#only thou art holy | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dumbsoftheart · 1 year ago

Text

threads of fate

pairing: peacekeeper!coriolanus snow x preachers daughter!reader

tags: 18+, mdni. dub-con, heavy and dark religious themes, dark themes, fingering, kissing, swearing, sliiight voyerism, corruption and innocence kink,

summary: after a chase in the woods, coriolanus becomes devoted to making you his one and only follower.

notes: i don't know what came over me.. enjoy!

word count: 7.2k

౨ׅৎ

the blood of the lamb, washed over the sins of those strayed away from god, atones those begging to be spared from destruction. the saccharine ichor was the ultimate gateway towards deliverance- and thus sought out by sinners and saints alike to be granted eternal redemption for the transgressions that permeated the sweats and tears of the individuals whose secrets would have them damned to the dreadful inferno beneath their feet. the sweet lamb; symbol of innocence and purity, and the wolf who hunted it, the face of deception and treachery, stood now in the heart of the woodlands, the sweet kill hidden shamefully in the asylum of the crowded aspen as it’s predator tauntingly whistled in pursuit of it’s coveted prize.

tears fell in a waterfall down into the vessels of your collarbones, trailing down and staining the frail white fabric of your dress, unveiling the soft tanned skin of your chest in its wake. with one hand clasped tightly against your mouth, you tried to conceal your wails of fear and the threatening thumping of your heart so as not to draw attention to the towering figure looming dangerously close to you, chuckling lowly as he carefully made his way through the maze of trees and forestry. your other hand was clutched desperately on the golden cross that hung around your neck, thumb haphazardly caressing the delicate engravings and etchings of the cool metal.

hail mary, full of grace, the lord is with thee. blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, jesus. holy mary, mother of god, pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of death.

shame washed over you as you thought of your mother and father- your dear father, and what they would make of your inevitable disappearance. you were taught the way of the lord since you emerged from your mothers womb; it followed you everywhere you went. by all means, you had lived your life for god himself. what would he think of you now? the unrighteous will not inherit the kingdom of god. and yet there you were, a thief, running from, no doubt, god’s punishment for your sins.

despite your fathers widespread fame throughout the district, your family struggled to bring food and water to the table regularly. seeing the despair that clouded your mothers eyes as she failed to provide a dinner some nights for her family had driven you towards madness. you grew desperate- desperate to alleviate the stress that haunted her and satiate the hunger that settled in your stomach for the fifth day in a row. you rationalised, that with your undying devotion, god would find it in him to forgive you. with all the work your father put into his sermons and dedication to delivering god's word to the poverty stricken peoples of district 12, the divine being would be forgiving in his punishment in recognition of the loyalty you harboured.

now, you knew you were wrong.

you berate yourself for even entertaining the stupid idea of pilfering from the small bakery near the marketplace. in truth, it wasn’t even stealing. you had waited until dark threatened the sky, then snuck behind the establishment to snatch a few meagre, stale loaves that had been carelessly discarded in a small bin beside the refuse receptacles. combined with the butter you had been gifted earlier in the week, these provisions would barely suffice to stifle the persistent pangs in your stomach for a few days, at most. you naively assumed you were in solitude and hastily fled when you’d filled up your small leather bag with as many old rolls and loaves as possible.

oh, how wrong could you have been? you never caught sight of the face of the man who now charged after you- only a faint glance at a familiar blue that weaved its way through the trees- but the adrenaline rushing through your veins urged you to run, and to never stop. and now, here you were, caught in the act, pathetically weeping as you waited for the repercussions of your actions to find you.

you moved to press your back harder against the thin trunk of the tree, a twig snapping under the weight of your foot, and your eyes widened with fear as the sound reverberated against the still of the forest, the soft footsteps that trailed behind you coming to an abrupt stop. then, a voice.

“my dear, it would make it so much easier for us if you just came out. i promise you, i don’t bite.” it purred. the way he spoke was low and unrecognisable, laced with an amusement that had you shiver with the depravity of it. your crying ceased at an attempt to remain as hidden as possible, nary a whimper escaping from behind the painful grip of your hand across your mouth.

“i know you know what you did was wrong. i mean, stealing from a bakery? i wonder what your father would think of you now, his daughter a thief.”

you fought back tears at the mention of your father, shame once again weighing at your conscience, “come out, and i promise your punishment won't be as harsh as it should be.”

the proposition had you thinking for a bit, the truth behind the words appealing to you for a sliver of a moment. before you could consider your next step; find an out or comply to the omnipresent man’s offering, a gunshot pierces your ears, and you let out a shriek so loud you swore all of panem could hear you.

you begin to wail again then, uncontrollably, screaming and begging for respite as your body gave in under the weight of itself; your knees buckling and falling harshly against the ground. you shake with the ferocity of a small rodent before you’re pulled up by your shoulders and engulfed into a familiar, warm hug. your eyes wide with panic, you thrash your head back in forth in an attempt to find the man who was tormenting you, only to see that he was now gone, and in his place, a small search party lead by a peacekeeper cheered in glory at the sight of you. relief washed over you as you looked up to find your father, falling into the safety of his arms as he escorted you out of the forest, giving a curt thank you to the peacekeeper and another man you recognized to be one of your fathers students, before dragging you to the comfort of your home.

౨ׅৎ

when your father found out the reason behind your being in the woods, you’d landed yourself a life of extra chores and punished to more frequent church visits until your father decided you had repent enough. your father, reassuring you of god's forgiveness as his child, warned that your actions wouldn't fade from memory. he emphasised the necessity of restoring your relationship with the lord and savior. you were under his constant watch, now. each morning, before dropping you off at school, he compelled you to pray fervently for protection over your family and yourself, urging you to plead for deliverance from the consequences of your actions.

with your increased presence in church taking up most of the time you had to yourself, you found yourself taking note of the other frequent church goers. your father, of course, and his dedicated student, were a constant in your peripheral vision. the old couple who lived only a few minutes away from you, mrs. harmon and her froofy, dirty church outfits, her boisterous children, and her grumbling husband. you noticed small things; like how the wife of the newly-wed couple in town had stopped wearing her wedding ring, and how her husband seemed to never give her a second look. how the twin boys in the grade below you suddenly surpassed you in height, and their younger sister now seemed to lack a certain innocence that was pertinent in her character before. you made a small promise to yourself to pray for her.

there was one person, however, who you were not familiar with, yet you could feel it in the deep ends of your bones that you knew exactly who he was. he had begun to appear only once a week, his shiny buzzcut and blue peacekeeper uniform sticking out sorely from the rest of the crowd. then, twice a week- then three- and then suddenly you found you could not escape from him. everywhere you turned, he was there. when you walked home from school, you would catch him patrolling somewhere nearby, or laughing and chatting with his peacekeeper friends. when you opened the church doors for mass, he would be first to walk in, handing you a small smile before making his way to sit in the pew farthest away from you. he was there, everywhere you looked, and it unsettled you greatly. there was a lack of sincerity in his eyes when he smiled, and for a moment you thought that it had seemed like hunger, but you pushed the idea away before your brain could process it. one night, when closing the church doors and heading to your home, the small sound of rapid footsteps triggered your fight or flight response, the latter winning. when the man rested his hand on your shoulder politely, handing you a handkerchief you had dropped, you felt a strange sense of deja vu. the speed at which it sounded he had ran towards you didn’t match how he stood before you now; breathing even, chest pushed out pridefully, his dark sapphire eyes never leaving yours. but you were so sure that the man had been sprinting, just like the man who had sprinted after you a few weeks ago had. you gave him a small thank you before speed-walking your way to the front door, panting heavily as you locked it shut behind you and your hand made its way back to the pendant on your neck, grasping it so tightly it hurt, the stipe digging into the soft flesh of your palms as a way of grounding yourself back to your senses.

that night, when you got on your knees to pray, you couldn’t shake the look on the mans face from your thoughts. his features themselves were even, lacking any sense of emotion, but his eyes troubled you the most. the way they bore into yours made you feel as if you would burst into flames right then. it made you feel as if there was something he wanted from you, but your poor innocent soul couldn’t figure out what. when you nestled yourself into your bed that same night, you vowed to stay as far away from him as possible.

you hadn't realised how hard that would be.

he approached you the next morning. it was saturday, and the usual gloomy weather of district 12 had been forced away and replaced with the harsh, bright sunlight. it shone spectacularly through the stained-glass windows, gracing the dark wood of each side aisle with vibrant reds and yellows and blues and brightening the deep red carpet that lay evenly along the nave. you stood behind the pulpit, readying your fathers sermons and homilies for that week's sabbath. he had barged in unannounced, making his way towards you slowly as you pretended to ignore the tall figure making its way down the red path.

“good morning, miss,” he spoke lowly towards you, peering upwards slightly as the pulpit was slightly taller than the rest of the church, and you pretended to read through the cards and flip through your bible as if it were you preparing to speak in a mere 15 minutes. he cleared his throat once, and you waved your hand nonchalantly towards the pews, “the preacher will be ready shortly. please, have a seat.”

from behind your fathers flashcards, you could see a small tick of his jaw and he pressed his lips together tightly, nodding slowly before making his way to his usual seat, feigning interest in the architecture of the building.

“its quite beautiful, no?”

you hummed.

“i wonder how the district could afford to pay for it.”

the comment caught you off guard, causing you too look up at him with scrunched brows, your lips parted in confusion. surely, he knew the capitol had paid for it- and even then, what did it matter? a sanctuary for god deserved only the best of resources, you thought. the beauty of the church was a reflection of the beauty of your religion, the intricacies and meticulous carpentry of the building spoke to one of the three transcendentals that point to god. of course, it would be beautiful.

before you could think of a response to the bizarre musing, your father burst in, pressing a light kiss to your cheek and thanking you kindly for preparing for him. the man stood up to make his way to greet the preacher, and you were out of sight as fast as lightning.

that cycle continued for a while. he would sit in the pews, admiring the architecture (when really, he was admiring you), then stand to greet your father enthusiastically, frowning ever so slightly when you disappeared the moment he made any closer to your father. eventually, you had become quite good at avoiding him. you saw him less in the markets, saw less of him in church, and rarely caught sight of him anywhere else. that was, until you found him at your doorstep one hot summer day.

you and your mother swore it was the hottest day to see district 12, and you sat on the porch in a small, lace trimmed top and cut-off jean shorts. your hair was carelessly tossed into an updo to relieve your neck of some heat, and you sat in your fathers old chair as you sipped on some juice your family had been given earlier that day.

you weren’t expecting any visitors that day, so it was safe to say you nearly choked when the man appeared from behind the path of thrush that hid your small home from sight of the church, dressed only in the blue dress pants of his peacekeeper uniform and a thin white shirt, silver dog tag swinging like a pendulum across his chest as he made his way towards you. your father had emerged delighted, mr. snow!, he cheered, patting the man- snow, what a fitting name- on his back and urging him inside. you scrambled to the backdoor and into the kitchen where your mother rest, the door slamming behind you loudly as you entered, causing her to jump.

