#kiss the crucifix to begin and end

[tinyshe]

[minotaurs-my-beloved]

Not the mermaid anon but I was thinking of a nun encountering an angel, who is not as virtuous as the scriptues say, and the angel convincing the nun that she is going to hell unless she has sex with him.

Jesus Wept.

(or the terrible pun of a title i originally used, The Second Cumming)

What a fun idea anon, it also gives me a reason to be dramatic, sacrilegious, make a terrible pun, and dump a little bit of bible lore thats been ingrained in me

TW: Sacrilege and noncon or dubcon (the demon is pretty coercive and lies about being an angel)

He'll whisper sweet lies into your ear to try and get you on board, "You are chosen to be Mary. Through you will the second coming of Christ occur as the scriptures foretold all the way back in Genesis. To crush the head of the serpent, don't you remember?"

You call him out on the fact that Jesus already did that in his first coming and he laughs it off, saying, "Oh Ye of little faith, you all have interpreted this wrong. He has yet to fully crush the head, that is why demons and sin still exist. Hence him needing to return a second time, to fully end it."

When you ask why God would make you commit an egregious sin such as sex and not perform a miracle like he did with the virgin Mary, he angrily strikes you down. "God would not want that? You would dare question God's plan? As a mere mortal who cannot even wrap your head around his sheer existence, you defy him? Such hubris, do you want to suffer eternal damnation?"

You quickly try to redeem yourself, the threat of hell absolutely terrifying you and simply say that you do not understand. He just tells you that you do not need to, it is not your place. You try to rationalize all of this, knowing your God would never wish to harm you, this must be the way. I mean, he's an angel, is it really even considered fornication?

So, you agree.

He quickly strips you, his eyes don't look like they used to, now predatory, losing some of the light they used to hold. You just stand there, unsure of what you're meant to do. You're a virgin of course, you had never even kissed someone, and never thought about sex lest you fall into lust. He realizes this and starts telling you what he wants. Ordering for you to get on your hands and knees before him.

He goes behind you and you feel something sliding up and down your pussy, you whimper in fear, not knowing how this will feel, but you push all that to the side because you want to serve your God. He is surprisingly gentle in the beginning, slowly pushing his cock into your cunt, asking if you're okay. But the second he's fully inside, all of that disappears as he drives his cock in deep over and over. He grabs you by the hair, making you look up, "Look at the crucifix, you're worshiping your savior as I speak. Recite the holy prayer for me, c'mon."

He sounds completely different, from a booming, holy voice he now sounds raspy and strange. You try to look back at him, but his grip on your hair tightens, forcing you to look ahead. You begin saying the prayer as he commanded you, but it's so hard to think when he's fucking you like this. With each stutter he slaps your ass and you whine, trying your best to remember the entire thing. It gets exponentially harder to do so when something starts pushing against the rim of your asshole.

Before you have time to ask what he's doing, he rams his cock fully inside your tight hole, making you scream. He's now fucking you with two cocks. Why does he have two cocks? (for the second cumming, ikik im so funny) You have completely given up the prayer at this point, and he seems to have too, instead focusing on fucking you.

"I'm going to cum. I'm going to fill and ruin your holes and you're going to fucking take it. Thank your God. Thank him for my cum."

[ravenromanova]

I’ll be a good girl, I swear it!

Pairings: Priest Natasha x Semi innocent female reader.

Warnings: SMUT!! DO NOT READ IF YOU’RE UNDERAGE!!! Religion kink, Daddy kink, Praise kink, Kinda mean Natasha, Oral, Fingering, Squirting, Sex in a church, Legal age gap, Innocence kink, strap on. DO NOT READ IF YOU’RE UNDER 18+!!! Happy ending. :)

Summary: When the leader of the church asks you to stay behind for some extra lessons who are you to deny her?

Kinktober masterlist - Main masterlist - Send me requests!!!

~

You sat in the back of the church with your best friend Kate like you did every sunday listening to Ms.Romanoffs sermon. Your eyes had never left the woman as she spoke the word of god. The way she moved was memorizing and alluring. It’s almost like she knew you were watching her as her moves became slightly more sultry. It was like she was calling to you just from a look.

You had been attending priest Romanoffs services for a couple months now after Kate had informed you how hot she was. At first you had scolded her for being so vulgar and sinful…that was until you saw her for yourself. She was tall, skinny, had legs for days, had the most beautiful green eyes that was accentuated by her red hair. Your breath caught in your throat and your core started throbbing at first sight. So from then on you and Kate had decided to start going to church was more often.

The sermon has gone by just like it always did, speech, songs, prayer, more songs and then gossip after it ended. You and Kate were about to leave when Ms.Romanoff has come up behind you and tapped your shoulder.

“Excuse me miss L/n do you think you could possibly stay after for a bit. There are some things i’d like to discuss with you” The tall woman said and before you could even get a word out Kate responded for you.

“Of course she will Ms.Romanoff” She said as she slightly nudged you before she quickly walked off with a wink. You nervously cleared your throat as you shyly looked up at Natasha who had a devilish smirk across her face.

“Why don’t we go into my office?” She asked with a hint of mischief laced in her voice. You quickly nodded and she leads you to the office with her hand on the snap of your back. It was only then that you smelled her cherry and vanilla perfume and god it smelt divine.

When you entered her office you noticed a large red couch against the wall, along with a black wooden desk accompanied by a red velvet throne like chair. Her office was decorated wall to wall in victorian era crucifixes, paintings and antiques it fit the woman well.

“So-w-what did you want to discuss Ms.Romanoff?” You asked softly as you sit on the black velvet chair across her desk. She smiles devilishly as she sat behind her desk.

“Well i’ve noticed that since you’ve started coming to service you have a hard time paying attention whilst i’m giving the sermon” Her words make you choke on your spit and you try to cover it up with a cough.

“Oh Ms.Romanoff i swear i’m paying attention” You try to speak honestly but you know damn well you’re lying. The older woman shakes her head and tsks at your lie.

“We both know that’s not true y/n don’t lie to me… and especially don’t lie in the house of god “ She says with faux disappointment as she stands up and walks in front of you. “I think i’m going to need to teach you a lesson on how to be a good girl” Her words send a familiar throb to your core. You instinctively rub your thighs together to try to relive some of the throbbing. Natasha noticed your soft thighs moving and your face grew uncomfortable as you failed you help yourself.

You grow speechless s you feel her hands go to your thighs and spread them slightly. “Ms?” The question comes out breathless as you look at the redhead getting on her knees.

“Shhh kotenok just sit back and be a good girl for mommy okay?” Natasha questions you as she begins to pepper kisses on your soft thighs. “Will you be a good girl for mommy?” She questions again starting right into your soul.

“I’ll be a good girl” You nod at her question. “I swear it” You add and that seems to be sufficient for Natasha as she moves up your skirt. Her veiny hands go underneath your skirt to lift it to your hips before she removes your pantie. She groans when she sees you but down on your lip at her actions.

“I’m going to make you feel so good pretty girl” The woman praises before she comes face to face with your wet core. She takes one finger and rubs you from clit to hole gathering your juices to make it easier for get to fuck your. Your breath catches in your throat when she starts to rub your clit on soft motions.

“That feels so good Mommy” You moan as you grip the arm rest of the chair you sat on. She takes that as her sign to continue and adds one finger in slowly.

“Mmph oh my god-“ The moan comes out broken as it passes your lips.

“Dont you dare take the lords name in vein” Natasha reprimands you by slapping your pussy harshly. You squeal as her hand comes into contact with your slightly swollen pussy.

“SHIT! I-i’m sorry mommy, i- i won’t do it again just pl-please touch me” You whimper and grab her hands in attempt to make her touch you again. But instead she pulls away from you despite your pleas to come back. All you can hear is some rustling behind you once she leaves your view.

“It seems like you need to be taught a lesson in manners” She says as she comes up behind you suddenly. All you can feel is her breath on your neck before she bites down and marks you. You hear what sounds like fastening before she comes back in your line of view.

Your eyes go as wide as saucers when you see the faux cock around her hips over her dress pants. There’s no time to process what’s happening before your back hits the soft fabric of the church and she’s on top of you.

“I’m gonna fuck your now okay?” She asks even though she already knows your answer just by your face.

“Yes please.” You plead as you grip her hips and try to pull her closer. The attempt pulls a small chuckle from the redhead as she settles in between your thighs. She takes the strap and gathers your juices on it to lube it up before she ruins you. It may not have been your first time having sex but it sure had been a while and she could tell from how tight you were.

Once she’s happy with how wet the strap is she slowly eases it in before bottoming out.

“Oh s-shit” You groan when she pulls all the way out before thrusting in again. She says a soft pace at first testing the waters and as yours moans grow louder her thrusts become faster and harder.

“You take me so well kotenok” She praises as she wraps your thighs around her waist and fucks into you harder than before. The noises that fill the office are downright sinful and pornographic.

“Oh yes mommy yes” You mewl loud as you feel your orgasm build and the pleasure becomes unreal.

“You gonna cum for me like the good girl i know you are?” You questions rubbing your clit for extra stimulation. And that’s what sends you over the edge ave your back arches and you cum with a scream.

“Oh fuck” You whimper when she takes the strap out. But you don’t mourn the loss for long as she is quick to sink down to your pussy and clean up your mess.

“Taste so good” Her words are muffled as she licks and sucks you clean. Once she has successfully cleaned up your mess she takes your clit into her mouth and starts sucking on it like candy.

“Too sensitive m-mommy please-cant-“ You protest once she adds two fingers into your hole.

“Shut the fuck yup and take what mommy gives you” Natasha reprimands and sets a faster pace hitting your g-spot with extreme force.

“Yes mommy i’m sorry-i’m sorry i’ll take it i’ll be a good girl” You apologize as you feel your second organ build back up. This one is stronger since you’ve already cum once.

“I-i’m cumming mommy fuck i’m cumming” You scream as you grow into her hair and come undone on her tongue. She groans in appreciation before she kicks you clean again and then comes you to kiss you. The kiss is sloppy and sinful but you couldn’t give a fuck if you tried right now. You’d senses are in overload as you taste yourself on her lips and her perfume continues to invade your nose.

She breaks the kiss and then picks up your panties from the floor and putting them back on and lowering your skirt.

“You were such a good girl” She praises once you’re dressed again.

“Thank you Ms” You say blushing even though she just fucked your into oblivion.

“Hmm you’re welcome kotenok” The woman says softly before giving you a kiss on the cheek and helping you stand up.

“Same time next week?” Natasha asks as she opens the door and leads you out to your car through the church hall.

“Of course Ms.Romanoff” You nod before you bid the woman farewell and hop into your car. The car ride home tire head is filled with images of what happened and you get all hot and bothered over again.

When you get back to your shared apartment with Kate she’s sitting on the couch with an eager look on her face.

“Tell me everything!” She squeals when she notices your disheveled stare.

“You’re gonna need to grab a drink for this” And you two spend the rest of the night fangirling over your priest.

The meetings with Ms.Romanoff that follow Jesus definitely wouldn’t approve of.

~The end ~

A/n: Look at me posting back to back :) i will be patting myself on the back for these since i literally wrote and posted this one and the last one all in one go. Enjoy :)

I do not give permission for my work to be copied or translated on other cites

[petertingle-yipyip]

BIGGER PERSON - BILLY RUSSO

Pairing: billy x castle!reader (established relationship)

Word Count: 1,741

Summary: When Frank’s sister finds out that a) her brother’s alive and b) her boyfriend is supposed to kill him, the conversation quickly turns bad.

Your brother, Frank Castle.

