#i looked up a bible verse for this painting | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

macabr3-barbi3 · 4 months ago

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*gets on knees* hello,,,,, I am,, muy hungr y.......... priest vox one-shot PLEAAAAASE.. perhaps Vox has taken a more Catholic turn with Voxtech to capitalise on the fact that being redeemed has suddenly become extremely popular since the Hazbin Hotel was rebuilt ('TRUST US! with YOUR redemption'), he doesn't ACTUALLY believe in any of it of course but anything for a buck. Idk how reader would end up there LOL but I can't stop thinking about him using the most dirty religious euphemisms AND MAYBE USING A ROSARY TO BIND READER'S(OR HIS IF UR FEELING REAL FREAKY) WRISTS RUFF RUFF BARK BARK BARK I'm totally normal (I'm losing my mind)

HELLO FRIEND I LOVE THIS (AND YOU SINCE I KNOW WHO YOU ARE LOL)

disclaimer that I am not religious, I took most of these bible verses and things at face value- Vox doesn't care about using them correctly why should I LMAO

going to Hell for this one lads anyone wanna carpool?

Tags: blasphemy, priest kink, fucking in a church, improper use of rosary beads, confession that is not up to code, exhibitionism? if you squint? improper use of bible verses

HOT PRIEST VOX IN THE BANNER FROM @chefskjssart AND THE BANNER ITSELF FROM @fraugwinska I LOVE YOU GUYS ❤️❤️❤️

When you arrive in Hell as the result of a car accident, the first thing you see is a billboard- there’s a television on it, of all things, one with a face that wore a confident smirk under eyes that seemed to promise something. What exactly it was, you couldn’t tell, but the bright, flashing words next to him caught your attention, like you were sure they were supposed to: “VoxTek presents VeeLigion- TRUST US! With YOUR Redemption!”

You spend a couple days trying to get your bearings, and you determine that Hell fucking sucks- before falling you had been stabbed a grand total of zero times, and within 24 hours you’d had a knife in you twice. Which, TV did a terrible job at depicting stabbings; it wasn’t a soft gasp and a betrayed glance at the person holding the knife, it was a burning flash of pain and a scream that echoed in your head even after you stopped, even after the wound miraculously healed and left you with holes in your clothing that exposed unblemished skin.

TV also painted a pretty inaccurate portrait of Hell as a whole. Sure, you’d been stabbed a couple times but it wasn’t all fire and brimstone- everyone else mostly left you alone, a fox-faced woman had given you a bandage and a half eaten sandwich while you sat bleeding in an alley outside, there were bakeries and regular storefronts, and maybe a few more sex shops than you had been anticipating. But it was a whole society like it was when you were alive, albeit with maybe less rules and consequences.

You see more advertisements from the guy with the television head (Vox, you had picked up from the newspapers and magazines that littered the sidewalks), promises of salvation to be found in his newly built church in Pentagram City, redemption at a low cost. You had seen other ads, from a place called the Hazbin Hotel, but regardless of how different Hell was from what you had imagined, you still figured that the Devil was bad- his daughter couldn’t have been much better. And the Princess of Hell just didn’t catch your attention like Vox had; come on, his head was a television, what choice did you have but to look at him?

And it was no real surprise that you had ended up here, despite the years of Catholic school and nuns striking the fear of God into you when your parents had decided that you were too much trouble as a teen and shipped you off for a few years. You had done your time, did the prayers and shit with your skirt just an inch or two above the regulated length, and as soon as you had the chance you were out of there, back to the fun life you had enjoyed before…

Even if you did now have the voice of Sister Lucy in your head when you went down on someone, telling you that idle hands- and probably lips- should only be used in service of the Lord.

But Jesus, was some premarital sex really enough to damn you to this shithole? The more you thought about it, the more you wanted to find your way to the center of the city to find that Church. Maybe the whole redemption thing was bullshit, but also maybe since it was a church they could give you shelter. A place to hide from the chaos on the streets while you figured out what the fuck you were going to do. You didn’t think you needed food to survive, really, but you would do almost anything for a hot meal in your mouth just for the comfort of it.

After getting directions- and another fucking stab wound, where the fuck were people getting these knives?- you make your way to the VoxTek church, and here’s another point against the Hotel. The thing is massive and gorgeous, blue and white stained glass that covered the building reflecting the red of the pentagram in the sky, Vox’s likeness front and center above the intricately detailed doors. It’s pristine, and perfect, and you’re suddenly very self conscious about the state of yourself, covered in blood with clothes that are the wrong brand of ‘holey.’ But you’re already here and on the steps, so there’s not much else to do but climb them and reach for the doors.

A tablet pops in front of you, ‘AdamAI’ engraved across the top. “Welcome to the VeeLigion church,” the thing says, the voice bored and haughty. “Entry starts at $5.99.”

“You fucking charge just to come in?” Maybe you shouldn’t swear at what looks like some sort of angelic device but fuck, really?

“A small price to pay for salvation!” It says, and little wings flick out of the sides to flutter, like it was trying to distract you. “Come on, don’t you wanna go to Heaven? It fucking rocks up there- Hell is dirty and smelly and gross, and-”

“Yeah people just stab you like all the fucking time,” you mutter, “but I don’t have any money.”

“Plan B then- you can sign this screen right here-” Some sort of contract appears on the screen, the letters too small to read properly, with a line at the bottom. “And the matter of payment can be discussed at a later date, at the owner’s discretion.”

“That’s a little suspicious.”

“You could go get stabbed again,” it snarks, and a pen pops out of the top. “Or you could go to that shitty hotel that doesn’t know what the hell they’re doing, with Lucifer’s brat. Choice is yours.”

You have to admit that the pristine glow of the church seems more promising than what you had seen of the Hotel, so you sign the contract and the doors swing open without the creak of heavy wood- when you touch it on your way in you realize that it, too, is actually metal, manipulated to look like wood to sell the facade of the building. “Good luck,” the tablet chirps, followed by something that sounds suspiciously like “you’re going to need it” as the door slams shut behind you.

It’s eerily quiet inside the church, likely soundproofed since you can no longer hear anything that’s going on outside. There’s no one else inside, no priest or other sinners, the stage at the front of the chapel empty except for the obviously simulated sunlight that streams through the windows at the back. Despite the cash grab at the door, the place does feel divine. It’s quiet and peaceful, and beautiful beyond belief. You wander up to the front, looking around to see if there would be some sort of pastor or something to show you what, exactly, you were supposed to do- to give you answers, to show you some kind of mercy in this hellhole.

A door slams somewhere in the building, and gradually a voice gets louder as they approach the chapel. “-told you, Val, that the church was a waste of fuckin’ time,” they’re saying, “but did you listen? Of course not- you’re shoved so far up Angel’s twinky little ass lately it’s a wonder you have time to plan your fuckin’ ‘holy orgies’ or whatever the fuck you’re calling them-”

And there’s the television you had been seeing on the billboards and ads- Vox in the flesh, priest robes dripping off his frame, one of those little hats somehow attached to his flat head. Even with his eyebrows drawn down in irritation at whoever he was on the phone with, he still has an air of confidence and cockiness about him that you can admire- and you had seen some of the magazines declaring him the hottest in Hell, and know that he has clean lines of lean muscle hiding under those holy folds of fabric. He paces back and forth across the stage a few times, throwing insults and jabs into the phone in his hand, and then he looks up and finally notices you.

“Oh fuck,” he says, eyes widening in surprise, and then- “not you, Valentino, Satan, fucking narcissist. Someone’s fucking here- yes, in the church- fuck it, no, I gotta deal with this.” And the phone is slipped into one of the pockets of the robe. His whole demeanor changes- his posture straightens, his eyes closing and his face rearranging into something softer, more peaceful as he looks down at you.

“Welcome, lost lamb,” he says, and you could almost believe him if it weren’t for the glitch that crackles across his screen at the words. “How may I help to guide you today?”

“Um… I’m not totally sure,” you confess, and his eye twitches in irritation. “I saw some ads and I was curious about the idea of a church in Hell. If you can actually get redeemed here then, you know, I’d love to give it a try-“

You don’t even get to mention your almost ulterior motive before he fucking laughs at you, the sound echoing with the acoustics of the place. “Fuck, so you’re a real one then? Y’know how many people I’ve had sitting in these pews that don’t give two rats shit about redemption, just wanted to see the fancy new fucking building and watch one of the most powerful Overlords in Hell strut around in this stupid fucking thing?” He plucks at his robes, the fabric fluttering around his body. “And now I've got a real one. Imagine that. Okay!”

He claps his hands together and a small bench emerges from the floor in front of the stage as he drops to sit on the edge of it, legs hanging off so his feet touch the floor. “Fucking kneel, then,” he says, gesturing to the cushion, “Don’t these things usually start with confession? I don’t have all day if you have like, a million sins to confess.”

“Oh, right.” This part at least you knew, even if it usually took place in a booth and the other person couldn’t see you. You hadn’t really been planning on confessing when you got here, but at least it was an easy part.

You watch him patiently, waiting for the usual blessing, until he stares at you expectantly. “Well?”

Guess you were skipping that, then. “Um, okay. Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.” He waves a hand at you; a silent ‘get-on-with-it’ if you’ve ever seen one. “It’s been… ten years? Since my last confession-“

“No fucking wonder you ended up down here, doll,” he mutters, head tilted towards the ceiling and not even looking at you, “you were one of those ‘Easter and Christmas’ church-goers, huh? And you thought that would be enough.”

“Hey, fuck you,” you snap, flushing at how easy you were to pin down like that, and his head snaps back down to look at you, an eyebrow raised like he’s fucking bored. “Aren’t you supposed to be here to help?”

“Does it matter? Besides, I’m new to the job; sue me for a learning curve. Come on- what sins are you confessing?” His screen brightens suddenly, a grin directed at you that steals your breath. “Was it something fun? You kill someone?” His eyes go hooded, expression lascivious as he looks down at you. “Impure thoughts, maybe? Impure actions?” His gaze lingers on your skirt before he meets your eyes again.

Your face heats- you’re very aware, suddenly, of the position that you’re in- knelt on the floor in an empty church, the priest as far from saintly as one could get and hot as Hell even with his TV head, his knees spread apart where he sits on the edge of the stage and you essentially between them. Images race lightning quick through your head- pushing his robes up around his thighs, leaning forward with your tongue out to show him just how impure your actions could be-

A bell rings overhead and you’re reminded that you’re in a fucking Church, even if it is one in the center of Hell. You had come here for help, not sex. You shove the thoughts back. “Can you just- be a normal priest, please? With the bible verses and shit so I can feel like this wasn’t a total waste of whatever I signed before coming in here.”

He sighs but seems to acquiesce, placing his palms on the stage and leaning back. “That’s a yes if I’ve ever heard one! Give me one sec…” His screen changes, words and images flying across it at lightning speed while he taps his fingers on the floor under his hands, sometimes slowing on a particular passage, and it occurs to you what he’s doing- he’s searching the fucking internet for a bible passage.

“Ha! This should do-” His face comes back, expression serene, and he leans forward and places a finger under your chin to tilt your head up, closer to him now than you would have expected. “I know how you feel, my child, tempted by the sins of the flesh,” he says in an exaggerated tone. “‘For we do not have a High Priest who cannot sympathize with our weaknesses.” He winks at you with that smirk of his back in place, “but was in all points tempted as we are, yet without sin.’”

You blush but can’t turn away with his finger on you, keeping you tilted to face him. “‘Let us therefore come boldly to the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy and find grace to help in time of need.’ Is that what you’re here for, doll? Mercy?”

Your mouth runs dry, and you can see the way his eyes track the movement of your throat when you swallow. “Y-yes,” you stammer, and your voice is weaker than you would like, your eyes half-lidded as you look up at him. “Mercy-”

“In your time of need,” he offers, and when you close your eyes you feel his thumb trace over your cheekbone, his hand warm against your skin. “What do you need? Cause I’ll tell you- all flushed and trembling and sweet on your knees here? I don’t think a bible verse is gonna cut it, babe.”

He almost slides off the stage, dropping to a crouch so he’s level with your face. “Sir-” you try, and his grin is wide and dangerous.

“Father,” he corrects you, and if you weren’t already on your knees you would have fallen to them. “And I believe you still have to confess before we can move on.” He reaches into the pocket of his robes and pulls out something long and dangling- a rosary, you realize, and you can’t stop the flash of heat that rips through you despite the blatant blasphemy of what was happening. “Give me your hands.” And you do, helpless to refuse as he winds the beads around your wrists with the cross dangling between your arms as he finishes. He stands then, using a hand on the beads to pull you from the cushion and guide you forward on your knees when he sits on the edge of the stage again. You’re properly between his legs now, the fabric of his robes almost touching your nose, and he’s holding your bound hands atop one of his knees.

“This is just to keep you focused,” he says when he sees you watching where he has them restrained in one hand. His other hand pets across your head, a finger briefly touching one of the horns that you had grown upon arrival. “Now then- tell me of your temptations, little lamb, and I’ll give you absolution. I’ll give you the mercy you want.” When he meets your wide eyes again, he winks. “Maybe something else, too.”

“Fuck, I’m- God, okay. Okay. Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.” You take Vox’s silence as a sign to continue, his hand still gently brushing through your hair, the other keeping a tight grip on the rosary beads. “It’s been ten years since my last confession.”

“Go on, my child,” Vox says, and fuck, it feels wrong that the words of a priest- regardless of how legitimate he was- are making your core clench, a strong jolt of arousal bolting through your body. “What brings you to confession today?”

You try not to tremble as you continue. “I have… behaved immorally in the past. And even now I’m having impure thoughts,” you whisper, and you hear Vox suppress a groan in front of you. “I- I know the Bible says not to fall prey to temptation, but it’s so hard to resist. I can’t stop myself from thinking about it- about what I’ve done. And about you.”

The fingers in your hair are gone, grip tightening on the one holding the rosary. “This is troubling indeed,” he says, like you can’t hear the smirk in his voice. “Tell me what you’ve done- what you’ve thought about. What you want now. Be specific.” There’s a soft rustling of fabric before you, a whisper of air across your face as Vox moves. You make an inquisitive noise and he shushes you. “Keep your eyes closed, dear- imagine you confess to the Lord himself. Show him how earnest you are in your devotion.”

You let your face relax, brow going slack and keeping your face tipped up. You can see through your eyelids the shine of the sunlight through the windows, artificial but warming and holy nonetheless. And like this you ‘confess.’ “I’m thinking about you touching me- in s-sinful ways. Your hands on my skin the way that others have touched me. It feels good, I can’t help but want it…” You feel a little ridiculous even with the flush of your cheeks and the need overtaking your body.

“Fuck,” you hear Vox whisper, and there’s another faint sound of movement that you can’t place with your eyes closed. “How did these f-f̰̰̯͕͊̃̊͞͞͞i̧̻̻͉̜͑ͪ̾͟l͖͖̰̝ͭ̀͘t͖͖̠̬͛h̨͚͚͖ͯ̒̄͗͞y͙͙̪̰ͫ͌́ sinners touch you?” His voice seems to fail him at the thought, a crackle in his vocals that betrays how much he’s invested in the moment.

“Like a harlot,” you say, and you hear a full groan escape him, a tug to the rosary when he leans a bit down towards you. His face is closer now; you can feel his hot breath as it ghosts across your lips when you speak. “They touched my bare skin- sometimes I lie awake at night and trace the path their hands have taken over my body, over my breasts, between my legs. I’ve let them fuck me, bent over tables and spread across beds, and God, I want more.” You let your voice take on a pleading edge. “I want it to be you- please, won’t you help me?”

You let your eyes flutter open, and the sight before you steals your breathe- Vox’s eyes are trained on you, his mouth hanging open with his face screwed up in pleasure as he fists his cock inches from your face, his robes drawn up over his thighs to jerk himself off in time with your confession. When he notices you watching him he smiles, all teeth and dripping saliva, looking more and more like the agent of damnation that he is than the holy man he’s pretending to be. “F̼̼͓̙ͤ̋̅̚͞͞ḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧa͔͔̜̗̦ͩ̅̎ṛ̣̬̫̍͌ͩ͟ n̫̫̘̗͕̲̲̎ͥo͙͙̙̘̙ͤͫ͞t͖͖̠̬͛,” he growls, his vocals once again corrupted and fried when he speaks. “‘No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man. G-G̯̯̩̙͆ͣ͟o͙͙̙̘̙ͤͫ͞d̶̵̯̯̼̘ͨ̓ is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability-’” The last words are accompanied with a harder thrust of his hips, bringing him closer to the edge of the stage, the head of his prick nearly brushing your lips before its covered with his fingers as he continues to stroke. “‘But with the temptation he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it.’”

You know what he’s going for, but… “I think in this instance, ‘enduring it’ would mean not giving in to the temptation,” you murmur, and you let your tongue ghost over his hand when it gets within reach, just able to taste the saltiness of his precum on his fingers. “But I think I’m weak to it, Father- would you forgive me if I can’t resist?”

Static flashes across his screen for a moment. “Fuck,” he pants when he sees that you’ve kept your tongue extended, waiting for him. He loses the haughty, holy edge to his voice as his fingers tighten their grip, less of a stroke now to let the head of his dick tap against your tongue a couple times. “Can’t fuckin’ think straight like this, Satan- how am I supposed to keep this shit up when you look at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like a devout whore praying for a cock in your throat,” he snarls, and releases the hand keeping hold on the rosary to cup your face. You waste no time in bringing your bound hands up under your skirt, shoving your panties to the side with trembling fingers to rub at your clit. The angle is all wrong, but any friction is good friction at this point, and Vox laughs breathlessly at the desperate way that you rock against your hands with your head held in his. “I might not be God but I can answer that fuckin’ prayer if you want.”

The way you shift to get a better angle to slide a finger into yourself brings you closer, your head resting more heavily in his palm, and you can’t resist giving him a wink- “Promise you’ll give me my absolution after?” You let your mouth fall slack, and groan around the length of him as he pushes past your lips, both of his hands abandoning their respective tasks to tangle in the strands of your hair and keep you still.

“I’ll give it to you, doll, I’ll fuckin’ give you a͔͔̜̗̦ͩ̅̎l͖͖̰̝ͭ̀͘l͖͖̰̝ͭ̀͘ o͙͙̙̘̙ͤͫ͞f̰̰̯͕͊̃̊͞͞͞ i̧̻̻͉̜͑ͪ̾͟t͖͖̠̬͛.” He guides himself in further, deeper, until the head of his dick is just bumping against the back of your throat, whorish whines escaping the scant space between your lips when he starts to buck his hips, sucking to the best of your ability while you ride your own fingers and try to work your tongue against the solid erection that’s taken up a temporary residence in your mouth. His hands fist in your hair and tug you closer, your nose bumping the sharp lines of his abdomen and the solid weight of his balls resting against your chin with every jerk forward. A particularly hard thrust has your gag reflex triggering, the channel of your throat convulsing and fluttering around the head of his cock while his head throws back with a moan.

Tears prick at your eyes- your orgasm is a distant, intangible thing, the pleasure from your fingers sweet but not even close to what you needed, whimpering and drooling around Vox’s cock in a way that echoed around the beautiful chapel. When you look up at him his eyes are wide and frantic, harsh moans falling from his mouth and rumbling through his body so you could feel it against your nose pressed into his pelvis the way you are.

