#did she happen to stop in to this Catholic Church for confession

[asifyoudidntknow]

Rewatching All Souls and I need to know why TF Scully is going to confession at a church in Alexandria, Virginia?!

[rafeandonlyrafe]

sin, sin, sin.

words: 1.6k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, semi public sex, catholic church setting, confessional, rafe kind of pretending to be a priest (itll make sense quickly), religious trauma, if youre religious and easily offended probably skip this one

rafe knows little about his mother, but the one thing he does know is that she was a devout catholic. maybe it's stories ward told him, or the fact that his strongest memory of her was her funeral, held in the same catholic church he's currently pushing the grand wooden doors to enter.

it's his last chance as he looks into the candlelit hall. to turn around and go back into the darkness of the night, let the inky blackness swallow him whole.

rafe feels a pang in his chest. good old catholic guilt his mother passed down to him. rafe lets out a curse before he steps foot into the church, wishing he got his father's fake christianity instead, going to church on holidays and only using the religion when it suits you.

rafe looks away from the altar, the cross hanging above it, and to the confession booth to the side of the pews. his feet carry them there with the false confidence he's always been able to paste on as a front.

rafe looks at the door and then swallows thickly. guilt, guilt, guilt. he's not sure anything could help, yet he opens the handle and steps inside.

the creaky door slams shut behind him as rafe sits and faces forward towards the screen, just opaque enough to make out a figure on the other side in the low light.

rafe realizes then that he doesn't know the words. 

“forgive me father, for i have sinned.” a voice from the other side suddenly rings out, a soft, feminine voice. rafe suddenly is aware of his mistake. “it has been two days since my last confession.”

rafe knows he should interrupt you, stop you from continuing on, but something in him stirs him to stay, his interest peaking.

“ive slept with another man. i know you're tired of hearing it, father. i just can't help myself. i can't seem to wait, it's like something takes over me. father, i feel as if i am possessed by some sexual demon.” 

you scoff and rafe can see your body crumple on the other side, becoming an even smaller shape.

“tell me what happened.” rafe says.

“i-i had a date. a nice catholic man, or at least who i thought was a nice catholic man. he took me to dinner, and then i thanked him by getting on my knees immediately after.”

“keep going…” there's something about your voice that stirs rafe, has his hand gravitating to his crotch, there's a sexual prowess in your voice mixed with the guilt and innocence, like you're describing the deeds of some other woman entirely.

“he didn't even initiate it. i did. i pulled him into my apartment when he was dropping me back home. can you believe that? he was being a gentleman bringing me back to my doorstep and i just had to be a total hussy.”

rafe presses his hand down against his growing cock, imagining himself as that so called catholic gentleman.

“i unzipped his pants and tugged them down. he wasn't even hard. i played with him over his underwear, kissed his length and sucked on it and everything.”

rafes hands follow your description as he leans back against the wooden wall, tugging down his zipper and closing his eyes to picture it even better, some anonymous bold woman.

“i then pulled his underwear down. right there in the front hallway. when i saw him… i knew i was going to sleep with him next.”

you pause for long enough that rafe realizes he needs to speak. he hopes his voice doesn't come out strained. “then you slept with him?”

“yes. didn't even make it to the bedroom, he took me against the dining room table. how am i ever expected to settle down and have my own children and a loving family when all i really want is that high.”

“how does the high make you feel?”

“it comes right before the orgasm, really.” your voice drops in octave, and rafe wonders if your pussy is getting wet reimagining the scene. “when he's inside of me, pounding hard, and i know he's about to lose it too.”

rafe pushes his underwear down and tugs his cock out, not kid himself any longer that he's not extremely turned on and cannot leave the confessional with his pants tented.

“we're moaning in sync, not worrying about the neighbors in that moment. im clenching around him and he's-” you hesitate for a moment, and rafe swears he hears a sensual exhale, as if you may be touching yourself on the other side of the booth. “he's stretching me out. i love the pulsing of right when he's about to cum-”

rafe lets out a moan as he strokes before he realizes and sits up suddenly, but his reaction is too delayed as you're out of your booth and opening the door to his.

“you perv! father-” you come face to face with a handsome young man instead of the elderly priest you expected. “you're not the father.”

your eyes then travel down to his cock and that devious part of you taking over again.

“it-it was an accident.” rafe says quickly, trying to explain why he's in the priests side of the confessional when you step inside and close the door behind you.

“i have another sin to confess.” you pull the skirt of your dress up, revealing that you're wearing nothing beneath, your glimmering wet pussy directly in front of rafes face. he could so easily lean forward and taste you.

“ive always wanted to fuck in the confessional.”

rafe grabs your hips and tugs you down. he doesn't even know your name. he doesn't need to as his lips smash against yours, wildly making out.

you reach down between your bodies, grasping rafes hard cock and giving it a few strokes before you line yourself up.

you hesitate for just a moment before sinking down as rafe moans into your mouth, hoping that his mother isn't up in heaven looking down at him desecrating this holy place with you.

you gasp and pull away from the kiss as you adjust, your pussy being stretched just the way you described liking it.

“fuck.” rafe hisses out.

“shouldn't curse in a place of worship.” you smirk at him, cutting off whatever reply he had as you begin to move, bouncing up and down.

rafe grabs your hips, helping you move. his hands are strong as they disappear beneath your dress, needing to feel your bare skin.

“so good.” you whimper, pressing your forehead against rafes, breathing heavily as the temperature in the small booth rises.

“fuck, your pussy-” rafe grunts out as his hips begin to snap up into your tight heat. 

“you ever had a good catholic girl like this?” there's a hint of playfulness in your voice that rafe is shocked you can manage with your labored breathing.

“from your confession, im not sure you're all that good.” rafe says, moving his hand to rub his thumb over your clit, mostly just to see the reaction on your face as you moan out.

hes thankful for the late hour as he doesn't move his mouth forward to silence yours, letting your beautiful symphony of pleasure escape through the confessional walls and fill the church.

“this high.” you arch your back, eyes rolling back in your head as your fingers tighten on rafes shoulders. 

he knows exactly what you're speaking of. that moment when you're both on the apex, his cock swelling inside you while his thumb rubs against your clit, doing anything he can to elicit a reaction out of you, to increase your pleasure even more.

“cum for me.” rafe commands in a shockingly even voice, even surprising himself as your body stills and then shakes, crumpling forward into rafes strong arms as your pussy clenches around rafes cock, and it's all he needs to release himself, thrusting upwards and spilling inside of your cunt.

you're both breathing heavily as you come down from your high, wrapped up in each others bodies and your own intersecting pleasure before you have to pull away, realization setting in.

“oh my god.” you giggle. “we just fucked in the church.”

“shit.” rafe laughs as well. this is certainly not what he meant to do when entering into the church, yet his soul still feels lighter as he looks at your smile.

“god,” you look up at the ceiling, as if you're talking to him directly. “im so sorry. im going to hell.”

“i guess ill see you there.” rafe chuckles before he's interrupted by a gasp as you pull off of him.

rafe is quick to get himself back together, very aware of the fact that you're still bare under your dress, his cum no doubt dropping down your thigh.

you push open the door to the tiny booth and take a breath of cool air before rafe is quick to follow you out.

“i thought i heard a noise.”

you both freeze as you look up to see the nun walking from across the aisle.

“do you need the priest? he's already retired for the night.”

“no, sister.” you respond, a soft, innocent smile gracing your features as you grasp rafes hand and pull him to continue towards the exit. “see you at service sunday.”

you both let out a laugh as you push open the large wooden doors and flee from any more questions.

“can i at least get your name?” rafe asks as you enter into the night, way lit by moonlight.

“no.” you smile back at him. “but i will have another confession to make. tomorrow. same time.”

[m1lkywaywritey]

Forgive me

Relationship: Priest Gerard way x afab reader

Tags: smut, priest kink, first time, making out, moaning, dirty talk, hand jobs, semi-public sex, love bites, Catholic guilt, fingering if you squint, SHAMEEE, using the Lords name in vain, a little bit of angst?, calling him father (sexually), unprotected sex, corruption kink?, nipple stuff

Summary: Y/n has been having some unholy thoughts since befriending and crushing on her priest, so she decides to go confess and uuhhh things don't exactly go as planned...

A/N: HELLO I FINALLY FINISHED IT! i just wanna preface this with the fact that i dont know JACK SHIT about churches or priests or anything of the sort. Therefore if i fuck something up or its super inaccurate THEN IM SORRY!!!!! also this isnt proofread lol sorry

Word count: 3344

Fic under cut - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You weren’t too sure whether you bought religion all too much but there was one thing that kept you going back to church (no, not the catholic guilt.) The super hot priest leading all the services of course.

You knew that practically and realistically nothing would ever happen, but what was the harm in a little eye candy for you on a Sunday. Aside from his great looks, he was genuinely a great guy - you had spoken to him after mass once and from then on the two of you got to know each other, becoming good friends. He was younger than most priests so he was easy to talk to and his name was Gerard.

To you he was perfect: funny, kind and totally sexy - if you were ignoring the elephant in the room. You knew priests didn’t have relationships - you knew they didn’t have sex, but that wasn’t enough to discourage the little crush on him you could feel forming. Maybe you were being deluded but you could’ve sworn he felt something too. You felt it in the eye contact he held for just a few moments too long every time and in his unprompted invitations for coffee together and how he blushed slightly when he asked you. Of course you had to wake yourself up from all that - he’s just being kind and welcoming, that’s basically half his job.

Lately however, you had been struggling to repress these thoughts about him - in fact they had been getting worse (and far more sexual) by the day. It was getting out of hand so you decided you needed to confess. To Gerard or to God? You hadn’t quite figured that out yet.

It was late on a Friday night when you pulled up outside the church, you knew Gerard would be there - he always was around this time. You didn’t exactly know what he did in his alone time but you assumed it consisted of sitting in the pews, contemplating and admiring the grand stained glass windows. You were surprised, however, to find him up on the sanctuary leaning on the altar. He was facing the cross but he had his head hung low, hair cascading over his face. He didn’t notice you come in, so when you walked over and said his name it startled him slightly as he whipped around to face you.

“Oh hey y/n! I- uh- I didn’t expect you here, whats the matter?” He exclaimed - still a little shaken from your mini jump-scare. You noticed he was acting a little off - he was avoiding eye contact, nervously pushing back his hair and you could’ve sworn he was blushing (but in the dim light of the church it was hard to tell.) It felt like you had caught him doing something he didn’t want you to know about.

“Are you okay?” You asked, ignoring his question due to your concerns.

“Yeah,yeah I’m fine, you just caught me in the middle of my confession that’s all. Uhh what are you here for?”

“Oh I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’m here to confess something too actually”

“Cool, do you wanna go into the-“ He lifted his hand to gesture towards the confessional before you cut him off.

“I can’t stop thinking about you.” You blurted out without even thinking. Gerard stopped dead in his tracks. He began stuttering and stumbling over his words (if you could even class it as words they were so broken). Naturally, you did the only thing you could think of to shut him up…

You stepped towards him and kissed him on the lips. You weren’t expecting that kind of confession from yourself and judging by his wide eyes and slack jaw, neither was he. Despite the shock of what you did, you both stayed deathly still, searching for answers in eachothers eyes. Nothing but the sound of your breaths filled the church but with the shame you felt, you could’ve screamed.

“Im so sorry, I should just go-“ you were actively turning to leave when Gerard cut you off.

“I can’t stop thinking about you either” he whispered, putting his hands on your waist to stop you from leaving - his grip was light and hesitant but firm enough to keep you in place. He couldn’t quite believe what he was doing, he knew the rules and he’d never even thought about going against them until you. You were worth it to him. “What do you think I was confessing hm? Every time I see you I just wanna give up my chastity right there and then. You don’t know what you fucking do to me.” By the end of his sentence his whispers had morphed into a low growl, you’d never heard him curse like that and god was it hot. He had broken eye contact and hung his head in shame of his dirty confession. You lifted his chin with your index finger so you could stare deeply into his eyes once more.

“Please Father...” You spoke in a hushed whisper, gazing up at him through your lashes. His eyes widened slightly, and only momentarily, but just enough for you to catch the look in his eyes. Contained in that one subconscious movement, you saw the sinful cocktail of horror and lust that filled him. You could tell he’d had some sort of realisation but you couldn’t place what it could be.

Oh-

Calling him father turned him on.

Time stood still, seconds felt like years, both of you too scared to move and lose this tension. Deep down, you knew it was wrong - and so did he - but in this moment you didn’t want to accidentally come to your senses. As more and more of these weighted seconds passed, your faces drew closer and closer as if there was a cosmic pull between you. Breathing gradually becoming faster and heavier with silence growing louder, you could hardly contain your unholy thoughts. One in particular making your breath hitch at the mere idea - finally breaking the ever-growing tension.

Suddenly, Gerard’s hands flew from your sides up to your face - lips crashing into yours with unbearable desperation. It was like he had never touched anyone like this before in his life - because he hadn’t. His grip on your face was strong like he was trying to drink every inch of you before he died of thirst. The kiss was messy and untamed, inexperienced too but far more passionate than you’d had before. He wasn’t shy to let his tongue roam around your mouth, his eyes scrunched tightly shut as if trying not to wake up from this dream he was living. Trying not to remember where and who he was. In that moment all he knew was you.

Gerard was clearly not holding back - letting out any moans, whimpers and groans that threatened to emerge from his throat like a horny teenage boy. He had gotten a taste of you and he wasn’t going to stop there. From a priest, you had expected a soft, gentle, caring touch much like his regular demeanour. This was far from that. He was filled with pure, pent up, desperation. The fact he was doing it with you - the girl he had not long ago repented for all his unholy thoughts about - only fuelled his loving lust further.

