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oddinary4bts · 3 months ago

Text

Unexpected Message | jjk

☆request:

I would like to read a smut fic with little bit of plot where it involves girl x girl x jungkook. Pls there aren't many fics on this. Congrats and take care Stay healthy

☆pairings: Jungkook x female OC x female!reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI)

☆genre: smut

☆warnings: unedited, cursing, explicit content: 3sum, lingerie, nipple play, ass slapping, jerking off, oral sex (male and female receiving, male on female, female on female, female on male), face riding, fingering, unprotected sex (please be responsible), clit play, creampie

☆word count: 3.6k

☆a/n: i wrote this all in one sitting lmao hope you guys enjoy it's v sinful anddddd yeah hope it's good hahaha

☆☆☆☆☆

Jungkook got the message late at night. Late enough that he didn’t question the notification coming from his phone, assuming that it was just one of his friends sending him a meme because they can’t sleep. He grabbed his phone, eyes widening when he saw a message from you looking back at him.

He hadn’t heard from you in weeks. You went on a couple of dates over the summer, nothing too serious - except the few times you hookup up, the last time being in his car. But then you’d gone radio silent, and he hadn’t really tried to reach out either.

Needless to say, when he received your message asking if he was willing to have a threesome with you, he immediately accepted.

Which man would refuse such an offer?

Jungkook was nervous on the way to your place. Hands clammy, pulling at his lip piercings anxiously while drumming his finger on the wheel to the beat of the music as he drove. He was nervous as he climbed up to your apartment, and even more so when you opened the door.

His first thought was that you were more beautiful than he remembered. That he should have reached out after that last time, but then again, would he be here tonight if he had?

Probably not.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” you ask him.

He’s in your bed. Your friend - Danika - went to the bathroom, and you’ve been waiting for her for a few minutes, an awkward silence lingering.

“Y/n,” Jungkook lets out, chuckling lightly. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to.”

“You don’t find it weird?”

He shrugs, lips jutting out in a small pout. “It took me by surprise, not gonna lie. But I do want to fuck you two.”

Your gaze widens at his crude words, and then you smirk. Your friend comes back after that, and Jungkook’s heartbeat skyrockets at the sight of her in just a red lingerie set.

“Seems like Dani got ready,” you purr, and the words send a bolt of lightning down Jungkook’s spine to his dick.

He’s not sure he’ll make it out alive of whatever is about to unfold.

Danika walks closer to the bed, kneeling on it next to you. Jungkook is lying down, and he looks at the two of you, not really knowing what to do. He’s never had a threesome before - never thought he would have one either - so he’s not sure how it works.

You take the lead, grabbing Danika’s cheeks and pulling her into a languid kiss. Jungkook just watches in disbelief, especially as your hands caress up your friend’s frame, cupping one of her breasts. You tighten your grip, pinching her nipple, and Danika moans softly, grabbing the hem of your shirt.

Jungkook thinks he goes into cardiac arrest when she lifts it and takes it off your body, revealing your pink corset. It matches that of your friend, or at least Jungkook thinks it does, but he’s distracted by the way Danika pushes your hair off your shoulder, leaning down to kiss your neck.

He’s hard. He’s already hard, and you haven’t even touched him yet.

You meet Jungkook’s gaze as Danika sucks on your neck, your lips parting in pleasure. The look sends Jungkook into a frenzy, and he sits up, removing his shirt. You eye him up and down like your friend is not even there as you bite on your lower lip.

“Dani, why don’t you kiss him?” you suggest.

Danika straightens, lips swollen from her ministrations on your neck as she looks at Jungkook. She’s flushed, cheeks red, but she obeys nonetheless, crawling towards Jungkook.

When their lips touch, Jungkook cups her cheeks, keeping her in place so that he can deepen the kiss. She tastes of you, and it makes him want to fuck you so hard he thinks he might come before you even touch him.

Especially as he hears the distinct sound of a slap on Danika’s ass and she jerks in his arms, moaning softly. He swallows the sound, uses it to explore her mouth, even more so as he feels a light touch on his abs.

It’s Danika. It’s not bold enough to be you, so it has to be Danika who moves her hand down until she touches his erection, gripping him through his pants. His dick twitches at the sudden attention, and he grunts.

Danika’s mouth suddenly disconnects from his, and he realizes you’ve pulled her head away. You capture her lips in a kiss, and he watches as the two of you kiss over him. He lets his hands explore your bodies, finding your ass and Danika’s thigh quickly.

He grips your ass, pleased that you’ve removed your pants to reveal a matching g-string to your corset. Your hand lands on his stomach, and you graze him with your nails, clearly remembering that he likes being marked.

He can’t wait to be marked by the two of you tonight.

You pull away from the kiss, glancing at Jungkook as your hand trails to his pants. You unbutton them, licking your lips at the sight of his dick imprint in the fabric. Jungkook waits a few seconds to see if you’ll do something else, but you just watch him, your chest moving up and down rapidly.

“Want me to take this off?” he asks you, his voice low and husky.

If there’s one thing he understood of the dynamic tonight, it’s that your friend is too much of a sub to answer a question. He’s proven right when you actually look at her, saying, “Take his pants off for him, Dani.”

Danika obeys, and Jungkook lifts his ass to help her. He’s so hard that his dick slaps on his abs when it’s released from his pants - obviously she removed his boxers at the same time - and he just looks down at himself, not surprised at all to see a bead of precum sitting on his slit. Danika eyes it hungrily, while you’re just watching his face through half-lidded eyes.

“You want her to suck your dick?” you ask, and your hand moves to him. You trail a finger up and down his length, and then rub his precum on his head with your thumb.

“I want you both to suck my dick,” he fires back.

You tilt your head to the side, licking your lips. “You’d like that, mmh?”

He’d like it very much. But for some reason Jungkook feels like he’s not in control tonight - though he’s always been a top, you clearly seem like you want control tonight, and he’ll gladly give it to you.

It helps that you’ve been the centerpiece in a lot of his fantasies since you hooked up in his car.

“Maybe,” he replies, pulling on his piercing.

That’s when you choose to kiss him, and Jungkook feels like you’re setting fire to his entire being with your lips, your tongue diving into his mouth to meet his.

Fuck, he missed your kisses. You always kiss like it’s your last day on this Earth, and it makes him horny, far too horny. Or maybe what’s truly making him horny is the way you start slowly jerking him off, and the distinct sensation of a shy tongue swirling around his tip once.

“What about I ride your face while she sucks your dick?” you suggest.

Jungkook gulps, unable to look away from your eyes even though Danika is wrapping her lips around him now, sucking hard. His hips buckle up, and Danika chokes as he hits the back of his throat. He wants to apologize, but then your hand is behind Danika’s head, pushing her down on him.

“That’s it, Dani, relax your throat for him,” you purr. “He likes it when he can fuck your mouth.”

Danika gags, but she keeps going, her drool covering his dick like natural lube. And she’s good - she puts in just the right amount of pressure, and she sucks whenever she reaches the top of his dick before going back down. It feels heavenly - almost as much as the way you’d sucked him in his car - and he won’t complain.

Especially not as he looks at you, hand finding your thigh, and you instinctively spread your legs for him. Just like how he remembered you - always receptive to his touch.

“Take your underwear off,” he tells you, and he’s surprised when you listen and do so, throwing it somewhere on the floor.

And then you sit with your legs spread, and all he can see is your glistening pussy from how wet you already are. He doesn’t hesitate - his hand reaches for you, and he runs a finger up and down your folds before pushing it in.

You’re just as pleasantly tight as he remembers, and his dick twitches as your walls suck his finger in. He finds the nutty spot he knows makes you come in no time, and then he’s playing with it, satisfied when your eyes roll to the back of your head.

Danika pulls away from his dick, and he glances at her as she watches how he’s fingering you. It seems it makes her want to work harder, because then she’s back on his dick, and he reckons she might make him come if she keeps going at that rhythm.

He pushes another finger inside of you, and you let out a moan that makes him see stars. Especially as you rock your hips into his hand, trying to chase your high.

“Sit on my face,” he tells you.

You’re quick to obey, and soon, Jungkook is able to push his tongue inside of you, your juices dripping in his mouth. You taste like nirvana, and he grunts as you grind on his face.

His dick feels suddenly cold, and Jungkook wonders what will happen next. You’re facing towards your friend, which means all he can see is the way your asshole clenches every time he rubs his tongue on your clit. The lack of sight turns him on even more, especially when he feels Danika climbing on top of him, and she grinds on his length.

He groan as you roll your hips, saying, “Fuck yourself on him, Dani. Put him out of his misery.”

When Danika sinks on him, Jungkook forgets all about what he’s supposed to do. All he can focus on is the way her walls flutter on his dick, her wetness coating him completely as she sinks all the way down, and he feels his cock pushing on her cervix. She doesn’t seem like she minds - no, she’s moaning, and then the sound of kissing tells him that you’re kissing her.

It’s the only reason why he goes back to eating you out, swirling his tongue around your clit. You moan, but it’s muffled by Danika’s mouth, and Jungkook thinks he’ll go insane. You circle your hips, and he keeps lapping you up while Danika sets up a quick pace on his dick.

“You can play with your clit, Dani,” you tell your friend as you lift yourself up, glancing at Jungkook.

He misses your pussy on his mouth, but it’s even better when you move to kiss him, cleaning him of your juices.

“That feels good?” you ask as you pull away, glancing at Danika fucking herself on his dick.

Jungkook looks at your friend, eyeing the way she rubs her clit, clearly chasing her high. She’s still wearing the lingerie set, though her panties are long gone. It’s hot, sinful, but Jungkook’s gaze returns to you as you kiss his cheek.

“You want to fuck her?” you ask him.

“I want to fuck you,” he replies as you both ignore the way Danika is moaning.

“You’ll get to do that later.”

It’s a promise. Especially considering that Jungkook wants to bust in you, wants to feel your walls sucking his cum out of his dick.

“Dani, get on all fours,” you tell your friend.

She obeys, and Jungkook thinks it’s mostly because her legs have to have been cramping from riding him for so long. His dick is wet, and he strokes himself a couple of times as he watches Danika positioning herself, ass up and face down on the mattress.

“You want me to fuck her?” he asks you.

“She’ll eat me out at the same time, right Dani?”

Your words make his eyes widen, and then Jungkook smirks, already imagining the scene. But he doesn’t have to imagine for too long - you lie down in front of Danika while Jungkook kneels behind her, and he rubs his dick on your friend’s clit as she takes a first hesitant lick on your pussy.

He immediately knows she has never eaten pussy before, but he doesn’t care. Not when he knows he’ll take care of you later, after he’s made Danika come.

And so he focuses on that task, rubbing his dick on her clit a couple more times before he’s sliding in, one inch at a time. Danika moans when he bottoms out, and then he grabs her hips, tight enough to make sure she stays in place.

“Ready?” he asks her.

She’s too busy sucking on your clit to answer, and though you moan, you end up replying for her. “Fuck her, Jungkook.”

He complies, pulling almost all the way out before he snaps his hips into Danika’s again. She moans, rocking forward as she disconnects from your clit, but you don’t seem to mind. So Jungkook takes that as a cue to unleash himself, and then he’s fucking her rough while you hold her face on you, making sure she keeps eating you out.

Jungkook keeps going as his balls slap on Danika’s clit, and he reaches around her to rub on the sensitive bundle of nerves. She grows impossibly tighter, which he’d take as a cue to slow down if she wasn’t so damn wet. But she’s so wet he slips right in and out, and he can’t stop. He doesn’t want to stop, not when you start moaning too.

He must have underestimated Danika. Because a few seconds later you’re coming, his name on your lips as you look him right in the eyes. He almost comes at the same time, but he stops moving, digging his teeth into his lower lip as he holds his cum in. It hurts his balls, but he knows it’ll be worth it, making his climax even better later.

You come down from your high with a fucked out expression on your features, but you don’t let that stop you. No, you immediately move away, kneeling next to Jungkook so that you can kiss him while he’s still fucking Danika. He grunts in your mouth, slapping your friend’s ass. You pull away, looking down at the imprint of his hand slowly appearing on her skin, and then you bend down, pressing a kiss to it.

“Want me to taste you now?” you ask, laying your head on your friend’s ass.

He doesn’t have to be asked twice. Jungkook pulls out, dick so hard he thinks he might come in your mouth. It doesn’t help that your lips part as you pull your tongue out, clearly indicating that you want him to fuck your mouth.

And he does so, though he finds he won’t be able to do it for too long. Because if he keeps going, he’ll come, and he doesn’t want to come before Danika does, and before he’s gotten to fuck you too.

So even though you hollow your cheeks as he pushes in your mouth, flattening your tongue on him as inch after inch of him disappears inside of you, Jungkook still doesn’t let himself come. Instead, he fucks your mouth a couple of times, loving the way your eyes water even though you’re keeping the gag reflex at bay. It’s enough for him to grab the back of your head, rubbing gently even though the snap of his hips is rough.

You don’t complain, just take him in like the good girl you are, and just like that he knows he needs to stop fucking your mouth. So he pulls out, only to plunge deep inside of Danika again a second later. You just look at him with a smirk on your lips, and then you bite at your lower lip as he fucks Danika rough, shutting his eyes.

He thinks about work. Thinks about the account he has to finish next week, about the way the clients were being assholes on Friday. It keeps his orgasm at bay, long enough for him to be able to open his eyes again.

You’ve moved. You’re not too far, but you’re rubbing Danika’s clit now, Jungkook having forgotten all about it when you kissed him. But that explains why Danika is growing tighter now, and Jungkook knows it shouldn’t take too long before she’s coming.

He’s proven right when your friend goes limp, her walls spasming on his dick as she moans loudly, and he rides her through her high, slowing the rhythm but never stopping. He only pulls out once he’s sure she’s spent.

And she is. She just lies down on her side, breathing heavily while you both look at her, waiting for her to say something. But she remains silent, and of course you run your mouth instead.

“I told you his dick game was amazing,” you say.

Jungkook has had enough. He grabs your jaw, and your gaze widens in surprise at the sudden dominance he’s showing.

“Lie the fuck down, will you?” he tells you.

You smirk like the brat you are. “Make me.”

He does. He pushes you down, though he tries to be gentle when he pries your legs apart with his knee. You spread wide open for him, your pussy still glistening with your juices, and Jungkook is more than ready to wipe the smirk off your lips.

“You liked dominating your friend like that, mmh?” he tells you as he makes himself comfortable between your legs, rubbing his dick on your folds.

Your mouth falls open, but then the smirk returns. “I like bossing you around. You pretend you’re all tough, but I know you’re just a softie at heart.”

You’re trying to rile him up. Hell, it works. Jungkook taps your cheek - not hard enough to sting, just enough to show dominance - and says, “Open your mouth.”

You do so, tongue out the second your lips part, and Jungkook spits on your tongue, holding your jaw as you swallow. You show him that your mouth is empty a second later, and he just smirks down at you.

“Gotta wash that dirty mouth of yours, mmh?” he says. “Should I do it with my cum or more spit?”

You wrap your legs around his hips, pushing him closer. The tip of his dick, already aligned with your entrance, pushes in, and Jungkook feels pleasure shooting up and down his spine.

“Thought you wanted to fuck me,” you tease, and it’s all Jungkook needed to hear to unleash himself once more.

He fucks you rough. Hell, he fucks you rougher than he fucked your friend, but he can’t help himself. Not when you’re such a brat, and not when your pussy feels so good. Not that Danika’s pussy didn’t feel good…

Yours is just… yours. He doesn’t have an explanation for it - didn’t have one after you’ve hooked up in his car and ghosted each other. He still doesn’t have one as you squirm and moan and yell his name under him, clearly loving this just as much as he does. You try to meet his every motion, one of your hands finding his thigh so that you can dig your nails in his skin.

It’s his time to moan, and he feels his balls tightening, a sign he might be coming soon. But he wants to feel you come, wants to hear the sounds you make when you come again, so he focuses on you. Focuses on snapping his hips forward at the right angle, and on rubbing your clit with his thumb.

“Fuck, Jungkook,” you moan.

He slows down. “Not too much of a brat anymore, mmh?”

“I’m so close,” you whine. “Keep going.”

He wasn’t going to stop, not when Danika suddenly reappears in his line of vision. She pulls your corset down, lips wrapping around your nipple so that she can suck once. Everything happens all at once then - you’re coming, and Jungkook follows almost immediately, pushing all the way in as he unloads deep inside of you, painting your walls white.

His high hits hard. He thinks he sees stars, especially as your walls flutter on his dick. He shuts his eyes tight, focusing on the sensation, on the way his dick twitches and twitches like he still has more to give. It’s the best orgasm he’s had in forever, and he thinks he forgets his name before he comes back to his senses enough to pull out of you.

He opens his eyes, sitting back on his heels as he watches his cum dripping out of you. The sight is sinful, beautifully so, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to forget it. It’ll forever be inked in his mind, altering his brain chemistry for the rest of his life.

And though he wasn’t expecting to have a threesome tonight, Jungkook thanks the stars for your unexpected message.

