#priest x reader smut

[cillivnz]

𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑺𝑨𝑪𝑹𝑨𝑴𝑬𝑵𝑻

[𝘬𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘪]

PAIRING — PRIEST!NANAMI KENTO x NUN!READER

SYNOPSIS — you shift across continents hoping to leave all behind that drifted you apart from the Lord, only to catch the sole reason of your departure waiting for you patiently, with a rosary in one hand and his cock in the other.

WORD COUNT — 2878

WARNINGS — NSFW. MODERN AU. OOC!KENTO (kinda). RELIGIOUS IMAGERY, THEMES & RELIGION IN GENERAL. BLASPHEMY, sacrilege, impure thoughts, cursing, sins & sinning, sex in a church, indecent use of the confessional, DUBCON. oral (m! receiving), fingering, clit-play, biting, nipple/breast-play, unprotected and penetrative sex (p! in v!), overstimulation, against a wall (?), voyeurism, degrading. NANAMI HAS A GOD COMPLEX. there is repetitive mentions of religious themes throughout the smut, from praying to other things.

A/N — GOOD GOD. i’m asking you all for forgiveness, but i needed to do this. i intended it for leon kennedy but something in me snapped and i changed it to a nanami kento fiction, WHICH IS WHY THERE IS MENTION OF A CHRIS REDFIELD, i was too lazy to change it and also i didn’t want to incorporate too much from the JJKverse, so we’ll just leave Redfield at that.

i am NOT anti-religion, this is a common fantasy and i just wished to try my hand at this sinister trope. please refer to the warnings and DO NOT PROCEED if anything mentioned makes you uncomfortable. apologies in advance for any inaccurate detail written. not proofread.

art credits — unknown [pinterest]

LISTENING TO: ‘THE SACRAMENT’ — HIM

[therefore the title].

𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐊𝐘𝐎 𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐍’𝐓 𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐘, but you knew the Lord only wanted what was best for you, and so a new chapter in your life had begun.

A woman above materialism, you leave with only your bible and habit, but of course, you carried the last memory of your past life— a photograph your Sisters took of you and Father Redfield from your hometown, the church you had sworn celibacy to, near the Arklay Mountains.

You loved Chris— Father Redfield, the way you’d love the angels of the almighty, but at times this love prevented you from preaching, causing you to often ponder on your style of living, and the fact that doubt settled in your god-driven mind became the primary reason why you decided to move away, all the way to Tokyo.

Your feelings for Father Redfield made you question your vows to chastity, and you knew at once you needed to get away. So, you left the mountainous foliage at once and settled for the noisy city.

Upon arriving, you were welcomed by a ‘Sister Nobara”, with a soft face and piercing gaze, but none that lingered.

She walked you through the large and lonely halls of the massive church. The infrastructure of your hometown’s place of worship couldn’t compare to Tokyo’s, perhaps the difference in population was the reason why.

Throughout the walk to the nave, you felt an ominous sense of being watched— no, preyed upon, but you and your naïveté blamed it on your nerves. It worsened while you said your prayers, seeking forgiveness for the note on which you left: that doubt and urgency to succumb to hellish pleasures with the priest that couldn’t even reciprocate a smile back to you.

“Ah, there comes Father Kento,” Sister Nobara interrupted the last of your calls to the Lord, the one where you beseeched to attain enough strength to never succumb to lust. You quickly muttered a, “Amen”, and turned to Nobara. You looked at her for a brief moment, before your gaze followed hers and landed on the most devilishly handsome man you had ever seen.

Hell, you had to leave your home over a man who, now, you realise, isn’t even half as attractive as the man towering over you.

You backed away when the sudden proximity hit you, your subconscious mind immediately associating that eerie feeling in your gut with the presence of this man.

“Hello,” his deep voice broke the silence. “Greetings, Father,” you quickly averted your lingering stare onto the wooden floor. There was a stroke of amusement tainted in his tone, “Sister Nobara tells me you come from the Arklay Mountains.”

“She’s right,” you confirmed, still not eyeing him.

He nodded along, eyes still etched on your face.

“Father, if you could excuse me.” Sister Nobara suddenly spoke, causing you to look up at the departing woman. A “But—” was all you could mutter, before Kento put two-and-two-together and figured you sought out your quarters. “I don’t mind showing you around.”

“If it’s not too much trouble, Father.” You laughed, nervously, obvious to the subtle but definite bite of the Priest’s lower lip at the sound.

“No problem, follow me.”

The walk wasn’t as bad as you’d thought it to be; it was worse.

You couldn’t help but glance repeatedly at the seemingly older, definitely taller and the most handsome man you had ever dreamt of, and the fact that he hadn’t turned to look at you, nonetheless utter a single word, aggravated you.

He gracefully halted, and you knew you’d reached your quarters.

“There we are,” he announced, opening the door to let you in before him.

“It’s not much but—”

“It’s perfect.” You interrupted him with a warm smile, genuinely pleased with where you were to be stationed. Father Kento seemed pleased with your response, the small smile that broke out gave it away.

You instantly got to settling in, not that you had many things to place. Just your clothes, holy books and—

“Who is that?” Asked Father Kento the minute your hand reached for the framed memory.

“Father Redfield from the Arklay Church.” You spoke in monotone.

“Is he why you left?”

You didn’t have to answer.

The way you clutched the photograph tighter gave Nanami Kento all the answers he needed.

“Confessional is always open.”

“𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐈𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍.” The words rang in your ears, floating in the whirlpool of your disturbed mind throughout supper, and the fact that Father Kento was nowhere in sight was no solace. You decided to say, “Fuck it,” in a god-abiding way, and made your way over to the said confessional.

You step inside the wooden booth, steadying your breath you heard movement on the other side.

“Good evening, Sister.”

“I’m glad you obeyed me.” He said, seemingly in nonchalance, but you could picture a cocky smirk on his handsome face.

“Yes, father,” was all you could muster up.

“Tell me what’s on your mind.” He said so casually, yet compelling enough to get you to open up.

“You were right, Father Kento,” you sighed.

“It’s Chris—Father Redfield.”

“He’s, uh, the reason why I left.”

“Why would a man of the Lord drive you to that limit, Sister?” You heard that raspy voice of Father Kento’s inquire.

All you could muster up was a sigh. Talking about your feelings was something you’ve always struggled with, never there being a crucial need to do so, to redeem, like tonight.

“Because I would find myself thinking about him.”

“In what way?” Father Kento asked almost immediately, not wasting a breath.

“In impurity, lust, and love.”

The sigh on the other wooden end of the booth was almost unheard by you. “Describe them.” Father Kento broke the silence after a moment of halting. “W-what?”

“Describe your thoughts. What did you want to do with him?” You heard fiddling, but chose to ignore it.

“I would— would think about him and I, romantically. If and how things would’ve been different had we not chosen this life. Then, it was natural for excitement to settle in when he’d gently brush past me,” you oddly found yourself at ease, tranquil and nostalgic as you reminisce over the past.

“What about lust?” He interrupted in a tight voice.

“Uh,”

“I thought of his large, aged and veiny hands: grabbin—grabbing me, groping my… breasts…”

The ruffling on the other side silenced you, and when Father Kento noticed, he spoke in a stern tone, “Sister,”

“I need you to let it all out.”

So, you took a deep breath, and did exactly that.

You tell the priest how badly you’d grown accustomed to that ache between your thighs, how damp you would feel while merely observing the older man casually interact with the churchgoers; the tinge of bitterness that coursed through your veins, replacing the electricity that he’d often ignite, but now that you see him caressing the arm of another woman, much like the way he’d do to you, you’d find yourself unravelled in the sin of envy.

“I would find myself wanting to start a family with Father Redfield— by any means necessary. I would’ve wanted nothing more than to feel him inside me, carry his load inside me each night, sleeping in the warmth of his arms while his cum leaks out of me, still puffy and sore but in the need of more—”

You heard him groan.

He fucking groaned.

Your sinful ramblings would’ve persisted had the feeling in your gut not begged for you to shut the fuck up that very instance.

“Tell me, Sister,”

“Was it Father Redfield you felt such vulgarity for, or perhaps, just the thought of a superior— One with the Lord— indulging in you?”

You were speechless. Surely there was no insinuation in his sultry tone, right?

“I— I don’t know, Father.” You cleared your throat, thighs involuntarily rubbing together. You raised your palm to bite the back of it, softly, but enough to distract you. A habit you thought you had rid yourself of, but it still lingers.

“Oh, I think you do.”

Before you could deny the blatant accusation, your eyes land on Father Kento through the open wooden network.

You had now realised that this was the first time throughout your confession that you looked up— at him, and the sight awaiting you had caused you to clutch your rosary and gasp the first profanities you’ve dared to say in decades.

Father Kento sat on a ruby, velvet sofa, while his robe lifted up to his stomach. The first thing your eyes trail to is the smug, sinister look on his face, his slicked-back, disheveled hair, his glimmering eyes and pink lips. Then, his broad neck lacking the amice that is supposed to adorn it. Between his thick thighs, stood tall and angry the most vicious thing you’ve seen.

What made it worse was that he had a hand wrapped around the leaking tip, and in that very hand, was his rosary.

“Like what you see, Sister?” He called you out, and you immediately averted your gaze.

You looked to the ceiling, folding your hands and dropping to your knees.

“No, none of that.” Father Kento ‘tsk’ed at the sound of your prayers, making his way over to your side of the confessional.

“As pretty as you look while begging for mercy,”

“ 𝑰 ’𝑴 𝒀𝑶𝑼𝑹 𝑮𝑶𝑫 𝑵𝑶𝑾. ”

He grabbed ahold of your joined hands, opening them just enough to wrap them around the girth of his cock.

“Pray,” he said, squeezing your cheeks together. When your mouth forcefully opened, he shoved his tip past your plump lips, and you instinctively allowed more inside.

“Good girl.” He groaned, motioning your hands back in forth on his cum-slick cock.

Blasphemy coursed through your blood and all thoughts and prayers left your mind, and you twirled your tongue around his cruel tip.

He growled, “You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” pushing back your veil and bandeau to let your hair out and grip it.

“Oh, you have no idea what a punishment the past few hours had been,”

“I’d been doing so good. ‘So good,” his voice was weak yet hoarse; he damn near lost his mind when he hit the back of your throat, biting back a whimper.

“I was on the path to salvation, but you,”

“You just had to show up and send me spiralling to hell.”

He plunged into your tight throat one last time, savouring the sight of your hollowed cheeks and plump lips wrapped around his shaft. You bat your long, thick lashes at him and his heart skips a beat when he looks into those doe eyes of yours.

“Get up,” he yanks you up by the arm.

“Strip.”

You were hesitant while bidding farewell to your attire, but there was unknown fervency in your movements.

Once bare, you couldn’t even look him in the eye.

“This is so wrong—”

“—But do you want it?” He asked, his was was stern and soft, his recollected breath made his velvety voice return.

“More than anything I’ve ever known.” You answered in all honesty; only truth came out of you in the home of the Lord.

There was a soft smirk on Father Kento’s face that widened into a genuine smile upon hearing your words. “Come here, then.” He motioned for you close the eternal gap between the two of you, and you nearly leaped into his arms, the distance growing unbearable.

Kissing you, tasting himself on you, Father Kento spoke in between kisses, “I don’t want a fucking word out of you, okay? You’re going to take cock quietly.”

“We want this to stay between us and God, yeah?”

You nodded, letting him corner you against the wooden box.

His eyes darted up to yours and then trailed down to your body. His frustration aggravated at the sight of you, and the fact that you’re the Lord— his master’s forbidden fruit heightens his senses with carnal instincts, making the Goddess in front of him even more insatiable.

“You know I’d have taken my time with you, right?” He nods, enchanting your dumb and dazed state to follow him.

“But you understand how badly I need to be inside you?” You nod, you need it, too.

“And you’ve sworn in celibacy?” He quirks an eyebrow, but the minute you felt the slightest touch of his fingertips along your velvety folds, you forgot all your vows at once.

“Answer me.” His voice carried a trace of humour, but stoic nonetheless, finding your clit and pressing his thumb onto it.

“Y-yes. Yes.” You bit down on your lip and the priest nearly lost it then and there. His free hand meets your face and tucks the pillowy lip out of your teeth’s grasp, stroking it back and forth.

His hand left your cunt, earning pathetic whimpers from you. It went back to his cock, jerking it a few times, leaving you mesmerised, before he gathered the slick that leaked out of the tip and smeared it onto your pussy.

“Prepping you.” He simply grunted, easing one finger into your tight hole. Your walls show hospitality and gladly accept the digit curling inside them.

You were a virgin, but masturbation wasn’t foreign to you.

“More,” you ached, and he obliged.

By the end of your aching heat, you had (barely) accustomed two of his long, slender yet thick fingers. The fervent circles of his thumb on your clit were torturous.

On the brink of your orgasm, spiralling into ecstasy, Father Kento pulled you out. Like a sinister saviour, he pulled you out of enlightenment.

“No! Please— Why?” You blabbered bullshit, too fucked out to care about anything but release.

“I told you I need to be inside you.” His voice was hoarse, the lust evident in his tone.

Watching you right on the edge of unravelling had him throbbing and twitching.

“I need to feel that tight cunt.” He was damn near hyperventilating. “Baby, I’ll go crazy.” He chokes out a sob when you grab his cock by the angry tip and align it with your hole.

He smiled at you, causing you to clench.

How was this blonde bastard so handsome?

Lifting you up with sheer ease, he let your legs wrap around his waist, your arms crossing over his neck, and his dick plunging into you, inch by inch.

You thanked God the tiny booth was tall, so you had enough space to let your head fall back without it touching the ceiling, courtesy of the man balls deep inside you, standing at 6’0.

The snug fit knocked the air out of both of you. Tears ran down your flushed cheeks like a hot spring, the passion with which he embraced you, devouring your warmth against the cold wood set every cell in your body ablaze.

“You’re so fucking— tight. ‘Hot, tight pussy squeezing so nicely around my cock.” Father Kento began pounding into you. Your legs had began to tremble already, but your vicelike grip on his waist and broad shoulders didn’t falter.

His fat cock fucked into you with desperation, the carnality of being wanted so much, so sinisterly by a man who had sworn chastity makes your soul quiver.

You’ll need to make one hell of an apology to the Lord.

As if reading your mind, the blonde priest spoke in a hoarse voice, “Pray.”

“For your sake and mine, you better fucking pray.”

So, you join your hands and close your eyes, bring Father Kento’s face closer to your chest. He closed his eyes, relishing in the feel of your soft breasts embracing his face like the pillowy clouds of heaven he’d never see.

With every thrust, your would slide up the wall, cunt gushing along his length. You said your prayers silently but couldn’t help letting out wanton cries when the tip of his cock would hit a certain spot inside you, and hit it repeatedly.

You were too far gone to hear him say, “Put it in my mouth,” not knowing what he referred to, until he hit the flesh right above your breast. You struggled to let go of his neck, but grabbed the supple flesh and lead it to his ravenous mouth, like a lamb being led to slaughter.

His hot mouth on your nipple; tugging, licking, circling, and nibbling. His cock inside you, fucking you at godspeed. Two of his fingers on your clit, rubbing maniacally; all had you coming undone in seconds.

“Oh, Kento!” You moaned pornographically, driving him to the point of release and insanity when the rhythmic contractions of your cunt pulsated around his twitching cock, and in mere seconds, Father Kento buried his seed deep inside you.

“Good god.” He groaned, parting with your nipple with a ‘pop’ and overstimulating you with slow, deep thrusts; his fingers never once leaving your clit.

“That—”

“—Needs another confession altogether.”

And so every night you’d find yourself cornered up in the confessional, apologising for same mistake you’ve been making every night, with the man whose forgiveness you beg for, on your knees, and repentance he delivers with a rosary in one hand and his cock in the other.

#kento nanami #nanami kento #jujutsu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu nanami #jujutsu kaisen nanami #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami smut #nanami kento x reader smut #kento x y/n #priest kink #hot priest #priesthood #sexy nuns #priest x reader #priest x reader smut #chris redfield #chris redfield x reader #sinner #jjk nanami #resident evil #priest!nanami #priest!kento #nun!reader #church #confess your sins #blasphemy #jjk cumslut <3 #anime and manga

[konigsblog]

all priest!simon thinks is that a dumb thing like you needs to be bent over his kitchen table after found at a strip club, hoping to convert you to christianity and make this gross, little whore modest and obedient.

don't ask why a priest was at the strip club, that's not important. what's important is the way you locked eyes with him, dancing around in a pole in skimpy clothing, or therefore lack of, as the only thing protecting a sliver of your decency that you had left was a pair of panties and bra.

he'd force your face into a bible, possibly one about submission but you're too fucked-out to even read one line. simon's cock is utterly driving you crazy, and simon can't tell if you're that much of a whore, or if it's the aphrodisiac he slipped into your drink that's causing you to become so, so wet and slick for him. he can't help but rock his hips into you, with his huge cock stuffing you full and his hot, sticky cum oozing out from the sides of your cunny.

the empty glasses of wine remain on the coffee table over to your left, but you're too drunk and horny to think about anything other than the way his dick moves into your greedy hole, filling you up with his white release. he fucks deep into you, still wearing his black suit, with drops of cum stained onto his trousers.

“dirty thing--god, wish ya’ were more obedient, so i could manipulate your dumb head into doin’ whatever i want. lust is a sin, y’know? was usin’ this as a punishment, but even you’re enjoyin’ get used like a fleshlight, hm?”

you pant and wriggle, your skimpy dress rolled up past your waist, the sides ripped from his roughness. your panties are lace, pushed to the side to allow him to slide inside again and again -- however many times he likes.

he'll blame it on you for getting him to commit a sin; lust. that you were seducing him, that now you need to come over every saturday to pray with him, and maybe something more after a few glasses shared with him...

#orla speaks #priest simon once again 🤭 #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley smut #simon riley x you #cod ghost #ghost call of duty #mw2 ghost #ghost simon riley #ghost mwii

[2-dsimp]

Hear me out... Yan priest with a non believer reader....like just imagine....Yan priest"you don't believe in heaven huh...then I'll take you to heaven...then continued to 💥 her....

Cw: 🔞NSFW MDNI🔞 Fem reader! Throatpie, coercion, corruption, dubcon, religious aspects, creampie, cum shower, slight humiliation, degradation, praise, overstimulation, Zebad turning you into a true believer

—————/—————/—————-/————/———

Zebad sighs in contentment as he watches you collapse onto the altar, his wet slick and cum covered shaft slipping out of your overused cunt with a wet pop. He takes a moment to admire your body, feeling his own softening member hardening with avengeance as he sees the marks and bruises he so graciously bestowed upon your skin. Before he quickly flips you over, ripping off your top with a gentle smile.

"Mmm, my lost Dove~ did this prayer session help to enlighten you by chance?"

The Priest hums with a twisted expression on his face confronting the non believer gasping for breath within his holy sanctum. Right before the lords eyes of the marble statue which stood tall above them and judged with a solemn stare.

He reached out a hand to firmly grasp onto your hair, his rock hard cock hovering near your lips. While he smacks his meat against your face, before nudging the tip of his leaking fat tip against your lips smearing it with your collective love juices from prior rounds.

"Oh how precious you are my dear, your pretty head looks as if it’s all empty inside. Allow me to fill it with something meaningful"

The Priest coos lovingly before he shoves his penis into your mouth, forcing it down your throat. He can feel your gag reflex kicking in, but he doesn't care. This was meant to teach you a lesson on how not to turn your back on the gracious blessings. That the lord could bestow to you if you’d just let your heart open fully to the wonders of the teachings he gives…

In all honesty Zebad was bullshitting about his preaching for a god he didn’t even have half a mind to remember the name of. He couldn’t care less about said god nor did he fathom entertaining the prestige beliefs of his pious church brethren. Why would he spend time trying to convert you into worshiping the lord when he could make you revere him as your sole savior.

"That's it, Love suck just like how we’ve practiced. Being such a good girl for me"

He purrs continuing to thrust into your mouth, his balls rubbing against your face as he uses you for his own pleasure. Grinning with satisfaction as he feels your fingers wrap around his thick length, your mouth still wrapped around it like a newborn. The corrupt holy official could feel his cock twitching with impatience, eager for your attention. He starts to buck his shaft inside your salivating mouth, relishing in the moist heat of your tongue sliding back and forth on his foreskin.

Yes, he’d make you utterly reliant on him for the rest of your days. Spend his sweet time training you, molding you into his perfect believer who’d only get on their knees and revere him as both your lover and guiding light to damnation. He alone would encompass the entirety of your mind, body, and soul.

"You’re gonna learn to accept me as your lover and savior and become an obedient bitch for me yes?"

Zebad coaxes with an sugarcoated timbre whilst he continues to rock his pelvis against your face, his body wracked with pleasure as he feels himself getting close to cumming again. He can ascertain how much your esophagus was tightening around his dick, making his balls twitch from the sensation. Of how he knows that you're so eager to please him.

"Oh what a delectable sheep you are, my darling~ so docile and compliant for me."

The Priest pants as he finally drives his shaft to the hilt, smacking his balls up against your drooling face. He lingers there for a moment, enjoying the tightness of your throat around him as you gag. He can feel his cum building up inside of him, and he knows that he's getting close to the edge.*

"Fuck, Dove, go on and take it! Take your lord and saviors cum like the good believer I know you are."

He starts to flood your taste buds with the peculiar taste of his gummy sperm, making you gag even more. The amount is too much for you to handle, so he spills the rest of his cum all over your tits and face in white beady rivulets. He grins with satisfaction as he watches his cum dripping down your body.

"Mmm, you look so beautiful covered in my cum perhaps I should make you walk around in it all day. And make it test of your faith towards me wouldn’t you say?”

Zebad goads, his voice low and seductive. Paired along with a devilish smile that was present on his face full of infatuation and obsession for his poor little sheep that wandered helplessly into his clutches.

#Zebad the Priest #yandere priest #yandere smut #smut imagine #smut headcanons #smut scenarios #smut drabble #yandere male x reader #yandere art #yandere drawing #male yandere #yandere male #yandere x female reader #yandere x y/n #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yanderecore #yandere concept #yandere cw #yandere content #yandere blurb #yandere blog

[blkkizzat]

'SINS OF THE FATHER'

PRIEST!NANAMI X READER

✟ the liturgy: (summary) Even the most pious of men succumb to temptation and Father Kento is no exception... especially when it comes to you. (Priest!Nanami POV) ✟ the confession: (tw) dark themes, sacrilege, adultery, blasphemy, jealously, exhibitionism, blackmail/manipulation, heavy biblical references, cunnalingus, fingering, riding dick, shoe fucking, blow jobs, panty sniffing, olfactophilia, dacryphilia, lightly suggested altarboy!yuji (aged-up) x reader, oil tycoon!gojo x reader, suggested mentions of reader x other jjk men, corruption, masturbation and angst as you are literally tormenting this poor priest (lol). ✟ the sins: (wc) 4.1k ✟ the opening rites:(a/n) i grew up catholic (got confirmed too) and went to catholic school but haven't stepped inside a church in literal years. i was honestly surprised how many bible references came so easily from pure memory while writing this.

Sanctified conviction radiates off Father Kento as he approaches the inordinately adorned wood carved pulpit with authority to address his congregation. 

Despite the uncomfortable Summer heat there is no lack of attendance, a sea of familiar faces packed into the small town chapel. The buzzing song of cicadas and soft oscillation of the large fan circulating humid air through the church are the only sounds heard as the masses eagerly await his homily.

You were among them of course. 

Sitting front and center– a small saccharine smile graced your lips while your doe-like eyes, captivated and attentive, were made even bigger as they raised to the podium to meet his own.

Bible open, Father Kento takes a full breath pause before he finally speaks, his gaze is benevolent yet his voice is firm as it projects over the congregation. 

“Dear Brothers and Sisters– Let us reflect on the gospel of First Corinthians Chapter 10 Verse 13…and The Lord says– ‘There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man—”

Oh but you– you were anything but common– and irregardless of any higher standing his status as a clergy member bestowed upon him he was still a man of flesh and blood.

No matter the effort exerted, Father Kento had been unable to keep his eyes from yours during the service. The magnetism of unknown and certainly unholy forces drew him to you time and again without fail.

No beauty in town rivaled yours, not with an angelic countenance that complemented your delicate features so gracefully in your every action. 

Yours was a form of divine femininity rivaling that of Venus herself. 

If that wasn’t beguiling enough, your honeyed voice and syrupy words had the ability to sway even the most feral of temperaments. Leaving those who heard it at your mercy like a gentle but deadly siren.

“—but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able—”

Is God faithful? 

Ironic how you had Father Kento questioning the very foundations of his own faith while simultaneously indoctrinating God’s dogma to his faithful parishioners.  

If you were a test he had failed.��

Many times.

Even the first man, Adam, had fallen to Eve’s allures and not even the warrior strength of Samson was able to overcome Delilah’s seductions. 

Who was he to prevail where the biblical idols had fallen?

What actual grace could God give man against the sensual temptation that he had carved from man’s own rib? 

Father Kento had felt forsaken of God’s grace ever since you had approached him after mass to quietly request the rites of confession. He should have refused when you kindly solicited him to perform them in the cooler confines of the secluded rectory over the oven-like heat of a chapel confessional box in summer. 

Led astray so effortlessly by your genial charms as you looked to him like a lamb lost and addressed him so meekly as “Father Kento”. He would have just as easily given you access to heaven then if it were in his power.

Yet it was you who had so graciously led him to the gates of Zion— which so conveniently happened to reside in the velvety depths between your thighs. 

Consequently, the only sins that were confessed in the rectory that day were the moist squelches of your peach-ripened pussy gushing around his cock and coalescing with the frenzied sounds of hot flesh slapping together in unison. 

A child of Lilth incarnate to be sure but you looked so pure and celestial, even in ecstasy.

Hair matted to the sides of your face drenched in sweat while your nimble hands clutched onto his clerical collar. Your eyes filled with such loving devotion and you rode him earnestly as if it was your life’s penance. 

Father Kento in turn gives you his absolution by taking you from behind. The swell of your plump rear rippling against his hips and shared fluids splashing onto his hard abdomen feverishly drive him closer to God than he’d ever been.

Yes, he is weak. 

But Father Kento held the conviction that not even The Vicar of Christ, the Pope himself would be able to resist the vice grip of your silken cunt as if its true purpose was never to bear life but to wring out the very essence of the soul of man. 

He’d fallen prey to a day-walking succubus on hallowed holy grounds. 

No– Father Kento was certain if this church had ever truly been blessed as a house of God you would have caught aflame the moment you graced its threshold. 

“—but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye are able to bear it’.”

Father Kento concluded the passage. Nonetheless, neither it nor any other doctrine had provided him the solace of escape and nor biblical strength did he receive to endure against his temptations.

There was no resisting you. 

There was no escaping you. 

For anyone you cast your sights on.

This is exemplified by the obvious effect you have on the young alter boy Yuji. 

Barely old enough to be called a man, the youth's entire body flinches whenever you spare a sweet glance in his direction. 

Has Yuji’s innocence already been stolen? 

Father Kento must quell the inkling of jealousy at the thought lest he stumble over his words and shame himself further.

He was a man in every sense of the word and a man of the cloth, he would not compete for your adulterous affections with his own altar boy.

Even so, Father Kento’s lip does curl in disapproval at the deep flush of guilt on Yuji’s cheeks. Yuji clumsily trips over his own feet, nearly permitting the blessed vessels for the rites of eucharist to fall to the ground.

Harlot! Have you really allowed someone other than himself to bathe in the sins of Jezebel?

Maintaining composure through his sermon, Father Kento reminds himself that an inexperienced youth is no threat. 

However it is more than likely Yuji– who normally is so oblivious in nature– had likewise become aware of the wicked exhibition of sacrilege occurring beneath the prayer cloth in your lap at the very hands of your own husband– Satoru Gojo.

“So you may ask where does that leave us as followers of Christ? Temptations lure us into doing, saying or thinking something that does not reflect who we really are as sons and daughters of God.”

Neither you nor your husband were Christ’s children so none of these ideologies applied to either of you.

Nefarious philistines the both of you– godless and immoral.

Although Father Kento was for certain your husband, Oil Tycoon, Satoru Gojo– was the only one whose deeds could put yours to shame. 

The white haired devil had descended upon the quiet small town like a thief in the night to greedily capture the first few drops of black gold that surged from the earth before it could even fall to the ground. Quickly buying up land and resources, in less than a fortnight Gojo essentially had control over the entire town– its priest included.

But as he became more wealthy, so did the town and its people. Satoru Gojo built up the town around him to match his own gluttony for opulence, taking the town and its people away from simple old time comforts and into the more complex modern age. 

Therefore the man was seen as a saintly savior, rather than the lecherous leech he truly was.

To Father Kento’s credit, if he deserved any at all– he had initially held strong in his faith. 

He was not a man tempted by the power that would come from a promotion to bishop if a larger church was built. Nor was he tempted by monetary gain. The treasures he had always held most valuable were only those to be found in God’s kingdom.

Familiar with the tricks masked by flamboyant arrays of grandior, Father Kento’s folly had been his own headstrong vainglory in being a man above the lures of temptation. Thus he failed in recognizing you as the seductive snake in sheep's clothing the cunning tycoon Gojo had sent to be his undoing.

And you had never once failed to unravel him.

Even now Father Kento struggles to keep himself together as you inconspicuously lean against your husband, your head resting gently on his shoulder while the dainty fan you are holding obscures the lower half of your face. 

What appears as an innocuous attempt to halt the perspiration rolling from your nape into your heaving bosom is merely a front to hide the sinful ‘o’ your cherry lips form.

Your chest softly heaves although your labored breaths aren’t from the humid heat shrouding the church– but the increasing warmth dampening in your loins. All which had been provoked by your husband slipping two fingers through the buttons of your thin sundress and into your pussy, lightly teasing its gooey folds. Gojo’s movements are mostly concealed by the cloth but Father Kento can make out the skillful circular motions stroking your spongy bud and causing the sporadic twitch in your knees. 

You had writhed similarly under him. You were always far too sensitive.

Fat tears would never fail to pour from your bright eyes when he would latch his mouth onto your sex. You would be his last supper if ever given the choice. If heaven had a flavor it would surely be akin to the taste of your pink candied cunt and he knew of no sweeter treat on earth.

Twas no wonder then how Father Kento easily loses all sense of self when flicking his tongue into your gaping slit. Swirling the appendage within your gummy walls he gluttonously slurps down the steady stream of your flowing nectar. 

Your mewls and cries for him are far lovelier than even the song of cherubim. Father Kento has committed them to memory and as such he knows when they reach a certain octave– your pitch so high it's practically soundless– you're nearing your nirvana.

Arriving at your peak you would thread your hands through his blonde locks and thrust your hips forward as if his mouth were salvation itself. Your manicured nails would dig into his scalp to rock his head deeper into your plump pussy. The actions would beckon his tongue to finally give you its mercy by dragging it flat up your folds to suckle and nip at your swollen clit.

You never called on God then. 

Nor your husband. 

Only Father Kento.

Coincidentally, Father Kento’s gaze locks with Gojo’s for a brief moment and Gojo’s pale lips curl into smirk. 

A fleeting look is shared before contact is broke but the message is clear: 

Satoru Gojo own’s everything in this town. 

Gojo owns your cunt. 

Your cunt owns Father Kento.

Therefore by proxy Gojo owns him.

The revelation has Father Kento showing the white of his knuckles from the intensity of his grip on the pulpit podium as you simultaneously release a silent scream brazenly cumming on your husband’s dexterous fingers in the middle of mass. 

“The time now is propitious for us all to make a journey of conversion, led by sincere faith to allow ourselves to be confronted with the Gospel. Let us confirm this commitment by sharing in The Body and The Blood of Christ.”

Proceeding with communion the altar boy Yuji stands next to Father Kento holding the tray where the blessed chalice of wine and platter of thin wafers reside as the congregation dutifully exits their rows to receive the eucharist. 

As it is the more modern way to receive communion the majority of the congregation choses to place their non-dominant palm up over the other to respectfully receive the host. Yet traditionally, the priest placed the blessed wafer directly on the tongue of the one receiving. This practice was typically only seen by the elderly, the most exceedingly pious and of course— you.

When it is your turn to approach you beam brightly as you and all your beauty seem to float before him.

“The Body of Christ.”

Father Kento raises the host before you.

“Amen.” 

You obediently replied. 

Like expected your eyes fluttered to close as your pillowy lips parted in order to accept the host directly in your mouth. 

God help him, this was the most sacred part of mass but the way your deviant tongue lulls out hot and thick with your saliva pooled on the edge and threatening to spill onto your lips has Father Kento shifting at his post.

You look just as compliant and yearning to receive as when you had been on your knees before him taking his cock in your mouth whole.

Father Kento delicately placed the host in your mouth in a similar fashion as to when he would tap the tip of his bulbous leaking cockhead onto your tongue. 

So willing to please you kiss his angry red mushroom tip to appease his cock, swirling your tongue over the tiny hole before puckering it between your lips to greedily suck any drops of pre that dribbled forth as you pumped his base.

You were a tease. 

That much was evident both then and now as you extended the tip of your tongue to caress the tip of his finger. A tiny kitten lick, but nevertheless a tingle ran through his cock in remembrance.  

“The Blood of Christ.”

Father Kento presents the wine symbolizing the blood before you. 

“Amen.”

Again you closed your eyes and allowed Father Kento to press the chalice against your parted lips. 

The very picture of amenability, you actually enjoyed when he went rougher on you as a result of your teasing. Father Kento would gather your hair into a tight grip as he not-so-gently rammed his cock past your tonsils and down your throat. 

It was unnatural and ungodly for a person to lack any semblance of a gag reflex such as you. 

In response you pressed your fingers into his thighs– not as a means of resistance, but to control your own lust as you began shamelessly humping your mound against his leg. You were always desperate to feel any small sensation against your cunt while he ravaged your mouth.

Of course, Father Kento would oblige you and in turn he is rewarded with the heavy moans that would vibrate around his cock as his oxford loafer pushed up into your soaked core. Your white lace lingerie did little to contain your juices and as such Father Kento made use of the fluids leaking from your pussy as polish to shine his shoe.

Having sipped the wine from the chalice you peer up at Father Kento as if seeking his approval. 

He gives you a small nod. 

Similar to the one he bestows upon you after his seed has filled your stomach and you lick your lips as if it was his essence and not The Blood of Christ that lingered on them.

In the beginning, he had prayed long and hard to forget those sinful images of you that would intrude unwelcomed into his mind. 