A hand slides forward to brush at your tears, a smile more befitting the devil than any kind of priest taking up Vox’s screen, red lines of what could be drool dripping off the sides. “Fuck, gonna cum- you want it, angel? Your a͔͔̜̗̦ͩ̅̎b͔͔̳͈̊̆ͥ͂͜͝s̨̞̞̰͎͎̪̩͕̈́̀ͯ̍ͧͅo͙͙̙̘̙ͤͫ͞l͖͖̰̝ͭ̀͘ụ̴̴̾̀͟͡t͖͖̠̬͛i̧̻̻͉̜͑ͪ̾͟o͙͙̙̘̙ͤͫ͞n̫̫̘̗͕̲̲̎ͥ?” You can’t speak with his cock filling your mouth so fully, so you nod the best you can and grind your hips down onto your fingers, still bound together with the rosary. He chuckles low, once again keeping your head still so he can pound into the wet heat you’ve provided to him, the muscles of your throat clenching down every time he pushes far enough back. “‘Repent and be baptized, e-every one of you-’” he starts, the silky skin of his erection sliding pleasantly over your tongue a final time, then he stills. His cock twitches, and there’s a jet of hot, bitter liquid spilling across your tongue before he pulls out completely. “‘In the name of J̸̡̡̟͑ͭ̄͘ḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧs̨̞̞̰͎͎̪̩͕̈́̀ͯ̍ͧͅụ̴̴̾̀͟͡s̨̞̞̰͎͎̪̩͕̈́̀ͯ̍ͧͅ Ch̨͚͚͖ͯ̒̄͗͞ṛ̣̬̫̍͌ͩ͟i̧̻̻͉̜͑ͪ̾͟s̨̞̞̰͎͎̪̩͕̈́̀ͯ̍ͧͅt͖͖̠̬͛, for the forgiveness of your sins.’” There’s another pulse of cum that lands on your cheek as he pulls back, his thumb coming up to smear it on your skin and then dip into your mouth for you to suck it clean as his cock gives one final twitch, a weak spurt against your lips closed around his thumb. “‘And you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit,’” he finishes in his normal voice, that cocky smirk back on his screen when he finally pulls all the way back.

You lick your lips, rid yourself of the remnants of his release that you can reach. “Is that what that was? You don’t look much like the Holy Spirit to me.”

He groans looking down at you, the hand still in your hair petting almost affectionately through the strands. “We make do with what we have in Hell,” he says. His eyes flick down to your lap, where you still have two fingers poorly sunk into your pussy and are rocking back and forth on them. “Don’t worry, doll, you’ll still-”

He freeze, some notice popping up in one of the upper corners of his screen, and he shakes his head and groans as it clears away. “Quiet- someone’s at the door,” he murmurs, and takes his hands off you entirely.

You suppress a groan at the lack of contact, fingers momentarily stilling and cocking an eyebrow at him. “How can you tell?” There’s no knock resounding through the building, no bells or chimes, and he holds a finger to his lips.

“I get an alert when someone interacts with the AdamAI. Just hold on a sec-”

There’s an audible gasp from the sinner that enters the church, and Vox looks down at you with a wicked smile. “Keep praying, my child,” he says softly, “and we’ll resume our discussion on the matter of your ‘repentance’ soon.” He stands to his full height and with a swish of his robes he’s gone, approaching the newcomer behind you and speaking in hushed tones- you catch something about a ‘private prayer session’ and resist the urge to snort, instead shifting a bit to get your thumb against your clit and rub soft circles. You don’t think you can cum like this but it's nice, sweet little zaps of pleasure that start at your core and echo through your body like the acoustics of the church you kneel in. You bite your lip to keep the sounds from escaping you as they talk, the low timbre of Vox’s voice making your body hum and tingle remembering the way he had moaned and clutched at your hair as he chased his release with your mouth around him.

Fuck, if Sister Lucy could have seen you now she would probably have an aneurysm. But its not her words echoing in your brain right now- it’s Vox’s soft “keep praying” that has your hands unable to stay still, your hips jerking minutely while you reach futilely for the edge of your pleasure, to tumble headfirst into it.

It takes a moment for you to realize that the Church is silent once again, and when you look up- and up and up, your head tilting all the way back like you’re searching for God himself in the rafters- Vox towers over you from behind, his eyes dark and hungry. He drops to his knees, a resounding crack on the floor as he reaches for you, his hand wrapping around the front of your throat to keep your head tilted back, and a low growl rumbles from his chest when he feels you swallow against his palm. “Such a well behaved lamb, to stick to your prays so devotedly in the presence of others,” he whispers, his tongue curling over the shell of your ear, and now that you’re alone there’s no shame in the desperate moan that you let loose- the way he says ‘lamb’ is so sickeningly sweet and exaggerated that you know the word he wants to use is ‘slut.’ “What kind of shepherd would I be if I didn’t give you a reward?”

His other hand comes down to grab the rosary, pulling your fingers from the slick heat of your cunt and bring them to his mouth- his tongue curls around them, the lewd sound of him sucking the juices from your digits right next to your ear, causing heat to pool in your lower stomach. Once he’s satisfied, he hoists you up with his grip on them, spinning you so that you’re facing him and pinning you to the edge of the stage. “Thought the ‘baptism’ was my gift,” you say as he lifts your legs up around his waist, shoving your skirt out of the way and just tearing your panties off your body, exposing you to the cool air of the church. “You should keep your metaphors straight.”

“Come on, I’m fuckin’ trying,” he mutters, pressing his screen to your forehead so you’re breathing in the same air. “Didn’t Jesus say some shit like ‘choose words that bring peace, not conflict’ or something? Take that holy advice, stop poking holes in my sermon, and let me show you Heaven.” He leans in before you can respond to tangle his tongue with yours, and considering where you are and what you’re doing, kissing a television is hardly the weirdest thing to happen to you today. It’s pleasant, even, a light hum of static where your lips meet his, his tongue almost vibrating with concealed electricity as he licks into your mouth like he’s trying to taste his own cum in the back of your throat.

When he pulls back for your answer, you can’t resist the truth- “That was Buddhism,” you deadpan, and laugh when static crackles across his body, a renewed erection pushing into your thigh when he uses your bound hands to lay you flat on the stage. He fumbles with his robes to get them up and around his waist again, and the laughter dies in your throat as the silky smooth head of his cock bumps against your drenched folds.

“You know a lot about religion for someone that seems to only know how to be on her knees for one thing,” he murmurs, and it's both shame and heat that flashes through you at the words while he slides his length back and forth through your wetness, pressing lightly against your clit and retreating, teasing. “Let’s see how long you can keep that up while I’m fucking the thoughts out of that pretty head, hm? Gimme a Bible passage since you know so much, dollface.”

“I don’t have access to the internet in my brain like some people but I’ll do my be- ahhh, fuck-” Vox cuts off your sentence with a solid thrust of his hips, the tip of his prick finally slipping in, and he works it in slowly, letting you adjust to it a few inches at a time until he’s buried to the hilt in your wet cunt and breathing heavily against your neck. “Oh God-”

“Thought taking the Lord’s name in vain was a sin,” he breathes, and licks down the column of your throat. He pulls back a little, the drag of him inside of you a delicious burn before he snaps forward again, punching the air from your lungs. He maneuvers the fingers of the hand still holding the rosary to press the wooden cross into your palms. “Come on, angel, give me something good.”

It’s admittedly hard to think with the way that he pistons into you, hips angled just right to hit that sweet spot inside that you had been missing with your bound hands, his free hand digging bruises into the flesh of your hip. You blurt out the first thing that comes to mind- “‘A-All Scripture is God-breathed and is useful for- fuck, for instruction, for conviction, for correction, and for training in right-righteousness,’” you manage through the pleasure that courses through you, and Vox laughs, the action causing his body to shake against you.

“Something better,” he demands, still drilling his cock into your pussy, hard thrusts that make your vision waver and your breath catch in your throat- how he expects you to talk during that, you weren’t sure, but you would do your damndest as you search your memory for something else.

“Fuck, uhhh… ‘If you do away with the yoke of oppression, with pointing finger… and malicious talk, and if you spend yourself on behalf of the hungry-’” You lose focus on the words you can see behind your eyelids when the hand leaves your hip to press a clawed finger to your swollen clit, a firm circling that has you choking on the words before they can finish leaving your lips. A whimper escapes instead, and Vox’s grin is wide and hungry as he stares down at you.

“‘And satisfy the needs of the oppressed,’” he continues for you, “come on, little lamb, you know the rest.”

“‘Then your light will rise in the darkness, and your light become like the noonday.’” Every muscle is tense, waiting for the thread to snap as Vox continues to fuck into you like a man possessed, his tongue lathing over whatever bits of skin he can reach. You can feel the orgasm crackling like electricity down your spine, unsure if that’s a side effect of Vox’s half-machine body or just how fucking good it feels. Either way, the cusp of release has never felt like this before, like you might pass out from the strength of it, from how all consuming the pleasure is before the peak has even hit.

The pressure against your sweet spots- inside and outside- intensifies suddenly when Vox tilts his hips, pressing down harder and slamming his thick cock against that bundle of nerves inside, the wet sounds of your coupling all that you can hear over your voice and his grunts of effort. “‘The lord will guide you always; he will… s-atisfy your needs in a- in a- oh fuck, God, Vox-”

You want the face he’s making framed in the living room of wherever you end up living in Hell; he could almost be a real priest with the expression of worship that’s taking over his screen, looking down at you like you’re Heaven incarnate. “F̼̼͓̙ͤ̋̅̚͞͞ụ̴̴̾̀͟͡c̨̨̣̮̝̈́̔ͯ̀͂k̼̼̞̦̞̼̔, d̶̵̯̯̼̘ͨ̓o͙͙̙̘̙ͤͫ͞l͖͖̰̝ͭ̀͘l͖͖̰̝ͭ̀͘, that’s right; cum on my cock, sweetheart, a͔͔̜̗̦ͩ̅̎n̫̫̘̗͕̲̲̎ͥg̬̬̱ͩ͋͟͟ḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧl͖͖̰̝ͭ̀͘, fuck-”

It’s just as all consuming as you expected- even more so as you tip over the edge into blissful ecstasy, every part of your body clenching down, your hands on the beads, your legs around Vox’s waist, your walls around the hard length still pounding away at you. You’re not even a little embarrassed about the echoing of your cries as you cum, the sound bouncing off the walls of the church and coming back to you and Vox, who’s chasing his own release in the tight clench of your pussy. The lewd, wet sounds intensify suddenly, sharply, the evidence of your orgasm drenching the robes bunched around Vox’s thighs. A high pitched noise emits from him, and his screen goes dark when he follows you over the edge, hot pulses of heat into your slick cunt, walls fluttering and spasming and wringing every last drop of cum from him, resting thick and warm inside of you as his head drops down to your chest and the entire building seems to just power down.

You fiddle with the rosary beads in your hands, trying to see if you can get them undone on your own- and yes, there they go, a quick twist of the wrist and they’re sliding along your skin, your wrists sore where they had been digging in this whole time. His grip on the beads had slackened as well, so you pull out of his grasp and let your hands run down his body, properly touching him for the first time- and it was well worth the wait, even through the priest robes. His muscles felt firm to the touch, the skin of his arms soft where his sleeves had ridden up, and the hot air coming off his head when you traced your fingers along the ports and wires on the back of it was oddly pleasant.

“You keep touching me like that,” he mumbles against your chest, and you feel his dick twitch where it’s seated inside you still, “and you can be the one to explain to my business partners why power’s down across Pentagram City.” The building flickers back on slowly, the simulated sunshine once again streaming from the windows as Vox boots back up, a loading screen flashing on his face before it turns back into his eyes and mouth, quirked up at the sides while you run your fingers over his body and head. “Gimme like half an hour and we can go again without blacking out both rings of Pride, maybe.”

You laugh when he pulls out, collapsing in the space next to you, the stupid little hat tumbling off in the process while he adjusts his robes. “‘Though I sit in darkness, the Lord will be my light,’” you quote. “Maybe a power outage will bring more people to the Church, you could play that up on your advertisements- then if we regularly fuck there’s a business aspect.”

His chuckle echoes in the chapel. “Where have you been all my afterlife?” He jokes, and his clawed fingers give yours a squeeze when they come down to your sides. “I know you’re probably half kidding but listen, I could use some of that religious knowledge if Val and Velvette insist on making me do this once a week- the fucking doesn’t always have to be a part of it, but-”

“Listen, if that offer comes with a place to sleep and a hot meal every once in a while I’m down.” You think back to the screen you had signed before coming into the church- “Shit, unless that tablet I signed means I don’t get a say? Guess I should have looked at it a little closer-”

“Oh, that.” He has the decency to look a little ashamed as he pulls something up on his screen, making a note before closing it again. “Sorry, just a contingency- if we didn’t have a way for financially challenged sinners to get here that would severely limit our target market so we added that contract as an option. Technically your soul is now owned three ways by the Vees as a whole until terms are settled, but we’ll renegotiate, figure something else out.”

“‘Give to everyone who begs from you, and from one who takes away your goods do not demand them back,’” you quote at him- “you help me out and I’ll help you.”

“Deal.” He stands and pulls you up with him, and you place the hat back onto his head- it snaps into place with a soft click that you laugh at- “Magnets, babe, I work with what I have”- while he leads you to the back of the church to clean up and talk about where you would be going from here.

Bonus

You’re laying reclined on Vox’s living room couch a few days later, wearing one of his t-shirts and nothing else while he pours a couple drinks for you. All things considered, going to the church that day had worked out well. You weren’t ‘dating’ Vox, but he was keeping you off the street, fed, and fucked, so you didn’t have much room to complain. Every once in a while you would go over some common Bible passages with him, try to play out a full confession so he could see how it was actually supposed to go to try and help with the church thing, but because of how you met you could hardly get out “forgive me, Father” before Vox was hard and pulling at your clothes.

He’s bitching about it now as he mixes things in glasses at the kitchen counter when his apartment door flies open and Velvette strolls in. “Vox, babe, the fuck are you doin’ at that fuckin’ church? Your ratings are absolute shite compared to the stand-ins we have and that should not be the fuckin’ case.”

He immediately jumps on the defensive. “Imagine that- maybe its because I’m not a real fucking priest? God forbid it take me a fucking minute to learn the shit.”

You pipe up from the couch, tipping your head back over the arm to look at Vox and Velvette upside down. “A good start would be not taking the Lord’s name in vain.”

“Traitor,” he hisses at you, and the demoness doubles over in laughter when static sparks between his antennae as he whips in your direction. “And you’re one to fucking talk- remind me how we met again?”

“You sure you wanna do that while your friend is here, Vox? I can live with the blasphemy of fucking in a church but I draw the line at full blown exhibitionism.” Velvette wipes a tear from her eyes while Vox’s screen tints pink. “And besides- we’re working on it, aren’t we, Father?”

Velvette’s irritated grumbling is ignored as Vox pushes her back out the door and approaches you on the couch, curling his claws into your hair, coaxing you to your knees for another confession.

#priest vox #vox fanfiction #vox being vox #vox smut #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel vox #vox x reader #vox x you #hazbin hotel #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #x reader #hazbin x reader #LISTEN I HAD A BLAST

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tookthe-405 · 6 months ago

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VBS

Chapter 2 (part 2)

Love me Anyway ~Chappell roan

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rebel!ellie x fem!reader

a/n: i just really wanted to show what happens after the "prank"

summary: you grew up religious without questions adn in summer you would get send to vacation bible school. The camp felt like prison to you, until a very interesting girl appeared.

The night was very stressful, for you and for Ellie. While you couldn't sleep because guilt was eating you up from the inside, Ellie couldn't sleep because because the excitement of seeing the pastor's face kept her brain up. You'd be lying if you said you didn't regret anything, because you do. Just not enough to tell anyone.

If you could have ratted out Ellie, everyone would know that it was done out of manipulation, even if that's really not the case.

Ellie isn't manipulating you, you're just under her spell. And you're pretty sure she doesn't know anything about it, so how manipulative can it be?

This morning you got up earlier than everyone else. you hardly slept at all and only listened your heartbeat getting faster and faster. Around 4 a.m. you dozed off, but it was more of an uncomfortable half-sleep. You looked at yourself in the mirror and thought about the many years before, where you would´ve been scared of Ellie, afraid of being thrown out of camp and losing the respect of the church.

That fear still exists, but you no longer felt it in your blood, because no matter what happened you would find a place, maybe even the one where you belong. It would also be nice if Ellie would be part of this place.

After the sermon in the morning, buses arrived at the youth hostel to take you to the small town that was half an hour away. Hood River was a small town in Oregon and you visit it at least twice a year to talk to people about God. In fact, there are already many believers there, but Pastor Toby is never really satisfied with this small town, as if he has a private dispute with the pretty place.

You were still outside and waiting for the bus with Ellie and the others, when you saw the many group leader loading the candied apples into a separate car. The reality of the prank hit you again.

But Ellie calmed you down and told you and the girls about the many crazy pranks that the middle school students had pulled at her school.

She seemed to be fitting into the group more and more, changing parts and information about herself to fit into the picture and it made you a little sad to know it. Having to watch it.

Ellie is great exactly the way she is, she shouldn't have to change. In no world she should ever feel out of place.

After the trip, the organization started. The town is a bit big, but you already know where Christians live and you only go to the houses where non-religious people opened the door last year, or closed it again very quickly.

"We're taking over the lover lane and we´ll just move forward to the eugene street," announces Louisa, who has completely prepared for today.

She goes ahead with a city map and lots of candied apples in her cloth bag.

"Ellie, I have such a bad feeling about this"

"It's all good, we haven't been anywhere yet."

When you arrived on the quiet street, the mid-20-year-old explained that it would be smarter if everyone answered the doors one at a time, as it would be quicker that way.

"Does everyone know their sayings and verses?" Sometimes, Hazel seems more professional than Louisa herself.

"Yes Hazel, how dare we forget it" ellie sighs

the curly haired girl almost hisses at Ellie.

"We'll meet everyone here again when you're done with your houses."

You all split up into parts and the thought of being separated from Ellie makes you incredibly nervous.

The first house is house number 10.

The house itself looks peaceful. Blue painted, with the American flag proudly hoisted and a car parked in front yard.

You go through all the steps again.

ask if they believe in the lord

if not, try to demonstrate that god can help in every situation

help through bible verses

distribute the message of the church

deliver the (poisoned) apples

Great.

Your fist hits the brown wooden door, not too quietly and not too loud. You could see Ellie grinning in front of you and talking about God whether she really meant it or not.

“Hello?”

you quickly put on a smile.

“Hello, sorry to bother you, I’m part of the community a little further south of here and wanted to ask if you’ve already found your way to jesus?"

You notice that Christians always talk in "Not yet" Terms.

As if we expect every person to find god one day, and the ones that haven´t already are just behind in life.

How annoying it must be to have a stranger to dictate your future.

"ok sweetie i have, but i still worry daily"

That suprises you, normaly the answer is just yes or no. But this lady is ready for a whole conversation on her foot step.

"What kind of worries?"

"i always did what god told me to do and i think i did a good job, but my poor son just doesn´t follow him. I swear i thaught him better! Now he has children who don´t belive and follow jesus path and i dont want them to go to hell!"

The older woman sighs sadly, at the edge of tears.

You´re not really sure what to say to her.

"well i´m positive that god will show himself to every human at some point. Maybe that just hasn´t happened to you family yet?"

The woman turns back slightly and screams a boys name into the house.

"im sorry young lady, but my grandchild is over for the summer and i really want him to hear this"

She squeals in delight, but your blood freezes. It feels as if the child's entire future is in your hands and you briefly thought about handing out the apple now so that she would just throw you out.

"Oh God, this child! Please come in, miss."

That's not on your list of things to do, but something makes your legs wander in anyway.

You can hardly say no now.

"Just sit down, sweetie, I'll get him out of the garden for a moment."

You nod to her and turn your head around the room. Everything looks very… old and religious.

Out of respect, you take off your shoes in the hallway and see that the old woman has slippers just like your grandparents. Large, heavy leather slippers.

The house was definitely old and you wonder if maybe her husband built it. The wallpaper is new, or at least in very good condition, but the old wood on the door frame shows the true age of the house.

You hesitantly sit down on an old chair at the round dining table and peek into the old woman´s kitchen.

Overall, a beautiful house, made for a child's summer, but looks can be deceiving.

You're just staring at the little cross on the wall. For a moment you feel very watched, but you shake the anxious thoughts out of your mind and concentrate again on the here and now.

"Come on! It won't take long, darling."

A young boy sits down on the opposite end of the table, probably not older than 10.

