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tarjapearce · 6 months

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Heathens (Pt. 1)

Priest! Miguel O'Hara x Nun!Reader

art by @maxro_art on IG (Her Deliverance AU is ❤️❤️🤌🏻)

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. If you're sensitive regarding religion, please don't read this. Masturbation in holy places, explicit language, wet dreams, Female anatomy, oral ( F receiving) Gentle Dom Miguel, Corruption kink, overused tropes cause yeah, a tinge of yandere undertones if you squint, mutual lust, Not Proofread ~

Summary: Father O'Hara had a little lamb ~

A/N: Another for the Miguelverse ~ Reblogs and comments are much appreciated c:

Main Masterlist

From all the places you could've find solace from war, The house of God was the least of lieus in your list. Not that you had a choice.

Family long gone after unsuspected explosions decimated your town, followed by constant tragedies such as losing friends along the way either by enemy and merciless hands or sickness. In the end, it was only you. You had outlived them all despite your short age. And now, they lived crammed up in your memories.

Happy, smiling and very much alive. Sometimes you'd see familiar faces on stranger's bodies. Grief had slowly nested within your soul and when all hope seemed lost, the chapel had saved you from what surely would end up in your premature death.

The blackest of black matched the crispest white you had ever seen, they were all donned in their beatific robes, prayer beads dangling at every gentle step they did. And there it was, epiphany unfolding itself before your experienced in horror eyes. It was your call.

All the answers to your laments and aching heart were sent as them. Nuns of the Mistbourne Parish. A church located in the outskirts of a now rundown by conflict Nueva York. The church that now played a major role in taking in as much people within their sacred walls, before they could be dispatched to a more adequate place.

Without hesitation, you had joined. And now, six years later you still remained with them. Early twenties had settled right for you as a nun. Ever devoted, compassionate, and diligent.

As time went on, the main city was reconstructed, burying it's dark tragedy under freshly built towers, hiding the pain under the rugged carpet full of concrete and wire homes, like nothing ever happened. Like if war had never stepped upon it and gave it a much needed renewal at people's lives expenses.

But no matter how many changes time brought, life in Mistbourne's Parish remained the same. Untouched by the technological advances from the outer world. There was always something to do, as simple as it was. And so far, you've been satisfied with it.

The only alterations worth of mention was your holy family expanding.

A new couple additions to the staff. More sisters, an eighty percent of them were beyond fifty. You were the youngest, their child. After all some ended up raising you within the house.

And him. The new priest.

The tallest and bulkiest man you've ever seen. As much as staring was considered rude and borderline a sin, it was unavoidable to do so, when his rusty brown eyes fell upon you. Their color unique, like he was. Never in your life had you seen someone like him, or another man besides the butcher and the guard. He had definitely been a regular man before coming here.

The soft weary expression lines in his sharp countenance revealed his own fair of lived experiences.

He towered over you, crisp white dot on his black rimmed neck line, parading his status with modest pride, and golden praying beads dangling on his narrow hips, you held yours while asking forgiveness for keep staring.

"Father."

Father O'Hara. In his mid thirties, broken family also torn by war, wearing his vows in the shape of a ring on his right hand.

"Sister"

His voice deep yet gentle, like a lullaby. His steps took him away to his own residence. The rectory outside the church.

It made sense as to how some workers were renovating it in the past few weeks. The parish last priest had been sent off in sacred duties, only to realize later that he had killed a man. Cops and detectives surely made a show out of it.

Dark times, according to Sister Lianne, one of your mother figures. But now, Father O'Hara had taken his place, erasing all traces of the previous man with concise and pithy actions.

He took his role seriously. Said masses on sundays, visited the sick, baptized people; but his most popular feat was to hear the confessions. The most intimate secrets revealed to him by either your fellow sisters or people from the town that came to expiate their sins in hope to be forgiven.

You'd sometimes run into each other, bumping casually in the narrow wooden floored halls, you'd often apologize, only to reciprocate a polite smile on both ends. He'd sometimes help you out by carrying things a bit too heavy, or you'd help him out lighting up the altar for his speech.

Yet, his hands in one occasion took an accidental taste of your body dimensions underneath your beatific robes, while preventing you from falling down the stairs. He'd scold you for being careless and carrying things that obscured your sight.

After many sorries on your behalf, you returned to the cells and went straight to your own dorm, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

His hands felt burning upon remembering the dents of your form, the curve of your waist and certainly the warmth that irradiated from you, so so close from his.

Unexpectedly it had brought memories from his past. His old life where he'd have his lovely and temporary companion for the night impaled deliciously with himself before war and hell broke loose. Before he was forced by the subversives that raided his town to create a new fake identity in the spot as they heard him speak spanish or fight a war he hadn't started, much less would end. And so, his life as Father O'Hara begun.

Odd enough, the sudden and thoughtless choice had granted him peace after witnessing so many terrors his fellow human could be capable of. His need of help has always been stronger than anything and when he finished licencing some sacrifices were required.

Poverty vows weren't an issue since his previous life had been modest yet good enough to go by. Little difference between his current lifestyle.

The obedience vow took him a little longer to fully yield. But he accomplished it to a T, just to avoid more trouble. He faked it until he made it.

His chastity vow had been a quite the challenge to perfect, but no matter how much the temptations paraded before him in the many parishes he was assigned to, he didn't give in. His libido had been sapped out of his body, like a campfire after completing it's useful cycle.

Not because of his brand new sanctity invested by holier-than-thou elders, but rather a broken mind full of grievance and other negatives that always haunted him. The gunshots and bombings too fresh in his mind.

It had been years since he touched someone in a way that wasn't holy. Since he had provoked things in someone else that clearly would make him go under the laicization from the clergy without second guessings.

Until he held you the other day.

Both of your eyes too enraptured in eachother that had sent an igniting spark to his spine. Reviving all those inactive nerves he thought his existencial toll severed long ago. His eyes had gave a brief rake over your face.

Wide and round eyes staring back, both in awe and surprise straight into his soul. Nose flaring softly just like your mouth, whose bottom lip trembled at the little erratic breaths your lungs exhaled upon being in physical contact with a man for the first time in ever, while cheeks bloomed with a not so discreet flush. And your body heat.

Jesus all mighty.

It was dangerously tempting. For a brief moment his past self had taken over, but quickly vanished upon hearing steps. Earning you to fix your crucifix and cowl nervously and him to fist his hands to refrain himself to take another taste and fix his collar and cassock.

To his conclusion, the robes you wore did not match what was underneath. He noted much, but having you wear that loose habit only fuelled his now active and sinful imagination. An opposite from your habits' purpose.

Priest life was hard, and the Celibacy vows were his biggest damnation. Mind often plagued with 'I shouldn't have done this.' 'This is ridiculous' 'Fucking idiot' 'Why did I even lie about this?' But even so, priesthood was better than ending up dead or mutilated by mines somewhere in the battlefield, in the middle of a war he didn't started, much less would end.

Government later was forcibly recruiting all those men, be them widowed or married. It didn't matter. War wasn't for him. Neither Priesthood.

But he'd bear it. He'd bear it until he was put in another parish church full of older and witty ladies he'd definitely wouldn't lust after.

----

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."

The sweet voice behind the confessional punctured walls, perked up his ears. He had memorized a lot of things, your voice included.

"I... I haven't confessed in weeks. But it grows me concerned that... my mind is somewhere else."

Silence. You were met with silence as expected, it also encouraged you to keep talking.

"A man has flooded my thoughts and no matter how much I try to occupy myself, he's there. Leading me to temptation and sin."

A man?

His brow quirked as he slanted over the little wooden division between you, to hear better and take a peek on your face. The only men he could think of was the guard, the butcher and himself. The only men inhabiting the same area as you.

"How does this man tempts you?"

"He... He visits. In my dreams I mean and..."

A low 'forgive me, God' echoed in your stall. His throat dried and his hands rested on each side of his knees, gripping at the fabric of his pants.

"He does things I know I shouldn't partake in... But, it feels too real."

"You sound scared. Does it frightens you?"

"Very much so. But it is a strange sort of fear, Father."

"What kind of fear then?"

It took you a long pause to muster

"A fear of him stopping his visits in my mind."

He gulped.

Your hands took the crucifix and held it tighter, "For him to stop doing such sinful things to me, even in my dreams."

"Have you sinned in the carnal affairs?"

"N-No. I would never. I've never engaged in them, Father."

His groin twitched, as a hand raked over his scalp. A shaky breath that was forced to come out in silence. Only when he thought you couldn't be more innocent, there you were proving him wrong.

"Ever?"

"I promise to you with my life, I've never."

"I must know" He wetted his lips with his tongue, "What kind of things does this man does to you?"

"W-What?"

Your spine straightened up instantly, eyes wild, staring another hole into the already punctured division. Cinnamon color in his skin, the only brief glimpse you managed to see. But even so, his gentle yet cornering voice brought you down from your initial jump.

"I need to know, so I can dictate a penance."

The flush on your cheeks returned, burning bright upon remembering the all too lucid dream you've been having about your secret man. That, even though visited frequently, you still didn't know his face, just his body as it smothered yours wholy in a constant merciless and scorching rut.

All what you remembered was him feasting between your legs like a starved man. His hands maneuvering your soft mounds to then give a gentle squeeze.

"His hands are the ones that bring the sin, Father."

"Explain yourself"

His voice was sultry, buttery rich and smooth on the other side of the stall. A subtle order. To your dismay, that same demon had a similar voice tone. Alluring, speaking to you in a foreign language it had you mewling and asking for forgiveness every time you remembered, cause you had begged the faceless man for more.

"He touches and... t-tastes places I shouldn't allow no man to delve in." With a thick gulp you continued, "His tongue is... marvelous."

His eyes widened for a second as his hand hovered over his crotch

"Marvelous?"

"I feel the biggest sinner by admitting this. Please, do forgive me."

"Accountability is part of the process."

He tried to sound as professional as he could, but little did you know his mind was torturing his already crumbling resolve with such vivid details. Celibacy wasn't a problem, until now. Hearing such sinful words coming from such a unsuspecting thing like yourself, a virgin that is, made his old self to re-emerge.

Disguising himself as a sheep, while he fought through his holy learning years to tame his wolfish appetite.

There were plenty of ewes in the flock , but so far the only one that made his mouth water was you. A perfect little lamb. And now, this. We're you set to making him break his vows?

No. You weren't. He was reaching his limits to break celibacy and you were just having wet dreams about someone that definitely made him wonder about your past life. A past lover? No. Not even that. A possession? A demon? No. Definitely not.

He had heard things whenever on lunch duty. Mindless talk that revealed more to him from others and you than they intended to. You, a nun. Picked up from a ravaged village nearby and raised within the nuns, meaning, you had zero idea of what pleasure meant.

He believed, but wasn't a complete blinded idiot to faith. Your body was asking for physical and forbidden relief. Just like his.

But again, the golden band around his right hand not only forbid but also was the perpetual reminder of what was a stake.

"I know, Father. But... this man has such power over me that has pushed me to sin. He... he has pushed me to take such vulgar matters in my own hands."

Maker's mercy

His cock twitched harder and he was unable hold back and gave a firm squeeze while biting his lip to quiet himself at the long forgotten and heady pleasure that was drowning his body in an alarming rate.

As if done of being fed lies and a quick and sloppy handjob for ages. It was disgusting how easy was to sin, how well his body ached and reacted to such stimulus. How effortlessly his old habits had caught up to him.

He was the one that needed a penance now, cause he couldn't shake the image of you spread with your legs wide open, naked, sliding your fingers in between your weeping folds. You'd certainly have your mouth shut or lips bitten to avoid having anyone hear you.

He had closed his eyes while his jaw clenched, occasionally sweeping his tongue over his lips to keep them moist.

"Say it. Say your sin."

He commanded in a voice that had your cheeks flustered and your pearly nub a throb. His hand half squeezed half stroked over his clothed groin. Swollen and needy cock begging to be set free and properly taken care of.

"I..." A dry gulp and your hands went to your crotch, begging your nature to behave. Cheeks impossibly red.

"I've enjoyed touching myself after dreaming a man... f-fucks me, Father."

The word 'fuck' coming out your delicious looking yet pure lips, had his teeth gnawing at the insides of his cheek, self control harder to keep under the leash. It barked, howled even demanded for more explicit details.

Instead, he sighed quietly and cleared his throat. The sudden noise had you gripping the skirt of your habit in shame.

Miguel didn't say much besides the prayer of absolution and a couple of more prayers as your penance. The same right hand that was squeezing his cock was now being kissed by you, to confirm your forgiveness. Plump, warm and soft lips caressed his ring finger.

And once you were gone, his hand took control on its own, slid under his soutane to stroke himself. If you felt like a sinner, he was the devil himself.

The vice like grip in his own cock made him shudder, sensation foreign yet so welcoming after years without it. A little whine escaped past his gaping mouth, exhaling pecaminous breaths as he stroked like teenage boy that just discovered masturbation for the time ever. Sloppy, desperate and wet motions echoed in the now sullied stall.

He fisted his hand tighter, thick fingers coaxing a much needed release, hips rutting into his choking hand. Quiet whimpers and an array of curses flew out his mouth.

His flushed tip swayed and shook under his own rough ministrations while his jaw clenched, he clawed at the chair when hot and thick spurts of his cum dribbled down his hand and wrist before time; pooling in the hollow of his palm while earning a gutural growl that dissolved into a shaky whimper, as he curled against the wooden and punctured wall for a brief lapse of seconds to regain his composure.

"Fuck..." He had to lay against his chair to keep the light-headedness at bay, drowning in his own made pleasure, panting like he had run a marathon for hours.

He shouldn't have lied back ago. And definitely shouldn't have become a priest. He was soiling their already tainted reputation. His old self was back to stay.

He cleaned up his hand under his robes to then leave to change. He was given a glimpse as you were picking up some harvest in the orchard while he was making his way back home.

---

Window's glasses echoed with the soft rain. The parish has been quiet during weekdays, but busy for you. As winter approaches the harvest must be picked, the grains sorted and the meats stored.

You saw Father O'Hara less and less, and when you did, they were mere glimpses. He was as busy in meetings with other priests, or preparing for the mass that was now given twice a week.

If you weren't in the garden or the laundry, you were in the choir.

Lingering yet brief gazes chased each other. He had heard some nuns speaking about him, some had wonderful things to say, saying that he had been one of the most efficient priests the church has had.

Others mentioned between hushed and bashful whispers about his physical condition and how they caught him go for runs at crack of dawn a couple of times.

And you, just wanted to go to confession again and ask for forgiveness. Not to spill the advantures you had in your dreams with a man that oddly resembled like Father O'Hara, but to unleash your heart's desires to wonder what was beyond the parish.

It was your life, all you've ever known so far. But one of those trips to the city during a beneful visit to another location, had left you amazed. How could a world so different like yours could be considered bad and straying?

But again, vows. Your vows bound you, and once broken, there was no turning back. But right now all that mattered was to get to the dorms. The rest was out in another visit to the city, you were to stay to finish your tasks in the kitchen.

Weather changed so abruptly that one moment you were taking the last basket of vegetables inside, to then run for the dorms to seek refuge. But they were far and the only thing in sight was Father's O'Hara rectory.

It was either getting a terrible fever from the cold and unforgiving rain or ask him to lend you an umbrella to mitigate the glacial numbness spreading through your body. Another reason you barely went out during these days, rains in the countryside were merciless.

Miguel was tending his own garden when the rain begun drenching. Even more when the thunders broke the peaceful white noise. He removed his soutane and shirt off leaving his inner vestments free, but the desperate knock on his door made his undressing ritual to stop.

While quirking an eyebrow, he approached the door and opened it. Eyes widened in surprise upon seeing you, soaked through your bones. lips blue and shivering from the cold.

"P-Please-"

"Jesus. Come in."

He ushered you in, then rushed to get a towel. A frown in his face deepened upon hearing your teeth clatter, clothes stuck to you like a second skin.

"C-Can I... borrow your... u-umbrella?"

Without much though he smoothened the towel against your face, drying it.

"An umbrella? Really?!"

A vehement shake of your head, while trying to get him off you.

"You're freezing cold, the dorms are too far for you to leave. Don't be stubborn."

"I... I don't h-have clothes."

You mumbled through rattling teeth while your eyes darted hazily over his naked torso. He sighed.

"Unbelievable. You're freezing to death and you're worried about clothes. Get them off, I'll put them to dry."

He grumbled while taking more logs into the fire to what would be his living room. If it wasn't for the glacial and biting freeze that refused to leave your body and the foggy thinking in your brain, your cheeks would be beyond red. Crimson even from such simple act.

A weak nod you gave. Your hands stopped bracing your shivering body to focus on removing the cowl and headdress. Releasing through shaky motions your soaked hair that wasted no time to stick on your face and neck.

The next was your crucifix, and praying beads, the tempo you removed them could make a slug to easily win the race, this alarmed him greatly. He had seen what hypothermia did, way before turning himself into this holy persona.

Without much thought, he peeled off your habit that weighed you down.

"Qué mierda más pesada" (Such a heavy shit)

He held you by one arm as he removed the outer layer off. Your eyes drooped and he gave you a little shake.

"Hey, hey, look at me."

Eyes concerned raking over and it dawned on you. Those eyes, the same beautiful and unique eyes were the same that visited in your dreams.

A difficult gulp rolled down your throat as Miguel kept undressing you while grunting. Wet clothes were a pain in his beatific ass. Shivering dicreased, but your lips remained blue, a new shade of purple drawing over them.

"I-It's so cold" You mumbled through laborious breaths.

"Course it's cold. You're soaked! What were you even doing?"

The way he scolded you felt like someone you've known for years was giving you a lecture. So casual, homey, normal. It was Miguel O'Hara speaking, not Father Miguel. The ever gentle and patient man you've been helping.

"Jesús bendito, con cuánta cosa te vistes." (Holy Jesus, so many layers.)

He murmured while pushing you to his chest as he removed the dress that covered your underwear. It felt like a heatless body had been thrown over him, but the warmth irradiating from him felt heavenly. Your form instinctively nuzzled your head on his chest. He had to stop to gulp at the sensations

Even though his mind slapped itself, His couldn't help but wander over your shivering and weak body.

"W-Wait"

A small dark patch hovered above the joint of your legs. Taut peaks followed by lovely areoles ever standing and shivering under the flimsy white fabric of a short nightgown that proved even harder to remove since it clung to you like a second skin, refusing to abandon your body.

He peeled you off of everything despite your protests, but was sufficiently prude to not look over your naked form. A minute too slow and it would be late. Like the young boy in his arms, that had died out of cold once the subversive groups arrived in the forsaken town, they had forced him and the rest to go through a frozen river. He made it, but the boy didn't.

His mind wasn't in the tip of his cock.

That will come later.

But his brain had only one single purpose right now. To keep you alive but for that he needed keep you warm.

Despite the recklessness of his actions, he pulled a freshly folded duvet around while pulling you ontop of his chest and sat together near the fire. Hands moving to dry your hair as much as he could. Your skin was full of goosebumps, frosty to touch, that relished into any source of heat available. His torso, the duvet and the raging bonfire made your head spin.

It felt like his hands, rubbing some life back into your arms while he shielded your body, embracing your form with his torso and limbs. Like a paramedic on duty. Your cheek smooshed against his solid chest, it made him shudder with your own coldness but eventually the body heat treatment would be effective.

"Sorry" it was all you managed before your teeth shuddered again, and his fingers caressed your neck, placing a new wave of delicious heat on your skin.

"You'll be fine."

Your body was slowly but surely returning to it's temperature. Miguel remained there, basking you within his body, fingers gingerly caressing as much cold skin as he could under the duvet. Even his breath provided a little heat. Your erratic breaths collided against his skin, earning a discreet shudder from him.

