#Dom and roland | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

svgvru · 2 years ago

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꒰ ✮ 𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗞𝗧𝗢𝗕𝗘𝗥 '𝟮𝟯 — 𝗪𝗘𝗘𝗞 𝗧𝗛𝗥𝗘𝗘!

𝗗𝗨𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗔𝗖𝗧! blasphemy + "a clit piercing? that isn't very holy of you, dear" , "show me how He has blessed you" ꒰ roland fortis x f!reader ꒱: fucking in a church, corruption kink, slight dumbification, some manipulation, virgin/innocent!reader, anal fingering, anal penatration, "glory hole" situation, age gap, just smut. let's pretend your ass is already clean, y'know. keep up good hygiene :D

"𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐔𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐘 𝐀𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐘, 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒, 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐄𝐗𝐔𝐀𝐋 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐔𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘, 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐘," the words leaving the priest's mouth were somewhat fascinating to you. "romans 13: 13" roland fortis, a well known and well trusted man. he was set in his convictions and proved to practice what he taught. at least, mostly. never did he smoke, never did he drink, and never did he consume "filthy nourishment." the man wasn't even married, even if that was considered a bit weird to some folk. it was believed he had no secrets, except he had two. being a chassuer—vampire hunter—and you. if perhaps his vampire hunter secret became known, it would he no matter. however, if you became known, the matter would be big.

despite his teaching, he sermons about secret sin and temptation, he betrayed it all. “Ye have heard that it was said by them of old time, Thou shalt not commit adultery: But I say unto you, That whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her already in his heart,” Matthew 5:27–28. it was a verse often brought up, and he had never broken his own values, never gone against any of his sermons.

however, as little ms church girl—you, walked in, that had changed. every feature he could see and imagine he'd secretly lust after. it was unlike him, so be so...uncouth. it didnt help that you were so—innocent.

hearing your sweet voice in a time of confession. you were so timid, stumbling over words as you decided to finally express your sinful thoughts. "forgive me father, but i have been having some . . . sinful thoughts about another," you mumble, "and they won't stop . . . " he smiles to himself, humming at your confession. "have you felt the temptation to act upon your thoughts, mademoiselle?" he knew it was true. no matter how much you's scold yourself, look away, or try to think about other things, those thoughts in your head would not stray from him. even that time that you refrained from going to church—just to escape your temptation.

falling for the priest was your sin. falling for an innocent girl was his. although, could you be entirely innocent. "really? could you tell be about those thoughts?" his voice as smooth and comforting as ever. after all, you are coming to speak on your sinful thoughts. "i—" the second you told him your thoughts, you had a feeling you were doomed, but not in the way you originally thought.

you would never imagine that such a promising and trustworthy clergymen would fall for you. a girl woman fresh from finishing school, stuck in church with her family. you were sure he was at least nearing his 30s if not already in his 30s. he had shown no sign of faltering in his faith, until you. you wondered what was going through his mind when he called your name so . . . huskily. you wondered why he pulled you against his robes, in the small confessional booth where the priest was to seat. when his lips touched your jaw you were skeptical, but this man, he—was the one you desired.

"a-apologizes, father. but, is this—are we supposed to do this." you whimper out the words, hands clutching onto the fabric of his cassock. "fear not, this is simply how you get rid of such thoughts," he whispers against the skin of your neck. "have you ever had a song stuck in your head? you longed to listen to it, and when you did you found relief from that longing?"

you nod, releasing a shaky breath. "y-yes." you feel his lips curl into smile against your skin. "its just like that, you simply need to engage in it—just a little . . . " he whispers in a voice that makes you swoon. "trust me, you do, don't you?" he lifts his head up to lock eyes with you. you nod your head, looking into his soft eyes, although you can see a hint of something else.

you never would've known how the devil would stick to "innocent" souls had to not kissed the priest with such ferocity. how your lips connected and your inexperienced tongue melted into his mouth. you never would've known how full of sin a clergymen could be had you not let him convince you to slide into the window connecting the confession booths. it was quite large, you observe, not having seen a window this large. but your curious thoughts, come to an end at the feeling of his hands lifting your dress. his rough and calloused hands touch your bare skin with somewhat of a snort. you were embarrassed.

it wasn't an uncommon experience where women—or men—would often go bare under their clothing. it was freeing! who wouldn't? today just happened to be the day you finally felt comfortable letting your lower half free, it wasn't as if there a chance of someone seeing. after all, your dress was about ankle length. "f-father! is this really appropriate? i'm—!" a 'shhh' sound leaves his lips. "my name, dearest. roland," you could practically hear the smile in his voice. it was quite a new and somewhat confusiong experience. although, you couldn't deny—his new nickname for you was exciting. "its quite alright, i told you. trust me."

