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#priest!steve rogers x reader imagines
imaginedreamwrite · a month ago
• Part 1 • • Part 2 • • Part 3 • • Part 4 • • Part 5 • • Part 6 •
A/N: This series is soft!dark!Steve Rogers with lots of smut/age gap/sneaky manipulation
** **
Summary: He swept into the small town with a crowd of women fawning over the handsome priest who is replacing Father Pierce after taking a sudden leave.
With his departure, comes Father Steven Rogers. Father Rogers is a young priest with eyes so blue you could drown in them. As a man of God, he is called to find a woman and start a family, to become the family man and lead the church to salvation.
Every single woman in town wants Father Steven Rogers to choose them to be his bride; to be his housewife. There is a competition between young women to catch his eye, and parents of eligible women are trying to cast their daughters into his light.
But it is one woman in particular that Father Rogers has his eyes on. You have not been cast into the light by your parents, but rather you were protected and guarded.
Your innocence was in tact and that was his sign. Father Steven Rogers was promised a virgin, by God. He was promised a woman who would be everything he wanted.
And that woman, was you.
** **
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imaginedreamwrite · a month ago
Hellfire: Part 1
The announcement that Father Pierce was going to be retiring and a replacement had already been found. Father Pierce was moving north to be with his wife and grandchildren, and his replacement was coming straight from New York City to take over the congregation’s responsibilities. It wasn’t long for rumours to start circulating and swirling.
The rumours started with Father Pierce’s replacement being young. The relief was a man from Brooklyn, who was leagues younger than Father Pierce and was not single but was actively looking for the woman that would lead him into family life to go hand in hand with being a protestant priest.
The rumour that he was single and looking for a wife had sent the mothers of unmarried daughters, both younger, legally so, and older, into a flurry of frantic appointments to hair salons and the boutiques in the nearest city to get the best clothes to impress the newest arrival to your small town.
He hadn’t even arrived in the town yet, and the city was a buzz. He was due to reach the last week of May, the long weekend would come and go, and he would be there on Monday, ready to settle into the house he had bought on private land in the country. It was a small town, and while he wanted privacy and requested living out of town on a piece of land to give him such, everyone in the city knew exactly where he would be living.
Your parents were equally excited; they were equally eager to see what direction the new Father would take the Protestant Church in your town, to see what new influence he would bring to the city.
Only time would tell, but where there was eagerness for the majority of those in your small town, there was annoyance and indifference in you.
You didn’t care; you didn’t begin to care. His arrival wouldn’t have changed or caused a ripple in your world.
** **
The sun was bearing down on the earth with vicious intensity, heating the sand before the lake and the grass that extended into the tree line snd beyond. It was the first weekend of June, and he has been here for a week, just settling into the small town in the middle of nowhere, still untouched by the corporate rat race of the city or the bitterness that turned neighbour against neighbour.
This town was his calling, and so was the congregation he would be serving, the people he would be steering toward God.
Before he had taken over the church, before he had taken over for Pierce, he was given a few weeks to get to know the people he would be serving, the people who would be his flock. The town was celebrating his arrival with a trip to the surrounding lakes for a weekend, where there were cabins the church-owned and used for weekend getaways and teen camps in the summer.
That is where he would get a good look and feel at who he would be helping. He had been invited snd given the biggest cabin on the property, with the building intended for a large family. One day Steve would fill the cabin the in summers with his wife and his kids, his family would fill the cabin walls with love.
For now, it was himself. For now, it was himself being hounded and introduced to every available and single woman in the church who had attended the camp, by eager mothers wishing their daughter upon a man of God like himself.
The women were beautiful and the mothers were a little overbearing in their attempts to get Steve to connect with them, to find himself attracted to them, but there was nothing.
Until he caught sight of you.
You were gilded, appearing as a being cast in the sunshine. The light reflecting on your image spoke to him like a direct call from God. He had been here but a week, met countless women who were eligible and available to him to pursue a relationship with, and he had never felt like he got a clear message. Until he saw your image until he saw you approach one of the food tents with your hair pulled up off your neck and shoulders and a pair of aviator sunglasses on your head.
It was like a direct hit to everything he had ever wanted, everything he had ever been promised.
He hadn’t met everyone in his congregation. He hadn’t met all the young women and men in the town, but when he had the chance to, you would be at the top of his list.
His eyes were gravitating toward you, his lips pursed. How could someone so innocent and lovely allow themselves to be looked up to by young men like they were a piece of meat?
“Do your parents know you’re out here?” One of the older residents asked the young woman, her judgemental eyes cast upon the short, tight jean shorts that have hugged your hips and cupped your asscheeks.
“My parents,” you rolled your eyes and crossed your arms over your chest, pushing your breasts up to the point that they were almost spilling out, “are busy with their ‘bible study.”
He was enraptured by this young woman, the beauty that defied all. The fire transported him in your spirit, and the curves that made all the sinful men and boys around you drool at your exposed skin.
‘A shame,’ he thought. ‘You need to be protected from the world by a firm hand, by a man of God.’
“Y/N dear, should you be wearing that?” The old lady scolded you.
‘Yes,’ Steve agrees, ‘you shouldn’t be wearing exposing clothing for anyone but your husband.’
“You really should save your innocence-“
“My innocence is still intact, Mrs. Humphrey.” You rolled your eyes again and lifted the drink to your lips, the bottle disguised as an innocent drink, but he knew better.
