#you must be baptized

[yeslordmyking]

Those who accepted his message were baptized, and about three thousand were added to their... [ Read devo thought and prayer for this Bible verse ]

[wecanbeperfect]

THE RESURRECTION BODY EXPLAINED

1 Corinthians 15:50 Now this I say, brethren, that flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God; neither doth corruption inherit incorruption..

[marklikely]

jigsaw as an evangelical christian who puts nonbelievers in traps until they repent and accept christ to escape would honestly make more sense than the actual reasons he gives for his behavior.

[fiirecracker]

savathun tag drop //

ain't no grave can hold my body down ( savathun ic. ) / hold the hand of the godchild as she falls from the sky ( verse ii.) / give my back my heart you wingless thing ( savathun & the witness.) / she is holy ( savathun visage. ) / giving into hidden rhythms written with the heartbeat of conspiracy ( savathun musings. ) / must be the season of the witch ( savathun headcanons. ) / i am your friend ( savathun. ) / you were born of my body and baptized in the blood of your siblings; no mother will know you as i have ( savathun & theo. )

[eleplay]

feeling blue 😉👉👉

[autistic-shaiapouf]

Very cool thing that having reincarnation beliefs has done to me is that every single time we get people trying to proselytize at work, it feels even more meaningless than before

[forbidden-sunlight]

yandere!holy knight with saintess!reader scenario [part one]

Warnings: obsessive behavior, religious themes, implied manipulation, brief mention of suicidal thoughts/ideation.

There may be possible triggers in this story.

If you do not feel comfortable venturing any further, please hit the 'back' button on your mobile device or computer and read something much more pleasant than a possible series of unfortunate events.

You are responsible for your own

Internet consumption!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Hey guys, before we get started, I’d like to address a couple of things.

First, the content here is a bit darker than my previous works, as stated in the warnings above. If you or someone you know is struggling, you aren’t alone. There are many support services that are here to help. I will leave a link to some of these sources in this link here. Tumblr also has their messaging system, Kokobot. I want you guys, my audience to feel safe when reading my stories. If you do not feel comfortable venturing any further, that’s okay. Please prioritize your physical and mental health, above all else.

Second, bullying is not tolerated. If I see any sign of it on here, I will have no choice but to take this story down. Finally, there will be some references in here from The Locked Tomb series by Tamsyn Muir, such as Harrowhark and Palamedes. I claim no ownership over this magnificent series as it belongs to the rightful creator.

With that being said guys, sit back, relax....and perhaps begin to pray for salvation. Because this is past the point of no return :)

Part Two

Part Three

Yandere!Holy Knight had always believed he was meant to serve a greater purpose. Not to accumulate wealth and power like his older brother, only to abuse his authority and hurt people who did not deserve a whipping for a cup of tea that was two degrees too cold to his liking. No. He wanted to help others in his own way, without expecting anything in return. Perhaps…that was why it had been so easy to leave his family and find his place here in the Holy Temple of Aesir. Or it was because he is the second son, the spare heir to the Emery viscounty, that his parents allowed him to leave without so much as a second thought. 

He had given up his name when he was baptized by the high priest, and was reborn as Sir Palamedes. Five years have passed, and he has ascended to becoming the vice commander of the Holy Temple’s paladins.He must protect the Holy Temple, its clergy, and the people of the Helux Empire. This is the oath he took, and is proud to uphold. Yandere!Holy Knight, however, wished the Reverend Sister would take better care of herself. 

The Reverend Sister is a title given to the child chosen by Aesir to deliver His message and protect His children from the wicked monsters who come forth from the swirling, black puddles of miasma. Only the Reverend Sister’s magic can purify the darkness of such an ancient evil. In his mind, there is no one more fitting to being the Reverend Sister than you. Harrowhark. 

God’s Beloved. 

The Possessor of Aesir’ All Seeing Eyes. 

The Holiest Woman in the World.

There are many monikers tied to you. All of them are true, and all of the rumors couldn’t be further from the truth when the bards sang songs of your innocence, your enchanting beauty and ‘swan like neck’. If you had ever heard these lyrics, you would promptly take off your shoe and throw it at them with a low, irritated hiss before stomping away in a huff. 

 Yandere!Holy Knight would probably try very hard to not laugh at seeing, or at least imagining, your annoyance. 

Yes, you were the Reverend Sister  but you were not a naive beauty as everyone believed you to be. You were grumpy, diligent, kind-hearted, and knew the world can be a dark, cruel place. 

The Holy Temple of Aesir had saved you in your darkest hour; instead of throwing yourself into the cold, murky river as a means to escape from the wretched place you had come from, a low-ranking priest had found you. He took you in, taught you everything there is to know about prayer, penitence, and how to embrace the worst part of yourself  even when you wanted to so badly rip it out because it is still part of you. What you had experienced, the hardships, the sorrows…that is life. And to understand that no mortal is perfect, to accept it and use the gifts Aesir had bestowed upon you to help others…that is when you will truly see how beautiful the world is through His Eyes. 

His Eyes that you now possessed. 

No one had dared to look upon them in fear of incurring Aesir’s wrath…yet Yandere!Holy Knight did when he was in the Holy Temple’s care for a year before you arrived, a young man at the age of fifteen. He saw them and thought they looked like a pair of jewels. Sapphires that glowed brightly under the sunlight, and could see everything. Past, present, and future for a brief time. Due to the physical and mental strain that these Eyes have placed on your body even when it was to create illusions or obscure the sight of magical beasts, you weren’t allowed to overuse them. That was why the High Priest insisted that you wore a veil over your face.

You opted to have the seamstress to make adjustments to your mother-of-pearl robes and add a hood to hide yourself from the world. You might have also bribed her to create a matching cloth to wear over your eyes, enchanted so that you could see through it without putting further strain on your vision. 

Rebellious. But you were perfect in Yandere!Holy Knight’s eyes. A Reverend Sister who cared for the congregation, the people, and his men far more than she lets others believe. 

He thought this peaceful life would continue as it had for the last ten years. To watch you from afar and know that you were safe so long as he still held a sword in his hands. But nothing lasts forever. 

One day, the High Priest had cloistered the clergy in the temple’s pews and announced that Aesir had shown him in a vision that the Reverend Sister who had been with them for these past ten years was not the true child of the Creator. It is in fact the young lady standing at his side. A dainty, beautiful lady with pale blue hair that fell past her back, gentle robin’s egg eyes darting from the carpeted floor to the clergy and then to the High Priest. She wore a  strapless white dress with matching gloves that stretched all the way to her elbows. Pear-shaped dangled from her ears, and black lace with a single blue rose attached to the side coiled around her swanlike throat.This stranger, this…noblewoman, is all but ready to accept her duties. From this moment forward, she would be known as Esther. 

“Let it be known, Brothers and Sisters, that the one known as Harrowhark shall be sent into exile for her sins against Aesir. That is the will of the Creator, so let it be so.” 