Yet you always had ways of sucking him back in. 

Such as leaving your soiled panties stuffed between his headboard. Father Kento thought he was going mad when even after changing the sheets thrice was he still plagued with your smell.

He should have burned the offensive garment as soon as it was discovered and yet he treated it with reverence as if it were a holy object of salvation. Truly an euphoric experience, on days he couldn’t have you he’d bury his nose into the fabric murmuring blasphemy as he worshiped the very scent of you while jerking his cock.

When Father Kento finally ceased trying to resist you he then had the fleeting thought he could save you. Bring you to God and away from your villainous husband. 

But you were no Mary Magdalene, there was no returning you to the flock.

You will not leave your husband who provides you wealth and security. Father Kento is not so enamored he holds illusions that extend beyond his reality. There is nothing Father Kento owns and nothing he can offer you but himself. 

The singular consolation of the tragic circumstances is that Father Kento is sure you prefer his touch. The touch of a seemingly pious man who only has desires for you.

Unlike your scoundrel of a husband who Father Kento was sure had not remained faithful to your marriage bed. Not the way most of the female townsfolk threw themselves at Satoru Gojo. If he had no qualms using you to achieve his means he certainly had none for himself. 

You were simply a pawn to be played, as was Father Kento.

“Before we depart I leave you with these words: Let every day be a new day to renew the promises of our Baptism: We renounce Satan and all his works and seductions — for sh– *ahem* HE – is the seducer. Now go forth, Brothers and Sisters and remain true in the light of God.”

The closing rites over, Father Kento has never been more relieved nor eager for the conclusion of a mass. Watching the congregation mingle in the entrance, he gives his farewell blessings to the parishioners.

A few still remained however you were nowhere to be seen. 

This was not odd, the Gojos were a busy couple, likely excusing themselves immediately to attend to more important affairs.

Or so he hoped.

“There you are, Father! Riveting service, as always.”

With a devious grin and a firm drawn-out handshake Gojo greets Father Kento. Turning to face the devil himself, Father Kento greets Satoru in turn with a strained smile and an even firmer grip. 

Yet still he is unable to show you any of the wrath you justly deserve and Father Kento’s smile is more genuine when he faces you.  

You regard Father Kento coyly as your husband’s arm tightens around your waist. Your face is flushed and it’s evident you are still weakened from the orgasm your husband gave you earlier in front of the entire congregation. 

That knowledge though is only held by the three of you, God and perhaps the altar boy Yuji.

Father Kento had never known you to be silent when cumming so the exertion of the effort you expended likely weighed heavy on you as displayed by how you are clinging to Gojo to keep from swaying on your feet. 

“Thank you. I am but a humble messenger of The Lord’s wor–.”

“– Wait. Hold that thought!”

Father Kento’s eyebrow twitches as Gojo's attention is momentarily called elsewhere. 

Every Sunday, a growing number of parishioners would seek Satoru Gojo’s greeting and recognition after service over that of their priest Father Kento. 

True to character Gojo makes an obnoxious show of charisma which leaves the last group of parishioners fawning and singing his praises as they exit.

“Forgive me, Father. Where were we? Ah– Of course! Yes, you are quite excellent in your delivery of God’s word, a true testament to your faith!”

His flattery is so obviously false in its sincerity that Father Kento is not surprised when Gojo’s sordid smirk returns. 

“But you are not only a messenger for The Lord… isn’t that right, Father Kento?” 

Father Kento warily clutches onto the large cross dangling from the rosary around his neck as Gojo continues.

“I’ll need you to spread mine as well. Haven’t you heard? I have plans to run for Mayor.”

Mayor.

The diabolical fiend truly knew no limits in his quest for control over the town. 

“I’ll need you to come over to dinner tonight to consult with the rest of my top supporters.”

Father Kento steeled himself.. 

There was nothing he could do to stop Satoru Gojo from being mayor but his infatuation with you aside, he could not walk straight into the lion's den to collude with heathens. 

It would be the final nail in his coffin, Gojo would indeed own his soul.

“Oh! Y/N is prepping a feast too… aren’t you, angel?” 

Gojo’s grip on your waist trails lower to palm the fat of your ass and you clutch on to him tighter as you nod eagerly in agreement, biting your lip as his large hands knead into your cheeks through your wispy dress. 

Your body is ever responsive to Gojo’s touch just like he trained you to be.

“I must refuse. I have duties here to attend, I couldn’t poss–”

“P-Please F-Father…”

And just like that your delicate voice cuts through his iron defenses like it were warm butter.

“…K-Kento, p-please come!”

Your request fumbles out of your lips as a cry as Gojo’s devilish fingers dip past your ass to prod at your cunt.

“You heard her Father. She wants you to come. Break bread with us, you will be among friends. Friends who know how to share, yeah? I’ll even share a piece of her cream pie for dessert.” 

That had been the final straw. Gojo had gone too far this time.

You seeking him out was one matter but he would not allow Satoru Gojo of all people to dangle you in front of him like a master would dangle a treat to a dog.

“Begone, you foul heretic. I will not tolerate your mockery of me, this church nor God any longer.”

Commanding in his tone, Father Kento extends the cross of the rosary forward to Gojo as if he were casting a malevolent curse back down to hell. 

Father Kento doesn’t have the courage to look at you though, he can’t. Not if he wants to take a triumphant stand against Satoru Gojo.

And so Father Kento closes his eyes and silently prays. 

Immediately bored at such a devout display, Gojo sighs rolling his eyes.

“Alright, alright, Father. I get it. Whatever you say, jeez. It’s not like I need your support to become mayor– just thought it would be nice is all. ”

Father Kento remains silent as he listens to both of your footsteps exit the church but not before Gojo stops at the doors, his cheerful voice taking on a dangerous edge.

“Heh, you know, not everyone in this town is as pious as you Father. Sheriff Fushiguro has never been one to turn down a stack of bills but I’m sure tonight he would enjoy sharing in Y/N’s creampie if you don’t.”

Father Kento’s eyes open to flash red with fury.

Having received a satisfactory enough reaction from the priest, Gojo grins wildly as your own eyes widen in shock at your husband’s words. 

Has Gojo only ever used you to manipulate him alone? 

The thought remains as Father Kento doesn’t miss the pleading gaze directed at him from over your shoulder as you are led out of the church.

Goddammit– He couldn’t let you fall into the brutish clutches of Toji Fushiguro. 

Toji may have been the sheriff but he was well-known for his oafish demeanor and greasy womanizing ways. 

NO! He mustn’t think of you any longer. 

Father Kento needs to clear his mind of you for good with prayer.

Prayer and solitude.

Deep prayer and extensive solitude was what he needed if he ever hoped to rise again to gain God’s favor. He needed to call upon The Lord’s strength one last time to remain at the parish tonight and defy Gojo’s will.

Father Kento couldn’t let the pleasures of flesh continue to manipulate the very fibers of his being in such a way. 

The rosary still in his grasp Father Kento raises his hands close in prayer as a final call for God’s mercy… and then it hits him– wafting off his fingers, overwhelming his senses and igniting every nerve in his being. 

The scent of your cunt. 

The lingering perfume of your sinful drippings spilled on your husband’s hand during mass had been transferred to his own when Gojo shook his hand and held it so firmly.

The bastard. 

The rush hits him hard and he feels dizzy as his ears begin to ring. Vertigo overtakes Father Kento as he holds the offending hand out as if he had been poisoned. 

Leaning back against a wall to gather himself, Father Kento realizes once the manic pounding coursing through his veins begins throbbing in his loins that he’s fated for damnation.

This is the moment he’d always dreaded although ironic with the simple acceptance of it he feels no despair. 

Father Kento’s conviction is finally clear as he is left with a singular truth that rang through his entire soul:

Whatever solace he would know, whatever peace he would have in this life, he would only find with his cock buried in the sweet embrace of your cunt. 

✟

©blkkizzat 2024. do not steal works or gfx, do not translate.

✟ the closing rites: (a/n) hell is hot and it's surely my destination after writing this. i tried to leave it a little ambiguous to whether y/n is actually in-love with nanami or just a sex-crazed slut eager to use him at the request of her husband. i don't have a pt.2 planned just fyi as this is meant to be a oneshot. although i do need to write more nanami so i will take requests for him! but fair warning i am very slow i apologize.

also shout out to the amazing art i used for the gfx ✟ art by mishwell

✟ REBLOG to be unburdened of your sins by Father Nanami but likes and comments are also appreciated!

upcoming: the nursery (yakuza!toji), please teach me! (ceo!gojo), request: teasing choso (college au), request: sukuna x blkreader, [none in any order as im at the mercy of my adhd lol]

#♋︎kizzatcooks #♋︎kizzatcookedthat #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader smut #nanami x reader #nanami smut #nanami x reader smut #gojo smut #gojo satoru smut #kento nanami smut #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #nanami kento smut #jjk fanfic #gojo satoru #jjk fanfiction #nanami fanfiction #nanami x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #nanami kento #nanami fanfic #jjk nanami #priest kink #priest au #priest nanami #jjk gojo

[chososdiscordkitten]

Kneel.

Synopsis: pt 2 of this fic ^-^

Pairing: Priest!Nanami x Fem!Reader Content: pwp, not as much church stuff as the last one, lots of flirting, breaking church vows, nanami trying to justify his actions as permissible, lots of pleading to his god, hand stuff, rough (?) sex, cream pie, multiple orgasms

Taglist: @eliuriastwo @ingojo

MDNI

It plagued him. The severe tension ran thick every single Sunday after mass. Where you would sit in his office chair- this look of smugness on your expression with the corner of your lip curled as though you were aware of the torment you were inflicting onto him. 

Insinuating conversations of the carnal sins you would confess to—barely even sins— just thoughts that plagued your mind unwillingly. 

Middle of the third time he saw you- the way your eyes dared to sparkle as you confessed the so called disgusting thoughts to him. His mind started putting the pieces together. 

“Cold showers aren’t working anymore, Father. I had to. I had to rid myself of the hellfire that burned in me.” Your lips bordered on smiling as you watched the Father lower his gaze. 

He didn’t know when, but his index and thumb had started toying with the little fly of his zipper, flipping it up and down—something to keep his hands busy as you spoke. 

“I know that must be a sin, isnt it father?” you placed your hands between your knees, leaning over in the slightest and exposing even more of the crevice of your chest to him. His eyes tried to avoid the tempting ploy. 

Little wired glasses on the bridge of Nanami’s nose as his eyes betrayed him- Unwillingly, they flashed down to your breasts, catching himself and looking back up to your face. 

You raised your eyebrows in the slightest, as though you had caught on to his urge to look. 

Nanami cleared his throat, pulling off the little glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. “The Bible- says it is, yes. Against the sixth commandment-” Looking back to your expression that seemed even more unbothered than before. 

“If it is a sin,” you whispered, pinching your eyebrows in question of the Father’s faith. “Then why does it help?” 

Nanami cleared his throat for what seemed like the hundredth time in those 30 minutes. “God made us sexual creatures,” he mumbled, trying to make it sound as business-like as he could. 

You let out a little giggle- something that sounded like a siren trying to lure him into a trap. “Then god made me too sexual.”

Nanami inhaled- taking a little swipe at his lip with the tip of his dry tongue, parting his lips and averting his gaze. “How…” he inhaled sharply, “How did it feel?” barely legible, but the words deepened your smirk into something crueler.

A sigh of contentment left your lips, “As though I had chipped away at the temptation in the slightest.” you took a deep inhale- the skin of your chest pressing against the edge of your low cut top and daring to spill. 

“It felt so good, Father. Freeing almost.” You continued, seeing Nanami’s blush spread through his cheeks down his neck in the slightest. 

The thought of how freeing it would feel had he acted as callously as you did in your own desires made the Father realize he needed a freezing shower by the time he went home. He couldn’t give in as quickly as you did. 

His hand halted the little flipping movement on his zipper. Gulping in the slightest and leaning back into his chair- “And your prayers… didn’t help?” trying to change the daring topic he had brought on. 

“If I could be honest, father?” you sat up, pushing your shoulders back and lightly tilting your neck. Collarbones exposed to his nervous eyes with that same self-satisfied smile on your painted lips. 

“Please, be honest.” 

“I think my prayers have caused the opposite effect.” 

Nanami nodded softly, thinking up something else to offer you besides the strained words he practically forced himself to say. 

“Maybe a place in the community?” he asks, thinking that if you and he try to debrief these issues, you’ll get nowhere but a very frustrated priest who just wants to ‘help’. 

He inhaled sharply, opening a little drawer in his desk and reaching for a flier, “Next Sunday, we’re having an Easter event for the children- you could find your place in our community.” 

Placing the little flier onto the wood in front of you, your eyes scanning the colorful sheet with a half cocked smile. “Help serve the food, or just stay for a while. You’re welcome to it.” 

And the following Sunday, you showed up bright and early, sitting through Easter Sunday mass. Noticing that, compared to other times, the Father wore a black short-sleeved dress shirt this time. 

He excused it because he knew it would be hot that day and was getting ahead of an issue before it arose. 

“Excuse me for being so indecent today,” he joked in front of the congregation before continuing his sermon. 

But the little flexes of Nanami’s bicep strained against the tight sleeve of the shirt when he grasped the side of the podium. Or how, with every inhale, his plentiful chest would press against the buttons of the black shirt in strain. 

It made that Sunday even more special. His arms were exposed, and how that shirt was at least a size too small for the man. Tempting. It made you wonder if it was you trying to lure in the tortured man or the other way around. 

And when the service ended- a few stolen glances and raised brows at the stumbling of his words before all the church people gathered at the back of the building. A patch of grass and a few tables covered in colorful plastic tablecloths. 

You did as he asked, served the children and the churchgoers food and waited for them to start their hunt for plastic eggs. And your effort didn’t go unnoticed; the Father would look over every now and then to see you happily serving the people of the church. Glad to see you enjoying yourself.

As though his attempt to help you was finally working- maybe all you needed was community and congregation to rid yourself of the shameless confessions you’ve made in his office. 

But you- now standing on one end of the grass patch, derived from any sort of community the Father thought you were participating in. 

Though it didn’t bother you, making friends with bitter church women was neither your task nor the conquest you sought. 

But when your eyes caught the Father excusing himself from a few people of his parish- dashing into the church’s back entrance- you chose to follow. 

Placing the little cup of lemonade onto the table before walking past the doors the Father had dashed past. Following him to the little cracked door of his office, hearing the light shuffling of papers. 

You knocked twice- pushing the door open to see the Father jump at the sudden noise and the sight of you at his doorstep. 

“You haven’t said a word to me, Father.” you thrummed, stepping into his office and closing the door behind you. Be it the general conquest or how delectable he looked in that tight short sleeve, you wanted to push even further this time. 

He let out a little sigh with a smile, “You’ll have to excuse me- today has been very laboring.” his brows furrowed with stern eyes looking for the pages he swore he left at the very top of a stack of paper. 

“Anything I could do to help?” taking on a sweet tone as you stepped closer to him. 

Nanami let out a little laugh, almost in disbelief. “You’ve done more than enough to help today,” he said, his shoulders stiff from your presence standing at his side. 

“I couldn’t ask for more,” he whispered, feeling your eyes pierce through him as he moved the stack of papers- the cotton around his bicep suffering from the flex of his arms. 

Looking down at his hands. Spreading the papers, tantalizing thick fingers with a prominent vein standing proud at the top of his hand. Swallowing lightly at the image in your mind. 

“I want to help, Father. Tell me how I can assist you.” reaching down to the top of his hand and placing yours atop his- halting its movements and causing Nanami to look over at you as though you were deranged. 

Nanami parted his lips- derailing his train of thought entirely from the seemingly innocent touch. “What are you looking for?” you murmured, lightly caressing your thumb against his skin. 

The first thing that popped into his mind was nowhere near priestly or godly. But he gathered his thoughts and mustered the words. 

“The choir-” he inhaled a choked breath, “They need the lyrics for the service on Wednesday,” he whispered, looking at your low eyes with your hand still atop his. 

“Your parish made you leave an event to look for song lyrics?” you teased- as though that was some lame excuse he made up on the spot. 

Nanami let out a little laugh, pulling his hand from beneath yours and going back to looking for the pages again. “I know,” he mumbled, but you weren’t quite done urging you to be there to help. 

You placed your hand over his again, looking at him with all the earnesty you could muster. “You are such a good priest, father.” picking up his hand from the desk and holding it in both of yours. “If you need help-” and there went the corner of your lip curling with sadistic intent. 

“You can ask for it.” you assured, caressing his hand lightly as his lips parted with an inhale, “You can ask me for it.”

His heart was pounding in his chest—the words themselves weren’t filthy. Were they spoken by anyone else, it would’ve been heard as a simple offer.

But the honey soaked in the way you said it- the sparkle in your eye and the tenderness in which you held his hand. Nanami knew you were not offering an innocent way of assisting him. 

Nanami felt it in his gut. It made his mind fuzzy- made him unable to think coherently. 

It made him forget the white collar around his neck, the years he had spent as a priest and at the center of a church, and his vows—and for the first time in a very long time, his mind wasn’t judging the thoughts that raced inside of it. 

You took a step closer to him—just one step and your chest was mere inches from his. His eyes flashed from your half-lidded ones down to your plush lips. You could feel the little tremble in his palm between your hands.

“I-” he started with an exhale, being able to breathe in the sickeningly sweet aroma of your skin. How it whirred in his mind should’ve been a sin in itself. 

You tightened your grip on his hand, whispering a sweet, “Do you need help, Father?” watching his adam’s apple bob past the white collar around his neck and blinks become hazy. 

The hand atop trailed up his forearm with a ghostly touch, feeling the light goosebumps rise beneath your fingertips. 

It wasn’t till he saw your gaze turn dark- that’s when it clicked in the Father’s mind. That’s when the pieces came together. 

You weren’t some lamb in desperate need of guidance; you weren’t innocent of the invading thoughts that the devil tried to tempt you with. 

‘You were put before me as a test.’ was the one clear thought that broke through the mist in his mind as he looked at you. 

And what he feared most—Nanami knew that if you had continued offering your assistance, he would have failed this test put before him by his cruel god.

Only the sound of a harsh knock startled him from the invading thoughts of what he could do to you in that room—or what you would have done to him had nobody interrupted. 

A parish member cracked the door open- “Father, have you found the-” halting their entry as they looked at the sight before them. Furrowing their eyebrows before Nanami cleared his throat- pulling his hand from yours again. 

“I’m afraid I’ve lost them entirely- I’ll reprint them tomorrow morning.” his tone stern and clear as the parish member nodded- unsure of Nanami’s words as you stood there. 

You flashed a small smile at the parish member- “Father, the deaconess is looking for you.” they continued. 

Only you crossed your arms beneath your breasts and rested back onto the edge of the Father’s desk- too smug for what they had just witnessed. 

“Thank you, I’ll be out in a minute.” 

Hesitatingly, the parish member closed the door and left. Leaving you and the Father in a devastatingly thick with tension room. You placed a hand onto his upper bicep- the same bicep that had been tempting you for the entire service. 

“I’m available anytime you need me, Father,” you whispered before you left the troubled man alone in the room. Your touch lingering on his bare skin as he placed his hands flat onto the surface of the desk. 

The very same desk he was picturing you bent over in his mind a mere few seconds ago.  

His hands were clammy against the surface, an ache rowling in his tummy as he closed his eyes and tried shaking away the thoughts of your breasts daring to spill from the low cut neckline of your dress. 

Or how tight the fabric looked pressed against your hips when you walked away from him. 

In the end Nanami was still a man with eyes- not even a priest could control their wandering gaze. 

He wanted to tell you- he needed to say to you that he couldn’t help you anymore. That little arrangement after Sunday mass, where you would lure him in with descriptions of the proclivities taking place late at night, couldn’t happen anymore. 

Nanami was sure that the next time he saw you, he would tell you to get out of his church and find someone better suited to your troubles. 

Yet he sat there again, twiddling his thumbs to avoid the urge to reach for his zipper. 

A week of cold showers were, as you said- they didn’t fucking help. On mornings when Nanami would wake up with urge bursting from his boxers or by just remembering the sweet tinge the air had once you left- the appendage between his legs would twitch in betrayal. 

The realization that you were a test made him even more intrigued, as though it pushed him further into your clutches. He was desperate to know if he would succeed in this test his god put before him. 

And sitting in that chair, hearing you speak of the filth that raged in your mind without shame. 

A feigned chime of disappointment in yourself when you fell back into the temptation again, but this time, Nanami saw it was false. That the slight curl your lips had wasn’t a defense mechanism; you found humor in the trouble inflicted on him. 

As though you could smell the fear in his very soul from the chance of succeeding in enticing him. 

And yet, Nanami still sat there listening. A masochistic churn in his brain had him listen to every temptation. 

“You’ve never felt this way, Father?” you whirred, the amused look in your eyes masked by the fanning of your lashes. “As though you started something you couldn’t stop doing?”

Yes, he did know the feeling. He knew once he met you he wouldn’t have been able to stop seeing you- speaking to you. Even if you were trying to bewitch him, he knew in his mind he wouldn’t be able to stop saying yes to your requests for these sessions. 

“Has it helped?” He murmured, straightening his back and interlocking his hands. 

You let out a little giggle, “If anything- it hasn’t. But I can't stop.” taking a little nibble at your bottom lip, “It makes me crave more.” That was the sentence that made Nanami look at you more dangerously than before- 

Now, Nanami knew you needed more, and you didn’t care to stop the urges. 

Keeping a low tone, “I yearn for more.” you spoke- clearly so he could hear. Nanami gulped, tingles rushing into his cheeks making his brain nervous. “For the warmth of another person.” 

Nanami had to bite his tongue- pretend he heard your thoughts as a church priest and not as a man. 

“I’m sure you’ve never felt this way Father. You’re an extraordinary priest- It must be jarring to hear my inner monologue.” You spoke softly, so sure he would agree.

Nanami inhaled, “Not at all. Life as a priest is very lonely.” he smiled, his mouth dry at the words that dared rumble in his mind. “I’ve found myself craving the warmth of another person before. It’s normal.” 

Except it fucking wasnt- not for a man with as much ressolve as he did. Not once in those ten years of being in the priesthood did he find himself craving warmth to surround and twitch around him as badly as he did now. Especially now. 

And when the time came to walk you out of his office, you stood at his desk. 

He took the place next to you in the very spot he pictured you bent over in before. Standing the very same way you were the last Sunday you were in his office. 

Only this time- there was no chatter outside his window from the event. In that church it was only you and him. 

And as though you knew, you looked into his eyes, testing the space between you, leaning in mere millimeters at a time. 

And the Father, tormented by the choice of stepping back or falling into the temptation you had to offer. Your lips parted as you gazed into Nanami’s eyes, his jittery and nervous pupils trying to figure out if you were getting closer or if he was just crazed enough to picture it.

“Can you help me, Father?” you whispered, raising your hand to his bicep and touching it lightly. 

His lips were agape- inhaling as much air into his dry mouth as he thought of the words to say. The only ones he could process; “How?” 

Your nose no more than an inch from his- you inhaled, a fire burning in your tummy and pooling between your legs at his dissolve. “Touch me.” was all you could whisper before he closed his eyes and pressed his lips to yours.

Warmth. The warmth of a human he had craved for days now pressed against his lips made his shoulders shiver. Raising his hands from his side and placing one as lightly at the side of your neck. The other lacing behind your back and pressing against the little curve above your bottom. 

His lips took a gentle approach- slotting them with care against yours as his hands urged you to rest on the edge of his desk. 

Burning in his loins was an ache- an ache that grew with the haste he made in slipping his tongue past his lips and against yours. Leaving behind any last reservation he had to stop this before it went too far. 

Whispers of groans took form of small whimpers as your hands dragged down his torso and guided his hips to rest between your thighs. Never did he appreciate how good this felt before- the feeling of tongues slathering against each other and being able to taste you on his tongue. 

Never in his days before becoming a priest did he appreciate the feeling of warm plush skin beneath his hands, the hand on the small of your back lowering to the clothed swell of your ass and taking a desperate grip. 

The one on your neck lowering to your chest- cupping his hand on the side of your rib with his thumb curled at the bottom of your breast. 

Nanami knew that he could come undone from just this- no stimulation to the leaking with excitement mess in his black slacks, just his hands full of plentiful skin and his lips busy with feeling the muscle of your tongue swirl against his. 

But your hands roamed down to the buckle of his belt, being able to feel his ache press against your thigh. Nanami pulled his lips from yours begrudgingly- “I can’t-” he breathed, slowing your moving hands and hearing his plea. 

“I can’t.” he closed his eyes and furrowed his eyebrows; only one of your hands reached up to his neck, pulling his head onto your shoulder with your lips at the perfect angle of his ear. 

“You are a good priest,” you whispered, placing a light kiss on his cartilage and continuing your other hand in slowly unbuckling his belt. The tips of your fingers softly grazing the short blonde hair of his undercut. His hands went unmoved from your clothed skin as he fought the mental battle. 

You placed another soft kiss on his warmed ear, “Tell me how long it’s been since you rid yourself of the poison, Father.” you whispered, undoing the button of his slacks slowly as his breath grazed against your collarbone. 

“Far too long.”

You licked your lips at the image of how much seed he’ll spurt- undoing his zipper at an agonizing pace, “Tell me to stop and I will.” you murmured, your breath tickling his ear as your hand rested on his hip. Waiting for his permission. 

Nanami swallowed harshly; his hands had a bruising hold on your skin as you offered what he yearned for on a silver platter. 

“Please,” he whispered, not knowing what he was pleading for.

A little exhale with a giggle grazed Nanami’s ear, “I need to hear you say it.” you whispered, the hand on your button roaming down the side of your thigh and grazing the hem of the skirt you wore. 

“Please touch me.” he whispered- your hand trailed to the band of his briefs, his breathing hitching against your skin with a mean grip formed on your thigh. 

The gasp that left his lips bordered on a whimper as your fingers dipped into his briefs, being able to feel how hard he was immediately. Wasting no time in pulling out his strained desire as he held you closer, bracing for what he had asked for. 

Taking a light hand as you wrapped your fingers around his shaft- heavy and hot in your palm as he inhaled sharply. “You are a good man, Father,” you whispered, starting slow strokes at his crying cock. 

“You deserve to be helped,” 

“To be touched.”

His strained cock threatened to release his mess right then and there- the scent of you filling his nose with the slow strokes of your wrist, added with your assuring words; Nanami swore he was about to. 

But your hand didn’t let him, cutting your strokes short right before you could roll over his cockhead. Opening your mouth and placing your lips onto his neck, lightly lapping at the skin- his groans deepening in response.

Pulling his forehead from your shoulder, pressing his lips onto yours again in urge- Nanami wanted to do as you had asked. He wanted to touch you. But his hands couldn’t focus on anything other than groping at whatever body part he could find. 

His lips moving in unpatterned movements against yours- speeding up the pace of your hand and feeling his groans rumble onto your lips. Your eyes half-lidded and watching the little sheen of sweat form at his blonded hairline. 

Amused at how worked up he was from a few strokes- but your hand isn’t moving fast enough for him. Nanami started bucking his hips into your hand with urge. His balls clenched as he felt the estranged feeling of an orgasm build. 

His nose huffed out strained breaths as his kisses became sloppy, tightening the grip of your hand and watching his brows pinch together. Pulling his lips from you and letting out a drawn out groan. 

Nanami’s hips stuttering as his orgasm rolled over him in hot waves. Oozes of his seed coating your fingers with every thrust he made. And it was so fucking much- it made you regret not hiking your skirt up and taking it inside wether than on your hand.

His breathing was coarse as your wrist assisted in riding him down, kissing softly at your exposed collarbone as his still-hard cock pulsed in your hand. Making you wonder just how backed up he really was. 

As though his hand heard your thoughts, they reached down to the hem of your skirt and started hiking it up. You looked into his eyes—dark and full of want, with a goal shimmering in them. 

Smiling softly, “Father-” you teased, feeling his strong hands grip your bare thighs before roaming back to the little zipper of your top and undoing it slowly, wasting no time in unclasping the band of your bra along with it. 

Pulling back and looking at you- bare and as he had pictured you. 

Nanami didn’t have a thought in his mind- completely mush and with only one goal in mind. Guiding you to lay back on the desk, his hands roaming down to your thighs- being able to see the growing dark spot of your lace panties. 

Your skirt bunched up at your hips as he reached a hand up to his collar. Pulling it off and closing his eyes with a small exhale. Undoing the top button of his black dress shirt and feeling his cock pulse. 

His lips moved in a soft whisper- almost in a prayer. But his hands trailing to the damp center of your lacy panties told you that prayer isn’t working. 

Nanami didn’t pray for the strength to stop- he didn’t want to. He started the prayer of forgiveness knowing that he didn’t want to stop. Some kind of assurance that the sooner he started begging for forgiveness, he would be pardoned. 

A soft gasp left your lips as he traced his middle and index finger up your damp cunt. Looking at the enticing sight with his mouth watering, lightly circling the tips of his fingers onto your perched clit as you hummed. 

His other hand going to his cock- pained and daring to run red from the neglect. You bit your lip softly at the sight, his hair disheveled and an unashamed blush on his cheeks. 

Stopping his prayer and looking at the painting hung on the wall in front of him- a saint looking at him in disgust. He waited a second- as though he was waiting for the voice of his god to come thundering down.

But it didn’t- “Forgive me.” he muttered, placing his fat cock onto your slit. His heavy shaft resting against your clit with a little sigh. 

Bucking his hips with soft grunts as your warmth radiated on the underside of his cock. Frotting his cock against you- another way of justifying his sinning. He wasn’t actually fucking you- so it didnt count right?

But every whimper and moan your lips would make, added with the feeling of his heavy cockhead bumping against your clit made it fucking tempting. As fast as the first orgasm build in his tummy- the second one came even quicker.

And he knew he could hold it- no matter how many thrusts his cock brushed against your cunt with vulgar squelches- Nanami was determined to wait.

But the smile on your lips at the lack of resolve curled into a wicked smile: “Put it inside—please, Kento.” The one time you had said his name—what kind of man was Nanami to deny you such a request?

He pulled his cock from your slick with various strings of your arousal as he angled his tip with your entrance. 

Nanami’s face was troubled, as though he was still hesitating. “Just the tip,” you whispered, smugly knowing he barely had the resolve to hesitate. He would listen to you. 

He gulped with a little grunt, placing his tip at your slick entrance and gasping at the sheer warmth. You hummed lightly when his hips finally pushed in the slightest, pushing past the seal of your cunt with a moan soaked with bliss. 

Unable to remember when he felt such pleasure that made him want to say thank you. 

And as though your cunt was trying to suck him in- his hips didnt stop, “I’m sorry.” he whispered, sinking himself into you and planting a hand onto the wooden desk, allowing himself to lean over on top of you with a drawn out moan. 

You let out a light hiss at the sting of his girth- placing your hands on his back and holding onto him as he stayed still. 

His shoulders trembling and his hips urgent in moving. Even if it was you who was making him go mad- Nanami still had the decency to allow you time to adjust. 

Your breasts pressed against his chest as you waited for his hips to start moving. But he didnt want to, as though having his cock inside of you was still permissable, but the movement of fucking you wouldn’t be. 

“Move-” you hummed, hands braced against the back of his dress shirt with your velvet walls twitching around him- pleading at the Father to give you what you wanted. 

Nanami only let out a shaky breath- “I can’t,” similar to a little sob but laced with a grunt. Your lips pressed against his temple, brushing them against his ear with a smile. 

“Give me what I want.” Whispered and invaded his ear as his grip on the desk turning his knuckles white. “I want this Kento-” you whined, trying to convince him to move- to fuck you like you knew he could. 

“I want you.” 

Nanami groaned at the little clench your walls made around him- “I can feel you trembling-” kissing his ear with a little damp spot left in wake. “Just pull out of me- then push back in.” feeling his hips follow your guidance as though you controlled them.

He whimpered in a breath at the sensation, “Doesn’t that feel good?” you hummed, digging your fingers into his back in the slightest. 

And it did- it felt like heaven on earth for Nanami. And as though he couldn’t control it- he did it again. As slowly as he could, with his tip brushing your gspot on every drag of his cock. And every slow thrust he made- grinding his pelvis against your clit from how deep he was pushing himself in. 

You only whimpered at the slow thrusts- being able to feel the hesitance in the pushes Nanami made. 

One side of him kept the appearance of being kind, making sure to make this about you, whereas the other side of him was yelling at him, pleading with him to speed up- faster and faster. 

Fuck into you as you had been begging him to from the moment you first walked into his church. 

You laced your lips with his again. Had his hands had any more strength, they would have cracked the wood of the desk from how desperately he was gripping. 

Barely able to withstand the sluggish strokes he made- as slow as you had instructed him to. But you pulled your lips from his, want and demand in your eyes as he looked at you- completely broken down and yours in that moment. 

“Fuck me-” you whimpered, watching the urge to make this about you dissipate behind his eyes. 

With one drag of his cock- he jabbed back into you. And again and again- rougher and with intent as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. 

Nanami didn’t even know what words spilled from his lips- laced with grunts and the crude plapping of his heavy, full balls slapping against your ass. Pleads for nothing in particular- ‘Please, please-’ 

Apologies muttered into your ear for having his way with you, ‘I’m sorry- m’sorry.’

“I have to- I have to-” muttered between his grunts as a mantra to keep him sane.

His frustrations with the chaos you caused in his mind aided in drilling into you with mean thrusts- your whimpers full of content and moans littered with one more request of him- “More.”

And he gave you as much as he had- Nanami had given himself up to you entirely and was fucking glad to do it. His tortured mind had metamorphosed into pure bliss, with his body buzzing in sheer excitement for his second orgasm. 

Grunts with one question- “Can I-” barely legible and laced with the sounds of vile squelching coming from where you linked with him. “Inside,” huffed in the same breath as a groan. 

You huffed a happy exhale- glad he wanted to spill himself inside of you. 

“F-fill m-” was all you managed before he took on a rougher pace- pounding into you as though he was made for it. His skin burned beneath the black clothing and pressing his lips onto yours again. Barely able to kiss you- pearly teeth clashing against yours at every turn of his head. 

The joint groan that left you both when he halted his thrusts- burrowed deep inside of you as your walls clenched around him. Shallow pumps were all he gave before searing, thick seed spilled inside of you. 

Shakingly breathing against your lips as he eased down the pinnacle of his second orgasm. Thinking the realization of what he had done would hit him like thunderous fear- but it didn’t. 

In the moment of the afterglow bliss, Nanami didn’t care what happened after this. He knew in his marrow that this was worth it—you were worth it. 

