#please imagine me saying this slack jawed and in shock because thats how i feel what the fuck

[seafoam-taide]

the characters in that last post i reblogged were the ones in the original soldier poet king animation meme

[ursoself-satisfying]

My Sweet Lord (ch2)

hes a lil young here for when how old hes supposed to  be when this stry takes place but its hard to find a non adorable n giggly gif of him lol 

Chapter 2 - I’m On Fire 

Priest!Joe Mazzello x F!Reader, NSFW, ~3.5k words

My Sweet Lord masterlist 

A/N: go listen to holy ghost by modern baseball while u read too cus its rly good,,, anyway this one is a lil dif!!! its a lil bg on the town a lil scene setting n its all about joe now!!! 

special thanks given in this post!! you can find whole accompanying laylists there as well not just single associated songs!!!

Warning(s): sex, religious guilt, some scary images, mentions of ejaculate, uuhhh body horror,,,, i think thats it besides maybe kinda disrespecting ur elders lol ??? 

Father Mazzello had been distracted, to say the least. His newest regular was different, in the simplest terms, and drew his attention in the most tantalizing ways. See, the Oranges was a retiree town in the middle of nowhere, a Bermuda Triangle of the American Midwest. People arrive and they never leave, usually because they die. It was a bit ironic but very fitting to him that the epitome of classic American ideals, though contrasting, collided with ancient human instinct to create this town where the elderly are unequivocally cared for by the young, who remain the bones of the town and keep everything running. You could live and die in the Oranges without ever even leaving them.

The Father had always thought the name was deceiving. “The Oranges” sounded like a small suburb in the wet, hot, muggy parts of Florida, not an old folks zone in middle America. There was some part of him that would always dislike living in a town named “The Oranges”. Maybe it was the priestly side of him, feeling dishonest in their presentation when confronted with their reality, meaning they did not and never have grown oranges there. Maybe it was the sunny signposts standing crookedly beside the worn yellow houses, paint peeling and fences fading, showcasing the poor upkeep of people’s own homes.

He was too harsh, though, because a town, he knew, was not its structures but rather its people, its community. The Oranges had no shortage of smiles, even if they mostly consisted of secondary sets of dentures. That’s what made her smile so different. It was real. Of course, that wasn’t the only reason she stood out, no, it was also her legs, her thighs leading up to her hips, two very real hips, and a waist that would fit so well in his hands and then up a little further where his hands could perfectly cup-

The pencil snapped with a shock and the man blinked at his scribbles, unintelligible now that he’s been broken from his stupor. The lead tip of his pencil rolled in a curved line off his journal then off his desk and he watched it tiredly before glancing at the clock. It was nearly 1 a.m. The clergyman sat back and huffed, taking a moment to assess himself.

His hand had wandered to the crux of his black slacks and he groaned at the hardness beneath the cloth. His groan was unintentional but a needed release as he couldn’t “release” how he really wanted to. His thoughts were clouded with this girl- this girl- He barely knew her name and here he was, fantasizing about her simply because she was the only eligible woman he’d laid his eyes on in nearly a year, or probably more accurately over a year.

‘Why should that even matter to you?’ He asked himself. ‘Why should it matter that she’s eligible? She’s probably not. She probably has a boyfriend, or a girlfriend, even.’ Joe couldn’t help but groan again at the thought of her, pressed against someone else all the ways he wanted her to press against him.

‘Stop it!’ Some voice in the back of his mind hissed. ‘You’re a priest! It doesn’t matter if she’s unavailable! You’re the one who’s unavailable! You took an oath! You made a covenant with the Lord!’ If Joe were a man to curse, this is when he would curse. Instead, he simply moaned in compliance and gave into his conscience, sighing and giving his erection one last squeeze before sliding his hand back up his body, resting it on his open journal. He ripped out the page he’d been working on, the one describing his ‘newest parishioner’ in exquisite detail. No one would ever see that. No one could ever know he experienced such temporal thoughts. He was a priest, after all, he had to set a good example.