“dear?”

“that man daddy’s talking to- who is he?”

she gave you a halfhearted shrug, “i wouldnt know, pumpkin, it’s probably business with your father. he goes to the church, no?”

you nodded, pacing back and forth, ignoring the crazed look your mother threw at you as you processed the information.

“do not lead us into temptation, but deliver us from evil,” she reminded you, and your jaw dropped at the silent accusation she threw at you.

“absolutely not, mother!” you stormed back out the door, drowning your mother’s laughter out with frustrated mumbles of has she lost her mind? and what a woman! how she could ever think something about snow was tempting you was beyond your understanding. however, when you made it back to your chair and your watered down glass of juice, the sight of a shirtless ‘mr. snow’ and your, otherwise fully dressed, father in the garden, dripping sweat shamelessly into your mothers vegetable patch, a snap thought breached your mind that perhaps there was something tempting about the mysterious man.

that sent you into a frenzy. your knee bounced anxiously as you silently begged god to forgive you for the thought, and that it was simply intrusive, and not reflective of the morals and high grounds you held closely to your heart. nervously, you grabbed the book you had abandoned weeks ago and shoved your nose into the pages as if to distract yourself from your own brain and its wicked ministrations.

you weren't sure of how much time had passed, yet it felt like the man's stay was suspiciously short as he and your father made their way inside. you gave him a curt nod, and your father gave you a small lecture about manners, insisting that the two of you become accustomed to one another. and there you were, legs drawn up to your chest as if to protect yourself from the sinful looking man before you.

“my name is coriolanus snow,” he said. coriolanus. it was unlike any name you’d heard before. you returned the gesture softly, hoping that he would disappear behind your father into the house and you could breathe again, but he stayed and stared at you with that look, “your father tells me we’re the same age. he’s a nice man.”

you bit your lip at that. the same age? there was something about coriolanus that seemed older. it also begged the question: what was someone his age doing as a peacekeeper? you opened your mouth to pry at him, but he cut you off, stepping closer.

“tell me, dear, what sins weigh in your heart?”

you drew yourself back further into the safety of your chair, face laced with disgust as you tried as hard as possible to distance yourself from the imposing man now caging you into your confinement. his breath was heavy on your nose, and your heart pounded harshly- from what, you weren’t sure. fear? a sense of danger? temptation? his lips were so close to yours now, you could smell the faint scent of cologne that mingled with the saltiness of his sweat, and you tried your best to keep your breathing as even as possible, feigning indifference to his proximity to you poorly.

“i dont know what you mean, mr. snow.”

he smiled at that, laughing lowly. he didn’t expect you to know what he meant, of course, but he had an inkling that if he played his cards just right, he’d have you right where he wanted. he leaned closer now, lips dodging yours, lightly brushing your nose as his head turned to whisper in your ear.

“do you think of me at night? our little chase?”

“wh-what?”

“you’re smart, miss. think about it.”

he disappeared into the house, bidding goodbye to your mother and father and whisking himself away. your mouth remained parted, eyes wide with confusion as you tried to process what his words could have meant.

surely, he couldn’t mean..

no. absolutely not, you decided. coriolanus may have unsettled you ungreatly, but he was a peacekeeper- and your father had always told you that they served to protect you, that they would never harm you purposely. you stood shakily and made your way quietly into the old house, reeking of old wood and boiled vegetables. you sat on the couch near your brother, holding his head to your chest as you stroked his hair comfortingly, still trying to process. from the kitchen, your father called, “he’s a nice boy, no? perhaps he could be of some influence to you, sweetheart.”

you agreed meekly, despite disagreeing with your father completely. you werent entirely sure what he saw in the man at all, yet you were adamant that he was, in fact, not a good influence, but a parasite. you wanted absolutely nothing to do with him. he made you feel unsafe- unsure of yourself, and for some reason, your faith. you decided he was no good; but yet you couldnt make any understanding of the bittersweet ache between your thighs.

when coriolanus walked home that evening, he couldn’t fight his smile. he saw you, in all his glory, struggling pathetically under his gaze, squirming and fidgeting uncontrollably as he trapped you within the cage of his arms.

the sacrificial lamb has been caught, he thought.

what a stupid, stupid lamb.

౨ׅৎ

you rushed into church near 5 am the next day, sleep deprived from the constant running of your mind and the damned words of coriolanus snow.

“our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven,” you repeated to yourself, kneeled below the large wooden crucifixion of jesus, hands clasped tightly together, your head resting painfully against the white of your knuckles.

what you were praying for, you didn’t know. you couldn't go to the confessional- heavens forbid, no. confessing secrets of your dreams of coriolanus’s hands, the outline of his jaw, the way he whispered his sinister words so sweetly into your ear- to your father? you would rather be hanged for the whole district to see. there was nothing sinful about your dreams, exactly, but it felt sinful, dirty, downright hellish. you thought of his lips, the soft and pink flesh of them, the stormy blue of his eyes- and, oh god, you couldn't stop replaying his words in your head.

‘do you think of me at night?’ he had asked you so earnestly. as if he needed you to tell him yes, you did think of him, every night. it wasn't a lie, of course, only the way you had begun thinking about him had changed. but that wasn't your doing at all, was it? no, he was to blame, for speaking to you like that, for dangling his dog tag so close that it brushed your cross indecently, for showing up to your house and stripping himself half naked, sweating impurely over the soil you and your mother sowed and reaped with love, with innocence, purity. it was entirely his fault, from the way he seemed to be forcing himself into your life. the church door creaked open, and you continued to pray, “give us this day, our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”

your heart raced as footsteps neared closer, as if you knew exactly who they belonged to.

“what troubles you, little lamb?” his voice took you with fear, the way it rumbled in his chest and reverberated on the walls confining the two of you, alone. you raised your head, refusing to look back at him, “i do believe that's none of your concern, mr. snow.”

you heard him chuckle lowly, repeating the words mr. snow to himself under his breath. it made you shiver, and you recited the bible verses your father drilled into your head from as young as you could remember: vindicate me, o god, and plead my cause against an ungodly nation; rescue me from deceitful and wicked men.

you could feel him now, knee pressed lightly against your back. you stood up and turned to face him, eyes wild and daring as they searched the azure maze of his own. his hand reached to stroke your hair, and you flinched.

“why is it that you fear me so much, do you think?”

“i’m not afraid of you.”

he tsked, “‘fear’ is different than ‘being afraid’, darling. to be afraid is a fleeting moment. your brain's immediate response towards danger,” he moved to touch your hair again, now more forcefully, tucking the loose strands along your hairline behind your ear.

keep back your servant also from willful sins.

he continued, “i asked, why do you fear me?”

you tried to search deeper into his eyes, trying to grasp any understanding at what he was trying to communicate to you. your mind ran amok, and it was no help that coriolanus's hand now snuck its way into your fingers, fidgeting with the soft digits mindlessly.

“i don't.. i don't know-” he cut you off by stepping closer before you finished. you had wanted to tell him that you didn't know why he thought you feared him, that you didnt understand the question, and that you needed to get home soon, so to please excuse you.

“i think you fear what i impose between you and your precious god.”

you let out an involuntary laugh, giggling childlishly at the accusation. you stopped, when his eyes darkened.

“i’m sorry, mr. snow, but i really don’t know what you mean!” you were struggling to contain your girlish giggles. what he imposes between me and god? it was such a bizarre statement, so plainly laid out for you, that you couldn’t even comprehend it entirely. your laughing ceased, for good now, when his hand circled tightly around your wrist.

let them not have dominion over me.

then i will be upright.

“i’m not stupid, love. i saw you, yesterday, practically drooling over me. i wonder what your father would have to say if he saw the sinful way you ogled at me,” he paused, and you swallowed painfully, “and dont tell me you’ve forgotten all about our little chase, hm? wasnt it exhilarating?” now, panic engulfed you. you tried to back away from him as the pieces etched themselves together in your brain, but his hold on your wrist was only getting tighter.

“that was you?” your voice was impossibly small, weak from the alarm that blared in your head. your eyes darted back and forth desperately, searching for an out, hoping and praying that someone might burst in and see the scene before you, tear hades away from his persephone and save her from her impending doom.

i will be blameless and innocent of great transgression.

he dipped his head to your neck, lips deliciously grazing over the supple skin of your collar bone, pressing kisses so light you could barely feel them as you tried to wriggle from his grasp.

“of course it was me, darling,” the way you felt him smile against your skin was chilling, and you fought back tears as he moved impossibly closer to you, “isn’t that adrenaline rush just addicting? tell me, dove, what do you think about me when you lie in bed and replay our precious little moments together in that pretty head of yours?”

your breathing quickened, and you winced as coriolanus gripped tighter at your wrist, his other hand painfully gripping the small of your waist, massaging the gentle muscle of it. you could feel his entire body pressed against yours, and a tear threatened to slip when you felt the hard pressing of his lower region on your stomach. you shook your head, refusing to give in to his line of questioning, but his grip on your waist tightened and you cried out in pain, “your hands!” you whined, relief slowly making its way to the sore area of your waist as he loosened his grip. he made to grasp your chin under his index, forcing you to keep eye contact with him and urged you silently to keep going.

