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vibingandsimping · 1 year ago

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Randomly assorted headcanons (sfw+nsfw) for randomly assorted characters… pt. 2

I have yet to make a pinned post with some sort of navigation/rules guide but I will state in all my posts. Asks and Submissions are always open and if you have trouble with it comment!

Not proofread cause that’s for the weak 🥰

Characters involved: Gale, Halsin, Karlach

Tags/Forewarnings: AFAB + AMAB genitalia mentions, use of magic to enhance sex, size differences, breeding, general worshipping, oral (receiving + giving), temperature play, fingering, penetration.

Gale

Y’all love pathetic men… I support. Anyways… Tell me i’m wrong but he’d love to spoil you. We already know he practically worships the ground you walk on. You entered his life full of strife and paved a way for him to have a more hopeful future. His eyes are practically hearts when he gazes upon you. As such, he’d love to buy you and craft you things when he can. He’d buy you a gorgeous dress/vest/suit and enchant it to your liking. It feels, quite literally, like magic when you wear it. He presses kisses to your ear as he sings about how downright breathtaking you are. You hate the fact that the words make a giggle bubble in your chest.

He holds you at any opportunity he gets. In truth, he cannot fathom that you two are lovers. He’s been with a goddess before but even she did not compare to you. His pinky grazes yours as you two stand near eachother. When someone’s back turns, he presses kisses onto your cheek until you forcibly push him away. Which he always uses his puppy eyes as a retaliation to show his hate. Curse those big brown eyes. If you’d let him, he’d be more intimate without being inherently sexual. His hands glide along your skin as he helps you bathe in a nearby river or lake. Occasionally he whispers about how perfect you are to him, inside and out.

Personally, this man is the male version of a wine aunt. Once he feels that he can unwind in the camp without facing repercussions, he likes to get delightfully tipsy. Enough that his skin warms and his tongue loosens. He laughs along with the companions and makes chatter in the quiet camp. If you happen to grace him with your presence, he sings out your name and beckons you forth. To his surprise, you settle next to him on the bedroll and he wraps an arm around your waist. Squeezing you tight as he presses his nose against the pulse in your neck. He murmurs almost incoherently but you can tell from the tone of his voice it was sweet nothings.

When the camp is silent and everyone is asleep, he enjoys the thrill of seeking you out. He finds you in your bedroll and gently shakes you awake, claiming he desires you and cannot sleep. If you are so kind to spare your sleep and indulge him, he promises he’ll make it worth your time. You two trail off to somewhere more secluded before he grasps you by the waist and presses his lips onto yours. His lips aren’t too rough against yours but pleasantly warm. His fingers dance along your skin, trailing the expanse of your stomach. Suddenly, he’s whispering against your lips. You can’t tell if he’s worked you up properly or if he’s genuinely speaking nonsense. Then, a sudden and intense shiver runs through your body. He smirks at you slightly and you cannot help the excitement in your veins.

You’d nearly forgotten about the strange shiver that encompassed your body until you were on your knees in front of him. His expression held a soft intimacy yet a deep desire. He was anything but pure… just so willing for your attention and love. His cock would throb before you in a silent plead for touch. You wrap your hand around the base before wrapping your lips around the tip. He gasps softly at the sensation whilst your eyes widened. As you touched him, there was a tingle in your own loins. It was shockingly intense and you mentally cursed this man for the effect he had on you. Steeling yourself, you began to work on his shaft. Suckling, licking, stroking… all while breathy gasps and whimpers escaped his chest. The tingle in your body didn’t dissipate- no, it only grew stronger. That’s when you gazed up at him in realization. His gaze was knowing and a little dark. The bastard charmed you… so that all the pleasure he experienced you’d experience and vice-versa. So that you two were properly intermingled for all the pleasure indulged that night.

He takes a certain pleasure in finding the spots on your body that make you shake and moan. Especially those that aren’t explicitly between your thighs. If he finds a spot on your neck, or thighs, or chest that makes you whimper and grasp his hair? He’s showering it with all his attention and love until it’s practically numb. His beard tickles your skin and causes you to occasionally squirm from the sensation. He wants you as turned on and into him as he is you. You can feel his erection against your thigh as he covers your neck in hickeys. His hips occasionally grinding for some sort of friction as he focused on you. If your hand trails down to his bulge, he grabs it swiftly and holds it beside your head. His lips are swollen and wet from his kisses and his pupils are blown wide. “Not yet, please, I’m not done. Not ready for this to be over yet…” He whines and gazes at you with a certain twinkle. Who are you to tell him no? Or, maybe that’s what you want to see?

Halsin

He adores the size difference you two have. He towers over nearly everybody he knows and gotten used to being large. Honestly, it was kind of a nuisance at times. He envied others who could bed anyone without the worry of repercussions. Yet, that is a topic for discussion later down this list. Point said, he loves the feeling you provide in his chest. A protective instinct overwhelms him. No matter how soft, rugged, muscular or chubby you are. He wants to hold you and ensure you’ll be safe. The look in his eyes as you stand on your tiptoes to even reach him bending over for a kiss shows the thrill he finds in it. It’s even better when you two are cuddling and you can rest your body so comfortably ontop of his. He’ll encapsulate his arms around your form and keep you close, enjoying the thrum of your heart as you sleep.

He’d teach you how to carve wood, if you’d like. It was one of his hobbies and for you to show interest in it only reminds him of how fine a specimen you are. He’s careful as he teaches you, watchful eyes constantly glancing and staring over your shoulder as your thumbs turn the wood and the knife makes shavings. His hands wrap around yours and guide you when you struggle or use improper technique. His chest slotted against your back as he hums softly, paying no mind to how flustered you’d get. When you finish your first lesson, you both show off the sculptures you made. He’s thoroughly impressed and praises whatever you decided to carve. Later, you find it on a table in his tent. The sight makes your chest tighten and heart soar. He loves you so utterly deeply.

He craves you so desperately it is almost amusing. Your touch, your voice, your presence. He doesn’t outwardly express it but there’s a certain air around him when you approach. His gaze softens as his chest puffs and he watches you expectantly. Despite all the lovers he’s taken in his years, you’d swear he looks like he’s fallen in love for the first time. He’s nearly whipped by you. No-one has seemed so enraptured by you before. Each word you speak he’s hung unto, he watches all your movements so closely. Halsin makes sure to wrap you tightly in his hugs. Both to show you that he loves all of you and to remind you of the fact he wishes to protect you. He knows his boundaries and doesn’t follow you like a lost puppy… but when you seek him of your own accord he’s utterly thrilled.

This man is a breeder. Don’t argue with me on it. He seeks all the thrills and pleasures of nature. Regardless of if you can or cannot get pregnant, he stuffs you so full that in your haze you are sure you’ll carry his kid. He tries so hard to be gentle with you and to some degree he is. His hands trail your skin softly like you were fine china. Though, he allows himself the pleasure of gripping your curves, dips and muscles. While he holds you so gently, you cannot say the same for where he’s pushing his length into. It’s vigorous- almost mind-numbing. He groans into your ear shamelessly and with the knowledge you find it attractive. If you’d let him, he’d give into his desires and fill you til he was sure he had nothing else left to give. He’d pick you up after and bathe you. Washing you of the forest dirt and sweat accumulated on your skin. All while whispering about how he adores you and you’ve done so well for him.

We all know he’s a munch/dick eater. It’s literally confirmed in his sex scene that he immediately goes down on you… and for that I will write for.

AFAB. He’ll hook a thigh over his shoulder and press his nose against the bump of your cunt. His tongue lavishes your clit in licks and suckles as his gaze remains heady on yours. If you can even look at him, that is. One hand trails on the leg you’re standing on before teasing your parted lips. He gathers your wetness and pushes a singular finger inside. He watches as your body tenses and relaxes from his ministrations. His tongue does not stop it’s assault. Then it’s two fingers, hooking and searching for the spot that he knows will make you abandon previous care. Once he finds it, you’re crying out to the woods. His large fingers practically abuse your walls as he sucks your clit like a madman. You began to whimper and shake in his hold. His strength became apparent when he pushes your hips against the tree to keep you still. To show that you cannot escape his pleasure and act of love. Pride swells in his chest and he keeps going until you’re shuddering in his hold. The coil in your belly snapping as hands fly down to grasp his hair, hips rocking against his face.

AMAB. There’s a smirk that engraves his face when he sees exactly how hard you’d gotten for him. His hands wrap around your thighs as he trails kisses along the skin of your stomach. Then, as soon as you open your mouth to protest, a kiss is placed on the tip. You tense and he begins to show your length some attention. One hand abandons your thigh to favor your sack, gently fondling as his kitten licks and kisses turn into something more intense. Lips wrapping around the head before taking you in one gulp. Your head throws back and your thighs quiver. Either he had tons of experience or you were simply smaller in comparison and he could do it with ease. Either way, the warmth of his throat is nearly overwhelming to your senses. He looks up between your legs when he could, bobbing his head as you began to melt into the pleasure. His nails gently scratched the skin of your thigh while his other continued it’s undivided attention to the sensitive skin of your balls. He continues like this, humming and suctioning around your cock until you either spill down his throat or pull him off of you. Either way, he has a cocky smile on his face as he wipes spit and precum from his lips.

Karlach

She is a very passionate woman. She burns bright, literally and metaphorically, and is a flame that will forever burn by your side. She is especially passionate about her companions and most importantly you. She supports you in nearly every decision you make and if she doesn’t agree, she tries to understand anyways. She’s loud and speaks so highly of you to those she meets. Almost like a mother showing off her kids accomplishments in life. She’d likely be such a good mother if she ever had that opportunity. Until you fix her mechanical heart she supports you with just words and actions. As much as she craves to pull you into her grasp or press her lips on yours, she’s a ticking bomb and is capable of hurting those. When you do fix it? She can barely keep her hands and lips off you. Ten years of forced abstinence nearly drove her MAD. While she doesn’t outright burn you, she’s so, so warm.

She loves jamming out. Dancing, playing an instrument, singing… it gives her an excuse to release her pent up energy. Bard or not, she gives you those puppy eyes and nearly begs you to join her. She’ll dance with you and wrap her arms around your waist or hold your hand as you two dip and twirl. Her laugh is an angelic sound and any reservations you held melted away in her intense heat and passion. She had a way of lighting the room up and bringing out the best in those around her. You admired her for it. She eventually slows the rhythm between you two and smiles against your skin (hunched over or not). She whispers against you, light and full of emotion. “You have no idea how thankful I am to have met you. I feel complete.” The breath you take is shaky as her words fill you with such fullness. This tiefling had wormed her way into your heart like the tadpole your mind. Except, this was a worm you wished to keep. You both would do anything for each other and you both knew it.

She absolutely seethes when anyone does you dirty. The girl is quite literally growling when someone hurts you emotionally or physically. Even a wrong look can have her hackles raising and her all pissed. You sometimes have to sit her down and remind her that you’re fine. She assures you’re safe and you appreciate it. After losing so much in her life, the control of her own body and mind, she cannot imagine losing you. Small threats alarm her and she feels guilty that she cannot contain her emotions. This time you assured her that you weren’t going anywhere because she was passionate and hot-headed. You two had your own issues… and she wants nothing more than to work through them together and be the biggest supporters for each other. She pulls you into a bear hug afterwards, nuzzling against your jaw as her horn tangles in your hair. She plants kisses along the skin til you’re laughing and the air is less tense between you two.

As much as she so UTTERLY wishes to touch you, she’s so touch deprived. You know that she needs the attention after she’s had her heart repaired. You lay her down on the ground and trail kisses from her lips down to her throat and to her chest. She watches you with an excitement. It appears as if she was ready to jump out of her skin from the pure joy of being able to enjoy the sensations of flesh once more. You pay extra attention to her breasts and nipples before continuing further down to her navel. At this point, she’s squirming and whimpering desperately. “Come on, babe. Don’t tease me. I need you- so badly..” Her tone was pathetic if anything. There was no true fight or bite in her words. She liked giving her submission to you for once, letting her mind shut down. You wished nothing more than to give her what she deserved after all this time.

Once you finally reach further south, your hands slot around her hips and hold them down as you plant a few kisses against the inner of her thigh. All the teasing between you two was so worth it when you hear the wanton moan escape her lips as your tongue finally met her most sensitive parts. The heat of her cunt was intense- just like the rest of her. It was nearly overwhelming… almost burning your tongue. Yet, you ached for that warmth. To finally enjoy her moans and provide her with such pleasure. She has claws in your hair, tugging and tickling your scalp. One hand on her chest as you begin a rhythm with your tongue against her clit. Once she was beginning to properly fall apart against your mouth, you released a hand from her hip and trailed betwixt her lower lips. Your fingers sought her warmth and was pleasantly surprised with how she burned even hotter inside. Truly a creature of the hottest hells. Yet, it didn’t quite burn you… certainly was a different sensation compared to the crisp air around you. You know that she’ll return this pleasure tenfold to you. It’s her nature… and you couldn’t wait til you two were properly intertwined later in the night.

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yuki2sksksk · 3 months ago

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Back again with other fan arts for Severing Hell's Leash by @lavenoon 🤭

Starting with the scene of Barbara peppery spraying everyone, because this is literally a fav scene of mine even in canon where she did it with Draal and Jim (rip my boys eyes lol)

Next is the scene of Jim and Angor Rot in the backyard talking (aka the start of their friendship please please please)

Chat, what are you going to do if a kid resembles a lot of your friend that you killed 😔

Didn't know I need Deya and Angor Rot's friendship that ends with angst UGH UGH SUDGAVSSJSB thank you Lavenoon 😊

Jim is about to add another redeemed antagonist into his family tree. Strickler is his step dad, Nomura is the wine aunt, Angor Rot...is the weird uncle nobody talks about and has an insane lore.

Also I just noticed about Angor Rot's design, specifically the colour. I don't know if it's coincidental or not but I LOVE LOVE how they chose to make his eyes turn white when he lost his soul. I thought they'd turn duller color of yellow but nope!

It's really interesting for me because the white colour is a colour that reflects back all the visible wavelengths of light, contrast to the colour of black that absorbs all. So, in a way, the white colour rejects any light. It holds nothing at all.

And you know what the usual saying about eyes?

Eyes are the window to your soul.

When his eyes turn white, it means there's nothing there. No soul. Empty.

Also Lavenoon, I love the GIF you made! Yeah give that skinny skeleton looking something fuzzy and warm! I wanted to draw Angor in a sweater but!! Maybe later 😀

#Angor Rot sir please I'll treat you better GIMME ONE CHANCE #anyway heheheh #Trollhunters #trollhunters fanart #trollhunters angor rot #angor rot #trollhunters jim #jim lake jr #trollhunters strickler #trollhunters tales of arcadia #tales of Arcadia #trollhunters draal #draal #Strickler #drawing #digital art #fanart

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hollowed-theory-hall · 4 months ago

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how bad do you think Harry's abuse was? like, okay we all know he was neglected his entire childhood. Do you think he really didn't know his name until he went to school? That he was forced to help around the house the moment he could walk? He prob also didn't know his birthday at some point :(( I love him so much, i want to throttle the dursleys

I mean, just from his behavior I feel like it was pretty bad. I talked about it a bit before and he's very aware he is being mistreated. Harry literally makes a joke about Vernon beating him:

“You don’t seem to need many qualifications to liaise with Muggles. . . . All they want is an O.W.L. in Muggle Studies. . . . ‘Much more important is your enthusiasm, patience, and a good sense of fun!’ ” “You’d need more than a good sense of fun to liaise with my uncle,” said Harry darkly. “Good sense of when to duck, more like . . .”

(OOTP, 657)

As for the abuse itself:

Dudley and his friends beat him often. As mentioned repeatedly.

He slept in a cupboard under the stairs until the Dursleys thought someone else might notice. Only when they got the Hogwarts letter that mentioned the cupboard did they move Harry to Dudley's second bedroom. (The title of the room itself and where Harry was sleeping show how much of an afterthought he was).

The house had no pictures of him, no belongings, no sign Harry lived there, he only got Dudley's cast-offs.

So, yeah, it's definitely neglectful to an insane degree.

As for the more fanon portrayals of the Dursleys' abuse.

They did starve him as a form of punishment:

Uncle Vernon waited until Piers was safely out of the house before starting on Harry. He was so angry he could hardly speak. He managed to say, “Go — cupboard — stay — no meals,” before he collapsed into a chair, and Aunt Petunia had to run and get him a large brandy.

(PS, 23)

And Harry didn't get much food at the Dursleys in general:

This was their encounter with the fact that a full stomach meant good spirits; an empty one, bickering and gloom. Harry was least surprised by this, because he had suffered periods of near starvation at the Dursleys.

(DH, 250)

But he did get to eat with them at the table when he wasn't being punished, seen with Aunt Marge, and when the Dursleys didn't have guests:

Harry, who could see a huge Dudley tantrum coming on, began wolfing down his bacon as fast as possible in case Dudley turned the table over.

(PS, 19)

That being said, Harry seems to be punished at the Dursleys pretty often. (Although, Harry considers sitting with them at the table punishment enough)

So the fanon portrayal of getting locked in the cupboard/his room with no food for who knows how long (or just, not enough food, like in CoS when he shared a canned meal with Hedwig) is actually canon.

He gets physically abused by Dudley, but also by Vernon and Petunia. We saw Petunia try to hit him with a frying pan.

