#v: the crazy verse

[crystalized-moonlight]

"Let me join as well! I'm sick of Kurata getting my limelight!"

"Well, make it a double because.... COUNT ME IN!"

Looks like someone's joining the party.

[gothamsaved]

Hello hello — this is a gentle reminder that I will always do my best to write with others who have given me the chance to interact with them, but ultimately I do need it to be known that my partner, @saintfromkrypton, will always be prioritized first and foremost. I made Bruce to write with their Clark and wouldn’t have him if they didn’t give me the encouraging push to try building up this portrayal of Bruce alongside them.

I am very excited to start things up with folks, but I also have been slow because of irl factors as of late. I am grateful for the patience shown in me being slow to interact. I have tried my best when I come across Askmemes from mutuals on dash. I will be slow for a while still till I can find a comfortable groove however. This is just a reminder I’m not purposefully ignoring anyone.

I do really want to build up deep dynamics with people but I need it to be known I am a slow writing partner, but I promise if you choose to develop with me and are willing to be patient, it will be worth it. 🫶💕

[overhual]

kai's post-canon verse. so this verse operates under the assumption that canon happens as we know it up until nagant frees chisaki. he armless, ambitionless, hassaikailess. you get the idea. however, the kai that we see in canon with nagant is not the one you'll see written on this blog- and i have a theory as to why he was written that way:

i imagine that horikoshi went a little too hard/too dark on overhaul and this mini-arc (and his end of canon shot) of his was a way to knock him down to a sniveling, pathetic shell of who he was to sort of ease the readers. it's hori going, "dw guys!! the bad guy's pathetic now!" type of thing.

there's no really no chance of kai getting "redemption", either. if he was to get recaptured, it'd be straight back to tartarus for him. there's no big victimization he was a part of, no super sad backstory. kai is a villain who is just bad to be bad - unlike toya, or even tenko. and as such, i tried to make his post-canon verse reflect that.

when this kai is freed by nagant, he does go with her to point out izuku, repaying his debt for her freeing him. once that contract is ended, chisaki leaves the scene, and nagant, deku, and co have their little reunion without him.*

* i am cooking up a separate verse with isa where nagant and kai stay together, rather than nagant getting recaptured.

he's on his own and seeks to reconnect/rebuild the hassaikai. he starts by finding hari, finding those who still have some loyalty to pops/to the hassaikai as a whole, and building from there. the entire operation comes from a place of humility and hard work. kai has prosthetics (with claws)*, is quirkless, and now has to use his skill and leadership to rebuild what he, himself, tore down. he returns to more a more old school yakuza way of thinking, and through his new humility and regaining some sense of humanity, the shie hassaikai is eventually rebuilt under him. this verse will likely be written/interacted with during a time where the hassaikai is known to be coming back under him, but isn't quite to its former glory.

* also, hilariously, overfeet is not completely off the table in this verse. however, to first discover that overhaul is stored in the feet, then to practice enough to get back to the level to fuse himself with new arms, and THEN to actually do so takes quite a bit of time. unless stated, kai will be written with high tech prosthetics.

[mellotronmkll]

i love apollo 18 but i have a few problems with it and one of the biggest ones is that i can never just listen to the fucking album because its impossible for me to hear this song without repeating it at least like 4 or 5 times

[diamcndsky]

kylie wen | the popstar ★ break my heart and start again, i'm not the type of girl you call more than a friend

[graunblida]

@jeditrash smashed the heart

" oh that? " the warrior thinks back to the flametrooper she punched off a ledge mere minutes ago. to the untrained eye, it would appear as though she sent the soldier flying with brute strength alone. in reality, lexa channels the force into her STRIKES when fighting close combat. " it's a technique i learned in the order... from master windu, actually. "

[necrophcge]

💔 BROKEN HEART — is there anyone in your life you wish you had a better relationship with? if so, how come? what makes this person important to you?

@izar-tarazed // plucking at their web of thoughts; pray you don't become the fly to their spider // not accepting.

For a time there is no response. Only the restless, endless heartbeat of the hive can be heard as the many drones fufill their roles. Foragers by the hundreds skittering across the vast walls as they extend the nearly endless tunnels and reinforce the already iron-strong walls of their nest, the wingbeats of necrodrone echoing their arrivals and departures in their constant surveillance of the lands surrounding the hive, battle born roused from their forced slumber to eviscerate any trespassers into their domain...

And amidst the shrieks and whirring stands a titan of mutated chitin, star-metal armaments and raw reanimated muscle. Upon four monstrous legs does the champion march about, and his powerful pincers easily tear free chunks of stone thrice his size as he bulldozes a path forward for the hive to expand. Crowned with horns the envy of any battering ram's head, the champion commands the teeming horde with the ease of a creature that knows its own incredible might.