Yandere!Holy Knight’s heart plummeted into the pit of his stomach at the High Priest’s words. What? He thought. This cannot be true! You are the Reverend Sister, you are God’s Beloved! Why would this man (this fool a nasty voice in the back of his mind growled) deny it now? Ten years. For ten long years, you have been a faithful bride of the Holy Temple. Now, after everything you have down, the recklessness in trying to sacrifice your life for his men on missions, reaching out to the people and listening to them confess their sins in the prayer box because you did not wish to see them suffer and try to offer guidance without overstepping your boundaries….you would just be cast aside as if you were nothing to them? To the Holy Temple, to him?

No. Yandere!Holy Knight cannot and will not accept it. He knows the High Priest. He knows this man would never dare to do something so stupid lest he will incite the anger of the clergy, the people, and the Emperor himself, who is a religious man and knows the Reverend Sister. 

Something is not right. 

He was not the only one who believed it. You did too. You had told him as much later that night, when you found him at the training grounds, trying to relieve his anger by practicing his swings with his two-handed longsword. You were still here. You hadn’t left like the High Priest had ordered you to do so. Thank Aesir. 

If he were a lesser man, he would have scooped you up in his arms and laughed joyously, waking up everyone else in the barracks and gotten smacked across the face for pushing past your five-foot rule. But he didn’t.

You had not been blessed with His Eyes just to pretend that you will unconditionally obey the High Priest’s request to leave and be branded a heretic, a false Reverend Sister, for the rest of your life. No. The woman who will be baptized as Reverend Sister Esther and become God’s Beloved is not who the High Priest believes she is, regardless that this chain of events are happening because of a vision. 

All the sacred texts in the library, all the prayers you have had to learn by heart, not a single one of them contained the words Affection Level. It did not explain why those floated over this stranger’s head, why its dark-pink smoke was encircling the High Priest, a man who possessed just as much holy magic as you did, if not more due to age and experience. You had strained your sight,  vision becoming blurry just to see what was the thing under Affection Level. It was…a bar with lines? Measured in tenth percentiles, from ten to one hundred? What is this sorcery? It isn’t anything you have ever seen before, not even when you have visited monasteries across the Empire for yearly sabbaticals. How did this woman attain it? 

This magic did not possess the gentle warmth of Aesir’s touch, his love towards all creation without expecting anything in return. 

Take. Take. Take. Conquer. Move on. Take. 

That was what you could feel, and you had no doubt in your mind at that very moment, the High Priest’s words going from one ear and out the other. There is an evil presence in the Holy Temple of Aesir. This woman, Esther, is a harbinger. An anchor. She was tied to this evil and she was reveling in it as if she had finally, finally gotten what she desired without lifting a finger. And that terrified you more than anything, the possibility that this sorcery can brainwash the entire congregation and no one would be the wiser. 

Shit. What the fuck is going on? Forgive me, Aesir, for saying such vulgar words in your sacred House, but what the ever-living fuck is going on?

If the sight of seeing this Affection Level  and its abilities did not rattle your bones, it was seeing two tiny names hidden right under the meter. The High Priest…and Sir Palamedes. And inside tiny square boxes right, no, on the left side of their names were the words capture target. 

Yandere!Holy Knight stared at you in disbelief, your confession of what you had seen earlier this afternoon ringing in his ears. “You believe that this woman will bring harm to the Holy Temple, Sister Harrowhark?” He said. “If that is true, then why would the High Priest risk the safety of the congregation? Is it because of the influence of this…Affection Level? And why is my name there?” He was aghast. “How could anyone think of conquering someone if they do not consent to it or do not desire such a thing?”

Like the Brothers and Sisters of the Holy Temple, he had taken a vow of chastity alongside the oaths to protect them and the countrymen. Only clergymen or paladins who were high-ranking would be allowed to marry so long as the union was approved by both the High Priest and the Emperor. 

You blinked at him, jeweled eyes glowing in sympathy as you slowly shook your head. “I do not know, truly. But if Reverend Sister Esther is coming after you, then you must put your safety and well-being above all else. Even my own.” You put your gloved hands in your mother-of-pearls robes, digging around in the pockets before you pulled out a drop-shaped peridot on a silver chain. You placed it in his open palm, and pushed his fingers forward to clench the hand into a loose fist. 

Murky, violet orbs looked at you in confusion, astonishment, and fear. “Lady Harrowhark?” He whispered. 

“Keep this on you, Sir Palamedes. The holy magic stored in here should be able to protect you from whatever this evil is, or at least I hope so. I was able to persuade the High Priest to postpone the announcement of Reverend Sister Esther’s baptism and my exile until after the Festival of the Stars. That will give us one week, while the others are celebrating Aesir’s creation of the world, to find everything we need to know about the Affection Level and how to remove it from Sister Esther before it can corrupt anyone else in the congregation.” You then stepped away from him, turning your back towards Yandere!Holy Knight and throwing the hood of your robe over your head.

 “Recite your prayers, steady your hand, and for Aesir’s sake keep your distance from that woman.”

Then you left the training grounds, disappearing into the night and back towards the Sisters’ sleeping quarters, leaving Yandere! Holy Knight alone in his troubled thoughts. He knelt at his bedside that night, clutching the talisman you had given in his clasped hands as he dutifully murmured the prayers of Fidelity, Honor, and Strength. To protect him from evil’s temptation. 

May Aesir grant him the strength to remain pure of heart and mind before he succumbs to his unholy feelings towards the Reverend Sister Harrowhark, God’s Beloved and the woman he should not have fallen in love with.

Taglist

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©️do not repost or use any of the characters depicted here without the author’s permission. forbidden-sunlight, 2024

[rationaliity]

church — chase atlantic

' i'm about to take you back to church well, tell me your confessions, baby, what's the worst ? baptize in your thighs 'til it hurts cuz i'm about to take you back to church '

requested

you were sunday's favorite. as pure as a lamb, his perfect little toy that he could do whatever he wanted with, even though he wouldn't tell you to your face. no, his actions said all that he needed to say, there was no need to speak his favoritism openly when you accepted him so easily.

you, his darling favorite, were on your knees, looking up at him from where he stood behind his pulpit, your head bowed to him in reverence, one hand curled over the other closed fist in a prayer. " forgive me, father, for i have sinned. " the words flowed effortlessly from your mouth, and he almost found himself unable to keep a calm look on his face, content with your piety.

with your head bowed, all you could hear were his footsteps as you prayed for his forgiveness. fingers hooked underneath your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. sunday loved this view of you on your knees in front of him, your eyes begging for a forgiveness that he was so willing to give, for a price.

" tell me of your sins, " his voice was as smooth as butter, his hand never leaving your chin, forcing you to look directly into his eyes as you confessed. and of course you would, who were you to ever disobey a direct order from sunday ?

" i have.. been touching myself, father, " you admitted, and he swore he could see you melt underneath his piercing gaze. " i know it's wrong, so every time i.. get close, i stop. i know it's not right to orgasm with such sinful intentions, but i.. father, the need.. these sinful urges are taking over my body, my mind. everything. i can't stop thinking about being touched by another. "

sunday is a man who's mind always precedes before his bodily needs. but with you looking up at him, begging him to do something to help you with your urges, even he couldn't turn a blind eye to his favorite believer in need, now could he ?