He spent the next twenty minutes in a headspace he despised, the one he used to eradicate the want that grew between his legs. It was images of the women in the first row of the church with teeth yellow and denture line visible, their smiles wide and slippery. The men in the back few pews have spots on their balding heads that are sometimes protruding and have hairs only growing there and somehow nowhere else. Joe focused on that, on the lumps and aches they vocalized, on the scratching of their smoke warped voices and the pores like pools on their noses. He thought of the way the hands of the mass shook when they went to place money in the collection basket, the yellow of their nails and the chipped polish on the manicured claws. Their skin was saggy and discolored and their hair is matted and fake and he thinks about what they must look like under their musty Sunday clothes-

He’s soft again, his pants no longer straining and he breathes a sigh of relief, maybe a quiet thanks to God. The priest does his best not to let his mind wander as he lets his feet carry him to his bed where he disrobes, definitely not drifting to imagine how her eager hands would feel pulling his trousers down, nails scraping down his thighs- Joe forced himself to turn the mental image of her tight knuckles to one of chapped and wrinkled ones to keep himself calm. As much as he dislikes subjecting himself to these thoughts, he tells himself he does it for the Lord. The Lord will keep him strong in these times of weakness, he tells himself, in these hours of temptation. He slid into his bed in briefs and an undershirt, letting the softness of his sheets smooth over his skin as it envelopes him and he’s whisked away into a few hours of much-needed rest and revelation.

Your hands had never been softer. It was the only definable thought in Joe’s head when you pushed up his thin shirt. The fabric bunched up over his stomach and you lowered your head to lick a long, wet stripe up from the happy trail disappearing down his shorts.

You were naked, straddling him, hips and thighs curved and soft and outlined by the moonlight that shone in from the cracks in the curtains behind you. The luminescence bounces off the soft tufts of your hair that bunched when your nose hit the bottom of his shirt and you kissed the middle space of his chest reverently. Joe was so wrapped in this moment that he asked no questions. His mind was muddled with lust and want. If you met his needy gaze, you would physically see the fog you caused in his brain, shown in the glazed over eyes that tracked your every move. It was like looking in the windows of a rocking teenager’s car, all steam, and sex behind them.

Your hips ground unconsciously on his crotch where his arousal was obvious and painful and he couldn't keep in his moan. The contact was too much for his near virginal state to handle. Your body, luscious and young and soft, and so easily defiled. It was so sinful. It caused a fire to burn within his loins, reigniting one that had long been a dormant pile of ashes before you came along. Every sway of your breasts as you rose your body slightly from his was another match stricken and thrown to maintain this burn.

Every clench of your thighs around his waist was kindle to feed it. Your undeniable silhouette was gasoline, your ass weighing on his lap was logs and paper, probably journal pages he’s written and hidden of you, but the way you looked down at him, the way your eyes fluttered and your lashes fell, the way your mouth puckered and curled and glistened, that was the first page of the book to burn. One by one, page by page, you would rid him of his religion, strip him of belief until all that existed was you.

And he was fine with that.

Again, Joe felt the contact of your soft pussy pressing over his aching cock and his hand instinctively reached for your hair, tangling his fingers in your locks while his other five went to squeeze at your thigh. Every desperate touch from him was a message; ‘You’re gorgeous,’ ‘please touch me,’ ‘I need you.’ He was practically tracing the letters into your leg as his hand slid down to your knee then back up to your waist. He was still laying down while you were straddling him and grinding against him, occasionally letting your hands wander, pushing up his shirt and licking the skin you could reach without stretching. You had leaned forward to suck at his neck and the holy man about died and ascended to heaven when he felt your tits on his chest and your lips on his neck simultaneously. Your nipples were hard, enough so he felt them drag over his exposed skin when you arched your back and left bruises at his jaw.

Being so focused on your lips, Joe had lost track of your hands. His were on your ass, groping and kneading with silent adoration, but yours had moved from mussing his hair to tugging at his briefs. The man gasped when your hips left his and then, with a swift and sudden motion, his underwear was yanked down and you giggled. Joe, however, did not giggle. The exposure was shocking and the cold was unwelcome, making his cock twitch and sending a shiver up his spine. It was in this moment that Joe finally took in your image, the bite of the cold shaking him from his focus on just how you felt.

