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darksturnz · 14 days ago

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† A SINNERS EMBRACE — matthew sturniolo x angel!reader.

SYNOPSIS: Desperate for forgiveness, she stepped into the confession booth, unaware that the very man who was the subject of her dream was on the other side, his ears listening to her confession while his hand was wrapped around his throbbing cock. CONTENTS: heavy religious imagery・semi public masturbation (male!)・perv!matthew・fem!reader・corruption・not proofread WC: 5k

Sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows of St. Mary's Cathedral, casting colorful patterns across the polished wooden pews. The air was thick with the scent of incense and the soft murmurs of the congregation as they awaited the start of mass.

In the sacristy, Father Matthew Sturniolo stood before the mirror, adjusting his crisp black cassock. His piercing blue eyes met his reflection, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. He ran a hand through his neatly styled curly brown hair, ensuring not a strand was out of place. Satisfied with his appearance, he stepped out into the nave.

As Father Matthew made his way to the altar, his gaze swept over the gathered faithful. His eyes lingered on a young woman seated near the front, her delicate features framed by soft curls held back with a ribbon. She seemed to radiate an innocent purity that drew his attention like a moth to a flame.

He began the service, his rich baritone voice filling the cathedral. His words were honey-sweet, weaving a spell of devotion over the congregation. Yet beneath the pious facade, dark desires stirred within him, hidden from all but himself.

As the mass concluded, Father Matthew descended from the altar, ready to greet his flock. His smile was warm and welcoming, yet his eyes held a calculating gleam as they once again found the young woman. He approached her slowly, his presence seeming to fill the space between them. "Good morning," Father Matthew said softly, his voice like velvet. "I don't believe we've had the pleasure of meeting. I'm Father Matthew, the newest member of our little community here."

He extended his hand, palm up in invitation. "And you are?"

The young woman looked up at him, her wide eyes shining with innocent curiosity. "Y-yes, Father. I'm Y/N, sir. It's nice to meet you." Her small hand rested lightly in his, her skin soft and warm against his own.

Father Matthew smiled, his thumb brushing ever so slightly across her knuckles. "The pleasure is all mine, Y/N. I look forward to getting to know you better."

With a final squeeze of her hand, he released her and turned to greet the other parishioners, leaving Y/N flushed and flustered in his wake. One Sunday afternoon, after the congregation had dispersed and the cathedral lay quiet, Father Matthew sought out Y/N in the empty nave. He found her kneeling before a pew, head bowed in prayer. Approaching softly, he cleared his throat to announce his presence.

"Forgive me for disturbing you, Y/N," he said gently, "but I couldn't help noticing how deeply you seem to connect with the Lord during services. Your devotion is truly inspiring and I’m sure your parents are very proud."

Y/N looked up, startled, then smiled shyly. "Oh, thank you, Father. I try my best to please them."

Father Matthew nodded, his expression turning thoughtful. "Your dedication is admirable, indeed. As your spiritual leader, I feel it's my duty to nurture that spark within you. Perhaps we could arrange some...private Bible studies?"

Y/N's brow furrowed in confusion. "Private studies, Father? But wouldn't that be improper?"

A hint of amusement danced in Father Matthew's eyes. "Not at all, dear. In fact, one-on-one instruction allows us to delve deeper into the scriptures together. I assure you, it's a common practice among clergy and their devout followers."

He reached out, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Think of it as an opportunity to grow closer to God under my guidance. What do you say, Y/N? Would you be willing to meet with me regularly, just the two of us, to explore the Word?"

As Father Matthew's hand settled upon Y/N's shoulder, a shiver ran down her spine. The gentle pressure sent tingles through her slender frame, making her acutely aware of his proximity. His touch was warm, reassuring, and yet...different. There was a subtle intimacy to it that left her breathless and disoriented.

Y/N's cheeks flushed a deep crimson as she struggled to find her voice. "I-I mean...if it's really necessary, Father..." she stammered, her eyes darting nervously between his face and the floor. "But won't people talk if we're alone together?"

Father Matthew's fingers squeezed her shoulder lightly, a silent reassurance. "Let them talk, child. The Lord works in mysterious ways, and sometimes that means challenging societal norms for the greater good,"

"Besides," Father Matthew continued, his voice low and soothing, "our meetings will take place in a secluded area of the rectory. No one will ever need to know."

Y/N swallowed hard, her mind reeling with the implications. A private setting with Father Matthew, away from prying eyes...it felt both thrilling and terrifying. She bit her lip, torn between her desire to please him and her instinctive fear of doing something wrong.

"I...I suppose it would be a good opportunity to learn more about God's word," she ventured finally, trying to sound convincing despite her racing heart. "When did you have in mind for our first session, Father?"

Father Matthew's smile broadened, revealing a glint of approval in his eyes. "How about tomorrow evening, after dinner? I'll make sure to leave a light on for you at the door."

With a nod, Y/N agreed to the clandestine meeting, her heart pounding in her chest. She spent the remainder of the day in a daze, her thoughts consumed by the prospect of being alone with Father Matthew.

As night fell the next day, Y/N found herself standing before the rectory, a mix of trepidation and anticipation coursing through her veins. She knocked softly on the door, her knuckles trembling slightly.

After a moment, the door creaked open, revealing a dimly lit hallway. Father Matthew stood in the shadows, his figure imposing yet inviting. "Welcome, Y/N," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Please, come in."

She entered hesitantly, her eyes adjusting to the faint glow of candles scattered throughout the room. The air was heavy with the scent of incense and leather-bound books.

Father Matthew guided Y/N to a plush armchair positioned near a large, ornate desk. "Make yourself comfortable," he instructed, gesturing to the chair. "We have much to discuss tonight."

As she sat down, Y/N noticed a Bible lying open on the desk, its pages marked with a silver bookmark. Her gaze lingered on the ancient text, feeling a sense of reverence wash over her.

Father Matthew settled into a nearby chair, leaning back with an air of relaxed confidence. "Before we begin our study, I'd like to share a personal anecdote," he said, his tone taking on a contemplative quality. "Growing up, I often felt disconnected from the divine. It wasn't until I dedicated myself fully to serving the Lord that I truly started to understand His plan for me."

He fixed Y/N with a piercing stare, his words dripping with conviction.

"I believe that same calling exists within you, Y/N. Tonight, I hope to help you recognize and embrace it."

With those enigmatic words, Father Matthew reached across the desk, his fingers brushing against Y/N's as he handed her the Bible. Their touch sent another jolt of electricity through her, leaving her breathless.

As she opened the book, the weight of the sacred text seemed to press against her palms. Y/N felt a strange connection to the pages, as if they held secrets meant only for her ears.

Father Matthew leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "Let's start with a passage that resonates with me," he suggested, pointing to a verse marked in the book. "Psalm 23, verses 3-4. 'He restores my soul; He leads me in paths of righteousness for His name's sake."

Y/N's eyes widened as she read the familiar words, a sense of peace washing over her. She recited the verses aloud, her voice soft and reverent. "Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me..."

As she spoke, Father Matthew's gaze never wavered from hers, his eyes burning with an intensity that made her skin prickle. When she finished, he nodded approvingly. "Beautifully said, Y/N. Those words offer solace even in the darkest of times."

He paused, studying her face intently. "Tell me, when you pray, what do you usually focus on? Is it asking for blessings, seeking forgiveness, or perhaps longing for a deeper connection with the divine?"

Y/N shifted uncomfortably in her seat, unsure how to articulate her feelings. "I guess..."

"...I mostly pray for protection and guidance. For my family's well-being and for not doing anything wrong," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Father Matthew's expression softened, and he reached out to place a comforting hand on her knee. "Those are noble prayers, but remember, the Lord wants a relationship built on trust and openness. Don't be afraid to express your desires and fears to Him."

His touch lingered, sending warmth spreading through Y/N's legs. She found herself leaning into his palm, craving more of that comforting contact.

"Perhaps we can work on expanding your prayer life together," Father Matthew suggested, his voice low and persuasive. "Start by sharing your deepest concerns with me. I'm here to listen and guide you, Y/N."

Y/N took a shaky breath, her heart racing as she considered Father Matthew's offer. The idea of unburdening her innermost thoughts to someone - anyone - felt daunting, yet there was a part of her that yearned for this kind of intimate connection.

"I...I worry about pleasing God," she confessed, her voice trembling. "About not living up to His expectations. Sometimes I feel so small and insignificant compared to His greatness."

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she met Father Matthew's gaze. "And then there's the fear of sinning...of doing something terrible and irreparable. It keeps me up at night, wondering if I'm worthy of His love."

Her confession hung in the air, heavy with vulnerability. Y/N waited with bated breath for Father Matthew's reaction, her entire being attuned to his response.

Father Matthew's expression turned solemn, his eyes filled with compassion. "Sin is a heavy burden to carry, Y/N," he acknowledged, his voice a gentle murmur. "But know this: you were born innocent, and it's never too late to seek forgiveness and redemption."

He squeezed her knee reassuringly. "The Lord loves you unconditionally, just as you are. Your worth comes from being His child, not from achieving some lofty standard of perfection."

Leaning forward, Father Matthew rested his forearms on his thighs, bringing their faces closer together. "In fact, it's precisely your humility and willingness to acknowledge your flaws that make your faith all the more genuine and beautiful."

His words washed over Y/N like a soothing balm, easing some of the tension in her shoulders. She found herself drawn to his presence, craving the comfort and understanding only he could provide. As Father Matthew's proximity intensified, Y/N's breathing grew shallow. The scent of his cologne mingled with the musty aroma of the old books, creating a heady mixture that clouded her senses.

His warm breath tickled her ear as he whispered, "Remember, Y/N, true strength lies in vulnerability. By sharing your fears and doubts, you're taking the first step towards a deeper, more meaningful relationship with God – and with me."

One of Father Matthew's hands slid from her knee to gently cradle her cheek, his thumb stroking her skin in a tender caress. Y/N's eyelids fluttered closed, savoring the sensation of his touch.

