in dreams

obscura | 26, any pronouns | writing blog NSFW BLOG ! MINORS/PROSHIPS DNI !! INBOX - OPEN strawpage masterpost

[mannequinreligi0n]

bello . i started a new side blog to spam art and yaps on so i can reserve this one for just fanfic and my personal only for reblogs.

you can follow it here if you’d like :) currently going through my outlast hyperfixation rn

i’m still a vergil loyalist so dw too much

also you can now find my posts across blogs under the tag obscura’s cove .

bye love u

[videodronesquestions]

intermittently working on this in between forcing myself to draw bc it’s been super funnnnn . figured i’d ask here if there’s a preferred prime you’d like to see . both will be written eventually . working on an easterman one tonight :)

kink roulette prime oneshot

franco

gooseberry

secret third option: pusher

Remaining time: 10 hours 34 minutes

[mannequinreligi0n]

i’m too lazy to post the fics here as of now, but my beautiful oomf and i are doing kink roulette with outlast characters for a fic trade and will be posting them as we go !! you can read my trager ones now, and i should have my first prime asset one up soon !!! yay !!!!

you can read mine here

also follow bestie oomfie here

[mothersspecialchild]

(nsfw warning)

doing a fic trade game with mannequinreligion on ao3 (not the tumblr blog of the same name, important distinction lol) this is so funsie

wrote for easterchud for the first time here and heeere…mweehhehe

also check out theirs they are so good im still salivating

[mannequinreligi0n]

Amenities

you convince vergil to let you two stay in a hotel for the night after a long demon-hunting job.

pairing: vergil x reader (afab) wc: 2k warnings: hurt/comfort, fluff, wound care, play-fighting, orgasm denial, penetration notes: woke up and thought of this bc i miss my beautiful wife, vergil . anyways, enjoy !! link: ao3

Vergil often detested booking hotels during or after jobs, finding the need for human commodities as a frivolous expense. However, a year of adjusting to civilian life and the last two weeks on the road for this pesky mission, he didn't object this time when you proposed the idea of a night in, already imagining a hot shower and room service. Despite the sideways looks you two got from reception, the keycards were secured and your filthy forms made it up to your designated floor. The room was beige and simple, but it was clean, safe, and quiet—which is all either of you could ask for after such a demanding job. 

You stepped in first, coat slinking off to be hung up in the wooden closet by the door. As Vergil bolted the chains, he attempted to follow suit, a wince of pain making my scrunch his features.

“Here, let me,” you mumbled as you turned to help. Stubborn as ever, he stepped back and scowled, the sting of pain revoking his manners.

“I am more than capable of—”

“Let me do it.”

Vergil’s features wilted at your tone, losing his bite and dropping his arms to let you have your way. It’s not that he didn’t trust you, but more than he had gotten so comfortable in your presence that he often tried to find ways of still establishing his individuality. He refused to be seen as anything less, but it was hard to uphold his stuffy values when you doted on him with the utmost sincerity. As you pulled his coat off, Vergil watched you over his shoulder, ocean eyes wordlessly conveying gratitude despite the wrinkle in his brow. With the leather jacket off and away, you could see the slits in his vest where the demon you two had vanquished struck a few good blows in. Led to the edge of bed, he sits down and waits til you’re sat behind him before he starts at the vest’s fastenings. 

“It’ll all heal, you know,” he grunts between words, the lining of the vest slowly peeling away from bloodied skin. “I can’t imagine why you feel the need to fret over surface cuts.”

Even so, you watch his back muscles ripple as the vest is shed, reopening the wounds as it peels away healing skin. The inside of the vest was, well, disgusting. Bloodied, with pieces of his flesh stickered onto it, due to the duration of having it on working against his regenerative abilities. You make a face at the nasty sight, sighing as you toss the vest away to the floor.

“Any longer, and we would’ve had to cut you out of it. Again.”

Only a hum of acknowledgement—or dismissal—rumbles back to you. Sliding off the bed, you pad to the adjoined bathroom and wet a rag. You study your own battered appearance in the mirror as the water runs. Dirt darkened your skin, caking into some of the cuts. You looked rough, but never as bad as he usually did; he would never allow you to fight harder than him, to be in harm’s way when he could stand as a shield for you. That wasn’t to say he doubted your fighting abilities. In fact, the only reason you two had partnered up was because of the respect he had for you. But, as emotions and attachments grew, Vergil found it harder to watch you limp and writhe in pain after jobs, much preferring to take the brunt of the damage. 

You find your way back to him, seeing him already tending to his wounds himself. He expunges saliva onto his fingers to rub into the cuts, the skin already rebuilding itself as the saliva encourages the swelling to fade—an old trick he learned from a demon many moons ago. Passing the damp towel over his back, he makes a sound in the back of his throat, tense as he goes still for you. Vergil watches silently as you rub away grime from his skin, eyes following the patterned route your hand made with the rag. The rhythmic motions lull your own thoughts away from the present, mind drifting to planning out the next courses of actions after returning from the job. A touch to your face summons you back, eyes focusing to find his already trained on you. Vergil’s thumb swiped over the bone that cradled your eye, gently smearing away a streak of blood.