He Who Meddles gestures to that champion of the Necrophage with a single hand... while two of the others wrap around his abdomen, and the last clenches tightly into a clawed fist before relaxing just as swiftly. "Rhiss al-Khali." There is almost something akin to reverence in that dual tone of his, tinged with something that sounds terribly like grief or regret. "An ardent mage once. Human, once. He came to us not as prey or foe but as a supplicant... to become one. To join us as kindred and to become an inheritor of our world, bonded with us in mind and flesh as Necrophage. Obsessed with mutation and adaptation, he looked upon us and saw perfection."

He hesitates, many-eyes fixed on his champion. "He survived where every other being before him had succumbed to the agony of having all that defined them rewritten on a genetic level, or been driven to utter madness by the weight of our shared consciousness. What had once been merely a man emerged from the growth vat as new creature; one with the power of our greatest warriors, yet still in possession of his unparalleled intellect. So it was then that he became not only my general and most loyal subject... but the only one to whom I kept counsel with and confided to. For none other among the Necrophage had the awareness that I possess save for Rhiss al-Khali, and we spoke long into many a night on our visions for the world and for the future we would secure together."

Something harsh, something awry and almost mournful seeps into the dual-tone of his voice. To the ears of a mere hindlegs, perhaps it would seem to be nothing more than mere noise. But to someone who could parse the subharmonics... it would be nothing but pure sorrow and grief, too potent to be merely spoken aloud in that cumbersome way that most "intelligent" creatures do. "Yet he succumbed, in the end. While the conversion of mere flesh and bone to chitin and invertebrate might may have been a swift and violent affair, the restructuring of the mind proved to be a far quieter and... crueler process. It was a slow fade that began with him losing time and recent memory, only to progress into fits of animalistic fury and violence as time wore on and his connection to our mind strengthened."

There are beads of greenish-yellow blood running down his sides from where his claws have bitten into his abdomen. He hardly seems to notice, many-eyes still fixated on Kha-Riss far below. "I would not speak of those last hours before his mind was utterly consumed, for the words and companionship we shared are ours alone... yet I will tell you that for all that there was fear for the end, there was no regret. Somehow, some way, he held no fear for... for becoming like..."

There would be silence, for how He Who Meddles trails off, were it not for the rising cry building deep within his abdomen. It erupts in not only a screech, a cry of pain so much more like that of a mere animal than any supposed sapient being, but with claws extended in a blow that nearly shatters the nearest hive wall. Dust shrouds them for a moment, then two, only to pass away and reveal He Who Meddles leaning heavily against the now crumbling wall. Head bowed, mandibles clenched so tightly against his maw they grind together almost painfully, the noise that slithers free from the confines of his too-small chest speaks only of pain.

"... what I would do to speak with him again. My kindred-who-chose, my dearest friend, to share words and thoughts once more for even an hour would be worth all of our world."

[revengesworn]

"I don't get you, you know."

Mikey's wearing a childish kind of annoyance on his face as he looks at Hanma as if he's a puzzle he's trying to figure out - staring intensely and furrowing his brows in frustration in a way that makes him look like a kid. It's an expression that those around Mikey have seen hundreds of times before... but maybe it's out of place here, directed at Hanma; the one who'd made life a living hell for Toman on so many occasions before.

That doesn't seem to be stopping Mikey today, though. It's hard to tell what he's thinking just from looking at his face, of course, but...

"I know you're hiding something from me." It should be a serious accusation, but the impact is ruined by the whine in Mikey's tone. "What's your deal, anyway? There's gotta be something that makes you tick."

@deathfavor ( starter for hanma! )

[spynorth]

“Hiding does nothing but make people search all the harder, trust me. Learned that lesson myself and I’m trying to help keep you from it. Stubbornness can save your pride for now .. but sooner or later you’re going to lose it regardless. And I can guarantee their way of taking it from you will be far more painful.”

@aquariusvibes s.c

[kusatta]

" how is it you get into these situations so often, ahmya ?" / @sozokami.

[frosthidden]

clearly some of y'all aren't thinking about alice at god u having the time of her fucking life meanwhile her classmates semester is getting fucking ruined

but alice is thriving being a theater kid, sleeping in a room with walls that can't get towed

like yes blah blah its morally corrupt to sell drugs to young adults in order to get information from them but like...have you considered she was having fun?

