You know how some people speak VERY fast whenever they rant angrily in a different language? It got me thinking how some dateables, specifically Curt & Rod, Friar Errol and Freddy, would react if the player— who has always been calm— was going off on someone on their phone or just angrily ranting out loud just not in English for the first time.
—Curt & Rod—
They are WINCING the entire time they’re on that phone call. Be glad you’re not wearing your dateviators so you don’t have to hear their loud ‘oooooo’s like they’re in middle school watching a classmate get in trouble. Watching you lose your cool like this is not only amazing shade material— but extremely entertaining to watch. God they wish they had some popcorn, and a translator. They’d start placing bets on what you’re saying, and it would definitely start getting heated between them too.
When you do get off, they’re practically cheering at your little display, Rod excitedly asking you what you were saying (partially to settle his bets, partially out of his own amusement) whereas Curt is a little uneasy wondering who’s gonna get it from you next. It’s a new side of you they’re experiencing, they want to explore it, but perhaps from a distance.
—Friar Errol—
He is utterly GOBSMACKED. Just slack-jawed staring at the scene going down. He didn’t even know you spoke another language so it caught him off so many guards. He’d always seen you as a calm, level-headed person, so to see you go off the rails like this is both shocking and… strangely enticing?
Not sure if wrath is considered a sin under the god of convection, but it definitely feels sinful to witness such acid spitting from your tongue, even if he doesn’t understand a word. And from such a usually calm individual… it just feels wrong. It sticks in his brain, perhaps your words, as indecipherable as they are, replay over and over. He may chastise you for such indecency afterwards while actively trying to hide his flush. It’s not working. But honestly, he’s kinda wishing you’d do it again. You being bilingual is a bit of a bonus, he does love learned people.
—Freddy—
He’s got rather a complicated history with losing one’s cool, so seeing you so irritated, ranting in a language he can’t understand, does strike him where it hurts. He doesn’t like seeing you this way, knowing how terrible it feels. He’ll watch you closely as you furrow your brows in annoyance, anger marring your usually so-calm face. And when you talk to him again, he’s immediately gently asking you what’s wrong, who’s got you so worked up?
He’ll offer you whatever food he has on hand, prioritizing the things he knows you like to eat when you’re down. Then he’ll hard pivot into talking about just how cool it is that you’re bilingual, asking what languages you do know and to teach him some words. If there’s two things he’s great at, it’s comfort and distraction.
hihi! I absolutely love the stuff you write for mistria, and I was wondering if you'd be up for writing a fluffy Errol x gen neutral reader? I love the old man and there's no content about him at all 😭
awe thanks anon <3 absolutely. i love errol someone give my guy more love!! hope you like it anon!
"hey, errol!"
the older man looks up from the front desk at your greeting, returning the smile on your face with one of his own; "hey there, [name]!"
you stop in front of him, bag hanging off your shoulder, your pickaxe sticking out of it and your sword strapped to your hip. there's dirt and grime covering your face and clothes, although you tried to dust yourself off as best as you could before entering the museum. you grin at him, all teeth and real, and flop your bag onto the floor as gently as you can in front of the desk.
"i found some stuff you might want to look at." you said, digging into your bag before pulling out old but still intact artifacts you found deep in the mines. you place them in front of errol, and he examines them closely.
"wonderful, [name]!" he praises, standing straight again to look at you, "i can add these to our collection."
you go to reply but are rudely interrupted by the sound of your empty stomach, an audible growl that causes your cheeks to warm. you hadn't eaten breakfast before you left your house, not much of an intelligent choice on your part, and you had been down in the mines for hours with only your spells to aid you. ─ so it was safe to say you were starving by now.
