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lacybunie · 3 months

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adieu, mon dieu!

“forgive me, father, for i have committed the biggest sin of all!”

pairing: afab!reader x re4r!leon

warnings: smut, virginity loss, blasphemy, dub-con, inexperienced/pure reader, religious reader, manipulation, cum eating, creampie, pussy slapping, pet names, breeding kink, slight choking, crying during sex, age gap mention (reader is 19 while leon is 27), fingering, porn with plot (?), bit of ooc leon

note: first time writing hence why it’s so long :3 also wrote this based on leon saying “i’ll give you a holy body” in re4r bc nobody freaks out over it like i do

“holy mary, mother of god, pray for us sinners.” the prayer is muscle memory. a smile adorns your face as you walk out of sunday mass with your family. oh how you cherish the time spent in god’s temple. you would not have it any other way. this small, quiet town in washington homes jesus freaks like yourself. where every summer, all children through teens spend their time at church camp. cross necklaces or rosaries are worn around the necks of bypassers and neighbors. you feel as though you are blessed with such a life.

so when leon appears in your life, you think you’re the most blessed girl alive. as the two of you go steady, he starts attending church with you and listens to the word of the lord with you in his black jeep. he listens to your prayers and readings of the bible. leon couldn’t be anymore perfect. “our heavenly father has blessed me with a man who loves me.” pink hues flush your cheeks as you smile giddishly during confession. “do not let temptation fool you.” the priest on the other side taunts, almost as if it’s a warning.

the people of the church disagree with the relationship you have with leon, the eight year gap between you two. more so, they dislike leon. they tell you he is not a man of the lord, he is a walking sin. they share their stories of glancing at him during mass and how he’s appearing to hold back laughter, how he doesn’t actually consume the blood and body of christ, how his eyes are filled with something evil. you choose to not believe them as they don’t know leon as you do. “he is nothing like that, sister olivia.” you defend during sunday lunch, biting your tongue. “you have found the devil in a lover.” sister olivia spews with disgust.

her words are a distraction during your date, echoing and bleeding into the grooves of your brain. “sweetheart?” leon calls as he catches your zoned out state. your eyes connect with his, you break yourself out of thought. “i’m sorry, i was just lost in thought.” you apologize, gleaming with a shy smile. the warmth of leon’s hand engulfs yours across the table, the cold silver of your ring turning hot. “i was asking if you would want to go back to my place after this?” leon repeats what you had muffled seconds ago.

“i’ll have to ask my dad first.” you embarrassingly respond as pinks heat your cheeks. there’s limited privacy with leon, daytime stays at his home with an hour max limit and once every two weeks only. your father implemented this as a way to keep a better piece of mind. “c’mon sweetheart, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” leon persuades with sugar on his tongue. the veil of orange from the candles illuminating the table is covering his face, you might just burst from the ethereal beauty he holds. he’s saying something color-coded yet it’s muffled as the tidal wave of his eyes are drowning you. “okay.” you mindlessly respond, leon faintly smirks.

the little skirt you wear is almost halfway off while you and leon makeout on his couch, something you shamelessly leave out during confessions. you keep your hands on his broad shoulders while he dangerously lingers his hands at your hips and thighs. you think you’re seeping through your panties as you feel a wet patch forming, making you feel bothered. “i feel weird.” you pant between a kiss, lungs aflame from the little oxygen you grant yourself. leon pulls away with furrowing eyebrows, “did i do something wrong?”

yet you’re struggling to understand what IS wrong. why do you feel so…wet down there? maybe you started your period but you realize it ended a week ago. leon’s eyes are burning into your skin, the gaze causing you to feel mortified. how can you tell him this? what if he thinks you’re weird? his girlfriend is wetting herself like a damn fool for no reason. “what is it?” that soft tone of his makes you feel even worse. embarrassment is starting to creep itself into the flesh of your body.

“i feel wet.” you say it so clearly and slowly as if you’re dumbing it down for yourself. you don’t know why you feel like this and you don’t know why it’s happening. leon smiles at the frustration you show, clearly not thinking of your situation weirdly. “that’s a good thing, doll.” he coos while holding your hands. head tilting and ditzy eyes searching for an answer, you are clueless by how this is a good thing. “what do you mean, leon?” “you’re turned on, that’s what i mean.” the blood pumping into your heart turns cold at the realization of what you have let yourself done. one of the deadliest sins of all: lust

how can you let yourself get carried away and almost give into something sacred? something you promised to your heavenly father that you will wait till marriage to do? you clutch the rosary wrapped around your neck, “please forgive me. i’m sorry, leon.” you think leon must be feeling the same way too, realizing you both almost gave into sin. oh how awful he must feel, to almost have betrayed the lord and gave into temptation. leon searches your face in hopes to find something you’re not sure of. “why are you apologizing?” he questions, hands no longer embracing your own.

“for getting you caught up in almost sinning.” “it’s not a bad thing to be turned on.” his voice is laced with something unfamiliar, a tone you’re not even aware of. “but it can lead to having sex and we’re not-” “there’s nothing bad about having sex either.” leon interrupts with annoyance. you can’t fathom how he thinks premature sex is not bad, he’s read the bible with you countless times. the purity ring wrapped around your finger symbolizes the commitment you vowed to and he’s reminded every time he holds your hand. “we can’t have sex, leon. you know that.”

“do you not love me?” leon is frowning at you, taking you aback with his words. “i love you, leon. of course i do.” you profusely confess as you get closer to him. the weight of your chest growing heavy while he shakes his head. “you’re supposed to have sex with the one you love right? then why don’t you? if you love me enough, then it’s not sin.” leon preaches with eyes glimmering with something indescribable. “we won’t have sex, we’ll be making love. that’s different. the lord doesn’t view it as sin.”

different strokes of blue are piercing into your soul, almost like his eyes are trapping you. your mind is foggy as you try to think of something to say. “i don’t think...” you trail off with unsure certainty, but what you want to actually say becomes lost in thought as leon’s cherry-bruised lips pull apart in a smile. you think he’s right, it’s something you probably skimmed over. cold hands caress your bare thighs, leon’s lips kiss the skin below your jaw. “you know i’m right, doll.” he mutters while his teeth lightly nip your skin, you grow hot. “i would never lie to such a pretty angel.”

“i’ll make you feel so good.” leon promises with his hands scrunching up your skirt. the sudden action causing your heart to burst within itself. your dry mouth defeats the words wanting to escape, to tell him to not touch there. you’re also battling the urge to let yourself do so as his hands grasp your inner thigh, sending a rush throughout your body. doe eyes noticing the way leon is looking at you as if you’re a sheep, tethered in his sharp teeth, bracing to become a meal.

two fingers rub you over your panties, the new feeling quickly has you inhale sharply. butterflies flutter around in your abdomen. leon hums as his fingers gather your essence that is leaking through the fabric. “there you are, pretty.” leon lays you further down on the couch. his lips kiss you again roughly and you grip at his bicep as his hands quickly discard your skirt. leon impatiently pulls away from your lips to look at the newly found view, lilac panties adorned with a baby blue ribbon. leon’s favorite color.

the wetness from earlier feels as if it’s completely soaking the fabric. you feel utterly exposed like this, so vulnerable in front of leon. “you’re so fucking sexy.” he sighs out once he finally removes the one thing keeping him away from your forbidden fruit. “please leon.” you’re unsure if you’re begging or pleading. the temperature of your body is uncomfortably hot and you’re sure it’s because your soul is already spiraling down to hell. you want to stop leon from inserting his finger into your sopping cunt, but of course you don’t.

“have you ever touched yourself, doll?” leon asks, while fingering you agonizingly slow. you crave for more, not exactly sure of what. you need more of him. you’re heaving at this point, staring into leon’s eyes as he watches you unfold before him, a flower blooming almost too late. “i’m not supposed to.” you choke out the answer while he begins to messily rub your clit. the smirk resting on leon’s lips is haunting you, why does he always look so desirable with that stupid smirk?

“says who? your god?” leon pushes a second finger into your sopping hole, an uncomfortable stretch soon followed by an indescribable pleasure. the erotic sounds of your cunt being touched for the first time reach your hot pink ears. leon curls his fingers against your spongey walls causing you to squirm. the imaginary coil in your lower stomach feels like it’s on the brink of snapping.

“yes.” you moan while he lightly slaps your cunt. “what kind of god deprives his children of a pleasure such as this? don’t you feel good, angel? i know your pussy sure does.” leon smiles at your reaction for his choice of words, you forget how blunt he tends to be. “d-don’t say that.” “your god can’t be all that great if he won’t even let me feel how your pussy squeezes around my fingers.” the blasphemy hits you like a gunshot only temporarily, the pleasure you’re receiving rids it right away.

you’re shaking your head but you don’t know if it’s from the frustration of leon speaking against the lord or if you’re about to reach sweet relief. “leon.” you hiccup, the pleasure becoming too much and your mind is turning into mush. a tight grip on leon’s bicep has him chuckling, looking down at you so pathetically. “you look so fucking stupid. go ahead and cum for me, pretty.” he grants while your cunt is squeezing so tightly around his digits.

back arching off the couch along with the most pornographic moan to ever come out of your chest, the coil snaps. waves of ecstasy crashes within your body, releasing out of your sopping hole. your thighs are shaking to snap close but leon doesn’t let it happen as he gathers your essence up with his fingers. “god, you’re just so fucking perfect.” leon grunts before sticking his own fingers in his mouth, the honey he has been craving falls onto his tongue. you feel yourself get dizzy at the sight.

leon reaches down to give you a messy kiss, tasting your cum on his tongue. “wanna fuck you.” he moans into your mouth, his jeans rub against your cunt and you’re sure your cum smeared onto the denim. you want to stop right here, you want to run straight to church and plead for your life in the confessional booth. however, when leon pulls away to strip off his pants and his fat, long cock hits his abdomen, you feel that indescribable want grow stronger.

your breathing becomes heavy as leon rubs the tip of his cock at your entrance. his cock looks too big for you, fearing he’ll split you open. the taste of bitter metallic hits your tongue and you realize you’re biting your bottom lip too hard. “i’m so lucky.” leon grunts, dragging his thumb across your bleeding lip. “get to be the first to fuck this virgin pussy.” he barely pushes the tip into your tight cunt when you start crying. the pain of slight tearing mixed with the eternal damnation you’re going to face is cutting at your skin. “please.” your vision is blurry through the tears when leon pushes his cock fully into you, you can hear him let out a deep groan.

the way leon’s cock feels inside of you makes you feel so full. the pain of being ripped open for the first time is soon subsided by a mind clouded with desire, yet you’re still crying. leon moves in and out slowly but roughly, hitting a spot within you just right. you moan wearily, salty tears trickling down into your agape mouth. when leon begins to thrust a bit more hard, you’re sobbing out loud moans. leon presses his hand against your throat, “so fucking loud.” he’s snapping his hips into you, his cock bruising the inside of your cunt so sweetly that you feel the coil about to snap again.

“need to shut that mouth of yours next time.” leon grunts, looking at you in a haze. he squeezes your throat as if to test the waters and you choke out a needy moan, your cunt almost suffocating his cock at the action. “such a nasty girl.” leon smirks while picking up the pace of the abuse on your cunt. baby pink nails are scratching at leon’s biceps. you slur out an apology, clearly not in the right headspace to realize that leon is toying with the rosary tangled in your neck. “oh my-” you cut yourself off when leon’s cock repeatedly hits against a spot so sweet, the coil in your stomach feels like it’s tightening.

“say it.” leon taunts. his hand reaches down to messily rub at your clit once more, your eyes flutter shut. you know what he wants and you don’t think you can push yourself further into damnation by saying the lord’s name in vain. “c’mon, doll. tell your god how my cock is making you feel.” leon tightly wraps his fingers around the dainty rosary, you’re pleading at him through your eyes, mouth too occupied by the moans you let out. “leon please.” you cry out, you’re not sure if you’re begging him to stop the blasphemy or to make you cum.

leon soon loses himself in your cunt, grasping at your hips to drill his cock deeper in you. the stars in your eyes are getting brighter, you’re almost there. dirty blonde hair cover leon’s eyes, relieving yourself of the gaze he had on you. “gonna fucking breed you.” leon laps at your neck, biting at your soft skin as if it’s the bread he eats at church. “you want that? want me to fill you up?” you moan out a incoherent yes, too fucked out to understand what he’s even saying. leon captures your lips in a heated kiss, tongues relentlessly clash against each other.

leon’s cock hits that sweet spot one final time before the coil within you finally snaps. “oh my god, leon!” you moan so loudly, throat becoming faintly sore. your body is shaking at the ecstasy that’s somehow stronger than before, nails clawing at leon’s back that you feel like you may draw blood. “there you go, angel.” leon’s words are drowned out by pure euphoria. you feel the warm essence escape out of your cunt but it’s soon mixed with another hot feeling, leon’s own cum. he desperately shoves his cock into you to rid himself of every last drop. you look down to where you two are connected, the lewd sight brings you back down to earth.

if anyone were to rip open your chest to view the way your heart is pounding, almost punching itself out, they’d think you murdered a man. the burden of betrayal is sitting heavy on your shoulders, all the prayers in the world couldn’t save you now. when you look at leon, who is taking in the sight of his cum dripping out of your cunt, the thought begins to become a crimson haze. a string of pearl beads clutched in leon’s fist catches your eye, you look up at him. a blue hue meet yours, the once bright shade now dark. leon lets out a daunting chuckle, “won’t be needing that anymore.”

sprawled out on his palm is a broken chain along with a few pearls and a tiny cross. leon ripped off your rosary.

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #resident evil 4 smut #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy x fem reader #idk how to tag this

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agoofyannoyancetolaw · 4 months

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holy

a/n: decided to take some inspo from that very first fic I wrote so tada. It’s a long one so buckle in folks- also some reader dialog because it was needed for plot :/

minors DNI I’m fr.

phillip was a good man, a holy man, a priest. He had sworn celibacy a long time ago and has kept it every day even when the prettiest boys would look at him and his heart ached to feel their touch. He had his church and his small town and he was happy with just that and nothing more- until the little town he loved started to change around him, the church got hard for him to sit in with the feeling of burning pain coursing through him every time he preached.

he just couldn’t understand it?? Why had his god cursed him with these sudden pains in the place he called home? Why has his house felt so hauntingly open to the world as if someone was following him, watching him. And it didn’t help that every damn night he felt as if someone or something was in bed with him and teasing his senses and urges with every passing second.

he had searched his entire apartment, throwing things and moving chairs and desks to try to find where the hell this feeling had come from- only to find a small pentagram on the floor of the last owners carpet which he jumped at.

he fell back on the ground with a thud, his cross necklace falling directly onto the pentagram as a hazy feeling filled the air that made him want to gag or run away on his heels like a child.

your shadowy figure stood over him in silence- long horns, sharp claws, a tail and folded wings; a demon. God what had he done! He didn’t want this, he didn’t want to be killed or dammed or anything else! He was too focused on this thoughts to even feel your hand grip his chin and tilt his head up as if you were inspecting him

“ah. A pretty little priest, hm? Almost a shame you summoned me- although you’re stuck with me now either way.” You hummed with a smile, his eyes widening at your voice and your claim alike

“leave me be!! Creature of Satan-!” graves said in a surprisingly shaky voice for someone so educated on demons

“Aw, it’s not like I’m going to hurt you- but your stuck with me now” you hummed as you knocked him out with a simple tap on his shoulder due to his fear and carried him to his bed.

over the weeks he had gotten used to you. Your figure haunting over him while he tried to sleep and the burning he could feel when he was inside the church with you silently stalking outside past the windows of the church as if you were a normal person- god he even started to like having you around. your handsome voice ringing in his ear or your calloused hands touching him when you moved him around the house… but that would be wrong! You’re a demon, a creature banned by his god!

He tried ignoring it, he really did. But the feeling of your hands gripping at his hips and the feeling of your hot breath on his neck kept reminding him of those sinful ideas; yet none the less it sent his blood rushing to his lower half. Especially when you insisted to sleep next to him every night.

This morning when he woke up he would have to pry himself out of your grip to get ready for the day per usual. Although the feeling of your member practically flush against him was making him whine- he couldn’t contain the urge to nestle up against you and grind against you ever so slightly like a dog in heat. He felt horrid for doing this, sinful even.. but he continued anyway till you woke up with a lazy chuckle, soft pleas already falling from his pretty lips.

He only stopped when he felt your hands grip his hips and play with the waistband of his boxers, his entire body shuttering as he felt your warm hands tease his rim. He knew this was wrong, he knew this wouldn’t be something he could make up for with god- but it felt so good.

he practically lost his breath when he felt one of your digits slip into him slowly, the painful stretch making him scramble to try not to make noise as you played his body like a fiddle. He could already feel a hot coiling sensation slowly tense and build up in the depth of his mind. his pretty little jaw slack and tears dotting his eyes as you slid another finger in and pressed against his prostate softly; his cock twitching against his now tugged down boxers with pathetic whimpers to accompany the sensation. He clenched around your fingers like a vice as you prepped him, half out of it by the time you pulled your digits out.

he wiggled around a bit searching for your fingers again before he felt the burning pleasure of your members head against his rim, the slow push making him feel as if it was in his throat or skewering him whole. He was moaning loudly by the time your hips were flushed against his, his lips bruised from how hard he tried to keep his mouth shut.

his breath was sharp as he desperately tried to focus on the way you bucked into him and bruised his hips With your grip.. god how has he sworn to not do this!? He couldn’t even put together a sentence as he painted the sheets white, clenching around you so tightly that you did the same inside of him. his back arching so prettily when you pulled over and kissed him on the cheek as if he was yours…

he didn’t like the fact he had broken his oath, but he would sell his soul to you just to do it again.

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prickly-paprikash · 7 months

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The Bishop in the first Castlevania season is pure evil who believes himself good. He's nearly every crime and hypocrisy of the Catholic Church distilled into one neat, wrinkly, putrid man. He is easy to hate. He is supposed to be despised and we are expected to cheer and rejoice when Blue Fangs chewed on half this man's face.

He uses god to control and manipulate the powers and people that be. While his belief in god may be true, the church and the faith are more tools for him to retain control. It is glaringly obvious that this man is power-hungry.

There is nothing, and I mean nothing at all redeemable about that asshole.

The Abbott is every conservative relative who genuinely loves you, but is a blind idiot holding on to institutions simply because they are "right".

While the Bishop's character is real, most of us won't encounter him. We see him on the news. I'm not even American (been there once for two weeks) but even I've seen his like on news and media. He's a televangelist who consolidates wealth, clout and power through the fanaticism of his followers. He is drunk on the authority he possesses. His belief in god isn't the point; whether or not he holds faith, the man cares solely about power.

The Abbott is someone in our lives we know well. Your conservative mother who refuses to even show a modicum of tolerance towards queer people. Your father who is buying into the religious side of Youtube and Tiktok. Your brother who has grown up to carry terrifying, fascistic beliefs. Your sister who feels lost and found some semblance of acceptance in a church who still believes women are lesser. Your aunt who despises vaccines. Your uncle who tells you that you should've become a priest or a soldier.

The Abbott, deep down, has some redeeming features. But it's not enough to forgive him for his idiocy.

Ask any child who had to grow up with a religious parent, especially a Catholic or an Evangelical. They fucking love the story of Abraham sacrificing his child to God, and finding a ram in its place.

Evangelicals are bent on this tale. They will always preach that god comes before children. That children and their suffering and their needs must always take a backseat to the word of god.

A trans child asking their parents to understand—their words will fall on deaf ears because god and the holy man told them that 'transgenderism' is a vile philosophy that seeks to groom and twist kids. A college freshman debating with their parents about free healthcare and immigration will be stonewalled because the charismatic preacher said that god will provide. god will heal. god did not invite these foreigners into this land.

It is Maria, begging her father to listen and having her pleas fall on deaf ears.

The Abbott is someone I hate more than the Bishop.

Men like the Bishop exist, but they are few and far in-between.

But the Abbott? The Abbott is someone I share a table with at dinner. He's someone I see during family reunions. He's someone who shares misinformation online, and I see it on my timeline because we're social media friends.

I fucking hate him so much and I hope he gets what's his.

He never deserved Tera. He never once deserved Maria.

#netflix castlevania #castlevania #castlevania nocturne #maria renard #tera castlevania #tera #maria castlevania #the abbott #paprikash ramblings

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semisgroupie · 1 year

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SINS OF THE FLESH

priest!nanami kento x fem. reader x priest!toji fushiguro

wc: 3.0k

warnings: sacrilegious, virginity loss, threesome (mmf), oral sex (m! and f!receiving), corruption kink, manipulation, blasphemy, lots of religious undertones, unprotected sex, creampie, Toji and nanami are so filthy here (it’s so sexy), reader is very naive and innocent (perfect prey), reciting of prayers during sexual acts, praise, slight manhandling

synopsis: it’s not a sin if you lose your virginity to two hot priests in a church right?

a/n: this is for my what’s done in the dark collab! and a lil belated birthday gift to myself!!

“Through him, with him, in him, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, all glory and honor is yours, almighty Father, forever and ever.”