[smiletimeisrunningout]

@ofsketchs said: "Focus on my voice, okay?" [panic attack meme]

After following a lead back to Connecticut, Emma had decided to go stay at the Inn so she could spend a bit of time in Stars Hollow and relax; it was one of her favorite towns in the world, the one that reminded her so much of being home with her parents, with all the warmth and colors and weird neighbors. She had hoped to see the new snowmen competition before leaving, too. So homey. But she hadn't expected how fragile the adrenaline from the chase of the last few days had left her, and it came to a crash when her trauma had been triggered by a phonecall from a girl she had been helping who was trapped in an abusive relationship: it had hit too close to home, and even if Emma had kept somehow control during the call it had taken her two seconds to break after it was over.

"I'm focusing," she agreed, wiping tears off her cheeks again and looking at him, grateful that it seemed to be getting better. She rarely panicked, but when it happened she hated every second of it. "I'm focusing, sorry, this never happens..."

[graunblida]

@vamptyr sent: “we should go out for a couple of beers in honor of st. patrick’s day. i have money left from my paycheck, my treat!” / for lexa’s modern verse bc i miss our broke roomies!! ☘️ 🍻

a pair of emerald eyes peer over the top of the textbook in hand. she taps a highlighter rhythmically against the pages as she thinks. " you do remember what happened last st. patrick's day, no? " eyebrow is arched and head tilted to the side. exactly three-hundred and sixty five days ago, the two agreed they would have a few drinks and call it an early evening ( midterms were approaching ). their JOURNEY began at about dusk, and they did not return to their dorms until nearly five in the morning. " buuut since you're buying - " tone suddenly becomes whimsical. in a few short moments, all of lexa's study material is packed away neatly and she's standing before stefan, coat on and ready to go. " what are we waiting for? "

[countlessrealities]

Alastor easily meets the feral look in those glowing gaze. The spiralling of that eye has no power over him, that's something they have established a long time before and it will never change. What he'll never admit is that he has always liked watching it. It's soothing and fun at the same time.

Such an odd mixture of emotions.

Of course, that doesn't really apply right now. The Radio Demon sees it for what it is. A warning, one last chance to do the smartest thing. Break the hold, move to a safe distance, protect himself. After all, he's a strategist, a puppet master, someone who plays the long-term game. The craftier being in the room.

However, as it turns out, none of that applies to this particular moment. The hold of his tentacles tightens instead of loosening and he inches closer, even if just imperceptibly.

The scorching blast of electricity hits him at its full power. It ruins the cloth of his outfit and burns the flesh underneath. He can feel some of the stitches that are holding his wound close popping up, more blood soaking his front, together with the one that freely through his clenched teeth.

Ah, twisted blissful agony. He can almost delude himself into thinking that it might burn the chains of his deal away.

The shadows holding Vox fade away only once the burst of power has died down, revealing that it's a conscious choice and not something dictated by pain. All around them, flames are starting to engulf the room, the old walls creaking under the pressure of the heat.

Alastor stumbles back, corneas black once again and the most manic of grins on his face.

"You were always such a show off, my dear," he claims, mockery and a hint of fondness mixing in his tone. "Always needing to be bright and loud! It was endearing...until it wasn't."

He's bleeding, clutching his chest, ears pressed flat against his skull, and yet he still acts like he's the one in control of the situation. And, in a way, he is. Everything that has passed is something he chose to let happen.

"But look at you now, all charged up. It's been a long time since we had fun together, hasn't it? It's making me a little nostalgic."

At the end of the day, Vox could easily escape his hold. Being bound by tentacles like this would normally be inescapable, but when one could make their entire body shift into simple electricity, that wasn't a problem.

So...the question would be--was he staying here on purpose? And the answer would be yes. He could feel his previous anger shift into something else. Something much more horny--but also more fun. He was...having fun again despite the way that his body jerked and switched in pain--but also in excitement, the choking making him wheeze, mouth opening to show the many-many multicolored teeth awaiting inside, red liquid dripping down that maw as his features sharpened, killer claws twitching.

Alastor really needed to stop talking so dirty to him. He always just sounded so stupidly arousing that it was making him look silly. But---he just simply stared at him hard, that hypnotic eye spiraling as sparks of red electricity start to flicker from him now, the only warning sign that Alastor was going to get, to move--to do anything to avoid this before a powerful surge--much more stronger than the one he just did, blasts through the entire area that they were in, easily catching shit on fire in the process.

He's going to let him go, one way or another, even if he had to leave this man barely alive in the process.

[theothervonkarmagirl]

Normally, Clara wasn’t one to put in extra physical training, but after she overheard Shiro saying that he adored girls with muscles, she decided to give it a try.

Her cousin was eager to help, and he now had her pushing an enormous felled log in the mud.

“You can do it! Are you a Nohrian princess, or aren’t you?!”