In that moment, she felt an overwhelming urge to surrender completely to him – to let go of her inhibitions and simply exist in the safety of his presence. Father Matthew's lips hovered mere inches from Y/N's, the anticipation almost palpable. Then, with deliberate slowness, he inclined his head, allowing their noses to brush together in a fleeting, electric contact. The briefest of sighs escaped Y/N's lips as she savored the closeness, her eyes drifting shut. But before she could process the intensity of the moment, Father Matthew pulled back, breaking the spell.

Opening her eyes, Y/N found him smiling at her with an unreadable mix of tenderness and restraint. "Until next Sunday, Y/N," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "May the Lord bless and keep you in the interim."

Rising from his seat, Father Matthew offered her his arm, guiding her towards the door with a gentle pressure. As they walked side by side, Y/N couldn't shake the lingering effects of their intimate encounter. Every step felt weighted, each breath charged with a newfound awareness of Father Matthew's presence beside her.

At the entrance, he paused, turning to face her. In the dim light filtering through the stained glass windows, his features appeared almost ethereal, as if carved from shadows and moonlight.

"Farewell for now, Y/N," Father Matthew said softly, his gaze holding hers captive. "May your dreams be peaceful and your heart remain open to the mysteries of the spirit."

With that, he cupped her cheek once more, his thumb tracing the curve of her lower lip before releasing her. Then, with a final, enigmatic smile, he stepped back and watched as she disappeared into the night, the sound of her footsteps echoing in the stillness.

As Y/N retreated to the sanctuary of her bedroom, the events of the evening swirled through her mind like a tempestuous sea. Father Matthew's touch, his whispers, the weight of his gaze – each detail replayed itself in vivid Technicolor, refusing to be relegated to the realm of memory.

She slipped beneath the covers, her body thrumming with a restless energy. Try as she might, sleep eluded her, replaced instead by a kaleidoscope of forbidden fantasies.

In the darkness, Y/N's imagination ran wild, conjuring scenarios where Father Matthew's hands roamed her body with increasing boldness. She pictured his fingers trailing along her collarbone, dipping into the neckline of her nightgown to tease the sensitive skin beneath.

As the illicit visions intensified, a telltale dampness began to gather between Y/N's thighs.

Exhaustion finally claimed Y/N, her eyelids growing heavy as the fantasy montage continued to unfold behind her closed lids. With a soft sigh, she surrendered to the embrace of slumber, her dreams already tainted by the forbidden allure of Father Matthew.

In the depths of her subconscious, the scenario shifted, becoming more explicit and sensual with each passing moment. Y/N found herself lying on the cold stone floor of the rectory, her nightgown pushed up around her waist as Father Matthew loomed over her, his dark robes pooling around his knees.

His hands, once so reverent, now explored her body with a hunger that made her shiver. Fingers danced across her breasts, teasing the hardened nipples until pleasure-pain shot straight to her core. A whimper escaped her lips, muffled by the priest's mouth as he captured them in a searing kiss.

As the dream intensified, Y/N's hips bucked involuntarily, seeking friction against the damp heat building between her legs. Her hands reached down to press against Father Matthew's, urging him closer, wanting more of his touch.

Moans and gasps punctuated the erotic haze, the sounds muffled by the priest's insistent kisses. He Trailered his mouth down her neck, nipping and sucking at the delicate skin until Y/N arched off the ground, crying out in ecstasy.

In the throes of her climax, Y/N's vision blurred, colors bleeding together as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her. She clung to Father Matthew, her nails digging into his arms as she rode out the intense sensations, lost to everything but the bliss consuming her.

Y/N jolted awake, her chest heaving as if she'd run a marathon. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and her nightgown clung to her skin, dampened by the remnants of her climax. For a moment, disoriented and panting, she struggled to anchor herself in reality.

As the fog of sleep lifted, memories of the dream came rushing back, leaving a trail of shame and confusion in its wake. Y/N's cheeks flushed hot, and she buried her face in her pillow, mortified by the intensity of her own desires.

What had possessed her to imagine such things? Father Matthew, the man she trusted above all others, reduced to a participant in her most private, debased fantasies. The thought alone made her stomach churn with self-loathing.

Throughout the day, Y/N moved through her routine with mechanical precision, her mind consumed by the guilt gnawing at her soul. Every time her parents glanced her way, concern etched onto their faces, she couldn't help but wonder if they sensed the turmoil brewing inside her.

The telltale flush on her cheeks seemed to pulse with a life of its own, a constant reminder of the shameful secret she harbored. Each time she caught her reflection in a window or mirror, she flinched, as if the image staring back might hold some hidden clue to her innermost thoughts.

By mid-afternoon, the weight of her confession became unbearable. Y/N excused herself from the kitchen, where her mother was preparing dinner, claiming she needed fresh air. As soon as she stepped outside, however, she found herself drawn inexorably toward the familiar solace of the church.

The imposing stone structure loomed before her, its towering spires reaching toward the heavens like outstretched arms. Y/N hesitated briefly, her hand trembling as she grasped the ornate bronze handle of the massive wooden doors.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, she pushed the doors open, the creak of the hinges echoing through the empty nave. The interior was bathed in a warm, golden light, casting long shadows across the polished marble floors.

Y/N wandered deeper into the church, her footsteps echoing softly off the walls. Eventually, she found herself standing before the confessional, its wooden screen adorned with intricate carvings depicting scenes of redemption and forgiveness.

With a sense of trepidation mixed with relief, she knelt before the grated opening, her voice barely audible as she whispered, "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned..."

Inside the confessional, Father Matthew listened intently as Y/N's hesitant voice filtered through the grate, her words painting a picture of guilt and contrition. His heart raced at the realization that the penitent before him was none other than the innocent, sheltered girl he had grown to care for.

Concealing his true identity, Father Matthew adopted a neutral, soothing tone, meant to provide comfort without revealing his knowledge of her personal life. "My child, please, share your sins with me, and know that you shall receive absolution."

Y/N took a shaky breath before continuing, her voice trembling slightly. "Father, I...I had a dream last night. A wicked dream. I imagined doing sinful things with someone I trust deeply, someone who should never be the subject of such thoughts." She paused, biting her lip.

"It was Father Matthew," Y/N admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "In my dream, he touched me in ways no one ever has, and I felt things I shouldn't have felt. Desire, longing...even pleasure when we did things that are wrong."

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she confessed, "When I woke up, I was...I was soaked. It was as if my body betrayed me, responding to those forbidden imaginings. I'm ashamed, Father. So terribly ashamed."

Y/N waited with bated breath, her heart pounding in her chest as she awaited the priest's response, unsure whether he would offer condemnation or understanding.

Inside the confessional, Father Matthew's composure faltered at Y/N's explicit admission. The mere mention of her dream, coupled with the intimate details, sent a surge of arousal coursing through his veins. His cock twitched to life, straining against the confines of his black cassock.

Swallowing hard, he fought to maintain his calm, professional demeanor. "Tell me more, my child," he urged, his voice low and husky despite his best efforts. "Describe this dream in greater detail. What exactly transpired between you and Father Matthew?"

As Y/N began to recount the specifics – the sensation of his hands on her body, the taste of his kisses, the feeling of being taken against the cold stone floor – Father Matthew's erection grew even harder, throbbing with an almost painful intensity.

"Did he touch you intimately?" Father Matthew pressed, his curiosity piqued and his desire escalating with each word from Y/N's lips. "Was there any...physical contact beyond kissing and caressing?"

His fingers tightened around the edge of the confessional booth, imagining the tender flesh beneath Y/N's garments, the softness of her breasts, the warmth of her cunt. The mental images were almost too much to bear, stoking the flames of his lust to a near-blazing inferno.

"Please, continue," he rasped, his voice thick with need. "Every detail is important for your spiritual guidance, my child."

Father Matthew could no longer resist the temptation. With one hand, he unzipped his fly, freeing his throbbing cock from its fabric prison. He wrapped his fingers around the shaft, giving it a firm squeeze as he continued to listen intently to Y/N's detailed account of her dream.

As she described the feeling of Father Matthew's cock sliding into her virgin depths, stretching her tight walls, he began to stroke himself in earnest. Slowly at first, then with increasing urgency, he pumped his fist along his length, imagining it was Y/N's slick cunt enveloping him instead.

"Mmmm," he groaned under his breath, the sound muffled behind the wooden screen. His hips rocked in tandem with his hand, thrusting upward as if seeking to bury himself deeper into an imaginary pussy.

Y/N's blush deepened as she recounted the lewd acts from her dream, her voice quivering with a mix of embarrassment and excitement. "He...he kissed me everywhere, Father. My neck, my breasts, even between my thighs. And then..."

She paused, her breath catching in her throat as she relived the sensations. "Then, he entered me. It hurt at first, but soon it felt so good. Like nothing l've ever experienced before. I wanted more, even though I knew it was wrong."

Y/N's confession hung heavy in the air, the vivid descriptions painting a scandalous picture in Father Matthew's mind. His cock throbbed painfully, straining against the fabric of his clerical robes. He could hardly believe the depraved thoughts now racing through his head.

Father Matthew's composure slipped further with each salacious detail Y/N revealed. His breathing grew ragged, punctuated by stifled groans as he continued to stroke his aching cock. The once sacred space of the confessional now reeked of sin and debauchery, the air thick with the musk of his arousal.

"Go on," he urged, his voice strained and unsteady. Gone was the calm, reassuring tone of a spiritual guide; in its place was the desperate plea of a man teetering on the brink of self-control. "Tell me everything. Don't leave out a single detail."

Y/N's innocence, her purity, only served to fuel the fire burning within him. He imagined defiling her, corrupting her, molding her into his perfect little slut.

Father Matthew's mind raced with perverse fantasies, each one more depraved than the last. In his twisted imagination, he saw himself bending Y/N over the altar, tearing away her flimsy dress to reveal her nubile body. He pictured her on her knees before him, those innocent eyes wide with shock as she took his cock into her mouth, gagging on his length.

The thought of claiming her virginity, of being the first and only man to plunge into her untouched depths, drove him wild with lust. He stroked faster, harder, chasing the release that seemed just out of reach.