Gerard’s hands slid back down towards your waist - this time with no reminiscence of his former hesitance - digging his fingers into your flesh and pulling you impossibly close. The force making you hum a moan into his lips, only causing him to groan louder and grip you tighter. You were sure it would leave a mark. With your new proximity you could feel the outline of his erection against your pelvis. You started to grind against him, subtly trying to gauge his size.

Fuck.

You let out a whimpering moan. You weren’t sure if you could even take him but you knew you needed it. Now. You broke the kiss to speak “Please- “ drunk on your lips Gerard pulled you back into the kiss almost immediately and you chuckled at his impatience. “Please- “ you broke out again but Gerard insisted on kissing you between every word.

“Touch- Me- Father- “ you managed to get out between kisses - using his title again because you loved what it did to him. He spun you both around so you were leaning slightly on the altar for support. He didn’t seem to notice as he was so occupied on you, but to you being on the altar felt so wrong it was perfect. Just like every corruption fantasy you’d ever had about Gerard - practically defiling the altar felt so erotic and leaving your mark on his swollen lips turned you on more than you could tell. He began to move his kisses to your jaw, pecking all the way up to your ear, inhaling sharply through his nose, taking in your scent.

“God I’ve been thinking about you like the for so long” Despite everything he had already gone against this evening, his blasphemy still caught you off guard. Things had changed so quickly and you were scared he was acting off of impulse rather than true desire.

“Gerard- Ah- Are you sure?” His only response to your question was a series of hums of agreement and arousal, sucking a spot below your ear that made your whole body tingle. “Gerard-“ you continued, trying to be considerate but being cut off by your own moans. Gerard didn’t seem to share your concern, muffled an against your skin he began to speak.

He placed a sloppy kiss in between your collarbones and you felt a shift in his demeanour. He brought his head up to rest his forehead on yours. There was a quiet moment, both of you allowing your breathing to slow, occasionally syncing up and breathing rhythmically together. “Can I… Can I take this off you?” He somewhat nervously tugged at the hem of your shirt. His words were cautious - nervous even - you remembered that this wasn’t just his first time, he was going against the thing he built his life around for you.

“Call me father.” If you weren’t soaking wet already, that sure would’ve done it. The last inkling of hesitation from within you was long gone with his request and you threw your head back finally letting go - calling out his title just as he had requested. With your head back Gerard had access to whole new areas of your neck and collarbones. You were leaning back on one hand so you brought the other up to rake through his hair, encouraging his kisses and pulling him closer - much to his liking. You let out a gasping moan as he sucked a sweet spot - there was no way all these hickeys were going anywhere anytime soon but you were far too aroused to think about what people would think about you here on Sunday.

“Please” you said reassuringly running your hands through his hair and pulling him in for one more kiss before his hands snaked under your top. He pulled his head away from yours for what felt like the first time in years and lifted the top over your head - tossing the garment into the pews of the church. He took a moment ogling at the sheer sight of your body. Admiring it and committing every small detail to memory. He reached out to rake his hands up your sides then over your boobs.

He reached behind you, struggling to unclasp your bra - you let out a small giggle and helped him out, pulling it off and leaving you fully exposed in the cold church air. The chill that caused your nipples to harden was short lived as Gerard took one nipple sloppily into his warm, wet mouth. If you thought he couldn’t moan any more than he already had, you were dead wrong. The way he was getting off on worshipping your body could’ve made you finish right then. He used one hand to grope your other breast, occasionally squeezing and stimulating your nipple. His other hand rested on the small of your back, keeping you steady. Strings of moans escaped your mouth, for someone with absolutely no experience, he caught on very quickly how to please you.

While he was occupied you took the opportunity to remove your trousers and shift to sit fully on the altar. You gently gripped Gerard’s wrist and guided his hand from the small of your back, down towards your pussy. With only your underwear as a barrier, Gerard palmed you through them. He broke his contact with your boob to stare down at the mess you had made of your underwear, soaking was an understatement. Pupils blown wide; whimpering breaths; jaw hanging open - maybe he was a bigger mess than you were.

“Fuck your so wet” He groaned as he continued to feel you through your soaked pants, his middle finger occasionally running right along your slit giving your clit a taste of some much needed friction. Gerards eyes flicked up and down almost rapidly - unsure whether to look down there or up at your face contorting with pleasure as he grazed over your sweet spot. Wherever he was looking, he was taking in and analysing your reactions to quickly learn what made you tick.

“Please father, I need you” You said, getting a little impatient with all Gerard’s teasing. He wanted to give you what you wanted and started to unbutton his shirt. That was before you grabbed his wrist to stop him. “No! Keep that on… I like it” You said, giving him a faux-innocent look and hooking your finger over his clerical collar, hoping he’d get the memo.

“Was that your plan all along?” He asked teasingly, reaching down to unbuckle his belt instead. “Did you come here just to fuck your priest hm?” You were absolutely stunned by his questions. Your jaw dropped and you nodded hesitantly. “You’re so fucking dirty” He said huskily, finally letting his cock spring free from his boxers. You were in complete awe of his size and you practically moaned at the sight- you thought about what a waste it was for him to be celibate with a dick like that, well not anymore you supposed.

His dick was so hard it almost looked painful, it was completely flushed with the tip even more so and he already had beads of precum rolling down his length (you also spotted a wet patch on his boxers from it.) You reached out to touch him, going gently at first, and he hissed at the contact. You pumped your hand up and down a few more times, falling into a steady rhythm making Gerard’s head fall back. With his head back like that, you could see his slight stubble and you wanted absolutely nothing more than to mark him up with some pretty lovebites that he’d struggle to hide tomorrow. You decided against it but still planted some lighter kisses on his neck.

Gerards moans were becoming increasingly loud and more frequent and just then he gripped your wrist to stop your rhythm. “Fuck-“ He whimpered trying to catch his breath. “Let me fuck you.”

“Please” you whined in response. Gerard hooked his finger around your underwear, pulling them to the side. “Forgive me” he whispers so quietly you barely caught it, before he lined himself up and plunged into you. Both of you groaned at the new sensation. He was still for a moment, letting you adjust to his size as you clenched around him. Eventually, he drew back for the first time and pushed back in. You could never even describe the pleasure it brought you - even at the achingly slow pace he started at.

With each slow thrust, whimpers escaped his throat - they morphed into whines as he gradually sped up. You couldn’t tell if he was gaining confidence in his movements or just speeding up out of bare desperation. Every time he grazed the sweet spot that made you clench around him, he strived harder to hit it again - the added stimulation driving him crazy. You made an effort to hold eye contact with him, watching his face contort with pleasure he’d never felt before could’ve made you orgasm right then. You felt fucking incredible but you need just a little more.

“Fast- fuck- Faster Father” you moaned out, mouth agape staring into his blown pupils. Gerard obliged, hooking his arms around your thighs - he did it with the intention of keeping you steady, but what it did was create a whole new angle into of you. Each roll of his hips felt about ten times better, he was hitting all the right places at just the right speed. The altar was now creaking loudly beneath you, reminding you of where you were (which honestly only spurred you on.)

With the new angle and speed you could feel your core tightening - climax growing closer. You leaned in, capturing his lips in another messy and untamed kiss. Your walls squeezed tighter around him, practically milking him at this point. You slipped your hand between the two of you to stroke circles on your clit and you noticed every few thrusts Gerard’s hips would falter slightly - he was getting close too.

With your fingers on your clit, his dick deep inside of you and the thought of how wrong this was, your orgasm crashed over you in a wave. Your screams of pleasure funnelled straight into his mouth. Gerard was still pushing into you, chasing his own orgasm. Your pussy spasmed around him and his hips stuttered.

“Fuck somethings happening- I- Oh my god- Where do I-“ Gerards words spilled out. It was such a foreign feeling to him and he had never felt better.

“Cum in me Father” you whined out, still in the aftershocks of your orgasm - overstimulated and almost hazy. Gerard complied moaning and whining, his thrusts had almost no rhythm now as you felt ropes of his white, hot cum spill into you. “Oh, God.” He moaned out as he filled you with the last of his cum. Was he talking to you or god? You couldn’t quite tell.

Both of you were spent, coming down from your peaks and you rested your heads on each other’s shoulders - him still inside of you. The room felt eerily quiet without the sounds of sex - just the same heavy breathing this all started with. After about a minute he pulled out (eliciting one last groan from the both of you), tucked himself back into his boxers and did up his belt. He turned to walk away and you were scared for a second that he was leaving but he went to retrieve your clothes that were carelessly discarded into the pews. He cleaned you up and helped you get dressed, neither of you said a word.

You felt so guilty, sure the thought of corrupting him like that was what turned you on in the moment, but now - even after he had broken his celibacy for you - he was taking the time to make sure you were clean, dressed and okay. It just reminded you why you liked him, he was genuinely a great guy, he never had bad intentions and he was so caring. You were sure you’d never be able to see him again after this and just the thought upset you.

He had an almost sorrowful, clearly pensive, look on his face - probably trying to figure out what’s gonna happen now. Ideally he would just repent and break contact with you, but could he really give you up now? After he got exactly what he’s been dreaming about? He really wasn’t sure.

You decided you needed to break this silence you were sat in, once you were dressed, you got to your feet and looked up into his eyes. “What do we do now?” You asked - almost tearing up a little.

“I- I don’t know”

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

A/N: thanks so much for reading! please let me know what you thought + if I made any mistakes :p

[mjonthetrack]

Oath 1

1700s - somewhere down south

The hoofs of the horses trampled through cobblestone streets like a madman without a prayer. The town was somewhat like Charleston or maybe New Orleans, the air was muggy, the food was hot and the witch hunts were active.The governor sent out militia to rectify the happenings of Hillary in the deep southern part of the state. Word had traveled by the mouths of both Protestant and Catholic priests alike, the town had been engorged in a spiritual battle with the devil. The devil hunt, as the local authorities of the church called it sent townsfolk in a new blood bath pointing fingers at neighbors for their shortcomings and grievances. In the past three years the rope had sent thousands of innocent necks to the next life.

Their attention was ill placed, for deep in the onyx and ember woods beyond the bayou there were beings far more powerful than any of the humans could conjure. For powerful demonic energies were seen in the hearts of man, but the real magic lay with the Stone coven. A family of generations that held magic in their blood, as far back before the first slave ships entered the Americas. They practiced both halves of the craft dark and light, some even could depend on both. It was a trying life of staying hidden beyond the coverings of thick Spanish moss and fragrant wisteria.

As powerful as the magic of the Stone’s were they did not harm human’s, not at first. It was when some militia started encroaching on their coven ground, and word of other covens falling victim to the ropes the humans were hanging themselves with that they began to quietly fight back. First it was disguising their poisons in small merchant carts into the town as traveling sales people, they wiped out their enemies with these tonics disguising them as life elixirs, blessed by God.

The church got word of the dark complexes coming from the woods selling a bigger dream than them, they had to be stopped. First some of the coven members seemingly disappeared for unknown reasons, then it became clear when the public square executions took place as a warning. The traveling merchants scattered back into the woods, this time leading the white demons to follow. The Natives tried to warn their allies but the Stone coven refused to abandon their sacred land.

Saleem was a leading matriarch of the coven, she practiced a powerful dark magic, blood. It came to no surprise that she was able to so easily detect other beings, as she did when André appeared on the coven grounds. The two fell in love despite their beings, it was only when they faced public execution that André confessed to her that she was his mate. In a rage being forced to watch her lovers execution before her own she cast a powerful spell of immortality over her lineage. It wasn’t until the demons pulled her body from the pile of those who lost their lives to the rope that they’d discovered her pregnant.

A nun took pity on the unborn baby taking the baby from the womb of the woman, when she discovered it survived on its own she knew something had shifted. Even in the covenant the misfortunes began with any one who’d interact with the baby. As the decades went by nuns would be found drained with slit wrists, the baby was replaced and lost without efforts to be found. It had been a woman, morbidly intriguing in a way that escaped living bounds of beauty. She was around twenty eight and remained that way, as the head sister of the covenant passed she warned the others to lock away the woman whose face never changed. They didn’t listen, as with each replacement of her prior age that rapidly fell to twenty eight they didn’t remember the previous nor recognize the strange familiar in front of their faces.

It was only of distain the woman let the old lady age to death, she’d let her try and conjure up stories trying to expose her being and yet the old bag could never get one right. Born into the constraints of mortality came from being ripped from her mother, but the magic in her veins intertwined in a chaotic symphony that entrapped itself with the remnants of the blood of her father. To say she had some compassion for the fleeting lives that fell to her feet was a deep denial that sometimes kept her mind occupied. The demons that cloaked themselves in the lords light of the corruption of those who weaponized the church against the poor, the people of the night, the black and others who were not of fair complexion that were written off as savages. The young woman grew to loathe them she could feel her mother’s last anguish between watching her lover die and then her own last fall.

She could feel her father’s wrath, he knew of her existence without her mother knowing, he could smell the complexities of her blood. She knew how he writhed as men in white garments and townsfolk’s with their pitchforks and fiery sticks jeered on as the ambitions of the church went to put an end to the man who didn’t age. He spent his last moments fighting to get to her, to them. Then the last cries of her mother when they staked him and threw him into the fire like scraps from the paper. She could feel the agony of her mother as she was forced the rope around her neck, the pain and wrath as she looked into the eyes of the parrish and the towns white upper society grinned seeing a black woman’s body fall, though she kept her expression stoic not giving them the satisfaction.

The woman was set on revenge, it had been born in her blood, both on the lives of her ancestors coven and the blood of her father.Standing up from her normal position on the ever changing bed in the locked away hall of the covenant the woman finally spoke as she passed one of many graying faces,”I’m bored.”The woman walked along the hallways of the covenant she slowly stripped from her plain bed gown and stepped nakedly sending the women in the covenant in screams of distress and crossing their hearts in disgust of the young mistress.