A unified Amen filled the entire room then people stood to line up, waiting to receive the small wafer and a sip of the wine dubbed the blood of Christ. You helped the elderly man seated next to you stand then walked behind him to join the line. You looked around at the familiar faces and sighed happily to yourself before making eye contact with the two men wearing cassocks, Father Kento and Father Toji.

You have always been involved with the church, your earliest memories were filled with the church. So, it was only natural for you to start attending your local church when you moved. That was when you first met Father Kento, he greeted you with open arms and a warm smile. It was easy for you to adjust to the new environment and then about a few months later a new priest in training joined the church, Father Toji. It was interesting to see how the two men interacted with each other when they were seemingly polar opposites. But what you weren’t aware of was what the two men had in common.

An insatiable urge to corrupt an innocent parishioner and both men had their eyes on you.

You were the perfect church girl and they knew how to get you right in their bed and between them. They knew you were the type to save yourself until marriage but that doesn’t mean they couldn’t drift you away from your original, innocent plans. Especially if they convinced you that, that’s what God wanted for you.

Being priests they had the gift of gab. That only meant it wouldn’t take much to convince someone as trusting as you to do what they needed you to do.

Each man stood at either end of the table, Nanami held the chalice with the wine inside and Toji started giving out the wafers. Each person went one after another and received their own blessing and finally it was your turn. You stood in front of Father Nanami and he brought the chalice to your lips and you took a small sip before pulling back. “Thank you Father Kento.” He smiled and leaned in, “you know you haven’t been to confession in almost a month, after mass you’ll go with me and Father Toji, okay?”

You nodded at his words and offered him another smile before moving to Father Toji. You watched how he placed the sacramental bread in others hands so they can place it into their mouths but when it was your turn, he ignored your cupped hands and tapped the wafer against your lips. “Open up, you know the deal.” He let out a low chuckle as you opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out slightly. Fuck you looked perfect like that, so innocent, so malleable, he could just take you in front of all the other parishioners but he had to be patient. He placed the small wafer on your tongue and pulled his hand back, “thank you Father Toji.” He nodded and watched as you got up and walked back to your seat.

The mass continued and everything happened so quickly. Both men couldn’t keep their thoughts straight, for you have infiltrated them so easily.

“May almighty God bless you, the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.” Toji lifted his hand to the crowd and moved it in the shape of a cross as Nanami started the ending of mass. Another unified Amen filled the room and Nanami finished with the concluding words, “The Mass is ended, go in peace to love and serve the Lord.”

“Thanks be to God.” Everyone started getting up and thanked the two men for a wonderful mass while you stood behind. There was no real reason why you hadn’t gone to confession, there was nothing you had to confess. You hadn’t sinned, well maybe some things here and there but nothing that would warrant a confession. You moved your hands down to play with the hem of your dress as you consumed yourself in your thoughts.

Both men approached you and stood at either side of you while you continued to toy with your dress. Toji leaned down to your ear and placed a hand on your shoulder, “come now sweetheart. We’ll be doing things a little different today, you’ll be confession to both Father Kento and myself.” You jumped a little at the deep rumble of his voice and nodded at his words, too naive and trusting for your own good.

He held out his hand to you and you took it without hesitation. He continued to hold onto it while Nanami followed behind you both, itching to get his hands on you. The walk was filled with light small talk as the men led you to a more private area, their quarters.

You looked around the room and turned to look at them, slightly dumbfounded. “Why are we here? Don’t we normally do our confessions in the confessional booth?” God, you looked so cute. A slight pout on your lips as you looked up at the two men while your hands went back to the hem of your dress. Toji spoke first and placed a hand on your shoulder, “yes but it’s currently being fixed, so we just decided to take you here if that’s okay with you?”

You looked up at the raven haired male and nodded, your gaze drifting momentarily to his scar before meeting his eyes. “Good, now sit.” Nanami pulled out two chairs and put them back to back, he led you to sit down on one while Toji sat on the other. “What about you, Father Kento? Don’t you need a seat?”

He shook his head and smiled at you, “Father Toji is the one you’re confessing to, I’m just here to make sure everything goes smoothly.” He sat down on the desk in front of you and nodded his head, “go on and start.”

You sucked in a small breath and started, “bless me, Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was two weeks ago. These are my sins, I have succumbed to a sin of the flesh.” Heat rose to your cheeks and burned through your whole body as the sin you committed left your lips in a soft tone to reach the ears of the two deviants you were in a room with before reaching God’s ears. Both men perked up and raised an eyebrow. “Sweetheart, please elaborate further on that. God cannot forgive you for your sin if you don’t explain it in its entirety.” You played with the hem of your dress more as Toji’s raspy voice reverberated throughout the room.

“I have touched myself in a sinful way, Father.” You kept your eyes down at your hands, if the world swallowed you whole in this moment you would be thankful. Toji turned his head to look at Nanami and nodded. Nanami stood up and took a few steps over to you and knelt down. He placed one of his hands on your knee while the other went on top of your fidgeting hands. “Darling, you can’t just stop in the middle of a confession. Do you mind if I help you?” You tore your gaze away from your dress and met his warm eyes, you nodded slowly and he smiled. He moved his hand from your hands and moved it to the other knee. You watched closely as he started pushing them apart and you instinctively tried to keep your legs closed. The issue is, he was much stronger than you so he easily overpowered you and kept your legs spread.

“Don’t you want God to forgive you for your sins? If you don’t let me do this then God can’t forgive you and you can’t truly repent.” Your eyes widened at his words and you shook your head, “no, Father Kento I want to be forgiven, I want to repent for my sins!” He had to bite back a smirk and Toji moved so he could watch over your shoulder, you felt his hot breath at your ear and you turned your head quickly to face him.

“Just trust us. We’re just doing what God wants us to do okay?” He cooed softly at you and you nodded, both men knew it would be easy to get you to submit to their will but this was just easier than they expected. Toji hooked two fingers under your chin and lifted your head up as he leaned in close, “have you ever kissed a man before?” Your cheeks burned as you peered into his eyes and you shook your head, “no, Father Toji.”

“Good girl.” With that he closed the remaining gap between you both and kissed you softly, you whimpered against his lips and gripped the arms of the chair you were sitting in tightly. His lips against yours felt like nothing you’ve imagined before and as he deepened the kiss you felt the same burning in your belly whenever you touched yourself.

Now that you were distracted, Nanami lifted up your dress so it scrunched up at your hips and let out a low groan at the sight of your panties, white to represent your innocence that was soon to be tainted by the two men you were with. He moved one hand up your thigh and started rubbing gentle circles on your clit over your panties. You instantly arched your back and gasped against Toji’s lips, “so reactive, little angel.” Nanami mumbled before pressing his thumb against the growing wet spot on your panties and then hooked two fingers under them and pulled them to the side.

Your pussy looked perfect, your swollen clit and your pretty virgin hole clenched around nothing. He adjusted his position and leaned in close, taking in a deep breath. Fuck, you even smelled sweet. He pressed gentle kisses along your lower lips and kissed your clit. You gripped the arms of the chair tighter and whined against Toji’s lips once Nanami took your pussy into his mouth. Toji broke the kiss and looked down at Nanami, chuckling at how disheveled you looked. Your kiss swollen lips were parted ever so slightly and your eyes drifted between the two men.

Toji disrobed and your eyes widened as you saw his muscles once he took his cassock and shirt off. They flexed and tensed with the most subtle movements and you couldn’t keep your eyes off of him. Then your eyes traveled down his body and saw his bulge, he seemed like he was about to burst through his pants. “Enjoying the view, sweetheart? Tell me, when you touch yourself do you think about me and Father Kento? Because I have a little confession for you,” he leaned in close to your ear while you moaned and whined due to Nanami’s tongue exploring your pussy like a man who hasn’t had a drink in days. “Father Kento and I have had filthy thoughts about you, thoughts that would make even the devil blush.” Your heart skipped a beat at his words, there’s no way they could be true, right?

These men are supposed to be the definition of holiness, they’re not supposed to succumb to sin. They’re held at a higher tier due to their devotion to faith, you look up to priests and the clergy as an example of how you’re supposed to live your life. But to know that they’re just as depraved as you are excites you.

You moved one hand down from the arm of the chair to Nanami’s hair and messed up the perfectly styled golden locks as he suckled on your clit. Your mouth fell agape as he continued his actions and Toji took advantage of the position you were in. He gripped your chin and turned your head so you could face him but this time he was completely undressed, revealing his throbbing cock. Your mind started racing but the big question that circled around in your haze filled mind was how would he be able to fit it inside your mouth? There was no way you could open your mouth that wide but you couldn’t dwell on the question for long. He moved one of his large hands behind your head and pushed you closer until the tip laid along your tongue. “You just need to suction your mouth like you’re sucking on one of those cherry lollipops you love to have right after mass and I’ll do the rest of the work.”

So you did exactly as he said, you wrapped your lips around the bulbous head and he started moving his hips, thrusting shallowly to let you adjust to his size but the way you were whimpering and moaning around his cock made it extremely difficult to go slow. Nanami moved one hand from your knee and brought it to your entrance, now coated in his saliva and your juices and slipped one finger inside you. The feeling was overwhelming, he pumped his finger slowly then started picking up the pace as he sucked on your clit harder. Just as he picked up the pace of his finger, Toji picked up the pace of his hips. Guttural and borderline animalistic groans left his scarred lips as he forced you to take his cock entirely down your throat. You gagged each time his balls touched your chin and tears freely spilled down your face but it just turned you on even more.

Nanami’s cock throbbed as he looked up at you, you were taking a cock that was entirely too big for you almost with ease and he just had to have you. He slipped a second finger inside you and started pumping them quickly, the squelching of your pussy almost felt too loud and your legs started shaking at the rough pace. Before you knew it, the coil inside your belly snapped and your pussy clenched around his fingers tightly as your orgasm washed over you. Toji pulled out of your mouth so you could catch your breath and Nanami pulled away from you. “Let’s bring her to the bed and put her on all fours.” Nanami spoke as he undressed and Toji scooped you up from the chair with ease and brought you to the cot in the room, he put you on your hands and knees and sat down in front of you, his cock still standing proud while the tip leaked even more precum.

Once Nanami was fully undressed he joined you two on the cot and moved behind you. He pressed his cock against your slit and dragged it through your folds to collect the mix of his spit and your juices on it. “Just take a deep breath, this will hurt but it’ll feel good very soon.” With that he lined up with your entrance and started slowly pushing in, “oh Christ, if this is what heaven feels like then I never want to leave.” He groaned and continued pushing in slowly, tears pricked at your eyes and you stretched your arms out to hold onto Toji’s thighs. “You poor thing,” Toji cooed and moved one hand to caress your cheek and wiped at your eyes, “you’re doing so good, just doing what the Lord needs of you.”

His hips slowly started to move faster and snapped against yours. Toji guided his cock back into your mouth and started thrusting up, both men using you. Nanami gripped your hips tighter and leaned down, “remember you still need to repent for your sins. So I need you to repeat after me, this is Corinthians 7:10.” He snapped his hips into yours while Toji buried his cock in the back of your throat. “Father, when I sin, help me to not dwell in a worldly sort of sorrow that would lead to my death” he smirked as you tried to repeat the prayer while Toji’s cock was still in your mouth. “Grant me godly sorrow and the ability to recognize it.” He gave you another moment to try to repeat his words before continuing, “May it result in repentance that leads to deliverance and leaves no regret. Amen.” You repeated the final words of the prayer and let out a muffled Amen around Toji’s cock and the raven haired male groaned.

Both men started to move in sync, each time Nanami bottomed out so did Toji. Everything they did was mind numbing and all you could do was moan and hold onto Toji’s thighs. You knew you wouldn’t be able to hold off your orgasm much longer, it was already quickly approaching. The way Nanami’s cock explored your walls was like his cock was made to be inside you. Nanami gripped your hips tighter and threw his head back as you clenched around his cock tighter. He angled his hips and hit that spongy spot inside, instantly making you cum. You let out a muffled cry around Toji’s cock as your orgasm took over you. Both men groaned and Nanami’s orgasm washed over him first, he pressed his hips firmly against yours as he coated your virgin walls with cum then Toji held your head down as he came deep down your throat.

You dug your nails into his thighs and he pulled you off once he was done. You panted and looked up at him as your tongue stuck out slightly, some remnants of his cum coated the pink muscle. You swallowed and Nanami slowly pulled out of you, allowing you to slump against the cot completely. “Thank you Father Toji, thank you Father Kento.” Your voice was raspy from the face fucking you received and both men pressed a kiss to your temple.

“You did very well but there is still more you need to do to be fully forgiven. What do you say about having confessions like these every week after mass and after Bible study?” Toji spoke and gently caressed your cheek while Nanami covered your body with a blanket. You looked up at both men with half lidded eyes and nodded, “if that’s what God wants from me then I’ll do it.”

Nanami and Toji sported the same smirk and nodded. “You’re the perfect child of God, now get some rest.” Nanami whispered and pressed a kiss to your cheek.

taglist: @jctaro @satmitsuplanet @benkeibear

#wditdcollab☾#jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #toji smut #toji fushiguro smut #jjk toji smut #nanami smut #nanami kento smut #tw:sacrilegious #tw:virginity #tw:unprotected sex #tw:creampie #tw:manipulation #tw:corruption #tw:blasphemy

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comfortless · 24 days

Note

Hello! This is the Frankenstein anon back with more praise and another prompt that you might like. Again you are amazing and everyone you come out with stuff, I weep for joy! Please continue what you are doing because it is absolute art✨

Okay onto the prompt. So lately tiktok has been putting onto this telenova drama called Hilda Furcão which is pretty much this priest and prostitute fall in love but due to societal pressures, cannot be together. The YEARNING in this show is amazing and I can’t help but think of Priest Konig in this situation. Imagine he falls in love with reader who works at a brothel but because he’s a churchly man, he’s fighting demons in his head (and down yonder) cuz he YEARNS for her but the lord says no🥴

Please keep doing what you’re doing and I’m constantly cheering you on with your work! ❤️

In the Arms of Flowers

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. pining, lots of talk of religion/silly metaphors, fluff, ridiculous attempts at courtship from both, dark (if you squint), implied cyber stalking, violence/murder, minor character death, some angst, sexual violence (not done by König), König becomes horribly obsessed and reader is fine with it, virgin!König-> oral (both receiving) piv smut.

wc: 11k.

There’s a garden in the churchyard, one that’s always been, even before his vows were taken and the cassock was pulled around his shoulders.

It’s the very place that the arching den window in the clergy house faces out towards, and the very place that an angel descends from Heaven to stalk through night after night.

Even when the thunder clamors and rolls to light up the sky above, the pretty thing is there, kneeling amongst the blooming lilies. A listless sort of purity swallows over her, bathes her in the white of petals and the bright illumination of each bolt of lightning above, arcs a halo over her head like a proper mirage.

The whole town knows these doors remain open, but never does she even look toward the church or the home of holy men at all: only the flowers. The lilies and carnations seemed to be her favorite to haunt, weaving through the petals as they sway for her in breezes like whispers from the pouting lips of cherubim.

He’s prayed for this lost soul many times already; clutched the rosary between his fingers and whispered to the Lord to protect her, to heal whatever aches, to bring her wandering feet into the chapel one of these days. But as most lilies, this one’s beauty is gone away by mid-morning.

Tonight, he wills himself to bring her in for prayer and refuge from the coming rain. Its been a long time coming, and regrettably he’s hesitated at every other opportunity. Nothing’s changed, the scene was so commonplace even the others have commented on it prior.

Maybe he hallucinates her holiness; the halo has become made up of fallen petals now as they arch over the crown of her head where she’s found sprawled out amongst them. She raises herself to sit upright, dusts the dirt from her knees and offers a wary glance with each step he takes until his soles halt in soil that would soon be mire.

“I’m sorry. I’ll leave,” the angel breathes out with her eyes darting from his collar down to rest at the expanse of short blades of grass between them. “I don’t mean to cause you any trouble.”

She doesn’t meet the concern in his eyes, and König is no stranger to sin. To the shame and grief that he’s absolved from far worse than her in the stuffy wooden confessional.

“You’re welcome to stay.” A silent prayer rests there in his breath — please stay, though even he wasn’t certain as to why there’s a demand stirring in the pit of his stomach for this woman clad in a dirtied white dress.

She smiles then, gazes right up at him in such a way that immediately sparks something misplaced, something tucked away beneath studying scripture and kneeling before the wooden altar. A sin of the flesh, a heated poker jabbing at both his heart and his loins.

“No, I’m okay,” she assures with a slight dip of her head, already taking steps back to dart away, back to whichever gilded little nest of baubles and starlight she took flight from. “I was just heading home.”

And that’s it. He doesn’t plead for her to come inside, the offer has been laid out already. It’s not his job to force a belief that one doesn’t want, only lend a kindness and a cushioned pew, advice for the lost and a choir for bleating lambs.

He bids her goodbye and walks back to the clergy house, ignoring the strange looks of his peers as they all prepare to bed down after a nightly prayer. It’s rare to smile here, when sacred words are passed from the wrinkled, cracked lips of his seniors. But König does smile, the grin is as bright as the seconds of white lighting up the sky in intervals as he silently thanks God for such a sweet vision amidst such darkness.

The fixation does not falter for the following three nights. She doesn’t return to the churchyard to whisper secrets to the blooms, but the angel weighs on his mind so heavily that König finds himself convinced that she must have been his calling, a soul that he would assuredly save.

His sermons now lack their passion. The parishioners come to him with weighty hearts and misery in their eyes, but bless him all the same, even when he’s distant. Away with the fairies, some would say. He can’t help but wonder when one such service rolls to a closing prayer if whoever conjured such words had also been in the presence of a seraph.

“Do you need prayer?,” one of his fellow priests asks as the flock trickles out, worry clear in the wrinkles laden beneath this eyes and the way his lips draw down before pressing thin. “You don’t seem to be sleeping well.”

And König regrets the words he speaks next, when he describes the woman from the flowers in detail greater than necessary: how her eyes seemed so soft, her smile fragile, and her body language more docile than that of even a lamb. He mentions the dirty dress, the way she seemed to be trying to escape something yet refused the shelter he offered.

The other priest nods and sighs, his eyes squeezing shut in thought, and though König has not feared a scolding since he abandoned home nearly two decades prior, the way the ordinarily calm priest seems so frustrated by this sends a swell of fluttering anxiety beneath his ribcage.

“The woman you describe is a temptress,” his elder explains coldly. His sharp, dark eyes rest on König’s face as though the disparity in their height does not exist at all. “Best to let her be, she does not want our help. Leave it alone.”

“Ja. Verstanden.”

The warning is enough to dull the buzzing in his chest, the mush that’s been made up of his head until he sees her again.

The bakery in town regularly makes donations of pastries and thick loaves of bread for church goingson. It isn’t regular that he’s been asked to pick them up; the eldest of the priests usually does so, some blood relation to the owners that König has never cared enough to ask about. The old man never did well in the summer months, though, far too frail now to bear the heat snaking over his pale skin and leaving burns.

With the mistake of rambling onward about this perturbing fascination still grating at his mind, he doesn’t hesitate to volunteer, to take the old truck and step away from the stained glass and crucifixes for a brief outing. A moment of respite.

There’s a complimentary mug of coffee presented across the expanse of the counter when the cashier greets him with a smile so broad it seems faked.

König’s fingers twitch when he grasps at the handle; the uncertainty was something he had sworn he would outgrow one day with God’s healing, but it never seemed to stray far from him. It rests over the back of his neck like a feeding vampire when he takes his first sip, one that burns his tongue and stings at his eyes when he notices the woman seated at a table in the corner.

It’s her: temptation and fate packaged up in a loose fitting sweater that covers the pulse in her neck and a short skirt.

She holds her phone, not the mug stationed before her, staring down at the thing with the most somber expression he’s ever seen on a lady before. She taps her thumbs at the screen, talking to someone, but there’s a loneliness in her expression apparent like the rust on the old truck parked outside.

Poor little thing.

She glances up when his staring is detected, confusion stripped bare upon her with a pinched brow and a slack jaw. Then, follows realization and she offers the same smile she did that night, some seventy or so hours prior.

“Morning, Father.”

There’s not a fractal within König that wants to make the sweet spirit uncomfortable, but each step he takes towards her table seems to make her shoulders tense. She knows that he knows, sees that sympathetic look in his eye and hates it.

Maybe even hates him for the divinity he wears in the sable cloth pulled over his shoulders.

That doesn’t stop his approach.

König sits across from her with shaking hands and a forced smile like the one the cashier wears, drops his mug onto the table and offers her his hand. Fingers bending to graze the palm as though beckoning a frightened animal when it’s he who feels most afraid.

The angel merely eyes him cautiously for a moment before she takes the cup into both of her hands and gives him a fragile huff, dismissing his attempt to pray for her soul. Again. Yet, the sting he feels is not from a lack of a starved savior complex being satisfied, only… that he has yet to touch her somehow. That sudden thought stifles him in full.

But angels are nothing if not merciful and loving; she picks up on his dejection and speaks again in his place.

“How are the carnations?”

“Hm?”

“The flowers in the garden… the red ones,” she elaborates with a soft laugh, hides it behind the rim of her cup when it’s raised for her to take a sip. Her mouth looks soft, compelling, and he’s staring again. “I like them the most.”

