Adult|Ace|any pronouns|pfp by pigeonpeanit on twt | NSFW fic writer|Req me
Is darkness equal to daylight? Are sinners equal to the righteous? If you are born weak, which God should you turn to for solace?
Fanart based on @vowheavypiety's Secret Santa gift << Who would trade the hum of night for sunlight? >>!! I COULDNT THANK YOU ENOUGH PHAINON!! I LOVE THIS SM!!
UGGH love the quiet moments like these *violently sobbing
—🎕 CW ; I've only read the first demo(Aka the beginning) for Ais, so I might not be aware of certain things. A rather shallow read on Sunlight by Hozier to fit better with Ais and Errol. Pining from both sides, but nothing will be said. Non-established relationship; Implied that something romantic/intimate happened before to make it awkward between them, though. I assumed a lot of things abt Ais and his backstory. A little bit of Loser Ais agenda. Princess best wingwoman. Yumeship of @phil-pokr 's Errol and TOUCHSTARVED's Ais. Fluffy(?). No beta, we will die.
—🎕 wc ; 1718
—🎕 The TOUCHSTARVED discord server did a secret santa and this is my submission: ) I waited for permission to publish this naturally. Pt.2? uhm... on 05/01/26 if life allows it...
Synopsis: Errol, whilst outside the walls of Eridia, the night falls quicker than usual, and fog makes it difficult to travel back to the city; thankfully, they chance upon Princess whilst she leads them back to the seaspring with Ais.
The fog began to set, the sky began to dim, and in the midst of it, Errol was travelling the outer walls of Eridia, in search of nothing in particular, yet searching nonetheless. You see, curiosity was a drive like no other, and time would forego itself for the likes of Errol. Thus, the snow began to set, and Errol, none the wiser, noticed rather late.
The road home was difficult to see, and with already poor vision from all-nighters pulled despite knowing not to, combined with reading in dim lighting, it presents a significant challenge in the current situation. Errol, with fear setting in, began to walk in the hopes of chancing upon the walls of Eridia.
Just as regret was beginning to set in, they'd heard a bark to their left. Fearing a soulless' attack, they began to back away. Snapping a branch in the process. A confrontation would be impossible, so in quick thinking, Errol grasped the bandages wrapping around their numb hands; A side effect of tight binding. Will this work? Maybe. Should they succeed, will it backfire? Likely.
In a tense moment, soon the sound of padding on dirt and mud gave way to... Princess!
Errol relaxed significantly after the surprise. After all, this wasn't the first time Princess had found them in a pinch before, from the frequency of their excursions outside the walls alone.
"Hello, Princess." Errol greeted while the soulless began to nose herself onto their hand, a forceful way of asking for pets, and Errol gladly obliged.
"Do you think you could lead me to the seaspring?" A sharp bark was given as a response.
The trek to the seaspring wasn't long, but it was enough walking to leave Errol in thought.
Ais... The man whom Errol dreads confronting the most right now.
After being accustomed to travelling alone for some time now, they'd forgotten the uneasy burn in between their ribs, yet it comes creeping back in. Their past with lovers has not been great, so it only leaves the question: Romance or Reason? But who would trade the comfort of the night for the blinding of sunlight? Is the allure of potential heartbreak so bewitching that it breaks their inaction?
Errol didn't get much more time to ponder that thought as they arrived in the seaspring. The imposing yet familiar decorated building. Wooden stairs led to towering double doors, and thus greeted the sight of the seaspring. The blood has gotten less... sickly and foreboding—Errol thought they might have gone wild for getting used to a lake of blood.
"Sparrow, what brings you here?" Errol wondered sometimes if Ais was just allergic to sitting on the floor.
"Missed me so soon?" They craned their neck up to the rafters, staring at the infamous gang leader, Ais. With searing eyes coloured like plum blossom flowers, and sat upon the red matching rafters.
"I was caught in the snow, and Princess helped me find my path." Always so straight to the point, that's Errol for you.