Even if he had failed the test sent down by his god, Nanami knew he would never have found anything or anyone that gave him half as much serenity. 

Not in the years he had spent in the priesthood did he find half as much peace as he did now. Balls deep in the coated walls of your cunt in the office meant for a godly man. 

That’s what peace was to Nanami at that moment. 

-

(a.n) this was very hot to write ^-^

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[tarjapearce]

Heathens (Pt. 1)

Priest! Miguel O'Hara x Nun!Reader

art by @maxro_art on IG (Her Deliverance AU is ❤️❤️🤌🏻)

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. If you're sensitive regarding religion, please don't read this. Masturbation in holy places, explicit language, wet dreams, Female anatomy, oral ( F receiving) Gentle Dom Miguel, Corruption kink, overused tropes cause yeah, a tinge of yandere undertones if you squint, mutual lust, Not Proofread ~

Summary: Father O'Hara had a little lamb ~

A/N: Another for the Miguelverse ~ Reblogs and comments are much appreciated c:

Main Masterlist

From all the places you could've find solace from war, The house of God was the least of lieus in your list. Not that you had a choice.

Family long gone after unsuspected explosions decimated your town, followed by constant tragedies such as losing friends along the way either by enemy and merciless hands or sickness. In the end, it was only you. You had outlived them all despite your short age. And now, they lived crammed up in your memories.

Happy, smiling and very much alive. Sometimes you'd see familiar faces on stranger's bodies. Grief had slowly nested within your soul and when all hope seemed lost, the chapel had saved you from what surely would end up in your premature death.

The blackest of black matched the crispest white you had ever seen, they were all donned in their beatific robes, prayer beads dangling at every gentle step they did. And there it was, epiphany unfolding itself before your experienced in horror eyes. It was your call.

All the answers to your laments and aching heart were sent as them. Nuns of the Mistbourne Parish. A church located in the outskirts of a now rundown by conflict Nueva York. The church that now played a major role in taking in as much people within their sacred walls, before they could be dispatched to a more adequate place.

Without hesitation, you had joined. And now, six years later you still remained with them. Early twenties had settled right for you as a nun. Ever devoted, compassionate, and diligent.

As time went on, the main city was reconstructed, burying it's dark tragedy under freshly built towers, hiding the pain under the rugged carpet full of concrete and wire homes, like nothing ever happened. Like if war had never stepped upon it and gave it a much needed renewal at people's lives expenses.

But no matter how many changes time brought, life in Mistbourne's Parish remained the same. Untouched by the technological advances from the outer world. There was always something to do, as simple as it was. And so far, you've been satisfied with it.

The only alterations worth of mention was your holy family expanding.

A new couple additions to the staff. More sisters, an eighty percent of them were beyond fifty. You were the youngest, their child. After all some ended up raising you within the house.

And him. The new priest.

The tallest and bulkiest man you've ever seen. As much as staring was considered rude and borderline a sin, it was unavoidable to do so, when his rusty brown eyes fell upon you. Their color unique, like he was. Never in your life had you seen someone like him, or another man besides the butcher and the guard. He had definitely been a regular man before coming here.

The soft weary expression lines in his sharp countenance revealed his own fair of lived experiences.

He towered over you, crisp white dot on his black rimmed neck line, parading his status with modest pride, and golden praying beads dangling on his narrow hips, you held yours while asking forgiveness for keep staring.

"Father."

Father O'Hara. In his mid thirties, broken family also torn by war, wearing his vows in the shape of a ring on his right hand.

"Sister"

His voice deep yet gentle, like a lullaby. His steps took him away to his own residence. The rectory outside the church.

It made sense as to how some workers were renovating it in the past few weeks. The parish last priest had been sent off in sacred duties, only to realize later that he had killed a man. Cops and detectives surely made a show out of it.

Dark times, according to Sister Lianne, one of your mother figures. But now, Father O'Hara had taken his place, erasing all traces of the previous man with concise and pithy actions.

He took his role seriously. Said masses on sundays, visited the sick, baptized people; but his most popular feat was to hear the confessions. The most intimate secrets revealed to him by either your fellow sisters or people from the town that came to expiate their sins in hope to be forgiven.

You'd sometimes run into each other, bumping casually in the narrow wooden floored halls, you'd often apologize, only to reciprocate a polite smile on both ends. He'd sometimes help you out by carrying things a bit too heavy, or you'd help him out lighting up the altar for his speech.

Yet, his hands in one occasion took an accidental taste of your body dimensions underneath your beatific robes, while preventing you from falling down the stairs. He'd scold you for being careless and carrying things that obscured your sight.

After many sorries on your behalf, you returned to the cells and went straight to your own dorm, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

His hands felt burning upon remembering the dents of your form, the curve of your waist and certainly the warmth that irradiated from you, so so close from his.

Unexpectedly it had brought memories from his past. His old life where he'd have his lovely and temporary companion for the night impaled deliciously with himself before war and hell broke loose. Before he was forced by the subversives that raided his town to create a new fake identity in the spot as they heard him speak spanish or fight a war he hadn't started, much less would end. And so, his life as Father O'Hara begun.

Odd enough, the sudden and thoughtless choice had granted him peace after witnessing so many terrors his fellow human could be capable of. His need of help has always been stronger than anything and when he finished licencing some sacrifices were required.

Poverty vows weren't an issue since his previous life had been modest yet good enough to go by. Little difference between his current lifestyle.

The obedience vow took him a little longer to fully yield. But he accomplished it to a T, just to avoid more trouble. He faked it until he made it.

His chastity vow had been a quite the challenge to perfect, but no matter how much the temptations paraded before him in the many parishes he was assigned to, he didn't give in. His libido had been sapped out of his body, like a campfire after completing it's useful cycle.

Not because of his brand new sanctity invested by holier-than-thou elders, but rather a broken mind full of grievance and other negatives that always haunted him. The gunshots and bombings too fresh in his mind.

It had been years since he touched someone in a way that wasn't holy. Since he had provoked things in someone else that clearly would make him go under the laicization from the clergy without second guessings.

Until he held you the other day.

Both of your eyes too enraptured in eachother that had sent an igniting spark to his spine. Reviving all those inactive nerves he thought his existencial toll severed long ago. His eyes had gave a brief rake over your face.

Wide and round eyes staring back, both in awe and surprise straight into his soul. Nose flaring softly just like your mouth, whose bottom lip trembled at the little erratic breaths your lungs exhaled upon being in physical contact with a man for the first time in ever, while cheeks bloomed with a not so discreet flush. And your body heat.

Jesus all mighty.

It was dangerously tempting. For a brief moment his past self had taken over, but quickly vanished upon hearing steps. Earning you to fix your crucifix and cowl nervously and him to fist his hands to refrain himself to take another taste and fix his collar and cassock.

To his conclusion, the robes you wore did not match what was underneath. He noted much, but having you wear that loose habit only fuelled his now active and sinful imagination. An opposite from your habits' purpose.

Priest life was hard, and the Celibacy vows were his biggest damnation. Mind often plagued with 'I shouldn't have done this.' 'This is ridiculous' 'Fucking idiot' 'Why did I even lie about this?' But even so, priesthood was better than ending up dead or mutilated by mines somewhere in the battlefield, in the middle of a war he didn't started, much less would end.

Government later was forcibly recruiting all those men, be them widowed or married. It didn't matter. War wasn't for him. Neither Priesthood.

But he'd bear it. He'd bear it until he was put in another parish church full of older and witty ladies he'd definitely wouldn't lust after.

----

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."

The sweet voice behind the confessional punctured walls, perked up his ears. He had memorized a lot of things, your voice included.

"I... I haven't confessed in weeks. But it grows me concerned that... my mind is somewhere else."

Silence. You were met with silence as expected, it also encouraged you to keep talking.

"A man has flooded my thoughts and no matter how much I try to occupy myself, he's there. Leading me to temptation and sin."

A man?

His brow quirked as he slanted over the little wooden division between you, to hear better and take a peek on your face. The only men he could think of was the guard, the butcher and himself. The only men inhabiting the same area as you.

"How does this man tempts you?"

"He... He visits. In my dreams I mean and..."

A low 'forgive me, God' echoed in your stall. His throat dried and his hands rested on each side of his knees, gripping at the fabric of his pants.

"He does things I know I shouldn't partake in... But, it feels too real."

"You sound scared. Does it frightens you?"

"Very much so. But it is a strange sort of fear, Father."

"What kind of fear then?"

It took you a long pause to muster

"A fear of him stopping his visits in my mind."

He gulped.

Your hands took the crucifix and held it tighter, "For him to stop doing such sinful things to me, even in my dreams."

"Have you sinned in the carnal affairs?"

"N-No. I would never. I've never engaged in them, Father."

His groin twitched, as a hand raked over his scalp. A shaky breath that was forced to come out in silence. Only when he thought you couldn't be more innocent, there you were proving him wrong.

"Ever?"

"I promise to you with my life, I've never."

"I must know" He wetted his lips with his tongue, "What kind of things does this man does to you?"

"W-What?"

Your spine straightened up instantly, eyes wild, staring another hole into the already punctured division. Cinnamon color in his skin, the only brief glimpse you managed to see. But even so, his gentle yet cornering voice brought you down from your initial jump.

"I need to know, so I can dictate a penance."

The flush on your cheeks returned, burning bright upon remembering the all too lucid dream you've been having about your secret man. That, even though visited frequently, you still didn't know his face, just his body as it smothered yours wholy in a constant merciless and scorching rut.

All what you remembered was him feasting between your legs like a starved man. His hands maneuvering your soft mounds to then give a gentle squeeze.

"His hands are the ones that bring the sin, Father."

"Explain yourself"

His voice was sultry, buttery rich and smooth on the other side of the stall. A subtle order. To your dismay, that same demon had a similar voice tone. Alluring, speaking to you in a foreign language it had you mewling and asking for forgiveness every time you remembered, cause you had begged the faceless man for more.

"He touches and... t-tastes places I shouldn't allow no man to delve in." With a thick gulp you continued, "His tongue is... marvelous."

His eyes widened for a second as his hand hovered over his crotch

"Marvelous?"

"I feel the biggest sinner by admitting this. Please, do forgive me."

"Accountability is part of the process."

He tried to sound as professional as he could, but little did you know his mind was torturing his already crumbling resolve with such vivid details. Celibacy wasn't a problem, until now. Hearing such sinful words coming from such a unsuspecting thing like yourself, a virgin that is, made his old self to re-emerge.

Disguising himself as a sheep, while he fought through his holy learning years to tame his wolfish appetite.

There were plenty of ewes in the flock , but so far the only one that made his mouth water was you. A perfect little lamb. And now, this. We're you set to making him break his vows?

No. You weren't. He was reaching his limits to break celibacy and you were just having wet dreams about someone that definitely made him wonder about your past life. A past lover? No. Not even that. A possession? A demon? No. Definitely not.

He had heard things whenever on lunch duty. Mindless talk that revealed more to him from others and you than they intended to. You, a nun. Picked up from a ravaged village nearby and raised within  the nuns, meaning, you had zero idea of what pleasure meant.

He believed, but wasn't a complete blinded idiot to faith. Your body was asking for physical and forbidden relief. Just like his.

But again, the golden band around his right hand not only forbid but also was the perpetual reminder of what was a stake.

"I know, Father. But... this man has such power over me that has pushed me to sin. He... he has pushed me to take such vulgar matters in my own hands."

Maker's mercy

His cock twitched harder and he was unable hold back and gave a firm  squeeze while biting his lip to quiet himself at the long forgotten and heady pleasure that was drowning his body in an alarming rate.

As if done of being fed lies and a quick and sloppy handjob for ages. It was disgusting how easy was to sin, how well his body ached and reacted to such stimulus. How effortlessly his old habits had caught up to him.

He was the one that needed a penance now, cause he couldn't shake the image of you spread with your legs wide open, naked, sliding your fingers in between your weeping folds. You'd certainly have your mouth shut or lips bitten to avoid having anyone hear you.

He had closed his eyes while his jaw clenched, occasionally sweeping his tongue over his lips to keep them moist.

"Say it. Say your sin."

He commanded in a voice that had your cheeks flustered and your pearly nub a throb. His hand half squeezed half stroked over his clothed groin. Swollen and needy cock begging to be set free and properly taken care of.

"I..." A dry gulp and your hands went to your crotch, begging your nature to behave. Cheeks impossibly red.

"I've enjoyed touching myself after dreaming a man... f-fucks me, Father."

The word 'fuck' coming out your delicious looking yet pure lips, had his teeth gnawing at the insides of his cheek, self control harder to keep under the leash. It barked, howled even demanded for more explicit details.

Instead, he sighed quietly and cleared his throat. The sudden noise had you gripping the skirt of your habit in shame.

Miguel didn't say much besides the prayer of absolution and a couple of more prayers as your penance. The same right hand that was squeezing his cock was now being kissed by you, to confirm your forgiveness. Plump, warm and soft lips caressed his ring finger.

And once you were gone, his hand took control on its own, slid under his soutane to stroke himself. If you felt like a sinner, he was the devil himself.

The vice like grip in his own cock made him shudder, sensation foreign yet so welcoming after years without it. A little whine escaped past his gaping mouth, exhaling pecaminous breaths as he stroked like teenage boy that just discovered masturbation for the time ever. Sloppy, desperate and wet motions echoed in the now sullied stall.

He fisted his hand tighter, thick fingers coaxing a much needed release, hips rutting into his choking hand. Quiet whimpers and an array of curses flew out his mouth.

His flushed tip swayed and shook under his own rough ministrations while his jaw clenched, he clawed at the chair when hot and thick spurts of his cum dribbled down his hand and wrist before time; pooling in the hollow of his palm while earning a gutural growl that dissolved into a shaky whimper, as he curled against the wooden and punctured wall for a brief lapse of seconds to regain his composure.

"Fuck..." He had to lay against his chair to keep the light-headedness at bay, drowning in his own made pleasure, panting like he had run a marathon for hours.

He shouldn't have lied back ago. And  definitely shouldn't have become a priest. He was soiling their already tainted reputation. His old self was back to stay.

He cleaned up his hand under his robes to then leave to change. He was given a glimpse as you were picking up some harvest in the orchard while he was making his way back home.

---

Window's glasses echoed with the soft rain. The parish has been quiet during weekdays, but busy for you. As winter approaches the harvest must be picked, the grains sorted and the meats stored.

You saw Father O'Hara less and less, and when you did, they were mere glimpses. He was as busy in meetings with other priests, or preparing for the mass that was now given twice a week.

If you weren't in the garden or the laundry, you were in the choir.

Lingering yet brief gazes chased each other. He had heard some nuns speaking about him, some had wonderful things to say, saying that he had been one of the most efficient priests the church has had.

Others mentioned between hushed and bashful whispers about his physical condition and how they caught him go for runs at crack of dawn a couple of times.

And you, just wanted to go to confession again and ask for forgiveness. Not to spill the advantures you had in your dreams with a man that oddly resembled like Father O'Hara, but to unleash your heart's desires to wonder what was beyond the parish.

It was your life, all you've ever known so far. But one of those trips to the city during a beneful visit to another location, had left you amazed. How could a world so different like yours could be considered bad and straying?

But again, vows. Your vows bound you, and once broken, there was no turning back. But right now all that mattered was to get to the dorms. The rest was out in another visit to the city, you were to stay to finish your tasks in the kitchen.

Weather changed so abruptly that one moment you were taking the last basket of vegetables inside, to then run for the dorms to seek refuge. But they were far and the only thing in sight was Father's O'Hara rectory.

It was either getting a terrible fever from the cold and unforgiving rain or ask him to lend you an umbrella to mitigate the glacial numbness spreading through your body. Another reason you barely went out during these days, rains in the countryside were merciless.

Miguel was tending his own garden when the rain begun drenching. Even more when the thunders broke the peaceful white noise. He removed his soutane and shirt off leaving his inner vestments free, but the desperate knock on his door made his undressing ritual to stop.

While quirking an eyebrow, he approached the door and opened it. Eyes widened in surprise upon seeing you, soaked through your bones. lips blue and shivering from the cold.

"P-Please-"

"Jesus. Come in."

He ushered you in, then rushed to get a towel. A frown in his face deepened upon hearing your teeth clatter, clothes stuck to you like a second skin.

"C-Can I... borrow your... u-umbrella?"

Without much though he smoothened the towel against your face, drying it.

"An umbrella? Really?!"

A vehement shake of your head, while trying to get him off you.

"You're freezing cold, the dorms are too far for you to leave. Don't be stubborn."

"I... I don't h-have clothes."

You mumbled through rattling teeth while your eyes darted hazily over his naked torso. He sighed.

"Unbelievable. You're freezing to death and you're worried about clothes. Get them off, I'll put them to dry."

He grumbled while taking more logs into the fire to what would be his living room. If it wasn't for the glacial and biting freeze that refused to leave your body and the foggy thinking in your brain, your cheeks would be beyond red. Crimson even from such simple act.

A weak nod you gave. Your hands stopped bracing your shivering body to focus on removing the cowl and headdress. Releasing through shaky motions your soaked hair that wasted no time to stick on your face and neck.

The next was your crucifix, and praying beads, the tempo you removed them could make a slug to easily win the race, this alarmed him greatly. He had seen what hypothermia did, way before turning himself into this holy persona.

Without much thought, he peeled off your habit that weighed you down.

"Qué mierda más pesada" (Such a heavy shit)

He held you by one arm as he removed the outer layer off. Your eyes drooped and he gave you a little shake.

"Hey, hey, look at me."

Eyes concerned raking over and it dawned on you. Those eyes, the same beautiful and unique eyes were the same that visited in your dreams.

A difficult gulp rolled down your throat as Miguel kept undressing you while grunting. Wet clothes were a pain in his beatific ass. Shivering dicreased, but your lips remained blue, a new shade of purple drawing over them.

"I-It's so cold" You mumbled through laborious breaths.

"Course it's cold. You're soaked! What were you even doing?"

The way he scolded you felt like someone you've known for years was giving you a lecture. So casual, homey, normal. It was Miguel O'Hara speaking, not Father Miguel. The ever gentle and patient man you've been helping.

"Jesús bendito, con cuánta cosa te vistes." (Holy Jesus, so many layers.)

He murmured while pushing you to his chest as he removed the dress that covered your underwear. It felt like a heatless body had been thrown over him, but the warmth irradiating from him felt heavenly. Your form instinctively nuzzled your head on his chest. He had to stop to gulp at the sensations

Even though his mind slapped itself, His couldn't help but wander over your shivering and weak body.

"W-Wait"

A small dark patch hovered above the joint of your legs. Taut peaks followed by lovely areoles ever standing and shivering under the flimsy white fabric of a short nightgown that proved even harder to remove since it clung to you like a second skin, refusing to abandon your body.

He peeled you off of everything despite your protests, but was sufficiently prude to not look over your naked form. A minute too slow and it would be late. Like the young boy in his arms, that had died out of cold once the subversive groups arrived in the forsaken town, they had forced him and the rest to go through a frozen river. He made it, but the boy didn't.

His mind wasn't in the tip of his cock.

That will come later.

But his brain had only one single purpose right now. To keep you alive but for that he needed keep you warm.

Despite the recklessness of his actions, he pulled a freshly folded duvet around  while pulling you ontop of his chest and sat together near the fire. Hands moving to dry your hair as much as he could. Your skin was full of goosebumps, frosty to touch, that relished into any source of heat available. His torso, the duvet and the raging bonfire made your head spin.

It felt like his hands, rubbing some life back into your arms while he shielded your body, embracing your form with his torso and limbs. Like a paramedic on duty. Your cheek smooshed against his solid chest, it made him shudder with your own coldness but eventually the body heat treatment would be effective.

"Sorry" it was all you managed before your teeth shuddered again, and his fingers caressed your neck, placing a new wave of delicious heat on your skin.

"You'll be fine."

Your body was slowly but surely returning to it's temperature. Miguel remained there, basking you within his body, fingers gingerly caressing as much cold skin as he could under the duvet. Even his breath provided a little heat. Your erratic breaths collided against his skin, earning a discreet shudder from him.

You had drifted off to limbo, trying to sleep a bit, but unable to completely do so. Not when a man, the Parish Father nonetheless, was holding and nursing you back to an acceptable temperature with his own.

"Father O'Hara..."

Miguel's ears perked up upon you mentioning his name.

"It's Miguel."

He mumbled while drawing lazy circles on your lower back. The fire and the duvet had kept you toasty to curl even more towards him. Teeth no longer clattering.

"Thank you, Father."

"Stop."

His eyes rolled in annoyance, as his hands stopped caressing your skin to then rub his face.

"Stop calling me that."

"But that's your-"

"I don't like it."

He grumbled while looking down at you.

"Call me Miguel."

"I can't do that. Feels too disrespectful."

"I'm not Father O'Hara here, understood?"

You nodded

"Are you cold?"

"I am. Not as before but yes. Has it stopped raining?"

His own smell was making your mind a puddle, some of that fragrant incense remained etched on him.

"No. Just got worse."

You sighed while resting your head on his chest. Heartbeats a mellow lullaby.

"I'm sorry for all of this."

"You were cold and soaked." He pointed dully and bored.

The duvet was brought closer to your chest while staring at the flames. Fingers tracing a lazy and mindless pattern in his abdomen.

"I was picking up the last batch of harvest when rain poured on me."

Your toes curled in as a soft breeze flickered the fire and he tilted his head to watch you closer.

"Now I'll have to explain why there isn't enough corn."

"We'll go by. It's ok."

"Are my clothes ready yet?"

A snort that  would be translated into an 'Are you kidding me?', your brow furrowed.

"You'd be lucky if they get dry during the night."

Another defeated sigh. But a sudden thought however made your cheeks burn faintly.

"D-Did you see me naked?"

"No."

Oh.

There was a silent pause before you spoke again. Curiosity tempting.

"Have you seen other women naked?"

He huffed playfully while pushing your hair away from your lovely and sweet face.

"Yes. I was a regular man before all of this."

His fingers curled up in his hand, morphing into a lazy fist

"Do you miss it?"

"Would be a liar to say if I don't."

"You... You've had sex before?"

He chuckled while with an open palm, took a taste of your skin, deliberately roaming your lower back. You shuddered.

"I did. Plenty of times."

Your audible gasp made his eyes droop hazily in a smirking grimace.

"I was told it felt marvelous."

You looked up at him and he pulled your chin upwards, he really had to keep his restrain under a leash to not take you here and there, instead, he cupped your face and hovered his lips over yours

"Do you want me to teach you, Sister?"

He was the demon. The very same one that visited in your dreams and left you a soaked mess. A little too late you'd noticed that he wasn't wearing his vow ring. It was placed somewhere else you truly couldn't care less at the moment.

You only nodded.

"Use your words, dear"

"Please", you gulped, "Teach me."

It was in that moment that he sealed your lips with his. Your first kiss ever. Chaste and sweet at the beginning that slowly turned into this obscene display of his mouth assaulting yours with his tongue in between gentle licks and bites of his lips.

A shaky whine then a whimper escaped your throat upon feeling his hands skimming down your spine. He only let you go when you tapped out for air.

"How often am I on your mind, pequeña?"

Finally the demon in your dreams had turned into a reality. Eyes were closed, unable to look at yourself melting under his touch. Nipples perked against his chest.

Plump and hot lips caressed yours but they stopped. Hands pulled you upwards, Miguel turned you around so your back was now colliding with his chest.

"You're still cold."

Cheeks grew impossibly red while he slowly peeled off the duvet out of your body, leaving you bare before him. You gulped as he moved your hair to a side and slowly kissed up and down your neck.

His hands were unable to resist any more and cupped your mounds, like in your dream. Calloused palms, rough against soft breast.

"Qué maravilla. Is this how your dream goes?

Legs smothered together, a little strip of hair etched to your pubic mount. He hummed in appreciation to then part your legs above his. Cunt pulsing at the coolness of air brushing past it.

Both of your legs dangled ontop of his as you remained nested above. Your heart beat at the playful moves his middle and index finger pulled on your nipple as his free hand darted over the joint of your inner thighs. You could feel him trembling underneath, the restrain made his breath hitch.

Your own turned erratic once more as he slid three fingers in between your folds. A shy Ah escaped your lips while he used two of them to part the outer labia

"Look at that, little one. Is that what you touch when thinking of me?"

Drunk eyes darted between your legs and his skillful hand, the engorged and pearly clit peeked out as one of his fingers flickered slowly. Focusing the right amount of pressure in it that had your moans shaky. He paused to adjust his fingers as they caressed and rubbed as much flesh as they could.

Mouth etched to your ear. Deep and needy breaths fanned behind you

"So so pretty. Look at that"

He made a show of his fingers coating themselves in your slick. One of his digits hovered over your entrance, slowly it disappeared inside. A muffled groan echoed in the void space

A wet and shlicking sound came from his ministrations, head unable to move, too enraptured into watching him sliding in and out. Skin bloomed with a new wave of goosebumps as his tongue licked your neck and earlobe, rewarding you for taking one finger deliciously, that he licked up clean before going back to rub at your clit.

"Want to add another?"

A breathless and hissing yes.

You didn't know who was with you right now since Father O'Hara couldn't. Your brain still refused to believe they were the same man. One preached and talked mass every Sunday, the other had your head spinning while his fingers explored your insides with such gentleness it only increased your whimpers and need for something more and bigger within you.

"Does that feel good, Hm?"

A dumb nod while more escaped your mouth repeatedly

"More?"

"Please!"

How could he deny to such petition? Even most when you were gripping him so deliciously and pulsating with every stroke he delivered in, grazing at your sweetest spot.

"Like this?"

He increased the tempo and your breath hitched, hips moving to meet his fingers aiding them to reach deeper and deeper.

Breaths turned into short and shallow pants, blood rushed to your cheeks. One of his digits pushed past between your lips meeting your moist muscle that wasted no time into kissing it. All you could hear was yourself and your weeping pussy that demanded for more.

But they weren't enough. Brain was sent into an override when the climax washed over you. All the pent up need and lust drowned you. Strong pulsations dictated the contractions that trapped and milked Miguel's fingers. Mind split in two in a shattering and core shaking spasm.

Mouth gaped, eyes heady and drunk with blind hot pleasure, body convulsed while an array of mumbles and clumsy curses flew out of your mouth to finally end with a delicious quivering cry.

"It's okay, shh, it's okay, pequeña." He cooed you through it while kissing your neck. Heart pounding in your ears.

It took you a moment to breath properly. How could you have missed this? How could you remain so ignorant to this? Alienated from something you were often told it was dirty and condemning.

He had only touched in the right places and you were melting. But why stopping there? You knew he also wanted you, his hard on pressing over your lower back, begging to set free.

"M-More"

He shook his head with a proud smile

"Can't do that, preciosa"

A capricious whine came through your throat, "Why not?"

"Cause, as much as I'd love to take you until you recite the bible backwards to me, you know what could happen."

"You don't want me, then? Why stopping now?"

"Far from that. And we must be discreet. Wouldn't want you to be whipped by Sister Lianne."

He took your hand and kissed your wrist. While his other limb pulled you closer to him.

"I am the only one that shall leave marks on you, my dear. Is that clear?"

"Yes, but-" He took your chin in a gentle but firm grip.

"Is that clear?"

You nodded with a pout.

"Lay on the bed."

"What? "

"Lay on the bed, so I can taste you."

Miguel could fulfil that fantasy. With Bambi-like steps you pushed yourself up and walked over his bed. Plush surface welcomed your body under a creak.

"Spread them."

Toes curled up for a second before spreading them open. Clit already tingling with a foreign yet needy sensation.

He kneeled before you, like he did every day he worshipped the Lord. But this time it wasn't God, but you. Nose nuzzled over your inner thighs while taking a whiff of your scent. Tantalizing and so alluring for his own senses.

Slow and deliberate kisses were placed above your flesh, the strip of hair that decored your pussy, to finally sink in between soaked folds.

The mewl you gave only made him feast upon you. Hands grope the sheets by instinct as he spreaded you further.

His tongue lapped and curled at your hole, slurping it without refrain and inhibitions. Devouring it like it would be his last meal.

Your dream had felt too vivid, yes, but this was completely different. This was in a whole new different level. His corruption had tainted your soul and it was gladly welcomed into your arms.

Legs twitched and shook while your head was thrown back, chest heaved with shallow breaths, unable to breath properly as his tongue was set into fucking your drooling hole.

The way his tongue fucked, dribbled and guzzled your cunt had you mewling and moaning the filthiest things you didn't think possible you could get out.

Good was an understatement, heavenly was a measly word to compare what you felt like. It was maddening and he gave you no rest.

Have you ascended? No. He just wrapped your supple thighs around his head, preventing you from squirming too much, holding your hips in place as his sloshing and assailant mouth gave you no rest.

You hadn't recovered completely from the other orgasm when a new one had approached. Lurking around your senses.

His name was moaned, over and over and when your hands were done of clinging onto the sheets, you held onto his hair. Silky and smooth chocolate locks slid under your fingers.

Eyes peeked over you, and he had to pause for a moment to squeeze his cock. Aching and weeping for him to let him free and make you his. But that would come later.

That would come much later when he had more leisure time and when he'd get protection. As much as he wanted to wreck your snug cunt, he didn't want you to be whipped and shamed like another nun was when the higher ups found out she was pregnant by an outsider.

"Miguel"

His name on your lips rich and tasty, like him.

Your voice snapped him out of his trance to immediately go for your clit. Plump lips pursed and captured the engorged nub. While his hands pushed your legs up and folded them, giving a complete access to your pulsating pussy.

He slurped and souped while his tongue teased. Wet laps sent jolts through your spine each time he tasted you.

Too much. Too good and too soon, yet he didn't stop. He shook his head like a mad dog subduing it's prey and that move alone had you gushing over his mouth. He quickly gobbled it all down.

You whined, cried and blabbled, even tried to pull his head away but he delivered you a last stroke with his tongue to then lick his lips clean.

"Please"

You mumbled through blown breaths as he watched you with a lust blown glare.

What had he done out of you?

"Greed is a sin, my dear."

What had he created?

"But if you're good enough, the wait will be worth it."

His little lamb was so willing for him, aching to be tainted, corrupted even more. And his task was to banish such whims.

He'd given you a taste of what laid ahead. A promise of a much unholy reward if you followed this path with him. But your resolve had been made the first time you came.

He'd be your first and last. There wasn't any need for another to teach you what he was compliant to demonstrate.

You'd be his to fuck. His to tame and corrupt.

You'd be his.

---

Taglist:

@plumplumpurin

#miguel o'hara #t writes✨ #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #miguel o hara #miguel ohara smut #priest miguel #Miguelverse #spiderman 2099 masterlist #spiderman 2099 smut #priest au #afab reader #Miguel O'Hara x AFAB Reader

[mellowwillowy]

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐁𝐨𝐱

Yan! PriestS × GN! Reader × Yan! Sponsor

Cw: Blackmail (not effective because you were a pervert), NSFW

"Brother Jordan! Brother Stefan!"

There you were, running toward them like a little chick flapping its wings, chirping in joy. You immediately jumped toward Brother Jordan and wrapped your legs around his waist. He caught you and patted your head before giving you a blessing.

"So what brought you here, dear?"

"I missed you two!"

"Oh really? I thought you only missed Jordan."

Brother Stefan smirked as he teased you, his hand went to cup your cheek before giving it a tiny squeeze, earning a playful whine from you.

"I missed Brother Stefan too!"

You got off from Brother Jordan and went to Brother Stefan, giving him a tight hug, "Brother Stefan is my favorite as well!" He only patted your head in response before guiding you to a room.

"Ah ah ah, didn't you say you wanted to pray first, Jordan?"

"Sneaky man, I dare you to do anything to them."

Brother Stefan paid no mind to his words and guided you further into the room before setting you down. He took the key and locked the door from the inside. He was contemplating of either hanging the key on the handle or not before he pulled it and kept it in his pocket.

"Now," he turned to you, hands spread to both sides, "how about we start our 'confession' hm?"

You were sitting on the red plushy couch when he approached you, scooting to your side while his hand felt your face, "I think it's time to forgive those who have sinned, no?"

You decided to act dumb, staring into the distance while questioning him back, "I haven't done anything wrong though?"

Brother Stefan smirked at your refute before scooting himself closer to you, his lip nipped your ear as he whispered, "Of course you did nothing wrong... masturbating while thinking of me isn't as sinful as the thought you had while doing so..." His hand traveled to your thigh, rubbing it up and down, "Did you fun have playing yourself while you thought of the pillow as myself?"

Your face grew redder out of excitement. Sweat dribbled down from your forehead as you squeezed your thighs against each other, feeling your sex growing excited. What was once a teasing nip turned into a bite, his hand cupped your sex.

"What a bad child you are..." He whispered into your ear, "So naughty and needy for me, no?" His lip trailed off from your ear to your jaw, giving it a playful nip before moving on to your neck. Just as he finished kissing your jaw, his lip moved to abuse your neck, littering the skin with hickeys.

"What would people think of you? The child that always visits the Church is actually nothing but a slut..." He mocked as his index finger felt your neck, tapping on the hickeys he made.

"~Nooo... don't wanna them know that~~" You whined as you leaned into his chest, your thighs clasped tightly, squeezing his hand.

"Of course, you don't want to. But, how should I say it..." Brother Stefan took out his phone, a recording of you masturbating while calling out for his name was played on his phone.

"Stefan...! Stefan! Nnghh... I want- YOU...!"

Your eyes went wide as the excitement inside you grew more. You could feel your breathing grew erratic as you watched yourself. Your ass raised up in the air while both of your hands worked themselves to please your needy self. The lube that made your fingers enter your hole easily, the squealching noises were somehow captured in the video.

"So naughty... aren't you? You chanted my name as though it was some sort of prayer unless it actually was?" He teased, his fingers creeping into your underwear while his tongue felt your neck.

Then, just before he could do more to you,

Creak.

"... I should have known you are up to no good, ...Seth."

"Hm? What was that?" Brother Stefan was right in time to disrupt your focus with him kissing your ear.

"Nothing. Now, what do you think you are doing?"

"I don't know. Why not ask our precious doll instead?" He answered nonchalantly as he took off your lower garments.

You looked up to meet Noel's eyes watching your squirming figure. You could see how his Adam's apple bobbed as he cleared his throat.

"Immoral, Stefan, stop what you are doing right now."

"Since when are you as nosy as Jordan?"

Brother Stefan immediately used both of his hands to spread your legs, showing how there was a wet patch in your underwear, "Or perhaps you are sulking because you don't get to feel them?"