Father Matthew's resolve crumbled like a house of cards, the soft sniffles emanating from Y/N proving to be his undoing. The sound of her guilt, her shame, only served to heighten his own dark desires, pushing him over the precipice of restraint.

With a strangled cry, he erupted, his seed spilling forth in hot, pulsing spurts. Ropes of cum painted the inside of the confessional, splattering against the wood in obscene patterns. His hips jerked erratically as he rode out the waves of his climax, each twitch sending another burst of semen from his spasming cock.

As the haze of orgasm slowly dissipated, Father Matthew slumped back in his seat, his chest heaving with exertion. He quickly tucked his spent member back into his cassock, zipping up his fly with shaking hands.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Father Matthew tried to compose himself, to slip back into the role of the compassionate priest. "My child," he began, his voice still slightly rougher than usual, "you mustn't blame yourself for these dreams. They are merely manifestations of your natural, God-given desires, warped by the influence of the world outside our holy sanctuary."

He paused, choosing his next words carefully. "What matters most is that you recognize the sinfulness of such thoughts and actions. Repentance is key, and you've already shown great courage in confessing these impure urges."

Father Matthew's mind raced, torn between his vows and his growing obsession with Y/N. He knew he should steer her towards prayer, fasting, and increased devotion to ward off these temptations.

Father Matthew's heart raced, his pulse pounding in his ears as he grappled with the conflicting emotions swirling within him. The urge to lead Y/N astray, to encourage her down a path of sin and debauchery, warred with his duty to guide her towards righteousness.

In the end, his own twisted desires won out. Leaning closer to the screen separating them, he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Listen closely, my child. While these feelings may seem unnatural, even sinful, I assure you that they are perfectly normal for a young woman of your age and disposition."

He paused, letting his words sink in before continuing. "God created us with these desires, these needs. To deny them entirely would be to go against His divine plan."

Father Matthew's voice dropped to a husky murmur, his words dripping with barely restrained lust. "If you were to act upon these urges, to explore the pleasures of the flesh with a willing partner, I don't believe the Lord would hold it against you. After all, He gave us these bodies to enjoy, to revel in their sensations."

He shifted in his seat, his spent cock already beginning to stir again at the thought of guiding Y/N into the world of carnal delights. "Should you ever find yourself tempted to cross that line, know that Father Matthew is there to offer his support, his...guidance. Together, you can navigate this treacherous terrain, ensuring that your journey remains safe and fulfilling."

Father Matthew's mind raced with possibilities, visions of stolen moments and illicit encounters dancing behind his eyes.

Father Matthew's mind raced with possibilities, visions of stolen moments and illicit encounters dancing behind his eyes. He imagined taking Y/N's hand, leading her away from the confessional and into a secluded corner of the church. There, in the dim light filtering through the stained glass windows, he would show her the true meaning of pleasure.

His fingers twitched with the urge to touch her, to explore every inch of her nubile form. He pictured her gasping beneath him, her body writhing in ecstasy as he claimed her innocence, molding her into his perfect little plaything.

Y/N's eyes widened in shock at the brazen words, her cheeks flushing an even deeper shade of crimson. She squirmed uncomfortably on the hard wooden bench, her thighs pressing together as a strange warmth blossomed between her legs.

"I...I don't understand, Father," she whispered, her voice trembling with a mixture of confusion and budding desire. "Isn't giving in to such thoughts and urges considered a grave sin? Won't God punish me for entertaining such wicked notions?"

Despite her words, Y/N couldn't deny the thrill that coursed through her at the idea of exploring these forbidden desires. The taboo nature of it all sent a shiver down her spine, awakening something primal and hungry within her.

Father Matthew leaned closer, his breath ghosting across the screen separating them. "Oh, but that's where you're mistaken, my dear. God understands our human nature, our need for connection and intimacy. He doesn't expect us to live as celibate monks, denying ourselves the joys of the flesh."

His voice dropped to a seductive purr, each word dripping with sinful promise. "No, He wants us to embrace these desires, to revel in them with a loving partner. And who better to guide you on this journey than your humble priest?"

Father Matthew's mind raced with wicked thoughts, imagining all the ways he could corrupt Y/N.

With a trembling voice, Y/N thanked the mysterious priest for his guidance and understanding. "Thank you, Father, for hearing my confession and offering such wise counsel. Your words have brought me comfort and clarity."

She rose from the bench, smoothing her skirt with nervous hands. As she made her way out of the confessional, Y/N's mind buzzed with a whirlwind of emotions - confusion, curiosity, and a simmering undercurrent of excitement.

On the walk home, Y/N found herself replaying the priest's words in her head, trying to reconcile them with everything she'd been taught about the evils of lust and temptation. Yet, despite her best efforts, she couldn't shake the image of the handsome priest who haunted her dreams.

Father Matthew remained seated in the confessional long after Y/N had departed, his mind reeling from their encounter. The scent of her lingering perfume filled his nostrils, mingling with the musk of his own arousal.

He palmed his hardening cock through his cassock, biting back a groan as he recalled the way her voice had quivered with a mix of innocence and burgeoning desire. The thought of corrupting her, of guiding her down a path of sin and depravity, consumed his every waking thought.

Rising from his seat, Father Matthew emerged from the confessional, his gaze drawn to the spot where Y/N had stood mere moments ago. A wicked smile played across his lips as he plotted his next move, determined to make the innocent girl his own personal plaything.

DISCLAIMER: this is an original storyline written by me and only me. @/muwapsturniolo has written a series using the priest!matthew au which you can find here but my story is NOT inspired by hers nor a copy.

AUTHORS NOTE: first chapter >.<!! i rewrote this one a good four times and ultimately cut the wc from 16k to 5k... she’s a bit rushed but i’d like to get the boring details out of the way.

TAG LIST: @jetaimevous @sturnsblunt @riasturns @ifwdominicfike @chrissturns-wife @mattsmunch

#ⓘdarksturnz #𐔌 .⋮⟢angel!reader .ᐟ꒱#𐔌 .⋮⟢priest!matt.ᐟ꒱#matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #matthew sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo smut #sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets smut #perv matt sturniolo

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qqueenofhades · 3 months ago

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The Fall Welcome Back Faculty Staff University Retreat, which persisted in giving me so much unfortunate Academia AU fic fodder before it even began, is in fact about to begin. Pray for me.

(If I continue to appear sporadically, kvetch about this or similar topics, and then vanish again for an extended spell, forgive me. I am currently in the middle of Welcome Back Week with multiple orientations to plan/attend as both faculty/staff and student; am preparing to apply for a promotion in my current job while simultaneously continuing to fight with HR/the central university admin; trying to get my apartment leasing office to fucking fix multiple maintenance issues; preparing to start said mmmth graduate degree; and otherwise having Way Too Much Shit To Do. Thoughts and prayers, etc.)

#hilary for ts #school stuff #academia: not even once

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somewhere-on-venus · 8 months ago

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So you want to worship Aphrodite?

Aphrodite goddess of love, beauty, sexuality and so on.

Born of seafoam, goddess of the peoples hearts.

Aphrodite has been a big part of my life for awhile... Shes blessed me in many ways! And if you want to work with her I hope to help you.

I won't be going into her history in this post, this is more of a guide on how to get started on worshipping her.

The first thing alot of people ask about is how to build that connection, how to reach out. With any deity I work with I started out leaving an offering, lighting a candle and/or incense and offering my devotion through prayer. I then usually follow up with divination of some form to build on the relationship and get to know them. As for offerings I find it can be flexible to what you have. But I'll list off some traditional and other kinds of offerings here first!

Offerings~

• frankincense incense

• apple

• eggs

• strawberries

• chocolate

• honey

• roses

• olives

• wine/mulled wine

• raisins/grapes

• perfume

• cosmetics

• shells

These are just a few but there are plenty more.

I personally when I'm short on any of these I offer her some of my own food. Theres been times where she has gotten a pizza pocket but a big thing is to remember is to not stress about this! The gods are understanding, they won't be mad and Aphrodite certainly wont be! The biggest thing that matters is that it comes from the heart...

Ill also listen some plants and food associated with her as it might also be helpful for offerings.

• rosemary

• hibiscus

• Jasmine

• myrtle

• mint

• cinnamon

• basil

• cannabis

• lettuce

• strawberries

• pomegranate

• iris

• myyrh

• vanilla

• ginger

• peach

• frankincense

Associated animals

• doves

• sparrows

• waterfowl

• dolphins

Crystals

• rose quartz

• pearl

• aquamarine

• jade

• moonstone

• rhodolite

• carnelian

Setting up an altar

Personally I set up a small altar space first... I see it as welcoming them into my home, healing them settle/get comfortable. It would be like maybe getting your home presentable and such for a new friend coming over. And I believe that when approaching the gods you should do it like that, great them as a new friend. Be respectful, don't rush into it and be welcoming.

When I first set up my altar to Aphrodite I looked around my room for what I could use first. I wouldn't rush into buying stuff until you've established that connection.

I searched for shells, pink items, fake flowers etc. I even put toys and jewelry that reminded me of her on there. I also used a tea light and pink spell candles.

This was my first altar:

If you have any questions let me know.. I will do posts like these on other deities I worship soon 🩷

(also this is from my personal experience.. I hope it is helpful though)

#hellenic pagan #hellenism #witch community #witchblr #witchcraft #hellenic polytheism #aphrodite #venus #altar

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honeyynymphh · 1 month ago

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All This Sweet Work

|| Otto Hightower x Fem!Reader || Rating: E Words: 2k short ficlet 18+ MDNI ao3 link

As a lady-in-waiting to Queen Alicent, you strike up a friendship with the Hand of the King with whom you regularly meet under the pretence of relaying news about the Queen. Recently widowed, having only been married for a few months to a man who was quite unkind to her. you are eager to see Ser Otto for your meetings which then turn into regular dinners. You find yourself yearning for more than just his company, not knowing that he began the arrangement in order to see if you were suitable to marry his eldest son...but he has ended up wanting you for himself. Based on idea I had with @handofkings and @sucharide <3 There is no real lead up, this is as straight to the point as I've written before lmao tags: yearning, admittance of feelings, fingering, oral (f receiving), body worship, p in v, lots of smooching

The fire is warm, though the flames have grown small at such a late hour. You watch them as they dance slowly across the glowing embers within the grate and sigh, leaning back against the settee.

