#Hallowed Be Thy Fall

[akayna]

October 2024.

The different lighting designs at this were so dope

[dreadbornesaint]

tag dump - gen

[foxgloveinspace]

I’ve been tired since three pm, I legit fell completely asleep on the way home from shopping, I’ve been so tired I’m cold and shaky since like four pm. Going to be only about 40 min before my normal bed time is a miracle at this point.

[capseycartwright]

oh what a terrible honor it's been (to learn that my blessings are things you call sins)

Hey God, it's me, Eddie. I hope you don’t mind that I’m sitting in your house thinking gay thoughts.

Eddie couldn’t help but giggle to himself as he thought the words. If he couldn’t be a bit silly while having a sexuality crisis in a Catholic church – when could he? 

Christopher leaves for Texas, Eddie goes back to therapy, unearths an emotional lockbox he had been fourteen years old when he buried, and has a lot of thoughts about how Buck is sunshine incarnate. In hindsight, it probably should have been obvious he wasn't straight.

ao3 link

t’s been a long time since Eddie Diaz had set foot in a church – of his own accord, at least. He’d been to the christenings and communions and confirmations of all of his various nieces, nephews, and cousins, he’d sat stiff in the pew as he’d watched friends, and family get married, trying his best not to remember how own wedding day, the way Shannon’s hands had shaken in his grip as they promised to love each other until death do them part, both of them young, too young to understand the covenant they were signing up to. Eddie had been there, for all those occasions, but he hadn’t gone to mass, or even sat in a church, just because he wanted to in a very long time. 

He wasn’t even really sure if he wanted to be there today, but it was a Thursday, and Christopher was in Texas, and Eddie wasn’t working, and he’d been having an extended mental breakdown for the last few weeks, and before he knew it, he was sitting in the pew of St Brendan’s Catholic Church, listening to a softly spoken priest with an Irish lilt to his accent – faded, after years in America, Eddie presumed, but still there, noticeable in the inflection of certain words – recite the Our Father. 

Eddie had never been to St Brendan’s before, but it felt like every other church he’d been to in his life. They didn’t all look the same, necessarily, though they followed the same format, rows of uncomfortable wooden pews and an altar decorated in gold, as opulent as it was suffocating. Eddie had thought it beautiful, before, the way Catholic churches were decorated in gold and jewels, believing for so much of his life that the wealth honoured God – but living life had made him learn the grandeur and displays of wealth were nothing more than indicative of the wealth the Catholic church had hoarded while their devout followers starved, all in the name of faith and of God. True faith didn’t need to be gilded in gold to be sincere, he’d decided.

Eddie had never been to St Brendan’s before, but mass was the same. It didn’t change – though the wording of some of the prayers did. He’d sort of been checked out of being a regular churchgoer by time they had changed some of the prayers, only discovering the difference when he confidently started to recite it wrong at his youngest niece’s communion, his mother fixing him with a glare so icy hell might have frozen over under the power of Helena Diaz’s gaze alone. He’d never learned the new ones, not really, and so Eddie just recited the one’s he’d learned for his own confirmation, the words falling from his lips, muscle memory more than it was faith now. 

Our father, who art in heaven – hallowed be thy name . 

Eddie couldn’t help but laugh, a little, as he murmured the prayer. Hallowed be thy name. He knew the prayer talked about God, their holy father, but the prayer had always made him think of his own father, of the way Ramon Diaz was a hallowed man in his own right, how he parented with an iron fist and expected to be obeyed. 

Things were getting better now, with his dad. Maybe – maybe that was part of the fear. Eddie had always been afraid of letting people down, but more than anyone, he was afraid of letting his father down – of seeing that look of disappointment set into every crease of his father’s face, an expression he’d been on the receiving end of for more of his childhood than he’d like to admit. Eddie had tried so hard to make sure he was never on the receiving end of that look again, but nothing he had ever done was good enough – not marrying Shannon, not the way he had tried to take responsibility for his young family, not the army, not the man he had been when he’d come home from Afghanistan. 

Distance had lessened the number of disappointed looks, but Eddie knew that was because he was simply not seeing them anymore; he was sure his father sometimes frowned at the phone when they’d finally call, silted conversation about Christopher and life at the firehouse the best either of them could muster. 

It wasn’t perfect, but it was getting better. 

At least it had been, until his parents had taken Christopher with them to Texas. It hadn’t helped their relationship – but it hadn’t hindered it as much as Eddie had expected either. He was never going to thank them, for the way they had swooped in, ready to take Christopher at a moment’s notice, but he could thank them for giving his son the space that he needed to process. Eddie couldn’t give him that space, right now, but he was grateful someone could. Still – he would be ready to drive to Texas at the drop of a hat when Christopher decided he was ready to come home.

Things were getting better, that was the thing. His dad called, every night, to update Eddie on Christopher’s day. Eddie could hear the familiar sounds of the Diaz backyard as his dad softly spoke, telling Eddie about how Christopher had been to the lake, with his cousins, and how he’d finished another book, and how he was helping Helena to make dinner, right then. It had filled the gap until Christopher had started to call Eddie himself, his voice tinny as he mumbled over the phone, things not quite back to normal, Christopher not willing to talk to him about anything except Marvel and Minecraft and how abuela’s tamales were better than Eddie’s, but better than they were, at least. 

Every time they were on the phone, Eddie reassured his parents that he was working on himself. He was back seeing Frank, every week, and at Frank’s encouragement, he’d joined a veteran’s support group. Eddie wasn’t exactly the picture-perfect military veteran he assumed he needed to be, to join a veteran support group, but the rag-tag group that met at his community hall every month weren’t exactly the flag-wearing, gun-toting veterans he’d expected them to be. James was a 63-year-old man from Massachusetts who ran the group – he had moved out to LA to live with his daughter after he retired and referred to himself delightedly as a stay-at-home grandfather. Luisa was a vet around Eddie’s own age, and she’d gone back to university after she got out of the army and got a fine arts degree. She liked to paint, and talked about her wife with a reverence and openness that Eddie could only admire. 