Noel didn't retort back immediately, he simply spat at his remark before sitting himself next to you.

"Oh please, I'd rather do it in a much more romantic way." Noel swatted Brother Stefan's hand away before replacing it with his own hand. His hand started feeling your excited sex up and down before he slid your underwear down.

Noel wasn't the type to be this confident, you figured he was not pleased Alas he was rather shameless today.

"Ah, seems like this underwear is no good anymore, especially not when it's been drenched wet." Noel chided you while he tore your underwear. Yup, you were certain he was 100% unpleased. He wasn't the type to be this rough. Brother Stefan's throat clearing snapped you out of your thoughts, "I am sure I did not invite anyone to partake in this confession session?"

"Ah, I'm sure my little doll here wants me to be here as well, the video," Noel pointed toward the phone that was lying next to Brother Stefan, "you didn't show the whole video."

Another video was played, this time from a different angle.

".... uuu... Noel..."

Brother Stefan merely chuckled to himself, not showing any attempt to refute him.

"Then, I suppose sharing this sin would be better. 50-50, fair?"

Noel tsked at his words but showed no sign of refusing it either. Instead, he grabbed your face by your chin and locked his lip with yours, his tongue prodding your lip to let him enter.

Brother Stefan wasted no time in undressing you either, taking off all the clothes that were covering your figure. While your lip was occupied with Noel, his lip started to nip your bare skin, decorating it with hickeys again.

His hand traveled to your chest, pinching your nipple while the other hand squeezed your thigh. Noel had always been a good kisser, always leaving you breathless in a sense.

Just as the two of you broke out of the kiss, the string of saliva that connected the two of you broke. Noel changed his pace and started to lick you from your jaw to your collarbone, his hand working its way to your needy sex.

"... looks like it won't stop dripping out, hm?"

"Ah-?"

Brother Stefan cut you with his tongue feeling your mouth, kissing you even rougher than Noel did. Soon enough, your body jolted as Noel started to pleasure you, eyes squeezed shut while your hands rested on Brother Stefan's shoulders, holding his robe tightly.

You tried to speak Alas it was unclear due to Brother Stefan's relentless kissing. The moment he pulled away, his mouth moved to abuse your nipple, sucking and biting it all together.

Noel's pace increased as he noticed you were about to come, his lip peppered your face with kisses and praises, "So good, so good for me."

"I think you shouldn't forget that I am here as well?" Brother Stefan raised one of his eyebrows as his finger slipped into your mouth, pulling out your tongue with his fingers, "Say, who exactly are you being good for? Me, or Noel?"

You shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut while tears puddled in your eyes due to the pleasure that was bottled up in your stomach, "nyoh- twooh- both!"

""Greedy as usual, aren't you?""

While it looked rather adorable seeing the two of them peck your cheek, it turned erotic the moment you realized you just come.

Your body slumped down on the couch while both Brother Stefan and Noel pulled their wet hand away, each licking the fluid clean.

"..... so they are both here?"

"....-tor Noel is also in there."

"Great! Well, off you go Brother Jordan! I got the spare key to use!"

There were clinking noises before the door handle was spun. Then, a man who looked like a carbon copy of Noel entered. The only difference was that he was only a bit smaller than him, in height and muscle-wise.

"...Erickson?"

"Ohh! So wasted up already doll?"

Noel groaned at the sight of his brother approaching them, "lock the door." He reminded and yet Erickson simply shrugged it away and ran toward you, crouching down to rest his face on your thigh.

"Did you two have fun while I was away?"

"Lot." Brother Stefan answered.

Erickson hummed as he kissed your trembling thigh, his hands feeling your thighs. "I think I'm kinda pent up again," Erickson stood up and unzipped his pants, "think your pretty hole can help me, doll?" He licked his finger before inserting it into your hole, giving it a few pumps before scissoring it into width.

Noel and Brother Stefan stood up and started to take off their pants as Erickson sat himself down on the couch, lifting you to sit on his thigh while his hardened cock poked your hip.

"You know what to do, put it in yourself."

You nodded eagerly and slipped yourself into his lengthy cock. The tip prodded in before he slammed you down completely into his length.

"Nngh-?!"

"Take it like a good little doll you are yeah?" He teased while moving his hip in a circular motion, feeling your walls clenching him. His vein didn't fail to hit that one spot inside of you as well, making you see the stars. Just as you were so drowned in the way he used you as his fleshlight, the two priests poked your cheeks with the tip of their cocks, ""Don't forget about us as well.""

You gave both tips a kiss before both of your hands pumped their shafts, it excited you with the thought of having to suck something that couldn't even fit your mouth, let alone let it abuse the back of your throat.

Brother Stefan pulled your head to his cock without any warning, pushing the tip of his cock into your lip, prodding your lip to open and suck it. And you did so, taking half of his length that made you gag while your hand diligently worked on Noel's cock. Noel didn't say much about it as he rested his hand on the couch, watching your body twitch every now and then. Just as Erickson increased his pace, you started to slack off from your duty with the other 2 priests.

"Ah? That's no good."

That was his only warning before Brother Stefan slammed his cock into the back of your throat. Noel looked like he was about to bark at him again but decided to bite his tongue back.

"You," he slammed, "are not supposed," you tried to breathe whenever he pulled away, "to play favorite," he slammed back, "not when there are 2 people assaulting you on all ends right now." you choked out another gag, spit dribbling down from the corner of your lip.

Something sounded odd but you were too wasted to notice it.

The abuse on your mouth didn't stop until his grip around your hair tightened, his cock stayed still in your mouth before it shot his load into you. You could feel how warm it was, flowing down into your throat like a running tap water. You gagged at the intrusion, causing him to hold you still rather than letting you breathe.

Noel's hand went to stroke your hair, encouraging you silently with his touch as your hand gripped his shaft tightly until Brother Stefan let you go. You coughed out the load that you didn't swallow, catching any air for your abused lunge.

Noel's hand didn't stop patting you, and so was Erickson hammering his cock inside you. You could see the second winner of this race, Erickson. He was just as close as Brother Stefan was, evident by how much his cock was twitching inside you before he cursed under his breath.

"Fuck-!"

And so he came without any warning, painting your insides white with his load as he put you still in his hold. His face was decorated with a blush that was just as red as his hair. Erickson was no doubt, the most vocal one among them 3, shamelessly letting his moan ring the whole room.

When he finished his show, he pulled himself out from you, his cum dripping out from your pulsating hole, feeling empty the moment his cock was pulled out.

Noel frowned again, lifting your face to meet his before he slammed his lip into yours, not minding how pathetic your state was in their eyes. His kiss was passionate and gentle, almost comforting you with the idea of a romantic scene from a movie, except that you were drenched in cum.

Erickson let his brother do so, watching his jaw tighten as his hands held you still on the spot, not allowing you to pull away.

Both audiences were watching the two of you made out, his cock was leaking pre-cum as he was the only one left unsatisfied. The kiss ended and was exchanged with his hands pleasuring you again. The cum was pushed and pulled out as he fingered you, the other hand going in a circular motion on your sex.

Your legs shook in pleasure as he devoted himself to you, wasn't he mad at you?

"You haven't come yet, come on doll, cum for me."

He increased his pace, feeling your insides clenching him while your whole body shuddered. Noel knew exactly what buttons to press to make the knot in your stomach snap. And it was proven by how you came with your nails digging into his arm, mouth babbling his name like it was some kind of mantra.

It smeared his robe but he paid no mind to it. You could have sworn his blush crept once he saw how wasted you are, dumbstruck by pleasure. He pumped his cock as he smooched your face, the tip making contact with your skin out of desperation.

Your hand went to rub his thigh, trying to ease his tensed muscles down only to have it react otherwise. His cock twitched and he increased his pace, hoping to finally be able to snap the knot coiling inside his stomach.

And it snapped the moment you kissed his tip eagerly, giving it kitten lick while mumbling a little thank you.

His body jolted forward with both of his hands resting on your shoulder to hold himself still. He was never the vocal one but you could hear how he grunted. He snapped his eyes toward you and realized how his cum painted your adorable face. He instantly wiped it away with his robe while stuttering out apology.

"And here we thought you were still mad at dolly ~"

"Turns out you are as weak as ever huh?"

"Shut up!"

A bang cut their dispute in half.

"Why is the door locked???? Heyyyy! Open the door for me! Mister Erickson, are you there???" Brother Jordan rang as he slammed his fist onto the door.

Noel immediately regained his composure while motioning the other two with a shush, "We are in the middle of a confession right now."

"Why not do it in the confession box???"

"Cuz it's much more comfortable here" Brother Stefan added while Erickson cackled to himself, "to fuck."

Noel whacked his brother before talking back to Brother Jordan, "Can you get us 3 bottles of holy water as well?"

"3? How about me-"

"I don't think dolly needs it~ dolly has always been pure, no matter what happened, right?" Erickson beamed as his fingers pinched your nipple, earning a choked whine from you.

While the four of you couldn't see what was beyond the door, Brother Jordan was holding the cross of his necklace with a blush creeping on his fair face.

"Understood, father."

He took 4 bottles of holy water in the end.

Afternotes:

POLL (vote for your favorite 🔫, it's free.99!!) CRACK!

Also did anyone notice that Erickson didn't lock the door yet it was locked in the end? It had something to do with Erickson's identity~

#yandere male #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere scenarios #yandere x you #yandere imagines #male yandere #yandere insert #yandere oc #yandere headcanons #yandere works #yandere smut #yandere writing #reader insert #x reader #oc #x gn reader #yandere priest #yandere harem #Erickson the Chosen #Noel the Unbent #Caelus the Henchman

[gurugirl]

Don't Speak

*images are for aesthetic only

priest!harry x subby!reader | soft dom!harry x bratty/sub!reader

Summary: Y/n accidentally says something in front of everyone at prayer group that gets her in trouble with the priest.

A/N: I know it's been so long since I gave y'all any priestrry but I missed him and his pet so I was compelled to write this! Hope you enjoy! And if you're tagged it's bc you are either on my main general taglist or you asked to be tagged in anything for priestrry (even tho it's been so long) just let me know if you want to be removed and I will! xoxo

Word Count: 2,692

Warning: 18+ only, NSFW, religious mentions, smut, sub/dom dynamic, spanking, punishment

Forgive Me, Father masterlist

She hadn’t meant to say it in front of everyone during prayer group. It didn’t have to mean anything if no one read too much into it. She was only responding to a simple question but she said we.

We plan to eat after the meeting.

We, as in the mention of herself and Harry. The two of them doing something together. She hoped they interpreted it as her saying -with someone other than Harry. But she also looked at Harry directly when she said it. Maybe no one saw that.

But Harry certainly did. And the look she received from him was scalding. She knew she was in for it once everyone had gone.

No one followed up to ask who was the other part of this we she spoke of. She wished they would. She could say anyone and make up a little lie. Her brother. Her roommate. Anyone. But no one asked.

And she wasn’t sure if the room felt tense or if it was just her. Because after she said it, she felt like everyone was suddenly looking at her differently. And of course, the way Harry was warning her with his eyes wasn’t helping matters.

So she kept her head down and her mouth closed until the end. And when everyone began to leave, like always, she walked out of the house and to the side to wait until everyone was gone.

And even when the coast was clear she hesitated for a moment. But ultimately going back inside with Harry to face whatever kind of reprimand he was going to give her was better than waiting and wondering about what he might do. Perhaps she could plead her case.

Stepping into the living room she found Harry folding up the metal chairs and placing them tidily in their little wooden cubby behind the couch. He walked across the room without even a glance in her direction and into the kitchen with a glass. Standing still in her spot she could hear the glass being placed in the sink and then his footfalls as he began to walk back to the living room.

“Father, I’m sorry. It just slipped out. I don’t think anyone noticed–“

“Go stand and face the corner. Don’t speak.”

She gulped and gave a quick nod as she scurried toward the corner of the living room and let her limbs fall loose as she waited for the priest to finish what he was doing. She wanted to protest. To tell him it was an accident and to go easy on her but she knew better than to resist.

Minutes stretched on as she listened to Harry cleaning up and moving back and forth from the living room to the kitchen before she heard him approaching behind her and then stopping.

She could feel him standing behind her but he kept silent for a beat or two before she felt his breath at the back of her neck, “Tell me what happens if someone finds out about us, Y/n.”

She inhaled a shaky breath and squeezed her eyes closed, “Well, you could face expulsion from the church. Everything you’ve worked so hard for that you love the most would be gone. Or they’d transfer you and after penance, you’d have to promise to permanently end our relationship.”

The floorboard creaked as Harry stepped in closer and she felt his warm hands at the tops of her arms, “I could lose what I love, yes. But if it came to choosing you or the church do you know what I would do, pet?”

“Father, I would like to believe you’d choose me. But I would understand if you chose the church.”

“Do you doubt how deep my love for you is?”

Y/n opened her eyes and took a deep breath, the plaster of the white wall in her view, “I don’t doubt how deeply you love me. I feel it every moment. But I also know how deep your love is for God and for your vocation.”

“I’m angry that you let it slip out like that so freely in front of everyone. But I know you didn’t do it on purpose. I want you to know that I’ll always choose you. Over everything else. Over my priesthood. Over God. You’re the most important thing I have.

A stray tear escaped her eye as he pressed his chest into her back and suddenly lifted his hands and she felt her red leather collar being placed on her neck as he adjusted the buckle, “Besides, I’ve slipped up too haven’t I? When I thought no one was watching. But you slipped up in front of many sets of eyes and ears. Let’s hope they didn’t notice the way you looked at me when you said it.”

She turned to look back at him to respond but one of his hands gripped the back of her neck, “Face the wall. I’m not done with you yet. As much as I understand it was a mistake, there are consequences for your actions, pet. Take off this dress.”

Biting her lip she silently pulled the fabric over her head and Harry noted she was not wearing panties. He imagined she did that on purpose. She often enjoyed leaving things uncovered in case they were in a situation where he could just take her. But she was cheeky too so maybe it was just to get a rise out of him.

“No panties while we were all sat here praying to our Lord. Fucks sake, Y/n.”

The first strike to her bottom had her wobbling forward, palms on the walls, and bending slightly at the waist. She was used to being spanked and when he did it with his hands it was a treat. She loved his hands on her. No matter how they were touching her.

Another open-palmed swat and then another had her dipping her head and closing her eyes as she braced herself.

She felt his hand smooth up her spine and press down between her shoulders, “Bend down further. Keep your hands on the wall, legs together. Think about what you can do to not make the kind of mistake you made today while I get your paddle.”

A big gulp was pulled down her throat as Harry stepped away. What could she have done differently? Maybe just be on top of her thoughts at all times? Never waver in front of people? She wasn’t sure. How was it possible to not accidentally slip up once in a great while? She had been so good all this time. Never doing anything that would really tip anyone off. The slip-up was bound to happen at some point.

When Harry returned she felt a kind hand rub over her bottom, “You get five on each side and no crying. Once I’ve given you five you’ll tell me what you could have done differently and if you haven’t come up with something you’ll get another five on each side. Understand?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Count for me.”

Every strike to her sensitive bottom had her keening and gasping. She counted each one, five on each side (so ten really and she would have complained but now wasn’t the time).

“Now, tell me. What can you do to make sure that never happens again? How can we avoid it?”

She took a deep breath, still reeling from her stinging bottom and knowing she was about to get five more (ten more) because she hadn’t come up with an idea quite yet.

“Uhh… I just need to think harder and not let myself really look at you… uh… I can keep my mind sharp so I don’t say things I shouldn’t on accident.”

“No. That’s not it. Count for me.”

The next round hurt more. The smooth leather landing against her sore ass had her arching her back away from him and hissing between numbers she pushed from her lungs. Every one biting a little more than before.

But when she got to her final five (ten) she thought of an answer that she felt would suffice and nearly hopped up with a grin, but knowing better she stayed in her position.

“Have you come up with an answer for me?”

“I can just not speak. I’ll say my throat hurts and keep my mouth closed the whole meeting.”

“That will only work once or twice. But every meeting, pet? You can do better than that. Count for me.”

She let her tears slip out of her eyes as she racked her brain for the answer he might want. Every number she counted got lost in her fuzzy brain and the ache from the paddle on her bum started to numb and the shift in how it made her feel manifested in arousal, which the priest did not miss as he could see her pussy with the way she was bent for him; That obvious glisten beginning to seep out from her labia.

“Tell me what you can do to avoid making comments like you did today.”

She inhaled and moaned softly, “I think that I should maybe not come to all the prayer meetings. I can stay in my cage if I’m feeling a little off maybe? Then I won’t have the opportunity to at all. And me not being at all the meetings would be good I think. Because no one is always at every meeting. Probably good for me to sit back for a while.”

The paddle fell to the floor and she felt Harry’s hands gently caressing her bottom, his fingers gliding over the raised skin left behind from the paddle, “You are so smart, pet. See? That’s perfect. Don’t move from your spot. Keep your thighs together.”

She heard the clank of his buckle and smiled to herself. She loved it when he had his way with her. She didn’t even care what he was about to do, she welcomed him wherever and however he wanted.

When his hands returned to her back and gently pressed over her bum she sighed as he leaned over and kissed her shoulder blade, “I love you. I know you didn’t do it on purpose,” she listened as he spoke and could tell he was stroking himself behind her the way his voice was wavering, breathy. “No matter what happens, you’re mine and I’m keeping you, okay?” His voice hitched up just a bit as he scraped his cockhead through her folds. She was tempted to spread her thighs but she resisted since he’d been very clear with her to keep them together.

“Yes, Father,” she breathed as she felt his smooth tip collecting her arousal, gliding up and down through her crease.

“And since you didn’t do it on purpose and I’ve given you 15 spanks as punishment,” 15 on each side, she corrected in her mind, “I’ll let you come but you may not move. I don’t want you spreading your legs to keep steady either. I’ll hold you up if you start to fall.”

The sudden slicing of his wide cock through her delicate pussy entrance had her groaning and dropping her mouth wide open. She was so wet and gushy already. She felt her arousal seep down to the back of her thigh as he began to thrust into her, juices leaking down from her opening.

Harry’s hand landed on the wall next to her head as his other clutched her hip tight, thick crown splitting her in half, and it all felt even tighter inside with her thighs pressed together. But her legs started to sway as he took heavy strokes, hips smacking against her ass. A deep moan vibrated from his chest and the way she was squeezing around him was like heaven. If he had to go to hell for his sins it would be worth it. She was worth everything to him.

When the priest noticed his pet having difficulty keeping steady he pushed into the brim, filling her completely, and gently nudged and nudged deeper into her, rutting in with hips pasted to her ass, “Being so good for me, pet. Keeping your legs together as I asked. Feels so good with you around me…”

She could hear the tightness in his voice. Her priest was enjoying her pussy. His pussy. Everything was his. All of her belonged to him. She kept her palms on the wall as he fucked into her, keeping his body tucked against her, spreading her open completely and fitting right up against her cervix like she needed.

“Want to be good for you, Father. Want to make you happy and give you everything I can. You own every single part of me.”

He groaned and rutted forward making her inhale sharply, “I do own you don’t I pet? That’s why I call you my pet. Because you’re mine and you always will be. Isn’t that right?”

No one would have ever guessed the pair stood together in the corner fucking in the small living room had the kind of secret they did. No one would have ever guessed the man was a priest and the girl on his cock with the red leather choker was his dirty secret. His divine secret. No one would know the kinds of sinful things they did together every day. If they glanced at the marks on her bare bottom they wouldn’t have assumed they were from the hands of a priest.

“Yes! Father, I’ll always be yours. I’m your possession, your property…”

They both panted as Harry’s cock worked its magic inside of her hot cunt. The wetness of her walls surrounding him and coating him was the perfect spot for him to snug into and spill his seed into.

Her lip curled up as she coughed out a loud moan and arched her back, eyes closed and in sheer bliss from her insides being rearranged. She was weak for him and her orgasm couldn’t wait any longer.

“Please! Can I come, Father? Oh my god…”

He could feel her shaking, thighs trembling so hard he had to hold her hips on both sides so she didn’t tip over.

“Aww poor thing. It aches, doesn’t it? Little pet needs to have her release, doesn’t she? Got all stressed out after misspeaking. You can come. Give me your orgasm, Y/n. Let me feel you… want to feel you milking my cock…”

Harry’s own strong thighs were beginning to quiver as his balls began to squeeze up against his body, his release just moments away.

She cried out and tensed as she spasmed and clenched around him, wave after delicious wave of wet orgasm gushing from her until she felt his grip tighten and then his chest brush into her back, his lips on her shoulder, “Come for me, pet. Holy fuck…”

He groaned at how her walls pulsed, beckoning him to come, sucking his cock deep into her tummy with every squeeze until he growled and bit down on her skin, cock pumping and throbbing inside of her.

The priest had considered not letting her come at first. But he was glad he changed his mind because there was nothing better than to have her siphoning his come from his cock as she fluttered around him and her pretty voice whined and begged…

His hot come began to leak out of her pulsing hole as he thrusted in and when he stood back to watch as he pulled out and plunged in again he saw her cream coating him.

Her legs were still wobbly as he pulled out and gently turned her in his arms and pushed his lips to hers. She felt his warm hands on her face and she knew she had nothing to worry about with her priest. He loved her and she knew it without question. Misspeak or not, he wasn’t going to just give up on her because of an accident.

Bumping his nose to hers he whispered against her lips, “I’ll always choose you. Over everything. Don’t ever doubt my love for you, pet.”

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[thebestofoneshots]

No Sweeter Innocence than Our Gentle Sin Pt.1 | Remus Lupin x Reader

Pairing: Priest!Remus x reader

Word Count: 8.6 k

Prompt: You did not want to go to church that day, but your spirits are uplifted when you meet Father Remus, and your mind starts creating a mischievous scheme, to both retaliate over those years of being forced to go and take something from them.

Alternatively, R is really mad at the church and decides to steal one of their priests for it (but also kind of falls for him).

Warnings: SMUT, Non-apt for Christians(?). Reader is a little cynical (or maybe cynical Af). Suggestive talks, touching oneself, fingering. Reader seduces a Priest (so whatever you might expect from that), hierophiIia, corruption!kink, praise!kink (if you squint). Consent is sexy!

 Proofread by lovely @aremuslupinsimp

♡ NSFW: Smut under the cut

ACT I: Remember to keep holy the LORD’s Day

You really didn’t want to go to church. You had one hell of a week and you were incredibly tired so when you got the phone call with your grandma inviting you to go, you were about ready to say no. 

But your grandma has always been extremely catholic, and while you weren’t anymore, you hadn’t seen her in a while, and you missed her. Her being in town for your short vacation was a good enough reason to visit her more often (she was staying with your parents) and if you’d have to live through a whole hour of some boring priest talking about all the things that are wrong with society nowadays, then you would. Even if you didn’t want to. 

That didn’t stop you from being cranky over the fact that you’d have to wake up extra early to take the 40-minute ride to the church she claimed “was the best one in the city,” according to her priest back at home (of course she couldn’t just ask you to the nearest fucking church). 

Breathe, you told yourself. This is for your grandma, you repeated as you sat on the narrow seat of public transport, next to the gym bro that smelled like he could use a shower and whose massive arms would bump into you whenever the bus went through a pothole. 

When you finally reached your spot, you had to wake him up so he would move his massive legs to the side and you could fucking pass through, walking down the bus in the sea of people that for some reason had taken the same one. Once outside you took a deep breath and tried to relax again. You didn’t want to look as pissed as you felt when you finally saw your grandma. At least it was a fucking cloudy day and you wouldn’t have to deal with the sun as you walked the 4 blocks left you had until you arrived at the church. 

Who the fuck would invent a church so goddamn far from everything important? You wondered as you approached. 

Oh, you thought once you saw it. Someone who wanted a lot of space then. 

The church was massive. And while you might have been prone to exaggerate when you were pissed, you were far from exaggerating now. It was almost a small castle, maybe the largest church in the city, certainly the largest one you had seen in your life (not that you had seen a great many but certainly a few). 

On the outside, there were very many intricate details carved, a few gargoyles at the top in a very Notre Dame-esque sort of way. Except while Notre Dame ended in a very square and neat way, the towers of this one extended far above the roof and ended in a pointy, almost menacing sort of way. You had been so absorbed by the intricate details of the tower, that you didn’t realise you were walking straight into someone. 

“Uhh sorry,” you said as you stumbled back, pulling your gaze from the structure and towards the person right in front of you. You were absorbed by him the second your eyes met his: golden brown, almost shining with the way the sun was hitting them. You weren’t sure you had ever seen a more perfect person in your life, they were exactly your–

“I see you’ve met Father Remus!” Your grandma said as she grabbed onto your arm and pulled you back from him a couple more steps. 

Father? He’s married? You wondered until you noticed his clothes, all-black suit, white necktie, she meant Father as in Priest?!?

The man –Remus– smiled, gentle, sweet and caring. “Nice to meet you…” there was silence. It took you a second to realise the man was expecting your name, and you gave it to him, fast and still slightly disoriented. 

“Come on, angel,” your nan said as she pulled you towards the entrance. “We can talk after the mass.” 

“Nice to meet you, Remus,” you said, turning up your most charming smile as you waved goodbye to the man. His eyes seemed to trail on your hand, but your grandma pulled you again, and you were forced to turn around. 

“It’s Father Remus,” your grandma corrected. 

“Right, sorry,” you said, almost carelessly, not carelessly enough for her to notice, though. 

“I’m glad you came, I don’t think any of your cousins made it.”

“Oh, it was nothing, Nan,” you said as you turned around to see if Remus was still around. He was not anymore, you turned back to her. “It’s lovely to be here with you.” 

That wasn’t entirely a lie, you liked spending time with her, she was lovely. But you did not like going to the church, you had long parted with the catholic ideals and you weren’t interested in most of the archaic teachings of the church. Especially the homophobic ones, you thought the closed-mindedness of the church was a terrible thing, and that it stopped many people from being who they truly were, not to mention how it affected a lot of people you knew. It was because of that close-mindedness that some of your friends had to hide themselves from their parents. Because god forbid their children were gay.

Now, not everything about the church was bad, some values were good and important, but at this point in the progressive world, perhaps the bad outweighed the good. And in the end, religions were just a way of controlling the masses, no surprise the church service was called “mass”. 

You could have made a list of everything that was wrong, in a very Lutheran manner, sent it to your grandma and never attended again, but she was old and you knew there was no way she’d understand, especially when she’d been conditioned to think a certain way for far more years than you’d been alive. So instead, you decided to sit through the service with her, and make her happy, rather than be the rebel you sometimes wanted to be.

Ah the service, it was boring until Remus came out. If you thought he’d look handsome in the cassock, you could have been awestruck when you saw him wearing that white alb. Yes, those Sunday school days had taught you enough. He wore a cincture around the waist that matched the alb, and you’d swear you deserve hell when you pictured yourself pulling the entire thing off him in a secret corner of the massive church. In the middle of mass, while the head priest kept talking about things related to Jesus and how he saved someone or whatever, you were thinking of calm and collected Father Remus, losing control and giving in to the lust of the flesh, and all of it for you. 

A small smirk played on your face as you thought of all the things you’d like to do to Remus, of all the sounds you’d have him make. Was it sinful? Perhaps. Did it warrant hell? Most likely. Luckily, you didn’t believe in hell any more than you believed in heaven.

And then it came to you. The idea that would certainly warrant a hell of a lot more than your lewd imaginings. If stealing was a sin, then how sinful would it be to steal something from god? To pilfer one of his men for yourself?

What an ungodly thing to do, so devilish that perhaps you wouldn’t be in hell to be punished but rather to punish. Was it perhaps a revenge for being forced into church for so many years, for having to sit through hours of Sunday School and the indoctrination you had to put up with but somehow managed to see past? Yeah. But at this point, you weren’t sure you cared. Something about Remus had sucked you in like a moth to a flame and you wanted to cling to whatever that was. Otherwise, you might have not be able to go through with your plan. 

It wouldn’t happen all in one day, it couldn’t happen all in one day. It had to be slow, steady, and repetitive, like the snake tempting Eve, like Eve tempting Adam. You hadn’t seen yourself as a sexy woman throughout your life, at least not the kind of Sexy Femme Fatale that men seemed to live and diе for in movies. No, you had never been like that, and you wouldn’t start today. But you would perform the most outrageous and strong act of seduction you had ever thought of and it had to be done perfectly, or you wouldn’t get what you wanted.

What was it that you wanted again? Right, you wanted Remus Lupin.

ACT II: Thou shall not steal 

“When was the last time you confessed?” Your Nan whispered as she leaned onto you, people were already standing for communion. 

You hesitated. “I’m not sure, Nan.” 

She hummed in return, clearly disapproving of your distancing from the church. You were sure she would have called you heathen if you said the truth, it had been years. 

“I could go up and confess now,” you said as you looked at the confessionary in the back, you had seen Remus enter it, but you suspected it was too soon to start with the plan. 

“No darling, repent for your sins and you can confess later. Perhaps after mass.” 

“Or during the week,” you said with a knowing smile. 

“Isn’t it a long way from your apartment?” 

“I’m sure it’ll be worth it anyway.” 

She stood up and took the communion, leaving you sitting on the chair and looking at the way people would walk toward the altar. Judging them, if that made sense. There was a woman who accommodated her breasts back in her seat before standing up, she threw a look at one of the other priests as she took the host. You gave her an approving sort of glance before you turned to someone else. Now you didn’t exactly consider her way of seducing appealing, but then again, yours wouldn’t be much better either. So to each their own. The man behind her had been touching himself in the very back of the church and had stared at her ass throughout the entire line, probably for more material. 

Sinners, the church claiming to be so saint, and it was full of them. 

You weren’t much better than them either, the difference is that you didn’t harbour the same hate towards yourself for it. No, you knew what nature was and you knew that despite how much we humans pretended to be better, we still were all animals. And there are a few things that animals want and need. Love, or the act of love, was one of them. That’s what you’d be using to your favour. 

When your Nan came back, you helped her kneel and do her praying; all the while you attentively looked around. Remus had left the concessionary already and he was at the front with the rest of the priests. He spotted you looking at him and you smiled kindly, innocently at him. The kind of smile someone with the thoughts surging in your head wouldn’t be able to give, and yet, you accomplished it seamlessly.

He gave you a courteous nod and you reciprocated it. The rest of the mass was as boring as you’d expect it to be; except for the fact that Remus was looking at you rather often, either he was curious about their new parishioner, or he was interested. Either way, you were sure you’d be able to use that in your favour. 

When the mass was over, you had to wait for all of them to exit the church first and then you helped your Nan stand and walked with her towards the entrance. Remus was there, giving short blessings and handing out some pamphlets about donations and other similar stuff. Your grandma was the one to pull you towards him. “What a wonderful mass,” she said. “Father Ernest was onto something when he told me to come here while I was in the city.” 

“Thank you,” Remus said bashfully, you could almost see him blush at the praise. What would a real blush look on him? You were dying to know. 

“Wonderful indeed, although I would have liked to hear your interpretation of the verses, Remus,” You said. 

“Father Remus,” your grandma corrected. 

“Oh, it’s fine. If it feels more personal you may call me just Remus, dear one.” 

You tried to hold back the snide smile you would have thrown your Nan had it been any other woman. You could call him Remus. You were a dear one. 

“Right, perhaps another day,” you added with a smile and pulled your grandma to the side so the next person could take the blessing. 

“I preach on Wednesdays,” Remus said, tone borderline desperate, as he raised his head over the people and women piling around him. Clearly, you weren’t the only one to harbour a little crush on Father Remus. It didn’t matter though, because you’d be the one to have him. 

Next Wednesday you didn’t make any plans, and you put on something simple but elegant. A squared-neck shirt and a pair of jeans. When you arrived at the church, you didn’t waste as much time admiring it, instead, you decided to walk straight inside. His mass had started already, and you sneaked in through the side until you reached the third row of seats. There weren’t as many people as you’d expect on a Wednesday, but Remus was preaching like there were hundreds. He was wonderful.

He had a way with words that made you want to listen, perhaps if you weren’t so cynical, it would even convert you. But rather than thinking of his prayer, you were thinking of how incredible he would be as a teacher, you imagined the students, squirming for him and his words in their seats. You imagined the older, more daring girls going after him. You were lucky that wasn’t the situation, the kind of woman that could seduce any man had the benefit of practice that you didn’t. You wouldn’t have stood a chance against them. 

But the kind of woman that went to the church, the kind that flocked to him at the end of mass, they weren’t a threat. They were too pious to try anything even remotely similar to what you had in mind. In fact, you even dared to think you were lucky that he had been a priest and not a teacher because then he would have perhaps been married, and while you were willing to take a man from god, you would never take one from another woman. You had limits. 

After the mass was over, you waited a few minutes before leaving the church “accidentally” bumping into him again. “Remus,” you said with a smile. “We seem to continue bumping into each other,” you added as you leaned closer to him and pressed your cheek to his, making a low smacking sound, and then repeating on the other side. He looked bewildered at the contact. “Oh, I’m sorry, did I make you uncomfortable? I got this habit while I was in France and I still haven’t shaken it off completely.” 

“Oh… No, no,” hesitant, bashful, you loved every bit of it. “Not at all, it’s fine. You can greet me however you like.” 

“Is that privilege reserved to me, or does every other parishioner have it?” He seemed taken aback by your words. “I’m joking, Remus,” you added and placed your hand on his arm, before pulling it back tentatively. “Your mass was wonderful.” 

“Thank you, I’m lucky to work at Saint Gryffin.” 

“The way I see it, Saint Gryffin is lucky to have you. I mean lots of women come here to see the beautiful priest Remus.” 

“You think?” he asked. Remus didn’t exactly consider himself handsome, he thought his scars would scare people away rather than attract them. But he sometimes failed to see past them and didn’t pay attention to his beautiful eyes, to his charming smile, to his long lashes, or to his well-toned frame. It was as if he had been carved by Michael Angelo himself, from your perspective.

“For sure,” you replied. “Take a closer look at the way they look at you on Sunday and you’ll see.” He blushed, a deeper shade of red than your Nan had pulled out of him, you resisted the urge to bite your lip and smiled instead. “Today was lovely, I’ll see you around,” you said before waving goodbye and exiting the church. 

You went again a week later, Remus would sometimes lose his focus on the bible and look at you instead. That day you had chosen a skirt. Nothing too short or indecent, but certainly short enough to allow your legs to be seen and admired. An older man hadn’t stopped staring at you throughout the mass, and you would have perhaps told him off if it hadn’t been for the fact that Remus had been in a similar position.

