#god statue smile

[derkhue]

that smile

[gustavo-pereirar]

[frnkiebby]

good fucking morning to that beautiful smile~🎃

[jessamine-rose]

*lovingly tackles Aine*

Read my Yandere! Pierro longfics first ♪( ´▽｀)

Last week, my beloved mutual @ainescribe surprised me with Savior! Darling fan art and AHAI9232@2-!/! CRYING SCREAMING I WANT TO LOOK AT THIS ART AND WORSHIP YOUR VERSION OF SAVIOR THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR BLESSING ME WITH YOUR ART—

*clears throat* Anyway, now that I finally have the time to properly sit down and comment on the fan art, I’ll do just that. Feedback will be in the tags and it will be unhinged. Once again, thank you so much to Aine for drawing this <3

[lanternlightss]

littol notebook ->📒(For the ask game!! :D)

(ask game)

*sounds of papers being dug through* OKAY. SO !!!

nameless bard and collei, right ?? (technically. actually. this fic wouldve been part of a series where nameless bard came across many many people of teyvat who happened to venture into old mond’s ruins, or the edges of mondstadt, or where simply wandering, and talked with them, about anything, about nothing. this all stemming from ,,, a small hc au thing where a ghost bard takes care of those that venti cannot immediately reach, or when he is preoccupied by something else. mond’s silly little grandpas.)

but back to collei and bard. two characters who have such a relationship in regards to gods. this fic would’ve had collei come swinging by mondstadt for a visit, and, perhaps, got lost in a storm on the way there. ending up huddled into a corner and devastatedly watching as her stuff is tossed into said storm. there, she meets a stranger who looks awfully like that one local bard amber and lisa talk about, who has run in to find her, and take her to safety.

throughout the way there, she wonders. why is it that this storm is so peculiar ?? mondstadt’s winds are never quite this strong !! is barbatos … angry, maybe ? was something done to have upset him ? (did they ever get angry at her, for when she …. )

“is barbatos ever upset?”

“upset?”

“would they ever get … you know, angry at someone, for something. if they hurt people.” (off note, HOW much of mond’s history does collei know, bc i feel like she would be interested in it, and amber would be more than willing to tell her about mond details.)

and bard … pauses. scowls. laughs. it would depend, wouldn’t it ? how are they hurting people ? are they malicious about it ? they are a kind god, see, and often go around to inconvenience those who have wronged them or their city. (they don’t answer, there are times barbatos is seething, times where people are reminded that the reason the mountains around them were halved by this same god, that the wind is playful, sweet—and dangerous, ruthless.)

then bard goes on to be like. why. if barbatos were to be angry at anyone, that honor would go to me !! my, if they knew of all the offerings ive took from them, they surely would smite me. (the entirety of the time, i just want the vibe that bard is assuring—you are not from here, no, but you are more than welcome as a free child all the same, you who have gained your freedom from despair. you who lives her life reaching for each new opportunity given. you are doing good.) also bard slightly. kinda. vagues at decarabian and other gods at some points.

i just think. bard, who lived his life under a god who did not understand them. collei, who lived her life thrown to the wolves, stuck with remains she did not ask for, who felt betrayed by the heavens for how they failed her.

and mondstadt, and barbatos, who may guide their people, but leaves them largely to make their own decisions. barbatos, whose appearances made are when their people are in distress, who would rather cut their wings off than leave mondstadt to burn. and how they would feel about that—about how this city has turned out, how it helped them, or !!!!!! just !!!!! yeagh

[feralratzone]

now heres my evil plan

[melis-hellis]

ok but what's crazy is that for a couple months before s2e7, i had an idea for an emotional scene in a fic where charlie has to give pim CPR. zach and michael i see y'all!!!!!!!!

[xanaxan]

not to be nsfw but I’d lick the sweat off his thighs

[shyanne-elizabethh]

[tallwriter]

I love how much you put in these tags, @miraculouslbcnreactions!

Reblogs appreciated for reach—I’m just genuinely curious! Would love elaboration in the tags but obviously you can just keep your answer anonymous if you want as well

[gemstarstarlight]

What they don’t tell you about bravery is that the line of what is brave is changing all the time. Because you do a thing and it’s scary but you do it anyway and when you do it enough it’s not scary anymore so then the things that require bravery are more and more intense. And so you are eventually considering a thing that feels the same as something terrifying you did 4 years ago but is objectively much more scary. But it feels the same. The feeling never goes away, but the things that generate the feeling are MUCH different.

