Hello, I am an earth and water ghoul that works at the Ministry. I work in the library and archives and know all the Ins and Outs of the Ministry, so ask me anything!
Hello, I am Terrestris and this is my new ask me anything blog!
I am an Earth/Water ghoul who works at the Ministry, and I work in the library and Archives, and occasionally am on tour backstage!
I am very in tune to all Ministry happenings and probably anything you need to know, so go ahead and ask me things, NSFW asks are allowed (the gossip I know it insane-)
Some Rules:
Allowed:
NSFW asks (any restrictions listed in not allowed)
it's okay to have a crush on your boss if your boyfriend does too, right? dennis whitaker x reader, wherein you both wish your older mentor with the sure, steady hands would touch you the way he shouldn't. accidental (?) voyeurism. that middle aged man is shaking with lust! ...might make a pt 2 ;)
the thing is, you can't really blame dennis for his admiration-bordering-on-crush. if you did, you'd have to take a hard look at yourself too.
besides, you love dennis. he's sweet and works the same shift as you, and who doesn't love working with their boyfriend? meeting in the pitt feels like fate. you get to go home together and blow off steam. you alternate between making dinner for each other, and trinity doesn't mind when you stay over as long as you keep it down. dennis is a boon, a quiet, merciful gift in the middle of chaos.
but. but. there's robby.
he's just... nice. when he found out that you and dennis were dating, he gave you both gift cards; one for marshall's ("to get what you need!") and one for applebee's ("for that precious day off!") he'd given them to you two after your shift, rubbing his hands like he does when he takes hand sanitizer, a self-soothing habit. you wonder if he realizes he does it.
"we take care of each other here," he'd said firmly, when you and dennis tried to protest. "you kids deserve it." and he'd clasped your shoulder and dennis', his large palm warm through your scrubs. there and gone. he smiled briefly, eyes scrunching, and then he returned inside.
and you and dennis have never discussed it, but you saw his flushed cheeks, the gratitude that extended beyond a reasonable amount from a starving med student. you know dennis likes your boss. you like him too.
robby always manages to catch your and dennis' brief moments of affection. a quick kiss, a squeezed wrist, a hand on your hip. robby politely looks away, but he smiles every time, like your young love pleases him, like he's a facilitator of it somehow. robby tells dennis to take care of you from time to time, and dennis always swears that he does, flushed from the praise. dennis is far more confident outside of work, happy to please when youāre both not exhausted. he's quiet, private, but focused. nothing impedes your pleasure; dennis fucks you like he's trying to save you.
robby sees you two doing far more than an innocent peck on the cheek or whatever he's witnessed at the hospital. you must've thought everyone was occupied with the party, and you're right. you're right except trinity asked robby to get napkins from the closet and he sees dennis on you, his hand most definitely in your pants, curling his fingers. and you're making little ah-ah's and squirming as dennis kisses your neck. you're pressed against the closet door.
you don't mean to get caught. but it happens and robby's there as always, purely by accident. this time, he sees more than he should. trinity and dennis decided to host a party to celebrate your and dennis' official graduation to residents. robby should've declined, he knows that. he can't see dennis' bed, your clothes thrown haphazardly across the sheets or dresser. robby can't see dennis' razor or your face wash. it's already unbelievably perverted of him to think the few things that he's thought about you two. knowing how you live will only make it worse.
he thinks you make a great couple. you're both good doctors, kind, beautiful, and full of youth. he can see you two making it through your residency and moving to pittsburgh permanently.
you see robby first, and robby prepares to ease your guilt or embarrassment or whatever else because, after all, he's a doctor, he's about twice your age, and there's not much he hasn't seen. certainly, two people heavily making out doesn't faze him. he was young once. he remembers being twenty-five and fumbling with a girl's jeans.
that's what dennis is doing, and robby finds it endearing that he's clumsy with you despite the fact that you've been dating for three months. robby, he'd deftly unbutton your jeans and play with your clit first, warm you up and get you so wet you can't think. then he'd stretch you with two fingers or three. but he doesnāt expect dennis to be so rehearsed with his movements. that comes with age.
when you meet robby's gaze, he tenses, prepared to see your worry. but the look you give him makes his stomach clench with heat. dennis' back is to robby, so he has no idea that robby's watching you get fingered and you're watching back, lips parted, eyes lidded. you whimper and robby flinches and you grin. you like it. holy fuck.
then you speak. "robby." not a warning. not a sign to stop.
dennis moans, whichāwhat? robby's head is spinning. do you say his name often? does dennis like it?
you get dennis' attention properly, and robby's frozen as you both look at him. dennis is a little more modest than you, slipping his hand out of your pants, his cheeks flushing.