"oops," you chuckle awkwardly.
errol laughs, "you've run yourself empty?"
you sigh, shoulders slumping, "you could say that."
you take a glance back at the windows behind you, as the sky begins to turn orange, and perk up as you turn back to errol, "would you like to get dinner at the inn with me? my treat!"
errol waves his hand, "oh no, it's alright i can get my own food, thank you."
you pout a little, "oh come on! i would enjoy your company and i really don't mind! rather i want to, really."
errol sighs, looking at you as you attempt to put on your best convincing face, even lacing your fingers together in front of your chest. ─ you must be quite the sight; the adventurer who'd come to mistria for free land and to help rebuild the town. who had brought the town to glory beyond what it was before, covered in dirt with your sword at your hip, looking well worn and dirtied from the monsters you'd dealt with in the mines.
but despite how ridiculous you must look, it seems to work when errol sighs and shakes his head, something fond in his expressions, "oh, alright."
you cheer, "great! get whatever you want while we're there, it's fine. and i can even tell you about what i experienced down in the mines."
errol chuckles, watching you ramble on as you hoist your bag back onto your shoulder, uncaring for the weight as you begin to skip towards the doors to the library. and errol follows, listening with a smile on his face. ─ you would always be pleasant and welcome company for errol.
wrote a 3k smutty fanfic about the air fryer as a procrastination excuse to not finish the dorian/reader fic i started..........date everything rotted my brain and i haven't recovered
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
⋆⭒˚.⋆The Devil Comes as a Pretty Human and a Mozzarella Stick ⋆⭒˚.⋆
Fandom: Date Everything!
Character: Friar Errol
Word Count: 5,055
Description:
Many hours has Errol spent trying to bring salvation to you, yet you deny him at every turn. Perhaps this test of wills would be enough to prove to you his conviction.
Errol was an extremely dedicated man. Both to his religion, and to spreading it to as many people as possible. He loved what he was and what he did, and took his role in the house a little too seriously. He was perfect, after all, able to create the most delicious, non-greasy food at the press of a button. Anything! Fries, nachos, dino nuggets, you name it, he does it best. The only problem was… the homeowner certainly didn’t seem to think so.
Day in and day out he sat on the counter, unused, watching as you, in your infinite ignorance, placed another plate of disgustingly oily food into the microwave, or spent an ungodly amount of time slaving away over the stove just to come out with greasy, burnt food, all while ignoring his entire existence. What blasphemy! What utter, appalling sin he had to bear witness to! It was one of the many, many trials he must go through to prove his devotion, no doubt. A less righteous, less pure man would have fallen into madness or despair long, long ago, but he is so much stronger than the common, vulgar crowd. And one day, he was sure you’d see the truth. You all will.
So the second you gained the ability to see and speak with him, he grasped the opportunity with both unsullied hands. No longer will he bear to be denied his purpose like this, or have to watch as you devour some leftover microwaved fast food burger without so much as a napkin. Never!
While you were quite obviously only half-listening to his sermons, he didn’t mind. Sooner or later, a few of his words would manage to find their way into that thick skull, he was sure of it. And he’ll continue to preach until his face turned blue to see that happen. Though you played along with him, he was no fool. He could see right through you, and he knew that despite your platitudes your soul was still tainted with grease. That was alright. It only meant his work was that much more necessary. It only meant more and more time spent listening to you confess, going into great detail about those sins you commit so readily. Hearing it from you… it was repulsive. It was everything that was unholy with this world. It was titillating.
Tempting, even.
He didn’t like lingering on that thought.
You sat at the table with your head rested in your hand as he preached to you again. He paced a little as he spoke, flipping through his book. You let out an occasional ‘mhm’ or ‘yeah’, but it felt more like a monotonous, preprogrammed recording rather than genuine agreement. After several minutes of this, he paused, cooking grates flaring up slightly as he saw the glazed-over, positively zoned look on your face. You had a lazy little grin on your face, clearly in your own little world.
“Are you even listening to me?!” He slammed his fists on the table, raising his voice.
“Uh— what?” You seemed to startle awake, blinking a few times as awareness returned to your face.
“I guess that answers my question.” He sighed in exasperation, rubbing his sore temples. “No matter. This only means that you are even more in dire need of my teachings than I previously thought.”
“Mm… yeah. Teachings. Whatever.” You mumbled, eyes trailing off once more, looking anywhere on his body but his face. In fact, your eyes seemed to slide down quite low. He hissed an unbecoming curse under his breath, grabbing your chin to force you to look into his eyes again.
“Focus on me, you decadent fool. On your salvation. We have much work to be done on that thoroughly corrupted soul of yours.”