“Put your dressings on girl!”, came from the head sister who’d just been promised in. She grinned having sat at the spot normally reserved for one of the fathers when they’d visit, pouring some of the holy wine she swirled the glass eyeing the woman,”don’t be a prude Fannie, I am enjoying the day.” The older woman sneered,”where are your manners, shall you have to be punished into redemption?” Her eyes sparkled as a wide grin appeared on her lips,”oh pray tell sister, what method shall you use? whip perhaps? belt? iron clamps?” The woman laughed seeing the older women present as their faces turned deep red in anger. “Personally I’d pick the whip, though I do enjoy a nice spanking, though I’m not sure with hands rough as yours it’d be much pleasure,” the young lady sipped her wine.

The Sister came forward seething, her old hand snatching the stem of the glass in the young woman’s hands. The younger woman went eerily still, her reflexes catching the woman’s wrist on the action,”now now sister let’s not act brashly lest you anger your Father.” Now the elderly woman angrily wound her arm back slapping the woman’s cheek. Lifting her dainty hand she touched the side of her cheek,”my, how quick to wrath you are Sister, shall I take your final confession?”

“What on earth are you talking about girl?!” Sister Henrietta who normally sent the woman into locked doors with nothing of substance just for looking at them the wrong way spoke. Slowly gliding the tip of her tongue over her top lip the young lady tilted her head to the side,”I said shall I take your last confessions?” When the women fell silently in a loss of the intention the woman’s hand shot out grasping the head Sister’s throat her nails elongating piercing the woman’s skin. The other sisters stood still in shock,”Put her down girl!” Sister Henrietta boldly demanded. This made the young woman turn her head to face the woman as the head Sister was flailing in her grasp,”oh but without any reservations dear sister, if you insist.” In a flash she had lowered the woman and within a millisecond she let her fangs grow and she ripped the vocal cords from the alive Matron.

The women screamed in horror trying to run to the heavy doors of the guest dining hall, yelling demon. Though the doors soon flew shut without a bat of her deep red eyes,”what’s the matter sisters, shall I have said the blessings first before eating?” As the head sister lay gagging, choking on their blood to death she appeared suddenly in front of the others,”it is rude to leave without thanking your host.” The woman tsks twirling the end of one of their curls,”you know I’ve always found your robes a hypocrisy to the sins you all hide,” the woman grasped one of their robes wiping the blood off her face,”where are my manners I should share in this feast!” The woman pointed at one of the other sisters who she often saw muttering about her when she thought she couldn’t hear her,”you shall do well.”

The naked woman snatched her by the shoulder biting into her neck, ripping an artery and laughing when it began splattering,”oh my apologies seems I’m making a mess, Sister Henrietta do clean this up.” When the older woman stood still shaking like a twig in the wind she let out a loud sigh, flicking her eyes the older woman was levitated and rushed to the woman who was spurting out blood on the ground,”must I do everything!” Sister Henrietta began to sob her pale white skin red with fear, as the woman had controlled her body making her lap at the neck of the dying nun. “You know I think we should invite the others into our little dinner.” The one sister sobbed crawling away,”oh no save your tears you old bigoted cunt, you’ll have plenty to cry about when we get to the main course.”

[dovahhmonn]

The Fall of Father Elias Mercer,

New Reagent oc ✨

🔞MDNI, suggestive themes and alcohol abuse below.

+ portrait of the new man :]

Father Elias Mercer was a devoted man of the cloth, his faith a rigid pillar in his life. Born with albinism, he had always stood apart—pale skin, white hair, and eerie pink eyes that drew whispers even within his congregation. But instead of letting their judgment break him, he clung to God even tighter. His parents, devout Catholics, raised him under strict discipline, instilling in him the belief that he was God’s test in human form—a trial for himself and others. He carried this conviction into adulthood, becoming a priest at a quiet New England parish where he was known for his solemn demeanor and unwavering moral compass.

But faith is never as simple as blind devotion.

Temptation lies in the shadows, stalking, rabid and blood starved like a beast in the wilds. 

Elias had always harbored doubts—not about God, but about himself. He had urges, thoughts that he forced into the deepest corners of his mind. When those thoughts became too loud, he would fast, pray, and punish himself in quiet ways—kneeling on cold stone for hours, whispering scripture until his throat was raw. He was a shepherd, meant to guide his flock, not indulge in carnal weakness.

And then she came to him.

She was a parishioner, devout in her own way but burdened with sin. She came to confession often, spilling her transgressions into the dimly lit box where only the carved wooden screen separated them. She spoke of desires she couldn't suppress, of longing for things that were forbidden. Elias listened, offering empty platitudes about penance and prayer, but the way her voice trembled, the way she breathed just a little too close to the screen—it drew him in.

For weeks, it built—stolen glances, a lingering touch when offering communion, the way she knelt in prayer, lips moving in whispered devotion. He convinced himself it was another test, one he could pass.

Until he didn’t.

It happened in the confessional booth, the very place meant for absolution. One moment he was listening to her speak of weakness, and the next, his resolve crumbled. She slipped into his side of the box, Hands reaching for his face, fingertips grazing skin, then lips, then bodies pressed against the thin walls. It was desperate, reckless, and utterly damning.

And it wasn’t the last time.

For months, Elias lived in silent agony, torn between guilt and craving. Each time they met in secret, the weight of his hypocrisy grew heavier. He would stand at the pulpit, preaching of purity and restraint, even as he bore the scent of sin beneath his cassock.

Then, they were caught.

A fellow priest had grown suspicious and followed Elias one evening, watching as he disappeared into the confessional and did not emerge for far too long. The scandal rocked the clergy. Elias was immediately stripped of his title, cast out in disgrace. The woman—despite being just as complicit—was silenced, married off to a “respectable” man of the church to erase her shame. But Elias? He was made an example.

His faithful turned on him, those who once sought his guidance now spitting at his feet. He was called a heretic, a deceiver, a false prophet. His entire world—the only thing he had ever known—was gone.

With no home, no purpose, and the weight of sin pressing into his throat like an iron brand, Elias drank. He had never touched alcohol before—priests were meant to be moderate in all things—but once he started, he couldn’t stop. The first drink burned, the second numbed, and by the time he was slumped in a bar corner, he didn’t feel anything at all.

Days turned to weeks, then months. He drifted between cheap motels and even cheaper company, sinking lower with each passing night. The man who once knelt in prayer now woke with whiskey-stained lips and shaking hands. His cassock, once pristine, was now creased, wrinkled, the collar loosened.

But even in his haze, he still prayed.

Even as he poured another glass, he muttered Hail Marys under his breath. Even as he stared at his reflection in filthy bathroom mirrors, red-eyed and hollow, he whispered for forgiveness. He still believed, but God had turned His back on him. He was forsaken.

One night, in a dingy bar on the outskirts of town, Elias sat nursing a drink that he couldn’t afford. He had no more money, no more dignity. Just the weight of his own failure and the faint burn of the branded cross on his neck—a scar he had inflicted upon himself in a drunken stupor, as if pain could bring him absolution.

That was when a man slid into the seat across from him.

"Father Mercer," the man greeted smoothly, though there was no reverence in his tone. "Or… do you go by something else these days?"

Elias barely looked up. "Not a priest anymore," he muttered, swirling the liquor in his glass.

The man just smiled. "That’s not what I heard. Word is, you still listen to confessions. Still hand out advice like you’re sitting in the Lord’s house instead of a rat-hole like this."

Elias said nothing.

"I think you’re wasted here," the stranger continued, leaning in. "You ever think about getting a fresh start? A new congregation?"

Something in his tone made Elias finally meet his gaze. "What are you offering?"

The other smirked, taking out a cigarette and lighting it with ease. He exhaled a slow plume of smoke before answering.

"Let’s just say I work with people who could use a guiding hand. A man of faith. Someone who can keep the sinners in line. You’d still be able to do the Lord’s work, in a way."

Elias watched him, weighing his options. He had nothing. No future, no purpose. But here was a man offering him a second chance. A place where he could still serve in some capacity, even if it wasn’t the way he once imagined.

After a long moment, he set his glass down and folded his hands neatly on the table, his pink eyes sharp despite the alcohol in his system.

"Tell me more."

The stranger grinned, it was always so easy to convince the ones with nothing left. 

And just like that, Elias Mercer walked willingly into Murkoff’s hands.

The first thing Elias noticed when he woke up was the cold.

Not the biting kind that gnawed at flesh, but the artificial chill of a sterile, controlled environment. His fingers twitched against the rough, unfamiliar fabric beneath him as he sat up, breathing shallowly. His hands roamed over his body—chest, arms, face—searching for anything missing, anything wrong.

He was whole.

His cassock, while slightly looser than he remembered, was still on him. The cross branded into his throat ached dully, as if to remind him that he couldn't hide from his sin, not even here. But something was off. The room he was in was cramped, dull, lifeless. The bed beneath him was nothing more than a thin mattress on a metal frame, the walls a sickly, muted shade. No crucifix. No candlelight. No sign of God.

He furrowed his brows.

Was this purgatory? A test? A joke played by God Himself? Or…perhaps it was Hell. 

Slowly, he stood, his knees slightly unsteady as he took in his surroundings. There were other beds, all just as pathetic as his, some occupied by other people—strangers, half-dressed, some sleeping, some mumbling to themselves. He pushed open the door that led to the main sleep room, stepping cautiously into the dimly lit space beyond.

For the first month, Elias did nothing.

Or rather, he did everything except what Murkoff wanted.

He refused to enter the trials, believing—praying—that if he simply held firm, refused to play their game, they would have no reason to keep him. He told himself that this was temporary, that they would see that he was of no use to them and release him.

That belief crumbled as time passed.

No one left. No one was released. The other reagents were trapped just as he was. Some were broken already, eyes hollow, hands trembling, muttering to themselves like lost souls in a hell they couldn’t escape. Others embraced it, laughing through bloodied teeth, eager to throw themselves into the trials like it was some sick amusement.

Elias observed them all, silent but present.

And when the desperate ones came to him—whispering their sins, their fears, their regrets—he listened.

Not as a priest, not anymore. He wasn’t a priest, was he? He had been cast out, stripped of his title, left to rot in bars and gutters. But they came to him all the same, searching for guidance. Searching for something to hold onto.

So he listened.

And when some of them wanted more than just absolution, when they reached for him in the dark corners of the sleep room, he never stopped them.

But afterward, he would return to his room, shut the door, and punish himself.

Not in the way Murkoff did—no, their torture was mechanical, devoid of spiritual weight. Elias’ pain was personal. He would pace the room for hours on end, reading scripture under his breath, forcing himself to remember every failure, every indulgence.

"I am unworthy."

"I am a hypocrite."

"I am forsaken."

[aroeddiediaz]

A confession

If there’s one thing Eddie can give credit to the Catholics for, it’s that they build beautiful churches. Dim light streams through the stained glass windows, making the images of the Virgin Mary and Jesus glow. His shoes click on the glossy marble floor as he passes rows of empty pews. 

He enters the confessional and sits. The priest’s voice comes through the grate in the wall. “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

“Amen.” Eddie’s mouth is dry. He clears his throat and speaks, voice measured, but with a thread of uncertainty in it. “Bless me father, for I have sinned.”

“It’s been, oh, 18 or so years since my last confession. I haven’t really kept track of when I stopped doing this. Uh, I’m not really sure where to start.”

“That’s quite all right,” the priest says. “Start with what’s troubling you most.”

“I fucked up- sorry, messed up. I messed up badly, and now my son won’t speak to me. It’s been months and we still haven’t been able to have a real conversation.”

The priest said “I see. Would you mind telling me my details of what happened “

“I cheated on my girlfriend. Well, sort of to be honest, it wasn’t exactly cheating. We never did anything. The thing is, she looked exactly like my late wife. Shannon. I knew it was messed up from the beginning, but I felt like it was fate or something. Like it was a chance for a do-over. My first marriage was rough. We married young, mostly because I got her pregnant. And then I joined the military. I thought I was supporting her, but to be honest, I was just running away. I wasn’t scared of the baby, I think. 

What I was scared of was becoming like my parents. My dad, he was an engineer, and he often had to travel. And that put a strain on his marriage with my mom. They tried to keep it from me, but I would hear them having whispered arguments in the kitchen at night when I was asleep or over the phone. And my mom wasn’t happy, because she needed him, and he wasn’t there. So a part of me was afraid. Afraid of that even if I tried, I wouldn’t be able to be better than my dad. So instead, I found a nobler  reason to run.

The thing is though, I don’t know if we would’ve been able to have that ideal relationship, the one I used to dream about seeing when I was a little boy. Shannon and I had our fights. Even after I came back from the war, I couldn’t be emotionally available to her, and she couldn’t handle the burdens that I placed on her, so she left me. I was drowning on my own before I moved to LA. Then I found support. And then she came back. I thought that I could fix things. Make sure she wouldn’t want to leave me again. But as much as I cared about her, I think maybe what I loved the most was the idea of our relationship. 

She asked me for a divorce, Two days after that, she died. I guess no matter how hard I tried. I couldn’t get past that. I thought I was doing things right. I thought I was being enough. But there was something that I was missing.

I tried to fix it, in my other relationships. I thought that the problem was the burdens that we went through when we were still young and we made mistakes. So when I dated Ana, I tried to be the perfect partner. Then I got shot and she ended up helping to nurse me back to health. and I think I realized during that time that, despite all the emotional labor, each of us had put into that relationship, it never felt like a relationship that should be long-term. It felt like we were both acting the parts of a play. I just wish that I broke it off sooner.