“Where’d you go?” His voice came out tentative, as if worried his disturbance would upset you. His eyes searched yours to attempt to steal a peek behind them, wishing he could read your thoughts.

You shake your head gently, lowering the rag. “I’m here.”

His stare remained courteous, yet you could tell he wanted to pry, ever the attentive partner. Instead, though, the half-demon sighs from his nose and lets his features soften.

“You fought bravely tonight. I’m beside myself, with how well you’re beginning to carry yourself in battle. I often must force my reflexes to heed and allow you to take point, as you have earned that right,” Vergil’s throat bobs with a faint swallow, finger tips still tracing the side of your face. “Thank you, for being by my side.”

Praise from Vergil is always genuine, and it never fails to make you feel singular. Your eyes crinkle slightly as a smile warms up your tired face. “The blood loss is making you sentimental. But, it’s nothing, really. I love you, and I love fighting with you.”

“And I love you, very much,” He lets his hand slip down to your shoulder briefly before sitting himself up and facing you properly. “Enough to feel compelled to take care of you, now that I am no longer bleeding to death.”

A huff of a chuckle leaves him as he stands, hand pulling you along.

“Up. A shower would do us good.”

—

Between the food in his stomach and the robe warming his aching body, Vergil felt like he could melt through the mattress. He watched the back of your head while you ate, preferring to observe the way you chewed french fries over whatever nonsense you had put on the hotel TV. As much as he enjoyed the rush of endorphins he got from demon hunting with you, he found the quieter part of himself started to crave this kind of intimacy more. There were no expectations or watchful eyes—just the certainty of company and the solace it brought him. 

As you licked salt from your fingers, a calloused hand yanked you back towards the headboard. Giggles filled the room as Vergil pulled you to him, his own mouth latching onto the greased fingers with a shake of laughter. Despite weak protests of faux disgust, you didn’t try very hard to stave off the attack, practically letting him coil around you. Long, lean legs cage you in as he releases your fingers, only to bite at your wrist. 

“Nuh-uh—you can’t leave now.”

“Get off of me, you freak,” you snort and squirm against him, lamely trying to wriggle free amidst the play-fight. He cares little for your insult, mouthing his way up your arm instead. Laughter mingles between you two until a moan makes you still, his lips suctioning to a spot on your neck. Blood rushes to the area as he sucks on the tender skin, staccato breaths from his nose puffing over you as he laughs at your complicity.

“That’s all you got? No more verbal abuse or grabbing?” He unlatches from your neck to peer down at your face, flashing imperfect teeth in an exultant smile. 

You start to give quick excuses, only to be shut up by a desirous kiss. Your limbs betray you, turning to jelly as he shifts against you, tongue knocking for entry. You greet it with enthusiasm, only to fail at returning the kiss once a hand parts your legs. Eager fingers pet at the growing heat of your sex, gentle despite the obvious intent. When you've proven too pliant to kiss back, he trails his lips back down to your throat, teeth threatening to break the skin. 

Vergil pushes off your robe enough to grant him skin-to-skin contact, his own slipping open and exposing an already hardening cock. Deep inhales against your skin fill his senses with your scent, only encouraging him to keep going and feed the need for connection. The hand between your legs alternates between familiar circles and strokes, knowing exactly what rhythm gets you worked up enough without pushing. As you arch into his hand in response, he grinds into from behind, the head of his length rubbing against your ass for much needed friction. Your breathing hitches as your gut twists with approaching, lazy pleasure, head lulled back into him as you welcome the onslaught. Compared to the grit of demon-hunting, this was easy bliss, and you had no problem giving into the temporary gluttony. 

Just as your body was about to fall over the peak, his hand withdraws to rest on your hip. A mewl of denial slips out from you as you rut against nothing, painfully close to coming. “God—, Vergil, wait—”

“Patience,” Vergil’s body vibrates with a laugh, low and taunting in your ear as he sucks on the lobe. His hand slides up your front, fragrant with your sex, and holds your chin taut. “I will not deprive you, sweet girl. I merely wish to be selfish, just for a moment.”

With one more nip to your ear, he releases your jaw to guide his cock behind you to your warmth. His breath ghosts over your shoulder as he pushes himself in, silver strands of hair tickling your cheek. Vergil hides in the privacy of your neck, thankful you’re unable to see the look of relief on his face as he bottoms out. Your hips urge him to move with little syncopated rolls, walls throbbing around him from the previously stunted release. If you two were home, and the day hadn’t been so long, he might’ve prolonged the moment, dragged out the denial til you were sputtering tears for him to kiss away. But, god, you were so tight, and so very warm—he couldn’t fight it.