‘You need a firm hand,’ Steve thought to himself, picturing every way that a man like him could straighten out a woman like you, ‘and a firm spanking.’
“Be sure to tell your parents-“
“Whatever.” You rolled your eyes and turned your back, leaving the woman who was speaking to you, and the man you didn’t know was watching you.
“Someone needs to straighten that girl out, Father Rogers.” The woman addressed him, pointedly staring at you with narrowed eyes. “And a few prayers.”
He would be the one. He would be the one to settle you. He was going to the one to place his firm hand upon your body.
You were going to be his little wife. You were going to be his pretty little woman.
God told him. You belonged to him.
First, he had to meet your parents and work his magic on them.
** **
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imaginedreamwrite · a month ago
Hellfire: Part 3
The relentless heat continued. Your part of the county was stuck in a heatwave that hovered above your small town like a thick and dense fog, only instead of making it hard to see and navigate through the streets, the heat fog hung above the town and made everyone miserable.
That first Sunday when Father Rogers spoke for the first time, you felt terrible for him. Well, you sympathized with him at the very least for having to be stuck wearing that long black robe in the church that didn’t have air conditioning and had only allowed the windows to be opened. The heat was relentless and even more so in the church, with people sitting closer together than should’ve, but that is to be expected in a church that was 120 years old. It was small, the pews were uncomfortable, and there wasn’t as much space as there should’ve been.
The heat rolled over for the coming weeks with no sign of breaking. It was the third week of the incessant heat when something shifted, though it wasn’t the heat.
It was Friday, the thick heat sweltering, providing a brief relief as the sun started to go down. Your plans to go out with Peter were still on, yet shortly after eight, you heard the doorbell ring and the sound of your parent's voices greeting Father Rogers. Your curious ears were listening to what you could listen to, what little you could hear while getting dressed in something extraordinary that wouldn’t set your parents or the priest off in a tangent about keeping yourself covered modestly.
As you crept closer to the door your bedroom door and cracked it open, you heard the distinct sound of the engine of Peter’s truck as it pulled into the driveway. You were torn between listening to what your parents and the priest were saying and between Peter pulling in to pick you up.
You turned your head, glanced over your shoulder toward the window. The window coverings pulled across the panes of glass hadn’t done enough to block out the heat nor the light coming from the headlights of his truck.
You pulled yourself away from the door and began changing from your sweat shorts and your oversized shirt into a dark blue romper with lace trim, the material thin enough to keep you cool yet not think enough to be see-through.
It was as close as you were going to get.
You stepped into the romper and pulled it up to your body, your attention fixated on your phone, which was beeping from the arrival of a text from Peter. You fixed the romper on your body and then reached for your phone; you spun on your heel and sank to your bed with your phone in your hands, sending a text in response.
Your time spent on the bed was minimal, as when you were finished sending the text, you grabbed your crossbody bag from your floor near your dresser and flung it over yourself. You exited the room and closed the door loudly behind you before you started trouncing down the steps.
“I’m going!” You announced to your parents, listening as the mumbled voices ceased.
“Y/N,” your father’s voice stopped you before you could move too far, “come here for a moment.”
You dropped your head and your hand from the doorknob and turned your back to the exit with a sigh. You slowly walked from the front door to the living room where they all sitting together, wishing that you could’ve dashed out the door instead.
But your mother had a way of getting under your skin and nagging to the point of compliance to get her to stop. It wasn’t just her though, all the mothers in your small town seemed to have that kind of natural nagging. Along with being rather protective and setting a series of rules that had seemed outrageous given that you were an adult, albeit a young adult, your mother showed her love in mysterious ways.
“Mom, I’m on my way out,” you stepped into the living room and did a double-take when your eyes drifted to Father Rogers.
Instead of the black robe or some obnoxious ‘old man’ sweater you pictured him wearing, he was wearing a well-fitting black waistcoat and a striped blue dress shirt beneath with the top two buttons undone. The black robe he wore on Sundays hadn’t done the man justice. The black robe hid the massive size of the man who was leading the church, the broad width of his shoulders and chest, the thick and robust biceps that were only accentuated further by the design of the shirt he wore.
He was like an entirely different man, a man who was not only classically handsome but had truly personified male beauty. If you hadn’t known him before, if you’d seen him on the street or in a bar, you’d be blindsided by this perfect specimen.
Just how you were now.
How had you not realized his eyes were so blue? His jaw was so strong? And his hands were thick and large.
“Is he going to come to the door or sit in his truck all night?” Your father asked while you were almost unable to pull your attention off of Father Rogers.
“Dad,” you broke the contact and groaned, “it’s the 21st century. Guys don’t come to the door and pick women up anymore. He‘s ready; I’m ready. I’m just going to walk out and meet him.”
“He should come in. It’s a matter of respect.” Your dad was traditional and old-fashioned, believing that relationships should begin with courting, not dating.
“Dad, please-“
“Y/N dear, isn’t that a little short?” Your mother drew her attention to your romper, the lace trim of the shorts in between your knees and your upper thighs and the neckline dipping into a ‘V’ but not deep enough to show any sliver of your bra.
“I’m sorry,” you drew your attention back to Steve, “but what is Father Rogers doing here? Performing an exorcism?”
