#a baptism between my legs

[harmlesscigarette]

"Communion," Yesika Salgado

(image description available in alt id)

#the cig smokes #poetry #corazón #communion #yesika salgado #is that love? #cannibalism #incorp(s)erate #taste of me on you #humanity is nakedness #be human with me #a baptism between my legs #becoming god

[dykells]

𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐈𝐙𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 | 𝐀.𝐀

𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ✷ she hopes im cursed forever to sleep on a twin sized mattress never graduating up in size to add another 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1,1k ✷ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: religion, homophobia n’ nsfw content

abby feels owen’s hand on her waist like a brick to her chest weighting her body down, it wouldn’t take much for the drowning to begin but your face across the room was both oxygen and the final anchor of her demise. she weighed her options as their personifications stood before her, father smiling brightly at the happy couple unaware his own daughter forced her chirpiness while she yearned in the deepest aching to be swept off her feet by the girl just a few away– who now refused to face her much understandably. you cursed her for inviting you to their preppy engagement party, cursed her for multiple reasons more, yet your heels stuck to the ground like they clung for dear life anticipating a plot twist shaped by regret.

“excuse me” she finally croaked out mid conversation, the place where her fiancé’s hand once held onto now burning her skin like a rotting poison. she wished to bathe herself clean in the rain like a baptism, wished owen didn’t felt like sin tainting her body from being with you, her holiest of experiences, wished she had not known heaven between your legs so she may live on her life guiltless and not as someone who has felt blasphemously like a god herself. your fingers brush past eachother as she walks up behind you and fireworks bloom from your fingertips like lily flowers at spring. lillies, her favorite, your perfume.

you follow her to the bathroom, breath unsteady, and regardless of how long the affair has been happening no familiarity prepares you for the crash of her lips against yours as you twist the doorknob. sometimes you think these moments might make you understand her, to have abby anderson’s tongue exploring your mouth, hands by your neck to keep you still, perpetual apple cinnamon smell, was nothing short of a religious experience. perhaps that is what the church brought out in her, this same inextinguishable fire at the pit of your stomach with understanding of icarus and his hope for the sun. if all sins felt this sweet it did not seem so big of a sacrifice to die for them– you’d die for her if asked.

“abs, stop” you whisper once her lips are on your neck, long wet kisses all across the exposed skin warming up your body from the winter cold better than any cloth could have, she’s hungry, biting you down and her fruity scent doesn’t let the irony of forbidden fruit to die on you even as she hums in fake confusion allowing herself more time in her feast begging it to cloud your judgement as it almost does “abigail, we have to stop”

“don’t do this to me” she begs, voice cracking “please don’t leave me, you’ll take all the sunshine with you and it’s cold, it’s a cold winter i need your arms, your limbs, your body, my sunny girl-“

“you’re getting married, abs” you sigh with the exclamation, it seems nearly as though you’ve just reminded her of it like someone who forgot to turn off the oven before they had left the house, someone destined for burnt flames, your reality scares her into kneeling submission and you’re laughing because it looks like a proposal and it’s absurd, her hands gripping yours, her gaze doe-eyed and unconditional. you are missing a ring but you see hers, diamond, and the ache doesn’t easen.

“you are everything that i want…”

“then leave him, abby. don’t sit on the dirty bathroom floor of a venue for your engagement party and promise me a love you are too scared to give me, i can’t keep excusing your cowardice for the sake of sanity. take off that ring and walk out of here with me, we’ll figure it out, we’ll be happy together, your winter won’t be cold”

she pretends to take in your words, analyse them as if her nights haven’t been filled with scenarions and possibilities all of which there is pain unbearable. you’re searching her eyes with a hope unbeknownst to men and suddenly you feel the line between dream and desperation blurring itself into oblivion. abby lets go of your touch and slides the ring from her finger out onto it’s demise on the tiled floor. you think you won. you think god exists when she locks the door behind you and presses you against the wall, believe he had heard your prayers once her fingers dip between your thighs. when she’s thrusting inside you, you cry out for god instead of her name, moan louder at the sight of her wedding band far away on the ground, feel your walls clenching around her digits and her warm breath against your neck, she’s mumbling so many i love yous you barely notice how multiple sound like im sorrys.

with your hands curling around her loose hair she gets sloppy, deprived, wants you to tug on her and beg for her mouth without needing the plead to taste you and you do so eager it burns her scalp. she’s back on her knees and she thinks for a moment not admited this might be her holy repent. tugging on your jeans till their ultimate glide towards the floor, shes sucking on the wet patch of your underwear as a tease, letting her senses flood of lillies and pussy. she finally pushes it aside and dives in, godhood in the shape of your swollen clit grazing her teeth, you tilt your waist to give her further access and there are stars and angels behind your fluttered eyelids.

she calls your her sunny girl as you rain down her face in white honey, her muscles spread your legs further apart and suck it in till it has destroyed her makeup, part of her wishes to leave this bathroom and still smell of you, part of her is scared owen might kiss your heavens from her tongue and catch it all. she’s putting her ring back on at your climax, and you’re confused and heavy breathing. a sob clings to your throat.

abby tells you all she’s ever known is the cold. tells you girls like her are unworthy of the sun. tells you owen is waiting and maybe you should leave. she doesn’t tell you she thinks god isn’t real once you’ve turned your back because he would never have created something to purely magnetic to have it ripped from her hands, she does not tell you the only thing worth worshipping is the gap between your teeth, the crook of your neck and the dimple in your cheek, doesn’t tell you she thinks hell is this. but she almost does. she almost does. on your way out, you just sob and hope she’s cursed. hope god is angry. think god is her.

© dykells twentytwentythree

#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson angst #abby anderson smut #lesbian #the last of us fanfiction #abby anderson fanfic #abby anderson #abby tlou #abby x reader #abby x you #abigail anderson #dykells works #wlw fiction #abby x fem!reader

[craqueluring]

i want to talk about how the parallel between gideon and bedelia mirrors the parallel between pope nicholas iii and lucifer in dante's inferno

contrapasso: "the divine punishment of a sinner mirrors the sin being punished"

in dante's inferno canto 19, the pilgrim and virgil are in the eighth circle of the inferno where those guilty of simony (corrupt churchmen) are punished. these people (including pope nicholas iii) are eternally, with flaming feet, upside down in baptismal font-like holes. 

their contrapasso is their baptism being perverted in the same way they perverted the church. upside down in holes like baptismal fonts, their feet are "baptized" with fire instead of their heads being baptized with water. 

(left is pope nicholas iii's flaming feet. right is dante and virgil reaching the other side of earth after climbing lucifer's body, where lucifer's legs stick out.)

in mark musa's notes for canto 19, this specific line lit my brain up like fireworks

"in the final canto of the inferno…dante pauses and looks up to see the raised legs of lucifer protruding from the crevice in which he is frozen, like a magnification of the legs of nicholas. just as nicholas defrauded god's church, so lucifer tried to defraud god himself"

(the beginning of gideon and bedelia's contrapasso-esque punishments. i just noticed the same leg is the first to go for both. and theyre both wearing blue. hmmm....)

in november, i made a post connecting gideon and bedelia's fates in hannibal: their limbs being cooked and eaten one by one in front of them. both gideon and bedelia were living lives that were not theirs to live. gideon as the chesapeake ripper, and bedelia as hannibal's companion in italy. so, they both get to see how it feels to (literally) have a part of them, their identity, their lives, taken from them, just as they took those things from another. the divine punishment of a sinner mirrors the sin being punished. 

just like nicholas defrauded god's church,

gideon mocked the chesapeake ripper

so lucifer tried to defraud god himself,

bedelia tried to mock hannibal and will themselves.

#had to make a post abt this #no idea if it makes sense but let me know #i love the gideon bedelia connection i made i love talking about it so much #pluto analyzes #nbc hannibal #hannibal lecter #hannibal #will graham #hannigram #hannibal meta #hannibal parallels #hannibal analysis #dante’s inferno #canto 19 #intertextuality #bedelia du maurier #abel gideon

[fatherenoch]

A resident of the village I haven’t seen before came to mass today, curious about what all this church business is. They grew up outside of the Church, but said they’ve seen me occasionally in town, wearing such strange robes and were curious. So I tell them a little about the beliefs, practices…but I can tell they care little for religion. They watch me instead, eyes fixed on the movement of my lips. I walk them to one of the stained glass windows, showing the image of a beam of light emerging from the breast of Christ. Again, they ignore it for me, so I corner them underneath the window, the now neglected Son looking down upon us.

I slide my knee between theirs, pinning them there, and help to undress them enough. A quick turn later and I had their front pressed to the wall so I could take them from behind. Their sounds echoed through the empty church, and I was able to have them, fill them. By the time they were panting with the sigh after release, they said to me they were a believer now. Their baptism leaked out down their legs — a believer in the power of lust.

#hierophilia #priest kink #worship kink

[suguwu]

gothic romance au, hints of vampire!zhongli, gender neutral reader.

wc: 1.4k

minors and ageless blogs dni. divider by @/cafekitsune.

there is a house upon the hill.

the garden it sits in is lush, though the roses are ruined now, their petals dashed against the dirt. they eddy in the rainwater, pearly pink and swirling around like little sailboats caught in the wind. the house cranes towards the weeping sky, the parapets gone dark with the rain, all slick, old stone. it should be a hulking beast, massive as it is, but there's an elegance to it, the curve of a dancer's back.

and there is a light in the window.

you step carefully over the puddles, dancing between the little ponds of them. the scent of wet loam washes over you as you make your way through the garden, thick and earthy. your pace slows as the house draws near; something flickers through you, a guttering candle. still, you move onwards, ducking into the entryway that frames an imposing door. you search but there is no doorbell.

you rap your knuckles against the old wood instead, the sound deep and hollow. you've just barely withdrawn your hand when the door swings open, a golden hue spilling forth, a baptism of light.

it matches the eyes of the man in the doorway.

they're the color of amber shot through by sunlight, striking in a way that makes you ache. they're beautiful. he's beautiful, you realize, as he blinks slowly at your bedraggled form.

"hi," you say, heat rising to your cheeks. "my car broke down, a bit down the road. i was hoping i could use your phone?"

"you must have come far," he says, looking out into the rain, where the trees have become mere shadows in the gloom. "and in this rain, too."

you shift. "uh, yeah, i guess," you say.

he hums and you think of the crash of waves upon the shore, the whisper of the pebbles it carries back into the mouth of the sea. "i see."

"could—could i use your phone?"

he focuses on you, his golden eyes knife-edged, the type of gaze that flays you down to your marrow, and a shiver curls up your spine.

"my apologies. please come inside."

"oh, i could just use your cell phone—"

"i'm afraid i only keep a landline," he says.

you falter for a moment. he meets your gaze again and a small smile flickers on his lips, a sickle moon curve. his eyes gleam.

you step over the threshold.

he closes the door behind you; it clicks into place quietly, but it echoes through you like the toll of a dour bell.

"this way," he says.

you follow him deeper into the house.

"my name is zhongli," he tells you. you give him your own name in return, and he says it, rolls each syllable of it over his tongue as if he's tasting it. a hint of a smile settles in the corner of his lips, tucked away like a secret. "it's a lovely name."