“Oh, I missed you, missed this,” the words come out muffled against your skin, his hands returning to your hips to grind into you. Calloused hands flex against the supple flesh of your hips, adjusting his grip as he works up to a steady pace behind you. The hotel bed moans with you as you stretch back towards him, jaw slacked as the coils of an orgasm curl back up. Vergil pokes his head out to accommodate your head leaning back, opting to watch your lashes flutter. 

As his fervor increases, he snakes a hand under your thigh and lifts your leg, allowing for more room to accommodate his size. The kisses pressed into the side of your face draw you back to the world of the living, foggy eyes opening to find him. You’re greeted by a blissful smile, Vergil planting a kiss under a dopey eye. 

“I know, sweetheart, I know. You can come, it’s okay; I won’t stop you.”

The orgasm shakes you soon after, teary eyes locked on him as you feel that little death claim you. Vergil doesn’t fight his own release either, letting you milk out the seed with shaky ruts. His hand under you finds its way to your perked clit, helping you ride out the much needed reprieve and ensure you’re satisfied. Cock slipping out of your folds, electric pulses hum through his body as he lets himself rest between your thighs, dripping shaft sandwiched between the pillowy flesh. He doesn’t attempt to move, even after your immediate seizing has slowed, savoring the sacred sights and smells of bonding with you once more. In the morning, he could sort his thoughts and practice discipline—tonight, this was enough.

[mannequinreligi0n]

guys i woke this morning with an idea for a vergil oneshot . it’s a miracle !!!!!

[mannequinreligi0n]

Hiii i love you writing idk how to word it im English (it would better if you think about a strong foreign accent while you read this) but I very much like the psychological tunneling you do.

I wonder about pre divorce Easterman and his Irene or whatever poor creature he would be planning on marrying and who would say yes to him. In the hours before the proposal how Easterman is. Just internally psyching himself up or waiting for the moment. Would he be having more of a thousand yard stare than usual. Or actually maintaining his usual calculated and calm demeanour(?). Or he could just be assuming any substances he finds. Idk he could be probably pre-Murkoff (?) Easterman (SO CUTE. )

HI I have been thinking about this ask for so, so long, not only because I love love love it, but also because I wanted to answer it the best I could.

I think that Easterman definitely has a romantic streak, so the proposal would be hush hush, but very sincere. Maybe over a nice dinner, or in the safety of a bedroom. We know he loves to monologue, so expect a mentally prepared speech about his devotions and intentions. I can see him triple-checking that the ring is in his pocket, that everything is in place before the proposal to avoid any missteps.

We know so little about Irene and their marriage that it's kinda hard to say anything definitively, but given the time period, I think it's safe to assume they got married young, and he might've proposed out of a feeling of responsibility or security. His mother's shadow follows him constantly, and the kind of mommy issues he has definitely drive that need to care for something. We've seen this in how he treats the reagents—he longs to be needed, to be important, as a way of compensating how he was treated.

I wrote on my other blog about my headcanons for his pre-Irene experiences, and in it, talked briefly about how I think the Easterman of then and the one we know now would be very different. I very much headcanon that he was less boisterous and theatrical as he is now, and I think it's very possible that the further he got from his mother, the more he felt inclined to be himself. I kind of hate this conception that he's calculating or suave, because he's extremely emotionally driven despite his intellect. To me, he is constantly trying to conceal his inner chaotic self with a projected confidence. Tying this back to the setting of a proposal, he would present the ring with certainty and intimate enthusiasm, but the shake of his hands and forced perfect posture would be little gateways into the nervous wreck he'd be on the inside. Desperate to be good enough for someone—as a husband, a lover, and a caretaker.

[mannequinreligi0n]

Devotion

Priest!Easterman AU. Father Easterman has filled a vacancy in the clergy, and despite your distrust, he's convinced he can sway you to his side.

pairing: easterman x reader (afab, gn pronouns) wc: 2.3k warnings: priest kink, canon typical violence, abuse/harm, temperature play, injury, blood and blood drinking, oral sex, masturbation, penetration notes: big preesh to @westerlandgotnuked for requesting this au . it's something that i had been meaning to write but never brought to fruition. anyways, i literally thought of the plot of this at like, 5am and then wrote it all out as soon as i could lol. link: ao3

When Father Matthews retired last winter due to his failing health, the congregation waited with bated breath to see who would lead their convent. The replacement first showed his face a day before the winter solstice, all smiles and honeyed words. Everyone had welcomed Father Easterman with open hearts and minds, hearing nothing but praise from his peers out east. 

Everyone except you.

