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morethanwonderful · 1 year ago

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Genuinely Zhou Ying from Tai Sui is one of the most insanity-inducing characters ever written, like

He's a prince. He's chronically ill. He eats almost nothing that isn't bland and medicinal. He hates his dad so much he wants to start a revolution to destroy him. He's born vaguely psychic and eventually becomes the closest thing his world has to omniscient. He starts his revolution by having two local politicians chopped into mincemeat, blended together, and poured out in the street. His favorite person in the world is his annoying little cousin that hides out at his house with him when he gets in trouble with his parents. He's probably a sociopath. He's murderous enough that all his servants and subordinates are scared of him. He has the same clothes made for himself every year. He founds and runs his universe's version of the CIA. He had his bones magically removed as a baby. He's a commentary on the way that psychotic and neurodivergent children are often villainized and mistreated by their caretakers. He has his bones un-removed over 20 years later. He's faking his chronic illness to cover up other, weirder chronic illness related to the bone removal and psychic thing. He loves his grandma. He purposely engineered his mother's miscarriage as a young child. He can turn himself into mist and break off chunks of his body while in mist form. He grew up with his consciousness halfway bound to a hell bubble full of demons. He has a personal assassin/assistant/general-purpose henchman that can turn into paper and ride around in his sleeve. He sometimes calls the henchman a cutesy nickname. He was partially raised by the living embodiment of emotional manipulation. He sometimes calls his annoying little cousin an even cutesier nickname. He tries to destroy the whole world in a fit of grief when he thinks his cousin's dead. He basically kills himself in order to plonk his soul into a magic mirror and see beyond the bounds of reality. He treats his own life and body as expendable assets because he was bred and raised to be a human sacrifice. He didn't speak for years as a child because the way he spoke scared his mother. His experience of the world is so alien and incomprehensible to others that a man with the power to play souls as music cannot understand his tune. He's a case study of the fact that sometimes you simply cannot save someone who doesn't want saving. He's thin and sickly from his illness but canonically beautiful. He has his father's eyes. He spoils his pet cat.

#like he's not even my favorite tai sui character #that honor goes to the main character himself mr. annoying cousin #but genuinely I have never encountered another character in fiction like zhou ying #I've written essay length posts about zy and all the ways he's similar to different characters written by the same author #but still I would say there is no character like zhou ying #he's chronically ill he's neurodivergent he's basically psychic he's kinda evil and has no empathy but is filled with love for his family #his desire to destroy the world is met by nothing but love and accepance from the protagonist. even as he stops him #he destroys himself successfully as the main character tries desperately and fails to stop him #literally no other character like him #tai sui #zhou ying #tai sui priest #priest #taisuiposting #tai sui spoilers #this post wasn't meant to be this long but I really got carried away talking about him #I love this novel #zhou ying my beloved

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valiantstarlights · 1 year ago

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[Priest Hob AU sequel] Some Months Later, December 24, Evening.

Tagging @alexxuun because they deserve credit for the AU. 😊 I can't tag the anon who requested a sequel in an ask, but here you go! I hope you like it. 🖤

"I don't...I don't understand." Hob clutches at Dream's arm when he realizes where Dream has transported them. "Why are we here?"

'Here' was the corridor they got married in, months ago by now. Nothing has changed. The fourth window left of the door was still cracked, and the tile near the first pillar was still placed unevenly. Time has passed, surely, but Hob doesn't know the time difference between Hell and Earth. For all he knows, only a few minutes have passed since he was last here with Dream.

"To pray, I suppose," Dream replies, sounding amused at his question. "Is this what being in my presence does to you, Father Robert? Have you forgotten the purpose of churches?"

Panic flared bright in his chest. "No, please, don't call me that. You know I'm not...I'm not that person anymore. I'm your husband now. Right? Dream?" His heart was suddenly beating so quickly. Dream was looking at him strangely, all traces of humor gone from his handsome face. "Why are we here? Have you...have you grown tired of me? Is this you returning me to my old life?"

No. No. Anything but that. Anything but the crushing loneliness, the prayers that ring hollow when he recites them, the misguided belief that suffering brings you closer to heaven. That it is worth being miserable your entire life, giving and giving until you have nothing left, for the sake of having a place in God's kingdom where it would be more of the same: worshipping an absent, indifferent being, the air filled with songs of zealous, nauseating praise, fake beatific smiles on the face of everyone you meet.