Ais glided down the support beam's rafters with the efficiency of someone who's done this time and time again. Ais glances at Errol, noting the slight trembling from the cold and turned away to check on the kettle, hardly warm enough, Tsk. It'll do until a new batch is brewed. A steady hand pours the tea into a ceramic cup before Ais is on the move again, lighting a fire to make the next batch with, silent acts of service, easily missed, yet Errol wasn't one to miss details.
Errol drank from the cup. It was fragrant, steeped well, but the warmth had left, and the freshness had become bitter, more so than usual. Drinkable, but not like what it used to be.
Soon, the crackle of a flame broke out and instantly drew both Princess and Errol to the flame, seeking warmth from the biting cold. Reluctant Errol may be, but the fireplace was the best bet of not freezing to death, pushing all three together to huddle close.
Errol and Ais were sitting across from each other while Princess was between the two. The kettle was boiling, and when Ais glanced at Errol's face, he couldn't quite tell whether the light that captivated him was from the fire or from that stubborn burn between his ribs, it comes creeping in at inopportune moments, like the sunlight while sleeping in until noon.
"I thought I'd already cut my streak of leaving bad impressions on you by now, Sparrow."
"As if there's anything good to leave an impression from." Errol scoffed, visibly shifting from the tense atmosphere to a more relaxed one unconsciously. The cold that buried itself under their skin, the same that seeped into their bones, felt like it never even happened.
"You're doing that thing with your mouth, again," Ais noted. From the way Errol pulled the corners of their mouth down, forcing a thin frown on their lips to prevent themselves from smiling. Observing the way the statement induces such a reaction.
"What thing?" Errol asked, the feigned frown now turning into a truly annoyed expression. Defensiveness is written in their body language; their palms clench, they shift in their seat, and suddenly become more aware of Ais' stare.
Ais didn't bother responding as the kettle interrupted the moment, whistling and promptly awakening Princess. While the tea was being distributed, Ais said something while the tea was being poured into the ceramic cup, "I know I don't have to say it, but you can stay for tonight. Going outside isn't a smart choice," and yet, for how lax he said it, Errol gritted their teeth and didn't respond. Even Ais could see what that did to them. Their hands got clammy, and their demeanour shifted.
Ais didn't understand what was so significant about that little reassurance that he'd said purely for testing the waters, but Ais understood the hesitancy that Errol was feeling right now. For people born in the cold and rain, to be hesitant about the open flame is only natural. It burns where the cold numbs, but you can't stop yourself. Like a moth to an open flame, you grow to crave that sensation.
Ais' feelings aren't ardent or pure. What drew Ais' attention was Errol's eyes, that same desire to live you see in street rats' eyes. The same ones that Ais and the rest of the victims of the seaspring had, not out of pity, but because of kinship, seeing someone in your past's position, but hoping that they don't end up in your position now.
Ais' attention was snapped back when he heard that sharp hiss. Feeling the slight heat from realising what he was thinking about: self-reevaluations sucked.
Errol continued the vague noises of pain, drinking tea freshly made without waiting for it to cool was awful. The sharp sting was difficult to deal with on more sensitive appendages, for example, the tongue. Errol didn't know why they thought that drinking tea to distract them from confronting themselves would be a great course of action.
Errol raised a hand to cover their mouth, shielding away their teeth from view while giving Ais a look, "Haah... If you want to make a stupid joke, now's your chance."
Ais, with his shitty grin, spoke: "Er, I'm not much of a doctor, but I can kiss your boo boo." The clear lack of remorse for such an easy joke was evident from the way his smile grew wider, to Errol's dismay.
"Oh, not only are you picking up on Vere's shit, but you're smiling about it too. Ridiculous..."
"Ouch, wounded."
Once the pain had subsided, Errol began to blow air onto the drink, taking their time with it to prevent past mistakes, whilst observing Ais and Princess interact.
It reminded them of a family beside a hearth, as foolish as that might sound. The cold forcing proximity between the three, yet for someone who never really cared for winter, finding it a hassle if anything, actually, Errol actually had fun today. Procuring a good sale on medicinal goods, exploring the lands outside of Eridia in the afternoon, before spending the night with Ais and Princess.
When Ais and Errol began to throw the last of the treats(Jerky with a questionable source of meat) in the air, letting Princess catch them with her teeth, while the tea kettle's contents began to dry up, it became evident it was time to call it quits for tonight.