Aunt Petunia knew he hadn’t really done magic, but he still had to duck as she aimed a heavy blow at his head with the soapy frying pan. Then she gave him work to do, with the promise he wouldn’t eat again until he’d finished.

(CoS, 17)

The above qoute mentions how he was forced to do chores with the threat of no food until he's done with his chores. So, yes, he was forced to work at the Dursleys. Another quote indicating he had plenty of practice cleaning over at the Dursleys:

“Filch’ll have me there all night,” said Ron heavily. “No magic! There must be about a hundred cups in that room. I’m no good at Muggle cleaning.” “I’d swap anytime,” said Harry hollowly. “I’ve had loads of practice with the Dursleys. Answering Lockhart’s fan mail . . . he’ll be a nightmare. . . .”

(CoS, 114)

That being said, we see Petunia cooking more often than Harry, and she's also mentioned cleaning on occasion:

At last, at long last, the final evening of Marge’s stay arrived. Aunt Petunia cooked a fancy dinner and Uncle Vernon uncorked several bottles of wine.

(PoA, 26)

“Right — I’m off into town to pick up the dinner jackets for Dudley and me. And you,” he snarled at Harry. “You stay out of your aunt’s way while she’s cleaning.”

(CoS, 14)

I think he wasn't constantly worked like a house elf the way the fandom sometimes portrays it. He was made to clean often enough but he didn't cook that often. The breakfast in PS is likely more of an exception than the norm as whenever any fancy dinner, like with Marge or the Masons, it's always Petunia cooking it, not Harry. So, I don't think Harry cooked or cleaned for them since he could walk, I mean Petunia is a perfectionist about how her house looks, so she wouldn't let a small child who'd do a subpar work do it.

But he was definitely put to work as either punishment or when the Dursleys wanted him occupied. And considering he mentions "plenty of practice" when he's 12 and he spent the last two years at Hogwarts, he likely started doing chores earlier than that, but old enough to use a mop properly. So, I'd guess he started helping to clean the house around the time he was 6 or 7 years old, and started cooking on occasion only very recently before the books start in all likelihood.

The really shitty thing about all his chores is that Dudley isn't doing anything and it's just Harry. This difference is one Harry was always aware of and considers unfair, because it is incredibly unfair. The fact he is forced to do work and gets punished when the other child in the house doesn't adds to the sense of worthlessness the Dursleys already make Harry feel.

Uncle Vernon in general is pretty violent towards Harry, shown in the first quote in this post and in others:

Harry ran down the stairs two at a time, coming to an abrupt halt several steps from the bottom, as long experience had taught him to remain out of arm’s reach of his uncle whenever possible.

(HBP, 45)

I wanted to add the imprisonment in CoS, because the treatment is truly subhuman:

The following morning, he paid a man to fit bars on Harry’s window. He himself fitted a cat-flap in the bedroom door, so that small amounts of food could be pushed inside three times a day. They let Harry out to use the bathroom morning and evening. Otherwise, he was locked in his room around the clock.

(CoS, 28)

They treat him like an actual prisoner. They let him out to the bathroom twice a day! Like WTF! This is so not okay I don't have words.

As for not calling him by his name...

“We could phone Marge,” Uncle Vernon suggested. “Don’t be silly, Vernon, she hates the boy.” The Dursleys often spoke about Harry like this, as though he wasn’t there — or rather, as though he was something very nasty that couldn’t understand them, like a slug.

(PS, 19)

They usually refer to Harry simply as "boy" or "the boy", they also use "you" when talking to him or "him" about him, but not his name, except one time in PS when Vernon is faking being nice:

“Er — yes, Harry — about this cupboard. Your aunt and I have been thinking…you’re really getting a bit big for it…we think it might be nice if you moved into Dudley’s second bedroom.

(PS, 30)

Considering how Harry mentions they often don't speak to him, but at him or about him, definitely suggests they don't use his name often. Vernon seems very odd about using Harry's name, and we see it isn't something common, but it does happen. I think Harry did always know his name though, I'm sure he asked, and regardless of how awful the Dursleys are, Petunia likely told him his name in the same breath she talked about how his father was a drunkard that got both him and Lily killed.

We also know they don't do anything for Harry's birthday, and Harry doesn't think they remember it:

The lighted dial of Dudley’s watch, which was dangling over the edge of the sofa on his fat wrist, told Harry he’d be eleven in ten minutes’ time. He lay and watched his birthday tick nearer, wondering if the Dursleys would remember at all, wondering where the letter writer was now.

(PS, 35)

So, it's very plausible the Dursleys never told Harry when his birthday is and that he had to discover it himself somehow.

TL;DR

Harry's abuse at the Dursleys was awful. It included physical abuse from all three Durslesy and periods of starvation.

He was put to chores like cleaning the house, but it wasn't a constant thing where he worked like a house elf. It actually seems Petunia did most of the cooking.

He probably only started cleaning when he was 6 or 7 at the youngest. And cooking is likely a later development.

Harry was allowed to sit at the table and even watch TV on rare occasions but usually didn't get to choose what to watch. It means Harry should be somewhat aware of muggle pop culture at the time.

Harry, in general, wasn't really treated as human. Not having his name used, only talked at, not having his birthday celebrated, not getting pocket money or anything of his own. Not to mention being forced to sleep in the cupboard or on the floor (in the shack on the sea in PS) and getting his food through a cat flap on his bedroom door like an actual prisoner in CoS.

So, while fanon portrayals make the Dursleys worse than they actually are, they are plenty awful on their own. Believe me, if I could throttle them, I would.

#harry potter #hp #hp meta #hollowedtheory #asks #anonymous #harry james potter #harry potter meta #the dursleys #petunia dursley #vernon dursley

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tritoch · 6 months ago

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I wish people were willing to have a slightly broader or more expansive understanding of FFXIV's women because I think there's so much there in terms of easily-unearthed subtext that no one really thinks about! And I don't mean this in a "people need to re-evaluate their response to the women of Stormblood" way (though I do think that's largely true), I mean I think fandom's understanding even of the women it mostly likes is pretty weak. And you can say that's because the women are underwritten, and I won't argue that they couldn't use more attention from the writing, but that doesn't prevent you from analyzing them the way you can any character in fiction.

Like everyone's always like, oh, Y'shtola and Krile are like your snarky wine aunts, haha. But...Sharlayan is a pretty ossified and patriarchal society from what we see of it in Endwalker and places like the AST quests. Can we open ourselves to the possibility that it means something that almost every young Sharlayan woman we meet, almost all young women in academia, tends to be a little sharp and quick on the retort? The arch and snarky ways in which those two carry themselves reflect in some sense the facts that Krile is almost literally a nepo baby woman in STEM who is barely older than her students, while Y'shtola learned her behaviors from her much older female mentor, a woman who hated Sharlayan academic culture so much she literally abandoned it to go live in a cave.

Or like, Alisaie! Fan jokes and meta frequently buy into her tendency to characterize the dynamic between her and Alphinaud as a jock/nerd, street savvy extrovert vs book smart introvert thing. Except, tragically, Alphinaud's highest stat is 100% Charisma and he absolutely pulled in his student days. All his greatest achievements are diplomatic, and he very easily develops strong friendships with people in every culture you learn about. Alisaie is the determined, sensitive genius who revolutionizes Eorzea by proving the tempered can be healed. She's just permanently carrying a chip on her shoulder that while she and her brother are remembered as the youngest students in Studium history, actually he got in six months before her, a fact pretty much no one else ever brings up once. She's constantly fuming over the fact that he was marginally better than her in certain specific ways in high school, and looking to differentiate them in ways that actually fail to credit her own obvious strengths and accomplishments. I think that's so fun! It's so juicy, and it's equally good for comedy or serious character studies.

Venat is a genuinely benevolent hero who has no compunction sacrificing lives for the greater good. Minfilia is kind and compassionate and clearly on some level actually buys into the narrative of her own unique moral authority. Ysayle is a revolutionary firebrand with almost no concern for the common man, whose death reflects her Javert-like inability to reconcile her own romantic belief in justice with the tragic ways her blinkered worldview (born largely of trauma) let her be easily co-opted by a violent system. But even people who like these characters rarely move past surface-level reads (people who think Venat is just an all-loving mommy figure make me want to fucking die). The fandom is allergic to drawing connections the game doesn't draw, and fails to recognize that FFXIV is a game where characters voice understandings of themselves and others that are wrong about as often as they're right.

You can already see the ways that women like Wuk Lamat and Cahciua and Sphene are getting flattened or losing their shading in fan reception and it's boring. Like I'm not even saying this because you should take female characters more seriously or something (though you should), I'm literally just bored to tears sometimes and if you guys turn Wuk Lamat into another Hot Dumb Jock Lady, I will combust.

#ffxiv #y'shtola rhul #alisaie leveilleur #krile baldesion #master matoya #endwalker spoilers #dawntrail spoilers #not really dawntrail spoilers but i try to over tag #shadowbringers spoilers #meta: durai report

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hminnj · 3 months ago

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Unckuna/reader (he's very dear to my heart), mostly uncle nephew banter tbh, i needa get dividers lowkey, very short lil drabble

Sukuna thinks he's lost his mind.

He means it figuratively, obviously. But at this point he's sure he should've physically lost it already.

His nephew- of which he is currently babysitting- is currently on his couch, not a care in the world, half empty family sized bag of chips that was unopened not too long ago (fatface), kicking his feet like an adolescent boy in love, greasy fingers on the remote, and scrolling through youtube shorts on the tv???

Oh and worst of all he forgot to mention, the brat is wearing shoes.

The fact that he's even related to this thing makes him want to kill everyone else in the room and then himself.

"Itadori Yuji..." Sukuna seethes, it takes everything in him to not rip the brat's skeleton right out of his skin. He thinks it would be easy, if only a certain three people would let him (a shame, truly).

Yuji spares him a glance (the disrespect).

"Oh whats up unc"

"And what do you think you're doing?" The older of the two walks over and blocks the view of the tv, glaring down with his hands on his hips.

Yuji stares for a moment before opening his stupid food hole (as Sukuna describes it), "Have you ever seen that one meme, no one looks good from below? Well you're the version where they-"

Sukuna promptly picks him up by his foot, shaking him as a few chip bits fall off Yuji's shirt, "I literally just cleaned the house you freeloading fiend. Have you seen what a mess you've made?"

"You clean the house everyday you freak. Now put me down! I swear I was gonna clean up afterwards anyways." Yuji attempts to wiggle his way out of Sukuna's grip, he gets nowhere (predictably).

"Brat. You don't even know where the vacuum is, were you planning on picking them up one by one?"

"Ugh you're such a housewife, if I didn't know any better I'd assume you- MMM"

The sound of the code being put into the front door quickly stops Sukuna who shoves his free hand into Yuji's face, effectively shutting him up as well.

Sukuna grins when he sees you walk in, holding Yuji as if he were a first place catch for the annual bass fishing competition.

The sight makes you pause and contemplate your life decisions.

"Sukuna... put Yuji down, all the blood's rushing to his head."

Yuji is dropped immediately.

"OWWWWWWWW"

Your eyes trail around the living space and then back to the two children, "Does someone want to explain what's happening? And why there are shoe tracks in my house?" You make eye contact with your husband (who practically regresses 15 years in age when your nephew is around), he looks at you then uses his middle finger to point at Yuji.

Said boy, still recovering on the floor, whines, "Mann why can't I have a cool wine aunt and normal uncle?"

"Yuji if I were a wine aunt I wouldn't even be your aunt. Now are you gonna clean up this mess or should I make you?"

"On it! Whatever you say ma'am!" Yuji scrambles away after saluting and then pops back up from the hallway, realizing something crucial.

"Where are the cleaning supplies again?"

You sigh.

Yuji's finished with cleaning when he joins (intrudes, in Sukuna's words) you and his uncle on the couch, another episode of criminal minds running in the background.

You've changed from your work clothes into something more comfortable, snuggled into Sukuna's side as you start, "You know, if Spencer existed in real life I'd consider leaving you for him."

The tattooed man can only cringe in disgust at your behavior, "We're literally married, woman. You would leave me for that??"

He gives you and the tv an incredulous look. You can only giggle at his reaction, "You're like a child sometimes." His disapproval worsens, and you consider continuing to tease him but go with your better judgement (before he decides not to cook dinner, even though he always does anyways).

"I'm sorry hubby, forgive me?" Sukuna scoffs but accepts the affection anyways, he always does.

Yuji's voice interrupts the moment, "Ew you guys are so nasty (his parents are way worse), but speaking of children... when am I gonna get a cousin?"

The young boy can only watch as you two glance at each other then back at him, casually dropping an "Oh, Soon" then moving on completely. It takes him a second to process.

"WHAT."

unckuna my love

reblogs & comments are greatly appreciated :]

thank you for reading, have a blessed week

not fully proofread or edited

#sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna fluff #unckuna #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #yuji itadori #sukuna imagines

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shanastoryteller · 11 months ago

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Happy Valentines Day Shana! I need some Merlin, either Lord de Bois or Ygraine Time travel continuation up to you ❤️❤️

a continuation of 1 2 3

His first duty as a manservant is at dinner and literally his only job is to stand by the wall and refill Arthur's goblet.

It's a family dinner held in Arthur's father's rooms rather than the great hall where various knights and nobles eat. When the eldest Lord de Bois walks in he sees Merlin standing there and frowns. "Who are you?"

Merlin opens his mouth and nothing comes out.

"Arthur's keeping him hostage," says a low, amused voice, and he looks over to see the younger - oh, this is stupid. Agravaine drops into a chair at the table and begins picking at the grapes. "He really has to stop doing that. It's such an unseemly habit."

He's not being held hostage!

Is he?

"Elyan isn't a hostage," Tristan says, exasperated. "Did he find you in the woods too?"

It takes Merlin a moment to realize he's speaking to him, but he still can't make any sound come out of his suddenly dry mouth.

"Ealdor," Agravaine says, amused. "You did tell him to deal with it himself."

The door opens and Arthur enters, Amabel's hand in his. "Talking about me while I'm not around?" He picks Amebel up and drops her into Agravaine's lap, who rabidly needs to readjust to keep the bowl of grapes from spilling everywhere "Where's my aunt? You don't have the time to gossip about me when she's around."

"Gossiping about you is our favorite pastime," Agravaine says, settling his daughter with one hand and pushing away the bowl from her reaching fingers with another.

"Arthur, who is this?" Tristan demands. It's odd seeing them next to each other - they share blue eyes and blonde hair but not much more than that. Arthur must take after his mother.

"Merlin," he says. "He's my new servant."

Tristan's eyebrows push together. "You hate having a personal servant."

"This one is useless," he says and Merlin's ears burn. "He's absent the most annoying qualities of properly trained servants."

He has no idea what that means.

"Okay," Tristan says slowly. "But why is he here?"

Actually, that's a good question. He's the only servant in the room. But Elyan had said -

"So that when he fumbles and spills a pitcher of wine on me, it's not in front of the whole castle."

"Hey!" he protests then pales. The pitcher does suddenly feel unexpectedly heavy.

Agravaine's lips twitch. "He speaks."

Tristan now looks just amused as his brother. "Oh, I see. Well, you do like a project."

Merlin's not sure if being a project is better than being a hostage.

#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #anon #merlin

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rottenpumpkin13 · 2 days ago

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Idk if you have done this before, but what type of drunk are the boys? Lazard, Tseng, Angeal, Genesis, Zack, Sephiroth, Kunsel, Reno, Lazard or whoever you are willing to grace us with? (Aka, who is the functional alcoholic, lovey drunk, willing to fight with anyone/thing drunk, sleepy drunk, touchy drunk, existential crisis core drunk, the drunk that holds conversations with walls, etc)

Drunk Sephiroth: Has absolutely no filter when drunk. He will info-dump. He will overshare about classified missions and SOLDIER info. He will state his opinions on things no one asked him about. He will corner strangers to talk about the ethics of artificial materia production. He will let "fuck Shinra" slip more than once. If they take their eyes off drunk Sephiroth for 2 seconds he's either a) in a state of sleep not even a meteor could rouse him from, or b) telling the nearest stranger all about how he first learned to swim and hold his breath for extended periods of time when Hojo dunked him in a mako tank when he was five.

Drunk Zack: Has a lot of love to give. Will befriend literally everyone and everything including inanimate objects. Has lengthy conversations with the wall because "oh so just because its inanimate it doesnt deserve attention?" Tries to pet every stray animal he sees while sobbing about how hard their lives must be. "Look at this kitty! It has no home! Angeal, it has no home! Can we keep it?" (it's Sephiroth). Forms deep emotional bonds with random objects, cradling a bottle like it's a newborn like "This is my best friend now." Drunk-dials Angeal every 10 minutes to tell him he's the best mentor ever and cries when Angeal answers like "I KNEW YOU'D PICK UP, YOU ALWAYS PICK UP!" Looks at Cloud and bursts into tears because "He's so small. I'll protect him forever!"

Drunk Angeal: Compulsive cleaner when drunk, to the point of absurdity. Aggressively wiping down counters at the bar with "I can't believe people live like this." Starts rearranging furniture at the bar, claiming it has "terrible feng shui." If Zack's got anything on his face, Angeal will grab a napkin and scrub like he's buffing a rusty sword. He has no boundaries either. Strangers get dusted off, tables get realigned, and if anyone tries to stop him, he responds with "Oh, I'm sorry. Am I ruining your trash heap aesthetic? Please, let me leave this spilled drink so the rats can move in." Ends the night cleaning the bar's industrial fryer while the staff begs him to stop.