☆☆☆☆☆

Yeah this was horny and sinful and... yeah haha hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think!:)

#unexpected message #jungkook smut #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #jungkook #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fic #jjk #jeon jungkook fic #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #btswritersclub #4k followers celebration #follower milestone celebration

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steddieas-shegoes · 11 months ago

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When Eddie comes out to him, Steve makes a big mistake. His first reaction was to thank him for trusting him, which is what Robin told him to do in this situation.

But his second reaction was to say “I also like guys.”

Eddie blinked at him, clearly confused and defensive, like maybe Steve was making fun or not taking him seriously.

“Uh. You do?”

“Yeah man! I mean, no one else knows, but yeah.”

Eddie smiled and thanked him for trusting him with it, said they should hang out more, and recommended a queer bar in Indy if he needed a safe place to explore.

And Steve smiled and nodded like he couldn’t agree more.

As soon as Eddie was gone, he rushed to the phone in his kitchen and called Robin.

She called him an idiot, a dingus, a bisexual disaster —whatever that was—, and told him he absolutely wasn’t allowed to go to a queer bar without her.

She did at least agree to keep up the lie until he could find a way out of it without Eddie thinking he lied to hurt him or something.

But he started hanging out a lot more with Eddie and finding that they had more in common than he originally thought.

Eddie took Robin and Steve to the queer club and Steve…felt at home, felt welcomed, felt like he belonged. Robin kept giving him these looks all night, and Eddie kept dragging him to meet people who he cared about, and one of the guys on the dance floor kept pulling him out there to dance with him.

He felt free and alive and-

Queer.

It hit him as the guy, Paul maybe, was pulling him closer by his waist as his hips rocked to the beat of a song he didn’t recognize but felt like something he wanted on a mixtape. It hit him that he liked this because he liked dancing with Paul like this. He liked this because he saw himself visiting more, even without Eddie and Robin. He liked this because he could picture making out with Eddie in the bathroom.

He froze.

“You okay, sweet thing?” Paul asked him.

“I think I’m in love with my friend.”

Paul’s eyes widened momentarily before patting Steve’s hip. “Is he gay, honey?”

“Huh?” Steve was already trying to find Eddie in the crowd. “Oh, yeah. He’s here tonight.”

“Shouldn’t you be dancin’ with him then?”

Steve finally looked back at Paul, who had his hands on his own hips now, teasing smile on his face.

“Yeah. I should,” Steve thanked him, apologized for any misleading, which was immediately brushed off. Paul was here to dance, he didn’t much care for who he was dancing with.

“Send that beauty over here. She looks like she needs some lessons,” Paul pointed to Robin, who was still looking a little nervous despite the friendly bartender handing her sodas every time he passed by her.

“She’s gay, man.”

“So am I! Doesn’t mean we can’t dance!”

Steve laughed. “You’re right.”

He walked over to Robin quickly, avoided getting pulled back into the crowd.

“I’m in love with Eddie.”

Robin rolled her eyes. “I know, dingus. You literally risked your entire reputation to come to a queer bar to try to impress him.”

Steve balked. “That’s not what this was!”

“Uh huh. Well he’s sulking in the bathroom if you wanna go tell him.”

“Sulking? Why?”

“He saw you dancing with that guy. Think he assumed you were interested in him.”

“Not a chance. I prefer long hair and ripped jeans,” Steve winked. He turned to walk towards the hall with the bathrooms when Robin stopped him.

“Don’t do this if you’re not 100% sure,” she said seriously. “Eddie really likes you and it would destroy him if you were lying to make him feel better.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Steve started, but stopped when Robin gave him a look.

“You’ve literally been pretending to be queer for the last two months because he came out to you and you accidentally came out to him. You’re lucky it wasn’t a complete lie.”

“Yeah but I wouldn’t fuck with his feelings like that.” Steve knew what it was like to be led on. He wouldn’t do that to Eddie. “I’ll be careful with him.”

“And be careful with you.”

He saluted her as he walked away.

When he found Eddie sitting on the counter at the sink in the bathroom, he was swinging his legs back and forth and humming something distinctly less pop than what was playing on the dance floor. No one else was in here, but that didn’t mean no one would walk in.

He walked over to Eddie and placed a hand on his knee.

Eddie immediately stopped kicking his feet and looked up.

“What’s with the face?” Steve asked, reaching up to touch the line between his brows that always appeared when he was pouting.

Eddie shrugged. “Just not feeling it tonight I guess.”

“The music isn’t really your thing. Kinda surprised you like this place,” Steve said as his hand drifted down to his wrist. “Seems closer to a small club than a bar.”

“You seemed to be enjoying yourself.”

Eddie’s tone was sharp, laced with jealousy. Even if Steve hadn’t had his realization five minutes earlier, he would’ve seen what that was from a mile away.

“I was until I realized I’d rather be out there with you.”

Eddie snorted. “I don’t really dance.”

“But you’d dance with me if I asked, right?” Steve’s fingers circled his wrist and he tugged Eddie off the counter. “Even if I asked you to do it right here with no music?”

“Steve, what are you doing?”

“Dancing. Or trying to.” Steve rested his hands on Eddie’s hips and started swaying them in sync with his. “It is hard without music.”

“Why don’t you go back out there?” Eddie’s hands went around Steve’s neck.

“Because you’re not out there. I don’t wanna be where you aren’t.”

“Steve-“

“You know I didn’t actually know I liked guys until tonight?” Steve huffed out a laugh. “Well, I really like this one guy. Not sure about others yet.”

Eddie was silent, but didn’t push Steve away.

“He was hiding in this bathroom though. I didn’t really think he’d join me out there, so I brought the dancing to him,” Steve winked.

“You like me? You? Like me?”

Steve nodded.

“And you just realized this?”

“Kinda.”

“In a queer bar?”

“Mhm.”

“That’s pretty gay, dude.”

Steve snorted and smacked Eddie’s chest. “That’s the point.”

Eddie moved in impossibly closer, no room for Jesus between their chests anymore. “So you lied when you came out to me?”

“I panicked! But it doesn’t actually count as a lie if I’ve seen the light.”

“Was it a rainbow light? Or the reflection of the disco ball in the glitter shorts Perry was wearing?” Eddie joked.

“Perry!” Steve smacked his own forehead. “He’s nice. Made me come tell you how I feel.”

“Oh. He did?” Eddie seemed shy for maybe the first time ever.

“Yeah. Said I should come dance with you if I’m in love with you.”

Steve hadn’t felt like this in a while, and hadn’t left his heart on his sleeve like this in even longer. As Eddie’s face went from shy to shocked to flustered, Steve thought about how long he’d been dancing around these feelings.

But no more dancing around them. Now it was time to dance with them.

“Can’t believe you just said you’re in love with me in the bathroom of a queer bar. Don’t even think they clean this place,” Eddie laughed, letting his forehead fall against Steve’s.

“I’ll tell you again outside.” Steve kissed his cheek. “And in the van.” His nose. “Your house, my house.” The corner of his mouth. “Everywhere.”

Eddie licked his lip, skipping over a soft kiss for a hungry one. It was hot, desperate, impatient. Everything Steve hadn’t known he needed.

Then again, he hadn’t even actually known he liked guys until tonight. Maybe he was just late to learn things about himself.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #headcanon #robin buckley #drabble #Steve Harrington is a bisexual disaster and in this essay I will #coming out that’s funny as hell #Steve coming out before he even realizes he’s queer is the epitome of cinematic masterpiece #alas I’m high and could only write this

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lovers-rck · 1 year ago

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modern au where you accidentally send ellie, your bestfriend, a nude PT3

pt1 here , pt2 here pt4 here

n/a finally.

☆

ellie was lying on her bed. her eyes were closed, her mouth was mumbling the words of the song softly, not wanting to take the spotlight away from the voice that sounded through the record player.

outside, the sun was shining at its brightest, burning the people who dared to walk under its reign.

"uhg i love that song" ellie murmurs as the song ends.

"it's good" you agree. a bead of perspiration ran down the valley of your breasts "it's too hot in here. can you open the window?"

ellie nods and once it's done she throws herself back on the bed hard, bouncing you up and down. she giggles dumbly.

"you can put on your bikini if you want, you left it here the last time we went swimming"

"so that's why i couldn't find it" you can see how ellie smiles slightly "where is it?"

"second drawer on the right"

"got it."

you find your bikini folded neatly in the drawer next to her t-shirts. the bathroom feels a thousand times hotter than the whole house, so you hurry to put on your bikini top and go back out to ellie's room. she's still in the same position, singing songs from an album you don't know.

"we should go swimming again" you say as you walk in, your bare feet against the floor "it was fun"

ellie partially stands up with the help of her arms and watches you, walking around her room in your bikini top and shorts. the photo incident had already been forgotten in your mind, but ellie was still thinking about that moment.

even though she assured you that she had deleted the photo, the truth was that she still had it in her gallery, feeling guilty every time she looked at it.

"sure" ellie said, abandoning her gaze on your body "if you want to drown yourself again"

"i didn't drown" you protested "that wave came in unexpectedly"

you lie down next to her, staring at the ceiling just as she does, separated by inches. ellie's almost-kiss comes to mind, but you dismiss that memory as quickly as you can, trying not to fantasize about something that isn't going to happen.

she's your best friend. just that.

it isn't long before the album comes to an end, burying the room in a deep silence. The air is uncomfortable for ellie, who feels the need to speak up and confess her sin.

"i didn't delete the picture" she says after a few minutes.

you furrow your eyebrows and look at her "what? which picture?"

ellie abandons her gaze to the ceiling and looks at your breasts, and then at you "you know..."

the answer hits you "oh"

"i'm sorry" ellie says "i had to tell you, it doesn't feel right"

you look up at the ceiling again "why didn't you delete it?"

you hear ellie laugh lightly "isn't it obvious?"

you feel your heart in your throat, ready to come out the moment you utter a word.

"it's not obvious to me"

an immense heat takes hold of ellie's body, a heat that is not due to the temperature outside. she feels her cheeks redden and her lips feel extremely dry and suddenly the ceiling looks so interesting that she want to watch it forever.

"well..." in your eyes, ellie doesn't look as confident as usual, more vulnerable "i think i like you."

"you think?"

"okay, okay" ellie snorts "i like you"

"it's just weird" she continues "i mean, it feels weird that you like your best friend, you know? i don't know, i haven't stopped thinking about it since you sent me that picture"

you don't say anything, and ellie takes that as a bad sign.

"i'm sorry" she mumbles, looking at the ceiling and wanting to hit her head "i shouldn't have said that. i would leave if i could but it's my home so...."

"can you kiss me?" you speak and ellie looks at you

"what?"

ellie analyzes your gestures, looking for some indication that what you are telling her is a vile joke that you can both laugh at later, or pretend to laugh at.

"a real kiss this time" you say and ellie smile embarrassed as she remembers "kisses on the corner don't count"

"shut up. I didn't know how you were going to react."

"you didn't even see my reaction! you ran into the living room!"

they both laugh uproariously, although ellie laughs mostly out of embarrassment.

a few seconds pass. fifteen seconds if you ask ellie.

"well, are you going to do it?" you mutter.

ellie stands up and moves closer to you, leaning on one arm to support her weight so she doesn't fall on you. you can feel her confidence return as she provokes your lips by gently brushing hers across them but not making full contact.

"ellie" your voice comes out as a strangled moan.

and she finally kisses you.

the warmth of her lips impacting against yours and sending you into a dreamy spiral. her hands hold you as if you are going to disappear, encircling and touching your skin.

everything about her touch counterbalances her personality. her touch is kind, gentle, soft, and it's ellie's

#ellie x reader #ellie williams x reader #tlou

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leaf-line · 5 months ago

Text

𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐈𝐬 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐫𝐮𝐞𝐥

Yandere! Jiaoqiu X Gn! Reader

❏ Jiaoqiu finds himself enjoying your company that he wants to extend it more.

cw: might be lore inaccurate, might be ooc, a hint of angst, you being called annoying, force feeding, mentions of pinning, no beta we die like Tingyun, written in Jiaoqiu's pov + he doesn't talk, pls don't be confused, reader is loud.

w/c: 962

Immortality is a crime... No, rather, it's a sin.

"Alchemy Commission... Agh—!! Where was that place again?! Wait a minute... Hey there! You! The pretty foxian boy with pink hair!"

Jiaoqiu finds it hard to believe that a human like you were accepted into a prestigious place such as the Alchemy Commission. You weren't even a Xianzhou Native, just a regular human. Why did he even try to put an effort into knowing who you were? Maybe it was because apart of him was curious about you and why the hell were you so loud? Honestly, he shouldn't have.

"Ohhhh, so this was the place, wow, I could've sworn I've ran into here multiple times before, why didn't I see it? Speaking of which, can you even actually see that? Why are your eyes closed?"

He wasn't exactly sure why he welcomed you so easily into his life. To put it into words... You were eccentric, goofy, and a slacker with no sense of direction, you speak out loud what's on your mind, no matter the place and time.

"Alas, we meet again, blind foxian... So you're my senior? But you're so short—"

You were blunt, sometimes it was funny, sometimes it was annoying. But Jiaoqiu never heard you tell a lie ever since the first time he met you. Although if he ever hears you call him any more honest insults, he's gonna spike your lunch with one of his handmade concoctions.

"Noooo!! Please! I don't want to memorize another set of ingredients for a different medicine!! Have mercy!!!"

And did he mention that you were loud? He'd be lying if he said he didn't find it entertaining, since the people there were so serious and gloomy. You were like the clown of the class, and Jiaoqiu was simply there to be entertained.

"You mean to say that in your own eyes, you think that food is medicine? That's... Super interesting!!"

...That wasn't a lie right? Well, Jiaoqiu hoped so. You were cheerful, upbeat, and optimistic at some times, he's yet to be accustomed by that kind of personality.

"Oh, yeah, sure I'll have a taste of your cookings, leave it to me! I'm a good food critique!"

Have a taste, he says. He doesn't know what you will reply. Will you tell him it tastes garbage? Will you tell him it's the most godsend food you've ever tasted in your life? He doesn't know, not unless he tries to have you eat it. At some point you were brutally honest it hurts him through the gut, but surely at some point when he impresses you, it would feel rewarding, right?

"This straight up tastes awful, this one is painfully bland, and this is, hmm... Let me taste again, ...mmmm!! It's super delicious!"

Was it a wrong choice when he interacted with you more? No, otherwise he would have felt so much joy in a long while. Bit by bit, you warmed up your way into his heart, securing a comfortable place in it. There was a saying that the way into person's was through their stomach, so why was it when the more he poured into your stomach and the more he was successful at making you happy, the more was being poured into HIS own heart?

"Jiaoqiu... Thanks a lot."

The second you were calm and silent. Aeons, you were adorable, beautiful, handsome and majestic in your own way that Idrilla would be jealous. He wanted nothing more but to cup your cheeks with his hands and connect your lips to his own. He wanted to hug you dearly, bask in your touch, bask in your scent. But he holds himself to the ground, after all, looking at the picturesque scene in front of him will suffice more than enough.

"What do you mean my hair is turning white? I'm still young you know?"

...Oh. Did time fly that fast when he's having fun? Was it this early for someone he would willingly hold dearly to part ways with him soon enough? Or was time just cruelly toying him? How could he even forget that you were a short-life specie, just how?

"Ugh... Sorry and thank you, Jiaoqiu. I mean, for taking care of me, I'm still really sick, my body is just getting weaker and weaker by the day... I don't know why..."

Time is running out. Why was his time with you getting cut short? Why? Why? No. He's gonna fix this, he can. All he wants is a little more time with you, can't he have that? He doesn't want to feel lonely again. Please... Stay...

"Jiaoqiu... Are you okay? You've been stuffing your nose into books all day. I just... Have a feeling your doing something suspicious, don't get me wrong, I'm not accusing you, I'm just worried."

Immortality is a sin, he knows that, he knows it all too well. The only way to achieve it is through the flesh of an Emanator of Abundance. The last time that went... Didn't go well. Fuck around with immortality and there will be a cost... That he's willing to pay, unfortunately for you. All he needed is to make a medicine that will ensure you to live longer, even if you become mara-struck, it doesn't matter.

"Are you sure this medicine is safe? I don't think that it is..."

Aeons! Just consume it will you!? Do you know how hand it took him to get his hands in these things!? Do you want him to strip naked and beg you to consume it!? You want him to pin you and shove it down your throat!?