He doesn't feel like being here. Ellie would like him.

You quickly unpack your little Bible and introduce yourself to the boy. He doesn't say anything and just stares at you silently.

His grandma snorts. "unbelieveble, his name is Marcus"

You nod slowly and realize how uncomfortable this situation is.

How are you supposed to convince Marcus, who would rather play outside, to believe in God? The fuck thinks his grandma who you are.

"Well Marcus, your grandma wanted me to tell you about how much God loves you and how much he wants you to be with him at the end of your life-"

"I don't care"

"what"

"I don't want to hear it, grandma!"

His grandmother looks at you forgivingly, but you can also see a desperate pleading.

"Young man-"

"What is that?"

You follow his, finger pointing to the floor where the basket full of garnished apples lies.

"Oh that-"

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Now would actually be a good time to die, or at least to be dragged out of this house, by someone who finally realized how cursed this whole mission was from the start

"cool! can i have one"

Marcus suddenly seemed to have found his concentration and respect again. His grandmother also looks at you expectantly.

"Sure."

you slowly take out a wrapped apple, silently hoping that Ellie will breaks into the building and tells you that it's all over. You hand him the apple on a stick and just hope that he isn't hungry yet.

"What the dear lady wants to say is that you should give the lord a chance. He loves you very much and absolutely doesn't want you to end up in eternal fire for-."

You nod very slowly and stare at that damn apple. Poor Marcus. The old woman drives forward.

"What your father taught you is-"

The boy bites into the apple with a grin and it takes exactly 2 seconds until he spits it out again.

You grimace with a sigh.

"Fuck"

"excuse you!"

The Grandma stares at you in disbelief, you worry for a moment whether her old googly eyes might fall out and you imagine how she looks at her grandson like that, every day when he forgets to say amen at the end of a prayer.

Luckily for you, he also starts crying and you probably underestimated his age a bit, or he's just way too dramatic

"what's wrong honey?"

"um i need to go, have a good day"

like a reflex you get up, put your church's contact details on the table and run down the narrow, old but young hallway, put your shoes back on and run out of the house.

Summer air blows through your hair. You seem to have lost all control over your legs because you run and run and run, even when the American flag is nothing more than a small mixture of red, white and blue.

For some reason you suddenly think about a summer with oranges and ellie, another world who is so possible but yet so far away from reality, it almost makes you cry.

The many colors of the houses fly past you and you just grab your bag tighter, so that those shitty apples don't fall out and someone else has to eat them.

You don't even notice where you are until you find the roundabout who lead to the many streets.

"God.." You take a breath over and over again, resting your arms on your knees, but your lungs seem to be allergic to air because it feels like nothing is getting in.

"Hey…"

A hand on your shoulder and you jump back, a small scream leaving your lips, worried that the old lady might have followed you.

Red hair, green eyes and freckles.

Your hand is on your chest and you are breathing deeply and quickly.

Your eyes eat each other up and you are sure that you have never had such an intimate relationship with anyone else in the world.

Thank you so much for being here, for playing a role in my life and for not just being a nameless girl.

She looks at you, the sweat on your forehead and your loose shoes that you probably didn't even tie.

God, does she even know how precious she is to you?

"You scared me"

"I noticed, sorry…"

After a few moments you feel like there was enough eye contact, even though you're pushing for more, so you look away. Pay attention to anything else, the birds in the background, the lake that you can almost see from here or all those American flags.

"Sit down first, you're about to fall over"

Ellie gently grabs your hand. Your hands aren't really linked, she just grabs yours and leads you both to the side of the street, to a small bench.

"It worked, by the way. The apples taste really bad."

Ellie chuckles next to you and lets go of your hand, why does she have to do that?

"I know, a guy almost set his dog on me when he tried one. He was such a disgusting creep, who probably hasn’t showered in days and he was standing in front of me in my bathrobe."

That makes you laugh.

"Those are always the worst. They made little boy cry… he was really mean, but I still feel kinda bad. He didn’t want to listen to anything I said about god”

"Funny guy" Ellie replies and you smile shamelessly at her from the side.

Then she clears her throat and looks forward again.

"I'm sorry if I… dragged you into this. I didn't mean to force you to do anything."

You're now holding her hand, that's resting on her knee.

"You didn't force me to do anything Ellie, you gave me something I always wanted as a child"

"To make a boy cry?"

“Freedom,” you correct her, grinning.

She smiles shyly back and you watch intently as her cheeks become redder and redder. How beautiful this life is!

"Hey guys!"

as quickly as it happened, you take your hand away again and even Ellie slips a little further away from you, still red.

Kate walks down the street towards you with a weak body.

"There's something wrong with these apples"

Thanks for reading and for all the sweet comments and reposts!! Somehow I can’t comment anywhere, not even in my own posts and tumblr won’t help me fix this 😭

by the way, i realised that "tobi" (the pastors name) is fucking german and that in english its toby, so i changed that so sorry guys.

But it means "god is good" which i find pretty fitting

But a biggg thank you to anyone who reads and enjoys my story’s it means a lot to me🫶🫶

Don’t forget to interact with the links!!!!

Taglist: @elliewilliamgfooc @bready101 @a-little-bit-of-everybody @vqxen @hersuniverse @nelzooo @shiimer @bellaramseysgirlfriend @sonthingwithl @vi0lentb3rry @elliewilliamsblunt @be3flow3r @adelaide013 @abbysbraids @liasxeatt @jungkook-37

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boolger · 5 months ago

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READ ME A VERSE - COD

☆Kate Laswell x afab!Reader - explicit - MDNI - 11k words ☆AU to a certain degree. Reader and Kate are in a fictional radical christian group who is pretty secluded in a little town. Inspired by the song Verse by Emily Jeffri, which i have been obsessed with for a while, but in particular this part;

“Last time I saw her, we were in church I said my love to her and somebody heard We haven't locked eyes since or said a word.” Verse, by Emily Jeffri

☆tags: radical religion, homophobia, religious homophobia, internalized homophobia, sexism, abuse, violence, isolation, mention of miscarriage, dub-con, non-con sex, non-con kissing, victim blaming, bad parents, mention of death, afab!reader, forced marriage, masturbation, fingering, oral sex. Happy ending.

☆Summary: You had been considered ‘sick’ for years, sent away from your hometown and family to get better, isolated and forced to repent. But years later, when you are ‘healed’ and granted permission to return, there is a woman in church that you don’t know. You want to be a good Christian woman, even if you don’t want to marry Phillips Graves, but this Kate haunts your mind. No prayers can stop your thoughts, the verses are not able to stop how the two of you constantly feel pulled towards each other, lured by your sinful thoughts and the lust for actual love.

You grew up here, in between good Christian women and men, with sin seeping into your bones, only hidden by your fragile flesh and skin. Organs rotten with wicked thoughts, every day of sickness a punishment for your refusal to repent, you were sure.

That was the way you had lived your entire life, knowing something was wrong with you - but every waking hour, you couldn’t help but wonder, if this sin, this evil, the crime, was merely that in their eyes. In the community’s eyes.

Once, when you were younger, 19 and naive, you had told your best friend, thinking she could keep the secret, thinking she might understand that it wasn’t something that should be said out loud. Yet, barely 24 hours passed and then your parents knew, pulling you to the church, to the elders of your village, the leaders of the church making you admit out loud to your immorality, to the sinful demons of lust that had taken over your body.

Women aren’t supposed to fall in love with other women, they said, you’re not supposed to lust after another woman - your lust is only for your future husband.

Your mother cried, sobs echoing through the empty church, no doubt with people around it, listening in to the judgment of the crime that had never manifested anywhere but your body.

Your father’s face was like stone, but the disappointment dripped from him wordlessly, at his refusal to even look at you.

It can be cured, they said, their wrinkled faces spitting out your sentence, praying, bible reading, hard work - and sending her away. Only when she is changed, when she truly repents, can she be loved by our Lord again.

With such simple words, your fate had been sealed for the upcoming years, pulling you from your well-known home, from your family and the town you had never truly left for longer than a couple of hours. To a farm, miles and miles away. You had been there once, several years ago with your family, vague memories of petting some cows and collecting eggs.

Instead you watched the car drive away after an hour or so, leaving you behind in the middle of nowhere, your trusty flip-phone taken from you as well.

At the farm, two couples lived, a younger and an older pair. The only good thing about your years at the place was that you couldn’t be married off when considered “sick”. You prayed that God would never forgive you, when you saw how the couples treated each other. A couple of farmhands appeared now and again, that you weren’t allowed to speak to but other than that, you didn’t speak to anyone but the couples.

You lived in a small room, bare walls except the cross next to your bed and the painting of Jesus next to the door - caught in between a painting of a man you were constantly forced to read about and a crucifix that would remind you of the punishments if you didn’t change.

Simple food, simple clothes, work hard, routines and prayers several times a day. The men would read out verses in the evenings sometimes, as you all sat around them. You weren’t allowed to watch anything but specific christians movies every saturday. After watching each one twice, you stopped asking for it.

A year passed before you saw your parents again. Once again your mother was crying, but she seemed happier now, talking about how you had grown, how you looked healthier. You showed her and the upper church members who had tagged along around the farm, doing your best to seem better. Sinfre. Never mentioning anything bad. They went into the kitchen to talk, while you were sent to feed the chicken and collect eggs, denied access to your second judgment.

Another year, they said, another year would do her well, just to make sure she is truly well again.

Your mother kissed your forehead, telling you to read your verses, your father saying he would pray for you. They all would, they comforted you, another year and you could join them in the car, go home with them.

That night you ran, crawling through the window, abandoning Jesus and his crucifix, no plan in mind other than to get away. Another year wouldn’t cure you, one year hadn’t even done much. You understood it was wrong, sure, but you couldn’t stop it. You refused to be on the farm till you turned 21.

The town wouldn’t offer you any sanctuary, you knew, so you ran the opposite way, into the unknown darkness.

They found you the next day, walking along the road towards another town, hoping someone would pick you up and help you. You screamed, fighting all you could, scratched and kicked as they pulled you back into the car - returning you to the farm. They belted the soles of your feet until they bled and left you in your cleared room, with nothing but a bible.

You knew then, that it would probably be more than a year before you would return home. After that night, the door to your room was locked every night, bars put in front of the window, keeping you from crawling out through it again.

Days passed, prayers spilling from your mind, weeks then, verses recited, months - it took almost three years more before the lies spilled as easily from your lips as the prayers did, and the people around you finally dared to believe. The lies about dreaming of a husband, of stepping into the role of a good, christian housewife, of bearing children for your husband, all sin free. You were a good girl now, a woman of God, who prayed every night for a husband and finally, finally they believed you, men of the church and your parents once again returning.

You felt alienated to them, yet you smiled, saying you were cured now. Said you dreamt of marrying, of having your own house with a husband. Your mother cried tears of joy. Healthy again, you stepped into the car, going back to a town you no longer considered home, after four years of departure.

“A sheep led back to the fold by the Lord,” your mother whispered to you in the car, holding your hand, but you felt no relief as you returned to the town.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

You had thought you could wait a little longer - thought they wouldn’t bring it up so soon, but you supposed it made sense in a way; they had to prove to the town that you were cured, you had to prove that the homosexuality no longer festered inside your body, but that you had become a pure woman now. A woman, just waiting to be married off.

Usually, women in the town would marry when they turned 21, so to not be married at 23, almost 24? A scandal that had to be avoided, your status had to be changed as soon as possible.

It was the first time back in church, back in the fold, that you saw her.

The most beautiful woman you had ever seen. Dark blond hair neatly pulled back in a low bun, face sharp and eyes blue, arm in arm with Shepherd - despite the modest clothes, you felt a fire run through you, the wounds blooming up inside your rotten organs, crawling along the spine like demons, demons that the priest and elders had promised were banished. The wrong thoughts and feelings to have inside a church - God would judge you, wouldn’t he?

Let you suffer, just like Christ had, make them pull you back to the farm.

You hurried to look away, instead looking at the men in church. Asking your mother about some of the men, some new members. You had been gone for almost four years, things had changed, people had passed, babies had been born.

Your old best friend, whom you had whispered your secret to, who had done the right thing according to everyone around you, had married her childhood crush, carrying a small child on her arm - smiling at you as she passed, her stomach having the iconic bump proving another child was on the way.

Most of the people you had grown up with and considered friends were married now, most of them already parents as well.

You had spent years worshiping in silence, barely surrounded by more than 4 people and now you were surrounded by over 100 followers, singing the hymns of the Lord that was supposed to have freed you from the madness of your lust.

She sang too, you noted, sitting dutifully next to Shepherd who looked like an old man next to her, though you doubted he was that much older. You grabbed your hymnbook harder, fingers hurting with how hard you gripped it, looking down even though you knew every word and tone.

The prayers spilled easily, the verses familiar, the daily cleansing of your soul.

Your eyes had met, just for a second. It was like your world paused, frozen, just to make sure that you understood that she had looked at you too. Only to immediately look away again, both of you pretending you hadn’t looked. Like a fallen angel, ready to be overcome with the thing that made you unholy at the first point, you let yourself dream of meeting her, properly.

Your appearance at the church, well looking and submissive, dutifully following your parents, knowing your prayers, your worship clear, it all made your parents look good. The priest blessed you as you left, saying it was good to have you back. You thanked him, saying it was good to be back, to be free of demons.

Lies, lies, lies, spilling from your lips, just like the prayers, prayers, prayers. You wanted them to be true, wanted to be free so that you wouldn’t suffer so much.

But butterflies uncurled from their cocoons as you passed the woman who stood with Sheperd, your parents greeting them politely - you too, smiling as a good girl should, your eyes lingering on her for just a second longer, noting how she was looking at you too; it was your imagination surely, but still. You followed your parents, your sister who had been 15 when you left and who was 19 now, the age at which you had disappeared, babbling away.

“She is Mr. Shepherd's new wife, Kate Laswell,” your sister explained as you sat next to each other in the car, apparently aware of everything going on in the town now - or at least, of the gossip, “An outsider, mind you.”

“Alice,” your mother warned from the front seat, the tone sharp, “She isn’t any longer - and she is Mrs. Shepherd, not Laswell anymore. Besides, her parents are good Christian people too… just not a part of our Church. Yet.”

Your sister just waved her hand at her, as if to say ‘details details, mother’, while she continued, “He met her about three years ago on a trip, she came here while you were sick and they married. Before coming here she had a miscarria–”

“Alice!” Your mother turned around in the seat, sending your sister a sharp look, clearly displeased, just as the car pulled into the little driveway, “It’s improper to talk about such things.”

“Sorry, mom,” Alice said, even as she didn’t look apologetic one bit.

You were still stuck at her words, while you were sick. The memories of running in the night, the endless hours of work, of prayers and verses that were supposed to free you. Of people telling you that you were sick, that demons had possessed you. Four years of being turned into a good, pious woman.

“Mr. Shepherd is a good man,” you said, feeling emotionless but knowing that was what you were supposed to say, if this thing had been told to you while on the farm.

“He is,” your mother confirmed, “He is happier after he met her, too - now come on, we have things to do.”

You knew his first wife had died - pneumonia, they said, quickly and without warning - God always takes the good ones first. The bells had rung, echoing through the houses, into your mind as you remembered how the entire town wore black at the funeral. Had it only been that sickness that had curled in between your ribs and infected your organs, things might have ended differently.

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The Graves family was respected in your little town, wealthy, the Mr. Graves Senior one of the church leaders. He had been one those who took a part of your judgment, of sealing your fate for four years, making your parents abandon you in between harsh treatment and farm animals, surrounded by neverending fields of wheat and corn.

Yet, somehow, despite knowing of your sickness first hand, having been a part of the healing, having touched your head and prayed for you, he still came to your parents’ house, with a smile on his lips.

Feeling hostage in your own childhood home, you served him and your father dinner with your mother, leaving your parents to talk with the older man, told off to do the laundry. You only returned once the doorbell rang, opening it…

To one Mr. Graves Jr.

“My my,” he stepped in, pushing the door open as you stepped back out of reflex, his blue eyes instantly on you, shamelessly running over your body, the arrogant smile you remembered from when you were younger, still present on his face “Haven’t you grown.”

“Mr. Graves,” you answered politely, already wanting to request him to leave. To not look at you in such a manner, to not say such words in that tone.

“Nah, just call me Phillip, darling. You will soon anyway.” His voice was honeyed and he winked at you and before you could ask what he meant, your mother appeared - ushering you away and back to the laundry room, while he was led to the living room.

You tried distracting yourself, humming the familiar hymns as you emptied the washing machine, loading it with dirty clothes, wishing you could enter it too - but no matter what, the words you will soon anyway echoed inside your hollow body.

The Graves family was respected. They were looked up to by many people, one of the few families where the men were allowed to leave now and again. Even having the father of the family over for lunch like this, was a good sign that your family was being respected again, despite the veil of disgrace you had thrown over them.

So really, you should be honored. Not feel nausea in your throat, your heart beating so fast you were sure it would spring out from your ribcage, barely able to breathe. You could barely get the word out.

“Marriage?” You repeated, watching your mother’s excited face as she nodded, your father proudly smoking behind her, standing in the door frame, clearly pleased too, “With… Mr. Graves’ son?”

“Yes dear – oh Phillip is a kind man, bless his heart,” you didn’t like her tone, “Even with everything that has happened, he still wants to marry you!”

“He is a good man,” Your father added from the door frame, eyes watching you, clearly waiting for a reaction, “Wanted to marry you before you were sick - waited for you.”

Waited for you.

You wanted to scream of horror. Legs trembling, feeling like you went blind for a second. Once, when you were a child and your family had been driving home, a deer had been caught in the lights of the car, gone rigid at the sight. It had managed to escape, just in time, saved from death. You had a feeling you wouldn’t be able to escape your fate, however.

“I don’t know if I–” you barely knew what apology to spew out, what lies to tell them.

“Don’t worry - I know this is sudden, dear,” you mom said, taking your hands in hers, leaning forward to kiss your forehead, “but God is really looking out for you.”

“It’s a miracle that the Graves family would even consider her,” your father muttered, thrown at you like a stone, but you barely felt the impact, even as your mother hissed his name.

“Oh, I’ll have to call my sister - you will have the grandest wedding, my baby girl.”

That was what you feared. Your mother disappeared again to go call her sister and within hours the entire town would probably know - not even caring what your answer had been to the proposal that hadn’t happened.

“You’re not going to cause a scene, are you?” Your father stared at you and you wondered for a moment if you would prefer the farm over this. Out there your tears would dry, no woman could seduce your mind, no man would marry you.

“No,” you answered, giving him a smile that barely seemed real, “of course not.”

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You stared at the date, the 8th of July, 2010, with your name printed next to Phillip Graves Jr. - to be wed. They had given you two months, two months to get to know each other, though you knew you wouldn’t get a say, not truly.

The mere fact that Graves Senior hadn’t stopped his son, meant that they all believed you were free of sin. Yet you always felt watched. As if the security cameras scattered around the town would be able to catch the way you were still sick.

“You’re getting married,” a gentle voice said behind you; it wasn’t a question, more of a statement - just like it had been for you.

You turned, distracted from the bulletin board in front of the Church, only for your eyes to meet those blue ones you kept dreaming of.

“Mr. Shepherd,” you greeted, giving her what you hoped was a polite smile, “I am, yes - in two months.”

She nodded, turning to look at the bulletin board. You dared to think that the smile on her face truly looked a little sad.

“Were you given a choice?” her voice was careful, barely above a whisper. You stared at her, barely able to blink for a couple of seconds as the words sank in.

“His offer of proposal is a blessing,” you felt like it was your mother’s words that escaped you, not your own, “given my time of… sickness… it’s very kind of the Graves family to have even considered me.”

As your eyes met, you recognised the look. Sad, resigned in a way, as if she recognised that it wasn’t your own words, that you were a mere hostage in this situation. You wondered for a brief moment if her situation had been like this. If she too hadn’t had a choice, even though she was older than you. Probably ten years. No more than that. Her lips looked soft, but bitten; probably from nervousness, your mother did that too sometimes.

