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ebiemidnightlibrarian · 3 years

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In Noctem | Father Romero x Demon!Reader | English

(this GIF doesn't belong to me, credits to the owner (if you're the owner, please, tell me, so I can give you the credit))

SUMMARY | MY MASTERLIST

Warnings: Religious Images and Symbols, Disrespect for Religion, Catholic Guilt, Breaking Celibacy Vows, BDSM (Soft), Smut, Choking Link, Priest Kink, Blood, Masturbation (implicit), Oral Sex (afab), Heresy, Descriptions of Body Horror, Demonic Mythology, References to Dante's Inferno.

Note: Skin, hair and body tone descriptions were purposely vague so that everyone interested can have a turn.

Again, English isn't my mother language, so I'm sorry for any orthography or writing mistakes you might find. If you feel comfortable, you can tell me what you have found wrong, so I can fix it.

Word Count: 7.6K

A/N: Here is my contribution to the spooky season! Enjoy!

THE NIGHT MASS had just ended when the brown-haired young priest felt a dark shiver in his core, creeping up his spine, shivering every golden thread on the back of his neck. Some of the last of the faithful who had attended Mass were leaving the church, the mahogany pews gradually emptying once more that day. The lights were off and only a few punctual candles illuminated the church's wide nave with their flickering light, allowing the place to be engulfed in darkness.

Patiently saying goodbye, Father Mateo waved to a couple of ladies who had greeted him on the beautiful Mass. His deep ebony brown eyes then caught a subtle movement of a pale figure to his right. Turning his warm gaze to said figure, Mateo caught sight of the angelic face of the young woman who was a novice at the nearby convent.

The young woman rarely missed a Mass for Father Romero, even though she was sometimes late or needed to convince the matron that she would not be long. The nuns of St. Agnes had their own mass in the convent, but the novice never took pleasure in any of them as with the masses of the priest in the church next door. For her, Mateo Romero had a special way with words, one that made a heat rise within her, at her core. The novice always felt closer to God in that church, listening to the young priest's sweet words of faith.

“Good evening, Father Romero.”, she smiled gently, a gentle blush covering her cheeks, her habit white as milk, pure, a rosary tightly wrapped in her hand. Approaching slowly, the priest greeted her with a smile.

“Good evening.”, said the priest in his husky, lilting voice. “What can I do for you, my child?”, he asked, his words echoing through the empty church. He studied her with his eyes, a spark behind them.

The young novice couldn't help but think that the priest looked too attractive for a clergyman, especially when he wore the White Robe to masses, her heart skipping a beat at the thought that permeated her mind. Not looking him in the eye, as the worn rosary in her hand suddenly looked very interesting, she continued.

“I… I'd like to confess, Father”, she says, the blush on her cheeks turning almost scarlet in the half-light. Mateo could barely contain his soft laugh, laced with the young lady’s shyness. He always referred to her as if there was a huge gap between their ages, but she was only a few years younger. For him it was a way of reminding him that she was not reachable.

“You know you must go to the convent, don't you?”, the priest uttered, his tone still gentle but almost patronizing as he gently rebuked her. Hands clasped in front of him, settling into a comforting posture, Father Romero kept a friendly smile in the curve of his thin lips.

“Yes, I know… but I thought, since I'm here…”, the young woman begins, her sweet, gentle voice trembling slightly with anxiety. She lifted her almond eyes to the clergyman in front of her, for a split second making eye contact, her cheeks burning a red that stood out with the excess of white on her robes.

“I won't scold you for that, after all, it's my duty to listen to you if you wish so.”, The soothing cadence in the male timbre made the young novice calm down slightly. “After you.”, With a deft flick of his wrist, Mateo pointed the way through the pews to the small confessional booth to the right of the altar, in the corner. Taking a long breath, the novice nodded, nervously clutching the rosary in her delicate hand.

The sound of footsteps reverberated off the walls. The young woman dressed in white had the impression that she could only hear her own footsteps. Father Mateo had a feather-light step, almost as if he floated as he walked. The novice could hear the irregular beat of her heart above the rhythmic floor, the blood rushing through her auricles.

Mateo swallowed hard under his clerical collar, his Adam's apple slowly rising and falling. He saw the novice daily, at least twice a day; at morning mass and evening mass. His daily torment to focus on the sermon as a good Christian, a good God-fearing pastor. Oh, how she was a sight for sore eyes, but also fuel for the impure fire that burned within him whenever he rested his brown orbs on her. The white tunic he wore felt strangely warm, muffling the heat of his body beneath his cassock.

As they made their way to the mahogany casing of two cabins, a pair of glowing aureate orbs watched them from a corner soaked in darkness. The glittering spheres were soon adorned with a pearly smile full of sharp teeth.

Mateo felt the burning of eyes on the back of his neck.

The novice crossed herself with the sign of the cross and waited for the priest to enter the confessional so that she could do it herself. Entering the small darkroom, the young woman knelt in humility and listened intently to her own laboured breathing in that tiny confined space. She almost had the impression that at any moment, the cubicle walls would be so close together they would crush her.

Father Romero heard the rustle of the novice's clothes as she settled herself in the next cabin. He took a long breath. Inside the confessional, the infernal heat he felt seemed even worse, as if his own body was being consumed by flames. Carefully so that the young woman on the other side of the trellis would not notice, Mateo removed the white tunic, wrapping it minimally in his lap. Now only the blackened cassock remained.

There was a long silence.

The young novice held the trembling rosary tightly in her hands. Maybe not a good idea, she considered. The white noise of her blood running fast like horses at a racetrack reverberating against the walls and coming back to her. She had no reason to fear the man beside her. Even though she was only eight months into her preparation to profess, she had already learned that the priest would not judge her or reveal her secrets, he couldn't. She also knew that what mattered most at that moment was complete and absolute honesty.

She didn't commit many sins, not even the venial ones, however, since she'd laid eyes on the ebony-haired priest, lust had been her most present companion, the only sin that had sunk its claws into her. The impure thoughts that permeated her innocent mind night after night, robbing her of sleep and causing her to sin against her and against God every time she slipped her fingers into the throbbing heat between her legs…

A throat clearing came from the other side of the trellis. How long have I been silent? Clearing her throat, the novice clasped her hands together and looked up at the incomplete image of the priest's profile through the trellis.

“Father?”, she murmured in a shaky voice, considering her sins made her feel the familiar heat spiral in her belly. Another brief silence fell, the priest's slightly heavy breathing could be heard.

“Yes, my child?”, the comforting tone given to the priests sounded through the holes in the trellis, except that there was a certain tremor in his voice that was unusual for him. The heat in the wooden cabin seemed to emanate from hell itself. Cold sweat broke out on his pale forehead, the soft, dark strands of his hair sticking to his damp skin.

“Would you mind saying the Serenity Prayer? It's unusual, I know, but… I think… I need some confidence, for what I'm going to say.”, An embarrassed laugh escaped the novice's rosy lips. She, despite it being dark, still felt eyes on her, blood running down her neck and into her cheeks, painting her an embarrassed red.

“Okay.”, a moment of silence followed, a deep breath from both of them reverberated in the small confessional. “Grant us, Lord, the serenity necessary to accept the things we cannot change, the courage to change the ones we can, and the wisdom to distinguish one from the other.”, Mateo felt his breath drain away in such a short prayer. Just the close presence of the novice was all it took to make him almost delirious. Heat, heat as if his body were on fire. Every soft, pure word that escaped the novice's lips made him even more uneasy.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”, She took a deep breath, the rosary marking her threads in red, round spots on her palms by the force with which she held it. “I-It's been seven days since I confessed.”, Her sweet voice died in her throat.

Maybe I shouldn't do that, not with him-, her thought was cut off by the priest's heated tone, his comforting voice.

“How do you feel, my daughter?”, asked him in his slightly breathless, smoky voice. He waited for an answer. The clerical collar of the cassock nearly choked him, anxiety filling his chest under the watchful gaze of the novice watching him…and the hungry gaze of the hidden shadow.

“Well, anxious… anxious about what I have to tell you, and honestly, now that I'm here I wonder if I should.”, a nervous laugh leaves the young woman. Her eyes had grown used to the pitch in the cabin, and now she could make out the priest's flushed face through the trellis. He had thin lips parted as he drew in a generous breath of air, and his golden eyes were engulfed in an almost hungry darkness.

“You know you can trust me, I'm here to guide you, nothing you've done or said will be judged. Confess whatever is weighing on your mind, open your soul and your heart, my child, let God weigh your sins.”, he murmured in a way to comfort her. The priest leaned close to the trellis as he spoke.

The spicy smell of sandalwood, the sweetness of bergamot and the smoky smell of myrrh from the thurible invaded the young lady's nostrils. The novice felt her tense shoulders relax a little, and she moved her face from the trellis towards the comforting scent of the priest. Maybe she just needed his confirmation. Taking a long breath, the young woman wiped the sweat from the palms of her hands in her white robe and raised them again in prayer.

“Father, I have sinned against my vows… I have sinned against God and the most holy church.”, She swallowed in her shame. “I met a man, Father, a good man…”, the novice's voice cracked. How can I tell this without him knowing it's his I'm talking about? The thought suddenly occurred to her. Even so, she continued before she could stop herself. “H-he's kind to me, even when I'm being silly, or even when I say something I shouldn't…”, Another pause occurred, the novice moistened her lips, suddenly dry with worry.

Mateo felt the bitterness of bile boil in his throat at the thought of the novice falling for a man, for a man other than himself; jealousy. What a ridiculous feeling for a priest to have! Jealous of a girl he could never have, let alone a novice! For God!

Something inside him seemed to move, a weight in his chest, sinking deeper and deeper, making it difficult for him to breathe. Moistening his thin lips, Father Romero tensed his jaw and muttered a restrained 'go on'.

“I-I'm sorry, it's just that… well, there's a problem Father, he's a man of the clergy, a servant of God.”, Servant of God? He thought, the words echoing in his mind. Surely the novice shouldn't be talking about himself, isn’t? A childish glee welled up in the man's chest at the possibility, a gentle ardour in his heart, contrasting with the hellish flames that seemed to surround him in that little cabin soaked in dimness.

“He is such a good man, Father, so good. He cares so much for his congregation, even though he is always busy, he finds time for everyone who needs it. Whether it's a word of comfort or just a word of advice or conversation…”, the novice's gentle voice shivered at the memories of their peaceful meetings with the man in the cabin next door, the subtle little touches. “I ended up… falling in love I believe… Oh, but he's always so kind and has the sweetest smile I've ever seen.”, Mateo could hear the smile in her voice, so sweet it brought the warmth of his chest to his own cheeks. “I fear I feel jealous and resentful whenever I see his kind attentions in others than me…”, the novice, had her monologue interrupted by the smoky cadence of Father Romero's voice.

“Don't be afraid to be jealous or resentful, my child, it's natural, don't be afraid to be punished by God for feeling that way. You know, God made us in His image and likeness, every so-called flaw is there for a reason. Don't blame yourself, there's nothing to be ashamed of, God loves you anyway.”, the words of comfort escaped in a torrent. The novice felt the sparrow on her chest beat uncontrollably. “Even in the darkest moments, you can count on Him…and me…”, the breathless whisper slipped from the priest's lips without his consent. Romero begged her not to hear him.

Only the rustle of clothes and slow breathing answered him.

“I-I pray for him every night, Father… I pray that one day he will notice how I see him, that he will somehow know what I feel. I know it's a foolish wish, but I can't help it…”, the novice takes a long, shaky breath and continues. “He visits my thoughts at night, Father, in these thoughts he is no longer a clergyman, and I am no longer a novice… I often imagine how his hands would feel on me… These unholy thoughts haunt me, Father… there are nights when I dream of the heat of his body against mine…”, the familiar coil of heat tightened in the novice's core. The blush streaked across her cheeks. The novice was silent. Only their breaths answered the endless questions they had for each other.

Mateo trembled, at some point in the novice's anxious account he found himself in slightly tighter pants. The sweet, innocent voice of the young woman in the next cabin awakened the fire inside him, smouldering. The novice's sweetly breathless tone called his name. Taking a deep, gasping breath, the priest implored, his voice husky deep, his Spanish accent thicker than when he normally spoke, shaky words trickling past his thin lips.

“Stop.”, he asked, a shivering hand ran over his sweaty white forehead and smoothed his damp hair. “Please stop, I-I can't-”, the young novice felt her chest tighten at the desperate cadence in the priest's voice. “I mustn't hear this. Please leave.”, The drops of sweat ran icy down the young man's temples and the back of his neck, the cold dampness accumulating on his clerical collar.

“F-forgive me, it wasn't proper I-”, the young woman's apology died in her throat as Mateo's smoky, anxious voice cut her off. The sparrow eagerly on her chest beat its wings in anguish.

“Please leave, I-I need to pray.”, nervousness was stamped in Romero's voice. The novice's name slipped from his tongue in a distressed plea, Mateo didn't trust himself when he was in the girl's presence, he feared he wouldn't be able to contain himself if she remained, especially after such a confession.

The novice then understood that he knew who she was talking about. A wave of heat descended through both their bodies. Looking at the dark decal of the priest's silhouette through the trellis, the young woman noticed the slight bulge in Mateo's black lined trousers. A breathless moan left her as the novice pressed her thighs together under her habit to ease the stinging pain at the apex of her legs.

The pair of aureate orbs watched the celibate couple in ecstasy.

Rising from where she knelt and straightening to leave, the novice shivered, the joints of her knees cracking with the sudden movement. Before withdrawing from the haunted wooden cubicle, she felt compelled to whisper the priest's name in a seductively accusatory tone.

“Mateo, I wouldn't mind if you decided to visit me tonight, or in any other. Reciprocity must be considered… God would not condemn us for that.”, having said that, the novice strode off, without waiting for an answer from the priest. He was an intelligent man, her message was clear to a good connoisseur.

After the novice left, Mateo prayed fervently in the confessional booth until he almost fainted. When he crawled into his little parish room it was past midnight, the phalanxes of his fingers burned from the force with which he had held the rosary, his knees complaining of the hours kneeling against the hard wood in penance. Removing his sweat-soaked liturgical robes, he collapsed onto the bed, enjoying the cool night air against his warm skin.

Facing the ceiling, Father Romero entered a state of semi-consciousness in the darkness of the room. At some point, he can't remember, Mateo fell asleep. His sleep was restless as lusty nightmares sifted through his mind.

The young priest wondered what it would be like to touch the novice. What her skin would smell like, whether her hands were soft or calloused. What would her hair smell like, what colour would it be, was it brown? Red? Blond or black as coal? Would her breasts fit in his hands? What would the valley taste like between them? Mateo imagined what heavenly sounds she would make when he kissed her, when he placed himself between her thighs and tasted the sweetness of her nectar.

The shadow watched the young priest's lovely restlessness. Approaching the male figure stretched out on the bed in slender, infamous movements, the humanoid creature straddled its legs and sat down on the stiff bulk between Mateo's legs. Its sharp, pearly smile adorned its dark face, sordid intent in the golden gleam of its eyes.

Father Romero imagined the novice astride him. He could almost feel her pulse around him, her wet heat pressed against his length. The weight of a body on his, gentle hands holding his shoulders, he would sink his face into the valley of her breasts and inhale the scent of her soft skin…

An animalistic noise, like a growl, reached his ears, Mateo tried to move, but he couldn't, his limbs were glued to the mattress, as if gravity had sunk him into the bed. He felt paralysed, a moment of panic settling in his chest as his consciousness recovered.