Hob would rather die than live that life again. He would rather starve in the streets and die a peasant's death than leave Dream's side. If his husband has fallen out of love with him--

"Hush, my love," Dream says, and then Hob is enfolded in his strong arms, Dream's dark wings also moving to shelter him. Hob immediately clings tight. If Dream wants him to let go, he's going to have to break Hob's arms first. "I am here. I will not leave you. You are mine until the end of time."

"Then why?" Hob asks against the rich fabric of Dream's robes. He still sounds panicked, short breath coming in gasps. "Why are we here? I don't want to be here."

Dream rubs Hob's back comfortingly, up and down and up again, sometimes brushing his long fingers through Hob's hair, until Hob calms down. Until he can breathe normally again. Hob doesn't know how much time has passed, but their surroundings are undisturbed and not a single person walks by them.

And then Dream asks, "Are you sure?"

What?

Dream sighs but continues his soothing gestures. "I know you miss it. I hear you hum sometimes, when your mind is focused on a task. Religious melodies. Christmas songs, of late. I don't think you notice it, but some of the staff do. Lucienne tells me you must have wanted to visit, but are too afraid to ask me." He leans away from Hob so Hob could see how sincere he looks, but all Hob reads in Dream's face is the sadness in his eyes at the thought of Hob not trusting him enough to tell him his wishes.

"I do not want you to think that you can never visit again," Dream tells him, soft and a little vulnerable. "I do not want you to think that by marrying me, you have lost your freedom." He looks around them, at the high ceilings and the tall windows. "And so here we are."

"Dream," Hob says as earnestly as he could. "It's just a habit. I hum when I feel like it's too quiet. It just so happens that the songs I pick are...well. But if you enchant a violin to play by itself and follow me around, I assure you the humming will cease, or if it persists, then it would be to the tune of Mozart or Bach or whichever composer you pick."

He places his hand against his husband's cheek and watches as Dream leans against it before turning his head to kiss his palm. Hob's heart breaks at the tender movement. How long had Dream been worried about this?

"As for my freedom," Hob says, "You did not clip my wings. You unbound them. And since you have, I have never felt happier. With you by my side, I feel like I can achieve anything. You opened my eyes and taught me better. Helped me unlearn all the false teachings I grew up believing to be true. You have made me into the best version of myself I could ever hope to be, and I would not have anyone else by my side. I'm glad I'm spending my eternity with you."

Dream's eyelashes flutter in pleasure at his words before he leans in and gives Hob a soft kiss on the lips. Hob returns it with a passion, wanting Dream to understand that Hob has already decided his fate, and that he has chosen Dream. Will always choose him. Each and every time. Hob needs him to understand that. But how..?

An idea forms in his mind, and as soon as their kiss reached its natural conclusion, he pulls Dream towards the church proper.

"Hob?"

"Come, husband," he says, still filled with a giddy kind of joy whenever he says the title. "I want to make something clear to you."

Dream follows him.

A few moments later, the two of them stand in front of the door that would open to the main hall of the church.

"Is it empty?" Hob asks.

"Yes," Dream says. "The midnight mass won't be starting until later this evening."

"The midnight mass?" Hob repeats in shock. "Is it already Christmas Eve?"

Dream nods.

"Good," Hob says firmly. "Even better." He opens the door, and indeed, there was no one inside.

Hob marches them past the rows of votive stands, past the carved wooden pedestal holding the lit advent candles nestled upon a wreath of evergreen, and right up to the altar. Then, with only a moment's worth of hesitation, Hob shoves everything on the altar crashing down on the ground: the book stand, the large Bible it's holding open, candelabras with unlit candles, and a couple of flower vases. He winces as the objects make a dreadful amount of noise, the water from the vases seeping onto the pages of the Bible, the heavy book stand crushing the flowers, the candelabras dented in a couple of places, the candles placed upon them rolling across the floor.

"Is there a point to this destruction?" Dream asks behind him, sounding adorably confused as to why his usually mild-mannered husband is acting this way.

"No," Hob says, then turns back to Dream. He wants to see his husband's face for this. "I just wanted to clear the altar for my offering."

"Your offering?"

Hob starts to strip, and Dream immediately shuts his mouth, eyes darkening as he understands what Hob is trying to do.

"I am offering myself to you," Hob says, and starts reciting Dream's many titles. "--King of Dreams and Nightmares, One of the Seven Rulers of Hell, and my beloved husband. I would have you stake your claim on me in front of all the angels and saints, right at the altar of the god I used to worship."