"um, thanks."

he sweeps down the hallway; you quicken your pace to match his long legs. you glance around as you go, taking in the thick wallpaper, lushly patterned with swooping swallows, and the portraits in their elegant frames, their eyes glistening in the low light. you shiver and push a little closer to zhongli.

he comes to a halt before a door and gestures you in. "i'll fetch you a towel," he says. "you must be cold."

a shiver runs through you as he says it, the chill of the house finally sinking through your skin. "thanks," you say. "i appreciate it."

he nods. "of course."

you watch as he strides down the hallway, elegant and purposeful, like each movement is thought out. the tail of his jacket disappears and you turn back to the door he'd left you in front of.

the handle is ornate and crystalline; it reminds you of a spider's web in moonlight. you twist it and come away with a pattern pressed into your skin; you trace your thumb over it as you step inside.

the room is cavernous, a maw of a thing. something unfurls inside you. the phone—a rotary phone, of all things—is tucked away on a writing desk, next to a rolodex. you flip through it, the sound of the paper loud in the quiet room, and find a tow truck company.

you trace your fingers along the desk as the phone rings. you wince as you knock a few papers loose, but can't help but peek at the elegant handwriting staining the page. you read a few lines of it—a beautiful poem, with a few words slashed out of existence with an angry pen—before the line clicks on.

the tow truck dispatcher is kind, but it will be hours before anyone can make it to you.

you tell zhongli as much when he returns.

"ah," he says, handing you a towel, a huge, fluffy cloud of material. "i was afraid that might be the case. you must stay until they arrive."

"i don't want to put you ou—"

"it is no trouble," he says, his eyes gleaming. "stay."

he guides you to the chaise, a large hand cupped over the small of your back. you can't feel the heat of him through your damp clothing, but you can feel the weight of his touch, an anchor dragging through the depths.

"i'm afraid i'm unused to having guests," he says, settling down on the chair across from you. "but i may be able to provide some sustenance if i look hard enough."

"it's fine," you say. "thank you, though."

"of course."

you play with the edge of a nearby pillow; it's silken and slips through your fingers like water.

"the poem," you say. "did you write it?"

he raises a brow.

your cheeks heat. "sorry," you say. "i saw it when i was on the phone."

he smiles softly. "you need not apologize," he says. "but yes, i wrote it. would you like to hear more about it?"

you blink. his amber eyes shine in the light, a firefly flicker. "sure," you say. "if you don't mind."

"i do not."

he spins out his poem, each word perfectly placed, and starts to explain his thoughts behind it. his voice is calm and sonorous; it echoes through you, settles into your bones. you blink, eyelids drooping, and see the smallest flash of teeth across the way.

you don't remember falling asleep.

zhongli wakes you when the tow truck arrives. his touch is gentle, but it flashes through you like cold fire, sending you jolting up. he steadies you with one large hand.

"i apologize," he says. "i didn't mean to frighten you."

"oh my god," you say. "i fell asleep?"

"you did."

"i am so sorry," you say, cheeks hot. "that was so rude of me—"

"it's of little consequence," he says. "you were exhausted from the rain and the walk. i do not mind."

"i'm still sorry."

he smiles. "come," he says. "the truck is out front."

the two of you pause in the hallway, at the threshold of the door. zhongli watches you, his honey-gold eyes glowing like the sunset.

"thank you," you say. "i don't know what i would have done without you."

"you're welcome," he says. "go on, now. the truck won't wait forever, i'm afraid."

"thank you again," you say, pulling on your shoes.

he says something, low and rumbling, but you can't quite grasp it.

"what?"

"good luck," he says. you blink. "with your car."

"thanks," you say, and then you're out into the rain, darting into the tow truck's cab.

as the truck pulls out, you glance back at the doorway.

there's a flash of gold.

you turn around and direct the driver to your car.

the next night, you dream.

you dream of the burning silver of a shooting star; of the slate-gray teeth of the hungry sea. of a house that pierces the sky like a blade. of amber shot through with sunlight.

you're damp when you wake, the dream having seared through you, and you are up far before the sun.

you start the car with no destination in mind. the road is empty; the signs flash by like streaks of lightning, until they give way to the woods.

the air is cool and scented with petrichor; it nips at you, a warning bite. you ignore it and gaze ahead of you.

there is a house upon the hill.

you start up the path.

#genshin x reader #zhongli x reader #bee writes genshin #.zhongli

[goodoldfashionedengineer]

I like analysing shit.

I like Red Hood: Lost Days

So I am going to analyse some of it.

To start with, lets look at the titles of the issues.

#1: The First Step

#2: Baptism

#3: School

#4: Higher Learning

#5: After School Activities

#6: Benediction and Commencement

What immediately strikes me is how all of these are relevant to the issue AND as a whole. They are describing a life fresh from birth to how that life progresses until graduation. Extremely important when considering that this is basically Jason's second life. He died and now he is "reborn" after being put into the Lazarus pit.

The First Step: The fact that the title name was on the page in which Jason was pushed into the Pit lets me believe that this IS the first step, as Red Hood: Lost Days explains the time between him being found by Talia to him becoming Red Hood. This is the first step in him becoming the Red Hood.

Baptism: Not exactly clear as to what "Baptism" is referring to here. I have multiple ideas. First, there is the possibility that it is a continuation of the last issue, as that issue ended with Jason being pushed into the pit and in religious baptisms, water is usually connected to it as the person being baptized is getting water poured onto their head. But it could also mean a non-religious baptism as in he is starting a new role. He finally gets to train with a clear mind and can properly start his journey.

Issue #3-#5 are relatively similar, all him explaining his training and stopping the evil schemes his teachers are involved with.

Benediction and Commencement: Commencement, he has completed his training or "graduated" if you take the school aspect into account from issue 3 to 5. Benediction, he gets his blessings from Talia to finally confront Bruce after stalling him so long. Commencement, "the beginning of something new". The issue ends with him picking up the Red Hood helmet, before that, he met up with Hush. The beginning of the Red Hood.

Next I want to focus a bit on religious imagery. I am not a big fan of it in general, but considering that words like "Baptism" and "Benediction" are in the titles, it is note-worthy. If it is something you're uncomfortable with, feel free to skip this section

I have seen people make the point that this cover:

Has similarities to pictures of Mary holding a dead Jesus.

And now that I think about it more, I can see why and they are pretty good stand-ins.

Jason came back from the dead, like Jesus.

Talia found Jason after he came back. She considers it a miracle. Like fate WANTS Jason to live. He wandered into her life. She isn't so much as interfering with fate, as stepping out of its way.

And then you have this page:

Jason as he has his arms spread wide, legs forming almost a straight line. Similar to Jesus on the cross.

The Lazarus pit isn't green. It's orange and yellow. It shines so bright. Ra's says it burns in his heart. He tells Talia it could turn Jason mad in a few months, years or decades. That she has unleashed a curse. A pestilence. Pestilence being one of the for Horsemen of the Apocalypse. And so, the Lazarus Pit becomes a symbol for Hell.

The fact that Jason and Talia are more distorted versions of the religious figures they could represent becomes more prominent as the story goes on. In the bible, Jesus goes back to Heaven to rejoin with his Father. In this story, Talia is told and knows that she should return Jason to Bruce. But she doesn't. Because Jason will see it as betrayal and he wouldn't forgive her for that.

My last and favourite point is how RH: LD is the perfect set up to Under the Red Hood.

Jason explains how it isn't about the Joker. Or Bruce. Or him. It's about the three of them.

Bruce was supposed to protect him.

Joker killed him.

Bruce didn't avenge him.

He tried to kill both of them only to NOT do it and walk away.

Jason died away from Gotham in Ethiopia, but not before being beaten with a crowbar, the building he was in having exploded and then asphyxiating due to the smoke.

Jason almost killed the Joker by setting him on fire. (Explosion)

He initially wanted to do it in another location. (Ethiopia)

He wanted to do it slowly. (Crowbar)

Jason says when the pain would hit the Joker, he would scream. Until it hit his throat. His lungs. (Asphyxiating)

He is reliving his own death. He wants his murderer to go through the agony he did. An eye for an eye one could say.

"Reliving his own death" is an objective statement here, as Jason sees the Joker swinging a crowbar that is dripping with his own blood while at the same time also standing right above the Joker, who is drenched in gasoline.

Now I want you to compare these two scenes. This is when he was about to kill the Joker:

The panels switch between Jason and the firelighter, present Joker and past Joker. The firelighter, the device that would end the Joker's life, comes more and more into the focus. Until he disengages it on the last panel.

Now to the second scene, when Jason planted a bomb under the Batmobile and was about to detonate it.

The panels switch between Batman and Jason. Jason is hovering over the detonater. Until he pulls away.

When Jason explained to Talia why he walked away from the Joker, he said that it wasn't enough. It was only ever about the three of them, not just Joker. His plan doesn't include murdering Batman anymore.

But the reason Jason gave Talia why he didn't kill Bruce? "I couldn't let him get off so easy. He'd never know what happened. He'd never know knwo why. He'd never know it was me." One could wonder if we are supposed to see this as a parallel as well. If we should apply this reasoning of why he didn't kill Bruce to why he didn't kill Joker.

The Joker would never know why Jason killed him. He doesn't even know that it IS Jason who is about to murder him.

And while is plan doesn't include killing Bruce anymore. Nobody said anything about the Joker.

As I said, perfect setup to Under the Red Hood.

#I loved analysing this #jason todd #red hood #dc #dc comics #batman #batman comics #bruce wayne #dc joker #joker #the joker #jason peter todd #red hood comics #red hood lost days #character analysis #comic analysis #comic panels #jason todd meta #talia al ghul #religious imagery #religious themes #comic panel #comic #comics

[daydreamtofiction]

Thou Shalt Not Covet // 6: Credence

Contents | Part 5 | First Person Version [AO3]

Summary: (Priest!Benedict x Female Reader) Things come to a head as you return to the church for your niece's baptism.

Word Count: 8K

Warnings: Strong language, irreverence, dark humour, sexual references & scenes of a sexual nature, infidelity, religious imagery & practices, refuge mentioned in this chapter is fictional. Readers must be 18+

A/N: I am so sorry for the long wait between updates. I'm sincerely hoping it'll never happen again. Anyway, if you enjoy this chapter, I would really love to hear from you. It's always so lovely and motivating to hear what people think/what parts they liked etc. Thank you all so much.

The bus turned sharply and came to an abrupt stop, sending you stumbling down the narrow aisle, the contents of the cardboard box in your hands spilling onto the floor. Passengers watched as you crouched down to scoop everything up, reaching around legs and peering under seats as people stepped over you to get off at their stop.

You staggered back to your feet, blowing a tuft of hair out of your face as the bus began to move again. You gripped the handrail and hugged the box closer to your chest, the journey to the next stop agonisingly quiet, besides the awkward clunking of a shampoo bottle rolling back and forth with every turn. You'd have to remember to pick that up.

The walk from your stop to the church was short, but not short enough to avoid the rain turning your box to mush, the soft, soggy cardboard beginning to come apart in your hands. It was a fine rain; so weightless it never actually seemed to reach the ground, instead it filled the air with a cold mist, clinging to everything.

