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marxo-fm · 22 days

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Take me to Church

✯ John Price x f!reader | Playlist

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

Words: 4.7k

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

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

—

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

You memorized their names.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You chopped it.

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

It’s John.

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

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

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

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

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

A spark.

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

Forgive me for my sins.

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Damnit,"

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

"Nothin', now come on outside."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Just like that.'

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

"Attagirl, in and out."

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

Finally, finally, finally.

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

At that moment, you wanted to scream.

To run away.

To die.

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

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

A sinful girl.

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

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

You lied.

Another sin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Go on."

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

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

You almost can't believe it.

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

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

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

"S'fuckin' wet."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You swore you saw Heaven.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was a sight for sore eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

He stops, and you stop holding your breath.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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moongreenlight · 6 days

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Mafia!Price is NOT your fucking aesthetic. A full comprehensive list as to why.

He cooka da pizza!

He goes to church every Sunday. A massive Roman Catholic Church downtown. Ancient building with floor-to-ceiling stained glass windows depicting the life and loss of Christ. Full two hour masses that he always wears a suit to. At first it starts as some last-ditch attempt to absolve him of his guilt, but then it became habit.

And maybe it was his wife. Her parents were devout and just about keeled over when they found out their only daughter was married by a quick ceremony in the courthouse to a man they’d never met. Her mother was the worst, though it was to be expected. Likely didn’t know John had won his new bride when her husband didn’t have the funds left to pay off his debt. Fucking miracle she hadn’t yet done the math and realized his first child was born seven months later. He’d be persecuted to no end.

There was a target on his back since the wedding. Always put him in the hot seat on Sunday evening dinners while his wife was trying to wrangle their children into eating their vegetables. Drilled into him about work and life and why he always seemed too busy to prioritize “something worthwhile” in his life. Mother sets in on him like she’d been waiting for the opening all evening.

“So, John. Remind us what you do for work.” Accusatory. Glaring over her barely touched plate of roast at him.

“Contracting. Bit of this and that.” He fights the urge to roll his eyes, if only barely.

“Hm. And what does that entail? Can’t keep you as busy as you swear you are.” She’s unabashed. Her husband doesn’t share the sentiment. He sighs into his glass of brandy and tries to catch her eye.

“Don’t do much hands-on these days. Project management and bookkeeping for me now. Brought on a few guys to do the grunt. You remember from when we did your bathroom, I’m sure.” He doesn’t shy away from the challenge. Principled.

“Boys would do well to have some structure. Bet they haven’t been in a church since they were baptized.” She ignores his parry and switches to what she really wants to talk about after looking over to her daughter who is all but force-feeding them florets of broccoli. Typical.

He finally wore down after a Christmas where the only gift he got from them was a deep brown leather-wrapped bible. Used. Split down the spine, dog-eared pages. Like they’d stolen it from the shelf in the pew for the dolts who weren’t well-mannered enough to bring their own.

From then, it had become a welcome escape from reality. Church in the morning. 8am service, because he was up before the sun anyway. Sipping coffee in the kitchen beforehand, pouring over a heavy binder with the title ‘family finance’ scrawled in his wife’s delicate handwriting across the front.

He could hear her wrestling with their two boys in the bathroom upstairs. Their indignant screeching clueing him in that he should probably get up and help, but he always tried to steal a few more moments to himself. Calm before the storm.

The boys have sour looks on their faces when they stomp down the stairs not five minutes later, though they’re nothing in comparison to their mother who’s only a few steps behind. They get the deep furrow in their brows from him, the bitter curl of their lips from her.

“Glad you’re enjoying your slow start, John. Really.”

He should feel worse for not helping. Tries to lay her hackles back down by snapping the binder shut and pressing a chaste kiss to her temple. She barely pauses to accept it before pushing past to pack her purse. Four bibles, his ratty one, her perfectly white one with different colored sticky notes poking out the sides, and two smaller children's bibles that she’d shove in their laps for appearance sake. Snacks for the boys, and a flash of the handle of her small handgun- safetied and then shoved into the bottom of her tote.

“Should’ve shouted f’you needed help. Can’t hear a thing down here.” The boys snicker when he winks over at them. They’re outfitted in their Sunday best. Slacks with damp finger marks on the thighs from where she’d tried to smooth out wrinkles. Buttoned-down shirts that they were already tugging at the collars of. Hair gelled back, no doubt the reason for their griping earlier.

She doesn’t find it nearly as funny as they do. Shoots him a nasty look over her shoulder before disappearing into the spare room to grab a pair of low heels.

“We’re already late. If we have to sit in the back again, you’ll never hear the end of it.” It’s not an empty threat. They’d missed one service and some aunt had told her mother in passing. Took three months to get her to stop bringing it up.

“S’not even half seven. Takes fifteen minutes to get there.”

It’s supposed to mollify her, but it has the adverse effect. She looks ready to throw a shoe at him when she sits on the bottom stair to tug them on. He raises his hands in surrender.

“Easy.”

Somehow all four of them make it to the car in one piece. He sends a message to Kyle before they leave telling him to save them a space toward the front to err on the side of caution.

#I'm mafia-baiting sorry #This was really just to get me back into posting my writing lol #moongreenlight #moongreenlightwrites #sephspeaks #cod mw2 #call of duty #cod x reader #141 headcanons #drabble #price cod #captain john price #john price #captain price #price x reader #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #mafia au

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hurthermore · 27 days

Note

Hi,dear!i really really love your writings like a lot! Can i maybe request a human alastor x reader who's a sister in a church,but also a killer like him?if that's okay for sure! have a good day/night:)

»»------► 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙽𝚞𝚗

Pairing: 𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛 𝚡 𝙽𝚞𝚗!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

Warnings: 𝙼𝚞𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛, 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍, 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚖𝚞𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛, 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚘𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍

A/N: 𝙰𝙲𝙺𝙺𝙺 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞! 𝙰𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝙸 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚊, 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 >.< 𝙰𝚗 𝚊𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚗𝚒𝚔 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚟𝚎𝚒𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚗 𝚋𝚢 𝚗𝚞𝚗𝚜, 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍!

𝚁𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗!

Ever since Alastor was a child, his mother made it compulsory for him to attend mass every sunday, which he always did with a fabricated smile on his face; just to make his mother happy. It was a boring occurrence that Alastor found redundant; he was partial to the practice of voodoo, and therefore preferred not to partake in the catholic religion, especially once he started to grow into his adult years.

Even when Alastor began his career in the broadcasting profession, and moved out of his family home, his mother demanded that he was still to attend mass with her; she didn’t care if they rota’d him in for sunday, he was to decline performing his broadcasts that morning of the week, or he’d have his ear shouted off. And Alastor was, and never had been the type of man to let his beloved mother down, even if it were something as mundane as church. He’d attend for her.

On one particular attendance, he noticed there was one more nun designated among the monastics of the church. She stuck out like a sore thumb due to the almost sinister way her smile etched upwards on the beautiful features of her face. He’d only seen that type of smile on one other person; himself. And he’d be a fool not to be intrigued by it.

He found himself thinking more and more about the secrets hidden behind that stretching smile as the weeks passed by, his glances against her only intensified the more he attended church. He often contemplated approaching her, but she never left the stage where the pastor spoke passages from the bible, and once the sermons ended, she was always gone in the blink of an eye.

It became an agitating occurrence as the want to converse with her, to discover what type of person she was seemed almost impossible. But eventually, he finally found a chance to finally introduce himself when the church hosted a function for the annual celebration of the resurrection of Jesus Christ. as she stood among the attendees, handing out beverages; still attiring the same smile she always did.

Yet before he could approach her, his mother dragged him in another direction, telling him he had to greet the pastor before he dabbled in the crowd. So he obeyed, slightly irritated, but complied with his mother’s demands. As he greeted and made small talk with the Pastor, he couldn’t help but overhear a group of nuns gossiping behind him.

“Why has the Pastor put her on the beverage stand?”

“A menace to society that girl, I can’t believe he’d allow her to prattle among the votaries.”

“I know, especially with the rumours about her burning her last church down too; I swear he’s going to get us all killed.”

Alastor couldn’t help how his eyebrows raised in interest as he focused on the tittle-tattle behind him. It made him wonder; was this girl like him? Did she also have the same refined tastes for murder? With how the only reported murders in New Orleans being his own, he was doubtful of the prospect.

As he continued to attempt to approach the woman throughout the event, person after person kept interrupting his goal. His sense of murder was becoming heightened. People were always vermin, always in the way. And by the time he finally advanced toward the place he last saw her, she had been replaced with another nun. Turning his head in different directions, he attempted to find her among the crowd; but she was nowhere to be seen. Most likely confined to the bedding area of the church.

It was as if God himself was preventing him from acquainting her.

Grunting to himself, he made his way toward his mother, informing her that he was going to get some fresh air before he made his way outside. Plucking a cigarette from his pocket, he lit it up with a match as he rested his back against the outer walls of the church.

He was pissed to say the least; furious how the numerous sacks of living meat kept disturbing his plans.

All he wanted was to acquaint himself with that god forsaken beautiful smile.

As a puff of smoke vacated his lips, he perched as he heard rustling from the heavily wooded area to his right; eerily similar to how a caught rabbit would struggle as it attempted to leave the confines of its new found prison. Squinting his eyes, Alastor began to make his way into the wooded area to investigate the noise.

The further he moved through the forage and trunks of trees, the louder the rustling became; he swore he could start to hear grunts and strangled coughs. Pausing as he finally came across a sight to behold, his eyes landed on the nun that had been consuming his mind for months now. Her robes and apostolnik were covered in splatters of dark red blood as another nun laid underneath her; her neck sliced almost in half, clearly done moments before he had arrived due to the small amount of blood that squirted from her open neck; saturating the two women in red.

As he looked at the face of the corpse, he noticed it was one of the nuns from earlier that had whispered tales of the subject of his thoughts. Offering a smile, he made his presence known to the murderous nun who had caught his attention long before; taking a heavier step than usual as a way to alert her.

Her face fully faced him, and his smile only stretched in glee as he witnessed her blood soaked face attire that same smile she always did. If she was interesting before, then she was absolutely fascinating now. As the nun gazed at him, she didn’t attempt to run or attack him, only watching his movements.

“Can I help you?”

That voice. Alastor couldn’t help but adore how angelic her tone was; a wolf dressed in sheep's clothing. Just like him. Taking step after step toward her, Alastor offered her his hand as she sat atop the limp corpse. Placing her bloodied palm in his, he pulled her up to stand, kissing the back of her hand before she could pull away.