“Y/N!” Your mother hissed. “That is not funny!”
“I’m here to speak to your parents about my intent to-“
“I have to go.” You glanced at your phone, seeing the three texts you’d received. “Peter’s waiting for me.”
You turned and slinked out of the living room to head toward the door. When you reached the door and touched the metal handle, a large, warm hand grabbed your wrist and stopped you from leaving.
“Y/N,” you turned and found yourself standing nearly face to chest with Father Rogers, his imposing, broad figure trapping you, essentially, between his body and the door, “you asked why I’m here. I want to tell you the truth in the hopes that we can start the process on the right foot.”
“I’m sorry?” You pulled a face and tilt your head slightly to the left, your eyes moving past him to your mother standing behind him with a rather large and proud smile on her face. “What process?”
“Dating isn’t becoming of a young woman like yourself, Y/N.” your mom called, encroaching further upon the two of you. “And Peter, as lovely as he is, isn’t someone who can provide you security and stability to-”
“Are you serious? Is this the conversation we’re going to have right now?” Your eyes bore into your mother’s, the constriction of your eyes speaking to your displeasure. “You are having a conversation about courting someone who is like….”
“Y/N, he has displayed interest in you and has done right by asking both of us for the chance to-“
“Displayed interest?” your attention shot back to him. “The leagues of women who have thrown themselves at his feet, and he hasn't bat an eye. I'm pretty sure what he’s ‘interested’ in-”
“Don't you dare finish that sentence!” your mother shrieked.
“I came to ask your parents permission to see you,” he answered just as right as you expected for a priest.
“You saw me. Goodnight.” You sneered.
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes, well, unfortunately for you, I'm already ‘seeing’ someone. And he has seen more of me than even my mother has seen.” You opened the door and stepped halfway out, stopping when he called your name.
“Y/N,” his thumb brushed against the underside of your wrist, “my interest in seeing you isn't juvenile.”
“There are a lot of other women who would gladly take upon you with interest.” You pulled your wrist from his hand. “All you’d need to do is stand outside shirtless, and they’ll come by the hoards. Find someone else.”
You left and closed the door behind you with a rather loud bang.
** **
“I am sorry about my daughter's attitude,” your mother was quick to apologize when you left when you slammed the door, but that hardly bothered Steve.
After your departure, the three adults returned to the living room, where he took his original place on your parent's couch. Your mother offered him a bottle of water and sat beside your father on the adjacent sofa, her hand resting on your father's knee.
“Y/N has a free spirit,” Steve spoke in admiration, “it’s beautiful.”
“Y/N has always done things her way and has a stubborn streak that drives me crazy.” Your mother sighed. “And a potty mouth.”
“I really would like the chance to court your daughter, Mr. and Mrs. L/N.” Steve leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees with his hands pressed palm to palm. “I feel like God is telling me that she is the one I’ve been waiting for.”
Your parents look relieved, both of them. They looked ecstatic that Steve, a proper and gentlemanly male, wanted to take care of their daughter. They looked relieved and overjoyed that someone who could provide for you in every way while being a firm man of God was better than the boys you wanted to run with.
Not that Peter was a bad kid, but there was immaturity still lingering in the young man. There was that rose-coloured glasses tint on the relationship. You and Peter may have claimed to be in love, but you had no idea what real love was. Neither of you did, and the first attempt at love wouldn’t last. It never had.
That’s the difference between Steve and Peter. Steve saw love as a more profound, more meaningful act than just feeling good around each other. Steve saw love as an act of protection and safekeeping, as a means to bring two people together to build a life of security. Love was spending nights talking to each other, holding conversations that were meaningful and deep, not just being physically intimate.
“Your daughter is beautiful,” Steve spoke with admiration again, a deeply seeded want bursting in him, “if you give me a chance, I will do right by your daughter. I will treat her with the utmost respect and integrity.”
“Y/N won’t like it,” your mother admits, “but of course, we approve. How could we not approve? You are a lovely man, Father Rogers.”
He wanted you. He knew you were made for him. He would treat you right, like the woman he had been waiting for. He would treat you with dignity and respect; he would take you out to dinner and enjoy long conversations with you.
Steve would show you the difference between dating and courting, between being with a boy and being with a man of God.
Steve wanted you. He would have you. It was what was right.
You were made for him, and he was made for you.
** **
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imaginedreamwrite · a month ago
Hellfire: Part 2
The heat felt unbearable, even in the early hours of Sunday morning. The heat was creating this thick density that made you want to strip down to your bare flesh and drench yourself in cold water, letting your skin turn prickly from the chill to escape the depravity of the hottest June on record.
“Please,” you begged Peter as you FaceTimed him, your body stretched out on the bed, your hands tucked under your head, “tell me you’re coming to church today. Its-“
“-Father Rogers first time preaching? I know. My aunt has been going on about how attractive the new priest is and how he can still be single.” Peter rolled his eyes and tucked his hand under his chin, his brown eyes twinkling as he studied you through the phone, his attention specifically focused on the gap between your cropped, fitting pyjama shirt and the loose, short cotton shorts you were wearing.
“I’d ask if you were going to wear something nice for me, but-“
“-my parents are making me dress up to impress the new guy on his first Sunday service.” You rolled your eyes and gritted your teeth.
“You and every other single woman in this town.” Peter chuckled and shook his head, his deep brown hair getting into his eyes.