��The hour grows late, my lady,” comes the voice of Ser Otto. You turn your head to him, watching the firelight dance across his face, catching the remnants of red in his hair and making them shine. “You should return back to your rooms.”

You should return but you have no wish to do so. The wine in your belly has you warmed from within and you are too comfortable languishing in the Tower of the Hand to want to return to your empty room.

“If you wish me to leave, my lord hand, I shall retire.”

You stand carefully, smoothing down your dress as you do so. How many nights have you spent here? You could not recall. But they always ended the same—with an oddly awkward but polite farewell despite how easy and comfortable the conversation had been previously.

You knew more about this man than anyone else, even your queen. Though he was still somewhat of a mystery. A lady in waiting had no need to spend her hours with the Hand of the King yet here you were. You could barely recall how it had started all those weeks ago but you couldn't imagine your life without Ser Otto - which was a distressing thought. You would soon have to remarry and all of this would be gone. Again, you would belong to another and how you yearned for something like this…how you wanted to stay with him.

“I do not wish for that,” he says, stepping a little closer than is proper. “I would have you stay.”

His hand reaches toward you, slowly and a little unsure if his touch will be unwelcome. But it is not, and so you do not stop him from gently touching your cheek. His large hand is soft and warm, and it twists the awkward tension in your belly into pleasurable anticipation.

He comes closer, you can feel the weight of his cloak as it brushes against you. You can't help but lean into his touch, it had been so long since you had felt a touch as welcome as his. As you move, eyes briefly closing - just a mere moment as your body relishes in the touch - he sighs. He is so close that his breath ghosts against your skin and your eyes find his. They watch you carefully.

"Will you stay?" he asks. His voice is low, as if speaking any louder will destroy whatever spell is holding you both.

You nod. "Yes, my lord hand."

"Otto."

You smile softly. "Otto."

He moves quickly then, the hand on your cheek sliding into your hair as the other wraps around your middle to pull you into him. His mouth is against yours, insistent as he murmurs your own name against your lips like prayer.

The kiss deepens, there is no resistance when you’ve spent your days daydreaming about such an occurrence. You can taste the wine that lingers still on his lips and you’re lost to the sensation of his mouth devouring yours. It had been so long since you’d felt the touch of another, not that your late husband had ever kissed you in such a way before. Your skin itches with pleasure, desperate for more as you clutch at his doublet and press yourself against him. The responding growl that this elicits from Otto has you feverish with want.

“My lady…” His mouth leaves kisses against your jaw, neck until his nose is buried in your hair. “Forgive me.”

His actions betray his words as he makes no move to stop and you don’t either. A moan leaves you as his mouth tickles a spot behind your ear, his warm breath making your skin prickle deliciously in response.

“Ask me to stop and I will,” he says in that gravelly low voice you adore so much.

You can’t help but smile at his words, tilting your head towards him, his beard tickling your skin.

“I do not wish you to,” you say.

You manage to catch a glimpse of the expression on his face, a look of satisfaction at your words.

“Then who am I to deny you, sweet girl,” he replies, bringing you back against him.

His lips are on yours again, more insistent than before. Hands search and grip as you’re quickly steered towards his inner chambers. The room is bathed in the light from another fire, though its flames have died long ago leaving only the glowing embers. For a moment you wonder if you should be doing this, if this has suddenly escalated too fast. But there isn’t much room for thought nor reason as Otto’s long fingers quickly make work of the buttons on your dress before it pools to the floor at your feet. You shiver under his gaze, a look that nobody has ever given you before—it makes your skin tingle in anticipation. Your nerves creep back then, your past marriage had not been a pleasant one but it’s hard to remain unsure when Otto’s large and warm hands are against your skin as he peels away your small clothes. His touch is firm yet he doesn’t aim to dominate or bruise—the kind of touch you had sadly grown used to. As he caresses your skin you feel worshipped and a burning need of want grows stronger between your thighs as his hands skim across your skin. You suck in a sharp breath when they graze on the underside of your breasts and then drop low, leaving gooseflesh in their wake.

“Lie down,” he whispers and you do so quickly, moving back against the large bed behind you.

It’s covered in soft sheets and furs, it feels luxurious against your bare skin. As much as you wish to relax and sink into the bed, your body is strung too tight with delicious tension as he follows your movements. His gaze is intense through his half lidded eyes as he moves toward you. Hands continue to move across your skin and your breath hitches when he suddenly hooks his large hands behind your knees and pulls your body toward him so that your legs are hanging off his bed. You go to sit up, surprised at his actions and hating the way your chest constricts nervously—this isn’t something that has ever happened to you before. Never had your late husband deigned to even think of your pleasure. Those horrible memories instantly flee when Otto sinks between your legs and his head moves between your thighs. The tickles of his beard as he kisses the softness of your inner thigh has you sighing and trembling as his lips inch closer to the apex of your thighs. Your back arches and your hands desperately grip at the soft furs upon the bed when Otto’s mouth is upon your cunt.

His tongue is insistent and demanding, you moan loudly as his nose presses against the bundle of pleasure between your legs. He groans in response and the sound vibrates through you as keeps his mouth busy, the burning feeling growing fast. You know the pleasure is going to break soon, you can feel the tension building and you twist against the bed as he continues to devour you. When his mouth moves higher and you feel him sucking on your swollen bud you can’t help but moan out his name. He growls against you again, obviously enjoying the sounds he’s able to pull from you as your hands desperately grab at his hair and press him against you, not caring how wanton you’re behaving.

He leans back then and you desperately try to move back toward him, eager for his mouth to return to your cunt. “Please—” Your words are cut short when long fingers are sliding through your slit and teasing at your core.

“You taste divine, sweetling,” he murmurs, amusement coating his words as you try to gain more friction from his fingers. “And you are more eager than I anticipated.” There are no words left as you linger in that aching space of desire, needing so much more and yearning for release. His mouth returns to your bud as two digits are finally sliding into you. It feels too good as he pumps them slowly, and you grind down against them as you beg for more. Finally his fingers move faster and you suddenly come quick and hard as he presses open mouth kisses against your cunt and thighs, beard tickling you as he does. The high of your pleasure is still washing over you and your body is slick with sweat as you pant. You manage to watch through heavy eyes as he stands—you can see your release on his face, his lips wet and shining with it. Your hands reach for the clasps on his doublet as you sit up on the bed, quickly trying to undo them. The buttons and claps are tricky and you fumble in your eagerness for him to be as bare as you.

Otto grabs your frantic hands and stills them so he can bring your mouth to his in a searing kiss, you taste yourself upon his tongue yet you don’t care. Desire builds anew within your belly and his hands drop yours so that he can divest himself of his clothes with practised ease. When he pulls back, you're both breathing hard and his chest is bared to you. Your eyes flick over his chest and your hands explore, threading through his greying chest hair. The years had softened what was once the body of a knight and your fingers trace the remnants of scars long healed with care. Your hands lower over his belly until you reach his breeches where you can clearly see the large bulge. Instinctively you reach and cup him through the cloth, making him shudder before you undo them.

“You will be my undoing, sweet girl,” he says as you take out his hardened length, pushing his breeches to the floor. “Lean back.”

You do as he says and he is upon you then, forcing you back onto the bed as he covers your body with his larger one. Your hand wraps around his cock, your movements a little unsure but the way he sighs your name has you guiding him between your legs. You need to have him within you and you can sense that he is reaching the limit of his own control.

When he slides into your warmth you cry out with relief, legs wrapping around him and pulling him in deeper. You feel split open and complete at the same time, your blood singing with want. The indescribable feeling of need crashes over you and your nails dig into his back, urging him to move. “I need—”

“I know, my darling girl.”

He moves slowly then, pulling back and sinking into you deeper. You cry out and tilt your hips before he does it again so he’s sinking even further. The fullness is overwhelming and when his mouth presses a gentle kiss upon your forehead you weep at the touch. Never had you felt so adored in that moment and he does it again, whispering against your cheek with soothing words. When he moves next, it’s fast and hard—and you cry out again. The tension within you is becoming tighter and you can feel another release upon you. Otto leans back, and one of his hands is between you so he can press against your swollen bud, making your words jumble as you babble for more.

The man relents, his fingers firmly teasing as his cock fills you. When you tilt your hips to meet him, your world goes bright as you come undone, tensions melting away as waves of pleasure crash over you. Your release continues and you cling to him when you feel him begin to move away from you, you can feel the way he is swelling within you and can’t bear to let him leave.

“Please, no,” you manage to say, finding his gaze. “Stay with me.”

There is a fleeting look in his eyes, you know later you will worry about this decision but in the moment you do not care. You know he is thinking the same, yet it is clear he also doesn’t care for whatever consequence there may be. The need to be joined is too strong for you both. Otto’s hands reach for yours and clasp them tightly, pinning them by your head against the bed. He thrusts into you with abandon then, chasing his pleasure and quickly building another flame within you. Your eyes close as you feel the peak come hurtling toward you as his release hits him, and you feel the warmth as he fills you, his unfiltered groans of pleasure only making your own pleasure crash again. When his movements are still, you untangle your hands from his and reach for his face, moving the hair that has fallen in his eyes.

He presses another kiss to your forehead and you sigh in relief as he falls beside you, pulling you into his arms. The room is warm and your skin is coated in sweat as his seed coats your thighs. You know you should leave, that you should clean yourself up and remove yourself from his chambers. Yet you cannot make yourself leave his comforting embrace and tell yourself it shall be something to deal with when morning comes. After all, he had asked you to stay and who are you to deny the Hand of the King?

