#cw: blasphemy | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

valiantstarlights · 2 years ago

Text

[Priest Hob AU sequel] Some Months Later, December 24, Evening.

Tagging @alexxuun because they deserve credit for the AU. 😊 I can't tag the anon who requested a sequel in an ask, but here you go! I hope you like it. 🖤

"I don't...I don't understand." Hob clutches at Dream's arm when he realizes where Dream has transported them. "Why are we here?"

'Here' was the corridor they got married in, months ago by now. Nothing has changed. The fourth window left of the door was still cracked, and the tile near the first pillar was still placed unevenly. Time has passed, surely, but Hob doesn't know the time difference between Hell and Earth. For all he knows, only a few minutes have passed since he was last here with Dream.

"To pray, I suppose," Dream replies, sounding amused at his question. "Is this what being in my presence does to you, Father Robert? Have you forgotten the purpose of churches?"

Panic flared bright in his chest. "No, please, don't call me that. You know I'm not...I'm not that person anymore. I'm your husband now. Right? Dream?" His heart was suddenly beating so quickly. Dream was looking at him strangely, all traces of humor gone from his handsome face. "Why are we here? Have you...have you grown tired of me? Is this you returning me to my old life?"

No. No. Anything but that. Anything but the crushing loneliness, the prayers that ring hollow when he recites them, the misguided belief that suffering brings you closer to heaven. That it is worth being miserable your entire life, giving and giving until you have nothing left, for the sake of having a place in God's kingdom where it would be more of the same: worshipping an absent, indifferent being, the air filled with songs of zealous, nauseating praise, fake beatific smiles on the face of everyone you meet.

Hob would rather die than live that life again. He would rather starve in the streets and die a peasant's death than leave Dream's side. If his husband has fallen out of love with him--

"Hush, my love," Dream says, and then Hob is enfolded in his strong arms, Dream's dark wings also moving to shelter him. Hob immediately clings tight. If Dream wants him to let go, he's going to have to break Hob's arms first. "I am here. I will not leave you. You are mine until the end of time."

"Then why?" Hob asks against the rich fabric of Dream's robes. He still sounds panicked, short breath coming in gasps. "Why are we here? I don't want to be here."

Dream rubs Hob's back comfortingly, up and down and up again, sometimes brushing his long fingers through Hob's hair, until Hob calms down. Until he can breathe normally again. Hob doesn't know how much time has passed, but their surroundings are undisturbed and not a single person walks by them.

And then Dream asks, "Are you sure?"

What?

Dream sighs but continues his soothing gestures. "I know you miss it. I hear you hum sometimes, when your mind is focused on a task. Religious melodies. Christmas songs, of late. I don't think you notice it, but some of the staff do. Lucienne tells me you must have wanted to visit, but are too afraid to ask me." He leans away from Hob so Hob could see how sincere he looks, but all Hob reads in Dream's face is the sadness in his eyes at the thought of Hob not trusting him enough to tell him his wishes.

"I do not want you to think that you can never visit again," Dream tells him, soft and a little vulnerable. "I do not want you to think that by marrying me, you have lost your freedom." He looks around them, at the high ceilings and the tall windows. "And so here we are."

"Dream," Hob says as earnestly as he could. "It's just a habit. I hum when I feel like it's too quiet. It just so happens that the songs I pick are...well. But if you enchant a violin to play by itself and follow me around, I assure you the humming will cease, or if it persists, then it would be to the tune of Mozart or Bach or whichever composer you pick."

He places his hand against his husband's cheek and watches as Dream leans against it before turning his head to kiss his palm. Hob's heart breaks at the tender movement. How long had Dream been worried about this?

"As for my freedom," Hob says, "You did not clip my wings. You unbound them. And since you have, I have never felt happier. With you by my side, I feel like I can achieve anything. You opened my eyes and taught me better. Helped me unlearn all the false teachings I grew up believing to be true. You have made me into the best version of myself I could ever hope to be, and I would not have anyone else by my side. I'm glad I'm spending my eternity with you."

Dream's eyelashes flutter in pleasure at his words before he leans in and gives Hob a soft kiss on the lips. Hob returns it with a passion, wanting Dream to understand that Hob has already decided his fate, and that he has chosen Dream. Will always choose him. Each and every time. Hob needs him to understand that. But how..?

