#I am going to return to the church and every week I am going to sit in that pew and pray for J.D. Vance to have an aneurysm in public

[rosieofcorona]

team...

[jessamine-rose]

˖⋆˚♱ଘ Angel’s Tears ଓ♱˚⋆˖

*cries* I thought I was done with Church AU after Priest! Dottore yet here I am with more unholy ideas. Welp, Guardian Angel! Capitano x Nonbeliever! Darling, here we go (；ω；)

Tw:: yandere, psychological trauma, blood, violence, death, religious abuse, MDNI

Note:: fictional depictions of religion

♡ 3.8k words under the cut ♡

♡ From the moment of their creation, angels are classified into the Nine Orders. This hierarchy determines their roles in Heaven and Earth, with higher ranks assigned greater levels of power and authority. A special exception is The Strongest Angel, an individual who is neither a Seraph nor an angel from the First Sphere. Rather, the moniker belongs to Il Capitano, the leader of the Powers.

♡ The legitimacy of his title has never been questioned. As a warrior angel, Capitano’s purpose is to vanquish evil. He is the chivalrous knight in bloodstained armor, the nigh-invincible being who strikes fear into the hearts of demons, the ever-righteous angel bound by a paradoxical duty to partake in violence for the sake of everlasting peace.

♡ It is in a small town in Mondstadt, following his victory over a legion of demons, that Capitano encounters you. It is the hour of mass yet you are nowhere near the Church; rather, you have taken sanctuary in a secluded meadow. A book sits on your lap, not a religious text but a tale of dark fantasy. There is a saintlike quality to your countenance, an air of melancholy as delicate as the flowers which surround you.

✿ ⚘

The moment Capitano appears before you, all peace leaves the meadow.

No, this isn’t right. It is normal for humans to feel fear in the divine presence of angels, yet he is donning his human guise. Nonetheless, as soon as his shadow touches your form, you look up and suppress a shriek, your face losing its veil of apathy.

So what exactly did he do wrong?

For your benefit, he remains rooted to his spot. Clarity comes in the form of your gaze flitting to your book, its title printed on the cover in conspicuous letters, the whispers which leave trembling lips.

“I…I can explain! This book—it’s just fiction! There are no real curses or spells inscribed in the text; it doesn’t promote any form of blasphemy!”

Ah, now he understands. You weren’t afraid of him.

Carefully, Capitano takes a step forward and raises his hand in a calming gesture. A gentle expression adorns his false face.

“Be not afraid.”

✿ ⚘

♡ It doesn’t take long for him to understand your wariness. A glimpse into your soul, paired with your quiet explanation, tells the story of an orphan raised by the Church. Only, your Church is one of many founded on distorted beliefs, of violence preached in the name of a cruel god. As a result, your upbringing was marked by strict rules, corporal punishments, and sermons which painted the image of a hopeless child with a weakness for temptation.

♡ Knowing this, Capitano can’t fault you for forsaking God and your Church. Still in his human guise, he promises his silence and leaves the meadow. But once he returns to Heaven, his first course of action is to apply for a position as your guardian angel. It is an easy process—while that role is typically reserved for the lower ranks, there is no shortage of humans in need of spiritual guidance and protection. He only questions why an angel wasn’t assigned to you when you were in greatest need of one.

♡ Henceforth, Capitano becomes a recurring character in your life. Every week, he visits you in the meadow. When you ask for his identity, he claims to be a progressive believer from another town. But rather than enlighten you with the true Word of God, he simply keeps you company and indulges your “vices,” leading to hours spent reading together. Beyond those meetings, he also watches over you to ward off any demons or humans seeking to harm you.

♡ From your end, you slowly warm up to your mysterious companion. He is a man of few words, but his actions always convey a sense of kindness. And despite his faith, he genuinely respects your beliefs and accepts you as you are. At one point, he even gives you a special gift, a quill pen of exceptional quality. The feather, pure white with a soft radiance, must have been sourced from a rare bird of prey.

♡ Over time, however, something changes. Capitano can’t deny that the faults lies with him. His visits, his constant thoughts of you, the ever-blurring line between want and duty…nothing of his behavior can be attributed to an angel’s inherent love for humanity. If that were the case, his love wouldn’t beget heartache. His love wouldn’t beget the temptation to harm others, rooted not in the name of justice but for your own safety. His love wouldn’t beget lust, guilt, dishonor, desires so sinfully evocative of his own fallibility.

♡ The truth is, you were never in need of spiritual salvation. From the moment he first laid eyes on you, what Capitano saw was a pure soul—a good person unlikely to commit evil nor fall into true temptation. Moreover, he knows that your sin of disbelief is forgivable unlike your Church’s sins of violence. That so long as you remain as you are, your soul will not be denied paradise, albeit in a realm of Heaven beyond Capitano’s jurisdiction. So why is he incapable of leaving your side?

✿ ⚘

“I had a long, long dream. I dreamed that you and I met again in the pure white world that we created.”

As you read the final line, your gaze leaves the book and returns to Capitano.

“What did you think of the story?”

Your shoulder brushes against his own, a tempting sensation. It is all he can do to remain still, to think against seeking out more of your touch, to remind himself that your close proximity is a mere necessity for your current activity.

The left side of the book, bearing the story’s ending, rests in your left hand. The other side is held in Capitano’s right hand, a blank page devoid of hope for a happy ending. When he turns the page, you seamlessly catch it under your thumb to show the next page.

Who knew of the casual intimacies imbued in the act of reading together?

“It was a well-written novel,” he says simply. “Though her sins tarnished her honor, Rosalyne’s sacrifice was an act of love. Her loss did not hinder her faithfulness to Rostam.”

“I feel the same way,” you muse. “Now I understand why this book was banned centuries ago. Forbidden love between angels and humans…it certainly goes against what the Church taught us about angels. I have to give the author credit for their imagination.”

It’s just the two of you again, this time in the library. At the start of winter, you invited Capitano to your workplace. There, in your greatest show of trust, you brought him to a secret room dedicated to texts banned by the Church for promoting “blasphemy.” Fantasy, erotica, anti-Church publications, first editions of censored books, stories which merely deviated from the Church’s popular depictions of spiritual beings.

Molten Moment belongs to the last category. Little do you know that it was based on a true story, that the author had really formed a pact with a demon called La Signora. Capitano himself is mentioned in the story under his true name.

He was one of the few angels who noticed the changes in Rosalyne’s behavior. She used to be a Throne, an angel with no connection to Earth nor humanity. Yet by some twist of fate, she laid eyes on a brave knight from Mondstadt and began to meet him in her human guise.

He was the first to hear of Rosalyne’s sin, that being she saved Rostam’s life during a battle. It was a direct violation of God’s orders: Angels and demons may influence humans, but they are forbidden from directly altering a human’s lifespan.

He was a silent witness to Rosalyne’s descent. She fell from Heaven, burned by her own flames, yet she had never appeared more ecstatic. In the following years, she married Rostam and lived a happy life with him on Earth.

He was the last to recognize Rostam’s soul at the pearly gates, forever separated from his fallen lover. Such had been Rosalyne’s divine punishment, worsened by her knowledge of this possibility. But what else was she to do? To let Rostam know of her true nature? To drag his soul down to Hell, where he’d be subjected to an eternity of undeserved suffering?

Capitano is no fool. As he read Molten Moment, he began to understand Rosalyne’s sin in a new light. Half the time, he couldn’t even concentrate on the text, his human eyes repeatedly drifting to your intense reading expression.

He closes the book, leaving it in your sole grasp. But before he can stand up from the sofa, you scoot closer and lean your weight on him. The book is placed on a nearby table, forgotten.

“Do you mind?” you whisper. Your right hand, empty since the prologue, traces his left hand.

A moment of silence precedes his response. “You may.”

Wordlessly, you take his hand and intertwine your fingers. A gesture of intimacy, an unspoken confession. Yet as he savors your touch, Capitano wonders if you would harbor the same level of comfort around his true form.

He doubts it. As a Power, he bears an inhuman appearance on par with that of his superiors. It is his true image which has earned him the title of monster by witnessing humans.

Still, he allows himself to indulge in the blessing that is your oblivion. When you look into his two human eyes, there is a soft light in your gaze wholly free of fear.

“Spring is coming soon,” you mutter. “I can’t wait to see the flowers again. Come to think of it, there’s a variety of narcissus which grows only in late spring. It’s very pretty.”

Against his better judgment, Capitano strengthens his grip on your hand. “Shall I take it as an invitation to resume our meetings in the meadow?”

“Sure.” That is when you look up, a small smile adorning your face. “And if you can’t visit for whatever reason, I’ll pick a bouquet and preserve it for you.”

For once, Capitano is rendered speechless.

Rarely do you ever smile. Even to him, you retain your listless disposition—whether it is out of habit or lingering distance, he has yet to discern your reasons. But that is what makes it all the more special, those few instances when he is beholden to your expressions.

He wonders if this is what humans feel in the divine presence of angels, when they are borne witness to all things holy and beautiful.

Your smile is a phenomenon reserved only for the worthiest of souls. And in your grace, he has never felt more undeserving.

✿ ⚘

♡ At the end of winter, a religious war is authorized by the Church of Mondstadt. Shortly after the news reaches your town, Capitano informs you that he will be busy with “work.” He says it during another reading date, featuring Heart of Clear Springs. Before leaving, he kisses your hand and gives you a kind smile. There is a sad look in his eyes, but you don’t inquire further.

♡ In late spring, your town is attacked. With the entire area under fire, from your home to the meadow, you find yourself running back to the sacred building which you’d avoided for years. After all, though the enemy soldiers belong to a different denomination, they still worship the same god as you. In the present, the church is the only place on Earth where you can claim asylum and pray for your survival.

♡ Except every entrance is locked, including the doors to the orphanage. As the army reaches the town square, all you can do is bang on the front doors and beg to be let in. From inside, you can hear the voices of the people that luckily attended mass before the invasion. Some tell you to hide elsewhere, others beg you for forgiveness, a few sound like the nuns and caretakers who tormented you in the past.

♡ Before you can think of another sanctuary, a soldier strikes you. Pain…it has never felt more intense. Through your fading consciousness, you register your body falling and your head hitting the concrete. Blood pools from your forehead and trickles down the steps of the church, tainting it red.

♡ Life flashes before your eyes in a blurry sequence. The static images of God, sermons and bruises, unanswered prayers, people who never believed you or simply didn’t care. A birthday celebrated with your departure from the Church. Sanctuary found in the library followed by the meadow. Yet the numbness remained, each day bleeding into the next in a gloomy haze. In all those years, did you ever feel God’s love?

♡ It doesn’t matter at this point. A small part of you wonders if you should have retained your faith, continued your prayers, sought out salvation in the safety of your solitude. At least then, at the hour of your death, you wouldn’t be confronted with the fact of your humanity. The primal fear of death, the spiritual fear of ending up in Hell no matter Capitano’s reassurances.

♡ Capitano…where is he? Weakly, you call out to him but he doesn’t appear. Of course, why would he? You should feel thankful; it means he is probably safe, wherever he is. Still, you can’t help but wish he were here—if not to save you, as he has done by simply keeping you company, but to comfort you one last time. And those are the thoughts which plague you in your final moments, an unheard prayer on the tip of your tongue.

“I pray that we meet again, myself and the first person who truly loved me.”

♡ ______ died on a cloudy day, one of many people persecuted in the name of God. After the Church was destroyed and its followers slaughtered, their body was buried in a mass grave that once flourished with nature. There was a poignant quality to their countenance, an air of distress as transient as the flowers planted above them.

♡ At least, that is how your story ends from the perspectives of the survivors. But to the angels and demons who witnessed the destruction of your town, your death was only the end of a chapter in your life. In their eyes, Capitano had been present all throughout, an invisible witness to your death, absolute in his refusal to perform an unauthorized miracle.

