#Father tw

[d0ll-part-s]

who art in heaven

i.k.b

[sweetpeauserboxes]

[id: two light gray userbox with a gray border and gray text that reads “this user sees argo as a father figure”. on the left is an image of argo from 7 Days! : Mystery Visual Novel and the prequel Argo's Choice: Visual Novel. /end id]

[paradoxesofgalaxies]

Memories of my father follow me like ghosts

I catch a scent of him in the air and my whole being recoils in disgust as my eyes quickly scan the room for a figure that isn't there.

A certain laugh and I can hear his voice dripping with mockery. Words of the past echoing through the present. An inescapable phantom always lurking behind me.

The horrifying visions of him that plague my nights.

Memories of my father follow me like a ghost

If only that's all he were

[nettles-vent]

I don’t miss my dad, but I miss what having a dad could have been like. I miss hunting trips that weren’t excuses, acceptance and a family line. I want to be somebody’s son. I want to wake up early in the morning to catch the sunrise on the porch.

Sometimes it hits me that I’ve aged past the time where I could be looked after, like a kid should be. I never was. Nobody took care of me. And I guess a part of me was still expecting I’d get that. But I’m 18 now. No-one’s coming to save me.

I never had the kind of dad I should’ve had.

And another part of me knows I couldn’t have any kind of relationship with an older man without making it perverse. I imagine a father I could count on, and what I imagine is exactly the same as what I conjure when I think about my ideal man.

Its all messed up in my head. I cant get what I want. I hate what life’s turned out to be.

[theauthorlives]

Monologue - Father's Day

"One, two and -"

"One, two and -"

The grumbling from the greaser was reminiscent of musical timing as the bounces from the small ball hit the wall, the floor, and landed back in his hand.

It was Visitation Day, and Yancy had intended to spend the free time in his cell, armed with just a tennis ball that one of the guards had snuck in for him to borrow today. He sat on the bottom bunk and, after pushing the small table aside, had a clear aim of the wall opposite him. A half-hearted throw was more than enough to hit the wall, yet still provide enough momentum to give a bounce high enough for him to catch it.

"One, two and -"

"One, two and -"

By right, the tennis ball was contraband, but the older staff knew that today was an exception:

Visitation Day fell on Father's Day.

It happened every year. For many prisoners, it was the one day they looked forward to most in the summer. Fathers were permitted to have a longer time with their kids, and they were brought out to the main rec yard that was specially decorated for families to spend time together. It was a positive aspect of the rehabilitation process, Warden Murder-Slaughter had once explained. If a father could see the life he was missing out on, it would give him motivation to work toward parole and making a better life for himself.

(Of course, he also insisted the same on Mother's Day, although that fell on the second Sunday of May.)

Yancy was not the only prisoner in Happy Trails with a difficult family life. However, he was the only one presently incarcerated for murdering his parents. Not only that, this was the only day that he needed the extra eye on him.

Mother's Day was fine. He could make a passing gesture to mark the day and then bury his head in other tasks for the rest of the day.

But Father's Day...? That was always a difficult one, even from childhood.

--

--

"Now then, class. How is everyone doing with their Father's Day cards?"

A cacophony of excited chattering rose up in the room as all the 8 year olds tried to get their teacher's attention. Using a design on the board as inspiration, they were all encouraged to draw them and their dad or male guardian doing something they enjoy together. Some children drew sport scenes, others drew people playing video games, others even drew them walking a dog together.

One child still had an empty page, and this caught the teacher's attention. She walked over and gently tapped the child on the shoulder.

"You struggling to come up with ideas?" Her voice was soft as she crouched down to the boy's eye level.

"Mmm... Yeah..." He didn't lift his head to look at her. Instead, he was focused on arranging his colouring pencils into shapes.

"Well... What have you and your father done lately?" The teacher knew it was going to be a difficult answer. This child in particular had been uncomfortable with the topic of Father's Day, but nothing was on his record about a bad family life. If anything, the principal's only comment was that the father was particularly stern about his son's so-called laziness.

(The teacher wanted to argue that the boy did genuinely struggle in some areas, but she was in no position to overrule either her boss or the child's parents.)

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Don't do anything at home."