“Perhaps, but first, let’s get you clean, dear.”

»»------► 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

#alastor #alastor x reader #alastor x you #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #reader insert

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flowerandblood · 4 months

Text

The Gate of Salvation [1/3]

[ young pope • Aemond x catholic • female ]

[ warnings: sexual tension, angst, anxiety, manipulation, doubts related to faith, chauvinism ]

[ description: During the conclave, a new pope is elected, but to everyone's surprise, he does not intend to show himself to the crowds waiting for him. His ideas terrify the cardinals, and one of them convinces his niece, who is studying marketing, to talk to the new head of the Catholic Church in his presence. Main theme: sexual tension & holy touch. ]

A mini-series created as a thank you and celebration of my 2'500 followers. I initially plan that it will have about 3 chapters.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Aemond as a Pope Edit

Series Characters Moodboard

Aemond NSFW Alphabet

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

What happened after the conclave took everyone by surprise and caused complete chaos in the Catholic Church; she was one of the people who watched the live coverage from St Peter's Square.

She prayed in spirit that her uncle and her mother's brother, Cardinal Reene, would not become Pope.

Admittedly, it was thanks to him that she was living in Rome, and without his financial support she would not have been able to study, however, her uncle was a person who did nothing selflessly.

He recalculated to himself that if his niece wanted to study marketing at University then he would help her, reminding her at times that he would count on her help in the future, to create a good, sympathetic image of him.

She had the feeling that listening to him she was even losing her faith, which, despite her many internal disputes and doubts, was strong in her. She returned to the bosom of the church of her own free will when she was in high school after years of not attending Mass; she discovered that she felt attached to this tradition, as well as to God himself, whose presence she subconsciously felt all around her.

She knew that her uncle would certainly try to bribe other cardinals and she guessed what his pontificate would be like, so she begged God in her prayers not to allow such a man to become head of the church in his name, and heavens, as always, heard her prayers.

When she saw the white smoke on the screen she let out a loud breath, closing the textbook she had just been reading – she heard shouts and applause of joy coming from the television; the bells rang out, the solemn moment when the new pope comes out onto the balcony to greet his faithful was about to begin.

This went on for an astonishingly long time and she wondered if something had happened or if the votes had been miscounted, however, she heard the cheers of the crowd again as the doors opened. What stepped out was not a procession, but an ordinary priest in a black cassock; she recognised in him the secretary of the late Pope, who was certainly not a cardinal.

He seemed tense and frightened; he approached the microphone and said only two sentences.

"We have a Pope. The Holy Father, who has taken the name Pius XIII, asks you all to pray for him." He said in a trembling, uncertain voice, all pale, and then disappeared back behind the door – voices of disbelief and disappointment spread throughout the square, the gathered people, like her, were shocked.

However, all the internet portals published the name of the cardinal who had been elected; it turned out that the new pope was Cardinal Targaryen, a very little-known, withdrawn and shockingly young priest.

He was only two years older than her.

Journalists despaired that there were no official or unofficial photos of him, no statements from him, as if he had lived for years locked away in some monastery and never stepped into the light of day.

The world was confused and anxious – the young pope had not stepped out onto the balcony of St Peter's Basilica even once despite the crowds gathered in the square below chanting his name day and night.

She wondered if, in this way, he wanted to focus the world's attention even more on himself by standing in the absolute centre of it, and thought that if so, it was not a good beginning to his pontificate.

Two days later, her uncle paid her an unannounced visit at the flat he was renting to her, dressed so that no one would recognise him, just like the other cardinals still hounded by journalists and paparazzi.

"I need your help. The matter is very delicate." He said quickly, handing her his coat, which she hung on one of the hangers, looking at him over her shoulder in surprise.

"Me?" She asked with her eyes wide open, wondering what was going on there that required the help of someone from outside the Vatican.

"Pius XIII is a cripple. He lost his left eye as a child. He insists that if he is to show himself to a crowd, it should only be with his artificial eye, but not an ordinary one, one that resembles the real one, but a completely white one. He thinks this suits his attire and position better, but we think it will create additional confusion about him. Additionally, he wants to keep the Pope's public appearances to a complete minimum. He has fired all the Vatican marketing people with years of experience. This is some madness. Can I have a coffee?" He finally asked after his verbosity, sitting down in a chair at the living room table, placing his black wide-brimmed hat on the tabletop, sighing heavily.

She nodded, snapped out of her reverie and the shock of his words, pulling a mug and black coffee from her cupboard. Her uncle drank coffee made from three heaped teaspoons without milk, and although she didn't know how he could swallow something so disgusting and not have a heart attack in the process, she made it the way he liked it.

She swallowed loudly, pouring water into the kettle, putting it on the burner and turning the fire on under it, analysing everything he had told her.

"It sounds like he has a very low and a very high opinion of himself at the same time. How could I help here, uncle? I'm just a student." She said in dismay, shrugging her shoulders; her uncle nodded his head as if convinced that this would be her answer.

"You are young, you have a fresh outlook. He doesn't want to listen to us old people, he thinks we're out of step with the world and what it needs, whatever that means." He said with a sneer, looking out of the window, spreading himself comfortably in his chair with a creak of wood.

"I'd like you to try to talk to him, to understand what he means, what his vision is. Guide him to the idea that young people too want peace and predictability, not perpetual rebellion. I told him I could introduce you, that you are very talented and he agreed." He said finally and scratched the back of his neck – she heard the kettle whistle and turned off the fire under it, feeling that she had simply run out of words.

"− what? − I − oh God, uncle, I don't know − what if I make things worse and you lose in his eyes because of me? −" She muttered, feeling adrenaline start to bubble throughout her body; she poured hot water over the coffee in her mug, grabbed it and set it in front of him, then started walking back and forth across the room, panicking in some kind of way.

"This would just be a consultation − two young people want to change the image of the church to, let's say, a more welcoming one − this could be your big chance." He said, lifting the mug to his lips, taking a sip from it and murmuring contentedly, apparently finding that his coffee was exactly the way he liked it.

He persuaded her for so long that she finally agreed, but she regretted it as soon as he walked out.

She was inexperienced in discussions with this world, with such people, and was afraid she would make a mistake, do something against protocol and embarrass herself.

Her uncle sent her a message on the day of the meeting saying that she must dress modestly, preferably in white or black her dress must end at least past her knees, her toes must not stick out of her shoes, her shoulders must be covered. Sharp, defiant make-up was not acceptable.

She was to address the Pope as Holy Father or Your Holiness, keep the proper distance, not sit with her legs crossed, not put her elbows on the armrests, not lean or crouch in front of him, approach him only if he wanted her to kiss his ring.

The amount of information she received overwhelmed her; she took a quick look in her wardrobe and found that her simple black dress with white embroidered collar and cuffs was the perfect length – it had no cleavage, it looked elegant, innocent and girly at the same time.

She decided to wear flesh-coloured tights with it and sleek black shoes, which she had previously polished. She styled her long dark hair in a braid around her head, keeping it in place with pins, short, unruly strands on the sides of her face.

She used only mattifying powder and mascara as her make-up, deciding that this was enough, around her neck a necklace with a small gold cross that she had been given once by her grandfather.

At the appointed hour, a black car pulled up in front of her townhouse; she got into the back seat and greeted the driver, who, however, did not answer her, driving off without a word.

After several minutes they were already in the Vatican itself; she looked through the car window at the crowds of people spilling out of St Peter's Square, saw a group of men and women holding cardboard sheets in their hands with the handwritten words:

Our Pope does not love us.

She lowered her gaze, silently contemplating all that was happening, and shuddered as they stopped in front of the gate – a Swiss Guard officer dressed in colourful historical attire with red, yellow and navy blue stripes stopped their car.

Her driver showed him his ID and the man nodded – the gate opened and they drove inside into a small courtyard that she saw for the first time in her life.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the figure of her uncle waiting for her in his full, opulent cardinal's robe, a cross on his chest of pure gold, adorned with rubies and diamonds.

He greeted her with a broad smile and joy, with a gesture of his hand inviting her inside – they ascended the baroque staircase to the corridor, the view of the interior of the entire complex took her breath away.

She was surrounded on all sides by paintings and sculptures by the great Italian masters of the Renaissance, Baroque and Classicism; she felt a solemn mood, though she did not know why, as if she had in fact entered the truest home of God himself on earth.

The guards as well as other men passing her looked at her intently – she thought with horror and shame that women, with the exception of nuns, were a rare visitor to this sanctuary and aroused curiosity mixed with distrust.

Here, what Eve did in paradise according to the Bible, because of whom sin possessed man, was never forgotten.

They climbed the stairs to the upper floor and then stood in front of a large white door, high up to the ceiling, with two men in the same colourful garments standing in front of them. Her uncle sighed heavily, as if stressed himself, and looked at her comfortingly.

"I'll do the talking, you keep quiet for now." He said lightly, surprising her completely – she had no time to reply as he nodded and one of the guards opened the door for him.

Her uncle moved ahead, so she moved behind him, entering a spacious, bright room with six windows overlooking St Peter's Square – to their right stood bookcases filled to the brim with books, and to their left a huge wooden desk.

Only after a moment did she notice someone standing by one of the windows; his back turned to them, looking out at the crowds knowing they couldn't see him, a white cassock on his body, his short hair looking elegant and carefully styled, pulled back, almost white, glistening in the sunlight.

"Holy Father. As promised, I bring before you my niece, who I hope will allow us to come to an agreement." He said in a light, cheerful tone, as if addressing a friend, but they were answered by an uncomfortable silence.

She swallowed loudly when he finally turned to face them, her heart stopped for a moment when she saw how sharply shaped his face was – his cheeks and jaw were clearly outlined as if someone had carved them with a chisel, his mouth full, a pale scar running across the left side of his forehead to his cheek, his artificial eye completely white.

She felt that she was looking at him with her lips slightly parted and some sort of concern, so she lowered her gaze, reminding herself that she shouldn't do that.

"Hm." She heard him hum under his breath, as if he was thinking hard about something.

"Leave us alone, Cardinal." He said finally, turning his face towards the window again – she and her uncle looked at each other horrified, for this was not their plan.

She was only going to be an accessory, he was going to be the one doing all the talking.

"Your Holiness, I…"

"Get out."