Errol laid out the blankets, fluffing up the fabric so that the wooden floor tiles of the Seaspring wouldn't be such a pain to lie on. Ais began to round up all the seating cushions to use as pillows, thus making a make-shift bed near the blocked campfire at a safe distance.
With the bed ready, everyone did their best to lie comfortably. Thus, resulting in Errol on the left, Ais on the right, with some space between and Princess draped atop in some strange position to fit herself and her appendages comfortably.
Other than some minor difficulties, the night passed smoothly.
When the pale dawn breaks the night sky, and the snow begins to melt, Ais ponders what it truly means to know sunlight. Is it truly worth granting a name to a burning and bright pain? To call it love and accept its decisive pain? To trade the comfort of the night and confront the sunlight?
—🎕 Hi guys, here's Pokr's art. You legally oughta follow them if you liked this fic
—🎕 uhmmm if you by chance want a fic of ur oc done, I will gladly write it for you, or if you'd like, we can do a trade-off for oc art/fic dm me !!
—🎕 CW ; Reader Insert, Oc smut, God x Worshipper,
Masochism, Intersex Character X Intersex Reader, Smut, Dacryphilia, Masturbation, Power Imbalance, Thorns as Bondage, Blood(not too graphic), Writer is asexual, Capitalisation of Y in You is intentional, like how in some biblical texts H in He is capitalised for God.
—🎕 Wow. guys... hah. remember me... 😼. I swear I have something cooking for October; I'll feed you guys after abandoning this account... For now, marvel at a little project that I'm a part of! and the representation for my oc of Malicia is in the very end of the fic.
—🎕 YANDEREZINE_2025 check it out, there's a lot of other submissions that are peak asf. If you were part of the zine and seeing this waow... u're peak...
Malicia stared up at the platform, off whites and real gold detailing, yet none outshone You.
Words he should be transcribing because they were the words of his God, yet stay unheard in his mind. In this temple full of parishioners, both human and divine—as if anything other than You could truly be divine—Malicia couldn't force himself to focus.
How could he when You spoke of sermons with the great voice of Yours, equal parts soft and tender yet firm and proud. Even the mere sight of You led him down rabbit holes of thoughts that end in perversion of zeal, desire infecting devotion, love into lust.
The same zeal that led him to sit at the feet of Your altar, refusing to cross that invisible line, and the same perverseness that makes him cross the same self-imposed lines, no matter how guilty, he can't deny the elation, exhilaration that he feels, and that was the same exhilaration that leads him to this perdicament. Eyes fluttering shut, with hands clasped, his forehead touching his knuckles to hide his face from shame.
Shame from the fact that his thighs were rubbing against each other to create just enough friction to calm his spiralling desires to no avail, it just wasn't enough.
Malicia sneaked a glance in Your direction, but this time he'd locked eyes with You, causing a shudder to run through his spine, and he could only snap his eyes shut out of shame. There's no way You'd noticed it, right?
No way You'd notice the whorish way he'd shifted his hips every few seconds trying to find the best angle to discreetly fuck himself whilst fantasising about You. No way You could sense the way he'd always eye You during sermons. At least there would be no way if You were a normal parishioner, but You were his God. The one to whom he owed every thought, dedicated every breath to.
It was a wonder his tongue could catch up, the quick prayer and praise of You was sealed in the very muscle that formed his throat and tongue, like it was the only thing they were used for and the only definite thing they knew. The prayer wrapped up quickly before his mind could soon catch up and begin to feel embarrassment for the uncomfortable feeling of slick staining his thighs. You approached him.
ᓚᘏᗢ
You led the acolyte to a private room, a vacant one where only those with Your permission were allowed in, he'd been one of the fortunate ones with Your favour, sometimes called upon for tea or to service You; just like how it should be, and the mere thought otherwise—or worse someone else serving You—makes him uneasy.