Ordinarily, the teacher would try to prompt further suggestions from her students, but she couldn't shake her hunch that this would be a bad idea. "Well, why don't you write 'Happy Father's Day' in bubble writing?"

It wasn't an ideal solution, but he couldn't go home empty-handed.

-

The house was buzzing with activity as the whole family arrived for Father's Day. Only the little boy and his older sister still lived at home, and the older two had moved out for lives of their own. They all sat around the kitchen table, drinking coffee and chatting about recent happenings.

The youngest sat on the bottom step, holding the hand-drawn card tightly with both small hands. Nerves had crinkled the page, and panic in trying to fix it only resulted in a small tear on the back. He didn't want to do this, but his teacher had said it had been so nice that anyone would like it.

And if she meant that, well... Maybe his dad would like it.

"Hey... Pa?"

He had shuffled into the room, wincing when everyone turned around to look at him. having five adults and teenagers giving you their full attention was nothing short of terrifying. But he had made it this far, he couldn't back down now. "Happy Father's Day. I made you this." The card was presented with both hands.

Sure, it wasn't as pretty as the cards that were bought, but there was still time put into it. There was no present either, but his mother never asked if he wanted to go to the store to buy anything.

(He was eight years old. It wasn't like he had a lot of money to his name.)

Silence.

His father skimmed the card and placed it on the table in the span of ten seconds.

"Is that everything?" A monotonous question broke the awkward silence. Yancy peered up, wide-eyed, at his father.

"I-I, uh, I don't have anything else -"

"Good. Go back to your room."

"Yes, pa."

He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, in the hope that someone would comment on his card.

"He did a good job with that card. The colouring's getting better." The sound of the sister closest in age could be heard.

"He forgot the apostrophe in 'Father's'."

Ah. Of course the only comment his father would make was finding the flaws. He didn't know why he bothered waiting to hear. Disheartened, he trudged back upstairs and climbed into bed. What else was worth doing today after that?

--

--

"One, two and -"

"One, two and -"

The rhythm had increased. He was throwing the tennis ball faster. Every year as a child, he had tried to do something that he father might actually like. It was never good enough. At least his mother could lie and pretend she liked the art project he had to make in school.

"One, two and - and..."

He caught the ball, and his grip tightened on it. The urge to fling it at full strength and break something nearly consumed him, but he managed to pull himself back at the last moment.

"Fuck."

The tennis ball dropped on the drop as he fell back into the bottom bunk. He couldn't stick being alone today, but there was no one he felt comfortable spending the time with.

"Fuck this..."

[wellfell]

i am starting to believe some of akina's bfs probably told her something along the lines of ' if your daddy issues healed you'd leave me ' and she's never really cared about it but i'm ready to write an essay why you're always with an angry man if you've grown up with an angry man in your house . anyway .

[atakeflight]

Lisa and her very complicated relationship with her father is my next meta. Also Lisa and developing Homer’s anger issues and how she works on that because she doesn’t want to be like her dad. 🙃

[the-arashikage-clan]

“we never hurt you” I literally fear being hit as soon as you step into the room stfu

[hehimsnooki]

HEY CAN SOMEONE TELL ME iF THIS THING MY DAD SAID IS WEIRD? PLEASE ?

a while ago he said that he thinks i look better without makeup , not as a father but as a man . And today he said he would like to see me in a dress.

Genuinely not sure if its my trauma around men acting up or he said something weird . Help

Tagged for potential tws

[patchworkofravens]

U ask a parent one yes or no thing and they start passive aggressively scolding u instead of answering directly

[rcjoice]

-> ashton b. quincy, an angry father's angry son

[heartbinders]

Headcanon / meta: Lucas’s relationship with Flint.

Before losing Hinawa, Flint was never a bad dad. He was just as present as Hinawa was in raising the boys. He played with them, helped them when they were sad, told them he was proud of them — did all the things that a dad should do.

Of course, he wasn’t perfect; he was a human being, after all. Sometimes he came across as stern, sometimes he would lose control of his temper. But he was never, at his core, a bad person. Even when he and Hinawa argued, as parents do, there was never anything malicious or even outright abusive in the family. Lucas and Claus looked up to Flint.

