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marxo-fm · 21 days

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Take me to Church

✯ John Price x f!reader | Playlist

Summary: A reader who’s so religious that she doesn’t even think of anything close to inappropriate, until she meets her dad’s best friend, Mr. John Price.

Words: 4.7k

Warnings: MDNI 18+, mature themes and language, age gap (reader is 25 and Price is in his early 40’s), religious trauma from Catholic variety, dad’s best friend, loss of virginity, pet names, slight aftercare in the end, fear of getting caught from reader, smut, assurance, fingering, reader isn’t all that clueless but super inexperienced, protected PIV, oral (fem! receiving), reader has some troubles with masturbation (failure to finish), Price teaches the reader how to feel good, praising, no descriptions of readers body, race, skin color, ethnicity, hair type/length and body type.

A/N: Currently don’t know wtf I’m doing with my life and how this absurdity came to mind, but aye, I’m all here for it. This was so…..!? Yeah. Also big shout out to Hozier, my icon. Side note: I truly apologize If this fic is rough, I will edit it soon but it’s mostly because I haven’t written in a hot minute, due to school and shit, but I’m back now—and I’m proud of this!

—

The breeze kisses your skin as you soak the sun's warmth on a Friday afternoon. The grass is green, and the clouds are out, summer has just begun. You feel yourself start to come back, you were struggling but now that’s over—for a bit. You look over as you watch your dad chopping wood. Usually, he has his friends helping out, but you guessed they had things to do, which explains why they weren’t here.

You memorized their names.

There’s Gaz, Simon, a man who goes by the name of ‘Soap’—which you find funny and you’re not sure if that’s his real name or if it’s just a nickname—and then…John.

Mr. Price. Or so you call him. Sir or Mr works just fine. But you never explored your unknown and strange feelings for him. How you always felt so shy around his dominating presence, or how his voice sounds like honey and sins. You prayed at night and asked for forgiveness when thinking of such thoughts you’ve never thought of when you see John.

Until one day in high school—in health class—they taught about intercourse and other things that left you baffled and quite scared. Anxious. Curious.

You’d get scolded by your Christian parents when you asked such things, they say it’s too early to get into these topics, or that you should wait until marriage. Your parents are good, but you always follow their rules. You never once disobeyed, only minor times but you always asked for forgiveness.

You’ve always been a good girl, but Mr. Price always makes the fire in your belly grow. And that fire burns through your veins in an excruciating need for something so sinful. Maybe it’s the devil on your shoulder, but you never fight it off, and that was bad.

“Hey honey, ought to help me out here? The jerks I call my friends are out busy somewhere, c’mon, I’ll teach ya.” Your father motioned his hands as he walked to his area where he chops his wood, you’ve never done this before, but you’re excited. He gives you his axe, and you almost give out due to how heavy it is. “Can’t carry it like that sweet pie, hold it strong and firm.” He instructs.

You do as he says, squinting your eyes to look at his face of approval, “I think I got it.”

He nods and you bring the axe up to your shoulder, and you bring it down with every ounce of strength.

You chopped it.

“Attagirl, that’s one hell of a way to chop down wood.” A man with a deeper voice and a southern drawl said from right behind you, you turn around and the blood rushes to your head.

It’s John.

“Oh…Mr. Price,” you stammer, and you feel a rush of embarrassment plastering your cheeks.

“Y’know ya can call me John, right? Good job raisin’ her pal, she got manners.” He chews on his toothpick as he takes the axe from your hands, and the contact leaves you feeling vulnerable and so flustered. His rough hands that he used to work, chop wood, and fix things felt oddly familiar on your soft skin.

“We taught her well, ain’t that right darlin’?” John looks over his shoulder, his flannel covering his bulging biceps and that itself makes you feel thirsty for cold water.

“Yes, Dad,” you replied softly, “Well, I’m just going to head on over back home to help Mom out. Want anything to drink John?”

John looked at you momentarily, the way his name slipped out of your sweet mouth left him speechless. His eyes gaze over your white dress that sits just above your knees, it feels like he is undressing you, but he’s just wondering how and when the hell you looked like this. Of course, you were always beautiful, but there was something special there.

A spark.

“No ma’am.” He waved his hand and went back to work. You watched as his forearms grew bigger when he swung that axe down.

Forgive me for my sins.

You mumbled before you opened the door to your home and walked in.

—

“My baby’s such a bad girl, aren’t ya? Takin’ me so well.” John praises as he thrusts into you in sinister motions like he’s been deprived of something so good for such a long time, that it almost drove him over the wall.

How you felt so good, so welcoming, as his thrusts became deeper and faster. Touching parts of you that you didn’t even know existed—nor could feel. It was an out-of-body experience like your soul had ascended, and you didn’t know whether it was real.

Until your alarm woke you up. It wasn’t real, but gosh did it feel real. You’re sweating, and your heart is running a marathon, as you regain your breath, you feel like you committed a crime. A crime so punishable that it could result in a death sentence.

You grab your rosary and you rock back and forth, praying and asking for forgiveness for ever dreaming about him. Your parents always told you that you wouldn’t have a good spot in the afterlife—a place called hell—if you thought of or committed any acts of sin. Especially anything and everything related to dirty inappropriate thoughts or worse, sex. Commit any of these before marriage, and you have a spot ready for you down below.

You feared for your life, even though it was impossible for anyone you love to know. They won’t ever know you have thoughts about John, or how you feel warmth between your legs when you picture him touching you in places you can’t please. Or how you picture him shirtless chopping wood, grabbing your waist from behind as he helps you hold the axe properly and swing it down. It was oh so shameful of you. Dirty, bad, sinful.

But you feel as if enough was enough, you’ve been good for far too long, that you deserve to feel good about yourself for once.

It was the perfect time, six thirty in the morning and both your parents were sleeping away, not knowing their good and obedient daughter was yearning to touch herself.

You lock your doors for safety as you scurried back to bed, you lay down on your back as you skim your fingers down your chest.

Deep breathes in and deep breathes out. You don’t know how to do this, but you’ll give in anyway. You sigh as you pull your shorts down, with your underwear as well. You drew circles around your belly before trailing down to your heat. Soft gasps escaped your mouth at your sensitive touch. Sensitive and swollen from the dream you just had.

You close your eyes, rubbing circular motions on your most sensitive area as you picture John doing this for you instead. Rough and hard-working hands aiding you. A coil in your stomach tightens, urging you to untie right then and there, but you can’t get the motions to stay the same.

You winced as you pushed your finger deeper, your back arching in response. You don’t feel anything, no pleasure, only pain and emptiness.

You want to scream in the agonizing torture of being so close yet so far away. You pull your shorts back up as you go inside the restroom to wash your hands.

You committed acts of sin and weren't pleased, and now you feel nothing but guilt and insecurity of not knowing how to do something right.

—

The next day, the same place you were before. Outside on your dad's truck watching his friends help out with work. John wore a tight brown tee that accentuated his muscles, he's a retired man, but you could see every ounce of blood, sweat, and tears in that body of his.

You blush, thinking about it. About what could be hiding under his shirt.

He catches you eyeing him but you quickly divert your eyes back to your book. John smirked, telling your dad he'll be back in a second and wants to talk with you.

"Ya watchin' me, sweetheart?" He smiled, taking a cigarette out of his pocket. You watched as he did so, fearing that he'd ask you to take a puff, though you never would. "I...I was just trying to learn how you chop your wood, sir."

A deep chuckle escapes his mouth, "Y'know I can teach you, doll," the new nickname had you unable to face him, but he loved seeing you flustered. He took a puff and you nodded, "Come on over to my place, your dad won't mind. I'm not at home much, anyway. S'good to learn y'know," he went on as he walked closer to you, his southern accent becomes deeper as he goes, "You'll have the privacy that you need, to read your books and pray." He knew how religious you are, heck, he's a good friend to your parents.

"I don't know if my father will let me go, with a man nonetheless." John looks back and then back to you, "It's only me, angel."

You decide to ask your father, just in case. You don't want to go behind his back, even if John is family. You walk on over, building the courage to ask your father if it's okay to go over to a man's house, a man you yearn for.

"Dad, is it okay If John takes me to his house? He's gonna teach me how to chop wood." Your dad looks at you momentarily, before speaking, "Of course honey, just because I want you to help an old man out here and there. 'Aka' me." You tried to keep your cool, to not look so eager about going over a man's house.

John smiled, the thought of having you all to himself at his place gets him straining against his jeans. He loves it when you eye him as if he doesn't know or sense when you drool over him.

"Here's your room, sweet thing, if ya ever need anything I'm just a shout away." He sets his tools down and walks to the kitchen, his jeans shaping his toned legs and shirt sizes too small. Butterflies invade your stomach, merely at the thought that you'd be sleeping under the same roof as this man, and willing to teach you something you're so interested in.

"Can't believe your dress is that short, doll. Your mother let you out like that?" He eyed your white dress that sits just above your knees and shows more skin than the dresses you usually wear. "You know, Mr. Price, I'm an adult now."

"Course you are," he takes a sip of his beer, "but I ain't take you as the one to dress like this. Can't say I don't like it."

You smile, flustered at the way he just complimented you. You can't deny that you like it, you love it. It sent a rush of arousal through your entire body, and he noticed the way you crossed your legs.

"Damnit,"

"What is it?" You asked curiously, not knowing that John saw the way you squeezed your thighs together. He wants to ease the need and desire that coursed through you, but he doesn't want to screw it all up.

"Nothin', now come on outside."

"Now, you're going to hold it just like this," he instructs, pushing his hard body against your back as he holds your arms. You could feel the hardness of his strain on your back and you scream internally, unable to form coherent thoughts.

You made this so hard for him, so difficult to the point where John himself forgot what he wanted to teach you.

"Easy," his calloused hands left your arms and snaked their way along your waist. Your stomach flipped at the action. Goosebumps flare over your entire skin, his manly scent entering your nose and taking over your mind. You swallowed, and continued.

"Now raise your axe, and swing it down."

You did just so, and you successfully chopped the wood.

"That's it, angel baby, look at ya. Such a good learner."

"I am, aren't I?" You slightly bit your lip, John cursed himself and cupped your face. "Mm, damn right you are." John wondered deeply if you were such a good learner in other parts as well. Price cupping your face was a first, but his calloused hands that signal just how much of a hard worker made the intense throb between your legs grow.

You wake up with your blanket suffocating as you struggle to fall asleep, again. You tossed and turned, repeating everything and every touch he gave you. You try to stop the need and the burn in your belly, you really do, but it's hard when you don't know how to fulfill your need. It became so bad to the point where you stood up and walked to the kitchen for water.

He wasn't in his room, he was out for the morning. A busy man and you're so silly for thinking he'd be home, even when he informed you he wouldn't be home every passing hour.

But oh how much you needed him. In ways, you couldn't forgive yourself for it.

You sit down, as quiet as a mouse, waiting patiently for him to come back just so you can confess your dirty sins. Maybe he'll forgive you for them, or maybe he won't show you mercy.

You try to occupy yourself, laying down on the couch and turning on the TV, still in your nightgown. You pull the blanket over, ready to watch a cooking video to learn a few things.

But it hits you that you're actually able to do something about the heat in between your legs, now that nobody is here. The house was quiet except for the TV playing.

Your hand trails under the blanket, lifting your nightgown as you reach for your soaked underwear. Shameful how you're soaked even when he's not around, John really leaves his mark on you. You let out a sigh as you reached your wet and sensitive clit.

It's not easy when you struggle to please yourself, it's so disappointing, honestly. Today was no different.

There is this creeping guilt, but it always hits you the most just when you creep up the tip of the mountain, only for you to fall off when you realize what you're doing.

You can't stop thinking of him, shoulders aching and tears urging to escape when you're so close to reaching the end, only for it to be unsuccessful.

So, you close your eyes and let out a deep breath. Spreading your legs further as your fingers plunged into your aching hole, you gasped. Picturing yet again, how he pleases his women. Of course, he knew how, he is well experienced and capable of pleasing a woman, to the point where she forgets her own name.

You're committing acts of sins in his own home, unforgivable and dirty. Because you were raised with the idea of being perfect, but no one is perfect. From the moment you're born and the moment you die--but the moment you die is the moment John Price fulfills your dirty little dreams.

He whispers in your ear telling you how to do this and how to do that.

'Just like that.'

'Those fingers are too light, darlin', lemme do all the work."

"Attagirl, in and out."

And you almost reached the top of the mountain, whispering finally as sweat buds trail down your forehead.

Finally, finally, finally.

Until you fell down the mountain you tried so hard climbing, when John swings open the door to the sight of his best friend's daughter getting off on his couch. You hurriedly pull your panties back up.

At that moment, you wanted to scream.

To run away.

To die.

He's going to tell your dad, and your entire body freezes. You can't plead for forgiveness when you're so far gone. No mercy will be shown when he kicks you out and tells your parents how bad their daughter truly is.

You sit straight as your body shakes in fear, you're unable to cry when you know your fate.

A sinful girl.

"John," you choke, "I-I am so so sorry, I didn't mean to. I really wasn't-"

"How long have you been at this?" Your heart drops all the way down as the blood from your face drains. "O..only," you struggle to speak as his deep brown eyes gaze at you, "It was only this one time."

You lied.

Another sin.

He stands in silence, shutting the door behind him as he takes big steps towards you. He hovers over you, looking down to see a dirty girl in front of him. As if you played this innocent and sweet girl, though you were, except in John's eyes you weren't. At least that's what you thought.

He takes your chin and pushes your head up to face him, you weren't able to look in his eyes, it was all too much.

"Look at me," he grumbled, you did just what he said. Not once resisting, although it was difficult.

"I ain't mad at ya, it's natural, honey."

Your eyes widened and your shoulders relaxed from the tension and fear.

"You're not going to tell on me?" You asked, Price chuckles.

"Course I'm not, I ain't no snitch, I'm a grown man." He bends on his knees, his thumbs rubbing circular motions on your exposed skin.

"Did it feel good? Sorry to have ruined it for ya' angel." It sure did feel good knowing you almost reached the top, it really did, but it felt better having John assuring you that it was all okay. "You don't have to be sorry--I was just..."

"Go on."

"Continue what I interrupted, don't let my presence stop ya," he signaled his pointer finger toward the door to his room, "it ain't comfortable here. No space to spread those sweet legs, is there?"

You shake your head, "Go on, unless you want me in there. I know deep down you do, doll, you can feel so much better." He's right, the moment you've been dreaming of, it finally comes true. How could you say no to John being in the same room making you feel good?

You almost can't believe it.

He suddenly picks you up from the couch, initiating a soft gasp from you when he opens the door and throws you on his mattress.

You balance yourself with your two hands when he undresses himself in front of you. Starting off with his shirt. You gasp once again, at the sight of his sculpted body before you. His chest was full of hair and his abs were the definition of perfect.

He gets on the bed and slowly crawls towards you, his head now in between your thighs. "I interrupted your time of need, sweet girl, let me make it up to you." He smiles before hooking his finger on the hem of your underwear, pulling them down all the way to your ankles. On display right before him, so shy you hid away, unable to look at the lewd sight in front of you. "That ain't gonna work for me, eyes over here." His fingers dug into your thighs, you did just as he said, looking at his eyes that continue to look at your pretty pussy.

"S'fuckin' wet."

It's a dream come true for John as well, to see you all wide open and soaking wet for him.

He places peppered kisses along your thighs, and you whimper as he stops. John makes his way up to your lips, biting your bottom lip before kissing you deeply and hungrily. Exactly like the dreams.

His stache brushing against your top lip only made it feel real, his tongue deep inside your mouth as your hands held the back of his head, pushing his mouth impossibly deeper. He's eating your face as if it were his last meal on death row. Like a predator catching his prey.

He pulls away from the intense kiss, the saliva leaving both of you.

Good God did he know how to kiss, you let him do all the work when you could barely kiss him back just as good.

His chest heaved, and he continued with his kisses on your neck and down your collarbone, pushing a soft moan out of you that drove John over the wall. "Make more noises, it's only the two of us, jus' let me hear ya." He cooed, his hands lifting your nightgown over your hips and then over your head. His eyes trailed over your breasts hidden in your bra. "Ah fuck," you sit up, allowing John to unclip your bra, the sight of your chest out on display for him made his mouth water. He grips your left breast with one hand while he sucks and kisses the other.

"Oh, John...keep doing that, please."

He kneads your breast, almost putting you to sleep with how good it feels, "mmmhm," you sighed, "you been wantin' this, and I'm sorry for waiting this long." He apologizes as he places kisses down your belly and finally makes his way back to being in between your thighs.

"No need...to be sorry," you breathe, tilting your head back when he swipes his tongue between your wet folds. The new feeling alone made your legs tremble, enticing a loud gasp from you. You start to rock your hips against his mouth as his deep groans vibrate through your entire nervous system. "Taste like fuckin' Heaven, oh sweet baby, I think you are heaven itself." Praise that had you dropping your jaw as he inserted his hot tongue in your hole.

You swore you saw Heaven.

Brows furrowed and back arched as he eats you like a hungry man, your hands gripping the sheets underneath you, and your legs spread further open inviting him in for more.

John inserts one finger in as his tongue continues to suck on your most sensitive area, and you let out the loudest moan you didn't think you were capable of ever making.

You died in this moment. And John swore he died in that moment, also.

"John," you pant, focusing on what could be your first-ever orgasm.

"I know, you're close baby, s'fuckin' tight, come for me." His words of encouragement suddenly break the coil inside your burning belly, the liquid seeping out of you as he continues to lick away every last bit from you.

He takes his finger and licks you away, which leaves you half-lidded.

"See? How hard was that? Like rippin' a damn bandaid off, does your wound feel better?" He teased, "It does," you say softly, still reminiscing what happened a few seconds ago. What you just felt, how it felt like fireworks exploding inside your veins.

"Such a perfect pussy, waiting to be full of me." He unbuckles his belt and unbuttons his jeans, you've never had sex, but you definitely never needed something more than now. You need him, to get to know him, even when you already do.

"Does it hurt like they say?" You asked nervously, watching as his jeans disappeared, leaving him only in his boxers. His thick thighs didn't do much justice in the dim light.

"When I do it, then it shouldn't be as bad, doll. Jus' a little pain, but if ya feel like it's too much, you jus' tell me. Hm?"

It makes you feel special with how sweet he treats you, he treats you with such care that it truly makes you dizzy.

He takes off his boxers and you almost lose all consciousness, his cock leaking with pre-cum and hard, you thought it was quite inhumane how big he is.

Sure you've explored your curiosity, but John, he differed from all of them.

"Poor thing needs some love and I'm going to show your pussy what the definition of love is." You grew heavy with desire, "ya need me to use a condom, sweetheart?" he asked, you nodded, simply because you weren't on the pill.

He opens his drawer and pulls out a condom, ripping it off with his teeth and spitting a piece of the wrapper out.

That was a sight for sore eyes.

He slips it on his thick cock, the condom intensifying every vien, it left your mouth dry like a Sahara desert.

How was that going to fit? Was all you were thinking about, but you were so sure he was going to make it feel okay.

He sets his heavy cock on your soaking entrance, teasing you while he moves his dick up and down your folds, you whine with need and John chuckles.

Was this the sinful thing that would literally damn you for eternity? How could something so dirty feel so good?

He brings a hand of his to pin your arms down, while the other holds your leg close to him. Your brows furrow as he slowly enters himself into you. John grows concerned when he sees your lips pursed and your eyes shut tightly, a tear escaping.

He stops, and you stop holding your breath.