Malicia knelt down, bruised knees clicking into place like a perfectly moulded model, fit for worship, judging from how blissful and whole he felt whenever he was at Your beck and call, allowing himself to let go of critical thinking and rely on his base instincts to worship; after all, the welts on his knees are merely an extension of Your love, of the simple act of devoting himself to You would leave imprints on his sinful body. It was nothing short of bliss, finding sick comfort and pleasure from the ache in his bones.
"You seemed dazed during the prayer earlier. Why is that?" Malicia could only swallow dryly. Wondering how he could twist the narrative to hide his perverse fantasies, but would it really matter? Is ego really worth lying to You, of all people?
No, it wasn't worth it, but the thought of earning Your displeasure was worse than a humiliating death and brought an acerbic taste in his mouth. "I was lost in thought, Your Holiness." Not a complete lie, he told himself, but that gaze in Your eyes made it difficult not to feel intimidated when he had such filthy vices. He should feel guilty. To desire something unattainable and perfect was sin; the mere thought was akin to sullying both of you.
"Haah... there's truly no need to hide your desire from me. Not that you're any good at it, Malicia." A taunt, simple yet detrimental to the image of himself he wants to portray; a disciple who doesn't want and serves devotedly. It squeezed his heart a little, just short of feeling ill, and he didn't like to use that word so lightly.
"Come now, on your feet." A simple order, yet standing up with such clammy hands and with his knees so weak it seemed impossibly herculean, but he did so nonetheless. Obedient like a bird that coos and sings on command.
You circled the poor thing, standing just behind him, before turning him with a tender force, and immediately thick plant-like vines with sharp thorns wrap themselves around Malicia's wrist, startling him enough to walk back onto the throne You perch upon.
Immediately, he tries to stand back up, yet finds himself restrained with his hands above his head and his dainty wings enclosing around the bottom half of his face, like a feathery fan. "I apologise, Your Holiness... I didn't mean to!" Yet another attempt to wriggle free; his wrists get caught upon startled flora, and it ensnares itself around his hands further, eliciting a soft wince from his soft lips and the subtle way the downy feathers of his small wings puffed up. Malicia was a masochist.
You brushed a tender hand onto his wings, brushing them away and forcing one wing to spread away from the warmth of his cheeks, "No need to apologise, I'll gladly entertain your fantasies. Not much you can hide when I can see how awkwardly you kneel at sermons, how you whine like a cooing bird." And just to make it worse, You'd sat on his lap and brushed Your fingers against the expanse of his wing, rubbing underneath the feathers and directly onto the sensitive limb.
It didn't take long for that composure to crack, "Your Holiness!" Malicia had cried out, unsure whether to ask You to stop, to beg for forgiveness, or even to remind You of how compromising this was to both of your images.
You didn't seem to mind one bit though, soft thighs grinding on his erection, the warm flesh immediately breaking the last of his mind before he began to squirm, wrists wrestling with the thorns while he cried out "My insolent mind has dared imagine my body under Yours, our skin against one another, yet my mind has never been so cruel as to make it as pleasurable as this." A whiny confession escaped his throat, guttural and pitchy from desire.
It pleased You to finally hear such a wonderful confession from Your darling devotee; thus, You conclude a reward was due.
It didn't take long for You to tear through both of your clothing; it wasn't like it was much trouble mending them later. The display of force made spit pool at Malicia's tongue before averting his gaze away, his fantasy was coming true, and he had nothing to say; his critical thinking had yet to return, along with his ability to form sentences.
You brushed a hand against his cock, brushing a thumb against the underside of the head, a slow pace while You observed Your acolyte squirming, struggling to stay in place just from teasing. You'd attribute the fact that he'd been delaying his orgasm since around the second half of the sermon from earlier.
It was unfair. The sight of Your darling crying out more akin to a wounded hound's howls than a pretty bird's song was certainly pretty, but You had to remind him, "You can ask to come, but you have to ask sweetly." Your voice roused him from his blissful state, all teary-eyed and pathetic. "Your Holiness? May I come?" He'd asked, masking the tremble in his voice with a well-crafted and calm facade, just like how he knows You enjoy it.
"Permitted." That was all You had to whisper before he was trembling in Your arms, nails biting down onto his still suspended hands and coming all over Your hands. It was obscene, worse than the erotica some hellhound with a creative streak would write. His expression wasn't any better, barely lucid and with a few tears streaking down his perfect face.