Her uncle pressed his lips together and grunted, bowed his head and left, not even bestowing a glance on her despite the despair written on her face, leaving her to her fate.

She swallowed loudly as the door closed behind him and intertwined her hands in front of her, not knowing what to do, where to look, a cold sweat on her back.

"Do not be afraid, child. I know your uncle's nature. If I didn't let him bring you here he wouldn't let me alone." He began reluctantly, as if the very fact that he had to talk to her made him very tired; he moved with his hands entwined behind him ahead, walking along the windows, his profile illuminated by the sun.

She lowered her gaze, feeling a wave of shame surge through her, understanding that he knew perfectly well what her uncle wanted.

That it wasn't just about his image, but that he, as a cardinal, wanted his favour and the high position, money and comfort he could give him.

"What do you think of my decision not to show myself in public?" He asked finally; she raised her eyes at him, surprised, horrified that she had to answer. She swallowed loudly and licked her lips, dry of stress, thinking intensely about what she should say.

"Go on. You're supposed to know it, after all, it's an image issue." He growled and looked at her with an anger that sent a shiver through her; she stared at him in disbelief and fear trying to decide what kind of man he was.

She wasn't sure this was how a pope should behave.

"Driving here I saw people holding cardboard sheets saying: Our Pope does not love us. I felt sadness at the thought that many people feel rejected by your decision, Holy Father." She said at last, feeling that involuntarily her voice trembled and broke; she saw him tighten his lips, his nostrils moved nervously in accelerated breathing.

"Is love a perpetual vying for attention, standing in the centre? Is love only the deeds that can be shown, that anyone can see and name?" He asked frustrated, and she felt a squeeze in her throat, her lower lip quivered. She shook her head.

"People are afraid of what they do not know. You don't let them meet you, Holy Father." She whispered, and he snorted, turning back, going the other way, as if thinking over her words.

"So you think I should speak? Go out on the balcony and give them what they want?" He asked dryly. She let the air quietly out of her lungs, feeling her body tense all over – she had the feeling that she had adopted a defensive posture, as if ready for him to hit her.

"No. But I think it is necessary to find a way in which they can see you, Holy Father. To feel that you are in their lives physically as well. They need a guide, not another invisible God." She said finally and fell silent, lowering her gaze, feeling that her last sentence might have been too far-fetched.

She noticed with horror that he stopped hearing what she had said.

"You think I'm doing this out of vanity?" He asked in disbelief. She lifted her gaze to him, for some reason feeling that she was on the verge of crying.

"I don't know, Holy Father. I do not know you, nor do any of your faithful. We are sheeps who do not know where to go and where is their shepherd. Do you think we are too sinful? That we don't deserve to see you?" She asked finally in a trembling voice, his healthy eye fixed on her.

Our Pope does not love us.

She shuddered, feeling the rapid pounding of her heart as he moved towards her with a slow, lazy step, not taking his eyes off her, towering over her. She didn't know what she saw in his gaze, proud and cool; she felt heat in her lower abdomen as the pleasant scent of his masculine perfume filled her nostrils.

She thought he had approached her far too closely.

She froze and swallowed loudly as he lifted his hand; she thought for a moment in horror and disbelief that he would touch her breasts, however, he grasped her golden cross in his hand and turned it between his fingers, looking at it thoughtfully.

Something about him she found disturbing, even though she was surrounded by whiteness and daylight it seemed to her that the room had gone dark.

"I am not a hypocrite. There is no greater sinner in this world than me. I am vain. I am proud. I am cold. I am eternally, eternally thirsty." He murmured softly and looked into her eyes, her lips slightly parted in disbelief.

She felt panic begin to overtake her body as her insides throbbed wonderfully hard at his ambiguous, unsettling words.

"Do you believe in God?" He asked, still playing with her necklace, however, he did so in such a way that once in a while his fingers rubbed against the material of her dress lying between her breasts, each time a wonderful shiver ran through her spine.

She was only able to breathe and look at him, nothing more.

There was something evil, menacing, lewd in the way he asked the question, in the way he acted and the way he looked at her and she knew it, she was horrified by how strongly her body reacted to it.

"Yes." She whispered, as if she was admitting something she was ashamed of, something that was her secret.

He hummed again under his breath, as if accepting her words – his hand let go of her necklace and returned to the other, placed behind his back.

"I'm hiring you. You will be my image specialist. I expect you here tomorrow at 8am. That's all. You may go." He said indifferently, turning away as if nothing had happened; she sighed quietly, terrified, and nodded with a rapidly pounding heart.

"Holy Father." She mumbled, then turned and walked out.

Her uncle ran after her asking her what they were talking about and what had happened – he made the sign of the cross with some kind of relief on his face when she told him in horror that he had hired her.

"What did you say to him about me? I'm only in my second year of university, I don't have the right experience yet." She muttered in a trembling voice; her uncle sighed, correcting his glasses on his nose with his pointing finger.

"He doesn't care about your experience." He said amused, and she looked at him in disbelief.

It suddenly dawned on her what her uncle had been planning all along, and what she had gotten herself into because of her foolishness and naivety.

There is no greater sinner in this world than me.

I am eternally, eternally thirsty.

She felt a squeeze in her throat, tears filling her eyes again as she moved forward, covering her mouth with her hand, distraught, humiliated.

Her uncle didn't want her to be his worker.

Her uncle wanted her to be his lover.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @rwdkarla

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hellsburners · 10 months

Text

scream his name

summary: forgive me for not being an actual priest pairing: matt murdock x male reader word count: 1.7k warnings: 18+ warning, sacrilege, sm/u/t, bjs and s3x a/n: i swear im writing for other characters i just had to put this out

masterlist | more matt murdock

He entered the confessional and rested his cane in the corner of the room. It was a small wooden box actually, a small crooked seat and a maroon curtain. It smelled like old wood and incense, Matt settled down and waited for the voice.

On the other side of the booth a young seminarian was finishing up with wiping the wooden seats, making sure that the cubicle was nice and tidy. Before you could go out you heard someone enter the opposite booth. Your eyes widened, you weren't supposed to be administering confessions, those were reserved to ordained priests.

“Father Cathal,” the voice said. It was a familiar voice, soft but deep, you always noted that he would enunciate every word perfectly. Father Cathal has been meeting with this man ever since Father Lantom passed a few years ago. They would often chat and administer confessions for the man.

“I’m sorry Mr. Murdock but Father Cathal has been feeling ill lately, confessions are moved after mass this saturday,” you said, your voice shaking. You heard him mutter an oh. “And I’m afraid I’m not qualified to administer confessions, but if you want to I can offer some counsel. If anything worries you.”

“You must be the seminarian Father Cathal is mentoring?” he said.

“Yes, sorry if I was quick to call on your name it’s just that you frequent the church a lot.”

“I was raised catholic, the church has been my second home,” he uttered. His deep voice soothed you, any sense of panic was gone. You often wondered about him, how he worked as a defense attorney, and has been donating so much for the church.

“So what bothers you Mr. Murdock?,” you felt your clerical collar tighten around your neck.

“I’m a sinner.”

“I’m afraid we’re all sinners. From the beginning, man’s life has always been riddled with sin, just ask Adam,” you laughed. “That's why we are able to repent from our sins through this sacrament,” he laughs as well.

At the other side of the booth Matt Murdock had loosened his tie, the top button already undone. He could hear his heart pounding. The reason why he frequents the church was not because of Father Cathal, or the sisters, not even the youth group he often helps around. He comes by the church everyday because of you.

A smile would show in his face every time he heard your sweet voice. Calm and collected, soft and inviting. You were always near Father Cathal, Matt would notice the smell of your perfume mixed with church incense. He loved hearing you talk, offering service to the nuns and the other church staff.

“Does God punish us by letting us meet people we aren't meant to meet?” he said.

You loosened your collar. “What do you mean by that Mr. Murdock?”

“Matt, just call me Matt.”

“Matt,” you corrected. He heard your heartbeat quicken, your body temperature rising.

“God gave me someone, to—to like. But I don’t think I’m meant to feel this way about them.”

“By feel do you mean love?” you said. Your palms were wet at this point. You wondered how anyone could refuse attention from him. He was a kind and attractive man.

“Love, lust, adoration,” his voice hitched. “I am too deep in this, I want to worship them.”

“Worship is a strong word Matt, God compels us to only worship him. To worship someone like a false god is against His word.”

“Pardon my language, but I yearn for them,” he said. “My body—it aches for him. I need your help brother.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. Sweat drips down your nape, you could hear the guilt shouting at your head, but heat rises through your body, an ache forms in between your legs. You clutched your clerical collar, the mere sign of your covenant with God.

“How can I help?” you uttered.

“Kneel.”

Your eyes widened. What? You could hear shuffling from the other booth. The rings that held the curtain slinked to the side. “Just kneel, please,” there was something in his voice now, it was lower and more seductive. Does God punish us by letting us meet people we aren't meant to meet? His voice echoed in your head.

Could the Lord have sent me the devil himself?

You made the sign of the cross. Your thumb caressing your forehead, your stomach, your chest. The promise you made was wheying in, like a scale ready to fall on one side. You closed your eyes and knelt.

You heard the booth door open. A looming shadow covering you. He had entered, his hand caressing your hair. His warm hand went to the side of your face down to your chin. He lifts your face up, your eyes open. The dim lights of the booth made his face blurry. A dark shadow over his eyes but his red lips glistening, like forbidden fruit.

He bends down to your face, his lips meeting yours. Your cheeks were so warm, almost feverish. His hands went to your neck, gripping lightly. His tongue entered your mouth, you let your tongue meet his into union. A sacrilegious moan left your mouth.

He was wearing a worn out blue shirt, the sleeves rolled up and the buttons undone. You take the buckle of his belt and unclasped it, opening the button of his trousers after. As if opening a present on christmas day you pulled on the silver zipper. A bulge forming on his black boxers.

You pulled on the soft fabric, your knuckles hitting his bare skin. You brought your lips to the base pulling on the garter to unsheathe his hardness. You presented your mouth as if receiving the sacrament of the eucharist. Mouth open, tongue out, your eyes half lidded directly looking at him.

The hardness grew to a decent length, cut and the head pink already wet with pleasure. He takes the tip to your tongue, you engulf the head with your lips. He lets out a groan, his hand goes to your nape, pushing you into his cock.