♡ He remained by your side until the light faded from your eyes. That was when he took notice of the bouquet of narcissus clutched in your hand, tainted with blood despite your feeble efforts to save his gift. A soldier approached your corpse, intending to drag it down the steps for burial; but before they could touch you, Capitano appeared before them.

♡ It was only for a brief second, but the soldier drew back and cowered in fear. In the following days, they were haunted by the memory of the angelic figure who appeared outside the Church of Mondstadt. Or more precisely, the monster who prayed over a bloodstained corpse and took a bouquet of ruined flowers out of their grasp.

✿ ⚘

From the moment you wake up, all peace leaves the meadow.

What happened? Your memory comes back in hazy fragments—death, darkness, blinding light, pearly gates, ethereal figures. Most vivid is the sensation of strong arms and soft feathers, a familiar warmth which accompanied you throughout your journey.

As for your current surroundings, you are in a meadow so beautiful that it brings to mind the Garden of Eden. Flowers of every variety bloom across the scenery, some out of season. The sky is bright, sunless, a canvas of multiple colors. There are no other signs of life.

Internally, too, something feels off. A nearby pond provides a glimpse of your reflection—white garments, gold scars in place of your fatal injuries, your disoriented countenance. If this place is what you think it is…shouldn’t you feel at peace, happy even? And why are you alone?

Your gaze lands on a patch of flowers. Pure white, perianth petals, cup-shaped coronas…the same type of narcissus which grew in your favorite meadow. The flowers point in different directions, as though searching for a sun that does not exist.

“You are awake.”

A shadow touches your form, engulfing you in darkness. It bears a large, unrecognizable shape but such details evade you as you recognize the voice behind you.

“Capitano!” Immediately, you turn around, only to gasp and suppress a scream.

The person before you…can you even call him human? He is incredibly tall, to the point that you must crane your neck to see his face—assuming there is one beneath his iron mask. His body is clad in silver armor, stained blood in some places. A halo, shaped like a crown of thorns, shines behind his head.

But what shocks you are his wings. A single pair covered in radiant white feathers and eerily dark blue eyes. Each eye seems to glow with an uncanny aura.

Dark blue eyes with a striking resemblance to Capitano’s. What more for his long black hair and his solemn manner of speaking?

It doesn’t make your revelation any less unsettling.

“Capitano.” Your voice comes out in a nervous whisper. “Is it really you? You’re a…”

“An angel,” he confesses. He takes a step back, widening the distance between your bodies. “I ask that you pardon my appearance. Such was my sacrifice—for my true form, in all of its monstrosity, to be my sole image.”

His human face comes to mind, along with the kind gaze you fell in love with.

You feel the weight of multiple gazes on you. “What do you mean?”

“Is this realm to your satisfaction?” he asks. “I beseeched God to create a special paradise for you, cut off from the rest of Heaven. The price is that your capacity to feel negative emotions remains in this realm…though that is preferable.”

Preferable? How so? Right now, you can barely process what he is telling you. You are dead. Your companion is an angel. Your soul is in paradise, but not exactly.

After everything you’ve been through, you were still deemed worthy of a place in Heaven.

“I am sorry.”

Capitano’s voice brings you back to reality. He has never sounded more serious, emotional, repentant. And when you look up…

Is he crying?

Most of his eyes remain open, focusing on you with a fervent stare. But others are downcast, as if unable to face you. And a few appear glossy, blinking back iridescent tears.

“I am truly sorry.” He bows his head in shame, wings folded. “What I did to you was cruel, an absolute injustice.”

You don’t know which eyes to make contact with. “You—”

“It must have been painful,” he continues. “Even if I were to justify my actions, the truth lies in the fact that I tolerated your suffering for my own selfish desires. And that is why I ask not for your forgiveness, knowing I am the one at fault.”

Silence. In light of Capitano’s confession, all you can do is stare at him and comprehend the weight of your situation. What exactly are you supposed to feel, knowing his betrayal? Knowing that regardless of your feelings, you have nowhere else to go in the afterlife?

Yet despite it all, your prayer came true. The two of you were able to meet again.

And that is what compels you to take a step forward, to come closer until you are standing in front of him. “Hey, it’s…don’t cry.”

A delicate sensation blesses his wings—your hands carefully tracing his feathers to wipe away his tears. Several eyes widen in surprise, but all he can see in your gaze is sympathy.

“I’ll admit, it was painful,” you tell him. “Dying alone. But maybe it’s…better this way. If I survived, I’d have to deal with the loss of my home. And who knows what kind of living hell the other Church would’ve put me through?”

Above all, Capitano is the only person whose love you can believe in.

Hesitantly, you take his hand and intertwine your fingers. The next words to leave your lips are spoken with certainty, bringing fresh tears to his eyes.

“I’m sure it was an act of love on your part.”

His reaction is sudden, incurring your surprise. But all you can do is surrender to Capitano’s embrace, allow his free arm to hold your waist and pull you closer to him. His wings wrap around you, caging you in soft feathers and eerie blue orbs.

“Capitano?” You can only look up at him, peering into the contents of his mask.

…It’s like staring into an abyss, a night sky dotted with twinkling blue stars. But in the absence of a human likeness, his words express what a face cannot.

“Never again,” he vows, “shall I allow harm to befall you. That is a promise.”

The hand on your waist moves upwards to caress your face. His touch is light, more hesitant than his previous gestures.

“You need not serve God nor partake in fruitful labor like the other souls in Heaven. All I ask is that you rest, indulge yourself, enjoy this paradise to the fullest.”

A flower is pinned to his armor, right above his heart. You recognize it instantly—a narcissus in full bloom, stained with your blood.

“If you desire a flower, it shall grow at once. If there are any books you would like to read, they shall be brought to you shortly.”

What was the name of that variety again? Narcissus triandrus. Angel’s tears.

“If you are in need of my presence, I shall appear before you, so long as I am not in the midst of battle. And should you ever desire the opposite, I can promise my distance.”

When Capitano looks into your eyes, all he can see is his own reflection. Whatever emotion colors your gaze, it casts his true image in a compassionate light.

“I shall do everything in my power to bring you joy for all of eternity. Such will be my penance.”

“...All right.” With that, you close your eyes and lean into his touch. He feels warm, comfortingly familiar. “I’ll trust you on that.”

Rest in peace, ______.

Think not of your mortal body in the beginning stages of decay.

Think not of your tormentors who are paying for their sins in Hell.

Think only of eternity with your beloved savior.

♡

More Church AU here!! Dottore ๑ Arlecchino ๑ Pantalone ๑ Pierro ๑ Dainsleif

Note:: Please do not send me any Church AU asks/ requests involving other characters or dynamics who are not listed in my masterlist.

Aahhhh it's done....this idea turned out much heavier than expected, but I'm glad that I was able to write this!! I hope you all cried over enjoyed the story of Angel! Capitano and his damsel. They were truly a delight to write for~

Tag a Capitano enjoyer!! @diodellet @navxry @leftdestiny-posts @beloved-blaiddyd @bye-bye-sunbird @yandere-romanticaa @harmonysanreads @mochinon-yah @oofasleep @micchikari @whispereons @thescribeoflostmemories

[st4rfckerz]

Church Mouse | Priest!Anakin Skywalker x reader

word count: 4.0k

warnings: MDNI 18+, blasphemy, age gap (reader is in her 20s), mild manipulation, infedelity, pet names, dubcon, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, virginity loss, rushed ending dead dove do not eat

summary: After confessing your sins to the priest, he encourages you to talk to him privately.

The sun shone brightly outside the church windows, casting warm rays across the peaceful town square. Birds sang melodiously in trees lining the peaceful avenue leading to the church building. Inside, candles flickered gently, casting warm light on the ornate wooden pews filled with devoted parishioners.

Many attendees wore their finest clothes as they listened intently to Father Anakin's sermons, occasionally whispering prayers under their breath or reaching for their rosaries. The scent of incense mixed pleasantly with perfume and cologne wafting through the air.

"Today's lesson is about finding solace in our faith during difficult times, we have all faced trials and tribulations throughout life, but remember that God is always with us, guiding us through these dark moments," he paused dramatically, letting the words sink in before adding. "Just like how I am here for you all, If anyone needs guidance or support outside of church hours, please don't hesitate to visit me personally."

The crowd applauded politely, some even raising their hands in praise.

Anakin stood tall and proud in front of his congregation, his hands resting gracefully atop each other in prayer position. "But first, let us pray," he began solemnly. Everyone followed suit, kneeling on their knees, and bowing their heads in unison. He led them in a heartfelt prayer asking for strength and guidance throughout the week ahead. Your eyes were closed tightly as you prayed fervently, the beads of you rosary clicking softly in rhythm with each breath you took.

The prayer ends and you raise your head. Anakin's warm eyes met yours briefly before returning his gaze to the congregation. "Remember, my dear friends, if you ever need someone to turn to in times of trouble or doubt, I am here for you. Now, let us proceed with the sermon." He said softly yet firmly.

Anakin's sermon lasted well beyond the usual hour mark, his words resonating deeply within you. He talked about sin and repentance, forgiveness and redemption. Each sentence seemed tailored specifically for you, hitting hard at places you didn't even know existed. His voice was mesmerizing, lulling you into a trance-like state where all you could think about was him.

After thanking everyone for attending church today, Anakin announced that confessionals would remain open for anyone who needed to speak with him privately. He urged those waiting outside the confessional booths to enter one by one. People started lining up outside the confessional booths, waiting patiently for their turn to unburden themselves.

You hesitated briefly, unsure whether you should go or not.

Finally, mustering up courage, you walked slowly towards the nearest booth, taking deep breaths to calm yourself.

You couldn't help but notice how many women seemed particularly entranced by Father Anakin; they hung onto his every word during sermons and lingered longer than necessary after Mass ended. Some even approached him directly after services, seeking personal guidance or counsel.

When it was finally your turn, you nervously stepped inside the dimly lit booth. The thick wooden panel separated you from him, giving you some semblance of privacy. You hoped no one could hear what you were about to say.

"Forgive me Father for I have sinned." You begin timidly.

You could hear his soothing voice responding softly, "What is it my child? Remember, here you can speak freely without fear of judgment." His deep baritone reverberated through the wooden walls, making your knees tremble slightly.

Unsure of how to begin, you struggled to find the right words. Your voice trembled slightly as you managed to spit out the confession that had been weighing heavily on your mind for days now.

"I had an encounter with a boy and it was wrong," You explain. "He touched me Father." The admission felt like a heavy stone being lifted off your chest, but also brought forth a wave of guilt and shame.

Your heart raced faster than ever before, and you could feel sweat forming on your palms as they clutched tightly onto the confession railing.

Anakin's eyes narrowed slightly, a slight frown creeping onto his otherwise serene face.

His warmth radiated off him like a furnace, making you feel as if you were melting in his presence. "And did you enjoy it?" he asked bluntly, his tone laced with curiosity rather than judgment.

Slightly taken aback you respond meekly, "No sir."

After a brief pause, he continued, his tone becoming more commanding. "Meet me in my office once everyone has left." With that cryptic statement, you hear his door open, signaling the end of confession time. After gathering yourself, you cautiously left the booth and returned to the previously vacant pew.

As everyone else left the almost empty church, you sat in silence and waited. The sun casted a warm, golden light through the stained glass windows, casting colorful patterns on the pews surrounding you. It was only you and a woman only a few years your senior. The woman's eyes lingered on Anakin hungrily as she waited for him to acknowledge her presence

The woman, dressed in a somewhat modest dress and heels, stood in front of Anakin. They engaged in conversation for several minutes, their voices low enough that you couldn't make out what they were discussing. Anakin gave you a small nod towards the hallway leading to his office, indicating you should wait outside while he finished up with the other woman. Reluctantly, you stepped into the empty hallway, trying to calm your racing heartbeat. Every step felt like walking on eggshells, and every sound echoed loudly in your ears. Finally, after what seemed like forever, you reach his office.