“My mom said the hair salon was booked three weeks in advance to him arriving. And the boutiques-“
“-The three we have-“
“-were picked clean of every new article of clothing available.” You shift your body, bringing your right leg up as you bent it, closing the gap of your bare midriff but bringing more attention to the curve of your right asscheek.
“Would you take me seriously if I proposed to you?” Peter grinned, leaning forward with a wicked, playful look in his eyes.
“Peter,” you licked your bottom lip, preparing to speak when you heard the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs, “I have to go!”
You ended the call and shoved your phone into your nightstand before you flipped the blanket back over yourself and curled inward. You feigned sleep as the door opened, and your mother walked in, making her way to the closet with a quick worded hello, tossed your way.
“You should be up by now,” she scolded, the sound of metal hangars on your metal curtain rod making you wince, “we’re going to make a good impression today, aren’t we, Y/N M/N?”
You rolled your eyes behind your mother’s back and slowly withdrew the covers. You pushed yourself into a sitting position and rubbed the fake sleep from your eyes, giving your mom the impression that you’d just woken instead of speaking to your boyfriend in the early hours of Sunday morning.
“Y/N….” her voice was a warning as she started pulling clothes from the racks.
“Yes, mother,” you pulled your knees to your chest and wrapped your arms around your legs, watching your mother pull clothes to set them out on the end of the bed, “I’ll behave as I should meet the new…father….”
“His name is Father Rogers, and I think you’d quite like him. All the single women in town are awestruck over him. To be honest, if I were your age-“
“But you’re not,” you mumbled under your breath, “and I’m not single.”
“-I would be just as awestruck as those women.” Your mom seemed to slip into a temporary daydream as she held one of your skater skirts in her hands, bunching the black fabric.
“Mom,” your eyes narrowed, and your eyebrows furrowed at the sight of what she was pulling for you to wear, “it’s like 100 degrees outside. I’m not wearing leggings, a skirt, a tank top and a sweater.”
“You need to dress modestly when you officially meet Father Rogers-“
“I met him at the camp-“
“Not when he was in charge of the church. This will be like a new, fresh start. A new introduction.” Your mom pursed her lips, studying your pyjamas scornfully.
“I don’t need a new introduction; I’ve already had one.” You sighed as you stood. “All the single young women can trounce around in their dainty church dresses; I’ll wear jeans.”
“You will not!” She shrieked, slapping your hand when you tried to grab the skirts and put them back. “You will get dressed in a nice Sunday best outfit; make yourself up to meet our new Father.”
“Mom,” you placed your hands on your hips, “it is 100 degrees outside. If I wear a skirt, my legs are going to stick together, I’m going to sweat everywhere, and I will be cranky.”
“Y/N M/N L/N,” your mom matched your stance, “I am asking you one small favour. I didn’t make you attend bible study with the single women, I didn’t make you attend the single women’s seminar, but I will make you look appropriate and put together.”
You were at a standoff. You knew that if you caved now, you could get on her good side and potentially ask to go out with Peter tonight. You could give her what she wanted; you could put on the dress and turn up the charm and skip dinner tonight with your parents to join Peter.
“Mom-“ she cut you off before you could even finish.
“You wear a skirt or a dress, you doll yourself up, and you can go out with Peter. But I want real effort, Y/N.” She used a stern warning, a slight twitch of her lips and your promise before she left you to your own devices.
** **
Steve stood by the door of the church to greet people as they climbed the steps to attend. His hands were clasped behind his hands as he welcomes the members with a small smile and a ‘good morning,’ waiting for them to come and go so he could move on to the next one.
He was bashful still when mothers of single women pointed out their daughters were available to be courted. He would smile and nod his head; his interest was purely kept at a level of niceties.
He was a man who wanted to be a husband and a father. He was a man of God who was waiting for the right woman, the woman with who he could secure his future. He was in his early to mid-thirties, a veteran of the army, an ex-captain who had seen horrors of the war. He was now a priest, a man who was dedicated to bringing people to God.
However, his desire to be a husband and a father would go hand in hand with his calling to be a priest. He was waiting; he knew that the right woman was on the horizon. He believed that this town would be the place where he would meet his darling wife.
And when he saw you at the camp, the young woman wearing far too revealing clothes who needed a firm hand, his strong hand and his discipline, Steve knew that you had to be the one.
“Good morning, Mr. L/N.” Steve, greet your father first, studying him before his attention turned to your mother. “Good morning, Mrs. L/N.”
Then he looked at you, and he felt his heart stop. The moment he saw you standing slightly behind your mother wearing a cream-coloured skirt, the end far too short for what he would’ve chosen for you, but your saving grace was the black tights you wore, tucked into black boots. You wore a maroon-coloured long sleeve blouse with lace near the ends of the sleeves and a black belt that accentuated your waist.
You were a picture of beauty and loveliness, a picture that was worth ten thousand words for one still image.
“Good morning,” Steve’s smile grew, his attention solely on you, “Y/N.”
You smiled tight and kept silent until your mother nudged you and shot you a look. You dropped your hands to your sides and licked your bottom lip, giving him your briefest attention, your eyes meeting in a moment that was electrifying for him.
“Good morning, Father Rogers.” Your voice was quiet as if you didn’t want to be there, speaking to him.