He knows he should stop this, that what’s become of an innocent meeting has left him feeling anything but. There’s a howling chasm in place of the heart of a worthy devotee. She’s nothing like the women who frequent the church — the only other women he sees. Brighter at best and alluring at the worst.

“I thought the lilies were your favorite…” It’s unsuited for a priest and a man so tall and broad to sound so breakable, but his voice only comes in an hurried breath, embarrassed and small.

She shakes her head, tousles her hair in the process. “I like all of them. The ones at your church grow prettiest.”

“I see…”

The woman gives him an expectant look, as if prompting him to speak more, before her phone chimes and the air seems to shift from tentative yet sweet to something vast and cold. She doesn’t seem eager to be interrupted in such a way, either; her expression falls from that subtle playfulness to something akin to a regretful acceptance.

She stands from her seat abruptly and takes a step towards the door. “I have something I need to take care of.”

God gives and takes away.

“I can bring you some,” he offers, winding in the too-small wooden chair to face her. Too late to reel in the flirtatious nature of such an offering, too late to bite his tongue and remember the vows he had taken. The burden upon his heart seems far more pressing than any words from an old book. “Carnations and lilies… some of the others, too.”

The woman almost seems shy when she glances over her shoulder and offers him the most imperceptible nod. “Yeah, sure… I’ll see you around.”

His angel leaves him to rot in thought at that lonely table, in this tiny bakery. He does not think to repent for the way his temperature and pulse spiked in her presence, for the way he takes her empty cup and stuffs it into one of the boxes of baked goods to collect later.

Riding back to the church is dreadful, because she’s already fastened to his heart like a ribbon on a pretty bouquet. He’ll ask the sisters from the cloister to clip flowers for him, tie them up in a lace that will leave her face warmed and lips pouting.

When the people in the church have their fill of sweets and bread, König tells a lie, maybe several.

He claims he doesn’t know why that innocuous porcelain thing is resting where food once had, doesn’t know why the baker would have stuffed that in there too. He takes it to his room and claims that he would return it come morning.

The bed has always felt far too small for him alone, but he pictures her there with him, sat upon his lap when he brings the cup up to his lips with his eyes closed.

It’s cold and hard, difficult to imagine it to be a kiss at all, but he pretends her lips are upon him, eager and willing. It takes only rolling his tongue back to flick over itself, envisioning it being her own, for him to feel his trousers grow too tight. He doesn’t touch himself. He can’t bear the thought of it, not with the cross staring down at him from the far wall.

And finally, regret comes.

Shame, too, because König is aware he’s become a bit of a creep; enchanting himself with second hand kisses whilst his angel takes another man to bed. A man undeserving, but… he could be. He was deserving enough to become a holy man, surely she could see he was worthy of her as well.

The bed is too small even when he curls into himself and pulls the blanket up passed his eyes. Sleep is too skittish to come for him, even when he prays in a whisper to be absolved of his lust.

The dreams are only filled with images of an angel trapped in a rose bush, the thorns sinking into her wings until blood is drawn, but still she smiles. She reaches toward him with shaky limbs, whispers something so dreadfully mournful he knows to his very soul that she is his purpose alone.

It’s what wakes him in a fit, compels him to venture out through the yard with a heart set on seeking guidance. There are moonbeams above and animal calls from the surrounding trees. All of God’s creations are in perfect, dreamy harmony.

Why couldn’t he be the same? Always the outsider in one way or another; always the sore thumb rather than the loving green. Desolation is an art, a skill he’s learned to hide back: clenched teeth to still a wrathful tongue and a layer of muscle to guard that wounded thing in his chest.

There is no better peace than the quiet of the church in the late hour. Moonlight through stained glass and empty, antique seats that would make the worldly whip out their phones to snap pictures in a heartbeat. The doors are always open, for the sinners and the devoted alike, though the confessional is rarely touched when there would be no saint awake set on absolving.

Perhaps that’s why he takes to the booth he needs to make himself smaller to fit into: one shoulder and one foot first, then the next set. He’s never cared for it, left it to the better and smaller. The sound just past the thin partition rattles him. It isn’t the creaking of wood below his feet, but something softer. A weak sniffle. A cry from the other side.

“I’ll leave in a moment,” comes a voice, broken from tears and so horribly sad that the usual script entirely fails him. He recognizes the voice, though a bit warbled now. The voice that would make the choir pause, an angel’s sweet tone.

“Wait… no. You can stay. I’m hiding, too.” A breathy laugh comes forced and misplaced. Priest or not, König has never been the best at consoling anyone, let alone one so far above him.

“I’m not hiding,” she tries to sound braver now. He can imagine her chin tilted forward and that sweet smile trying it’s damndest to paint its way across her face. “But… why are you?”

“Don’t know.”

“Who are you?” The crying seems to have ceased entirely for now. Clearly whatever seemed to ail her could be remedied by her own curiosity. A cute, unorthodox little thing.

“König.” It served well enough as a confirmation name when he could not settle on one of the saints. King of them all, one of the other saved men had said in jest. Ironic, now.

“I like your voice, König,” she murmurs, deliberately testing the pronunciation on her tongue in such an alluring way that a small shiver runs its way down his spine.

“Danke… and you?”

God forgive him, he doesn’t even try. Doesn’t try to bring shame or guilt, read her scripture or pray for her soul. He only listens in silence when she tells him her name, beautiful and charming as he had expected it to be. The woman then tells him of her work, of the motel she ventures to at night… the troubles with money and even vaguely, some of the men she suffers through. This had been a bad night. Strange how a singular hour could have broken someone down to such a desperation to open up, to grasp for what small comfort they could receive.

But she came for him.

She must have hoped to see him.

He thanks his god for that.

— — —

“I bought a phone.”

“I see that.” Her fingers graze over the stems of the flowers, cleanly cut by hands more patient and stable than König’s own.

The angel isn’t looking up at him, not this time. There isn’t even a smile on her face when she cradles the bouquet close to her chest, petting over it where she sits upon the motel bed wearing nothing but some strappy, barely-there lingerie. Pure white with pink lace over the cups of her bra where her breasts swell with each shaky intake of breath.

In this week apart, he’s kept the device hidden in a loose pocket and spent many a night scouring the seediest websites looking for a hint of a body that may belong to her in this very area. Only one seemed to match. The messages exchanged were about hours and pricing, establishing a location, and terms he didn’t quite understand. He didn’t harp on the small details, but finding her messages to be so rigid and dry did surprise him. There were no cute hearts or winking emojis, it all felt horribly transactional.

Priests don’t make a lot of money, it all goes back to the church, but he’s thieved enough from the offering bowls to have a night with her alone. As disheartening as the lack of flirtations seemed, he hoped not to squander whatever opportunity this outing proved to be.

The balaclava covering his face wasn’t purchased with the intention of making her nervous, only… shielding himself from curious stares. The whole town knows his face, his name, the words he speaks so resolutely to his flock. Just as well as they know of who she is, what she does.

Even this knitted shield couldn’t hide himself from her, though. The very moment he entered this drab, modestly decorated room with flowers in hand she had only looked further lost.

“You look very pretty,” he tries as he removes the mask and drops it to the floor, kneels just a hair from where her feet dangle from the bed. “I’m glad that I found you.”

“Thank you.”

The flowers are placed on the side table, petals falling down to the thin carpet below. A cascade of red like blood and white like doves feathers. Purity and a wound in one.

The poor thing looks scorned when she does give him a glance then, but she forces herself into a position that stokes a hellish, unnatural flame within him. Her thighs part as her hands rest on the cups of her bra, pushing the thin fabric down to reveal areola, her soft nipples, sights that he had never seen before.

“You shouldn’t even be here, König,” the lady warns when his gaze sweeps over the innocent flesh laid bare before him. The angel isn’t even wet. Her panties are pristine over her womanhood, and it dawns on him that… she wouldn’t risk what he was even for the generous donation he had given.

“I don’t want to ruin you.”

But she should. Crumble him into salt, cast him away with the wind. Should.

She sees something holy in him too… albeit, not in the way that he would like for her to.

He swallows hard as he rises to his feet and sits next to her. The hands that were so accustomed to being joined in prayer find her breasts now with tentative touches, a curious squeeze, until he wills himself to readjust the fabric and conceal her properly.

“Ja, but… I just wanted to visit you.”

“You don’t need to pay me just to see me.”

The tension in the room finally begins to dissolve. Not by much, but when she sighs something that sounds like amusement, the restless throbbing of his heart does begin to settle.

As much as he would like to take her like some beast in rut, lay some claim to her in bursts of white seed, he doesn’t even know where to begin. Each curve of her body looks as though it would feel like a miracle beneath his palm, under his tongue.

It’s just that nothing is going to happen, not here, not now that he’s brought a prostitute flowers and revealed who he was to her. She sees something pitiful, where he only sees someone to love.

He can’t tell her that he dreams of her, that he views her in the same way he views his god. That would only scare her away, lead her to believe he’s a lunatic rather than a man only just now having his first taste of love.

“Then could I see you every night? So that you don’t have to…” His head dips, because no matter how he tries he knows any word he says is foolish.

This isn’t something she’s doing because it is fun for her; it’s a job just like his own. Flesh or words spoken… did it even matter? And yet, König could feel a malicious, gnawing envy at the thought of a bolder man taking his place tomorrow evening. That man wouldn’t hesitate to peel away her pretty lingerie and fuck her, shove his tongue into her mouth while his cock sat between her legs as if it belonged there.

“König,” she sighs next to him, pityingly.

His jaw tenses as his fingers curl into his palms. The hopelessness of it all crashes down around him as though sung out from the loudest of the choir. He hardly notices when she presses her head against his shoulder, only realizes how close she’s come to him when her hand curls over one of his own.

“You’re the strangest man I’ve ever met.” It’s not a compliment but it feels like one when she laughs like that, airy and soft. “The sweetest one, too.”

He smells her perfume from this close, something scented like fruit or maybe maple, sap-sticky and saccharine. All of her flesh feels warm against the plain t-shirt he wears, a warmth he would give anything to dive into, but not without her explicit command. A powerful seraph in the form of one painfully cute, gentle lady. If anyone could see what he saw now, they too would forsake those holy books and eat from her open palm instead.

“I don’t know what to do,” he confesses, a peculiar bitterness hanging on his tongue.

“How about a walk?”

He pulls the balaclava over his face again when they make their way out into the quiet, darkened street. Hand in hand. It’s not from shame, but a necessity, perhaps, because his pale face has only flowered into a lasting pink since laying eyes upon her on that mattress, sprawled out and waiting. The blush only deepens with every squeeze she blesses him with, every hushed word spoken as she tells him about her favorite places.

She’s dressed in the same white dress they had initially met in, now clean of the dirt from flower beds. Somehow even more radiant at this close, too.

The churchyard and the clergy house are nothing in comparison to the way the rest of the town feels when the moon rises. It’s a world all their own, a place where no one looks at her as if she were a simple harlot, but a queen amongst chipping wood and tarmac. There’s even a skip in her step as she walks ahead of him, her hips swaying beneath her skirt. All because there’s no one here but she and her most loyal and only acolyte.

He wills himself out of her grasp when they cross the threshold into the cemetery. The darkness there is enough to pull him back to earth; thoughts of how easily swayed he’s been linger in the back of his mind. The want doesn’t even begin to reel back its claws, but the guilt does sink its pearly fangs in alongside it.

“I get it. You don’t want to be seen with me,” she says a small step away, drawing her hand up to her chest. It’s the saddest she’s ever looked, and he doesn’t have the words to further explain that he has no god damn idea what he’s doing: here, with her, in the midst of something that feels so normal even though it should not.

“Nein! That’s not—“

“You don’t want to touch me. You barely talk…”

Because the words don’t come easy. Because he’s never felt such an overbearing devotion to anyone, anything apart from what he prays to. How could she… this woman that shared in such loneliness with him not see him for what he was, not see him in the way that he sees her?

“You’re misunderstanding.”

“You just want to… to convert me, is that right?,” she hisses, sounding more shaken up than he had ever hoped to hear.

All hesitation had to be swallowed back.

There was no other option. He could feel her slipping away, a pain he wasn’t prepared to face.

God gives and takes away, but König refuses to let go.

His eyes narrow, his breath halts entirely, and he cups her face in his hands as gently as he can. The distance between them feels like miles as he lowers his head to kiss her through the knit barrier. It’s flighty and petrifying on his side… he feels cold sweat wet his brow when the warmth of her pulls through.

She could hit him, spit her curses like a proper witch, and he would only fall to her feet and kiss her heels. But… she does none of those things. Whatever pain was brewing here is ripped away with the night breeze.

Her hands peel away the balaclava, discard it somewhere into the tall grass where it wouldn’t be found, and she grants him his first, proper kiss.

With only the cracked headstones and cemetery angels watching, what once was tentative becomes a full indulgence. König samples from her mouth as though it weeps honey when the gentle peck graduates to a parting of lips. His hands run down the length of her sides as she grasps at his shirt, they pull her in close until her chest meets his own and two pairs of eyelids flutter.

She feels more heavenly than his imagination could have prepared him for, her tongue hotter and her sounds… the soft sighs and shaky murmurs of approval that fill him with both a maddening love and an urge to burn everything away if only it would keep her safe and near.

The world ceases to be entirely, cast down with Lucifer to the sulfur and smoke. Her lips remain parted when they break apart, a haze over her eyes reflecting the veil clouding his own irises.

Was a kiss really forsaking his vows? Was that really such a painful treachery? No… no it shouldn’t be. The issue remains that he can not see her as just some woman. Something as small as this could consume him entirely.

The night is spent with an abundance of those shared kisses when they return to the motel. Tentative touches, too. He’s never held a woman, not in the way he gets to hold her then. She presses tightly to him, her back to his chest with her hand keeping his own in place over her middle. She’s so soft, swans down plush and smooth as silk ribbon.

There is mint lingering on her breath each time she speaks. No talk of her work, only… she confesses how she had feared him so initially, how she worried that a holy man stepping into her life would only be further condemnation: an angel terrified by a devil that does not exist at all.

He knows he’s lost a part of himself here when he tells her he wishes to meet with her again, that if the church is no longer the place she fancies to walk, he’ll meet her amongst the dead again and again when the old clergymen sleep. Those promises he had reserved solely for God turn on themselves now, when he reveres the idol he shares this bed with.

Though her hips press back against his groin when his fingers crawl up to her sternum, and the desire strikes up within him, his cock remains untouched here. He doesn’t whisper a prayer for forgiveness into her hair when he grows hard, just tucks her in closer and smiles where his head rests atop her own.

It’s the closest to bliss he’s ever felt.

— — —

“You weren’t here for morning prayer.” The voice isn’t accusatory, just observant. The nightly prayers were missed too, though a reprieve is granted by way of those remaining unmentioned.

But the guilt does eat at König when he sees the concern in this man’s eyes, splinters at his very soul until he asks in a fragile voice if he can speak to the old priest in the confessional.

Everything here feels much too small and the booth is more or less the same. The wood closes in around him, bathes him in a blackness that even the glow of candlelight within these walls can not reach. The partition separating them does not help bolster courage, it only leaves him feeling more alone.

The clergyman listens in silence as König confesses that he has become weak. He does not mention the lady of the night, but there’s no need to at all: finding himself so captivated with a woman that he considered breaking every promise to the higher power was bad enough. He does not mention how he’s considered pleasuring himself, touching her too… only that they shared a night together embraced, counts the kisses that were exchanged with each digit of his hands.

There’s a pitying sigh from the other side before the man begins a lengthy prayer that König does join him in. With the “Amen” that follows, he’s told only to rid himself of those thoughts, to bury them with fasting and prayer. No more visits with this temptress, remain on the right path. The very, very simple things he must do to receive God’s forgiveness and favor once more.

“You are not a disappointment,” his elder reminds him with a small pat to his cheek and a smile. It’s more fatherly than the sparse affection he received from his own flesh and blood before coming here.

“Danke… thank you,” he breathes when his eyes bear the burden of tears.

God loves him and so do the sainted men.

But to never see her again would be worse than flagellation.

He chokes down the pain with more water when his stomach roars with hunger, hides the broken heart with smiles and prayer. Holy clothes feel heavier now. The money he stole to spend that night with her is returned to the collection pool in a week's time. The smartphone he had purchased is tossed out with the rest of the garbage in the bins. Even the cup is returned to the bakery after being rinsed in the sink.

Still not a part of him feels absolved from this torturous puppet show.

He thinks of her more than he ponders over his fear of Hell itself. God feels like an old memory as the days pass. He counts them in his daybook, an ‘X’ next to the dates he had gone without seeing her. Ten becomes twenty, and it becomes no less agonizing.

The prayers come easier, at least. He joins with his fellow men, kneels with his hands clasped before him, speaks such heartfelt words now that on more than one occasion he’s shared a healing tear or two with the other clergymen.

God is an old friend, yes, but that title is just a placeholder for the one his prayers are truly for. The little angel of the garden, the woman who has given him nothing at all but stole his heart all the same. Was she not the same as God from that aspect?

After a month, he’s finally given the privilege to stand before the altar and preach to the parishioners again. His sermon is directed by the other clergymen, a subtle admission of his own misdeeds as he guides the flock away from the sins of lust, of worldly pleasures that would steer them away from the right path.

Amidst the men and women crowding the pews sits a new face. She wears a hat, looking uncertain and skittish as a bunny amidst a pack of starved hounds beneath its curved brim. Her coat is tugged tightly around her where her hands grip to keep it closed and snug. No one is out to get her, not here, but there’s a purplish bruise on her neck. A sad stare trails up to meet his gaze when he stammers through the words of scripture.

Then, she smiles and his heart only feels full.

The sermon ends clumsily enough, but she waits for him in the center pew. He ensures the others have cleared out before he takes rigid steps toward her, where he sits a foot or so away on the bench; the feigned friendliness is only a front for the rapid beating of his heart and the way the blush upon his face paints up to his ears.

“I waited to walk with you… like you promised we would,” she says in place of a greeting. There’s no chiding in her tone, just curiosity. Gentle, like she’s speaking to a wounded bird, and perhaps that’s what he’s become: some big, ugly vulture. Holy in its love of everything from the sky to the rot down below.

“I’m sorry. I..,” he laments, grasping for an explanation that does not come.

“No, I understand. It’s alright, König.”

He knows he doesn’t deserve the gift of her redemption with how easily he turned away from her, from the blooming of… something. It was best not to use that word anymore.

“I just didn’t want to wait any longer. I missed you,” she huffs when the silence extends between them, breaks up the tension in the air but not what creeps over her own shoulders.

“Your bruise..” He wants to tell her of his sleepless nights, of how he pictures her in place of any old deity upon a throne in heaven, but settles for where his eyes linger on her neck.

No explanation is provided, but she lets him bring his fingers to it, ghost over where the purple melds to yellow in the shape of thick fingerprints. Add wrath to the ever growing list of his sins, because it’s all he feels amidst the envy and love.

His fingers dig into the plain back trousers when they rest upon his lap again, something foreign buzzes beneath his skin. The thought that any man would be brazen enough to lay hands upon his very own angel.. It’s unbelievable, unforgivable. His thoughts spiral so quickly it’s frightening. Timid things can become vicious, too, when backed into corners.

She manages to keep this growing storm in check when she stands and smooths her skirt, and offers to tidy up the church in an act of ‘repentance’.

The chores are simple and the sisters that linger far past service seem grateful to have her here as she takes up the broom and sweeps away at the dusty floor. They chatter away with her, take her hat and rest their hands over her shoulders when the cleaning winds to an end. His angel closes her eyes in prayer, doesn’t so much as open them to send him a knowing glance when they pray for her to find a good husband, someone who deserves such a lovely, godly woman.

She shares a meal with them while König keeps to himself with scripture in hand, mindlessly roving over the words even when his thoughts drift to the night of their first kiss.

He reasons that it’s only natural when she gives him such a display of acceptance too. It only solidifies what he knows already: this woman is no succubus— she has not crawled from the depths of Hell to drag him back with her, she’s only heavensent. An angel with a broken wing or a gaping wound somewhere… something to care for.

She’s encouraged to return by several fond voices. A few of the women even offer to walk her home, the daylight is dying and it’s dangerous for a lone lady out at night. The angel smiles at him then, sharing in the knowledge that she prefers the dark. Not the wicked things, but the peace and the beauty of the moon.

And she returns when he abstains from her.

She confides in him after each sermon that she does long to see him more often, but she likes the way he speaks of Mary Magdalene and the other women in scripture, pokes fun at the lilt to his voice when he notices her amidst the crowd of others. She says she likes him a lot before they part ways in the evenings, but she doesn’t tempt him with pouts or trailing fingers.

He thanks her for respecting his faith each time - despite being the one who crossed several boundaries initially. Though he keeps his hands to himself now, the looks he gives to her are pleading and soft. If she would pull him into a kiss now, he would let her have all of him. They could run away together, from the church, from her clients…

It’s on one of those cloudy Sundays that he does ask her if she’s stopped. He braves the look she gives him when his question comes as a hushed stutter. The comfort between them no longer feels tentative. It’s just there. Ever-present as the sky above.

