#event: drubbles

[shadowatching]

Drunk request? Been listening to hellfire for days now give the good shit™ priest!Gabriel and his student double teaming a new member of the church

Therewhy is it that the villain songs are the BEST songs? like is that just me? am i just really fucked up?

but HERE WE GO

(assuming u mean mccree as the student?)

Sacrilege was the furthest thing from you mind, although the ornate marble floor was more sacred than even your soul.

Your thoughts were also definitely not centered arond an obnoxiously erratic bladder that was definitely not your own, but that of a heavily buzzed writer absolutely hell-bent on breaking the fourth wall no matter what.

Once returned from the bathroom and comfortable, you could ignore the mounting paranoia of being controlled by an unseen force and refocus on the situation at hand.

There were dicks, for sure. Two of them.

Two dicks was a lot more than you would be comfortable with in front of an alter. Mostly in general, but especially in front of the alter.

Because you were ina church. You were new the the church. Lookling foward to water cooler conversation despite water coolers not existing, and all that. Falling to your knees on polished wood and confessing your sinful thoughts about a dark, squared jaw and the body beneath dark robes.

“F-….Father,” You stutter, as he bares your skin to the high, vaulted ceilings. “This is sin!”

A hand cups your jaw, tilts your head up. Dark eyes heavy with lust meet yours, a thumb brushing over your lips. Jesse, his student. Disciple, you supposed, if these were the depths of fire they would step into together.

(You do not lay your face on the keyboard and space out with a string of ggggg’s beneath your cheek, because you do not know what a keyboard is. Neither the kind that conjured your existence, nor the ones used to rock the fuck out.)

Jesse pulls your bottom lip down, and you let him because what else are you supposed t odo?

“So devout,” Father Reyes hums from behind you, silent laughter in his voice. “But lest you desire to burn, you’ll submit yourself to me, and me alone.”

Something hot presses at your opening, and begins to break your nervous, fluttering muscles. He groans deeply, but you sob from the burn alone.

“Hush, hush.” Jesse soothes as your head falls fowards, pressing into the cold marble. A sob punches from your mouth when you feel hips meet your own, the Father bottomed out inside of you. “Yer alright, sweetheart. We’re gonna take good care of you. Show you the light, and all that.”

Jesse picks up your head, thumbs stroking tears from your cheeks as he cups your face, and there’s a slow, painful drag as Reyes nearly leaves you altogether before pistoning back in, warm hands finding your hips, soothing over your spine and shoulders and one settles on your throat and he trhusts again.

You can’t call him Father anymore, not with what he’s doing in the house of God. With what he’s doing to you in the house of God.

Once he’s settled into a rhythm, Jesse begins to palm himself through his trousers, robe discarded some time ago. He was never one for propriety, which often had you wondering why he had chosen the church.

“You would call this sin?” Reyes says breathily. “So be it. If you find solace in telling yourself you played no part, then do what you must.”

Jesse pushes his pants away, penis bobbing free with a weeping head. A hand, once so gentle as Reyes breached you, pries open your jaw. It takes you too much by surprise to resist.

My punctuation and shit is too good for me to be drunk anymore. Where’s that next drink at.

Dick #2 is salty, and you gag before he even hits your reflex. But he pays no mind, only groans in what must be bliss, and pushes in until you can’t breathe, and are gagging so hard that your stomach cramps/

“Easy, easy.” He soothes before thrusting, and it’s just as bad and just as cruel as Reyes. “Just relax, yer doin’ fine.”

With both of the going at you, body swaying back and forth with each thrust and righti nto the next, the hand at your throat slides away, and ou’re almsot relieved for a brief moment.

But it sinks between your thighs and strokes, and soon bursts of foreign warmth are drawn from low in your belly. You try to pull away, have to stop this before they drag you down to hell with them, but there’s nowhere to go.

Roughened fingers follow you as you choke, spittle dripping from your chin. Jesse tangles a hand in your hair.

Reyes does something with his wrist that has you seeing stars, nearly collapsing. your elbows are shaking with effort to hold you up, but neither man is satisfied yet.

Reyes quickens his pace and his hand, and there’s something inside of you climbing higher and higher and so high, far too high, so that when it peaks and you plummet towards earth like a fallen star, you’re reminded so much of babylon and its destruction.

The Father’s pace stutters and his hips jerk, burying deep inside of you. You hardly notice the warmth that psills into your body, pelvis still jerking with each contration of your finish.

Pulling out of your mouth, letting you cough and gasp for air, Jesse brings a hand to himself and finds his own release, using his grip on your jaw to angle your head- the younger man paints your cheek with sickly white, and you wretch. nothing comes out but thin, sour bile. he laughs and Pats your clean cheek.

“Beg for forgiveness if it makes you feel better,” Reyes says, cloth shuffling as he stands and fixes himself. “But remember this: you belong to me.”

Your elbows finally give. There is nothing that can save you now, and your faite lies far beneath the cold floor.

———————-

hey here’s a fun little note: i’m actually very religious, and definitely absolutely ten thousand percent going to hell because i just wrote straight up blasphemy! but anyway i hope you enjoyed that even though i’m like pretty Inf;luenced or whatever they’re calling it these days. hopefully that was like, some mixture of amusing and vaguely decipherable.