He hadn’t said a word the first time he went, and Buck had sat in the Jeep in the carpark, a ready-made escape plan for Eddie in case he decided it was all too much. Eddie had sat quietly as the group had chatted, drinking tea and coffee out of flimsy paper cups, and eating homemade biscuits – made by James, who, as it turned out, was quite the prolific baker – and he’d watched. He’d watched as the group had talked about their bad days, and their good days, and how they were coping with life after the military, and not a single glorious war-story was exchanged. 

That was when Eddie knew it was safe to keep going. He was never going to be a man who was proud of his service, and he didn’t want to have to attend a support group of people who’d talk about their time in the military like it was the good old days. He had spoken a little more, the second time he went – Buck doing his groceries, two streets away, rather than sitting in the carpark – and he’d introduced himself, his voice gruff as he tried to figure out what version of Eddie he wanted to present to the world. 

Eddie was still figuring that part out – the version of himself he wanted to be, that is. 

He was figuring himself out. That was the point. He was trying, he was really trying – and people could see that, Eddie was sure. His parents said they could, at least.

Which was why he was here – in a church not dissimilar to the one he’d attended every Sunday in El Paso growing up – on his knees, praying to a God he wasn’t sure he actually believed in for guidance. 

read the rest on ao3

[latenightdaydreams]

Priest!König x Nun!Reader (Fem)

This is my first time writing and posting! i hope you enjoy!

Part2, Part3

MDNI🔞

For more: Master list

>CW: MDNI, fem/afab reader, religion, cnc, whipping, breath play, oral

.

.

.

.

“Our father,“

*Whip*

“Who art in heaven,”

*Whip*

“Hallowed be thy name.” Your voice trembling as you resight the Lord’s prayer naked and kneeling at the churches alter, your bare knees digging into the hard wood floor beneath you. This being the fifth time you’ve said this prayer, your body began to tremble from the cold.

The whip came down again this time across your breast, hitting your sensitive hardened nipples,

“Keep going, I didn’t tell you to stop.” Father König’s voice thick with an Austrian accent and stern.

“Thy kingdom come,”

*whip*

“Thy will be done” The whip comes down hard on your already sore and bleeding rear. You take a sharp inhale. When you’re about to continue your prayers, Father König comes up behind you and pulls on your hair through your habit.

“You’re taking too many breaks-“ he says in an angry and cold tone as he holds your head in place with one hand. With the other he reached under his robes to fish his hardened cock out. You see his fat cock with a leaky pink tip, your eyes go up to meet his behind a mask that hides his whole face. His icy blue eyes look down at you with disappointment.

“Open,” he says in a demanding voice, one that you know to listen to without hesitation. You open your mouth as wide as you can for him as he guides your mouth on to his arousal. You close your eyes as the warm skin presses against your lips.

Your soft lips wrapping around his desperate cock and lightly sucking on the head. Instantly you can taste the bitter tang of precum on your tongue.

“Look at me,” Father König says with a slight groan in his voice.

Your eyes go up to meet his as he slowly begins to push your head lower on to his cock. You begin to gag and instinctively place your hands on his thighs to push away.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he growls as you slowly move your hands away.

Tears beginning to build up in your eyes as he pushes your head lower. You gag again causing tears to begin to roll down your face. You look into his eyes begging him to be merciful on you and relax his hold but he doesn’t, he only pushes you down more until your nose is buried in a soft patch of blonde hair.  You gag and your hands go to his legs and being to push back, but it’s no use.

He holds your there, smacking the side of your face with his large calloused hands. Your delicate skin stings and more tears flow down. The feeling of his massive cock filling your mouth and lingering in your throat made it hard to breathe.

You began tap on his thighs hoping he would see that you can’t breathe only to be met with his fingers now pinching your nose shut. “You can fucking take it, just a little more…” His voice laced with pleasure.

You continue to struggle in a panic knowing you’re defenseless against the 6’10 retired military priest. Tears following from your eyes as spit begins to bubble out of the corner of your mouth.

“If I let you breathe, will you be a good girl?”

“Mmmm!” You mumble while nodding your head. Your eyebrows pinched together pleading with him.

Eventually he lets go of your nose and hair and you pull back from his length, coughing and spitting up thick globs of phlegm. You gasp for air, taking in deep rapid breaths as you fall forward on your hands.

“That’s your last warning, next time I won’t be so nice,” he bends down to your eye level and looks at your teary face, “Now continue.”

Part2, Part3

[ahhhwomen]

Wait, no, please share. I need to see the darkness 👀

a/n: you asked for it, also this is half shit written cus its just a blurb lol

WARNING TAGS: Violence, religious trauma, death, blood

Platonic Relationship: MotherFigure!Natasha x DaughterFigure!Reader

You’re a freak, a monster, a killer. The girl under you had told you as much.

The skin on your knuckles splits and tears as your hands continue to collide with the helpless prey beneath you. Small droplets of blood scatter and spray the mats covering the floor.

Please, for the love of god, stop me now.

The girl under you cries and begs, but it only spurs you on. It’s like you can see her life force, clutched in your greedy palms, you just need to use a bit more force. Then the voices will stop, your muscles will loosen, and the fear will dissipate. The bunny beneath you is suffering, you just want to help it.

She tries to kick you away, her legs slamming into your ribs, but as your hands take hold of her hair and smash her skull into the ground, you can’t feel it.

Please, God, embrace thy child and end her suffering.

The priest’s words echo; please God, forgive the sinner, and aid her prey.

You can feel Mira’s fingernails dig into the skin beside your eyes, her fingers slip and glide clumsily against your blank face.

 She’s trying to dig her thumbs into your eye socket but the blood covering both of you makes her falter and you use her momentum against her and violently twist your elbow outward, crashing it into her outstretched arm, and there is a sickening crack as Mira screams in agony.