Drunk Genesis: Becomes a text book theater kid with complete disregard for his surroundings. Any elevated surface is a stage, whether it's a table, a car, or Angeal during a piggy-back ride back to HQ. Uses materia and fire to "heighten the dramatic tension" during monologues, setting off every sprinkler system within a three-block radius.

Drunk Lazard: The composed Director transforms into everyone's wine aunt. Makes inappropriately accurate observations about everyone's personal lives while swirling his glass.

Drunk Tseng: The only indication they have that he's inebriated is that he'll approve absolutely anything put in front of him with a completely straight face. Has signed off on vacation requests for people who don't even work at Shinra. Weapons budgets for departments that don't exist? Signed. Reno wants to purchase a horse on a company card? Stamped and approved.

Drunk Reno: A hazard to both himself and everyone around him. He's the guy leaning heavily on whoever is closest, slurring compliments and flirting (unsuccessfully). Trips over flat surfaces but plays it off like it was intentional. Gets way too into darts and nearly takes out Rude's left eye.

Drunk Kunsel: Is never actually drunk around other people. Instead, he pretends to be drunk, slurring his words and stumbling just enough to sell the act, all to finesse gossip and classified intel out of everyone while they're too wasted to notice.

#ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #sephiroth #final fantasy vii #genesis rhapsodos #ff7 crisis core #angeal hewley #zack fair #reno ff7 #lazard deusericus #tseng ff7 #kunsel #headcanons

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snowprincesa1 · 1 year ago

Text

{seducing the prince }

Jacaerys x F!Lannister!Reader

Summary: Jacaerys knew he would have to marry for duty, he didn’t know his duty would be to you.

Trigger warnings:‼️Coitus and jacaerys a whipped man playing hard to get 😘😘😘😘

Special thanks to my babe/beta reader @luckytoucan 💗💗💗💗

Jacaerys always hated you. Hated how close you were to the Aegon and aemond in his childhood. How you always preferred their company over his. He tried so hard to make you notice him, to make you perhaps feel and inch of what he felt for you. Each time those dreams get shattered by the sound of your laugh with helaena and daeron over him. He didn’t fail to see how Aegon and aemond had indoctrinated you with hatred against him and his brothers. He had to hate you, hate your pride and pettiness, the snobby Lannister attitude you held. He saw you as one of the Queen’s party hoping for Aegon the elder to ascend the throne over his mother and him.

But sure enough that did not happen. Queen Rhaenyra ascended the throne and when jacaerys turned sixteen named his heir to the crown infront of all the lords and ladies of the court. He would forget you, forget how you looked walking through the gardens with his aunt, he would forget the way you danced, the way you haunted his very soul. Jacaerys felt himself grow mad with the constant thoughts of you blurring his mind turning it into a slurry. He needed to get away from you and the clasp you had of him. He needed you gone from his sight and away so he could just lose memory of you entirely. Over the years your cruel teasing did not weaken, often throwing him a flirty smile knowing damn well that nothing on this earth would ever get you to marry a bastard, crown prince or not, you took pleasure in complimenting as to how strong he had grown. Every ‘compliment’ you threw was an insult in disguise.

You can only imagine the shock he felt when his mother there queen Rhaenyra betrothed him to you years later, his stomach flipped upside down, in excitement? Fear? Annoyance? He looked over to you and there you were smiling at him as though you held the upper hand.

“You are not upset by this? Not even in the slightest?” He asked surprised as he grew more frustrated at the fact you seemed so alright with this.

“If i marry you I will be queen someday, surely you are just an addition that comes with the arrangement” you said sipping from your wine, amused by his reactions. Of course, he should have expected this from a Lannister, no matter how pretty they come you cannot change their nature. Always so smug, he wanted to make you feel the way he did. He was so helplessly in love with you but deemed your lannister self incapable of love, too smug to even care to feel a thing. Now as your betrothed he found himself at an advantage..

You on the other side always tried to to revert back to the past and change the way you behaved towards him. You quite literally tried to charm your way into his heart but all your actions seemed to be of no avail. He always shut down every smile with a polite nod, every kind word you said was met with his disdain, he quite literally at this point assumed your whole existence as a mockery towards him. You believed your betrothal would soften his heart up but instead it hardened it. The man could not seem to bear your presence, always growing agitated.

You attempted to win him over with gifts, with kisses which he averted from, with physical affection holding his hand and batting your pretty eyes at him, he showed no reaction to these. You often attempted to flirt with him in high valyrian which he had perfected, instead of appreciating your effort, he took the time to correct your pronunciation and grammatical errors.

You embroidered for him. You attempted to melt his heart by talking of the future where the two of you would have little children. Nothing worked, the most infuriating part was that with all the time you spent swaying him you felt yourself grow more fond of him yourself.

Whenever jacaerys sparred with Nettles, a supposed dragon seed brought to court because of her fierce skills in combat, you felt your heart feel the pang of anger and sadness. He seemed more fond of his uncles over you at this point and you felt absolutely helpless. You wanted to leave the past behind and win his affection. Perhaps that is not what fate wanted for the two of you. You walked away from the sparring ground and jacaerys noticed your absence in his mind.

The whole court was not blind to this tug of war game between the two of you, the jealousy that lingered between other possible lovers the two of you had. His brothers teased him incessantly over how he kept your embroidery in a special box in the cupboard and how he blew up if anyone attempted to touch what you gave him. Jacaerys loved the attempts you made towards him to make up for your past behaviour, he loved every moment of it. Every smile of yours would replay over and over in his mind once it was over. Thoughts of future children with you sent his blood rush to his nether regions, to see you carry his children.

He would often dress up far better than he usually did for sparring lessons in case you’d visit..or rather he’d dress down, discarding his sweaty shirt only if you were in the vicinity.

Nothing bothered Jacaerys more than seeing you with his uncles, at princess helaena’s name day party. His angered expression not was one he attempted to hide. you could feel his glare towards his uncle Daeron, a man of the same age as him. Daeron was mischievous and cheeky who also like everyone enjoyed annoying jacaerys as the two of them always saw each other as rivals even though they shared a wet nurse. Jacaerys could take it no longer dragging you away from dinner, his hand lingered on your arm, holding you firmly but not enough to hurt you.

“How many times must you repeat this song and dance?” He hissed pushing your back into the cold pillar “why can’t you leave me be?” He asked, his hands holding yours as you struggled in his hold, his hands had covered the entirety of your wrist as though it was nothing.

“Can you not see? How blind can you be?” You asked in an angry tone. His grasp did not leave your hands as he suddenly turned you around pressing you against the rough pillar wall pinning your hands to your lower back as you felt his figure croon over you. “Why do the gods have to make me put up with you” you felt his hot breath on your ear and the heat of his body radiating your own. You were glad he could not see your flustered face.

“I’ve only ever tried to get your attention” you voiced out, on hearing your voice he pressed you further into the bricks. You could hear him chuckle.

“So you throw yourself at my uncle?” jacaerys answered his grip tightening around your wrists. He felt conflicted a part of him died to believe your words, that you wanted his attention, the other ran his imagination wild seeing you with Daeron in uncompromising positions. “ah yes, they’re true born and i am..” he trailed off his hands abruptly let your wrist go. “And what do they tell you that it is a pity that your beauty is being wasted on me, a strong prince as you once said” his voice echoed in the empty corridors, he had lost all awareness of his surrounding.

“No! I did not say that! I have played very trick in the book, I have used every tactic anything to get you to like me and the only time you seem to ever even look at me is if I am with another. You think I like parading myself in this tight gown for no reason? Have you even seen my dress or have you been too caught up in your hobby of making me your enemy”

“Yes I have seen the way you look!” He answered angrily. He ran a hand through his hair as he looked at you.

“Then tell me how do I look!” You yelled back you felt tears if frustration bubble at the rims of your eyes, you looked away quickly would this how the entirety of the marriage would go? With you begging for him to notice you? You needed him to notice you at this point, want was no longer sufficient.

“Beautiful” jacaerys said the words he had held in his mouth for so long “So beautiful that if I take one glance it’ll never be enough, if I get one taste that too would not suffice, my greed, my lust is insatiable for you” you knew you had him then, he was yours and yours to keep. Your efforts weren’t in vain.

“You do not hate me then?” You asked surprised as his eyes watched you intently at your every move, what were you planning now..

“Oh make no mistake I do, I’ve always hated you. You’ve always played me as though I was a game. I am not my lady I would have remember that I am the crown prince of the seven kingdoms, my parentage does not matter because I am a Targaryen” he said he turned to leave one more.

You walked towards him and grabbed his face in yours, he admitted that he thought you beautiful and in your eyes that was a victory in itself, this was your chance to seduce your brunette prince as you closed the distance between your faces by planting a gentle kiss on his lips, in hopes it would sway his feelings about you. He gasped against your mouth feeling your lips press against his so perfectly. His hands instantly wrapped around your waist feeling the fabric of your gown crumbling it in his hands, “you shouldn’t hate me, sweet prince” you teased him, habits die hard. As his lips fought your own for dominance, his right hand reaching up to hold your face as he drank you in, the moment your lips parted for a gasp his hot tongue found its way into yours, your mouths in total sync, it was hard to keep your mind sharp now, just as he did you grace into your senses.

That’s how you found yourself with your dress ripped to shreds and your leg propped on his shoulders as he thrusted into you sharply, he made no attempt to stop any time soon, you gasped and moaned and claws at his chest anything to make you feel as though you had control over your betrothed. He drove you mad stopping just when you were about to peak, he denied you of cumming over and over leaving you teary eyed moaning as he brought you such pleasure and pain. If he denied you once more you felt as though you would collapse from the sheer need.

This was your punishment for everything you had ever done to him, every smirk, every mocking word, you felt yourself bend in ways you never thought possible. Jacaerys felt up the fat of your thighs as he leaned in the two of you in to fetch a passion filled kiss. You felt his heavy length press into your sensitive spot and he smirked on seeing you squirm under him as so, release was a mirage so close yet so far. “I should not let you cum, you do not deserve it” he said kissing the leg that sat on his shoulder.

“Tell me how I can win your forgiveness my prince” You moaned out feeling him hitting that one spot that made your head go hazy as you looked to at him with lust drunken eyes.

Jacaerys smirked “there’s nothing you can do” he grunted out letting moans of his escape as his eyes shut from the intensity of the pleasure, perhaps he was being too cruel to you..

“You are right I do not want your forgiveness, I want more— I need you to be mine” you whined out, the pure euphoria of having you in his arms, under him, needing him just like he prayed to the gods you would. His feelings perhaps were not entirely one sided.

“You already have me, do you not see?” He said truthfully holding your hand to his heart “it beats for you lioness” He whispered in your ear and you gasped from the sheer intimacy and lewdness of your hips moving into each other, the soft wet sounds emulating in the wide halls but now all you could focus was on the man before you, his fingers reached down to your nub rubbing a calloused finger over it, the right little circles along with the snapping of his hips made you throw your head back and moan in tears as you felt your release build up for the fourth time since jacaerys had edged you, your eyes filled with tears as you looked to your betrothed with pleasing eyes to let you cum.

Jacaerys could not find it in himself to deny you of your pleasure anymore as he felt you come hard with a shrill cry of his name. All over his tunic. He felt his own release build up seeing your fucked out look with a few more sloppy hard thrusts he gave you all his cum, strings of his seed trailed down your shaky legs. He swore this was the hardest he had orgasmed ever in his life, his breath lost as he plopped himself over you his head resting in the crook of your neck as you rolled his silky brown hair between your fingers.

“You mean it? You love me?” You asked feeling him hum on your neck placing soft kisses on it as the two of you sunk to your feet using the pillar as support as jacaerys peppered you with kisses.

“Lying has never been in my nature” he said “I have loved you since the moment you I laid my eyes on you, princess” he smiled pulling himself from your neck to gaze upon your afterglow, messy lip tint smeared all over your face from the bruising kisses he gave you. You gasped and playfully punched at his side. “Your little tactics to get me to love you were quite entertaining, I admit” he smirked kissing you once more” as the two of you embraced in the cold of the night you felt so warm with his arms over you.

“You’re telling me all my seduction tactics were never necessary?!” You asked bewildered at your betrothed, you saw jacaerys crack up laughing as though if your realisation was the funniest thing to him. He would have to make up for this he knew, he was always ready to turn the tables around and win your forgiveness with his own seduction tactics.

#jacaerys x reader #jacaerys Targaryen x reader #jacaerys strong x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys x oc #jacaerys x you #jacaerys x y/n #jacaerys Targaryen #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys strong #house of the dragon #asoiaf #hotd #hotd fanfiction #jacaerys fanfic #jacaerys x female oc

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blog-o-meter · 3 months ago

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Absolution - Father Charlie Mayhew x Reader

warnings: self-discipline, caning, unprotected sex, girl i honestly don’t remember what else tbh those are just the big ones

required listening: Sanctified by Nine Inch Nails; Discipline by Nine Inch Nails

a/n: this is a first draft, so I’ll come back and change any mistakes or errors. I literally haven’t written a fanfic in over a year I think so this was mostly for my own enjoyment, if you happen to also enjoy it — awesome! Also I’m uploading this from mobile so sorry for any formatting errors!

I listened to Father Mayhew’s sermon intently. He spoke with fervor, with energy, that the other priests could never quite grasp. Father Mayhew’s thunderous voice echoed through the chambers, but he could just as easily speak as softly as a whisper. How he managed to hypnotize me with just the way he carried himself was something to be studied.

“Now, let us receive the body and the blood of Christ, our savior,” he called out to his congregation. As his eyes fell upon me, a covert smirk grew on the corner of his lips, acknowledging me with a gentle wink.

I grew flustered, rarely used to being greeted in such a manner by a man so….

Like clockwork, I, along with another nun, stood up from the pew and approached the table of chalices, eucharists, and communion wafers, grabbing the chalice of wine carefully with both of my hands — my palm at the bottom and the other on the stem. Making my way over to the father, I bowed before him and presented to him the blood of Jesus Christ.

Father Mayhew towered over me, like a lion before a lamb. His dark eyes glistened against the glowing haze of the chalice, but his gaze never faltered away from me. His expression was stoic; neither corner of his mouth breaking into a smirk. In my time that I’ve known Father Mayhew, during communion is the only time I’ll ever see him quiet and assertive yet gentle. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one to quiver before him.

He grabbed the chalice from my hand, our fingers brushing against one another, and took a sip of the wine, wiping the rim of the cup with a cloth. A second nun stood next to him with the silver bowl of wafers — the body. He grabbed one, mouthing an “Amen,” before placing it under his tongue. He then turned to me and quietly said, “Sister?”

I stood in front of him, my hands in prayer. Father Mayhew carefully lead the chalice of wine to my mouth. My lips parted slowly as he tilted the cup toward me. I took a small sip, but still, a tiny drop managed to miss my tongue and linger on my bottom lip, ever so slowly making its way toward my chin. Right when I was about to lift my wrist to wipe it away, Father Mayhew beat me to the punch, using the edge of his thumb to wipe away the rogue drop. His warm finger slowly lined the contour of my lip, my stomach jumping at his touch.

I tried so hard to not break our eye contact but I grew so nervous and shy that I had to find security in glancing over to anything else except Father Mayhew’s eyes.

I watched his big hands reach into the bowl for the Eucharist. He held the small, beige wafer in front of my eyes, “The body of Christ.”

I meekly said, “Amen,” looking down at his robe before slowly opening my mouth to receive the body of Christ.

Father Mayhew led his fingers toward my face and carefully tilted my chin upward, forcing me to look right at him as he inserted the body into my mouth, resting it on my tongue. “Amen,” he repeated in a low voice.

I quickly did the sign of the cross and retreated to the pew, lowering the kneeler under the bench in front of me and resting my knees against it. Usually, I’d pray for my family back home — my parents, my grandparents, aunts, cousins, and siblings — but this time I prayed for myself. I was ashamed of the wicked thoughts trickling into my brain. Lord, please wash away the filth harbored in my thoughts and my dreams. I thought the more I tightened my eyelids, the better my prayer would be answered.

After mass, Father Mayhew and I stood by the doors to the church, saying goodbye to the congregation. I politely smiled at every parishioner as they left, shaking the hand of anyone who offered theirs. “Thank you for attending,” I’d occasionally say. I’d also occasionally glance over to Father Mayhew smiling at his parishioners, giving them a strong handshake. Sometimes I’d find he was already looking at me, which triggered my attention to return back to the parishioners.

After everybody had left, I made my way over to the pews to fix any stray bibles that were left on the benches. I’d carefully put them back in the wooden holder, all evenly spaced and evenly counted. Row by row, I took my time, not in any particular hurry.

The sound of echoing footsteps making their way closer and closer made me curious. I looked up and saw Father Mayhew standing at the end of the row, waiting for me to get to the end. There weren’t any stray bibles in that particular row, so I made my way over to him.

“Hello, Father,” I respectfully bowed my head to him, but only ever so slightly. I reserve a full bow only for mass.

He smiled, “Incredible mass, don’t you think, Sister (Y/N)?”

“They’re all incredible,” I replied. “Much more engaging than the ones back home, I’d say.”

