#cardinal sin - envy | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

smileysuh · 1 year ago

Text

seeing double

🌙staring. Johnny & John x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. “As much as I’d love to fuck two of you, I know you’ve always been interested in a threesome with two guys, and we both know I’m too protective to let anyone else touch you. I found this cloning spell and I figured, if there’s one man I can share you with, it’s myself.”

tw/cw. Threesome, unprotected sex, oral, blow jobs, pussy eating, praise, dirty talk, degradation, y/n calls Johnny daddy twice, John calls y/n whore/slut/bitch once each cuz he's an ass, demonic double John is a bit of a dick, anal fingering, deep throating, spit-roasting/Eiffel tower, double penetration (pussy/mouth), triple penetration (pussy/mouth/finger in ass), spanking, choking, biting, punishment, blindfold/sensory deprivation, big dick Johnny, pussy stretching, John cums on her face, etc… I pet names: (hers) baby.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 6.9k

🍭 aus. Warlock Johnny, established relationship, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. ya'll thought one Johnny was enough for us, but I give you double John- threesome of the year

“Do you trust me?” Johnny asks, pulling away from a breathtaking kiss to lock his gaze with your own. His hands are gentle on your hips, but something in his smile makes you uneasy.

“It depends,” you admit. “I thought I trusted you last month when you decided summoning a demon was a good idea but that didn’t turn out very well, did it, Johnny?”

“What do you mean?” he laughs. “That was a great idea! He gave me a new spell book!”

“Yeah, a book of black magic! Please tell me you haven’t been messing around with that again-”

“Fine, I haven’t been messing around with it,” Johnny pulls you deeper into his room, “I’ve been reading it.”

“Johnny-”

“Trust me on this one, I found a spell and I think you’ll really like it!”

You can’t believe you’re humoring your boyfriend on this, but with a sigh, you take a seat on his bed. “Fine, what is it?”

“It’s a cloning spell,” Johnny grins, picking up the Demonic Grimoire.

“A cloning spell?” you repeat, eyes widening. “Are you trying to suggest a threesome or something? You know, if you want another girl to join, it’s easier to just go find one rather than conjure up a double-”

“Not another girl,” Johnny cuts you off. “As much as I’d love to fuck two of you, I know you’ve always been interested in a threesome with two guys, and we both know I’m too protective to let anyone else touch you. I found this cloning spell and I figured, if there’s one man I can share you with, it’s myself.”

You simply stare at him for a moment, trying to register his words. “You mean… you want to…”

“Conjure up a clone of myself, and rail you with him, yeah.” Johnny’s grin widens. “Besides, that demon did warn me that most of the shit in this Grimoire is made for sin, and what’s more sinful than this? Lust, gluttony, pride, greed, sloth, hell, even envy is probably going to pop up. Maybe you’ll feel a little wrath too, if you act bratty. We can do all seven of the deadly sins in one go!”

You find yourself laughing. “You sound way too excited about committing cardinal sins, Johnny.”

“Well, I am half demon, remember.”

Sometimes you do forget that your sweet boyfriend is partly demonic. But his stint with the pentagram last month had reminded you just how close to Hell he really is, even behind his large smile and the ‘I love you’s’ that he showers onto you daily.

Many warlocks have a demon mark. Some have horns, or a tail- some sort of clear sign that they’re not of this world. But your Johnny? The only mark he has connecting him to the land below is heterochromia, one eye with a black iris, the other brown. In low lighting, it’s almost easy to miss the slight difference in color, and your boyfriend blends seamlessly into the human world with something as mundane as a pair of sunglasses. Others of his kind aren’t nearly as lucky.

It’s been over twenty years since all manner of ‘night beings’ revealed themselves to your world. Vampires, witches, warlocks, werewolves, demons, angels- the list goes on. And while humanity has gotten used to these ‘others,’ they’re not fully accepted yet either. You have family members who would have a heart attack if they knew what you got up to with Johnny every week.

“Come on, baby,” Johnny sets his Grimoire down in favor of grabbing your hand. “I’ll only do it if you want to give it a try.”

“Is it easy to cancel the spell?” you ask. “Last time you conjured that cat with batwings we couldn’t get rid of it for a week-”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t love Mister Whisker-Bat by the end of the week though, you were just as sad to see him go as I was,” Johnny insists. “But yeah, canceling the spell is easy. I’ll be using one of my hairs for the spell, to get rid of the double, all we have to do is light the small alter - and hair - on fire.”

“Sounds simple enough.”

“Is that a yes?” Johnny’s eyes widen. “You’ll have a threesome with me and me?”

You laugh at his choice of words. “You can conjure him and we can see what he’s like, how’s that sound?”

“Trust me, baby, you’ll love him.” Johnny flashes you a wink, his brown eye disappearing momentarily so all you see is the black one. It’s a quirk of his, whenever he winks, it’s always the demon eye on full display.

“How are you so sure about this?” you ask, standing from the bed and wrapping your arms around the back of Johnny’s neck, looking up at him with a smile. His confidence is one of the things you love most about him, even if it does get him into trouble.

“I just am, it’s a feeling I have.” He shrugs, hands finding your hips.

It’s impossible to be this close to your boyfriend and not kiss him, so that’s what you do, pressing your mouth against his. It’s gentle at first, but as with everything when it comes to your warlock boyfriend, it quickly turns heated.

Johnny’s tongue swipes across your lip, begging for entry. You invite him into your mouth, stifling a moan at the feeling as his hands hold you closer, tugging you flush to his chest.

You have no idea what tonight will be like, but you do trust Johnny. He’d never let you get hurt, and you doubt his clone will either.

Your fingers slip up to thread through his hair. He’s had it dyed a blondish grey for as long as you’ve known him, and you’re living for the way it sets off his skin tone. You’d half expected the strands to be crunchy when you’d first kissed him months ago, but his hair is as smooth as silk- Johnny has some sort of potion hair mask that he uses to keep himself shiny and soft.

You tug gently on his hair and Johnny groans against your mouth, digging his digits against your hips. He’d said he needs hair for this spell to work, and you narrow in on two strands, biting his lip at the same time you give a rough yank.

“Ow!” Johnny yelps, pulling away from you. He looks down at you with wide eyes.

“You said you needed hair for the spell,” you grin, holding out the strands. “Here, I was just trying to help.”

He gives you a look that says he doesn’t quite believe you, and it only makes your smile widen.

“Okay,” Johnny sighs. “Let’s do this.”

You watch him approach the small alter he’s made on his desk. There’s a large, circular mirrored tray as the base. Covering the reflective surface is a number of dried herbs and other warlock items, a bottle of something dark red, what looks like salt or ash- there’s also a few runes decorating the space, and bits of parchment covered in incantations.

Johnny sets his hair in the center, then pulls a lighter out of his jean pocket. He lifts a black candle, igniting it. As the flame licks the wick, Johnny begins to speak in some form of demonic language, picking up the Grimiore with his free hand.

You practically hold your breath, watching him as he tilts the candle at an angle, allowing the hot wax to drip down onto his hair, sticking it to the mirror. When he seems satisfied with the amount of black wax, he sets the candle down next to the hairs.

His voice has taken on a deeper edge as he continues reading the spell, and you can practically see the power begin to radiate off your warlock boyfriend, like grey waves resounding out from his flesh, echoing through the room.

Your hair stands on edge, a slight heat overtaking you, and you smell the familiar scent of brimstone. It’s a smell you’ve become accustomed to since Johnny apprehended the Grimoire in his hands, and it’s always given you an odd feeling in the pit of your stomach.

You like to think of Johnny as your soft boyfriend, but he’s a warlock, and the demonic side of him is never more evident than on nights like these.

You’re not sure what to expect as Johnny’s spell work comes to an end. Bat-cat had appeared in a puff of smoke, but as you look around, there’s no dark cloud, no evident conjuration-

“Huh,” Johnny cocks his head to the side. “That should have worked-”

The lights flicker out, the room going dark aside from the one black candle burning on the altar.

Then, just as suddenly, the lights turn back on, and your gaze shifts to the switch by the door. Your breath catches as you take in the man standing there, one hand lazily touching the switch. Johnny’s double has appeared, and he’s the one who just turned the lights back on.

“Hi, losers.”

While the new Johnny clone is wearing the same white shirt and black jeans combo your boyfriend has on, this Johnny has dark hair. You’ve always loved your boyfriend’s coloured strands, but there’s something so regal about the dark brown- it sets off the sharp angles of his face, and leaves you breathless.

“Who are you calling losers?” Johnny retorts, closing the Grimiore and turning to face the double at the door.

“I’m calling you two losers,” the clone grins. “You’re a loser for wanting a threesome with yourself, and she’s a loser for agreeing to it.”

“You’re a bit of a dick, aren’t you?” your boyfriend laughs.

“Not any more than you. I’m your double, anything I say or do is something you would say or do, well, it would be if you let your demonic side out more often. You’re so good at keeping that part of you under lock and key, but not tonight. Here I am.” The double pushes off from the wall, approaching your boyfriend. “Don’t be mad if you don’t like what you see.”

“I’m not mad about what I see,” Johnny says thoughtfully, “I’m just wondering why your hair is so dark. Thought you were supposed to be a clone.”

“My hair is like your demon side, you can try to cover it up, make it lighter, but this spell always knows your true self. Besides, baby thinks I look good with this hair colour,” the clone’s gaze shifts to you, and he flashes you that classic Johnny grin, “isn’t that right, baby?”

“I-” your words get choked in your throat, and you swallow thickly, looking between your boyfriend and his darker double. “Johnny-”

“Another charade to appear nicer,” the clone clicks his tongue. “Your blonde, soft-looking boyfriend might go by the name Johnny. But tonight, you’ll call me John.”

“You’re not the one calling the shots tonight,” your boyfriend interjects, “but… having two different names for us isn’t a bad idea.”

“It’s a great idea,” John smirks, “you came up with it yourself.”

“Can’t argue with you there.”

The two handsome men exchange a knowing glance, and your insides twist with anticipation.

They’re gonna fuck you up and you just know it.

“So, since I’m not the one calling the shots,” John sighs, gaze shifting to you again, “how about you tell me how this is going to go? I’d hate to step on any… toes.”

He’s looking at you like he wants to eat you up. You’re used to Johnny’s black iris, but John’s dark hair makes it stand out even more. It’s noticeably demonic, and it makes your heart race in your chest. You feel like a prey being sized up by a predator, and something about it has your panties getting wet.

“You know what?” your soft lover cocks his head to the side. “Baby, how about you tell us what you want to do? You’re the one who’s about to be railed, you should get to choose how it happens, don’t you think?”

“I like how you say that as if you’ll actually fully listen to her,” John scoffs.

“What do you mean? I always give baby a say in things.”

“Yeah. Sure. Except you nudge her in the direction you want to go. We both know it’s only going to take a little stroking, a little making her gag on our cocks, and she’ll be putty in our fucking hands. Baby just wants to please, isn’t that right, pretty girl?” John’s grin widens when all you can do is stare at him.

There might be a response for his lewd observation, but you’re already feeling nice, submissive and dumb. There are no thoughts in your head except ‘holy fuck.’

This dark John is really hot, especially when contrasted by your light boyfriend.

You’re literally in awe, lips parted ever so slightly, your body tingling with anticipation.

“You know what?” Johnny sighs. “You’re right. We both know baby loves when we’re in control, so lets just… be in control.”

“Now you’re talking,” John grins. “I’ve got a suggestion.”

“Let's hear it.”

“What if we blind fold her? Make her guess who’s touching. Punishment for wrong answers.”

“Punishment?” you ask, voice coming out much shakier than you’d meant for it to.

“Nothing you won’t like,” John assures you. “Now be a good girl and grab the blindfold from the bedside table for us.”

Your eyes shift to Johnny, and he gives you a small nod. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you turn and do as you’re asked, holding out the silky eye covering a moment later.

“Now put it on,” John instructs. “And this time, don’t look at him for permission. Just do it.”

You do as you’re told, hands shaky as you cover your sight with a strip of darkness. As soon as your vision is blocked, you feel more sensitive. You feel even more like prey. Most of all, you feel vulnerable.

There’s a half-demon warlock and a dark clone with demonic intentions staring at you like they want to eat you up. To top it all off, you’ve now just blocked off one of the most important senses.

The bed dips next to you, and you jump slightly from the motion.

A large hand smooths across the back of your neck, angling you to face the side, and then lips are pressing against your own.

This mouth is familiar, and you lean into the kiss, letting out a sigh of relief. You reach out, grabbing at the man’s knee to steady yourself, wanting to get lost in the person’s lips-

But then they’re pulling back. “Guess who?” they ask, voice soft.

“Johnny?”

A small chuckle, and you realize immediately that you’ve already failed the first test.

“How easy it is to trick you, baby.” He lets out a deep sigh, pulling away completely, standing from the bed. “Time for your first punishment. I think three smacks should suffice. Get on all fours, and say thank you for each one.”

Your skin tingles, heart beating wildly in your chest. You do as you’re told.

Getting into a doggy position, you bend down slightly, arching your back. You’re on edge, listening intently for movement. Soft footfalls let you know someone is approaching, and then two hands grab your asscheeks through your pants, squeezing roughly.

“First three through the jeans, but once we’re done with you, I’m taking these off.”

It’s not a question. It’s a statement, and you let out a small moan of affirmation.

Your panties are sticking to your core already, and the first hit makes you cry out, pussy clenching around nothing. It had been a heavy-handed smack, harder than Johnny has ever hit you before- but there’s something almost delicious about it.

Your toes curl, and you suck in a shaky breath. “Thank you.”

“Good girl,” someone praises you.

Another smack has you moaning even louder, grabbing at the bed sheets and bunching them up in your hands. “Fuck, thank you!”

The third hit has you practically trembling. You can already feel a bruise forming- but the pain is perfection, in a masochistic kind of way.

“Thank you!”

“Time to guess who delivered your punishment, baby.”

You feel like a dumb little slut. You’re already slipping into sub-space, delirious and horny. If you had it your way, maybe you wouldn’t even want to speak full sentences anymore. Your mind is swimming, and nothing feels coherent.

“I-” you lick your lips. The smacks had been hard. “John?”

“Wrong again, pretty girl. Your soft boyfriend is the one who just punished you, but I guess he’s not so soft anymore. In fact… I’d say he’s quite hard. We both are.”

“Fuck-” you groan, imagining your boyfriend’s cock all stiff in his pants- then you remember that the visual should be doubled, and you can feel your mouth beginning to water.

“Second punishment, suck us off. We’ll see if you really know your boyfriend’s cock or not.”

A hand grabs at you, helping you off the bed and onto your knees on the floor. “Johnny?” you ask.

“Wow, you finally got one right.” The laugh that fills the room is distinctly clone like.

“Do I get a reward, John?”

“The reward is you get to suck cock, and since you just got two in a row, you’ll get to suck both of us.”

It’s almost comical how reward and punishment are the same thing, but you’re in too deep to question it.

Now is not the time to be bratty, and you know it.

There’s a small shuffle in front of you, and then someone instructs you to “Stick out your tongue.”

You do as you’re told, and a second later, a cock is tapped against your wet muscle. You fight the urge to try to suck on it, allowing the man to coat themselves in your saliva. You even begin to drool, and you feel a drip make its way down your chin.

“Suck.”

You immediately lean forward, swallowing the bulbous head into your mouth. Your tongue swirls around it, and you sink down as far as you can. Johnny has a big cock, you’ve never been able to take it all, but that never stops you from trying.

Your hands brace against someone’s thighs, and you begin to bob your head. The man above you lets out a groan, fingers threading through your hair, guiding you to bob faster, taking more and more into your mouth.

“Guess who,” the man you’re sucking on breathes.

You pull off his cock, feeling a line of spit still connecting you to the best dick you’ve ever had. “Johnny.”

“That’s my girl.” He pulls you onto him again, hitting the back of your throat and making you gag. Your fingers dig into his thighs. You push your reflex away, doing your best to please your boyfriend.

“Fuck it,” comes a rough voice, “my turn.”

A second hand grabs your hear, tugging you away from your boyfriend’s cock- only for the same cock to be pushed past your lips.

It’s sinful how exact the clone is. He has the same large vein running along the underside of his length, the same mushroom tip, the same slight curve, the same taste-

But his motions are different. He’s more aggressive, forcing you all the way onto him like you’d willingly taken Johnny just moments ago. The sudden feeling of his tip hitting the back of your throat with no prep - no sucking to start - has you gagging hard, your eyes beginning to water.

Grabbing onto his thighs to steady yourself, you do your best to relax, to focus on the sounds beginning to leave John’s lips, but as he fucks your face, it’s hard not to feel every inch of him.

“Don’t be so rough,” Johnny tuts.

“Don’t be a backseat vouyer,” John retorts.

“She’s being good for you, why are you being so mean?”

“This is part punishment, remember?” You listen to the clone click his tongue, and then he’s tearing your blindfold off. “Besides, I like how she looks when she cries.”

This is so sick and twisted.

If John is saying this, it means that somewhere, buried inside your soft boyfriend, he also likes seeing your eyes well with tears.

You struggle to open your eyes, looking up at John. He’s staring down at you, and he releases a deep groan when he notices you watching him. “You love this, don’t you, baby? You love being used like our little fuck toy. Love taking this big cock deep in your fucking throat-”

You hate that he’s right.

Your panties must be soaked by now.

“Fuck-” Johnny whispers, and you wonder how it looks for him to watch himself fuck your face like this. “Okay, that’s enough.”

“It’s enough when I say it’s enough.”

“It’s enough,” your boyfriend states, firmer this time.

“Someone finally grew a backbone,” John laughs, pulling his cock from your mouth. You gasp at the loss, a line of spit still connecting you to the rock-hard length in front of your face. Tears trail down your cheeks, and you’re breathing heavily. You dig your fingers into John’s thighs, marveling in the moment of reprieve.

“Are you alright, baby?” Johnny asks. When you turn to look at him, concern is evident all over his face.

You nod, and it takes a moment for you to find your voice. “Yes, daddy.”

“Fuck, I forgot she calls us that sometimes.”

“She calls me daddy sometimes,” Johnny corrects, “and only when she’s in subspace- you really did a number on her.”

“We did a number on her. You started it with the spankings, remember?”