It really wasn’t until the night of Hinawa’s death that things started to change. When Flint heard the news and lost his temper completely, physically lashing out at everyone around him — that was the first time Lucas saw something wrong.

In the immediate aftermath of Hinawa’s death, Flint was there when Lucas cried. He had to be. Lucas would even sleep in Flint’s bed when he had nightmares. But that was a man putting on a brave face for his child when he, too, was hurting. He was also trying to cope, but when Claus vanished, that was when things started to gradually change.

Even as Flint started spending more and more time visiting Hinawa and looking for Claus, he did still come home at night. He slept in the house and made sure Lucas was housed, clothed, and fed. Even if he spent a whole day out of the house — sometimes even a couple of days, searching high up in the mountains — he did eventually come home at night. But that’s the bare minimum for a child who’s also coping with the loss of his family, still trying to come to terms with everything.

In the three years following Hinawa’s death, Lucas took it upon himself to learn to cook, clean, feed the sheep when it was clear Flint would be out for a night. It wasn’t often that these skills became necessary, but it was better to know how to do them than not.

It was really Flint’s lack of emotional availability that took a toll on Lucas. At such a young age, it’s hard to fathom that your parents are human, and not perfect like you thought they were as a child. So as Lucas grew up, he always tried to rationalize why this man that was a role model for him was suddenly less present in his life. Dad’s also sad. He’s visiting Mom a lot because he loves her. He’s not giving up on Claus, and that’s a good thing, it means he loves Claus. He’s not a bad dad because he’s not actively mean.

But Lucas does harbor some negative emotions towards Flint that he’s in denial of. He suppresses them, mostly, but they rear their ugly heads every now and then. The most prominent instance of this is the incident on Tanetane Island, where Lucas had to literally stare the hurt and fear Flint caused in the face. What did you do to Hinawa? Daddy’s gonna beat you, boy. Of course, Lucas knew rationally that Flint had never hit him and wouldn’t. But these were deep, unconscious fears. They’re reflections of the worst of Flint that Lucas internalized. Flint dedicating his time to Claus. Flint beating the ground and lashing at the other adults around him when he learned Hinawa died.

Tanetane Island aside, usually these emotions simmer quietly, because Lucas doesn’t want to hate Flint. But sometimes they do come out. When Lucas said “bald as a bean” was a stupid way to describe Flint’s baldness, all the bottled up negativity burst out. He’s not a bitter person. He just had three years to harbor all of this bitterness, and learning about his brother was just the finger pulling the trigger that let it out.

Lucas ultimately wants things to be better between him and Flint, but there are a lot of things that he still needs to come to terms with about his feelings toward him. He needs to realize it’s okay to love but still be critical of his parents. It’s okay to hold onto the happy memories of Flint in his childhood while still acknowledging the hurt he feels now, in the present. He’s still struggling with this nuance. Maybe it’s his young mind learning that people are complicated — maybe he’s clinging onto the only family he has left.

[paradoxesofgalaxies]

So S woke up with a bad migraine this morning and at one point we were trying to get a cord unstuck and he started helping but was getting frustrated bc of how stuck it was. And we got triggered and started fawning. But I was able to take a step back and recognize that we were triggered and assure the parts who were afraid that S isn't like our dad and that S having a migraine doesn't mean we're going to be hurt. And after breathing through it, they calmed down.

Then when he called out from work, rather than abandoning my routine to care for him like usual, I talked to him about my routine and how to still keep to my routine with him here and we were able to plan things out so he wouldn't be in the way of what I needed to do. Which definitely caused some panic inside amongst parts who fawn, but we were able to work through it and get moving with our routine.

There's a lot of guilt regarding being triggered by S having a migraine. But we were able to get through it to advocate for what we needed and things inside feel more settled now

[greengoblinswifey]

Temple— Nicholas Chavez x Fem!Reader

summary— they always say “your body is a temple” and boy is nicholas’ body a temple you love to climb and worship.

warnings— PURE SMUT. fingering, hand job, oral(m receiving), unprotected sex, mirror play, spit kink, praise kink, degrading kink, body worship, ass slapping, choking, creampie, daddy kink, breeding kink, cum eating, rough sex, aftercare, fluff.

a/n— ovulating and wrote this based on these pictures because he looks so good, ugh, i NEED him. (not prof read)

You were wandering the aisles of your favorite boutique, surrounded by the chatter of other shoppers. Just as you picked up a cute dress, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You fished it out, expecting a simple text, but what you saw made your breath hitch and your pussy throb.