"It hurts don't it? Want me to stop?"

"Please, no," you gasp, "I...I want you to keep going."

He readjusts your hips, before proceeding to continue, "You sure, honey?" You nod and whisper a hundred times yes before he thrusts deep inside of you.

"So fuckin' good for me, fuck!" he shouts, he loved the way your cunt fluttered and wrapped tightly around his cock.

The silence in the room was filled with his groans and loud moans from you, so lewd and so dirty. But you're too far deep to leave now, you're ready to die, happily.

"My," he thrusts, then pulling away and thrusting back in deeper, "gorgeous," you gasp when he continues his rhythm of thrusting and being so close to pulling out before he thrusts impossibly deeper again, "Girl." He breathed.

He brings his fingers to circle your sensitive clit, and you feel it happening again. It's more intense and heavier.

Your walls wrapped tightly on his cock, initiating that you're indeed closer than you have ever been before. "Mhmm," he moaned, and it was such a sweet sound you so badly wanted to hear again. He grabs hold of your legs, bringing them closer to your head, thrusting at a deeper angle that you can feel in your throat.

"That's it, baby, that's my fuckin' girl right here. All mine, gimme one more." He stopped as you cried out his name over and over until it became engraved in John's brain. He silences your cries with his lips as your legs shake around him.

"You did so well for me, your pussy jus' needed some medicine to be cured, got you coming all over my cock." He begins to move again, to finish himself this time. Your pain turns into pleasure and familiarity when he pushes himself in and out.

"John, that feels so..." He groans loudly at the way you watch his cock slide in and out, it was obscene but also surreal, "look at you, fuck, gonna make me cum just lookin' at me like that."

Which you felt so good about, it's all you wanted.

He pants as he reached a certain point, chest heaving as you can feel his cock twitching inside of you.

John pulls out, and there's sadness in your heart at the emptiness. Your heart thuds loudly that your first time to be with a man you dreamed about, it feels euphoric. You felt ecstatic.

He wipes away your dry tears and your hair away from your face, that drowned in sweat and tears.

John admired you the second he laid his eyes on you till now, he never knew the definition of perfect until this moment.

"Can you teach me how to feel good?" You asked as your hand roamed his broad shoulders and his back. And fuck, did John love that.

"Course' baby, on top of the choppin' the damn wood lessons," you both laugh, "I got all the time in the world, for you."

Your heart ached, he whispered sweet nothings before he carried you into the bathroom to clean up the mess.

Then you nestled under his arms and his body heat, his chest, and arms hugging you as the two of you slept the day away.

It was worth every waking second, and now you can sleep peacefully.

A/N: Y'all, wtf. Gnawing at the bars of my enclosure. Need him.

This lowkey needs to be edited some more now that I’m reading it, but I’ll definitely do that later…

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bimbobaggins69 · 6 months

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𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒇𝒊𝒍𝒕𝒉𝒚 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒔

priest eddie munson x nun reader

♱ summary: after a life of chaos and sin, eddie finds comfort in the one thing he never thought he would, religion. But what happens once he gives his life to god and swears off all of his old vices before finding the one person that makes him question whether it was worth it.

♱ warnings: smut ahead, 18+ mdni, fem reader, no use of y/n, use of pet names, religious themes, slight religious trauma, reader was forced to become a nun, mentions of drugs, fingering, unprotected p in v, slight lil daddy kink, cream pie, fluffff, overuse of italics but what else is new? Pls do not read if any of the above sounds offensive to you, you are in control of your own media consumption.

♱ authors note: just a little something to feed my priest eddie brainrot, hope you like! A special thank you to my beautiful beta’s @take-everything-you-can , @xxhellfirebunnyxx & @corrodedcorpses <3

♱ wc: 3.7k

The first time Eddie had ever seen you, he thought it was a fluke. Of course he’d see the most beautiful girl, after he had taken a vow of chastity and was in the works to become a priest.

It felt as though God was taunting him for all of the sinning he had done as a teen and young adult. Dangling something he could now never have, right in front of his face. Oh, cruel world.

He should be used to this, the feelings of disappointment and utter longing. For most of high school and some time after, he was used. Used for the things he had that people wanted: sex, drugs, and the few rare instances girls dated him just to piss off their parents. But never has he been wanted, adored unconditionally. After living a life like that, filled with drug binges and meaningless sex, giving his life to God seemed like a no brainer, at the time.

Eddie was impulsive however and the things that felt clear as day in the moment, seemed to blur over time.

What Eddie didn’t know was that you had already planned your escape route. You had grudgingly been pressured by your late father to join the “family business”. He had become a priest when you were five and since then he’s had your life mapped out for you; become a nun, work in the monastery and give your life and soul to God until it was your time to eventually meet him.

That was not the life you wanted for yourself. You wanted to fall in love and get married, have children and move far away from this town that has brought you nothing but shame and guilt.

“Excuse me, uh I believe this belongs to you.” A voice echoes through the empty chapel, making your shoulders jolt at the startling interruption of your most sacred thoughts. Your veiless head snaps towards the voice in fear, as you were not to be in the church without your veil, it was a symbol of modesty that your convent took very seriously.

What you found was not an angry priest, deacon or catechist but a student priest. His kind eyes and gentle smile, long brown locks that were pulled back at the nape of his neck and his hands that were clutching at your head piece, had all simultaneously taken your breath away. There had never been anyone in the church that met his appearance. He had a bad boy turned good look that really set your insides ablaze. Whether it was a warning from God, not to stray from the path by allowing you to feel small licks of hellfire, or your subconscious begging for a reason to deviate from the life that was so carefully laid out for you, you didn't know but what you did know was this man would now become the catalyst of all your waking day dreams.

“Oh, yes my apologies, sir.” You softly smile before taking the veil and placing it securely on your head. You turn back to the big wooden cross hung above the altar you’re standing afront, before looking back into the strangers' doe pools of chocolate. “How uh, how are you enjoying your seminary studies?” You question, cheeks heating up at your terrible attempt at small talk.

“My seminary studies?” Eddie repeats with a low chuckle as his eyebrows shoot up, getting lost behind the fringe of his shaggy bangs. He cocks a wide smirk at your question, you really were as sweet and delicate as you looked. That made the future priests’ stomach flip in excitement. The need for corrupting such a cute little thing, vehemently returning. He hadn’t felt that utter desire in years. He would give this all up to watch you fall apart underneath him.

“Mmhm.” You giggle with a small nod of your head, fingers twisting together over your front from the frisson excitement bursting through your chest. You had never felt this way talking to any priests or priests in training, the rush was addicting.

“It’s going well.” The male murmurs with an unconvincing smile, his eyes glance down to your lips before snapping back up to your eyes in a fleeting moment. Your heart rate kicks up at the implication before you boldly turn towards him, your chest puffed out as the swell of your breasts are tightly hugged by the black fabric of your unflattering habit.

Eddie takes a step closer towards you, the toe of his boots brush against your black flats. His eyes roaming your fully clothed body as if he had x-ray vision and could see the black lace set you allow yourself to wear underneath, as an act of rebellion that only you were allowed a glimpse of.

His left hand slowly moves into your space, gently placing the cloth of your veil that had fallen over the front of your shoulder, back to its rightful place. The act was so tender and kind you couldn’t help but to lean closer into his touch.

The chapel was so still, all that could be heard was the heavy breathing of two very enamored people, as if they finally found what they had been looking for all along. A safe place to house their hearts.

In a matter of seconds you jerk back, as footsteps ring out from the corridor, startling you out of your love filled daze. Eddie thinks on his feet, the awfully close position being far too compromising, so he takes your hand and leads you into the confession box. He covers your mouth as the footsteps grow closer, two people chattering as they walk by before leaving out of the exit, letting the heavy wooden doors slam shut behind them.

Eddie quickly removes his hand, shooting you a sympathetic smile before the realization hits that you’re seated on his lap, half awakened cock digging into your backside causing a small gasp and unintentional clench of your thighs. A devious smile displays itself upon the brown eyed boy's lips, you wanted him just as bad as he wanted you. And he didn’t even know you. Oh he’s fucked.

His soft lips swiftly brush up against yours, making you quickly pull away in surprise. “I can’t kiss you, I don’t even know your name.” You whisper rather unconvincingly.

“It’s Eddie, what’s your name sweetheart?” He purrs into your ear, goosebumps alite your skin as you squirm in his lap from the low timber of his voice.

You meekly recite your name as your face grows hot from his attention. “Mmm, pretty name for an even prettier girl.” He huffs before he licks his lips in anticipation. His cock now fully hard and poking into your clothed skin.

Eddie gently grabs your chin, eyes meeting yours in a powerful standoff. “May I kiss you, angel? I really need to kiss you.” The desperation dripping from his voice is enough to convince you of anything.

“Yes.” You murmur before fully straddling him, his lips find yours in a passionate frenzy as you move together like a beautiful melody.

In all of your timidness and trepidation you’ve completely forgotten how it feels to be pressed up against another body, brain empty as you enjoy the moment as it comes, you giggle between kisses at the double entendre.

“What’s so funny, huh?” Eddie says playfully, grabbing at your sides and causing a shriek of loud laughter to roll off your tongue. How was it possible that this man made you feel like a kid again, a kid you didn’t even get to be? The fleeting nostalgia is quickly interrupted when Eddie puts a finger up to your lips, a gesture that asks “do you wanna get caught?” And it almost makes you giddy, nothing this exciting ever happens to you.

“You gotta be quiet, angel. Can you do that for me?” He asks in a dominating tone that has you shuttering and weak at the knees. He swipes a gentle finger across your lips, placing it in between the two before you quickly get the hint, wrapping your plush pink pillows around his index and lightly sucking. The action has Eddie’s eyes rolling back in his head, there was no way he’d be able to hold back, not with you grinding down on his painfully hard cock while sucking on his finger.

Without much thought left in your already fucked out brain, you remove the long black cloth that you’ve despised for years, yanking it off of your shoulders and over your head. Disposing of it over your shoulder without a care in the world, you had more pressing matters at hand.

“Oh fuck.” Eddie’s breath hitches as utter shock crosses his features, his mouth drops open while his eyes roam the expanse of your body that is scarcely covered by lacey black fabric. His cock twitches underneath you, causing you to squirm, unintentionally rubbing his throbbing pink tip over your warm heat and pulling a needy moan from between your lips.

He wastes no time, bringing his hands to rub over the see through fabric that is covering your now peaked nipples before slowly moving down in a gentle but callous glide over your sides, to your hips and finally landing on your plush thighs, giving them a tight squeeze as his lips curl up in satisfaction.

“Can I touch you, baby?” He whispers, rubbing the tip of his nose against yours as he desperately awaits your approval.

“Please.” You moan out into the expanse of the wooden box as you drag your slick cunt across his achingly hard cock in one more act of torment.

His fingers move before his brain, finding themselves between your legs, rubbing right over that button of pleasure that Eddie hasn’t been acquainted with, in what feels like years. He slips his hand past the black lace, digits sliding between your soaked lips and teasing at your tight little hole before he’s bringing the slick up to your swollen bud and drawing gentle circles, a loud moan erupts from your chest as the unknown pleasure consumes you.

You weren’t a virgin, despite what everyone thought of you or at least what you let them think. No one knew that you’d lost your virginity the summer of junior year. Maybe it was an act of rebellion against your strict parents or maybe just a sad attempt at being so starved for any kind of connection, you took the only one some high school boy had to offer; three minutes in the back of his beat up Pontiac.

The feelings being pulled from you by the long haired man, were unlike anything you’ve ever felt and you never wanted it to stop. You would beg and plead to him until the end of times to always make you feel this good, it’s the closest to God you’ve ever felt in all of your life, how is this a sin?

“Does that feel good, angel baby?” Eddie whispers into your ear, low and seductive as his finger finally breeches your entrance, it slips in easily and without pain but the pleasure makes your hands fly up to grip at his shoulders before throwing your head back and letting out the sexiest set of moans Eddie has ever had the delight of hearing.

He slips a second digit in alongside the first, pumping in and out at a slow pace but the depth is what had your toes curling into your little black flats that were being held on by a thread, threatening to fall off of your feet at just the slightest movement. Eddie began to scissor his fingers apart, stretching you open enough to take his girth. The moans that were beginning to fill the church were downright sinful.

“I-I think I’m gonna um…” you breathe out harshly as your cheeks heat up from the words that you just can’t bring yourself to utter.

“You’re gonna what, huh? You gotta talk to me, baby. Tell me what’s goin’ on?” Eddie asks in faux concern, it’s so mocking and arrogant but it causes you to clench tightly around his fingers, sucking him in like a fucking vice.

“I’m- ah ah, I’m gonna cum!” You sob into his chest as you grind down onto his digits, fucking them into you deeper with each thrust, until your incredible high starts to feel slightly painful and overstimulating.

“Such a good girl.” Eddie praises, slipping his two fingers out of your pussy before bringing them up to his mouth and sucking dramatically as a groan of delight reverberates from his chest.

“You think you can cum on daddy’s cock like that?” He questions, his lust filled eyes bore into yours as the filthy words drip from his tongue. You should be disgusted, it should turn your stomach…but it doesn’t, not even in the slightest. Instead it amplifies your arousal and now it’s you who is desperate, yanking his vestment off of his upper body in one swift and eager motion.

With Eddie’s full chest on display, you drag your nails gently down his torso, causing a whimper to slip past his lips. He has tattoos. The revelation causes your eyes to widen. You didn’t think priests were even allowed to have tattoos, they were a sin in your convent. Although you had been fed so much propaganda throughout the years, you really couldn’t see what made them so terrible.

And you had to admit they were very attractive, certainly adding to the whole former bad boy mystique he has going on.

“You like em’?” Eddie asks as if he knew exactly what you were thinking, a glint in his eyes as they lock with yours.

“I do, father Eddie.” You purr as your hand brushes over his hard erection still locked behind the confines of his black slacks.

“Fuck.” He hisses into your neck before leaving a trail of sloppy kisses, his hands reaching for your black lace thong as if he was going to slip it down and off of your body, but the sounds of fabric tearing alert you to his true intentions.

“I’ll replace those.” He says with a sinister chuckle, throwing the piece of fabric behind you to be lost in the sea of clothing beneath your feet.

“Holy shit!” The man gasps as his eyes meet your dripping center, the damp coils that sit above your mound and your little stretched hole that was done by his own hand. The view causes him to bite at his lip in animalistic hunger.

“Mmm, such a naughty boy using such foul language in a church.” You tut, having no idea where that came from but if his cheeks that have now grown a bright pink hue and the wild growl that slipped from his mouth were anything to go by, he was just as into it.

Eddie can’t take much more of your teasing so his hands slip down to the buckle keeping his slacks up, eagerly removing all of the obstacles that keep him from sheathing his cock deep into your tight little cunt.

Once he is fully released from his fabric confinement he wraps his hand around himself, giving it a few tugs before he’s smearing the large beads of precum around his tip and down his shaft, groaning from the attention he was so badly yearning for.

“You ready, baby?” He questions. Bringing his glistening, pink head to the seam of your sodden lips and rubbing the tip against your clit, before prodding it against your awaiting hole. The way your cunt sucks him in is heavenly. It was as if he was a virgin again, nothing or no one else mattered before you. The feelings settling in the young man's chest were overwhelming and terrifying but when he looked up from how his cock was coated in your wetness and into your eyes, he knew you felt it too.

You let out a breath of relief when he was finally buried to the hilt inside of you, throbbing and aching for release. Deciding to end the torment of your teasing, you begin using your knees that are roughly digging into the oak wood of the pew eddie is seated on as leverage to bounce and swirl your hips as you fuck him, so audaciously.

“Ah, ah, ah…” were the only noises leaving both of your mouths as you continuously sunk down onto Eddie’s cock. His big hands gripping the meat of your thighs as if you’d dissipate without his touch.

“Please.” You whine into the sweat slick skin of his neck, before reaching for the hair tie placed carelessly into a bun at his nape. You tug releasing his brown waves that fell just beneath his shoulders.

“Please what, my love?” That word made your head spin, you’d never been referred to as someone’s love. I mean you just met him and he probably says lots of endearing things while he’s getting laid, but it certainly made that fire in your belly kick up to blazing high levels.

“Please fuck me!” You sob, tears falling from your eyes as you get closer to your sweet release. But your legs were closer to finishing than you, as every bounce sent a searing pain from your knees up to your thighs.

“I’m sorry baby. I’m makin’ you do all the work, aren’t I?” Eddie teases with a condescending grin, making you pout and nod your head in agreement. “Here you are bein’ such a good girl, riding my cock like that and I don’t even have the decency to help you out.” He tuts, a wide smile splitting his face before the hands that were once resting on your thighs, come up and grab two rough handfuls of your ass.

He pulls your cheeks apart as he sinks down some, planting his heavy boot clad feet better onto the red carpet of the confessional box. He sends you a quick wink before he begins pounding into you with almost inhumanly, rapid thrusts making you cry out into the stuffy air.

Your hands dig into his scalp, grabbing fistfuls of hair as he fucks you like an animal, with complete carnal hunger. A chill runs down your spine all the way to your toes as the fire in your lower stomach begins to consume you. You don’t care who hears you now, you just care about you and Eddie and working each other's bodies to gratification.

“Your close baby, I can feel it. C’mon, let go for me and cum on my cock.” He demands as his length throbs with each clench of your walls around him. He’s too close, but he’d rather die than cum before you.

“Oh! Yes, Father Eddie.” You squeak before crashing your lips into his. The long haired man’s eyes roll back into his head and a growl escapes his chest at the use of his not so future title. If he can’t have this then being a priest just won’t do, not anymore.

Eddie breaks the passion fueled kiss to suck his thumb into his mouth, slicking it up before bringing it to your swollen clit. The first gentle circle makes you jump, causing your walls to tighten even harder around him. His toes curl in his boots, he was so close, so on the edge to stuffing you full of him.

“I’m gonna cum inside your pretty little pussy, do you want that?” He asks roughly, but his eyes are so soft and so full of adoration and you want whatever he’s willing to give you.

“Yes, please Father Eddie.” You plead as you meet his thrusts, aching legs be damned. You can feel that high that’s teetering so close, you’re so desperate to fall off the edge.

“Who’s the naughty one now, huh? Begging a church priest to cum inside you? You bad girl.” He tsks, with a faint chuckle. His words knock you over the edge, coming so hard on his cock you see a white blinding light as your eyes tightly shut.

“Mm, that’s it baby!” Eddie growls, his thrusts faltering as he cums inside of you, your walls now coated with his white, hot release.

Eddie scrubs his hands down his face, “oh my god!” He exasperates before wrapping his arms around your back and pulling you tightly into him, as his softening cock is still buried inside of you.

“Shh, you can’t use the lord's name in vain in a church!” You playfully reprimand, as if what you both have just done wasn’t grounds for going straight to hell.

“Hey, watch your mouth when you’re talkin’ to me, young lady! Or I’ll give you ten of these…” he scolds before bringing his palm down harshly onto the sensitive skin of your ass, making you gasp in surprise. He grabs your chin tightly before continuing, “and ten Hail Mary’s, I’ll make you say each one with my cock down your throat.” You clutch at your chest like you’d never been so offended, but the words caused you nothing but arousal as your cunt began to drip at the thought.

“You really are a naughty boy.” You purr, shaking your head as if in disappointment. You were both so deep in your own little world that you didn’t hear the footsteps outside the confessional door.

The handle was jiggled and quickly ripped open as a loud gasp rang out from behind you.