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Greek Champion x Priestess Reader - NonCon

He was chosen by the Gods to slaughter, to strike down all who stand against him. Your city has fallen at last and he has come to claim his prize.

Yandere! Champion with his bronze armour and his scars, sunlight reflecting off him in battle likes he's Ares himself.

Yandere! Champion who cares for nothing but his own glory. He'll step over the bodies of his own men if it meant victory.

Yandere! Champion who's chosen as the head of the delegation sent to your city. The offer is simple - swear fealty to the Greeks, open the city gates and hand over your Champion to be executed.

Yandere! Champion who rides right up to the city walls, even when his fellow warriors stay far out of arrow range. Does he not care for his own life, you wonder, or does he simply think himself immortal?

Yandere! Champion who barely even tries to be diplomatic. Who seems to think war is a foregone conclusion.

When your prince refuses him, Yandere! Champion looks up at the royalty and clergy on the wall above him - the greatest and most powerful of the city - and he spits.

"I will take this city and crush your walls under my heels."

Yandere! Champion who catches your eye and holds it. You, just a minor Priestess of Athena, have somehow attracted his attention.

Yandere! Champion who smiles a slow, terrible smile and you wonder what God whispered carnage in his cradle.

Yandere! Champion who blows you a mocking kiss, even though your robes show your dedication to the virgin goddess.

Yandere! Champion who is true to his promise. His soldiers throw themselves at your gates until the bodies on both sides are piled higher than your head.

Yandere! Champion who cuts down your prince in battle. Who beheads him with one clean sweep and as you watch it happen, you realise he is no mere mortal.

He truly is the God of War's Champion.

Yandere! Champion who doesn't even cheer when the city falls to him. Who simply steps over the shattered gates and heads toward the temple of Athena, his xiphos dripping blood behind him.

Yandere! Champion who finds you just as you're about to run. You're the last to leave the temple. Your love for your goddess outweighed your fear but the clash of swords and plumes of smoke finally broke you.

You're on the broad stairs that lead to the temple when you see him, standing at the bottom and looking up at you. His cloak and the crest on his helmet are a deep scarlet and he looks like a spill of blood on the marble stairs.

Yandere! Champion who takes a step forward for each one you take back. Your hands are trembling and he notices it, relishes it.

Yandere! Champion who smiles at you again. His helmet covers most of his face so all you can see is gleaming bronze and bloodstained teeth.

"Little virgin priestess. Your goddess has abandoned you."

Yandere! Champion who finally reaches the top of the stairs and now that you're on even ground, you realise how he towers over you.

Yandere! Champion whose strides are much longer than yours and he gets closer with each halting step you take away.

"Why else would your city fall? You have been forsaken."

His blade twitches in his hand and it makes you jump. His eyes are on you - a colour so deep they look black. Hungry enough to devour you, devour the city, swallow the whole damn world.

For the first time, you feel afraid in your Goddess's temple.

Yandere! Champion who finally stops. His sword is still streaked with blood and it shines an awful red. His eyes dip from your face to your chest to your thighs. And nothing in his gaze seems noble or honourable at all.

"Run, priestess. Run to your Goddess and maybe she can save you."

You run.

You run through the temple, marble pillars blurring in your vision. The altar, the statues.... Surely no harm can come to you in the temple of Athena? Surely the War Goddess can protect one of her own?

Yandere! Champion who catches you at the base of her statue. Who grabs your hair and forces you to the ground.

Yandere! Champion who digs his knee into your back, one hand in your hair and the other gripping his sword. He's going to kill you, you think. Slit your throat and spill your blood on holy ground.

But he doesn't kill you. No, what he does is far worse.

Yandere! Champion who casts his sword aside and presses himself against your back, his weight trapping you under him.

Yandere! Champion who drags your chiton up your thighs, his breath growing ragged with want. Fingers digging into your flesh like he wants to sink hooks into you.

Yandere! Champion who was promised a prize.

Yandere! Champion who has levelled cities in the name of his God. Who's burnt temples to the ground. Who has forsaken his humanity for glory.

Yandere! Champion who was promised a prize and who demanded Athena's most beautiful priestess.

Yandere! Champion who trails kisses across your jaw and neck and shoulders. Whose lips leave blood behind.

