. Or a curse. Something in between. “Javier, oh,” 

“Shhh, that’s it. Just like that. Good girl. You’re so good to me.” 

You weep into his neck as you cum, your whole body tightening before breaking out into aroused shakes. You’ve completely lost it in front of him. On the brink of insanity with nothing but pleasure filling your empty-head. You hump against him thoughtlessly as you ride out your high, then finally lean against him when you’ve managed to reach the end of it. You don’t move. Javier can feel how big the wet patch of his pants has grown and tries not to laugh. 

You’re only barely coherent when you’ve finally pulled away. Your pupils are blown out and your face is flushed, sweat making your hair stick to your skin in the places it’s not tucked away. Javier laughs at the state you’re in, brushing his thumb along your cheek just beneath your eyes. 

“Are you with me still, do you think?” 

You nod, seemingly exhausted. He laughs again and kisses your temple. 

“Want you,” You say, despite your state. His eyes widen again at how soon after you’re asking him. He was planning on taking his time, but that plan might just be out of the race. He’s not above you begging him so sweetly. “Please, Javi. Need you, need you so bad.” 

You sound like you’re about to cry. He speaks in soft murmurs. “I thought you’d be too tired to keep going right away.” 

“No,” You mumble and shake your head. “Please. Please, want you so bad.” 

“You’re exhausted, mi vida.” 

“Please,” 

He chuckles. “Okay. Okay, don’t cry. Whatever you want, remember. Unbutton my shirt for me, mi amor.” 

You sniffle, your hands shaking as you fulfill his request. You’re exceptional at listening. Javier smiles at you, your eyes meeting as you do. You flush and pout, only barely managing to maintain his gaze without looking away. You unbutton his shirt dutifully. He puts a hand on your arm and rubs it soothingly. “You must’ve missed me a lot, huh.” 

You nod. “It’s bad, you know? Two days shouldn’t feel so long. It didn’t use too.” 

“Just means we love each other,” Javier assures, a safe place for you to express your neediness. “That’s nothing bad,” 

You nod, pressing your forehead to his. “That’s true,” 

“See? And it’s nice you know. Having someone miss me. Wait for me. Makes me want to come home instead of, I don’t know.” He feels his throat tighten at the sincerity but pushes through anyway “Dying for the cause. Or even just because.” 

It’s the first time you’ve smiled all day and god. Might be the only thing that’s ever mattered. Above all forms of love prior and past. Above revolution. Above god. Just you. You smile, happy and elated and keep unbuttoning his shirt with a coquettish-ness to you. Comfortable and safe. 

You help Javier out of his shirt, and wait for his approval to go after his pants. Undoing the buttons, you free his cock from the confines with a soft gasp. Javier laughs at the reaction, cat-like grin on his features. 

“Nothing you haven’t seen before.”  

“It’s so big,” You say, your hand wrapping around it briefly. Javier swears, head against the headboard. 

“Careful,” He warns, laughing thickly. “I’m pretty pent up too,” 

“Want it inside me,” You say so easily it startles him. You blink up at him through your lashes, too pretty for your own good. “Please?” 

“Should open you up a little.” 

“Want it to hurt,” You reply instantly. Javier feels his breath hitch. 

“Oh, fuck.” He breathes, trying to keep himself from cumming in your hands. “We’ll go slow.”

You nod quickly, not wanting to wait any longer. Javier curses himself for not being more polite. 

He guides your arms around his neck, his own arm around your waist as he lays you down on your back. You look up at him, surprised by his handling of you but not upset by it all. You mumble something he doesn’t catch, but it sounds pleased. 

Javier finds that he’s fond of missionary. He didn’t think he was the type, but there’s something about seeing you laid on your back that he likes. Likes being able to look at you and be close to you, to whisper sweet nothings in your ear as you curl into him. He lays you down gently on his spine, laughing at the way your legs wrap around his waist the second you’re comfortable. His hands go up under your knees but don’t push you too far. You spread your legs for him naturally, eyes fluttering with exhaustion and leftover stupid want. He looks down at you and smiles. 

“One more, okay? Just the one.” 

“I can’t,” You whine “Too sensitive. Just want you to cum on me,” 

“Are you doubting me?” He challenges, only partially. Your eyes widen and he chuckles. “Of course you can. One more,” 

You whimper, suddenly realizing you had no choice in the first place. But you nod, relenting to him like you so often do. Javier kisses you. It means more things that he’s comfortable telling. Means thank you, and that he’s sorry, that he loves you. He kisses you one more time after that, and smiles at how happy you seem because of it.

Finally, when Javier lays you down on the sheets beneath you - it feels like finding religion all over again. The loose material of your chemise has given up on covering you, exposing the soft mound of your chest and hardened nipples. He can see your neck and shoulders and everything else above and below. You’re so beautiful his cock twitches again, hard. 

He sits back up on his knees and takes a deep breath as he lays his cock against your puffy folds. You breathe soft, an aching sound from the back of your throat as you pull your skirt up to give him better access. He laughs gently at that, examining how nearly seven inches measures up to you and feels a little dizzy in the process of it. He’s done this with you so many times now, practically trained your body to take him without too much trouble. A welcome change from when you could barely fit the tip, too inexperienced to do it but even more determined. 

Even still some part of him worries about it. It’s not enough to stop him though, not nearly. His cock twitches against hard, wanting for you. He looks down at you and sees you stare up, admiring his figure. He laughs. 

“Like the view?” 

You nod. “Mm. Uh-huh.” 

“I’m glad,” He replies, then adds “Deep breath,” 

So you take a deep breath, and Javier pushes the tip of his cock into you with a loud grunt. You’re so soft. Wet, and pliant and soft around the swollen head of his cock, he can’t help but shudder with relief and desire. Can’t help but grit his teeth and grip onto your hips to steady himself. 

You breathe like the air has been punched out of your lungs, saying his name dreamily. “Oh, Javi,” 

He swears under his breath, something incoherent as he pushes the tip push into you evenly. It’s not easy. The resistance is there, but you don’t whine in pain right way - so it means it’s not too hard on you. Perhaps loosened by the previous orgasm, or simply so needy that it doesn’t bug you. Still, Javier makes sure to keep himself tight. He rocks, back and forth, ignoring the agony of that sensation to keep him from thrusting up into your soft, welcoming cunt. If he listened to what he wanted, he can’t be confident it wouldn’t make you ache. He already knows you will with this much. 

It takes a few minutes, and some whimpering from you before he finally manages to bottom out. 

You feel good. God, you feel good. 

He can’t imagine heaven, but he thinks being inside of you might be close enough. There’s certainly all the makings of religion when he makes love to you. You, a soft and loving deity, and him - a man laden with sin who longs to be saved. It makes sense to compare you that way. And it feels just as euphoric as the always described, being wrapped in you. Being part of your completion. What's religion without worshippers, anyway? 

Javier groans as he bottoms out inside of. When he manages to peel his eyes open and look at you, you’re debauched. He’s debased you this completely and he doesn’t know if you can even tell. He laughs, leaning down to kiss your neck and run pecks against your jaw. 

“Feel good?” 

“Feels so good,” You moan, then hold him tighter. “I love you. Love you Javier,” 

“Me too, mi amor. Para siempre. ” He hums, kissing your forehead before looking at you. “Can I move?” 

“Please,” 

“Touch yourself for me,” He tells you patiently. “Make yourself feel good.” 

You nod, dazed - a hand between your bodies as Javier sets a pace to fuck you. He knows you in and out. At least well enough to know exactly the ways to make you feel good. Only a few thrusts for him to find the perfect pace, perfect rhythm, perfect spot. You make a noise like a songbird, deep in the back of your throat and Javier can feel you pulse around him in pleasure. 

You stay like that, with him. Javier fucks you to his hearts content in deep, long thrusts - angled against the softest parts of you and wanting to make you feel good. He whispers sweet nothings as your nails dig into the muscle of his back. You feel good for him. You are good for him, wet and perfect. It takes all of his strength to fuck you consistently, the bed rocking underneath you both as he gives it to you hard. 

“I’m close,” You whimper, not seeming to believe yourself despite. “I’m so close, oh god, Javier.” 

“That’s it,” He whispers, chuckling against your skin “One more. Just one more and I’ll give it to you.” 

It’s the promise of his cum that drives you over the edge. You gasp and groan, shuddering as Javier pounds you through your second orgasms. He groans as he feels your pussy spasm and tighten around him, practically begging him to put it inside. He’s nearly lost his sense enough to do it, unhelped by the way your sweet voice begs him for it. He practically has to pry himself away from you, out of you to keep himself from cumming inside as deep as he can possibly go. 

He manages, barely, to stave off his own orgasm. Long enough pull himself out of you with a broken gasp and cum outside of you. Making a mess of your stomach and your soft, swollen cunt with his seed. He paints you in thick ropes of whites as he swears loud in the process, euphoria rumbling through him uninterrupted. 

“Fuck,” He moans, finally getting to the end of it. A little embarrassed by how much of a mess he’s made right along with you. “You do something crazy to me, you know that?” 

You stare at him, bleary eyed and giggly despite your exhaustion. “I know. Me too. I missed you,” 

He laughs, and can’t find the words to say anything but the same back. Of course Javier is a worse man when you’re around. 

Any man loved this much is bound to be a little ruined. 

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

[boobabietch]

Like a prayer | Paige Bueckers x reader

Warnings: porn without plot, oral sex (P receiving), religious themes (not trying to offend anyone)

A/N: just a quick little blurb I thought while listening Like a Prayer from Deadpool and Wolverine lol. English is not my first language so if you see something wrong tell me so I can change it ASAP. Likes, reblogs and comments(!!!) are appreciated, and my ask box is always open, with any other thing to say, enjoy. Love Sof :))

The room was dimly lit, a sanctuary filled with the intoxicating scent of our desire. As I knelt between Paige’s legs, my heart raced with a reverent thrill. While others might kneel in prayer, I found my worship here, in this sacred act of devotion.

With each deliberate lick, I traced the contours of her body, treating her as a divine offering. My tongue explored her most sensitive spots, savoring the taste of her essence as if it were the finest sacramental wine. Every moan that escaped her lips felt like a prayer, a hymn of pleasure that echoed in the sacred space we created together. The sheets beneath us transformed into an altar of devotion, soaking in the evidence of our worship, a growing stain that mirrored the intensity of the moment.

“Please,” she gasped, her voice a desperate plea that ignited a fire within me. “I can’t… I’m-”

But I tightened my grip on her hips, holding her firmly in place with a strength that was both possessive and protective. “You’re not going anywhere,” I whispered against her skin, my breath warm and reverent.

I could feel the weight of the world outside dissipate as I focused entirely on her, my goddess, my lover, my Paige.

I held her hips tightly, anchoring her in place, a divine grip meant to both possess and protect. I couldn’t let her go, not until I’ve tasted every part of her, until her body sings my name like a psalm.

I immersed myself in the rhythm of my devotion, losing myself in the sanctity of the moment. The world outside faded into oblivion as I drank in her essence, the rich sweetness filling my senses and leaving me craving more.

This was my communion, my holy rite, a connection so profound that it transcended the physical, binding us together in a way that felt almost celestial.

The sensation of her legs trembling against my shoulders only deepened my resolve. I quickened my pace, drawing gasps from her that rose to the heavens like a chorus of angels. With each flick of my tongue, each gentle suck, I became a fervent disciple, devoted to bringing her to the brink of ecstasy. I wanted her to see stars, to feel the divine rush of pleasure that came from being utterly consumed by love.

“Please, just a little more,” she breathed, her voice a fragile whisper, heavy with longing and need.

In that moment, I felt like a sinner reveling in forbidden fruit,

Yet it was the purest form of worship I could offer.

I dove deeper, my devotion unwavering, my heart and soul entwined with every movement. This was our sin, our ecstasy, and it felt profoundly holy, as if we were rewriting the very tenets of love itself.

With each wave of pleasure that washed over her, I felt the sacred bond between us grow stronger. I held her in place, guiding her to the edge, my touch both gentle and firm, as if I were a guardian of her pleasure. We were lost in our world, a sanctuary where nothing else mattered but the intoxicating union of our bodies and souls.

In this moment, surrounded by the echoes of her cries and the warmth of our connection, we were not just lovers; we were worshipers, each caress a testament to our faith in each other. This was our holy ground, a place where love and desire converged, making every moment feel like a divine blessing.

Requests are Open!

Masterlist

[k-nayee]

Between Faith and Flesh Grotesquerie x Midnight Mass

wc: 2.8k a/n: incase it was unclear, this is a little cross-over between Grotesquerie x Midnight Mass while also being an Actor!AU. Might be a lil confusing but wanted to make something new lol

Traveler M.List

ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

"Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything....James 1:2-4." 

The familiar warmth of the chapel enveloped you as you delivered the final lines of your morning homily, your voice calm yet resonant in the quiet space.

Sunlight filtered through the modest stained-glass windows, casting soft hues of gold and amber across the worn pews where Crockett Island's tight-knit congregation sat.

The scent of salt and damp wood lingered faintly in the air—a reminder of the sea just beyond the church walls.

Your gaze swept across the group, catching the faces you had come to know so well over the past year.

The mayor's daughter Leeza Scarborough sat in the front row, wide eyes attentive on you as she folded her hands neatly in her lap.

Even Sheriff Hassan stood near the back as his son Ali sat near him listening intently, despite knowing how outdated many were to his Islamic faith.

These people, they had become your family in a way—this island, with all its quiet mysteries, had grown on you.

You closed your sermon with a passage on resilience, something that had always resonated with you—like how faith, similar to the sea surrounding them, could be both steady and tumultuous.

"We find strength not in the absence of struggle, but in how we rise after the waves pull us under." Your words hung in the air for a moment, met with soft nods and murmurs of agreement from the congregation.

"Let us pray," you began, your hands resting gently on the altar.

As you spoke your thoughts wandered briefly, like they often did, to Riley Flynn—a name you had known only through the accident that had first led you here.

His absence was a constant echo in the small populace community, felt even when it wasn't spoken aloud.

As the congregation stood to leave, you lingered near the altar to exchange kind words with those who came up to you.

A soft word here, a warm touch on the shoulder there—each gesture felt like a testament to how far you'd come.

This role, unexpected as it was, had become more than just a position. It was your calling.

"You've really made a place for yourself here," Anne said quietly, her expression sincere as she approached.

"Thank you Mrs. Flynn," you replied, offering her a gentle smile. "Means a lot coming from you."

And it did. Especially knowing how much of the weight of her son's sins pressed on her mind. 

It still surprised you sometimes how much the town had accepted you. Even when being the first ordained woman pastor—something that should have sparked outrage, especially in a small traditional community—the people had welcomed you with open arms.

Or at least most of them had.

The familiar sound of heels clicking sharply against the stone floor caught your attention.

Bev Keane.

She always had an aura of cold disapproval, her gaze flickering over you with barely concealed distaste.

"Another lovely service I'm sure," she said, compliment laced with her usual acidity. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she continued, "But I wonder if perhaps next time you might include more...traditional teachings? Some of the congregation finds your progressive messages a bit, well, out of step."

Her words stung, but you kept your expression calm refusing to rise to her bait.

Bev had never approved of your leadership from the start—the idea of a woman in your position, however temporary, was something she barely tolerates.

With every sermon you gave, every interaction with the townsfolk that went well, her bitterness seemed to deepen.

"I'll take your suggestion under consideration," you kept your tone firm. There was no point in arguing with Bev directly—it would only lead to more confrontation.

One thing you had long since learned about Bev's resistance was that it was more about control than doctrine.

She craved the power that came with influence over the church, and your very presence threatened that.

Bev's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Of course. Well I'll leave you to clean up. God knows there's always work to be done."

With a stiff nod she turned on her heel and marched away, her presence lingering even after she disappeared through the doors.

As the last of the congregation departed, the chapel fell into a serene silence once again.

You exhaled softly, feeling the weight of the morning settle on your shoulders.

Despite the support of the community, moments like these reminded you of how precarious your position was.

You knew she was waiting for any excuse to discredit you—an outsider who had stepped into a role she believed was hers by right.

Busying yourself by tidying up, your hands smooth the fabric of the altar cloth as you cleared the space for the next service.

The chapel, now empty, felt both peaceful and solemn.

It was in these quiet moments that you often found yourself reflecting on the journey that had brought you here—from your small-town upbringing, to your studies, to this remote island where you now stood as the first ordained woman pastor.

The soft chime of your phone broke the stillness. Pulling the device from your pocket, you faintly smile at the name on the screen. Nick.

The message was short but familiar—a photo of him post-workout, his face flushed with exertion with a cheeky grin plastered across his face.

Nick: Finishing up my workout. Just wanted to give you an update :)

Your could feel the warmth creeping up your neck.

You weren't sure why you were smiling so much—after all, it was just Nick being...Nick. Friendly, teasing, always with that infectious charm.

But somehow, the way your eyes lingered on the photo for a beat too long made you acutely aware of something deeper. Something you weren't sure you should be feeling.

Shaking your head slightly, you reply back.

____: Glad to see you're keeping busy!

You hit send, already imagining the smirk he'd have seeing your response.

As soon you tuck away your phone, intent on finishing the cleanup, another buzz came almost immediately.

Nick: Hope you weren't doing anything unholy with that picture of me ;)

The heat had spread to your face and a startled laugh slipped past your lips.

You quickly type back.

____:  Behave Nicholas. I'm a pastor remember? 

You knew he was just being playful, but it didn't stop the way your heart skipped slightly at the implications.

Unholy. The word reverberated in your mind longer than it should have.

Before you could dwell too much on it, another text came through.

Nick: Sure sure I believe you ;) Anyways got a surprise for you

Your fingers hesitated over the keyboard, curiosity piqued.

____: A surprise? What kind?

Nick: You'll see. Just finished that project I told you about. Check your email when you get home. And no peeking. You promised

The reminder made you chuckle. ____: Fine fine I'll wait. It better be good especially with all this mystery!

You added a playful emoji at the end, the excitement clear in your message.

His response was immediate, and you could practically hear his voice.

Nick: Oh it's good. Don't worry I know you're going to love it.

You smiled at the screen, shaking your head at his confidence. Of course he'd know.

The faint echo of your steps on the wooden floor snapped you back to the present, making your thoughts drift back to his arrival, how it had all begun.

It was almost a year at the time when Father Pruitt had left on his pilgrimage, leaving you in charge of the church—a transition you hadn't anticipated but had eventually embraced.

And just as you were starting to find your footing, Nicholas Chaves had appeared, adding a new dynamic you hadn't expected.

Before he arrived to Crockett Island, you recall the unexpected email you received: a simple inquiry from the actor who was looking to deepen his understanding of priesthood for an upcoming role.

He wanted to shadow someone in the clergy, someone who could give him an authentic insight into the life of a pastor.

And he'd heard about your rather unique position on the island...

You of course were slightly taken aback by his openness and easy way he'd talked about his work.

It wasn't every day someone like Nick came knocking, but you had agreed mainly from intrigue of the whole situation.

Even when Bev became immediately suspicious of him—practically interrogating him when he first arrived—the rest of the town welcomed him warmly, charmed by his easygoing nature.