And the sunlight clasps the earth And the moonbeams kiss the sea: What is all this sweet work worth If thou kiss not me? - excerpt from Love's Philosophy by Percy Bysshe Shelley

thanks for reading :)

#my-writing #fanfic #otto hightower x reader #otto hightower x female reader #otto hightower #otto hightower fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfic #fic: all this sweet work #ficlet #i wrote most of this on discord and its not the best but it was more to just write SOMETHING

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potato-lord-but-not · 9 months ago

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“There’s something aesthetically pleasing about the word noon. Its palindromic spelling feels appropriate for the middle of the day, when the sun is directly overhead and the hands on the clock are pointed upward in a straight line. It’s even spelled with letters found more or less in the middle of the alphabet.” (“What Time Is…” par. 1)

Perhaps unfortunately for my argument, this article goes on to explain how the word ‘noon’ originally referred to the ninth hour of the day, that of course being 3 o’clock; because the sun and with it the people rose at six. It is derived from the Latin word for ‘ninth’, ‘nonus’. The word’s meaning apparently shifted during the twelfth century, because of the prayers of monastic orders. The second of three daily prayers would occur at noon, and the time of this prayer eventually became earlier, landing at twelve. This is believed to have been so the monks could break their fast sooner. Of course, this is not universally agreed upon and other theories include shifts in seasonal daylit hours, and European Medieval people’s struggles to have accurate timekeeping.

None of my sources suggest that three o’clock was considered the middle of the day at any point in time, therefore I would like to argue that the word noon did not originally refer to the middle of the day, but eventually, when it was given to the time that is more deserving of that title, came to do so. I believe that the denotation “middle of the day” is something that is both scientifically and culturally awarded, and that for whatever reason the people (however unknowingly) creating the Old/Middle English language believed twelve o’clock to be so. If you wish to create your own cultural norms, by all means go ahead, just remember that the word culture refers to a group, so you’ll need to find some people who agree with you. (Which, hey, maybe you already have, maybe most people agree with you and I’m just being pedantic.)

Anyways um hi, sorry about this, I did in fact make a tumblr account solely to send you this, because the idea of doing so was too funny to me to not. Also, I just discovered that the Oxford English Dictionary website has a pay wall these days and I am DEVASTATED I tell you, devastated. But yeah, I’ll stop, have a good weekend, I love you, I hope your morning spent on public transit hasn’t been too boring.

Works Cited

“Culture Definition & Meaning.” Merriam-Webster, Merriam-Webster, www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/culture. Accessed 2 Mar. 2024.

“Noon (n.).” Online Etymology Dictionary, www.etymonline.com/word/noon. Accessed 2 Mar. 2024.

“What Time Is ‘Noon’?” Merriam-Webster, Merriam-Webster, www.merriam-webster.com/wordplay/noon-history-ninth-prayer-hour-nones. Accessed 2 Mar. 2024.

OFC you’re leaving citations on A TUMBLR ASK OH MY GODDD anyway I do believe I’m starting a cultural shift because everyone I’ve asked so far has NOT said mid-day is noon they’ve ranged from 11-1 to 1-2 (albeit a bit earlier than my 2-3 answer but STILL)

Yknow what fuck it let’s do a poll bb

anyywayyyy everyone say hi to my girlfrienddd give them a nice warm welcome to tumblr <3

#HIII GIRLFRIENDDDD HIIIII #I love you toooo #getting on the metra rn wish me luck <33 #ask #polls but not #starry eyed

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diejager · 6 months ago

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Welcome Home Cw: DARKFIC, implied murder, crime, death, killing, blood and gore, violent murder, praising, nicknames (kitten, pet), dark!reader, Ghostface!reader, stalking, tell me if I missed any.

Part 5

Simon left Johnny with a whispered promise to be back within the week, be it a day or four, he’d find himself back into the open arms of his scared and paranoid boyfriend. He loved how dependent on him Johnny had grown since you’d started playing with Johnny, following his command to scare and taunt and tease with your little dabs of personality. How playful you were, sly with your words and swift with your hands, exactly the way he taught you. Unlike him and Johnny, who were trained and built to be strong and dependable, taught in the mass and bled to be better —to learn from deaths and mistakes; you were sculpted by his hands, to fit a certain mould he had in mind when he first caught you, he made you who you were, every piece a constant reminder of his lessons.

A rippling effect of hunger and possession followed wherever you went, the subtle letters you left on his doorstep, the notes and bloody prints on his kitchen island, the small shadow outside of his window or the pictures you’d occasionally mail to Johnny for entertainment. And when he was at yours, the clink of your bell, the padded steps of your socked feet, the soft lull of your voice, and the many scars his fingers and lips would run over. Simon’s body churned with frustration from the long months spent away from you, he missed the feel of your skin under his palm and the bites he left week prior (they were probably healed by now, pale scars in the places where he made you bleed and smooth skin where it was superficial), yet a dark hunger - a deep-seated need - hung over him, an itch at the back of his mind that made his fingers twitch and knee jerk to hold and knead something, anything —you.

He had to remind himself that success took patience, something that was thinning by the minute. Unfortunate months away from you, lost in the throes of pleasure and affection with Johnny while missing a part of him (he will fix it, he planned to), only to have to wait for you to pop your head through the doorway of his more reclusive home. Simon hadn’t told you he’d be home, he wanted it to be a surprise, to see your eyes shine and gleam with unbridled happiness the moment he stepped into the cooler house and jump into his arms like the good kitten you were.

But no, you weren’t—

His back tensed at the ringing sound of jiggling keys, he glanced at the open hallway, watching your slump unevenly from the heavy bags hanging from one shoulder, quietly dropping them with a relieved sigh. You moved around to lock the door behind you, the familiar click resounding in his ears while he silently admired you as if you were an exotic animal —you were in a way, a well-trained and beautiful pet. You hooked your finger under the heel of your shoes, gasping a small grin when you finally saw his boots, a matte black against the light mocha of the welcome mat.

Forgetting the bags of groceries, you haphazardly placed the keys on the drawer in your rush to find him, your feet padding loudly in the open hallway that lead to the living room, where he sat comfortably, legs wide and arms spread over the armrest, resting his chin on his scarred knuckles. He sat like a king, broad and powerful, just as he was one in the world he built for you. You whispered his name, wide-eyed and parted lips, mumbling his name like a prayer, worshipping his name as you took slow and gasping steps towards him, arms outstretched to call him forward.

“Kitten,” Simon met you halfway, leaving his throne-like armchair to lock fingers with you, pulling you to his chest with a quick sleight of hand, spelling magic his hands and tongue. His fingers found themselves in your hair, gripping your nape in an arching hold and drowned himself in you, his rough lips devouring your grunts and pants, tongue lapping at the sweetness of your mouth.

He was proud. He was so, so proud of you. He read the most recent attack, a bloody and passionate murder that left the room drenched in blood and gore, no evidence, no hints, no leads to the killer. It was a parody of life in the cruelest ways; a new beginning in the start of death, welcoming it as one would greet life. Your art was on the front page of every daily mail, the lettering bold and calling, showing the world how beautifully cruel you could be when given the right study.

GHOSTFACE STRIKES AGAIN

Investigators were called to the residence of Abigail Hutchinson after her boyfriend found her murdered in the living room of her house. No evidence were found in the crime scene, neither hair nor sweat from the killer. The Greater Manchester Police(GMP) investigators suspect Mrs. Hutchinson to be another victim of Ghostface, infamous for his erratic murders of ‘passion’. Investigators say that this murder fits Ghostface’s MO, from the level of violence to the picture left behind. Much is know of how he kills : seemingly planned and personal, still nothing is known of the killer. We don’t know the reasons behind the choice of his victims or the means of which he kills, but all we know is that Ghostface is willing to kill both young and old. No one is safe from him.

He had read the article over and over, eating every little detail you left to taunt the failing department that was tasked to protect the region he lived in. You had taken life after life, and yet they weren’t any closer to finding you. You were meticulous in your work, careful to the point of paranoia about making a mistake, yet you never panicked. He’d instilled a calmness in you that others rarely had in such a situation, relying on your mind rather than adrenaline-fuelled instincts.

He couldn’t have felt any prouder, a warmth bubbling in his chest as he held you on his lap, straddling him as he fed you praises. Your lips were plump and soft, easily swollen from just a few rough kisses that left you gasping and wanting, fingers clinging to the lapels of his jacket and grinding against his growing bulge for more. You nipped at his lower lip, teeth sinking into his equally swollen lip and bled him, your hands as needy as him in their wander, raking across his shoulders and down his chest all while you groaned his name.

“Si,” you moaned, slowly rutting against him, lids heavy and voice whispering yours pleas, “Please, Si. Haven’t I been good?”

He let out a pleased rumble.

taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @aldis-nuts @randominstake @haven-1307 @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @cod-z @sweetnanah @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce

“‘M proud of you. Now be a good pet and kneel, yeah? Let me show you how proud I am.”

Part 7

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literaryvein-reblogs · 3 months ago

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Writing Reference: 5 Symbols

for your next poem/story (pt. 2)

For the Ancient Egyptians, the Ba was the symbolic representation of the soul.

It takes the form of a small bird with the head of a human being.

Could fly between its owner and the Gods for as long as the body was intact.

The Ba is twinned with the Ka.

If the Ba represented the soul, then the Ka was the “life-force,” the spark of life that animated the body and whose departure resulted in death.

The Ka was sustained with offerings of food and drink, although it was the “ka” or spirit of the food and drink that was consumed.

In the Afterlife, the Ba and the Ka would be reunited to form one single entity.

BECKONING CAT

A friendly little statuette with a warm welcome found all over Japan and China.

What the cat is doing with his paws carries a secret message.

The cute little Maneki Neko or beckoning cat is ubiquitous in Japan and China where he appears in both homes and offices.

Can be seen in Oriental restaurants all over the world and is for many people the ultimate symbol of prosperity and good luck.

Comes in different colors, each of which signifies a different meaning:

For example, a red cat will protect from illness, and

a black one will ward off evil.

The position of the paws also carries a message:

With the right paw raised the cat will bring money and happiness to home and workplace.

A cat raising its left paw will attract new customers for a business.