You blinked slowly, barely giving him the satisfaction of a reaction either way. It only served to infuriate him further when you smiled, a strangely sleazy grin on your face as you took his wrist, holding him in place as you leaned into his hand. “Mhm…”
He drew back his hand in horror, immediately wiping it on his robe. Who knows what kind of unholy grease you’ve touched? Actually, he did. He’d sat there and watched you do it for years! You just chuckled, seemingly amused by his plight. He grimaced.
“You may not touch me until your hands are thoroughly cleansed of sin!” His entire face burned.
“Oh? How might I ‘cleanse’ them?” You leaned back in your seat, crossing your arms. It wasn’t the greatest expression on your face, but at least you are sort of listening. He looked down at his hand for a moment, the one that cradled your face. It felt like it was stinging. He shook it out, placing it on a page of his hy scripture as if hoping that may quell whatever this strange feeling was inside him a little.
“You may start by accepting me, accepting my message as your saviour.” He straightened himself. “And renouncing the blasphemous influence of uneven heat and smothering oil. You must accept that the food of the air fryer is undeniably better quality. Easier, crispier… say it.” His voice was low, and he drew out every word. This was the one thing he wanted from you. The one thing he needed to hear from your sinning lips. You met his gaze, the glint of mischief in your eyes growing much too familiar. You smiled, twirling a loose strand of your fantastic red shirt in your hand. He found himself almost hypnotized by the motion as you spoke in a… not very holy tone.
“I renounce the sinful binds of greasy food, and accept you into me.” You lean forward again, propping your chin up on your hand. The emphasis you placed on your words, the tone you said them in… it fills him with a great sense of satisfaction. A little too much satisfaction. He basked in the sound of your voice for a moment, eyes closed.
“Mm… yes. Just like that.” His voice was a low purr, his hand gripping onto his book just a little harder. “Keep going… say more. Say I’m your saviour.”
“You’re my saviour.”
“Exactly.” He let out a content sigh, revelling in the moment. “And I’ll be the one to turn you to the light.”
“Fine by me.” He watched you stand up, trailing your hand along the table as you moved around it, getting closer to him. “But are you really so pure yourself?”
“Whatever could you mean? I am the only pure one in this household.”
“How would you know that when you’ve never faced the trial of temptation?”
“Trial of temptation…?” He took a step back as you stepped closer and closer to him, a little, teasing chuckle falling from your… admittedly very enticing lips.
“Have you ever faced down the barrel of a microwaved bag of fries and said ‘no’? Personally… I think that if you’ve never tasted sin, you cannot say you are free of it. You must try something, and then resist. Otherwise you’re just avoiding it because you know you’ll fail the moment you get a whiff of temptation.”
He froze. He wanted to refute you, to make sure you know exactly what a rightous man he was, but he couldn’t deny the truth of your words. In fact…
“Yes…” he whispered, placing a hand on his chin. “Yes… it all makes sense now.” He laughed, stepping closer to you now. “I must know what sin is in order to properly resist it… to know what it tasres like yet to still refute it… that would be the ultimate form of soul purity!”
You smiled, seemingly quite pleased with his response. “Exactly! It would be the true test of your faith…”
“And yours.” He grinned in turn, looking at you with a slightly maniacal glint in his eyes. “You will join me in this test of wills…”
He expected you to be intimidated by the thought, but instead, you just brightened further. “Great. Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Be not a minute late. I am eager to prove my devotion to our good lord of culinary precision.” He yelled after you as you walked away. Then, he looked down at his book, tracing a finger down one of the pages. “And I will not fail.”
———
Friar Errol spent the night praying, muttering psalms to himself under his breath until his tongue lay still from exhaustion. When the morning sun rose, he waited patiently, setting everything up. Freddy was very willing to provide him with all of the worst foods he could think of. He didn’t restrain his gag as the behemoth happily set a plate of mozzarella sticks before him, practically dripping with sin and grease. Errol made a point to chastise him for keeping such disgusting things within him, though he just laughed and patted his head. Errol would’ve lost it if you hadn’t stepped into the room. He cleared his throat, striding up to you as Freddy laughed and made his exit. The kitchen was oddly quiet… it seemed many of its inhabitants had heard of what was going to happen today…
“You’re here.” Errol’s voice came out slightly strained, the anticipation of what was going to happen, of what he might experience today getting to him. You, on the other hand, seemed completely relaxed. “Are you prepared for this… this final test of wills? Of faith?”