Your intuition was better than most, stomach tightening with uncertainty the moment he took your hand and shook it. Your brothers and sisters treated him like an apostle from then on, unquestioning the vast changes he made to the church. Though you remained wary, disobeying his wishes would be to go against the very cloth you wore. So, you followed orders, nodded when he spoke, moved at his will—even when your soul cried for direction and forgiveness from God. The church was soon sculpted to Easterman’s liking, and it was hard to deny the impact he made. Every week, a few more worshippers filled the pews, till the church was filled every Sunday by the time February rolled by. It was unprecedented, the way in which he stood before the mass and laid down his creed with such conviction that it left no choice but for anyone that listened to believe his word as truth. It was as if he could peer into your very spirit and dissect the woven threads of who you were: your fears, your dreams, your sins. Nothing could remain sheltered from him.

Tried as you did, he knew of your skepticism. The first week of his arrival, he could smell the defiance in your blood, the refusal to bow to the unknown; he made it his mission to change that. You didn’t notice at first, the way silver eyes would linger on you during instruction. How that gilded tongue would preach words meant only for you to a nave full of followers. As the weeks went by and the snow softened outside, your guard lowered as you accepted the normalcy of your new routines. Father Easterman had shown no malice or threat to you in the time of his stay, and you had convinced yourself that the gut feeling you felt prior was a blunder, a misjudgement in the wake of change. 

It was the second week of March when the tides changed.

The lingering stares and increasing excuses to corner you amounted to hands too low on your back, whispers too close to your ear. By the time he had lured you to one of the studies, with the promise of dedicated and personal lecture, you didn't even fight the fingers that slid up your legs. It was so sudden, so erroneous, that your brain failed to comprehend an alternative. To disobey was to defy the will of God, but to succumb was an invitation of sin. The dilemma kept you awake with the moon for the next several evenings, unable to shake the memory of how he filled your body with sensations too divine to call unholy. It rattled you to your core, to the point of doubling down on prayer to scrub away the experiences. 

So when he summoned you to the sacristy early Wednesday morning, you obeyed. Instead of slipping on the chasuble for mass, Father Easterman had dropped his trousers and burrowed himself in your warmth. The old wooden table rattled as his hips rutted into your hole with harbored pants, blunt nails imprinting on the back of your thighs for purchase to keep your legs spread.

“Oh, the clarity that the flesh brings,” Easterman moans, hazy eyes looking over his nose at your mewling form. “How could I abandon this? This feeling of wholeness, of completion—when you're so willing to serve and kneel. My little lamb, so helpless…yearning for guidance.”

Father Easterman pulled out before orgasm could shake either of you, a plea in the shape of a moan falling from your mouth. A laugh makes a toothy smile spread on his face, warmed by the complicity of your desire. As he runs a hand down your leg soothingly, palming your ass, he leans forward to peer down at you properly.

“Desperation can lead even the weakest of followers to do even the most difficult of challenges. So eager to find meaning in absolution.”

“Father, the service. We don't have time for–,” you begin to protest weakly, lifting your head to sit up. His other hand whips out to shove you back down to the table, a loud, disapproving puff exhaling from his nose. 

“I’m not done.”

Gray eyes seemed to dim to a charcoal as he stared you down, demanding obedience without words. A wave of fear spiked your heartrate, and you obeyed, lying back down. The room went dead silent for a few breaths before you saw the muscles in his face relax, the violent streak in his glare receding back. Father Easterman sighed quietly and pulled his hand from your chest, running it over his mouth in thought. “Even the sweetest of disciples falter occasionally. I won’t hold this against you. Though, perhaps a lesson in contrition would do you well.”

His eyes slip away from you to a candle at the end of the table, reaching to grab the chamberstick with prudence for the tears of wax. He held it up, focused on the flame as it danced on the wick, before he waved a hand through it. The warmth licked his skin in a way that reminded him of his mortality, making his palm sweat from the heat and sting from the threat of danger. 

“Such fragile things, aren't we? Most shy away from the unpleasant, when Jesus welcomed pain as a display of love and fortitude,” Easterman’s words came out gentle and unhurried, as if speaking to a troubled child. He returned his hand to the candle to watch his skin redden till he dropped it away. The same hand went back to you, thumb brushing over the neglected, slicked hole he had abandoned, and you can see a flicker of something akin to fondness spark on his face as he observes your squirming—captivated and deceivingly tender. 

“And what will you do, my child? How will you respond in the face of peril?”

Before you can respond, the receptors between your thighs switch from a pleasant buzz to the wails of hurt. A choked squeal makes you jerk on the table, trying to wiggle away, only to be pressed into place by his hand again. His other, still in possession of the candle, held the flame to your sex, watching it swell and blush from the heat. The smell of burnt hair and warmed flesh tinged the air, only making Father Easterman smile and lean in closer to observe the defilement. Pain racked the lower half of your body, hips jumping on the table to get away with little success.