Jiaoqiu wouldn't really consider himself sinful... So he wonders why he's dragging you into the pits of hell.

a/n: uh... this is inaccurate as hell, i barely read the lore leave me alone— 😭

#leaf—.writes.txt #yandere hsr #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr x reader #yandere honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #honkai sr #honkai star rail #hsr x you #yandere x reader #yandere #tw yandere #hsr jiaoqiu #jiaoqiu #yandere jiaoqiu #jiaoqiu x reader #yandere jiaoqiu x reader

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satoruhour · 1 year ago

Note

need reader to have a confession with priest!geto about how they feel guilty for touching themselves late alone at night and priest!geto helps them by just fucking their brains out as a “penance” for their sins.

yes, i’m okay in the head btw! (lie)

AU REVOIR, O HEAVEN !

wc: 12.2k

warnings: DARK CONTENT, SLOW BUILDUP, CORRUPTION, priest!geto, fem!reader, age gap (reader is in early 20s, geto in late 20s), long descriptive fic that goes in depth of christian lore, lots and lots of christian references / metaphors / analogies, comparison to Satan’s banishment and fall from heaven, religious themes used in inappropriate ways, questions of religion and life, multiple scenes of f! and m! masturbation, fingering, clit stimulation, virginity loss, both f! and m! receiving oral, cumshot, praise, degradation, spitting, sex in a religious place, p -> v sex, unprotected sex, creampie / breeding kink, multiple rounds, n*sfw under the cut

for a small town like yours, it was a no-brainer that everyone knew everyone; and everyone’s drama as well. from the baker’s daughter being a whore to the mayor of the town being sacked for purposes that have since been twisted by word of mouth. that was another thing: word got around fast, and it was particularly suffocating in a conservative town such as yours. people were not outright about the obvious choices they favoured, but there was the older generation who were not shy to turn down progressive ideas.

because of that, the previous priest was kicked out because of the misuse of funds from mass collection and offertory. it was one thing to see a bunch of notes missing from the sack and the money counter but it was another thing to see that money going into funding a new strip club that was opening in the next town over.

it was simply unheard of, and the parishioners basically gave him a free ride to that very strip club by excommunicating him from his own church. it was unbecoming of a priest, especially in such a small congregation that everyone made sure the new priest to transfer here was a God-honouring one.

you hope he was. you’ve always felt the obligated need to serve your god and your parents. always the good girl, following the Ten Commandments, saving yourself for marriage. it was the natural order of a christian, and you could only hope that you’d get even a fraction of the eternal life they preach about in mass. but lately you’ve been having some . . thoughts, and you pray that this new priest could help you immensely, even if you had to do a hundred Hail Mary’s at the pews.

it was peculiar, the first time it occurred to you. the area where your body separates into two and forms two legs — the centre of it all, the middle where Eve had it covered in statues and paintings with a leaf, the middle where you had only learned of it in anatomical drawings. you knew what the vagina, cervix and the ovaries were, but seeing the convergence of pink and maroon between your legs confused you, even scared you.

and the next was when you’d had a guy come up to you whilst doing up your university application, saying something along the lines of how cute you were, would you like to grab a drink some time? and you were left dumbfounded and unable to answer. you let your eyes travel over his features, of the exposed arms of his button up shirt and the thickness of his forearms, you let your eyes skim over his plump thighs before you’re asked “are you okay?”

“n . . no sorry, i already have a boyfriend.” you lie through your teeth and all the guy does is sigh before walking away — but now you’re left with a bigger problem . . why was the thing between your legs throbbing? you swear you can feel your panties getting wet as well, but you aren’t quite sure why.

that night you’re lying in bed with a lewd website shining right in your face, as you’ve laid here for about two hours already, going through in your head whether you really wanted to do this. your hands had been clean, untainted from the moment you were born, but you imagine going to university and knowing not a thing about sex and that makes your whole body burn in embarrassment.

you chicken out and fall asleep.

“honey! come down here, i want you to meet someone.” your mother calls out to you, running about like she usually does. she’s always overworking — caring for the newborn, cooking the meals, cleaning the place. why don’t you ask dad to help sometimes? / nonsense! he works so hard and deserves a break! i don’t mind. / but he just lazes around at home after work . .

you’re pleasantly surprised to find a long-haired man at your front door, clad in a thick and loose turtleneck sweater with a gentle smile on his face. that uncomfortable feeling returns to your core and you land a hand to your stomach to calm the churning that’s happening.

“hello, and you are?”

you’d never think you would see one of God’s angels on earth in actual flesh in front of you. you’re convinced God is looking over you and you think you might see heaven when that silky voice repeats himself again.

“hi, kind miss, are you alright?”

“h . . huh? oh! yeah, uhm— who are you?”

your mother smacks you on your shoulder and sidles up to your side, holding onto your arm a little tightly that it hurts just a bit.

“don’t be rude!” she whisper-shouts to you, “this is geto suguru, and—”

“and i’m the new priest for the church.”

that catches you off-guard. he’s the new priest that was just transferred over? he looks anything but a holy man of God, what with his long hair and gauges in his ears; if you didn’t know any better you would think he was the one paying for the strip club instead. he seems to read your mind.

“i know i look . . a bit of a delinquent, miss, but i promise you the word of God is what i strictly live by. i honour and praise him with all that i can.”

“ah, i’m sorry if you thought i thought that way, father.” you mumble, giving him an awkward smile that he misses because he’s too busy focusing on the way you say father. you’re prepared to close the door on him already; the pulsing sensation between your legs isn’t fading and your whole body feels like it burns in hell. you rub your thighs together for some sort of relief, nothing.

“that’s usually the response i get, so i thought i would preface it first.” a little laugh leaves geto’s lips and if it wasn’t for you holding on for dear life on the door, you definitely would’ve buckled under your knees. “no hard feelings.”

“he’s a charmer, ain’t he?” there’s another sheepish laugh from the pastor at that. “told me he’s been going around giving cakes to all the people as a way to thank them for letting him take over the church.” your heart melts at that — he looked so hot and had a heart of gold, too?

“what cake did you get us, father?” you blurt out and you have no time to take it back, but the preacher doesn’t seem to mind. you also don’t seem to mind that barrier of authority that was established ever since he‘s introduced himself as the new priest of the church. it felt . . friendlier, less intimidating than the previous. it was probably mostly due to him not wearing his cassock or collar, though.

“chocolate.” that one word possibly ignited every nerve in you. the smooth lilt in his voice paired with the slight smirk. it was detrimental. you were going to hell, you were condemned to eternal damnation.

“how’d you know i liked chocolate?”

he shrugs, “lucky guess.” wrong.

he had come around the day before already, but you were too distracted with work and pressured with a deadline that music drained out everything else — one look at your side profile and the hard-working first year university student was all it took for geto to return again today with another cake of your liking. oh! you’re such a sweet one for asking what flavour we like; frankly, my dear boy, my husband and i don’t really eat cake but her . . loves it for some reason. i wonder where she gets the sweet tooth from, honestly.

geto could only thank his saviour that your mother had promised not to tell you he already came around yesterday. and it looks like she didn’t.

“i should get going, miss . .”

“(y/n).”

geto simply nods his head, resisting the urge to call your name pretty and only manages a decent call to your mother. “mrs (l/n), i’m heading off, thank you for having me. (y/n).”

you return his smile, hesitantly, inching the door close with immense difficulty — you wanted to see him walk away with that imposing height of his, of the proper gait he carried himself with and the politeness in which he greets people of the town.

that night you locked yourself in your room, muttering out some dumb excuse of having to study for a test when in reality you were more interested in the feeling between your legs. it both excited and scared you when you first find a comfortable position on your bed, stalling for a good half ’n hour before the clinking cutlery of dinner happening downstairs had brought you to your senses. there were countless articles open in your safari tab, none of which helped your growing dilemma — a tear in the Red Sea between the sin of pleasure and the liberation of acting on it. you felt like Moses, treading in the centre, on the fence.

one last text made you yelp out loud.

[8:03 pm, read]: R u coming down 4 dinner?

it was your mother, as if she knew what was happening behind doors.

[8:03 pm, delivered]: nope, sorry mummy. need to study for this test, its important !

[8:05 pm, read]: Alright, alright. I left out a serving of what we cooked tonite. Heat up if u need to with the microwave O.K.? Don’t sleep so late!

you simply favourited her message, losing all motivation from before; until your mind crosses over dinner and goes straight to that chocolate cake, and then to the person who had brought it.

“Farewell happy fields / Where joy forever dwells: Hail, horrors, hail.”

“geto . . geto suguru.” the name feels foreign. it does sound like a countryside name but it felt like he had come from the city instead. “geto . .” you sigh, letting your hands tremble and move along your body. they brush over your chest, over your nipples and you recoil a little from the strange feeling. they harden under your touch as you continue to repeat his name.

each murmur of his name is a step farther from God, dipping your toes into the waters of hell as your fingers travel lower, lower, lower. you press a finger against your clit unknowingly, and you let out a loud moan; you immediately slap a hand over your mouth.

but the pleasure’s too much, and so you try again. one hand goes back to your nipples, squeezing your tits and playing with them while your fingers rub pathetic circles along your core.

“su . .” you gulp. “geto—”

you pant softly to yourself as you continue to rub your clit, messy, inexperienced circles in whatever shape or form. as long as it felt good to you, you were doing it. you made sure to keep your moans in as your hips bucked into your hands, back arching off the bed in needy movements. your hands were getting tired, clutching at the bedsheets.

long hair, built physique, crucifix on his neck. funny, you never noticed that before, but now you imagine it clearly, dangling over your face. you’re imagining geto fucking you, thrusting his cock into you as he groans out your name.

you’re at the end of your tether, feeling the deep plunge of your body in Satan’s lair the same time you cum for the first time in your life and your body shakes so violently. you flail around on your bed, bite into your shirt, anything to keep you quiet from the immense orgasm you had just felt. your pussy clenches around nothing and your hand aches so much it might fall off, but it just feel so damn good that you only have a minute’s rest before you’re rubbing at your clit again.

scooping up a little of your cum, you marvel at the clear liquid, sucking on your finger to try the thing that’s always drenched your panties. and soon you’re conjuring the image of the long-haired priest yet again, never really studying for that test you made up or even eating dinner — all you do is rest and come again, each time more wrecked than the last time.

you dreaded going to church the next morning.

it had slipped your mind that service was to continue once geto has gotten settled down in the rectory, a small outhouse at the back of the church that had been revamped. you’re not sure on how father geto was able to get it done up so fast but, you’re not one to question.

with the short walk to church, you regret not eating the night before, groaning softly at the discomfort of your growling stomach. what you were more worried of though, was what would happen to you once you stepped foot in the church. was your body going to go up in flames? were you going to get ridiculed by the townspeople? were you going to get called out by father geto in front of everyone?

“what’s gotten you so worked up?” your father was walking behind and smoking, as always, not giving a shit about your mother and the newborn.

“nothing . . just, wondering if i got everything in my head for my test.” your mother coos, and your baby brother in the carrier thinks it’s because of him. he babbles into your mom’s shirt, giggling.

“you’ll do fine, honey,” the reassurance worried you only more. you were lying outright — you had no test, you weren’t even studying, you were busy—!

“i raised a smart girl, didn’t i?” you can only manage a smile, reaching the church within minutes. taking the chance to mutter a short prayer and a plea, you take a deep breath and that light from above Lucifer’s kingdom seem to call out to you again.

stepping into the simple but cozy church, you dip your hands in holy water. Father, Son, Holy Spirit along your forehead, chest and shoulders before you trail behind your mother, suggesting places for you to sit at the back. she only waved your hand away, pointing towards the front. we always sit at the front! why the sudden change? / nothing . . maybe thought we could switch it up a little.

the mass starts after a few minutes of waiting, and you have the luxury of wallowing in your self-pity and guilt for those few minutes, trying to get the very filthy imagery of father geto above you, father geto between your legs, father geto himself out of your head. you fail, it’s only amplified when the bell rings and the congregation stands up.

everyone waits in anticipation for the new priest in this small town, hoping he won’t disappoint them like the last one. but they already seem to be in good spirits as he makes the entrance down the very short church. two altar boys follow behind him in the procession, accompanied by an organist and a duo of choir singers, straining to have their voice heard over the loud instrument. he’s already made some friends, nodding to the excited kid who whispers and the shy girl who waves her hands at him. but while everyone feels anticipation in hopes of a good sermon, dread is only making your legs feel like lead, you feel lightheaded, dizzy even.

because whatever you had imagined last night was him in his sweater get-up, and it just now sinks in what a disgusting thing you were doing as you watch the rich purple of his chasuble sway alongside his stole — the very image of him in his priest robes (in Lent season too, not to mention) — meant to deter you from more thoughts, only fed your desires.

geto suguru made being a pastor look so natural, and attractive, that it was almost criminal.

“good morning, brothers and sisters, how are we all doing this morning?” there’s a few murmurs around, but geto doesn’t falter, instead pressing on with his very convincing, beautiful speech; as does he with the rest of the mass. he conducts himself with as much professionalism as he can, handling the Eucharist with proper hands, giving a sermon whilst giving you too many eyes, distributing Holy Communion with a gentle, accepting smile; your skin burnt when he handed you the body of Christ, a soft inaudible “amen” hanging off your lips.

father geto was all the talk after, some hanging around to catch a minute of geto’s time if they could and you were no different, purposely looping your arm through your mother’s and slowly down your pace.

“goin’ out for a smoke.” your father gruffly tells the three of you, two of which understands better. your newborn simply cuddles deeper into your mother’s breast, humming softly into the nap.

“’kay.” it was opportunistic, now, as your eyes flit around the place to find geto talking to two older ladies. he’s politely bent down to reach their heights better, chasuble now removed and simply in his alb, one patting his shoulder and the other giggling. you think you imagine it but his eyes dart over to you for a moment and then off to the other parishioners.

“how are you two lovely ladies doing?” you hear him before you see him and the voice startles you a little, jumping back from brushing your baby brother’s almost non-existent hair.

“fine.” it comes out kurt and abrupt and you burn when your mother nudges you like yesterday.

“think what she means is that we’re perfectly fine. how was your first mass?”

father geto looks around the church, recalls the altar boys, ingrains each church-goer into his head, “i hope the congregation likes me.”

“oh, nonsense! i’m sure they do,” your mother reassures. she was always good like that, putting others before her and making sure they see the best in themselves, “that was a very riveting sermon you delivered.”

“yeah—! yeah, i . . really enjoyed it, father geto.”

a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, “did you now?”

you nod, and he continues, “you enjoyed me telling you that sin was revolting?”

when he phrases it like that . . you swallow, “isn’t that what God’s whole schtick is?”

and that makes father geto laugh, because for such an innocent flower like you, you make it sound like you were forced to go to church and made to learn the basis of why God exists and now you just don’t know what to do with it. it’s common for people at their university age where they’re exposed to more views and mindsets, to question the religion you were born in and think about what it meant to be tied to a god you didn’t even really know existed, and when that happens, Christianity turns stagnant and boring.

“yes, pretty much, miss (y/n), but His schtick also involves forgiving anyone who has sinned against Him. after all, that’s what He died on the cross for.”

“y . . yeah, i know, father geto.”

you only realise now his purple chasuble matches his eyes, eyes that swirl with the colours of amethyst. they’re much brighter in the parish lighting, and they hold your stare much longer than yesterday. there’s the tugging feeling at your stomach again that goes right down to your centre and it throbs; your eyes flutter and blink to get you out of your head.

“good that you know . . of course, it’s not an invitation to sin. self-restraint and chastity still exists,” you hate how he puts an emphasis on the latter word, because he could be referring to anything, “but we need not be worried for our lives. we only need to pray and repent in prayer, and God will have mercy on us.”

but well, if God didn’t want you to sin, how then can he explain creating such an attractive person? if God valued his followers’ self control, why did he have to plant such lewd, inappropriate thoughts of his preacher in your head?

father geto could probably see your dilemma with how hard he was staring at you, and he only makes it worse by putting his larger hand on your left shoulder. it descends deeper to your upper arm and the skin there ignites—

“i hope you liked the chocolate cake.”

you manage a small smile, “haven’t had the chance to try it, sorry, father.”

“don’t apologise.” you forget your mother and baby brother is even beside you with how he talks to you. you’d love to be on his chest, hearing the deep rumbling of his voice or even have his hands be somewhere else but your arm. you don’t know how simply talking to you has got him doing everything in his power to restrain himself; not even a prayer from God could help.

“The mind is its own place, and in it self / Can make a Heav'n of Hell, a Hell of Heav'n.”

what you don’t know, either, that the hand on your shoulder was between his legs just last afternoon, trying so hard not to sneak under his cassock. he could barely keep his moans in, palming his bulge from above his robes at the mere thought of you. no touching means less sin, right? he comes to that pathetic conclusion easily, so all he does is bury himself in the outhouse after distributing his cakes, hips positioned over his pillow and he grinds.

the feeling for father geto was so archaic, been so long since he’s given up his life to God right after graduating university. all the carefree times that he’s experienced — drinking in dorms, going to parties, getting some nice quick fucks in between exams — were going to stop for good. but that doesn’t mean he stopped lusting.

lust. one of the seven deadly sins, a weak point for father geto’s journey as a pastor. it’s obvious now too that he hasn’t really left his older ways, bucking his hips into the fabric of his pillow. he thinks of you, your sweet little eyes and your cute outfit at home, he thinks of your face twisted into pleasure as he’s positioned between your legs.

father geto twitches, friction against the underside of his cock feeling so good after years and years of holding back — with a pretty face to think of, too. his hips ruts in short thrusts, desperate for that high and he chokes on a moan imagining your sweet voice begging to cum. and so does he, shooting such a large, hot load into his underwear that even his cassock is stained with his cum. but unlike you, he’s already thinking of his next round — if he’s doomed to die by lust, then might as well go all the way.

father geto spares a glance towards the door just to be safe before flipping over on his back, and pulls his robes above his lower half. the sight is dirty, underwear painted a darker colour and cum sticking to every part of the fabric. once he wraps a hand around his cock, geto is gone, pumping it so fast he might have gotten a burn along his length but it’s all rewarded by the second quick orgasm he reaches — spurting ribbons of cum all over his holy garments.

it’s why he didn’t have time to write a proper sermon for the morning mass. he was up all night, stroking himself — just, from the thought of you.

it was father geto’s turn to have uneven breaths as you asked if he was okay, hand on your shoulder shaking. but the visions of last night is overtaken quickly by his need to impress the other parishioners, and so he gives you a tense smile.

