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fandomfluffandfuck · 6 months

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Oh, and my love

Did I mistake you for a sign from God?

I couldn't get blasphemy/religious kink out of my silly little head. It was haunting me, and so... have a little stucky drabble with Father Barnes and churchgoer Steve 😮‍💨 (the drabble that will absolutely have me going to hell if I weren't already destined, lmao)

A soft, breathy moan falls helplessly from Steve's parted lips. Ohhh. Pleasure curls in his gut, tight and hot--burning hot. Guilt simmers in his thick, hot blood. He shouldn't--

But, oh, fuck, how can something feel so good and be wrong? Steve isn't convinced heaven exists because, shit, something better than this? How? That doesn't sound possible.

Faith wavering, Steve swallows another obscene, much-too-loud-for-being-home-in-his-Ma's-apartment sound. His mouth is watering. He's trembling. His hands are trembling, and he can hardly keep a steady rhythm going, his fist slick and tight around the throbbing shaft of his cock. He can't even look at it--at what he's doing. He burns with embarrassment. He knows what it would look like. He's done this before. He can't resist. He can't stay away. It feels so good! The pleasure. The thick, long shape of his penis engorged with feverish blood. Even in his lust addled, instinctual brain, he knows it's unholy. It's obscene. Liquid weeps from the flushed, fat head, collecting around his circumcision scar before dripping down his shaft, getting caught on the plump veins, on the way down to his swollen balls.

Oh, fuck.

He thought he was over this!

Shit.

Fuck.

Steve burns hotter, pleasure and embarrassment curling tighter. Twinned. He can't help the thoughts. The swears. He can't help this--

He thought he was over the unstoppable, overwhelming, plaguing thoughts of Father Barnes. He thought it was a teenage awakening that would pass. Something to do with his hot, young blood. He thought--

God.

Steve hisses but can't do anything else. He doesn't mean to take the Lord's name in vein. He just, he just--

Fuck.

His thoughts got him into all this trouble. Why can't he resist his thoughts!? Overcome the struggle. He wanted. No. He didn't--he didn't want--

He didn't want--

He shouldn't've gone to church with his Ma on his break home from college. He really fucking shouldn't have. He shouldn't've known better. Temptation. He didn't need to. He could've claimed he attended worship before he left campus; he could've played hooky. But he didn't. Instead, he walked right up to the tree and took a bite of the first luscious piece of fruit he could find and sunk his teeth in, the sticky, sweet juice flowing in rivers down his chin. There was no need to wait a luring, tricking serpent, Steve did it all to himself.

Shit.

He's so weak. So, so weak.

Fuck it.

Steve gives in. He moans. Loud. All he can do is send a fleeting prayer to God that his Ma is still out and that he hasn't lost so much time in his indulgence that she's returned. He needs to be alone. He's sinking into his imagination. His filthy imagination is dripping so thick with sin that he can taste it in the back of his throat. It tastes like cinnamon and pure, flickering flames.

Using the arm that isn't engaged in shamefully pleasuring himself--he can't use that arm! He can't stop!--Steve throws it over his eyes, his nose nestled in the crook of his elbow. And again, he can't help but moan. With his eyes shut, images just as vivid in the beautiful stained glass windows of the church flash beneath his lids.

Father Barnes is towering over him after communion. The crowds of believers are gone. The congregation has disappeared entirely, so it is just them alone in the nave. Father Barnes' cassock is tight around his thick throat but flows over his broad shoulders and down his solid chest. Steve wants to touch him. His palms are sweaty, pressed together, and his fingers curl together. Hands resting in his lap. He can't touch.

He wouldn't dare.

Steve is kneeling at the steps to the stage, before the pulpit, as if he's eagerly awaiting the next sermon.

He's kneeling, hands folded for prayer. And Father Barnes is standing above him. The excess wine from communion sloshes in a goblet in one of his large hands. Rich. Dark. Sweet. Father blesses him, and one of his hands, large and square with blunt nails, tangle in Steve's golden hair, using it like a handle to pull his head back, commanding him to open his mouth.

Steve obeys. He is nothing if not a willing servant of the Lord. He will serve Father Barnes.

Father pours and pours and pours.

In his imagination, the taste of wine explodes over Steve's tastebuds, filling his throat and making his head spin. Intoxicating. He will not choke. He swallows and swallows and gurgles his thanks to Father--to the Lord.

He could weep in pleasure. Steve squeezes himself unforgivingly hard. Gasping.

Ah!

Wine overflows thickly, sweetly out of his gaped mouth, over his lips, down his chin, off his jaw, and spills onto his bare chest. His nipples are hard. Tight. His chest heaves, fighting to breath--fighting to accept it and not choke. Still, the stream of communion wine does not stop. Steve drinks all of it. All the blood. He is blessed. Eager to be blessed. He will take it all inside of him, and he will be blessed.

Please.

Father Barnes holds tightly to his golden hair, forcing him to take the last drops of wine--staining his pale, freckled flesh like blood. The only thing Steve has seen Father Barnes cling to so tightly is his rosary or his beloved annotated copy of the Bible. He is clinging to Steve tightly. Holding him in place. Steve feels holy. He glows from the inside out with the light of Heaven.