Yandere! Champion who doesn't care to prepare you. Who lines his cock up with your cunt and sheaths himself inside you with one brutal thrust.

Yandere! Champion who pulls your hair so hard you arch your back. Whose weight on you makes his breastplate dig into your shoulder blades. Whose grunts echo in your ears.

Yandere! Champion who thrusts and thrusts and mercilessly keeps going.

Yandere! Champion who fucks you in the temple of the Virgin Goddess. Who desecrates Athena's temple and priestess both. And yet the candles keep burning, the fountains still flow clear.

The pain burns through your stomach like fire. And still you reach for her, for your Goddess.

Yandere! Champion who grabs your outstretched hand and forces it to the floor, who intertwines his fingers with yours in a terrible parody of intimacy.

You plead with her, your voice rough with panic and grief. But the statue's eyes are nothing more than sculpted marble.

Yandere! Champion who finally has his prize, after years of carnage and searching. And who will never let you go.

Yandere! Champion who cums inside of you, his voice rasping in your ear.

"Your goddess has abandoned you, little priestess. And I am all that remains."

And in the awful silence of the temple, with a killer's hands on your skin, you realise what it means to hate the Gods.

[morthstaar]

Please, PLEASE Tulpar crew x a very shy/introverted reader who is like crushing on the crew really hard but way too shy and embarrassed to tell them but like the crew starts to slowly catch on to them and the way they act different around them. Also I don't mean the crew as a whole I mean the separate characters 😭🙏🏽

ask and u shall receive 😈

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

OH GOD, YOU CAN TELL?

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

Captain Curly

-oh.. curly knew from the moment you laid eyes on him that you had the biggest crush on him.

-there is no slow realization.

-not at all oblivious to it.

-everytime your eyes would seemingly uncontrollably and totally unconsciously drift to him he would try to meet your gaze with a friendly, boyish smirk.

-does that happen? HELL NAH. you are much too shy to even look the captain in the eye.

-your little heart almost beats out of your chest at any interaction. little or big.

-"Hey, just the person I needed to see. I have a little favor to ask you."

-oh god. suddenly words seem hard to pronounce and the entirety of the english language is no where to be seen.

-after a few weeks, curly would definitely find this endearing.

-i feel like since curly is so outgoing, he would be very intrigued by someone who is the complete opposite.

-curly wouldn't act much different when it comes to you, due to maintaining professionalism as his role as captain.

-he may due small acts like making a cake simply to indulge in your sweet-tooth that he somehow knew about you.

-"oh, we just had extra packets of sugar. i just thought id bake something. you like cake right?"

-cheeky motherfucker.

Intern Daisuke

-dude is so so so oblivious even though you make it perfectly clear...

-you could be making like.. making out with the guy and he'd be like,

-"yoo, we are literally besties right?"

-deadass, he prolly had no idea you liked him for weeks.

-you could be laughing extra loud at his jokes then realize ur laughing too loud, look at him while he isn't looking at you, sneak an extra sweetener packet on his bed when he isn't around,,,,

-his ass still is clueless.

-it takes either curly or swansea's help to realize that you had a massive crush on him but were just to shy to say something.

-once he realizes, he is now all over you and following you around like a lost puppy. not nonchalant at ALL.

-literally tries to pick up the polle statue to show his 'guns' but the statue moves only an inch..

-now he is hyper aware of your actions and reactions, he finds your shyness just SO CUTE WTFFF.

-compliments you to see what you would do.

-"man, have you always been this hot or is it just the sweetener talking?"

-runs away.....

-would steal sweetener packets just for you two to share :)

Nurse Anya

-i feel like she notices how different you act around her, but she just thinks its because you two are good friends.

-she never assumes anything, just her friend being friendly.

-even though you sometimes make it unintentionally obvious..

-like this one time you recommend her a book from your quarters library and her fingers lightly grazed yours reaching for it.

-oh shit. her soft hands touched yours. oh god what does a normal person do in this situation??

-"thank you for the-oh... book."

-well, they don't smile awkwardly, sweat pouring down their face and leave in a hurry with the book still in their hand.

-anya isn't stupid or completely oblivious by any means. she definitely knew from this encounter of your little crush on her.

-she is quite flattered honestly. someone so similar to her truly likes her?

-when she fully processes this information, she is very subtle with how she shows her affection back.

-during check-ups, she sometimes gives you a treat from one of her desk drawers for being a good patient.