“Well, you haven’t,” she whispers in response, propping her elbow up on the back of the pew. It’s as if she believes it could be so simple, but it’s not. Not for either of them.

The spiels of Heaven and Hell won’t reach her, so he doesn’t bother with those. She offers him an invitation with her words and the way she remains so open that it’s difficult not to take.

It’s been months since he touched her last and the love has only seemed to have grown. Strange. Perhaps he is as odd as she’s imagined him to be. There have been weddings in this very church, talks of long years of courtship, and even then what those men must have felt for their brides had to have paled in comparison to this. It had to.

“Tell me how to,” he breathes without any underlying thought. Saints don’t question their gods, they only serve them.

“You’re actually considering it…?”

“I might.”

The silence crowds around the bench while her fingers brush over the pages of a hymnal in repetition and his only inch closer to her clothed knee.

“You could meet me at the cemetery tonight… We could talk more there.”

“At night is probably not the best time.”

“Well, we’re friends, aren’t we?”

Friends don’t kiss. Friends don’t feel the way he feels now, or how he’s felt for the past few months. Platonic arrangements don’t require repentance. But, he bites his tongue and tilts his head back, lets it roll off the shoulder when his hand draws back to his lap. Another time.

Not where the Heavenly Father could see, if he were even watching any longer.

“… Tomorrow morning would be better.”

“Then I’ll come get you. Don’t you dare try and get out of it,” she chirps with the wildest glint of mirth alight in her eyes.

Stay.

If the church caught fire now and the rafters came to sink into the earth not a part of him would or could even care as long as she were just here. But he watches her go without a word of opposition, watches her nod toward the sisters standing out in the yard and clasp her hands in front of her, smiling to herself as though the world were made for just the two of them.

It stings during nightly prayer, and it burns when he lies in bed to wait for the morning. There are cicadas singing and footsteps on old wooden boards to remind him that he isn’t entirely alone, the scent of tobacco drifting from his window when another plaster saint hides beyond the veil of night to smoke. He doesn’t sleep, his eyes remain fixed upon the ceiling until the darkness of the room drifts to a dull gray with the sun’s slow rise.

And König does not wait for her to fetch him. Morning prayer dissolves into a mournful cry because there is no part of him that can fathom or interpret any of this. A trial should not feel like a blessing when he’s faced with it. God must be playing the stupidest game imaginable to test him with someone so lovable, so charming. Where the church leaves him feeling filthy with remorse, she purifies him with only a curl of her lips and starlight dancing in her eyes.

None of it is fair.

The guilt must be something obligatory, summoned up like puffs of dust from the floorboards. Worshiping idols is a sin, but it’s not the angel that feels like one, it’s the attention he pays to the cloud in his head that does. That’s the one that should go.

He grits through prayer with the other men, doesn’t chime in with unnecessary words of devotion this time. The coffee burns his tongue when he downs the mug and forgoes breakfast. There are dark rings beneath his eyes when he ventured to the washroom to brush his teeth, and there are whispers in the halls that the young priest must be either coming under a possession or God is preparing him for something. Something big and exciting. He ignores those and the stern glances from the little nuns in their robes, huffs something of a joke about a momentary sabbatical when he lumbers out of the walls of the church.

There are no new bruises this time, but König has the memory of the last ones stuck in his skull. A clear image of four small marks on the side of her neck, another on its opposite. Larger, more pronounced. Five marks from a hand that never belonged there. Kerosene and a match are what the thoughts running rampant in his head would look like to an outsider.

She tells him on the thin picnic blanket that she’s got a new client, that he gives her enough to where she doesn’t have to consider any others now. The man has a much stranger set of interests, ones she hadn’t delved into before him, but she’s merciful enough to withhold the details that would lead König to make the crucifixion seem a gentle affair.

She tells him because she wants him to be proud that it’s only one now. That she’s making some sort of progress for him. None of it is fair, and he knows without asking that she feels more akin to the way that he does than any of the holy men.

And still he can’t help but ask, “Do you love him?”

“Of course not,” comes her immediate response, and there’s a near imperceptible glare there, judging by the fire in her eyes. It’s cute… and he feels the world's ugliest fool for daring to ask for reassurance as though this relationship was any sort of normal. If it were even a relationship at all.

Their hands touch, reaching for the same flaky pastry in the basket she brought along and Heaven’s bells ring out in his ears when her gaze sweeps over him. Everything is sugared dough and right again. She offers him her lap in place of a pillow for his head when the clouds grow thick and gray above, feeds him from her own hand and runs her fingers across his face with the other.

“How did you get the sky in your eyes?,” she asks him, makes him blush so easily his heart stutters within his chest. He feels like a boy in her presence, and in a way, to her, maybe he even is just some inexperienced whelp nipping at her heels.

The angel does not judge, she softly rakes her nails behind his ear and neck until he shivers in her hold. His hair is next, a victim to her comfort as she tousles it between her fingers, strokes him like the smallest of kittens when he feels anything but.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he mutters, raising a hand to brush at her cheek. Warm as he expected, yet softer. There’s nothing wicked here, only a woman. A woman who loves him as he loves her.

“Your eyes are pretty… sad. I love them,” comes the sweet reply that reduces him to nothing but scattered feathers and a howling ache.

Did he even exist before now? Before her? This woman has filled him with such purpose, breathed new life into a stagnant soul. The church was a safe place for a man scorned by the rest of the world, but that blanket felt unnecessary now. He wanted to feel her hands move over him like this, smell the petals in her perfume, hear her voice speak to him, all of it. Forever.

“I think that I lose myself when I’m with you.”

“Does that hurt you?”

“Nein… I’m happier like this.” It’s the closest to a confession he can whisper.

And he returns to her, morning after morning König rushes through paying his dues to God and his men to return to her like this.

When the graveyard is silent and the dew still sticks to the blades of grass, her voice sounds sweeter somehow beneath the glow of the rising sun. The birds sing around them and often she pushes wildflowers into his hair, clasps her hands around his neck and teaches him to kiss.

Her tongue moves with grace, his is only a thing of greed. Each chaste peck is met with a hunger from somewhere so foggy and forgotten it never had a home at all, not before now. The angel needn’t show him where to rest his hands, they pry at every part of her: gentle brushes against her cheek and neck, kneading at her shoulders, further, further until he does finally starve off any lingering thought of what is good or evil to explore the curve of her lower back.

Most of the time words come in afterthought, once lips are wet and plush from this gentle devouring, after she steels herself from running her hands any further down than his stomach. He tells her in truth that he prays to her, not for. Not anymore.

The shadows cast from the aspens keep them tucked far away from sight, from God and his people alike. A temple for two without four walls to close them in. The only place on this earth that he’s ever found himself in perfect solace.

“I want to try something,” she breathes just when he’s prepared himself to leave. The tree at his back, knees parted, where she remains sat across from him. There’s nervousness there, not the fretful way she looks after a long night, nor the way she looked to him upon their first meetings. “Do you trust me?”

“Ja… more than anyone,” he reassures in a soft tone of voice, tipping her chin up with the tips of two fingers to further accentuate it. Her beauty and her uncertainty always strike a chord within him, a fire that never dwindles. When her eyes search his own, his breath catches.

He doesn’t say a word when she peels away the robes from the front of his trousers. Her hands linger on at the waistband for a moment, takes enough time to offer the gentlest peck to the side of his neck before continuing. It’s another first, being exposed to a woman like this when she lowers the band and has him shimmy backward to free his cock from his pants. Soft with shame or embarrassment, a concoction of other things he could not name, but the moment she looks up at him with pure delight he feels himself grow stiff.

“Wow… You’ve got a perfect cock,” she assesses with a laugh, finger running up the length of it as it twitches to life under her touch.

Scheisse.

He strokes her cheek with reverence as she bends down before him, watching him carefully through her eyelashes. Her warm breath drifts over his manhood and he’s already horribly aware that this would not last long. Another lesson, like the kisses, maybe. She could mold him any way that she likes and he would be pleased to play the role of her Adam.

The tongue isn’t what he anticipated. She flattens it against the tip, breathes a laugh when a keening whine is pulled from his throat. To see such an ugly, vulgar thing pressed to the beautiful mouth he’s kissed a dozen times now. It feels wrong. There’s no hesitation when her lips wrap around him. And then all of it— everything is just right. Every moment spent in this hazy, loving glow with her is right. If Hell were to come from this, then let it.

He can’t tear his eyes away from her, can’t bring himself to speak when he feels the way his cock hits the back of her throat, feels her swallow around him and make such a pleased noise as she wraps her fingers around the expanse she can not take.

Its pitiful, the way he must look: mouth agape, eyes lidded and heavy… He brings a hand to her hair, and runs his fingers through it as if she isn’t letting him fuck her mouth, but rather in the midst of something far holier, softer. Sacrilegious or divine. If God we’re watching, let him.

She pulls back a little, an obscene, wet sound in answer when her mouth is drawn back enough to merely press a kiss the tip, puffy lips glossy with drool. “Is this okay…? Not too much?”

“You are so pretty… it feels… just keep going.” His voice no longer possesses any feigned confidence, it begs like a wounded thing, chanting, “Bitte. Please…”

His hips tilt up when she parts her lips again, all trepidation be damned. This is something, something he’s aches for and never had the chance to feel. All of the ache, the longing to be diminished, to unite with the angel who fled Heaven for him. The cock pushes at her open mouth, smears thick beads of precum over her cheek, before she takes him in again with a delighted, muffled sound. Her soft mouth, the tongue that thoroughly laps at his shaft and follows her movements to wrap and suck at the head. Otherworldly, and… unfathomably bittersweet.

Her lips suction around him, the movements of her wrist only increasing, and with the second roll of his hips he feels his stomach begin to tense as pure heat rolls its way through him. A gentle coursing becomes a blinding inferno in mere seconds, and regrettably, instinctively, that hand so gently combing through her hair comes to snare it instead and force her down further.

His soft grunts and low pleading morph to something choked and almost agonized. It’s the purest rapture, a pleasure so absolute his eyes prick as he bows lower to cover over her as she swallows his devotion by mouth. The angel pants breathlessly when she pulls away with saliva and semen still stringing them together, cleansed by his thumb tracing over her lips, replaced so swiftly by his own mouth. The kiss is so chaste it feels misplaced here, but she nuzzles against him in this comedown from ecstasy, doesn’t even chastise how he lasted a mere two minutes.

And he vows, vows in the sweetness of her comfort and love that no one else will ever have this again.

— — —

Abstaining from meals during a fast is a struggle in and of itself; abstaining from her is some long-forgotten circle of Hell.

It’s not avoidance, but a necessity.

To think that his first sexual encounter would provoke days of concern, a wistful daydream about a future he never would have thought to have had otherwise. There was a desperate, starving desire to repent when he first arrived home after that, but nothing that a bottle of communion wine and a cold shower could not wash away. Repentance has lost its merit to him.

And after seven days, he’s perfectly aware of what he must do. To absolve them both from things where atonement seems far from a necessity at all. He folds his holy robes and leaves them on the bed in the room too small, set neatly next to his Bible. The rosary was the one thing that König could not bear to part with. The beads, red and shimmery, were chosen and strung together with him in mind. It’s slipped into the pocket of his jeans after the plain, black t-shirt is pulled over his head.

There’s a hammer in his gloved hand, and he doesn’t recall where he found it. Lying with its head rusted in the churchyard, perhaps half buried beneath the soil. Some of the other clergymen are talented at fixing things, but König’s never been very good with that. His first rosary was broken with a careless slip of his fingers, and he’s shattered more porcelain than he could count on accident.

Even communion wine can be a bit too strong, sometimes. Or maybe that’s only when the bottle’s been entirely downed. He’ll blame one of his betters when the stock is counted and one turns up missing, if they bother to come seek him out again at all.

The motel is dead at this hour, so late into the night. The few normal visitors have already been accounted for with watchful eyes, and the angel waits in one of the rooms on the second floor. He imagines the laces on her lingerie, the healing bruises on her throat, and that sweet expression upon her face. Or maybe that one was reserved solely for him. He prayed… no, he hoped so.

After tonight, there would be no more mercies for him. Or perhaps there would be an abundance, blessings from the vultures and the wolves and the maggots he would feed. New gods that were still far lesser than the angel who suffers men in sheets, but only looks to him with love.

And he doesn’t have to wait long, because the demon finds his way here with haste. Does he come here every night looking as proud as he does now? His attire even resonates with death, black with those white details, a costume that seems so fitting for one about to meet the very face he wears.

Killing someone isn’t so easy. Cain murdered his brother with a rock, described in such loose detail that one would think a playful throw led to Abel’s end. But it’s not so, not when the victim is hellbent on living.

The demon is smaller, but strong. He’s been in situations like this before, doesn’t have to spit the words to tell König so. They’re felt with each blow, with the sharp edge of the knife this bastard manages to dig into his side. Just barely, before it’s jerked out of his hand and thrown several paces away. The skittering across the tarmac is enough to chant doom.

There’s blood. More with the first strike of the hammer. It seemed so much easier in thought rather than practice. In his imaginings, the head would split with the first fall like an overripe apple, crumple in and the breath would leave the demon in an instant. Instead, it’s dozens. Blow after blow while the smaller man struggles below him.

A strange catharsis comes over him when his soul grows murky, when his hands are slick and the struggle comes to an abrupt end. The sobering only comes when he’s spent an hour driving down the most forested roads to find a place to dump the body. There’s no tact to it, laying a man to rest in shrubbery and dirt. With a head so collapsed it’s hard to think of this as a man at all. A corpse, something no longer simply human.

König does not pray for him when he rests the hammer in the deceased’s hands. Does not offer it more than a passing thought when he peels away back toward home. The deed is done and he’s free of those horrid burdens tainting his heart, keeping him held back on a short leash to divinity.

Like fate, she’s found out in the garden again after the bloodied shirt and stained gloves are discarded. The wound is patched with what he could find available, a hastily tied strip of gauze covers his side. A week or so at best until the gash would heal into an ugly, jagged scar. It seemed even a bastard devil’s blade couldn't be sharp enough to fell a Goliath when he’s caught by surprise and horny.

He feigns merely emptying the garbage into an outside bin, plays off the sting of the gash with a humble, lumbering gait. She beams up at him through lines of tears running down the sides of her face like small, silver streams beneath the darkened sky above.

He’s not a saint anymore, no… a guardian angel. The archangel Michael with his sword set ablaze and divinity scrawled into every scale of his chest plate. Something holy and glowing, unsullied and beautiful.

Like her.

“You’re crying…”

“Sorry… bad night. Client just ghosted me.”

No. This was good, couldn’t she see that? All the sleepless nights, the prayer and the constant, overwhelming longing. Everything he had suffered for her, and still she only comes to him with the thought of that horrible thing in mind.

“He’s dead.” Maybe it was just the fear of a loss of money. He had enough saved up someplace, and the collection pool would be beneficial enough to pivot them towards a new life. No church. No lonely motel. He had to test it, give her a trial and hope that she did not simply break.

The look that crosses her face is one of confusion… Then comes a strange twist of relief. Her mouth falls slightly agape and her arms squeeze slightly around his middle.

“We just spoke a few hours ago. How…?” Finally, suspicion.

Maybe he’s too drunk on playing God now to care, to realize this isn’t how a good man would have handled things. The only thing that holds any weight, that resonated with him any at all is the thought that he loves her, that he will protect her until his dying breath, pray at her feet and anything else she might ask.

That’s what pulls him to press her down against the bed of the truck, to kiss her with every lesson she’s blessed him with in mind. Tongue and teeth, fire and spit, she accepts all of it. She doesn’t beg him for an answer: she’s seen the worst of men, taken cocks far less deserving. Her hands find his hair as they drift away here, gives the strands a sharp tug to usher him closer, roll her tongue against his own.

The sheer tights she wears beneath her skirt are ripped at the seam between her legs by large hands, panties pushed to the side before she finally presses against the broad chest against her to gain some space. Her breath is shallow, face warmed and hair a mess, still the loveliest thing he’s ever laid his eyes upon.

“Are you afraid?” He tilts his head to the side, curious, as if there were no reason for her deny him of this now after he had just *killed for her*. After he forsook what once was all he knew all for her. He would do it again without question, with no gain at all, but the sting of rejection was not something he could entirely choke back.

But his angel never runs out of mercies, it seems.

“No… just give me a second.”

She slips her hand down between her parted legs, demonstrates for him just how to prepare a woman. He watches, mesmerized, as she circles the bud above her slit, dips her finger downward to spread wetness along her flesh. Dew over petals. A finger slips inside of her, and all at once is shoved aside.

“Let me,” he pleads, already pressing both hands to her inner thighs, tilting her hips upward as his head sinks between them.

“You don’t have to,” she whispers, but grants him his wish with feverish nods that betray her words, allows him to kiss her sex as he shifts himself into a better position.

There’s nothing to go off of but her sounds, the cries of pleasure when his tongue lolls out to lick at the nub where most of her reactions stem from. He mutters against her about her taste, something so ethereal he could not even begin to place. Her scent envelopes him in full, and he’s never felt closer to anything prior. She allows his clumsy licking, moans louder for him when he can’t stifle his own groaning. The pants are too tight around him, and patience is another virtue he finds that he lacks.

She doesn’t reach some fantastical height of pleasure when he presses a finger into her cunt, but her body seems to fit even that like a glove, squeezing around him as he lazily circles her bud with his tongue. She doesn’t come, but she tugs him by the hair to usher him back into another kiss, hands roving down his abdomen to free his manhood from the barriers of fabric. And finally… finally he’s granted entrance to Heaven.

The first thrust leaves him spiraling, lost into a world of silk and honey. And the angel does not give him any time to recover, she writhes beneath him, shifting her hips to pull him in deeper, muffles each whine and groan from his lips with her tongue hungrily lapping over his own.

He’s thought about having a woman many times, but never imagined it could feel this good. To be so complete, every woe or fear cast aside in the act of mindless pleasure.

He doesn’t know where to put his hands, to keep his eyes shut or gaze down at her and cease this assault on his mouth to tell her that he loves her, that she feels like pure fucking paradise and he’s already on the verge of coming undone. He settles for moving, dragging himself in and out of her in slow movements, turning his face away to bite down on her shoulder when the feeling of her walls cinching him like a vise threatens to spur him into finishing on the spot.

“That’s just… god… you’re good at this,” she gasps when a hand is sunk between their bodies, flicking at her clit as he spears her open. Her hands find his back, raking her fingernails down past his shoulder blades. It’s agonizing, trying to fight back the urge to breed her full, watch his come spill out from her perfect cunt until he finds himself hard again. The very thought makes him gasp, grind himself deeper inside of her as her nails dig into his back.

“Mein… this is… you understand…,” he’s babbling, hardly coherent, and she only seems to accept it. The angel chants her agreement amidst the beginning of her rapture.

She cries out for him when she comes, her sex pulsing around him as she shivers that all restraint is immediately lost. She hugs him so tightly, squirms as she hisses a curse into his ear.

It’s a miracle he’s even lasted this long. He halts his pace for a mere second to prop himself up, gaze down at her in absolute reverence before that fire swallows him whole. It’s unceremonious when he comes: a growl and a wail as he buries he face into her neck and pumps every last drop of his seed into her pussy.

He doesn’t want to pull out, doesn’t want to leave such a complete embrace. The world has already ended for him, a long time ago on the very night they met. There’s no need to drag out their ruin with whatever else occurs when she’s out of his grasp.

She strokes over the marks she’s made, gentle, tickling touches of her fingertips and shy giggles when their eyes meet again.

“I thought I would never get to do this with you,” she admits, quiet when her hands drift to cup his jaw instead. “You’re perfect, you know that…?”

He wants to cry, wants to fuck all of his woes away, kneel before her and beg that she find a place where they can never be apart. Steal her away to some cabin up in the Alps, where flowers grow in thick patches on the hillsides, a wild garden of her very own.

“… You should stay with me,” he huffs into her ear, fingers dimpling the flesh of her hips as he tries desperately to force himself closer to her.

“You can’t mean the church,” she giggles. “So where should we go?”

“We can figure that out in the morning, hm?”