Months had passed and his death still didn’t feel real. You had seen the headstone, found a church that was willing to give the infamous Punisher his last rites. Even though Frank didn’t really care for religion towards the end of his life, your parents would’ve wanted it done so you made sure of it. You sent them the blessed crucifix from the private ritual.

You were frozen in place as the news story played out on your TV. The job Billy was working for the senator, the one he claimed was to protect from the unknown bomber, was also intended to protect him from Frank. Frank, the alleged accomplice to the bomber, was being framed - yet again - as public enemy number one.

You paused the screen when the channel was playing video from a cop car that very clearly showed your brother’s face and pulled your phone to text Billy. But as your finger was finding the conversation, you realized he would very likely lie to you again. He lied about the job to begin with, so why would he owe you an honest answer now.

So instead, you paced your living room until he finally made it home.

When you heard the door open, your grip tightened on the remote and you felt the urge to throw it. Either at Billy or close to it, you didn’t care, but you refrained from either. He walked in and said his usual greeting, moving in to kiss your cheek but you shoved him off.

“Tell me you didn’t know.” You said tightly, hoping the anger in your stare was enough to burn him.

“What do you mean?” He asked, a slight nervous chuckle pairing with the words.

“The bombings. All of it is being blamed on Frank.” You continued.

“Frank?” His brows furrowed and you had the urge to shove him again.

“Don’t talk to me like I’m stupid.”

“No, I- I’m not.” His hands went up in surrender. “I want to finish this discussion, really. But honestly, baby, I’m too damn tired. Can it wait till later?”

“So my brother is alive and I find out by chance from some news story and you want to talk about it later?” You said angrily, gesturing to the paused screen that still displayed the photo captured from a police car’s dash cam.

“Can we not do this, Y/N?” Billy sighed and dropped on the couch, covering his eyes.

“No, I think we should.” You snapped. “That is my brother, Billy. If there was even a rumor that he was still alive, you should’ve told me!”

“It was just a rumor.” He enunciated, still not looking at you. “I hadn’t heard from him so how was I supposed to know it was true?”

“You still should’ve told me!”

“I’m sorry!” He shouted, standing suddenly and. pausing you to take a small step back. “What am I supposed to do about it now? What- What- What do you want from me?”

“Jesus.” You sighed and put your hands up in surrender. “Nevermind. It’s just my brother, right? Who cares? Not like I had a right to know but hey.”

You stormed off to the bedroom and ignored Billy’s muttering as you left. You didn’t even need Billy to confess that he knew or that he was helping Frank hide. All you wanted was an honest apology, but he couldn’t even do that.

The days went on and you still said very little to Billy. You still did your usual routine, breakfast and coffee ready before he went to work. Dinner either on the way or finishing on the stove when he got home. But outside of that, or answering a direct question he asked, you were busy with a book or a new TV show. Anything really that meant you didn’t have to say anything to him.

It was right before his TV interview about the attack on Senator Ori at the hotel, which they were attributing to Frank. He had came out and asked if his tie looked okay and you said “Sure, it’s fine” without facing him.

“Jesus, Y/N/N. How long you gonna act like this?” He complained.

“I shouldn’t have to be the bigger person.” You spat back, still keeping your back to him. “I shouldn’t have to bend to keep us on track. Let me ask you this, Bill. That guy with the- the eye thing. He having you go after Frankie?”

“Y/N…”

“I swear to God I will walk out that door.” You threatened and turned to face him. You watched his eyes dart between yours as he took in your expression. “Everything you’ve been doing lately, was it all about Frank?”

“Yeah...”

“Catching him?”

“Yeah…”

“Killing him?”

You didn’t even know how you managed to get that question out but you did. It felt as if your throat had tightened and the three short syllables were rung out of your voice box like water out of a towel.

“Yeah…” He answered, voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart grew heavy in your chest and it nearly felt

like it had stopped beating.

“And you wonder why I’m pissed off.” You said flatly, pushing past  and leaving him behind you.

“Baby, it's just business, alright? Nothing personal.”

“It should be personal!” You turned and shouted. “That’s my goddamn brother!”

“You want me to apologize for doing my job?” He asked sharply.

“Yes!” You threw your arms forward. “Apologize for trying to kill my brother!”

“It’s my job!”

“Well excuse me for thinking you cared about me more than a fucking paycheck.” You put hands up in surrender and turned away, back into the kitchen.

“C’mon, babe.” He sighed, hurrying after you. “It’s not like that.”

“It’s always up to me, even when it shouldn’t be.” You complained. “You want me to take the blame for a fight and I do. I do because I love you and I always think it’ll be the last time.”

“Y/N…” He said your name softly, confused even. As if he had barely realized what the routine with you had become.

Argue about something, sometimes petty and sometimes not. Then you’ll make up when you apologize, but nothing changes. It was a vicious cycle that Billy was completely oblivious to, until now.

“I think that maybe next time you’ll be the bigger person cause I’m sick and tired of carrying the burden of every argument.” You shrugged, tears forming in your eyes that you ignored. “Keep moving my boundaries so you don’t cross lines, keep quiet when you yell. All cause I thought I had to to make it last between us.”

“I… I didn’t realize.”

“Yeah, I know.”

He took a moment to think over his next words. It felt like a very defining moment for your relationship. He never meant to make you feel that way, and knowing he had was arguably the worst pain he’d ever felt. How did he not notice? How could he do that to you?

“Tell me how to make this right.” He said softly, gently reaching to take your hand. You looked up at him while you let your hand sit in his. He looked at you with wide, soft eyes that were begging for forgiveness. “I’ll do anything.”

“You think it’s that easy?” You countered with a small challenge. “Billy, you’ve been hunting down my brother for a man who doesn’t care about you. That guy will throw you under the bus as soon as he needs to, just like everyone else. But my brother? You know damn well Frank would’ve done anything to protect you. He never would’ve don’t this to you.”

“No… He would’ve.”

“Why?” 

He looked towards the ceiling and sighed heavily. Your stomach felt tight and your blood ran warm with anticipation while you took a step back, taking your hand away from his.

“What did you do?” You urged.

“The carousel.” He began and that knot in your stomach grew tighter.

“You were there?”

“No.” He looked back to you, a silent plea in his expression. To hear him out, to believe him, to forgive him. “No, I wasn’t, I swear.”

“You didn’t shoot him? Or Maria? Or the kids?”

“No, I wouldn’t do it.” He shook his head and you could’ve sworn you saw tears in his eyes. “I said no.”

You were quiet as things began to click and you knew it reflected in your eyes as Billy’s expression changed.

“But you knew… You knew they were coming after my brother and that’s why we went out instead of me going with them.” You realized and the thick weight of betrayal slammed into your chest so hard you thought the bones would break. “How fucking dare you stand in front of me.”

“No, Y/N, please. Let me-“

“Let you what?” You cut in sharply and your hands tightened into fists at your side. “Let you explain? What is there to explain when you just admitted to knowing that your worthless fucking friends were gonna kill my family and you did nothing?” Your voice grew to a scream as you rambled.

His eyes shot to your hands and he took a step back from you.

“My niece and nephew, Billy!” You shouted. “They were kids! And Maria, she loved you. And you just let it happen.”

“I couldn’t do anything.” He spoke quietly.

“You’re kidding, right?” You laughed in disbelief. “You could’ve warned him!”

“He wouldn’t have believed me!” He reasoned.

“Y’know what.” You took a deep breath. “Just get out.”

“Y/N..”

“Aren’t you late for your interview?”

He opened his mouth to speak but the glare you gave him kept him quiet. Instead, he collected his things and went to leave.

“I didn’t want all this.” He called from the door. “It wasn’t supposed to end up this way.”

“Yeah, you worked so hard to keep it from me.” You countered. “Good luck when Frank finds out.”

The door closed soon after and you found your phone. You scrolled your contacts until Karen’s name popped up. You had met the woman when her friends were defending Frank in court and you two had stayed decent friends. You texted and said you had seen the news about Frank and asked if she could help you get in touch with him.

karen (lawyer): just put flowers in the window

[sseomtada]

covet [charles leclerc/carlos sainz]

a hidden desire is unearthed, leading to an interesting night with your boyfriend and his teammate.

this is a wip so let me know if i should continue? 18+++

“Put her on the bed, head facing me.”

Carlos’ request alone has you breathless before you’re hovering above ground in your boyfriend’s arms. Not a stranger to fulfilling requests, Charles does as his teammate instructs without complaint or delay.

Your head rests at the foot of the bed and your eyes meet the Spaniard hovering above you, his legs spread wide on a chair. His usually upright now upside down crucifix shines as it falls from beneath his shirt when he leans over, closer.

God, you think, and immediately feel guilty for doing so.

This is the last thing you expect to come out of a previous, unpredictable encounter. One where Charles is handsy and you can’t stop purring - so inconsiderate of the company right beside you on the sofa. Please, his accent laden laugh ripples, don’t mind me. Those words unknowingly at the time becoming the catalyst for the present.

Though, that can’t entirely be true. You and Charles know that kissing each other with so much tongue in front of him leads to this. Both of you are aware that you spreading your legs and letting yourself to be of good use before his hungry gaze only ends one way. You no longer just belong to one of them to behold.

“Remember, there are no objections. ” Carlos ghosts a thumb along your bottom lip. “You’re both to do whatever I say.”

He doesn’t tell you to, but you nod. You hear Charles agree as well, the bed sinking under his weight. Carlos adds that, of course, safe words are welcome and encourages their use should there be any discomfort. He asks that you two remind him of yours, which you do.

“Good. Very good…” The chair creaks as he leans back. “Why don’t you go ahead and get started, Charles? I wanna see that face she makes when you eat her out.”

As if it’s second nature, your boyfriend descends upon you. He takes a bit of liberty with the demand. Just because his strings are in the hands of someone else doesn’t mean he can’t, or won’t, tend to you fully.

He slots between your legs, one hand cupping the back of your right thigh and the other cradling your face. Your lips part just as his come down to taste them. A ripple of heat blooms from every pore, his tongue muffling your moans. Your finger graze his scalp just like your teeth do to his bottom lip and he ruts into you.

Before it slips his mind to do his teammate’s bidding, Charles begins to work his way down your body. He pushes your tank top over your breasts while kissing your neck and then moves to suck on your nipples. You writhe, knees squeezing his hips when he rolls them ever so slightly between his teeth.

Charles travels lower. His lips drag along your skin, patches of warmth from his open mouth trailing in the wake, until they settle at the top of your shorts. He kisses your covered mound and you gasp.

“Please.” Your lower half peels from the bed, pushing into his face.

“Awfully rude of you to make her beg.” Carlos tuts.

His presence, something of a distant memory under the touches of your lover, becomes vivid once again. Your eyes roll up to catch him already staring back, watching with intent. Charles removes your pants and spreads you wide for a taste. Your vision blurs as you gape.

“Look at me.” The tone in use forces you to regain focus.

As things progress, his demand is increasingly difficult to fulfill. One man runs his tongue through and around your soaking cunt and the other takes his cock out to stroke it in full view. It’s so thick, so full of pre-cum. You lick your lips.

“I think she wants something to suck.” Carlos chuckles. “Is that right, beautiful?”

Charles pulls your swollen clit between his lips and circles it wildly. You cry out, legs clenching around his head while your body inches up involuntarily. Your head dangles from the edge of the mattress, neck in full extension.

“Yes.” You swallow.

Carlos groans at the sight of you and tugs on his cock harder. His eyes, seemingly black, stretch from the head moving between your thighs to your heaving breasts and then to your lips that can’t seem to shut.

“Be a good boy and finish her off, Charles.” His lips curl wickedly.

Your thighs are in the puppet’s hold as his moan shoots up your spine until it becomes one of your own. He slurps obscenely at your hole, clearing your juices to tease it with the tip of his tongue.