You had drifted off to limbo, trying to sleep a bit, but unable to completely do so. Not when a man, the Parish Father nonetheless, was holding and nursing you back to an acceptable temperature with his own.

"Father O'Hara..."

Miguel's ears perked up upon you mentioning his name.

"It's Miguel."

He mumbled while drawing lazy circles on your lower back. The fire and the duvet had kept you toasty to curl even more towards him. Teeth no longer clattering.

"Thank you, Father."

"Stop."

His eyes rolled in annoyance, as his hands stopped caressing your skin to then rub his face.

"Stop calling me that."

"But that's your-"

"I don't like it."

He grumbled while looking down at you.

"Call me Miguel."

"I can't do that. Feels too disrespectful."

"I'm not Father O'Hara here, understood?"

You nodded

"Are you cold?"

"I am. Not as before but yes. Has it stopped raining?"

His own smell was making your mind a puddle, some of that fragrant incense remained etched on him.

"No. Just got worse."

You sighed while resting your head on his chest. Heartbeats a mellow lullaby.

"I'm sorry for all of this."

"You were cold and soaked." He pointed dully and bored.

The duvet was brought closer to your chest while staring at the flames. Fingers tracing a lazy and mindless pattern in his abdomen.

"I was picking up the last batch of harvest when rain poured on me."

Your toes curled in as a soft breeze flickered the fire and he tilted his head to watch you closer.

"Now I'll have to explain why there isn't enough corn."

"We'll go by. It's ok."

"Are my clothes ready yet?"

A snort that would be translated into an 'Are you kidding me?', your brow furrowed.

"You'd be lucky if they get dry during the night."

Another defeated sigh. But a sudden thought however made your cheeks burn faintly.

"D-Did you see me naked?"

"No."

Oh.

There was a silent pause before you spoke again. Curiosity tempting.

"Have you seen other women naked?"

He huffed playfully while pushing your hair away from your lovely and sweet face.

"Yes. I was a regular man before all of this."

His fingers curled up in his hand, morphing into a lazy fist

"Do you miss it?"

"Would be a liar to say if I don't."

"You... You've had sex before?"

He chuckled while with an open palm, took a taste of your skin, deliberately roaming your lower back. You shuddered.

"I did. Plenty of times."

Your audible gasp made his eyes droop hazily in a smirking grimace.

"I was told it felt marvelous."

You looked up at him and he pulled your chin upwards, he really had to keep his restrain under a leash to not take you here and there, instead, he cupped your face and hovered his lips over yours

"Do you want me to teach you, Sister?"

He was the demon. The very same one that visited in your dreams and left you a soaked mess. A little too late you'd noticed that he wasn't wearing his vow ring. It was placed somewhere else you truly couldn't care less at the moment.

You only nodded.

"Use your words, dear"

"Please", you gulped, "Teach me."

It was in that moment that he sealed your lips with his. Your first kiss ever. Chaste and sweet at the beginning that slowly turned into this obscene display of his mouth assaulting yours with his tongue in between gentle licks and bites of his lips.

A shaky whine then a whimper escaped your throat upon feeling his hands skimming down your spine. He only let you go when you tapped out for air.

"How often am I on your mind, pequeña?"

Finally the demon in your dreams had turned into a reality. Eyes were closed, unable to look at yourself melting under his touch. Nipples perked against his chest.

Plump and hot lips caressed yours but they stopped. Hands pulled you upwards, Miguel turned you around so your back was now colliding with his chest.

"You're still cold."

Cheeks grew impossibly red while he slowly peeled off the duvet out of your body, leaving you bare before him. You gulped as he moved your hair to a side and slowly kissed up and down your neck.

His hands were unable to resist any more and cupped your mounds, like in your dream. Calloused palms, rough against soft breast.

"Qué maravilla. Is this how your dream goes?

Legs smothered together, a little strip of hair etched to your pubic mount. He hummed in appreciation to then part your legs above his. Cunt pulsing at the coolness of air brushing past it.

Both of your legs dangled ontop of his as you remained nested above. Your heart beat at the playful moves his middle and index finger pulled on your nipple as his free hand darted over the joint of your inner thighs. You could feel him trembling underneath, the restrain made his breath hitch.

Your own turned erratic once more as he slid three fingers in between your folds. A shy Ah escaped your lips while he used two of them to part the outer labia

"Look at that, little one. Is that what you touch when thinking of me?"

Drunk eyes darted between your legs and his skillful hand, the engorged and pearly clit peeked out as one of his fingers flickered slowly. Focusing the right amount of pressure in it that had your moans shaky. He paused to adjust his fingers as they caressed and rubbed as much flesh as they could.

Mouth etched to your ear. Deep and needy breaths fanned behind you

"So so pretty. Look at that"

He made a show of his fingers coating themselves in your slick. One of his digits hovered over your entrance, slowly it disappeared inside. A muffled groan echoed in the void space

A wet and shlicking sound came from his ministrations, head unable to move, too enraptured into watching him sliding in and out. Skin bloomed with a new wave of goosebumps as his tongue licked your neck and earlobe, rewarding you for taking one finger deliciously, that he licked up clean before going back to rub at your clit.

"Want to add another?"

A breathless and hissing yes.

You didn't know who was with you right now since Father O'Hara couldn't. Your brain still refused to believe they were the same man. One preached and talked mass every Sunday, the other had your head spinning while his fingers explored your insides with such gentleness it only increased your whimpers and need for something more and bigger within you.

"Does that feel good, Hm?"

A dumb nod while more escaped your mouth repeatedly

"More?"

"Please!"

How could he deny to such petition? Even most when you were gripping him so deliciously and pulsating with every stroke he delivered in, grazing at your sweetest spot.

"Like this?"

He increased the tempo and your breath hitched, hips moving to meet his fingers aiding them to reach deeper and deeper.

Breaths turned into short and shallow pants, blood rushed to your cheeks. One of his digits pushed past between your lips meeting your moist muscle that wasted no time into kissing it. All you could hear was yourself and your weeping pussy that demanded for more.

But they weren't enough. Brain was sent into an override when the climax washed over you. All the pent up need and lust drowned you. Strong pulsations dictated the contractions that trapped and milked Miguel's fingers. Mind split in two in a shattering and core shaking spasm.

Mouth gaped, eyes heady and drunk with blind hot pleasure, body convulsed while an array of mumbles and clumsy curses flew out of your mouth to finally end with a delicious quivering cry.

"It's okay, shh, it's okay, pequeña." He cooed you through it while kissing your neck. Heart pounding in your ears.

It took you a moment to breath properly. How could you have missed this? How could you remain so ignorant to this? Alienated from something you were often told it was dirty and condemning.

He had only touched in the right places and you were melting. But why stopping there? You knew he also wanted you, his hard on pressing over your lower back, begging to set free.

"M-More"

He shook his head with a proud smile

"Can't do that, preciosa"

A capricious whine came through your throat, "Why not?"

"Cause, as much as I'd love to take you until you recite the bible backwards to me, you know what could happen."

"You don't want me, then? Why stopping now?"

"Far from that. And we must be discreet. Wouldn't want you to be whipped by Sister Lianne."

He took your hand and kissed your wrist. While his other limb pulled you closer to him.

"I am the only one that shall leave marks on you, my dear. Is that clear?"

"Yes, but-" He took your chin in a gentle but firm grip.

"Is that clear?"

You nodded with a pout.

"Lay on the bed."

"What? "

"Lay on the bed, so I can taste you."

Miguel could fulfil that fantasy. With Bambi-like steps you pushed yourself up and walked over his bed. Plush surface welcomed your body under a creak.

"Spread them."

Toes curled up for a second before spreading them open. Clit already tingling with a foreign yet needy sensation.

He kneeled before you, like he did every day he worshipped the Lord. But this time it wasn't God, but you. Nose nuzzled over your inner thighs while taking a whiff of your scent. Tantalizing and so alluring for his own senses.

Slow and deliberate kisses were placed above your flesh, the strip of hair that decored your pussy, to finally sink in between soaked folds.

The mewl you gave only made him feast upon you. Hands grope the sheets by instinct as he spreaded you further.

His tongue lapped and curled at your hole, slurping it without refrain and inhibitions. Devouring it like it would be his last meal.

Your dream had felt too vivid, yes, but this was completely different. This was in a whole new different level. His corruption had tainted your soul and it was gladly welcomed into your arms.

Legs twitched and shook while your head was thrown back, chest heaved with shallow breaths, unable to breath properly as his tongue was set into fucking your drooling hole.

The way his tongue fucked, dribbled and guzzled your cunt had you mewling and moaning the filthiest things you didn't think possible you could get out.

Good was an understatement, heavenly was a measly word to compare what you felt like. It was maddening and he gave you no rest.

Have you ascended? No. He just wrapped your supple thighs around his head, preventing you from squirming too much, holding your hips in place as his sloshing and assailant mouth gave you no rest.

You hadn't recovered completely from the other orgasm when a new one had approached. Lurking around your senses.

His name was moaned, over and over and when your hands were done of clinging onto the sheets, you held onto his hair. Silky and smooth chocolate locks slid under your fingers.

Eyes peeked over you, and he had to pause for a moment to squeeze his cock. Aching and weeping for him to let him free and make you his. But that would come later.

That would come much later when he had more leisure time and when he'd get protection. As much as he wanted to wreck your snug cunt, he didn't want you to be whipped and shamed like another nun was when the higher ups found out she was pregnant by an outsider.

"Miguel"

His name on your lips rich and tasty, like him.

Your voice snapped him out of his trance to immediately go for your clit. Plump lips pursed and captured the engorged nub. While his hands pushed your legs up and folded them, giving a complete access to your pulsating pussy.

He slurped and souped while his tongue teased. Wet laps sent jolts through your spine each time he tasted you.

Too much. Too good and too soon, yet he didn't stop. He shook his head like a mad dog subduing it's prey and that move alone had you gushing over his mouth. He quickly gobbled it all down.

You whined, cried and blabbled, even tried to pull his head away but he delivered you a last stroke with his tongue to then lick his lips clean.

"Please"

You mumbled through blown breaths as he watched you with a lust blown glare.

What had he done out of you?

"Greed is a sin, my dear."

What had he created?

"But if you're good enough, the wait will be worth it."

His little lamb was so willing for him, aching to be tainted, corrupted even more. And his task was to banish such whims.

He'd given you a taste of what laid ahead. A promise of a much unholy reward if you followed this path with him. But your resolve had been made the first time you came.

He'd be your first and last. There wasn't any need for another to teach you what he was compliant to demonstrate.

You'd be his to fuck. His to tame and corrupt.

You'd be his.

---

Taglist:

@plumplumpurin

#miguel o'hara #t writes✨#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #miguel o hara #miguel ohara smut #priest miguel #Miguelverse #spiderman 2099 masterlist #spiderman 2099 smut #priest au #afab reader #Miguel O'Hara x AFAB Reader

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wolfiesmoon · 5 months

Text

A valid excuse

Floyd x gn!reader

I have been consumed by tweel brainrot there is no turning back

Anyways here's something i thought of in 5 mins lfmaooo

You were awakened from your peaceful slumber by loud and oddly agressive knocking at the door to Ramshackle dorm.

What in the world? Who is trying to visit at this hour?

You groan, gently pushing Grim off you and slowly making your way to the door to find out who your late night visitor is.

"Finally..." Floyd mumbles when the door reveals your slouched figure. He makes a mental note of how you look in your sleepwear.

"...Floyd?" You mumble sleepily, hoping you didn't say the wrong twin's name. It's kind of hard to tell which one it is in the dark.

"You sure took your sweet time answering the door, Shrimpy." He invited himself in, casually walking past you into the lounge . Yup, it's definitely Floyd.

"Why are you here?" You yawned.

He squeezed you really hard all of a sudden, which woke you up almost instantly. You felt your bones cracking, you swear. Way more effective than an alarm clock. Or Grim.

"I had a nightmare... Can I sleep in your bed?" He pouted at you almost comically.

"That's why you came banging on my door at 2 AM?" You raised a brow at him, slightly annoyed. And besides, Floyd wasn't even your boyfriend or anything. He's just that one guy who gets really excited when he sees you for some reason. Why is he coming to you with this overly childish request? Jade works just fine.

His pout increased and he squeezed you even harder. As a warning, no doubt.

Seems there's no way out of this...

"Okay, okay- Fine-" you sounded strained due to your innability to breathe. You kinda don't want to die because of Floyd's squeezing, though it would certainly be a unique way to go.

"Yay~" he let go of you, prancing over to your bedroom like an excited child.

You followed behind him, worried that he might throw Grim out the window to make space for himself. If there's one thing you know about Floyd, it's that he's unpredictable. Not that that's a bad thing, you just don't want to end up with catlike casualty tonight.

"Ehhhh, why is Sealie all cuddled up on your bed?" he sounded offended, like someone just took his well deserved space.

"...He always is." you smile to yourself, thinking of how Grim is actually kinda like a real cat when he's all curled up by your side. You always feel the urge to pet him when he's like that.

Floyd takes a step forward (to "remove" Grim, no doubt) but you quickly pick up Grim and place him down on the rocking chair to prevent a premature death. Grim so owes you for this later.

"Here, the bed's all yours." you point to it somewhat nervously, watching his expression soften. I mean, were you seriously just going to let him sleep with you? You're honestly so tired you don't even care anymore.

He flops down on the bed unceremoniously, waiting for you to join him. As soon as you do, he hugs you tightly. "My dream was soooo bad... It was just horrible..." he mumbled into you with an overly dramatic undertone.

You still have no idea if the nightmare was just an excuse or if he actually had one. Either way, he is squeezing you right now and seems quite satisfied. You let your eyes slip closed.

"Wanna tell me what it was about?" you whisper.

"Later... I feel like squishing you forever for now..." he swung one of his lanky legs over you, sighing happily.

"You know Azul will get mad at you if you squish me forever, right? Cuz you won't show up to work..." you surrender yourself into his embrace fully, noting how smooth his arms are.

"I don't really care, to be honest...."

You suddenly felt a kiss on your cheek and you jolted slightly. Did Floyd just kiss you?

No, no. That was definitely just your imagination. You're half asleep, after all.

it's late at night as i'm proofreading this and i just got a rook card when i wanted the vil one😭😭😭😭😭😭my unluckiness knows no bounds

#˗ˏˋ ★ ♡ 「Wolfie’s other works」 ♡ ★ ˎˊ˗#twisted wonderland x yuu #twisted wonderland x you #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twst x y/n #twst x yuu #twst x mc #twst x you #twst x reader #floyd leech x reader #floyd leech x yuu #floyd leech x y/n #floyd x reader #floyd leech #leech brothers #floyd twisted wonderland #floyd twst

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futureman · 7 months

Text

bea's masterlist

18+ minors do not interact, * indicates smut currently writing for mike schmidt, josh futturman, peeta mellark, derek danforth & joel miller requests are open thanks for stopping by <3 fic updates @cupofjoel

derek danforth

mama's boy * derek always answers when his mom calls, no matter what or who he's doing

josh futturman

take all of me * when a messy time jump leaves josh with a brand new body part, the only person he wants to show is you

dating start! your first date with josh is likely the best you've ever been on, but you're pretty sure he has no clue it's valentine's day

solo round * josh is sick of meaningless charging, but instead of asking out the pretty, new game store cashier, he decides to take matters into his own hands. again.

peeta mellark

here in the garden * [series] the capitol was supposed to let you live in peace after you played and won their brutal game, and for nearly a decade, they did—until you're chosen as district 11's tribute once again for a special quarter quell. yet somehow, peace finds you anyway in an unlikely form: a golden-haired baker's boy from district 12 who makes you feel alive even in the familiar face of death.

finnick odair

safe & sound after years of hard nights and bad dreams, finnick knows better than anyone how to make you feel safe again

mike schmidt

love like you mike helps you through a rough patch by reminding you of the many, many reasons he loves you

piece of me at 22 years old, mike is given custody of his infant sister after the loss of their parents. though he might not ever truly feel worthy of her, there's one thing he'll always be certain of—they belong together.

don't wanna leave this play date * you and mike find a way to make a boring shift at freddy's a little more interesting

set my clocks early * after months of awkward flirting at work, mike finally takes you home—but in his excitement, things end a little prematurely

waiting to spill * mike never thought your week-long trip home would lead to the discovery of a costly new craving

it's been so long * you and mike are well aware of your feelings for each other, but it's a line you won't cross. maybe it's time you finally did.

dye this space red * mike's a pretty sensitive guy, emotionally and otherwise, and there's a theory you'd love to test on his thighs

happiest day * when you least expect it, mike surprises you with a confession

eyes on the monitor * mike catches something on the security cameras that really shouldn't be happening at a family-friendly pizzeria—even an abandoned one

his purple sweater * mike really likes the way you look in his favorite sweater

joel miller

his favorite girl * [series] joel agrees to teach you how to play guitar for a college course, but you can't keep your eyes off him long enough to play. your lessons get a lot harder when you realize he feels the same.

keep it on the low * [series] after a rough breakup, you and joel strike up a deal to keep sleeping together. you don't talk about it, you don't tell anyone, and you definitely don't get attached. definitely.

you're a mean one, mr. miller you and ellie decide the solution to joel's grinch-like approach to the holidays lies in finding him the perfect gift

a matter of time * joel can't remember the last time he took things slow and let himself feel. you give him a gentle reminder.

body language * joel shows up at your place in the middle of the night with a camcorder and an idea

give in * joel shows you how to love yourself the way you deserve

switching the positions * a collection of micro-fics chronicling the days of a very eventful week in the lives of you and joel miller

the way we fight * you and joel love taking your frustrations out on each other—in more ways than one

come clean * joel comes home after a messy day on patrol, but you're already in the shower

you take my self control * your first act of brutality leaves you reeling, but you realize you’ve started to crave that violence and it terrifies you. joel steps in to satisfy your craving.

living in a state of dreaming joel's nightmares have evolved into full-blown sleepwalking. you and ellie remind him that, together, you'll always keep each other safe

a sudden sense of liberty joel reminds you that you'll never truly be alone

here in your arms * joel's arms are especially distraction this morning, so you decide to wake him up and do something about it

way too damn needy * after an extremely frustrating day off work, joel's feeling needy and lets you take control

one more cup of coffee you wake up on an unassuming monday morning and discover what you've always known—you're in love with joel miller

does your mother know? * joel never could've anticipated what his friends' daughter had in store for him when he got invited to friday night dinner

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thesimulationswarm · 8 months

Text

Garden of Earthly Delights - one shot

sub!Joel Miller x f!dom!reader

A/N: I've been sick and sort of in a feverish fugue state for a couple of days and I wrote this. Definitely inspired by reading this excellent sub!Joel fic by @haylzcyon, but it turned out quite a bit darker. So, welcome to my horny fever dream I guess? Summary: Joel gets dommed by a bratty shopgirl he meets in the Boston QZ and discovers a very unexpected side of himself Rating: explicit 18+ MDNI Word count: 3.5k Warnings/tags: no use of y/n, hard dom!reader, irresponsible dom behavior that would be abusive irl (don't dom people you meet on the street kids. And for god's sake, use active consent and a safe word), reader described as young and has hair, slapping, spitting, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected PIV sex, premature ejaculation, cum eating, praise, degradation, pet names (good boy, baby boy, kitten, mama), submissive produce washing

Joel was tired, and hungry, and he wanted to go home. At home he had half a bottle left of some dark moonshine that approximated whiskey, and a day off tomorrow to sleep through its aftereffects. But his cupboards were otherwise empty, and he knew he needed to lay in some supplies.

Unfortunately, it was the end of first shift and half of the goddamn QZ was thinking the same thing. The line snaking up to the counter at the ration shop was moving slower than he even thought possible, and he shifted irritably from side to side. He was trying, unsuccessfully, to find a way to stand that didn’t make his whole body hurt.