“‘The righteous cry out, and the Lord hears, and delivers them out of all their troubles. The Lord is near to those who have a broken heart, and saves such as have a contrite spirit’,” he quotes amongst the chimes of your screams, flitting his eyes up to your distressed face. “You know the book of Psalms well, don’t you?”

The flame sweltered against your flesh, making the skin break and begin to blister. A few more seconds and Easterman finally retracted the chamberstick, setting it back down on the table. Pain makes your vision swim, the scent of your own suffering luring bile up your esophagus before you can swallow it back down. You could feel the lingering sting of the burn radiate down to your knees, an ache that made tears stream steadily down the sides of your face. 

“No more…Please, Father, no–, it hurts,” you mumble out the merciful words as trembling fingers reach out for him, contradicting the way you inched away from him.

Father Easterman catches your hand in his without pause, holding them close and tight as he steps closer. He bows his head to kiss the fingers in place of a spoken apology before he clutches it to his chest. “I’m here, shhh. Feel it through, honey. Surrender to the will of God, and let me lead you. Don’t turn away from it, from me.”

His free hand wipes tears from your face with the utmost gentleness, the warmth of his hand like the sun on a summer’s day and not the scorch of the flame from before. Your head leans into the touch with a lame sob, wet lashes clumping together as you close your eyes to try and breathe through the pain. Pulling away, his hand disappears between your bodies, and you whimper at the brush of his knuckles against your injured sex. The slick sounds of him stroking himself mingled with your sniffles, his eyes getting that hazy look in them once more as he observed your features. Easterman didn’t bother to contain the moans of pleasure that parted his mouth, lids growing heavy as sought relief from the throes of denial. 

It didn’t take long for him to cum, off-white globs of sacred seed spilling onto his hands and between your legs. Unholy curses are muttered under his breath as he just his hips into his closed palm to chase the high, the sweat from his brow dripping onto your cheek. As his vision centers, Father Easterman leans back to examine the excrement, dragging a finger through the mess. His gaze flits to your ruined face before back down to your soiled folds, proceeding to smear his cum into the flesh like a healing salve. The sperm mixed with your slick and the plasma that leaked from the burns, creating a lustful concoction of fluids. His fingers rub into you, alternating between circles and strokes til your bud perked back up and he was able to coax that patiently awaited climax from you. Easterman ignored your moans as he watched the sticky release weep from your cunt, slow strings of the mess dripping down and onto the table.

“Like the sap of a maple in spring,” He mused softly, slowly squatting to be face-level with your flesh. “What sweetness you’ve bore for me. And you tried to shove me away, to beg God for salvation—when I have offered it to you with no expectations in return.”

Your legs shake on the table as his mouth busies itself with slurping up the tangy concoction, his gluttonous streak showing through. He exhales against you as he catches his breath, slithering away with a gleam of pride. Large hands smooth over the skin of your thighs once more to soothe their tremble. After yanking up his pants to conceal his now flaccid member, he produces a rosary from his pocket, seemingly contemplating something as he turns the beads in his fingers. He only looks back up when you push yourself up, brushing down frazzled strands of hair, your gaze already on him. Instead of helping to dress you, he steps to stand between your dangling legs, an eerie silence blanketing over the two of you as he loses himself in his thoughts.

This wasn’t unusual, though most overlooked the contemplative tendencies of the priest. There were moments where you could see him disappear within, scouring the etched walls of his mind for something he couldn’t find as his eyes glassed over and was consumed by uncharacteristic reticence. The tension became too much and you opened your mouth to break it, only to be beaten to the punch by him.

“Don’t you want me?”

The question makes you scrunch your brow in confusion, head cocking at him. “What? What’re you talking about?”

“You look at me like you can’t wait to leave. This…this uncertainty, this lack of faith, has a way of taking over even the strongest of spirits,” Easterman’s eyes danced back and forth between yours, searching for total honesty even after you’ve already bared yourself to his whims. The sudden shift in confidence left you confused, though it reminded you of that initial feeling of wariness you had felt when meeting him, as if you had had a premonition of the smoke and mirrors that concealed his soft innards.

“Father,” you lift a hand to brush the one holding the rosary. “You doubt me? Despite my devotion to you and your cause?”

Instead of answering, Father Easterman stands frightening still, eyes boring into you. With a sharp inhale, he turns the rosary in his hand till the crucifix is between clammy fingers. He stabs the end into the palm of his other hand, digging the gold cross into his skin and puncturing it. Blood blossomed out of the shallow stab wound and he tightened his hand into a fist, squeezing the wound to draw out more from it with a curled lip. 

“‘Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me, and I in them’.”

The rosary clatters to the hardwood as he moves to cup your face, a wild yet resolute look in stare. Without being told, you knew what he wanted—complete and utter surrender. A part of you recoiled at the thought of tasting blood, but the thrill of the delusional act overpowered the hesitation. You slowly opened your mouth and his own mouth twitched as a smirk of approval grew. The hand on you tilted your head back to accept the communion, his injured hand milking blood from the wound and letting it drip down into your mouth.