“Fuck, right there-” You rolls your hips.

“Mhm?” He hums, pushing it further.

Your gaze meets Carlos’. “Yes! Don’t stop…”

The puppeteer nods and you’re instantly tumbling down. Your mouth widens, lips trembling, as you release it all onto Charles. He doesn’t let up. Your clit finds itself an object he can’t seem to stop flicking and sucking. Your moans slip into whines and coos, leaving your throat as raw as you feel below - all while the force behind your undoing admires the result of his direction.

“You’re doing so well.” He stops touching himself to cup your cheek.

You turn your face to nuzzle your nose against his palm, forcing yourself to take deep breaths. He smells as glorious as he looks, spice and natural musk. You lick along a line in his hand and it make his eyes burn.

“Spit.” Carlos mutters.

It’s like you’re put on autopilot the way you comply without thinking twice. You gather all the saliva you can to the front of your mouth and shoot it onto his waiting palm. He strokes your hair with his free hand before resuming self pleasure.

“Go fill your mouth up, angel.” His head nudges towards your boyfriend.

[husbandyke]

I know all us sacrilege whores love a good priest corruption fantasy, but imagine if you will: a demon posing as a priest in order to corrupt you instead. never holy or well-intentioned to begin with, but oh so good at playing the part. 

the facade would be entirely pleasant: a handsome face, a soft frame clad in vestments and cosy cardigans and loafers, a soothing voice, an easy humble confidence, a calming presence. the opposite of a threat, a man that earns trust so effortlessly. some might think him too good to be true, if they didn’t like him so much—he always knows just what to say to get through to people, to gain their favour, to make them feel seen.

and see he does. he watches, razor-sharp observant, and learns every little secret, teases out every little bit of gossip, sees into the pits of everyone’s worst temptations. he finds everyone’s weak spots and cooks up a plan to exploit and exacerbate each and every one of them, and no one would suspect a thing. once he’d set his roots in your parish, it would be easy—a little comment here, a bit of advice there, specific guidance and unique penances in confession. he would need no weapon or tool but his words. 

there would be signs, if you were clever, that something wasn’t quite right. he would never actually say the word God, always Him or Our Father or The Big Guy if he was being nonchalant during the homily, which usually earned smiles from the congregation. no one would actually ever see him take communion, as he would prepare most of it with his back turned from the nave. he would never actually cross himself or others when giving a blessing, conducting his hand in the wrong order or wrong shape, his deliberately mumbled and muddled words mistaken for reverent whispers. he would never directly touch any crucifixes or rosaries or anoint with holy water with his bare hands, always using a cloth or a cup or those black gloves of his that everyone readily accepted when he'd casually explained his skin sensitivity, because why wouldn't they? they believed every word out of that mouth.

when he discovers your dirty little secret, he’s excited—lust is one of the big seven, but a delicate one to coax someone into. a slow burn, a long game. but he’s more than willing to go that road, especially given your specific perversion around holy men. he would be delighted that tempting you would require a more involved approach.

it would start simple and innocent—an extra squeeze when shaking your hand, a lingering glance from across the room, a quick warm touch on the shoulder in greeting. that would be more than enough to get your blood running hot, but it would pick up over time—compliments on your beauty and praise for your character & virtue, little jokes about being lonely living all by himself in the big empty rectory, locking his gaze onto you during sermon about depravity and carnality like you were the only one in the room. enough to make him consume your thoughts, your guilty daydreams, your dirty fantasies. 

but still never breaking through the artifice of mere association, maintaining total innocence, never advancing. just smiling that smile and saying your name with such headaching sweetness, waiting for you to break, as he know you will. it would only be matter of time. 

waiting until you’ve picked holes in your sunday sweaters and bitten your cheeks sore from holding back, until you two end up alone in the chapel or the halls of the church somewhere private enough, until one little playful joke snaps the last of your resolve. waiting for you to close the gap between the two of you, to grab him by the shirt or push him up against the wall and trap him in a kiss, needing more, needing him. and even lost in the heat of passion, you’d swear you’d feel him smile and chuckle against your mouth, quietly triumphant, before slipping back into character.

[thesungod]

their theme is so inconsistent like at the beginning it feels clear, being who you are and accepting each other’s darkness, but the way its done is 😬 and then it switches up to being literally budget toa saying “well everything can change yk??? don’t stay in the darkness” but in a horrible fashion and they’re acting like this is what they’ve been trying to tell me in the past 400 pages when it ISNT dont LIE to ME

i don’t think EITHER of them was reading the book as they write they were just mashing words together bc im watching a book promo for it rn and rick’s saying that will likes nico bc he likes nicos ““darkness”” and how intrigues him and mark’s saying neither of nico or will wants to change that core part of the other. which explains away him in BOO trying to tell nico that nobody disliked him—being that will was projecting his own feelings about nico onto others—and also relates will to apollo even more with their need to reach out to outcasts and love them. but then they didn’t write that they literally wrote that will doesn’t like it and he wants to fix it. thats my STEP SON and they did that to him.

rick did not want to write this book at all, and mark probably projected their nico stanisms onto the other characters without justifying the stanisms. you can really tell when rick has a passion for writing something and when he could not care less. the subtle toa promo in one of the gorgyra scenes and apollo’s updated glossary—he wants you to read toa so bad he could not gaf about this book. and yet apollo is never mentioned positively like give him back to me.

speaking of mark i think this is just a consistent issue they have when writing. i read reviews of one of their books (anger is a gift) and some were very negative about the way the narrative made the protagonist the most righteous person ever and completely revolved around them. ifl that issue bleeds into this book as well.

i saw people (including the writers) say this book is darker than a lot of rick’s other books and i really need them to shut the fuck up; THO literally had kids tied up in crucifixes to be burned at the stake 😭

ok sorry for the ramble i see the letters tsats together and i go on a rampage

you absolutely ate this up!!

also laughing at you calling it “budget toa” because that’s exactly what i said to a friend about this book once. i felt almost offended over the authors trying to fit the “everyone can change!!” narrative last minute and make Nico the symbol of re-invention after five whole books of ToA. i was very “how dare you stand where he stood” about it which is childish but alas.

i’ve also mentioned several times how will and nico’s conflict in the book was not intriguing to read about because it was inconsistent. not to mention that according to the timeline they’ve been together for a year!!! an entire year!!! and the book still has Will acting #shocked that Nico, idk, likes darkness.

the Mary-Suing of Nico literally the worst thing to ever happen to me. i’m usually all for my faves winning, but that’s after they’ve been through the mortifying ordeal of losing, yk. and i get that Nico has been through a lot but the book was basically a 400-pages-long ass kissing and i couldn’t do it.

i couldn’t even feel particularly moved or vindicated by Bob pledging loyalty to him in the end because it wasn’t cathartic at all. i was like we get it dude lol

same with his “friendship” with Piper tbh. not everyone needs to like Nico😭 i would have totally loved it if the book had shown a friendship progress organically through their grief for Jason or common interests (even if just briefly narrated through a recollection!! i’m not saying we needed chapters of flashbacks or Piper as a third main), but Nico does not mention her once ever. they didn’t even like each other in HoO!! then at the end of the book he calls her and he is all like “of course she wouldn’t be angry at me for not calling after Jason died <3 she understands that grief is complicated <3”

my king Piper isn’t angry at you for not calling because she dgaf about you. why would she. who are you to her

another thing I’ll never get over re: Nico and Will’s relationship is how, per the book, Nico encouraged Will to come out and was the first one of the two to do so, when every. single. thing written about them in the Hidden Oracle suggests the opposite.

why the fuck is Nico so reticent and embarrassed about admitting to be Will’s boyfriend in the first book of ToA if it’s Nico who came out first? IN FRONT OF THE WHOLE CAMP might I add?

because i get that coming out to someone doesn’t necessarily mean being comfortable coming out to everyone, but Nico announced his crush IN FRONT OF THE WHOLE CAMP. and asked Will out. and Will wasn’t out at the time. so whyyyy is their dynamic on THO literally the opposite of this? with Will pushing Nico to be more open about their relationship while Nico plays coy? because Apollo is Will’s father? idk, maybe i guess😭

but it’s pretty obvious the change in the dynamic was established later on and that the impression we were supposed to have while reading THO is that Will was the one more comfortable and in tune with his sexuality. like, come on.

[remyfire]

If you’re still doing kiss roulette can I get hawkeye and Mulcahy ?

(Hello! Sorry these are getting done so late, but I am still working through them and loving every moment! You get! A kiss to the neck!

I really hope you enjoy!)

There is never necessarily a convenient time to search for something in the supply tent—if an item is requested, then it is always needed with incredible haste—but there's a certain frustration in having only the moonlight by which to comb through the shelves. Despite his quiet questions after if there was a spare lamp, which went ignored, and his decent memory of where they might be, which has failed him, Francis finds himself huffing a sigh as he slips past the door and lets it shut quietly behind him.

It's no one's fault, he reminds himself, that the power has been cut off from a faulty generator, and frankly he should be incredibly grateful that there are no wounded who need surgery right now. Radar has already sent for the part that's needed to fix the generator, and they have confirmation that it's on the way and should be here within the hour.

There too is another way to deliver light—through an act of service—and truly if the only way Francis can currently be of assistance is to find a fresh box of gauze in here and deliver it to post-op, then he'll do so with a grateful heart.

Though they might've sent someone without a preexisting vision condition, he thinks wryly.

"Well." He heaves a sigh, grips his crucifix. "If it be Your will, then perhaps You might illuminate my path."

Unsurprisingly, there is a faint pang of amusement in Francis's gut, one he doesn't associate with himself, necessarily, and he rolls his eyes. "Or maybe not," he murmurs back, but with a degree of fondness.

When Francis is alone like this, he finds it monumentally less difficult to find the divine threads interwoven with  his veins. When he is leading a poorly-attended service, offering confession, or doing most any ceremonial task, it's difficult for him to own up to, but there's an element of the performative there, something which always plagues him. He'll know the right words to say, the right movements, and yet he'll be powerfully aware of the eyes on him and the calling he doesn't wish to fumble.

Tucked in a dark room with no one around but himself, Francis has fewer senses to distract him. He can interpret the emotions he feels with less uncertainty. He knows where he feels his own joy...and where he considers the mirth that he'll feel from, well, Him.

Things he can't really talk about with anyone else in this camp—and without many of his fellow practitioners either. Not without feeling their confusion, their concern, their judgment.

The longer you think about this, the longer those patients go without fresh bandages, he remembers, and with a deep breath and a hand held far in front of him, Francis begins feeling his way through the tent.

Due to the watchful eye of Major Houlihan, it's rare that the supply tent is rearranged in between shipments. If there's a large-scale shift needed, she supervises carefully, and after Francis gets through the initial hiccup, he inevitably finds his way around once again. But thankfully it's been quite some time since one of those, and he knows to trace along the cool metal of the shelf, all the way to the end, then let his fingertips hop to the next, and the next.

It's these shelves tucked near the back that hold his quest item, and Francis finally slows his progress to squint, do his best to discern one object from the next. He'd rather not experience the humiliation of bringing the wrong type of gauze nor the humility of needing to smile through his mistake as he returns to locate the correct one. But as he's halfway down the row, he catches sight of the nook at the rear. Pauses.

Behind him, a streak of moonlight cuts through the window, illuminates the mattress and rumpled blankets upon it. He can see the bare edge of a shiny plastic thing on the ground, and Francis blinks as he takes a step closer, pauses, then a few more. There's nothing to fear here. What this area symbolizes has no more power than a purple mark he'll see on a neck, a bra pinned to the bulletin board.

But when he kneels down and picks up the open item, he realizes it's an empty condom wrapper, and in a flare of shocked heat, he flicks it away.