"m-mhm!" you respond to him in only a sound, yelping at the touch of his finger to your bare skin. you hear a chuckle leave his lips. your eyes widen as you realize exactly what he's laughing at, your intimates were quite open to see—including the lovely piercing you have. "𝘢 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘵 𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨? 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘳!" his voice is quite loud; however, the possibility of others hearing was quite low. after all, you had decided to visit him after church out of shame. his voice dips low, sending a shiver up your spine. "and here i thought you were innocent . . . "

his hands spread your ass, watching your twitching holes. "are you perhaps . . . getting a bit hot from my watchful eye? or is it my words . . .?" his index finger traces your pussy, dipling slightly between your folds. "i'm—i'm not sure . . ." you mumble. "but fa— roland. i'm supposed to save myself for a husband."

a hum leaves his lips. "mm, i suppose you are! but there's this thing," he starts, earning your attention. "there's another way to get satisfaction without losing your virginity." surprise covers you, finishing school had never taught you about any of that. "h-how?" you question, never knowing there was a way to avoid that. "by this, dearest . . ." he ever so slowly push one of his thick fingers inside of your virgin hole, it feels wet—perhaps from saliva? but it's not the one leaking slick, but your unused ass. your hand quickly laps over your mouth to prevent a loud moan from escaping the confessional. your eyes widen, rolling back a bit at the intrusion.

"that was quite easy," he comments with a smile. he continues stroking your anal walls with his fingers, eliciting moans from other booth where you're failing in your attempt to keep yourself quiet. you feel his other hand slide down your thigh, dipping between your legs to lightly touch your pulsing clit. "r-roland . . . " he hums in response to your call. "yes, dear?" his voice his far too sweet and loving for his action of flicking your piercing. the muffled scream from your lips fill his ears along with the clang of his nail to the peircing.

"maybe you could take another one, hm?" he slips another finger inside of you, gently stroking to loosen you. a string of shameless moans leave your lips—it seems as if you've finally given up on muffling them.

two of his fingers continue to move, their movements, becoming rough with the occasional flick to your clit. "such a good girl," you hear him coo. "let's get you to your release, yes?" he traps your clit in between his index and thumb, pinching lightly as his fingers plunge into you. a loud cry of his name leaves your lips. "shh, you must attract the attention of the cleaners," he lightly scolds, smiling at the whimper you let slip. "i believe that should be enough . . . "

his fingers leave you, eyes turned up in crescents at your poor hole twitching in anticipation.

you hear the ruffling of fabric and a sigh of relief from him. this is by far the most blasphemous thing you could do. willingly taking the priest's cock into you—as an unmarried woman, and a member of the house of god. you were sure He was looking down on you in shame, as you moaned wantonly at the feeling of his wet tip pressing against the rim of your ass. but could it be so devlish and against the lord? he said it, there was no such thing requiring virginity to extend to the anus, so maybe—just maybe . . . you could give in to temptation. it would take away your furture feelings, just as he said, right?

"𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘏𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶," you hear him mumble from behind you. a groan leaves his lips as he pushes into your warmth. the feeling was new—foreign. but, o god! how it felt unlike anything else! it was pleasurable, the stretch was painful, yes . . . but my—did it cause you to moan.

his cock slowly drags in and out of you, lewd sounds of skin slapping against yours. perhaps, your savior would shut the gates of heaven when you arrive . . . perhaps the gates of eternal damnation would await you at your passing . . . but you would gladly welcome the devil with open arms in exhange for experiencing this.