#könig x reader #konig x reader

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canisalbus · 7 months

Note

You said that you had a Vasco playlist (also probably one for Machete bcs duh) but i dont think i have ever seen you share them

If you feel comfortable, could you link them so I can rotate them in my head with a proper soundtrack

(Love ur work btw <3)

They have playlists, yes, but they're kind of messy and embarrassing and I'd like to keep the full ones private for now ´v`'

However, here's some songs that remind me of them at the moment:

Machete

Soap&Skin - Me and the Devil

Hozier - Take Me To Church

PVRIS - Holy

River Styx - Angel

Coldplay - Viva La Vida

Florence + The Machine - Hunger

Florence + The Machine - Breath of Life

Florence + The Machine - No Light, No Light

Florence + The Machine - What The Water Gave Me

Florence + The Machine - Bedroom Hymns

Florence + The Machine - Shake It Out

Florence + The Machine - Seven Devils

Florence + The Machine - Which Witch

Nicole Dollanganger - Executioner

Des Rocs - Used to the Darkness

Depeche Mode - Personal Jesus

Gang of Youths - Achilles Come Down

Rufus Wainwright - Hallelujah

AURORA - Heathens

AURORA - Blood In the Wine

Mitski - I'm Your Man

Muse - Take a Bow

Hurts - Exile

Hurts - Help

Richard Einhorn - Pater Noster

Guillaume David - Children of the Omnissiah

Keane - Sovereign Light Café

AJJ - Body Terror Song

carolesdaughter - please put me in a medically induced coma

Vasco

Hozier - Francesca

Lotte Kestner - Halo

Mitski - I Bet on Losing Dogs

alt-J - Every Other Freckle

BØRNS - American Money

Lincoln - Saint Bernard

Rainbow Kitten Surprise - Fever Pitch

Barns Courtney - Glitter & Gold

Hurts - Illuminated

Hurts - Some Kind of Heaven

Woodkid - Conquest of Spaces

Woodkid - The Great Escape

Laura Veirs - July Flame

Sia - Fire Meet Gasoline

Mika - Origin of Love

La Bouquet - Sad People Dancing

Röyksopp - I Had This Thing

Lord Huron - The Night We Met

Johnny Klimek - Meeting Laura

Johnny Klimek - The Crowd Embrace

Florence + The Machine - Wish That You Were Here

Florence + The Machine - Drumming Song

Florence + The Machine - Cosmic Love

Florence + The Machine - Patricia

Belinda Carlisle - Heaven Is A Place On Earth

ABBA - Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!

You Are My Sunshine

Bonus (these only make sense if you know Finnish)

Scandinavian Music Group - Liian laiha rakkaani

Happoradio - Ihmisenpyörä

Happoradio - Sinun vaikka hajoat

PMMP - Viimeinen valitusvirsi

Antti Tuisku - Pyhä kosketus

Antti Tuisku - Mistä minä tiedän

Johanna Kurkela - Valoihminen

Iisa - Kaunein syy

#might come back and edit/add to this later #answered #anonymous #Machete #Vasco

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marsadler · 9 months

Text

Hello! I wrote a book and I think y'all will like it. It's for fans of Good Omens, Hannibal, Angels Before Man, and all the queer people who deserve financial compensation from the catholic church.

I present to you:

FIRST CREATION, a high heat queer horror novella with a trans angel MC and a queer demon LI!

FIRST CREATION is a love letter to fallen angels, to finding your place in the world, to connecting to religion in a way that works for you. To touch and peaches, and surviving horrible things, to finding a place to be holy if God won't give it to you. (it's also nasty, and about cannibalism and shame and guilt, too)

It's a 22k word (98 page) novella that you can read in one (or two, or three) sittings.

You can find it on Amazon and itch.io here to read an actual synopsis and look at reviews. You can also find content warnings at the bottom of my website: (I definitely encourage you to read them before you buy!)

Here's also some unhinged ao3 tags for fun

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yorsgirl · 1 month

Text

A Fairytale Wedding

Satoru Gojo x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: You can't have everything, she said. Well, time for her to follow her own advice.

Tropes: Drama, Smut, mild Angst

Warnings: Infidelity/cheating, Explicit smut, drinking, fingering, nipple play, unprotected sex, kissing, missionary, mating press, toxic!reader, slight possessive!Gojo, hateable characters, slight Gojo x OC, toxic relationship dynamics, toxic friends.

General Warnings: No curse AU, Modern AU, usage of vulgar terms in narration, usage of nicknames, no mentions of y/n.

MDNI - Minors do not interact

Disclaimer: In no circumstance is cheating justifiable. I do not support the act of infidelity/extramarital affair, this is a work of fiction and in no way it is meant to influence anyone in real life. This drabble is only written for entertainment purposes.

Word count: 4.2k

"Satoru Gojo, do you take this beautiful lady as your wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better and for worse, in sickness or in health, to love, cherish and honour her till death do you apart?"

Cerulean blue eyes gleaming under artificial lights, holding such tenderness while he looks at her like she's the only woman in the world. With a breathy sigh, the words escaps his mouth.

"I do."

A pleased smile forms on the priest's lips as he nods, "With the power bestowed upon me by thy lord, holding the almighty and everyone present here as witnesses for this holy matrimony, I pronounce you both as Husband and wife." He walked over to the side and finished, "You may kiss the bride."

The ivory haired man stepped up, pulling up her veil as another gentle smile graces his lips. A tender grip on her chin with his thumb and forefinger as he urges her to look at him.

Blush dusted on her pale cheeks, eyes drifting away to hide her shyness which ends as soon as his lips touches hers. Long slender fingers intertwined with his, naturally full red lips pressing against her husband. His left hand tugging on her long, dark hair as he pulls her close; deepening the kiss.

The church bell rings followed by randomized claps of all the guests. The bridesmaid and the groom's men cheer on as the melodious music plays on the background.

A union is made.

Another couple tied into this sacred bond of marriage. With a whole life ahead to walk together, to love and cherish each other till the end of time. Making promises to stay together no matter the circumstance, promise to create a family and grow old together and promise to always be truthful to one another.

Another fairytale wedding - A happy ending.

While everyone forgets that fairytales are derived from horror stories.

You snort looking at the aforementioned couple sitting together with their family. You tilt your glass of champagne, taking a sip of it as the sweet flavour burns your throat. Your eyes flicker to the bride - Kazumi Gojo, your best friend. You can't help but think how much she resembles a champagne.

The epitome of sweetness and innocence with erratic bursts of the hidden flame in her heart, similar to the random spiciness of the drink.

You see how her husband makes her laugh, and she gracefully places a hand over her lips - an act of elegance. That's the thing, Kazumi is the woman every man wants and whom every woman aspire to be. The touch of innocence with the fiery spirit, generous and selfless, elegance radiating with every move; a beauty sculpted by the God himself. Maybe he was creating his bride but for some miscalculation, she was sent to the mortal world.

Wonder what the miscalculation could be? Oh you know very well what that is… she is your best friend after all. Wouldn't be nice if you didn't know her flaws now, would it?

A smirk forms on your lips as you watch the new couple interact amongst each other. To any on-looker, they look like the IT couple. The COO of the Gojo Corporation, wedded to the daughter of the CEO of Tech domain.

Elites marrying elites.

Nothing new, they live in their own world after all. A world in which you'll never belong. A world whose residents would look down on you like you are some street rat. A world where conversations would never suit your taste nor your style.

Nothing to fret your head over or throw a tantrum though, you already have everything you want. A high paying job in a good company, a three bedroom apartment in a modest neighbourhood, a good circle of friends and…

"Need some company?" You are broken out of your reverie of thoughts as a voice cuts through. Suguru Geto - the best man of this wedding, he stands before you in his black tuxedo. Instead of the usual smile on his lips, its formed in a straight line; neutrality isn't his best take, to be honest.

You offer him a lazy smile, sipping on your drink, "Ah- lovely to see you here, Suguru." You cross your legs one over another as Suguru steps up, turning his back to the bar counter, leaning on it. "I thought you'd be accompanying Satoru."

"Would have but he is busy with his wife," He says after ordering some whiskey for himself.

"What a boomer," You suck in your cheeks, humming at nothing. "I would have expected for you and him to get married, honestly."

He raises an eyebrow, taking a sip of his whiskey, "You think so?"

"I do, you both would look good as a couple."

He snorts, "Well… that's a compliment if you say it." He glances at the couple before settling his eyes back on you. "You look calm."

"Hmm," Your smile broadens as you face him, "How else am I supposed to look, huh?"

He stares at you wordlessly, shaking his head as he gets rid of the particular thought. "Nothing, you look fine. You are fine."

"Did you expect some sort of retort? Tantrums, perhaps?" You raise an eyebrow.

"I know you enough…" Certainty clear in his voice and he shrugs. "Enough to know that you wouldn't resort to those reactions."

A sly smirk curves into your lips, "Well… I wouldn't expect anything less from my friend now, would I?"

The ghost of a smile falls on his face is not missed by you. You chuckle at his silence, pushing the glass of champagne against your lips. Gulping the remaining drink in one go, your red matte lipstick stained the brim red; wiping it away with your thumb.

You order yourself another when Suguru speaks again, "Do you really think alcohol will make it easier for you?"

You snicker, "Absolutely not, but…" You pause glancing at the smiling couple surrounded by guests offering them their blessings and wishes. "But it does give me a kick, makes things interesting." You finish as the bartender arrives with your drink.

"Feelings aren't that easily buried."

"Hmm… you must know a lot about feelings then."

His eyes flicker to a certain brunette woman across the room before returning to you. "Maybe." He gulps down a shot of whiskey. Throwing his head back, he sighs loudly and asks, "How long do you want to continue this?"

"Don't know," You run your fingers through your hair, "as long as I can."

"You are just looking for trouble. Do you even know what will happen if anyone finds out?" He straightens up, gazing at you with an worried expression.

"You know everything," You state with a shrug.

"Aside me." He sighs, "Just let this charade drop already. He's married now, why go after him?"

"Now, now, Suguru…" A playful yet innocent expression falling on your features. "Is it really me who is going after him?" His eyes narrow as you motion for him to take a peek aside as Satoru and Kazumi walked towards you both. "Just watch and enjoy the show like always."

You turn to them, a bright, fake smile stretching on your lips as you get down from the barstool, "Congratulations to the new couple."

"Right, congratulations!" Suguru chimes in.

As soon as the pleasantries end, Kazumi spends no time in engulfing you in a hug as she whispers near your ear, "I still can't believe it. I married him finally, he's mine." There's obvious excitement in her voice, she pulls away and gazes at you with so many emotions that you almost feel pity towards her. Keyword: almost.

Concealing your actual thoughts you grip her shoulders, "Why not? He is all yours now, isn't it?" You move your eyes to said man. He does understand the motive and direction of your statement, he has played this game with you; more times than he can count. A jab at him to accept your statement. But will he?

"He is," Kazumi beams stepping back and wrapping her arm around her husband's. Satoru smiles while gazing at her lovingly.

There's a show unwrapping before the crowd but they still choose to remain ignorant.

If you were just another friend of theirs, you'd assume that the affectionate gaze lingering of her is real. Only that you aren't just a friend. The silence of Satoru even after your question just makes the gears turn in your brain. You need to play your cards right, after all there's a man beside, who you got to entertain.

"You both look really good together," There's a look of fury which momentarily escapes the groom's façade. "I never thought this day would come when I watch my best friend getting married."

She grins, tightening her grip on Satoru's arm, "Neither did I but… here we are now."

"We sure are, dear." Satoru replies, placing his hand over hers.

"You are truly the one for Satoru, the only one."

"I know, I love him and he loves me back." Kazumi’s doe eyes fill with tenderness as she takes a glimpse at you, “That’s a beautiful blue dress you are wearing.” She tilts her head, looking at you from head to toe. “Its designer isn’t it?”

“A designer would know designs anywhere,” You mirror her movement, running your thumb over the fabric near your waist, “It is designer, yes. Someone… gifted it to me.”

You gasp, "Someone? Your boyfriend?"

“Well…” You lean back on the counter, “No not my boyfriend, but yeah… we are close.” You could feel Satoru’s glare on you even without looking and that just surged the fire burning inside you.

You loved playing this game and from the light snickers that reaches your ears, belonging to the man beside you - you know you are doing it right. Just as always.

“He seems special if he gifts you such expensive dresses.” Satoru speaks, catching both your and Suguru’s attention as both of your eyes partially widen. Well, two can play this game.

He takes a step towards you. "I can say that both of you are indeed close."

Suguru hides the audible snort by a cough as he looks away.

At times, he has found himself wondering why his best friend didn’t take up acting instead of his family business. He sure had the looks and skills for it but… that’s a topic for another day. He almost finds himself pitying Kazumi, a part of him urges him to tell her the truth but the twisted part of his mind overpowers, telling – No. Besides, he enjoys this back and forth drama once in a while.

Why would he take away his source of entertainment?

“He is special… very special.” You found yourself answering. This game just gets good every passing second and the twisted part of you hopes that it never ends.

"Say are you meeting with him, tonight?"

You hum, taking a look at Kazumi. You click your tongue at her annoying expression before letting your eyes meet his blue ones. "I don't know… its up to him Though from what I assume he would be busy tonight."

"Not as busy to keep a gorgeous woman like you waiting."

You raise an eyebrow, "You mean it?"

"I do." His voice is a hushed whisper, the smirk playing on his lips.

A silence befalls over the four of you, the background noises being of the guests still a tension prevails. For a second, you think that Kazumi might be on the same page as the three of you but then your eyes falls on her smiling expression. You hear Suguru curse under his breath and you have to stop yourself from snorting.

You take a step away from them, as you gaze at Kazumi "I am kind of tired, would excuse myself to my suite for the rest of the night."

"What? So soon? I wanted you to be one of the last ones leaving," Her eyebrows scrunch up, a whine on her tone.

"Sorry," You pause, "You can't have everything you want."

Her frown deepens but before she can speak, you wish her and her husband; marking it the end of your night.

You walk away from the designated reception hall as the cold air of the corridors hits your face.

Liberating.

You didn't know you were suffocating yourself until you stepped away. You don't belong among those elites - that's a thing you'll never defy.

Pushing past a strand of hair behind your ear, you step into the elevator and click your room floor. A part of you wonders if he'd really meet you tonight or he said that to only play your game. From your last encounter - the previous night, he'd said he was done playing this stupid game with you.

Stupid, you scoff. As if he wasn't the one who came up to you in the first place?

You sigh, leaning back on the elevator wall as you run a hand over your face. Tiring… truly it is. You walk out of the elevator and into your room - just closing the door without the lock. Taking a peek at the time, you decide on twenty minutes. If in the next twenty minutes he doesn't come to you then you'd take it that he's adamant on ending things for once and for all. Even though the thought claws at your heart as the seething envy towards your best friend skyrockets, a tear slids down your eye. Harshly you wipe it away.

There's no point in spilling tears over a man who doesn't love you

You aren't dumb, you know Satoru harbours no genuine feelings for you. It’s just a game for him, a game he has recently found himself interested. Oh and look… he found you.

You - an interesting partner to play with. You keep him on your toes, your witty retorts just keeps him on the edge and you can get by with openly flirting with him.

You know falling for such a man brings nothing but trouble.

But what can you do? You are just another helpless girl who’s affected by his charms. You can’t have him, you know that. Knew that from the first day you went behind your best friend’s back and slept with him. You knew he’d never be yours completely. You still want him.

You can’t have everything you want.

The annoying voice rings through and you have to force your second thoughts to shut up. Yes, you know you can’t have him. But you want him, so you’ll just take whatever little amount of him that you can have and be done with it. If that makes you a fool, so you are.

After all, only fools can love.

Your train of thoughts are broken as strong arm wraps around your waist, you are pulled as a muscular chest hits your back. The familiar smell of cedar and pine fills your nostrils as a relieved sigh escapes your lips. Satoru grins at the sound, running his nose on your neck as he takes in your fragrance.

“Missed me?”

“Hah!” You scoff, “As if…”

“Ouch- that hurts my feelings, darling.” He pushes your hair to one side, pressing a kiss on your back. He can’t help but smirk at the way you shiver under his touch. He was right to think you’d look stunning when he got this backless dress for you. And, you did.

“Deserved,” You roll your eyes, “For a second, I thought you were actually ending things with me.”

He turns you around, and the look on his face makes you weak on your knees. “I would have,” He states, his smirk broadening, “Then you show up wearing this, I can’t help myself.”

You raise your eyebrow, slightly smirking, “Can’t help yourself? Is that right?” You chuckle, “Do I have the great Satoru Gojo weak just by wearing a dress?”

His finger trace your spine, he leans down near your lips, “I would let it slide this time just cause you look so gorgeous.”

With that, his lips fall on yours, tongue invading your mouth he takes a taste of you. You instantly kiss him back, tugging on his collar. Both of his hands slides down to your ass and he holds you up. Your legs wrapping around his waist as he carries you to your bed. You could feel his bulge pressing against your clothed core. You almost feel yourself getting wet just from the thought of his cock stretching you out.

His lips leaves yours, attacking on your chin and down your neck. You can’t help the moan escaping your lips as his sinfully skilled hands rubs on your clit through the fabric of your panties. He smirks against your neck as he leaves a hickey on your collar bone. You’ll have a hard time trying to hide that, tomorrow. In the back of his mind, he hopes you’d not use your concealer.

“Wa-wait… the door-"

“Locked.” He shuts you up with a kiss, pulling on the strap of your dress. You groan as you hear a rip which just makes him kiss you more deeply. His hand reaches down to your ass and he gives it a squeeze. Your mouth opens wide as he pushes his tongue inside.

He doesn’t even understand why you are even protesting. He bought you that dress, he can rip it whenever he wants. And he wanted to do that from the time he saw you sitting among the guests. The twisted part of him urged him to go on, rip that dress from you and take you right in front of everyone. Well, that would have been a way to keep those other guys from ogling at you.

A rage settles in him when he remembers the very obvious looks you received from the men around. You belong to him. What gave them any right to even look at you in that way?

He pressed onto your clit harder as you moan into his mouth. He takes the wet splotch on your panties as a step towards victory. He wastes no time in tearing that piece of fabric away as he runs a finger over your wet slit. He enters one finger in you, cursing at the feeling of tightened walls. He adds another finger and another. Your pussy sucks in all three of his fingers.

"Tell me, princess," He whispers near your ear, nipping on your earlobe. "Tell me, can anyone else can make you feel like this?"

Breathy moans escapes your lips, face painting red from the stimulation. You close your eyes as beads of sweat drip down your forehead.

"Answer me," He urges you, as he slows down the pace of his fingers causing you to whine as you jerk your hips towards him.

"Ugh.. Satoru," You groan, glaring at the man above you.

"Does any of the guys you were flirting with could ever touch you like this?" He raised an eyebrow, drawing circles on your clit. "Can they make you cum the way I can?"

Flirting? You want to scoff at the audacity of assuming you were flirting with others when its him who got married to another woman. He's acting possessive and it drives you mad on how can he be such an asshole and still- still it has you aroused. You are too far down the line to think straight so you give him just what he wants.

"No one," You answer quietly, "No one but you."

You gasp when Satoru’s mouth latches on your erected nipples and he increases the pace again. You tug on his hair as he groans with your nipple in mouth, as he gropes the other one. He could feel precum leaking from his tip as he presses down on your thigh.

“Ah- fuck! Sato-ru… need you.” You manage to say in between your moans, “Please.”

You were just asking him to fuck you dumb and who was he to deny you of that when you asked so nicely. He discards his pants, taking off his shirt and pulls down his briefs, his rock, hard cock springs out, he rubs the tip down on your slit, getting himself wet as you whimper. With one thrust, he is inside you till the hilt.

The pain mixed with pleasure has your eyes rolling back, a piercing scream resonates through your room. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him close; mouth meeting hiss again in a heated kiss. He pulls out before plunging himself into you again. You walls tighten around his length and you could feel yourself shivering as he hits all the right spots.

Moans, whimpers and skin slapping against each other are the only sounds filling the room. He picks up the pace as his hands intertwine with yours, pushing you back on the bed. He has his mouth hanging open, from the way you suck him in. He can never defy, your body is the best one against his. He can never say any fuck with you was disappointing. He slides his hand under your thighs, pushing them against your chest in a mating press.

His cock hits your cervix as you are chanting his name like a mantra. Your walls twitch against him as you near your release.

“Fuck- gonna cum soon.” He could feel his cock prodding inside you, he is nearing his climax too. He rubs circles on your clit, mouth latching on your neck as he nibbles on there.

The feel of his thumb on your clit and his cock hitting your cervix has you over the edge. You shudder under him, milking his cock with your release. After a few thrusts, and a grunt he releases inside you, painting your walls white.

He hovers on top of you, shakily; trying to catch his breath just like you. A sheen of sweat glistens on both of your bodies as you stare right in his eyes. You know the look in his eyes. The affectionate and tender look which he always casts her. The look you wished was for you instead.

He kisses you again. Instead of the heated kisses you shared until then, this was gentle. A soft, passionate kiss shared among two lovers.

The only problem? There are no lovers here.

You both are interrupted by the ring of Satoru’s phone. He clicks his tongue as he pushes himself off the bed and answers it. You can’t hear the conversation, just low grumbles and hushed whispers. You check the time from your phone but your eyes fall on your wallpaper.

A picture of you, Satoru, Suguru and Kazumi.

You found yourself wondering, what would happen if this Goddess of a woman were to find out that her husband has already broken his wedding vows?

What if she were to find out that her best friend wasn't a good friend she claimed her to be?

What if she were to find out that her husband's best friend, someone she considered her brother hid something so grave from her?

What if she were to find out that she can't have everything?

You glare at her picture, turning off your phone as your head falls back on your pillow. You don't have the time thinking about her and how this will affect her. Too far down the line to give two shits about her.

You can't have everything you want.

You snort, she was the first one to tell you that when you professed your passion for your dreams. And it wasn't once. It repeated time and time again. Everytime you brought up something you loved, you were shunned down by her.

Well then, now you are sleeping with her husband.

Did she want him? Yes. Did she want him for her and her alone? Yes. Can she have him? Yes. Can she have him as hers alone? No.

You did follow her advice though. To share, to adjust, to not want everything for yourself, to not be selfish. Time for her to follow the same advice too.