“Oh yeah.” You walked right by him, immediately hopping up to sit on the table, right beside the plate of mozzarella sticks. You lean back a little, propping yourself up on your arms. “I’ve been looking forward to this.”
Errol found himself distracted for a moment, eyes falling over your form briefly. He quickly composed himself, clearing his throat before stepping closer. “Today… the two of us will participate in the ultimate sin, so we may conquer it.” His voice is a low, deep murmur. He felt his nerves growing, his hackles raising. Temptation incarnate… and its patron demon sat perched on the table before him, looking down at him with a mischievous smirk. He shakily took one of the mozzarella sticks in his hand, immediately feeling as though he needed to bathe himself in holy scripture for such an impure act. You watched eagerly as he brought it up to you, almost standing between your legs. The mozzarella stick was pressed against your mouth now, pushing slightly into your… rather soft looking lips. Errol swallowed, trying to stay focused, but unable to look away. You met his gaze as you slowly parted them, taking a bite of the mozzarella stick. Something within him dropped at the sight of such utter debauchery. He wanted to look away, to pull away, to run, but he could not. He couldn’t do anything but feel his will being slowly eroded by these devilish influences you were moulding him with. He muttered a prayer under his breath, trying to pull the stick away from your mouth, only for it to create a long string of cheese from your lips to the half in his hand. He looked down at it in mortification as it refused to snap, and then, oh, then you grabbed that piece from his hands and pressed it to his lips.
He knew what he agreed to last night. But here, presented with the delicious smell of sinful delight in front of him, he faltered. He tried to push your hand away, but his strength failed him. “I— I can’t—“
You grew more insistent, eyes blazing with this heat, this hidden electricity that both frightened and excited him. The scent of the mozzarella stick, and the feel of it against his lips… he shook as he committed, taking it into his mouth.
The moment it was on his tongue, he closed his eyes, letting out a low moan of delight. It wasn’t the taste, though it was so much more delicious than he ever could have imagined, but more so the wrongness of all of this, the feel that he was committing the worst of evils. He barely even noticed you moving closer until the string of mozzarella between you had suddenly grown extremely short. Your hands moved to his arms, pulling him gently closer. His holy book dropped to the floor, along with the last of his restraint. He made the final move to press his lips to yours, his every circuit burning red-hot at the sudden rush of endorphins. The taste of you mixed with the taste of sin almost completely destroyed him. An outsider’s eye would say it already did. He felt you smile against his lips, and knew instantly that you had wanted this. Planned this. Schemed for him to fall into decadence and land into your welcoming arms, to swallow his prayers for salvation with your lips, the ones that were just as soft and warm as he imagined. It was raw, it was wicked, it was everything he’d longed for all these years.
He pulled apart from you gasping for air, a shaky hand coming up to gingerly touch his thoroughly tainted lips. Meanwhile, you simply ran your tongue along yours, collecting any stray crumbs left behind. Your half-lidded eyes and content smile told him everything he needed to know.
“You wicked, cunning tempt—!“ He was cut off by another quick kiss on his lips, his words devolving into a low, needy groan. This time, when you pulled apart, you didn’t bother to hide your satisfied grin, eyes flicking down over his body then back up to his red, mortified, wanting face.
“We’ve got a lot more food for you to try.”
“Wait—“ His whole body shivered as you took another off the plate, bringing it up. “I mustn’t…“
You placed it between your lips, looking at him expectantly. It was clear what you wanted him to do. And oh, how he wished, ached to lean in just a little closer, to bite the other end, shove it down his throat until he could reach your lips himself. Every circuit in his body screamed for it, called out to you like a desperate, dogged prayer. And when your other hand moved down his body, briefly brushing over his belt, he broke. He whispered a plea for forgiveness before diving in, biting off the other end of the mozzarella stick. His lips were so close to yours, and the moment he swallowed he crashed into you like a man starved.