Johnny ignores his clone, reaching down to help you to your feet. He leads you to sit on the bed, getting onto his knees so he can be eye level with you. “He wasn’t too rough on you, was he?”

You shake your head. “No.”

“You’re still good for this?”

You nod, reaching forward to grab at the front of his white tshirt. Johnny lets you pull him in for a kiss, his large hands smoothing along your thighs.

Your tongue dips out to stroke his own and your boyfriend groans, squeezing you through your jeans. “Pants off,” he says, dragging his lips from yours so he can begin to tear your clothes from your body.

It’s shocking how quickly he gets you down to your underwear, and then he pushes you onto the bed. He pries your thighs open, and you feel two sets of dark eyes on your core.

“Already soaked. I knew you liked being our good little cock slut.”

“I guess I should give you a taste first, seeing as the only cock that’s going inside this pussy tonight is mine,” your boyfriend sighs, pressing one kiss to your knee before standing up to make space for his clone.

“Yeah, our cock.”

“My cock,” Johnny says, firmly this time. “You only get her mouth.”

“What’s the point of a demonic threesome if she’s not going to be properly double stuffed?” John asks, sinking down onto the floor between your spread thighs.

“One in the pussy, one in the mouth is double stuffed.”

“We both know I want her ass,” John rolls his eyes.

“I’ve never even been in her ass, don’t get greedy.” Johnny clicks his tongue.

Their bantering is doing something to you. The way they discuss this so confidently as if you’re not even in the room- you’re getting a view of Johnny’s inner thoughts, the battles he has with his demonic self-

He’s never talked to you about anal. But then again, his cock is so big it had taken you a while to even be able to receive it fully in your pussy, let alone somewhere else.

“If you’re good tonight, I’ll consider conjuring you again,” Johnny says finally.

You swallow thickly, gaze shifting to your soft boyfriend who’s really taken the reigns over his demonic double. John chuckles between your legs, shaking his head slightly before pressing his lips to your inner thigh.

“Did you hear that, baby?” John asks. “Sounded like a challenge to make you cum.”

“Then I guess…” your voice is much to hoarse and shuddery for your liking, “I guess you better not disappoint.”

The clone between your legs scoffs loudly. “As if disappointing you was ever an option.”

You open your mouth to respond, only for John to press his face against your panty-covered core. His tongue flicks through the soaked fabric, teasing by your clit and making your legs twitch. Your hands fly to grab at his dark hair, and a whimper slips out of you.

He’s being a tease, and from the way he’s looking up at you, smirking while kissing your pussy through your panties, John clearly knows what he’s doing. You shift under his mouth, laying back against the bed and pushing your core closer to him, tightening your grip in his hair.

“Please-”

“Begging already?” Johnny asks, moving to sit next to you on the bed. “Thought you’d hold out a little longer.”

“Can’t,” you mewl, arching your back as John pulls your panties to the side, blowing cool air along your throbbing cunt. “I need-” You lick your lips, gaze dropping to Johnny’s hard cock.

“You want something to suck on, don’t you, baby?” Johnny grins, reaching out to stroke your face as his clone’s tongue dives into your core.

“Yes,” you nod, accepting your boyfriend’s thumb past your lips. You moan around the digit, thighs clenching as John sucks lewdly on your clit, flicking at it with his tongue while you stroke Johnny’s finger with your own.

“I guess I can let you suck me off for a bit, get you ready to take him in your throat-” Johnny muses. “But I want you on all fours, I wanna fuck your face, and I can’t do it at this angle.”

The man between your thighs pulls away suddenly, and his large hands easily flip you over, getting you ready for your boyfriend. It must be nice for him to have such a willing participant in the bedroom- you’re pretty sure Johnny could make any command, and John would follow through with getting it set up for him.

They have a one-track mind, and you’d bet your life that John is just as excited to get you on all fours as Johnny is.

Two large hands grip your ass, spreading your cheeks while Johnny shuffles to his knees and presents his cock to you. As you accept Johnny past your lips, a tongue presses into your wet hole again, and your toes curl at the stimulus.

“Just like that, baby,” Johnny coos, pushing your hair out of your face. “You suck on me, while he sucks on you.”

John growls against your clit, squeezing your ass roughly and shaking his head back and forth, earning a squeal that’s muffled by Johnny’s cock, which begins to glide in and out of your mouth.

“It’s funny- I can almost taste you,” Johnny muses. “I wonder if he can feel you on his cock like I can-”

The double pulls his lips from your pussy, and you can feel him momentarily panting, trying to catch his breath from the enthusiastic way he’s been eating you out. “I can feel it,” John confirms. “She’s always so good at sucking us off, even if she can’t fit much of us in that little mouth of hers.”

“She’s gotten better at blow jobs,” Johnny defends you, sinking further past your lips. “When she started, she could hardly take three inches, now look at her.”

His cock hits the back of your throat and you fight through your gag reflex. Your eyes are watering, so you shut them, focusing on being a good girl for your boyfriends.

Boyfriends. Plural.

You suppose - in this sex-induced haze - you’re already thinking of John as a lover. Any man eating you out as chaotically and thoroughly as he should be considered one, right?

When John’s mouth returns to your pussy and his thumb begins to circle your asshole, you definitely think of him as a boyfriend. Only your boyfriend is allowed to toy with you like this.

“Are you serious?” Johnny’s voice distracts you, the thrusts of his face fucking slowing down. “We just discussed no anal-”

“It’s just a finger,” the clone retorts. “She’ll love it. She’s already practically dripping- reacting all nice and pretty just from the thought, isn’t that right, baby?”

A gentle smack on your ass prompts you to pull off of Johnny’s cock, bracing yourself against one of his thighs while you catch your breath. You find yourself nodding, moaning like a whore in heat. “Please- I can take a finger, I can try-”

“We knew jealousy was a part of this, envy- one of the seven cardinal sins,” teeth graze your butt cheek. “I’m jealous of you getting her mouth and pussy, I’m sure you can suffer through watching me finger fuck this tight ass for the first time. We both know you’ll be the first to actually fuck it sooner or later- why can’t you let me have this one win? Come on Johnny, she’ll love it. You conjured me to make her feel good, didn’t you?”

“Fuck, you’re too convincing,” Johnny sighs, stroking your face. “Beg him for it, baby. I need to know you actually want this.”

“I want it so bad,” you whimper, a rush of emotion flooding through you. “Please, I wanna be full- I wanna feel it-” A strangled gasp escapes your lips when John spits on your ass, rubbing the fluid around your tight hole before pressing the tip of his finger inside of you. “Oh my god-”

Johnny threads his fingers through your hair, tugging so you’re forced to look up at him. “The moment you cum, we’re switching positions and I’m fucking you, got it, baby?”

“Yes, daddy,” you moan.

“Now open up.”

You do as you’re told, and Johnny slips his cock back into your mouth, picking up where he’d left off.

Generally, when you’re blowing Johnny, it’s hard to focus on anything else. But today, it’s hard to focus on anything other than John, whose finger fills your ass perfectly while his tongue circles your clit like magic.

You can feel a pleasure bubbling in the pit of your stomach, and each rough thrust from Johnny has your body tensing, the orgasmic coil wrapping tighter and tighter-

Despite the cock in your mouth, lewd sounds are escaping you. A gurgling noise that you know you should be ashamed of- but you can’t bring yourself to care, mind occupied on the high that’s approaching much too quickly.

It’s clear that John wants you to cum. He wants to tear your pleasure out of you faster than you can even think-

His thumb massages your inner walls, stretching your tight hole open and making your toes curl.

“That’s it baby,” Johnny praises you, his grip tight in your hair while he fucks your face. “Taking us both so well.”

You can feel a tear of overstimulation roll down your cheek. This is almost too much for you to handle, and you haven’t even cum yet.

One particularly rough thrust has your throat constricting around Johnny, and it’s the last bit of stimulus you need to come completely undone for your Johns. Your abdomen tenses, and just like that, the chord snaps. It snaps hard.

You tear your mouth off of Johnny’s cock, practically screaming as your orgasm rips through you like wildfire. Your whole body is alight with pleasure, clit throbbing, pussy contracting around nothing, your ass sucking up John’s finger to betray the deep need that’s grown within you-

All you can do is moan like a desperate whore, clinging to Johnny’s thigh while John helps you ride out your orgasm. The double is unrelenting, as if he wants to work you for every last drop you can give him- his tongue switching between slurping at your clit and diving past your folds, stroking your walls as they shudder.

“Good girl,” Johnny groans, petting your head with one hand while the other wraps around his cock, stroking himself through your high. He’s patient with you, allowing you to experience every shiver and moan, until your walls stop contracting, and John pulls away from your pussy with a wet smack of his lips. “Time for the main event.”

His words make you feel drenched all over again. John pulls his thumb from your ass only to smack it roughly, giving you a squeeze for good measure. “Be sweet for us,” the double warns, as if you’ve ever been anything but their perfect princess.

In just a few moments, Johnny and John have switched. Your light-haired boyfriend sets up behind you while the dark double settles by your face. His cock is red, leaking precum, and you realize you’ve hardly done much to touch him tonight- seeing as he just made you cum, you waste no time wrapping your lips around the mushroom tip, stroking your tongue along the ridge you find there.

“Fuck,” John groans, threading his fingers through your hair to anchor you like your boyfriend had just minutes ago. “Who’s our good little cock whore?”

“She is,” Johnny answers for you, sinking his cock deep into your pussy. “Fuck, our perfect little cock whore.”

He’s never called you this before- but it sounds so natural coming from him and his clone. Is this yet another one of your boyfriend’s fantasies? First anal, and now you being a good little cock whore?

Johnny is generally a man who sticks to praise, and while he’s still doing that- there’s this darker underlayer beginning to be more evident. Maybe you don’t know him as well as you thought. This threesome with your boyfriend’s dark self is illuminating for not only your twisted sexual desires, but Johnny’s as well.

You can’t help the way you react to the term ‘cock whore,’ your pussy clenching tight around the large cock splitting you open. You begin to drool on John too, relaxing your throat as he begins to fuck your face. He might be a dark double, but John’s being shockingly soft with the amount you can take. He’s not thrusting fully- not making you gag and cry- he’s using you like a man who knows and respects your limits.

At least Johnny’s respect for you transcends form.

“You know what?” Johnny says. “I watched how hard she came with your thumb in her ass, I think you’re right about filling her up properly.”

“Bet she’ll go fucking feral for three holes filled,” the clone agrees darkly, making you moan around his cock. “See? Listen to her. She sounds like a bitch in heat. Fill her up, Johnny. She’ll fucking love it.”

These men are downright insatiable- you kind of love it.

Just like his double had, Johnny spits onto your hole, and a moment later, his thumb is pressing past the tight ring of muscles. Your boyfriend’s thrusts falter slightly, his focus lingering on the way you swallow up his digit, fluttering around both foreign intrusions.

“If we’d have known you’d like butt stuff this much, we would have started training you ages ago, baby,” John muses.

“We’ve still got time.”

“I won’t get to fuck her ass tonight. What time do I have?”

“Next time.”

“So I passed the test? There’s gonna be a next time?”

“Based on how our baby is reacting, I’d say there’s definitely going to be a next time,” Johnny laughs.

“Good. I might be a clone from hell, but I think never getting the chance to truly fuck this little kitten of ours would be the true torture.”

The warlock fucking you while pressing his thumb deeper into your ass scoffs loudly. “And we can’t have that, can we?”

“No.” John tightens his grip in your hair, fucking you harder. “We can’t… also, I have something to admit.”

“Oh?” Johnny releases a chuckle, thumb stilling inside of you. “Now this I have to hear.”

“You’re under the impression I’ll be conjured until you light your hair and alter on fire, but unfortunately, at the moment, I’m bound to the candle as well. You missed the fine print in the Grimoire. When the candle reaches its end, I’ll disappear too.”

In your periphery, you’re aware of both men turning to look toward the alter, and your boyfriend releases a small curse word. “I guess we better make this quick.”

“And you should buy a bigger candle next time, that six incher you used tonight is a fucking joke and we both know it.”

“My bad,” Johnny begins railing into you as hard as he had so far, pressing his thumb deep inside of you. “Guess I’m not the best at reading the fine print.”

“It’s okay, something tells me baby can only take so much more of this. She’s drooling all over my cock, her throat all nice and open, so ready to be fucked-” John groans loudly.

“We’ve really fucked her stupid, haven’t we, Big Guy?”

Your skin tingles- there’s an inkling of something deeper in Johnny’s tone… is he… is he flirting with himself?

The man above you moans louder. “Of course we did. Have you ever seen anyone with a better cock than this? And for her to get two of us? She’s the luckiest fucking girl in the whole world- I want her to thank us when we cum. Want her to know how fucking blessed she is by this.”

It’s an interesting paradox- to be blessed by a demonic threesome.

“Are you gonna cum on her face?”

“Fuck, if you let me. She’ll look so pretty all painted in cum.”

“She can’t say thank you if you keep her mouth full,” Johnny notes, digging his fingers against your hips while railing you as hard as ever. Each smack of his hips against your ass has his cock fully buried in your wet core, the tip of his length pressing against your cervix and making your toes curl with insatiable need.

“No, I guess she can’t.” John stuffs himself fully in your mouth, his cock hitting the back of your throat. You’ve never felt impaled like this- taking two of the largest dicks you’ve ever had-

Your nose brushes by the dark clone’s pubic hair, and something about it makes you feel even more sinful, your throat constricting while lewd gagging noises fill the room. John holds you on his cock, letting out a deep groan at the feeling of your muscles tightening around him-

“That’s it baby, just a little more-”

“Fuck, she’s squeezing so fucking tight-” Johnny moans from behind you.

“I can feel it,” John breathes.

“When you cum, I’ll have to cum-”

“She’s close too-”

“Fuck.” Johnny pulls his thumb out of your ass suddenly, wrapping his hand around your front so two fingers can circle your clit. At the same time, John takes his cock from your mouth, releasing a loud moan-

You cum in unison with the dark double, and from the loud grunt at your rear, you’re pretty sure Johnny’s just reached his peak as well.

You’re breathing heavily, mind completely delirious. Your throat feels raw as you swallow thickly- “Thank you, fuck, thank you, thank you, thank you-” you begin to blabber as John cums hard on your face, his large hand jerking himself off while ropes paint your skin.

“Good girl, good fucking girl-” Johnny groans behind you, fucking you through your highs while his fingers continue on your clit, drawing out your orgasm while your pussy milks him for every drop of cum he has.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you-” you can’t stop saying it, even while tears and cum begin to drip down your cheeks, your body completely overwhelmed by the two men who know you like the back of their hand.

Above you, John releases one last shuddery breath. He strokes your hair, whispering the word “Perfect-” and then, just as suddenly as he’d appeared, he disappears.

You collapse forward onto the bed, pussy still throbbing around Johnny, who slowly comes to a stop behind you.

Then he’s collapsing as well, laying his warm body against your back and pressing you against the mattress. His lips are hot along your bare shoulders and he seeks out your neck, teasing past your ear.

“You did so good for us,” he praises you. “Such a perfect baby.”

“Johnny-” you whimper, as deep in subspace as you’ve ever been in your whole life.

“I know, baby, I know. You don’t have to talk.” You hear him swallow thickly, and with one last kiss to your throat, he pulls away. “I’m gonna get you in a bath. Gonna wash all this cum off of you and cuddle you to sleep, sound good?”

“Please-” you moan, pussy clenching around him again.

“Fuck,” he groans, pulling his cock out of your tight, dripping hole. “We really did a number on you.”

But in all honesty, you really wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! dream threesome tbh

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🔮 preview. “What happened to your manners, baby?” John’s grip increases again, making your head dizzy. “You were sweeter to me last time. Only sweet girls get fucked in the ass. So are you going to be sweet for me? Or am I going to have to punish you into submission?”

cw/ tw. Threesome, unprotected sex, anal, blow job, oral, praise, dirty talk, degradation, y/n calls Johnny daddy a few times, demonic double John is a bit of a dick, anal fingering, double penetration (pussy/ass), big dick Johnny, pussy/ass stretching, etc… I pet names: (hers) baby.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 3.7k I teaser wc. 270

🌙 staring. Johnny & John x afab!Reader

bonus

“Surprise, surprise. I didn’t think you two would conjure me again so soon.”

Your heart skips a beat as you turn to find John standing by the door. It’s been less than a month since you’ve seen him last, and like that first time, he’s dressed as the mirror image of your boyfriend. However, it’s not a white shirt and blue jeans, this time, your boyfriend had gone for full black attire, and it matches the dark hair of his demonic double in a way that has you practically throbbing already.

“What can we say?” Johnny grins. “We liked having an extra set of hands.”

“As if our hands are the best thing about us,” John rolls his eyes, pushing off from the wall. He approaches you like a predator, and you’d missed the swagger in his step, it’s a unique stride that has your heart picking up pace in your chest. “There’s no lying to me, not when I know everything you know, Johnny. I’m here tonight because our perfect little baby is finally ready for the main attraction. She wants to be double stuffed. Fully.”

“I guess there’s no point in fucking around,” Johnny laughs, “even if we do have more time than last I conjured you.”

Your gaze shifts to the massive candle burning on the altar. You and Johnny had gone to six different spell shops to find the largest one possible- it’s almost as big as Johnny’s dick when he’s hard, and girthy too. You’ve got all the time in the world tonight- even so, you don’t want to waste a second.

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frenchkisstheabyss · 1 year ago

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♡ 𝖘𝖓𝖊𝖆𝖐𝖞 𝖑𝖎𝖙𝖙𝖑𝖊 𝖉𝖊𝖛𝖎𝖑 ♡

♡ Ahem, @deathbyyeekies requested "the works" from me with a needy Mingi fic and, ya know, the works shall be delivered unto you, darling ♡

♡ Pairing: song mingi x curvy!fem!reader

♡ Summary: After a passionate weekend together you start ignoring Mingi's texts and calls which only makes him crave you even more

♡ Genre: smut sprinkled w/ some plot

♡ Word Count: 1.9kish

♡ Warnings: strong fem dom vibes but Mingi & reader are sorta switch at certain points, mostly he's down bad for you though, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), possessiveness, unprotected sex, creampie

♡ A/N: This is a request so there are some mentions of the reader being smaller than Mingi height wise though she's still a curvy babe!