“HUUUAAAAAAGH!!!” She pushed it another inch.

“Yes! Summon the strength from deep inside!”

[cranberrydietcoke]

bride to be - father charlie mayhew

content: 18+ !! mdni !! father charlie mayhew x female reader, coercion/dubcon, religious guilt, degradation and praise, slapping, crying, fingering, abuse of power, innocent!virgin!reader, toxic!pervy! charlie, oral (m receiving), p in v, unprotected (don’t be dumb yall), kinda breeding, size kink if u get a microscope

wc: 4.8k (sry i went a lil crazy)

a/n: hi yall this is literally my first fanfic ever ! drew some inspo from @hoffmansgirl @tokyoghls & @lucyisdoingfine

sundays were your favorite days. you were a good little church mouse. eager to serve. eager to please, always wearing white to early morning service. it was evidence of your innocence. father charlie always says your innocence is precious. valuable. your bible study together always left you so impressed, how a man can look at one paragraph and be able to take away so much. you had reached out to a deacon at the church, inquiring about some guidance in the word, expecting to be put in contact with a nun-in-training with less important things to do. that’s how you wound up in the priest’s office every sunday night. he said he needed to ‘connect more with his congregants.’  he knew you would believe it, and so would your parents.

the calming bustle of churchgoers finding their seats was abruptly cut off by the deep, layered boom of the organ, signaling the beginning of the service. you shift in the wooden pew, brushing your dark curls over your shoulder and adjusting the lace strap of your dress, preparing your heart to hear the word of god. the vibrations rattled deep within your chest, making you clutch the diamond cross adorning the center of it. the spotlight snapped on, an oval of light encompassing the priest as he eyed the pews almost nonchalantly, his vacant eyes wandering as he approached the pulpit, clearing his throat.

“brothers and sisters, we serve a just god,” his veiny hands gripped the worn oak of the stand, turning pale red as he supported himself, leaning forward toward the parishioners. you sat in the front row, eyes wide and glazed over as if you were looking at the god he spoke of.

“confront the reality of your desire, of your sin. because as we see in his word this morning, the wage of our sin is death.” he paused, letting out a heavy breath and loudly thumping his bible before shooting his empty gaze at you.

“what would your heart look like,” his chest fell ever so slightly, almost defeatedly, “when stripped naked before a holy god?”

charlie knew he was preaching to himself, coddling his guilt with verses as he always did. this wasn’t a message for the church, but rather for him. desire was a reality he needed to confront. the service slipped by as you hurriedly took notes in pink glitter gel script with doodles lining the sides.               ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚romans 6*:ꔫ:*+ﾟ.

“the lord be with you”

“and with your spirit”

applying a fresh layer of lip gloss, gathering your bible and smoothing the back of your dress, you and your mother shuffle out of the pew. your shoes tapping on the marble as you all headed towards the stained-glass doors where father charlie stood talking to the other congregants as they left.

“mrs y/l/n, always good to see you.” he remarked, giving a venerating nod toward your mother as the two of you stopped in front of him.

“father, beautiful service as always.” she said through a smile, leaning in to give quick air kisses on each side of his face. she looooved her some father charlie. you really are your mothers daughter. “so hows bible study goin’ with you two?” she mused, motioning to the both of you limply with her hand before placing it on her hip. his eyes snapped to yours, hands clasped behind his back as he anticipated your words, searching for reassurance in your expression.

“very well. we’ve been going through the old testament, some hard stuff. she’s a good listener.” he replied. your face stayed neutral, but inside, your nerves were tangling into knots.

“did you see both of christie’s girls got engaged? and joe’s daughter. got me thinking about y/n, her future.” your mother went on. charlie gave you a stern look as you rolled your eyes and hid your face in your hands.

“she has a lot to learn still. being a wife, i-i can’t say she’s ready. she’s so blessed to have the guidance of a godly man like you. just, uh, help her out.” she continued with a cheeky smile, patting the priest on his bicep.

now twirling a piece of hair between your fingers, you steal a passing glance at the father as your mom ushers you through the front door. “i’ll see you at seven, okay?” his finger hovered down at you.

“y-yes father! see you tonight!” you called out, voice growing fainter as you were dragged away and out into the sunlight.

the last few months had been excruciating for him. every saturday night, he dreamt about what white dress you would choose to wear, what fragrance you would spritz on your neck. he had gotten you more comfortable over time. you were showing your personality, asking more questions, confessing more sins. he loved it when you confessed. he got high on the essence of your pure shame and desperation, pleading for help on what to do, crying to him about how guilty you were. he wrote about you in his sermons, dreamt about you, imagined you bent over his desk begging for it harder. this could be his opportunity to make a real woman out of you. your mother’s words echoed in his mind as he wandered through the convent. he was determined to make you the perfect godly wife.

the orange hue of the sunset beamed through the windows on each side of the chapel, casting shadows that danced with the movement of the trees and birds flying by. the bright white of your lace-lined dress in the sunlight nearly blinded charlie as he emerged from a side door, hidden away by velvet curtains.