There was a hall attached to the church; a large, open space with chevron wood flooring, dated patterned curtains and exposed beams in the ceiling. It reminded you of a primary school assembly hall; the bleak colours, scuffed floors, walls covered in bulletin boards and chairs stacked in corners. 

The place was heaving with people, voices melding into one steady, dense hum. There were tables lining the outer edges of the room, each one taking donations of everything from clothes and food to toys and books. You spotted June selling raffle tickets near the back, Father Benedict swapping pleasantries with people as he made his way around the room. 

You loved him in the black shirt and trousers, the flash of white at the base of his throat. It was the way he rolled his sleeves up to the elbow, rested his hands on his slender hips, curls falling over his brow as he looked down at people with a smile, earnest eye contact. You allowed yourself a moment to glance at him from across the busy hall; admiring his height, his build, the soft skin of his neck, the way his face moved as he talked. 

You waded through the sea of people, making your way over to a table labelled 'Carla's House Women's Refuge'. The lady working the table smiled at you as you approached, the curve of her lips slowly fading when she saw the disintegrated box in your hands. 

"It's raining," you said simply. 

"Ah," she replied. 

You tipped everything out, covering the table in an array of toiletries, makeup, hair products and tampons. So many tampons you could have built a fort with all the boxes. Her eyes widened as she stared down at them, lips parting slightly in an expression you couldn't quite decipher. 

"There would've been more," you said. "But I'm pretty sure I lost a couple of packs under a seat on the 57 bus." 

She looked back up at you in confusion, before shaking her head and breathing out a laugh. "This is- This is great," she said. "Did you do a collection or something?" 

"My workplace provides them for free in the toilets. Our receptionist accidentally put an extra zero on the order form last month. So instead of thirty boxes, we got three hundred."

She laughed again, shaking her head in awe. "Well, I don't really know what to say. Thank you. This will make such a difference." 

"No problem."

"God bless you." 

You stopped midway through turning away from her, as though up until that moment you'd forgotten where you were. "Mhm." You cleared your throat, nodding as you glanced back at her. "And you."

You couldn't understand why you were still so unable to say it back. It should have been easy by now; you'd even practiced alone, saying the words out loud until they rolled off your tongue. God bless you too. But whenever it was time to put them into practice, it was as if they became lodged in your throat.

You wandered back into the crowd, taking your phone out to check the time. The inside of your pocket was damp from the rain and you swore under your breath as you wiped away the speckles of water from the screen. 

You looked up to see Father Benedict a few feet ahead of you, feeling your cheeks warm as your eyes met. You hadn't been back since Sunday Mass, your last encounter with him still etched into your mind; his thumb pressing a wafer onto your extended tongue, his stern gaze as you knelt at his feet. 

You didn't want to be embarrassed. You wished you had the nerve to hold his gaze, to smile, to walk up to him and say something that made him blush. But you were embarrassed; stomach twisting, shoulders falling in on themselves whenever you thought about it. So instead you stared down at your phone, scrolling aimlessly in an attempt to appear busy as you weaved through the crowd to avoid him.

"Ellis...?" 

You turned around to see him hurrying to catch up to you, calling out to you timorously through the bustle. 

"I wondered if I could speak with you a moment?" he asked.

You swallowed, slipping your phone back into your pocket with a timid nod. 

He gestured for you to follow him, placing a hand gently on your arm to guide you out of the hall into the fresh, damp air. It was raining properly now; the fine mist heavier, spitting and bouncing against the earth. You squinted up at the sky, at the sun fighting to break through a thick blanket of grey. There's going to be a rainbow, you thought. 

"I wanted to apologise," said Father Benedict, softly clearing his throat. 

You turned your attention to him, eyes still narrowed but for an entirely different reason. You were expecting to be told off, like a naughty child whose parents waited until you were alone to chastise you. But his voice was tender, polite, almost nervous. 

He shifted his weight from side to side, running a hand through his hair. "I feel I might have been... harsh with you."

You sucked in your bottom lip, chewing on it as you listened.

"Being new to a parish is lonely, and it's not often I meet people who see me as a person first and a priest second." He paused. "I felt the lines becoming blurred and needed to set a boundary before they vanished completely. But clearly I went about it in the wrong way, and in doing so I think I... offended you." 

There was a long silence, his eyes fixed on you like he was waiting for a response. But you didn't know what to say. Mostly because you didn't understand. It was as if he hadn't eluded to the idea that there could be something more between you, like he hadn't preached of temptation and sin to a church full of people while deliberately avoiding your gaze. 

"Is that fair to say?" he prompted. 

"What makes you think I was offended?" 

He gave a breathy laugh, pressing his tongue to his top teeth. "Because one minute I'm telling you there are certain vows I'm unwilling to break, and the next you're on your knees in front of me taking a communion you're not eligible to receive..." 

And there it was. He finally mentioned it. You felt another rush of heat to your cheeks, the warmth mirroring deep in your stomach; shame and arousal all at once. 

"I deserved it," he said, before darkening his gaze and lowering his voice. "But I won't let you pull a stunt like that in my church again. Understand?" 

The heat disappeared; a chill rolling down your spine, bones hardening like ice, turning you rigid as you stared up at him in disbelief. 

"That's not much of an apology, Father," you said, your tone so direct it almost didn't sound like it was coming from you.

The corner of his mouth twitched with the slightest smile, and while it seemed like one of amusement, it could have been irritation. You were never quite sure.

"I'm sorry," he said with a hint of sarcasm. "You came here seeking a relationship with God and all I've done is keep you to myself."

Heat now. Pure heat. And questions. Like what did he mean by keep you? Keep you like some kind of crutch? A thing to lean on when loneliness threatened to knock him off kilter? Or was there another reason he found himself standing between you and God? Perhaps a fear of losing you to him altogether. 

"What if I'm okay with that?" you asked. 

There was another smile, a bow of his head as he took a step back. "Then it's a good job you're not the priest in this scenario," he said quietly, continuing to walk backwards away from you. 

You remained under the small shelter, rain pattering against the roof, murky water gushing from the drainpipe beside you. You glanced up at the sky - still no rainbow - then back over at him, watching as he pulled open the doors to the hall. 

"I'd make a terrible priest," you called out to him before he disappeared inside.

"Oh, the worst," he replied teasingly, a half-smile carving a deep line in his cheek. 

You understood what Mara meant when she said she felt overdressed for church. Though slutty was maybe a bridge too far. 

You'd bought a dress especially, forgoing your phone bill for another month just to pay for it. It nipped in at your waist, falling just past your knees, the straps thin and tight on your shoulders, making it near impossible for you to raise your arms above your head. 

And it was yellow. Sunshine, buttercup, lemon meringue yellow.

You'd reconciled with the colour. Conceding when Mara told you it was perfect, sunny, just like Soleil. You were even starting to like the way you looked in it, turning to examine yourself in the bedroom mirror with a reluctant smile. That was until Alfie walked into the room. 

"You look like Laa-Laa from the Teletubbies," he said casually, folding his shirt collar over his tie. 

"Oh. Nice, thanks," you replied, curling your lip at your reflection. 

He laughed and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Is that not what you were going for?" 

"Obviously not." 

His eyes scanned you, watching you stare at yourself, fingers fiddling with every crease of material, sucking in deep breaths to flatten your stomach.

"You seem nervous," he said. 

"I am." 

"Why? It's just a christening. You sit there, listen to the priest drone on for a bit, watch the baby get waterboarded and it's over."

You imagined turning to him, looking him dead in the eye and telling him the truth; that you weren't nervous because of the ceremony, weren't concerned to pose for photographs or spend the day making small talk with family and your sister's friends. You were nervous because you were going to see him. But you didn't. Instead you gave a reserved laugh, smoothing your hands over the bodice of your dress.

"Good excuse to get pissed though," he added. 

"Mm," you mumbled. 

There was a knock, followed by the door creaking open and Gina poking her head into the room, all red lips and white teeth, expensive earrings dangling as she turned to you. 

"Sorry," she said. "I've just called the taxi. It should be here in a few minutes." 

"Okay, be down in a second," you replied. 

"Fab." She paused, taking a moment to look you up and down. "You look gorgeous. Like Belle from Beauty and the Beast." 

You glanced over your shoulder at Alfie. "See how easy it was to not compare me to a big, creepy alien?" 

"I don't think Teletubbies are aliens," he replied, entirely missing the point. "Are they?" 

The sun was shining for the first time in days. But the breeze was still cold, raising goosebumps on your bare arms as you walked along the path through the church gardens. The grass was speckled with daisies, clusters of bluebells and wilting daffodils; a reminder that spring had still persevered, flowers managing to bloom despite stormy skies. 

When you walked inside, you found yourself hesitating for a moment, slowing to a stop in the middle of the foyer as if the soles of your shoes had stuck to the old, dusty pink carpet. Alfie and Gina didn't notice you'd fallen behind, the pair of them disappearing through the doors of the chapel without looking back. You were glad for it; grateful to have a moment alone, to breathe slowly and smooth your hands over your dress one last time without their eyes on you. 

Mara was stood near the front of the chapel with the baby in her arms, greeting people with a smile that - even from a distance - you could tell was nothing more than a mask. You knew because you did it too; the 'stressy smile', your mother would call it, like someone had taken pins and stuck the corners of your mouth in place.

You watched as Gina strolled down the aisle, opening her arms and leaning forward to hug your mother sat in the pews. Alfie had slowed his pace, allowing you to catch up to him and reaching out his hand, fingers locking between yours. 

Over the course of your relationship, it had become automatic for him to take your hand before plunging into a sea of people; adhering himself to you like a life jacket to stop you drowning in the chaos. It was something you liked about him, how he always kept you afloat even when all you wanted to do was sink. 

But this was your sea. And here, his hand was a heavy, burdensome cinder block. 

Mara glanced over at you and you met her gaze with your own 'stressy smile'. But your lips slowly began coming together again when you noticed the tall figure standing behind her. He was talking to your grandmother, dressed in his white alb, a purple and gold stole draped around his neck. His hands were clasped in front of him, long fingers locked together the same way Alfie's were grasping yours. 

It didn't take long for him to notice you, his eyes flitting away from your grandmother and immediately falling to your hand; watching Alfie's thumb as it absentmindedly stroked the side of your finger. You tried to swallow but it was sticking, as if all the moisture had drained from your mouth and was seeping out of your palm. 

"Your hand's so sweaty," said Alfie.

"I know, sorry," you replied, pulling it away and drying it on your dress. 

Father Benedict was still looking at you, his expression so calm; soft lips and glassy eyes, void of smile lines, smooth like marble. But there was an occasional pulse in his jaw, a hairline crack in the enamel, undetectable unless you knew where to look for it. 

It seemed the sight of Alfie touching you had bothered him, and you didn't know whether to repent or to relish in it. It was as though up until now, 'the boyfriend' had been nothing more than a tale; a character made up of words and sighs and frustrated growls, a thing that remained tucked away within the stories you told. Yet now he was here, a real, tangible person existing in the very place you'd been coming to escape him. Bringing him here had breached your haven, drove the pin right into the centre of the bubble. And your priest clearly didn't like it.

"Is that him?" asked Alfie. 

"Hm?"

"The priest you've been volunteering for..." 