The father smiled and glanced down at his red boots before his gaze fell back on me, “That’s right. Today marks two years since you’ve come to California.” He was quiet for a beat, “Are you going to celebrate?”

I stumbled on my words. I actually wasn’t planning to do anything special, except my usual routine. I nervously laughed, “Oh, no,” I shook my head, “It’ll just be another day for me — journaling and such.

He smirked, stepping closer and leaning his mouth toward my ear, “May your journal be blessed by your thoughts, then,” he whispered.

His low, soft voice was like a spark to the gasoline in my body. He stepped back and gave a gentle smile before walking away. I stood there, paralyzed and catching my breath.

Immediately, I abandoned my task and retreated to my room. I rushed through the hallways and through the courtyard, impure thoughts racking my brain the entire way. The moment I reached my room, I closed the door behind me and locked myself in, free to heave in peace.

My mind was in a flurry. I couldn’t stop hearing Father Mayhew whispering to me; I couldn’t stop replaying the moment his fingers brushed mine; and I certainly couldn’t stop replaying the moment he wiped away the wine from my lip.

I must get rid of these thoughts. I must get rid of these thoughts.

The chest in front of my bed stared at me. I walked past it and made my way towards my record player, a vintage wooden box. It was an elaborate thing — one given to me by my mother for my 13th. One would assume I’d have a collection of records to reflect such a setup, however, I was only ever an owner of one 7-inch single, and that one single was a very formative one.

I retrieved the 7-inch from its sleeve and quickly placed it on the platter, carefully hovering the needle over the record and pressing play. Sleep Walk by Santo & Johnny loudly started to play through the speakers, so loud I could barely feel my own heart beat.

I closed my eyes at the sound, already feeling some soothing but not enough. I turned my back and stared at the chest, slowly approaching and kneeling down before it, steadying my breathing. I opened the chest and retrieved something personal wrapped tightly in cloth, unraveling it to reveal my journal, a single pen, and a black rubber exercise band.

I grabbed the hem of my dress and pull it back, placing my thighs through the rubber band and opening my journal to the next blank page. I took a deep breath before I grabbed hold of the pen and began to write, one sentence at a time.

May our lord absolve me of my sins.

As soon as I finished writing the period, I slipped my hand between the skin of my thigh and the band, pulling it away from my leg as far as I could before releasing my grip and letting it loudly snap at my thigh, quietly groaning at the lingering sensation, watching the area of impact turn bright pink before proceeding to write.

How can one lust over a man of the cloth?

Another yank of the band — SNAP.

I have found my path toward faith, yet I am none the wiser.

SNAP.

My love should not be directed toward any man, especially one who stands in His place.

SNAP. The pain was beginning to sting badly, each strike more painful than the last. The pauses between the punishment and writing became longer.

I beg for forgiveness, hoping that God will take this burden from me, that He will cleanse my thoughts.

SNAP.

God, give me strength.

SNAP.

My session of discipline would continue until the record player repeated the single three times before the needle retreated by itself, and by then, my legs would have been in so much pain that I could barely feel them and I would’ve forgotten the impure thoughts.

As the room fell into silence, I heard the quick shuffling of feet outside my door. I quickly placed everything back in its right place and rushed to my door, opening it to find out if anybody was lingering outside. I found the hallway empty, only the wind blowing through the open windows and swaying the sheer curtains around.

I closed my door back up and put away the items back into the chest and turned off the record player, slipping the 7-inch back into its sleeve and resting it on the shelf below.

I lifted my dress to see that I had drawn some dots of blood, all of them along where the rubber band landed in a straight line across both of my thighs.

To further cleanse myself, I grabbed my shower caddy from the cupboard and made my way to the floor’s bathroom.

After my scalding shower, I lingered in the bathroom doing my nightly routine — brushing of the teeth, brushing of the wet hair, applying lotion all over, and putting on my silk slip. I carefully and precisely folded my habit, gathered my items back into their caddy, and walked back toward my room, my hair leaving the occasional drip of water behind on the floor.

When I walked into my room, I was surprised to find Father Mayhew sitting on the chest at the foot of my bed. “Father?” I questioned.

He turned his head and smiled, standing up, “Forgive me, Sister. I didn’t think you’d be getting ready for bed so early in the night.” His gaze into my eyes faltered, slowly falling to look at my slip.

I grew shy, hiding behind my wet towel. I tried to pull down my slip to avoid him noticing my bruised thighs, “No, forgive me. I’m sorry you have to see me like this.”

“No apology necessary,” he spoke softly, his words almost melding together.

I trembled, partly because I was still humid from my shower but also because Father Mayhew was making his way closer to me one slow step at a time. He couldn’t have been making his way any slower. The memory of today’s mass flashed into my mind. It was all torture.

I cleared my throat, pushing away the thoughts, “What can I help you with, Father?”

Father Mayhew was quiet, studying my face. He stepped aside and motioned to the chest, “I’d like for us to talk,” he grabbed the wet towel from my hands, “Please, sit.”

I followed his instruction, awkwardly holding my arms as I walked toward the chest and sat facing him, hugging the bed post next to me.

I watched him close the door and open the towel completely, “I noticed you were somewhat distant in today’s mass — distracted,” and placing it over the back of the wooden desk chair. He turned around and walked toward me, speaking carefully, “Is everything ok?”

His concern seemed genuine; I could see it in the slight furrowing of his brow. Nonetheless, I felt nervous under his eyes, shifting my body on the chest. “Everything’s fine,” I spoke softly, though there was a little tremble in my voice. I had hoped he didn’t catch that.

He nodded slowly, stepping closer again, his eyes never leaving mine. “We all have distractions, Sister,” he said, his voice dropping to that same low, intimate tone he had used earlier in the day.

I swallowed hard, unsure how to respond, so I looked away, unable to meet his gaze any longer. “Forgive me for my behavior,” I mumbled, my hands clutching the bedpost beside me.

He placed his hand under my chin, lifting it so I could look at him, “Everyone’s thoughts stray once in a while, (Y/N),” he spoke gently, “but it’s important that we know where to return our attention,” he smirked, almost… devilishly, dare I say.

His words seemed innocent enough, but the deliberate pace of them combined with the way her stood over me, holding my chin… it left a knot in my stomach that I don’t think will untie itself any time soon.

Father Mayhew stepped back, giving me space, though his presence still filled the room. “Tomorrow, I’d like to assign you a task,” he said, his tone more neutral now, though the subtle shift did nothing to ease my discomfort. “The relics in the sacristy need attention. They haven’t been properly cleaned in some time, and you have the most delicate of touches,” he smirked and flickered his eyes downward for a brief moment, then back up to meet mine. “Maybe a bit of quiet reflection could ease your mind.”

My heart pounded in my chest. I forced a smile, standing slowly, hoping he would take the hint and leave me to sleep, “Of course, Father. I’ll take care of it.”

However, as soon as I stood, I found myself too close to him. I could almost smell the cologne under his chin. I couldn’t have him in my room any longer; all that he did and spoke only made my mind race even more. I glanced around the room, slipping past him and making my way toward the door.

He turned and nodded, that faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth again. “Good.”

I opened the door, holding it open by the doorknob, still nervous.

He walked past me but immediately stopped in the door way, backing up and leaning into my ear, his eyes darker in the dim light of the room. His deep voice sent goosebumps through my everything, “Don’t worry, Sister. You’ll find some of the relics will quell your mind.”

He pulled away and didn’t wait for a response, not that I had one, leaving me in the doorway. I stood there frozen in place, my breath shallow and uneven. His words echoed in my mind, their meaning heavy, yet veiled enough to be explained away. But the lingering sensation of his touch, the way his presence filled the room, was impossible to ignore.

Despite my prayers, which have become almost daily now, it seems the Lord was testing me even more. I closed the door to my room and climbed into bed. The more I tried to brush away the echo of Father Mayhew’s voice in my head, the more I couldn’t fall asleep. I could still feel his warm hand on my chin. The image of his smirk replayed in my mind.

I tossed and turned, facing toward my nightstand. I couldn’t stop thinking about Father Mayhew seeing me in my nightdress. Any woman that hadn’t taken her vows would have wanted him to grab at her right then and there. She would’ve wanted him to move his mouth down to her neck and whisper sweet nothings to her skin. He’d tug at her nightdress, slipping his hand under the silky fabric and…

I couldn’t fight the thought any longer. I turned to the photo of Jesus Christ on my nightstand and whispered, “I’m sorry,” before pulling the photo down and slowly slipping my hand under my nightdress.

I woke up suddenly in the morning, not remembering falling asleep. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting soft shadows on the walls of my small room. My body felt heavy, as though weighed down by the thoughts and… dreams of the night before. That’s when I realized that my hand was still inside my underwear. I lay there for a moment, my heart pounding as memories of Father Mayhew flooded back into my consciousness—his touch, his words, the way he made me feel. Shame crept in once more, settling like a heavy blanket over me.

I sat up slowly, my body stiff from the tension I had carried through the night. I glanced at the photo of Christ on my nightstand, face down, as if hiding from my guilt. I hesitated before reaching for it, my fingers brushing the edges of the frame.

“Forgive me,” I whispered again, though the words felt hollow.

I washed and dressed quickly, slipping back into the comfort of my habit. As I made my way to the sacristy, where Father Mayhew had assigned me my task, my mind raced with conflicting thoughts. How could I focus on prayer and penance when my heart and body were so thoroughly confused? I had come to this life to serve, to dedicate myself to something higher. But now, everything felt tainted by the desires I was struggling to suppress.

The sacristy was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of incense and old wood. The relics gleamed faintly in the soft light, their golden surfaces covered in a fine layer of dust. I gathered the cloth and cleaning supplies, kneeling before the altar as I began my work.

For a while, the silence brought me peace. I focused on the repetitive motion of wiping the relics clean, letting the rhythm of my hands lull my thoughts into something more manageable. I admired the bead and embroidery of some of the clothing, awed at the craftsmanship.

I finished dusting off the holy clothing, wiped down all the chalices and processional crosses, and tidied the tithe baskets. The only thing left of my task was to organize whatever was in the big wooden armoire at the end of the room.

I approached the dusty armoire curious, having never opened it before. I pulled at the delicate golden handle to find it stubborn like it hadn’t been opened in a long while. With more force, I busted it open, speechless to find a collection of vintage wooden canes all in display.

They were all unique, some skinny, others more ornate, some longer, others shorter. They all had one thing in common, though — they weren’t for walking. They were all too thin to support a person’s weight. These were whipping canes.

My heart raced as I took in the collection of canes. I hesitated, my hand hovering over one of the canes. It was slender, polished, with intricate carvings along the handle. I felt a pull, a strange mixture of fear and fascination. My fingers grazed the cool wood before I quickly pulled my hand back as if burned.

Suddenly, the memory of Father Mayhew’s words from last night surfaced again, “You’ll find some of the relics will quell your mind.” Was this what he had meant?

Something compelled me to reach and hold one in my hands, admiring its quality and design. My knees felt weak.

I heard the distinct sound of familiar footsteps behind me. I froze, my heart skipping a beat. The heavy footsteps were deliberate, echoing through the stone hallways. I wasn’t quick enough to place the cane back in its rightful position before Father Mayhew entered the sacristy.

“Sister,” Father Mayhew’s voice called out softly, calm yet commanding, “What did you find?”

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breath, “I managed to get the armoire open.”

He slowly approached me, the sound of his footsteps louder with each step. Finally, he stood behind me, close enough that I could feel the warmth of his body. “Yes, it’s very old,” he chuckled quietly, “We have no use for them, so they might’ve collected some dust.” He grabbed the one I had from my hands, dragging his fingers across its length, smacking it against his open palm, “Intricately made, aren’t they?”

I gulped at the sight of him whipping his own hand. It was like an image straight from one of my dreams. “Very,” I spoke quietly.

Father Mayhew’s gaze lingered on me as he twirled the cane slowly between his fingers, the air thick with unspoken words.

“Do you like it?” He asked, quickly glancing down at my lips.

“Yes, it’s very beautiful,” I answered, staring at his fingers play with the cane.

He smiled, “Why don’t you keep it?” I stood frozen. I wasn’t sure what to say, but that was fine because Father Mayhew opened my hands with his and placed the cane on my palms. “You’ll find a use for it.”

His words seemed to pierce through the quiet of the sacristy, stirring something deep within me that I had been trying so hard to bury. I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. I just stood there, my fingers trembling as I clasped the cane in my hands.

His eyes held mine for a long moment before glancing down at the cane in my hand. I felt trapped—by him, by my own thoughts, by the confusion swirling in my chest.

“I—” I started, but the words failed me. What could I say? That I already have my own device for self discipline?

Father Mayhew smiled faintly, an unreadable expression crossing his face. He closed the doors of the armoire. Then, turning toward me, he placed a hand on my shoulder, the warmth of his palm seeping through the fabric of my habit.

“There is no shame in needing guidance,” he whispered, his voice soft yet carrying an undeniable authority.

I couldn’t look at him, my head bowed as I tried to steady my breath. His hand remained on my shoulder for a moment longer. Then, just as suddenly, he stepped back.

“My door is always open if you need it — guidance.” With that, he turned and walked out of the sacristy, his footsteps fading into the distance, leaving me standing alone amidst the relics and the whispers of my thoughts.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, my body trembling as I looked back at the closed armoire. The sight of the canes was still burned in my mind, as was Father Mayhew’s touch, his words, his presence.

That night, I kneeled before the chest in my room, Sleep Walk already playing. However, this time I didn’t feel ready to use the cane Father Mayhew had given me. It didn’t feel like it was mine yet; it still felt like it was his and his to use only.

I stood up and stopped the record player, walking over to my armoire and grabbing my shower caddy and nightdress.

had been so caught up in my thoughts that I didn’t realize a week had gone by. I spent nights restless, regretfully touching myself to the thought of Father Mayhew during some of those nights. I made sure to punish myself after, though, I still hadn’t found the strength to use the cane.

That restlessness continued during mass. I wasn’t paying attention, which I hope didn’t offend Fagher Mayhew, as I usually am the most attentive in all the masses, but I just couldn’t face him. I sat on top of my hands and stared down at my thighs, thinking maybe if I could just slip away and do a quick routine of self discipline that my mind might clear. But I fear the moment I walk into my room and see the cane on top of the chest that I might freeze again.

The image of Father Mayhew holding the cane in his hand — it was simply too much for my mind. It was driving me crazy.

Father Mayhew had to call on me twice before I realized it was time for communion. I snapped my head up at the mention of my name leaving his mouth. He looked at me confusedly, his brows furrowed before discreetly pointing at the chalice. I was like a deer in headlights, however, some autopilot kicked in and I followed his order.

I grabbed the chalice and scurried over to him, bowing down and presenting him the blood of Christ. He seemed irritated at my lack of focus, his brow still furrowed as he took a sip from the chalice and wiped the print of his lip with a handkerchief. “Amen,” he quietly whispered as he grabbed a wafer from the nun next to him and placed it on his tongue.

He then turned me to me, any gentleness in his eyes that he had currently wasn’t present. He grabbed the chalice, holding it in front of me. “The blood of Christ,” he spoke.

I nodded my head and lead my lips to the cup. He tilted it toward me, and I only expected to take a sip but he tilted it further. I was caught off guard, almost coughing at the bittersweet taste. He retreated the chalice and wiped my lips for me before grabbing a wafer and holding it in front of me. “The body of Christ,” he whispered.

I gazed into his eyes, “Amen,” I quickly whispered.

I opened my mouth slowly and watched him hold my chin as he lead his other hand with the wafer into my mouth. He gently placed the wafer over my tongue and closed my mouth for me, smiling.

After mass, I was sure to keep my distance from Father Mayhew. I didn’t join him in sending off the parishioners by the door, choosing instead to help fix the bibles. I went row by row, as usual, until the very last parishioner left. I heard Father Mayhew’s steps grow closer, more assertive, until he reached me.

I slowly looked up at him, scared to meet his eye. Before he could even open his mouth, though, I spoke. “Father, I’m sorry for not being as present today,” I stumbled, “I didn’t mean to embarrass you during your sermon. It’s just…” my eyes flickered down, “the distractions seem to be more unavoidable this day.”

He was quiet for a beat, “Then, I guess we’ll just have to clear that mind of yours,” he spoke assertively. “Meet me in my room in an hour.” He turned to walk away, but he stopped himself, looking away from me as he spoke, “and bring the cane.” He continued walking, his robe floating in the air.

I watched him walk, gulping the knot in my throat away. I stood frozen, the weight of Father Mayhew’s words pressing down on me like a sledgehammer. My thoughts began to spiral into a mess, my breath hitching as the reality of his request settled over me.

An hour.

I made my way to my room, locking myself in and kneeling in front of the chest, rocking back and forth as I prayed, prayed for an entire hour. Though, I could feel my words didn’t have the same weight to them.

The cane taunted me, ominous. I knew what Father Mayhew was asking of me. The church doesn’t allow such… discipline anymore. It’s antiquated, so they say. However, I find my routine calms me — the repeated snaps of the band against my skin, being able to physically see my punishment instead of just reciting so many Hail Marys or Our Fathers as they direct in confessionals.

The thought of Father Mayhew being at the other end of that discipline… it sent shivers throughout my spine; it made my stomach tighten, and it made me want to squeeze my thighs together and… no. I shouldn’t be thinking that. However, I couldn’t deny that a part of me was waiting for the hour to pass by as fast as possible.