An idea forms in his mind, and as soon as their kiss reached its natural conclusion, he pulls Dream towards the church proper.

"Hob?"

"Come, husband," he says, still filled with a giddy kind of joy whenever he says the title. "I want to make something clear to you."

Dream follows him.

A few moments later, the two of them stand in front of the door that would open to the main hall of the church.

"Is it empty?" Hob asks.

"Yes," Dream says. "The midnight mass won't be starting until later this evening."

"The midnight mass?" Hob repeats in shock. "Is it already Christmas Eve?"

Dream nods.

"Good," Hob says firmly. "Even better." He opens the door, and indeed, there was no one inside.

Hob marches them past the rows of votive stands, past the carved wooden pedestal holding the lit advent candles nestled upon a wreath of evergreen, and right up to the altar. Then, with only a moment's worth of hesitation, Hob shoves everything on the altar crashing down on the ground: the book stand, the large Bible it's holding open, candelabras with unlit candles, and a couple of flower vases. He winces as the objects make a dreadful amount of noise, the water from the vases seeping onto the pages of the Bible, the heavy book stand crushing the flowers, the candelabras dented in a couple of places, the candles placed upon them rolling across the floor.

"Is there a point to this destruction?" Dream asks behind him, sounding adorably confused as to why his usually mild-mannered husband is acting this way.

"No," Hob says, then turns back to Dream. He wants to see his husband's face for this. "I just wanted to clear the altar for my offering."

"Your offering?"

Hob starts to strip, and Dream immediately shuts his mouth, eyes darkening as he understands what Hob is trying to do.

"I am offering myself to you," Hob says, and starts reciting Dream's many titles. "--King of Dreams and Nightmares, One of the Seven Rulers of Hell, and my beloved husband. I would have you stake your claim on me in front of all the angels and saints, right at the altar of the god I used to worship."

Dream stares at him, now fully naked and slightly shivering from the cold air, his nipples pebbling. "You do not know what you're asking for, Robert Gadling," he says, though if the echo of Nightmare's voice tainting his is any indication, then Hob knows exactly what he's trying to do. "This would be unlike our marriage. Offering yourself to me in this way..."

"Can I be any more owned by you?" Hob asks, genuinely curious. "Am I not offering you myself, body and soul, so in the future you will not do stupid things like think I would want to be away from your side? Away from our home?"

"You would be offering yourself body and soul to me, Hob, this is true," Dream says. "But you must know that in offering yourself to me the way you are planning, naked and willing upon an altar, you are also offering to bear my children."

"Your chil--" Hob gapes at him and looks down at himself, at his own body, which is still very hairy and very male. "You can get me pregnant?" He asks, only sounding slightly hysterical.

Dream nods gravely. "And now you see why offering yourself this way to me would be unwise. However, I have noted your intention, and will try not to do...foolish things in the future."

"And if I want it?" Hob asks, unwilling to leave just yet without being fucked here, in the place where he went through life like a ghost, upon the very altar he stood behind and spoke words of faith while having none in his heart. He feels his cock growing hard under Dream's eyes, the hunger in them barely restrained. "If I want to become pregnant with your child?"

Dreams eyes are turning so dark, it was like the stars in them have started to go out one by one. The end of multiple universes. "Hob."

"I am willing," Hob says. "And while I am no longer a virgin, I had been when you first--"

"You should not say these things," Dream says in Nightmare's voice, stepping forward into Hob's space. The shadows were gathering around him and slithering around Hob's feet like snakes. "Not unless you want me to fuck you pregnant in the house of your god."

Hob steps closer until his naked body is flush against his husband, precome staining Dream's dark robes, then leans upwards so he could kiss Dream's and Nightmare's fanged mouth. They nip at his lips and push him back against the altar, the stone cold and hard against his back. Hob moans and twines his arms around their neck, letting them lift him so he could sit on the altar. "Haven't you heard, my husband?" Hob murmurs against their lips. "I worship a different god now."

"More," Hob begs, an indeterminate amount time later. Dream's cum drips from his hole and onto the altar, but still Hob spreads himself open. "Again."