Swallowing.

Steve shivers so hard, picturing himself kneeling at the mercy of Father Barnes, that he shakes himself from the first fantasy and into the next, jerking himself hard, tight, rough, moaning louder still.

Fuck.

Shit.

He jerks himself wildly. Hard. Rough. The sounds are wet and filthy and unmistakable. Obviously sinful. Erotic.

Fuuuuck.

Fuck.

Steve's no longer kneeling. Instead, he has been thrown over one of the pews. He is still bared before Father Barnes. Father Barnes stands behind him, his hands hot, like brands, over his shoulders and back and hips. Steve's cock twitches. He feels the closest to God that he ever has.

The wet fap fap fap of his fist around his cock becomes something even more shameful and deviant in his fantasies--his eyes shut tighter--

Oh, oh!

Father Barnes' thick, long fingers are delving deep into him, wet and stretching him out, forcing his way into his body. No one else has. Steve doesn't--he doesn't really know. But. It, it's all he wanted since all of this sin first awoke in him. He knows--he might not know, but he knows it would be good.

So good.

Father Barnes would take care of him.

Steve knows it would be so good that he can't stop making sounds. In his room and in his fantasy. Breathing heavily. Moaning. Groaning. Gasping. Whimpering. White-knuckling the pew, pressing back to the intimate press of his fingers. Crying. He doesn't know what he's feeling. He just knows that it is not of Earth. It is Heavenly. It is bright white. Brilliant. Fire is inside him. Heaven and the flames of Hell warring.

Oh!

Ah!

Fuck!

The sounds Steve can't help but make are so, so, soooh loud that he can picture the beautiful, elegant, stained glass windows shattering. He burns in shame, knowing that this is the worst thing these ancient, sacred walls have heard. He is mortified, but it feels too good to plead for it to stop. The lush sin is too tempting. He's too weak. He's--he's soft. He's soft-willed. He's not soft.

Fuuck.

Steve twists his wrist and fucks his hips up into his fist. It feels incredible. He squeezes. He rocks his hips. He rolls his throbbing balls in his hand.

He's so hard.

He can't imagine the pressure, the pleasure of his swollen, engorged dick against the cold, polished line of the wooden pew. He can't imagine the untamed, unholy pleasure of Father Barnes' fingers working inside him. Cooing at him, voice smooth and low, to be patient and take what he is given and no more, whenever he presses his ass back. Needing more.

More.

With the heightening pleasure, the image shifts, melting into something new. Something hotter. If possible.

Father Barnes' voice is the first thing to come to Steve. He purrs to Steve that he is a lamb, his plush, shapely lips brushing the shell of Steve's ear. Goosebumps appear all over Steve's flesh.

He shudders. He nods.

Father is right.

He is but one sheep in the flock, needing direction, foolish, and in need of a protector. A sweet, little lamb. A lost lamb. Father will show him the way. He will show him suffering and prevailing. He will show him faith.

Steve believes in him.

He believes desperately, and he opens his eyes in the fantasy, suddenly finding himself in the church, at the center of the stage. He is the sermon. The center of attention. He is displayed. Arms spread apart. Legs hanging long and tied together at the ankle.

Oh.

Steve moans raggedly, the sound grating against his throat. Eager and perverse.

Fuck.

He is--

He is displayed, strung up on the cross. Bared head to toe. No way to hide. Shame burns through him like hell. How is it so sweet, then?

Father Barnes has made him into the next sacrifice. A lamb on the alter. A body on the cross. The taste of wine is thick in his mouth. It drips from his lips. His fingertips are stained. His head is lulled back. He can not see straight. All he can feel is Heaven. Pleasure.

Pleasure.

He has never felt anything so divine.

Steve convulses as if possessed on his squeaky, twin bed from his childhood. Fantasizing about sinful, horrible things that pollute his mind. He can't. He can't!

He's so, so close that it's painful.

Father's hands caress him. Dragging boldly down shoulders, over his expanding and contracting ribs, onto his abs, past his hips, and to his lega--bypassing his mortifyingly hard penis without comment. It throbs so hard that jerks.

Steve squirms and writhes and shakes into the next perverse imagine to overtake him like a demon crawling into his body.

This time, it's not rich, sweet wine in his mouth, dancing on his tongue. It's metallic, it's, it's--

Steve's teeth rattle, choking, clenching down on the taste of Father Barnes' rosary, stuffed into his mouth to muffle his cries while his thick, hot, throbbing cock shoves itself into his hole. Using him.

Oh, oh, oh.

Steve can't catch his breath. He has never been so full in his life. He has never felt more purpose. This is what he is for. Serving his purpose. Worship has never been so good.

Sweet, little lamb, Father purrs. A sign from God, you are. An offering. Precious. Lamb. Meant to follow. Meant to serve, weren't you?

Steve whines through his nose, gnawing at his bottom lip until the taste of copper floods his mouth. He moans openly then. Shaking. Trembling as if the Holy Spirit has taken him, moving through him.