A man of his age—and especially of his calling—should be less...less reactive to things like this. Not so flustered when he realizes what he's touched. But all he can suddenly think of is a man's nude body, painfully erect, his strong hand slowly rolling a condom down his hard penis, and suddenly he might as well be sunburned from head to toe.

Francis rises to his feet. Tugs his hat off and clutches it in his hands, right against his belly. He doesn't...it's not that he thinks that he'll need to...conceal anything, not when he's become such an expert over the years of redirecting his mind. In fact, now that he's staring holes through the tent wall, he can summon all of his focus to reject this part of himself. Tamp it down. Envision sitting within a frozen field of snow and ice, meditating, not a single soul for miles. There is only Francis, his Lord, and the lovely frigid walls rising up within him, and the clack of plastic—

The clack of plastic.

"There you are."

As arms wrap around his waist and yank him backward, a million things swim at once into dizzying focus—the hanger finally settling against the Supply Tent door, the syrupy masculine voice that could only belong to Hawkeye Pierce, the hungry and biting heat right on his throat. Francis lets out a sharp cry as he stiffens in place, hands flying down to push away the grip that holds him there, but...but then he bites and sucks and moans, and all at once, his knees give out completely.

"Been thinking about you all day."

If he was sunburned before, he's thrown straight into a bonfire now, where his ancestors used to toss women who were too independent, not to mention other sinners—

Hawkeye's groan is sugary sweet yet rich as licorice, the conflicting sensations sending Francis on a roller coaster as he throws his head back and finally drops his hat. This. This is what they warn about, the way that you'll be overtaken all at once, how a million devilish servants will pick you up and fly away with you and never let you find the ground beneath your feet again. You'll chase and chase and chase and chase, but there'll be no peace, only—

"C'mon, lemme hear you, huh? Gimme those pretty moans you've got." Hawkeye purrs right before he shifts to hot, wet kisses over Francis's sensitive skin, the kind that leave him sinking back into his grip, overwhelmed, somehow finding himself at the point of tears at the exquisiteness—no, no, at the...the...

It's only when a hand rushes up his body, under his green jacket, and over his chest that everything stops.

Francis whimpers, tips his head further.

Suddenly he's falling backwards, and Francis just barely manages to catch himself on a shelf, on the hand he throws behind him too. Like an awkward crab just recovering from escaping a boiling pot, he blinks, skitters slightly to flop onto his knees, then chances a nervous look up.

Hawkeye gapes at him, brows high, mouth hanging open, and when he starts shaking his head, there is no true way to articulate Francis's level of shame. He feels it so rarely. Only on the nights where he...lapses a bit. Where his hand might wander while he's alone in his cot, thinking of clever surgeon hands and mischievous smiles.

Right. Francis bows his head and clears his throat. I...yes, right.

"Jesus, Father, I—sorry. Sorry about that. About the Jesus. About the—" Hawkeye splutters for a moment longer, then holds out a hand. "You okay? You hurt?"

"Well, I..." Francis can't help but breathe a single chuckle, one that's tinged with a taste of his own bitterness. "Only on the neck, I believe."

"Shit. Sorry. I, uh..." As Hawkeye helps him to his feet, he's careful about it, his other hand coming to cup Francis's elbow to steady him as though Hawkeye was perhaps the one to push him. "I know it's not exactly the dead of winter or anything, but can I suggest a turtleneck?"

"I'll consider it. Though perhaps we can pass it off as a creative form of stigmata."

Hawkeye barks a shocked laugh, but it falls away just as fast, and Francis is left with his hand held, his throat sore, his neck cooling from...from Hawkeye's...saliva, where he'd bitten, where he'd marked him. Another flood of fire washes over him, but he doesn't feel as cleansed as the three who were thrown within Nebuchadnezzar's furnace.

There are words that need to be exchanged here, of course. The reminder that even if Hawkeye Pierce might think about Francis in this sort of way, it isn't permissible. That there's nothing Francis could ever give him that could make him happy. That—

The hanger clatters louder this time, and suddenly Nurse Madeline comes around the corner, tall and lovely and...blonde. That darling little pixie cut of hers.

The realization hits and makes Francis's blood run cold. Of course.

"Goodness, I seem to have...interrupted a medical discussion," Francis manages to say with a small smile.

"Don't worry, Father," Nurse Madeline murmurs with a smile. "I'll see you this weekend."

At confession, he realizes. Ah. His brows shoot up as he looks between them both, but all he can find is amusement on her face, something indecipherable on Hawkeye's. It isn't the first time that Francis has interrupted an interlude, just...just not...quite so preemptively. But while he'd expect Hawkeye to tease him about that, all he can see through the darkness is how the dark-haired man is refusing to look away.

Finally, Hawkeye seems to come back to himself. "Gauze, right?" He takes a quick step, leans, and snags a fresh box of it. "Here. Should be what Margaret's looking for."

"Oh, why...thank you." Francis reaches for it, but Hawk cups his knuckles and makes him gasp. Very carefully, Hawkeye makes sure that the box is tucked safely into his palm, then uses his own touch to wrap Francis's fingers around it.

He looks at Hawkeye one more time. And from this closer distance, he can more easily interpret the flecks of blue heat in his irises.

Francis clears his throat as he slips between them, making sure he brushes neither. "I'll be going then."

"Good night, Father," Hawkeye says softly behind him. Almost fondly, he might be tricked to say.

Francis hesitates at the end of the row, swallows the stone in his throat, then quickly makes his way out of the tent. To safety. To linger in disappointment, confusion, and incredibly fervent prayers.

[scotianostra]

On February 8th 1587 Mary Queen of Scots was beheaded at Fotheringay Castle.

Over the years I have posted about Mary Stuart's life and death many times, most of you you know the story, can you imagine it nowadays, what a story it would have made! But what about back then? Here is some imformation on how it was reported on across Europe in February 1587, there's a link at the end that covers the actuall execution, which I have hilighted previously.

The execution of Mary, Queen of Scots was a huge news event across Europe. Mary was forced to flee Scotland and seek protection in England in 1567 after a Scottish rebellion against her rule. Elizabeth I of England kept her under house arrest for many years. However, as Mary was Catholic and Elizabeth Protestant, Mary became the centre of many Catholic conspiracies and plots against Elizabeth. Elizabeth’s advisors wanted her to execute Mary, ‘to ensure the life of Her Majesty of England and the well-being of the Crown of England, particularly however to stabilise religion’, as the Magdeburg pamphlet puts it. Nevertheless, Elizabeth resisted for a long time – she was related to Mary and did not want to execute a fellow Queen. Eventually Elizabeth agreed and Mary was executed in February, 1587.

Europe was shocked by Mary’s execution. In the Holy Roman Empire, printers published multiple news pamphlets on her execution across the Empire – from Magdeburg to Munich, Cologne and Königsberg (now Kaliningrad in Russia). The pamphlets all followed a similar formula – a brief explanation of why Mary had sought refuge in England, followed by reasons for her execution and concluding with a detailed description of the day of her death.

The Holy Roman Empire consisted of lots of different states with varying degrees of independence and were ruled variously by city councils, princes, dukes and bishops. There were Protestant and Catholic states, occasionally bordering each other. As Mary, Queen of Scots was a Catholic, we might expect to see the German news response split on grounds of religion – Catholics mourning her death and Protestants celebrating it. There are elements of this – a pamphlet published in Catholic Munich refers to Mary as ‘condemned from life to death, to which the renowned Queen of Scotland with great perseverance in holy Roman Catholic belief willingly gave herself’, hinting at a view of Mary as a martyr to her religion. However, the vast majority of pamphlets – both Protestant and Catholic – were more concerned about the threat that Mary posed to peace and order in England. The prominence of this approach to Mary’s execution in German print suggests a general weariness of the political and religious upheaval the Holy Roman Empire had faced since the beginning of the 16th century. A pamphlet published in predominantly Catholic Cologne explains that Mary’s execution was necessary because: ‘the life of the Scottish Queen would be the death of the Queen of England, and also the ruination of the well-being of the country and religion.’ This is borne out at the end of the account, which declares that since Mary’s execution ‘all in England has remained quiet and in good peace, and hope that it will continue to remain so.’

Mary met her death with great dignity, I will leave you with a part of one of the transcripts of her last moments.....

As the dean continued his exhortation, Mary turned away and prayed quietly in Latin. The executioner stepped forward and knelt before her. “Forgive me,” he said.

"I forgive you and all the world with all my heart,” she answered with a smile, “for I hope this death will make an end to all my troubles."

Mary kissed her ivory crucifix and laid it beside her clothing, then added her prayer book. Taking out a gold-bordered handkerchief, she handed it to one of her ladies, whose hands were trembling so much that Mary had to help secure it as her blindfold.

Someone led the queen to the block and helped her to kneel on the cushion before it. She reached out, groping for the block and placed her neck on it.

"Into Thy hands, O Lord, I commend my spirit,” she whispered in Latin, as the executioner raised his ax and swung. To his horror, he missed, merely grazing the queen's head.

"Sweet Jesus,” she was heard groaning quietly as the ax was lifted again. This time, it nearly severed neck from body. Angry and exasperated, the executioner sawed through the remaining flesh. The head rolled away, while the body fell on its back, bleeding.

"God save Queen Elizabeth,” the executioner shouted as he grasped the severed head by the hair and raised it to the crowd. Suddenly, it fell and rolled away, leaving in his hand only a red wig. Onlookers gasped, seeing the gray-haired head, suddenly old, facing them, lips still moving.

The executioner lifted the queen's dress to remove her garters, his time-honored prerogative, but was startled as a small dog emerged from the folds. Mary's pet, Geddon, had hidden in the dress.

Geddon rushed to the corpse and circled, confused and distraught.

The dog began to howl. The Protestant dean who had confronted Mary leaped to the platform and pushed the dog's face into the pool of blood.

"Remember what {John} Knox prophesied about the dogs drinking her blood!” he yelled. “Drink, you cur!” But Geddon resisted, instead sinking his teeth into the dean’s hand. What became of Geddon remains unknown.

Mary's head was displayed on a velvet cushion before an open window at Fotheringhay Castle. Her crucifix, prayer book, bloodstained clothes, the execution block and anything she had touched were taken to the courtyard and burned, obliterating all traces of Mary, Queen of Scots.

[drip-from-kitchen-sink]

I just read your comment saying that Bram Stoker wrote dracula fuelled with misogyny and a hatred of immigration, and it got me interested, could you maybe explain it a bit more? Also, good luck with your writtings ✨

Of course! So Bram Stoker seems to have leant more conservative in terms of politics and favoured traditional morals. When I studied a level English literature we had to read through and analyse both what is being said and how it relates to contemporary political climates. Dracula was published in the 1890s, which was a massive time of change as it was nearing the end of the Victorian era and politics was beginning to shift in favour of things like women's rights. Gothic as a genre tends to respond to these types of anxieties.

I'll start with how misogyny may be represented in the book. Lucy is shown to be very promiscuous for a woman of the time as she kisses several men, complains about only having to marry one man, and receives blood transfusions (which is later equated to a type of marriage). This is probably a response to the idea of the New Woman, or a woman that seeks things like independence and more right. Stoker appears to be against this idea as he punishes Lucy by having her turned into a vampire, which gives him an opportunity to present her as the complete opposite of what a woman 'should be' - a good example is when she clutches a child to her breast when she feeds from him, which is an inversion of traditional ideas of motherhood.