All his other senses were hazy and the man of the Lord was overwhelmed. You were glowing. Your hair was feathered and voluptuous. Your skin was velveteen and your body belonged in a temple, deserving of an altar and endless worship. He would have sworn he witnessed a halo form around you as well, a golden line connecting one shoulder to the other in a shining arch. Your smile was soft and distracting, but his gaze persisted down your body full of admiration and curiosity. Your chest was supple and your stomach plush, just like your hips and thighs, all there for him to appreciate.

He sat up to improve his view, allowing himself to be in much closer proximity to you, able now to bask in your scent, sweet and innocent. Then he laid his larger hands on your breasts for the first time. He was almost worried the metal of his rings would surprise you, being cold on your hot skin, but you had no reaction. Kneading with slow gentle movements, he slid his thumb just barely over your nipples, hard and sensitive for him.

Somewhere in the back of his throat, a question was lost, a search for approval that got stuck on its way out, but it didn’t seem to matter as your constant blissful smile was encouraging enough. He didn’t question any of it.

Quiet hums vibrated in your throat and your half-lidded gaze motivated the priest to feel more of your body, squeezing at your waist and ass again and leaning forward to drop unpracticed kisses to the valley of your chest. You laced your fingers in the back of his hair, cradling his skull and holding him to your skin, but when his thumb brushed over your clit, you stopped him. His wrist was caught in your grip in a quick and unexpected move that stopped him from further touching you.

His breath hitched, fearing he’d done something wrong with the way your eyes bore into him, cutting through the silence and bringing him to the reality of what you were doing. Joe felt like he could only inhale, nothing coming out when he tried to push his breath away. He swallowed dryly and your expression softened ever so slightly, dropping his hand to instead wrap your digits around his cock and maneuver it to swipe between your folds. The wetness gathered in your sex and on his tip made for easy entry as you lowered yourself slowly, lashes fluttering and mouth falling open. The man choked on a protest but swallowed it with a moan when his head was sheathed in you, warm and tight and ideal.

Joe couldn't focus on anything. It was all happening so fast for him, a blur of skin and sweat. You bounced on him expertly and he fell limp at your abilities, a sputtering mess as your buoyant tits mesmerized him. Your hot, heavy breaths rained down on him and showered him with increased want, but he was unable to act upon it, struck dumb by a higher force, and that force was the look you gave him, accompanied by a breathy sigh and a smile when you settled fully on his shaft. He hadn’t realized but he had been holding his breath as you rose slid down him again, audibly slick and aroused. At that moment, the world vanished from around him, all fuzz and static, and all he knew was you and the way you felt, sleeved around him perfectly, undulating and flexing with an ever subtle thrust of his, impulsive and quick, needy and natural.

Your speed increased suddenly though, and the priest, barely holding on as it was, couldn’t contain himself. Speaking in tongues of love, he groped at you, searching for an anchor to his physical form as an ethereal feeling washed over him, his orgasm imminent and monumental. It was an out of body experience for the servant of the Lord, greater than any religious bliss he’d yet to experience. He could see himself beneath you, his face contorted as yours glowed with elation and he came inside you. He could feel you pulsing around him and heavenly choirs invaded his ears, the stimulation shrouding him in your presence.

What occurred next was warped and surreal. He was still inside you, coming down but still hard and you were still smiling but the air turned sinister and smelled suddenly not of your scent but of sulfur and lavender. You turned into a shadow over him, no longer a source of light, but rather the opposite; a source of darkness. That’s when your skin began to slip from its place on your skull. Melting like wax, he thought, but his comparison was wrong, so wrong because there were no hot drips hitting his stomach and your hands didn’t begin to pool at his bellybutton. No, instead your soft hands turned to leather and the familiar spots of discoloration and sun exposure began to blossom across your shoulders and chest. He could see your veins, one by one, rise up on your skin on your straining legs. Your breasts sagged and your stomach folded over. Your smile went wider as your lips thinned and eye crinkled, every line on your face growing deeper until he felt the first wisps of your fading white hair fall on his legs. Your nails began to dig into his lower stomach as they grew and then he fell the first few cold objects hit his heated skin. One by one, two by two, teeth, rotted black and yellow, bounced off his chest when you leaned forward.

