#god i love sexualizing a priest

[hunnam]

[lucidfairies]

— prey

synopsis: 1 Corinthians 6:18 states that one must flee from sexual immortality, but it's hard to flee from something that is forever chasing you.

pairing: priest!sevika x semi-religious!reader

warnings: religion as part of the main plot, fun mix of Catholic branches, age gap, light angst at the end, bottom!reader, top!sevika, virgin!reader for religious reasons, perv!sevika, massive corruption kink, mean!sev, pet names (little lamb, lamb, pretty, baby), hand/arm kink, humiliation kink, praise kink, reader masturbation mentioned, pillow humping mentioned, cunnilingus, fingering, fucking in a church, degradation, sub headspace if you squint, spanking, pussy slaps, crying, eating it from the back + through panties

wc: 7.7k

a/n: please read the disclaimer that has already been published! all the thanks in the world to my girl @sevsgiirl ❤ they helped me so so much per usual and I'm their biggest fan.l

Oh forgive me if I love being bad for you.

Your mama always said that being good would get you to far, far places. She said that every man and every job and every opportunity admired a good woman. And so, you were. You were the perfect, thriving, glowing definition of good. Stunning grades, sports, church on Sunday. You talked to God like he was your best friend, and for a time, he was. She was right, too. People did admire you for your perfection. But it wasn’t long before the cracks started shining a bit brighter, and you realized that maybe this wasn’t the life for you.

“You be safe, okay?” Your mom rubbed her hands down your arms, pulling you in for a tight hug. “Oh, I don’t want to let you go!” She squeezed harder, holding you there like a lifeline. “Now listen, I already called some friends in town and of course, prayed over your new apartment. God is watching, he’s here with you-”

“Mom,” you interjected. “I know. I’m an adult, I’m ready for this. I’ll be just fine.” Her eyes welled with tears, pulling you back into a hug. Your dad walked over, wiping his hands on his pants and smiling. He was finished loading the car, which meant that you had a steady escape from your mother’s spiraling.

“Well, time to send you off, kiddo.” He opened his arms and you attached from your velcro mom, shifting your attention to your father. He didn’t squeeze you like it would keep you here, he held you and let you go, knowing that it was time. “Bye sweetheart, we love you.” You waved to the both of them as you got in the car, wasting no time before clicking your seatbelt in and driving off. This was it.

Your parents' relationship with religion wasn’t one that you saw very frequently. None of your other friends had parents that obsessed over your entire life, always dragging you back to God. Not even your friends from church. They used God to tell you what to say, how to dress, how to act. Everything was done in the eyes of God, and at times, it was crushing.

So, when your Mother texted you the name of a priest she knew in your new town, you swiped away the notification and let it sit in your inbox for weeks. You were convinced that, if you ignored it, you wouldn’t live a life that they controlled any longer. Even after you turned eighteen, went to the local college, made new friends. They still had a full hold on everything you did. Now, five hours away, you were free!

Your first day in town you wore a crop top - one that your mother took from you and hid in her closet years ago. She made you pray for days and ask God for forgiveness for something so sinful, so immodest. You felt terrible afterwards, and only wore things that covered everything but your wrists and ankles, absolutely convinced that you betrayed God with the shirt. But it didn’t, and it wasn’t, and when you wore it then, it fit you well, made you feel pretty.

God, did you feel so free.

Your mother checked in on your daily, but you only replied to a handful of them. When you told them that you had plans to move to the gayest part of the country, they all but freaked out, sure that you would come home transgender, or worse, gay. What on earth were they to do with a gay daughter? It wasn’t God’s commandment to be gay, and the thought of you as a gay had your mother’s mind spinning. You were sure you saw her life flash before her eyes when you told them.

You wouldn’t pretend that the town was out of your comfort zone. There were so many people compared to your small town, you couldn’t even understand how so many people lived in the same place. That being said, it felt, to you, like everyone was a model. There were so many faces that you had never seen before, so many identities and styles.

It wasn’t until the end of your first month that you ran into your first problem.

You found a coffee shop that you enjoyed, and began frequenting it. But, when they hired a new, tall, buff, female barista, you found yourself there more often than not. You were undeniably drawn to her, found yourself thinking of her when you shouldn’t be and striking up conversation with her like some kind of lovestruck fool.

Then, of course, the thoughts began creeping in. Terrible thoughts, about her voice and her arms and her fingers. All while you did terrible things to yourself - with God watching. You were screwed. The woman lived in your mind all the time, everywhere you went and everything you did. Every night before you went to bed, thoughts driven by lust guided you. You knew then that you would have to take your mother up on her priest offer.

The church was large, on the outskirts of the city. It had beautiful panels and stained glass windows that light poured through gorgeously. You followed the line of people, joining them in waiting to confess. Even if you had never been to this church or knew these people, they were kind to you. You had to tell someone, and if a priest that your mother heard was good had to be it, then she was it.

The booth was cramped when you stepped in and took your seat. You face forward, as one does, and placed your hands in your lap, waiting. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been three months since my last confession,” you started, “I’ve never been to this church, and I’m new in town. I… I’ve been struggling with some lustful thoughts.. about women,” the words felt like dirt coming out of your mouth.

“Go on,” the priest spoke, and the voice was warm and thick and held you there like honey.

“Well, I haven’t exactly acted on them, but I have, um, touched myself thinking about… a woman.” The priest hummed and sat in silence for a moment, calculating. You were red with embarrassment, confessing something that went so against everything you had learned growing up.

“Was it one woman specifically, or have you had these tempting thoughts about several women?” The priest asked. You sat with yourself, pondering whether or not you had ever had those thoughts before. Well, maybe you had.

“There was a girl when I was younger. My thoughts weren’t driven by lust but I thought of what life would be like with her. This woman is so.. different. I’ve never done anything with anyone, I’ve never had such filthy thoughts about anyone before, especially not a woman.” You whispered the last word, as if it would change anything.

“Everyone struggles with temptation at some point in their lives. I myself have struggled with sexual temptation to the same sex. But, what’s important is that you didn’t act on these thoughts outside of your body. If you feel driven, you have this space to share your thoughts. If not, I can bless you and provide you with your penance.” You pondered, once again. This was a stranger. What if this priest wasn’t as good as your mother claimed?

“Well… I thought of her performing.. sexual acts on me. With her fingers and her mouth. Saying dirty, terrible things to me. I don’t know anything of lesbian sex, I don’t even know where these thoughts came from.” You felt like crawling into a ball and just sitting there with your thoughts.

“In God’s name, I grant you forgiveness for your sins,” you released a breath. “I order you to fast for the next week, read your Bible, and return next week. In Jesus’ name we pray and forgive, Amen.” You said Amen, letting the priests’ words sink into your skin. You would fast, intermittently as instructed, but you weren’t sure how abstaining from food would remove the desires that you weren’t even sure you wanted to be rid of.

“You have a very kind voice,” you said quietly. “Thank you kindly, Father.” You spoke, southern charm briefly snaking its way into your vocabulary. You left the booth, feeling as if every eye in the room was digging into you, even though the booth is soundproofed. Like they knew that you were full of it, that you didn’t want to get better. All you wanted was to uphold your perfect little image. God didn’t have a place in your life.

It wasn’t until the following week that you were sure God wouldn’t ever forgive you.

The week had been long, almost torturous. Going without food didn’t feel like a penance, it just felt like work. You didn’t feel any more connected to God than you did the previous week, and all you were getting out of it was fatigue and falling asleep at work. Your bible did nothing, praying did nothing. You felt like none of it was ever going to cure you.

When you arrived at the church one week after you first stood there, you had no idea what to say to the Reverend. Would you say that you didn’t want to give up your sin, that you didn’t care what God thought? That what you were instructed to do wasn’t working, and the orders were wrong?

The church was empty when you stepped in, and it was daunting. It made the room look larger, the ceilings look taller, the rows of pews doubling as you walked closer to the front. Nobody was there, and you were sure that you did something wrong. Maybe you got the date wrong, maybe this was a fever dream, or a test from God.

You looked around, taking in every aspect of the church. The stained glass windows bared their blooming colors down onto your skin, changing it to shades of purple and green and blue. The room was warm, welcoming even. But that didn’t change the fact that it didn’t feel right. None of this was right.

Someone cleared their throat and you whipped back around to the front, taking in the person before you. It was a woman, but not a woman that looked like any other you had seen before in your entire life. She had short hair, cropped at the ear, and the shadow cast across her face made her grey eyes gleam. She was one hell of a sight.

That was when you knew.

“May I help you?” She asked, and you immediately recognized the voice. This was the priest that you spoke to last week, when you recited every thought that was currently resurrecting in your brain.

“I’m here for confession, I think,” you said quietly, slightly embarrassed as it appeared the event was cancelled. “I may be in the wrong place, I just moved here. Are you the Reverend?” She smiled, setting aside what she was doing.

“Yes ma’am. I’m sorry you couldn’t join us on Sunday, I announced then that this week’s confession had to be cancelled. But, I’m not busy if you want to talk. I’m Sevika,” she leaned against a railing that divided the altar and the nave, offering a hand for you to shake. “Have you confessed before?”

Sevika knew the answer. She knew the moment she saw you, the way you spoke, the look in your eyes. You were the woman from last week, who told her about your sexual desire for women. She was sure, now that she saw your face, that she would never forget you. There was a breathtaking person behind the filthy confessions, and it made her mind wander to places God would frown upon.

“Yes, last week, I was told to come back this week. I found that what I was ordered to do hasn’t been working. I still feel the way I did last week.” You huffed. She gestured to a pew and you followed her, taking your seat beside her.

She was so close, too close. Her knee pressed against your own, and you could basically hear the sound of her breathing. She was warm beside you, and her entire person drew you in, causing a lack of disconnect for the disgusting thoughts in your head. There were so many things. Her hands were huge, and the material of her black shirt stretched thin around her bicep. You were dying to see what was under the shirt, and if it was as tempting as it appeared to be. And then, of course, you were smacked in the face with the reminder of the fact that she was your future Reverend.

“Since we’re alone, do you feel compelled to remind me of your confession?” You shifted nervously, confessing out of the booth making you feel as if God had a better watch on you. Maybe you weren’t ready for this; maybe you didn’t want to change.

“Well.. it was about lust, and, um, other women. I’ve been having some thoughts about what it would be like to, maybe, indulge in.. sexual acts.. with other women. I think a lot about hands and voices, and..” you trailed off as your eyes slowly painted their way from the tips of her fingers, across her arm, up her neck, and all the way back to her eyes.

Sevika was good at hiding whatever she was thinking. She was desperate to know every thought that you had, pick apart that pretty little head until she had you in a perfect, open position. But she didn’t. “Is that so?” She hummed. Your thighs rubbed together as a familiar feeling rose between them - except this time, it was brought upon by another person, and not your own thoughts. “I remember you, now. Tell me why you don’t think your penance is working.”

You forced your brain to come back into the moment. “I made my fast, as instructed, and I prayed. I read my Bible every night, cover to cover. But.. it still doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t feel fixed. I’m still having these thoughts even when I don’t want to have them. They just creep up on me and take my mind under control.”

“Healing doesn’t happen overnight, lamb,” she watched your pupils dilate, and an ever so slight change in the pace of your breath. “It takes time. Once you open your heart and mind to God, He will take His time healing you. He doesn’t make mistakes.” You looked up at her, realizing then that she was dramatically taller than you, even when sitting.

“Reverend,” your gaze fell once again, this time focusing on your hands in your lap. “What if.. what if I don’t want to get better? A part of me wants to walk out of this church and never return. What if I like these thoughts, and I like what I’ve come up with? What if I want it to happen to me?” You thought back to the barista, who hadn’t even wandered into your mind since you got here. It was like she meant nothing any more, now that you had such a woman in front of you.

“My previous statement still applies. Moving away from the temptation of sin and sin itself comes with time,” she turned to you, placing a hand on your knee. “Inherently, your thoughts are not sin. They only become sin when you act on them.”

“Does touching myself count as acting on them?” God, her mind was racing.

“God never says that pleasuring yourself is a sin, but your thoughts leading up to doing such are what makes it a sin. If your fantasies include other women and doing sexual things with them rather than, let's say doing it to aid period cramps, then it turns into falling into temptation.” You nodded, taking in her words. You knew the answer, but you still didn’t feel bad.

“Thank you, Sevika. Would you be willing to offer me further penance?” She smiled, letting out a quick chuckle.

“I’m going to order you a personal one, and a church related one,” you met her eyes, scanning the depths of her face. You never wanted to forget it. “Though I’m not sure how often you do it, I want you to restrict touching yourself to the best of your ability, and I want you to continue your fast. Now, in Jesus’ name we pray, Amen,” you repeated her Amen, “return next week, or join us for church. We have a Wednesday night session at eight this week, if you’d like to attend.”

“I just might.” Your eyes were practically glued to hers, unrelenting. You needed to learn her, know every crook and crevice in her face. Every color in her eyes, and every wrinkle that found its way onto her aging face. “I’ll see you on Wednesday, Reverend. Thank you.” You stood with her and pulled her into your arms without thinking. You reached as far up onto your tippy-toes as you could, and the poor woman still had to bend to reach you.

“Have a good night, little lamb.” Her hands slid off your waist as you pulled away, walking away and leaving the church with your head in a daze.

You found yourself trapped in her daze until you were back to your apartment. Everything about her beyond fascinated you. There was a small color shift in her eyes, a haze of blue and dark grey that mixed together to create the most perfect color, dressed with growing crows feet in the corners, that pulled when she smiled. Her nose was large and round and stapled her face in a beautiful way, almost touched by a large scar that found its way down her cheek and neck.

You wondered how far the scar went, underneath her clerical collar. If it touched her chest, or found its way to her stomach, all the places you were desperate to see. Desperate, that was the word for you. Desperate to know the shade of her lips, and the way they felt on yours. Desperate to know how she spoke out of uniform, the things she liked to do.

Wednesday service was going to be unbearable.

Sevika was in a position similar to yours, but she liked the idea that she had the upper hand. She liked how you looked at her, and the way your thighs rubbed together ever so gently at the names she called you. She knew you didn’t want to get better, and she knew you wouldn’t. Not when you sat in the church, squirming and eyeing her arm like a slut.

But it also meant that she had you. If she wanted you, wanted to break her oath and ruin her purity for you, she could. You would let her. There wasn’t an inch of your body that would put God before her if she asked. She knew you were thinking the same things about her fingers and her mouth as you were about whatever woman drove you to come in the first place.

She never considered herself a particularly observant person, but the way she noticed the shift in your eyes, from good to bad, and the way you listened to her, patiently, she may have to start using the title. You were practically pliable, ready to be morphed into what she wanted from you.

She would never forget the words touching yourself leaving your mouth. She could imagine it, truly. See your hand sliding over your stomach and over your panties, rubbing your clit like it was enough. Refusing to fuck yourself on your fingers, afraid of what God might think. And when it wasn’t enough, she could see you sitting pretty on one of your pillows humping yourself on it like a dog, chasing any feeling of pleasure that you could derive from it. She could envision you like she was watching you on video.

Sevika was absolutely dripping wet in her living room, where she let her thoughts run several minutes ago. This was the first time anything of this sort had happened to her in years - she never thought like this, and was never this driven to act on it. Guilt overrode any substantial plans of finding the vibrator stuffed away in her closet.

No matter what happened, you were both fucked.

-

You let weeks pass. You had to. There was no way you could step into a house of God with her in it and pretend that you didn’t crave her from the depths of your skin. There was no use pretending anymore, not when thoughts of her crept into your mind at all times of the day, everyday, for the last two weeks. You were waiting for them to subside before going to the church, even thought about going to a different church to try and improve your thoughts.

Unfortunately, it didn’t help. The longer you were away from her, the stronger the thoughts grew. You had to go back. Somewhere, deep inside, you thought that if you went to the church, watched her preach about God, what she knew best, you would be relieved of the things holding you back.

And so, you got home from work, dressed nice, and prepared to go to church. The only thing your mother gifted you before you left was a rosary - it was beaded in red, with the equipment matching in gold. You wore it around your neck, the first time you had bothered taking it out of the box since she gave it to you, like it would save you. It wasn’t going to.

None of your thoughts about going to the church revolved around anything inappropriate. Sevika knew that, she knew it when you walked in quietly, five minutes before her sermon began. She knew when you sat in the front, and closed your eyes, letting her words melt into you while the rosary clung tight to your palm burned your skin. You were here for a reason that wasn’t known to your sweet little brain yet.

You were such a pretty thing, sitting there proper in a skirt that dusted your ankles and a headband that matched. Her eyes found you in the crowd every time she lifted her gaze from the holy book before her to the crowd. It wasn’t busy late on a Wednesday night, and she knew that’s why you were here. There were less suspecting eyes, less people to grow weary of an unfamiliar face amongst them.

Most importantly, there were less people that knew.

It wasn’t obvious to everyone, but someone in the crowd, you were sure, knew that you were thinking a grand scheme of unholy things about the reverend. You couldn’t stand it, these thoughts. You tried to convince yourself that she wasn’t looking at you when she preached, but the way her dark eyes drilled into your own when she read a verse forced your thoughts otherwise. When the service was over, you were going to bult. You couldn’t stay, couldn’t ever come back.

This was the end of your time as a Catholic. You had disappointed God far too much.

“Ladies and gentlemen, for the end of our service tonight, I want to talk about something that many of us in the crowd know and love,” Sevika smirked, “all of our married folk in the room, as I send you off tonight, I want all of y’all to remember that God calls us to enjoy and place importance in our relationships with sex,” there were hoots and hollers throughout the hall. “So I ask, in the name of God, have some fun between this service and our Sunday service. Let’s end with a prayer.”

Sevika began her prayer, but your mind was focused on her encouragement of sex. It made you wonder if Sevika was married, and if everything you had created in your head was just that - a creation. Fake. If you imagined the way she looked at you and the names she called you. It wasn’t real.

You had almost made your escape from the church without having to speak to her before you were cornered. Of course. Every priest did this. They bid farewell to those leaving the church at the end of the service, shaking hands and kissing babies, encouraging the group to return the following Sunday.

And like every other, she did it to you. “Thought I’d never see you again, peach.” She chuckled. Like a puppy, you were drawn to her as the stranglers made their way out. “Walk with me,” you did as told, following by her side as you walked back up the aisle towards the altar. “Did you enjoy the service?” You contemplated giving a half-assed answer, anything that could get you out of this church as quickly as possible.

“Yes, it was nice to sit in on a service again. It’s been a while. Speaking of which-” you tried, once again, to get away, the outcome reflecting similarly to the first time.

“Will you be joining us on Sunday?” Sevika was doing everything in her power to get you to stay. The more she talked to you, the more she asked, she knew you would. Pliant. It was a phenomenal word for you. So… flexible. Willing, even. With the way your eyes widened with every word she said, lips parting and cheeks reddening like she was the most fascinating thing on earth… it was easy. You were easy.

“I’m not sure if I’ll be able.” It felt like lying. The short answer was no, and the long answer was no, you couldn’t ever step foot into this church again without the fear of God coming down and smiting you himself. Telling her that you may have plans wasn’t a lie, simply an aversion to the harsh truth.

“Well if you can, we’d love to have you. You make a great audience member.” You stopped dead in your tracks, still. Hopefully she didn’t notice. The comment was clearly an innuendo, hinting at the way your thighs pushed together under your skirt and the way your hands bunched up the material every time you thought she looked your way.

“That’s kind of you to say,” your fingertips smoothed over the rosary around your neck, drawing her eyes to the spot on accident. She was good at watching you, and you were aware. She took a step closer to you, entering your personal space. She wasn’t far - close enough that you could smell the cologne she had on. It was a musky mix of wood and something deep, and you let your eyes flutter closed.

“Is this new?” She asked, large fingers finding the piece like a feather. You were burning now, burning like you were floating in front of the sun itself. She could inevitably feel the temperature of your skin and the rapid pace of your heart, and feel it she did.

“No,” you whispered back, “my mother gifted it to me before I left.” Your eyes were squeezed shut tighter than they had been for the extent of your life.

“Do you pray to it every night? You feel saved yet, pretty?” She pushed further, seeing how much you would take before you snapped out of it and left, never to be seen by her again. You were pretty. The prettiest girl she’d ever seen, will ever see. It was only her duty to tell you that.

“No.” You opened your eyes, meeting hers and immediately realizing her closeness. “In fact, I think I may try a new church, one that feels more right.” You felt weak, trying to pretend to be strong. But her proximity to you, her smell, her hand still rubbing over the cross, it was all too much to be strong.

“Are you now?” Sevika was amused by this, especially knowing that nothing would tear you away from the things you felt about her. “Why’s that, lamb? Something I should know about in my church that’s bothering you?” You sighed, frustrated and turned on more than you’d like to admit.

“I feel as if your penances aren’t working, nothing has changed. And you..” She cut off the end of your sentence, abruptly.

“Me?” She asked in a playful tone, like she knew this was working. Like she knew that heat was pooling in your belly and your panties were wet.

“You’re distracting me. From being saved.” She smirked, stepping even further into your space. You backed up, not going far before your back hit the railing that divided the ambo and the crossing. You were stuck between her and the railing, but there was nothing to object. Not now. Her knuckles ran down your bare chest until they reached the start of your top, where she switched to her fingers.

Leaning in, with her fingertips running down your side, she spoke. “No, little lamb,” she leaned in, mouth finding the shell of your ear. “You just don’t want to be.” Her hand fastened around your hip, pushing it into the railing. “In fact, with all of these thoughts of yours, I don’t even know if God can save you.”

“I don’t.. I don’t know what you want me to say to that.” You pouted. You weren’t exactly scared, at the moment, but something else was creeping up inside of you. She had the means and opportunity to do absolutely whatever she wanted to you, right now. And the worst, most gut wrenching part of all of it, is that you’d say yes.

“Give in.” The moment your eyes met hers, her lips were slamming into your own.

Kissing her was like kissing an angel. You had kissed plenty of boys in your life, but where their spit and shitty tongue turned you off, Sevika’s bruising force and toe-curling kisses turned you on. She pressed her lips into you with fervor, chasing every feeling she could get out of you, and you didn’t resist.

It was terrible, truly, how you let her do it. Let her suck your tongue into her mouth and wrap her large hand around your throat. Awful. Ungodly. It would be best if you pushed her away and ran out of the church, chasing your dignity that seemingly flew out the stained-glass window. But it was so fucking good.

She was so much bigger than you, also. There was no way that you could escape from her now, not like this. Not when your mind was spinning and your legs were about to let out, all from a kiss. All from her hands on your hips and her warm body pressed to yours. And when she pulled away, looking at you darkly like her next meal, you couldn’t help but let out a pathetic noise, and she smirked.

“This is wrong,” you insisted, but your grip on the front of her gown didn’t cease. “This isn’t good, this isn’t what God wants.” You were battling with the fact. This wasn’t anything close to what God wanted. God called for pleasure in marriage, marriage between one man and one woman. But here you were.

“Leave, lamb. Walk away. Go be good,” she took a step back, your grip on her shirt releasing, teasing smirk still painted on her stunning features. This was your chance, your opportunity to move back home and keep being good, keep being that sweet little version of you that seemed to be gone forever. But you didn’t move, you couldn’t move. “That’s what I thought. You want this, don’t you, sweet thing?” You were practically shaking like a leaf in the wind.

Hesitantly, you nodded. It was slow, and only once. Sevika was back on you in an instant, trapping you against the railing once again while she dragged your legs up and around her hips. She kissed your neck, doing far more than any stupid boy had in the past. It wasn’t long before any thoughts of God began to slip from your brain, too busy focusing on the way her warm mouth sucked the skin on your neck, adding her teeth and quickly flicking her tongue over the spot to ease any pain.

You couldn’t blame anyone for enjoying this. Not when she did the things that she did to you. “You’re always so good, baby,” she kissed the spot right below your ear. “Don’t you think you deserve something for being so good all the time?” Once again, you nodded slowly. “Answer me, lamb. You’ll learn quickly that doing what I say will get you what you want.”

“Yes,” your voice shook with your answer, eyes drifting to the side. It was an embarrassing experience, but it was only deserved. She let your legs down, backing away slightly with a chuckle.

“Yes what, baby? What do you deserve?” A flush of red warmed your cheeks. It was hard to say something you didn’t agree with; you hadn’t been good, you didn’t deserve anything because you weren’t good. If you acted right, you still didn’t deserve anything. God didn’t give out favors for simply doing what you were called to do.

Sevika’s words snuck their way into your mind quickly. You were so far gone already, what’s a little bit more? She had already made you feel this good and she had hardly touched you. What was just a little more? Maybe she was right, maybe God hated you.

“Yes, I deserve something for being good,” you cringed at your own words, flinching away from her gaze. She pulled your forward off of the railing, lifting you over her shoulder like it was nothing. Like you were a piece of paper in comparison to her strength.

You found purchase atop the sermon table, the fat of your thighs morphing against the divots in the wood, through your skirt. Every church had a table in the altar, one where the reverend could sit things out or create a sort of symbolism of God, but right now, she was pushing everything off to sit you onto it, reattaching her lips to your neck rapidly.

You were writhing under her by the time her lips found your collarbone, leaving a trail of dark marks. “Let’s take this off, pretty thing. Can you do that for me?” She ran her pointer and middle finger under the elastic of your skirt as she whispered in your ear, planting a kiss under it.

You didn’t hesitate in lifting your hips and slipping it down, leaving you in your top and panties. It was the epitome of a compromising position, looking up at her half naked with your hair static and your makeup messed up. “You’re so pretty, aren’t you?” You nodded, but that was hardly enough for her, as you should've anticipated. She grabbed your jaw, pressing her fingers into your cheeks to hollow them out. “What did we just talk about?”

“Yes, I’m pretty.” You mumbled through the force of her hands.