Mina seems to be the inversion of Lucy in this sense, though she still has some attributes of a New Woman. She is entirely dedicated to her husband and is willing to do everything they need of her, she kisses the ass of every man in that book constantly and heralds them as her heroes and as big brave men, and she is weak and incapable when it comes to the high stakes confrontations. She is very intelligent (and is the main reason the protagonists are able to eventually kill Dracula) as she is the one that creates copies of all of the accounts from the characters that keep diaries and send letters - this forms the bulk of the information the men use to understand Dracula's powers. This is not shown as empowering to women, though, as Van Helsing says that she is so smart because she has a "man's brain". For her devoted service to the men and to convention, she is rewarded by having a loving husband and children (the reward that any good woman receives from authors at the time).

Onto the xenoohobia in the novel- this could br seen as forming the foundations of the plot essentially. The book begins with Harker travelling through the East of Europe to visit his client, Count Dracula. On this trip he compliments the food, but complains that the technology isn't as advanced ("the further East you go the more unpunctual are the trains"), and is generally entrusting of local religion, specifically when it comes to the use of crucifixes. As a personal impression that is in no way objective, I always think that Harker seems to look down on the locals and treats them as less intelligent. The plot point of Dracula invading England and infecting the masses is (maybe) based on fears around immigrations and of immigrants ruining British society, while also showing foreigners to be violent threats to the public.

There are some foreigners in the Crew of Light, so are presented as heroes, though they aren't portrayed as respectfully as the native English characters at times. Van Helsing is from Amsterdam, so while he isn't from the East, he isn't considered as pure and sometimes not as advanced technologically as the English, which is why he is incapable of reading shorthand and relies so much of traditional ideas of vampires. Quincey Morris is American, so Lucy writes to Mina that he teaches her southern slang terms, though she emphasises that he doesn't always talk like that and that he acts and speaks lies a gentleman. One way in which both of these men are arguably treated as lesser is during the blood transfusions as there are four men that give blood to Lucy, the order in which the men give blood could have been from most to least worthy if looking through a conservative lense. Arthur and Dr Seward are the first two to give blood as English middle to upper class men, so are therefore of the most pure blood. Quincey and Van Helsing are the last two to give blood as their blood is less pure, though the only distinguishing feature between them and the previous two is their nationality.

I hope this is what you were asking for, I spent over a year studying and revising this book so I have a lot of content stuck in my brain still. Also I absolutely hated the book so I will take any excuse to complain about it lol. And thanks!

[unknownjpegs]

have you seen her?

Yasiel isn’t sure what to do when Xavier comes stumbling through his door, entangled with a stranger. He feels deer-in-headlights type surprise; or a car stuck on the train tracks, unable to comprehend it’s about to get mangled. Naturally, it gets worse—because it’s not just stumbling, which is horrifically apparent from the sounds of heavy, breathy filled kissing. Yasiel stands there, back flat to the meager excuse for a kitchen counter Xavier has, watching roaming hands, heads bent together, bodies roll and push and pull together. The shorter of the duo shoves the tall read head away just long enough to start opening up his belt.

And when Xavier begins frantically yanking his shirt off, revealing pale skin that’s almost luminescent under the cut of moonlight from his open windows, Yasiel thinks to at least clear his throat. At least.

But Xavier’s stranger stops. His head makes a slow, inhuman turn to the side. Eyes—shiny like a cats stare at the end of a dark alley—find Yasiel in the kitchen. Looking at them, the animal sheen of night vision, Yasiel feels terror so bone deep that his knees tremble.

The eyes don’t compare to the sound the vampire makes, however, when realizing that they’re not alone. It’s deep, reverberating, snarling—later, when Yasiel is in a mood for metaphors, he’ll compare it to a panther, something vicious with a jaw meant to crunch open bones and find marrow. Something apex. Top of the fucking food chain—something that knows it’s top of the food chain.

“Wait—oh shit—fuck, Benji—I know him.”

The lights in the kitchen get slapped on by Xavier’s frantic hand. He’s caged behind the vampire, but his long arm makes good reach. One of his hands is tucked forward, around to his strangers chest, like he could possibly hold the creature back. Yasiel’s heart climbs and climbs and climbs into his throat, and the light almost makes it worse. Because he gets to watch the black iris shrink to a pinpoint and never move away from him.

“Yasiel, what the fuck?”

“Me? What the fuck, Xavier?” His voice goes embarrassingly high pitched as his hands make desperate scrambles across his own body, hunting through his clothes. Yasiel finds the crucifix in his back pocket, immediately holding it in front of himself. It feels flimsy and weak, and that sound is still echoing through his head like a bullet bouncing off metal walls.

The tension drains from…Benji, the vampire. His expression flits impossibly human—amused and slightly annoyed. His outstretched, protective arms drop and as soon as they do, Xavier steps around him. He snatches the crucifix from Yasiel, tossing it onto the kitchen counter.

“Don’t do that—it wouldn’t work on him anyway.”

“You said crucifixes work,” Yasiel hisses in a whisper, his eyes making constant glances over Xavier’s giant body to the vampire behind him. “On the last vampire you were with—”

“Yasiel.” Xavier’s voice drips dangerous and severe, and because Yasiel is looking at Benji, he watches a muscle in his jaw flex. A tendon in his throat. Another oddly human gesture that stands out in stark contrast. Yasiel’s eyes flick back to Xavier, who stares down at him with a stormy expression, lips flat and white, eyebrows raised. His eyes are so green sometimes they look eerie. “How did you get in my apartment?”

“I made a key.” He holds it up innocently. “When you let me stay here last year.”

“You—made a—” Xavier closes his eyes, holds his hands up like he’s surrendering something. But Yasiel understands that’s mostly just Xavier’s way of taking a step back so he doesn’t get angry. Before Yasiel had ever known about vampires, he thought Xavier was the scariest thing in a room. Sometimes, he still does.

Yasiel takes that lapse of attention to quickly pocket the key again.

“Look, it doesn’t matter. I need your help.”

“You can’t break into someones apartment and ask for help.”

“I didn’t break in,” Yasiel points out, adjusting the strap of his messenger bag. “I have a key.”

“Has a point.” It’s the first time the vampire’s interjected into the conversation. Yasiel feels his scalp crawl, that shiver running down the nape of his neck and spine. He has an accent, something rough that Yasiel can’t place from those few words. He stands with feet slightly apart, hands in leather jacket pockets. He’s wearing something slightly see through beneath. A mesh top. It makes Yasiel’s cheeks burn for some reason, his eyes skittering away.

“I found Nelsy.” Yasiel reaches up, a hand curling around Xavier’s bicep. He tries not to notice how that slowly movement has also cause the vampire to move. Just a step inward. He tries to ignore Benji altogether, but it’s hard. His presence is heavy in the small apartment. If Yasiel took a moment to look around, he’d find evidence of him everywhere. A shirt that Xavier would have folded and put away, across the back of a couch. Tattered converse sneakers that are kicked in either direction.

Xavier goes softer then. He lets out a long, deep breath.

“No, look—someone sent me her picture—she’s been going to this club.” He pulls his phone out, his hands shaking. It was a blurry candid, but her none the less. The slip of her into a darkened alley leading to the vampire club. There’s a slight pressure of air and suddenly, Benji is right there as well. Peering around Xavier to look at the outstretched phone. Yasiel wants to snatch it back, hold it to his chest, but he sees something pass across Benji’s features. Recognition.

“You know her,” he accuses. Yasiel steps forward, pushing Xavier to the side, to get to his vampire. “You know my sister?” He feels a slight push to his center. Xavier’s fingertips, just barely there, but enough to keep him and Benji separated. “No, he fucking does—I saw how you looked—”

“I know Mouse,” Benji says. That accent grates on Yasiel again, harsh and snide at the same time. Benji’s face is impassive, dark brows heavy but unmoving. His eyes are so red they look—fresh. That’s how Xavier called it. Fresh, a vampire just fed. Yasiel doesn’t want to know. He sucks in air, his shaky hand almost dropping the phone. Mouse. Mouse. Mouse. His head repeats it over and over, the nickname burning like a brand.

“Please, I have to find her.”

“Does she want to be found?” Benji leans then against the wall, his shoulder to it. One of his ankles crosses over the other, head tilted. Yasiel’s stomach leaves him then, drops away. He blinks and tries to step forward. Xavier’s hand on his chest goes firmer.

“Whatever fucked up vampire loyalty you have to my sister, cut it the fuck out. I need to find her—”

“You’re not making it easy on yourself, Yas.” Xavier’s height makes it simple for him to step sideways and block him from the vampire. He thinks of the primal, terrifying sound Benji had made. The way he’d stood in front of Xavier like Yasiel was dangerous. “Let me talk to him. Go wait in the hallway.”

“But—”

“Stop.” Xavier’s lip curls back. Almost as if he’s the one with fangs. The wrinkle over his nose, the harsh tilt of his brows, make Xavier look terrifying. He’s always been pretty—it had been what Yasiel was attracted to at first until he found that well of attraction empty. They were friends. Or supposed to be. Yasiel exhales slowly, putting a hand over his eyes. He counts backwards from ten and then shoves his way past Xavier. And still, barely looking, he can see Benji move with that. Prepared.

He makes sure to slam the door behind him when he goes.

—

An hour later, he is awkwardly sitting between the two of them in Xavier’s shitty red pick up truck. Every turn becomes a scrambling effort to stick closer to the human on his left, than the vampire on his right. There is nothing but silence between the three of them, and the sound of the over clocked engine. The wind, through the half cracked windows.

Yasiel reaches out to turn on the heat and Xavier slaps at his hand.

“You know I’m hot, like all the time,” he says, in an exasperated tone.

“You’re not the one sitting next to an ice box,” Yasiel retorts with his chin raised.

“Sorry for bein’ dead, mate.”

Yasiel’s jaw clicks when he snaps it shut, embarrassment bleeding into his cheeks, dark and red. There is a moment of silence again before Xavier snorts a little laugh. From his peripheral he can see Benji smiling as well, though his face is tucked mostly toward the window. He begins shifting, his hand cranking the window down lower. It’s such an old truck that it isn’t automatic. Once the window gets fully open, Benji begins sliding himself through it.

“Holy shit,” Yasiel can’t help but whisper, watching as the vampire disappears into the night. There is no sound of impact, like his body hadn’t even hit the ground. Or if he’d landed on his feet, it was just that silent of a predator. He quickly scoots over into the passenger side and begins winding the window back up.

“I wish you hadn’t said anything about Reno.”

“Why?” He leaves just a sliver open, but it’s still enough to whip around his shoulder length hair. And that’s mostly because he begins patting himself down for cigarettes.

“I haven’t talked about him with Benji,” Xavier explains softly. He drives with one confident hand on the steering wheel. His elbow props himself up on the door, a hand on his face. He looks suddenly exhausted and exasperated. Xavier has bags under his eyes he didn’t always have when Yasiel had first met him, a few years back. He does a quick scan of his neck, searching for the tall tell bruise…

“So?” Yasiel lights himself a cigarette, relaxing into the seat of the truck. Xavier rolls his head to the side, not paying attention to the road and making him anxious.

“You’re so fucking hopeless. You really are shit at relationships, aren’t you?”

“Are you dating the vampire?” Yasiel asks incredulously. He taps ash out the window, turning to fully stare at Xavier.

“You should put your seatbelt on.”

“You’re deflecting.”

“Don’t use fancy lingo on me.” There is another lull of silence between them. Yasiel wonders if being shit at relationships extends to friendships as well. He worries at a hole in the leather cushion. He doesn’t try and make the first step; instead he ruminates on that. Benji. Vampire. Xavier. Dating. That snarl. He bites his lip to stop himself from saying anything at all.

“He’s good looking or whatever,” Yasiel mumbles, adjusting himself so he can stare out the windshield with his body turned this way. Xavier laughs. It’s his authentic, loud, boyish laugh. Yasiel glares. He tries to stop himself, but at the same time, he also doesn’t. It feels nice, almost. In a way. To not be thinking of Nelsy. To not be thinking about everything. He tucks his chin down, eyes wandering from road to dashboard to Xavier.