The head hits the back of your throat, coating it with your saliva. You cough as he pulls his cock out. He caresses your face. He gestures for you to stand. As you stand he pulls you back to a kiss, his wet hardness hitting your trousers. You pulled off your clerical collar and left it on the seat.

He takes your waist and rotates you around. You looked at the black wooden wall. He was leaving wet kisses in your ear as he unbuttoned your shirt. His other hand was palming your erection already hard and aching.

You help him pull down your pants as well as your underwear. Your bare ass, cold against the night air. He caressed your ass and gave it a slap. You moaned, you swore people could have heard it. He kneels on the wooden floor, practically looking up to your body. He takes his tongue against your rear. The wet muscles played around your hole, preparing it for his cock. He places wet fingers inside you to stretch you out, he curls them, pleasure striking your whole body, your knees buckle.

Your moans filled the small booth, the sounds made louder from the room’s size. He stands up and takes a condom out of his wallet. He puts it on his cock. He takes the wrapper and makes you bite on it. “God knows I want to hear you moan for me, but you need to stay quiet. If this falls from your mouth I’m leaving you like this,” his hand snaking across your ass.

He places the tip to the rim of your rear. He pressed on the muscle, somewhat rejecting the tightness. He perseveres, the hardness sheathes into your body. You were now united, like a soul to a body. Your eyes roll back from the pleasure, your jaw shaking from the pleasure. You could feel the condom wrapper slip.

He thrusts into you, a hand to your neck. You moan through the wrapper, all muffled and croaking. His cock filled you so well tears started to form from your eyes. Before the seminary you had never been with a man. You always looked sinfully but never acted on it. But now, the devil in the form of a handsome man, devoured you in his flames.

You recounted Dante’s version of the second circle, men and women devoured in strong tempest, blown around in circles. You could feel it now from his hips hitting into you. Like your body was in his control, swaying forward and back. Your hands gripped onto the wooden ledge on the booth, practically scratching.

He grunts into your ear each thrust. Your teeth clench on the foil wrapper even harder, saliva dripping from the corner of your mouth. His hands went under your shirt, toying with your nipples. Your hand went to your cock stroking it, it’s been so long since you’ve done it. You felt pleasure like never before.

Fifteen minutes of continuous fucking ensued. Your jaw started to sore from the clenching, the same with your lower back and your knees. Matt’s lips were dripping with saliva and guttural moans, his cock on the brink of climax.

He pulls out the wrapper from your mouth. He knew you were also near climax. “Let me hear it sweetheart, please let me hear it,” he groans to your ear. He twirls you around to carry you. Your arms and legs wrapped around his body. He pushed you into the wall, his cock continuosly fucking into you. Your lips met in a fevered kiss.

He fucks a few more times into you until he cums, the two of your moaning into the kiss. Both your shirts were wet from your cum. Matt carries you as he sits down on the stool, your legs still straddling him. The two of you kiss even more, riding your high.

“It’s you,” he said, as the two of you got dressed. “The person I was afraid to be with.”

“I’ve committed a grave sin tonight,” you looked down to your feet. “But I’ve always felt like the mission was never truly meant to be,” he sat next to you, his hand caressing your back. “I actually planned on sending my letter of withdrawal tomorrow, so no harm done I guess.”

“Can I still ask you out?” the two of you chuckle, Matt pulling you in for a kiss.

interactions are greatly appreciated btw if u liked this fic and want more send me a prompt and i'd gladly make something from it :>

#matt murdock smut #matt murdock x reader #daredevil smut #daredevil x reader #matt murdock x male reader #daredevil x male reader #matt murdock x male reader smut #daredevil x male reader smut

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luxlightly · 3 months

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I need all GabV1el fans to be aware of the Symbrock pairing between Eddie Brock and the Venom Symbiote (who has no name and uses it/its pronouns in the comics) whose 100% real, canon origin is that Eddie, an EXTREMELY Catholic man, desperate for his father's approval, does some really stupid reporting that ends up backfiring and he becomes a laughing stock. His father disowns him and he becomes so angry and cold from it that his wife leaves him.

One day, as the pain grew too much to bear, he goes to church after church, praying at each one that God send him a reason to live, or permission to commit the cardinal sin of suicide.

Finally, he comes to the last church, Our Lady of Saints, and prays for God's forgiveness as he is going to kill himself, having lost all hope for any reason to go on.

But then, from the rafters, descends the symbiote, who had been waiting there to die, after the being it loved most tried to kill it for the crime of being alive. Having survived trying to sacrifice itself to save the very person who tried so hard to kill it, too heartbroken to go on, it had resigned itself to die without a host.

But, in Eddie, it senses someone as filled with the same pain, passion, and loneliness as it is, and reaches out to stop him from taking his own life.

They bond and Eddie enthusiastically welcomes it, considering it to be an angel sent directly from God in his hour of need.

He then pretty much immediately has it take the form of a priest outfit and tries to kill the person who tried to kill the symbiote with the very same bell while he shouts biblical allegory and extremely homoerotic threats. Eventually they swap the priest outfit for a fuck ton of teeth and claws and tongue because Eddie is into that, and run around trying to kill Spiderman until they decide they are bored of that and want to go focus on their relationship.

The symbiote feeds off of the brain chemical produced by Eddie's love for it and supplemments it with chocolate when needed.

Eddie calls it "my other", "my love", "my beloved", "my darling". The Symbiote, who was seen as a genetic abnormality and sentenced to death by its own people for its desire to live in harmony with its host instead of destroy it, learns through Eddie what it is to truly love and be loved, as opposed to just trying to be whatever someone else wants it to be.

They canonically have recreational sex and have 7 biological children (spawned agametically. Not from the sex. Can't stress enough that's just for them because they are married)

#my roommate me drawing a gabv1el thing and was like #'hm. you sure are a person who has read the Venom comics huh?'#and listen #yes #i have no regrets #symbrock #venom symbiote #venom comics

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hilziger · 6 months

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ɴᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: 𝓢𝓘𝓝𝓝𝓔𝓡𝓢 + 𝓢𝓐𝓘𝓝𝓣𝓢 (fucktober horror nights ft Cody Rhodes )

1:18 ───|──────── 2:53

|◁ II ▷|

∞ ↺

ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮

WARNINGS: [ sexual acts done in a church, thick black reader, sunshine x grumpy relationship trope, pet names, praise and shaming kink, slutty asf !, (sexual nun costume (?) explicit themes, degrading kink.]

Taglist[ @juceynightmare @southerngirl41 @technicallymiaa comment to be added (:] shout out to technicallymiaa cause this is inspired by a devante swing imagine she wrote which was SO MF GOOD OMFG.

❝ TAKE YOU DOWN ANOTHER LEVEL

GOT YOU DANCIN WITH THE DEVIL.❞

The streets felt like they were spinning as the young girl strolled the breezy fall sidewalk drunkenly as she finally reached the back steps of the chapel. Her feet were aching in pain and her head pounded with the pink Whitney she consumed as she leaned against the door to catch her breathe for a moment.

“ugh I wished Cody could've came with me” she pouted to herself, she went to this Halloween party alone due to this last-minute trunk or treat Cody had to host for the kids at his stepfather's Catholic church, she felt slightly upset but not for long as she had a pretty decent time at this function. She opened the back door walked inside and up three small steps before her eyes met the back of Cody's head and body seated at the piano.

The sounds of her kitten heels echoed throughout the chapel as she slowly approached him wrapping her arms around the male's slightly buffed frame. “Had fun?” he asked his eyes not coming off a program pamphlet he must have made earlier today, the women drunkenly giggled before kissing his cheek lightly, “Once the drinks started flowing yes, but it would've been so much better with you there codes” her speech was slurred before she removed herself from him placing her small purse ontop of the Grand piano.

“Well you know I have my duties here darling, I wasn't really expecting this to come up but you know my mom and how she loves throwing me into things” he took his visions off the paper for a brief second as he looked at the women he proudly called his girlfriend, she looked captivating as usual but something caused codys heart to pause. A nun costume? Your Brown luminescent skin glistened under the stage light from the cocoa butter and body lava she frequently put on.

the gown stopped just above her knees, her hair was in a slick back puff but the hood still draped her head, and lastly, her glossy, sticky black lip gloss coated her plumped lips, Cody was lost for words as Y/n went inside her mini purse to pull out a cherry jolly rancher to suck on, all he could think was sinister, wicked things he wanted to do to her in this insane costume.

A nun?

Nun?

NUN

Nun…..?!

“Hellloooo?? Earth to Cody” She waved her hands in his face snapping him out of his mini trance, his eyes examined her briefly before arching his eyebrow. “ care to explain your outfit?” she spun and twirled lazily around him giggling before she stood in between his legs, “well I wore it as a joke for you if you would've came but you know how that ended up” she shrugged before returning over to the piano leaning against it.

Cody rolled his eyes feeling the annoyance creep into him as she continued her games with him, he knew she played too much but to this degree? Walking in here at this hour of the night mocking nuns and sisters? He wanted to be mad but his body burned and his dick swelled up at the thought of bending you over relentlessly and taking you so sinfully in the middle of the moonlit church.

“You think you’re so amusing huh?” He taunted slowly getting up and walking towards her to trap her body against the piano. Her black acrylic nails grabbed lightly at Cody’s baby pink satin tie, looking up at him both innocently yet lustfully as if she were non verbally asking to get fucked right then and there, “ shamefully I’ve sorta wanted to dress as a cute nun nothing more” a sly smirk plastered her face feeling the grip Cody had on her waist slightly get tighter, “you and your games Y/n.. if you wanted to get fucked in the chapel like a whore why didn’t you say so?”.

That statement alone forced her to pull his tie attaching her plumped lips to him, the jolly rancher swapped between the two lovers' mouths shrinking in size as they passionately made out. Cody hungrily and desperately bit on her bottom lip as he slithered his palm to her throat gripping her gently before pulling away.

His blue orbs scanned her before ripping the black lace off her dripping arousal, Y/n's cheeks burned with cynosure as she was left exposed to Cody, the sounds of him unbuckling his pants burned her with anticipation as he hiked her body up while he pumped his length in his hand. the evident veins popping as she turned her head away being forced to look at him as his hand held her chin. “ don't worry you'll get what you want in just a minute bunny” his tip graced your tight pink opening, your wetness instantly coating Cody’s tip as she softly moaned at the teasing before without warning shoving all of his 8 inches into her tight arousal.