Nicholas had sent you a picture of himself shirtless, standing in his bathroom with the light cascading down his chiseled abs, his hair slightly damp and tousled and then one with the hat you gifted him on. He looked incredible, his physique had transformed since you first started dating for his new roles, becoming more defined and muscular, and it left you utterly speechless.

You couldn’t help but bite your lip as heat pooled in your core. God, he looks good. You remembered when you first met him, he was charming and sweet, and you loved him just as he was then. But this new version of him? It ignited something deep within you. It was as if every sculpted muscle was begging for your attention, and all you could think about was how much you needed him inside you, pounding you.

The dress you were holding suddenly felt heavier as you clutched it tighter, trying to maintain your composure in the middle of the store. Your thighs clenched instinctively, and you could feel the flush creeping up your cheeks. How was it possible for someone to look that good? You found yourself blushing, desperately trying to focus on the price tags in front of you, but your mind was racing with thoughts of him.

You quickly typed back, your fingers trembling as you tried to keep it casual. “Wow, what are you trying to do to me?” You hit send, your heart racing with anticipation. He was always playful, but this felt different, this felt more personal, more intimate.

As you made your way to the cash register, you could still see him in your mind, his body the definition of perfection. You swiped his card without a second thought, the thrill of using his money adding to your excitement. If only he were here right now. You imagined him behind you, his hands resting on your hips, whispering sweet nothings as you paid.

Your thoughts swirled with desire, longing to feel his warmth against your skin, to wrap your arms around him and pull him in close. His body was a temple, you thought, it was a holy site you craved to explore.

With a final glance at the dress in your hands, you decided to head home, your mind set on what would happen once you got there. You needed him, and you could already envision the fire igniting between you two as soon as you walked through the door.

As you rushed through the front door, adrenaline surged through you. You barely took the time to drop your shopping bags before you heard the unmistakable sound of the shower turning off.

You quietly made your way down the hallway, the steam still lingering in the air, and as you approached the bathroom, you caught a glimpse of him stepping out, droplets of water glistening on his perfectly chiseled body. Nicholas looked like a god, one you craved to worship, his muscles taut and glistening under the dim light, every curve and contour accentuated.

You leaned against the doorframe, mesmerized, your breath catching in your throat. This was everything you’d imagined and more. He dried himself off with a towel, completely unaware of your presence, and for a moment, you relished the view, every single inch of him was a work of art.

But you were done watching. The heat radiating from your core was too strong to ignore, and all rational thoughts slipped away. Without a second thought, you slipped out of your clothes, leaving yourself bare and vulnerable in the dim light.

The chill of the air contrasted sharply with the heat building inside you, but it only fueled your desire further. You stepped into the bathroom, your heart pounding, and when he finally turned to face you, his eyes widened in surprise and hunger.

“Nicholas,” you breathed, your voice thick with need. You stepped closer, the space between you two disappearing as the urgency of the moment enveloped you.

“Hey baby— oh shit.”

His towel dropped to the floor, forgotten, and in that instant, the world outside ceased to exist. It was just the two of you, raw, exposed, and yearning for each other.

“Oh god, I need you so bad,” you whined, your body pressed against his as you desperately kissed him all over his chest and tipped to meet his cheeks and lips.

Nicholas pulled you close, laughter in his eyes as he felt your warmth enveloping him. “What’s gotten into you, pretty baby?” he teased, a playful grin spreading across his face.

You looked up at him, your heart racing as you felt the heat radiating off his body. “Look at you,” you replied, your voice breathless. “Walking around here looking like this, sending me pictures of you shirtless… God, what do you expect?”

With a mischievous smile, you moved behind him, admiring his tall, muscular frame in the mirror. You couldn’t help but caress his abs, fingers tracing the defined lines, marveling at the way his body felt under your touch. He threw his head back in pleasure, a low groan escaping his lips as your hands explored him.