“How did you two meet?”

“Well,” Xavier starts, rolling his shoulders. He’s smiling and that’s authentic too. Sweet. Yasiel listens, and can tell, from only a few words in that Xavier isn’t dating Benji. He’s fully fucking in love with him.

—

“Why did you bring me here?”

Yasiel stands outside the apartment, shoulders hunched to the wind. He stares and realizes that it’s one of the nicer houses on the strip, but it’s still a run down looking town house on a road full of run down looking town houses. Yellowing grass and wire fences and a car with no wheels, stuck on bricks, sits outside another.

“The suns up in like five hours,” Xavier explains, checking his phone.

“So?”

He cringes and looks at the apartment and then back to Yasiel. Xavier steps forward a bit. He looks awkward and apologetic.

“Mouse is nocturnal now, Yas. She’ll be asleep in a few hours.”

He tries to picture that. Yasiel tries to imagine Nelsy without the sun. He tries to imagine her never on the beach again, never hanging her hand out the car window, palm up to feel the light. He tries to imagine her pale—with dark marks under her eyes just like Xavier. When he tries to imagine her, throat open and bloody for some fucking vampire, he feels nauseas. So much so that he tucks the back of his wrist to his mouth and looks at that abandoned car.

“My friends are going to let you spend the night.”

“Why can’t I stay with you?”

“You interrupted me and Benji earlier,” Xavier says, with a sleazy grin. “Really rather you didn’t again.”

“Ew,” Yasiel snaps, shoving Xavier by the shoulder. He barely moves. “Ew.” He repeats it as he walks toward the apartment with determination.

—

Benji had beat them to the apartment. Is already there, sitting at what Yasiel assumes is a kitchen table. He has to assume, because instead of food, it’s covered in boxes of ammo. And a pale blond sits there, black gloved hands organizing the ammunition alongside firearms. Yasiel’s throat feels dry looking at it, the sudden appearance of violence jarring, although he should have known. When Xavier said friends, he meant fellow hunters.

There’s three at the table. The blond, who looks exceedingly more terrifying with every frantic glance Yasiel throws him. Benji, who looks at Xavier before anything else. And a third man, with buzzed, dyed, pink hair. Probably one of the prettier men Yasiel has ever seen. He sits there, oddly innocent among the supplies, a hand held video game in hand. There’s a jarring moment of sweetness when he leans over and the blond pushes a fountain drink close enough for him to catch the straw without looking.

“Yasiel, this is Benny and Maran.”

“Which ones which?”

“Do I l-look like I’d be n-named Maran?” the man’s voice is higher pitched than Yasiel was expecting. Reedy and breathy, and a little mean. He has a scorpion tattooed on his neck, that moves as he speaks. When he looks up, his eyes are so pale that they look bled dry of color.

“Didn’t wanna assume the white guy was named Ben. My bad.” It makes the other—Maran, he suspects—grin a little. He’s generous, with a two fingered wave. Yasiel feels himself settling into that smile he gives people when he finds a flame of interest. He jumps when there’s the snapping chk sound of a shotgun being loaded. Benny, the white guy with white eyes and hair gives him a flat mean stare as he puts the shotgun back beside a different gun Yasiel could never put a name to.

“Be nice.” Xavier passes behind Benny, giving his mop water colored hair a soft pet. Benny angles into it, like an animal starved of attention. A chair scrapes the flooring and Yasiel side steps to avoid Benji as he stands. He’s taller than the vampire, but it doesn’t make him feel bigger at all. He holds out his hand, palm up.

“What?” Yasiel stares at it.

“I’ll have that key now, yeah?”

He thinks to deny still having it. Left it on the counter, oops, sorry. But the vampire’s dark eyes bore into him. He feels a tingling sensation crawling over his whole body as he slowly reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls the little key out. Yasiel places it into Benji’s palm. When the vampire smiles, he can see those sharp, pretty white fangs. Yasiel clears his throat and looks down at the floor.

“No harm no foul, mate.” Benji steps around him, follows Xavier.

“Uh,” Maran makes a sound to dispel the tension. He laughs and it’s pretty. Real, that was awkward, huh kind of laugh. Yasiel’s shoulders relax. “C’mon. Lark’s got blankets for you in the living room.” His hand passes over Benny’s tattooed forearm. Squeezes it slightly as he stands and steps away from the table. There is such a possessive note to that touch, this mine sort of grip that Yasiel feels like he’s intruding for the second time.

Which is not his own fault, he defends himself, narratively in his own monologue. Xavier had been mostly single the last time he’d known him, and he didn’t even have a key to this apartment.

—

Lark turns out to be another vampire. And if Benji was handsome, dark featured and with heavy brows and sleepy lids—Lark is pretty. His eyes are black, no real hint of red to them. His smile is softer, almost a ghost on his features. Yasiel tries not to stare at him, as they’re introduced, as he looks at the blankets on the couch. He tries to think of Nelsy; tries to think of why he’s doing all of this in the first place. Sleeping on a strangers couch, a vampire holding out his hand for introductions.

“You’re more polite than that white guy,” Yasiel comments, taking it. He has tattoos across his knuckles. He wears an oversized jacket, but there is a hint of his slender frame from the jeans he wears.

“Which white guy? Red head or blond?” Lark tilts his head a little, smiles wider, just enough to put a dimple in his cheek. “We’re trying to collect every flavor.”

Yasiel decides that this is the only vampire he is going to like.

“This blanket smells good,” Yasiel comments, holding it up under his nose. It’s softer than he was expecting too, for couch surfing. When he’d lived with Xavier for that brief stint of time, trying to find Nelsy once more, he’d hated the smell of his cologne and shampoo. Lark is almost to a door that has been completely plastered in posters, stickers, black paint.

“Thanks, it’s mine.”

He drops the blanket quickly.

—

Yasiel can see Benji sitting in the passenger seat from the window. He leans against it, watches the sure fire spark of a cigarette. Ponders that for a moment—can vampires enjoy nicotine? What can vampires enjoy?

“Tomorrow,” Xavier promises. He’s shrugging into another jacket, one he’d apparently forgotten the first time he was here. “I mean. Later today, I guess. You get used to being on their schedule.”

“I’d rather not,” Yasiel sneers.

“It’s not so bad,” Xavier replies, his own eyes drifting toward the window. The little red spot of a cigarette. To Benji. He’s smiling as he says it. Yasiel also tries to imagine Xavier without the sun. No new freckles. No summer lightened red hair. He grinds the heels of his palms into his eyes and starts for his make shift bed.

“He knew—knows—Nelsy.”

“They’re friends.” He can feel Xavier’s hesitation. Yasiel wants to shake him. Scream at him. Imagine if it was your sister. “He’s going to help—Mouse has been,” Xavier’s words die there. Yasiel looks up as he sits down amongst the Lark smelling blankets. “It’ll be okay, Yas.”

“Promise?” he jokes then, with an exhausted smile. Xavier is already looking back to the window, when he says it back.

“Promise.”

[timepunchrr]

GUHHH SINCE A COUPLE PEOPLE SAID YES HERE'S SOME INFO ABOUT MY MD X NINJAGO AU :3

WARNING THIS IS SUPER LENGTHY

The au takes place in ninjago S3 and MD ep6

Basically everything in MD before ep 6 happens except Tessa survives the gala and in the beginning of ep6 / end of ep3 when "Tessa" arrives on copper 9 with j, it is actually Tessa in the spacesuit and not cyn.

Uzi, N, V, J and Tessa go through a portal at the begining of ep 6 and end up in ninjago (S3 Ep1)

The solver also works with the overlord and later on in S3 the solver possesses Uzi and she dissapears until the final episode. The battle basically plans like this:

The battle is all the same except in the BG N, V, J, and Tessa try to stop the solver and get Uzi back with the crucifix. The solver is defeated and cyn returns to her normal non-evil self and she's in the background of some seasons

I still need to work some shit out for S3, 4, 5, and 6 :/

Another fun fact abt S3: Tessa and Cyrus bond and Tessa starts working at Borg industries, and J sometimes comes in to help.

SEASON 7:

Okay this is where shit gets real !!

Basically this is the season where doll and Lizzy make their appearance!!!

Doll goes through the portal at the beginning of S7 and ends up in ninjago during the point when Jay and Cole are in the city defeating the Vermillion. Doll is obviously confused and starts fighting off some Vermillion, until blunck and raggmunk come in and knock Doll out, and krux (obv dressed as dr saunders 💥💥) kidnaps her. She wakes up in a prison cell and gets Interigated by the time twins due to them overhearing the drones talking about how dangerous doll was. They wanted her to be apart of their army, but she obviously refused, so she was left in the cell to rot. Fast forward until uhhhh that one episode where Machia gets in cyrus' face, that scene basically happens until doll appears outta NOWHERE and tries to sabotage the ENTIRE plan. She tries to get herself and Cyrus out of there but she is knocked out by a time blade. She then wakes up tied to a chair and is forced to help build the iron doom. (In the AU doll and Cyrus have some sort of bond)

OKAY OKAY FAST FORWARD TO THE SECOND TO LAST EPISODE WHERE THE NINJA DISGUISE AS VERMILLION, only instead of Jay revealing their identities, N does (the silly goober isn't that great with disguising)

And during the battle with the Vermillion and the ninja and the drones, before samurai X (pixal) comes, Lizzy makes her appearance and Doll and Lizzy have an emotional moment and hence, Dizzy becomes canon (they kiss and confess their love to each other<3)

Tessa also goes back in time with nya, kai and wu because she feels she doesn't have a huge significance to the team and so she goes with them. This is basically her "sacrificing" herself. She does come back with kai and nya though.

also another thing, after S7, doll starts working at Borg industries with Tessa <3

SEASON 8-9 TIME WOO WOO

I've recently been acting out some S8-9 Au stuff and here's what I've gathered:

After the bounty crash And shit, everyone gets separated

The ones that get sent to the first realm: Kai, jay, Cole, Zane, wu, n, j, and lizzy

The ones in ninjago: Uzi, V, Tessa, doll, Lloyd, pixal, misako, dareth, ect

Okay that's all I have, I'm still brewing shit up for all the other seasons + dragons rising so feel free to ask questions!! <3

Would anybody listen to me Yap about my murder drones x ninjago au.... :3

I'd more specifically Yap about S7 and beyond >_<

[tonberry-yoda]

Prayer - Enrico Pucci

Pairing - Enrico Pucci x f!reader

Warnings - religion (catholic), like quotes from the bible and stuff. i am not religious, but i did a bit of research before posting it idk if that's really a warning, but i wanted to put it here just in case. also, pucci speaks italian at the beginning

Word Count - 821

Notes - stone ocean has me going feral rn omg. ive already read the manga, but my oh my is it so good animated. ive been really wanting to write for more jojos characters (you can request more btw if you're interested lol) and i had to write for one of my fav villains

And don’t forget, REQUESTS ARE OPEN! So if you want to request any writing, please don’t hesitate to ask, but please read my pinned post before requesting! Please enjoy!! Don’t forget to stay hydrated! <3

Pucci raised up his head, the fire from the candles shining in his dark, almost lifeless eyes. His hands held each other in prayer, shaking. “La maledizione del Signore è sulla casa degli empi, ma egli benedice la casa dei giusti. Proverbs 3:33.” His voice was shaking. He could feel his breath running short. “149, 151…” He took a breath in, looking up at the full moon which surprisingly was not being covered by the storm clouds outside. “193, 197, 199…” Tears were still running down his cheeks. They were burning, like hot wax. “251, 257, 263, 269…”

Pucci jumped, hearing the door open behind him, the sound of rain from outside getting louder. He turned around, as the tears in his eyes blurred his vision, to find… her. He thought she was gone. Gone for good.