She gasped as she watched him loosen his tie taking it off, a evil smirk graced Cody’s lips fully bottoming into her womb hearing a relaxed groan from him . “ look at you, already pathetic for me, you stupid little nun”. THRUST, Cody slammed his hips into yours after that statement, your eyes big as saucers trying to hold on as Cody thrusted hardly into you again getting a quick porn like moan out of you.

“Codes wait-“ he wasted no time thrusting against Y/n once more, before smashing his lips onto hers and beginning to rhythmically thrust into you getting nothing but loud exotic moans, Cody smiled against his lover's lips moaning sounds of his own trailing his hand up her costume more pulling out her breasts as he fondled with her right nipple.

“You're taking me so good bunny.. Fuck you're so tight” he gritted through his teeth, all you could do was breathlessly whimper and moan under Cody's Sinful punishing, her black lip gloss was now smeared across her lips as she watched him slowly place his tie around her neck, pulling it down to slowly tighten it to produce a comforting choking sensation. “ f-fuck.. Cody please” you whimpered before he wrapped the satin around his fist bringing your small head up by pulling it.

His eyes looked dark as if Cody wasn't in his body anymore, Y/n gulped as she looked him dead in his eyes, her puffy lips pouted as he slowed his strokes down smirking down at her, “What's the matter baby? Im going too slow for your liking? My slut wants to be fucked harder?” the feeling of his dick began to speed up in strokes, and she whimpered rolling her eyes slightly biting her bottom lip.

“S-Shit..! You fuck me so good Cody!” she moaned out taking his now strong-hitting strokes as he continuously hit her G-spot, her mascara ran down her face, her hood was now off, and her edges slightly rising up as Cody fucked her into overstimulation. Cody’s thrust started to pick up sloppily, digging himself as deep as he could watching her stomach begin to bulge out as he dummy fucked her on top of the piano.

“my pretty bunny.. F-fuck you're gonna make me cum” Her walls clenched down on him gradually as she was close to her peak as well, squeals and begs escaped from her as if felt Cody was fucking all the sins out of her viscously, and her tears streamed down her face in pain and pleasure, finally screaming out in a gut-busting orgasm.

“Fuck im cumming! Oh yes, Cody!!” a series of screams and praises emitted from her as her squirt shot out of her like a water gun, it hit Cody on the chest soaking herself and him up.

A door opened from the front of the chapel revealing what seemed to be the Priest, Cody’s stepfather, “ Hey Codes I been looking for-” you moaned loudly before Cody sloppily kissed your lips, your eyes made contact with the Priest having a naughty smirk on your face pulling away from Cody.

“Why hello Father”

#wwe imagines #wwe raw #cody rhodes #cody rhodes smut #smut #fucktoberhorrornights

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cryptotheism · 2 years

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My favorite pieces of anti-papist literature are easily the chick tracts about the Catholic Church and their evil database of Protestants

Shout out to "The Death Cookie"

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novelconcepts · 9 months

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Watching my mom evolve over the years has been such a fun experience. For context, she's got nine kids (at least five of whom have turned out to be queer; at least four of those have turned out to be non-binary), and for most of my life, she was just your average Gen-X Irish-Italian Catholic mom. She didn't really do vocal homophobia or whatever, but she also clearly didn't know how to handle it when her firstborn interrupted a Red Wings game to announce, "I think I'm gay." (Spoiler alert: that was me at fifteen or sixteen. In retrospect, of course the Tomboy For Life who had never been remotely interested in boys but was ALWAYS talking about actresses/female friends at school a bit too much wound up being gay. And announcing it. During a hockey game. Of course.)

She also didn't really know how to handle that same kid starting to date in college, bringing a girl home, and so on. She did a bit better when the next kid came out as a lesbian, but when that kid came out as non-binary (shout-out to that sib for doing some of the heavy lifting first), it was a whole new deal. It clearly had never crossed her mind before, that this might come up. Gay? She was figuring out gay. Gender stuff? Whew. A shiny new Pokemon of a situation.

The changed pronouns have been a bit difficult for my mom. The new names still get jumbled. (In fairness, the old names got jumbled, too--it was always a laundry list of names before she got to yours, no matter what you went by, because there were just so goddamned MANY of us.) It gets harder when she's stressed, and sometimes she just seems not to be getting it. I know it frustrates my siblings deeply. It can grate on me, too. You just want people to understand out the gate, to take you at your word, to shift gears without a slip-up. You don't want the awkward conversations, the painful skips, the rough patches. It's tempting to just give up on people if they don't stick the landing immediately.

But if you look a bit deeper, there's such a soft mama bear energy to my mom. Such a stubborn determination to get it right where it really counts. My mother, who never once skipped Sunday mass as I was growing up, has left the church completely because "they don't treat my family well." My mother, who once told me not to bring a girl home because it might confuse the youngest children, bought Converse sneakers expressly for my wedding to a woman. And my mother, who had never known the word non-binary, who didn't seem aware of the trans umbrella at all before her kids started huddling beneath it, keeps leaping to tell me all about the shows she's watching lately. The ones where "there's a non-binary character, and it's so cool that people can see that now!" The ones where "and this one is non-binary, and they're so great, and maybe it'll teach the shitty politicians of the world that they're just people, you know?"

Sometimes you just have to give people a little space. Let them stumble occasionally. They're going to. They're going to trip up. My mom hurt my feelings so many times when I was young, said so many of the wrong things right on the heels of the right ones, confused and upset me because I couldn't understand why she just didn't get it. But here she is, almost sixty years old, and so gleeful to tell me about the power of queer representation on TV. She doesn't always get it right, but goddamn, does she love her kids, and goddamn, does she want the world to love people like her kids, too.

#lgbtq #queer stuff #i love my mom #watching her go from an 'eh politics whatever' catholic to someone who actively pays attention #watching her and my dad put love is love signs up in their yard #watching them work to untangle decades of thought patterns to figure out how to support their kids and people like them #it takes time. it takes more time than you'd like sometimes. but it's been so reassuring #people change. they can grow. they can learn. and they can be powered by love above all else #that's just the fucking best #and so is my mom

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myfruitlessthorns · 6 months

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The Chosen & Christianity - my thoughts

I have never identified as ‘Christian’ although I was raised Catholic, purely because I have no care for its following all the outdated cultural practices and quite frankly, because of what people have made ‘Christianity’ out to be. However, I have and always will find the intrinsic values of Christianity really dear to me. If you take away everything else, at its core (like all other religions that are clouded in cultural and historical biases), it’s all about love and compassion and kindness and it really warms my heart.

So yes, has The Chosen - a TV show about real humans, sinners and outcasts, still being adored by Christ - made me love Christianity again? Absolutely. Has it healed my image of religion as paternalistic - by portraying Jesus for all he really is - good and kind and loving - without having all the extra added bits that make religion daunting and unwelcoming? Yes. Does it make me feel loved and safe and accepted as a queer person? Yes. I find myself closer to Christ more than ever.

Now some of you may not agree with queer people because of what the bible says, but I would say, for every time the bible has ‘condemned’ homosexuality (this in itself is a debate, but besides), ten times over has it has emphasised the importance of loving people and being kind to people and not judging them for their sins, for you yourself are not sinless. Surely, that makes these values 10x more important than condemning queer folks and kicking them out of churches???

If you identify as ‘Christian’ but judge and make outcasts of people, how are you a follower of Christ - he who went out and made friends with outcasts? What is TRULY more important in this religion? Compassion, which fundamentally underpins Christianity (and humanity!!!), or abiding by tradition, sacrificing kindness in efforts to adhere to strict rules.

It’s people make religion scary, not the teachings themselves. People make it out to be something that judges and condemns, rather than grows and nurtures - people make people distance from the Church, and that is so upsetting to me, because Jesus Himself was such a welcoming man.

For that reason, I don’t think I’ll ever identify as Christian because of how rejected I feel in the church, especially for being queer. Despite that, perhaps because it’s a part of my childhood and my heritage, no other belief system can ever come close to the comfort of being close to Christianity and Jesus. I will always carry it’s values and morals in my heart, if anything and shows like The Chosen remind me how much I love Christ (just not his church at times) - but hey, many of Christ’s followers themselves were the same. Good people who didn’t find solace in ‘good society’ and instead found solace in him <3

Anyway, really happy I started this show because it made me realise that I truly love Jesus a lot :) and on that note, shout out to Quakerism for being my fav branch of Christianity - y’all are so kind and peaceful and accepting and actually warm my heart 💗

#the chosen #queer community #queer christian #christianity

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kisskissbanggang · 6 months

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Disavowed - pt. 2

[5.5k Words/20min. Read - Priest!Chris x Reader - NSFW/Smut - Church, Your Mind is Playing Tricks on You, Confrontations, Something Feels Off, Catholic Guilt, Priest Kink, Semi-Public Sex, Truck Sex, I Swear This is a Halloween Series]

[a/n: finally time to get halloween cranked up to speed 💕 ty to @magicficwriting and @therhythmafterthesummer for beta reading 💗]

[Part 1 | Come Say Hi!]

It felt forbidden to be in a room full of people and be the only one to know that Christopher, Father Bang, was a disgusting hypocrite.

The day of your realization had been Sunday, obviously. It was now Thursday, after school, and you were all crowded into the modest boardroom next door to the faculty lounge of Pinewood Falls Prep. The walls were probably supposed to be white, if it weren’t for decades of wear and cigarette smoke. Even if the smell didn’t persist, the resulting hue of curdled cream lingered.

“So that settles it. It is generous of you to step up, dear… Dear?”

An elbow gently dug into your own at the conference table. You were so distracted.

Your gaze swung to your side to identify who just nudged you, when you recalled that Jisung was the one who so politely saved you a seat. Reverend Han, you had learned, was the other young man that helped Father James serve mass alongside Chris.

That creep.

Chris, that is. Not Jisung… although you had to admit that you weren’t exactly in love with how polite the deacon was.

“Dear…?”

You finally snapped out of your brooding then, finding Sister Judith rolling her eyes at the front of the room.

“Poor lamb must be sleeping with her eyes open,” Father James chuckled. To your chagrin, Chris laughed along. You wanted to shout it out at the whole room right then, just what a liar and a fraud the deceptively handsome priest was.

“I was saying,” Sister Judith reiterated, “that I know there’s a litany of work left in the wake of Jacqueline’s sudden departure, but that it’s generous of you to volunteer and step up to take it on, dear.”