I glanced at the clock. In fact, time did pass by quickly.

My hands trembled as I stood up and towered over the chest, my eyes locked on the cane as I reached for it. As soon as I held it in my hands, I could feel the weight of Father Mayhew’s hands on the other end. How could something so light feel so heavy?

For a moment, I considered not going. I considered staying in my room, hiding away, but deep down, I knew that wouldn’t solve anything. In fact, I think it would make Father Mayhew even more irritated with me.

And so, I gathered my composure and made my way toward Father Mayhew’s room, which was on the second floor, gripping the cane so tightly that I might’ve been strong enough to snap it in half.

As I approached the stairwell, to Father Mayhew’s floor, I could feel my heart beating out of my chest. Each step I took echoed through the space, the sound of my own footsteps unnerving me. The hallway leading to his room was dimly lit, only the evening sun flickering through the trees outside the window. The closer I got to his room, the more I wanted to run back to mine.

When I reached his door, I hesitated, my hand hovering over the wood, but the thought of his voice, the warmth of his hand, pulled me forward. I knocked softly.

“Come in,” came his voice, low and smooth.

The door creaked as I pushed it open. Father Mayhew stood by the small alter in front of his window, facing out into nature in nothing but his black pants and red boots. I was frozen in the doorway.

His body was intimidating. Not to idolize a human, but his big, sculpted biceps made him look like a god. What mostly caught my eye were the stitched scars adorning his back like a collage, some old, some new. I had never seen them before. Somehow, they made him seem more endearing to me.

He didn’t turn when I entered, his hands tightly clasped behind his back, though I could feel the shift in the air. The tension was palpable.

“Would you mind closing the door?” he asked quietly, finally turning to face me. His eyes were unreadable, dark in the candlelit room.

I swallowed, nodding as I stepped further into the room, closing the door softly behind me. The air felt heavy, thick with unspoken words. I hid the cane behind my back, hoping he’d somehow forget what he asked me here for, though I knew that was impossible for him to do.

Father Mayhew walked toward me, his movements slow, deliberate. He stopped just in front of me, our bodies so close that I could smell the eucalyptus body wash coming off his bare shoulders, still damp from a shower.

His gaze was intense as his eyes trailed down from my eyes, to my lips, to my chest, then to my hands. He saw I was hiding them behind my back, so he slowly reached out to my arm, tracing his fingers down to what I was holding — the cane.

He wrapped his hand around mine; I exhaled at his touch, which was warm and dominant. He slipped the cane away from my hands and looked down at me. “I trust you know why I asked you to bring it,” he spoke quietly.

I gulped, nodding my head. He stepped away, giving me room to catch my breath. He held the cane lightly, his gaze never leaving mine as he paced slowly around me, the sound of his steps echoing in the small room. I felt vulnerable in his presence. Again, I was the lamb and he was the lion.

“There’s something sacred about discipline,” he said, his voice soft yet authoritative. “It cleanses the soul, purifies the mind. But it’s not just physical. It’s spiritual.” He stopped behind me, the cane brushing lightly down my entire spine, an intense tickle that made me tremble. “Do you understand, Sister?”

I closed my eyes, trying to steady my breathing, but the sensation of the cane against my back made it difficult to focus. I nodded again, “Completely,” I whispered.

“Good.” His voice was gentle now, almost tender, though the intensity of the moment remained.

He circled around me once more, finally coming to a stop in front of me. He lifted the cane, dragging it lightly up against my stocking, lifting a bit of my habit. His eyes perked up when he saw the bruises along my thigh. “I see you’ve already begun your penance.”

There was something about the way he seemed to relish in the discovery, something that made me feel both exposed and understood.

“Tell me, Sister, how do you discipline yourself?” He questioned. His words hung in the air, heavy and deliberate.

I didn’t know how to answer him. Every bruise on my skin had been an attempt to atone for the thoughts, the feelings I couldn’t control. But now, standing here with him, I wasn’t sure if they had absolved me or if they had only deepened the shame.

“A rubber band,” I meekly answered. I don’t know what it was that I simply couldn’t ignore his questions. I had to tell him, like I wanted his validation.

He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to lift my chin so that I had no choice but to meet his gaze. “Do you find that the discipline eases your mind?”

“For a moment,” I mumbled.

He stepped back, waving the cane around as he talked, “Until you have to discipline yourself again.”

I nodded my head. He did understand me. How could he not? Clearly, he also does his own penance. He absolutely understands what it is to feel like your mind is betraying you.

He exhaled a deep sigh, choosing his words carefully and he gazed at the tip of the cane, almost mesmerized. “Perhaps,” he murmured, “what you need isn’t more discipline, but someone to help your mind find its way back. Like I told you before, my door is always open for guidance.”

His words stirred something deep within me, a mixture of fire and fear. I wanted to believe him, to believe that he could somehow lead me back to the light. But the way he touched me, the way he looked at me—it felt anything but pure.

“Father Mayhew,” I whispered, barely able to speak.

He caught my nervousness and softened his expression, “We’re here to guide each other, (Y/N).” He walked toward his altar and moved his kneeler to the foot of his bed.

I watched his bare muscles flex as he carried the heavy object, setting it down as gently as possible. He grabbed the Bible beside the window and reached out for me to grab it, patiently waiting. I sheepishly reached out for it and looked down at the leather-bound book, admiring its softness.

He pointed to the kneeler with the end of the cane, “Kneel.”

Carefully, I clutched the Bible in my hands and approached the kneeler, slowly lowering myself onto it and placing the Bible down in front of me. My feeling of nervousness shot up a billion times higher the moment Father Mayhew wasn’t in my line of sight anymore. I could feel him loom over my shoulder, the cane in view of my peripheral.

“Open it to 1 Corinthians chapter 10 verse 13,” he commanded, but not unkindly.

My breath caught in my throat at his request, and for a moment, I hesitated. But something in the quiet power of his presence, compelled me to obey. I flipped the book open, dragging my fingernail along the thin pages, skimming through until I found the passage.

“Read it,” he spoke, his voice unfaltering.

I swallowed, steadying my breath, and began to read aloud, my voice soft and trembling. “No temptation has overtaken you,” my entire body shivered as Father Mayhew dragged the tip of the cane along my spine, lifting my habit and fisting the excess cloth with his large hand. I closed my eyes at the feeling of both the cold air caressing my behind and the fact that I knew Father Mayhew was looking at my choice of underwear — a lacy black pair attached to my stockings, “except what is common to mankind.”

As soon as I was about to continue reading, I felt the cane whip against my butt, a nice, cold sting across both cheeks. I breathily yelped, not expecting him to cane me mid passage reading.

The feeling, the sting… it was thrilling, much better than the sting I receive from my rubber band. Though, I’m not sure if what I’m feeling is from having Father Mayhew be the one to punish me. Yes, it hurt, but it wasn’t painful. It was just right; it was perfect.

I looked back at him, half intimidated, but mostly to see what expression he had on his face. He had closed his eyes, clenching his jaw, breathing heavily. He rested his hand on my shoulder, rubbing the edge of his thumb back and forth, soothing himself. He opened his eyes, locking his gaze to mine, “Continue.”

I turned back to face the open Bible, picking up where I left off, “And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear.”

The high pitched thwip of the cane cutting the air gave me a split second to brace for its impact. I groaned and clutched the edge of the kneeler, breathing heavily. Father Mayhew was also breathing heavily; I could feel his warm breath barely reach the edge of my ear. Lord, forgive me for thinking that I don’t want it to end.

“Continue,” he ordered.

I prepared myself to finish the final line in the passage, clearing my throat, “But when you are tempted…” I paused for a second, composing myself, “he will also provide a way out so that you can endure it.”

THWIP.

The last whip stung the most. I whimpered out through my teeth, feeling Father Mayhew’s hand tighten around my shoulder. While resting my cheek to his hand, I reached for his fingers with mine, slowly weaving my fingers between his. He traced his hand along my neck, composing himself. How I wished his touch had lingered a little longer.

The silence that followed felt thick, as though the air between us had grown heavier. Father Mayhew stepped toward the alter and gently placed the cane across the table. With his back to me, I watched it rise and fall slowly as he breathed, collecting his thoughts. The faint glow of candlelight cast shadows across his body, giving him an almost ethereal presence. I stayed kneeling, gripping the edge of the Bible, unsure of what was expected of me next.

“Did our session… satisfy you?” he asked quietly, his voice laced with something deeper than mere authority.

It was a question with layers, one I knew exactly how to answer. My cheeks flushed with heat, I spoke, “Yes, Father.” It was the most honest answer I could give.

Father Mayhew turned toward me then, his eyes softer, though still unreadable. He approached slowly and knelt beside me, his closeness once again sending that familiar shiver up my spine. His hand reached out to rest on the Bible beside my hand, his fingers brushing ever so slightly against the edge of my palm. He held my gaze, and for a brief moment, I saw something vulnerable in his eyes, something that made my chest tighten.

Father Mayhew’s hand tightened on the Bible, his knuckles white. He stood abruptly, turning away from me as if he needed to regain control. His sudden distance left me feeling exposed, as though the air between us had shifted once more, but this time, it felt cold.

“You’re dismissed,” he said, his tone clipped, though I could hear the strain in his voice. “Go back to your room, Sister. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I didn’t move immediately, the weight of the moment still pressing down on me. Slowly, I rose from the kneeler, my knees stiff from the strain. As I turned to leave, I glanced at Father Mayhew one last time, hoping for some kind of explanation in his eyes, but he kept his back to me, staring at the flickering candles on the altar.

A couple of weeks pass.

In the morning, I took an early stroll, believing it might satiate my hunger better than a simple bagel. I also thought it prudent to reflect away from the church, without the tempting thought of Father Mayhew in the vicinity.

I quietly hummed, as I hovered my fingers over the tall grass and bushes. Flashes of being in Father Mayhew’s bedroom popped into my head. The Apostle Paul was right; He, God, did provide me with a way out of my temptation — my session with Father Mayhew. I only wish he wasn’t so cold toward me when it finished. I thought it would’ve brought us closer together.

In fact, he had been a little distant ever since. He’d only approach me when he absolutely needs to, usually to tell me about the week’s events or what needs to get done. Of course, though, he’d break that pattern whenever he found that I had done something incorrectly, calling me to his room for another caning session. This ebb and flow of our situation would continue for weeks.

The way he gripped my shoulder, the warmth radiating from it when I pressed my cheek against the back of his hand… the sting of each striking of the cold cane…. I could still feel Father Mayhew’s breath behind my ear.

It was wrong to think, but… I enjoyed every second of having him discipline me. Nobody could make me squirm like he does, and I’m sure he enjoyed watching me do so.

A shiver ran through me, not from the cold, but from the vividness of the memory. The way my body had reacted to him was unmistakable. It wasn’t just the pain, though that had been sharp and real, but the intimacy of it, the way he had wielded control over me so effortlessly. I’d never imagined I would enjoy something like that — the powerlessness, the submission. But in his hands, it had felt like I was offering up something sacred, something he alone could understand.

I stopped beside a tall bush, its leaves brushing against my fingertips, and sighed deeply, taking in the view before retreating back to the convent.

As soon as I arrived, I went up to my room, placing the flowers I collected in a porcelain vase, carefully separating each of them so they could be displayed properly.

“Pretty,” I heard behind me.

I jumped, startled at the presence of somebody standing at the doorway. Of course, I knew who it was. I turned around and clutched my Virgin Mary pendant. “Oh, Father,” I caught my breath, “I didn’t expect to see you until today’s mass.”

He was in his black priest garb, hands clasped behind him. He smiled, stepping into my room and closing the door behind him. He approached me, standing close and reaching his hand out. I thought he was reaching for me, but I watched his hand reach further and gently caress the wild sunflowers, “How was your walk?” He grabbed a stem and pulled it toward his nose, sniffing it before putting it back.

I hesitated to answer. “Introspective,” I replied quietly, smiling to myself. I crossed the room, feeling Father Mayhew’s eyes on me, “Is there anything I can help you with?” I approached my dresser and nervously tidied the objects on top.

“Not right now,” he spoke intimately. He slowly stepped toward the center of my room, standing next to the wooden chest.

I turned around, unafraid to look him in the eye anymore, “Perhaps, later,” I softly spoke, hoping he’d read between the lines.

His eyes looked toward my bed, his fingers trailing the edge, “Yes, maybe.” It was like he was teasing me, purposely letting the silence linger.

He crouched down a bit over the wooden chest. I, thinking he would be curious enough to open it, lunged forward before stopping myself when he sat down on top of it. He saw I had hesitated in my action, motioning me toward him with his hand.

I inched closer. He looked at the contour of my legs and waist, taking a deep breath. He hesitantly reached his hand out to my thigh, slowly dragging his fingertips up and down my leg. “Don’t come to mass today,” he spoke, almost as if he was thinking out loud.

I was confused at his request. “Father, I’ve never missed a day.”

He nodded his head and sighed, gripping the side of my thighs with both of his hands. He studied my body; there wasn’t a single inch he didn’t look at. I cautiously lead my hand up to his head, slowly moving it towards his hair, curious to see if he’d reject my hand. It was already styled in his usually slicked-back manner, so I was careful to not ruin it. I felt him shiver under my touch, closing his eyes and clenching his jaw.

“You’re a distraction,” he whispered.

I was offended by his words, pulling his head back by his hair. I looked down at him unmercifully, “I am not the distraction, Father.”

Father Mayhew’s breath was caught, taken aback by my sudden power. For a moment, there was something wild in his eyes—surprise, yes, but also hunger. I had never seen him like this before, vulnerable and open. His lips parted slightly. He wanted to maintain control, to keep the facade of the untouchable priest. But right now, beneath my hand, that mask was slipping. It was intoxicating.

“Then what are you?” he asked, his voice low and raspy.

His question hung in the air, daring me to answer.

I leaned in, my breath brushing against his face, and whispered, “Justified.”

His grip on my thighs tightened, and I could feel the tension radiating from him. For a second, I thought he might pull me on top of him, s, but instead, he let out a shaky breath and let his hands fall away from me, resting his forehead against my stomach. His back fell up and down as he breathed, “(Y/N), you…” his voice trailed off. He had never said my name without Sister being attached to the front of it. “You turn me into someone else.”

“Something we have in common, then,” I quietly said, running my fingers through his hair, slightly tugging when I reached the back of his head.

I felt his hands grab at my waist, pulling me in closer to him. My breath quickened at his touch. He trailed his finger tips from my ankle all the way up to the hem of my habit, sliding his hand under my dress and finding the edge of my underwear.

He had never reached there before. Usually when he disciplined, all he’d ever do was just pull up my skirt or dress, but not once did he ever touch my underwear. My leg quivered under his touch, but I didn’t want to fight it.

He pulled down my underwear, letting them fall to the floor. The room, usually so calm and familiar, now felt charged, as though it were holding its breath along with me. The cool air hugged every one of my crevices, a feeling I’d describe as… freeing.

I, then, felt his fingers move to the back of my knee, lifting my leg and placing my foot next to him on the chest. I let out a breathy exhale, tightening my grip on his hair.

He paused, his forehead still pressed against me, his breath hot against my clothes. For a moment, I thought he might stop, might pull away, retreat back behind the walls of his priestly composure, but instead, he tightened his grip around my thigh, his fingers pressing into me with a kind of desperation that thrilled me.

"Tell me to stop...” he whispered, his voice thick with restraint, yet his hands betrayed him, pulling me closer still.

A small part of me knew that what we were doing was dangerous, reckless. But in that moment, I didn't care. I couldn't. All I could think about was the way his hands felt on me, the way his body seemed to melt against mine as he gave in to the desire.

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding against my chest. My hand moved to the tip of his chin before I even realized what I was doing. I forced him to look me in the eye. Applying pressure to the situation, I said, “I don’t want you to.”

That was all it took. His control snapped, and before I knew it, he had pulled me onto his lap and ripped the habit off my head. He tugged at the buttons of my shirt, pulling them apart to expose my chest. His lips brushed against my collarbone, hot and urgent, as his fingers traced patterns over my thighs.

His touch was electric, sending a wave of heat coursing through my body. I gasped softly as his lips found the nape of my neck, his kisses desperate and hungry. Father Mayhew's breath came in shallow, ragged bursts as his hands roamed, exploring every inch of exposed skin.

The fabric of my habit bunched in his grip as he pulled me tighter against him, the line between priest and penitent completely obliterated.

I tilted my head back, surrendering to the sensation of his mouth on my skin, the heat of his body pressed against mine. It was a collision of opposites — his restraint, now unraveling, and my control, which I had never truly wielded before. Every kiss, every touch, was a betrayal of everything he had vowed to uphold. And yet, it felt like liberation.

As I unbuttoned Father Mayhew’s shirt, I watched his hands find his belt, and in one swift motion, he unbuckled himself and unzipped his pants, pulling them slightly down and pulling his hard dick out. His eyes, dark with a mix of desire and conflict, locked with mine, and for a fleeting moment, I saw a flicker of hesitation. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by something far more primal.

He inserted himself into me, immediately letting out a deep moan and digging his hands into my hips while burying his head into my neck. I sharply exhaled feeling him inside me, arching into his touch, his breath hot against my skin.