“That’s it,” she cooed, removing her hand in favor of pulling you up by your upper arms and spinning you around, folding you over the table in front of you. With a gasp, your cheek came down on the wood with your hands flat next to your head. You were ass up, pink panties covering the one thing that nobody else had ever seen. “Whatever will I do with you, little lamb? God doesn’t like sluts who bend over for their priests.” Her hand came down to knead the flesh of your ass.

You whimpered, pushing back into the touch. It was humiliating, really, how wet you got when she said such vile things, using your religion, your existence against you. Even with that in mind, you were practically dripping through your panties, you may even be. All you knew was that your thighs were wet and that Sevika was the only one who could see anything else.

“Aren’t you going to do something?” You whined, glancing over your shoulder at her. The look in her eyes had far surpassed something sinister. She pressed her flesh thumb into the wet patch on your underwear, against your drenched entrance, laughing as you mewed.

“You’re in no position to make demands, peach. Not when you're this wet from some kissing. This how you feel every time you see me?” Her mech hand came down hard on your ass when you didn’t answer, making you flinch again. “The first time we met, I knew you’d be easy. Wide eyes and those pretty legs that rubbed together with every word I said. Has anyone ever touched you here before, little lamb?” She ran her flesh thumb up and down the sensitive skin and you attempted to tighten your thighs with no avail.

“No, only..” you trailed off as she sank to her knees, pressing a kiss into the crease between your ass and your upper thigh, letting them travel down your hamstring.

There was a pause before she answered you, “Only?” she pushed, desperate to know if her fingers would be the first in your pretty cunt. She continued her trail of kisses all over your thighs as you pondered whether or not to answer her.

“Only my own.” You whispered, guilt taking you over as you decided that answering was probably a better idea than whatever consequence she would award you if you didn’t.

She hummed. “What do you think about when you fuck your cunt with your fingers, pretty thing?” You clenched down on something nonexistent as her words shot straight to your core. This was absolutely disgusting. Before you could think to answer, her tongue was lapping lazily at your clit over your panties, taking a fat lick from your clit to your hole. Her hand came down on your ass again, learching you forward with a moan.

“You,” you sputtered, “I think about you.” she moaned into you, sending soft vibrations through your system, just enough to make you tense, a new wave of slick rushing through your panties.

She didn’t bother with any more humiliating questions with forced answers, instead opting to press her face into you and continue licking at your center over your panties. She went like that for several minutes, until you were practically crying and your panties were soaked - partially her spit and partially the wetness that was leaking from you like a hose.

Your mind was in a daze when she stood, tucking her fingers underneath the elastic of your underwear as she began to drag it over your ass. “Lift your hips, pretty girl. Let me make you feel good, since you’re so needy.” You couldn’t even think to do it, resulting in her lifting them for you. It only made you wetter, the way she lacked any form of struggle when lifting you, essentially doing it with one hand while she used the other to drag your pantues down.

She didn’t allow them to come all the way off  before she was attaching her wide lips to your clit. With your panties strung around your ankles and her tongue on your clit, you knew that this was the end of anything pertaining to you and God. There was no place for God when she had a mouth like that.

“I think God blessed y’r pussy, baby. Tastes so fucking good.” She followed with a groan, sucking your clit into her mouth. You almost shrieked, lurching forward once again as the nerve exploded with feeling. Porn had never even come close to making you feel this way, let alone your pillow or fingers.

With a final peck, Sevika flicked her tongue against your entrence, pushing it through the tight muscle and wasting no time tongue-fucking you like you weren’t in a house of God. She was messy, grabbing your hips with both hands and pulling you into her face, letting you rock into it and hump her like some sort of dog. Her face was soaked, from her nose to her chin, but nothing was stopping her.

Sevika was having the time of her life. She got exactly what she wanted, just like she knew she would. And to make it even better, you had the wettest pussy of any girl she’d ever fucked. When she took her oath, she was sure that she would miss eating out the most, making you a prize. Your cunt was so good that she was sure she would resign the moment she got you home safe. THere was no way in hell she would be able to go without this for longer than a day.

Not only were you drenching her like a baptism, but you were also moaning and squirming and making all the best noises that drove a sane woman crazy. Your cunt had to be heaven, your body that of an angel. This was her blessing, her calling and her salvation. It was you, all of you.

A pit grew in your stomach, wrapping itself around every inch of your body until she whispered, “come, lamb” had your muscles relaxing and your legs shaking, wave after wave of pleasure rocking you like a punch. Sevika didn’t halt, drinking up every last drop that she could get from you, and she didn’t stop there.

Once she was sure your orgasm was over, she stood, flipping you over until your back was resting against the wood. She pressed her middle finger against your hole, groaning into your neck as you swallowed her in. “You’re such a good girl, yeah? Gonna get broken in tonight, peach. ‘m gonna stretch you so good, make you so full.”  You practically screamed as she curled her single finger up into the best spot in your body, one that you hadn’t touched yourself.

“Vika, ‘s too much,” you slurred, but all she did was press  her cold, mech thumb onto your tongue, husing you. She added another finger, letting you adjust knuckle by knuckle until you were full. She fucked you like that for some time, crooking up with every thurst until your tears were regular.

“One more big stretch, my girl can do it, can’t she?” you shook your head no, but it wasn’t true. You wanted to see how far you could go, how much you could take. Your body begged to indulge and be stretched open for her, molding to every part of her.

Her third, thick finger protruded your entrance and you cried out, fat salty tears falling down your cheeks. It burned when she got the first knuckle in, and your hand shot down to her wrist to hold it in place. Using the wetness that your mouth provided, she rubbed circles into your clit with her mech hand, helping you adjust to the feeling.

When she bottomed out, you were close to sobbing. She wasn’t joking when she insisted on filling you, you were full to the hilt, shaking like a leaf with every delicious curl of her fingers. Once she got going, there was no slowing her down. She fucked into you like the world was ending, unrelenting in her pace as she did nothing but watch all three fingers get sucked in every time.

Your mind was swimming, stuck in what you were sure was an alternate universe. There was no way that a single woman was making you feel this good, making your eyes roll back and your tongue loll out like you had no thoughts. “Hey,” she caught your attention, but your brain and recognition was at an all-time slow. “Watch your greedy,” you whined as her mech hand came down no your clit, “fucking,” it came down again, only increasing your noise, “cunt,” she finished it off with one final slap, “sucks in my fucking fingers.”

You gazed down, watching every thrust. You reached up, pulling her body against your own as you approached your next orgasm. You held her close to you, nails scratching and digging into her toned back when her mechanical hand began its pace on your clit. “Sev.. Sev, I-I can’t do it, it hurts,” you cried, hands tightening on her shoulders as your muscles tensed.

“My strong girl, you can do it. Give me another one.” She increased her pace ever so slightly and that’s what did it, clenching down on her so tightly that you feared for her circulation. You came for what felt like hours, shaking and crying and holding her like she was the only thing keeping you alive. “Atta girl, little lamb. See how good you are at listening?” You only moaned, further extending your finish.

When you were finally finished, she pulled her fingers from you and tapped your lips, motioning for you to open them. You did, not expecting her to push all three in and down your throat. You caught on quickly that she wanted you to suck them, sucking them clean of your own release. It was purely erotic, not coming anywhere close to things that you had done to yourself or thought of having done to yourself.

Once her fingers were clean, Sevika dipped her head down once again, this time only licking up the mess that you had already made. Her intentions didn't stop you from twitching and squirming, though. She pulled you up, letting you put all of your weight on her as she redressed you. Your legs were basically jelly, so much happening that there was no way you could stand or even manage to get yourself home.

Without asking, she effortlessly scooped you into her arms and out of the church, only briefly sitting you down to lock the doors. You wondered whether or not she had left things since she was clearly in a hurry, but it hardly mattered with the fuzzy state of your mind.

She got you home and helped you up the stairs to your apartment, but she didn’t stop there. She helped you change and tucked you in, even pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Sleep well, lamb.” She said softly as she disappeared out your door.

And you knew, then, that you weren’t ever going to see her again.

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[miaoua3]

Be My Sin.

Pairing: priest!joshua x stripper!f!reader

Genre: smut (MDNI), piv sex, oral sex (f! receiving), religious trauma/inner conflict, slight angst from joshua’s side (thoughts about regret, religion and such), stripper x priest, virgin! joshua

Warnings: mentions of r@pe and p€dophilia as the reason why joshua’s faith in god is wavering, and once again, smut (MDNI)

Description: after years of being a priest, joshua starts questioning his faith in god after receiving some upsetting news. what was supposed to be a walk to clear his mind ends up being a walk straight to his most delicious sin-you.

Note: THIS IS FOR MY POOKS EAT UP HOE (also keep in mind that a lot of thoughts on religion may or may not reflect my own thoughts about it lol). another note: i really said porn WITH plot lmao this one is looong boys, buckle up.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

it must’ve been two hours already since the bartender slid a whiskey neat across the counter and towards joshua. and for the past two hours, joshua has just been staring at the glass and how the low light of the bar has been reflecting in the dark liquor, thinking if he should give into the temptation and break his promise that he made to god, or if he should just get up and leave.

in the 12 years of his life as a priest, joshua has never been more confused, angry and scared like he has been since he heard the news this morning.

joshua takes ahold of the glass and spins it around, and just….thinks.

should he or should he not?

at this point, the whiskey has gone warm, probably not even in the drinkable state anymore, but he wouldn’t care about it.

as long as it makes him forget this whole day today, he’s willing to down even poison.

being betrayed by a friend always hurt him the most. it’s sad, really, feeling pity and disappointment towards the people you once felt nothing but love and affection for.

but this…this is much more than just betrayal.

this is his friend going against everything they have been taught while on their path to become priests.

his friend since childhood, who inspired him to do better and devote his life to spirituality, who guided him towards being a better person.

he was charged with sexual assault of a young girl.

she is only 7 years old.

a bile starts rising up joshua’s throat the more he thinks about it, how he trusted him and saw him as some form of a hero. and so, before he can even think about it, in hopes that it will stop him from indecency that is puking in the bar, joshua picks up the glass and downs the whiskey in one, breaking his sobriety of almost 15 years.

the liquor burns his throat, the aftertaste on his tongue not all that pleasant, it actually makes him scrunch his face in disgust.

joshua then raises a hand and orders another one.

and another one.

and another one.

he stops counting how many he orders after that.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

joshua is stumbling over his feet as he drunkenly walks on the side walk, observing the pretty city lights and cars as they pass him by. he isn’t sure where he’s headed, letting his absent mind take him wherever it wants.

after the bartender called the last call, he thought that a walk would help him clear his mind. so, after paying for all his drinks, he just…started walking. and he hasn’t stopped for an hour now.

he stumbles as he tries to stop and look at the window of a shop that sells mostly technology, a bunch of tv’s on display behind the window.

he stops to look at whatever ads are being shown on the screen, vision blurry and hazy due to the insane amount of alcohol that is in his blood right now.

his eyebrows immediately scrunch in pain at the pictures that are being shown to him, his hand unconsciously coming up to rub his chest right where his heart is over his black shirt.

bunch of children just running around in slow motion, happy smiles and missing teeth the only things joshua’s mind can focus on.

this is what children should look like, happy and carefree. how could anyone even think about doing things so atrocious and vile to them, like he did? how can anyone harm the ones who least deserve it, who are nothing but pure and innocent?

there’s nothing joshua loved more than when children would come up to him after the sermons and talk to him, seeing children being so curious and mildly confused about the complex that is a religion. it always made him so happy to explain them the things they would ask about in the most simplistic way possible, sometimes even struggling to find the right words to explain things as to not make them even more confused.

seeing the good in people, especially in the young ones, always made his heart swell up with hope and love towards them.

now he isn’t even sure if there’s any hope left in his heart, only rage and hurt floating on the surface of it.

he watches the tv’s for another minute or so, overcome by the thoughts of the terrible day that he it has been today, from the moment he got the news this morning, him struggling to get through the morning sermon, turning away people that wanted to go to the confessionals to him and get the heavy stuff off their hearts, all the way to him downing the alcohol as if it were water.

finally turning away from the window of the shop, joshua attempts to start walking again, stumbling only minimally, only to come to a stop yet again as a wave of nausea hits him.

his hand shots out automatically to grab onto the street light, closing his eyes as he tries to focus on not spilling out his guts right on the middle of the sidewalk.

he’s taking deep breaths in and out when he hears some loud voices from across the street, drunken laughter mixed with it. he opens his eyes to look at what it might be.

a tall old building stares back at him, the bottom part littered with glaring neon signs, one in particular catching his attention. a silhouette of a woman in a martini glass, one leg kicked up to show off her high heel, hands thrown in the air as to signify that she’s having a good time.

huh. a strip club.

normal and sober joshua would never admit this out loud-or while alive for that matter, considering his profession- but he was always a bit curious about strip clubs. naturally, he has met his fair share of sex workers, he even helped a few of them get from troublesome situations where they were being threatened or abused, always ready to help anyone in need regardless of their background and/or profession.

he has never been in one though, as he had no reason to go.

his bloody eyes watch as a white convertible rolls up to the club, parks and turns the lights off. and then, like some sort of angel, steps out what he can only describe as the most beautiful woman he has ever laid his eyes on, all short skirts and tops, hair swishing around as she turns her head while she locks the doors of her car, before she proceeds to walk up the stairs and inside the building, disappearing as easily as she appeared.

joshua swallows harshly, unsure if his throat is dry due to the hot summer night that he finds himself in or because of the woman that just made him realise that heaven was more than just a place that he will officially never see.

before he can rationalise his thoughts, his legs start moving all on their own, walking across the street (and almost getting hit by a car that he didn’t see in the process) and through the door of the strip club.

he never had a reason to go inside a place like this, right?

well, one reason was just found.

he struggles as he walks through that type of curtain that is made out of beedy tussles, almost choking himself with one as he tries to get it out of his face.

the scene in front of him makes him freeze in his place, gulping heavily due to unfamiliarity of it all.

in the centre laid a stage in a shape of a martini glass, just like in the front. on both sides of the stage there were many leather chairs, the kind that you can just hear squeaking under your ass simply by looking at it. a part of the stage was covered by red curtains, the type that you can just tell are heavy and velvety to the touch. above that, on the wall, hung another neon sign.

angel’s heaven.

how ironic.

joshua walks to the left, where a bar with a few busy bartenders can be seen, patiently waiting on his turn to order.

before you ask- only water for him from now on.

he wants to remember everything he’s about to see.

as he waits, he can feel the people judgementally looking at him because of the uniform that he has yet to give a fuck about, the roman collar poking at his neck even after years of wearing it, the black shirt and pants making him look at least a bit presentable.

when his turn finally comes, he orders himself a water, drowning it in one go before he shyly asks for another glass.

as he pushes through the mass of people, he finally comes to where the leather chairs are. he decides to stay standing as it gives him a much better view of the stage.

just as he was turning his head left and right to look around, joshua notices the lights dimming around him and shining brighter on the stage, making it the main point of the room.

suddenly, some sexy jazz music starts playing, the kind where you find yourself imitating the sound of the trumpets. the red curtains get pulled to the sides harshly, revealing 4 figures behind it.

only then is the setup shown to the audience, the neon sign outside making much more sense now that joshua can see two gigantic martini glasses with a stepping stool on sides of it. in between them there are two tall poles.

joshua watches as two women on the ends carefully yet sexily climb the stepping stools so they can get into the martini glasses, making the liquid inside it splash on the sides. while they are trying their best to make it as sexy as possible to get into gigantic glasses, another two women present themselves to the public, wearing lacy and ever so sexily red lingerie.

men around him start to whistle and cheer, the one closest to the stage already throwing dollar bills at them, but joshua can only focus on one of the women that is on one of the poles, swaying her body, hips and hair to the jazzy rhythm.

you. the woman from earlier.

the reason for his sin.

he watches carefully as you wrap one leg around the pole, spinning gently and artistically, your hair swishing behind you. he gulps when you stop spinning, only to get down on your knees and let yourself to sort of dive into the floor, your chest touching the floor, your position giving the audience a beautiful view of your ass cladded in the red lacy panties.

joshua isn't sure if the other woman next to you is doing the same moves as you because his eyes, mind and desires are solely focused on you, but by the cheers of the men, he can only guess that she is.

he continues to watch with a weird feeling climbing up his stomach as you pull yourself back up, staying on your knees as you tilt your head back and play with your hair, your tits moving up and down as you intentionally inhale and exhale extra hard, slowly bouncing on your knees.

you then get back up to your feet-still as sexily as possible-your smile blinding the men in the chairs, and joshua too. you turn around to give men an even better view of your ass as you sway it to the music.

joshua has to remind himself to breathe again, air trapped inside his throat, only noticing it due to getting a bit lightheaded.

but that just might be the alcohol.

or you.

the cheers continue as you and your partner spin on the poles, throwing money and words like ''yeah baby, spin that ass! take that bra off!'', making joshua only mildly uneasy and annoyed, maybe even a bit jealous.

the show continues for half an hour, closer to 40 minutes, and joshua watches you and only you the entire time. at the end, you and the other stripper do the last spins before you slowly come to the stop, slowly stepping on your feet as the music cuts off.

the cheerful screams suddenly turn into those of slight disappointment as the two women (who joshua hasn't even looked at once) step out of the big martini glasses, to join you and your partner for the final bow. while you wait, you scan the crowd for the potential customers for one-on-one sessions, smiling and waving a bit to the ends who scream for you, when you suddenly notice in the far back, watching you with mouth agape, the most beautiful face you have ever seen illuminated under the neon lights of the club, his cheeks noticeably rosy even from a distance.

and then you notice his attire.

huh. a priest.

how ironic.

as you smile at him, both with certain gentleness and sinisterness, joshua's heart drops to his feet.

oh how much fun are you going to have with him.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

joshua never walked faster in his life, tripping tipsily over his legs as he reaches the bar he ordered his water from.

the second he’s in front of a bartender, he’s slamming his hand against the bar to balance himself up, and with desperate eyes asking the bartender “how do i get into the vip? are there private sessions with the dancers? private rooms maybe? how much would something like that cost? actually never mind, i’d pay however much it costs-“.

the bartender just looks at him with a raised eyebrow, waiting for joshua to realise that his rambling is a bit distasteful as well as embarrassing.

as it registers in his brain just how judgementally the bartender is looking at him, making him blush a little in embarrassment, shyly whispering “I apologise”.

seeing that he’s finished with the rambling, the bartender explains “there is vip section but that is for groups of 4 or more, so i’m guessing you are not interested in that.”

joshua just nods along, waiting for him to get to the part that he wants to hear about.

the bartender then continues “we also have private rooms for one-on-one sessions. you can pick the dancer, but if they’re busy with another customer or with the vip section, you can either wait for them to be done or request another dancer.-“

having heard enough, joshua interrupts him “is the pretty dancer-the-the one on the right pole-is she free? nobody booked her already, right?"

the bartender yet again gives joshua an are you serious right now? look, prompting joshua to look down bashfully, mumbling yet another "i apologise", scratching the back of his neck due to the awkwardness that has ensued.

seeing that he can speak freely again, the bartender continues "yes she is free, would you like me to book you a session with her?"

joshua nods enthusiastically, eyes shining brightly both due to the alcohol and excitement.

after paying for a double session, joshua follows the instructions given by the bartender and walks straight ahead until he reaches a hallway, where he turns right and enters the third door on the left side.

the room is isolated from top to bottom in some sort of leather material, probably as a way to sound proof the room of...everything and anything that might go on in it. in the centre of the room, there is a black, circular table with a pole going right through it. right in front of it stood a noticeably low black leather chair, intended for the customers, joshua assumes.

with unsure steps, joshua walks over to the chair before he takes a seat, looking around and observing the very weird room.

suddenly, the door that he has just walked through open, revealing your beautiful self wrapped in a silky white robe. joshua's breath catches in his throat upon seeing the sight in front of him, how beautiful you look so up close, how you radiate absolute confidence and effortless sexiness.

you look down at the chair only to see joshua in it, a smirk immediately appearing on your face.

"well aren't you a fast one, father. or should i say...", you pause for a moment to take a few more steps and grab the chair, leaning across the chair until your lips are right by his ear, the smirk spreading by every passing second.

"...daddy?", you finish, barely containing your cackling.

joshua just makes a face of disgust, if you were to look up the definition of the word "ew", you'd see his face right next to it instead of a complicated sentence.

expressing as much, joshua ushers out "ew, no, don't call me that, that's just- yeah no.", finishing his rant with a full body shiver.

cackling at his reaction, you proceed to walk over to the table. before sitting down on it, you quickly take off your robe and throw it somewhere to the side, beyond caring about it this far in your career.

joshua gulps as he sees you sitting on the table right in front of him, your red heel grazing his pants as you go to cross it. he tries really reaaally hard not to look at your exposed skin and how the lingerie clings to your skin. force of habit maybe? or maybe he's clinging onto the little hope he had left in himsef.

chuckling at his behaviour, how skittish he was, wiggling around his chair and looking away, all while redness greeted his cute cheeks, you start questioning him.

"so, father, what brings you here?", you tilt your head as you look at him, waiting for an answer.

joshua finally looks back at you, making it very evident that he's focusing on your face only. gulping yet again, he answers "just...thought i'd come and see what a-a place like thi-this would look like-", but before he can finish the sentence, you interrupt him.

"that's not what i meant."

joshua looks startled and confused, looking at you questioningly.

smiling a little at him, you stand up before him and come closer, your legs parting his own. joshua's eyes bulge out of its sockets so much that they look like they're about to fall out any second. his eyes follow the silhouette of your body-starting at the legs, and how glowy and shiny they looked under the blue light of the room. next were the hips that were right in front of his face. joshua had to swallow harshly as he eyed the red underwear hugging your lower body-the lacy material, how see-through it was. unintentionally he paid extra attention to your tummy and how cute it looked to him-somehow it made you look more human.

finally, his eyes skim over your tits, just briefly however, before he finally comes to look you in the eyes again.

you smile at his flustered expression, tucking a bit of hair behind your ear. using the free space between his legs, you place on of your knees there, his half hard crotch already pressing against it. grabbing the chair right by where joshua's head is, ever so slowly you lean in until your noses are almost touching.

with your eyes locked now, you whisper in the little space between you two.

"what are you doing here, in my room?"

it takes joshua a bit to find his words due to being absolutely and incandescently in awe of you. his eyes are flying all over your face, taking in your beauty. if somebody were to watch the scene unfold from the sidelines, they would think that joshua might be in love.

with earnestness swimming in his eyes, he looks you directly in the eyes as he stutters out "because you are the most beautiful woman i have ever seen in my life. i just...i had to."

his response evidently stunts you, because the gentle smile from your lips slowly fades away, something between amazement and dumbstruck appearing in your eyes instead.

nobody has ever said something so...nice to me.

and you look. you look and you search in his eyes. for doubt. for earnestness. for honesty.

placing a hand on his cheek, you whisper ever so quietly.

"i'm going to kiss you now."

not giving him the time to overthink it, you lean in and gently kiss his lips. joshua, in return, starts feeling like he's having a heart attack, but doesn't pull away.

only a fool would pull away from the most beautiful women's kiss.

once you let your kiss naturally fall apart, joshua just blinks at you, his whole face red and his eyes as big as saucers.

you place the other hand on his other cheek as well, leaning your forehead against his. rubbing his cheeks to calm him down, you whisper "touch me, don't be shy" before you kiss his pouty lips again.

the man in question responds to your kisses but makes it evident that he's a bit unsure, a bit scared, and that he's letting you take control and lead the pace of the kiss.

after a minute or so of your kissing, of your tongue invading his mouth, of gently biting his lower lip to tease him and so that you can hear that little noise of surprise leaving his mouth, joshua finally places his hands on the back of your thighs-gently, of course. instead of grabbing them and using his hold to pull you onto his lap like you want him to, he just...hold them there, kind of like he's supporting them in case they might give out beneath you.

not liking this, you bite his lip again, this time a bit harder, sort of as a warning, before you pull away to look him in the eyes as you say one word only. one word that will unravel the true beast within him.

"harder."

just like a light switch, something changes in his eyes, before he grabs the back of your thighs harshly and leaning back in to kiss you like a starved man would.

his kiss is bruising, and it hurts you so good-the way his lips perfectly wrap around your own, the way his tongue dances and battles for dominance against your own, the way his hand squeeze and release your thighs periodically.

everything he does hurts you so good and deliciously.

sensing that you leaning down like this might be a bit uncomfortable for you, he uses his hold on your legs to pull you towards him, making you straddle him.

getting his cue, you oblige happily, sitting yourself on his lap, maybe but just maybe wiggling a bit on his lap to tease him, which seems to go exactly according to your plan. his hands immediately grab onto your bare ass, squeezing so hard, like he's trying to ground himself, to anchor himself, all while moaning directly in your mouth.

being naturally moved by his hands on your body, you unconsciously start rocking your hips back and forth, making joshua squeeze your ass cheeks even harder, to an almost bruising degree.

suddenly, a thought strikes you like a lighting making you part your lips with the man beneath you.

joshua just looks at you, somewhat scared, somewhat questioningly. but before he can start puking out all of his questions, you tilt your head to the side as you ask him.

"i never asked for your name, and i imagine you wouldn't like me calling you father the entire time, so. what is it?"

joshua just blinks for a few seconds before he answers "joshua, my name is joshua."

you smile at his words before you grab the back of his hair, making the man drop his mouth open as he moans at your action.

smirking directly against his lips, you compliment him "good boy", before you are kissing him to the degree of insanity.

using the newfound knowledge that pulling his hair does it for him, you use the hold on his hair to push and pull his head in directions that you want him to so you can kiss him under all the possible degrees there are. tilting his head to the left, you let your tongue battle against his own. he tries to put up a fight, but inevitably loses the moment you pull his hair even more.

somewhere between the minutes of being lost in your kisses, joshua starts rocking his own hips upwards, right into your barely covered crotch. just as he realises what he's doing and is about to pull away and apologise, you moan needily in his mouth, pressing your hips stronger against his own.

finally having had enough of his gentlemen-ess, you grab one of his hands from your ass only to push it in your own underwear.

joshua gasps at the action, blushing like crazy. looking you directly in the eyes, you just respond to his visible doubt.