“I did…?” you murmured out loud, stricken with disbelief. Jisung patiently nodded to confirm it for you.

To say that Sister Judith’s assistant left suddenly was an understatement. When you arrived at work early on Monday morning, her desk behind yours, in front of the Sister’s office, was empty. Every notepad, pen, and paperclip was gone, as if no one had ever occupied the space in the first place. Sister Judith wouldn’t tell you why Jacqueline left, but you supposed it was none of your business. At the beginning of today’s meeting, Father James had simply said it was a shame, but you were surprised that no one at all seemed to particularly care that the young woman had vanished so abruptly.

“You won’t take on everything, of course,” Sister Judith clarified. “You’ll be taking care of Jacqueline’s filing duties and backing up the receptionist when Roberta is unavailable. That’s all.”

“What about the lunchtime study group in the library?” Jisung suddenly asked. “Jacqueline was running it.”

“You can take that on if you have the time, Reverend,” suggested Sister Judith.

Jisung slouched back in his chair, as though he suddenly regretted saying anything in the first place. “Oh, uh,” he scrambled shyly, “that’s no problem, I guess. I just don’t know if the kids will take a liking to me–”

“Not like Christopher, you mean,” Father James laughed heartily, clapping a hand on the priest’s shoulder. “They practically flock to him.”

Chris humbly waved him off. “I hardly have anything worthwhile to teach; it’s just gym,” he denied. “I make myself available; that’s all. You have plenty to teach! Make yourself available, Jisung, and they’ll flock to you, too.”

The staff all but fawned over the platitude. Your pen’s barrel creaked in your hand, you were so close to snapping it in half. That pretty boy golden child had everyone wrapped around his little finger and it made you livid.

You left the staff meeting in a daze, trying to figure out why on Earth Chris refused to acknowledge you with any ounce of recognition. The whole ordeal felt like he was taunting you, and it was on the verge of working. There was no way it wasn’t him that you’d slept with. You remembered far too much of the whole night.

Maybe it was because your pride was admittedly hurt. You weren’t typically one for one-night stands like the one you were positive you engaged in, but the idea had intrigued you enough to want it. Now it just felt like you were being punished, some cosmic joke at your expense because you acted on your desires for once and now you couldn’t get it out of your head.

Indeed, even though you’d gone to your interview and mass with only an inkling of what exactly had transpired on Friday night, that fuzzy recollection had since turned high definition and was currently blasting at full volume in a maddening loop in your head. You had tried a divey little bar in Briar Bay, only a thirty minute drive away. There were no bars in Pinewood Falls from what you could tell, so the short trip seemed worth it. The bar had been a dank hole in the wall, a cozy hangout popular with the boat crews and mussel farmers that worked the bay. You’d noticed Chris before he ever saw you. He wasn’t wearing his clerical collar that night, obviously. Instead, you were drawn to this man sitting alone at a table in the corner, with the brim of his baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. You had left him alone and minded your own business at the bar…

Until a beer appeared in front of you before you could even start a tab. The bartender pointed at the sender.

Right at Chris.

Here, now, today, you were feeling self-conscious and self-righteous all at once while you grabbed your bag from where you’d stowed it in your desk, back in the main office. It had been a long day of school, and the weekly staff meeting made this one feel even longer. Chris had shared one single flash of recognition with you at mass on Sunday, but never again in the days since. He had to be too ashamed, you were positive. Grouchy was an understatement for how you were feeling. You were on edge. All week, you strained to make pointed eye contact with this man, see if you could catch him replicating that explicitly guilty glint in his eye that he had during church, and he was staunchly refusing.

Even over dinner, you drifted, like a wraith, into the dining room of the boarding house and barely paid attention to your perfectly charming and sweet housemates. Seungmin and one of your fellow boarders, Felix, had worked so hard on making a gorgeous dinner, but you were so plainly pissed to the point that you couldn’t properly taste food. The worst part, honestly, was that you weren’t solely thinking of outing this disgusting man.

You were plagued by how much you couldn’t stop thinking of your night together. Not only were you burdened with this miserable secret, but you were the only one who knew what this man looked like under his clothes, the way he acted in bed. He was horrendously attractive. He was regretfully skilled. Those juvenile little hickeys he left all over you took days to vanish. In fact, most of them finally faded just the previous morning–something you’d never experienced before. The longest a love bite had ever stuck around on your skin was maybe three, four days, but five felt like a ridiculously long time. It was only adding to the way you couldn’t get the picture of Chris’ bare chest or carved hips out of your head, couldn’t shake the feeling of his soft lips or his rough stubble.

One stupid hickey remained–angry and red and framed with teeth marks–right between your cleavage. More like a bite than anything.

This was going on far too long.

It was Friday. Your housemates probably thought you were sick in the head. They’d been so cordial and polite, trying as much as they reasonably could to get you to open up and share a little, maybe unload some of the burden you were clearly carrying. The previous week, before you’d ever slept with Chris by accident, you were gladly chatting and helping with housework, staying up late to wash dishes with the boys and sip iced tea on the porch, wrapped up in sweaters when the breeze picked up.

You almost felt ill. More than the guilt, more than the shame, more than the way you were convinced everyone knew you were complicit in Father Chris’ sin, you hated that you wanted to be right. The way he ignored you was too practiced, too aloof. What hurt more than him not showing any guilt was him not even showing any hint of knowing you existed in any capacity outside of school. You tried like hell to keep your head down, get your work done, try to confront the pile of Jacqueline’s filing left unfinished.

It was the damned filing that did you in, ultimately. An approved stack of staff schedules now sat at the top of the pile, unearthed after you made some progress in your fastidious sorting and storing. Fr. Bang, Christopher was staring right at you, begging you to glance at the piece of paper. Planning: 2nd Period.

You wished you would move on and let it go, but you peeked at the clock on the wall. It was almost a quarter after 9 o’clock. There was plenty of time.

You would do it.

No, you wouldn’t. You would work through the mountain of filing.

Yes, you would. You would confront this asshole once and for all and get him to admit that he recognized you, that he was disgusting and immoral.

The hallway was crushingly empty as you walked to the gym. Your shoes clicked loud on the aged linoleum floor. It was disarming, being this hyper-aware and critical of your own actions. Something resembling embarrassment clung to you like static.

Why were you so obsessed with doing this?

Walking into the gym, you almost chickened out when you found it empty, even though that was the entire point of catching him during his planning period in the first place. You scanned the basketball court and the stands extended from the wall, finding no sign of life and abashedly turning right back around to leave.

“Wait, I’m here!” rang out a voice behind you. “Can I help you with something?”

You warily turned back to face the voice, finding it to belong to no other than Father Chris.

He smiled softly, kindly attempting to keep you from running off. “That’s right,” he nodded with recollection. Your gut twisted. “You’re the new office manager, right?”

That was it. This was your breaking point. “You’re kidding, right?” you scoffed. Chris’ eyes widened in bewilderment.

“I’m… what?” he asked. “Are you alright, dear?” He stepped closer, and flinched when you smacked away his outstretched hand.

“That’s rich!” you cackled. “How long are you going to keep lying? How long until you stop pretending you don't know me?”

Chris shook his head in confusion. “I’m sorry, dear,” he said. “What are you telling me? I’m afraid I don’t understand–”

“Seriously?!” you balked. “You’re going to act like we’ve never met?!”

“We met before?” the priest blinked at you, maybe even a little bashful. Flattered, even. “Maybe in a dream, but I don’t think so.”

You huffed so hard, so affronted by the response, that it could’ve been mistaken for smoke spilling out of you. “That is some nerve you have, asshole–”

“Hey,” Chris said sternly. “Calm down.”

And you did. God, you hated that you did. Worse yet, you weren’t even sure why you calmed down at all. The energy from your outburst was simply sapped out of you in its entirety.

“Do you want to talk?” Father Chris offered. “It seems you have a lot on your mind.”

Unsure what else to do, you indignantly folded your arms. “Fine. Yes. I’d like to talk.”

He nodded seriously. “Okay, I’ll be more than glad to. I have a meeting about a baptism here in ten minutes, but how about tonight? Somewhere we can have some privacy.”

“Oh? And where’s that?” you impatiently asked. If he suggested the Trawler, you’d scream right there and then.

“I live in Briar Bay for a couple more weeks,” he explained. As if you didn’t already know this. As if he didn’t tell you on Friday night. “How about Reflections? It’s a nice little cafe I like.”

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, unsure. All the energy you originally had to pursue this issue was gone, vanished and leaving a vacuum in its wake that made it difficult to proceed. However, the idea of getting that confession was still too sweet.

“Fine,” you agreed, almost defiant, like you weren’t giving him exactly what he wanted. “Okay.”

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Not okay.

The worst part of Briar Bay being a “short” 30-minute drive away meant that every five minutes, you were wondering what the hell you were hoping to achieve. What, Chris would admit what he did and you would be satisfied? You would simply leave? Were you going to turn him in and humiliate him, really punish him for being so terrible? What exactly did you want here?

And still you were thinking about how gorgeous he was in bed. This still weirded you out. You explicitly recalled hardly being able to remember anything during your interview with Sister Judith earlier that week, but days later and now you could perfectly recall the cute way he scrunched his eyes shut when he climaxed? That queasy feeling settled in your gut again. By the time you turned off the small highway into Briar Bay, you almost felt feverish. Nauseous and everything. You were nervous trying to pick out each business. The Trawler passed by on your left down the main road, but finally you caught it. Reflections was apparently a sweet little coffee shop at the end of the main street, the last business next to the main route down to the bay. And out front, sipping from a paper cup in a cardboard sleeve on the patio?

Father Chris had the audacity to be the picture of serenity. His shitty powder blue truck was parked out front. He was dressed in a casual pair of jeans and a sweater. A ball cap was pushed low over his brow, just like the week before.

Fucking creep.

You nervously pinched at the hem of your top. In a move of pure desperation to hold any power you had left, you put on the exact outfit you’d been wearing Friday night last week. A crop top of reasonable length, a belted pair of cute jeans, some casual sneakers, and a cardigan because it was getting a bit chilly out. You weren’t totally sure what you were looking to get here, but maybe this would be the element that finally got that look of recollection you were so hungry for.

As you should’ve predicted, he wasn’t even outwardly excited to see you when you approached. Just a glance and a soft smile before he motioned to the chair across from him. You stiffly took a seat, when Chris pointed out toward the cliffs looking over the bay, up the hill from the cafe. “So you’re new, right? You just moved to town?”