I looked down at myself slowly bouncing on top of him, unable to fathom this was really happening. The fiction I made up in my head, one I thought was fleeting, had come true — I was fucking the priest.

As we moved together, a heady mix of pleasure and power clouded my mind. His hands on my body, the way he breathed my name — it felt like a prayer, like he was asking for mercy.

He grabbed my waist and guided me, having me ride him faster. As I moaned out Father Mayhew’s name, Charlie, he leaned in and kissed me on the lips, devouring me whole. The taste of his lips sent me into a frenzy. In my head, all I could picture was all of the times I had looked up at him, at his lips, when he gave me the communion wafer and he’d say an ‘Amen.’

As I continued the fast pace, he pulled away from my lips, squinting his eyes and parting his mouth open. “(Y/N),” his voice trembled as he bucked his hips further into me.

As soon as I thought he would cum, he grabbed me by my hips and flipped me onto the bed, my back shivering at the cold sheets below me. He held my hands apart as he thrusted as powerful as he could. It made me go wild, arching my back and moaning as quietly as I could, but it just felt so good I couldn’t keep quiet.

The harder he pushed into me, the more my words became breathy. I couldn’t even get his name out anymore, my words turning into guttural moans the moment I’d manage to spit out a, “Char-“

He lowered his mouth down to my breast, licking one while pinching at the other. That was enough to get my dam to break. I clutched his back, digging my nails into his shoulder and completely forgetting about his wounds.

He had hissed into my ear at the pain, but to him, it was a sensation that had allowed him to cum inside me. He groaned into my ear, breathing deeply as he came and digging his head into the crook of my neck and embracing me with his arms.

The earth stood still. We held each other in that position for a few moments until we both caught our breaths. He removed himself from inside me, his juice dripping out of me like melted ice cream. He buried his face into his hands, deeply sighing. Had he regretted our indiscretion?

He stood over the bed, removing his hands from his face and watching me in a calculating manner. He spoke in a low tone, “Do you have a towel?”

Tired and vulnerable, I weakly pointed over to the cupboard behind me. As he walked around the bed, I flipped onto my side, looking over to the picture of Jesus Christ on my nightstand, which I was too caught up to turn it away.

Father Mayhew walked back around toward me, already having wiped himself down and fixed his pants. He folded the used, red hand towel inward and sat down next to me, carefully flipping me toward him and motioning for me to open my legs. I hesitated. He gently grabbed my leg and pulled it toward him. He slowly wiped away the bodily fluids at my opening, almost studying my anatomy, like he was cleaning some fragile thing.

I twitched at each soft stroke of the towel against my sensitive skin, looking away to avoid looking into Father Mayhew’s eyes as he cleaned me. He finished up, sitting in silence as he folded the dirty towel inward and inward again. I studied him. I desperately wanted to know what turmoil was going on inside him. It felt like I was staring into a deep, dark ocean.

He took a deep breath and stood up from the bed, looking down at his feet with his back toward me, “Don’t come to mass today,” he spoke softly again before walking out of my room.

I was speechless. This feeling of anger and worthlessness bubbled inside me. How could Father Mayhew do something as intimate as this then leave me alone in the room, naked, when I am in just as much uncertainty of this thing as he?

I made my way over to my record player, standing over it trying to fight back a tear. I quivered as I reached for the 7-inch, removing Sleep Walk from its sleeve. That feeling of uneasiness grew inside me as I placed the record on the platter and pressed play.

The sad hums of the steel guitar echoed through my room as I walked to the wooden chest and kneeled. I opened the chest and retrieved my journal, the single pen, and the black rubber exercise band.

Already knowing my routine, I placed my thighs through the rubber band. This time, though, I didn’t bother to start writing before beginning to strike myself, not holding back.

The loud snaps sounded like clockwork, rhythmic and borderline hypnotizing. I fought tears with each snap of the band against my thighs watching the area of impact become inflamed and nearly bloody.

SNAP.

By the end, my legs were bleeding. However, I still wasn’t satisfied. It didn’t feel the same as when Father Mayhew would cane me. I felt empty. He was missing.

As the room fell into silence, a feeling of guilt lingered in me. I stared at my closed journal, feeling badly that I had skipped such an integral step. Before the feeling could grow, I grabbed the pen and opened it to the next blank page, writing one singular sentence.

He is my sin and my saving grace.

With that, I closed the journal and wrapped everything together, placing it inside the chest.

I followed Father Mayhew’s instructions. I didn’t go to today’s mass and neither did I go to mass the day after. Some of the nuns would question me in the hallway about my absence. All I had to say to them was that I had a little bit of a fever and didn’t want to get any of my fellow sisters or parishioners sick. In fact, those two days of mass that I missed, I spent buying the morning after pill and chugging gallons of vitamin C. I wasn’t taking any chances.

As the third day approached, I had to return to the routine of my duties. The absence was becoming too noticeable, and despite my inner turmoil, I knew it would raise further suspicions if I stayed away from the church any longer. I dressed in my habit, wrapped my hair neatly, and made my way to the chapel for the morning mass.

Walking through the halls, I felt different. Each step echoed through the convent, the familiar sights and smells now tinged with a sense of secrecy. The nuns smiled warmly at me as I passed, their kindness making my chest tighten with guilt. If only they knew….

The chapel loomed ahead, its tall doors standing like a gateway to judgment. I paused, hand hovering over the cold wood before finally pushing it open. The moment I stepped inside, I felt a wave of tension roll through me. The air was thick with the scent of incense, the soft murmur of prayer echoing off the stained-glass windows.

And there, at the front of the altar, was Father Mayhew.

His presence dominated the room, even though he was kneeling in prayer, his head bowed in what appeared to be a display of humility. But I knew better now. I could still feel his hands on my body, his breath against my neck. My heart pounded in my chest as I found a seat near the back, trying to avoid his gaze.

The mass began as usual, his voice carrying through the chapel with the practiced cadence of a man who had done this a thousand times before.

As Father Mayhew spoke from the pulpit, I sat in the pews, my hands clasped tightly in my lap. The morning light streamed through the stained-glass windows, casting soft hues of color across the stone floor, but I could barely focus on the beauty around me. All I could see, hear, was Father Mayhew.

“Temptation is subtle,” he said, his eyes scanning the congregation, though I could feel them linger on me for just a moment. I looked down, unable to meet his gaze, my pulse quickening.

“It disguises itself as something innocent, something that feels right in the moment.” His words were heavy with meaning, and I knew the entire room could feel the weight of them, but only I understood the truth behind them.

My fingers trembled as I clutched the rosary in my lap, trying to steady myself. I felt like everyone around me could see it, could sense what had happened between us. Every word he spoke seemed aimed directly at me, a private message hidden within a public sermon.

“To face temptation is to confront the deepest parts of ourselves, the parts we keep hidden, even from God,” Father Mayhew continued, his voice quieter now, almost pained.

Every word he spoke felt like a blade cutting through me, each sermon and prayer now layered with the weight of our sin. My heart pounded in my chest. The memory of his touch, of the way we had crossed that forbidden line, flooded my mind. I could still feel the heat of his body, the pressure of his lips against mine, the sharp contrast between the holiness of this place and the sin we had committed within it.

As his voice filled the chapel once more, I forced myself to look up at him. His face was composed, but there was a darkness in his eyes, a shadow of guilt that mirrored my own. He wasn’t just preaching to the congregation. He was preaching to himself, trying to wrestle with the same demons that haunted me.

I felt a lump rise in my throat as he finished. “Let us not be deceived into thinking that we can hold fire to our chest and not be burned.”

The words stung, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him. I wanted to believe that what we shared wasn’t wrong, that it could somehow be justified. But hearing him speak like this, hearing him talk about temptation and guilt as if he were naming every sin we had committed, I knew there was no escaping it.

The silence that followed his “Amen” was suffocating. I kept my head down, gripping the edge of the pew as the service went on, focusing on the rhythmic rise and fall of the congregation’s voices.

When it came time for communion, I hesitated. The thought of approaching him now, after everything, was almost unbearable. Yet, to refuse would be to refuse Christ. I needed to act as if everything was normal, as if I wasn’t silently screaming beneath the surface.

When it was my turn, I made my way to the front, my hands trembling slightly as I held them out for the Eucharist. Father Mayhew’s eyes met mine, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to stop. His expression was unreadable, his lips pressed into a thin line. His hand shook as he placed the wafer on my tongue, a gesture that now felt tainted, laden with unspoken tension.

“Body of Christ,” he murmured, his voice tight.

“Amen,” I whispered.

I returned to my seat, trying to calm the storm inside me as the mass came to an end. The final blessing was given, the congregation slowly began to rise, their voices mingling in quiet chatter as they prepared to leave, but I stayed rooted to the pew.

As the last of the parishioners filed out of the chapel, I looked up to see Father Mayhew watching me from the altar. His gaze was intense, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the lectern. There was something raw in his expression — anger, shame, perhaps even longing — but he quickly turned away as some of the parishioners approached him at the lectern.

Some unknown force possessed me, picking up my legs and leading me towards Father Mayhew’s bedroom. I don’t know what it was that brought me there; perhaps my subconscious thought it was time for a conversation.

When I got to his room, I closed the door behind me. What caught my eye, though, was the small, red hand towel Father Mayhew had used to clean me was neatly laid out on top of his bed. I walked closer, my steps quiet and light, brushing my fingers against the towel. It was hard and dry, not washed.

I walked to the chair in his room and sat down, patiently waiting.

About an hour passed before I heard the door knob rattle, the door swinging open. Father Mayhew was taken aback by my presence in his room. “Sister, what are you doing here?”

He closed the door behind him, carefully walking across his own room, mindful of his movements. He sat on the bed opposite me, studying my demeanor.

I gathered all of my strength to say, “I like how you make me feel.” I glanced down at the floor, then back up at him to find him surprised by my words.

He sighed, tangling his fingers together, “Our indiscretion was a momentary lapse of judgement.”

“Momentary?” I questioned. “Was it momentary when you touched my lips after every sip of a communion wine? When you’d order me to your room?” I stood up from the chair and walked over to him, “It was never momentary, Charlie.”

The use of his name in a context outside of sex startled both of us, and I saw the flicker of something vulnerable in his eyes. For a moment, we froze, the tension between us unbearable. I could feel the pull, the same magnetic force that had drawn us together before. But this time, it felt different. This time, it felt like we were standing at the edge of something dangerous, something we couldn’t come back from.

“I don’t regret it,” he spoke, my voice steady, despite the whirlwind of emotions. “But we can’t keep going like this.”

“And why not?” I asked, caressing his cheek, kneeling before him. “Deuteronomy chapter 11 verse 26,” I recited, “‘See, I am setting before you today a blessing and a curse.’”

He moved my hand away, standing up and walking toward the altar by the window, “I don’t feel guilty for betraying our vows. I feel guilty about the fact that I don’t feel guilty about it at all. That’s why I’ve tried to keep my distance.”

Charlie stood at the window, the light casting shadows across his face as he stared out in silence. His confession hung in the air like incense, heavy and cloying, filling the space between us with the weight of what we had done. I could see the conflict tearing him apart, the pull between his duty and the desire that neither of us could deny.

I rose from the floor, walking slowly toward him, my hands trembling. “If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

His eyes met mine with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. For a moment, I thought he would push me away again, would end this before it could go any further. But instead, his hand slowly rose to my cheek, whispering, “Then God help us both.”

In that moment, the world seemed to fall away, and everything we had been fighting against—the guilt, the fear, the shame—melted into the background. There was only the two of us, bound together by something neither of us could fully understand, something that felt more powerful than any vow we had taken.

I stepped closer, resting my head against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart beneath my fingertips. We stood there in the stillness, our breaths mingling, the weight of the world on our shoulders.

He led his hand to the cane in the center of the altar, tracing its edges and holding it in his hands. He opened my hands and placed the cane in them. It felt heavy in my hands, like it was carrying all of the secrets Charlie and I carried.

As I looked down at the cane, I felt his hand caress my cheek again, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “I want us to switch this time.”

The words hung in the air between us, sharp and unexpected. I stared down at the cane in my hands, its weight seeming to grow heavier as his meaning settled over me. My breath hitched as I processed the shift, the power he was offering me, the reversal of roles.

I looked up at him, uncertainty swirling in my chest. “You… want me to?” I whispered, my voice barely audible in the silence of the room.

He stepped closer, his gaze intense, unwavering. He brought his lips to my forehead, giving me his blessing. “(Y/N), you are my punishment and my absolution.” His fingers brushed mine where they gripped the cane, his touch sending a familiar shiver through me.

Slowly, I nodded, accepting the responsibility he was placing in my hands. The cane felt cold, foreign, yet somehow fitting as it passed between us. I could sense the anticipation in the air, the tension thick enough to cut. This was a different kind of surrender, one where both of us stood on equal ground, where both of us would be tested.

He took a step back, his breath steady but his expression revealing the storm of emotions beneath the surface. His eyes never left mine as he took his shirt off and grabbed the kneeler, placing it in front of his bed and lowering himself to his knees, his hands resting at his sides in a posture of submission. It was a gesture I never imagined I’d see from him — the man who had once wielded authority over me now kneeling, offering himself up to the consequences of our shared transgressions.

I stood there, my grip tightening around the cane as I stared down at him. The gravity of the moment pressed down on me, but there was no going back now. What lay ahead wasn’t about punishment or power — it was about understanding.

I took a deep breath, stepping forward with slow, deliberate movements. The room was silent, save for the faint creaking of the wood beneath my feet. Charlie remained still, his body tense but unmoving, his back exposed and vulnerable. The act of holding the cane, of standing over him with the authority he had once held over me, was overwhelming in its intensity.

I lifted the cane, my pulse racing, and brought it down with a soft, controlled stroke against his back. The sound was barely audible, more a whisper than a crack, but his body tensed beneath the impact. A breathy moan escaped him, his fingers curling into the wood of the kneeler.

I paused, searching his body for any sign of regret or doubt, but he remained composed, his eyes closed in silent acceptance. He wasn’t asking for punishment; he was asking for release. I struck him again, a little harder this time, the cane leaving a faint red mark on his skin. The tension in the room thickened, the intimacy of the moment deepening.

As I continued, each strike a measured and careful act, his breathing became more ragged, his body trembling ever so slightly beneath the cane. I knew I could stop at any time, that he wouldn’t ask for more than I was willing to give, but in this shared ritual, there was something cleansing — something that felt like a confession neither of us could voice.

Finally, after what felt like hours but was only minutes, I lowered the cane, my hand shaking as I released it. I stood behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my fingertips. He nuzzled his cheek into my fingertips, kissing them slowly. Eventually, his kisses grew hungry, turning his head and kissing my hand then moving his mouth up my arm. He pulled me down by the arm and sat me down on the bed.

Charlie’s kisses grew hungrier, his hands moving over my body as if claiming me once again. His lips traveled from my hand to my arm, then up my neck, before finally returning to my mouth with a fervor that made my head spin. There was no hesitation now, no second-guessing. He knew what he wanted, and so did I.

I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him closer, feeling the heat between us build to a fever pitch. His body pressed against mine, the weight of his desire palpable, his hands wandering with an urgency that mirrored my own.

The cane lay discarded on the floor, forgotten in the heat of the moment. What had begun as an exchange of control had now become something else entirely.

I could feel the muscles in his arms tense as he positioned himself above me, his breath hot against my skin. The room seemed to shrink around us, the world outside fading into nothingness as we became lost in each other.

There was no room for doubt, no space for guilt or hesitation. The vows we had taken, the lives we had promised to live-none of it mattered in this moment. All that mattered was the way he made me feel, the way l made him feel.

His hands roamed my body, finding every curve, every dip, every place that made me gasp. I responded in kind, my fingers tracing the lines of his back, the ridges of his muscles, the places where I had struck him with the cane just moments before. There was a strange poetry to it all, the way pain and pleasure intertwined, the way power shifted between us with each touch.

I whispered, my voice steady and certain, “I want you."

Charlie looked into my eyes, his expression soft but resolute. "You already have me."

He wasn’t holding back like he was before, but even then it felt so good. This time, it felt even better. I helped him unbuckle his pants as he ripped off my vest and shirt. Our hands couldn’t get enough of each other’s bodies.

As I kissed his shoulder and trailed my way to the corner of his jaw, I could feel his fingers tugging at the underwear under my skirt. He quickly pulled both of them off, tossing them next to the cane on the floor.

He pulled himself back, admiring my body like this had been the first time we’d done this. Suddenly, I grew shy, joining my knees together. He pulled himself out of his underwear and massaged my legs open.

Charlie entered me in one fluid motion, and we both gasped, my back arching as I met his thrusts. There was no gentleness now, no restraint — just the unrelenting drive to lose ourselves in each other.

The sound of our breathless gasps filled the room, mingling with the faint echoes of the world outside—distant, irrelevant. It was only the two of us now, our bodies intertwined, bound by the weight of everything we had done, everything we had become.

“Charlie,” I moaned into his ear.

Hearing his name escape my mouth had triggered him into tightening the grip on my hips, his pace quickening as he pulled me closer, deeper. As the pressure built, my nails dug into his back as I clung to him, both of us lost in the moment.

And then we were both there, teetering on the edge before the dam finally broke. The release was explosive, a rush of pleasure so intense it was almost blinding. We cried out, his name on my lips, mine on his, as the world seemed to shatter around us.