Adjust, settle, compromise. You can't have everything you want.

She was the first one to say that to you. Now you'd say it to her back if she ever finds out. Does that make you shallow? Spiteful even? A bad friend? Yes, it does.

But do you care? No.

This friendship was long been discarded by you. She may think of you still as her good little best friend but you don't. All you see when you look at her is another face in the crowd.

You let out a deep breath as you hear shifting beside you. Satoru slides in, as he presses a kiss on your forehead.

You hum at the act of affection as you lazily ask him, “You haven’t left yet?”

“Where should I go?”

“I don’t know…” You whisper. “Like to your wife? Its your first night with her.”

“I took care of that,” He says nonchalantly. You don’t understand what he means by that, confusion engulfs your face but you don’t question further.

“Besides…” A sly smirk forms on his lips as he pulls you close by the waist, “I can’t leave now. I am not done with you.”

You return the same smirk, as you pull him down via his collar; kissing him deep and he returns it with equal fervour.

While this night is spend with intricacies of lust and spite in a room, a wife sits alone on her marriage bed awaiting her husband's arrival; unaware of how her fairytale was never one in the first place.

A/N: If any old reader is by chance re-reading then for them, I'd like to mention that I've tweaked a bit of this part (only at the end). As at first I didn't plan on making a part 2 and the altered lines were necessary.

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flowerandblood · 4 months

Text

The Gate of Salvation [3/3]

[ young pope • Aemond x catholic • female ]

[ warnings: fingering, kissing, smut, sexual tension, angst, religious guilt, 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

Epilogue: The Song of Songs

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

_____

After what they had done they lasted for a moment in the tight embrace of each other's arms, trying to calm their breathing, his hand stroking her soft hair.

"Can I stay with you tonight?" He asked so quietly that she barely heard him; she felt a tightening in her heart at the thought of how much she wanted nothing more and how inappropriate it was.

Nonetheless, she knew they were both scared, embarrassed and needed their closeness, proof that although the situation was complicated and hopeless, they were in it together.

"Yes." She whispered and heard him sigh loudly in relief, as if he feared that she now abhorred and hated him, that she would betray him, sell the story to the newspapers, destroy him as a man, as a priest and as a pope.

She thought that they were both complicit in this situation, and although she felt remorse knowing that she had contributed to him breaking his celibacy, some kind of warmth filled her lower abdomen.

She thought with despair that she had fallen in love with him.

She looked in her drawers for some of her uncle's old tracksuits that he had left in his flat and gave them to him to change into, showing him beforehand how to turn on the washing machine so he could clean the ones he came in. Taking advantage of the fact that he was in the bathroom, she changed into dry underwear and sighed quietly, somehow feeling clean again.

She waited for him lying on her bed – when he came out of her bathroom he looked at her for a moment standing in the entrance, clearly not knowing what to say, his face just like hers, red from tears and emotion.

"I'm sorry." He whispered helplessly. She sighed quietly, raising herself up on her elbow, looking at him with understanding.

"Do not apologise, Holy Father."

He swallowed heavily and moved towards her, startling her when he lay down opposite her and immediately hid his face in the material of her shirt between her breasts, his large hands clamped down on her back.

"Can you embrace me?" He asked uncertainly with a regret and embarrassment from which she felt a squeeze in her throat, the fingers of one of her hands sinking into his short hair while the other wrapped around his waist.

She felt him tense and wondered sadly after what she had learned, if anyone had ever hugged him, if he had found his place and understanding in someone's arms.

"Can I fall asleep like this?" He asked again. She sighed quietly, leaned in and kissed his hair, stroking it with her fingers – she felt a shiver pass through him, his hands clenched tighter on the material of her shirt.

"Yes." She whispered; she felt him move closer to her, snuggling his whole body into her, felt his desperation, the fact that he was and needed to be vulnerable, weak, protected, that he wanted to feel and love, wanted to suffer, to experience what others did.

"If it's a sin, why do I feel so peaceful?" He asked quietly, one of his hands trailing up and down her spine making wonderful shivers run through her – she nuzzled her nose into his hair, thinking on the answer.

She understood perfectly what he had in mind, because she felt the same.

She felt a kind of shame at the thought that her grief and remorse was less than she had expected and was only concerned with the fact that she was afraid someone would find out about this.

"I don't know, Holy Father. I am ashamed that my soul is so quiet now. Perhaps it hasn't yet come to us what has happened?" She asked quietly, watching as her fingers tentatively played with his hair. She heard his murmur of contentment, his face pressed tighter into her chest.

She wondered how it was possible that he could breathe in such a position.

"I need you by my side if I am to keep my sanity. I need you because Vatican is like a dark, black hole, like hell on earth, the centre of Sodom and Gomorrah." He whispered into the fabric of her shirt, his voice vibrating through her whole body, apart from their breathing all that could be heard was the quiet ticking of the clock standing on her bedside table.

She swallowed loudly, feeling her heart begin to beat faster, torn internally by her own insecurities and doubts; he felt it, his fingers gripped the fabric of her shirt tighter.

"It's too late. Too late. I can't take it back. This is God's answer to my prayers, to my plea that He not leave me alone. He sent you to me as a sign, as my revelation and salvation." He muttered, and she clenched her eyelids, feeling tears gathering in the corners of her eyes, hugging him tighter, realising with despair that he had possessed her the very first moment she saw him.

"A sign of depravity and bitterness? A taste of sorrow and eternal thirst? That is what I am and will be for you, Holy Father." She exhaled with difficulty, feeling her body begin to twitch, her breast trembled in a heavy breath. He raised himself on his elbow and looked at her, his large hand touched her cheek with a tenderness and respect from which she felt a squeeze in her throat.

"No. No, you are my joy. My flower garden to which I escape with my thoughts when I am tired. My faithful need me, and I need you." He said softly, wiping with his thumb from her warm cheeks the tears that ran down her face.

"I will not go to a monastery, Holy Father. It is not my vocation." She whispered and he pressed his lips together, swallowing with difficulty.

She could see in his gaze that he was struggling with himself and his disappointment, that he wanted to somehow make sure that he would have her exclusively as a man and a Pope.

"So what is?" He asked finally; she looked at him with her eyebrows arched in pain, realising with that she didn't know the answer to that question, that she didn't know what she wanted to do after university, where she wanted to live, how she saw the next years of her life.

"I don't know. It's a very difficult question." She muttered in a trembling voice, bursting into sobs when this time it was he who pulled her close and embraced her, letting her snuggle into his chest, locking her in a tight grasp of his arms as she did before, placing warm, tender kisses on her hair, combing through it with his fingertips.

"− shhh − it's okay − I'm here for you, child − I won't let you get lost − I'll take care of you −" He whispered, and although she knew there was something ambiguous and indecent in his words, she felt relieved, her fingers tightened into fists on the material of his sweatshirt, his wonderful scent filling her lungs.

There was something wonderful and tender about the fact that neither of them tried to touch each other anymore in a way that could be perceived as purely physical – they just cuddled, stroked and intertwined their fingers. She felt the heat in her chest every time she turned in bed lying in his arms facing him, his lips placing a lingering, soft, wet kiss on her forehead.

"− sleep, child − sleep, I am with you −" He whispered tenderly. She felt butterflies in her stomach and sighed softly, cuddling her face into the hollow of his neck smelling of his perfume as they fell asleep again.

It was the most beautiful night of her life.

She was woken in the morning by the sizzle of oil in the pan; she opened her eyes, unsure for a moment where she was and pulled herself up on her bed, frowning.

She got up and walked out of her bedroom into the corridor, but stopped immediately with her heart beating fast, seeing him standing with his back to her in her kitchen, again all dressed in a white tracksuit. She realised by the smell that he was making scrambled eggs.

The Pope she had spent the night with was just making them breakfast in her kitchen.

Good God, she thought with amusement and walked closer – he heard the sound of her footsteps and turned over his shoulder, a soft contentment on his face.

"Good morning. We have to leave soon, so I decided to prepare something quick. I didn't want to wake you up. You were sleeping so peacefully." He hummed with some kind of warmth and tenderness from which her heart beat faster; she swallowed quietly, trying not to think about the fact that she felt his words deep between her thighs.

She wanted to ask him if he really thought she should still be working for him, to tell him that it wasn't wise, but she realised that there was no desire in her to object.

I will take care of you.

She wasn't sure what he meant by those words, but she knew that some part of her wanted his assurance to come true.

After a short prayer, which took her completely by surprise, and which apparently was a daily occurrence for him before every meal, they ate breakfast while listening to the morning broadcasts on the radio.

She didn't know where she should be looking, so she just focused on her plate, tasting what he had prepared, finding to her surprise that his scrambled eggs were perfectly fried and spiced. She grunted quietly and lifted her gaze to him when she suddenly remembered something important, from which she felt a cold sweat on her back.

"We should go to confession…shouldn't we?" She asked, not daring to suggest for what reason, figuring he would know what she meant. He raised his surprised gaze at her and took a sip of his coffee, then set his mug down on the table.

"Of course." He replied, and she lowered her gaze to her plate, feeling that she had lost all appetite, terrified of the humiliation that awaited her and what she had to confess.

She allowed herself to be touched by the priest and took pleasure in it herself.

"Go to Father Lenz, I will also pay him a visit. He is a very good confessor. He's the only one I trust." He said matter-of-factly, throwing her a look that told her that gossip spreads like a disease in Rome and Vatican and she could not confide such a sin to just anyone.

Clearly not everybody respected the seal of confession, she thought with dismay.

"I'll go now." He said getting up abruptly from his seat, taking his player out of his pocket, putting his earphones into his ears and pulling his hood over his head. "I'll meet you in the Vatican."

He said and simply walked out, closing the door behind him, leaving her with a look of disbelief on her face.

She covered her mouth with her hand, clenching her eyelids and swallowed loudly, wondering what she was actually doing.

What had exactly happened between them?

Who was she to him now?

His lover?

She thought with pain that as long as he was by her side everything was well, but now that she was left alone with her thoughts she was crushed by the weight of what had taken place, of who the person who had touched her was.

What they had done.

She felt tears of fear and shame under her eyelids, of bitterness and anger that he wasn't just an ordinary man about whom she could have some hope, that even if not now, in the future their relationship would stop being something bad.

In their case there was no such possibility, what they had done was a contradiction of everything they should represent, what he symbolised as the Head of the Church.

She thought sadly that he was wrong.

That it was not God who had sent her to him, but the Devil, as a temptation that would lead to his downfall.

She drove to the Vatican with a heavy heart, sad, distracted and heartbroken, thinking with shame that she had acted like an animal that couldn't control itself and lowered her gaze, looking down at her hands.

When she got out of the car in the courtyard Father Lenz was waiting for her as usual. They both moved inside the building, but she stopped him in mid-step, placing her hand on his arm.

"I would like to make a confession." She muttered, the man cast her a calm glance over his shoulder and nodded.

She thought with shame that he already knew everything.

To her surprise, he did not take her to the basilica or any chapel but to the garden; they sat side by side on one of the white stone benches, the sun shining high above them.

She wondered for a moment if she should keep the formula, but decided after a moment that it was just a waste of time.

"I have sinned, Father. I gave in to the weakness of my flesh. I led a clerical person to his and my moral downfall." She muttered, feeling that with every word she spoke her voice quivered more and more, tears of regret and bitterness gathered in the corners of her eyes.

A long silence answered her, during which she only looked at her knees, wiping her wet cheeks with her hands, trying to calm her ragged, broken breathing.

"You are not responsible for anyone's downfall but your own, child, though I think you are using too solemn words. What happened?" He asked, although she knew perfectly well from his posture that the Pope himself had confessed to him exactly the same things she was telling him now.

"He touched me and brought me to fulfilment with my permission." She whispered in shame, swallowing loudly, feeling small, dirty, worthless, breathless at the memory of how wonderful it had been to fall asleep in his embrace and wept quietly.

"What happened next?" He asked calmly and she sighed heavily, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.

"We went to sleep, cuddled together. But nothing more happened between us." She mumbled, fiddling with the material of her black dress between her fingers in a nervous gesture, her leg bouncing with stress.

She wondered how she could have done it.

"Hm." He hummed and sighed quietly, bowing his head.

"I'm going to tell you something now, child. I'm going to tell you this as a man, not a priest, and you're going to listen to me. Vatican devours people. It sucks the energy out of them, their strength, their free will. Cardinals manage to believe in God or do a merciful deed, however, they are first and foremost businessmen, officials, monarchs. Do you know why Cardinal Targaryen was elected Pope?

Because they thought he would be easy to manipulate.

Quiet, withdrawn, reading books or concentrating on prayer. He spoke to no one, befriended no one, confided in no one. They thought they had planted someone lost, weak-willed and without an opinion on Peter's throne. Meanwhile, he had fooled them all. He planned it deliberately."

He spoke calmly, looking ahead with blank eyes. She stared at him in disbelief, feeling her heart pounding hard, her throat squeezed so tightly that she breathed with difficulty.

Meanwhile, he had fooled them all.

He had planned it deliberately.

Was it the same with her?

Was it possible that her uncle wasn't the only one treating her as a pawn?

"He never confided in anyone, never spoke to anyone for longer than necessary. He doesn't let anyone sit or eat in his presence, he locks himself in his solitary room and sits there for hours. Except when you visit the Vatican. I exchange a maximum of four sentences with him during the day, while with you he talks for hours." He said looking at her finally, the expression on his face gentle and heartfelt, her lips parted in disbelief, her cheeks hot with emotion.

"He has fallen in love with you. He had already admitted this to me after confession, asking me for advice. And although it creates a temptation to sin I told him to keep you close. I believe that God sent you to him like cold water to a man who has sunk into hell and is burning in it every day. He is completely alone. Despite my deepest efforts, I cannot help him."

He muttered, covering his face with his hand and she watched in disbelief as the grown man sitting next to her burst out crying like a small child. She pressed her fingers to her lips and stifled the sobs that wanted to escape her throat, hot tears one by one running down her cheeks.

He fell in love with you.

"He told me he trusts only you, Father." She whispered, placing a hand on his shoulder, trying to calm her ragged breathing. Father Lenz looked at her and laughed in a way that made her feel at least uncomfortable.

"He knows that I report on him. He knows that one of the cardinals, a fierce opponent of your uncle, is blackmailing me. But I don't always tell him about what I see and hear. Not about everything. Do you understand?" He asked in a trembling voice, and she nodded, looking at him with horror and fear, feeling the cold sweat on her back.

"Through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit." He said lowly, making the sign of the cross in the air with his hand in front of her.

"Amen." She mumbled, not looking at him but at her feet, quivering all over, tears of disbelief and despair making the world around her seem blurred.

"Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good."

"His mercy endures for ever." She whispered and rose from her seat, moving quickly ahead, covering her mouth with her hand, bursting into hysterical sobs, feeling that she had panicked.

She headed towards his office where he usually worked, the same one her uncle had taken her to when she first saw him. One of the guards, on seeing her, simply opened the door, as if he had been warned that she would come.

She walked slowly inside, and the door closed behind her with a loud clatter of wood.

She looked to her left and saw his figure clad in a white cassock, sprawled comfortably in his chair, reading some documents. He lifted his gaze to her and for a moment just looked at her, as if shocked by her condition, then rose quickly, staring at her with concern.

"Good God, what's happened?" He asked in a trembling voice, his eyebrows raised in fear.

She knew she wasn't allowed to do this, she knew she shouldn't, that if anyone saw them it would be over, but she couldn't help herself.

She wept as she ran to him and pressed her face to his chest, feeling the cold cross hanging from his neck against her cheek, embracing him tightly around his waist, clenching her fingers on his cassock.

"Holy Father." She mumbled like a helpless child who needed someone to lead her by her hand, like a frightened bird that had fallen out of its nest, like a ship that was unable to find its way to port.

"− calm down, child − I'm here − shhh −" He hushed her, sinking his face into the top of her head, stroking her neck and back with his hands with calm, tender movements full of affection, his wonderful scent filling her lungs.

"− it's okay −" He whispered soothingly, combing his fingers through her hair – she felt a wonderful shiver ran down her spine every time he did it and closed her eyes thinking only of how safe she felt.

She murmured quietly, relaxing and calming as she felt his lips on her head, heard him place drawn out, wet kisses on her hair.

"I love the way you smell. I saw your perfume in your bathroom and bought myself one just like it so I can remind myself of you when I fall asleep here alone. After my escape they increased my protection, they don't leave my side." He whispered softly, and she felt a squeeze in her throat at the thought of how deep his feeling, his devotion, his commitment, his desire was.

"I want you to pose for a painting made on my request as Mary Magdalene."

She could not put into words how ambiguous, lewd, intimate his proposal was. He gave her time to think, indicating that he would respect her refusal, but said that he wanted to have her by his side also in the quarters in which he slept, said he would hang the painting opposite his bed.

When she asked him if this sight would distract his thoughts from God he replied that he had never felt the presence of God as strongly as when he thought of her.

Lying in her room in complete darkness, she thought about what Father Lenz had told her.

He has fallen in love with you.

Vatican devours people.

He is completely alone.

She closed her eyes, swallowing loudly, thinking about the question he had asked her that morning regarding what she thought her vocation was, and wondered if in some incomprehensible way God was trying to tell her something.

I believe that God sent you to him like cold water to a man who has sunk into hell and is burning in it every day.

She felt tears under her eyelids at the thought of his sullen, absolute loneliness among people who were so vain and power-hungry, and she wondered where he was going to get the strength to fight against paedophilia, abuse of power, bribes and profligacy when almost everyone around him was content with this state of affairs.

She found herself wondering if her presence could support him in some way, give him courage, a sense that there was someone by his side who didn't care about his position or money, someone who simply loved him, gave him comfort and tenderness in moments of doubt.

She thought with a kind of relief that there was nothing disgusting, nothing disturbing in this thought, that although certain things would remain taboo, the feeling that God had aroused in her heart could not be wrong in nature, because it did not stem from a desire to objectify.

For some reason she felt the desire to sacrifice herself for him, to suffer for him, to die every day for the love of him.

She agreed to his proposal.

He made sure that the painter's arrival at the Vatican was covered by complete secrecy – it was agreed that she would stay until the evening to work and then come to one of the small rooms where they would wait for her.

When she walked in she saw them in half darkness, the Pope dressed in his white cassock with a large cross on his chest was speaking with a middle-aged man about what stood before them, a small platform on which lay an ornate cushion and a cloth on which lay a skull, the only source of light was the tall and low candles standing around on the floor.

When they saw her the Pope grunted and nodded, folding his arms behind him.

"Come closer, child. This is Marco, the painter I mentioned to you." He said softly, though his expression stern, contentment lurked in his eye.

She swallowed loudly and walked towards them, feeling her heart pounding like mad, terrified of what they had come up with, of someone catching them.

"Marco has prepared a robe for you to pose in. Wear just that and let your hair down. We'll wait in the other room." He said calmly and nodded at the man, walking out through a small door, closing it behind them.

She was left alone.

She walked over to a chair on which lay a cream-coloured, simple linen long robe – when she picked it up she found it pleasant to the touch, with pieces of cloth hanging down the sides to tie around her waist.

She stripped naked and, with trembling hands, placed the garment over herself, arranging it like a bathrobe, tying a knot at the waist so that the whole thing would hold together somehow and not reveal anything. She pulled the pins out of her hair and undid her braid, letting her dark curls fall to her shoulders.

"I'm ready." She muttered in a trembling voice and heard the sound of the door opening.

The Pope stepped inside and paused, letting out a loud breath as if this sight surprised him, his lips parted slightly; she felt heat in her lower abdomen when she saw him involuntarily lick them with his tongue.

"Lie down and take this skull in your hands. Yes, just like that." He said, stepping closer to her, placing his warm hands on her shoulders covered by her soft cloth, arranging her as he had apparently seen her in his vision, moving the skull in her hands so that it lay in front of her, next to her body.

"Your body is to lie down, but your face must be tilted towards me. Perfect." Said Marco when she did as he asked, glancing down at his canvas and at her.

She felt strangely cornered and small, tense that all attention was on her.

"No. One more thing." The Pope hummed. A powerful shudder ran through her body, her lips parted in horror as he gently grabbed the fabric that covered her chest and pulled it aside, revealing a part of her breasts and the golden cross between them, her sternum and stomach, just a hint more and her nipples would be visible.

"Gorgeous." He whispered, looking at her with a gaze that was dark, hazy and dreamy, she felt the muscles inside her clench desperately around nothing at his words, her breath stopped in her throat.

She was terrified and aroused.

She was wet.

"Do not be afraid, child. Marco does not feel lust at the sight of a woman's body. You are safe here." He said softly, with a kind of need to soothe her, to give her the feeling that he did not desire to take advantage of her, that this was about something more. She sighed quietly as his hand rose to her cheek, closing her eyes in relief when his thumb ran over her warm skin.

"Beautiful." He murmured and stood up, looking at her with proud satisfaction, as if he had just gazed upon some mystical scene, a revelation as if from the Bible, as if he truly believed her to be sacred.

He stood behind the painter, who had already begun to sketch her silhouette, and pressed his lips together, furrowing his brow.