What had he done? What cardinal sin had he committed that made him worthy of damnation? You ignore him entirely while other women kneel before him, worshiping the very ground he walks on. There are women who’d do anything for him. Follow his commands without question but you, somehow, had deemed him unworthy of such blind loyalty.

No matter how hard he tried to bury his memories of that weekend you spent together, his mind always drifted back to images of you beneath him on your bed, your teeth biting down on smeared, puffy red lips as he collected drops of arousal from your sweet pussy with his curved tongue. He knew it was all in his head but he swore he could still taste you on the back of his tongue, feel you dripping down the back of his throat. His heart nearly beat out of his chest at the thought of it. You were an addiction and the withdrawals were a bitch.

But you, for reasons he laid awake at night trying to uncover, hadn’t called him after. Five days went by without as much as a text from you. The guys all told him to forget about you but he couldn’t. Whatever you had done to him, the all consuming thirst you’d given him for your plush body, couldn’t be undone. It could only be satisfied by you and you alone. So here he is, the man who towered above you when he picked you up at the club that night, on his knees in your living room, fingers stroking your plump hips through the silk of your robe.

None of this had been intentional on your part. At least not at first. You knew his reputation when you met him. It had never crossed your mind that you might become something special to him. No other girl had. You’d simply accepted that you were no different and gave in to him anyway. Anything to feel his body against yours, the bass of his deep voice whispering filthy professions into your ear that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. It never occurred to you that he’d pursue you the way that he has and, once it started, you couldn’t bring yourself to put him out of his misery.

The longer you ignored him the more needy he became. You went from having only received flowers from a man once or twice in your life to coming home to dozens of roses every day. There were love notes ancient poets would envy and gifts that cost more than you made in a month. The man was groveling, doing everything he could, until you finally gave in and asked him to come to your place. “Missed me?” you ask, your voice much too sweet for a creature so cruel, as you run your fingers through his hair, nails soothing an itch on his scalp he hadn’t noticed needed scratching before now.

“Mmhmm” he hums, his full rosy lips brushing along the tender meat of your inner thigh. Your body shivers at the contact. Beneath all of the games, you’d missed him as much as he had you. It’s why you’d spent every night running your fingers over your clit, coming with his name flowing from your lips in the form of hushed moans. It’s why you have nothing beneath this robe that reveals enough of your soft body to make him salivate. You knot your fingers at the base of his scalp, tilting his head back to lock his eyes onto yours.

He’s ridiculously handsome, the prettiest boy you’ve ever laid eyes on, and he’s at your mercy. “You want me, Mingi?” He can only laugh to himself, nibbling at your heated flesh, his tongue leaving strips of moisture along your thigh. “No. Not want” he pants, strong hands sinking into your hips to bring your core so close to him that you can feel his breath warm against your clit, “Need.” You drape your left leg over his shoulder, thigh rocking against his cheek, “Show me.” Mingi can’t tell if that’s a show of dominance or submission, it’s honestly a bit of both, but it’s all he needs to hear to place his tongue along your slit.

“Mingi…” you gasp as it swirls into you, teasing your walls. You tighten around him, coating his tongue like he knew you would. “Sweetest pussy…” he slurps, licking between your folds, his tongue circling your stiff clit, “I’ve ever tasted. Fuck, baby. Mmmm.” Mingi’s hands are locked onto your hips, his hold inescapable as he purses his lips around your clit, suckling at it so deliciously that your legs begin to shake. Each time he flicks his chin up pleasure pulses through your veins.

Freeing one of your hips from his death grip, he brings his middle and pointer fingers to your entrance, splashing in the wetness of your soaked pussy before burying them inside of you. Your eyes fall closed as he hypnotizes you with the rhythm of his wrist. “One more?” he asks, spreading you out enough for his ring finger to join the others. “Yes…please” you whine, basking in the pressure brought on by the introduction of his third finger. This is what you both dreamed of night after night.

You drenching his chin in your juices. Him claiming your pussy with his fingers. Beginning again to own each other. To consume each other. Mingi mercilessly knocks against your sweet spot, having committed to memory the precise angle it takes to make you unravel. With his knuckles grinding hard against your slit, you can feel yourself getting ready to come and he does too.

“You’re so close aren’t you, beautiful? Ready to come all over my fingers?”

“Yeah…” you whine, knees growing weaker by the second.

“Yeah?” he teases, fucking into you harder.

Before Mingi you hadn’t known that fingers could be this magical but fuck if they aren’t casting all sorts of spells on your body. How were you ever really going to deny him when he made you feel like this? Who could make you come the way he does? No one and he knows it. There’s no hiding it when your pussy’s nearly swallowing his entire hand, desperate for release. “Oh my…shit!” you cry out, your body folding as you hit your high. Mingi catches you, carefully lying you back on to the floor, his fingers still pumping in and out of you.

It’s so cute seeing how helpless you are just from his fingers. Squirming on the floor, tits spilling out of your robe, with your mouth wide open saying his name over and over like a broken record. “Why didn’t you answer my calls?” he asks, taking full advantage of having you quite literally in the palm of his hand. “I don’t know…I…” you stutter, finding it impossible to string a sentence together. Mingi leans down, capturing one of your buds between his teeth, “Don’t lie to me.” He nips at your bud firmly enough to make you squeal, a gentle warning of what’s to come if you can’t get your answers straight.

“I was scared!” you spit out, your hand resting on his as it slows inside of you, eventually coming to a stop. Mingi sits up, eyes narrowing, “Scared? Of what?” You bring your hands over your face to hide your embarrassment, “I was scared to end up like the other girls.” “Other girls?” he asks, sitting down beside you to process what you’re saying, “What 'other girls’?” You can’t bring yourself to answer but he won’t accept your silence. Mingi pulls your hands away from your face, hovering over you, “What ‘other girls’?” “Look, everyone knows that girls love you. You’re always flirting with them and…”

“Well, yeah, it’s my job but that doesn’t mean I sleep with them or send them flowers.” He leans in closer to you, his lips moistening yours with your own juices, “Or write them poems about how beautiful they are. Or beg for them. I begged for you.” All of the blood rushes to your cheeks and you’re…smiling? You roll your eyes at yourself. Ugh. “You did.” “And you know why?” “Why?” “Because,” he sighs, running his hand along the curves of your body, “I want you all to myself. I’ll beg again if I have to.”

His fingertips graze your twitching clit, reawakening your senses. Resting your hands on his cheek, you press your lips to his, your tongue sweeping into his mouth to taste whatever remains of yourself amongst the warmth of his cheeks. “No more begging.” You spread your legs for him to palm your exposed pussy, “I’m yours. Take me.” Take you? You can’t even begin to fathom the fire it ignites inside of him when you say that. “Take me,” you say it like you mean it because you do and Mingi doesn’t hesitate to do so, scooping you into his arms and carrying you to your bedroom, all while kissing you like his life depends on it.

When he finally puts you down you’re standing on your tippy toes, blindly undoing his pants to free the aching thickness stressing the fibers of his boxers. It slaps against your stomach, precum smearing on your lush belly. You stroke his length, tracing the veins that run from base to tip, “You gonna give it to me or what?” Mingi gently pinches your chin between his thumb and pointer fingers, “You’re really bossy for someone so short.”

“Shut up, you love it.”

“Fuck…you’re right” he smiles, wrapping his arms around your thighs to pick you up again.

This time your arms are around his neck, legs hooked around his waist, while he pushes into you. It’s gradual, the fullness that overtakes you inch by toe curling, back arching inch. Mingi spins around, laying back on the bed so that you’re on top of him. But he’s still in control, gripping your supple ass each time he disappears into you. You swallow his cock the same way you did his fingers. It’s almost as if you want him to lose his mind. You do. Burying your face in his neck, you inhale the intoxicating scent of his cologne, “Deeper. I…want all of you. Need.”

Mingi’s long arms close around you, making it impossible to move, and he grants your wish. There’s no “in and out” anymore. Only in. Mingi kisses your shoulder, rocking deep inside of you, fighting off the urge to come from how desperately you’re gripping him. But there's no use fighting it. The euphoria of having you again...it’s even more intense than last time.

“I’m…gonna cum. Where...want...me?”

You piece together his broken words, bringing your lips back to his. Giving him one final kiss, you stare into his eyes and whisper, “In me. Mark your territory.” You feel the air escape his lungs as his body convulses, the warm white liquid that painted your lips less than a week ago now adorning your walls. Mingi’s muscles loosen enough that you have the room to ride him through his high, triggering another of your own as your clit's pleasured by the friction between your bodies.

By the time you’re done with him, there’s nothing left. Every drop of anything he had to offer now belongs to your pussy and the grabbable, jiggly part of your inner thighs that it’s leaking down. You collapse onto his chest, hearing his heart race as you both struggle to catch the breath you lost. Mingi kisses you on the forehead, hugging you tightly again, “Mine.” You yawn, reaching a limp finger up to boop him on the nose, “Yours.”

#ateez x chubby reader #ateez x you #ateez smut #ateez x y/n #ateez x reader #mingi x y/n #mingi x you #mingi x reader #mingi smut #chubby reader #plus size reader #chubby smut #plus size smut

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deancrowleycas · 10 months ago

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personally swaying between two depending on what era we talk about but really interested in what you all think

#castiel #spn #supernatural #cas #castiel posting

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nyctoaerah · 8 months ago

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⋆♱⋆RETRIBUTION CH: 5

⋆♱⋆SYPNOSIS You found yourself stripped of your immortality, a punishment for daring to flout the edicts laid down by your father. Your transgressions? Two-fold. First, the grave sin of disobedience, and Secondly, the cardinal offense of falling irrevocably in love with your Lady in waiting. In your father’s eyes, the sanctity of your divinity was tarnished by a same-gender relationship, a concept that he vehemently repudiated as aberrant and abhorrent. Such unforgivable love, he pontificated, dulled your goddess-like essence. Thus he used his powers and casted you adrift into a parallel universe suffused with curses and sorcerers whose love aren't really the healthy type of love, a punishment to show you that ‘Love’ isn’t all about sunshine and rainbows

⋆♱⋆WARNINGS Gore, Slow Burn Yandere, Love Percentage Au. Pseudo Incest on Choso’s Case. Confusing Bullshit. Sexual themes, Biological Incest. Unedited.

⋆♱⋆PAIRINGS Yandere! Jjk x Isekai’d! Goddess! Reader

⋆♱⋆LOVE INTERESTS Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Shoko Ieri, Yuki Tsukumo, Kento Nanami, Utahime Iori, Choso, Toji Fushiguro, Sukuna Ryomen

⋆♱⋆NOTE Also posted in wattpad & quotev. Hearts and Reblogs are greatly appreciated<3.

⋆♱⋆PREVIOUS CHAPTER

⋆♱⋆MASTERLIST

A GUST OF WIND whispered past you, its delicate fingers tracing a chill across your [S/c] skin, and a sigh escapes your lips, dark lashes fluttering shut.

You clutched at the shredded fabric of your gown, the pads of your fingers tracing the crushed remnants of the necklace nestled in your décolletage.

Though the chains had withstood the violence that had befallen on you, the jewel at its center now lay in glittering shards pressed against your heaving bosom.

How it was still intact after you almost drowned remained a mystery, however.

The shrill serenade of crickets hidden amongst the swaying grass reverberated on your ears, along with the soft yet loud pulsing within your chest and your ragged breaths clawing their way past your lips.

You opened your eyes and you peered into the inky shadows cloaking the forest, watching as the undulating branches danced and writhed in the pale moonlight.

The moon shone like polished pewter hanging heavy in the night sky, its pale glow casting the place in shades of silver. You sat on top of a rock with your elbows placed on your bent thighs, cupping your chin in weary palms as you gazed upward, drinking in the silvery glow of the moon that spilled across the darkened earth.

Moments like this brought bittersweet memories flooding back.

You recalled stolen nights with Ataraxia—Sneaking away from the empire and going down to Shaxilu to stargaze.

You missed how her silken hair would flow over your skin as you cradled each other, chatting and chuckling while naming constellations with breathy whispers

In those past evenings, Ataraxia would lay her head in your lap, finger-painting stories in the glittering sky as you watched, transfixed not by the heavenly wonders but the terrestrial beauty that you would always see in her eyes.

She was lost staring at the stars above...while You’re lost staring at the stars that you would see in her eyes.

With a heavy sigh, you dragged your fingers through your hair, just wanting to go back to her, just wanting to feel her lips on yours, feel her touch.

But then, how could you return there, when you’re stuck here on earth?

You find yourself trapped in a realm of ambiguity.

How are you supposed to go back to nebula?

It dawns on you that you are forbidden from returning to the celestial sanctuary of the nebula, after all.

You were Exiled.

A surge of frustration erupts within you, and a groan bubbles up your throat.

Why the fuck did you have to get such a cruel father? It was so unfair, so, so, so unfair.

While others may envy your lineage—for having the creator of the universe as your father, for you, it is a harrowing nightmare from which you cannot awaken.

To them, aionarch may be a deity to worship, a deity to fear and respect, but to you, he is a tyrant to despise.

The loathing you nurture towards aionarch simmers within you.

The bitterness rages within you as you recall the pain he inflicted upon not only you but also your mother—the way he hurts her, the way he hurts you , as if you weren’t his child, as if xeranthi wasn’t his wife.

A of hatred burns hot within your chest.

Why must your paternal lineage be marred by such malevolence? Why must your father be so callous, so devoid of compassion?

Surely, a father’s love should be a beacon of compassion and guidance, not a shroud of cruelty and desolation, right?

The notion that paternal love should be unconditional feels like a distant myth, a fantasy beyond your grasp.

These thoughts churn within you, and you felt getting more, and more agitated as time passes by.

You rubbed your throbbing temples, just wanting the incessant ache to subside as you forced your mind to go back to the present dilemma—and not focus on aionarch’s bullshit.

Loathing aionarch would avail you nothing after all, and focus was imperative—as you needed to make a plan, a plan to go back to nebula and find ataraxia.

You were sure that if you even managed to go back to Nebula, Aionarch would kill you, yet, you didn’t care. Ataraxia was more important.

Focus was key—you needed to devise a plan to return to nebula, to find your beloved Ataraxia.

Ataraxia is in danger, or maybe even dead...

The thought sent a twisting ache through your guts, knotting your insides as your throat constricted painfully. Images of her harmed or worse flooded your mind unbidden, each more gruesome than the last. You cursed your own vulnerability, your lack of power in this scenario. All you could do was hope, hope with every fiber of your being, that Fate had seen fit to spare her.

Have trust in her, she’s strong and intelligent. you told yourself again.

You raked your trembling fingers through your hair as you sighed deeply, mouth twitching down into a frown as your fingers curled slightly as you suddenly remembered another obligation that was suddenly smashed down on you.

You’re a single mother now.

How the hell could you face Ataraxia? How are you supposed to tell her that you’re now a single mother and you have no explanation to offer? Doubtless, ataraxia would assume the worst—that in a moment of weakness or worse yet deceit, you had laid with another.

You didn’t want that, because infidelity isn’t your forte.

It sucks, really, because you don’t even know the father of your self proclaimed son.

A shaking hand rose unsteadily to the nape of your neck, kneading the taut muscles that was locked, yet it provided no respite from the conflicted feelings that was raging within you.

You were so lost in your thoughts, and time itself ceased to have meaning. How long you’d lingered on the frigid ground again?

You just sat there, staring at the moon.

How had it come to this, you wondered. Why were you suddenly tasked with motherhood against your consent? Choso seemed resolute in claiming your connection, in claiming that he was your son.

And somehow, you believed it. Because his nature remained unclear, he wasn’t a human, and neither were you—so there’s a possibility that he was indeed your son.

Meanwhile, Your self-proclaimed son—Choso was beside you as you contemplated on your life choices.

Choso sat silently, idly dragging a stray twig through the sandy earth. His boredom was palpable, though his gaze occasionally flickered in your direction, scrutinizing for any sign of you retaliating or running away—After all, he can’t have you running from your obligation as his mother now, can you?

There was a palpable tension in the air as the two of you perched upon the rugged rock.

The silence was suffocatingly deafening—for it wasn’t the serene quietude, but rather an uneasy stillness that seemed to seep into the very crevices of the place.

Choso’s gaze was fixed on the earth beneath him, the tip of a stick tracing aimless patterns in the dirt, etching out random letters that held no meaning.

Choso couldn’t fathom why you appeared so distraught—Why you looked so upset and agitated and a pang of guilt tugged at his heartstrings. Was it his presence that caused your distraught, leading you to sulk?

A fleeting frown crossed Choso’s lips. Is it because of him that you’re upset or something? He just wants you to let you know that you have a son, and not have you getting all depressed right here and then.

What had transpired to render you so distant, as though he were a stranger? Why do you gaze at him with a disorientated gaze—as though you don’t know him?

“Hey...” Your muted voice floated on the breeze, taking Choso’s attention as his ebony tresses swayed in the wind. Turning his head in uour direction, his gaze fell upon your crestfallen mien—your eyes downcast and avoiding his probing stare

“Yes?” he asked, watching as you finally looked at him, noting the pensive furrow of your brow and the piercing gaze that you were giving him.

“...you said that you’re my child, right?” Doubt laced your query as a thought took root—if it was true—that he was your son, then why did he stand before you fully grown? You were untouched, a maiden still, and your reason rebelled against what your eyes insisted was fact.

Maybe ataraxia got you pregnant unintentionally? No, no, that’s not possible, two women could not create new life no matter how fervent the affection is, and you haven’t done the deed yet.

Such things were fanciful impossibilities.

“Yes,” Choso said simply, though his reply did little to allay your turmoil—It was vague after all.

You frowned pensively as you took in Choso’s visage. Lines of strain etched themselves across his brow; a tightness pulled at the corners of his mouth. Shadows dusked beneath his downcast eyes. Had your words carried too much censure?

Is it your fault? Were you so harsh? Is it because that you didn’t accept him as your son? Is it because you just won’t drop the subject?

Did he felt neglected by his mother or something?

You knew not how to be a mother, so how are you supposed to fulfill that role and not make him feel neglected? You were stressed too... Because if he really is your son, then why wasn’t he a baby at all, why is he a grown ass man?