In the aftermath, we collapsed together, a tangled mess of limbs and sweat, our hearts pounding in unison. The silence that followed was heavy but comforting, like the calm after a storm. I could feel the warmth of his breath against my skin, his body still pressed on top of mine as we lay there, both of us trying to catch our breath.

For a long time, neither of us moved. The weight of Charlie’s body on top of me was comforting. His hand trailed down the side of my body trying to find my hand, his fingers intertwining with mine, and in that simple gesture, there was more understanding, more connection than any words could have conveyed. He was in no rush to leave this time, which I thought showed some acceptance of this entire thing.

He rolled his body over to the space next to me, pulling me on top of me and laying my head on his chest, kissing my forehead as he dragged his fingernails up and down my back. It was all soothing.

I closed my eyes, listening to Charlie’s heartbeat under my ear. “What does it all mean now?”

Charlie continued to drag his fingers repeatedly, taking a deep breath, his chest rising and falling beneath me. For a long moment, he said nothing, and I wondered if he was searching for the right words, or if he even had an answer at all.

“It means,” he finally whispered, his voice low and tired, “that we can’t go back.” He sighed, his fingers pausing their movement. “The guilt, the shame, they’ll never go away. But this… what we have…” He trailed off, his hand tightening slightly around mine. “It’s real. That’s what I know for sure. More real than anything else I’ve ever felt.”

His words hung heavy in the air, and I could feel the weight of them pressing against my chest. There was truth in what he said, but it didn’t ease the gnawing uncertainty in my stomach. The gravity of what we had done—and what we were doing—felt overwhelming.

“Where do we go from here?” I asked softly, my voice barely audible against the backdrop of our shared silence.

Charlie shifted beneath me, his fingers resuming their soft strokes against my skin. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice rough with the weight of his own confusion. “But we’ll figure it out. Together.”

Despite everything, despite the sin, the broken vows, and the uncertainty that lay ahead, there was something undeniably powerful in the bond we had forged. Something that went beyond right or wrong, beyond the confines of our faith.

For now, that had to be enough.

“I’d like to give you something,” I whispered. I stood up from the bed, still without clothes, and walked over to the chair, reaching for that all too familiar wrapped box. I walked back over and sat down next to him. Charlie sat up on the bed, curious. I unwrapped the journal carefully to reveal the deepest part of my soul.

He inspected the journal without opening it when his eyes fell to the rubber band. “This is how you discipline yourself,” he thought out loud. “And this…?” He asked as he opened the journal, skimming through the words, “Your confessions.”

“I want to surrender myself to you, Charlie,” I spoke softly.

He set everything aside and kissed me. Bare, he walked over to the drawer near his alter and opened it, pulling out a flog. My breath hitched at the sight of it. I had no idea this is what he used to discipline himself. He walked back over to me and sat down, wrapping my hands around the flog.

“I surrender myself to you, too, (Y/N),” he whispered.

I studied the flog, looking at every knot at the opposite end of the handle. This flog held every one of Charlie’s secrets and confessions, and he had given it to me. It felt like a holy artifact in my hands. After having seen Charlie act somewhat distant for some time, with the exception of right now, I felt honored to finally be let in.

I set the flog aside and gave him a passionate kiss, falling into an embrace and lying back down on the bed. I pressed a kiss to his chest, closing my eyes as exhaustion began to pull at me.

The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my ear was grounding, a soft, comforting pulse that seemed to synchronize with my own. There was a weight to everything that had happened, but in this moment, I allowed myself to be suspended between reality and whatever this was.

The future loomed uncertain, with questions that would demand answers soon enough. But for now, there was only the present—his body against mine, the warmth of our shared breath, and the heavy stillness of the room. For now, we were absolute.

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spence-whore · 8 months ago

Note

OMG! imagine a spencer x reader where they are super flirty and the team goes out to the bar and they finally kiss!!!

Late Nights and Long Overdue Conversations

Spencer Agnew x Reader

A/N this is a sort of short one but it’s sweet and simple. i struggle so hard with ranting flirty banter but i also find it so funny because everyone tells me i have a flirty personality. I will be switching back to writing these in the format of using ‘you’ instead of ‘they/them’! I will continue to make these gender fluid friendly for all of my pals though:) also, thank you so much for the support here recently??? I got a notification saying that I reached over 500 likes and that is fucking insane to me. I cannot thank you guys enough for reading these and showing them love<3 i love you guys loads!

Also, remember, I’m ass at editing these. So, overlook the mistakes.

The week had been beyond stressful for everyone. Everyone was constantly in shoots from 7am-7pm, working nonstop. There were photoshoots going on, video shoots, announcements going up for different kinds of merch, literally everything you could think of. It was finally Friday and a few people from the office decided to go out to this bar, that is near the office. Erin, Chanse, Angela, Courtney, Spencer, Trevor, Arasha, Shayne, and Y/N all stood on a sidewalk, waiting to enter the bar.

“Is she coming or not?” Chanse asked looking around at everyone.

Amanda had agreed to come as well but somehow disappeared before anyone had the chance to talk to her.

“I’m not sure, shoot her a text and ask.” Angela said looking over at Chanse, who stood between Trevor and Shayne.

“Actually, don’t. I just got a text from her.” Courtney said giggling and holding her phone up. “She says, “Have a great night. Sorry for disappearing but I was ready to get home, get my ass in bed in comfortable pjs, drink some wine, and watch this new true crime documentary I found.” She also sent this picture.” Courtney holds up phone up for everyone to see and everyone just laughs and shakes their head at Courtney. It was a photo of Amanda sitting in bed with a huge wine glass, looking like that stereotypical aunt that is the drunk at family get togethers.

“Hey, Y/N. It looks like you don’t have any competition tonight.” Erin mumbled in your direction while elbowing you and wiggling her eyebrows.

“What do you mean?” You ask confused.

Everyone looked in your direction and just chuckled. “Amanda is always going on about how attractive Spencer is. Now, you can take her place for the night and tell him yourself.” Erin said, shrugging her shoulders and stepped into the bar with everyone following.

You just tried to brush her comment off but the end of her sentence really stuck with you. “You can just tell him yourself.” Something about Spencer really is hitting differently tonight. He isn’t wearing a hoodie for once. He was wearing a striped short sleeve with a jean jacket and corduroy pants. He always looks adorable whenever he’s wearing comfortable clothing but he just looks really hot tonight.

Everyone grabbed drinks from the bar then split up. Erin, Chanse, Angela, and Courtney took shots then ran to the dance floor while Shayne, Spencer, Trevor, Arasha, and you grabbed a table over to the side.

“I just realized, I don’t think I have ever seen you drunk before, Y/N.” Arasha said while watching you take a sip of your margarita. “You’re like the shy, reserved type.”

You laughed for a second and shook your head, “That’s a good thing though. I’m a hot mess whenever I’m drunk.”

Spencer immediately jumps into the conversation, “You’re always a hot mess.” He stopped for a minute and just stared at you. “That was supposed to be a compliment or like, you know, calling you hot. I realize though that it comes off as an insult.”

Everyone, including you, lost it over Spencer sticking his foot in his mouth. “I didn’t take it rudely. I guess I know what you mean.” You snorted and took another sip of your margarita. “You’re a hot mess yourself.”

Shayne, Trevor, and Arasha got into their own little conversation, so Spencer turned a little to face you. “I’m shocked you aren’t over there with Erin and Courtney. I’ve noticed in the past you’re always glued to their sides whenever we’ve gone out.”

“As Erin said, I gotta be right here, making sure to constantly just remind you how hot you are.” You said nonchalantly and taking a drink while trying to not smile.

Spencer’s face got red but you didn’t comment on it, you just found it kind of odd. “I mean, I definitely am not complaining if it’s coming from you.”

There was some kind of weird tension in the air between the two of you but you didn’t think twice about it. You were both a little tipsy, so it was probably just the drinks.. right?

You could hear feet come running up beside you and felt hands on your bicep. “Y/N, you have to walk outside with me, Angela, and Erin. We need fresh air but we don’t want to walk outside alooooone.” Courtney whine from beside you.

You just laughed and stood up. “Well, Mr. Agnew, sorry to cut our conversation short but it looks like I have to go for a minute.”

Spencer looks at you dead serious and in the chosen voice says, “I hate to watch you go but love to watch you leave.”

Courtney started giggling like crazy and started pulling you towards to door to walk outside, where Angela and Erin were standing. The four of you walk outside and sit on these two benches that were off to the side of the building.

“So, what was that in there?” Erin asked giving you a suggestive look.

You looked at the group confused. “What was what?”

“Y/N, don’t act dumb dude.” Angela said then chuckled loudly. “You know exactly what she’s talking about.”

“I was just having a conversation with Spencer.” You said looking around and avoiding their looks.

“I was just having a conversation with Spencer.” Courtney said in a mocking tone, “You looked like you were practically drooling over him and he was staring at you hard.”

You sat in silence for a minute debating on to comment on it or not but then decided fuck it, the guys aren’t around. This is your opportunity to just talk about it.

“Okay, I might have some feelings for him.” You mumbled covering your face, “I don’t want to talk about it thought because I know he doesn’t feel the same.” You got up from the bench and started pacing.

“What do you mean he doesn’t feel like the same?” Erin asked and was looking at you as if you had two heads.

You stopped in front of the bench, facing the three in front of you. “He totally doesn’t feel the same. He only sees me as a friend.” You paused for a second again before deciding to just spill it all. “Guys, I have it fucking bad. Anytime I come into work, I’m always so excited to just talk to him. I feel like a little schoolgirl with a crush. I always want to be around him. He makes me feel so safe and never makes me feel stupid whenever I go on my hyper-fixation rambles. He’s just so fucking attractive, it gets under my skin. His stupid curly hair that I just want to run my fingers through. Don’t even get me started on his hugs. Anytime he has given me a hug, I just want to stand there in his arms forever. He always smells so good too. I know there’s a running bit that he smells like death sometimes but he has never smelt bad. Oh my god and don’t even get me started on..” You quit rambling realizing all three of the women in front of you look like they’re about to throw up and that’s whenever you feel like there’s someone standing right behind you.

“He’s right behind me, isn’t he?” You asked, quoting the meme.

“Uh, let’s walk in guys. I’m getting a bit cold.” Erin said standing up alongside Courtney and Angela.

You slowly turned around to face Spencer. “Heeeeey.” You said in defeat and just flopped down on the bench.

“Hey, sorry. If I knew you were confessing your undying love for someone, I would’ve just waited before coming over here.” Spencer said while shrugging his shoulders and sitting down beside you.

“Ha ha, very funny.” You responded glaring at the guy beside you. “You don’t have to act like you don’t know that I was talking about you.”

Spencer looked at you shocked for a minute then just laughed, “Wait, so your whole little confession thing was about me?”

“What all did you hear?” You asked putting your head in your hands.

“I’m not gonna lie, I did figure out it was me whenever you mentioned my ‘curly hair’ and the running bit that Shayne and Amanda joke about on the podcast, about me smelling like death.” He says sinking down a little in his bench.

You turned a little in the bench to face him and just started rambling, “I’m so sorry if it made you uncomfortable. I completely understand if you don’t want to be friends anymore or be around me. Erin just asked me and I just broke and started talking about all of the things-“

Spencer cut you off, “I don’t want to be friends anymore.”

You could feel your heart sinking and you immediately got sick to your stomach till you noticed the smile on his face.

You couldn’t focus on what he was saying because all you could think about is why is he smiling? He hates you now, doesn’t he? He’s never going to trust you again. Your thoughts were cut off by something warm on your face and that’s whenever you snapped out of it. You come to it and realize Spencer has his palms, holding your face.

“You didn’t hear one word I just said, did you?” Spencer asked laughing at you and squishing your face a little in the process.

You shook your head no slowly since his hands were holding your face.

He didn’t say anything. He just leaned forward and pressed his lips on yours. It was like everything froze in that moment.

It took a moment for you to process what had just happened before you leaned forward again and kissed him again quickly.

“Wait, so you do feel the same way?” You asked, staring at Spencer like a child who just found out they were going to Disney World.

“No, I just kiss my friends after they confess their feelings. Of course I do, you dork. We can talk all of this out tomorrow whenever we’re sober alright. Let’s just head back inside and get plastered. Deal?” Spencer said while standing up and offering you his hand.

“Deal, it is quite cold out here.” You responded taking his hand.

He let go of your hand for a moment to take his jean jacket off. He holds his jean jacket out to you and gets this shit eating grin on his face.

“Here, you can wear this. I was getting kind of hot anyways. You can smell it all night since you apparently like to be a little weirdo and smell me.” He says trying to not laugh.

“That’s not what I meant!” You got defensive and tried to explain yourself before you noticed Spencer was silently laughing to himself.

“I was teasing you. Now, let’s head back inside and get bullied by everyone for finally not being wimps and admitting our feelings.”

#spencer agnew x reader #smosh x reader #spencer agnew fluff #spencer agnew imagines #smosh imagine

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primordial-shade · 1 year ago

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Minotaur Partner Headcanons

Hellloooo I’m back, very sorry for being away but honestly I uploaded those previous two posts on a whim and came back from Spain to my tumblr having loads of notifications. SO thank you and here’s another segment of my Monster Lover Headcanons with the Minotaur! One a bit of a Greek fix lately so here we go.

Background

Minotaurs. Big beefy and sweet as all hell.

Headcanon for how they started? Easy, out Mr Original, Asterion the sweet poor lamb (BTW for those who maybe don’t know that was the Minotaur’s original name) did actual kill the sacrifices but tried to help them but they all fled in fear of him and died in the Labyrinth except one, a lovely lady I’m going to call Hemera.

She ended up staying in the labyrinth with Asterion, falling in love and determined to get them both out.

Theseus fucks along and when he’s about to kill her beloved she knocks him the fuck out, uses the yarn to get them all out, then fucks off with her hubby to the Mountains and lets everyone think Theseus killed him by leaving behind part of his broken horn.

They start a farm up in the mountains (With support from Asterions mother Persiphae and his sisters and eventually his brother in Law Dionysus who are happy Asterion is alive and happy cuz FUCK MINOS.)

Eventually they have several kids (Adorable as fuck) and a thriving mountain farm that the kiddos inherited.

As such Minotaurs are all related, and as such they often seek human partners.

Minotaurs like in mountainous regions, often protected by the God Dionysus, whose wife is all their many times great aunt who was forced to marry Theseus and tried to kill him and only gave him the yarn so her brother could kill him and use it to get out we love you Adriane <3

They grow lots of things but they are famous for wine 😉

White, red, rose, dessert. They make every type and its so fucking good.

Maybe you’re a wine coniseur, maybe you decided to go visit the farms on holiday, maybe you’re a local they trade with or a worker on the farm.

Needless to say when you catch a Minotaurs eye, you are staying for good.

SFW

Big sweethearts. Big beefy adorable sweethearts. Muscled as fuck and strong, with big soulful eyes and soft fur and hnghhghhg

I got fucking sidetracked

Anyway, Minotaur’s are very family orientated and all work on the huge collective farms in various roles. Don’t worry, wether or not you can contribute to the farm is moot, you’re their love and you don’t have to prove yourself in anyway and also if you’re human they kinda get overprotective and its like, ‘no please don’t help we don’t want you to get bruised or tired we love you just go and relax and let us do all the hard work baby <3.’

The hardest of workers, baby if you have a minotaur partner one of your main jobs is teaching them not to overwork themselves because they just wanna be good and make sure everything is good and they can’t stand doing nothing or not taking care of you.

If they could physically carry you around all the time, and this is more about your want to walk because they could carry you around all the time, you’re their Love, their sweet delicate loves. Please let them carry you around, it makes them so happy.

Their favourite thing in the world is taking care of you.

You’re hungry? They will literally go out to the farm and find the juiciest, best tasting produce and will hand feed it to you.

You have achy muscles? Oh poor baby, let them get their big strong hands and soothe all those aches and pains away.

If you do the same for them??

Ooooh, love, love love love.

They’re favourite thing? Honestly is when you lay down and they can curl up and put their head on your lap, letting you scratch their heads and between their horns.

Ooooh you scratch between their horns or behind their ears?? Very happy Minotaur, very happy wiggly minotaur. You’ll be lucky if you can get up for the next few hours, this is a pleasure that is rare and cherished.

They will also always show off. They can’t help it they just so want to impress you.

They’ll play fight with other Minotaurs in front of their loves, pick up heavy things, lift you up and carry you around.

They love making flower crowns too, and any crafts they take up they’ll make you something.

They love being praised. They absolutely love it, please praise them. Tell them how strong they are, how sweet they can be, how soft there fur is or how lovely their eyes are. They will melt, making soft little ‘moo’ sounds out of sheer pleasure.

They will also praise you constantly.

Your talents, your looks, even how you breathe. If it can be praised they will do it.

They also take a little longer to fall in Love, it’s a long term distrust thing, but once they do they fall *hard*.

And they will do anything in their power to prove this love to you. They love hard and they love deeply.

Bless their hearts but for a long time they’ll probably act like a Minotaur in love until one moment when they see you holding a baby Minotaur, or if the sun catches on your face the right way or even just sitting together and drinking something warm and suddenly it’s like a switch goes off in their heads.

“I love this person. ILOVE THIS PERSON!!” Nothing but joy and love and warmth.