“y/n, just on time, as always.” his welcome was steady and warm as he approached nearer, a hint of a smile touching his lips.

the parallel clicks of his red leather boots and your kitten heels filled the still air of the room, each step slicing through the reverent silence.

“of course father, i wouldn’t miss it” you answered, looking up at him as you walked side by side to his office. his hand found its way to the nape of your neck as he led you, the softness of your tan skin and the scent of vanilla nearly making his eyes flutter. he was so wrong for this, but he didn’t care. you had to learn one way or another.

 you took your usual seat in the black leather chair opposite him, only separated by a large wooden desk. bookshelves lined the walls. a small crucifix hang in the empty space above his seat. he sat, flicking around a ballpoint pen and thumbing through his bible which sat open on the desk.

“so,” he sighed as he leaned back in the chair, legs spread as his hands glided over the thigh of his black dress pants, “tonight’s one is really important. i took some time to think about what your mother said, and i agree." he nodded, "i think a girl of your age is ready to learn.” his pointer finger tapped slowly on his right knee.

“yes, father. i think so too. i just don’t even know where to start.”

“well that’s where i come in,” he smiled, not like when he welcomed you in, it was different. almost predatory. “that’s why i’m here, my child.”  your eyes were glued to the floor, while his were busy surveying the curve of your hips as you sat. so soft. so perfect.

“what book are we gonna be in, father?” you asked absentmindedly, your long lashes brushing against your cheeks with each unhurried blink. you got comfortable in your seat as you opened your bible, pink faux leather full of sticky notes and neon-highlighted prophecies, promises, and judgments.

“we’ll actually be flipping back and forth a bit tonight,” he explained, clearing his throat and adjusting his papers. “the goal here is that you leave feeling prepared to be a wife, one that serves the lord, and her husband. do you understand?”

you nodded, your glossy eyes locked with his. “good. can you go to colossians 3 verse 18 and read that for me, please, sweetheart?”

“wives, submit yourselves unto your husbands, as is fitting in the lord.” you read.

“yes, submission. the definition is skewed nowadays.” he muttered, waving his pen around musingly. “christ did submit to father god, although the son has no less authority. you see?” he leaned forward, gripping the edge of his desk to stand up, circling to your side, bible in hand.

“go to first corinthians chapter 7, it says ‘the husband should fulfill his marital duty to his wife, and likewise the wife to her husband.” he chuckled lightly as you highlighted the verse in lavender. this poor girl has no fucking clue, he thought as he slid his papal ring off. that’s what drew him to you in the first place. he reclined against the side of the desk, legs crossed at the ankle.

“what does that mean father? how will the duties of a godly woman change once she’s married?” your pitch heightening with each question. “like cooking and cleaning? are they the same for bo-“ with a raised hand, he stopped you in your words.

“yes, y/n, yes. you’re eager aren’t you?” he breathed out, a wide grin plastered on his face. “it does include domestic things but also emotional things. honest communication, faithfulness…and physical things too.” he traced his words as he looked at you, “that’s what really changes when you get married.”

his eyes lit up as your jaw went slack at the realization of what he meant.

“oh…i see.” your shoulders slumping and eyes drifting to the marble floor. he could feel the disappointment in your sigh.

“where’d that smile go, sweet girl? what’s wrong?” he chided, a faux frown on his face.

“i just, that’s- i don’t know.” you huffed, “how am i supposed to know what to do on my wedding night? it’s just so unfair. an-and scary!”

“well,” he let out a shallow breath, reaching out to tuck a silky strand of stray hair behind your ear, “i can help you with that too, sweetheart. if you let me.” his fingers curled around the nape of your neck, steady and with purpose. his eyes bore into you as he tilted his head, attempting to coax your gaze up towards him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet them. the foreign heartbeat between your legs became a knotted bundle in your stomach, making you squeeze your thighs together. he traced his index finger down your collarbone, gripping the chain of your necklace between his fingers. he stopped, thumbing at the karats of your crucifix, lost in thought.

he drops the charm with cold indifference, then turns, pacing in circles. “first corinthians seven- thirty four. a married woman is concerned about the affairs of this world, how to please her husband.” the bass in his voice snapped you out of your daze, finally looking up to return frantic little nods and blinks.