"Another distraction," she'd muttered once when Nick had offered to help you carry boxes of hymnals inside one time. "This is a church not a social club." 

Her words always came with that same bitter edge, though by now you'd learned to brush them off. 

He stayed in Father Pruitt's old house with you during that time in one of the spare rooms.

As you finished locking up and made your way toward the small home, your thoughts drifted back to him.

You never planned on feeling so affected by him. Yes he was charming, but it was more than that—there was something about him that drew you in even when you tried to resist it.

And it wasn't just his looks—though you couldn't deny the way your breath occasionally caught when he smiled at you in that boyish way of his.

No. It was his presence. The way he carried himself—confident yet curious, never shying away from asking questions about your work and sermons, about faith itself.

He was genuinely interested, even if he wasn't fully immersed in it like you were.

In all, conversations with Nick were easy; late-night talks often ended up stretching longer than intended as you discussed everything from theology to the little absurdities of life.

And yet despite the growing comfort, there had always been a tension simmering beneath the surface.

The first time you felt the it was when he'd sat in on one of your late-night study sessions, helping you prep for Sunday Mass.

His quiet attentiveness as he listened to you practice, his casual lean against the doorway as he watched with a smile tugging at his lips.

Now, as you made your way up the steps, you wondered what this surprise of Nick's could be.

You pushed the front door open, the familiar scent of wood and old books greeting you.

It was home now—at least for the time being. Letting out a sigh, you set your bag down and make your way to the bedroom.

Changing your robes and veil into a more comfortable sleepwear, you grab your laptop and settle into bed.

There in your inbox, you find a sent email from him.

Three video files, each with a timestamp of about an 50 minutes. The subject line read simply: For You.

You frowned in confusion but quickly clicked on the first one. The video loaded, and as it played, the familiar face of Niecy Nash popped up on the screen.

A soft laugh escaped you—a TV show? It wasn't what you were expecting, but you were intrigued.

As the episode unfolded, you were drawn into the storyline.

It was refreshing actually, seeing a concept that brushed against the edges of a religion that's intertwined with your own daily life.

By the second episode you were completely hooked. You'd grown attached to the characters, loving the way they navigated this warped world of morality and sin.

The storyline itself was intense and unpredictable in how it blended the very faith you preached into something so viscerally raw.

But then your heart leapt a little as Nick—or rather, Father Charlie finally appeared on screen.

You smiled, unable to resist snapping a picture of the scene and sending it to him with a simple teasing text.

____: Look who just showed up on my screen.

Your phone buzzed almost instantly, but you ignored it.

You were too caught up in watching him; your eyes tracing the way he moved, the way his expression shifted with every word.

It was surreal watching him play a priest when just a few weeks ago, he had been standing beside you in the church helping with the altar cloths.

Every close-up of his face had your heart doing an odd little flip. You'd shared conversations with that face, shared jokes and moments of comfort. 

The goofy smile on your lips was hard to suppress as you watched him banter with Sister Megan, the two having a light giggle over stolen fries.

You couldn't help but draw parallels between the man on the screen and the man you had grown close to—the actor who had been nothing but kind, thoughtful, and, admittedly, a little flirtatious.

And then the scene change.

The camera panned across a dimly lit, sparsely furnished room. Your eyes narrowed, focusing in on the figure sitting at the edge of a bed.

It was Father Charlie—his broad, bare back flexing as he sat, hunched slightly. The room was silent except for his soft labored breathing.

You watch with growing confusion as his breathing deepens.

A soft sound escapes him—a low moan—and suddenly, the atmosphere in the room shifts entirely.

Your eyes widened upon realizing what you were seeing. Father Charlie is pleasuring himself.

The sounds of his quiet sighs fill the room, and you freeze as you try to process what you're watching. 

The camera caught it all: the soft sighs, the slow measured pace of his hand, the quiet moans that grew more strained with every movement.

You felt your breath hitch, heat creeping up your neck as you watched too stunned to look away.

You know it's just a show—it's just acting—but seeing Nick, someone you know, in such an intimate and vulnerable moment...it shakes you.

Your body feels hot, heart pounding as Father Charlie quickens his pace, his breath becoming more erratic, moans growing louder.

A strange warmth unfurled in your chest that you immediately tried to suppress.

It felt wrong to watch this—wrong to feel anything about it.

Your fingers tremble as you reach for your laptop, the desire to pause or stop the episode battling with the inexplicable pull to keep watching.

And then it changed again.

The camera cuts to him standing at a basin, his back to the facing you once again, the muscles in his back flexing under the low light.

You blink rapidly as he begins to wash his hands, the sound of the water almost deafening in the silence.

That's when you notice it—the chaps. He's wearing bottomless chaps, the skin of his thighs and backside completely bare.

"Sweet baby Jesus," you whisper, hands shaking as you press a hand to your mouth in attempt to contain the heat that spreads across your face.

It wasn't over.

Father Charlie moved toward a small wooden box, opening it with a reverence that made your stomach twist.

He reached inside and pulled out a flogging whip—a thick, multi-tailed instrument of punishment.

His expression is solemn, his lips moving in silent prayer as he prepares the whip, his fingers brushing reverently over the strips before raising the instrument of self-punishment.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you watch, unable to tear your eyes away as Father Charlie strikes himself.

The sharp crack of the whip fills the room and you flinch at the sound.

Each lash is deliberate. His body jerks with every strike, a soft grunt escaping him with every hit.

His whispered prayers mix with the sounds of his punishment, the intensity of the scene almost unbearable as it goes on, each crack of the whip sending a shiver down your spine.

It's too much. You couldn't take it anymore.

Your hand shot out, scrambling to close the laptop with a thud. For a moment you couldn't move.

Your body felt both heavy and weightless at the same time, suspended in the strange space between what you knew and what you had just witnessed.

The room around you suddenly felt too small, too close.

Shakily, you brush a few stray strands of hair from your damp forehead, trying to steady yourself.

You were a pastor—dedicated to God, to the people you served. You weren't supposed to feel like this.

Closing your eyes tightly, you try to will the feeling to go away and dissipate like the smoke from the candles you had blown out earlier in the church.

But the heat in your face, the trembling in your hands, didn't fade.

You felt as though you had been thrust into a battle between your devotion to God and the temptation of something far more dangerous—something you could no longer ignore.

The dim screen of your phone in your peripheral catches your attention.

Hesitant, you picked it up, and your stomach drops at the sight of Nicholas's message.

Nick: What do you think?

[livelaughlovesubs]

Nini!! Guess who’s back from hibernation!! :D

Sorry it’s been a while since I’ve interacted on your page, I got busy with stuff :(

Anyways, incubus Fyodor and priest reader! (Yes, ik old request, wouldn’t be surprised if you don’t remember.) punishing Fyodor for becoming cocky bc you were not paying attention to him, he even went as far as threatening to go get fucked by someone else! (He was bluffing. He’s too addicted to your cock at that point) now he has to learn the consequences of his actions when he’s forced to cockwarm you with his mouth while you read the bible, not even sparing him a glance! You even made sure to chastise him so he wouldn’t try anything. Every time he tries even moving at bit, you grab his hair tightly and push in more of your dick, making his eye tear up as he grips onto your thighs desperately. By the time you finish Luke’s gospel, Fyodor is looking up at you pleadingly with drool dripping down his chin for you to finally use him. <3

- 🍮 ( ๑‾̀◡‾́)σ"

Incubus Fyodor 3

Dom!reader x sub!fyodor

Warning: I’ll use dick - interpret it however you want, blow job, cockwarming, hierophilia - (incorrect) religious aspects, hair pulling, choking/ gagging, dacryphilia

🍮 anon!!! I missed you and your fyodor requests! I love that little bastard hehe. Also nope, I did not forget, cuz I freaking loved those ideas.

Normally you were nice enough to satisfy his needs, he needed it to survive after all. But he was an incubus, his sex drive was way higher than what a normal human can handle. One of the reasons why incubi’s never settle down for only one partner. In your case, you forced him to stay here with you, as if he was your personal pet. To be honest, he was just your plaything after all. The pretext of cleansing him of his sins? A dirty thing like him can’t be redeemed, you didn’t believe in such things anyway. Rather, accepting and repenting for one’s sins, and that is something he has to want for himself. The most you could do was prevent him from being even more sinful. That alone would be of great help, since otherwise he would seduce other people and make them succumb to Asmodeus too.

Today you were busy reading when he came up to you. You knew what he wanted, but this time you ignored it, there were other things to take care of. At first he just stood there, staring at you, wondering why you were so carried away. He took a few glances at your book, it was the bible in the Old Testament. No wonder you seemed busy, that one’s difficult to understand. This wont stop him from desiring you though, so he kneeled down and crawled under your table, slowly settling down between your legs.

“Y/nnn~ I’m so hungry, can we please do it?” Fyodor asked, looking up at you with those pretty scarlet eyes. “Not now, maybe later.” That’s weird, normally you always agreed. “Can’t you read that damn book later?” “This is not a ‘damn’ book, I have to concentrate so be quiet please.” You answered him, eyes never leaving the paper in front of you, scanning one line after another. He pouted, furrowing his brows as he thought about what to do. “But I’m really hungry.” The incubi complained again, though to no avail. How stubborn you were. Fine, if that’s what you want. “Never mind, I’ll find someone else then.”

Fyodor turned his head around, about to get up to leave when he felt your hand on his head. Before he got the chance to question you about it, you yanked on his hair and made him arch his back. Now you were towering over him, pulling his head back by his raven black locks. “MhmMM-ahHHNHgG..?!” He moaned out, unable to bite back a smirk. “I wont allow you to defile other innocent souls.” You told him harshly, without an ounce of concern. The gaze you bore was cold, and he felt a shiver run down his spine. It wasn’t due to fear though. His face was red, eyes foggy and expression melting, no matter what you’d do to him he’d take it with no hesitation.

“Haaah…” you sighed, feeling a little annoyed with him, then you commanded, “Go to the drawer there on the left and bring me the box in there.” He looked at you with confusion, but did it anyway. Getting up to get the box you wanted, then returning to his previous position. The demon watched with curiosity as you opened it. There were many sex toys in it, most of them have been used on him already. You reached for the things you needed, afterwards you put the rest away. Fyodor was still kneeling between your legs while you prepared everything, his body filled up with anticipation. He knows exactly what those toys do, god he wanted you to abuse him with them.

First thing you did was take the cockring and bring it to the base of his cock, it was to keep him obedient. You can’t have him squirting around his filthy essence. He squirmed when you grabbed him by the shaft as you used it on him, it looked so romantic~ That was all it took to get him hard. Then you pulled on his hair again, making him face your abdomen and dick. “Keep it in your mouth, you can’t move until I’m done, understood?” Instead of making him cockwarm you with his hole, you wanted him to use his mouth. It’s because he talks too much, you couldn’t think when he keeps babbling nonsense.

Just as you guessed, he happily took all of you inside his throat, gagging a little at the length. Forget about talking, he can barely breath with how deep it was in his throat. A bulge could be seen on his neck, right there where his Adam’s apple is. “Good boy.” You said, now stroking his head gently, as if he was really your pet. How he loved it, chocking on your dick like this, tears were on the verge of spilling. The reason why your fingers were still tangled with his locks was to prevent him from moving, since this was a punishment. That’s why every time he bobbed his head, intentionally or not, you’d force his face down further, until his nose hit your pelvis. Poor boy gagged and choked so prettily whenever you’d die that, letting out sweet moans akin to an angels singing,“guUHH..! Uh-hm,,.mHMmnGH..”

At first he was pretty enthusiastic about it, after ten minutes he got bored and needy. This only continued to the point he started crying. He was so desperate for any friction he could get, since he couldn’t even touch himself. Well, he could, but it’s not like he can cum anyways. Drool was running down his chin while tears rolled down his cheeks, leaving behind a shiny trail. His hands were bawled into fists while his tail wagged around like crazy. The look he had in his eyes were so hot, looking up at you all submissive while his pupils turned into hearts. Internally, fyodor was begging for you to finally pay attention to him, or finish reading that book soon. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold out.

This was pure torture, was what he thought after not 30 minutes, but an entire hour passed. His head felt light, and his body twitched everywhere. Just a single touch from you would cause him to yelp that’s how sensitive he became. Quiet sobs could be heard from him while melting expression plagued his features. You weren’t exactly done yet with your reading, but seeing how pitiful he looked, you just had to help him. Putting the bible aside and caressing his ruined face, “you’ve been pretty good for the past hour, want to have your meal now?” As soon as he heard that he started choking on it again, the surprise and excitement caused him to inhale too fast. Only difference was, this time you let him pull his head back. “AhHh..! Cough- uh-urGHh..ahh, ye-yes!! I want it, p- guUHH.. pleaseee..” Suddenly he started sobbing intensely again, he also stuck his tongue out after pleading with you so obediently. Right, such a good boy, it is time for him to get his blessing.

[alyrasturnz]

matt is so guilty as sin coded... so can u make a guilty as sin smut fic

 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎GUILTY AS SIN

❐ summary » when your best friend elucidates that the weight of guilt for the licentious musings you've harbored about him is an unnecessary burden, his compassionate understanding and acceptance illuminating the dark recesses of your conscience and freeing you from the shackles of self-reproach.

❐ pairings » bsf!matt x fem!reader

❐ warnings » creampie, no protection (wrap it up), you will get second hand embarrassment cause he catches her masturbating to him, masturbation, p in v, oral (fem receiving)

❐ a/n && w/c » cause why was i thinking of the girl i like while writing this •

your eyes wandered over the expanse of your bare thigh, your thumb tracing intricate, delicate patterns across the skin.

as you continued this gentle exploration, your mind, a fervent artist, began to conjure vivid, almost tangible images of hickeys and love bites, each one a testament to unspoken desires and intimate moments yet to be unveiled.

these imagined marks seemed to dance across your skin, telling stories of passion and connection, of whispered secrets and shared breaths.

the more you traced, the more detailed these fantasies became, painting a tapestry of longing and affection that lingered in the quiet spaces of your thoughts, awaiting the moment they might become reality.

you bit your lip, your top teeth sinking into your bottom lip as the vivid image of matt pinning you against the wall with a series of fervent, messy top lip kisses played out in your mind.

you longed for his touch, yearning not only for the tender, romantic gestures that spoke of love and affection but also for the intimate caresses that ignited a deeper, more primal connection between you.

the mere thought of his fingers tracing the contours of your skin sent shivers down your spine, awakening a desire that transcended mere physicality and delved into the very essence of your being.

each imagined touch was a promise of unspoken words, a silent symphony of passion and connection that you craved with every fiber of your existence.

he remains oblivious to the manner in which he has haunted your thoughts so stunningly and slowly, like a ghost that lingers in the shadows of your mind.

his presence, though unseen, weaves through the fabric of your consciousness, leaving an indelible mark that time cannot erase.

each memory of him is a haunting melody that plays incessantly, a slow and mesmerizing tune that captivates your soul and refuses to fade into the background.

you felt the heat in your core intensify, a smoldering ember that grew with every breath, as you let out a soft, languid sigh.

rising from your chair, you moved with a deliberate grace, each step resonating with the silent anticipation that filled the room.

as you approached your bed, the air seemed to thicken, charged with the electricity of your unspoken desires, each movement a testament to the inner fire that burned within you.

your mind conjured vivid and surreal tableaux of you and matt, engaged in the most fantastical and absurd escapades upon the canvas of your bed.

these mental images, rich in detail and brimming with whimsy, transformed the ordinary into a realm of boundless imagination, where reality blurred and the extraordinary became your playground.

each scenario, more outlandish than the last, wove a tapestry of shared adventures that defied the mundane constraints of everyday life.

you shook your head, a twinge of guilt gnawing at the edges of your conscience for harboring such feelings about your best friend.

the internal conflict was palpable, a tempest of emotions swirling within you, as you grappled with the delicate balance between affection and loyalty.

each thought was a whisper of forbidden desire, a silent battle between the heart and the mind, leaving you ensnared in a web of introspection and remorse.

you’re conjuring visions, intricate and vivid, within the labyrinth of your mind. these creations, born of your innermost thoughts, dance before your inner eye, leaving you to ponder whether you are mad, bad, or wise.

the line between reality and imagination blurs, and you find yourself questioning the nature of your own consciousness, a philosopher lost in the depths of introspective wonder.

you crawled onto your bed, the soft fabric yielding beneath you as you nestled your back against the headboard. with deliberate, languid movements, you slowly slid your shorts down, the sensation of the cool air against your skin sending shivers up your spine.

your hands roamed over your bare legs, each touch a tender caress, as your mind painted a vivid picture of matt’s touch, his presence almost palpable in the charged atmosphere of your room.

your mind conjured vivid and uncharted scenes, obscenely tantalizing and foreign to your own experiences.

these mental visions, akin to clandestine trysts, featured chaotic, fervent kisses that left your lips tingling, his hands exploring every inch of your being with an intensity that made your pulse quicken.

you bit your lip, the sensation sharp and electric, as you slowly slid a finger along the delicate expanse of your skin.

a gasp escaped your lips, a whisper of breath that seemed to reverberate through the stillness, each movement heightening the anticipation and intensity of the moment.

someone once told you that there are no such things as bad thoughts, that it is only through actions that one's true intentions are revealed. yet, as the tendrils of your mind wove intricate tapestries of imagined encounters, you couldn't help but wonder if it truly mattered.

your thoughts had become so vivid, so consuming, that they blurred the line between reality and fantasy, convincing you that the two of you had already crossed that forbidden threshold.

your breaths grew ragged and uneven, each exhalation a testament to the mounting intensity, as you thrust multiple fingers into the searing warmth of your core. the sensation was overwhelming, a conflagration of desire that left you gasping and trembling, each movement igniting a cascade of shivers through your entire being.

the waves of sensation within your abdomen surged and swelled, building to a crescendo that left you breathless.

tears brimmed in your eyes, a testament to the overwhelming intensity of the moment, each droplet shimmering with the raw emotion coursing through you.

"matt!" you cried out, your voice a mingling of desperation and ecstasy, as you felt yourself inexorably approaching the pinnacle of sensation.

"just like that," you cooed, your voice a soft whisper laced with urgency. "please, matt," you pleaded desperately, each word dripping with raw need, as you pumped with an almost frantic fervor, your motions a testament to the overwhelming desire that consumed you.

the rhythm quickened, your movements driven by a fervent desperation, every fiber of your being focused on the singular goal of reaching the pinnacle of pleasure, the intensity of the moment enveloping you both in a whirlwind of fervent passion.

each breath was a struggle, each heartbeat a drumbeat heralding your imminent release, your body trembling with the intensity of the moment.

"mh- i'm close, matt," you cried out, your voice trembling with anticipation and urgency. each syllable was a raw, unfiltered expression of the approaching climax, the intensity of your emotions palpable in the air.

your body tensed, every muscle coiling in preparation for the imminent release, the words a desperate declaration of the ecstasy that was about to overtake you.

but your voice was abruptly silenced by the sudden, jarring sound of the door swinging open, its movement slicing through the air with a sense of urgency and intrusion.