"stop being a gentlemen and fuck me already."

....well.

still holding back a bit, joshua starts off slowly, rubbing his fingers over....something. considering that he has never done any of this, joshua is proud of himself for even being in this position in general. he always thought that...sex will always remain an unexplored territory, considering that he's a priest and all.

having sensed that joshua has never fingered a woman ever, you pull back, using his knees to balance your hands on.

looking him directly in the eyes, you order him with all seriousness.

"take my panties off."

joshua looks at you like a deer caught in the headlights for a second, before he looks down at your underwear just as confused, wondering how he's supposed to take them off while you are still sitting on his lap.

rolling eyes a bit at this, you help the poor man by adding "rip them off."

cue more startled looking at you.

gently taking the sides of your underwear, joshua exhales before he harshly pulls on the red fabric. it ends up ripping much easier than he thought it would.

huh. maybe he was stronger than he previously thought. or maybe the underwear was just that flimsy.

having been freed of the panties, you come to crowd his personal space again, taking his hand in yours again, making sure to keep the eye contact with him.

"okay, welcome to 'how to finger a woman 101' class. it's not hard math, you just have to know that every woman is different and likes different things, as well as that there are things all women like."

joshua furrows his eyebrows, if this were a cartoon, a question mark would start flying around his head just about now.

instead of explaining what all those things could be, you just bring his hand back to your pussy. you make his fingers spread you open, showing him where the magic happens.

hoarsely, you say against his lips "now i'll teach you what i like."

joshua, ever the good boy, just nods his head, his eyes wide and mouth agape as he exhales shakily.

taking over his fingers and keeping yourself open for him, you nod downwards, to your glossy and wet pussy.

"see the little bundle of top?", joshua looks down and nods when he notices the bundle in question, gulping at the sight beneath him, fingers and mouth itching to get them on you.

"rub it. gently."

joshua's eyes search for permission in your own for a second, only starting once you nod.

he uses his point and middle finger to gently and slowly rub circles on your clit, watching out for your reactions. you exhale slowly, eyes automatically closing the longer he goes on,

"put more pressure. and a bit faster."

as if he were your servant, joshua obliges immediately.

your moans are all the validation he needs, enjoying how it rings in the shell of his ear, how pretty they sound. like a tune that he himself is making.

gradually and mindlessly, joshua applies even more pressure and starts going faster, getting lost in your pretty noises and lust-filled air. he doesn't even know when he starts, but suddenly he notices that his lips are on your neck, licking, kissing and sucking on the skin there.

your moans get louder, which is exactly what joshua wanted. you're getting so lost in the pleasure that you feel the need to grab onto something, or else you fear you might fly away. you search for something to hold on, only finding his hair in return.

pulling on it harshly makes joshua moan loudly against the skin of your neck, his fingers rubbing your clit even harsher, even faster.

"don't stop."

you pull his head even closer, moaning away in his ear, curses and his name mixed with it the faster you approach your end. joshua, in return, doesn't stop what he's doing, just like you tell him. his lips bite your neck harshly, some sort of animalistic urge to mark you, to make you his taking over his mind.

legs squeezing around his, spasming and shaking as you're reaching your orgasm, you almost scream in his ear "fuck! don't sto-ah, i'm cumming, i'm cumm-"

you never get to finish that sentence as your finish interrupts you. throwing your head back, you pull on joshua's hair so harshly he fears he might lose the hair you are pulling on like a maniac.

riding through your orgasm, joshua finally starts slowing down when he notices you running away from his touch. figuring you have came, he finally stops, eyes immediately looking for your approval and review.

forehead coated in sweat, skin glistening, eyes still shut in pleasure-joshua thinks this might be the most beautiful sight he has ever witnessed.

opening your eyes, you smile at his cute expression, with red cheeks and sparkly eyes.

ready to give him a response, you pull his face towards your own, kissing him passionately, relaxing in his hold the moment his arms wrap themselves around your waist.

parting your lips, your hand gently grabs his cheek, rubbing your thumb over his cheek.

looking him directly in the eyes, so he know you mean every word you're about to say, you praise him.

"good boy."

your words setting him off, he immediately goes back in to kiss you, to eat you alive. grabbing your thighs, joshua then stands up while holding you, making you gasp in his mouth.

he lays you not-so gently on the table in front of him (not that you are complainig, you are loving this rough and wild joshua), his mouth biting your lower lip harshly. your nails imbed themselves in his back, pulling on his shirt, trying to pull it off him.

being sick of his own shirt, joshua pulls away to quickly take it off, revealing a surprisingly ripped and muscular build of his.

your breath catches in your throat, mouth salivating to get your hands on him.

grabbing the front of his pants, you pull him harshly towards you. taken aback by this move, joshua falls over you, luckily reflexes coming in handy and using his hands to catch himself and not squish you beneath his weight.

you immediately grab his face and pull him back for a wild kiss, his tongue responding enthusiastically to your own entering his mouth. and his hands? oh they have a mind of their own. grabbing your thighs and hiking them up against his hips, before they shamelessly grab your tits, squeezing them over the red material of your bra.

wanting- no, needing to feel them bare, joshua pulls away for a second in favour of ripping your bra from your body, snapping the front of before he pushes it aside.

his mouth immediately wrap themselves around your right nipple, sucking on them like an animal.

you arch your back at the contact, hands grabbing onto his hair harshly as you moan loudly.

letting the boy have his fun for about a minute, enjoying the way he's sucking on your tit, how he lets himself go and bite the skin of it, marking it with the imprint of his teeth. you let him have his fun for about two minutes before you are pulling his hair harshly until his face is in front of your own.

exhaling against his lips, you utter.

"fuck me. now."

normally joshua would kill to do as you say. normally. but the urge to get his lips on your sweet little pussy wins over that.

without answering you, he lowers himself until he is face to face with your lower body, eyes trained to focus on you.

his breath that leaves his mouth grazes the skin of your pussy, goosebumps appearing on your skin as it does.

eyes filled with desire, he says the words that will come to haunt your dreams for years to come.

"teach me how you want it. how you like it."

and then his mouth is on you, starving as ever. his lips-it's like he's trying to make out with your pussy, not afraid of getting messy, his spit dripping down. sucking on the clit, his eyes focus on your face for a reaction. your back arch the longer he keeps sucking and kissing you down there.

hands grabbing onto his hair, you pull onto his hair, almost as if you are trying to get more of him, to get him deeper inside of you.

getting your cue, he lets his tongue prod and explore your entrance for a bit, before he let it fully enter your hole, swirling it around, gathering your taste on it so he can taste you as he swallows.

seeing by your moans that you like it, he replaces his tongue with one finger, slowly pushing it inside of you.

throwing your head back at the feeling of fullness, you moan at the way he pushes the finger in and out of you, slowly twisting it each time. while he fingers you, joshua focuses his lips back again on sucking on your clit, using his tongue to flick it before he wraps his lips around it and suck it.

distinctly joshua registers you moaning "more", which he immediately responds with pushing another finger inside of you.

he keeps on going in a relentless pace, fingers pushing inside of you faster than they pull outside of you. while his fingers are working you, his mouth focuses more on his own pleasure, drinking your juices as if they were honey.

you let him eat you out for a few minutes, let him work out another orgasm out of you. but not only that-you let yourself enjoy, actually enjoy being with a man. a man who, presumingly, has never touched a woman this way before yet does a better job in satisfying you than all those fuck ass, try-hard man in power who only care about themselves.

a man who makes you feel like a woman.

feeling yourself reaching the finish faster than before, you forcefully pull his head, ignoring his hissing in pain, until his mouth are kissing your lips this time.

although his mouth aren't on you anymore, his fingers certainly are, still pushing inside of you at the relentless pace. you basically have to moan out "you had your fun, now fuck me", because joshua certainly wasn't stopping.

seeing as he was almost in a trance, eyes glossy and hazy, you take the situation in your own hands. literally.

grabbing the hem of his pants, you feel his front up in order to find the zipper, feeling up joshua's bulge in the process. finally feeling it, you pull it down to your best abilities, considering that joshua is distracting you with his kisses.

you pull harshly on his pants, just wanting them off of his sexy ass (that you felt up in the process of getting rid of his pants-nice and juicy, you must admit). with his pants you also pull down his black underwear, his dick jumping out freely.

you push joshua's chest a bit so you can actually look down and see his dick.

to say that you are very pleasantly surprised is an understatement. his cock is so...beautiful. with a pinkish tip, it slightly curves to the right. although not the thickest one you have seen, he's still definitely up there, with his size as well.

you take him and you pump him a few times, smiling widely the way joshua's pretty moans fly out of his mouth involuntarily.

guiding his cock to where you need him the most, you hear joshua exhale shakily. in excitement or fear, is the only question.

you put your hand on his cheek, making him focus back on you. looking at him with gentle eyes, you try to reassure him a bit.

"it's okay, if you don't want to, you can still walk away, baby. it'd be a shame, considering i don't see a face this pretty in here that often, never mind between my legs."

joshua weighs his options for a few seconds, but deep deep down, in his soul, he knows what the right answer it.

he has sinned plenty already today, what's one more?

and with that thought, he grabs the base of his cock and starts pushing inside.

after a minute or so, you both moan in unison as he finally bottoms out, his hips flush against your own. joshua has to take a moment to recollect himself and pray to god that he doesn't cum right there right that second with how much you are squeezing him.

your long nails claw at his naked back, sure to leave scratches for tomorrow to be seen. the way he fills you up, the way he makes you feel full and good. it's a little too much for you, it makes you want him even more, and you want him now.

pushing your heels against his ass, you signal to him to start moving which he does.

he starts off slow, taking his time, like he wants to remember it all, to remember you. he rocks his hips against your own so deliciously, you can't help but let the moans escape you.

gradually, he fastens his pace until he catches a rhythm that suits you both, skin slapping the only sound in the room besides your panting and moans.

he masters the moves pretty quickly, his moves rolling more so than hammering, just like how you like it.

his tip keeps on hitting your sweet spot over and over again, the tension in your tummy starting to slowly build again because of it after a few minutes of him going at it.

joshua notices how you start to squeeze more tightly around his cock, how you are trying to milk him dry-and succeeding, by the looks of it.

naturally, he starts going faster, until he's just chasing his high. his hips slam against your asscheeks, leaving the skin red and tender to each following contact of his hips.

the entire time he's fucking you, joshua is either attempting to kiss you, tongue invading your mouth and all, or he's just keeping them there, touching your own as he's moaning and groaning.

his sounds make you go insane, from him moaning while saying "pussy so good" to groaning out a "god, fuck" every now and then.

it all messes with your head.

it all makes you want him to cum. now.

you hug his shoulders and brace your heels against his back, trying everything to keep him as close as possible. your mouth end up right by his ear, moaning one thing over and over again.

"cum for me."

joshua chases both your and his high, holding back from giving you what you want until you cum first.

your pleasure first, then his.

he wants you to milk him dry as he's cumming, not a second earlier or later.

he keeps on fucking you, repeatedly hitting your spot until you scream "i'm cumming!" right into his ear. you squeeze around him so tightly that it triggers his own orgasm, spilling inside of you, coating your walls white in his cum.

he groans as he finishes inside of you, riding out both your orgasms, his hands clawing at your thighs, pulling you closer until his balls are right against your ass.

once he feels that he's overstimulating both himself and you, he stops, but he makes no move to pull out, letting himself fall on top of you instead.

for a minute or so, you two just breathe as you hold each other, his face buried in your neck with his eyes closed, blissfully basking in the glory of the post-orgasm.

once you regain your breath, you post a question that only a fool would say no to.

"wanna go again?"

[exqorcism]

supernatural ━╋ father charlie mayhew

★̶̲ a/n. this is short, fluffy & smutty <3 (also new filter woohoo!) warnings. ꗃ blasphemy ･ slight worshipping ･ charlie has a big dick (surprise...) ･ masturbation ･ handjob ･ heavy religious imagery ･ blowjob ･ father charlie & reader being in love <3 wc. 959

"ephesians, 6:12", charlie's voice filled the room, rough and demanding. you lifted your gaze, looking up at him through your lashes while stroking his cock in both of your hands. your mind was empty, but you tried your best to focus ⎯ it was hard when all you could think about was his hot, leaking length just in front of your face.

"i⎯ i'm not sure", you babbled, at which charlie rolled his eyes, irritated. you bit your lip anxiously, stopping the movements of your hands altogether.

"i never told you to stop, angel", he cooed, brushing his thumb against your cheek lovingly. "focus".

it was pure torture; the way your innocent eyes met his, the way your hands moved slowly over his thick, long cock ⎯ the way it casted a shadow on your pretty, angelic face that seemed to glow in the darkness of his office.

"for do we not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rules of the darkness of this age, against spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places", you chanted, and charlie's chest swelled with pride. he sent you a sweet smile, nodding slowly, leaning back against the chair. "indeed, my dear", he whispered, and your lashes fluttered at the praise. with a newfound confidence, you swiped your thumb against his angry, leaking tip, earning a low moan from the priest.

"good girl", he cooed, and you moaned softly, putting one of your hands on his thigh, your long nails digging into his skin deliciously. "so good for me, so obedient. you've been made for me, haven't you?".

you nodded, beginning to stroke him faster ⎯ though it wasn't that easy when you only used one hand.

"corinthians, 6:18-20", he raked his fingers through your black, silky hair, and you leaned into his touch, swiping your thumb against his strong thigh soothingly. charlie's muscles tensed under your touch, and his cock twitched when he took in your focused expression. his other big hand replaced your own, as he began to stroke his cock swiftly right in front of your face. charlie melted into the chair, eyes threatening to close, sick satisfaction spreading across his body at the sight of you on your knees for him ⎯ almost worshipping his cock with only your eyes.

"flee from sexual immorality. all other sins a man commits are outside his body, but he who sins sexually sins against his own body", you whispered. your knees dig into the wooden floor painfully when you leaned closer, running your hands across his abs, sighing at the feeling of his muscles clenching under your skin. "do you not know that your body is a temple of the holy spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from god? you are not your own; you were bought at a price. therefore, honor god with your body". you finished, biting your lip when you met his proud gaze.

"tell me how much you love me", charlie demanded, although you could hear a slight desperation in his voice. he slowed down the movement of his hand, his chest heaving with uneven breaths.

"i love you, i love you so much, charlie", you didn't hesitate for a second, pressing soft kisses on the inside of his thigh. your hands travelled up his stomach, tracing the outline of his muscles with your fingertips. the priest groaned, his brows furrowing when he felt your touch and lips on his hot skin. the veins in his arm popped out when he stroked himself, looking deep into your eyes, biting his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.

"please, charlie⎯ let me make you feel good. let me worship you", you whispered, sticking your tongue out for him to see. "let me show you how much i love you".

father charlie's hand in your hair tightened, and you whined in pain and pleasure; you met his eyes yet again, lowering your head to press a kiss on his pretty, thick tip.

"god, help me", the priest cried out, his hips bucking involuntarily, at which you smiled softly. encouraged by the sounds leaving his mouth, you swirled your tongue around his tip, dipping it into the slit experimentally. you closed your lips around him, beginning to bob your head, pressing your tongue against the pulsing vein on the underside of his dick.

"you're such an angel. always so good f'me", he praised, bucking his hips into your mouth. a whine left your mouth at his words, as you used your hand to jerk off parts of him you couldn't take in your mouth. "fuck, i love you. i love you so much", he chanted, and you opened your eyes to look up at him, the innocence of your gaze combined with the hollowing of your cheeks on his girthy length ⎯ it was almost too much for the priest to take.

with a groan of your name, his back arched off the chair, spurts of his cum landing on your tongue and in the back of your throat. you continued to bob your head, swallowing around him, moaning at the taste.

when you finally pulled away, charlie fell limp against the chair ⎯ you licked your lips, fighting to catch your breath.

"there is no fear in love. but perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment.", you whispered softly, getting up from your knees. charlie fixed his pants before pulling you onto his lap, wrapping his arms around you lovingly. you leaned back against his chest, feeling safe in his warm embrace. the priest pressed soft kisses all over your face. with a smile, he mumbled: "the one who fears is not made perfect in love".

hoffmansgirl © 2024

nicholas chavez masterlist. | request here ♡

[diablasuenos]

exes | damian priest

pairing — damian priest x reader | warnings — unprotected sexual activity (please use caution in any sexual situations)

genre — smut, minors DNI | author’s note — been obsessed with him for so long, i finally got to writing a piece for him. lmk what you think. feel free to send a request my way 🫀

You didn’t realize how bad you wanted him, needed and truly wanted him, until this moment. The feelings never left. They simply simmered under the surface and finally rose to the occasion. One drunken text led to one ex picking up another ex, it should have been simple.

But nothing with Damian was simple. He was zealous and hungry and he never wanted someone as bad as he wanted you. He was sure to tell you over and over as he kissed you clumsily, working his hands around your neck and walked you backwards onto his bed. He was ravenous, you could see it in his eyes and once he was on his knees in front of your wet cunt, he felt that hunger grow.

He wasn’t eating you out, no, he was devouring you. He was working so softly against your pussy you were begging him for more. His mouth was so wet and so hot against you that you felt a heat pool in your abdomen. The hum of Damian’s mouth on you made you prop your legs on his shoulder, letting him get deeper into your as he tongue fucked you. Something about him and his desire to show you how he cared mended the part of your heart that hurt knowing he wasn’t yours anymore. But it didn’t matter that he wasn’t yours because he was still acting like you were his.

His hand was rough but they felt so right in your hair as he kissed you. He tasted like a shot of tequila, bad intentions something else you just couldn’t put your finger on, but you kept tugging on him for more. He was vocal with his kisses, mumbling how beautiful he thought you were and how badly he wanted you. His kisses trailed from your lips down your neck and to your collarbone, finding the exposed skin in the dip of your top.

“I need these off,” he commanded in between kisses. He peeled your top off and made a swift move for your pants. You laughed at his eagerness.

And boy was he needy. He found himself giving the same energy he would give to a match, being attentive and receptive to all your sweet moans. He took his time devouring you, unraveling any tension in your body that he could find. The way you whispered his name out — gasping for breath with each stroke he thrust into you — sent him reeling. He was amazed by how perfect it all felt. He wasn’t sure if it was the beers and the shot catching up with him but damn you felt like everything he ever needed.

The feeling of you around him was unlike any woman he had ever been with. Your body melted into his as he gripped the sheets, steadying himself into a rhythm, making you beg for him. His chain dangled low and you found yourself fingering it and pulling it, bringing your lips up to his ear. His skin was smooth against yours and you found yourself grabbing onto him with the same amount of urgency he was using to pound into you. There were few things in this world that you loved more than Damian, even now with your blurred lines of a relationship. You wanted every single bit of him whenever you had him. It wasn’t right but goddamn did it feel great.

“Damian,” you gasped as you felt yourself nearing the edge of pain and pleasure. There was only one man who could make you feel so many things all at once. The craziest part of it was that he felt the same about you. You couldn’t worry about why it didn’t work out, for now you just needed him. “My god.”

“Fuck, you’re right there.” Your voice was sickly sweet in his ear. His eyes found yours and for a moment you could hardly breathe - not because of the way it felt like he was looking right into you. Sex with your ex was not supposed to feel this good. Nothing had ever felt so right. But you couldn’t get too caught up because you knew in the morning that he wouldn't care, hell he probably wouldn’t even act like it happened. But you allowed yourself to dream and to scream softly at each stroke of his hips into yours.

“You feel so good,” Damian spoke. He grunted with aggressive strokes. His eyes were trained on the sight of his cock going in and out of you, the wetness glistening off his skin. “I fucking missed you.” He admitted.

A part of your heart thrived off hearing that he missed you, too. There was some small part of you that didn’t want him to move on without you. You didn’t want him to be fucking - let alone, making love — to any other woman. The thought made you sick but it also encouraged you to pull him close by wrapped your legs around his midsection and force him deeper. You moaned out his name like a meditative chant and you felt the sweat beading on his skin. You raked your nails down his back, wanting to leave your mark, not caring that it would be easily seen by the fans or camera — or any damn woman who was near.

“Damian!” You yelled as he hit your g-spot. You were dangerously close to a your orgasm. You needed him right where he was. He pushed his forehead against tours, his eyes focused on yours.

“Tell me what you want, baby,” He whispered as you gasped out for air, his lips close to your own.

Baby.

He hadn’t called you a pet name in months. No nicknames, nothing affectionate. But now here he was, coaching you through an orgasm with the utmost affection. Somehow, this felt more intimate than when you were in a relationship — this felt soul binding, sacred even.

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop.” You begged him and he obliged. You dug nails deeper into his back and he seethed at the feeling, somehow loving and hating the pain. You tried to close your eyes, your head lolling to the side but his hand found your face, squeezing gently as he forced you to look at him. The fact he was using one hand to hold himself up and the other to make you maintain eye contact was thrilling.

“Look at me while I fuck you,” He ordered and you whimpered under the pressure of his thumb and fingers on your face.

“I’m going to,” You whined, unable to finish the sentence as white hot heat flooded your face and body. Your back arched as you yelled out and Damian’s hand moved down to your neck, gripping it gently. He slowed his strokes down but didn’t stop, admiring the way your cum spread all over him. It was the hottest thing he’d seen besides your pretty face as you called out his name. “Oh my god!”

Damian let you ride the high as he stroked you deeply and you whined out for him to take it easy but he ignored your pleas. You knew you could take, he did too. The pleasure was so good it hurt.

As your adrenaline spiked you were clouded with emotion and you remembered how much you loved him. You reminded by how much you needed him, how much you loved being under his touch. You were so overcome by it all that the words came tumbling out of your mouth.

“I love you, Damian,” You said. “Fuck, I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Those words sent Damian over the edge as his hips bucked and his stroke seized. He was already on the verge of an explosion but those words sent him beyond his grasp. He told himself he would pull — that he wouldn’t let this get more messed up than it was, but that was before you had come undone underneath him and confessed your love for him. As he came, Damian was sent into his memory of the first time you said I love you — it was the exact same way, the same exact position, the same exact jaw-dropping feeling rumbled in his chest. He couldn’t let you go, not after this.

“Fuck.” He groaned lowly as he pulled out of you and settled next to you.

The two of you laid in comfortable silence as you caught your breath, neither one of you wanting to be the one to speak first. Damian was stunned.

I love you, I love you, I love you. Replayed in his brain.

And he loved you, too.

[m1lkywaywritey]

Forgive me

Relationship: Priest Gerard way x afab reader

Tags: smut, priest kink, first time, making out, moaning, dirty talk, hand jobs, semi-public sex, love bites, Catholic guilt, fingering if you squint, SHAMEEE, using the Lords name in vain, a little bit of angst?, calling him father (sexually), unprotected sex, corruption kink?, nipple stuff

Summary: Y/n has been having some unholy thoughts since befriending and crushing on her priest, so she decides to go confess and uuhhh things don't exactly go as planned...

A/N: HELLO I FINALLY FINISHED IT! i just wanna preface this with the fact that i dont know JACK SHIT about churches or priests or anything of the sort. Therefore if i fuck something up or its super inaccurate THEN IM SORRY!!!!! also this isnt proofread lol sorry

Word count: 3344

Fic under cut - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You weren’t too sure whether you bought religion all too much but there was one thing that kept you going back to church (no, not the catholic guilt.) The super hot priest leading all the services of course.

You knew that practically and realistically nothing would ever happen, but what was the harm in a little eye candy for you on a Sunday. Aside from his great looks, he was genuinely a great guy - you had spoken to him after mass once and from then on the two of you got to know each other, becoming good friends. He was younger than most priests so he was easy to talk to and his name was Gerard.

To you he was perfect: funny, kind and totally sexy - if you were ignoring the elephant in the room. You knew priests didn’t have relationships - you knew they didn’t have sex, but that wasn’t enough to discourage the little crush on him you could feel forming. Maybe you were being deluded but you could’ve sworn he felt something too. You felt it in the eye contact he held for just a few moments too long every time and in his unprompted invitations for coffee together and how he blushed slightly when he asked you. Of course you had to wake yourself up from all that - he’s just being kind and welcoming, that’s basically half his job.

Lately however, you had been struggling to repress these thoughts about him - in fact they had been getting worse (and far more sexual) by the day. It was getting out of hand so you decided you needed to confess. To Gerard or to God? You hadn’t quite figured that out yet.

It was late on a Friday night when you pulled up outside the church, you knew Gerard would be there - he always was around this time. You didn’t exactly know what he did in his alone time but you assumed it consisted of sitting in the pews, contemplating and admiring the grand stained glass windows. You were surprised, however, to find him up on the sanctuary leaning on the altar. He was facing the cross but he had his head hung low, hair cascading over his face. He didn’t notice you come in, so when you walked over and said his name it startled him slightly as he whipped around to face you.

“Oh hey y/n! I- uh- I didn’t expect you here, whats the matter?” He exclaimed - still a little shaken from your mini jump-scare. You noticed he was acting a little off - he was avoiding eye contact, nervously pushing back his hair and you could’ve sworn he was blushing (but in the dim light of the church it was hard to tell.) It felt like you had caught him doing something he didn’t want you to know about.

“Are you okay?” You asked, ignoring his question due to your concerns.

“Yeah,yeah I’m fine, you just caught me in the middle of my confession that’s all. Uhh what are you here for?”

“Oh I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’m here to confess something too actually”

“Cool, do you wanna go into the-“ He lifted his hand to gesture towards the confessional before you cut him off.

“I can’t stop thinking about you.” You blurted out without even thinking. Gerard stopped dead in his tracks. He began stuttering and stumbling over his words (if you could even class it as words they were so broken). Naturally, you did the only thing you could think of to shut him up…

You stepped towards him and kissed him on the lips. You weren’t expecting that kind of confession from yourself and judging by his wide eyes and slack jaw, neither was he. Despite the shock of what you did, you both stayed deathly still, searching for answers in eachothers eyes. Nothing but the sound of your breaths filled the church but with the shame you felt, you could’ve screamed.