“your..” you let out a shaky sigh, “your h-ands, your voice, the words you speak to me. i don't understand why.”

he cooed at you now, as if proud of you for speaking up. your eyes darted to his lips, and you saw something flash in his eyes, “anything else?”

let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in your sight,

lord, my rock, and my redeemer.

you tried to look down at your feet as if to run away from the question, but his hold on your chin was unrelenting. shamefully, you whispered, “your lips.”

he let out a small ahhh, as if the admission shocked him. he knew, of course. of course he knew. you poor thing. sweet, little lamb, so innocent and pure. untouched by lust, blind to its deceptive allure. he knew from the moment he’d gone after you in those woods and failed to catch you, that he would do everything in his power to make sure you would never escape his grasp again. he knew when his frail attempts at getting closer to you failed, he had to resort to a harsher solution. he needed to infiltrate every space you breathed in, and break his was into your mind until he had you right where he needed you to be: malleable, so he could corrupt you just as easy.

he knew your father protected you, the extent to which he went to protect you, as well. banning sex education in your school, ensuring your mind stays as pure as possible to the exploits of fickle men and their wants. you knew the basics, thanks to your mother and her worrisome self, but her teachings were meddled down into some confusing allegory that left your mind as clueless as before, so that you stayed intact, perfect and pristine in the lords eye as well as the rest of the district, in your white frilly dresses, light makeup, and perfectly crafted manners.

he knew how easy it would be to get in your head. the human body is funny, like that, wherein it begs for things it doesn’t know of. he knew when he flexed his hands you caught sight of it, when he swallowed you intently watched the way his adams apple bobbed, he knew when he showed up to your home and stripped himself almost bare it would plague your mind with an unknowing want and desire, and soon enough, you’d have no choice but to give in to it, abandon your god and his lessons for coriolanus alone.

he ran his tongue across his bottom lip, swiping his thumb across yours as if to mirror himself, and then ducked his head closer, “go on.”

you squeezed your eyes shut. everything felt so, so wrong, and you didn't know why, but you couldn't stop. when he continued to toy with your lip, slightly plunging the tip of his finger past them and into your mouth, you let out an involuntary, small moan, and your legs shook and quivered as the strange ache from yesterday returned.

“wh-what?”

“kiss me.”

your eyes widened, and you shook your head. coriolanus thought it was adorable, how you struggled to piece together what was about to happen, how your brain tried desperately to fill in the blanks with information it didnt know. you heard coriolanus sigh disapprovingly at your protests and he shoved his thumb further into your mouth, causing you to choke. he removed it, then wiped the saliva that remained over your bottom lip before inserting the digit in his mouth, tasting you.

“its okay, little one. you can kiss me. he wont mind,” you didnt realize your fingers lingered over the necklace nestled on your chest, and your gaze followed his finger as he gestured upwards. he wont mind. you racked your brain over the things coriolanus said to you from he entered the church.

“i think you fear what i impose between you and your precious god.”

now, you truly hoped someone would burst in, and you could scream and wail as you explained the horrors coriolanus was about to commit to you (even if those horrors were unclear). he was so close, and something still pressed hardly against your stomach, and suddenly you couldn't breathe, “he would mind. i promise to pray for you coriolanus, i don't know what troubles you, but the lord-”

he cut you off by shoving his lips onto yours harshly, groaning at the contact. his hands made their way to rest on your clothed breasts, and you wriggled and struggled to try get away from him, but your efforts were fruitless. you were cornered, now. a lamb with nowhere to run or hide, forced to face its fate. he ravaged your lips, hands restless as they caressed all over your protesting body. the ache between your legs grew, and a small part of you realized that the last thing you wanted right now was for someone to walk in, and see the preacher's daughter being completely defaced by a peacekeeper.

“your god cant give me what i need, angel. cant you see? you did this to me,” his hand grabbed yours as he pulled away to speak, trailing it down the hard muscle of his abdomen and palming the hardness that threatened to burst through the seam of his pants. your eyes were wide and doe-like, and coriolanus never needed to fuck you more. his lips met yours again, and his other hand fumbled to remove his pants, hissing when the air hit his straining cock, all while you tried your best to distance yourself from him as much as possible. your face was hot, and your hands remained in the air, unsure of where to rest them, as you slowly allowed coriolanus to slip his tongue into your mouth.

“good girl,” he practically growled, and you let out a pathetic squeak when you felt your core tighten, pleasure washing over you at the small praise. coriolanus was turned on beyond conception, moaning disgracefully as he stroked himself through the fabric of his underwear. if you could see the spectacle the two of you were making, in the middle of church- no less, the thought alone had coriolanus close to the edge. you gasped when you saw him palm himself, and without thinking, your hand brushing his ever so slightly, lingering a second too long before his eyes snapped up at yours, pleading you to go ahead and touch him.

when you finally pressed your hand to his clothed region, you swore the way coriolanus threw his head back with a small mewl and moan would land you an eternity in hell alone.

“thats it, baby, jus’ like that.. keep going..” you gasped when his hand sneaked its way under your dress- your sunday best- your hand faltering a bit when his long middle finger lightly grazed your clothed cunt. the foreign feeling it elicited from you had you desperately searching coriolanus’s eyes for an answer, unable to speak as his fingers that toyed with the most intimate parts of you had you moaning softly and lowly, uncontrollably. you continued to palm him, and his hand slipped into the lacy cotton of your panties, cursing hotly under his breath when he feels you.

“so wet for me. you dirty fucking girl, look at you: making a mess in church.” you didnt know what he meant, but shame burned through your skin. confusion grappled at you and you began to sob, not ignoring the way your tears seemed to make coriolanus throb beneath you, “please stop, coriolanus, this is immoral.”

“baby, if it feels good, then it cant be bad,” he stroked the tear stains on your cheek softly, cupping your face with false earnest as he pulled your head to lay on his chest, “does it feel good?”

coriolanus reveled in the way you looked up at him, like a devoted follower in the arms of their saviour. when you nodded slowly, he gently spun you around and shoved your face into the cool wood of the crucifixion behind you, his hand painfully pushing against your cheek enough so that you couldn't look anywhere but above you, into the sad eyes of jesus.

your panties were ripped off with a shriek that was muffled by coriolanus’s hand around your mouth, and you sobbed as pain mixed with pleasure as he gave a few slaps to your dripping cunt, mumbling about how pretty it is. in a desperate attempt to wiggle out of your new position, you accidentally arched your back further, giving him more access.

“let me show you how i can love you,” he whispered into your ear, before returning his fingers to the slick mess that coated your cunt, your body jolting when they occasionally brushed over your clit, the unfamiliar sensation already too overwhelming for you to handle. with a few more agonising strokes of his fingers, he prodded at your hole, teasing your entrance in a way that had your eyes roll to the back of your head. when he finally slipped them in, your hand pounded desperately against the cross you were pressed up on, pleads to stop falling pathetically into the hand of coriolanus and onto deaf ears. he was merciless with it, greedily pounding his fingers into you in a way that had your knees gravitating towards each other and animalistic grunts of pleasure vibrating through his hand.

something in you burned, your body was pleading for more as an unfamiliar coil formed in the pit of your stomach. your hand continued to bang against the cross, tears falling as you forcibly peered into the eyes of your saviour while you got your cunt ravaged in the middle of his shrine.

“oh god, oh god” you mumbled through his hand. you were unsure if it was shame, or the delicious way coryo pumped his fingers into you, but you grew lightheaded and dumb, eyes hazy as you grew closer to your release.

“thats it, take it. you’re filthy, taking my fingers so well in the middle of church.” now, both hands scraped desperately against the cross, leaving marks in the wake of your fingernails digging into the hardwood. coriolanus tugged your head further up, forcing you to stare at him with tears streaming down your face and desperate pleas for him to stop going unheard. he smiled coyly when he felt your pussy clench around his fingers, and he withdrew them just before you reached your release, a loud, agonising whine of relief and desperation leaving your smushed lips. he was quick to replace his fingers with his cock, the slow intrusion of it making you let out a low, droned out groan as he stretched your virgin cunt past its limit.

he removed his hand from your mouth, and a string of prayers tumbled out of it, “o my god, i am heartily sorry for having offended thee,” and “and i detest all my sins because of thy just punishments, but most of all because they offend thee, my god, who art all good and deserving of all my love.” it earned you a slap to your ass, and you cried out loudly as coriolanus shoved your dress off of you, watching as it fell uselessly around your legs into a pool of white. he flipped you around, admiring your soft breasts and the way they spilled over in the hold of his fingers, and he traced the soft, plumpness of your belly as he chuckled lowly at your continuous prayer. with his cock still nestled into you, he leaned forward to whisper in your ear.

“god loves you, but not as much as i do,” and then he thrust his cock into you with such force that you nearly tumbled to the floor. his hand rest on your lower back, forcing you to arch closer to him, your hips meeting his unwillingly at his fast pace. coriolanus’s cock grazed the inside of your gummy walls perfectly, and you found yourself slipping from reality as he continued to pound his dick into you, moaning when you contracted around him without rhythm, your inexperienced self almost overloaded with pleasure, unable to control your body.

“you’re being such a good girl, taking my cock like this,” he weaved a hand through your hair, “‘n you’re gonna let me cum inside you, yeah? gonna make a woman out of you.” you couldnt focus on the words he was throwing at you, lost in pleasure as the tip of coryo’s dick hit that one spot over and over again. the way he spoke to you had you at a crossroads, and it didnt help that he was fucking you into oblivion, and now you understood what he had meant when he said he imposed between you and god, because you were becoming addicted to the push and pull of his cock inside of you.

“thats right, take it. you look so pretty all dumb and fucked out on my cock,” you reached to grab his arm to steady yourself, your orgasm creeping in closely, “you gonna cum for me?”

you didn't know what it meant, but you nodded anyways, completely lost in bliss, “coryo..” you moaned out, his brows raising slightly at the new nickname, a smirk settling on his face. moans and mewls lewdly left your mouth as he quickened his pace, his unused hand massaging at your tits, twisting and pinching softly at your nipples as you thrashed with pleasure under him.

“gonna make you worship this fucking cock, baby” he was close himself now, his head falling and his voice itching up an octave, lewd moans clashing with yours as the rhythm and pace he set began to falter, and he fucked you as hard as he could as he chased your high and his own, “gonna make you devoted to me. you’re never gonna wanna be away from me again,” his face twisted with pleasure, and you circled your arms around his neck as you tried to ground yourself, the coil in your stomach slowly beginning to unravel and threatening to snap. a shadow passed, and your eyes widened with terror as you slapped coryo’s arm haphazardly, begs falling from your mouth to stop. he turned his head lazily to look at what you were whining about, but his thrusts didn't stop.