“y/n?” matt asked, his eyes widened with surprise, yet his orbs were still tracing every bare curve on your body

the knot in your stomach unraveled instantaneously, yet the release eluded you as you withdrew, the waves of pleasure dissipating into the ether.

"oh- oh my god, matt!" you exclaimed, your voice a mixture of mortification and surprise, as you hastily pulled the sheets over yourself, the fabric a flimsy barrier against the overwhelming tide of emotions.

"oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," you repeated, each utterance a crescendo of embarrassment, your face buried in your palms, trying to shield yourself from the reality of the situation.

your heart pounded in your chest, each beat a reminder of the vulnerability laid bare, the intimacy shared now overshadowed by the stark light of self-consciousness.

"y/n, were you-," matt asked softly, his voice a gentle murmur as he closed the door behind him with a quiet click. you nodded, still unable to meet his gaze, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavily in the air between you.

his question lingered, the unvoiced emotions and shared history adding layers of complexity to the moment, your silent acknowledgment speaking volumes as you remained fixated on the floor, the tension palpable in the space you both occupied.

"hey, it's okay," he said softly, his voice a soothing balm against the tension that filled the room. he reached out gently, his touch light and reassuring, as you slowly pulled your hands away from your face.

the atmosphere, thick with unspoken emotions, began to ease slightly, his words weaving a delicate tapestry of comfort and understanding, attempting to bridge the gap that had formed between you.

matt's eyes drifted down to your lap, where the blanket lay in disarray, before slowly rising to meet your gaze once more. "want me to help?" he asked, his voice a tender murmur, the question hanging in the air like a fragile promise.

the sincerity in his eyes conveyed a depth of understanding, as if he sought to bridge the chasm of vulnerability that separated you, offering solace in the midst of your shared uncertainty.

you furrowed your eyebrows, the silence in the room growing thick and heavy.

"what?-" you began to ask, your voice tinged with confusion, but your words were abruptly silenced as matt's lips captured yours in a sudden, unexpected kiss.

the world seemed to tilt, the room's stillness shattered by the intensity of the moment, his actions speaking volumes where words had failed.

you melted into his touch, your body instinctively moving further back against the headboard, creating a space that silently invited matt onto your bed.

he climbed onto it with a fluid grace, his lips never breaking contact with yours, the kiss deepening as the world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you entwined in a moment of shared intimacy and unspoken understanding.

he hastily undid his pants, the urgency in his movements palpable as he momentarily disconnected your lips from his. with swift, almost frantic motions, he discarded the garment, only to return with a fervor that was even more intense.

his lips crashed back against yours, the kiss now charged with a raw, unrestrained hunger that seemed to consume both of you, each touch igniting a deeper, more primal connection.

"please," you whispered against his lips, your breath mingling with his as the words left your mouth. you felt the subtle curve of his smirk against your own, a silent acknowledgment of your plea.

he pulled away, the brief separation heightening the anticipation that crackled between you. with deliberate, almost teasing slowness, he slid down his boxers, each movement a study in restrained desire.

his cock sprang free, glistening with a tantalizing sheen, the sight causing your throat to tighten. you swallowed hard, the weight of the moment pressing down on you, every second stretching into an eternity as the tension between you grew almost unbearable.

"are you sure you want this?" matt asked softly, his voice a gentle murmur that contrasted with the intensity in his eyes, which were filled with a potent mix of lust and understanding.

his gaze bore into yours, seeking confirmation, and you quickly nodded, your heart pounding in response.

the gravity of the moment settled over you both, a silent agreement passing between you as the world outside seemed to fade, leaving only the two of you suspended in a shared desire.

matt leaned down, his every movement a testament to his practiced skill. as his mouth connected with your heat, a jolt of electricity seemed to pass between you, igniting a fire deep within.

his tongue embarked on a slow, tantalizing journey, tracing a path up your clit. each stroke was executed with precision, a masterful blend of pressure and rhythm that sent waves of pleasure cascading through your body. the world around you seemed to dissolve, leaving only the sensation of his touch and the rising tide of your arousal. every flick and swirl of his tongue heightened the intensity, drawing you deeper into the vortex of desire that he so expertly commanded.

"matt," you gasped, your hands gripping the sheets with a desperate intensity as he smirked against your heat. the sensation of his mouth connecting to your core was electrifying, a prelude to the overwhelming pleasure that followed.

as he thrust his tongue inside you, a surge of ecstasy coursed through your body, sending your eyes rolling to the back of your head. each movement was a symphony of sensation, orchestrated with a skill that left you breathless and yearning for more.

you let out breathy moans, the sound escaping your lips in rhythm with the rising tide of your pleasure. your hand found its way to his hair, fingers tangling in the soft, unruly locks.

each tug and twist of your fingers seemed to communicate a silent plea, urging him to continue, to delve deeper into the intoxicating dance of sensation and connection.

the world around you faded, leaving only the intensity of the moment and the unspoken bond forged in the heat of passion.

matt brought his mouth up to your clit with a deliberate slowness, each movement calculated to heighten your anticipation. as his lips enveloped the sensitive nub, his tongue retreated, only to be replaced by the deft movements of his fingers.

the transition was seamless, a masterful shift from one form of pleasure to another, leaving you breathless and teetering on the edge of ecstasy. his fingers moved with a practiced rhythm, each stroke and curl designed to draw you deeper into the whirlpool of sensation.

matt curled his fingers inside of you with an expert precision, his touch unerringly finding that elusive sweet spot. the moment his fingers made contact, a surge of intense pleasure shot through you, causing your screams to grow louder and more desperate.

your body jolted upwards, an involuntary response to the overwhelming sensation that rippled through every nerve.

each movement of his fingers seemed to amplify the ecstasy, drawing you further into a realm where time and space ceased to exist, leaving only the raw, unbridled pleasure that he so skillfully elicited.

"close," you whispered, your voice trembling as whimpers began to replace your earlier moans. the knot in your stomach tightened with an almost unbearable intensity, each passing second bringing you closer to the precipice of release.

your body quivered in response, every nerve ending alive with anticipation, as the crescendo of sensations built within you, threatening to spill over in a wave of overwhelming ecstasy.

as the tension within you reached its peak, your breath hitched, and your grip on reality seemed to slip. matt's relentless rhythm continued, each movement synchronized with the pulsating pleasure that consumed you.

your body arched involuntarily, a final desperate plea for release. then, with a sudden, breathtaking intensity, the knot unraveled, sending waves of ecstasy crashing through you, leaving you trembling and gasping in the aftermath.

matt eagerly savored every drop of your essence, his fervor akin to a man partaking in his final, most cherished feast. each slurp was deliberate and thorough, as if he sought to commit the very taste and texture to memory.

his actions were imbued with a sense of urgency and reverence, transforming the moment into an intimate ritual that left you both breathless and profoundly connected.

matt knelt up, his length engorged and flushed with a deep, fervent crimson. his hands, driven by an insatiable desire, found their way to your waist, each touch imbued with a sense of urgency and longing. he pulled you closer, the magnetic pull between your bodies undeniable, as if the very air around you crackled with the intensity of the moment.

"tell me you want this, baby," matt's voice rumbled, a low, gravelly whisper that sent shivers down your spine. his words, laden with anticipation and raw desire, hung in the air as he meticulously aligned his tip with your entrance, the tension between you palpable and electric.

"i- i want it more than anything," you whispered, your voice quivering with a blend of longing and anticipation. your hands, shaking with an almost desperate need, reached out as you pleaded, "please, matt. i want it inside of me." the vulnerability in your tone and the raw, unfiltered desire in your words painted a vivid picture of your yearning.

you didn't have to tell him twice. with a swift, powerful motion, he thrust his hips against yours, the force of his movement eliciting a deep, primal groan from his lips. simultaneously, a moan of unrestrained pleasure escaped your own, the sound a testament to the intense connection and overwhelming sensations coursing through both of you.

matt's eyes fluttered shut, savoring the moment as he remained still within you, a quiet intensity marking the brief pause. after a few heartbeats, he let out a low hiss, his eyes opening to meet yours with a smoldering gaze. "m'gonna start moving, baby," he murmured, his voice a husky promise of the sensations to come.

you nodded desperately, your entire body trembling with an insatiable need to feel more of him. the urgency in your gesture spoke volumes, a silent plea for the connection you craved.

matt, sensing your desperation, began to move his hips against yours with a deliberate, tantalizing slowness. each measured thrust sent waves of electrifying sensation through you, the slow pace intensifying the anticipation and drawing out every moment of your shared desire. the rhythm he set was unhurried yet powerful, a testament to the profound connection between you.

you let out a series of loud, unrestrained moans, each sound a testament to the intense sensations coursing through you.

the initial flickers of pain gradually dissolved, transforming into waves of pure, unadulterated pleasure that consumed your entire being. with each passing moment, the boundary between pain and pleasure blurred, leaving you lost in a whirlwind of ecstasy.

matt's thrusts grew increasingly erratic, each movement more desperate and uncoordinated than the last. the rhythm that once held a steady pace now dissolved into a chaotic dance of passion and urgency.

you could feel the knot in your stomach tightening with an almost unbearable intensity, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge. it was as if every fiber of your being was wound tight, ready to burst forth in a torrent of overwhelming sensation.

the air around you seemed to thicken, charged with the raw, unfiltered energy of your shared desire, creating a crescendo that promised an inevitable release.

matt's lips found yours, a fervent connection that mirrored the growing intensity of his movements. with each passing second, his thrusts increased in speed and urgency, creating a rhythm that was both chaotic and harmonious. the kiss deepened, a melding of breaths and desires, as the pace of his thrusts quickened.

the world around you seemed to blur, leaving only the raw, electrifying connection between your bodies and the fervent dance of passion that ensued.

your legs entwined around his torso with a fervent intensity, drawing him into an even more profound depth, as if seeking to merge your very essences in that moment of unparalleled connection.

the strength of your embrace conveyed a silent plea for closeness, urging him deeper with each heartbeat, creating a symphony of shared desire and unspoken understanding.

it was as though your bodies were communicating in a language beyond words, each movement a testament to the profound bond you shared.

"i'm close," you whisper, your voice trembling with an urgent need as matt's teeth leave a trail of fervent love bites along your neck. each bite sends shivers cascading down your spine, a juxtaposition of pleasure and pain that heightens your anticipation. the air around you thickens with the palpable tension, every whispered word and gentle bite weaving an intricate tapestry of desire and longing.

"give it to me," matt grumbles softly, his voice a low rumble that reverberates through you. he plants soft kisses around your hickeys, each touch a tender contrast to the intensity of his demand. as you release with a loud moan, the world seems to blur at the edges, and every sensation amplifies, creating a symphony of pleasure that resonates between you, binding your bodies in a moment of exquisite, shared ecstasy.

you squirm as matt groans, his voice a deep, primal sound that reverberates through your entire being. your walls tighten around him instinctively, creating a vice-like grip that draws a guttural release from him, deep inside you.

the moment stretches, filled with an electric tension, as every nerve in your body sings with the intensity of the shared climax, a testament to the profound connection that binds you both in this intimate dance.

matt thrusted in and out of you slowly, each deliberate movement mixing your juices together in a sensuous rhythm. the friction and heat between you build with every thrust, creating a symphony of shared pleasure.

finally, he pulls out, the sensation lingering as he collapses next to you, both of you enveloped in the afterglow of your shared passion, breaths mingling in the quiet aftermath.

matt soon rises and strides towards your bathroom, his movements purposeful yet unhurried. after a brief moment, he returns with a damp towel in hand, the coolness of the fabric contrasting with the warmth of your shared intimacy.

his care and attention in this simple act speak volumes, a silent testament to the tenderness that underlies your passionate connection.

matt gently wipes the beads of sweat from your body, each stroke of the towel a tender caress that soothes and refreshes.

as he finishes, he leans in and plants a soft kiss on your lips, the gesture imbued with a quiet intimacy that speaks to the deep connection you share, a silent promise of care and affection in the aftermath of your shared passion.

"so, i take it you like me?" he smirks, his eyes twinkling with mischief. your laughter bubbles up, light and infectious, as you playfully swat him, the gesture a blend of affection and teasing.

[her-satanic-wiles]

Kinktober Day 7 - Magical Fleshlight

Mountain x Reader

Fuck… why does this feel so real? It’s so… wet. Holy shit.

Masterlist ⛧ Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

Words: 6k.

Reading Time: 24 min.

Warnings: elements of crack!fic, masturbation, multiple orgasms, noncon, non-discussed sexual activity, public, PIV sex, unprotected sex, vaginal sex

Taglist: @akayuki56 @alien-the-ghost @amazing-bobinsky @angellayercake @anonymous-appreciation @babydestinyinfluencer @bitchywitchygardener @blossomsea @call-me-little-sunshine84 @copiaspet622 @copiasslut @cosmixxdust @da-rulah @dolceterzo @dopey-fandom-girl @faithisyours @ghoulishxdelights @hauntedharmonic-ghoulishhaunter @high-above-the-city @howlingco @inkstainedrat @kaijukimchi @kenken-the-shoggoth @ledger-kaos @magopi @megachaoticstupid @meliza1001 @miss-leto @mommy-dust @neganwifey25-blog @piaart @saintbowie @shycardinale @sister-of-sin-claudia @sisterof-sin @sodoswitchimage @the-did-i-ask @xiyingly @zombiesnips-blog

🔞 MDNI 🔞

Mountain slumped onto the bed, sighing heavily as he bounced softly on the plush springs. The day had dragged on endlessly, each hour dragging him further into a storm of stress and fatigue. He could feel the tension in his muscles, the tight knots in his back that throbbed with every movement, and the cramping beginning to form in his legs, a testament to the physically demanding tasks he’d faced. All he wanted was to escape into the soothing embrace of sleep.

Curling up onto his side, he nestled into the cool sheets, the soft fabric a welcome contrast to the roughness of his day. As he logged onto Instagram, the flickering glow of his phone illuminated the dim room, casting playful shadows against the walls. It was a moment of solace, a brief respite from the chaos of the outside world.

Then, your most recent picture appeared on his timeline, and a jolt of electricity surged through him. You were stunning, radiating a captivating allure that pulled him in like a moth to a flame. The memory of the dress you wore last night flickered in his mind—a form-fitting creation that hugged your curves perfectly, its delicate fabric accentuating every feature that drove him wild. He could almost see it bunched up around your waist, his imagination running riot as he pictured the scene.

His heart raced at the thought, and he cursed under his breath, shaking his head as he tried to dispel the imagery. No. He couldn’t think like that. Not now, not when he was exhausted and vulnerable. But the temptation lingered, clawing at the edges of his mind like an unquenchable fire. He longed to reach out, to hold you close, to forget the weight of the world for just a moment.

He swiped through your photos, each one more intoxicating than the last—your smile, your laughter, the way your eyes sparkled with mischief. Each image only deepened his frustration and desire, intertwining with the stress of the day, creating a tangled web of emotions he found hard to unravel. The solitude of his room felt stifling, an echo of his longing that was now amplified by your presence on his screen.

Mountain’s thoughts drifted, his body still heavy with weariness yet somehow ignited by an unshakeable yearning. The contrast of his physical exhaustion and the vivid allure of you made his chest tighten. He wanted to rest, to forget his troubles, but he also craved something more—something electric, passionate, and intoxicating.

With a deep breath, he set his phone down, staring at the ceiling as he tried to clear his head. The images of you still danced in his mind, teasing him mercilessly. Perhaps a little distraction would help? A warm shower, a drink, or maybe… just maybe, a little bit of magic to soothe his aching body and restless thoughts. He could picture you there beside him, laughter filling the air, and a shiver of anticipation raced down his spine.

He rubbed his hands over his face, trying to scrub the image of you beneath him from his mind, but it was too late. The fantasy had taken root, blossoming into something far too vivid to ignore. His body was already responding, a heat rising in him that seemed to defy his efforts to suppress it.

With a frustrated sigh, he sat up, his heart pounding as he fought to regain control. The bed felt too soft, too inviting, and his thoughts were spiralling into tantalising possibilities. The way you had looked in that dress—the way it had clung to your body, accentuating your curves—sent a rush of heat coursing through him. He could almost feel your skin beneath his fingertips, the way your body would yield to his touch, inviting him in, urging him to explore.

Mountain clenched his fists, digging his nails into his palms as if to ground himself. He was all too aware of the growing tension in his lower abdomen, a primal response that stirred within him, demanding attention. It was maddening. No, he thought firmly, pushing back against the wave of desire. He needed to focus on anything else—work, the tasks ahead, the mess he’d need to clean—but his mind was relentless, cycling back to you.

He stood abruptly, pacing the room as he tried to shake off the intrusive thoughts. Each step seemed to echo with the memory of your laughter, the way your eyes sparkled with mischief, and the intoxicating scent of your perfume. It wrapped around him like a fog, clouding his judgment and amplifying his longing.

“Get a grip,” he muttered to himself, the words barely making it past clenched teeth. But as he turned, his gaze fell upon the fleshlight sitting innocently on the bedside table—a recent acquisition, born of desperation and curiosity. The relic hummed softly, as if it sensed his turmoil, and suddenly, he felt a magnetic pull toward it.

Could it really help him escape the throbbing desire that gripped him so tightly? With a tentative hand, he reached for the enchanted device, the cool surface grounding him momentarily as he contemplated his options. It had been whispered among friends that this magical relic could bring fantasies to life, enabling a connection that was both intimate and otherworldly.

Magic? As if. That sounded like the plot of a shitty smutty novel. There was no magic in the real world.

He glanced back at his phone, at your radiant smile, and felt a surge of determination wash over him. Why not give it a try? Perhaps, just this once, he could indulge in a fantasy—a fleeting moment of pleasure that could distract him from the gnawing stress of the day.

With a deep breath, Mountain took a seat on the edge of the bed, the tension still simmering within him as he examined the magical fleshlight in his hands. If there was ever a time to explore the boundary between reality and fantasy, it was now. He was ready to surrender, if only for a little while.

He ran his finger over the fleshlight’s clitoris, the smooth surface cool against his heated skin. The mere touch sent a shiver down his spine, igniting a flicker of anticipation in his belly. The magical device seemed to hum with energy, almost as if it were alive, responding to his touch and urging him to let go of his inhibitions. As his imagination began to weave vivid images of you, he closed his eyes, allowing the fantasy to envelop him.

*

Meanwhile, you were sitting in the library, surrounded by towering shelves filled with dusty tomes and parchment scrolls. The warm, golden light from the lamps cast a comforting glow, but it did little to dispel the exhaustion that clung to you like a second skin. Traveling for the Ministry had worn you out, leaving a mountain of work to tackle. You felt as if you were drowning beneath the weight of it all, buried under reports and briefings that demanded your attention.

Determined to catch up, you hunched over your desk, your quill scratching furiously against the parchment. The words began to blur together as your mind wandered, drawn back to thoughts of Mountain. You couldn’t shake the image of him, powerful and stoic, but with an undeniable softness lurking beneath the surface. That intense gaze of his always made your heart race, igniting a warmth that spread through you.