" this is quite unbecoming of you. i can't even begin to describe my disappointment in you, " although his voice was gentle, his words were biting, reminding you of your place beneath his elegance and divinity. he had the ability to be kind, but he could also ruin you. you could bend to his will, or you could break. he didn't care either way, as long as he had you right where he wanted you.

" i'm sor- "

" i'm afraid apologizing isn't going to make up for your actions. you know as well as i do that acting on such carnal desires are nothing short of blasphemy, " his lips curled into a smirk as he guided your head closer to him, your body leaning in subtly to his, until you were just inches away from him, and his legs were on either side of your body.

" how can i trust you not to act on these desires again ? one should, no, one must ensure that you never act senselessly again. be not afraid, i will take care of your desires. your reverence has never faltered, my precious devotee. i would not be in this position above you if i could not qualm your running thoughts, your aching body. "

" father, please, " you pleaded, the words falling off of your lips like you were about to cry, your bottom lip pouting just a little bit. " i cannot continue to live like this with these thoughts. i need you, father. " you were in the corner of his cage, caught up in his web of desires, but even if the door were open, you would stay.

" then worship me, " sunday commanded, his tone leaving no room for arguments. you only nodded, breathless, as your eyes so lewdly flickered down to his crotch just inches away from your face, his free hand unzipping his silver pants, the sound of the teeth of his pants coming undone enough to make your head spin. you hadn't realized that his hand on your chin had loosened, allowing you to look at him as he freed himself from his pants.

he wouldn't take his clothing off completely, that was entirely off of the table. even when committing such baseless desires. no, he was teaching you how to properly worship a man like him. your god. his hands were clean of sin, it was yours that needed his grace. what was the most efficient way of giving you the body of god himself ?

you didn't need to be told twice to worship him, something that sunday admired from you, always so obedient in everything that he said. you took his cock into your mouth, letting the fat tip of it rest on your flat tongue for a moment as you looked up at him, swearing the sun was in your eyes the way his bright golden eyes were looking down at you, scrutinizing your every move.

sunday didn't move, needing you to prove that you could do such a simple task without his assistance, and a god does not chase after his people, and you did not disappoint. your pretty lips wrapped around his cock so perfectly, your head bobbing up and down as you sucked, eliciting small groans of pleasure from him. drool slipped through your lips and onto your cute little white church dress, dampening the fabric.

your eyebrows were creased together as you worked your warm mouth along his shaft, your focus evident. although he was the one being pleasured, you looked like you were in ecstasy, losing yourself in his pleasure, cock drunk and only thinking about the way his precum tasted in your mouth, like holy water.

" what a perfect little lamb, " sunday purred, his chest rising and falling quickly, his bottom lip in between his teeth. you looked up at him the moment he spoke, your eyes cloudy with desire, but still determined to listen to his every word, hanging off of them as if they were your commandments. " purifying you from within, yes, this is the ideal. my innocent, pure acolyte. your defiling of your own body was sacrilegious, but don't worry. i'll save you. "

sunday was sure controlling you was his claim, his birthright. he could give and take away from you freely as he wished, and you were to give him your everything. and in turn for your everything, of course he could give you his blessings, in the form of exactly what you craved from him. as your mouth worked up and down his cock, the lewd sounds filling up the otherwise silent church, echoing within these holy walls, he felt the pressure threatening to burst out at any moment.

his hand grabbed your hair a little tighter than he expected to, quickly pulling you off of his cock. you hesitated for a moment, the suddenness of his actions catching you off guard, momentarily breaking the spell he had you under, your eyebrows furrowed together as you looked up to him. his free hand gripped his own cock, stroking the length with rhythmic strokes.

" did you think that i would be so generous ? " he asked, his voice holding a hint of condescension. " beg for it. beg for my blessing. beg for your god. "

" fa- g-god- " you stuttered out, his hand in your hair holding your head at the right angle so you could look up at him with your big, doey eyes. you weren't even looking at his ministrations in front of you, solely focused on his face, his radiance. " please- please, i need your blessing, god. i need you to bless this sinful body of mine with your holiness, " the words fell from your lips like a prayer, a mantra that he'd have you repeat over and over again. " my god, please. "

sunday felt his need come to a fever pitch at your prayers, and he threw his head back, moans slipping out as his orgasm exploded outside of him, coating you in his essence. thick ropes of cum splattered onto your face and chest, covering your hair and your forehead like the crown of thorns. his hand dropped his cock, letting it rest on your face, covering one of your eyes as his tip leaked cum into your hair even more as he caught his breath subtly.

" such devotion, your baptism has cleared you partly from your sins. " he murmured, finally releasing your hair, his eyes on how lewd you looked covered in his cum, his cock resting on your face as if that was all you were good for. but his price had been paid, and now he was ready to grant you his forgiveness. " go, sit in the pew. spread your legs for me, and i'll take care of the sins plaguing the inside of your body, too, where the baptism has not yet reached. don't worry, i will make sure your body is completely free of sin, inside and outside, my little dove. "

[thegreenleavesofspring]

This is a shout-out to all the 'unwanted' Christians. The ones who turn to the the Church and find no help, no support, and only a shallow and conditional welcome - which is no welcome at all. The ones who sit through message after sermon after Bible study which is entirely irrelevant to them. The ones who mess up the church's picture-perfect image.

This is for the Side B Christians, the divorced Christians, the single parents trying so desperately to fill the role of two people. This is for the Christians who have never taken Communion, or who have - for whatever reason - never been baptized. This is for the Christians who must choose between food and rent this month, or tithing. This is for the quiet Christians, the shy ones, the ones who'd rather hide under the table than volunteer for helping with the fellowship dinner.

This is for the Christians who admit something in shame and repentance and sorrow and are drawn away from and ostracized. This is for the Christians condemned by their 'brothers' and 'sisters' for things beyond their control. This is for the fatherless children who are not orphans but abandoned by their parents, for the widows left struggling while the local assembly hall is remodeled. This is for the children shut out of the friend groups and pushed away from their peers because of their parents.

This is for the Christians who are blamed for being abused. This is for the Christians who are trying to escape abuse and finding only platitudes and closed doors. This is for Christians who are trying to learn new behavioral patterns and find only condemnation for the old ones and no help. This is for the Christians struggling with mental illness who are told to pray it away. Christians struggling substances. With addictions. With anything. For the Christians who have gone to their pastor or the elders or their peers and found no help.

This is for all the Christians who have no home and no shepherd and no church to nourish them because they are inconvenient. The Christians who mess up the optics. The members who are least in honor.

This is for anyone who has ever sought the comfort of the Church and found instead stones and snakes.

I see you and I love you. Even more than that, God sees you and loves you.

You are not alone.

[slutforalastor]

Confessional

Human Priest Alastor has a particularly committed parishioner with an unholy request. NOT APPROPRIATE FOR THOSE UNDER THE AGE OF 18. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Tags: SO MANY CHURCH REFERENCES, light voyeurism, temptation, bloodletting, church AU I guess if you wanna get technical, way too many big words for plotless smut

"In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit."