The atmosphere shifted, the playful banter giving way to something more primal. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the way his body responded to your every caress. His thick, long cock was painfully hard now , and you could sense the need in him building, mirroring your own.

You wrapped your fingers around him, stroking him gently as you both stared into the mirror. The sight was mesmerizing, his face contorting with pleasure, the way he fell apart under your touch, completely lost in the moment.

As you continued, you watched him unravel, utterly captivated by how hot he was, how perfectly he fit into your desires.

“Look at yourself daddy, I’m making you feel so good, you look so fucking sexy,” you panted, speeding up your movements.

You bit your lip as you felt him jump and throb in your hands, everything he did made you feral. Then, with a shudder and a low moan, you felt the warmth spill onto your hand, a testament to the electric connection between you two.

“Open your eyes,” you demanded. They fluttered open and he watched in the mirror as you sucked his cum from off your fingers before lifting them up to his lips making him taste what was left of himself. He hummed in content, the sound going straight to your pussy but you would deal with that problem soon.

“No,” you said, determination lacing your voice as you looked up at him. “I need to give you more. I want to show you just how much I appreciate you.”

Slowly, you sank to your knees, eyes locked onto his as you let your tongue glide over his chest, savoring the taste of his skin. You trailed your tongue down to his abs, worshipping every ridge and contour. “You’re so beautiful,” you murmured, your voice low and sultry. “So sexy, Daddy.”

His breath hitched at your words, and you could see the effect you had on him, his body responding to your every move. You reached down, wrapping your hand around his cock again, feeling him harden beneath your touch.

“Look at how big you are,” you praised, your voice dripping with admiration. “So perfect in my hands.” You leaned closer, giving him a teasing lick, savoring the taste of him, and your eyes rolled back in pleasure at how good he tasted. “Mm, you taste amazing daddy.”

With that, you took him into your mouth, feeling him fill you completely. The sounds of his pleasure willed you on, and you began to move, sending him to the back of your throat, lost in the rhythm of worshipping him. “You taste so good,” you whispered between breaths, and Nicholas groaned, his hands tangling in your hair, urging you on.

“Just like that, baby,” he praised, his voice thick with desire. “You’re fucking incredible.”

You continued, letting his praises wash over you, and as you felt him hold your head down and cum down your throat, it was like fireworks exploded around you. You savored the moment, knowing you had brought him to this point of ecstasy.

You couldn’t help but smile as you looked up at him, feeling bold. With your fingers, you gathered the rest of his release from his hard cock and brought it to your mouth. You took it in, savoring the taste, and smeared it and your saliva over his chiseled abs. You couldn’t resist the urge to lick it all off, your body shuddering with each stroke of your tongue.

“God, you’re fucking perfect, y’know that?” he said, watching you with a mix of awe and desire. “I appreciate that, baby. But now, it’s my turn to make you feel good.”

He positioned you in front of him, hoisting one of your feet up onto the counter, giving him a better angle. “Open your mouth,” he commanded softly, and you complied eagerly, watching as he spat into your waiting mouth. You swallowed it happily, feeling the rush of satisfaction.

Nicholas trailed his finger down your body, stopping at your soaking wet pussy. As he slipped a finger inside you, you gasped, your body arching toward him instinctively. “Look at yourself in the mirror,” he instructed, his voice thick with lust. “Look how beautiful you are.”

You glanced up, eyes locking with your reflection. The sight of you, flushed and breathless, sent a thrill through you. Nicholas’ finger worked expertly inside you, curling just right, and the pleasure began to build. “That’s it, baby. You’re so beautiful when you come apart like this,” he praised, his gaze never leaving your face as he watched you surrender to the waves of ecstasy. “Let me see you feel good.”

With each movement of his fingers, the pleasure surged higher, and you found yourself lost in the sensation. “Daddy,” your moans filling the room as you finally reached your release, trembling under his touch.

“That’s it, I’ve got you baby, daddy’s got you,” he cooed, rubbing your clit fast as your body jolted and slowly came down from your high.

Nicholas trailed kisses down your neck and across your shoulders, his lips warm against your skin. “Look in the mirror, baby,” he murmured, his breath hot against you. You obeyed, your heart racing as you met your own gaze, feeling every kiss ignite your desire.