Even more maddening, only one person was working the counter today. He was sympathetic with operations being short staffed, but that clearly wasn’t the case. He could see right past the greasy hair of the young guy doling out food, and another person was back there, just leaning against the wall. Looking bored.

He watched you as you idly checked your nails. He watched you as you ran your fingers through your hair. He watched you cock one hip to the side and lean down to pull a shiny red apple from a burlap sack, then toss it loosely back and forth between your hands. Like you had all the time in the goddamn world.

You were beautiful.

You were young.

You weren’t bothered one bit by the grumbling line of customers stretching down the street.

He fucking hated you.

Finally, he reached the front, throwing down a thick sheaf of ration cards. “Two loaves a’ bread. Cooking oil. And a couple apples,” he grunted out.

“Sorry, out of apples,” the gormless kid answered. Behind him, he watched as you lifted the smooth red fruit to your lips and bit down, hard, the flesh giving way with a gratifying crunch. You noted with satisfaction that it was a particularly good apple— tart, sweet, crisp.

The shop boy saw Joel glaring and shrugged. “Last one.” Joel looked over at where you stood again, one knee bent with your foot pressed oh-so-casually against the cinderblock wall. Beside you, the burlap sack bulged with the shape of a good dozen round, suspiciously apple-sized lumps.

A thin rivulet of juice dripped out from the fruit in your hand, sliding down the curve of your wrist. You saw him watching you, and you bent your head to run your tongue along your skin, lapping up every last, sweet drop.

You liked the way he was looking at you. An older guy, gray streaking through his dark hair and down his stubbled jawline. But fucking built, the solid shape of his shoulders stretching out the worn chambray of his work shirt. His eyes were narrowed, his strong brow pinched. The cut of his jaw practically vibrating with tension.

He wanted to kill you. He also, definitely, wanted to fuck you. Maybe both at the same time. And below all of that simmering ferociousness, there was a hint of something else in his big brown eyes. Something that definitely interested you.

He’d been halfway home when a FEDRA sweep forced him back in the direction of the shops. He wasted a good hour waiting for a bunch of fifteen-year-olds in body armor to “clear the area,” then finally got back on his way.

He was deep in thought, thinking about a smuggling trip he was planning for late next week. Wondering if the soldier he was bribing for intel was too far gone on oxy to be reliable anymore. He didn’t want a repeat of last November, inches away from being gunned down as his crew sprinted across what was supposed to be an unguarded field at the edge of town.

So he didn’t see you coming until you were only a couple yards in front of him, walking home yourself— bag of apples slung over your shoulder.

When his eyes flicked up, finally, you’d stopped walking and were standing there in a wide stance with one hand on your hip. You saw the way his eyes widened briefly, then narrowed again, shining darkly as you watched him watching you. You ran your tongue around the perimeter of your lips, and his gaze followed its slow swirl.

Then you reached into your bag and pulled out an apple. You gave your arm a desultory swing and let it loose. It bounced to the ground, rolling toward his boots, then came to a stop just an inch away from him.

He looked at the apple.

He looked at you.

“Thought you might like a taste.”

The loathing that poured over his features was so intense that for a moment, you thought you might’ve misread things. But no, you could see it there in his face again. That bloom of need.

This poor, beautiful man needed to be taken care of.

And sure enough, you watched as he crouched down there in the street to pick up the apple. You watched as he straightened himself up, his knees crackling audibly.

“Good. Now take a bite.”

The apple, tasty as it was sure to be, had just rolled across the godforsaken ground of Boston QZ. Across dust and ash and human detritus, ground down to a smudging blackness that covered every surface here. He didn’t even know why he’d picked the thing up, and he sure as shit wasn’t going to put his mouth on it.

He shook his head, lip curling in a sneer.

“Don’t think so, honey.”

You tutted softly, walking forward to close the gap between you. He held the apple down at one side, the other hand hooked into his belt loop. Shoulders squaring up to you as you neared. Even as he was doing it, he felt like a fool. What exactly did he have to prove to this bratty little shopgirl? And why wasn’t he walking away?

“That’s really too bad,” you said, letting your words drip slowly from your mouth. “I thought you were gonna be a good boy for me.”

You were right in front of him now, close enough to see the rise and fall of his chest as his breathing quickened.

“‘Cause I know how to take really good care of good boys.”

Joel closed his eyes for a moment. He didn’t understand why, but his cock had swollen to half-mast just from crouching down to pick up that apple while you stood over him. And every time you spoke he felt more warmth pooling in his groin. He wasn’t sure if he was going to have to pay for what you were offering, or if you’d do it for free. But he knew he wanted it, unexpectedly, very badly.

He clenched his hand around the smooth skin of the fruit, and against his conscious judgement he felt his arm lifting it up toward his face.

You watched him moving, his eyes still closed, a smile slowly spreading across your face. As the fruit approached his gently parting lips, you reached up to grab him by the wrist, stilling him. You could feel the jump of his pulse below the rough skin.

“Not so fast, boy.” His eyes blinked open, their soft brown blown out to black. “I think since you’re being so good, we can go back to your place and get that apple nice and clean for you. And then you can show me how pretty you are when you eat.”

His place was nicer than many, a handful of rooms that were worn but clean. Functional furniture, a radio, a shelf with books. He clearly was doing okay for himself. The ones who needed this the most usually were.

He led you inside with a nervous energy that told you he hadn’t done this before. He’d surely brought women to his apartment, with those broad shoulders and that roughly handsome face. But never someone like you. And he wasn’t sure what to do. He stood in the living room, still holding the apple in one hand, his other hand clenching and opening at his side.

You looked him up and down. “What’s your name?”

You saw him hesitate. Wondering if this was a good idea— if you were a psychopath about to rob him or worse. But then he swallowed.

“Joel.”

“Joel,” you purred. “Do you have soap, Joel?” He looked blank for a second, then nodded. “Then go and wash that filthy apple off like a good boy.”

He paused again, and then gave a bewildered shake of his head before walking off toward the kitchen. There was a table in the room, across from an unmade bed. You pulled yourself up to sit on top of it, resting your feet on the seat of a battered old chair, and waited.

Joel returned after a minute, holding the now damp and glistening apple. He still wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. Or his body. He held the fruit out to you, watched the bored way your eyes ran down his form as you sat there.

You made a soft tsk. “I see a speck of dirt. Better try again, boy.”

Joel looked at the spotless apple, then back at you. His heart felt like it was going to beat right through the wall of his chest.

He hated you.

And he wanted to hear you call him a good boy again.

He stalked off to the kitchen and stood by the sink, carefully running the damp, soapy washrag back and forth across the smooth, hard peel. The apple was a deep red, flecked with burgundy. Joel held it up in the light that filtered through his window, turning it in circles to inspect for any blemish. When he was satisfied, he carried it carefully back to you. Despite himself, he could feel his brow draw up, his expression pleading, as he offered it again.

You gestured desultorily at the table beside you, and he set down the apple gently. You ignored it.

He was uncomfortably hard now, straining against the too-tight denim of his pants. You looked down at the thick shape of him, and raised a single eyebrow.

“I think you better take your clothes off, kitten. Before you make a mess of yourself.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

You watched as he unbuttoned and zipped down his fly, the relief washing over his face as his cock sprung free and bobbed up toward his stomach. You had to fight to keep your face impassive as you took in the sight— you were impressed by the sheer size of him, thick and long and richly veined. The swollen head was stained almost purple as the blood pulsed through him, slick from where he’d been weeping against his boxers.

You had a good feeling about this one. A very good feeling.

“All of your clothes.”

You waited, arms crossed over your chest in a posture of impatience, as he slid all the way out of his pants and unbuttoned his shirt, revealing the curving planes of his muscles and the dusting of dark hair. A little soft right around his tummy and thick thighs, the perfect counterpoint to everything that was hard and rigid about him.

He saw how you were looking at him, and he moved toward you, desperation painting his face.

“Please, baby— I—I need you,” he stuttered, his dark eyes wide and desperate.

Your hand slapped across his face, hard and fast.

He stumbled backward, stunned momentarily as his hand flew up to cup his stinging cheek.

“Did I tell you you could speak?”

Part of him wanted to throw you against the wall, and part of him wanted to fall to his knees and beg your forgiveness. He felt his cock twitch, growing somehow even harder, a thick bead of precum oozing from the slit.

You watched him, smirking. “I think you liked that, didn’t you, boy?”

A hot blush seeped up his neck as you looked down at his needy cock. He knew you were right. If you kept slapping him like that, looking at him like that, talking to him like that— he’d come harder than he ever had in his life.

“Now,” you said, pointing down at the floor. “Kneel for me.”

Joel lowered himself to the hardwood floor, unconcerned with how his knees were going to feel tomorrow. He watched as you pulled the fabric of your skirt up around your waist, revealing a thin pair of cotton panties, sopping wet where the fabric ran between your legs.

“See what you can do for me when you’re a good boy?” You ran a finger up and down along the slick cloth, ghosting over the shape of your slit.

Then he watched, mesmerized, as you slid the underwear down your legs. Leaving your pussy bare, drenched, and just out of reach.

God, you were perfect.

His tongue darted out to moisten his lips as he stared at you, desperate for a taste.

You smiled. “It looks like you’re ready to serve me already. And you’re very, very lucky today. Because I’m going to let you eat me out, if you just ask nicely. Are you ready to ask nicely?”

He nodded eagerly. You noted with satisfaction that his face was loosening— the jaw no longer so tensed, the deep furrow between his brows softening. He was relinquishing himself to you, little by little. You reached down with one finger and tipped his chin upward, to look into your face.

“Okay, sweet boy. You can ask me now.”

“Please, please let me eat your pretty pussy,” he spoke, his voice hoarse with need. His eyes, looking up at you, were all pupil— hungry pools of black.

You nodded appreciatively, then you reached your hands around to the back of his head and pulled him into you. Your fingers threaded through the thick, salt-and-pepper curls, holding him tightly in place as he began to lick. His beard was scratchy against your sensitive skin, but his lips were surprisingly soft.

You gave him directions— how hard to suck against your swollen clit, how fast to draw his tongue through your folds— and tugged him by the hair to adjust his angle. You could feel the vibration of him whimpering against you.

“Good boy,” you cooed down at him. “Eating that pussy so good for me.” And he was, following your every instruction, responding to the subtlest tap and tug. Like he was born to do this. As you felt your orgasm building, you pressed him deeper against your core, squeezing him between your thighs. He was trapped, and clearly loving it. Below you, you could see the muscular swell of his ass, clenching as he thrust his hips up against nothing.

“That’s it, that’s it. Make Mama come like a good boy.” You pulled hard on his hair as you pressed your hips forward, toes curling, waves of pleasure crashing through you. He moaned just as loudly as you did, your cunt spasming against the press of his hot tongue.

You took your time catching your breath, still holding Joel by the hair. When you finally pulled him free of you, the sight was delicious. Skin blotched and red, your glistening juices smeared everywhere. Hair tousled and sticking out, breath coming fast and hard.

You smiled down at him.

“Don’t worry, pet. We’re not done yet. Now—” you pointed over at the unmade bed—“you’re gonna be my little toy. You’re gonna lie down over there and let me ride you.”

Joel felt a rush of relief at the thought of you finally touching his achy, leaking cock. He nodded up at you, rising to his feet. The sheets of the bed were cool and smooth against his flushed skin.

You took your time, sliding down off the table top and languidly stretching your arms out. Enjoying the way Joel looked lying there, waiting for you with his giant erection jutting up into the air. Finally, you made your way over to the mattress and climbed up on your knees, straddling him.

Your sweet cunt was hovering in the air, inches above the tip of his cock. You paused there, and smiled condescendingly down at him.

“Beg me for it, little boy.”

“Please, please, please.” The words spilled out of his lips, his voice cracked and shameless.

“Please what?”

“Please ride me. Please fuck yourself on my cock like it’s your little toy.”

You reached down and wrapped one hand around his thickness, the grip sending sparks through his body. Then you began to slide his head along your drenched lips, wetting it down. Instead of moving him toward your entrance, you guided the tip to nudge against your clit, and began to tap it against the swollen nub, again and again. His poor, sensitive cockhead was so engorged by now that it hurt, and he whimpered each time you pressed against him.

Then, finally, you slid him down to the hot, wet center of you. You drove your hips down, throwing your head back as you filled yourself with him. He could only fit halfway in your tight little pussy on that first downward thrust, and you whined as you reared up and down again, spearing yourself on his cock. He felt his thighs shaking as you pushed yourself further and further down, until finally he bottomed out inside you. You paused there, letting yourself settle around the heavy length of him.

And then— fuck— he felt that familiar warmth growing in his abdomen, his balls tightening upward. His face screwed up, as he tensed and fought to pull back from the edge.

“Oh, poor boy,” you said, smiling down at him as you began to move your hips in a slow, easy roll. “You’re trying so hard not to come, aren’t you?” The warm slide of your pussy was unbelievable, and Joel’s mind scrambled for something to distract him— think about work detail, plumbing repair, fucking baseball, anything.

“But you can’t hold back, can you? You’re not even gonna make it another minute in this tight little cunt, are you?” You were right. Of course you were right. He grabbed fistfuls of bedsheet in each hand, gripping as hard as he could, knuckles going white as he fought against his hips that wanted to thrust, thrust, thrust into you. He screwed his eyes shut tight.

His eyes flew back open as a spray of warm spit hit his face.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you!” Your voice jolted through him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he moaned.

“Tell me you’re sorry for coming so fast, you filthy little boy.”

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I’m a filthy little boy and I’m going to come.” The words poured out of Joel, his hips bucking uncontrollably as the electric warmth spilled over. “I’m sorry Mama, I’m coming, I’m so sorry, fuck, fuck, fuck.” He began to shoot into you, spurt after helpless spurt, coming so hard he thought for a second he might pass out.

It was only when his cock and his hips finally stilled that he realized he was crying. Hot tears rolled down the sides of his face to pool against the sheets.

You leaned down, stroking your hand along his stubbled cheeks. “Shhh, shhh. It’s okay baby. Mama forgives you.” You slid yourself off his sticky, half-hard cock and moved forward, still straddling him. Your soft hands gently combed through his messy curls.

“Don’t worry, baby boy. You can clean up this mess and I’ll be good as new.” Your hips pushed forward, and you pulled one hand back to hold yourself open, showing Joel where his milky seed was dripping down between your folds.

He nodded, looking up at your encouraging smile. His tongue slipped out between his lips, and he took a first, tentative lick along your slit. The sweet tang of your slick mixed with his own bitter, salty spend.

“That’s a good boy. Clean it all up.” He lapped at you, gathering speed. His tongue pressed inside you, curling against your walls to release every last drop.

Finally, when you were satisfied he’d done his job, you pulled away. He released his mouth from you with a mournful groan, and you sat down against the head of his bed.

You looked him over from head to toe. He was a fucked out mess of a man. Flushed skin, limbs sprawling. Sticky cock still swollen against his thigh. Lips slick with his own come, and yours.

“Come here, sweet boy,” you murmured softly. You pulled his head into your lap, cradling him there as you gently petted him. “You did good. Close your eyes, Joel. I’ve got you.”

His eyes drifted shut, and in less than a minute he’d fallen asleep. Dark, deep, dreamless sleep— the best sleep he’d had in a long, long time.

When he woke up, it was morning and you were gone. On his table, you’d left the core of an apple, its sweetness slowly turning brown.

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #sub!joel #joel miller smut #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us smut #tlou smut #divider by cafekitsune

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ken-dom · 8 months

Text

I Can Fix Him

Holland March x afab!reader

2.3k words

Summary: Holland is irresistibly pathetic. So of course you still want him after last nights mess. Or, how Holland ended up with ‘You will never be happy :)’ written on his hand and still managed to get some.

Part of a Pathetic Holland triple threat with;

A Night To Remember by @webbo0 and

Drunken Stranger by @hollandstrophyhusband

Author’s notes: we couldn’t help but obsess over why the novelisation of The Nice Guys says that the note on Holland’s hand is written in ‘unfamiliar, feminine’ handwriting, so we came up with a few ideas and wrote them all. It’s been so much fun working with you both 🩷

Warnings/content: NSFW, alcohol, somnophilia, wet dream, blow job, kind of premature ejaculation, fingering mention, sex mention, erectile dysfunction caused by too much alcohol (never thought I’d tag a fic with that) — it’s a whole mess, you get the picture

As you drifted awake, only one eye opened at first. The other was smushed against the back of Holland’s shoulder, your face sticky with sweat against his jacket. Apparently, he was a furnace in his sleep, unbearably hot to the touch, and you supposed the fact that you were both still half dressed did nothing to help that fact.

‘Holland?’ you whispered, peeling yourself off him and pulling your clothes back up to cover your chest whilst attempting to tidy your mussed hair.

A loud snore.

Ah. He was still dead to the world.

You sat up and checked the clock on his bedside. Ten am. You’d massively overslept, but suspected that for him, this was a regular occurrence.

Your eyes wandered over his snoring form and you wondered how he would feel if he knew you were still here this morning, and whether he would even remember you were here last night. Or who you are.

You reached out instinctively, without thinking, retracting your fingers for a moment when a brief glimmer of sense burst into your mind. He startled you with a surprisingly sweet sigh and at that point you just couldn’t help yourself. That thick strand of golden hair stuck to his sweaty forehead was calling, and you reached over to sweep it gently away from his eyes with tender fingertips.

As you brushed back down over his cheek, his lips pulled into a soft smile and he hummed.

Probably dreaming of his wife. Probably? Definitely.

You felt a pang of guilt and jealousy swirling in your gut. You were certain that you’d been a fool to stay after last night’s mess. And it was a mess, there really was no other word for it.

Holland had been too drunk to get his dick hard, called you by his dead wife’s name during a slurred apology for having a limp cock despite his face having been buried against your chest and his hands quite literally squeezing every inch of your body, and then cried for fifteen solid minutes while you consoled him, until he convinced you he was sober enough to eat you out instead. He proceeded to pass out on you with his fingers hooked beneath the elastic of your underwear, drooling sloppily onto your thigh as he snored loudly.

But there really had been something about the way he kissed you, and the way he looked at you before he was too far gone to recognise who you were that made you want to stick around. Something about the way he wanted you, but couldn’t move past the thought of his wife, or the amount of alcohol in his body, enough to do anything about it.

He had turned from fun and charming (and a little stupid) to sad and pathetic so quickly it was jarring, but still, it kind of turned you on? That very specific mixture of clashing traits painting a very sad picture of a very lonely man riddled with guilt. A handsome lonely man riddled with guilt who wanted to fuck you. And so despite the disappointment and disheartenment you’d felt, your ‘I can fix him’ mode kicked in and you found that you just couldn’t walk away.

And Jesus, he really was handsome. That certainly helped. You felt guilt rise in your gut again for thinking he looked hot while he was crying into your shoulder and sobbing some incomprehensible nonsense about his flaccid cock. How could that possibly be sexy? And yet…

You’d had a little moment of anger though, and left a message on his hand when he first passed out. Something for him to find in the morning. Grabbing a pen (engraved with his wife’s initials, you noticed) from the bedside table and carefully writing You will never be happy from the base of his forefinger across the top of his thumb. It was a drunken reaction you regretted now, but boy it felt good to fling that pen across the room with reckless abandon after you’d done it.

You could see your message now; displayed plainly on the huge hand placed beside his face, which was buried in the pillow you’d dragged him onto after he passed out between your legs, and your stomach churned. Even if he’d be pleased to see he hadn’t scared you off with his messy drunken behaviour, your note would surely scare him off. And you wouldn’t blame him.

Feeling uncomfortable with your bout of unkindness, you slipped off the bed to pick up the pen from where you’d thrown it and climbed back up to grab his hand again. He hummed quietly and rolled onto his back with a loud snore.