Joe wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. Maybe he was already, he couldn't tell. By now he assumed his vocal chord had been removed sometime in the night because, still, nothing came out. He tried, he forced all the air in his lungs out his tense lips like a coastal storm blowing in. He was the winds and the waves and the crashing sounds of ocean on rock and sand as he struggled to break free from the growing weight of the body still on top of him, still around him; shaking, twisting, tears streaming down his red face. You were death holding him down, boney legged and saggy skinned, every part of you being pulled with more strength every second towards your home in hell. He didn’t know what to do with his hands so they flailed at his sides as yours slid up his body with the same disturbing gummy, black smile looming over him and all he wanted at that moment was for it all to stop and disappear.

The sweat on his forehead rolled down the sides of his face and collided with the tears that were apparently seeping down his cheeks as well. The tears were hot and the sweat was cold and Joe’s entire face felt numb and damp, and it was. His whole body was. His undershirt was soaked through and his neck shiny and dotted with perspiration. He shot up out of bed, sitting upright with wide eyes as he shook as he frantically assessed his surroundings. The desk was still messy, his journal still out, the lamp was off, the window closed and the door locked. Fear still seeped through his bloodstream and ran from his face to his toes. It was electric emotion that coursed through his body, one that he couldn’t shake and that left his hair standing on end. It was deep beneath is skin, a nestled sense of discomfort. No amount of his unconscious physical shakes could rid himself of it.

He rocked back and forth on his bed for a while, the images of his dream never leaving his head, haunting him like some cliche victorian ghost. His tremors subsided but he wouldn’t be going back to sleep that not, not after that. The drastic shift had gouged a wedge in his heart, one that was now filled with questions and doubts, second thoughts. The fire in his loins burned brighter and hotter and blacker, smoke rising from it in dangerous, polluting amounts.

Upon the onset of further physical discomfort in the form of a cold patch on his briefs, he opted to spend the rest of his night in the shower, not only washing the shameful premature ejaculate from his underwear, but also his dream from his body, the dream he could only assume was a punishment for his earlier sinful thoughts. On one hand, he was washing her touch away, her soft, sweet, innocent touch that couldn’t be wrong, but on the other hand, the abomination that she’d been warped into left a film over him that didn’t seem to wash off.

Joe believed in signs and symbols. He believed that God spoke to you in natural ways, every day. The advertisement on the bus next to you at that red light this morning or the constant re-emergence of one specific suggestion throughout your day, seeing the same person everywhere you went, it was a message from God. “There are no such things as accidents or coincidences,” he preaches, “everything here God has preordained. It is predestined and meant to be.” He thought of her, meeting her and her timing. “Trust that this is the Lord’s will.”

This must be a sign. He thought of all the examples of prophetic dreams in the Bible, all the times the Lord has used this outlet to speak to his servants. Joseph, Jacob, Daniel, Solomon, Nebuchadnezzar- But what did it mean this time? The object of his unsanctioned affection decaying on top of his, immediately post-coitus. It scared him, the implications of it, but it also scared him that he had the dream at all, if he was honest. It was intense. Not only was it erotic, but also scarring. What did it mean for him and his faith? Part of him wanted to brush it aside and ignore any allusions his subconscious was trying to get to him. He wanted to, for once, turn to science to deny the religious answers to his issue, telling himself it was just a projection of some kind of worry, but that would mean he would have to admit to himself he was worried about her, around her, because of her. He would have to acknowledge the effect she had on him and he didn’t want to. He wouldn’t give in to this moment of weakness, so instead he scrubbed his soiled underpants at three in the morning and tried to wash the nightmare from his mind with Shout and bar shampoo, ignoring the heavy dread building in his chest as the hours counted down to Sunday morning, when he would face his congregation of elders and one woman he couldn’t ban from his mind if he wanted to.

He fell asleep at approximately 4:30 in the morning, face flat on the side of his tub, one hand caked in dried soap and the other clinging desperately to his still clearly stained boxer briefs. He didn’t dream this time, and for the first time he was ever aware of it, he was grateful he didn’t.