"dr. robby!" he says. "shit, we wereāiā"
robby holds up his hands. napkins are the furthest thing from his brain. "no explanation needed, kid. uh, s-sorry."
robby jerks off hard and fast at home, thinking about you two in bed. he wonders how dennis fucks you, and he cums guiltily. he thinks about telling dennis to slow down while he's inside of you, guiding him to work you open, pet you until you're teary-eyed and begging for cock. robby squeezes his own cock hard, ashamed at the thought. it's not enough to stop him from cumming again.
"Mmm. Keep cryin' darlin', makes you tighter." He grits out through his teeth. "You- hah, you like it, yeah?" He shakes his head at himself loosing his own composure. "Told you I'd fuck the god out of you. We ain't done yet."
Remmick huffs above you, claws digging into your throat, hips pistoning into yours. The half-smirk he wears has been dipping all night, sweat dampening his brow. He's been switching between babbling incoherently and mouthing off the whole night.
He watched you like he was starved. And maybe he was- but not for food. Not for blood. For the one thing your daddy always said was sacred. Private.
Daddy told you men like him were the devil. All they wanted- the sweet little preachers daughter. Remmick's fingers hook around the lace on your church dress. Cock pumping deliciously inside you. Your daddy was right. The devil was awfully pretty.
The devil was also awfully persistent. He'd want to consume you- not just your soul, but something deeper. From the root inside you. Not just your womanhood. Your love.
"Shit," He murmurs, pleased, struggling between breaths. "This what you wear to your...ah-...Sunday service? Thought good little girls covered up. You wore this for m-me, yeah?" He toys with the straps, before diving down to your neck. Licking. Sucking. Before biting gently.
When you squeal, he chuckles breathlessly, before groaning when you clench around him. He makes a noise that's borderline animalistic- and you briefly wonder if your daddy ever taught you if even the devil could lose his composure.
Effectively, he can. Because even as he presses you against the wall, caged, trapped like a flightless bird- all you have to do is reach up and tug on his hair. And he hisses in raw pleasure, body tensing up, fangs protruding so far he has to bare them so it doesn't hurt him.
"Fu-fuck-, lo-love you-" He stutters out, claws clenching tighter around the base of your throat.
But daddy never told you the devil would whisper those three little words. Daddy never told you he'd kiss you so gently you'd cry. Daddy never told you the devil would knock on your window every night, beggin' to be let in, just to recite Irish poems and prayers while you sleep in his arms.
"Say it- please darlin', say it back," He tries to demand, but it sounds more desperate than anything. He's close. He's so close, holding on tight. He's pleading with you. You feel the heat building up inside you. The way his fangs struggle against your pulse point, drool slipping down, holding back. Forcing his mouth to pucker into kisses instead of biting.
"I love you." You whisper. If this is how the devil loves, you think you'd rather burn forever then ever let him go.
And when you cum, itās violent. Blinding. You scream his name- not Godās. And Remmick whispers yours all the same, pawing at you, eyebrows scrunched together as he finishes deep inside. He doesn't let go. He never let's go.
His voice his hoarse when he just barely pulls away to look you in the eye. His chest rises and falls with each heavy breath.
"Let me- let me stay like this- inside you, lovinā you, beinā yours- please. Just a little longer. Just a little longer, okay?ā He strings together, giving you those eyes. His clawed finger lifting to your lip, tracing the contours, gaze flitting down to watch your mouth part as you speak.
When you give him the go ahead, nodding, body exasperated, he inhales with a shaky smile. He presses a light, chaste kiss to your temple, breathing you in.