"Oh, yeah," you replied. "Here, let's... Let's just sit here." 

You pushed him gently towards an empty pew, forgoing greeting your family in desperation to sit down, to melt away behind the row of people in front. 

But he resisted your ushering, stopping and turning to look at you. "Don't you want to go up and say hi?" 

"No, fuck- just sit down," you hissed, more harshly than you'd intended. 

His top lip curled in a blend of confusion and indignation as he lowered himself to the wooden bench, crossing his arms like a disgruntled child.

You sat down beside him, allowing a single glance towards Father Benedict, watching his face return to a warm smile as he focused back on your grandmother. 

"He's fit," whispered Gina as she plonked herself - too close - beside you. 

"What?" you whispered back. 

She nodded towards the priest with an impish smirk. "I knew it. I said it, didn't I, I said there was a reason you were coming to church so much." 

You scoffed quietly, shaking your head. "To perv on a priest?" 

"I would." 

"I don't doubt that." 

"Is he one of those celibate ones?"

You looked at her, eyelids heavy with dour.

"Is that a yes? No? Maybe?" 

"What are you doing all the way back here?" asked Mara, approaching you hastily. 

You never thought you'd find the sound of your sister's voice a relief, but you were glad for the interruption, exhaling a long breath you didn't even realise you'd been holding.

"Come and sit up front," she demanded.

You craned your neck, peering over to the front row where your parents sat next to each other in stony silence. You couldn't remember the last time you'd seen them in the same room, at least not without screaming at one another; dad's beetroot face, the bulging vein in mum's forehead. 

"I'd rather not be up there when mum and dad start throwing punches," you said.

"They're being good. I threatened them." 

You laughed softly. "It's fine, I'll stay here." 

She huffed, looking over her shoulder towards Father Benedict before leaning down to speak through gritted teeth. "Look, I need you to be Soleil's Godmother." 

"What?" 

"It was supposed to be my friend Becca but she's not fucking turned up. I knew she'd go and pull something like this." 

"Ah yeah," said Alfie. "Just what you want in a godparent. Flakiness." 

She snarled at him before turning her attention back to you. "Come on, you're Soleil's aunt-"

"And yet you didn't think to ask me in the first place..." 

"Ellis, please, you're my sister." 

"Yeah, and 90% of the time you can't stand me." 

"Oh, go on, it's sweet," said Gina, leaning in to whisper to you. "Plus, you'll be closer to your forbidden lover up there." 

"That's not funny." 

"Ellis," said Mara, staring sincerely into your eyes. "Please."

You'd never held a baby before; unsure of where to put your hands, worried you were squeezing too hard or that she might suddenly leap out of your grasp onto the hard chapel floor. You were holding her like a bag of flour, outstretched in front of you, fingers and thumbs hooked under each armpit as she dangled in your hold.

Alfie and Gina were laughing at you from the pews, watching as Mara repositioned you like a mannequin in a shop window; tapping her hand on your hip and instructing you to jut it out as she sat the baby there, taking your arms and wrapping them both around her. 

You looked down at her, all chubby cheeks and round eyes too big for her face, staring up at you curiously as though she was just as perturbed by the whole thing as you were.

"Is it your will as the parents and godparents of Soleil that she should be baptised in the faith of the Church, which we have all professed with you?" asked Father Benedict.

"It is," said Mara, Nathan and Nathan's brother Freddie. 

"It is," you muttered along with them. 

A godmother. The notion felt quite surreal, as if this child was about to be promised to you like some kind of heirloom. But surely they wouldn't really expect you to raise her if they died. Surely they wouldn't trust you with the school fundraisers and doctors appointments and birthday parties. What about sex talk? Bullies? What if she threw up and you had to clean it? 

They better not die on me, you thought, that would be such a Mara thing to do. 

"If you could all come with me," said Father Benedict. 

You handed the baby back to your sister as you followed them over to the large stone font. You could still hear Gina giggling, trying your best to ignore her - as you often seemed to do lately - letting her fade into the background like the buzzing of a fly. 

"I baptise you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit." 

A shrill cry burst through the chapel, the baby wailing and wriggling as Father Benedict poured water over her head. You watched him shush her gently, giving a warm, reassuring smile to her parents. God, he was beautiful. The kind of beautiful you never really see in person; rare, ethereal, an amalgamation of softness and strength. It made sense, in a way, that someone who looked so much like a fallen angel would believe such a thing could exist at all. 

The procession finished with a hymn. You glared at Alfie and Gina as they laughed and joked through the entire song like a pair of school children. A few months ago, it probably wouldn't have bothered you, you might have even joined in. But it was as if you'd outgrown them, like your favourite pair of shoes were suddenly too tight on your feet. 

"We've organised a bit of a do in the pub next door," said Mara, addressing the entire assembly. "So if you all want to head over we'll see you there." 

The church began to empty. You hovered near the front, waiting for something, though you weren't sure what. You'd gotten so used to hanging around after a service, watching the chapel turn quiet until you were the only person left. It felt unnatural to leave with the crowd. 

"Father, we'd love it if you popped in for a drink," you heard Mara say behind you. "Priests can drink, can't they?" 

You closed your eyes at the sound of his throaty laugh, turning your head to listen. 

"That's very nice of you," he said. "But really, I better not-"

"You should come," you said cheerfully, turning to face them. 

The pulse in his jaw returned. He swallowed, preparing to decline again. 

"Just one drink," you insisted. "It's the least we can do, y'know, to thank you for getting all of this done so quickly." 

There was a buffet table against the back wall of the pub, an arch of yellow and pearly white balloons curving over it like a rainbow. A banner was draped above the bar, Soleil Cain Cassidy in elegant scripture. Her middle name was Cain, something you'd only discovered an hour ago during her baptism. It caught you off guard to hear your brother's name without the sombre tone that usually accompanied it, made you wonder if your family hadn't thought to tell you when she was first born, or if you simply hadn't paid attention. 

"Right, what do you guys want to drink?" asked Gina as she slipped out from behind your table. 

"Just a pint," Alfie replied. 

"Er, whatever you're having," you said distractedly, eyes trailing around the small pub. 

She strode off towards the bar, saying hello to members of your family who you were certain had always liked her more than you. She was vibrant, confident, good with small talk, all the things that never came naturally to you. 

"You know she's going to come back with tequila or something," Alfie joked.

"Hm? Oh, yeah probably." 

His eyes narrowed and he shuffled slightly closer to you. "Are you okay?"

Father Benedict was standing at the bar chatting with the pub landlord. You watched as Gina approached, saying something to him that made him laugh. It shouldn't have bothered you, yet you felt a heavy, dense pit forming in your stomach.

"Ellis..." 

You peeled your eyes away, shaking your head at Alfie with a smile. "I'm fine, just tired." 

"Mm, I'm not surprised, we were up late last night." 

You groaned, rolling your eyes. 

"What?" He laughed before lowering his voice. "You've been fucking like a champ lately." 

The pit in your stomach began to flood with an unsettling feeling, as though sleeping with your own boyfriend was a cause for embarrassment, guilt, shame. It was true something had been unlocked in you, a carnal desire that couldn't be sated no matter how many times you slipped into the shower with him, or took him by the hand and led him up to your room. But he was merely a device in it all; a sex toy with hot breath and a beating heart, a mouth that sought out your breasts and a cock that never quite hit the right spots. You'd discovered the ability to replace him in those intimate moments, to close your eyes as he pushed inside you and feel him morph into someone else entirely; a person whose touch you craved, who made you clamp your lips shut to stop the wrong name falling from them. 

"Can you not say things like that when my nan's at the next table?" you muttered.

Alfie chuckled and placed a hand on your thigh as Gina returned with your drinks. You noticed her gaze fall to his hand, then back up to you with a raised eyebrow. 

"Just got us a white wine each," she said, setting a glass down in front of you. "Can you believe they don't do Aperol here?" 

"It's a parish pub," you said. "I'm surprised they even had this."

Alfie took a gulp of his beer, giving your thigh a gentle squeeze.

"The priest's jealous," said Gina.

"What?" You furrowed your brow, looking over to see Father Benedict's eyes on you. 

He looked away almost immediately, tugging at his collar as if it was suddenly too tight around his neck. 

"Oh yeah?" Alfie smirked, letting his fingers travel further up the inside of your leg. "Shall we give him a show?"

"It's my fucking niece's christening," you snipped, pushing him away. "Stop being vulgar."

"Look, now she's trying to act all virginal because she knows he's watching," Gina teased. 

The pit was turning into a pyre, heat smouldering deep in your gut. This woman was supposed to be your best friend, yet every time she opened her mouth, it only seemed to accelerate the flame. 

"Will you stop with the fucking priest jokes?" you scolded. "Do you think it's funny to insinuate I've got something going on with another man right in front of my boyfriend?" 

Her back straightened, as though she was surprised by your hostility. 

"It's alright, she's been making jokes about the two of you for months," said Alfie calmly. "I think it's funny-"

"Yeah well I don't." 

She pressed her tongue to the inside of her cheek and took a sip of her wine. "Me thinks the lady does protest a lot." 

"It's 'the lady doth protest too much, methinks'," you corrected. "Fucking hell." 

"Bitch," she muttered under her breath, before rising from her seat and snatching her bag off the table. 

"Where are you going?" asked Alfie. 

"For a cigarette," she snapped. 

You took a deep breath in through your nose, blowing it out slowly as you lifted the glass to your lips again. "I don't even like wine. We've been friends for how long, you'd think she'd know that." 

"I'm going to see if she's okay..." 

You glared at him, pausing for a moment to compose yourself. "Yeah, fine, whatever." 

The air had felt so quiet, yet now you were sitting alone, the hum inside the pub began to return. There were children running around a small clearing in the middle of the room, people queuing at the buffet, a DJ playing music. You looked back over to Father Benedict, your cheeks warming at the realisation that he'd witnessed it all.

He placed his glass on the bar and began walking away. You watched as he disappeared into the room at the back of the pub. It wasn't an invitation, but still you found yourself standing up and following him, pushing through the door that led to the room where he hosted his weekly group sessions.

He was moving the foldable chairs, dragging them into a circle, metal legs scraping against the old linoleum floor. You stood quietly, observing, until finally he glanced up at you, unsurprised to see you there. 

"Hi," he said simply. 

"Hi." 

He noticed you looking at the chairs and cleared his throat. "I er, I have a bible study session tomorrow, thought I might as well set up now since I'm here." 

You nodded, making your way over to the half-made circle and sitting down.

He remained quiet for a while, staring down at you, before continuing his work. "It was nice of your sister to invite me. It's not often I get to join in with the after bit."

You nodded again, crossing your arms over your chest. 

"You have a nice family," he said. 

You breathed out a laugh.

"You do," he insisted, laughing too.

You sat in silence for a little while, unmoving as he set up the room around you; clearing the table where he liked to put the bottled water and stacking the leftover chairs in the corner. You watched as he mopped his brow with a handkerchief from his pocket, his cheeks slightly flushed, though you weren't sure if it was from the heat or whatever he'd been drinking. 

He sat down opposite you on the other side of the circle, fingers clasped together and hanging between his parted legs. It felt like you were in one of his sessions, about to be counselled, asked to share.