With haste, you slip inside and shut the door. You sat nervously in the chair, trying to compose yourself as you waited for Anakin to finish his conversation with the woman. The office itself was tastefully decorated, featuring a large wooden desk with numerous religious trinkets and pictures of Jesus Christ adorning the walls. Bookshelves lined one wall, filled with volumes on religion, philosophy, and psychology. A large cross hung prominently above his desk, casting eerie shadows across the room.

The door creaked open, and Anakin stepped inside, closing and locking it behind him. His long legs striding confidently towards you as you remain sitting in your chair. Reaching out, he gently caressed your cheek with his warm palm, his fingers brushing against your jawline. His touch sent electric shockwaves through your body, making it hard for you to focus on anything but him.

"Did you enjoy today's sermon little lamb?" He asks softly.

"Yes Father," You managed to croak out, your voice cracking slightly. "It was very moving."

Anakin walks over to his desk and sits down across from you, his presence nearly overpowering as he leaned forward in his chair. His large frame loomed over you, making you feel small and insignificant yet simultaneously drawn to him.

"I noticed how attentive you've been during my sermons," he admitted with a slight smirk. "It's quite flattering, actually." You couldn't help but blush at his candid admission, feeling a strange mixture of embarrassment and excitement wash over you.

"Now, tell me more about this encounter you mentioned during confession," he said calmly, leaning forward slightly. His presence was suffocating yet strangely comforting, making it difficult for you to form coherent sentences. "What exactly happened between you and this boy?"

"W-well the other day me and this boy were studying together, and then he kissed me." you admitted sheepishly.

"Is that all he did?" Anakin pressed, his eyes boring into yours. His question caught you off guard, and you hesitated before answering truthfully.

"No sir, when we kissed he put his fingers...inside me." Your face flushed even brighter at your confession, and you felt heat rising in your chest. Anakin's expression remained unchanged, but you could feel the heat emanating from him intensifying.

"Was it consensual?" he asked bluntly, his eyes boring into yours.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure how to respond. On one hand, you knew what you had done was wrong, but another part of you couldn't deny the thrill and excitement it brought you

"Yes Father," you whispered softly, barely audible above the ticking clock on his desk. You hung your head low in shame, tears threatening to spill over at the thought of betraying your faith. "But I didn't...you know." Anakin's brow furrowed slightly, his eyes searching yours intently. He raised an eyebrow, his gaze intensifying. Anakin paused for a moment, considering his next words carefully.

"You didn't have an orgasm." He stated bluntly, his tone devoid of judgment. You shake your head quickly, too embarrassed to speak again.

He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk, his forearms resting on his knees. His icy blue eyes bore into yours, searching for some hidden truth that you refused to admit. "It's natural for a young woman like yourself to be curious about her body and sexuality," he said matter-of-factly. "But remember, these desires must be channeled appropriately. God created us with these urges, but we must learn to control them."

Anakin rose from his chair, towering over you as he extended a hand towards his own seat. "Please, sit," he commanded softly, his voice carrying an underlying command that left no room for refusal. You hesitantly stood up and walked tentatively towards him, your heart racing wildly in anticipation of what was to come.

Anakin stood behind you as you sat in his big, leather chair. He opened a large, leather-bound Bible on the desk, flipping through the pages until he found a particular passage. "Read this passage aloud for me," he commanded softly, his hands resting lightly on the arms of the chair. "I believe it might resonate with you." You cleared your throat and began to read the passage about self control, giving it your best effort despite the heavy breathing behind you.

"2 Peter 1:4 Through these he has given us his very great and precious promises, so that through them you may participate in the divine nature, having escaped the corruption in the world caused by evil desires." You read quietly. Anakin listened intently as you read the passage, his fingers lightly tracing circles on your nape and down your spine. With each touch, your brain became foggier, making it difficult for you to concentrate on the words written centuries ago.

"That's beautiful," he murmured, his voice low and husky. Anakin leaned forward, his breath hot against your ear. "Do you understand what these words mean?" he whispers.

"Yes Father." You reply quietly. Anakin's fingers traced lower, brushing against your cleavage through your top. "Good girl," he praised, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Now, I want you to close your eyes and imagine that these words are being spoken directly to you by God Himself."

He leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "Imagine that He's telling you, 'My child, I love you unconditionally. You are mine, and no one else can ever take that away from you.' Do you feel it spreading throughout your body?" A surge of warmth washed over you like a tidal wave. It started at your feet and spread upwards, engulfing every inch of your body. You shivered in delight as goosebumps formed on your skin.

Anakin flipped the Bible page to another passage, his fingers brushing against yours lightly as he did so. "Now, read this one aloud for me, 1 Thessalonians 4:3-5" he commanded softly, his warm breath tickling your earlobe.

You obediently did as he commanded, trying hard not to focus on the growing arousal between your legs. You clear your throat and speak again.

"For this is the will of God, your sanctification: that you abstain from sexual immorality; that each one of you know how to control his own body in holiness and honor, not in the passion of lust like the Gentiles who do not know God."

As you read the passage, Anakin's lips traced slow, gentle kisses along your neck, his breath hot against your skin. Each touch ignited a fire within you, making it increasingly difficult to focus on the words written on the page. Anakin's lips reached your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin.

"You're still pure, aren't you?" he asked softly, nipping lightly at your earlobe. "No one has ever claimed you like this before?" His hand reaches down and slides underneath your skirt, brushing his knuckles against your wet, cotton panties.

"Yes." you managed to choke out, your voice cracking with desire. Your body arched into his touch, begging for more. You bit your bottom lip hard, trying to suppress the moan escaping your throat as he continued to tease and torment you. You felt your resolve crumble beneath his relentless assault on your senses. His words had substance, they seemed so full of meaning. You were mesmerized.

Anakin groaned lowly, his voice low and husky. "I knew there was something special about you, my church mouse," he whispered in your ear, his breath warm and intoxicating. Anakin's hand moved to the edge of your panties, his warm fingers pulling them to the side. His thumb teased your throbbing clit, circling around it slowly. "You weren't this wet when that boy touched you, were you?" he purred, his voice filled with satisfaction.

"N-no Father, I wasn't." you moan softly, unable to contain the growing need building inside of you. Anakin's fingers plunge into your aching cunt, moving in and out of your tight entrance slowly at first, his thumb still circling your sensitive nub. His breathing grew heavier, matching the rapid pace of your own as he continued to explore your most sacred parts.

"That's my girl," he praised, his voice laced with lust. "Feel how much you need me?"

You nodded vigorously, unable to form coherent words as his touch escalated. Each curl of his fingers inside your drooling cunt heightened your arousal, making it nearly impossible for you to concentrate on anything else. His touch was unlike anything you'd ever experienced before—it was both rough and tender, possessive yet caring. The combination of his power and gentleness left you feeling both terrified and exhilarated at the same time.

Soon your body tensed up, and you could feel your orgasm building rapidly. Anakin pulled his fingers out of your core just as you reached the brink of ecstasy, leaving you hanging on the edge of orgasm.

"No, why'd you stop?" you whine softly as you turn around to face him. You pouted, your lower lip quivering in frustration as he denied you the release you so desperately craved.

A smirk played at the corners of his lips. "Not yet, little lamb." he teased, his voice laced with power and control. Anakin stood up straight again, his erection straining against his pants. He pulled your chair back slightly, creating enough room for him to stand in front of you. His large frame loomed over you as he placed a hand on your cheek, tilting your head up to meet his gaze.

Anakin's eyes bore into yours, searching for any signs of hesitation or deceit. "Do you pray every night?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

You nodded earnestly, unable to hide the truth from him. "Yes, Father. I pray every night before bed." Anakin knelt down in front of you, his broad shoulders framing your body. His hands moved to rest on your knees, his thumbs rubbing slow circles over your skin.

"What do you pray for? What do you ask of God?" Anakin asks softly, his eyes searching yours intently.

You glanced down at your lap, unable to meet his piercing gaze. "I ask for strength and guidance, mostly." you mumbled, feeling the heat of embarrassment creeping up your neck.

Anakin's eyes narrowed slightly, studying your reaction. After a moment of silence, he spoke again, his voice low and husky. "Good," His hand moved up your leg, lifting your skirt enough to expose your panty-clad pussy. "I can't help but notice how devoted you are during my sermons," he said, his voice dripping with false concern. "It would be a sin for me not to reward my favorite student.

With one swift motion, he yanked your panties down to your ankles, exposing your slick coated cunt to his hungry eyes. Anakin placed your leg on his shoulder, giving him better access to your now-exposed folds. His warm, wet tongue traced slow circles around your entrance before dipping inside, his tongue flicking against your sensitive spots with expert precision.

"Read again," he commanded, his voice mumbling against your warm flesh. "Proverbs 18:21."

You fumbled with the Bible, your hands shaking slightly as you tried to focus on the words written on its pages.

"The tongue has the power of life and death, and those who love it will eat its fruit."

Anakin hums in approval against your mound, causing a rush of vibrations to flow through your body. You squeezed your eyes shut tightly, trying to block out the overwhelming sensations coursing through you. Your grip tightened on his hair, pulling him closer, your nails scratching lightly against his scalp.

You whimpered, your body tensing up in anticipation of imminent orgasm. "Father, I-I feel it coming again." you managed to choke out between moans.

Anakin's hand moved to your entrance, two fingers slipping inside of you, stretching you wider. "That's it," he said, his voice low and husky. "Let go and let yourself succumb to His will."

A wave of pure ecstasy crashed over you, your entire body convulsed, and a string of lewd moans escaped your lips. Your orgasm was unlike anything you had ever experienced before—more intense, more powerful, and more fulfilling than any previous encounter. It felt as though the heavens themselves were opening up to claim your soul.

Anakin's tongue continued to lap up your juices, his eyes locked on yours as he savored the taste of your arousal. With a smirk, he stood up straight again, towering over you in all his glory. Anakin's eyes were ablaze with desire as he stood over you, his hardened cock straining against his pants.

"We're not quite done yet," he said, his voice low and raspy. "Stand up."

He reached down, undoing his pants and boxers in one swift motion, freeing his thick member from its confines. It stood tall and proud, glistening with pre-cum, its head flushed a deep crimson.

"Bend over," he ordered. Slowly, you stood up and turned around, your back facing him. Anakin's hands gripped your hips, positioning you over the desk. You felt his cock poking against your ass, and a shiver of anticipation ran down your spine.

Anakin's large, calloused hands gripped your firm ass cheeks, squeezing and kneading them roughly. His fingers traced slow circles around your puckered entrance before moving lower, teasing your wet folds. He held his member in his other hand, rubbing the head against your entrance, teasing you mercilessly. "Do you still want this sweet girl?"

You gave a soft, breathy moan of approval, your hips wiggling slightly in anticipation. Anakin's hand connected with your ass cheek, a sharp slap that made you yelp in surprise.

"Speak up."

You cleared your throat, trying to regain composure. "Yes, Father." you finally managed to utter, your voice trembling with need.

"There you go." he coos his voice filled with faux sincerity. "Now, relax and let me take care of you." Anakin's cockhead pushed past your tight entrance, stretching you slowly but surely. A sharp cry escaped your lips as he began to thrust into you with deliberate slowness, his hips rocking back and forth in a rhythmic motion.