You kneel before a shadow, crossing yourself. You know the shadow's face, having spent countless Sundays smiling from your lips and weeping from between your legs during his service. You know that he can see you, perhaps even recognizes you. You're aware of the purpose of confessional, the supposed tenants guiding the practice, but you are not here to absolve yourself. You seek indulgence, not purification.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been eleven months since my last confession. These are my sins. I harbor impure thoughts, thoughts that I know have been given to me by the Lord. He is guiding us towards a union, perhaps to conceive, but for some holy purpose, regardless. There can be no other reason why you'd occupy my every waking thought, why my maiden's bed feels so cold and empty, as though incomplete without your body next to mine. Each and every night, I sin in that bed, allowing my own hand to guide me to an incomplete release. It never gives me any feeling of blessing, only of deeper desire to blaspheme. My soul is forever lost without your faithful shepherding, Father."

The shadow moves, clears its throat, no trace of emotion to be gleaned from his intonation.

"My dear child, you seem lost, confused. As a man I am flattered, perhaps even humbled, by this confession. But you must hold steady against these impure delusions, for God has placed me on a different path."

His rebuke only serves to hasten your desire. You feel yourself laden with honeyed need, leaking against the inside of your thighs through your underwear. You know he can see you kneeling, prostrating yourself before the judgment of your holy superior. Still on your knees, you lean back, hiking up the fabric of your skirt, pushing your hips up to present your ruined panties. "Holy Father, you are a servant of the Lord, are you not? Would you deny that one of your flock is in need? Would you leave them to temptation in solitude, with only their hands, the devil's playthings, for companionship?"

His voice betrays the first sign of will being tested. "This could just as easily be a test, a bit of trickery from the Devil himself."

"Who better to rid me of devilish desire than one who speaks on God's behalf? Who baptizes the young, unifies lovers, grants last rites to the condemned? Serve your Lord and banish this Devil from my loins, if you be pious, if you be merciful."

His voice is trembling now, thick with an intent you had hoped to provoke. You are intriguing him, winning him over. Summoning your courage, you draw your underwear down to your ankles, clumsily preening your sex the same way you have been whenever the heat between your legs burns like Hellfire. "See for yourself how the Lord makes me a conduit. Would you call this the will of the Devil? The need of a woman for a man?"

"I have taken an oath..." he stutters, choking on his own words.

"An oath to serve your parishioners... Would you bear witness to sin, knowing you can make it holy?" you bleat, the lamb on the altar, bound by ropes fastened to your soul. The Priest stands, and you can see his shadow making the mark of the cross, muttering a prayer to himself. Your self-defilement doesn't even slow, the low, wet sounds of hungry flesh accepting your phallic substitute the only sound in the confessional. In another moment, you hear the door opening, and your savior stands framed in the light of the jamb.

"Bless you, Father," you moan. He shuts the door, and in the dimness, you capture the full depth of his radiance. His brown hair drapes in front of his eyes, standing as a buffer between those nearly-black irises and the small circular frames that grace the bridge of his nose. A nervous sweat shimmers on his dark skin. His cassock is disheveled, his silver cross hung up on one of the higher buttons, collar greyed at the edges from sweat.

"We must make haste to rid you of this curse," he breathes, tugging at his collar. Thinking on its symbolism, he detaches it entirely, leaving it hanging on the doorknob. With rough strength, he brings you to the chair one could use to confess face-to-face, bringing your arousal level with him when he drops to his knees. He inhales, something within that bouquet seeming to pique his interest. "You reek of unholy desire."

"It has tormented me, Father."

"I can see now what you mean. It would be irresponsible to leave you in such a state. I shall grant you this mercy, my child. God will heal you through me."

With a slight tilt of his head, he partakes in your communion, his lips brushing over the outermost of your folds, murmuring a prayer against the electrified nerves. You can feel every syllable evoked against your body, sending ripples of heaven cascading through your system. You are certain that God's holy presence is being imparted from the teasing edges of his lips into your body. His tongue parts from between his pursed, muttering lips, lapping at the inside of your sex, searching for something buried deeper still. Your hands dare to caress his head, guiding him towards the spot he seeks. Charting into fresh territory, he stakes claim to it, his eager tongue seeking out places you've yet to even map yourself. Each press of it is a blessing, the burning ache in your flesh the doubtless throes of a demon being flayed from your soul.

"My dear, I'm beginning to wonder if I misjudged. Your taste is divine."

Your fingers dig into his thick locks, pressing him to persist even further, to reach past the purgatory of your desire. You feel his nose grinding against your most sensitive spot, something you have never had a name for, feeling every time he inhales and exhales, his mouth far too preoccupied with more concerning matters. You are fighting to keep your carnal affectations from becoming any louder than a whining wail you smother in the small of your throat, lest it be loosed completely unrestrained.

"You're doing well to keep your voice lowered," he praises you. "You are a true servant of your Lord."

"I-I am in his service," you affirm, your words snaring every time his tongue darts against your walls.

"Your dedication deserves to be rewarded," and he pushes himself as far as the limitations of flesh permit, lodging his lapping extremity so firmly within that you startle nearly upright, sharp nails that bite against the fabric of your clothes urging you back down. "He says 'be still and know that I am God.'"

You groan against the scripture being branded on your innards, a new sensation creeping across the tensed muscles of your legs. With a muffled moan, he is baptized in your release, and he offers a satisfied sound of approval. Your legs quake against the ceaseless undulating of his attentions, finally extricating himself when he's had his fill of you. He runs the long, thin thing that just concluded making a mess of your insides over his glistening grin, still slick from your consecration. Your focus drifts downward, to the crook that will shepherd you to salvation tenting the fabric of his soutane.

"Traces of habitation still remain, my child. We must take measures to save your spirit." He undoes the lower buttons of his robe, exposing himself to you, as he would have been in Eden. You can feel it against you, afire with purifying heat, sliding against your sopping entrance with anticipation. "Accept these rites."

"Bless me, Father," you whine, grinding yourself against him.

"Please, dear, call me Alastor." It's not permission; it's a demand. He waits, poised against you.

"Please give me your blessing, Alastor."

His lips curl into a grin, his canines so jagged and long that they're the first teeth you see. "God answers all prayers in good time." With a shove, he enters you, your teeth clenching, your breath shorting at the feeling of this union. He can't help but let a pleasured grunt leave his lips, and he catches your eyes as the last inch of him slips inside, brushing an errant strand of hair from your eyes. You feel cold, flushed at the overwhelming relief of finally being face-to-face with what you'd thought could only be in a fantasy. He gives a thrust, testing the waters, shaking your faith. You whimper against the force of it, still growing accustomed to the sensation of being taken. "Do you feel the sin drying up? The demonic need being purged?" Alastor wonders, driving himself into you with ever-increasing force, his restraint abandoned. "In its place will be holy admiration, a want to submit, as all of God's good creatures must possess."

"I will be a good creature," you promise.

"The best their ever was," Alastor croons, his jagged incisors hunting for the soft of your neck, carving runes against the submissive skin, seas of red pooling in the canyons. "Will your blood run black, as a demon's, or red, like the dust of the Earth? You have the allure of a succubus, but the taste of a virgin." His nails ribbon your collarbone, leaving oozing trails like spilled wine. He partakes of this communion with the same vigor as before, drinking it like an elixir. Your nervous hands grasp against his back, enfeebled fingers digging into the fabric of his clothing. Through all of this, his rutting has never slowed, increasing in desperation when he samples your blood. When he pulls away, you can see it trickling against his teeth, his tongue dragging over the surface to crudely clean them.