[mannequinreligi0n]

Ab sugar daddy!easterman… I just might have a request. Reader stepping on his dick or smth and maybe just a little bit of cross dressing too, him in a little playboy bunny outfit ifykyk 🥴 just him being a masochistic pathetic horny chud in general. Please. 🥺 (The crossdressing part isn't necessary)

the crossdressing IS necessary. don't ever think otherwise. here’s something short and sweet —thank you for the ask ! big love

Flash.

The pleather bodysuit creaked as Easterman shifted in his chair. Sweat perspired on the creases of his forehead, body warmed by the light beaming over him and the shame that seeped into his bone.

‘This is humiliating.’

He made a face of discomfort as he flexed his hands behind him, the cheap rope starting to chafe against his pale skin. Despite the insecurity, a sick part of him liked the helplessness. After every flash of your camera, he would feel himself wince in response — followed by the unmistakable twitch of his cock. His manhood had been tucked back to accommodate the suit, only making him more flustered and desperate. Every movement made the strained fabric rub into him, and Easterman could feel his gut knot with excitement from the taunting friction. 

Flash.

His eyes crinkled as the camera went off again, red lips divorcing with an indignant groan. With a hard tug on the rope, he managed to get a hand free from the restraints. As soon as his eyes adjusted, he frowned and swatted at your hand holding the camera, the bunny ears atop his head swaying with the motion.

“Surely you have plenty by now, sweetheart,” the words come out taut and hoarse, the lines around his painted mouth deepening as he stared up at you through his lashes. The laugh you let out in response makes that knot in his stomach tighten, a stifled whimper slipping free from him. His throat bobs with a thick swallow, that sickening shame flushing his ears a bright pink. 

“No — not nearly enough. I need as many as I can squeeze out of you,” A deliciously conniving grin spreads on your face as you step closer, lifting the camera back up to your eye. “How am I supposed to blackmail you, if I don’t have any material?”

“Blackmail? You can’t be serious.” Easterman makes a grunt and wiggles his legs against the rope, his brow furrowing with effort and frustration. He internally curses at how well you tied the knots,  mentally bookmarking the information for later.

“When have I ever threatened to pull the plug? Breach the contract? Huh? I give you anything you want — everything you ask, without a second thought. You really think you need compromising photos to keep me in line?”

Flash.

“Jesus, fuck–, will you knock that off?”

He raises his hand to push you away again, only to be stopped by a sharp moan. Clammy fingers wrap around your wrist lamely as he feels your heel stabbing into him, leg lifted to step between his legs. The fight seems to leave his body instantaneously, pretty lashes fluttering as his vision goes fuzzy from the electric feeling. Blunt nails dig shallow moons into your skin as he lifts his hips toward your heel, the pressure only making the ache in his balls harder to ignore. Embarrassment twists in his chest as he catches a glimpse of the fluid leaking out the side of the bodysuit, precum glistening under the lamplight. You step down a little harder on his crotch, free hand reaching for his chin. The bunny ears wobble as his head gets jerked up, slipping slightly to the side.

“Come on, eyes up,,” You hold his chin taut as you stare him down through the viewfinder, waiting for the moment gray irises align with the lens. “There you are. So pretty, daddy.”

Flash.

Easterman doesn’t even flinch this time, eyes glazing over from the decadent pressure of your heel on his emasculated cock. He only barely registers the use of ‘daddy’ — a nickname that usually makes him feel like the boss, when right now, all he wants is to fold over and let you use him til he’s tarnished and unholy.

[videodronesquestions]

whoever sent the ask about the priest fic to my writing blog. pls know i see you, and i will be brainstorming a fic over the weekend bc ohhhhmy goddjdkjfkbsnd .

[mannequinreligi0n]

Your Easterman NSFW alphabet...so fucking good bro. I feel like God has smiled down on me to let me see it today, it's honestly the best I've seen for him 🥹

thank you so much !! i always try to not stray from a character’s canon characterization, even when writing smut, so it feels more accurate and alive. w easterman, i never want him to come across as too soft/simpy or like the weird dom daddy stereotype he gets . it’s gotta be a good tasty balance.

thank you again — big hugs !!

[mannequinreligi0n]

NSFW ALPHABET // DR EASTERMAN

i finally got around to this wahoo !! it’s not as in-depth as it could be, but me thinks that the fics that i’ve written for him kinda speak for themselves; I didn’t want to be too repetitive.

love you guys—enjoy !!

masterpost

nsfw below

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Absolutely depends on his mood and how sober he is. If he’s sloppy and off his ass, he’s rolling off you and kicking you out. If he’s coherent, I can see him babying his partner. cuddles, playful kisses. He’d wipe you up and grab you some water. Efficient, loving—but not over the top.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Easterman is definitely not a confident man, but he has heard a thing or two about his hands. Big hands with a strong grip despite his build. They’re his favorite for sure.