“It is not a sickness.”

Five words. She made it sound so simple. You felt your jaw clench, your teeth grind together. Verses ran through your mind, prayers through your blood, the urge to step into the church and repent, for something you hadn’t even said.

“Don’t say shit like that,” you hissed, anger that was forced down your throat for years escaping you, as you looked back at the board, whispering out a “it is.”

“No, it’s not.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” it was like needles escaped your mouth, forcing words of others, “it’s because you’re from the outside.”

“What if–”

“I must go,” you said, fearing you had stood there on the main street, close to her for too long, “Have a good day.”

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It is not a sickness, it echoed through your mind for several days, it is not a sickness.

Tell on her, a dark part of your mind offered, she is spewing sin. But if you told on her to the elders, then you would have to tell why the subject was even present in your conversation.

What if you would never see her again then? The mere idea of not getting to see her again, made you want to cry, even if you had barely talked.

The world outside our community is godless, they said, disgraceful and evil, with demons and fallen angels roaming among the humans. Leaving us is like surrendering your place in heaven with our Lord.

Yet you yearned. With each ring of the church bell, you wondered if you could find peace outside, even if it meant your eternal damnation.

No verses had the answers to why you were sick. They had tried to tell you many proved it, yet it was like it never quite fit.

As if God wouldn’t admit to you why he made you this way, even as you submitted to him.

You wanted Kate despite barely having talked to her, certain in your bones that something connected you. Whatever it was.

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You didn’t have a lot of opinions when it came to planning the wedding - it didn’t feel like yours anyways. You saw her, now and again. Glimpses of her as you looked at flower options with your mother at the little florist of the town. In church, next to her husband, never looking happy.

Your eyes met, but you never talked. Anger bubbled beneath your skin, remembering her saying it wasn’t a sickness.

Because if it wasn’t, truly wasn’t, like she had dared to say and you dared to dream, then you had spent four years in hell for nothing. Then you had endured four years of loneliness, surrounded by ghosts who merely reminded you of the words in the book that was your entire word. Watched every night by the painting of Christ, who said love thy neighbor like thyself , but according to the town that didn’t count if thy neighbor were gay.

It was the scars beneath your feet that ache after a long day, it was the darkness of the room you were abandoned in with your bible. These made you angry, when she dared to come here and say it wasn’t a sickness, that it wasn’t wrong.

Because… it was… wasn’t it?

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Despite your anger, the pleasure continued to grow in your abdomen until it became too much.

Pulling open the string of your pajama pants felt wrong, yet you did it, sliding your hand beneath the fabric, then beneath your underwear too. You were 24, you had touched yourself before but it had been years. The farm had snubbed any urge.

You thought of her hands, wandering over your skin, her soft looking, anxious bitten lips kissing yours. Skin pressed against yours, nails digging into it.

Your cunt was wet as you hesitantly touched yourself, fingers sliding in between the lips, the wetness feeling forbidden and sacred almost. It felt as if your body was on fire, a fire that you thought had been killed years ago, making you press your lips together to keep silent. To not let any sound escape your traitorous mouth that had lied for so long, electricity going through your bones as your fingers brushed your clit.

Whether Kate would touch you there or not, you dared to hope she would. You dared to hope that she would let you touch her, the sinful ideas mixing with the shame, though it only seemed to spur you on.

Toes curled, legs cramping and eyelashes fluttered as you came on two fingers, imagining Kate being next to you. Immoral, just like you.

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“Graves,” The name stumbled from your mouth as you stumbled back a few steps, feeling trapped in the garden, your back almost pressed against the apple tree, the fruits hanging around you, heavy on the branches. Your fingers gripped the basket with the apples so hard that you feared it might splinter beneath them.

“That’s my father, darling,” the older man pointed out, stepping closer, breathing a little heavy as he looked at you, confident smile on his lips as always, “I told you to call me Phillip, didn’t I?”

You let out a little huff, smiling at him the best you could, “yeah, sorry - Philip, then.”

“You look beautiful,” it dripped like honey soaked from his lips and you wondered for a moment, if the honey could be poisoned, if he was the snake in the garden - or if the sickness inside you were, “love your dress.”

He stepped closer, your heart quickening, yet not from excitement.

“T-thank you,” you managed, face heating up, eyes flickering towards the house, but you didn’t see any sign of your parents being home - had he just wandered into the garden, knowing you were home alone, “I uhm - why are you here, Phillip?”

He laughed, reaching out to take one of the apples out of your basket, big hand almost swallowing up the fresh fruit.

“What? Can’t I go lookin’ for my wife?” There was a boyish charm to him, you supposed. Most of the women in town would swoon for him and you wondered why he had decided on you.

“We’re not married yet,” you pointed out before you could help yourself, “you really shouldn’t be here, if our parents–”

“What? Think they will be upset about me being here?” he teased, free hand suddenly raising to gently caress your cheek, taking a hold of your chin, leaning closer, grip stopping you from pulling your head back, “I’m a man, darling - not a woman.”

You swallowed.

“Dirty thing,” he crooned, “I’m gonna heal you, yeah? Make you a good an’ proper woman.”

“I-I’m not dirty,” you whispered, barely believing your own words, “I was healed at the farm.”

He chuckled, dark and low, grinning so you could see his gums and you wondered if he would ruin you, bite from bite, take your life from you, “Not properly cured until you marry a man, hon.”

All you felt when he kissed you were burned saccharine and bitter fear. It was a short kiss but it burned on your lips, spreading nausea through your body like a plague, infecting your blood. He let go of you then, stepped back, winking as he raised the apple, “I’ll see ya’ soon, wifey.”

As he left the garden of Eden, the crisp sound of his bite of the fruit almost echoing, you couldn’t help but hope there was a worm in the apple.

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You went to church the next day, earlier than you were supposed to, promising to do your chores later. You needed to talk to God, Mary, Christ, whoever would listen, any saint who might help you feel clean again. Homosexual sin tainting your fingers from masturbation and burning impure lips from the unwelcome kiss from your future husband.

What were you thinking, they would say, you were sure, have you learned nothing? Have you gone mad, sick again from the devils and demons dancing inside your mind and body?

Christ hung on the crucifix in front of you as you sat on the pew, looking up at him. Would he consider you wicked too or had he forgiven you the moment he took upon humanity’s sins?

Would Saint Peter truly turn you away, push you from the loving home of heaven, to the dark, demonic –

“Hi.”

It was barely above a whisper, yet you felt as if it echoed throughout the church, into every crevice, making any statue or painting upon the walls look to the two of you. You turned on reflex, not to her, but to the everpresent church servant. The man was snoring gently, head resting against the cold wall behind him. Unaware of the other’s arrival.

Finally, your eyes met Kate’s, flowers blooming in the pit of your stomach as she smiled gently at you.

“Hi,” you dared to whisper back, watching her as she sat down next to you at the pew.

Silence grew for a moment and you listened to the vague snoring of the servant, your eyes moving to watch Christ on the cross once again. He hadn’t moved one bit since you last looked at him, eyes still on the ground in front of him.

“I’m sorry I upset you.”

Forgiveness - could you really offer her forgiveness, when deep down in your putrid organs, you knew that she was right? You looked over at her, a careful, worried expression on her face.

“It’s okay,” you answered, voice not as loud, “I - uhm… Was mean too.” A small smile appeared and you found yourself smiling back at her, despite your fear. For another moment you hesitated, unsure whether you should utter the truth at her or not. “I don’t want to marry him.”

The words made you feel small, but you continued, though you looked up at Christ once again, keeping your voice low, “but I don’t have a choice, do I?”

She was quiet for a moment, as if to agree with you silently. It was as Philip Graves had said, wasn’t it? A dirty thing who can only become pure again by marriage with a man.

“You do,” she whispered, “but it’s not an easy one.”

You almost jumped when her hand touched yours, warm and soft against your skin. A choice, an opportunity. You had an inkling that you already knew what she would suggest, a part of you wanting to stop her from doing so.

“Leave,” she whispered, the word sounding so simple, yet it was filled to the brim with danger, immorality… the unknown.

“I can’t,” it escaped like an instinct, “My home is here.”

“Is it a home if you cannot be yourself?” Her hand squeezed yours, “don’t let them convince you to marry, don’t make the same mistake as me. Please.”

The sound of the bells rang throughout the church, calling to the daily prayer. She stood suddenly, hand slipping away from yours, stepping to the pew on the opposite side, eyes turned towards the altar. A groan left the Church servant, who mumbled a little, surprised at the sight of you - but he made no other comment.

Don’t let them convince you to marry, don’t make the same mistake as me.

Was she, as an outsider, forced too? She was older than you, probably around 32 or something, but she had been here three years, while you were at the farm. Shepherd was older than her, probably only a few years, but the everpresent angry look always made him seem older.

The prayers tasted like ash at that Church sentence, not dripping as easily as they used to. You did your best to hide it, listening to the verses, worshiping like you were expected to.

Philip winked at you as he passed you on the way out. Creep.

Your eyes met Kate’s but you didn’t react and neither did she. It was like playing with fire - you were sure your parents wouldn’t find her company too agreeable.

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“He is your fiance,” your mother pointed out as you stared at the apples you were cutting up, trying to keep the scowl from your face,“I think a walk together near the lake would be a good idea. So you can get to know each other some more.”

“What if…” you didn’t know how to not express your already growing disdain for your future husband, “What if he wants to do something improper? Like, I don’t know, kiss?”

Your mother laughed, your father huffing from behind the local newspaper.

“Philip is a good man,” your mother said, patting your shoulder as she passed.

“I kissed your mother before marriage,” your father’s comment, calmly but with a hint of mischievousness, made your mother shriek.

“Edward! Don’t tell her that!”

“What? We did.”

The knife in your hand parted the piece of apple into two.

“That’s not proper,” you pointed out, the ever present reminders of what was improper and sinful and what was not that you learnt from the farm, the words you had to repeat, had to know, even in the middle of the night.

“It’s no sin,” your dad pointed out, “nothing wrong with a kiss or two.”

“Don’t kiss him if you don’t want to, darling girl,” your mother assured you, “besides, Philip would hardly ask you to do something like that.”

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“Kiss me?” Oh how you wished you still had the knife that you used to cut the apples, in the palm of your hand.

“Uhm, we really shouldn’t,” you pointed out, stepping back as he stepped forward, trying to keep some distance in between the two of you.

“C’mon baby, don’t be like that,” his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist. You tried twisting free instantly, fear overwhelming you as his smile slowly disappeared, his blue eyes seeming darker. You wanted to scream for help, but who would come to your rescue? You were almost halfway around the lake, away from most eyes, though it wouldn’t surprise you if there were some security cameras out here in the trees as well.

Before a loud enough sound could leave you, his hand was on your mouth and he was pushing you in between the bushes, up against a tree.

He touched you, like you had touched yourself that night in bed, thinking of Kate - but you weren’t crying out or fighting the pleasure now, instead it was the disgust that overwhelmed you, your lower half exposed as he had pulled your skirt up. Apparently he quickly grew bored of touching your cunt, unable to make you do anything but cry - but as he pulled out your cock, you truly panicked.

Hitting him in the chest, pulling his hand from your mouth. “nonononno, please -” “shut up-” “Phillip I can get pregnant-” He laughed, turning you so quickly you almost fell, pushing you against the tree, “Don’t worry baby, I’m not putting it in, just fucking your thighs–”

He did so, pressing your thighs together as you cried against the bark of the tree. As he grunted and moaned in your ear, you disappeared into your mind, back to the farm. Praying, bible reading, hard work, just like they had said, had filled your life for four years. Four terrible years, yet you would rather go back to the farm than this.

You wanted to feed the chickens and collect the eggs, you wanted to pet the sheep, making sure all of them returned in the evenings. You wanted to clean the wooden floors again, forced to do so while praying and singing hymns as a punishment for talking back.

You felt dirty afterwards, unsure of what really had happened but there was cum on your thighs as he pushed down the skirt.

“Don’t tell anyone, no? You tempted me, after all,” he pointed out as he fixed his shirt a second time, grinning as you sniffled.

You shook your head.

“Knew you were a smart girl, baby girl,” the words made you want to throw up and your eyes didn’t meet his, “Lemme get ya’ home.”

You didn’t tell your parents everything - and when your sister asked if you had kissed, you had shaken your head. Phillip is a good man, you had said, he will be a wonderful husband.

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A part of you wanted to leave the house and go directly to the priest, stare him in the eyes as you admitted that demons still hungered around your body, that you were still sick. That the homosexuality had never left your body, that only lies had dripped from your lips when you weren’t praying. Those four years had changed nothing but messed up your mind, not your sexuality.

Yet you refrained, instead going to the church early every day. Watching the church servant sleep, sitting on your pew, in the familiar spot, watching the altar. Wondering why God would do this to you. Why he would make you wrong in the eyes of the town, why he would send Phillip Graves to touch you against your will.

Almost every morning she would appear.

Sweet, beautiful Kate. Always kind and soft despite the world that surrounded the two of you. You dared to bring her a piece of cake at one point, one that you had baked yourself, loving how her face lit up at the sight. Basking in the praise she had given you in her whispers.

You would live, survive for those times with her in the church. Perhaps, that was why you didn’t admit to your sins, why you didn’t truly repent. Because, if they sent you away once more or locked you away inside a home, you wouldn’t be able to see Kate anymore.

Kate, who held your hand. Kate, who you dared to kiss on the cheek one morning two weeks later, as the church servant snored particularly loudly - who then framed your face with her wonderful hands and kissed you on the lips.

Every day that passed brought you closer to the day of the wedding, but also to Kate.

You didn’t need to ask to know that she was infected, just like you. That her organs were also rotten with sin, bones decaying from the want.

You dared to pull her to the bathroom of the church with you, listen to her whisper out oh God, taking the Lord’s name in vain as you ate her out, pride blossoming from it.

She came on your tongue, on your fingers. You came on hers too, on her thigh once.

Panties soaked the entire service that followed, the prayers and sermon barely understood, constantly reminded of how she had looked as you rode her thigh, muttering praises into your ear as you kept it down, as not to draw any attention.

The forbidden fruit had never tasted better, but you knew that it too would rot, given how close the wedding was.

You exchanged numbers but were too afraid to call or text, fearing being caught; you by your parents or by Phillip, her by her husband Shepherd.

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It wouldn’t last forever, that you knew, yet you had hoped it could.

“What were you doing in the church with Mrs. Shepherd?” your dad asked one day at the dinner table, giving you no time to figure out an answer or to truly understand how he would know.

“Praying,” you lied, the words feeling so familiar by now, despite the ashy taste, “We don’t talk together. We just pray.”

Your father was staring at you, eyes cold, anger possibly boiling just beneath his skin.

“Wilson said he never saw you two.” You could strangle the bloody church servant and his snoring body.

“Lies,” you merely answered, “Mr. Wilson sleeps every day in the back of the church. His snoring echoes, disturbing my prayers.”

He didn’t look convinced. You wanted to scream at him, to mind his own bloody business. To not judge you, to accept you and love you, despite what they deemed flaws.

“You can come with me yourself tomorrow - see how he sleeps in his chair, leant against the wall. Or hear it, I suppose - Mrs. Shepherd and I merely greet each other - nothing else.”

Somehow, the fact that you were willing to take him along - not really, but you wouldn’t mind proving your point, just to be able to continue your time with Kate - seemed good enough.

“Bloody always asleep, that man,” your father finally grumbled.

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There was a week until your wedding, the days having disappeared in between your fingers. You hadn’t been able to see Kate except during church service, not able to speak together or utter a word to each other - Shepherd's angry eyes would find you every time, staring you down. You did your best to ignore him, ignoring the judgment you were sure he had placed upon you and focused on the hymns. You tried worshiping the divine, in a desperate attempt to escape reality.

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The dress felt too tight. Modest, barely showing anything but you hands and head, nothing like you had dreamt of when you were a kid, nothing like you had seen in a magazine that you found when you were 13, buried in a book in the little library of the town.

“You look beautiful,” your mother whispered, voice wet, having cried all day. You felt hollowed out, watching yourself in a white dress as if you were a lamb, sent to slaughter.

“It’s tight,” you muttered, the seamstress removing a pin or two but not enough. Perhaps it wasn’t the size but merely the fact you didn’t want it.

Four days, then there would be nothing improper about all the things Graves had whispered that he wanted to do with you. Then your moments with Kate, excused by the lies of prayers and hymns, would stop. Then you couldn’t forget the world with the slightly older woman, who would tell you of the world outside. Of parades for sinners like you, where you could be accepted and loved for who you were. Of art and music, of books and poetry, of politics and of animals who weren’t kept merely for food.

It was simple, modest like everyone expected it to be. Long loose sleeves, ankle long skirt with white lace trim. Fake white flowers on the headband with the veil, pearls that Philip had gifted you for around your neck.

You had the feeling that your parents wanted to show you off, prove that they were good Christians who had raised a child that wasn’t lost. Who had been sick but was cured. The Graves family wanted to prove what great people they were, showing that you could be saved by the church even if Satan tried to claim you.

Philip wanted to show you off before he ruined you.

You cried then, when the seamstress said she would be ready with it in two days. Your mother took it for tears of joy and you lied once more, as you had for years, saying it was.

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“They’re saying she is becoming mad,” you heard them whisper, your body freezing, barely breathing as you tried listening. Your mother had people over for bible study but it was rarely actual studying.

“She was mad even before he got her,” one of the neighbors whispered, “told Shepherd didn’t I? Why would he take an outsider?”

“I heard Stacy say it was a favor for her parents —“

“She is probably going to the farm.”

You felt your mind spiral, almost dropping the basket of laundry, before you recognised your mother saying your name.

“- don’t want her to know. She is cured and healthy, but I don’t want her to think there is anybody sick in this town.”

“Might infect her again,” another neighbor pointed out, making you feel like you could barely breathe.

“God forbid,” your mother mumbled, “she is finally getting married. A baby or two will do her well.”

You abandoned the laundry basket in the hallway to find your phone.

You had seen some of the better families in town had fancy phones, with touch screens and everything. When younger you might have been overcome with jealousy but by now, you just felt relieved you had a phone to contact Kate with, old as it was.

Women aren’t supposed to fall in love with other women, they had said the day your fate was sealed, damning you to years on the farm without your family, abandoned with animals and prayers, verses read to you about how wrong you were, you’re not supposed to lust after another woman.

Sure, you had been 19 and the fire inside of you had turned to embers - and Kate was older, wiser, but if she was sent to the farm, the two of you would surely never see each other again.

Your fingers felt numb as you wrote out the message, knowing you would be in trouble if anyone ever found out you had sent it.

>They’re going to send you to the farm

You waited for a reply, but it didn’t come immediately like you had hoped.

Seconds turned to minutes and minutes turned to hours - all while you pretended everything was fine. You were with your family, listening to your mother pointing out everything they needed to get ready for your wedding. Your father talking about the money, your sister about dresses she could wear, about what hairstyles you should have.

In many ways Alice seemed more excited about your wedding than yourself. A part of you wondered if she ever found what it was about you that everyone declared an illness - or if she lived blissfully unaware of it. If she would marry for the sake of the family like you were forced to or if a young man from church would shyly appear on your doorstep and ask to court her.

If she wanted babies - while you didn’t. At least not with Philip. Not with any man. You just wanted Kate.

Kate, Kate. Your saint, your light in the dark, your guiding star in the evil that surrounded you.

Kate who had whispered that you had a choice but it wasn’t an easy one.

You knew she had been right then - and you knew she was right now.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

The air was cold as you crawled out the window, your small backpack strapped to your back, nails digging into the sill as you almost slipped. You managed to get a footing on the roof, slowly lowering yourself. There was a scent of rotting apples in the air, the last fruits rotting beneath the tree, while your organs flowered and grew stronger inside your body.

Because maybe you weren’t the rotten, sick one - possibly they were. And even if you were wrong, even if it was truly demons having possessed your mind and making you sin… then you would rather sin and rot together with Kate.