Dream kisses him lovingly and obeys. Half of his face is Nightmare and the other half is Dream. He only gets this way when he's feeling so much pleasure that both sides of himself come out to play. Hob loves him like this. Dream is generally a gentle lover while Nightmare prefers a hard fuck. But both of them at the same time means petal soft kisses from Dream while Nightmare chokes him with a hand around his throat as his cock jackhammers into Hob.

"Insatiable," Dream says in Nightmare's voice as he thrusts hard into Hob. It's good that the altar is made of stone or else it would have broken under their vigorous fucking. "Do you really intend for me to breed you here? Are you not going to be satisfied until my seed takes?"

Hob moans. Yes. That would, in fact, be the ideal outcome. He spreads his legs wider.

"And to think you had been a virgin when I married you," Nightmare says in Dream's voice, possessive and fond at the same time. "Your hole was so tight I had to spend hours with my tongue between your legs to loosen you up. And now your body knows my cock so well you can take me with minimal preparation."

Hob squeezes him as much as he could in retaliation, though it was a weak little thing, his hole already fucked sloppy and loose.

"What a slutty husband I have," they tell him. "Uncaring that at any point now, the deacons and the sacristans will be arriving to do last minute preparations. I doubt they'll have anything to say about the mess you made on the floor, not when they see a former priest of this church getting fucked like a whore right on top of their sacred altar."

Hob mewls at that, aroused beyond belief. He knows he probably shouldn't feel that way. How he should instead feel humiliation flooding his veins at the thought of being found in such a position by the people who used to respect him.

But oh, to be found pleasing his eternal husband, undeniably marked with his teeth and claimed by his large cock...

"Want it," he gasps. It was so hard to speak and his thoughts are a scattered mess. "Show. I'm yours."

"You want me to continue fucking you in front of them?" Nightmare asks, delighted. "You want me to laugh in their faces as they wield their wooden crosses at me when they try to banish me? Shall I bathe them in flame and watch them burn alive when they do?"

Hob doesn't care. He could barely remember them anyway.

"It is tempting," Dream admits. "I want to see the look on their faces when they realize that Father Robert didn't just disappear mysteriously, but was instead granted a better life. However," and here he grinds harder to emphasize his point. Hob keens, toes curling and legs shaking. He has lost count of how many times he came, but he could feel the pressure building in his stomach once more. He'll probably cum dry this time. Or totally lose control of his body and squirt all over Dream. It's already happened once. "I do not want anyone else to see you like this. Only I should have that privilege. Don't you agree?"

Hob nods frantically. Whatever his husband wants. Fuck, his cock feels so good. Hob wants him to fill him up more until he grows round with his cum.

"No, I think we'll just leave them a nice little Christmas present." And with that, Dream wraps his hand around Hob's cock and starts stroking him to the rhythm of his thrusts. Hob practically seizes, wailing, cumming dry, as Dream pounds him harder through his orgasm before shooting another batch of cum straight into Hob's newly formed womb.

When the first group of deacons arrive to make the final preparations for the Midnight Mass, the mess on the floor that Hob created is not the first thing they see. Nor do they notice that the altar was desecrated by a truly overflowing amount of both human and demon cum.

They would have noticed these things, but Dream kept his promise and left them his Christmas present, to help make the church look more festive at such an important time in their liturgical calendar.

He did this by covering every interior surface of the church, from ceiling to floor, and not missing a single statue, with fresh, bright red blood.

#Priest Hob AU #CW: blasphemy #i'm not joking or being cute about this #the blasphemy level in this is so high that I the author herself am warning you about it #CW: altar sex #CW: nightmare!dream #honestly just assume that things are gonna be unhinged whenever he's present #am I intentionally posting this on a Sunday? N-no #if this were a vine it would be the 'you're all going to hell 😊 goodbye 👋' one #if this were doctor who this would be the christmas episode #I'm gonna end up calling it that aren't I #2000 plus words wtf #good job my thumbs #dreamling #the sandman #my writing

130 notes · View notes

reve-de-sang · 3 months ago

Text

i love this a lot. i wanted to do a series of oneshots with lestat v florence. i wanted shade that would darken the earth. it was going to be fucking hilarious.

but first my brain forced me to get him in the house somehow.

getting this man in the door again, let alone living there? for my brain it takes Paul making a different choice and Lestat going all in. and Louis, with no tragedy to torch his life, facing his own misery. and a little more sex.