"I like your dress," he said simply. 

"I look like an egg yolk." 

He chuckled. "Nah, you look beautiful." 

A familiar feeling thickened the air around you, another slip of the tongue you'd grown to expect but never got used to.

"Can I ask you a question..." you said. 

He shifted in his seat.

"It's a... religion-y question," you added. 

"Religion-y, another great word to add to the vocabulary." 

You smiled to yourself before looking across to him again. "Can I?" 

"Of course."

"Not committing adultery is one of the commandments, right?" 

"Mhm."

You swallowed. "What exactly falls under that term?" 

He furrowed his brow in thought, crossing one leg over the other. "I think you're going to have to elaborate." 

"Well, would someone be breaking that commandment if their physical form was with one person, but their mind was with someone else?" 

"I'm afraid I'm still not quite getting it..." 

"Okay." You uncrossed your arms, gripping the base of your chair with both hands as you sat forward. "Lately, every time I have sex with my boyfriend, I've been imaging he's... someone else. Is that adultery?" 

It was so quiet you could hear the birds outside, the passing of traffic, glasses clinking in the main room of the pub. You couldn't believe you'd just said it; admitted something so embarrassing, so awful. His clear blue eyes were fixed on you, plump lips parted as though he wanted to speak but no words would leave him. You waited, watching his chest expand with an intake of breath, but as he was about to speak, the door behind you creaked open. 

"Ellis...?" 

You whipped your head around to see Alfie peering into the room. 

"What?"

He glanced across at Father Benedict who had risen to his feet, dropping his head and busying himself by straightening the stack of chairs in the corner. 

"We're leaving," he said. 

"Who's we?" 

"Me and Gina." 

"Why?" 

"She's er..." He looked at the priest again. "She's not... feeling well." 

"Sure," you replied sarcastically. 

"Sorry," said Father Benedict awkwardly. "I'm just going to..." 

Alfie stepped aside, allowing him to shuffle past him out of the room, and for the moment they were side by side, you almost felt the urge to laugh. Your priest was so much taller, swallowing him in his lean, elegant frame. 

"We're going to share a cab, I was just checking if you wanted to c-"

"Why do you have to go?" you asked. 

"Well I don't have to. I just feel a bit shit leaving her to go home by herself. She's really upset." 

You rolled your eyes. "Just say you're looking for an excuse to leave-"

"I'm not. I'm not, I swear. I'm just going to take her home, make sure she's alright and get on with my portfolio for that job I'm applying for." 

You sighed. "Okay, whatever, yeah, I'll see you at home." 

"Okay." He nodded, turning on his heels and disappearing through the door. 

You leaned back in your chair, listening to the metal groan under your weight, watching through the window until a taxi pulled into the small carpark.

You stood up and walked back into the pub, eyes scanning the room for a tall figure dressed in black, the white collar you'd learned to spot in even the most crowded of places. But he was nowhere to be found. 

The thin heels of your shoes sank into the grass as you walked towards the church, the warm breeze licking at the bottom of your dress. The sun had moved across the sky, but it was still bright, making the day feel never-ending. 

You gripped the handle of your small handbag as you climbed the steps and pushed on the closed doors, opening them just enough to slip inside. The foyer was empty, no sign of June or the lady who would come to vacuum and dust the skirtings. The chapel was quiet too, the echo of your heels the only sound as you made your way down the aisle. You didn't know if he would be there, and even if he was, you weren't sure what you would say.

You stopped before the altar, taking a moment to gaze up at the statue of Jesus on the back wall; head stooped, arms outstretched. You wondered what it must be like to truly believe in him, if you'd ever believed in anything so blindly.

The small corridor beyond the sanctuary was dark, all of the doors closed tight except for one. You wandered slowly towards the thin sliver of light, breathing deeply, preparing to tap your knuckles against the door and step into his office, hoping the words would come to you when you laid eyes on him. 

As you grew closer, you began to hear a noise; a muffled, indistinguishable sound that made you refrain from knocking. Instead you peered through the crack in the open door, observing the messy, cluttered space, only a small amount of sunlight streaming in through the narrow window. 

He was there. Standing on the other side of the room, back to the door, head hanging between his shoulders just like the statue you'd passed moments ago. You eyed one of his arms bracing himself against the wall, palm planted flat. The other was in front of him, out of sight, moving in a vigorous, steady rhythm. You furrowed your brow, leaning closer. 

There was a soft grunt, heavy, laboured breaths. Your lips parted, mouth turning dry as your mind finally caught up with what you were seeing. He was masturbating. The realisation was dizzying, making you freeze in place, breath halting halfway up your throat. 

It should have mortified you, made you look away, embarrassed to have stumbled upon such a weak and vulnerable moment. You should have been repelled by the notion that this god-fearing man had so little control that he could touch himself within the walls of his church. But the only humiliation you felt was for yourself; for the warm waves crashing deep in your belly, the slick forming between your legs. 

He was muttering under his breath, the pumping of his arm growing more intense as he lowered his head further. 

"Fuck," you heard him whisper. "Ellis." 

Your mouth fell open completely, drawing in a soft gasp. Did he really say that? Maybe you misheard. He groaned, fingers pressing harder against the wall, and you knew now that you had to leave. 

You backed away from the door and turned, walking slowly, your footsteps deliberate in an attempt to go as silently as you came. When you reached the chapel, you found yourself breathless, sitting down in the empty pews to collect yourself. You dropped your bag to the floor and let your head fall into your hands, closing your eyes as the image of him played on a loop behind your lids. Ellis. He really said-

"Ellis?"

Your head shot up, eyes wide as you found him standing near the entrance to the corridor. He looked flustered, sweaty, fidgeting with the cuffs of his shirt as he looked around the empty chapel. 

"Hello..." you said, trying to keep your voice steady. 

"Hi. What are..." He cleared his throat. "What are you doing here?" 

"Oh, I was erm, I was looking for you. But I... guess you must have been busy..." 

"Y-yes, I was." He made his way over to the other side of the church, picking up a newsletter that had been left on the floor. "Sorry, you said you were looking for me?" 

"Yeah-"

He interrupted you with a sigh, running a hand through his hair as he approached you. "If it's about the question you asked before, I- I'm afraid I don't have an answer for you."

"No, it's not. I er, I actually wanted to make a confession." 

He glanced down at his watch and let out a sigh before gesturing to the large wooden cabinet at the back of the room. "Alright, if we make it quick-"

"No- No, I don't mean in the booth. I mean I need to make a confession... to you. Specifically."

"Oh." He narrowed his eyes with curiosity, taking a seat in the row in front and twisting his body to face you. "Okay?" 

You took a moment to stare at him, drink him in - eyes, hair, lips, neck, the curve of his nose, the angle of his jaw - just in case. You pressed your lips together and swallowed hard, taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly. 

"I have absolutely no interest in being part of the church," you said. 

"Oh," he replied, blinking with confusion. "I- I... I hope it wasn't something I did?"

"No. It wasn't. The truth is I'm not religious. Not even a little bit. Never have been. I'm not open to exploring my faith because I have no faith; I think christianity is a cult and blind belief in something that directly contradicts proven, scientific evidence is nothing short of delusional." 

Slightly harsh, Ellis.

He furrowed his brow, letting out a musing hum. 

"The night we met," you continued. "When you saw me sitting in the pews back there. I wasn't praying. I was... I was just waiting for the rain to stop." 

Your voice trailed off, eclipsed by shame, grief, guilt. 

"Why..." His voice was a whisper. "Why wouldn't you just tell me that? Wh- When I asked if you sought salvation, why on earth would you say yes?" 

You paused, eyes locked on his. "Okay, maybe we should go in the booth." 

"Why?"

"Because I don't think I can look directly at you when I say this." 

He seemed to understand, rising to his feet and slipping out into the aisle without another word. You remained seated, watching him walk away with his hands in his pockets. 

"Come on then," he called to you, his voice echoing against the ceiling as he dragged back the curtains on each side of the booth. 

The wooden bench creaked beneath you, a loose floorboard seesawing up and down with a squeak as you pushed the heel of your shoe against it. The scent of linseed oil and rosary beads was claggy and overwhelming, the heat of late spring making the air inside the confined space close and unyielding.

There was a partition to your left, perforated with small crosses that unveiled flashes of Father Benedict's alabaster complexion on the other side. He was sitting too, you could hear the groan of the bench under his weight, the shuffle of his shoes against the floor of the booth. 

"Okay," he said. "Spill." 

"Aren't you supposed to forgive me for my sins or something?" 

"Yeah we're skipping all of that." 

"Fair enough." You looked around your small compartment, the dark wood you could tell was once glossy, now scuffed and dull. It seemed a lot of people had sins to confess. "I said I wanted to become part of the church that night... Because I was attracted to you."

He didn't reply. 

"And I've proceeded to take part in the church because I'm still attracted to you."

Still nothing. You glanced through the partition, able to make out the shape of him; leant forward, head bowed, listening. 

"I promise I have enjoyed coming here, none of that was pretend," you continued, your voice wavering slightly. "But I'd be lying if I said there hasn't been... other reasons for me taking such an interest in this place. I just- no matter how much I try, I can't stop thinking about you in that way. And I've felt like such terrible person for it." You paused, swallowing. "But then you said those things about the way I look at you, and I've noticed the way you look at me too-"

"Ellis," he said softly, as though begging you to stop. 

"Don't tell me I'm making it up." 

You heard a sigh, another creak. You turned your head, speaking directly to the partition between you. 

"I saw you," you said. "Just now in your office. I saw you. I heard you..." 

He moved, back straightening, head turning towards you. You couldn't see his face, but you knew his expression; shock, embarrassment, fear. 

"I've done that too," you whispered. "Said your name while..." 

You trailed off, leaning back, letting your head rest against the wall behind you. 

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked. 

"Because I thought- I don't know, I thought maybe if you knew I didn't want a relationship with God, you wouldn't feel so bad about keeping me to yourself." 

Silence.

"Father." You paused. "If I open this curtain... If I walk out right now and stand in front of yours... Will you open it for me?" 

"Ellis-"

You didn't wait to hear what he was going to say. Instead you stood up and pulled back your curtain, stepping out of the hot booth into the cool air of the chapel. 

You stood outside his curtain, chewing your fingernail as you waited. But there was no movement, not even a sound. You sighed, closing your eyes for a moment before nodding to yourself solemnly. 

The sun shone through the stained glass onto your dress, the colours moving and shifting as you walked, like the facets of a diamond. You made your way back to the pews in search of your bag, shuffling along the row and picking it up off the floor before stepping back out into the aisle. 

A sudden noise made you stop, the screeching of curtain loops raking against a rail. You turned to see him standing outside the booth, chest rising and falling heavily, eyes burning despite their glacial hue. 

He stormed down the aisle in long, quick strides towards you, bringing you face to face, close enough to feel his breath, to see the crinkle between his brows. 

"This is what I am," he said, thumping a hand on his own chest. 

"I understand," you replied timidly. 

"It's what I chose to be," he continued through gritted teeth. "This is what I chose, and I was fine with that. Then you had to come and-"

"Stop. I know, okay." 

"Do you? Do you really know how it feels to have everything you believe in, everything you've dedicated your whole life to jeopardised because you can't resist a basic temptation?" 