The position strained you both, truly. Your chest constricted at the sight of choso’s solemn expression. Softly, you massaged your aching temples. Through dark lashes, you peered at Choso, taking in the stiff set of broad shoulders, fingers clenched white-knuckled in his lap.

While you watched him with a pitiful gaze, Choso’s gaze remained downcast, tracing the purposeful march of dark ants amidst the dirt.

Choso was just wondering what would happen if he was born as an ant while you were busy there in your internal turmoil.

“Hey...”

A tentative breath escaped your lips as you mustered the courage to speak once more, the words delicately balanced on the tip of your tongue. “I’m sorry,”

you uttered, your voice barely above a whisper as you averted your gaze, your hand trembling slightly as it came to rest upon your lap.

“I was just... overwhelmed by everything that’s happened,” you confessed, your fingers twisting anxiously in your lap.

“That’s why I’ve been so... agitated.. there’s just so many things that happened to me.. and I guess.. i kinda let my anger out on you...”

The memory of Toji’s pungent aroma suddenly assaulted your senses, causing your nose to scrunch in a grimace as you fought to push the unpleasant recollection aside.

Out of anything, why did you have to remember that little shit?

You sighed.

“I’m so sorry for being so harsh..”

You paused, your gaze searching his face, hoping to gauge his reaction, to discern whether your apology had been accepted or if the rift between your non-existent bond remained unhealed.

“I’m really sorry,” you said, the words laced with a heavy sigh as your fingers curled into your palms, the knuckles turning white with the tension. Choso arched a single, eyebrow, his expression a mix of confusion and intrigue.

“Why are you apologizing?” he asked, his deep voice tinged with puzzlement. Were you feeling remorseful for some reason he couldn’t discern?

You bit your lower lip, the soft flesh catching between your teeth as you contemplated your response.

“Because of my harshness,” you murmured, your gaze dropping to the floor.

“I may have... unintentionally, of course... offended you.”

The words felt thick and heavy on your tongue, as if your very breath struggled to form them. Choso hummed, a low, contemplative sound that reverberated in his chest.

He couldn’t help but note the shift in your demeanor, the way your once-brash and snappish attitude had given way to a more gentle, solemn air. Had you finally come to terms with the fact that he had bested you in your previous arguments? Even better, did you finally accepted that he was your son? Fantastic, indeed.

Scooting closer to you, Choso reached out, his long fingers gently brushing against the back of your hand.

“You didn’t offend me,” he assured, his voice soft and soothing.

“There’s no need to apologize.”

You looked up, your eyes meeting his.

“I... I suppose that it’s okay then... But still, i’m sorry...” you said, your words hesitant and uncertain.

But then, just as quickly as the moment of peace had come, it was gone, and you were back to your old self, your brow furrowing as you fixed Choso with a pointed stare.

“But you do realize that you can’t be my son, don't you?” you asked.

Choso’s eye twitched, and he resisted the urge to let out a frustrated sigh. There you go again, trying to stir up another argument. It seemed that this was a topic you two would never see eye to eye on.

Your fingers gently intertwined with his calloused hand, and you couldn’t help but notice the stark contrast in texture, not only that.. his hands seemed to have the same size of yours, yet it still fit snugly.

An involuntary frown tugged at the corners of your lips as you contemplated whether your stature had somehow diminished, for you were certain your palm would have dwarfed his own. After all, you were taller than him and his head were barely reaching your shoulder.

“I know I’ve already told you this countless times before, but...” You paused, your voice soft and measured as you prepared to broach the sensitive topic once more.

“My lover is a woman.” You paused, studying his features for any flicker of understanding

Pressing your lips into a tight, resolute line, you continued,

“And two women, as you’re aware, cannot conceive a child together.”Your gaze drifted downward, fingers tracing the weathered contours of his palm in a delicate, almost reverent caress.

“And... Ugh, how many times do i have to say this...? This is embarrassing...” you grumbled.

“I’m the embodiment of chastity.”

You mumbled, lifting your eyes to meet his, a silent plea resonated within your gaze.

“And besides, we should simply just drop this and accept the fact that you’re not my son. Ataraxia might grow upset and assume I’ve been unfaithful and that i’m cheating on her.” Your words were laced with a soft desperation.

“And i don’t want that...”

“Please?”

Choso scoffed, his brow furrowing as he pressed his palm against his temple, the other hand still enveloped in your grasp.

”Just... accept it,” he murmured, his voice tinged with exasperation.

“You still have my brother nestled within your womb.”

The very mention of that fact caused a knot of dread to coil in the pit of your stomach, His brother remained nestled safely within your womb. How could you forget the life growing within? How could you have forgotten, even for a moment, the life that now thrummed within you—the life that had been so unexpectedly, inexplicably conceived?

...

Now ataraxia had more reason to believe that you cheated because you were technically pregnant!

You released your hold on his hand, fingers trembling slightly as you raked them through your hair, the strands catching and snagging against your skin, and nails scraping across your scalp in agitation.

“How did this even happen?” you breathed, the words barely audible as you watched Choso press his palm reverently against your tummy, fingers splayed as if listening.

“Can you not hear it?” he murmured, his expression calm and collectedness.

“Hear what?”

“The heartbeat of Noranso.” You felt your eyes widen in shock, jaw dropping open as you stared at him, utterly flabbergasted. Flummoxed, you gaped at him as you spoke.

“Tangina Choso... Don’t tell me that..” The words tumbled from your lips, colored with disbelief.

You felt a bubbling surge of annoyance boil within your core, because if you were to give birth to that random child that randomly popped in your tummy then you would’ve named it ‘destroyer of the land and mountains’

You grimaced, founding the name that choso had given his brother kinda weird, and you were acting as if the name that you would give it wasn’t any weirder.

But To be honest? if choso didn’t have a name, then you would’ve had named him “armpit munchies” or “squishy toe nails.”

“... you named it?”

Choso merely shrugged, stepping back from you with a nonchalant air.

“No, that’s his name,” he replied vaguely, leaving you to gape at his retreating form, a thousand questions swirling in your mind.

His explanation provided little clarity to your muddled psyche. Brow furrowed, glancing between him and your stomach curiously. Finally, words tumbled forth quietly

“It has a name.” You repeated, baffled.

“I.. i see..”

“Do you all have your names chosen even before the...” you paused, brow furrowing as you struggled to find the right words,

“the sperm race?”

Choso merely shook his head, seeming equally perplexed.

“I don’t recall joining a race.” choso murmured.

“What’s a sperm?”

Waves of discomfort washed over you as you stared at Choso with a perplexed gaze, your fingers instinctively massaging the tense muscles at the base of your neck. How could this man before you, with all the trappings of adulthood, be utterly ignorant of the most fundamental aspects of human biology? You found yourself bewildered, your brow furrowing as you struggled to comprehend the sheer depth of his naivety.

“You don’t know what a sperm is?” The words tumbled from your lips, laced with a mixture of incredulity and pity. Your eyes searched Choso's face, wondering if perhaps he was some sort of savant, what if he’s actually a baby trapped in a man’s body?

“Er, well... it’s a small creature,” you began, the words catching in your throat as you grappled with the awkwardness of the situation.

“And, you know, it’s what men... release... on the female. And then, it leads to a baby or something.” You trailed off.

“Like during reproduction,” You added.

“You have those too” The words tumbled forth, a futile attempt to bridge the chasm of understanding that separated you. Choso’s expression remained flat.

“What do you mean?” His voice, devoid of any hint of emotion, only served to heighten your sense of unease.

“You have those too. Sperm. You have those.” You shook your head, the words tinged with a resigned exasperation.

“I don’t.” Choso asserted, shaking his head in a way that made your eye twitch involuntarily.

“But you do,” you replied, unable to contain your exasperation as you facepalmed.

“Beneath those clothes, you have a dick. It’s the thing between your legs, the flesh thing. And then you have balls, they’re connected to the dick and your sperm is inside of your balls.”

Your brusque, vulgar manner of explaining the process confused choso, you cringed internally as you realized how embarrassing and blunt your words is. Leaning forward, you extended a lone digit, pressing the tip firmly against the juncture of his thighs.

“Here.” you said.

Choso’s brow arched in bewilderment, his calloused palm slowly trailing downward to tentatively graze the area you had indicated.

“Here?” he questioned, his tone laced with uncertainty.

You offered a curt nod of affirmation.

“Yes, precisely there.” A long-suffering sigh escaped your lips as you watched his exploration.

“There’s nothing here.”

“Punyeta, choso, Anong kabobohan to?”

you lamented, the palm of your hand connecting sharply with your forehead in a gesture of pure exasperation.

Did this mirror the frustration Aionarch experienced while explaining the details of reproduction and the importance of restraint to your dumb ass? Was this the same impatience he felt when you struggled to grasp basic concepts? Is this how he felt when he was teaching you what sex is and you can’t understand anything?

“I don’t know. But i don’t really know what you’re talking about.” Choso’s brow creased slightly as he tried to decipher your cryptic remarks.

“Are you truly aware that offspring gestate within the female womb, yet remain ignorant of the nature of the seed that initiates such creation?” you inquired with a hint of disbelief.

Choso emitted a dismissive snort. “Tsk.”

“Do i look like i care about that reproductive thing that you’re talking about?” Choso inquired, arching a sculpted brow with dubious sincerity.

“Your words are too flowery ma, i can’t understand it.”

Choso responded, the honorific “ma” slipping unbidden from his tongue unconsciously. In all honesty, he could not muster the slightest interest in your diatribe and the meanings therein—Your speech simply dwarfed his capacity for comprehension.

“M-ma?” You sputtered in disbelief, your viscera twisted within your torso’s confines. Why the hell does he keep perceiving you as the mother who birthed him? You had already told him so many times before, Had his cognizance reshaped itself to see you thus? Jaw clenched taut, gut wrenched with turmoil, you met his steady gaze.

“What?” he asked, purple eyes narrowed to slits as irritation claimed dominion of mien and manner.

“Are you still insisting that i have that “dick” you were talking of?”

“i don’t have those.” he reiterated adamantly.

You exhaled deeply, pressing your fingertips to your temples as sheer vexation overtook you. It seemed this Choso was intent on persisting in his fanciful notion of you as his mothe, huh?

Though you strove for patience, his constant invocations of that diminutive designation only served to stoke the flames of irritation within you.

You know that this might just fuel his delusion but you still spoke.

“If you’re really my son then you’ll have those.”

you remarked, exasperation sharpening your tongue as you pointed on his torso. Directing his gaze downwards, you noted the minute tensing of his brows as thoughtful consideration replaced that look of misguided familial bonding. Silently, he pondered your implication, tracing where your suggestive gesture indicated—his midsection bereft of the corporeal signs one might expect finding to see a true blood relation.

“Why do you keep pointing at my midriff?, there’s nothing here.”

“I know that i’m right. You should just look for yourself, see if you’re right.” he mumbled incomprehensibly.

“Okay.” You said flatly.

Your fingers grasped the fabric of his vest, the coarse material rough against your skin as you tugged him closer. With a sharp tug, you lifted the garment, revealing the taut, chiseled planes of his abdomen. His breath hitched suddenly, not expecting that.

“So?” He breathes out.

“It’s under here.” you murmured, your voice low and lilting as your hand drifted downward, tracing the line of the black, silk-like sash cinched around his hips. With deft movements, you began to untie the knot, your fingertips dipping beneath the waistband of his trousers as you tugged it.

“Here?” He asked, and choso blinked as he suddenly felt blood rushing down there.

What the hell is happening? He could feel something stiffening, but he just couldn’t pinpoint what it is...

“You look like you’re living in an another person’s body, you know?” you murmured, your eyes gravitating upwards to meet his. Choso’s gaze wandered, his mind occupied with a myriad of thoughts, his body tensing uncomfortably in response. The alien sensation of his new body still lingered, a mere twenty days into this unfamiliar vessel. A body bestowed upon him by a mysterious stranger, a doppelganger of yourself in every aspect—from the matching lips to the identical eyes, skin tone, and hair.

The resemblance between you two was uncanny, eerie in its precision.

But the personalities and the voice is different though.

Unease shadowed his features, amethyst eyes brooding, thoughts no doubt wandering to that fateful encounter only days past when first he’d been gifted with animated flesh.

Your voice broke him out of his reverie.

“I am not well-versed in the anatomy of males, But i guess I’ll just indulge you in from what I've read in my books,” you stated with a trace of bitterness, recalling the arduous task of having to study that 50 books with long ass pages for no reason at all.

“Maybe we should start with your upper physique?” you suggested with innocent curiosity, your words laced with a hint of uncertainty.

Your delicate hands slowly roamed his firm physique, lingering in certain spots as if mapping every contour with her touch alone. A visible shiver coursed through his body at the first caress upon his bare chest. “So here,” You began, pressing your soft palms fully against his pecs,

“lies your thoracic cavity.”

He gazed down intently at your hands exploring his form, too confused to fully comprehend your anatomical lesson.

“What’s a thoracic cavity?” He questioned, his curiosity piqued.

“It’s your chest. It’s a complex chamber nestled within your chest, safeguarding the vital organs necessary for sustaining life,” you explained, noting how he tilted his head slightly as he delicately removed your fingers from his cloth. With a meticulous gesture, he adjusted the fabric and lifted it up higher granting you an enhanced view of his upper body.

“You mean, the things that are essential for living?” he murmured in wonderment.

“Yeah.” you affirmed with a nod.

“Hmm... Intriguing,” he mused, mentally marking the importance of this knowledge.

His gaze then wandered towards your own chest.

“Why does your chest look like that? It’s different from mine.” he inquired, leaving you momentarily speechless.

You gawked.

“Putanginang lalake to... Choso, don’t ask questions like that! It’s uncomfortable and weird.” You sighed.

“Look me in the eyes, not my chest,” you instructed, a hint of exasperation lacing your words as he acquiesced with a nod, seemingly unaware of his lapse in etiquette.

You cleared your throat, hoping to get rid of the awkward atmosphere.

“So... Back to what i was saying.”

“There’s organs in here and they’re essential for your living. It's divided into three main parts, right pleural cavity, left pleural cavity and mediastinum. And the five organs in your thoracic cavity are your heart, lungs, esophagus, trachea and thymus.”

“There’s bones in here too, like your ribs and the sternum.”

“This one’s your sternum,” You mumble, tracing the arch of his sternum before dipping lower

“And this one’s your ribcage.”

Your fingers delicately glided across the solid ridges of his rib cage.

Sliding lower still, the tips of your fingers grazed his taut stomach.

“The abdomen...” you comtinued,

“The abdomen contains many vital organs: the stomach, the small intestine, the large intestine, the liver, the spleen, the gallbladder, the pancreas, the bladder, and many blood vessels.”

“And here, your groin” Your fingers dipped under his waistband and you were about to take it off until a distorted sound reached your ears, a warped and twisted echo that set your nerves on edge.

“Mommyyy” it crooned, and you froze, choso stiffening beside you as you both snapped your gaze toward the source.

There, emerging from the shadows, a giant, fat, purple worm with an ugly and contorted face. The same creature you had once shapeshifted into.

“Mommy Hug me”

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𝐍𝐄𝐁𝐔𝐋𝐀

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The miasmic scent of blood flooded Xeranthi’s senses as she gingerly sat upon her husband’s lap. Aionarch’s hand massaged her lacerated flesh. Stiffening against the forthcoming anguish, she steeled herself to absorb his ministrations without compromise of façade.

The woman’s ravaged flesh contracted in pain as pale slender fingers traced over her fresh lashes, reopening the barely sealed wounds.

Xeranthi’s flesh constricts as his fingers delved deeply into the crimson gash, parting the freshly torn skin with delicate precision. Her muscles and sinews writhed beneath his probing touch, the contractile tissue recoiling from the painful intrusion. Ichor fluid welled and spilled anew with each probing motion, and it dripped down his fingers like midnight liquid, painting his fingers a grim ichor.

Each brush of contact sent tendrils of white-hot agony lancing through her battered form, her stomach roiling with a fresh wave of nauseating pain—and she wanted to vomit so bad.

Aionarch methodically traced the wound’s edge, his glowing touch bringing tentative relief—That xeranthi very much didn’t appreciated. Her taut fibers slowly drew closed once more beneath his healing caress, though, the residual soreness remained.

The whip that they used kn her was excruciatingly painful, a nefarious device of torture forged from a dragon's scaly tail. Each serrated barb along its rippling length was painful, and each sharp tooth that lined the whip’s gangrenous tongue was carved from the fossilized scales of some bygone beast, and Xeranthi could feel her senses reeling as she remembered the obsidian talons buried deep within her back, rending sinews and splitting her skin.

She hissed in irritation as his head nestled intimately at her nape. His fingers drifted now across her marred back, cataloging each cruel mark left by the kiss. Over raised welts and gouges his hands roamed, tracing the ribs laid bare through her broken flesh.

Her form shivered violently at the fresh stimulus to such tender wounds, irritation and anger writting clear upon her trembling limbs. Still he persisted, tending injuries both evident and deeper still, his moist exhalations but another torment upon her skin already flayed. Slowly, gradually, underneath his ministrations the ravages began to fade.

Even in supposed gentleness her sadistic lord inflicted new torments too. Though his touch now soothed rather than seared, memories of past cruelties clung to her like parasites, burrowing their tendrils deep into her psyche.

“you’ve been quiet for quite a while now,”

Aionarch said quietly, though a hint of irritation colored his tone. This wasn’t the reaction he envisioned from Xeranthi after taking her away from that dreadful place.

Despite his efforts to mend her wounds, an undercurrent of ingratitude lingered like a bitter aftertaste.

Such an ungrateful wife she is, no wonder that their daughter is ungrateful too.

“And what would you have me say?”

Xeranthi jaw sets like stone as she let out a derisive grunt.

“Want me to thank you for your oh so called graceful mercy? Want me to thank you and act like you’re my savior when you’re the reason why i’m there in the first place?”

Aionarch grasped her chin roughly, his nails digging crescents into her flesh as he forced her gaze to meet his own.

“Ah? It seems the apple falls not far from the tree,” he murmured. “I think I know from whence our daughter’s foolishness stems,”

He breathed, the scent of wine upon his breath.