“let them see what a dirty fucking girl you are.”

your walls tightened and your eyes rolled so far back into your head you were scared they wouldn't come back up as your orgasm reached you. you covered your mouth, shrieking desperately as the shockwaves of pleasure rolled over you, the newfound feeling unrelenting as it took over every part of your body. coriolanus repeated words of encouragement and praise as he fucked you through your high, before bottoming out and releasing his load in you, christening your walls. you whined at the feeling, so full and drunk off of it that your concerns of the passerby faded. the both of you stood there, panting heavily, both groaning when coryo slid out of you. he slapped his tip on your puffy clit one, two, three times, before a loud knock rapped on the church door.

you could feel coriolanus’s spill leaking out of you as you crouched on your knees, hidden, and you cried silently, the reality of what had just happened to you settling in. coriolanus snow had corrupted you, in the worst possible way, and now you could only feel yourself crave more of him. as he spoke to the intruder, egging them to run along, a thumb caressed your head gently, as if to tell you he had everything under control. the small southern drawl he’d begun to pick up was more prominent. when the intruder finally left, you were forced to your feet, and coriolanus grabbed your ruined panties, resting on his knees below you to shove them into your used cunt, before making his way back to his feet, towering over you. he spoke to you like he would if he were on duty:

“you go on home now, miss. and tell your father i say hello.”

and you did.

౨ׅৎ

@dumbsoftheart, 2023

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus snow smut #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes

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postersofleon · 1 year ago

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religious trauma with leon kennedy, dash of smut; no minors, afab.

- leon and you basically grew up together in the catholic church. unfortunately for the two of you, you grew up in a very obsessive and scary way of religion. basically it's religious ocd and intrusive thoughts.

- leon became a cop wanting to help people while you became a something equal to him. leon and you have a constant fear of god. you two are useless virgins who just want to please god.

- when the events of raccoon city happened, leon thought he betrayed god for not helping people, and he was having to suffer the nightmares for his sins. he was having night terrors of the devil. he was weeping and he had to call you.

- two traumatized religious people are praying for leon, for the arcangel michael to protect leon from the devil and the arcangel gabriel to heal his mind. oh, they are horrible in the sense of way.

- leon and you cuddle and leon feels safe.

- you temporarily live with him and go to church. something is happening between you two, it was pure angst of leon crying and you consoling him. he sees you as his angel and he hates himself.

- but you notice something different. it took time and you ask him, "during the... raccoon city tragedy, a woman kissed me." leon looked nervous to mention it. "i temporarily let my lust win." you looked shocked. "the mercenary?" leon...

- you press the cross on his forehead as you sat on his lap, "leon..." leon accept his scolding, his eyes closed and felt good. "Hail Mary, Full of Grace, The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among..."

- something snapped in leon, he adored this scolding, but he hated how he felt cock twitch. you pressed the cross closer to him. "you were in hell." you whispered softly. leon nodded his head, he couldn't agree more. tears poured in his eyes, he couldn't control himself. "help me."

- you pushed him to the couch, leon was panicking as tears appeared more and more. his mind was being desired by the devil laughing. "please, please," leon sobbed softly, "god help me."

- you muttered softly a prayer as you prayed over and over. leon wasn't even thinking about anything, his hand twitched. did god hate him? why did his cock ache? you tie his hands with his rosary, leon groaned weakly.

- you began to panic. his noises, his cries- they made your heart flutter.

- adam and eve. leon was eve and you were adam. leon had tasted the sin and now you were crawling. this was a new feeling. tears formed in your eyes.

leon's cock was the prettiest shade of pink you have ever seen. leon and you didn't know what to do, his arms were tied with the your rosary. his arms twitched, his biceps tensed up and so did his pecs. holy god, he looked beautiful as weeped. his cock was leaking his cum, tears over and over of his seed. sex isn't for pleasure, it's only for procreation yet why did you and him need it.

your cunt felt that unfamiliar feeling. god! oh, heavenly father you needed to feel it. your hand gently touched his tip and leon whined weakly. his cheeks were red, his eyes were closed. they were going to hell. you closed your own eyes as you took off your lower clothes.

your cunt was wet and needy. "leon..." your eyes opened, "i don't know..." leon's hips buckled a bit, you noticed how pretty his body was. his black shirt was up to his tummy, his well defined body made you so stupidly weak. his happy trail... his cum.

you gently grabbed his cock and pressed his tip around your folds. leon whined louder. his tip was collecting all of your wetness, but when it touched your clit it was your turn to groan. neither you or leon had ever even masturbated. it was sin yet why? why? "leon..." your mind was thinking of hell as his tip found your hole. your cunt clenched pathetically.

leon couldn't even control his hands, his dumb sinful hands were wrapped around your rosary so it was just you slowly going down. it burns! the details of his cock were slowly forming a spot inside of you. your whines became louder. slowly and painfully, you sat on his cock. your mind was rotted, leon had never imagined your cunt to feel so good. tears poors from your eyes. you two were scared of god, every detail of god watching you two, but you couldn't stop.

you carefully took off the rosary from his arms, "i'm-" you were stumbling with your words, "i'm sorry." leon understood. this was new. his hand was on your hip, he was scared ro touch you more despite his needy cock deep in you.

now what?

leon's hand gently moved your hip closer. leon was gasping weakly, he found the code to make this work even more. he felt his heart beating fast as his hips moved up and down. your soft walls of your cunt clenched pathetic. leon won't last long. his other hand grabbed the back of your neck as he gasped weakly. your tears poured from your eyes, you were scared of hell. there was a reason why god made sex feel so good.

your eyes closed, you were trying to connect with god. you needed to apologize to god for having sex with your best friend. leon planted kisses on your jaw and neck and you pressed closer to him to him and leon cummed. you groan weakly, feeling his seed deep in you, but something was bothering you. you were still needy. you didn't cum.

#tw religious themes #resident evil #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #re4 leon #leon kennedy smut

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emjiroki · 3 months ago

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Good Graces

Priest! Satoru Gojo x Reader ft Bishop! Suguru

Warnings: explicit scenes and language, corruption, religion, taking of virginity

A/N: Sorry everyone for this being a day late! got a horrible migraine yesterday and couldn't finish this. But we're back with our second fic of kinktober! Hope everyone enjoys!

likes, comments, and reblogs treasured like gold

“Be it done unto me according to thy word” You said, finishing the last line in your repeated Hail Mary prayer.

“How many was that?” Satoru asked you, his palm running over the redding skin of your cheeks where he had you bent across his lap.

“Nine” You breathed, trying to gather yourself before the next onslaught of swats. His hands were so cool against your stinging flesh.

“One more,” he said softly and sternly, " and your sins should be forgiven then.”

Your sin? Looking too long at Bishop Suguru at Mass this evening.

The Priest did not take kindly to being “so blatantly ignored” by his favorite congregant.

You always sat front and center, right within the ethereal gaze of your Priest, listening to his sermons with riveted attention at the clear calm of his voice sending goosebumps across your flesh.

People whispered of him being heaven-sent, a divine being, someone molded by God himself.

But if people knew the things Satoru had taught you in the privacy of his office and the walls of his home, They would say other things.

“Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee” You began, raising your hands in contrition as the blood rushing had your head swimming.

Smack

“Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb”

Smack

“Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death, Amen”

Smack

You took a deep breath, not wanting to let your voice crack as you swallowed thickly.

“Behold the handmaid of the Lord: Be it done unto me according to thy word”.

Smack

“A bit heavy-handed there,” Suguru said from across the desk.

“Not at all Suguru, She needs to learn to keep her eyes on me and me only” The white-haired priest said with a ruthful smile.

“Seems like you have problems with control, Satoru,” Suguru replied, taking a sip of his tea, “She can’t even look at another man, despite your interest and temptation by her being a sacrilege”.

“How could I not be tempted by her?” Satoru asks, moving you up to straddle his lap with your back to his chest, your skirt still down on the floor at his feet, “I would break every holy vow I ever made to have her”.

These two men talking about you as if you weren’t in the room spread half bare on your priest's lap was doing things you never expected. Your skin was warming, your breath getting a little more heavy, and wetness beginning to leak from between your legs.

“Just look how pretty she is Suguru,” Satoru implored, his long fingers moving down to trace over the hair at your mound and down to your clit, glistening with your arousal, “So wet and pink all for me”.

You gasped as his fingers dipped into your entrance, just enough to make you clinch. Satoru pulled his fingers away shiny, groaning low in his throat.

“Try this pure ambrosia and you'll see what I mean” Satoru said, extending his hand across the desk.

You expected Suguru to refuse, roll his eyes, maybe say something nasty but no. As if pulled by a leash he leaned forward and enveloped the light haired man's fingers, sucking your arousal off his digits with a gleam in his dark eyes.

“Hmm I suppose I do see what you mean” Suguru hummed.

“I knew you would see it my way," the white haired man smirked, “and you want me to ruin you, don't you Angel?”. His breath was warm against your ear as his hand moved down to free himself of his pants, his election hot and hard against your leaking cunt.

“Please” you whispered, rutting your hips down and catching the head of his cock along your rim.

“My sweet one,” Satoru murmured as he hooked his hands under your knees, “so ready for me”.

You squealed and kicked your feet as the first inch sank into you, pushing tenderly against your virgin wall.

“shh shh I'll be easy” he said, flashing his blue eyes to Suguru as he leaned back in his seat.

You could feel Satoru's hands shake a bit as your pussy clenched around him and tried to suck him in. Your arousal leaked out around him. You gasped as Suguru leaned forward with a questioning look in his eyes as his hand raised towards your mound, the look in his eyes asking for permission.

His finger moved down to rub circles against your clit, a low moan bubbling up your chest as pleasure shot through your body.

“I don't remember telling you that you could touch her,” Satoru said in a warning tone.

“Better to ask for forgiveness than permission” Suguru replied, a soft smirk on his lips as Satoru sucked his teeth in annoyance.

You cried out as Satoru plunged the rest of his cock in, a ring of blood around the base of him staining the white hair there pink as he began to move you slowly up and down.

“She's so… tight fuck” He hissed, his heart pounding against your back and his abdomen flexing.

Your senses were going haywire. The pleasure from Suguru’s fingers rubbing your sensitive clit and Satoru’s cock stretching you out, Satoru’s warm kiss against your throat, and the murmured words of encouragement had your blood running hot.

The burning knot that had formed in your stomach seemed to be shredding at the seams the longer this onslaught continued, debauched sounds escaping your mouth sounding so foreign.

“I’m- God Satoru I’m-” You moaned, your toes curling.