It was maddening, really, how one thought of him could send your concentration spiraling. You shifted in your chair, the tension in your back protesting the long hours spent hunched over your work. A sigh escaped your lips as you glanced at the clock, realising how late it had grown. The library felt even quieter now, the stillness pressing in around you, amplifying your restlessness.

But that was when you felt it. A sudden, electrifying swipe over your clitoris, sending shockwaves of sensation coursing through your body. You froze, your pen hovering above the notebook, heart racing as confusion and curiosity battled within you. What on earth was happening?

You glanced around the library, half-expecting to see someone teasing you, but the room remained empty, the silence thick with the weight of ancient knowledge. The sensation pulsed again, rhythmic and insistent, as if someone—something—was touching you beneath your clothes. Your breath caught in your throat, the combination of surprise and intrigue igniting a warmth deep within. You stood up and moved seats, thinking that was the problem, but when the swipe came a second time, you almost screamed. It felt so good, somehow?

With every pulse, the sensation felt more intense and quicker, drawing you deeper into an exhilarating haze. You clenched your thighs together, instinctively searching for relief as you fought to maintain your composure. The rhythmic touches seemed to dance along your most sensitive areas, teasing and inviting with each electric caress.

Your breath hitched as you pressed your legs together, seeking some form of control, but the warmth pooled low in your belly, a heated pressure that was becoming increasingly impossible to ignore. You bit your lip, trying to focus on the paper in front of you, but the words swam before your eyes, fading into the background as your entire being concentrated on the sensation that was almost overwhelming.

What if it was Mountain? The thought sent a shiver through you. You had shared so many lingering glances, those moments charged with unspoken desire. Your brain kept showing you images of him next to you, hands beneath your habit and flicking over your clit so expertly, you were getting closer and closer to the precipice by the second.

Another pulse shot through you, sharper and more insistent than before. You gasped, gripping the edge of the desk for support. Your mind raced, torn between the fantasy of Mountain orchestrating this and the reality of being in the library, surrounded by centuries of knowledge and solitude.

The teasing sensation flickered again, and you could feel it mirroring the rhythm of your heartbeat, tugging at your very core. You could hardly contain yourself; a soft moan escaped your lips, echoing against the high ceilings of the library. The sound startled you, and you quickly glanced around, but there was still no one in sight.

Swallowing hard, you weighed your options. You could leave the library, escape this unexpected spell, or you could embrace it, surrender to the sensations that were taking over your body. The tension in your back seemed to dissipate, replaced by a throbbing warmth that surged through you with every pulse.

You took a deep breath, heart pounding in anticipation. What would happen if you let yourself explore this strange new sensation? What if this was a glimpse into something deeper, something shared with Mountain that had yet to be spoken?

Finally, you settled back into your seat, heart racing as you surrendered to the unknown. With each wave of pleasure, you began to ride the rhythm, feeling the magic course through you. The lines of reality blurred as you imagined Mountain’s hands—strong yet gentle—working their magic on you. The fantasies you had buried deep within began to surface, filling your mind with images of him, of you, lost in a world of desire.

As you surrendered to the sensations, a part of you still wondered how long you could remain in this secret world, caught between the throes of pleasure and the reality of your surroundings. But for now, all that mattered was the intoxicating feeling of the unknown, and the powerful connection that pulsed between you and Mountain, drawing you ever closer.

The sensations grew stronger, more insistent, every pulse of pleasure pushing you closer to the edge. Your grip tightened on the edge of the desk, knuckles white as you fought to keep silent, your breath coming in shallow, shaky gasps. The magical teasing seemed to know exactly where to touch, how to drive you wild without mercy, each wave of pleasure more intense than the last. You could barely focus on anything but the pressure building inside you, hot and unbearable.

Your eyes fluttered closed as you tried to stifle the moans threatening to escape your lips. The last thing you wanted was for anyone to walk in and find you like this, overwhelmed by invisible hands, pleasure coursing through you in the middle of the quiet library. But the thought of being caught only seemed to heighten the thrill, a dangerous mix of arousal and anticipation that made the heat within you coil tighter.

The rhythm became more relentless, the electric pulses caressing your clitoris and sending jolts of pleasure through your entire body. You pressed your thighs together again, trying to ease the tension, but it only made the feeling more intense, more impossible to resist. Your body was trembling, your heart pounding in your chest, your breaths coming in quick, ragged bursts as the wave of ecstasy swelled higher and higher.

Your mind was a blur, filled with images of Mountain—his hands on you, his body pressed against yours. You could almost feel him there, his touch, his breath on your skin. The fantasy had completely taken over, and you no longer cared about anything but the release that was building inside you, stronger and stronger with each passing second.

And then, it hit.

A final pulse, stronger and more intense than before, surged through you, and suddenly, you were there, on the edge of oblivion. You gasped, your back arching as your entire body tensed, the pleasure overwhelming, almost too much to bear. The climax washed over you in powerful waves, each one more intense than the last, leaving you trembling, breathless, your mind utterly consumed by the moment.

Your hands clutched the desk, your thighs clamped together as the pleasure coursed through you, your heart pounding in your ears as you rode the waves of ecstasy. You couldn’t hold back the soft moan that escaped your lips, your body shaking as you finally surrendered to the release you’d been fighting.

For a moment, the world seemed to stop. Everything was still, your mind lost in the afterglow, your body limp and sated. The heat slowly began to ebb away, leaving a warm, languid feeling in its wake. You slumped in your chair, chest heaving, your skin flushed and your limbs heavy. The library was silent once again, save for the sound of your ragged breathing as you came down from the high.

You opened your eyes, still dazed, your body tingling with the remnants of pleasure. The magic had faded, leaving you alone once more. You glanced around, half-expecting someone to have noticed, but the library remained as quiet and still as ever. No one had witnessed your moment of ecstasy, and for that, you were grateful.

*

Mountain felt the fleshlight twitch in his hands, the silicone pulsing rhythmically under his touch. It was strange, almost unnerving, how lifelike it felt—warm and supple, as though it had a mind of its own. He reasoned it must have been designed that way, engineered to feel as close to the real thing as possible. After all, the material had to have some give; otherwise, it would be difficult to fuck.

But this… this felt different. Too real.

Curiosity burned within him, and without thinking, he removed his thumb from the fleshlight’s clit and slid a finger into the vaginal hole. He half-expected to feel nothing but cold silicone or mechanical resistance, but the moment his fingertip pressed inside, he froze.

“Fuck…” he muttered, his breath catching in his throat.

The interior was silky smooth, impossibly warm, and slick with wetness, as though it had already been perfectly lubricated just for him. His finger sank deeper, and he swore he felt the walls subtly pulse around him, hugging his digit with a grip that sent a jolt of arousal straight through his core. It felt as though he had slipped his finger inside a real pussy—alive, warm, and so damn wet.

It was too much.

The thought hit him like a lightning bolt, sending a rush of blood straight to his length, which was already half-hard, now straining against his trousers. He glanced down, feeling the growing pressure, but his mind couldn’t tear away from the fleshlight and its surreal sensations. His pulse quickened as he slowly curled his finger inside the toy, feeling the textured inner walls respond to his every movement, as if the toy were reacting, pulling him in.

“Holy shit…” he whispered under his breath, barely able to believe what he was experiencing.

The slickness inside only made his cock throb with more need, the pressure building rapidly in his groin. His mind wandered back to the vivid images of you that had plagued him all night. He imagined it wasn’t just his finger inside this magical device, but his cock, sinking deep into that same warmth, feeling your body move beneath him, wrapped around him. He could almost hear the sound of your breath hitching in pleasure, see the way your body would react to every thrust.

His arousal was becoming impossible to ignore, his length now fully hard, aching to be touched. The wetness coating his finger made him desperate to feel more, to know what it would be like to sink himself completely into the impossible magic of this fleshlight.

But something nagged at him in the back of his mind. Why did this feel so different? So personal? It wasn’t just a toy; it was something more, something… connected.

Mountain exhaled sharply, pulling his finger out and wiping it on his trousers as he debated whether to continue. His cock twitched in anticipation, and the need for release was undeniable. He had to know just how far this could go.

His hand drifted to the waistband of his trousers, the decision already made.

*

You had felt the initial intrusion, the unexpected presence inside you, no thicker than a finger. It wasn’t moving with any intent to please, merely exploring your most intimate space, as if testing the waters, feeling out your warmth. A breath caught in your throat, and you slumped over the desk, your hand flying to your mouth, desperate to stifle the moan that threatened to escape. Your body shivered in response, torn between confusion and the undeniable arousal that was building deep within you.

The slow, teasing movements left you trembling, and while it wasn’t enough to satisfy the aching need between your legs, the anticipation was maddening. You squeezed your thighs together, trying to create some friction, something to ease the growing heat. But the moment you began to settle into the sensation, it stopped. The presence withdrew, and you were left empty, unsatisfied, your slick, needy cunt clenching around nothing.

A soft whimper escaped your lips, muffled by the back of your hand. A part of you was disappointed, frustrated even, that it had left. Your body was throbbing, aching for more—more of whatever that was, more of what it had been building toward. Your pulse was racing, and the quiet library around you suddenly felt too confining, too stifling. You couldn’t stay here, not like this.

Your legs felt weak as you stood, the lingering heat between your thighs making every movement feel laboured. You glanced around the empty room, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks as if someone might have seen your inner turmoil, but the library remained silent and still. The quiet was too much now, the weight of your arousal pressing down on you, urging you to seek relief. You needed more than just that teasing touch; you needed release. And you needed it now.

Quickly, you began packing up your things, your fingers fumbling as you tried to gather your quill and parchment. Your mind was already somewhere else, picturing what awaited you once you could find privacy. The thought of it—of taking care of yourself, of chasing the release that had been cruelly denied in the library—sent a fresh wave of heat through you.

With your belongings hastily stuffed into your bag, you headed toward the door, your breath uneven as you made your way out of the library. The cool air of the hallway did little to calm the fire raging inside you. You had to find somewhere—anywhere—you could be alone and finish what had been started.

Your legs moved quickly beneath you, instinct driving you toward the nearest private space, your heart pounding with anticipation as the memory of that teasing touch replayed in your mind.

You left the library in a hurry, taking a sharp left down the corridor toward your room, your mind laser-focused on finding relief. Each step was torture, your knees weak and trembling, barely able to support your body as the weight of your arousal pressed down on you. The cool air of the hallway did nothing to ease the growing heat between your thighs, and you quickened your pace, desperate to reach the privacy of your room.

But just as you rounded the corner, a new sensation hit you.

Dread pooled in your stomach as you felt your folds part, something heavy and hard sliding between them. You gasped, eyes widening in shock, feeling a thick pressure press against your clit. It wasn’t the slow, teasing touch from before—it was urgent, insistent, and so overwhelmingly real that you couldn’t hold back the shaky moan that escaped your lips. The sensation was distracting, too distracting, and in your attempt to keep moving, you stumbled.

Your legs gave out beneath you, and with a gasp, you fell to the ground, your belongings scattering across the wooden floor. Pens, paper and books slipped from your grasp, your bag tumbling open as you struggled to regain control of your body. The thick presence between your legs remained, rubbing insistently against your clit with every movement, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you as you lay there, heart racing and breath ragged.

Your hands shot down instinctively, as though to push whatever it was away, but there was nothing tangible, nothing you could grasp. It was as if some invisible force was teasing you, pressing into you with an unrelenting rhythm that made it impossible to think straight.

You tried to stand, pushing yourself up with trembling arms, but the pleasure was so intense that you collapsed again, your knees refusing to support your weight. Another shudder ran through you, your body betraying you as the rubbing against your clit continued, the sensation almost unbearable. You squeezed your thighs together, but it only seemed to make it worse, the pressure building with every second.

“Fuck…” you whispered, your voice barely more than a breathless gasp. You had no control over your body anymore. The sensation between your legs had taken over, and all you could do was grip the floor beneath you, helpless against the mounting pleasure.

The hallway was empty, but you were still exposed, vulnerable. You needed to get up, needed to reach your room where you could finally give in to what your body craved. But as another pulse of pleasure shot through you, you weren’t sure you’d even make it.

A stroke of luck emerged, catching your eye in the midst of your frantic struggle—the door to a cleaning closet, left slightly ajar. Relief mixed with desperation as you quickly gathered your scattered belongings, your hands shaking as you scrambled to your feet. You couldn’t make it much further; your knees were barely holding you upright as it was, and the relentless pressure between your thighs was making it impossible to think straight.

Without a second thought, you rushed toward the open door, heart pounding in your chest. As soon as you stumbled inside, you slammed it shut behind you, pressing your back against the wood. There was no lock, but if you could just stay quiet—if you could hold out here for a few moments—you might make it through this without being caught. The small space was dimly lit, filled with shelves of cleaning supplies, and the air smelled faintly of soap and lavender.

You barely had time to catch your breath before it happened.

A sharp, overwhelming sensation took hold of you as you felt something push into you—deep, filling your already throbbing, aching hole. The intrusion was sudden, and you gasped, your hand flying to your mouth to muffle the cry of pleasure that threatened to burst out. It was thick, stretching you in a way that was both shocking and satisfying, as though whatever it was had been waiting for this moment, waiting for you to be alone, vulnerable, and desperate.

It was definitely a cock - but it was fucking huge.

*

Mountain sank into the fleshlight, a low, guttural groan escaping his lips as the tightness enveloped him. He was a big man in every sense of the word, and his length was no exception—thick, heavy, and aching for relief. As he pressed deeper, the silicone walls yielded, but only just enough, hugging him in a way that felt almost too real. The sensation was overwhelming, warm and snug, gripping him with the perfect balance of resistance and give, as though the toy had been made just for him.

His breath hitched as he sank further, the heat surrounding him sending shivers down his spine. Every inch of him was enveloped in that wet, warm tightness, and it felt like nothing he’d ever experienced before. His hips rolled instinctively, testing the limits of the toy’s grip, and the way it clung to him made his cock throb with need. It was almost maddening how good it felt—too good, in fact. The slickness inside, combined with the soft, textured ridges, made every movement feel as though he was buried deep inside something alive.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his hands tightening around the base of the fleshlight as his hips moved again, slower this time, savouring the way it squeezed him with every thrust.

The heat, the wetness, the way it pulsed around him—it was almost too much to bear. He couldn’t help but picture you, the way your body would feel wrapped around him like this, clenching down on him, pulling him in. The thought of you, mixed with the intensity of the sensation, made his control slip. His pace quickened, driven by the growing pressure building in his groin, his need for release clawing at him.

Each thrust into the toy felt more urgent, the friction deliciously overwhelming. He could feel the tension building, his length throbbing inside the slick, tight tunnel. Every stroke was bringing him closer to the edge, the pleasure so intense it made his vision blur. The way the fleshlight clung to him was impossibly real, and the thought of sinking into your warmth instead made his pulse race even faster.

He was too far gone to stop now, completely lost in the sensation, the need for release overtaking him as his hips bucked into the toy with reckless abandon.

*

Your legs gave out entirely, and you collapsed against the shelves, your body trembling as the force inside you began to move. Slow, deliberate strokes, in and out, dragging along your sensitive walls and making you shudder with each thrust. You bit down on your hand, trying to stay quiet, but the sensation was so intense, so perfectly maddening, that small, helpless whimpers slipped past your lips despite your best efforts.

The sensation wasn’t just physical; it was connected. Every movement inside you felt purposeful, like whoever—or whatever—was controlling this was in sync with your body, knowing exactly how to make you fall apart. Your pussy clenched around it, soaking wet, the slickness only making the thrusts more fluid, more relentless.

Your breath came in shallow, ragged gasps, the rhythm of your body matching the relentless thrusts that were driving you closer and closer to the edge. Each stroke pushed deeper, dragging against your most sensitive spots, and the heat building inside you was becoming unbearable. Your mind was spinning, the world around you fading into a blur as the pressure inside you mounted, thick and heavy.

You could feel yourself trembling, your body taut with anticipation, the pleasure coiling tighter with every thrust. Your nails dug into your palms, a desperate attempt to ground yourself, to hold on just a little longer—but it was no use.

It felt so good.

Too good.

You sat up a little and spread your legs, pulling your panties off from beneath your habit and throwing them somewhere in the dark, your middle finger immediately moving to your swollen and sensitive clit. Rubbing furiously at it, you let out a loud gasp, the feeling of the cock fucking into you, now at a violent pace. You grasped onto the shelf behind you with your free hard, trying to find something to ground you as much as possible, but nothing was working. Something invisible was pounding relentlessly into your cunt, using your body for their own pleasure and you were so wound up tight - you liked it.

Your body was already betraying you, your pussy tightening around the force inside you as the tension built to a breaking point. It was hitting all the right spots, fucking into you like no one else had managed to before. You bit on your bottom lip trying to remain quiet, but at this point your moans and pants were coming out so loudly, you were sure passers by could hear you.

*

Mountain’s breath was ragged as he thrust into the fleshlight, his large hands gripping it tightly, the soft silicone giving way under his force but clinging to him in the most maddening way. His head tipped back, eyes fluttering shut as the slickness inside seemed to pulse in time with his movements. Every stroke felt too real, too perfect—as if it were more than just a toy, something alive and responding to him.

His cock was fully buried now, his hips rolling slowly at first, but the tightness had him on edge, making it impossible to hold back. His groans grew louder, deep and rough, as he set a more urgent pace. The fleshlight gripped him harder, the wet warmth inside making every stroke smoother, more fluid, but also more intense. It felt better than it should have, the sensation almost too much for him to handle.

“Fuck…” he hissed under his breath, his length throbbing with need. Each thrust sent a pulse of pleasure through his body, his mind clouded with desire as he imagined you beneath him instead. The way you would look, your body writhing in pleasure as he buried himself inside you, the soft sounds of your moans filling the air. The thought made his cock twitch inside the toy, his pace quickening as he lost himself in the fantasy.

But then, something strange happened.

The fleshlight pulsed. It wasn’t just responding to his thrusts anymore—it was as if it had a life of its own, squeezing him, rippling around his length in a way that was too real, too connected. His eyes flew open, a gasp escaping him as he stilled for a moment, looking down at the toy in his hands.

“What the…?”

He felt it again, the sensation tightening, as if the fleshlight was reacting not to his body, but to something else entirely. The pulsing grew stronger, almost rhythmic, and it sent a jolt of pleasure through him so intense he nearly doubled over. He could feel the slick walls inside moving, as though mimicking the contractions of an actual body—your body.

Mountain’s heart raced, his mind spinning. There was no way this was just a toy anymore. He could feel it—feel you—somehow, in some way. It was impossible, but there was no denying the connection. The more he moved, the more the fleshlight reacted, tightening around him with each thrust, sending shockwaves of pleasure straight to his core.

His hips bucked involuntarily, the sensations overtaking him, his mind now filled with images of you. He imagined you trembling, the way your body would shake as he pushed into you, the look of desperation in your eyes as you tried to hold back your release. His pace became frantic, thrusting into the toy with abandon, the tight, wet warmth driving him to the edge.

He was so close. He could feel his orgasm building, his entire body tensing with the need for release. The pulsing around his cock grew more intense, as though it were pulling him deeper, milking him for everything he had.