"I'm not a temptation!" you snapped, turning around to point at the statue of Christ on the far wall. "You think he sent me here? You think the only reason I've done all this- am doing all of this is because god wants to test you?"

You threw your bag to the ground and began marching up to the statue, Father Benedict quick on your heels. 

"Hey," you said, speaking directly to the large, marble figure. "If I'm really a test then fucking prove it, send us a sign." 

"Ellis," he hissed. 

He was right behind you, causing you to almost bump into his chest as you turned around. 

You opened your arms wide, gesturing to your surroundings. "See, nothing." 

The pulse in his jaw returned, hands resting on his hips with irritation. 

"I understood when I sat down in that confessional that I might just make a fool of myself," you said calmly. "But I'm not a sin, Father. And I hate that that's what you see when you look at me."

"Wait, stop. Sin? You think I see you as a sin?" He narrowed his eyes, brushing back his hair with frustration before leaning in close and deepening his voice. "You are the reason I've begun to question whether there's even such a thing at all. How something could possibly be so wrong when every fibre of my being is drawn towards it. You're not a temptation, Ellis. If anything, you are the choice that feels most right. And that... There is no amount of prayer and worship and study that can tell me what to do about that."

You stared up at him, wide-eyed, mouth agape. He was quiet too, stunned by his own candour. Your chest was heaving as you watched him lick his lips, and before you knew it, his hands were on your face, your fingers gripping at the sleeves of his shirt as you came together in a fevered, desperate kiss. 

You stumbled together in a tangle of hot breaths and eager hands, falling back against the credence table and knocking a set of candles onto the floor with a heavy thud, a large chalice clanging as it rolled away. His kiss was as heavenly as you'd imagined; soft lips, skilled tongue, forceful and hungry, as if he'd been starving and didn't know when he would get to eat again. 

He lifted you onto the edge of the table, tugging impatiently at your dress until it was bunched at your hips, fingers grazing your inner thighs as you worked to unbutton his trousers. But as the first one popped open, a sudden noise made you freeze. 

You both turned to see the cleaning lady dragging a hoover into the chapel. Father Benedict stepped back from you quickly, turning to discreetly fasten his trousers as you stood up and pulled your dress down, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. 

"Oh, hi there, Linda," he called out cheerfully.

She glanced over at him and smiled. "Hello, Father, don't worry, I won't get in your way." 

"That's alright, I was just erm... showing Ellis here how we set up for the Eucharist." 

You dropped to the ground, picking up the candles and chalice and placing them back on the table.

Linda nodded, switching on the vacuum and beginning to swipe it back and forth across the floor. 

You stood there for a moment, staring at each other amidst the loud whirring of the machine. He seemed disappointed, in you or in himself, you couldn't quite tell. 

"I should get back to the party," you said. 

"Y-yeah," he replied. 

You began to walk away, glancing back to find him looking up at the statue, rubbing his jaw in turmoil. 

“That wasn’t a sign," you said breathlessly, shaking your head at him. "It wasn't." 

He looked down at you.

“It wasn't," you repeated, before turning around and hurrying away.

Part 7

*Tags: @evelynrosestuff @thealleydog @lexlexigogh @allie131313 @simpingbestie @ironstrange1991 @witchoftheages @queerbee8 @swds @jyessaminereads @withalittlehoney @hunterofshadows04 @slytherindoctorsat221b @diabaroxa @phoebe221 @hai-kbai @downtownshabby @dara-of-qui-zi @unfilteredmoonchild @classicrebound @bigratbitchsworld @aphroditesdilemma @bloodyxsaint @ployavengersog1 @spectaclebitch

*If you would like to be tagged in future chapters, please feel free to comment below, or you can add yourself to the list here

#benedict cumberbatch imagine #benedict cumberbatch smut #benedict cumberbatch fanfic #benedict cumberbatch fanfiction #benedict cumberbatch #priest!benedict #hot priest #priest kink #fanfic smut #fanfic writing #fanfic #fanfiction #smut writing #smut fanfiction #eventual smut #lemon #benedict cumberbatch x you #Benedict cumberbatch x reader #benedict x you #benedict x reader #fanfic series #sherlock smut #smut

[indianamoonshine]

baptism | father paul x reader | one shot

summary: this is a really, really quick one-shot i wrote last night while feeling witchy. john talks you through it.

warnings: lots of smut. use of biblical passages during sex. typical priest stuff.

a gentle purr.

“jesus,” he murmurs. “creator of such lovely things…”

you arch against his chest as he holds you beneath the steady stream of the shower. the only light illuminating the bathroom were the sparse candles behind the curtain, highlighting the contours of your bodies.

soaked. baptism in motion.

pure blasphemy.

he takes your chin between two fingers, his lips just inches from yours as he breathes, “you’re a delicate sin, darling girl.”

you whimper, trying to kiss him - to feel his lips upon yours like a salve - but he teases you, moving just a hairsbreadth away before sliding his hand down your belly.

it burns. it burns like hellfire. you’re soaked, both by shower and by seduction. he’s smug, grinning the entire time his fingers dance around where you need him the most.

“please, john…” you whisper. “please. touch me.”

take away the pain.

your hands slide up to his hair, the angle slightly awkward but rewarding; his locks are long and vulnerable to your grip. you tug just slightly when his thumb ghosts over your clit.

finally you moan out, “father.”

and he gives in.

your sensitivity - between the hot shower and the anticipation - is heightened. your clit quivers as he rubs softly, watching from over your shoulder as you shudder in his arms.

he’s always fascinated by your body - by how it works and responds to him. “it’s like watching a work of art come alive,” he once said.

“your thighs shelter a paradise of pomegranates…” he quotes breathily.

you almost crumble in his arms when he gently prods a finger inside; the fit is snug - warm. it takes you a moment to adjust but you do with a groan that sounds both neolithic and angelic at once.

“that’s it, darling girl.” he crooks the finger, hitting a spongey part of you. you keen, bending a little in his grasp. “oh, yes. right there.”

one finger is followed by another until he’s three fingers deep. and despite how many times the two of you have had sex - have intertwined your bodies before god - you’re never prepared for his cock.

he kisses the side of your neck, slowly pulling out his fingers from you. “part your legs more, sweetheart…” you do, still gripping the back of his neck for support. “that’s perfect. you’re perfect.”

you snuggle into his shoulder, murmuring sweet nothings and blessings while he prepares you.

“you’re gonna grab onto the bar,” he gently untangles your arm from him and positions your hand onto the bar that was convenient for him when he was elderly - when his body was retired from such experiences.

he’ll use it for different purposes now.

john kisses your spine, hand caressing your thigh before he has you place your leg on the lip of the tub. having sex in the shower is no small feat; you were prepared for the positioning like a marionette doll. but now you were so desperate - so ready for him - that you were more than willing to do with as he pleased.

“john…” you whine.

he tsks softly, hands wrapping around your waist. “patience is a virtue; a fruit of the spirit.”

you can’t help but smile in your lust driven haze, especially when you feel the firmness of his cock nudging at your entrance.

“ame-“

you squeak, cut off by the harsh — but delicious — feel of his cock pushing in so slowly. every inch. every ridge. your limbs become like jello the further he goes. it’s heavenly. it’s sacred. it’s…

so goddamned hot.

you lean over in his arms, his hands gripping your hips so firmly you’re sure they’ll be blossomed with purple in the morning; a frank reminder of your blatant blasphemy against the church. john groans low at your ear and it sounds uneven.

“i have entered my garden, my treasure…” he pauses, pushing one more inch in and prodding at your womb. you gasp, white knuckling the bar. “…-my bride.”

a whine, pathetic and impatient, escapes your lips. your free hand grabs at his on your hip, searching for any inch of him to touch - to feel.

he intertwines his fingers with yours and begins to move.

it’s slow, at first, but then his movements are more forcible - precise - rather than gentle.

john’s length is more impressive than his girth but he makes up for it with each and every thrust. soon, your grip on the bar isn’t enough and your hitched leg is becoming like a limp noodle.

“john, oh my god.”

he’s crazed, like an animal in heat. he presses his face to your neck, sucking an impressive bruise beneath the skin. you cry out, all too aware of the hidden canines, but he doesn’t cut flesh. he wouldn’t.

unless you asked.

“that’s a good girl,” he grunts, one hand laying on your lower abdomen and the other fondling your tit. “best little pussy god ever created…”

your eyes roll back. “i am my beloved and my beloved is mine,” you gasp, each movement of his hips knocking each syllable from you.

john growls, which he usually does when he’s close. the crude sound of wet skin slapping against one another betwixt the exchanging of biblical passages can only be described as hedonistic, but he doesn’t care. he can’t bring himself to when your cunt is so tight and wet around him - when you’re so pliable and feminine.

when he comes, you do too. it’s a divine blessing, the two of you completely strung out on one another’s essence. he finishes inside of you, pushing his spend back in with each lazy thrust nearing the end. the noise you make when you come is his guilty pleasure - his pride. it’s a stark contrast against the state of the world, a breathy whine that rings hot with euphoria.

john gives you a moment before helping you step down from the ledge of the bath; apparently your limbs seemed to have stopped working. the two of you catch your breath, pressing against one another under the shower that slowly turns tepid.

you press a delicate kiss to his naked chest and then to his shoulder blade. “thank you.”

john finds you staring at him, the reflection of the candles’ light dancing in your pupils. he kisses the tip of your nose.

“for what, my love?” he asks in a soft voice. he’s always so gentle afterwards.

you smile, hand cupping his cheek. “for something so beautiful.”

#father paul x reader #midnight mass #john pruitt x reader #inklings #mw1

[sweetlikehoneystingslikeabee]

"Nasty." 2022 Riddler x vigilante!Reader

A bit of self-indulgence, and I'm absolutely not sorry about it. Edward Nashton finds himself in a precarious position with a vigilante reader that's been on his heels.

Vigilante: "wow. Disgusting. Do it again."

Tw: NSFW, jerking off, spit kink, degradation, boot kink if you squint

You'd been on the trail of the Riddler for several days now in the sharp dark turns of Gotham. Here you were, a newer vigilante rising in need as more and more criminals with a gimmick rose from the baptismal flood of the last year. His flood. You'd had a couple run-ins with him and his shitty groupies since his escape from Arkham.

You got the impression Riddler aka Edward Nashton wasn't the physical type. Yet he give you a run for your money with the safeguard of puzzles and smokescreens between you. Except for now. No, you managed to flush him out of his hideout. Now it was the two of you in the dead end of an alleyway. The only way he could possibly escape was scaling a brick wall, a skill you were sure he hadn't suddenly developed.

You cracked your knuckles, "Alright, Nashton, end of the line. I'm sick of this. You're going back tonight."

He was panting, out of breath from sprinting away from you, "My work isn't done quite yet." His hand reached out for the wall behind him. The man in the mask was giving himself just enough leverage to push off and attack with a blunt object from his coat.

Fortunately, your reflexes were just quick enough to dodge and punch him square in the jaw. Your body weight came in handy as you shoved against him, throwing off his center of gravity. He stumbled and fell on his ass, his weapon crashing from his hand. Your boot came down gently on his abdomen, telling him to stay down.