The redhead´s other hand yanks your hair violently before you can deliver the last blow.

Oh, please God, save this sick child.

Your bloodshot eyes stare widely at her shivering frame, Mira stares back at you, her fear evident in the way her pupils are nothing but a pin needle in a sea of endless green.

 Please God, lay the monster dormant and return thy child to the great heavens above.

When you dig your knee into her stomach, the hand that had previously held you back loses its grip, and you can finally end it. It would only take eight ounces of force for your thumbs to penetrate the thin skin over the lower part of her jugular.

And yet-

You make the ultimate mistake.

As you straddle her and start digging your thumbs in, you look up at her young face. Tears roll down her chin, her face is pale and bloody. But her red hair falls like a hallow around her, and her eyes are the perfect resemblance to a familiar emerald, green.

Please God, save thy child. For thy child is alone.

Natasha was the only person to ever make you feel like you belonged. She was the only one to let you feel hope. Feel love.

Natasha was like the mother you never had.

Your small hands clasp the cross tightly and you kneel in front of the altar. The statues are intimidating as your little frame looks up at them in hope.

“Oh, please God, kill me before I can do more harm.” You spoke as clearly as you could into the cold crisp air inside the abandoned church.

You thought you were alone, but then a tall woman with angelic red hair had found you.

“What are you doing her kid?”

You're frozen above the scared girl as you come too.

“What have I done?” you whisper to yourself and quickly lift yourself to let the smaller girl free. However, just as you are about to stand. A white-hot agony shoots up your spine and you fall, the mat is cold and sticky, and you try to push yourself up with the use of your arms, but you can’t move.

There is something firm lodged in your back.

Natasha stands over your limp frame, she can feel the sweat on her palms glide against every nook and cranny as she stands there numbly, not being able to remove her eyes from the handle sticking out of your small back.

Natasha had done that.

She didn’t have a choice.

You had talked about this before…

That if the day ever came when you lost control.

That the redhead needed to do what was right.

She had to.

She had to.

Her knees creak in protest as they ram into the wet mat. Her fingers clutch and grasp at any part of you she can gather up. Your skin is already losing warmth and she curls around you in hopes of returning it. You wheeze when she pulls your body over hers.

You can’t feel anything, but the force against your lungs worsens as Natasha tries to apply pressure around the metal in your skin.

Thank you, God.

You can feel your mind slipping away from you, and the pressure starts consuming you. You can do nothing but use all of your last strength to muster up the words you never had the opportunity to say.

“I’m sorry mom.”

[neverchecking]

Day 9: Glory Hole- The Chain

Smut so Minors Do Not Interact. If I find out a minor has interacted with my blog, I will block you.. Thank you!

Smut CW: Religious themes, like HEAVY religious themes. This is pretty much a dash of my religious trauma with sex. I don't name who's doing the do to Reader, but I think you guys should be able to guess lmao.

This is Day nine of My Kinktober so be sure to come back and check out the other days! Friendly Reminder that all of my smut is tagged 'Cindersins' including this, but this will also be tagged as 'Cinder's happy halloween' along with the run of the mill smut tags.

Kinktober Masterlist <<< Day 8>>>Day 10

Your legs were so sore. Every part of you ached something fierce but some primal part of you yearned for more. You had long since lost count on how many loads were dripping out of your abused core right now, cooling in a trail down the apple of your ass as you gasped for relief. Everything felt smoggy and heavy around you, like a sweltering cloud pushing upon you in punishment for the sins you committed. 

Looking up and arching your head to look behind you, eyes falling on the large wooden cross behind you, you can’t but feel it is. The wooden beads strung around your neck had long since lost the chill they once had, instead coated in a thin sheen of your sweat, the heavy ornate centerpiece-- matching the one behind you--  sticking to the skin underneath your collarbone. Whatever heavy robes you had been wearing earlier had been tossed up to rest on your stomach, leaving your bottom half bare to the world. 

Your one hand shakily reached up to grasp the cross charm, clasping it between both of your clammy palms with your fingers white knuckled around them. Your eyes were clamped shut, as you were not permitted to look upon the deities far beyond your comprehension. Just feel them. “Our Father, who art in heaven.” Your voice crackled as cotton mouth choked you. 

Rough hands roamed every inch of your skin, several palms molding your flesh to their own desire. 

“Hallowed be thy name.” 

There was no sense in foreplay as the next one to slip their cock against you felt no resistance. Lubed by your own fluids and whatever had been left over from past rounds. “Atta’ girl. Ya; take us all so well. Such a good lil’ follower ya’ are.”

You whined as something much thicker than the previous gods had you pinned, rutting into you in a steady rhythm. “Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on Earth as it is in heaven.”

Tears burned behind your closed eyes, pushing past your lash line before bulbing down your cheeks. A hand, colder than the ones holding your hips currently, gently swiped it away. “Now, now sunshine. You were doing so well. Give us our next line, doll face.”

“Give us this day our daily bread-” You hiccuped at the feeling of palms pawing at your chest, toying with your pebbled nipples through the robes you dawned. “And forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.” 

There were mumbled arguments and a few dropped curses as the pace quickened, the god’s cock plunging in and out of your core at an impressive rate. 

“Lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil.” 

The pinches to your nipples became harsher, almost as if punishing you further for the sacrilegious acts you not only condoned but took an active part in. 

“For thine is the Kingdom, the Power, and the Glory are Yours,” 

Your breath once again hitched, as if you were swallowing a pebble rather than air, making your chest clamp as your thighs shook and twitched rapidly. 

“Forever and ever.”

Your back arched as you whined, clamping around the divinity’s cock as you came, feeling another rush of cum flood into your core. The god pulled out and another took his place, the chill of rings now running along your calves. 

“Amen.” 