As for his partner, I think he would be a big tummy guy. Maybe it has some weird psychology thing about nourishment or wombs, but I can see him begging to lay with his partner, head pressed into their stomach for warmth. Also loves eyes and feet.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

I feel like he’s a dribbler. Just cute spurts of thick cum that are more volume over anything. His diet is horrible so it’s probably tangy as hell and a seedy yellow. He 100% eats his own cum—either for selfish or scientific reasons. LOVES to come inside you to feed that macho ego, just to pull away and watch it leak out. Something about literally putting his essence, his soul into someone…yeah ❤️

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

This man will never be outfreaked. I think he’s a chronic panty sniffer, he probably likes getting fisted, and he would absolutely be into extreme levels of pain play. He’d want to cut you open and finger the selfishly made slit—and he’d let you do the same to him.

EDIT: I TOTALLY FORGOT TO PUT THAT HE IS A CROSSDRESSER . LOVES HEELS LOVES LINGERIE LOVES TO BE RAILED LIKE A WHORE . OKAY GOODNIGHT

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Moderate. He was married, so he has Some game. I also think he’s the office whore, so he knows his way around. All this to say that I wouldn’t go as far and claim he’s good at sex. He probably actually sucks lol. But, he’s a fast learner for sure.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

It’s so blatantly missionary that I feel like I don’t even have to answer this. Alternatives would be doggy, but specifically when he’s receiving. I knowwww he loves having his face shoved in a pillow.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

This might be a controversial take, but I think Easterman is such a cornball 😭He’s funny in a really dry, high-brow kind of way, and I think that would totally translate in the bedroom. Bad jokes and sarcastic remarks.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

EASTERBUSH. BUSHH BUSHEH BBUSH ..

Probably not the hairiest ever, but me thinks he’d have a bush and a very solid happy trail. Brown and soft.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

I think Easterman could be very romantic; He’s a psychologist, after all. He knows what’ll fire neurons and get all the happy chemicals going in your brain. Lots of heavy petting and honeyed words. Heavyyyy on the whispered praise and admiration.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

At least once a day. It’s probably just in his routine, to help clear his head. I also think it’s a way to keep himself active/healthy. The man does so many substances, I’m sure he struggles with ED.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

I honestly don’t even want to list them bc I genuinely think he could be in to anything/try everything at least once. Yes, even the weird, nasty ones. I also kinda listed some in my headcanons of him, so I’ll link that here.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

His office. Both out of convenience and because it’s hot. I am also a Easterman lazy morning sex truther so we’ll say bed, too.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Mental stimulation, for sureeee. Loves when someone can match his wit and stay afloat in conversations of science and literature.

You could also probably just breathe next to him and he’d start humping your leg. Next question.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

I genuinely think stupid people piss him off LMAO. Hates people with no worldly knowledge, no common sense. As much as he demands complicity from reagents, I think he’d actually really dislike anyone that was a ‘yes’ man or an echo chamber. He would find it boring or unchallenging.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Loves oral. Prefers receiving but would relish giving, as well. Add an element of cock worship while you’re blowing him, and he’d come so fast. Loves the feeling of being catered to.

I think he’d love to give because it makes him feel needed and important. To please, is to serve—and vice versa. Big on fluids. Circling back to cum drinking, he’d lap every drop up because it’s part of you. It’s ritualistic, much as it is intimate.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

I think he’d like both sides of the spectrum, but would definitely go fast and rough more often. Gets too excited and comes prematurely, OR has to get it out while he’s still hard before he loses it (re: ED).

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Duh. Head under his desk, a rendezvous in a closet. Anything for a little pick me up.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Again, nothing is off-limits.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

You get one round and he’s done LMAO. I think if he’s receiving/the sub, you can go wayyyy longer. But, he’s not going for marathons, otherwise. He’s a greedy and selfish loser.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Anything is a toy, if you’re brave enough. Big love for medical equipment in the bedroom. Big love for things up his ass.

I think he’d totally be into chastity belts, cages, cock rings. Would love the control it gives his top/dom.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He wants his nut, and will neglect yours, if that’s the mood he’s in. Kinda goes back to the ‘Aftercare’ section, it really depends on his mood and what the vibes are. It’s a toss between being completely ignored or overstimulation.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

GAG HIM !! HE DOESNT SHUT UP !!! Blabbers and yaps endlessly . Will talk your ear off unless he's too high or too close to coming. Whimpers and moans, but I can see him being more of a grunter if you were doing like, fear play or hunter/pray stuff.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Cries during sex—duh.

Big on bdsm & pain play on his end. Loves the ache and sting of bruises and cuts under his clothes the day after.

Loves being pissed on. Again, comes from the body. All fluids are good fluids.