“It’s half melted!” Your half shrieked laugh rang throughout his head as the recent memory of you playing with your miserable-looking smores around the campfire at the retreat was playing out in his mind.
“I thought you liked sticky white stuff between your fingers?”
One of the other women your age jest, making you snort in laughter.
“Belle!” You hissed playfully. “Shut up!”
“Are you looking forward to the service today, Y/N?” He was quick to observe you, quick to follow the apparent discourse between the image you conveyed for your parents and the idea you got in moments when they were not around.
“Oh sure,” you nod your head, “of course, with how hot it is now, I feel like I’m already in hell.”
“Y/N!” Your mother gasped; her eyes widened in disbelief.
“Hell is nothing to joke about, Y/N.” Steve had to hide his amusement at the look in your eyes, the spark and the fire from getting a rile out of your mom.
“I am so sorry, Father Rogers.” Your mother apologized profusely, her hand reaching for your arm. “We will be going to sit now.”
“Y/N,” he reached for your wrist and stopped you from walking further into the church, “could I speak to you for a moment?”
Your mother and father went ahead, leaving you alone in his presence.
“If this is about the whole skimpy clothes thing at camp, Mrs. Humphrey makes a big deal out of nothing.” You crossed your arms over your chest.
“No,” Steve fought against that memory for the desire it left him with, “but I do believe that young women should save the sanctity of their bodies for their husbands.”
You made a noise in your throat, and he caught you rolling your eyes.
‘A lesson in discipline,’ Steve thought, ‘a scolding would suffice, but if not, there’s always the hand.’
“Well, that is the consensus among older people,” you cocked your hip, and his eyes briefly flickered to your bent leg. “Did you need anything else, Father Rogers? I want to go sit now.”
‘Impatience,’ Steve pursed his lips, ‘a lesson in waiting would be needed. Another reward for good behaviour and a spanking for bad behaviour.’
“Of course, Y/N.” Steve nods his head. “I would like to let you know that I am here for you. If you need anything at all, please don’t hesitate to come to me for guidance.”
He watched you turn and walk away. He watched your hips sashay, albeit probably unwittingly, as you moved throughout the church to the same aisle that your parents were in. He watched you shamelessly, his mind briefly wandering to a place in the future.
A place in which you had a beautiful diamond ring on your finger and a tiny baby bump protruding. Or perhaps a place in the future where you had a small bundle in your arms sitting in the front row while your husband was speaking to the congregation.
He could see it. He would revel in it.
** **
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imaginedreamwrite · a month ago
Hellfire: Part 4
We’re his eyes deceiving him? Was the torrential downpour that came after the weeks of unrelenting heat caused him to see things? He must’ve been noticing something beyond the norm, or maybe he wasn’t hallucinating.
Maybe the figure he was seen walking in the pouring rain was who he thought it was. Perhaps you were the one trapped in the torrential storm with near-constant shivering afflicting you. It was not when Steve saw the figure he showed his car down and pulled to a stop. He slammed the gear into the park and opened his door to get out and have a conversation with whoever was stranded.
When he set foot on the concrete, he realized that he was correct. The figure walking in the pouring rain was the woman he couldn’t get out of his head, the woman who had settled into himself like air in his lungs and blood in his veins.
“Y/N!” Steve yelled your name, watching as you raised your head and looked around confused and bewildered until your eyes came to rest on him. “What are you doing, sweetheart?”
He crossed the small distance, the thick and heavy raindrops soaking his flesh and his grey hoodie, creating this chill in his body that he felt almost instantly. As he stepped beside you, he shoved his hands in his pockets and focused his weight on toes instead of his heels.
“Leave me alone.” You grumbled, your arms wrapped around your waist. “Please…”
“What are you doing in the rain? You’ll get sick.” Steve reached for your hand, his fingers grazing against the underside of your wrist. “Come on, honey. Let me drive you home.”
“I don’t want to go home.” You frowned and turned your head, using your right hand to wipe the rain from your face. You were shivering, and your lips were starting to appear as if they could turn blue at any minute. You looked miserable, and that wasn’t just because of the way you were soaked through your clothes.
You had been standing there for just a moment, and it was a moment long enough for Steve to quickly pick up on your shivering, your shaking and the way your knees looked as if you were about to give under.
“You’re not arguing with me, Y/N.” Steve wrapped an arm around your shoulders and tucked his arm under your knees. He hoists you up, noting the lack of fight, as he made his way back to the vehicle. Your head was lobbed against his, your eyes unfocused, and your lips pursed.
He carried you to his vehicle and propped the door open with one hand. Steve set you down in the seat and leaned in, his arms rubbing up and down the sleeves of your soaked shirt to bring you some warmth.
“What were you doing out there, Y/N?” Steve mumbled, moving his left hand from your arm to your cheek. “Hey, look at me….”
“He’s leaving.” You whispered, your eyes screwed tight, your nose scrunched.
“Who’s leaving?” Steve reached across your body with your seatbelt in his hands, securing the buckle. When he was finished, Steve focused as much heat as he could into your side of the vehicle, blasting you with warm air.
“Peter.” You opened your eyes and stared at Steve with sad, tear-filled eyes. Your heart was breaking within the depths of his rises, and for the moment, he was rendered unable to breathe or form words. All he could do was look at you and study your beauty, study how breathtaking you were even while being so physically upset. “Peter’s leaving.”