He wasn't with the novice, he was alone, in his room in the parish, and something weighed on him in the darkness.

Even his mind's incessant orders for his body to move, he remained paralysed, nothing moved. In his mind, Mateo was screaming to wake up. Anxiety and panic rising in his chest. Wake up! Wake up! His inner voice roared in his head. A frightened shiver ran over his skin as the young man felt frigid claws seep into his shirt, sharp griffins scratching the warm white skin of his chest.

Opening his eyes even a fraction, Father Romero froze at the sight of an infernal creature sinfully rubbing itself against his rigidity. A moan escaped his thin lips, and his ebony orbs watched the dark figure's demonic gaze climb up his torso and lock into his eyes. The shadow tilted its head with interest, watching with a wide, satisfied smile the young priest's chest rise and fall in ragged breaths.

Those golden orbs were as deep as abysses, Mateo thought that if he got any closer, those eyes could swallow him whole and send him into the depths of hell. With the movements of its obscure hips slowing to a stop, the demonic shadow moved tortuously, climbing the priest's youthful body. Its dark claws had a ferrous smell that reminded of blood. Mateo wanted to scream, but not a single noise other than his panting breath escaped his lips. The amber orbs of shadow engulfed his entire field of vision, the creature was so close to him that the priest was able to feel the vernal ardour that emanated from his body, almost homogeneous in the darkness.

The priest, with a disorderly thrust of his hand, turned on the gaslight at his bedside. The blackened entity disappeared from above his body, its bizarrely wide smile appearing a moment later in a dimly lit corner of the room.

Its brooding form was voluptuous, the way its silhouette crossed its legs seductively, its dark claws extending beyond its long fingers. The curve of its bare breasts clouded by wounds, cut parallel, the yellowish and blood-stained scarlet bones of its ribs, exuberantly exposed as if they were royal adornments. Long hair that stretched in waves halfway down its spine, each bony disc of its spine bared. The crimson red lips and the uneven pearly teeth, canines, and wisdom teeth as sharp as spears. A turned pair of horns adorned its head. The heavy breathing made the man shiver.

The aureate eyes still sparked on the priest.

The man's trembling hand ran to the rosary at his neck, sitting on the bed soaked with the remnants of his restless sleep, Mateo whispered the purge prayer he had learned so many years ago and never expected to use.

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica…”, the Latin words poured out of his mouth with fervour. A sibilation near a snake hiss resonated from the creature comfortably seated on the ground.

“You don't know how to play…”, the silhouette's voice was amused, almost sweet, the forked tongue of the shadow made room for its red lips with contempt. “You won't get much by saying those words, Father, it's just that, words.”, A disdainful laugh covered the prayer of the man huddled on the bed. The shape rose from its place on the floor and began to move lazily around the room.

“Who are you, demon?”, asked the young priest's hoarse, trembling voice. Each dancing step of the shadow toward him made him shiver and shift uncomfortably on the mattress. Chills ran terribly through every limb of his body, the young man could feel the cold bones.

The creature sneered as it allowed its hungry golden eyes to roam over the priest's form, he shivered in alarm at the sight of the demonic shadow. The silver cross of the rosary burned in his steady palm. There was a terrified sparrow in his chest, making it difficult for him to breathe. The demon sprawled across the bed, close enough that the clergyman could once again feel the heat emanating from its lascivious silhouette. Briefly escaping the creature's unholy heat, Mateo slid off the bed, his bare feet hesitantly touching the carpeted floor of the parish.

“I asked who you are, unworthy.”, the clergyman's whisper expressed order, as if he were the one in control of the situation. The demon laughed once more, an oddly healthy blush darkening its cheeks.

“I am the materialization of your lust, Mateo. The novice…”, a hand, claw, gestured towards the man of faith. “… your beloved novice has provoked my coming to you, your impure desires for her have brought about my coming.”, the disdain in the hellish creature's warm timbre sent a shiver down the parson's spine.

“Unholy creature…”, muttered Mateo, stepping back, his head moving incessantly in a negative nod. “Lies, lies flow from your demon mouth, I never did anything to the novice, ever.”, the outraged look of the priest never left the evil figure straddling his bed.

A derisive laugh echoed through the church structure into the young priest's bones.

“Hypocrisy doesn't suit you, Father. You know, there are no secrets for me. I've been in every dark corner of your mind, in every one of your dreams. I've peeked at everything and I know everything, don't deny anything to me. All the lies you've told, all the secrets you've left out, every impure, dirty, perverse thought that's ever passed through that pretty little head of yours, I know.”, Another sneer was present as the demon navigated around the frightened form of the priest, its humanoid shadow close to his ear. “I also know all the messes she wanted to do to you, daddy…”, the predatory voice of the entity didn't finish the biting whisper, the bachelor interrupted her abruptly.

“Don't say such nonsense! NO! She is pure, a good girl in heart and soul, her desires are perfectly natural, but she had the strength to resist them. I will not believe your lies, spawn of Satan!”, moving away from the place where he had been trapped between the bedside table and the shadow protruding, he took a deep breath. The once firm and reassuring voice failed to utter the words.

The shadow's pearly, toothy smile widened impossibly and its bizarre glowing eyes even more intense.

“Oh, Mateo… you can't be so innocent and believe that one of those 'good souls' in the convent next door will actually go to the so-called 'place of eternal bliss', can you? We know all good girls go to hell…”, the grimly dangerous and evil whisper resounded. The dark claws savagely caressed the young priest's flushed cheeks, scratching the pale skin, painting it with rosy marks.

“Blasphemy! A thousand times blasphemy, devil! God will always protect the good from the wicked, He has a good place kept for all who repent. A place of light you'll never reach, creature.”, Mateo spat the words out roughly. A swift flick of the demon's wrist landed a hard slap against Father Romero's face. His unsteady breath caught in his throat at the deadly glare the beast had given him.

“I am your death, Mateo, I was sent to take you. Where you are going is not a good place, I assure you, because that is where I came from.”, The threat danced hidden in its words. Romero shuddered and tried to pull away, only to be stopped by an inflexible barrier at his back. Trapped between the wall and the warm body of the creature that had positioned itself between his legs. “The second circle of hell awaits you, Father.”

“This is absurd! Demons don't come for mortals, that's not written, I had nev-”, the eager sigh left the young parishioner's lips as the insane depth of the entity's eyes became all he could see. Their bodies so pressed together that they could be one.

“Oh, Mateo, Mateo there is so much unwritten, so much that a mere glimpse of reality would destroy your poor mortal soul…”, a disdainful laugh reached the priest's ears. The golden orbs swallowed every coherent thought that the man of the clergy may have. “Would you like to glimpse what awaits you, good father? Do you want to hear the screams of the damned and the sultry smell of hell? The sickening sounds of bones being crushed by the incessant wind and the cry of more than a thousand souls torn apart by love? The playful moans of whores and the mournful wail of lovers? I can show you… I can guide you as Virgil guided Dante…”, the demon's sly whisper was sweet, tempting. The strangely comforting touch on his face, soothing the throb where he'd been hit.

Mateo leaned toward its crimson lips in a strange attraction. Those profane lips were magnetic, the young priest wondered what they would taste like. When their mouths were mere inches from touching, the demon turned away from his touch, an almost shy smile adorning its face.

“I cannot touch you if you don't give me a name.”, The words ran from its forked tongue like honey, its breath smelled of wine. “Mateo…”, continued the demon, its seductive voice a mere breathless whisper. “Say my name.”, Its voice, seemed to echo around the room, the order implicit in its command.

Mateo then somehow knew, his tongue sliding into his mouth, the tip tapping briefly behind his teeth as he serenely uttered the creature's name.

“Asmodeus.”, a Cheshire cat grin spread across the demon's face in understanding.

Gentle lips sealed with his.

The chaste kiss turned hungry, the creature greedily nibbled at the priest's lower lip, its sharp teeth breaking the delicate skin, the metallic taste of blood flooding its mouths. Romero shivered on a wave of pleasure as he felt the shadow's hand palm his still clad cock beneath his pants, he closed his eyes in appreciation. The demon swallowed his moans as it found an appropriate rhythm for its pulse strokes. Down a hungry trail of kisses along the jaw line and the column of the young priest's neck, the creature pressed against the firm thigh between his legs. A strangled gasp escaped the demon's scarlet-stained lips, a coil of heat forming a tiny bit in its lower belly.

Mateo opened his eyes with a guttural moan that resonated in his chest. His vision caught the youthful human form bathed in half light that the demon now displayed.

Her lacerated flesh had given way to soft, warm skin, her long claws shortened into dark, pointed nails, her wide smile torn across her angelic face was still there, but much more subtle, there were no more horns now and her golden orbs showed an inviting, cosy glow, like two pieces of gold.

Moving a firm hand up the side of the creature, the woman, now in front of him, Mateo squeezed the flesh of her hips, his brown eyes almost eclipsed with desire. The constant movements of the demon's pulse built a heat in his core. Her warm lips left dark marks across the young priest's white, spotted neck. A strangled moan escaped him as she bit down with particular force on the sweet spot where his neck met his shoulder.

Guilt filled Romero, the woman's open-mouthed kisses spread across his torso. Warm hands that pooled with the unholy heat of hell seeped under his shirt, the touch almost searing his white skin. The sharp edges of the nails left pinkish traces in their path. The young priest shivered as he felt the woman's fingertips curl into the waistband of his trousers. His member throbbing for contact.

Using her hips to press the priest where he needed it most, the demon used both hands to free Mateo of his clothes. The slightest touch of her fingers set fire to every corner that brushed the priest's skin. Goosebumps ran down his arms as the creature's warm breath spread across his bare shoulders as she lovingly sucked at a bruise on his wrist.

Leaving a trail of kisses down Mateo's chest and sucking dark bruises on her way, the demon stared hungrily at the lascivious stiffness between the priest's legs. Looking up through her long lashes, she parted her crimson lips and took in the regal outline of the fabric. Saliva and pre-cum soaked the fabric of his pants. The creature smiled minimally, being able to feel the heat emanating from him so well. Every lascivious noise and deep moan nearly made her come apart as she pressed her thighs together to ease the throbbing ache between them. A wave of pleasure coursed through the priest's body, his head lolled back against the wall and his mouth opened in a steady, husky moan.

“Oh my God…”, a languid, uneven sigh escaped him. His dark brows drawn together in effort, he'd never been touched, not once.

“Do not say His holy name in vain.”, A mischievous laugh emanated from the demon kneeling between his legs. Moist heat pooled between her thighs, every lilting noise that escaped the priest's thin lips sent a wave of delight to the creature's belly.

Infiltrating her slender fingers into the hem of the male figure's pants, she lowered them to mid-thigh. The woman's heavy, burning breath swept the sensitive skin of the lad's cock, a noise of pleasure reverberating in his throat. Carefully, Asmodeus guided the young man's cock into her mouth, outlining the flat of her tongue along its length. She could feel his pulse racing against her lips. The creature hungrily slid the tip of its tongue against the holy man's swollen, sensitive tip.

The acidic and slightly sweet taste invaded her red lips after a while, taking him into her mouth. He sounded so good to her ears. With particularly strong suction, he thrust against her face involuntarily. Repeating the gesture, the demon felt his cock twitch against her lips. His heavy breathing and guttural moans made her want to feel him inside.

Continuing the circular motions with her tongue, she felt his thighs tremble slightly as she ran her sharp nails over the pale skin. Pulling her mouth away from him for a moment, the creature gazed at his face, shrouded in the lustful mist of pleasure. Rising without warning, the woman laced her fingers in the priest's ebony waves and pulled him to her lips. Mateo could taste himself on her tongue. A husky gasp caught in his throat as he felt himself throb painfully. Before he could wrap his arms around her tenderly, Romero felt his back being pressed against the softness of the mattress. In order to continue kissing her, the young parish priest pulled her onto his lap. Using inhuman strength, Asmodeus pushed him onto the bed once more.

“Be good father, or I'll tie you up.”, the biting tone was lewd, setting the clergyman on fire.

Moving away from him, the shadow crept across the room with movements so fluid it looked like smoke on water. Her deft fingers caught on a chair in the corner, the purple girdle that Mateo wore over his cassock. A devilish smile once again spread across the entity's handsome features at the blasphemous idea that popped into her mind.

“Gird myself, Lord, with the girdle of purity, and extinguish in my loins the fire of passion, so that the virtue of continence and chastity may reside in me.”, the words of faith flowed from her demonic tongue with contempt. “What a hypocrisy…”, a nasal half-laugh, left her as she approached the priest with the liturgical girdle in hand. “Today, Father Romero, your chastity belt will have a much more…useful use.”, Her naked figure climbed onto the bed, straddling the holy man's hips for the second time that night.

Mateo's Adam's apple rose and fell slowly, his wide dark eyes watching in awe every subtle movement the lust demon made. The white chest speckled with a handful of auburn hair and flecks in an adorable constellation lifted and fell at an uneven pace. Extending the belt, the entity looped the priest's neck in a knit, the tightness of the noose lasciviously restricting the air in his lungs. He tensed his jaw in an unsuccessful attempt to contain a guttural growl as he felt the trickle of heat from the demonic woman pressing against him. One more loop, — this time looser —, around the column of his throat, and the warm whisper of the creature's boiling breath on his flushed cheeks caressed his ears.

“Give me your wrists, Father.”, she asked, the superior order hidden in the intricacies of the words.

Obediently, Mateo raised his fists in prayer. Her wide approving smile told him she approved of the submission of the gesture.

“I'll burn in hell for this.”, The young parson's trembling voice resonated hoarse with lust, the girdle loop tightening and marking the pale skin of his wrists and neck.

“Did you forgot Father? I came here to take you even before you give in to me. Before begging for my attentions like a whore.”, The insults made him vibrate against her. His swollen member throbbing painfully pressed against the weight of her hips, nestled deep in the damp slit.

Pulling hard on the knot of the girdle, testing its snare, the demon had its golden eyes engulfed by a heretical fire.

“Now, I'll make use of that chaste mouth of yours, heathen.”, The word echoed in his mind, a blazing fire burning in his lower belly, he could be undone with just her words.

With languid movements she climbed up his body, placing a knee on either side of the young priest's head, she tightened the knot of the girdle wrapped in her hand. Mateo salivating at the sight of the wet intimacy in front of his face, moistening his thin lips, he gasped heavily, the noose at his throat pulling him toward her.

A deep growl vibrated in the creature's chest as hesitantly and inexperienced Mateo traced with his hot tongue a streak in the damp crevice of the demon. Waves and waves of pleasure reverberated through the female figure, virginal strokes against her most sensitive spot making her shiver. The fiery spiral building inside her. Mateo was inexperienced, but his hunger made him a devoted lover, he paid attention to every shudder and moan she produced, aware of what made her hips rock against his angelic face more eagerly. He smiled proudly as he made her scream as he invaded her drenched core with his tongue.

Pulling his face away from her centre, the female figure slapped him two hard slaps on each of his cheeks, giving them a lovely crimson hue and warming his skin.

“Keep your arrogance to yourself and work, priest, arrogance makes us proud and pride is a sin.”, the timbre of superiority she wore made him moan against the soft flesh of one of her thighs where he had deposited a humble kiss.

Turning his doe eyes once more to her, through his long lashes he fed on her vision, tasting her sweet juices again. Her voluptuous body shuddered, the exposed breasts he so craved to sink into his face, to kiss and taste, vibrated with ragged breathing. Romero felt on the edge of the abyss, about to fall. The obscene sounds of his sanctified mouth against her heat and the whining noises that escaped her crimson lips made him rigid as a rock. Dragging his slightly crooked teeth across the sensitive bud, Mateo sucked his tongue into the boiling interior and repeated the action.