Your hands gripped the edge of the desk tightly, nails digging into the wood as he claimed possession of you, filling you completely. After several deep thrusts, the initial pain subsided, replaced by an overwhelming wave of pleasure. Anakin's hands keep hold of your hips, holding you steady as he pounded into you, filling every crevice of your tight passage. Your moans turned into whimpers, becoming more desperate as he picked up speed, his tip kissed your sweet spot with precision.

"Thaaat's it, give yourself to Him, let him cleanse you." he managed to grunt out between gasps for breath.

Your hand slipped off the desk, accidentally knocking over a family photo frame that fell to the floor with a loud crash. Anakin didn't seem to notice or care, his focus entirely on claiming you, taking what he believed was rightfully his.

The tight coil in your stomach began to build up once more, and you knew it wouldn't be long now. You arched your back, your hips moving in sync with his, begging for release. His pace quickened, his breath hot against your neck as he growled out, "Cum for me angel, I know you're close." His words were like a trigger, sending waves of ecstasy through your body.

Anakin groaned, his hips bucking wildly as he felt your worn cunt clamp around him. With a final powerful thrust, he erupted inside you, filling you to the brim with his hot seed. His cock twitched and pulsed, draining every drop of his essence into you.

You collapsed against the desk, panting heavily, your entire body covered in sweat. Anakin leaned forward, his lips brushing against your shoulder. His cock slowly pulled out of your sore cunt, leaving you feeling empty and drained. He stepped back, admiring his work, his cock still semi-erect, dripping with your fluids. He extended a hand to help you steady yourself. Anakin turned to you, his eyes softening slightly. "Are you ok sweetheart?" he asked, concern etched on his features.

You nodded, still trying to catch your breath. " 'm fine," you managed to mutter, your voice hoarse.

"You did so good for me," Anakin panted, his eyes glazed over with fufillment. He helped you pull your panties back up your legs, his fingers brushing against your sensitive folds, causing a shiver to run through you.

Anakin sat back down in his chair, and motioned for you to sit on his lap. "Come here." he smiles. You tentatively approached him with wobbly legs, unsure of what he had in mind. He wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you close, so you were sitting sideways on his lap, your legs draped over his thighs. Anakin placed a gentle kiss on the top of your head, his breath tickling your scalp. You remained like this for a moment, both caught in your own thoughts.

Breaking the silence, Anakin spoke softly, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your arm. "I want you to know something angel," he said, his voice low and sincere. "I would never hurt you, physically or otherwise. Our interactions are between us and God's eyes alone." You nodded, still processing everything that had transpired.

"If anyone ever finds out about today, we won't be able to see each other like this again." Anakin's hand tightened slightly, his fingers digging into your skin. "Do you understand me?" he asked, his voice taking on a threatening edge.

You nodded solemnly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I understand Father."

Anakin placed another soft kiss on your head before resting his cheek against your temple, his hand still firmly holding you in place.

"Good girl." he whispered.

Your eyes wander off and you suddenly see a cross hanging on the wall, the sight of it immediately brought an uneasy feeling to you. It felt like it was casting a small ominous and disapproving aura.

Uncertainty and confusion warred inside you, but there was also a strange sense of belonging and connection.

As you stare longer you feel as if it's judging you and looking at you as if it is not happy with what you have been doing.

You remain in his arms, you felt an odd mix of emotions, the sense of euphoria and bliss you felt with Anakin being so tender with you was overshadowed by the feeling of something not being right. You feel a tinge of regret for what you took part in but a part of you wants to do it again.

Maybe next Sunday.

[sexy-monster-fucker]

Confidant

Baby Billy Freeman x Reader

Summary: Reader is Billy’s pseudo agent, they’ve known each other their entire lives. When another job falls through for him, she is the only one who stays around.

CW: drinking, drunken sex, oral f!&m!receiving, baby billy never shuts up lol, SMUT

a/n: I finished Righteous Gemstones in less than a week and I am IN LOVE with it. As someone who was born and raised in Tennessee, I will have to fight myself on the Southern-isms I put into this. also sorry I don't really proofread.

~~~

“Of course fucking Eli convinced Aimee-Leigh not help at all! I was counting on HER to make this work,” he threw some notebook across the room, “Fucking bullshit! Eli Gemstone has always had it out for me! You know that, ever since he met me! Never gave me a single chance!” He gestured towards you in his frustration. You sat quietly nodding in agreement.

Baby Billy Freeman, a childhood star alongside his sister now washed-up preacher. And you, a girl raised just a few roads down from the Freeman Ranch, growing up alongside Baby Billy and his sister, Aimee-Leigh. You were friends before stardom, along with becoming somewhat his Agent in adulthood. You knew the ins-and-outs of his life. And here you were again at the end of another harebrained scheme that fell through. One thing about Baby Billy: he would do anything for some quick cash.

"Goddamn Gemstone and their stupid church!" He stomped his foot and ripped pages up. This is how he coped. He could not ever admit he was wrong so he had to go through his list of people to blame. Eli, Aimee-Leigh's husband, usually at the top of the list.

He paced around your living room. His face almost as red as the Marlboro crewneck he wore. Hands going straight to his head, eyes wide. You could see his mind racing.

"Such a fucking loser! I am talented! Eli is just plum ignorant! All he cares about is being on top! What about underdogs like us? Every bit of missionary work he does is so he looks good to the public," Billy walked in circles around your living room before plopping down onto the couch directly next to you.

His face rested in his hands, elbows propped up on his knees. Frustration painted his body, embarrassment that he had failed once again. He groaned into his hands.

You stared at him not sure how to comfort him. In all your years of knowing him, you knew he really just needed silence and for him to talk himself through it.

He reached one of his hands out to you, placing it on your exposed thigh. His other hand still holding his face, eyes not yet looking at you. “In all my years, you’re the only one who’s stuck by me, sweetheart,” he grumbled into his hand, the other rubbing your skin.

“Of course, Baby Billy,” you swallowed hard, “I believe you’ve got a talent that needs to be shared with the world.”

He looked to you slightly, “Yeah… That’s right. You have impeccable taste.” He flashed a white smile at you. Timidness painted the smile you returned. He slapped your thigh lightly, springing up to his feet. He exclaimed a holler.

“Where do you keep the liquor in this place?” He walked over to your cabinets rummaging through them. You joined him, opening up your liquor cabinet pulling out some tequila.

His eyes widened at you, “You keep the good stuff hidden from me don’t you, dollface.” You giggled at him. Grabbing two shot glasses, you poured the first round for both of you. He grabbed his off the counter, toasting you, “Here’s to us.” You clinked your shot with his, throwing it back. Billy sucked his teeth, “GodDAMN that’s good stuff. WHOO!” Warmth rose to your cheeks, an instant flush on your face. “Gimme another one of those,” he gestured with his glass. Both of you threw back another shot. Warmth melted down your throat. “We’re gonna have a great night tonight, Y/N,” Billy’s freehand went to your hip. You melted as he pulled you flush against his side.

You make cocktail after cocktail for Billy as the night got later. His cheeks buzzed with the alcohol in his system, a goofy grin painted on his face. He kept on and on about how one day the world would appreciate his talents. About how Eli was a “motherfucker with that church’s thumb shoved so far up his asshole he should be able to see God.” You agreed with everything he said. Drinking at a crawl compared to how quickly he put it down.

You sat together on your couch. Your legs rested across his lap, his hands resting on them. You both laughed drunkenly at something. Billy ran his hand up your legs, getting highly close to the warmth that had been brewing on you for hours. He leaned in closer to your torso.

He hooked one of his hands under your ass, pulling you closer into his lap. You stared into each other’s eyes. “You’re too good for me,” he smiled.

You blushed, “What do you mean?”

One of his hands went to your cheek, “No woman would stick around a man like me this long without a ring on her finger. Let alone one as dedicated as you. Always trying to book me gigs, staying up late to help me rehearse, cheering me on…” He smiled looking at you. “You’re a real gift from God, Y/N. I’m so lucky to have you at my side,” he pulled you closer and planted a kiss on your lips.

“You’re drunk, Baby Billy,” you laughed shyly.

“Not too drunk to know you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever had in my life,” he kissed your neck. You placed your hands against his chest, pushing him to look at you. His hooded eyes stared into yours, pupils blown with lust. “You just want to get laid,” you tried talking sense into him.

“No,” he protested, “No-No. If I just wanted to get laid I’d go down to the strip joint and have one of those bimbos hop on my cock. I’ve been stupid to not see what I’ve had in front of me for this long.” He leaned closer, his lips attaching to your neck again. You could not deny the arousal pooling deep inside you, your cotton panties growing soaked with each kiss on your skin.

“Come-Come on, Baby Billy. You and I b-both know you-you’re just trying to drown out your—“ a moan escaped your throat, “Drown out your sorrows and I-I’m just the clo-closest woman you can get t-to.” You stumbled over your words as he continued kissing your neck. His lips made their way up to your ear, “If I was looking for a quick pick-me-up I would be out drunk fucking some whore off the street. Don’t be so hard on yourself, darlin’.” His gruff Southern drawl was like honey dripping down your skin.

Maybe he really did want you. Maybe he really had just been blinded by his need for stardom that he never even considered pursuing you. He was praising you like you’d never been praised before.

Your hands went into his hair, leaning your head back to give him better access to your skin. “Atta girl,” he encouraged, his hot breath against your neck. “Baby Billy is gonna take care of you now. Real good care of you… all night,” he trailed his kissing down your collar, resting where your shirt laid. You felt him breathe out against your skin, a smile painted his face. You looked at him, your skin hot to the touch. He swatted at your exposed thigh, “Hop up on my lap now. Ole Baby Billy wants a better look at you.”

You readjusted to be straddling him. He admired you slack jawed. His hands ghosted down the sides of your body, stopping on your hips. “Good ole liquid courage, helping me realize what a good thing I’ve had right in front of me,” he chuckled. Billy’s hands pinched at your shirt, “Can I take this off?”

You nodded shyly. Billy hooked his fingers under your shirt, pulling it over your head and throwing it to the side. His eyes scanned your chest, a wide grin painting his face. “That sure is a pretty lace set you’ve got on,” he licked his lips. His hands cupped your breasts, squeezing them. His thumbs danced over your hardening nipples through the bra. You could see how laser focused he was on your chest. His ever growing erection becoming more obvious by the second against you. He placed his hand between the fabric and your breast, pinching your nipple ever slightly. You rolled your eyes at his touch, enjoying any attention he would give you. His lips found the exposed skin of your breast, kissing and biting at it. His hand pulled your breast out from your bra, lips quick to attach to your nipple. Sucking on it momentarily. A soft moan left your lips, causing Billy to smile against you. “You like my mouth on you, don’t you? Love those pretty noises you make, doll.”

You rolled your hips against his groin. Billy groaned against your skin, tightening his grip on you. His attention was now on your face, staring deeply into your eyes. His hand caressed the back of your neck, pulling you in for a sloppy kiss. Tongues fighting for dominance, teeth clanking together. Moans and grunts being shared between you.

“I’m gonna fuck you senseless tonight, girly,” he growled into your mouth. You smiled, pressing the weight of your body into him. His back was flush against the couch now as you began kissing his neck. Billy threw his head back, his Adams Apple bobbing with each breath he took. His hands danced up your body, small praises falling from his lips. His fingers went around your back fidgeting with the clasps of your bra. He unhooked your bra, pulling the straps down your arms. Once fully off, he took it and threw it to the side. Wide eyes stared at your bare chest.

“My, my,” his hands grabbed your breasts, “I think God may have put the most beautiful tits I’ve ever seen on you.” He palmed at your skin, your nipples becoming hard at his touch. “Fittin’ perfectly in my hands and everything,” he smiled up at you. Your skin was red hot as he laid compliment after compliment on you. Every touch sending lightning through your body, pooling in your ever growing arousal. You adjusted your hips, feeling his erection directly against your soaked core. A slight moan escaped you.

Billy’s hand traveled down to your shorts, running two fingers against your clothed folds. You closed your eyes taking in the slight friction he gave you, your legs shuddering slightly. “So fucking warm, darlin’. Bet you’re soaked under them daisy dukes,” he stared at your body. He admired you. A gorgeous woman straddling him. His cock was begging to be released from its confines.

You stepped off his lap, receiving a dissatisfied whine from Baby Billy. You began removing your shorts painfully slow in front of him. Billy smiled when he realized what you were doing, spreading his legs to enjoy the show. Your shorts pooled around your ankles revealing the matching lace thong you wore. Billy’s head fell slightly to the side, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. You spun around for him quickly, letting him take you in before walking over and kneeling in front of him. His brows raised quickly, eyes unable to leave you. You began with the button of his jeans, slowly pulling his zipper down. His hand slipped down his jeans, pulling his clothed cock out. You salivated at the sight of his tent. You wanted him badly, wanted him inside you anyway he was willing to give it. You doed your eyes up at him.

Billy bit his lip staring down at you. You ran your hands up his thighs, stopping them beside his erection. You leaned down placing an open mouthed kiss on the still clothed member. Billy’s breath sputtered, rolling his neck and licking his teeth. Finding your way inside his boxer-briefs, you pulled out his cock. It sprung up at you. You gawked at it for a moment, eyes completely blown with lust. Tip swollen and leaking pre-cum, a vein on the underside popping out. You licked a stripe up the underside, placing a kiss on the tip. Billy moaned loudly, his hips jolting at the contact.

“You sure do know how to get a man fired up,” he chuckled lightly, breathless. You took him into your mouth quickly, causing his eyes to spring open. He sat up slightly, his cock going deeper in your mouth. Desperate hands found your hair, tugging you up and down on his member. He held you in place at the base, your nose resting on the hair surrounding his cock. Gentle thrusts came from him, his eyes squinted shut and head thrown back. “God gave you a gift! Goddamn! Y/N, sweetheart— Jesus Christ,” he moaned hardly able to find his words. Sweat beamed down his face, his clothes growing tighter on his body the more you went down on him. “You look so good with my dick shoved down your throat,” he praised looking you in the eyes.

His hand caressed the underside of your chin as he face fucked you. “Get up,” he insisted. You sucked off him with a pop of his cock. A shaky breath escaped him. You both stood before one another. Billy began removing his own clothes, his crewneck the first thing to go. Your hands found the waistline of his pants, helping him undress. He was quick to plant a kiss on your lips, his hands grabbing your face.

You admired his lightly toned body. How covered in sweat he was, watching as his chest rose and fell with every deep breath he took.

He stepped out of his under garments, pushing you back onto the couch. He was on top of you, his lips never detaching. They found their way down your neck, traveling lower and lower down your body. He kissed right above your panties, smirking up at you, “This pretty thing for little ole me?” You nodded, encouraging him. His large hands spread your thighs apart. Your panties were darkened from where you had soaked through them. His eyes widened at the sight. A toothy, white grin painting his face. Two of his fingers played with your opening, pressing your panties into it. You rolled your hips with his touch, moaning his name. “Ooo, sound real pretty like that,” he praised. Lips found your inner thighs, biting and kissing the soft skin. A slight shake decorated your legs. Anticipation weighed on you. His finger began making circles on the covered nub. Electricity jolted through you.

Fingers hooked around the thin strap of your underwear. He guided them down your legs which now rested on his shoulders. His breath sent chills up your body as it hit your aching core. Black eyes stared at your exposure, “This has got to be the sexiest pussy I’ve ever seen.” Your hand found his hair, running fingers through it. He looked up to see your face painted with need. A need who knew how to fill.

His mouth attached to your throbbing clit. Your head threw back, his name a complete scream on your lips. You felt him moan into your cunt, his tongue working absolute magic on your lower half. Fingers interlocking with his hair, grinding into his face. A knot in your belly began twisting tighter and tighter. If he continued like this, your orgasm would wash over you shortly.

He pulled away abruptly. Rising to his feet, stroking his cock as he stood above you. You stared at the member in his hand. "I'm gonna fuck you now, pretty thing," he huffed out with a grin. His weight fell into the edge of the couch with his knees, propping your legs on each of his shoulders. He positioned himself, easing his way inside your sopping entry. He stared down where he entered you completely slack jawed. You squirmed and moaned his name loudly. "That's it. You take Baby Billy so good," he breathed out. He fully sheathed himself inside you, taking a deep breath and looked into your eyes. Your eyes were hooded as you stared up at him. He pulled back, nearly removing himself completely before thrusting back into you.

He began a relentless pace with you. The sound of skin smacking echoed through your entire home. It was completely euphoric for you both. You had never had someone this good. His cock perfectly filled you up, stretching you just enough.

"Darlin', you're so fucking tight," he groaned, "You squeeze my cock perfect." He bent one of your legs, his fingers finding their way to your throbbing clit. You were seeing stars when he started rubbing circles against you. You called out to him, your head falling back into the couch. You felt the coil inside you ready to spring free.

"Baby Billy, I'm gonna cum," you cried out.

A wicked grin came across his face, "Please, pretty girl. Cum on Baby Billy's cock." He picked up his pace working you to your finish. Your walls fluttered around his cock, practically milking him. He moaned loudly as you finished around him. Your orgasm pushed him over the edge. His thrusts grew sloppy. He shot ropes of cum inside you. Continuing thrusting making sure to get every drop inside you. He leaned his head back with a loud groan.

Gently, he laid your legs back down, his cock slipping out of you. Remnants of him spilled out of you. He leaned down on top of you, smiling and placing a tender kiss on your lips. Scooping up what had spilled out, he placed two fingers inside you. Aftershock from your orgasm caused you to pulse around his fingers. "Wanna keep that in there," he kissed you again. You wrapped your arms around his neck, smiling up at him. He had worked your body perfectly. You enjoyed the softness between you both, how he kissed all over your face and neck, whispering praises about how good you were.

"I hope you recover quick, sweetheart," he chuckled, "Baby Billy wants to go all night with you."

That went straight to your core.

"Gonna have you filled up like a fucking boston creme donut when I'm done," he whispered into your ear, kissing your neck.

A fun night was ahead of you.