“right, o-okay. but father,” you said, lowering your voice ,“i’m not married.” your eyes scanned around dramatically as if to search for witnesses, “we-we’re not married.”

he neared you, placing both hands on each arm of the leather chair, trapping you in. “we can pretend, okay? this’ll be how we conduct our lessons.” he could feel the heat of your breath mixing with the strawberry on your lips. “your mother said you have a lot to learn.” he said almost accusingly, but full of pity. “no more questions, sweet thing. i’m here to guide you, remember?” his words were coated in a nauseating sweetness, seeping into your impressionable mind and persuading you to trust him.

the scent of his cologne was overpowering, making the glossy stain in your baby pink cotton panties worsen. he was only inches away, his shadow encapsulating you as his eyes roamed your face, gauging every reaction as he carefully crept his fingers to play with the lace hem of your dress. sunday’s best.

“have you ever touched yourself, y/n?”

your breath caught in your throat. maybe this would have felt different from the safe shadows of a booth, but this confession was much different. embarrassment sent warmth rushing to  your cheeks as you looked through father charlie rather than at him. you nodded your head, “only once.” you spoke, a broken kind of whisper. he was tracing spirals into your thigh, immediately pausing after hearing that you, the purest little flower he’d ever known, had snuck under her nightgown to play with her pussy. immediately and without moving his head, his eyes flicked up, a sick smile curling on his lips.

“you poor thing…you didn’t cum?” he said with faux sympathy. your eyes widened, almost popping out of your head, as the cross resting just above your cleavage swayed with each breath. up and down. up and down. you shook your head, tears of vulnerability stung in your eyes. “hey…hey. it’s okay! we all start somewhere, right?”  he cooed, almost manic as his hand raised to pass a thumb over your blushed cheek. “i promise by the end of our sessions you’ll feel prepared, yeah? the duties of marriage include knowing your own body. and your husbands. that’s not a problem, is it?” his fingers laced with yours, thumbs tracing the valleys of your knuckles. your hand was so small in his.

“if that’s what the lord calls me to do, i have to listen.” you choke out, a single tear falling down onto the freckles of your thighs. he had never given you a reason to be afraid, but you were, the heaviness on your chest becoming unbearable.

after a long pause and a heavy sigh he whispered, “i knew you would be a good girl, so obedient,” wiping the stain from your face. “get on your knees for me, like you’re gonna pray.” he mumbled, drunk off his own words. hesitantly, you rose and knelt to the floor, palms flat on your thighs as your frightened gaze fixed on the man before you. a man of god. a man you could trust.

“let’s get some practice in, okay?”

his voice was soft but left you understanding you had no say in it. he bent down, his fingers gently hooking the straps of your dress, sliding them slowly down your shoulders until the fabric gathered at your waist. you watched him as he did so, his frenzied eyes not matching the tenderness of his touch. he groans at the sight of your barely covered chest, lace and gems adorning your push-up bra. he undid his buttons with a swiftness you’ve never seen before, now shirtless in front of you.

standing upright, he delivers two tiny taps to your jaw. light, but deliberate. urging you to open up. this was okay. you were husband and wife. the clinking of his belt being slipped off just sounded like wedding bells to you. by the time he shimmied and stepped out of his pants, you were spellbound - mind soft and yielding, ready to mold to whoever he needed you to be.

 your mouth lay half open, satin tongue hanging over your bottom lip and leaving it with a glossy sheen. standing over you, he grasped your jaw, tilting it up to guide you as he released a string of spit that connected his lips to your tongue as he hummed in approval. he clasped his thumbs on the band of his briefs until they fell around his ankles, freeing himself. your tears multiplied as you saw the inches slap onto his v line, twitching and bobbing in the air.

“see, this is your fault. open up real wide f’me.” he huffed as his thumb went to align himself with your mouth, tapping the tip on your tongue. a confused whimper escaped your gaping mouth as he pushed his length further in. musk and salt sat on your tastebuds as he instructed you to tuck your lips, collecting your hair in his fist as you tried to gloss his entire dick with spit. he started off slow, seeing you furrow your brows and gag, looking up at him for approval. he thrust into you as he guided your head, the grip on your hair making your scalp burn. your moans of protest were muffled as he fucked your face, tears now streaming down your chest. you tried pushing at his thighs, digging your almond french tips into the muscle, but it only made him go harder.

“nuh-uh, you’re gonna have to learn.”

as his head massaged the back ridges of your throat, his large hands cupped each side of your head with a commanding grasp, forcing the tip of your nose to meet his happy trail and holding you in place. his chest glistened with sweat, heaving as he looked down at you with absent eyes. the room was humid as your nose drew in wet, shaky breaths, gagging around this thick length.