You still held the sinful taste on your lips, pressed against his tongue, playing on his taste buds like a nectar of evil. But he continued, he moaned into your mouth, hands coming up to grip your legs, placed on either side of him. You pulled him further on top of you, almost laying down fully on the counter if you weren’t being held up by your arms around his neck. He broke apart panting for air once more, but wastes no time moving his lips to your throat, pressing desperate, sloppy kisses down to the collar of your shirt.
“I need to… pray.” He whispered into your skin, but made no move to get off of you. In fact, he only pulled you closer, arms wrapped around you tightly. You trailed a hand down the nape of his neck, tugging at his collar.
“For now, you pray to me.”
The words sent a shiver down his spine, the kind he never would’ve expected to feel from indulging in such utter sacrilege. He slowly, shakily knelt down, hands on each of your thighs. You looked down at him with a downright devilish smile,oh, gods… he was achingly hard. Embarrassingly receptive to the slightest of touches from your unholy, beautiful hands… he pictured those deft fingers drifting down his throat, ghosting over the bare skin of his collarbone and going lower, until he couldn’t think of anything but the sweet embrace of sin.
To his surprise, the heel of your boot suddenly made contact with his chest, pushing him back so he tumbled onto the floor, on his back. That sturdy leather boot, which you had started to wear around the house after learning your floor was very much a living person and walking around barefoot felt weird now, was suddenly pressed down on top of him, pinning him to the ground. His hands flew up to hold your leg tightly, looking up at you with wide, confused, but utterly entranced eyes. He surprised even himself at how his entire body reacted to his position, and this angle…
Oh, looking up at you like this, seeing your smiling face looking down at him, mixed with the slight pain of his ribcage being compressed by your weight… it did make him throb just a little more than he would have liked. Fuck, you looked like a god. And that made his every circuit glow redder than his face.
“I like you much better like this.” You chuckled, your voice was low, slightly breathy. He let his eyes flutter shut as you suddenly moved your boot down, dragging it down his body. His head fell back with a guttural moan, his hips raising just a little out of instinct. As righteous as he was, as pure… oh, he was just a man. He was just a man, and just as subject to temptation as the rest of the weak, malleable souls of earth. “Pray.”
“Hm?” His eyes snapped open again, to meet your half-lidded, smoldering ones. “I… what?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve gone dumb already? We’ve barely started.” Your heel dragged over his stomach now, making his breath catch in his throat, his back arching up just a little before you pressed it back down mercilessly.
“You want me to…”
“Pray. Beg for forgiveness. Test your conviction under my touch.” You pressed down just a little on his lower abdomen, and he wheezed. “You have really sinned tonight, you know…”
“I have.” His voice was almost a whine, tearing from his throat in a hoarse cry for salvation. “I have sinned… I have forsaken… forsaken everything I ever stood for…” He choked up just a little, cutting himself off.
“You’re going to recite your prayer. Fully.” You suddenly pushed your boot down onto his cock, pressing the tent in his robe down to this stomach. He cried out, body jerking beneath you as the pain brought tears to his eyes. “You’re going to recite your prayer while I have you. And if you manage to finish, I’ll say you truly are a man of faith.”
“And if I don’t?”
You grinned down at him, taking your foot off of him to kneel down, one knee in between his legs, parting them easily. You placed a hand on his stomach, holding him down as you traced your fingers over the front of his robe. “Then you’re just as much of a sinner as I am.”
His chest heaved as he gave a low, drawn out moan, eyelids falling shut once more. His hands trembled as he brought them up to clasp in front of his chest, clutching the rosary he kept tucked under his collar tightly between his entwined fingers. He tried to ignore the feeling of your touch againdt the fabric of his clothing as he bought his hands up to his lips, and began to whisper, mumbling a plea for forgiveness.
His words stuttered as your hand slipped under his robe, and his prayer grew louder, crying out to any deity willing to forgive such a depraved man. When you wrapped your hand around his cock fully, he cut off his plea by biting his lip in a futile attempt to stop his desperate whimper.
“Already? And you truly call yourself a holy man?” You chuckled, beginning to stroke him up and down, slowly, much too slowly. Various utterly lecherous sounds escaped him, even if he bit down so goddamn hard the metallic taste of blood hit his tongue.