“Cum for me Angel, bring me to heaven” Satoru practically begged.

A sharp cry filled the room as you hit your peak, wetness dripping down to slip between your cheeks and onto the cloth of the chair.

When Satoru moved you off to lay against his desk, your head was barely clear. His cock glistens with a mix of your cum and virgin blood.

“How many more of those can we get from her Suguru?” Satoru asked, his hands moving up to rub and tug on your nipples.

“As many as she wants,” Suguru said, “The better question is, how many does she deserve for taking you so well her first time?”

#satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo smut #priest! satoru gojo #x reader smut #jjk smut #kinktober 2024 #em writes ✍#em talks 👄

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ineedtherapydesperately · 5 months ago

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@valengory1234 you just sent me down an endless path imagining chloe speaking like shakespeare and being a shakespeare purist and shit like imagine the way she confessed to red or like flirts with red, or when she makes dirty jokes that nobody quite understands

like imagine chloe quietly confessing romeo and juliet style like but soft, what light through yonder window breaks? it is the east, and red is the sun. arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief, that thou, her maid, art far more fair than she all because red dragged them onto a random rooftop on auradon prep to stargaze?? and red is just laying there, staring at the moon in complete shock, slowly attempting to translate everything because what the fuck, was that shakespeare?? and holy shit chloe is such a nerd?? because red NEVER bothered to learn shakespeare but it's so familiar and she feels like that little monologue was important?? and chloe is sat there, looking down at red lovingly, straight cheesing as she watches the love of her life attempt to understand her words

i already headcanon bridget calling red 'rose', but imagine chloe calling red that because of shakespeare?? because the man LOVED using rose imagery to talk about love, and just imagine chloe saying like a rose by any other name would smell as sweet which leads me to another idea about glassheart/charminghearts that i may post later if anyone is interested

like imagine chloe just sees red one day and starts reciting sonnet 18 at her, just because?? shall i compare thee to a summer’s day? thou art more lovely and more temperate- and red is just here, steadily growing redder, face absolutely matching her name because chloe, isn’t that like a love poem??? and chloe is here like well yes, i am trying to confess to you here if you don’t mind

ugggh imagine chloe fondly watching red scale the walls of auradon prep, running along the rooftops which is absolutely against the code of conduct, but chloe can't find it in herself to care because it's red, because red, you draw me, you hard hearted adamant, but yet you draw not iron for my heart is true as steel. let's ignore how this is contextually where helena is crying to demetrius and pretend that it's just chloe lamenting quietly to herself about her (not so) unrequited crush <3

imagine chloe rereading much ado about nothing (because she would absolutely reread shakespearian plays) and when red asks her how the play is, chloe says i mean, i'd much rather there be some to do about your nothing and red is confused because that didn't make sense?? only it makes sense if you take elizabethan era slang into account, which chloe, face completely straight, suggests red searches up, only to burst into borderline maniacal giggles when red's face once more flushes horrendously because chloe what the actual fuck?! because this is so out of chloe's character??? whether this happens before or after they're dating is anyone's guess

@blood-carnation here you go :D i have so many more scenarios in my mind hehe (my english nerd is showing 😔)

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apoloadonisandnarcissus · 2 months ago

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Virgin Mary, Galadriel and Sauron x Galadriel in “Rings of Power”

Understanding the connection between Galadriel and the Virgin Mary in Tolkien lore

The “Virgin Mary = Galadriel” headcanon is around for a very long time in the Tolkien fandom. But this is not what Tolkien wrote nor intended, as he made that distinction in his letters, very clear:

I was particularly interested in your remarks about Galadriel… I think it’s true that I owe much of this character to Christian and Catholic teachings and imagination of Mary, but actually Galadriel was a penitent, in her youth, a leader in the rebellion against the Valar (the angelic guardians). At the end of the First Age she proudly refused forgiveness or permission to return. She was pardoned because of her resistance to the final and overwhelming temptation to take the [One] Ring for herself.

Tolkien, Letter 320

Why are folks missing the mark here? Most likely because they aren’t familiar with the Catholic faith, Tolkien’s faith, nor its complexities. There is no direct Virgin Mary equivalent in Tolkien legendarium. Varda, the “Queen of the Valar”, comes close but not quite; there’s a clear inspiration there, but not a “copy-paste” situation like Eru (Christian God) and Morgoth (Christian Devil).

The mere mention of the Virgin Mary as a “repentant sinner” is not only unthinkable to Catholics, but blasphemous; it goes against everything the Catholics believe, against their religious doctrine. Although, I doubt other branches of Christianity accept this, either.

The “teachings of Mary” is the Marian devotion, the devotion of Virgin Mary; the ultimate Catholic devotion, which separates this Christian branch from all the others. Protestants, Eastern or Oriental Orthodoxy, and others, don’t share this devotion.

In Catholicism (and Tolkien was a very devoted Catholic), Jesus Christ is God, and Mary, being the mother of Jesus, is considered “mother of God”. Mary is considered a “virgin” because she was saved from the Original sin of Adam and Eve. Because, to Catholics, she’s the woman who carried God in her womb, after all. When Jesus died on the cross, Mary, as a mother, suffered alongside him; and from then on, she acts as a advocate for Catholics next to God (Catholics pray to Mary for her to intervene on their behalf next to God). That’s why she’s a saint (and this is the role of all Catholic saints).

Michelangelo, “Pietà” (“Madonna della pietà”), 1498–1499 | Mary, the Lady of Pity | Masaccio, “The Madonna of Humility” (detail), c. 1424

Hail Mary, Full of Grace, The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of death. Glory Be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit.

Catholic prayer “Hail Mary”

Side note: every facet of Mary is devotional to Catholics, and that’s why you’ll find several saints connected to all stages of Mary’s life (the “Madonnas”). Even pregnant Mary is object of devotion (this was very popular in the Middle-ages, then changed after the Council of Trent, in 1545 - 1563, because the Vatican felt it could be heretical, and strip Mary of her divinity).

Indeed, Tolkien took obvious inspiration from Mary’s “Queen of Heaven” facet to create Varda, “Queen of the Stars”, and she’s also the Eldar highest devotion, as Mary is to Catholics. However, the role of “mother of God” is missing from Varda’s character, hence her not being the “stand-in character” for the Virgin Mary in the lore. And Tolkien, being a devoted Catholic would never do this.

Diego Velasquez, “The coronation of the Virgin”, 1599-1660

The “Catholic teachings of Mary” are humility, selflessness, charity and compassion; she teaches her devotees to renounce their pride and selfish ways. Because Mary had the extraordinary role of being Mother of God, and yet remained humble in her ways, and continued to serve the Lord with devotion.

And this is how she’s connected to Galadriel. Her character is not the “Virgin Mary”, but that of a devotee of the Virgin Mary. Which makes sense, because the Marian devotion is very dear to Catholic women, in particular.

Galadriel Sins

We know that Galadriel character arc in Tolkien legendarium is that of a sinner in repentance, and her actions are motivated by her wish to return to Valinor, because the Valar banished her. That’s why she becomes the “Lady of Light” and fights Sauron. But what are her sins, exactly?

Galadriel, in both the lore and in “Rings of Power”, is proud, greedy and lustful (she doesn’t wait to be married to have sex with Celeborn, which goes against the Eldar ways).

In “Rings of Power”, in particular, she’s obsessed and consumed with personal vendetta, she’s selfish, arrogant, power-hungry, and wants to be worshipped as the savior of Middle-earth by destroying Sauron, all by herself (selfishness). She’s also lustful for Sauron himself, as I talked about in these posts: here and here.

The catch is: in Tolkien legendarium, a “sin” isn’t truly a “sin” (a crime against Eru’s law) if it’s not acted upon. We’ve seen Galadriel acting on her pride, and greed, but not on her lust.

In order for her to sin, she will have to succumb to Sauron. And for this she’ll get banished from Valinor.

“A Penitent”

After having sinned, and facing the consequences for her sins (banishment from literal Heaven), Galadriel will start her penitence arc by following the example of the Virgin Mary, and her teachings, embracing the Marian devotion.

Galadriel will use the Virgin Mary as a guide for her actions, her beacon and role model of behavior, in order to repent for her past sins.

This is why Galadriel is a Elven-queen (like Mary is the “Queen of Heaven”) and has to learn the lessons of humility, charity and compassion, to let go of pride and her greed (power-hungry), and wield her power with grace and kindness.

Then there’s the “virgin” aspect, which is not at all appealing to our modern sensibilities of female sexuality, but it is what it is. Tolkien was a man of his time, and extremely religious. What does this mean? Galadriel will have to repress her sexual desires, and embrace temperance and chastity in her repentance. No more sexy times for Galadriel if she wants to be allowed to return to heaven.

#Galadriel #Sauron #Tolkien lore #tolkien legendarium #rings of power #saurondriel #Haladriel #sauron x galadriel #galadriel x sauron

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queenlucythevaliant · 8 months ago

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"God allows" language is honestly so counterproductive in so many situations. Like, ok, theologically we all recognize that God is not the source of anything evil. But so much of the time just saying "God put you in this situation" or even "God caused" is so much more true to the world as we experience it. "God allows" just sounds like you're trying to remove God's agency and control from your suffering.

#i am ok (to an extent) with being God's punching bag for Mystery Reasons #i am absolutely not okay with suffering while God's in the other room with a book #ya feel?#this has been a good week to be clear. I'm thinking about loved ones rn #pontifications and creations #only thou art holy

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cooliestghouliest · 11 months ago

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LOVE ME TWO TIMES, ch. one

(chapter one) (chapter two)

PAIRING: eventual Mungrove x Reader

SUMMARY: Struggling to come to terms with the abrupt abandonment of your father, you’re left with two options – attend an “all girls’ therapeutic boarding academy” that’s really more Bedlam Insane Asylum than trusty reformative school, or move half-way across the country to a small town in Indiana to live with your older brother, Rick. The upheaval of your life in Fresno might just end up being a little star-crossed and a whole lot serendipitous.

WORD COUNT: 3.5k+

SERIES TAGS: angst. some pretty heavy topics in later chapters. just enough fluff to hopefully balance it all out. eventual smut (18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI). eventual love triangle. neurodiversity. dom/sub undertones (dom!Billy, switch!Eddie, switch!Reader), also bi!Eddie and bi!Reader but confused!Billy. drugs and drug addiction. no use of Y/N (but much use of nicknames and pet names). Reefer Rick is Matthew Lillard circa Senseless. more TBA as the story progresses.