“Im so sorry, I should just go-“ you were actively turning to leave when Gerard cut you off.

“I can’t stop thinking about you either” he whispered, putting his hands on your waist to stop you from leaving - his grip was light and hesitant but firm enough to keep you in place. He couldn’t quite believe what he was doing, he knew the rules and he’d never even thought about going against them until you. You were worth it to him. “What do you think I was confessing hm? Every time I see you I just wanna give up my chastity right there and then. You don’t know what you fucking do to me.” By the end of his sentence his whispers had morphed into a low growl, you’d never heard him curse like that and god was it hot. He had broken eye contact and hung his head in shame of his dirty confession. You lifted his chin with your index finger so you could stare deeply into his eyes once more.

“Please Father...” You spoke in a hushed whisper, gazing up at him through your lashes. His eyes widened slightly, and only momentarily, but just enough for you to catch the look in his eyes. Contained in that one subconscious movement, you saw the sinful cocktail of horror and lust that filled him. You could tell he’d had some sort of realisation but you couldn’t place what it could be.

Oh-

Calling him father turned him on.

Time stood still, seconds felt like years, both of you too scared to move and lose this tension. Deep down, you knew it was wrong - and so did he - but in this moment you didn’t want to accidentally come to your senses. As more and more of these weighted seconds passed, your faces drew closer and closer as if there was a cosmic pull between you. Breathing gradually becoming faster and heavier with silence growing louder, you could hardly contain your unholy thoughts. One in particular making your breath hitch at the mere idea - finally breaking the ever-growing tension.

Suddenly, Gerard’s hands flew from your sides up to your face - lips crashing into yours with unbearable desperation. It was like he had never touched anyone like this before in his life - because he hadn’t. His grip on your face was strong like he was trying to drink every inch of you before he died of thirst. The kiss was messy and untamed, inexperienced too but far more passionate than you’d had before. He wasn’t shy to let his tongue roam around your mouth, his eyes scrunched tightly shut as if trying not to wake up from this dream he was living. Trying not to remember where and who he was. In that moment all he knew was you.

Gerard was clearly not holding back - letting out any moans, whimpers and groans that threatened to emerge from his throat like a horny teenage boy. He had gotten a taste of you and he wasn’t going to stop there. From a priest, you had expected a soft, gentle, caring touch much like his regular demeanour. This was far from that. He was filled with pure, pent up, desperation. The fact he was doing it with you - the girl he had not long ago repented for all his unholy thoughts about - only fuelled his loving lust further.

Gerard’s hands slid back down towards your waist - this time with no reminiscence of his former hesitance - digging his fingers into your flesh and pulling you impossibly close. The force making you hum a moan into his lips, only causing him to groan louder and grip you tighter. You were sure it would leave a mark. With your new proximity you could feel the outline of his erection against your pelvis. You started to grind against him, subtly trying to gauge his size.

Fuck.

You let out a whimpering moan. You weren’t sure if you could even take him but you knew you needed it. Now. You broke the kiss to speak “Please- “ drunk on your lips Gerard pulled you back into the kiss almost immediately and you chuckled at his impatience. “Please- “ you broke out again but Gerard insisted on kissing you between every word.

“Touch- Me- Father- “ you managed to get out between kisses - using his title again because you loved what it did to him. He spun you both around so you were leaning slightly on the altar for support. He didn’t seem to notice as he was so occupied on you, but to you being on the altar felt so wrong it was perfect. Just like every corruption fantasy you’d ever had about Gerard - practically defiling the altar felt so erotic and leaving your mark on his swollen lips turned you on more than you could tell. He began to move his kisses to your jaw, pecking all the way up to your ear, inhaling sharply through his nose, taking in your scent.

“God I’ve been thinking about you like the for so long” Despite everything he had already gone against this evening, his blasphemy still caught you off guard. Things had changed so quickly and you were scared he was acting off of impulse rather than true desire.

“Gerard- Ah- Are you sure?” His only response to your question was a series of hums of agreement and arousal, sucking a spot below your ear that made your whole body tingle. “Gerard-“ you continued, trying to be considerate but being cut off by your own moans. Gerard didn’t seem to share your concern, muffled an against your skin he began to speak.

He placed a sloppy kiss in between your collarbones and you felt a shift in his demeanour. He brought his head up to rest his forehead on yours. There was a quiet moment, both of you allowing your breathing to slow, occasionally syncing up and breathing rhythmically together. “Can I… Can I take this off you?” He somewhat nervously tugged at the hem of your shirt. His words were cautious - nervous even - you remembered that this wasn’t just his first time, he was going against the thing he built his life around for you.

“Call me father.” If you weren’t soaking wet already, that sure would’ve done it. The last inkling of hesitation from within you was long gone with his request and you threw your head back finally letting go - calling out his title just as he had requested. With your head back Gerard had access to whole new areas of your neck and collarbones. You were leaning back on one hand so you brought the other up to rake through his hair, encouraging his kisses and pulling him closer - much to his liking. You let out a gasping moan as he sucked a sweet spot - there was no way all these hickeys were going anywhere anytime soon but you were far too aroused to think about what people would think about you here on Sunday.

“Please” you said reassuringly running your hands through his hair and pulling him in for one more kiss before his hands snaked under your top. He pulled his head away from yours for what felt like the first time in years and lifted the top over your head - tossing the garment into the pews of the church. He took a moment ogling at the sheer sight of your body. Admiring it and committing every small detail to memory. He reached out to rake his hands up your sides then over your boobs.

He reached behind you, struggling to unclasp your bra - you let out a small giggle and helped him out, pulling it off and leaving you fully exposed in the cold church air. The chill that caused your nipples to harden was short lived as Gerard took one nipple sloppily into his warm, wet mouth. If you thought he couldn’t moan any more than he already had, you were dead wrong. The way he was getting off on worshipping your body could’ve made you finish right then. He used one hand to grope your other breast, occasionally squeezing and stimulating your nipple. His other hand rested on the small of your back, keeping you steady. Strings of moans escaped your mouth, for someone with absolutely no experience, he caught on very quickly how to please you.

While he was occupied you took the opportunity to remove your trousers and shift to sit fully on the altar. You gently gripped Gerard’s wrist and guided his hand from the small of your back, down towards your pussy. With only your underwear as a barrier, Gerard palmed you through them. He broke his contact with your boob to stare down at the mess you had made of your underwear, soaking was an understatement. Pupils blown wide; whimpering breaths; jaw hanging open - maybe he was a bigger mess than you were.

“Fuck your so wet” He groaned as he continued to feel you through your soaked pants, his middle finger occasionally running right along your slit giving your clit a taste of some much needed friction. Gerards eyes flicked up and down almost rapidly - unsure whether to look down there or up at your face contorting with pleasure as he grazed over your sweet spot. Wherever he was looking, he was taking in and analysing your reactions to quickly learn what made you tick.

“Please father, I need you” You said, getting a little impatient with all Gerard’s teasing. He wanted to give you what you wanted and started to unbutton his shirt. That was before you grabbed his wrist to stop him. “No! Keep that on… I like it” You said, giving him a faux-innocent look and hooking your finger over his clerical collar, hoping he’d get the memo.

“Was that your plan all along?” He asked teasingly, reaching down to unbuckle his belt instead. “Did you come here just to fuck your priest hm?” You were absolutely stunned by his questions. Your jaw dropped and you nodded hesitantly. “You’re so fucking dirty” He said huskily, finally letting his cock spring free from his boxers. You were in complete awe of his size and you practically moaned at the sight- you thought about what a waste it was for him to be celibate with a dick like that, well not anymore you supposed.

His dick was so hard it almost looked painful, it was completely flushed with the tip even more so and he already had beads of precum rolling down his length (you also spotted a wet patch on his boxers from it.) You reached out to touch him, going gently at first, and he hissed at the contact. You pumped your hand up and down a few more times, falling into a steady rhythm making Gerard’s head fall back. With his head back like that, you could see his slight stubble and you wanted absolutely nothing more than to mark him up with some pretty lovebites that he’d struggle to hide tomorrow. You decided against it but still planted some lighter kisses on his neck.

Gerards moans were becoming increasingly loud and more frequent and just then he gripped your wrist to stop your rhythm. “Fuck-“ He whimpered trying to catch his breath. “Let me fuck you.”

“Please” you whined in response. Gerard hooked his finger around your underwear, pulling them to the side. “Forgive me” he whispers so quietly you barely caught it, before he lined himself up and plunged into you. Both of you groaned at the new sensation. He was still for a moment, letting you adjust to his size as you clenched around him. Eventually, he drew back for the first time and pushed back in. You could never even describe the pleasure it brought you - even at the achingly slow pace he started at.

With each slow thrust, whimpers escaped his throat - they morphed into whines as he gradually sped up. You couldn’t tell if he was gaining confidence in his movements or just speeding up out of bare desperation. Every time he grazed the sweet spot that made you clench around him, he strived harder to hit it again - the added stimulation driving him crazy. You made an effort to hold eye contact with him, watching his face contort with pleasure he’d never felt before could’ve made you orgasm right then. You felt fucking incredible but you need just a little more.

“Fast- fuck- Faster Father” you moaned out, mouth agape staring into his blown pupils. Gerard obliged, hooking his arms around your thighs - he did it with the intention of keeping you steady, but what it did was create a whole new angle into of you. Each roll of his hips felt about ten times better, he was hitting all the right places at just the right speed. The altar was now creaking loudly beneath you, reminding you of where you were (which honestly only spurred you on.)

With the new angle and speed you could feel your core tightening - climax growing closer. You leaned in, capturing his lips in another messy and untamed kiss. Your walls squeezed tighter around him, practically milking him at this point. You slipped your hand between the two of you to stroke circles on your clit and you noticed every few thrusts Gerard’s hips would falter slightly - he was getting close too.

With your fingers on your clit, his dick deep inside of you and the thought of how wrong this was, your orgasm crashed over you in a wave. Your screams of pleasure funnelled straight into his mouth. Gerard was still pushing into you, chasing his own orgasm. Your pussy spasmed around him and his hips stuttered.

“Fuck somethings happening- I- Oh my god- Where do I-“ Gerards words spilled out. It was such a foreign feeling to him and he had never felt better.

“Cum in me Father” you whined out, still in the aftershocks of your orgasm - overstimulated and almost hazy. Gerard complied moaning and whining, his thrusts had almost no rhythm now as you felt ropes of his white, hot cum spill into you. “Oh, God.” He moaned out as he filled you with the last of his cum. Was he talking to you or god? You couldn’t quite tell.

Both of you were spent, coming down from your peaks and you rested your heads on each other’s shoulders - him still inside of you. The room felt eerily quiet without the sounds of sex - just the same heavy breathing this all started with. After about a minute he pulled out (eliciting one last groan from the both of you), tucked himself back into his boxers and did up his belt. He turned to walk away and you were scared for a second that he was leaving but he went to retrieve your clothes that were carelessly discarded into the pews. He cleaned you up and helped you get dressed, neither of you said a word.

You felt so guilty, sure the thought of corrupting him like that was what turned you on in the moment, but now - even after he had broken his celibacy for you - he was taking the time to make sure you were clean, dressed and okay. It just reminded you why you liked him, he was genuinely a great guy, he never had bad intentions and he was so caring. You were sure you’d never be able to see him again after this and just the thought upset you.

He had an almost sorrowful, clearly pensive, look on his face - probably trying to figure out what’s gonna happen now. Ideally he would just repent and break contact with you, but could he really give you up now? After he got exactly what he’s been dreaming about? He really wasn’t sure.

You decided you needed to break this silence you were sat in, once you were dressed, you got to your feet and looked up into his eyes. “What do we do now?” You asked - almost tearing up a little.

“I- I don’t know”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

A/N: thanks so much for reading! please let me know what you thought + if I made any mistakes :p

[rxqueenotd]

PART VII

In the Roman world, damnatio memoriae was used to describe a range of actions taken against former leaders and their reputations. These actions included: defacing visual depictions, removing heads from public statues, chiseling names off inscriptions, and destroying coins.

summary: reader, who goes by Prima, was raised by a powerful Roman consul, under the reign of Imperator Septimius Severus. When it comes time for his eldest son, Caracalla, to marry again, a chain of events is set off, changing the course of Prima's life and the lives around her.

warnings: mentions of death, cremation, animal sacrifice, sexual themes, mentions of menstruation, Ancient Rome as a warning itself, see previous tags.

notes: are you guys still with me? I feel like this fic has taken a serious turn since the first few chapters and I need to check in. We good? I love your comments and thoughts. Thanks to @trashmouth-richie for being my beta and brotha.

They burned him as the sun began to fall—when the light turned gold and shadows stretched long across the Field of Mars.

You wore black, no trim or embroidery. No crown, no imperial mantle. A single bronze pin fastened the cloak at your shoulder. Your hair, unbound, fell down your back, and the only piece of jewelry you wore was a necklace from Julia Domna’s collection, a gift from Septimius himself.

You stood apart, just behind the temple steps, the air thick with oil and ash, the scent of it curling into your throat like a hand. The pyre rose above the crowd, layered in cedar and wrapped in purple, gold, and blood—the appropriate splendor for a god who had ruled with iron in his veins. His armor rested atop the body. His standard behind him. Two eagles were caged beside the pyre, silent.

When the hour came, it was the sons who approached the pyre. Together.

Geta reached first, laying the coin between the folds of linen near the mouth—his hand steady, his face unreadable. He bowed his head once. Not out of respect. Out of finality. There was no crack in his composure, no flicker of pain for the crowd to see. Only silence, held tightly in his jaw.

Caracalla stood beside him, torch in hand, the flame crackling low and blue. Another was handed to Geta. The moment was brief, unscripted, the air taut between them.

They lit the pyre together.

One from the left. One from the right.

The fire caught immediately, racing through the cedar and oil-soaked silk, roaring into the early dusk. The priests behind them began their chants. The crowd pressed closer, held back only by the Praetorian line.

Caracalla turned first, handing the torch off, and walked to where you stood. He said nothing. He stood beside you—not ahead, not behind—and let his shoulder rest against yours, his jaw clenched, his face unreadable. You didn’t look at him. But when his hand reached out beneath his robes, fingers finding yours where they rested at your side, you let him hold it.

No one saw.

When the pyre bloomed, the first crackle of it was swallowed by silence. The flames leapt higher than the temple roof. The smoke curled black against the sky.

Caracalla did not blink.

He watched his father burn with a stillness so complete it made the senators uneasy. No tears. No words. No gesture of farewell. Only the tightening of his grip around your hand and the sharpness of his jaw as the fire grew.

You said nothing.

Your veil shifted slightly in the wind, the scent of burning flesh brushing against your cheek. You did not turn from the smoke.

Geta stood unmoving, his arms folded across his chest, eyes fixed forward. He did not blink when the armor collapsed inward. He did not bow when the eagle rose. He stayed rigid, statuesque.

When the eagles were released—one into the smoke, the other a second later to chase it—the people roared. The priests chanted. The augurs lifted their hands toward the sky as if they might catch whatever was left of him in their fingers.

And still, Caracalla did not let go.

By the second day, the ashes had cooled. The marble urn had been sealed. The emperor had joined the gods.

____________________________________________________________________________

The Curia was quieter than usual, as if the walls themselves had gone still after the funeral.

You stood above, behind the patterned screen near the high arch where only shadows reached. You weren’t there to be seen. You were there to listen, and to be remembered later, by those who thought back on this moment and realized they should have paid more attention.

Caracalla entered last.

He wasn’t in mourning black anymore. The color had left him as quickly as it came. He wore a dark crimson cloak over a new tunic, the wool heavy across his shoulders, the hem weighted with fine gold thread. He had come dressed to be watched.

The senators stood when he did.

But he didn’t wait for the usual formalities. No invocation. No blessing. No opening words from a priest or steward.

“I leave for Germania within the week,” he said.

It came sharp and clean, like a spear thrown into silence.

“The Chatti have crossed further south. Patrols have vanished near the Rhine. A trader caravan was found with no heads. I’ve read every report from Mogontiacum to Argentoratum and none of them end with peace.”

He walked slowly as he spoke, letting the weight of his words build the room around him. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

“The legions need command. Not from men who sit and talk in halls like this, imploring no direct action. They need to see Rome in the flesh. They need to know their emperor still bleeds.”

He reached the center of the chamber and turned to face them fully, the hem of his cloak swaying slightly behind him.

“When I return,” he said, “there will be no more questions. No more divided loyalties. No more wondering which son was meant to lead. There will be no space left for guessing. Rome cannot belong to two men. And I will not let her.”

He didn’t speak Geta’s name. But he didn’t need to. Not when every man in the room had just imagined the same ending.

____________________________________________________________________________

He came to you at dusk.

The light outside had already begun to fade, soft and silver, the kind that didn’t cast shadows so much as it softened them. You stood near the window, one hand resting lightly against the marble, your other arm tucked close to your ribs.

The door opened without warning.

He didn’t knock. He never did.

You didn’t turn at first. You heard the sound of his sandals against the stone, then nothing. When you finally looked, he was standing just inside the threshold, his hand still resting on the frame behind him.

He was still wearing the clothes from the Senate. The red cloak had come unpinned and hung lopsided over one shoulder, the edge of it trailing low near his calf. The tunic beneath it was creased now, his hair slightly damp where it curled at the back of his neck. He hadn’t stopped to change. Hadn’t stopped to eat. He watched you like a man who had already run through the conversation a dozen different ways in his head and hadn’t liked any of them.

For a moment, he said nothing.

“You haven’t bled.”

Not a question. Just something pulled straight from the center of him, from deep in his gut. Not the way he had asked before, this was easier. More delicate.

You didn’t pretend not to understand.

“No,” you said. Your voice didn’t waver.

He stepped closer. Slowly. Like you might vanish if he came too fast.

“Not since Baiae?”

You gave one small shake of your head. “Not since before.”

His eyes dropped to your waist.

You felt the weight of it, the way he studied the line of your body—not with hunger, not with desire, but with calculation. With need.

“I don’t feel any different,” you said, before he could speak again. “No changes. No signs.”

His hands twitched at his sides but didn’t lift.

“It would explain everything,” he said, quieter now. “Why you look at me like that. Why you’re quiet. You’re carrying my heir.”

Your spine straightened at that.

You turned fully, your hand dropping from the window.

“How I look at you?” you asked. Your voice didn’t rise, but something under it changed. “What are you talking about?”

He blinked once.

“I look at you no differently than I ever have,” you said, and now you took a step toward him. “And I’m quiet because I have nothing to say.”

Something flickered behind his eyes, something almost wounded, but he swallowed it down before it could show on his face.

“You’re different,” he said. “You’ve been different since we returned.”

You tilted your head. “Your father is dead. Do you expect me to laugh in the halls?”

He didn’t answer that.

Instead, he took one more step forward and lifted a hand, like he might reach for your arm, then let it fall again before he touched you.

“If it’s true…” he said, almost to himself. “If there’s a child…”

His voice dropped further, more thought than speech.

“It changes everything.”

You didn’t flinch.

“It doesn’t change me.”

He looked at you then—not like an emperor, not like a husband, not even like a man—but like someone trying to see through the fog of something he didn’t understand. And couldn’t control.

“I need to be sure,” he said. “I can’t go north not knowing. I need to know what the gods have seen.”

And then, before you could say another word, he turned and left.

Not to rage. Not to curse. Not to demand.

But to find the augurs.

To ask men who watched birds and smoke to tell him what you wouldn’t. To search for omens where no truth lived. Because deep down, even he didn’t trust what was real. Only what could be interpreted.

____________________________________________________________________________

The augurs came just as the sun had set.

Not to the palace, but to the eastern field outside the city wall, where the air was quiet and the sky could be seen without interruption. A square had been marked in the earth ahead of time. Ropes stretched at the edges. Incense was already burning to keep the smell of blood from hanging too long once the sacrifice began.

Caracalla arrived alone, on foot. He didn’t speak to anyone.

The god named aloud was Jupiter. But other gods were called, too—Mars, for battle. Janus, for a clear path. Silvanus, in case the signs came from the ground instead of the sky. They didn’t say those names loudly. But they were there.

The bull chosen was young, black, without flaw. Its eyes were steady. Its hooves were clean. When Caracalla laid his hand between its eyes, it didn’t pull away.

The priest gave the signal.

The cut was fast, but not clean. The animal dropped slowly. It groaned once before its legs gave out and the blood hit the dirt. That sound made the priest’s face tighten.

He said nothing.

The entrails were pulled carefully from the body. The liver had a dark mark on the left side. The heart looked swollen. The priest leaned closer to study it, then stepped back without giving a word.

A second man, the augur, stepped forward and raised his curved staff. He didn’t speak right away. He tilted his head to the sky.

A young boy opened a wicker cage and released three birds. One flew straight west. One circled above the square, then vanished. The third flew east, dropped low, then rose again and went north.

When the augur finally spoke, he didn’t rush.

“There is strength,” he said. “But also pressure. Something unknown. Something beneath the surface.”

Caracalla didn’t move.

“It’s not a curse,” the augur added. “But it’s not clean.”

He looked at the sky again before saying more. “One bird flew east. One flew north. The third didn’t fly far enough to be counted.”

Caracalla’s voice came low and even.

“What did they see?”

The augur didn’t meet his eyes.

“A lion stands in the shadow of Mars. There is no cub. Not yet.”

____________________________________________________________________________

He didn’t go back to his chambers after leaving the augurs.

He walked the long inner corridor instead, the one past the council rooms and the wall where the carved map of the empire still showed provinces they hadn’t held in years. The guards at the arch stood aside without needing a signal. They had seen that look on his face before—the one that meant he didn’t want anyone following. He turned into the corridor that led to his study, the one just off the inner courtyard, not far from the formal receiving hall, close enough to power that it stayed warm with movement, but private enough that no one entered without reason.

The door was half-shut when he reached it.

He paused—not because he expected anything strange, but because the light coming from under the door was softer than usual. No clerks. No rustling. Just the low glow of oil behind carved cedar and the faint sound of something moving quietly inside.

When he stepped inside, the first thing he saw was you.

You were seated beneath the narrow window, not at his desk, not where you would have had to explain yourself, but in the corner—on the stone bench against the wall, knees drawn slightly beneath your stola, a tablet balanced on your lap. Your fingers moved over the wax with quiet precision. You weren’t writing quickly, but you weren’t wasting time either. You looked like someone trying to get something down before it vanished.

You didn’t notice him at first.

The door closed behind him with a soft sound, not loud enough to startle but enough to break the rhythm. Your eyes lifted immediately. You didn’t stand. You didn’t hide the tablet with panic. You moved like someone who had already rehearsed this moment in your head and knew exactly how long it would take to tuck the stylus away, fold the cloth over your knees, and slide the writing beneath your arm as if it were nothing at all.

He didn’t speak.

He looked at you, and then at the small lamp beside you, and then back again.

“I didn’t think you came here,” he said finally.

“I don’t,” you said, standing slowly. “I needed quiet.”

He nodded once, stepped deeper into the room, and let the space settle around him. He didn’t sit. He didn’t ask what you were writing. His gaze lingered on the place where your hand had moved, but he didn’t press it.

“I saw the augurs,” he said.

You didn’t respond. You didn’t have to. You waited.

“They burned the bull,” he continued, slower now, the words coming like someone still deciding whether they were worth saying out loud. “The signs were mixed. The liver wasn’t clean, the heart swollen. The birds flew in different directions.”

Still, you said nothing.

“They told me there is strength in my house,” he said. “But something hidden. Something coming. A lion under Mars. No cub.”

He looked at you then.

“I asked if it was a curse. They said no.”

You didn’t look away. You didn’t ask what he believed. You didn’t ask what he wanted.

He took a breath.

“I think I needed them to tell me something I could hold on to.”

You didn’t speak.

And still, somehow, he knew you understood.

____________________________________________________________________________

You didn’t expect him to follow you.

When you left his study, you assumed it was over—that he’d said what needed saying and would return to whatever preparations still demanded his attention. The army would move soon. There were generals to summon. Roads to clear. Scribes to instruct. You thought you’d walk the long way back to your chambers, maybe have Cassia bring something light, eat alone.

But he followed.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t try to walk beside you. He stayed a step behind, quiet, not looming, just there.

You didn’t stop him.

When you reached the door to your rooms, you paused—not to wait, just to see if he would keep walking. But he didn’t. And when you stepped inside, he followed again.

The table had already been set.

Cassia had left without comment after lighting the lamps—two plates, a covered dish of barley and roasted dates, figs, cheese, a bowl of wine watered just enough to dull the edge. The bread was still warm. The steam hadn’t settled yet.

You turned slightly, watching him as he moved further into the room. He didn’t ask if he was welcome. He didn’t announce he would stay. He simply removed his cloak, folded it once, and laid it across the back of the nearest chair.

Then he sat.

No command. No tension. Just a man choosing, for reasons he didn’t explain, to stay where you were.

You sat across from him. The meal was quiet. Not cold. Not strained. Just quiet.

He ate slowly, chewing each bite like he was paying attention for once. The only sound was the soft movement of fingers against bread, the clink of pottery, the occasional shift of his hand as he reached for another fig.

You didn’t speak until halfway through, and even then it was only, “The cheese is better than last week.”

He looked up, not sharply, but like he hadn’t expected anything out of your mouth that wasn’t measured. His eyes flicked to the plate, then to yours.

“It’s from my mother’s estate,” he said. Then, after a pause—“Outside Lugdunum.”

The words sat there for a moment. You remembered what they’d said at the funeral—how the urn would be placed beside hers. How he hadn’t spoken her name since.

“She died before the Rhine campaigns,” he added, quieter now,as if you didn’t already know. “But they still send the parcels. Out of habit, maybe. Or memory.”

He didn’t seem to realize he’d told you something real.

You didn’t answer.

He didn’t raise his cup. He didn’t pour wine to the gods. No offering. He only took another sip and reached for more bread.

It wasn’t prayer. It wasn’t thanks. It was just dinner. And it was quiet. And strangely, it was enough.