-other times she lets you join her late at night in the lounge to just look at the pretty night time screen.

-"this makes me miss home. it's so beautiful."

-you'd look over at her and her eyes are not on the screen, far from it actually.

-her eyes are on you.

-so this is what a heart attack feels like..

Mechanic Swansea

-unpopular hot-take, swansea is actually a dilf and he often has younger men/women confess their feelings to him.

-so because of that headcanon, swansea definitely knows how you feel from the first time y'all met.

-your eyes would subconsciously peek at his open shirt revealing his chest. suspiciously, whenever he would look back, you quickly turn away shyly...

-he immediately thinks he is way to old for this shit. he just got out of a divorce and prolly never wanted to try again. especially with someone younger.

-"what is with this damn younger generation with old people.."

-he tries to avoid you even though you two are co-workers and.. work together. on the same ship.

-as weeks go by, your shyness starts to grow on this grumpy man. he... he thinks it's endearing in a sense..

-he rather likes how reserved you are, and how are aren't as loudmouthed as daisuke.

-he won't act much different to you, but according to the rest of the crew it is obvious.

-swansea leaves little sticky notes reminding you to eat or sleep because lets be honest.. you are quite neglectful, and the sticky note quotes,,

-"..the crew doesn't need you passin' out while doin' your job. so eat or i will make you."

-swansea is also much more soft-spoken with you than anyone else.

-he has never raised his voice or spoken down on you. his usual brashness and snarky remarks are now toned down (but not entirely) around you.

-"hey. i didn't say you had to leave, did i? stop puttin' words in my damn mouth and sit."

Co-captain Jimmy

-jimmy prolly doesn't even acknowledge you at first.

-you could be looking at him, thinking he doesn't know that your eyes are skimming over his face and body.

-oh but jimmy.. he does know,,, but he never shows that he does.

-he likes the attention on him. your eyes looking him over when she doesn't even know that he is soaking it up.

-im sorry but he definitely gets off to the fact that you are shy and get flustered easily.

-he loves how malleable and submissive you are due to your shyness. and he uses it to his advantage.

-he shows his affection strongly after he knows your crush.like sometimes he would purposefully follow you places and when you turn around he'd be like..

-"do you mind? you're in my way.."

-i feel like he wouldn't know how to properly express his feelings so he would be kind of unnecessarily mean and cruel.

-and after he would be mean he would be nice and extra affectionate so you would still like him.

-like you could be working on something and is critical about your work.

-"are you serious? tsk.. move, since you clearly cannot perform a basic task."

-then later he's like..

-"im glad someone on this ship is helpful, like you."

-basically, he purposefully plays with your feelings to get you to confess bc i feel like he likes when women come to him.....

[kashverse]

Do you think you could write about Sukuna x reader before baby kuna and there live before reader even gettin pregnant I really love your work 💗💗💗✨✨✨✨

some corporate boss mamakuna x employee sukuna lore! this is how they first met :)

back before babykuna, before the house full of labubus, cats, and stolen hoodies, there was corporate sukuna. and corporate sukuna? he was supposed to be a goddamn nightmare. you had heard horror stories.

"he’s impossible to work with."

"he made the last manager cry."

"he once told HR to 'suck his entire d—'"

okay, so maybe that last one was a little concerning. but you were young, fresh into a leadership role, and ready to face whatever demon of a man this company had somehow not yet fired. so naturally, when you finally met him, arms crossed, scowl carved into his face like a roman statue, you prepared for the worst. 

"ryomen sukuna, right?" you greeted, professional, poised, the picture of authority. his eyes flicked up to you, and you swear, for half a second, there was a spark of mischief, a flicker of something dangerous. but then, to your absolute shock, sukuna—the devil himself, the menace of the office, the man who had apparently made three secretaries quit in a single week—was nice. or, well, nice enough.

he nodded, grumbled out a respectful “yeah,” and got to work. no backtalk, no glaring, no slamming of desks or throwing office supplies at interns. just grumpy efficiency. you smiled. bright. cheerful. unshaken.

“great! looking forward to working with you.”

then, the moment you turned your back? he was a goddamn menace. “oi, dipshit,” sukuna barked across the office, and some poor intern visibly flinched. “why the fuck is my report missing page five?”

“um—”

“no, don’t ‘um’ me. are you illiterate? do you need me to read the assignment out loud for you like you’re in fuckin' kindergarten?”