Remus’ distraction, his hesitance and his constant turning to you were enough to drive your attention away from the man and onto him. You would smile, and you would nod, and you would pretend to be a supportive little lamb. Innocent, and meek and kind. Just what he expected from you. And it was that Wednesday, the third time that you’d met him, that you realised you had him right where you wanted him to be. 

He for sure had a thing for you, be it curiosity, admiration, or a small crush. You had gotten his attention, and you had gotten into his mind. Now all you needed was to have him. 

ACT III: Thou shall not Covet someone else’s property 

The next Wednesday you had been late, you had allowed your hair to be slightly dishevelled and your cheeks were warm, despite the autumn getting colder. You had bitten your lips and you looked like you had just gotten away from a dire situation. You’d done it on purpose. When his gaze fell on you he almost stopped talking completely. He staggered to complete his words and you nodded for him to go on. When he was done, he rushed out, and you stayed in your seat. Eyes closed and hands clasping each other, pretending to pray. 

That’s when you felt a gentle hand on your shoulder, he whispered your name. “Are you okay, Little Lamb?” 

It took a real effort not to laugh at his nickname. Not because you thought it was stupid, but because you were so far from a lamb that you might as well have been the wolf that ate it. You turned to him, fake distress clouding your features, “I’ve done something terrible, Remus.” 

He was kind, almost impossibly so, it almost made you want to stop your plan and leave him the pure man he was. 

Almost.

“I’m sure there’s nothing you could do, that was as bad as you’ve described.” 

“I’d like to confess,” you said. “Would you take my confession?” 

Remus seemed hesitant, biting his lip. He knew he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t hear your confession, not when he wanted to maintain a personal relationship with you, not when he’d develop a crush. But it was in your preoccupied gaze, in the small frown that etched your features, in the way your lips curved down and in the bobbing of your throat as you swallowed. How ever could he deny you? 

Oh, those thoughts would be the ones that would drag him into sin, nay, not drag, but rather, waft him into it. If Remus hadn’t been so enamoured by you, perhaps corrupting him would have proved a harder task to accomplish for you. 

“Okay,” he said simply. And helped you stand. Guiding you towards the empty confessionary and sitting in his spot as you opened the door to the other one. It was a narrow place, enough for you to sit. There was a screen dividing the two of you, you couldn’t see him, but you suspected he could see you. And there was a small, square hole in between, enough to fit perhaps a hand. You assumed it was there in case you’d like to give something to the priest, as a thank you. 

Remus cleared his throat, and in the most professional way he could muster he said, “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen. My child, what brings you to the sacrament of confession today?”

His voice had been different, stronger as if he was trying not to be himself. You loved it. “Father, I come seeking forgiveness for my sins. I have strayed from the path of righteousness and I seek reconciliation,” you let your voice bend and crack near the end. 

 “I am here to listen, my child. Let us begin with a moment of reflection. Take a moment to examine your conscience and bring to mind the sins you wish to confess.” 

You held back the smirk that threatened to appear when he said that, just in case he was actually able to see you. “I have fallen in love with a man I cannot have.” 

“Oh, darling,” he said, that was Remus, not Father Remus. You had cracked through his façade and you hadn’t even started. “That is not a sin. It’s happened to the best of us.” 

“But it is a sin the way I think of him, Father,” you responded. You heard a sharp intake of breath, but he didn’t speak further. “I have dreamt of him, of his lips, of his eyes with long lashes, the way his hair frames his face, of his beautiful and strong hands–” Remus tried not to be jealous of the man you described, but everything about him seemed perfect, and unlike himself, he probably could have you. Your beautiful lips, and eyes, focused solely on him. He hated the guy already. “–sliding between my legs, and touching me.” 

“Do not speak further,” there was an edge of alarm in his voice. A bit of a broken end to it. 

“Oh but Father I must,” you said. “If I don’t I’m afraid I’ll act upon my feelings in the same way I did today while thinking of him.” 

“You…” he hesitated. “You touched yourself… Is that why you’re here?” 

“Yes,” you replied with a frown, almost a wince, all of it an act, of course. 

“Pray Our Father 10 times and–” 

“No! Allow me to relate my story, Father,” he tried to stop you. “I must, I must, or then I might go to him and offer myself in a terrible, ungodly manner and then I won���t ever be deserving of the church ever again.”

Frankly, you didn’t even know how you’d gotten so inspired, but Remus relented, nodding and when he realised you hadn’t heard, he bit his cheek and said. “Go on then.” 

You sighed, that was a real sigh, you weren’t sure you’d get this far. “I had a dream of him, Father. He was handsome as ever, and he looked at me, with such kind eyes, with such loving eyes, that when he leaned in to kiss me, I didn’t stop him.” 

Remus was already praying for himself. He did not want to imagine you in your bed, your hair sprawled over the pillow and your mind away in a dream, kissing another man. 

“I didn’t stop him when he pinned me against the wall, and I didn’t stop him when his hand dug under my shirt. I said nothing when it travelled to my breast, and I all but moaned when he pinched my nipple.” 

“That is enough, I get the idea.” 

“But that’s not the whole dream,” you protested, you sounded mortified. How could he stop your repentance for his own misguided thoughts? A man of God wasn’t supposed to harbour this kind of feelings for a fellow human, he was not meant to like you so much, and his pants were not meant to be as uncomfortable. 

“You don’t have to go onto the details–” 

“But Father, I must repent for all of my sins.” 

Remus sighed, “Go on then.” 

“And then when he reached down, oh Remus, I spread my legs for him rather than shut them close…” you didn’t say a thing. You could hear his breathing had gotten a lot more ragged. “He slid this hand through my knickers and touched me, that place that should only be touched by your husband. And… it felt good. I moaned his name until my voice went hoarse in the dream. I saw him pump himself and woke up as he rubbed his cock onto my folds.” 

There was a sigh of relief when he thought the story was over. “It is good that you repent–” 

“The worst part is yet to come.” You said, and you breathed. “When I awoke, I felt a wetness between my legs. My underwear was moist and the stickiness had rubbed onto my legs. I know I shouldn’t have done it, Remus, but I couldn’t resist the temptation. I wanted to know if it would feel as good as in the dream.” 

“Child.” 

“I reached down and repeated the actions the man had done to me. My fingers weren’t as strong or secure, but I found a spot that felt incredible, and I kept touching it, rubbing it, circling around it.” 

Remus’ boner was straining against his pants in an almost painful way. He wanted to let go, he wanted to set him free and chase his own pleasure at your words. At how he pictured you in your bed, sweaty and sighing as you touched yourself. You were so beautiful, he found innocence even in the way you sinned. 

“And then there was bliss, I thought I was dеad and had gone to heaven, but I came back, vision cloudy and disoriented. My bedsheets were sticky with my juices and I had to change them. I’ve been in a permanent state of shame ever since then.” 

“Let us pray for your forgiveness,” Remus said. And my own, he thought. Now not only your sheets had been stained, but so had his pants, just from hearing you. You would have relished on the knowledge if you’d had it. 

“Thank you, Father,” you said as you stood. 

“Pray tell me child, whoever is this man that has you in such an altered state of mind?” 

Got him! you thought as you turned your gaze to the confessionary. And almost in a whisper, you murmured. “Well, it’s you, Remus.” 

ACT IV:  Thou shall not commit adultery

Remus couldn’t stop thinking of you since that day. He’d get boners with the mere thought of you, with the idea of you going back to his confessionary and telling him all the lewd things you had done while thinking of him again.

He thought of you in the shower, and he thought of you in bed, and he thought of you while praying to try and take his mind away from you as well. He knew he was in deep trouble and he had no one he could talk to about his problem. 

He had avoided touching himself, but it was hard and it was painful to ignore the throbbing sometimes, and he had to give in. Gently brushing his hand on top of his trousers until either it subdued or he came, completely forgetting who he was and thinking only of your hot lips in his and your legs wrapped around his waist as he kissed you in the exact same way he’d had you in your dream. A dream that had now become as much his as it had been yours. 

The next Wednesday he was nervous. Bouncing his leg while he had breakfast and playing with his nails while he read the verse he’d have to give that day. His breath was stuck in his throat as he started to preach and he waited. And waited as he spoke and looked at the door and then back at the bible held between his hands and then back at the door. 

You didn’t go to church that day. 

Naturally, he was mortified. Thinking he had done something wrong, thinking he had scared you and thinking he’d pushed you away somehow. Thinking you were too scared to see him again after those lewd dreams, thinking –God forbid- you had chosen a different church to attend. 

So when the next Wednesday you showed up with a small skirt (the smallest you had ever gone to church with) and a simple preppy-looking sweater he couldn’t help but be both relieved and terrified, all at the same time. You had tinted your lips red, not enough for it to be lipstick, but enough for them to look raw and bitten, and while your hair was perfectly put together, and your makeup right in place, there was something about you that screamed danger. 

You sat right in the very first row. There were like 5 other people in the massive church that day. Someone sitting in the middle. A couple of old people in the back and a few others scattered around. No one young, and no one near the front either. 

Oh, what a terrible thing it was that you were about to do. 

Remus was quick to dismiss his deacons, asking them to go fetch something while he preached mass and they gave him a courteous nod while he started talking. As per usual, you listened attentively, paying close attention to the things he said, and despite yourself, often finding the things that you disagreed with. You realized he could barely take his eyes off you, and you slowly, spread your legs. Only a little, only enough to get his attention. You saw the way he licked his lips, and went back to talking. And you smiled. You pulled your ass back and opened yourself a little wider before crossing one leg over the other. You accommodated your skirt with your hand, slow and steady. Pulling your skirt up to show more skin before pulling it down and settling it in place, but only after he’d noticed, and seen as much of skin as possible, all the while, pretending to be doing it all innocently. Like you hadn’t worn that small skirt on purpose and like you hadn’t taken off your knickers and placed them in your bag in that public loo before walking inside the church. 

When the mass ended, you saw Remus disappear into the confessionary. Onto the confession side. You saw him look around and then get inside, nervous as if scared to be seen. Probably trying to run away from you. When you made sure that there was no one left, you walked inside the other side. He was hunched, elbows leaning on his knees and head hidden between his hands. You thought you had gone too far since he looked like he had been crying, but you quickly realised he had been praying instead. 

Sure, he’d have complicated thoughts, but your plan was meant to be fun for the two of you, and you wanted him to enjoy being corrupted as much as you enjoyed corrupting him. 

“Remus,” you said tentatively. “Are you okay?” 

He gasped and turned to the small division, he couldn’t see you, but you could see him perfectly. “It’s you.” 

Rather than replying you cocked your head to the side. “Take a moment to examine your conscience and bring to mind the sins you wish to confess,” you joked. He gave you a stern look from the other side, a reproaching sort of look as if he wanted to tell you how terrible it was for you to impersonate a Priest, but he didn’t speak. “Or should I speak of mine first?”

“Please don’t.”

“Then sing, little bird.” 

Remus huffed. “I’ve been thinking about a woman, non-stop.” 

“A church woman?” 

“I’m not sure if she really is a church woman anymore.” 

“A devil?” 

“No.” 

You smiled, “Then, what’s so wrong about thinking of her?” 

“I’m no ordinary man. It’s against my beliefs.” 

“To think of a woman is against your beliefs?” 

“To think of her in the way I’ve been thinking of her.” 

“Which is?” 

“As terrible as your dream, my darling.” 

You smirked at that, biting your lip so hard you might have drawn bIood if you hadn’t stopped to say something else. “So you’ve been thinking of kissing me?” 

“Yes.” 

“Of touching me?” 

“Yes,” he said, strained. 

“Of fucking me?” 

Silence.

“Have you thought of the sounds I would make, of the sighs and moans and groans?” 

He closed his eyes, a deep frown etched on his features. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I used your confession to fuel my imaginations, to satisfy my carnal desires to–” 

“That’s okay.” 

“It is not!” he responded, distressed. 

“Remus,” you said simply. “I wanted you to think of me,” you admitted. “I wanted you to think of me while you touched yourself the same way I thought of you while I did it. The same way I’ve been thinking of you while doing it, in fact.” 

His head snapped your way, he seemed mortified, but you could also see one of his hands being brought down, adjusting his pants. 

“Do you want me to tell you how I do it?” 

“No,” he lied. 

“Are you sure? I won’t ask again.” 

He looked to the side, red from shame. He bit his lip. “Tell me.” 

You smiled, “I lay in bed, and then these images come to my mind, I think of you, of your hands. They’re touching me, they’re everywhere. I don’t know where you ended and I start and I love every bit of it. It’s my hands that travel down my thighs but I think of them as yours. It is my fingers that slide in between my folds but I believe they’re yours.” 

“Fucking hell,” he said, his grip on the wooden latch, grip tightening until his knuckles turned white. You peered through the blinds and realised the tent in his pants. 

“Remus,” you said quietly. He turned to the wooden division, gaze strained, eyes filled with guilt, he was looking for you, but he couldn’t see past the squares and the small, shadow of you that got through.  “Touch yourself.” 

It was soft, the way you said it. Soft like a suggestion more than a command, but neither of you doubted it was the latter. And as if it had been a command from God himself, he listened and did what told. He patted himself over his black pants and hissed at the strain he’d been on. It was almost painful, how constricted and trapped his cock had been. 

“Soft,” you said then, watching, resisting your own temptation to dig your hand under your skirt. “Be kind to yourself, Remus, you deserve it.” 

He listened, and continued to rub himself, passing his hand back and forth and allowing it to help with the strain. “Te” –he stuttered– “tell me how you feel.” 

“The inner side of my legs is soft, incredibly so,” you said. “I get chills when I run my hands close to my core.”

 “It’s wet,” you said then. You had dug your hand under your skirt now. “Really wet.” 

He could hear your breaths getting sharper, he assumed you were also touching yourself on the other side and he could barely think properly, barely command his hand to do what it needed to do to help himself. 

“That looks painful,” you said as you saw him continue to rub himself over his trousers. “Take yourself out.” 

“What?” he asked, confused. 

“Touch yourself with your bare hand, Remus.” 

He seemed like he would protest, so you decided to give him some encouragement. You placed your finger between your folds and brushed over your clit, emitting a soft moan, “Please.” 

Just like before, Remus followed your command, unbuttoning his pants and pulling his boxers down enough so he could pull himself out. You smiled. “So beautiful, aren’t you?” you praised from the other side. He was long, thick and standing proud. He was hesitant at first, but he eventually placed his hand around himself. “Fuck,” he whispered. “I’d forgotten how good it feels.” 

Of course, he had been a teenager once, of course, he had touched himself while feeling terrible for doing so and having grown up in a Christian household. 

“Remus?” 

“Yeah?” he asked, as he pumped. Slow and steady, as if he didn’t want to go too fast and show you how easy it was for him to cum at the thought of you. 

“You’re making me insanely wet, I might have ruined your comfy little chair here.” 

“Are you teasing me?” 

“No, I’m being a good little lamb that tells no lies,” you said in response. “Ah… fuck.” 

“What was that?” 

“Just thinking of how incredible your hand would feel if it were doing what mine is?” 

“Which is?” 

“Shhh…” you said. He stopped moving. “You hear that?” you asked. It was a lewd wet sound. “It’s my finger, coming in and out of myself.” 

Remus moaned your name and bit his lips. He came in his hand before he had time to really visualize you. “Ugh,” he said as he looked at the mess he’d made all over his hands, some of it also on his pants. 

You took a handkerchief from your bag and passed it over your legs, collecting some of the sticky stuff between your folds and then you passed it through the small, opened section. Crossing your hand, the one with still glistening fingers over. 

You knew he’d noticed the second his eyes opened wide. “So you clean yourself, I used it for myself too.” He bit his lip and carefully took it from your hands, and cleaned your fingers with it as if he tried to wash his sin by cleaning your equally sinful fingers. But he didn’t bring his cum covered hand even close to it. Let alone his cock. “What? You think it’s gross?” 

“I don’t want to ruin it,” he said as he brought it close to his nose and sniffed, stifling a moan with the fabric. Now you were the speechless one. “Do you have a napkin?” 

You somehow managed to pull a napkin from your bag and handed it over to him through the same place. He used that to clean himself and placed it neatly folded in one of his pockets. 

“Can I keep this?” he asked as he held the handkerchief between two fingers. 

“Yes,” you almost stuttered. You had never seen a man do something as ridiculous –and hot– as what he’d done. 

“Will you disappear again, angel?” 

“Angel?” you asked with a smirk, “I would think you’d see me as something else, a devil, perhaps.” 

“Impossible, a devil wouldn’t be able to show me heaven like you did today.” 

Speecheless, again. This man really could bring you to your knees. “Do you even want to see me again?” 

“More than anything on this earth.” 

“Fine then, I’ll come to confess tomorrow, how does that sound?” 

“I’ll be waiting.” 

ACT V: Thou shall honour your Mother and Father

After the heat of the moment, Remus felt the sudden urge to repent, to throw away the handkerchief and to pray in bed until his knees were raw from how much he’d been kneeling. And he tried, but even as he prayed he knew how pointless it was. The act of repenting, of praying and being forgiven for your sins, only worked if you actually felt regret over what you’d done. 

But Remus was far from feeling remorseful. He had repented a great many things throughout his life. Not trusting his innocent best friend and blaming him for things that had happened, not doing more for the world when he had the chance and smaller, pesky things that most people wouldn’t bat an eyelash about but that he constantly put himself down for. 

But having done what he did on the confessionary, hearing your small moans and the lewd sounds that you’d made for him, telling him what to do and how to do it, that he didn’t regret. On the other hand, he wanted to do it again. You had taken him to heaven and he was eager to see it again. And he did it, repeated the same actions, it was cold and dark and there was no one even close to his room when he pulled that handkerchief out and placed it on his face. Smelling the scent of you while he pulled himself out of his pants and jerked himself for the second time that day. He came with the thought of you at the confessionary and your name muffled by the handkerchief that he refused to move from his mouth. By the end, he was sore and delicate and he felt like he had pushed himself too hard, but he found the most peaceful sleep afterwards. 

When he woke up again, he was still covered in his own cum and he had to wash the sheets of his bed in his sink before anyone noticed what he had done. The shame he felt diluting as the sun rose, and he imagined you coming back to the church. He pictured you in that small skirt you’d worn yesterday, or in the simple dress you’d taken the first time that you went to hear his mass. But he was not expecting to see you walk in the clothes you’d worn. 

A white dress, long enough to reach mid-thigh, and made of soft sheer fabric layered one on top of another. He might have been imagining things but he would have sworn he could see your nipples perk through the thin fabric when you turned to him, a small, innocent smile on your face as you threw him a look and walked inside the confessionary. An angel, you really were an angel. 

“Pretty thing, you’ve come back,” he said as he too walked in, this time taking the side that belonged to him, he loved that he could see you. 

“I promised, Remus.”

“I know, angel. But I’m always scared I’ve dreamed you up, that you’re not real and that I was just imagining you all along.” 

You smirked and pushed your hand through the small hole connecting the two of you, “I’m very real, Remus, you can touch me.” 

He did, he placed his hand on top of yours and you heard a sigh of relief when his thumbs pressed onto your hand. He was careful and kind, passing his fingers over your knuckles and under your palm in a soft, gentle manner that was sending shivers down your spine. This poor man was breaking down for you, and yet he was the gentlest of them all.

“You really are,” he breathed. He didn’t know if he should be happy that you were real, or horrified by the things he’d done for you, of the things he’d do. His faith? He might have been willing to throw it all away for another chance to see you, for another chance to feel your hands, for your lips, your kisses. How could he believe in a God that had given him nothing, when you were here, willing to give him everything? 

“Yesterday I saw it all and you barely got to hear me, I thought of showing you my sins rather than describing them to you today, is that okay, Father?” That last bit was a taunt, in the same way you’d been taunting him since the very beginning.

“Yes,” there was no hesitance, if anything, you would have only described the waver in his voice as excitement. 

You couldn’t hold back the smirk that pulled from your lips, Remus’ breath hitched as you accommodated yourself in the chair. Leaning back and spreading your legs for him, letting the soft fabric of your dress fall in between your tights and slowly show the outline of your legs. 

“When was the last time you saw a woman naked?” 

“In real life? Never.” 

Your head snapped to him, although all you could see was the outline of a shadow through the dark-edged wood, “Never?!? Pictures?” 

“When I was around 15.” He admitted. “My best friend Peter once took a few magazines to school after the break. He said his father had gotten them for him on his 14th birthday and that he told them to take them back before his mother noticed. I barely remember them.” 

“Did you jack off to them?” 

“I stole a page,” he admitted with a bitter laugh. “It was this girl with a forest-green, transparent robe. I took her home with me, my father found it and he was enraged. He called me a monster and drove me straight into church.”

“The priest there took a look at the image, and made me kneel down on the rocky floor and pray for forgiveness. I don’t know if he forgot, or if he did it on purpose, but he said not to stand until he came back and he didn’t come back until 7 hours later.” 

“My god,” you said. Remus didn’t even think of reprimanding you for taking his name in vain. “That must have been awful. Your parents were terrible.” 

Remus shrugged, “It’s what I was used to,” he added when he remembered you couldn’t actually see him, although you could feel his hands tense at the thought. 

“That means, since then… you’ve never even–?” 

“No,” he admitted softly. “I guess it’s easier not to do something when you don’t know how it feels. Although my best friend was always eager to tell me how good it was.” 

“Worry not, you won’t have to use your imagination anymore,” you said as you pulled your hand back into your area and moved it to the thin strap of the dress, slowly sliding it down, he could barely see the valley of your breast, and yet he felt himself start to tense, his cheeks heat and bIood rushing south. 

“You don’t have to–” 

“But I want to,” you said, turning your gaze from your bare shoulder and towards him, he could see the mirth shining in your eyes, he could see the mischievousness and the licentiousness reflected on your pupils. You pulled the other strap down and then moved both of your hands to the fabric at the top of your breasts, pulling it down and letting them in full view. 

Remus breathed sharply when he finally saw them. Of course, he knew what they looked like, the girls in Peter’s magazine had shown him. James had described them, but that was nothing compared to seeing them in real life, it was nothing compared to seeing yours in real life. 

You smiled at the little to no sound he was making from the other side. You leaned your back on the stunningly carved wooden wall of the confessionary and squared your shoulders for him. “They look like this for you,” you said as you slid your hand over one of your nipples. “They turned hard the minute I spotted you at the door.” 

Silence, nothing more than a ragged breath. 

“Cat got your tongue?” You teased. 

“I had never seen a prettier thing in my life,” he said. “Except for your angelic face, that is.” 

You laughed in return, a sweet and soft laugh that he would have done anything to hear again. “You’re good at this for someone who’s never done it.” 

“Good at what?” 

“At making a woman blush.” You said. “But I’m just as good,” you added as you pulled one of your legs up on the small seat, your dress fell over and bunched up covering your core, but Remus barely even cared, he was immersed in the plushness of your thigh, imagining how it would feel wrapped around his waist. 

You heard him swallow thickly. 

“In my dream,”  you started, “In my dream, we weren’t here, we were hiding somewhere in the church.” Your breath had slowed down, one of your hands was playing with your thigh, the other one on your breast. You didn’t usually pay much attention to them, but it was that you knew his eyes were on you, that touching them, knowing how it must have made him feel, was turning you on even more than before. “You were kissing me –ah– you were touching me.” 

Remus was, by now, having to adjust his extremely uncomfortable pants.

“How?” he asked, almost in a whisper. “Show me how I was touching you.” 

You couldn’t even hold back the smile from your face. “You traced your fingers over my thigh,” you placed your hand on your bare knee, and then started to move it downwards, towards yourself. “You were kissing me here,” you added as you leaned your neck to the side for him to see better. And then… you touched me here.” Your hand was already in your core. You moved the ruffles of the dress to the side, allowing him to see, to see all of you. You heard a small gasp, when he noticed you had worn no knickers. 

“You slid your hands on my slit,” you said and followed your own instructions, “Soft and gentle, like you are when you’re preaching. In the same way that you moved your delicate slender fingers over the bible,” you breathed, a little more ragged now. “You slid one of your fingers in between my folds, and looked for my clit. You found it almost instantly, and you rolled your finger over it gently, you loved my whimpers.” 

“I do,” he agreed. “I imagined them while touching myself last night. Those wet little sounds you make when you–” 

“Ah,” you breathed as you dug your fingers inside yourself, your walls tightening around it involuntarily. “Like this?” you asked and smiled, biting your lip before you did it again. You brought the hand on your breast downwards and leaned back a little so you could spread your legs even further. Remus’ mouth watered, he wondered how wrong would it be to taste you?

To bury his head in your legs and lick all of the wetness that coated your fingers, to be so close that the smell of you got everywhere, that he wouldn’t need the handkerchief to feel you close. You continued to touch yourself. Breathing heavily, sighting and moaning softly, he wondered what that would feel if it were directly whispered into his ear. 

You were so lost in yourself for those first few minutes, so wrapped in the feeling that you hadn’t realized the lack of beautiful moans from his side. 

“Remus–” you said breathily, “Why aren’t you touching yourself?” 

“Yesterday at night I– I did it again… a couple of times. I’m, it’s a little painful,” he admitted shamefully, but your eyes shone with lust so intense at his words that he continued talking. “It was your little handkerchief’s fault. I was going to wash it, but I got its scent and it made me feral.”

“Aha?” you asked, as you continued to touch yourself.

“I couldn’t stop thinking of you. Shut my door and laid on my bed with it over my nose.” 

You hummed contentedly, half a moan, half a hum. 

“I was so hard it was ridiculous. I had barely even smelled you. I hadn’t even gone through the images of that wonderful dream of yours.” 

You sighted in bliss, breath ragged as you slid your finger out of yourself and turned to him with a smile. 

“I have an idea,” you said and then let out a breathy laugh.

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[edens-pen]

romans 3:23

summary | nanami kento can't bring himself to pull back because he was fucked from the moment you walked into the church. your little white dress was the noose around his priesthood.

pairing | priest!nanami kento x fem!reader

word count | 3,206

warnings | oh god — blasphemy, sacrilege, sex in a church, oral (f!receiving), pussyjob, masturbation, corruption kink, virgin kink, unprotected sex, cervix fucking, god kink, worship kink, praise, degradation, creampie, slight breeding kink, just the tip, squirting, dub con (ish), minorly ooc kento :(

a/n | this was not beta'd + i have church in the morning. dabbling in some kinktober!! something light for y'all to enjoy &lt;3

[ 18 + | minors, blank, ageless blogs, do not interact! ]

—

nanami kento was a man of the cloth.

of course, the operative word being "was."

he was a man of the cloth until you waltzed into the church with your family. a fresh college graduate, staying with her parents to save money, teaching at the local elementary school.

the first sunday you came in a modest dress, your soft eyes taking in the composure of the church before they landed on him. a demure smile settled on your face and you ducked your head after meeting his eyes.

he was hooked.

it's not like he could help it. your eyes stayed trained on him throughout every service and he loved your attention. he thrived under your watchful gaze, the way you hung off of every word he spoke.

and you weren't a mystery, nanami could read you like a book. he saw the way your thighs clenched in the pew when his voice raised.

it only took a few weeks for you to show up in his office.

the perfect combination of innocent and repentant. the conversation starts sweet, a recollection of your time in college and your abandonment of church.

"i didn't go to church when i went away, i was busy and distracted," you sigh, fiddling with your fingers. "i have maintained my purity in college, but recently, i've been...tempted."

nanami can't explain the relief that floods him when he hears that you're a virgin, and the excitement that hits him when you start to open up.

"i've been having impure thoughts and they've been getting worse every week, i try to ignore them, but last night, i couldn't." your voice is a shaky whine, afraid of the consequences. "i touched myself."

your confession has nanami's eyes nearly rolling back. he bites the inside of his cheek thinking about you with your hands between your legs, rocking against your fingers. he thinks about how slick your thighs would be, how easily you would give in and come for him. he knows you're pent up, you've spent your life in restriction.

it's that moment of silence that has you filling the gap again.

"it was only that one time father, and i've never done it before then, and i haven't done it since!"

nanami refrains from smiling, only nodding at your words. he leans forward, clasping his hands on the desk.

"i'd like you to come to me the next time you're experiencing your impure thoughts, i believe i can help."

you graciously accept and nanami only bids you a good evening.

he doesn't expect to see you again so soon, or for you to be sitting in his office on a friday night, the edge of your skirt between your fingers, tears in your eyes.

"i'm so sorry father nanami, i tried not to think about it!" you're crying now and nanami is so thankful he's behind his desk because the sight of your tears is getting him so hard.

he gives you a little smile before he asks, "what did you think about?"

this is when you freeze, body tight and in panic. you stutter out a few words, but nanami cuts you off. "it's okay, all have sinned and fall short of the glory of god, confess and i can help you."

with his reassurance, you open your mouth and confess.

"i have these thoughts all the time," you bow your head and swallow harshly as you continue. "it's wrong but i think about him having sex with him."

"it's best to talk about our sins," nanami takes a slow breath before rising from his chair. "to relieve ourselves from concealment. who is this person you're having these thoughts about?"

at his words, your eyes meet his again. "i can't—"

"do you believe that you can hide from god? they are not hidden from my face, nor is their sin concealed from my eyes."

his tone is stern and it makes you nervous to see the hard line of his frown.

"it's you."

nanami clenches his teeth at your pitiful, little whisper. the shame sits hot in your face and he can't help but drink it in.

he can't bring himself to pull back because he was fucked from the moment you walked into the church. your little white dress was the noose around his priesthood.

the only thing he can do now is drag you down with him.

that night, nanami consoles your fears and worries, he tells you the real work will start after sunday morning service. he promises you that there is nothing to worry about, there is no sin that can't be washed clean by god's love.

—

so sunday evening, you tell your parents you're doing intensive study with nanami and they are overjoyed to hear it.

in fact, they encourage you to stay as long as you can.

so nanami takes his time with you. he walks you through scriptures and teachings and prayers and at the end he even gives you a technique to keep you from truly sinning.

"what people don't know is that masturbation is a sin," nanami explains, taking your hands in his. "only if you climax."

your eyebrows furrow and nanami continues, "it's not a sin if you don't finish."

he demonstrates by having you sit on top of his desk, skirt hiked up around your waist, panties hanging off your ankle.

nanami's kneeling in front of you, eyes shut. he's just breathing you in and he wasn't surprised to see that your thighs are glistening. you've just spent the last hour skirting his touches and listening to the rumble of his voice.

he pets lightly at your folds, as you lean back, propped up on your elbows. spreading you open, nanami groans to himself at your slick hole, begging for him to touch you. his fingers trace lightly over your cunt before tapping at your clit.

of course you're sensitive. his light touches have you trembling and shaking, already crying out his name.

"is this what you thought of when you touched yourself," nanami speaks, his breath right over your mound. his eyes flicker up to meet yours, hooded and desperate. "me between your legs, playing with this filthy mess?"

you nod pathetically and nanami continues. there's no rhyme or reason to the way he's touching you. he's greedily spreading your mess around your thighs and flicking at your clit while you cry above him.

"please, please nanami, it feels so good."

he responds by sealing his mouth over you, teasing his tongue against your clit.

his finger starts slipping inside your cunt, stretching you out. nanami relishes in how tight you are, knowing that your little fingers weren't enough to open you up for him. with little effort, nanami's grazing spots inside of you that you didn't even know existed.

your mess is sliding down his wrist, but he doesn't stop. he keeps going until you're whining his name again, desperate and pleading.

"oh god, please, i can't!" your fingers find purchase in his hair, keeping his mouth over your pussy. "let me cum! just this once, please, i'll be good. i need you."

tears are welling up in your eyes, but nanami knows this isn't what you need right now. he feels your cunt tightening around his fingers as your voice goes up in shrill cries.

"you want to cum?"

"yes, so bad! please let me cum!"

it only worsens when he pulls away, leaving you empty.

the tendrils of your upcoming orgasm slip away and your tears fall even faster.

your watery eyes find nanami who's sitting back, smiling teasingly at you.

"see? you did so good."

you don't believe him, not until nanami has kneeling in front of him as performs similar acts on himself.

his cock is hard and weeping against his fist. he insisted on using the slick from your denied orgasm to smooth the movements of his hand. the wet sounds of his pleasure fill the office.

"you make me feel so good, you're so damn pretty," nanami grunts. you're inches away from his dick, and he can feel the puffs of your breath against the tip. your eyes are trailing the motions of his hand, the flex of his stomach, and the tension in his thighs.

his languid pace speeds up to something rough and fast, it's taking everything in nanami not to come on your face, not to spew every disgusting thought in his mind.

all in due time.

so he settles for making you think he's just like you. when he feels the knot of pleasure about to unwind, he grabs the base of dick and squeezing until your name sounds like a curse on his lips.

"god, baby, see?" he's out breath, but it's okay when he sees the light smile on your lips. "it's okay if you don't come."

—

nanami honestly doesn't know when he got so fucked. he thought he had control of this. he believed he had control of his actions, but you've taken root in his brain, and he had to know that edging you and himself wasn't going to be enough.

it only takes a few more sessions for nanami to convince you to do more. that it's okay, as long as you come with nanami in the room to oversee it. and it's okay as long as you come on his fingers, or in his mouth.

now, nanami has you grinding on his lap, using your cute little cunt to give him a pussyjob. your panties are stuffed in his pocket and his pants are around his ankles. his dick is harder than its ever been in his life, the tip is leaking between your pussy lips, throbbing and red.

"don't worry," nanami groans into your neck. "it's fine as long as i'm not inside you."

nanami feels like he might even believe it himself, because he knows it must be heaven inside your pussy. and to deprive himself of it right now must make him a saint.

the way you're whining in his ear and clutching his shoulder has nanami strongly considering otherwise.

"this feels so good, you're so big nanami!"

and while he doesn't need his ego stroked, he knows your words are genuine. he can tell from the way you're crying it out in disbelief. he needs to hear the way you'll sound when he's sinking his cock inside you, fucking against that sweet spot he touches his fingers.

"'nami, 's good, oh my—" you cut yourself off with a broken moan, and nanami can tell you're getting close with the way your slick pours out, covering his cock.

he's learned that you cum the hardest when he's pinching your nipples and talking you through it. so with one hand nanami guides your hips, keeping you moving in his lap, and with the other he's playing with your chest.

all the while nanami's speaking praises into your ear.