~~~

END

[Thank you for reading!  If you are interested in being tagging in any of my writings don’t be afraid to message me!  All tag lists are open!  I have a master taglist and one for each character!]

Tags:

@anamelessfool ~ @vaultdwellingghoullover ~ @ivyinthesun ~

[jrow]

Well friends, I did it. We did it. There is such incredible talent in this community and it really shone through this month. I have only scratched the surface and am so excited to read more! I am so proud (yes!) that my little story has been part of this wonderful May Prompts 2024. Thank you to everyone who commented or liked or reblogged. I wasn’t sure I would be able to manage this, but the engagement really spurred me forward, even on those days there was seemingly no time to write. And a super thank you to @calaisreno for the wonderful prompts. They were so fun to play with but kept me on my toes. On more than one occasion, I thought I knew where the story was going, but the prompt pulled me in another direction. I will be posting the full shebang to ao3 and will share the link when I do. Thanks again!

May Prompts (31)

Day 30 here. Start at the beginning here.

Pride (an epilogue)

He’s about to burst from pride.

A year ago, the sheer magnitude of the feeling would have been shocking, but now … well, when you live with a little one as brilliant as Rosie, you feel pride a lot.

It’s her end of year ballet recital. He had been hesitant about signing her up for the “butterfly ballet” class—worried about strict instructors and judgment and tears. But, John had insisted and been proven right. It could barely be called ballet—watching the class reminded him of the second law of thermodynamics—but at the end of every session, Rosie would beam and twirl her way home, firmly on cloud nine.

And now the recital. She has been talking about it all week and the excitement had her up at five this morning. John thought it might be overkill to invite Molly and Gavin along with Mrs. Hudson, but was overruled by the star herself. And so they were all here. Mycroft was never formally told of the event, but had arrived at the small church hall right on time, with a bouquet of two dozen pink roses in hand. His brother never does things by halves.

Little Isla, Jordan, and Anna are currently centre stage, beaming in the spotlight. They are doing fine, he supposes, although Isla is far from the prodigy her mother seems to think she is.

And then there is Rosie, dancing from the far back corner, smile a mile wide. She had started at the front but quickly ran to the back when she saw that Taha was too nervous to come on stage. So now, Rosie is dancing with all she has, while holding the hand of the little boy, who has been coaxed halfway onto the stage.

Occasionally, Taha will look at Rosie like she hung the moon.

No, this is a new level pride. He truly might burst.

Halfway through, Rosie leans down and whispers something to her friend. The boy nods and takes a small step right, so that he is now almost entirely on the stage.

Anna’s mother, who is sitting in front of John, turns around. “You two are doing something right!” she says with a grin before returning her focus to the stage.

The music crescendos and, for a second, it’s all too much. The sounds, the lights, the feelings bigger than he thought possible. He closes his eyes for a moment, to settle.

“Open your eyes,” John whispers.

It’s said with such earnest that he immediately complies. And there is Rosie, waving with her free hand and smiling like this is the greatest day there’s ever been. Maybe it is. He waves back along with the rest of her little entourage. She laughs.

John beams and grabs his hand. “Maybe we are doing something right.”

He looks down at their entwined hands and then up on the stage at the little girl. His little girl. “Yes, I think we are.”

@keirgreeneyes @raina-at @totallysilvergirl @meetinginsamarra @jolieblack @phoenix27884 @friday411 @calaisreno @lisbeth-kk @safedistancefrombeingsmart @momma2boys @helloliriels @dapetty @quimerasyutopias

[liauditore]

My family is still staying in half of the church that wasn’t affected by the bombing because there is nowhere else to stay other than tents. They are limited to one small meal a day and one shower a week. They are sleeping on the floors, but no one can sleep since there is bombing everywhere around them. Even when there is no bombing, they can still hear the loud buzzing sound of the military planes above them, which would keep anyone who hears it awake. Along with everything, My grandma has diabetes and osteoporosis, so she can’t walk. She has to take her insulin medication along with many others; however, she has run out of many of her medications.” Am on my knees requesting for donation. Target $450

Hey tumblr user furryreviewearthquake, how come part of your story is lifted directly from this gofundme that isn't mentioned anywhere on your blog or in the ask you sent?

In fact, instead of linking any gofundme at all, your link directs to a paypal.me under the name "Alice Simatei" -- a little strange too that you're only asking for under $500 too, when the supply for insulin has almost run out in Gaza.

Oh and the fact that you have the exact same (stolen) story as another blog going around asking for the same amount of money, which links to another paypal under "Ronald Mukoya"

And the fact that you have used the same story before on multiple other accounts, and have even been called out for lying in the past. In fact, you've been called out multiple times. Even by 90-ghost. Yet you still continue to take advantage of people's kindness as well as the real genocide and the real people trying to help their families.

I understand that people who turn to scamming are usually those under dire circumstances themselves, however your extensive lying and disgusting appropriation of the genocide takes away any sympathy I could've held for you. All the words I have left for you go against my morality.

Please support the real fundraiser this person is leeching off (they're 10k away from their goal!)

and please report both this user and their other blog. They have made many that have been banned in the past and I suspect they will return, so be vigilant and remember to keep boycotting and supporting real fundraisers.

[churchstopsurgeryscars]

Literally nobody asked for it but here's a sneak peak into Red vs Blue: Redux, my rewrite of RvB. I'm hoping to upload the first chapter by the end of this month.

Church sighed and returned to watching the reds stand in a square and jabber on about who knows what. Just like he had done every single recon patrol for the last three weeks. It was like they were physically incapable of doing anything interesting. If he were closer he could at least listen in, but from here all he had was their halfhearted gestures. At least the pink one was pretty expressive with his hand movements.