“You’re cold,” Steve felt your forehead, frowning when you shivered against him, “honey, you need to go home and get warm.”
“I don’t want to go home,” you mumbled again and shift in him the passenger seat, turning away from him, “anywhere but home.”
Steve brushed your wet hair behind your ear and continued the stroke down the side of your neck. He hummed quietly, and then he pulled away and closed the door, jogging around the other side of the vehicle. When he got into the driver’s side, he yanked the door closed he turned lightly to face you.
“You don’t want to go home; where can I take you? Hmm?”
You lifted your head and focusing your gaze on him, lazily blinking as exhaustion settled into you from the cold snd the argument you’d had with Peter.
“I don’t care, Father Rogers. I don’t want to go home. I don’t….”
“Are you hungry?” Steve asked, tapping your cheek when it appeared as if you were going to fall asleep. “You need to answer me, Y/N.”
You yawned and pulled your knees up to your chest after sitting sideways. Your hands were tucked into your armpits, and your nose was brushing against the cloth of the passenger’s seat. You were tired; you were hungry. You felt like Peter had taken your heart and smashed it.
“Take me to your place. Could you take me to a shelter? Just don’t take me home. I can’t face my parents now.” You cried; you begged and pleaded.
“I’m going to take you to my place.” Steve felt his throat constricting. “I’ll get you warm clothes and something to eat, okay? Sweetheart?”
He spoke, yet in between the moments, you’d fallen asleep. The soft whimpers and whispers made in your sleep were endearing, and Steve took a moment to hear them, to watch you sleep peacefully.
And then, he was driving again.
** **
Your head was pounding. Your throat was tight and scratchy, and when you moved, you ached. You knew you weren’t in your bed the moment you rolled over and caught sight of the dark oak nightstands and the thick quilted comforter on your bed.
You rubbed the sleep from your eyes and attempted to pull your body from the warmth of the bed and the comforter. When you had finally managed to remove yourself from the desirable heat, you stumbled on shaky legs and fell to the floor.
You groaned and gripped the bed frame with all your might and pushed yourself to stand. Your movements were shaky, your knees weak as you stood step by agonizing step.
Your whole body ached, your throat felt like sandpaper, your head was throbbing like a jackhammer, and you were as cold as the most northern tip of the Arctic.
You reached the door and opened it, slipping out of the room. You took slow steps, much like you had in the bedroom, fighting out the waves of nausea that threatened to send you hurtling to the floor with spew up to soak the foot. You kept your head down, and your eyes narrowed and crinkled while moving from the bedroom down the hall to the opening of a kitchen and the living room to your left.
“You’re awake,” Father Rogers was sitting on the couch with a book in his hands that he had quickly snapped as he stood snd removed himself from the sofa, “how are you feeling?”
“Terrible,” you complained, slowly inching forward, “I’m in your home?”
Father Rogers exchanged his robes and his waistcoat and dress shirts for a plain grey cotton t-shirt and a pair of dark blue sweats. Like the waistcoat and dress shirt, this combination had done an incredible wonder for Steve and his physical appearance, and more than once, you caught yourself staring.
“Yes,” he shoved his hands in his sweat pockets, “you didn’t want to go home. I wasn’t going to take you to the shelter. But I did call your parents.”
You cupped your head, your fingernails digging into your scalp.
“My parents are going to kill me,” you hissed when you heard the doorbell ringing.
Father Rogers moved from the kitchen and the living room open floor plan to the entryway adjacent to the kitchen. He shot you a sympathizing look before he unlocked the door snd opened it, your parents coming rushing in.
“Y/N M/N L/N!” Your mother screeched. “You had us worried sick! We had no idea where you were, what you were doing and-“
“-Can you stop yelling? My head is killing me.”
“Did you get drunk?! Y/N I cannot believe that you would even think to “
“Y/N was with me, Mrs. L/N.” father Rogers moved toward you, his hand resting against your hip. “It’s my fault.”
Your mother stopped talking and snapped her jaw shut, her accusing eyes moving between you and the priest. Your father was a man who was undoubtedly influenced by your mother and had, all in all, done what she wanted when she wanted. He wouldn’t provide any support.
“I’m sorry, Father Rogers. I don’t know, understand..?”
“Y/N,” he squeezed your hip as a warning to play along with the charade that he was crafting to get you out of trouble, “and I have decided to start seeing each other. Your daughter came over last night to watch a movie, and after showing symptoms of being sick, I couldn’t let her drive home.”
Your mother’s eyes lit up, and her smile had replaced the frown on her face. She clenched her hands tight and made a sound that was crossed between a shriek, an excited squeal and a gasp.
“Oh!” She reached forward and squeezed you tightly. “This is the most amazing news!”
You winced and squeezed your forehead again. You screwed your eyes shut tight and shift your weight from your right foot to your left foot.
“Why don’t you go back to bed, hmm? I’ll bring you some tea.” Father Rogers squeezed your hand again before he leaned down and brushed his lips against your ear. “I can take you home later; for now, let me entertain your parents.”
You were too tired to argue. You felt like you’d been dragged behind a train, and that was on top of all the pain you felt from Peter.
“I am so happy for you, Y/N.” your mom reached out to squeeze hug you again, only to be stopped by Father Rogers.