The apex formed a tight spiral in the woman's belly, its loud growls making the young priest's hips hit the air. Her ridge came, and she rode his youthful face flushed with exertion. He drank her juices hungrily, the acidic sweetness of her bathing his lips and chin. Descending from her top, the demon hung hungrily over the priest, her back arched in delight as she placed one hand supporting her weight above the lad's messy hair and the other over his heart, which throbbed madly like a sparrow caged in his chest.

Her hot puffs of breath swept the young parson's skin, damp with sweat and fluid. Bending over him, she peered intently at the rose that covered Mateo's cheekbones and neck, he watched her in ecstasy with his deep-set eyes half-closed. The dim light reflected a blind glow in the juices of her deliverance that painted so adorably the young priest's thin lips.

Romero was lost in the vivid fire of the creature's aureate orbs. At that moment nothing else seemed to matter, he had given himself to the devil body and soul. He wouldn't mind spending eternity drowning in those eyes.

Sliding a sneaky hand down the clergyman's eager torso, she caressed his hip bone and revelled in the strangled gasp that left Mateo's lips as she embraced the priest's swollen length. Very deftly she guided him cautiously to her entrance, brushing her wetness with it, listening pleasurably to the hoarse moan that slipped down the priest's sweet tongue and sank into him, watching him bite his lower lip in a failed attempt to contain his noises of pleasure. She felt so good around him, comfortably throbbing, vibrating with the stretch.

Mateo arched his back and rolled his eyes as she slid easily past him, riding at a slow pace. He had been on edge for so long, he didn't know how much more he would take. Unexpectedly gently, the demon untied the girdle of the priest's wrists with a flick of her fingers.

Dark nails that were once claws carved a thin cut into the clergyman's wrist. The sting of pain did not help the priest to contain himself, a low hiss escaping him. Scarlet blood ran in a trail down her target forearm, the creature's infernally hot tongue traced the crimson path across the skin, collecting. Sandalwood and blood mingled into a sweet, ironic taste in the demon's mouth. The slow thrust of his hips elicited deep moans from the cleric.

“L-our father… wh-… in heaven…”, the prayer melted away on his tongue, his soul too given up to be saved. His mind too lost on the hard, vague strokes of the woman's hips to regret it.

Running her nails over the sensitive skin of the priest's torso, she trailed kisses down his throat, the clicking of the wood of the bed, timed by her movements, joined with the watery sounds from where their bodies connected in an unholy symphony. Dark bruises formed under his jaw line, the cut on his wrist regurgitated blood greedily from the racing pulse, the entity's lips wrapped around the bloody wound, sucking hungrily. Oh, how sweet he was! So pure, so chaste. The simple idea of corrupting him made her milk him in a shiver of pleasure. The spiral of lustful heat was gradually tightening in her core once more.

Mateo matched the woman's hips with effort, her hard thrusts carrying him to his release. The feel of her velvety walls welcoming him so deeply made him arch his back beautifully in awe. Running his strong hands, now loose, through the soft flesh of the entity's thighs, the priest moaned softly as he pulled her against him, going deeper. His restless hands stroked every part they could reach. Hungry, Romero captured one of the creature's breasts in his lips, sucking reddened marks, nipping at the skin and licking the valley between them, tasting the forbidden fruit.

Tipping her head back as the cleric's firm hands pressed eagerly into the flesh of her hips and his thin lips feasted on her bosom, the creature hissed sacrilegious as she held him. Mateo had been close for so long, she wouldn't stop him much longer. Moving quickly, the demon slid her hands over Father Romero's arms, until his beautiful hands, intertwining their fingers, Asmodeus pinned the priest's wrists above his tousled brown hair and took aggressive thrusts against him.

The young priest's guttural moans fanned the fire in her heart. Connecting their lips once more in a heated kiss, Mateo screamed hoarsely, intoxicated with the excessive stimulation. When the woman's sharp fangs sank into his lower lip and the metallic taste of blood soaked through his senses, a sure move of the creature's hips unravelled it. His hot charge painting the inside of the woman's velvety walls.

The demon didn't stop its movements.

Overstimulation tears ran from the corners of his brown eyes, sliding down his temples and getting lost in the dark strands of his locks. The excruciating pain of the coarse thrusts of her hips gradually turned pleasurable again, his length hardening within her heat unnaturally, as the glowing eyes of the demon looked deeply into his soul.

The demon smiled in ecstasy, sinfully seeking its own deliverance as it fed on the elder's pain. Her hot tongue traced the gleaming marks of the priest's tears, the salt from them burning down her throat. Pure tears, the creature reflected. The initial sweet rejoicing of the first instalment of the parish priest's soul. His salty taste, the pleasurable toil, was all she needed to reach the pinnacle again. Her walls so warm and inviting crushed him with the intense climax.

Mateo buried his face in the crook of the woman's neck and let out a tearful moan as he precipitated one last stammering thrusts, tearful he broke free inside her, his sore throat muted. His remaining breath was stolen from his lungs by a deep kiss. The taste of his tears and his blood mingling on their tongues.

His heartbeats quieted. The sparrow caged in his chest soothed, and the hellish warmth of the demon resting on him warmed his body. Regaining control of his mind, Mateo sobbed, the remnants of his faith getting the better of him, the priest prayed in a whisper to himself.

“Lord, I'm sorry I offended you. I hate all my sins because of your just punishment. But above all, because they offend you. Lord, who is all good and deserving of all my love. I am firmly resolved, with the help of your grace, to sin no more and to avoid the approaching occasion of sin… Amen.”, The words that once had so much meaning escaped his mouth worthless, the glittering pity that cascaded down his doe eyes salted the red lips of the devil that heretic was placing a kiss on the presbyter's damp temple.

Father Romero willingly entered the devil's arms and welcomed them as an old friend. From that day forward, every sin would be a gift, every sacrilege a pray.

Mateo became haunted in every sense of the word.

#priest!daniel bruhl x reader #priest! daniel #priest!daniel #padre antonio x reader #father antonio x reader #father romero x reader #father romero #father mateo romero x reader #daniel bruhl x reader #daniel bruhl smut #daniel brühl fanfiction #daniel brühl x reader #mateo romero #daniel bruehl x reader #daniel bruhl x reader smut #ofc sister agnes #ebie's writing

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harvardfineartslib · 3 years

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“Contemporary indigenous artists continue to challenge non-Native definitions and assumptions of what is traditional, spiritual, environmental — indeed, what is Native. The artists of Reservation X, influenced by urban and rural environments and Native and non-Native cultures, explore concepts of community and cultural identity through innovative work that reflects their distinct personal and artistic backgrounds, as well as their individual ideas about community, however it may be defined — reservation, reserve, rural, urban, or the hundreds of possibilities in between.” – Bruce Bernstein, p.13.

Image 1: Front cover

Image 2: C. Maxx Stevens. “if these walls could talk” Installation. Description by the artist: The installation is “about stories coming out of walls. I introduce myself as C. Maxx Stevens, a Seminole from the Oklahoma region. I’m making a classroom situation, a long room divided up into two sections. “My name is Maxx” is written on the blackboard I set up desks with books on them that contain my family history. As you walk by the walls, you catch sounds of people telling their stories.”

Image description: Left: Classroom setting with wooden school chairs and a black board. Right: A long table with table clothes and onions on top, and two wooden benches.

Image 3: Mateo Romero. “Painted Caves” Mural installation. Description by the artist: “It is about the past, about connection, and about a sense of my community. In particular, it is about my family — my grandparents, my father, and myself. This structural narrative is very closely modelled after the Painted Caves Shrine in Bandelier National Monument.”

Image description: Large black and white drawing hangs on the curved wall that is painted in red.

Reservation X Edited by Gerald McMaster. Subtitle on cover: Power of place in aboriginal contemporary art Seattle, Wash., USA : University of Washington Press ; Hull, Quebec, Canada : Canadian Museum of Civilization, c1998. 164 p. : ill. (some col.) ; 28 cm. Catalogue of an exhibition originally held in the First People's Hall of the Canadian Museum of Civilization, curated by Gerald McMaster. English HOLLIS number: 990080669900203941

#nativeamericanheritagemonth #nativeamericanartist #contemporaryindigenousartist #reservationx #mateoromero #cmaxxstevens #fineartslibrary #harvardfineartslibrary #Harvard #harvard library #harvardlibrary

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bazzverse · 4 years

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@fvlklore said: look your jealousy is PURE insanity + nasare

❛ Is it tho? ❜ E embora a loura tivesse rebatido a acusação sem hesitar, seu olhar fugia do de Cesare e sua voz saia em um fio, quase melancólica. Não era algo comum a Maria Fernanda, que tão dificilmente se permitia expressar qualquer emoção, mas até ela precisava admitir que estava exausta demais para lutar com toda aquela situação. A Romero nunca havia sido uma pessoa fácil e tinha total consciência disso. Poderia fria, territorial, ardilosa e manipuladora, era verdade, mas também nunca havia tido a chance de ser apenas sorrisos e ternura. Em um mundo como o seu, sem ninguém para ativamente protegê-la da forma como ela própria havia feito com Cordelia, era preciso ser daquele jeito. E por muito tempo acreditava que era certo ser do jeito que era. Que aquilo era uma escolha, um sinal de força. Que ter inúmeros muros envolta de si era bem melhor que ter seu coração partido, de novo. Afinal, cada uma das vezes em que se permitiu ser vulnerável, havia resultado em lembretes do porque não o deveria ser — muitas vezes das próprias pessoas que deveriam ser biologicamente programadas para não o fazer. Nanda se orgulhava de ser a mais esperta, mas era ali que percebia o quão burra era realmente. Porque havia permitido que Cesare se aproximasse o suficiente para que perdesse a certeza que aquilo entre eles era apenas mais um caso sem importância. E por alguma razão que ia além dela própria, ele a amava — de uma forma que ela nunca havia sido amada antes. A pior parte é que ele a fazia querer ser mais como a querida e perfeita Pomodora, cujo sorriso doce e cativante parecia aproximar todos com quem Nanda se importava sem dificuldade alguma. Mas como ir contra algo que havia lhe sido praticamente ensinado a sua vida toda? Cada vez que tentava via o quão impossível era e aquilo a enchia com um sentimento que a mais velha das gêmeas detestava: medo. ❛ Maybe with your cousin, sure. ❜ Ela deu de ombros como se não fosse grande coisa, precisando morder a língua para não chamar a coitada de Poh. E tentando se proteger recuperar algum senso próprio, a espanhola cruzou os braços diante o próprio peito e se forçou a segurar o olhar de Cesare, torcendo para que ele já não a conhecesse o suficiente para notar o receito escondido em seus olhos. ❛ But it's not insanity. ❜ ❛ Insanity is thinking that someday you won't realize how wrong we are together or how exhausting this is for the both of us. Or even that it's simply not worth the trouble. ❜ That I'm not worthy, queria poder dizer, mas o orgulho simplesmente não lhe permitia. Não havia nada que Maria Fernanda detestasse mais do que reconhecer as reais marcas que a negligência dos pais haviam lhe causado. ❛ Just look at us, ❜ ela disse, e gesticulou para eles dois, tomando um momento para puxar o ar com força e fincar as unhas nas palmas, buscando algum controle. Deus sabia que não queria começar a chorar ali. ❛ What kind of future do you think we can have? Our parents are married, for God’s sake. For far more time that I thought it was possible, so it must mean something. And even so, even if they weren't, then what? ❜ A voz feminina, sempre tão calma, se ergueu algumas oitavas, já soando embargada com as emoções que se rebelavam dentro de si. ❛ Do you really think we can be Nanda and Cesare, going on actual dates, holding hands, all lovey-dovey? ❜ Cuspiu. Queria rir com o absurdo daquela ideia toda, mas o som que escapou soou terrivelmente parecido com um soluço estrangulado. E quando Cesare tentou se aproximar, ela recuou. Não queria sentir o toque dele — não se aquela fosse a última vez que o faria. ❛ I'm no good for you, Cesare. Don't you even try to say no because we both know is true. Everyone knows! Or do you really think I don't notice how your friends look at you with those pitiful stares?? ❜ Pobre tolo apaixonado, deveriam pensar, tendo que aguentar a marrenta que nem mesmo sabia como demonstrar o quanto se importava. Estava tudo bem, era o que ela própria pensava algumas vezes. ❛ And I know — I know I'm not even your type. I mean, just look at the people around you!! They're your mother, Cornelia, your cousin, even Mateo. They're cheerful, relaxed, happy. Even that girl you brought to my father's party with those big dove eyes! Everyone but me and it doesn't matter how I try for you — because of you —, I just can't be like that. In fact, I'm everything you hate about those goddamned wa- ❜ A frase foi cortada por outro soluço e quando os braços dele finalmente a envolveram, Nanda não encontrou forças o suficiente para lutar. Ao invés disso apenas afundou o rosto na camisa dele e confirmou que estava mesmo ficando louca quando sentiu o tecido se encharcar em questão de segundos. Porque não, o ciúme dela não era insanidade. Porque um dia ele iria embora ( afinal, todos iam ) e tudo voltaria ao normal. Exatamente como deveria ser, a única diferença é que ela já não estaria mais acostumada com a solidão. Talvez nunca mais estivesse. Insanidade, na verdade, era saber que ele já tinha aquele poder sobre ela, é ainda assim o abraçar apertado ao invés de afastá-lo. Insanidade era a tão forte e independente Maria Fernanda Romero ter se apaixonado pelo seu meio irmão. O único que nunca poderia ter e ainda assim ter a certeza que não poderia perdê-lo.

#∕ nasare #∕ roma #∕ prompt

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daddyxleroy · 5 years

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тнe мa ғaмιly

jason momoa - leroy ma ( the father )

michael b jordan - roman ma in a relationship with xo | ( blood related to trey )

tyler posey - gabe ma in a relationship with riley pembroke

jake t austin - levi ma ( triplet with bailey & hailey )

kaylee bryant - bailey ma ( triplet with levi & hailey )

sara waisglass - hailey ma ( triplet with levi & bailey )

mya montoya - deanna ma soon to be in a relationship with xavier

myka montoya - dani ma soon to be in a relationship with ej

kim nahyun - shazlyn ma

bae joohyun - viola ma

park chorong - sofia ma

kim sihyeon - colby ma

hwang yeji - raquel ma

park sooyoung - anjelite ma

Yara Shahidi as Faith

Vannesa Morgan as Amariah

Zendaya as Harmony “Bree”

Diggy Simmons as Trey (blood related to roman)

Tina Woods as Hazel

Danielle Rose Russell as Ivy

Sarah Shahi as Trinity ( the mother)

тнe peмвroĸe ғaмιly

chris evans - david pembroke ( the father )

alex fizalan - kyler pembroke

hailee steinfeld - valerie pembroke

lili reinhart - kaila pembroke flirting with trey ma

greta from all american - brooklyn pembroke in a relationship with kingston hofferman

nick robinson - dustin pembroke flirting with ivy ma

timothee chalamet - connor pembroke

oh hayoung - bethany pembroke

Brittany O’ Grady as Liliana

Crystal Reed as Riley (girlfreind to gabe mahelona alverz)

Brenton Thwaites as Jeremy

Christian Yu as James

margot robbie as Luciana (the mother)

тнe parĸer ғaмιly

jessica alba - laura parker ( the mother )

carter jenkins - anthony parker

yoon bomi - sierra parker

noah centineo - mateo parker

vanessa merrell - jane parker

jung yerin - kelsey parker

kim jongin - jacob parker

hwang eunbi - lena parker

Elizabeth Gillies as Avery

Kaya Scodelario as Mia

Tom Holland as Daniel

Ryan Destiny as Jorydan

Henry Cavill as Nathaniel “Nate” (the father)

camila mendes - brinley parker

тнe oc'ѕ

Lindsey Morgan as Ximena “Xo” Santiago (girlfriend of Roman Mahelona-Alverez )

Charles Melton as Kingston “King” Hofferman ( boyfriend to Brooklyn Pembroke)

Michael Evans Behling as Elijah “EJ” Turnner ( “boyfriend” to Dani)

Zayn as Xavier “X” Romero (boyfriend to denna)

Gal Gadot as TBN

#ma family.#pembroke family.#parker family.#the family

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edgewoodrp · 5 years

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A recap of character experiences from March 1st through September 30th, 2019.