“What are they doing now?”

“I’m going to give you ten seconds to answer that question for yourself. And if you can’t figure out the answer, I am going to shove the scope of this rifle so far up your ass I’ll be able to figure out where your fucking brain went.”

Tucker stood up, throwing his hands in the air, “Well if you’re just going to be an asshole about it, then I’m going back to base. I was just trying to make some conversation.”

“Fine! This’ll be so much easier without you in my ear anyway.” Church said, slumping his shoulders as he pressed his eye against the scope.

With a sigh of relief, he could finally watch the reds in peace. He watched as the maroon and orange one led the pink one back into the base. As they disappeared inside, the red one, the sergeant, went back to looking at their new vehicle. Church watched in confusion as the red team leader stood in front of the car and gestured occasionally.

Is...Is he talking to the car? Church thought as he tilted his head in confusion.

As the sargent walked toward the vehicle, giving it a loving, sensual pet on the hood, Church dropped the view finder from his eye. Whatever was going to happen next was nothing he wanted to see. With a sigh, he turned to watch as Tucker returned to the base before standing up to follow him.

Church made his way down the slope, watching his feet as he walked. He might as well get ready for the supply drop. They should be arriving any minute now. Not to mention the fact they were going to be getting new recruits and he didn’t trust Tucker to give them a proper introduction. Heaven forbid one of them is a girl; Church just knew his teammate wouldn’t be able to keep it in his pants. Besides, if he wanted to be the leader, he needed to act like one.

He cursed Captain Flowers for up and dying on them, forcing him to take over and be in charge. Church didn’t have the slightest clue what he was doing, and now he was responsible for making sure himself and the others stayed alive. At the very least Command could give him a promotion to make all the headache worth it. But no, all they decided to do was give them two new people to even the teams.

A sonic boom took him out of his thoughts and turned his eyes to the sky. Church watched as the ship landed beside the base, steadying himself against the gust of air that threatened to bowl him over.

Before him and Tucker could even exchange a glance, the bay door was open and a small crew was pouring out to unload supplies. Pushing past the men carrying crates, Church started hunting for the new recruits.

When he entered the belly of the ship, he saw two people in armor sitting beside each other and giggling. He raised an eyebrow in confusion as he realized one of them was in yellow armor. That must be some sort of mistake.

“Are you two Private Grif and Caboose?” Church asked hesitantly.

“That's us!” The yellow-clad recruit chirped, “Are you the Captain?”

Church pressed his lips together as he shifted from one foot to the other, “I'm the one in charge.”

Seemingly not noticing his non-answer, the one in blue stood up and held out his hand, “Nice to meet you! I'm Private Michael Caboose!”

It took everything in Church to not gasp in surprise. Caboose was massive! He was nearly seven feet tall and was by no means skinny. The new recruit could probably break Church in half if he really wanted to. He swallowed before giving his hand a quick shake, gritting his teeth in pain as Caboose nearly broke every bone in his hand with his grip.

As Church began to massage his hand, he turned to the other recruit, “That means you must be Private Grif.”

“Sure am! I'm excited to be here!” She said with a chipper tone.

“Me too!” Caboose chimed in.

Church looked between the two recruits with trepidation. At the very least these two had a much better attitude than Tucker, but they did not seem at all prepared for the reality of war. How could anyone be excited to get shot at?

“Well… How about we go meet the rest of the team?” Church suggested, unsure how to proceed.

The two nodded eagerly before following him out of the ship. Tucker was waiting at the end of the ramp, watching the three of them. Church really hoped this went well. He felt like he was introducing two overly excited puppies to his cat with an attitude problem.

[marabarl-and-marlbara]

notes from church today; i:m behind on my monthly letters and it:s making me a bit worried (but that:s all on me to address); two people wrote me responses that i:m thrilled to respond to (in return) because they wrote to me about my two favorite things (?): books and writing--it:s a bit simple and stupid, (but sometimes i:m driven by the simple and stupid): but having someone just mention to me that they liked my stories/settings really can just make my day and make me want to keep going.

that latter part is something i:ve been struggling with lately, as outside of creative pursuits: i've just been feeling spiritually dead lately; faith feels so far off from me lately that i keep doing an internal 'mathematic' to audit (or figure out) what might've been the slow poison that has been killing my connection to faith, and what i can do to address it; i think: the 'healthy habits' i:ve established have blanched all the ridges that i could hang a personality upon, and have just been lost more-and-more to a smooth landscape that only facilitates a similarly smooth and featureless person. a continuation of that is maybe all of the connection in small ways has slowly undermined the foundations and filled up the woodwork with louses and weevils that sucked the spirit out of me and slowly supplicated (? am i using this word right? substituted?) it with habit and levers; the other thought comes from tracing it back to etiquette and the symptoms of adhering to etiquette simply being a person dried of spirit and left as being little more than habit and lever--and, as to the purpose of etiquette and recognizing spirit as an "abstracted mistake": maybe that was the point: for a sacred depression that causes the spirit to go bone-dry (like in ceramics) and cause an individual to resemble the vase (material) and not the artwork (abstract);

a more sound thought is just that it comes in long depressed cycles, and the sickness isn:t helping; whiny little nothing feels good stretches of months and eventually (like some moronic oasis) a passion is found somewhere; all that aside: i:ve been loving reading lately and am getting through dona barbara slowly, and i love grubby mechabellum videos, and every week i look forward to bleeding out some money to buy myself a nice sandwich @ the butchers nook in mt dora (i:ve made strides in being less neurotic about food); just miss being super passionate about things, but you can:t be that way all-the-time anyways.

didn:t want to leave it at three paragraphs.

[thiefbird]

Ok how about Jack/Stephen (or Jack&Stephen) with the prompt "some part of me must have died the first time that you called me baby." AND maybe like play with the later line "some part of me must have died the final time that you called me baby." Like the first time Stephen refers to Jack so lovingly is the last time??Maybe like one of them is dying or something? Angst?? IDK HOW WRITING PROMPT REQUESTS GO!? OK THANK YOU BYE

Yeah - you got it! I write for Dragon Age too, and they have a thing every friday called Dragon Age Drunk Writing Circle where everyone sends each other asks with prompts and pairings; the idea is that you write them that night and post immediately, no editing! It's super fun and I miss doing it, but I'm not super feeling the DA writing bug ATM, and also work friday nights, so it's not feasible.

But I missed prompt writing, so I'm seeking it out on my own!

And ohhhh this is some delicious angst thank you - I will probably change out "baby" for a more period-accurate endearment but lets see what I can come up with...

[Two excerpts from the diaries of Dr Stephen E Maturin, Esq.: the first dated 29 June 1803 - just after the end of the Peace of Amiens - and the second 23 October, 1847 - the day of Admiral Jno. Aubrey's death. These fragments were first published by his (and Admiral Jno. Aubrey's) 5th great-granddaughter, Diana Niamh Lambert, in a collection exploring Dr Maturin's complex relationship with the Aubreys; there are provided here in both their original encoded Catalan and an English translation.]

[the writing on these pages is hasty and sprawling, but neater than anything dated after 1805]

I hardly know how to write - I am aflutter like a girl. My hand is miserable - it sprawls across the page with no respect for the cost of bound pages - but I must sort my thoughts. JA - he is not yet well, of course, the creature; he will not be for many weeks still, so weak and exhausted is he. But he recovers as well as I could hope, though he is occasionally still delirious for some time after waking. I had thought his endearments to me a symptom of his delirium - perhaps he thought me to be SW, the dear girl, or another of his acquaintance, and so he clung to my hand and called me beloved out of his confusion. And yet today, in his waking dream, he called out "Stephen, my soul and love," when he could not find me. I felt as if I should die to hear it - I had not considered even the idea of my affections returned. I know I am letting my heart run away with my head (a state more familiar these last months than since before the failed Uprising) but- If he should- Will I ask him, when he is well? His friendship means so very much to me that I fear risking it on such a chance - I am ever a coward in affairs of the heart, as shown by MO'C and DV both before now - and yet my breast feels so light at the possibility that I cannot imagine staying silent.

[the writing on these pages show evidence of severe arthritis and tremours, as well as what appears to be damage from tears]

He is gone. Jack Aubrey has breathed his last - SA and the children were with him at the end, as was I; even SP was able to make the trip, having relocated to Ireland with Jack's decline. SP and I sit with him now - there are no Church of England rites to be performed, and SA was kind enough to allow us our heathenish, Papist rituals to-night. I have feared this day for so long - an abstract fear near as long as we have known each other (for the atrocities of war are blindingly apparent to a surgeon), and a far more real horror since the death of my beloved Diana. The Dear knows I did not cope well with her loss; I was not a good father to BA for many years after - for she is so like her mother as to have hurt to look at - and I thank Mary every day for CO and PC and SA for caring for my little bird when I could not. Yet I find age has tempered the pain, though I grieve him more fully than I thought possible. He has not been entirely himself these last two or three years together, and I find myself thankful he regained clarity in his last weeks; we could all say our goodbyes in peace with the man we love. His spirits were not unnaturally high nor miserable - he remembered his grandchildren, even our dear little girl - B and G's darling daughter - and doted upon her most sweetly. [there are a few lines here, blurred with water-damage and scratched over too many times to be made out] Oh, Jack- SA and I will not be long behind you, I believe. She is stronger than I, though, and I fear she will soon be alone; my hands - never truly recovered from the French - tremble and ache so fierce I have neglected my writings for many years, my breath rattles in my lungs. I am dying, my love, my loves; I will see you soon, if the Lord has any mercy in his heart for me. I think, perhaps, I have been dying since last night, joy. SA was so kind to give us an hour alone. You called me your soul, your dearest soul, Jack - you called me your love - and I knew you should never do so again; a part of me died to hear you name me such and know it was the final time. Farewell, my captain; give Diana my truest love, and tell her I shall see you both again in less time than it seems.

[aziraphalesdiaries]

Dear Diary.

It's been a while since I've had enough leisure and peace of mind to write.

Heaven bestows many responsibilities on me and keeps me on my toes. I can't say yet whether this is intentional or just a coincidence. But all my questions so far have come to nothing. And if I investigate too closely, I would attract too much attention.

Regarding the Second Coming, no orders have been issued yet. I also haven't had the opportunity to talk to Jesus myself. The Metatron said, he was quite busy with the preparations.

I am currently receiving more and more requests from people. People living in war zones and asking for help. People who are stumbling due to the way the world is going and have lost all hope. I hardly have enough angels to answer to all their problems. My heart gets heavier with every request, every prayer.

And yet, no matter how hard they try to keep me busy, my thoughts always return to... him. To Crowley.

Every time I hear his name in my head, I feel electrified. It's been weeks, but his kiss still burns on my lips.

Oh Crowley, why? Why did you have to kiss me to seduce me? Why didn't you want to kiss me for my own sake?

Before this moment, I would have thought that you simply didn't return my feelings. That it's only my heart that's being broken.

It was a revelation. However, it felt less fulfilling than I expected a kiss to feel.

Not like that night in 1941 when I met with those Nazi spies at St. Mary's Church. I... I admit, danger was very, very close. I… underestimated Fräulein Kleinschmidt. But whom I really underestimated was Crowley.

My wonderful, dear, brave Crowley, who even walked over consecrated ground for me. That must have hurt him terribly. And... as if that wasn't enough, this wonderful friend also saved my books.

This was the moment I realized. I realized my feelings for him. For the first time, I understood what it meant to love someone. To truly love someone.

But I remained silent because I knew that if I ever spoke about it, it would become true and... undeniable.

And it wouldn't just be my life that would be endangered.

Crowley wouldn't remain silent if he knew about this. He would speak of it and would put himself in danger.