“You still doing business with that man Lestat?”

“Nah. Didn’t work out.”

“That’s good. ‘Cause he the devil.”

“You think everyone’s the devil.”

“He’s here to take souls. He told me so. He spoke to me without moving his lips.”

“He got tricks is all.”

“Mortal sins must be confessed, Louis.”

“Ain’t never gonna see him again, Paul.”

Paul nodded thoughtfully.

“You think Levi loves her enough? You know, Grace needs a lot of love.”

“I do.”

“Do you think he’s givin’ her everything he’s got inside him?”

Louis nodded. “Mm-hmm.”

Paul sighed, and stood up from his perch on the rooftop adjacent to Louis. “Mother made a good party for Grace.”

“Mm-hmm. Yeah, they gon’ talk about this one for years,” Louis grinned.

Paul considered Louis. Louis’s face was bathed in the gold of the rising sun as he studied the sky.

“I love you, Louis.”

“And I love you too, baby brother.”

Paul made his way over and sat down on the peak of the roof next to Louis. “I ate too much chocolate cake,” Paul sighed.

They watched the sunrise blossom from pink to lemon.

—

“I don’t take kindly to being avoided,” a voice at his elbow growled.

Louis tipped back the last of his sazerac and met Lestat’s eyes in the mirror behind the bar. “Most people would pick up on the message in that. You all more direct in France? Tell each other to fuck off?”

Louis had perhaps had too much to drink tonight. He felt worn thin. Things were supposed to have gotten back to normal after Grace’s wedding. He was back to being the dutiful son, the flawless executor of his family’s estate, the benevolent brother and caretaker, the generous parishioner, the upstanding community member, the ruthless proprietor, the deferential fellow businessman to the white power players who kept him in the orbit of their social circle—but never any closer. Every hour was accounted for, every movement beyond reproach.

But “normal” didn’t work anymore. It was like having his head shoved back under water. He hadn’t had a breath in weeks, and Lestat looked like the surface of the ocean above him.

Even now he felt his heart pound at Lestat’s mere proximity. Damn him.

Lestat waited for the bartender to pass them by. They had a miraculous bubble around them from the crowd at the moment, but nowhere would’ve been private enough for the conversation Louis was trying to avoid.

“You send mixed messages,” Lestat said, looking away from the mirror to address Louis’s profile. “Before your absence you made an excellent case for our…continued business dealings.”

“My schedule is full, Lestat. I don’t have time for what you’re proposing. Or interest, either, for that matter.” Louis signaled the bartender for another drink.

“A drowning man pouring even more fluids down his throat,” Lestat mused.

“What do you know about it.” He needed to tell him to fuck off. He was going to find the strength any moment now.

“Quite a lot, actually. By my own experiences.”

A tipsy man and woman bumped gently against Louis’s elbow as they settled at the bar, and apologized. Louis ignored them, and also tried to ignore the weight of Lestat’s gaze on him.

“Before I came to America, I, too, ran my family’s estate. A town of people looked to me to fulfill a role. There was no escaping it, despite my attempts. It became my identity. I know what it means to suffocate, Louis.”

Louis scoffed. “Yet here you are.” The bartender slid his new glass to him, removed the empty.

“I met someone. We fell in love. My mother financed our escape.”

Louis rolled his eyes over to Lestat with sharp scorn. “So you abandoned your family.”

“Yes. Save for my mother, I despised them. And this person I loved showed me what it was to live.” Lestat laid his hand on the bar near Louis’s elbow, conversationally, not touching, but tantalizingly close. “However, you do not need to abandon your family, or your beautiful city, to live, Louis.”

“I’m doing just fine.”

<<You are several fathoms deep, I wonder that you have endured so long. Perhaps it is practice. But now that you have had a taste of air, you will not survive like this. You know what it is to breathe, now.>>

Louis was humiliated to find sudden tears burning at his eyes and looked away, trying furiously to stifle them. Knocking most of his drink back. “Cut it out.”