“enjoy the cake.” it sounded like an innuendo if you’ve ever heard one, but you mutter a soft thank you, before heading off back home with your family. that contact with your shoulder is all you can think of, giddy at the warmth of his hand and eyes.

“baby, could you open the door for me?” your mother calls out to you, hastily wiping her hands on her apron and abandoning the kitchen to tend to your crying baby brother.

“ok, mummy!” the doorbell’s been rung twice now, jogging a little to the door to prevent the person from waiting. you didn’t think to look through the peephole, a tight-knit (conservative) community made you trust anyone, opening the door to find father geto standing in front of you.

“o-oh. hi, father . .?”

he was dressed in his roman collar, a black shirt with a white strip around the neck and some black jeans. it wasn’t as casual as the first day, and it still held an ode to God even on a weekday.

“hi, (y/n).”

“ohhh! it’s father geto, come, come!” your mother bellows throughout the house, baby brother on her hip as she bounces him to get him to stop wailing. “are you hungry already?”

geto displays a meek smile, “a little, mrs (l/n), since you mentioned how big of a feast you were cooking.”

your mouth drops in recognition; was that why she was so preoccupied for the whole day? doing the maximum in the kitchen not just because it was for your father’s recent promotion at his job, but also for dinner with father geto.

“you’re having . . dinner with us.” it’s more of a statement to yourself than a question to the priest, but he still catches on and assists you by closing the door himself, and taking off his shoes. already, he looks part of the family, looking like a hard-working husband coming back from his job to you. instead, he’s answered the vocation of priesthood, and not matrimony.

“it looks like i am.” it’s such a sly comment, like he already knew the effect he had on everyone. this sucking up was just to get every church-goer to like him more, and it’s working.

geto is charming at the dinner table as he is at the parish, cracking jokes that make both your parents and you laugh, talking about his university life and telling a myriad of stories that he’s gone through.

“what did you major in in university, father?” it felt such a weird question, especially with an honorific attached to something that you were doing at the moment — it felt out of place that someone so close to your age was already pursuing a lifetime commitment of serving God.

“my studies focused mostly on philosophy and theology. i minored in linguistics.” there’s a chorus of ooh’s that echo throughout the table, cleaning up the last bit of food on his plate before he continued. “i’m currently going more in depth for latin, which is a stunning language, beyond those who say it’s dead and should stay dead.”

that only makes him hotter, and you cross your legs beside him, looking at him from the corner of your eye at you play with the last meatball on your plate. the sauce leaves a trail of red from the tomato, somehow mirroring the murder of your old self — or what you thought it was. it was more of a knife wound, a cowardly stab in the arm.

that dinner with father geto only deepened your sense of guilt.

it was the way the priest was quick to stand just as your mother does, offering to help with cleaning up the dinner table. even when she brushes him off, he insisted, answering for her when he only silently takes the plates to the back. all your mom does is shake her head with a smile, letting you help as well. your father just watches curiously, entertaining the baby with his canned alcohol.

“i’m embarrassed i can’t fight back against you well enough to stop ya from cleaning up at my own house,” your mother confesses, already having used her last breath to tell him to not help with the dishes as well. you scrub at a stain on geto’s plate over and over, a stubborn one at that until you finally are able to get it out. it still leaves a faint red glow, though.

“it’s nothing, really, mrs (l/n), i’m happy to help whenever.” father geto’s eyes rake over your figure as you clean alongside your mother, heel bouncing up and down; to non-existent music or in impatience he wasn’t sure.

she just takes the soapy plate from your hands with a laugh, “c’mon, it’s okay, my dear. go entertain father geto.”

it was the way his courtesy shined through when he doesn’t enter your room until he has gotten verbal confirmation from you, guiding him in with a uneasy hand as he looked around your quaint little space. it was filled with photos, some plants, tons of research papers and a messy table to match, but all he did was reassure you. you take note of his flowing hair and the laid back hairstyle he liked to don when it wasn’t for mass.

“how is university treating you?” you’re stuck on being completely honest and lying with every answer, but father geto has a face that makes it difficult to lie to.

“it’s . . alright, i guess,” you settle on your bed, crossing your legs and hoping he wouldn’t pick up any of your essays. thinking is manifesting, though, and his hands naturally go for the paper with the many red markings on the front page.

“Paradise Lost? by Milton?” ah. that paper. you shoot up from the sheets before he can read it, because frankly your thesis in that paper was weak and wasn’t well supported, but you still believed it deeply. you were just having a little bit of trouble straying from your reverence for God. you only manage to clutch the top of your paper, but geto is adamant on reading it, piqued by genuine curiosity.

“the retelling of Milton’s Paradise Lost humanises the experience of Satan’s (or Lucifer’s) fall from glory . .” he trails off, reading over your evidences and analysis. you feel like you’re being read like an open book, laid out bare for vultures to pick at and for God to enumerate your sins until you felt no shame.

with his head still tilted down, father geto has to look up through his lashes and bangs, seemingly making you cower more and more in your spot as the unsolicited advice for your essay dies down on his tongue. the size of his hands has you hypnotised, and he decides it’s against his own values to give feedback about a text he so childishly brushed off when he was in university, even if he had to read it to complete four years in the seminary. geto places a hand upon yours and the heat is dizzying; you can’t help but think if he was just normal person, instead, holding your hand like this.

it was the way he let you explain yourself a little better through your own words. it was a premature essay, anyway, made to test out your close reading and citation skills. but he found your interpretation of Milton’s poem to be much more insightful than he expected it to be — you think maybe, your understanding of the text grows the more you learn about your body, how you like to be pleasured; you feel like Lucifer.

“i . . don’t necessarily think you are born into evil. it’s multi-faceted and loaded, this question. God our Father would do anything but create evil willingly, it’s just unfortunate that the people that bring up their offspring contribute to the shaping of their identity and outcome.”

“then, how . .” your lips twist as you think of a way to word the question, “how would that justify evil existing? wouldn’t the fact that evil is developed somehow meant that God created evil in some shape or form, in the first place?”

father geto rushes to answer but—

“why did he have to create the serpent that tempted Eve in the first place? couldn’t he have just left them alone in Eden?”

“...there to dwell / In adamantine chains and penal fire / Who durst defy th' Omnipotent to arms.”

you frown, not expecting the other to answer but instead just wallowing in your thoughts. you never thought the talk with father geto would turn into some philosophy lesson, but the more you chatted with him on the bed, the more the conversation seemed to steer that way.

your own faith wavers in the night, a quietness settling over the two of you like a cloak of stars. the mass of each star weighs heavily with your questions up in the air until you faintly hear his answer.

“i don’t . . know, miss (y/n).”

“ah! no no— sorry to dump everything on you, father geto,” you scratch the back of your head, “it was just passing thoughts. i’ve never thought to think of this before.”

it was morbid, it was macabre. it was like looking over and seeing a skeleton in your place instead of flesh and skin and yet each question after question ignites something in him that no one has excited before. he can already feel lust influencing the other six, pumping through his veins at a life void of God, void of religion, a free place to think of the omnipotence of a higher being that no one was sure really existed.

“it’s okay . . it’s natural to ask. it’s natural to inquire. God,” he nods like he was in a trance; the word feels weird on his tongue, “God would want this.”

that night you did anything but sin, clutching the essay between your hands and digging your knees into the floor with elbows on your bed until they ached and you prayed. you wished blessings on your family, you wished blessings on the parishioners, you wished blessings on father geto and you wished eternal damnation on yourself.

there’s a heavy pull on your heart when you go to sleep a few minutes after and the dream you have of your body turning to soot and burning with each feet into flames makes you crave salvation all the more — like all a bad dream, it will be fine as long as you pray, and pray, and pray.

but the flesh desires what the heart denies: the more you ‘hang’ with father geto (by God, he was perfectly okay with that word when you let it slip to your mother. he merely throws up a peace sign in a ‘cool’ way and then immediately cringes, but it makes you laugh), the more you find yourself attracted to his morals, to his ideals, to the natural way in which he exists. he could speak for hours on end, voice sounding like birdsong and a chilling breeze all at the same time.

his voice did wonders in your head, as well, coaxing you into betraying your own code; and you betray it easily. that phantasmic voice leaving you to remove your top and pinching your nipples as soft little moans leave your mouth. the imaginary sway of his crucifix above your face while you harshly abuse your clit and dip a finger into you for the first time. the feeling is so foreign and weird that you shamelessly think of the slight lilt of his voice helping you: “it’ll feel better soon, (y/n). c’mon, finger your pussy for father geto.”

father geto had a natural talent for talking and preaching. that downturn of tone like hitting a dead-end when he holds a point above your head (“but”) and then resolves it into perfect cadence like chords ending a phrase when he proposes a solution (“God will take care of everything”). he does it so much you think he’s rather convincing himself more than he’s convincing you, though.

“perhaps this parable that Jesus uses tells us rather to look within ourselves, to look within the vineyard that is us. the owner have done everything: kept the roots tied so it would not be trampled, making sure they get all the sunlight and water it needs, yet . .” he pauses a little, looking at the almost full parish now that he’s won over the hearts of your town. his eyes flit down to you at the second pew, shooting you a quick smile.

“and yet he yields sour grapes. we pray, we act civil and diplomatic, we are giving, but are you truly doing it for the glory of God? is that maybe why we only get the sour grapes — not satisfied with the ‘thank you’ after doing a favour or silence from God after praying daily?”

geto looks over the last bits of the scribbled sermon, a little more coherent than last week, but still done with thoughts of you. there’s multiple smudges of his words that he has to squint and stutter a bit, caused by the frantic cleaning of his cum upon the paper.

“we all . . naturally expect things back, but to be Christian, to be a follower of Christ, we would have to abandon all thoughts of that.” father geto’s mind wanders to last night as his eyes look for you again. “we would need to be generous, to be kind without needing anything in return.”

father geto integrates into the church easily, shown in how his sermons capture the hearts of many. albeit, they never really take in the true meanings of the preachings he gives, but it’s enough for geto if they nod and mutter amen like fools in mass; whatever they do out of it is out of his hands.

but along the many preachings he does, there is one subject he fears approaching: lust, the one thing that threatens the downfall of his vocation and yet he cannot get enough of it. each walk and meeting with you only heightens his desire, makes his cock throb beneath his robes. each sunday he wishes he could split his soul in half — one as the confessor and one as the confessing — and repent in the confessional box.

“today’s gospel from Mark, chapter 6 talks about lust, briefly.” there’s a shake in his voice, eyes now scrambling over the congregation to find you in a much more revealing top contrasting with the out-of-place cardigan you have on. he’s sure it was mrs (l/n) that had made you put that on before you left the house; the house where he’s memorised the placement of your shoe rack and how your door creaks when it’s opened too quickly. geto is so fucked.

geto clears his throat before continuing, seeing you adjust your body for a moment, “King Herod is tempted by his flesh when he sees one of Herodias’ daughters dancing, so much so that she tempts him to commit murder. a clear beheading, just from giving into her body, and when she asks of him, he delivers like a dog. this calls us to truly think of the desires that we possess. they need not be sexual,” soft whispers emerge, a taboo subject, “they can also be related to money, to power.”

“lust for more things turns into greed when we act on that initial lust,” geto is sweating by now. he pulls lightly on his collar when you press your arms together in retaliation and he has to look away from the way your tits perk up so perfectly.

you had to know what you were doing, surely. partially — you were feeling cold, but you stifle a smile when you realise how geto’s eyes linger a little longer on you, or rather your chest, before he coughs and continues,

“when we are driven so terribly by the feeling that we abandon all morals just to please this person, thing on earth is when we tread into dangerous territory. no earthly possession must make you feel this way,”

the irony settles in his bones after he says it and his dick twitches at the thought of having you under the podium right now, sticking his fat cock down your throat while you struggle to keep the gagging noises to a minimum.

“no matter . .” a gulp, “how rewarding the aftermath must be.”

father geto knows you both are braving the edge of God’s merry kingdom. it is just a matter of who falls first.

“your place is in the kingdom of God, meant to fulfil eternal life with Jesus and the Lord which is what we all should be keeping in mind and working towards, ignoring all the distractions that will soon fade and die off.”

geto coughs again in the mic and breaths shakily, finally tearing his eyes away from you before he concludes the sermon and eases into the Offertory and Eucharist. he buries himself so deep in the procession in order to get you out of his mind, and it’s shown in the haste in which he carries the mass. it feels like he rushes so much that even the day outside follows too, because evening seems to arrive earlier than usual.

the sun sets outside, illuminating the altar. it taunts you like reminding you of the beauty of your faith; it deepens the need developing in your core.

“body of Christ.” you can faintly hear it being repeated over and over at the front, just a few steps away from your turn and you wish you weren’t standing behind your dad’s hulking figure so you could actually prepare yourself for father geto. you’re greeted with his cascading hair tied up into a bun and the cup containing Jesus’ body, gold and shining. you see your stretched reflection before your eyes snap back to the pastor in front and you will your hands not to hail routine.

instead, you stick out your tongue for the father to put the communion on and you take in the little panic of his hands and the choked sentence of body of Christ. his eyes drift down to your pink tongue, to the small twitch it does when he places the host on it and he cannot wait for you to get out of his sight, lest he be overtaken by the sin he particularly preached about just minutes ago.

“any test to study for tonight, darling?” your mother asks after dinner, meaning to ask after seeing you be so fidgety like you needed to be somewhere.

“uh . . no, not exactly, but i do have something i need to do.”

“oh! what is it, sweetie?” she doesn’t read your expressions, you mannerisms, so you were safe from that, but you willed your voice to not break. your body is on fire, you needed to quell your needs, now.

“just— i promised father geto i would meet him later for a confession, since he’s so busy, he could only propose a late timing,” no, you didn’t. either way, you give a reason, explain yourself before she can speculate, works every time.

“oh, okay . .” she trails off, seemingly unaffected, “just don’t get home too late, alright, darling?”

you nod even though she’s too focused on the dishes, pressing a hand to her back in thanks and she carries on, carefree, while you sprint to your room. lock the door, get your phone out.

“ . . ings turns into greed when we act on that initial lust . .” the words recorded just hours ago leave the phone speakers on a low volume, already lighting a flame in your pussy when your hand brushes over the microphone and he stops at the same time, “when we are terribly dri . .”

you sigh loudly when your hand starts to make its way down to your centre, rubbing slightly to the sound of his voice. your clit is just begging to be touched, begging for your inexperienced hands flicking your nub in every which way. impatient, your hands dip into your cunt and your jaw drops open at the intrusion of your fingers, just as your eyes widen and your imagination has never worked as well as it does now.

you can see geto’s amethyst eyes boring into yours, you can see his hips fucking into yours and yet it doesn’t give you the same kick as you think it would — you’re fucking yourself with your fingers even faster, circles on your clit increasing in speed and messiness and you smear your juices all around.

“father— father geto—” it was pathetic, the way you moaned for a man of God, but the feeling of your cunt clenching around what you wished was his dick was too good, the coil in your stomach still feeling rather uncomfortable but welcoming and you’re unravelling with a silent scream soon, back arching off the sheets.

“s . . suguru, f-fuck,” the swear word feels weird on your lips, as with his first name, but the trembling of your virgin body is so delicious that you just keep rubbing and rubbing, taking so long to come down from your high as your pants get heavier and heavier. and then his face starts to fade off, eyes turning into lilac air and you’re glancing towards the crumpled essay on your bed with guilt festering in your chest.

“ . . mptations of the flesh are childish, are temporary. they lead you to do foolish things that have no place in the kingdom of God. we may repent and put it past us but the memories that our tainted bodies possess, they remember the sinful things that you did.” the recording of father geto dies out as with his powerful conclusion, speaking so loudly into the mic that it screeches with feedback, you remember. you don’t even know where the guilt builds up from, in your torso and your heart, despite questioning the faith you were in for all your life.

if God did not want us to sin, why did he create temptations and ask us to pray for forgiveness?

you roll over and remove your fingers with a small whine, taking up your phone and opening up the contact with father geto hesitantly. it was meant to be a strictly professional exchange like the conversations he’d had with many other parishioners: updates on the church, changes in mass timings, but your chat was filled with questions from you and answers from him. you didn’t dare ask him anything out of the faith.

[9:37 pm, delivered]: uhm. father geto? are you there?

oh god, it’s you. the you who on the second walk around the town exchanged numbers with him because he found your thoughts so intriguing.

[9:39 pm, read]: Yes, Miss (Y/N). What is it?

you take a deep breath. better to ask for that confession, you couldn’t risk your mother asking about it tomorrow.

[9:40 pm, delivered]: is it alright to have

[9:41 pm, delivered]: can i come over to the church, for a bit

father geto straights up in the rectory, getting closer to the socket where his phone was charging and hovers over the screen. his hands are clammy when typing a response and he manages it in about three minutes.