____________________________________________________________________________

When the meal was done, you stood without a word.

You reached for the cloth folded neatly over the edge of the table, wiped your hands slowly, then moved toward the door that led into the adjoining room, your fingers already loosening the tie at your waist. You didn’t turn to look at him. You didn’t need to. You could feel his eyes on you from the moment your chair scraped back.

“I’m going to the balneum,” you said. “The day’s been long.”

You made it halfway across the room before he rose.

He didn’t speak immediately. Just followed—quiet, careful, like he wasn’t sure if the moment would stay intact if he moved too suddenly.

When you paused near the curtain, you felt him behind you.

“You don’t have to,” he said.

You turned slightly. “Don’t have to what?”

“Wash,” he said, his voice lower now, more certain. “I want you just as you are.”

The silence after that wasn’t empty. It was thick.

You looked at him fully then, letting the moment stretch. Not challenging. Just seeing if he meant it. He didn’t look away.

“If I am already with child,” you said, your voice even, “then there is no need for us to have sex.”

“I don’t need a reason,” he answered. “I can want you all the same.”

You watched him. The space between you wasn’t wide, but it held everything that hadn’t been said across weeks—his want, your silence, the nights you didn’t speak, the moments you could’ve touched but didn’t.

You turned to face him, slowly, without speaking, without lowering your gaze. You didn’t move with invitation or hesitation. You just stood there, your hand resting lightly against the curtain, your breath steady, your eyes holding his like you had made a decision you weren’t going to say out loud.

He stepped forward.

Not in a rush, not like a man trying to claim something, but like someone who had waited long enough and didn’t want to ask again. His hand found the edge of the belt at your waist, the one you’d started to undo before the words stopped you, and he touched it gently, like he was still giving you a chance to leave.

You didn’t.

His fingers worked the knot slowly, carefully, as if the fabric might tear if he moved too fast, and when it slipped free and loosened against your hips, he let the silence stretch. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. You watched his hands instead of his eyes, the way he slid the stola from your shoulder first, then down the length of your arm, one side at a time, the linen dragging soft across your skin as it dropped lower.

You didn’t help him. You didn’t move to cover yourself either.

The fabric hit the floor in a slow hush and stayed there, forgotten. He stepped back only a little, his eyes moving over you like he was seeing you for the first time. And you let him look. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t hide. You only stood still, bare in the lamplight, the curve of your back catching the glow, your hair still pinned from earlier, your lips parted just slightly like you might speak but hadn’t decided yet.

He didn’t reach for you. Not right away.

He just stood there, looking at you like the moment might break, and maybe he didn’t want it to.

And still, you didn’t move. You let him stand in it. You let him want. You let him wait.

____________________________________________________________________________

You didn’t speak when he stepped toward you again.

You didn’t look away when his hand lifted to your cheek, his fingers brushing the edge of your jaw before moving lower, tracing the shape of your throat like he needed to remember it. He didn’t ask anything. He didn’t command. He only touched you like it had been a long time since he’d done it without anger behind it.

When he kissed you, it wasn’t fast or hard. It was slow, almost hesitant, like he was asking something and didn’t want the answer out loud.

He led you back toward the bed with one hand resting low at your spine, steady but unhurried. The way he looked at you made it feel like you’d never been here before, like he was seeing something he hadn’t earned.

You let him lay you down.

He didn’t undress all at once. He moved like he had time. He knelt between your legs and pulled your thigh over his shoulder, his hands slow on your skin, his mouth brushing just above your knee before moving lower, lower, until the tension in your breath gave you away.

He tasted you without speaking, without warning, his mouth soft but focused, like this was the only thing that made sense anymore.

You tried not to move. You tried not to let it show. But when his tongue dragged in that slow, deliberate way, again and again, your hips lifted before you could stop them, and he held you there, steady in his grip, mouth never leaving you.

You didn’t moan.

When you came the first time, it was in silence, your back arched, your fingers tight in the linen beneath you, your lip caught between your teeth. He didn’t stop. He didn’t lift his head. He only kept going, slower now, like he wanted to draw out the shape of it, learn the rhythm of what broke you open.

The second time was worse. Or better. You weren’t sure.

Your thighs trembled, your hand came up to your mouth like you could stop the sound that threatened to slip, and that was when he lifted his head, just for a moment, and brought his fingers to your lips.

They were wet. He touched your mouth gently, and when you wouldn’t open it, wouldn’t meet his eyes, he pressed one finger against your lips until they parted. You let him in. He watched the way your mouth closed around him, slow and soft, your tongue catching the taste he’d left there. He didn’t move at first—just watched. And then he crawled up, leaning over you, hands planted on either side of your ribs, his body warm and close, and kissed you deep—like he’d waited weeks to do it right, like the taste of you was the only thing he wanted to carry with him to Germania.

His body pressed down against yours, not with weight but with warmth, his chest brushing yours as he shifted, the length of him hard between your legs but not demanding. His breath was steady, his mouth dragging across your jaw, then your neck, slow enough to leave heat behind but not enough to mark you.

When he entered you, he did it without a word.

No thrust. No snap of movement.

Just a slow press, thick and full, dragging through the slick he’d pulled from you with his mouth and fingers, his hands sliding beneath your thighs to lift you higher, to angle you deeper, to make sure every inch of him found a place inside you that hadn’t been touched properly in weeks.

Your legs folded over his shoulders, your knees brushing his jaw as he moved, slow and steady, each roll of his hips deep enough to make your breath catch in the back of your throat. He wasn’t trying to break you. He wasn’t trying to prove anything.

He was just there. Moving with you.

Touching the inside of your thighs with one hand, stroking up and down like he wanted to memorize the shape of you. His other hand rested at your calf, thumb tracing lazy circles as he fucked you deep and slow, the weight of his gaze locked on your mouth like he was waiting for the sound you still refused to give.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to.

The room was too warm now. The lamplight shimmered along the curve of your stomach, your breasts, the sweat gathering low on his spine. Your hands found his back, your nails not clawing but holding, your legs trembling against his shoulders, your breath a little shorter now, a little tighter.

And still he didn’t rush. He moved like a man who had all night. Like there was nowhere else he wanted to be.

____________________________________________________________________________

When it was done, he pulled out slowly and said nothing.

You reached for the sheet without thinking, dragging it up over your stomach as you rolled your shoulders against the mattress, your legs still parted slightly, your chest rising and falling in quiet, steady waves. The heat between your thighs hadn’t faded. The ache in your hips was still there, pulsing gently, but it didn’t hurt.

You didn’t look at him. Not at first.

He lay beside you on his back, not close enough to touch, not far enough to forget. His breath was slower now, deep and even, one arm resting behind his head, the other across his chest, his eyes fixed on the ceiling like he was waiting for it to speak.

You kept your body still, your arms folded lightly beneath the sheet, the sweat drying at your collarbone.

But you turned your head. Not fast. Not fully. Just enough to see him.

And he turned too.

Your eyes met in the quiet. No words passed between you. There was no smile. No question. Just that look.

The one that lasted longer than it should have. The one that said nothing.

And still—meant everything.

____________________________________________________________________________

Over the next passing days, Rome began to change.

It didn’t happen all at once. The noise didn’t crash through the gates or arrive with fanfare. It crept in slowly, through the sound of sandals in the dark, the clink of armor being fastened at dawn, the low voices that carried between pillars before the sun reached the courtyard stones. Banners were unfurled over the barracks—freshly dyed in red and gold, crisp from disuse—and soldiers took to the training fields earlier each morning, their drills echoing faintly across the Palatine before the rest of the city opened its eyes.

Letters moved like smoke through the halls, tucked beneath arms, sealed with the emperor’s mark in warm wax that hadn’t yet hardened. Supplies were tallied twice. New horses brought in. Provisions arranged and then rearranged by stewards who kept their hands busy so they wouldn’t ask what would be waiting for them on the other side of winter. And still, the palace didn’t sleep. Not truly. Not fully.

You heard the change before you saw it.

Doors opening when they shouldn’t. Generals whispering over maps spread too wide to read at a glance. Messengers appearing in the corridors before vanishing again with parchment tucked into their belts. Servants moved faster than they used to. Fewer of them met your eye. And even those who once dared to speak softly in your presence now fell silent the moment you crossed the threshold of any room.

The air shifted in ways you couldn’t name but couldn’t ignore, and though Caracalla never asked for your help, never brought you into his councils, never asked your opinion on who should ride ahead or who should remain in Rome, you still knew what he kept close.

___________________________________________________________________________

Two days passed, and then the morning came.

The sky was still pale when you heard the sound of metal below the colonnade—helmets being fastened, bridles pulled tight, sandals striking stone in rhythm with the first calls from the training yard. Rome was awake before the sun, but not for worship. Not for ceremony. Today it moved with purpose. Today it prepared to send off its emperor.

You had not seen him the night before.

No message. No knock at your door.

When you stepped into the light, he was already below, standing near the base, not yet mounted, speaking to one of the handlers as they adjusted the reins. His horse stood waiting, the armor glinting in the morning light, motionless beneath the weight of preparation.

You were not two steps past the marble arch before a servant stepped forward.

He was young, clutching a satchel to his chest, his face twisted with uncertainty, but his voice didn’t falter when he called up to you.

“Domina,” he asked, “should I prepare the herbs again? The ones you’ve been giving him. For the journey.”

The question wasn’t sarcastic or filled with malice. But it carried, and it carried far.

Cassia turned her head immediately. Two younger girls standing behind the pillar leaned forward just enough to hear your answer.

You didn’t pause.

“They’re for his virility,” you said, smooth and unbothered, not too loud, not too soft. Just enough.

Cassia blinked once, then nodded, satisfied, stepping back into her place.

But the others—the younger ones, eyes too wide and mouths too quick—exchanged a glance. A small one. But you saw it. The kind of look that travels farther than it should.

And by the time you reached the top of the steps, Caracalla had already turned from his officers and begun walking toward you.

“I’ll send word from Mediolanum,” he said. “If the snow holds, we’ll reach the border before the month ends.”

You nodded. That was all.

He didn’t touch you. He didn’t offer his hand. There was no blessing. No farewell.

For a moment, it looked like he might say something more.

But instead, he turned, walked back down without pause, and took the reins from the handler with one hand. He mounted in a single movement, the leather shifting beneath him, his posture straight, his face unreadable.

Papinian stepped forward from the formation and spoke low.

“Domine, the soldiers are gathered. They expect words before the gate.”

Caracalla gave a single nod.

He turned his horse toward the open square where the legions stood assembled. The sound of armor shifting filled the air. Shields gleamed in the morning light. Banners moved faintly in the wind. These were not fresh recruits. These were men who had bled for Rome. And now they were about to follow Rome into another winter, another war.

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

“When we reach Germania, we do not ask for peace,” he said, his voice cutting clean through the quiet. “We take it. We show them the empire doesn’t hesitate. We show them that men who stand with Rome—stand with me—do not return in shame.”

He looked across the rows, his gaze steady.

“Some of you have fought in the north before. Some of you have buried friends there. That ground knows your blood. Let it know your victory.”

A pause. His jaw clenched.

“This is not about land. This is about fear. And I want them to be afraid.”

The words lingered only a moment before the roar of the legion rose up behind them, loud and heavy and full of the kind of noise that covered every doubt. You didn’t flinch. You only let your gaze follow the weight of his voice down through the open square, past the banners and armor and movement that blurred against the edges of your sight.

And then, without needing to turn your head, without hearing a name or the shift of a sandal on stone, you felt someone come to stand beside you. There was no sound to it. Just the weight of presence at your side. You didn’t look. You didn’t need to. You knew it was Geta.

He didn’t speak. He stood there, hands still at his sides, his posture easy but not relaxed, the way it always was when he knew people were watching and wanted to give them nothing they could use.

And down below, just as the archway opened wide and the crowd shifted to clear the path, Caracalla pulled the reins and turned his head. He didn’t look toward the banners. He didn’t look toward the senators. He looked directly up the marble steps.

Not at you. But to his brother.

His gaze locked there, sharp and still, and whatever passed between them didn’t break the silence, but you felt it all the same.

And then he turned forward again, cloak snapping behind him in the wind, the sound of hooves striking the ground in rhythm with the gate as it opened wide.

Taglist:

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@justnobodynothingmore

@miamariposita

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Dividers: @ghoulbloggerrr

[memoiresofaneternaldreamer]

Sanctus

Demon! Choi San x Novice! F. Reader.

Themes: Smut | PWP | Religious AU | Slight Angst ? | Incorrect depiction of the Church

Smut Warnings: Explicit sexual acts - Dom! San - Oral (M.Receiving) - Hair pulling - Throat fucking - Masturbation - Depictions of sex - Deepthroat - Sub!Reader - Slight praising

Word Count: 3.5K

Playlist: ‘Under Your Skin’ - Aesthetic Perfection

“Dead silence. Black space. I've been patient for too long. I just can't wait to get under your skin."

Part of the 'ATEEZ as Dark Tropes' series:

Seonghwa - Hongjoong

This story is intended for an adult audience only. Minors do not interact.

The candlelight flickers against the stone walls of the monastery, casting elongated shadows across the wooden pews. You exhale softly, fingers smoothing over the worn pages of your Bible as you shift in your seat. The air is thick with incense, heavy with the weight of silence, of solitude—your only companions for the past few years.

You have chosen this life, surrendered yourself to God after a past you never speak of. Here, within these sacred walls, you are safe. Your days are measured in prayers, your nights in whispered confessions to the heavens. And soon, soon, you will take your final vows.

But then he arrives.

The new priest.

You first see him in the courtyard, sunlight kissing the edges of his dark hair as he stands by the fountain, speaking with the Abbess. His cassock fits him too well, cinched at the waist, the fabric flowing down his body like water. You catch a glimpse of his face—sharp yet warm, eyes dark with quiet curiosity, lips curved into the gentlest of smiles.

And when his gaze meets yours, you feel it in the pit of your stomach.

It is not the look of a man passing by a fellow servant of God. It is something else. Something dangerous.

You swallow hard and quickly bow your head, gripping the hem of your veil as if it will protect you.

You are being tested.

“Sister,” his voice is smooth, each syllable deliberate as he settles across from you in the study hall. “I see you favour the Gospel of John.”

You keep your eyes on the scripture before you, forcing yourself to focus on the words rather than the way his presence fills the small space between you.

“Yes, Father. His words remind me to love without fear.”

“A beautiful lesson. But love, true love, often carries fear, does it not?”

Your fingers tighten around the pages. “Not when it is given fully to God.”

San hums, his head tilting slightly. “And yet, even Christ Himself wept in the garden, afraid of what love would cost Him.”

You hesitate. He is right. You have read the passage a hundred times. But you don’t like how the words sound coming from his mouth, as if they hold a deeper meaning.

As if he sees something inside you that you wish to keep buried. As if he knows of your wicked past.

Weeks pass.

You try to avoid him. You fail.

San is everywhere—leading prayers, guiding studies, offering words of comfort to those who seek him. And despite your resolve, you cannot help but admire him.

He is kind. Thoughtful. He listens, truly listens, in a way few men ever have. And worse than that, he notices you.

Your silence. Your hesitations.

The way your breath catches when his hand lingers near yours on the study table.

The way your shoulders tense when he murmurs your name.

One evening, as you pass through the narrow corridor of the abbey, he steps aside to let you pass. But the space is tight, and when you move, his palm brushes against the small of your back—just barely, just for a second.

But it burns.

You feel it long after he is gone, as if his touch has been seared into your skin.

That night, you dream.

San’s lips against your throat. His hands gripping your waist. His voice, whispering your name like a prayer.

You wake with a start, heart pounding, heat coiling between your legs. Shame washes over you so quickly that you barely remember to breathe.

This is wrong. So wrong.

With trembling hands, you push the covers away and slip out of your bed, the chill of the monastery’s stone floor grounding you. You need to pray.

You need absolution.

The chapel is empty, dimly lit by the golden glow of the candles near the altar. You sink to your knees, pressing your forehead against your clasped hands.

Your voice is barely a whisper.

“Forgive me, Father. I have sinned in thought. I do not wish for this temptation, yet it lingers. Help me resist. Help me stay on the path meant for me.”

You cross yourself, whispering the familiar words:

"In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.”

You do not hear the quiet shuffle of feet beyond the columns.

You do not see the figure standing in the shadows, hidden beyond the flickering candlelight. You do not feel the Evil watching you.

For weeks, the dreams return, each one more explicit than the last.

San’s hands, firm yet reverent, tracing over your bare breasts. His lips at your throat, then lower, lower—his voice thick with sin. The weight of his hips pressing yours into the mattress, claiming you in ways no man ever should.

You wake each night drenched in sweat, thighs clenched together, your cunt aching with a hunger you are not supposed to have.

So, you pray. You bury yourself in scripture. You fast. But nothing helps.

Because San is still there. Always there. And if you didn’t know better, you’d think he was pushing you toward the edge on purpose.

During Bible study, his voice lingers on certain passages, the words rolling off his tongue with slow deliberation.

“My beloved is to me a sachet of myrrh that lies between my breasts…”

You shift uncomfortably, fingers clenching at the hem of your sleeves, but San doesn’t stop.

“Your lips drip nectar, my bride; honey and milk are under your tongue…”

You glance at him sharply.

He is watching you. Not the page. You. Your skin prickles, but you tell yourself it’s nothing. A coincidence. It must be.

Except coincidences do not account for the way his fingers brush yours when he hands you a book, the way his hand ghosts over your lower back as he moves past you in the corridor.

Or the way he leans in too close when he prays beside you, his breath tickling the shell of your ear.

You tell yourself you are imagining things. That you are being tested, and you must not fail.

But deep down, you know the truth. You are not imagining it.

That night, the dream is worse than ever.

You are naked beneath him, the warmth of his body caging you in. His hands pin yours above your head, his voice dark, low.

“Do you want me, Sister?”

You try to say no. You try to be good.

But then he moves—hips rolling into yours, his mouth trailing open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat—and all that leaves your lips is a desperate, broken moan.

“Say it.”

Your body betrays you, arching up into him. “Yes, Father.”

You wake with a strangled gasp. Your nightgown is damp with sweat, your pulse frantic as if you had truly just been beneath him. Your body throbs, your core pulsing with a need that cannot be ignored.

You need air.

The halls of the monastery are empty at this hour, cloaked in shadows and silence. Your feet move without direction, your mind still dazed, lost between reality and the lingering ghost of your dream.

You do not know where you are going until you are there.

Outside his chamber.

His door is slightly ajar, the glow of candlelight spilling into the corridor.

You should leave. Right now. But you don’t.

Something—something—pulls you into the darkness and presses you against the stone wall just outside his room. You peer through the narrow gap between the door and the frame.

And then you see him.

San stands near the small wooden basin, his back to you. A towel sits low on his hips, barely clinging to his body as droplets of water glide down the hard ridges of his back. His dark hair is damp, sticking to the nape of his neck.

Your breath catches. You should not be looking. But you are.

Your gaze rakes over him, devouring every inch of his exposed skin. The broad expanse of his shoulders, the smooth planes of his back, the way his muscles shift and flex with every movement. The deep V of his abdomen leads your gaze downward, down to where the towel barely conceals him.

And that is when you see it.

The thick outline of his length, straining against the fabric.

Your thighs press together. A whimper escapes your throat before you can stop it, a sound so quiet, so small—yet so damning. You bite down hard on your lip, pulse roaring in your ears.

He doesn’t turn. He doesn’t move.

With that realisation, as your body trembles and your core clenches with unbearable heat, you do something truly unforgivable.

Your fingers slip beneath your nightgown.

Soft, tentative at first, brushing over your slick folds. The moment you feel how wet you are, you exhale sharply, your other hand clamping over your mouth to stifle any more sounds.

But you do not stop. You can’t.

You circle slow, teasing circles over your clit, your body already wound tight from weeks of torment. Your eyes never leave him—his body, his strength, the sheer wrongness of your actions—yet you do not care.

Because it feels good. So fucking good.

Heat coils low in your stomach, an unbearable ache building, building—

And then, just as you teeter on the edge, ready to fall into the abyss, San exhales as he cracks his neck. A deep, slow breath, as if he, too, is feeling something.

And in that moment, you wonder—

Does he know? Does he feel your eyes on him? Does he feel the weight of your sin, the way you are crumbling for him?

You are so close, so terribly close—

And yet, instead of release, guilt slams into you.

You rip your hand away from your sopping cunt, stumbling back against a wall, heart racing in horror at what you have just done.

With no other options left, you flee.

Morning comes, but sleep does not.

You stare at the ceiling of your chamber, the weight of your own betrayal pressing against your ribs. No amount of prayer, no scripture, no discipline can erase what you did last night.

You touched yourself.

You touched yourself while watching him.

The shame is unbearable, clinging to your skin like filth. You have fought temptation for weeks, but last night—last night, you succumbed. And the worst part? You want to do it again.

You press your palms against your face, willing yourself to think, to breathe. There is no escaping this, not unless you confront it. If you are ever to take your vows, you must face this temptation head-on.

You must confess. To him.

San is in the courtyard, speaking in low tones with the Abbess when you approach. He notices you immediately, his dark eyes flicking to yours, curiosity sparking in their depths as he steps away to join you.

"Sister," he greets, voice smooth and slow. "How can I be of service?"

Your fingers clench at the sleeves of your habit. "I need a confession, Father."

His brows raise slightly, not in surprise but in intrigue.

"A confession?" He studies you, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. "You wish for me to perform it?"

You nod.

He hums, lips parting as if he wants to say something more, but then he merely inclines his head. "Very well. Tonight."

Your breath catches. You nod quickly and turn to leave before you lose your nerve, but you feel his gaze on your back as you walk away. You do not look back.

The halls are unusually empty as you make your way toward the chapel that evening. It is late, past the evening prayers, and the monastery is silent save for the sound of your own footsteps echoing against the stone.

Your heart pounds, though you do not know if it is from fear or anticipation.

The confessional stands at the far end of the chapel, a wooden partition dividing it into two small spaces. A flickering candle glows from inside one of them. San is already there.

You take a steadying breath and step inside the opposite partition, kneeling on the worn cushion. The wooden screen obscures most of him, but you can still see his silhouette, the faint glint of his eyes through the latticework.

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

San hums softly, his voice like velvet in the dim light. "The Lord is always ready to forgive, Sister. What sins do you seek absolution for?"

You hesitate. The words sit on your tongue, heavy, shameful. But you cannot back down now. "I have been…tempted," you start carefully. "My thoughts have been impure. I have been plagued by…desires that I should not have."

There is a pause before San speaks again. "Desires?" You swallow. "Yes, Father."

"Tell me, Sister… what kind of desires?"

Your hands tighten into fists in your lap. "They come to me at night. I—I dream of things I should not. Things that make me unworthy of my vows."

Silence. Then, "What things?" You shake your head, breath hitching. "I cannot say."

"You must." His voice is lower now, quieter, yet firm. "Only by speaking of your sins can you be absolved of them."

Your eyes squeeze shut. "I…" You hesitate, shame rising in your throat like bile. "I dream of flesh, of touch… of sin."

"And these dreams… they are about someone specific, are they not?"

You freeze. How does he—?

"Who are they about, Sister?"

You stare at the partition, your breath coming faster now. The chapel suddenly feels too warm, the air too thick. You should lie. You should make something up. But you can't. Because he knows.

You whisper it, so softly you almost do not hear yourself. "You."

The moment the word leaves your lips, your entire body goes taut.

You brace yourself for his reaction, pulse hammering in your throat, but nothing comes.

Your fingers tremble where they rest against your lap. "Father?"

Still nothing.

The moment stretches unbearably long, the quiet pressing down on you like a weight. You part your lips to call his name again—

And then the curtain to your confessional rips open.

You barely have time to react before a figure steps closer, the candlelight casting a tall, broad silhouette over you.

San.

You scramble on your knees in shock, nearly losing your balance as the space suddenly shrinks around you. He is close—too close, his body blocking the only exit, trapping you inside with him.

The smirk he sends your way is devastating.

"Well," he murmurs, voice thick with something unreadable. "That is quite the confession, Sister."

The air between you is thick with something unspoken, something far more dangerous than mere temptation.

San crowds into your space even more, his presence suffocating. You press back against the wooden wall of the confessional, but there is nowhere to go.

He bends down, his lips so close to yours that his breath fans against your skin, warm and steady. His dark eyes pierce through you, pinning you in place like prey caught in the sights of a predator.

You want to speak—to rebuke him, to ask him what he is doing, to demand why—but before you can, his hand moves.

Fingers wrap around your throat, firm and unyielding, squeezing just enough to make your breath stutter.

Your lips part in a gasp, and that is all the invitation he needs.

His mouth crashes against yours, his lips hot and demanding, stealing the very breath from your lungs.

You try to resist. You try.

Your hands press weakly against his chest, but he does not budge. Instead, his grip tightens, his tongue parting your lips as he takes what he wants. And you—God help you—let him.

Your body betrays you once more. The tension in your limbs melts away, and you sink into him, your hands fisting into the fabric of his cassock. The kiss is searing, claiming, the taste of him overwhelming your senses.

You are still kneeling before him, and when you try to pull him down to your height, he suddenly pulls away.

His hand remains around your throat, fingers flexing slightly as he looks down at you. And then he smirks.

"Tell me, Sister," his voice is smooth, deep, utterly sinful, "does this position remind you of one of your dreams?"

A wave of heat rushes through you. Your lips part, but no words come out.

San tilts his head, squeezing your throat just enough to make you gasp. "Well?"

Your breath is ragged as you meekly nod. San hums in approval, his thumb brushing over your pulse. "And in these dreams," he muses, "what exactly were you doing in this position?"

You swallow thickly, the pressure of his hold forcing you to stutter over your words. "I… I was…"

"Say it," he coaxes, the corners of his lips twitching in amusement.

Your face burns with humiliation, but as you force the words out, you see something darken in his gaze. Something primal.

And beneath the heavy folds of his cassock, something else stirs.

His cock bulges in arousal.