<<Oh, Louis.>>

The woman next to him bumped Louis again as she burst into a gale of laughter, and Lestat steadied Louis’s elbow as he stumbled. Startled at the electric contact, they locked eyes.

“It is too crowded in here, and hot,” Lestat said. “Let’s get a breath of fresh air.”

—

Louis leaned into his intoxication on the walk back to Lestat’s place, inevitably Lestat’s place. He was too drunk to do the right thing, too drunk to remember his obligations, too drunk not to sin.

He wasn’t drunk enough.

He was far too lucid as he pounced on Lestat the second the front door clicked closed, and was the one to drag them, guide them up the stairs as they feverishly slipped their tongues and lips together, pushing each others’ clothes away from their bodies. If it was inevitable tonight, Louis didn’t want to fuck around with music boxes and glass tumblers of expensive whiskey and talk.

Lestat took him apart in his bed once more, yet Louis felt power in being the one to cause Lestat’s hands to tremble, to inspire Lestat’s worshipful kisses down his body, settling between Louis’s legs like a supplicant.

Louis couldn’t deny his own hand in this, how powerfully he needed it to happen. As they merged together, Lestat at his throat and buried in his body, Louis coaxed Lestat to greater heights—harder thrusts, stronger pulls from his neck—chasing the exquisite joining and obliteration of isolation in his own body.

Louis’s lungs were heaving like a racehorse as he came down in the aftermath. Like before, Louis had the sensation they were of one mind as they stared, dazed, into each others’ eyes. Louis’s skin was a continuation of Lestat’s, and Lestat trailed a palm over his hip, an extension of himself. Lestat’s still-hard cock was Louis’s, sheathed deep within him; they shivered in unison as Louis squeezed down to stoke the pleasure again.

<<We should live like this forever,>> someone thought, and they agreed.

—

And then it was morning.

The windows glowed lilac before sunrise. Louis stirred; he’d maybe had an hour of sleep, but he felt more alive than he had in years.

Reality hit him like a blow.

He needed to learn how to cut all of this out of himself all over again.

“No,” Lestat rasped, coming awake with Louis's thoughts. <<Louis. Choose us. Choose us,>> he pleaded.

Louis curled away. They both groaned in pain, and Louis dug the heels of his hands into his eyes.

“Can’t.”

Lestat shifted to press his forehead to Louis’s shoulder blade. <<Then take me into your world. Don’t leave me here.>>

Louis froze. “What?”

“Louis. My dowry would eclipse your family’s fortune several times over.” He pressed a kiss to Louis’s spine, skated his knuckles down Louis’s ribs. “Give your mother one more son to keep her in the life to which she is accustomed. A stronger safety net for Paul. And you…the companion heart you have been longing for.”

Louis reached back to still Lestat’s hand, clasp it. “That’s not going to work here. I don’t know what you get up to in France? But you have to know that’s insane.”

Something about the sunrise felt urgent to Louis, but he pushed it from his mind. He turned in the bedsheets to face Lestat. He forgot what he was going to say as they cupped each other’s faces.

“Say yes.”

“I— I don’t— The world doesn’t work like that.”

“You make me want to try.”

“What?”

“Louis,” Lestat murmured. “You know that money opens most doors. And you must know the things I can do—” a frisson of power washed over them, “—has depths unfamiliar to you. But more than those things, if we are for each other, we can have a life we neither of us could have dreamed of.

“I want to tell you a story, Louis. I was sworn to secrecy, and the man who demanded my oath would kill you if he learned of this. But I swear to protect you with my life. You see—I have witnessed the kind of life we want. It was on an island, far from here. I will tell you how we can have something like it and make a home.” He stroked his thumb over Louis’s cheekbone. “There is danger in this knowledge. The choice is yours.” Lestat hesitated, looking uncertain, hopeful. Desperate. “Do you want to know?”

“Lestat. I— What the fuck is wrong with your head.”

—

Louis’s distantly related cousin was overjoyed to find a family relation in New Orleans. They regaled their usual fellow card players at the Fair Play of their chance discussion of their ancestors, and their excitement at discovering kin in front of them all along.