So then I thought maybe the issue was the expectations I placed on the relationship. I went into my relationship with Ana thinking that I needed to find a replacement for Shannon. I needed a new wife and a mother for Christopher. When I dated Marisol, I tried to let go of those expectations and just do things naturally. But I think I was convincing myself that if I waited long enough, those feelings would eventually emerge. But they never did. I just ended up feeling guilty here and guiltier overtime because we were dating and we were getting to know each other better, but my heart wasn’t really in it. And that’s when I saw Kim.

I shouldn’t have pursued her. But I think that a part of me hoped that if I could get closure from someone who looks so much like her, that I would be able to fix whatever was broken inside of me,whatever it was that wouldn’t let me move on. I was certain by that point that whatever my feelings for Shannon were, however complicated they were, that was the closest thing to true love that I had ever experienced. And I hope that if I confronted them with someone who could help me move on, then I would finally get over this weird mental block I had with Marisol, or someone else.

It was wrong. I think I knew that the whole time. But I didn’t stop until my best friend found out what was happening and confronted me. I told Kim everything. Well, I didn’t tell her about Marisol. But I thought that would’ve been the end of it.

Kim came back though. She actually tried to dress up like Shannon, she cut her hair to look similar and she changed her clothing. And she got me to do this role-play where I could bear out my grievances, and when I did, I thought for a moment that maybe this was it. I could explain to her why her breaking my heart hurt so much and how she had changed something inside of me.

Of course, that’s when Christopher and Marisol walked in. Marisol broke up with me of course, and Chris wouldn’t speak to me. He even got his grandparents to come pick him up and take him back to their home in El Paso. And he hasn’t come back yet.

I thought Kim would help me fix me, or help me find clarity. But I’m more confused now than ever.

I think now, that as much as I liked, and admired, and enjoyed being around Shannon, that maybe, I was never actually in love with her. I think maybe I can’t. I know what love is. I love my son. I love my friends. I even love my parents, even though I’m more frustrated with them now than ever. I think the love I have for Shannon is the kind of love that I would feel for anyone who has gone through so much struggle with me, but not the kind that a husband should have for his wife.”

The priest is silent for a long moment. “You have been through a lot, it is not a surprise that you are confused. I think that you have an idea in your head of how a relationship should look. But that is not what is necessary.“

Eddie says, “I know that a marriage doesn’t have to be what the church considers right. I know that it doesn’t have to be a man and a woman and two kids and a picket fence. But I have seen how happy my friend and her wife are. I have seen how happy my coworker has been with his wife who was previously in an abusive relationship, and I have seen my captain and his wife have found new love despite both of their spouses' untimely deaths. I’ve seen how my best friend looks when he’s in love, when he’s heartbroken. What does it say about me that I don’t think I’ll ever feel those feelings? What does it say about me that I destroyed my bond with my son and hurt him so badly in pursuit of it?“

The grate between their booths in the confessional obscures the priest’s face, but when he glances through he can see a gentle smile. “It means that you are different from them. And that is not a bad thing. It does not mean that you are broken, or that you are wrong. Maybe you won’t fall in love. Maybe you will never find what kind of relationship you have wished for. But that does not mean that you won’t have fulfillment. You love your job, right? You love your son, and your friends. Maybe others have told you that you need more in your life to be truly happy, but I think that as long as you’re being truly honest with yourself, that is what matters.”

Eddie isn’t sure he can just accept that, not yet. Not when the distance between him and Chris is still a gaping wound. Still, it’s nice to hear from someone who should be condemning him for his failures that he can fix things. “Thank you, Father.”

[ashe-withane]

Alright!! Time for my 911 7x05 reactions!

Alright the hand guy

I knew about Buck getting choked but EDDIE owwww. He’s so dramatic though lmao.

Awww baby clothes

Oh no. :(

Another girl? She’s nine. Ohhhh interesting.

I love Hen and Karen so much omg

Oh! The date!

That is a huge pitcher of beer lol.

Omg they’re seeing a movie after?

Ohh Buck’s so nervous.

Did he just. Call himself. An ally

BUCK

He puts a rainbow on his Instagram.

“I guess it’s just me that makes you nervous” shit Tommy that was good

Awww Buck’s smile

I know we’ve been talking about Buck’s face when Eddie shows up BUT Tommy’s eyes go so wide omggggg

“And then we’re gonna go find some hot chicks.” BUCK.

Tommy’s face aaaah

:( Tommy

Hold on Eddie what do you mean Marisol agreed to move in with you??? We have seen literally nothing of this relationship and you’re already moving in together??

“I guess you can never have enough closet space.” HELP

“Right, Evan?” Oh Jesus

“You too bro” Buck…

This is so awkward. I know Buck is figuring himself out still but I feel bad for Tommy :(

“I think you’re adorable, but I don’t think you’re ready” is actually I really nice way of letting him down.

Denny giving Mara a teddy!! That’s so sweet.

Ohhh Buck’s talking to Maddie…

“Are you dating a married woman?”

“Could be very much the point” I love Maddie.

HE CALLED HIMSELF AN ALLY AGAIN. Maddie’s face as well oh my god

Oh my god they actually went with a “yeah I check out guys but that’s normal” situation

“It’s the same Tommy??” Ahahaha

At least Marisol is keeping her place so we don’t have another Taylor situation on our hands

Hmmm what is he gonna find in the boxes?

She was almost a nun? Interesting? I guess. Is that what’s gonna make them break up?? What??

The teddy bear!

I really hope Mara is okay :(

“To avoid not having sex.” Help.

Eddie has “a reservoir of Catholic guilt lying dormant.” Listen, is this about Marisol right now? Yes, as far as Eddie is aware. Could this also be. Hinting at something……

“Like sea monkeys”???? Lmao

Eddie is. Pent up. Jesus Christ

“You think I should go to confession?” “No I think you should go to Cap.” these two dumbasses. Sound advice though, he should talk to Bobby.

Oh no! Denny!

Loving this conversation with Eddie and Bobby so far

Bobby pointing out the main thing Eddie has a problem committing to is women…

We’re talking about Shannon!!

The church is a lot of the reason they got married! They both felt pressured!! “Loved being married to her”

Lmao Bobby calling God ‘Marisol’s ex’

Ahhh fuck. Mara’s 911 call is devastating.

Eddie is hiding from Marisol at Buck’s place lol.

“We were on a date” “wait, Tommy’s gay?” Eddie what about Buck, who was. Also on that date.

“This doesn’t change a thing between us” aaah this is so sweet!!!

Awww Buck can’t stop thinking about him. (Listen I will always ship Buddie but I’m also loving BuckxTommy right now!!! I can like both!!)

“He doesn’t know you’re an idiot. Once he gets to know you, and know that you’re an idiot, he’ll love you!! Like we all do!!” Ahahahaha

Hug!

So. Eddie and Marisol aren’t breaking up. (Yet?)

TOMMY! “I didn’t cut things short because you behaved badly, I did it because I didn’t want to pressure you.” YES. Love love love this.

Lmao Tommy’s reaction to Buck asking him to Maddie’s wedding. Just “ahahaha. What??”

Buck and Eddie are a MESS

WHAT HAPPENED TO CHIMNEY

[wrathfulrook]

Holy Mary, Mother of God

Summary: As Staci suffers under Jacob and the cult, he turns back to his religion. Every day he prays to the Holy Mother, both to beg her help and to remind himself that he is not a Peggie.

Rating: M

Word Count: ~1.2k

Read it on ao3.

Staci hadn’t been to Mass in years, since he had moved out of his parents’ house. He hadn’t been to confession in even longer, not since he was confirmed. He didn’t remember the last time he prayed. Not that he didn’t believe. He did. He had Faith. He just wasn’t very observant.

Maybe this was his punishment.

While going through his trials, mindlessly killing and fighting for his life, he considered that he had died in the helicopter crash and had gone to hell. It made sense. Spending his time alert starved and thirsty in a cage under the hot sun, his time in the trials a thoughtless red haze of blood and death.

He’d prayed for the first time in a long time. Initially to God, but then to St. Sebastian. In middle school, Staci had chosen Sebastian as his confirmation saint for no other reason than that he was the patron saint of athletes and that he had survived the first attempt on his life. Staci just thought he was cool. Though, once he heard the name “Staci Sebastian” spoken aloud for the first time in front of the entire parish, he felt it was significantly less cool. And he never gave too much thought to his confirmation saint afterwards.

But throughout his trials he prayed to the saint for strength. If St. Sebastian could survive being tied to a tree and used for target practice, he could survive this ordeal. He could be strong. And so he was.

After the trials, the physical torture stopped, but Staci didn’t feel any relief. Any one slip-up, a single display of weakness, and he would be reclassified as meat. And he was under far more scrutiny than the average resident of the vet center. Jacob kept him close, made him his personal assistant. He was always there, always watching. Staci was supposed to be strong but submissive, a fine line to walk.

He didn’t pray to St. Sebastian too much after his trials. He didn’t pray to God much either. The Peggies prayed to the same God, and something about that didn’t sit right with Staci. Instead, he prayed to Mary. The Peggies didn’t care about St. Mary. Protestants never did. So Staci directed his prayers to the holy mother of God.

He started every morning with a silent Hail Mary and a request that she protect him, that she look after him. His thoughts turned to the sinless, virgin mother every time Jacob knocked him around, every time he suffered. And he suffered a lot as Jacob’s assistant. And he witnessed even more suffering. Every time he passed the cages, every time he witnessed bodies carried out of their trials, tied to posts for target practice, or fed to the wolves, he asked Mary to watch out for them, to ensure their suffering was taken into account, weighed against their time to be spent in Purgatory.

And every night, to help himself fall asleep despite the sounds of screams and howls of wolves he never got used to, he prayed the Rosary, keeping count on his fingers since he didn’t have the beads. And it always worked; he fell soundly asleep long before he reached final Mystery. But more than that, it brought him comfort. He didn’t remember every Mystery. He couldn’t recite the Apostle’s Creed. But he did as much as he could, and he tried. And it was something the Peggies never did. Not even Joseph, their beloved “Father,” prayed the Rosary, despite wearing the beads as some sort of blasphemous accessory.

No. Staci wasn’t like them and they weren’t like him. He was Catholic. His Faith had clear rules and doctrine and hierarchy. Something so horrible as the Project at Eden’s Gate could never happen in the Catholic Church. A priest goes as bonkers as Joseph? The bishop steps in. And the parish would never let their priest turn out like Joseph, because deviations from the Catechism wouldn’t be tolerated. It was all so clear. Every question had a clear, prescribed answer. And if you followed the hierarchy to the top, the Pope spoke directly with the Holy Spirit. He wasn’t a mad man claiming divine knowledge. He was official, appointed, and bound within the limits of the role.

You simply couldn’t make a crazy Catholic cult. Every cult he’d ever heard of was made up of Protestants. Staci never like Protestantism for that very reason. It was all so fluid and subjective. It never seemed like any two churches, even of the same denomination, were on the same page. That’s how people like Joseph happened. That’s how Staci ended up in this position.

They could do a whole lot to him. But they could never make him a Peggie. Not really, not in his heart.

He wished he was stronger. Maybe Jacob was right. Maybe he was weak. He wanted to be strong enough, brave enough, to pray the Rosary out loud. He wanted to tell Jacob no when he dragged him along to services. He wanted to stand up for his own beliefs and stay strong and unwavering as he was literally thrown to the wolves. He wished he had the balls to stand up and die a martyr.

But that’s where he and his confirmation saint differed. Staci could never stay strong when staring down the barrel of a gun. He couldn’t resist the conditioning Jacob subjected him to. And he couldn’t make himself assert his true beliefs, not when he’s seen what happens to the people who don’t even do anything to make the Herald angry. He was weak.

So, he prayed for forgiveness. He prayed for strength. He asked Mary to intervene on his behalf, to ask her Son to show him mercy, to help him in some way, any way.

No help ever came.

And maybe he was dead after all? Not in Hell, like he’d initially thought. Maybe this was Purgatory. He suffered so much that it had to be for a reason. Maybe this was the suffering he must endure to cleanse his soul, to finally be worthy of Heaven. If this was Purgatory, it was working. He was becoming a better person. He was less of an asshole, just quiet and empathetic. He prayed multiple times a day. Wasn’t Purgatory supposed to bring you closer to God? Staci had never been more religious than now. Maybe because he was dead.

He hoped so. He hoped this was Purgatory so that when it was finally over, when he’d finally atoned for all his sins in life, he could go to Heaven. Never to suffer again. He hoped this was Purgatory so that it wasn’t really happening to others. So that there were no people in cages back in Hope County, that no one was being fed alive to wolves. He hoped that this was all being done for his benefit, to make his soul pure again, to ready him for eternal life in Heaven.

But he couldn’t be sure. So, just in case, he prayed.

[ravenspeakrp]

Welcome to Raven’s Peak, Chayya, we’re excited to have you! Roberta "Robby" Darling (Human, Ella Purnell) has been accepted. Please be sure to stop by the CHECKLIST for the follow list, tags to track, and other reminders.

OUT OF CHARACTER 

NAME: chayya PRONOUNS: she/they AGE: 30+ TIMEZONE: EST

IN CHARACTER 

FULL NAME: Roberta “Robby” Darling SPECIES: human AGE: 28 DATE OF BIRTH: June 5 GENDER IDENTITY: demigirl NEIGHBORHOOD: downtown OCCUPATION: medical examiner’s assistant, medical technician WORKPLACE: Sheriff’s Office, local hospital POSITIVE TRAITS: independent, kind, intuitive NEGATIVE TRAITS: insecure, anxious, prone to self-pity LENGTH OF TIME IN RAVEN’S PEAK: 2 weeks FACE CLAIM: Ella Purnell

BIOGRAPHY

TRIGGER WARNING: sibling death (car accident death), demonic possession/themes of content issues, exorcism/themes of religious trauma, infidelity

Robby grew up knowing she wasn’t the favorite of her family. Even she hadn’t been everything she was and is, she never would have been able to compete with her perfect older sister, Alessandra. Alessandra got straight A’s, captained the field hockey team, had an All-American boyfriend, sat up straight and attentive during mass. And Robby…did her best. She worked hard at school (managing a solid B-average throughout), had her own little clutch of friends, and… Mass was hard. You try being not quite straight and not quite cis in a strict Roman Catholic family. Not that she ever told her parents any of that, but it always seemed like they…knew. At least, it felt like they did, to Robby.