With a sudden, playful movement, he bent you over the counter, a sharp smack landing on your ass. “You look so sexy like this,” he teased, watching you wiggle your backside against him. You grinned back at him, biting your lip. “You look like a Greek god,” you shot back, and he smirked, pride flashing in his eyes.

“Oh yeah?” he replied, holding your neck gently but firmly, bringing you back against his chest. You arched into him, feeling his hard cock tease against you as he slipped inside, filling you completely.

He began to pound into you roughly, his grip on your neck ensuring you were locked onto his gaze in the mirror. “Keep those eyes on me,” he commanded, and when you felt the urge to close them, he shook you slightly. “Look at yourself!”

“Daddy, you feel so good,” you gasped, feeling the pleasure building inside you.

“Tell me more,” he urged, his voice thick with desire. “Tell me how fucking hot I am.”

You nodded, breathless, “You’re so hot, so beautiful. I love your body, daddy. I love how you look as you pound into me.”

“Such a dirty slut,” he teased, reveling in the sight of you enjoying every second. He rubbed your clit, sending shocks of pleasure coursing through you. “Look at yourself being fucked.”

With a loud moan, you surrendered to the man behind, your release washing over you as you cried out his name like it was the only word you knew.

Nicholas smirked, a glint in his eye. “I’m not done with you yet,” he declared, hoisting you up effortlessly, arms hooked under your legs. He turned you sideways, positioning you perfectly so you could watch him slam into you.

“Worship me,” he commanded, his voice deep and gravelly making you throb.

You felt a surge of excitement course through you, and you nodded, biting your lip as you gazed into his eyes. “You’re everything, Nicholas. So strong, so perfect,” you whispered, your heart racing at the power he held over you, “you’re so fucking beautiful, your body is a work of art.”

With each thrust, he drove deeper, filling you completely. “That’s it, baby. You know how to treat me right,” he growled, his tone playful yet commanding. “Show me how much you want me.”

You leaned forward, kissing him passionately, your hands roaming over his chiseled chest and arms. “I need you,” you breathed between kisses. “You feel so good. I can’t get enough daddy.

“Good girl,” he praised, his voice thick with lust. “I want to see you cum again.”

You gasped as he hit that sweet spot inside you, sending waves of pleasure crashing over you. “Daddy!” you cried out, feeling yourself on the edge once more. “I’m so close!”

“Then let go for me,” he urged, his eyes locked on yours, watching as the ecstasy took over. “Worship your man, baby.”

With one final thrust, you felt the familiar rush of pleasure envelop you as you climaxed, a wave of satisfaction washing over you. “Nicholas!” you cried, and he groaned in response, losing himself in the moment as he held you close, his body trembling with the intensity of it all but still not releasing.

He didn’t let you go. Instead, he laid your body down on the counter just a little, your legs wrapped tightly around him as he pounded into you once more. The world flipped upside down as you caught your reflection in the mirror, his tall frame hovering above you. The sight of him, muscles glistening and face twisted in pleasure, made your head spin.

“Who’s your daddy?” he asked, his voice thick with desire, his hand firm around your neck, exerting just enough pressure to send shivers down your spine.

“You,” you gasped, barely able to catch your breath. “You look like a god, so so h-handsome.”

The feeling of being so close to him made you dizzy, and his relentless thrusts only intensified the sensation. “I’m gonna fill you up and breed you like a bitch,” he growled, and your body responded to his words, craving more.

“Please,” you begged, your voice barely above a whisper as you gasped for air, but the urgency in your tone said everything. “I want it. I want you. I want your cum inside me!”

He smirked, the heat of his breath against your skin sending another wave of pleasure through you. “Since you think I’m so perfect, we’re gonna make the most perfect little babies,” he teased, pounding harder, deeper. You could feel the tension building as he brought you closer to the edge once more.

With a final, powerful thrust, he filled you completely, each pulse of his hot cum sending waves of ecstasy coursing through both of you. You felt him tremble against you as he held your neck tightly, ensuring you were looking at yourselves in the mirror.