You wanted to live a life where you didn’t have to worry about what was wrong with you, every minute of the day - but one with Kate where you could sin in peace, perhaps in a town that didn’t hate you for the feelings you had for each other. You wanted a life without prayers, without the constant urge to seek forgiveness from a God that never showed you any love.

Or at the very least, you wanted a death with Kate. One where your rotten bodies could disappear together, melt into the ground and disappear, away from the people who had hated you for so long.

Despite the fear and the sweet, rotten scent of the apples, you felt the strongest you ever had as you crawled down the roof and jumped to the ground - even as you fell rather clumsily, making more noise than you had planned.

A window snapped open and you looked up, staring up at Alice. Neither of you spoke, merely staring up at her.

You wordlessly begged her, no, screamed at her to not tell, to not call out for your parents. Even in the vague light of the moon you could see her drown.

Young and confused, a good girl, who reminded you terribly of your mother. Whom you loved but didn’t trust - not anymore.

Finally, your sister moved her hands - quickly motioning for you to keep moving, not to come inside. You hoped she could see the thankful smile you sent her as you got up from the grass and moved towards the garden gate. Tomorrow they would find your letter on the pillow of your neatly done bed, written with your favorite pen, on heavy paper. On top of it, the engagement ring would rest, abandoned to be worn by somebody else who would have the misfortune of marrying Phillip Graves.

Your room would seem the same except for a few missing pieces. Pictures, phone, passport and the little money you had, would be gone. Pressed into that little backpack of yours, that was currently crossing the street, wary to not be seen by anyone.

There weren’t many words on the letter, you didn’t want to leave much behind, you didn’t want them to think you would forgive them.

You are the sick ones. I am sorry. Goodbye.

Your mother would cry in the morning, clutching the paper, while your sister would have laid there and expected it all night, knowing you had run away. Your father would perhaps be able to shed a tear. If not, you didn’t care. You wouldn’t be around to find out either way.

Guilt tried following you as you crossed another street, slipping in between houses to keep in the shadows, working your way towards the Shepherd’s house. Further than that you hadn’t planned but you couldn’t return now - you would rather try and fail, than to never have tried at all. The church loomed above you, letting you walk in the shadows of it, the bells not ringing and calling out your deed.

As if the church allowed you to pass, allowed you to continue your mission, whispering encouraging words for once instead of judgemental once. Blessing your decision to abandon everything, to abandon Christ, God.

You stopped outside of the Shepherd residence, your courage shaking for just a moment, unsure of how to get in - how to get in contact with Kate. By now your plans dried up, but you doubted you would ever have a possibility like this. Kate was worth the fear that burned inside you.

The door was locked - it shouldn’t come as a surprise, but it wasn’t uncommon to leave the door unlocked in your town, merely because you rarely dealt with crimes in that way- then it was outsiders who broke in. Checking several windows, doing your best to move silently around. However, you hadn’t learnt a lot from the last couple of years, other than taking care of animals, saying prayers, and singing hymns to cleanse your soul.

You found a half open window into what looked like a living room. You wished you could have crawled in discreetly, barely making a sound, like a ghost seeping into a new house to haunt.

Instead you fell onto a little table, which tipped over, a potted plant falling over, the pot shattering. The soil, barely visible in the dark, stained the floor with your fear.

However, silence still ruled the dark house, keeping you safe for now. For a moment, you wondered if there truly was a God who cared, just a little, for your broken soul.

That was until the lights turned on suddenly and the first thing you saw was a barrel pointed towards your head.

Herschel Shepherd had never seemed like a kind man to you, but a spiteful man, filled with greed and hatred. He was a respected man in the town, sure, and when he became a widower you were sure many of the other widowers dreamt of a marriage with him. He was rich, involved with the church and traveled with his company, that you didn’t even know what did. Especially after returning from the farm, seeing Kate next to him, never smiling despite having whom you considered a saint as a wife. The two of you had never talked about it but you suspected that he wasn’t a good husband. That perhaps he was open to the idea of sending away his wife, forcing her to manual labor in an isolated area for years in an attempt to control her even more.

You were willing to die for Kate, just so she shouldn’t see the room in which you had suffered. The painting of Jesus Christ who would be judging her day and night, the crucifix next to her bed, the never ending fields of loneliness, the constant repeating of the ashtasting verses and prayers, the dying hymns about love for a God that had never loved you.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He snarled, not lowering the shotgun despite seeing it was only you, an unarmed member of the church.

Like a monster stepping out from a fairytale book, or a demon, ready to stop the noble Christian knight from his goal. You barely managed to speak before he did so again.

“Bloody roach,” he hissed, venom spitting from his mouth, “they should have abandoned you at the farm, let you stay mad and broken out there”

“Fuck you.” You were proud of how your voice barely shook as you blurted it out, how you got to your feet, staring at the only man in between the one you were ready to love forever.

“Shooting you will be—“ You hadn’t seen Kate come up behind him before the lamp collided with his head.

As blood splattered, you found yourself even more in love than before. Like embers filled up every bone in your body, your heart ringing its own church bells, declaring it true love. Perhaps you shouldn’t be turned on by her committing a violent act like that, yet it did, because Kate did it for you.

Kate was a savior, a knight in shining armor, even if she merely wore nightdress and a gown, her sword nothing but a wooden lamp that had blood stains on it now.

Her blue eyes staring down at the dragon that had kept her captive for years, in her own kind of hell - before your eyes finally met.

The lamp was abandoned on the floor next to Shepherd and you met halfway in the living room, embracing each other for only a short moment, before pressing your lips against each other’s.

Starved for the acceptance you had found in a woman in church, who you fell in love with, even when you knew it could end horrendously for the both of you.

Foreheads pressed against each other as you both breathed hard, fingers running over the other’s hair, face shoulders. As if to make sure it wasn’t a dream or hallucination, that you were actually both standing there in the room.

“You ok?” You whispered and her eyes flickered to the man on the floor before she answered, voice strong and steady, “yeah, better than I’ve been for years.”

You finally dared to look down at Sherpherd.

“Is he dead?” You asked, as if you only realized what she had done.

Sin sin sin sin sin sin

Killing was a sin. It was a big sin, or was one of the worst, it was— he was breathing, you realized. Chest moving up and down, even as blood from the wound from where the lamp had connected, sept into the carpet beneath him, staining it. Shotgun next to him. You could kill him. It would be an easy kill even, you would just have to take the gun, point it to his head and pull the —

“No - he will wake in a couple of hours with a headache,” Kate confirmed, hand then grabbing yours, “we can’t stay here, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. You liked that nickname.

“I know, I mean, I’m here to get you out-“ your words stumbled from your mouth as you followed her, only to be quieted down by a kiss. It was deeper than before even if it wasn’t long, a small whine escaping you as she pulled away again once more.

It was water after thirst, it was sun warming your skin after freezing in the snow.

“My hero,” she whispered, touching your cheek, her blue eyes watering just a little, even as she clearly tried keeping them back, continuing,“and I know where the car keys are.”

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Leaving the town felt wrong on so many levels. By escaping its clutches, painful and sharp, you also abandoned what you considered your home and the safety of the church. The community it had given you throughout the years, the promises of a better afterlife, without eternal suffering.

You wanted to throw up, beg her to stop the car, fear crawling inside your throat and filling your lungs, making sobs escape as you shook. You wanted to run back, let Kate escape.

She kept driving, constantly looking over at you, as you curled together in the passenger seat next to her; she touched your shoulder, held your hand, petted your hair. Whispering sweet words, that weren’t prayers, that weren’t promises of a God who would look over the two of you. But of how the two of you would be alright, how you would figure things out.

How she could get you out of the country, how the two of you could start somewhere new, somewhere safe.

Create your own paradise. Together.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

The two of you didn’t stop driving for hours - only stopping at a gas station to get more gas and some food. If the two of you looked weird, you in an oddly modest long blue dress, soil on it, with red and puffy eyes, Kate in a morning gown pulled tight around her waist, well then the cashier was nice enough to keep his mouth shut.

You watched the world pass by, watched nature change, the endless fields, the cows, different kinds of cars you had never seen before began to pass.

It was at the second stop at a gas station that you dared to stop for good. Car pulled to the side, Kate’s hand shaking as she took your phone and pressed a number. Then she waited, your hand holding her free hand.

The two of you sat in the backseat of the fancy car that Shepherd always rode. Hours had passed since you abandoned the town, the church, your family, your God, everything. You wondered if they had found your letter by now, if they were trying to call your phone, only to realize you had blocked them.

You wondered who they would blame; the two of you or God.

“Price,” you heard a gruff voice say.

“John,” Kate could barely say the name, voice almost trembling and you wanted to hold her tight, crawl into her lap and embrace her into a hug she couldn’t escape.

“Kate?” The sound of disbelief, as if he had never expected to hear her voice again; as if she had been considered dead, had risen again. You were pretty sure you could hear a British accent to his voice, one you had only heard in movies, “Is that really you?”

“It is - I, John – fuck - we need you and the boys’ help. If your offer still stands.”

“Always Kate,” the certainty in his voice made you want to cry, “no matter where you are.”

—--

You abandoned the car in a random town and took a bus to the next town over, that would be close to where they would pick you up, Kate explained.

That night you slept in a motel together, close, breathing in each other’s air. Kissing each other, watching the other’s chest, just to make sure the other was alive. You listened to her heart before falling asleep, your head resting on her chest. A part of you wished that you could crawl inside her ribcage, in an attempt to get closer to her heart, to make sure she would never stop living

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

You had never seen an actual helicopter this close. Once one had passed over the farm, but that was years ago and it had barely been visible. You stood next to her, your fingers intertwined with Kate’s, just like you wanted your ribs to be. You weren’t necessarily proud of how you hid halfways behind her, but she seemed so calm around the machine - which meant she had probably been around some before. Both of your clothes were moving wildly due to the air from the wings, the grass laying down as if it was a divine figure who appeared from the sky, to offer you a way to safety.

You wanted to kiss her, as you had the night before in the motel, not caring if the sins would swallow you whole, drag you to hell and let you burn for all eternity. You would eat all forbidden fruits, if it meant another minute with her - no matter how scared you were of the world outside.

No matter how much the sight of five men stepping out from the helicopter, with the engine slowly stopping, walking towards you scared you, you stayed right there with Kate. The men who stepped out seemed like divine symbols of sins, of fallen angels, ready to welcome you into the damned eternity. No verses or prayers could save you now.

One of the angels wore a skull mask, a clear representation of death and while you trusted Kate with your life, wanted to trust these men too, since she said they were close friends, you wondered what life she had lived before coming to the town, before becoming Shepherd's wife.

Before meeting you.

She let go of your hand when they got close and you almost wanted to cry, wanted to beg her not to abandon you. But then she stepped forward to embrace the man who reached them first. He wore some sort of hat you hadn’t seen before, an oddly shaped beard too – a military uniform of some sort, they all did.

“Kate,” he said, before embracing her hard and you watched how his fingers fisted in the night gown, as if afraid she would disappear in front of you. Then his eyes found yours; while you had escaped some sort of anger, some sort of judgment or perhaps a facial expression that proved that you shouldn’t trust it, there was none. Instead his eyes and face softened at the sight of you, not looking away until he and Kate broke the embrace, his eyes almost seeming shiny as he held her face in his hands, saying it was good to see her again. Then he turned to you, while Kate turned to the next man, greeting somebody called Nikolai, who twirled her around, but you were busy fearing the other man.

He offered you his hand, movement slow, as if he could see that you were like a skittish deer, ready to bolt at the sign of any danger.

“I’m John Price,” he said as he gently shook your hand, “An old military friend of Kate.”

You told him your name, even as it tasted a little foreign on your tongue, like you had to admit who you were, to a stranger for the first time. An outsider.

“I’m…”

What were you? Somebody who had fallen in love the moment you saw Kate, who had spent years being told you were wrong, who was supposed to be married today but who had instead run off with the woman that made your heart beat.

“My girlfriend,” Kate said, “She is my girlfriend.”

Warmth enveloped your entire body and Price didn’t look upset instead he smiled. Looking happy for you, for Kate, a reaction so alien to you that you barely believed it.

The others introduced themselves. Nikolai - who also spun you around, saying you were already loved by him, much to your confusion - then the demon-looking man who introduced himself as Simon or Ghost, as if you could decide what kind of danger you wanted him to be. Then Kyle - or Gaz - who thanked you for taking care of Kate, even if he knew nothing about what happened, why the hell Kate Laswell was out in the middle of a field, wearing only a night dress and gown, why a messy looking woman in a long dressed stood next to her, looking like she was ready to run. Then Soap - or Johnny, he had added with a grin, who said he didn’t know Kate, but that his team trusted her, so he did too - as well as you. But during the whole thing, your thoughts rummaged around the word girlfriend.

You were Kate’s girlfriend. She took your hand afterwards and you smiled at her, as if you saw her for the first time once more, hoping to wordlessly tell her how much you loved her, even if you didn’t dare to whisper the words out loud.

You curled up next to her in the helicopter, afraid of the sounds, the feeling of flying, of everything. She kept her arm around you, offering you safety once more, from the overwhelming world you had never been in before.

“What the ‘ell happened, Kate?” Simon or the grim reaper looking man asked, an accent that you suspected to be some kind of British, voice rough through the microphone. You didn’t look at Kate, weren’t sure how she would even explain this. You weren’t even sure how to explain it. It had been your entire life after all.

“It’s a long story,” Kate said, giving your shoulder a squeeze, “I’ll tell you later. When we’re safe somewhere.”

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

The UK was gray most of the time, but you didn’t really care, had grown accustomed to it as time passed.

Kate was still the light of your life. She was often busy, but you didn’t mind, knowing her burning passion for her work. You worked in a library a couple of hours a week, even if she had enough money to let you do whatever you wanted and never work another hour of your life. You went to therapy, a lot in the beginning but less and less as the years passed and you got better.

You were slowly forgetting the words of the hymns you had grown up with, and the verses forced upon you. It had taken years, but you felt like a good person. Not a sick, sinful one, even though the urge to repent made its ugly return once and again - it was easier to dismiss now, easier to talk about.

Reborn into a human being who made her own choices. Who could love who she wanted.

You had brought a house in the suburbs, big enough that you were able to have some chickens in the garden and two cats. They kept you company and kept you busy, the chickens following you around the garden, the cats sleeping in your laps and on you stomach whenever Kate was at work.

You were forever grateful for Kate’s friends, who helped you assimilate to the world, to Britain, their partners' close friends too by now. You liked looking after John’s and Kyle’s son, Johnny’s, Simon’s and their girlfriend’s dogs. Like drinking coffee or eating together with their partners or family members - you had managed to get friends through the library, who introduced you to so much literature and media that you had never even dreamt of existed.

Though, it was always Kate who brought you the most joy. You had married her, a year after you escaped together, which was a little over a decade ago. It wasn’t anything like what was planned up to the wedding you were supposed to have had with Phillip. A marriage that apparently wouldn’t even be official and recognised by the government, since the town wouldn’t tell anyone about it. Kate’s marriage wasn’t even valid, so nothing stopped the two of you from marrying.

It was nothing wild, no church, nothing you had to live up to. Your rings were simple, so were your clothes. It was at town hall, it was small and simple, John, Simon, Johnny and Kyle your witnesses - their partners, more of Kate’s friends and the few others you had met outside, ready to celebrate you. It reminded you more of a birthday party or barbeque, something like that, nothing formal. Casual clothes, food made on the grill and in the kitchen, eaten in the garden. Games played, alcohol drunk, music that you never listened to before playing softly. It was happy, simple, with Kate kissing your hand and pulling you away to kiss your lips, making you whine happily.

You finally felt happy, cured. Not from the love you had for Kate, but from the hatred and pain that had been forced on you all of your life. A life that you were ready to spend with Kate.

#fanfiction #boolger #my writing #cod fanfic #call of duty #call of duty kate laswell #kate laswell x reader #kate laswell #reader cod #call of duty fanfic #call of duty x reader #lesbian fanfic #read the tags

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dontsh0vethesun · 2 years ago

Text

blasphéme

masterlist | part 2 to ‘for i have sinned’

priest!wanda maximoff x reader

18+ : religious themes, sex in a public place, degradation, spanking with an object, slapping, general manhandling from Wanda, dom!wanda, spit kink, choking, strap use (r!receiving) coochieism

a/n : absolute ick that these are genuine bible quotes; also i haven’t written anything for so long so this is a bit shit :/

“I also want the women to dress modestly, with decency and propriety, adorning themselves, not with elaborate hairstyles or gold or pearls or expensive clothes…”

The priest spoke at the front of the church, glasses perched on the end of his nose, voice gravelly and grating with wrinkled fingers gliding over the ink of the pages as he read. You could only groan internally at the verse he recited, avoiding Wanda’s smirk beside you whilst her hand slid up your bare thigh. Goosebumps littered your skin as her nails scraped upwards, pushing the fabric up your legs in the secrecy of the back pew.

She sat beside you in the back row, behind the crowd of people listening to misogynistic sermons from the unbearable old man at the front. And her fingers inched upwards, hand resting on your upper thigh beneath the skirt she was so adamant you weren’t allowed to wear in church, squeezing the flesh with her nails leaving crescent marks behind.

“But with good deeds, appropriate for women who profess to worship God.”

Wanda smiled amusedly at your scoff with idle stroking of the backs of her fingers across your skin, occasionally daring to push up against your underwear while you squirmed in your seat.

“A woman should learn in quietness and full submission.”

It was Wanda’s turn to huff a laugh at this, locking eyes with you with a knowing uplift of her eyebrows and a glance at your skirt and your red painted lips.

“This memo must have slipped right past you.” She whispered with a teasing pinch at your skin and a silenced chuckle at your glare and the yelp you tried to hide with a cough when her hand pushed into your clothed cunt.

Safe to say she didn’t try to take it easy on you for the remaining time, what felt like hours of Catholic drivel was made more unbearable by the so-called priest beside you. Though she carried herself as a pure and innocent being with that collar around her neck, smiling to the church goers she recognised, feigning an interest in the sermon while her hand took up the space between your legs. You were no longer fooled by her façade, even finding it amusing how false she could be. Shaking hands with the regulars mere hours after they were squeezing at your throat while your lips were claimed by hers.

The sight of people standing to make their way to the exit of the church had never looked so glorious, you couldn’t take the teasing for much longer, Wanda could feel the wet patch growing on your underwear and disguised her knowing smirk as a smile of fondness to the patrons who greeted her as they left.

“C’mon church girl, help me set up for this afternoon.” She winked mockingly once you were left alone in the incense smelling room.

She laughed at the roll of your eyes but you did as you’d learned to do over the past couple of months, bibles were neatly placed along the benches ready for Wanda’s service and everything was straightened out. She watched from beside the altar with her elbow leaning against the table, focused on your every movement which she knew made you uncomfortable.

“Do you have to stare so much?” You asked her as you walked up to wear she stood cockily, she only hummed in affirmation with a nod while her eyes peered at you over the top of the silver plated goblet pressed to her lips.

Her lips shone with a layer of deep red when she pulled it away and it took you by surprise the way she grabbed your jaw in one swift movement, pushing your head backwards as she inched closer.

Wanda looked at you expectantly, you wish you didn’t cave so easily under her stare but you slackened your jaw for her, parting your lips for the earthy red wine to spill from her mouth to yours in an act of dominance she grasped at as often as she could. You swallowed it with a gulp, keeping your eyes trained on hers.

“What did I tell you about wearing this skirt, hm?” She hissed through gritted teeth, you felt yourself shrink at her tone. “And this lipstick.” She tutted, a condescending smile upturning her lips whilst a harsh swipe of her thumb smeared the red across your cheek. “You look like nothing but a cheap whore. Is that how you want people to see you, huh? Is that how you wanna be treated?”

“You’re overreacting.” You muttered. You knew better than to retaliate, you knew it was coming, the slap against your cheek. Palm hitting against your skin, stinging as your head was jutted to the side and tears welled in your eyes at the feeling.