"you're such a pretty little angel, you listen so well," nanami kisses your neck, careful not to leave a mark above your collar. "always so perfect for me."

and his words have you soaring, crying out his name as you clutch his shirt.

but this is still not enough.

your pretty eyes filled with tears and the sound of his name on your lips isn't enough anymore.

it should be alarming that it's taken nanami such a short period of time to be so infatuated with you, but he can't bring himself to care.

not when you look at him like he hung the stars in the sky,

like he gave the sun it's light,

like he's god.

it's love and it's power and nanami cannot let this go. your body is singing the devil's song and he's echoing the words.

so in the same breath, he's teasing the tip of his cock at your entrance, whispering reassurance as he does.

"promise it'll be just the tip, angel, just need to feel you like this."

he doesn't try to assuage you with promises of heaven and a sinless life. he knows that won't work. nanami thinks you might love him more than you love your religion.

he hopes he's right.

so you're giving in, making him promise "just the tip." and nanami nods half-heartedly, already pussydrunk imagining the way you're going to swallow him up.

"too big, 'nami, 's too big!"

but it's just the tip and it's got his eyes fluttering at the feeling of your sucking him.

he lets you settle around him before he tilts your head up to look at him again. placing kisses under your jaw, he tries to distract himself from the inviting warmth of your heat, but the feeling of his lips on your neck has you squirming in his lap.

"i can—oh god—i can take more, right? you'll give me more?" you whine in his ear, desperate and pleading, like it's nanami's fault he's not touching your cervix right now.

in truth nanami was trying to control the situation, swearing to himself that he wouldn't ruin you in one night.

but he's a weak man with simple desires and being inside you is a pleasure he can no longer deny himself.

so nanami takes your hips in his hands and keeps you right on his tip. then he takes his time sinking you down, ignoring your cries and whines of it being too much. he knows you can take it.

it takes him too long to get your hips all the way down, his balls pressed against your ass. by the time he's seated completely inside you, sweat has collected in the valley between your breasts and nanami has left marks along your neck.

"doin' so good for me, so wet and tight," nanami grunts in your ear. his praise sinks right in your stomach and he knows it.

nanami tries to take it slow because this is your first time, he barely even got to prep you, but once he starts thrusting, the sound of your voice knocks him out entirely.

"oh—oh my god!" your nails are raking down his back as you cry out, "kento!"

the sound of his first falling off your lips has nanami's rhythm stuttering. he doesn't know why it floors him, but he knows he's not going as slow as he was when he first started.

in the back of his mind, he know he should not be drilling you like this. nanami should have you laid out on his bed, softly easing his way into your cunt, probably with a condom on, after having wrung multiple orgasms from your body. he should continue praising you, reminding how good you're doing for him.

instead he's got you bouncing totally naked in his lap, his pants down around his ankles, with his hand clutching the base of your throat. tears are falling down your cheeks and nanami can't stop himself from licking them up with fervor. and all he can think of is how filthy you are for letting him fuck you in a church, and that's all that comes out of his mouth.

"so fucking slutty for me, baby," nanami groans, thrusting up harder. "letting me in this cunt so easily? have you been saving it for me?"

"yeah, all for you, just for you," you swear. "god, it's only yours!"

nanami nods, kissing your lips sloppily, "just for me? your tight, wet pussy was waiting for my fucking cock?"

"kento—"

"this body's supposed to be the temple of god, you know that? i've taken an oath, bound myself to God, spent hours of my life in prayer and solitude," nanami rambles, flicking your nipples as he speaks. "then you walk in with this sweet, virgin cunt and i've never wanted anything more."

with every thrust, nanami's rolling against your spot, fucking you into the shape of his cock. and he's in your ear telling you that he owns you now, that every inch of your body belongs to him, entirely. so you keep agreeing with him, nodding and promising that nobody else will touch you like this.

he's got his hands all over your body, playing with your chest, groping your ass, and then gripping your throat tightly.

in the silence that comes from you being choked, nanami chuckles a little.

"hear that?"

and you know what he's talking about immediately. the sounds of him fucking you, the squelching sounds of your arousal loud and echoing in his office.

"it's how bad your little pussy wanted me. how bad she wanted to fuck her priest. came to my church to fuck things up, hm?" nanami slows down, grinding you on his lap while he taunts you. "wore that white dress and wanted me to lose my religion. knew i couldn't resist this hot fucking body sitting in my pew."

you're trying to disagree but with nanami's cock pressed against cervix, but you can't even uncross your eyes.

"fucking answer me."

nodding, you mindlessly agree, "yes, you're right! kento—my god—i'm so close, please don't stop."

and the way you keep mixing his name with cries for God is making nanami's head spin. he's starting to think you're doing it on purpose.

"yeah? beg me some more," nanami smiles, nipping at your neck again. "i like hearing you."

you bite back the petulant whine rising up in your throat and choose to be obedient. "kento, please let me cum—want it so bad, please!"

this time nanami obliges you, twisting your nipples between his fingers, urging you to cum for him.

"be my nasty fucking girl and cum on my cock, sinful little slut."

your nails dig harshly into his shoulder as you toss your head back in heavenly ecstasy.

"oh my—fuck!"

the curse falling from your lips is followed by the collection of tension in your body. your cunt tightens around nanami's cock as you freeze on nanami's lap. he keeps fucking you through it, his cock pounding into your cunt while you gush and squirt around him.

"can you cum inside me, kento? please?" you're begging again, even more for his cum than for your own orgasm. "i want it so bad, want you to fill me up, okay? you'll do it right, kento? you'll give me your cum?"

and what choice does nanami have? he has to empty his balls inside you.

"gonna dump my fucking cum in your cunt," nanami growls.

that's all the warning you get before he's fulfilling his promise, giving you everything he's got. his groans and curses fill your ears while his hips stutter, painting your insides white.

nanami sighs in contentment, rubbing his hands up and down your back as his cock softens inside you. he feels you relax in his lap, tiredness overtaking your limbs.

the evidence of your sin leaks down to nanami's balls.

you lean your forehead against his, stars still in your eyes. even after the depraved acts nanami's performed on you in the last couple of weeks, you still think he's created heaven and earth.

"thank you so much kento, you're so good to me," you whisper and it sounds like a prayer.

in nanami's ears, it sounds like worship.

—

#nanami kento x reader #nanami kento smut #nanami kento x reader smut #nanami kento x you #jjk smut #jjk x reader #this was so freeing to write #i need to write more of this omfg #priest nanami satisfies something in me #he might've been a little ooc #— eden writes jjk

[bunny584]

For I Have Sinned

“Let no one say when he is tempted, ‘I am being tempted by God’ For God cannot be tempted by evil.” James 1:13.

But Father Geto can be. 

Newly appointed Chaplain of the Noble Court, Suguru is a reformed sinner. Sanctity, discipline and celibacy are commandments of his choosing. A devout servant of the Lord. Armored with the Breastplate of Righteousness, the Shield of Faith. 

This should be sufficient enough to withstand temptation. 

Right? 

Pairing: Geto x Female reader 

C/W: Religious themes, dark romance, eventual filth. 18+. MDNI. 

A/N: Holy hell. Anon, you sick, twisted genius. You, the puppeteer. Me, the puppet who writes. This one — this story might be the one. Frothing at the mouth to know what you guys think. Going on AO3 for sure. I haven’t decided if I will keep this long fic series here, but since it was an anon ask its only right to honor them with the first chapter. 

Art credit: @ potchi_jpg on X

Music: Garden Kisses x Giveon (this was on a manic repeat for at least an hour. It wrote the chapter. I implore you to listen and levitate like I did).

CHAPTER I. Hello, Duchess.

Andesite. Dacite. Schist. 

Gorgeous. 

Suguru takes a mental note of the rock formations whizzing by just before he spears the Aegean Sea. Tailwind force trailing his feet in an elegant whirl.

Eh, mediocre landing. He’s out of practice. 

It’s true. Seminary did not allow for too much idle time in between biblical studies. Devil’s playground, and such. 

And it’s not in his nature to half-ass any life endeavor, whatever it may be. 

Suguru deftly levels out in the welcoming waves. Loose-limbed and fluid. Choosing to hover below her surface for a few moments longer. The tail end of his thick, singular French braid undulating behind him.

His body flows in tandem with the current. Swimming deep enough to scatter a pool of Fagri. He instinctively captures one in his large hand — not quite as out-of-touch as he thought. 

‘Make it to shore! If Poseidon calls, don’t answer Him, son!’

The gentle fisherman called out each time Suguru dove off their vessel. Still two or three, sometimes up to five miles from the coast, he’d plunge into the waters. Regardless of her mood, Suguru craved to be surrounded by her embrace. 

To be baptized by her tide. 

Showered with her salt of the earth. 

A dampened smile blooms across Suguru’s terse lips. Oxygen bubbles float about, from the muffled chuckle escaping him. 

His father’s voice rings between his ears. A little less clearly, nowadays. 

He always dove deeper than his fellow seafarers. Without the restraints of gear or protective equipment. Unnaturally comfortable in an element more labile than human nature. 

Suguru’s father mused about his Stormborn boy’s true lineage. 

‘Everyday, I prayed for you. Begged for you. And the God of the Ocean delivered a precious gift. Don’t return to His storms too soon.’

Fond memories, a little yellowed now. Callouses from those days have faded. 

Suguru is a different man. Born again. In a new country. With a new home, a new purpose. 

Even still, it’s comforting to know the world is 70% water, 30% land. And the Great Majority has always welcomed him with open arms.

No matter the iteration of his life, he’ll always find a home at Sea.

“Father Geto!”

What? 

Suguru begins his ascent. He is still by the cliff edge. Not nearly far enough for the Sirens to beckon. 

“Chaplain! Are you out there?”

Not even the saltwater penetrates his ears like this melody. 

An ethereal crescendo. With all the grace and beauty of a summer swan. Light enough to lull stoic men to a peaceful, permanent, slumber. 

More alluring. More disorienting than the songs at sea he’s heard and resisted. Potent enough to drown a warship. 

Who is calling for him?

Suguru chases the lethal sound. Careful pauses at each depth-level. To avoid returning to Poseidon’s storms too soon, as his father would say. 

“Father Geto!” 

Ahh, a voice he recognizes. His alter boy, Noel, at the peak.

Helios is kind, today. Because the Sun kisses Suguru as he breaks the surface. If the Ocean is his home, the Sun is certainly his lover. 

“What is it, Noel?” He calls in between strides to the volcanic edge.

“You have a visitor!” A tremble to Noel’s tone. Suguru cant help the low chuckle that leaves him.

Adolescents are always so anxious. Nervous about the most inconsequential, meaningless things. He was once the same. 

Who could be visiting? His schedule is supposed to be cleared today. 

Suguru laments leaving his clothing at the peak of the cliffside. Tossing a glance over his left shoulder - memories of his past life tattooed in various symbols. His back, covered in a sprawling trident. 

A permanent stain from the life he lived before this. It’s unbecoming of a priest to be seen this way. 

Latching onto the unforgiving rocky edges, Suguru scales the steep terrain in long steps and short holds. Serrated earth digs into his damp palms with each grasp.

He savors the pain. It’s familiar. An indication that he’s spent some time in the only other place he finds unfettered peace. 

“Noel, my schedule was cleared. Who could be—“

“Pardon my intrusion, Father Geto.” You seep into Suguru’s sentence, effectively answering his question. 

Music. 

Suguru nearly falls backward off the ledge he just set foot on.

Rumors about your beauty pollenated the compound for weeks. Anxiously anticipating your arrival. Hushed voices between maidens. Whispers within the walls of parlors. Bellowing gossip between court officials. 

All the words, all the speculations roll around Suguru’s skull. Louder than glass shattering in an empty room. 

They were wrong. 

Liars. 

Not even a tenth of the truth can be found in the frivolous ‘she’s a beauty’, ‘what a pretty face’ and comments of the like taking root in the compound. 

No, no. 

You were sculpted by every single Deity Suguru has ever studied.  

Because the One he has chosen to worship couldn’t have possibly crafted you alone. 

The good Lord is simply without the means.

Suguru will have to repent for that blasphemous thought later. 

…but God granted him eyesight, no? 

Eyes that can see underwater with the same clarity as a cloudless day. He trusts his eyes more than any part of his body. 

And they aren’t deceiving him. 

Flushed and turned away, Suguru takes a moment to soak you in, while patting himself dry. Maybe taking a little extra time to step into his khaki slacks and white button up. 

His wind pipe threatens to spasm with each sip of you he takes. 

Exquisite woman. 

You could convert a non believer in an instant. 

The gentle slope of your nose, those warmed soft, high cheeks deserve to be cherished in a museum. 

That dress. 

The tailor must’ve sewn it to your body in real time. Rolling hills and dips of your feminine curves. So quick to surrender to the ride your frame is taking him on. 

Suguru could fall to his knees and praise the Gods right here and now for their attention to detail. 

“Duchess? I’m embarrassed. Forgive my attire, I wasn’t expecting visitors today.”

Still damp but fully clothed, Suguru walks forward with a steady hand outstretched. Intentionally skipping eye contact with Noel, who would’ve interpreted the glance as anger. The boy is practically vibrating in his periphery. 

Concerned about possibly making a mistake, sure. But if Suguru were still a betting man, he’d bet your presence is driving Noel’s rattled nerves. 

“I’m the one who should be asking for forgiveness!” Unveiling your face to him with a gorgeous smile, you offer a delicate hand that drowns in his. 

Well.

To call it just a gorgeous smile makes him no better than the rumor mill and its grave underestimation. 

The air around him is sliced to a fraction of what it was. Suddenly gossamer thin and inadequate. 

You are breathtaking. 

“Please.” A deceptively even tone and casual wave of his hand. You wouldn’t know that words taste like sandpaper. 

“How can I serve you, Duchess?” 

“You do not have to address me as such, Father. I’m not wed, yet!”

Bunny lines along your nose deepen when you laugh. Heat scorches Suguru’s ears and you both are presently under shade. 

Do. Not. Covet.

“It’s all the same.” With a restrained smile, Suguru peels his eyes away from yours. 

Resting them on his rectory in the distance. He gestures his hands forward. Noel scrambles ahead of you two, undoubtedly to go tidy the chapel (that is already spotless). 

“You’re quite the swimmer.” 

You could assassinate him, you know. 

With that voice of yours. The way it stuns his senses. Far more dangerous now that it isn’t dampened by unrelenting waves. 

Suguru is a strong swimmer. He knows it. Noel knows it. The whole court knows it. Great Whites know it. 

So why is his spine unraveling at its seams when you say it? 

Why is his heart knocking against his sternum like it’s on the run from something? 

From someone, rather. 

“Mmm.” Suguru hums through closed lips. 

Unable to acknowledge the compliment with decorum. He opts for diversion instead. 

“Duchess, if I may. What prompted your visit to the chapel? How can I serve you?” 

The two of you take lazy strides along the cobblestone path. You ogle at a white rose bush that Suguru is particularly fond of. 

“I was touring the compound and noticed the garden surrounding the Church.” 

A distracted response, while nestling your nose in a pretty bloom. Sun rays fanning your face as if to showcase that you’re God’s favorite. A biblical example of how flowers should be enjoyed.

Is it just the roses? Or are you this beautiful no matter the plant?  

“Ahh. Come, then.” 

You’re being indulgent, Suguru. 

Maybe so. But the Chapel Grounds are his domain. The greenery lives and breathes under his fingertips. He adamantly refused a groundskeeper for the garden. Taking pride in nurturing its needy existence. 

Second only to his eyes, Suguru trusts his hands fully. They’re intelligent. Fast. Expansive. 

Definitive. Firm when the situation calls for it, yet gentle. Quick to learn. 

Attentive. 

He’s never gotten a shortage of compliments on his hands—

“Wisteria!” You torpedo through Suguru’s rapidly disintegrating spiral. And he couldn’t be more grateful. 

Regaining a shred of control, he leads you under the oak archway. Draped in curtains of Wisteria. The billowing lilac petals sway romantically in the sea breeze. 

Your lips hang open in a pretty, shocked ‘Oh.’ Eyes wide, gazing up at him in wonder. Adoration woven into those beautiful features slams hot and heavy into his lower abdomen. Remnant embers warming below his belt line. 

Suguru coughs to reset his over-sensitive senses. A futile gesture because you knock him right back down to his knees. 

“Oh, Father…..please?” A soft plea rolls through the slit in your lips. Pulling his eyes down to your pout.

Fuck. 

The rock formation Suguru took note of earlier suddenly materializes in his throat. You coated his honorific in a new tone. Breathy and desperate. As if he is the only person who could satisfy your needs. 

His skin is half a degree away from melting clear off his skeleton under those big, warm eyes of yours. 

“Specify your request, Duchess.”

Both hands jam into his pockets so he can dig his nails into his thighs unnoticed. The searing pain tethering him to this dimension. 

A deep rose blooms over your cheeks. Realizing you hadn’t actually asked him a question before begging. 

So, prettily. 

“May I please tend to your garden? It’s…I’m far from home and gardening brings me so much joy. Please, Father Geto—“

“Yes.” 

His agreement comes well before Suguru is ready. Or, thought it through. 

Should a noble woman be seen doing tasks as menial as gardening? 

Should you be seen without your fiancée on his grounds? 

What will you look like? 

Kneeling over a bed of sunflowers? 

Kneading the soil with your delicate, small hands—

“How can I thank you?” Your lips curl into an intoxicating smile. And Suguru no longer has the capacity to be in your presence. 

“No need, stay as long as you like. I have to take my leave.”

Suguru offers a curt wave and terse smile before spinning on his heel. Leaving you, a work of art, beneath the masterpiece that is his arc of wisteria. 

He barrels down the Chapel corridors at light speed. The pews, confessional, meeting rooms whirl by his periphery in a drunken haze.

Cold water. Cold water. 

The wooden bathroom door creaks and wails beneath his harsh touch. Suguru fumbles with the two-level lock.

He nearly strips down naked. The fire incinerating him from within is unbearable. If there were scissors within grasp he would’ve cut his braid completely off. Because even the familiar sway of his waist length mane along his back is too much. 

You are too much.

Suguru’s fingers unravel his braid and reposition his locks into a tight bun. Off the damp skin along his neck. 

‘Father….please?’

Your voice echoes from Suguru’s incapacitated brain down to his drooling cock. Icy water splashes against face. 

Suguru’s length has been weeping since you first revealed your face to him. Twitching and thrashing with every single word that came out of that pretty, sinful mouth. He’s never been so grateful that today he chose to swim with compression gear, rather than his usual bared skin. 

Are you doing this on purpose?

Wide eyed and demure. But with a voice more beautiful than any siren that has tried to lure him to his watery grave. 

Is this a test?

Suguru’s fingers desperately grasp the golden cross around his neck. Digging the symbol into his palm. 

“Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners…” He starts. Ignited, smoldering violet eyes staring back at him are unrecognizable. 

They are not of God. 

They are dark. 

Lust filled. 

“Now. And…and at the hour of our death.” Words slip through his gritted teeth. His other hand grips the sink edge. 

‘May I please tend to your Garden?’

“God. Please.” Suguru is the one pleading. To anyone above.

For self-control. For reprieve from the shape of your lips when you beg. His cock bucks against his inner thigh. Demanding attention to the ache between his legs. 

Are you Eve? 

Have you come to destroy his Eden?

Your delectable mounds barely hidden beneath that fucking dress as the Apple?

“Holy…Holy Mary, Mother of God…pray for us sinners.” His vice grip around the cross tightens. Babbling words he hopes can provide him with some restraint, some clarity.

They don’t.

Because his other hand now hovers over the pulsating bulge in his slacks. His manhood starved. Especially having been deprived of touch. Of warmth for longer than Suguru remembers.

“Holy…Mary…fuck.” Blasphemy rolling off his tongue. 

Scorching heat radiating from his hovering palm pierces his clothing. Encasing his cock like a warmed blanket. Enticing him like the soft sex of a woman. Every single muscle is under wire tension. Forcing space between his need and his hand. 

His hands. Don’t forsake him now. He trusts his hands. 

“Father Geto? Are you alright?” Noel’s call from the other side of the door startles Suguru still.

“I’m—“ Suguru clears his dry throat “I’m alright, Noel. What do you need?”

“I saw you run in here and—“

“I’m okay.” Suguru replies, more softly this time. The boy is almost too tender-hearted for his own good.

He doesn’t miss the small sigh of relief. 

“I left your updated schedule on your desk.” 

“And what would I do without you?”

Suguru can almost hear Noel smiling across the barrier. Gleefully padding away. Completely unaware that his presence was the saving grace from disgracing himself. 

Another splash of cold water on his face and multiple deep breaths later, Suguru finally gains enough composure to emerge. 

Curious about the updates to his schedule, he strides to his office. A leather folder awaits with his itinerary.

Saturday: 0800 - 1000- Youth lecture 

Saturday: 1800 - 2000 - Evening mass

Sunday: 0700 - 0900 - Morning mass

Sunday: 1300 - 1400 - Pre-Marital Counseling [CONFIDENTIAL] 

“High court, then.” Suguru muses to himself. Pulling out the envelope with a matching demarcation. Meant for his eyes only. Should the seal be broken en route to the recipient the offender could be sentenced to death for treason. 

And at this moment, Suguru finds that fate less painful than the spear currently piercing his lungs.

His eyes burn into the names written at the bottom of the page.

The Duke Ahriman  & The Duchess-to-Be.

Chapter II

E/N: Hello from [redacted]. I am literally losing my shite. I’m already in love with the plot before it has even fully materialized. And prince-of-the-sea-Suguru? This headcannon has me in a chokehold I fear. Thank you for reading 💋

#jjk fanfic #jjk x reader smut #jjk smut #geto x reader #geto x you #suguru geto smut #geto smut #suguru smut #jjk suguru #geto suguru #suguru fluff #jjk x reader #jjk headcanons #jjk angst #priest smut #jjk geto #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk fluff #jjk gojo #jjk fanart #jujutsu kaisen suguru #geto suguru x reader #jjk fic #geto angst #suguru geto #suguru geto x reader #suguru geto x you #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut

[pseudowho]

Deliverance

Hunting down a monster, you are led to an isolated little town...and into the arms of its enigmatic priest, who harbours a dark secret.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, Vampire!Priest!Nanami, monsterfucking, winged vampire, soft!Dom/pleasure!Dom Nanami, loss of faith/disillusionment, enemies to lovers/forbidden lovers, haematophilia, corruption kink

Very much inspired by Mike Flanagan's exceptional "Midnight Mass" which I highly recommend.

Soundtrack: "Take Me To Church" by Hozier, and "All Around Me" by Flyleaf

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The bridge to the mainland lived most of its saltcured life underwater. It rose, skeletal against the fog, as if the wreck of a ship from some bygone era, only twice a day, at low tide.

You were, by now, well-established into this friendly little town; a much-needed teacher to its handful of muddy-toed children. They did now know of your armory, your deadly weaponry. They did not know of your vow to hunt down the monsters that stalked the night.

And, they did not know how you suspected that the beast responsible for the deaths of at least 20 men on the mainland, may be one of their very own. 20 murders all occurring at low-tide, and only low-tide, could not be a coincidence.

They were all scum, you mused to yourself, all rapists, paedophiles and murderers...so perhaps it does have some sort of moral code. It must be here, you reasoned, fingers tapping the woody shelves of your little school cupboard in thought.

Your hunt was hampered by the timekeeping of this sleepy fishing town; often up before sunrise to take to the sea, and back before the sun broke above the horizon, it was not unusual for its residents to sleep during the day, and rise in time for the sunset. Its little church even held an evening mass, attended by plentiful nocturnal residents, after dinner.

"Hello?" A rich baritone, which was beginning to feel so intimately familiar to you, stirred an illicit want in your belly. He called your name. You could not help but run to him.

"--sorry, I'm-- I'm here! In the cupboard!" You called out, breathless in...what? Your rush to get to him? Anticipation? Something...more?

You flurried round the corner, all eager smiles, flyaway hairs and dimples. Your eyes melted so softly upon each others' forms, both sighing with relief. Neither of you knew how the other stirred within.

"Ke--...Father Nanami. What a lovely surprise. You're not usually up so early."

Nanami Kento cut an imposing figure in his cassock and white collar. He was a big man, with mountainous shoulders, and long, broad hands. You remembered the heat that pooled in your belly, the first time he had rolled up his sleeves to help you to move supplies into the schoolhouse, his forearms so alluringly thick and corded. His size belied an easy grace, and the elegant quick-step of a busy, intelligent man.

"I found myself unable to sleep," Kento admitted, his head bowed and hands clasped as he stepped to you. He seemed paler than usual, as he continued, "I was thinking abo--...just, thinking." He finished weakly. His eyes drew so fleetingly to your fast little pulse, thrumming from your throat, down your cleavage. His mouth dried, a double-edged hunger climbing down his abdomen.

"...thinking?" You offered, slowly closing the distance between you. You ached to remove it completely, your respect for his holy vows the only thing that contained you. Kento cleared his throat, running one strong finger between his neck, and corseting black and white collar.

"...wondering. If you would be attending mass. Tonight. I have miss--...you have missed the past week, I believe."

Ah. Yes. There was rarely another time when the homes of the local residents were empty enough to allow for investigation. You had only a few more to ransack, to find your monster, and you could feel yourself closing in on it. You felt a heavy rock of regret in your belly, and you clasped one of Kento's cool, pale hands in your own. His cock twitched, to feel the burn of your flesh against his, in ways so much less intimate than what he had imagined, alone at night.

"I'm so sorry...not tonight," you frowned, and you hurried to reassure Kento as he visibly deflated, "But tomorrow, I promise you. I'll come. Truly." Kento's face, so angular and strong, softened down at you with the hint of a smile.

His hand raised up for a moment, hesitating, before cupping your cheek. You felt your heart skip a beat, the tips of his little and ring fingers ghosting over your pulse point, while his thumb swiped beneath your eye.

"...chalk," Kento whispered, seeing your pupils dilate under his inherent, dangerous magnetism. He wished nothing more than to lean down and taste you, clutched against him and whimpering in the schoolhouse. You heard thunder rumble in the distance, and smelled the petrichor of an oncoming storm.

"...I can't wait," Kento whispered, stepping back from you, with just one backwards glance before sweeping out under the wind and blotting clouds.

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Your hunt had amounted to nothing. Either, your monster was meticulously careful, or your suspicions were incorrect, and it did not reside on this island. There was just one more place you had not explored, and you resigned yourself that you may be heading home sooner than you thought.

And yet, you felt a rope behind your navel, a red string around your finger, holding you here. You decided to complete your final investigation at the home of the priest, who had become the lifeblood that ran inside you, at midnight. He generally stayed late at the church, completing administration. You would be undisturbed.

Armed, rogue-like, you blended with moonlit shadows until you reached the windows outside his bedroom. You peeked through the gaps in the wooden blinds, and were met with an image of Kento, erotic and resplendent, that seared itself into your brain for the rest of your days.

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Kento didn't need sleep, ever since his God had forsaken him. Yet still, he craved that sweet embrace, to take him away from the twisted torture of what he had become. His resolve to die this way, as some fallen angel, had been unexpectedly fractured by the will to live-- fractured by you.

Kento switched the shower off, the last droplets of water running down his back. His cassock and collar were discarded, all woven lies against the skin of a faithless hypocrite. Kento wrapped a towel loosely around his waist, stepped past the empty mirror, and out into his bedroom.

His gut churned to see his empty bed. It had been weeks since he had fed. Years since he had taken a woman for the last time, before taking his vows. Weeks, since you had begun to consume him, mind, body and soul.

Kento had been losing his faith before the change. He had grown further from God, as countless monsters died beneath his teeth. But it was thoughts of you, spread, penetrated and whimpering beneath him, that took Kento beyond redemption.

Kento shuddered at the aching greed within. He lay back on his bed, hair still damp and floppy, but desperate for sleep to grip him and pull him under. His cock, rapidly thickening and tenting beneath the towel, made him curse, one broad arm flung over his eyes, while the other tried to squeeze himself into submission.

Kento squirmed with guilt, his semi-erect cock gripped in his palm. He thought of you, your fingers dipping into your needy wet cunt, the vibrator on your clit doing nothing to relieve the ache in your soul. He thought of the way you had squirmed and begged, to your god, and to him, to be granted your release. He thought of the way you had sobbed as you came, curled round yourself, your fingers desperately trying to reach the sweet spot that would make your orgasm climb all the way into your belly.

He didn't need to imagine it, Kento thought blithely, his thumb now stroking slick pre-cum under his foreskin, and over the sweet swollen head of his cock. He didn't need to imagine it, because he had seen you, through the gap in your curtains in the dead of night. Watching you, a pale angel in the rain, hunting for the forgiveness of a body he couldn't allow himself to sully.

Kento's hand had begun to masturbate himself instinctually, to the thought of you crying out for him. For him, and he could do nothing but pretend he hadn't seen you fall apart, to the dream of him inside you.

Kento groaned, low and rumbling, his hand gripping tightly around his throbbing, heavy length, longer than his thick fist could cover. Dripping with pre-cum, Kento began to fuck into his own fist to lubricate himself. He moaned in time to the memory of you, writhing and mewling against your pillow.

Kento's other arm reached round above his head, and he sunk his sharp teeth into his pillow, licking at it, imitating how he would flick his tongue against your pert little clit with a ragged moan. He pictured you above him, riding his mouth and nose as the length of his cock fucked down your throat to the tune of sweet wet gags. Kento whispered filth into the dead of night, trying to rut himself to orgasm.

"--take it-- good girl...cum down your throat-- cum in my mouth...shit...fuck you through it soon, angel-- promise, I promise--...ahhhh, shit, SHIT--"

Kento cursed, spitting venom, his balls heavy and sore, his own hand so woefully inadequate. His canines had lengthened, his mouth twisted into a teeth-baring snarl, and he gripped his cock harder. Trailing his other fingers to his mouth, sucking on his fingertips with a shiver, Kento pierced them until he could taste the hot rush of blood, imagining it was you quenching his thirst--

At the window, completely unnoticed, you gripped the windowpane, weak-kneed. Your other hand clapped over your mouth. Kento lay naked on his bed, sprawled and ethereal under strips of moonlight, masturbating with gasps and groans that you only wished you could hear.

Those hands, that you had spent night after night, wishing were inside you. That cock, thicker and longer than you had pictured...and oh. The way he rutted into his fist with such devastating ferocity, left you jealous of his hand. Your mouth watered.

What would he do, if you knocked right now? If you offered yourself to him, spread bare and pleading? Would he forsake his vows for you? Would he turn his back to God, as he stroked his cockhead to orgasm between your wet folds, singing your praises, and spattering hot, thick cum over your clit--

You were drawn back out of your head as Kento convulsed, his anguished, sloppy moan breaking through the windows, shooting through you like a knife. You gasped, delighted by Kento's twitching pleasure.

Kento hit his orgasm with the turmoiled strength of a stormfront, breaking. His final image was of you, cradling his sore cock between your legs, humping him inside you while you whispered to him and he whined into your hair and got lost in the smell of you, god, the smell of you, he could smell you now--

Kento spasmed, crying out as cum spurted in heavy stripes up his abdomen, his orgasm threaded with a tinge of horror-- fuck, he could smell you, you were here nearby, he knew the smell of that skin and that blood and that cunt--

Kento sat up with a jolt and a snarl, still gasping, the power of the hunt crashing through him. His teeth bared, animalistic, he wrenched his window up, sticking his head out into the night.

The smell of you, quickly fading, was being carried away by the wind. And Nanami Kento was losing his mind.

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You could barely compose yourself, walking into Church the next evening. The night had crept in fast; another storm churning over the water, was pulling the moon in with it. You felt overburdened with...guilt? Desire? You could not hide it, you were sure.

You could not hide it, as Kento's rich voice embraced the pews. You could not hide it, as your voice trembled its way through hymns. Kento's stern, impassive face remained unreadable, as you took communion from him. You met each others' eyes, both thinking about the same thing; his finger grazed your tongue, and gazed upon your sweet face, open-mouthed and doe-eyed, kneeling before him.

And despite all this, it was each others' company you craved more than anything more carnal. You found excuses to stay, in the church, loitering as Kento bid the crowds a warm goodbye. As the last person left, finally alone, you turned to each other. You both held your breath.

After a few moments, yours released in a twinkling laugh, and a blush, that had Kento's chest clenching in possessive adoration.

"I...have neglected you, father," you offered, brushing your hair behind your ear. Kento huffed, at first, pinching the bridge of his nose, before laughing. A genuine laugh. Deep, velvety, and rich. You were putty in his hands, and he didn't even know.

"Alas...it is the life of the clergy. Our own needs, go...unmet." Kento grimaced, a forced half-smile. His hands clasped over his lap.

You felt the tinge of bitterness at the edge of his words. You swallowed, thickly. Your fate balanced on the edge of a knife.

"Not...not all of them, surely? You could...you could join me for dinner?" You couldn't miss how Kento's eyebrows raised fractionally, his pupils dilating. Kento felt a dangerous hunger.

"I...I'm not sure-- I shouldn't--"

"Of course, you're completely right--" you flapped, taking a step back, and Kento's hunger gripped you back with jealous need.

"...I shouldn't be long here. An hour, maybe? If...if you'll allow it." Kento could feel himself twist under the need to possess you, one way or another. Judging by the smell of you, you would be wet, supple under his lips.

"Perfect," you blurted, standing up on your tiptoes for one happy moment, "perfect. I'll cook. We can...we can talk. I can't wait."

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A brisk knock. You hurried to the door, biting your lip, briefly abandoning dinner on the stove.

"Father," you cried, damning yourself for sounding so excited, "you're here...I'm glad. I was afraid you wouldn't...anyway..."

You hurried back to the stove, leaving the door open. After a moment, you looked up, seeing Kento leaning against the doorframe, looking at with with something...unreadable, in his eyes. He simply stood, drinking you in as you cooked.

"...Father? What are you waiting out there for? Come in." Blinking, chuckling to himself, Kento stepped over the threshold, closing the door behind him and gently placing a bottle of wine on the table.

"Please. Call me Kento. It seems...silly, if we're having dinner, and a night together." You felt heat blossom through you, at the accidental double-meaning behind Kento's words.

Dinner together was soft, intimate, the food and wine smoothing over an already glossy conversation. You were made malleable by the wine. You were intoxicated by him. Kento looked into you with such knowledge of you, that you were laid bare beneath his gaze.

Sat facing each other on the sofa, Kento had abandoned his white collar, the buttons of his cassock and white shirt undone to his chest. He rolled wine around his glass, his head leaning on one hand, smiling as you talked. The wine made you stupid, and you blurted out;

"Why? Why...did you join the church, Kento?" It was, in part, rhetorical. A cry of despair against the crime of Kento being made untouchable. His answer surprised you, and you found yourself shuffling closer as he talked.