And a cat with both paws raised hits the jackpot; both home and business will be happy and profitable, attracting good luck, friends, prosperity, and new clients.

This cat is also the symbol of the small Buddhist temple in Tokyo, where the original incident that shot the cat to fame is said to have happened:

Originally the temple was a lowly place, whose impoverished priest would regularly share what little food he had with his pet cat.

One day some Samurai were passing and noticed this cat, who had one paw raised as though to say hello. The warriors stopped, intrigued by the beckoning cat, and went into the temple just as a horrendous rain storm started.

They believed that paying attention to the cat’s invitation had prevented them being struck by lightning. Thereafter, the fortunes of the priest, the temple, and of course the cat, started to change for the better.

BULLA

This is a special charm or amulet that was given to Roman children when they were born.

A sealed locket, the bulla (“bubble” or “knob”) contained magical spells specific to the child in question, such as symbols of protection, or wishes for wealth.

Was constructed of different materials depending on the wealth of the family:

leather for the poorest families and gold or

other precious metals for the wealthiest.

Roman boys put aside their bullae when they reached puberty, and the object was offered to the Gods. Girls wore theirs until the eve of their wedding.

In either case it was considered that the bulla belonged to the child, as part and parcel of their personality.

It is the origin of the name of the Papal Bull, the special edict that hails from the Vatican, which is fastened with an oval seal of the same shape as the bulla.

CALUMET

For the Plains Indians, the pipe, also called the calumet, is one of the most important and recognizable symbols.

Although it is sometimes referred to as the Peace Pipe, shared ceremonially as part of a unifying ritual, the pipe was just as valid a symbol during times of war.

The tobacco used in the pipe is also a powerful magical substance originally intended for ritual use only.

The smoke rising from the pipe signifies a prayer traveling toward the Gods and symbolizes the sacred breath, source of all life.

The fire that lights the pipe symbolizes the Sun and the male element.

The pipe itself is equivalent to the prayer that is offered up from it.

Considered so important that in Native American tradition it is described as though it were a person, and each of its components has the name of a body part.

In addition, the bowl is described as an altar, and the stem, the passage of the breath extending from the human body.

CANDLE

Symbolizes light in the darkness in a way that a light bulb simply cannot do.

It represents the element of fire as a benevolent force.

Made even more powerful if the candle is made of wax, a substance made by a magical creature, the bee.

The colors of candles are significant in magical practices:

For example, pink is said to attract love.

Black candles are used in dark magic.

Source ⚜ More: On Symbols ⚜ Writing Notes & References

#writing reference #symbols #symbolism #writeblr #spilled ink #dark academia #literature #writers on tumblr #writing prompt #poetry #poets on tumblr #creative writing #light academia #writing inspo #writing ideas #writing inspiration #writing resources

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to-hypnos-we-dream · 7 months ago

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Welcome to the Temple of Hypnos, a sacred place of worship to the God of Sleep.

This is a digital temple one may return to whenever and wherever. All are welcome to the Temple of Hypnos, mind that this is a safe place for all systems, non-humans, disabled people, queer people, and people of color. Bigots will not be tolerated as this is a space of healing.

Our Mission Statement:

{It is our goal to create a community in which worship and devotion to Hypnos is held in a safe and soothing space. We honor Hypnos through offerings, prayers, discussion, and more. There is no strict path in the worship of Sleep, for all perspectives are welcome here.}

I, Ardyn, am the Cleric of this temple. I am sleep angelkin and have been alongside Hypnos since before this life. You may refer to me using He/It/Dark/Sleep pronouns. I'm a genderqueer intersex transfem trans man. This is not just my place of worship, but yours. I have made this for all of us, may we rejoice before the winged deity, Hypnos.

As this is your place of worship, you may submit any form of devotion. You may also ask or discuss anything you desire that is related to Hellenism or Hypnos. This may include art, prayers, experiences, offerings, poetry, spells, dreams, and more to present within the temple. You may also request anything from us, whether prayers, rituals, digital offering boards, and more. Community events may be held, and more is to be added as we grow. Every Sunday we post Revelations to Hypnos and every first day of the month we post a feedback google form to give you a voice!

To all who come across this blog; May you all be presented with loving dreams tonight and ever so gentle rest. Blessed be Hypnos.

Resources

Hypnos Devotee List

Hellenic and Hypnos Resources Masterpost

Hypnos Prayers

Hypnos Devotional Act Guide Masterpost

Resources on Sleep and Dreams

Temple Customization

dividers made by @vibeswithrenai

#hypnos worship #hellenic polytheism #hypnos deity #hellenic pagan #hellenic deities #pagan #deity worship #helpol #hypnos devotee #hypnos devotion #hellenic polytheist #hellenism #hellenic #paganism

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amikaelsonstory · 4 months ago

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Not the end, but a new beginning - I

Chapter one.

“All happy families resemble one another, each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way” Lev Tostoy, Anna Karenina

As the brothers stood up, eyes full of tears, racing hearts with fear and gratitude, a breathless, loud scream cut the silent moment

- "DAD DON'T!! WE FOUND A WAY, STOP!"

Hope was running fast followed by Freya, hugged Klaus back, almost following on her knees, gasping with tears running down her face.

Klaus and Elijah turned fast, lowering their pieces of white oak daggers as they approached.

- " What do you mean, darling? I need to go, please understand" Klaus whispered, lifting Hope face up, whipping tears from his daughter's face.

Elijah remained speechless, his lips slightly parted in surprise, as Freya reached out and hugged him tightly, making him close his eyes and take a deep breath in some sort of relief.

- It's true brother, I found a way, the Old Gods... they finally gave me an answer. I will explain everything, but please, let's go home"

As they found their way into the compound, Rebekah, Marcel and Kol stood apprehensively up from their seats, relieved to see the girls were able to reach them on time to avoid the tragedy.

- It seems it's not gonna be tonight you're gonna get rid of the almighty Klaus Mikaelson! Klaus orotund, opening his arms with his crooked smile, trying to mask his remaining fears and doubts.

- Nik! Rebekah cheered running to hug her brother tightly, while Marcel and Kol tapped his shoulders, welcoming him and Elijah back.

- Let me show you what I found out. - Freya commanded, guiding the family to follow her to the study room.

The room was dark, as they entered and approach the table Freya showed them. It had some runes symbols written in blood on a old manuscript, a dead white bird, some herbs and a pendulum spinning fast over a bowl on fire. The air around was thick, heavy, with a slight purple mist around them.

- Since this whole thing started I've been searching for a way to overcome the hollow power, it had to have another way, she is not the biggest power in the universe. Freya pleaded. "So I had no choice but to reach the Old Gods, from motherland, where our family comes from"

- Norway? - Elijah whispered, lifting his eyes from the runes to meet Freya's, who slowly nodded. She closed her eyes for a second and took a deep breath before opening them again.

- Odin heard my prayer but the spell hasn't been fully revealed yet. For now I can suppress the hollow effects in Klaus, but until the full moon we must find The Undead whose sunlight cannot harm.

- A vampire that doesn't burn in the sun? With no magic, no ring? Kol bawled in disbelief, crossing his arms against his chest - That should be easy - he taunted ironically.

- It doesn't matter, we will find it - Rebekah assured, touching Marcel's shoulder - Can you ask your people to track it and bring it to us?

I'm on it, I'm gonna make some calls and my guys will bring it to us. - Marcel stated, picking up his phone and walking out of the room - Dead or alive, or it doesn't matter?

- ALIVE - Freya's voice sounded louder than she expected - Please, we still don't know what we will need to do next, for now, you can go rest. Klaus you stay, I need to make the ritual to hold the hollow until the next full moon.

___________________________________________________________

As the days passed, the Mikaleson's basically turned the whole vampire world upside down, reaching all the possible sources in order to find this so-called "sunlight proof vampire", but they were running out of time and all they had was a whole bunch of nothing.

Okay, not nothing. They knew there was a woman, but nothing sounded like the real deal, more like gossip if much.

Elijah, Klaus and Hope were at the study room, digging deep into all they could find.

- Alright, I managed to filter all we have, names, places, stories and got into 3 possible names. - Hope shared with them, without taking her eyes out of her laptop screen. - Natalya Fyodorova, a ballerina from Bolshoi ballet, last seen circa 1970, in Moscow. Sister Ionescu, the oldest register, seen in Romania in the beginning of 20th century and - she folded her index fingers quoting- the most "recently" - we got Minna Murray, 2007, UK. No job, no city info, just a name.

Klaus paced side by side in the room, placing his hands on his hips, looking down as he was hearing his daughter.

- Most likely it's the same person - he paused - But how do we find this bloody woman? It's not possible that nobody knows her whereabouts!! - Klaus exploded while pouring himself a glass of bourbon

Elijah placed his papers down on the desk, paying attention to the names Hope said. His eyes wandered away, frowning his eyebrows. - Niklaus... weren't we in Moscow in 72?

But before Klaus could answer, Freya stormed into the room.

- We have visitors, they found something.

#elijah mikaelson #mikaelson #klaus mikaelson x reader #fanfic #the originals fanfiction #niklaus mikaelson #klaus mikaelson #elijah mikealson x reader #vampire fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #ao3

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lil-binuu · 5 months ago

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𝑯𝒊𝒔 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒔

Stealing Elias’s clothes

290 words (and this is generous)

HERE YOU GO POOKIE @xzhdjsj TY FOR BEING SO PATIENT ML?? DANG I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS EVEN THO ITS SHIT AS HELL

I don’t know what evil spirit condemned me to write this but I sat down to write and now we’re here. Prayers, my friends.

It did take me a while, as I lost too much respect for myself but i’ve finished it FINALLY.

Side note: I was fighting every urge in my body to write jumper instead of sweater because i’m british..

tried to make it all lovey-dovey but now elias just looks like an animal 💀

Enough commentary, Good luck reading this..

“Hey yn, have you seen my sweater-”

Elias’s eyes fell on you, absorbing the sight in front of him.

You leaning over the kitchen counter, reaching up into the cupboard above your head. Stretching out your arms, pulling his oversized sweater up to reveal your body.