He waited patiently until you silently nodded before continuing. “That’s Barrett Bluffs. There used to be a church there until it burnt down a hundred years ago. I just noticed that there’s actually a square patch of dirt up there. Maybe it really did burn down, except the story is it spontaneously combusted. The local kids used to dare each other to look over the edge.”

“Why?” you asked, attempting to remain nonplussed.

Chris laughed into his drink. “I guess there’s a cave on the cliff face or something. The local legend is that a vengeful spirit lives in it. I dunno. Kids are wild.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, distant while your gaze was still fixed on the square patch of earth at the top of the bluff. “They’re pretty imaginative.”

“What’d you want to talk about?” he suddenly asked. You snapped out of it.

“I just don’t understand why you’re pretending you don’t remember me,” you simply stated.

Chris shrugged helplessly. “Because I don’t? Would you like me to get you something? Their chai here is delicious.”

You felt like your face was about to crack into a thousand tiny pieces. Every single option ran through your mind at once, tripping over each other. Really, you could argue this some more, or just leave it alone… but you did neither of these things. Instead, you got out of your chair and simply walked back up the street. Chris hopped to his feet and jogged after you, finishing his drink in the process and tossing it in a garbage can.

“Where are you going?!” he frantically asked you.

He followed you all the way to the Trawler, where the bartender waved hello to you, driving you even more mad than you already were. You grabbed Chris by the elbow and practically threw him into the chair in the back corner. He watched, bewildered, as you pointed at the bar.

“I was there,” you heatedly explained, “you were here. You bought me a drink and I came over to sit down. You said you liked my perfume and I said I liked your cologne, and we had a great time, and you kissed me in the back parking lot out there in front of your truck before you offered to give me a ride back to your place!”

How you remembered all these finer, non-explicit details, you had no idea, but they were all clear as day all of a sudden. Chris, meanwhile, was beet red in the face.

“Uh, er,” he floundered.

And there it was.

That tiny, miniscule little flex of muscles in his face, his eyes widening a millimeter.

A fucking confession of guilt if you ever saw one, you were convinced.

Was this what it was like to go crazy?

Except he doubled down. Chris squared his shoulders and smiled that same humble smile. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I really have no clue what you’re talking about. But for what it’s worth, I’m having a nice time. You pretty much tricked me into a date. Smart play, too, since it’s the only way I can enjoy one.”

One final option lay in front of you, one you were finally angry enough to use it. You bluntly yanked the neckline of your blouse down, exposing that one last hickey, the one that looked more like you were attacked by some animal. Chris’ eyebrows raised in surprise, his focus darting to where the mark was and away.

“Still insisting I’m crazy? You're a real piece of work, Father,” you scowled. “Hope you're pleased with what you got.”

You let go of your top, grabbed your bag, and stormed out of the bar through the back door, the nearest entrance and into the small parking lot there just so you could get some fresh air. An uncomfortable heat surged up your back and radiated through your chest like a fever. You were nearly on the verge of furious tears. Squeezing between two pickups, you were so distracted that the rearview mirror of one of the vehicles smacked your shoulder. Fuck Chris. You would turn him in, maybe even before mass on Sunday–

Rushed footfalls on the gravel of the parking lot startled you, and you turned with only enough time to gasp when you found Chris there, his hands already cupping your face and pulling you in for a heated kiss. You barely had time to register all of this between the priest panting hot, desperate in your mouth, his cologne and aftershave making your olfactory senses tingle. His lips were still so soft. And then you remembered that this was disgusting.

The force of your slap against Chris’ cheek was more of a shove, getting him the hell off of you. You found yourself leaning back against the bumper of the truck you’d squeezed past, still holding your hand out to keep him back.

Chris massaged his cheek and jaw where you’d hit him. He was still panting. “I hate this,” he said with a firm shake of his head. He wasn’t even looking at you. “I hate this so fucking much.”

The cursing would’ve surprised you if you weren’t already plagued with memories of him cursing over and over again the previous week.

“What?” you rhetorically asked. “What do you hate, exactly? I thought you didn’t know what I’m talking about.”

“Would you knock it off?” Chris snapped at you. You leaned back against the bumper of the truck, as much as the metal surface would allow. “We both know I’m fucking lying, I’m lying through my goddamn teeth!” he brokenly ranted. “But what I want to know is how the hell do you remember so much?!”

“Am I not supposed to?” you asked, uneasy.

Father Chris shook his head again. “No, because I barely remember anything. All I know is… is–”

“What?” you prodded. You stood up straight and took a tentative step closer. “What is it?”

“I want you, and I fucking hate it,” he spat. “I shouldn’t be tested like this. I don’t deserve this! I’m stronger than this.”

These were more admissions than you were even hoping to achieve. Yes, Chris remembered sleeping together. Yes, Chris was disgusting and immoral, and wanted more.

You didn’t feel triumphant. You didn’t feel victorious.

You felt smug. A craving erupted inside you, swallowing you whole.

You wanted to punish him. You wanted him to live in that fraught feeling of deplorable desire.

“Are you?” you questioned him. A smirk pulled at the corner of your mouth. “Are you stronger than that?”

Chris glared at you, brows furrowed as he digested the fact that you were blatantly mocking him now. It was difficult to assess his next move, but you didn’t have to wait long for another hint, because he simply took that option away and flatly answered you. Chris reached for you again, grabbing at your sleeve and pulling you close so he could kiss you again.

And this time, you let him.

When you weren’t almost gagging on his tongue in your throat, you adored how pissed he looked just kissing you. By now, you were dealing with his hands, too, desperately grabbing and squeezing you. He even began kissing your neck, his teeth grazing over your skin and nipping at you until you pushed him off again. You both caught your breath for a moment, but Chris nonetheless grabbed at your hips again.

“I’m not letting you mark me up again,” you scolded him.

He nodded obediently, despite already kissing your neck some more. “Sorry,” he panted against you, “I just, I need more– We’ll get in my truck, okay? And–”

“What,” you grinned, taking a chance to softly place intermittent kisses of your own on his throat. “You going to be a coward and hide me away at your place again?” From this vantage point, you could see he was wearing a small, golden crucifix just under his sweater. Cute.

“Don’t want to?” he asked, fumbling in his pockets while he let you kiss him. “That’s fine, it’s dark enough, just in the truck is fine–”

You raised an eyebrow in questioning. “But you parked back at the–”

“What? No,” he interrupted. “It’s right here; come on.”

That made no sense. Chris’ wreck of a truck was back at Reflections–

But the metallic clatter of a keyring stopped your line of thinking in its tracks. Chris backed you up to the passenger side door and unlocked it before he scooped his hands under your ass, eagerly hoisting you up onto the bench seat. He was already working your belt until you grabbed the collar of his sweater and pulled him into the truck with you. You refused to let him lead here. If he was questioning his fortitude, you’d make it exponentially worse.

Chris wrestled with you a bit to get comfortable in the cab of his truck, ending up sitting in the passenger seat with you straddling his lap. He was incredibly hard between your legs. When you worked your hips down against his, the friction drew the deepest, most regretful moans out of him that you’d ever heard. His strong hands clutched at your hips until you finally unbuckled your belt yourself. He leapt at the opportunity, still kissing your lips, your jaw, your neck, but now his starving touch drifted down from where it’d moved to your breast, down to slip under your panties and between your legs. You gasped and sighed in pleasure, his long fingers rubbing your sensitive clit before dipping into your wetness.

“Fuck,” Chris gruffly cursed again, “you feel so good.”

“You still hate it?” you teased, almost laughing when he nodded pathetically.

“You’re so bad for me,” he whined. “I just want more.”

You almost felt bad for him.

Almost.

Chris watched in the dim of his truck, only illuminated by a couple security lights behind the old bar as you knelt up so you could shimmy your jeans down, and off one leg. You sat back down on his lap, your damp heat resting back against him but going no further. He looked up at you expectantly.

“Well?” you grinned. “Go on. Make your decision.”

A hesitance sank in between both of you while he considered this, his eyes glazed over and shining. You didn’t blame him. Truth be told, you were surprised with yourself, too. You weren’t typically one for such intensity, but there was something about holding this much control that you were getting satisfaction from in an unexpected way. You scolded yourself for a moment for coming on too strong.

Until Chris warily removed his hat and lifted his sweater off along with his undershirt, revealing his crucifix sitting on his bare collarbones. He set these on the driver seat beside you both, before his hands now wavered at his belt buckle. Father Chris quietly sucked in a breath, as if it were a long, drawn out gasp, astounded at his own actions when he unbuckled his belt and opened his jeans. You could feel the velvety, smooth head of his erection up against you. He paused again.

You pressed your lips to his temple, a tender little reprieve in the middle of this regrettable tryst. “Did you make your decision?”

Chris could be felt nodding before his hands pushed your hips down against his own. You both groaned then, his gorgeous cock slowly stretching you around him. He sucked a breath in between his teeth. “Fuck, baby,” he gritted out. “Feel how you’re opening up for me, it’s so goddamn good–”

You loved the way blasphemy sounded coming from him while you adjusted to him inside you, enough that you immediately took over and began riding him, never giving him a chance to suggest it or try taking the lead. Again, if he was going to decide to be immoral, you were going to really throw that into perspective.

Chris cried out loud in pleasure when you dropped your hips down onto him and began working his erection into your depths, trying to search out that good angle while the priest was lost in the moment. He was so fucking hot like this, whimpering under you while his thrusts met yours, with no one to blame but himself by this point.

Right?

There was one second where you began to doubt yourself, maybe wondering if you were taking this too far, but Chris interrupted you. Even though you were hellbent on not letting him take control, you couldn’t bring yourself to resist when he grabbed onto your thighs and helped you grind into him instead of riding him, helping you climb that high you were chasing. Worse yet, he pulled down the neckline of your blouse like you’d brazenly done back at the bar, except he went further by pulling your breast to his mouth. His tongue lewdly ran over the bite mark you never managed to get rid of, but he kept his teeth off of you, opting instead to wrap his lips around your hardened nipple, overstimulating you just long enough to coax an orgasm out of you. It hit you hard and suddenly, a sharp gasp punctuating that blissful release as you shuddered around his erection still grinding into you. Chris’ actions got a bit more desperate now, goaded on by how you swept your fingers through his hair before clutching on, reeling his head back onto the back of the bench seat and riding him harder, your rhythm relentless and pushing him closer and closer over the edge.