[irishmammonagenda]

Catholic MC Gets Sent Into Hell?! Not Clickbait! (part one)

introduction, part one, part two, part three warnings: light swearing, religious theme(s), GN (though implied AFAB mc, they/them pronouns used.) It's implied that MC knows prayers in irish,idk how to word that but😭😭 (i'm new to writing so i dont think i'm too good at characterisation yet)

A strangled scream rips itself from their throat as they lurch downwards into what can only be described as an abyss, the plastic river rock bottle and their phone almost rip themselves from their blazer, MC grips onto them for dear life, the only familiar things in this vacuum of darkness.

The fear almost paralyzes them, and through their years of catholic conditioning, MC does the only thing they can think to do, they pray. Muttering out a prayer to the Patron Saint of Protection, Archangel Michael, MC finds theirself falling onto cold, tiled ground in some bastardisation of wonderland.

They almost sigh in relief, if not for the group of people they catch in their peripherals, on their knees MC looks around, pulling their school skirt further down, it unrolls slightly from where it was rolled at the waist. MC lends wide eyes to the 8 men around the....court room...? They're met with a range of reactions. A man with hair red as blood stands, his arms extended out at his sides in some sort of attempt to be welcoming, to his right is a stoic, though calmly smiling man with green ombre-esque hair. Arguably the most unsettling of the two.

Nevertheless, MC looks to the 6 others in the room, their instincts going haywire, a blond with eyes so green they could be neon, a beautiful man-not that the rest weren't-with hair that reminded MC of the rose coloured shloer they'd get to drink at Christmas.

A man with...indigo? hair...MC was never good with colours, but it didn't matter as he was more focused on his gameboy and glaring at the tan white haired man who looked like the epitome of chaos than them. MC could live with that. They could also live with not having seen the ginger inhale a cake whole, but that was by far the least strange thing that had happened. Then they set their eyes upon the last man of the group, standing to the left hand side of the red-haired brown skinned man, a brunet, or would it be more fitting to say noirette? MC didn't know, either way his hair was black as night, with the slightest hint of silver....or was it grey? Either way, he meets their gaze with his crimson eyes. MC's breath hitches. Falling, only to land in an emo pinterest board looking courtroom with a bunch of men, all of which with strange hair and eyes? They needed to leave.

The man with scarlet hair begins to talk, "Hello MC and welcome to the Devil-"

"Our father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy na-" MC begins to mutter, their eyes shut tight. The tension in the room grows thicker, they can no longer hear the game on the indigo haired man's gameboy, he must've shut it off.

"Lucifer....What's the human doing?" Scarlethead man asks hesitantly, the name spurs MC on, their prayer ups an octave, "By kingdom come, thy will be done-"

"-Praying. It looks like, Diavolo." A sadistic sounding voice responds, offence dripping in this 'Lucifer's' tone.

"-on earth as it is in heaven-"

"-Oh."

MC drowns out the squabble that begins between these...demons. They pray over and over again, the fighting only continues as they get started into the ten Hail Marys.

"Sé do bheatha a Mhuire, atá-"

A new voice joins in. "Ohh?~ What's with the strange words? That doesn't sound like latin."

A sigh can be heard afterwards, "Neither was the praying in English, Asmo. Besides, humans pray in all of their languages now."

"Really?"

"Feck."

Now that gets MC to stop praying and to look up in surprise at the sound of the voice, "Of course demons can be Irish. Of fucking course." They mutter before meeting several pairs of eyes and immediately lowering their head and muttering once more.

"Satan! You visited humans way more t-than us! D-do something!" MC doesn't hear the chain of responses, only picking up, 'worthless otaku like me!' and 'i'm not a human whisperer!'

The name Satan though....

"Saint Michael the Archangel! Defend us in battle!-"

"-Michael?" The strict tone says aloud. Tension was growing thicker.

"-Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil!-"

"-now thats just mean!"

"-Yeah! Human who do ye think yer messin' with?-"

"-May God rebuke him we humbly pray!-"

"My Lord, would you like me to fetch Simeon?"

"That would be a good idea!" The scarlet haired demon, the 'Lord' says, there's laughter? in his voice though.

"-And do thou, O Prince of the Heavenly Host!-"

Silence takes over the room. Until it doesn't.

"Hmm?~ Wasn't that Lucifer's role?"

"W-whaa?! Don't bring that up! He l-looks like he's about to rage quit during a campaign!"

"Diavolo. How long will Barbatos be in fetching Simeon." That annoyed, stern voice asks, although it's less of a question and more of an order. That must be Lucifer.

"-bY the Power of GOd, cast into hell SataN! And all-"

Snickering can be heard.

"L plus Ratio plus ROFL!"

"Shut up Levi." A voice hisses.

"-other eVIL Spirits who pROwl around the wORLD seeking the ruin of souls!"

"Uhhh...*munch* why's the human glowing?"

...

"nevermind."

[themysticaldrumstick]

O author, who art in TumblrSpace, hallowed be thy handle

I beseech you in the name of smut 🤣

Pretty-pretty please with a cherry on top, can you write a breeding kink piece for a M!E and F!MC?

Think of all the thirsty fans! 🥵

MINORS DNI. Run away as fast as you can.

DON'T BE TEMPTED, alright? I see you ALL.

I was kind of surprised when I saw that no one wanted smut, but also kind of relieved because my knowledge in erotic fiction is just.. nah. This ask had me shuddering in my boots and researching as if I was writing a thesis. And my god, did I find some depraved shit, winding down the dark rabbit hole. Off to horny jail.

Anyways, without further ado-- 🥁

Content Warnings: Pure filth. Elliot with a breeding kink, rip. This can be read in a positive or a negative way-- and you'll understand what I'm talking about once you read it. It's not great, but I tried.

--------------------------------------------

You're positive that the world has never looked blurrier-- and well, hotter. You were sweating after all, feeling the delicious weight of Elliot's body encapsulating yours.