Dream stares at him, now fully naked and slightly shivering from the cold air, his nipples pebbling. "You do not know what you're asking for, Robert Gadling," he says, though if the echo of Nightmare's voice tainting his is any indication, then Hob knows exactly what he's trying to do. "This would be unlike our marriage. Offering yourself to me in this way..."

"Can I be any more owned by you?" Hob asks, genuinely curious. "Am I not offering you myself, body and soul, so in the future you will not do stupid things like think I would want to be away from your side? Away from our home?"

"You would be offering yourself body and soul to me, Hob, this is true," Dream says. "But you must know that in offering yourself to me the way you are planning, naked and willing upon an altar, you are also offering to bear my children."

"Your chil--" Hob gapes at him and looks down at himself, at his own body, which is still very hairy and very male. "You can get me pregnant?" He asks, only sounding slightly hysterical.

Dream nods gravely. "And now you see why offering yourself this way to me would be unwise. However, I have noted your intention, and will try not to do...foolish things in the future."

"And if I want it?" Hob asks, unwilling to leave just yet without being fucked here, in the place where he went through life like a ghost, upon the very altar he stood behind and spoke words of faith while having none in his heart. He feels his cock growing hard under Dream's eyes, the hunger in them barely restrained. "If I want to become pregnant with your child?"

Dreams eyes are turning so dark, it was like the stars in them have started to go out one by one. The end of multiple universes. "Hob."

"I am willing," Hob says. "And while I am no longer a virgin, I had been when you first--"

"You should not say these things," Dream says in Nightmare's voice, stepping forward into Hob's space. The shadows were gathering around him and slithering around Hob's feet like snakes. "Not unless you want me to fuck you pregnant in the house of your god."

Hob steps closer until his naked body is flush against his husband, precome staining Dream's dark robes, then leans upwards so he could kiss Dream's and Nightmare's fanged mouth. They nip at his lips and push him back against the altar, the stone cold and hard against his back. Hob moans and twines his arms around their neck, letting them lift him so he could sit on the altar. "Haven't you heard, my husband?" Hob murmurs against their lips. "I worship a different god now."

"More," Hob begs, an indeterminate amount time later. Dream's cum drips from his hole and onto the altar, but still Hob spreads himself open. "Again."

Dream kisses him lovingly and obeys. Half of his face is Nightmare and the other half is Dream. He only gets this way when he's feeling so much pleasure that both sides of himself come out to play. Hob loves him like this. Dream is generally a gentle lover while Nightmare prefers a hard fuck. But both of them at the same time means petal soft kisses from Dream while Nightmare chokes him with a hand around his throat as his cock jackhammers into Hob.

"Insatiable," Dream says in Nightmare's voice as he thrusts hard into Hob. It's good that the altar is made of stone or else it would have broken under their vigorous fucking. "Do you really intend for me to breed you here? Are you not going to be satisfied until my seed takes?"

Hob moans. Yes. That would, in fact, be the ideal outcome. He spreads his legs wider.

"And to think you had been a virgin when I married you," Nightmare says in Dream's voice, possessive and fond at the same time. "Your hole was so tight I had to spend hours with my tongue between your legs to loosen you up. And now your body knows my cock so well you can take me with minimal preparation."

Hob squeezes him as much as he could in retaliation, though it was a weak little thing, his hole already fucked sloppy and loose.

"What a slutty husband I have," they tell him. "Uncaring that at any point now, the deacons and the sacristans will be arriving to do last minute preparations. I doubt they'll have anything to say about the mess you made on the floor, not when they see a former priest of this church getting fucked like a whore right on top of their sacred altar."

Hob mewls at that, aroused beyond belief. He knows he probably shouldn't feel that way. How he should instead feel humiliation flooding his veins at the thought of being found in such a position by the people who used to respect him.

But oh, to be found pleasing his eternal husband, undeniably marked with his teeth and claimed by his large cock...

"Want it," he gasps. It was so hard to speak and his thoughts are a scattered mess. "Show. I'm yours."

"You want me to continue fucking you in front of them?" Nightmare asks, delighted. "You want me to laugh in their faces as they wield their wooden crosses at me when they try to banish me? Shall I bathe them in flame and watch them burn alive when they do?"

Hob doesn't care. He could barely remember them anyway.