[9:44 pm, read]: Of course, my dear. The doors of the church are open for the congregation at any time.

bidding goodbye to your mother, you stay on the lit path to the church and you’re bathing in anticipation, too excited to see father geto that you bump into a dark shadow. almost resembling a hard wall, hands emerge from its sides to clutch at your biceps.

“miss (y/n), what is it? what has gotten you up so late at night?” if he was still in university, he would’ve laughed at how he asked that question. hundreds of texts of u up? that mimic the nature of the question right now.

“i was hoping . .” you ignore the tingly feeling of the way in which his hands leave goosebumps along your biceps and then to your forearms. finally, they clutch your hands between his, meant to be like a warm hug but instead is like fire, licking at your fingers and wrist like you’re at the stake. “i was hoping that i could, request you for a confession?”

the priest across you swallows with a nod, swiftly putting a hand across your back to lead you to the booth. you both could’ve done it perfectly fine in the pews, sitting across each other. “the confessional is where we will feel the strongest compulsion of Christ. come,” he answers your question before you can ask it, “take your place on the kneeler behind the curtains.”

father geto showers in the same sea of anticipation when he makes sure you’re okay before heading over to his side of the confessional. he’s imagined this scene over and over — you on the pew kneeler, breath warming the velvet curtains — he cannot help the bulge that forms.

the first words he speak behind the curtain shock you, voice sounding so close yet so muffled and distant.

“come, now, (y/n), make the Sign of the Cross with me.”

Father, Son and Holy Spirit

upon your head, chest and shoulders you do it, taking a deep breath before you start. “bless me, father, for i have sinned. it has been . . about five years since my last confession.”

geto nods, the soft carry of your voice in the late night having an effect on the priest. the hold he has on the crucifix of the rosary is so tight it makes an indent on his skin, the only thing on mortal flesh to keep him from falling.

“What though the field be lost? All is not lost; the unconquerable will, And study of revenge, immortal hate, And courage never to submit or yield.”

your thighs rub together, hot breath sending chills down your clutched hands and down your arm as you ponder over the things you’ve done — “i’ve . . lied to my mother at times, to my friends when they ask me where i’m from. i have stolen money for my own needs, n-not— that high of an amount but um . . still a fair amount.”

“what did you need to buy, sweetheart?”

the name surprises you, but you simply ignore it. “i wanted new clothes — was all the rave at uni when the girls wore miniskirts and little tops. unfortunately it didn’t suit me.”

geto swears under his breath when the image of you in such skimpy clothing infiltrate his thoughts. his curiosity overtakes him; overwhelmed with emotion, he never had the chance to see what you were wearing before he pulls back the curtains and hopes your eyes are closed and they are: pulled tight with quivering eyebrows. there, like a sinning Christian is you in a thin camisole, cleavage showing beneath your arms. he peers lower, gasps softly to himself when you’re wearing a skirt.

“father? father, what’s wrong?” you think you hear the swift swoosh and the rings of the miniature curtain clatter.

“n—nothing is wrong, miss (y/n). are there any other sins you want to confess?”

you swallow, “i . . i’ve wished misfortune on my father.”

not the sin he was hoping for but he wasn’t surprised; his head moves in understanding. he had seen your father — merely a ghost in the house and hardly contributing to fostering the family. it goes against what Mary and Joseph stands for as the Holy Family, but father geto has seen a lot of absent fathers and incompetency to truly be taken aback anymore.

“i’ve also . . i’m not sure whether to tell you this, father geto.”

your breaths were all you could hear in the silence of the church, an eerie quietness settling as if the critters and animals of the earth strived to listen to your ultimate sin, too. Beelzebub, Asmodeus, possibly even Lucifer himself clawed themselves up from hell to eavesdrop.

“of course you can, my dear.” the wind through the wooden confessional box sounds like the hisses of the three demons, like they have had holy water sprayed on them from the mere sounding of his voice; but they look hopefully for a server of Christ to fall exactly like they did.

“it’s, related to my body, father. i,” gulping, you continue with a prompt from the other, “i’ve had this growing need, like, one has when they’re hungry. they have the need to fill their stomachs. or— or a sudden pain you have to massage yourself through, like a cramp in the arm of sorts.”

“well . . is it your torso or your arm?”

“it’s . .” you spare a glance towards your centre under your very, very short skirt, the familiar pulsing of your clit turning more and more prominent. “it’s related to my pussy, father.”

you hear a choke from the other side, and then you realise your choice of words.

“ah— m-my bad! i meant my . . vagina, father geto.”

“no— no u-uhm, the previous term was fine. could you describe what you did? how far did you go so i c-can . . give you the appropriate penance?”

behind the curtains, geto have already started palming his bulge, massaging the ache in his length that still continues to grow and harden. the way you describe is so terribly innocent and unknowing, a deepening urge to corrupt you running through his veins.

“i played with um— my breasts, first. i pulled up my top and felt around my nipples, but i got impatient and . .” geto hangs on to every word of yours, shifting to get his robes out of the way. it was just like the first night: his underwear stained with so much pre-cum it’s probably changed the colour of the garment. he peels it away and the lack of restraint leaves him sighing softly while you ramble on—

“i tried playing with that . . thing between my legs.” you recall the quick google search from that first night, “i played with my clit, father.”

geto stifles a groan into his hand just as he starts to stroke himself softly. “y . . yeah, and?”

“i tried to um . . fit my finger in. it was uncomfortable, at first,” you cannot ignore the pull of your core; your hand shimmies past the clasped hands and down to your skirt. you have no panties to swipe to the side: you came here without any. your finger rubs gently at the throbbing bundle of nerves, a soft whine leaving your lips before you remember you’re in the midst of a confession.

“but i . . i got it into my pussy soon enough. and then i put in another finger.” there was a more audible grunt from the other side, the confessional weirdly heating up immensely as you follow your confession: two fingers easily glide in from just how wet you were.

“when?” there’s a strain in father geto’s voice when he asks it, maybe because he was trying so hard to keep quiet. his jaw is locked as he pumps his cock slowly because his tip is leaking so much that even a simple movement would give him away.

“w-wha—?”

“w-when did you first start . . touching your pussy, (y/n)?” hearing a priest say such a lewd word makes you clench around your fingers.

“after you came to deliver t-that chocolate cake . . father geto.”

“f-fuck—” geto squeezes his eyes shut and it’s like he’s a university student again losing his virginity for the first time by the hands of some random chick pumping him. the implied confession has him stroking faster; it was after that trip he made to your house, it was after seeing you stand at the door like a good little girl, it was because of him, right? right?

you snap back the curtains and your mouth waters at the scene: father geto hunching over the little window that separates the two of you and his head hung low; his cassock gathers around his hips and his cock— good Lord, his cock was so big, clutched tightly between his left hand. his tip was weeping, an angry red as it continued to push out globs of pre.

“f-father!” geto doesn’t seem to care, giving you a drunk and nonchalant glance as he continues to stroke his shaft. he knows it’s wrong, doing this in the house of the Lord but it feels so fucking good. “y-you—”

you’re at a loss for words, pointing to his exposed bottom, but even though you’re speaking out against him, you can’t help but follow his hand as it moves up and down like a spell. his eyes are simply pleading, hips bucking up and you would think he was a parishioner instead. shaking in the presence of God, in the presence of you—

you stick your hand past the squeezy window, drawing his interest and before you know it you’re blindly bumping into his erection. there, he silently grabs your hand, guiding it to his shaft. he uncomfortably leans down to look at your face, eyebrows still furrowed but your tongue stuck out and his dick twitches in your hand.

“s-shit, baby . .” geto swears under his breath, and again when you pull on his dick to the window. uncomfortably his body lightly slams against the partition, a soft thud coming from the booth as his head collides with the wood, “(y/n) . .”

he can’t see you, but he can hear you. “may i, father geto?”

you don’t wait for his answer, gauging mainly from the heavy breaths coming from above you. they really do need to change the confessional, too, because you can clearly hear every word he mumbles out from the holes in the partition.

“shiiit—” when you kitten lick his tip, collection the pre-cum that continues to leave his tip, and it feels better than his Rite of Ordination and when he finally got to host his first mass. it’s better than that prophetic dream he has of God calling him to serve Him and the churches in the city with church-goers of boring faces and predictable stories.

here was a rural place, a place where he never expected such a pretty girl to practice the Christian faith, only to falter in the presence of a pastor. he’s gotten such a cute little slut to corrupt. you start to bob your head slowly, unsure of what to do apart from putting his cock on your mouth. your teeth grazes his skin a little and he hisses.

“no teeth. suck in your cheeks,” he cannot see you but he wishes he can, and he knows you listen to his advice when he feels only the smooth glide of your mouth and he wishes it was your pussy that you fingered.

“going deeper, darling,” geto grunts when he pushes his cock past your mouth and into your throat, the sweet gag you do making him dig his forehead deeper into the uneven wooden partition. he can hear your struggling sounds, the muffled moans with his cock down your cavern. but he cannot go any longer without seeing you and reluctantly he pushes you off, still holding your hand and you seem to catch his drift soon enough.

you’re as eager as him, bouncing off the kneeler and leaving your side of the booth, and you’re opening the door to his. the reality of the situation fully sinks in, geto standing there with his cock dripping with your saliva and your camisole pulled down under your tits.

“oh . . baby,” geto coaxes you into him, under a little spell of his when you trail in a light as a feather. you don’t resist his hands pushing you down to your knees, and just like earlier, you’re sticking your tongue out and the priest looks at you from under hooded lids.

“did you touch yourself to me, little girl?” it comes out stronger than intended but you seem to like it, even when your answers are cut off by him slapping his tip on your tongue. it’s so heavy, his cock, and thick too that you can help but suckle on it when you get the opportunity.

“ever since that day, father geto.” you look drunk, swirling your tongue around the tip and continuing to talk, “i . . i imagine you above me and sometimes i dangle my crucifix thinkin’ it’s yours.”

a small laugh escapes the priest. “did you now?” it’s reminiscent of the time where you praise his sermon. his laugh is cut off as you continue to suck him off, hands still confused. he helps you by bringing your hands to the places you can’t reach and you follow like second nature. “dirty fucking slut, aren’t you?”

“i promise i didn’t know anything before this . . father.” you look up at him through your lashes, big doe eyes proving every last bit of your innocence. aht, partially. you did watch a video of this chick blowing her boyfriend, cumming with your own fingers in your throat, wishing it was geto’s cock in your mouth instead.

but having a real cock in your mouth? it was divine, better than the body of Christ in melting on your tongue. your ministrations speed up, the obscene noises of you gurgling reverberating in the wooden box late at night. it would be even worse at the altar where it would echo everywhere.

“y—yeah, baby, that’s it, that’s it . .” his eyes are shut tight, intoxicated on the way your warm mouth feels. you whine into his shaft, tears forming at the corners of your eyes from how deep he was in you.

“mmf— mmph!” your moans sends vibrations up his body, interrupted when geto thrusts his hips into your mouth suddenly and your nose meets with his pubes, eyes rolling back from the muskiness of his body. it smells like incense and sweat, filling your senses as he keeps you right up to his hilt.

“ohh . . fuckfuck fuucck—!” the father pulls you off to let you breathe, pleasantly surprised when you start pumping him violently, tongue stuck out again. there’s a hint of light from the outside that highlights the pinkness of your tongue and he’s never wanted to cum this badly before.

“i’m cumming— baby, baby, i’m g’nna c-cum—” there’s a long, drawn out whine from father geto upon feeling the warmth of your hands stroking his cock so obediently, resting his tip on your tongue where you’d willingly drink his cum like wine. geto shoots his load into your mouth and is the loudest he’s ever been; he doesn’t care who hears him, he doesn’t care if he gets transferred out tomorrow, all he wants to think about is you on your knees and your nipples hardened from confessing to him. he’d like to bet that your pussy was drooling too, hips bucking into the soft skin of your hands.

some of his cum gets onto your face and on your lips, and geto almost cums again when you use his tip to smear his seed around your face, sucking lightly on his tip.

“dirty girl . .” he pulls on your biceps to bring you up, and your lips meet instantaneously like you were meant to be separated for eternity, doomed only to meet for one day a year. it’s messy and sloppy, drool drips from your sides of your mouths as your lips merge together.

“was that your first kiss, baby?” father geto can tell by how you don‘t know how to follow his lead, teeth clashing and breathing uneven.

“am i that obvious?” you frown, feeling self-conscious, but geto is quick to reassure you.

“father geto’s going to teach you everything you need to know, alright?” he brings you in with a finger to your chin, hovers over your lips like a tease.

he teaches you everything you want to know and more, like how the front of the church looks like and how cold the marble of the altar feels against your back as he eats you out and the sensations are all too much for you. he teaches you that using God’s name in vain is alright when it comes to moaning out how good he makes you feel and how your penance is whatever he makes it out to be he teaches you how you can take not one, not two, but three fingers up your pussy.

they’re so much thicker than your own, one hand pushing on your shaking thighs to keep them open while his three fingers move in and out of you. you’re leaking so much, your virgin cunt dripping like holy water down the white marble and onto the matching marble floor.

he teaches you his first name and he makes sure you say it.

“su—suguru . . god, r-right there—” he latches his mouth onto your clit, suckling and flicking his tongue impatiently because he just wants to see you cum. your legs stretch out to knock over a candelabra and the clatter of the metal against the ground is enough to wake up a whole village but you. don’t. care.

your hips grind onto his tongue, feeling the borderline painful stretch of his thick fingers in you but they reach all the right spots that you can’t find it in you to care.

“you taste so good—” geto spits onto your cunt and goes back to sucking on your clit, “pussy’s so fuckin’ sweet, holy fuck.” your noises come out of you non-stop as you bury your hands in his hair, finally knowing what you sound like in an unrestrictive space under the apse.

father geto teaches you how to take a cock up your cute, tight pussy, not bothering for a condom when basically all of your clothes have been discarded throughout the night. it’s almost midnight and your mother have fallen asleep on the couch, unaware her sweet, sweet daughter is losing her virginity in the place she was baptised, where she got her first communion.

the first push into your drenched cunt is painful, mushroom tip stretching you out slightly as you clutch tightly onto his forearm, brows knitted together at the girth of his cock.

“been wanting . . to fuck this pussy so bad, baby,” geto grunts it out, obsessed with how his length slowly disappears into you. he can feel each ridge of your gummy walls, hugging him so snugly that there’s several moans that leave his lips, “have you been— thinking ’bout this as much as i h-have?”

your jaw stretches beyond your limit when he eases himself inch by inch into you, thanking the hells below that your vision was finally coming true. above you there’s that same crucifix, sterling silver with amethyst stones embedded into the design, you remember, catching the light of the lone spotlight above the both of you. there’s a similar glint in father geto’s purple eyes.

“all the time, father—” you moan out, pulling him by his necklace to your lips that are more experienced now, each minute that passes is one more atom of your body turning black from the fire that licks at you from below the altar. you kiss the lips of your parish priest, whimpering slightly when his hips buck and you feel the stretch more clearly now.

“is this what Isaac felt when Abraham tried to bind him for a sacrifice on Moriah? helpless, confused, betrayed?”

geto lets out a hum, sucking hickeys into your neck and you think it’s a million times better than questioning a God that never showed himself, who never really had the intentions of the people in mind, who created sin to watch the downfall of men while he enjoys his time in his kingdom.

if this was what was meant by losing yourself to your devils, you would gladly shake hands with Lucifer and hope the warmth of the fire in hell would be a hug warmer than any hug you’ve received by people of the Christian faith.

“well, baby, do you feel helpless?” thrust “confused,” thrust “and betrayed?” thrust

he punctures each word with a snap of his hips and the pain gives way to pleasure and soon he’s already lost in the comfort of your pussy, hips starting a pace easily that emphasises just how wet you are. the echoes of your weeping cunt and the lewd slapping of his balls into your ass is like the bell ringing during mass, loud, resonating, it shakes your whole body.

“mmfuck . . helpless, m-maybe,” you whine out, legs wrapping around his back, “confused, n-not— suguruuu, yesyesyes!”

you try again, “n-not really. betrayed . .”

you feel like a sacrifice, but it was willing, of a confession that has led to this lewd showing of just how much the temptations of the flesh were insanely undeniable. there’s a murmur of i don’t think i can last much longer into your ear, cock driving into your tight pussy so harshly you’re hoping the small altar doesn’t move.

“b-betrayed, i think—” you squeal when father geto angles his hips up and it kisses your cervix just nicely, sending multiple chills down your body. your moans penetrate the holy air, hair splayed out like a painting and geto knows this is better than any Eucharist he’s ever tasted.

you clench around his fat cock, and he twitches, switching to short, pathetic thrusts into your pussy and he cries out your name as he cums deep in you, giving you all of his seed deep in your womb. your breath catches in your throat at the feeling of your first load, the warmth already hooking you in and you pull so hard on his hair he has no choice but to follow your hand.

you let him handle you deep into the night, taking you off the altar and pushing you up against it, entering you again and you brace yourself against the marble.

“s-sorry, sweetheart, you were saying?” he also wants to apologise that he hadn’t made you cum just yet, but your pussy’s so fucking heavenly he just has to be in you again.