"I have dreamed of this, Alastor."

"Our lord works in mysterious ways," he assures you, clawed fingers still tracing thin rivulets across your skin. "I am nearly at my limit," he pants, burying himself against you. His thrusts finally slow, each push against you deliberate, purposeful. With his body laid against yours, his mouth is laid by your ear, and you can hear every facet of his breathing, every pant, moan, and inhale he makes broadcasting into your brain, the only sound you can hear. You are as close as he is, and you wrap yourself around him as he pumps into you one final time, his holy fire coating your insides, his assured breaths becoming high-pitched whines as he spasms against you, driving you to your own climax. It is nothing like what you've made yourself feel; it sends shockwaves through the taut fibers of your lower half, makes you cry out in uncontrollable lust, leaving your limbs clenched around Alastor as the last of his climax is left spilt within. You feel his chest heave with a deeply drawn breath, his sigh in your ear scattering chills across you. "Do you feel purified, dear?"

"I worry that I will have further need of your services, Alastor."

He pulls away from you, his smile sadistic yet sincere. "The clergy lives to serve, after all."

[yeslordmyking]

Romans 6:23 — Today's Verse for Sunday, June 23, 2024

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 42

part 1 | part 41 | ao3

cw: irreverent religious imagery, general fucknastiness, minors look away (informal D/s dynamics, fingering, cum play, take me to church)

—

“Ohhhhh, fuck, oh fuck oh fuckohfuckoh—”

Eddie yanks his hips up higher. He’s got him hoisted up in bridge pose: weight up on his shoulders, cock aimed at his own mouth and threatening to blow, legs squeezing Eddie’s hips as Eddie pulls him apart. One hand spears three slick fingers inside him while the other delivers pleasure and penance, stroking him off so sweetly one second then striking tender flesh the next, and hysterically Steve thinks of the girl he lost his virginity to; how she kept making all these breathy, whiny cries in the back seat of his car — so big so full oh fuck Steve oh my god. Steve had always assumed she was embellishing a bit for his benefit, y’know? Like

Reality: Ribbed for His Pleasure.

But now Eddie crooks his fingers up while his free hand slaps down mean and sharp on the top of Steve’s thigh, and Steve fucking shouts. Apologizes to Mallory in his mind and lets out a hideous noise, all pitchy and strangled, his throat full of spit, his eyes filled with tears.

Eddie digs his nails into the skin he just slapped. “You wanted this,” he reminds him with a gorgeous, rasping grunt. Feral, filthy noises that shouldn't sound so beautiful but echo through Steve's mind like a pipe organ in a stone chapel.

Eddie twists his buried fingers; makes Steve's whole body clench. “Said you could take it, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Steve pants, head rocking against the floor with the force of Eddie’s thrusts. Fucking him without fucking him; hips working in tandem with his fingers, pretty pink dick smearing precum on Steve’s thigh.

“Say it,” Eddie commands.

“I can take it.”

“Yeah, you can.” He drapes himself over Steve, bucking against him still, fingers moving faster, breaths speeding up. "My pretty baby," he coos with his mouth hovering inches away. "Can take anything I give you."

Steve licks his lips and wishes, grotesquely, that he had numbers on his wrist. Wants to bend the universe's will so he can stay in this moment forever.

He settles for chasing Eddie's lips with a wet kiss, straining his neck to wriggle his tongue past smiling teeth. "I can take it," he confesses against the slick drag of Eddie's mouth. Repeats the mantra, call and response like he's in church.

Eddie's hand recites the homily, jerking faster, willing release, and he pulls back to aim Steve's aching dick toward his mouth; gives him a serious look. One last chance to bow out.

"Even this?" he asks, readying Steve to pour communion down his own throat.

Steve sticks out his tongue. Looks up at Eddie with wide, reverent eyes — this Hellfire boy with demons inked into his chest — and he thinks this is the closest he's ever felt to God. Something about this feels sacred. Ritualistic renewal; rebirth and covenant.

He nods feverishly.

"Jesus Christ," Eddie groans, and he crooks his fingers in again and squeezes his other hand harder at the base of Steve’s cock. He’s leaking all over him, twitching and flexing as he thrusts; getting Steve all messy and wet between his legs. Steve wants to be fucked so badly he might cry; wants to feel it for real, the head of Eddie’s cock popping past the ring of quivering muscle.

He’s about to ask for it, beg for it — balls drawn tight against his body, tears streaming from his eyes — but then Eddie chants “Open wider, Stevie; you can do it, baby, come on” and Steve baptizes himself, spilling hot over chest and chin, reborn under the guidance of Eddie’s holy, healing hands.

—

part 43

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

[01zfan]

understanding my faith | l. at

churchboy!anton x fem!reader | 2.4k words

i wouldn’t describe this as fluff or angst but just yearning.

contains: biblical references, issues with church involving lack of faith in god, reader is compared to an angel. anton is a church boy in the choir heh

umf: part one | part two | part three

it wasn’t luck that anton met you. luck was for something random, like finding money on the ground. luck was getting on the bus and finding a seat. anton knew you were more than something random and you were more than something from this earth. anything that came to anton’s mind you were more than that. you were above this plane of existence. something far greater.

anton had been in the church choir his whole life. his first interaction with the church started off as a baby, baptized before he could remember. when he could remember, he started as a child in the congregation. standing and sitting for hours, repeating hymns and having to stay awake through the boring service. anton remembers thinking about what other kids his age were doing at this time in the morning. usually sleeping, but kids always had their sunday’s free. that’s what he was most jealous of. being able to sleep in on a sunday was something anton always wanted to do.

the only reprieve from being a perfect churchgoer was when all the kids got to have fun during breakfast in the middle of service. anton played with kids, he wasn’t an outcast. but thats only because he didn’t show his age mates his true colors. anton recalled sitting in a circle with the other kids, talking about what they loved about god. when it got to him, anton wasn’t sure what to say. without thinking, he expressed lack of faith. when he saw the look in their eyes, the look of uncertainty anton immediately backtracked. he said he was thankful for god’s forgiveness and he passed the “cross of speaking” to the next in line. anton was at risk of being a pariah, until he passed the cross to you. 

anton never understood beauty. his congregation often talked about beauty through several women mentioned in the bible. paintings of these religious figures never moved him. he could appreciate the artistry, but never understood the word beauty. anton wondered if something was wrong with him, if a little devil was working against him finding anything beautiful. when he saw you, anton understood. this is what beauty was described as in the bible. 

when you got the cross. you looked to anton. he almost immediately looked away, picking at the laces of his shoes. he hated publicly speaking. he hated feeling people look at him. here you were, looking at him with a gaze that felt more powerful than god himself.