“Fuck…” he groaned your name, unable to stop himself now. He was lost in the sensation, lost in the thought of you, the connection between you both tightening with every second.

*

You could feel the climax rushing toward you, unstoppable, consuming every part of you. And as the force inside you thrust again, harder this time, it finally sent you over the edge.

A wave of pure ecstasy crashed over you, the intensity of your orgasm ripping through you in shuddering waves. Your walls clenched down around the presence inside you, your body convulsing as pleasure coursed through you, lighting up every nerve. The release was overwhelming, and you bit down harder on your hand, stifling the moan that tore from your throat as your climax consumed you.

But the relentless pounding didn’t stop. Whoever was fucking you wasn’t done with you just yet.

*

Mountain felt you reach your peak, the pulsing sensation inside the fleshlight intensifying to a point that left him breathless. The way your body clenched around him, as if you were riding the wave of ecstasy, sent a jolt of raw pleasure straight to his core. He could almost hear your moans, soft and desperate, echoing in his mind as he envisioned you lost in your climax, your body trembling beneath him.

With every thrust, he was drawn closer to the edge, the need for release building within him like a tidal wave, crashing and surging. The connection felt electric, transcending the physical boundaries of your separate spaces, and it was almost overwhelming. As you shuddered in pleasure, he could feel the warmth radiating from the fleshlight, as if it were feeding off your climax, drawing him in.

“Fuck!” he groaned, his voice thick with desire. The fleshlight tightened around him, almost as if it was responding to your release, and the sensation drove him wild. He could feel the heat pooling in his stomach, a primal urge that had him gasping for air.

As you soared through your orgasm, he couldn’t hold back any longer. He thrust deeper, faster, losing himself completely in the moment. The world around him faded away, the only thing that mattered was the relentless pleasure coursing through him, the sensation of the silicone hugging him so tightly that it felt almost like a second skin.

With one final, powerful thrust, he reached his own peak. A wave of ecstasy crashed over him, his body convulsing as he spilled himself into the fleshlight. A deep, guttural groan escaped his lips as he rode out the intense waves of pleasure, feeling as if he were floating in a sea of bliss.

His hips stuttered as he felt the last tremors of his release, each pulse sending shockwaves of satisfaction through him. The connection, the overwhelming sensations—it was all too much, and he reveled in it, letting it consume him entirely.

Panting, he collapsed back against the bed, still reeling from the intensity of it all. The fleshlight lay discarded beside him, the warmth and slickness inside a reminder of the wild connection they had just shared. He could still feel the lingering echoes of your climax intertwining with his own, leaving him breathless and yearning for more.

What had just happened? It felt like more than just a fantasy—it felt like something deeper, something that blurred the lines of reality and desire. He found himself staring at the ceiling, a mix of confusion and exhilaration coursing through him. The next time he saw you, everything would change.

Prev./Next

[sultrybaby]

Nothing Compares To Being In Love With You (S.G)

(pics are not mine. credit to rightful owners. divider also from pinterest)

summary🦢 In which a cluster of old letters stand as the only testament of gojo's love for you, from birth to (quite literally) death.

genre 🦢 romance, angst, some fluff

pairing (s) 🦢 gojo x reader | reader x naoya zenin

warnings 🦢 reader/main character death, MAJOR ANGST obviously, not exactly forbidden love but more unfortunate circumstances, domestic abuse, mentions of bleeding and punching (no actual description of the abuse this is unrelated bleeding and punching), excessive use of the word sin in one of the monologues, mentions of glass, naoya zenin sucks, letters are from gojo's pov which might be hard to follow I am not sure. Gojo is down bad.

DO NOT ROMANTICIZE ABUSE. THIS FIC (AND ME) DOES NOT CONDONE ROMANTICIZATION OF ABUSE AND IF U ARE LOOKING FOR FICS THAT DO (WHICH IS SICK) THIS IS NOT THE FIC FOR U AND ALSO PLS BLOCK ME CUZ EW.

a/n: this was supposed to be an enhypen fanfic but then I changed my mind. I'm honestly just shocked I actually finished this. Hopefully this idea has manifested to be as good as it seemed in my head and isn't confusing to follow. ENJOY BESTIESSSSS.

🦢🦢🦢🦢🦢🦢🦢

"So apparently, this house belonged to a young bachelor once," explained Mary to her all-too-curious daughter eveline, who sat wide-eyed like a little lamb on the floor of the new house the family had just moved into.

'Really?"

"Yes, baby," Mary chuckled, running her fingers through eveline's (or evie, as they lovingly call her) hair to brush the strands away from her face.

"Where is he now?"

"Oh I don't know sweetheart," Mary sighed, lightly amused at the disappointment on evie's face.

"But maybe there are some clues around the house! If you ever get the time,  you should explore. Who knows, you might find something…"

Evie's eyes twinkled in excitement at the prospect of having an adventure in this foreign pile of bricks that she now had to learn to call home. Perhaps this will create a sense of oneship with the house.

Determined to uncover the secrets of the mysterious young bachelor, little evie started on her mission to unearth every corner of the building. After toppling boxes, crawling through crevices, and occasionally bumping her head on random walls, evie finally uncovered a rather absurd looking block.

And that is the story of how Mary was gifted this curious looking box by her exhausted daughter, waddling excitedly to show her the discovery.

The box had an old-fashioned grace to it. It was clearly disintegrating; cheap, fading, yellowed white  paint hung off the corners, all dried up, waiting to be chipped off. It seemed as if there was some kind of locking mechanism in the front of the box which has long been broken. All it took was a simple motion for the mouth of the box to open wide, revealing a neatly stacked set of what one could assume were letters.

The first letter was different to the others. While the rest were prettily folded, this one had a texture much more rough- as if it had been crushed and then straightened again. And on it, in extremely feathery ink, was written,

Dear ____,

You are the sun and the stars and the rose and the beautiful sky. You are made of the serenity of heaven and the tempting evil of hell. You are everything created to be beautiful, and you also make anything beautiful by association. Every day and every night, in light, in darkness, in life, and even now in death, you make me realize why Orpheus would go to the deadly underworld just to get Eurydice back. I understand his pain and longing.

I know we parted ways hurtfully and there is no action I regret more. And in my attempt to tell myself I hated you, I failed in my life's purpose- to truly let you know how much I loved you.

This is a memoir of the love I lost, a love that was but a bubble in air- shining briefly with all the most beautiful colours, then popping abruptly. And this is just an attempt at preserving some of that wonder and beauty so that when my heart aches a bit too much, I can cry to the essence of your soul (which is funny, because you are too much, too great, to be put into words).

Lovingly,

Yours yesterday, today, and forevermore,

Satoru Gojo.

A love story- a tragic one, was etched in the letters following. In that little white box was the history of Gojo Satoru's love for this mysterious woman to whom he had devoted his heart entirely.

And so Mary started reading…

Dear ____

Today I decided that I would start attempting to put into words my love for you. In these scraps of paper lie not the true extent of my love- that would be impossible to boil down to mere letters- but just enough for my heart to no longer feel as if it is at the brink of explosion from the pain of carrying the weight of my love for you.

The first time I saw you was when I was rushing to work. What started off as a normal day turned into an irreplaceable, unforgettable memory when I heard an angelic voice bantering with a baker.

"Jesus Antonio a damned second grader could bake better bread in their sleep- it’s not worth more than a dollar a loaf. So I ain't paying any more than that"

I felt compelled by fate to turn around and figure out who was truly the source of this wildly amusing diatribe.

Saying that my eyes were unprepared to capture the beauty I was about to witness would be an understatement. I found myself unable to move, nailed to the ground as I took in the sheer magnificence of your existence. And then I blinked. And you were gone.

I remember shaking my head wildly to see where the angel had disappeared off to, and my heart sighed in relief as I saw your unmistakable figure walk with a triumphant smirk and a loaf of bread that you surely had not paid more than a dollar for.

Today marks the second year since we've known each other. Every day since I have carried the burden of my love with utmost pleasure, because loving you is the greatest experience of my life. Nothing compares to being in love with you. But every so often when I stare at you, hoping the longing in my heart doesn't show in my eyes, I wish you were mine.

Yours forevermore,

Gojo.

Dear ___

The first time we ever talked was in the same bakery I first saw you in, although I will admit it is not as much of a coincidence as it may seem. For every day since I saw you, I wandered around the bakery, hoping to catch a glimpse of your hair again.

First I would wander around the area, walking up and down the road multiple times.

Then I started to stick to the stores right next to the bakery. I bought so many snow globes that I really didn't need, not to mention all those picture frames…

Finally, picking up the courage to meet you, I walked into the bakery. I waited around a bit, but eventually it became clear that you were not making an appearance. Dejected, I decided to get something anyway. I had come to the bakery after all.

"Excuse me, how much for kikufuku" I'd asked

"That's be $3 good sir"

It was as I pulled the notes from my wallet that I heard a familiar voice shrieking,

"ANTONIO HOW DARE YOU RIP OFF THIS GOOD MAN?"

To this day it might be my favourite statement of all time.

I turned around to meet your eyes. All was a blur and before I knew it I had a loaf of bread in my hand along with two of the three dollars I was about to hand in.

"..hello?"

I blinked myself back to reality as I saw you waving your palm good naturedly in front of my face.

"Oh h-hi…"

I saw you giggle, probably at the sight of my extremely flustered face. I could feel the heat absorbing all common sense from my brain.

"What's your name, sir?"

"Sato- Gojo…Gojo Satoru…" I breathed out, "and you?"

"____"

I don't think you will ever realize how much that day changed me. And that's okay. I don't want you to feel the anguish I do. I just want you to keep smiling and giggling as you love to. Oh, and chewing off Antonio's ears, of course.

Yours forevermore,

Gojo.

Dear ___

I know we're just friends, but sometimes when you show up at my door with a bag of sweets that you just happened to remember were my favourite, I wonder if there is something deeper; if there is any possibility that you could feel what I feel. And when you hand me the bag, I wonder if I was just imagining the way your touch lingered as our fingers grazed, if I was just imagining your gaze momentarily resting on mine with the same intensity with which I look and think of you.

I know we're just friends, but then why is it that every moment we spend apart from each other feels like my heart is getting ripped out piece by piece? And I know that you would never experience the anguish I do, but then as we spend hours and hours on the telephone talking and laughing about anything and everything, I can't help but wonder if you would do this just for a friend. I again let myself hope that maybe, maybe you felt at least a fraction of the deep devotion I felt for you. But I would never, ever mention it. For the thought of losing what we have now, of losing the ability to experience heaven even in such simple ways, brings me fear that gnaws at my heart and soul. So I hide my worries and my wishes as I keep listening to the sound of your voice through the telephone.

I know we're just friends but do friends have such deep understanding of each other to the point where your wish is nothing but my instinct?

I know we're just friends but are the lives of friends so deeply intertwined in each other that when you lie next to them you can't sense where you end and they begin? When you can't remember if you're in your house or theirs for that is how much time you spend in each other's lives. At what point of spending every day together does my life turn into yours. ____  I don't know how I can go on living without telling you how much you mean to me.

I know we're just friends, but sometimes I feel the line blurring away when we're drunk and unstable and tangled in each other, both of us holding the other for support. And as we messily fall onto the floor, giggling at our pathetic state, I take the moment to cradle you in my arms. In your drunken frenzy you place the softest of kisses on my cheek, only to fall asleep on my shoulder immediately after. When I'm staring at you longingly I can't help but wonder, what are we? What is this love, this gentleness, this warmth? Is this friendship? Is friendship supposed to be so overwhelming? The weight of these questions momentarily crush me, but it all fades away as I stare at your beautiful being, peacefully snoring on my shoulder. And in that moment, all my worries take the backseat, and all I care about is protecting this peace of yours. Whether I do that as a lover or a friend is not a matter to me.

Yours forevermore,

Gojo.

This might be the last time I speak of my love for you, for today you told me that you love me too. So I no longer have to express it in secret, but I can let you know wholeheartedly.

I will never forget the way your head rested against my shoulder, nose-deep in your book. And as I failed to look away from you, I didn’t realize that you had turned to look at me too. I will never forget the way your hand rested on my shoulder as you pulled yourself up to look me in the eye, while I sat there stupidly, mesmerized by the way you moved, so gentle, so light, so ethereal.

Most importantly, I will never forget the way you cupped my face, the subtlest of tears shining in your eyes, and told me, breath hitching at every note,

"Satoru I don't know what I'm feeling. I know I shouldn't be feeling this but I don’t know what it is. I don’t know if you do either. It would kill me to ruin our friendship but this anguish is killing me too and so I'm going to kiss you now and if you don’t like it feel free to punch me"

You leaned forward, and just before you kissed me you stole a glance at my face. And that was when I let go of all the restraints I had placed on my heart.

It was something in the way that our eyes locked;  the brilliant world built on the lies of our hearts crumbling as I cried on your lips in prayer. Maybe this was sin, but the tears I drank were proof that underneath all the chaos hid something real, and it was hidden for no reason but the fact that the world my god created was also made of the same kind of sin as her touch, unprepared to accept the beauty of it all. Damn the preachers, look at her face. Will not the angels sing in her name? If God hated sin so, why did he give her the same beauty as that of his mountains and oceans and the moon? We all are born of sin and sinners at the hour of our death, but I alone had the privilege of being absolved by sin.

I love you, ___. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

Yours forevermore,

Satoru.

Dear ___

I know I said I wouldn’t write more of these since I don’t need to hide my love for you any longer but it turns out I'm incapable of stopping my expression of devotion towards you. I love you in ways that I want to etch down. I want to world to know how much I love you. Even after we're dead and gone, I want these words to stay there forever, because that is the nature of my love for you. Permanent. Everlasting.

I love the way your pretty little hands smooth over my tensed shoulders when I've had a long day. Your chest against my back, your hands enveloping me from behind, the way you whisper into my ear has me wishing for nothing more than the moment to last forever. I love you.

I love the way you kiss me. I love the way you cup my cheeks like a child before kissing them. I love the way you kiss my forehead, the way you kiss my nose, the way you kiss my upper lip, my chin, my shoulder, my eyes. Every bit of proof that an angel like you could ever love me has me in awe, in reverence of how simple it is for you to have me wrapped around your little finger. I love you.

I love the soft little touches that are so characteristic of the way you love. I love the way you fix my messy hair. I love the way you pull me closer during cold breezes, claiming it is to keep me warm. And I stand there in adoration of how cute you look as you hide yourself in the crook of my jacket. And I embrace you in my warmth as if I could never let you go. I love the way you absent mindedly play with my fingers. I love the way you link your arms with mine. I love the way you lean in close to wipe something from the corners of my mouth. I love all of it I love you.

I love it when you're so happy that you do a little dance. I love it when you're so nervous about sneaking away from an important meeting with your family members and running to me that you keep spacing out a little, making that really cute zoned out face of yours. I even love your beautiful diamond tears, even if I hate what it is that made you cry, when you're frustrated with all that your mother and father want from you. I love you I love you I love you.

I love you so much, ___. I can only hope that I remind you of it enough.

Love,

Satoru

"Mama that paper is pretty crumplyy- Mama are you ok?"

Dear ___

No.

It can't be.

I keep telling myself it can't be but your words cling to my skin, the cacophony of which psychedelically revolve around my soul.

It can't be It can't be It can't be

“'toru… we can’t do this anymore. It’s over. I'm getting married.”

 “Married? You’re joking, right? Did your parents finally find some guy who fits their impossibly high standards?”

 “This isn’t a joke, toru, They have found someone. He’s a good match. Someone stable, responsible. I’ve… agreed to it.”

“Wait… you agreed to it? So you’re just… going along with it? After everything we’ve been through? After us?”

“Please don’t make this harder than it already is. My family expects me to marry someone who can provide stability, someone they can rely on. You and I… we were just… a dream.”

“A dream? That’s what this was to you? A dream? And you’re just going to… throw it away?”

“Yes I mean… toru, look at you. You live life as if you’re still a kid, as if nothing really matters. You laugh everything off, even the serious things, and that’s— That’s not what I need! I need someone who can give me certainty. Someone who can give me a future.”

“Certainty? Is that all I am to you, just some silly guy who can’t give you a future? Because I would have. I would have done anything to make it work, and you know it.”

“No, Satoru, you wouldn’t have, You’d have tried for a while, but eventually, you’d get restless. That’s who you are—you go wherever you feel like going, with no thought for consequences, no… no sense of commitment. And I can’t live like that.”

“You don’t know that! You’re deciding all this for both of us. You’re… you’re running away, choosing some path that someone else picked out for you. How is that the stability you want? It’s just… it’s just giving up.”

“No, it’s not giving up! You don’t understand. This isn’t just about you or me. It’s about family, tradition… things that are bigger than both of us. You’re acting like a child who thinks love is all that matters. Well, it’s not. Not in my world.”

 “I see. So you’d rather marry a stranger than even give us a chance? Than let me try to be what you need?”

“Gojo… I love you. But love isn’t enough to change everything. I wish it were. But it’s not.”

“Maybe you don’t love me as much as you think, then.”

“Don’t… don’t say that, I’ll never stop loving you, but I need to let you go. And you…You need to let me go, too. It’ll be easier that way.”

“Easier? You’re not making anything easier, trust me. I’ll never forget you. I’ll always wonder what we could’ve been… but you’re right, aren’t you? I’m just too silly, too carefree to matter.”

Naoya Zenin. The heir of one of the biggest families in the nation. Rich, powerful, handsome. Perfect. He was perfect it seemed. And so were you.

But the anger in my heart doesn’t still. Maybe because I don’t want to accept the truth- that I truly was never enough for you.

Because I know that you are not that perfect. Because it was your imperfection that I fell in love with. And the imperfect you casted the imperfect me away because you were imperfect in a way that everyone loved and I was imperfect in a way no one could bear to see. You were imperfect in a way that could be fixed by getting you married (as your wretched family never failed to mention) while I was…unfixable.

Broken.

We were both broken shards, and in our interweaved misery I deluded myself into believing we came from the same piece of glass. When you bled on me I drank your suffering, living through my burning throat just to hold you up. But you were always meant to be great, and I was not. And I told myself that I made you, breathed you into creation. That you were nothing without me. That the time I spent crafting your wings made me something, as if you had not discarded them as soon as you could. Your apathy was cruelty, your fame a testimony to the different seas of being that we are. And as I hung from the broken bridge I built, you flourished.

But in those fluttering moments when our eyes meet, those intense seconds where two frail souls reach out their hands in memory of what once used to be, of what once was the truth, I see that broken woman again. It makes me realize that you were a gorgeous vase dropped on accident, while I was a pair of rose tinted glasses broken in frustration. You were crafted to be beautiful, temporarily set back by fate, while I would forever just be a memory of the lies we tell ourselves.

But a broken vase can never be put back together, and someday, the world would know that your greatness was just a house of cards; fated to be toppled over by the dying breath of the frail strands that tied our hearts together.

Yours,

Satoru.

Dear ___,

I was so sure I understood, so sure that I was the one who’d been wronged. All I saw was you walking away, slipping through my fingers, and it burned—I let it fill me with anger, as if I was the only one hurt by it all. I couldn’t see past my own pain to realize you were scared. You weren’t breaking up with me because you didn’t care, but because you were… trapped.