“So you’ve finally recognized your own reflection?”

Xeranthi’s lips curled into a wry smile, though no mirth touched her eyes. “So you finally admit she inherits her dull wit from you?”

Pausing, Aionarch considered her retort before throwing back his head and laughing, though the sound held no joy.

“Nay, ‘Tis from you, wife.”

Aionarch hesitated, brow furrowing, then laughed sharply. “No, she gets her foolishness from you.”

“She has your features, your genes,” Xeranthi countered.

“And she has your intellect, or lack thereof.

Aionarch’s fingers clenched tighter, his nails breaking skin, still Xeranthi would not flinch or cry out, meeting his gaze with defiance.

“You are cute Weiveiun,” He says with a chuckle.

Xeranthi narrowed her eyes as his icy gaze bored into her, pale ichor dripping slowly from vicious half-moon gouges in her skin where his nails still dug. Though her flesh stung in pain, she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her pain.

Dark lashes fluttered shut to block out his soulless stare, though it did nothing to halt the onslaught of memories assaulting her mind.

“What did you do to my soryuleitha?”

“I know that you wouldn’t bring her up unless you did something.”

Aionarch hums as he traced a thumb along her jaw, smearing the iridescent blood across her cheek in a gruesome caress.

“What do you think?” He asks.

“I discovered that our daughter has become enamored with a woman,” the deity sighed languidly, and Xeranthi remained stock-still as her eyes grew wide with horror and dismay. No... surely Aionarch has not uncovered your secret attraction to the fairer sex? Xeranthi swallowed painfully, hoping beyond hope that you remains unscathed, for she knows all too well how cruel Aionarch can be, and how fiercely he despises any bond of intimacy that deviates from his narrow conception of propriety. And it was especially grievous, for it concerned you.

“You’ve hurt her...” Xeranthi said in icy tones and Aionarch hummed dismissively, feeling some subterranean forces suddenly surging forth from nowhere to pierce through him, but they dissipated impotently as he dispersed them with a negligent flick of his hand.

“Indeed, I did,” Aionarch replied coldly, without an ounce of remorse, not even caring about xeranthi’s pathetic attempt to hurt him.

Drawing a shuttered breath, Xeranthi stated grimly, “You should’ve just killed her.” She said coldly.

“And not hurt her.”

“You hurt her so grievously because you are consumed by envy of her lover, isn’t it?” Xeranthi murmured pensively, and for a split-second, Aionarch’s eyes widened in surprise at her perceptiveness before he threw his head back and laughed hollowly.

“Clever girl,” he purred, pressing his lips to Xeranthi’s cheek in a mockery of affection, which caused the goddess to recoil inwardly from his defiling touch.

“Since when did you know, hm?” Aionarch asks, and Xeranthi’s gaze slowly drifted downwards, her eyes avoiding his penetrating stare. How did she know? Through her stealthy observations over many years. Ever since you were a mere babe, it had seemed to Xeranthi that Aionarch was utterly obsessed with you, obsessed with sculpting you into some ideal of perfection, obsessed with isolating you from all others until you belonged only to him. None dare speak to him in such a casual, informal way without meeting a ghastly end, and yet with you he was strangely tender, affectionate even.

And that was not all—Aionarch kept a close, watchful guard over your purity as well, as if you were his private treasure. These things had whispered to Xeranthi’s intuition for longer than she could recall, leaving an uneasy sense of foreboding within her.

“Ever since she was a child,”

“I see the way you look at her.” Xeranthi murmured through clenched teeth, each word sharp enough to draw blood. Her fingernails dug half-moons into her palms as barely contained rage coursed through her veins.

“The way you so readily forgive her transgressions, as if she hung the very stars in the sky.”

Aionarch merely hummed in noncommittal acknowledgement, yet the icy disdain miring his eyes belied the uncaring facade he attempted to project.

“True, I harbor no love for you,” he conceded with a frigid smile that raised hackles along Xeranthi's neck.

“But i do care for you. Do I not provide for your needs? Have I not elevated your status above all others?”

She sneered mirthlessly.

“Spare me your falsehoods and justifications. I am no fool, no matter how you may seek to paint me as such. I know well that you used me—my body, my name—for no other purpose than so you could have a child because apparently, i’m the prettiest goddess blah blah blah, bullshit like that. Like i give a damn if you elevated my status”

“Watch your insolent tongue, woman, lest you regret the consequences.”

Xeranthi barked a harsh, derisive laugh.

“The truth wounds, does it? That I see clearly what lies beneath your genteel ravings? She looks like you,” she spat venomously,

“and so you mistake your narcissism for love. You like her because she looks like you, she spits your image.”

“Your feelings for [Name] has never been platonic in the first place.”

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𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𑁍ࠬܓ━━𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

𝐅𝐔𝐍 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐒:

𝟎𝟎𝟏. [Name]’s stomach is starting to digest Choso’s Brother.

𝟎𝟎𝟐. Xeranthi knows about [Name] and Ataraxia.

𝟎𝟎𝟑. [Name] is the goddess of chastity, cause she was forced to live in Chastity by her father.

𝟎𝟎𝟒. Ataraxia heard the conversation between Aionarch and Xeranthi.

𝟎𝟎𝟓. The worm thinks that [Name] is its mommy too because yk? She once transformed into the worm and the worm scent is clinging onto her—so the worm assumed that she was its mommy.

𝟎𝟎𝟔. Choso wanted to ask about Ataraxia but refrained himself from doing so.

𝟎𝟎𝟕. Xeranthi wasn’t bothered by aionarch’s incestuous love cause it’s normal for them—since they’re deities and incest is normal in deities and they see nothing wrong with it.

𝟎𝟎𝟖. The person that gave choso his body was said that they looked like Kamiseijin but it’s not really kamiseijin, neither was it aionarch.

𝟎𝟎𝟗. Aionarch didn’t killed ataraxia for a reason;)

𝟎𝟏𝟎. Aionarch only took Xeranthi away to share some information with Xeranthi cause he kinda expected that Xeranthi would recoil at the thought of [Name] liking a woman but got the opposite reaction instead cause Xeranthi supports her daughter no matter what.

𝟎𝟏𝟏. Choso once considered bashing your head.

━━━━━

𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐒:

𝟎𝟎𝟏. “Punyeta, anong kabobohan to choso” means “What the fuck kind of stupidity is this, Choso?”

Weiveiun means

𝟎𝟎𝟐. Soryuleitha means “My sole happiness”

𝟎𝟎𝟑.Weiveiun means “My darling”

𝟎𝟎𝟒. “Putang inang lalake to” means this fucking man...

━━━━━

🔪 || 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐒

━━━━━

╰┈➤ 𝟎%

—𝐒atoru has been thinking about you or whatever, and honestly? He’s getting a bit jealous of you because suguru has been focusing on tryna figure out what the actual fuck you are.

━━━━━

╰┈➤ 𝟏𝟎%

—𝐒uguru saw ataraxia’s name on the necklace and now he’s assuming that your name is ataraxia<3.

━━━━━

╰┈➤ 𝟎%

—𝐓oji misses his worm already, please come back. He needs money.

━━━━━

╰┈➤ 𝟒% (𝐔𝐩 𝟐%)

—𝐒hoko, just like suguru, assumed that your name is ataraxia and now she’s doing loads of research in tryna find you.

━━━━━

╰┈➤ 𝟐𝟒% (𝐔𝐩 𝟒%)

—𝐂hoso is getting irritated by you. BUT, he’s jealous because a fucking worm just called you mommy! Like why is the worm stealing his mother? Choso was annoyed at that + he’s also annoyed at the fact that you kept on telling him about human reproduction or something like that, he’s getting uncomfortable with the topic + what are you even saying about his body or something? Choso has never really looked at his body or something like that, nor did he paid any mind in the details.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄:

okokok, so i’m not writing choso as an “innocent uwu” bullshit like that. Choso is not innocent in here and he’s just really curious about how the human body works, but that doesn’t mean that he’s innocent or something. He just trusts Kamiseijin and is quite comfortable with her, that’s why. + He’s literally thinking of killing [Name].

━━━━━

Shit’s bouta go down at chapter six:) just don’t mind my obsession with anatomy lmfao. This chapter is cringe af (everything is in my pov) dawg, i sprained my ankle and now i’m itching to hurt my mc again... But i just decided to give her this moment of peace because i’m gonna take it all away soon💓.... Mwhehe i was supposed to make her meet Toru and Sugu in her human form but i decided to just make them meet her at chap 7 cause (spoilers: there’s gonna be a fight in chapter 6)

━━━━━

LOL THIS BULLSHIT BECAME A SCIENCE LESSON INSTEAD OF A JJK FUCKIN' FANFIC LMAOOO SJHSHZJAJAK... And yeah... When i said that there’s gonna be incest in here... I meant that. BUT DON’T THINK THAT I CONDONE/NORMALIZE THAT BEHAVIOR IRL OKAY? incest isn’t okay and it’s illegal<3

━━━━━

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cuties-in-codices · 7 months ago

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Congrats on the bachelor’s. Ang good manuscripts about justice, torture and execution? Its for my end of studies project lol

sure! it kind of depends on what you're actually looking for though. i could point you to hundreds of manuscripts that portray gory martyrdoms, torture in hell, fictional executions etc. in some shape or form (see my latest compilation of isaiah being sawn in half!). those aren't necessarily indicative of real-world practices/norms of justice though, if that's what you're interested in. anyways, here's some stuff i had to think of that might or might not be relevant to your question. keep in mind i'm not an expert on the contents of these manuscripts, i just collect images. :)

1.) the livre de la vigne nostre seigneur (france, 1450–70) is, imo, the place to go if you're looking for cool depictions of hell, demons torturing sinners etc... as for real-world methods of execution, scenes like the one on fol. 30r might be somewhat insightful (christians being persecuted and tortured by the antichrist in various ways):

Oxford, Boudleain Library, MS. Douce 134, fol. 30r

2.) as for justice, i had to think of the sachsenspiegel, which "is one of the most important law books and custumals compiled during the holy roman empire" (wikipedia). here are some impression from a 14th c. edition, one of the first/original ones. every page is composed of the legal text on one side, and matching illustrations on the other. so, for example: at the bottom of the first image here (12v), there's an illustration for the law that said that pregnant women should only be penalized/tortured in a relatively mild way (penalties "on the skin and hair"):

Heidelberg, UB, Cod. Pal. germ. 164, fol. 12v and 20r

3.) here's another manuscript that contains illustrations of henchmen of the antichrist getting creative with torturing people (bavaria, c. 1440):

Berlin, SBB, Ms. germ. fol. 733, fol. 6v and 7r

4.) now this one's niche, but i personally really really love this 15th century (bavarian) series of images depicting ways in which various sinners/sins receive different eternal punishments in hell. each miniature is dedicated to a different cardinal sin or violation of one of the ten commandments. to give you an impression, here's a selection of sins and their punishments:

unchastity and gluttony:

envy and wrath:

adultery and false testimony:

Nürnberg, STN, Cent. V, App. 34a, fol. 114r-123r

regarding medieval ideas of justice, i feel like this series illustrates the same concept that can be found in dante's divine comedy: "the punishment of souls by a process either resembling or contrasting with the sin itself" (see contrapasso).

so those were just some manuscripts that came to mind -- maybe some of this was useful to you, either way best wishes for your project. :)

#ask

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demonanastasi · 4 months ago

Text

Leviathan being a tsundere now like they were in the og iteration of my comic: "'Tis not like I fancy you or suchlike, dumbass."

#sindemon series #sindemons #leviathan #leviathan sindemon #sindemon leviathan #envy #seven deadly sins #cardinal sins #tsundere #my comic

0 notes

da-rulah · 1 year ago

Text

Rituale Septem - Day 5: Envy

Pairing: (Cardinal Copia x f!reader)

Summary: Terzo refuses to acknowledge his growing jealousy, and instead sets out a plan to invoke some in you. But perhaps, he goes a little too far...

Rating: Mature, MDNI 18+

Word Count: 9.9k

Warnings: Betrayal (sort of), the angstiest of angst, f soft dom, cock stepping, guided masturbation, spit kink, p in v sex, inability to climax, mind-break (sort of), jealousy (of course), exhibitionism, cream pie

This chapter features themes of jealousy and the angst that comes with it. Please do not read if this will upset or trigger you in any way. I can update you with plot points, should you need it! 🖤

AO3 Link | Series Masterlist

A/N: I just want to say a quick thank you for all the love and support on this series so far. I hope you're enjoying the storyline as well as the filthiest of smut each day.🖤

Prev: Day 4 - Wrath | Next: Day 6: Greed

October 29th

Secondo wouldn’t be angry if you turned up late again. Not anymore.

He’d basically given you a free pass for the week yesterday, telling you to do as you needed and he would handle things for the next few days. It was quite amazing, how relaxed he seemed about all of this. Of course, you weren’t aware that he was allowing all of this because he was actually frightened of losing his only true friend in the Ministry, not so much that your faith was teetering on the edge of a very foreboding cliff face.

So this morning, you had popped in to see Secondo first and iron out some things for the rest of the day for him, before you headed over to Terzo’s office. You figured you could hand him back the clipboard, maybe see which sin he had planned for you to tackle today and how.

When you arrived at his office door, your fist hovered in mid-air before the door, a sound freezing you in place. A kind of... rhythmic scraping, like chair legs on the stone floor. Perhaps he was rearranging his office? If the grunts you could hear softly floating through the cracks in the wood were anything to go by, that surely was exactly what he was doing – lugging heavy furniture across the floor by himself.

You knocked anyway, and you heard him call from inside.

“Who is it?” he yelled.

“Uh, it’s... it’s me?” you called back. You heard whispering, more scraping on the floor...

“Come on in, Principessa,” he invited. You turned the doorknob, stepping inside the office with the clipboard clutched to your chest.

Oh, how wrong you had been...

Terzo was, in fact, not moving furniture. At least, not intentionally. In fact, what he was actually doing was railing his fucking assistant on one of his guest chairs.

Broad daylight. Unashamedly completely nude, save for his gloves and paints. Balls deep in your friend, Sister Christine.

Your eyes widened and you dropped the clipboard where you stood in the open doorway, a loud gasp coming from your throat you couldn’t control. The clipboard clattered loudly to the ground and Terzo looked up, eyes locking with yours.

Christine was facing you, knelt on one of the chairs in front of his desk with her arms resting on the back of it, her head flopped limply between them. Terzo stood behind her, his white-gloved hands holding her by her hips as he repeatedly drove himself inside her, right fucking in front of you.

“S-sorry, Papa.... I didn’t mean to...” you stuttered, unable to look anywhere but his damn face. Your heartbeat spiked in an irregular rhythm, blood rushing to your ears just barely blocking out the quiet whimpers and moans you heard from Sister Christine. You felt like you’d been punched in the chest with a sledgehammer...

“Nonsense, Sorella! Christine here was just... ugh... helping me... with something,” he laughed, grunting as he continued to fuck into her without a care in the world. “You don’t mind, do you Christine?” he asked her, landing a playful spank to her ass.

“N-no, Papa...” she whimpered, lifting her head to look at you with a playful smile.

“In fact, you could... cazzo... you could join us,” he smirked, Christine giggling with him. Where had the air in the room gone?

“N-no thank you...” you shook your head violently, eyes welling up with tears as you watched the look of bliss on Terzo’s face as his eyes closed and jaw went slack. Your tears fell with a blink, and you wiped them away immediately before either of them could see.

Seriously, why couldn’t you breathe?

“I should... should go,” you turned quickly, but Terzo called out to you.

“What’s the rush, eh? You don’t want to stay for the show?” he laughed, landing another spank to Christine’s behind, from the sound of it. You couldn’t see behind you, but it certainly sounded that way. But you were too busy steadying yourself on the doorknob, trying to keep yourself upright. Your legs were giving in.

Oxygen. You needed oxygen.

“I don’t want to do that,” your voice came out strained, your lungs struggling with the lack of breath.

“Oh come on, Principessa... Are you jealous?” he teased in a sing-song, playground bully type of way.

You didn’t reply. You couldn’t. Instead, you bolted. Without another look back at all, you rushed out of the door, slamming it behind you as you collapsed against the wood. It was the only thing keeping you on your feet, the world around you spinning as you took in a large, deep breath to finally soothe the burning of your emptied lungs that had seized up at the shock of the scene before you.

More tears brimmed in your eyes but you wiped them away, hurt replaced by an anger you couldn’t describe. It felt different to the rage from yesterday, the kind you’d directed at Secondo. He had hurt you then, sure, but this... felt different. It wasn’t injustice, it didn’t make you want to fight for your honour. This just felt like... betrayal.

You had no right. Terzo could sleep with whoever he chooses, you knew that. And you knew he did. But... he was rubbing your nose in it, taunting you with it. You thought you had something different, a connection. Perhaps that was a foolish notion, a fantasy you’d concocted to make this week long ritual easier on yourself. Instead of submitting to the idea of being intimate with people you had no emotional tie to all week, you had clutched onto the idea that at least one of them was a safe space, a haven that you could confide and run back to like a safety blanket to hide from the monsters under at night.

But Terzo had just ripped that blanket from your grasp and exposed you to the elements. There was no connection, and you were nothing more than another lay to him.

Jealous. HA! Fucking jealous. How dare he. Standing there so brazenly humping his little conquest and accusing you of jealousy... No, you just didn’t particularly feel like partaking in voyeurism, let alone a ménage à trois with his fucking assistant.

That anger that brewed inside you festered where you stood, spilling out into a need to get him back. If he wanted to play games, well shit, you could fucking play too. He’d made his move, and he believed he was winning. Check... Like he’d cornered your King, ready to take him out.

But you were a queen, you reminded yourself, and all you needed was a single pawn...

You pushed yourself up from the door, stomping your way down the corridor on the hunt for someone, anyone... The first man you came across; it didn’t matter who, necessarily. A willing participant was all it would take, someone attracted enough to you that they’d be more than willing to...

“Buongiorno, Sorella! (Good morning, Sister!)” Your train of thought was interrupted by a familiar voice, brimming with positivity and a hint of nervousness he’d seemed to adopt around you recently. He was heading down the corridor towards you, away from his office and towards the library with his arms filled with dusty old books ready to spend his day translating in his little room behind the bookcases.