She stood in a soaking wet raincoat, slipping it off and hanging it up on the coat rack. As she walked towards Pucci, who was still on his knees, her wet boots left stains in the carpet.

“Enrico,” she kneeled down to his level and cupped his face. Her voice was so soft. Hearing it again made the tears multiply. “Enrico, you need to come with me.” She wiped a tear of his with her thumb. He pulled his face away and turned back around, staring at the crucifix that was watching his every move. “I can't.” His voice was barely audible, especially because of the storm outside. “Pucci…” He felt her hand on his shoulder. It was cold. Really cold. She must’ve been in that storm for hours.

“Fine.” Pucci stood up, closing his eyes and turning away from everything. “Let's go.”

Pucci knew that when he looked at her, God was watching. But he didn't care. He wanted to stare at her. He wanted to break rules. He wanted her to get the best of him. Sin didn't mean anything to him while she was around. Especially back then. The way her hands would cup his face. The way his cold skin would brush against her warm skin when they were pressed to one another. The way she would… kiss him. It's been years, but he still remembers. He would drop anything just to get one more kiss. One more hug. One more word out of her mouth. He worshiped her. Before she left, that is.

She stopped going to church. Found a life outside of religion. A life outside of him. He would’ve done anything to get her back. But suddenly, she was here again. She was here and he didn't know why. Dragging him through the rain for what felt like miles.

“Where are you taking me?” Those were the first words Pucci had said to her this entire walk. She turned around and he almost bumped into her, taking a step back. “I saw this and thought of you. I know it's raining and we haven't seen each other in a while, but I wanted to take you. It's right down here.” She led him through another pile of trees and they ended up next to an overgrown building. He froze as the rain stopped, the moon shining on the building. He turned to her and ran up to the building, running his fingers over each cobblestone. “How did you…” She smiled and opened the door, leading him inside.

There wasn't much of a ceiling or walls, but it still felt like home. “You found it.” Pucci turned to her with tears in his eyes and a smile. She giggled and sat down on one of the rotting benches. “I found it.” He turned to the old crucifix that was now torn up from the wind. “How’d you do it?” “I was just on a walk. It's nice to see this old place again, huh?” She stood up and walked around the place with a smile.

They met in that old church. It was abandoned now and it was abandoned then too. He was praying and she was crying. What a mix. They had a fling. One that he doesn't regret either. God, he wished he never took that vow.

“Enrico?” Pucci turned to her with wide eyes as she held a little candle with their initials inscribed in it. She handed it to him and held his hand. “I'm sorry I left you.” He pulled her close, dropping the candle, letting it smash to pieces. “Just don't do it again, okay?” He pressed a kiss to her lips and felt more droplets of rain fall from the sky.

Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. (1 Corinthians 13:4-7)

[undermattsun-archive]

baptismal

(skate rat) sakusa kiyoomi x fem!reader | w.c 1.5k

a/n: man idk more sacrilege, touch of inspo from linsanity’s sexual baptism tag, so thank u @sugardaddykenma + @pomsuki said dick suckin and here we r♡.. btw apologies if the ending seems sudden? i rlly didn’t wanna write a full smut again....am a lil burnt out from that i rlly wanted to just write the...water boarding.......and spitting

dedicated to @dymphnasprose my sacrilege chaos soulmate (thx for reading this 4 me twice smoochies)

18+ university age | pls read warnings

tw sacrilegious, tw dubcon, tw dacryphilia, tw humiliation, tw degradation, tw breathplay, tw choking, tw spitting, tw waterboarding (not really?), tw mean mean mean sakusa is mean (but like reader is kind of into it)

tw miki is once again making terrible use of her catholic upbringing :’)

A sharp pain slices up your spine as your back is slammed against your desk, hands flying up to desperately grip at the Sakusa shoulders, his tongue continuing it’s ruthless search of your mouth.

“C-Can’t.” You shove at his chest, gasping for air, trying not to let the disappointed click of his tongue wear down on you. You risk a glance up to meet his eyes, flinching at the darkened look settled upon his face.

He slams his hands down on the desk, shoving his face close-up to yours, scrutinizing eyes picking apart your features.

“Disgusting,” He muses, making your eyes widen and water, “don’t cry now, you’re the one who invited me up here.” He brushes a finger under your eye, a cruel smile rendering the gesture sarcastic, mocking. With a tilt of his head he tightens a grip on your jaw and pulls you into another unforgiving kiss.

You can’t help but whimper into his mouth, delighting in the soft groan he lets out in response. He presses his body against yours, forcing you against the rigid desk and books scattered across. Your back arches in a desperate attempt to relieve the sharp pain prodding at you. He bucks his hips against you, shoving a hand under your shirt as your head slams into the window above your desk.

“Ow Omi!” He swallows down the complaint the hand slipped under your shirt crawling up your torso and closing around your throat, the loose grip branding itself against your flesh.

“Quiet.” His teeth dig into your bottom lip, as you mumble another complaint against him, fingers digging into his shoulder as he grinds against you, the growing bulge in his pants making your mouth water. “Off.” He tugs at the waist of your pants, annoyance permeating the air.

He makes no effort to give you any leeway to properly tug off your bottoms, you wriggle around beneath him, shrinking under the impatient glare he’s focusing on you. His hand shoots out to yank down your pants, knocking your head against the window and books and papers to fall off your desk. Your hand shoots out to try to catch some of the falling debris, only able to catch the translucent, white bottle of holy water your parents had shoved into your hands before leaving you in your apartment.

“To keep you cleansed of sin.” They had whispered. 

Before you can set it back down onto the desk, Sakusa plucks it from your fingers, focusing eyes scanning over the bottle, thumbing over the golden crucifix fixed to the front. 

“What’s this?” He mutters popping the cap open and sniffing it, eyebrows furrowing at the lack of scent.

“Holy water.” You reply tugging at his shirt, trying to bring his attention back to you. Hooking up with Sakusa was one of your guiltiest pleasures, and seeing it being derailed by a reminder of your religious upbringing was nothing short of grating.

“What’s it for?” He scoffs, shutting the cap again to look back into your eyes. His expression is painfully blank, forcing a huff from your lips.

“I don’t know my parents gave it, keep me clean or something,” You lean back against the desk, continuing to ignore the textbooks stabbing into you, “c’mon Omi, it’s not important.”

“Clean?” His gaze flickers back and forth between you and the bottle, the hand resting upon your throat tightening for a second before dragging back down to grip at the hem of your shirt.

“What are you-” He drags your shirt up, pulling it taught over your face, your hands flying back up to claw at his biceps, you begin to protest, the words lost the second you feel a spray of water on the fabric over your mouth and nose, making you sputter and choke, the sensation horribly akin to drowning. You thrash your limbs against him as you feel his hand close over your mouth through the thin material of your shirt, robbing you of any chance of air.

“Dirty, fucking filthy.” He mutters as he rips your shirt off, you look up at him in bewilderment another series of protests prodding at your lips, the thought of telling him to leave blaring in your mind. “Shut the fuck up.” He grinds out as you part your lips to speak, wet fingers tangle into your hair, dragging you towards your bed, you let out a desperate whimper, the pitiful noise falling on deaf ears as Sakusa gives one particularly rough yank as he throws you onto the bed. You wipe at your face, eyes narrowing at the bottle of holy water still held loosely in Sakusa’s grip. 

“Why do you have that?” The words shake as they leave your lips, it’s all you can manage with the filthy glint in his eyes baring down on you. 

“To cleanse you.” His words are absolute, ringing through your ears as if they’re meant to save you. He unscrews the cap and tosses it aside, taking a quick swig before moving to hover over you. His fingers make their way to squeeze at your cheeks, commanding your lips fall to fall apart. Without warning he spits the water into your mouth, shifting his grip to force your mouth close. “Swallow” He commands, voice unwavering. You swallow hard, eyes watering at the way it scorches at your throat, thoughts of your past transgressions and sins weighing down as you bend to the will of the man above you.  

“Good, maybe we can make a saint out of a sinner.” He sneers, he takes another swig, spitting it at your face. You squeeze your eyes shut, squealing as the water goes up your nose, trying to move out of his hold.

“Omi this is bad. Stop it.” Your voice wavers as you rub at your face once more, trying to wick away the mixture of spit and holy water. “Th-That’s sacred.”

“Tch,” a hand closes around your throat, your own hands flying to grip at his wrist as if your hold would convince him to relent his iron grip, “isn’t sex supposed to be a sacred thing between spouses? But here you are, whoring yourself out so easily.” 

“Hnn i-it…” His eyes narrow in time with his constricting hold, head tilting as your airway is restrained further and further. The faint thought of the bruises forming falls flat as you start to gasp more, eyes fluttering shut, praying silently that Sakusa won’t make you pass out this time around. 

“So filthy.” He lets up slightly, just enough for you to breathe a little easier, but still tight enough to keep you in your place. He tips back another swig of the holy water, slamming his lips against yours, immediately letting your lips fall open as the water sloshes between your mouths, dribbling down your chin. He releases your throat, pulling away with a sharp nip to your lower lip as he pulls away, expression still painfully blank while eyes continue to glow with that shameful sense of danger. 

The lull in his unrelenting actions finally allows you to breathe, allowing you to feel the deep seated guilt of such sinful misuse of a sacred element of your faith. With wide eyes you look up at Sakusa shooting you a look that screams ‘don’t move’. A soft nod of your head offers the confirmation he didn’t care for as he dumps the rest of the water on your head. The cool water carves itself down your skin, a poor attempt at washing away the countless amount of sins you’ve committed, the countless amount you will commit as long as Sakusa Kiyoomi continues to hold a sliver of interest in you. 

Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of a buckle being undone, immediately faced with the reddened tip of Sakusa’s cock, precum beading at the slit, the sight familiar and mouthwatering. There’s no need for him to speak, your lips are already brushing over the head, tongue darting out to lave over it. An indifferent hum is the closest you get to encouragement as you take more and more of him into your mouth. 

His fingers flick at the top of your head, a silent command to pick up the pace as he settles his palm against the back of your head. Just as your nose brushes against tight curls you pull back, setting an impossible pace for your space in the name of satisfying the man before you. You make a point to let the head of his cock ram into the back of your throat, forcing your throat to constrict and spasm. You flutter your lashes, looking up at him in hopes of a crumb of approval, a tilt of his lips to signal his satisfaction, only to earn almost disinterested eyes staring back at you.

“Enough. Spread your legs.” He tugs you off and with a hand on your face he shoves harshly, making you fall back against the bed. 

“Hey! Be care…” The demand pauses in your chest the second you meet his gaze, swearing you can see the devil in his eyes.

[polishksiezniczka]

Camerlengo Patrick McKenna Smut ABCs | Camerlengo x Female Reader

Some smut for our favorite priest ❤

As I was writing this, I couldn’t help but think that our favorite ~il camerlengo~ shares the trifecta of smut with Obi-Wan Kenobi: religious devotion, dramatic robes and pure, raw sexual energy. 🔥

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Patrick is oh so attentive and considerate. He strokes your body softly, listening as your heartbeats gradually slow and fall in sync together. He’ll softly whisper declarations of love to you in his luscious accent, making you flush even more.

Bonus: When you’re in each other’s arms bathing in the afterglow, he adores it when you carefully play with his crucifix necklace (you better believe he wears it during sex after you *accidentally* let slip how turned on you get when he wears it).

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Patrick loves to hold you using his upper body strength—his arms are deliciously strong and toned, but not in an overly-muscular way. He can’t help but groan and roll his head back when you cling to them for dear life during the throes of passion, your nails lightly digging into his skin.  