“i don’t think god is real.” you said simply.

a pen could’ve dropped in the church hall. everyone looked towards you. a kid, with the cross in the hand saying something like that in the house of god. the youth pastor tried to save the situation, but you stayed steadfast in your opposition of god. 

ten years had passed since you left the church and people still occasionally brought you up. anton remained involved with the church, moving from the choir as an alto then becoming the cello player. outside lessons made him an integral part of the church, and the church took over his life. he was there every day of the week. if it wasn’t for choir practice, it was for a random event that was being hosted at the church. anton often volunteered. he thought it would look good on college applications, but he always felt ridiculous being so involved as someone who was closer to a nonbeliever than a believer.

he must admit, the church became something close to a sanctuary for him. with his parents being so strict sometimes the church would be the only place he could go. anton would go there after school to study. being a senior member of the choir meant he had keys to get into the church.  

sometimes anton would study, other times he would sit in the pews, in the vast room by himself. he would look up at the stained glass panels, the empty pews. he would look at the large organ, its pipes going all the way to the ceiling. anton wondered about the hands that were used to build this church, if they were hands blessed by god himself. anton would sometimes rest his head on the pew in front of him thinking about what it would take for a man to understand faith. 

anton closed his eyes, trying to imagine what god looked like. sometimes he’d open them to the sound of his mom calling him telling him to come home, opening his eyes in a dark church.

“hello?”

anton opened his eyes and saw you, standing in the aisle. he saw you sideways, his head bent oddly to rest on the pew. you were wearing a beautiful white dress. you had to wear a neutral cardigan, probably to hide the scandalous neckline of the dress. anton couldn’t help but stare at you. light came through the stained glass windows, casting a beautiful light on your face. everything about church felt so scratchy to him, like the wool sweater of his schools’ unifrom. but you looked warm and inviting.

“hi. sorry. the pastor said i could come find you for help?”

anton realized he was staring. he got up from the pew a little too fast. you were in the aisle, and he sat in the middle of the pew so he had to shuffle through to get to you. when he stood in front of you, he knew who you were immediately.

“you’re back?” anton could feel his eyes widen. you looked like the same girl anton saw in the margins of biblical text, daydreamed about when service droned on. you had the same eyes he locked with and the same smile when you acknowledged him.

“anton?” your eyes grew wide. anton’s only grew wider. you remembered him? “the pastor said the choir lead was here i didn’t know it was you.”

anton wasn’t sure what to do. when you gave him a hug that was the first time he ever felt something so deeply in the church. it started in his heart, then blossomed to his whole body, taking control of his arms to wrap them around you.

“it’s so nice to see a familiar face around here you have no idea.”

you pulled away too soon. anton had his hands at his sides now, unsure what to do. 

“what are you doing here?” anton hasn’t seen you since you left. your parents moved away, he was never sure why. of course their were rumors about your family moving. anton always thought it was ironic how the church loved to gossip.

“i moved back here with my mom and she wants me to get back into the church. i was in the choir when i left and so i thought i’d try to come back.” you fiddled with a ring on your pinky finger. anton eyed the ring, trying to remember which finger the taken girls wore, the ones that had a boyfriend.

“i am the choir leader.” anton looked at his cello sitting in the pew. he wasn’t sure if you had seen it.

“not a youth pastor?” anton remembers the two of you mocking the clean cut teenagers that were forced to wrangle the kids of the church.

“definitely not.” anton replied a little too fast. something about what he did made you laugh, booming through the empty room. anton looked around the room. the architecture of the room was designed to fill the room with sound. anton can’t believe that this room was made to amplify speeches that droned on and boring music. your laugh was the only sound that needed to be played in this room.

“sorry i’m a little loud. i forgot proper church etiquette.” you put a hand over your mouth. 

“no it’s okay. the pastor told you to find me right? to show you the music?” anton wanted you to laugh again it made everything in this room make more sense.

“yeah sorry. he said you can show me and teach me the music. if it’s not too much trouble.”

“i don’t mind.” anton was reaching in the pew for his cello while you walked to the front of the room, by all the instruments. anton saw you wander near the microphone.

“there’s extra sheet music in the stool.” anton needed you to not look at him while he set his things up. you nodded and opened the cover of the seat. “everything we’ve been doing lately is in a folder.”

after grabbing the music, you sat on the stool of the piano.

anton has never set up his cello so carefully. he was conscious of you looking at him, watching him set up his equipment. anton wondered if you knew anything about the cello, if you would ask to touch his. for some reason, his hands were shaking when he rubbed his bow against the rosin, making sure the hairs were coated.

“ah perfect.” you grabbed the folder, placing all the music on an extra music stand. you sat across from anton, looking at him waiting to suggest a song.

“we’ve been playing be thou my vision alot recently. it’s on the easier side so we can do that first. .”

“alrighty. lets do it.”

anton was about to start playing before you stuck up a finger, to get him to stop. he froze, bow getting ready to pull the first note from his instrument he watched you warmup quickly, and take a drink from your water bottle. it was new for anton to follow someone else during practice. it was always him leading everyone, even if they were older.

after you were done you nodded towards him. he started playing at tempo. you joined in exactly on time, something people in the choir struggled with. your voice was angelic, as beautiful as he remembered. it was hard for him to stay with your singing, he wanted to stop playing cello to focus on your voice. so many never took the time to learn the pronunciation of the hymns, just guessing and going with those around them. you knew what you were singing, with a conviction anton had never seen. your voice bellowed through the room, but anton felt wrapped in your voice. it was something he had never felt before.

anton hated playing cello for the choir. but he would play until his hands bled, until ever hair on his bow was torn if it meant you were singing with him.

“was that good?” you asked. did you think he’d say no?”

“you sounded amazing. like an angel.” anton wishes he was lying. you came in like an angel, sang like you learned from god himself. everything in the bible was making sense the more he looked at you.

“you’ve always been too nice to me anton.” 

you were nice like an angel too.

“i’m only telling the truth.” anton put his bow back on the stand

“i’m not just talking about now,” you were next to him now. “before my family moved you were always so nice to us. you were kind, never joined in the rumors or stuck your nose up at me.”

anton remembered the way the congregation treated your family. uninvited or not told about events. they made an example out of your family, what would happen if you expressed lack of faith. anton assumed the rumors about religious persecution being the cause of you disappearing one day wasn’t completely untrue.

“that was never me. i never thought it was that serious to be so rude to someone else because they show lack of faith.” anton felt nervous mentioning this in front of the large peeling painting of the virgin mary. as if someone was overhearing, and then his family would be the next ones getting chased out.

“are you a nonbeliever?” anton looked from his sheet music to see your wide eyes.

“no of course not! my whole life is the church.” anton wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince you or himself. 

“it’s okay if you are. i’m sure you know where i stand.” you sat in the chair next to anton now.

“you still don’t believe?” anton whispered it. maybe the paintings could hear him.

“i have been trying to practice my faith.”

“i’ve been trying to understand my faith.” anton said quickly. he said it to not make you feel alone, but he realized he had accidentally confessed. he had never said it out loud, not even to the priest during confessionals.

“what do you mean?” you asked.