“Sister!” The nun hisses in absolute disbelief and disgust. The tone of her judgment awoke something deep inside of you that you thought had been buried. You hop off of Eddie’s lap, his spent cock plopping out and falling back onto his lower stomach. You quickly pull the habit over your head as Eddie stands up to inch himself back into his pants.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” The nun you now recognize as Sister Claudia, snarls with a look of revulsion.

Eddie swiftly takes your hand and pulls you away, abandoning your veil and his vestment. His now shirtless and tattooed chest on display for the judgmental nun.

Without another thought you throw her the middle finger as you and Eddie run down the row of pews and out the heavy doors.

You weren’t sure where you were headed, but as long as it was with him. You were ready for the new journey.

#— 𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐈 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒 #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson x reader #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson comfort #eddie munson fic #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x y/n

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themidnightcrimson · 1 year

Text

religion ࿏ wm

summary: in which the new reverend at your hometown church wants to give you a lesson on sexual immorality.

words: 5.6K

warnings: pastor!wanda, fem!reader, oral (r giving), fingering (r receiving), slight non-con/dubcon, manipulation, dumbification, degradation, religion, lots of bible verses, rip my religious trauma, spank me with a bible, fuck me with the crucifix, yes lord in wanda's name we pray amen

this post is for 18+ only. minors dni.

masterlist.

A few women in the church had put together a potluck after one Sunday sermon, or a “covered dish supper” as the elders liked to call them. You remembered loving those potlucks as much as you loved church itself when you were a child. As the years went by and your worldview got bigger and your mind opened up to the broader possibilities that this was not what life should be like, you scarcely ever went to church.

Upon moving away for college, the idea of church was a laughable thing to you. You could hardly even remember what the rituals were anymore, or the verses, or the hymns. It wasn’t necessarily a hatred or aversion, but rather a bitter distaste in your mouth when reminded of how indoctrinated you and your whole community were into the church. You just weren’t religious anymore, and you preferred living life that way, though it took years of untying the knots of theological principals and “truths” from your mind.

When you were back in your hometown for a visit, your mother nearly fell over at the sight of the little rainbow bracelet on your wrist. After a very heated conversation where you threw in her face the fact that you had been with multiple women in college, she seemed to give up and leave the conversation alone—until the next morning she asked you to come to church with her.

“Really? You think going to church is going to reverse the way that I was born? You expect me to just pray the gay away?!” you yelled at her, but she was calm. She said that was not her intentions, but rather they were to simply have you come see everyone you grew up around. She said that there was a new pastor there who was younger and could relate better to youth without that kind of feigned wise judgment that the other pastor, a wobbly old man, used.

You fought tooth and nail against your mom in a thirty-minute argument until finally you were just too tired to fight against her anymore. You felt how you did in high school—getting lectured by your mom for skipping church only a single Sunday, being placed under her godly ray of obstinance that so easily drained you until you just couldn’t fight anymore. She forced you to wear one of your church dresses from high school and practically shoved you into the car that Sunday morning. You were just looking forward to the potluck afterward.

As your mom pulled the car into the church’s parking lot, you realized that they had done renovations on the sanctuary since you had been gone. It was bigger now, with huge mosaic windows facing the front and a new pure white cross on top of the spire, making the triangular building look even taller and more pointed than it already was.

“This new pastor a millionaire or something?” you mumbled as you unbuckled your seatbelt.

“No, she’s just so brilliant and amazing that she’s attracted dozens of new parishioners since she came,” she explained. “You’ll see. She really has a way of connecting with young people, especially young women. I couldn’t tell you how many girls your age have joined in the past year!”

Crinkling your eyebrows, you stepped out of the car and took a breath of fresh air. Even in the parking lot, you could pick up that familiar smell of wood and old books. “The pastor is a woman?” you asked, remembering only male pastors. Although your denomination was open towards female pastors, the general misogyny of your small-town Southern community had always favored men, of course.

“Uh huh,” your mother said as she stepped out of the car and fixed her hair in the wind, walking over to you and gently grabbing your arm suddenly. “Y/n, I should probably let you know… I did call Reverend Maximoff last night and told her a little about your…situation.”

Your eyes widened as you stared at her incredulously. “What?!” Had your mother really gone and called the local pastor to tell her that her daughter was gay?

“Look, it’s important for a pastor to know their parishioners’ personal lives in order to truly connect with them. I’m not saying I asked her to… pray the gay away or whatever you said, but I just let her know that you were having some…sexually immoral feelings. She’s helped many young women here with the same problem.”

“Excuse me?!” you exclaimed, jerking your arm away from your hand. An old couple walking by glanced over at you, and you blushed and looked away, speaking quieter. “Why the hell would you tell some woman I don’t even know that I’m having sex with women?!”

“She’s not some woman, she’s an ordained minister of God!” your mother exclaimed. “She’s not going to drag you up in front of the church and hang you, for God’s sake! She was just concerned that you’re not living your life under the guidance of God and would be happy to give you a steering hand, that’s all! She didn’t even say anything about the gay part—just the promiscuity!”

Curse words formed on your lips, but you pursed them together, pushing past your mother and towards the church so you could get this thing over with. “Promiscuity my ass,” you muttered as you burst open the church doors, hit with that familiar old smell. It looked different now that it had been renovated, the ceiling and windows much taller and the carpet redone, but it was the same wooden pews you remembered as a child and the same large altar with a grand piano and steps for the choir.

You looked around at all the familiar townspeople sitting in the pews as the choir, dressed in their robes and holding their hymnals, made their way to the chancel in formation. You realized that your mother was right when she said that the church had grown—all of the pews were jammed full of people, except for a little spot near the front where there was enough room for two people to squeeze in. Feeling aggravated and brash, you stormed to the front and shimmied past the row of people to sit down in the empty spot, your mother scrambling down beside you.

“Please don’t be angry in the house of God,” she began.

You ignored her, looking around and seeing that there were groups of young women your age looking excitedly towards the altar, waiting for the pastor to come out. You assumed maybe the pastor had started a women’s group and was just mentoring the young women.

Reaching forward, you took the hymnal book sitting in the slot behind the pew in front of you, opening up its yellowed pages and flipping through. You could still remember some of the songs, but before you could read one, there was a hushing whisper among the congregation.

Glancing upwards, you saw Reverend Maximoff emanating from behind the altar, glancing out among the ground with a smile as she stepped to the front. You were shocked to see her—she was older than you, but not by too much. She had a youthful smile to her face and twinkling green eyes, her blonde hair cut right to the shoulders of the maroon robe and dark green stole she wore.

“Good morning, everyone,” she announced, her voice loud and confident. The church crowd silenced and gave their full attention to her. “Today we will start by worshiping the Lord our God with our choir’s beautiful voices, as well as your own.” Her Southern accent was feminine and airy with a cheerful tune to it, as if she was already singing by simply speaking. “Please turn to page 304 in your hymnals and stand to worship the Lord with us.”

The sound of people standing and pages turning filled your ears, and you found yourself flipping to the page and standing up along with everyone else, realizing that your muscle memory was still there. It felt odd being in that place again, viewing the solemnity and respect of religion in a community sense.

The choir started, and then the rest of the church joined in, singing the hymn in unison. You didn’t sing at first, until your mother’s elbow stabbed your ribcage, so you quietly mumbled the words.

Glancing up, you watched Reverend Maximoff singing at her stand, face turned towards the choir and grinning at them as the words formed on her lips. You had to admit that for a pastor, she was beautiful and charming. Her smile was nearly mesmerizing as her head slowly turned towards the congregation in appreciation for their singing, eyes casting over the pews of people until they flickered near you. Realizing that you were staring, you quickly glanced down at the book before she could make eye contact with you. Feeling suddenly nervous, you mindlessly stared at the book until you figured she would be looking somewhere else, looking back up only to find that she was looking right at you.

All you could hear were the choral praises of God as the Reverend’s eyes bore into yours. The smile on her face faded a little, her focus zoning in on you through the crowd. You remembered what your mother had told her about you, the thought bringing a sickly blush of shame to your cheeks. Why was she staring at you? Was she judging you? Thinking about what a dirty sinner you were? You couldn’t take it, but you couldn’t look away either.

Finally, the song ended, and she broke eye contact.

“Thank you so much. You may please be seated.”

The crowd sat down and put their hymnals away as the choir did the same, and once everyone was finally still and quiet, the Reverend opened her Bible and started flipping through pages to find notes for her sermon.

“Today, people, we will be talking about the one thing we think about almost all of the time—our bodies.” Your teeth ached as you braced yourself for whatever religious bullshit was about to be shoved down your throat. “Our bodies—whether it be our health, our appearance, the work we can do with them, what we eat, what we drink—our bodies remain a constant thought in our mind.”

She stepped out from behind the stand, walking to the front steps of the altar and peering out at the crowd with her luring eyes like a bird.

“God tells us in His Word that our bodies are a temple for the Holy Spirit. You see, we do not own our flesh and blood. Our body is a sacrament to Him in everything we do with it. Our divine purpose on this Earth is to use our bodies the Lord has given us as a vessel for the Spirit, to spread His Holy Word. If our bodies are unholy, or if we use them to transgress against His Word, we are violating His purpose for them.”

As much as you wanted to dissociate and just block out whatever she was saying, a strange curiosity overcame you that kept your eyes trained on her as she stepped down the altar steps to get even closer to the crowd, holding the Bible in her hands.

“There are many ways that we sin with our bodies every day. When your mouth curses, when your hands do not pray to Him, when your feet lead you to unholy places. One of the most extreme ways that we go against the Holy Spirit within us is when we commit the very sin that seems to have a grasp on the youth today—sexual immorality.”

There it was. You bit the inside of your cheek and took a deep breath, trying to control the anger within you.

“I want y’all to turn to one of my favorite passages in the Word,” she said, turning to walk towards the other side of the pew as she waited for people to turn to the verse. “1 Corinthians 6:13.”

You wouldn’t dare to pick up a Bible. You crossed your arms and ignored your mother’s urging glances as the Reverend started to read.

“You say, food for the stomach and the stomach for the food, and God will destroy them both. The body, however, is not meant for sexual immorality but for the Lord, and the Lord for the body,” she called out, her voice echoing off the walls of the large room. You watched her, her back turned from you, as she paced the other side of the room before turning, walking towards your side of the pew with her eyes trained on the book. “By his power God raised the Lord from the dead, and he will raise us also. Do you not know that your bodies are members of Christ himself? Shall I then take the members of Christ and unite them with a prostitute? Never!”

You rolled your eyes and rubbed your forehead, wishing you could escape this cultish experience. Still, you watched her, the way her lips formed the words, the way her face looked pointed down to the book, eyelashes dancing across her cheeks as she read the words.

“But whoever is united with the Lord is one with him in spirit.” She turned down the center aisle, and as she got closer to your pew, you started to shift uncomfortably in your seat. Suddenly, her eyes lifted from the pages and pierced you sideways. You felt frozen under her stare as she discreetly eyed you, not even having to look at the page to recite, “Flee from sexual immorality. All other sins a person commits are outside the body, but whoever sins sexually, sins against their own body.”

Her voice was lower now, serious and clear. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from hers as she slowly floated past you, her robe wafting around her ankles. You noticed the way her svelte hands held the Bible, a single digit lifting to flick the page. You could’ve sworn you saw a smirk on her lips as she finally looked away from you and kept preaching, walking down the aisle.

Finally, you could breathe. Surprise filled you as you realized that you had started sweating—were you really so demonic that you were sweating in the pews of a church? But why did she look right at you as she read that particular verse? Was she targeting you because of what your mother had said?

You could barely listen to the rest of the sermon as she talked about sexual immorality and fleeing from it by turning your mind and body towards the Lord.

At the potluck, you couldn’t help but find your eyes drifting to wherever Reverend Maximoff was in the room. Potlucks were always held in a building connected to the sanctuary where they had special events and meetings. She drifted around the room chatting with different members of the congregation, her eyes somehow always finding yours right as you were looking at her. You would blush and quickly look away, redirecting your focus on what the old lady was talking to you and your mom about.

You didn’t realize that she was waiting for you to be alone. Finally, you left your mom and the lady to go to the table filled with homemade desserts, browsing around for something chocolate.

A hand on your lower back made you gasp and turn. You were shocked to see Reverend Maximoff standing close beside you, still dressed in her robes. “Y/n,” she greeted you with a pearly smile, her earrings dangling from her ears. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. Your mom has talked about you so much since I’ve been here.”

“Oh,” you said with a polite smile. “Has she?”

“Yes,” she smoothly answered, stepping even closer to you. “I’m very glad you came today. I must tell you that the Lord has speaking to my heart about you quite a lot.”

“Oh yea?” you said disinterestedly, more focused on the way her eyes kept darting down your body, trying to pinpoint why she was ogling you.

She tilted her head and closed her smile, looking thoughtful for a brief moment before saying, “You know, I was hoping you would have a session with me here sometime, before you go back to college. I would love to talk more with you and get to know you. You were at this church long before I was, and I would love to give you some heavenly advice on whatever is pressing at your heart.”

Your eyebrows rose. “Nothing’s pressing at my heart but my ribcage.”

She giggled, and it surprised you. “No, there’s always something for pretty young women like you.” You flushed a little at her choice of words. “God has a plan for you, y/n, but I get the feeling you may need some guidance to get you there.”

“You get these feelings a lot?” you droned, picking up a brownie from the table and taking a bite, keeping eye contact with her. You weren’t going to let this pastor try to get her godly claws in you.

Her eyes flickered to your mouth as you took a bite of the brownie, her irises darkening. “Come see me after the Wednesday night sermon. Maybe…” She reached forward and took the half-eaten brownie from your hand, her fingers grazing yours. “I can teach you to use your mouth to praise the Lord.”

She put the half of the brownie into her mouth and chewed it with a smirk. Frozen and confused, you stared at her as she put her thumb in her mouth to suck off the crumbs, winking and floating away from you. Your entire body went hot as her words folded over in your mind, as well as the sight of her eating the brownie you had just had between your teeth.

Normally, you would’ve declined any invitation to have personal sessions with a Reverend, but the brief interaction you had with Reverend Maximoff had you offput and curious. Your mother almost cried in relief when you told her that you would be going to the Wednesday night sermon as well as staying behind to speak with the Reverend.

Wednesday’s sermon went the same as Sunday’s. There were less people there that night, naturally, and although Wednesday night sermons were usually shorter than Sunday’s, it seemed like Reverend Maximoff was antsy to be finished with it. She spoke faster with less focus, ending the sermon after only an hour. Your mother excitedly hurried away with the rest of the congregation, and you anxiously stayed in the pew as the Reverend talked with some lingering people until finally she ushered them all out, closing and locking the church doors behind the last person.

You turned your head and watched her as she sighed, holding onto the doors for a moment before turning around to look at you, clasping her hands at her front.

“Y/n,” she began lowly, turning her face down slightly as her eyes trained on you, her feet slowly leading her up the aisle towards you. “I was so glad when I saw you here tonight.”

“Well,” you began, fiddling with your thumbs. “I didn’t have anything else to do tonight.”

It was only partially true. You could have caught up with your old friends or went out to dinner or even just stayed home and watched TV, but something lured you into that church that night, and you felt it had something to do with the way she predatorily eyed you as she neared you.

She said nothing as she came closer, sucking her cheeks as you could see words forming in her brain. “Keep watch over yourselves and all the flock of which the Holy Spirit has made you overseers. Be shepherds of the church of God, which he bought with his own blood.” A smirk drew itself on her lips. “Acts 20:28.”

You just raised your eyebrows and nodded impressively. “You have the Bible memorized. Good for you.”

Ignoring your sly comment, she spoke, “It means that, as the Reverend of this church, it is my duty to be a shepherd.”

“That is what the verse says.”

Her eyes narrowed at you, her lips parted at distaste of your attitude. “What did I tell you about your mouth?” she snapped, her voice edged and cutting as it echoed loudly off the walls of the church, reminding you how alone you were with her. You stiffened in the pew.

She neared you, resting a hand on the edge of the pew as she stood before you. “As a shepherd, I must keep watch of my flock. I must be aware of them all the time—their lives, feelings, behaviors, their walk with God.” She paused, her tongue settling over her lower lip as she tilted her head. “Tell me, what path do you walk?”

You blinked, lips opening and closing as you tried to understand what she was asking.

“Do you walk the ways of the wicked? The ways of Satan himself?” Without breaking eye contact, she lowered and sat on the pew beside you. “Does your body sin against the Spirit?”

Looking down, you shook your head and laughed. “I know my mom told you. Believe me when I say I have no inclination to your religion, and I never will. I don’t need to be scrutinized or judged.”

“Your mother was only acting as a shepherd by leading you to me, and I thank her for that,” she remarked, her eyes glancing down at your dress where the ends stopped at your mid-thigh, leaving your legs bare. “I fear you are not treating your body as the temple of God it is. You have tainted it with your sexual proclivities, haven’t you, y/n?”

Your face started to burn at her outright words. “Excuse me?”

“Tell me, how do you prefer to use your body? Like a whore? Like a destitute slut?”

Ears burning at the sound of her husky voice, your face burned even hotter. The shock of her words left you speechless and utterly confused as to how a Reverend would speak to someone that way.

“You can tell me, y/n. Only God is watching us.” She reached forward suddenly, placing her hand on your thigh and sliding it upwards. The touch startled you and made you jump to your feet.

She looked up at you with a twisted smirk as you started to tremble with nervousness. “What kind of a Reverend are you?”

“One who will do anything to guide her people to God,” she lilted, standing up and reaching for you again. You backed away, bumping into the wooden back of the pew and circling around it to get away from her. You jumped up the steps of the altar.

“What are you doing?!”

“So Christ himself gave the apostles,” she began in her pastor voice she used during the sermon, circling the pew to saunter towards you again, stalking like a predator, “the prophets, the evangelists, the pastors and teachers, to equip his people for works of service, so that the body of Christ may be built up.” She took a slow step up the altar, grinning devilishly. “Ephesians 4:11-12.” She lowered her chin. “I can help you restore your body’s temple. I can sanctify you, make you whole again in the eyes of the Lord.”

Your heartbeat fluttered at the way she was seductively eyeing you, sauntering up the steps, the sultry and sensual tone in her voice. You let her come near you and place a hand on your waist that made you shiver all over.

Whispering, she said, “As God’s apostle, I offer you a direct line to worship Him and beg for forgiveness.” Her other hand softly cupped your chin, feeling the blushing skin here. Her thumb grazed over your lower lip, her dilated eyes drinking up your mouth like thick wine, and she recited, “May my prayer be set before you like incense; may the lifting up of my hands be like the evening sacrifice.”

The verse burned in your ears—it was one you had memorized for Sunday school so many years ago and somehow still subconsciously remembered. You whispered, “Psalms 141:2.”

Her grin widened. “Good girl.” She licked her lips, thumb still grazing your own. “From the fruit of their mouth a person’s stomach is filled; with the harvest of their lips they are satisfied. The tongue has the power of life and death, and those who love it will eat its fruit. Proverbs 18:20-21.”

It became hard to breathe when two of her fingers slipped through your lips and sunk slowly over your tongue.

“What goes into someone’s mouth does not defile them, but what comes out of their mouth, that is what defiles them. Matthew 15:11,” she recited, her own lips parting in a sigh as she slid her fingers further into your mouth.

A soft noise escaped your throat as you let her feel your mouth, your legs becoming weak. Her grip on your waist tightened when you flicked your tongue between her fingers and closed your lips, sucking dutifully on them. She jutted her lower teeth in desire, stepping so close to you that there was no room to breathe. Your skin felt hot all over, and you became suddenly aware of the cross hanging at the front of the altar, as if it were burning into your back.