The way her hand gripped your arm made you hiss out in pain, feet scuffing against the ground as you stumbled at the shove she gave you, catching yourself with your hands pressed against the back of the nearest pew. But before you had any chance to speak, to move, to do anything, a loud smack landed itself on your upper thigh.

It echoed around you and you bit back a whine at the pain with the gritting of your teeth, there’s no doubt you’re going to be left with a bruise, especially because another blow landed against your flesh only seconds later.

“What, you’re gonna beat obedience into me with a fucking bible?” You uttered, glancing at the black, leather bound book in her hand. You were pleased to see her throw you a genuine smile with her laugh but you winced at the soft touch to your welting skin.

“You’re lucky I’m rather fond of you, sweetheart.” She breathed, letting the book land back onto the wooden bench with a thud. She closed the space between you until you could feel the bulge in her trousers against your ass and her front pressed against your back when she moved close enough for her lips to brush against the shell of your ear as she whispered. “And behold, a woman comes to meet him dressed as a harlot and cunning of heart.”

Her voice was rasped and harsh, breath hot against your skin and you couldn’t hold back the groan at the back of your throat when her fingers tangled themselves in the rosary beads hanging from your neck; she bunched them in her hand, pulling them taut until the cross pushed painfully against your throat and your breath was cut short while she held it tight. The beads left dents in the skin of your neck when she loosened her hold, ones she’d no doubt admire later.

“For the lips of an adulteress drip honey and smoother than oil is her speech.” She rasped with a lick over your pulse point, a hand roaming your body with a squeeze at your breast beneath your shirt and her nails scratching a pathway down the skin of your torso with a light stinging pain left behind. She bypassed the material of your skirt to cup your cunt with a strong hand and a thumb pushing into your clit through your dampening underwear. “But in the end she is bitter as wormwood-” She growled with a tug at the lobe of your ear with her teeth. “Sharp as a two edged sword.”

Your head was spinning at her harsh words and you barely registered the metallic sound of her belt buckle, only being brought back at the teasing of the head of her cock against your hole, she laughed darkly at how wet you were for her. Soaked and dripping onto your thighs. You whimpered at the finger she stroked through your slit, groaning at how she tilted your head backwards by the grip she still held on your necklace.

“You’re so wet, it’s pathetic really.” She mused, not waiting for a response before shoving her wet digit past your lips and your teeth bit into her flesh at the sudden force of her strap into you, your pussy stretched around her but she kept her hips stilled while she peppered your neck with kisses instead.

“Wanda, please.”

“Mm mm.” She returned with a shake of her head. “Sinners don’t get rewards without repenting.”

“I’m sorry, Father.” You breathed. “It won’t happen again.”

“You can do better than that, I think. Haven’t I taught you well enough, hm?”

“Obedio patri mio, et reddam pro paccatis meis.” You stuttered out as her thumb brushed over your throbbing clit with your hips twitching at the feeling.

(I will obey my father and pay for my sins)

“I knew you could be a good girl, darling.” Wanda uttered with a snap of her hips thrusting her cock into you in the perfect position with her thumb over your clit along with the pace she began. Your nails dug into the wood of the pew you grasped onto, creaking with each thrust she fucked into you with your breath hitching in your throat, pressure on your neck in a mixture of pleasure and pain.

Choked moans sounded at the back of your throat, echoing throughout the empty church; colourful light shone onto the pair of you through the stained glass windows. There’s something so amusing about the idea of being fucked by a priest in her church, crucifixes on the wall, bibles along benches and paintings of Virgin Mary herself watching over you.

Wanda made you feel every inch of her with each push of her hips, her thumb worked on your clit as the tip of her dick hit against your sweet spot and her fingertips dug into the flesh of your thighs. She smirked at the sound of your wetness, lips parting with her head thrown back at the way her own clit was rubbing against the strap.

“God Wanda, ‘m so close.” You moaned out through heaving breaths, your face was flushed hot, your belly twinged with your nearing climax and your shaking legs struggled to keep you upright, relying on the firm hold from Wanda while her own choked moans sounded beside your ear.

“Cum for me, sweetheart. Let me hear how much of a little slut you are, hm? How much of a filthy sinner you are.”

A loud groan fell from your lips that matched the one from Wanda, only pants of breath filling the space between you as you tried to recover. You whined at the empty feeling when she pulled out of you, already missing the filled up feeling while she watched how your cum had coated her cock.

Your slick glistened and she swiped her fingers through it, humming at the tang when she sucked it from her fingertips, licking her tongue over the pads of her digits as she spun you round to face her. You could taste yourself on her lips when they pressed into yours, firm and possessive like the hold she had on your waist. You held her close with your hands tangled in her hair, kisses sloppy and quick, eager with such desperation to go for round two.

“People will be here soon.” She murmured against the line of your jaw, fiddling with her belt buckle to make herself presentable again. “So messy.” She added in a whisper, swiping her thumb over your lips to neaten up the smeared lipstick on your cheek before doing the same to herself.

“Is sex in a church a sin?”

“I’m not sure it’s specifically touched on in the bible but I assume so, yes.” She laughed.

“Then I have something to confess. I will take my punishment this evening, if that works for you and the guy upstairs.”

“That can be arranged.” Wanda grinned, smiling into the kiss she greeted your lips with, pulling away just in time for the large doors to creak open and the footsteps of the first arrivals of the service to echo in the room.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda x you #wanda maximov #wanda marvel #wanda maximoff smut #wanda x y/n #wanda maximoff x you

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jesterofcringe · 3 months ago

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hi, my friend showed my your account and i really like your writing, i was wondering if you could write one where laura lee and reader meet at church but reader isn’t religious but is there because of family or something?

thank you :)

Read Me a Verse [If That's All They Let You] Laura Lee x Reader

thx for the request mx.lefttoe :3 also sorry if we have any christian readers out there i called it bullshit at one point but its for the plot sorry for being a dick lol also?? i think i used some church terminology wrong? i havent been the church in a minute feel free to correct me if i did i'll make edits ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

★Your family is religious. Or, at least they claim to be. God fearing Christians who only happened to go to church once in a blue moon. You were taught about God, but you didn't believe in that stuff. Not much, anyways. Religion wasn't for you- you didn't need a big man in the sky to motivate you to do right from wrong.

★As such, you were less than delighted to go to church the days your family dragged you along. It was a familiar tune- your parents would suddenly gain inspiration to attend, you'd go for a few weeks, the momentum would wear off and the cycle would continue months later. It was inevitable, whether you liked it or not. You could bitch and moan, you could drag your feet, but you'd still find your way in the isles, kneeling and pretending to pray with the rest of the church goers. May as well get it over with.

★You sat back, tuning out the pastor as you glanced around the church. You twiddled your thumbs, you tapped your shoes together- you even considered taking your phone out, but once your parent saw it on your lap they swapped it out for a bible. Cool.

★You were a patient person, but you couldn't deny how agonizing it could be waiting for service to be over. Your eyes followed the rotation of the fan until you got dizzy, you did the mental math of how much longer you would be there, you even started to count the pillars, subtracting the ones with chipped paint or a cracked foundation. You sighed, eyes darting around as you tried to find something more interesting to look at.

★And then you spotted her. Easily one of the prettiest girls you had ever seen, across the isle in the pews opposite to yours. She sat up tall, listening intently and nodding every so often. She seemed to even be taking notes as the pastor spoke. You tilted your head subconsciously, unaware that you were totally staring until she turned to face you, making a sudden eye contact.

★You damn near screamed, scrambling to make it appear that you were not, in fact, staring at her for god knows how long. You flipped through the bible on your lap, trying to make it seem like you were reading along. Until you realized that you were lost as hell, and had no clue which page you were suppose to be on. You fumbled cluelessly, until you heard the girl across the isle obviously fake cough.

★Sheepishly, you glanced back at her. She pointed at your bible, and then held up three fingers. Three turned into two, which turned into five. Three, two, five. 325..? Oh shit, the page number. You turned to the page, finally aware of where you were supposed to be, before shooting her a grateful thumbs up. She returned a soft smile before turning her attention ahead again.

★And you once again, were bored out of your wits. You half listened to the pastor... something something jesus loves you... something something pray for forgiveness... something something utter bullshit... but then you caught something interesting. There was going to be coffee and pastries after service, and they were encouraging folks to stay after and chat about god or whatever. Fuck. Your parents were definitely going to make you stay.

★You groaned as you watched your parents socialize. You considered pickpocketing them for the car keys, until a voice you didn't recognize rang out rom behind you.

★"Are you new here? I don't think I've seen you here before."

★You almost jumped out of your skin, but then you realized you knew her. Well, not really. It was the same girl who caught you staring earlier. You didn't feel like strangers from the way she helped you when you got lost, but you also didn't quite feel like friends- you hadn't gotten a chance to introduce yourselves yet.

★Her smile was so kind, and you felt like you could get lost in her eyes. Not that you'd mind- her gaze was warm, welcoming. You felt like old friends when you looked into her eyes... Ah fuck you're staring again. God how cringe.

★"Yeah kinda," you managed, blinking back to life, "I've been to church before but I haven't gone in a while." You paused, still a bit embarrassed about what happened earlier, "Thanks for the help earlier, by the way."

★"Oh of course! If you ever need help, you can always come find me :)"

★Maybe showing up to church wouldn't be so bad after all.

★Either way, you sure as hell would be turning up next Sunday, and you just might fumble your bible just to see her smile at you like that once again.

#title is from “VERSE” by emily jeffri #all of emily's songs are yellowjackets coded it drives me crazy #this was so fun to write btw thx #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets x you #yellowjackets fanfic #laura lee x you #laura lee x reader

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sebsxphia · 2 years ago

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ptolemaea.

preacher!rhett abbott x reader.

￫ description: you and your local town preacher, rhett abbott, spend a night together in a motel room. rhett is there to calm your racing mind and have you admit your sins. based off the song, ‘ptolemaea’ by ethel cain.

￫ word count: 2.4K.

￫ c/w: heavy and dark religious themes, dark themes, fingering, kissing, swearing, overstimulation, edging, voyerism, mentions of oral (m!receiving), corruption and innocence kink, daddy kink, gagging on rhett’s fingers, derogatory language and cnc.

￫ a/n: i cannot recommend listening to the song ‘ptolemaea’ by ethel cain enough whilst reading this. the song, and entire album, ‘preacher’s daughter’, is a masterpiece. when i first listened to this song, the narrative voice in the song screamed preacher!rhett to me. this is part of ‘ptolemaea. | the verses.’ my main masterlist can be read here! 💌

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You pushed yourself against the back of the Motel door and closed it behind you. The paint was splintering and falling off in your palms. Rhett was sat at the edge of the Motel double bed. He looked up from his studious reading of his Bible, to catch your hesitant gaze.

“Sorry, Rhett. I didn’t know if y’ wanted me to follow you in, s’ I waited an hour or so back in the Diner.”

Your hands came round to your front and your fingers instinctively played with each other, trying to distract yourself from Rhett’s eyes boring into you, and from the situation that you had found yourself in.

When your town Preacher asked you to come away with him and see the sights of the West, you never thought you would. Well, you never realized how easy it would be. You mentally kicked yourself for allowing his calloused, yet gentle hands, to win you over so easily. But you couldn’t find yourself to blame him. He had nothing to fault.

Rhett parted his lips to speak and his tongue wet at his bottom lip. He let out a ‘tsk’ sound and shook his head in disagreement at your statement.

“I invited y’ in, twice. Y’ know there’s nothin’ for y’ to fear now y’ with me.”

Rhett’s eyes raked over your frame as if to study you. To read every inch of your flesh and how your body visibly reacted to his deep and Southern drawl. His insides were gloating with pride. He had managed to get you right where he wanted you.

You love blood too much, but not like I do. Rhett thought as you stood, still pressed against the back of the Motel door, as if you were in shark infested waters. He could smell your blood from miles away and he was about to go in for the killing bite.

“Suffer does the wolf, crawling t’ thee. Promisin’ a big fire, any fire, t’ keep you warm.” Rhett quoted back and out loud to you, when you didn’t react to his original statement. He was trying to soothe your racing mind and to convince you that this was right.

You held his heavy gaze, but you were unable to avoid the obvious spread of his thighs, with his palms planted firmly on his worn jeans. You saw his lips twitch in the corner, threatening for an almost Devilish grin to spread over them.

“That’s how y’ feel, don’t you?” Rhett cocked his head to the side and continued when you still didn’t answer. “I heard you at those Sunday Sermons. Moanin’ my name in the bathroom cubicle when y’ thought everyone had left. I saw you through the crack of the door, wi’ your hand down your pretty pink panties and y’ conservative sundress hitched around y’ thighs.”

Rhett continued as he read the way your body reacted to his words. How your chest was rising and falling quicker and how your fingers tangled messily in with each other.

“I gave you everythin’ you needed after, ‘nd now, I need you.” His tone became an octave lower at the seriousness of his words. “I love you.”

His final words were the lasting kick you needed to get yourself off of the back of the Motel door. It was the first time you had heard Rhett utter such meaningful words. No text, or lines from the Bible could mean this much to you both. His words spun round and round in your head as you made your way over to him in a flurry. He mirrored you in response and came crashing into you with his lips meeting yours.

His large hands were cupping your hot and rosy cheeks, with his rough thumbs cradling underneath your jaw to keep your lips planted firmly against his, as his tongue ran along your bottom lip and dipped into your mouth. A groan emitted from you both at the kiss. It had been weeks since Rhett had you to himself and you both craved each other more than you cared to admit. Sin had never tasted so good.

You muttered against his lips, over and over, like a prayer, in between the heated kiss, “Love you, love you, love you...”

You both pulled away from the kiss to catch up with your similar and erratic breathing pattern. Your breath hitched in your own dry yet sticky throat, trying to form some sort of salvia. Rhett still held your gaze and it felt as though he was burning through to your retinas. It burned more than the sinful guilt you could feel punching deep within your gut.

“In my prayers, they say I’m the one He’s gonna take. He’s gonna take me Rhett, f’ my sins. I feel like I’m on fire.”

You stumbled back with his hold still on your burning cheeks. You bumped against the lone desk that held the old television and sun bleached writing paper that adorned the Motels logo.

“Sufferin’ is nigh, draw to me, m’love. I will keep y’ safe.” Rhett soothed his thumb under your jaw and spoke with a calm and peaceful tone, never wavering in it’s meaning.

You could trust in your Preacher when he told you that he would keep you safe. Rhett told you that you were special. You were the white light that came through the muggy clouds to descend upon Earth itself. You were beautiful, finite and Heaven’s gift, all rolled into one. And if you could continue to stay with him, your sins would be forgiven.

His face shifted as he watched your eyes plead for him. His eyes softened to lull you into safety.

“When a body decomposes, even the iron in their blood still fears the rotting. Everyone is hidin’ from somethin’, ‘nd I cannot stop it. I cannot stop God from choosin’ us.”

Rhett’s reassurances calmed your pounding heartbeat that you could still hear swarming in your ears, yet still, there was a twinge of doubt in your mind.

You fiddled with the frayed hemming on your dress. “Daddy’s left ‘nd Mama won’t come home.”

For the past months, you were walking on shadows with Rhett. You found yourselves dipping in and out for quick, and sinful meetings, in his backroom office at the Church. The last meeting had ended with your knees buckled on the floor and when night came along, your parents had clearly worried where you had got to.

The sight of their own child with the town Preacher’s cock resting heavy in your mouth was enough for them to disown you altogether. It was after that, that Rhett suggested you both get away. The town no longer wanted a filthy Preacher in their midst and he would surely loose his place within the Church.

Rhett’s left hand and thumb reached up to run across your bottom lip. “You poor thing. Sweet, mournin’ lamb.” His thumb dipped in between your lips and you latched your tongue onto the pad of him and sucked him in greedily. “There's nothin’ you can do. It's already been done.”

It was a gentle, yet blunt reminder, but the feeling of your tongue swirling around his thumb made your mind go fuzzy altogether. You kneed into Rhett’s touch with no remorse. It gave you a sense of real fear, what a man like Rhett could bring upon a woman like you.

Your eyes had fluttered shut by this point and you registered the feeling of his right hand leaving your face. You could feel his calloused fingertips slide up your bare thigh and under your dress. His hand didn’t stop. It wouldn’t stop.

Your body jolted under his feverish touch when his large palm cupped your covered cunt. His index and little finger curved around the seam of your underwear and dragged along your lips. You still had your now swollen lips around his thumb, but he pulled it away and you couldn’t stop yourself from letting out a pitiful whine at the loss. A string of saliva was connecting from the pad of his thumb to your bottom lip.

Rhett shushed you in response as he replaced his thumb with his index and middle finger. They pressed down onto your tongue and you let out a choked sob as they pushed further down. Drool started to pool and drip out the corner of your mouth. It fell down onto the edge of your dress that was now hitched around your hips as his fingers moved passed the barrier of your underwear and slipped into your cunt with no complaint.

Your arousal had come seemingly quicker than before and Rhett had a prideful smile on his face, however your eyes were still scrunched shut and relishing in the taste of Rhett’s flesh and feeling the delicious movement of his fingers burying deep into your cunt, pressing up on the sweet spot that made you silently scream around his fingers.

You were aware that his eager gaze was still on you. No longer were you kept hidden away in a religious and sacred place. You were completely stripped bare for Rhett to see under the dim light in this dirty Motel room. What fear a man like Rhett brings upon a woman like you.

You swallowed around his thick fingers in your mouth and he took it as his sign to remove them from your swollen lips, to allow yourself to compose your erratic breathing. Your eyes blinked opened to his face.

“Please don’t look at me.” You muttered out in between labored breaths, as Rhett’s fingers still showed no sign of slowing down.

Your eyes rolled back into your skull as his thumb ran calculated circles on your swollen, and up until now, un-touched clit. How could Rhett ever deny himself of this Heavenly sight.

He was quick to shoot his hand out and his fingers gripped tightly onto your chin to bring back your lulling head to him.

“Show me your face.” He demanded and your pleading eyes moved back to his.

You moaned again at his grip on your chin and inside your cunt, followed by a name.

“F— Father.”

He clicked his tongue and shook his head at the name you had mournfully uttered.

“I can see it in your eyes.” He bit back.

He keeps looking at me. Oh, God. I know what he wants. You thought in panic to yourself.

“Tell me, what have y’ done?” He was pushing you further. He knew you were close by the feeling of your walls clenching, then fluttering, around him, but he wouldn’t let you come until you spoke his name.

Your hips were rocking against him as if to try and push his thumb harder against your clit. You were desperate to chase that feeling, yet he slowed down his ministrations. It was still enough to keep you dangling on that edge, but not enough all together at the same time.

“Please, Father. I— I can’t—” You whined out pitifully.

There were tears pricking in the corner of your eyes now. The delicious overstimulation, yet not feeling anything was blissful torture. Although you were seated high on top of the Motel desk, your body felt like it could give way with how hard it was trembling. You shot your hands out instinctively to hold onto Rhett’s large biceps to steady yourself.

Inside, your mind was repeating the one name that Rhett wanted from you. It was on the tip of your tongue, but it wouldn’t escape. He cooed and shushed you in response to your incessant whining and groaning, out of sheer frustration with yourself. Slow and agonizing circles were being ran around your clit.

“I’m the face of loves’ rage, but y’ know I can make this pain all go away. Tell me, what have y’ done, sweet lamb?”

The coil deep within your stomach was threatening to snap any second. All your innocence was currently being held in the palm of Rhett’s hand and you couldn’t hold onto it for much longer.

“Fuck!”

To anyone else the scream would have sounded blood curdling and murderous, but to Rhett, it was the sweet sound of your submission.

“I’ve sinned, Daddy. I’ve sinned!”

The name and words fell so freely from your mouth that it caused Rhett to finally break out into the Devilish grin he’d been hiding all this time. Your head fell back again under his grasp at your admission. All you could feel was his hot breath on your burning ears.

“Good girl.”