The Saddest of stories are always of the happiest of people; the ones whose heart lit up at the sight of the world. But the world was too cruel to some of them, and love is never enough to carry one through the ugliness of this world we live in. And soon enough comes a time when looking at a glass of water causes heartache, and every light is so blinding that it physically pains you to get out of bed, and when all that lingers is the feeling of cold numbness inside. By then love is all forgotten, holding no meaning. No amount of care or happiness can fix the damage caused by the seemingly harmless boredom. Boredom then turns to dissatisfaction, and dissatisfaction turns to hopelessness, and through all of this there are those who can put up the façade of a healthy life.

We never see them- or at least see them as they truly are. Sad, Bored, a little dead on the inside. It's not like they seem to be happy or cheerful either- just nothing out of the ordinary. But the ordinary deceives the mind, and we leave out those little moments when their face breaks and the tears slip and the bandaid falls of- not because the wound has healed, but because it has bled too much. And also because it is not the kind of wound that a bandaid can fix. But they ignore this, and keep sticking bandaids (sometimes loosely attaching the same one over) in hopes that it will one day work the way they expect. But this only causes the wound to turn toxic, until it turns numb. And you think this means it has healed, but it is only when it is slightly brushed against, and the unbearable pain jolts throughout, that you realize that its just gotten worse in silence.

I didn’t even think to ask if you were okay. I thought you were just cold, maybe even heartless, telling me you needed someone more stable, someone responsible. But now, I see that you were pleading for something I didn’t understand. You needed help, someone to see through what you couldn’t say. You needed someone who’d ask why you said those things, why you looked so… afraid. And I missed it. I didn’t stop to question why you had this sadness behind your words, this weight pressing on you. I was too focused on being right, on feeling betrayed, to see what was right in front of me.

I convinced myself that you just wanted a different life, something that didn’t involve me, when really, you were… struggling. I should have seen that the way you talked about him, about your 'future,' was hollow. I should have noticed how you’d say the word 'marriage' like it was a sentence, not a choice. And instead of asking you, instead of listening—I let myself believe you were leaving me for someone else, that you’d never loved me the way I loved you. I made it about me, when all you needed was someone who could see what you couldn’t say out loud.

And now, here I am, replaying every word, every conversation, and wondering why I didn’t ask the right questions, why I didn’t push just a little harder to know what was really going on. I was supposed to be the one who loved you. But instead of standing by you, instead of seeing your fear, I just… got angry. I made you feel like you were wrong for leaving me, when in reality, you were just trying to survive. You were terrified, and I was too wrapped up in my own feelings to realize you needed me.

So now I’m left here with nothing but regrets, wishing I had seen the truth, wishing I’d known enough to tell you I’d help, that you weren’t alone. And now… now it’s too late. And I’ll never forgive myself for that

If only you knew that I would have been there for you. When he hurt your body and your heart and mind, I would have been there. If I had known, an angel like you would not have suffered more than a mere second in the house of a tyrant. If I had known, you would be laughing in my arms instead of crying on his floor. If I had known, maybe you would still be here with me.

Naoya Zenin.

That monster. I always hated him, but I thought… I thought it was jealousy. Just me being petty. But now I see him, in my mind—the way he looked at her, the way he… possessed you, like you were some damn object. He never saw you, not the way you really were. No. To him, you were just something he could cage, something to crush under his control.

How could he do it? How could he look you in the eyes and destroy you? How could he even live with himself? You loved life; you loved people, loved him, once—God, that makes it worse. He didn’t deserve a second of your love. He didn’t even deserve to be in the same room as you, and yet he was the one… he was the one who had you, day after day. His hands, that sick, twisted mind—you suffered because of him. And he’ll never pay enough for what he’s done. No punishment, no hell is deep enough for him.

I should have seen it. All those times I got frustrated with you, thinking you were pulling away, that you were lying to me. But you weren't lying, were you? You were hiding it, hiding the pain… because you knew I wouldn’t understand. I’d always get so mad, so impatient, thinking you were just… playing games, trying to hurt me. But you weren't. You were crying for help, and I just walked away, time after time. I thought I was so… righteous, so hurt. I thought I deserved the truth, that I had the right to be angry.

But I didn’t see your pain, did I? I never stopped to look closer, to ask you if you were really okay. I didn’t see how you’d flinch when he’d call, how you’d go silent, like you were somewhere far away. You were in hell, and all I cared about was my own heart. I was supposed to protect you, and instead, I pushed you back into his arms. I let you go back to him, and now… now you're gone."

And there’s nothing I can do to bring you back. Nothing I can do to make up for the times I failed you, for not listening, for not… seeing. It’s too late. I lost you forever. And it’s my fault.

I'm sorry, love.

Yours forevermore,

Satoru.

Dear ___

Today I watched you buried. I couldn’t see your face, as I maintained my distance, not trusting myself to be able to bear to be next to the ones who allowed you to be hurt. Moreover, I refuse to believe that you are gone. You're in my heart, and you always will be.

But as the day descended into night, and the yard was empty for miles, I dared to come close.

And I couldn’t hold it in anymore.

I don't know when the hot tears started falling, mind blank as my knees thumped against the cold hard ground. And suddenly, all the agony clutched at my throat till I couldn't breathe, and I sobbed. I sobbed and bawled till I couldn’t feel my breath anymore. I needed the pain out of me but I didn't know how and in a vain attempt to ease the pain I punched and punched the ground as if it would cause you to come back to life again. As if it was the fault of the earth for taking you away from me. I cried hideously and clawed monstrously at the ground, but nothing changed. I rested my head on the grass in exhaustion, and thumped my head against the ground in anger as the tears kept falling. But even as I choked on the soil, nothing changed. I was still alone except for the company of the solitude taking pity on my pathetic state. I could feel the nothingness embrace me, comforting me, for I was truly alone in the world now, and I could feel it to my core.

And although my heart is numb and even as the bruises on my fingers from punching the floor bleed onto the page, I cannot stop myself from writing. I write and write and write because these letters are the only thing keeping you alive and I'm afraid if I stop then you will truly be gone and that can't be it can't be it can't.

 Because no matter where you are, my heart still beats for you. And despite the pain that follows the realization that yours no longer beats at all, I want to live forever. I want this simple heart of mine to thrum in your honor until the end of time. So that I can keep the feeling of being in love with you. So that I can, just for a moment, remember that I had the honour of being in love with you. Because nothing compares to being in love with you.

Yours yesterday, today, and forevermore,

Satoru.

a/n: hope you enjoyed. ive never written for jjk before and although ive watched the show and am familiar w the manga idk if this is ooc im sry. i have wanted to write for jjk for a while now tho so i am glad i did. i love angst if you couldnt tell btw.

[angelicaether]

Kinktober Three | Lasko/Dear | Priest Kink

Give it up for day three! Based on an idea from @pycth :3 Hope y'all enjoy!

Lasko is a devoted priest, but this is put to the test when a concubus starts appearing to him.

This is an 18+ fic! MDNI!

Lasko’s hands shook as he flipped through the pages of his bible, searching for the verses that he had planned on reading. He pushed his glasses up on his nose, the frames slipping from the sweat that dripped down his forehead. To anyone else, he probably looked fevered, the devoted priest willing to preach even when he’s sick.

Lasko knew the truth. 

He didn’t know how or when it had happened, but they appeared in the dark of his room late one night. He’d gotten up for some water and had nearly dropped the glass on the hardwood when they came to him, all swaying hips and glowing eyes. They’d strode up to him and backed him into the wall, their mouth on his before he could think to say anything. Clawed hands had roamed under his shirt and down the front of his pants, leaving him panting and breathless and unsure if it had really happened. 

Now, he was standing in front of the congregation. Stuttering his way through verses, praying to his God that his knees didn’t give out. Ghostly hands had tugged his pants down, a heavenly mouth taking him in. He bit back a groan as his hips bucked forward on their own, his knuckles white as he gripped the podium in front of him. He risked a glance down and regretted it. 

Eyes that glowed pink greeted him, hair that swept over horns. They had spit and his precum smeared across their chin and their fingers ended in sharp points. He thought they were the most beautiful and dangerous thing he had ever seen. 

“Father?” 

One of the congregation members was looking at him with concern and he cleared his throat, coughing nervously. He straightened up, pretending not to hear the lewd noises that were happening just below his waist. 

“Sorry, let us continue.” 

These instances just kept happening. The figure never spoke a word to him. They pinned Lasko against walls, held him in confessional booths, and bent him over his own bed. In him, on him, they wrapped their pointed tail around his wrists and rode him until he was shaking and sobbing. 

They came to him at all times of day, and he felt himself get half-hard when they appeared to him, a smirk gracing soft lips that he longed to feel on his. This concubus haunted him, led him into sin and out again and he felt like he was coming apart at the seams more and more each time. 

It was a normal occurrence at this point, the church had seen its last visitors more than twenty minutes prior and Lasko was sitting in the confessional booth alone, praying but he wasn’t sure if it was for his own salvation or his damnation. It seemed the latter when he saw a figure appear in front of the door to the booth. They didn’t need to open doors, a devil that could appear wherever and whenever they wanted. They only existed in his eyes, a nonexistent phantom to all others. Some part of him liked that they were only for his eyes. 

The concubus trapped him against his seat, one knee between his. Their hand came up and tugged at his clergy collar, tucked into his shirt collar. The white stark against the black of the fabric, a testament to his devotion. They slid it out of its spot, nails catching on his skin. 

“Are you ready to give this up, yet, Priest?” Their voice was low and sensual, the syllables drawn out. He swallowed hard, not trusting himself to speak. Instead, he gave a small shake of his head. “Suit yourself.” 

[demiromanticmickey]

On today's "I am SO not normal about Dead Friend Forever": Discussing Catholicism and Colonization in this gay Thai slasher series

Some background on me: I am from a Latine Catholic family. Raised as a non-practicing Catholic (we didn't go to church or pray). Then my parents enrolled me in a Catholic school that I attended from 5th grade to the end of 7th grade. Today, I am not Catholic and have never really considered myself as such.

Ok, so in the flashback episodes of DFF, I have been noticing a lot of things. My findings under the cut.

Let's start with this crucifix and photo of the Virgin Mary and a baby Jesus.

Screenshot from ep. 5.

The camera lingers here a bit so we're obviously meant to pay attention to the phrase. I put the screenshot through Google translate's image translator and the translation it gave me was, "Think good, do good, be a good person." I didn't think much of it when I first watched the episode other than it was supposed to establish that the boys attend a Christian or Catholic school.

But then there was this image posted on Be On Cloud's Instagram (also from ep. 5): X

Zooming in, we can see there's another picture of Mary in the background. Watching the classroom scenes, it's easy to miss because the series itself is more washed out than the official photos posted. But this emphasis on Mary led me to believe the school is a Catholic one. So out of curiosity, I looked up the schools the writers and directors attended because I felt I was onto something here. And boy, was I!

Source: MDL

Ma-Deaw, if you didn't know, is one of the directors of Dead Friend Forever (he also directed Manner of Death and Inhuman Kiss , and lots of other things).

One Google search later (X) and I learned "Montfort College" is a Catholic school. It started out as a primary school that later added a secondary school as well.

Now let's take a closer look at some of the details of this school:

First, the school's motto "Labor Conquers All Things". This reminded me of the phone conversation Tee had with his uncle:

On my first watch, this sounded familiar to me but I couldn't really place why. It wasn't until I saw this other Tumblr post (X) that pointed out it's similar to a bible quote from the New Testament. The quote varies a bit depending on which version of the bible you're using but it's along the lines of, "He who does not work, neither shall he eat".

This is meant to discourage "laziness". Nevermind the fact that people deserve to eat simply because we get hungry and need food to survive. The idea that we only "deserve" things based on productivity is an extremely colonial one. — Reminder also that Tee is being forced into this "work" in the first place. He's just a high school kid. I don't need to like his character to understand how fucked up his situation is.

Then there's the patron of the school. St. Louis de Montfort was a French Catholic priest most known for his study in Mariology. What is Mariology (X)? The study of Mary, the mother of Jesus. I didn't know that was a thing but it's unsurprising considering how prominent images of Mary were in my own religious upbringing. And she's what started me down this rabbit hole in the first place. Mary is a big deal to the Catholics. I'm going to be paying even more attention now if more Mary imagery pops up.

The Garden of Eden and Original Sin

Now I want to draw attention to these images:

Screenshots from ep. 7

Here we have Non and Phee biting into an apple as they leisure around this lush green field. We know they've visited this location more than once because they're wearing different outfits in the screenshots. And I think it's important to note that it's Phee holding the apple and offering it to Non.

The use of the word "bait" in the bts of ep. 7 is quite interesting too. (X)

The Garden of Eden was the paradise in which Adam and Eve resided. In this garden, there were many trees to eat from. The one tree Adam and Eve were forbidden by God to eat from was the Tree of Knowledge. A serpent (Satan), first tempted Eve into taking from the tree to eat it's fruit. And then Eve gave the fruit to Adam. That is Original Sin. And because Adam and Eve ate from the Tree of Knowledge, all humans thereafter are born sinful and bad, and can only find salvation through God.

Of course in the scene between Phee and Non, the sin the apple represents is being gay. And it's after this, and after the bracelet scene, that Non becomes involved with Por's film and his tragedy begins.

Zoomed in screenshot from ep. 5

And I wonder if the bracelet scene is the last time Phee and Non visit this forest location. It would parallel how Adam and Eve were cast out of the Garden of Eden once they sinned.

Final Thoughts

You give me a story that criticizes Western religion and how it's used as a tool for oppression and colonization, and I'm gonna eat that shit up. I am gonna eat it up. Every. Single. Time.

I really wasn't expecting anything like this from Dead Friend Forever. This level in attention to detail is unmatched. I don't think I've watched a more well planned out show. And no matter where DFF goes from here, these seven episodes will always hold a special place in my heart. 💗

[sinner-sunflower]

A HH Lucifer-centric AU 19/?

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10, PART 11, PART 12, PART 13, PART 14, PART 15, PART 16, PART 17, PART 18, PART 20, PART 21, PART 22

Hello!!! How's everyone's weekend?!

I had the most relaxing trip of my life. Me and my best friend went on a picnic and the place was so gorgeous I wish I was rich enough to have that kind of landscaping.

Anyway!

Here's my update. I hope you all enjoy.

As always: likes, reblogs, and ESPECIALLY COMMENTS are so appreciated and it honestly gives me motivation. We're near the end meaning this might end this week :((

Disclaimer: I did get some help with chat gpt for some paragraphs just to get my ideas across and also because English is not my first languagee. I edited them of course myself because u know how automated shit can be.

I'm learning I promise!

-------------------------------------------------

Every denizen of Hell held their breath in anticipation as each agonizing minute passed without a word from the King. Some feared he had met his demise the moment he entered, leaving them grasping at false hope. The Overlords pondered the same grim possibility but dared not voice it in the presence of higher demons.

Amidst the tension, the task of pacifying Paimon fell upon the Goetias, who found themselves ensnared in his relentless tirade about their illustrious King and their collective duty to fix Hell's problems, a duty he believed lay solely with them, not Lucifer.

The Sins, meanwhile, remained vigilant, their eyes fixated on the entrance through which Lucifer had disappeared, searching for any subtle sign of their brother's fate.

Satan, ever watchful, kept a peripheral eye on Goodie. The Good of Humanity had fallen into an unusual silence since Lucifer embarked on his suicide mission. Unlike the rest, she wore neither worry nor despair on her face, hell, not even of glee; instead, there was a knowing glint in her eyes the Sin of Wrath definitely did not like. He could only hope Lucifer emerges from all of this still himself.

At the very back, Vox stole a glance at his rival, noting the whatever-the-fuck thing he had with the King. He half-expected the radio demon to remain his usual apathetic self. And he was half right. The guy was smiling with no care in the world. Yet, to his surprise, a strained smile is etched the demon's face. It's not as noticeable but if you've been looking at Alastor as closely as Vox had been for the past how many years, it's like a giant pimple you can't ignore. There was a glassy look in his eyes, as if the radio demon is going to-

Vox wonders incredulously if his wiring got fried by that shockwave earlier because there is no fucking way.

The media demon is silently thankful he couldn't finish that thought as they are knocked down once more.

----------------------------------------------

It all unfolded in a blink, leaving them no time to respond. The ground quaked with a force that they realized was from the towering tree that's trembling before them. Roots and branches contorted, twisting inwards and outwards like a well-oiled machine, as if the very essence of the tree was tearing itself apart. Red flowers all around withered as the oppressive miasma dispersed. Then, with a thunderous crash, the colossal tree collapsed into a single heap.

The dust clears presenting a lone figure stands in the center of it all.

Belphagor: Lucifer!

There stood the King of Hell, his horns protruding proudly and his corrupted halo casting an ominous black glow. His six wings spread wide, a testament to his power and dominance. It was Lucifer. But... something seemed off.

The Sin of Pride appeared altered. His once pure white attire had transformed into black, adorned with accents of red. His porcelain skin, once flawless, now bore a grayish, melancholic hue. However, the most striking change lay in his hair—it was no longer the radiant gold of angels, but a sinister black with tendrils of creeping red, moving like of the deadly miasma.

Lucifer looked like a shadow of himself.

Before anyone could react, the fallen angel lunged towards Goodie, swiftly pinning her to the ground.

Lucifer: Ẏ̷̨̖̯͎̤͎͖̪̆̀̊͌͑̓̇o̵̻͗̔͊̃͘̚͠ṳ̸͎̍̊͗̌̈ ̵̱͙͇͛͑i̴̳͈̗̺͒̏̃̀̚͝n̸̢̧̖͖͚͉͙̤͇͆̃͛͊̿͛́̚͘s̸͇͚̱͍͈̤̘̒̂̈́̆͗̈̆ͅó̵̇̅́͜l̶͇̝̞̜̰̘͊̒͂̓͝ë̶̮͔̰́̀̑̔̽͊̐n̶̡̧̗̤̘̞̑̇̀t̴͙̲̳̦̦͎͔̠̔ ̵̮̰̞͐̌͌b̸̧͚̾i̴̧̜̪̳̤͔̹͉̦̇͠t̴͖̐̀̾̌̽̎̂̅͜ͅc̵̛̞̳͛̋̆̏͆̏h̷̟̺̬̗͗̉̓̍!̴͉̲̼̪͓̻̪̻̀̊ ̷͇͓̲̬͍̦̙̹͓̔̈́͊̇

Goodie chokes from the stench of hellfire on her skin.

Goodie: I never lied to you, angel. I told you that you were the key.