“no, sir, i just—”

“fix it.”

when you turned back around, brows raised? sukuna was already back to his task, perfectly behaved, like an honor student trying not to get caught. you frowned, a little suspicious. he blinked at you. innocent. wide-eyed. docile.

…okay, maybe the HR rumors were exaggerated. maybe he was just misunderstood. but then you turned away again, and—

“hey, you, yeah, you—who the fuck made this spreadsheet? a blind goat?!” 

this cycle repeated daily. whenever you were around, sukuna was just a grumpy but functional employee. he answered your questions, finished his work on time, and—god forbid—was even kind of charming when he wasn’t glaring at people. but the moment you left the room? utter carnage.

by week two, everyone in the office knew.

one particularly brave soul even tried to test it. “hey, sukuna,” some junior exec chirped while you were grabbing coffee, “think you could help me review this client file?” sukuna barely spared them a glance. “sure.”

but then you left to take a phone call.

“are you incapable of using your own goddamn brain, or is it just decorative?”

you walked back in. “everything okay?”

sukuna, completely blank-faced: “yeah.”

everyone was traumatized. you? completely clueless. until one day, you walked into the office a little earlier than usual and caught him—midway through roasting some poor IT guy’s entire existence. you cleared your throat. sukuna froze.

then, he straightened his tie, rolled his shoulders back, and—without missing a beat—“ah, boss. g'morning.” like nothing happened. 

you blinked. he blinked back.

…this motherfucker.

[angelfic]

JASON TODD is constantly in pain.

ever since he came back from the pit, he’s felt like a stranger in his own skin, metaphorically and literally. in a body he was suddenly forced to awake in, the ache in his bones is always there, simmering beneath the surface and pressing into his muscles with every movement.

he never talks about it, but you can see it in the way he rolls his shoulders too often, like he’s trying to work out a knot that won’t go away. you see it in the way his jaw clenches when he’s been sitting for too long in the same position, or how he winces whenever he moves a little too quickly.

at first, you thought it’s was just his mannerisms to be all surly and intense all the time. it isn’t until you catch a flash of pain flickering across his face in the middle of a conversation in which he’s happily talking to you.

after that, it’s all you notice and the only thing you want to do is relieve him of his pain.

tonight is no different, when jason comes home late from patrol and his muscles are stiff and practically seizing. blood stains his knuckles from a particularly nasty run-in with gotham’s lowlifes, but jason doesn’t bother removing his gloves or his boots as he collapses onto the couch with a heavy sigh.

you’re there, as always, waiting for him. you crouch down beside him, reaching out to stroke his hair and he nearly forgets he’s in pain for a split second. the minute he shifts to look at you however, his neck feels like someone’s taken a crowbar to him all over again and he can’t stop his face from twisting into a grimace.

“rough night?” you murmur, chin resting on your arms against the edge of the couch. your voice, soft and warm, cuts through the fog of exhaustion clouding over him.

jason hums in answer, too tired to pretend with you. you hesitate for a moment before standing up and holding out a hand for him to take.

“come on,” you say, tone allowing no room for argument. jason knows better than to protest and he’s already achy, so what’s a couple more steps?

you lead him to the bedroom and he kicks off his boots before entering. you sit him down on the edge of the bed and silently begin to peel off his suit until he’s in nothing but his boxers, as still as a statue depicting a greek god in all his glory. jason knows you better than to assume you’re trying to initiate anything sexual, your expression full of love and care, mixed with almost clinical intentions.

“will you lay on your stomach for me, jay?” you ask, softly. jason would hang the stars in the sky for you if you asked him, but he settles for nodding and climbing onto the bed obediently to lay where you want him.

he feels the bed dipping under your weight as you climb over him to straddle the back of his thighs and he opens his mouth to ask what you’re actually doing. but then your hands are on him and your thumbs are pressing into knots he didn’t even know he had and the question dies on his lips.

jason makes a little sound in his throat as your fingers work on his shoulders, kneading the taught muscles along his spine and neck and drawing out a deep groan from his lips.

despite the years of discomfort, jason begins to melt under your hands embarrassingly fast, huffing out a breath somewhere between a moan and a laugh.

“fuck,” jason mutters, his voice coming out in a low, gravelly rumble and anyone would think you were doing sinful things to him with the noises coming out of him.