Despite the tension of Ally’s perfection, the girls were close. There was only a little over a year between them and among Ally’s picture-perfect everything else, she was a stellar older sister. She included Robby, helped with her homework, leant her clothes. Through it all, despite how different they were, Robby and Ally remained best friends, thick as thieves. Robby followed her to the nearby state university after graduating. Ally settled down just outside of their hometown, Robby continued on at the university for her masters. Ally married that All-American boyfriend and had a baby girl of her own, Robby got a job, to her parents’ bemusement, as a medical examiner’s assistant. 

And when it happened, it was just one of those awful tragedies. No rhyme or reason. One minute Ally was driving from work to daycare to pick up that little girl of hers, and the next, she was dead. Robby stepped up as best she could, as much as she knew how, for her niece and brother-in-law and parents. But she had her own mourning to contend with – her own grief and insecurity and anxiety. That’s when her demon found her.

They’ll tell you that most possessed humans don’t remember their possessions, unless the demon wants them too. Well, Robby’s demon must have wanted her to. She remembers every second of her possession: all the terrible pain, every awful thing the demon did wearing her face. At first, no one in her life noticed anything amiss, and Robby despaired (Did they really all think her so horrible?) And when they did realize, her parents simply wanted to disown her, cut her off from them forever. Until the demon went for one last trick: sleeping with her sister’s widowed husband. 

Whether the man was sick with grief or had been a creep all along, Robby will never know. All she does know is that after, he confessed his sins and claimed he had been tempted by a demon seductress. Usually that line is just a coward’s excuse. In this case, though, it was the truth. Her parents, in their holy fervor, believed him and sought the Church’s permission for an exorcism.

And just like that, Robby was back to herself. Mostly. There was so much to sift through and process: still the death of her sister, all that her body had been used for, for nearly a year, and her own insecurities about how exactly a demon was able to breach her. That sort of thing would have never happened to Ally. She ended up staying in a psychiatric ward for a few months, attempting to reckon with all that had happened. It was the first time she received mental health from someone who wasn’t faith-based and it helped (Even if they didn’t believe her about the demon. They believed that she believed it.)

She was released and was looking forward to just moving on with her life. But her family couldn’t. Her parents and brother-in-law were, to put it frankly, incredibly uncool about it all. Robby couldn’t be sure which they were more upset about, the demonic possession or the stay in the mental hospital. Either way, they told her they thought it would be best if she didn’t see her niece anymore. Robby didn’t see any reason to stay around them, then. She planned and prepared and, soon enough, picked up and left.

She isn’t sure how she came to find Raven’s Peak, really. Maybe it found her. Maybe it felt her reaching out for answers about that possession, what it meant for her, why she sometimes thinks she can still feel it whispering from her ribcage.

QUICK FACTS

Prefers to go by Robby, but if you get very close to her she may reveal that her childhood nickname was Birdy.

When speaking to her, you may detect a slight New Jersey accent.

Robby has been experiencing “flashbacks” since being released from the psychiatric hospital. She isn’t sure if this is a trauma response or some leftover bit of the demon, festering inside her.

While she is obviously aware that demons exist, Robby has little knowledge of other supernatural beings. Though, she does have a sense that there is more. After all, if demons are real, what else could be?

EXTRAS

FILLING CONNECTION: no INSPIRATIONS: pinboard!

[prittyvenus]

The Medium and the Nameless Ghouls

Case file 002-7 audio confession

Sara: Aria English (US) 

Copia: Diego Italian (Italy) Edited 

Dewdrop: Ryan English (UK) Edited 

Aether: Eric English (US) Edited 

Sara’s Sister: Michelle English (US) 

(Made with Microsoft Word, Bing, and Audacity)

Sara: If you Feel yourself getting worse just let me know and I will stop. Do you understand? 

Dewdrop: Yes, I understand. 

[phone rings] 

Copia: What is that? 

Sara: Oh no... Hold on a minute. 

[Phone stop] 

Sara: Yes, what is it? 

Sister: Big Sister, I got some news about your ex-husband. 

Sara: I Don’t want to know, and I don’t care. It’s over between us. 

Sister: But Sara your ex-husband just got his ass kicked. 

Sara: I told you this before. I don’t care. 

Sister: Why are you being so cold to him? 

Sara: Do you want me to block you? You know I’m not the type to bluff you know. 

Sister: Then fine. I’ll call dad. 

Sara: Sorry about that. 

Copia: Are you going to get into trouble? 

Sara: No, my dad always has my back. Even after my divorce. Now then, State your name and occupation. 

Copia: My name is Papa Copia Emeritus the fourth. 

Sara: Not you Copia. I was asking Dewdrop. 

Dewdrop: Me? Uh... 

Sara: Copia, can you comfort Dewdrop? I think he’s getting nervus. 

Dewdrop: No, I can take it. 

Copia: Let me be next to you, just in case. 

Dewdrop: Okay, fine. 

Sara: Again, please state your name and Occupation. 

Dew: I’m Dewdrop, Former water Ghoul number 157, now fire ghoul number 106. Bass man turned lead guitarist for project ghost. 

Sara: Alright then, can you tell me what happens on the afternoon of March fifth? According to your brother Sodo, you saw Lucia Watson murdered at the clergy garden. Can you clarify that statement? 

Dewdrop: Yes. I was patrolling around the garden at the north western part of the clergy. I was admiring the fish at the pond. You can sort of say I was goofing off. Then I overheard some yelling from of the Clergy offices. There I saw Sister Lucia and Bishop Johnathan arguing about Papa’s position at the clergy. 

Copia: What did I do? Did I do something wrong? 

Sara: I don’t think you did anything wrong. 

Dewdrop: No, they wanted your seat, Papa. 

Copia: Cosa vogliono con la mia sedia? (What do they want with my chair?) 

Sara: I think he means they want your position of power. The bishop wants to be the next Papa of the Clergy of Sin. 

Dewdrop: No, It’s not like that. It’s Sister Lucia who wants Papa’s position of power. 

Copia: No, it's not true! She is the love of my life; Lucia will never betray me. 

Sara: Papa Copia, please calm down. 

Dewdrop: I’m sorry papa, but what I’m saying is the truth. Lucia somehow found out about getting a high rank position by becoming Papa’s prime mover. 

Sara: Prime Mover? What is that? 

Copia: A prime mover is a maternal slave. You know a child bearer for the Dark one. 

Sara: Does she know about that? 

Dewdrop: No, she didn’t want to listen. Even Bishop Johnathan warned her of the risk. But then she started to blackmail him. 

Sara: What kind of black mail? 

Dewdrop: I’m trying to recall, but I think it was about a young girl that was killed in a catholic church somewhere in Argentina. 

[door knocks] 

Sara: Hold on. Yes, what is it, Aether? 

Aether: Sorry to interrupt but Sister Imperator is down the hall. 

Copia: Looks like we may have to cut this down short. 

Dewdrop: I’m sorry if I wasn’t useful. 

Sara: No, you did more than enough even in your condition. 

Dewdrop: Thank you. 

Copia: you take it easy and get some rest. 

Sara: When you get better, come by at the mansion of the three papas. We’ll talk more there.  

Dewdrop: Alright then. Thank you for your time. 

Aether: Good bye baby doll. 

Dewdrop: Get the fuck out of here Aether! 

Case file closed

Case file contents

[yettiman84]

The Catholic Priest Pt2

“……Amen”. The Priest had just finished his service. It was the first time she had seen him since that crazy afternoon last week. She couldn’t remember a single word of it, the whole time she sat there reliving it over and over. 

He approached her at the front of the church as she was stood with her family, “Are you ok Lucy, you seem like you have something on your mind”. She didn’t know what to say, he knew exactly what was on her mind and he loved teasing her in public. “I haven’t seen you in confession this week, maybe you need to come see me now”. 

Her brain wanted to say no but that wasn’t what came out of her mouth “That would be wonderful Father”. He took her by the hand and she could feel herself getting physically turned on. He led Lucy towards the Confession Booth and sat on his chair in the middle compartment drawing the curtain across for privacy. 

“Welcome Lucy, what can I help you with today” he was completely normal..just like he had been every other time she confessed. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was one month ago”. She went to continue talking like she had done each time before but the Priest interrupted her abruptly “I know of your sin, I am tempted to skip straight to penance, but I want to hear you describe every detail of it in your own words”. 

Lucy knelt and leaned in towards the latticed opening. She started to describe in detail to the Priest exactly what he did to her, how he made her feel, how she can’t stop thinking about doing it again and again. She felt him groaning against the divide between them and the familiar sounds made her realise exactly what he was doing. “Father” she whispered.

Hearing her call him that made his carnal thoughts return. He left his chair and entered into her confession box, the Church was virtually empty and he quickly shut the curtain behind him”. He knew they wouldn’t be disturbed as confessing sins was never to be interrupted. 

He bent Lucy over in front of him with the force of a man possessed. Quickly lifting her dress to reveal her pert bottom, he already knew she wouldn’t be wearing anything underneath. She never did for him. “Now it is time for your penance, God will watch you sin and pass his judgement” a slap quickly followed and she let out a little yelp. He gave her 10 slaps, five on each cheek, they definitely left a mark or two. 

She didn’t care that God was watching…she was dripping wet and wanted him inside her. 

She shuffled forward slightly, pulled her dress over her head and draped it over like she was offering herself as an object for him to use. She reached back and spread her cheeks offering herself to be used. I think she knew he wouldn’t be able to resist but she took absolutely no chances…as he looked down to see his hand prints on her sexy butt, her pussy lips drippy, she said “I am sorry for these and all my sins.”

Within seconds he was inside her thrusting away, her hands against the divide as he thrusted away inside her. It was sooo wrong but I think this is what made it sooo hot and naughty. It took them both just a few seconds to climax together. There groans intertwined as her pussy clenched around his cock taking every drop inside her. 

They looked at each other with the cheekiest smirks but also a hot passion that was hard to even describe. Scrambling to get themselves looking respectable, Lucy quickly realised she had no underwear and it wouldn’t be long before the Priests was dripping down her thigh. He could see the panic in her eyes and came to her rescue in a way she could never have expected. The Priest reached under his robe to a secret pocket and pulled out her lingerie from the last week, he tossed them to her laughing to himself “ I was going to pretend they ended up in my robes to come back round to see you, but I can see you might need them now”. She shyly put them on under her dress, mind racing with what the fuck had just happened. She knew that they were missing but didn’t for one second think that Father had taken them. He was full of surprises and she liked being kept on her toes as well as her knees. They headed back out to the front of the church and her family was waiting in the car park. 

She hurried to the car park, her knickers now soaking wet and hid it as best she could. He looked at her with such lust, he felt alive again. Lucy jumped in the car and it drove away….

As the car pulled into the driveway, her phone bleeped..it was a message from Father: ‘Go upstairs and take out your favourite toy, fuck my cum back into your pussy and think about our time in confession. P.S You are MY favourite toy!

[nochd]

Let me start with a minor correction. I've been saying Tolkien wrote the Lay of Leithian in the 1930s; in fact he did a lot of the work in the 1920s, and Lewis saw it in 1930.

And I should have told you one more detail about it -- though I imagine most people who've got this far into the thread are already familiar enough with the story to know this: Lúthien and Beren first meet by a stream in the forest, where she is dancing in the starlight and Beren happens upon her, a weary traveller escaping the destruction of the band of rangers who were his family.

What most of you probably don't know, what I certainly didn't know until I was looking things up for this thread, was that this story element was inspired by a specific moment in Tolkien and Edith's life. It was 1917, he had come back from France and was stationed in Kingston-upon-Hull. They went on a walk in the woods in the country not far from the sea, and Edith danced for him in a clearing full of white flowers, of a sort that Tolkien called "hemlocks" (not the poisonous kind), growing in an arrangement that botanists call umbels.

Now it befell on summer night upon a lawn where lingering light yet lay and faded faint and grey, that Lúthien danced while he* did play. The chestnuts on the turf had shed their flowering candles, white and red; there darkling stood a silent elm and pale beneath its shadow-helm there glimmered faint the umbels thick of hemlocks like a mist, and quick the moths on pallid wings of white with tiny eyes of fiery light were fluttering softly, and the voles crept out to listen from their holes; the little owls were hushed and still; the moon was yet behind the hill. The Lay of Leithian 511--526 *"He" refers to Dairon, an Elven musician who loves Lúthien (unrequited), and will later tattle about her and Beren's affair to King Thingol.

Even Aragorn's song in The Lord of the Rings retains the detail of the hemlocks and their umbels:

The leaves were long, the grass was green, The hemlock-umbels tall and fair, And in the glade a light was seen Of stars in shadow shimmering. Tinúviel* was dancing there To music of a pipe unseen, And light of stars was in her hair, And in her raiment glimmering. *Tinúviel is the name Beren gives Lúthien: Tolkien tells us it means "nightingale".

The horrors that Beren has already passed through at this point may be a reference to Tolkien's wartime experience.

Their marriage was not perfect. All Tolkien's friends were scholars and Edith had little interest in intellectual subjects, so she had difficulty joining in their conversation, which often left her lonely. Additionally, there was the matter of religion. Edith converted to the Catholic Church when they got engaged, at the cost of being turned out of her home of the time; but she did it for Tolkien, not for any actual change of belief, and after several angry quarrels with him she stopped going to confession in the 1940s.