Your own need coils in response, emboldened by the way his body reacts to your every word. A boldness overtakes you.

Your hands move before you can think, pressing against the front of his robes, feeling the hardness beneath your palm.

San inhales sharply, his smirk widening.

"A demonstration," you whisper, your voice barely more than a breath against his stomach, "would be preferable, would it not, Father?"

San chuckles lowly, pleased.

His fingers loosen from your throat, his hand resting atop your head instead. "Open it," he commands, nodding toward his belt.

Your fingers shake as they fumble with the leather, pulling it free, then moving to the buttons of his trousers. San watches you silently, his grip on your hair tightening slightly as he feels your hesitation.

"Go on," he murmurs, his voice holding a quiet authority. You do not hesitate further. The moment his cock is freed from his undergarments, your breath catches. He is thick and heavy, his head flushed with arousal.

And for the first time, you realise just how deep your sin truly runs.

Because you want this.

Without thinking, you lean forward, pressing a soft, tentative kiss to the head of his cock. San groans, his fingers tangling into your hair. "Good girl."

The praise sends a shudder down your spine, and you finally take him into your mouth.

At first, you move slowly, tentatively, your tongue circling his tip, your lips wrapping around him with cautious reverence.

San groans again, a sound that sends heat pooling between your legs.

"That's it," he murmurs, his grip in your hair firm but patient. He guides your rhythm, his hips shifting slightly as you find a pace, your tongue gliding along his length.

The pleasure in his voice is intoxicating. "Take more."

You obey, hollowing your cheeks as you move deeper, your hands gripping his thighs to steady yourself.

San exhales sharply, his fingers tightening against your scalp. His hips twitch, and before you can react, he pushes your head down, forcing you to take him to the base.

Your nose presses against the coarse hair at his pelvis, and you gag around him, choking slightly at the sudden intrusion.

San groans, a dark, pleased sound, and laughs. "So good for me," he whispers, his voice thick with approval. "You were made for this, weren't you?"

You pull back, gasping for air, your lips slick with saliva and arousal, drool dripping out. But before you can catch your breath, his hand in your hair tightens again, guiding you back.

Your eyes meet his. And you do not resist.

His hips thrust forward, his grip steadying you as he uses your mouth for his pleasure, his groans growing more ragged with every movement. You moan around him, your own pleasure surging, your thighs pressing together in desperate need of friction.

"Fuck," he breathes, his composure slipping.

Tears well in your eyes as he drives deeper with each trust, but you take it, lost in the sheer wrongness of it all. God, you love it.

You moan again, sending vibrations through his cock, and San curses under his breath. His pace stutters, his fingers flexing in your hair.

"I'm close," he warns, his voice low, rough.

You brace yourself, swallowing around him, your eyes fluttering shut as his release spills onto your tongue. The taste of his seed fills your mouth, warm, thick, and you swallow it as best as you can.

Your breathing slows as his movements still, your body trembling from exertion and something else—something much, much darker.

You finally open your eyes.

And what you see makes your blood run cold.

San looks down at you, his expression unreadable, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

But his eyes—His eyes are no longer dark brown. They glow.

A deep, unnatural ruby red.

A slow, wicked smirk spreads across his lips as he tilts his head, his thumb brushing idly against your cheek.

And then, in a voice smooth as silk, he speaks in Latin:

"Qui cum ludo diabolum ludunt, paulatim ad gladium eius pervenient."

Those who play with the Devil will, little by little, come to his sword.

A/N: Soooo... This happened. After watching Nicholas Alexander Chavez's performance in Grotesquerie, I knew I had to write something like it. And who better than Sannie? Hope y'all enjoyed this depraved brain rot of mine. 💟

Send me your hard/soft thoughts - feedback/fangirling is always welcome.

[Moodboard created by me. Credits to the owners of these pictures, I do not own any of them. All pictures are exclusively found on Pinterest.]

[psin314]

Hello! I was scrolling through your BSky and was wondering the story behind your OCs Sean and Eugene, also if you plan on doing more art for them.

glad you asked anon! so so glad!!! sean and eugene (i call them yush) - one of my strongest ocs hyperfixations ever, i love them so much. but i'll try to tell about them as short as possible. (everything's under the cut!!)

also more art? easy. i made them in 2019...

funny pics:

pretty pics:

spicy pics: somewhere on their th pages.

a little about the world they live in (i unofficially call it ryzhebes. i made it in 2017 and it still doesn't have a proper name...):

it's almost like our world but hell and heaven, angels and demons + witches exist here too. hell and heaven look pretty ordinary and modern, no lava pools or screams of horror and pain. satan is a tired workaholic, and god uuh angels say he's a nice guy. demons and angels mostly don't care about humans (also humanity doesn't know that all this exists), but some of them love to have their vacations there (all of them can use "magical" disguises to hide their supernatural features and look like humans). after death humans go either to hell or to heaven, where they live a slightly better or slightly worse second life. of course there are some naughty demons (or even angels) who love to do shit like in movies like the exorcist but there aren't that many of them. (i can write more info about this universe if anyone's interested, but let's keep it short for this post.)

so! about my boys. the first version of them was much darker with catholic guilt and a suicide attempt but I don't want them to suffer so they're simply in love and very happy now.

eugene black is a 42 yo demon, a tattoo artist with an engineering degree who knows 20+ languages. loves to drink beer, smoke cigarettes and act like a cool guy in leather with a motorcycle (he can't afford a motorcycle. he lives with his mom. but he can afford a leather jacket and pants.) (also he's silly.) he's a stutterer, has problems with pronouncing the letters d t p, sometimes n and m. and he doesn't really care. loves to talk. sensitive and romantic guy, will do everything for the people he loves. loves his family, has 5 siblings. has health problems, needs to eat a lot, almost all the money he has he spends on food and still can't gain weight much. has a supernatural ability - can teleport wherever he wants, just needs to know the place or see the needed place on the map. (he uses math and physics for this but no one would understand him anyway.) has problems with teleporting from closed spaces.

father sean farrell is a 30 yo catholic priest from ireland. traumatized childhood, father issues, long depression episodes but he's mostly okay now. although anxiety can't leave this man alone. very kind, supportive, understanding and friendly person. he is very non-aggressive and easily controls himself during an argument. loves to listen and help people. although he's a simple priest, goes to the gym and plays rugby regularly. he's… big and strong. (also getting tired physically everyday helps him fall asleep peacefully.) never been in a romantic or sexual relationship before eugene.

how they met.

1994. eugene lost a bet to his friend and had to go to any random church and steal something. hungover, somehow disguised, he went there in the morning and got right to mass. he had to stay and listen. but somewhere along the way he fell asleep. unexpectedly for eugene, someone started trying to wake him up, holding him by the shoulder. it was this priest who was reading mass. the sleeping man smelled of beer and cigarettes, but he slept so soundly that sean was even a little scared. when he finally woke him up, eugene mumbled something unintelligible (probably his name??) and ran away. sean didn't understand anything. and eugene fell head over heels in love, because the priest turned out to be very pretty.

eugene returned to the church in the evening. in his demon form, because he thought that he would quickly go there, steal what he needed and leave. but he crossed paths with father sean there, who was delayed there to clean up. eugene didn't lose his composure, said hello, joked, tried to come up with a reason for his presence. but sean was silent and looked at him strangely. eugene looked at his hands and realized that the priest was now seeing a demon in front of him. as soon as he raised his head, he received a thick bible book in his face. eugene tried to calm him down, sean wanted to hit him with the book again. but eugene managed to grab him by the wrist and carry him with him to hell.

they fell on top of each other on the road near eugene's house. sean was starting to get hysterical, but eugene, sitting on top of him, grabbed him by the hands and very angrily asked him to calm down and that nothing bad would happen. surprisingly, this calmed sean down. he noticed eugene's nose was bleeding and gave him a handkerchief… (sean thought it was because of the bible blow but teleportation took a lot of eugene's strength. now he'll have to wait until he rests to be able to bring sean back.)

sean looked around, hell looked… nice. normal. an ordinary suburb of a small town. trees are blooming, it smells like normal evening air and and the rain that has just passed. then they went to eugene's house, luckily his mother wasn't home, he made sean some green tea and told him a little about hell, demons, himself and his stupid bet. sean was mostly silent because he was in shock. then a couple of hours later he brought sean back. they went their separate ways.

eugene couldn't stop thinking about sean, he fell in love, he wanted to see him again. sean couldn't sleep either. he had to rethink his whole life, but it didn't work out very well, there was too much of new information. as a result, eugene returned to the church after some time. this time sean noticed him first and immediately ran to him, to discuss reality.

they started talking to each other. first on the topic of the universe, and then moved on to personal topics. started seeing each other more often. it didn't affect sean's faith much in the end, although he almost had 7 nervous breakdowns at once. being a priest still made sense and he continued to do what he always did. he already sort of knew that all this existed. just not in the form that he imagined.

(yes, there are no classic demon-priest relationships here, where the demon seduces the priest and destroys him. it's a romcom. :))

well and yes, after a few months their talking to each other turned into romantic interest. sean slowly fell in love with eugene. he didn't really care that eugene was a man, he wasn't homophobic but he couldn't come out yet. he was naturally worried that eugene was a DEMON and also... celibate yeah. he had never had a relationship, but what he felt for eugene was a very pleasant feeling.

so a few weeks later of what should i do what should i do, one warm evening, sean kissed eugene, and then quickly ran away, because they almost got seen. they met that same night, in the park, in their usual place, where no one would see them. sean wanted to tell eugene that he did it by accident without thinking, they need to stop this, but this time eugene came to kiss him and sean forgot about everything. now they were kissing properly. sean didn't know what to do, this was all wrong, but he really liked eugene. they talked about it and decided to have secret meetings.

after some time it led to sex ofc... after it sean was kind of happy, but also worried even more. one part of him said that this needed to end, and the other part said that he loved eugene. sean told him about it again. they both came to the conclusion that they love each other. eugene didn't want to ruin sean's life so he doesn't mind becoming the priest's secret wife.

im talking to much sorry, and this part to this day isn't properly explained haha ​​sorry x2 i just want them to be happy.

well, in the end. they continue to date and love each other, keeping their secret. (eugene's whole family and his best friends know that he's fucking a priest.)

(sean said that eugene's like a star for him, that of all the billions of shining stars, he found the brightest one. and eugene didn't know that he can say things like that. maybe i'll redraw and repost it someday idk.)

[milkmejae]

Lucifer: The Dark Trilogy— 02z

sypnosis: in a world where devotion and damnation walk hand in hand, three men of God each fall from grace—bound by a forbidden love that defies the heavens, birthing an unbreakable curse.

pairings: religious servants!02z x afab!reader

genre: dark romance, historical, angst, religious horror, supernatural, psychological thriller

word count: act I. (12.6k), act II. (tba.), act III. (tba.)

warnings: religious trauma, corruption, dubious dynamics, age gap (ages will be stated in each part), abuse (physical, emotional, psychological, and sexual), supernatural and demonic elements, graphic violence, death, suggestive themes

author’s note: hai! :3 this is the first ever series/trilogy i’ve made! i had the vision of this idea when i watched lucifer performance from the fate tour, i lowkey had an awakening and it struck me… they look like fucking priests and the song’s meaning was also aligned to the thought like omg??!!! i love 02z so much man, it hurts atp. anw, enjoy! love, mmj. <3

act I. the fragile, tainted lamb— p.js

sypnosis: in 18th-century riverfield, a young pillar of faith, guiding his town with unwavering conviction, but when a broken girl seeks solace in his confession booth, his devotion is tested. as their forbidden bond deepens, the line between salvation and sin begins to blur—leading to consequences neither of them could have foreseen.

pairing: reverend!p.js x afab!reader

genre: dark romance, historical, angst, religious horror, supernatural thriller

word count: 12.6k

warnings: religious trauma, corruption, dubious dynamics, age gap (26 p.js, 19 reader), abuse (physical, emotional, mental, and sexual), supernatural and demonic elements, graphic violence, death, suggestive themes (kissing, touching, no smut tho!)

a/n: POSTED!!!

act II. rebirth of damnation— s.jy

status: in progress

pairing: deacon!s.jy x afab!reader

act III. hail thy holy sinner— p.sh

status: in progress

pairing: priest!p.sh x afab!reader

© milkmejae 2025

[ghost-1-y]

Sacrifice

Surtr!Kyojuro x AFAB!Worshipper!Reader

Content Warnings: MDNI, explicit sexual content, penetrative sex, oral sex (f! receiving), fingering, masturbation (Kyo), getting caught masturbating (Kyo), knotting, Kyojuro is in heat, Kyo has a massive breeding kink, lactation kink (Kyo loves your titties), size kink, pregnancy kink, pregnancy (at the end), using horns as handles, implied belly bulging, mommy kink (reader referred to as both “mommy” and “mother”), love confessions at the very end, douma being an asshole, incorrect interpretation of norse mythology, reader is given as a human sacrifice to Kyo, mentions of animal sacrifice, reader referred to as “pretty girl” sometimes, please lmk if I missed anything!

Summary: The legends stated that the mighty fire giant would one day bring about the beginnings of Ragnarok and engulf the world in flames. You had been told of these prophecies since childhood and were a firm believer in appeasing the proclaimed Ruler of Fire through worship and sacrifice – just as you had been taught by the village elders since you were a mere child. What you didn’t expect, however, was for the village to turn their back on you and suggest that what would be needed would be a human sacrifice to appease the giant once and for all.

Word Count: ~6k

Divider Credit: @/benkeibear

A/N: So sorry this took so long!! I've had a mess of a week so far. I hope the fic is worth the wait! Apologies for any spelling or grammatical errors (I tried my best).

A fire blazed in the heart of the village, crackling with embers floating gracefully and smoke ebbing above the tallest of houses – its heat a sharp contrast to the bitter cold of the autumn night. Members of the village surrounded the bonfire, sitting with their families as they feasted, bellies full with the meat stew that was provided for them. A single bowl was left untouched amongst each family – a welcoming invitation for the dead to engage in the festivities that were part of Vetrnætr.

As chieftain, you engaged with the families, wishing them good health and happiness as they did the same for you, before engaging in sumbel with them as you poured wine onto the grass below.

“Freyr will be most pleased by your worship.”

In a way of parting from families, you’d praise their good faith before moving on to the next family. The smiles were abundant amongst the villagers, and, once you’d made your way fully around the bonfire, you removed your sword from your scabbard and raised it high into the air.

“Today we celebrate, and are thankful to the god Freyr for a wonderful harvest. Please join me in this sacrifice, in order to show our thanks to the deities of all the Nine Realms.” 

However, before you could commit to the sacrifice – the poor lamb that was before you – a cold hand gripped at your shoulder, which made you turn in confusion.

“Perhaps I should tell you, before you engage in such an act, that the priest has some… concerns,” the man – Enmu you believed his name was – whispered. You sighed and sheathed your sword once more, your blood beginning to boil as you’d wondered what he could possibly want in the middle of the village’s celebration.

You trudged your way through the temple that resided on the outskirts of the village. The door creaked open as you walked through, and before you sat the village priest, who sat on a cushion made of feathers and animal skin. He upturned his lips upon seeing you, yet it wasn’t a true smile.

You knew he didn’t know how to, after all.

“Ah! My lovely Chieftain,” Douma drawled, “such a beautiful night to celebrate Vetrnætr, isn’t it? Although, I doubt that Freyr will grant you the beauty or fertility needed to continue your lineage this upcoming year, truly a shame,” he said, faking a pout. 

You fought the urge to ball your fists. The village elders, and, apparently now the village priest as well, had been pressing you for a child – particularly a son – however, despite many suitors attempting to lay their claim to the throne, and therefore you, none had been successful.

Despite this jab, you maintained composure, “what do you need from me, Douma? You’ve interrupted the sacrifice.” You stared him down, and he forced a small laugh.

“Oh my, a harsh tongue doesn’t suit you, dear Chief” he sneered, “You see, I have become aware of some rather concerning events – ones surrounding Ragnarök in particular,” he paused, observing you for any kind of reaction, “unfortunately, it seems Surtr has traveled from Muspelheim to Midgard.”

Your eyes widened, “how would he be able to do such a thing? He isn’t a deity–”

“–ah, but he is a jötunn, and therefore would have the ability to travel between the realms,” Douma countered, “did you never pay attention to my lessons during your youth?”

You rolled your eyes, “you speak as though we do not dedicate sacrifices to him with each solstice. You know appeasing his anger is one of my most steadfast beliefs.”

Douma hummed, “well, it appears that you did not follow through with this past solstice, my dear Chieftain – rather dedicating it to Freyr than to Surtr – and, to be completely honest, I am quite disappointed in that fact.”

The door shut behind you, and two warriors stood on either side of you. You grabbed the hilt of your sword, sensing distrust in the air.

“Do you know, Chieftain, what would be required to adequately appease the Ruler of Fire?”

You pulled out your sword and swung at the warrior on your right, an attack which was quickly blocked by his own weapon. You landed a kick to the left one’s stomach, only for it to be trapped in an unwavering grip by the warrior’s arms. You attempted to swing your sword at him in retaliation, only for your arm to also be grabbed by the one on your right.

Douma stood up and walked towards you, gripping your chin – the cold of his skin causing you to wince.

 “A proper, human sacrifice.”

A blow landed to the back of your neck, and your vision faded to black.

—

You awoke to a chill that laid upon your skin, feeling as though you were made of ice rather than of flesh. You were completely bare, lying on a wooden floor of what you presumed to be the priest’s sacred temple, as your vision was fully obstructed by a cloth which wrapped around your eyes. Upon moving your arms – which were thankfully in front of you and not behind, you noticed that your wrists were also bound by rope to prevent you from making any potential escape from Douma’s clutches.

Outside, you heard footsteps approaching, and the door swung open – causing you to flinch at the loud creak that sounded from it. A rough hand grabbed at your arm and pulled you up to your feet, forcing you outside where you heard murmurs of villagers on either side of you. Your cheeks flushed deep with embarrassment, the idea of your beloved villagers seeing you in such a state bringing tears to your eyes in pure shame.

“All of you, please say your final goodbyes to our beloved Chieftain – for she has volunteered to become the sacrifice that will appease Surtr and end his threats of Ragnarök!”

You couldn’t hear the cheers of your people over your pulse pounding in your ears, completely helpless as you were all but dragged along the dirt and gravel pathway before being placed on a horse. A faint rustling could be heard before you felt a rope tied around your neck.

“Be careful not to fall off, my dear Chieftain, lest your neck snap as you’re dragged along the rugged terrain by your horse,” Douma whispered to you before saddling himself onto a separate horse, and you could only assume that this rope was also tied to the horse in some way, thus forcing you to go wherever Douma led you.

You begrudgingly held tight against the horse’s mane as it went into a trot, the wind blowing harshly against your naked skin as the voices of the villagers slowly faded away, replaced by the clopping of hooves as you traversed to a place unfamiliar.

The horses did not stop, and you could only tell the passage of time as the cool of night gave way to the blazing heat of the sun that seared itself into your back. Hours must have passed, and your muscles grew sore the longer you traveled.

At some point, the horses slowed, and the sun’s heat was obstructed by a shadow which loomed above you. Again, a faint rustling could be heard before you were taking off of the horse’s back – yet the rope stayed wrapped around your neck, yet it was no longer taut if you tried pulling away from the horse’s body. You were dragged into the cool shadow, before a hand gripped at your hair.

“Such a shame you never produced a son,” Douma muttered into your ear, “you wouldn’t have to die if you were nice and fertile, my dear Chieftain.”

You could only imagine the nasty grin on his face as he pushed you forward, causing you to lose your footing and fall what could’ve been roughly two meters before hitting solid rock. You heard laughter above you before it started to fade away.

Luckily, the fall seemed to loosen the cloth which covered your eyes, allowing you to see out of one of them, yet you doubted it would be of much help as you got your bearings and realized that you were indeed alone in a dark cave, being left to starve and rot as a form of sacrifice to Surtr.

You decided, that if you were going to die anyway, that you’d at least explore the cave you were pushed into.

It was dark, yet not damp, the stone beneath you as dry as the walls that surrounded you, and you wondered if the sun somehow reached its way into the depths of this cave to evaporate the moisture. There was no life, not a single lizard or insect to be seen – although a few animal bones would be strewn about here and there as you continued your descent further into the cave.

You traversed further, being careful to not trip over any rocks or pitfalls. After what seemed to be an hour of exploration, you saw the tiniest spark of light in the distance.

Perhaps a way out? You thought, and walked closer to this flickering light, and the rather narrow tunnel you were in gave way to a large cavern – with a large bonfire in the middle, one much larger than the one in your village during the celebration of Vetrnætr. 

Unlike the blazing heat of the sun from earlier, the warmth of the bonfire was comforting, with its orange hue flickering along the walls of the cavern.

As you got closer, you heard the slightest shifting from the other side of the cavern, followed by what could only be described as a low growl. You froze, unsure of how to proceed in front of a potential predator with nothing to defend yourself with. You slowly crouched and walked towards the bonfire, and, despite your hands being tied, managed to pick up one of the smaller logs on the outer ring of the fire before dousing the tip of it in flames – a weapon, should you need to use it.

As you slowly walked around the bonfire, you found a rather peculiar sight – realizing that the growl did not come from the likes of an animal.

But who– or what was before you was certainly not human.

The being before you was huge, possibly even a jötunn. You were never one to doubt your beliefs, but the idea that a creature from another realm was before your very eyes was difficult to swallow. However, from what you could remember from your religious texts, a jötunn is the only creature you could bring yourself to categorize it as. 

The creature had large, curved horns that were sizable in their girth, and its tusks – not fangs – emerged up from its lower jaw. What’s more, it had pointed ears on either side of its head which emerged through hair resembling that of fire, locks that matched the finest gold and ruby gemstones that would cost a fortune in your village.

Unlike the face, its body looked quite human – although its very naked form boasted large, dense muscles throughout its entire body, and a cock that made you swallow absentmindedly from just how threatening its size was.

The creature was stroking its girth, thumbing itself over the leaking slit – a slight shudder escaping from its throat. It started to fuck itself into its grip, thrusting quickly as though chasing its release. Its other hand was fondling its balls – which looked heavy and full of seed, before having its hand move slightly upward towards the slightly swollen base of its cock, softly massaging it to seemingly ease the tension it caused.

Fully flushed with embarrassment, you backed away from the creature before you, each step seemingly calculated in order to escape this situation.

Is the creature sentient? It seems to be humanoid– does that mean it can think like a human? What if it’s a predator and kills me? 

Thoughts rushed through your mind, seemingly going into a frenzy as you worried about potential outcomes of this situation.

Crack!

In your panic, you managed to step on a stray twig that managed to stray from the center of the bonfire.

The creature stopped its movements, and immediately turned its head to the source of the sound.

Its amber and crimson eyes opened and glared into yours.

“F-Fuck—!”

With one glance over your naked form, the creature before you released its seed, spilling it all over its fist and shaft, with the remaining drops dribbling onto its lower abdomen. It continued to slowly rub its fist up and down its length, closing its eyes as it played with its tip up until the last of its cum dribbled out from the slit, before tensing and looking back at you, eyes widening in shock – as though it couldn’t believe you were actually there.

“I’m sorry!” the creature exclaimed, a blush so red blooming across its cheeks that it seemingly felt the same amount of embarrassment as you. It hastily wiped itself clean on the furred animal skin it was laying upon. “I– I can explain, really– just– who are you? Why are you here?” 

You were in shock, so much so that you couldn’t even eke out a full sentence. Your eyes drifted down to its cock once more, which – much to your surprise – was still standing incredibly tall and proud as it curved up towards the creature’s stomach. Heat prickled across your cheeks and down your chest as the fiery-haired being used its hands to cover itself up in front of you – sensing that you might be uncomfortable from bearing witness to such an event.

This is ridiculous, you thought, you are the Chieftain of your village – compose yourself!

“I am Y/N, leader of my village and child of a family of famed warriors,” you introduced yourself. 

The creature raised an eyebrow to you in response.

“And what exactly brings a village leader into my cave?” 

You hesitated, humiliation flooding your veins even more so than before.

“I– I was overthrown by the village priest and have been made a sacrifice to Surtr, the Ruler of Fire.”

You expected laughter from the jötunn before you, closing your eyes to hide whatever dignity you had left from what Douma stripped from you. However, instead of hearing a cacophony of hearty noises from the creature’s throat, you instead heard the thud of footsteps approaching you. 

Slowly, the jötunn reached forward and removed the bandages which obstructed your vision, loosening and pulling them away with his large fingers, careful to not touch you unnecessarily in the process.

Your eyes widened as you looked up at the giant, his eyes surprisingly kind as he looked down at you. He bunched the bandages in his hands before tossing them to the side, then continued untie the ropes that were digging into your wrists and cast them aside as well.

“If what you say is true, please inform your village that I do not take human sacrifices.”

Your heart seemed to have traveled up to your throat, its beats both fast and fluttery.

“That would imply that I could go back– wait, what are you talking about?”

Then, the creature did finally let out a laugh – a small chuckle that rose from his chest and was deep and bassy as it rose through his throat.

“My dear human, I am the one you people refer to as Surtr.” 

You stopped, instinctively stepping back – away from the creature that just claimed to be the harbinger of destruction – the one to bring flames that will engulf all nine realms and Yggdrasil itself.

You did what you believed best, and forced your body to the rocky floor of the cave, bowing in absolute submission and respect for such a being – nearly cowering in the presence of such raw power presented before you.

“Stand up, please, there’s no need for that here.”

You looked up at the being before you, rather confused by his words.

He sighed, “you humans have beliefs of me that are so far from the truth, it’s saddening.”

A pause, the only sound in the cavern being the crackling of the wood against flames.

“My real name is Kyojuro, the name ‘Surtr’ is a title bestowed upon me that I did not wish to receive. I am not going to harm you or your village, I do not wish for such evil. Whatever “priest” thought that a human sacrifice would appease this nonexistent will of mine is, to put simply, a fool.”