Cardinal Copia.

You stopped in your tracks, tilting your head in fascination as you watched him casually strolling towards you, a smile on his face while his eyes betrayed his anxiety around you, averting your own. Not that you could blame him... the way you were looking at him reminded him of an animal sizing up its prey.

“Cardinal,” you stated plainly, stopping him where he stood just a few feet ahead of you. He looked at you confused, like a deer in headlights. This poor man... he had no idea what he’d walked into. “Are you attracted to me?”

His eyes bulged out of his skull, a string of stutters that started as excuses in his head and flooded out as incoherent mumblings filling the silence.

“Well, I... see the thing is, Sorella, you just... I mean, I-” In any other scenario it may have been quite sweet, but right now, it simply annoyed you. You needed a yes or no.

“Yes or no, Cardinal,” your tone told him you weren’t playing around.

“Y-yes... I guess, I... Yes?” he shrugged, hugging the pile of books tightly to his chest. That was enough for you.

“Good. Come with me,” you stepped towards him, grabbing him by the fabric of his cassock and pulling him down the corridor towards the library. He dropped two of the old books when he stumbled, clattering to the floor behind you both.

“W-wait, I should... The books...” he looked behind him, reaching a hand out precariously trying not to drop any more precious materials and gather what he’d already dropped, but you had already dragged him too far and were showing no signs of stopping. The books would have to lay abandoned, and he hoped he could collect them later, after... wherever the hell you were going.

You pulled him with you to the library, through the bookshelves and ignoring the strange looks of one or two siblings doing their own research or searching the shelves. The look on your face was pure determination, and when you finally got to the end of the stacks of books and to the door you knew to be Copia’s little hideaway, you smirked and barged your way inside.

You pulled him in and let him go, him stumbling in the middle of the room and dropping the rest of his books to the floor while you shut the door, lowering the blind on the glass window. No one would come in here, you knew that. This was Copia’s space, one he used to translate old texts, restore ancient books and research in peace. He’d made it his own; a little workbench with his tools and various pastes laid out for his restoration work; a small but comfortable looking old couch against one wall with novelty pillows; shelves covered in books and drawers built into wooden units; lamps on various surfaces, the small overhead sitting neglected without a bulb and contributing nothing to the warm glow to the room.

Copia knelt on the floor in the centre of the room, picking up and checking each book he’d dropped and mumbling to himself about keeping them in good condition. You stepped towards him, curling your finger under his chin and dragging his attention up to you stood over him.

“Sorella, what are you-”

“You’re attracted to me, yes?” you asked again, interrupting him. He swallowed, gulping down any confidence in his authority as a Cardinal in that moment.

“S-sì, but...” he started but you interrupted him again. You didn’t want excuses, just black and white fact.

“Just a physical attraction?” you asked; you weren’t about to play with this poor man’s feelings if it was anything more than that. You were not like Terzo...

“Sì,” he admitted, his cheeks flushing pink beneath you. How sweet.

“If given the chance, would you fuck me, Cardinal?” you asked brazenly, as if you’d just asked him something as simple as whether he wanted a cup of coffee. His eyes widened, the pink hue on his cheeks turning to a shade of crimson to match his cassock.

He stuttered, unsure of his answer. Was this a trick? A joke? Were you laughing at him? You wouldn’t be the first...

“Don’t look so scared, Cardinal. If you say no, I’ll leave. We won’t speak of this again. But if you say yes...” you tapered the end of your sentence off, leaving it to his imagination. You saw him bite his lip, chewing on it as his mind worked over the possibilities. Beneath his cassock, a stirring began. “I’ll ask you again, Cardinal. If given the chance...” you tilted his chin further up as you paused, not missing the way he licked his lips in nervous anticipation, “would you fuck me?”

A beat of silence passed between you, as if he was weighing up his options. He wasn’t sure what you were doing, or why you were suddenly so interested in him and his silly little attraction. He hoped he wouldn’t have to admit it had been that dress you wore to the clergy dinner that sparked an interest in what lay underneath it, but he’d also be lying to himself if he tried to act as if the humiliation wasn’t beginning to swell and fill his cock out underneath his uniform.

“I-I would, Sorella...”

You smiled at his confession, a somewhat wicked and evil smile playing on your lips. You had found your pawn. Now, to make your move.

“I’m going to let you, Cardinal. Right now,” you told him, “Any objections?” You gave him one last out.

“N-no...” he stuttered again, already under your spell. With the confirmation you needed, you wasted no more time, pressing your lips harshly to his from above him, your free hand coming to remove his biretta and grip tightly to his hair. He dropped the book in his hands he had been so worried about before and gripped your bare calves to steady himself where he knelt, getting lost in the heated kiss you had deepened with the introduction of your tongue swiping along his bottom lip.

It was somewhat pathetic how quickly this man submitted himself to you, particularly when he so clearly outranked you. But it seemed to be working for him, if his whimpers against your lips and his bruising grip on your calves were anything to go by.

“Are you hard for me, Cardinal?” you mumbled into your kiss, tugging on his hair a little. His grip tightened.

“Sì...” he panted. Despite his grip, you managed to lift one of your feet, the pointed toe of your boot dragging along his inner thigh over the top of his robe, settling over his crotch. He groaned into your mouth at the pressure, revelling in the way you pressed against his erection. The harder you pressed, the louder he groaned in pleasure under your boot, and a thrill of power ran through your body.

“Take this off,” you demanded, flicking at the fabric that draped over his shoulders; the heavy wool coat of his cassock that covered his matching red shirt and pants underneath. He didn’t hesitate, hurriedly undoing each button and shaking it from his shoulders, pooling around him on the floor. Now you could see underneath, the bulge in his trousers was unmistakable under the sole of your boot. Although, with the tightness of these trousers, the term ‘bulge’ was used loosely... What you saw was more of a perfect sculpting out of red marble as if Michaelangelo had carved it himself. And it was large.

You bent down to kiss him again, pressing your boot harder against his cock. His hips bucked against your foot, your heel coming into contact with his balls with a whimper.

“Careful, Cardinal... Don’t get too carried away,” you warned as he humped your boot, “you wouldn’t want to spoil it for yourself before you got a chance to bury your cock in me, would you?”

Copia shook his head violently; he most certainly didn’t want that, and so he stilled his hips.

“Good,” you praised, standing up straight again and pushing off him with the foot on his cock, one last jolt of pressure as you did so. You took a step back, and held his gaze while your hands began to undo the buttons of your habit. You’d opted for an above the knee option today, a little more tailored and fitting to your waist and curves, so you had less buttons to undo. You’d taken to wearing prettier lingerie as of late, a gift for whoever was due to unwrap you that particular day and by some strange coincidence you had worn a red floral set today that was just a shade or two darker than the red of Cardinal Copia’s cassock.

You let the habit drop to the floor, watching with glee as his eyes ran over every curve and ridge of your body. The veil on your head remained in place; a reminder to the Cardinal that he was being commanded by a Sister, that his control was being given over to someone typically with less power than himself. And no, that thought was not lost on him. It excited him more than he cared to admit – but it was, after all, your power in that divine dress that he had been drawn to in the first place. Like a moth to a flame...

“This is what you want, yes?” you gestured to your body, posing yourself seductively just out of arm’s reach from the Cardinal, on his knees still and achingly hard beneath his trousers. He nodded wildly, his hair bobbing on his head and falling in his eyes. “Ah-ah... Speak to me,” you demanded.

He hurriedly pushed his hair from his eyes. “Sì, sorella...” He took instruction well. Good to know.

“Was it my dress, Cardinal? Did you picture what was underneath after the clergy dinner?” Oh, so you’d noticed... he thought to himself. Shit. He wasn’t as discreet as he thought...

“Sì,” he looked down at his hands, picking at his gloves in shame. “Y-you looked così potente (so powerful).”

“Thank you, Cardinal,” you smiled. “Did you... ever touch yourself while you pictured me?” his head snapped up, eyes wide in shock as if you’d plucked the memory of it right from his mind. It had only been once, and he swears, he felt awful after he came. The post-nut clarity had been unbearable guilt, but yes, he had...

“Solo una volta... (Just once,)” he said guiltily, as if just once might excuse him, make him seem pathetically helpless instead of a totally perverted jerk. Well, it certainly made him seem pathetically helpless to you; but that turned you on more.

“Show me,” you instructed. “Show me your cock, Cardinal, and how you pleasured yourself with me on your mind.”

“S-sì, sorella...” Slowly, he undid the zipper of his trousers as if unsure of himself, a shyness overcoming him. In these tight trousers, he never wore underwear as it was always too visible, and so the layers he had to dive through were minimal, fist wrapping around his hard length to pull it free for you. A smirk carved its way onto your face when you saw the size of him. You looked forward to having that filling you up soon...

You stepped towards him as he lightly stroked himself, the leather of his glove not making for a particularly easy glide across his shaft. “Open your palm,” you told him, and when he did, you spit down onto it for him to use as lube. “There.”

“G-grazie,” he thanked, unprovoked. Oh, you liked this man... Submitting so easily.

He wrapped his now wet palm around his length again, and began to stroke himself in front of you. He couldn’t help the little moan you heard from him, his dizzying arousal clouding his mind when he repeated over and over again in his head that that was your spit... your warm, wet gift to him. Before long, he was sat up on his knees, fist stilled and hips fucking into it as if pretending it was your cunt instead. His head fell back, moans repeatedly getting caught in his throat and releasing as staggered breaths instead.

“You were that desperate for me that you pretended your fist was my pussy, Cardinal?” you asked in the most condescending tone you could. His thrusts faltered at your words, every syllable a turn on.

“Sì, mi scusi, I couldn’t - ah! C-couldn't help it...” he whimpered. Poor thing, he was already so far gone. You chuckled at the sight of this man on his knees for you, fucking into his hand. What a sight it was. A man who should have so much more power than you, put down consistently by those around him as it was, allowing you to do exactly the same thing to him and getting off on it. You might have felt bad for him, had it not been for the moans and whimpers he spilled for you.

You stepped towards him, boots clacking on the stone floor. His eyes remained shut in ecstasy, but he was well aware you were stepping closer to him, and his hips bucked faster in response. You bent down, caressing your palm over his flushed cheek until his eyes fluttered open, glazed over with longing.

“How about the real thing instead, hm?” you asked softly, wrapping your hand around his own and squeezing it down on his length tighter, “Would you like that, Cardinal?”

“V-very much, Sorella,” he hiccupped. “Per favore... I’d love to feel you.” You smiled sweetly, pressing a kiss to the end of his nose. His eyes fluttered shut again with a whimper.

“Take your pants off for me, and take a seat on the couch, okay?” Your voice was so gentle with him, as if he might break if you were a single decibel louder.

“Sì, Sorella. Grazie...” You bit back the ‘aww’ you so badly wanted to emit at his tenderness, so grateful that you’d even consider giving him what he so desperately needed. You had no idea such submission could be as arousing as it was, but between your legs you were soaking through the red lace of your panties.

Copia stopped fucking into his fist with a little whine at the loss of contact, but stood and did as instructed, removing his shoes, socks, and finally his pants. They were strewn on the floor with no rhyme or reason to it, neither of you caring at that moment. He sat himself down in the middle of the plush couch, his hands gripping his bared knees until his knuckles turned white under the leather like he was trying everything to keep them off his cock; which right now, was stood proudly in his lap, red and leaking from the tip. If you weren’t playing a role right now, you very much would have liked to sit between his legs and give him the most sensual, erotic head of his life.

But no, perhaps another time. For now, you didn’t wish to torture the poor man anymore. And you weren’t sure your own willpower was enough to stop you sinking down on his girth anyway...

So, you put on a bit of a show for him when you stood between his legs, kicking off your boots and wriggling out of your panties, sliding them down your legs and stepping out of them. His eyes were trained on your hands, the fabric... It gave you an idea.

You balled them up in your fist, slowly leaning over him and straddling his thighs where he sat. The heat between your legs burned at the close proximity to his cock, but a few more seconds of waiting wouldn’t hurt... Instead, you used your free hand to cup his cheek, lowering your lips to his for another slow, passionate kiss. You felt the leather of his gloves come into contact with your waist, squeezing as the tip of his cock dragged itself over your stomach, his hips naturally rolling up into you.

“Open up, Cardinal,” you told him, and he obliged as he had so far, letting his jaw go slack, mouth wide open. You stuffed your panties into them, making sure he got a taste of the mess you’d made of the gusset. A muffled groan sounded around the fabric, hips bucking beneath you again. “So good for me...”

‘Sì, sì, I am... I’m good...’ he thought to himself, unable to voice it now his mouth was otherwise occupied. He couldn’t believe how sweet you tasted, or how well you were treating him. Everything about this encounter with you was sweeter than he could have imagined.

You undid the buttons of his red shirt, exposing his chest to you and letting your hands run over his skin, tickled by the chest hair. You only briefly toyed with his nipples, but it was enough to earn another whimper. His happy trail led down to his well-groomed pubes, where his cock stood weeping and ready for you, still pressing against your own stomach.

“Let’s see if all this fits, shall we?” you teased, taking him at the base of his shaft and lining him up with your dripping entrance. Slowly, you began to sink down on him, his girth stretching you so perfectly you dangled over the line of bliss and discomfort. And poor Copia, all he could do was stare as his cock disappeared inside you, inch by inch, squeezed by your tight, wet walls. He desperately bit down on your panties to stifle his groan. You bottomed out before long, stretched and filled entirely and stilling to adjust before you could move.

“Just about,” you chuckled, “I had no idea you were so... equipped, Cardinal.” He stared blankly at you, your compliment shooting straight to his dick where you felt it kick inside you. That was it; you couldn’t wait anymore.

You began to roll your hips against him, letting him hit that delicious spot inside you that would have you seeing stars in no time at all. His grip on your waist fell to your ass, where the bruises from yesterday with Secondo had bloomed into purple stripes where the leather belt had hit you. He squeezed and you hissed in pain.

Copia’s eyes widened and he looked to where his cock was sheathed inside you in panic.

“No, no... not that sweetheart, don’t worry,” you reassured him, still wincing at the pain from his grip. You moved your hands over his and raised them back to your hips, “hold me here, Cardinal. I’m, uh... bruised...” you confessed. His brow furrowed in confusion and concern, but you reassured him it was okay. “Don’t ask,” you laughed, picking up the pace of your hips. He couldn’t focus on that anymore once you did, his head rolling to lay on the back of the couch.

His mind was gone, too focussed on how you felt around him. And frankly, you could barely think of anything but the same...

“P-Papa... Papa, stop,” Christine called back to Terzo, who still had her bent over the back of one of his desk chairs. He grunted in annoyance, stilling his hips.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his mind distracted.

“I think I should be asking you that...” she said, pulling off his length and turning in her spot to face him, folding her arms over her bare chest. “Something’s wrong, you don’t usually take this long.” Terzo scoffed, shaking his head and rolling his eyes.

“You have a problem that I can last?” he spat. “You’re certainly the first.” Christine scowled; it wasn’t like him to have this attitude with her.

“That’s not what I mean... What is it, did Sister Imperator get in your head yesterday? Is it stress?” she asked, genuinely concerned. Terzo had been fucking her for a good twenty minutes, to no end. He had been grunting desperately, wanting to chase a high that simply would not come. His mind was far too busy.

“What? No! Shit, you had to ruin it putting that old bag in my head, eh?” he scolded, his cock already softening as he bent down to rip his trousers from their place on the floor, beginning to redress. Christine stared at his face as he did his trousers back up, his brow furrowed in a dark scowl. She studied him, and saw easily that he was thinking about something... or someone.

“Was it when Sister _____ came in? Did it put you off?” she asked, and his head snapped back to her, frown lines deepening in anger.

“No! It has nothing to do with her!” he raised his voice. Bingo.

“Oh, it has everything to do with her...” she smiled knowingly, climbing off the chair and searching for her habit and underwear. She, too, dressed herself.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he denied poorly, pulling his shirt over his arms and doing it up button by button.

“You asked her if she was jealous... And, Satan’s taint, the look on her face when she caught us! Now I think of it, she did look jealous... I’m pretty sure she looked like she was crying,” she recalled, realisation hitting her like a smack to the face laced with guilt. “Shit, she’s my friend, Terzo! What did you do?” she accused.

“Me?! Nothing! I just... She was...” he stumbled. He couldn’t tell Christine about the ritual, that would be a violation of your privacy, but he had no excuse, immediately jumping to defensiveness until the reality of what Christine just said came crashing down around him. ‘She was crying’...

Christine saw the look on his face; shock mixed with vague repulsion. She saw his mind racing behind his eyes, darting from side to side in a panic, looking at nothing in particular.

He hadn’t meant to hurt you... he didn’t think you cared enough to be hurt by this. He just figured it might spark a bit of jealousy, that he could go and find you later and be ‘taught a lesson’ or something. Hell, even if you had opted to join them, he could have coaxed envy out of you in a fight for his attention, but... this was not the plan.

He had decided to fuck Christine out of his own jealousy, his need to remind himself that other women existed aside from you, that you weren’t anything special to him after all but the way his chest ached thinking of hurting you? It was proving him wrong. So very wrong.

What if he’d fucked up this entire ritual now? What if you shut him out and no sin was performed today? He’d never forgive himself, and he could end up pushing you out of the Ministry itself, let alone away from him. This wasn’t just about him.

“Oh, Papa... you like her, don’t you?” Christine sighed, now fully dressed and looking at Terzo with pity in her eyes.

“Like her? Oh please, Sorella, this isn’t a school playground...” he scoffed, still partially in denial. He still wouldn’t admit it to himself. No, not after just some meaningless sex together and a bit of flirting back and forth. He couldn’t possibly hold any true feelings for you other than vague attraction. There wasn’t an undeniable pull like a magnetic attraction between the two of you. Not at all.

“Well then for Lucifer's sake, stop acting like a child and go find her!” she scolded. She was lucky she had a personal relationship with Terzo as his assistant, because had anybody else spoken to him this way, he might have lost his temper. But no, she was right. He was acting like a child, out of spite and jealousy. He had to find you, and apologise. He had to fix this.

He slipped his shoes on and straightened out his hair in the reflection on the glass cabinet that housed his robe. “Not a word to anyone about any of this, do you understand me?” he warned, pointing at Christine where she stood by his office door, holding it open for him.