The filth takes more shape, he isn't kneeling to pray, he isn't bent over a pew, he isn't displayed as a sacrifice on the cross, he is braced shakily against the wooden pulpit, facing out to where the pews would fill with the members of the congregation. Father is behind him. Thrusting into him like he wants to break him. Like he wants to tear him apart.

My boyyy, Father Barnes' lips and teeth graze his throat, so close to his wildly thundering pulse.

The rosary slips from Steve's mouth, just a bit, only for Father to correct his mistake. Forgiving. Groaning and stuffing it back where it belongs in his mouth. Steve is drooling. He's whimpering. He's gasping. He's aching. So hard. His cock keeps hitting the pulpit with how forcefully he's being fucked.

He moans, and the rosary and all its beautiful, delicate beads tumble out from his swollen mouth, covered in saliva and ruining the pages of the open Bible. The ink runs and spreads. Father! Steve cries. Father Barnes, Father, oh, oh--

OH, GOD!

Steve takes the Lord's name in vain and spirals with hot, thick shame at the same time that he is taken by pleasure. White, hot pleasure. Swelling inside him, violent and holy and impossible. An orgasm. A sinful, brilliant orgasm with the taste of metal and wine and flesh on his tongue.

Father growls over his shoulder, shoving into him once last time as he presses his face unkindly against the wet rosary and ruined Bible and spills into him. Steve silently pants, pages of the Bible sticking to his cheek. The wet ink is going to leave scripture printed across his pale, flushed skin.

Jesus Christ.

Back in his body, lying in his bed in a pool of sweat, Steve murmurs a prayer reflexively. Psalm 32:1. Forgiveness. Guilt swirls inside him. It burns as he catches his breath. The mess of his sin is sticky and getting tacky on his skin. There's a wine stain on his cheeks. Blushing. He needs to clean up before Ma gets home. He needs to clean up before his imagination swallows him again with Devilish ideas, and he's sucked back in. He wants to sob in sweet pleasure and awful humiliation at the thought of confessing to anyone what he's done. He pictures the open shock on Father Barnes' face if he did confess and...

Oh, God.

Steve almost orgasms again.

#fandomfluffandfuck #steve rogers #bucky barnes #stucky #uhhhhhhh #I'm sorry and not sorry for this lol #Spotify #ALSO #the song JESUSCHRIST SUPERSTAR by Black Swan F U C K S with blasphemy kink

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daisynik7 · 7 months

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Nanami is super into fucking you with his watch on.

He’ll strip himself completely nude except for his wrist, his fingers massaging your puffy clit until you’re whining against him, already on the brink of an orgasm just from that. He checks the minute hand on his watch, taking a mental note on when you first climax. It’s a fun little challenge he sets for himself: how many times can he make you come within fifteen minutes? Half an hour? A full hour? Sometimes, he takes guesses, and most of the time, he’s right. And when he's wrong, it’s because he makes you come more than he expects you to. Tonight is one of those times.

He's relentless with his fingers, stroking your pussy up and down, in and out, coated in your arousal. He loves playing with your swollen bud, flicking it until you’re squirming from overstimulation. The slick that gushes out of you is so pretty, all shiny and glossy for him. So inviting for a taste. But no; he’ll resist until he can make you come once more from his fingers. Get you completely soaked so it’s juicy for his mouth. He knows just how much you love coming with his soft lips puckered around your clit, his tongue lapping at your greedy cunt, gaping and desperate to be filled with his cock. By the time thirty minutes pass, you’ve come twice from his fingers, and thrice from his mouth, eating you out sloppily until your limbs feel shaky, body spent but still so needy for him.

When he finally puts his dick inside you, he uses his watch for another purpose: to edge you so that you can fucking squirt all over him. He pounds into your tight pussy from behind, slamming his hips against your ass, marveling at the way it jiggles with each thrust. You’re moaning from the pleasure, completely fucked out. You want to come again so badly, but he won’t let you. “Not yet,” he growls, turning his wrist to inspect the time. “Be a good girl for ten more minutes, okay? Hold it for me sweetheart. I know you can do it.”

And of course you will, because he’s so encouraging, so sweet, so fucking big inside you, filling you to the brim. When the ten minutes is almost up, he reaches around you, toying with your sensitive clit. You whine, twitching from the sensation, head buried into the pillow, damp with sweat and drool. He leans over you, breath hot on your ear, whispering, “That’s it, honey. Let it all out for me. Make a fucking mess.”

So you do, spraying him in your juices, spilling onto the sheets below you. He absolutely loves it, seeing you so filthy like this. It’s just what he needs to reach his own orgasm, the one he’s been building up since an hour ago, continuously on the brink ever since your first climax. He comes inside you, stuffing you full of his creamy load only to watch it dribble out slowly as soon as he pulls out.

His watch is soaked in your essence, but that’s alright. In fact, it’s exactly what he wanted.

#mdni banner by @/cafekitsune #nanami smut #nanami drabble #nanami kento smut #kento nanami smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami kento #kento nanami #nanami #HELP #I'm so fucking feral for him #I should be asleep but I'm doing this instead LOL #barely proofread so sorry for any typos or errors

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