The Reverend licked the back of her teeth, eyes trained on her fingers disappearing into your mouth as she whispered, “Shall you use your tongue to praise the Lord our God?”

A dirty sucking sound escaped your mouth as you sucked her fingers, and you were so under her trance, her beautiful green eyes, the way she was so enamored with your mouth, that you eagerly nodded around her fingers.

A half smile curled on her open lips as she slid her fingers out of your mouth, placing a hand on your shoulder and harshly pushing you down. Your knees hit the velvet red steps of the altar as Reverend Maximoff, standing on the step below you, placed one leg on the upper step and started to lift up her robe. You kneeled, watching in all of God’s glory, with the church’s mosaic windows behind her, as the Reverend lifted up her maroon robes and bunched them with one hand at her hips, exposing her bare pussy. With one foot on the step below your knees, and the other foot beside your knees, she tilted open her thigh and placed a hand on the back of your head.

You shivered at the feeling of her fingers in your hair as she pushed your head towards her, bucking her hips. You were filled with pulsing desire as you placed your hands gently on her hips and let her draw your mouth towards her, opening your lips and finding her slick folds. Your tongue ran over her slit, and you moaned at her taste, at how she was so wet that her juices already covered your lips.

Reverend Maximoff sighed, leaning her head back as you found her clit and started to lap at it. “Oh, God!” she exclaimed, pushing her hips towards your face as you suckled on her clit.

You could hardly keep up with her as she pushed your head and bucked her hips at the same time, forcing her clit onto your tongue. Your mouth involuntarily closed when one particular thrust of your head was too rough, to which she snapped, “Open your mouth! Proverbs 31:26—She speaks with wisdom, and faithful instruction is on her tongue.” Her sentence ended with a piercing moan as you opened your mouth wider for her and let her fuck it as she pleased.

Whining from the force, you furiously tried to pleasure her—as much as you could with the way she was practically pleasuring herself with your mouth like it was a toy. You melted at the sounds of her moans and gasps that echoed in the church, at the way that you were kneeling on the altar with your head between her legs, at the way her hand was tangled in your hair. Her clit tangibly throbbed on your tongue as her hips thrusted harder, her moans rising in pitch.

“Oh, God! Oh, God!” she screamed as she came, grinding her clit against your tongue and grabbing your hair so hard that your scalp ached. You struggled to breathe, eyes tearing up from the pressure on your face, listening to her catch her breath and loosen her grip on your hair. Finally, she moved away from you, dropping her robe back down her ankles. You were panting, lips puffy and red and covered in her wetness, eyes glistening as you stared up at her, drunk with lust. She grinned, biting her lip. “You serve the Lord well. Come.”

She offered out her hands, and you took them, letting her help you to her feet and guide you to the front pew. She sat down, keeping hold of your hands, and pulled you down so you straddled her lap. She sighed, her eyes looking everywhere at you except your face.

Her fingers crawled to the straps of your dress, slowly tugging them down your bare shoulders. She recited, “How beautiful you are and how pleasing, my love, with your delights.” Her voice was quiet in the silent room, burning at your ears as you tried to stay focused with the taste of her still on your lips. Her eyes sunk down your chest as she started to pull the dress down your breasts. “I said, I will climb the palm tree; I will take hold of its fruit.”

She tugged the fabric of your dress over your breasts, exposing them as they bounced over the fabric. Taking a sharp breath, she drew one hand to your tit and squeezed the soft flesh there, earning a gasp from you.

“May your breasts be like clusters of grapes on the vine, the fragrance of your breath like apples, and your mouth like the best wine.” Her eyes, which were trained on your exposed chest in front of her, flickered up to your face, catching the gloss of her cum on her lips. She raised her other hand and spread her fingers over your lips, smearing the wetness across your mouth. “May the wine go straight to my beloved, flowing gently over lips and teeth.”

You started to throb at her touches, at her words, at her inebriated eyes. Her hand that groped your breast fell down to your thighs, urging the end of your dress upwards as it slid up your skin.

“Song of Songs 7:6-9,” she whispered with finality as she danced her fingers up your inner thigh, and you watched her hand disappear under your skirt. “Is your body a temple of God, y/n?” she asked you as she parted your panties with her fingers.

You nodded desperately, so turned on by what she had done to your mouth, so dumbed down by the verses and the touches and the taste of her. She bit her lip and moaned as her fingers touched your slick cunt, grazing over your clit before two of them sunk into your hole.

Head falling back, you grabbed at the shoulders of her robe and whined as she plunged her fingers inside you, your wetness already making a dirty squelching noise as she pumped inside of you.

“I’m not so sure it is,” she husked as she wrapped an arm around your hip to steady your bucking motions. “You’ve been a dirty girl, y/n. You’ve used your body to sin against His Word. My hand of God can only do so much—you need to beg for his forgiveness.” An evil smirk lined her lips.

You could barely hear what she was saying as she fucked her fingers into you, your hips moving up and down in desperate search for more of her. She thumbed at your clit as she waited for you to answer, leaning forward to press wet kisses on your nipples that bounced with your motions.

“Please, God,” you began shakily, “Forgive me.”

“That’s not good enough,” she tutted, suddenly pushing a third finger inside you. Your mouth fell open at the stretch and the burst of sensations that exploded when she curled her fingers inside you. “Beg Him. Beg Him to forgive you for being a dirty whore.”

“Ah!” you exclaimed when she bit your nipple, jamming her fingers into you harshly. “P-Please, God,” you began breathlessly, squeezing the Reverend’s shoulders as pressure built inside you. “Please forgive me.”

“Forgive you for?” she urged, biting your other nipple and sucking on it.

You tried to remember exactly what she had said as your orgasm threatened to impend upon you. “F-For, for being a dirty whore!” The sound of your own voice saying those words pushed you over the edge, your inner walls clenching around the Reverend’s fingers. Your hips rocked hard against her hand as she watched in pure desire and delight, grinning when you finally came down from your climax.

“Very good, my child,” she soothed as you panted, her fingers still inside you. You trembled on her lap, seeing that your wetness had dripped onto her hand and down her maroon robe. “The Lord our God is a merciful one. He forgives you.” She played with the end of your dress, moving her fingers inside you and seeing just what a mess she had made of you. She looked up at your beat red face and teary eyes, her eyes alight with an idea. “Have you ever been baptized?”

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #marvel #lesbian #lgbt #wanda maximoff x fem!reader

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cowpokeomens · 3 months

Text

absolution

Pairing: Pastor!Joakim "Jolly" Karlsson x fem!reader

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI!!!!!!!!! A looot of references to religion (it all takes place in a church, so), smut smut smut (p-in-v) I'm including dubcon bc consent is weird with power dynamics, age gaps (10 yr) (everyone is of legal age though!!), some body horror stuff, power imbalance, I think that's all but if you come across something that I missed please reach out so I can tag accordingly!!! Love u bye!!!

A/N: This was really cathartic to write lmao I have a sprinkling of Religious Trauma and this helped me work through some of those feelings in my own weird horny way. It is porn, please don't start expecting me to be some kinda respectable writer with plotlines or whatever. PLEASE HEED THE TAGS. Okay enjoy!!!!

The guilt of it is eating you alive.

The pressure between your legs- the raw, empty ache that plagues you day in and day out. Sitting on your pew, you are once again swept away by long, glossy hair and inked knuckles, turning sacred pages of a holy book that can do nothing to hold your attention at this moment.

What an impression of Christ he makes, you think to yourself, sounding hypnotized even in your internal monologue.

He arrived when you were 19, to your small town, to your even smaller church. The rest of the folks in town think your congregation is too… fanatical. You can’t imagine a world in which someone could be over-zealous for the word of God, and even so, Pastor Karlsson had done a lot to level the congregation out.

He was a divorcee, not by his choice, he has said. He was only 29 when he first rolled into town, funny accent and even funnier sounding name causing immediate distrust in your tight-knit community.

But God, did he have a testimony. Sex, drugs, rock ‘n roll, the tattoos adorning his body told you the story better than those gaudy stained glass windows in the snobby Catholic churches ever could. A lecherous lifestyle with a woman who didn’t love him, not really - not the way you do. He had humbled himself to you all, and you gladly let him in. He was made a pillar in your community - he became a leader to the congregation.

Which is why you always suppressed your feelings, putting them in a locked sarcophagus and hurling it to the far recesses of your mind. You will not be the thing that tries to come between him and the Lord.

You look up at him as he speaks, standing at the pulpit and wielding the word of God like the Archangel Michael who so valiantly struck down Satan. He who is made in God’s image; Had it not been for your utter devotion to the Lord, you would have wondered if he could sin at all.

But you knew better. Everyone carried their own sins. You had heard stories of husbands and wives who idolized each other so much that they left the church altogether. Your heart broke at the thought of leaving God’s light to worship something as sinful as human flesh, couldn’t imagine risking an eternity of paradise for what would one day be dust.

Not that you’d know, of course. You’d never felt the touch of a man outside of when Pastor Karlsson baptized you the day before your 21st birthday. It had been fuel for weeks, his gentle hand on your back, guiding you underneath the water of the river that ran out behind the church. You had stuffed yourself full of your own fingers that night, stuffed your mouth full of bed linens so that no one would hear how you came undone at the mere thought of him.

Perhaps you are the lecherous one, after all. Though you can’t help but think that God has given you Pastor Karlsson on purpose, as a test of your faith. A test that you believed you were passing, for the most part. You haven’t missed a Sunday sermon since you caught the flu in 2021, and even so, you watched the livestreams on Facebook. You keep your nose in your Bible, and ignore the clench in your gut when he tells you good morning.

This morning is different.

This morning is worse.

You just come off of your period- disgusting and uncomfortable as it was, you are thankful it was over and you can enjoy the rest of your June in peace. But it lingers under your skin, an itch that can’t be scratched. Your emotions are raw, and you burst into tears twice this week, unprompted. Worst of all is the ache.

You didn’t know you could feel so empty. It claws at your insides like a caged beast, mockingly calling in the voice of Moloch himself, “Fill me up, fill me up.”

You threw yourself headfirst into your studies; you reviewed Ecclesiastes as a way to ground yourself, to remind yourself that this was a temporary feeling, and would pale in comparison to the absolution of Heaven.

Still, sitting in your pew, you felt the hunger gnashing at you, gnawing at your throat. It was overwhelming, all-consuming. You stutter through your hymnal, barely reading half the words. Your mother keeps giving you concerned looks, your father aloof as ever. Halfway through the sermon, she hisses in your ear, “What is the matter with you?”

You blink up at her, wide-eyed, and stammer out a “I - I don’t know. I feel… weird.”

She purses her lips, but says nothing, turning back to Pastor Karlsson in the pulpit.

You pass the time in silence, feeling itchy and hot, until the sermon concludes, and everyone makes a mass exodus to the dirt lot where their cars are parked.

“Hold on.” Your mother stops you as you begin exiting your pew.

She walks over and, to your utter horror, greets Pastor Karlsson, pulling him aside and speaking to him in hushed tones. He nods once, glancing at you, then nods again as she steps away. She looks grateful, patting his shoulder in that way that mothers do.

He looks at you then, and his full attention is enough to make you combust. Suddenly your dress is too tight on your chest, your breasts straining with every breath against the linen that encases you. Your bones itch, but your hands stay resolutely tucked into your sides, your Bible held against your chest.

You’re so busy focusing on breathing that you don’t realize he’s walking towards you until he’s right in front of you, smiling warmly while greeting you by name. Your mother is by his side, looking at you in such a way that tells you she had something to do with this interaction.

“Darling, Pastor Karlsson here wants a word with you. He even said he’d give you a ride back to the house! I’ll set aside a plate for you at home, you two take your time here.” She was smiling in a way that made all of her teeth visible, like a snarling animal. A lead brick settles in your stomach at the expression as you look up at Pastor Karlsson.

He was so tall, you think as you peer up at him. Dark eyes meet yours, making your gaze flicker away to something else- anything else to avoid the intensity you find there. Looking directly into his eyes was like looking into the maw of a starving beast- you weren’t brave enough to even consider it.

Your mother departs with a final “Wonderful sermon, Joakim, thank you!” Flashing one of her pageant smiles at him - one she’s never given your father - as she goes.

He nods politely, murmuring a quiet, “All the glory to God.” before turning back to you. He gives you a thoughtful look before he speaks again.

“Your mother is concerned about you.” His tone was not accusatory or pointed, just repeating facts.

You inhale shakily. “Yeah, I feel kind of weird today.” Admitting to such a thing is not a lie - you do feel weird today.

He nods, as if understanding. Then, “Would you like to speak in my office? I have to pick up a few things, then we can head out.”

The thought of being in an enclosed space with him made you almost pass out, but you persevere, giving a meek nod as you follow him out of the sanctuary.

It was a short walk from the sanctuary to his office, your church is small, even among small churches. You love its modesty; It is a far cry from the towering spires and flying buttresses you saw in your history books back in school, but it has a self-effacing quality that makes it approachable to people from all walks of life.

The walls are painted white, though slightly yellowed with age. Dark wood lines the floor, blue carpet cushioning your steps as you walk. There aren’t many windows - it was built for insulation, not sight-seeing, after all. Crosses hang sporadically throughout the hallways, some wooden, carved by members, others purchased at a discount at the craft stores a few towns over.

His office is a glorified coat closet, something the elders threw together haphazardly when God called him to serve. It fit a desk, a desktop computer that was older than dirt, and two chairs, one on either side of the desk. The carpet is green, the walls beige, and you have always thought it is an entirely unbecoming space for such a Godly man. It’s a good thing he was humble; God opposes the proud but shows favor to the humble, you think, almost bitterly, as he sits down in the chair by the computer. You make a mental note to work on your own humility as you sit down in the chair opposite him.

“So, what’s got you feeling weird?” He asks with a small smile, putting his elbows on the desk and lacing his fingers together. His hair falls over his shoulders with the movement, cascading down in a curtain of silk. You remind yourself to breathe.

Stammering, you try to explain yourself. “I’m- I’m not sure, Pastor Karlsson-”

“Joakim.” He interrupts you gently.

You blink at him, confusion evident in your face. He must find something about the expression amusing, because he’s smiling softly and continuing, “You can call me Joakim. We’re both grown-ups here.”

You swallow loudly, the sound all but ricochets in the stillness of the room. “R-right. I’m not really sure why I feel so weird. I just had a really hard time focusing today.” You suddenly realize what you’ve said, correcting yourself quickly. “Not that the sermon wasn’t good! Your sermons are always wonderful, Pastor Karls - Joakim.”

He’s smiling broadly now, clearly entertained by your flailing. “It’s okay, käresta, I understand what you mean." A pause, then he lowers his hands. "Is there something on your mind specifically? Something that’s preventing you from focusing?”

You go still, scared to breathe too fully, lest it give you away. Your eyes slide to the ground, teeth coming out to gnaw at your lip. You can feel your heart racing in your throat- the throbbing sensation makes you wonder if you’ll actually vomit from anxiety. You freeze further when Joakim places a hand on your arm, gently.

His voice is barely audible when he whispers, “Hey, it’s okay. We all have our sins, and sin is sin -”

“- Is sin.” You finish for him, sounding unconvinced. You take a deep breath, then redirect your gaze back to him. His eyes are soft with concern, mouth pulled into the faintest frown. Hating to imagine you’re the reason he’s so upset, you blurt out before you can even process your words.

“I’ve been having lustful thoughts about a man in the congregation.” Once the words have been said, you fight the urge to grab them clean out of the air and stuff them back into your mouth.

The hand on your arm tenses for half a second, then relaxes again. “Okay.” He begins calmly, pulling his hand back to the table. You resist the urge to whimper at the loss of contact. “I can see where your concern is coming from. Is this man married?”

There were only so many unmarried men in the congregation; it would be an easy elimination if you were truthful. But... You were already coming clean about one sin, no need to add on others, you reasoned. Shaking your head in a negative, you give a meek, “No, he’s not.”

Joakim nods thoughtfully, staying silent for a moment. You can all but see the gears turning in his mind, deducing who it could be. You wonder if he lists himself amongst the unmarried men- or if he is courting some woman, unbeknownst to you all. No, your mind fired at you venomously. He is not the sort of man to slink around in the shadows.

Finally, he spoke. “While lust is never something to give full rein to, it is understandable, biologically speaking.” Upon seeing your confusion, he offers another soft smile, continuing. “You’re at an age where your body wants you to have children. It is what God made you for, it’s only natural that someone as devoted as you are would respond strongly to His plan. You’re not doing anything wrong, käresta.”

Relief floods your body, making your shoulders sag at the loss of tension. You aren’t doing anything wrong, Joakim even told you so. But that makes you wonder- is there anything you should be doing? You’re about to ask when he speaks again.

“I’ve been wanting to speak with you privately for a while now.” He huffs a small laugh. “It seems the Lord thought today would be a good time, so it shall be.”

You straighten your shoulders, sitting up, wanting to make sure he knows he has your full attention. Looking at him fully, you’re not surprised why your body is so responsive to him. He’s so handsome, even with the shadow of dark stubble on his face. You wonder what keeps him up at night, which chapters he gets stuck on for days before clarity dawns on him. It’s no mystery why your body is putting thoughts of lust in your mind; he’s the sort of man who would make a wonderful father.

You cut off that train of thought, needing to focus on the present moment. He needs your full attention for whatever he’s going to say next.

“The Lord has been communicating with me for some months now, on the topic of finding a wife.” You both take deep breaths, though for different reasons, you imagine. “You’ve heard my testimony on my previous marriage, so I don’t need to emphasize how much I’ve prayed about this.”

Your heart breaks, shatters, combusts into nothing but ash at his words. The Lord wants him to find a wife, and it sounds like he has someone in mind. You swallow the lump of bile in your throat, trying to listen to his next words as your guts fight the natural inclination to stay in your body.

“I’ve spoken to God a lot, the last few months- even by pastor standards.” The playful smile he gives you feels like a knife twisting in your chest. “And if I’m understanding his message correctly, I believe God wants me to court you.”

You’re so busy wallowing that you don’t understand what he’s said at first. The words sink in slowly, like the drip of an IV into your veins. When you think you understand, you manage a, “What?”

He chuckles, not a degrading sound, rather like he understands your confusion. “I know, it seems sudden, but I’ve been speaking to the Lord about this for many months, and-”

“Oh my goodness.” You interrupt as realization hits you like a freight train. “No - I know. I know. Because God has been speaking to me, too.”

Joakim’s brow furrows at you, and it feels nice to not be the confused one for once.

You continue, looking up at him shyly. “The… lustful thoughts I’ve been having, they-” You pause, building up your courage. “They’re about you.”

He’s frozen, mouth slightly agape as he processes your confession. His head tilts to the side slightly, eyes darker than usual as he asks, “You’ve been having lustful thoughts about… me?”

You nod, cheeks tinged pink. “When you’re in the pulpit - I try to focus, I really do, but my mind wanders to… other things.”

You should be embarrassed, should be ashamed of admitting something so unbecoming. But the comfort of this being God’s plan washes away any ill regards you have about the situation; this is what He has always intended.

“Other things?” He echoes, eyes focused on you intensely. His voice is hushed, only loud enough for the two of you to hear. “Like what?”

Your blush deepens at his inquiry. “Well, it’s more of a feeling than an exact thought…”

He’s leaning forward now, all but hanging over his desk at your words. He looks hungry, you realize suddenly; Like he’d seen firsthand the famine in Canaan, pupils blown wide, mouth open, breathing slowly. “A feeling?” He prompts.