As the high faded, exhaustion washed over you. He scooped you up into his arms, your head resting on his shoulder like a baby, ironic, considering what just happened. He brought a towel to clean you up, laying you gently on the bed, his lips trailing soft kisses across your skin.

“You did so good, baby,” he murmured, pride evident in his voice. “You took me so well. I’m so proud of you. You’re so perfect, princess.”

You cuddled into him, tracing circles on his pecs as you kissed his chest, savoring the warmth and safety of his embrace. In that moment, everything felt right, the world outside forgotten as you enjoyed the afterglow of what you had just shared.

[ciderjacks]

dad issues

+

(I think they were all fundamentally affected by what they saw and just collectively decided not to share the upsetting details)

[gladiatorcunt]

- A ROTTEN TREE BEARS ROTTEN FRUIT | I.

god loves you, but not enough to save you

cw: kinktober prompt (whipping/flogging), blasphemy, inaccurate religious practices, lyrical sadomasochism (more so sadism on his part), erotic religious imagery and references, this dynamic is so weird, implied (as in in my mind) bi reader and charlie, plus sized reader, reader’s chest referred to as ‘breasts’ & ‘tits’ and their crotch referred to as a ‘hole’ but they do have a seperate one other than their ass, pregnancy fantasy, vomit mention, don’t know shit about the show fuck you ryan, blood kink, interchangeable ‘charlie’ & ‘mayhew’ based on pov

do not translate, repost, or feed this work to ai |

kinktober 2024

“Shh, let me clean you up, Father.” You smile, so softly, he could snap your neck if he squeezed hard enough.

You run your nails over his back, trimmed to an appropriate length. Father Mayhew sighs the way Adam might’ve when Eve’s walls clenched around him, God never being more important than this bliss. You’re so devoted, so devout in your worship but he’s beginning to think that you cry out to a different God than he does. If you even believe in an invisible one anymore when you have a savior in the flesh.

“Thank you, dear. That’d be great.” The pulls are pulled from his lips like rotund wooden beads, as if he has no choice but to endure the stretch as they exit his body one by one.

You shuffle off the bed and kneel behind him, stroking your fingertips down his back like he’s a marble statue you just can’t help but reach out and touch. The opposite of Delilah cutting Samson’s hair, you only want to imbue him with your pure love from the inside out. Spooning milk and honey over the tender welts.

His eyelids crinkle as you kiss the nape of his neck, blotting your lips with rouge. There is no inch of his back left without, and when you arrive at the bigger gashes you lavish the cut with your tongue. Drinking his life away and cleaning him up like a good little whore, servicing the man becomes the only thing of importance to you. You dip the tip of your tongue in the recess of the deeper wounds, and caress his tensing abs from behind when he grits his teeth and traps a curse behind them. You only kitten lick him, but often he wishes you would get real dirty with it, caressing your tongue over his muscles in broad and messy swipes.

His scars from previous lashings glint in the low light of the candles surrounding you. You give them their just desserts of course, grateful pecks of attention and acknowledgement. Soothing his pain, that is the only excuse you have to encroach on the verge of breaking your vows. Father Mayhew gives you a purpose and stops your bleating with a heavy hand if you forget your place. Stern hand to raw and stinging flesh.

Sometimes there is no pillow when you kneel behind him.

The next step is that you turn around and face the wall after picking up the cattail whip off the bed and returning it to its rightful owner. You’ve already discarded your habit, no tunic, coif, or veil left on your person. They’re folded neatly beside you, only your rosary nestled in the embrace of your heaving breasts. Your peaks harden in the stuffy humid air, all the oxygen in the world confined to this small room.

He saddles up behind you, his sweaty chest so close to the flesh and contours of your back. Father Charlie breathes you in, taking whiffs of your debauched scent in between silent prayers. He never allows himself to be as forward as you are, his thread of control over his desire has not snapped yet. There are boundaries he can push, but lines he can never cross.

“Good lamb, God recognizes your penance and forgives your soul.” He whispers, dragging the strips of leather down your back until goosebumps rise to the surface.