You groan in need, feeling the rich slide of his cock past the bundle of nerves as his hips thrust against yours. Without his glasses, you can see just how affected he is-- from your touch, his pupils dilated to the point where his blue eyes seem almost dark. It's impossibly different without the usual rubber over his dick. It's been so long, since he's felt someone raw to the point where he almost feels like an inexperienced teen.

He's overstimming both you and himself and you realize that-- however, you think he doesn't or at least, in this moment, he seems so lost and so.. profoundly dazed from the way your walls clench so tastefully around him.

He seems like he's gone in his own world, brain short-circuited. But, his movements are feverish and quick, his kisses across your breasts, full of fevour.

Hell, you've lost track of how many times you've cum, by now.

However, your cramped bed and damp sheets somehow keep you grounded to reality-- the faint creaks from the bed reminding you that you do live in a shitty rented apartment, with the thinnest wall known to mankind.

"Elliot--" You moan and his fingers squeeze the soft fat on your hips, his teeth sinking into his lips, brows stitched together.

"God, you feel-- you feel so good." He almost babbles.

"Now, he says I'm good."

"Oh, shut up." He huffs, his hips snapping against yours, hitting spots deep within you, that you're pretty sure you didn't even know, existed. You let out a hiss of pleasure.

He heaves, his hands coming up to your mouth as he pounds furiously into you. He looks almost feral-- wrecked. "You're so.. so beautiful, you don't even know it. Just wanna breed you."

Your breath hitches and you almost groan, clenching around him. The prospect of a baby-- something you two had been discussing lately amongst yourself that had lead to.. well, this-- had you nervous yet excited. Perhaps it was stupid to wish for a child so young, but you both wanted it and.. the whole idea of a family awakened something in you that you weren't even aware of.

His head falls back, his hips stuttering-- he's close, you can feel it, but his breathless rambles don't stop, the sweat trickling down his body. "Gonna make you a mother, just want to see you filled with me. Just me. Just mine."

Just his.

Being the mother of his child?

You'd hate to admit it, but the idea sounds too good to resist. And before you know it, he's plunging his fingers back inside you-- eyes dark with need.

Just to be sure, he says.

And you can't help but agree.

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

Lead me not into Temptation

Pairing: Priest!Marcus Pike x reader/nameless OFC (no physical description, story uses 3rd person "she")

Rating: E (explicit smut, 18+ only)

Word Count: ~2k

Summary: I'll let @write-and-buried tell it for me:

A/N: My apologies to @chaoticgeminate who also had an idea based off of this UNCALLED FOR prompt in the Discord. I hope I'm not stepping on any toesies by posting my own take. When the spirit moves you, you gotta follow it, right? (Pun DEFINITELY intended.) Please enjoy 2k words of being in Priest Marcus Pike's fucked up little brain.

Masterlist

Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name…

The familiar verse dances on Marcus’s tongue, but the words are barely audible in the quiet of his bedroom. 

He doesn’t want to wake her. 

The sheets have slipped down, exposing the swell of her bare breasts in the soft moonlight coming through the blinds on his window, and in the dim lighting he notices a drop of his spend drying just to the side of her areola that he had missed, somehow, when he gently wiped her chest with a damp cloth earlier that evening. His mouth suddenly dry, Marcus forces his gaze back down to his clasped hands.

Thy kingdom come, thy will be done… 

Oh, God, what is he doing? 

What has he done? 

Even now, when Marcus looks back on the events of the past few months, he can't suss out when everything went so very wrong. 

Each tiny domino that fell hadn't seemed so bad at the time, each little concession, each little slip of his airtight composure and control.

How could he have known?

How could he ever have known? 

When his eyes casually swept over the pews during his sermon and landed on an unfamiliar–and striking–face, how could he have predicted what was to come?

When she had approached him after the service, introducing herself with a firm handshake and asking if he minded her sitting in on a few sermons and taking notes for her dissertation, how could he ever have known how much hunger he'd have for her.

Eager to talk theology with someone just as knowledgeable on the philosophy of religion, he'd been happy to stay after every service and answer her questions, jumping at the chance to really delve into his approach to leading his congregation.

When did it go so wrong?

When she started staying later and later, her eyes shining as she offered him quotes from some of history's greatest thinkers?

When she challenged him, flashing him that coy smile that he'd been starting to see in his dreams at night, pointing out any inaccuracies or accidental fallacies that fell from his lips? (She remembered everything.)

Or was it when she was in his office, perusing the many titles on his shelves and he had misjudged his distance as he'd come up behind her to slide a book back into place?

She'd turned, and suddenly they were too close; she was gazing up at him with wide eyes and parted lips and oh, how her chest was rising and falling so rapidly, and how easy it was to close the distance between them.

Every little step never seemed so egregious, did it? Marcus hardly noticed that they had crossed a line until the line was no longer in sight.

A slow descent into…

…on Earth as it is in Heaven. 

Oh, but if this was Hell, eternal damnation didn't seem all that bad.

Marcus drank from her mouth as if he were drowning. As though he had been wandering, parched, in a desert for days with no water until he fell to his knees at her oasis. 

A hunger he hadn't felt in years ignited deep in his belly, a pull toward her that he couldn't explain. 

After he took his vows of celibacy, he hadn't truly missed the pleasures of the flesh until he had known the feel of her lips on his. There were so many other pleasures in life, so many other ways to love. 

Marcus always loved with all of his being. With his mind, his heart, and with hands in service to others. With so many ways to offer himself to humanity, why would he miss just one aspect of devotion?

Give us this day our daily bread…

I'm not religious, she had confessed with an airy laugh one afternoon as she sat in his office, in the chair opposite his desk.

They had been discussing human nature, the fallibility of moral character, and she, with a wry smile, had challenged his idea that people could not be totally morally good without some kind of framework.

And you provide this framework? She asked with knowing glint in her eyes. 

It had been just one week since the kiss.

Humanity is, by nature, imperfect, Marcus conceded. Even those of the cloth. I can only do my best to lead by example and guide my congregation in what I believe God has provided as a guideline for morality.