Nodding, you find yourself leaning forward too, almost desperate to close the gap between you both. You can feel the dust in the air, hear the quiet electric hum of his old desktop computer. Your breath is coming too loudly, it ricochets off the walls around you both. “It feels like an ache.” You explain, sounding hoarse. “It feels like an emptiness.”

He takes a shaky breath, pushing himself back from his desk in a controlled motion. Standing up, he makes his way around the desk to stand in front of you, one of his calloused hands guiding your chin up to look at him.

“Do you want me to help you - with the emptiness? The ache?” He questions, eyes boring into yours.

The thought of it makes your thighs clench together, and the feeling is so delicious that you almost vocalize it. Your mouth is dry, but you feel wetness gathering in your cotton panties already. You almost forget to respond, nodding and breathing out, “Yes, please.”

“Always so well-mannered.” He praises, making you feel warm. You would do just about anything for him to keep going.

The hand on your jaw guides you upward until you’re standing in front of him. You’re not touching, but you can feel the heat emanating from his body, feel the way the air vibrates between you. His eyes travel down to your lips, back up to your eyes, then down to your lips again.

“Have you ever kissed a boy, lillis?” He asks, eyes half-lidded and voice quiet.

You shake your head, a tiny movement. “No.” You pause, then decide to continue. “I wanted to save myself.”

His inhale is sharp, deep. “Such a good girl.” The words light a fire in your belly, and the familiar gnawing is back, worse than ever before. You shift on your feet, subconsciously searching for any kind of friction. He picks up on the movement.

“Do you feel empty, now? Are you desolate?” You can feel where his breath hits your face. If you tilted your head right, your lips would meet. The clothes you’re wearing feel itchy - too tight, too rough.

You can’t speak, so you nod “yes.” His eyes run down your figure, back up again to your lips.

“Show me where.” Is his only command. You can’t read his expression fully, features arranged into careful neutrality. The spark in his eyes seemed to hint at desperation, though.

Your face is probably the color of a sun-ripened tomato, but you do as he says, grabbing his free hand, guiding it between your legs. His fingers curl up through your skirt, cupping your mound. Your eyelids flutter shut at the contact, hands coming up to rest against his chest to steady yourself. Heartbeat racing, you don’t think there could be anything better than the feeling of what’s happening right now.

“Here? Is this where you feel empty?” His lips move against your cheek, breath fanning across your ear, making you shiver.

You blink several times, trying to clear your head. “Joakim, please.” Is all you can muster, fingers gripping at his shirt.

You can feel him sag against you as his lips crash into yours. You’re not completely sure of what to do, allowing him to guide your lips open, licking into your mouth. You hear yourself groaning into the kiss, crowding impossibly closer until your bodies are pressed against each other fully.

He breaks the embrace to place wet, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, down your neck. The feeling is euphoric, making your hips buck into his without conscious decision.

Hands run down your sides, coming up again underneath your dress skirt to grip at the backs of your thighs, yanking you forward with such force that you almost topple over. His left hand is at your back in an instant, holding you steady before unzipping the back of your dress in a swift motion.

The material pools around your front, hanging loosely until you pry it off, happy to be rid of the too-rough fabric at last. His lips are back on yours in an instant, one hand gripping the back of your neck while the other kneads the flesh of your breast through your bra.

You outright moan at the feeling, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip as your mouth opens to let the sound out. He works a knee between your legs, rubbing the meaty flesh of his thigh against your core in such a way that has you seeing spots in your vision. Fingers curling into claws where they grip onto his shoulders, you grind down onto his leg, an animalistic snarl escaping you as you do so.

You know this feeling; Though it’s a sin to give into lust, you’ve made yourself climax before, silently, long after everyone had laid down to rest at night. This is so much more, though - you feel as though someone has soaked you in gasoline and laid a lit match to your flesh. Nothing could have torn you from the carnal desire you felt, being entwined with Joakim like this. You want to take turns ripping each other apart, severing limbs and gluing them back together until you have both been remade in His image. You want to bite and gnaw and lick until you taste blood, to soothe the worried skin with soft whispers and softer hands. Dragged to Hell and back, nailed to a cross and left to rot, rising from the dead with such vigor that Lazarus would envy you - you wanted it all, so long as this moment didn’t end.

“Joakim - I, I -” You choke out, eyes focusing on his, foreheads pressed together.

“Good girl, give it to me, everything you’ve got.” He urged you, the hand on your neck coming down against your hip, ushering your pelvis against his thigh.

Burying your head in his chest, you climax with a wanton moan, body shuddering through the shockwaves of it. Your breathing is labored, vision blurry from clenching your eyes shut so tightly.

He’s gently prying you off his leg then, maneuvering your positions until you find yourself face-down on his desk. Using a knee, he nudges your knees apart until he fits comfortably between them. The new angle has you feeling vulnerable, visible, licentious.

You don’t have time to dwell on the feeling, because suddenly his fingers are playing with your folds through your ruined panties. Your knees almost buckle at the stimulation, so sensitive it almost hurts. Gripping the other side of the desk to hold yourself upright, you do your very best to stay still as he explores your body.

Two fingers hook into the side of your panties, moving them to the side. You know he can see everything like this, and while part of you is screaming at the debauchery of it, another, louder part of you hopes he likes what he sees. You’re fighting the urge to sneak a glance at him when the two fingers that moved your panties aside are thrust deep into your core.

You let out a howl that could rival a rabid dog, nails scraping against the wooden laminate of the desk as your hands clench into fists. He’s curling his fingers inside you slowly, and you can feel every millimeter of it. A string of drool escapes your open mouth, cascading down into a puddle on a stack of prayer requests from this morning’s sermon.

“That’s it, so good, just take it, lillis.” He murmurs, fingers still unfurling deep inside you.

You don’t know that you can do anything but take it. His fingers are so much thicker than yours, taking up twice as much space as you’re used to. You feel wonderfully full, the emptiness inside you finally satiated.

But then he’s pulling them out, and you almost sob at the loss of it. You could feel your hole clenching on nothing, throbbing with want; Whether you enjoy it or not, you aren’t even sure.

You hear a zipper, then the sound of something metallic hitting the carpet. When you turn your neck to see what’s happening, you’re met with the sight of Joakim’s full manhood on display.

You’ve never seen a man naked before. There were pictures, shown to you unwillingly by the cruel boys who called you a “Bible-thumper” in school, but this is entirely different.

Joakim is… prettier, you think is the right word. His tip is pink, almost red, and wet-looking in the glow of the fluorescent office lights. Veins bulge along the length, throbbing at you angrily as if to mock the throbbing happening within you. It’s big, you realize suddenly. You can’t begin to fathom how it’s going to fit inside you, when his fingers alone made you feel so full already.

A hand is placed at the back of your neck, holding you flat in place. The weight is reassuring, grounding in its pressure as you’re pressed fully against the desk, the cool laminate a welcome reprieve from the fever burning in your skin. You feel him press his tip against your folds, running it through the slickness there, before slowly pushing past your threshold.

“It hurts.” Is the first thing you whine, legs already trembling. It does hurt - in a sharp way, like stretching to reach your toes first thing in the morning.

You gasp as he leans over, thrusting further into you as he whispers in your ear. “Shh, I know. It’s the price we must pay for our sin.” His murmur relaxes you a bit, reassures you of what you’re doing. Joakim would not lead you astray; God had spoken to him, given him fortitude in the last months. This was His plan.

The stretch continues as he slowly slides further into you, until your bodies are joined completely. You’re panting, open-mouthed as he fills you entirely. Your toes are barely brushing against the ground from how far he’s pushed you into the desk, corners digging into your hips sharply.

A soothing hand runs up and down your spine, unraveling the muscles that have been pulled taut with anticipation. Your breathing slows, body easing around the intrusion until only the sensation of fullness remains.

Joakim pulls back then, a slow movement that has you inhaling harshly as he drags along your inner walls. Your mouth goes to ask him what he’s doing, when he slams back into you, cutting off your train of thought in favor of gargling on your breath.

“Oh my God,” You keen, eyes so wide they might bulge out of your head altogether.

A jarring slap lands against your backside, stinging skin left in its wake. “Do not take the Lord’s name in vain.” Joakim rasps, sounding as out of breath as you do.

He pulls back again, only to crash back into you a half-second later. The force of it jolts you, making you wail as your hands reach out for something, anything to hold onto. Documents and envelopes fly onto the floor in your frenzy, looking as haphazard as you feel.

He continues at an unrelenting pace, hand still firmly gripping the base of your neck from behind. You know you’re being loud; A distant part of you even registers that, given the circumstances, you should probably be much, much quieter. You can’t bring yourself to care, though, an endless chant of Joakim’s name falling from your lips as you do what you can to grind back into him.

The hand leaves your neck, coming down to grab onto your hip while his other hand mirrors the action. Your pelvis is lifted off the desk, thrusts never even pausing as the new angle drives him deeper into you. Tears spring in your eyes from the overstimulation, having climaxed only a few short minutes ago.

This is absolution, You think. Being tangled together, conjoined like this - There is no fear of sin, no guilt at succumbing to the lust-filled desires of the flesh. As Joakim plunges himself into you, over and over, you find yourself almost dizzy with relief at the weight lifted off your shoulders, the panic of condemnation a distant memory.

His arm wraps around the front of your hips, holding you in place, as his free hand tangles into your hair, yanking your head towards him.

“Say the Lord’s prayer.” He groans in your ear, breath hot and sticky. “Beg for His forgiveness. ‘Our Father-’”

“‘-Who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name.” You whimper, the words slipping off your tongue like muscle memory as your body is rocked back and forth by his thrusts. “‘Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on Earth-” Your voice is cut off by your own gasp as he reaches something in you that you’ve never felt before. Knees shaking, you dig your fingers deeper into the mess of papers surrounding you to try and stabilize yourself.

“Keep going. ‘On Earth, as it is in Heaven.’” He urges, grip tightening on you.

“‘Give us today our daily bread,’” You continue, moaning pitifully as he drives into that same spot again. “‘And forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us.’”

Tears stream freely down your cheeks now, a mixture of pleasure and overstimulation driving you mad. Joakim is mouthing at the junction of your neck and shoulder, tongue brushing over a spot that makes you shiver into him. A fire is building in your belly, lapping at the bottom of your throat as you move closer and closer to climax.

“‘L-lead us not into temp- temptation,’” You stutter, mind hazy with want. “‘But d-deliver us from evil.’”

Joakim’s voice is back in your ear. “‘For thine is the Kingdom,” A harsh thrust, “‘The Power,” Another thrust, “And the Glory forever.’”

The fire burns so hot that it rips the oxygen straight out of your lungs. Your eyes struggle to stay open, fluttering closed each time he rams into you. A particularly harsh pull of your hair reminds you that he is waiting for your response.

“Amen.” You whisper, vision going white as you climax, body twitching forcefully in his arms. His hips stutter once before he buries himself inside you, spilling his seed into you as he does.

Whether you lay there for seconds or days, you don’t know. Eventually, Joakim pulls out, a string of his release coming with him, rolling down the inside of your thighs. You whimper at the loss, still too sensitive to move.

“C’mon, käresta, we need to get you dressed. Your mother will wonder where you are.” His voice is gentle behind you, hand rubbing against your lower back to rouse you.

Your joints pop in protest as you try to push yourself up off the desk. The room is a mess of papers and scattered writing utensils, your dress nothing more than a rumpled pile of cloth on the ground.

You slip it over your head gingerly, every muscle in your body somehow sore. Joakim zips up the garment for you, running his hands over your clothed back, as if to smooth the wrinkles.

Turning to face him, you’re met with a soft pair of lips to your forehead, dark hair brushing against your cheeks. The kiss makes you feel brave as you ask, “Joakim?”

His eyes are warm as he gazes down at you, his fingers coming up to comb through your tangled hair. “Hmm?” Is his response as he works out a particularly knotted strand.

You flutter your eyelashes, a move that feels foreign, but somehow right. Looking up at him demurely, you ask, “Will you be leading tonight’s Bible study?”

#jolly karlsson smut #jolly karlsson fic #jolly karlsson x reader #jolly karlsson fanfiction #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fanfic #bad omens fic #bad omens smut

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fan-goddess · 6 months

Note

Hello my love!! For your kinktober event, could I request modern!Aemond with religious guilt?? 👁️🫦👁️

Authors Note: Oooh I will definitely try for you baby! I don’t know much about the topic of religion due to me being raised in a non-religious household, but I will certainly try my best!

I’ve made merged Christianity and the religion of the seven together and I talk about religion a lot in this, but like I said I don’t know a lot about the topic, so if I get any certain terminology wrong or anything like that, please don’t hesitate to let me know so I can try and do my best to correct myself and add it into the one-shot! I will not be offended at all!

Warnings: Religious guilt, m masturbation, blasphemy, a lot of religious guilt, sort of religious trauma maybe???, lying to a priest, most likely incorrect quotes from the bible, I think I got Adam and eves story wrong on that last bit, (if I miss anything like I know I probably will or if just you want me to add anything let me know!”

Taglist: @valeskafics, @sofiyathecunt , @marvelgirl123 , @sylasthegrim, @mochi-rose, @humanpurposes, @watercolorskyy, @blue-serendipity, @omgbrcat

Please read the authors note before reading if you haven’t already!

Ever since Aemond could remember, it had been customary for him and his family to go to church every Sunday, without any arguments.

Each time Aegon, Helaena and himself would be dressed in their Sunday bests, which all held some variation of green in them, and greet the pastor with only pure respect.

His mother though also expected him and his siblings to go into the confession box, and confess their sins weekly to the pastor.

One time when Aemond was seven, he wanted an extra cookie after dinner, but his mother has said a firm no and told him off. However, ignoring his mothers advice, Aemond decided to climb onto the counter later that evening to sneak another from the tin, even when his mother said no.

When she found him, she smacked him three times on his rear with her hand for a punishment and when Sunday came about, she all shoved him inside the confession box, where he was forced to confess his sins to the man on the other side.

The moment stayed with him for years. It imbedded something inside of him. A fear of god. A fear of those sins the pastor would preach about confessing over.

That fear at the current moment seemed to be very directed at you. It had been years since the cookie incident, as he was a college boy now. A man even. Studying the philosophical and physical history of the world.

He thought they were safe subjects to pick to satisfy his ever hungry mind. Yet the safety vanishes when he locked eyes on you in a gorgeous light blue summer dress one innocent morning.

The straps were thinner than the dresses he’d seen before, and the one you wore went well above your knees, stopping closer to the middle of your upper thighs.

When you crossed your legs during class, Aemond had seen so much skin that he practically felt lightheaded at the sight, his fist curling so much his knuckles turned white from how tighty he clenched them.

He could feel the sinfulness of his thoughts curling up into one large glutinous monster begging for scraps.

The thoughts of being with you as a married couple do. Him coming home to you where you would greet him at the door, pregnant with his child. Taking you on his and your wedding night on the bed, naked as the day you were born.

It made his head spin dreadfully. As he’d never even spoken to you before that day, let alone noticed you. But maybe, maybe this was some sort of test by the seven? A temptation he must resist to prove himself faithful to what he believes.

The thought comes to him that night as he fucks his fist to the thought of you.

Aemond had never done so before. It never felt right thinking about the sinful women online who paraded their bodies for the world. Yet why did it feel so good when he thought of you?

The thought stayed with him constantly over the couple months. He’d see you in class. Now devoted to sitting behind you when possible to get a glimpse of you where you couldn’t see him.

Only his plan to stay in the dark didn’t go to plan. When one Sunday after church, and his family’s eating dinner together, he gets a text from an unknown number on his phone.

His eyebrow raised on its own in surprise, and as he texts asking who it, and gets an swift answer back not even a minute later, he can feel his heart practically going into cardiac arrest. Because it’s your name that responds to his question.

Aemond doesn’t answer your question though till early next morning. It had felt strange to text you that day. For him to talk to this temptation of his on a holy day. So he waited for it to turn 00:01 so the weighing on his conscious would leave him for now.

And when he saw your text the next morning agreeing on the time, the strange feeling that blooms in his chest gets pushed back as much as it could.

Yet the feeling only came back even quicker and harsher when he met you in the library that day.

His hands would find themselves clenching by his side whenever you folded your arms in annoyance, and his eyes would find themselves drawn to your accentuated boobs. His nails would dig into his palms so harshly a couple times Aemond felt as though he needed to check for fresh blood. Yet even if he did draw blood, he wouldn’t care. It was his penance for his sins.

When you finished the homework, he can remember the feeling of your body on his as you hugged him suddenly. Too shocked and surprised to even think about hugging you back. Not that he felt like he even deserved it in the first place.

“Thank you so much Aemond! I seriously was thinking I was gonna fail this on my own! How can I make it up?” You asked, looking up at with shining eyes.

“You don’t need to do anything for me. I was just being a good classmate.” Aemond learnt the hard way as a child to not bring up anything to do with religion when this sort of stuff came up.

“Are you sure? It doesn’t need to be big! You could make me give you another hug if you wanted? Or I could maybe bake you something? Seriously if you don’t want anything now I’ll probably end up doing all these things trying to make it up to you!” You beg, your eyes looking unusually stern at him.

He feels torn.

On the one hand, he feels as though if he took anything in return, he will be seen by the gods as being eager to be righteous. In the holy book, it was said "Be careful not to do your acts of righteousness' before men, to be seen by them.” There is always the possibility that this is one of your tests. Testing his willingness and eagerness for recognition from the gods.

But there is a sense of greed within him that urges for him to accept this temptation. A horrible greedy think that wants to take and take and take until there is nothing left.

It’s a horrible war inside of him. But in the end, the devil has his arm locked tightly.

“Fine. I’ll take a hug or something.” It’s said with so little emotion, and yet when he feels your arms around him the warmth in his chest reminds him of the flames of hell.

Where he belongs after what he did that night.

That night, Aemond held his erect cock in his hand and thrusted into it until his hot seed spilled all over his stomach. It felt sinful as when he was fondling himself, only images of you filled his head. The feeling of your warmth as you held him earlier that day fresh in his head as he couldn’t contain himself.

It felt so wrong afterwords, and yet whilst he was on the verge of cumming, the thought of you being there whilst he did this and helping him to complete himself was what sent him over the edge. And afterwards, the shame hit him hard.

He confessed it all when he went to confession that Sunday, and yet the pastor did little to help him achieve the advice he wanted. The penance in Aemonds mind was not enough.

Aemond remembers what he said to the man well. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been one week since my last confession, and I have been lead to temptation. I have been thinking of a person who belongs not to the church, and I have been thinking of her sexually. The thoughts do not stop father, how do I make the temptations stop?”

“My son,” The priest began, “The sins you tell me of I have seen before. Please, tell this woman of your thoughts so you can confess to her of your challenge, and in the meantime, pray to the gods for forgiveness every night before then. Give thanks to the Lords and ladies for They are good.”

Aemond hated to respond and end this moment, but he couldn’t stop the automatic response. “Their mercy endures forever.”

“Your sins are forgiven. Go in peace.”

Aemond was not in peace, and if anything the war inside of him was as hardening as ever.

“Thanks be to the Gods…” Aemond murmurs before leaving and shutting the door behind him.

Aemond that night sins again. And again the next night, and even the night after that. Aemond fists his hard cock and cums to the thought of your body every night till his next confession, where Aemond for the first time in his life lies to his priest about his sins. He does not mention that he never talked to you about him fucking himself to the thought of you, even when the priest mentions it, asking Aemond whether he has asked for your forgiveness. The lie felt like tar on his tongue when he uttered yes.