You let out a shaky breath, and he reached out his hand – one that dwarfed your own – toward you. 

“Stand up.”

He was smiling as you took his hand, with a gaze that was comforting and kind as he sent sparks through your skin with his touch.

The prickling heat returned to your cheeks.

“I’ll help you get back to your village,” he promised.

You froze, your heartbeat quickening once more as you registered his words.

“I can’t– please, I can’t go back, not after what they did to me,” you started, preparing yourself to beg and plead this god-like creature for mercy.

Kyojuro frowned, “I understand, but I can’t keep you here. You need to leave, I– I can’t have you stay.”

You knew it was selfish, to leave your people in the hands of Douma, but after what he did to you– after how he humiliated you.

Where the fire in your village was scalding, his was warm. Where those treated you with indifference or malice, he had been nothing but kind.

Was it really worth going back?

“I’d like to stay,” you decided.

Kyojuro stopped, each and every second becoming more and more difficult for the jötunn. Every passing moment he ignored his very obvious problem, he became this much closer to just bending you over and taking you like a wild animal. His blood was hot in his veins, and fire licked at his lower abdomen, pleasure bubbling once more to the surface as he continued to endure his heat.

“You don’t know what you’re asking of me, human,” he warned. He was using every ounce of his willpower in order to maintain his composure. His heat was going to near its peak soon, and he needed you away from him before that happened. He came to Midgard to weather it alone in his cave, and you were only making it all the more difficult.

“Kyojuro,” you uttered softly, and the creature before you let out a low growl, “will you let me stay if I…help?” 

His cock twitched, precum dribbling slowly out of the tip, with the base of it swelling up once more.

“I don’t want you to try and sell yourself to me as though you’re a piece of meat. I–” he swallowed, “I appreciate the offer, but I can’t allow you to do that.”

“Kyojuro, I want to help you. I want this,” you assured, and he balled his hands into fists, as though the rope holding him together was about to snap.

“Y/N–” he warned, and you rolled your eyes.

“Please, fuck me, Kyojuro.”

The jötunn grabbed your arm, “if– if we are to do this, you must know that I am in heat, and I–” he swallowed, “I may not be able to control myself should we continue.”

You took your hand and brushed your fingers across his tightened grip, causing slight shivers to flow down his spine.

“Lose control, Kyojuro, I can take it.”

He groaned, and with his strength, picked you up and collided his lips with yours. Your hands sought either side of his face, kissing back with fervor as he moaned into your mouth. His tusks surprisingly didn’t obstruct your access to his mouth, and every once in a while he’d nip at your bottom lip, before laving his tongue over the swollen skin and pushing it into your mouth. You let out a small moan at the intrusion, and wrapped your arms around his neck, your fingers finding purchase in his wild, fiery hair.

His grip on your body moved from your hips back towards your ass, cupping and massaging the muscle with his hands. His cock was stiff against your inner thigh, the precum spreading along your skin with each small movement. You wrapped your legs around his waist, moaning as his cock slipped between your legs and along your slit – the sheer girth of it a little worrisome as it pressed against your heat.

“Shit– so big, Kyojuro, hah–” you panted, and he growled.

“Never had cock this big before, have you? Don’t worry, dear, I’ll get you nice and ready to take me.”

He shifted your weight onto one of his arms, the muscles flexing as he shifted his other hand beneath you. Two of his fingers started rubbing along your clit, making small circular motions as his other hand groped at the fat of your ass. He lifted you up a little more so his mouth was in line with your breasts and pursed his lips around one of your perked up tits, sucking at it and licking broad stripes with his tongue. He groaned around your tit as he played with your pussy, reveling in how wet you were for him already. The mini vibrations sent electricity down your spine, and you moved your head to rest on his broad shoulder, giving small kisses to his neck as you whined from his ministrations.

“Lips feel so good, dear, love it when you kiss me like that,” he sighed, giving kisses to each of your breasts, “want to apologize for my earlier…release, you were just so beautiful…seeing you all naked ‘n presenting for me like that…made me want to breed you, pretty girl,” Kyojuro confessed, causing you to shiver as he softly whispered such filthy thoughts into your ear.

“Mmh– don’t apologize, Kyo– liked watchin’ you,” you admitted, and he let out a light chuckle, which made you lightly slap his rocky chest. He responded by giving a small bite to your breast, before licking it better with his skilled tongue.

“Yeah? You like the idea of me wanting to breed you? Getting you pregnant with my young?” he asked, his fingers moving from your clit down towards your entrance, where he inserted a single thick digit into your heat. You whined as your pussy clenched around the intrusion, and nodded in response, licking a stripe up his neck before kissing back down it again.

His finger thrust into you, curling against that one sensitive area inside of you as his thumb reached for and played with your clit. The moans that you let out echoed throughout the cavern, with the only other sounds being the shlick of Kyojuro’s finger deep in your cunt and the crackling of flames. After a while, he added a second digit, and slowly but surely worked you towards your peak, the tension slowly building up in your gut.

With one last swipe against your clit with his thumb, you came undone, your orgasm causing you to shudder and whine in his hold as he worked you through it, curling his fingers and rubbing your clit as you rode out each wave. 

“Kyo–” you moaned, trying to grind your hips down on his fingers, and he smiled before meeting your lips in a heated kiss. He continued thrusting his fingers up into your now weeping cunt, prepping you nice and good to take his much thicker cock.

He walked back toward his makeshift bed – a pile of furs and animal skins which he must’ve collected prior to his heat – and gently placed you down on top of them. His large hands moved down your thighs, rubbing softly up and down your plush skin as he stared at the slick between your legs. He lowered himself between your thighs and inhaled deeply as he tried desperately to memorize your scent. He licked a stripe up your slit, causing you to jolt at the sensation, and moaned as your taste spread over his tongue like honey.

You squirmed underneath his touch, which made him hold your hips in place as he started to devour you. His tongue flicked over your clit before collecting more of your juices on his tongue. Your hands found his horns and gripped them tightly, pushing his head further between your thighs, earning a groan from Kyojuro. He pursed his lips and sucked at your clit before licking at it in circular motions, moving his hand between your legs again and pushing two digits inside your cunt once more, thrusting in and out of your hole with his fingers. After adding a third finger, he started curling his fingers into that one spot again, his movements quick and deft as he brought you to your second orgasm. 

You moaned loudly as you came undone, legs shaking as your grip on his horns tightened, trying your best to buck your hips up into his face as he lapped up all of the juices that seeped out of your pussy. Only when you were able to open your eyes once more did you look down to see Kyojuro humping himself onto the fur pelts as he messily gathered the rest of your release onto his tongue.

“Kyo– please, I need you,” you whined, and he looked up at you with a fire ignited in his eyes. He got up, stroking his thick cock as he looked down upon your much smaller form.

“Get on all fours for me.”

Without hesitation, you rolled over and got on your hands and knees. Kyojuro kneeled behind you and placed his cock in between your wet folds, rubbing the tip up and down as his precum mixed with your juices. He shuddered before slowly pushing the head inside, causing you to tense slightly from how big the intrusion was.

“Relax for me, won’t you?” he asked softly.

You tried your best to relax, and he started to push more of his length inside of you, filling you up more than you ever thought possible. For a moment, he stayed like that, relishing in the feeling of your cunt tightly wrapped around his throbbing cock, his hips flush against your ass as you whined for him to move, please.

“Let me have this moment, dear, I– I haven’t felt something this wonderful in centuries,” he confessed, and you let out a soft mewl before complying with what he wanted. 

After a few more moments, his cock dragged out of you slowly before thrusting back in. He rocked into you, slowly at first, which was most likely for the better considering how huge he was. He growled as he thrust into you, his heavy balls slapping against your clit as he reached underneath you to hold your stomach, pressing up slightly as he fully fucked his cock into you.

“Shit– you feel that, pretty girl? Feel my cock deep inside you?” he groaned, and you nodded helplessly, letting out a whine as he continued his movements. “Feel so good wrapped around me, so fuckin’ tight f’ me.”

You choked out another moan as he started increasing his speed, his groans becoming more frequent with each thrust. Kyojuro took his hand and gently tilted your chin up so you could look at him.

“Won’t last much longer, pretty girl,” he leaned down and kissed you, “gonna pull out, promise.”

You whined, “no– please, need your cum, Kyo– need it inside.”

He moaned loudly, “you have no idea what you’re asking of me, pretty. You’d end up taking my knot–”

“I want your knot, Kyo! Please give it to me–!”

Kyojuro thrust even harder into your sopping cunt upon hearing that, “fuck, you want my knot? I’ll get you fucking pregnant, fill you up with my young ‘n get your belly all swollen, you sure you want that?”

“Yes! Please Kyo–! Please–”

With a couple last thrusts, Kyojuro shot his seed inside of you, thick ropes painting your insides white and filling you up to the brim. You moaned as you felt the warmth spread deep inside of your cunt, and, before his release could begin to seep out of your pussy, a burning stretch began inside your abused hole. Realizing this is what Kyojuro meant by his knot, you tried to look behind you to catch sight of his cock seemingly expanding inside of your pussy, keeping his cum nicely plugged inside of you.

Kyojuro was panting, his voice rough as he pulled you up onto his lap.

“Good fuckin’ girl, taking my knot so well.” He looked down at your chest as you sat in his lap, his cock still rock hard and throbbing inside your wet cunt.

“Can’t wait to see these breasts filled with milk, gonna be such a good mommy, aren’t you?” he said before taking one of your tits in his mouth and sucking at it, as though he were trying to get you to produce milk already for him, and eventually his young, to feed on.

“Kyo, I– I’m sorry, but I’m not fertile, I– I’ve never been able to produce an heir with another man,” you sighed, and his eyes looked up to meet yours. “I’m really sorry, it’s why I was thrown down here in the first place” you continued, hoping your words wouldn’t anger him.

Instead of becoming angry, he simply placed you back down on the fur pelts and brought your legs up towards your shoulders so that you were folded completely in half. He then crouched over you, keeping you locked in a mating press with him.

“I’m no simple man, my dear human,” he kissed your lips, “if I say I will breed you and fill you with my young–” he paused, thrusting deeply into your cunt.

“–I mean every single word.”

Kyojuro started fucking into you with renewed fervor, his stamina seemingly having increased despite already releasing inside of you once. His cock reached deeper inside of you, and you could swear you felt him all the way in your throat. Every single thrust of his hips had you a whining mess, taking his knot until your pussy molded into the shape of his cock.

“Fuck, that’s it, take it all,” he groaned before pressing his mouth to yours once more. His tongue plunged past your lips – prompting you to suck on it, causing him to fall over the edge again, his hips stilling as he pumped a second load of cum into your needy cunt. You whined as he didn’t stop – continuing to fuck into your abused cunt despite cumming twice, his cock still stiff and leaking with every thrust. You felt his seed sloshing around in your womb, feeling so incredibly full by both his cum and his fat cock.

“Mine,” he growled while pumping himself into you, “you’re fucking mine.”

You could only nod and whine in response, having been completely fucked dumb by his cock.

“Pregnant.” He pummeled his cock deep into your cunt, “getting you pregnant. Fuck. Gonna have a round belly filled with my young, tits swelling with milk, I’ll keep you here – gonna be the mother to my children, gonna treat mommy so well, hunt for you, protect you, everything you could ever want.”

You moaned, your cunt clenching around his cock upon listening to his promises.

“Wan’ it,” you managed, “wan’ to be a good mommy so– fuck– so bad.”

Kyojuro groaned, his cock twitching inside of you as it swelled even more. “Can’t stop thinking of my young suckling on your breasts, tits producing so much milk that all of them have their fill– shit, gonna cum again, gonna fill you up– fuck!” 

He spilled into you once more, filling your cunt up completely with his seed, ensuring that it takes, making good on his promise. His fingers flicked at your clit and your own orgasm came crashing down around you, pure euphoria flowing through your veins as you let out a silent scream from the seemingly endless waves of pleasure addling your mind.

Kyojuro rolled over and had you collapse on top of him, his arms reaching around your torso and holding you close.

“Did you mean what you said? About wanting to stay?” he whispered, slight insecurity being carried through his tone.

You gave him a quick peck to his lips, “yes, Kyojuro, you– you’ve been so kind to me, much more than anyone else in that damned village. I’d love to stay with you.”

He smiled softly at you, his eyes glowing with warmth as he cradled your head into his neck, petting at your hair as the two of you fell asleep next to the flickering bonfire.

—

A few months had passed, and you were waiting for your lover to return from his hunt. He had promised a large meal today, and you were excited to see what he had planned for the two of you.

You rubbed your baby bump as you cozied up next to the fire, resting in a heap of animal furs which acted as bedding for the two of you. You were surprised to find out that you were pregnant, but Kyojuro had sensed it about a month after you two had first met, and proceeded to treat you as though every step you took turned the rocks beneath your feet into gold. 

The bump was rather large for only being a few months in, and your breasts were already swelling and leaking with milk, but Kyojuro had told you that it was normal – considering that his young would be half-jötunn. He quelled your fears of labor, saying that he would help you in every way that he possibly could when it came time to have the baby.

After a few hours, Kyojuro came back to the cavern, carrying your meal over his shoulder.

“How is my love doing?” he asked with the biggest smile on his face, causing you to giggle as you attempted to get up to greet him. Kyojuro rushed over to you, ensuring that you don’t so much as lift a finger while carrying his young. He leaned down and gave you a soft kiss before dragging your meal to the bonfire and beginning to cook it.

“Mmh– Kyo? Could you help me a little bit, my tits feel so swollen,” you pouted, and his ears damn near perked up at your words.

“Oh? Does mommy need some relief?” he asked teasingly, and you nodded. Kyojuro walked over to you and knelt down, his hands reaching to massage your breasts slowly. He kneaded them and licked at the milk which dribbled out, letting it coat over his tongue. His lips wrapped around one of your tits, and he sucked slowly, moaning as he drank from you. You whined when he moved to the other tit and performed the same actions, relief sinking in the more he suckled the milk out of you.

“Taste so good, pretty girl,” he whispered before getting up again to cook the meat he brought in.

You pouted again, “need you, Kyo, please,” and he laughed.

“You can have me after we eat, does that sound okay?” he compromised, and you sighed but nodded in agreement.

You laid back and rested upon the pile of furs, smiling in contentment as you looked at the two meals that were set out before you.

“I love you, Kyo,” you admitted, unashamed by your feelings as they echoed throughout the cavern.

Kyojuro froze, glancing back at you briefly before continuing to prepare the food, trying his best to hide the blush that traveled across his cheeks to the tips of his ears.

“I love you, too, my little flame.”

Taglist: @k-a-t-h-r-i-n-a, @wow-im-gay, @peanutpunchy, @love-me-satoru, @crazycatlddy, @dinosaur-crime-scene, @thisbicc, @gojoscumslut, @everyonesfinaldestination, @leehoonii-i, @kyojurismo, @briefrebelfanalmond, @izuoyarmin, @ahashiraswife, @d1gitalbathh, @homo-homini-lupus-est-1701

If your name is crossed out, it means tumblr didn't allow me to tag you! Apologies for the inconvenience.

[bye-bye-sugar-blue-eyes]

Plot points I hope to see in season 8b/9

(this is long because the writers have a lot to make up for)

• Airport scene

• Eddie gives Buck his St. Christopher necklace

• Buck's coping mechanism of briefly turning into slutty Buck 1.0 after Eddie leaves. Only this time it's with guys that resemble Eddie but he doesn't notice. Maddie does. And she wishes desperately that she wasn't pregnant so she could drink

• Buck actually uses the word bisexual or bi to describe himself

• Finally getting to see Eddie's sisters. And maybe while he's in Texas he facetimes Buck and they come into frame. And in true little sister fashion, they embarrass him: "Oh, Edmundo! Is this the Buck we keep hearing about? He IS cute!"

"I never said that!"

Buck: "...you don't think I'm cute? 🥺"

• Maddie, Sofia, and Adrianna meeting and bonding over their dumbass brothers

• Everyone else finds out that Buck is in Eddie's will and they all just stand there, mouths agape cuz how THE FUCK do they not know they're in love?? Everyone else can see it!

• Buck tells literally everyone at the 118 about his feelings for Eddie because he needs advice. And Chim makes a joke like,

"He already has everyone crushing on him! Why can't someone have a crush on me for once??"

"...dude, you're my brother-in-law."

"So?? We don't have to tell Maddie!"

• Buck admits his feelings but Eddie ends up not leaving so Buck avoids him out of embarrassment like jk pranked ya!

• Buck NDE because I NEED to see Eddie lose his shit

• Or they both have a close call and later have a serious 'spousal' discussion about what would happen to Chris if they both died. And then they share a moment of comradery, trash talking Helena & Ramon and hoping they never get custody again

• Speaking of Shitty Parents 2.0 (Shitty Parents 1.0 being the Buckley's) we need more screen time hating on Helena. Ramon got multiple scenes showing how awful he is and Eddie calling him out on it. But Helena is a selfish woman that keeps trying to manipulate Eddie into giving her Chris. And even when Eddie tries to keep in contact with his son while he's in Texas she just brushes him off and doesn't try to get Chris to talk to him. All because she got her way so she doesn't care, pushing Eddie further into his pit of self-hatred. And for that she must be punished

• Eddie talking to Bobby about his Catholic guilt in relation to his sexuality. And then going to Michael for advice about the transition of believing he's straight and having a heterosexual marriage and family to where he is now. The 3 of them need to go on a fishing trip or something. They'd have it all sorted out within the weekend

• Eddie and Maddie having ANY kind of interaction on screen. The writers know that if they teamed up they'd be besties instantly and they're keeping that from us!

• Chris needing dating advice but as soon as his dad tries to help he cuts him off like: "Not from you, you're obviously gay and all of your straight relationships sunk like the Titanic. But thanks anyway. Hey Buck!"

"Wtf? His relationships weren't great either!"

• Eddie having more discussions with Hot Priest™️ about his guilt and he just smiles fondly at Eddie, "I don't know about you, but my god doesn't judge. Not when someone lives their truth. I think you're more afraid of your family's judgement. If I were you, I'd go back and think of every time I thought God was judging me and consider the possibility that I was putting Him in place of my parental figures." and Eddie just blue screens for many minutes as Hot Priest™️ patiently waits for him to catch up as if he hadn't just changed his entire fucking life

• A scene where either Hot Priest™️ or Bobby or Buck asks him: "Would you judge Christopher if he questioned his sexuality?" "What? No." "Would you tell him to go to confessional or try to pray it away?" "Of course not!" "Would you ever discourage him to be anything less than who he truly is? Or stop him from doing something that makes him happy?" "No!" "Then why do it to yourself? Why set that example? Even if it turns out your parents or Abuela aren't comfortable with you exploring your sexuality, you can always do better than them. Break the cycle for the one person who matters most to you. Be happy, be yourself, be what you want to be, not what others expect from you. And I know you, you won't do it for you. So do it for Christopher. Show him that it's okay, great even, to be you."

• Josh getting all giddy while talking to Eddie like he did when Buck asked for gay dating advice

• Eddie talking to Hen and Karen about how they coped with their foster kids leaving. Like, how do wake up every morning to a quieter house and empty bedrooms, knowing the breakfast table is going to be lonely? They exchange bittersweet looks and hug him

I will accept no less than 80% of this becoming canon. Thank you and good night.

[mononijikayu]

devotion — geto suguru.

“I thought if I gave my life to God, he would spare yours.” You stared at him, stunned, as his words sank in. “Suguru… I don’t understand.” He looked down, his hands trembling. “Years ago, when we… when we lost touch, I heard about your illness.” he explained, his voice heavy with emotion. “I was told you might not survive. I felt helpless, powerless to do anything. So, I prayed. I prayed with everything I had, and I promised God that if he saved you, I would give my life in return. I would serve him, devote myself to his cause. And you… you recovered.”

GENRE: alternate universe - modern au!;

WARNING/S: angst, fluff, forbidden romance, love, hurt/comfort, nsfw, r-18, smut, kissing, rough sex, p-i-v sex, falling in love again, sexual intercourse, pining, hurt, religious guilt, happy ending, aged up characters (suguru and reader are in their 40s), first loves rekindling their relationship, depictions of sexual acts, depiction of pining, depiction of religious aspects, mention of parting, mention of the past, mention of previous husband, father! suguru, widowed! reader;

WORD COUNT: 12k words

NOTE: i was thinking whether or not this is what i should publish for kinktober but i feel like since i've been going on this trend of giving my stories a happy ending, i feel like this is one of them that deserves it, i feel. this is the sequel of 'to build a home'!!! anyway, i hope you enjoy it as much as i did!!! and love wins all, even time!!! i love you all <3

masterlist

kinktober 2024 - kayu's version

if you want to, tip!

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YOU NEVER THOUGHT YOU’D SEE HIM AGAIN. But you were getting too ahead of destiny. It has been nearly twenty years since you last saw Geto Suguru. Time had blurred the details of his face in your memory — the precise shape of his smile, the warmth in his eyes when he spoke your name.

You thought you’d forgotten him, buried him under the weight of all those years. But there he was, standing at the front of the room, his voice steady and serene as he read the eulogy for your husband. 

You tried to focus on the words, tried to let them seep into your soul and cradle your grief. But all you could see was him. The lines on his face had deepened, a touch of gray in his hair, but he was still so achingly familiar. You could feel the stirrings of something old and hidden, something you thought you’d buried long ago.

You felt guilty. This was the day you were supposed to mourn your husband, to remember all the good moments you had shared. But as you sat there, dressed in black, your gaze kept drifting back to Suguru. How strange it was to see him like this — a priest, of all things. You wondered what had led him down this path, what had happened in those years you hadn’t been a part of his life.

His voice was calm and soothing, and it reminded you of the way he used to speak when you were alone together. You found yourself holding your breath, the memories coming back like an unexpected wave. The nights you spent talking until dawn, the feel of his hand in yours, the way he’d look at you like you were the only person in the world. You closed your eyes, trying to push the thoughts away, but they clung to you like a desperate whisper.

You were grieving, yes, but somehow those old feelings resurface, like they had been waiting all this time, just beneath the surface. It was wrong, you knew it, but there was something in the way Suguru spoke, in the way his eyes lingered on you for just a moment too long, that made it feel like maybe, just maybe, this was meant to be. 

And as the service drew to a close, you wondered if he felt it too.

As the ceremony ended, the quiet murmur of condolences filled the room, but you barely heard them. Your heart pounded in your chest, a mix of sorrow and anticipation you couldn't quite understand. People passed by, offering their sympathy, their touches gentle on your arm, but your eyes were on him. Suguru stood at the front, still dressed in his somber robes, speaking with a few guests, his expression kind and composed, but you saw the moment he noticed you watching.

He paused, his words faltering for just a second, and then his gaze found yours. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to fall away, and there was only the two of you, standing on opposite sides of a great chasm of time. You felt rooted in place, as if moving would shatter whatever fragile connection had formed between you across the room.

When you finally mustered the courage to approach him, your steps were slow and tentative. He turned to face you fully, his hands clasped in front of him, and for a moment, you were struck by how different he looked, and yet, how much the same. The years had softened his edges, but his eyes — those deep, searching eyes — were just as intense, just as familiar.

“Suguru,” you breathed, unsure what else to say. His name felt foreign on your lips after so long, but also strangely comforting. He gave a small, sad smile, the kind that spoke of understanding beyond words.

“It’s been a long time,” he replied, his voice a quiet murmur, almost swallowed by the room’s low hum. There was a gravity to his tone that made your chest tighten, as if he was trying to convey all the things that had gone unsaid in the years between you.

You nodded, feeling the sting of tears you had not expected. “I never thought I’d see you like this,” you confessed, your voice trembling. “I didn’t know you… became our little town’s priest.”

He chuckled softly, a sound that was both strange and familiar, and something in it warmed you. “Life has a way of leading us to unexpected places,” he said, his eyes searching yours. “I didn’t expect to see you here either… under these circumstances.”

You flinched, a fresh wave of grief washing over you. “No, I suppose not,” you whispered. “But it is good to see you, even now. Even… like this.”

He nodded, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence between you was heavy, but not uncomfortable. It was filled with all the things you wanted to say but didn’t know how. You could feel the years stretching between you like a bridge you were both afraid to cross.

“You look…” he started, then faltered, his gaze sweeping over your face. “You look just as I remember, even after all these years.”

You laughed softly, a sound tinged with both sorrow and disbelief. “I doubt that,” you replied, shaking your head. “It’s been a long time. We’ve both changed.”

“Yes,” he agreed, his voice soft. “But some things don’t change. Some things stay with you, no matter how much time passes.”

You felt your breath catch in your throat. Was he talking about you? About whatever you once had? You wanted to ask, but the words stuck in your throat, caught between your grief and the unexpected flood of emotions his presence had stirred.

Instead, you simply stood there, feeling the weight of his gaze on you, feeling that old, familiar ache that you hadn’t realized you’d been carrying all these years. And when he reached out, his hand hovering just above yours, you found yourself closing the distance, your fingers brushing against his in a touch that felt like both a question and an answer.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” he said, his voice low, filled with a sincerity that sent a shiver down your spine. “I truly am.”

“Thank you.” you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath. You didn’t know if you were thanking him for the words, or for being here, or for just being him.

You cleared your throat, a delicate sound breaking the tension between you. Your heart still aches from the loss, but there was a strange comfort in his presence, a familiarity that felt almost like a balm. You glanced to your side, where your daughter stood, her small hand gripping yours tightly. She looked up at you, her young face a mix of confusion and sorrow, her eyes still red from crying.

For a moment, neither of you moved, standing there like two ghosts caught in the past. But in his eyes, you saw something flicker — a spark of recognition, of something that had never really gone away. And as the room began to empty, you knew this was not the end. Not quite. Not yet.

“This is my daughter, father.” you said softly, turning to Suguru. “Say hello, sweetheart.”

Your daughter hesitated for a moment, still clinging to you, but eventually she offered a shy smile. “Hello.” she whispered, her voice small and uncertain.