“i-i feel a little betrayed,“ you sag over the altar, back arching into his hold. father geto is fixated on the movement of your ass fucking back onto him, “that a priest would break his m-marriage to God for me.”

“i thought they were supposed to be men of God,” you barely manage to form sentences. geto’s laugh at that startles you, as with the hand grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling. payback. you love it, however, a sweet Christian girl turned into a slut, and the last bits of the thread unravels when father geto reaches around to rub your clit.

“’m gonna— cum, suguru—” you whine out, body turning to mush with how hard he rams into your pussy. by now there’s a ring of white around the base of his cock, your juices slowly starting to coat it, too and Lucifer succeeds at sin yet again.

you cannot blame Eve when the serpent is as beautiful and cunning as geto suguru, nor can you blame her when his thick cock just reaches so deep into you, tip kissing your sweet spots and his hand impatiently drawing messy circles on your bundle of nerves.

“that just makes it the best though, right?” geto breathlessly says, “a holy man fucking a virgin raw in a holy place where prayers are said.” your legs are spreading further and further, his sweaty body engulfs yours, you’re dizzy, “you’re too tempting, sweet girl. tempting enough for me to want to abandon priesthood just so i can be buried in this pussy for fucking eternity.”

and you cum, head and heart going a hundred miles per hour as your body trembles in his hold. “there we go, little slut, thereee we go . .” you can feel the chill of the sterling silver into your back and his smile before he orgasms a second time into your waiting pussy, a second, heavy load let go into your pussy. it’s so warm and filling, and you already want more, more, more.

lust for more things turns into greed when we act on that initial lust.

“aw,” father geto coos at your fucked out face, flipping you around to give you a sloppy kiss and forcing himself to his knees just to watch his cum drip out of you, “does she want more?”

“always, father.” you answer with a drunken smile, putting a leg on his shoulder. again, your finger hooks around his crucifix, and you drag the priest down deeper into hell, somewhere father geto would‘ve always ended up.

somewhere where he would renounce his priesthood and worship something, and someone: you.

“Better to reign in Hell, then serve in Heav'n.”

a/n: LOOOONG MAN WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS. also i put the author’s note at the bottom this time bc i wanted to format of the fic to look the best without my goofy words ruining it! hope you guys liked it :) / tagging @crysugu @omgeto @kazushawty @suguruplsr @hydrovillette @slttygeto @hyomagiri @jabamin

part two ✶

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appleblueberry-pie · 7 months ago

Note

How would Yandere Suguru react if he discovered that y/n was obsessed with him but to avoid him getting suspicious y/n pretended to be obsessed with someone else?

He fucking hates when you talk about that stupid monkey. He haaates when you bring him up. He hates when you smile when he's brought up. He hates when he crosses his account because you're following him on every single website that Suguru follows you on. He fucking hates that stupid thing because he's taking all of the time and energy he deserves from you. HE deserves you. He deserves your time, your energy, your breath, your tongue fixated on his name, he deserves it. He worships you. That no-life doesn't even know you, so how the fuck is it possible he gets to have you??

Endless questions that are never answered just gets shoved down his throat into his aching stomach once more as you ramble to him as he settles down on your bed.

You're flipping through channels and decide on one that you like. And as the TV gets it ready, you slip away to the bathroom for a little bit. And, as usual, Suguru tries to find anything you could possibly be hiding. His hand discretely goes through your nightstand drawer. He comes across a locked box. Funny. Wasn't here last time he checked this.

Good thing he has a thing for picking locks, right?

He gets it open, and there is a notebook. Heavy and thick with stuff taped inside of there, lots and lots and looooots of writing. All about him.

............All about him. Suguru Geto. Every single entry is titled with his name and the entry number. There's at least 30 in there. But you have so much to say about him, he can't stress that enough, that you finished the thing!

His head feels light as he realizes you've been lying about the dude you said you liked. You were covering up for your obsession over him....!

You come back and see him with it in his hands and you both make eye contact. He watches your face drop and you gasp, your body flinching as you see your most private and personal possession in his hands. You poured your heart into that fucking notebook, every page contained how you felt about the man on your bed reading it, from when your obsession first started to now. You only finished it last week. And here he was reading it.

You were scared. Suguru placed it on the bed when he saw your face, as if you were about to die for committing the biggest sin in the damn scripture of man, getting up to approach you. You shook your head and took steps back when he took steps foward.

All he wanted was to assure you, but you couldn't hear a damn thing he was saying, your ears ringing, pressure building in them as your heart raced. This was your biggest fear.

"Wait, Y/n, please-" Your eyes glossed over as you left your bedroom. He followed close behind and when he grabbed your arm, you just dropped to the floor. He was quick to follow, holding you in his arms. You sobbed your heart out, clutching him like he'd disappear in thin air and his heart breaks. Couldn't you tell he loved you just as much as you did with him?

"Please don't hate me!" You struggled to slip those words out in between sobs and choked up cries.

Suguru tries to ignore the glee he feels in his heart when you really confirm his suspicions. You were really crying for him. Over him! You really wanted him to stay with you. To love you. He wiped your delicious salt tears off of your face, embracing your beauty even when your face was puffy from the crying.

"I don't hate you, baby, I don't. I love that you love me. I love that you want me. Cause I want you, too, okay? I love you, Y/n. I do."

"......are you lying to me?"

"I would never lie to you. You're the last person I'd lie to."

#yandere #jjk #reader #yandere x reader #yandere x you #jujutsu kaisen #yandere character #jujutsu kaisen x reader #yandere jjk #suguru geto #geto #jjk geto #jujutsu kaisen geto #yandere suguru #yandere jjk geto #yandere suguru geto #yandere geto suguru #yandere geto x reader

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drama-glob · 1 month ago

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Since I've been seeing some criticism about Ozzie not speaking up first or more during the trial to help Blitz and his team, there are a few things I'd like to point out.

For one:

Ozzie didn't seem to know that Blitz/I.M.P. were going to be on trial or else I'm sure he would have warned Fizz because that is a jarring thing for your boyfriend to see on live TV, and given the level of communication and love that these two have, it seems highly unlikely and thus means Ozzie was shocked to see them too and given very little time to prepare. :/ Speaking of time, I clocked it from when Blitz enters to court to when Satan gives his sentencing, and it's ~4min 47seconds, which includes listing the charges, Andrealphus and Vassago squaring off, Striker's part, the Sins squabbling, and Satan's outburst, so a lot of things happening in a small time frame, all while Ozzie needs to think of a way to say something in Blitz's defense without implicating himself since he more or less knew they were doing something illegal based on what Stolas said. (What's unfortunate too is that Ozzie's text messages even say that these trials don't usually last long, so the roughly 5min one for Blitz/I.M.P. could have been a long one O_O).

Also, Blitz technically already admitted that he was given the book, which is still as crime and probably would have ended the trial right there had Andrealphus not kept saying he was lying so he could lay on the accusations. -_-

Something else to consider:

Ozzie seems to have a tell whenever it involves scheming or something he's nervous about where his voice gets a higher pitch at one point or another, so being grilled on the stand is likely to bring that out. :/ Who would think that the Deadly Sin who is big on honesty and communication isn't the best liar? -_-

The only reason why he probably could get away with the "Fizz is just my business partner" lie is because he's had to tell it for ~10yrs, and even then they were still called the worst-kept secret in all of Hell. I mean, do I need to remind you of this?

(It's a good thing Fizz said something because Ozzie was like a deer in headlights right there XD ).

Plus:

Ozzie has three heads, so while he may be able to put on a poker face for his main one, he can't seem to hide how his Ram and Bull express themselves (as indicated by the first picture), which only makes it that much harder to not implicate himself or deny that Blitz and Stolas weren't doing something illegal.

Going back to the first picture, I love how his Ram and Bull heads have big eyes in surprise (it seems) because he's like "What? You know Blitz too?! Oh, thank Lucifer! You can vouch for him too and reduce the chance of questions coming at me/be my backup." I also love Bee's appreciative look too that her bestie Ozzie has her back and listened to her suggestion. ^_^

The last thing I want to say is that I saw some people thinking that Satan would have taken it easy on Ozzie because he's a royal, and while he may not kill him, you know who isn't a royal? Fizz, and Satan made it abundantly clear he thinks imp lives (and other lower class demons') have no value but to serve, so killing him or even punishing Ozzie's people doesn't seem like a ridiculous thing to believe Satan would do because he has definitely extended his reach beyond Wrath in Lucifer's absence. :/

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helluvathings · 2 months ago

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Satan and the Nature of the Deadly Sins

First note: Viv has confirmed that Satan is lying.

But I do have thoughts on where the lie here is, and what's being said or implied about the Sins. Because even accounting for the falsehood, I actually think this does strongly hint that the Sins aren't angels, and have been part of Hell from the start: presumably created when Eve ate the apple and humans gained free will, leading to sin, implicitly leading to "the Sins."

Note, Satan talks about an endless dark, "long before" Lucifer fell. He's making himself out to be a primordial entity that preexisted Lucifer and Hell's current system by a substantial margin. As if way, way back when, Satan was "in charge." If the Hazbin creation story is accurate, Hell existed without Lucifer for the duration of time it took him to be banished. We don't know how long this was, but presumably it wasn't that much time.

We also have Ozzie saying he knew Mammon "from the start of Hell." I've seen people theorize that this can fit the fallen angel theory, and he's referring to how they all met when Lucifer rebelled, but there's been so little indication that there was a big rebellion in heaven previously—as opposed to Lucifer getting kicked out for the sole act of the apple/trying to institute change as an individual—that there doesn't seem to be much evidence for additional angels having been punished. (In Hazbin, Sera warns Emily she might end up like Lucifer, citing him as an individual). It'd also be an awkward way to phrase it (something like "from before our Fall" would work better in that case). Ozzie's words in 2x07 imply, I'd argue, a common origin point, and that he and Mammon began at the same time in the same place. Which fits the Hazbin story (Eve -> apple -> free will -> sin/Hell -> Sins). It even matches with Bee saying Satan is like a brother. Common origin, but not technically related.

In which case, there possibly was endless darkness like Satan mentioned. But also, likely not much to rule, or much time for Satan to do so before Lucifer fell, when Lilith took over and structured Hell into what it is today. Given there would've been confusion and a lack of order, it likely would've been chaotic and undeveloped (Lilith being the as-of-now-canonical reason things shaped up). Satan, implied as the strongest, maybe would've scrounged up a semblance of power, but a) not for long, and b) not over anything substantial. Hence, this look from Ozzie and Bee:

But what really stands out to me is the way Satan refers to Lucifer, and the way Lucifer is separated out from the other Sins on the whole. Calling him "the golden angel" and referring to "his fall" as a distinct event separate from Satan himself does make it seem like Lucifer was something foreign that came crashing in. Note how Lucifer still looks like his angelic self. Notably, the very distinctive angel's wings none of the other Sins possess. Being a fallen angel is a massive part of his character, his motivations, his actions and beliefs. It dyes every part of who he is. On the door to the courtroom, Lucifer's angelic wings and nature are dominant in his symbol's design, and he's placed above the other Sins, whose designs revolve around their sin, or prominent physical features.

It could be argued that the others got over the Fall better, or were different classes of angels (so look different after being punished). But it's a factor that's so absent from their backstory or characterization that it'd almost undermine Lucifer's struggle to have something that colors his whole existence be totally irrelevant to the other fallen angels. I get the impression more so that Lucifer's angelic nature actually stands out, and might be one reason he feels so isolated, especially after his divorce. If he had six people who'd gone through the same trauma, he'd have something. If he's instead forced to brush elbows with and work alongside six demons that symbolize his ultimate failure, and who resulted directly from his actions with the apple, that's more complicated. Again, Satan calling him "the golden angel" makes it see like he's separating angels as something other. And "the angel's fall" is another separation. Satan lying about that part doesn't serve much purpose; if anything, if he was a fallen angel too, he could assert himself as the one who stepped up while Lucifer crashed and burned.

Instead, Satan attempts to distinguish himself from Lucifer in this entirely different way, by framing himself as something far, far more deeply rooted in Hell, older and better. It's not just an 'I'm the strongest' bluff, but there's an attempt to establish himself as the one who's always been here. And I'm thinking, when Viv says Lucifer has always been "first," she means in terms of hierarchy. Where it leaves room for the Sins to have been created as part of Hell, but Satan's lie comes from asserting the "a long time" and that he'd ever been in charge. It feels more natural to assume that Satan is doubling down and exaggerating his past authority, but not lying about his origin.

Final note: it is canon that Lucifer inadvertently created Hell, and was thrown into the pit he created. Also, confirmed that Ozzie has known Mammon since the "start of Hell." While there's a chance Ozzie is using hyperbole: it's framed like Hell was, in some form, around at least a short time before Lucifer showed up. And that Ozzie and Mammon were present. Unless there are wordplay shenanigans involved, discounting Satan's words to the extent it butts against that established timeline is probably throwing the baby out with the bathwater.

Summing it up: I've seen a few reactions to Viv's post about Satan implying that it doesn't make sense with previous lore or that things aren't adding up, but I think that view overestimates how much of what Satan is saying is actually false. He's bullshitting being a primordial god-like power for sure, which fits Ozzie and Bee rolling their eyes. I think if he was lying about the whole creation story altogether, they'd have been less 'shut up, wtf,' and more visibly confused. Of course future episodes could disprove all of this, but my impression is that the way Satan referred to Lucifer and his presence in Hell actually solidifies that he (and the others) aren't fallen angels, and his "for a long time before" thing being untrue is actually a mark in favor of the Hazbin creation story being at least mostly canonical (since it wasn't a long time; he probably had like two weeks to try flexing), as opposed to proof against it.

Also maybe sets up Satan having a quiet rivalry with Lucifer or at least pushing his authority? I think it might be very relevant that Satan goes the route of I've always been here when he's trying to set himself above and apart, and that he points out Lucifer falling in as an outsider. That might just be speculation, but that framing feels intentional.

#helluva boss #satan Helluva boss #Helluva Satan #helluva boss spoilers #mastermind #Mastermind Helluva Boss #Deadly Sins Helluva Boss #lucifer morningstar #helluva boss meta

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nepentheansea · 10 months ago

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Morning Wood

Masterlist .Harry Potter Universe Masterlist.

premise: your boyfriend is always waking you up with a little treat, now it's your turn to wake him up.

pairing: Theodore Nott x Fem!Reader

warnings: handjob mostly, theo moaning...not proofread, and idk what else..

wc: 1.5k

a/n: This is just a drabble, but I was missing theo...

Theo is a little spoon, and I'm not sorry, if you want a big spoon, you know where to find one, but Theo is a little spoon man, however, he does enjoy being the big spoon from time to time. Mans just loves holding you in any fashion, so you know, whatever. But lazy mornings with Theo being the little spoon always allow for fuckery of the highest degree. I am a firm believer that Theo is someone who would rather have his cock buried inside of you, than anything else. Don't get him wrong, he loves oral, loves hand jobs, but nothing beats being inside of you, and you know that, so sometimes you torture him with the fact that you can get him off, and not the other way around.

Waking up, raging boner, naturally he wants to fuck you, why would he not, but alas, you are holding onto him, your arm wrapped tightly around his torso, your head comfortably buried in his back. He doesn’t want to move, because it's heaven, but at the same time, he wants to turn around, wake you up with kisses littered all over your skin, perhaps tease you by pressing his cock into the thin fabric of your panites, his hands cupping your perfect breasts as his fingers toy with your nipples, his mouth eagerly exploring your delicate skin. but he doesn't, he refrains, not wanting to wake you. Little does he know, you are already awake, have been for a while, just enjoying the feeling of him being wrapped in your arms. Greedily taking in the scent of him, the fresh musky smell that will linger on the sheets for days, not that you mind it in the slightest, in fact you loved it.

You knew what was happening to him, it was killing him, noting the way he was starting to get slightly restless, fighting the urge to turn around to face you, but you decided to basically tell him that you were awake without having to say anything. Slowly and surely sliding your hand down his toned abdomen, fingers tracing over his v-line listening to the soft shutter of his breathing, thumb looping under the band of his boxers and you hear his breath hitch, as your cold hands make contact with his skin.

“Love?” he hisses, with the smallest gasp, and you can’t help but smile and bury your face in his back. Kissing along his spin, as your fingers begin to trace his cock gently. His body had gone tense for a few brief moments, before he eased into your calming touch. Noting the way he moves ever so slightly when you touch certain spots. You could tell he wanted to turn around, to see you, touch you even, but you weren’t going to let him, not in the slightest.

“Good morning, handsome.” you mutter to him, kissing his shoulder, brushing the beads of precum over the tip of him, before taking his cock into your hand, as you slowly but surely worked him up and down, at the slowest pace that you could manage. His muscles were flexing under you. You could feel his back flexing just below your breasts, and you would be lying to say that you didn’t feel a wave of heat rush between your thighs, especially with the way his breath quickly grew uneasy.

“Fu-fuck! Good morning-” he couldn’t even finish the sentence, you were quickly clouding all reason, and ability to speak coherently. It made you smile, seeing the way you could so easily affect him, feeling the way his body reacted to your touch, the way his muscles contracted, his chest heaved, you could even feel the racing of his heart, as your grip tightened around him. You couldn’t lie, you would love to let him turn around, strip you bare, kissing every inch of your perfect body, letting his tongue taste every sinful inch of you. To let him bottom out inside of you, feeling his cock hit that sweet spot deep inside your needy cunt that he knew would make you sing, but you were enjoying the power and control that you had over the situation, over him.