So if it weren't for you, she said, your entire flock would be tempted to murder?

That's not what I'm saying at all, he'd argued. People know what's right and what's wrong, but–

You're contradicting yourself. Do they know right from wrong without you, or not? 

It's… it's the intricacies, he sputtered. I'm not talking about murder, I'm talking about… he trailed off, a little crease on the bridge of his nose as he searched for the right words.

She was smiling, her eyes crinkling around the edges, and Marcus had known, then, that he was in trouble.

With a shaky breath, he had slowly risen from his chair and walked around the deep mahogany desk in his office until he stood just in front of her.

I don't want to talk about good and evil, he had whispered, extending his hand and pulling her up until she was pressed against his chest. 

What do you want to talk about?

I don't want to talk, he breathed against her lips before claiming them for the second time.

…and forgive us our tresspasses…

He can't get enough of her.

Never has he been so consumed with the sins of the flesh–not even as a teenager. He craves her; every time he has her in his bed, it isn't enough. 

Part of it is the forbidden nature–this he knows. He's not supposed to fall victim to lust. Marcus committed himself to a higher purpose. 

Now, though, that purpose seems futile compared to the paradise between her thighs. 

During his sermons, he talks of chastity and of propriety. 

At night, he worships at her altar.

He hadn't been chaste before he took his vows. He was seventeen once too, after all. He had given partners pleasure, and he had lost himself in their bodies.

When he dedicated his life to the church, though, he thought he'd left that behind.

He can't stop. 

The minute his front door had clicked closed with the two of them inside of it for the first time, every carnal desire came flooding back to him in an instant. 

His hands were on her waist, her hips, her breasts. They clasped at her cheeks and pressed against the hinge of her jaw to open her mouth to him. His fingers slid up her pretty bare thighs underneath the cute-but-modest floral skirt she had worn to Mass. 

His mouth swallowed the soft gasp of pleasure as he lightly traced her folds over the fabric of her underwear.

He trembled at the sound of his name from her lips as he slipped a finger underneath the band and gently sank it, inch by inch, into her waiting heat. 

The sound broke him. The only thought left in his mind was how to make her make more of them. With a soft growl, he started to pump his finger in and out of her, reveling in the way her head fell back against the wall and how he could feel her knees buckle slightly. 

Fuck, he whispered softly to himself as he watched her face contort with pleasure. Oh, fuck. He couldn't stop–he'd never be able to get the sight of her out of his head now that he'd seen the way she looked just before she fell apart.

Just when it felt as though the sweet clutch of her velvet walls couldn't get any tighter, her eyes opened, and she looked right at him.

And when she fell, so did he.

…as we forgive those who trespass against us.

He had made love to her that first night.

Bodies close, their sweat-dampened skin sliding against each other in the dark. His lips hardly left hers for a moment as his hips undulated, letting their pleasures climb slowly. 

He had always been a gentle lover, even before. Any roughness he might have had inside him, he always held it back. 

More, she gasped against his skin. More, please, I need–harder…

She begged for his cock. For the desperate clutch of his fingers as they gripped her hips. 

I don't want to hurt you, he protested softly at first. Precious thing, I'll hurt you. 

You could never hurt me.

She showed him–

Marcus knew how to love. She taught him how to take her apart.

Send us not into temptation…

The sight of her spread out on his bed became a common one. Some depraved part of him loved to see her bare and wanting before he even unbuckled his belt. 

He'd crawl over her, the fabric of his black dress shirt brushing against her nipples and making them pebble in the cool air of the bedroom before they were engulfed in the heat of his mouth. 

Sometimes the only clothing he'd remove–as he kneeled between her spread legs, face inches from her glistening pussy–was his collar, slipping it out from his shirt and casting it to the corner of the room before burying his tongue inside her with a groan. 

He wanted her all the time. It was getting harder and harder to deliver his sermons, preaching of honoring God, while his cock was already half-hard at the sight of her in the first pew looking up at him, her ever present notebook open in her lap as she listened. 

All he could see in his mind's eye were those same eyes looking up at him while her lips were around his cock. 

Come over, he'd ask–beg–her when she slipped into his office after Mass under the guise of returning one of his books. 

It was a damn miracle that he hadn't yet spread her out on his desk, sending his sermon notes fluttering to the floor as he snapped his hips into her again and again. 

His favorite sight was to see her on her knees below him. Face pressed into the bedding, she made those sweet, desperate sounds with every rough punch of his cock. When he pressed her head down harder with his hand, she'd sob, her cries of yes, please, more muffled by the thumb that he'd hooked inside of her mouth.

…but deliver us from evil.

She's everything to him. 

Marcus should have known better than to try to maintain a casual–and highly forbidden–arrangement.

She's never asked, not once, but if she ever even suggested that he leave his life's calling behind and run away with her, he'd already be packing his suitcase before she even finished her sentence.

He wishes she would ask.

He looks up at her again, smiling, in spite of himself, at the sound of her soft snores emanating from her parted lips.

Perfect thing, he always calls her. Sweet girl, angel, temptress, siren, perfect, gorgeous woman.

Every endearment tumbles effortlessly from his lips except for the one he thinks of the most.

My love. 

My heart.

Oh, God, what has he done?

As he looks back down, a tear escapes, the drop hitting his clasped hands perfectly and sliding down the slope of his thumb.

Amen.

[urathestardragon777]

Pt1

I guess a little preface is needed for this.

Major changes:

°Adam isn't the asshole he is in the show, he's still a bit rude but not purposely (most of the time). He's straight forward and doesn't see the point in pleasantries or not offending people. He sees the Exorcist as his daughters, even Lute. He also never exposed Vaggie's secret about being an angel because their was no secret. He's got a dry sense of humor mixed with the most painful dad jokes ever. He didn't know Lute took Vaggie's wings and eye, he just thought she was coward/traitor.