Everything within him in fact felt like there was a war inside him, a war that raged between the good and the bad.

When he talks to you innocently enough asking if you wanted some more help with the subject, Aemond makes use of each syllable you say and how you say it to complete himself later that day.

It’s sinful, it’s wrong, and yet it feels so fucking right when he does it.

One night whilst Aemond reread his worn down bible, he got to the section of Adam and Eve and though with a sick thrill that he was Adam, and you were his Eve. He was living in innocent bliss whilst you tried to tempt him with your apple of sins.

Aemond reads the verse thoroughly, and in the place of Adam and Eves faces he sees his and your own. It’s a horrible thing, but he imagines the scenario of you tempting him under the apple tree while his hand is on his cock.

Your back is to the tree, and Aemond is taking what is his from you whilst you moan at the feeling. Him and you experiencing pleasure and desire for the first time in yours’ lives and you can’t get enough of it as you whine and moan for more.

He even imagines afterwards, when him and you wonder earth whilst your stomach is swollen with his babe. It’s what makes him spill himself all over his stomach and hand, and what makes him realise what a sinner he is.

He will never tell you, he will never tell his priest, and Aemond is certain he will never tell the Gods on what he has done. Yet he doesn’t have to, for the Gods are omnipresent and omniscient.

They already knows where he belongs.

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hazelnut-u-out · 7 days

Text

If God Exists, It's Fucking Me!

(Post 2/2)

A lot of this is a follow-up to Post 1, but I broke it up because I'm rambly.

Sidenote: I didn't realize how much Rick and Morty tries to confront the viewer with the question of what makes a god a god. Take from that what you will, lol.

Having a god complex is an essential component of Rick’s character. He can’t pull his sense of identity away from his relationship to God.

'If God exists, it's fucking me!'

Even though someone may no longer believe in their god, they were still raised or programmed to serve them before they serve themselves. It becomes instinct.

I would imagine a god-like intellect could blur the line between one’s own needs and those of their god even more. For example, if Rick can value himself above God, then who’s to say he can’t do all of the things God has done for his own purpose? If Rick can prove that he exists and not that God exists, then what morally stands in Rick’s way? This is what makes Rick a good representation of what religious trauma can look like in someone exceptional. Working on the basis of this assumption, his god complex would arguably be inevitable.

The final layer of tragedy is that C-137 isn’t all-powerful, is he? There’s one Rick that took something from him he can’t replace; one Rick– someone he can prove exists– is more powerful than him. How can C-137 argue that Prime isn’t in the right while still following the logic that his own power is what gives himself the right to ‘invent, transform, create, and destroy for a living’? Without being able to condemn Prime’s actions, what can C-137 do other than try to become him?

'You think it's cool being the smartest man on Earth, but once we give you this technology, you become the smartest thing in every conceivable universe -- the Infinite Rick, a god.'

All of this relates back to a take I have on Evil Morty’s character. I believe he’s a lot like C-137 in that way, but his god; the being he was ‘programmed’ to serve; the creator he had to ‘defy’ was… Rick.

Because Rick made himself a God.

Even though Evil Morty and Morty Prime don’t seem to have faith in Rick, they were still bred to serve him. Evil Morty justifies his behavior because it’s nothing Rick hasn’t done. If Ricks justify their behavior through their abilities, then there can’t be anything wrong with being Evil Morty… Can there?

Morty Prime, on the other hand, still serves Rick even though he doesn’t believe in him anymore.

‘That's something you can't have when Rick shows up. Everything real turns fake. Everything right is wrong. All you know is that you know nothing and he knows everything. And, well -- well, he's not a villain, Summer, but he shouldn't be your hero. He's more like a demon or a super fucked up god.’

Morty Prime, despite believing in Rick’s power, also believes in a set of moral rights and wrongs that’s unadulterated from those demonstrated by Rick. Evil Morty operates within the set of moral rights and wrongs defined by Ricks on the curve. In my opinion, our Morty shows more potential to end the cycle than any Rick or even Evil Morty.

Evil Morty didn’t break the cycle (though I 100% believe him breaking out of the curve was symbolic of that concept), he’s perpetuating it. He didn’t do what he did in the name of justice, he did it for himself and justified his actions with his ability. In the same way that Ricks had to create the curve to become a god, Evil Morty had to leave it. To become exceptional, Rick had to reject God’s exceptionality. Similarly, Evil Morty had to reject Rick’s.

There are some important distinctions I want to point out that differentiate Evil Morty and Morty Prime on a fundamental level.

- Selfish vs Selfless:

We can see a difference in the priorities of both Morty Prime and Evil Morty as early on as Season 1.

‘Hey man, you seem to know how this place works. Is there any way we can… shut down that grid and rescue all those Mortys outside?’

‘It would be pointless. Mortys have no chance of defeating a Rick.’

I would just like to point out that no Rick put those Mortys on that wall. No Rick designed that 'symphony.'

But a Morty sure as hell made this one!

‘Alright Mortys, listen up! My name is Morty Smith, from Earth dimension C-137! I know you’re scared, because I’m scared! But that’s no reason to accept our fate. We’re Mortys! We’re not defined by our relationships to Rick. Our destiny is our own!’

Morty Prime proves that it is possible for Mortys to band together to take down Ricks. Evil Morty’s plan didn’t have to be at the price of hundreds-of-thousands to millions of Mortys’ lives. Evil Morty was prioritizing himself, justifying his treatment of other Mortys through his power to extort them.

As a follow-up to this concept, Morty Prime tries to save as many Mortys as they can while Evil Morty finally escapes the curve.

- Rick Complex:

Evil Morty, right from the start, believes that his abilities are an exception. (One could call it a Rick Complex, in this case, lol.) I believe that it’s actually his confidence, not his ability, that differentiates him from other Mortys.

Morty Prime, on the other hand, believes that Mortys are not defined by their relationships to Rick. Just like Rick is obsessed with being defined by his relationship to God, Evil Morty is obsessed with his identity as it’s defined by his relationship to Rick. He has to be better than Rick. Morty Prime seems more than happy to be the ‘Mortyest Morty,’ but let’s remember who’s the Rickest Morty.

‘Because Ricks hate themselves the most. And our Rick is the most himself.’

I guess that means the Rickest Morty would hate himself, too, which checks out. Evil Morty, very intentionally, leaves no surviving Mortys on the Citadel. When Evil Morty is confronted with the result of abuse on another Morty, he never stops at hating Ricks. Instead, he opts for, ‘Pfft, you sell-out Mortys kill me. I'd hate you more than the Ricks you worship if there was any point.’

In conclusion of this pretty pointless blurb, I think Morty Prime is closer than anyone else to escaping the cycle, and I’m so proud of him. I hope it’s not too little too late.

#rick and morty #rick sanchez #morty smith #evil morty #morty prime #rick prime

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mhmery · 2 years

Text

I think I have an unpopular opinion that I’m willing to explore more. Throughout the Law of Assumption forums and/or community, I’ve seen “repetition is key” and “persistence is key”. Which, in a sense, are true statements. However, I think there needs to be more context for beginners. I wasted SO much time trying to understand the lingo and the little phrases that were being tossed around, and it left me so confused.

Until I took a step back and read the work work of Goddard, Neville and a few other people. All of the forums and YouTubers have honestly over complicated things. So, maybe, I can break it down a bit.

- “Repetition is key”: The repetition of your affirmations is not going to produce your manifestations. It’s not. Point blank. Why? Because you’re not saying these affirmations to an external source in hopes that they give you what you want.

The repetition of your affirmations are for YOU and your subconscious mind. Your beliefs are what create— not your thoughts, your beliefs. Anything that you consistently say or even consume is what becomes a belief. Therefore, your affirmations and the repetition of them are what creates a belief— that is key.

- “persistence is key”: this one is controversial lol.

Persistence technically doesn’t mean that you have to spend every single day and second of your life scripting, affirming, visualizing. Persistence is a way of life. You are supposed to persist in the knowing and peace of mind that your desires are already created. No one can take it from you.

You can persist and that knowing. Even if you have a low moment or have moments of doubt— it’s okay. Have faith the size of a mustard seed; that faith alone can move mountains. When you have old thoughts spin the block, use your techniques— affirm, script, visualize the new belief; eventually they will subside.

- “Live in the end”: this one kicked my ass lol

This doesn’t mean pretend like what you want is already here. It means to make daily efforts to transform yourself ‘mentally’ into the version of yourself that already has what you desire. How? Maybe create habits, work through those trauma points in your life, analyze your current relationships with self and others and work to improve your beliefs and actions towards them.

Doing so prepares you for the “end” which is just when your desire comes into fruition.

-“ God, universe, higher self, etc.” : I fought with this a lot because of my religious upbringing. Moms a pastor— crazy story lol. Anyway, I didn’t want anything to do with the church because it’s just a big ass scandal.

Anyway, it wasn’t until I did hours of research and soul searching that I understood that God is just energy. Literally— just a very conscious and intelligent energy. What does that mean? Well, in the Bible (which is great manifestation tool btw), it tells us that human beings were the only creating made in his likeness. Meaning, we are conscious, we have subconscious, we can create.

The Bible also talks about God and man being one. This is mainly in relation to Jesus, but I think Jesus was kinda like the Neville Goddard of his time. Conspiracy— but hey. I tell you this so that you can understand that you are not absent from God (universe); you’re actually one in the same, but God is like the extended version of you.

This helped soooo much because I felt like I was holding everything inside of my head and that I was responsible for finding a solution. I also felt like I had no one to talk to my desires about. Then I learned about affirmative prayer. (I’ll talk about this more eventually.) knowing that I’m not praying to something outside of me, but to a part of me that has access to the outside brought me so much relief. And I literally trust that the shit will be done.

- “everyone is you pushed out”: giiiiirl this shit is IRKING

I’m gonna get sciencey because this didn’t make any damn sense until I brought science into the mix.

At the foundation of human existence is energy (yeah we have atoms and molecules and stuff, but it’s all just energy). The earth is just made up of energy. The UNIVERSE is just a big bundle of energy.

It’s not different types or species of energy; it’s the same type of energy in different shapes (or bundles) with different responsibilities. Hell, even a table is made up of energy. I’m a big bundle of energy and you are a big bundle of energy. Our SPs are a big bundle of energy— the same energy as everything in all of existence.

What does this mean? It means that we are all connected through the energy. So, yeah. When you think of someone and they text you soon after— that thought was literally energy being transmitted from you to them.

Don’t over complicated it lol. I swear it makes sense.

EIYPO literally means that because we are all energy, we are connected— so what happens to me happens to those around me. Which is why our self concept change is felt by those around us.

- “Birds Before Land”: honey— not everyone gets them, so don’t spend all of your time focusing on looking for them. BBL come after the manifestation, not before. However, there are moments when shit is just SO obviously meant for you to see. In those cases— give it good meaning.

I will say that when you invest all of your time looking for movement and signs, you’ll keep manifesting signs.

Uhhh— yeah lol there’s more but my thumbs hurt.

#law of assumption #law of assumption motivation

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no-see-um-incorrect · 4 months

Text

The Monsters Gone he’s On The Run

Featuring masc Darlin

TW:⚠️child abandonment⚠️child abuse⚠️ mentions of past trauma⚠️ A Baby⚠️ mentions of religious trauma⚠️

No proofread

Today was a normal day. Darlin was on a job. and Sam is at home.

Bored out of his midday mind.

Darlin wasn’t due to be back until after nine. He had done all of his work earlier in the week. and the house was clean.

You may not know this it is not a very common fact, but this is a vampire’s worst nightmare. Or more accurately the vampire Sam Collins, worst nightmare.

Sam is never usually by himself alone with nothing to do. Usually if he’s by himself he has something to keep him busy or if he’s doing nothing he’s doing nothing with Darlin.

But no.

“just me myself and i *sigh*”

So there he was laying on the couch. Hat tilted to cover his eyes. An annoyed grown coming from him every now and again.

“I mean, I guess I could…..prep dinner…I don’t usually. but anything to pass the time”

Sam got up from the couch and made his way to the kitchen, taking out his ingredients and laying them on the counter, chopping up the brussels sprouts, drizzling olive oil adding salt, pepper, and red pepper flakes putting them in the Tupperware container, shaking them up. Poring the rice Krispies In the Ziploc. slicing the chicken into strips.

Once he was finished, he took a look at the window.

“I think the sun is just set enough”

He put the food away setting the dirty dishes into the dishwasher. And head to the bedroom.

“if I put on Darlin’s pack hoodie And Maybe My bandanna….” he looks out the window again in the distance, he can see darker clouds. “I should be OK. what’s left of the sun will be covered by storm clouds in a bit anyway”

Sam throws the hoodie on and looks in the mirror, he didn’t realize how thick around the arms darlin’ was. His face turned red, the thought of his partner standing with him, fogged up his brain.

Sam grinned to himself.

when Sam first started seeing his mate, Vincent had said to him “the more time you spend with your partner. the more you miss them when they’re gone. They could be across the world or at the gas station”

Now Sam was kicking himself in the ass.

Because here he stood, in front of the mirror, dorky grin on his face, wearing his partners hoodie, wondering if this is what Asher meant when he said Sam was Twink coded. Proving Vincent right.

Sam heard a rumbling in the distance That quickly snapped him out of his thoughts.

He quickly got to the back door, and headed out for his walk, bringing his camping lantern, since it was near dark out by this point.

“🎶if I gave you my hand, would you take it. And make me the happiest man in the world~🎶if I told you my heart couldn’t beat one more minute without you Boy~ hmMmmM🎶”

Sam was well into his walk when the rain started coming in. it was only a sprinkle and he wasn’t too bothered by it so he continued walking. Admiring the trees, the way, the branches moved in the Bend with the wind. the gentle, whistling of wind and rock. the docile sound of puppy yelping, The-..wait a second

Sam heard a dog whine coming from a large patch of bushes. The closer he got the more ear piercing it became, and the more painful it sounded. The wind and rain grew stronger as Sam attempted to search the bushes. it wasn’t until he reached his hand down into a bush He felt something sharp.

Kneeling down, he opens the bush up, flinching against the pickers To investigate the noise.

“oh my God…..” laying before him wasn’t a normal puppy like he had expected

It was a wolf pup.

And his memory from inpowered anatomy courses were true

This was a shifter pup.

Sam quickly assesses the damage. And sees a vine of thorns wrapped around the pups back leg. “shit…hey there a little one..i I don’t know if you can understand this but. I’m Sam. i’m gonna get you out of here but I need you to stop squirming… can you do that for me?” The pups eyes frantically move around Sam’s person before relaxing. Their body going almost still apart from their leg twitching.

“thank you. I’m gonna need to act fast The lightning ain’t too far away, so I’m gonna use my pocket knife, but I’m gonna cut far away from you alright?” The pup gave a wine in response. Sam takes out his pocket knife and quickly cuts the vine. releasing the pups leg. Sam starts to get up when he notices a somewhat heavy plastic, grocery bag in the bush next to them. Just to be safe, he grabs it. and heads towards the house.

————————————————————————-

Sam gets into the house and closes the door behind him. With one hand, he grabs a soft blanket out of the hall closet. spreading it across the kitchen table. and laying the pup on top of it. The little one seemed content. although its leg was in rough shape, and it was drenched in water and mud. It didn’t seem too bothered by it all.

The baby pup looked up at Sam with its big brown eyes and Sam’s heart couldn’t help but squeeze “you’re cute you know that? But you’ll be a lot more cute once you’re cleaned up and patched up……you might wanna shift back into human form” the pup cocked its head in confusion “oh shit…you don’t know how to control your shifting yet do you?” Sam sit down and lays his head in his hands figuring out what to do next. The pup lays down and rolls on it’s back looking up at Sam through his hands “i’ve raised a puppy before, i’ve bathed one….. i’m gonna snip the rest of that vine off ya see if it caused any damage then you’re going to take a bath. Sound good to you?” the pop rolls back over and makes a playful baby bark at Sam

————————————————————————

“there you go. all better” the pup laid in his arms bundled up in a towel, freshly cleaned. making the closest noise to a cat purr you could hear from a wolf.

Sam was rocking them back-and-forth. Even though the pup was in brighter spirits, it was still a little shaken up from the earlier events. In attempt to calm the little one down. he did what usually helped with his child patience back when he was a healer. A lullaby.

“Shhh shhh your OK…your safe now🎶 close your eyes~🎶 have no fear~🎶The monster is gone. He’s on the run and your daddy is here🎶🎶Beautiful, Beautiful, Beautiful. Beautiful boy~🎶 beautiful beautiful beautiful🎶 beautiful boy🎶”

Before Sam knew it, the pup was asleep in his arms.

————————————————————————

“SAM! I’m home! You in the kitchen?” “yeah, I’m i’m here!” They make their way into the kitchen and see Sam putting something in the oven. They walk over to him wrap their arms around his waist and him a kiss on the jaw.

“hey there handsome~” “hey darlin” Sam kisses their temple. “how was work?” “well it was work. Ash got hurt on one of his regulars. So I gotta fill-in for him tomorrow. but other than that. everything was pretty good” Sam turns around and gives them a proper kiss. “well I’m glad you’re home” “..i’ll take a few more kisses, but I really got to get in the shower”

“before you do that..I got something I wanna show you…and you have to promise not to freak out..” “OK usually I’m the one saying that….. what’s up?”

Sam walks them to the bedroom. “just be a little quiet..” he opens the door to the bedroom and in the center of the bed is a laundry basket with fluffy blankets spilling over the top. And in the center is a small fawn and white Wolf pup with a bandaged up paw.

Sam slowly closes the door.

“Sam… that was a-” “baby shifter” “where did it come from?” “I was on a walk earlier, and I found her all tangled up in a bush” “Her? Did you?…did you check?” “not like that. I learned how to tell the difference between a male and female shifter when shifted. back in D.A.M.N”

They Walk back into the living room and sit on the couch.

“so you said you found her was she lost? or-” “abandoned” Sam tosses a plastic grocery bag, full of paper on the coffee table in front of Darlin. They open the bag and pull out the first piece of paper they see.

Piece of paper was a passage from a seemingly old book. From what was still legible it seemed to be discussing hell hounds. with further inspection of the other papers inside the story of this lost pup became a lot clearer than Darlin needed it to be.

“oh my God…” “……it’s not as uncommon as you may think it is…..” “guessing by her inability to control her wolf form they must’ve just manifested” darlin continued to read through the papers “she probably went to her parents confused maybe even scared….. they probably didn’t believe her at first until she showed them what she could do” darlin looked up at Sam. He was leaning against the doorway, fidgeting with his necklace. “and once she showed them… they must’ve been so angry at this thing that was so different. and so complicated that they didn’t even bother with further research they just thought a priest could fix everything…until it didn’t…” Sam saw his Darlin looking at him with a look of either sorrow or murder he couldn’t tell. He cleared his throat and wiped his eyes. “-Um I guess you could say I’ve had some experience here….” Darlin got up from their seat and wrapped their arms around Sam. giving him a kiss. “I’ll ready up the guest bedroom..we got a little one on our hands”

————————————————————————

Hello

This was very self indulgent.

Part two will be up very soon.

I had help

@evansotherthoughts @frog-0n-a-l0g @themeridian @froggytimemachineinternet

Thanks for the little bits and bobs of the story. I Appreciate y’all so much ❤️❤️❤️

The next part, we will get an official name for the new little munchkin as well as them meeting darlin’ and the pack for the first time!