“Just go, you moron,” she jabbed, rolling her eyes. “If she hates me after this, I swear, I’m quitting.”

Terzo hurried towards the door, stopping in front of Christine and picking up the clipboard you had dropped when you came by earlier. He clutched it to his chest to shield it from Christine’s view. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to use you like that, I’m not in my right mind lately...” he admitted, hanging his head in shame.

“Don’t worry about it, I think your dick punished you enough already,” she smirked. “Go. I’m fine, really. This never means anything, just stress relief. Or, you know... I tried,” she shrugged, laughing. Terzo wanted to laugh with her, at least at the awkwardness that came with him not being able to climax. But he was too panicked, mind racing with things he wanted to say to you. Apologies, excuses, truths, lies... he had no idea what to tell you.

Instead he just nodded at her, heading out of the door and into the corridor. He was halfway down it when he almost tripped, his foot hitting something on the floor and almost sending him flying.

“Ah, cazzo!” he cried, his toe throbbing from the weight of whatever it was. When he looked, it was a thick, heavy old hardback book in terrible condition. Slightly ahead of it, was another, recklessly strewn across the floor and opened on a random page. He bent to pick them up, noting the lettering embossed in gold on the front of both of the worn covers was Olde Latin.

These must be the Cardinal’s, he thought to himself, that klutz.

Terzo figured he would just take them back to him, he had to pass the library anyway to get to Secondo’s office, where he assumed you would be. And if not, Secondo might at least have an idea of where he could find you.

Copia couldn’t contain the moans he fought so hard to control, your panties falling from his slack jaw to rest on his chest. You felt too good around him, squeezing him, clenching on him, dragging him further and further towards an orgasm. His hips began to buck up into you in time with each roll of your hips, chasing and chasing...

“Sorella...” he whined, “you feel... ah! Magnifica... (Magnificent...)” You chuckled breathlessly in response. Your thighs were beginning to burn, ignored in order to focus solely on the pleasure building inside you. Frankly, Cardinal Copia felt magnificent inside you too, grazing every wall, hitting every spot you desired. And now he was bucking up into you, his hips were slapping against your mound and sending blunt shockwaves through your clit too.

“Want you to feel good, Cardinal. You deserve it, you’ve been so good,” you praised. He keened at that and buried his face between your exposed breasts; he’d removed your bra some time ago when he had the realisation that he couldn’t bare not to suck at your nipples while you rode him any longer. For now, he dragged his lips and tongue over the fullness of each breast in sloppy open-mouthed kisses.

As you drew ever closer to your end, pulling Copia with you every step of the way, you didn’t notice the click of the office door unlatching, or the quiet squeak of it swinging open...

“Cardinal, I think you dropped these-” Terzo entered the room, stopping suddenly when his eyes landed on the scene before him.

You had your back to him, your veil over your shoulders and shielding your face for the moment. Nothing registered in his mind, assuming Copia had brought a Sister back to his little workshop for some fun as he was more than entitled to do if he wished. Except, then he saw the bruises on the ass of the sister in question, and he actually looked at the woman in front of him...

Neither you nor Copia had noticed the new spectator enter, and were still both very much enraptured in the pleasure you were giving each other instead.

“Cazzo, Sorella ______…" Copia groaned from between your breasts, earning another moan from you.

Terzo’s chest tightened. It was you.

He wanted the ground to swallow him up whole. Bad enough he’d walked in on his half-brother getting railed by anybody, but you? He felt sick. Nausea crept up his throat that he had to swallow down along with a rage that burned like acid in his veins. Please tell me this is a nightmare, Lucifer, he prayed to himself. The pain was too much, and it only solidified that he too was a horrible person, if he had made you feel even a fraction of the despair that he did in that moment.

His natural reaction was fury. Silent, obnoxious fury.

Only when you heard a slam behind you did you and Copia still, jumping and gasping with the sound as your heads whipped around to see Terzo stood behind Copia’s desk, having just slammed the two books and clipboard he was carrying onto the surface.

Copia immediately reached for a couch pillow to cover your behind – some ridiculous Star Wars pillow of his – and sat up straighter, readying to move when you did.

Except you didn’t move.

Instead, you were stuck in a staring match with Terzo, whose eyes bored into yours as if laser beams protruded from them like the fucking lightsabres on Copia’s stupid pillow. He looked angrier than you had ever seen him, fists balled tightly at his sides and a furious scowl deepening the lines in his face. This was unplanned; you hadn’t intended for him to walk in on you fucking somebody else. You just needed an outlet for your own jealousy, a way of expressing the anger and pain he’d caused you, but this was perfect...

Checkmate, motherfucker.

Letting the evil feeling inside of you possess you, you smirked at him where you still sat on Copia’s cock, and without breaking the stare, you began rolling your hips slowly just as before.

“W-wait, what are you-” Copia began to protest but you shushed him with a finger on his lips.

“Ignore him, Copia,” you accentuated his name, forgoing his title on purpose. It suggested a personal connection, and it was a stage you had yet to reach with Terzo in either of your encounters. You had only ever referred to him as ‘Papa’, never called him by his name. It stung him, deeply. “Papa was just leaving.”

You turned back to Copia, holding his head as you ground down into him. Copia hated himself for it, but you felt too good against him to argue with you. When you leaned down to kiss him, he forgot there was anyone within the room at all, his mind going blank. You exaggerated a moan against his lips, enjoying Copia again but moreso wanting to get to Terzo, to twist the knife you’d already stabbed in his back.

Terzo’s pale eye twitched, and without another word, he left, slamming the door behind him.

Perhaps a part of you felt guilty, maybe thought you were being a cruel witch but then... this was exactly what he had done to you, no? And besides, there was something thrilling about the way he had glared at you, in much the same way as Secondo’s anger had fuelled your lust the day before.

This was it. Envy, embodied. To His taste.

You were brought back from your thoughts when Copia’s grip fell from his ridiculous pillow and landed on your ass again, and you cried out at the sting. He let go immediately in a panic.

“Shit, sorry! I forgot...” he cried, but you grabbed his hands, slapping them back into place on your bruised cheeks, the pain fuelling you to ride him harder, faster, chase the high that had ebbed away when you stilled at Terzo’s interruption. “Oh, cazzo...” he moaned, realising it had spurred you on and revelling in it.

As you rode on, Terzo’s glare became the forefront of your mind. You shut your eyes, seeing it again plain as day. You were almost there... Copia’s grip tightened as he neared his orgasm, the bruises burning deliciously on your ass.

“Fuck, Cardinal, I’m gonna cum. Make me cum, please!” you sang, your nails digging into his shoulders delivering sharp stings that incited him as much as his grip on you did for you.

His hips bucked up furiously into yours until your orgasm crashed down on you, the image of Terzo’s envy the last thing you pictured as pleasure burst through your body. You rode out your high, not wanting to waste a moment of it and continue to get Copia there too. With the way you clenched around his length, he wasn’t far behind you, lurching forward to bury his face in your neck beneath your veil while he bucked and came inside you, shooting his load deep as you spasmed around his cock.

Exhausted, Copia fell back against the couch again, head facing the ceiling with his eyes shut. His chest rose and fell with the deep breaths he took, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on his skin. You planted your hands on his chest to steady yourself, deep breaths of your own making you feel a little dizzy from the high.

You got what you wanted. You played the game, your move working perfectly in your favour.

You won.

Primo’s joints were getting too old for this. The autumnal chill in the air was making them seize up, his fingers cramping when he was trying to pot some new hyacinths. October was the perfect time for them, readying his garden for the Spring bloom. They had to start in these little pots to begin with, until you begin to see a little green shoot; then, they could be moved outside of the greenhouse and into the flowerbeds.

Despite his aching fingers, Primo continued potting the bulbs into his little pots, just a little slower than he would have liked. Still, it kept him busy in his retirement; his own little corner of peace after the decades of hard work.

“Fucking shit.” He heard a whispered shout and a clatter of pots from the other end of the greenhouse. When he turned to look, he saw his younger brother, Terzo, hopping around with a plant pot stuck on his foot. He kicked it off, letting it hit the shelving unit with an annoyed huff.

“Hey!” he called, his tone scolding, “careful, fratellino mio! My shelves do not deserve this abuse!” Primos tone took on the parental figurehead role again, just by instinct at this point. Years of parenting his younger siblings in his own father’s absence had done that to him.

Terzo didn’t apologise, instead shoving his fists into the pockets of his trousers and kicking at some of the dirt on the concrete floor of the path. To Primo, he looked as if he was sucking on a sour sweet, the way his lips pursed and his tongue protruded in his cheek. Something was bothering him.

Primo sighed and reached for an empty pot, and another hyacinth bulb. He set them down on his worktop beside him. “Vieni, aiutami, (Come, help me,)” he instructed. Terzo did as he was told without question, wondering over to the bench in a sulk.

He removed his white gloves and set them down on the bench, diving his hands into the open bag of composted soil Primo had laid out. He lifted a decent amount and patted it down in the empty pot, shoving the bulb inside and adding more soil, slapping at the soil as if it had just told him the Catholic Pope was coming to visit.

“Delicatamente, razza di cavernicolo! (Gently, you caveman!)” he scolded again. Terzo slapped his dirtied hands onto the edge of the workbench, leaning and hanging his head as he took a deep breath, clearly angry at something.

“Perdonami, fratello, (excuse me, brother,)” he apologised, lifting his head to continue gently patting the soil into the pot, “I’m not myself today.”

“Lo vedo, (I see,)” Primo hums, picking up a rag and dusting the soil from his gardening gloves. “Care to tell me why?” he pries. He knows he does; why else would Terzo be here? Rarely did he pay a visit to his greenhouse since his ascension, but Terzo knew he could come to him any time.

Terzo sighed, grabbing another empty pot and bulb, stuffing more soil into the bottom as he planted another of the bulbs Primo had waiting in a tray. He wasn’t sure how to phrase any of this, or how to even get the answers he needed without sounding like a fool or a spoilt child; especially not without divulging your secrets to him and betraying your trust again.

“If it’s Sister Imperator, you must try to ignore he-” Primo began, but was cut off.

“It’s not her.” Terzo was being sharp, short with his words and tone, but he couldn’t help it. He felt... defeated, helpless. “Well, I suppose she isn’t helping,” he scoffed. True enough, she had been on his case and causing more stress than he needed, all whilst comparing him to his absolute stronzo of a father but that was the least of his concerns. It was you on his mind.

Primo didn’t rush Terzo, handing him another empty pot to plant another hyacinth bulb. The monotony of the task was actually helping to calm Terzo’s anger, give him space to process and think of how best to phrase this. Primo could see it, the lines of his face lessening with each planting he completed.

“Fratello, what do you know of donne (women)?” he asked, somewhat cryptically. Primo laughed; not to poke fun at his little brother, more out of surprise that Casanova himself should be asking him for advice on women.

“I can’t promise a great deal more than you. But I’ll hear you out. Per favore, continua, (Please, continue,)” he encouraged, motioning with a wave of his hand to carry on.

“I thought I was helping someone. She came to me in her time of need, as her Papa, and I... wanted to help. I have helped. But I think I may have just ruined it all for her anyway. I think I unravelled the scarf I helped her to knit, so to speak...” Terzo sighed, so much sadness in his tone. Primo rarely saw this sadness anymore, kept confined in the walls of his lonely apartment these days.

“I’m not following,” Primo said, confused. “What exactly were you helping this woman with?”

Terzo looked up at his brother then. He weighed his options, wondered if he could truly trust him with the full story or if he should make something up. He’d never not been able to trust him before; any secrets of his that Primo was unable to keep had been for his own safety in his reckless teenage rebellion years. And with his years of wisdom within the human experience, he found that Primo was often not one to judge anybody on decisions they’d made either.

With a final pat to the bulb he was currently planting, he pushed the pot away from him, grabbing the rag Primo had used to dust his hands off and did the same for his own, turning to lean his back against the high worktop.

“Fratello, have you heard of Rituale Septem?”

Primo’s back straightened at the mention. Yes, he had heard of it. He’d encountered it, once or twice. Very rarely, of course; such an extensive ritual is rarely performed. And neither time he had encountered it had it been completed.

“That rituale is more trouble than it is worth, fratellino. Are you telling me a Sibling asked you for help performing it?” Terzo chewed on the inside of his cheek. He didn’t like the way his brother had stiffened at the mention of the ritual, nor the inclination that it had been a ridiculous idea to try it.

“Well, I... Actually, I may have... suggested it.”

Primo’s shoulders sagged, exasperated. Why must his brothers insist on running him ragged at his tender age, eh? Why must they still, even now, test him so? Primo hadn’t uttered a single word before Terzo began to defend himself, judging by the look on his brother’s face that he was about to receive a rather stern bollocking.

“It was the only thing I could think to help her, she needed to hear Him so badly or we might have lost her. She would have left, Primo, and if Sister Imperator saw an esteemed Sibling leaving under my leadership, she'd have my balls in a jar on a shelf next to our Euinch of a padre.”

“Oh, so you were doing this for you, not for her?” Primo accused. Terzo dove straight back in with defence.

“No! No, I swear, I... I wanted to help her, Primo. She looked so sad, she kept telling me how she’d never heard His voice and all her siblings had. She’s been here for sixteen years, and she doesn’t know why anymore, I couldn’t just let her walk away from all this – to walk away from Him, could I?”

“Sixteen years? Who...? Hold on, not Sorella _____?” he asked, his eyes wide and brow creased in anger. “You have been performing Rituale Septem with Secondo’s assistant, Terzo?! Oh, idiota! Do you know how many siblings have truly heard the Olde One’s voice? How many he’s actually spoken to?”

Terzo faltered. He hadn’t expected Primo to know it was you he meant, but then, if anybody knew the Ministry’s comings, goings, longest serving Siblings... it was him.

“Well, a lot of them say they ha-”

“They’re liars.” Primo pinched his fingers over the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “He doesn’t talk to just anyone if they pray hard enough. Since when did we teach that? Are we Evangelists now? ‘Do this and he will show himself to you! Do that! Follow this!’ L'inferno qui sotto, (Hell Below,) you know this. The Siblings who say they have heard him have either gone through terrible, terrible tragedies in their lives, are on a Divine path set out specifically by Lucifer himself or quite simply are fucking liars.”

Terzo was dumbfounded. He should have known that; why did he not know that? “Does that mean... all of this was useless?”

“No, fratellino. Complete the ritual, and it will work. But the point of the ritual is that it’s hard, nigh impossible. I’ve never seen it finished, it always got too messy. You don’t devote yourself to each sin in such a short span of time without ruffling a few feathers in your inner circle. Greed turns to theft from loved ones, or pride comes between a family, or jealousy between two lovers...” Terzo looked down at his hands then, picking at the soil under his fingernails.

Primo stopped, scrutinizing the look on his brother’s face. He saw how his teeth clenched, how his eyes looked at his hands yet remained unfocussed, how his shoulders tensed.

“Ah. You seem to know what I mean, hm?” He had put two and two together, and come up with four. Terzo looked ahead of him, still picking at his nails, and nodded.

“She slept with Secondo for Wrath. I got jealous. I got ‘revenge’,” he made air quotation marks with his fingers, clearly angry at himself for even thinking acting petty had been a solution, “which she didn’t seem to take too kindly to, and then... she got me back.”

“She played you at your own game?” Primo scoffed, frankly impressed that you’d put him in his place, “Surprise, surprise... Casanova is capable of feeling?”

“Primo please, now isn’t the time for a lecture about how ‘even the mighty fall’ when I just walked in on her screwing the half-wit!” Terzo’s voice raised in anger, riled up by the image of you in Copia’s lap.

“Hey!” Primo shouted and smacked the back of Terzo’s head, “You know better than to talk of Copia that way. Enough. He is your brother, maternal or not, and you are just a jealous, bitter man in this moment. Did he know you have developed a liking to Sorella _____?”

He rubbed the back of his head where he’d been hit, eyes flickering over to his brother and looking away when he realised, he had indeed been in the wrong. He felt a wave of guilt for how he’d spoken of Copia; it wasn’t exactly his fault, and he certainly wasn’t a half-wit. “No... he didn’t. Probably wrong place, right time. Perdonami...”

“So, she clearly completed envy today. What is left?” Primo continued to gage the gravity of the situation. He needed more detail.

“Greed and pride. The rest are complete.”

“I see. I must admit, you’ve done well to keep her on track for five sins, usually people don’t make it past three. But it seems to me, an outsider, that in order to complete this ritual you will need to take a step back. Remove yourself from the equation. You are a guide, but I believe that you must let her choose her path from here, and see if maybe at the end of the path, she finds her way back to you. I assume that is what you want, sì? For a chance?” Primo used his logic, his outside perspective. Feelings weren’t muddying the water for him, and he could see in black and white.

Terzo mulled his advice over for a moment. He didn’t want to take a step away from you, to let you continue your devotion to sin with anybody but him, but Primo was right; he was nothing more than a guide. He’d enacted two incredible – he would even say beautiful – sins with you. But this wasn’t about him, was it? If he didn’t want you to pack your bags and say farewell to the Satanic Church, he needed you to complete this ritual.

And now that he was begrudgingly admitting to himself that feelings were indeed involved, at least on his end, the fear of you leaving was nothing to do with Sister Imperator’s watchful eye or his inability to lead his congregation – it was the thought of you leaving him that scared him more than anything, of never having a chance to better himself for you.

“What if she doesn’t figure it out for herself? What if I’ve failed her?” he asked, his eyes glossy. Primo’s own eyes widened in shock; he hadn’t seen his brother so close to tears since he was a child, and now... over a woman?

“She’ll never forgive me, Primo. I might have already ruined any hope for a relationship with my ridiculous little games, but if she disappeared... then what?” Terzo loathed himself for not having control of his emotions, for not being able to recognise which ones he was experiencing before he acted on them. A product of his childhood and not entirely his fault, of course, but nonetheless it had ruined any and all relationships - platonic or otherwise - in his past, and now... his inability to allow himself to feel was ruining another.

“Let’s be logical. Greed is easier than you might think... It’s not simply abundance. It’s selfish desire. So, what kinds of things would you selfishly desire, eh?” he asked him. All he could think of was you.