And this was something I couldn't allow to happen. They had already punished him once, they would'nt let him go a second time.

As he said, his lot don't write strongly worded notes.

He could never know of my feelings.

A.Z.Fell

[thegreenleavesofspring]

By the way, when I say that the American church has FAILED, this is what I'm talking about:

The email I sent to Focus on the Family a couple weeks ago, identifying information redacted:

Hello,

My name is [redacted] and I followed a link to one of your website's articles - about Biblical discipline - and saw the massive donation solicitation banner at the top of the website, saying any donations would go to families in need.

My mother is very much in need.

She is 61 and severely disabled, mentally and physically. In 2016 she had a stroke, which type has a 70% death rate and of the remaining 30%, the vast majority never recover any cognitive or physical function. She is a medical outlier in that she recovered both - through odds so astronomical it is a blatant miracle she survived at all - to some degree. But now her cognitive abilities are declining, as well as her mobility and eyesight: she is effectively 100% disabled.

She is also currently undergoing an eviction since she can no longer pay rent. She had planned to move into her car, but earlier this week it had an oil/engine failure that will require about $7,000 of work to repair. Her insurance would pay for it, save that she has a $1,000 deductible she cannot afford.

She gets $914 a month in disability.

I am a single mother of three boys five and under; my husband has walked out on us and does not pay child support and I cannot get any legal division to enforce it. I make $1,000 a month, and also do not own a car or have any sort of transportation. I order her groceries online and try to get small expenses for her when I can, and that is the most aid I am currently able to offer.

Right now she just needs her car repaired. But we do not have $1,000 for that deductible.

We have spent weeks calling every phone number and resource in the area and even the state. The churches send us to the government, the government sends us to the NGOs, the NGOs send us to the churches. No one helps.

Your website claims you help families. I looked under the "get help" tab and found nothing of any use, hence this email.

Will you help my family?

Sincerely,

~~~~

I got this in return:

Dear [Redacted],

Thank you for writing to Focus on the Family. Your willingness to share your concerns means a lot to us, and we want you to know we care about you, your dear mother, and your children. 

Our hearts are heavy after reading about the serious financial problems your disabled mother is facing right now. We’re especially concerned to hear that her car has broken down and she has no place to call home. Though we realize you’ve already asked for assistance from churches and a number of organizations, we recommend you contact the Salvation Army. You can visit their website at: Salvation Army: Housing and Homeless Services. We’d also like to mention three more online sources of information: National Coalition for the Homeless,  2-1-1 Get Help,  Catholic Charities USA. We can’t guarantee that they will be able to provide the help you need, nor can we say with certainty that they consistently uphold Christian values and ethics. Nevertheless, we think it would be worthwhile to find out what services are available. Please note that our mentioning these organizations should not be taken as an endorsement by our ministry.

Be assured we’re praying for the Lord to comfort your mother, provide for her many needs, and lead her to a safe place to live. We’re also asking God to surround you and your three young sons with caring people who will offer their support and help you in practical ways. 

Along with praying for you, we invite you to call the Christian counselors on our staff if you think it might be helpful to discuss your concerns with caring professionals. They might be able to offer additional suggestions and useful referral information. To reach them, please call 1-855-771-HELP (4357) any weekday between 6:00 A.M. and 8:00 P.M. (MT). Someone on our staff will ask for your name and phone number in order to arrange for a counselor to return your call as soon as they’re able. This service is available at no cost to you.

[Redacted], we understand you contacted our ministry because you saw a banner on our website indicating that all donations to our ministry are used to help families in need.  In order to provide clarification, we need to explain that the purpose of our ministry is to respond to the spiritual, emotional, and psychological needs of individuals and families. We do this by praying, providing books and other resources, airing broadcasts that address the serious issues many people face, and offering one free consultation with a professional Christian counselor on our staff. The financial contributions we receive are used to accomplish these objectives.

While it’s true that our ministry has been privileged on occasion to provide financial assistance to those experiencing hardships, our capacity to do this is limited as we are primarily a media ministry. Unfortunately, as much as we would like to, we’re not always able to offer monetary aid to the many individuals and families whose needs are brought to our attention. We’re so sorry to disappoint you.

Thanks again for writing to us, [Redacted]. God bless you and your loved ones, and may He always be the strength of your heart and your refuge.

[Redacted]

Focus on the Family

~~~~

I'll hand it to the Catholics. They do try. But their assistance is focused primarily on Catholics - quite understandable - and within their own parishes - equally understandable.

You might as well ask a brick wall for help as any Protestant church. Actually the brick wall probably at least won't - more or less literally - slam a door in your face.

I know good and well that my mother, my family, is not the only one in such dire straits. There is nowhere to turn - least of all our 'brothers' and 'sisters'.

One of these days the leaders of all these churches - these vastly wealthy mega churches and the haughty local churches and all of them - are going to have to answer to Christ about all the blood on their hands of their own people they left to starve and freeze and die in the streets.

(I'd bet good money - if I had any - that they'll have the money to put on a Christmas pageant this year.)

[thefundiemuseum]

I Read the Anderson "Love Story" So You Don't Have To

I've been vaguely aware of the Andersons for a while, but I don't know them nearly as well the other fundies on this blog. As we learn more and more about what's going on in that home--and as the Andersons try to cover their digital tracks--I thought I'd try to document the shitshow as best as I can.

To start, I went through the story of how a 19-year-old fundamentalist missionary and a 21-year-old German college student got together.

Steven Lee Anderson (July 24, 1981) has his own Wikipedia page. He is the founder of the NIFB movement and pastor of Faithful Word Baptist Church in Tempe. You've probably heard of him as "that guy who prayed for Obama to die and is banned from a dozen countries."

Zsuzsanna (Toth) Anderson (1979) is a former German-Hungarian citizen who was raised culturally Catholic. Steve was in Munich "soul-winning" when he met her.

October 4, 1999. Steven hands Zsu a Gospel tract. They start talking about the Gospel and what it means. Zsu seems interested, and says:

"Well, none of this will do me any good if I am late for work." I [Steven] then asked her for her phone number and email address so that I could do a little "follow-up"! (Anyone who knows me knows that I am not big on "follow-up," but I made an exception for her…)

source

Side Note: Not being "big on follow-up" is a bizarre thing for a missionary to say. Theoretically, the follow-up is the most important part--it's where people ask questions, dig deeper, and you build a relationship. It's pretty telling that Steven wants none of that.

They meet up a few more times during that week (he calls her and asks her out, and Zsu ghosts him, which he says "was probably for the best because that church was pretty lame"). On Wednesday, October 6, Steven has "a premonition that I might marry her," but he reflects that it's kind of ridiculous because he barely knows her.

Steven returns home to America in late October. He and Zsuzsanna start exchanging emails. He invites her to his (parents') home in California when she says she wants to visit the US, on the condition that she attend church 3 times a week with his family.

Steven recounts that he did not ask his parents for permission, which leads to this exchange:

I started by mentioning it to my dad (while he was busy and not paying attention, of course) in a hypothetical way. "You know, dad, it's really hard for me to practice my German without having anyone to speak it with. Wouldn't it be great if instead of having to go all the way to Germany, I had someone here to practice with? Maybe a traveling student or one of my friends that I met in Germany. Maybe one could even stay at our house for a little while and sleep in the guest room. Then I could practice every day. That would be cool, huh?" Next I went through the exact same hypothetical conversation with mom (also when she was preoccupied and not paying close attention). Then a week or two later when they were both together I said to them, "Now you remember about the girl from Germany who is coming to visit in a few weeks, right?" "What? What are you talking about?" "Remember, mom and dad? We talked about this! This is a friend from Germany to help me practice my German! You don't remember me telling you about it?" "Well, I do remember something about that…" "Yeah, exactly! Well she's coming on July 28 and staying in the guest room. Isn't that okay with you guys? I thought it would be fine."

source

I bring up this conversation because it gives us a look at what young Steven was like: smart, savvy, manipulative.

July 28, 2000. Zsuzsanna flies into California to meet Steven. He spends all of the money he has saved up from his job at a pizza parlor taking her sightseeing.

July 29, 2000. They go to Marine World for the day. While in a Rite Aid stocking up on snacks, Steven advocates for parents spanking their children (a totally normal topic of conversation to have with a friend while practicing your languages).

July 30, 2000. It's Sunday, which means attending 2 church services. Zsuzsanna is fairly receptive to the whole thing. They go stargazing that night, and Steven deliberately scares her with stories of bears and mountain lions. Zsu turns the tables on him by pretending to be hysterical because "she liked listening to me pleading with her that everything was okay." Back at the Anderson house, Zsuzsanna prays a prayer of salvation.

July 31, 2000. Zsu tells Steven that she is saved. He is over the moon in part because it means he can have feelings for her.

August 4, 2000. Steven and Zsu go camping with his sister and her family. (Don't worry, they're in separate beds and well chaperoned by his sister and BIL.)

August 5, 2000. Steven teaches Zsu how to drive his BIL's motorboat. She panics, and he has to save the day. He accuses her of faking being scared "to be cute." They later have their first fight over the topic of "homos" and the fact that Steven thinks the government should issue the death penalty to gay people.

"She was just emotional because she considered me to be a nice guy and could not believe that I would condone of such a 'violent' measure." source

August 6, 2000. The couple starts talking about marriage.

August 10, 2000. The marriage discussion goes from "in a year or two after Zsu finishes school" to "next summer" to "after next semester." Note: because I'm getting this info from Steven's blog, I don't know how much of this expedited timeline is his idea and how much of it is hers. I hesitate to assume that he is intentionally pressuring her, but from what we know of him in hindsight. . . Well, it's a bad look.

August 12, 2000. Steven and Zsu reason that if they know they will be married in about five months (after she completes her next semester of school in Germany), why not get married now? They drive to Reno only to discover the chapel is closed because Reno is not the same as Las Vegas and does not have 24/7 marriage services.

August 13, 2000. Another Sunday, another sermon. Steven hears the sermon on "Childhood and Youth are Vanity" and takes it as confirmation that he and Zsu should get married today because they are not children. source

Tangent: The sermon is on Ecclesiastes 11. Listen. I was once a horny 20-year-old Baptist desperate to get married. I know what it is like to interpret every piece of Scripture or sermon as confirmation of my desire to marry. I remember that fervor. So I say this as someone who has not only spent a lot of her life reading and interpreting Scripture and poetry, but as someone who has been there: this is a WILD take on Ecclesiastes 11.

I do not know what Steven's pastor preached about this passage. I do not know his exegesis or commentary. All I know is that Steven heard a pastor say that "childhood and youth are vanity," and Steven's response was "good thing I'm not a child (19); my desires are therefore not vanity."

ANYWAY. The couple drives back to Reno, gets married, and does not tell anyone.

I wouldn't normally comment on this except that Steven himself has publicly written about it on his blog, and this ends up raising more questions for me, so. . .

In the ~24 hours between their Reno wedding and Zsu's flight home, they consummate their marriage "repeatedly." (He reflects on the fact that they did not use birth control, but not out of any moral objection at the time, and admits that it would have been very difficult if Zsu had gotten pregnant then.)

They were staying at his parents' house in separate rooms. They were keeping their marriage a secret. And yet. . . "repeatedly."

I mean. I guess it makes sense. The point of getting married for them is, largely, about sex. They're young and feeling all these intense feelings, and they believe the only way to alleviate this tension is reserved for married couples. If they had 24 hours to be married in the same country, I guess it makes sense that they'd find a way to make it happen.

August 14, 2000. Zsuzsanna Toth-Anderson flies back to Germany. Steven starts planning how to move out, earn money, and break the news to his parents.