Hope you enjoyed. My glasses are broken so there may be some typos.

#redacted audio #redacted asmr #redactedverse #redacted sam #redacted darlin’#redacted fanfic

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ventiswampwater · 1 year

Photo

squall

bo sinclair x afab!reader

rating: explicit

word count: 5.1k

A thunderstorm rolls through Ambrose. Bo has a nightmare.

Bo POV. He sucks on some titties and is nasty about it. He really doesn’t deserve it, but he gets laid. Confusing weird dynamics.

Crossposted on AO3 here.

Canon-typical violence and references to childhood trauma.

Mommy and daddy kink. Stockholm syndrome. Reader isn’t here with Bo by choice. Religious imagery and symbolism but make it filthy. Shitty nasty AWFUL thoughts about women from soggy loser man. Misogynistic language and behavior. Dubious consent that actually shifts into enthusiastic consent (this is the first fic where I can kinda comfortably say that the reader might be having a little fun). However, he’s still the worst and this is still weird.

Bo Sinclair as an individual is a trigger warning. He is THE trigger warning!! He is EVERY single trigger warning!!

this was born from an unhinged late night convo w/my partner in slime and sanitarium roommate, @raccoonspooky. this fic has breached containment and is now coming 2 a tumblr dash near u! scary stuff!

squall (noun) 1. a sudden violent wind often with rain or snow 2. a short-lived commotion

The office window is mangled.

Bo’s eyes dance over the spiderweb of splintered glass. Vincent’s frozen in place, hands anxiously clenched around the baseball bat. This is his fault for once, and he doesn’t know what to do.

That’s how Bo gets here, standing in his father’s office, staring down at jagged pieces of broken glass. He’ll clean it up. He has to. Vincent doesn’t know how. He’s picking up the baseball when his father appears in the doorway. That’s the beginning and end of every story in this house, isn’t it?

He’s explaining himself, sputtering out a string of words—his father isn’t listening. He never does. If he did, maybe things would be different. Maybe the world wouldn’t taste like copper and vomit. But he doesn’t exist in maybe’s, does he? He exists here, and here is all there is.

“Tryin’ to blame this shit on your brother.” His father looms over him. “Look at me. Your mama’s soft on you. But you can’t pull that shit with me.”

“C’mon.” Salvation, his mother appearing over his father’s shoulder. She’s shaking her head, her forehead creasing in exhaustion. “Enough of that.”

She steps over to Bo, her heels crunching on the glass. Reaching down, she cups his face in her hands. He’s blubbering out the same excuses from before. She doesn’t listen either, but her hands are soft. So is her voice.

“No more cryin’, okay?” She sighs, stroking his cheeks with her thumbs. He should bite her, he’s done it before—he wants to do it again, now, because she isn’t listening. But he doesn’t. “That’s baby stuff. You’re too old for that.”

He nods.

“You go pick all that up, now.” When she smiles at him, it doesn’t reach her eyes. “No broom. Use your hands.”

Ambrose blooms white under two jittered flashes of lightning. Thunder crashes overhead, sheets of water spilling over the eaves of the house.

Standing on the porch, Bo chews on the inside of his mouth.

A broken window. He’s not entirely sure if that ever really happened. He’d remember something like that, wouldn’t he? Lord knows, he remembers everything else.

He turns his hands over, squinting at his palms. The skin holds memories. He can’t see any scars there, but it’s hard to see in the dark. The porch light isn’t working. Come to think of it, none of the lights are. He hadn’t noticed before. It’s muscle memory now, finding his way downstairs in the dark. He’d been tugging his clothes on before he even realized that he was awake.

He looks out at the rain, taking a drag from his cigarette.

Down the hill, his mother sleeps under the watchful eye of rows of devoted mourners. She’s developed quite the collection over the years. It’s what she always wanted. She’s something, she’s the main event.

Where’s your father, boy?

He’s all over the state, mama. Remember that lipstick on his collar? He can’t keep his hands to himself.

Doc Sinclair is scattered down the back roads, his jaw shattered to pieces on the stoop. He’s out there—a man meant to be forgotten; teeth ground up, sifted in with the gravel. All those years of medical school sure added up to a lot, didn’t it?

Anatomy, physiology, vivisection. Fingers in the garbage disposal, stabbed onto the end of fishhooks. All but one.

Victor’s ring finger went into a retention pond. The flesh was molted and black by that point, rotting away in Bo’s glove compartment. He held onto that one for a while. You’ll never forget a smell like that, not in the last sweltering days of the summer. It was the principle of the thing, really.

That’s respect, Pa. That’s memorial.

The sky flashes pale, electric purple. He’d remember breaking the office window. He’s sure of it.

Separate tombs, scattered graves. After all, Bo never promised that they’d be buried together. You have to ask for what you want. Nobody will do anything for you if you keep your mouth closed.

Bo looks out into the dark, past the pelting deluge of rain. If ever there was a night for ghosts, it’s this one. He imagines his father making his way up to the church. Piecing together his limbs, eager to make room in her coffin. Honor thy father and mother, in all their rot and mildew.

He puts the cigarette out on the wall, flicking the butt onto the stoop.

Lightning creases the sky. In the pulsing after-image, he narrows his eyes. Somewhere, at the end of the road, he can almost make out the shadowy edges of a silhouette. Another flash and it’s gone. Rain lashes his skin as he hurries down the stairs. Standing in the driveway, he peers down at the empty expanse of road. Nothing there. Just his eyes playing tricks on him.

He tenses up when he hears his name, twisting his head toward the noise. The door is open and you’re standing on the stoop, arms wrapped around yourself. How long have you been watching him? You call out to him again. The road is empty.

When he stomps back up the steps, you hurry to the side of the doorway, watching him with wide eyes.

“Power’s out.” You murmur.

“No shit.” His mouth feels gummy. “Lock that door.”

You’re quick to follow him into the kitchen, fluttering anxiously at his side. The room is bathed in flickering yellow light as you light candles, peering at him over your shoulder. The worry on your face sends a fresh wave of irritation washing through him. You’re always underfoot, at his heels like a fucking dog.

He tries the tap. Nothing happens. He huffs out an exasperated sigh, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“Power shoulda kicked on by now.” He curses under his breath, crouching down to fish in the cupboard under the sink. Grabbing a gallon jug of water, he unscrews the cap and raises it to his lips. “Generator’s fuckin’ busted.”

Tipping his head back, he gulps down a mouthful of water. Satiated, he shoves the jug back under the sink, getting to his feet.

"You can't go out in the rain like that!" You exclaim, your eyebrows knit together in concern. "You're gonna get sick."

"The fuck do you care, woman?” He grunts at you, scowling. Rainwater trickles off his forehead and hits the linoleum. “Always up in my goddamn business.”

“You’re dripping everywhere.” You state.

“Am I?” He sneers.

“Hold on.” Turning on your heel, you disappear out the door.

A resounding crash of thunder rumbles above and the window rattles on its hinges. Rain batters at the glass, obscuring his view outside.

He can’t shake the feeling that something’s out past all that gloom, lurching towards the church. It’s scratching under his skin, biting into his blood. He turns his hands over. No scars, no broken window. That’s the truth. There’s nothing out there anyway—nothing living at least. But what about everything else? He worries with his ring. The metal feels heavier tonight.

Dreams are just that—dreams. You told him that once, standing here in this kitchen. He’d like to believe that tonight. You’re a liar, but you’re a pretty one.

On the third day, Christ rose from the dead. A hell of a lot more time than that has already passed. If it was going to happen, it would’ve already.

The sound of the kitchen door swinging open disrupts his train of thought. He welcomes the interruption, even if it is from you.

You look up at him expectantly, a towel in your arms. Grudgingly, he allows you to approach him. His wet clothes stick to him as you reach up to wrap the towel around his shoulders.

“Whose house is this anyway, huh?" He grumbles as you wipe the edge of the towel against his forehead.

"Yours." A quick response. He catches your wrist, fixing you with a glare. Too quick. Tugging the towel out of your hands roughly, he rubs it over his hair. You want something done right, you do it yourself.

"That's what I fuckin' thought."

You're going through the motions tonight, he can tell. He glances down at you, his eyes darting down your frame. His mouth tightens into a flat line. What the hell are you up to? Prettied yourself up, ran a brush through your hair when he left. Who are you trying to impress? Under the faded print of his old t-shirt, he can see the outline of your nipples through the cotton.

Jesus, girl. What if his brother walked in?

“The fuck is this?”

“What?” Your eyes are wide. You’re always looking at him with that same stupid expression, as if you need him to tell you how you’re supposed to feel. You’re always putting that shit on him.

As if I ever fuckin’ asked for that.

“We ain’t alone in this house.” He snarls at you, tossing the towel onto the ground. “You’d show all that off to him too?”

“What? I don’t—”

“Bet you’d like that.” He cuts you off before you can stutter out a string of mindless excuses. “Fuckin’ tramp.”

“No, I wouldn’t, I—” You’re stuck on defense, and you don’t even know how to play the damn game.

“Tell ya’ what, girl.” He pinches your nipple through your shirt, tugging it forward. Your face screws up in pain and you squeak out a yelp. “You wanna walk ‘round here like a whore? Be my guest. Maybe he’ll fuck ya’. Give me a break from your shit.”

He twists his fingers. It hurts, he can tell, but despite your shuddering throat, you don’t move. He feels a flash of satisfaction at your stillness.

He felt sorry for you once. Back when you still had a little bit of fight left in you, your teeth biting down on his hand. You were pitiful then, dragging your nails over his arm, spitting on his face. When you thought you were going to die, you became something else, something more primal.

You were going to kill him, remember?

He plucks cruelly at your nipple, flicking at it with his thumb. With a shuddering exhale, you release your hands from the tight balls you’ve curled them into.

That’s a girl. He had to wrench this version of you out. The real girl under the threats, peeking through the flame in your eyes. You were always waiting to come out, but no one had ever really let you.

Thank me for this, girl. Thank me. Tell me how this hurts. I showed you how to take it without cryin’. There’s power in that.

“Tryin’ to screw my goddamn brother. Never any fuckin’ shame with you.”

“That’s not true.” You wince. “I’m all yours. You know that.”

“Do I?” He spits out, finally dropping his hand. “I don’t know ‘bout that, baby. I really don’t.”

"Will you come back to bed?” Your hand brushes his arm, and he smacks it away. Another boom of thunder rumbles above.

“I gotta get the power up.”

“It’s late.” Your tone is gentle, a plodding rhythm that reminds him of the bed upstairs. “There’s nothing in the fridge that’ll spoil anyway. You’re tired.”

“Can’t get into bed like this.” He gestures down at himself.

“I’ll get you a dry shirt.”

“Sure ya’ will.” He jabs his chin towards you. “The one you got on.”

You glance around the kitchen, peering out into the dark living room. Your hands worry with the bottom of the shirt. It’s downright hilarious watching how your mind works. You always get fixated by the strangest things.

So now you’re going to act all shy.

“You hear me?” Your eyes snap back on his face and his lips twist into a smirk. “Take it off, girl.”

You’re not moving fast enough. You’ve always got to misbehave—he’s not sure if you think you’re cute for that, but it’s getting old. He wrenches your arms up, tugging the shirt over your head. You let out a muffled noise.

You make a move to cover yourself up before dropping your arms ineffectually at your side. Balling the shirt up in his hand, he glances down at you.

“Look at that, huh?” He boxes you into the counter, bracketing you against the wood. “What? You ain’t have no problem showin’ all that off before! You wanna give him a show, honey? Do it proper.”

In the bedroom, he peels of his wet clothes, throwing them in a heap by the door. The shirt that he tugs on smells like you, warm skin and soap. You watch him from the bed, knees pulled up to your chin.

“Whatchu waitin’ for? Get to bed.”

He’s saying it more to himself than to you.

Bo’s back in his father’s office, glass slicing into his hand.

His mother is at the door. She makes her way into the room, stepping over shards of glass. His father blurs, fading out around the edges. He almost looks like someone Bo recognizes, but the features are in all the wrong places. Strange. He squints. Mama looks wrong too, but he can’t place why. The pain is distracting him, blossoming red and angry through his palm.

Vincent’s playing piano down the hallway. Fuckin’ freak. Can’t he come in here and help clean up? He made the mess. Goddammit. His mother presses a kiss onto his father’s neck, resting her chin on his shoulder. Pa doesn’t react. How can you ignore someone so beautiful? She’s kissing you and you’re glaring at the ground.

Don’t you understand, Pa? You’ve made her sad, you’ve disappointed her, and now you’re coating your hands in glass. It’s what she wanted. Give her what she wants, boy. You love her, right?

Wrong eyes. That’s it. There’s blood dripping onto Bo’s jeans.

You love her this much?

That’s not his mother at all. Whose eyes are those?

“Hey. It’s okay, it’s okay.”

Lightning streaks the sky. There’s no glass biting into his palms.

You’re sitting up against the headboard, pulling him into your arms. He growls a bit in frustration. This is your fault. You just had to ask him to go back to bed. You can’t be alone, not for a single second. You need him here, pressed up beside you. Wrapping your arms around him, resting his head against your chest.

“You’ve been through so much, baby.”

It’s pathetic. As if you could really help him, as if he needs that from you. He almost hates you for it, but you can’t hate something so desperate. You have to have pity for those lesser than you.

Women hunger for strength. They have to. They’re twisted, imperfect copies of men, always trying to steal strength from the people they wish they could be.

You’re the same. How could you be any different? You’re all soft, warm skin. Bowing his head, he rounds his lips around your nipple. He’s lapping his tongue around more of that softness, feeling it harden against his tongue. Trying to fortify yourself against him, prove that you’re more than a collection of malleable flesh. He sees through you, girl.

“Do you like that, baby?”

He groans against your skin, nuzzling his nose into your breast. He reaches over and cups your other breast, letting it fill his palm. Pawing at you, he traps your nipple, pinching it between his knuckles. Your chest flutters a bit and the nipple in his mouth nudges forward against his tongue.

He closes his eyes.

Oh, the flesh is weak. Every day you give him something new to have to be forgiven for. You can’t be good; you can’t be dead. You stay here because you want him on his knees, muttering apologies to God.

“You’re always working so hard.” Your nipple is firm in his mouth, and he can hear your breathing hitch as he teases his teeth around it. “I couldn’t do that. I’m not strong enough.”

You aren’t. You never were. His strength, your hands in his hair. Your fingers run over the scar at the back of his head and the slight pressure makes him groan. It’s an electric buzz of a feeling, making his hand stutter on your breast.

“Is that good, baby?”

Your thumb strokes down his scar again and his eyes flash open. You’ve peeled his skin apart, dragging your fingers along an exposed nerve. A crack of lightning paints the room white. He blinks. Dark again, thunder booming overhead. It feels like the storm has rumbled its way into him through your fingertips. Who gave you the right?

You want to hurt him.

“You’re so brave, baby. My poor baby, my strong man.”

Your voice is a warm hum of noise above him. Your hand strokes down his neck, sliding onto his shoulder. Cooing, you rub gentle circles into his skin with your thumb. Casting fucking spells in his bedroom. You probably brought the storm. He wouldn’t be surprised.

“I need you. I’d fall apart without you. I’m so proud of you, baby.”

Proud. The word curls into his mind, wrapping white-hot and insistent around his cock. His mouth goes slack and he turns his head up to look at you, letting your nipple fall out of his mouth. The lightning illuminates your face for a moment. There you are, sitting in the middle of a storm, smiling down at him.

“Mama.” He chokes the word out. It’s been sitting in his mouth this whole time, clawing away at his throat.

“Shh, baby. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

He pushes against you, hiking his leg over yours.

“Did I make you hard, baby?” He feels your lips against his hair. “That’s all my fault, yeah? I’m sorry.”

“Stop doin’ shit you have to be sorry for.” He grunts into your skin. You whimper a bit, and he rocks against your leg with a groan. “Just be good. I’m always tellin’ you that.”

“I know, baby.”

“Man has to have the patience of a fuckin’ saint—” He bites into the side of your breast. You flinch, the hand on his shoulder twitching. “—bein’ ‘round you.”

He ruts furiously against you, digging his fingers into your hip. He’s painfully hard, rubbing at your leg through his boxers. You’ve got him. You’ve tied your bonds around him, cut his hair. He’s blind and you’re laughing. He growls against your breast, sucking your nipple back into his mouth.

You lie down with dogs and you’ll get fleas, boy.

“Does it hurt? I’m sorry, baby.” You murmur. “Can I kiss it better? Please?”

He shudders out a breath.

“Just lay back, baby. It’s okay. Let me.”

You’re clamoring over him, scooting down the bed to kneel between his legs. Your hand wraps around his cock. You’ve got a lot of nerve. He reaches down and tangles his hand into your hair.

You splay your hands out on his thighs, pressing kisses up his cock. He swallows, huffing out a tight exhale of breath. His hand tightens in your hair as he palms at himself and you open your mouth obediently, blinking up at him. He slaps his cock against your tongue, watching your half-lidded eyes flutter.

“—’M not lettin’ you have this.” His voice is ragged. “Fuckin’ whore.”

“You shouldn’t.” You press desperate, sloppy kisses on the head of his cock. Dragging your tongue along it, you lick up a beaded trickle of precum. He holds you off, just enough so that he can watch you struggle forward trying to take him into your mouth. “I don’t deserve it.”

“Ya’ don’t.”

“I don’t deserve anything.” You pant, craning your neck closer. He feels your tongue on the underside of his cock, licking a hot stripe up his skin. “But you give me so much. You’re such a good man.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

He forces your head down roughly, feeling you wretch wetly around his cock. Your throat constricts wildly, and he hisses through his teeth. With a sharp tug, he wrenches your head back. You cough, your hands twitching on his thighs. A line of spit hangs off your bottom lip, sticking to your chin.

You hate him, he knows that. He’s not stupid.

A caged lion is still a lion, no matter how many tricks you teach it. Look at it. It can take the meat you dangle over its cage so pretty. No teeth, just an open mouth. But it paces when you leave, boy. Watches you when you turn your back, biding its time. Stands in your kitchen with sad eyes, waiting for you to return.

“I’m here for you.” You whisper. “Only for you.”

“That true?” His hand tightens around the shaft of his cock, and he drags it over your open lips.

Come back to bed, come crawl into its cage. It looked lonely in there, didn’t it? And it loves you—in the way that you love the things you have to. Stupid fucker. Eventually you’ll make a mistake and it’ll realize that you like having it close more than you like keeping it in the cage.

You want him like this, swallowed down your throat. Disposable, rinsed out and spit down the sink. The thought burns behind his eyes, splattered red and angry. Of course you want that—it absolves you, leaves him weak.

“On your back. Now.”

He tugs your panties off, tossing them somewhere beside the bed. He’s surprised that you kept them on this long—you’re funny like that. As if you didn’t always want to end up back here, like you expected anything less. He pulls your legs apart, tugging you to the edge of the bed.

When he teases the head of his cock against your clit, you gasp.

You’re always so wet for him. It’s how it’s always been with you—even at the beginning, when you couldn’t hide your hatred. You were wet then, wet now. The parts of you that fought him dissolved down between your legs, melting into nothing more than wetness around his cock. It was all still there, that anger, wrapped helplessly around him. You always want more.

His pretty, stupid little hole.

He doesn’t give you time to adjust to him before he rocks his hips to fill you completely. Why should he? It’s not like you need it. You get what you get. You let out a strangled moan, squeaking out a breath.