“Y/N needs rest, Mrs. L/N. Let her go rest, and we’ll go talk.”
You moved back toward the hallway leading to the bedroom. You rolled your eyes and shuffled your feet, confused and sick and tired and hungry and in pain.
You made it back to bed and had enough energy to lift yourself under the covers before your head the pillow, and you went back to sleep.
You’d talk to Steve later.
** **
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imaginedreamwrite · a month ago
Hellfire sneak peek
His eyes were gravitating toward you, his lips pursed. How could someone so innocent and lovely allow themselves to be looked up by young men like they were a piece of meat?
“Do your parents know you’re out here?” One of the residents in the vacation village asked the young woman , her judgemental eyes cast upon the short, tight jean shorts that’s hugged your hips and cupped your asscheeks.
“My parents,” you rolled your eyes and crossed your arms over your chest, pushing your breasts up to the point that they were almost spilling out, “are busy with their ‘bible study’.”
He was enraptured by this young woman, the beauty that defied all. He was enraptured by the fire in your spirit and the curves that made all the sinful men and boys around you drool at your exposed skin.
‘A shame’, he thought. ‘You need to be protected from the world by a firm hand, by a man of God.’
“Y/N dear, should you really be wearing that?” The old lady scolded you.
‘Yes,’ Steve agrees, ‘you shouldn’t be wearing exposing clothing for anyone but your husband.’
“You really should save your innocence-“
“My innocence is still in tact, Mrs. Humphrey.” You rolled your eyes again and lift the drink to your lips, the bottle disguised as an innocent drink but he knew better.
‘You need a firm hand,’ Steve thought to himself, picturing every way that a man like him could straighten out a woman like you, ‘and a firm spanking.’
“Be sure to tell your parents-“
“Whatever.” You rolled your eyes and turned your back, leaving the woman who was speaking to you, and the man you didn’t know was watching you.
“Someone needs to straighten that girl out, Father Rogers.” The woman addressed him, pointedly staring at you with narrowed eyes. “And a few prayers.”
He would be the one. He would be the one to settle you. He was going to the the one to place his firm hand upon your body.
You were going to be his little wife. You were going to be his pretty little woman.
God told him. You belonged to him.
** **
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imaginedreamwrite · a month ago
Hellfire: Part 5
A/N: Sprinkling of smut and dirty talk
** **
The thunderstorm and torrential downpour of rain broke the thickness and relieved the hell-heat that plagued the whole county. The broke from the thick and dense humidity, and heat came three days after Peter told you he was leaving and two days after Father Rogers had spun a little white lie that you and he were going to be an item.
You had prepared yourself for a nattering of questions from your mother and father, a constant attack of probing that would leave you irritated and desperate for something illicit that your mother didn’t know you smoked two years ago.
However, there was no questioning. There was no mattering. Your mother had relatively remained silent on the whole matter, which given records, seemed incredibly suspicious.
Even the day after Father Rogers had rescued you, your mother was relatively quiet. She didn’t press you; she didn’t prod you for details.
But she did smile. She smiled so vast and so brightly, you were worried that she had lockjaw. She smiled, she beamed, and she stared at you.
You still hadn’t heard from Father Rogers, though he had mentioned talking later when he dropped you off; that conversation never happened.
Instead of conversing with you, he had received a call that he had to take, and you played on your phone pretending that you didn’t hear the conversation between a priest and an older woman complaining that her husband was gone too long and too late.
By the time you’d arrived back at your house, you were drained and exhausted, still weighed down by the cold that hit you suddenly. You bid Father Rogers a good night and then proceeded to depart his SUV and entered your house to find your mother waiting for you, yet she still hadn’t said a thing.
She just smiled.
Which was almost worse. You’d instead her talk for hours than be stuck in this never-ending cycle staring and smiling.
Still, Father Rogers said you would be having a conversation. And then it never happened.
At least, not in the first two days since he’d saved you.
On the third day, you woke up shortly after 10 to your phone vibrating against your nightstand. With sleep still in your eyes, you answered without looking at the number or the name, your tiredness still afflicting your voice.
“Morning, sleepyhead.” His deep baritone husky filtered through the phone and caused an immediate warmth to take root in your belly.
He was attractive, to say the very least, and his deep voice this early in the morning…
“How’d you get my number?” You groaned, rubbing the crust from the corner of your eyes.
“Your mother gave it to me,” he exhaled short, followed by a grunt, “what are you doing?”
“What are you doing?” That grunt, the sound of his deep voice grunting, paint a very explicit picture that had a very immediate reaction on the apex between your thighs.
“Not what you think, sweetheart. I’m a man of God.”
“Men of God don’t abstain from sexual acts.” You chewed the inside of your cheek and spread your legs under your blanket, your hand trickling down your stomach to your wet panties.
“They are until marriage.” Steve grunts again.
“You were someone before becoming a priest, weren’t you?” Your fingers dipped beneath the waistband of your panties, stroking your wet pussy lips, a soft and airy gasp leaving your lips.
“Are you being a bad girl?” He questioned through the phone, his voice taking a certain husky that made your breath catch in your throat. “Naughty, naughty…”
“What do you want?” Your voice was more of a whine as you started circling your fingers against your dripping heat.
“I want to pick you up. We have a lot to talk about.” He hummed into the phone, another sound that was driving you toward a place of more profound lust.