Like clockwork, his fingers picked back up their pace. Sliding in and out of you at a steady pace and curling up to press on the sweet spot inside you, that made your own cum seep out from your lips and drip onto the Motel desk. His thumb resumed it’s calculated circles and you could feel yourself hurtling closer and closer to the Heavenly release. His voice was still close to your ear as he started to pray, when he could feel the walls of your wet cunt tighten around him.

“Blessed be the Daughters of Abbott, bound to sufferin’ eternal through the sins of their Fathers committed long before their conception. Blessed be their whore mothers, tired ‘nd angry, waitin’ with bated breath in a ferry that will never move again.”

Strings of strangled cries left your lips as your orgasm approached and hit your whole body with a blinding and warm glow. The final swipe of Rhett’s thumb over your clit was all you needed and your cries turned silent with your nails digging so deep into his flesh that you knew it would mark.

“Blessed be the children, each and every one come to know their God through some senseless act of violence. Blessed be you, girl, promised to me by a man who can only feel hatred and contempt towards you.”

Rhett still continued on through your orgasm. Your hips were bucking ferociously against the palm of his hand, with you trying to rub your sensitive and swollen clit against the heel of his palm, to continue the feeling of the sensation and your earth shattering release.

“I am no good nor evil, simply I am, and I have come to take what is mine. I was there in the dark when you spilled your first blood.”

Your cries turned to incoherent mumblings. You were too drunk off Rhett giving you pleasure to string anything together. Of what he could make out, whilst he was still focused on reciting his prayer was, “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy…”

“I am here now, as you run from me still.”

He pulled the palm of his hand away from your cunt and he could feel your cum string from your swollen lips. His fingers pushed and brushed in turn against the sweet spot inside of you and his thumb returned back to your clit with no mercy. Your whole body was jolted back to the dirty motel room at the over sensitivity and your pleading tears now ran hot over your cheeks.

“S’ can’t, Daddy. Sensitive, ‘lease.” You wailed and begged Rhett for his forgiveness.

Your hips bucked again at his fiery touch. It caused the Motel desk to bump against the wall, yet he was still close to your ear and caging you in. The shark had finally had his taste of blood, and Rhett whispered his final prayer and wish.

“Run then, child. You can't hide from me forever.”

taglist: @tallrock35 @currentlybradshaw @iloveprettyboysblog @beachbabey @angelic-dreams13

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lady0ctavia · 24 days ago

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As We Ponder Belief

(2p!Prussia x Reader) - Chapter 13

Note: This story is based vaguely during the mid 1200s in Eastern Europe where the Teutonic Knights fought the Northern Crusades to try and convert the native pagan population to Christianity. As a result, this story will have heavy religious themes all throughout. It should also be noted that, while referencing real-life events and locations, I am not striving for full historical accuracy. This is for the sake of the story I am telling.

Once again, this series will have heavy religious themes throughout, including discussions of bible stories, doctrine, and scripture verses, as well as critical analysis of Christian doctrine and beliefs. So, if you don't like that, you will want to skip out on this.

(y/n) felt her heart sink into her stomach. Just earlier that day she met young Albrecht, and now she had to see this sweet boy spread out on an operating table. When she tried to hurry over, Gillen stopped her, holding out his hand.

"Stop. Tend to Gilbert, then come see me," He ordered as he took out a small, sharpened pair of scissors and began cutting through Albrecht's clothing.

"I'm fine," Gilbert insisted between gasping breaths. He must have run here. "But Albrecht isn't!" Gilbert spoke while gesturing to (y/n) to go and help Gillen.

(y/n) did as instructed and hurried to assist Gillen. When at the operating table, she looked down upon the injured youth. The sight made her blood run cold. Blood was seeping from the boy's left shoulder, staining his once pure white teutonic uniform a ghastly crimson. With his tunic and shirt now cut away, she could see his bare chest heaving, gasping for air. His lightly tanned skin was painted red with his blood.

Gillen held a cloth over the shoulder wound, applying pressure. "This looks like an arrow wound," He commented. "Gilbert, tell me exactly what happened."

"We went on patrol further up north this morning and ran into some of the pagans. We were outnumbered, so we tried to turn back quickly, knowing we couldn't win. As we tried to retreat one of them shot Albrecht in the shoulder," Gilbert slowly regained his breath and composure, but he was clearly still rattled.

Gillen didn't respond, simply carrying on with his duties in applying pressure to the wound. After a second or two he addressed (y/n).

"Bring me plenty of bandages, a bucket of water, and a rag. Hurry!" As (y/n) scampered off to the cabinet, Gillen interrogated his brother further. "Was anyone else injured?"

"By God's grace, nothing more than scrapes we can treat ourselves," Gilbert stumbled and plopped down taking a seat on one of the beds.

"God's grace indeed," Gillen sighed, keeping pressure on the wound.

As soon as (y/n) brought over the items he asked for, he grabbed the water and rag, taking away the cloth that was now completely stained in Albrecht's blood. While he cleaned around the still bleeding wound, (y/n) could feel her heart breaking at the sight. Albrecht began to look pale as his head slowly lolled side to side, as if barely conscious. His eyes only partially lidded, the color within appearing dull and lifeless. Even his cute freckles looked more like specks of dried blood. He groaned, fresh tears beginning to pool around his eyes. He could hardly look. As if reading her mind, Gillen spoke up.

"Don't leave. If you are to be a nurse, this will be a good learning experience for you."

All she could do was nod her head, breathless at the scene before her. Taking a small rag, she dabbed at the tears in his eyes. He slowly let his gaze travel up her arm to her face, the tears beginning to slowly trickle across his skin.

The next forty or so minutes felt like they went on for hours as she watched Gillen clean, dress, and bandage up the young knight's shoulder. Everything seemed to move in slow motion as she heard the boy groaning, hisses of pain escaping his lips as Gillen dressed the wound before wrapping bandages around the puncture wound. She winced every time he yelped, pain shooting through him, only to be soothed by Gillen's gentle voice as he reassured Albrecht that he'd be fine. That it would all be over soon.

The agony. The horrific sight of a knight who might as well be a child, covered in his own blood. The sounds of his crying with every movement made. It was almost too much for (y/n) to bear. When Gillen finished bandaging up the wound he stood back for a moment, letting out a deep breath. Looking up at (y/n), he asked her to help move him to a bed as gently as possible.

(y/n) did as asked, and placed one of her arms under his legs and another under his hips. Gillen did the same with one arm under his back and the other supporting his head and shoulders. Gingerly, they both lifted the boy, who at this point had fallen into a deep slumber. With feet lightly brushing along the floor, the doctor and his apprentice moved their patient to a bed. After resting him on the soft mattress, (y/n) instinctively went to fluff the pillow around his head to ease any potential discomfort. Afterward, she brought out a blanket and laid it on his body, tucking him in as one would a small child.

(y/n) took a few moments to mentally gather herself, processing the entire event. Looking out the window, she saw that the sky had changed from a beautiful sunset to a dark, starless blue, signaling the beginning of nightfall. While observing the world outside the window, Gillen took a moment to fully see the woman before him.

Something began to stir within his heart, a sensation that slowly became familiar over the last couple of days. A tightness in his chest. But just now, it was becoming oddly pleasant. Like a tiny flame flickering away inside of him at random, inopportune moments. All of which occurred around (y/n). Like now when he looked upon her profile. The way the soft candlelight illuminated her face as she gazed out into the darkening world outside. And the way she so tenderly comforted Albrecht. It was all he could do to stifle a small laugh when he considered the stark contrast between the woman she presented herself to be this morning versus the angel standing before him now.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Gillen cleared his throat.

"Well, um... I suppose we ought to let him rest," He mentioned. (y/n) looked his way and nodded in agreement.

"That sounds like a good idea," She said breathlessly, her voice sounding tense.

"Are you feeling well?" He cocked his head to the side.

"Yes, of course, just... A little overwhelmed," She awkwardly straightened out her skirt. It was only then that she noticed the bloodstain on her apron.

"You can soak it in cold water overnight and wash it tomorrow morning," Gillen reassured her. "But if you are overwhelmed, might I suggest some tea? We can prepare some in the dining hall."

(y/n) paused to think before smiling. "That should be fine."

After pretreating their bloodied aprons, Gillen and (y/n) made their way out the door and toward the dining hall, all the while completely unaware of Gilbert who had been lying in a bed on the other side of the room, watching everything.

(y/n) and Gillen sat across from one another in the dining hall, sipping on their tea, the glow of a lone candle beside them. As they sat there, (y/n) noticed his normally icy gaze was now overcome with a beautiful warmth to them. The dim glow of the candle gave his eyes the appearance of shining pearls. The soft illumination caused his stark white hair to almost glow, the white strands giving her the impression that perhaps she was in the presence of an angel. This lighting truly made him seem otherworldly.

"You seem quiet. Was today too much for you?" Gillen asked. Even his voice seemed to have an ethereal air to it.

"I... I suppose so. I guess I just wasn't expecting to have to help treat someone so soon," She nervously rubbed a finger along the side of her cup.

"I understand. Honestly, I was hoping to just keep you on herbal medicines for a week or so before giving you any kind of training in surgical work. But even so, these are good learning experiences for you. Say, (y/n)?"

"Y-Yes?" She could feel her voice beginning to tremble. But why?

"How do you feel about the fortress? About life here?" Gillen seemed genuinely concerned.

"Well, to be fair, I have only just started a new routine in living here," (y/n) continued to trace the outline of her cup, anxiety welling up inside her. "The welcome from the knights this morning was certainly unpleasant. But even so, I cannot see myself going anywhere else for the time being."

"I understand. But I must ask, why do you want to stay here? Really?" Gillen leaned forward only slightly, but it was enough to color (y/n)'s face pink.

"W-Well, it's as I said before weeks ago. I have nowhere else to go." Her heart rate sped up.

Gillen didn't seem convinced, raising a brow. She sighed, resting her hands on the table and looking up to meet his softened gaze.

"Alright, so maybe that isn't the entire truth. The full truth is, I'm scared." She admitted, a sense of shame rising within her.

"Of the pagans?" Gillen quickly picked up on her message. She began to tremble.

"Y-Yes. Not only do I have nowhere else to go, no family or next of kin to return to, but... The people who attacked my village. They're out there. And... Part of me wonders," She cautiously looked out one of the windows, turning to the side. "Are they out there waiting for me? Logically they probably are not, but even still."

Gillen took in her words, feeling the tremble in her voice, as well as the slight shakiness of her hands. Something about her fear caused an ache within him. Reaching forward, he placed a hand on hers, causing her to look at him. Her delicate skin felt warm under his.

"I can see you are scared, but rest assured, you won't be alone. You have Gilbert, Albrecht... All of us here. And me. Only now do I see how brave you have been. You lost everything, and now you are in the process of rebuilding. (y/n)," His voice was so soft, the softest she'd ever heard before. The way he said her name lingered in her ears.

"Yes, Gillen?"

"I promise you, you will never have to be alone. And as long as you are here, you will never have to fear again."

(y/n) couldn't help the tear that ran down her face, her grateful smile shining in the night.

"Thank you, Gillen."

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🎵🎶Caaaaan you feeeel the not-quite-love-but-clearly-something-is-happening-here toniiiiiiiiiight?🎶🎵

As always, let me know what you think!

#aph #hetalia #aph x reader #hetalia reader insert #hetalia x reader #aph reader insert #hetalia axis powers #2p hetalia #2p!hetalia #2p!hetalia x reader #2p hetalia x reader #aph 2p prussia #aph 2p prussia x reader #2p!prussia #2p!prussia x reader #2p prussia #2p prussia x reader #gillen beilschmidt

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the-cosmos-withinus · 1 year ago

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Shadow Puppets au - Naming the Collector

He wanted to be fair and give both books a chance, but already the Collector liked the look of the other book better. The title alone sounded more interesting. Astrophel and Stella. If he could, the Collector would have picked the book up to browse the pages himself.

"Can you read to me?" "Lot's of names." Philip replied vaguely, and set the Bible aside for now, he had noticed the Collector's interest in the other book and nodded, "Father Josiah just gave me this one, I don't know anything about it yet."

He picked it up and carefully read the title, "As…tro..Phel and Stell-a, by Philip Sidney." He was still learning how to read so he paused a few times when it came to the more exotic names, but he knew his own name. Father Josiah said he was learning very quickly, and he was far better at it than Caleb, which he supposed he could be proud of.

Philip opened up the first page and began to read.

"Loving in truth, and fain in verse my love to show, That she, dear she, might take some pleasure of my pain,— Pleasure might cause her read, reading might make her know, Knowledge might pity win, and pity grace obtain,— I sought fit words to paint the blackest face of woe; Studying inventions fine her wits to entertain, Oft turning others' leaves, to see if thence would flow Some fresh and fruitful showers upon my sunburn'd brain. But words came halting forth, wanting invention's stay; Invention, Nature's child, fled step-dame Study's blows; And others' feet still seem'd but strangers in my way. Thus great with child to speak and helpless in my throes, Biting my truant pen, beating myself for spite, "Fool," said my Muse to me, "look in thy heart, and write."

The Collector giggled listening to Philip read, stumbling over a few words. "Wow. You're terrible." He joked playfully, "Keep going. I love rhymes!"

He started reading along with Philip, helping with a few of the words that he knew the human was messing up, but occasionally they ran into a word that even the Collector did not know how to pronounce.

"I like this book!" He declared, "I wanna be named after this one!"

He floated back to be in front of Philip and held his hand up in the best effort he could make for a handshake.

"Please to meet you Philip! I'm Astrophel and Stella by Philip Sydney!" Reading together was fun. Certainly more fun than reading under Father Josiah's scrutiny, the Collector corrected his words now and again but it didn't feel like a mistake he would be punished for. It was more like reading with Caleb.

And Philip was happy to hear the Collector say he liked the book, but it was his turn to giggle when the Collector reintroduced himself.

"No! No! Silly, the whole title can't be a name, that's too long!" The young boy shut the book again to look at the cover, "Let's see, Philip is my name so you can't use it, that would be confusing…" He traced the title, "Astrophel and Stella…Your name could be Astrophel! That's a great name!"

#shadow puppets au #philip wittebane #toh collector #I've been planning to draw something based on this scene for a while but the ask about Astrophel's name inspired me to work on it #I was sketching something else before #gravesfield era

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queer-advice-hotline · 6 months ago

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To the anon who is struggling with their faith and identity, hi. I get you. I’m in the same boat in a lot of ways. (Discussion of anti-science rhetoric, lgbt-phobia, and conservative Christian stuff for anyone who doesn’t wanna read that)

I was raised Christian, and taught that evolution and the Big Bang were false. I was taught that dinosaurs were real and the earth was billions of years old, but we were still creationists.

I was also taught that being gay or trans was sinful and that gay marriage shouldn’t be legalized. My family was never outright hostile (my uncle is gay and we always loved him, even though “we just don’t agree with his decision” ugh), but clearly bigoted.

I was also raised in baptist churches, who absolutely love to quote the same three verses over and over in order to tell women (like myself) that our whole purpose is to shut up and bear children and take care of the house, that we are to obey our fathers and husbands in everything and cannot teach men at all. Fortunately my parents at least hated that BS, and after every sermon regarding that point my mom would lecture us that that was the only thing she disagreed with with our church, and that me and my sisters could be whatever we wanted to be. She continually pointed out the instances that contradicted what our churches had said about women’s roles.

When I went to college, I made friends, met people with wildly different backgrounds, and began to form my own opinions. I am a supporter of lgbt rights (I believe that there is strong evidence that wording was changed to condemn homosexuality, and that even if it’s a sin, we are called to love each other first and foremost, and that we cannot force our religious beliefs upon anyone else, and that respecting someone’s sexuality and pronouns is just basic fucking courtesy. I’ve even convinced my trump-supporting grandparents to use peoples preferred pronouns and respect gay marriages, with the logic that “you believe it’s sinful, but they don’t, and you can’t force your religious perspective on them. There is nothing loving about making them uncomfortable just because you disagree.”

I also strongly believe in scientific theories like evolution and the Big Bang. There’s plenty of evidence, and if you read genesis with fresh eyes it’s pretty clear to me it’s highly symbolic, not literal. I can believe God created the universe and that he did so through the Big Bang. I can believe God created humans in his image through the process of evolution.

As I was expanding and changing my worldview, I also realized that I was aroace. I’ve never been interested in dating, I don’t find men good looking at all, and my appreciation for women’s beauty is more similar to how someone would appreciate a painting, not someone they want to date or marry or have sex with.

And I don’t believe it’s a problem for me to stay single either. When I told my mom she immediately told me that the Bible says that singleness is, for many, a gift, and only a different path, not a wrong one.

I often don’t know what God’s intention is, but I do know that Christians are called to be the light of the world. So I will always be kind and loving, because that is how you be a light. I always pray for better understanding of how I should do things, but in the end the most important thing is to be kind.

Sorry if that was rambly, I just wanted to let you know that you aren’t alone in these struggles, and that you can believe different things without being a bad person. Personally, my family doesn’t know that I’m now fairly liberal and that I believe in evolution and the Big Bang and such, but I’m okay with that. If they find out, I’ll tell them more or less what I just said here. Best of luck to you and to anyone else in a similar situation 💛

Thanks for sharing, I’m sure this will be helpful for a lot of people.

#queer advice hotline #1-800-queer #off topic calls #religion #long distance calls

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mallowmaenad · 9 months ago

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Yeah man so this rich guy heard about my cloning operation on Instagram so he sent me a sample of some DNA found on the Shroud of Turin and wanted me to make a clone of Jesus Christ, so like I show him the preview and he's like, disappointed that he's not white, says he doesn't want it to be "too political", I know you can't tell this over the phone but I just did quotation marks with my free hand. Anyway so like he gives me a bonus to modify the genetics and uh... he came out... kinda feral? Like yeah he looks like the white Jesus from all the paintings and shiz, but he like, awkwardly gallops on his hands and feet like a Half Life 2 fast zombie sometimes and only speaks in re-arranged bible verses. Yeah. Like a YouTube Poop. Anyway aah... he got out, he bit me... or, it bit me if I'm being honest I looked into its eyes and eye-dee-kay if it even has a soul. So to hunt it down cause im like not gonna turn a profit if I don't get this bad boy down to Arkansas by July, I pulled some strings and got some DNA allegedly belonging to Lucifer and Judas and I like, synthesized an anti-Jesus to hunt 'em down but like I only had enough juice in the machine to make her 15 years old- wuh- yeah, she. Look trust me I'm transgender, that and when I was trying to comfort her 'cause all she does is cry, and scream to the heavens for forgiveness, and she straight up asked me "Why didn't you make me a girl?" that's more than just "egg behavior" if you ask me. Yup I did the quotation marks with my fingies again. Anyway if you've seen the shit they're showing on Fox, I'm pretty sure people are doing like, Bigfoot sightings of ol' JC and I'm pretty sure he's living exclusively off the flesh-meats of evangelical hikers. So aah. I got my new daughter on the 'mones right now, dunno what to name her yet. I was thinking "Judy" or "Lucy" but that feels kinda wrong I mean I picked my own name when I transitioned but like, that's besides the point. Does your uncle still do karate lessons? I have to like, train her to subdue the Jeezy Beast but also I think it'd be a huge boost to her confidence!

#microfiction #run on sentence on purpose

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redtail-lol · 3 months ago

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I don't understand how some Christians genuinely believe they're oppressed or persecuted for being Christians. Yeah some select people are Weird About Religion but Christians are not widely persecuted at large in western society. They're extremely privileged.

Like yes I can surface-level "rationalize" by saying it's just that the ultra-bigoted Christians aren't legally allowed to refuse service to gay people or treat trans employees like shit anymore, or that actual science that contradicts the Bible gets taught in schools because it's evidence based, and they think this equates persecution because their religion was demoted from unofficially a national truth to something you choose to practice privately that can't be forced on others. But my lack of empathy makes me have to point to every example that Christians still have extreme privilege in the western world that they colonized because the surface level rationalization isn't enough, I genuinely still don't get it.