CHAPTER TAGS: absent dads and mean moms. brief mention of self-destructive tendencies (way more about that later). your brother's a total cockblock. long-winded parental background information. this is really just some stage setting before we get into the nitty gritty.

A/N: this is my favorite fic i've ever written, and now it's coming at you re-edited. it's my verbose word child, sprinkled with a few What The Fuck and Holy Shit moments, dolled up with some silly humor and a dose of hot (and often borderline depraved) smut. a lot's already planned for this, so i hope you enjoy. :-)

—

chapter title: O Brother, Where Art Thou?

You weren’t expecting the high pitch of the doorbell that sounded throughout your colonial-style home, and proof of that was now spilled all over the kitchen floor.

Tiny green buds were sprinkled across the white-and-black linoleum tile, some scattered in the blonde mess of curls that belonged to the boy kneeling before you, his mouth busy between your legs.

You’d been attempting to multitask, rolling a joint while twisted awkwardly at the dining table, the quarterback’s head shrouded by your bare thighs, lapping noisily at your wet center.

You huffed out a frustrated sigh at the spillage, but it quickly turned into a moan when goldilocks gave a particularly harsh suck on your clit.

“You needa get that?” he mumbled against your folds, tongue halting its assault only to speak before diving back in, showing no intention of stopping.

You shook your head, one hand moving to tangle in the his hair, the other crumbling up the now empty and useless rolling paper. “Uh-uh… prob’ly just some Mormons,” you answer, beginning to rock your hips up into the warm mouth covering your cunt. “I don’t wanna be saved.”

Chris… or Carl… or Craig… whatever his name was, laughed, the sound vibrating nicely against your heat. Your toes curled at the sensation, thighs wrapping tight around his ears.

He moaned appreciatively at your movement, running his tongue flat against the length of your opening. Maybe you could keep this one around. He liked New Kids on the Block unironically, but holy shit, he knew what to do with his mouth.

The bell rang again.

And then again, and again, and again.

“Oh, little seeeee-eeee-ster!” came a familiar male voice from the other side of the front door. “I know you’re in there, Bean. I can see your shadow in the kitchen!”

You shot up straight, aligning your posture and pulling Chris Carl Craig from between your legs by the grip you had in his hair. He gave an unappealing whine, his fingers moving up to console his scalp.

Standing quickly, you adjusted your pleated skirt so it fell normal again, just above your knees. “Up, up, up,” you impatiently urged the jock still kneeling on the ground, smoothing your clothing and hair to make sure nothing looked too out of place.

“Who is that?” the blonde asked, finally following you into a standing position, large hand still cradling his head. “Still the Mormons?”

“It was never Mormons, Chet,” you said, hoping your shot-in-the-dark guess at his name was right.

It wasn’t.

“It’s Chad,” he said, eyes beginning to narrow. Whether it was in suspicion, confusion, annoyance, or a combination of all three, you didn’t know. And it didn’t matter. You needed to get him out of here without your new visitor catching sight of him, or else you knew you’d never hear the end of it. Chad was still intent on conversing, though. “We’ve literally been in the same school district since, like, kindergarten.”

You bit your lower lip, offering a sheepish smile. “Right,” you said. “I know that.” You didn’t. “Sorry. Head’s a little loopy right now. Your tongue could win awards.”

With Chad’s newfound cocky grin, you knew the flattery angle had worked out. It usually did. Boys were such suckers for some ego stroking.

“Oh, fuckin’ right!” you heard from the front door, the visitor’s voice now cheerful. The door handle began to jangle, and you heard the sound of a key in the lock.

He must have found the spare. Of course he had. He’d only lived here his entire childhood, just like you.

The key had been in the same place it always had been since moving to Fresno -- under the coir doormat that read Definitely Not a Trap Door, courtesy of your father. He’d made it for the family after moving from Chicago to California for his new teaching position at CSU in ‘70. Your mom still hadn't gotten around to throwing it out, even though she’d managed to get rid of almost everything else inside the home that reminded her of her ex-husband.

The door swung open and there stood your older brother in all his punk rock, Fuck-the-Bourgeoisie glory. Short bleached blonde hair, numerous facial piercings, ripped Dead Kennedys t-shirt, tight red tartan pants, muddy black Doc Martens. He was smiling wide, dopey.

Fuckin' Rick.

You started to match his expression, unable to resist your brother’s effortless and childlike charm, but your smile fell flat when Rick’s now disapproving gaze landed on the blonde still standing at your side.

“A Letterman, Bean? Really?” Rick asked you incredulously, having spotted Chad’s football jacket as the jock in question slid it from its place on the kitchen chair to rest over his broad shoulder.

“What?” you asked Rick coyly, quickly eyeing Chad. “You know I don’t discriminate. I’m a true equal opportunist.”

Chad seemed oblivious to the underlying context of the conversation between the pair of siblings. He was watching the two of you interact with seemingly nothing behind his eyes.

God, so cute but so totally stupid.

You closed the distance between the two of you, Chad looking hopeful he was going to be kissed or something, but you instead reached your hand out to pluck a few pieces of weed from his hair. “You can go now,” you told him, finger tapping his nose lightly.

Chad’s face scrunched at your touch but he then shrugged it off, picking his backpack up off the kitchen floor before making his way to the front door. “See ya at school,” he said to you over his shoulder. Stopping briefly next to your brother, Chad assessed him before saying, “Um, bye, whoever you are.”

Rick pulled his lips into a tight line, raising his brows in amusement. He clapped his hand hard on Chad’s back a few times before pushing the footballer out the door. “Later, loverboy.”

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

An hour and a half later, you and Rick were seated on opposite ends of the tufted tuxedo sofa in the living room. A box of half-eaten extra cheese pizza laid open in between the two of you.

Some low budget horror VHS was playing on the TV across from the couch, the volume low. You thought it was called Ghoulies. You kept catching glances of tiny, ugly wet looking monsters scurrying on the screen out of your peripheral.

You’d been talking to Rick about senior year at Fresno Central High (you said you were doing great, straight A’s across the board, but in reality, you were failing everything but English and Music).

You'd been talking about work at Spins and Needles, the record store you’d been employed at for a little over two years now (you told him you’d gotten promoted to Assistant Manager, which was true, but you left out the fact that you were on Strike Two of Three for blowing off shifts to get high with some goth kids that routinely came in a few hours before closing).

And you'd been talking about your mom (this you were honest about – “She’s still a huge bitch, Rick, that hasn’t changed”).

But then he tried to bring up your dad, asking in an obnoxiously forced nonchalant tone if you’d heard from him lately.

That’s where you stopped him.

You were not going to talk about your dad.

Flipping the pizza box lid shut harshly, you sat up straight and faced him.

“Why are you really here?” you demanded.

Rick sighed, defeated.

He knew you’d catch on soon enough that this supposed innocent visit was actually a planned mission. He’d just been hoping maybe you’d be the one to breach the topic of going back to Indiana with him. Maybe you wanted out of this Californian hellhole. A chance at a fresh start, hundreds of miles away.

But he knew you recently had developed a penchant for self-destruction and self-catastrophizing, which meant getting you to see the bright side and the positives of his request was going to be near impossible.

Still, he had to try.

“Mom called me,” he admitted, which earned him a dramatic eye roll from you. “I know you’re failing your classes. I know your boss has been blowing up the landline wondering why you keep closing up shop so early. And I know mom’s a bitch. I’m trying to save you from her. She said she’s thinking of enrolling you into St. Mary’s.” Rick wasn’t surprised at the bewildered scoff you gave to that, St. Mary’s being Indiana’s notorious Catholic boarding school for wayward girls. He’d finally gotten to the point, the real reason he was there: “Come stay with me in Hawkins, Bean.”

“Wow, Rick, so noble. It only took you, what, ten years to come back for me?”

Rick couldn’t help but flinch, your wounding words accusing. And accurate.

It was true.

Rick, at twenty, had left Fresno in an old RV he’d bought for dirt cheap, with plans to travel the country and get the fuck away from his parents, Ronald and Maureen Lipton.

Or, away from his mother, really.

Ron Lipton was generally fine -- until a certain point in his life. To outsiders, the man seemed to be very happy and very put-together, successfully established in both his home life and his career.

Ron and Maureen had gotten married just a few short months following their high school graduation, after finding out Maureen was pregnant with Rick.

With the draft ever present, Ron enlisted in the army, while Maureen enlisted the help of her mother-in-law to take care of Rick (and eventually you, once you were born, conceived on one of Ron’s short stints back home), so she could work on her doctorate in psychiatry.

After being honorably discharged a handful of years later, Ron had gotten his Master’s degree in education and creative writing.

To the public, Ronald and Maureen Lipton were fantastic at keeping up the facade of Perfect Suburban Family.

In private, however, the Lipton household was like living in a layer of Hell.

Where Ron was imaginative and endlessly inquisitive, instilling a love of storytelling and curiosity in his children, Maureen was passive aggressive and judgemental, harboring jealousy for the relationship her children had with her husband. This eventually festered a spiteful dynamic between her and Ron, and between her and her offspring as well.

When the two of you were younger, Rick in his late teens and you in your last years of elementary school, one of your favorite backyard games was to wonder aloud to each other how and why your parents had ever even gotten together in the first place.

You were both sure that it must have been an arranged marriage of some sorts.

Rick thought maybe your grandparents had made a deal with the devil, and to ensure the safety of the family, Ronald and Maureen were forced to be betrothed for life.

You thought maybe Maureen was an evil sorceress who had cast a spell on your father, trapping him in a loveless marriage that he was an unsuspecting victim in.

The truth was not stranger than fiction.

The reason behind their nuptials was simple, really: Ronald was raised to believe he needed to provide for his family, and after having knocked Maureen up not only once but twice, he was resigned to the fact that this was his path in life.

Devoted father, loving husband.

While he couldn’t stand his wife, her harshness and indignation usurping any positive characteristics she may have once had, Ron did love his children. Dearly.

Rick was his wild child; his rebellious, rambunctious trouble maker.

Ron would sit on the front porch late at night, waiting for Rick to get home and tell him all about his latest escapades. What parties he’d gone to, what girls he’d kissed, whether he preferred the high from acid or mushrooms more. Ron lived vicariously through his son, encouraging the boy to play hard, but to play hard responsibly.