“practicing it comes easy to me,” anton motions towards his cello for effect. “playing the music, memorizing hymns, understanding prayers, reciting passages. thats like second nature to me. but understanding why i do all of it is hard.” anton has wrote this in his diary many times. the one he keeps locked away from his parents overbearing eyes. it was hard to tell it to someone else of flesh and blood. but something about how the light always followed you made him believe you were made of something more.

anton watched you ponder about what he said. if it was anyone else he would’ve panicked. but he just watched you think. 

“maybe we can help eachother.” you say finally.

“what do you mean?” anton put his cello on the ground next to him.

“help me practice faith and maybe i can help you understand it. maybe i was sent here to help you. you called me an angel after all.”

“how do you plan on helping me understand it?” 

you pull a piece of his sheet music toward you, and write something on it.

“i’m sure we will figure it out.” you smile at anton and he wishes he had his cello to hide behind. you stand up, walking towards the exit of the room.

“bye anton. i think we both should be getting home. it’s late.” you say to him while walking out. 

just as you leave, antons phone buzzes in his pocket. a text from his mom saying he should be home and it’s getting late. anton can’t control the heavy beating in his heart as he looks at your phone number, writing in the margins of his sheet music. 

anton looks up to the sculpture of jesus on the cross. from this angle, it looks like he’s smiling down at him.

sacrilegious masterlist

[jujutsutrash]

I saw an image of Geto as a Catholic Priest on tiktok and it has been keeping me up at night with some hella unholy thoughts. So have a thing about Father Geto written so those thoughts will maybe free me. Still, might write more for this later, maybe. Geto x Reader. Around 1k. NSFW AS HELL, minors leave. Some slight dubcon, maybe a bit of coercion kink. Unprotected piv, breeding kink (sorta coerced). I can feel all the catholics in my bloodline cursing me right now, my parents baptized me for nothing.

Father Geto who is such a kind and generous man of the cloth. So caring and dedicated to his community, truly a shepard to his flock. And he cares for every single one of his sheep. But despite his best intentions, he finds himself taking a special liking to one.

Father Geto who meets every single soul that enters his church with a smile, but the one he gives you feels more tense. You make him feel things he hasn't in years. A desire that goes against every oath he has sworn.

Father Geto who always greets you with a warm hand on your shoulder and a gentle voice. But conflicting thoughts spin in his head. He knows it's wrong, but the lust within him only worsens over time. To him you are pure temptation, and he is just a man, still prey to the weaknesses of of the flesh.

Father Geto who can't help the fire that consumes him every time he sees you, every time you talk. You seem so at ease around him, and it only makes this feel worse. Though, Geto still can't help but let his eyes wander over your form, gaze tracing your curves when you aren't looking.

But one day you notice. And you gaze back at him with the same stare.

Father Geto who can barely fight it. You play the staring game for a not very long time before one day he finally drags you into the presbytery attached to the small church. It's night and the church is empty, except for the two of you. He has you pushed against the wall, lips on yours as you tug at his hair, pulling it lose from it's usual bun.

Father Geto who hears your weak attempts at fighting back. Saying this feels wrong, asking him how he can do that, telling him he is going to break his vow. He meets every one of your arguments with an answer. There is more to being a man of the cloth than just the vows. Not even priests are free of sin. If you both feel it, it must be God's plan. And God's plan can't feel wrong.

It's all in God's plan. It's all in God's plan. It's all in God's plan. He repeats in your ear until the words fall from your lips. A shepard to his sheep and you follow the lead, accepting his words and the way his large hands roam over your body. He looms over you like a predator, thick arms puling you up easily, and you never realized he was this strong before.

Father Geto who doesn't even really remove his vestments that first time. He only undresses as much as he needs, only enough for you to marvel at how massive his cock is. Almost a sin for it to be wasted on a priest. His black robes shield his body and yours as Geto holds you against the wall. It sways as he pushes his thick length all the way into your wet pussy, a moan escaping both of you. He fucks you hard, fast and desperate. And when he cums over your thights and pussy, he promises this will only happen once.

But it doesn't.

He fucks you again. And again. And again. Each time meeting your arguments with an answer. Until you argue no more. You visit the church at night. He passes by your house at times. Nobody minds, he visists people all the time, he is that dedicated to his community. Truly a great man.

Father Geto who still acts like the holiest of men in church. So kind, so gentle, so forgiving of all. Almost a saint to all those who see him. But at night, you suck him under the table he uses to write his sermons, swallowing his thick seed as he caresses your hair. When in your house, he eats you on your bed, cross dangling from his neck as his tongue teases the entrance of your pussy.

You've commited so many mistakes, why not one more.

Father Geto who one day just grunts and shakes as he finishes deep inside your pussy, leaving you in almost panic as you feel his cock throbbing, warm cum flooding your insides. He always finishes outside, so why this now? You tremble as he holds your back to his chest, nose buried in your neck. You try to tell him he shouldn't have done this, that you are not on the pill, but he isn't hearing it, too focused on the way his seed spills out of you when he pulls out.

It gets him going again, and your weak struggles are sushed by a gentle tone that in nothing reflects the way he is slamming into you again. He tells you that you are just too tempting. That this is the ultimate purpose for the weakness of the flesh. That it must be God's plan. At this point, it has to.

Father Geto who drills into you with conviction, chasing the thought of getting you pregnant with his seed. It feels too good and you are moaning as he is praising you all the way. This time he says he is going to fill you up, and you try to argue, telling him it's not a safe day, urging him to pull out. It only seems to rile him up more.

His deep voice sushes your pleas. Telling you it's fine, telling you if you get pregnant then it's a happy thing. Every life is a gift from God. And it's about time you became a mommy anyway. You are capable and reliable, you'd make a great mother. He whispers to you in that gentle tone that the moment your womb bore fruit would be the most beautiful moment in these ugly times.

Father Geto who cums hard and deep inside you, flooding your pussy with his thick and sticky seed as he shushes your arguments with his own. It's the strongest orgasm he could ever experience. And the next time he cums inside, you don't argue. He doesn't cum outside anymore. It becomes the norm.

And when you show up to his church one night, with a pregnancy test in hand, he drapes a strong arm over your shoulder, pulling you into that kind, warm embrace. He speaks to you in that ever gentle tone, like a shepard, full of love for his growing flock. Such a kind priest, that Father Geto, so supportive of his community. You were lucky to have him.

[bokutizer]

more of dada's so pwetty pweaseeee 🥺

dada’s pwetty! pt.2 

Includes : Kuroo, Bokuto Summary : Just a few daughters being enchanted by their dadas' looks Tags : fem!reader, fluff, domestic bliss A/n : I don't like the way Bokuto's turned out but... anyways. pt. 1

Whether it is a conversation between you and KUROO, the talking pigs on the TV or any other source that can show your two year old daughter the vast ocean of vocabulary: she loves parroting words that catch her attention. A habit that she has only recently picked up and that makes her jump and dance around your house, repeating the newly learned word like a broken record tape.  Today's word is sponsored by the elderly lady next door who told the two year old that her polka dotted dress was very "pretty", when you two came back from a walk to the nearby park a few hours ago. Since then, you don't think there is a single thing in the household that she has not baptized as "pwetty!". Actually, there is something. Or rather someone. Someone who has been rotting in his home office all day long, writing and answering emails, and attending one video conference after the other because of an important upcoming sports event.