It’s difficult for him to choose—you’re too perfect to pick just one element. If he had to, he’d choose your hair, your neck, or your breasts.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically)

Because he was brought up in the Church, he doesn’t really do that sort of thing. Not to mention he views the practice as somewhat degrading to you.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs).

Obviously, you. He’s a priest and supposed to be “married” to the Church!

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Patrick is somewhat experienced. While serving in the army he had a few exploits, but he’s still relatively inexperienced. Not that you could ever tell though—he’s the best lover you’ve ever had.

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying.)

Missionary! (HAHAHA…I’m going to hell for this.)

Patrick loves any sort of position where he’s able to see you fully. He treats sex as if it were a sacred rite: he wants to be able to watch the desire cloud your eyes, thoroughly kiss your soft lips, devour the creamy flesh of your torso, and do nothing less than worship you.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

It depends on the situation. Patrick will usually take things pretty seriously—intensely pleasuring you, maintaining fervent eye contact, going slow and sensual—but sometimes you find yourselves in a giddy mood, especially after something good has happened to one of you. Then his playful side will come out: little nips at your ears and neck, gentle tickling of your sides, low chuckles, and a lot more teasing than normal. You delight in rendezvous like these, batting your eyes and telling him how much you want him.  

H = Hair (How well-groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

OH GOD. You know how well Patrick takes care of himself. His hair is impeccable, always neatly combed and styled. You adore running your fingers through it and lightly scratching his scalp, though you’re careful not to muss it up too much.

The sight of his bare chest makes your heart flutter every time you see it. You love to card your fingers through the lovely patch of curly ginger hair which grows there, a huge turn-on for Patrick. The same hair starts again just below his navel, creeping down his stomach and past his waistband. It’s another part of him that never fails to make you swoon and unconsciously lick your lips.  

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Patrick is so romantic. He constantly whispers you how much he loves you, how much you mean to him, and how he can never be without you. Despite the unimaginable pleasure he provides you, his words sometimes make you teary-eyed during the moment—something you find extremely embarrassing but he adores.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Patrick suffers from SERIOUS Catholic guiltiness when it comes to masturbation. He’s done it before (when he was younger especially) but would never admit so to you. He only resorts to pleasuring himself when you’re apart for extended periods of time and always feels the need to confess to his sins of “taking his flesh” afterward.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Praise: Patrick’s need to praise you is insatiable and he does it constantly when you’re together. He loves to tell you how good you feel, how perfect you are, how sweet you smell, or how well you respond to him as he leans close to your ear, kissing and sucking. Although he can be reticent to accept compliments himself, you can tell how much it affects him when you whisper how only he can bring you this amount of love, pleasure, and satisfaction.

Priest: Patrick goes mad when you play into your priest kink and loves it when you call him “Father,” especially because you don’t often do so. As gentle as he is, this drives him wild, animalistic almost.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

On the bed or couch, especially with your hair splayed out across a pillow. You recently introduced him to shower sex, something he enjoys far more than he expected to. And of course, always somewhere private.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Your soft, innocent touches that lead to lingering thoughts and desires. When you run your hands across his chest and through his hair. Whispering how much you love and want him.

Oddly enough, your modesty also makes him hot under the collar (literally). The idea that you conceal your beautiful figure to others and only allow him to see and adore it awakens a deep and primal lust in Patrick.  

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He doesn’t swear that often and never uses the Lord’s name in vain. He also would never do anything that could hurt you or in some way degrade you.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He strongly prefers to give. He loves to huskily tell you how much you taste like sin when he’s between your thighs and caressing you with his mouth.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Slow and sensual—it’s called lovemaking for a reason.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

You and Patrick don’t really engage in these because of the nature of your relationship—there are few moments when you can spend time together during the day. Patrick doesn’t like the idea either, as he can’t properly worship your body as much as he believes you deserve and derives so much pleasure from taking his time with you. He is never one to complain about stolen kisses, though.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Again, due to his position and all the publicity, Patrick prefers to keep risks to a minimum. He never would demand anything of you, but he requests that your liaisons be kept private out of concern for you and your relationship.

Once, however, you admitted a shameful desire of yours, and he gave in. So, late one night you made love in a confessional. Although he felt like he would be cursed with eternal damnation, he couldn’t help but admit how arousing it was.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Patrick’s stamina is intense; he never seems to tire, even after the care and attention he puts into each and every round. You teasingly attribute this voraciousness to all his pent-up lust while in seminary. But when you’re exhausted, he completely respects this and would never push you beyond your physical limits.  

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

No; why would he defile perfection by using anything other than his body?

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

This side of Patrick really comes out when he’s feeling frisky or playful. He relishes that he can turn you into a puddle of goo with just one look—your eyes glaze over, your breath hitches, and you suddenly have difficulty maintaining eye contact. He’ll then begin to touch and kiss you slowly, almost chastely, until you’re a whimpering, sobbing mess beneath him.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Volume-wise Patrick tends to be on the softer side, though he can surprise you. What he sometimes lacks in volume he makes up for in quality. Patrick makes the most delicious and sinful sounds you can imagine: gasps at your expert ministrations, moans when you kiss him deeply. Your personal favorite? The sound of him purring into your ear as he showers you with praise and words of affection.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

The man’s scent alone makes you goddamn feral. It’s clean and masculine, with just a hint of spice. You love to bury your face in his neck and chest, inhaling him as you litter his skin with reminders of your devotion.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Patrick is incredibly well-endowed. In fact the first few times you were together, you were in slight pain (much to Patrick’s agony) and felt sore for days afterward. Oh but Patrick made it all better: drawing you warm baths, scooping you up, and tenderly massaging every inch of your body with his large hands. 😏

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

On the higher end, but it’s completely attached to you.  

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

When you’re in each other’s arms, he feels completely relaxed and can usually fall asleep within a few minutes, but he likes to wait for you drift off to sleep and then silently watch you in your most peaceful state. Your breathing steadies, your brow relaxes, and your hair softly falls about your face, still glowing from physical exertion. As sleep begins to take hold of him, he whispers that you look just like an angel.

Taglist: @seraferna @lemairepstuff

[infinitelytheheartexpands]

SO, the Big Incoherent Write-Up About The Met’s Don Carlos:

short version: this was fucking incredible and I am over the moon and y’all should watch this immediately.

long version, act by act:

Act I:

-Matthew Polenzani showing up by himself at the start before the music even began: absolutely masterful

-the color scheme? fucking gorgeous and on point (also: the set as a whole looked significantly better on camera than I was expecting from photos and reviews)

-excellent little nod to the original extended opening (they used the shorter, more upbeat opening) by having Yoncheva hand several pieces of jewelry to a group of peasants

-Polenzani absolutely slayed “Je l’ai vu”. like those pianissimi? be still my heart

-Thibault was just the cutest bean and had an EXCEPTIONALLY good voice. her name is Meigui Zhang and I am now a huge fan.

-Polenzani and Yoncheva were so young and so perfect in the duet

-the way his face broke into a huge grin at the portrait reveal…happiness personified

-once again: Thibault was utterly precious

-Lerme had a fantastic voice!

-the chorus was on fucking point

-Aremberg was obviously Highly Distrustful of Carlos and it was fucking great

Act II:

-Rose was an absolute knockout as the Monk. ultimate luxury casting.

-the chorus was great too

-that Carlos/Monk interaction was PERFECTLY done

-Etienne Dupuis has a voice like chocolate and one of the noblest bearings you ever will see

-this duet was VERY gay (and EXTREMELY well-sung)

-aside from there being no trees in the garden, the garden scene was PERFECT. lots of life and activity!

-Jamie Barton walked in and instantly owned the whole fucking place

-charisma to fucking burn

-also she and Thibault were obviously BFFs

-and Éboli was being so subtly snarky about what the ladies were doing

-the Veil Song? CHEF’S FUCKING KISS SHE SLAYED

-the Élisabeth/Rodrigue/Éboli scene was MARVELOUS and also absolutely hilarious. we in the movie theater were DYING laughing, mostly because Éboli was very obviously being nosy and Rodrigue was scrambling to keep her in the dark

-Polenzani had a white rose with him for the beginning of the duet. he eventually tore it apart and scattered the petals on the ground, which is not the direction I thought he was going to go but it was great

-the fainting fit was perfectly done

-the whole duet was just fucking perfect

-especially when Yoncheva was like “fine go kill your father then”

-Owens’ Philippe is such a sensitive soul, really!

-Yoncheva’s aria here was fab also the other ladies-in-waiting did such a good acting job here

-the Rodrigue/Philippe duet was S-T-U-N-N-I-N-G. Dupuis’ delivery of the “May posterity never say of you…” line was absolutely everything.

-seriously it was fucking fabulous

Act III:

-Polenzani lying on one of the benches like a schoolgirl on her bed AMAZING

-not a fan of how they had Éboli pull off her veil AFTER the “Heavens! it’s not the Queen!” line tbh

-Rodrigue just watching Carlos and Éboli do their thing lol

-the “You love the Queen!” moment was absolutely PERFECTLY staged

-in general this trio was just perfect: singing, staging, all of it.

-the ending of this scene could’ve been gayer tbh

-I get what the acrobat at the auto-da-fé was symbolizing. not sure I 100% agree with the approach taken, which I thought was a bit too silly and distracting in places, but overall not bad.

-loved the aesthetic here.

-the low brass had a FIELD DAY

-also MAD respect for this conductor. he was great.

-Owens was great

-the Flemish deputies were GREAT

-the concertante gave me CHILLS

-Polenzani was MASTERFUL in the finale

-Dupuis used his own sword to block Polenzani’s (the whole sword sequence was excellent) and the fallout was heartbreaking

-no onstage burning but someone was burned offstage and three people were garroted onstage

-poor Carlos

Act IV:

-big disembodied crucifix? okay cool

-Owens was fucking great in the aria

-him and Relyea together? HELL FUCKING YES THAT WAS AMAZING

-seriously Owens can do vulnerability so well

-I was on the edge of my seat for the Philippe/Élisabeth confrontation

-the quartet was glorious

-THAT ÉBOLI/ÉLISABETH SCENE FUCKING OUCH

-Barton’s ‘O don fatal’—STUNNING. I cried.

-the light and shadows at the beginning of the prison scene were incredible

-Dupuis is just a perfect Rodrigue fucking seriously

-so tender

-so loving

-I almost fucking screamed during the stuff leading up to the shooting

-THE WHOLE DEATH SCENE TEAR MY FUCKING HEART OUT AND STOMP ON IT

-seriously

-I wept

-the Lacrimosa was…no words. I cannot. you have to watch it.

-tbh the French version of the riot is a little disappointing but Barton carried and Relyea was once again his sonorous, terrifying self

-also THIBAULT ACTUALLY WAS IN THIS SCENE FUCK YEAH

Act V:

-the prelude. chef’s kiss. well done, Maestro Furrer.

-Yoncheva fucking slayed “Toi qui sus le néant”. that is all. seriously her Élisabeth here is one of the absolute best things I’ve ever heard from her, and that says a LOT.

-the DUET. *screams*

-that’s all I have to say

-it was perfect

-Yoncheva and Polenzani are absolutely perfect

-put them together in more stuff PLEASE

-Carlos gets stabbed by the guards in this one *sighs*

-Rose nailed his little thing

-the chorus was great

-THE ENDING WAS SO FUCKING GAY like Rodrigue welcoming him into the afterlife??? but they both embraced and fell to their knees and then??? Rodrigue was lying on top of Carlos??? HELP???

Anyway yeah 10000000000000/10, it was worth waiting six years to get to see it in surround sound and HD at fucking last.