“do you see now, why i have to do this to you?” he cooed, looking down as you struggled to breathe, blowing bubbles of slobber that collected at the base of his shaft. your face screwed as you sobbed and squirmed on the cold floor, dick down your throat. “you’re wildly unprepared.” he hissed, shaking his head, unimpressed. “look at you,” he spat, pulling you off, leaving you gasping for air as if each inhale would be the last. “why fight it?” grabbing your cheeks, causing your lips to pucker, all swollen and slick. you flinched at his touch. “a good wife isn’t supposed to be defiant. we just read that.” he scoffed, “i don’t even think you were paying attention.”

you clenched your eyes shut to avoid looking up at him, just shaking your head. “i was, i promise i was!” you attempted to cry out, but all that escaped was whiny mumbles.

 “no, no, look me in the face. give me some fucking respect,” he muttered, tightening his grip on your jaw, yanking it close. you forced your eyes open to meet his. breath hot on your lips, he was growing visibly more impatient. his irises were pure black, like that of a shark. one that could sniff out innocent little girls like human blood.

“i see righttttt through you, tryna hide behind your rosary, your psalms, your fucking dresses.” he mocked, hand leaving your face to tug the remainder of the lace mess down your legs, leaving you in your bra and panties. “but i see you. i see what kind of slut you are. looking up at me in the pew, coming to my office until well after sundown. fuckin’ asking for it.” he stepped back, his narrow eyes examining you in disgust.

“father- no i just, please,” you choked out, shame turning into stickiness between your legs.

“please?! please what? i’m exposing your sin!” his voice rose to a yell, dragging his hands down his face before gesturing toward you dismissively as you sat motionless on the floor. “no manners whatsoever,” he sighed out. your face dropped as he tapped the wood of his desk. “come, sit. spread those legs.” he commanded.

without thought, you rise from the floor and take a seat where he had told you to, ankles dangling in the air as you shyly open your thighs. anything to make him happy again. he bends over, gently running two fingers over your clothed pussy, noticing a wet mark right in the middle. “oh wow, i knew you wanted this,” he chuckled, holding one leg open while the other rubbed circles into your panties. “so wet, so ready.”  

hiding your face in your hands, you watched through your fingers as he focused on the growing puddle in the fabric of your underwear, attention solely between your legs. “this is the y/n i know…mhm.. always so good for me. i don’t know what got into you, huh?” he hummed. you could feel his words on the inside of your thigh as he continued to study you, making you whimper. before you could question anything, he was sliding the boyshorts past your knees, whispering praises as you kicked them off.

“fuck,” he moaned out, breathlessly admiring you while running his hands up your stomach to your chest. he traced the wire of your bra to the back, unclasping it with a pop and discarding it on the floor. your tiny, uneven breaths filled the air, giving way to quiet moans under his touch. he glided his hands on the underside of your thighs, spreading you gently with his index and middle fingers.

“awh, my pretty pink girl. so pure.” he spoke almost to himself as he bent over, playing in your folds. deep down, you knew you shouldn’t let him do this. but it felt so good. and he knew best, right?

his fingers ran the wetness up and down your pussy before working in his middle finger, forcing you to hear yourself, how bad you really did want this. you gasped, sitting up on your hands and looking down at the priest who was now pumping his whole finger into you. words tangled on your tongue, babbling and moaning with furrowed brows.

“ohh my god,” you managed to squeak out. he softly shook his head, never slowing down his pace.

 “no, baby. just me n’ you.”

he pulled his finger out, making you clench at the emptiness. encircling your slit, he lined up a second finger, slowly stuffing it into your leaky pink hole. you cried out, digging your nails into the wood of the desk and writhing against him. twisting his fingers in you, he started to speak. “this is the next step in becoming a real adult, y/n. as your priest, i have a responsibility….” his free hand dug into your hip, holding you in place to stop your squirming, “a responsibility to make sure you’re educated on certain things. ready for the real world.”

his fingers continued their assault on your pussy, fucking you open as your feet stirred aimlessly in the air, helpless and overwhelmed. “father f-fuckk i - ” you stuttered, attention being brought back to reality by a rough slap, one so hard it caused your ear to ring. your fingers trembled against your burning cheek, lips parted and eyes wide with panic.

 “watch your fucking language, how do you expect to find a husband with a mouth like that?” he huffed, removing his hands from you completely. how ironic. you sniffled and nodded, pushing yourself up, wanting to bridge the distance left by his absent touch. his thumb gripped your chin, guiding your eyes to his. “i think you’re ready though, don’t you?” his fat tip was now rubbing up and down your petals, as you babbled i can’ts and i dunno’s.

he lay his length against your stomach, touching your belly button, perversely rubbing it against the smooth of your skin. you rolled your hips against the desk, staring up at him. “will it fit?” you mewled, cupping your heavy tits in your hands and pressing them together. you were learning so well. he led himself to circle your clit, collecting your glaze and spreading it around. you threatened to cry out, the only thing stopping you being the sharp bite on your bottom lip.