Enjoy!

Audrey Mitchell

Went door to door searching for leads on the matter of Emilia Zimmerman’s mysterious disappearance.

Teased with an incomplete tale of misadventures featuring drink vouchers and drag queens.

Became a roadside savior to a car broken down on the back roads between Ashland and Edgewood.

Drank more caffeine than any one person reasonably should, no doubt

Met up with Russell Hemlock to freshen up his trivia skills before another game night at their usual haunt.

Had the worst Friday ever and, after letting some thoughts about her empty house get under her skin, talked herself into adopting a puppy.

Beatrice Larson

Beatrice had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. After a horrible morning, she got knocked into and spilt her coffee all over herself. David was nice enough to give her a spare shirt and a place to decompress

Beatrice was shocked by a bench after Claudia bumped into her on the street on Friday the 13th. She has no idea how or why the bench shocked her, it shouldn’t have happened like that.

Watched Audrey get shocked by a street lamp pole before the other woman knocked into her, spilling coffee.

Caterina Singh

After finally being awarded her promotion as a journalist (to write the gossip column under a penname), Cat went out celebrating and reconnected with some townies.

During a break at the summer festival, she explored the twisty fun-house with Tristan Kong and strange, unexplainable things happened.

For Valerie Bianchi’s birthday, Caterina hosted a small slumber party.

On an off day, she was reminded of some unfortunate events and had a small break down in front of Ronan North.

During Ashland Street Days, she helped some people find eclectic items after touring the booths several times and finding many oddities (seriously, who proudly displays a bedazzled cattle skull?!)

Charlotte Kingsley

Reconnected with her sister Bridgette, Preston Hawthorne, Rosie Arceneaux, Maxine Beauchamp, Monty McAllister, and other old friends upon her arrival back in Edgewood.

Got into a car accident with Mateo Garcia during the freak whiteout.

Took pictures of the local college campuses for Karen Pierce and the PTA for a collegiate project they’re working on.

Had a tense re-introduction to Trevor during the HAGS Carnival.

Wandered into the North Star Lounge purely by chance on the night of Logan Cree’s surprise birthday party.

David Elmasri

David rescued Preston Hawthorn from public humiliation and struck up a close friendship with him.

He found Juliet Hawthorn after she let out a significant amount of blood and became suspicious of whatever was behind this.

He saw himself destroying Brewed Awakenings in anger during a vision and brought a gun into reality. He buried the gun at Pleasant Rest Cemetery before anyone else could see, although he was caught in the woods with a shovel by Simon Romero-Martin.

He has been suffering with the internal conflict of his new found ability, unsure how to keep it under control or whether it has any benefit at all that is work the risk of getting caught.

Frankie Holloway

Frankie has been watching out for other patrons at bars.

Xe ran into Monty McAllister at the grocery store and caught up with him.

On September 13th, which fell on a Friday in 2019, Frankie was plagued by visions all day and had little control over xir other powers. Xir sense of sight also faded as the day went on.

Heather Payne

Heather has been growing increasingly frustrated with her job at Hope Wellness Pharmacy and is hoping for a chance to leave.

She is taking Wu Shu Kung Fu lessons from Tristan Kong, and she meets up with her friend Claudia Rinaldi after their kickboxing lessons together. She continues to also train in potion making and magic.

She met Raiden Dryad when she attacked him outside of his club. Their next few encounters weren’t quite as hostile and they even saved a man’s life together, but there is still some tension.

Friday the 13th in September of 2019 came with some strong side effects, including Heather losing control of her powers and almost exposing magic and her experiencing some intense visions.

Maggie See

Caught up with Maxine while spending the night out and a guy wouldn’t mind his own business.

Met Tristan when he rescued her from a creeper at a bar and then helped her deal with a potential panic attack.

Baked Trevor a rather lopsided cake for his birthday.

Maggie worked at the PTA carnival at the bake sale booth and taking tickets for the fun house, which gave her a funny feeling.

Reconnected with Monty at the carnival

Worked the bake sale booth with Trevor, made fun of Karen.Simon came and gave Maggie a break from the fun house

Logan came and tried to sell her raffle tickets

Mateo came and talked to her at the fun house

Valerie tried to get her to buy things from the bake sale table

Waited on Heather when she came into the diner, misunderstood her questions about another patron as finding him attractive

Ran into Valerie while out candle shopping, the two ended up browsing for candles together

Ran into Preston at the library, they chatted for a while and he asked her about baking advice, Maggie was surprised because she’s not had the best track record in the past.

Maggie saw a ghost and could not get away from it in time, resulting in her having a panic attack and freaking out on those who tried to help her.

Met Juliet, who was asking her all sorts of questions about ghosts. It seemed like she had a loved one that she wanted to talk to again. Maggie was not here for that, she just wanted to have a panic attack in peace, thanks.

Maxine helped her back to The Underworld

Heather tried her best to fight the ghosts for Maggie

Monty, being somewhat of a pro, helped Maggie get to somewhere farther away from the ghosts and helped her through her panic attack

Tristan wanted to get Maggie to a doctor, which she refused. He stilled helped her get to somewhere safer

She totally freaked out on Logan when he doubted the existence of ghosts

Maggie went to pick up some items that she had ordered from Miss Rosie and Simon was working the counter. They noticed what she was buying and tried to offer Maggie a protection charm, but Maggie didn’t realize that it was probably a gift and refused because she didn’t have enough money to buy anything else but what she had come in for.

Maggie went to the Underworld to celebrate Maxine’s birthday. She decided to let loose and get drunk, since it’s a space that she feels safe, and she knew that Maxine wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her in the club. She also made her a somewhat lopsided birthday cake.

Maggie found an ugly cat in the dumpster at work and brought it home, much to the annoyance of Trevor.

Ran into Monty on their terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. She could tell that he wasn’t doing so hot but was refusing her help. But she also wasn’t feeling too hot so decided to take advantage of the fact that he wouldn’t turn her away when in need to keep an eye on him as well.

Maxine Beauchamp

Got some outsider opinions on what event Underworld Night Club should host next.

Due to an odd encounter in the woods, Maxine has now, semi-reluctantly, become a mentor to Phoenix Castillo.

Made a pact with Bridgette to go sober, because they both caught each other in compromising positions, but it didn’t last that long.

Conspired with Simon to change the terrible music at the carnival to something less abrasive.

Thanks to the input of others, Underworld hosted a amateur drag show for Edgewood’s Pride Week.

Her suspicions were raised after running into another potential vampire at her night club, so she is updating Ronan on their shared list of suspects.

And now she has celebrated her 33rd trip around the sun with some close (and not so close) friends.

Monty McAllister

Got turned around looking for a grocery store and ended up running into his childhood best friend, Trevor Wells.

At the HAGS Carnival, he split a funnel cake with a friend, then visited several others at the food booths. Later, he was spotted by his older sister, and consequentially made his return to Edgewood known to his family.

After a big falling out with his family, Monty had a little heart-to-heart with Ronan North in the park, and later struggled to deal with the aftermath of the disastrous familial encounter.

Met Karen Pierce while they were both fleeing his older sister in a crowded shopping mall.

During the events of Friday the 13th, he struggled to deal with an onslaught of visions throughout the day, the most notable of which featured Simon and a Change.

Phoenix Castillo

Phoenix has surprised many people on her adventures through the woods. She has made a new friend in Valerie Bianchi this way, but only thoroughly confused Tristan Kong.

She has started training her telepathy with Maxine.

She met Juliet Hawthorne at the Mystery Shack and found out that she is a vampire turned by Phoenix’s Great Uncle Leon. Phoenix is still hesitant around vampires though after some intense encounters with Logan Cree.

She has became friends with Preston Hawthorne after discovering a shared love of dance at the local library.

Raiden Dryad

Raiden and Juliet shared whiskey and exchanged taunts.

Met Caterina at Ashland Street Days and briefly discussed odd finds at the stalls.

Potentially insulted psychic werewolf Ronan North at Ashland Street Days about his father’s flannel shirts, and continued attempting to rile the wolf up.

Ran into Tristan outside the Crossroads Club, who was involved in an argument on his phone.

Had a suspicious meeting with Claudia after she barged into his club and admitted she had unestablished business with one of Raiden’s employees.

Almost beheaded Valerie with a mobile phone and had an odd conversation with them with supernatural-related jibing. Is currently attempting to suss out who and what they are at the Grille.

Was jumped by a blade-wielding Heather and came to a reluctant truce with the witch.

Tried to help Juliet hunt down Hawthorne birth records whilst acquiring his own sustainable blood supply at the hospital.

Introduced himself to Logan at the other vampire’s birthday party.

Offered Monty some guidance in choosing a dinner wine for his family dinner.

With some assistance, Raiden helped save a stranger’s life from a car accident.

Ronan North

Tracked down Wesley Callaghan with the help of his bartender, Evangeline Priestly, after Wes skipped out on another tab.

Bit the bullet and put some of his father’s old clothes up for sale during Ashland Street Days. Parting with those flannels was sweet sorrow.

Ran with Harley Chapman on a full moon.

Experienced some unusual bad luck on Friday the 13th. He lost control of his Change and turned in broad daylight while responding to his pack beta’s SOS. His other senses diminished as he found the beta and broke up an altercation between them and Simon Romero-Martin.

Russell Hemlock

At Ashland Street Day’s car show, Russell accidentally spilled ice cream on one of the cars and recruited help from others, only to find out it was Ronan’s late father’s car. Whoops.

Simon Romero-Martín

Upset a townsperson or two -and their balance- chasing after a “lucky” snail.

Volunteered as a face painter at the Have A Great Summer Carnival and made a number of the patrons’ day something truly magical.

Assisted Preston Hawthorne in ridding himself of a spell-generated doppelgänger that overstayed its welcome.

Spent every full moon diligently keeping their transformations behind lock, key, and spell…

Was interviewed by the watcher.

Bribed Monty McAllister with coffee and breakfast to hike out into the woods and help her take care of her cats.

Was rescued from having to walk their flat-tired bike home by Raiden Dryad.

Ran out of luck with their usual transformation preparations on Friday the 13th and stirred up some trouble with members of the Ashland pack.

Xavier Bennett

Talked classic cars and what their favorite decades were with Juliet Hawthorne at Ashland Street Days.

Gave Phoenix Castillo the shirt off of his back to wrap her bleeding hand after witnessing her trip in the rain, had an uncomfortable conversation about his psychic abilities.

Had dinner with Harley Chapman, but this is a weekly occurrence as she is his neighbor and one of his closest friends in Edgewood.

Served drinks to patrons such as Mateo Garcia and Bridgette Kingsley at Logan’s birthday party at the North Star Lounge.

Lamented about todays youth with David Elmasri at Brewed Awakenings when he went in for his morning coffee.

#edgewoodrecap #xavier bennett #simon romero martin #russell hemlock #ronan north #raiden dryad #phoenix castillo #monty mcallister #maxine beauchamp #maggie see #heather payne #frankie holloway #david elmasri #charlotte kingsley #caterina singh #beatrice larson #audrey mitchell #car accident mention #gun mention

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michelle-torres-actor · 6 years

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**Mateo Montez* Well , you guys some of you know that me and my Biological Sister @tlopez_10 just found each other by Ancestry DNA test. But wait there is moreeeee..... We also discovered we have another Sister, Patricia Montez,... And she is already comforting me and treating me like her little bird baby under her wing. I have spoken with two of my Cousins, Michelle Romero Castano, and Teresa Eplin, also a stepsister, Mary Alice Rodriguez, all so kind to welcome me into their Life.. For this I am so grateful and Truly Blessed I learned I also had a Brother but sadly he was taken at a young age from an automobile accident and drowned. 😥😥 Every day keeps blooming from this beautiful, beautiful Tree of Life more Family members. Soon I will hear my Biological Moms voice. This is the most emotional post I ever ever written on here and the feelings and tears that flood my soul are more than any I have ever felt before..... This is the first photo me and my sister Tonja have ever gotten to see of our Biological Dad. His name was Mateo, "Mateo Montez" Wasn't he Beautiful... And yes i can say that because that is exactly what he is to me. And what he would have been had i ever gotten to know him. He perished in a vehicle accident not many years after me and my sisters were born. (Correction, I just found out today 02/02/19 my Father perished from a self inflicted gunshot wound 😭) He was only 24. This photo makes me mourn the Father i never had a chance to know, the Father i never got to touch or feel the warmth of his arms around me telling me that everything was going to be okay, that i was safe with him. That he Loved me.... How can it feel like I knew him, like I really knew him just from studying his photo. And why does it hurt so so much !! RIP my Beautiful Father, I have Always Loved You. ❤️😫😥😥😥 Why is Life so very cruel, WHY????!!!!?????? #ancestry #ancestrydna #dna #geneology #taken #texas #cps #stolen #adopted #adoptionstory #michelletorres #sheilamontez #montez #montezfamily https://www.instagram.com/p/Btdx8YjgS2D/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=igxe4iajjquz

#ancestry #ancestrydna #dna #geneology #taken #texas #cps #stolen #adopted #adoptionstory #michelletorres #sheilamontez #montez #montezfamily

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jennymanrique · 7 years

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California schools respond to students' fears of Trump immigration policies

Photo: Jenny Manrique

From meditation to soccer to art therapy, public schools in California are finding ways to help undocumented students navigate their emotions as they face new immigration policies.

On a recent Saturday, some 150 students from various Bay Area high schools spent the day talking about one of their biggest concerns: their emotional health in the age of Donald Trump.

The students, most of whom were undocumented, others with a relative without papers, were at the annual “High School DREAMers Unite!” event, held at Sequoia High School (SHS) in Redwood City, 30 miles south of San Francisco.

“We all have to learn to deal with emotions, especially at this time of so much anger when many feel they want to leave the United States,” said Marvin, a 16-year-old Salvadoran who is part of the Dreamer’s Club at SHS. Latinos make up nearly 60 percent of the student population at his school, with an estimated one undocumented student per classroom.

In the first 100 days of the Trump administration, immigration detentions increased by 38 percent over the same period in the previous year, according to a recent report by Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE). Of the 41,318 arrested, 26 percent (10,845 people) had no criminal record. This means families with undocumented people do not feel safe – even in a space as traditionally sacred as a school.

“We feel vulnerable but we should not live in fear because then the government will just do what it wants while we stay in the shadows,” Maycol said.

In this new climate, California is shielding itself against Trump’s policies. According to the Department of Education, 57 school districts in the state – out of a total 330 – have tried to quell the fears of undocumented families by declaring themselves “safe havens” for immigrant children. That makes it the state with the highest number of resolutions in the country.