Christians, the whole world gets breaks on your holidays, something not afforded to other religions unless their major holiday happens to be close to yours. Other religious people have to ask for breaks to observe their holidays. By default you get yours. Christians, schools do events for your holidays before the breaks, singling out yours over the others. Other religious people are sometimes forced to participate in a tradition for your holiday, often the commercialized version of it but sometimes with a religious aspect (for example, my school's choir sang Christian songs for their christmas concert.) Christians, shops close early on Sundays because it's your special day of the week. This only moderately inconveniences others, but still showcases that your religion is catered to. Christians, the people in the political world of the west are by and large Christians, and they often let their Christian beliefs shape their political decisions. LGBTQ people didn't have rights to exist for many, many years, because the Bible said homosexuality was a sin (even if this is a mistranslation, original verse was about gay incest). Women were denied rights based on Biblical gender roles. Churches are found more frequently than any other religious center in the western world, and they're tax exempt.

If you want actual religions that are persecuted, look at Muslims. Visibly Muslim people are shown racism as well as being treated like terrorists for merely being Muslim. People assume they're the most extreme, misogynistic, queerphobic religion because that's all their religion is painted to be (despite the fact their beliefs are very similar to those of Christianity in those regards, and progressive Muslims exist the same way progressive Christians do.) Look at Jewish people. They're the centers of conspiracy theories that do successfully prey on people, the Holocaust happened, and today people are using Palestine as a shield to be actual neo-Nazis. Look at the dozens of erased non-Abrahamic religions that are treated as props like Buddhism by westerners if they're not entirely forgotten.

Being a Christian is a privilege. The worst you'll ever face for being a Christian is some people being weird about religion. That sucks but that's not oppression. And some Christians are just as weird about non- christians all the time. You don't have to make up oppression that doesn't exist because of people being antitheist dipshits that hold no power in the real world, or because you're not allowed to use your beliefs as an excuse for contributing to actual oppression

#christianity #privilege #christian privilege #there is nothing wrong with being a Christian but please don't pretend you're persecuted for it #you are in fact privileged and you gotta recognize it #christian persecution #persecution complex #christian persecution complex #antitheists don't clown on this post #you're also annoying and I highly dislike you guys #you're the ones who are Weird About Religion #religion #religious discussion #religion tw #religion cw #tw religion #cw religion

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lovelycreativecrafts · 2 years ago

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Hidden Injury | Bakugo x Female Reader

Word Count: 1,218

Synopsis: Reader gets gets hurt and ignores her injury.

Inspiration:

Bible Verse: “We are not withholding our affection from you, but you are withholding yours from us. As a fair exchange—I speak as to my children—open wide your hearts also.” - 2 Corinthians 6: 12-13

Author’s Notes: If you liked the short fanfic please like and reblog the post. If not, feel free to leave a comment on how the story could have been made better. I hope you all have a blessed day!!!

Warnings: None

Challenge: Febuwhump Challenge Hosted by @fanfictionlibrary01 and their discord server

I stared at the sun as I walked down the sidewalk. The sky was painted a mixture of an orange and pink color as the sun was beginning to set.

“Hurry up, slowpoke,” Bakugo yelled back at me.

I glanced at Bakugo and held back a chuckle. Usually, I would be intimidated by him but it was hard to take him seriously when his hair was laid down.

Bakugo suddenly stopped and I stopped beside him. We were supposed to be patrolling the streets. To make sure that no villains hurt any of the civilians but we weren’t supposed to engage the enemy.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

Bakugo ignored me and I crossed my arms. Bakugo never really thought much of me, he believed I was weak and I couldn’t exactly disagree with him. Despite my quirk being powerful, I didn’t know exactly how to use it in combat. It was like, I didn’t have a mind-to-muscle connection. Which only resulted in Bakugo calling me out of my name like how he does Midoriya. But I was determined to get better and I have gotten better.

Suddenly, an explosion erupted and I looked toward the sound to find a building on fire. Bakugo ran toward the building and I quickly followed.

We both soon made it in front of the building. A few people at the top of the building screamed for help and Bakugo activated his quirk and blasted himself toward the top of the building. I ran through the front door and was quickly met with heat. Fire grabbed at the walls as it began to reach toward the ceiling.

I yelled out to anyone that could have still been in the building and I heard a low response. I tried following the sound and traced it toward a door upstairs. I ran up the stairs as I activated my quirk and heated my hand before grabbing the doorknob and pulling the door open. A herd of people began to run through the door, almost crushing me in the process.

Once no more people came out the door, I stepped into the doorway and examined the room.

“Hello?” I yelled.

“Help.” A little girl’s voice pleaded.

I looked around the room but the only thing that was in it was fire surrounding the room.

“Where are you?”

“I’m in the corner behind the fire,” The girl coughed.

I carefully examined the room further and there was one spot that the fire didn’t seem to completely engulf. I closed my eyes and tried focusing on heating my whole body. Once my body was hot, I quickly walked through the fire and I immediately saw a little girl scrunched up on the floor. I focused on cooling down the parts of my body that the child will soon touch and I lifted the child and brought her toward my chest.

“T-Thank you, Lady,” The little girl said.

I quickly made my way out of the room and began going down the stairs. A large bang erupted and I looked up toward the ceiling and it began to crack. The ceiling began to fall apart and I ran down the stairs. Just when I made it to the end of the stairs, something hit my lower spine and I heard a crack. I fell towards the floor as pain traveled up my spine and down my legs.

“Ah-,” I cut myself off and bit the inside of my cheek not wanting to worry the child.

“Lady, are you okay?”

“Yeah . . . I just wasn’t . . . expecting that to happen.” I forced myself to say.

I slowly lifted myself off the ground and a sharp pain erupted from my lower spine but I ignored it. I steadied myself onto my feet and took a step toward the exit. Pain shot through my legs with every step I took but I pushed past the pain and slowly made my way out of the building.

“Maria?!” A woman called out.

I fell to one of my knees and put the little girl down.

“Mama!” The little girl ran toward her mother and they both embraced each other.

“Thank you, Hero, for saving my child.” The woman thanked me.

I gave a weak smile and lifted my hand toward my back.

“Hey.”

I looked up toward the rough voice and Bakugo stood in front of me with narrowed eyes. “What’s wrong with you? You better not have gotten yourself hurt in there.”

Bakugo’s red eyes stared into my own, “I’m fine, it was just really hot in the building.” I lied.

Bakugo frowned at me and he opened his mouth but something caught his eye. “Hey, get back here villain!” Bakugo yelled before taking off.

“Wait, Baku-,” Pain shot down my legs and I held my lower back again.

What am I supposed to do?

“DIEEE!!!” Bakugo’s explosions echoed from the alleyway.

I have to get up. I began to stand up and I ignored the pain that throbbed in my lower back. I walked toward the alleyway and my eyes widened. I ran toward them as I figured out the villain’s quirk.

The villain’s stomach began to grow large and Bakugo stood in front of him ready to take on whatever was about to come his way.

“BRING IT ON!” Bakugo yelled.

Fire came out of the villain’s mouth and I jumped in front of Bakugo. I activated my quirk and heat enveloped my back. My back stung and I fell to the ground as the villain stopped his quirk. Bakugo sucked his teeth and was about to take off again.

I whispered, “Bakugo.”

Bakugo stopped and glared down at me, “What are you doing? Get up, we need to go after him.”

“I-I can’t,” I took in a breath.

“I can’t . . . F-Feel my legs.” I stuttered.

Bakugo’s eyes widened, “What are you talking about? You said that you were fine. What happened?” Bakugo quickly said.

I clenched my jaw and closed my eyes not wanting to hear the nicknames he would soon call me.

“Shoot,” Bakugo said.

I felt large hands touch my shoulders and pain shot up my spine as I was slowly flipped onto my back. “S-Sorry,” Bakugo whispered, noticing the painful expression I made.

I glanced at Bakugo and watched as he examined me. For once his expression wasn’t filled with anger or annoyance but with worry.

Bakugo looked into my eyes, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I . . . I just didn’t want you to think I was weak.” I explained.

Bakugo’s eyes knitted together and he looked down at my legs. He whispered something under his breath and looked back at me. He bent down lower toward me as he grabbed my hand and slowly brought them around his neck. Heat crawled up my cheeks as Bakugo slid his hand under my knees and back and lifted me off the ground.

“B-Baku-,”

“For the record, I don’t think you're weak. I think you just need more training.” Bakugo interrupted me.

Bakugo added, “So, when you get fixed up, don't be reckless again,” Bakugo looked at me.

My eyes widened and I stared at him.

“DID YOU HEAR ME?” Bakugo frowned.

“Y-Yes, I promise to be more careful.” I quickly said.

Bakugo then took off trying to find the nearest hospital.

#bakugo x female reader #mha bakugou #mha x reader #mha fanfiction #anime fanfic #christian fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfiction challenge #anime fanfiction #fanfiction writing #bakugou katsuki #bakugo fanfic #mha oneshot

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yumenikke · 1 year ago

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my biggest problem with dmcb is their religious take. yes devilman is religiously inspired but it is NOT…. its not about the holy bible. it is not inspired at all by the new testament. its mostly old abrahamic that its pulled from. there is no mention of jesus or miracles or whatever anything like that.

so why the fuck in dmcb, does the makimura’s have a painting of the last supper, ryo read a verse about jesus and satan from the holy bible in his house, Next To A 666 Elevator No Less. and worst of all, people literally lining up to hug akira …. not only is it incorrect and inaccurate as fuck it is shown in an absolutely egregious way.

and can someone please explain to me- what is the purpose of the devilman cartoon in this universe of crybaby??? i cant figure it out and its driving me insane. is it also about a boy named akira fudo turning into a demon? or is it about another boy doing the same, and if so, who the hell knew what amon looked like long before the merge with akira??? i understand its a nod to crybaby being another loop and all, but what does it all fucking mean!!!!!!!!!

#devilman crybaby #i will take ANY ANSWERS

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satan1999 · 2 months ago

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Tear You Apart - Glen Powell

When an infamous vampire slayer is recruited for a mission, He expects it to be an easy job, but this one had a little spice to it. Her hypnotizing eyes and beauty harden the job and trapped him in a trance, but something wasn't right with this one. She knew all his tricks and gadgets, so she has to play a game of her own to finish the job for him.

A/N: I’m sorry for traumatizing ya’ll and myself! It won’t happen again 😭

A cherry red mustang pulled in front of the church and opened its door revealing a young man, he's dressed in a faux leather coat and sunglasses taking over the top of his face. He tosses his keys in his hands and catches them while making his way inside the church. The cathedral doors opened revealing his group of clients dressed in their priest attire and bibles in hand. The church has a beautiful artwork painted onto the ceiling, capturing the last supper with doves around the art. His eyes align with the painting as he continues strolling into the church. Glen turns to the left and shakes hand with the bishop and guides him to a bench in the church, the man takes a seat and opens his bible to a verse.

"They sacrificed unto devils, not to God; to gods whom they knew not, to new gods that came newly up, whom your fathers feared not." The bishop reads, his tone serious and hurt as his eyes scanned the pages and drew a cross on Glen's forehead with holy water.

"Father, May I ask what you have brought me here for?" Glen questioned as he looked up to Bishop with a sense of confusion behind his question.

Before he could utter a word out of his mouth, a screech echoed through the church. Bishop jumped in fear and ducked down bringing Glen with him. The scream belonging to a woman gliding through the church dressed in black and a veil covering her face. She dragged her nails along the wood benches making an ear aching noise as they dug into the wood. She stopped beside the bishop and Glen bending down to get a smell of the two. She inhaled his scent and rolled her tongue along his neck; Glen reached into his pocket and pulled a clump of garlic. His stance frightening her as he stepped closer to her presence, The garlic held in the air above her as she looked hopelessly.

"You win this round, Garlic boy. I'll be back and trust I won't be defeated." she hissed.

She disappeared into thin air leaving the group back to their session. Glen rushed back to bishop and fanned him off, the sight of the pale lady caused him to faint in her presence. A priest handed Glen water allowing him to toss it onto Bishop's face. The cold water landed on his face waking him up and gasping loudly for air, he grabbed for his rosary and looked around for help. The other priests nursed him back to care and handed Glen a folded picture and note.

"This is who we need you to kill, hopefully the job isn't too difficult. We've been trying for years but she just won't be put down. Leading to us calling you as our last resort." The priest cried, while holding onto the cold body and silently prayed to God.

Glen nodded and took a look at the photo, It's a picture of a beautiful young woman with children. Her smile painted on her face, her brown skin glowing in the light, and her eyes filled with life. He felt bad for what she become but he was more worried about the children and their whereabouts. Glen kissed his fingers and pointed them to the sky as he headed back to his car. The town disappeared around him while he drove to the end, his music playing low as he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, and he hummed to the tune. His slaying bag spilled onto the front seat revealing, A wooden stake, Garlic, A mirror, The bible, A spell book, and a flashlight. The sun laid down for slumber once he came to a stop in front of a bar. Glen opened the note reading over it, before stepping out of the car and making sure he has the right address. He pushes the barn doors open but the lights are off and it’s just him in the bar. A flashlight appeared in his hand as he searched through the place, not a single breath was heard but the wind and tumbleweeds. His boots quietly squealed along the wood floors of the bar. The figure of a woman sits on the bar counter with her legs parted and her hat covering her eyes. Glen pointed the light to her face, revealing the woman from earlier, her eyes darker than they were when he first met her. Her smile sinister and her tongue gliding along her lips, she gestured for him to come closer.

Glen backed up towards the wall and gripped onto the stake in his hand hoping it would scare her, "The old fashion wooden stake, I've been through thousands of those. You can't kill me with just one." she mimicked, her posture growing taller as she scooted closer to the edge of the counter. "Come be a good boy and sit in between mama's legs."

"I'm not afraid to pull the garlic back out, darling. This ain't my first rodeo with your kind." Glen scoffed while keeping the flashlight in her face and his stake pointed to her heart. "Selene, what did you do to those children?"

"Aw, let's try this again."

Her finger moves in a circular motion and her eyes glow red while watching Glen follow her instructions and stand between her legs, the woman smiled and revealed sharp fangs. He screamed before she slapped her hand on his mouth and bit into his neck. His cries for help silenced as the pain in his neck amped up and tears slid down his face. She snatched her teeth from his neck and wiped her mouth of his blood. Her nails digging in his back and her legs tight around his waist. She pulled his shirt off and traced his chest with her cutthroat nails. She liked what she saw. The body of the innocent and another host, she hypnotized Glen again and got him to mindlessly explore her body. He took the hat off her head and threw it to the ground, making a plop sound. His hot breath on her stomach as he laid her down on the counter and glided his tongue from her navel to her stomach, to her neck. Glen began making love to her neck and using his fingers to wrap around the tassels on her chaps. Their bodies grind against each other while her sirenic moans echoed through the bar. Her chin rested on his shoulder while he stuffed his fingers in her and continued bumping his clothed groin against her. Glen groaned as her nails dug deeper into his spine, creating long scratches along his back. Selene reached for his member and proceeded to pull it out. A moan escaped his mouth leaving him to shiver at the warmth of her mouth. He stood in fear as Selene stabbed her nails into his thighs and held him place while she began sucking his friend.

Glen grabbed a handful of hair and thrusted himself into her mouth letting his moans fill up the bar and into her ears. She bit a fang into his member and sucked a little bit of blood from it causing Glen to scream in pain and push her head back from him. "What are you doing? It hurts!" he screamed while her nails stayed into him. Selene let out a resonance laugh; she enjoyed seeing him in unbearable pain while she toyed with him.

Glen whimpered and bit his bottom lip as Selene pulled her nails from his thighs, her eyelashes batted towards him as she directed him down to her precious jewel. He pushed her legs closed and pushed her off the counter, she landed on her back crushing his bag and became stabbed with the mirror shards he had earlier. Selene screeched and quickly stood to her feet; Glen had already run to the other side of the room with another stake on standby. He aimed the stake for her stomach and missed it, landing onto the floor. Silence occurred as She stood in front of the stake and slowly looked into his eyes, Selene launched towards him and slammed into the wall while he rushed to the other side.

"We were just having fun, why'd you stop? I was close to turning you over." she mocked, sneaking over to him and twirling her hair in her fingers.

"We had our fun, but what happened to those kids? I know an accident didn't happen." Glen questioned as he reached in his bag and pulled the photo out, showing her the children and her in the photo.

"Oh, those bastards. I gutted them from the inside out and threw their bodies in the bayou down south."

Selene grabs a hold of Glen and pushes him into a chair, her legs holding him down as she hops on top of him and wets her fingers. she slides her fingers into her and grinds against them as Glen stops struggling underneath her and watches intensely. "If I help you with this heat, Will you let me go?" he begged while she reached for his member and shoved it into her. She nodded and slid up and down on him as he took the nod as confirmation and got to work. Glen picked her up and laid her on the counter, He roughly thrusted into her and held the back of her head holding her in position. He began groaning again as he had to admit she felt amazing inside, but it wasn't his job. Glen was supposed to kill this creature and move to next but here he is fucking a vampire and might turn later since she bit him twice. With the thought in his mind, He went harder with his pace and grabbed a hold of her throat choking her.

"With that grip, you might as well kill me." She begged while reaching for his hand, tightening his grip and digging her nails into his wrist.

Glen took those words and did what was told, He pulled out and placed his face between her legs. Her thighs crushing his head as he licked and sucked at her clit, her screams mimicking a banshee with the built-up pleasure she had for centuries. Glen struggled trying to lift his head from her legs, the bite slowly turning him as he kept tasting her. He growled and scratched her ass. Selene shrieked and grabbed the stake stabbing him in his back. Glen's body fell to the floor as she kicked the garlic near his nose and wiped her mouth. She kissed his temple and waltzed out the bar in the sunlight, letting herself burn to death. A cherry red mustang pulled in front of the church and opened its door revealing a young man, he's dressed in a faux leather coat and sunglasses taking over the top of his face. He tosses his keys in his hands and catches them while making his way inside the church. The cathedral doors opened revealing his group of clients dressed in their priest attire and bibles in hand. The church has a beautiful artwork painted onto the ceiling, capturing the last supper with doves around the art. His eyes align with the painting as he continues strolling into the church. Glen turns to the left and shakes hand with the bishop and guides him to a bench in the church, the man takes a seat and opens his bible to a verse.

"Father, May I ask what you have brought me here for?" Glen questioned as he looked up to Bishop with a sense of confusion behind his question.

"You win this round, Garlic boy. I'll be back and trust I won't be defeated." she hissed.

"Aw, let's try this again."

"We were just having fun, why'd you stop? I was close to turning you over." she mocked, sneaking over to him and twirling her hair in her fingers.

"We had our fun, but what happened to those kids? I know an accident didn't happen." Glen questioned as he reached in his bag and pulled the photo out, showing her the children and her in the photo.

"Oh, those bastards. I gutted them from the inside out and threw their bodies in the bayou down south."

"With that grip, you might as well kill me." She begged while reaching for his hand, tightening his grip and digging her nails into his wrist.

"Father, May I ask what you have brought me here for?" Glen questioned as he looked up to Bishop with a sense of confusion behind his question.

"You win this round, Garlic boy. I'll be back and trust I won't be defeated." she hissed.

"Aw, let's try this again."

"We were just having fun, why'd you stop? I was close to turning you over." she mocked, sneaking over to him and twirling her hair in her fingers.

"We had our fun, but what happened to those kids? I know an accident didn't happen." Glen questioned as he reached in his bag and pulled the photo out, showing her the children and her in the photo.

"Oh, those bastards. I gutted them from the inside out and threw their bodies in the bayou down south."

"With that grip, you might as well kill me." She begged while reaching for his hand, tightening his grip and digging her nails into his wrist.

#original character #original writing #writers on tumblr #ao3 fanfic #glen powell #glen powell fic #vampire aesthetic #my ocs tag #my ocs do not steal #oc tag #my ocs

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