“You should be condemning me.” You bit your bottom lip, your mind wandering to a filthy place with Father Rogers at the centre.
“Perhaps I’m listening to the sound of your sins.” He grunts through the phone, followed by a slow exhale.
“What are you doing?”
“Working out.” He answered short.
“You’re naughty, honey. You’re going to have to confess your sins.”
“I already am, Father Rogers.”
“Not properly, you’re not.”
You were close. You were far too close to your peak.
“Speak the confessional, Y/N.” He was listening intently; you knew he was.
“Forgive me, Father,” your orgasm was unstoppable, it was hitting you like a freight train, and you had come undone on the spot, your moans carrying through to Steve, “for I have sinned.”
“Good girl,” he praised you, the fire in your belly growing, “I’ll pick you up in half an hour.”
When he arrived, he complied with your father’s ‘respect’ rule, that anyone coming to pick you up had to knock on the door.
He drove his sleek black SUV and picked you up by coming to the door and knocking. He stood outside the door in an off-grey dress shirt tucked into black slacks, and that still hadn’t hidden his thick and powerful thighs or his long legs that drew attention to his hips and waist.
His shoulders were wide and broad, his chest as equally powerful and thick as the rest of him. He was a sight to behold, and even if you’d done something naughty a half hour before, you could’ve indeed done that same dirty deed now.
“Good morning, Father.” Your mother answered the door with that same annoying smile on her face, proud of your decision.
“Good morning Mrs, L/N,” Steve spoke to your mother but looked at you. He watched you walking down the stairs in a pair of tight-fitting jeans and a loose shirt tied in the front to the right.
“Wow,” you stepped off the bottom step and crossed your arms over your chest, “in this light, you almost look normal. You know opposed to when you look like a self-righteous-.”
“Y/N!” Your mother hissed.
“Careful what you say, Y/N,” Steve’s eyes flashed, and his lips twitched.
“Of course, Father Rogers. I would hate to have to confess my sins twice today.” You fired your look back and brushed past your mother to the front door. As you slipped out of the house, you locked eyes with him and teasingly bit your bottom lip.
“I’ll have your daughter back tonight.” He addressed your father, and again, his eyes were on you.
“There’s no rush.” Your mother laughed with glee. “Y/N, be on your best behaviour!”
** **
“You lied to my parents,” he watched you dip your finger into the whipped cream at the top of your iced drink before you sucked it off, locking eyes with him the whole time, teasing him.
That’s what you were. You were a tease.
“I did it to protect you, honey.” He leaned in and clasped his hands together, resting his chin on top. “If you mother and father found out you were out with Peter that late-“
“My parents don’t give me freedom, Father Rogers.”
“Steve,” he corrected you, watching you repeat the same process with the whipped cream, his mouth-watering when your lips sucked at your finger, “you can call me, Steve.”
“Of course,” you bat your eyes at him, “since you told my parents, we were seeing each other.”
“It’ll be mutually beneficial, sweetheart.” He lowered his right to rest on top of your left hand, his thumb stroking your knuckles.
“How’s that?” You asked, tilting your head. “How’s it mutually beneficial?”
“Your parents don’t give you freedom? I can,” Steve squeezed your hand.
“By entering a fake relationship with the priest?” You scoffed.
“You wanna go to university? You can-“
“-because my ‘boyfriend’ would allow it.” You rolled your eyes.
“We act like a couple in public; you can have the freedom you’ve always wanted. Do you want to go to university? I’ll pay for it.”
“The whole thing?” You were incredulous. “You would pay for me to go to school?”
“You wanna spend the weekend in the city? You can. You wanna take a trip out of state?” He was promising freedom you never thought you’d have. And that was pathetic to think about considering that you were an adult, albeit you were young, over 21 but young.
“And we act like a couple? What do you get out of it?” You had a right to be skeptical.
And Steve wouldn’t tell you the whole truth. You wouldn’t believe him if he told you the truth. You belonged with him; he knew it deep in his soul. You were supposed to be his.
“I stop getting harassed by the single women in the town,” he squeezed your hand again, “you get your parents off your back.”
“University,” you hummed and leaned back against the booth you were in, “and you’ll pay?”
“You need to put in the effort, Y/N. We need to appear to be the perfect couple.” Steve watched the wheels in your head turn.
“I can be perfect.” You bat your eyes.
“If you’re a good girl, I’ll treat you.” There was thickening in the air around you, desire crackling like lightning before the thunder.
“And if I’m bad?” You bit your bottom lip, stoking the fire in your belly.
“Then I’ll punish you,” Steve answered so honestly and with such husk in his voice that you almost wished he would’ve punished you now.
“What kind of punishments are you talking about, Steve?” You pondered, wetness pooling between your legs when he stood and moved around the table, his eyes captivating yours.
He placed one hand on the table in front of you and the other right behind your back, trapping you between his arms and his solid body.
He leaned in and brushed his lips against the shell of your ear, effectively bringing a rise of goosebumps to your flesh. “You seem like the kind of woman who needs a good spanking to keep them in line.”
You gasped when his hand on the table reached down to squeeze your inner thigh. You gasped and spread your legs when you felt how hard he was trapped in his black slacks.
“And I have a feeling you would enjoy every minute.” He added his final tease by blowing lightly on your ear, and then he was gone, moved back across the table as if nothing happened.
** **
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