“To have a likeminded ancestor travel from Auvergne to the new world—no wonder the journey called to me,” Lestat reflected as he lost a round of poker lavishly. Tom knew he was being buttered up with the winnings, but was off-balance as to how to treat the burgeoning union before him.

Tom didn’t care what kind of money this ridiculous fucking foreigner threw around, there wasn’t room at the societal table for du Lac to move up in the ranks. Fenwick, when he sobered up, was going to throw a shitfit, but for now he seemly dimly ambivalent.

<<I would rather have your support than your ambivalence, Tom,>> Lestat’s voice rang in his head. Tom felt a sense of vertigo as he noticed the sudden stillness of the other players, frozen in their movements. Du Lac and Lioncourt alone were animated, smoking their respective cigar and cigarette, regarding Tom the way he himself was used to appraising those who worked for him. How drunk was he?

<<We’re so glad that you know a good opportunity when you see it. And that you’ve decided to take us under your wing as we expand our interests in the city,>> Lestat’s voice continued, everywhere and nowhere at once. He ashed his cigarette and studied Tom with his eerie cold eyes. <<Your generous offer to sell us the Fair Play at such a bargain—well. It feels like the beginning of a beautiful friendship.>>

“Uh, yes,” Tom stuttered, knuckling an eye. He felt like he was in a dream. He’d always liked Lioncourt, and du Lac was a decent fellow. Seemed a shame not to cultivate a strong relationship there. “Happy to, happy to. I know a good opportunity when I see it. I’ve decided to take y’all under my wing as you expand your interests in the city.” Tom sniffed, absently felt for his tumbler of whiskey.

“Feels like—well. To the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” Tom said, giving them a jaunty toast and draining his glass.

—

Louis absolutely refused for Lestat to use his tricks on his family. Anyone outside the house: fine. But not on his family.

“You’re doing what?” Florence’s polite voice could have frozen over hell.

“Lestat will be moving in with us, Mama.” Louis perched on the edge of the sofa in the parlor. Lestat’s posture next to him was more relaxed, but Louis sensed his tension. Florence sat across from them. In Louis and Lestat’s planning for this, Lestat had insisted Louis was not truly asking for permission, and Louis agreed. They both knew they were lying to themselves.

“We’re going to be working closely on a large business proposition over the next several years. Developments in the city,” Louis continued. He glanced to Lestat. “Lestat will be merging his fortune into ours.”

“Madam,” Lestat began, plucking an envelope from his inside suit pocket. “I have had my attorney make an accounting of my assets that will soon be at the du Lac family’s disposal. However, we would like your blessing.” Lestat offered her the envelope. “Does this meet with your approval?”

Florence received the envelope as if she had been handed someone’s soiled handkerchief. And it smelled.

She delicately lifted up the flap and extracted the fine parchment. Florence tucked the envelope behind the document as she unfolded it and regarded the accounts.

Louis cut his eyes to Lestat. Narrowed them. No tricks, he willed Lestat to understand. Lestat gave him a tense smile in return. No tricks.

The silence was very long. Florence’s face was stone. Lestat imagined he saw a journey in her eyes as she made massive shifts to her priorities and sensibilities and tolerances. It was a breathtaking fortune after all.

“Well, then,” Florence intoned in her melodic voice as she returned the document to its envelope. “I’m sure Louis will make adequate accommodations for you in the carriage house. It’s been recently remodeled.” She tilted the envelope back to Lestat, and he took it. “Welcome to our home.”

“Oh, he won’t need the carriage house, Mama,” Louis smiled firmly. “We’ll be sharing my quarters. We’ll be working on a lot of business propositions. Wouldn’t want to disturb the household.”

Florence’s tight smile could have frozen over hell.

Paul glared at them from the hallway as if they’d just dipped communion wafers in dogshit. Louis gave him a hopeful smile. Lestat gave him a wink.

#interview with the vampire #iwtv #louis de pointe du lac #lestat de lioncourt #loustat #florence de pointe du lac #cw blasphemy sex sin sazerac and money #grace is overseas and missing all of this but i bet she's going to get an amazing letter or two #my fic

125 notes · View notes