°Vaggie was left in Hell 3.5 years ago after being attacked by Lute. Charlie found her and knew she was an angel because she was bleeding literal gold and the fact that Charlie saw were her wings were pulled off. It took a while for the two to actually open up to one another. They've only been dating for a year.

°Charlie is basically the same although she does have a bit of a sadistic streak and a temper (she's gotten good at keeping it under control but slips up every now and then)

As far as the story goes it's not that much different from the show with the exception that all Seraphim and high ranked angels know about the exterminations. So Emily wouldn't be shocked to find out but she would still want to help Charlie because she believes that the exterminations are unjust. Emily is also the youngest Seraphim, created a thousand years after Lucifer was cast out. God is also more heavily involved as he was the one to give the order to Sera who then gave the order to Adam.

Other characters are pretty much the same personality wise but look different (I redesigned them).

The comic starts towards the end of episode 8. Adam has just been stabbed by Niffty.

Seeing her father being stabbed and collapsed on the ground, Lute calls out to him as she rushes to his side.

Lute: DAD!!! NOOOO!!

Lute: Nonononono! Dad! Adam, wake up! Please...

She turns him on his back, pleading for him to stay with her.

A smile spreads across his face

Lite is calling out to him but that's not who he hears, not who he sees.

Adam: Eve?

He calls out to her even though his mouth doesn't move. She smiles back.

Eve: Com'on Addy, wake up. Cain is cryin' for ya.

Adam: I'm coming..

His eyes close slowly as the rise and fall of his chest come to a halt.

Lute stares down at the lifeless body of her father figure but her head quickly to the sound of footsteps approaching. She looks up and sees the princess of Hell, the traitor and the Devil himself.

Charlie: This battle is over, Lute. Take the remainder of your army and-

She gets cut off by the sound of trumpet being blown as a fiery ball of light comes down from heaven. The brassy sound of the trumpet echoed out through all of Hell. The remainder of the Exorcist fell to their knees with their heads bowed and began to chant.

Exorcist: Father, glorify Your name! Our Father, Who art in Heaven-

Vaggie and Lucifer fell to their knees, hands covering their ears as the horn continued to be blown and the chanting got louder.

Charlie: Dad! Vaggie! What's wrong?

She crouched down beside them extremely worried.

Lucifer: It's...fine..Char Char..

Lucifer grit out. It had been eons since we was cast out of heaven, since he was an angel but something deep and instinctual was tugging at his core to start chanting.

Exorcist: -Hallowed be Thy name. Thy Kingdom come-

The horn stopped as did the chanting. From the ball of fire emerged a large structure (spirit?) it was made up of large spinning wheels that overlapped one another with eyes covering the inside and out.

???:I think I went a little hard on the horn. Like, be not afraid peeps.

And inside of that creature was an angel holding a golden trumpet, they had four wings in their back and one on each ankle. They flew out from the spinning wheels and flew down closer.

???: I'm just the messenger after all.

Lucifer looked up in shock.

Lucifer: Gabriel?

Gabriel: Long time no see, big bro.

[pseudowho]

Our mother, who art in britain, hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is on tumblr.

Give us today our daily fic, forgive us our bad grammar as we forgive those who flame against us and lead us straight to temptation, but deliver us from all untimely deaths.

Awomen

I'm being on theme. I am also going to hell. :)

Listen these are giving me shivers.

Like, these are motivating me. You are such a hype girl. I'm swooning at my own lines, STAWP STAWP.

I'm gonna have to put these on some reblogs.

Like...

Damn.

If you'd like to read Deliverance, where you hunt down Vampire!Priest!Nanami after falling in love, please access it here...it's very slutty. Like me.

-- Haitch xxx

[opheliasongs]

a terror playlist:

I. The World Is Falling Apart by Mirah • II. Lost Coastlines by Okkervil River • III. England by PJ Harvey • IV. Nocturne by Blanco White • V. Songs of Old by Jesca Hoop • VI. Arctic Hallows by Piqsiq • VII. Midnight Sun by Redgum • VIII. The Yawning Grave by Lord Huron • IX. All Is Well (It’s Only Blood) by Radical Face • X. Home by Lisa Hannigan • XI. While We Have the Sun by Mirah • XII. Oh Death by Noah Gundersen

[darkgodcomplex]

Reverend Wally

Wally X Reader

AO3 Link

Content Warning: Psychological Horror, Scopophobia, Religion and Religious Symbolism, Christianity, Demons

"Our father, who art in heaven-"

Hands clasped tightly together, you pray alone in front of the alter. It's far too late for anyone else to be here, but that is somehow more comforting in a time like this.

"-hallowed be Thy name; Thy kingdom come; Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven-"

You stare up at the large pillars of the church, the tall sharp architecture and the stained glass windows. If it were day, the windows would show the stations of the cross, going through the entirety of the crucifixion. Now though, they're only dark and hollow, the reflection of the candle's light on the surface mimicking eyes.

"Give us this day our daily bread; and forgive us our trespasses-"

Are you speaking to no one? Will no one answer your prayers?

"-as we forgive those who trespass against us; and lead us not into temptation-"

You feel a warm hand curl around your shoulder. They recite the last line of the prayer in unison with you.

"-but deliver us from evil."

You whip your head around only to see Father Wally Darling smiling down at you. You're used to seeing him in his mass attire, but now he wears more casual clothes. The only indication that he's a reverend is the small cross he adorns around his neck.

"Father-"

"Why are you here so late, my child?" He asks, tilting his head. His eyes are soft and kind, just as you always remember them.

"I-" You look at the floor, then back to the alter. "Father... have you ever performed an exorcism?"

He freezes, then chooses his words carefully. "Why would you be getting mixed up in such dark things?"

"I fear there is a demon following me." You tell him, standing from your kneeling position. "Or some dark energy, in the least."

Wally runs a hand over his chin, his eyes trained to the floor. "These things don't just appear. Did you-" His eyes flick up. "-invite them in somehow?"