Edwards eyes squinted as though he was smiling under the mask, "Shouldn't we be working together? We both want the same things- You're trying to fight a system of corruption because you know, you know the pigs won't do it..." The way his hand went to cradle the back of your calf and his other to the toe of your boot was almost affectionate.

You pressed your heel harder. At the nudging of your foot, you noticed his green coat pulling up- Just enough to get a sight of the hard bulge in his pants.

You scowled, your boot pulling off just slightly, "Are you... Are you fucking enjoying this? Are you kidding me right now?"

The only response you got was a huffy sigh. His breathing quickened. His hands stayed on your boot. Not to push you off but rather... As much as you hated it, the thought got you a little excited. He was looking at you in this way that was just- You weren't sure how to describe it.

Your own thoughts were becoming cloudy, "...You're disgusting. Really, fucking nasty. You want me to join you?"

"We'd make a great team..." He voice shook as your boot moved down off his abdomen to his legs. He tried to lean up.

That was stopped by your boot kicking his legs open, "Stay down. You know, I actually had plans tonight. Things to get done. For all your talk about how people suffer and struggle, you don't have much consideration for how your fucked up crimes effect them."

There was resistance against your boot, his eyes getting cold, "The sacrifice of the few reflects the truth for those that have lived in the dark. They don't know how much of their pain is caused by the people who promise to take care of them- But you and I-"

This was it. Decision time. You glanced around the area. No one around. It was an alleyway. Gross, but shockingly not the worst one you'd ever seen. Trash day was today. There wasn't a stench in this place that was harsh or noticeable. Perhaps these weren't the things that should cross your mind when considering a dalliance with a serial killer criminal but...

Everyone has their vices, don't they?

The toe of your boot went between his legs. A hiss escaped his teeth and immediately a look of being enraptured crossed over his face. He gulped. Slowly, looking for your reaction, his hands went to the zipper and button of his pants. While you allowed it, you paused and stared down at him.

"Apologize." You said.

"Wh-what..." He sounded so far away.

You pressed that shoe against his now-exposed underwear, "Say you're sorry for ruining my night." Carefully, you rolled the outline of his cock under your pressure. He groaned and panted.

He was humming, "Sorry- Sorry. For- Um-"

You stroked over that bulge again before taking your boot away. He whined for a second and you could see the muddy print of your sole smudged over his white underwear. There was a wet spot from his pre-cum. Something for him to remember later, you thought. Before he could really complain, you crouched down on the ground in front of him, straddling one of his legs, your knee between them. Your hand pushed down on his chest as a reminder to stay still.

"You're a little creep, you know that?" You sneered, "What, have you been fantasizing about this? Someone roughing you up and having their way with you?"

"N-No-" He looked away until you put your hand over his neck, "Just, uh. Just you."

That caught you off guard. You were positive he could see the flush on your face. Was that true? It wasn't like he was someone you could trust. Though, well, he wasn't a liar per say but- No, you couldn't think of all this right now. Stay in the moment.

"Guess it must be your lucky night, then." You commented. He pressed his leg just so against you and your body reacted. No way back now. You yanked his underwear down just enough to pull out his dick. Sizeable, just above or around average. He was staring at you intensely.

You pulled off your dirty leather glove with your teeth. While you had a feeling he might not care, something made you want to really feel him. His shaft was soft and warm in your hands, with enough pre-cum dribbling out to ease any friction. Just in case you spit onto the tip. His breathing hitched and you looked up at his face.

"...You won't kiss me..." His voice was almost a whisper. A moan escaped his throat as you began to jerk him off.

"Fuck no. Make that noise again." You were honest. That would require just a bit more vulnerability than you were allowing this transaction. All of this was so strange and outside of something you'd normally do anyways, why make it any weirder?

He groaned as your pace around his cock quickened and he murmured, "Spit on me- Spit on me?"

You stopped for a moment, processing, "...You really are a little freak. You mean on your face? ...What do you say?"

"Yes... please." He whined. Hesitantly, you could see his hands going up first to his glasses to pull them off and then to his mask to pull it up over just his mouth. You could see several scars and bruises of well landed punches on his skin. A little bit of blood had begun to coagulate in the corner of his mouth.

You continued to stroke him off as you leaned forward. You unoccupied hand went to his neck, pressing with just a little bit of force. First you spat haphazardly, splattering it on his face and mask. As he huffed out a small thank you, you allowed saliva to build under your tongue and inhaled sharply in your nose.

"Open your mouth." You ordered, "For me." It took him a moment, but then he slowly parted his lips and teeth for you, sticking his tongue out just so. Waiting for his prize. You wondered if he could really even see any of this.

With your head directly over his, you pursed your lips and allowed your spit to slowly drip out of your mouth. Your own mouth opened, the string of saliva hanging off your tongue as it reached his. Nashton shuddered upon contact and you could feel his cock twitch in your hands. If this was the closest he could get to a kiss, he was taking it.

With that in mind, you decided to give a small bit of praise, "Good boy."

"Ah-ah..." His hips thrust up in your hand, "Thank you- Thank you...!" He was quickly pulling his mask back down and putting his glasses on so he could properly look at you. His hand went over yours on his neck. Again, almost affectionate. He definitely wanted some kind of connection. Real intimacy.

You could tell he was close by the way he moved underneath you, almost writhing. You encouraged him, "You gonna cum? Come on, baby, cum for me... I don't have all day." The last sentence was said with a laugh, obviously teasing. Whatever it was about your laugh, it set him off hearing it.

He came in your hand, thick ropes of it landing on his stomach, his coat and your fingers. As he started to come down from his high, you looked at what he got on you and made a face. Then you wiped it off on his arm. You both stared at one another for a moment, wondering if that really just happened.

Eventually, you got up and started pulling your glove back on. Your back turned to him for just that split second. Just long enough for him to get up and push you up against a nearby wall, your back facing his front. Your hands pushed against the brick. Yet it was in this moment you could see his size in comparison to yours. He had you pinned.

There was a split second where you wondered if something bad was going to happen to you. If he would kill you after all that. After a moment, you felt his hand go to your hip. His bare hand. He'd pulled off his glove to feel your skin as well. Teasing just at the beginning of your pants with his fingertips. His head leaned into your shoulder and you could feel him taking in your smell.

"Get off." You tried to push off again, but he pushed harder.

His voice was quiet, "Picture it. We could do so much for this city. We're really a perfect pair. You'd be like... Like the archangel Micheal with his sword. My brains- We'd be beautiful..."

Then he was off of you and you felt like you could breath. You turned to face him. He was looking down at the ground for his weapon. He went to pick it up and begin walking away. Both of you knew you weren't taking him in tonight. Not after that.

He looked back at you for a moment, "I... Uh, I suppose I owe you one." His own creepy little laugh came out, leaving you to debate the true consequences of your actions tonight as he left.

#2022 riddler #smut #2022 riddler x reader #edward nashton #edward nashton x reader #I've been in a mood lately #foxwriting

[harmlesscigarette]

in another life where he says 'girl' with a slightly different inflection & means he is the kind of man who wants a boy to ruin him.      To carve a hole and move inside.  But that isn't how it happened. You're the one with the hole

“The Child Formerly Known As _____,” Cameron Awkward-Rich

#the cig smokes #the child formerly known as #cameron awkward-rich #sympathetic little monster #poetry #dyke/fag politics #humanity is nakedness #be human with me #a baptism between my legs #lamb before the slaughter

[sword-dad-fukuzawa]

now with that general warning about my blog taking a hard left turn into dead dove erotica territory, I wanna talk about a fic I just wrote. it’s called “apostate baptisms” and it was a commission from frog on twitter.

you could say it’s about vash washing knives’s hair after the 1998 anime finale where he puts, like, four bullets in his brother’s legs. you could also say it’s about the twins trying to reconcile the decades of hurt between them. you could maybe even say it’s about an abuse survivor processing his trauma, but I hate pathologizing in my work and really it’s more of a revenge dubcon fic.

I’m gonna talk about the dubcon. I have weird thoughts about the dubcon.

I don’t really write noncon straight. It doesn’t really appeal to me as a writer and I think the plantcest dynamic where Vash is the one on top/in control lends itself a lot more to a mutual flavor of dubious consent. it’s one where vash knows he wants to finally be the one taking something away/winning but has complicated feelings about the desire to perpetrate the harm done unto him, while knives knows he wants vash to fuck him/meld with him/crawl into his skin but feels like being tsundere about it. so in the end you get this sort of vash-taking-what-he-feels-he’s-owed situation where knives is actually fantastically into it but doesn’t ruin the dynamic by saying so out loud. somewhat consensual, but not at all sane.

I have actually written something similar with a post 1998 atticwife fic called “you’re no angel, you’re my brother,” so in a way these two stories are in conversation with each other. I think I managed to portray the dubcon as a tool of character development better in the more recent fic, though. that’s the appeal of a lot of dead dove to me—you can really use some of these themes as vehicles/catalysts for your story and I think there’s a lot I haven’t explored yet in this arena.

the dubcon, by the way, is a lot more about vash than it is about knives. it’s the catalyst for what I consider personally the most important dialogue exchange of a fic that’s mostly dialogue.

this is not just Vash’s fantastic self restraint and moral code kicking in. it’s him acknowledging that knives tends to be His Exception. over and over again in every trigun canon, vash breaks character because of knives—I was thinking especially of the confrontation in ep5 of 98 where vash, faced with the possibility of capture, pulls his gun on several women. he apologizes, of course, but states that he has to do this in order to catch knives.

It’s also emblematic of how even if Knives can rile vash into abandoning his principles, it’s always a temporary lapse. and also Vash’s habit of denying himself things he wants (at least once in the manga, notably, in regards to sex).

and of course knives is very much into the dubcon, because while I believe in writing analytically about character growth and the momentum of a climactic noncon scene getting hamstrung (edged, if you will), I also believe in tsundere knives and the absurd parallel of having a noncon kink as a guy who commits rape allegories in the original text.

I’m also a sucker for the subversion of that, by the way. Let Vash be the perpetrator for once while somehow maintaining that lily white moral compass of his. It’s a funny line to walk that still, somehow, has knives coming off as a bit of a creeper convincing his brother to noncon him in the bath. Deliciously fucked all around, I say.

Anyway, I have a lot more to say about this fic if I get the energy for it, but for now I’ll keep this to a discussion of the purposefully muddy waters of consent and power between these two guys. Love and peace ;)

#trigun #plantcest #millions knives #vash the stampede #dubcon #adepti holy water

[sin-sidejob]

J.R. brainrot is literally on my brain CONSTANTLY

sitting in his chair and making him kneel in front of you, looking up at you in his chair, the one he doesn't let anyone else sit in

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

anyways buh-bye

just —

He’s been bad. Not seeing you as much, too busy of a schedule to play house with you. It’s enough to garner your attention and realize he’s not neglecting you but rather neglecting his own needs.

J.R.’s feeling lower than the Atlantians that vacation in the Mariana Trench. He hasn’t seen you in days, maybe even a week. His thumb nervously rolls over the side of his phonecase as he heads back to the office, leaving you a message on voicemail — assuming the lack of answering is you asleep at this late hour.