"It is tempting," Dream admits. "I want to see the look on their faces when they realize that Father Robert didn't just disappear mysteriously, but was instead granted a better life. However," and here he grinds harder to emphasize his point. Hob keens, toes curling and legs shaking. He has lost count of how many times he came, but he could feel the pressure building in his stomach once more. He'll probably cum dry this time. Or totally lose control of his body and squirt all over Dream. It's already happened once. "I do not want anyone else to see you like this. Only I should have that privilege. Don't you agree?"

Hob nods frantically. Whatever his husband wants. Fuck, his cock feels so good. Hob wants him to fill him up more until he grows round with his cum.

"No, I think we'll just leave them a nice little Christmas present." And with that, Dream wraps his hand around Hob's cock and starts stroking him to the rhythm of his thrusts. Hob practically seizes, wailing, cumming dry, as Dream pounds him harder through his orgasm before shooting another batch of cum straight into Hob's newly formed womb.

When the first group of deacons arrive to make the final preparations for the Midnight Mass, the mess on the floor that Hob created is not the first thing they see. Nor do they notice that the altar was desecrated by a truly overflowing amount of both human and demon cum.

They would have noticed these things, but Dream kept his promise and left them his Christmas present, to help make the church look more festive at such an important time in their liturgical calendar.

He did this by covering every interior surface of the church, from ceiling to floor, and not missing a single statue, with fresh, bright red blood.

#Priest Hob AU #CW: blasphemy #i'm not joking or being cute about this #the blasphemy level in this is so high that I the author herself am warning you about it #CW: altar sex #CW: nightmare!dream #honestly just assume that things are gonna be unhinged whenever he's present #am I intentionally posting this on a Sunday? N-no #if this were a vine it would be the 'you're all going to hell 😊 goodbye 👋' one #if this were doctor who this would be the christmas episode #I'm gonna end up calling it that aren't I #2000 plus words wtf #good job my thumbs #dreamling #the sandman #my writing

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stjohnstarling · 2 years ago

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—A sensual and transgressive story of forbidden love

Father Sebastian Black might be a saint, or he might be the devil himself. Poor Agent Quentin Day, sent to investigate a wine forgery ring, finds himself irresistibly falling for the silver-tongued, mysterious priest. It’s a tragedy for him - after all, priests are off-limits, aren’t they? Or is Father Black more than meets the eye?

Please consider helping to support a self-published queer author's first novel fighting back against copaganda narratives:

Amazon || Payhip || Goodreads

"A devilishly good read" - Goodreads Reviewer

"Father Black was both what I expected it to be and a very unexpected wonderful surprise." - Goodreads Reviewer

"I read it all in about two days, only setting it down for work and sleep. I was even reading it during meals!" - Amazon Reviewer

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romanceyourdemons · 1 year ago

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something that pisses me off as a writer is that there’s so many different regions of the shoulder and all of them have different connotations, and there’s no easy way to verbally distinguish between them. “A reached out their hand and touched B’s shoulder” okay are they holding the outer corner of the shoulder reassuringly? is their hand on the inside curve of the shoulder with their thumb touching B’s neck?? is it a touch on the bicep, or is it a fatherly pat in the middle of their shoulder, or hell, is A’s hand by B’s collarbone or shoulderblade? and sure you can give a longer description, or you could let the readers make their best guess based on context, but that’s not good enough for me. it’s the 21st century. we can do better

#like sure you can give a longer description #but that can break the flow of narration and make a moment feel more significant than you want it to be #and also if you’re a reader then frequently the author doesn’t give you a description and then you’re just kinda stuck #(fuck you priest i was doing the Shoulder Math for way to long to imagine that short of a scene)#(who would imagine i would fall victim to the same phenomenon in my own writing mere hours later)#ryddles

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mars-ipan · 12 days ago

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hmmmm ok. i watched a horror movie today which i never do so i’m gonna give u all a priest au thought/scene/what have you that i’ve been rattling around in the brain today. to help get my mind off of the Scaries before i go to bed lmao

not quite nsfw (won’t warrant a tag) but some suggestive content under the cut! weee

Mkay so. Let’s say Hajime’s been having a rough week. Like a REALLY rough week. Work has been stressful, and when work is stressful he tends to zone out, and when he zones out he daydreams, and when he daydreams…. well, it’s. Stressful. He’s been dealing with an uptick in his lustful thoughts as a result of it, and even though he only gave in twice this week (he confessed the next day after work each time), it’s getting to him. It’s saturday afternoon now, and he has tomorrow off— the farm supply store isn’t open on the Lord’s day of rest. He could wait until tomorrow morning, but Chiaki’s out with her other friends right now and he knows if he lets himself stay home he’ll either be miserable the whole time, or be miserable save for a couple of precious sinful minutes, only for the misery to come rushing back with guilt at its side. So he does the only thing he can think of when he gets off of work: he goes to church.