But they loved each other enough to work through these difficulties. Tolkien was still telling people decades later how grateful he was that she would leave everything behind for a man whose only realistic prospect, at that point, was to get killed in the war.

(Oh, yeah, another detail. When they were first going out together, Tolkien's Catholic guardian disapproved of the relationship and forbade him to contact Edith until he was twenty-one; an injunction which he obeyed to the letter, writing to her on the evening of his 21st birthday. She by that time was engaged to another man, but she immediately broke it off to marry Tolkien instead. And changed her religion and got kicked out of her house. Lúthien's instant, rebellious devotion to Beren didn't come out of nowhere.)

...I promised this would be the reblog that drew it all together. It's getting a bit long to launch a new topic now. I should have talked about the Tolkiens' marriage a lot earlier. But now I think we have all the background we need. Next time.

This was on @whatareyoureallyafraidof's post where they put up this:

And I responded with this image:

and promised in the tags to elaborate if asked. And, @frodo-the-weeb, I will. But it's going to get long and I'm going to have to split it up into several reblogs.

First of all, since not everybody in the world is a Silmarillion enthusiast, let me explain what we're referring to.

One of the stories in the Silmarillion, and possibly the one Tolkien cared about the most, is the tale of Lúthien and Beren; a highly condensed version of a narrative poem called the Lay of Leithian, which Tolkien began writing in the 1930s and tried to get his publisher interested in after the success of The Hobbit.

(Their readers said no, and they tactfully asked him to focus on his Hobbit sequel instead. "The result," in Tolkien's own words, "was The Lord of the Rings.")

The skeleton of The Lay of Leithian is as follows; I'm intentionally leaving out a bunch of information that weaves it into the overarching story of the Silmarillion but isn't relevant to the thesis I'm advancing here.

Lúthien, an Elven princess and enchantress, falls in love with a mortal man, a ranger called Beren. Her father, the Elven King Thingol, disapproves and sends him Beren off to fetch one of the jewels from the crown of the Dark Lord Morgoth. Lúthien tries to join Beren but her father imprisons her in a tower to stop her, only it's actually a treehouse because they're forest elves. Lúthien magically grows her hair long and uses it to escape. By the time she catches up with Beren he is chained in the dungeons of Morgoth's second-in-command, Thû (whom Tolkien later renamed Sauron). She rescues him with the help only of a dog, who defeats Thû himself in single combat. They then live in the forest together for quite some time, but Beren feels bad about being the reason she can't go home to her family, and still intends to finish his mission and get the jewel. He leaves one morning while she's still asleep, so as not to put her in danger, and then when he's on the threshold of Morgoth's underground fortress in the far North of Middle-Earth she catches up with him again and he accepts that she's not going to be put off. Together they enter Morgoth's fortress and make their way to his throne room. They are in disguise but Morgoth is not fooled and uncovers Lúthien in front of everyone, declaring his intention to make her one of his many slaves. Lúthien offers to sing and dance for him, which is the way she works her magic. She puts everyone in the throne room to sleep, including both Beren and eventually Morgoth. She wakes Beren and he takes the jewel and they flee, but as they get to the outer door they are stopped by Morgoth's guard-wolf, who bites off Beren's hand holding the jewel.

That's as far as Tolkien ever got with the poem, but we have the synopsis in the prose Silmarillion to tell us the rest of the story; again cutting it down to the quick, Thingol accepts Beren as his son-in-law, Morgoth's guard-wolf attacks Doriath, Beren goes and hunts it but is mortally wounded, his spirit goes to the Halls of Waiting in the Undying Lands where the dead in Middle-Earth go, Lúthien also goes there and, again through her magical song, persuades Mandos the god of the dead to let him come back. Mandos offers her a choice: live on immortally as an Elf without Beren, or return to Middle-Earth with Beren but both of them will grow old and die. She chooses the latter.

Tolkien created Lúthien as a portrait of his wife Edith, which makes Beren a picture of himself. We know this for a fact because he had LUTHIEN written on her grave when she died, and when he joined her in it two years later the name BEREN was written for him:

Now on the lower right side of my response image you'll see Pauline Baynes' illustration of the Lady in the Green Kirtle from The Silver Chair, one of C. S. Lewis's Narnia stories. A quick synopsis of the Lady of the Green Kirtle's part in the story:

The Lady is a witch who rules a gloomy kingdom underneath Narnia, accessible through a fissure in the earth in an old ruined city far to the North. Before the story opens she has enspelled and kidnapped King Caspian's son Prince Rilian, whom she intends to send leading an army to conquer Narnia in her name. For twenty-three hours a day he is her willing slave and lap-dog; to maintain the spell, he must be bound to the titular silver chair for the remaining hour, during which he is sane and aware of his imprisonment. The protagonists, Eustace and Jill and their guide Puddleglum, meet her and Rilian unawares on their journey to the North; she sends them astray and almost succeeds in getting them eaten by giants. Eventually they rescue Rilian from the chair, but she sings a magical song which very nearly puts them all to sleep but for Puddleglum's intervention. Foiled, she transforms into a serpent, attacks them, and they kill her.

It is my contention that the Lady in the Green Kirtle is Lewis's caricature of Lúthien, with the enslaved and befuddled Prince Rilian representing Beren; and further, that Lewis knew or recognised that Lúthien and Beren were a literary portrait of the Tolkiens, so that The Silver Chair is ultimately a nasty commentary on their marriage.

In forthcoming reblogs I will lay out my evidence for this thesis.

[littlweirdostuffwritesworld]

Soft boy

Summary: Where Matt is dating a girl who overwhelms him with love and care and he's not used to it. And he's also embarrassed about what he wants her to do to him

In short, he wants to be pampered

Note: Matt Murdock deserves attention, love and affection

Warnings: fluffness and smuttiness in maximum level, nipple play, nipple licking, fingering, ex toxic relationship ( I don't care what people say but him and Elektra reletionship was kinda toxic so go team Karen)

Matt and Joanne have been together for 5 months and everything is going smoothly. Joanne is a doctor who has a clinic next to the Nelson and Murdock office, the woman is a close friend of Claire Page and Luke Cage.

Since they met it was love at first sight for them they had so many things in common, how they both grew up in the church and how their faith was imposed by those who were next to them for Joanne they were her parents and for Matt it was because he had been raised by nuns.

A great friendship was born between the two they said everything, well not everything Matt had not yet revealed his secret identity, he didn't want to ruin everything and he didn't want to scare her, sometimes he forgot that Joanne is a genius.

Because one night I went to his clinic at midnight full of blood and cuts. "Oh my Matt what happened?" she screams anxiously it wasn't the first time she'd seen Matt hurt but not that hurt.

"I was attacked" she sat down in the deck chair

"Yes of course" she just did not believe it, how many times a blind person gets into trouble with criminals.

"Tell me the truth," she insisted as she disinfected the wounds on his right arm.

"I'm telling the truth ahh" he grunted him from the sting, Matt could hear Joanne's voice tremble a little, it was silent they could only hear their heartbeats.

"Sorry" he felt guilty he had his head towards the floor with guilt, he could no longer hide who he really was.

" I am...

"I know" the woman replied she continued to bandage her arm, suddenly Matt felt the doctor's hand.

"Can I?" she nodded her, from her arm her hand slipped down her back they were so cold they made her back arch.

"I'm worried you have become the most important person in my life, if I lost you I don't know what I would do" she confessed, he smelled of tears.

His hands sought the woman's face, the skin was smooth maybe there were some moles and then there were tears he smelled the salt and their foreheads he caressed her face.

"I'm so sorry, you too are my most important person" their fingers intertwined, slowly their faces approached and their finally their lips touched, the kiss was chaste.

"Joanne I like you, but no I want to put you in danger" the woman did not answer she took him by the face and kissed him again, the more they kissed the more lustful.

Both of their hands went under their shirt, I touched Matt's chest and he groaned.

"Matt we should stop, we just got together," she said twitching from the touch, they broke apart.

"Can you go home in this state?"

"No I think I need help" they both decided to go to the doctor's house, who was the closest, they were on the table eating take-away food.

"No wait, your mother is not alive and is she a nun?" she asked in shock.

"It was a long story post partum and her faith was too much for her to care for me, and in the end I ended up with a psychopathic blind soldier like me," he joked some deep face also thought he was a psychopath.

"You are not a psychopath you are a hero who saves lives, who tries to prevent children from becoming orphans like you because you are afraid that they will suffer. You are a protector of a community that is broken and that is trying to improve thanks to you"

" Thank you" he thanked blushing.

She later changed and they had an argument about who would sleep on the bed.

"Come on Matt we won't do other things we'll sleep enough, I know the Catholic in you is after the wedding but I don't have sofas?" the woman said sleepily on the bed.

"Then I'll sleep on the floor" the woman got up abruptly and pushed him onto the bed.

"Was it that hard Matty?" she was on top of him and the vigilante's face was in focus, many people called him by that nickname but when she did it she felt in seventh heaven.

"Tomorrow I'm free and I think you are free too tomorrow I'll take you out," he announced, making her smile.

"Yes" they got under the blanket and kissed each other on the lips and cheeks.

"Ok enough we can kiss again tomorrow" and he whined, he realized that he was the little spoon and he liked it, he could hear the heartbeat and breath of her beloved and strangely he felt safe.

Tadahh this is my second fanfic please be nice if you're confused or there are grammatical errors please be patient English is not my first language

[geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde]

Desperation

I have finally hit 666 (amazing) followers and to celebrate that I decided to write you all something special! The following is absolutely blasphemous, sacriligeous, and immoral in every way. The church does not approve. If this will bother you, please keep scrolling. If this intrigues you, take a gander at the summary and warnings. 

Pairing: Geraskier

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Jaskier and Geralt finally enact one of their most taboo fantasies. 

Warnings: Public sex (in a church/confession booth), vibrating butt plugs (used during a church service), masturbation, dirty talk, edging, ruined orgasm.

Note: I am not encouraging anything that happens in this fic. Public sex is illegal, it will end in arrest and I believe you can be put on the sex offender registry. Please let this be a fantasy that stays a fantasy.

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

Jaskier was shaking, be it from excitement or nerves, he wasn't sure.

He hadn't been to church in… well. He didn't know exactly how long it had been but as soon as he managed to get out of it, he did. His parents still went, not to this church, thankfully, but to one across town.

Jaskier had been raised catholic in fact, although he certainly never thought he would end up back in a church. Not willingly, at least.

But after a discussion with Geralt, the couple had decided that this might be a way for him to… come to terms with some of his lingering resentment of the church.

Well, that and they both thought it was kind of hot.

Really, really hot.

Every step he climbed to the church doors had him breathing deeply as the motion pushed the plug he was wearing to press against his prostate.

He smiled tightly at the greeter at the door, dipping his right hand in holy water and making the sign of the cross.  He knelt quickly at the altar, wincing from the pressure the position put on the plug, and then hurried to find a seat, preferably near the back.  He had purposefully showed up fairly late so he could try to find a seat where he wouldn't be too crowded with people. Luckily, toward the back, on the right-hand side, the pews were mostly empty, and he was able to settle with a few feet between him and the other attendees.

He took a sharp breath as he sat down, trying to get comfortable. The plug he had chosen for today was one of the larger ones that curved just right so that most motions pushed it against his prostate. But the real reason he had chosen it was currently in his jacket pocket, a small remote that controlled the level of vibrations coming from the plug. It was off, currently, and Jaskier wasn't sure when or if he would have the confidence to turn it on, but the option alone had him excited. The danger of getting caught did too.

Eventually he had talked to Geralt and the two of them had come up with a plan. Jaskier had woken up that morning incredibly nervous but Geralt had assured him that if he wanted to do it, he would support him and that if he didn't, that was okay too. Fantasies could stay fantasies.

But he did want to do it.

So, there he was, shifting in a church pew, the butt plug in his ass keeping him hard and aching, his hand clenched tightly around the remote in his jacket pocket as he waited for the service to start.

As he listened to the hum of conversations around him, he let his mind wander back to that morning. Geralt had woken him early and shoved him in the shower. After a light breakfast, Geralt had pulled Jaskier back to their room and spent the next ten minutes working his fingers in and out of him at a maddeningly slow pace, finally pushing the plug in. Geralt had nudged Jaskier back into a standing position and helped pull up and fasten his pants, making sure to squeeze his hard on as he did so, drawing a whimper from him. Then Geralt had pulled Jaskier in for a rough kiss and marched him to the door, slapping him on the ass as he walked out of the house.

Jaskier shifted again, biting back a groan at the memory.

It wasn't much longer before it was time for mass to start, Jaskier huffing an uncomfortable breath as he stood up with everyone else as the hymns began.

Standing was easier on Jaskier than sitting had been so he was able stand comfortably through the opening prayer, grunting a bit as he finally sat again, drawing a look from the woman sitting to his right. He felt his cheeks color as he smiled slightly and nodded at her. She frowned at him but redirected her attention back to the front of the church.

As the readings began, Jaskier found himself fidgeting more and more with the remote in his pocket, wondering if he would really be quiet enough. They had tried at home and in the complete silence Geralt, had barely been able to hear it while sitting next to Jaskier. Deciding he could try it and pass it off as the vibration of his phone if worse came to worse, Jaskier quickly flipped the vibrations on their lowest setting.

The low vibrations suddenly pulsing against his prostate had his cock fill fully from the half-hardened state he'd been in since he had arrived at the church. He adjusted his jacket, making sure he looked decent as he breathed slowly. Pleasure was washing over him in warm waves, the pulse just right. No one around him had gave any indication they noticed anything odd, either.