He desired you, selfishly.

“Money, power, fame, food... Anything, I suppose. But she’s not the kind to be... selfish...” he sighed. It was one of the many traits about you he liked, your selflessness. Primo nodded in understanding.

“Send your Ghouls to her tomorrow. Perhaps they can be of assistance, but I believe you need to stay clear now. She can be greedy with them, in some respect. Guide her, but at a distance. And if you feel jealous, affrontalo (deal with it). That’s a you problem.”

Primo was right, of course. His jealousy was his own problem, and not something he should let get in the way of your goal. Besides, if he couldn’t go another two days without losing his mind completely, then he was a fool anyway. With just two more sins to complete, you were so close. He wasn’t going to stand in your way now, no matter how much it might hurt him. He was a big boy; he could handle it.

Else, he’d just barricade himself in his office until the ritual was complete...

“What about Pride?” he asked, unsure how to ‘guide’ you in that particular sin from a distance. Primo thought for a moment, before he placed a comforting hand on Terzo’s shoulder.

“Let me think on that one. Fidati di me. (Trust me.)” Terzo did trust him, implicitly. Already he had given him the best possible advice, and somehow managed to calm him from his jealous and childish rage. “And keep yourself busy, fratellino... Jealousy will drive you mad, if you let it.”

Terzo nodded thoughtfully. He was fairly certain it already had, but he understood his sentiment. He would just have to take a backseat, let this play out like divine intervention. He could only hope that after the ritual was complete, and Lucifer had bestowed himself upon you, you might find it in you to give him the time of day; if for no other reason than simply to apologise.

“Come now, there are still hyacinths to plant. Fetch me those pots from the shelves you attacked earlier,” Primo waved his hand in the direction of the entrance, ordering Terzo to help and finish what he’d started; some irony in that, he felt. He did as told, fetching more small pots and heading back to the bench.

Primo let him do most of the work; he needed the distraction, and besides; it was nice to have his little brother’s company for a change. Too easily, the Emeritus brothers would find themselves in their own little bubbles, forgetting they had a family they could actually lean on when they needed to. Still, if Terzo had found his way to his greenhouse when he’d fallen into emotional turmoil, it must have meant he had done something right in raising him. He smiled fondly to himself at that thought.

From what Terzo had told him, Primo was almost completely sure there were more feelings at play here than just Terzo’s. Why else would you have wanted to beat him at his own game? ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned’, after all, and to be scorned was to be rejected. You simply cannot be rejected if you don’t feel anything at all for a person.

If he had to involve himself in this somehow, to come between you both and play the puppet master in the interim, he would do so. Far be it for him to stand by idly when he felt he may be able to help you at least stop being mad at each other and dancing around the Pandora’s box of emotions that lay open in the middle of you both. If Primo had learned anything during his tenure as a living soul on this earth, it was that feelings can, and should, be dealt with. And far be it for him to deny a Sibling as devoted as you the opportunity to commune with the Dark One when you needed it.

He could only hope Lucifer would give you the answers you were looking for...

Prev: Day 4 - Wrath | Next: Day 6: Greed

A huge thank you to @her-satanic-wiles for beta reading, and @adinferix for fine tuning the Italian translations! 🖤

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mysticmemos · 1 year ago

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I love Thomasin’s journey to freedom in The VVitch. From the start she was blamed for things that weren’t her fault and you can see how ingrained the hypocrisy of christianity is into their lives. When her brother noticed things about her it was her fault, when her father sold their silver cup it was her fault, when the twins never did their chores it was her fault. Her father succumbed to pride, her mother to envy, her brother to lust and the twins to sloth. She was the purest member of her family, yet they blamed her for their own sins. Thomasin had likely been dealing with this long before the witches preyed on her family, yet when they did she was blamed for that as well and accused of being a witch. Some people believe Thomasin didn’t have a choice to sign Black Philip’s book because she was manipulated by outside forces for so long. That she traded one master for another, but I don’t see it that way. Her family, who had already succumbed to cardinal sins, were exiled from their village and moved out into the middle of no where. The witches likely would have preyed on her family anyway but they saw Thomasin as an opportunity so they gave her an in. Thomasin signed Black Philip’s book and for the first time she tasted freedom from the hypocrisy of christianity. When a master offers freedom, freedom from subservience, freedom from hypocrisy, freedom from from blame, is he really then a master? No. When a master offers freedom, he is not a master, he is a liberator.

#the vvitch #witch #witchcraft #luciferian witch #theistic luciferianism #lucifer #satanic witch #satanic #satanism #satan #theistic satanism #black phillip

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ferigrieving · 5 months ago

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cardinal sin.

⊹ ࣪our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.

a.n direct consequence of being filipino

⤷ masterlist ; requests open ; 3.3k ; i. envy (here); ii. greed

touya todoroki was not religious

in the quiet corners of his mind, he envied those who were. it was a comforting illusion, an assurance of order and meaning in a chaotic world. there was always something to count on, something to blame. you knew where you were going to go after you died, and you knew what was waiting for you. but to a man like him, it felt as elusive as a whisper in the wind, slipping through his fingers whenever he really needed it most.

catholicism was a quiet undercurrent in a sea of traditions that make up japan, yet for the todoroki family, it plagued their every waking moment. every room was adorned with religious decor, and sometimes in the dead of night, touya was convinced that the eyes of jesus would move with his every step.

his father would curse those who did not live a life in the name of god, and his mother would pray for them. touya did not know if he belonged. he would go to church every sunday, make the sign of the cross. go through the motions, and then go through them again. page 257. responsorial hymn. the body and blood of christ. sign of the cross, sign of the cross again. it was like clockwork, and sometimes he wonders if the church ever strayed from the path of god.

because if he was made in the image of god, then who was he truly?

the church was both a place of solace and a prison.

there was something freeing about the silence, the cool stone, the dimly lit interior.

and when everyone had gone, touya would often sit under the soft glow of a stained glass window. he would sit in the last pew, watching the evening light play across the stone floor, the reds, blues, and greens casting a glow across his face. he'd stare into the soft light, and imagine that it was illuminating the empty space in his heart.

and somewhere along the line, churchgoing became bar hopping.

the first time he tasted alcohol, he hated it. it tasted like gasoline and smoke.

but the burn, the way it made his head go numb, it was addicting. it was a form of release, the way confession never could be, and touya quickly got a taste for it.

the bar was everything the church wasn't. the soft sounds of religious hymns were replaced the loud beats of pop music, and instead of the cold, wooden bench of the church, it was a sticky, metal stool.

but the noise was a welcome change, one that drowned out the thought of prayer in his head.

it wasn't exactly how his mother would imagine someone like him to spend his friday night. it was exactly what he craved. not for the alcohol, or for the cheap thrill of a conversation with a pretty stranger. not for any of that, because that wasn't touya.

no, he was searching for something else. a freedom from the eyes of a father, and a god.

and freedom was what he discovered in the dingy, local bar.

he learned very quickly that a pretty face would do wonders. a quick flash of a bright, charming smile and the perfect pick up line would always get him what he wanted. people here didnt care that he was a walking, talking corpse, body mutilated in ways unimaginable.

and it was never the pretty girl with delicate hands and soft eyes. nor was it the spunky one with wild eyes and wearing the shortest shorts and a bra top. it was you, always you.

you, who sat all the way in the furthest part of the bar every friday night, nursing a half-empty glass of cheap beer.

you, who never spoke to anyone who would attempt to buy you a drink.

you, who seemed to never take your eyes off him, your cold gaze following him across the room.

he was intrigued.

you were nothing like he expected.

a quiet boy in a den of drunks and the lost. a pretty face that seemed determined to stay out of the spotlight. he’d see how your dark eyes would darken and soften when they caught sight of the exposed flesh on his arms, the way your gaze would linger on the pale skin and burn scars on his hands as they wrapped around a glass of whiskey.

he found himself thinking about you after each night he visited. wondering what made you stay at the bar each weekend as if you were waiting for something.

were you waiting for a miracle, or a sign from god?

did you truly believe that god would show signs in a place like this? in a bar filled with drunk men and broken dreams, and people so lost they didn't even remember their way home? were you really waiting for a miracle here of all places?

and when he finally got to know you, touya would soon learn that you were everything he was not.

you were so achingly beautiful. not just in the way you looked, but in the way you spoke, the way your eyes seemed to always linger on the stars. the way you carried yourself with an underlying sadness that you tried to hide.

he fell in love with the soft flutter of your eyelashes, the shy smiles, and the way your hair would look rumpled in the early hours of the morning.

you were there each and every weekend, and it didn't take long for touya to realise that you'd been waiting for him all along.

god, he was so stupid.

all this time he spent searching for a sign, something to convince him that god had forsaken him.

and the first time he had taken you to bed, he felt like all of his prayers had been answered.

touya took you home, not knowing what he was doing half the time. he fumbled with his keys, stumbled over the threshold of his apartment, and practically slammed the door shut behind him.

he pressed you up against the wall, his body pressed close against yours, his hands roaming over your hips, your chest, your face. every touch and caress was a desperate plea for more, for something deeper, for something more intimate than anything he had ever felt before.

he couldn't seem to get enough of you

he ran his lips over your skin, kissed you with a sense of purpose, a sense of urgency. he wanted to devour you whole, to bury himself in you and never come back up for air again.

touya was a man starving, and you were the one thing that could satisfy his hunger.

the touch of your skin against his own was like the sweetest kind of sin. it made him forget all about the cold, lifeless church to the god who had abandoned him.

your presence was a religion all on its own, and touya was an obedient disciple, ready to worship at your altar every chance he got.

and there, in the quiet darkness of his bedroom, surrounded by the soft, intimate sounds of skin on skin, he found the closest thing to heaven he'd ever felt.

no bible, no holy water or prayers could compare to the feeling of you in his arms. your breath against his neck, the sound of your name on his lips.

the world outside the four walls of his apartment didn't matter anymore. the past, the present, none of it seemed real except this moment, right here, with you.

he was desperate to savour every second of it, to commit every detail to memory. the way you looked at him, the way you touched him, the way you tasted like the sweetest form of sin.

he would gladly spend an eternity right here, worshipping you, if you'd let him. and he knew, from the depths of his heart to the darkest crevices in his mind, that this was wrong.

the church would condemn him to hell. his father would curse his name. his own mother would pray for forgiveness, thinking that her son's desire for other men was as blasphemous as the rest of his actions.

but touya didn't care. he was lost to the sinful ecstasy of your body, the soft, perfect warmth of your lips against his skin. he was a sinner, and he would gladly follow you into the fire rather than let you go.

the church taught that love was a gift from god. touya realised that this, here in the darkened corners of his room, was his gift. you were his miracle. the thing he had waited for all this time.

he wanted to keep you close, to memorise every detail of you, to make sure that every part of you was burned into his memory.

and as he lay there in the dark, hours later, with you wrapped around him like a second skin, he realised that you were what he was looking for when he went to church.

he didn't know what to make of it. he'd been in relationships before, but none of them had ever made him feel this way.

he ran his fingers through your hair, the silky strands slipping through his fingers, listening to the soft sound of your breathing as you slept.

in that moment, he couldn't blame god for the way he was. couldn't blame him for the scars that covered his body, the way he loved men the way he should women.

you were god's blessing to him, not his punishment.

but god was not that kind. kind enough to grant him your existence, but not kind enough to let him keep it.

he had given touya a miracle, had laid the most perfect, pure thing in front of him for him to cherish.

but the church was also clear about what happened to those who sinned.

the bible said that men who lay with men should be stoned to death, along with those who took a man as they would a woman. they were an abomination to god, and touya knew that he would suffer the wrath of the lord for his transgressions

and so, while his heart was light and he found salvation in your embrace, his mind was dark and heavy. he knew that this happiness was just a brief, temporary respite.

he knew that this love, his love for you, was doomed from the beginning.

“dabi!”

the bar was alive with noise and laughter, a sound that touya once looked forward to. but now, he wanted nothing more than to get out. he sat in the same place as he always did, furthest part of the counter next to the jukebox, nursing a whiskey and watching as you moved through the room like water. gone was the quiet, gentle person he met all those weeks ago, replaced by someone no better than the common alcoholic.

once, this place would have been his sanctuary.

the dim lighting, the sound of heavy pop music, the drunken men in the back of the bar.

he'd been a regular here for as long as he could remember.

but now, it was a prison.

he'd rather sit in the cold, harsh silence of a church than the noisy, chaotic bar. he'd rather listen to the drone of a prayer than the sound of your laughter.

the sound pierced through the commotion, yet it blended in with the chatter and music, as if you had always belonged in this world of chaos. it was a far cry from the sanctity of the church touya had gotten away from, the whispered prayers and solemn hymns nowhere to be found. here, you were free, and touya couldn't help but feel a pang of envy at how easily you adapted to your new life.

envy.

he'd always felt it, deep within him. the feeling that something wasn't fair.

it was in the church. it was in the presence of his father. it was here, in the bar, where you fit in so effortlessly. he felt it, deep in his bones, and in every part of his body.

oh how he was seething with envy.

touya sat in his corner, watching as you worked the room with a charming smile and pretty pick-up lines. he saw how others looked at you, how their eyes would linger on you as you walked by, shamelessly looking you up and down, raking over the skin that was barely concealed.

he hated hearing you flirt with others as easily as you breathed. he hated seeing you touch other men, touch them the way you'd once touched him. he hated the way you would laugh with them. how you'd smile and lean into their touch.

the way they'd get to put their hands on your skin, the way they get to kiss you under the dim light, the way they get to be close to you in all the ways he did. he hated it all.

they were always just some random man you'd pick up from the bar, yet they got so much more of you than he ever had.

what did you see in them? what did you see in them that he didn't have?

you weren't his boyfriend. nor was he yours. you two were not together, and he doubts you’d ever be. he didn't know what to call what you had with him. a situationship? a one night stand? friends with benefits? god, were you even friends?

a stolen kiss beneath the shadows of a church, a touch in the back of a bar, the hushed quiet of his apartment in the dead of night.

it was supposed to be a fling. a meaningless bit of fun, nothing that should ever amount to more than a brief moment of pleasure.

yet, touya found himself here, drowning in a pool of jealousy, wanting nothing more than to pull you against him and claim you as his. every touch, every kiss, every hushed whisper with another man broke his resolved little by little, and it was only a matter of time before it finally shattered.

his bed was empty without you. all he could do at night was think about how another man was pleasuring you, doing what he did all those nights ago. he knows he could be better, he knows that he is better.

his body ached for you.

he knew that he could make you fall apart with just the touch of his hands, could have you begging his for his name instead of those random men's. he knew that he was more than capable of sending you flying over the edge, again, and again, and again.

yet, you were always with someone else. your hands were on others instead of his skin. your lips were kissing others instead of his. what did he do wrong?

touya wondered if this was his punishment, if god had intended for him to suffer as you thrived without him. the church’s teaching echoed in his mind, reminding him of the wages of sin and the inevitable retribution. he had dared to love where he shouldn't, and now, he was paying the price.

and every time you would knock on his apartment, in the dead of night, smelling like sex and alcohol and god knows what else, he would let you in without a word.

he hated it. he knows he shouldn't, that he should tell you to fuck off, to go back to your own apartment and never look at him again. but he could never refuse you, not when you were looking at him like that, with those needy, hazy eyes of yours.

touya wanted to ask you if you were okay, if the men at the bar had touched you with the care you deserve. but he knew you had no interest in answering those questions, at least not while you were like this. all you wanted was to lay down, and sleep.

and you'd come to him, leaning into his chest, and the familiar smell of smoke and whiskey would surround him, making his head spin. you'd nuzzle your face into his neck, and your lips would be hot on his skin, whispering his name with a voice roughened by alcohol and longing.

touya’d gently coax you towards the bedroom, his hands running over your skin. he'd help you out of your clothes, into the spares you left at his, eyes tracing the shapes and curves of your body. he'd lay you gently on the bed, his hands lingering over your skin.

he want so badly to keep you like this, to keep you under him and away from the touch of other men. but he knew that you were just as likely to leave as you were to stay.

after laying down, he’d whisper things into your ear, things he knew he shouldn't say, things that came from the darkest parts of his heart. words about how he wished you were his, how he wanted to keep you by his side, how he wanted to be the only one to touch you.

and you wouldn’t remember a thing when you woke.

you never did.

touya would watch as you slept next to him, the heavy rise and fall of your chest, the quiet sounds of your breath.

and he knew that when you woke, you wouldn't remember any of the things he'd said, the pleas and demands that he'd whispered into your ear. you'd see none of the desperate, possessive way he'd pulled you into his arms, none of the quiet jealousy that had simmered beneath his skin.

you’d wake get dressed, and leave him alone in his bed, returning to the world outside his apartment without a care in the world. sometimes have breakfast, watch a movie, bake a cake. play the part.

touya’d watch as you rose from the bed the next morning, stretching and raking a hand through your tousled hair. he'd see the traces of his fingers on your skin where he'd held onto you, the faint marks of his lips on your neck. but you wouldn't remember any of it, not the way he'd touched you or the way he'd held you.

he'd hate seeing you leave, knowing he'd be alone once again. he'd want to keep you in his arms, to trap you in his bed and never let you go. he'd want to keep you locked away from the world, all to himself. but he knew that it was a futile desire, a wish he couldn't have.

and just like that, you'd be gone. leaving him alone in the quiet of his empty apartment, with nothing but the memories of the night before.

touya had never considered himself a religious person, not with the life he'd led.

he'd cursed the teachings of the church, resented the weight of their doctrine, and scorned the idea of a benevolent god.

yet, there were times when he wondered if he should have more faith, if he should seek forgiveness and guidance from something beyond himself. it was at those times, when he was alone with his thoughts, that he questioned whether god was watching over him, waiting for him to repent and turn back to the light. that this was all a test, one that he couldnt help but fail.

but sitting in the empty, quiet apartment after you'd left, he couldn't help but wonder if maybe there was some truth to it all.

#⊹ ࣪ ˖ greywrites #⊹ ࣪ ˖ cardinal sin #boku no hero academia #bnha x reader #mha x reader #my hero academia #dabi #dabi x reader #dabi todoroki #touya todoroki #touya x reader #todoroki x reader

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