Late August. Steven tells his brother about the secret wedding, and moves in to their spare room. He gets a job installing home alarm systems and even finds an apartment that he can afford.

August 30, 2000. Steven's plan to tell his parents about the wedding only after he and Szu are together again with his new apartment and job fails when Susan Anderson sees a piece of mail addressed to Zsuzsanna Toth-Anderson and opens it. They take the news surprisingly well, all things considered.

September 2, 2000. Zsuzsanna returns to the US, having dropped out of school and quit her job.

September 6, 2000. Zsu and Steven move into their apartment, officially independent from his parents.

It is crazy to read how, in the span of less than 12 months, Zsuzsanna went from college student with a job to housewife in a foreign country with no connections outside of the Anderson family. There is a horror story here, the severed connections, the expedited timeline of their relationship, the pressure. It's bizarre and unsettling.

I've been trying to find Zsuzsanna's reflections on their relationship, maybe on an archived blog post, but so far I've got nothing. She sums up their relationship to a BBC writer "We dated for two weeks, eloped on the last day of my vacation in the United States."

It's all a bit sad, you know?

(This is not to downplay any of Zsuzsanna's behavior, her abuse toward her children, or her reprehensible teachings--we're in The Nuance Zone here. Zsu can be a victim and a perpetrator at the same time.)

Anyway. My theoretical plan to do a deep dive on the Andersons keeps getting slowed down by how sad the whole thing makes me.

[fromgoy2joy]

Impermanence

the impermanence of this world is emphasized a lot in Judaism.

Embalming is prohibited. On Shabbat, your day of rest, you may not do anything that will last. The entire point of a Sukkot is that it is a temporary lodging. There’s an entire debate on should a sukkot be able to stand up in harsh winds and what exact miles per hour.

I could go on and on, but overall it touches on this idea that-

"In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread till thou return unto the ground for out of it wast thou taken 

for dust thou art and unto dust shalt thou return. "

This may seem like a basic abrahamic value. But it goes farther for me- even though every Ash Wednesday as a Catholic, I would get the blot of black ash upon my forehead to remind me of my fate, I still wanted to be preserved. I went to confession every week, and wrote in my journal how much I wanted to be a saint. I wanted my bones to be buried under the altar at a cathedral, unforgotten to this world. I wanted statues and churches named after me, in the way that young people are afraid that each thing they do now is irrelevant.

But that never felt right.

My journey in Judaism has taught me a few things. Mainly, that I do not do the things I do now because of the promise of awards and reverence after death in this mortal plain. I do not stay awake at night wondering my fate of heaven or hell. Instead, my religion lies in the here and now on this earth.

As a Christian, I was other-worldly, demanded to live in a realm where my soul was in constant peril. I was told that I didn’t belong to this world, could not belong to it, not if I didn’t want to burn.

Now, I look in the mirror and I see myself as being carved out of the beautiful dirt and dust. I am meant to be here, living out a religion that focuses on life. I don’t know where I’ll go when I die- some say a soul washing machine, others contemplate the idea of reincarnation to complete mitzvahs, others leave it at “returning to GD,” and still some say that it’s just death.

But I am impermanent here, and rarer than the stars above. And when I die, my memory will be a blessing to all that loved, knew or heard about me, until the knowledge of my existence softly putters out.

And I think about that, looking in the mirror, and I grin. I see the crinkling smile lines that will one day form besides my eyes permanently, when I am long into my journey as being a Jewish woman.

[fittlebottom]

I know I just posted about pip but back when I was waiting for my contacts to come in I was like very blind for a day or two. And during that time I only drew once. No joke this drawing, if you can even call it one, has taken over my life. I've thought about it everyday for almost a month straight.

Washing the dishes? Where the geese at. Folding laundry? Where the geese at. Trying to read? Where the geese at. Trying to draw? At least one Where the geese at clone made. I have had to stop during multiple conversations with friends and family to hold back a giggle if I'm even remotely reminded of this fucking image. When I drew it originally I genuinely thought I was the funniest person on the face of the planet and everyone else, every comic every comedian, would need to pack up and go back to Alaska. The worst part about it to me is that no one else gets it. It's a fucking inside joke with MYSELF. You know how the trolls guy when he got arrested said under his breathe "this is gonna ruin the tour..." quite literally I have done that so many times but with "where the geese at". I was giving my grandmother a pity visit because she's senile now and acts like she's still in the '60s. We were looking at a physical map and she said something along the lines of "where is *insert place from my county*" . I, without thinking, whispered under my breathe "where the geese at." And her, being the Christian woman she is, thought I was chanting the devils incantations. And now for the next 2 Sundays I have to go to church with her. ALL BECAUSE OF WHERE THE GEESE AT. PIP BERNADOTTE YOUVE RUINED MY LIFE I AM DONE FOR. Genuinely I feel as if I can't draw anymore because all I want to do is where the geese at. I feel like I'm being brainwashed by this fucking drawing. I'm not a religious person but I think I've been possessed by an evil spirit that just wants to make me miserable. I took a break from drawing for a few weeks after finishing a piece that left me very burnt out. You wanna know what brought me back? What motivated me to open up my program? I was going through where the geese at withdrawals. I only came back because I was getting angry at the fact I hadn't drawn where the geese at in days. I am addicted to this drawing like it's black tar heroin. Where the geese at has rotted my brain to the point of no return. It's only been a month of its life and so far it has only made mine worse and worse. I eat, sleep, breathe where the geese at. I feel the need to use my own tears as paint and draw where the geese at all over my metal enclosure. I see him everywhere I go. Thinking about it and writing this all out has made my face flush red with rage maybe? Frustration? Geese withdrawals? Lord please save me from this curse I cannot live like this.

I feel really bad if anyone reads this at all. I have no hellsing friends so I haven't been able to mourn my loss of sanity with context to anyone. I am very truly deeply sorry for anyone who reads my rants of a madman my dehydrated dying words.

Where the geese at amiright folks? I'll be here all night.

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

First off, I'm sorry if this is too much for you. I honestly don't know if you are even close to the right person to ask for this but I just feel like I should, maybe it's the Lord pushing me to you, idk. I am an underage girl (don't worry, I am safe) I've been in promiscuity and sin for a couple weeks now and I want to go back to God so bad but I don't know how and I feel even more unworthy to return to him than usual (and than I know I should.) If you have any advice I would love to here it. Once again, I'm sorry if this is too much for you.

Oh, my dear, I am so sorry. This absolutely isn't too much for me, but I'm so sorry to hear this. I'll be praying for you of course. I think God made me hear a talk at church yesterday just for you - it was about how we can be forgiven even of the sins we don't think are forgiveable. God is willing to receive us if we repent, even the things we beat ourselves up over and don't think are forgiveable.

And as for your specific case, from what you've told me, there's Biblical precedence that you are forgiven if you come for help - the woman caught in adultery, all Jesus said was 'go your way and sin no more', the Samaritan woman with many husbands he did not condemn, the prostitute who washed his feet he said that she would be remembered wherever the gospel was. God bless and keep you.

He will always bring you back if you want to be brought back. Gomer, wife of Hosea, was promiscuous and yet he was told to take her back, and that was a mirror of God with Israel. And as Christians we have been grafted into the tree of God, so to speak, and God wants us. He wants you to come back, he wants you to repent, and you can repent. He loves you; you are his beloved daughter. I don't know what advice I can give, but I hope I have helped. Thank you again for reaching out, and I'm honoured that you chose to ask me. Hopefully this helps you. Once again - I'm praying for you.

Tagging this #promiscuity anon, in case you wish to respond further, which is very much encouraged if it would help you. Feel free to reach out in dms if you're comfy as well. God bless you and keep you, and go with you in every thing you do.

[jordanianroyals]

Queen Rania of Jordan: Christmas is canceled in the land of Jesus’ birth

Washington Post Op-Ed, December 21, 2023 at 6:45 a.m. EST

[Read this piece in Arabic.]

Bethlehem usually comes alive at Christmas. Not this year. In the Holy Land, celebrations have been canceled: no parades, no bazaars, no public tree lightings. In my country, Jordan, where Jesus was baptized, our Christian community has chosen to do the same.

In the occupied West Bank, oneBethlehem church has adapted its nativity scene, placing the infant Jesus among the rubble of a bombed-out building. It is a reflection of the story playing out on screens everywhere: the horrific images of the destruction of Gaza, and especially, its bloodied and broken children.

I watch a video of a Gazan father stroking his daughter’s face, telling someone to look at how beautiful she is. She could almost be sleeping, if not for her white shroud.

I scroll on and see a young boy struggling through rain and flooded roads, carrying the body of an even smaller child he refused to leave behind. A mother holding her daughter’s limp body close: “Put your heart on my heart,” she tells her, crying out as others try to take her away. She was not ready to let her go.

We need to see in these children’s faces the faces of our own. Each of these videos is a desperate plea to the world to recognize their humanity and their hurt.

The people of Gaza have not lost hope in others’ humanity — even as so many fail to see theirs.

Since Oct.7, the vast majority of casualties in Israel, the West Bank, and the Gaza Strip have been civilians. Whether killed, kidnapped or unjustly detained, each person leaves an unfillable void. There is no difference between the pain Palestinian and Israeli mothers feel over the loss of a child.

Every day that goes by without a cease-fire, so much more is being tragically lost.

In just over two months, Israel has turned Gaza into a hellscape. Almost 20,000 dead. At least 8,000 are children — more than the death tolls of Pearl Harbor, the Sept. 11 attacks and Hurricane Katrina combined.

About 2 million out of 2.2 million people in Gaza have been displaced — almost an entire population turned to refugees. More than 50,000 Gazans have been wounded, but only eight hospitals out of 36 are operational.

On top of all this, hunger. Nearly half of the people in Gaza are starving. In more than two months, less than a week’s worth of the aid they need has been allowed in. How could starving a population be considered a legitimate form of self-defense?

International organizations are now calling Gaza a graveyard for children. How perverse that the Holy Land should be described as something so profoundly unholy.

This has become an unequivocal humanitarian nightmare. With each passing day, the threshold of what is acceptable falls to new lows, setting a terrifying precedent for this and other wars to come.

No matter what side you support, you can still demand a cease-fire, the release of hostages and detainees, and unrestricted access to aid.

Some will brush this off as a bleeding-heart plea, arguing that an immediate cease-fire is neither strategic nor sustainable. It is an indictment of the times that a call for a return to sanity could be dismissed as sentimentality. We also hear many talking about peace the day after as though to absolve themselves of the responsibility to act now.

A cease-fire is just the beginning. We must also embark on the difficult process of rehumanization — recognizing the humanity of others and acting on that universal kinship.

I am a mother, and my heart breaks for parents in Gaza doing everything in their power to keep their children alive — and then losing them. All parents share the impulse to shield their children from the worst of the world. No matter who you are or where you come from, your instinct to care for and protect those you love is one you must honor in yourself but also in strangers — even adversaries. Honoring it selectively diminishes our own humanity.

There is another video I will never forget: a mother, saying her goodbyes to her children. After going to bed on empty stomachs, they had been killed in their sleep by an airstrike.

Their mother’s grief is unbearable; her guilt that they died hungry broke me. “It’s okay, my boy. You are with God now,” she says to one son. “I named him Ayoub [Job] for patience,” she explains, and then, through tears: “I will be patient, my child.”

In the Hebrew Bible, the New Testament and the Quran, the prophet Job loses his possessions, children and health. Yet, he remains steadfast in his faith. His patience is honored by Jews, Christians and Muslims, who, at different points in history, have shared the Holy Land in peace. His story is one of pain but also hope.

This war has to end. Today, it boils down to one question that each of us must answer: If you could prevent hundreds or thousands more children from dying, would you?

If so, demanding a cease-fire is the absolute minimum you can do. And we, all of us, must do so together.