"I swear, I have been faithful to you and our church." You bow your head. "But lately I feel as if I've been watched. Even now, I can feel the eyes boring into me." You glance around the dim chapel. The statues, the paintings, even the knots in the floorboards are eyes staring into your soul.

"Of course you have been loyal to me, my child." He grips your chin, moving your head so that you're staring into his eyes. "The only pair of eyes you have to worry about here are mine. This place is safe."

You grasp nervously at your hands, continuing to stare helplessly up at him. "Father, what am I to do?"

He lets go of your chin, running a hand through his hair. "We won't perform a exorcism, that is only for the most extreme of cases. We shall have a baptism of sorts."

"But I am already baptized." You tell him, confusion written all over your face.

"Of sorts, I said." Wally leads you up the steps to the alter. "It's bit different."

You let him take the lead, following his instructions as you set up the equipment. You've never heard of another type of baptism, but you trust that a reverend knows more about this than you do.

Once everything is set up, he motions with his hands, "Kneel before me, child."

You fall to your knees. It feels like worship.

He dips his hand into the water, bringing it to your face. You had watched him bless the water just moments earlier. He presses his thumb against your forehead, drawing some sort of shape. It doesn't feel like a cross.

"You've always been quite the dedicated follower." He whispers quietly, wet hand moving to now cup your cheek.

"Yes, father." You agree, unsure of where he is going with this.

"I wish to have you." He says, voice low. "What do you wish for in return?"

You blink up at him, "Have me?"

"Semantics." He brushes it off. "I merely mean to have you in the sense of a loyal worshipper of the church."

"Oh, okay." You pause. "I wish..."

What do you wish for?

"I wish to be safe."

"Oh, I would never let anything hurt you." He assures. Still, he extends his hand. "I wish to have you. You wish to be safe."

You're not quite sure what he expects from you, but you take his hand. He gives a large smile, holding your hand tight. "Thank you, my dear."

There's a gush of wind and the candles go out in the church, leaving you in darkness.

The eyes.

The only thing that is luminescent in the darkness are Wally's eyes. They glow, staring down at you. You yank away your hand, scrambling backwards as more eyes appear in the blackness. You have to escape.

You have the church layout memorized and move easily through the pews. The eyes appear everywhere, lighting your way. When you reach the door, you find that it's locked. You bang against it.

The window. Your hands scramble to find anything heavy. A small Jesus statue sits upon a table.

Sorry Jesus.

Taking the statue, you heave it against the window. Despite the statue's weight, the window doesn't shatter. It only stares down at you.

"Is this any way to act?" It's Wally's voice, but it's more distorted now. "I promised you that you would have your safety, didn’t I?"

"I didn't agree to this!" You protest, chest heaving. You feel cornered, the eyes are in every direction now.

"Oh, but you did." He laughs. "That's how it works, you shook my hand and made a wish. I'm keeping up my end of the deal."

Something grabs onto your ankle. You try to kick it off but it yanks you, making you fall to the floor.

"It's time to keep your end. Don't worry, I take good care of my playthings"

You're dragged further into the church, kicking and screaming.

This was never a holy place.

[capseycartwright]

tagged by @littlespoonevan and @doeeyeseddie in seven sentence sunday but alas i was on a plane so instead you’re getting. many sentence monday. yes i am already writing another catholic guilt eddie fic what about it

Eddie had never been to St Brendan’s before, but mass was the same. It didn’t change – though the wording of some of the prayers did. Eddie just recited the one’s he’d learned for his own confirmation, the words falling from him lips, muscle memory more than it was faith now.

Our father, who art in heaven – hallowed be thy name.

Eddie couldn’t help but laugh, a little, as he murmured the prayer. Hallowed be thy name. He knew the prayer talked about God, their holy father, but the prayer had always made him think of his own father, of the way Ramon Diaz was a hallowed man in his own right, how he parented with an iron fist and expected to be obeyed.

Things were getting better now, with his dad. Maybe – maybe that was part of the fear. Eddie had always been afraid of letting people down, but more than anyone, he was afraid of letting his father down – of seeing that look of disappointment set into every crease of his father’s face, an expression he’d been on the receiving end of for more of his childhood than he’d like to admit. Eddie had tried so hard to make sure he was never on the receiving end of that look again, but nothing he had ever done was good enough – not marrying Shannon, not the way he had tried to take responsibility for his young family, not the army, not the man he had been when he’d come home from Afghanistan.

Distance had lessened the number of disappointed looks, but Eddie knew that was because he was simply not seeing them anymore; he was sure his father sometimes frowned at the phone when they’d finally call, silted conversation about Christopher, and life at the firehouse, the best either of them could muster.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was getting better.

Eddie wasn’t sure if he was ready to blow all that progress up. It was selfish, to want to maintain the status quo at the cost of his own happiness, but he couldn’t help it. Eddie, despite what the circumstances of his life would imply, didn’t like conflict – not the fundamental, existential kind of conflict this would result in, the kind of conflict where his character and worth as a father would be called into question.

Maybe -

Maybe Eddie was someone who just wasn’t supposed to be happy.

tagging @hattalove @thatbuddie @clusterbuck @bibuddie @mellaithwen @sibylsleaves and anyone else who’d like an excuse to share some fic on a monday morning

[angeltreasure]

Please pray for me. I feel like I'm on a precipice, and I could fall on the wrong side at any moment. I want to follow God, but I feel weak and afraid and I don't know how else to describe it

I know this feeling. Don’t be afraid, pray with me now. Try saying this prayer with me that Jesus gave us: pray it out loud very slowly with all of your heart make it daily.

The Lord’s Prayer

Our Father, Who art in heaven,

Hallowed be Thy Name.

Thy Kingdom come.

Thy Will be done,

on earth as it is in Heaven.

Give us this day our daily bread.

And forgive us our trespasses,

as we forgive those who trespass against us.

And lead us not into temptation,

but deliver us from evil. Amen.

Mother Angelica Live - from March 7, 1995- The Our Father