It’s empty when he gets there, of course. No service is being held right now. Still, he knocks, and after a couple of moments, the door swings open and there he is. Father Komaeda, welcoming him in with a smile as always. He doesn’t know why the Father lets him in— maybe it’s just a testament to his hospitality. Or maybe it’s a testament to Hajime’s selfishness. Either way, he steps inside, Father Komaeda gently closing the door behind him as he enters. With the doors closed, the church is dim, late afternoon light filtering in through the stained glass windows. Hajime wonders for a moment how such a small church can afford such beautiful windows. And then the Father speaks.

“What a pleasant surprise, Hinata. I hadn’t expected to see you here today. Would you prefer to speak to me face to face or in the booth?”

Hajime swallows. “I’m not here to confess, Father,” he mumbles. He doesn’t blame Father Komaeda for assuming so— it’s perfectly reasonable to think someone who sins as frequently as Hajime does would only come to church to be rid of them. The thought turns his stomach, and he nearly forgets that he’s meant to be having a conversation.

“Ah, my apologies. What brings you here then? Whatever it is you need, I shall do my best to provide, as either your priest or your friend.”

Hajime shoves away another one of those vile temptations, forcefully silencing the devil on his shoulder with a deep breath. He opens his mouth to speak, to explain himself, only to find his voice is stuck in his throat, caught behind the lump that seems to have suddenly formed there. When he tries to force a word out anyways, to say anything, all he manages (to his horror) is a small, choked noise, like a dog pulled by its leash. For the first time in a long, long time, he feels a hot stinging sensation behind his eyes, his breath getting shaky as his vision blurs with the tears now flooding them. No, no, not here, not now, he can’t cry right now, he can’t—

Hajime breaks down. Before he knows it he’s sobbing, harshly wiping the water from his eyes only for more to take its place. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” he says, his voice breaking pathetically as he speaks. “It’s not getting better. I-If anything, it’s getting worse. I’m trying, I swear to you on everything I have that I am trying,” he takes a deep, wobbly breath here, his knees starting to feel weak as he continues, “B-but nothing is working, a-and I know you said to be patient, that— that progress takes time, but— e-every day I do whatever I can to keep myself busy, and every night I try, I try so hard to ignore the— the perversion, but it doesn’t stop, it never stops and I can’t take it, Father, I—“ He’s trembling now, his limbs feeling hollow and unsteady as he chokes out his greatest fear: “I-I-I’m so afraid that I can’t be saved. W-what if I’m no good, Father, wh— wh-what if I… what if I’m meant to burn—”

Hajime’s words leave him once again, crumbling into pained sobs and whimpers that he hides in his palms. His knees finally give out from under him, and he feels them hit the floor of the church aisle hard, but he can’t bring himself to care about the pain. He probably deserves it. Deserves it for being a filthy fucking sinner, for failing to properly repent and having the audacity to whine like a child in front of the only person who’s ever shown him patience— certainly more patience than he deserves. How dare he want, how dare he complain about the punishment he faces for the sins he knows he has committed, how dare he fall apart as soon as things get hard, every single time. He can feel the Father’s eyes on him, looking down in disgust, he’s sure. Nobody could ever look upon him and feel anything else, and if they did he wouldn’t deserve it. Pathetic, pathetic…

He barely registers the sound of Father Komaeda moving to stand in front of him, the quiet “Oh, Hajime… poor thing,” he mutters under his breath so soft and… tender? No, don’t think like that, fuck, stupid— that it catches him off guard. And to make matters even more confusing, he then feels two slender, soft hands reach out to him, one resting on his shoulder while the other nestles itself in the hair on the back of his head, and suddenly Father Komaeda is holding him close, almost reassuringly. The Father is still standing perfectly straight, so Hajime’s face presses awkwardly into his hip (he can feel the sharp bone of his pelvis through his robes), but when he feels Komaeda’s hand begin to gently stroke his hair, he’s fallen out of his stupor and back into sobbing, clutching desperately at his priest’s robes as he breaks apart again. While he cries, quietly murmuring “I’m sorry” over and over again, he does his best to listen to the words of his Father.