Aware of the fear and trauma in children triggered by personal circumstances and national policies, schools in California are offering alternative therapies to deal with these emotions.

Meditation and sharing

At the Redwood City event, children were encouraged to portray their emotions through art. Divided into groups, some painted the U.S.-Mexico border and wrote the word “fear”; others drew an ICE truck and a child hiding behind the door of a house; still others wrote words like “anxiety,” “anger” or “discrimination.”

Photo: Jenny Manrique

They also shared how they deal with these emotions and lead normal lives. “I get relief doing martial arts or hugging my dog,” said Sara, 14. “I take art classes here at school,” said Luna, 16. Diego, 15, said he does meditation in the mornings or when he’s about to take a test. “With my teammates we are using the Calm app,” he said, referring to an application that facilitates meditation.

Judy Romero, a psychologist and director of Sequoia High School’s Youth Resource Center, said it’s the third year meditation is being implemented at the school. “Teachers apply it in their classes,” she said.

Many teachers are astonished to hear the students’ painful stories of arrival in the country, said Romero, adding it’s seen as a “miracle” that those students can focus at all on their classes.

Most schools in San Mateo County, which encompasses Redwood City, have at least one or two counselors. SHS has three psychologists and five practitioners who offer free therapy for as long as a student needs it regardless of their immigration status.

“Many young people have suffered not only trauma in their countries but their parents at some point left them with other relatives, grandparents or uncles, to come here. The reunion here is a challenge because there is a lot of resentment, they feel strange,” explained Romero. Some children live in mixed-status families, where some members are undocumented, others have green cards or DACA, and others are citizens. “They experience confused feelings that can affect family dynamics because of jealousy, anxiety, or guilt. These workshops are very useful for them because they get to know other families in the same situation.”

In the United States, undocumented youth are granted equal rights to K-12 public education under a 1982 Supreme Court decision. Privacy laws also protect students by prohibiting schools from handing over information to immigration authorities.

Photo: Jenny Manrique

But in late March, civil rights groups asked the California Attorney General to investigate dozens of school districts throughout the state that were requiring parents to provide child social security numbers, citizenship status, and other sensitive information when they entered the country.

Demanding that families provide such information can cause a “chilling effect,” deterring parents from enrolling children in school, according to the San Francisco Bay Civil Rights Lawyers Area and California Rural Legal Assistance.

With bullying on the rise against Latino children in schools, Dreamer Clubs are becoming more popular as they provide immigrants with a greater sense of protection.

“The club is a response to the frustration many undocumented students encountered in their transition to college,” said teacher and founder Jane Slater, who has been working in the school for 25 years. The weekly club was formed nine years ago and has about 40 active members.

There are several annual events, such as a fundraising dinner and the Dreamers conference, which includes a workshop on emotions.

More and more members come out of the shadows and tell their personal stories in conferences, local churches and of course the school. “It has been very cathartic,” Slater added.

The role adults play

Most school districts in California employ the Cognitive Behavioral Intervention for School Trauma (CBITS) program designed to reduce the symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) in children. The intervention model seeks to involve families, teachers, guardians, coaches, and even school administrators in understanding that there are “highly sensitive” cultural elements in play in these children’s narratives. Today it is implemented in 14 states nationwide.

“Teachers have become a crucial component for the emotional support of kids especially when parents are busy doing three jobs,” said Melanie Wartenberg, director of mental health services at the East Bay Agency for Children (EBAC), who has been working for eight years with K-12 students in 16 schools in Alameda County, east of San Francisco. Through MediCAL (Obamacare in California), EBAC provides 23 therapists to these schools, including six who speak Spanish.

“We work with adults to understand what adverse childhood experiences are and the kind of neurological impact trauma has on children,” she said.

Many have difficulty regulating their emotions, are easily upset or hyperactive in the classroom and lack motivation to learn because they suffer from PTSD as a result of their migration experience. “Some experience disassociation when they hear the police patrol or the news, a feeling that has escalated due to the current political climate.”

Alameda County, which includes Oakland, provided $2.5 million in mental health services for the period 2016-2018. Yet Waltenberg said there are not enough bilingual practitioners.

According to the California Department of Education, total funding for grades K-12 in the period 2016-2017, including state, local and federal funds, is $88.3 billion. Of this, 10 percent comes from the federal budget. It’s unknown how much money goes specifically to mental health services.

Alicia Gallardo, a 37-year-old family therapy graduate whose own family emigrated from El Salvador in the 1970s, works for EBAC in a “Newcomers” program for immigrants or children of immigrants from El Salvador and Guatemala. She says some children do not consider crossing the border a traumatic experience. “Walking for six weeks, arriving alone separated from their families, going hungry and thirsty, are facts that they view as natural because they have developed very strong survival strategies to defend themselves,” she said.

Gallardo assists unaccompanied minors detained by immigration officers and placed in transition homes under the Refugee Resettlement Office program. Some of them have been reunited with their parents or another reliable adult and go to school while they wait for a court hearing. An estimated 400 such unaccompanied minors are enrolled in the Oakland School District.

Gallardo said there are several challenges. “As they have to face the immigration court, we do role-playing games to practice how they will respond to the judge’s questions and regain control of their lives.”

In the hearings, children tell of the traumas they witnessed or experienced, such as abuse, violence, or terrorism. This leaves many open wounds that have to be treated in therapy.

Photo: Jenny Manrique

“It’s a very stressful situation, especially because the courts do not have the responsibility to offer them any legal support and much less mental help,” she said.

Soccer and art

Axel, 18, left Guatemala three years ago and traveled to Mexico with his younger sister. Once on American soil, they were left alone by a coyote, without money or a way to communicate. “He left us with a backpack and some clothes,” Axel said. “We did not know what to do, to turn ourselves in was the only way.”

According to his account, he and his sister spent 15 days in a “cooler” in Texas, as ICE transitional detention centers are known, and ended up in a home in Arizona until they reunited with their father in California a month later.

Axel now studies at Oakland International High School and is about to graduate. “I get counseling twice a week. I’m one of those people who gets angry very easy and at some point I had an altercation that turned into a fight and I did not want to go back to that. Here I feel free to express myself,” Axel told Univision.

He said that the Soccer without Borders program, established in this secondary school in 2008, has been the most beneficial. “Through soccer, I speak to a lot of people who do not speak Spanish, so I learn from them and their customs. They are very supportive even outside of school,” he added.

Physical exercise helps the students cope with trauma, and belonging to a team gives them a sense of family, breaking the language barrier, said Lauren Markham, coordinator of Community School Programs at the school. She says there are almost 100 unaccompanied minors in the school and 30 percent of the students are undocumented.

“In addition to sports, collective therapy is very common. We have circles of restorative justice to resolve conflicts, groups for the development of masculinity, feminine solidarity and cultural integration. Since most are Latino, we have five groups in Spanish,” Markham said.

The county sponsors up to eight therapy sessions per student, and counseling promotes extracurricular activities. There are 10 counselors in charge; two work full-time and are bilingual.

Estephanie Noriega is a counselor through Family Counseling Services, one of the agencies responsible for handling cases of unaccompanied minors in Alameda County. She sees between 15 and 20 children a week.

“We do exercises with breathing techniques. We give them stress balls, puzzles, we have them write and color, so they can describe how they are feeling,” she said.

Noriega said that when Trump was elected, teachers encouraged students to draw and paint. Soon, the school yard was filled with posters drawn by children. “They drew lots of flowers and butterflies, inspiring phrases such as ‘we’re not going to drop,’ but also rude messages.”

Sanctuary schools

In interviews with Univision, children mentioned the words “fear” and “sanctuary” most often—the former to describe their emotions and the latter to describe what makes them feel protected in California. Since October 2015, all undocumented children in the state are covered by MediCal. At the beginning of April, the Senate also passed a state bill to convert the entire territory into a sanctuary. That’s waiting for a vote in the House.

Los Angeles is among 57 school districts is the state that have been declared sanctuaries. There, about 200,000 students are either immigrants or members of mixed-status families. On May 9, the Los Angeles school board approved a set of policies including that no immigration officer will be allowed to enter schools without authorization from the superintendent of each institution and only after consultation with the district attorneys.

That was a response to the February arrest of Rómulo Avelica-González, taken by ICE after dropping off one of his children at school while another child was waiting for him in the car.

“We train crisis counselors at all schools to serve children and families facing trauma,” said Pia Escudero, the Los Angeles Unified School District Director of Mental Health, who oversees nearly 300 professionals including social workers, psychiatrists and clinical psychologists.

“Since January 2017, we have had workshops for families to learn how to make a safety plan if there is a raid, where they are going to meet, who to call. The idea is to normalize as much as possible the situation so that children continue to go to school and focus on studying,” added Escudero.

In Los Angeles, each school has its own autonomous budget to hire social workers, nurses, or mental health service teams for children. There are also 14 mental health clinics and seven wellness centers, where children can receive counseling or therapy, regardless of their immigration status.

The Fresno Unified School District also recently took steps in a similar direction. On March 8, it passed a resolution stating that schools should not take immigration status into account, meaning they do not ask for social security numbers. The resolution includes a strict policy that prevents ICE agents from entering schools or addressing a student without the consent of parents or guardians.

Of 74,000 children in 80 Fresno schools, an estimated one-in-five are from mixed-status families. For them, the district provides 60 school psychologists, including 10 who are bilingual.

“Today we help them submit applications to DACA and to universities, because they fear the government will keep their data. The board supports them,” said Claudia Cazares, trustee of the Fresno School District.

The cities of Sacramento, Oakland, San Francisco, San Bernardino, Stockton, San Jose, Riverside, Long Beach, Santa Ana, San Diego and Fremont passed similar resolutions this year.

“Know your rights” workshops have also been held in various parts of California with support from the Mexican Consulate.

“The important thing is to tell the children that the trauma can be overcome,” says therapist Noriega. “They are not alone. The school system supports them.”

Originally published here

Want to read this piece in Spanish? Click here

#English #Mental health #California #Medical #undocumented #schools #unaccompanied minors #Donald Trump #PTSD #trauma

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ebiemidnightlibrarian · 3 years

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𝕾𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖚𝖎𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖑𝖊𝖉𝖎𝖈𝖙𝖚𝖘 | 𝕰𝖓𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖍

𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | AO3

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕯𝖊𝖒𝖔𝖓, 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕳𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖙𝖎𝖈 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕮𝖔𝖗𝖗𝖚𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖉

𝕴𝖓 𝕹𝖔𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖒

𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌 Father Romero x Demon! Reader

𝖘𝖎𝖓𝖔𝖕𝖊 Mateo is a man of faith, a good pastor and a just presbytery. However, even on its pure surface, the good father concealed his impure thoughts towards the young novice who always attended his masses. On a particularly revealing night, the priest comes across the entity his repressed desires have invoked.

Shall he surrender to the unholy tongue of a demon?

𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊𝖘 Horror, Fiction, Gore, Horror, Gothic Literature, Mystery, Thriller, Dark!Fanfiction.

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 Angst, Aggression, Blasphemy, BDSM, Heresy, Sacrilege, Blood, Sex (Explicit), Religious Images and Symbols, Smut, Priest Kink, Demon! Reader (Free-form), Disrespect for Religion, Suffocation, Masturbation, Oral Sex.

𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖚𝖘 COMPLETED

𝕽𝖊𝖖𝖚𝖎𝖊𝖒

𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌 Father Romero x Demon! Reader x OFC

𝖘𝖎𝖓𝖔𝖕𝖊 Nothing Yet =)

𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊𝖘 Horror, Fiction, Gore, Horror, Gothic Literature, Mystery, Thriller, Dark!Fanfiction.

𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖚𝖘 TBA

𝕷𝖚𝖝 𝕻𝖊𝖗𝖕𝖊𝖙𝖚𝖆 𝕷𝖚𝖈𝖊𝖆𝖙 𝕰𝖎𝖘

𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌 Father Romero x OFC x Implied Demon! Reader

𝖘𝖎𝖓𝖔𝖕𝖊 Nothing Yet =)

𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊𝖘 Horror, Fiction, Gore, Horror, Gothic Literature, Mystery, Thriller, Dark!Fanfiction.

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 Angst, Aggression, Blasphemy, Heresy, Sacrilege, Blood, Religious Images and Symbols, Demon! Reader (Free-form), Disrespect for Religion, Possession, Catholic Guilt, Exorcism, Chase.

𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖚𝖘 TBA

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗'𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊:

Mateo Romero is an OC created by me to write stories as a variant of the character “Padre Antônio” played by Daniel Brühl for the film Intruders (2011). This OC was also inspired by the Original Character “Father Daniel González/Domingo”, created by @creme-bruhlee.

English isn't my first language, so I'm deeply sorry for any writing mistakes you might find.

If you desire to be tagged use this Google form to inform me, please, so I can keep it organized =) The character has a playlist on Spotify, you can find it here, or just by searching for ‘father romero is a sinner’ in the search bar.

I won't omit anything, this is pure blasphemy! There is much disrespect for the Catholic faith and the use of symbolism typical of belief in situations that can be considered heretical. If that's not your thing, I honestly don't recommend you read it.

If you, dear reader, have decided to ignore all warnings about this story, you are on your own, I am not responsible for anything you find. By the way, minors, this is obviously not for you!

𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

@stardustandgunpowder

#daniel bruhl smut #daniel bruhl x reader #daniel brühl fanfiction #daniel brühl x reader #father antonio #father romero x reader #father mateo romero x reader #father romero #mateo romero oc #padre antonio x reader #father antonio x reader #priest! daniel #priest!daniel #priest!daniel bruhl x reader #ofc - sister agnes #mateo romero

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ebiemidnightlibrarian · 3 years

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In Noctem | Father Romero x Demon!Reader | Portuguese

(esse gif não me pertence, créditos ao dono)

SUMÁRIO | MASTERLIST

AVISOS: Desrespeito a Religião, BDSM (Leve), Sexo (Explícito), Sufocamento (para fins sexuais), Sangue, Masturbação (implícita), Sexo Oral (leitor afab), Heresia.

OBS.: Descrições de tonalidade de pele, cabelo e corpo foram propositalmente vagas para que todos os interessados possam ter sua vez.

Contagem de Palavras: 7.6K

N/A: Aqui está a minha contribuição para a spooky season! Aproveite!

A MISSA NOTURNA havia acabado de terminar quando o jovem padre de cabelos castanhos sentiu em seu âmago um calafrio obscuro lhe subir a espinha arrepiando cada fio dourado em sua nuca. Alguns dos últimos fiéis que haviam comparecido à missa deixavam a igreja, os bancos de mogno gradativamente esvaziando-se mais uma vez naquele dia. As luzes estavam apagadas e apenas algumas velas pontuais iluminavam com sua luz bruxuleante a ampla nave da igreja, permitindo que o lugar fosse engolfado na penumbra.

Despedindo-se pacientemente, o padre Mateo acenou para um casal de senhoras que haviam o cumprimentado pela bela missa. Seus profundos olhos de um marrom-ébano, então, captaram um movimento sutil de um vulto pálido à sua direita. Tornando o olhar caloroso para o dito vulto, Mateo avistou o rosto angelical da jovem que era noviça no convento próximo.

A jovem raramente perdia uma missa do padre Romero, mesmo que às vezes se atrasasse ou precisasse convencer a matrona que não se demoraria. As freiras de St. Agnes tinham sua própria missa no convento, mas a noviça nunca se deleitou com nenhuma delas como com as missas do padre da igreja ao lado. Para ela, Mateo Romero tinha um jeito especial com as palavras, um que fazia um calor pontuar dentro de si, em seu cerne. A noviça sempre se sentia mais perto de Deus naquela igreja, ouvindo as palavras doces de fé do jovem padre.