You added a little :) beneath your earlier message and held his hand up, reading and rereading it, trying to decide if the smiley face softened it at all. Barely. But surely it was better with a smile? Kind of jokey, right? Right.

You gently placed his hand down upon his slowly rising and falling chest and he stirred, fingers grasping for something. So you gently slid your own fingers in between his and he settled immediately.

God, he must have been a needy husband.

It felt nice though, the way his fingers squeezed weakly at yours, and that crooked smile appeared again, more mischievous this time.

Unconsciously, you smiled back. Then you closed your eyes, took a deep breath, slid your hand away from his and tried to climb off his bed again without waking him.

As you turned, your hand accidentally brushed against his trousers and…

Oh shit.

Holland’s cock was straining to stand to attention inside his tight pants. And you’d accidentally dragged your palm right against it. And he whined. Actually whined, high pitched and as needy as you’d imagined him sounding if he’d actually managed to fuck you last night.

‘Oh shit,’ you breathed, out loud this time.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away. Holland was big. Like, really big, and you suddenly felt disappointed again that he had been unable to perform.

As you fought to keep your mind on track, you also noticed the rather prominent patch of precum soaking through the fabric where his tip was tucked beneath the constraints of his belt.

So… he can get hard then? How long has he been hard? He looks so big… god, I want to touch him…

Holland muttered something under his breath then, snapping you out of your hazy thoughts, and bucked his hips, chasing the touch he’d felt from your hand.

‘Please…’ he uttered, whimpering weakly.

Even though you were sure he was dreaming of his wife, and would probably cry like a baby when he woke up, he was still somehow irresistible. In a pathetic sort of way. In an I can fix him sort of way. Fuck.

You were overcome with the need to give him a taste of what he was begging for within his unconscious mind, even if you couldn’t really be the person he wanted it from. Just to let him have his sad, horny wet dream and actually get to finish before harsh reality kicked back in…

‘Fuck it.’

You settled between his spread thighs (So slutty, you thought with delight) and carefully pushed your hand over the hard bulge in his pants, actually feeling his cock twitch against your palm through the fabric.

He cried out at your touch, surprisingly loud and strangled compared to his little whimpers, and still not waking himself up.

You rushed to unbuckle his belt, giving up on trying to be quiet, leaving the metal of the buckle to clink aside as your fingers worked fast over the buttons of his pants. As you pulled them down to his knees you noticed his underwear too was absolutely soaked through with precum.

Wow. Been a while? Or are you usually this messy?

You licked your lips, hungry to taste him, and peeled those boxer shorts down like you were unwrapping a present. The simple anticipation mixed with the scent of his aftershave and natural musk made your heart race.

When his cock had sprung free, slick with his seed and visibly throbbing, you dropped forward, hungrily licking him clean of his sticky mess, humming around him. He squirmed beneath you, the hand you’d laid on his chest now grasping loosely at your hair as the other balled the bedsheets him in a tight fist.

You wrapped your fingers around him, pumping steadily as you lifted your head to get a closer look at him.

His mouth had dropped open, his cheeks were pink, his back was already arching. Your mouth was already filling with generous drops of precum, making your movements all the more slick.

Jesus, Holland, when was the last time you came?

You sunk your whole mouth onto him then, taking as much of his length in as you could, your lips tight as you sucked and swirled your tongue, bobbing your head in time with the fist still eagerly massaging his base.

‘I’m- Jesus!!’ he shrieked, ‘If you keep doing that- I’m gonna- I’m- f-fuck-’

He was fully conscious now, then.

Spurred on by his whimpering pleas, you kept going and it didn’t take long until his writhing hips suddenly stuttered and he spilled his thick, hot seed into your mouth in a never ending rope. It tasted like stale alcohol. You didn’t know that was possible until today, and it certainly wasn’t what you expected, but in honesty you’d take anything you got from him.

A sound just short of a scream ripped from his chest as his climax took hold, and what followed was a whiny string of expletives intermingled with your name.

You almost choked, not least from the force and volume of his release in your mouth, which was still coming thick and fast, shooting down your throat and trickling from your lips, but from the thought that he might have actually been dreaming of you. That he was hard for you.

He had called your name. Not his wife’s, or some random girl from a bar who just about reminded him of her. Yours.

‘Jesus!’ he cried, lower this time, breathier, between desperate panting as you released him from the warmth of your mouth. ‘Jesus… that was… fucking incredible, I’m sorry it was over so fast… I uh… I was feelin’ kinda sensitive, y’know… it’s been a while. I think, anyway.’

As you swallowed what you could of his seed, the rest dripping out onto his already ruined underwear, you dropped down beside him and stroked his red face, watching him gasp for breath.

‘Holland? Are you with me now?’ you soothed, very aware of how vulnerable he might feel right now.

‘Mmh… sure am, baby. What’d I do to deserve a wake up call like that?’ he smirked, eyes closed in sleepy, post-orgasm bliss.

‘Oh, uhm…’

You hesitated, not sure he’d want to hear You were pathetic and sad and it made me want to make you cum.

‘I must’ve really done a number on you last night, huh? Couldn’t get enough of the March magic so you couldn’t resist, is that it? Jesus. Not too spent for another round are you? Fuck, you deserve the world for making me cum like that.’

He blinked his eyes open so he could really appreciate you, but it looked incredibly painful despite the dim lighting, and he squinted in your direction instead.

‘Holland we… didn’t do anything last night,’ you said softly, wincing a little.

‘We didn’t? Well fuck, let me rectify that right now!’

‘No, no, I think you need a rest.’

He settled back down against the pillow, immediately pleased you’d suggested it, because as much as he wanted to taste you, his head had spun when he tried to get up and his body was trembling. It really had been a long time. And even longer since he’d felt someone else’s touch.

‘So,’ you started carefully, ‘you were… dreaming of me?’

He laughed smugly. ‘Sure was.’

He brought a hand up to wipe the fresh sweat from his forehead, catching a glimpse of something on his hand that he swore wasn’t there yesterday.

You winced as his eyes slowly moved over the letters. And then again.

‘What the fuck did I do to you last night?!’

You huffed a gentle laugh. ‘Never mind that now. I guess I changed my mind somewhere between you face planting between my thighs and waking up with you in my arms with the biggest hard on I’ve ever seen.’

Holland looked horrified and you wondered if he was actually remembering any of it. Perhaps that wouldn’t be for the best, though.

‘Hey, how about I run you a bath. It’ll soon wash off in there. Along with uhm… well…’ You gestured to the state of his underwear and his coated, limp cock and he chuckled. He must cum that much usually because you could tell from his laugh that he knew. ‘Plus… maybe I could join you…’

‘Jesus…’ he breathed. And then his eyes shot wide open as a lightbulb pinged on in his eyes, seemingly no longer bothered by the relatively dim light. ‘Hey, would you let me at least fingerfuck you while we’re in there? I can’t have you walking out of here unsatisfied, what would that do to my reputation, huh?’

Reputation? Ha. Yet that familiar heat rushed to your core. Again. He had big hands. Really big, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t wanted them between your thighs when he had first started flirting with you last night. Even as you were writing the message on his right hand, your mind had wandered. And again when you added the little smiley face.

‘Hmm. I think I can stretch to that.’ Your lips curled smugly as you slipped off the bed and considered him. ‘Although maybe not with the size of those hands,’ you winked.

#not s f w 💀#holland march smut #holland march x reader #holland march x you #holland march x y/n #holland march #holland march fic #the nice guys #the nice guys 2016 #the nice guys fic #ryan gosling fic #ryan gosling #ryan gosling x reader #ryan gosling x you #ryan gosling x y/n #ryan gosling smut #ken-dom writes

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morimementa · 18 days

Text

Might I offer you a small smackerel of NikPrice mpreg?

TW for mpreg and illness mentions under the readmore.

Nik and Price trying for a baby, knowing the odds are really long, given Price is in his late 30s. They’re prepared to wait, and even to let their dreams go unfulfilled.

Anyway, they succeed on the first try. After the initial shock of “We thought this would be hard?!” wears off, they’re really excited. And in Price’s case, very, very nauseous.

(Ghost staunchly refuses to stop calling him “old man”, though.)

The morning sickness passes with little fanfare, but then comes the migraines. They start in month 4 and finally stop in month 6, but it’s not an easy time. They spend a lot of time in bed with the blinds drawn and the lights off, with Nik alternating between massaging his husband’s temples and rubbing his belly. It’s not something either of them care to repeat but the intimacy of that time was something special.

Nikolai dubs the baby "Little Mouse" because Price keeps craving string cheese of all things.

By pure happenstance, they're cuddling on the sofa when he feels the baby kick for the first time. It takes another month before the kicks are strong enough to feel from the outside, but it's more than worth the wait. Nikolai cuddles up with Price's belly and sings to them.

They find out the gender at 12 weeks, but I think we can all agree no one in the 141 would be caught dead doing a gender reveal party.

No, not even if Soap was promised Tannerite.

The next time they meet up with Soap and Ghost, Price casually drops the fact that the baby's a boy. Soap jokes about buying blue bubblegum cigars to celebrate.

They don't have a baby shower but their small circle of friends do bestow their gifts. Gaz finds a baby sized boonie hat and makes sure it finds its way onto Price's desk.

Nikolai has never been prone to worrying, but there's definitely a few times he holds his breath in anticipation during Price's ultrasounds. Premature births run in his family and he worries he's passed the curse onto his husband and their son.

Anyway, Price ends up almost a week overdue. He's less than thrilled, but still thankful there's little risk of the NICU at this point.

Nik consoles him with backrubs and promises of a ham sandwich once the baby's born.

Price finally goes into labor while Nik’s off at work. Ghost is the one who calls the ambulance. The EMT is a bit of prat and asks Price if he’s sure he’s in labor. The trauma Ghost inflicts on him without ever having to raise his voice becomes the stuff of hospital legend.

Nik arrives at the hospital while Price is between contractions and learns that his husband is just fine, but their kid’s godfather made an EMT wet himself.

Honestly, he should have expected that.

Their son is delivered safely and with few issues. He's a really chonky baby at 11 pounds, 8 ounces. Nik stops calling him little mouse and starts calling him Baby Bear.

His real name is Aleksandr or Alek for short. He ends up with Nik's nose and hair and Price's eyes. Gaz remarks that he'll probably grow out a beard when he gets older.

"The girls will be chasing him," Nik laughs. "Or the boys."

The first thing Price does when he's able to get out of bed and leave little Alek with Soap is light up a cigar on the porch. He's still going to smoke on occasion, but he makes sure he's not putting their son in danger.

This ended up being way more than a smackerel. No regrets, the fandom needs way more Nikprice Mpreg.

#text post #cod #nikprice #mpreg #tw pregnancy #john price #captain john price #Nikolai #Nikolai cod #call of duty

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thelonechaosgoose · 4 months

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I have recently learned that I like pretty much every book I have to read in English class so have this short long rambling essay on The Great Gatsby.

The whole story makes me sad. It is full of missed opportunities and greed and rich people who have no concern for other people. It's about hope and dreams and a false sense of happiness. Gatsby throws these elaborate parties for one person who doesn't even know he's there. He invites important people to try and get the attention of one girl. When that girl finally sees him, everything begins to fall apart. There is a short period of happiness and hope and light. But that ends almost as quickly as it began. Daisy and Tom's marriage was never real. It was never full of equally returned love. Tom was always with someone else. Even if Daisy said she loved Tom, it wasn't always sincere. Things could've been so good. But the morals of all of these people messed things up. Nick being caught up in all of this made things even sadder. He just wanted to get away from the boring life he had and sell bonds. He didn't deserve any of this. He was stuck inbetween people's secrets and messy lives. It's no wonder he wanted to leave New York and all of them behind. They're all terrible. I mean Gatsby wasn't awful but his obliviousness to the situation and his endless hope and belief that Daisy would go with him after the fight made him a frustrating character. Especially to Nick. The way Gatsby made his money wasn't entirely lawful but I know for a fact he wasnt as bad as Tom. Nick tried to help Gatsby but in the end he gave up. Another point is that if Daisy had waited just a little longer, she could've had a happier life. Even if Gatsby made his money in an unlawful way, they probably would've been happier than she was with Tom. Her happiness was a mask to how she really felt. We only really get glimpses of this but when she talks to Nick about the birth of Pammy, Daisy's daughter, she wants her to be a fool. She wants her to be a fool so that she won't have to deal with the terrible-ness of the outside world. Daisy also was involved in 2 (two) murders! The obvious one being Myrtle. The irony of this is that she kills the woman her husband is having an affair while she's having an affair. The other possibly less obvious one is of course Gatsby. Since she hit Myrtle, she caused Wilson to go to Tom who told him it was Gatsby which then gives Wilson the ammo to shoot Gatsby in his pool. Tom could've told Wilson that it was Gatsby for two reasons. One, he actually thought it was Gatsby. Or, two, he said it was Gatsby to protect Daisy. I think it was the second one. After the fight, Tom knows that Gatsby has lost and he has won. He wants everything to go back to how things were. When he had control over his life. He probably figured out it was Daisy and threw Gatsby under that bus so that they could leave and start over again. Moving on from that mess, I want to talk about Jordan and how awful she is. She was not phased about anything that happened. After the fight and the accident she asked Nick if he wanted to come inside for dinner and hang out after they had literally just seen a dead body. It definitely helps to show that the only people effected by any of this are Nick, Gatsby, and Wilson. Two of which are dead. Gatsby spent the past five years of his life trying to get Daisy back for it only to end in his premature death. Also the fact that Nick was all Gatsby had makes this even more tragic. Even After all the parties and all the business associates, he is still alone and nobody cared about him. He dedicated his life to Daisy and all he got in return was a tiny sliver of happiness.

thank you for coming to my super long Ted talk <3

#the great gatsby #jay gatsby #nick carraway #jordan baker #tom buchanan #daisy buchanan

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babyzzz · 2 years

Text

Inccubus!Akaza x Fem!afab!Reader summary: your mother sold you to an incubus for a lot of money, and when you were the right age, he came after your virginity and purity, but he only found a bitch who would fuck anyone. But he wouldn't leave empty-handed, not before he showed you that no one was allowed to touch what he was promised.

a/n: this plot was on my mind for a long time, so i gathered all my biggest fears and put it into it and it ended up making it a shameless smut that would make my mom cry blood if she read it

warnings: public sex, exhibitionism, dub-con, vaginal fingering, public degradation, public humiliation, lots os orgasm, blowjob tw: abusive maternal relationship, dub-con

The first time you dreamed about him was when you lost your virginity.

A week after turning eighteen, you decided to step out from under your mother's religious and damning wing to test your own. Your first sexual experience was boring. Maybe this definition isn't enough for what you thought of sex, because boredom could still bring back certain memories a few days later and you could still tell your friends how bored you got when you spread your legs to that guy for him just take off his own pants and put them in you for less than two minutes, let out a moan and come inside the condom, without withdrawing from you.

You didn't even feel pain. In fact, you felt absolutely nothing. Was he too small? That's what you asked yourself. As mentioned above, it was such a void that you simply ignored it for the next few days, months, maybe years. Boredom would make you say something funny to make your friends laugh, but your experience made you shut up. When they asked you about the first time, you lied that you hadn't had one yet, because of your mother's overprotectiveness. Lucky for you, you had a wacky, shy matriarch who lowered you to the level of a worm when she suspected you weren't pure anymore. And using that to your advantage, you thought it was much better to be laughed at by your sex-savvy friends than to admit to them that your virginity was taken by a premature ejaculator who seemed to be disgusted to touch you.

The judgment didn't come from your mother at first. When you got home, with your clothes a little out of place from getting dressed as quickly as possible to get out of that guy's house and life, she accepted your excuse that you had showered at work and went to lock herself in bedroom and stayed maybe three hours there and left to make you regret for lying.

"You whore!" she yelled at you, making you feel her hot breath hit your face. "Who do you think you are to sleep with someone? So many times have I warned you to stay a virgin until the time is right? You fucking slut! I want you out of my sight! You can't even keep those legs closed next to one man? Are you such a cockslut? After all I taught you, did you still offer that dirty pussy to some asshole? I hate you, you bitch!"

And in addition to the verbal aggressions, there were also physical ones. Your face burned on both sides from the heavy slaps she gave. Your tears were already rolling down your face like small waterfalls next to nasal fluids. She only stopped cursing and hitting you when she got tired. Storming out the front door, leaving you lying on the kitchen floor, curled up in a fetal position, staring at your broken reflection in the glass of the stove's oven lid. And it was with this depressing scene that you gave in to sleep and slept right there.

That's when he appeared in your dreams, around a fog. His golden eyes as he looked at you lying on the floor, but no longer in the kitchen of your mother's house, squatting down beside you. His fingers ran over your aching face as he spoke accusing words, but in a slow, almost affectionate tone.

"If you had listened to your mother, none of this would have happened, little doll," he said, caressing your cheekbones and running his fingers down your nose until they landed on your trembling, crying-swollen lips, where he forced them with the tips for you to open. You resisted and he showed no displeasure. But his words weighed even more. "If you had kept your virginity for me, you wouldn't have had that bad experience with that asshole. But that's not a problem anymore, he won't even have the strength to get an erection anymore to displease another poor thing who fucks him," he almost hummed like a lullaby, now running his fingers through your hair. "My will was to kill him. Even though I made him almost dysfunctional when he set eyes on you, and made him incapable of making a woman cum, he still dared to touch what is mine. Unforgivable. I just won't do it because you consented. You took your clothes off for him. You showed that little virgin pussy to him. What a bad little girl... Bad girls who don't listen to mommy can't be forgiven, did you know that?" And using his other hand, he slid between your legs. You showed no resistance. Maybe it was the strange caresses he was giving you that made you expose yourself to him in search of some protection for the humiliations you went through from your mother. "But I know you'll disobey her again. And I know I'll have to wait a little longer to finally come and get what's rightfully mine." Now his fingers were sliding along your slit, in slow in and out movements. You were so entertained that you didn't even notice the moment he wrapped your panties around your crotch, leaving your entrance exposed. Unconsciously, you turned your hips to lean your ass on the floor and give him more access to your cunt, and then a moan came from deep in your throat as you felt his fingers hit a sensitive spot inside you. "You really are a loose woman. I didn't have to force you to open up to me. I should be furious about that, baby doll." Although he spoke softly, his caresses stopped and he started to mark your skin. Every part that his hands touched on your body was a moan of pain that you released when he sank his fingers into your flesh. You felt it all burn. And his fingers stuck in your pussy until the knots, making you mumble unintelligible things. You didn't know if it was the pain or the pleasure that made you tear up. Perhaps it was the combination of both sensations.

A few more finger thrusts, drawing wet sounds from your cunt, you felt something coming. It was weird and it burned you. And you grabbed his strong arm, which he used to fuck you, looking for protection and then your body shuddered and your pussy closed in his fingers.

"You were so bad and I, instead of punishing you like you deserved, made you cum. Tsk. Tsk. Your punishment will come, little doll. Don't think I'll forget what you did," he said and removed his fingers from within you, glowing with your fluids and forced you to open your mouth to welcome them there. You felt tears prick your eyes when the breath failed to have his fingers almost brushing your throat. The loud sounds were just as or dirtier than the ones your pussy made, because his fingers were soaked by the fluids that came out of it, which he made you release. After he fucked your mouth with his fingers, he withdrew them leaving a string of saliva connecting your lips and his fingertips.

"When I come after what's mine, I hope you're prepared to suck my cock like this. Or I won't be as understanding as I am now," that said, he disappeared and you went back to the kitchen.

You didn't know if you had dreamed. It could be so, but you felt it had been real when you felt sore spots all over your skin. And also for your panties wrapped around your crotch, with your pussy exposed to the fresh air. And also for the saliva remaining on the sides of your lips.