Suddenly feeling brave, Jaskier flipped the vibration settings one notch higher. The faster sensation made him clench his hands, still breathing slow, trying to keep his composure. He moved in his seat, rocking slightly, reveling in the pressure on his cock.

Jaskier found his eyes drifting closed, enjoying the sensations. A loud sneeze a few rows in front of him brought him back to the present, his eyes shooting open as he realized where he was. He gave a surreptitious glance around his, thankful when he found no one paying him any attention.

He let the vibrations slow again, giving him a chance to recover some. The pleasure was still coursing through his body, making him pleasantly warm. The low burn of arousal was something he didn't feel often, too impatient to wait unless Geralt made him.

Shuddering lightly at the thought of Geralt bringing him to the edge just to deny him, Jaskier increased the vibrations again, this time up two notches, suddenly desperate for more.

His body nearly quaked with the strong vibrations and he had to force his eyes to stay open as the plug sent pleasure shooting up his spine. The warm pleasure he had been basking in suddenly getting warmer, hot even. He knew the jacket was necessary to hide his situation and the remote, but he wanted to take it off. Instead, he rocked his hips again, biting his lip at the grind of fabric against his length. It wasn't enough.

If he could just get a hand around himself, he wouldn't last, he knew.

Jaskier had lost track of the service and was unprepared when everyone around him stood. Panicking, he flipped the vibrator off completely, having to take a moment to calm down before he could stand. He made sure to keep his jacket hanging low, hiding the erection pushing against the zipper of his slacks. Standing meant the plug was no longer pressing directly to his prostate, giving him a chance to calm himself. He willed his erection to go down but the tight squeeze from his slacks and the thrill of being so debauched in a public space kept him rock hard.

By the time he was allowed to sit again he was aching, ready for the press of the plug to his prostate again, ready for the fire shooting up his spine. He clenched tightly as he resumed his seat, increasing the sensation, and quickly restarted the vibrations, this time going straight to the fourth setting. He shook at the sudden jolt. This setting was a pulsating sensation, almost a never-ending tap, tap, tap to his prostate. It was the setting Geralt kept it on when he wanted to undo Jaskier thoroughly.

Thinking of his husband had Jaskier biting back a whimper. He could feel his face heat up as his temperature rose. He wanted nothing more than to pull his cock out from his pants and give himself some relief. Suddenly, Jaskier felt his balls tighten, the feeling of impending orgasm washing over him. He squeezed the remote tightly, enjoying the feeling. He knew he could come from just this but that wasn't the plan. He switched the plug off quickly, sucking in sharp breaths as he tried to cool off. He was shaking, so close to bliss before yanking himself back from the edge.

Jaskier let himself tune back into the service, trying to figure out how much longer he would have to suffer this sweet torture. As his breathing was evening out and he was trying to identify what was happening, everyone began standing again. He followed their lead, trying to remain inconspicuous despite still being so worked up. He focused his gaze on the front of the church, recognizing the reciting of the creed. He let out a slow breath, not much longer.

Jaskier went through the rest of the service in a daze, his erection never faltering. It wasn't until the communion when he realized he realized he had turned the plug back on. As he stood before the priest, his heart dropped, sure that this would be it, he would be caught. The priest simply nodded at Jaskier, gesturing for him to return to his seat. Hurrying as fast as his shaky legs could carry him, Jaskier went back to his seat and sat down, shaking, breathing hard. The woman beside him looked at him curiously but focused her attention forward again when the priest began speaking.

He knew he should stop, but it felt so fucking good. Cranking up the toy to the fifth setting, Jaskier let out an involuntary whimper, curling in on himself. He tried to breathe through the shocks of pleasure, but his breathing was ragged at best. It took everything in him to bite back the sounds he was making, and he felt tears stream down his face. He was so desperate.

A gentle touch to his shoulder made him jerk up. He looked around frantically, tear tracks staining his cheeks. He was still shaking as he realized the woman who had been sitting beside him had moved closer.

She looked concerned but he didn't know how to assure her he was fine. Not while he was shaking, crying, desperately trying not to cum, not yet.

"I'm fine, thank you," He choked out.

She nodded at him.

The loud, "Peace be with you," startled him.

"A-and also w-with you," he managed to stutter out.

He sat through the last fifteen minutes through sheer force of will. He looked around, groaning quietly as he realized everyone was filtering out of the church. Oh, he was so close.

Walking through the church to where the confessionals were was a challenge, but Jaskier was determined. He had waited in his seat until he was about to cum, turning the vibrations off quickly. He stayed there until he was able to stifle the soft sobs and clean up his face some. He was still on edge, desperate for relief, but he was calmer now. Calm enough to make his way to the last confession booth, the one a little further away from the others.

Stepping into the booth and closing the door securely behind him, he listened closely until he heard movement in the other side of the booth. Clearing his throat, Jaskier said softly, "Bless me father, for I have sinned. It has been… twenty years since my last confession."

A deep voice hummed thoughtfully from the other side of the booth, "That's a long time. Go ahead, tell me your sins."

Jaskier smiled at the sound of the voice, letting the tension fall from his shoulders. He shuddered as he turned the plug back on, on the lowest setting.

"I… am bisexual. I married a man." He started slowly, letting out a soft moan as he cupped his cock through his pants. Finally.

"Is that all?" The deep voice responded.

Panting, Jaskier released himself from his pants before responding, "No. I… pleasured myself during the service."

The other man grunted softly, "How?"

"H-how?" Surely, he wasn't asking…

The response was gruff, "Yes. How did you pleasure yourself during the service?"

Oh. He was asking… "With… a plug. It v-vibrates."

A chuckle this time, making Jaskier shiver, "Are you still wearing it?"

Jaskier turned the setting up to two, "Yes."

"It is on?"

Jaskier breathed out a sigh, stroking his cock slowly, "Y-yes."

There was a long silence before finally, "Are you touching yourself?"

Jaskier squeezed tightly around the base of his cock, willing himself not to orgasm yet, "Yes."

"Hmm… do you think you deserve to keep pleasuring yourself?"

"W-what?" Jaskier's voice rose in pitch at the question as he turned the vibrations up to the fourth setting, still squeezing his cock.

"I don't think you do," the voice responded, matter of factly, "I think you had your pleasure during the service. Tell me, did you cum?"

"No!"

"Hmm… I don't think you should get to orgasm today. Sinners don't deserve to cum, do they?"

Jaskier whimpered as he turned the plug up to five.

"You're not listening, are you?"

Jaskier choked out a sob, "I'm so close." He started stroking himself again, so very desperate.

And he was so close, his peak closing in quickly. He let out a gasp and thrust into his hand.

"Jaskier stop. Turn it OFF." The demanding voice shocked him out of the cloud of pleasure, and he stopped stroking himself and he grabbed for the remote, shutting it off just before he came.

He shook violently, his cock spilling over his jacket. He whimpered; his body had released but he felt no pleasure.

"Oh no… did I ruin your orgasm?" Jaskier sobbed softly and dropped to his knees.

It wasn't long before gentle hands were stroking his face, wiping his tears. He opened his eyes to see the beautiful amber of Geralt's looking back at him, "Hey, you with me?"

Jaskier nodded weakly.

"Do you want to go home?"

"Please?"

The next thing Jaskier knew, he was being gently lowered into a warm bath. He felt Geralt slide in behind him and he snuggled back into his chest.

"Hey," Geralt's voice was gentle, "how are you feeling?"

Jaskier hummed, his head pillowed against Geralt's pec, "Spacey."

"Good spacey?"

"Yeah."

It wasn't much longer before Jaskier felt himself falling asleep.

He wasn't sure how long it had been when he finally awoke, but he was dressed in one of Geralt's shirts and was tucked into their bed, Geralt resting beside him.

Jaskier smiled and sniggled into Geralt's side, enjoying his warmth. "I love you," he whispered softly.

Geralt grunted without opening his eyes, "I love you, too."

"Thank you… for today."

Geralt pulled Jaskier closer into his side, "I was happy to help you. Did you enjoy it?"

Jaskier made a content noise, "Very much. But I don't think we should do it again. The church part. The rest was nice."

"Hmmm."

"Hey… you never did tell me how you were sure that we would be able to sneak into that confessional."

Geralt chuckled, "An old friend owed me a favor."

Jaskier gasped, "Did you cash in a favor with a priest for me?"

"Go back to sleep Jaskier."

Jaskier huffed, "Fine. But when we get up, I'm getting the whole story."

Geralt rolled on his side and wrapped both arms around Jaskier, "Whatever you want, dear husband."

Jaskier let his eyes close as he reveled in the safe cocoon of Geralt's arms, "Just you, dear heart. You are all I want."

-

Thanks to @hailhailsatan for helping me with my research into catholic mass! And her support and read through and just being a wonderful fucking person. And thanks to @fontegagrilledcheese for encouraging my depravity <3

Check out my masterlist!

 Tag list: @stinastar​​​ @feraljaskier​​​ @bastardofmothman​​​ @hailhailsatan​​​ @moonysourenza​​​ @its-onions​​​ @elliestormfound​​​ @dapandapod​​​ @geraskier-trashh​​​ @jaskierswolf​​​ @fontegagrilledcheese​​​ @negativenuggetz​​ @veritasrose​​  @kozkaboi​​ @kueble​​ @llamasdumpsterfire​​ @selectivegeekwithstandards​​

[literaryfic]

Chapters: 4/? Fandom: 빈센조 | Vincenzo (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Vincenzo Cassano | Park Joo Hyeong/Hong Cha Young Characters: Hong Cha Young, Vincenzo Cassano | Park Joo Hyeong Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, vincenzo leaves, set five years after he left sk, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, vincenzo and cha-young are exes, they were in a relationship before, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Jealousy, Exes, Getting Back Together, Not Canon Compliant, i wrote this before ep 20

Summary: Sipping on his third — or fourth, he’d stopped counting a while back  — whiskey of the night, Vincenzo fantasised about snapping the neck Cha-young’s fingers were delicately wrapped around. 

To Vincenzo, regret was like an old friend. He’d become accustomed to its familiar weight over the years, learnt its intricate shapes and colours. More than that, he’d learned to welcome the intimate ways in which regret accompanied his every step. 

The blood on his hands, his mother, her… Yes, it seemed regret was the recurring theme of his life. Alas, in spite of all the years he’d spent acquainted with it, he could not silence the wails of anguish of his heart. 

“Mmh.” A simple sound had sufficed to sink his soul to slumber.*

He’d always known this was a possibility. He’d thought about it endlessly, convincing himself that he wouldn’t care, that being in her life was enough. But Vincenzo was a greedy man, and he’d never desired anything more than he desired her.

Her. Cha-young. His Tesoro. 

Rarely did Vincenzo say or even think of her name when his mind wandered back to her. He treated it like a jewel, a precious gem meant to be tucked away in the corner of his soul, only to be let out under extraordinary circumstances. 

Her name on his lips would not be said in vain, for he was a pious man and her, a Goddess. He’d converted to her cult the moment she’d kissed him, her lips initiating him to her worship. 

And so, he prayed to her. When he’d reached the edge of the cliff, the troubled waters calling out to him, whispering in his ear that drowning would put out the fire that consumed his being, he prayed. 

He’d go to a small Catholic church in Milan, high ceilings and stained-glass windows glimmering in the evening sun, and he’d sit in the last row, his hands clapped together. He’d recite his prayers, confess his sins and plead. I love you. Forgive me. Wait for me.

The Goddess, however, was a capricious being, and it seemed she had not heard his pleas. Or maybe she had, but had deemed him unworthy. 

Vincenzo had wondered if she had found someone else, if she had been happy without him. Wasn’t human nature so contradictory? He had been sure that leaving her was the most selfless act of love he’d be capable of, yet that ‘Mmh’ had set his soul on fire. 

He had promised himself that if it were to happen — if Cha-young had forgotten about him, if leaving really had been the gift he’d first thought it was — , he would be content with just seeing her again. Even if all he’d get was a furtive look, that alone would be enough to satisfy the thirst he’d been dying of for the past five years. What a naïve thought. He knew the moment he’d seen her again, that night on the beach. He needed her. 

Now, watching her slow dance in someone else’s arms, Vincenzo thought about torture. He’d inflicted it on many of his enemies before and knew the myriad of ways in which the human body contorted itself when in agony. 

Vincenzo reaches for the gold lighter in his pocket, the reassuring clicking sound helping him organise his thoughts. 

He would start by pulling out his teeth one by one. Then, he’d move on to his fingers. It’d make a mess, but he wouldn’t die right away. Vincenzo would be able to enjoy the fun for quite a while, actually. Would the man scream until his vocal cords bled? Would he convulse, his body distorted by tremors, eyes rolling back?

Sadly, the only one getting tortured is him; the only cries of pain, his heart’s. 

Sipping on his third — or fourth, he’d stopped counting a while back  — whiskey of the night, Vincenzo fantasised about snapping the neck Cha-young’s fingers were delicately wrapped around. 

 Like moths to a flame, Vincenzo’s eyes were inevitably drawn to the pearly white of her thigh, revealed by the split of her long, form-fitting dress. She looked otherworldly tonight, her hips swaying to the slow beat of the love song playing in the background. Here she was, with her straight, shiny hair reflecting the dim lights of the ballroom, her red lips complimenting her flushed cheeks  — a fallen angel gracing them with her presence. 

The man holding her in his arms was in his late thirties, and while he was the same height as Cha-young with her heels on, he had broad shoulders and large hands. He looked down at his feet whenever he laughed, which made his glasses slide off his nose ever so slightly. After a while, he’d readjust them and run his hand through his short hair, the start of an endless loop.

He wondered what she saw in him, if it was something in his eyes or in his voice. Did she kiss his knuckles whenever he was working on some paperwork, lost in thoughts yet reluctant to let go of her hand? Did she kiss his neck and whispered ‘I'm here, it’s okay’ whenever he had a nightmare? Did her fingers trace ‘I love you’s’ on his shoulder blades while they were laying in bed? 