[fathertaurus]

Blow Me (One Last Kiss) 🍯

Soft Dom Ilya part 1 Ok so quick disclaimer, I haven’t written anything in over a year so I’m sorry if this is absolute trash but anyway enjoy! (He’s more soft here and dom! in the other two parts)

“I’m sorry your bored but you can’t leave me here, that’s just rude.”Ilya’s eyes were glued to his screen with half-hearted interest as he sat behind his desk. You stood next to his chair and watched passively as he continued to work. It was visibly after hours and you were both in his office working late much to your disappointment. 

He was supposed to be signing off on forms that you could have sworn you’d put on his desk earlier that week but had somehow mysteriously been lost, only to reappear on Friday evening. To say you were not pleased would be an understatement. So if you had to be stuck here on a Friday due to your boyfriends/boss’ lackadaisical approach to his own company, the least he could do is provide you with entertainment by letting you leave. You had been reading over his shoulder when you propositioned him. His tone was playful but slightly upset, and you tried to ease him down. It wouldn’t be good to rile up his anger, receiving punishment in his office was not what you wanted tonight. You glanced at him fleetingly before looking away. 

“Nothing it was just-” you cleared your throat and met his eyes once more.

“Nothing I’m just bored.” Ilya had looked away from the screen of his computer to examine your face. He must have seen something in your eyes because a lecherous smile began to creep onto his face. 

“Are you being naughty? If you are I fully encourage it, I was getting rather bored myself.” his grin was almost contagious and you had to bite your lip to keep it hidden, although it would do nothing to hide the fierce some blush that warmed your cheeks.

Looking back down at the screen you noticed a mistake and leant down to fix it, using that as a means to tear your eyes away from his searing gaze. 

“I shouldn’t have said anything at all, if you put off that work any longer I’ll go crazy.” you said coyly. You had found out rather early in your relationship that teasing was just one of the many, many ways to get Ilya aroused and you were going to exploit it as much as you can. 

“I know another way to make you go crazy.” Ilya murmured quietly as he leaned forward in his chair. His arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you close, turning you toward him. His pressed a tender kiss onto your stomach and looked up at you with his warm brown eyes causing you to smile gently. 

“Oh hush you, if you had filed these earlier we could have been home by now. This, my love, is entirely your fault.” you finished lightheartedly as your fingers ran through his dark tresses. “That’s true but there is something that you could do to help pass the time… and maybe help cure both of our boredom.” His large hands slowly drifted lower until he cupped your bottom firmly. 

“Won’t you please me pet?” His voiced had slipped down to a whisper now; coming out in a low growl. You shivered slightly at his words, feeling your lower stomach clench at the erotic question. You smiled sweetly and said nothing as you sunk slowly to your knees. 

You inwardly sighed knowing you could never truly refuse him. Your eyes locked as you bent at the waist to press a kiss to the button of his jeans. He smoothly readjusted himself in his seat as well as slid his hands down so that one now rested on your shoulder while the other slid into your hair.

“Yes.” 

“Yes what?” the hand in your hair tighten causing you gasp out at the slight pain. 

“Yes sir’’ you whimpered softly. He hummed happily as he removed the hand off your shoulder and reached  down to unbutton his slacks. 

“I have been listening to you talk back to me all day and now, I’m going to shut you up and keep my cock warm in that pretty mouth of yours” He pulled his thick cock from his boxers and eased your face towards him. You leaned down to press an open mouthed kissed to his tip, your tongue darting out to lick up the pre cum that had pearled enticingly for you. His taste was salty but not unpleasant, so you enveloped the warm head of his cock and began to suck firmly, determined to gather more of his essence.

“Fuck baby, thats it beautiful” his groans were husky and rumbled deep from within his chest. You take a few moments to lave at the head, running your tongue along the underside as you know exactly how to make Ilya go weak at the knees. He almost does, and is grateful that he’s sitting in his chair, a stationary point to which he can anchor himself.

“Y/n,” he finds himself moaning, his hands scrabbling through his hair to gain some sense of control. You lock eyes with him before you start to sink down further, your pace agonizingly slow.

Ilya can barely keep his eyes open, overwhelmed by the wet slide of your mouth. He manages somehow and thanks the stars for it, or else he would miss the red stretch of your lips as they meet the ring of your own fist, would miss the way your eyes flutter closed in contentment as you manage to take Ilya all the way. 

Your nose pressing firmly into the patch of hair that rest at his pubic bone. The sight has Ilya’s hips jerking forward again, in spite of himself.