The breath failed and a sudden feeling of shame washed over you. Thinking that this was all a prank played by your subconscious, you painfully got up from the floor, straightened your clothes and went to the bathroom to take a shower and wash from your body all the sin that permeated it.

After that dream, nightmare or anything you couldn't name, your relationship with your mother went from bad to worse. She had never been affectionate with you, she just tolerated you. You didn't understand the anger she had for you, much less the contempt she directed at you every time she looked at you. You also never tried to understand, it was better when she was silent in her corner, without trying to approach, because every time you spoke, it was hours in a row hearing from her how dirty were the women who fornicated or who simply took pleasure in have sex.

Your mother tried at all costs to germinate that seed in you, but your soil was not fertile. Your mind was too open for such matters, and it was always ignored in ultra-conservative speeches.

It wasn't like you owed her satisfaction about how much you felt your pussy get wet when some attractive man showed interest in you. However, you still felt like you should listen to your mother and not have sex with anyone who wooed you.

You saved yourself as far as you could, but you decided that to see yourself free from the cross that your mother nailed in your existence, you should stop listening to her and do with your body what you wanted. You always heard from charlatans who only aimed to extract money from the unsuspecting that your body was a temple and as such, you could bring as many visitors as you wanted to it, however, impregnated with the sacred feminine, they would live in your womb forever and ever. For that reason you should be very cautious in choosing who should enter your holy temple.

You huffed in disgust at the nonsensical thoughts these dishonest people were filling your head with, in the middle of the supermarket, in front of the coffee aisle. The people walked away from you. How could someone so young already talk to herself and smile at what she said? You really did look crazy, but it didn't matter.

After that first dream about that indistinguishable being, you had others. Countless others.

Sometimes he just appeared and sat on the edge of your bed, silently watching you. Others he even talked to you. And in the ones where he looked angry that you fucked a guy in an unsanitary bathroom at a horrible party, he'd take your clothes off and stare at you naked and exposed to him. He didn't touch you, but embarrassed you with that golden gaze assessing you from head to toe, assuring you that your body didn't belong only to you, but to him as well.

Bullshit. You tried to convince yourself, but it was impossible.

He looked up to you like you were the most wonderful thing in the world and that made you feel good. You no longer felt ashamed, so much so that you went to sleep wearing only clothes made of thin and transparent fabrics, too easy to remove from your body. Perhaps that would please your visitor. Or just make him even angrier that you didn't show any resistance.

Unconsciously, acting like a rebel, you became what your mother most feared you would become. The dirtiest of sluts.

"I'm really getting pissed at you, little doll. How can you go around showing any man what should be reserved just for me?" His voice sounded in your room, as you almost hallucinated from the orgasm caused by the vibrator stuck in your pussy and vibrating in your clit, sending shock waves through your entire body.

"You're a coward," was the first time you'd spoken to him. "A damn coward who only appears in my dreams, uses me as he pleases and leaves me in the corners to act like a fucking crazy in the streets." Your voice coming out shaky and your fingers nervously trying to find a tight, aching nipple to pinch between your fingers and pull when orgasm was about to explode on you.

"Coward," he repeated syllable by syllable. As if he felt that word on his lips or tried to know what it tasted like, if it was as horrible as it sounded. You really were an inconsequential woman. You didn't know the danger you were putting yourself in.

"Yes. If I'm yours, why don't you show up in the flesh and come try to get me? Are you afraid I'll throw holy water on you?" You smiled weakly and rolled your eyes when you finally came. You took the vibrator out of yourself and placed it on the white sheet, not caring if a wet stain formed there. Still shaking, you tried to get up, but it was too difficult when you weren't in control of your body.

And it was in the midst of these lucid dreams that you had the best orgasms. And it was to get more and more of them that you subjected yourself to sleeping with bad men. All of them were just as bad or worse than the first one. But you knew that you had to sacrifice yourself for that being to appear once again to you, giving you the chance to reach paradise, at least momentarily, trying to forget that at the end of your life, it would be the gates of hell that would open for you.

With a broken smile, you thought you now thought just like your mother. And before you woke up from the nightmare, he appeared to you. Without that fog around him that always hid him. However, the deafening sound of your alarm clock made your body jerk and woke you up before you could see him properly, frustrating you.

The first thing you saw was the blue sky gracing the landscape in your window, you turned off the alarm clock after stabilizing the movements of your hands a little and with trembling legs from the recent orgasm, you noticed that there was no vibrator in your bed, but the wet stain on the sheet of your fluids, below your ass, made it clear that you had cum somehow.

Sighing in anger, you took a long shower. You ignored your mother's insults and went to work.

The last straw for your visitor came the day you agreed to have sex with three guys at once. You didn't know if this was what you wanted, but if it was to hit your mother, hurt her the way she hurt you, you didn't bother to mark the exact place to find them.

They were acquaintances of yours, not exactly friends, but they were handsome and seemed nice, and the three of them, at some point, when they learned of your naughty reputation, didn't hesitate to put you in a group on some instant messaging app to do that unusual request. At first you were scared, but when you reasoned and thought about the benefits – not just the matriarch's disappointment, but also some longer visit from the demon and consequently more orgasms for you – you accepted.

It was true that one of your least favorite fetishes was have sex with more than two people at a time, and now you were planning to fuck three. It was too crazy and you even thought about leaving the group and blocking them all.

But you didn't give up when your visitor appeared in your room looking for an explanation.

“Oh, what is it? Am I not the dirtiest bitch according to my mother? I’m just giving her reasons to keep talking shit about me!” you were enraged when he pinned you to the bed, stark naked and unable to touch yourself. He didn't touch you either, he just made you watch him tease you, either daring to slide his fingers into your aching clit but not touching it, or threatening to give you an oral you've been fantasizing about for ages. But again he just left you wanting.

It left you completely lit up and frustrated. That was your punishment.

Well, you joined the group and sent the confirmation to the guys. You would meet them the next night.

It would be impossible for all three of you to be as bad in bed as all the guys you've dated before.

The anxiety that accompanied you was almost suffocating. Your mind accused you worse than your own mother. You felt like you were out of your mind. You knew this was all because you felt exhausted from all this shit and all you wanted was some peace. But after this demon appeared to you, peace was simply the last thing life would bring you.

Wiping your tears in front of the mirror, trying not to hate yourself as you got ready for that date, you walked past your mother and said:

“You don't have to call me or call the police, the father of one of the guys I'm going to fuck is now a police chief and knows very well where your daughter will be,” you said, emphasizing 'one of the guys' and leaning in to speak in her eats, as if telling her a secret "riding his son's dick while his friends fuck my mouth or slap my face" you dodged the slap she tried to give you and left the door slamming with a bang, stepping quick not to hear the heaviest curses she threw at you.

When you arrived at the agreed place, you didn't see any of them. In fact, all you saw was the strangely empty and silent street. You could even hear cats fighting on some roof and others rummaging through the garbage cans of the food stores in the neighborhood. But not a single soul passed through there.

You were getting more scared with that weather. Not liking it at all, and your heart rate only accelerated when you heard footsteps behind you, getting closer.

“Hey girl,” someone called out to you, making you jump out of your seat and turn running to look.

It was a deep, masculine voice, and the owner of the voice was one of the guys you would meet. But you soon realized he wasn't human. He had the same presence and scent, but milder, than the demon that accompanied you. “Akaza sent me here. I think for the sake of your existence, you don't resist.”

You still looked around, looking for the other guys you would have the date with.

“They won't come. I think they're still sleeping after Akaza paid them a little visit,” he said without showing any emotion.

“Who is Akaza?” you asked, unable to hide the smirk of relief as you realized you wouldn't have to do what you were going to do. Almost forgetting there was an imposter there with you.

"Don't you know your owner's name, girl?" this time he stared at you in disbelief.

"Owner? I don't have an owner,” you argued, frowning.

"No? Well, anyway, putting you in your place is his role. I'm only here because he asked me for this favor, and I couldn't turn down a request from my best friend." He shrugged and started walking, leaving you behind. You thought about running, but the way he turned to face you froze you in place and you could only move to keep up with him.

The journey was made in pure silence. You lost in the tangle of disconnected thoughts, and he silent, not looking at you.

He stopped in front of a commercial room. He had the door slightly raised, and you went through it. But from then on, all you could understand what was happening was by touch and hearing, your vision was completely darkened.

But you felt like there were more than two people making up and dressing you. They had the softest touch as they applied makeup to you, rubbed blush on your cheekbones and painted your lips with lipstick.

Silently, after they finished putting your makeup on, they took off your clothes, including your underwear, and replaced them with a light dress. So thin and delicate you felt like a doll.

And you understood exactly why he always called you "little doll" and its variations. When he turned on the light and you saw yourself in the huge mirror on the wall of that empty place, you really looked like a doll. Was beautiful.

And practically naked. The dress covered absolutely nothing so transparent.

You were so distracted looking at your image in the mirror, noticing the makeup so well applied, the lipstick enhancing your skin tone, making it beautiful and glowing that you didn't notice the moment when everyone had disappeared and in their place, Akaza who entered.

Standing and leaning against the door, looking at you so beautifully like that, the clothes leaving your curves on display for his appreciation.

You only noticed when he cleared his throat. Overcome by shyness, you tried to cover yourself. It was the first time you had seen him clearly. He was breathtaking. Even more attractive was his well-defined body. And the bulge marking his pants. You couldn't tell if he had an erection or if he was big enough to leave a print on his clothes.

"He did a really good job, huh? It managed to make you even more beautiful than you already are," he complimented, approaching you and picking up a strand of your hair and bringing it to his nose, where he sniffed and made an expression of pleasure. "It's too bad for those assholes who can't fuck you." He smiled. "Because today it's going to be my cock that this pretty little pussy of yours will milk until I fill you with cum." He ran his nose down your neck, sliding his hand between your legs and over the fabric his fingers found your entrance. "But it won't be here," he said. "I have prepared a special place to finally take possession of what is mine."

You tried not to moan at the stimulation of his fingers, and you didn't have time either, because he was already moving away from you.

"Let's go now."

You followed him without question. You didn't know where it was, but it didn't matter. You just wanted to be in that demon's arms once and for all, feel him fucking you finally until you finally know what it's like to be treated well by someone.

But the reality that his punishment was starting when you left that trading room. The street that was once deserted was now swarming with people. And you felt completely naked in people's eyes. Some accusatory and others of desire. You wanted to run back inside where you were, but Akaza grabbed you by the waist.

"Don't worry little doll, this is just the beginning. It will get worse later on," he assured you close to your ear.

You shivered at the thought of what could be worse than walking almost naked through a crowd of people.

"But you like it, don't you? I can smell your pussy getting wetter from here." He laughed, making you embarrassed. It was true, it was even uncomfortable to walk, having your fluids leaking from your entrance, almost running down your legs.

You didn't know where he was taking you, but you knew the way. It overlooked an almost empty street, with only the amphitheater taking over an entire block.

Was he really taking you to the theater dressed like that? You went into despair. But you couldn't think too much, as he stopped and held you by the waist so you stopped walking too. Without seeing what he was doing, you only felt the moment when a blindfold was placed over your eyes and the path from then on was guided by him. Strong, tattooed arms holding you tight around the waist.

You arrived at your final destination, still blindfolded, you felt him placing you on the floor. You definitely weren't expecting a warm wooden floor under your ass. Still confused, you felt a shiver run down your spine as you felt him spreading your legs wide after tangling the hem of your dress to your waist. He also pulled the flimsy straps down until your dress was just a bunch of fabric around your waist. The icy air in the room gave you goosebumps and made you want to complain. But you kept the complaint. The silence of the environment was even good. And you wondered when Akaza would finally fuck you.

"No need to rush, little doll. We have all the time to ourselves. Now I'm going to turn on the lights and take off your blindfold."

After that, you heard his footsteps walking away from you and a few moments later, you heard the spotlights turn on. And when the blindfold was finally taken from your eyes, you wished it had never been.

In front of you, sitting on the theater benches, eagerly awaiting the show, dozens, perhaps hundreds, of – demons – spectators stared at the stage. Where you were, totally vulnerable to them.

And as soon as they saw you, noisy exclamation sounds were heard. There was no more silence. And Akaza was right behind you. Without you noticing, he was also practically naked.

Like a good presenter, he announced that the show was about to begin.

"Look, ladies and gentlemen, what happens when whoever is rightfully ours decides to stand up to us. Learn how the punishment is properly done." Akaza's voice was loud and sent shivers down your spine. Maybe it was the sneering tone of a creature that wouldn't be mercifully embarrassing you in front of other demons, or maybe it was the wonderful feeling of his fingers circling your clit, drawing sly moans out of you, without your consent.

But the sounds that came out of your mouth were completely muffled by the loud voices in an encouraging tone of the crowd present there, watching that roleplay in which you were being forced to star together with Akaza.

Not even in your worst nightmares would you imagine yourself in such a situation; with your legs fully spread, with your tits out and your cunt exposed to everyone present there. And, just behind you, squatting down, Akaza saying profanities to you and the onlookers, about you. Telling everyone what a bitch you were and how cock-hungry you were.

"She was betrothed to me. Her mother made a pact with me before she was born, promising that when she came of age I could take her to myself to do as I pleased. But did you know when she turned 18, did she decide to lose her virginity to some weak human? She let another man get his dirty hands on what was promised to me. Even after I gave her mother every luxury, as promised," he continued with the speech and his fingers bent, scraping dangerously in your dripping cleft.

"She's a bitch!" someone shouted among the people. "Make her regret it!"

Others nodded noisily and you felt Akaza's smile against your neck.

"See what you've done, little doll? They want me to punish you severely. Wouldn't you rather have listened to your mother? That bitch didn't want to get you out of hell, she just wanted the money I gave her in exchange for her daughter's purity." He licked your cheek and slid his tongue to the curve of your neck where he sank his teeth into your flesh, making you scream and nearly close your legs against his hand.

"Sir, she's not letting us see that pretty pussy," someone complained.

"Do you still try to fight, doll? Am I going to have to use the cuffs to keep your legs spread wide for them to see? You don't like showing your little pussy to anyone, so why are you trying to hide it from my companions? Feel honored to be so admired." He chuckled, licking the blood that oozed from the wound he'd opened with his teeth in your skin.

"The debt…" you began shakily, almost screaming as he sank his fingers all at once into your entrance, causing your walls to close in around him. “... it's my mother's... I didn't agree with it..." you tried to argue, pulling your toes tightly until they turned white to try to suppress a little bit the pleasure you were feeling. The pleasure you shouldn't be feeling.

You were being exposed in this way, humiliated in public, being subjected to the worst offenses.

Why didn't your pussy stop lubricating? May because you couldn't stop thinking about how much you wanted his cock, which was so hard rubbing against your waist. And wet too. Your senses were so heightened that you could smell him almost making you imagine his taste on your tongue.

"Have you noticed, gentlemen? She's so thirsty for my cock that all she can think about is how much she wants it fucking her pretty little mouth." Akaza cackled, being accompanied by the raucous sounds of sneers rippling through the theater, making the stage floor against your ass vibrate. You wanted to cry and hide, but Akaza, in a rush of good deed, sat behind you, withdrawing his fingers in an embarrassing pop from your pussy and affectionately hugging your waist with both arms, tucking his face into the crook of your neck, which was numb from the bite, and gave a warm kiss on your cheek.

"I'll let you suck my cock only if you touch yourself, please yourself, until you cum now, in front of all of them," he said softly, just for you to hear.

And you froze. You didn’t want to. You were comfortable with him fucking you with his fingers, touching you so shamelessly. At least the dirty work wasn't for you to do. Now, having to do something you didn't want to do, in front of demons you didn't like, you wanted to pinch yourself to wake up from yet another of those dreams. But it was real. Akaza was in the flesh touching you. That audience was real. You were very wide awake and conscious.

"Come on, princess. Use those fingers to touch yourself. Show everyone how self-sufficient you can be. After all, it was your fingers that made you cum after all the frustration you went through with those guys."

He encouraged you, his hands left your waist and went to your breasts, where he caught both nipples and twisted them painfully, making you scream.

“What is she doing just standing there?" Someone yelled. "As beautiful as that pussy is, it's even better when something is pounded into it. Come on, you slut, entertain us!"

And more words of encouragement were heard by you.

"Give them what they want, princess. If you're a good girl, I can end our banter somewhere more private, just as it would have been if you hadn't been such a bad girl." And he licked the back of your neck after tilting your head forward. You shivered and whimpered.

Awkwardly, you lowered your hands to between your legs and placed a finger on your swollen and painful clit. Not knowing exactly what you were supposed to do, you closed your eyes and proceeded to rub your digits over the bundle of nerves, making your toes curl up again.

"Make her open her eyes! I want to see her looking at us while she’s cumming."

Before Akaza could tell you what you should do, along with non-existent courage, you opened your eyes and dropped them mortars, pretending to look at the crowd but your vision focused on a point in their midst, perhaps on an empty chair. And you imagined that sitting there was Akaza. Imagining him watching you masturbate, you rubbed your fingers more on your clit and felt your body start to shudder. You were almost on the edge, so it didn't take long for you to cum in loud grunts, calling the name of the demon playing with your nipples, making him completely glad for it.

And everyone cheered as if a team from some game had scored.

After cumming, you let your arms fall limp to your sides. The legs already hurt from being so spread, you didn't dare bring them together. You decided to let those assholes see your juicy pussy pulsing from your recent orgasm.

And what a beautiful scene that was.

Even Akaza wanted to be there in the audience to see the show. Even though he knew how delicious you were after cumming.

"Good girl. Very good girl, my little doll. That's just how I wanted you to always be. Obedient and delicious," he praised you, making you give a tiny smile. "I will reward you." And he let go of your nipples and gave another kiss on your cheek. Coming out from behind you, causing you to nearly freeze away from his seething body.

He stopped beside you, standing with his pants bunched up on his bare feet.

"Look," he ordered.

You looked at him. The golden eyes evaluated you from above and it was impossible for you not to look away from his cock that remained imposing, hard and heavy, pointed at you. The dripping head and the bulging veins, making your mouth water. "It's all yours, little doll. You can suck it like it's the best candy you've ever tasted." He smiled in encouragement and at the moment you were almost deaf to the encouragement of those present there. It was as if they didn't matter anymore. You were about to give a demon a blowjob, nothing else made sense.

Timidly, you put your tongue out until you reached the wet tip where you surrounded it with it until you had the courage to welcome it completely into your mouth.

Akaza sighed and encouraged you, running his hand through your hair. You ignored someone telling him to punch the whole dick in your mouth at once to suffocate you. He now wanted to please you and not scare you.

First you stuck his cockhead inside your mouth and closed your lips around it to suck it hard, trying to get more fluid out of the slit. The taste pleased you and made you moan. He groaned along with the feel of the hot, wet insides sucking him so hard. And gradually, you were sliding his cock all over your mouth cavity, using your tongue to help, feeling his pulsing veins.

The sound of the blowjob was wet, both from his fluids and the huge amount of saliva you released to make your job easier. And it didn't take long for your head to move back and forth and your eyes watering when you couldn't handle his length and thickness.

But you did your best not to choke and embarrass yourself – even more so – in front of everyone and especially him.

"That's right, little doll. You know exactly how to please me... And I didn't even have to teach you, hm? Your little mouth was a virgin... Did you at least give me that first time, huh? Was it worth it for me to make those idiots so dysfunctional... They never felt the immeasurable pleasure your mouth is giving me..." He smiled and threw his head back, digging his fingers between the strands of your hair and moved his hips back and forth to feel you swallowing him entirely.

You relaxed your throat more and felt more saliva to soften the blowjob and you didn't suffocate. It didn't help much, you felt it swelling inside your mouth. He was close to the orgasm. His moans were loud and guttural, reverberating off the walls of the amphitheater, drawing profane words from the crowd, telling you what a good cocklut you were. How fucking thirsty you were for him.