Very physically affectionate. Hugs, cuddles, handholding, licking, kissing….

Yeah, their love language is love and praise. Which leads us into

NSFW:

So Minotaurs are big. In every way.

Not only are they generally built like strongmen. All muscles and covered in a nice thick layer of fat, male and female Minotaur are built this way.

Big muscles, big breasts and pecs, fat cocks and pussies. Everything is big and ready for you to feast upon.

One of the major things they like doing to you is lick.

Their tongues are thick and long, and they love to lick the taste of your salty sweat from your skin, to lick your salty semen and tangy arousal from your pussy or cock. They long to spread you open and lock you clean or flick their tongue over your most sensitive parts.

Sit on their face. Don’t give them any bullshit about being to heavy they are fucking Minotaurs and you will sit on their face so help them Dionysus.

Suffocation??? Who gives a shit about that, fucking sit on them and let them eat your ass/pussy out!!!!! If they die they die, and they will die with no regrets.

They are so soft with you though, loving touches and praising how good you taste and feel around and in them. How good you sound calling their names and begging for them. Such a darling thing, a sweet pretty love.

Yeah they are the kings/queens of accidental overstim. It’s always just one more orgasm, one more sweet baby, just give me one more. God they love you so much, please let them keep going, please just one more orgasm, just one more sweet orgasm.

Your legs will be shaking, you’ll be cockdumb/pussydrunk to the point you can barely speak but you keep going because you love them so much and gods it feels so fucking good.

You will be covered in fluids. Cum, semen, spit, all over the place. Covering your skin, filling your mouth, filling you. There will not be an area untouched by them and you love it.

#monster x reader #monster fucker #monster lover #monster x human #terat0philliac #terato

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1nthedarknessofthenight · 1 year ago

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﴾ i drink your blood and i eat your skin, part one.

pairing: hwang hyunjin x f!reader

genre: vampire au

word count: 3,5k

warnings: smoking ⋆ assault! ⋆ gory!

masterlist

playlist

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Stood up…again. That sickening and now very known feeling in the chest created another crack in your already shattered heart. You felt like a total fool. Why can’t you just get over the fact that maybe being a lover girl in this century wasn’t the right way to go. Oh, how much you wished to be more like your friend Mia. Just living in the moment, not worrying about the men and women you had in the past and only wondering who will be next.

Truth to the word is that love comes when you are least expecting it but you do overthink everything. Every occurrence with someone–hell even a stupid eye contact makes you think about the future you could have with a literal stranger. However you already set the bar low enough, it hit the ground a long time ago. Looks didn’t even matter anymore, if they just showed interest and knew how to act like a normal human being was enough for you. Your overthinking can do the rest but today it surely ‘did a good job’.

You met this guy just yesterday at the grocery shop, so romantic but you weren’t asked on a date like in forever so it was quite exciting. He wasn’t even that bad looking — short dirty blond hair, broad shoulders and fairly tall…The wandering eyes of his on your chubbier figure surely could be overlooked. It wasn’t like you hated your figure but seeing someone openly checking you out like that was a first and it made you feel wanted, so you went for it.

Well…it didn’t go as well as you thought it would as now you were sitting on a small bench in the middle of the night all by yourself. You shouldn’t have talk about him to your friend Mia, seeing that when you would talk about some potential love interest they would right after suddenly change their whole behavior, only leaving you feeling disappointed and embarrassed.

Date was at 6 p.m at this small Italian restaurant and by quarter to seven with no sight of your date and no text saying that he was running late, you learned that maybe your date was cancelled. At least the food and wine was good enough to hide your disappointment for awhile but after the third glass you felt like breaking down.

A 24 year old woman and no experience. Even the kids’ siblings you babysat had more experience with dating. You knew that by having no experience isn’t something to be ashamed of but you felt like you were missing out on life…

You took another drag of your cigarette, ignoring the coldness of the bench beneath you. You could at this point get a cat and become one of those rich cool aunts that traveled all around the world but reality hits you right there. No siblings, no parents and also being a hopeless romantic couldn’t help you become someone you knew you never will be.

You actually rarely felt sad about having no one from your own blood. As long as you could remember Mia was everything you had and needed and Mia’s parents gave you everything and more. You don’t even know how you became friends, all you knew was that you two have an unbreakable bond and couldn’t wish for anyone else.

You smiled at the thought of your friend. Maybe you don’t even need anyone but there was still a feeling like a piece of missing puzzle was somewhere out there to fulfill you. You shook your head and laughed at your own thought. Atleast no one was out at this hour, basking in the silence.

Seeing that you almost finished your cigarette, you stood up and dust of your white chiffon dress. If your friend saw you she would probably shoved that cancer stick right down your throat. You didn’t even smoked that much, a one cigarette after a while (a whole pack) can’t hurt nobody.

The starry night today was awfully pretty and made your attention shift to its dazzling beauty. Walking few steps, you leaned over the brick wall of of the bridge you walked your whole live on. This small stone bridge was built in Middle Ages and from that moment it connected the two sides of the town in one. Wrapping your lips around the cigarette, holding it between your pointer and index finger you watched as the smoke mixed in with the light fog of this cold spring evening.

Thanks to the alcohol, you didn’t even felt the cold seeping under the skirt of your dress that much. Last drag and then finally putting out the cigarette on the cold stone, you watched again how the smoke from your cherry colored lips danced through the night but suddenly your vision caught something way more interesting.

A man dressed in dark clothes was leaning against a stone railing few feet below her. You didn’t even know how you could see him because he was perfectly blending in with the darkness of the night. From where you were standing, you could make out that he had longer black hair, one side tuck behind his ear which was decorated by a small earring that twinkled in the moonlight. In his hands was a notebook, scribbling down something. You quickly learned that he was drawing the waters of the quiet river he softly lift his gaze to every now and then.

You lost yourself in his smooth movements and captivating beauty. Even by being far from this man, you could confidently say that he was one of the most beautiful creatures you have ever seen. His other hand caressed the paper like it was the soft skin of a lover, fingers decorated by multiple rings. You were in a trance, watching him draw, you could even hear the light scratching of his pencil against the page and then…a sudden movement of his makes your breath get stuck in your throat. As his gaze again went to the illuminated river, he suddenly tilted his head in your direction.

You were now met with a pair of blue eyes, so blindingly pale blue that seemed to look right through you. You were right…that man was beautiful. From his piercing eyes to his nose, strong jawline and perfect full red lips. He looked like an angel but by the look in his eyes, you felt like he was something completely different . He was dangerously beautiful.

Your heartbeat quickened as his glowing eyes slightly narrowed and then slowly trace over your features, just like yours did to him. You felt analyzed not only from the outside but also on the inside, almost waiting for his approval as he once again met your eyes in a burning stare that sent shivers down your spine. The look in his eyes changed. To what? You didn’t know but it made you feel uneasy.

His head turned suddenly to look behind him. Confused, you take a look in the same direction and after just a small moment of waiting, loud voices and laughter were heard as five men come up from the corner stumbling, they were certainly drunk. As you turn to glance back at the man, you were just openly gawking at you were only met with no one. It was like he wasn’t even there in the first place and you began thinking if maybe he was just fragment of your imagination after all.

Hearing and seeing the five men going closer, you decided to head back home. Turning on your heels, you began walking across the bridge to the other side. The streets were empty and it didn’t help that you lived quite far from where you were right now. A sudden feeling like you were being watched made you quickly look over your shoulder and learning that your were right about your theory.

Those same men were just few meters behind you and if you didn’t turn around, you wouldn’t know a thing because they suddenly became quiet, whispering to themself, their bickering blending into the light wind.

Your heart immediately sank, quickening your steps. ‘’Hey, you!’’ Echoes a voice from one of the men. You ignored it almost tripping from how fast you were now going. “Come on, pretty lady-‘’

Grabbing your bag in your hands, you fumble through it. “We just want to talk! And a girl shouldn’t be walking all alone in the middle of the night ya know..” Now the voices were too close to your liking. When you felt the pepper spray at the bottom of your bag, you grasped it and decided to do better and immediately take off running.

Your breathing become heavier as you heard sound of heavy footsteps from behind you. “Get back here!~” Today definitely couldn’t got any worse for you. Your ears ranged and legs screamed from your sudden burst of energy. Maybe this is a sign to work out more as you felt the irony taste in your mouth.

A sinister laughter echoed through the night making a small amount of tears well up in your eyes. You were too far from any house. Your feet hurt like hell and exhaustion slowly started to creep up to you, the cold air making you shiver as it kissed your reddened cheeks. Behind your blurry vision, you saw an open gate to a cemetery, quickly thinking of the risks you would have to make. It was dark and there was a chance hiding in the shadows…

Making a sharp turn to the left, you almost slipped through the open gate but a hand suddenly wrapped itself around your forearm tugging you to its owner. “Gotcha~” But before the man could finish, you turn your head away from him, spraying the contents of the pepper spray in to his eyes.

Screaming in pain, he let go of you, making you grasp the open side of the gate and smashing it into him making him tumble to the ground. You didn’t even look if there was a lock somewhere, seeing that the others weren’t that far from you and turning to run through the dark cemetery .

You tripped every step. You felt like one of those stupid girls in horror movies but it was so dark, you couldn’t see much of anything. When your line of vision caught a big gravestone, you cried up, there was no time to look for better hiding spot.

Falling onto your knees and squeezing yourself behind the big stone, you tried to calm down your racing heart and rigid breathing as it got eerily quiet. Pressing your upper back on the back of the gravestone, you pulled your legs up to your chest and prayed for your literal life. Your new dress was probably torn to shreds and dirty but you didn’t seem to care as your fear filled eyes stared into the darkness before you.

“Come out, come out wherever you are!”

“She can’t be far.”

“Look over there and I will~”

A small quiet sob flew past your lips, making you cover your mouth with your hand. This couldn’t be happening right now. They should’ve lost interest by now. ‘God why me?’, you thought, pressing the palm of your hand painfully onto your lips.

You heard snapping of twigs quite far from you but you still didn’t have the courage and strength to take it as a chance to escape and run and there was still chance someone was near you as there were five of them. The moon shined from behind you, making shadows that seemed even more scarier now because of your situation. Maybe a ghost or something would be better than this.

As your gaze burned the ground below you an unexpected shadow appeared on the ground. Your heart immediately sank. “There you are, pretty girl.” Whispered the new comer, making you immediately spring to your feet into the opposite direction but you were only caught by arms of a second man.

“No!~” You screamed into the night accompanied with laughter by the others. Trashing in the arms of the man, you screamed for help more and more as your blurry vision caught the other three men making their way to you.

The grip that man had you in was bruising, making you cry out in pain. You can’t just stop fighting…so the next thing you did was stomping your foot down on to the man’s foot. You couldn’t be more happy of deciding the last minute to wear heels as his grip loosened when your heel pierced his foot. Shoving yourself away from him, you ran, dugging right under pairs of arms that tried to caught you but you still didn’t make it far.

One of them made you trip over your feet. Falling so unexpectedly, you didn’t even have time to register anything in the dark, making you fall head first on a corner of a gravestone. A small cry came from your, gripping your throbbing head in your hands as your ears rang. Feeling yourself being grabbed at made you a little bit wake up from the small unconsciousness, swinging your arms widely and trying to hit anything you could reach but they were only caught in a painful grip.

Crying loudly you tried to wiggle away as you felt yourself being laid back on to the cold ground. Two of them quickly catch your legs mid air as you tried to atleast kick one of them. “No please~” You plead, feeling so stupid for even trying as they only laughed at you.

The one left that wasn’t holding any of your limbs, loomed over you, looking like a predator looming over his helpless pray. It was the one you pepper sprayed. Watching him as he took out a switchblade knife from his pocket made you for a moment stop your loud crying. “Scream and I cut you.” He said while going to his knees right between your legs. This can’t be it…

“Fucking bitch.” He says dragging the knife up your leg lifting your skirt with the sharp point, making you trash around a little in hopes of being spared. Your head fell onto the ground. You didn’t want to look down and have chance of seeing your assaulters or even to the side and seeing his accomplices’ sickening grins. For a moment you could only feel the stars and moon looking down at you. Oh, how much you wished to be as far away as them right now, trying so hard to ignore the sound of belt unbuckling.

“What~” That unexpected question came from your side, making you look in wonder and immediately a scream gets stuck in your throat.

The first thing you saw was red. Blood so bright that even in the pitch darkness you could see it covering your dress and lower body. Your assaulter with the knife was now held by the head as their newcomer had their mouth attached to his neck, watching as warm, crimson blood flowed freely from where they were contacted. The unknown person growled that sound so animalistic that it made goosebumps rise on the back of your neck.

As the body of the man fell limply to the ground you could finally see your so called ‘hero’. Before you stood the same man you saw under the bridge. The one whose beauty struck you as a lightning but right now you felt everything but admiration towards this man. Another–new and now even more strong wave of fear run though you as you look upon him.

His beautiful icy blue eyes were now red, pulsing blue and purple veins underneath his lower eyelashes that went across his cheekbones and his lips painted from the blood of his victim, made him look nightmarish. The crimson liquid dripped from his lips down to his chin and chest, seeping into his expensive looking dress shirt. The moonshine lightened his slim silhouette and his wild look in his eyes made them all see what…who the real danger truly is.

Shaking out of your trance, you felt yourself being grabbed at not so strongly as before. One of those men that kept your legs down, spring at your savior. But as quickly as he stood up the creature of the night grabbed him harshly by his neck, pinning him down and baring his sharp teeth at him. You, seeing a way out, took it and you definitely weren’t alone as the now only three men took of running with you. You choose the left side with one of those men and the other two right and as you turn to look back at them, those same men were stopped as now they were met with someone new.

A shorter man with sandy blonde hair stood before them and you must say, he was equally as beautiful as the other one. You stood frozen in your spot as the stranger with cold, almost bored looking eyes shoved both of his hands into those two grown men’s chests like it was nothing. Loudly gasping, you shrieked as now the man held their hearts in the palms of his hands, their bodies now an empty box, falling by his feet. You didn’t know what to do other than watch, frozen in horror, so you didn’t even see coming the only one man left, pauncing at you and grabbing you swiftly from the back and pressing the cold knife to your throat.

“Don’t come near me you fucking freaks!” Yells the man in your ear, now having both of theirs attention. Even breathing made the knife cut lightly the delicate skin of your neck.

But by a blink of an eye you were free, immediately falling to the ground as your own legs gave up on you in the same moment. You heard a short scream, followed by the loud sound of bones snapping, making your skin crawl. Crawling desperately away, you stopped at a tree that now seemed like the most supporting thing in this situation as you curled yourself up next to it. You couldn’t run, you knew that would be stupid. You got yourself from a dangerous situation and now you were in even bigger one. Bringing your knees to your chest, you sobbed. Never have you felt so afraid and useless. There wasn’t even a chance…so you did the only think you could. Plead.

“Please, I won’t say anything…please~” You say not looking up.

One of them slowly walk up to you, stopping right before you. You held your breath, quieting your sobs for a moment and peeking from behind your fingers to look at the boots of the same man that ripped someone’s heart right from their chest just seconds ago. “What do you want to do with her?” Spoke the man, his voice so calm almost soothing but his question for sure didn’t made you feel more relaxed.

Breathing through your nose heavily, you squeezed your eyes shut trying to imagine yourself anywhere else. Response wasn’t heard as the man whose beauty you so admired walk up to his company.

If you would be watching you could’ve seen looks being exchange between them.

The sandy blonde haired man grabbed the other by his arm stopping him from going any further to you. “If Chan hears about this, I will make sure to throw you into the dungeons myself.” Only a small smirk was send back his way.

You felt your body go stiff as someone crunched down before you, softly bringing their hand to the side of your face. Their touch was cold as ice and if you weren’t already freezing you would surely jump away.

Their fingers softly traced your face, stopping at your chin and slowly lifting your head. The same blue eyes you saw from before were now staring right into yours, noticing the subtle ring of red around the iris. You felt yourself drowning again in his beauty and strangely your breathing calmed down. You and the man look upon each other for a moment. His cold touch felt more like burning but you didn’t have the heart to pull away as this was probably the softest touch you have ever felt. “Please…” You didn’t even know for what you were pleading anymore.

His other hand, the hand decorated with those beautiful rings went to the other side of your face, having no other choice but to look back into his alluring eyes. “You will forget everything that happened tonight.” He whispered, his voice velvety and delicious to your ears. “From the moment you saw me to this very moment and go home.”

Your tear filled eyes look into his, watching his pupils grow in size with his every word. Just as quickly as he said those words, he was gone by a blink of an eye. So was his company, even the bodies of your assaulters were nowhere left to be seen. You swallowed the lump in your throat, not wanting to spend anymore time at this creepy cemetery. You stoop up on your shaking legs, surprised seeing your bag sitting right by your feet. You forgot about even loosing it. Bending over and grabbing it, you walked the way home and recalling his words in your head again.

“Forget…” The only thing was that you didn’t, not knowing the consequences that will come because of it.

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author’s note

So this is actually my first ever fanfic on tumblr as you can see. So I hope you like it and I just wanted to say that even studying English my whole life it’s still not my mother language so I’m sorry for any errors you come across.

I used to write a lot on wattpad but I don’t make anymore stories but still if you want to, you can check them out on: @Audrey_Holland

Thank you for reading, can’t wait for you guys to read the next chapters.

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