Related—If his partner is afab and long term , he would love giving head when they’re menstruating. He would see it as worshipping biology and life itself.

Actually likes being the bottom because then there’s no pressure for him to get up/stay hard. He can just be used and thoughtless.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

We all know it’s small. Don’t believe Big Dick Hendrick propaganda. My guess is 3 inches, 4 when it’s hard. Circumcised. Pink head like it’s blushing :) so cute .

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

He would fuck like a rabbit, if he was sober more. I think the substance use and stress kinda kill his drive more than he likes to admit.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He’s snoring as soon as he’s done. It’s like a light switched off. Loves the heaviness of his body post-sex, and it lulls him right to sleep if it’s not a quickie.

[mannequinreligi0n]

That’s your sugar daddy!easterman… perfect,perfect,perfect!! I’m rooting for you to write more daddy fics. He’s so nasty man

i've actually been thinking about sugar daddy!easterman sooooo much this week ugghunviahbvdnfvahv .. just him taking care of you all day just to take you home and let you step on his cock or something . we love to see it !!!! if you, or anyone else, has a request specifically for this au, pls send it my way bc i would lovveeee to write it.

[mannequinreligi0n]

your vergil x chubby reader changed my life i swear that shit was so peak …. would you be open to doing something similar with dante 🙏 no pressure ofc cus i get if it gets tiring to write the same thing lol 😓!!

this is a year overdue and I am so so sorry, but i have finally remembered to post it!! enjoy, and thank you to everyone for being so patient !!

DANTE DATING HEADCANONS

To me, Dante is the physical embodiment of a hearth. Just so warm and comforting, seen as a refuge. I genuinely don’t think most, or really any, of his dating preferences lie in appearances. He craves comfort and understanding, and looks are secondary to matters of the heart. 

That being said, he would obviously not care if his SO had extra weight or was fat. In fact, he’d welcome it for sureeee. It’s proof of life! Of nourishment and enjoyment. 

Dante is definitely the kind of man that will make sure you’re happy, first and foremost. Dates might not be the most extravagant or expensive, but they’ll be worthwhile. His time is valuable, and the point of him dedicating a part of his busy schedule to you is proof of his love. He’d be more than happy to have you at his side, showing off what’s his.

I think Dante is probably a fidgety guy considering the restlessness he often displays. That in combination with how TOUCHY he is, you will never be left alone. He’s playing with your hands, twirling your hair, squeezing the flesh on your thighs or side. Just constantly handsy in the most puppy-like way.

Coming home after a long job would be bliss. Finding you sound asleep and worming his way next to you. Dante would take in your scent and curl into form, trying to absorb you into him.

Dante would totally be the kind of partner to steal and swap clothes. He’s wearing your fav shirt or letting you borrow one of his. The type to wear whatever you give him, including corny matching pajamas.

NSFW BELOW

This man has no shame–he likes what he likes! And what he likes is being a glutton in bed. Long makeout sessions, sloppy drunk sex, quickies in the morning. Again, his time to lounge at home is limited, so he’s making up for lost time.

Breeding kink for sureeee.

Counts pussy as dessert. Licking it like it’s soft-serve on a hot day.

The kind of man that will drag you into the bar bathroom for a drunk quickie between pool rounds. Has to bite down on your shoulder to avoid being caught because he’s the loud one.

MARKS YOU UPPPPP !! loves leaving hickeys and teeth marks everywhere. Doesn't care if you get teased because at least they know you're his.

[mannequinreligi0n]

the masterpost has been updated to include all easterman fics :) love u guys happy pride !! be back soon

[mannequinreligi0n]

OKAY HI .

sifting through my inbox, i have an idea of what to tackle and get around to .

dante x chubby s/o will probably be next, as the people demand.

i will also play around w the idea of writing for urizen again; i don’t have any specific ideas yet, though, as of now . but ! i will ponder

i also will be starting an nsfw alphabet for easterman this weekend . for selfish reasons . so, keep your eyes open for that.

sorry for not posting and then coming back and switching entirely to a new fandom :’) life be crazy . i’ll be updating my masterpost soon, as well. thank you for the continuous support and i’ll see you guys soon . kisses

[mannequinreligi0n]

this will be delayed. i had to put my cat down earlier today due to his declining health. be back soon—take care of yourself.

[mannequinreligi0n]

OKAY HI .

sifting through my inbox, i have an idea of what to tackle and get around to .

dante x chubby s/o will probably be next, as the people demand.

i will also play around w the idea of writing for urizen again; i don’t have any specific ideas yet, though, as of now . but ! i will ponder

i also will be starting an nsfw alphabet for easterman this weekend . for selfish reasons . so, keep your eyes open for that.

sorry for not posting and then coming back and switching entirely to a new fandom :’) life be crazy . i’ll be updating my masterpost soon, as well. thank you for the continuous support and i’ll see you guys soon . kisses