You were Ron’s Little Leia of Alderaan; his opinionated, open-minded warrior, brave enough to stand up to any bully who’d dare to make fun of you or your friends. You were Ron’s daydreamer, his whimsical muse, his daily reminder that there was still innocent softness in this cruel world.

You would have Daddy Daughter Dates twice a week, where you’d do things like go to the roller rink or have picnics in the park, and they always ended with a two scoop mint chocolate chip ice cream cone shared between the both of you.

But Ron’s love for his life dwindled the second he stepped foot inside his house -- where he was forced to occupy space with his resentful excuse of a wife, a woman who would never miss a beat to berate him for every choice he’d ever made in his life.

With your older brother gone, the squabbles between Ron and Maureen got worse.

Rick had been able to placate his father and put himself in the line of Maureen’s fire, taking her verbal hits so his father didn’t have to. You, being only ten when Rick had left, didn’t have much ground to stand on with your parents arguing, and trying to step in as Rick had would usually only make things escalate.

Ron fantasized about leaving, starting over anew. The immediate and resounding “no” that his subconscious always answered himself with, thinking of the kids, dwindled down over time, until all of his fantasizing led him to making actual plans of departure.

Last year, right before summer break was set to start, Ron finally left.

Having taken PTO from the campus, he’d waited that morning for Maureen to leave for work and for you to be on the bus to school. Alone, he took the time to pack all of his belongings, leaving only a few things behind, all with you in mind -- things to remind you of him in his absence. He’d intended on coming back for you as soon as possible, wanting to settle in somewhere before dragging his daughter into his uprooted life.

But it was over a year now that Ron had been gone, and you could count on one hand the amount of times he’d reached out to you.

You could count them on two fingers, actually.

The first time was the night after he’d left, when he’d tried explaining to you his reasoning, which you weren’t at all interested in hearing. You were beside yourself that he’d left you, just like Rick had, except Rick was your brother and that was normal, but Ron was your daddy and he was supposed to always be there.

Your mother, in anger that Ron would attempt to talk to you and not her, had disconnected the call, and while you waited by the phone all night for him to call back, he never did.

The second and last time he reached out was a few months ago, via letter for your 18th birthday. It was postmarked with an address in Fort Worth, Texas. When you’d tried writing back, you'd found the letter you'd sent in your mailbox a week later, marked Return to Sender.

It was mid-November now, and you hadn’t heard from him since.

At least Rick had kept in touch after he’d left.

He’d sent you care packages every month since arriving to Indiana in '81. They were full of sci-fi and horror books he’d found at the local Goodwill or Salvation Army, newspaper clippings for outlandish Classified segments, scribbled notes on stained notebook paper detailing concerts he’d gone to and new bands he thought you should check out.

Remembering this, you softened quickly after accusing Rick of abandoning, your biting comment causing guilt to swirl in your stomach.

Rick had his reasons to leave, you understood that. He was allowed to live his life. And even though he’d done just that, left and lived his life, he still always managed to keep tabs on you. The two of you hadn’t gone more than a few weeks without letters sent or parcels mailed back and forth since he’d first left home.

Never there, but never gone. Not really.

That was more than you could say for your father.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that,” you admitted, even though the hurt words you spoke did hold some kernel of truth. “It’s just… I don’t wanna have to start all over somewhere else.”

“It’ll be good for you,” Rick promised, choosing to let the accusation of his abandonment slide. He was sure you'd both get into it more later, considering it was a conversation that was long overdue. “The house is too big for just me anyway, and you know I’m fuckin’ shit at decorating. I’ve basically just been using beer cans for bookends and stuff like that – you could make it look way cozier.”

You laughed, sure your brother wasn’t exaggerating.

Rick was about as anti-capitalist as you could get, and that included being a minimalist when it came to possessions. Give the man a hand-me-down couch, a little TV, some weed, his cassettes, and a subscription to Playboy, and he’d be content for the rest of his life.

You were the opposite.

You loved things.

You had many different collections you’d amassed over the years -- your vast assortment of books had spilled from the two bookshelves in your room to several stacks littered throughout the house, much to your mother's annoyance; your vinyls were shoved into four big storage bins stacked under your octagonal bedroom window, which you draped a blanket over and used as a makeshift window seat nook; your cliques of creepy looking dolls you’d collected from estate sales and antique shops crowded your bed, your vanity, the storage shelf in your closet; the bug assemblages you’d been adding to since your childhood had their own corner of your room, little homes full of ladybugs, ants, and deathwatch beetles.

The idea that you could expand your knack for interior embellishing (hoarding, really) further than the confines of one room was one thing that made you start to consider taking Rick’s offer seriously.

That, and the realization that finally getting the fuck out of Fresno might not be such a bad idea.

Because what did you have there anymore, anyway? Shit grades? A handful of mean exes? A dead-end job?

Was any of that worth staying for?

You thought of your dad trying to reach out to you via telephone, imagined your mother answering and telling him you’d moved away and no longer lived there.

If it were only a few months since Ron had left, you didn’t think you would have gone with Rick back to Hawkins. You would have stayed just for the mere possibility that your dad would show up on the doorstep one day, begging for your forgiveness for leaving you alone with your coldhearted mother.

However, it was over a year now that he’d been gone. One year, four months, and fifteen days... if anyone was counting.

You’d never verbally admit it, but you still were.

There was a page hidden in the back of your diary where you kept track.

Your hopefulness was starting to make you sick.

Maybe a change wouldn’t be so bad.

Going back to Hawkins with Rick sure beat being forced to attend an all girls’ reformatory school, one with a reputation that claimed the headmaster performed shock therapy on students in lieu of giving them detentions.

You were sure that was just a rumor, but still. You didn’t want to take any chances.

“Bean, let me be there for you,” Rick said, reaching over to grasp your hand with his fingers. You noted his nails were painted a lime green. “It’ll be just like when we were kids, except now you’re older and actually cool so I won’t be embarrassed to introduce you to all my friends.” Dipping his head to the side, he wiggled his pierced brows, a grin toying on his lips as he added, “And we can smoke weed in the house.”

Pretending as if that alone was what sealed the deal, you stood swiftly. “Say less. You really should’ve started with that, Richard.” You headed off in the direction of the stairs that led up to your room, glancing over your shoulder at your brother who was staring off after you with a relieved countenance on his face. “Gimme an hour and then we can go?”

Rick answered with two thumbs up before grabbing a slice of pizza, shoving as much as he could of it into his mouth as you disappeared up the spiral staircase.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie x you #eddie x reader #billy hargrove x reader #billy x reader #billy x you #mungrove x reader #mungrove #billy hargrove smut #eddie munson smut

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teleostuber · 2 years ago

Note

Your Alex art tends to have a lot of religious references/imagery, since they’re also present in the series. Do you have any thoughts on that topic? Do you have a favorite way to represent Alex?

Holy fuck ok so aside from the obvious biblical references in the series, I’m obsessed w the way it deals with ideas like sacrifice, being “chosen”, and being deserving of salvation/punishment. Definitely projecting but I feel like these alabama guys would’ve had religious upbringings, and specifically Alex’s warped concept of righteousness is very clear in his actions even tho faith has nothing 2 do w any of it.

He basically appoints himself both jesus and judas and I like presenting him not only as a holier-than-thou prick, but also as someone who genuinely sees no other options and sadly but willingly accepts the sacrifices he has 2 make.

#young Alex in church like I was born to be an extension of a higher power and enact its will aw man #alex kralie #drawing #ask #marble hornets

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kindersurprisebacterium · 18 days ago

Text

Marked (Soap / Reader)

CW: catholicism, incubus!Johnny, confessional, altar sex, cunillingus, vaginal sex, branding, blasphemy, claiming, mild dubcon

Gender Neutral AFAB Reader

WC: 2.6k

I’m posting this at work, forgive any formatting errors

“Father, I think the devil is taunting me.”

The scent of warm mahogany filled my nose. I folded my hands in my lap, glancing down at my fingers. My nails were chewed down to bloody nubs.

“How so, my child?” A deep voice asked.

Slowly, my eyes raked up the door of the confession booth. He was grinning, sharp canines glinting in the candlelight. Thick horns protruded from his brow, curling in a way that framed his face.

“I told you, I’m not the devil. I’m Johnny.” The beast smirked.

He was dressed in silk and silver, drapes lying low on his waist. It was promiscuous, tempting even. A tail protruded from his coccyx, laying still at his side.

His smirk was telling. A sense of superiority, sureness even, lay behind it. He stepped forward, mahogany creaking under his bare feet. His long, claw-like fingernails gently traced up the side of my face.

His breath was hot as it wafted over my skin. A sinister smile slowly spread across his face. I glanced down at my lap, clenching the rosary beads woven through my fingers.

“I just know it, Father.” I answered with a sniffle.

Soft creaking echoed through the grate as the priest shifted in his seat. Through the dim lighting, I could just barely see his hand moving to stroke his bearded face. Fingers gripped my chin, turning my face back toward the creature.

“Now is the time to prove yourself. Dedicate time to your studies. Pray for guidance. I believe this is something that your faith will guide you through.”

Roaring thunder cracked overhead. The weathered shutters slammed against the church walls. An aching pain sparked in my knees as I kneel, clasped hands resting atop the pew before me.

Hot tears streamed down my flushed cheeks. My brows furrowed, lips mumbling soft prayers. I gripped the beads in my hand, leaving behind round indents in my skin.

The chapel stunk of incense and parchment. It was well into the early hours of the morning, nuns not yet stirring. Only a few burnt-down candles were left to light the pews. Streaks of pale moonlight shone through the stained glass windows, casting dim rainbows over the frayed carpet.

“I was sent here for a reason, you know.” The creature mumbled.

I raised my voice, muttering my prayers over the beast’s foul voice. My fingers clenched tighter around the beads.

“I know you’ve been questioning…”

“O my God, I firmly believe that Thou art one God, in three Divine Persons, the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost.” My voice was louder now, audible over the pouring rain.

“Your faiths begun to waver…”

“I believe that Thy Divine Son became man and died for our sin.” Even louder now. The wooden beads creaked beneath my grip.

“You’ve disobeyed, haven’t you?”

“-And that He will come to judge the living and the dead.” My teeth gritted, enamel squealing as I clenched my jaw tight.

“You’ve touched yourself…haven’t you?”