“Boa noite, padre Romero”, ela sorriu gentilmente, um rubor amável lhe cobrindo as bochechas, seu hábito branco como leite, puro, um rosário firmemente envolvido na mão. Aproximando-se lentamente, o padre a cumprimentou com um sorriso.

“Boa noite.”, falou o padre com sua voz rouca cadenciada. “O que posso fazer por você minha filha?”, ele indagou, suas palavras ecoando pela igreja vazia. Ele a estudava com os olhos, uma faísca por trás deles.

A jovem noviça não pôde evitar o pensamento de que o padre parecia atraente demais para um homem do clero, especialmente quando usava a Túnica Alva nas missas, seu coração pulou uma batida com o pensamento que permeou sua mente. Sem olhá-lo nos olhos, pois o rosário desgastado em sua mão parecia muito interessante de repente, ela continuou.

“Eu… Gostaria de me confessar padre.”, ela conta, o rubor em suas maçãs se tornando quase um escarlate na meia luz da penumbra. Mateo mal pôde conter a suave risada anasalada com a timidez da jovem. Ele se referia a ela sempre como se houvesse uma distância muito grande entre suas idades, mas ela era apenas alguns pouquíssimos anos mais nova. Para ele era uma forma de lembrá-lo que ela não era alcançável.

“Sabe que deve se confessar no convento, não é?”, o padre proferiu, seu tom ainda gentil, mas quase paternalista ao repreendê-la suavemente. As mãos enlaçadas à frente do corpo, ajeitando-se em uma postura reconfortante, o padre Romero guardava um sorriso amistoso na curva de seus lábios finos.

“Sim, eu sei… mas pensei, já que estou aqui…”, a jovem começa, a voz doce e gentil tremendo minimamente de ansiedade. Ela subiu os olhos amendoados para o homem do clero a sua frente, por um milésimo de segundo fazendo contato visual, as bochechas torrando em um vermelho que se destacava com o excesso de branco em suas vestes.

“Não irei repreendê-la por isso, afinal, é meu dever ouvi-la se assim desejar.”, a cadência tranquilizante no timbre masculino fez a jovem noviça acalmar-se ligeiramente. “Depois de você.”, com um manejo hábil de seu pulso, Mateo apontou o caminho por entre os bancos para o pequeno confessionário à direita do altar, ao canto. Tomando uma longa inspiração a noviça assentiu, apertando nervosamente o rosário em sua mão delicada.

O som dos passos reverberava pelas paredes. A jovem vestida em branco tinha a impressão que ouvia apenas seus próprios passos. O padre Mateo tinha passos leves como uma pena, quase como se flutuasse ao andar. A noviça podia ouvir por cima do andar compassado a batida irregular de seu coração, o sangue correndo por suas aurículas.

Mateo engoliu em seco sob o colarinho clerical, seu pomo de adão subindo e descendo devagar. Ele via a noviça diariamente, ao menos duas vezes por dia; na missa matutina e na missa noturna. Seu suplício diário para concentrar-se no sermão como um bom cristão, um bom pastor temente a Deus. Oh, como ela era um colírio para seus olhos cansados, mas também lenha para o fogo impuro que ardia dentro dele sempre que pousava seus orbes castanhos sobre ela. A túnica alva que usava parecia estranhamente quente, abafando o calor de seu corpo sob a batina.

Enquanto eles faziam seu caminho para o invólucro de mogno de duas cabines, um par de orbes brilhantes e dourados os observava de um canto embebido em escuridão. As esferas reluzentes foram logo adornadas por um sorriso perolado cheio de dentes afiados.

Mateo sentiu o queimar de olhos em sua nuca.

A noviça benzeu-se com o sinal da cruz e esperou que o padre adentrasse o confessionário para que ela mesma também o fizesse. Entrando na pequena câmara escura, a jovem ajoelhou-se em humildade e ouviu atentamente a própria respiração dificultosa naquele espaço mínimo confinado. Ela quase tinha a impressão de que a qualquer momento, as paredes do cubículo ficariam tão próximas que a esmagariam.

O padre Romero ouviu o farfalhar das roupas da noviça enquanto ela se acomodava na cabine ao lado. Ele tomou uma longa respiração. Dentro do confessionário o calor infernal que sentia parecia ainda pior, como se seu próprio corpo estivesse sendo consumido por chamas. Com cautela para que a jovem do outro lado da treliça não notasse, Mateo removeu a túnica alva, enrolando-a minimamente sobre o colo. Agora, apenas a batina escurecida permanecera.

Houve um longo silêncio.

A jovem noviça segurava com força o rosário trêmulo em suas mãos. Talvez não seja uma boa ideia, ela considerou. O ruído branco de seu sangue correndo acelerado como cavalos em um hipódromo reverberando contra as paredes e retornando para si. Ela não tinha razões para temer o homem ao lado. Mesmo estando a apenas oito meses em sua preparação para professar, ela já aprendera que o padre não a julgaria nem revelaria seus segredos, ele não podia, ela também sabia que o que mais importava naquele momento era a total e completa honestidade. Ela não cometia muitos pecados, nem mesmo os veniais, entretanto, desde que pousara os olhos no padre com os cabelos de ébano, a luxúria havia sido sua companhia mais presente, o único pecado que fincara garras nela. Os pensamentos impuros que permeavam sua mente inocente noite após noite, tirando-lhe o sono e fazendo-a pecar contra si e contra Deus cada vez que deslizava os dedos para o calor latejante entre as pernas…

Um pigarro veio do outro lado da treliça. A quanto tempo será que estou em silêncio? Limpando a garganta a noviça uniu as mãos com força e ergueu os olhos para a imagem incompleta do perfil do padre através da treliça.

“Padre?”, ela murmurou com a voz trêmula, considerar seus pecados a fez sentir a espiral de calor familiar em seu ventre. Outro silêncio breve se fez, a respiração ligeiramente pesada do padre podia se ouvir.

“Sim, minha filha?”, o tom reconfortante dado aos padres soou pelos buracos da treliça, exceto que havia um certo tremor em sua voz que lhe era incomum. O calor na cabine de madeira parecia emanar do próprio inferno. O suor frio brotava em sua testa pálida, os fios macios e escuros de seus cabelos grudando-se à pele úmida.

“Importar-se-ia de rezar a oração da serenidade? É incomum, eu sei, mas… acho… que preciso de alguma confiança, para o que direi.”, uma risada constrangida escapou pelos lábios róseos da noviça. Ela, apesar de estar escuro, ainda sentia olhos sobre ela, o sangue correndo pelo pescoço e para as bochechas, pintando-a de um vermelho envergonhado.

“Esta bem.”, um momento de silêncio se seguiu, uma respiração profunda de ambos reverberou no pequeno confessionário. “Concedei-nos, Senhor, a serenidade necessária para aceitar as coisas que não podemos mudar, coragem para mudar aquelas que podemos e sabedoria para distinguir umas das outras.”, Mateo sentiu seu fôlego se esvair em tão curta oração. Apenas a presença próxima da noviça era o necessário para quase enlouquecê-lo. Calor, calor como se seu corpo estivesse aceso em fogo. Cada palavra suave e pura que escapava dos lábios da noviça fazia-o ainda mais inquieto.

“Abençoe-me, padre, pois pequei.”, ela respirou profundamente, o rosário marcando suas cotas em manchas vermelhas e redondas nas palmas de suas mãos pela força com a qual o segurava. “J-Já faz sete dias desde que me confessei.”, sua voz doce morreu em sua garganta.

Talvez eu não devesse fazer isso, não com ele-, seu pensamento foi cortado com o tom acalorado do padre, sua voz reconfortante.

“Como se sente, minha filha?”, indagou sua voz esfumaçada ligeiramente ofegante. Ele esperou uma resposta. O colarinho clerical da batina quase o enforcava, a ansiedade preenchendo seu peito sob o olhar atento da noviça que o observava… e o olhar faminto da sombra oculta.

“Bem, ansiosa… ansiosa com o que tenho para lhe contar, e honestamente, agora que estou aqui pergunto-me se deveria.”, uma risada nervosa deixa a jovem. Seus olhos haviam se acostumado ao breu da cabine e agora ela conseguia distinguir o rosto corado do padre através da treliça. Ele tinha os lábios finos entreabertos enquanto puxava uma lufada generosa de ar e seus olhos dourados estavam engolfados por uma escuridão quase famélica.

“Sabe que pode confiar em mim, estou aqui para lhe orientar, nada que terá feito ou dito será julgado. Confesse o que estiver pesando em sua mente, abra sua alma e seu coração, minha criança, deixe que Deus pese seus pecados.”, ele murmurou de forma a confortá-la. O padre se inclinou perto da treliça enquanto falava.

O cheiro temperado do sândalo, o doce da bergamota e o esfumaçado da mirra do turíbulo invadiram as narinas da jovem. A noviça sentiu seus ombros tensos relaxarem minimamente e aproximou o rosto da treliça em direção ao perfume reconfortante do padre. Talvez ela apenas precisasse da confirmação dele. Tomando uma longa inspiração, a jovem enxugou o suor das palmas de suas mãos no hábito branco e ergueu-as novamente em oração.

“Padre, tenho pecado contra meus votos… Tenho pecado contra Deus e a santíssima igreja.”, ela engoliu em seco com sua vergonha. “Conheci um homem, padre, um homem bom…”, a voz da noviça falhou. Como contarei isso sem ele saber que é dele de quem falo? O pensamento lhe ocorreu de súbito. Mesmo assim, ela continuou antes que pudesse se conter. “E-ele é gentil comigo, mesmo quando estou sendo tola, ou mesmo quando digo algo que não deveria… ”, outra pausa ocorreu, a noviça umedeceu seus lábios de repente secos de preocupação.

Mateo sentiu o amargor da bile fervilhar em sua garganta com a ideia da noviça caindo por um homem, por outro homem que não ele próprio; ciúmes. Que sentimento ridículo para um padre ter! Ciúmes de uma jovem que ele jamais poderia ter, ainda mais uma noviça! Por Deus!

Algo dentro dele pareceu mover-se, um peso em seu peito, afundando mais e mais, dificultando-lhe a respiração. Umedecendo os lábios finos, o padre Romero tencionou a mandíbula e murmurou um ‘continue’ contido.

“P-perdão, é que… bem, há um problema padre, ele é um homem do clero, um servo de Deus.”, o tom sussurrado e cansado, quase sem fôlego, da noviça demarcou as últimas palavras. Servo de Deus?, pensou ele, as palavras ecoando em sua mente. Certamente a noviça não deveria estar falando dele próprio, não é? Uma alegria infantil brotou no peito do homem de batina com a possibilidade, um ardor gentil em seu cerne, contrastando com as chamas infernais que pareciam rodeá-lo naquela pequena cabine embebida em penumbra.

“Ele é um homem tão bom, padre, tão bom. Preocupa-se tanto com sua congregação, mesmo estando sempre ocupado ele encontra tempo para todos os que precisam, seja de uma palavra de conforto ou apenas de um conselho ou conversa… ”, a voz amável da noviça estremeceu com as memórias de seus encontros pacíficos com o homem da cabine ao lado, os pequenos toques sutis. “Acabei por… apaixonar-me acredito eu… Oh, mas ele é sempre tão gentil e tem o sorriso mais doce que já vi.”, Mateo podia perceber o sorriso em sua voz, tão meigo que levou a quentura de seu peito às suas bochechas. “Temo sentir-me enciumada e ressentida sempre que vejo suas boas atenções em outros que não em mim… ”, a noviça teve seu monólogo interrompido pela cadência esfumaçada da voz do padre Romero.

“Não tema sentir ciúmes ou ressentimento, minha criança, é natural, não tema ser punida por Deus por sentir-se de tal forma. Sabe, Deus nos fez à imagem e semelhança Dele, cada dita falha está lá por um motivo. Não se culpe, não há do que se envergonhar, Deus a ama de qualquer forma.”, as palavras de conforto escaparam em uma torrente. A noviça sentiu o pardal em seu peito bater asas incontrolavelmente. “Mesmo nos momentos mais sombrios pode contar com Ele… e comigo… ”, o sussurro sem fôlego escorregou pelos lábios do padre sem seu consentimento. Romero rogou para que ela não o ouvisse.

Apenas o farfalhar das roupas e as respirações lentas lhe responderam.

“E-eu oro por ele todas as noites, padre… oro para que um dia ele note como o vejo, para que de alguma forma saiba o que sinto. Sei que é um desejo tolo, mas não posso evitar… ”, a noviça toma uma longa respiração trêmula e continua. “Ele visita meus pensamentos a noite, padre, nesses pensamentos ele não é mais um homem do clero e eu não mais uma noviça… costumo imaginar como suas mãos se sentiriam sobre mim… Esses pensamentos profanos me assombram padre… há noites em quem sonho com o calor de seu corpo contra o meu… ”, a familiar espiral de calor apertou-se no âmago da noviça. O rubor torrava em suas bochechas. A noviça se calou. Apenas suas respirações lhes respondiam as infinitas perguntas que tinham um para o outro.

Mateo tremia, em algum ponto do relato ansioso da noviça, ele se viu em calças ligeiramente mais apertadas. A voz doce e inocente da jovem na cabine ao lado despertou o fogo em seu interior, queimando em brasa. O tom docemente ofegante da noviça chamou por seu nome. Tomando uma respiração profunda e arfante, o padre implorou, sua voz rouca funda, seu sotaque espanhol mais carregado do que quando normalmente falava, palavras trêmulas escorreram por seus lábios finos.

“Pare.”, ele pediu, uma mão estremecida percorreu a testa alva suada e retesou os cabelos úmidos. “Pare, por favor, e-eu não posso.”, a jovem noviça sentiu um aperto em seu peito com a cadência desesperada na voz do padre. “Não devo ouvir isso. Por favor, saia.”, as gotas de suor escorriam gélidas pelas têmporas e nuca do rapaz, a umidade fria acumulando-se no colarinho clerical.

“P-perdoe-me, não foi adequado eu-”, as desculpas da jovem morreram em sua garganta quando a voz esfumaçada e ansiosa de Mateo a cortou. O pardal afoito no peito dela batia asas angustiado.

“Por favor, saia, e-eu preciso rezar.”, o nervosismo estava estampado na voz de Romero. O nome da noviça escorreu de sua língua em um pedido aflito, Mateo não confiava em si mesmo quando estava na presença da jovem, ele temia não conseguir se conter se ela permanecesse, principalmente após tal confissão.

A noviça, então, compreendeu que ele sabia de quem ela falava. Uma onda de calor desceu pelo corpo de ambos. Observando o decalque escuro da silhueta do padre através da treliça, a jovem mulher percebeu o ligeiro volume nas negras calças alinhadas de Mateo. Um gemido ofegante deixou-a quando a noviça apertou as coxas juntas sob o hábito para aliviar a dor pungente no ápice de suas pernas.

O par de orbes dourados observava o casal celibatário em êxtase.

Levantando-se de onde se ajoelhava e endireitando-se para sair, a noviça estremeceu, as articulações dos joelhos estalando com o movimento brusco. Antes de retirar-se do cubículo de madeira assombrado ela se sentiu compelida a sussurrar o nome do padre com um tom sedutoramente acusatório.