Lucifer: Y̷̢̘̻̩̲͐͋̐̌́́͝ŏ̴͎̌́u̷̟̯͋ ̶͔̝̘̓̈́̄̈́́̀̐ǵ̸͍͌͝͝á̵̧̫͔̤̘̹̓͗͂v̶̢͕̘̼̦̰̐ẽ̵̝̥͈̝̓͋̌̋͠ ̸̝͙̐̓m̵̩͖͍͒͌͛̔e̸̤̹̻̪͇͔̽̇ ̵̜̬̰̟̖̘͈̐̆̀á̸̻̜̬̫̝͇͚ ̷̢̗̠̮͊ͅf̶̡̩̟͘͝a̵̢͎͆k̷̲̰͓̤̐͌̽͐̿̕͠e̷̛̪̖̅̒̀̓͐͜ͅ ̸̭͙̫̂̚ͅs̴̩̝̺͕̲̯͒e̸̮͍̤̦̯̎̈́̔̌̇͌ä̷̳̖͓̒̕l̶̦̬̙̘̝̉̏̔̈́͆͘͠.̸̨͓͉͒̄̚ ̶͈͆̽̿̋̑̈̕T̶̗̹̱̞̭̩͉̍͆̀̚é̵̹̗͖ļ̶̜̬͍͓̗̿͑̾̋̏̕l̸̛̀̆̓̾ͅ ̷̡̗̼̀̿̓m̸̛̗̞͕̠̟ę̵̬̰̻̮͎̉̓ ̵̥̩̞̮͈͖̅̃̑͜͝ŵ̷͈̥͕̦̘̙̏h̶̝͈̬͖̲̯̝͊̓̕ȳ̴̱̓̄̎͝ ̵̛̣̭̘͔͋̏́̀̋I̵̡̦̬̬̫͓̭͆̍͌͗̍́̀ ̶̛͈͆s̵̛̗͙̙̭h̷̝͌͌͜͝͠ȏ̴̝̹̻͚̾́̃̔͘͝ư̸̮͓̰̖͔̙̇́͊̽̐̔l̶͙̟̙̣̮̱̞̂͌̏͗d̴̢͊͒̉̈ ̸̠̠̮̉̿n̴͚̯̜̫̊ō̴̡͉̪̥̗̹̲̽̄̀̕t̴̢̺̱̊̉̎̕͜͠ ̷̛̹̜̿͝ķ̴̻͚̙͔̈́͊̍í̸̥̼͕̮̾̿͌l̷̢͂̏͆͊̃͠l̷̡̨͎̪̝̖̱̽̽̓͐̀́̈́ ̷͖̿̋͛y̶̻̝̆͂͝ỏ̸̧̹͇̫̀̐̀̍͋̃ų̶̟̩͔͇̝͚̎̈́̑̕͠ ̵͍̃͗͠ẁ̷̝̟̥̰̘͎͒͛́͒h̵̦̜̩̬͋͐̋ė̶̃͜ṙ̸̡̧̟͉̻̬͚̅e̵̤̮̟͌̓ ̴̹͕̮͍̺̲͇̉y̴̨̛̪͛̍̓̏ô̴͔͍͉̅̈́̌u̴̙͖͖͎͐͛̒ ̶̟̙͍̖̭̃̌́l̵̙̽̈́̐͝á̷̡͔̞͈̜͎͒͌̑̐͝y̴̼̹̪̻̒̓̽̀̚?̴̛̻̘͈͍͕̒̃̀̓̏

Goodie: It was not a fake. Without it, you would have perished the moment you set foot in-ah!-side.

Lucifer: H̵̹̩̗̑̎̈́́̕o̷̘͝ẇ̷̢̨̛͇̞̝̦̠̎ ̸̯̹͋̃͑͘͝d̴͉̭̟̫̙̠͂à̶͎̮̝̺̺̥͙̓͛͂̒́ŗ̴̡̺̬̭̝̳̓̈́̑̍͝ĕ̷͓̕ ̸̺͈̖̣̳̃y̴̜̞͆͑̉͠o̴͓͋ủ̸͈͎̳̥͈̞̍̀͜ ̸̥̑͐̇̂̈́̐͝t̶͓͋r̶̼͠ỉ̸͍̻̫̩͍̓͌̍̄͝ċ̷̞̤̭̳̈́̓́̃k̶̖̹͙̋̓̑̀̅̔͊ ̵͙̠̻̜̎ͅt̵̛͇̀̑̀h̴̛̥͉̲̬̰͛̊̀̅͝e̵͇̮̫̟̗̍͊̓ ̶̰͎̟̜̗̈̋͂̓K̶̞͉̰̫̂͂̋͝ͅi̷̯̟̤̽͛̈͑n̵̬͙͑̉̍͊̕͠ģ̸͖͍̪̉͗̂͠ ̷̣̯͖̭̜̀ͅǫ̵̨̣̿̽̑͜f̶͔͖̬͐͌ ̸̼̅̿͒̎́Ḣ̴͎͕̳́ͅe̶̛̞̱̦͈l̴̡̲̯͔̰̱̂̅̀̄̈͗͋l̸͍̩̯̗̏?̴̯̥̭̦͙̃̏!̸̼̹͍͖͒̊̅̊̌̔̍

Goodie: Do not delude yourself. There was no chance that this could have ended differently.

Lucifer was heaving so much that Goodie could sense his energy waning. Seizing the opportunity, she managed to escape his clutches. Despite the danger surrounding her, (such bothersome loyalty) she couldn't resist letting out a chuckle, teasing the angel one last time.

Goodie: I gotta say, angel, I do like your new look. Corruption definitely suits you.

Lucifer: F̸̢̨͔̲͖̖̳͍̑̽͜U̵̼̪̰͈̟̜͙͌́́̅̈́̔C̷̢̯͓̘̬͖̝̎K̶̳̖͓̘̝̗̀̓̈́̾̉̾̾͊͠͝Î̶͇͕͚̪̭̎N̴͉̟͍̻͇̚G̵̠̲̰͈̖̎͂͋̾ ̴̧̥͕̹̭̘̜͍̟̎̂̔͗̋̿̒B̶̢̦̤̥͕͉͋̂͌́́͂̈̔͠I̸̗̭̼͊̐͂̀̈́̐̏̐T̸̠̹͓̮̱̻̹̯͉̦̍̔̽̍̄͌̆C̸͍̩̉̈́̈́̄͒̓͑̾͝ͅḨ̴̦̙͉̫̪̫̇̀̄̈́̋͘!

Lucifer then collapses to his knees, clutching his throat as if he's drowning in searing heat. Confusion and desperation fill his voice as he struggles for breath.

Lucifer: How? *gasp* why? *gasp* -trusted-

There's a flurry of movement around him, voices overlapping and blending into a chaotic white noise. Amidst it all, someone speaks with a commanding tone, their words cutting through the haze.

Alastor: Listen to only me, my dear.

There was a faint humming of music? Was Alastor here?

Alastor: I'm here, my Majesty. Calm yourself. You need not to panic.

He's trying, he really is. But his ears are muddled and he can't understand anything anymore. Everything is happening all at once, leaving him disoriented and terrified.

As consciousness begins to slip through his grasp, the Sin of Pride feels a sense of detachment. A new presence moves in front of him, accompanied by a chorus of apologies that echo faintly in his ears.

A cool sensation brushes against his fevered forehead, offering a brief respite from the overwhelming heat and chaos. And with that fleeting moment of relief, Lucifer succumbs to the darkness.

Roo: How fun~

--------------------------------------

Transformation central! (Transformation central!)

Reformation central! (Reformation central!)

Transmogrification central!

[rats-hyperfixation-corner]

gg ship tier list bc fuck it (explanations under cut)

F

Asuka x HC: i don't like mentor and mentee dynamics, also i headcannon HC as aro/ace and really not wanting a relationship unless it's for the memes

A.B.A x Ramleathal: i don't want ram to get hurt

all the bedman ones: isn't he like at most in his teens?

I-no x HC: i don't think i-no likes HC at all

Millia x zato: i think their dynamic is more father/daughter. i just think that makes Zato's redemption far more interesting

D

Sol x Ky: let them be rivals

May x Chipp: why? i think they'd kill eachother

Chipp x Nago: why? (pt.2)

Bridget x Sin: would be great friends, but i can't see them as a couple

Gio x Goldlewis: see above

C

crushing apathy for all of them

B

Pot x Gabriel: i like it

Johnny x leo: a fun himbo x himbo bRomance

I-no x Jack-o: the silly

Goldlewis x Vernon: i get he hates his job, but old man yaoi

Bridget x jam: i wish i could tell you. i just think it's fun

April x May: they give comedy duo vibes, and comedy are always homoerotic

Anji x Chipp:

Anji x Asuka: Anji flirting with the dude who blew up his home will always be funny

Asuka x I-no x Raven x Jack-o: i would not want to be next to their booth at dennys. so i like it

Asuka x Raven: (see april x may)

A

Asuka x Sol: weird enemies to lovers that i like

Sol x Axl: i like the idea of the comic relief x the MC

Ky x Dizzy: not the best but im a sucker for cannon, and their marryed

Chipp x Answer: nerd x dumbass. i like it

Leo x Ram: i think it's super cute

I-no x Axl: LORE

Millia x Elphelt: wasn't expecting to like it as much i as do, but i find it sweet

S

Robo-ky x Venom: my sillies

Slayer x Sharon: dandy

Johnny x Testament: my other sillies. also fanartists do better with this one

A.B.A x Paracelsus: i love these two

Baiken x Anji:

Aria x Sol: most of the plot comes from this so yeah it's a given

Sol x Jack-o: super wholesome ,and also I tend to like cannon ships a lot

[libby-for-life]

Inspired by @talesfromawannabejournalist, who's more than welcome to join in and turn this into a Role Play.

Lucifer let out a weary sigh as he slouched in his chair, surrounded by a mountain of paperwork. As the ruler of Hell, he was burdened with endless administrative tasks, particularly because he governed over a horde of sinful souls who were constantly attempting to exploit loopholes in his decrees. A low, menacing growl rumbled in his chest as he contemplated the audacity of certain Overlords who had grown increasingly bold in their defiance of his authority.

He found some solace in being the ruler of Hell, knowing that it afforded him the ability to provide his daughter, Charlotte, with anything her heart desired. The thought of his cherished five-year-old daughter brought a rare smile to his face. Amidst the darkness and suffering of his domain, she was the sole source of light and joy. The only one who could get him to feel something other than hate.

Not even her mother could do that.

Lilith Morningstar was a remarkable figure. Not only was she considered the First Woman, but she also held a special place in his heart when she was first created. It's possible that he truly loved her for a while. However, it became evident that she had evolved into someone quite different from the woman he initially fell in love with.

They remained in a relationship for the sake of appearances; Lucifer believed he was in love with Lilith and didn't want to face ridicule for divorcing after going through so much to be together in the first place. Ending their marriage would have felt like admitting defeat, so despite Lilith having multiple lovers, they chose to stay together to avoid gossip and judgment.

He let out another heavy sigh, his eyes lingering on the ornate clock hanging on the wall. Extermination Day was looming on the horizon. It was a day designed to prevent the forces of Hell from ever mounting a challenge against Heaven. Once a year, angelic beings descended to eradicate the Sinners. Lucifer couldn't help but feel a sense of indifference towards the fate of the Sinners. He resented Heaven's interference in his affairs, yet begrudgingly accepted it and turned a blind eye.

As he strolled to the balcony, a sense of anticipation welled up inside him. He knew that before long, the familiar portal would open, allowing the angels to enter his kingdom. His brother had assumed the role of the leader of the Exorcists for quite a while now, and every time he beheld the leader in all his majestic splendor, Lucifer couldn't help but feel a surge of resentment. Despite the physical distance between them, his status as the Devil endowed him with formidable power, enabling him to perform feats that surpassed the capabilities of ordinary demons and humans. For instance, his ability to perceive events transpiring over vast distances was a testament to his extraordinary prowess.

As he gazed at the figure adorning the majestic armor that belonged to Michael, he couldn't help but notice the subtle yet distinct differences in appearance. The way the light reflected off the intricately crafted armor only served to emphasize the fact that this new angel was unlike any he had encountered before. With a sense of intrigue and suspicion creeping into his thoughts, he carefully concealed himself within the shadows and silently took flight from his balcony, determined to closely observe and scrutinize this enigmatic new leader.

This one was beyond different and when he took off his helmet, most likely to get some fresh air on his face, Lucifer's eyes widened. No, it couldn't be. But he would never forget that face. Not even in the millennia that has passed. The new leader of the Exorcists was none other than Adam, the First Man.

And Adam looked so different than when he was in Eden. Lucifer couldn't help but tilt his head in wonder as he gazed at Adam’s beauty. He looked like he had gotten softer, especially in the thigh, stomach, and ass department making Lucifer hum in approval. He certainly looked like a snack...

As he stood there at that moment, he couldn't shake the overwhelming sense of possessiveness and greed that consumed him as it took over. The thought of Adam crossed his mind - what would it be like to be with the First Man of creation? He couldn't help but ponder the idea that no one could truly understand and appreciate Adam the way Lucifer had in Eden, and certainly not in the present moment.

So, without giving a chance for Adam to fly away, he flew out and pinned Adam to the floor of some alleyway. "What?! Let go!" Adam yelled as Lucifer materialized a strong rope to tie Adam's wrist together. "No!" He yelled when his ankles joined him. Lucifer hummed and whispered into Adam's ear. "Hello, Adam. It's been a while."

The angel lied frozen, a flicker of recognition crossing his face as the voice of Lucifer reached his ears. A sense of triumph filled the demon as he watched the angel's reaction. Why wouldn't Adam remember him? Perhaps he still harbored resentment over the incident when he had run away with Adam's wife, but deep down, Adam would always carry memories of their time together before Lilith had even come into existence.

"No...no, not you." Lucifer chuckled in amusement. "Yes. Me." He picked Adam up but not before gagging him. He didn't need to be noisy. He was well aware that Michael would try to make Lucifer give back Adam but they wouldn't dare do it themselves. Not after Lucifer makes a deal to never get involved with Extermination Day or the angels involved with it.

He threw Adam onto his bed and watched as he struggled, glaring at him. He really was cute to be doing that. Lucifer was much more powerful than he was, and if he so desired, then he could destroy him. Adam was lucky that Lucifer was content to just admire.

"Oh, Adam. It really has been a while!" Lucifer said with a smirk, watching as he heaved. Now, all he had to do was wait for his brother to call him so they could negotiate. But, while they were waiting, Lucifer could always see what was under all that armor...

[mossxolotl]

OKAY MASSIVE VENOM THE LAST DANCE SPOILERS AHEAD BUT I'VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT THIS PARALLEL ALL WEEKEND WHO WANTS TO HEAR ABOUT HOW ONE OF THE SCENES AT THE END MIRRORS A PAINTING I wrote a whole analysis under the cut. I’m normal about this symbiote and you should be too

OKAY SO one specific parallel I found is in one of the final scenes of the movie, as Venom is sacrificing himself and saying his goodbyes to Eddie. The positioning of Eddie’s hand and the framing of the reaching shot feels incredibly deliberate, and seems to be a direct mirror of Michaelangelo’s The Creation of Adam, as shown below:

WHAT DOES THIS MEAN THOUGH?? For some art history context:

The Creation of Adam is a fresco piece created by Michaelangelo on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel in the Vatican. Whilst the frescoes in the Chapel were commissioned by a variety of Popes to a variety of Florentine Renaissance master craftsmen, the collection by Michaelangelo on the ceiling and behind the altar, commissioned by Pope Julius II, are widely considered to be the most important. They depict scenes and figureheads of the Old Testament. The Creation of Adam was made in 1511 and took sixteen days of work to complete.

The fresco depicts an illustration of the moment in Genesis where God gives life to Adam, the first man. It seems to be directly inspired in particular by Genesis 1:26:

“Then God said, "Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness"”

The outstretched pose, with the almost but not quite contact, symbolises the divine breath of life, the spark between them that gave mankind life in the first place.

But they don’t touch. Are they reaching out to touch, or are they letting go? If they’re reaching for each other, the painting could depict desire, a want for closeness- and if they’re letting go, an independence, separation, an assertion of “me without you”.

To examine the movie itself: If we look at the screenshot attached, Eddie’s finger placement feels VERY deliberately reminiscent of God’s hand within Michaelangelo’s piece.That outstretched hand, unsure if it’s letting go or grasping out one final time, to Venom’s approaching, then retreating, tendril. Interestingly, though, if Eddie is standing in for God here, he’s depicted in the lower part of the canvas, Venom-Adam approaching from above. This could be reminiscent of His creation becoming “more than him”, ascending beyond His reach.

The roles here are pretty self explanatory. When the symbiotes first landed on Earth in Venom (2018), it was discovered that they could not survive without an oxygen-breathing host, hence the beginning of the symbiosis trials by Drake in the first place. In providing Venom with a suitable environment in which to live, it could be said that Eddie gave Venom life. The inverse could probably also be said to be true- Venom healing Eddie, and providing him with all the strength he does, could be seen as godly acts, especially in the revelation in The Last Dance that he was directly responsible for Eddie’s resurrection. Perhaps one interpretation puts Venom, the strange alien with the ability to keep Eddie walking no matter what, as God initially created Adam with the prospect of eternal life. The other could be stated that Eddie is directly allowing Venom to live in providing him with the perfect host, in a unique way to any other temporary host.

The Venom story in Spiderman can be seen as biblical, anyway - a lot of Venom’s scenes are around churches, and the storyline shows Peter paying for his sins, purging his “inner demon” and being reborn. A lot of Venom’s storylines can be seen in a similar way, with him being a literal personification of a violent, intrusive line of thoughts before he and Eddie find a way to coexist in a healthier (albeit imperfect) way.

The science bit that ties it all together:

A deeper dive into the composition of the fresco reveals a lot more, though. An article written by Frank Lynn Meshberger, MD, makes an argument that the painting can be interpreted in a neuroanatomical manner. The shape of the drapery and the angelic figures around God resemble a human brain, in surprising anatomical detail. 

In this interpretation, God is superimposed over the limbic system, which is responsible for emotion, memory, learning, behaviour and motivations. His arm extends through the prefrontal cortex, “the most creative and most uniquely human region of the brain”.

Michelangelo had a lifelong interest in anatomy that extended beyond the artistic, participating in public dissections from a very young age. Thus, it isn’t out of the realm of possibility that this brainlike imagery is entirely deliberate - especially when his religious views are considered. He believed that the divinity we get from God is not life itself, but our intelligence, that it is one thing to give life to stone but another entirely to give it the ability to “try all things received”. In the painting, Adam is completely formed, aware, alive even, so perhaps it is not the gift of life being given in this moment - it’s the intellectual spark that the artist believed makes us human rather than beast, and the awakening of human ability and consciousness.

In this line of reasoning, the symbolism in Venom: The Last Dance makes even more sense with Eddie as the Godlike figure in this instance. In a literal sense, Venom lives within Eddie’s mind when he is dormant, and puppets his body similarly to an external nervous system. More figuratively, though, at this point in the movie, it’s perhaps made most obvious just how much Eddie has changed Venom. He is capable of emotional reasoning, as starkly shown in his sacrifice. He has spent half the movie reminiscing on his and Eddie’s memories. He is very obviously a being that behaves very differently to how he did in Venom (2018), with very different motivations.