"I ask myself that same question every day. Ever since..." Kento bit his tongue, thinking of the night he was turned, on a missionary trip abroad. Thinking about the day you walked into his parish, setting him aflame with unquenchable burning thirst. Kento cleared his throat, swirling his wine. He felt his primal magnetism drawing you to him like a moth to the flame, and he could not stop himself.

"...I have become...disillusioned, with the church. I am...torn," Kento admitted. Your knees were touching his now, and you leaned towards him with lovesick eyes. Kento felt the thrill of the hunt, feeling the sting of his teeth lengthening. His cock twitched as your breath passed over his cheek.

"...torn?" You felt a quiver of fear now, in the way Kento's eyes darkened, his hand slipping over to grip behind your knee, pulling him into his lap. He set aside his glass. It should have rung alarm bells. You were so drunk, but you had only had one glass of wine. Kento smelled so intoxicating. You were warm, floppy as he pulled you to straddle his lap, cupping your face with both hands.

"...torn," he whispered, his nose brushing yours. Kento's hunger overtook his panic for you, a victim to himself. Kento whispered against your lips, watching your eyes flutter closed, your head heavy and lilting to the side, exposing the pretty thrum of your throat to him.

"...torn," he continued, gliding his tongue up the pulse in your neck, feeling his cock jump against your clothed pussy, "...all because of you...if God has forsaken me, I hope he never wants me back. If only you would let me worship you, instead."

Kento's lips hovered over yours, barely quelling his urgent need to feed on you, until you whimpered his name. Kento snapped, and pulled you in by the back of the neck, crashing his lips to yours with the ragged groan of a starving man.

Your head swam with Kento, clutching his open collar and falling against him, allowing him to devour your mouth with bliss. You murmured against his lips, sloppy and licking, tasting the sweet allure of him, and his grip on the back of your neck grew crushing, his weight now bearing over you to press you back into the sofa, a sharp sting on your lip--

"Ow! I...ugh, sorry...I'm bleeding--"

As you moved to sit up, shocked back out of your reverie, Kento had pushed himself back to the other side of your sofa. One hand had clasped over his mouth. He trembled, and shook, white-knuckles clasping the sofa. You heard a sharp gasp, as if Kento was in pain.

With blood on your lip, you reached for him-- and stopped. Your eyes fixed on the switched-off television opposite you both. You stood, slowly, moving towards the hallway, and your bag, trying to control your terrified little heart.

"I'll just...get a cloth, for my li--"

As you pulled a blade from your bag, standing up to spin around, you were thrown back to the wall, your head cushioned by Kento's hand. You cried out, feeling him bracket you against the wall, his cassock now abandoned, his form seeming to grow and swell before you. Kento's face pressed to your neck, and you felt the hot throb of his growing cock against your belly.

You stood this way, both panting into each other, your knife pressed over Kento's heart, and his teeth pressed to your throat. Your heart broke, fragile beneath Kento's twisting form, and hungry mouth. You hiccuped, your hand and resolve faltering.

"...I never wanted...I wish it wasn't...why did it have to be you?" You sobbed, your arm starting to lower. Kento growled against you, already two feet taller, his enormous chest trapping you in against the wall. You felt the lights blotting out around you, as vast, black, velvety wings unfurled from Kento's back.

"...always...you always knew...just couldn't accept--" Kento gasped, his tongue darting out against your neck, ridged and trembling. His chest burst with pain to feel you sob beneath him.

"I can't do it," you cried, your knife hand lowering again, "just take what you want, because I can't-- I love you-- I'm not strong enough." Kento's teeth gritted, his face crumpling against the soft copper scent of your skin. His enormous hand gripped yours, raising the knife to press to his chest. You gasped and cried out, resisting his pull; a bead of blood sprung up around the tip, pressed to Kento's chest.

"From the moment you arrived," Kento growled, his teeth pressing gently over your pulse point, starving and needy, "...my life...everything I am, has been yours to take. I would know you, blind and deaf...and I would be honoured, for you to take my life as penance for my sins."

You gritted your teeth, completely releasing your grip on the blade. It clattered to the floor. You reached up to trail hands up Kento's enormous, powerful shoulders. Your fingertips grazed the soft base of his wings, and Kento shivered, shuddering into you. He felt a dribble of pre-cum soak his stretched, ripping boxers.

"Then I condemn you to live, Kento," you whispered, pulling his face up to yours. His pupils were dilated, bursting with lust, inky black in pools of crimson, "...and take me. However you want me."

Kento snarled at you again, pressing himself to you, pinning your arms above your head with one thick hand; "You have no idea what you're asking for," he hissed, "I will eat you alive." He felt you tremble, seeing the golden resolve in your eyes. You leaned forwards to his mouth, begging.

"Then eat me...or fuck me, like you fucked your hand to me."

Kento cursed, snapping, lifting you against him. You wrapped your legs around his hips, feeling Kento reach down to shred the clothes off himself, completely absorbed by the need to possess you, to love you.

Flung backwards onto the bed, you gasped at Kento's monstrous form. Eight feet tall, broad and exquisite, his great black wings folded and unfolded against his back. His aching cock dripped with pre-cum, so much bigger than when you had seen him cum into his own hand. His face, still undeniably Kento, stared into you, owning you. Heat pooled between your legs, as he grasped his cock in one great hand, groaning and shuddering.

You crept forwards, still drunk on him, and his nephilim glory. Kento's hand stuttered around his cock as you licked the tip.

"--fuck-- too big for you-- you can't--" Kento uttered a strangled moan, to feel your hot little mouth engulf his cockhead, your lips stretched wide, gulping him to the back of your throat, all hot little licks and sucks. Every fibre of his being needed to buck forwards into your mouth, and you felt two great hands tangle in your hair.

When your hands joined your mouth, stroking down his aching length, masturbating the parts of his cock your mouth could not reach, Kento rutted involuntarily. Moaning, begging and whining your name, his voice ran deep and ragged around his sharp canines.

"--darling, I-- shit I-- so good...so good for me...taking me s--so well, haaaaah...not-- can't last-- like this--"

You hummed around his cock, swallowing down a trickle of salty pre-cum, feeling the gentle pressure of his fingertips against your head. So aware of his size and strength, Kento handled you like a china doll, with the utmost love and affection. Kento moaned with abandon, his head thrown back, his great wings furling and unfurling with divine pleasure.

Swallowing around Kento's thick tip at the back of your throat, you felt his cock leaping in warning. Kento tried half-heartedly to pull you off him, whimpering and moaning with fractured cries of your name;

"--can't swallow-- s'too much-- ohhh fuck, my love-- c-cumming, I'm cumming-- fffuuuck yes, swallow-- all of it--"

You squeaked as his cock jolted and twitched in your mouth, Kento's balls clenched tight as he hunched around your mouth, pressing your head to him. Your mouth and throat flooded with Kento's bitter seed, cooler than that of a normal man, and you swallowed him down with pride. Kento's groans and breaths ran ragged, as you licked him clean.

Kento panted, glossy-eyed as he came down from his high, his cock still half-hard against his thigh. Crowding your body against the bed with his, his fingertips grazed the dress you wore, before ripping it from you with a bared-teeth growl. You felt your bra snapped in the middle, as if it were paper. Your breasts heaved, nipples peaked under Kento's ravenous attention.

Poking his tongue out to tease it over one hard nipple, you felt your clit throb to feel the otherworldly ridges and grooves running along his tongue's sides and tip. Whining as he sucked your pebbled nipple into his mouth, you shuddered to feel Kento's sharp teeth graze your sensitive peak. He savoured you, lathering your nipple against his tongue, until you felt you could cum from that alone.

His other hand rose to engulf your second breast, your nipple rolled so tenderly between two great fingers. You felt a trickle of arousal soak your underwear. Kento could smell it, and pressed his hand to your lower belly, feeling vaguely for the telltale swell of ovulation.

"...made a mistake, angel...letting me take you like this-- nothing of you left, by the time I'm done with you--mine-- all mine-- fuck--"

Trailing kisses down your belly, sniffing you and eager to fill you with his smell, his body thrummed for you. Kento threw your legs over his shoulders, ripping the sides of your underwear and tossing the scraps aside.

His eyes fixed on your pussy, slick and clenching. Kento shuddered, feeling his cock beginning to bound to life again. It flopped, heavy and twitching against his thigh, filling again in preparation to fill you. Kento felt a vague desire to ensnare you, trapping you inside his drunken intoxication, to fill you, and fill you, and fill you, until your belly swelled, oozing his thick, white seed.

"...Kento...please..." Your sweet begging pulled Kento out of himself. Despite his monstrous form, his face softened, his eyes fixed to yours as his tongue, long and ridged, stretched out of his mouth. You saw stars as it lathed insistently from side to side, spreading your folds, stroking back and forth over your aching, pearly clit.

Kento mumbled into your pussy, tasting you, his long tongue fucking into your cunt while his nose nuzzled your clit. Mewling, your hands flew down to sink into Kento's hair, and you felt your hands grasped and pinned against your belly. Kento knew, with a faint pang, that if your fingernails scratched against his sensitive scalp, he would surely spill his seed all over your floor.

Kento draped his other forearm over your belly and hips, pinning you down as you twisted beneath his attention. He lapped, sucked, and nipped at you with the softest bites to your clit, his tongue fucking in and out of you with inhuman dexterity.

You bucked your hips down the bed, eager to feel his tongue sink into your deepest parts, and Kento obliged with a wet moan. You felt his tongue lathe against your spongy spot, pinned down as he devoured you.

"--just there...harder please, please-- god I need your cock in me, please-- fuck me please-- please--"

You begged and pleaded your way to orgasm, your arousal seeping out around Kento's tongue as you came with a jolt and a cry, your thighs clamping around Kento's head, feet tickling against his sensitive wings. Kento continued to fuck his tongue in and out of you, lathering you with his spit, tasting your arousal, desperate to taste more of you.

You reached down, trying to pull Kento up your body. He almost laughed at your casual management of a true to life vampire, about to fuck you into the mattress. Kento allowed it, settling above you, his pupils narrowing at the insistent beat of your throat. Suddenly, and with a strangled growl, Kento knocked your head aside, his teeth grazing at your throat, and his monstrous cock throbbing at your entrance.

You trembled beneath him, heaving and gasping from your high. All of your resolve left you, beneath his tongue, and you uttered words you knew to be true;

"...I trust you, Kento."

Kento pressed into you, with teeth and cock and a husky moan. You felt a sharp pierce at your neck, his teeth just deep enough to feel the hot splash of your blood against his tongue. Kento almost finished then and there, his seed threatening to spatter into your folds and entrance, instead of in your belly, as he had promised himself. Kento drank you, his mouth clamped around your neck, one great hand cupping your head to the side while the other gripped your hip.

With a squeak and a protracted, broken moan of his name, you felt Kento's cock stretch through your wet velvety walls. You squirmed, trying to climb up the bed, feeling Kento growl around your throat and yank you back down.

Kento was enormous, by far the biggest cock you had ever taken, splitting you with a dull sting. Your fluttering hole soothed as Kento began to rut his length into you. His red, leaking tip bullied your cervix, bumping it up against your womb, with inches of him still outside of you.

You uttered strangled little moans, completely pinned beneath his hulking form, feeling him rut as much of his cock inside you as he could fit. With a shiver, Kento denied himself of any more blood at your throat. His tongue stroked your wounds, clotting the blood there, as he fucked gently into you.

Kento's wings caged you both in, and he stared down at where his cock tried to stretch your pussy out with dopey, lovesick eyes. A trickle of your blood ran down from the corner of his mouth, and he was struck with a sudden burst of pride for you. Kneeling back, Kento pushed your knees up to your chest, crushing over you in a mating press.

You writhed, as Kento managed to sink more of his cock into you, groaning which each stroke he watched enter and pull out of you. Your slick formed a translucent white ring most of the way down his cock length. Kento was eager to see it drip down his balls. He gasped down at your prone, fucked-out form, and gently began to press and roll the fatty flesh around your clit, making you buck up into him with pathetic little mewls.

"--fit it in--fit all of me in...if you cum again-- fuck you through it, baby...fuck you through it...fuck you through it..."

Kento repeated this like a mantra, every gradually strengthening thrust into you taking him deeper, your pussy stretched to its limits around his terrifying girth and length. Leaning over where you joined, Kento spat a smooth mouthful of spit, stroking it around his base, lubricating you both, before upping his pace and intensity again.

You cried out, head thrown back as you arched, feeling Kento so deeply that you clasped your belly. Kento planted one hand over yours, his fucks growing gradually more feral as he bared his teeth, determined to finally take what was his, after so many years of miserable self-denial.

"--mine make you mine make you mine--leave it behind...leave it all...for you...shit-- so tight, just--milk it out-- all my cum-- all yours, I swear..."

As you came, your pussy clenching and spasming, Kento finally bottomed out. His head flung back with a cry of success, slamming into you with abandon as he chased his high, desperate to see you filled with his cum. Cursing, and spitting, teeth bared and blacking out the room around you with his wings, Kento came with a roar, and you felt your pussy and belly flooded by him.

His cock jerked long, protracted twitches inside you, spurting thick bursts of cum, with nowhere to go but up, plugged by his enormous girth. You were pliable and dazed, taking it with the sweet relief of his love for you, his seed soothing your swollen inner walls like a balm.

Kento faltered above you, staggered and dazed. Keeping his cock stuffed inside you, manoeuvring himself onto his side, he swept one great wing beneath you, and one above you. You felt yourself cocooned, sleepy and full, reaching into hand up to tangle into Kento's hair. He pressed a lazy kiss to your palm.

"...you're a...terrible vampire hunter..." Kento slurred, fading out into soft snores, just seconds later.

He's not wrong, you reasoned to yourself, wondering and drifting to sleep in his arms and wings, maybe he'll help me.

#jjk #kento nanami #jjk nanami #kento nanami x you #nanami kento #kento nanami x reader #nanami fluff #nanami kento smut #nanami headcanons #jujutsu kaisen nanami #jujutsu nanami #kento nanami smut #kento nanami x y/n #nanami #nanami kento fluff #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami smut #nanami x reader #nanami x y/n #nanami x you #vampire!au #Priest!au #Vampire!Priest!Nanami #Pseudowho #Haitch

[yuebinnie]

Proverbs 5:19

☾ Pairing : Human Alastor (Hazbin Hotel) x Fem!Reader

☆ Warnings : mdni. Priest!Alastor, implied chubby!reader, noncanon Alastor, dubcon, coercion, blasphemy, abuse of authority, blood kink, blood drinking, squirting, multiple orgasms, fingering (f receiving), cunnulingus, catholic prayers used in a sexual context, scriptures used to coerce, cum eating, size kink, loss of virginity (implied, not talked about), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, literally just smut

☾ WC : 9.8k

☆ A/N : Taking a break from Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea to write Alastor smut ^^ This contains heavy Christian imagery, so if it's something you are uncomfortable with, this fic might not be for you! I really enjoyed writing this; it's my first time writing smut for Alastor, so hopefully I do not disappoint you all. I also posted the fic on AO3, if you'd prefer reading there. Have fun!

There was something about going to church that felt incredibly soothing. The deafening silence every time you walked in during the early hours of the day, steps echoing against the painted ceiling and colourful rose window, the shadows dancing behind the burning wicks of the candles set on each side of the main aisle, the smell of dust dancing in the air like a reminder of how desolate the people who came to visit truly were. You had not always been religious, but you had found peace in believing that there was a divine truth, that being good in this life would give you eternal bliss.

The church was a small one, and an old one; how it was still standing you had no idea. It was annexed to a small decrepit churchyard with moss-covered headstones that dated from at least two centuries ago. To any passersby, it'd be believed to be abandoned, as the outside of the building was quite literally falling apart, the bricks slowly eroding and the tiles covering the roof covered with the same moss as the headstones. The exterior appearance did not matter however, only the inside did; that's where God resided after all.

Despite its age, the inside and of the church was well kept. Yes, the rose window was cracked, and, as an attempt to keep the place as pure as possible, electricity had never been installed. The candles did the job of keeping the inside lit, and as for the temperature, well, dressing warmly was mandatory during the colder months of the year. The benches were old and the varnish that had once covered them was long gone; dents and chips could be found here and there, but they were still sturdy. The altar was small and simple, a wooden thing settled on a small stage that hovered only a few inches above the floor. Near the entrance sat a confessional which reeked of mould, but in the absolute presence of God, the smell was easily forgotten.

You had a habit of going to pray most days when you were not bedridden from the exhaustion of spending the night reading your favourite verses. 5 AM; the perfect time to pray, just as the world welcomed the sun's warmth and light. Very rarely did you meet anyone else; it had happened a few times, mostly old people nearing death coming to ask for absolution for their sins. Otherwise, the only person you had seen was the priest, whom you only had spoken to once or twice. He would look at you while you kneeled and mumbled prayers and verses, a smile plastered on his face.

It was the only downside of it all, that unsettling presence. The priest, a handsome man you had apologized to God for finding attractive, was always smiling. It was a bone-chilling sight; it made you feel as though he could see right through you, like he had access to every single thought that cluttered the inside of your mind. He had asked for your name once and had told you to have a 'delightful rest of the day'. That day had turned out to be horrible, as you had learned your grandmother was diagnosed with stage four cancer and only had a few months left. You had prayed for her, but God had decided to take her, nonetheless. Your subconscious had linked the priest's words as a direct cause of your grandmother's tragic diagnosis, and you had tried your best to avoid talking to him ever since.

When you woke up that morning, sweaty and feeling stickiness between your thighs, you felt sick to your stomach remembering the dreams that had plagued your mind in your slumber. A faceless man, dragging his lips down your stomach, his fingers touching your body in a way that was so sinful; the only logical explanation was that you had been visited by an incubus, an agent of evil. God was testing you, letting evil reach you to see if you'd be as faithful as Job or if you'd succumb to sin like Eve had. You cleaned yourself and changed your nightgown to proper clothes, putting a slightly warm coat on before leaving your house.

The sun had not yet started to show itself, and a thick fog floated above the quiet streets. The sky was covered with grey clouds that seemed to hang low, you wondered if you could touch them if you reached up, but your mind was too preoccupied with your predicament to try and touch something so close to Heaven. Mind running faster than a hare trying to escape a wolf, you tried to convince yourself simple prayers would do, but a loud voice kept coming back, telling you this could only be forgiven by confessing. The thought of having to talk to the priest whom you had convinced yourself was the catalyst of your grandmother's death made you want to cry, but the thought of failing God and disappointing Him was far more upsetting. You reached the church as the first rays of light made the dew covering the Earth glisten, taking a deep breath before pushing the door open.

Your eyes fell upon the priest, who was bent down in the middle of the aisle, a long match in his hand as he lit the candles up. You froze, your eyes running across his shoulders and back. The door closed loudly behind you, and you jumped; the man's head snapped in your direction, his smile growing when he saw who had just walked in.

"You are quite early today, my dear," the priest stated simply, his focus going back to the unlit candles that still begged to melt under the burning flames. "Luckily enough, our Creator does not sleep; we're under scrutiny every second of our time on this earth."

You gulped at the words, the implications they held. You crept closer to the man, fidgeting as you thought of what to say. You let out a small quiet sigh, biting down your bottom lip as you stopped and stood a few feet away from him. The man straightened up and turned in your direction, his head tilted to the left as his gaze travelled across your face, "Oh my, whatever has you this upset?"

Your cheeks flushed as your eyes shifted from his eyes to the floor, the shame of what you had yet to confess weighing down your shoulders like the cross your Saviour had carried through heat and pain. You felt tiny, the priest towering over you; he had to be close to two feet taller than you. Had this been how Lucifer felt when he was at last pushed to meet his fate in the depths, a force greater than all administrating the final judgment? Sinfully powerless, a mere weak being? Tears gathered at your lower lash lines as you spoke, oh so quietly, your voice like the echo of an echo, "Father, I have sinned."

Seconds passed, silent ones, before the man hummed and walked past you, making his way to the front of the church. You twirled around, your eyes landing on where the priest now stood, in front of the old rotting confessional. You gulped, nodding to no one in particular before slowly making your way to the man who was stepping into the booth, the door closing behind him. You did the same, slowly closing the door after giving the empty church one last look, your eyes lingering a few seconds on the nailed Christ resting behind the altar, seemingly judging you.

You sat down, cringing at the creaking of the wood beneath your weight. The grille was pulled up, the silhouette of the man on the other side vaguely distinguishable. You took a deep breath, then spoke softly as you brought your right hand to your forehead, the gesture almost instinctual, "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen." You put your hand on your thigh, staring at the unmoving priest, "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It is.... too much time, since my last confession. I am a university student, in my last year to obtain a bachelor's degree." A low hum was heard, and you shifted in your seat, trying to find the exact words for your confession.

"Father, something terrible happened last night. In my weakened sleeping state, evil befell me. I was plagued with sinful dreams. You must understand, I am thoroughly devoted to Christ and our Lord, never have I let a man, or anyone, disgrace the body I was given; never have I had thoughts or dreams of this kind. I fear my will is not strong enough, that this evil shall come back and torment me. I fear I will fall into sin, just as our first predecessors did. I am nothing but willing, Father, so please, do help me. I am sorry for all these sins, and the sins of my past life."

You sniffled, wiping away the tears that had fallen down your rosy cheeks, your eyes glued on the silhouette of the man beyond the grille. His silence made you want to cry even more; were you a lost case? Had your fate already been sealed, your soul now tainted because of the touch of evil in such sacred places? You tugged your bottom lip between your teeth as you waited, seconds becoming minutes.

"This evil you speak of, what exactly has it done to you?" His voice seemed to have dropped lower, the sound a bit raspier. You furrowed your brow slightly at the question; you had been clear about the incident. As if feeling your hesitation, the priest continued, "Ma chère, only by knowing exactly what this evil put you through can I give you absolution."

You felt a blush creep up your neck, and flinched as the crack of thunder was heard beyond the church walls; your heartbeat quickened, was this Him telling you to obey?

You let out a small breath, before speaking up, the words shaky, "As I slept, this evil... Entered my dreams. It took advantage of my defenselessness. It disgraced my soul and my body. Upon waking up, there was... Remains of the sinful things it had my body do." You could feel the man's stare on you despite the grille separating you, causing yours to drop to your knees, feeling vulnerable.

"What sinful things did it inflict upon you?" Rain had started falling, as if the sky itself cried for you; the sound of it hammered against the roof, a continuous wail of grief for your poor soul.

"Father, I don't understand how this is necessa-"

"Do you not want absolution? Do you desire to be locked out of His kingdom? The choice is yours," his tone was harsher, demanding, even. You gulped and shook your head; no, that was not what you wanted. It was the furthest thing from it.

"I apologize for questioning your words, Father," you began, fidgeting with the hem of your coat, "From what I can remember... This evil took the shape of a man. A faceless man. I was in bed, and it joined me, and... We, uh, we kissed. It took my nightgown off." Your hands felt clammy, and you couldn't help but press your thighs together as you recollected the events of your dreams. "It kissed my breasts, then my stomach. It went... Down there, and stayed there until my whole body tensed up. Afterwards, it pushed itself inside me, it thoroughly disgraced my body. When I woke up, my body showed signs that it had reacted to the defiling. Father, please, believe me when I tell you that I was coerced by evil."

Thunder was heard again, breaking the silence that had settled between you and the priest. As the minutes passed, you became uneasy; was the man disgusted with you? Could he sense the sins radiating from your being? He cleared his throat, breaking your train of thought. Your eyes went back to his silhouette, waiting for him to speak up.

"I fear this is beyond the power bestowed upon me, dear," his voice was silky, it made warmth spread inside your chest, as if the vibrations it had created affected your very cells.

Your eyes widened; that was impossible. You had confessed and explained the evil that had haunted you. You had done exactly what He told His followers to do, confessed and asked for forgiveness. You shuffled closer to the grille, tearing up as you begged, "Father, please, there must be a way. I will do anything; I will suffer just like our Saviour has if it's what it takes. I'm supplying you, help me get rid of this evil."

“Very well,” the man said. You watched as his silhouette stood up and opened the door of the booth before it disappeared. The door of your little chamber opened, and you turned your head to look at the tall priest, who adjusted his glasses as he stared down at you. You took a few seconds to really look at him. Despite his smile that made shivers run down your spine, the man was handsome. His skin was tan, his hair dark and styled in an old-fashioned way. His features were sharp, intimidating, almost. Towering over you, his shoulders were wider than some quarterbacks’, and his waist was ridiculously small compared to them. His hands seemed to be twice the size of yours, and you found yourself wondering how he managed to button up his shirts with such big hands.

You looked back at his face as you blushed, realizing the man before you knew of your body in such intimate ways. You slowly stood up as you held his gaze, unsure of what to say next. He took a step aside and gestured for you to step out of the confessional, before closing the door behind you. The priest smiled down at you, “Follow me, dear.”

He started walking down the aisle, the flames of the candles on each side of it dancing as he passed by. You hesitantly followed him, looking out one of the small windows to see the rain pouring onto the world as lightning illuminated the sky. He stopped at the altar and turned to you, his smile ever present. You stopped in front of the stage; sinners did not belong anywhere close to that sacred place. The man stayed silent and with a gesture of his hand, permitted you to step up. You gulped and got on the stage, feeling extremely out of place.

“There is one way for you to repent,” he began, his stare fixed on you, “Though it is a bit unorthodox. The choice is yours, but you must remember that there is no place for sinners in Heaven.” He watched as you nodded quickly; you were eager to be forgiven, to go back to being free of sin. The corner of his lips twitched before he uttered one word, “Strip.”

Your eyes widened as your face turned a deeper shade of crimson. Stripping? You searched his face for hints of dishonesty, hoping he was playing a sick joke on you, but to your dismay, he was serious. Your body was frozen as you looked at him, not even the booming thunder making you flinch.

You opened your mouth to ask why, but the man beat you to it, answering your question before you even uttered a word, “Only by showing Him precisely how this evil tainted you can you be absolved. There is no need to be shy, ma chérie; isn’t He all-knowing? All-seeing? Wasn’t the shame of nudity created by His first creations’ sin? There is no purer form of devotion than to go beyond the embarrassment and bare yourself to Him; than to accept the vulnerable nature of your existence.”

He brought his right hand up to lay it flat against the wooden altar, observing you as you fought an inner battle with your dignity. His words were true, the wisdom of a man devoted to God, of someone who knew scriptures and their meaning. As if feeling your unmoving incertitude, he spoke up once again, “Proverbs 28:13.”

You blinked up at him, mind searching for the verse you had read many times before. You licked your bottom lip with your tongue before reciting softly, “He who covers his sins will not prosper, but whoever confesses and forsakes them will have mercy.” The priest hummed, and you raised your gaze to the crucifix hung on the wall behind the altar, feeling as if He was patiently waiting for you to submit to His will. You puffed out a small breath as you nodded to yourself, a hand coming up to the zipper of your coat, slowly bringing it down to then shrug off the piece of clothing and letting it fall on the floor.

You could already feel the wet cold seep through your thin sweater, but you ignored the feeling as you grabbed the bottom of it and lifted it up until it was completely off you; it dropped, finding its place next to your coat at your feet. Your eyes were unfocused, staring into thin air as you slipped your thumbs under the elastic band of your skirt, pushing it down so it pooled at your ankles. You stepped out of it, getting slightly closer to the priest whose gaze was burning your skin despite the goosebumps covering it. You brought a hand to your back, unclasping your bra before slowly taking it off, baring your breasts to the man. Your nipples hardened as the freezing air licked them and you bit hard down your bottom lip as you slid your underwear down your legs, then stepped out of your shoes, leaving you only wearing your lace-arbored anklets.

The man lifted a hand in your direction, a silent request for you to grab it. You did so all while avoiding looking up at him and followed him as he made his way behind the altar, his fingers squeezing yours slightly, “Our Lord blessed you with rare beauty, dear one, what a shame it led evil to you.” You gasped softly as his other hand wrapped around your waist, your eyes shooting up to look at him. He was still smiling, though his eyes seemed clouded with something you could not put your finger on.

He let go of your hand and grabbed the other side of your waist before effortlessly hoisting you up on the altar, the skin of your ass stinging from the cold of the wooden surface. Your gaze was questioning, and the man recited, his voice low and quieter than it had previously been, “I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that you present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable to God, which is your reasonable service.” You gaped at him; a true man of God, that’s what he was. “Offer your body to Him, and you shall be absolved. Show Him what evil has done to you, so He can forgive and make you pure again,” he held your stare, his pupils slightly dilated. You nodded once, and the priest stepped aside, leaving you to face your Saviour in your naked glory.

You slowly leaned back, using your left elbow to not completely lie down on the wood. You brought your trembling right hand to your lips, the tip of your index finger stroking the pink flesh as you recalled where the lips of the faceless man had touched you. They lingered there for a few seconds before dipping to your neck, dancing around the column of your throat as your eyes fluttered shut; if goosebumps had not already been covering your body fault of the moist cold, they would have appeared, the feeling titillating. Your chest rose and fell in a timely rhythm as you dragged your touch to your breasts where your finger gently caressed your right nipple. Your lips parted, small breaths making their way out as you gathered with your small hand the heavy fat of your breast, squeezing. You could feel the stare of the priest on you, but you attempted to ignore it as you kept going.

Your fingers went down your stomach, using your nails to slightly scratch the skin, and they stopped a few inches below your belly button. You opened your eyes and looked at the crucifix; His peaceful expression, despite being nailed and in pain, gave you courage and you spread your legs, giving your Saviour the perfect view of your most intimate era. You nibbled on your bottom lip as you slowly brought your fingers down, choking on a soft moan when they made contact with your clit. The simple touch made your composure fall a little, your lips parted as your face reddened, feeling more exposed than you had ever felt before. You gently pushed against the bundle of nerves, gasping as your fingers started to move, following a small eight-pattern.

You could feel your heartbeat thundering against your ribcage, matching the loud striking of the heavenly fire against the earth beyond the safety of the church walls. Soft pants left your mouth as you started working on yourself, closing your eyes to focus on the memories of the previous night. Every touch and stroke were vividly drawn in your mind, your fingers moving in an almost instinctual way, leaving you a whimpering mess. You moved your elbow that was holding your weight, slowly leaning your back against the cold wood, before bringing the now free hand to your face, covering your mouth with it as your thighs trembled. Your body was thrumming, humming with new sensations, your mind as foggy as the early morning that had welcomed you when you had stepped out of your home.

Lost in pleasure, you jumped, your eyes shooting open as you felt long fingers wrap around your wrist, the priest looking down at you, his own eyes sharper and darker than they had been earlier. Your fingers nestled between your thighs stopped moving as you stared at him, but he tsked, “My dear, you must not hide anything from Him. These lovely, sinful sounds you make, are not to be repressed. Let them be; let Him hear what evil inflicted upon you,” his voice sent a chill down your spine, your back arching slightly. You watched as the corner of his lips twitched and let him pull your hand away from your mouth, gulping as you nodded weakly. “Good girl.”

Your breath hitched at the praise, eyes not leaving his’ as your fingers started to move once again, bringing your legs up to rest your heels against the altar, spreading your legs a bit more. As if in a trance, your gaze fixed on the priest as you moaned and gasped, your hips twitching as you rubbed your clit. You saw his Adam’s apple bob, his eyes narrowing as you used your free hand to caress the skin of your stomach, slowly inching towards your left breast. Your fingers dipped lower, teasing your entrance, and with a bite on your bottom lip and a pinch of your nipple, you pushed your middle finger all the way to the second knuckle, your eyes widening at the feeling. You let out a throaty whine, pressing your head harder against the wooden surface that supported your weight. The cold was long forgotten, your body covered in a thin layer of sweat, muscles spasming here and there.

You slid your other hand between your thighs, the digits quickly finding your clit and gently stimulating it as you managed to push your finger further inside yourself. The faceless man from your dreams had used three fingers, and you could only wonder how your dream self had taken them, as you were struggling with a lonely, short finger. Despite the uncomfortable feeling, you bit down your lip and pushed your index alongside the finger that was already pressed inside you. Your face scrunched up at the stretch, a silent sob echoing through the dimly lit space. You felt your walls clench around your digits, your free hand still working on your clit as a way to make the dull ache more bearable. You waited a minute, giving your body time to adjust to the feeling, before carefully pulling the fingers out and thrusting them back in, a surprised whimper leaving your lips as a new feeling started to blossom in your lower stomach.

You arched your back and started speeding up the motion of your hands, unable to keep quiet as your body grew warmer and more tense. Your eyes fluttered open to look up at the priest, who was as still as Christ watching you from His cross on the wall. As you exhaled, you pushed a third finger in, welcoming the stretch with a high-pitched whine. Your knees dropped down onto the altar, leaving your womanhood fully exposed; you watched as the man glanced at where your hands were working in tandem to replicate almost exactly what the evil from your dream had done to you. You gathered the little concentration you had left and started muttering through gasps and moans, “Compassionate Father, you are the Lord who rescues His people. When I am overwhelmed with shame, help me find solace in you. You have said that you will help—though my sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are as red as crimson, they shall be like wool. Remind me that I have been purified by you, that the curse of sin and evil is no longer upon me. In your powerful name, Ame-” You were cut off by a large hand wrapping around your lower face, the feeling making your body jolt.

Right, it had to be the same as the dream; you had not uttered a prayer in it, far from it. You closed your eyes, moaning against the palm covering your mouth, as you focused on the growing tension in your core. Every second felt like minutes and every minute felt like hours as you quickly thrust your fingers in and out, all while you rubbed and nudged your clit. The pressure was almost unbearable, your whole body twitching as your hips tried to follow the movements of your digits as if they had a mind of their own. The priest moved his hand away, and you opened your eyes to watch him bring it to his mouth where he licked his palm, which was covered with your drool.

Something snapped inside of you and a loud sob made its way out of your throat as your muscles tensed up, your walls clenching tightly around your fingers as you stilled them, your mind unable to think about anything beyond the blinding pleasure that took over your body. Your eyes rolled back, pitiful sounds leaving your mouth as your back arched from the altar, your thighs squeezing together, trapping your hands between them. This felt so much better than it had felt in your dream. You teared up; the Lord’s love was so strong; evil could not even compare.

After a few seconds, your body relaxed, and you were left panting and sweaty, as if you had just run a marathon. Slowly opening your eyes, your vision became clearer as you blinked, a smile tugging at your lips as you looked at the crucifix, then up to the priest who had not moved. You removed your hands from between your thighs and brought your left one up to wipe the pearls of sweat on your forehead with the back of it. You wrapped your right arm around your chest, trying to hide your breasts as you spoke up, your voice small but hoarse, “Have I done it, Father? Am I free of sin? Has our Lord given me absolution?” Hope lingered; you had done what you were told to do, you had been good, and your Lord was good and forgiving, He had to have seen how faithful you were.