“feel good?” you ask, quietly and jason can hear the smile in your voice as your hands continue to relentlessly chase the aching out of his bones.

“yeah,” he practically whimpers, shuddering out a breath as you work on his lower back, one hand continuing to twist as the other reaches up to brush his hair out of his eyes. he didn’t even notice it since he let them flutter shut the second you touched him.

jason feels himself sinking into the mattress, unravelling from within and when he shifts from his position slightly, it isn’t nearly as painful as it was before.

“your hands are fucking magical, angel,” jason breathes out, voice muffled from where his face is pressed into his arms.

you let out a laugh and that, combined with the way the soft pads of your thumbs run against the hard, scarred skin of his back, makes him think he’s died all over again. yet this time, he’s made it to heaven. “nah,” you whisper, leaning down to press a kiss against his spine. “just love you, is all.”

a/n; sorry idk what came over me writing this. the idea came to me in the form of my own aching muscles. i’m not a vigilante i’m just a brown girl deficient in every vitamin under the sun

[gladiatorcunt]

- A ROTTEN TREE BEARS ROTTEN FRUIT | I.

god loves you, but not enough to save you

cw: kinktober prompt (whipping/flogging), blasphemy, inaccurate religious practices, lyrical sadomasochism (more so sadism on his part), erotic religious imagery and references, this dynamic is so weird, implied (as in in my mind) bi reader and charlie, plus sized reader, reader’s chest referred to as ‘breasts’ & ‘tits’ and their crotch referred to as a ‘hole’ but they do have a seperate one other than their ass, pregnancy fantasy, vomit mention, don’t know shit about the show fuck you ryan, blood kink, interchangeable ‘charlie’ & ‘mayhew’ based on pov

do not translate, repost, or feed this work to ai |

kinktober 2024

“Shh, let me clean you up, Father.” You smile, so softly, he could snap your neck if he squeezed hard enough.

You run your nails over his back, trimmed to an appropriate length. Father Mayhew sighs the way Adam might’ve when Eve’s walls clenched around him, God never being more important than this bliss. You’re so devoted, so devout in your worship but he’s beginning to think that you cry out to a different God than he does. If you even believe in an invisible one anymore when you have a savior in the flesh.

“Thank you, dear. That’d be great.” The pulls are pulled from his lips like rotund wooden beads, as if he has no choice but to endure the stretch as they exit his body one by one.

You shuffle off the bed and kneel behind him, stroking your fingertips down his back like he’s a marble statue you just can’t help but reach out and touch. The opposite of Delilah cutting Samson’s hair, you only want to imbue him with your pure love from the inside out. Spooning milk and honey over the tender welts.

His eyelids crinkle as you kiss the nape of his neck, blotting your lips with rouge. There is no inch of his back left without, and when you arrive at the bigger gashes you lavish the cut with your tongue. Drinking his life away and cleaning him up like a good little whore, servicing the man becomes the only thing of importance to you. You dip the tip of your tongue in the recess of the deeper wounds, and caress his tensing abs from behind when he grits his teeth and traps a curse behind them. You only kitten lick him, but often he wishes you would get real dirty with it, caressing your tongue over his muscles in broad and messy swipes.

His scars from previous lashings glint in the low light of the candles surrounding you. You give them their just desserts of course, grateful pecks of attention and acknowledgement. Soothing his pain, that is the only excuse you have to encroach on the verge of breaking your vows. Father Mayhew gives you a purpose and stops your bleating with a heavy hand if you forget your place. Stern hand to raw and stinging flesh.

Sometimes there is no pillow when you kneel behind him.

The next step is that you turn around and face the wall after picking up the cattail whip off the bed and returning it to its rightful owner. You’ve already discarded your habit, no tunic, coif, or veil left on your person. They’re folded neatly beside you, only your rosary nestled in the embrace of your heaving breasts. Your peaks harden in the stuffy humid air, all the oxygen in the world confined to this small room.

He saddles up behind you, his sweaty chest so close to the flesh and contours of your back. Father Charlie breathes you in, taking whiffs of your debauched scent in between silent prayers. He never allows himself to be as forward as you are, his thread of control over his desire has not snapped yet. There are boundaries he can push, but lines he can never cross.

“Good lamb, God recognizes your penance and forgives your soul.” He whispers, dragging the strips of leather down your back until goosebumps rise to the surface.