He holds you in place and your legs shake. If you’re nothing else, you’re such a pretty little fucktoy. Just waiting for him to wake up and play with you. You tell him as much, with the way you clench desperately around him. How was he ever supposed to let you go when this is what you were made for? He’d be denying you this, and with the way you buck up around his cock, he knows that it’d kill you.

“I—” You whine, squirming underneath him. “—miss you. When you’re gone. I miss this.”

“Yeah?” Slowly, he angles himself back, pulling out of you.

“You’re so good to me. S-so good.” He thrusts forward again, burying himself back into your core. You squeal, gaping up at him.

“This is mine, girl. Don’t you be forgettin’.”

You hum your assent, wriggling your hips down to fuck yourself on his cock.

“You’re nothin’ but a hole, mama. Don’t that feel good?”

“Daddy.” You clench around him, hiccupping out a strangled moan. He groans, gritting his teeth. You’re trembling something fierce. He reaches down to cup at where both of you are joined, your pussy swallowing around the base of his cock.

“Always gotta be filled up, huh? Don’t know what to do with yourself if ya’ ain’t gettin’ fucked?”

“Yes. Yes, please—please.”

“You think ‘bout me? You think ‘bout this?”

“Yes.” Your hand stutters up to clench at your breast, your nails digging into your flesh. “I can’t even cum on my own anymore. I need you.”

“Ya’ shouldn’t be touchin’ yourself when I’m not here.” He snaps, glaring down at you. “This pussy ain’t yours, bitch.”

You nod weakly up at him, your mouth hanging open. With a snap of his hips, he thrusts roughly into you. The room flickers white.

“Don’t touch that fuckin’ pussy.” He orders sharply, pulling your legs further apart. “You’re cummin’ like this or you ain’t cummin’ at all.”

He knows that if he’d let you, your fingers would already be there, rubbing at your clit. You know better, though. He’s not giving you that tonight. You don’t get to choose. Gritting his teeth, he fucks into you violently; cruel, uncaring thrusts that slam his balls against your thighs.

That’s what you get tonight. This ain’t up to you.

Wide eyes again, always those wide eyes. A window to the soul, and yours is all fucked out, blasted out into a thousand squirming bits. Everything that keeps you alive is right here, wrapped around his cock. Pink sodden meat, a hole in the middle of a rotten peach. You can’t hide what you are here in the dark. He doesn’t have to solve any of your problems. You don’t have the chance to lie. There aren’t any words to put into your mouth, no pretty platitudes to distract him.

This is his house. You said it yourself. You might show yourself off to his brother, but it’s his bed that you end your days in. Stretched open and drooling, begging him to plug you full of cock. This is what you think about, this is what you need. Touching yourself when he leaves, thoughtlessly delving your hands between your legs. Proud enough of it that you told him.

Fuckin’ filthy. He sure knows how to pick ‘em, huh?

Wind howls outside the windows, a shrill scream of sound that whips wildly around the house. The storm rumbles incessantly overhead. He can’t get a handle on his thoughts.

Delilah knew what she was doing. So do you. Samson loved her and he told her, he told her all the time. You give something evil all of that and what do you expect it to do with it? C’mon, boy. It’s the oldest story in the fuckin’ book. She’ll ply it out of you with soft lips and the curve of her hips and suddenly you’re kneeling on the floor, your hair shorn and holes in your skull where your eyes had been. And they’ll be laughing at you, because how couldn’t you have known?

He leans down to capture your mouth in a bruising kiss, tugging at your bottom lip with his teeth. When he pulls back, you reach up to cradle his face in your hands. Your fingers graze lightly over his chin.

“You’re perfect.” You whisper against his lips. “You’re so perfect.”

He hisses out a breath. You yelp as he slams back into you, your fingers quivering on his jaw. You’re making a hell of a fuckin’ racket, girl. They’ll be able to hear you all over town. Is that what you want? Course it is.

You can’t have his strength.

You don’t have anywhere to put it, with all this softness. The void of space between your legs, the wet clutch of your mouth—those are the only places that can hold strength like that. And even then, you can only take it for short fragments of time. Eventually, you’ll always end up crying, sputtering around all of him, desperately trying to sink into everything that he is. But you can’t, because you hold yourself back.

He thrusts forward frantically, swallowing down a moan. You’re close, desperately so, your hands slipping down to brace yourself against his chest.

It isn’t enough to have strength inside you, filling you up. No, you need to take it. You need to hold him in the dark, drag nightmares out of him of your mouth on his father’s neck.

With a cry, you gush around him, clenching helplessly around his cock. Good girl. Twisting uncontrollably underneath him, you toss your head back. You had to work for that one. He wraps his hand around your throat, marveling at the uneven jump of your pulse. When he squeezes, you choke out a wet gurgle.

“Oh, mama. You love me, huh?” He murmurs. You make a desperate little noise, squirming underneath him. “Love your boy?”

Another quick snap of his hips draws a sob from your lips. You’re still throbbing around him, hot and wet and needy. Always taking, never satisfied.

“Yes.” You gasp. “I do.”

“Tell me.”

“I love you. Oh, god. Please.” The moan that trembles out of your lips is weak, a plaintive mewl of sound. “Mama loves you. Mama loves you so much.”

His orgasm surges through him, a violent thrum of feeling that makes him bite down on his bottom lip. The coppery tang of blood fills his mouth, but he hardly registers it. You’re milking out every spurt of his cum, flooding yourself full of him. Pulling it out of him and taking it deep, your legs shaking with the effort. He rocks unthinkingly into you, riding out the rolling tremors that rack his body. The feeling dizzies him, striking into the sides of his skull.

He feels distant, bloodless—everything inside him spilling out into you, coating your insides. This is no surrender, this is absolution. The storm is inside his skin. He was the only one out on the road. Nothing else could stand it. Nothing else belongs.

“What’dya say, mama?” He mutters against your neck.

“Thank you, baby.”

When he pulls out of you, you whine. You’d like to keep him there, wouldn’t you? Greedy little thing. He rolls off of you and closes his eyes, the exhaustion settling heavily around him. He’s drifting off when he feels you move beside him, clearing your throat.

“I—” He hears you exhale, your mouth hanging over the impression of words. He huffs out an irritated breath, flipping you onto your side and pulling you flush against him. Grumbling, he wraps his arms around you, tucking your head under his chin.

You’re not going to ruin this, not with that witchcraft in your tongue. Keep your hunger out of his dreams and let him sleep through the storm. You can give him that, can’t you?

He doesn’t ask for much.

“I’m tired, girl. Leave it be.”

#trying my hand @ crossposting on both tumblr and ao3 lmao even tho this formatting is giving me the bubonic plague #house of wax #bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #slashers x reader #slasher fandom #x reader #my fics #merry christmas here's some peculiar filthnasty <3 for u ho ho hoes #<-I'm incarcerating myself 4 typing that don't worry

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rahleeyah · 1 month

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the latest svu episode had some weirdly overt religious-undertones (i know thats an oxymoron lol) but ngl as a person who isn't religious and was raised in a religion-less household it always makes me uncomfy. but it felt extra weird here.

I was hoping the man that javier saw was a drag queen from the gay bar, which i thought would have been a really nice touch, but no they went possible hallucination/angel/jesus?? idk it upsets me to see olivia being more religious bc i feel like it makes very little sense for her character

Yeah I high key hate the mealy-mouthed, noncommittal approach they've taken to Liv's change of perspective on religion. Yes, it is entirely possible for a person's opinions to change over time and it's not uncommon for people whose livelihoods involve handling trauma - healthcare workers, EMS, firemen, police - to have stories of angels that appear in life altering moments but this one just. Fell so flat. They named the episode after the third man phenomenon but it wasn't about that; an argument could be made maybe that the witness is the real third man but I do not think they were thinking about it like that. They didn't spend the episode chasing the third man down or grappling with the concept; they just awkwardly shoe-horned it in there. Which is what they have done with the concept of Liv and religion each time. Liv getting Noah dedicated in a church wasn't too egregious imo; it's not uncommon for people to pivot to church when they have babies, in search of community and a framework to raise them in, but we didn't really see the reasons for Liv's decision and we didn't see any follow thru. She said she wanted him to have something to ground him, but we don't know why she chose that, and we don't see her do that again for years until she's randomly walking out of a church in the worst Christmas episode ever. They have given her a veneer of belief but we don't know what, exactly, she believes in, or how those beliefs guide her, or what changed her tune. It just feels weird, and goes together with a lot of work that has been done over the last decade plus to declaw Olivia. It's like someone decided she has to be soft and sweet and believe in angels, and that doesn't track with her established character, and it makes her less interesting to watch sometimes imo.

#asks #s.vu #e.o asks

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always-andromeda · 1 year

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La Belle Fluer Sauvage - afab reader first time with Edward Nashton? *puppy dog eyes*

this man will be the death of me i swear </3

Author’s Note | lmao, thank you for this one, anon. we're ending the milestone posts off with a bang (literally).

Warnings | smut (MDNI), unprotected sex, Eddie is a little bit nervy, a bit of his religious trauma is present, and this man is a little bit insecure over his body, nothing else I can think of!

There's about a million different ways that he sees this going. None of them end well. What if he doesn't get hard enough? What if he finishes too early? What if he doesn't make you come? Every worry piles up in his head as you kiss him slowly.

He should be enjoying this. Or is him not enjoying it a good sign? The nuns and priests of his youth had always warned against the sins of lust. Back at the orphanage, he'd never had enough privacy to try anything. And even now, as a grown man, he still feels the sting of eyes on him as he only just begins to savor the taste of your lips. Sooner or later, he always does. They seem to be molded just for him. And the idea of that scares him; how he could so quickly lose control of himself and get lost.

You feel him start to writhe beneath you and you pull away, immediately searching his eyes. You catch the indecision swimming in the murky depths behind his foggy lenses. Edward blinks a few times, clearing it away in seconds.

Thumb brushing over his bottom lip, you ask with a giggle, "Are you okay, Eddie? The lights are on but I don't think anyone's home."

He's so used to simply disappearing into the background. But with your soft gaze trained on him, he can never conceal anything.

He chews on the inside of his cheek, "I-I've never done this before."

"Oh..." you trail off and Eddie curses himself for his need for transparency. It only complicates things unnecessarily. You continue quickly as soon as he visibly winces, "That's completely fine! In fact, I don't have much experience either!"

"Still better than no experience at all," Eddie grumbles.

"Hey," you coo, grabbing his chin gently so you can gaze into his foggy eyes. "No experience and some experience are on the same level of validity. Everyone has to start somewhere, right? What kind of awful person would I be for making you feel awful for being a virgin? And you don't think I'm awful, do you?"

Eddie shakes his head hesitantly.

"Exactly!" you exclaim, pressing a kiss onto the tip of his nose. "Besides...I don't think you being a virgin is any fault of your own."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," you take a deep breath. "I mean that you are so handsome that I can't imagine anyone deciding to pass you up."

"Handsome?" he mumbles against your lips.

"Yeah, I think that everyone else had to have been dumb or something."

Dumb. For some reason, he likes the sound of that. Sure, he may have been a little standoffish before meeting you...but he likes the validation of his internal monologue. That maybe there wasn't something entirely wrong with him. Because you were looking at him with big, pleading eyes, trusting him to give you something that you could easily get somewhere else. Yet, you chose him. And that is as close to sacred as he thinks his being may ever get.

It turns him mad within moments; makes his lips press against yours with a newfound confidence that he didn't know he'd had inside of him.

"But you're not dumb," he mutters under his breath between frantic kisses, "You're not dumb."

He's met with you breathlessly giggling at him and pushing him back from you. "Let's slow it down a little. I want you to really enjoy all of this. I want your first time to be special, Eddie."

Every word leaving your lips has him hooked onto you badly. He's flopping around at the end of your line, practically at your mercy as you dismount from his lap and lay on your back on his bed. And that's another thing that still has him reeling. It's his bed that you're in. You lay upon sheets that he's so used to being tangled in alone; sheets that have soaked up your scent and your warmth.

You open your legs and motion for him to come to you. Keeping his eyes on yours, he does as he's told and kneels motionless before you. All you give him is a roll of your eyes as you laugh, "Come here, you dork. Just like when we cuddle, okay?"

Edward takes a deep breath. See, it's like cuddling. You can do this. He knows exactly what this act entails. He's seen enough porn and read enough articles to know about positions and so-called techniques. He'd never had the real life experience to actually get a grasp on how they worked.

But he knew the basics. He had one element and you had another and hopefully...they would...just...mesh together. Simple.

Suddenly the idea overwhelmed him again. He couldn't even begin to fathom what the inside of you would feel like. That was something he imagined would be far too good to feel. Planting his forearms on either side of your body, he makes sure he's not crushing you underneath him.

"Do you wanna undress me? Just to see what I look like?"

Eddie utters a small sure, trying not to seem too eager, lest you think less of him. This is normal. People get undressed all the time. You just happen to be in the same room as her...and you happen to be doing the work...yeah...normal. His hands go to the hem of your shirt, pulling it up only a little bit before he's transfixed by your soft belly. As the shirt rises up your body and he sees more expanses of bare skin, Edward realizes just how unfamiliar this territory is to him. How he'd kept so much of himself hidden away out of pure shame. Yet here you were in front of him, baring it all.

But when he spots the underside of your breasts, he's gone; he's pulling that shirt fully over your head and dropping it beside his bed, hoping that if he keeps your clothes centralized to one place, you'll be able to leave quickly if you need to. He always embarrasses himself...he wouldn't put it past himself to put you in a situation where you'd need the convenient getaway.

In the moment, once your chest is exposed, he simply stares while chewing on the inside of his cheek. Then you make that light, airy giggle, "You know you can touch me, right?"

"Oh, uh, right. Sorry," Edward quickly mutters before reaching a hand forward and simply cupping one of your breasts.

You gasp, "Don't be sorry, Eddie. Just keep exploring, please?"

And that little pleading syllable rejuvenates his boldness. Before you know it, he's burying his face between your breasts and kissing your chest. He pays no special attention to one particular part but still seems precise in where his lips land on your upper body.

By the time he attaches himself to your pulse on your neck, you feel as though he's giving you life with his immense urgency and conviction. But put simply, Edward needs to leave at least one mark of his own on you before the end of this. He needed to see it in the morning and be reminded that he wasn't alone anymore.

"Do you think you want to start getting undressed too?" you suggest hesitantly, hoping that the request doesn't take him by too much surprise.

In fact, you're surprised when he pulls his own shirt off and balls it up before discarding it and getting to his khaki pants. He chuckles nervously when the zipper gets stuck briefly but manages to get them off with relative ease. The impulsive actions leave him feeling stripped down to his barest instincts. And that first instinct is shame.

You grab his hands before he can go to cover his own chest, startling him until you bring his hands to your lips and lay a kiss over each of his knuckles.

"Please don't be afraid of me," you say shakily. "I'm not afraid of what you think about me. You don't have to worry about me judging you either. I just want to see you. All of you."

Edward nods and lets his arms go limp. Considering he'd never been with anyone, you can't imagine him having been this naked for anyone else. And for about the hundredth time since you'd met him, you make a vow to yourself that you'll protect him and make sure nothing ever hurts him again. Though you'd never be able to control the world and completely protect him, you'd do anything to ensure that he'd have that small smile forming on his lips there forever.

"You don't think I'm ugly or anything, do you? You can say it if–"

"Edward, you're beautiful. God, I–" you laugh softly, "I love everything about you."

And with every fiber of your being, you mean it. Your longing eyes drink up every inch of his body. From his plump thighs and the dirty blonde legs hairs scattered over them to the gentle curve of his soft stomach all the way up to his pink nipples, pebbled from being exposed to the open air, your Edward is angelic. And you express your elation as you pull him back down on top of you, humming happily when your chest squishes against his. Together, your bodies just make sense.

"Now, when you push in, I want you to go slow? And if you get overwhelmed, you pull out, promise?"

"I swear, I will." Edward answers softly.

"Good...I'm ready whenever you are."

"Okay...okay..." Edward's hand trembles when he pulls his cock out of his boxers and grasps the base, starting to guide it towards your entrance.

He pokes the head in and relishes how your cunt seems to swallow just that little bit of him whole in warmth. Edward only pauses momentarily to groan before continuing the plunge. You plead for him to go further, insisting that he fill you all the way.

He can't bury himself completely at this angle, but even just this is more than enough to him. Surrounded entirely by wet heat, his hips buck involuntarily just from needing to throw a little bit of friction into the mix, causing you to let out a low moan. The combination of sensations render him suddenly motionless and speechless as he tries not to get too overwhelmed. No matter how much he wants to give in to the way his hips threaten to buckle against the pressure, Edward paces himself.

Once he acclimates to the new climate, he allows himself the luxury of movement. He moves barely an inch in and out, yet just the sight of your cunt taking him and gripping him tightly has him rethinking his entire view of this ritual.

This transaction is so strangely intimate. He gives a little bit of himself and you give a little bit of yourself. And here, he can fully trust you to treat the bits of him that you have with care.

"Fuck, Eddie, I need you to move, please."

Once more, your words overflow his cup and he's gone. His thrusts follow no particular rhythm, he just tries to focus on his breathing and match the timing of the two. With each inhale, he's out and with each exhale, he's in again, drowning in the safety that the blanket of your walls create for him.

The peak begins to form in your abdomen, but you don't hang onto it. Judging by the way Eddie's hips stutter, you know that he won't last long enough to see your climax fully blossom and you'd accepted long ago that this night would be just for him. So you prioritize squeezing down on him, taking him hungrily as he moves sloppily.

"You're close, aren't you?"

Edward is his own symphony of groans and moans that he tries to suffocate. He manages to force out a long and desperate, mmhhmmmm.

"I want you to cum on my chest, okay? Can you do that for me?"

For me. Those words bounce around his skull, shattering him completely.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Eddie's soft voice gets progressively whinier before he sputters a few curses and frantically pulls himself out, gripping his nearly bursting cock and giving himself some quick pulls before he shoots his warm load over your body.

He closes his eyes for the release, not wanting to see his spend land on your skin. Part of him feels that type of deposit is such a waste. But that's no matter for him to worry about now. The most pressing thought on his mind is the fact that he'd finally lost his virginity. He couldn't remember how many times he'd felt like he couldn't do a single thing right.

But being able to figure this little bit of life out, he feels the rush of serotonin that he normally would get from figuring out a riddle or some other puzzle.

Though his first urge is to flop down in exhaustion, the second he opens his eyes and spots his cum glistening on your stomach, he grimaces. Then he leans over the side of his bed, picking up his wrinkled shirt from earlier and using it to carefully clear away the little pools of seed from your skin.

"Did you...did you cum too?" he wonders aloud as he wipes you down.

You just laugh like he's told the funniest joke in the world, but he struggles to grasp the punchline. You just pull him back to your chest and let him lay there, nuzzled into your sweaty side as you breath heavily and stroke his hair.

He wraps his arms around your midsection and curls into you, practically claiming you as his new sun to orbit around. And as intense as his hold is...you can't help but be just as enamored as he is with you.

You reply softly, "Don't worry, we'll work on that bit later, Eddie." And already, the cogs in Edward's head begin to turn, figuring out ways to solve the latest puzzle before him.

#strange trails milestone✨#paul dano #danonation #danocel #the batman 2022 #the batman #edward nashton #dano!riddler #the riddler #edward nashton x reader #edward nashton x you #edward nashton x y/n #dano!riddler x you #dano!riddler x reader #dano!riddler x y/n #edward nashton smut #dano!riddler smut #riddler smut #˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚

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