When you least expect it, he strikes. You muffle a shout into the wall and Father Charlie’s cock jumps under his towel. Briefly he imagines slamming into your tempting body dry, with no preparation, making you sure you feel as much pain as possible. The way you’d wince with every step around the church, the begging in your puppy dog eyes when you’d take communion. How he could hold it above your head like a bone in the shape of a fractured cross, dangling just out of reach of your gorgeous mouth.

The devil gives him dreams of fucking your throat until you’re vomiting and hoarse.

Every droplet of bed peeking out from the cracks of your skin to say hello nourishes him. He shushes you when you’re unable to hold back your sounds, cooing when he notices you humping the air after the fifteenth hit. You just can’t help yourself, nerdy by nature and nurture.

You start soaking the pillow beneath you, imagining what he must look like. A man and his broad hulking body curling around you as he hurts you. Your hole suddenly feels so empty, you have a night of riding your pillow ahead of you, you just want to be good for him in all the ways you’re supposed to be.

As you let a demon of sex control your body, he spies a flash of a white lacy thong nestled between your plump ass cheeks. He knows that if you had also worn a towel, he would’ve hooked his fingers under the fabric and pulled it off. You don’t get to hide any part of yourself from your Father. And he knows he will have to give himself another lashing for those thoughts alone. Even the secret wedding he plans as he strokes his angry red cock, always edging himself, he’s afraid of what would happen if he lets go. How loud the iron gates would be when they creak open. Like the way he wants to spread your ass open and toy with the hidden puckered hole.

His words are in his actions, reopening your old wounds and bringing the warm leather across your back one last time, he hopes your blood soaks through the material. Staining it, the way you have already stained his heart. Father Charlie grins despite himself when you slump against the wall, sliding his bible-roughened hands over your love handles and sticks his pecs to your shoulders.

“You did lovely, today. The Lord thanks you, and I’m so proud of you, you know that?” His thick fingers brush along the bottoms of your tits, never going higher.

He wants to slap them, wrap the beads of your rosary around them until the flesh bulges, painting your nipples in a mix of both of your blood. Marking your souls irreversibly. Marriage of the spirit, a ritualistic wedding in the eyes of the beholder. You shiver like a mouse in front of a snake, and beads of precum fall from his cockhead.

Did Saint Teresa have these feelings when she had the vision of an angel piercing her heart with their golden spear? Did Saint Sebastian when he was pierced by those arrows under the order of the Emperor? Did David when he wrenched Goliath’s head back by his hair and bested him into humiliation? Did it compare to the covenant he formed with Jonathan?

He kisses your glittering scars in thanks and washes your blood away with his lips and tongue too. But unlike any other day in which you’ve done this, he stands up with a grunt and pulls you up with him. Father Mayhew falls backwards onto his bed and so you follow dutifully, and because the hold he has on your wrist is strong to the point of bruising. You lay your head over his heart and pant into his skin as he teases your plush thigh, tracing crosses into the chubby expanse of skin.

“No one has ever seen God; but if we love one another, God lives in us and his love is made complete in us.” He cajoles, walking on that burning tightrope with you.

He wonders if your cunt would be just as chubby, if you’ve ever thought about humping the organ bench, riper than the forbidden fruit, and he mentally catalogs an extra long session of repentance. To be fresh and clean again. Father Charlie will go through his sermons with his lighthearted tone and charming personality, desperate to hide that he’s thinking of plunging his tongue in your asshole. Sipping and slurping up your musk like it’s the only holy water he needs to live. Or entice you into eating his ass, you would love being able to serve him properly, no doubt.

To nourish you with his fragments, his vertebrae and viscera. The body and the blood. The teeth and the testicles.

He’ll sit in quiet contemplation in front of the pulpit, pouring wine over your body in his mind. Following the red trail with his tongue as it trickles down the valley of your chest and dips in and out the folds of your belly. He’ll leisurely open his mouth on a silent moan at the top of your mound, the hairs like yellowing blades of glades against his philtrum, in a perfect paradise there’d be blood there too. His own personal, pervertedly literal, red sea.

You’d look so beautiful, swollen and fat with a child growing in your womb. A shame that can never happen, but a blessing that no heretic of a man could snatch you up and take you away from him. Your flock is here, and the heavy crook of his staff is all you need to guide you back home when you go astray. Trapped in his thighs, molded by his hands, punctured into line with his cock.