When you least expect it, he strikes. You muffle a shout into the wall and Father Charlie’s cock jumps under his towel. Briefly he imagines slamming into your tempting body dry, with no preparation, making you sure you feel as much pain as possible. The way you’d wince with every step around the church, the begging in your puppy dog eyes when you’d take communion. How he could hold it above your head like a bone in the shape of a fractured cross, dangling just out of reach of your gorgeous mouth.

The devil gives him dreams of fucking your throat until you’re vomiting and hoarse.

Every droplet of bed peeking out from the cracks of your skin to say hello nourishes him. He shushes you when you’re unable to hold back your sounds, cooing when he notices you humping the air after the fifteenth hit. You just can’t help yourself, nerdy by nature and nurture.

You start soaking the pillow beneath you, imagining what he must look like. A man and his broad hulking body curling around you as he hurts you. Your hole suddenly feels so empty, you have a night of riding your pillow ahead of you, you just want to be good for him in all the ways you’re supposed to be.

As you let a demon of sex control your body, he spies a flash of a white lacy thong nestled between your plump ass cheeks. He knows that if you had also worn a towel, he would’ve hooked his fingers under the fabric and pulled it off. You don’t get to hide any part of yourself from your Father. And he knows he will have to give himself another lashing for those thoughts alone. Even the secret wedding he plans as he strokes his angry red cock, always edging himself, he’s afraid of what would happen if he lets go. How loud the iron gates would be when they creak open. Like the way he wants to spread your ass open and toy with the hidden puckered hole.

His words are in his actions, reopening your old wounds and bringing the warm leather across your back one last time, he hopes your blood soaks through the material. Staining it, the way you have already stained his heart. Father Charlie grins despite himself when you slump against the wall, sliding his bible-roughened hands over your love handles and sticks his pecs to your shoulders.

“You did lovely, today. The Lord thanks you, and I’m so proud of you, you know that?” His thick fingers brush along the bottoms of your tits, never going higher.

He wants to slap them, wrap the beads of your rosary around them until the flesh bulges, painting your nipples in a mix of both of your blood. Marking your souls irreversibly. Marriage of the spirit, a ritualistic wedding in the eyes of the beholder. You shiver like a mouse in front of a snake, and beads of precum fall from his cockhead.

Did Saint Teresa have these feelings when she had the vision of an angel piercing her heart with their golden spear? Did Saint Sebastian when he was pierced by those arrows under the order of the Emperor? Did David when he wrenched Goliath’s head back by his hair and bested him into humiliation? Did it compare to the covenant he formed with Jonathan?

He kisses your glittering scars in thanks and washes your blood away with his lips and tongue too. But unlike any other day in which you’ve done this, he stands up with a grunt and pulls you up with him. Father Mayhew falls backwards onto his bed and so you follow dutifully, and because the hold he has on your wrist is strong to the point of bruising. You lay your head over his heart and pant into his skin as he teases your plush thigh, tracing crosses into the chubby expanse of skin.

“No one has ever seen God; but if we love one another, God lives in us and his love is made complete in us.” He cajoles, walking on that burning tightrope with you.

He wonders if your cunt would be just as chubby, if you’ve ever thought about humping the organ bench, riper than the forbidden fruit, and he mentally catalogs an extra long session of repentance. To be fresh and clean again. Father Charlie will go through his sermons with his lighthearted tone and charming personality, desperate to hide that he’s thinking of plunging his tongue in your asshole. Sipping and slurping up your musk like it’s the only holy water he needs to live. Or entice you into eating his ass, you would love being able to serve him properly, no doubt.

To nourish you with his fragments, his vertebrae and viscera. The body and the blood. The teeth and the testicles.

He’ll sit in quiet contemplation in front of the pulpit, pouring wine over your body in his mind. Following the red trail with his tongue as it trickles down the valley of your chest and dips in and out the folds of your belly. He’ll leisurely open his mouth on a silent moan at the top of your mound, the hairs like yellowing blades of glades against his philtrum, in a perfect paradise there’d be blood there too. His own personal, pervertedly literal, red sea.

You’d look so beautiful, swollen and fat with a child growing in your womb. A shame that can never happen, but a blessing that no heretic of a man could snatch you up and take you away from him. Your flock is here, and the heavy crook of his staff is all you need to guide you back home when you go astray. Trapped in his thighs, molded by his hands, punctured into line with his cock.