“Mateo, eu não me importaria se decidisse me visitar esta noite, ou em qualquer outra. A reciprocidade deve ser considerada… Deus não nos condenaria por isso.”, dito isso, a noviça saiu em passadas largas, sem aguardar uma resposta do padre. Ele era um homem inteligente, sua mensagem estava clara para um bom entendedor.

Após a saída da noviça, Mateo orou fervorosamente na cabine do confessionário até quase desmaiar. Quando se arrastou para seu pequeno quarto na paróquia já passava da meia-noite, as falanges de seus dedos ardiam com a força com que havia segurado o rosário, seus joelhos reclamavam das horas ajoelhados contra a madeira dura em penitência. Removendo as vestes litúrgicas ensopadas de suor, ele desabou sobre a cama, aproveitando o ar frio da noite contra sua pele quente.

Encarando o teto, o padre Romero entrou em um estado de semiconsciência na escuridão do cômodo. Em algum dado momento do qual ele não se recorda, Mateo adormeceu. Seu sono foi inquieto à medida que pesadelos luxuriosos perscrutavam sua mente.

O jovem padre imaginou como seria tocar a noviça. Que cheiro teria sua pele, se suas mãos eram macias ou calejadas. Qual seria o perfume de seus cabelos, de que cor eles seriam, eram castanhos? Ruivos? Loiros ou negros como carvão? Seus seios caberiam em suas mãos? Qual seria o gosto do vale entre eles? Mateo imaginou que sons celestiais ela faria quando ele a beijasse, quando se pusesse entre suas coxas e provasse da doçura de seu néctar.

A sombra observava a adorável inquietude do jovem padre. Aproximando-se da figura masculina estendida sobre a cama em movimentos esguios e infames, a criatura humanoide escarranchou as pernas e sentou-se sobre o volume rígido dentre as pernas de Mateo. Seu sorriso afiado e perolado adornava o rosto obscuro, intenções sórdidas no brilho áureo de seus olhos.

O padre Romero imaginou a noviça montada sobre si. Ele quase podia senti-la pulsar ao seu redor, seu calor úmido pressionado contra seu comprimento. O peso de um corpo sobre o seu, mãos gentis segurando seus ombros, ele afundaria o rosto no vale de seus seios e inalaria o perfume da pele macia…

Um ruído animalesco, como um rosnado atingiu seus ouvidos, Mateo tentou se mover, mas ele não conseguia, seus membros estavam colados ao colchão, como se a gravidade o afundasse na cama. Ele se sentia paralisado, um momento de pânico se instalou em seu peito quando sua consciência se restaurou.

Ele não estava com a noviça, ele estava sozinho, em seu quarto na paróquia e algo pesava sobre ele na escuridão.

Mesmo as ordens incessantes de sua mente para que seu corpo se movesse, ele permaneceu paralisado, nada se movia. Em sua mente, Mateo gritava para acordar. A ansiedade e o pânico aflorando-se em seu peito. Acorde! Acorde! Sua voz interior rugia em sua cabeça. Um arrepio amedrontado lhe correu a pele quando o jovem sentiu garras frígidas infiltrarem-se por sua camisa, grifas afiadas arranhando a pele alva cálida de seu peito.

Abrindo minimamente os olhos, o padre Romero gelou ao avistar uma criatura infernal esfregando-se pecaminosamente em sua rigidez. Um gemido escapou de seus lábios finos e seus orbes cor-de-ébano observaram o olhar endiabrado da figura sombria subir por seu torso e prender-se aos seus olhos. A sombra inclinou a cabeça com interesse, assistindo com um largo sorriso satisfeito o peito do jovem padre subir e descer em uma respiração irregular.

Aqueles orbes dourados eram tão fundos quanto abismos, Mateo pensou que se chegasse mais perto aqueles olhos poderiam engoli-lo por inteiro enviando-o para as profundezas do inferno. Com os movimentos de seus quadris obscuros diminuindo de ritmo até parar, a sombra demoníaca moveu-se tortuosamente, escalando o corpo jovial do padre. Suas garras escuras possuíam um cheiro ferroso que lembrava sangue. Mateo queria gritar, mas nenhum único ruído além de sua respiração ofegante lhe escapou dos lábios. Os orbes âmbar da sombra engolfaram todo o seu campo de visão, a criatura estava tão próxima a ele que o padre era capaz de sentir o ardor avernal que emanava de seu corpo quase homogêneo à escuridão.

O padre, com um impulso desordenado de sua mão acendeu a luz a gás em sua cabeceira. A entidade enegrecida desapareceu de cima de seu corpo, seu sorriso bizarramente amplo surgindo pouco depois em um canto mal iluminado do quarto.

Sua forma taciturna era voluptuosa, a forma como sua silhueta cruzava as pernas sedutoramente, as garras escuras estendendo-se para além dos dedos longos. A curva dos seios nus nublados por feridas, cortadas paralelamente como rasgos, os ossos amarelados e manchados de sangue escarlate de suas costelas, exuberantemente expostos como se fossem adornos reais. Cabelos longos que se esticavam em ondas até a metade da espinha dorsal, cada disco ósseo de sua coluna à mostra. Os lábios encarnados com rubro e os dentes perolados desiguais, caninos e sisos afiados como lanças. Um par torneado de chifres adornava sua cabeça. A respiração pesada provocava calafrios no homem.

Os olhos dourados ainda faiscavam sobre o padre.

A mão trêmula do homem correu para o rosário em seu pescoço, sentando-se na cama ensopada com os resquícios de seu sono inquieto, Mateo sussurrou a oração de expurgo que aprendera há tantos anos e que nunca esperara usar.

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica… ”, as palavras em latim escorreram de sua boca com fervor. Um chiado próximo a um sibilar de uma cobra ressoou da criatura confortavelmente sentada ao chão.

“Você não sabe brincar… ”, a voz da silhueta era divertida, quase doce, a língua bifurcada da sombra abriu espaço pelos lábios rubros com desprezo. “Não conseguirá muito dizendo essas palavras padre, são apenas isso, palavras.”, uma risada desdenhosa cobriu a oração do homem encolhido sobre a cama. A forma ergueu-se de seu lugar no chão e começou mover-se preguiçosamente pelo quarto.

“Quem é você, demônio?”, indagou a voz rouca e trêmula do jovem padre. Cada passo dançante da sombra em sua direção o fazia arrepiar-se e mover-se desconfortavelmente no colchão. Calafrios corriam terrivelmente por cada membro de seu corpo, o jovem podia sentir os ossos frios.

A criatura riu com escárnio enquanto permitia que os olhos áureos famintos percorressem a forma do padre, ele tremia assustado com a visão da sombra endiabrada. A cruz prateada do rosário queimava em sua palma firme. Havia um pardal apavorado em seu peito, dificultando-lhe a respiração. O demônio escarrachou-se sobre a cama, perto o suficiente para que o homem do clero pudesse sentir uma vez mais o calor emanar de sua silhueta lasciva. Fugindo brevemente do calor profano da criatura, Mateo deslizou para fora da cama, seus pés descalços tocando hesitantes o chão acarpetado da paróquia.

“Perguntei quem és, indigno.”, o sussurro do homem do clero exprimia ordem, como se fosse aquele no controle da situação. O demônio riu uma vez mais, um rubor estranhamente saudável escurecendo as bochechas.

“Sou a materialização da sua luxúria, Mateo. A noviça…”, uma mão, garra, gesticulou em direção ao homem de fé. “… sua amada noviça provocou minha vinda a ti, seus desejos impuros para com ela proporcionaram minha vinda.”, o desdém no timbre cálido da criatura infernal levou um calafrio a estender-se pela espinha do pároco.

“Criatura profana… ”, murmurou Mateo dando passos para trás, recuando, a cabeça movendo-se incessantemente em um aceno negativo. “Mentiras, mentiras escorrem da sua boca demônio, jamais fiz nada para a noviça, jamais.”, o olhar ultrajado do padre nunca deixou a figura maligna escarranchada em sua cama.

Uma risada de escárnio ecoou pela estrutura da igreja até o interior dos ossos do jovem padre.

“Hipocrisia não combina com você, padre. Saiba, não há segredos para mim. Já estive em cada canto escuro de sua mente, em cada um de seus sonhos, eu espreitei tudo e sei de tudo, não negue nada para mim. Sei de todas as mentiras que já contou, de todos os segredos que omitiu, cada pensamento impuro, sujo e perverso que já passou por essa sua linda cabecinha.”, outra risada de desdém se fez presente enquanto o demônio navegava ao redor da forma assustada do padre, sua sombra humanoide ficando rente ao ouvido dele. “Também sei de todas as sujeiras que ela quis fazer com você padrinho…”, a voz predatória da entidade não terminou o sussurro mordaz, o celibatário a interrompeu abruptamente.

“Não diga tal absurdo! NÃO! Ela é pura, uma jovem boa de coração e alma, seus desejos são perfeitamente naturais, mas ela teve a força para resistir-lhes, não acreditarei nas suas mentiras, cria de satã!”, afastando-se do lugar onde se encurralara entre a mesa de cabeceira e a sombra saliente, ele respirou fundo. A voz outrora firme e reconfortante falhou ao proferir as palavras.

O sorriso perolado e cheio de dentes da sombra se alargou impossivelmente e seus bizarros olhos brilhantes ainda mais intensos.

“Oh Mateo… não pode ser tão inocente e acreditar que alguma daquelas ‘boas almas’ no convento ao lado irá de fato para o dito ‘local de benção eterna’, não é? Sabemos que todas as boas meninas vão para o inferno…”, o sussurro severamente perigoso e maligno ressoou. As garras escuras acariciaram sordidamente as bochechas coradas do jovem padre, arranhando a pele alva, pintando-a com marcas rosadas.

“Blasfêmia! Mil vezes blasfêmia demônio! Deus sempre protegerá os bons dos ímpios, Ele tem um bom lugar guardado para todos os que se arrependem. Um lugar de luz que você jamais alcançará, criatura.”, Mateo cuspiu as palavras com rudeza. Um manejo célere do pulso do demônio acertou uma tapa rígida contra o rosto do padre Romero. Sua respiração descompassada prendeu-se em sua garganta com o olhar mortal que a besta lhe dera.

“Sou sua morte Mateo, fui enviada para levá-lo. Para onde vai não é um bom lugar, eu lhe garanto, pois, é de lá que vim.”, a ameaça dançava oculta em suas palavras. Romero estremeceu e tentou afastar-se, apenas para ser impedido por uma barreira inflexível às suas costas. Preso entre a parede e o corpo quente da criatura que se posicionara entre suas pernas. “O segundo círculo do inferno o aguarda, padre.”

“Isso é um absurdo! Demônios não vêm buscar mortais, isso não está escrito, jama-”, o suspiro sôfrego deixou os lábios do jovem paroquiano quando a profundidade insana dos olhos da entidade tornou-se tudo que ele podia ver, seus corpos tão pressionados um contra o outro que podiam ser um só.

“Oh, Mateo, Mateo há tanto que não está escrito, tanto que, um mero vislumbre da realidade destruiria sua pobre alma mortal… ”, um riso desdenhoso chegou aos ouvidos do padre, os orbes áureos engoliram cada pensamento coerente que o homem do clero pôde ter. “Gostaria de vislumbrar o que lhe aguarda bom padre? Deseja ouvir os gritos dos condenados e o cheiro enxofrado do inferno? Os sons nauseantes dos ossos sendo esmagados pela ventania incessante e o choro das mais de mil almas desfeitas pelo amor? Os gemidos lúdicos das prostitutas e o lamento lúgubre dos amantes? Posso mostrar a você… posso guiá-lo como Virgílio guiou Dante… ”, o sussurro ardiloso do demônio era doce, tentador. O toque estranhamente reconfortante em seu rosto, acalentando o latejar onde fora acertado.

Mateo inclinou-se na direção dos lábios rubros em uma estranha atração. Aqueles lábios profanos eram magnéticos, o jovem padre indagou-se que gosto teriam. Quando suas bocas estavam a meros centímetros de se tocarem, o demônio desviou de seu toque, um sorriso quase tímido adornou-lhe o rosto.

“Não posso tocar-te se não me deres um nome.”, as palavras escorriam de sua língua bifurcada como mel, seu hálito cheirava a vinho. “Mateo… ”, continuou o demônio, sua voz sedutora um mero sussurro ofegante. “Diga meu nome.”, sua voz pareceu ecoar pelo quarto, a ordem implícita em seu comando.

Mateo, então, de alguma forma soube, sua língua deslizou pela boca, a ponta batendo brevemente atrás dos dentes ao pronunciar serenamente o nome da criatura.

“Asmodeus.”, um sorriso do gato de Cheshire espalhou-se pelo rosto do demônio em compreensão.

Lábios gentis selaram-se com os seus.

O beijo casto tornou-se faminto, a criatura mordiscou lascivamente o lábio inferior do padre, seus dentes afiados rompendo a pele delicada, o gosto metálico do sangue inundando suas bocas. Romero estremeceu em uma onda de prazer ao sentir a mão da sombra espalmar seu membro ainda vestido sob as calças, ele fechou os olhos em apreciação. O demônio engoliu seus gemidos enquanto encontrava um ritmo apropriado para os manejos de seu pulso. Descendo uma trilha esfomeada de beijos pela linha da mandíbula e pela coluna do pescoço do jovem padre, a criatura pressionou-se contra a coxa firme entre suas pernas. Um suspiro estrangulado escapou dos lábios manchados de escarlate do demônio, uma espiral de calor formando-se minimamente no baixo ventre.

Mateo abriu os olhos com um gemido gutural que ressoou em seu peito. Sua visão captou a forma humana jovial banhada em meia luz que agora o demônio apresentava.

Sua carne lacerada dera lugar a uma pele macia e quente, suas garras longas se encurtaram em unhas escuras e pontiagudas, seu sorriso largo rasgado em seu rosto angelical ainda estava lá, porém muito mais sutil, não havia mais chifres agora e seus orbes dourados apresentavam um brilho convidativo e aconchegante, como duas peças de ouro.

Subindo uma mão firme pelo lado da criatura, da mulher, agora à sua frente, Mateo apertou a carne de seus quadris, seus olhos castanhos estavam quase eclipsados de desejo. Os movimentos constantes do pulso do demônio construíam um calor em seu âmago. Os lábios quentes dela deixavam marcas escuras pelo pescoço alvo e salpicado de pintas do jovem padre. Um gemido estrangulado escapou dele quando ela mordeu com particular força o ponto doce em que o pescoço encontra-se com o ombro.

A culpa preencheu Romero, os beijos de boca aberta da mulher estenderam-se por seu torso. Mãos quentes que acumulavam em si o calor profano do inferno infiltraram-se sob sua camisa, o toque quase queimando sua pele alva. As pontas afiadas das unhas deixando em seu caminho traçados róseos. O jovem padre estremeceu ao sentir as pontas dos dedos da mulher enrolarem-se no cós de suas calças. Seu membro latejando por contato.

Usando seus quadris para pressionar o padre onde ele mais precisava, o demônio usou ambas as mãos para livrar Mateo de suas roupas. O mínimo toque de seus dedos ateava fogo em cada canto que roçava a pele do pároco. Arrepios correndo por seus braços com o hálito quente da criatura espalhando-se pelos seus ombros nus enquanto ela sugava carinhosamente um hematoma em seu pulso.