"a-AH! roland, ngh—!" your sweet moans fill his ears. your voice was enticing, it pulled him into your further. it caused him to fuck you rougher, faster, with more desire. he lied. it was clear he lied when he said a taste would prevenr further temptation. but once you get a taste, you long for the whole thing. you long to keeo tasting. that's just how humans are built. upon the foundation of greed is how other things are obtained. he never wants to leave you. imagine how your virgin cunt would feel wrapped around his cock? wet and warm you'd welcome him. he can tell simply from your moans.

you had become addicted to him, the same way he had become addicted to you.

his cock plunges in and out of you, your body rocking with his rough thrusts. his finger flicks and mercilessly pinches at your clit, your slick collecting on his fingertips. you swear you can hear the wood beneath you groan a bit. the musk of sex fills both of the confessional booths as his release in you, your climax coming along side him as you make a mess of his thighs. "mmph! a-AH! roland~!" your upper body slumps on the otherside, your lower half shakily standing as his thrusts slow.

when his cock leaves you, so does a disappointed whine. you weakly call out his name again, wiggling your bottom a little. you wondered what he was thinking as he stood there panting, what his face looked like. however, if you did, you'd only see the devil. or something like it at least. a beast formed from desire.

"see, now you're satiated."

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some-triangles · 7 months ago

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I found a video essay which is about Neil Gaiman but is also a critique of fandom culture from the left. It's fun! My guy dresses up as Death from the Seventh Seal and talks about Roland Barthes in rhyming couplets. It's too long and overly pleased with itself but hey, leftists.

I took a break while watching it to go on a milk run to the bourgeois grocery store (might as well not abbreviate it under the circumstances) and saw this:

Given that the video was just talking about Gaiman being more a brand than an author I took this as a sign to share my two cents.

The cents are these: beyond considerations of fandom, parasocial attachment, Death of the Author and capitalism, which the video covers admirably*, can we posit that the art you find yourself the most attracted to as a teenager might not be stuff you should be buying as an adult?

*(they do quote an Alan Moore article from The Fucking Guardian in which he says he hates the growing trend of treating authors as "part of the costumed entertainment" without pointing out that the man wears a costume at all times, which is part of his branding, just like Gaiman. Also maybe given the company he keeps we should start asking more questions about Lost Girls. But I digress.)

Do you want to live in the moral universe of C.S. Lewis? J.D. Salinger? J.K. Rowling? J.R.R. Tolkien? (Maybe going by one's initials is the problem here, actually.) A grown person who thinks for a living shouldn't be going around saying that Neil Gaiman is one of their heroes. Even if you like his books, you've got to admit that the dude's mostly style and reference, that his actual insights don't go beyond those of a bright teenager. It's commodified rebellion for rebellion fans, sitting on the shelf next to Rowling's commodified conformity for conformity fans. We can still have fun with pop but we have to understand that the people who make it are in the sales business. (Yes, even Kendrick.)

The reason this stuff is constantly sold back to you is that it's really easy to sell things to children. The less like a child you become, the harder it is to market to you, so it's in the interests of money to draw you back to your childhood in a million different ways. So: grow up and get some esoteric, contradictory tastes, just to fuck with them. Cut out the hero worship - don't respect people for their "talent" any more than you would respect them for being rich. This will make you less likely to be starstruck enough to follow around a third-rate tumblr daddy dom who thinks he's a wizard.

(no, not me)

Finally, because I'm also a leftist, here's the overlong and self-satisfied part. I read a lot of Gaiman in high school but I also read a lot of one of Gaiman's heroes, Harlan Ellison. He was my favorite! I liked him because he was stylish, aggressive, arrogant and brutal. Teenagers like power and he had it. The fact that none of his stories had real people in them and that he seemed to have a problem with women in particular was nothing to me in the face of his Muscular Prose. Then I went to college and met some people who were smarter than me.

I ended up dumping Ellison for what was in his work, long before I knew much about all the other stuff. Same thing with Gaiman. So if you're worried about being let down by one of your heroes, I suggest looking at all of them carefully. Particularly at their feet. (Not for horny reasons.) And then maybe stop looking at them at all and go do something else.

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