The sight left Elias speechless.

He couldn't draw his eyes away for the life of him. He scanned every part of your body, soaking in your beauty, each moment he looked at you he became more and more addicted.

Seeing you in his clothes like that made him goddamn crazy.

For a second he forgets how to use his brain, standing glued to the spot in a trance - under a spell that you placed upon him - only broken when you turned around and faced him.

“Hmm? Oh sorry, I took it.” You replied. You could almost hear the people on the other side of the cameras, it was so quiet.

You blushed awkwardly, “Sorry do you mind?” Again, met with silence. No words fell from Elias’s lips - maybe a bit of drool, but.. AHAHA NO LMAO

You stared blankly at him for a second. That seemed to do the trick.

“..OH, no I don’t mind. :))”

“Are you sure?” A stupid question, Elias wasn’t even sure he was alive right now.

“Yupp”

It’s needless to say Elias spent the rest of the day very content, it’s difficult not to notice. But you’ll never notice how, from then on, Elias mixes up his clothes with yours in the laundry on purpose, or how he throws a couple of his shirts next to yours in the hopes you’ll pick it up. He just wants to see you wear his clothes again, it’s hardly his fault you look so cute in them.

I think it’s quite obvious that I cringed heavily whilst writing this. Anyways, you’re welcome.

#sakuverse #zsakuva #elias x reader #zsakuva elias #elias hmu

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within-the-water · 5 months ago

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Welcome to the Temple of Poseidon, a sacred place of worship for those who welcome him.

[ Please keep rhetoric to oneself, this is a digital space of worship. It is not fandom at any, any point. ] This is a safe space for all systems, disabled people, the mentally ill, queer people, and people of color. I will preach this as a place of healing, and it shall stay that way.

I, Eirene [20], had my name recently changed through process of elimination in a divination session. I am a landlocked sea witch who grew up with horses, relying on them for transport and wishing that was still the way today.

My name change is mentioned because I feel like, through lots of guidance, have finally stepped into my role as a priestess / oracle. This took a lot for me, as devotion consumes me but I have only recently felt ready for this huge step in my life.

One day, I should hope to open a temple of my own sacred place.

This is your space, as well as mine! Do not be afraid to submit any form of devotion for Poseidon and honored deities. This may include art, prayers, experiences, offerings, poetry, spells, dreams, godspouse writings and more to present within the temple.

You may also request readings, prayers, digital offerings, etc! I may make an info graphic if people get more curious.

DISCLAIMER:

No one person is a spokesperson of a god. No one person can be, not even an oracle. Always trust your intuition and take my title as Priestess not as gospel, but as your friend. I do not wish to dictate or rule over anyone as that is not the way of the gods, nor my way of running a polytheist temple.