“I know this is difficult. I know you knew this would not be easy. There will come times in which you will be tempted to give up, to run away from all of the effort and progress you’ve made here. Do not listen. That is the voice of the Devil, set out to trick you into remaining trapped in his clutches. You can handle hard things, Hajime. I have seen the way you devote yourself to that which is good and holy, and I promise you that I will not allow you to be led astray. God’s love is for all, including the wretched— you will be saved so long as you keep trying. If you don’t trust yourself, then trust me: you are stronger than the lusts implanted within your soul.”

Hajime shakes, much quieter now, as he listens to the Father’s words. That’s right. He’s going to be okay. He’s safe here, in this house, in his home, his face pressed gently against warm, soft, surprisingly heavy fabric. He has nothing to fear, this is where he can be comfortable, where he can—

It isn’t until Hajime hears the slight hitch in his priest’s breath, feels the fingers in his hair tug lightly, that he realizes what he’s done. At some point he must have forgotten where he was, because now his mouth is open, teeth pressing slightly into the fabric of Father Komaeda’s vestments (if he bit down now, he’d probably be able to feel that jutting hip bone between his teeth.) Shit, shit, shit.

Hajime pulls himself back as if burned, fear and sorrow being replaced by a deep, deep shame. He sputters, “Oh, G— I-I’m so sorry, Father, I-I-I wasn’t thinking, I’m sorry, I’m s-so sorry, I chew on things as a nervous habit, I-I didn’t mean to, I’m so sor—“

His words are cut short by a quiet, yet still deeply embarrassing whine when he feels those fingers tug gently in his hair once again. Wide-eyed, he tilts his head back to look his Father in the face. He’s not angry or disgusted. In fact, he’s… smiling?

“Nonsense,” says the priest. “Accidents happen.�� Then, his smile changes slightly, in a way Hajime can’t place, before he adds, “Though perhaps we should see about getting you a muzzle, hm? As a preventative measure, of course.”

Hajime feels those slender fingers ruffle his hair one more time before Father Komaeda takes a step back, beckoning Hajime over to a nearby pew. “Come, allow me to lead you in prayer. It will grant you strength in this time of hardship.”

Doing his best to move on from whatever just happened (a joke, right? Father Komaeda was joking, he didn’t mean— he wasn’t— whatever,) Hajime nods, not daring to look down to his jeans, which feel awfully tight all of a sudden. It’s a good thing his flannel was already tied around his waist when he entered. He stands, walks over to the pew Komaeda’s brought him to, and kneels in prayer, quietly repeating after his Father’s every word.

“Father, right now, I yield to the truth that I am weak, and You are strong. Forgive me for the arrogance and pride that makes me think I can do anything good on my own. Keep me broken, Father, and on my face before You. Please use the broken places in my life to let Your light shine through. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.”

“Amen.”

After the prayer is done, Hajime feels that hand in his hair once more. It pets him once, a single affectionate stroke, before he hears his priest’s voice say “Good boy,” so quiet that Hajime isn’t even sure he heard it.

“Th-thank you for your hospitality and your help, Father,” Hajime speaks quickly, knowing that he has to leave before the Father notices the crimson blooming gently across his face. Like the coward he is, Hajime flees, promising to show up to Mass tomorrow like always, and he refuses to think about it the entire drive home.

Still, when he gets home, it’s quiet. So quiet that his mind instinctively begins to fill the silence all on its own. He can’t stop thinking about it, any of it— Komaeda’s calm kindness, Komaeda’s hands in his hair (God, how good it felt when he had pulled,) the warm fabric of Komaeda’s robes against his tongue (fuck, he nearly bit down,) Komaeda’s unreadable smile (he has such perfect teeth,) Komaeda’s jokes about muzzles (what about collars? Leashes?), Komaeda’s praise (what he wouldn’t give to hear that again.) It all plays in his mind, over and over again. But he’s determined not to let it win. He has God on his side.

After what must have been hours tossing and turning in an attempt to fall asleep, Hajime wakes up to a dwindling heat in his gut and soiled bedsheets. Fuck. Hajime shows up to Mass that morning feeling frustrated, but trying his best to be patient. He still resisted temptation when he was awake, that’s to be celebrated. It’s like Father Komaeda told him: he can handle hard things.

#marzi speaks #priest au #is this a fanfic author soft launch. i don’t know anymore #also that’s a REAL prayer that i found FOR REAL on christianweb.com #anywho. enjoy !

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