"You have to properly render the shape of her lips, the warmth of her gaze, the softness of her hair. That's the most important thing to me, I want the most significant point of the painting to be her face." He said dryly, the man nodded wordlessly, apparently writing down his words in his head.

They stared at each other for a moment in silence, the loud ticking sound of a tall, large clock standing against the wall all around them.

"No. That's not the look I mean. Get out. Give us a moment." He said, startling them both. Marco grunted and put his pencil down on the easel, nodded and walked out into the other room, closing the door behind him.

"Did I do something wrong?" She asked in a trembling voice, raising herself up on her elbows, but he commanded her with a hand gesture not to get up and sat down beside her with a quiet rustling of the fabric of his cassock.

"No, sweet flower. But I can see your terror." He said softly, touching her cheek with his palm again, into which she immediately cuddled her face, desperately needing his touch, his closeness, his wonderful scent filling her lungs and her mind.

"Your tension." He added, his voice changed slightly, deep and sharp; she trembled hearing the way he said the words, involuntarily clenching her thighs.

He noticed it out of the corner of his eye and sighed quietly, as if he had been forced to the last resort, as if fate had left him no choice.

"It's all right now. Come here." He hummed, his hand sliding lower, in a gentle motion full of care and respect digging his fingers into the soft skin of her thigh hidden beneath the material of her robe – her heart began to pound like mad, her hands clenched on the pillow on either side of her head.

"Open." He commanded, and she shook her head quickly, her legs twitching all over in his grasp, feeling the sticky liquid running down her buttocks onto the bedding beneath her. He pressed his lips together, looking at her like a naughty child who refused to comply.

"Open, I say. I see your suffering. The Holy Father only wants to help you, child." He said calmly, as if he was explaining something obvious to her, something that was essential and necessary.

She swallowed loudly and parted her lips as her thighs finally opened, a sigh of contentment came from his nose – she tilted her head back suppressing a moan of surprise when his hand from her hip slid between the material of her robe, right between her legs.

"− it's alright − it's alright − shhhh −" He hushed her hearing her quiver of delight as the tips of his fingers ran over her fleshy womanhood, collecting her moisture, spreading it in circular, steady strokes around her bud, the tickle she felt in her lower abdomen was unbearable.

"− oh God −" She mumbled out, her body quivering before him with pleasure, her breathing quickened as he deliberately began to tease the spot between her folds, it seemed to her that the whole room around her was spinning, her heart pounding like mad, she could feel the tension even in her lips.

"− you shall not take the name of the Lord your God in vain − if I do not close these lips will you continue to blaspheme? −" He growled and leaned over her, startling her completely when his full, swollen, hot lips pressed against hers in a sticky, hot kiss. She moaned loudly and threw her arms around his neck, his tongue forced its way deep into her throat with his sigh of delight.

Her body began to tremble and shudder beneath him as his fingertips dug into her hot folds, squeezing them with increasingly confident motions, teasing her slit, sliding in a little only to slide out a moment later and start all over again, his fingers wet with her moisture.

"− I'm wasting so much of your precious nectar − I should lick it all off, shouldn't I? −" He breathed out into her mouth. She clenched her hands tightly in his hair at his words and just came on his fingers with a surprised moan of pleasure, tilting her head back, his lips pressed against her neck, placing greedy, hot, wet kisses on it. She cried out when she felt his middle finger slide into her hot core and stay like that, her walls clenching around it again and again.

He lifted himself up on his hand, looking down at her, sliding his finger out of her in a slow, careful motion with a shameless click of her moisture.

"− Blessed Ludovica Albertoni −" He whispered and lifted his fingers to his face, sliding them deep into his mouth; this sight was so perverted that she looked away, her body breathless at the memory of the sarcophagus on which the saint cruves in wonderful convulsions, her face and parted lips expressing the relief of fulfilment.

"− Bernini −" She whispered in a trembling voice, and he hummed under his breath, delighted that she knew what he was referring to.

"− exactly − you look magnificent −" He murmured and covered her thighs back with the material of her robe, rising slowly, looking with satisfaction at his masterpiece.

"Come in, Marco. She is ready."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

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piratefishmama · 10 months

Text

Fake it 'till you make it | Part 2

Steve went on his own. Dustin tried to call shotgun, tried saying he’d back Steve up cause his friend could be ‘jumpy’, but no. Steve had to do this on his own, because Dustin didn’t know. He could have told the little shrimp, he really could have, so far he’d come out to three people, and it’d gone surprisingly well, Robin not so surprising but his parents?

Damn. He’d have put his entire life savings on that going the other way.

The risk with Dustin, however, was his mother. Don’t get him wrong, Claudia was lovely, she always had a spot saved for him at the dinner table when his parents weren’t in town, she always greeted him with warmth and kindness, he didn’t have a single complaint about Claudia Henderson. He also unfortunately had no idea how she’d take a coming out if Dustin let it slip. The kid was talkative.

He couldn’t imagine no longer being able to see Dustin because his mother found out he wasn’t as straight as everyone thought. Couldn’t imagine the truth of life in a small rural ‘god fearing’ town, thrown in his face so cruelly, that people were small minded and based all their opinions on what everyone else was doing.

Especially when everyone else seemed to be following the bullshit the Church spewed.

Dustin would be safe, he trusted Dustin. But he simply couldn’t risk how talkative he was.

So he went on his own. Robin was working, he couldn’t kidnap Robin, Keith would kill them. Or at the very least dock their pay a little and glower. This, unfortunately, created one little problem that quickly presented itself when Steve found himself sat at a visible booth at Benny’s watching for anyone entering that door.

He didn’t know who Dustin’s ‘friend’ was, and Dustin’s friend didn’t know who he was, because Dustin had so wisely decided to not reveal that titbit of information over the phone.

All he knew, was that this friend was a guy and that he’d probably be there soon. So, disaster in the making, basically. He’d been there for five minutes, it’d been ten since the phone call, and so far three men had walked in.

All of them old older, it was early, Benny did early bird specials for the older folks in Hawkins, but he still looked up every time the door opened, looking for someone who might not belong, someone who stood out from the oldies, someone who—

Holy shit. Steve immediately ducked his head. Eddie Goddamn Munson. Eddie Munson in all his leather, chains, and curly haired glory walked in with his head on a swivel, eyes scanning the diner for someone who looked out of place, someone who’s identity he also wasn’t aware of. Steve could ditch.

He could ditch without hesitation, Eddie knew him, Steve could get the hell out of dodge, take the back door, and just run for the hills, suffer the inevitable cringe fest that was going to be the week away, take it like a champ. Maybe get a brief fling with someone he would never want to settle down with, or…

He peeked through his arms, Eddie was still looking, he was checking his watch, a little frown on his brow, what were the odds, honestly, that it was Eddie?

Knowing Dustin and his stupid DnD game? Pretty fuckin high that’s what the odds were. Eddie lived for that shit, it was a direct connection. He was going to kill that little snot. Maybe… if it didn’t work out. Because he wasn’t going to be a coward.

He was going to face his uncertainties like a badass. He was going to rise from his seat, and cross the very short distance, aaaand “Hey Munson, that you?” Be totally cool, completely ignore Benny’s curious eyes from behind his little judgement window, the window where he stood in the safety of his kitchen judging everyone who dared be weird in his diner.

“Not today Buckaroo, I’m busy” oh yeah he looked super busy.

“Cool, cool, super cool, you… come for the early bird specials often then?” Ohhhh he’d perfected the deadpan stare. He had that shit down. How did eyes that pretty so cut so deep? “Heh, sorry, look man I—I don’t mean any trouble, I was just—”

“M’not carrying shit, Harrington, the hell you want with that stuff this early anyway?” Stuff? Steve frowned a little, before visibly realising what Eddie was getting at, it looked like a genuine lightbulb went off behind his eyes. He knew because that little frown was broken by Eddie raising one eyebrow in curiosity.

“That’s not what I—shit, okay. Do over. Do you know Dustin? Dustin Henderson? Lil guy, bout yay high, curly hair, ridiculous meddler, no collar bones?” The frown was back, accompanied by the squinty eyes of suspicion. He knew Dustin, he had to know Dustin, it had to be Eddie, it had to be, nobody else had come in!

“I know the little shrimp, yeah, one of my little lost sheep, how do you know Dustin?” Holy shit it had to be him. Why else would the notoriously tardy Eddie Munson be up that early on a Sunday?

“Babysitting.” Eddie’s ever so expressive face seemed to slacken in surprise, Steve didn’t give him a chance to ask further as to why a rich guy like him had to babysit. He did it for free, he liked the little fuckers, explanation unnecessary. “You uh… wouldn’t happen to have uhm… gotten a call from him… about twenty minutes ago, would you?”

It took Eddie a minute. A little frown here, a squint there, a slight tilt of his body as he looked Steve up and down, not in a ‘you’re so hot oh my god’ way more in a ‘what the actual fuck’ kind of way.

Steve felt seen in the worst possible way, wanted to abort mission, just run away, that was a judgy bitch stare and he knew it, he’d COINED that stare, he was the master of it, and suddenly it was on him and he felt smaller than Dustin back in ‘83 with his baby squishy cheeks, and then— “Nope.” Eddie turned on his heel, ringed fingers waving in refusal, “nope, nope, nope—"

Steve should have let him go. Should have just chalked it up to Dustin having the worst friends ever outside of himself, Lucas, Will, Max, Jane, and maybe Mike. Maybe. On a semi-good day cause full good days didn’t exist with Mike.

But instead he was grabbing Eddie’s elbow and babbling “Wait-wait-wait, oh my god Eddie, please just wait, please” like some kind of moron. “You did right? It’s you?”

Eddie looked back and down at his own elbow, brows drawn tight in a frown, Steve let him go. Not out of fear just… slight intimidation. Eddie was scrappy! He was a biter and Steve didn’t wanna have to get a rabies shot.

“Fine, yeah I got a call, would have told him to shove his job up his ass if he’d have told me who it was for though, Steve.” Oof.

“Fair, that’s fair, can you just… maybe sit down and let me explain though? I’ll buy you breakfast!” Benny’s eyes hadn’t moved from them for the entire interaction, and he was feeling rightfully judged by it. Rich boy causing all that fuss and not one order of food. The audacity.

“Hmph, fine, but only because I haven’t had breakfast yet.” He pushed past Steve just to walk to the counter “Hey Benny! Can I get a full stack of pancakes and a hot chocolate with cream and marshmallows? On his tab.” Eddie motioned to Steve over his shoulder with his thumb

“Sure thing, kid. An what do you want, Harrington?”

“Uh… breakfast bagel, eggs sunny side up with a uh… another coffee please.” He’d already had breakfast, but he was a big dude! And Dustin always claimed Second Breakfast was like… an acceptable thing. “Thanks Benny” the tank of a man nodded his head and got to cooking without further word. “I was uh, sat over here” Steve motioned to the booth he’d been in, which Eddie seemed to mull over for a moment, before deciding he was going to sit in a completely different booth. “Alright.”

Power move. Steve could respect that. He sat down opposite him. “Talk, Harrington.”

“You… don’t wanna eat first?”

“I’m not sittin here in awkward silence with the King of Hawkins High, waiting for food when I could be hearing the details, eating, then bailing. The longer I’m here with you the more chance some asshole has of seeing me here with you. Now speak.” Ouch… but again, fair.

He’d been a shit in high school, older students had not gotten a free pass from it either. He was trying now though! Trying to be better. Robin helped, but she also fuelled his bitchy side way more than Carol and Tommy ever did. The kids helped the most, they humbled him. Brainy little fuckers.

“Right… okay. So. My parents have gotten it into their minds that I should be in some kind of long term relationship by now, so they’ve been throwing people at me, constantly, people I wouldn’t date even if you paid me to date them. There’s this thing coming up, a week away with them in a chalet, an I’m positive they’re going to bring someone to try and set me up with them, I’m certain of it, an I’d be stuck with this person for a whole damn week suffering.” It was an actual real fear, he couldn’t handle that, he’d simply evaporate, he’d perish, he’d spontaneously pop out of existence, poof, bye. “So… the job is basically to come with and pretend like we’re dating so they get off my back.”

“I think you’re missing a very important detail here, Steve.” Eddie tilted his head to the left, his smile almost cruel, Steve chose to ignore it. Eddie had his right to be defensive. “I’m a guy”

“Not important at all. They’ve been throwing men at me too.” Thank god Eddie wasn’t drinking anything because it’d have been all over the table.

He damn near choked on his own saliva, choking out a shocked “W-What?”

“I’m… I’m—” He looked around him, at the old people enjoying their meals, at Benny inconspicuously cooking behind his judgement window, risking glances through the open space every now and then to make sure his patrons weren’t causing shit or trying to dine and ditch. Old people were slow, but they could be crafty. Only when he was certain that nobody was listening, did he take a breath and let out “I’m… bi. Bisexual. And they know. But instead of being all ‘aaaaah get out of my hooouse’ they’re just… throwing guys at me instead, it’s torture. Painfully awkward torture I feel like I’m going to cringe myself to death.”

“You’re…”

“I know, I know, haha King Steve, secretly a freak of nature, a queer hiding in plain sight.” He’d heard the hatred spat at people like him, he’d been one of the people spitting hate once upon a time, before he’d grown, before he’d learned. Before he’d understood himself. It was terrifying, knowing how awful it could be if it got out “please don’t tell anyone okay? I’m… I’m putting a lot of faith in you here and that’s terrifying… I just… Dustin vouches for you… an I know you have every right to get back at me for Highschool but—”

“N-no… no I—I wouldn’t… I’d never. That’s… shit, Harrington, no… highschool shit? That shit is in a whole different category, I’ll get you back for that in some way but… not like that… never like that." He could breathe easily, even if Eddie vowed to get him back some other way, it wouldnt be that way. "So… what do you want me to do, freak em out? Go nuts? Sacrifice a chicken in the lounge? Shout a hail Satan prayer in the attic? Usually that does the trick to get parents to stop trying to set their kids up, more often than not gets em banned from dating entirely, give you a break—”

“W-What? No… no I—listen, my parents don’t stick around for long after these holidays, they’re usually gone within a couple of weeks on some business trip, dads off trying to restructure the company values or some shit to include people like me, which is cool cause he didn’t even know about me when he started that I—I didn’t know he was doing that… but that takes time, an mom’s going with him cause she doesn’t trust him to work out the legal shit on his own.” Benny chose that moment to venture to their table to place two mugs down on the surface, then silently returned to his task of plating food “I need to convince them that we’re dating… for real, and have them go off on their own believing that we’re still dating so they leave me alone… at least until they come back in god only knows how many months’ time and I can tell them we split up. Is… is that something you can do?”

Eddie took a long sip of his hot chocolate, a little splodge of cream lingering on the tip of his nose when he put the mug down that Steve almost reached over to wipe away, almost, so close. “…Usually I’m more of a freak em out kind of date, a one night done send em running for the hills kind of thing, you’re saying this is a week?” Eddie wiped his own nose clean, stuck the finger in his mouth. Steve chose to focus on his own mug.

“Mmhm, in a chalet in Canada for a week, all paid for, it’s basically a free holiday… that I’ll pay you for, whatever your usual rate is for this kind of thing, I’ll even double it… I just… I’m really hoping you say yes.”

Plates were finally delivered to the table by Benny with a friendly “eat up, boys” said in passing. Eddie drizzled syrup on his stack, then cut into it and shoved a whole layered chunk into his mouth in silence, clearly processing everything.

He chewed in silent thought, weighing the pros, the cons, the potential cash haul from such a job… the shit he might have to do… the lines they might have to cross, the revelations Steve might have about him… then remembered Steve claiming to be Bisexual and realising that part might not be all that scary.

What a wild Sunday.

“Alright…” he finally answered after swallowing his bite. “It’s fifty bucks a date though, Harrington, if I’m generous an switch that to a night to accomodate such a batshit scheme, doubled like you said is a hundred bucks per night, that’s—”

“Money’s not an issue.” Not for a Harrington. Even if he worked minimum wage, he’d get that money somehow.

“Well shit… Alright then, big guy. I guess i’m hired.”

Part 4

#PirateWrites #FakeItTillYouMakeItFiclet #Steddie #No Upside Down AU #FAKE DATE AQUIRED

1K notes · View notes

hadesrise · 10 months

Text

𝐒𝐈𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐓.

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞. you are committed to the lord, but that doesn’t stop you from worshipping miguel.

𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘. miguel o’hara x priest!male reader

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘. nsfw content, foul language, top!reader, bottom!miguel, sacrilege, unprotected sex, possessiveness, choking, praise kink, dacryphilia, sex in a holy place, slight degradation, miguel calls reader “father” the entire time, priest smoking a cigarette, riding, pet names, spitting (just once), shotgunning, masturbation with audience (reader watching), unhealthy romance, false belief, reader might be a little morally grey

𝖆𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗'𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊. slutty outfit of miggy <3 this could possibly be a dark content because of the obsessive love (i may or may not have written reader as yandere). again, please correct my spanish if it’s incorrect and i’ll edit it immediately.

MINORS, FEM ALIGNED DNI !!

You’ve devoted your entire life to the Lord. Made a vow, an oath to keep your soul pure for him as you lead a sacred ceremony everyday. You’ve cleansed your spirit to fit the holy standards necessary to be a priest and your dedication to the church earned you respect and love from the people. You were holy, not an ounce of filth littering your heart or soul, having long repented your sins.

The people whispered joyously amongst each other how good you were. How kind, generous, loving, forgiving and accepting. Your warm presence provides comfort to everyone who visit the church, washing away their worry and doubt and sins. You were perfect, they talk among themselves. There’s no way a priest like you could do anything wrong — you’re the people’s hope, their light, the one who reminds them of their purpose. They would never think such thing, you have an utmost respect for the Lord! You’re nothing but a great person.

Miguel hears them say, all the time. But they don’t know.

They don’t know the way you look at him, the way you devour him with your gaze whenever he wears something too fit for his large toned body. How you always mutter “Oh forgive me, Lord” under your breath everytime you take in the outline of his pecks on his clothes, how your eyes darken and pupils dilate when looking at his slutty slim waist, how you stifle a groan when he accidentally enclose your fingers in his mouth while accepting hostia. They don’t know the filthiness of your mind and the temptation you were trying so hard to fight. However, Miguel knows. Of course, he knows, how could he not when you’re staring at him with that predatory look in your eyes, like you would bend him over and pound him right there in front of the altars? And oh, how filthy and fucked-up it was that he gets hard by the thought.

But it’s inevitable, Miguel convinces himself. You’re known for having absolutely no desire for anything at all — so to find out you’re yearning for him? It feels good. Feels so fucking good, because he’s the only one who made you feel that way. He liked the attention, even if it was subtle and nearly nonexistent. You only ever paid proper attention to him in ceremonies or in the confessional, but those lingering lustful gazes you give him when you thought he wasn’t looking made Miguel’s hole clench around nothing.

Miguel doesn’t know what he was thinking when he wore such a slutty outfit underneath his coat to a church, where you usually walked around after a ceremony to check for forgotten belongings or just admire the artwork littered around the ceiling. Maybe, to make you give in to your desires. To find out if you would break your vow for him. He feels filthy to be so desperate for a priest, it’s unforgivable for fuck’s sake, and yet he can’t stop. The unbearable desire was stronger.

He knows your schedule like the back of his hands, what you do at night after the ceremonies are over for the day. You were a divine man as viewed by the public, but Miguel knew your perfect façade peels off the moment those church doors close shut; he was met with a satisfying triumph when his point was proven after entering the sacred place, his eyes falling on your figure sitting on the pew chairs right near the entrance with a cigarette between your fingers. Arm resting on top of the backrest, head tilted back to slowly blow out a particularly large smoke. Miguel feels his clothes get tight around him at the sight. It’s arousing to see the usually collected and well-mannered priest be so loose and careless.

You watch him in the corner of your eye as he sits beside you and mumbles a small greeting. You don’t respond, however, and Miguel wonders why until he sees your eyes trail all over his body very slowly with that lustful look that makes him shiver, a tad bit of annoyance shining within your irises. It didn’t look like you were annoyed with his presence at a time so late like this, but rather with the coat he was wearing that nearly covered his entire body. You bring the cigarette to your lips, inhaling another smoke. “What brings you here, Mr. O’Hara?” The smoke coming out as you speak.

Miguel’s breath hitched; fuck, that’s hot.

He’s unable to meet your gaze when he could feel it piercing through him, the arousal pooling on his stomach and crotch. “I- uh... I missed your ceremony this morning.”

You hum mindlessly, like you didn’t really care despite asking first about it. “So did you think showing up would make up for it?” The question comes off rude and informal, but unlike usual, you don’t pay mind. It honestly doesn’t matter if he missed the ceremonies, the faith wouldn’t thin just because he was unable to attend, but you knew he was coming for other reasons. You have no plans to fulfill your desire despite the fact it’s already devouring you everytime you lay eyes on the man — admitting to yourself that you were crazy over Miguel while not turning yourself away completely from the sacred vows.

It’s a game of who gives in first and seduces the other. The church being the only witness to your silent agreement with one another.