Temple Discord ! Please DM if the link doesn't work <3 About Eirene Fellow E-temple List

~~~

#eirene posts -> my any and all posts

#eirene reblogs -> usually my boosts for deity content or very valued fundraisers

#poseion devotion -> ALL devotional works, mine and others

#polytheist #deity worship #hellenic deities #helpol #hellenic gods #poseidon deity

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mothaurora · 2 months ago

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here is my prompt list for kinktober 2024!

Wanted to include as many fantasy themes as possible :o) I think these can be both very erotic or on the tamer side which was the goal.

Please feel free to take inspiration and change how you see fit!

have fun! xx

Copy paste for those who need it vv

Vampire Seduction

Witch’s Ritual

Goblin Mischief

Werewolf Lust

Cult Prayer/Welcoming

Succubus Temptation

Fae Enchantment

Possession

Demonic Pact

Enchanted Forest

Ghostly Caress

Blood Magic

Shape-Shifter

Cursed Object

Dark Sorcery

Monster Mash

Forbidden Spell

Shadow Play

Mermaid’s Lure

Dark Priest/Priestess

Phantom Lover

Zombie

Alchemy Experiment

Forbidden Love

Mummy’s Curse

Ancient Relic

Dark Faerie Tale

Nightmare

Lunar Sacrifice

Infernal Celebration

#kinktober #kinktober 2024 #drawing prompt #prompt list #october #drawing challenge #2024 #fantasy #art prompt #writing prompt #fanfiction prompts #october prompts #halloween

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rabbitbandit05 · 8 months ago

Note

for starters, I love your writing so so much! i have a bunch of request ideas but won't overwhelm you too much, but one concept I had was modern mizu x spiritual reader? if that isn't too much of a problem, like maybe the reader is into witchy stuff and believes in the universe and signs, and practices magick? like just imagine mizu walked in their apartment and there are just little altars, and the reader does little cleansing rituals, and gives mizu little 'spell jars' and is just so in tune with nature and I am wondering how you think Mizu would react? i was scrolling on tiktok and saw a video and got the idea, and if you are okay with writing that I think it'd be silly seeing how mizu thinks of it (in a positive light probably?) hcs would be preferred :)

Mizu with a Spiritual/Witch Reader

Anon- this is brilliant. I had to write this down as soon as I saw this.

I tried to incorporate as much as I could remember from when I was a practicing witch, as well as doing additional research to double check it. I just did some general things but I hope you like it!

Also again: requests are open for both headcanons and longer writing prompts. Those who have submitted- I’m working on them! 🐰🙏

Enjoy!

I don’t think Mizu 100% gets it, but understands some of it

When you two had met, and after talking for a bit, you casually mentioned how you knew you would get along with Mizu because you had done a reading (a tarot reading) that morning and were expecting new beginnings

And new beginnings she was- you two started dating after talking for a few weeks.

During the first few weeks of dating, you would gift her small candles (which you explained the colors meant different things- many of which you gifted her were blue- which apparently meant peace of mind and good fortune- both things she needed)

You would also give her gemstones- rose quartz (if you know- you know 😉), Citrine, selenite, and amethyst

and even one time a aquamarine- since you claimed it reminded you of her eyes

At first she kinda brushed off the comments and didn’t think much- she knew you had to be some sort of witch, but didn’t really mind and didn’t understand the extent of it

Until she walked into your apartment for the first time-

“You’re like a crow” Mizu would blurt out after entering your apartment and seeing the crystals, the herbs in pots that littered the window seal, the hanging tapestry’s, and that didn’t even mention the multiple windchimes that hung throughout the apartment that casted rainbows on the walls of the sun hit it just the right way

Mizu can see it already on a sunny afternoon- the windows open, light filtering in, the scent of your candles and herbs around her- it was a comfort she couldn’t quiet place

“A crow???” You look at Mizu not offended, but more confused- this snapped Mizu back to present day as she realized what she had said

“I mean- I misspoke-“ Mizu is now flustered. She didn’t mean it negatively but more like an assessment of the surroundings.

It reminded her of a birds nest with how cozy your home was, and she once heard that crows like to collect shiny things- and give it to people- much like you. The connection had just popped up into her head really.

She sees it not as just some hobby, but that it was a part of you and important to you

The occasional prayers to whoever your deity is (if you have one) has become a regular occurance for her and actually, she tries to be as respectful as she can be

Mizu joins in occasionally in whoever you are praying to- even if most of the time not knowing-

She also can’t turn to you mid session and ask who you are praying to because that might be rude to interrupt

One time, Mizu walked into your apartment (she had had a rough day), and you stopped her at the welcome mat before she could walk further into the apartment

“I sense bad energy on you…” you calmly state “stay there-“ and you ran into the kitchen and returned with an egg

“Ummm… do I need to eat this?” A giggle erupted from you

“No- you need to roll it all over you to get rid of the bad energy. If we crack it and the yolk is cloudy, it means it worked” yeah cause that made more sense than eating the egg- Mizu thought- but she still let you roll the egg all over her before cracking it open and finding the yolk cloudy as you said.

“There! See?” You showed her and she simply hummed out a thank you and kissed you on your head.

She really adored everything- from your alters to the small jars you would gift her on special occasions or just because you felt like it- she cherished each and every thing.

#mizu x reader #bes mizu #mizu blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai #bes #headcanon

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nathanbatemanfucker · 1 year ago

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Boundless Ch 1: The Rigid Hunter

summary: he’s looking for her— hunting her.

pairing: witch hunter!marc spector x witch!reader

contents: enemies to lovers, mentions of murder/torture, marc is a broken asshole, injury, blood mention

gif credit: @perotovar

wc: 2.4k

an: welcome to the boundless universe! i’ve really enjoyed writing this so far, i love the concept. i’d really love to build it together, so if anyone has any questions, thoughts, headcanons swirling around in your brains please feel free to come talk to me about these two! i hope that y’all like this and i’m excited to hear your feelings on it. 🤍

boundless masterlist | moonknight masterlist

Marc remembers the day he found out the legends were true. Say your prayers, lock your doors, and sprinkle your salt because they’re out there. Witches and wizards walk the streets looking for opportunities to spread pain and suffering. They look like us, and talk like us. But they can’t feel like us, love like us, care like us.

He was 10 years old the first time he witnessed the violence that comes with being in his family . He watched with horror as his parents tied up one of his teachers. She spewed nonsense, objects flew, and fires burned. Each hunter chose their weapons and that day he’d watched his parents use daggers he thought were for show.

He was afraid at first. He didn’t want to kill, didn’t want to be violent like her— like his mother. And though eventually he had succumbed to violence, realizing that there was no way to fight it, that it was in his blood, he always vowed that he would be different. Despite his disdain for witches, he has never been ruthless. He has always killed them quickly, painlessly with mercy, never been one to taunt them as they meet their deaths.

Today, almost 20 years later, Marc’s crossbow is slung over his shoulders, one of his hands resting over the dagger on his hip as he slowly makes his way through the forest. He’s hypervigilant and jumpy, eyes roaming the greenery that fades into orange and yellow and red. He’s ready to defend himself at the drop of a hat.

He’s looking for her— hunting her. The full moon is tonight, and witches always flock to their dens, charging their crystals, infusing their spells with the magic of the celestial being. Her den and a handful of others are in these woods, just on the outskirts of a camping resort so as not to draw too much suspicion. Time and time again witches fail with anonymity— he and his family follow the breadcrumbs they leave and pick them off one by one.

He’s looking for her darkness. He’ll know it when he sees it, he’s seen many dens and killed more witches than he can count. They surround themselves with smoke and blood and evil. This one will go down just like all the others, he’s sure. She’ll be just as vile, conniving. Just as eager to beg for her life when he lines the tip of an arrow up with her eyes. Emotionless and self-serving with a heart that bleeds black.

It’s easy to get distracted by the sights around him. He loves autumn, the symbolism of how even as an organism fails and dies, there’s beauty to be found. It gives him the hope that maybe there’s something to be found in him too despite all he’s been through.

There’s something soothing in the sound of leaves crunching beneath the weight of his boots. There’s a waterfall in the distance that feeds into the creek he’s following. Where there’s water, there’s life.

He continues up the stream, noticing the remnants of a paper sailboat coated in wax tangled in some brush on the bank. He bends to pick it up, noticing words sprawled across the side.

Sail under Hecate’s moon.

The words heighten his senses— she’s close, within walking distance of the area. And while that can mean a wide variety of things, Marc is prepared for the worst, to walk miles and miles if he has to. Standing quickly his eyes scan the area, wary of her. There is no one to be found, not an inkling of life in his sights so he carries on.

He nearly makes it to the waterfall when across the creek he hears the rustle of leaves and his heart lurches in his chest. No matter how many times he faces a witch, there’s always the unpredictable— they could have anything up their sleeves. Thousands of spells and enchantments and potions, each one more horrible than the next. His hands slick with sweat reach back, drawing his crossbow to line up with his sight.

Deer.

Two of them make their way to the bank, bending to drink, paying him no mind. His heartbeat slows and shakes his head, letting out a silent sigh of relief as he lowers the bow.

Marc’s eyes return to the waterfall that’s a short distance in front of him. He could simply go around, and walk a short distance so that he could get to the top of it at a steady incline. But that would be too easy for him. He was taught to never take the easy way, that anything that holds weight in this life is a challenge. It must be difficult for it to mean anything in his mother’s eyes. He still doesn’t quite understand why after all this time, her opinions have a hold on him. He bats the thoughts of her away as he eyes the rocks to the left of the waterfall’s mouth.

They are damp sure, but not completely slick and unclimbable. The summit of the waterfall is much higher than it looked far away, but he thinks nothing of it as he steps forward and begins to climb. The hood of his cape falls as he puts one hand above another, exposing his dark curls.

A bush behind him rattles and he glances over his shoulder, eyes going wide as he realizes how vulnerable he is right now. There’s nothing he could do if he were to face her now, this high up is too far of a jump to do it safely. The best course of action is to finish the climb, it’ll grant him a better vantage point to get his bearings and height is always an advantage in combat. But when Marc turns around, looking up to his goal, there’s a crow— the largest crow he’s ever seen in his life, cawing loudly in his face. He’s startled, losing his grip on the rocks, feet slipping as they try to find purchase and he falls, grunting as he hears his flesh and bone tearing and cracking before he goes unconscious.

When Marc wakes sometime later, he hurts all over. There’s a splitting ache in his head, and a pain much sharper and dangerous sitting in his leg. He can handle pain, he’s been trained his whole life, day in and day out to handle much more than a slip in some gnarly wood. He blinks up to the trees, taking shallow breaths. If he can just lay here and gather his strength he should be able to get up.

What would his mother say if she could see him? All the things she said all his life, he imagines. Baseless shouts of this is not his calling, that he was meant to weld or harvest or research. That his attempts at living for Randall are in vain. Like he wasn’t bred for this. Like the mistakes he made has tainted his blood, taking away his right to hunt.

He tries to sit up and pain screams in his side. Had he broken some ribs? He lays back again, trying to get enough air to his brain so he doesn’t pass out again. His attempts are futile and soon, he drifts out again.

Somewhere in his mind, he can hear the graceful patter of feet near him. He feels when he is picked up by something as large as it is fluffy. A wolf maybe, taking him back to her cubs for a meal. He wonders if it would be such a bad way to go if it meant he’d never see his mother again.

A little while later his surroundings change. He’s somewhere soft and warm. Everything inside him is on edge. His instincts tell him that he’s unsafe, that he must get up and go, but his body is in no state to do so. He can’t even open his eyes, can’t speak a word, let alone take any steps.

Something—someone guides his head up, tipping a cup to his mouth. “Drink this,” A soft voice says to him gently.

He wants to resist but he’s weak to this person’s will. Whoever it is pours a steady stream of the liquid down his throat. It’s thick, warm, and tastes like black currants, mint and citrus. His body goes a little numb, relaxing further into the bed he’s laid in.

His pain waxes and wanes even as he sleeps. Though he isn't conscious, sometimes can feel the way his body cries and aches. He can feel the heat of healing, feel his muscles and bones scraping against each other as they slowly move back into place. He’s grateful for the braviety, happy to sink into a deeper place of unconsciousness, to run from the discomfort.

Marc wakes gradually. He first wiggles his toes, feeling the numbness in his right leg. He taps his fingers softly, enjoying the fullness of whatever bed he lies in. He tries to stretch his neck but he’s quite stiff and decides to just open his eyes. To do the inevitable and face his reality. When his eyes open, he frowns at the sight of paper boats hanging from the ceiling.

Paper boats, covered in wax, sailing under Hecate’s moon.

Marc knows right away where he is. He’s too warm. He can smell moss. The room glows from the outside in, candles lit but somehow he still feels the darkness. Maybe it is the deep dark reds and purples of her linens and furniture. Maybe it’s the white wolf that sits near the fireplace, eyes as dark as the night sky as it watches him. Or maybe the sense of dread as he takes in his surroundings, as he realizes he’s been made. He tenses, turning his head until his eyes meet hers.

Marc’s mouth drops open, going dry. She’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen— her soft mouth raised in a smile, her eyes clever. There are no words, just sensations that contradict each other. He feels wonky like his body can’t decide if he wants to stay or go. His brain tells him that he should fight, that he should leave. His heart pounds loudly in his chest as adrenaline builds. But in the pit of his stomach, there is nothing but ease as he looks into her eyes. All of this leaves him utterly confused and then some.

When he continues to stare at her quietly, she says, “You’re awake.”

He’s in the witch’s den and here she is, smiling down at him because she’s got him in her grasp. He’s not sure why she hasn’t killed him yet. He should be more afraid. He should kill her.

Where’s his weapon?

“Don’t. I don’t want to hurt you. Or paralyze you, drug you— maim you. Especially after fixing you up, I’d be destroying all my work,” She muses playfully, looking down into her book.

Marc’s eyes go wide with shock. Is she being funny?

“You know who I am,” He states, ignoring the way his heart starts to beat more quickly.

She nods, looking up from the pages, “The sigil on the crossbow made it pretty obvious.”

“You saved me anyway.”

“The wolves would’ve eaten you alive.”

“That would’ve been better than being taken hostage and killed by a witch.”

“You aren’t taken hostage— I’ve nursed you back to health. If I wanted you dead I wouldn’t waste my energy. I would’ve watched them feast,” She says matter of factly.

“Spoken like a true witch,” Marc scoffs.

She narrows her eyes at him, “You know nothing about me.”

“I know everything about you. My whole life is about you. Your kind,” He corrects.

“News flash Spector, I’m just as human as you are.”

“You might look human but our hearts don’t beat the same. You’re a monster, it’s in your blood.”

His words punch her in the gut. She knows that witch hunters are cruel, she’s been taught that all her life. Spell writing, potion brewing, ingredient harvesting, and the all-important learning to murder witch hunters in any and every fashion. There are many rules to be followed in witchcraft— regardless of one’s craft or coven but the most important of them?

If you see one, there should be one less in the world.

She knows they’re raised to hate her as much as she’s raised to hate them. But the hate never stuck. It was drowned in curiosity, in a yearning for peace and understanding. Because how dare she want to live a life that is fruitful and soft. How dare she see the humanity in them. She blows out a breath, eyes raising to the ceiling as she tries to keep her tears in. Even as her heart aches, it roars, begging to retaliate. Begging to lash out and hurt him. She ignores that urge like she always does, wiping at her eyes.

He sees the way her tears twinkle in the soft candlelight— she truly is beautiful. He quickly bats the thought away again. Beauty can only run so deep in her, she is a witch after all. It stops at the surface, he knows that. But, he feels bad for making her cry. She’s a witch, the bloodsucker of the human race. He shouldn’t care if she lives or dies, let alone if she cries. But before he can think better of it, an apology sits on his tongue. He doesn’t get the chance to say it.

“You’d prefer to be alone,” She sets down her grimoire and stands, reaching for a cloak that’s hung on the wall. “I’ll go to look for matching wood to repair your crossbow, part of it broke during your fall. Don’t try anything stupid, your leg is still setting.”

The white wolf that hasn’t taken its eyes off of him makes growls under its breath and Marc glares.

“Neither of us is going to hurt you. She simply wants you to be kinder to me. How a wolf knows that and you don’t….” She clicks her tongue in scolding, turning to look at the wolf, “Come along, Nimbus.”

He watches them leave, letting out a deep breath when he’s finally alone. He’s still confused. He doesn't understand her.

Kinder to her? She must not understand their dynamic— she must be out of her mind. That much is clear since she’d brought him back to her den to help him instead of killing him. Could he really trust that? A witch so unstable? She could’ve brought him here to nurse him back to health for a challenge, all to kill him again. That makes more sense, that aligns with all of his previous experiences. There must be ulterior motives for why she’s brought him here. He won’t fall into this trap.

let me know if you'd like to be tagged (18+ only)!

boundless taglist: @campingwiththecharmings, @grogusmum, @ninebluehearts, @mdnigts

#marc spector x reader #marc spector x witch!reader #marc spector x fem!reader #witch hunter!marc spector x witch!reader #witch hunter!marc spector #moonknight fanfiction #marc spector fanfiction #boundless #not sfw #arson writes

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