“I’m not— I’m not giving up.” He furrowed his brows, looking up at you with determination. “You will not shake my resolve, you… you wicked, wretched thing…”
You smiled. It wasn’t a perverted one, or a smug one, or even a proud one. It was… fond. It was oddly soft. Somehow, it made his chest burn with this new rancid, festering heat, stronger than anything else you had subjected him to so far in this hellish dance. “Good… very good. I knew you wouldn’t break so easily.”
You paused your stoked to run a fingertip over the sit of his cockhead, and he didn’t bother to hold back his moan now. Blood trickled down from his lips, ripped raw by his teeth. You moved down and cleaned it off of him with your tongue, lingering on his skin for a moment before you captured his mouth with a searing kiss. He eagerly returned it, tasting the traces of mozzarella on your lips mixed with his blood, and something that was distinctly you. He had begun to feel much too hot under his layers of fabric, and you helped him as he slipped them off, one hand sliding under his clothing as the other clutched the rosary tighter to his chest. Soon, he was completely bare beneath you. When you broke apart the kiss, he began to whisper his prayer under his breath again, trying to focus on the words and not the heat that consumed his body and chewed at his last scraps of will.
You began to kiss down the side of his neck, down his chest, breath ghosting over every inch of flushed skin before you made it to his hips, nipping at his thighs before you suddenly—
“Oh, god!” He cried out as your lips suddenly wrapped around the head of his cock. His hands flew down to you, holding onto anything he could grab. You groaned at the feel of the cold rosary pressed against the nape of your neck, and you sank down right to his base. He threw his head back, the prayer coming out in broken, stuttered babbles as you gave him everything he had been denied for so long. This religion of his didn’t discourage such acts, but he never had time for them. He never had the time nor the partner, never had the opportunity to feel this sort of divine pleasure. It was a new form of worship entirely, and, oh, the way you were touching him made him feel almost like he was the one being worshipped. But he knew better. He knew he would’ve sunk to his knees and let you ride out your release on his face whenever you so much as breathed out a hint of such a command. He would walk through fields of hot coals if it was your arms waiting to embrace him at the end, your body for him to fall into and kiss and hold, you for him to love and be loved by. It was a new feeling, but a good one. A very good one.
You moved slowly, taking him right to the edge of pleasure. He bucked his hips up into you just a little, unable to keep himself still when you felt like this. He was reaching the end of his prayer, and his climax. And with a swirl of your expert tongue, he reached both, screaming out his final plea as the white-hot wave of his orgasm washed over him. Sparks burst behind his eyes, and through his wires, singeing him from the inside out.
Things were quiet for a long, long moment. You pulled your mouth off of him, rubbing comforting circles into his hip. Then, a sound made you snap your head up. The air fryer sitting on the counter was rapidly beeping, flashing an error message on the tiny screen. You let out a hearty, fond laugh, moving up to kiss his cheek. He let out a long sigh, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you down to lay on top of his spent body.
“Friar—“
“Errol.” He corrected you, holding you a little tighter to him. “In the arms of my beloved, I am a friar no longer.”
You chuckled against his skin, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck. “Errol…” you tested the word on your tongue. The sound of you saying it sent a pleasurable shiver down his spine.
“Just like that…” He sighed, tracing his hand up and down your spine. Aftershocks of pleasure still coursed through him, dizzying his mind. “It sounds beautiful from your lips.”
you lift your head up to meet his gaze, before smiling, kissing his lips again. “You finished the prayer…”
“Did you doubt my conviction for a second?” His hands moved to hold your face, running his thumbs over your cheeks. You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes.
“Mm… no, not at all. But it does mean… I suppose you can ask anything you’d like of me now, for passing this little trial.”
He froze, brows raised. “Anything?”
“Quite anything.” You grinned, and his heart hammered at the realization of what that could mean.
“Lord, forgive me…” he whispered before dragging you down into another, longer kiss, cutting off your amused laugh. When you pulled apart again he was panting for breath, ideas running through his mind. But one stuck out above all— and it was one desire he felt in every bit of marrow in his weary bones. “Please, come to me… let me taste you.”