“yes angel, i’ll make it fit…just a part of it” he breathed out, softly pressing his lips to your forehead. “this is what husbands and wives do..” trailing off, trying to distract you as he stuffed the tip in.

your gasps and whimpers of discomfort subsided to pornographic moans as he slowly worked himself in, bucking himself against you until there was nothing left to fit. cradling the back of your head in both hands, he forced you to watch yourself get filled up as he stretched you with slow, grinding movements. you brought your knees to your chest, spreading yourself more for him, little ah ah ah’s drifting from your tongue.

“thaat’s my girlll,” he hissed, knowing he was holding back. “now..” he paused, making you squirm your hips in search of friction, hands still entrapping your skull, eyes piercing yours, “i’m gonna fuck you stupid, okay? and you’re gonna be grateful.” his soothing tone not matching the brutality of his words.

your head nodded mechanically with a vacant stare, mouth agape. maybe it was a good thing your priest was taking your virginity. he was a man of god, after all. his grip on your scalp tightened as he repeatedly slammed into you, hitting that deep, spongy spot that had never been touched before. he angled you to watch every stroke, pressing on the bulge in your lower tummy. “you see that, dumb girl? does that feel good?” he grunted out, filling the room with sloppy noises each time he thrust into you.

“y-yess, soo good,” you squealed, leaving a creamy ring around his shaft.

another slap. but he refused to let up on your cunt, quickening his pace and violently snapping his hips against the back of your thighs. tears welled in the corner of your eyes as you got filled up.

“yes who?” he demanded, almost growling as he pressed his chest to your legs, folding you in half.

“yes fatherr, feels so so good, pleasepleaseplease,” you had no clue what you were even begging for at this point. his length was relentlessly sliding in and out, beating up your cervix.

“mhm, our little secret. our little fucking secret,” he whispered on repeat. like a mantra. a perverted one-on-one devotional. his hands, large and assuming, glided over your body before finding your throat, squeezing both sides. waves of pleasure washed over you, eyes rolling into the back of your head. “hnnmpphh- i can’t, please- it’s too much,” your hands rake at the muscle of his chest, searching for any mercy.

“ohh, sweet thing, you’ve been taking it so well.”  he soothed, finally slowing down for only a moment, “no fussing, just cum for me.”  

he immediately resumed brutalizing you, thumb circling your swollen clit. both legs spasmed as you came undone, juices leaking down onto the polished wood. any rational thought had left your brain, as a matter of fact, so had any thought at all. your absent, glassy eyes crossed and rolled with each motion, eyebrows knitting together in a blissful frown. he moaned shakily, making sure you felt every inch.

“tell me what god said to noah after the flood.” he grunted out, lips ghosting over yours, hand still tight on your neck. you were barely coherent, essentially speaking in tongues. a harsh slap landed to your cheek, jolting you into reality from the haze of your orgasm.

“c’mon kid, genesis 9, stay with me,” he snapped.

“be fruitful…” you yelped, straining through clenched teeth and a constricted airway, cupping your cheek, “increase in number, fill the earth.”

“mhm, we’re gonna make him proud, okay?” he coaxed you to agree. he knows you’re too braindead to comprehend, just obediently nodding your little head to whatever he asks.

“gonna give you my cum till it takes,” he pants out, loosening to grip on your throat to lock his hands to your hips, guiding your body up and down his inches with relentless force. your head bobbing loosely as he slammed into you over and over and over again. “god, fuck- gonna put a fuckin’ baby in you,” his hips stuttered, spilling his seed into you and pounding it deep into your cervix.

pulling himself out with a sigh, he watched with hooded lids as his cum dripped out of you in pearlescent globs. his hands smoothed the mess of hair on your head, sealing it with a tiny kiss before cleaning you up and retrieving your panties from the floor without words. his hands enveloped your waist, lifting you effortlessly to your feet beside the desk as your knees faltered. he bent down, holding open the legs of the undergarment for you to step in, gripping onto his shoulder for balance as you do so. next the dress. then the heels, sitting you in the black leather chair as he slides them onto each foot, clasping your ankle strap before placing a wet kiss to each knee. a small act of worship.

“my little bride-to-be...” he whispers, now standing over you, caressing your smooth skin with his thumb, trying to drink in the hollow stillness in your head.

“same time next sunday, alright?”