“Hey peach, I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to talk to you before you went to bed,” he murmurs, the echo of his shoes tap tap tapping against the glass catwalk, “I’ll be there in the morning, I promise.” His smile is weary as he ends the call, saying his I love yous and consistent endearments, singing your praise like devotee.

After he pockets the phone, his lips fall flat into the line again as he cracks open his office door. The lights flicker on.

He knows it’s you.

You’ve perched yourself in his office chair, legs extended to the side as the back of the chair faces him.

“Making me promises, Scheimpough?”

He knows he’s in deep shit, real deep judging by the lilt in your voice, but he’s grinning and heading your way already, punishment be damned. JR watches as the chair turns, revealing you in the soft glow of his desk lamp, draped in nothing but his blazer, thighs crossed and keeping you modest in the most minimal of senses. You watch him as he sees you. The grin on your lips is dark, just like the lipstick upon them.

He wants his soul to bleed that same shade.

“Any and all,” JR beams, approaching and stopping once you huff a noise, nose turning up a tad in a little bunny twitch.

“You want my attention? Show me what you think it’s worth,” you chide, drumming your nails upon the armrests as you look up at him beneath your lashes, utterly unimpressed. He fucking loves you, especially like this.

He’s already wrenching off his tie and undoing his cuff links to smooth up his sleeves, hooked on the idea of getting to you and unwrapping your legs to delve into the gift between. Pants painfully tight and with sweat beading at his neck, he’s feeling nothing short of withdrawals from you.

“Beg for it,” you preen, “kneel for me baby.”

He drops like an anchor, knees knocking in a resounding thud.

You lean forth, legs uncrossing as your heels click upon the stone, eyes glittering in the low light. He feels your hand grace his cheek, extended forth and exposing your chest while you smooth your palm across his face, cupping gently.

“What a good boy.” You lay the praise upon him like a blanket, lids low and heavy, lashes brushing your cheeks.

Curling your fingers around the side of his neck and jaw, you shift him closer to your exposed cunt, letting him watch the slick pool and smear upon the leather of his chair. His eyes flicker up to yours behind his glasses, beginning to fog and cloud over like his inhibitions.

He’s torn between lapping at your cunt and fucking you until it’s so soaked that anyone can smell the sex in his office, lingering heavy in the air permanently. It’s JR’s chair, but he wants you to come on it. Call it a baptism, a christening. Blessing him and his office like a god.

And the way you gaze down at him as he kneels between your thighs forces some penitence out of him, wrenching it out like water from a dishrag.

“Now,” you tap at his cheek, pressing your thumb to the corner of his mouth which he eagerly opens, sucking wetly, “get to work.”

#my final assignments are killing me more than my finals are #also #thank you for this I needed a break #inside job #jr scheimpough #personal inside job #my inside job #jr #asked and answered #anon #jr scheimpough x reader #JR scheimpoigh x female reader #JR scheimpough x female coded reader #the business bitch

[galactic-star-bruiser]

Big God

Din x f!reader

I have committed a sin with this piece and you're welcome for it. hehe

Song: Big God, Florence and the machine

Warnings: Insinuated smut, definite blasphemy, some cursing

,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,..,.,.,.,

You need a big god

Big enough to hold your love

You need a big god

Big enough to fill you up

I repented like a sinner, nights spent on my knees and prayers flowing from my lips. 

I screamed to the heavens, to the galaxy.

I bit the apple and found pleasure in the pain. 

I couldn’t hold what I felt inside my body, moans slipped from behind my gritted teeth.

You keep me up at night

To my messages, you do not reply

You know I still like you the most

The best of the best and the worst of the worst

We were born in fire, pure animalistic rage as we tore each others clothes to shreds, desperate for the feel of hot skin on our own. 

 The pounding, slapping sounds of my body against his was like a hymn.

The wetness that pooled between my legs was his baptism.

My tongue, his eucharist. 

We prayed in alleys, bars, hotels, and in dark corners of his ship we crept towards a promised land. 

My nights were filled with his holy moaning; my mornings full of blaster fire and commands. 

The Mandalorian, cold and stoic, trained himself to not delve into the sins we created while the suns still shone.

I hungered for more. I wanted not only his moonlit praise, but I wanted the light that flowed from him like a supernova. 

A gentleness was lingering under his beskar surface and I’d find it.

Well, you can never know

The places that I go

I still like you the most

You'll always be my favourite ghost

In my mind I imagined more for us, a kindness met with the sexual desires.

I spent my days either fighting along side him, or chasing my own bounty. 

Men found me, and flocked to my place at bar stools, cantinas, and dark corners.

Their kisses would bring death to what I had found in an armor clad man.

//////////////////////////// 

Sometimes I think it's getting better

And then it gets much worse

Is it just part of the process?

Jesus Christ, it hurts

I’d watch her be watched like prey anywhere we went. Men skulked around her like predators. 

The rage that filled me was turned into something holy as I grunted and plunged into her once the moon light up her face.

I didn’t understand why the anger swelled in me...maybe it was jealousy, or maybe it was fear and a way to protect her... maybe both. 

Her moans of pleasure and the thunder that erupted from within me were as delicious as sin, and felt as though I had ascended to the heavens. 

“Cyar’ika....Mesh’la...” tumbled from my lips but never reached her ears, deaf to my language. 

Some mornings the pain in my chest to see her innocence curled up against me hurt too much and I’d leave.

 Guilt shred my heart but I’d atone the next night between her thighs. 

Some mornings I couldn’t bare to stray from her side and I’d brush stray pieces of hair out of her sleeping face. 

Her body was where I prayed, but her heart is what I coveted. 

Though I know I should know better

Well, I can make this work

Is it just part of the process?

Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ, it hurts

I couldn’t decide whether the nights on end we spent tangled in sheets were drawing us closer or farther apart. Was I more than just pleasure to her? Did she want anything more than the way I made her scream?

Last night as I painted a pearled rosary around her, I moaned her name rather than a curse.

It felt different, but I wasn’t scared. 

She smiled, and said “Mando” back. 

No, that wasn’t right. 

“Din... call me Din.”

“Oh” the soft whisper was akin to a doves coo, her beautiful lips then formed the shape of my name, “Din...”

I’d destroy the galaxy to hear my name on her lips forever, I thought

She walked away as normal, to clean her pretty face.  She smiled as she exited the ‘fresher, and walked to her own bunk. 

Damn

It hurt to see her walk away like that... I didn’t know if she had realized just how much I had given her. 

or maybe not 

She came back in with nothing but an oversized t-shirt that I was almost positive belonged to me and in an angelic voice asked... “Can I stay with you tonight...Din. Just to stay with you. To sleep.”

“Of course you can.” My breath hitched. 

She crawled into my bed, a gentleness over her features that I’d never seen before. 

I lifted her to sit on my lap, facing me. 

Tears danced in her eyes. 

“Whats wrong, cyar’ika?” I asked, grazing her cheek with a gloved hand.

“I....I want more than this, Din. I cant just have your body anymore... I want this” She said with a light touch to where my heart would be under my armor. 

Without an answer, or hesitation, I stripped my chest guard and discarded it to the floor.

My flight suit was now unzipped and I took off my gloves so she could feel the heat of my skin when I brought her hand back to my heart, now she was able to feel it.

“You have it. It beats only for you.” I answered, my honesty terrifying me and I could feel my heart race under her touch.

Shower your affection, let it rain on me

Pull down the mountain, drag your cities to the sea

Her wet eyes bore holes into my visor. She never asked once for me to take it off or even insinuated that I should...it only made me want to do it more. 

A click and hiss revealed my face, hair matted to my forehead with sweat, eyes glossed over in awe. 

“Din... you don’t have to,” she said, looking down. Ever respectful. 

“Its okay... I want to” I replied, taking her chin in my fingers, forcing her to look into my eyes. 

Her hand left my chest and found my cheek, blazing with heat. 

“Beautiful...” She whispered. 

“Mesh’la, beautiful.” I responded, wondering if she’d remember the times I’d called her that. 

The light in her eyes and a soft, knowing smile told me she did.

The first time I felt her lips on mine it was as though a hunger in me was finally satiated. 

I could be crucified for the thoughts swirling in my mind. 

The first time her body was on me, seeing me in full with heart completely in her grasp, I felt as though I was christened with pure happiness for the first time in my life. 

Shower your affection, let it rain on me

Don't leave me on this white cliff

Let it slide down to the, slide down to the sea

#din djarin #the mandalorian #fluff #mando #din djarin gif #mandalorian fic #din x reader #angst #star wars #mandalorian #smut #din djarin smut #implied smut #blasphemy #big god #florence and the machine #mando x reader #f!reader

[dumbdomb]

evil conversion through unholy baptism after many attempts to summon the deity of lust

idk this took a turn towards the end lol

cuffing your arms so you can't reach me after you've fallen asleep with your legs open and no undies under your shorts... i can't help myself from wanting to kiss you there, to use you how i please, and not have you pushing me away like last time. carefully and easily securing your restraints before kneeling in front of you. pulling your shorts to the side as my heart races, breathing you in- so close and unaware. pressing my soft lips against you, slow and gentle, again and again. kissing you as you sleep... my face blushing as i finally allow myself to open my mouth and let my warm tongue taste you. tracing and gliding over every part that is getting harder. i need you more and decide to pull off your shorts, you barely move- still sound asleep, and now vulnerable. i quickly resume kissing you, losing myself in your scent and the increasing heat between us. touching myself as i makeout with your exposed warmth. my hasty tongue lapping and sucking at you, feeling you get harder in my mouth, and how wet my undies are from loving the most intimate parts of your vessel. it feels dizzying, surrounded by soft skin and both of us becoming more aroused. i can't help myself from grabbing your thighs, reaching up and rubbing my hands all over your body. the excitement surging through me, feeling my cock twitch and my nipples tingle at the sound of you moaning- finally you're waking up! trying to close your thighs, unaware of what's happening, being pushed back down and handled firmly. you struggle to open your eyes, only to see me thoroughly enjoying your body's pleasure. i can feel how much you want me, coming on my tongue in your sleepy confusion. moaning for more before you notice i'm already on top and ready to give you everything i've been feeling. i want to hear you moan again, watch your lashes flutter and eyes roll back. fighting against the restraints every time you forget they're there, literally coming to your senses with every thrust. please forgive me, i had to... you were sleeping and you looked so pretty, i just wanted to kiss you and- i couldn't stop myself. i had to have you, please, oh fuck it feels so good. pushing my fingers in your mouth and mindlessly covering your face with my wet hand, using your body for stability before pounding harder to get myself off. fucking you faster, while listening to the sounds you make for me. ruining an innocent nap by chaining you up, using you like a toy. overstimulating us both as you try to press against me, trying to give me something while i'm zoned out on top of you. you're such a good thing, it would only be right to release you from bondage and receive my just penance. my angel, please don't let my sin consume us both… my insatiable desire to have you like this. oh, my dearest love. i have heard your prayer and now your worship and service may truly begin. my lover, my muse, my favourite human. pray to me now and become new, my darling one. embrace your truth and accept this new power

20+ to like and rb

#somno nsft #cnc dom #blasphemy kink #queer nsft #dark kinks #please #sadistic #dom bottom #incubi #succubi #terato #domb brain