Before coming, he turned to the audience and asked where he should cum. Several options were given. In the mouth. In the face. In the breasts. In your pretty pussy.

He chose the latter.

Withdrawing from your mouth, he turned you with agility by the arm, making you stand with your legs open for him, and in profile for those present. Stroking his cock with his hand, making loud and exciting sounds, he got on his knees and with a strong arm he pulled you by the waist, making you sit on one of his knees, with your torso lying on the stage floor. You saw his dick head very close to your entrance and he rubbed on your clit, making you sigh and with loud grunts, he finally released the jets of cum in your cunt. You could feel his fluids sliding down your lips, slit and groin. It was hot and gooey, but that just made you want to be his bitch forever.

And sure enough you would.

When he recovered from his orgasm, he ran his fingers over his own cum and used it as a lube, as if your juices weren't enough, to masturbate you and give you another orgasm.

When you were exhausted and completely humiliated, he dismissed everyone from there.

"Have you learned your lesson, little doll?" he asked, still stroking his own cock, which was hardening in his hand. Looking at your face smeared with makeup, saliva and traces of precum leaking from the sides of your swollen lips.

"Yea..."

"I know you did." He smiled and came close to you, releasing his heavy, hard cock. You couldn't help but look. "Now I'm going to fuck you the way I've been promised. Consider it a reward for the trust I'm placing in you," he said, gripping your knees and pulling them to wrap your legs around his waist. Pulling you to him, you felt his cock rubbing against your entrance. "Don't you dare let another human touch you again, or I'll let all those hungry demons fuck you at the same time, understand?"

You nodded effusively, trying not to freak out at the idea. "Although after you feel my cock in your pussy, there won't be anything you want me to do anymore."

And in one thrust, he was fully embedded inside you.

The pain of sudden penetration had you rolling your eyes and claiming aloud over and over that you were his. Forever.

Even in hell.

#akaza x y/n #akaza x reader #akaza imagine #akaza x female reader #akaza x you #kny akaza #akaza smut #akaza fanfiction #babyzzz #kimetsu akaza #x female reader #female reader #afab fem #akaza #yandere akaza #tw yandere #yandere kimetsu no yaiba #yandere demon slayer

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alittlepunkrock · 2 years

Text

where you go (i will go) — ii

Summary: Your first encounter with the Dream Lord leaves an impression on both sides.

Pairing: Dream the Endless x f!reader

Words: 5.6k+

Notes: Holy smokes, thank you all so much for the kind response to part one! Part two is a long one, but it felt best to release it all at once. Buckle up, brochachos. I hope you all enjoy!

series masterlist // mood board // ao3

. . .

“Pleased to meet you, stranger,

Welcome to the ending.”

- Pleased to Meet You, Between You & Me

. . .

Part ii.

For a moment, you think you must still be dreaming. Your eyebrows furrow as you stare up at your love, taking in the coldness in his eyes, the hard line of his mouth. You open your mouth to speak, but no breath comes. Your throat spasms, seeking air. You can feel your heartbeat raging in your throat, pounding against his fingers.

He must feel it, too, because he grips tighter. And the foundation of your world crumbles away as you realize that this is not a dream.

A wave of adrenaline crashes through you. Your skin is fire, nerve endings prickling like live wires. Your hands fly to his wrists, pulling desperately, clawing at the skin there. He grunts, hastily repositioning his body to sit on your chest, pressing down harder. You feel your head sink into your pillow, feel the unforgiving slab of ground beneath your sleeping pallet press against the back of your scalp. With another forceful push from him, you feel a sickening snap just under your jaw.

And all hell breaks loose.

At the bright burst of pain that tears through your throat, your fight or flight response roars. On instinct, your knees coil up to your chest and you kick, hard, with all your might. Your love’s hands are ripped from your throat as he is flung backward, away from the edge of your pallet. Your mouth gapes in eagerness to relieve the crushing ache within your lungs, but no relief comes. Only pain.

You have the sinking feeling that something irreversible has occurred. Something which you will never come back from.

A fire crackles in the hearth at your bedside. Turning toward it, you throw one hand outward, pulling yourself toward the flames, grasping for the fire iron there-

. . .

Tap tap tap.

You sit upright, stiff as a board. A muddled mix of vertigo and residual pain clouds your brain, and you shake your head gently to dispel it. While gods may not dabble in activities as mortal as sleeping or dreaming, even gods need time to recharge. To retreat into their own selves, sink away from the world, and simply be. You have the distinct feeling that your own rest has been prematurely interrupted.

Glancing around the room, you find that you’re right. Night drapes your room in shadows. The clock by your bedside reads just past midnight. You only laid down an hour ago.

Tap tap tap. Your attention turns to your bedroom window. There sits a raven, its profile pressed closely to the glass. It's dark eye blinks owlishly at you.

With a sigh, you comb your fingers through your hair and prepare to lie back down. It had been five long days since you’d carefully penned your note requesting an audience with the Dream King. Each day that passed since your messenger dove had departed with no response in return left a heavy feeling in your stomach. It only soured with each black thread of selfish desire that you encountered in your Realm. Though you’d doubled down on your efforts to combat Desire’s meddlesome attachments in the last few days, you couldn’t rid yourself of the gnawing feeling that you were running out of time. It was exhausting. You needed rest.

As you move to lie down, something makes you pause, though. Call it a feeling, an intuition. Your eyes shift back to the raven at your window. It’s dark eyes lock your gaze, hold it.

“He spends all his time with - well, his librarian. And his raven.”

You approach the window slowly, perching yourself on the sill. With a resolute click, you unlock the window and slide the glass upward. The raven makes no move to flee. No, this is definitely no ordinary bird.

“Hello,” you greet your guest quietly. You extend your arm in invitation, and the bird accepts, wrapping its talons around your forearm. You notice a cloth pouch tied to his right leg. “I don’t suppose you came here looking for breadcrumbs, did you?”

At first, there’s silence. The raven peers at you curiously. And then- “No, but really though, do you have any food? ‘Cause I would kill for something to eat right now. Traversing the Waking World is hard wor– uh, I’m sorry. That was embarrassing.” You laugh, pulling your arm and the raven past the windowsill and into your bedroom. Although you’d expected some type of outburst, you can’t help but be slightly taken aback. It’s not every day you see a talking raven, after all.

“Please, don’t be. To whom do I owe the pleasure of this midnight visit?” you ask kindly.

The raven pushes his chest out proudly and dips his head with dramatic respect. “My name is Matthew, and I am the messenger raven of Dream of the Endless. I mean, if you really want to know, I’m basically his best friend, but he wasn’t much for making that an official title, so.” You chuckle at him. “And you are Agape, Deity of Love, I hope? Because it would be really unfortunate if I came and blew my cover to the wrong girl. Not that it’d necessarily be the first time that happened. Or the second.”

You smile kindly at Matthew. What a funny little guy. “You can just call me Love. You’ve come to the right place. I assume the Dream King got my message?”

“He did. Sorry it took a few days for us to get back to you. Dream- Ah, Lord Morpheus just wanted to reach out to his sister and vet what you said. Make sure you really were who you said you were. He’s protective when it comes to the Dreaming.”

Now, that gets your attention. You can’t help but wonder what Death might have told the Dream Lord about you. Wonder what he might have even known in the first place. “That’s understandable. We want to protect the things we love. I’m kind of the deity of that. So, what says your Dream Lord?”

Matthew straightens to his full height and ruffles his feathers, a messenger preparing to deliver his news. “Your audience with Lord Morpheus has been granted, ma’am,” he declares. He dips his beak to the cloth pouch at his ankle and snips the string. You move your hand swiftly, catching the lumpy pouch in your palm. “When you’re ready, all you gotta do is use the sands in that pouch to travel to the Dreaming. Don’t worry - they know where to go.”

“Thank you, Matthew. I appreciate you and your lordship’s hospitality. Please pass on my sincere gratitude to him. It means more to me than you’ll ever know.”

“Hey, any pal of Death’s is welcome in Dre- er, Lord Morpheus’ world,” Matthew says, fluttering his wings. You guide him back to the window, passing your arm through for him to hop out on the other side. “Will we be seeing you soon?”

You smile fondly. “I’ll let your Dream Lord do his work tonight. I’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

Matthew caws and nods his head. “We’ll see you soon, Lady Love!” he calls as he takes flight, a speck of black in the twilight.

You gaze out into the soft darkness until he disappears. Your hand closes around the pouch of sand of its own accord. “See you soon.”

. . .

“What do you think, Theo? Too much?” You spin away from your mirror to face him. Your soft white peplos swishes around your bare ankles, skimming your brown sandals. A crown of small red rosebuds is woven into your hair. It’s been ages since you’ve doned your official attire. As soft and roomy as the peplos is, you’re starting to think you should wear it more often.

Theo seems to have a different opinion. Looking at your ancient garb, he cocks his head, ears drooping. You groan. “I know. Too much, isn’t it? I haven’t seen a deity in traditional attire in a century, at least. Not that I see deities much, or that there’s many of us left. It is comfortable, though.” With a wave of your hand, the peplos disappears. Instead, you lace up your canvas sneakers, shimmy into a set of fitted pants and a blouse, and throw on a blazer for formality’s sake. Theo lifts his head in recognition and satisfaction. You ruffle him between the ears. “I’m keeping the crown, though. Got it?”

You turn to your bedside table, eyes settling on the small pouch of sand there. Ever since Matthew left, you’ve been unable to stop thinking about it. You cup the pouch in the palm of your hand, feeling the sands shift and settle through the cloth. Funny how it can weigh so much more in your mind than it does in your hand.

You turn to Theo, giving him a small, hopeful smile. “Wish me luck, buddy.” Deja vu washes over you. For the second time today, you get the feeling that something is occurring which you can’t turn back from.

You open the pouch carefully, dipping your fingers into the sands within. They’re surprisingly soft as they brush against your fingertips. Taking a handful, you raise your palm and allow them to sift through your fingers. They spill over your hand, down to the floor, whispering against the floorboards.

For one concerning second, nothing happens. Then, as if a breeze or a whisper has stirred them, the sands begin to scatter, swirling at your feet. The remaining sand in the pouch leaps out to join in, swirling around your ankles, knees, thighs, rising higher and higher. Small grains whip up to brush your cheeks, gaining speed. You close your eyes, shielding them against the vortex of sand twisting around you.

You feel the exact moment that the crescendo of the winds seem to change, the moment that something shifts. Your senses alight at a crisp, fresh scent piggybacking along the winds. Salt water. You feel the soles of your shoes sink into something soft. The vortex around you dissipates. The sands return to the earth with a soft sigh.

Nothing could prepare you for the magnificence lying in wait beyond your closed eyes. A cloud-freckled sky is draped above you, bathing Dream Country in golden sun and baby blue. The swaying sea behind you seems to touch the end of the world, interrupted only by the occasional rock formation peeking out of the waters. Beachrock crumbles into black sand, one of the most extraordinary sights you’ve ever seen. The black beach is rolled out like a tapestry, reaching as far east and west as you can see. And then there’s the sight in front of you - a towering stone wall that must stretch for miles between two mountain ranges. Two massive, ornately carved gates are set within the wall. The gate to your left features tall, curved spires that frame and surround the circular gate. Curved and pale as they are, they almost remind you of ox horns. The gate to your right appears smooth, its ivory surface gleaming in the sunlight.

You look around, soaking in the view. And the fact that you are completely, utterly alone.

You weren’t exactly sure what you were expecting upon your arrival in Dream Country, but a polite welcome and some directions probably would have made the list, if you’d had one. As you eye the circular gates before you, you suppose they’re as good a place to start as any. But which gate? you think. Staring at the two options before you, the ivory gate certainly looks less intimidating, what with the lack of colossal horns and all.

Lost in thought, you almost don’t notice the shift in the air. It’s subtle, so subtle that you can’t pinpoint the moment that it emerges, only the recognition that it is suddenly there. A lingering breeze in your hair, a whisper against your skin, a stirring in your chest. You reach out your hand, feel the sensation against your fingers. Though you can’t see anything, it’s unmistakably there. Follow, it seems to say.

And you do, feet shifting through the dark sands, trailing after the call that leads you toward the horned gate. As you draw nearer, the intricate carvings become more clear to you: Fantastical creatures, flora and fauna, detailed renditions of people and faces. The largest carvings portray a man with wild hair and a mask with a long nose, not so different from the gas masks you’ve seen on the battlefields of mortals. However, this is decidedly more ancient. You get the distinct feeling that this place has always been here, from the dawn of time. And if it belongs to an Endless, you suppose it has.

Your hand reaches out on instinct, fingertips pressing softly against the horned gate. At your touch, the mountainous door begins to groan open.

If you thought the beach was spectacular, you were definitely not prepared for this. Beyond the gate lies mountains and forests, a rolling blanket of green that only ends when it reaches snow-capped mountain ranges in the far distance. Pockets of villages dot the landscape, their clay tile roofs glowing a warm orange under the sun. In the center of the scene is a circular lake reflecting the sky above like a mirror. Glimmering waterfalls feed into it from all sides. At its center stands a towering silver and bronze palace. Its grooved towers shine in the sunlight, its spires reaching for the heavens like the hands of prophets.

The seasalt breeze steals your breath away, carrying it toward the palace like an offering. It’s magnificent, indescribable - truly a place of dreams.

As you take a hesitant step through the towering gate, you find a dark-skinned woman waiting on the other side. Dressed in a purple suit with long coattails and tennis shoes, she is the pinnacle of regality and functionality. Her bespectacled eyes meet yours, and she smiles. “Welcome, Agape, Deity of Love,” she says kindly. “You’ve reached the Dreaming.”

. . .

The walk to the Dream Lord’s palace was long, but Lucienne made for excellent company. While this was your first diplomatic visit to another realm, you thought that there surely couldn’t be another ambassador in any plane of existence who could top Lucienne. Although she insisted she was only a librarian, she took it upon herself to relate to you the history of the Dreaming, including its recent return to glory. She guided your eyes to the location of the House of Secrets, the House of Mystery, and Fiddler’s Green. No citizen of the Dreaming was a stranger to her, and she introduced you politely to all you passed. Her love and loyalty to the Dreaming was unmatched, even palpable. It brought a smile to your face.

As you finally pass through the palace doors, Lucienne says, “I apologize for our long journey, Agape. I can assure you, should you visit the Dreaming again, you will not have to travel all this way. All who enter the Dreaming must pass through the Gates of Horn and Ivory at least once so that their intentions may be assessed.”

“There’s no need for an apology. And please, just call me Love,” you say in kind. After a pause, curiosity gets the better of you. “If you don’t mind me asking, what do you mean by assessed?”

Lucienne looks over her shoulder as she guides you up a set of winding staircases, climbing higher and higher. Through the palace windows, you swear you can see all of Dream Country. “Lord Morpheus carved those gates eons ago when the Dreaming was first created. Those who walk through the Gates of Ivory harbor lies and deception, but the Gates of Horn will only allow those with intentions of truth to pass through.”

“Ah, I see.” You weren’t sure what it was that seemed to draw you toward the Gates of Horn in the first place, but whatever it was, it had been growing stronger the closer you got to the palace. With each passing step, you felt it hum more potently against your skin, the stirring in your chest strengthening into a gentle pull. Calling you somewhere. But where?

With a gloved hand, Lucienne opens a set of oak doors before you. The enchanting scents of leather and paper flood your senses as you pass through the doorway. You find that she’s led you into some sort of library. The ceiling hovers stories above you; below it are floors and floors of walkways leading to shelves upon shelves of books. On the ground level, tall bookcases line the walls, towering ladders propped up against them to help readers reach the highest of volumes. You can see that there are spaces between some bookcases on either side of the room, giving way to yet more areas with even more books. Several wooden tables are set up down the center of the room, adorned with lamps, ink, quills, magnifying glasses and, yes, even more books.

“This is absolutely amazing. What is this place?” you say in awe. You spin in a slow circle, trying fruitlessly to soak in the full majesty of the scene around you.

Lucienne smiles proudly, clearly pleased with your reaction. “This would be my library, ma’am,” she explains. She walks to the wall on the right, reaching her fingers out to brush the book spines affectionately. “In this library, I keep a record of every dream that has ever been dreamt. Every book that has ever been imagined, or lost, even if it was never published. I can remember the title, author, and location of each one. I am their keeper.”

You pause in following her, trailing your fingertips along the leather cover of a book on the table next to you. Every dream ever dreamt. Could that mean that you-

No, you cut yourself off firmly. Seeking to divert your attention, you turn to Lucienne and smile. “This is absolutely incredible, Lucienne. You know, I’m something of a librarian myself. I have a whole library in the Realm of Attachment with a book detailing the attachments of each mortal spanning past, present, and future. They serve as a record of the work I have done, and the work I have yet to do.”

Lucienne regards you with interest, brown eyes twinkling behind her vintage eyeglasses. “Well, that is something I should quite like to see,” she says. She waves a hand, beckoning you toward a pair of colossal stained glass doors at the opposite end of the library. “Perhaps that will be an excursion for another time. For now, Lord Morpheus awaits.”

Eyes settling on the doors that lead to the throne room, panic begins to rise in your chest. You feel as if your heart could crawl right up your throat and run as far away from here as possible. Finally faced with the situation you’re about to walk into, you feel wholly, entirely unprepared. Perhaps this was a terrible idea.

No, you tell yourself. You force yourself to trudge forward, taking one step, then another. You can do this. You have to fix this. And being here is your best shot.

Lucienne seems to sense your apprehension, pausing as she places a gloved hand against one of the throne room doors. She eyes you carefully. “Are you ready, ma’am?”

You want to spend all day in her library. You want to run away. You want to throw up. But your mouth says, “Yes.” And with a curt nod, Lucienne sweeps open the doors to the throne room.

While all of the palace rooms have been magnificent, this is the one that steals your breath away. Your footsteps echo on the polished stone floor as you walk into the cathedral-esque room. Tall columns line the room on either side, featuring the stone busts of characters from history’s most infamous stories. Characters born from dreams, you realize. On the far end of the room are a set of stained glass windows, three short ones, three tall ones. The tall windows are stained blue, red, and green, casting twinkling prisms throughout the room. The cathedral trusses above your head hold up a twilight sky of swirling clouds, constellations, and glimmering stars.

And there, standing halfway up the winding staircase leading to a simple throne, is a tall, black silhouette. The Dream Lord. Though his back is to you and no introductions have been made, you know it could not be anyone else. Lucienne confirms this when she stops the two of you several feet away from the base of the stairs. “Lord Morpheus,” she calls, dipping her head in respect, “your honored guest has arrived.”

Though he surely heard you coming, the Dream Lord only turns at Lucienne’s call. As he does, you finally observe the cold-hearted Dream King you’ve heard so many rumors about. He is the darkness of night in human form; long black coat, black shirt, black pants, black boots, dark hair that swoops over his forehead, ruffled like raven’s feathers. Like a run of ink, he bleeds into the scene around him, a stark contrast to the brightness of the throne room. The darkness only makes his other features more striking. His skin is marble, cold and pale, with facial features that could cut. His mouth is small and pink as a rosebud. If the rest of him wasn’t intimidating enough, there’s his eyes - deep as oceans, glimmering like blue crystals. No, like stars. Studying, analyzing.

And they’re on you.

Suddenly, you realize that while you’ve been lost in thought, he’s come to the bottom of the staircase. You get the itching feeling that you have been staring for entirely too long. Hastily, you mirror Lucienne’s stance and dip your head in respect.