“Shit, sorry,” he says, heat rising in his face at his lack of self-control. But you simply moan and drop your hand, looking up at Ilya expectantly. Ilya’s heart pounds against his ribs, struggling to figure out what you mean. But then you take one of his hands and places it in your own hair, and something clicks together.

“Oh really?” he asks with a salacious grin as he pulls out halfway, gripping you by your hair to hold him steady. “You want me to fuck your throat?” Nodding as best as you can around him.

“Touch yourself, I want you to come with me. He gasps as he’s uses his fingers to trace your plump lips around him. You moan once again and hurry to unfasten your own pants. 

With a flushed face you reach inside past your underwear to touch yourself and sigh in content once your fingers brush against your wet aching nether region, and Ilya wants so badly to touch you. You almost impatiently move your head further down relishing in the stretch your jaw gives as you force him deeper, in spite of Ilya’s hold on you and he can’t do anything but give into that wet heat, to chase more of that feeling.

It’s not long before Ilya falls into a rhythm, feeling your throat flutter around the head of his cock with every thrust. He wants to assume a more controlling role as he usually does but the long day has taken its toll on him. He is content, at the moment, to allow you to bring him this pleasure.

You, of course, take everything Ilya gives you with practised ease, one hand against his knee to steady yourself while the other maneuvers expertly so that two fingers push inside yourself while your thumb slides firmly across your dripping clit. Ilya feels a twinge of guilt, like he should be offering to get you off too, but you don’t mind as you seem to be more than enjoying yourself if the obscene sounds you’re making around Ilya’s cock are anything to go by.

It feels better than he could have ever imagined; the hot press of your mouth sending shocks of pleasure through his body that seem to light up every nerve. It flows through him, the vibrations from your moans making his toes curl in his boots, unfurling out to his fingertips until it coalesces and settles low in his gut. He’s so wrapped up in the sensations that he almost doesn’t notice you shuddering below him, your moans reach a crescendo as you continue to bring yourself over the edge, plunging your fingers impossibly deeper thighs beginning to shake.

“You’re so good for me baby,  taking me so well.” You hum pleasantly, enjoying the feel of his rough thrusts in your throat paired with his gentle praises.

“Can’t wait to be buried in that tight pussy later.” he grunts as he slides himself out of your mouth. As you pause to breathe, you trail wet kisses down his thick cock to that bit of skin where his balls meet before taking part of his sack into his mouth. Relishing in the feel of the heavy weight in your mouth you groan once more and resume your hands own thrusts with vigor, determined to come just like this.His groans are almost pornographic at this point and you feel yourself clench around your fingers. 

“Fuck baby I’m close” he murmurs and you quickly move back up to take him deeply in your mouth once more, and he takes up his timely thrust not bothering to make it last any longer. 

Your orgasm washes over you suddenly and it’s the sight of you shaking through your own orgasm that gets him. Before he knows it Ilya’s holding you close as he thrusts one final time, feeling your throat working rapidly around him as you struggles to swallow him down. 

“Swallow it baby, don’t you dare waste any of it.” his growls cause you to buck wildly, and whimper as your pussy clenches painfully around your fingers. His orgasm leaves him dizzy and weightless, white spots bursting behind his eyes like the stars shining in the sky above them. 

When he’s done spilling in your mouth you slowly let his dick slide from your mouth sucking up anything that spills out. After you determine he’s clean and you missed nothing, you begin to pull your hand from your pants. Scooping up all the wetness that pooled in your hand and stick said fingers in your mouth.

The sound of you suckling on your own fingers brings him back to earth as he collapses tiredly against his chair.

“Fuck, your so amazing,”

He says, watching you lovingly as you clean yourself off. “Well that’s not anything new.” You rasp out, voice sounding absolutely wrecked. Ilya can’t help but feel a thrill of pride that he was the one who did that to you. 

“Well now that your not bored maybe that’ll encourage you to finish up quicker huh?” You ask finally looking up into his warm brown eyes. You find him with his elbow propped on the armrest head in hand rubbing his index finger against his lips. His pants still open and dick still out, almost twitching back to life as he studies you.

His smile is dangerous as he speaks his next words

“Not a chance”