“Yes...” Miguel whispers before he finally meets your eyes with reluctant determination, “Yes, I did think showing up would make up for it. Especially while wearing something like this.” He slowly unbuttons his coat and let it fall over his shoulders, your dark eyes widening at the sleeveless top that hugged his torso perfectly and showed outlines of his pecks and abs. Your pants tighten as your dick gets hard in an instant. Miguel suddenly gets shy under the strong burning stare you were giving him and almost rewears his coat with redness decorating his cheeks, which you quickly stopped by gripping his wrist and slamming him back against the backrest.

Miguel’s breath catches in his throat when he processed you had stood upfront to tower over him, one knee on the seat in between his legs. “Finish what you started, O’Hara.” The low and sultry tone in your voice made him shiver in excitement and thrill, surprisingly listening to your wish and letting the coat slip off. You groaned when you caught sight of his muscular arms being hugged by the long gloves that stopped right before his armpits.

Oh dear God, he looked thoroughly fuckable, like he was begging to be ruined here right in front of the Lord’s altar.

“Fuck...” You sigh heavily, breath hot. Miguel reacts almost immediately at the sound as his body grew tense for a split second before relaxing when your hands gently wrapped around his wrists, cigarette thrown on the polished floor. You trace the fabric up his arms, then ghosted your touch over his exposed skin, the atmosphere growing hot while goosebumps appear. Miguel feels overwhelmed under your hungry gaze, thighs squeezed together, feeling his hole clench around nothing. Your hands slide up his shoulders and one stayed there, rubbing circles, as the other moves up almost teasingly slow to his neck. His breath hitches at the contact, a low moan escaping when your fingers enclosed around his throat.

He was surprisingly putty in your hands, not pushing you off or avoiding your touches. Perhaps, it’s because he knows you will go back to restraining yourself if he stops you, could even discourage you to do anything anymore — your faith has always been impressive as it allowed you to keep the lustful and sinful thoughts at bay. However, the faith never once stopped you from breaking the vow on different occasions, like smoking, drinking, or even flirting with faithful worshippers. He can’t miss the opportunity to have you all over him.

A gentle squeeze to his throat causes his mouth to fall open slightly, cloudy eyes meeting your strong ones that burned in desire. “Open, my dear. Let me.” Miguel does as he’s told, opening his mouth. Pleased with the lack of resistance, you shift your hand to hold his chin instead and gathered enough saliva in your mouth before spitting in his, watching as he squirmed slightly, the filthiness of your action going straight to his needy cock. You smirk when he swallows your spit almost greedily.

Miguel gasped when your knee starts rubbing his dick through his pants, falling forward and clinging onto your leg as his body twitch in pleasure. You click your tongue disapprovingly and slip your fingers through his hair before yanking it, a groan erupting from the man at the roughness. “You come to a church dressed and act like a filthy slut, always tempting me to fuck you in front of God’s temple. You’ve been hoping, haven’t you? For me to fuck the ever living shit out of this cunt?” You rubbed harder, your words making Miguel choke out a moan.

“Y-yes, father,” He gasps between grunts and moans. “I’ve been so desperate. Forgive me, father, please.”

Sweet Mother of God.

How this man manage to make you breathless even while being submissive is quite outstanding. You devoted your whole life to the Lord, thoroughly committed and faithful despite breaking few of your vows in privacy — the only vow haven’t being broken is having sex which is considered a filthy sin in priesthood, although you have technically broken it due to the amount of times you’ve fucked Miguel dumb in the depths of your imagination. It is unforgivable for a priest to be like this, will even be banished from the city if caught, reputation forever tarnished and have no choice but to live in shame.

But Jesus Christ, Miguel was such an irresistible temptation. Like the devil that whispered in Eve’s ear to take the holy apple in the Garden of Eden, he tempted you with that whore-ish body of his that practically begs to be bent over and wrecked. Your vows shattered to the ground and holiness replaced by despicable lust. The thread of self-control being sliced open as the scale of good and evil heavily swung in your head.

You were not good despite what people think. Often indulging yourself in the fantasy to possess Miguel and make him yours, your soul was as corrupted as the soul of sinners even with the faith to God still existing. The reputation as a good priest never settled comfortably within, sometimes would even make you roll your eyes at it while slowly killing your lungs with the cancer stick, hidden behind the thick doors of the sacred temple. You had no resistance to the sinful desires; as twisted as it sounds, you’ve embraced them with open arms and accepted them to just be human nature.

The punishment will be severe if caught, but our dearest Father, it wouldn’t hurt to receive your reward for being such a devoted priest, right?

You glance at the altar where you usually stood to hold sacred ceremonies, the long table and your chair catching your eyes as an idea formed. A sadistic grin spreading across your lips, Miguel yelps when you suddenly hoist him up from the pew chairs and wraps his legs around your torso, heart fluttering at the way you didn’t even struggle to lift him up despite his large size. The showcase of your sheer strength made him nearly whimper as he buried his face on your shoulder, not noticing how you were walking towards where the presence of God is most apparent.

He feels himself being sat on a hard wood and pulls away, freezing up when the sight of the biggest crucifix meet his vision. You sat down on the chair like a throne in between his spread legs, smiling devilishly at the look of horror on his face as you bring up another cigarette to your lips. “What’s the matter, sweet thing? You don’t look so thrilled,” Your teasing tone nearly mocking.

“F-father, I can’t—” His cheeks heat up as shame suddenly settled on his expression, knowing he was here in front of your God drenched in lust and impossibly filthy, his legs threatening to close and rub together at the thought of getting fucked here.

“You can and you will,” You cut him off and exhale a smoke. “You’ve been screaming my name in the comforts of your sheets and praying to him for me to break you, Miguel, and I’m finally giving you what you want.” Oh, Miguel felt himself weaken at the cruel look on your face. “Why don’t you show our Lord some gratitude and fuck yourself here?”

He knew he couldn’t resist. Not when you’re being good to him, willing to answer his prayers from the sleepless nights. With a shaky breath, Miguel unbuckles his belt and unzips his trousers, face red from embarrassment as he slips it off, leaking cock bouncing on his abdomen. Your eyes pierce into his soul, he feels so fucking dirty like this, presenting himself so willingly to you.

“Spread your legs more,” You nudged his leg with your foot, “Can’t see your pretty cunt properly from here, sweetheart.”

Miguel whines quietly and oh, what a holy sound it was. It almost makes you have mercy on him and spare him another embarrassment. Almost.

He bit his lip and shut his eyes close, bending his knees and raising his spread legs to the table until the heels of his feet touches the surface. You lick your lips at the bare sight of his quivering hole, dick twitching in your pants. Miguel slowly opens his eyes and sees you breathe heavily while palming your still clothed cock, smoke leaving your lips from the cigarette. For a moment, Miguel imagines what it would feel like to be shotgunned by you before bringing his fingers to his mouth and sucking lusciously on them as he stares at you, making you groan. He didn’t bother taking off the long gloves seeing its effect on you.

Not wanting to waste more time, Miguel reached down and shoved a wet finger in his hole without hesitation, moaning loudly. He adds another and starts fastening his pace, curling and scissoring himself to stretch his tight wet walls as he whimpers at the pleasure. It feels so filthy masturbating in front of you and the sacred altar, but the thrill only added to his arousal and excitement; your gaze not moving from him encourages him to fuck himself harder.

Fuck, Miguel looks so pretty like this. Previous shame and embarrassment long gone from his face as all he could focus on was making himself feel good, the filthy act serving as display of sins yet you perceived it differently — what Miguel’s doing was an act of devotion, to submit to your will in front of God while making himself the sacred offering. He looks divine being lost in pleasure, his moans like angels singing harmonies from Heaven. You can’t help but breathe deeply and mutter gratitude to the Lord for blessing you with Miguel as you finally peel off your pants and free your aching cock to spring up.

Miguel mewls at the sight, fingers growing fast yet not enough to perfectly stimulate his prostate. Tears pricked his eyes as he whines, “I—I can’t— father, por favor,” You groan at the pleas that fell from his lips. “I’m— please, I can’t do it, I can’t— Want you. Want you so bad.” The thrust of his hand growing sloppy as he gets tired. It wasn’t enough, he wanted bigger. More thick and long, something very warm that could fill his guts entirely and make him feel full.

A curse leaves your lips and Miguel chokes out a moan when you shoved two fingers into his stretched out hole without warning with his fingers still inside. “¡Mierda—!” Gasping at the sting of being stretched open, Miguel grabbed onto your shoulder and moaned as your fingers thrusted into him, forcing his to do the same. The pleasure makes his mouth fall open and eyes shed tears.

“You’re fuckin’ addicting, Miguel.” You say darkly, biting on his throat through the fabric of his turtle neck sleeveless top. He whimpers and tilts his head back slightly to give you more access. A slut correctly dressed in slutty outfit. “You know I’m not a good person right, sweet thing?” You whispered. An underlying mystery in your tone, your head swallowed by horrible thoughts you wish to contain by devoting your life to the holy. “Everytime I see you, I want to just fuckin’ break you and make you mine. Corrupt your soul into the shape of my own. Make you yearn for me, desire me ‘til you can’t live without me.”

Miguel lendered speechless at your display of possessiveness. It was anything but holy. Anything but forgivable. Sin created by the darkness that lurks in your soul; lust, greed, gluttony. You desired him, wanted more of him, and could never get enough of him, the sacred vows powerless against your evil. He should be scared, frightened that those aren’t enough to sustain you, but he really wasn’t. If anything, he felt even more aroused as his hole squeezes down on both of your fingers.

“Then, make me. I want you, all of you. I need you, father, please.” Miguel whines and his hand moved from your shoulder to the back of your neck, pulling you in a desperate kiss. You groaned into his mouth, rubbing harshly against his prostate which releases a muffled cry from him, before pulling your fingers out together with his.

You licked his slick from your fingers and moaned at the taste, keeping eye contact with him. Miguel hides his heated face by the back of his hand. “Aw, don’t go shying on me now, sweet thing. You tempted me, remember?” Faking a pout, you caress his bare thighs and knead the thick and soft flesh that prompts Miguel to slowly lay back down on the table. He feels exposed with wearing nothing but the slutty top that he unregrettably decided to put on today, right in front of you. It made his heart jackhammer against his chest. How you’re completely losing yourself at the sight of him in absolute lust, pupils blown wide.

Standing up from the chair, you push it behind with your foot while inhaling a smoke from the cigarette and align your cock to the entrance of his twitching hole, Miguel’s breath hitching at the contact. “Bésame, por favor...”

You hummed in response and held the smoke in your lungs, leaning in to capture his lips before blowing the smoke into his mouth. Miguel instantly moans, greedily accepting, his legs wrapping around your torso to bring you close. You chuckled into the kiss before slipping yourself inside of him, a stuttered gasp leaving Miguel as your sheer size and length forcibly stretched him open with a delicious sting of pain.

“Father— fuck! B-big, big,” He whimpers.

You shush him, “You can take it, my dear. You’re a good boy.”

You had to grit your teeth to contain yourself from just using him like a sex toy as an egotistical feeling built within you, the monster of your dark desire finally being fed at last. Still, it kept writhing in your guts, swirling around and yearning for more of Miguel. Can’t get enough of him, like an addicting drug that keeps you coming back for more, a living sinful temptation that you don’t refuse. Miguel awakens your demons that you’ve put to sleep by kneeling on the chapel and reciting prayers.

Miguel could see you were struggling hard, even though your nonchalant façade tried to hide it. Darkness screaming to be let out and be your true self, which was being held back by the greatness in you that was afraid of hurting him. However, as much as he loved the softness in your touch, he wasn’t a glass easily broken. He wanted everything of you as much as you did, even if he gets hurt, he doesn’t care. Just like those darkness slips through once in a while, he wants it to be fully out.

“Father, it’s okay,” Miguel whispered and you sharply inhaled a breath when he hooks a hand under his thigh to bend it, knee almost touching his shoulder. He looks at you through lidded eyes as his other hand reached down to spread his hole that clenches around your cock. It nearly makes your head spin with arousal. “I can handle it. I won’t break easily, you can be as rough with me as you want. I’ll be good for you, father. Just please, fuck me, use me.”

You shut your eyes closed and sighed deeply.

Oh, Sweet God, forgive me.

Miguel doesn’t realize he sliced through your self-restraint cleanly as you suddenly pull your cock all the way out, leaving just the tip in. “Wait, what are—” You cut him off with a harsh and rough slam of your hips. Miguel’s mouth falls open in a scream, eyes wide and head thrown back, practically feeling your fat cock in the back of his throat from how deep it buried in his guts.

“You’re— fuck! You’re going to be the death of me, Miguel.” You chuckled, already pulling your cock out to set a merciless and rough pace to fuck him. Miguel chokes out a moan, his hand flying up to grasp the edge of the table. “A whore so willing to take everything of me. Gotta spoil you rotten with my cock, eh?” Stabilizing the cigarette between your fingers, you pushed both of his legs to his chest and slammed your hips down, making Miguel’s eyes roll to the back of his head.

“Thank you, thank you— auuughh!!” Miguel moans loudly, his other hand slamming against the table.

You lick your lips with a dangerous glint in your eyes, “You’ll accept everything of me, won’t you? Even my flaw, even my evil?”

Miguel could barely talk with your cock absolutely ruining his cunt, tears staining his cheeks and drool dripping from his lips, but he tries his best. “Y-yes, fuck! I’ll do— I’ll do anything— ohhh!"

You laughed almost maniacally in happiness, one of your hands moving up to wrap around his throat. Miguel whines desperately and latches his hand on your wrist, spilling babbles of begs as you keep pounding him against the table. His tits bounce in rhythm with your rough thrusts, encaged in those tight sleeveless top, and you lean down to bite down on the covered skin. Miguel’s body writhes underneath you, crying out.

“God shall forgive me for yearning you this much,” You muttered, licking his hard nipple through the fabric while squeezing his arteries.

Miguel’s eyes catches the crucifix before rolling back into his skull, uncontrollable moans escaping.

This wasn’t right, but it felt so good to be wrong. Being fucked by a priest, fucked by you. The filthy sin burning his skin and molding with your equally filthy soul. His mind growing dizzy from the pleasure and the euphoric sense of committing an unforgivable sin with you.

His hole squeezing you down made you groan, pace slowing down as you released his throat. Miguel coughs slightly, choking on his own whimpers. You continue to abuse his prostate with less roughness now, gripping his hips with one hand hard enough to leave a handprint as you bring the other to inhale a smoke again. You blow the smoke into his mouth, Miguel eagerly accepting as he pulls you in a desperate kiss. He had no shame, really. Being your perfect slut in the Lord’s place, in front of the Lord’s altar.

Pulling away, you admire the way he looked. Disheveled hair, eyes glossed in tears with pleasured expression on his face, brows scrunched up together, lips red and swollen. His cock leaked precum on his abdomen, staining the slutty black top. He’s the Heaven you’ve longed to see. A sight to behold.

“So beautiful... So divine,” You whispered, your thrust slow and sensual but sharp. Miguel mewls at the praise. “I should’ve devoured you faster if I knew you’re such a good bitch f’me. Would’ve asked for God’s permission to break you sooner. He would’ve allowed me to.” Your hands gently massage his breasts, making him sigh softly, before it travels down to trace his torso. He’s so mesmerizing; a blessing crafted by the divine beings above.

“Mhm,” Miguel moaned softly as he reached for your face. “You’ve been so loyal and patient, father... Maybe he’s rewarding you for it.” His luscious words tempting and seductive, he licks and nips at your neck.

Releasing a quiet moan, you hummed and wrapped your hand around his throat again as he whimpered, completely accepting. “Then, shall I do as I please with my reward?” Snapping your hips against his, Miguel lets out a gasp at your cock poking his prostate.

He bites his lip, nodding vigorously. “Sí, sí... Es todo para ti.”

You slam his body back down on the table with a groan, Miguel’s hands wrapping around your back and scratching at the skin through your clothes as you pick up your pace, the roughness intended to break him returning. You didn’t care even if he ripped your clothes, the church provides them anyway. Your ears swallowing every heavenly sounds that uncontrollably escaped Miguel’s mouth, your eyes never once trailed away from how divine yet sinful he looked, the sight carved deeply into your memories to never be forgotten.

Thank God for Miguel O’Hara, a man so willing to become the meal just so he could quench your thirst and feed your hunger.

So forgiving, so generous, so kind, despite the fact you were nothing but evil disguised in holy figure.

He’s the answer sent by God to your desperate prayers to keep your sinful demons at bay; he’s here for a purpose, so your desire will be fed and your filthy soul will be baptized to become holy again. The Lord wasn’t abandoning you, no. He was giving you solution to not taint your soul furthermore. Yearning for Miguel was not a sin nor wrong — it was how it’s supposed to be.

It is all the Lord’s plan. Otherwise, how could anyone explain this, right?

“Haah, fuck,” You can’t help but curse as you drill into him, no longer holding yourself back. His hole’s too fucking good. “You’re fucking made for this, Miguel, holy shit. Your guts are practically the shape of my dick,” You laugh breathlessly and press his tummy where your cock reaches, Miguel choking out a sob at the stimulation of being sandwiched from outside and inside. He could feel it even clearer, how you mercilessly thrust in and out.

“A-agh! Es— espera, para—” He was cut off by his own scream when you forced yourself even deeper, stars sparking in his vision and back arching as his body quivered violently, white seed staining his top. And yet, you didn’t stop even after he came, relentless pace continuous as if you don’t care about overstimulating him. Fat tears rolled down his cheeks at your sweet cruelty of assault in his tight cunt, mindless choked up moans and incoherent sentences spilling from his lips.

The corner of your lips twitched in devilish grin witnessing the way his mind breaks and turns into nothing but a dumb mess underneath you. “Lo siento, mi alma. pero es tan agradable romperte.” You licked a stripe of tears on his cheek, hearing the way he whined and moaned. Fuck, his helpless sounds of pleasure never fails to drive you crazy.

“Sí, sí, sí— n-no pares, por favor,” The intense pleasure making his legs shake and his mind delirious, Miguel arches his back to meet your hard thrusts. Dear God, you fuck him so good his head spins. Those women who drools over you as you lead the ceremony will never be able to experience how rough and fuckin’ amazing you fuck, he’ll make sure of it.

Miguel sobs from overstimulation when you harshly bit on his nipple, holding onto you for dear life to ground himself and shake away the threat of falling unconscious from the sheer pleasure you give him oh so generously. Sparks never leaves his vision, which should be concerning if it wasn’t for his will to welcome anything you give with open arms. He brought this upon himself anyway, it will be a shame if he doesn’t enjoy every moment of it.

“Feels fucking good, sweetheart, doesn’t it?” You asked rhetorically and grasp his sensitive cock in your hand, making him cry out and weakly attempt to push it off, the pleasure becoming too much it hurts. “Take it, Miguel. Take it like the slut that you are for me.”

“N-no puedo, no puedo, padre, por favor—”

“Yes, you can, sweet thing.” You chuckled softly, pumping his cock in a slow manner. He couldn’t do anything but cry and whimper as you push him over and over to the edge, forcing out another orgasm. “Cum f’me, you’re my good boy, you can handle it.” Miguel throws his head back as his toes curl and his cock shoots out ropes of cum again, eyes rolling into his skull and soundless scream escaping his throat.

You grunt at his tightness, giving him mercy and slowing down your thrusts but not stopping. “Good boy, Miguel.” Pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, Miguel keens when your hips starts picking up pace a little faster.

Shutting his eyes close, he shakes his head vigorously. “No— No puedo, no puedo m-más— Es- es demasiado—”

You shush him and wipe his tears with your thumb, “I know, I know. Just a little bit more, sweetheart, I promise.” The soft words distracting Miguel enough for him to open his hazy eyes slowly, before you pulled your hips back and rammed into him in one swift motion. You shivered in sadistic thrill at the sound of Miguel’s erotic scream and railed him like a dog in heat, overstimulating him further as he became a babbling dumb bitch who has no choice but to take your ruthlessness.

It would be wiser to cover his mouth because of how carelessly loud his moans and screams were, but you were too focused in chasing your climax and driving him delirious that it didn’t matter anymore.

Soon enough, your cock throbbed inside him and had mercy on the poor perfectly used man as Miguel let out a broken moan, throat already hoarse. “Fuck, pray to me. Won’t you, you sweet thing?” You groan, thrusts getting sloppy due to the knot coiling in your stomach.

“Please—” He chokes out, “C-cum, cum in me, por favor, padre.”

String of curses leaving your lips, you finally met your climax as your cock shoots out sperm and paint his guts in white, the warm feeling making Miguel moan lewdly and cum right after you, rather weakly. His body spasms and quivers non-stop, too overstimulated, unable to calm down from the mind shattering multiple orgasms.

You sigh and slowly grind your hips, just to ride out the peak. Pulling down his turtle neck to kiss the skin properly, you looked at the large crucifix in the corner of your eye.

Forgive me, Lord—

Your plea for forgiveness fall into deaf ears as you seal Miguel’s lips who tried kissing back, but ultimately fell into a deep slumber due to exhaution.

—For I am about to break your blessing’s spirit.

You’re a man of your word. You meant it when you said you didn’t want to hurt him, but Miguel insisted. It isn’t your fault your demons are free now.

And it certainly wouldn’t be your fault that he wouldn’t get to see a daylight anymore.

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