The Dream Lord takes the final step off the staircase, standing but a few feet before you. Standing so close to him, you realize that the sensation you’ve felt since you arrived in the Dreaming has been coming from here the whole time. From him. Here in his throne room, you can’t deny it. Your mind mulls over the call that greeted you, the feeling that led you here. You can’t imagine what it would feel like to hold power like that. Don’t discount yourself, you chastise. You have to be confident if this is going to work.

“Greetings, Agape. Welcome to the land of the Dreaming.” Though he may look young, the voice that passes over the Dream Lord’s lips is decidedly ancient. It’s the crashing of a wave against a shore, a rumble of thunder in the night, the etching of a story into stone. It reverberates through the entire throne room, each word slow and deliberate. Some distant part of you recognizes it, and you suppose you should.

Lucienne takes a few polite steps back, giving the two of you space to talk. Up above, you hear the flutter of feathers. Inclining your head, you find a very familiar raven perched on one of the stone busts above. Matthew. Vaguely comforted by a somewhat familiar presence, you turn your eyes back to the Dream King. Will yourself to hold his gaze. Be confident.

“Greetings, Dream of the Endless. I have been known by many names - Ishtar, Inanna, Freya, Aphrodite, Venus, Parvati, Agape. You can simply call me Love. It is much simpler that way.” Feeling your nerves settle slightly with introductions out of the way, you give him a small smile. “Thank you for your hospitality and for granting me an audience on such short notice.”

The Dream Lord dips his head slightly in acknowledgement. His eyes don’t stray from your face; they remain affixed there, studying thoughtfully. “Of course. A companion of my sister’s is welcome here in the Dreaming. Admittedly, I did not know whether to believe you when you stated as such in your letter. However, a visit with my sister remedied that quite effectively.”

There it is again, that gnawing curiosity as to what Death told him about you. It pokes and prods incessantly at the back of your mind. This time, you can’t resist it, saying, “If you don’t mind me asking, what did your sister share about me, Dream Lord?”

Dream of the Endless inclines his chin, eyeing you with interest. Though his face is impassive, his eyes seem to challenge you. “Inquiring about the affairs of Endless when we’ve only just met? It is bold of you to assume I might share the details of intimate conversations with my sister with a stranger.”

Oh, now that response gets your attention. While intimidation is something you tend to shrink away from, a challenge is something you are more than happy to work with. “On the contrary, Dream Lord, I think I should be privy to information that involves my character,” you challenge, diplomacy slipping a bit. As you step out of your ambassador facade and more into your true self, your confidence grows. “Or does Dream of the Endless keep his gossip to himself?” You quirk an eyebrow at him.

The Dream Lord pauses, watching you for a long moment. Perhaps to see if you’ll squirm. Just when you think you might’ve made a terrible mistake, he blinks, responding, “She refrained from sharing all the details of your history and circumstance. I should like to learn of those directly from you.” With a long glance, he turns toward the stained glass windows, clasping his hands behind his back. “What she did share is that you were once a mortal whom my brother, Destiny, deemed worthy of becoming a goddess. And that now my sibling, Desire, threatens the stability of your realm and your conditional divinity with their meddling. Which has brought you here, to me.”

And there it was - your secret, laid bare in the light of the throne room. Above your head, Matthew ruffles his wings, clearly intrigued by this turn of events. You don’t turn to gauge Lucienne’s reaction. If there is anyone other than the Dream Lord who knows the truth, you figure it would be her. You inhale deeply, calming your unsettled nerves. You’d come this far; it wasn’t time to back down now.

“You are correct, Dream Lord. I was once a mortal, until your brother and sister made me what I am today,” you say quietly. Building courage, your voice grows louder, “While I may not be Endless, my love and loyalty to my Realm knows no bounds. I will do whatever I have to in order to maintain balance between selfish desire and selfless love, for the good of my people. Your sibling, Desire, and I have been at odds for a long time. As they grow bolder, I’m afraid it’s becoming harder to outrun them.” You lick your lips, pondering your next choice of words. With a deep breath, you continue carefully, “I know that they have meddled in your affairs, too, as of late. As long as their ambition for mischief continues to grow, both of our Realms are at stake. That is why I am here, asking for your help.” You swallow thickly. “I have a proposition for you.”

For a long moment, the Dream Lord says nothing. No one in the throne room dares to breathe. Though he does not turn around, Dream of the Endless does incline his head toward you slightly. “Go on,” he murmurs.

You take a few bold steps forward, seeking his face. Seeking to convey just how much this means to you. “I propose that we form a partnership. Your sibling is taking a particular interest in interfering with my eros and philia attachments - romantic and soul ties. I believe that we could work together to combat this. If you supply the dreamscape, I can supply the subject matter. If we place their romantic partners and soul ties in their dreams, perhaps when mortals encounter them in the Waking World, they will be more likely to resist Desire’s temptations and fulfill the attachment.”

No response registers on the Dream Lord’s face. His eyes remain affixed on the stained glass windows above you. They cast his alabaster skin in shades of crimson, crystal, and emerald. After several quiet minutes, his eyes meet yours. “And what do I stand to gain from this proposition of yours?”

“A little work taken off your own plate. With me worrying about the subject matter, you will have fewer dreams to conjure up. And with their dreams seemingly coming true in the Waking World, mortals will be all the more eager to see what happens next in their dreams. The Dreaming will grow in power.”

Another pause. “And if I decline your proposition?”

Your breath hitches. Your mouth tightens into a hard line. You have no response for that one.

Dream of the Endless nods, your lack of response seemingly all the answer he needs. Slowly, he stalks toward the staircase leading to his throne, sitting down on one of the lower steps. His long coat spills around him like a shadow. His crystalline eyes fix on yours, holding your gaze. After several still moments, he finally replies, “While your proposition is intriguing, Agape,” you flinch slightly at the continued use of your formal title, “I am afraid I will have to decline. While Desire has been a thorn in my side as of late, I do not wish to sour the blood between myself and my siblings. In addition, my attention to the Dreaming has been divided for too long. Now that I’ve returned, my own Realm requires my full attention.”

A tingling sensation passes through you as you try to process this news, radiating from your core to the tips of your fingers. Numbness is left in its wake. Your stomach shifts, suddenly nauseous. The throne room and your company within it feel incredibly far away. This can’t be happening. In the distance, you think you hear the Dream Lord ask Lucienne to escort you away. This can’t be happening.

A gentle hand touches your shoulder, and you recoil instinctively. When you turn, you find it’s just Lucienne, eyeing you solemnly. Up above, you hear Matthew let out a startled caw, swooping down to land on the staircase beside the Dream Lord. “Hey, boss, don’t you think-”

“Come, ma’am,” Lucienne says quietly, her kind eyes conveying a silent apology. “Allow me to escort you out of the Dreaming.”

Your hands fist at your sides. No.

All eyes in the throne room turn to you. You blink, startled. You hadn’t realized that you’d said it aloud. But now that you had, there was no turning back. Dream of the Endless rises slowly, methodically. Shadows sweep down from his feet, crawling toward you. “No?” he says, the indignance in his voice thinly veiled. You can feel him in the air, his powerful presence angry and oppressive, pushing in toward you. His bright eyes darken to lone stars within two pools of space. “You presume to tell me what I can and can’t do in my own-”

“No, Lord Morpheus,” you say hastily, lifting your hands in apology. At your change of title and tone, the shadows halt their approach. “I would never. You have been so gracious to welcome me here for an audience. I want to offer you an invitation in return.” You pause, licking your lips. While his shadows have ceased, the fire in his eyes has not snuffed out. You know you must choose your words carefully. “Please, visit me in my Realm. The Realm of Attachment. I can show you my function, what I do, how I do it. I can show you what I have to offer mortals, what I have to offer you. Please. And then decide whether you want to decline my proposition.”

You’re unsure of exactly how much time passes. It could be merely a second, it could be hours. You hold careful eye contact with Lord Morpheus as he absorbs, processes, ponders. You don’t dare breathe as he studies you.

And finally, he nods. The shadows retreat back into his coat. The darkness dissipates from his eyes. The air around you lightens. “Very well, Love. You have intrigued me.” Your heart is hammering so loudly in your ears that you barely notice his change of your title. “I shall accompany you to your Realm of Attachment, after which time I will pass judgment on your proposal.”

You breathe in deeply, relief washing through you. You turn to Lucienne, whose brown eyes regard you with surprise. Too elated to read into her expression, you turn back to the Dream Lord. “Thank you, Lord Morpheus. I cannot begin to tell you how much this means to me.” You grin brilliantly at him. “When should I expect you?”

At that, the Dream Lord gives no response. Instead, he reaches into the pocket of his long coat, revealing a palmful of sand. Though his expression remains stoic, you swear there is a tiny twinkle in his eye as he brings the sand to his lips and blows. Like a tidal wave, the sands sweep over you. You shield your eyes behind the sleeve of your blazer.

When you open them, you are no longer in the throne room. Instead, you’re back in the Waking World, standing in your bedroom with sand in your hair. Theo’s head perks up from his spot on your bed, his dark eyes looking at you expectantly.

You pause, processing what just happened to you. One beat. Two. You groan. “Son of a-”

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kewpidity · 19 days

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Okay So i had a brain blast about my ship with alastor so this is gonna be the Definite Kewpie x Alastor Ship Post that covers everything i have so far about it ↷↷↷

so this whole thing starts because somehow someway i get a demon attached to me as a kid, a toddler even, dont really know how or why, but because of this my whole life growing up is plagued by insane near death experiences all orchestrated by this demon (this is based on some real shit in my life btw, not to sound superstitious or anything and i dont even think i believe in demons of any denomination but there was some Weird Shit going on, i might talk about it someday) and by the time im an adult ive tired everything under the sun to stop these things from happening- different religious practices, spells and charms and rituals and so on and so forth im at my god damn limit im so tired

eventually im pushed to try to fight fire with fire, and end up summoning Another demon to try and idk cancel out the old one? make a deal to keep me safe? not sure What my plan was but i'd come this far and i didnt know where else to turn

well the demon i summoned was alastor. he wasnt even my intended target, in fact of demon of his power shouldnt really be able to be summoned at all under normal circumstances, and would require someone with a ton of power of their own to pull it off (havent decided if this is something i managed to do because of all the varied rituals etc mentioned earlier, or some dumb luck) and that alone is kind of intriguing for him

tbh he hasnt been summoned in a While, its something that got lost to time and he kinda assumed it would never happen again, and even when it happened before he would usually just kill the person without bothering to strike a deal, cause even people who did manage to do it usually werent strong enough to do it safely

but hell has been kinda Boring lately, the hotel hasnt given him as much entertainment as he had hoped (this is like. mid season 1, and with the understanding that the story stretches way longer than the breakneck speed the actual show takes) and he sees this as an opportunity for something interesting to do for a while

when he hears what im looking for, he's gotta laugh about it- there's no way this other demon that had attached to me would give him any trouble, and this was a great way to guarantee he get another soul when i eventually died anyway, so he offers up this deal:

for a few hours a day he gets complete control over my body, a full on possession to do whatever he wants with that time.

obviously im hesitant, but we go back and forth on it a bit before deciding to make the deal with some ground rules (like he cant do anything thats gonna get me killed prematurely for example- after all im doing this specifically so i dont die by another demon's hand)

so we strike the deal! no all he has to do is get rid of that other demon and my soul is as good as his! its not that simple tho of course- he's not sure how the demon is accessing the living world, and figures its likely similar to what he's doing- somehow tethering himself to the living world, while their actual physical body is still in hell, so he needs to figure that out on his end, and it ends up being a more difficult task than previously expected- so he could be dealing with something older and more powerful than he realizes.

he'll figure that out later tho, he's got living stuff to do! at first he's v dismissive when i ask him what he could possibly want to be doing with my body, like what was he even planning to get up to, but he cant keep me completely in the dark about it cause im still sorta There when im possessed- its a bit like lucid dreaming where you're aware that you're dreaming, but not quite aware enough to control what you're Doing in the dream, and over time i become more and more present the longer he's possessing me

so eventually he admits that he's curious about what happened after he died- he was a bit of a celebrity when he was alive after all, he's sure it would cause Quite a stir when it was revealed after he died that he was a criminal- a moonshiner for one, but a serial killer and cannibal! he wants to know if there was a media circus, where he was buried, wants to visit his old stomping grounds, and so on and so forth. this leads me on all kinds of adventures through the deep south, the dusty aisles of libraries and newpaper archives, old graveyards, and so on, all the while we keep getting more comfortable and close despite ourselves

and eventually i realize that he isnt actually interested in what happened to himself after his death, he's actually using all this to try and find out what happened to his mother. she was Not a local celebrity, and his infamy was so large that it eclipsed most of the people he knew in life, so tracking it all down was kind of a hassle. but he was and is a mama's boy, and he wanted to know if she lived a good life

now all of this eventually winds down to figuring out why there was that first demon attached to me, probably some fucked up nonsense a little while back in my family tree or something (tbh im not sure how much i want to focus on the how and why but we'll see) and we get that settled finally as well as finding out how alastor's mom's life played out and put him at east there, and all that's left is to simply live my life until i die, where i'll go to hell and alastor will have my soul to keep (we're v cozy at this point and quite comfortable cohabiting a body and mind space so he's not particularly eager to completely break the tether until my time comes)

and the thing about sharing a mindspace with something extremely dangerous and powerful that has just enough sway over the world around you to keep you safe in a bad situation, or even fully take over your body to get you out of it, is that you feel v confidant most of the time and fear isnt really something you deal with anymore, so i frequently go wandering around the woods at night for example because im sure nothing can really touch me when i have a demon for a companion

a demon in your head cant protect you from a bullet however, and maybe i should have known better than wandering the woods at night during deer season, and maybe the unholy aura i had around me hit the moonlight just wrong and the hunter thought he was aiming for the silhouette of a creature with antlers, and then i was dead

and then i wake up in hell

if this was a fic, at this point it would be like the 'part 2' (and who knows if i iron it out enough maybe i Will write it sometime) and im not sure exactly what i want to do about it just yet obviously it would loosely follow the canon of the show, just with a lot of extra stuff thrown in. maybe in 'part 1', we didnt actually Kill the other demon, just broke away from it, and its still in hell somewhere, fuming about losing my soul, or maybe finding out about his mom actually did Not put alastor at ease- maybe his actions made her life very difficult and now he has to deal with knowing that and i can use that as a catalyst to him getting redeemed to see her again in heaven, not sure yet!

but i do know a big part of the interpersonal situation is that we dont share that mindspace anymore, we're just physically There Together and tbqh its really difficult to cope with. we both got so used to it that we feel like something's missing now, and we might even go so far as to try to find a way to reestablish that mental link, or maybe there's still echoes of it lingering, but only if we're asleep or something like that

like i said, still ironing out the hell part of it all, but thats what ive got! much to think about much to think about

#proship selfship #proselfship #selfproship #❤ Blood and Velvet

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gamma-rae-bursts · 1 year

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Home is Where the Heart Is

Yn is a former BAU agent, currently working at Georgetown. She met Alex whilst working for the FBI and is navigating her life with her and their son, Ethan.

Pairing: Alex Blake x Reader

Content Warnings: kind of CM case talk

Word Count: 1800+

Genre: Family Fluff

A/N: I'm going to stand by the fact that Alex Blake is the softest of the soft people, hence this needed to happen. I also hate how little recognition Ethan got in the show so I'm gonna give my boy what he deserves here. I'm thinking of making this into a series of one shots, different Blake Fam x Reader scenarios (may include some angst, knowing me it will) so please let me know what you think of this <3)

Joining the BAU was a dream come true, your way of making the world a safer, better place. And it just so happened to come with many other advantages. Although the beginnings were a little rough for you, feeling very out of place while being surrounded with FBI’s finest agents, soon enough they made you feel like a part of the family, like you truly belonged with them. And throughout the years you got to be a part of the team you’ve formed some of the best friendships with people that you knew you could trust with your life. But there was this one agent you held especially close to your heart, Alex Blake. Ever since she joined the team, the two of you were inseparable. One evening she finally asked you out on a date, to which you have immediately agreed. Falling in love with Alex was easy. Loving her even more so. Months went by and with that your relationship grew, soon enough you were introduced to her son, Ethan. The most precious little boy to ever exist. Not so long after that you moved in together and just a few months in Alex asked you to marry her. And this was your life now, you’ve never been happier.

But there were some definite downsides of the job. After all, there is only so much a human can take, the BAU knew it better than anyone else. There is only so much evil you can be exposed to before it starts consuming you from the inside out. You used to hold onto the last string of hope in each investigation, the hope that the last missing person would be found alive and there would be a somehow happy ending to this story. But at some point, even that was not enough. Over the years you’ve seen some of the worst horrors this world had to offer, you were met with death and misery at every step of your days. You’ve seen families torn apart, lives snatched away prematurely, unnecessary pain inflicted onto so many individuals. You’ve seen enough. You’ve had enough.

Making the decision to leave the team was not easy. You’ve spent countless hours contemplating whether or not to make that step before even mentioning anything to Alex. And after weeks of thinking, weeks of constant arguments in your head, making lists of pros and cons to both options, you finally decided that your time with the team has come to an end.

Breaking the news to the team was easier said than done. You made a detailed plan how to tell each and every one of them personally, but when the time to put the words into action came you came up with a much better idea. Hotch was the first one, after all he was the person you handed your resignation letter to. Penelope was the second in line (or so she thought), you couldn’t stop yourself from making fun of her for the last time. In reality, you told the whole team that you were leaving and what your plan was, except for her. You knew the blonde woman could not hold a secret in for the life of her, so you all made bets on how long it will take her to spill the tea. When you broke the news to her, one on one, you talked about it as if you didn’t want the rest of the team to know. It took her a whole hour and thirty-four minutes to break, telling everything you told her to Morgan and Spencer.

That was it. You were no longer an agent working for the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Just a short few weeks after leaving you managed to secure yourself a nice position as a lecturer at Georgetown University, finally putting your PhD in Biological Sciences to use.

***

Working at Georgetown was peaceful, the change you so desperately needed. There wasn’t much going on, your days mostly consisted of teaching, going over the material for your classes and marking your students’ papers. To some it might seem a little too boring, but you loved the newly found routine.

After finishing marking of the last papers, you’ve had for the day it was time to go home. Alex was away on a case for the past few days and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t hope for a phone call from her, telling you that they’re on their way back.

Just as you got into your car the sound of your ringtone filled the space, getting rid of the silence that previously surrounded you. You smiled to yourself as you read the name that popped up on your screen.

“Hi honey.” the soft voice on the phone spoke, “I think I might have some good news for you.” Alex added, you could tell she was smiling from the way her voice sounded.

“Please tell me you’re coming home; I don’t think anything else would classify as good news at this point.” you replied to the brunette, hopeful you got it right.

“I am, indeed, we’re wrapping up at the station and we’re going to head straight to the jet.” your fiancé said with the usual for her calmness, you, on the other hand, could not contain our excitement. “I’ll see you in a few hours?”

“I can’t wait! I’ve missed you so much baby, so did Ethan” you stated, your voice filled with excitement. “He’s been begging me to do crosswords with him at least five times a day and you know how much I suck at them”

“Oh, come on, you’re not that bad” Alex chuckled, “I’m sure you’ve got at least one of the words right.”

You rolled your eyes and chuckled at your fiancés’ words, the bar for you was set really low, yet somehow you still managed to underperform. “Nope, not a single one, I don’t think Ethan will ever stop making fun of me for that.” Alex laughed as the words left your mouth, “but what can I say, I’d like to see either of you in my lab”

“I think putting me there would be a major safety hazard and you know that” the linguist added, still laughing at your previous statements. “I’m gonna have to go now but see you in a few hours, I love you sweetheart”

“I love you too, Lex.” you assured, after which Alex finished the call.