“It’s good, right?” you sweetly asked. “You gonna cum for me, Chris?”

“Fuck, hold on,” he croaked, his eyes rolling back in ecstasy before you gently pulled his hair again. “Gimme a second, we can’t–” he pleaded, all pouty and doe-eyed, “goddamn, hold on, I can’t–”

╚⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷╝

But he did.

At least, you thought he did.

Because, as if nothing had happened at all, the next thing you knew you were waking up in a bed that wasn’t yours. It was his again. The way you seemed to know this instantaneously didn’t ring as odd to you when it probably should have, but there was far too much to be confused by going on at once. How did you even get here?

You blearily sat up, the crust in your eyes making it even more difficult to see, along with how dark it was. The bed was empty but you knew it was his. You tried to make out the rest of the room, get further confirmation of this fact you already knew, until you found your bag on the floor. Your phone was on the brink of death when you fished it out, but it was still able to report that it was five in the morning.

The weird thing, at least in your mind, was that you were clothed and alone. You did just fuck Chris in the parking lot behind the Trawler, didn’t you?

… Didn’t you?

It felt like you did. But, even now, fully clothed in this veritable stranger’s bed…

It felt like it’d been a vivid dream.

You slipped out of the bed, not even covered in a blanket. Your shoes were still on your feet. The room was a bit cold, enough to wake you up a bit faster. Judging by the view out the window, Chris lived in an upper floor unit, likely a private walk-up like many of the old houses in the area seemed to be updated into. This house was old indeed, listening to the creak of the floorboards as you warily walked out of the bedroom and found yourself in a small kitchen. A frayed cord hung from the ceiling. Following it upward, it was attached to an old attic door.

“I wouldn’t pull that if I were you,” came a voice, bringing you back to the oddity at hand. There was Chris, sitting at his tiny kitchen table. He almost looked sick, his cheeks pale. You were certain if you felt his forehead, it’d be clammy. A mug with three tea bag strings hanging out of it was clutched in his hand, shaking the smallest bit for you to see. “The attic door is broken,” he explained, not looking at you. “The super is supposed to take care of it.”

You looked up at the door again. It didn’t appear broken, but you left it alone.

Chris grimaced into his mug. “Did you and I… Did we hook up again?”

You nodded, a gesture you weren’t sure Chris saw but he nodded back nonetheless.

“I shouldn’t be wanting this,” he frowned.

You were at a loss of what to say. Instead, you comfortingly ran your fingers through his hair. Truth be told, the fact that neither of you were freaking out over not concretely remembering this was probably the least weird aspect of it all. You both had your own, much bigger concerns.

Chris took a sip of his tea. His hand twitched, making him sloppy. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m better than this. I’m not supposed to want you.”

“I’m sorry,” you weakly attempted.

The young priest raised an eyebrow at you. His eyes were bagged and red, bloodshot like he hadn’t slept in days. “No, you’re not.”

It wasn’t a denial. It was a diagnosis.

And he was right.

Chris betraying his vows and giving into you was the most potent adrenaline rush you’d ever experienced. That was the case the first time, and it was the case now.

And if he didn’t stop you, you’d make his life a living hell until he repented.

#neverendingdreams #straykidsland #bang chan smut #bang chan x reader #bang chan x you

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waywardangel-wilds · 10 days

Text

prompt by @triassictriserratops

Modern AU. Katniss and Peeta are best friends. She keeps sabotaging his relationships and he's finally fed up and confronts her about it.

[I'm sorry, I made it hilarious]

"Prim! Ew!" I pushed her away, falling backward on my bed as she shoved her phone in my face.

"Look!" Prim yanked on my hands, which I used to guard my eyeballs from her phone. "Oh my God. You are such a baby!"

"I don't want to see a cadaver! I don't care if it's for science! It's gross!" I shoved her away and rushed for the other side of the bed, throwing myself off it.

"Oh, I'm Katniss, and I love to be a scared little baby." She mocked in a breathy voice. "Look at me!"

"You're literally such a nerd you can't even bully me correctly."

"I-"

"What the fuck Katniss?!" We both jumped, hearing the front door slam open. Peeta's irritated face appeared at my doorway. "What in the-- oh hey, Prim."

Prim stared at him with her mouth open. Hanging upside down from my bed like that she looked twelve years old again. She glanced towards me with an alarmed expression.

"What right do you think you have to come in here like that?" Prim flipped herself right side up, pushing up against the mattress to sit up and glare at him.

"Uh-" Peeta looked sheepish. "Yeah, my bad."

"Your bad?!" Prim jumped off the bed. "'Your bad'? Fuck off!" She shoved him out of my doorway. "Apologize!"

"I-" Peeta's mouth opened and closed for a moment. He turned to glare at me, "No! Ask your sister what she did!"

"Um," I tried to speak up, but Prim waved me off.

"She did nothing; you're the one who came in here like a Neanderthal. Apologize!" She insisted.

"What? No!" Peeta tried to shoulder past her, but she pushed him back. He leaned against the hallway with a groan.

"Prim, you don't even live here. Go away." He said to the ceiling.

"How-"

"It's fine. Can I just talk to him? Alone?" I interrupted.

Prim looked into my eyes, picking up that I would be fine. She turned back to Peeta. "I'm going to be in the kitchen." She walked off.

"Bye!" Peeta said sarcastically. Under his breath, he added, "Little twerp."

"I heard that!" Prim shouted back. Peeta ducked out of the way of a flying object. "Ass!"

He stuck out his tongue at her. Turning my way, his face shifted from annoyed-at-Prim to actual anger.

"So..." I picked up a book from my nightstand. "You heard."

"I heard? Oh, man, did I!" He crossed his arms, looking incredulous. "Katniss, this got back to my mother. My dad called to ask me to go with them to church. Are you fucking kidding me?!"

I cringed, holding the book close to my chest. Peeta crossed the doorway into my room and shut the door behind him.

"I can't believe you would do this to me!" He was just getting started. I could tell he was highly wound up. An all-out rant was on the way. "Did I do something to you? Was I too nice to you? Did I feed you too much? Was it wrong of me to help you pass your driving test?"

I chewed on the inside of my cheek. Ouch.

"'Cause I've been wracking my brain for, like, I don't know, the past three hours trying to figure out why my best friend would throw me under the fucking bus!" The arms were above his head, oh man. "I'm in a sex cult?! Really? A doomsday sex cult. Do you have any idea how my parents are taking this? My mom was sobbing, sobbing. I don't think she's cried since 2008. My dad was saying that if I wanted to be gay, it was fine! But I didn't have to be in a cult to do it?! You told them I was in a gay doomsday sex cult?!"

"Yeah..."

"And, come to find out, it's not just my catholic parents who know this. My brothers," he started to list people off on his fingers. "My teammates, my coach, my girlfriend, Haymitch fucking Abernathy, for Christ's sake. I should thank my lucky stars that my Gammy doesn't know, she'd drop dead!"

If it was possible to cringe harder, I would do it right then.

"Are you going to say anything?" his voice got quiet. He stared at me with wide, unbelieving blue eyes. As if he were seeing me for the first time, and whatever he saw, it was freaking him out. "You just torpedoed my whole fucking life. Do you get that?!"

The book fell from my hands, and to make matters worse, I started to cry.

"I didn't mean for it to get this far!" I sobbed, my hands fluttering about my face. "I didn't even mean to say it! And then Glimmer told everyone. I just wanted her to go away!"

"What." He blinked at me. He looked crazed. "What. The. Fuck. WHAT THE FUCK! What are you saying?!"

"I was just trying to make it stop," I hiccuped, choking on some deeply intense sobs. "I never wanted to start a rumor. I swear it on my life, Peeta. I would never do that to you!"

Peeta stepped up to me the way someone would a live mine. He put his hands on my shoulders and stared into my eyes. He still looked insane. "I." he cleared his throat. "I could kill you, I fucking swear it, Katniss. What in the world possessed you to tell people I was in a gay doomsday cult?!"

I wailed guiltily as Peeta lightly shook me. "I don't know!"

"Tell me!"

"I don't know!" I insisted, covering my face. "All I did was tell Christie you were in a cult so she wouldn't go out with you! Johanna added the gay part! I guess someone else said it was a suicide one. I swear! I'll swear it on Prim's life. Oh! Let's do a blood pact!" Peeta stared at me as if I lost my mind while I grabbed him by the shoulders to shake him back. "Yes! It'll be like being kids again! I have a knife!"

"I'm not doing a blood pact with you!" He stepped away from me as if repelled by some deep, intense force. "You're fucking tainted! Traitor! Judas!"

"I'm not Judas!" I sobbed.

"Judas!" he pointed at me.

"Peeta, come on, please!" I wiped a hand against my eyes. "It was an accident, I swear."

"Why did you say I was in a cult at all??"

"It doesn't even matter!" I bellowed miserably, turning to collapse face down on my bed. "Christie went out with you anyway."

"What does Christie have to do with anything???"

"You're supposed to be my best friend," I accused, pointing a shaking finger blindly. "Not Christie's."

"What?" I felt the bed dip. "Katniss, why are you doing this?"

"I don't want you to have a girlfriend," I moaned. I was so pathetic. "You're going to fall in love and leave me forever."

"Why would me getting a girlfriend stop us from being friends?"

"Don't you get it?" I sat up to stare at him. "I don't want you to have a girlfriend."

"Why?" He said insistently.

"BECAUSE I WANT TO BE YOUR GIRLFRIEND!" I screamed. I put both my hands on his chest and shoved him. "Why are you so dense?"

Peeta stared at me, shocked. He was half on the floor and half on my bed. "You want to be my girlfriend?"

"Yes!" I pulled on my hair. "Isn't it obvious? I moved with you to butt fuck nowhere so we could go to college together."

"I thought you just wanted to save on rent!"

"WHY?!" I tossed a pillow at him. "I could have just stayed with my dad back home."

"Oh."

"Yeah," I looked away, smoothing a hand over my messed-up hair.

"Well, you could have just said that instead of ruining my entire life." Peeta climbed back onto the bed. "I thought you knew I liked you."

"WHAT"

"What do you mean what?!"

"Exactly what I mean!"

"Oh my god," Prim rolled her eyes from the kitchen and took a long drink from her glass. "They're idiots."

#writing prompt #prompt #story prompts #thg fanfic #thg #the hunger games

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