The sweetest groan escapes him, as your hand slows, you were toying with him, with his pleasure. Theo tries to turn around, to face you, but you don’t let him.

“Love, let -fuck- let me…I need you ..” he mutters into his bicep, his eyes clenched shut as he begins to thrust against you hand with abandon. He could feel the sweet beginnings of his release building up inside of him with each stroke you gave him, and by merlin did it feel good.

“Theo, let me play with you…..” You smirk, knowing that it was killing him not to be buried deep inside you. He lets out a shattered and broken moan, at your words, his hips stuttering into your grasp. He couldn’t tell you no, couldn’t stop the wonderful assault that your hand had on him. All he could do was give in, breathing heavily into the crook of his shoulder, whispering profanities, so lowly that you couldn’t hear them fully. Your pace was languid, pushing yourself up against him harder, your free hand running through his hair comfortingly, while you whispered praises into his ear. “So good for me, Theo…such a good boy..” “Does this feel good?” If you wanted to kill him, that would be a sure way, there was no question there. He was on fire, his whole body. He needed more, he needed you.

He turns around, this time you let him, falling flat on his back, His eyes shoot up to look up at yours, his ocean blue eyes, lidded and affectionate, the perfect representation to what he was feeling. Horny and loving all at the same time.

“Please, love,” he mutters. His hand moves down to meet yours, perfectly wrapped around his cock. Brushing his thumb over the tip, collecting some of the precum that was still leaking out of him, moaning softly at the contact. His eyes were still glued to yours, as he wrapped his hand around your small one, helping you to work his shaft at a quicker pace. Leaning down over him, you suck, lick and bite at his neck, littering it in all sorts of marks, letting his hand guide your own. You could feel the cold contrast of his wedding band against your hand, a permanent reminder that he was yours and it made your heart flutter. God you loved him.

As you press your lips to his, in a hungry and desperate kiss, you feel his hips stutter, before you feel it dripping down your hand. He can’t help but bite down on your lip, moaning the soft lullaby that was your name as thick ropes of his warm cum trickled down your own hand and his. His chest was heaving, his hurried breath fanning across your face in his attempts to slow it. “You’ll be the death of me, woman..” he groans, as your hand continues to work him, letting him ride out his high, for as long as his body could take. He couldn’t cease the flow of praises and sweet words that were leaving him, not like he wanted to in the first place. “You know I love you, right? Always?” He always got soft when he was in his post orgasmic bliss, every word soft spoken on his tongue, every longing glance filled with such adoration. It was one of your favourite things. “I love you..” you say softly, the sweetest most innocent smile on your lips, finally stopping your flow, when you feel his hand squeeze yours in a sense of warning.

It was in an instant that he had you now on your back, hands pinned beside your head, his lean frame hovering over yours, and the gold chain that he often wore dangling in your face. “Say it again.” He didn’t know what it was about hearing you tell him that you loved him, but it was addicting. It was his own personal drug. Perhaps it was the way you said it, Angelic voice, plus lips, or perhaps it was the meaning behind it, the one that he craved so desperately, it was a sense of promise, and comfort. With just three little words he knew that no matter what you were his, and that was all he wanted. “Please..” he prods, and all you could do was repeat it, letting the promise fall from your lips as he planted a kiss on your sensitive skin after each one. Down your jaw and neck, over the valley of your breasts, sweet pecks, and quick flicks of his tongue over your nipples, before continuing his descent down your body, listening to your soft 'I love you's. Fingers looping over the band of your sheer panties, before tugging them gently down your thighs and discarded to the floor before settling himself between your spread legs. His eyes look up to meet yours; the hunger in them is ever present as he licks his lips. Staring down at your dripping cunt, needy and ready for him. “Now it’s my turn.”

#theodore nott smut #theodore nott #theo nott #theo nott smut #harry potter #slytherin boys #draco malfoy #enzo berkshire #theo smut drabble #theo nott x reader smut #theo nott x you #theodore nott x reader #theo nott x reader #theo nott x y/n

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4only1 · 3 months ago

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Thnks Fr Th Mmrs

Yamazaki Shingen x Reader *Requested* Word Count: 717 Warning: You die Masterlist

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Shingen Yamazaki didn’t understand why a meeting was called. He was in a catatonic state ever since he lost against Gapryong Kim, he didn’t care much for what this meeting entailed. That was, until you walked out, bare-footed and dressed in a simple white kimono. Your hair was down and hands clasped in front of each other.

You had always been his favourite, and although he never said it outloud, his actions made it obvious. He called for you the most compared to the other mistresses, and you were the only one allowed to walk by his side, hold onto his arm, and keep your head high when others had to bow.

He hadn’t seen you since before he lost to Gapryong, too depressed to even call for you, his favourite. His mind was wondering what you would be doing at a meeting, it would have been normal if he called for you to sit on his lap and show you off, but that wasn’t the case this time.

You kneeled to the ground, bowing at all the members in front of you. You didn’t have to, he told you to only bow when he asked and he didn’t, so why were you disobeying him? His eyes lingered on your face, were there tear stains on your cheeks? His eyes moved towards your plush lips as you spoke, he loved those lips, but right now, he hated the words coming out of them.

“I, (Y/N) (L/N), have sinned. My actions have been one of a temptress, and I have distracted the great leader, causing him to be defeated.” Your forehead moved to touch the floor, eyes shut tightly, praying in your head that it would be quick. You heard footsteps approach behind you, your executioner.

Shingen didn’t understand your words. You never sinned, you never distracted him, you are lying. Who told you to bow? Who told you to lie in front of him? Were you trying to get a rise out of him? If he wasn’t so lethargic right now, it might have worked. He would have stood up and moved towards you, grabbing you harshly and dragging you out to punish you. He wouldn’t have cared if your feet became scraped, or he pulled out strands of hair as he dragged you away, he just needed the absurd lies to stop.

However, the lies continued to pour from your mouth.

“Please great leader, Shingen Yamazaki” You never called him that. “Please forgive me for tempting you with my body and allowing you to end up like this." You didn't do this to him. "I was never worthy of the affection you gave me. I wasted your precious time and wilted away your liveliness. For those sins I shall pay with my life.” You weren't allowed to say that!

You move your head away from the floor, looking straight ahead. The last scene, a curtain call if you will. You knew it was dangerous, but that was the appeal, the reason you even slightly fell for this man. Maybe, maybe if things had been different, maybe then…..no. No point in thinking of what will never be, instead, you focus on dying without fear. You couldn’t give the rest of them what they wanted, you begging to live. No! This was your big goodbye, one to be remembered by.

You hear a movement behind you, no doubt the executioner ready to deliver his fatal blow. Your eyes locked with Shingen’s, his body doesn’t react, and neither do his eyes. Your eyes don’t leave him until the blow is dealt. Your prayers were answered, it was painless, all you feel now is a sense of drowsiness. As your senses begin to leave, you swear, you hear a mumble of words directed towards you, as everything becomes dark.

Shingen looks at you, as the executioner deals the killing blow. You fall forward, some of your blood lands so far it reaches him. He can’t take his eyes off your body, you were every bit the woman he expected you to be, not giving others what they expected. For the first time since he fell into his catatonic state, he spoke. It was more of a mumble for words to everyone, but you understood the meaning, he knew you did.

“Thnks fr th mmrs”

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I kinda like this one more than the other one I did on him. I'm such a fan of killing off characters in stories, so that might be why. 🤭

I didn't think the newest chapter would affect anything in this story, but I still wanted to read it before releasing this. Probably a million spelling errors but we can ignore that, this community doesn't have enough fanfics in it for you to be complaining.

@ayashi-hime

#lookism #lookism spoilers #lookism x reader #shingen yamazaki #yamazaki clan #yamazaki shingen

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wandanatswitch · 3 months ago

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Hour of the Owl

Pairing: Dowager!Queen Alicent Hightower x Targaryen!Fem!Reader

Genre: Angst w/ happy ending

Summary: “Love can become both a sanctuary and a peril”

Warnings: NSFW +18 minors DNI, age gap (reader is aprox 18, Alicent is aprox 37), step-cest?, mentions of targcest, fingering? (reader receiving) oral (reader receiving), semi-public sex, mentions of infidelity (not between the main characters), religious shame and guilt, mention of suicidal thoughts, emotional dependency/obsession, mentions of homophobia, kinda? Toxic relationship, manipulation, I kinda wrote the reader from a BPD perspective so she could have some traits. Let me know if there's anything missing! NO DANCE OF DRAGONS AU! Note: English is not my first language! And this is my first time writing a fic so please let me know what you think <3 Also there is very few use of Y/N!

Words: 2.9K

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ⁺

“May I join you, Princess?”

The oh so familiar voice echoes through the empty gardens of the red keep perturbs your quiet late night stroll.

“Of course, Your Grace…” You reply while looking at the bushes filled with different coloured roses. “Is something the matter?”

You wished to deny her, you really did… but as always, you failed to do so, you just could not bring yourself to say no to her, nor to reject her presence, the one that made you feel that stupid agonising passion that made you wish it was possible that two people were one. You wanted to be binded to her. You wanted to lay down under the same tree where you kiss her so desperately, and merge with her so you could never be separated from one another ever again.

She approaches ever so carefully, moving her hand slightly forward, making your hands faintly touch… An innocent mistake is what she would answer if you reproach her.

“Not at all” She gently caresses the edge of the rose petals in front of you. “I simply wished to know if you have received any letter from my son” A lie. “I know i have not received one since he left” Another lie. You knew for a fact that Aemond had written to the Dowager Queen, he told you himself in the only letter he had written to you, and you had heard Princess Helaena trying and failing to tell Aegon about what their brother had written to their mother… “Mother said he was vague , but that he was well… he wrote that he is not bored as he expected to be and that he is actually having a good time…” is what you heard Helaena say, but you stopped listening when Aegon groaned at his sister-wife’s words.

“What is your need to lie to me, Your Grace?” You did not look up from the flowers, you did not dare. “You always lie, at this point i find myself believing that lying is the only thing you know how to do”

That gained you a sigh from her “You are right, I apologize…” she whispers “I just wanted to be alone with you—”

“Please, do not say anything else and just leave” you cut her off in a hostile tone but whispered voice “You said it yourself, we are sinful. This is a sin. We are wrong and the Gods will punish us if we do not stop whatever twisted and vile-” she cut you off when she placed her hand on your cheek, caressing it gently with her thumb.

“I know, my darling but—” she tries to plead, but her words get cut off again. You step back, causing her hand to drop back to her side. “You always do this!” you whisper loudly “You always do this! And it is not fair that you get to treat me like a stupid toy that you only wish to hurt!” Tears are rolling down your face at this point, much to your dislike.

“I am so stupidly tired of this, and I simply cannot bear this anymore…” You closed your eyes and tried to be strong and take a deep breath, but it came out shaky and broken. “...I have two children, Alicent… What am I supposed to tell them when they see me cry in front of them because I just can’t take it anymore? That their grandmother's favorite pastime is to hurt me…?

“Princess, you are speaking foolishly—” The Dowager Queen tries to say calmly, but once again, she finds her words being cut off.

“Am I?!” You are shouting at this point. The anger, the frustration, the pain, the hurt, everything, finally finding a way out. “Yes you are!” The older woman shouted, matching your tone. “My goal has never been to hurt you! Your pain is the last thing I would ever wish for! Ever!” “You are a liar! You have proven yourself to be—”

“I do not lie to hurt you, I lie so I do not lose you!” She starts to lower her voice, although her tone is still full of frustration. “I love you, you know that very well” “No you do not, if anything you despise me” The Targaryen princess tries to say firmly, but her voice wavers from the tears she has spilled “You would have to despise someone to hurt them like you have hurt me” You look at Alicent right in the eyes “Maybe is not me who you wish to hurt. Maybe you wish to hurt my mother and I am nothing more than a discardable piece to accomplish it.” Your breath quickens, your heart hurts and you feel like dying… you feel as if nothing matters anymore, and at this very moment you just wish to die.

“You just cannot stand the fact that my mother is Queen, can you? And you are not only taking your frustrations out on me, but you are also trying to hurt her through me. That is what I am to you, right?”

“I will not allow you to say such idiotic, and simply untrue words” Alicent is angry. Angry at herself, angry at the Gods… but she is not angry at you, not fully at least. How can she blame you for thinking that?

She should have been smarter about this whole relationship, the Hightower thought to herself. She should have never given into her sinful desires, but the want overpowered her… If she didn't know better, she would have thought that you were the reward the Gods had given her for enduring more than fifteen years of not only being Viserys' wife, but also a Queen… Turns out you were not her reward, but her damnation.

“I love you, Y/N” She states, her voice unwavering “I do. I love you more than i have ever loved anything before” The auburn haired woman lets out a tired sigh before walking closer to you. She lifts a hand to place at your waist out of pure habit, but she decides against it when she sees the anger and hurt still lingering in the younger girl's eyes. “I do not feel angry at the thought of Rhaenyra sitting on the throne, I promise you that. If anything, I am relieved… I do not have as much responsibility as I had before… And I do have more liberties too, the eyes of the court are not on me anymore, at least most of the time they are not… If Aegon had been crowned king, most of the responsibility still would have been thrown at me, besides I know he would have not been a good king…” Alicent fidgets with her hands as she continues “And the stupid anger i had for your mother, the foolish one sided fight i had with her for years… is over. I know the tension remains, but I promise you, Y/N, I do not hate her, nor do I wish for her downfall or to cause her pain. I wish her well in her reign.” The older woman’s hands grip the fabric of her dress in an attempt to keep her emotions at bay. “So no, you are not “a discardable piece”, Princess” The Princess does not know what to say, so she ultimately decides to sit at a nearby bench in complete silence. “My dear…” Alicent whispers to the younger woman. “I do not believe you.” The princess does not look up from the ground. “I do not believe a word of what you just said.” Alicent has to swallow a sob, but she cannot hold the tears any longer.

“...Why not?” The Hightower whispers as she tries to wipe her falling tears.

“Why…!?” You stand up from the bench and walk towards her, “Why do I not believe you, you ask?! Because like I said before, you have proven yourself to be a liar, Alicent!” The Princess looks up in an attempt to stop more tears to fall, but quickly realizes that it was a futile attempt to stop what she cannot control. “And because you have never once told me about what you just said. You never open up or tell me how you feel! So how am I supposed to believe you?!” The older woman tightens her lips before speaking up. “Alright. You want me to open up? i will.” Alicent steps closer to you and lifts both of her hands to place them on your waist, and this time she decides not to stop the action. “I wish I was born a man so that I could have you like your husband has you. I wish that I was a man so that loving you was not a sin, but I have slowly come to accept that I would gladly be damned to any of the seven hells if it means that I get to have you, to love you, or to even see your face every day. But I still wished that I was born a man… because it is not fair that my own son gets to have you but if I do as much as to touch your hand I will be considered a sinner by the Gods.” She sounds desperate… She looks desperate.

“I wish I was a man, so I could grab you by your waist, and push you against a wall, and kiss you until you stopped breathing, and do it without fear” Her hands move to your hips. “….If I were a man, I would use you, I would spoil you, I would devour you, but above all I would love you without fear” Alicent’s grip tightens against your hips. “Oh, Princess… How I would love you… If only fate would have been kinder…”

You have stayed quiet up until this point, the words you are hearing have both made you feel like the most loved woman in the seven kingdoms, and the most doomed one at the same time. “...I do not want you a man, I want you…” You whisper, but your voice does not lack certainty. “I want you as you are…”

Alicent’s eyes look at your own. She is looking at you with such love and tenderness… the kind that makes you melt and doubt if anyone has ever been loved like that before. “I know, sweetling…” The woman’s right hand moves to your tear stained cheek.

You look at Alicent with a pained expression “I love you” Your hand reaches her cheek as you lean forward for a kiss. You kiss her softly, trying to demonstrate with a kiss all the love you feel for her.

On the other hand, Alicent needs you. She needs to feel you, she needs to taste you, she needs to love you… So she deepens the kiss and squeezes your hips. You break the kiss, but not the distance. As you two look at each other, Alicent’s hands move up from your hips to your back. She wastes no time in starting to undo them with practiced ease. “Alicent—” She finishes unlacing your dress, making it loose on you. “Shhh my dear… We will be fine…” The older woman utters before kneeling on the soft grass and extending her hand to you, a silent invitation.

As soon as you kneel, her hands are on you again, taking off your dress. You gently grab her face and pull her in for a hungry kiss, which makes her moan in your mouth.

The princess’ hands are tangled in the Hightowers' hair, pulling her as close as possible, trying to become one with the woman that she loves oh so dearly.

As soon as your dress is out of the way, and you are only covered by your undergarments, Alicent’s mouth shifts to your collarbone, peppering kisses as she works on removing your undergarments. She was like a woman starved. She needs you, and you need her just as much. When your undergarments are not an obstacle anymore, her mouth reaches your breasts. She kisses the soft flesh with a mix of love and hurry, making your throat release sweet gasps and making your back arch.