Malicia's head was spinning; that was likely the most he'd came and the easiest. Typically, he'd have to go through so much mental debate over the morality of masturbating to his God, but right now his head was full of cotton, and in the brief clarity of it all, he heard a small "Good boy" purred from Your lips.
Your praise led him to peek an eye open, observing the soft upturn of Your lips. That smirk You gave him was all the courage he needed to lean forward, pressing his lips against Yours and furthering the kiss when You showed no signs of pulling away.
The once chaste exchange of affection grew greedy and sticky, spit and tongues mixing in harmony until Malicia caught You off guard, ripping his wrist free from the vines, uncaring for the thorns that dug into his skin, and wrapped You in an embrace. You took the initiative to pull away, already tasting the question at the tip of his tongue, just waiting patiently for the mental hoops he'd have to surpass to finally blow up with his desires.
"Will You let me make You feel good?" Malicia blurted out, a few seconds quicker than You anticipated. Your acolyte was learning to act on his desires.
"You may." A simple answer, but all that he needed to get started, soft golden eyes gleaming with sin while he repositioned You both, letting You take Your seat on the throne while he wrapped Your legs around his waist.
The insertion was easy, Malicia's earlier climax made his cock wet enough, and it was on the thinner side, but he was careful enough not to insert his entire length in one go, taking care to make it feel good and set the pace slowly. Prioritising making You both feel good and causing You less pain.
Malicia let out a shudder when he felt You adjust to his length. The fluttering of Your body against his almost made his sanity crumble right in front of You. His pacing starts to quicken when You tighten Your legs around him, wordlessly telling him to move faster and make You feel better, make his God feel better.
The fullness was almost unbearable, the pleasure was slightly mind-numbing. You didn't quite understand what was so addictive about sex, but now You just might understand. Your darling dove moaning helplessly onto Your shoulder, confessing filth like a parishioner, "Your Holiness, You're ruining me, You feel so good to the point where I never want to leave You." Such fervour You've never seen in Malicia ever before. Never heard him speak like this before; this was the most honest he ever was.
"Mmn... I'm so close, Your Holiness, are You feeling good as well?" Malicia whispered into Your ear, placing a few kisses onto Your neck, ear, and jaw. Tender affection lacing every action while he buried so deeply inside of You, not satisfied until he could crawl into Your chest and assimilate into Your heart or vice versa, but that can't be, so for now, he'd fuck himself into You, doing everything he can to make You feel even half the bliss You provide him.
"I'm close, Dove." You spoke, though You were sure Malicia could tell just from how tight You'd gotten.
The reminder of Your climax drawing near gave the final surge of motivation, and soon you both were coming. Orgasms producing a cacophony of moans from the two of you, divine and obscene. You felt entirely too full, and Your acolyte seemed to be too tired and overstimulated to do more, but just when you thought it was over, Malicia dropped to his knees and pulled your legs over his shoulders, Golden eyes peaking from between your thighs as you felt the flat press of his tongue against your hole.
Btw much as I love to make fun of twitter and reddit's business decisions, I have 0% trust in tumblr's management to not go a similar route so this is your gentle reminder that you should regularly go to your blog settings to export your blog. That's a fancy way of saying you can download a backup of your blog so if everything goes down you'll still have a backup of your posts & convos.
It's gonna come as a surprise to most of you, but if you don't want to do that for whatever reason you're allowed to not reblog this post. I'm not holding a gun to your head here I'm just trying to spread the word for people who do want a backup of their stuff.
can we talk about how cute your fem aventurine is like??? she is so tinyyy i actually teared up when i saw her in your latest art bc of how cute and small she is my heart is NOT ok havanillas i need to gently hold her in my palms and kiss her everywhere and tell her everything will be ok and that i will protect her she is just so so cute i want to hold her and squeeze her and kiss her and bite her and not to be a lesbian but i swear if i see her again i will cry i love her so much
shes so pretty and cute and kissable....and she's well aware of it ;)
jbbartram-illu
kaledo-art
ellievsbear
yousharknotpass
dailybridgerton
areudirty