The creaking door of his office catches Kuroo's attention and he immediately feels a little wave of serotonin flow through him at the sight of his little girl. Her dark pigtails swing back and forth as she skips over to him with a bright smile on her face. "Hey there, sweetheart." Kuroo coos after having silenced his microphone, pulling her up on his lap. "Daddy's almost finished, and then we can have dinner togeth-" "Dada's pwetty!" her cheerful and loud voice interrupts him. Her dada is clearly taken aback, but lets out a breathy chuckle once he lets her words sink in. "Is he now?" he playfully taps her nose with his forefinger before readjusting her on his lap to press a wet smooch against her cheek. "Well, I think you are way, way, wayyy prettier than your dada." Both of them keep giggling and fooling around until they hear someone clear their throat.  "I think we should end this call here. I'll email you further details." Kuroo hears one of his colleagues speak, and when he dares to look over to his screen, he notices how somehow all of them are... smiling? Some of them even wave which your daughter happily reciprocates. And upon further inspection, Kuroo notices a little detail that makes him smile bashfully before ending the call.  He could swear he turned the microphone off?

Your daughter is a ray of sunshine, obviously taking after BOKUTO. She's a curious child, loves exploring the world especially when she knows that her parents are right behind her, supporting her through every teeny tiny step of hers. Now, when it comes to her looks she's a carbon copy of you, but her personality? The way she interacts with others, how she perceives people's feelings, how she handles her own emotions (she doesn't know how to handle them)- Yep, she's definitely Koutarou's offspring.

It's a quiet Sunday evening, with you enjoying a warm bath and your husband and daughter sitting on the floor and playing in her room. Various glittery hair clips and pink bows adorn the volleyball player’s peppered hair, and while he’s sure that he must look awfully ridiculous right now, the excited and self-sufficient grin that his daughter is offering him right now is definitely more than worth it. “And- it’s done!” she beams, finishing the look with a final butterfly-shaped clip to get her dad’s bangs out of his face. “Daddy, you look like a mermaid!” Bokuto gasps, his excited expression mirroring that of his daughter when he catches a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the window. “You’re so pretty!”  “No.” he smiles brightly, his chest feeling so full of love for this little bundle of joy. “You’re pretty.”

A giggle sounds through the room when he leans over to tickle her before hoisting her up in his arms. “No, you’re pretty.” your daughter counters, her voice a tad more serious than before.  “No, you.” Her nose scrunches irritatedly when her dad boops it, not minding how seriously she’s taking their discussion. “No, you!” And after countless back and forth, Bokuto’s eyes widen when she starts sniffling and her lower lip trembling.  “Okay, okay, daddy’s pretty! I’m pretty, yeah?” he embraces her tighter while panically looking around the room as if seeking your help, knowing very well that you’re probably still in the bathroom. “No crying, pumpkin, ‘kay?”  And while cradling her against him, lightly swaying from side to side, and watching his little girl’s drooping eyes, it’s obvious, and he has to admit also a little funny, that her distress was clearly caused by exhaustion. Though, he still believes that she’s the pretty one out of the both of them, even with her puffy eyes and snot running out of her nose, staining his shirt. 

[hawkinstales]

Oh, look I was a whore for Eddie Munson — again. anyways this is rated r. No minors allowed. To read this, you must be over the age of eighteen. I repeat, above the age of eighteen. I really hope you guys enjoy this, and feedback is always appreciated. If you like this one, feel free to check out my masterlist.

Flesh tangle with flesh, droplets of sweat dripping down flush skin. The blazing heat of summer's sun beating onto the roof, seeping into the metal, swirling in the trailer's air — the rickety fan twist, humming along with the low tune of soft rock.

Swollen lips collide, muffling moans and the whimpers of names. Skin sliding against skin, bare and vulnerable — for only the other's lustful admiration. Your fingers weave into his messy curls, keeping you grounded to him. His callous palms roam, exploring the treasure of your curves. Eddie's thick cock fills you, his lips nipping and sucking at your neck, gushing in pleasure with each roll of your hips.

Wayne's gone fishing. The perfect excuse for a sweet, sinful act. Newlyweds moving into their first place — a home, in which thy husband fucks his wife on every surface in each room. Nothing left untouched, baptize in the love of two souls.

Round three, the living room. Victim of circumstance? The old, worn out couch. A delightful spot for you to take control, using him for your own delicious desires. To play with him, tease him, ruin him to the point he's unable to forget you. He'll crave you, drive him to the brake of insanity until he hunts you down in his next life.

Not that you had anything to fear, for he was already under your spell — has been the moment his large, beautiful brown eyes captured yours from across the room, sealing your fate and his.

Eddie's pale skin glistens, eyes shut, legs sprawled and trapped beneath the plush skin of your thighs and ass. You were desperate, wanting to keep him inside of you until the end of time. At last, your legs grew sore and weak — body spent thanks to the multiple orgasm he's pulled from you.

"Fuck, baby. I'm gonna fill you up."

A treacherous idea — unfathomable, but oh so fun. Your hips stall, legs lifting to hover at his achy, leaky tip. His pleasure fleeting, captured and locked away. His face pinch, brows scrunched, hips bucking only to be denied entry.

Eddie's glare is burning, extinguished by the pout of your lips and fluttering lashes. He groans, leaning back onto the couch. "Not nice, sweetheart." You just giggle, causing his heart to hammer in his chest. He adores you, admiring the details of your features and the curves of your body. His sweetheart, the other half of him.

The one bit of happiness life bestowed upon him. His, and only his. His girl.

"Not done with you, my love." A mischievous glint in your eyes — your innocence act, a ruse. Sinking down onto him, his cock snug against your clenching walls. A flawless fit, heavenly. You lean towards the side table, reaching for the joint in the ash tray.

He watches the smoke emerges from your lips — his own teasing grin forms, cock twitching inside you. You throw your head back, moaning into the atmosphere.

"Not nice!" You frown, staring at him. He smirks, parting his lips and gesturing to the joint. Placing it between his lips for him to inhale, you smile as you look at him.

You cherish him. The unruly haired metalhead with his warm, soft gaze and his lovely smile with those charming dimples. He was irresistible, bewitching and heavenly.

A boy you met years ago — the boy who took your breath away by his beauty, stealing your heart for his own. Now a man, still as stunning and exquisite, and he was yours.

If there was one thing you'd never doubt in this life, it was his love for you. He made sure of it, showing you every day how much of a treasure you were to him.

Pushing back his damp bangs, you rest your forehead against his — hips picking up their motion at a dangerously slow pace. You both moan, his arms wrapping around you to keep you as close as possible.

A whimper of his name — the clenching of your walls, his signal. "Just like that, baby. Take it." The dam breaks, body welding with his, legs trembling, satisfaction gushing around his cock.

His hips thrusting into you, pursuing his own release. A kiss to his lips, muffling the groan of your name — his hot, sticky seed smearing your walls. Panting, head nuzzle on his beating chest, a lopsided smile on your lips. "I love you, handsome."

His fingers graze up and down your spin, soothing. He kisses your temple, lips lingering — his own joyous, lazy smile on his lips. "I love you, sweetheart."