You close your eyes, feel him throb sweetly inside you, and think maybe Heaven isnāt up above. Maybe itās bloody, needy, and whispering your name in the dark.
Might be a problem because I told him and he was sprinting out the door, but he tripped and rolled down a flight of stairs (heās fine I donāt know how but he is)
oh dear 8:{ is that why he looked so beat up? i just gave him a juice box and a stroopwafel and hes been napping in my loft with the tub of rat babies...
hi i'd like to request a crosshair smut but i've been thinking, everyone likes dom cross or bratty sub cross but realistically, most of the clones are probably virgins right?
I wanna see Crosshair who acts all tough and won't admit he doesn't know what he's doing until he's in your hands.
Crosshair who is embarrassed and nervous as soon as he's out of his clothes
Crosshair who worries that he isn't doing this right but will never say it aloud
Crosshair who acts like this isn't even that big of a deal until his dick is in your mouth
He doesn't know what he's doing, but he's never going to admit it.
He's watched holoporn a thousand times over. He knows the dance, he's memorised the moves, but in the moment, everything falls flat.
Crosshair is sheepish, timid, embarrassed, but Maker forbid that he shows that - he's confident in his moves, every kiss laced with energy and passion, yet internally, he's screaming.
His lips are always on yours in an attempt to hide himself. He can't let you see him like this, flushed cheeks and sweat above his brow. Crosshair's hands are shaking, but he can cover that up by letting them roam your body.
Everything caves when his dick enters your mouth; he practically melts into the mattress, a hand coming up to latch onto his short hair, gripping himself to keep his form from falling apart.
If he can ensure that your eyes remain closed, then you won't have to see him like this. But they don't; your eyes open, and you're met with a man who is clearly falling apart.
You know. He knows that you know. Neither of you mention it. Instead, you find yourself crawling up him, straddling his waist and sinking onto his length.
Nothing escapes Crosshair's lips - he tries to let something out, but his mouth hangs open and silent instead. He's practically breathless, lying back, allowing you to take the ropes. All he can do is cling onto your hips with his sprawled out palms, and gaze at you with half lidded eyes.
Don't fall apart too easily. Keep it together. You're doing just fine. Crosshair isn't going to last long, not when it's his first time. No matter, he can build up his stamina, and he knows you won't be harsh on him for it. Tease him, maybe, but not scold him for being inexperienced.
And when he does finally climax, tears gloss over his eyes. Crosshair clings onto you, pulls your chest against his, urges your head to rest in the curve of his neck. He's shaking. His hands press firmly against your skin, finding comfort in the bareness of it all. To be naked is one thing, but to be naked and vulnerable around someone you love? That is something else entirely.
When Crosshair finally comes around, he murmurs a "thank you," as he kisses your lips. You return the favour by kissing his cheekbone - the edge of his face tattoo.
Give him a moment to breathe, let him come to terms with what's just happened, and guide him to round two.
Crosshair picked a good person to lose his virginity to.
Might be a problem because I told him and he was sprinting out the door, but he tripped and rolled down a flight of stairs (heās fine I donāt know how but he is)
Copia isnāt as active as he was when he was Papa (turns out, being Frater is a lot of clerical work compared to the jumping around stage he did). Now, heāll be the first to admit he hasnāt been a slight thing in ages ā Baby Boy does love his rigatoni and cannoli, after all. But still: He canāt help but feel a little down when he looks in the mirror, realizing his tight pants are tighter, his fitted tops fitting just a bit too close to be comfortable.
He knew this day would come but come on!
Poor Copiaās pouting in the mirror, absentmindedly stoking the hairs on his tummyā¦Meanwhile, youāre peering from behind, fingers itching to dig into all that softness, teeth grinding until you can get a taste of your sweet ān soft Copia.
Suffice it to say, Copia doesnāt feel so down about the clothes no longer fitting after that night. That, and heās glad he still has some scarves that will always fit. The better to hide all his hickeys and whatnot, yāknow?
I have been working on these fucking translations for almost 8 hours now somebody go tell Frater that if he doesnāt stop giving me work Iām gonna shove it up his ass