The man’s eyebrows raised before he let out a small chuckle, shaking his head slightly, “My dear, this was only your confession. The truest and purest form of confession.” Your smile dropped. You looked at him as he made his way closer to the wall, where he stopped in front of the crucifix that had observed you as you worked on yourself. His chin tilted up as he looked at it, before his head slowly turned to look at you, “But confession is not enough for this type of sin, sadly; you must also be cleansed.”

You sat up, your brows furrowed, watching as the man stepped closer to you. He stood in front of you, his right hand coming to rest on your thigh, just above your knee. His touch was warm and inviting, but you still wondered what his words meant, so you asked, “Cleansed?”

His thumb stroked your skin as he hummed and brought his other hand up to your shoulder, pushing your hair behind it, “Yes, dearest, cleansed. Your body was defiled by evil, it must be purified. You’ve shown our Lord and Saviour how, and now He shall reclaim your body as His’.” You looked at him, your eyes round and big, trying to make sense of the words that had just been spoken. A small pout appeared on your lips, and the tall priest bent down, his face now closer to yours as he said, his voice slightly louder than a whisper, “You are so easy to read, you know? But to ease your confusion; I shall represent our Lord and make you pure again.”

You froze, the realization of what the man meant hitting you just like David’s stone had hit Goliath. You gaped at him, your mouth opening and closing, searching your brain for the right words to speak, afraid to insult God and the man who stood before you. You gulped and said after taking in a deep breath, “Our Lord… I cannot think of mentions of this procedure in the scriptures,” you blinked, your eyes shining as you looked into his’. “Father, has this procedure been tested before? Where does it come from?”

His long fingers dug into the fat of your thigh as you saw the muscle of his jaw clench, a small whimper leaving your lips at the feeling. He kept squeezing, his creepy smile growing, “Are you implying my authority was not given to me by our Lord? That my will does not stem from His’? That I would go against scriptures, something I have devoted my life to?” You shook your head quickly; you had messed up. You were to never question the words of a priest, for he was much closer to God than you were, and you had done just that. This evil needed to leave; it made you do, think and say things that would only make you unworthy of Heaven.

“Father, do forgive me! This evil, it has taken control of my body and sou-”

“There’s no need for that. I shall make your sins a purest white than Abraham’s sacrificial lamb. You will be reborn a new woman, utterly sinless,” he inched his hand higher on your thigh, “That is what you want, isn’t it? To let your God make you pure again?” You gave him a slow nod and his smile widened as he brought his free hand to his face, removing his glasses and putting them on the altar next to you. He nudged your knees open and settled between them, sliding a hand against the back of your head as he sang praise to you, “What a good girl you are, ma chère.”

His lips smashed against yours and you gasped, your eyes fluttering shut as you tried to follow his lead. The hand resting on your thigh slid to your waist and forced you to get closer to him, his chest pressing against your naked breasts. You moaned into the kiss, pictures of your dream flooding your mind, causing you to wrap your legs around his tiny waist and arms around his neck. You ran your fingers through his hair, letting the man run his tongue along your bottom lip, your mouth opening slightly in response. His kisses travelled down your chin, to your throat, his teeth nipping at your skin as you let your head fall back, giving him better access.

His mouth slid to your chest, and you lowered your chin to look down at him as he wrapped his swollen lips around your left nipple. You grabbed a handful of his hair and pressed him closer to you, arching your back slightly. His eye shot up to look at you, humming against your skin, the vibration leaving you a whimpering mess. He separated from your pink, wet bud with a last lick, smiling as he flicked your other nipple with his thumb, “So eager for absolution, aren’t you?” Your soft pants were interrupted with a small gulp as you nodded once again; there was nothing you wanted more. He ran a hand up and down your thigh before grabbing it and removing it from his waist, doing the same motion with the other one a few seconds later. You silently watched as he kneeled, his face a few inches away from your exposed core. The sight made your heart skip a beat.

Something caught your eyes on the wall, and you looked up, seeing a rainbow light up the crucifix hung on the wall; the rain and thunder had dissipated as suddenly as they had appeared, and sun rays were beaming through the colourful tainted glass of the rose window at the entrance of the church. A small smile tugged at your lips, this had to be a sign you were on the right path. You bit down your bottom lip and gazed down, seeing the priest eyeing your womanhood, a hungry look on his face. Your cheeks reddened as you waited for the man to do something.

He slowly inched closer, and let his nose nudge your puffy clit, causing you to gasp softly at the feeling. You felt something warm run up and down your slit, your grip on his hair tightening as he flattened his tongue against your entrance. Your brows knitted, a small noise leaving your lips as he started to move his wet appendage up and down, moving his head slightly as he did so to get his nose to bump against your clit with each lick. His hands went to your ass, and he brought you even closer to his face; you wondered how he could even breathe.

Your mind started to wander as pleasure slowly took over your limbs; was the man between your legs mistaking you for a wine-filled chalice? The slurping noises his mouth was making against you travelled through your body and rendered you dizzy. You pushed his hair back from his forehead and his eyes shot open to look up at you as his fingers dug into the fat of your ass. His pupils were dilated to the point that you could barely see his iris and there was wetness spreading on his cheeks and nose. Lips parted, you sighed and slightly scratched his scalp with your nails, leaving the man groaning as his stare was still fixed on your face. One of his hands made its way down your thigh and disappeared from your view before it reappeared; a dainty wooden-beaded rosary was dangling from his fingers.

The priest took his mouth away from you, a wide smirk painting his lips as he grabbed your wrist and dropped the prayer beads in your much smaller palm. His other hand came forward and started stroking the skin of your inner thigh as he wrapped his long digits around yours, forcing you to hold the rosary. He licked his bottom lip before speaking up, “You know how this works, don’t you?” His smile grew as he watched you nod, “Perfect. Recite them in your head, except the Five Decades; you must recite those aloud. It’s Thursday, so Luminous Mysteries. Whatever your Lord has planned next and does to you, you must keep going, understood?” You nodded again but he shook his head, “Use your words, dearest.”

“I understand, Father,” you said, your voice small.

The man hummed and let go of your hand, dropping it to your other thigh, massaging the skin there as well. His gaze dropped to where your thumb moved to make the Sign of the Cross on the small crucifix pendant. You closed your eyes as you started reciting the Apostles’ Creed, surrendering your body to the faithful man kneeling before you. His lips pressed against you as you finished the first prayer, your finger moving to the first bead. He fell into a now familiar rhythm, leaving you incapable of staying silent as you breathed out soft moans. Something prodded at your entrance and slowly slipped in as you fell back against the altar with a thud. You arched your back as it kept going, much deeper than you had reached with your fingers. It pumped in and out a few times before the man added a second finger, the pressure and stretch making you whimper.

His tongue kept alternating between sucking on and flicking your clit as you busied yourself with prayers. The priest hummed against you before removing himself; you opened your eyes and lifted your head from the wooden surface, eyes widening when you saw blood on his chin and bottom lip. He removed his fingers from you and showed them to you; they were bloody too. You stared at him silently, uncertain of what to say, but he broke the silence, “See what the evil has left in you? Aren’t you so lucky your Lord is ever so forgiving? That he’s cleaning you up to make you free of sin?” You nodded and bit the inside of your cheek. His eyes were gleaming as his fingers went to your lower stomach, smearing the blood on your skin, which made goosebumps appear.

You studied his face, his sharp, dark hooded eyes were staring at you under his defined eyebrows, his plump lips were stretched in a smile; his tanned cheeks and chin were coated with a sheening coat of your wetness and blood. His hair was now messy—your doing—and his fingers were slowly making their way back to your slit. Without thinking about it, you reached out and cupped his cheek with your free hand, rubbing your thumb against his bottom lip. His tongue darted out to lick your digit as his fingers sank back in you, knocking the breath out of you. Your eyes closed shut as you gasped, your hand falling from his face to rest on your hip. You heard him laugh under his breath before the warmth of his mouth was back on you. Your mind reminded you of the rosary you were holding, and you started reciting the Hail Mary.

As you neared the end of the Glory Be, you felt the man add another finger, the stretch making your eyes tear up as you mewled weakly. The words of the prayer passed in your mind, disappearing as he started to thrust them in and out. Your walls clenched tightly around his digits as your chest rose and fell quickly, panting as your body tried to get adjusted to the burning feeling.

Your fingers landed on the first Decade, and you gathered all your strength to start reciting the prayer, your voice shaky, “Then Jesus came to Galilee to the Jordan to John, to be baptized by him. John would have prevented him, saying ‘I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?’ But Jesus answered him, ‘Let it be so now; for thus it is fitting for us to fulfill all righteousness.’ Then he consented.” You were interrupted by a yelp as you felt the priest’s teeth grazing your clit, your free hand landing in his hair, gripping it. Your hips kept twitching as you kept going, stuttering through the words, “And when Jesus was baptized, he went up immediately from the water, and behold, the heavens were opened and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove, and alighting on him; and lo, a voice from heaven, saying, ‘This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased.’”

The drag of the man’s fingers had turned pleasurable, and you felt your muscles tense up, the feeling in your lower stomach rapidly growing. You pushed on the back of his head, searching for more friction, and you moaned out loudly when he started mumbling against your clit as his fingers kept moving, “Oh my Jesus, forgive me of my sins, save us from the fires of hell; lead all souls to Heaven, especially those who have most need of your mercy.” You could not register the words but the movements of his lips on you made you come undone, your back arching from the altar as your thighs trapped his head in place, your hips lifting to follow his fingers and urge him to press his tongue harder against you. Your every muscle tensed up, crying out as the waves of your orgasm hit you just like the Red Sea had crashed into the Egyptians as He closed its parting. You spasmed around him, your walls trying to push his fingers out, and you felt wetness drip down your ass.

He separated from your clit, kissing it softly as he removed his digits from you, slowly standing up as you cracked your eyes open, your body still jolting randomly as it calmed down from your high. The light coming from the rose window had moved, and from your angle, it looked like a halo surrounding the priest’s head; a breathtaking sight that had you gape in awe. You watched as he tugged at the collar of his shirt, taking his Roman collar off and letting it fall to his feet. Your wetness was dripping from his lips which were harbouring a soft smile, his hands moving unhurriedly to unbutton his cassock. His eyes travelled up and down your spent body, then to the rosary you had forgotten you were still holding; you clenched your fingers around it and moved to a new bead, your lips moving silently as you recited the Hail Mary in your mind.

You kept your eyes on his hands as they reached the last button, the man shrugging off the black piece of clothing, revealing he was wearing a white tank top and black pants underneath it. You gulped at the true size of his shoulders; you had thought his cassock gave the illusion he was large, but even with it off, he looked huge. The smallness of his waist only accentuated how massive the built of the priest was. He had muscles but they were lean; despite it all, he looked strong and exuded a masculine aura that had you squirming in place.

Your observations were interrupted by his voice, “Do you feel like the weight of your sin has lessened, ma chère?” You dipped your chin once; you did feel lighter. The man grinned wider as his hands wrapped around your waist, bringing your torso up effortlessly so you were now sitting. He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, leaning over so his lips pressed against the shell of your ear, whispering, “You did so well, dear, you’re almost as pure as the day you were born. There’s only a step left in this procedure, but it will hurt at first.” He pressed a hand on the back of your head and pushed forward, forcing you to bury your face in the crook of his neck. You inhaled and felt his fingers massage your scalp gently.

He smelled so intoxicating; a mixture of moss, rain, coffee, tobacco and a hint of something floral emitted from his skin. You realized you had pressed your lips against the man’s neck when you felt him tense up, his hand stilling in your hair. You backed away slightly, blushing so brightly you were grateful he could not see your face, muttering an apology. His body relaxed again, and he hummed, “There’s no need for apologies. Bite down my shoulder—don’t be scared to bite hard—it will make you focus on something else.”

You opened your mouth to ask what he meant but pressed your lips together when you heard a zipper, followed by the shuffling of clothes between your bodies. You brought your hands to his chest, the rosary still in your hand, fingers fidgeting with the beads as you felt one of his large and cold hands spread your thighs a little further apart. You felt his fingers run up and down your slit and you gasped at the feeling, your nails slightly digging into the muscles of his chest. A wet sound travelled up to your ears and you closed your eyes, a shiver running down your spine when you felt a hand drop to your hip, kneading the fat there, and his voice, now a low murmur, “Bite down.”

You barely had the time to process the words that you felt pressure against your entrance which ceded, your walls wrapping around something so thick you shrieked before sinking your teeth into the man’s shoulder. It felt like you were being split in half; the thickness slowly forced its way inside you as tears gathered at your lower lash lines before they dripped down your cheeks. You bit down harder and pulled away quickly when you felt iron-tasting warmth coat the inside of your mouth, but the hand still in your hair pushed you against the bleeding bite mark, the priest almost growling, “Bite, and drink. At this moment, I am God; I am Christ. His blood is mine, and my blood is His’. Savour, dear one, and let me cleanse you inside out.” You let out a shaky breath before sinking your teeth back in his flesh, your brows knitting as he pushed his length an inch deeper inside you, “So obedient.”

You let the blood fill your mouth and swallowed, cringing at the taste but unwilling to go against Heavenly orders. Your arms snaked around his waist as he kept slowly pushing himself into you. The pain was unbearable, but your mind went to Christ, and how much he had suffered for the sins of all; the ache between your legs was a pinch compared to what he had endured, so you toughened up and let your tongue lap at the blood. Your brain felt foggy, and you could only take it as a sign that it was your body reacting to being filled with the divine energy pouring out from the priest. His length reached deeper than his fingers had, and you wondered how much of it you had left to take in.

You soon had your answer, the man stilling as his pelvis pressed against yours; he was so deep in you, stretching you so wide. Your mouth detached from his neck, and you pressed your forehead against his skin, panting loudly as you tried your best to relax your walls around him. The hand that was in your hair made its way to your waist, squeezing gently as you felt his lips press against your ear once again, “Your Lord is so pleased with you; you’re taking his cock so well. You’ll be redeemed in no time.” He slowly pulled out, leaving only his tip in, before thrusting in you at a medium speed, leaving you sobbing against his neck. It was overwhelming, the feeling of his length rubbing your inside and the warmth spreading in your chest, God’s love making you burn up. The feeling started to transform from pain to pleasurable pressure, your pained cries turning into needy moans.

You had managed to reach the tenth Hail Mary in your mind, your fingers reaching the second Decade. You whimpered out the beginning of the Second Luminous Mystery, “On the third day there was a marriage at Cana in Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there; Jesus also was invited to the marriage, with his disciples.” The priest started moving faster, his hips meeting yours at a much quicker speed; you whined as his tip hit a certain spot inside you, the rosary dropping on the floor as you dug your nails into the man’s shoulder blades. You could not concentrate on anything other than the drag of his length against your walls, panting and gasping each time he bottomed out.

He slightly pulled away from your body and looked down at you, his hips still moving as he brought a hand to grab your jaw from under, forcing you to look at him. He eyed you before crashing his lips against yours, moaning as he tasted his blood in your mouth. You slid your hands up to his hair, tugging at it and scratching his scalp as your teeth clashed together, tongues dancing. You pressed your chest closer to his’ and sighed as your nipples rubbed against his tank top, the feeling sending electric shocks to your core. You parted away from his lips, catching your breath, and your eyes opened and landed on the crucifix watching you; you smiled softly—oh how good was His clemency. Your gaze went back to the priest who was slightly panting, his lower face covered in blood—just like yours— as he smirked at you, sliding his hand to your cheek, stroking the skin tenderly.

In half a second, he pulled out and manhandled you, so you were now bent over the altar, your breasts pressed against the wooden surface as your feet dangled in the air, his large hands holding you up. His knee nudged your legs open wider and you felt him slip back inside you, the new position bringing a different sensation. His hips met your ass, and he started thrusting into you eagerly, loud smacks echoing through the church. You held yourself up on your elbows, holding your head up as you looked at the front door; if someone were to walk in, they would see the priest cleansing you, a Godsent blessing.

Your elbows started to tremble, and the man noticed; he slid a hand below your stomach and hoisted you up against his chest, your back pressed against him. He held you up, his arms wrapped around you as his pelvis smacked against your ass, your feet dangling one foot above the floor. He slid a hand down, his fingers running down your slit, groaning as he felt where you two were connected. He ran them up again and pushed his middle finger against your puffy clit, gently rubbing it as he kept working himself in and out of you. Your head fell back on his shoulder, and he took the opportunity to attach his lips to your neck, kissing and nibbling at the skin.

You truly never had felt anything like this; if you had been a fool, you’d have thought you were glowing from how fulfilled you felt. The familiar tension grew in your lower stomach, lewd noises leaving your mouth as the man dug the fingers of his other hand into your flesh, holding you closer to him as his movements became erratic. His groans and grunts were sending shivers down your back, only adding to the multitudes of sensations you were currently drowning in. As if he could feel you were close to reaching your orgasm, he mumbled against your neck, “Let go, ma chérie. Let evil leave your body, let God replace it with goodness.”

Your breath hitched and with a few more nudges on your clit, the pressure building inside you snapped. Your vision went white as you came, the feeling different from your previous releases. Even through the waves of pleasure, you could feel something drip down your thighs and could hear squelches as the priest kept thrusting his length in you. Your mouth was open, silent cries leaving your throat as you clenched tightly around the man. You felt his lips move against your neck, but you were too lost in feelings to understand what he was saying.

Your tensed-up muscles slowly relaxed as the remains of your orgasm washed over your body. You whimpered as the man kept moving, your core feeling overstimulated by his length still burying itself inside your sensitive walls. He quickly pushed your front back against the altar, grabbing your hips as he moved both his hips and yours in sync, your nails digging into the wood as your ass smacked against him. His thrusts were harsh and fast, leaving you breathless; tears were streaming down your cheeks at the delightful ache.

His hips stilled, his length buried deep inside you, as he groaned lowly. You felt your inside be flooded with warmth, whining as you dropped your forehead against the wooden surface, the cold of it grounding you. You were panting, the warmth creating a pleasant pressure inside your core as the priest rubbed his thumbs over your Venus dimples. He stayed inside you for a few more seconds, before easing out of you, leaving you feeling empty. He once again manhandled you so you were now sitting facing him, holding your limp body up as he dragged a hand up your moist thigh, grinning, “See this wetness? It was the remains of evil leaving your body.” His hand reached your slit and he gathered a sticky white substance on his fingers, bringing his hand up close to your lips, “And this is goodness. Do remember, my dear, your sins are scarlet and they shall be as white as snow.”

You gaped at him; he truly was a man of God. He pushed his fingers past your lips, and you let him, wrapping them around his digits as your tongue licked at the goodness. The taste was bitter, but as your eyes met his’, all you could think about was how caring and selfless the man standing in front of you was. You had come to him, worrying about your purity, and he had completely cleansed you of sin and given you his own God-gifted goodness, not asking anything in return. He removed his fingers from your mouth and brushed your cheek with the back of his index, his smile not faltering, “What is this look you are giving me?”

You blinked a few times, your cheeks flushing as you realized you had been staring, “Father, I must thank you. My body and soul were barren, and you made them anew again. I do not know how I could ever repay you.” His eyes narrowed at your words, his hand reaching to grab his glasses before he put them on and ran a hand through his hair. It dropped to your thigh and drew shapes on there, his gaze not leaving yours.

“Alastor,” he said simply before stepping away from you and bending down to grab your clothes. Your expression turned to a confused one as you watched him slip your underwear up your legs, your skirt following. You let him dress you, his fingers skilfully clasping your bra behind your back before he motioned you to lift your arms so he could slip your shirt back on. Once dressed he let his hand lay on your thigh again, before he spoke up, “My name is Alastor. Call me by it and your debt is repaid.” He grabbed one of your hands and dropped the rosary in it before grabbing your waist and helping you down the altar, “Keep this, use it whenever you feel evil is near.”

You nodded up at him and smiled, your grin faltering for a second when you saw that the crucifix on the wall had detached and was now hanging upside down. Oddly, you thought nothing of it and you looked back at Alastor, your smile spreading wide, “Thank you, Fa—Alastor.” You squeezed the rosary between your fingers, watching as he bent down once again, but this time to grab his cassock and Roman collar. You stood silently as he buttoned it up and placed the white collar around his neck. He straightened the fabric with his hands, before meeting your eyes.

“You look quite a mess, dearest, you’d better go home and clean yourself.”

Your hand flew up to your face where dried blood was caked on your chin and around your mouth, and you felt a blush creep up your neck at his words; he did not look any better. Despite it, you nodded, shifting on your feet as you thanked him once again, “I cannot express how thankful I am, Alastor, truly. You, uh, you should probably get cleaned up too; people would probably wonder why there’s blood smeared on their priest’s face.” The man chuckled and nodded before bending down to grab your coat, handing it to you once he straightened up. You took it and quickly slipped it on, putting the rosary in one of the pockets.

You clasped your hands together and bit down your bottom lip as the man put a hand against your back and urged you to walk with him. You walked down the main aisle silently, stopping once you had reached the end of it. You turned to him and opened your mouth to speak, but he beat you to it, “Go, now. Enjoy your newly found purity.” You smiled and dipped your chin once; he grinned back, “I will see you tomorrow, though I am hoping you will not walk back in here with that same pitiful expression you had earlier.”

You let out a small laugh as you gestured that you agreed before giving him one last glance and turning around, walking towards the door. You could feel his stare burn holes in your back but ignore the feeling, pushing against the door and stepping outside, the sunlight momentarily blinding you. You sighed loudly, looking around to make sure no one was close; the last thing you wanted was someone seeing you limp, your face bloody. You began to make your way back home, ignoring the way your thighs stuck together from your and Alastor’s bodily fluids. You thought about his words, and strangely, you found yourself disagreeing; you hoped the faceless man would come back. You had tasted true goodness, the powerful and unconditional love and mercy of God, and you wanted more of it.

#alastor smut #alastor #alastor fanfiction #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #smut #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel smut #priest alastor #reader insert #alastor x reader smut #alastor x you #yueyan writes...

[2-dsimp]

Yandere Priest with Nun Darling.

Introducing Yandere Priest Zebad✨

Yandere Priest Zebad takes his prayer sessions very seriously if he finds out you haven’t partaken in his daily sermons he’ll kindly reprimand you with his holy dic—

( ･᷄ὢ･᷅ )

#yandere male x reader #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere drabble #yandere male #yandere scenarios #yandere oc #yandere x reader #yandere blurb #yandere art #suggestive #yanderecore #yandere content #male yandere #yandere concept #yandere headcanons #yandere x y/n #smut imagine #comic art #original comic #Zebad the priest #yandere priest #yandere prompt #yandere drawing #artist on tumblr #my artwork #my art #doodles

[arminsfavoritepookie]

Geto would be so mean to you in bed.

He’d have his palm splayed over your mouth, your cute little cries muffled while he bullies his thick cock into your pussy. Your nails scarp at his back, marking his broad muscles with your desperation. He’s so big and mean he doesn’t let you move, doesn’t let you speak, he always whispers in your ear to take it, To take what's yours and be his good little bitch. He’d bite your neck, running his teeth along your skin, telling you all you’re good for is warming his cock. Sometimes when he’s completely lost in the feeling of your fleshy cunt squeezing around his dick, he tells you to pick a number and forces you to count all his hard strokes in your cunt until tears start to spill onto the slope of your cheeks, until you’re gritting your teeth at how deep he’s fucking you, until you’re finally screaming as he’s spilling his white sticky cum into the used pocket of your pussy.

He’d ask you if it was too much, if he hurt you, his voice soft and low, little strands of hair clinging to his forehead while he stares at how his cum spills out your pussy, dripping lewdly into your soft, moist folds. You would nod weakly, gasping as he collects the cum out of your pussy onto his finger, licking the sticky white liquid with a sadistic smile.

He tells you that If you’re still conscious, he must not have gone hard enough

#geto smut #geto x y/n #geto x you #geto x reader #getou suguru x reader #jjk geto #geto scenarios #jjk x black reader #jjk imagines #jjk headcanons #geto headcanons #jjk x you #jjk season 2 #jujutsu geto #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #/priest geto

[little-diable]

"Angel" He calls me – Priest!Tom Riddle (smut)

Listen, this is fucked up – even I was unsure where this came from. But I ain't sorry for it, I know y'all will love this, you filthy heathen (i love you). Shamelessly inspired by the song "The Fruits" by Paris Paloma. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Her mother accuses the reader of preparing a satanic ritual, so she hopes that Priest Riddle can free the young girl from the devil's grasp. What a shame that the young priest is even more cunning than the Devil himself.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, smut in a church, heavy dub!con, choking, wax play, blood play, Tom being Tom, religious connotations

Pairing: Priest!Tom Riddle x fem!reader (about 2k words)

My love, are you the devil? I would worship you instead of him, I have no time for confession, for I'm too busy committing sins

“Priest Riddle!” Her mother’s shrill voice echoed through the empty church, repeated with every further step she took. (Y/n) struggled against her mother’s grasp, feet dragged along the cold ground as if she prayed that the floor would open up, that something or someone would crawl from the eternal darkness to hold onto her, rescue her from the hell she would experience any moment now. “Priest Riddle!”

The tall man appeared after another loud call of his name, concern tugged on his features, a facade her mother instantly seemed to buy into; a facade (y/n) instantly saw through. Priest Riddle was a devilish handsome man, a man so handsome he easily fooled those who clung to him, distracting them from his sinful character. 

“Mathilda, (y/n), what is going on?” His bright eyes carried concern as he looked at (y/n)’s mother, concern that changed into something dark the second his gaze found (y/n)’s. Her mother’s torture was nothing against what he’d do to her, that much she was certain of after all those confessions she had been forced through – confessions that had ended with her knees having a carpet burn, with her ass bruised, and her jaw pulsing in pain from being stretched open. 

“She’s gone insane, I’ve found her worshipping the devil! He has his dark grasp on her, oh you have to free my girl, you’re my only chance of finding help for her sinning soul, Father!” Tears dripped from her mother’s eyes, tears (y/n) silently cursed. She had done no such thing, all she had done was read a book Priest Riddle had borrowed her, one of the few interests both shared – Latin prayers her mother had mistaken for satanic rituals as (y/n) had tried to pronounce the words. 

For a second, he studied (y/n), the annoyance she couldn’t shake, the wide pupils he had grown all too used to, feeling his cock twitch in his trousers at the excitement now thumping through his veins. “Leave her with me, Mathilda. She’s in good hands. I’ll take care of our girl.”

"Angel“ he calls me, does he know that I'm falling from a precipice that I tripped off long ago?

“Rituals, huh?” Her mother had left the church seconds ago, leaving the two of them behind. (Y/n)’s skin prickled, she was fighting against the need to scream, to throw a tantrum against her mother’s foolish behaviour. All because of him. 

“This is your fault! She heard me read that prayer book of yours.” Within seconds he stood in front of her, ringed hand wrapped around her throat. Her heart was pounding, blood rushing through her veins, he could feel (y/n)’s fast pulse against his fingertips, a sensation that left the man smirking. 

“My fault?” The way he spoke the words, with a voice so raspy and deep, (y/n) didn’t manage to stop her body from reacting, her thighs from trembling and her walls from clenching around nothing. For a few moments, neither of them spoke, all they did was stare at one another. “My fault, really, (y/n)?”

“I,” her words got stuck in her throat as he squeezed, cutting off her strength to pronounce any words. Priest Riddle always enjoyed silencing her, showing her how much power he held over her. (Y/n) was shoved backwards as he let go of her, watching her fall onto the stone stairs leading up to the altar. 

“You see, (y/n), your mother may think I’m the saving grace, the voice of reason, but I think you know better, don’t you? There is no saving left for you, no grace I can give you. The Devil would have tried to save you, what a shame that I’m not him.” Angry tears welled up in her eyes, tears that began to drip as a laugh clawed through him. There was no escaping him, no matter how much her mind begged her to run, to never return to these unholy walls, her body craved his touch, desperate for everything he could offer. 

“Undress, lay down on the altar, for me.” It took (y/n) a second to snap into motion, to undo the buttons of her dress with shaky fingers. Not once did her glassy eyes leave his frame, not as she stood naked, not as she slowly heaved herself onto the altar, not as she watched him alight the red candle placed next to the Holy Bible.

“Do you remember what John teaches us, (y/n)? He tells us: Whoever makes a practice of sinning is of the devil, for the devil has been sinning from the beginning. But tonight you will sin, tonight you will offer yourself to the devil, even though he will never have you. He fears me, and he will fear my precious toy once I’m done with you.”

“In nomine Patris et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.” He was standing behind the altar, with his ringed fingers holding onto the burned candle. (Y/n) was forced to watch him tilt the candle, letting the wax drip down onto the valley between her naked breasts. She hissed at the sensation, torn between excitement and fear, and yet she craved more. 

“Princeps gloriosissime caelestis militiae, sancte Michael Archangele, defende nos in proelio adversus principes et potestates, adversus mundi rectores tenebrarum harum, contra spiritalia nequitiae, in caelestibus.” Priest Riddle’s voice didn’t carry any emotion as he spoke the lines of the prayer to Saint Michael, a prayer used in exorcisms, a prayer he used to mock her now. The candle kept dripping, one by one the drops of wax marked her body, leaving (y/n) moaning as his cold hand joined the wax, touching her hardening nipples with a smirk growing on his lips. 

“Veni in auxilium hominum, quos Deus ad imaginem similitudinis suae fecit, et a tyrannide diaboli emit pretio magno. Te custodem et patronum sancta veneratur Ecclesia; tibi tradidit Dominus animas redemptorum in superna felicitate locandas.” No longer did (y/n) try to keep her moans bottled in, she arched her back off the altar as he added more strength to his touch, tweaking her nipples as the wax dripped onto her stomach. It felt as if he was making an offering, sacrificing (y/n) for the sins they had committed together, giving her up for his eternal salvation. 

“Deprecare Deum pacis, ut conterat Satanam sub pedibus nostris, ne ultra valeat captivos tenere homines, et Ecclesiae nocere. Offer nostras preces in conspectu Altissimi, ut cito anticipent nos misericordiae Domini, et apprehendas draconem, serpentem antiquum, qui est diabolus et Satanas, et ligatum mittas in abyssum, ut non seducat amplius gentes. Amen.” The last drop of wax fell as Priest Riddle ended the prayer, tossing the blown-out candle aside to press his lips against (y/n)’s. Both moaned in unison as her fingers began to work on his belt, needing to free his cock with the silent hope that he’d fuck her on the altar spurring her on. 

He twitched in her grasp, a sensation so familiar, she found herself relaxing, giving her mind a few seconds to relax. Seconds he used to study her with danger laced in his gaze, danger that deepened as her eyes were drawn to his throat, watching him rip his silvery necklace from his neck. The necklace twinkled in the dim light, momentarily entrancing (y/n) as if she was studying a rare gem, an offering only God would make. 

“We have been bound together for months, you are my possession, and you will do as I say, you will let me lead you till I no longer think you’re worthy of my time.” He tightened his grasp on his necklace, and without another warning, he ran the sharp edge of the cross along his skin, instantly drawing blood. Blood so red, it looked like sacred wine, richer than Jesus’ blood, more powerful than any other offering.

He wiped his bleeding thumb along her lips, letting her taste the copper staining her skin like a tattoo made for eternity. They held eye contact as she parted her lips, letting her tongue lick his skin clean, unable to stop her moan from clawing out of her. She was nothing but a toy, someone he used to pass time with, someone to fuck whenever his body called for excitement – and she loved it, every fucked up second of their time together. 

Priest Riddle let go of her to position himself between her thighs, his fingertips dug into her skin as he wrapped her legs around his waist. Soon he’d fuck her, soon he’d remind her that she was his – his only. 

You're faithless, for you pitched me, against your holy father and it seems that I am winning

Without giving (y/n) any chance to prepare herself, he pushed into her, forcing his cock into her tightness. Her arousal allowed him to move without any struggles, moving as if their bodies had been made for one another. In some fucked up way she could have found something romantic in this, claimed in a church for all holy and unholy eyes to see, but the darkness he emanated was enough to keep her from thinking these thoughts. 

Months ago when this had happened for the first time, (y/n) had been frightened, not knowing what the man would do to her. But after the first of many orgasms had wrecked through her, she had felt like Judas, the backstabber, the liar she had been turned into. No longer held back by the fear of sinning, rather giving in – all for the promise of being punished by Priest Riddle. 

“Even the devil wouldn’t take you in, a soul filled with sins that even He would turn his back on. I’m your only rescue.” He panted his words as he buried himself deep inside of her, eyes staring down at her. Without stopping his movements, his hips from snapping against hers, he pushed the cross past her lips, forcing her to hold it between her teeth. (Y/n) could still taste his blood – heightening her senses as her walls fluttered around him. 

She hated herself for enjoying this, for being at his mercy with her legs spread and her back arched. He only spoke the truth, he was her only chance of guidance, the only one to cling to as the others had left her behind, engulfed in darkness. Her saving grace, the poison she was addicted to, the bruising grasp she couldn’t shake. 

“Cum for me, show them that there is no chance of rescuing you from me.” With the cross held between her teeth, she moaned for him. (Y/n)’s orgasm wrecked through her, leaving her shaking and panting beneath him. But the priest kept moving, searching his own high with his fingertips digging into her skin. 

A heavy moan rumbled through Priest Riddle as he came, imprinting himself on her walls without giving her a warning. Once again marked by the man who called her his own property, once again marked by the devil’s most brutal brother. 

“I need you on your knees, it’s time to beg for His forgiveness, (y/n).” 

……

Translation of the Latin prayer: 

St. Michael the Archangel, illustrious leader of the heavenly army, defend us in the battle against principalities and powers, against the rulers of the world of darkness and the spirit of wickedness in high places.

Come to the rescue of mankind, whom God has made in His own image and likeness, and purchased from Satan's tyranny at so great a price.

Holy Church venerates you as her patron and guardian. The Lord has entrusted to you the task of leading the souls of the redeemed to heavenly blessedness.

Entreat the Lord of peace to cast Satan down under our feet, so as to keep him from further holding man captive and doing harm to the Church.

Carry our prayers up to God's throne, that the mercy of the Lord may quickly come and lay hold of the beast, the serpent of old, Satan and his demons, casting him in chains into the abyss, so that he can no longer seduce the nations. Amen.

#Tom Riddle smut #Tom Riddle x reader #Tom Riddle imagine #priest fic #Harry Potter smut