Deixando um rastro de beijos pelo peito de Mateo e sugando hematomas escuros em seu caminho, o demônio encarou com fome a rigidez lasciva dentre as pernas do padre. Olhando para cima por entre os cílios longos, ela abriu os lábios rubros e abocanhou o contorno régio no tecido. A saliva e o pré-gozo encharcavam o tecido das calças. A criatura sorriu minimamente, podendo sentir tão bem o calor emanando dele. Cada ruído lascivo, e gemido fundo quase a fizeram se desfazer ao pressionar as coxas juntas para aliviar a dor latejante entre elas. Uma onda de prazer percorreu o corpo do padre, sua cabeça pendeu para trás contra a parede e sua boca abriu-se um gemido constante e rouco.

“Oh, Meu Deus… ”, um suspiro lânguido e descompassado escapou dele. Suas sobrancelhas morenas unidas em esforço, ele nunca havia sido tocado, nem uma vez.

“Não dizes o santo nome Dele em vão.”, uma risada perniciosa emanou do demônio ajoelhado entre suas pernas. O calor úmido acumulava-se entre as coxas femininas, cada ruído cadenciado que escapava dos lábios finos do padre enviava uma onda de deleite para o ventre da criatura.

Infiltrando os dedos finos na bainha das calças da figura masculina, ela desceu-a até a metade das coxas. A respiração pesada e ardente da mulher varreu a pele sensível do membro do rapaz, um ruído de prazer reverberando por sua garganta. Com cuidado, Asmodeus guiou o membro do rapaz em sua boca, contornando com a parte plana da língua na extensão de seu comprimento. Ela podia sentir o pulso acelerado dele contra os lábios. A criatura deslizou faminta a ponta da língua contra a extremidade inchada e sensível do homem santo.

O gosto ácido e ligeiramente adocicado invadiu os lábios rubros dela após algum tempo levando-o em sua boca. Ele soava tão bem aos seus ouvidos. Com uma sucção particularmente forte, ele investiu contra o rosto dela involuntariamente. Repetindo o gesto, o demônio sentiu o membro dele se contorcer contra seus lábios. A respiração pesada e os gemidos guturais a faziam querer senti-lo por dentro.

Continuando os movimentos circulares com a língua, ela sentiu as coxas dele tremerem ligeiramente quando correu as unhas afiadas pela pele alva. Afastando a boca dele por um momento, a criatura contemplou o rosto dele envolto na névoa lascívia do prazer. Erguendo-se sem aviso, a mulher enlaçou os dedos nas ondas cor-de-ébano do padre e puxou-o para seus lábios. Mateo podia sentir o próprio gosto em sua língua. Um suspiro rouco prendeu-se em sua garganta enquanto ele se sentia pulsar dolorosamente. Antes que pudesse envolvê-la em seus braços ternamente, Romero sentiu as costas serem pressionadas contra a maciez do colchão. Com o intuito de continuar a beijá-la, o jovem pároco puxou-a para seu colo. Usando de uma força inumana, Asmodeus empurrou-o para a cama uma vez mais.

“Comporte-se bom padre, ou vou amarrá-lo.”, o tom mordaz era lúbrico, deixando o homem do clero em chamas.

Afastando-se dele, a sombra esgueirou-se pelo quarto com movimentos tão fluidos que parecia fumaça em água. Seus dedos hábeis apanharam sobre uma poltrona no canto o cíngulo de tom roxo que Mateo usava sobre a batina. Um sorriso diabólico mais uma vez espalhou-se pelas feições belas da entidade com a ideia blasfema que surgiu em sua mente.

“Cingi-me, Senhor, com o cíngulo da pureza, e extingui nos meus rins o fogo da paixão, para que resida em mim a virtude da continência e da castidade.”, as palavras de fé escorreram de sua língua endiabrada com desprezo. “Quanta hipocrisia… ”, um meio riso anasalado a deixou enquanto ela se aproximava do padre com o cíngulo litúrgico em mãos. “Hoje, padre Romero, seu cinto de castidade terá um uso muito mais… útil.”, sua figura nua subia na cama, escarranchando-se nos quadris do homem santo pela segunda vez naquela noite.

O pomo de Adão de Mateo subiu e desceu lentamente, seus olhos escuros arregalados assistiam com admiração cada sutil movimento que o demônio da luxúria fazia. O peito alvo salpicado com um punhado de cabelos acobreados e pintas em uma constelação adorável subia e descia em um ritmo descompassado. Estendendo o cinto, a entidade enlaçou o pescoço do padre com uma volta, o aperto do laço restringia lascivamente o ar em seus pulmões. Ele tencionou a mandíbula em uma tentativa fracassada de conter um grunhido gutural ao sentir o calor gotejante da mulher endiabrada a pressionar-se contra ele. Mais uma volta, — desta vez mais folgada —, ao redor da coluna da garganta e o sussurro cálido do hálito fervente da criatura em suas bochechas coradas acariciou seus ouvidos.

"Dá-me teus pulsos padre.”, ela pediu, a ordem superior oculta nos meandros das palavras.

Obedientemente, Mateo ergueu os punhos em oração. O amplo sorriso de aprovação dela lhe disse que ela aprovava a submissão do gesto.

"Hei de arder no inferno por isso.”, a voz trêmula do jovem pároco ressoou rouca de luxúria. O laço do cíngulo apertando e marcando a pele pálida de seus pulsos e seu pescoço.

“Esqueceu-se padre? Vim aqui para levá-lo mesmo antes de ceder a mim. Antes de implorar por minhas atenções como uma prostituta.”, os insultos o fizeram vibrar contra ela. Seu membro intumescido pulsando dolorosamente pressionado contra o peso das ancas femininas, acolhido no cerne da fenda úmida.

Puxando com força o nó do cíngulo, testando seu enlaçado o demônio tinha seus olhos dourados engolfados por um fogo herético.

“Agora, darei uso a essa sua boca casta, pagão.”, a palavra ecoou em sua mente, um fogo ardente queimando em seu baixo ventre, ele poderia se desfazer apenas com suas palavras.

Com movimentos lânguidos ela escalou o corpo dele, dispondo um joelho em cada lado da cabeça do jovem padre, ela retesou o nó do cíngulo envolto em sua mão. Mateo salivou com a visão da intimidade úmida defronte a seu rosto, umedecendo os lábios finos, ele ofegou pesadamente, o laço em sua garganta puxando-o em direção a ela.

Um rosnado fundo vibrou no peito da criatura quando hesitante e inexperientemente Mateo traçou com a língua quente uma faixa na fenda úmida do demônio. Ondas e ondas de prazer reverberavam pela figura feminina, golpes virginais contra seu ponto mais sensível a faziam estremecer. A espiral ardente construindo-se dentro de si. Mateo era inexperiente, mas sua fome o tornava um amante dedicado, ele prestou atenção em cada tremor e gemido que ela produzia, atento ao que fazia seus quadris balançarem contra seu rosto angelical com mais ânsia. Ele sorriu orgulhoso ao fazê-la gritar ao invadir seu núcleo encharcado com a língua.

Puxando o rosto dele de seu centro, a figura feminina acertou-lhe dois tapas fortes em cada uma de suas bochechas, dando-lhes um tom escarlate adorável e esquentando a pele.

“Mantenha sua arrogância para si e trabalhe sacerdote, a arrogância nos torna orgulhosos e a soberba é um pecado.”, o timbre de superioridade que ela usava o fez gemer contra a carne macia da parte interna de uma de suas coxas onde ele depositara um beijo humilde.

Voltando os olhos de corça mais uma vez para ela, por dentre os longos cílios ele se alimentou da visão dela, tornando a provar seus doces sucos. O corpo voluptuoso estremecia, os seios expostos que ele tanto ansiava por afundar o rosto, por beijar e provar vibravam com a respiração irregular. Romero sentia-se à beira do abismo, prestes a cair. Os sons obscenos de sua boca santificada contra o calor dela e os ruídos lamuriosos que escapavam dos lábios rubros tornavam-no rígido como uma rocha. Arrastando os dentes ligeiramente tortos pelo botão sensível, Mateo sorveu a língua no interior fervente e repetiu a ação.

O ápice formava-se em uma espiral apertada no ventre da mulher, seus rosnados altos fizeram os quadris do jovem padre golpearem o ar. Seu cume veio e ela cavalgou o rosto jovial corado pelo esforço. Ele bebeu de seus sucos com fome, a doçura ácida dela banhando seus lábios e seu queixo. Descendo de seu alto, o demônio posicionou-se esfomeado sobre o padre, as costas arqueadas de deleite enquanto punha uma mão apoiando seu peso acima dos cabelos bagunçados do rapaz e a outra sobre seu coração, que pulsava enlouquecido como um pardal enjaulado em seu peito.

As baforadas quentes de seu hálito varrendo a pele úmida de suor e fluidos do jovem pároco. Curvada sobre ele, ela observou atentamente o rosa que cobria as maçãs e o pescoço de Mateo, ele a olhava em êxtase com os olhos fundos semicerrados. A pouca luz da penumbra refletia um brilho cego nos sumos de sua libertação que pintavam tão adoravelmente os lábios finos do jovem padre.

Romero se perdeu no lume vívido dos orbes dourados da criatura. Naquele momento nada mais parecia importar, ele se dera ao diabo de corpo e alma. Ele não se importaria de passar a eternidade afogado naqueles olhos.

Deslizando uma mão sorrateira pelo torso ansioso do homem do clero, ela acariciou osso se seu quadril e se deleitou com o suspiro estrangulado que deixou os lábios de Mateo quando ela enlaçou o comprimento intumescido do padre. Muito habilmente ela o guiou cautelosamente para sua entrada, pincelando sua umidade com ele, ouvindo prazerosamente o gemido rouco que escorregou pela língua doce do sacerdote e se afundou nele, vendo-o morder o lábio inferior em uma tentativa falha de conter seus ruídos de prazer. Ela se sentia tão bem ao redor dele, confortavelmente pulsante, vibrando com o alongamento.

Mateo arqueou as costas e revirou os olhos quando ela deslizou facilmente por ele, cavalgando em um ritmo lento. Ele estava no limite a tanto tempo, não sabia quanto mais ainda iria suportar. De forma inesperadamente gentil, o demônio desfez o laço do cíngulo dos pulsos do padre com um manejo de seus dedos.

A unhas escuras que eram outrora garras talharam um corte fino no punho do homem do clero. A picada de dor não auxiliou o padre a conter-se, um silvo baixo lhe escapando. O sangue escarlate escorreu em uma trilha pelo antebraço alvo, a língua infernalmente quente da criatura traçou o caminho rubro na pele, coletando. Sândalo e sangue mesclaram-se em um sabor doce e ferroso na boca do demônio. A investida lenta de suas ancas arrancando gemidos fundos do clérigo.

“P-pai nosso… qu-… stais- no céu… ”, a oração se desfez em sua língua, sua alma entregue demais para ser salva. Sua mente muito perdida nos golpes duros e vagos das ancas da mulher para arrepender-se.

Correndo as unhas pela pele sensível do torso do padre, ela desceu beijos pela garganta dele, os estalidos da madeira da cama, ritmados pelos seus movimentos, uniam-se com os sons aquosos de onde seus corpos se conectavam em uma sinfonia profana. Hematomas escuros se formavam sob a linha da mandíbula, o corte em seu pulso regurgitava sangue avidamente devido à pulsação acelerada, os lábios da entidade envolviam a ferida ensanguentada sugando famélica. Oh, como ele era doce! Tão puro, tão casto. A ideia simples de corrompê-lo a fez ordenhá-lo em um tremor de prazer. A espiral de calor lasciva apertava-se gradativamente em seu âmago mais uma vez.

Mateo correspondia com esforço aos movimentos das ancas da mulher, suas estocadas fortes carregando-o para sua liberação. Sentir as paredes aveludadas dela lhe acolhendo tão profundamente o fizeram arquear as costas lindamente em deslumbramento. Enveredando as mãos fortes, agora soltas, pela carne macia das coxas da entidade, o padre gemeu baixo ao puxá-la contra si, indo mais fundo. Suas mãos inquietas afagavam cada parte que podiam alcançar. Faminto, Romero capturou um dos seios da criatura em seus lábios, sugando marcas avermelhadas, mordiscando a pele e lambendo o vale entre eles, provando do fruto proibido.

Tombando para trás a cabeça, quando as mãos firmes do clérigo apertaram ansiosamente a carne de suas ancas e seus lábios finos banquetearam-se com seu busto, a criatura sibilou sacrilégios enquanto o comportava. Mateo estava perto a tanto tempo, ela não lhe impediria por muito mais. Movendo-se rapidamente, o demônio deslizou as mãos sobre os braços do padre Romero, até suas belas mãos, entrelaçando seus dedos, Asmodeus prendeu os pulsos do pároco acima de seus cabelos castanhos desordenados e tomou investidas agressivas contra ele.

Os gemidos guturais do jovem padre atiçaram o fogo em seu cerne. Conectando seus lábios mais uma vez em um beijo acalorado, Mateo gritava rouco, embriagado com os estímulos excessivos. Quando as presas afiadas da mulher afundaram em seu lábio inferior e o sabor metálico do sangue embebeu seus sentidos, um movimento certeiro dos quadris da criatura o desfez. Sua carga quente pintando o interior das paredes aveludadas da mulher.

O demônio não parou seus movimentos.

Lágrimas de super-estimulação corriam pelo canto de seus olhos castanhos, deslizando por suas têmporas e perdendo-se nos fios escuros de suas madeixas. A dor excruciante das investidas grosseiras das ancas femininas gradativamente tornaram-se prazerosas novamente, seu comprimento endurecendo-se anormalment dentro do calor dela, os olhos brilhantes do demônio encarando sua alma.

O demônio sorria em êxtase, buscando sua própria libertação pecaminosamente enquanto se alimentava da dor do presbítero. A língua quente traçou as marcas reluzentes das lágrimas do padre, o sal delas ardendo ao descer por sua garganta. Lágrimas puras, refletiu a criatura. O regozijo doce inicial da primeira parcela da alma do pároco. Seu sabor salgado, a labuta prazerosa, era tudo que ela precisava para atingir o ápice novamente. Suas paredes tão quentes e convidativas esmagaram-no com o clímax intenso.

Mateo afundou o rosto na curva do pescoço da mulher e soltando um gemido choroso enquanto precipitava estocadas gaguejantes uma última vez, lacrimoso ele se libertou dentro dela, sua garganta ferida muda. Seu fôlego restante foi roubado de seus pulmões por um beijo profundo. O sabor de suas lágrimas e de seu sangue misturando-se em suas línguas.

Seus batimentos se aquietaram. O pardal enjaulado em seu peito acalmou-se e a quentura infernal do demônio que descansava sobre ele o aquecia. Recuperando o controle de sua mente, Mateo soluçou, os resquícios de sua fé levando o melhor sobre ele, o padre orou em um sussurro para si.

“Meu Deus, sinto muito por ter te ofendido. Detesto todos os meus pecados devido ao seu justo castigo. Mas acima de tudo, porque te ofendem. Meu Deus, que é todo bom e merecedor de todo o meu amor. Estou firmemente decidido com a ajuda de tua graça, não pecar mais e evitar a ocasião próxima do pecado… Amém.”, as palavras que uma vez tiveram tanto significado escaparam de sua boca sem valor algum, a lástima reluzente que descia em cascata por seus olhos de corça salgou os lábios rubros do demônio que herético depositava um beijo na têmpora úmida do presbítero.

O padre Romero entrou de bom grado nos braços do diabo e o acolheu como um velho amigo. Daquele dia em diante, cada pecado seria uma dádiva, cada sacrilégio uma prece.

Mateo tornou-se assombrado em todos os sentidos da palavra.

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