And if she did, was it because he looked at her like she was the most precious thing on this earth? Was it because he had secretly learned her favourite recipe, the one her mom used to make when she was sick? Was it because he held her tight when she cried, stroking her hair and murmuring comforting words against her skin? 

He looks harmless, Vincenzo thinks. The alcohol is getting to him.

‘Is he a good person?’

‘Mmh. He is.’

He shakes his head, banishing memories of yesterday’s conversation from his mind. That’s a relief. Cha-young deserves to be with an ordinary man who lives a righteous life, away from all the murders and the evils of this world. Yet, his heart aches every time she smiles at him. 

Him, who is everything he’s not. Him, who’s making her laugh, and smile, and blush. 

The man leans in to whisper in her ear, and Vincenzo can’t take it anymore. He pays for his drinks and leaves, the sound of his lighter not enough to ground him anymore. He needs to get away, far from the sway of her hips and that man’s hand on her lower back. Before he knows it, he’s out of the hotel, on the beach. 

Stuck in his own personal hell, Vincenzo considers atoning for his sins. Surely, the fire blazing inside his body, boiling his blood and heating up his skin is worse than the Inferno he’d ineluctably be condemned to. 

Without thinking, he takes off his shoes, his trousers and his shirt, and dives into the ocean. He needed to put out the fire before he got burned alive. It’s a warm evening but the dark waters feel ice-cold on his heated skin. He swims until the cacophony of the waves crashing against the shore lulls him. He swims until he’s about to drown, limbs too heavy to float. How he manages to get back on the beach, he doesn’t know. He collapses in the sand, exhausted. The distant moon looks down on him, her inquisitive eyes strangely offensive. Tonight, the heavenly body is mocking him. Look at this fool, she laughed. Did you really think she’d wait for you?

Vincenzo wants to scream at her, or maybe at himself, but instead he cries. He doesn’t have the energy to fight it, or to feel ashamed. He is guilty of leaving her and he has no one else to blame. Regret might be an old friend, but guilt is his greatest foe. 

He forces himself to get up, knowing he’d get buried under the weight of his conscience if he stayed any longer. Putting back on his trousers only, Vincenzo carries his shoes and his top until he sees the hotel lights. Were they still dancing together? 

He stops before going inside, lighting a cigarette. He’d taken it up again after going back to Italy, another one of the nasty habits he indulged in. He stood near a huge palm tree, just at the entrance of the main building, probably why he didn’t see him. Cha-young’s… someone was standing there, smoking on the other side of the palm tree. Vincenzo holds his breath, not sure how to react. The man is on the phone, and although it isn’t his business, he can’t help but overhear his conversation. 

“No, no… I told you, nothing’s going on with her...Yes, I promise. I told you, she paid for all her employees, it’s a group thing. Mmh. Don’t worry. I’ll see you soon. Me too.”

Forget torture, Vincenzo is killing this man with his bare hands tonight. 

*‘Sink Not Yet My Soul To Slumber’ is a Christian Hymn SINK not yet, my soul, to slumber, Wake, my heart, go forth and tell, All the mercies without number That this by-gone day befell: Tell how God hath kept afar, All things that against me war, Hath upheld me and defended, And His grace my soul befriended.

[seanfalco]

Want | Priest!Kay x Reader {Part II}

Fandom: Season of the Witch Modern!AU Word Count: 2k Warnings: Catholicism, Religious imagery, Angst, Infidelity  (I’m also not Catholic, so hopefully I haven’t made any glaring errors.)

masterlist

He thought it would get easier as the weeks wore on, but Kay grimaced as he stepped behind the pulpit to face the congregation, his gaze instantly seeking out [y/n], her fiance’s arm resting across her shoulders, and he had to admit to himself that it was quite the opposite -- it was only getting harder to see her with him.   To keep his thoughts pure.

Their first lesson together had been… awkward to say the least, but by the second one they’d almost fallen back into the easy friendship of their teen days, which was both a relief and a worry to Kay.

If they kept getting more comfortable around each other, who knew what would happen then?

It was already going to be hard enough for him to watch her marry someone else when not so long ago that was what he’d wanted.  Growing close to her again would only make it that much harder.

When he’d broken up with her and left for seminary school like his father had wanted he thought he’d never see her again -- that even though it wasn’t what he’d wanted, that time would heal all wounds and that throwing himself into his studies would distract him enough to forget his feelings for her, and for a time it had, but it didn’t last.

He still sometimes woke in a cold sweat, their breakup haunting his dreams, the hurt look on her face as he’d turned away wrenching at his heart.  

They’d been so young and it had all happened so fast, their feelings too great, too overwhelming, too soon.

And he’d ran.

Only to find regret waiting for him, but by then it was too late and now… now he’d have to live with that regret.

He’d never have [y/n], and he’d never be a good priest.  How could he give all of himself to God if someone else still held his heart?

——

“So, how was your week?” Kay asked, hanging up his robe as [y/n] took her usual seat across from his desk, the little notebook she’d been scribbling notes in during their lessons resting in her lap.

He knew that she’d never been religious before, not outright atheist, but definitely agnostic.  However, during their lessons she was attentive and diligent -- always asking questions and taking notes.  He just wasn’t sure how much of that was from a true willingness to learn or merely out of respect for him.

“It wasn’t bad,” she answered with a small shrug.  “Nothing much happened.  This is honestly the highlight of my week,” she admitted, her eyes flicking up to his meaningfully.

Somehow Kay doubted it was because of church, but he’d be lying if he said that this wasn’t the highlight of his week as well…

“I’m glad our lessons mean that much to you,” he murmured, fighting the urge to loosen his collar.  “Uhm, before we get started,” he continued quickly, forcing his hands to still in front of him on his desk.  He’d definitely caught [y/n]’s little smirk at his words, and was trying to ignore it.  

“Why don’t you tell me a little about Matthew.  How you two met,” Kay suggested, trying to keep his voice neutral, but [y/n] looked up at him sharply, suspicion in her calculating gaze.

It was purely in his interest as their Reverend, he told himself.  He wasn’t asking for any other reason.

Frowning for a moment, [y/n] cleared her throat.  “We met through our parents,” she explained slowly, her expression not exactly what one would expect a newly engaged woman to wear as she spoke of her betrothed, and Kay’s heart constricted.

She doesn’t look happy, he observed as she told him how their parents had thought it would be a good match.

Don’t be ridiculous, Kay told himself firmly, ignoring that first thought.  That’s just wishful thinking because part of you doesn't want her to get married, to lay with anyone else, to look at them with love in her eyes, when it should be you.

Shaking loose his thoughts, Kay realized he’d missed much of what she’d said, but what he had caught hadn’t exactly sounded romantic, and he fought against losing himself once more to memories of their time together before it had all come crashing down.

Of late night phone calls that neither wanted to end, leading to Kay listening to [y/n] sleep over the phone, wishing she were next to him instead of her own bed.  Of handwritten love letters passed discreetly through lockers and left in textbooks, clandestine make out sessions during cut classes, and holding hands as he walked her home every day.  Of their awkward, if sweet, first time that had led to a second time shortly after, full of laughter and affirmations of love.

Did she love Matthew like she’d loved him?

“Kay…?”

“Hmm, I’m sorry, I lost my thoughts for a moment there,” he admitted sheepishly, hoping it wouldn’t be obvious where his thoughts had slipped to.

“That’s alright, it’s not exactly the most riveting story,” [y/n] murmured with a wry twist of her lips.  “Let’s, uhm, let’s get on with the lesson, shall we?” she asked and Kay was only too relieved to agree, not exactly keen to dwell any more on the topic of [y/n]’s fiance.

——

In order to speed things along to keep on schedule for your swiftly approaching wedding, Kay had suggested meeting twice a week for your lessons, and you’d only been all too happy to agree.

However, it was getting harder and harder to keep him off your mind, finding yourself thinking of him during every spare moment, even on the rare occasions Matthew wanted to have sex.  The night before, you’d nearly cried out the wrong name, Kay’s name practically springing to your lips, and disappointment twisted like a knife when you’d opened your eyes to find it wasn’t him hovering over you.

So it was to your great dismay that today’s lesson was about confession.

“We went over all this in principle last time, but this time we’ll do a practice run,” Kay was saying as he led you down to the sanctuary, blessedly empty save for the two of you.  Stopping in front of the confessional, your stomach in your throat, you hesitated, Kay noticing your reluctance.

“Are you nervous, [y/n]?”

“Yeah, you could say that,” you murmured, your nerves at an all time high.

“I promise it’s not as daunting as it seems,” Kay murmured, resting his hand on the small of your back, ushering you toward the door, a reassuring smile on his face.

As you took your seat atop the hard wooden bench inside you fidgeted as you waited for Kay to join you on the other side of the latticed partition.

This would be so much easier if you didn’t know the priest.

“Okay, [y/n],” Kay said as he took his seat, his voice soothing.  “Remember, the Sacrament of Confession is between you, me, and God.  I cannot disclose anything you tell me in here, to anyone,” he reminded you and you nodded, though it didn’t exactly make you feel any better.  He would still know about it.

“Alright my child, you may begin,” Kay prompted and you bit your lip, taking a steadying breath.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” you began, reciting the words he’d taught you.  “I uhm, I’ve sinned, well… a lot, and uhh, recently, in fact,” you muttered, looking down at your hands.  

With the partition between you, you couldn’t really see Kay, just his outline, but you could feel his gaze on you.

“Well, I’ve… masterbated… and I use birth control regularly, which is a big no-no, I guess,” you said, giving a nervous laugh before continuing.   “I’ve had premarital sex, which… I mean, you know about that,” you added, clearing your throat, reluctant to admit more.

“Go on, you’re doing well,” Kay urged gently and you nodded, continuing.

“I… I’ve coveted, and lied, I’ve taken the Lord’s name in vain and I’ve…” your voice faltered and failed.  “I’ve--” you tried again, taking another breath and swallowing, your throat suddenly very dry.

“I’ve had thoughts of an impure nature about someone other than my fiance,” you admitted.  “--About someone I should not be.  Someone I thought I’d never see again.”

Pausing, it was obvious who you meant, and your eyes flicked up to the partition where you felt Kay’s were and you wondered just what sort of expression he was wearing.

“And now that I have… seen him again, I can’t seem to get him off my mind,” you murmured.

For a long moment silence stretched and you wished you could take it all back.

“[y/n].” Kay’s voice wavered before strengthening.  “That is… highly inappropriate,” he said hesitantly, his words like a slap to the face, though you knew he was right.

“Don’t you think I know that?” you exclaimed.  “I’ve tried to stop, believe me!  But I fucking can’t and I--I don’t know if I want to,” you cried, frantically blinking back tears, your stomach churning.  “I miss you, Kay, and every moment we’re together feels like torture.  I… I thought I could do this, but I can’t.”

“[y/n]--”

Before he could say more, you pushed off the bench and threw open the door, suddenly feeling lightheaded and needing air, Kay right on your heels.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t been thinking about me too,” you exclaimed, turning to him, frustration and anger lacing your words.  Kay watched you with an unreadable expression.  “I’ve seen it in your eyes, Kay.  You always had the worst poker face.  Don’t tell me there’s nothing there,”you insisted, almost pleading and he looked away, blinking rapidly.

“[y/n], don’t…” he said, unable to quite look at you.  “You know we can’t happen.”

“You didn’t answer me,” you pressed, taking a step toward him, desperation filling your voice now, your stomach twisting til you felt you were going to be sick.  

“It… it doesn’t matter,” Kay replied sadly, shaking his head.  “I’m a man of the cloth now.  I’m committed to the Church and you -- you’re engaged to be married, [y/n]!” he exclaimed, his voice cracking as he lifted his arms only to let them fall helplessly to his sides again, his hands curling into fists.

“What we had was a long time ago.  We’ve both moved on, and I won’t be the one to break up your marriage.  I don’t want to be the reason,” he insisted, though it looked like it pained him to say it.

“Yeah well, I never wanted this!” you cried, your voice clearly shaking now and you couldn’t keep the tears from your eyes any longer, feeling them fall down your cheeks.  “You were the one that pushed me away and then… then you ran away where I couldn’t follow!”

Taking a shaky breath, you scrubbed at the dampness streaking your face.  “You want my confession, Father?  I still have feelings for you, they never went away,” you admitted, breathing heavily, your chest constricting with panic.

When Kay didn’t speak, his emerald eyes pained, you continued, grasping at straws.

“Is this truly what you want?” you asked, your voice hoarse.

“It is,” he said softly, carefully not meeting your gaze.  “Even if I… harboured feelings for you, I cannot act on them, so please don’t put me in that position, [y/n].”

When he finally lifted his head, his eyes rising to yours once more, he shook his head sadly, his long curls shivering.

“Besides, you don’t want me,” he murmured.  “I can’t give you the life you deserve.”

Deafening silence filled the church and you stood there in disbelief.

If only you’d kept your mouth shut, you thought angrily -- angry at yourself, because you knew, you knew deep down you couldn’t have just kept going that way, lying to yourself, to him.

Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to lift your chin.

“You’re wrong.”

When you turned, Kay took a panicked step toward you, reaching out before you pulled away.

“Where are you going?  [y/n]?” he called after you, but you didn’t stop, heading for the doors.

“I’m sorry, Kay.  I can’t do this.”

Without another word you yanked open the handle and slipped out of the church before he could convince you to stay.

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

Everything Tag List: @magic-multicolored-miracle​​ @midnightseance​​ @etherealsxnder​​ @iamsexytrash​​ @orions-nebula​​ @slutforrobbiebro​​ @the-freckled-luba​​ @robertsscumbag​​