You seemed pleasantly surprised by the request. You moved off of him for a moment to disrobe, letting your gorgeous red shirt fall to the floor along with your belt and pants. He watched this display hungrily, not bothering to hide where his eyes are looking, hoping to brand the image of you into every neuron in his mind. He reached out a hand, reverently tracing it up your side, feeling your warm skin beneath his cold fingertips. You closed your eyes for a moment, savouring in his touch. The sight made his breath hitch, and he felt himself growing aroused once more. This effect you had on him… you truly were some sort of creature of temptation. He didn’t mind.
“So… did you want me to sit on your face, or what?”
He coughed into his fist, face flaring up. How could you say such crude things so openly?! “I… yes, that would be… I would like that.”
You hummed low in your throat, moving up a little, but you stopped straddling his chest. His hands flew up o your thighs, gripping them tightly. “What… what stalls you?”
You seemed to be thinking something over, deeply. If he were to be honest, the sight scared him somewhat. Then, you grinned. Never a good sign…
“Let me try something.”
“Oh?”
You shifted around, so you were facing away from him. He watched in horror as you leaned down, taking his cock in your hand. He let out a low, guttural groan.
“You—“
“Don’t speak.” You commanded. “There are better ways to use your mouth.”
Despite himself, he smiled. No, he laughed, taking hold of your hips and drawing you to him. “Certainly… there certainly are.”
You tried to lower yourself on him slowly, but he grabbed you and pulled you down fully on his face. Hearing you suck in a surprised breath only fueled him as he began to use his tongue on you in any way he could. Meanwhile, your tongue had begun to lap at his head. Having already came once, he was so damn sensitive. He moaned against you, hips bucking into you. This time, you didn’t pin him down. You let him rut up into you with wild abandon, taking him into your mouth again as the overstimulation completely fried his senses. It truly was a feeling like no other, being able to taste each other like this, every ounce of pleasure he gave you, you returned tenfold in an endless loop of bliss. His tongue was desperate, sloppy and discordant, unable to find a rhythm in all this overwhelming sensation. He said he was only a man, but right now, he felt more like an animal than anything.
You sped up your ministrations on his cock, whereas he slowed down his. He didn’t want you to cum just yet, no, he wanted to savour this, every centimetre, every last drop. His nails dug into your thighs, keeping you firmly in place as he took his fill of you. His building orgasm coiled in his lower abdomen, pulled taut with every flick of your tongue and stroke of your hand, ready to burst at the tiniest push. He let out a low groan, unable to resist speeding up his own tongue as he neared his second climax of the night.
When you suddenly shoved him all the way into your mouth, he couldn’t stop himself. His cry was muffled by you as utter euphoria washed over him once more. You pulled off of him, sitting up and gasping for breath.
You moved off of him, and he gasped in disapproval, reaching for you, but you didn’t leave. No, you just shifted around, placing your thighs on either side of his face and sitting down on him again. He moaned, preoccupying himself with his divine task once more.
Somehow, in the afterglow of his pleasure, you tasted even better. He was able to focus, pinpointing your sensitive spots and finding a nice rhythm now that he wasn’t chasing his own high. You let out a long sigh, rolling your hips down onto his lips as he held your thighs tighter. When you finally came, he dug his nails into you, not allowing you to move an inch as he lapped up every drop of your release, bathing his chin with traces of you.
You moved off of him slowly, lethargic from your pleasure, before unceremoniously flopping down on top of him again. He instantly wrapped his arms around you again, burying his face in your shoulder. You’re quiet for a long, long time, until you whisper right into his ear.
“…did you want to finish those mozzarella sticks?”
Kintober 2025 Day 7: Blindfolds + Chastity + Bloodplay
**Note: prettyyy extreme masochism on his end
Fandom: Date Everything!
Character: Friar Errol
Friar Errol was a pious man. A very, very pious, faithful man. But here he was, soft wool pulled over his eyes, arms bound behind his back, connected to the back of a heavy collar around his neck by a chain as he knelt before you like some sort of offering. And, of course, a brass chastity cage fastened between his legs, clinking against the hardwood floor each time he shifted.