“I believe these and all the truths which the holy Catholic Church teaches, because Thou hast revealed them.” The string snapped between my fingers. The wooden beads clattered to the floor. I opened my eyes, glancing down at the mess of cedar beads dispersing atop the carpet.

His feverish hand wrapped around my neck, fingers pressing into my artery. I shuddered, eyelids fluttering closed. A deep laugh bellowed from his chest. His silver chains clinked with every movement.

“For the mind that is set on the flesh is hostile to God,” he muttered. His fingers slowly trailed down the side of my neck. I could feel his heated breath on my skin.

“I’m not-”

“for it does not submit to God’s law; indeed, it cannot,” He continued. His other hand rested on my hip. His touch felt warm, like that of a fireplace on a cold winter day. My tense muscles went lame under his touch, as if his fingertips could smooth the knots in my nerves.

His fingertips slipped underneath the soft cotton of my night robe. With a swift nudge, he eased the fabric off of my shoulder. I could feel his stubble brushing against the skin of my shoulder. His warm lips pressed against my bare neck.

A soft noise rose from my throat. My breath hitched, jaw clenching as I tried to swallow my feelings. This felt…right, especially for something as unholy as this. I turned my head away from the beast, lips pursing tight. He huffed, grabbing my face in his large hand. He slowly turned my head back to face him.

He had bright blue eyes, a color that rivaled the daytime sky. Deep pupils drew me into his gaze. I felt heat rush to my cheeks as he slowly skated his fingers down my neck.

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” he said, leaning in closer. “You don’t have to submit…to God at least,” he chuckled. His long nails slipped beneath my collar. His eyes stayed fixed on mine as he nudged the fabric off of my shoulder.

“Why should something so wonderful be withheld?”

The cold air pricked my exposed skin. Goosebumps rose on both of my shoulders, bared openly to this unholy beast.

“Why should someone as breathtaking as you be denied something so…” he paused, tilting his head. Hot tears ran down my face. I sniffled, my bottom lip gently quivering. “It’s torture, isn’t it?”

His hands slid down my sides until they reached my belt. He gently tugged at the soft fabric, pulling it from the belt loops. The fabric limply hung off of my biceps, baring my body to this beast before me.

“How could they make you hate something so divine?” He reached out as if to touch my thigh, only pausing inches away from my trembling body. My breath came out in short, shallow pants, shoulders heaving with every shaky inhale. “I can show you what it means to feel heavenly.”

I hung my head low, tears falling into my lap. Slowly, I unclasped my hands, letting my arms fall to my sides. The cotton robe fell limply from my body, pooling on the ground beside me.

My core throbbed, aching with every passing second. Arousal pooled in my stomach like honey, dampening every one of my fluttering thoughts. I felt hopeless, abandoned, desperate. All of my nerves ached for stimulation in unison. I felt hollow, as if there was a pit deep inside of me that only this wretched mistake of god could fill.

“Touch me,” I said through heavy breaths, turning toward the beast.

I was expecting him to pounce on me in that instance, only to instead have his soft fingers tilt my chin up. He slowly leaned in, pressing his lips to mine. They were warm, inviting even. His breath tasted of pomegranates and aged mead. Every touch of his lips against mine felt intoxicating.

Warmth flooded my veins as he slowly trailed his thick fingers down my shoulders. I lurched forward as one of his claw-like nails raked down my spine. He tugged me into his toned chest, chuckling lowly as his fingers ran down my back.

I buried my face in the crook of his neck, panting against his warm skin. I looped my arms around the back of his neck, keeping his chest flushed against my own.

“So pliable,” he hummed, fingers rubbing back up my spine. He cradled my head in his hands, tugging me away from his chest to gaze into my eyes. “You’d let me do anything to you, huh?”

I nodded, staring up at him through my tear soaked lashes. His thumb gently stroked my cheek, only to pull away as he rose to his feet. He glanced down at my kneeling body, extending a single clawed hand to me. I reached out, placing my hand in his. He held onto me with a tight grip, tugging me to my feet. The wood floors creaked as he took a step back, eyes not leaving me for a moment.

He led me down the aisle in some sort of unholy wedding march. With each step forward, my legs quivered, threatening to buckle under me. Thunder clapped overhead. A single flash of white light cast shadows over the room, only to disappear in a moment.

We stilled in front of the altar. Gentle candle light illuminated his face. He smirked, flashing a single sharp canine as he stepped forward. His hands skimmed down the sides of my body, pausing to feel every inch of me. When his warm palms reached my hips, he leaned forward, tugging me into his arms. I gasped, watching the floor disappear from beneath my feet as he lifted me.

The cold marble brought goose bumps to my skin as he lay me down on the altar. I propped myself up on my elbows, gaze fixated on the man between my bare thighs. His fingertips grazed my skin, gently nudging my knees further apart.

He leaned into me, lips pressing against my collarbone. A soft noise spilled from my throat as his kisses trailed down to my bare chest. His palms groped my flesh, squeezing my nipples between his fingertips.

And then he was kissing over my ribs, down my stomach. He hooked his legs underneath my thighs and dragged my hips off the altar. I laid back against the cool marble, eyelids fluttering closed as his lips trailed up my inner thigh, unbearably close, teasingly close to my core. He sunk his teeth into my flesh. Pinprick droplets of blood rose to the surface of my skin. I felt my nerves ignite, pulsing with electricity.

He ran his tongue up my core, pulling desperate noises from my chest. His tongue circled my clit, feverishly flicking against the bud. He groaned into my cunt, sending jolts of pleasure up my spine. My thighs, laying atop his shoulders, quivered.

I wrapped my fingers around his horns, pulling him closer to my core. I tossed my head back against the hard marble. My lips parted, desperate noises rising from my heaving chest as he wrapped his lips around my clit.

Tension grew in my core, stretching across my limbs with every movement of his tongue, every suck against my flesh. My back arched up off of the altar, hips jutting forward against his face.

He chuckled, using his arm to hold me still as he ate me out. Tears welled in his eyes, not from sorrow, but from pleasure. My brows knitted, face contorting as he overpowered my body.

Flames licked at my skin, heated pleasure wrapping around my extremities like tendrils. I could feel my control slipping out of my hands. My hips, of their own accord, slowly rocked against his face. My body wanted more- needed more. It was intoxicating, wiping every little thought of doubt from my mind.

In an instant, my muscles went taut, as If my body was a marionette. His motions made my body contort, quiver as he pulled me to my orgasm. My lips parted in a silent scream, lungs stilling as I felt a wave of pleasure pour over me.

My skin tingled as each of my nerve endings ignited at once. Static rippled over my body as my climax soon descended. My sweaty chest heaved as I gasped for air. His soft lips pressed kisses against my heated skin, speaking soft praises against my thighs.

Slowly, he rose from between my legs, blue eyes meeting mine once again. He leaned forward, hastily pressing his lips to mine. I could taste myself on his tongue, molasses and musk. I crossed my ankles behind his back, tugging his hips close to mine. He groaned, rutting his stiff cock against my thigh.

“Are you sure you want to continue, my dear?” His sharpened teeth sunk into his bottom lip. “Those who are in the flesh cannot please God,” he recited. I gently cradled his face with my shaking hand, fingers brushing against his stubble.

“I don’t care about pleasing God. I care about pleasing you,” I spoke through unsteady breath, “Myself,” I continued. I watched as he let his silk drapery fall to the floor. My eyes latched onto his cock, stiff and leaking.

His thick fingers wrapped around his shaft. Slowly, he inched forward, pushing inside of me.

The stretch was too much. Tears welled in my eyes, running down my flushed face. His thumb rubbed quick circles into my clit, urging me to open up for him. He pressed his chest to mine, lips trailing across my neck.

“You can take it, can’t you?” He cooed. “So good for me.”

He sunk another inch inside of me, bullying his cock into me. My breath hitched as I felt the drag of his cock against my nerve endings. Pleasure ignited in my hips, melding with the stretch of his length.

I whined as he pushed forward, finally bottoming out. I felt unbearably full, stretched to my limits. As if any second I might burst. His sharp nail traced along my stomach, along the outline of a faint bulge in my stomach.

“Feel me?” He asked, pushing down on my stomach. I whined, pursing my lips in a thin line. “Deep inside of you.”

I nodded, whimpering as he shallowly thrusted his hips. Another crack of thunder sounded. His hands groped my thighs, my stomach, anything he could reach. His brows furrowed as his thrusts grew deeper and deeper.

The slap of his hips against mine echoed through the empty chapel. Our crescendoing voices melded together in an unholy symphony.

Glowing sigils appeared on my body. Starting over my heart and following my spine down to my pelvis. The candle flames flickered before blowing out, dipping the both of us into darkness.

Another flash of lighting illuminated our frames for only a moment. He grunted, thrusting deeper into me. The mahogany altar creaked beneath us, squeaking in agony with every thrust.

He pressed sloppy, open-mouthed kisses to my lips. I whined against his mouth, tugging him down by his horns.

“So good-” he sputtered, “You feel so good-”

My only response was incoherent babbles and lust soaked whimpers. His pace grew faster, voice contorting into demonic grunts. Another clap of lightning boomed overhead.

The aureate light emitting from the sigils only grew. This only seemed to spur his fervor even more. His lips met my neck. Messy kisses melded into frenzied bites and licks. Purple marks blossomed on my skin, marred by this beast’s tongue.

I could feel myself being subsumed by pleasure. My body tensed, as if bracing for the incoming flood of stimulation. My breath grew shallow and hastened. Sweat oozed from my pores. My voice grew higher, dripping with honeyed lust. His name tasted sweet on my tongue.

I felt intoxicated, breathing in his musk, taking in every inch of him. Intoxicated, with every drag of his cock against my walls. Intoxicated, every time his teeth broke skin.

My vision grew hazy, unfocused, as my orgasm neared. My ears rang, as if demonic church bells were sounding above. Heat ignited in my extremities, setting alight every one of my nerve endings. It burned deliciously, singing my skin.

With a grunt, the beast stilled, flooding me with warmth. The sigils on my stomach dimmed, fading into thick scar tissue. The beast glanced down at my abdomen with a smirk, cock twitching inside me as he came.

He quickly pulled out, watching as his spend ran down my thighs. I’d been branded, marked for damnation. Defiled by this demonic entity. Grinning, I reached up, tugging him forward by one of his horns.

“Give me another.”

Masterlist

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