Oh Gods, the sounds… They only fueled Alicent’s want more and more, and it did not help that your fingers had started to unlace her dress, making it each second more and more loose.

You needed that damned dress off of her, you needed to take it off of her just as she had taken yours off of you. You needed to feel her bare body against yours. You needed her in the way you have never needed anything else… In fact, you are sure that nobody else has ever experienced this kind of need and want.

Alicent continues worshipping your breasts as if they were deities themselves. Her tongue licks your nipple while her hand massages the other, and the moans that come out of your mouth are inevitable.

You finally manage to take the dress off of her, leaving her only in her undergarments… But still, that was more clothing that you wanted her in. “I think it is a little unfair that you have those on while I am almost completely bare, do you not think so?”

The older woman sits up a little bit, stopping her ministrations on your breasts. “You are right, princess… It is not at all fair” Right after she says those words, she removes the upper part of her undergarments, leaving her chest exposed to you. Your mouth finds itself immediately in her breasts… kissing, biting, licking…

A sweet moan falls from her lips , causing you to softly moan in return.

Alicent gently pushes you to lay on the grass, but not before putting your dress as a blanket for you to lay on, causing you to smile at her caring act. “I love you so much… I did not think it was possible to love this much…” You whisper to her, and those may be the truest words you have ever said.

“I love you too. More than anything” She lays down next to you, and instantly kisses you again while she runs her hands through your body. “You are all I need, and there is no such thing as something that I would not do for you, my sweetest girl”

Alicent’s hand reaches your hips and as soon as she grabs the hem of the bottom part of your undergarments, she slides them down your legs.

“We should go to my chambers… or yours, anyone could see us here—” Your words are stopped when two of her digits rub your clit in the way only she could “Oh Gods…!”

Any thought of getting caught had suddenly vanished from your mind, and instead, it was replaced by pleasure and Alicent’s name.

“No one will see us, my darling” She moves her fingers faster, while her other hand caresses your hair “It is the hour of the owl…” She stops her movements so she can position herself between your legs “And everyone knows that this pacific garden is yours, my love, no one will come, do not worry in vain” She reassures you once she is kneeled in between your legs.

The only response you could give to her was a weak nod, but that quickly changed once her tongue made contact with your core, making you moan her name.

Your hands made their way to Alicent’s hair, tangling themselves between the strands. The only thoughts you had were of Alicent, nothing more, nothing less.

One of Alicent’s hands grips one of your thighs, while the other one travels up and towards your chest.

The Dowager Queen was lost on you. On your taste, on how you feel, on how you sound… This is everything she could ever want.

“Alicent…!” You moan loudly as your back arches, involuntarily searching for more. “Alicent I’m close…!”

The older woman's hand reaches for your own, stopping her movements on your breast , and instead intertwines her fingers with yours.

“Go ahead, my darling” Alicent says without moving away from your clit, softly moaning at the taste.

Your grip on your love’s hair tightens, and your eyes roll back. It felt as if you were on fire, and you never wanted it to end… You moan and gasp Alicent’s name as you reach your climax, your hips bucking up towards your lover’s mouth to ride the last waves of pleasure.

Alicent crawls up and lays next to you… Her hand gently caresses your body as she places a sweet kiss on your lips, when she pulls away she takes her time to admire you… spent, panting, and underneath the moonlight.

“...Run away with me…”

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razzle-n-dazzle · 1 month ago

Note

Lucifer x F!Reader [Adam’s ExGF]

[context: she’s was an angel created in heaven, and ends up dating adam for a bit this is long after Eden. and ends up leaving him not being able to handle him anymore.]

So~

Another one of his partners is stolen by Lucifer heheh.. she married him and they have a 12 month old baby. Adam being in hell now and is trying to “rehabilitate” is forced to watch his ex partner being happy something he he did so little for her when they were together.

bonus: if Adam snatches the baby’s toy from their hands causing them to cry and everyone to shout at him and argue

. . . 𝘍𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘐𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘔𝘺 𝘏𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 Lucifer / AFAB! Reader

‗( content / trigger warning ) not proofread (we die like Adam), AFAB! reader, reader has a kid, technically this is an (yandere?) Adam / Reader hurt fanfic in disguise, It's Helluva/Hazbin there's going to be cursing. ‗( author's note ) I'm going to try and do Lucifer's personality justice here. I had gone back to reread some of my old Lucifer fanfic to see that I mischaracterized him in a rather noticeable way (at least for me), and that doesn't fly here. So let's hope third time is a charm <3

"To be yours was like holding a thorned rose. It was pretty, sure, yet it pierced, stabbed, and bled my hands the tighter I held on to keep it alive. . . So, I let it die."

To say a bone in his body does not loath Lucifer, would be an understatement. Actually, no, it would be the foulest lie that would have ever been uttered. There was nothing in this world that Adam despised more than Lucifer Morningstar; The fallen angel of corrupted dreams, a thief and tainter of pure hearts, the sole creator of sin and everything that is wrong within the world. Simply to put it, if Adam had a chance to fuck as many women as he could want, in all the positions he could ever hope for, or torture Lucifer without a single repercussion until he's dead on hell's floor; He'd choose the latter. After all, who wouldn't hate the guy after everything he did? Well, apparently one person didn't, and Adam couldn't understand why.

You: The love of his life. Adam didn't get it, he really didn't. How could you, one of the most perfect people in creation, end up with someone like . . . Lucifer? And how could, promptly, Lucifer have been the one to end Adam up in Hell! And how, just how, did Adam ever think he needed the help of Lucifer's daughter to quote-on-quote rehabilitate when he's the original dick and would end back in Heaven by default?! And yet, even with all those questions and odds stacking up against him, Adam still found himself sitting at Husker's bar. He still found himself watching as you sat next to Lucifer, holding a literal baby on your lap, while Charlie cooed over her new baby brother. Honestly, he was a second away from slamming his drink down on the counter or across the hotel lobby to hopefully crack Lucifer's skull open. That fucking bastard. He had no right to not only be sitting next to you right now, calling you his lover, but to knock you up with his kid! He didn't deserve you. No one deserved you but Adam and yet you dumbed him! Him! The original dick, the original first man. Pft. It's your loss anyways. He's so much better than what's his stupid fucking face and his stupid fucking kids. Pft, yeah. It's not like he cared at all! After all, he could have that stupid(ly beautiful) grin on your face ten times brighter than Lucifer could ever.

Adam's days were absolutely miserable anytime You and Lucifer came over to the Hotel, as there was little chances of avoiding either of you. Sure, maybe Adam could hide in his room and pretend like he never say either of you on your visit days. Sure, maybe he could go out on the town and possibly meet someone that was ten times better than you. And, sure, maybe he could just do one of the million annoying tasks Charlie had for the residents. Yet, there was still no avoiding either of you. Not for Adam. Because avoiding you would show Lucifer that he won. That he managed not only to take Lilith, yet Even, and now You away from Adam and let it affect him. Adam was not ever giving Lucifer that satisfaction, and he wasn't going to let you have the satisfaction of knowing that he still . . . loves you. Not that you would be paying attention, anyways. You haven't even spared him a glance, other than courteous waves of hellos when Adam was near some of the other residents. So, if you had moved on, so had Adam! And, frankly, much to Adam's dismay, you had. The fall from Heaven hadn't been a pretty one, not at all. The Seraphim had stripped you of your wings, casted you down based on a senseless accusation that could have "threatened the whole order of the Heavens". It was unjust, and it had stung you heavily during the first few months, but you slowly learnt to cope. Finding someone who could share your same pains helped, immensely. Lucifer had been that person for you. The person who, despite everything you had gone through, seemed to always understand where you were coming from; And, likewise, you were that person for Lucifer. You had made Lucifer believe he could fall in love again, and Lucifer had made you believe you could dream again. That you could create without judgement. And, after years of courting, to two years of being fiancés, to the wedding and now a year and a half of being married you two had a beautiful baby boy. And, much like Charlie, he was the little joy of your shared lives. "Ceyx!" Charlie would laugh as her baby brother tugged on her hair. It was a little painful, yet Charlie didn't mind too much. Not when he looked so adorable with his chubby little cheeks and those big round eyes. "Sorry! Sorry, I should have warned you he started his hair pulling phase," You would pull away from Lucifer, who sat besides you, to gently try and coax Ceyx to let go of Charlie's chair. Though, Ceyx apparently only saw this as a fun little game as he let out a spit of babbles and laughs while you were gently attempting to pry his little hands off. "He had only been interested in Lucifer's hair until now." Charlie would wave you off gently, laughing softly, "No, no, it's alright!" As she had to crane her neck slightly so Ceyx's playful tugs didn't feel like he was trying to rip out her hair. A scowl spread on Adam's face, with furrowed eyebrows and hate-filled eyes, as he watched you five from the top of the stairs. This was the second time You had came over in the last week and he got sicker by the passing visit. And this time was no different, his stomach churn with abhorrence, as he watched Lucifer swoop from next to you to in front of your baby, giving him some tickles on his belly. Adam watched as Ceyx would babble happily seeing his father's face before exploding into a fit of giggles and laughter once Lucifer began to tickle him. He nearly vomited seeing the little baby faces Lucifer was making. Yet, his heart broke seeing the way that your eyes twinkled at Lucifer, staring at him so fondly and lovingly. A look you had reserved for Adam. A look, he knew but continuously denied the truth of, he would never get again from you.

It's not like he cared anyways! . . . Not one bit. Not even as he watched as Lucifer would scoop up Ceyx, whose eyes carried the same shade and light as yours, and spin him around. Entertaining the baby while Vaggie assisted Charlie with fixing her hair, while Charlie watched her dad fond over the newest addition to the Morningstar family. Adam didn't even care when you stood up, gently placed a hand on Lucifer's shoulder, and pecked his cheek. It didn't boil his blood. And, of course, it's not like he needed answered from you. No way. And it was not the reason why Adam stalked your figure from above when you went to the bar to order drinks, after asking your family if they needed anything. And it was 100% not the reason why Adam went to the bar while Husk was mixing your drinks and sit down right next to you. He just needed to catch your eye on final time. To prove to himself that he still held some bit of your heart, that he still had some sort of chance against him, against Lucifer. And, yet, he found no such light in your eyes. You had simply glanced over to him, checking who had sat down next to you. Sure, you didn't give him a vindictive or disgusted look, like most of his exs would have, you didn't really react either. A simply, courteous, greeting before your drinks were finish. You, Adam's eyes, took the first chance to leave the conversation. And it stabbed right through his heart. But it's not like he cared! . . . Right? No! He didn't. He couldn't possibly! I mean, there were so many women fishing after his dick that you, oh wonderful you, didn't even matter to him. Once he got back up to Heaven, he'll find another bitch to replace you like- Snap!- that! He was Adam, after all.

You had been trying to keep things civil between You and Adam during every trip to the Hotel, really. Sure, you had been seriously dating but that didn't mean you had to have tension with the man! Even if he had been a douchebag during your entire relationship, you just didn't need that sort of stress, not with the new baby. But, Heaven's dammit, had he crossed the line today! Charlie had bought a little play pen for Ceyx to play in recently, having set it up and everything for your next visit to the Hotel. It sat a in front of the couch that Charlie, Lucifer, Vaggie, and you usually sat at and wasn't particularly in anyone's way. Charlie had wanted to show you both some of the new-new renovations made to the hotel and you had all thought that Ceyx would be alright with Vaggie in his play pen. You didn't miss the way Lucifer's eyes glanced back towards Ceyx, though, as you three walked up the main staircase. His eyebrows furrowed and his steps slowly stopped, so noticeable in fact that Charlie and you were sure he was about to race down the stairs and snatch Ceyx from his playpen and bring him with you. And you knew he didn't not trust Vaggie, he was just cautious. "He'll be fine, Luci," Your soft, whispered, voice was coaxing Lucifer away from Ceyx. It would only be a moment, you had said, as your hands rested gently on his. The gesture would draw his arm up as you took a step, and then a second, and by the third he reluctantly began to follow you up. Heavens, you wished you listened to his worried father instincts earlier. As mid-tour Vaggie's voice peirced through the whole hotel, "What the FUCK do you think you're doing?!" Which was enough for a signal for Lucifer to dart right back around and sprint down the hallway. Leaving Charlie and you in a dust of confusion for a moment, before you shared a worried look at each other and darted off after him.

The lobby of the hotel was in complete disarray when you caught up to Lucifer, to which he was already on the main floor. His heels clacked on the floor as he skidded to a stop between Vaggie, who held Ceyx, and Adam. Lucifer's breath was labored, yet he still raised his chin as his eyes pierced daggers at Adam. In that moment, in the intensity of his look, you truly understood why Lucifer was dubbed the King of Hell; Even with his wings unfurled and stretched out. Ceyx's cries died down for a moment upon seeing his father, though they only stirred back up feeling the tension, as thick as butter, in the room. "Woah, woah! Hey, what happened?!" Charlie exclaimed as she rushed down the stairs, trying to play mediator before someone decided to jump the other. You soon followed after her, stopping by Charlie's side with a hand rested on her shoulder. Vaggie huffed, standing on the couch with one leg on the cushion and the other on the back of the couch, "Your new guest" —she spat with vigor— "decided it would be a brilliant idea to mess with Ceyx and snatch his toy away while he was playing with it!" And, oh boy, if you didn't smell the smoke from the fire that burnt between Lucifer's horns before, you sure did now. It boiled, flared, and smoked out black with Lucifer's outrage. "How FUCKING dare you!" hissed Lucifer as his fingers flexed, the knuckles in his fingers cracking. "You think you can come into MY DAUGHTER'S Hotel—" "Lucifer," you tried to quell the situation, but knew it would be a futile attempt. "—and put your GRUBBY FUCKING HANDS on MY CHILD!—" Charlie attempted next, stretching out the 'a' in a cautious manner as she gently took a step forward, "Dad!" To only scramble the step back as Lucifer growled. "—and think YOU WOULD GET AWAY WITH IT YOU BASTARD!" and you would subconsciously shield Charlie's eyes with a hand as Lucifer reeled back and punched Adam across the lobby. Flinching as he crashed right next to the bar, leaving a nasty dent in the wall, you whispered a small sorry to Charlie for the damage. Vaggie didn't seem too bothered by the whole event though, as she cautiously stepped down from the couch with Ceyx once Adam was away. There was a jolt back when Lucifer snapped his head around, glaring over at Vaggie once he reregistered that his son was balling his eyes out; And you were a bit afraid Lucifer might punch Vaggie too, yet the haunting glow of red slowly subsided when soft pale yellow eyes grew upon seeing Ceyx. And Adam, as he pushed the debris of the wall off him with a groan, sat up to the scene of Lucifer gently picking up Ceyx from Vaggie's hands. The way his eyes shrunk just a little, while his pupils inflated, with a scrunched and worried eyebrow made Adam sick of looking at his stupid face. Especially when he cuddled and coddled the child, who would have been just fine if everyone didn't make a big deal out of everything. "Fucking snowflakes," Adam would grumble under his breath. His glare pierced the wall nearby before a shadow in front of him covered his light and caught his attention. He was sure it was just someone else there to berate him for something that wasn't even a big deal. And he was about to flip them off, to tell them to go fuck off, until he realized who it was. . . You stood in front of Adam, slamming your foot into his his chest with a snarl on her otherwise beautiful (in Adam's opinion) face, "What the hell was that?!" "What was what?!" Choked Adam as he met your eyes again. You gave him your undivided attention, and sure while it was filled with venom and hate, it was still attention. And, for some reason, he couldn't help but fold under it a little. Dammit! He wouldn't do this for anyone else, so why were you so different?!

"On don't play fucking dumb with me, Adam! You know exactly why you did and I want answers from you." You spat at him, venom leaking from your tone like a snake coiling around his body to squeeze him. And for once Adam was at a loss for words. At least, words that would make the situation better, as all that filled his mind was you. You and how you looked over him. How you were so close Adam could reach his hands out and grab your waist, pulling you down onto his lap. The smell of your perfume, it was different than he remembered yet it suited you. You eyes . . . still that same shade he always loved and- "Fuck, Babe," he would groan, not off put by the way your face drew back with suprise and then scrunched with pure, unfiltered disgust. "You're so fucking hot like thi—" Adam didn't get to finish his statement before a hard— SMACK!— echoed in the lobby, swiftly hushing the voiced that came from around Ceyx. They had been cooing at him, comforting him, though sharply turned to watched as you huffed your way back over to the group and away from Adam; Who was slightly flushed on the floor, a crude snicker stretched on his lips, which did almost nothing to mask the pain that filled his eyes.

Adam had always loathed Lucifer. Yet, after that day it became more deep rooted. Lucifer had taken everyone from him, he started two families that were meant to be his, and he did it without a single drop or tear of remorse. You were meant to be Adam's, Adam was meant to be yours. This isn't how it was supposed to go! And yet. . . when you returned to Lucifer, you whispered to you a concerned question, a small smile returned to your face as you rested his query to bed. And Adam would never forget the way you leaned against Lucifer, gently reaching out for your child, more at content and at peace next to him than you had ever been with Adam. That's when it all truly sunk in for Adam. . . and oddly, it made his desire for you burn more.

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