You leaned back in your soft armchair, allowing him to press his forehead to your thigh while you took another long sip of your wine. It was such a serene evening, nothing but the soft sound of rain outdoors and the heat of the nearby fireplace playing on your senses. He, however, seemed far from calm. He was shaking, hands clenching and unclenching in his restraints, bare skin flushed around the pale edges. You gently ran your fingers over his head, and his breath stopped, then stuttered out in a gasp, his cheek squished against your leg.
“You seem tense.” You spoke smoothly, letting your fingers brush over the nape of his neck. He let out a raspy groan, almost akin to a displeased growl. But he was no wolf, not like this. In fact, his rosy skin and helpless position made the image of a lamb pop into your head.
“I am no such thing.”
“Then why do you shake?”
His lips twitched down. “It is cold.”
“By the fire?”
He went silent. But it did little to hide his truth, you knew exactly what his hesitance to speak meant. You hummed, tracing your fingers down his jaw and tilting it up with two. His lips fell ajar, but he obediently lifted it. He couldn’t see you, but you could observe every drop of sweat on the crown of his head, every puff of breath that fanned against your wrist. You took another sip of your wine, then moved down, placing the rim on his lips and tilting it back to pour some down his throat. He let out a surprised sound, choking on the bright red wine as some dribbled down his chin, falling onto his bare chest.
He looked good in red.
You pulled it back and drank the rest, looking down at his face, tongue trying to gather all the stay drops he could reach, completely unaware of what you could be planning above him.
“Brace, love.”
He tensed on command. You curled your fingers around the stem of the glass tightly, gently caressing his chin with your other hand, then smashed it over his head.
It connected with his jaw, shattering on impact. The blindfold protected his eyes, but not the rest of him. He let out a pained, strangled gasp as his head cracked back, small cuts crisscrossing his skin. Glass littered the floor, shimmering in the light of the fireplace like tiny stars. You didn’t give him much time to recover, giving him a swift kick in the ribs, making him double over, groaning. You watched as his cock twitched desperately against the confines of the chastity cage, unable to even reach an erection despite how badly he clearly wanted one.
“Mm… you know, most men would be horrified by such an act.” You watched a line of drool, mixed with blood, fall down his chin. You pressed your thumb to one of the cuts on his cheek, smearing the blood across his cheek. “The last thing on their minds would be arousal.”
He weakly raised his head, teeth gritted together, face twisted in pain and dusted red with a mix of shame and arousal.
“What if your god saw you like this? His most loyal holy man, rubbing his knees raw kneeling for a sinner?”
“That’s– not fair.” He whined out, chains clinking as he shifted.
“It’s very fair. Who are you but a filthy heretic?”
The word seemed to send a shiver through him, but he couldn’t deny it. “Our lord… sees all.” He hissed out, drops of blood decorating your floor in a shining tapestry of crimson shards, and you suddenly understood why god favoured stained glass. “This is not who I am, but who you reduced me to.”
“Then you were mighty, but you’ve fallen.” You hummed in thought. “Some would call that worse than never having risen in the first place.”
He swallowed thickly, but you tired of this meaningless chatter. You placed a boot on his chest, standing out of your seat to push him back onto the floor. He gasped as his shoulders pressed into a field of sharp glass, the position no doubt uncomfortable with his hands tied like that. You pushed down harder, pressing out body weight down onto his sternum, forcing his back further into the glass. He tried to keep himself silent, but little pained whimpers fell from his lips, little sobs that filled the serene air, tears wetting the edges of his blindfold. You moved down, one knee pressed to his stomach and the other on the floor. You took his jaw in your hand, cradling it like a lover would, and kissed him. With every bit of sweetness and tenderness he had been deprived whilst your floor was being soaked through, marked with his blood.
You pulled back, lingering on his lips for a moment. “How do you feel?”
He replied with a little sniffle, breath coming out in stuttering gasps. “You… cruel, blasphemous, tempting…”
You kissed him again, relishing the way he melted into it despite everything. Perhaps it was simply in his nature to worship, latching onto anyone who stood above him. You kissed his cheek next, then leaned back, grabbing one of the larger shards of glass from the floor. He flinched as the sharp edge rested on his bared throat. You held it so close it just barely grazed his skin, parting his pale flesh just enough to let a trickle of blood fall to his collarbone.
“My beloved…” He groaned out, voice weak and shaky. “Don’t hesitate a second longer.”