On your way home you made a few brief stops to run some errands, you also picked up some of Alex’s favourite takeaway. Cooking wasn’t your strong side, but baking was, and your fiancé was completely aware of that. You usually opted for ordering food when it was your turn to make dinner, another effective tactic you’ve developed over the months was trading your cooking turns by agreeing to make some of Alex’s and Ethan’s favourite desserts.

The last stop you had to make on your way home was the little boy’s school.

“Hi Mama!” the squeaky voice roamed through the space in your car as Ethan entered it, making himself comfortable in his car seat.

“Hi honey, make sure to fasten your seatbelt” you replied to him softly. Ethan was a complete copy of Alex, dark, somewhat curly hair forming beautiful waves, big hazel eyes, contrasting with his pale skin, which was covered in light freckles, a precious addition to his face. “How was your day at school?”

“It was okay!” the little boy cheered to you, “Is mommy coming back home tonight? I really miss her.”

“She is actually! I’ve just talked to her and she should be back in the next few hours,” Ethan’s eyes lit up at your words, “don’t you worry you won’t have to do crosswords with me again” you added chuckling.

“I love you mama but you’re really not good and them.” E.T. teased, a cheeky smile plastered on his face.

You laughed in response to the dark-haired boy’s words. The rest of the drive home was peaceful, Ethan told you some more details about how his day at school went, talking about some of the friends he made, the teachers and what new things he learned that day. It wasn’t long until you reached your final destination, you took the food out of the car and the two of you started heading towards your apartment.

When you opened your front door a lovely smell of your favourite dish filled your nostrils, that’s when you knew Alex, was already home.

“Alex?” you questioned as you and Ethan started taking your shoes and coats off

“In the kitchen!” the woman exclaimed, you knew she had a habit of giving you the wrong time when she planned to come back home, wanting to let you know she was coming back yet still wanting to somewhat surprise you.

“MOMMY!” Ethan called as he ran to the kitchen, filled with joy and excitement to finally have his best crossword buddy back in the house. “I’ve missed you so much!”

“Aw I’ve missed you too love bug,” she said as she gave the little boy the biggest hug she could, simultaneously picking him up. “And you, I missed you too” the dark-haired woman smiled as she directed her gaze your way.

“You said you’d be home late in the evening!” you jokingly snarled as you took a few more steps towards her, letting her place a soft kiss to your cheek.

“You can’t blame me for wanting to surprise two of my favourite humans with a nice meal, can you?” she giggles as she put her son down.

“I see we’ve had the same plans Doctor Blake” you smiled as you put the bag with Alex’s favourite takeout on the kitchen island, at which Alex laughed and proceeded to place anther soft kiss, this time on your forehead.

The evening went by peacefully, filled with laughter and Ethan’s snarky remarks regarding your crossword skills. You decided to have Alex’s pasta for dinner, saving the takeaway for the next day, or a midnight snack. Etty was delighted to finally be able to do some crosswords with someone qualified and you just enjoyed watching the two people you loved most. The three of you ended the evening snuggled up on the couch of your living room, Alex in the middle so both you and Ethan would get equal amounts of hugs that you so dearly missed. You decided to watch one of Ethan’s favourite disney films, Frozen. As much as you didn’t want to admit that in front of Alex, it was one of your favourites too. The little boy ended up falling asleep halfway through the movie, snoring gently as he was curled up, wrapping his arms around Alex. When the film finished, you carefully took him to his room, tucking him in his bed, leaving a gentle kiss on his forehead. You joined Alex in your bedroom, wrapping your arms around her in an attempt to hold her as close to you as possible until both of you drifted off to sleep.

This was your happy place. Your found family. Your home.

Taglist:

@nightmarish-fae

Join my taglist here!

#alex blake x reader #Alex Blake #reader insert #Ethan Blake #family fluff #domestic fluff #soft Alex Blake #criminal minds #bau team #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fluff #y/n fics #ssa Alex Blake #dr alex blake

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gumpistol · 1 month

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***trigger warning: discussion of major character death and mentions of terminal illness and chronic heart disease under the cut

— 𝐋𝐔𝐅𝐅𝐘'𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐇 - 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐍 —

Luffy lives his life to the fullest and recklessly. he pushes himself to the limit, even learning how to manipulate his devil fruit ability to push his body to do things it shouldn't be able to do. he is a living miracle, having survived Magellan's poison, his wound suffered at marineford, his heart literally stopping and restarting during his fight with Kaido, and other countless, near-death moments. so while in the current manga timeline, at the young age of nineteen, Luffy makes miracle recoveries from injuries and exhaustion, it is highly unlikely that he will live a long life. but of course, he hardly cares about that and all the stress placed on his body if it means protecting his friend and achieving his dream.

pre-timeskip alone, Luffy puts extreme strain on his body, especially his cardiovascular system.his unchecked use of gear 2 and 3 during enies lobby and thriller bark were noted to be damaging to his health as a whole and chipping away at his life, with Chopper even fearing the worst in the moment of both their use.

and when treated by Iva's healing hormone during impel down, it’s made known that the energy level required to activate his immune system and fight off the poison is ten years-worth of his life.

these are just a couple points in which it is directly mentioned how Luffy’s life is periodically being shortened. and while it’s not directly mentioned how it affects his overall health after recovering, the massive damage from the chest trauma wound he received at marineford ( which i plan on outlining the details of soon ), has likely left behind lasting effects that aren’t yet visible or known. so at only 17-years-old, Luffy's body has taken a lot. and this doesn't even begin to touch on the various physical traumas he dealt with while growing up.

post-timeskip, he hardly slows down. despite training and technique improvements for gears 2 and 3, Luffy’s new transformations put just as much strain on his body as before, if not more. gear 4 is incredibly exhaustive and nutrient taxing, and leaves Luffy immobile after its use.

the same goes for a gear 5 transformation. besides the fact that Luffy had to physically die for several minutes before his devil fruit awakened, the use of gear 5 escalates the rate at which energy and nutrients are depleted even more, showing to even physically age Luffy's body temporarily in the aftermath. in addition, Luffy has to consciously change the rhythm of his heartbeat to match the drums of liberation in order to transform, effectively giving himself an irregular heartbeat. i’m sure you might see where i’m going with this, as i mention his heart repeatedly.

being the intentional spitting image of Roger, and following in his footsteps to become king of the pirates, it's my belief that Luffy won't live to be much older than Roger was at the day of his execution ( 53-years-old ). maybe he'll live a few years longer, but i really don't see Luffy ever reaching the age of 60, especially if there's no point in which an older version of him slows down. it will definitely be a challenge to get him to do so, even if it's recommended.

i've spoken in part about this with a couple others, but due to the type of internal damage that Luffy has endured, i headcanon that he will develop some sort of heart condition ( which i will go into more detail on a later post ). but whether Luffy ends up slowing and eventually picking an island to settle/retire to, or if he continues his reckless adventuring to the end, has yet to be decided. regardless of how the story goes though, Luffy will die relatively young, and it will likely be from premature heart failure.

#❝ adhd thought dump ❞ — ooc #❝ i have to be stronger than everybody else…or else i’ll lose them all! ❞ — headcanons #character death tw #terminal illness tw #heart disease tw #premature death tw #this has been too long in the making #obviously there's a lot of things in here that aren't all that new to the fandom #but it is just the introduction!!#there are more metas to come that will accompany this one

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quiet-nocturne · 2 months

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Thank you to @memesmadefullmetal for the tag!

are you named after anyone? not my first name - but my middle name comes from the name of a children's hospital that kept me alive when I was born, even though I was super premature. It makes sense as a name though, trust me. My mother was not insane haha.

when was the last time you cried? hmmm, a couple weeks ago? I also full-on bawled for like 20 minutes while reading the end of a novel about a month back lmao, which has never happened before.

do you have kids? nope, only three fur babies. 🐈

do you use sarcasm a lot? definitely.

what sports do you play? none. I like sitting, comfy clothes and video games. 💀 if I do any fitness, it's walking, ring fit adventure or just dance lol.

what’s the first thing you notice about people? just the general aura they put off - usually I'm right about a first impression. I can tell if I'll get along with someone pretty quickly.

what’s your eye color? brown

scary movies or happy endings? depends on my mood (I can go for a good scary movie), but probably a happy ending overall. I'm a sap lol.

any special talents? uhhh I can play a lot of instruments, and sometimes I type and whole stories with pretty cool prose comes out. 🤷‍♀️

where were you born? canada! 🇨🇦

what are your hobbies? listening to music, video games, writing, reading, textiles or sewing of any kind, watercolor painting, tv shows/movies, obsessing over fma, petting a cat, etc.

do you have any pets? yep, 3 cats!

how tall are you? 5"2 ahaha. 🙃 i can reach things on the BOTTOM shelf. ✨💪

favorite subject in school? Music. I have 2 degrees in it, and now I no longer work in it. oops haha.

dream job? honestly, to own/run a cat rescue. that would be so sweet. unfortunately currently I work in retail.

tagging (no pressure!): @rizaposting, @lewdybooty, @aicasey 💖

#tag game #personal #not me posting this at 2:30am 💀#i had an energy drink earlier and now i can't sleep

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ghostly-penumbra · 1 year

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Seven Ways to Summon the Ghost King

Chapter Seven: Family Call

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [here]

Ao3

Summary: How can you say no to such a pressing call?

... no, really, Danny would love to know.

Notes: There are big spoilers for The Sandman comics. And I mean HUGE. As in, the culmination of the comic HUGE. Ye be warned!

- - -

“Brother, I stand in my gallery and hold your sigil. Please come through.”

“I am –ha!– in the middle of something right now.”

The being dressed all in white blinked, unimpressed, “I am worried about your safety, please come through.”

“Just… need… to kill them all…”

Dream of the Endless, no longer known as Daniel Hall, sighed in exasperation.

“Twin brother I am in my gallery holding your sigil, and I summon you.”

“Don’t you- stop that! Shit! You, kid, if you win this match in my name, I’ll make ya my apprentice!”

There was a fervid screech, and finally, his brother passed through where his portal portrait was.

Death of the Endless, pretty much still Daniel James Fenton, was spat out of his portrait and landed headfirst on the floor of the Dream Lord’s gallery.

“Hello there, twinsie dearest.” Danny deadpanned, crossing his arms as he glared up at his twin brother.

It was a curious thing, their twinship. Daniel Hall and Daniel James Fenton had both been born the 3rd of April of 1990, effectively making them the same age, but Daniel Hall had been in the womb for almost two years, making him technically older in existence, and Danny Fenton had been born premature.

Now, Death had already been there when Dream had first come to exist, because everyone had the potential to die long before they could even dream for the first time, so that Death had been Dream’s senior. But, this was a different Dream and a different Death, and the current Dream had taken his position in 1993, whilst the current Death had done so in 2023, giving this Dream work seniority.

Then again, this Dream had been a toddler when the position was given to him, and this Death had already been thirty-three, a whole adult by that point.

In the end there were too many factors to tell who was older than whom but since Desire and Despair had chosen to be twins, why couldn’t they?

“Hello, little brother.” Dream smiled down at him.

Knowing they wouldn’t reach a definite conclusion didn’t stop them from bantering over who was the older brother, however.

“I saw you had been summoned to the Waking world and through the eyes of one of your invokers, noticed you were nonplussed. I’m worried, brother.”

Ah, yeah, he might have knocked a kid out cold with his presence. It happened. And- she got better!

“That was two hours ago, baby bro. Having trouble measuring time in the Living world again?” He teased even as he held up a hand to be helped up.

“Au contraire, Death. I know just fine how long it’s been but I also know you can take care of yourself amongst a crowd of teenagers, powered or not. Alas, you took your time, and I grew restless.”

Dream lifted his brother up and got a snort and a friendly shoulder shove as a reward.

- - -

The brothers stood next to each other on Dream’s balcony, overlooking his Kingdom. Well, Dream stood, whilst Death sat on the railing, with his feet hanging down, back in his human living form as a 33 years old adult.

(He was already dead long before he became Death, so there was no need to kill him a second time. The fact that he was alive and could choose to be so whenever he wanted was of no consequence. It was more likely one of the reasons he had been a perfect pick for it.)

Danny broke the silence, “They couldn’t have done anything to me, even if they had tried. You know that.” He threw a pebble at the far-off lake and saw it skip endlessly.

Dream didn’t look at him. He didn’t need to have his predecessor’s memories of his entrapment to know what it had done to him. Even after the incident with the Dream Vortex, he had been proud and unyielding. Arrogant.

A human lifetime of imprisonment later, and as soon as he was free, he started planning his demise.

“Poorly done?” He asked instead.

“No, not at all,” Was his twin’s answer, “The circle was perfect, so was the chanting, and if there weren’t any trapping mechanism that was there on purpose. This one kid had a journal, the one who had the idea to summon the concept of Death to their dorm, filled with the knowledge we took with us when we left.”

He wasn’t talking about Dream, because Dream still walked the Waking world and interacted with humans in a more regular basis than his predecessor. It had been Death who, tired and grieving, had chosen to step away from the living, and only show himself to collect them and guide them to their next step; and as the King of Ghosts, he had taken all ghosts, spirits and shades with him, freeing them if they were trapped, helping them move on if they were still hesitant, and forcibly dragging them if they refused to stop wreaking havoc.

And he hadn’t been the only one; Heaven had finally stopped it’s wayward angels from going to Earth and, as Death would put it, “fucking shit up”, and the souls that resided there could no longer be summoned either.

Same thing with Hell; the gates had been closed so that the damned could only enter, not leave. There were no more demons making deals and messing with humanity anymore.

“That shouldn’t be possible. You made sure to kill all that knowledge in the Waking world.

Death sent a glare to his brother. He had not ‘killed the knowledge’, he had just taken it to his castle in the Ghost Zone, where only the dead resided. Shut up.

“And they won’t see it in their dreams, either.” He chose to say.

“Never.” his brother reassured quickly. The Dreaming would not inspire anyone in ways that could harm any of his siblings.

“Yeah, I thought as much,” Death huffed with a smile, “There was a…” He continued, knowing better than to use the word ‘thing’ when referring to someone that could think and feel. “… a being attached to this kid’s soul. It- he is something neither Didi nor I had ever seen.”

He let his words remain in the space between them, and knew his twin was seeing them written out in the air in front of him. (Much likely in comic sans, the asshole.)

“Not in a physical shape, at least.”

His brother said nothing, and only watched him reach revelation on his own even if it still was in his realm. He could be an ass patient like that.

Danny thought about it, looking for the words to explain his mind to the collective subconscious of the multiverse.

“That being is a bridge, for knowledge on us, not just us Endless, but many non-mortals, on our realms, how to call us, how to find us, how to appease us… how to trap us.”

This time he did see the words hanging between them –and it was comic-fucking-sans–, a bright toxic green that read trap. He put a hand on Dream’s shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.

“He didn’t put the trapping sigils, and they wouldn’t have stopped me in this form.” Even after becoming an Endless, that little trick of his didn’t stop working. Things meant to contain the dead had no power on him when he chose to be alive, and vice-versa. He could get his siblings out, too, should they need it.

He wouldn’t sit idly whilst he knew he could help. He could protect.

And, if anyone tried to go and tell him of rules and limitations, he could kindly point them to his Obsession and how it predated his duty as an Endless, how it had been part of him for almost a decade, and how the change in his nature had not managed to override it from him, no matter how much it tried.

Not wanting to continue with that topic, Dream said instead, “Did you have fun? Annoying or not, it’s been a while since you spoke with someone your age who still had a heartbeat.”

On cue, rings of light swept Danny up and down, turning him back to his ghost form, looking fourteen years old, right before his growth spur, with baby fat still on his cheeks and, if he lowered his guard long enough, sometimes he still moved like that hunched, awkward teen still discovering who he was.

“It was cool, actually! Most ‘these kids were nice, and they had a bunch of cool video games; is not like any of them were a real challenge, but new competence is always welcome. Their universe didn’t have DOOMED, though, even if they are three centuries after the game was invented, but I fixed that, so I think they’ll be okay.” He said, knowing damn well he would be going back soon as the war started, to collect several of the people they loved and admired. “I may have won at DDR, but that girl sure got the Spirit Award.” He turned a mischievous smirk at his brother and found him grimacing and holding back a sigh, which only got Danny to laugh out loud at him, his smile so wide his eyes were half-closed in joy.

- - -

“Things are changing.” Danny said as they stared at the night sky, this time from the Waking, Living world where they had been born, four thousand and fourteen years ago.

“They always do.” Dream was a prime example of that.

“You know I fuckin’ hate chess analogies-” And he did, so much that the last time he had touched a chess board had been to throw it at Vlad’s annoying face. “-but… ugh, the pieces are being set, something’s gonna make a move, and we’ll have to face this new… board.” Danny scrunched up his nose in distaste. Fucking analogies. “And we need to move, too,” he continued nonetheless, “we gotta be ready, ‘cause if what’s coming next is what I think…” He didn’t finish his sentence, because he genuinely didn’t know how it’d all turn out. People would die, but they always did, as for the rest…

“Brother, please speak plainly.”

But Death couldn’t, he didn’t dare voice his concern here in the presence of both Father Time and Mother Night and speak it into reality. He wouldn’t fuck it all up again, when it was the ones he loved whom suffered the consequences. It had always been that way.

So he chose his words carefully.

“… the mascaraed will fall, there is now a bridge between what we tried to hide, and them. I don’t doubt there are others across the multiverse-” connected, drawing the others to themselves, “-it’s just that-” I haven’t been there, I haven’t paid attention, I stopped protecting them, “I didn’t notice before.”

“And when the game board is changed,” Dream continued in his brother’s stead, knowing how his thoughts spiralled, “if we don’t adapt to the new rules-”

“We adapt.”

Dream blinked, and turned to fully look at his twin brother.

Even still in his ghostly, Endless form his eyes were their icy blue, and they didn’t have that bright ethereal shine of their own, but instead reflected the street lamp next to their bench, the full moon above them, the stars in their mother’s body and the stars on Dream’s own eyes. Danny’s blue eyes shone with the world around them, alive.

There was no question in those eyes, no hesitation. This was something he was willing to speak into fact, into truth, unshakable.

They would adapt, because the other option was the end, everything and everyone leaving, everywhere. Danny locking the door with key and-

Being left behind, alone and Endless, please don’t, I don’t wanna, don’t make me-

“We adapt.” His brother echoed, his eyes human and green, a sign of affection, an oath of support, with their parents and anyone that cared to see as witness.

Danny breathed in again, not needing but wanting to, and rested his forehead on his twin’s shoulder.

“We got preparations to make. I may have already started. Let’s go, bro.”

Under their Father’s watchful gaze, two Daniels stood and left the quiet park of Amity and prepared for the future.

FIN

- - -

And so ends my first multi-chaptered fic written outside an event! Thank y'all for being with me these days and for all your lovely comments I haven't gotten around to replying!

Whatever they are, I would love to read your thoughts on this, because it was this chapter I wanted to write all along. There is a heartbreaking lack of Danny Phantom/The Sandman crossovers, and I feel it.

Real life is awful right now, so I don't think I'll get to write more of this concept, of Danny being Death of the Endless, but do feel free to come yell at me in my ask box anytime!

Also, a sidenote I can finally say: Something funny I'm noticing in the DPxDC area is that people are giving Danny the "all souls will be mine in the end" role as part of being the King of the Infinite Realms, and I'm like "uh, no, that's Death's bit, a canonical DC character. you guys are trying to make Danny Death" WHICH IS WHAT I JUST DID LMFAO

Anyway, thanks for reading ❤️

#Danny Phantom #The Sandman #The Sandman Comics #Danny Fenton #Dream of the Endless #Daniel Hall #ghostly-scrypts #DPxDC #of a sort #minor character death #implied character death #you'll hate me for it #iykyk #post canon #CrossOver #Danny Phantom CrossOver #The Sandman Crossover #ask me about this ask me about this ask me ab

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