[artaacari]

Я решилась побороть свой творческий кризис, и приму участие в марафоне, посвященному моей любимой паре. Действие драбблов происходит в альтернативной вселенной с тотальной сменой пола персонажей. И я хочу показать читателям, насколько классной может быть такая история! 

Я понимаю, что многие фанаты НинАльи не знают русского, но пока не могу самостоятельно перевести фанфики. Возможно, вас порадует тот факт, что персонажей любят во всем мире! 

I decided to overcome my creative crisis, and will take part in a event dedicated to my beloved pair. Drubbles take place in an alternate universe with a total gender swap of the characters. And I want to show readers how awesome a story like this can be! I understand that many DjWifi fans do not know Russian, but so far I cannot translate fanfiction on my own. Perhaps you will be pleased with the fact that the characters are loved all over the world!

[shadowatching]

hOI CAN I SEND IN A DRUBBLE????! could i get something like collaring headcanons/drabble?? maybe for reaper, as well as pharah, and maybe a character of your choice if you wanna do multiple people??? up to you, mostly just want collar stuff cause you describe it well ❤️ LOVE YOU

Heck yeah you can friend!! Thanks for being a pal and sending in my first drubble request! Although i actually. feel a little bad about these being drubbbles for you because. this….will not be quality. i’m sorry.

note: apparently i get switch from artistic and experimental to meta as fuck at the drop of a hate. hat. although i do hate hates. HATS.

much like that sentence, my writing devolves exponentially as it continues.

Reaper is standing over you, the face of an angry pagan moon from centuries lost. You stare, transfixed. There is no stopping this, but you will try. Your existence is comprised of trying, of trying until your hands bleed and your (i don’t know how to finish that sentence but it needs something else but whatever go just go with it). He squats, and you’re reminded of days past- his thighs are like your middle school gym teacher, thick and gnarly, ubt a lot less wrong on black=cloaked hellspawn than a fifty year old pman in nylon shorts and a shwistle. whistle. 

his hands find wyour shoulders and slam you into the floor like you’re not made out of bone and flesh and your spine isn’t a fragile reality that can suffer actual medical damage, .

you turn your head and bite his fucking arm because if he’s going to treat you like a dog then you’re going to be his rabid, mangy nightmare. the back of a hand strikes across your face like a comet, white hot with pain and destroying probably everything in your face. clawed gauntlests leave streaks of red and your skin gushes red into your hair, hot and not red because i already used red in this sentence. some other adjective that conjures vivid imagery. maybe smell. it’s immersive, and ends the sentence dramatically. my creative writing teacher form senior year would cricle it and scribble a bunch of exclamation points because he was a neat guy.

this has gotten really meta. fuck.

um. less about my high school experience. back to horror.

when his hands find your pale throat, bared and so vulnerable, you half expect him to tear it out just for fun. reaper is just that kind of entity. you hesitate to call him a guy at this point, because he de-materializes at will and seems to be made primarily of smoke. ancient cultures usually called things like that a demon, and sacrificed goats to kt.

you’re not a goat.

he’s sitting on your waist like a dumbass, and maybe you can’t throw him off but you bring up an unimpeded knee and slam it as hard as you can into his back. he’ll proably kill you for it, but your head is already spinning from concussive force so like why the fuck not, it was better to go out in blood and gore and have a centerfold valkyrie hoist you up by the armpits and send you to valhalla. even the abyss owuld be an accepted alternative to reaper.

but the action pulls barely an annoyed grunt, and gee, doesn’t taht make you feel great about your own strength. should’ve listened to mr oertle and done some squats. the man had powerful thighs, afterall. you should’ve known he knew what he was talking about.

leather wraps around your neck, not even a pause while you squirm. miraculously, he doesn’t maul you with those long, awful talons, and is oddly articulate and careful as he feeds the strap through its clasp, tightening until there’s no slack. doesn’t do the finger test like you’re supposed to, becasue he’s an asshole and what did you expect.

you wonder how he does paperwork with those gauntlets. does he even have hands?

——————

there was once a time you would ahve fallen to your nees for Pharah willfully, beautifully, of your own absolute volition. She was all dark skin and sharp angles and if she’d asked, you would’ve worshippped.

She seemd to know it in the way the corner of her mouth would quirk, never a smile becasue she was far too stoic and unamused. but those days were past.

Pharah didn’t ask, never had. Pharah tore through obstacles and shredded opposition, and you supposed that’s how she’d been raised, what she did to surivie. Pharah took what she wanted and didn’t look back t osee the smokldering wreckage.

one of her elegant and battle-worn fingers flicks the metal clasp at your throat, and you swallow nervously. she runs it along the groove of your jugular, humming a soft melody you think is egyptian.

It wraps around the band, and tugs. Your head follows becasue you know better than to resist.

she smiles, head tilts just a fraction.

But it’s not the kind of smile that might settle your nerves. It speaks of pain, of blood welling from your body with each gentle touch. why did it always hurt, no matter how feather-light her touch?

she was a harbinger of destruction. the eye of horus stares into you like a distant sky, encompassing everything beneath its misty apathy.

you shiver, and let her take what she wants.

after all, you are just another thing for her to destroy.