Eddie, in metaphorically reaching through that prefrontal cortex towards Venom, has made him more human, has gifted him with that human spark of life and intelligence and human ability to do and to be and to try all things received (and he does, most dramatically, in Venom: Let There Be Carnage, and in his enthusiasm in throwing himself into things Eddie is more hesitant to - singing in the car, dancing, gambling even). And that’s how he dies - humanly, emotionally, simultaneously reaching out to Eddie and letting him go in the same motion, independent from him in a way that is both a first step into individuality, and the last sacrifice he will ever make for his best friend. (Well, boyfriend. Come the fuck on. “You would make a great father” and then the wedding scene cut?? MARVEL WHEN I GET YOU MARVEL)

ALSO THE FACT A PAINTING ABOUT LIFE’S CREATION MIRRORS VENOM’S DEATH?? HELLO. Either this is some massive dramatic opposition for effect or it’s foreshadowing. What if something was created at that moment. Cue the cockroach, cue the whole thing with Knull. Even if we don't get Symbrock back, Venom's probably making a return in some form - Venom or some other symbiote. Teddy's symbiote is still alive, after all - and so is the cockroach.

[countdykulaa]

﹟ ⠀ ⠀ 𝟎𝟎𝟏 ⠀ . ⠀ ⠀SANCTIFY ME⠀ ⠀ ﹕ ⠀ ⠀ ❪ ⠀ hyperreligious!abby x rebel! reader ⠀ ❫

summary: Abby finds solace and comfort in the familiar embrace of the temple, a sacred space that offers her a sense of purpose and belonging. However, her peaceful reverie is interrupted by an unexpected presence, introducing tension into her sanctuary and forcing her to confront an unsettling shift in the atmosphere.

contains: religious aspects and trauma described in detail, dark!abby, internalized homophobia, childhood friends to enemies to ...something

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm golden glow over the quiet streets as Abby made her way towards the temple. She could hear her friends’ laughter floating beside her, the sound wrapping around her like a comforting blanket. Their voices faded in and out, a melodic backdrop to her thoughts as she clutched her trusty leather Bible, its worn edges a testament to the countless hours spent pouring over its pages.

Each step brought her closer to the grand entrance, where towering columns rose like sentinels, welcoming her into a sacred space that had always felt like home. The heavy wooden doors creaked open, revealing the cool, dimly lit interior. As she crossed the threshold, a sense of calm washed over her, enveloping her in a tranquil embrace. This was her sanctuary, a refuge from the chaos of the outside world.

Inside, the air was thick with the familiar scent of polished wood and the faint trace of incense, mingling to create an atmosphere rich with history and spirituality. The flickering candles cast dancing shadows on the walls, illuminating the intricate carvings that whispered stories of faith and devotion. Abby closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to bask in the peaceful ambiance, feeling the weight of her worries lift, if only for a brief respite.

"Can you believe the pastor's message today?" one of her friends chimed in, pulling her back into the present. They began discussing the sermon, their voices echoing softly within the hallowed halls, but Abby's mind wandered elsewhere. She felt like a lost traveler desperate for shelter, the temple opening its arms to feed, clothe, and bless her with the word. There was no other place where she felt most needed, most cherished, most gracious...and why were you here?

you. the one with no name in her righteous mind for its mere utterance is a sin . you're the festering thorn in her flesh,   a curse birthed from Eden's shadow, growing   more crimson with each passing second,   like a plague sent to test her.  you , who roams around the streets of the small town you both have been imprisoned in , with your too high heels and too short skirt and studded belt wrapped around your waist with diamonds that flicker and blind the whole population into your treacherous ways . sacrificial blood is painted on your lips . The devils red as they call it . you , who can not be bothered to go to church every sunday for you're too busy dedicating your life to satans crusade. you, who reeks of cigarettes and booze and perfume much too light to belong to you. you, who abby prays for eternal damnation to come sooner .

Every night, her knees hit the ground—scraped raw, a blood-soaked cherry—praying to the heavens for deliverance from you. She whispers to God, begging for release, for you to be cast out like a demon, to spill your sin-stained filth on some other forsaken soul. She loathes you as one loathes the serpent, fears you as one fears divine wrath, despises you as the fallen despise the light. But deep beneath her trembling prayers, there’s envy—a festering, unholy desire, twisting her heart like a knife. Whenever you appear, it is as though her heart is torn from her chest, a bloody offering staining the earth at your feet.

her eyes glare daggers into your form. you, seemingly unphased by the hole burning into your skin , rest your head on the nave , eyes shieled by those retched sunglasses you always wear. this is unlike you. unlike any devil . resting comfortably in the only place that could send your incurable soul back to the fiery pits of hell. the sound of her friends is drowned out by the scent of you. even from afar she can feel the musky perfume that permeates your whiskey brown skin .

" - owen's for bible study right abby?"

her friends words rip her out her trance.

"huh?"

"I was telling mel about the bible study session we have soon. that's still on right?"

she nods her head in agreeance. eyes refocusing back to the woman before them.

"why don't you guys go ahead. i still have to meet up with bishop Michael about the bible camp thing."

They exchange glances but nod, understanding her need for space. As they walk away, their chatter fades, and the atmosphere shifts. Abby feels the weight of silence settle around her, amplifying the tension in the air.

Now alone with you, the temptress, Abby’s heart races. The comforting hum of the temple feels distant as she steals a glance at your relaxed figure, your presence a stark contrast to the sanctity of the space. She swallows hard, knowing that the sanctuary, once a refuge, has become a stage for an unsettling confrontation.

her feet move before her mind can react. she finds herself before you. a vengeance running sharply through her form. Abby stands at the nave , the worn wooden surface cool beneath her fingers as she grips the edge , grounding herself against the rising tide of emotion. The sanctity of the temple feels shattered by your presence , the air thick with tension.

"what are you doing here?" she spits out , the venom running down her words trailing onto your smug smile. you sit there … legs crossed and propped on the nave without a care in the world as you hold the match stick of carnal desire in hand ready to burn down her temple of belief. faith. constraint.

"to get saved and sanctified of course." your words take on a mocking tone as you quote the pastors words. "why else would i be here?"

to reek havoc on me. on god. on all that can be saved.

"Proverbs chapter nineteen verse nine. A false witness shall not be unpunished, and he that speaketh lies shall perish." abby mutters out through gritted teeth.

your tongue flicks against the roof of your mouth as your lips widen into a smile. "still showing everyone how much of a good little church girl you are. just like when we were kids."

"you mean before you lost your ways?"

"I mean before I realized how crazy you all are."

abby shakes her head , grip on the bible tightening with each word spoken. "the only crazy person here is you. you're the one everyone avoids. the one everyone speaks about once you leave the room. the queer. the outcast. the serpent climbing into the garden of eden to tempt eve. not adam. eve. your nourishment for the female sex is an infestation and i will not let you taint this church." her voice drops to a whisper as she leans closer. "you weren't possessed by the devil. you are him."

"and you're what? adam? god? the garden? or eve in this equation?" you bite back, hands grabbing the nave in front of you as you stand. When you rise from your seat , it’s as if the world around you fades away, leaving only the two of you in the dim light . You stand mere breaths apart , the heat radiating off you wrapping around her like a siren’s call . Her heart pounds in her chest , each thud echoing the unspoken challenge in your gaze .

The closeness is electrifying , an intoxicating mix of defiance and desire, as she fights to maintain her composure in the face of the temptation you embody. "you and your little posse can judge me all you want. throw your stupid verses in my face like i haven't read it all front to back but you know more than i do that when you look in the mirror my face is all you see."

she breathes in , words stuttering in shock. how dare you accuse her of such an egregious offence. in her home. while god is forced to bear witness. "i am nothing like you. you're nothing more than a sinner."

"First John, chapter one verse eight." you drawl out, that smirk everso present on your features. "If we claim to be without sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us."

your quotes are less of a shock. being the pastors daughter of course you'd know more than most. it was what made you so powerful.

"you are nothing but an evil charlatan. delilah slinking down to reach back and cut off samsons hair in an act of seductive betrayal. i will not let you steal my strength. i will not let you rob me of my devotion."

"so walk away. forget i exist."

forget you exist. you say the words with such ease. as if it were that simple. as if your entire being was not seared into her skull like a brand. like a starving man could forget the concept of hunger. like a rabid dog could forget the foam in his mouth as he viciously attacked any unsuspecting prey. forget you. just as easily as you must've forgotten her.

her hands reach out and wrap around your throat in a move so fast you have no time to react. It’s a primal reaction, fueled by an overwhelming need to claim this moment , to anchor herself in the whirlwind of sin and desire swirling between us. her fingers wrap around her skin, firm yet hesitant, the warmth of her pulse thrumming beneath her touch.

she places pressure on them, delighting in your gasp of surprise. The contrast between her cool palm and your warm skin ignites something deep within her, awakening a hunger she had tried to pray away. abby can feel the rise and fall of your chest, the warmth of her breath mingling with the faint scent of incense that clings to the air, creating an intoxicating haze that makes her head spin

"First Timothy, chapter five verse twenty-two." you rush out, hands trying desperately to yank from her grip. your stiletto shaped nails pierce her skin as you try to claw your way to freedom. "Do not be hasty in the laying on of hands, and do not share in the sins of others. Keep yourself pure."

"You? Satan? Preach the word of God to me?" Abby's voice rings out, sharp and venomous. Her lips curl into a sneer as she stares down at you, her fingers tightening their grip around your throat. The muscle in her jaw ticks, rage battling with something darker in her eyes. Her breath comes in hot, uneven bursts, fanning against your cheek, but it's her fury that burns the most. " What do you know of the Word?" She hisses through clenched teeth. "Of purity? Of light? Air? Devotion?"

Her hand clenches harder, your pulse pounding beneath her fingers, as though she could throttle the sin from your very veins. Abby’s gaze drifts over you, taking in the smooth arch of your neck, the swell of your lips as you struggle for breath. Her teeth graze her lower lip in thought, and for a moment, her eyes darken, pupils dilating like she’s glimpsing something she doesn't dare name. There's a dangerous hunger in the way she watches you, a predator teetering on the precipice of restraint.

But she doesn't pull back. Abby leans closer instead, her breath ghosting across your skin as she hovers just inches away. The scent of incense and desperation clings to her like a second skin, filling the small space between your bodies. It’s suffocating, intoxicating, and your skin prickles beneath the weight of her scrutiny.

She whispers, so close now that her lips nearly brush against your ear. "I will show you purity." Her voice is low, almost reverent, and yet there’s an edge of cruelty that sends a shiver down your spine. The hand around your throat remains firm, but her thumb strokes along the column of your neck, slow and deliberate, as if testing the boundaries of her control. "I will purify you myself."

Her words are a promise, but there is nothing holy in her touch. Abby's other hand skims your collarbone, tracing the line of your shoulder with an unnerving softness, the pad of her thumb pressing down with a gentleness that belies the strength of her grip. Her fingers trail lower, ghosting over your chest, as though she’s searching for something beneath your skin, something she needs to pull out, something to cleanse.

The tension coils tighter between you, thick and suffocating. Every inch of you is on fire beneath her touch, but it’s her eyes—those hard, judging eyes—that trap you most. She looks at you like you're both a challenge and a salvation as if breaking you down would mean breaking herself free. Her breathing quickens, matching the frantic rise and fall of your chest, and for a fleeting moment, her gaze flickers to your lips. Something fragile and desperate breaks loose inside her, but she doesn't let it show. She can't. Not when purity is what she craves, what she needs.

Her grip tightens, her thumb pressing down on your pulse, and the world tilts just slightly. Her lips quiver as if she’s biting back words—prayers, curses, you can't tell. Maybe both. The air between you is thick, and for all her self-righteousness, for all her preaching about light and devotion, Abby is here, in the darkness with you, teetering on the edge of something she cannot name.

It’s in the stillness, in the charged silence where your breaths mingle, that the line between salvation and damnation blurs. Abby’s eyes glint, her lips parting just barely as if she’s about to say something, but nothing comes. Instead, her grip loosens, just a fraction, a tremble running through her hand as if she can no longer trust herself to hold on. Yet she doesn’t let go—not fully. She can't. Not when you're her tether, the embodiment of everything she’s tried so hard to fight.

Her lips brush against your ear once more, softer this time, her voice barely a whisper, trembling with something she can no longer contain. "I will make you pure."

PLUTOS WORLD: okay! so this has been my longest fic yet but i had fun! will most defiantly be a part two if requested

TAGLIST: @r3starttt @cyb3rdino @abyssgf @savethegoddamturtles

[gamer2002]

There is no Salvation outside of Christ – all religions agree

One of the dogmas of Christianity is that there is no Salvation outside of Christ, which is a bold claim. However, it is a claim that is consistent with the teachings of all other major religions. After all, no other offers Salvation on the terms and in the form that it is defined in Christianity.

The text below will present the definition of Salvation and its significance in Christianity. After that, I will show how it relates to other, both ancient and contemporary, religions.

Whoever believes in Him shall not perish

What Christianity changed in original Judaism is the introduction of Grace and Salvation. In the Old Law, sins were defined, as well as sacrifices and other actions that needed to be performed for these sins to be forgiven. In this respect, Judaism was not much different from other religions like that of ancient Egypt or those based on the concept of karma.

Christianity is different because all sins can be immediately forgiven if you believe that Jesus Christ died for them and you truly repent (J 3:16-17, Lk 18:9-14). Therefore, if you die in an accident a moment after you decide to repent, you will not be condemned. In old Judaism, if you die before making a sacrifice for your sins, you have a problem.

This is what Grace and Salvation are about. Sins and transgressions are forgiven, despite no equivalent action being performed. This is compared to the forgiveness of an unpaid debt (Mt 18:23-27).

Aside from how Grace affects your fate in the afterlife, it also has a salvific impact on society. In the old system, you can reach a point of no return, after which it is physically impossible to perform all the necessary actions for the forgiveness of your sins. This means reaching a state of certain condemnation, or at least the conviction of it. In this situation, a sinner, having nothing left to lose and nothing that can improve their state, is devoid of reasons to try to improve at all. They are left only with further sinning, further doing evil, to at least enjoy life while they can.

In Christianity, you can always convert and you can always obtain Salvation. Therefore, everyone has a reason and a source of motivation to improve, no matter how badly they acted in the past. And this is what Grace and Salvation in Christianity are about.

It should also be added about a different pathology originating from the other side. If one believes in some kind of balancing of good and bad deeds, a person who has done good deeds may consider that they can afford to do something bad. Such pathology has already been mentioned in the Old Testament (Ez 18:24)

As a side note, Salvation concerns receiving Eternal Life. The state of Sainthood is a separate issue about which I wrote in my previous text.

Weighting hearts and other karmatic things

When it comes to other religions, among those concerned with morality, they have their own systems for reconciling sin/karma/deeds. The Egyptians believed that after death your heart is weighed to determine whether good or bad deeds prevail. If your bad deeds weighed more, your heart would be devoured by Ammit. Salvation does not apply; you must ensure that your good deeds outweigh the bad.

In Zoroastrianism, the virgin-born Saoshyant will lead humanity to the final battle against evil, prevail, and make everyone immortal. This sounds similar to Christianity, but in this religion, salvation depends on the sum of thoughts, words, and deeds, which no holy intervention can change. In short, there is no Salvation in the Christian sense.

Hindu beliefs are diverse, but most believe in karma and reincarnation. If you live a holy life, after death your soul will merge with Brahma, breaking your cycle of reincarnation. If not, you will be reborn according to your karma. If you have done well in life, you may be reborn as a wealthy person. If you have done poorly, you may be reborn as an animal. Salvation does not apply; you must cleanse your own karma. And you must also do this for your previous lives. Apparently, if you are not born wealthy, you have little chance of uniting with the god Brahma.

Buddhism is similar to Hindu beliefs. Reincarnation depends on accumulated karma, and breaking the cycle of reincarnation is the reward for good karma. But there is no union with any god because Buddhists do not believe anything is eternal. Breaking the cycle of reincarnation means the end of your soul's existence, freeing you from the suffering of rebirth. There is no Salvation or even any form of Eternal Life.

The Japanese variant of Buddhism has the mythical Sanzu River, which functions similarly to the weighing of hearts in Egyptian mythology. In Shinto religion, there is a greater emphasis on earthly life than on life after death. The souls of the deceased can live after life as kami and look after their living loved ones, as long as they perform the proper post-mortem rituals and remember them. Exceptional individuals, like members of the imperial family, can achieve divinity after death. Kami do not necessarily have to be good, and the spirit world is neither a counterpart of Heaven nor Hell. Additionally, people who died a violent death, or for other reasons were overwhelmed with negative emotions at the time of death and did not receive proper post-mortem rituals, can become obake – revenge-seeking ghosts. So, there is no Salvation; the dead can become tormented ghosts if the living do not care for them.

Taoism has various versions that have different views on what happens after your death. Some believe in reincarnation, others in achieving post-mortem immortality. Zhuangzi, one of the two most important texts in Taoism, considers death a natural part of our existence, just like life, birth, and the state before all life. Generally, in Taoism, you should live a simple life, do what you are given to do, and as a result, you may receive eternity after death and the opportunity to help the living achieve your state. Additionally, there is also the concept of Cheng-Fu, which is similar to karma. It differs, however, in that you can struggle not only with bad Cheng-Fu from your previous lives but also with bad Cheng-Fu inherited from your ancestors and your society. Salvation is not available; you must work out good Cheng-Fu yourself.

In the case of Confucianism, Confucius said little about life after death, considering it, along with spirits and gods, too great an unknown. His philosophy focused on living decently in life, concluding that without mastering this, there would be no decent life after life. So, Confucius did not recognize the concept of Salvation, mainly because he claimed he could not know what awaits us after death.

Cults of material accomplishments

Besides religions focused on morality, one can also mention more primitive religions that ultimately did not stand the test of time. Here, we are talking about religions that justified the power of kings or other types of leaders. Ancient Egyptian religion also falls into this category, as the Pharaoh ruled over you because he was holy, and you knew he was holy because he ruled over you.

In Greek mythology, which was the religion of the one percent elite, most people went to Hades, while only those favored by the gods could find themselves in the Elysian Fields after death. There was no salvation, only favoritism by the gods.

As for Norse mythology, Vikings were afraid to die in their own beds. To get to Valhalla, they had to die in battle. There was no salvation; you had to go to death.

To sum it up

The idea of Salvation and Grace was introduced by Christ and is a unique element of Christianity. In other religions, at best, a system of weighing good and bad deeds is applied. However, this system is flawed, as it can lead to pathologies born from the belief in achieving a state of irrevocable damnation. It can also lead to pathologies born from the belief in having accumulated enough good deeds to afford to do evil.

In Christianity, you can always convert if you believe that Christ died for your sins and you truly regret them. You also cannot exploit the system, as God is ready to restore the requirement to repay your forgotten debt (Mt 18:32-35).

If we reject the idea of the Primordial Chaos, present in many religions, according to which even the power of the gods is not eternal or everlasting, and instead accept the idea that all creation is the work of an omnipotent and all-good God, worthy of judging our deeds, Christian Salvation and Grace better reflect this idea than what is accepted about life after death in other religions.

Considering that other religions do not offer any similar form of Salvation, it becomes undeniable that there is no Salvation outside of Christ.