Suguru’s expression softened as he crouched down to her level, his eyes gentle. “Hello there, child.” He greeted me warmly, his tone light. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Father Suguru.”

She stared at him for a moment, as if trying to decide what to make of this stranger who seemed to know her mother so well. But Suguru had always been good with children, you remembered. There was a kindness in his demeanor that drew them in. After a moment, she nodded, accepting his presence with the solemnity only a child could muster at such a moment.

“You’ve grown up so much.” Suguru said, his gaze shifting back to you, and there was something tender in the way he looked at you, a flicker of an old memory shared between you.

Before you could respond, two young girls approached from behind him, their eyes wide with curiosity. They looked almost identical, with long dark hair and matching dresses, and they stood close together, their hands clasped as if seeking comfort from one another. You noticed the way they watched Suguru, their eyes full of trust and affection.

“These are my girls.” Suguru said, smiling gently. “Mimiko and Nanako. I adopted them some years ago. They were… lost, in a way, and I thought I could offer them something of a home.”

You felt a pang of recognition in your chest, understanding without needing to ask. He had always had a soft spot for the vulnerable, a quiet compassion that was buried beneath his strength. The girls looked up at you, curious and shy, and you gave them a gentle smile.

“Hello, Mimiko. Hello, Nanako.” you said softly. “It’s very nice to meet you both.”

They glanced at each other, and then Mimiko, the braver of the two, stepped forward. “Are you our father’s friend?” she asked, her voice small but direct. There was something almost protective in the way she looked at you, as if she was gauging whether you were worthy of her father’s trust.

You hesitated, unsure how to answer. A friend? Were you even that anymore? You wanted to say something else in the back of your mind. You were more than friends, you were lovers. You were everything to each other. Yet you couldn’t. Your lips would not move. But before you could find the right words, Suguru chuckled softly, a sound that sent a shiver down your spine.

“We used to be….close. We met each other a long time ago,” he answered for you, his gaze never leaving yours. “But we finally met again today, it would seem.”

Nanako, still holding Mimiko’s hand, tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. “Why did you stop?” she asked innocently.

You felt your breath hitch in your throat, a thousand unspoken answers rising to your lips. How could you explain? How could you sum up all the lost years, the paths that had diverged, the choices that had led you here, to this moment? 

Suguru turned to his daughters, his smile soft but tinged with a hint of sadness. “Sometimes life takes us in different directions, my dear.” he said gently. “But it doesn’t mean we stop caring about the people we once knew.”

Mimiko seemed satisfied with this answer, but Nanako continued to watch you, as if trying to see into your soul. You could feel the weight of her gaze, but there was no malice in it, only a child’s unfiltered curiosity.

“I’m sorry…..” you said, addressing Suguru again, though your eyes flicked briefly to the girls. “For all the years we lost. I… I didn’t mean for it to be that way.”

He shook his head, a soft smile touching his lips. “Don’t apologize to me about it.” he replied. “We did what we had to do, back then. But it’s good to see you now, and… to see the life you’ve built.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “It’s good to see you too, Suguru.” you whispered. “And to your girls too.”

He nodded, his gaze holding yours, and for a moment, the weight of the years seemed to lift, just slightly. You weren’t sure where this would lead, if anywhere at all. But you knew that something had shifted, something had opened between you, a door long closed but never quite locked. And maybe, just maybe, there was room to step through, to find out what lay on the other side.

══════════════════

YOU DIDN’T HAVE IT IN YOU TO LEAVE THE HOUSE FOR A WHILE. The days had grown longer since the funeral, each one stretching into the next with a quiet emptiness you hadn’t anticipated.

The house, once filled with the familiar rhythms of your husband’s presence, now seemed to echo with a silence that settled deep in your bones. To stave off the hollow ache that threatened to consume you, you kept yourself busy — perhaps too busy. 

You tended to your garden with a fervor that bordered on obsession, your hands constantly stained with earth, fingers rooting through the soil as if searching for something buried there, something that might fill the void.

The roses were blooming better than ever, their petals full and lush, as if they knew how much you needed them now. Your days blurred together in the quiet sanctuary of your backyard, kneeling among the flowers until the sun dipped below the horizon.

When you weren’t in the garden, you took your dogs for long, meandering walks. They were your faithful companions, sensing your grief in their quiet, unspoken way. You found solace in their steady presence, in the rhythm of their paws on the pavement, and the way they’d look back at you, as if making sure you were still there, still moving forward.

But your daughter, ever perceptive, noticed the way your days seemed to stretch out like a taut wire, threatening to snap. She was packing for college now, her room in disarray, and you could see the worry creasing her brow every time she glanced your way. 

One evening, as you sat together at the kitchen table, your daughter set down the book she’d been pretending to read and looked at you with a seriousness that caught you off guard.

“Mom.... I.... uh…..” she began, her voice soft but firm. “I’ve been thinking… about when I leave.”

You forced a smile, trying to keep your tone light. “Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. I’ve got the garden, the dogs… plenty to keep me busy.”

She shook her head, her expression earnest. “That’s just it, though. I don’t want you to be just… keeping busy. I want you to have people around you. Friends. People to talk to.”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. “I have friends,” you insisted gently, though you knew what she was getting at.

“Not like that,” she countered, shaking her head. “I mean… I want you to have new friends. I know this has been hard on you, losing Dad. And I just… I worry about you being lonely when I’m gone.”

You felt a lump form in your throat, a familiar sensation these days. “I’ll manage,” you murmured, but she wasn’t deterred.

“What about Father Suguru?” she asked, and you blinked, surprised. You hadn’t expected her to bring him up, not after the funeral, not after everything that had been left unspoken between you and the priest who had once been so much more.

“What about him?” you asked cautiously.

“He seems… nice.” she said, hesitating for a moment. “And you used to know him, right? Before Dad, before everything. Why not… reconnect with him? I mean, he invited you to church activities, didn’t he?”

You looked down at your hands, feeling a twinge of something you couldn’t quite name. “I don’t know… It feels strange, after all these years.”

“Maybe…..” she conceded. “But he’s reaching out, and I think it might be good for you. You don’t have to do it alone, you know? And it might help… to have someone around who understands.”

You looked up at her, seeing the concern etched in her young face, the worry that you had tried so hard to keep at bay. She was right, of course — the house was too big and too quiet, and the days too long. And perhaps, she had a point. Perhaps there was something to be said for reaching out, for finding solace in old friendships, even if they had been left behind in another life.

“I’ll think about it.” you finally said, offering her a small smile.

She reached out, taking your hand. “Just try, Mom. For me. I just want you to be happy… to find some peace.”

You nodded, feeling a tightness in your chest that you hadn’t felt in a long time. “I’ll try.” you promised, though the words felt heavier than you expected.

That Sunday, you found yourself standing outside the church, the morning sun casting long shadows on the stone steps. You hesitated, your heart thudding in your chest, but then you saw him — Suguru, standing by the entrance, greeting the parishioners as they arrived. His face brightened when he saw you, and he raised a hand in a small, almost tentative wave.

Taking a deep breath, you walked toward him, feeling the weight of the years between you like a whisper in the air. But as you drew closer, you felt something lift, something small but hopeful, as if maybe — just maybe — there was still room for new beginnings, even now.

Suguru’s smile widened as you approached, a gentle warmth radiating from him that eased some of the tension winding tight in your chest. He was dressed simply, in a way that suited him, with the plain black shirt and collar of his vocation. Yet, there was an ease in his posture, an openness that seemed to welcome you without hesitation. 

“Good morning.” he greeted softly, his voice carrying a familiarity that sent a shiver down your spine. “I’m glad to see you here.”

You returned his smile, though it felt a bit shaky on your lips. “I… thought I’d take you up on your invitation.” you replied, your words feeling tentative, almost shy. “My daughter encouraged me to come.”

He nodded, understanding flashing in his eyes. “She’s a wise young woman.” he said, his tone light. “I’m sure she just wants you to have some company, some… support.”

“I think she worries about me.” you admitted, glancing down at your hands. “And she’s right. The house is quiet. Too quiet, sometimes.”

Suguru’s expression softened, and he stepped a little closer, his voice dropping to a more intimate level. “I understand,” he murmured. “More than you know. It’s easy to feel lost in the silence after everything changes. But… you don’t have to go through it alone.”

You felt your heart ache at the kindness in his words, at the understanding he offered so freely. “Thank you.” you whispered. “It’s… been hard. I didn’t think it would be this hard.”

Suguru’s gaze held yours, steady and patient. “Grief has a way of sneaking up on us when we least expect it.” he said softly. “But you’re here now. And that’s something. You’ve taken a step.”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “I suppose I have.”

He gestured toward the entrance of the church, where people were beginning to gather, a soft hum of conversation filling the air. “Would you like to come in?” he asked. “We’re having a small gathering after the service — just some coffee and a chance to chat. I think you might enjoy it.”

You hesitated for a moment, the weight of uncertainty heavy on your shoulders. But there was a sincerity in Suguru’s eyes, a quiet encouragement that made you feel like maybe, just maybe, this wouldn’t be so terrible after all.

“I think I’d like that.” you said finally, your voice is firmer than before. “I could use a bit of company.”

His smile grew, genuine and warm. “Good.” he said, stepping back to let you pass. “I’ll be right by your side if you need anything. And I’m sure there are plenty of people here who would love to meet you.”

As you stepped inside, you were immediately enveloped by the soft glow of the stained glass windows, the warm, golden light casting colorful patterns across the pews. The room was filled with the low murmur of conversation, and you felt a flutter of anxiety in your chest. But Suguru was beside you, his presence steadying, and somehow that made it easier.

He introduced you to a few members of the congregation — older women with kind smiles, younger families with children who clung shyly to their parents’ legs. You exchanged polite pleasantries, feeling a bit like a fish out of water, but everyone was welcoming, their warmth a stark contrast to the cold emptiness that had filled your days.

After the service, as promised, there was coffee and tea in the small parish hall. You found yourself standing beside Suguru as he chatted easily with a group of parishioners, his voice calm and comforting, his laugh a soft rumble that seemed to put everyone at ease. You watched him from the corner of your eye, still marveling at the way he had changed and yet stayed so much the same.

At some point, Mimiko and Nanako found their way to your side, their small hands tugging on the hem of your jacket. “Are you going to be our friend too?” Mimiko asked, her eyes wide with hope.

You smiled down at her, your heart softening at her earnest expression. “I’d like that very much, if you would allow me.” you replied, and she beamed, satisfied with your answer.

Nanako, quieter but just as curious, looked up at you with a small smile. “Papa says you used to be his best friend.” she said matter-of-factly.

Suguru chuckled softly, a hint of a blush coloring his cheeks. “Children are so honest, aren’t they?” he murmured.

You laughed, feeling a lightness you hadn’t felt in months. “Yes.” you agreed, looking at him. “They are.”

Your conversation flowed, you felt the tension in your shoulders begin to ease, the heaviness in your chest lifting, if only just a bit. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. And as you stood there, surrounded by new faces and old memories, you realized that maybe your daughter had been right.

Maybe this was what you needed. Not to forget your grief, but to find a way to live with it, to let it become a part of you without letting it define you. And perhaps, with Suguru beside you, with new connections to explore, you could start to build something new from the ashes of what you had lost.

You caught Suguru’s eye again, and he offered you a small, understanding smile, as if sensing the shift within you. And for the first time in a long time, you felt something like hope.

══════════════════

TIME WITH SUGURU HEALED YOU. Over the next few weeks, you found yourself spending more and more time at the church. It had started with Sunday services and slowly expanded to weekday gatherings — a book club here, a community dinner there, little things that filled the empty spaces in your days.

Geto Suguru was always there, a quiet, steady presence. He was kind, attentive without being overbearing, and somehow, being around him made things feel just a bit lighter.

Your daughter noticed the change in you when she came home from college for the weekend. She saw the way your smile reached your eyes again, the way you seemed less burdened, and she was pleased.

“I knew you’d find someone to talk to, mom.” she said with a grin, her voice teasing. “Father Suguru is nice, isn’t he?”

You blushed at the mention of his name, feeling a strange mix of guilt and warmth. “He’s… he’s been very kind to me.” you replied. “It’s nice to have someone to talk to, that’s all.”

But deep down, you knew it was more than that. Slowly, gently, you and Suguru had begun to fall into the rhythm of your old friendship, but there was something new simmering beneath the surface, something unspoken that neither of you dared to name.

You felt it in the way his eyes lingered just a little too long when he looked at you, in the way your hand brushed his in passing and lingered a moment too long. There was a magnetic pull between you, a quiet longing that seemed to grow with every passing day.

And yet, there was a line you both knew you could not cross.

Suguru never spoke of it, but you could see the conflict in his eyes, the way he caught himself when he stood too close or when his hand brushed yours in a way that felt almost… intentional.

He would smile, pull back, and busy himself with something else, as if to remind himself of the boundaries he could not breach. You could sense the struggle within him, the way he tried so hard to remain the devoted priest, the man who had chosen a life of service and sacrifice.

It was during a rainy afternoon, after a small charity event at the church, you found yourself in his office, helping him sort through donations. The rain pattered softly against the windows, casting a muted glow over the room.

You were both seated on the floor, sorting through clothes and toys, when your hands brushed again. This time, neither of you pulled away. Geto Suguru’s breath caught in his throat, and you felt your heart race in response. The air between you grew thick, charged with an energy you could no longer ignore.

He looked up at you, his expression conflicted, torn between the desire you both felt and the commitment he had made. “I shouldn’t…” he began softly, his voice barely a whisper.

You swallowed, feeling the weight of his words. “I know,” you replied just as quietly. “I know it’s… complicated.”

Suguru’s eyes searched yours, as if looking for something — some kind of understanding, or perhaps, absolution. “I’ve… I’ve given my life to this.” he murmured, his gaze dropping to the floor. “To the church, to God. I made a vow.”

You nodded, your heart aching at the pain in his voice. “I don’t want to make things harder for you.” you whispered. “I don’t want you to have to choose.”

He shook his head, a bitter smile crossing his lips. “It’s not that simple.” he said, a hint of frustration creeping into his tone. “I… I made that vow because I had to. Because I felt it was the only way I could atone for something. Something I never told you.”

You blinked, confused. “Atone? For what?”

He hesitated, the struggle evident in his eyes. Then, finally, he spoke, his voice trembling with the weight of his confession. “I became a priest because… because I thought it might save you when you got in that accident.” he said, his words barely more than a breath.

You held your breath for a moment. You don’t know how you were going to deal with what he might say to you. What truths may come out.  What can you say, what can you say and do after all these years? He'd hidden all that, he'd kept his silence for more than twenty years and you don't know what to do. 

“What do you mean to say?”

“I thought if I gave my life to God, he would spare yours.”

You stared at him, stunned, as his words sank in. “Suguru… I don’t understand.”

He looked down, his hands trembling. “Years ago, when we… when we lost touch, I heard about what happened.” he explained, his voice heavy with emotion. “I was told you might not survive. I felt helpless, powerless to do anything. So, I prayed. I prayed with everything I had, and I promised God that if he saved you, I would give my life in return. I would serve him, devote myself to his cause. And you… you recovered.”

Your breath caught in your throat, a whirlwind of emotions crashing over you. “You did that… for me?”

He nodded, his eyes wet with unshed tears. “I did. And I couldn’t break that promise, not when He answered me. I couldn’t… I still can’t. Not like this.”

A lump formed in your throat as you realized the depth of his sacrifice, the weight of the promise he had made. “Suguru, I… I don’t know what to say.” you whispered, feeling a mix of gratitude, sorrow, and something else — something deeper, more complicated.

He reached for your hand then, his touch gentle but firm. “You don’t have to say anything, okay?” he replied softly. “I just… I needed you to know. I need you to understand why I can’t… why can't……..”

You nodded, tears blurring your vision. “I understand.” you said, your voice breaking. “I won’t ask you to break your vow. I just… I just don’t want to lose you again.”

He squeezed your hand, his expression pained but resolute. “You won’t.” he promised. “Not as long as I can help it. But we have to be careful. We have to… to find a way to be friends again, without… without crossing that line.”

You nodded again, swallowing back the tears. “I can do that.” you said quietly. “I can try.”

══════════════════

YOU COULDN’T HELP UNDERSTAND WHAT TO FEEL.The days after your confession were a blur of forced distance and unspoken words. Every time you passed by his office or saw him in the hallways, there was a tension, a gravity that threatened to pull you back in. But you resisted, reminding yourself of the vow he had made and the reasons why you had to keep your distance.

His promise was not something to take lightly. You knew that, and so did he. There were obligations, personal codes, things he held dear, and breaking them meant more than just a fleeting moment of passion. It meant betrayal — to himself and to the values he had sworn to uphold. You couldn’t be the reason he wavered, no matter how much your heart ached with the memory of that moment in his office.

The memory haunted you. The way his eyes softened when you spoke, how his gaze lingered just a little too long, how his lips parted, ready to say something that never came. It was both a promise and a plea, something unspoken but understood between the two of you. Yet, you knew it couldn’t be.

So you did what you thought was best. You put distance between you, told yourself it was the only way to keep things under control. You busied yourself with anything and everything, trying to ignore the weight in your chest that grew heavier each day. But it wasn’t just you who pulled back.

He, too, kept his distance, his demeanor cool and composed, almost like nothing had ever happened. But there were cracks — moments when his eyes would meet yours across a crowded room, moments when his voice would catch ever so slightly when speaking to you.

In those moments, you wondered if he was feeling the same pull, the same struggle to keep his distance. Was it difficult for him too? Did he regret the way things were left, or was he relieved that you had taken the initiative to step back?

Despite the pain of staying away, you told yourself it was for the best. It was the right thing to do, even though every fiber of your being wanted to run back to him, to let yourself fall into whatever this was between you. But you couldn’t — you wouldn’t be the reason he broke his vow. Because as much as you longed for him, you respected him more.

Still, late at night, when you were alone with your thoughts, you couldn’t help but wonder: What if? What if you hadn’t walked away that day? What if he had been the one to break the distance? The uncertainty gnawed at you, leaving you with a bittersweet longing that neither distance nor time could seem to quiet.

But the distance only seemed to make things worse.

At first, it was easy enough to stay away. You busied yourself with gardening, taking the dogs for longer walks, filling your days with mundane chores and errands. But the quiet nights were harder.

Your thoughts would drift back to Suguru — to the way his eyes softened when he looked at you, the way his voice dropped to a whisper when he spoke your name. You’d catch yourself imagining the brush of his hand against yours, the warmth of his body close to yours, the way he had leaned in just a bit too close, as if he might kiss you if only for a second. 

You knew you shouldn’t be thinking about him like that. He was a priest. He had made a choice, a vow, and you respected that. But the more you tried to push those thoughts away, the more they seemed to creep in, filling the quiet spaces of your mind.

Suguru was struggling too. He tried to focus on his duties, on the congregation, on the children who relied on him. He threw himself into his work with a fervor that bordered on obsession, trying to drown out the thoughts of you that seemed to linger no matter how hard he prayed.

But late at night, alone in his quarters, he found himself thinking of you. Of your laugh, your smile, the way you had looked at him in his office, your eyes filled with understanding, with something deeper that had taken root in his chest and refused to let go.

He would close his eyes and imagine what it would feel like to reach for you, to pull you into his arms, to taste your lips, to feel the heat of your skin against his. He hated himself for it, for the desire that surged through him like a tidal wave, threatening to sweep him away from everything he had promised to uphold. He’d kneel by his bed, his forehead pressed against his clasped hands, and pray for strength, for guidance, for something — anything — to take this longing away.

But the longing only grew.

One evening, as you sat on your porch, the sun dipping below the horizon, casting a soft golden glow over the garden, you felt the ache of loneliness settle deep in your bones.

You had spent the day trying to distract yourself, but nothing seemed to help. Every thought circled back to Suguru, to the way he made you feel alive in a way you hadn’t felt in years. You found yourself wondering what he was doing, if he was thinking of you too, if he was struggling as much as you were.

Without really meaning to, you reached for your phone. You typed out a message, then deleted it. Typed another, then deleted that too. You sighed, setting the phone aside, telling yourself to stop, to let it go. But your hand hovered over the screen, and before you knew it, you were calling his number.

The phone rang once, twice, and then his voice came through, soft and uncertain. “Hello?”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Hi.” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I… I hope I’m not bothering you.”

There was a pause, and you could hear the hesitation in his breath. “No.” he replied finally, his voice gentle. “You’re not bothering me.”

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. “I just… I wanted to see how you were.” you admitted. “It’s been a while.”

He let out a soft sigh, and you could almost hear the smile in his voice. “It has.” he agreed. “I’ve… missed you.”

You closed your eyes, the words sinking into your skin like a balm. “I’ve missed you too.” you confessed, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “I’ve been trying to stay away, but… it’s harder than I thought.”

He was quiet for a moment, and you could hear the rustle of fabric, the soft creak of a chair. “I’ve been trying too.” he admitted, his voice strained. “But it’s… it’s not easy.”

There was something in his tone, a rough edge that sent a shiver down your spine. “Suguru…….” you whispered, your heart pounding. “What are we going to do?”

He let out a breath, and you could feel the weight of his struggle, the battle raging within him. “I don’t know....." he replied honestly. “I’ve been praying for guidance, for… for something to help me make sense of this. But every time I close my eyes, all I see is you.”

Your breath hitched at his confession, the honesty of it slicing through you like a knife. “I… I feel the same.” you whispered. “I can’t stop thinking about you. About… about what it would feel like to…”

The words were right there, lingering on the tip of your tongue, but they felt too potent, too dangerous to release. You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening, your heart pounding in your chest as you stood there, teetering on the edge of a confession you weren't ready to make.

You wanted to say it, to let it all out — the weight of your feelings, the yearning that had grown over time, the way you couldn’t stop thinking about him, couldn’t stop feeling for him. But the moment felt too fragile, too charged. One wrong word and the delicate balance you both had maintained for so long would shatter. And so, you trailed off, your voice faltering, the unsaid hanging thick between you.

But he knew. The air in the room seemed to shift, charged with a tension that neither of you could deny. You could hear it in his breathing, the way it hitched, just for a moment, as if he was caught off guard by the depth of what you almost said. His chest rose and fell with a newfound heaviness, each breath more labored than the last, betraying the calm facade he tried to maintain.

He didn’t look at you right away, as if turning to face you would confirm everything — the longing, the hesitation, the unspoken desires that had been building between you both for far too long. But when he finally spoke, his voice trembled, a slight quiver beneath his usual steady tone. It wasn’t much, barely noticeable to anyone else, but to you, it was everything.

It was proof that he understood that he was feeling the same thing you were, even if neither of you could fully articulate it. His words, whatever they were, seemed like an afterthought, just filler to mask the emotions surging beneath the surface. Yet, the tremor in his voice betrayed him, and for a moment, you wondered if he would be the one to break first.

But he didn’t. Instead, you both stood there, suspended in the weight of your silence, the unspoken words pressing against your lips like a dam about to break. You could feel the heat of his presence, the way the space between you seemed to shrink without either of you moving an inch. There was so much you wanted to say, so much you wanted to hear, but neither of you dared cross that invisible line.

Even though nothing was said aloud, the room felt full — full of everything you couldn’t bring yourself to admit, full of everything he had already understood. The weight of it pressed on you, thick and heavy, and you realized that sometimes, words weren’t necessary. Sometimes, the silence, the shared breath, the trembling voice, said everything that needed to be said.

And in that moment, you both knew.

“I know.” he whispered, his voice raw with need. “I’ve thought about it too. More than I should.”

Your heart raced, a flush spreading over your skin as the heat of his words washed over you. “Maybe… maybe we could just see each other.” you suggested tentatively. “Just… just to talk. Nothing more.”

He hesitated, and you could feel the conflict in his silence. But then he spoke, his voice thick with longing. “Just to talk, like back then....” he agreed. “But… if it becomes too much…”

“I’ll leave.” you promised. “I don’t want to make things harder for you. I just… I just need to see you.”

He sighed, a sound of both relief and resignation. “Okay……” he said softly. “Come to the church tomorrow. After the evening service. We can… we can talk.”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you, your heart racing with anticipation, with fear, with desire.

“Okay.” you whispered. “Tomorrow.”

When the call ended, you felt a strange mix of emotions — excitement, anxiety, a deep, pulsing need that you couldn’t ignore. You told yourself it would just be a conversation, just a chance to clear the air, to find some semblance of peace in this storm. But deep down, you knew it wouldn’t be that simple. Nothing between you and Geto Suguru had ever been simple.

And as you lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, you wondered what tomorrow would bring, and whether you’d have the strength to resist the pull that had only grown stronger with every moment you spent apart.

══════════════════

YOU DON’T KNOW ABOUT WHAT TO DO. The next evening arrived like a cold weight pressing on your chest. You stood outside the church, your clothes soaked through as the rain beat down relentlessly, its bitter chill sinking into your bones.

Each gust of wind cut through you, but the storm raging around you was nothing compared to the turmoil within. You had rehearsed what you might say over and over, yet as you stood before the old wooden doors, the words felt distant, unreachable.

With a shaky breath, you reached out, your hand trembling as it grasped the iron handle. The door creaked, groaning under the pressure of your push, the sound amplified by the hollow quiet inside.

Stepping across the threshold, you could hear the echo of your footsteps against the stone floor, each step amplifying the pounding of your heart, which beat in sync with the thunder rumbling outside.

The church was nearly empty, its vast interior engulfed in an eerie stillness. The last remnants of the evening service had long since faded, leaving only a few flickering candles scattered around the altar.

Their faint, wavering light sent shadows dancing across the old stone walls, casting strange shapes that seemed to twist and shift with every gust of wind that rattled the windows. The air smelled of damp wood, incense, and something ancient — a scent that seemed to settle deep in your lungs, grounding you in the moment yet unsettling you all the same.

You paused just inside the doorway, wiping the rain from your face, and took in the silence that surrounded you. Despite the stillness, the weight of the space pressed down on you, amplifying your anxiety. You weren’t sure if it was the setting or the reason for your presence that made your chest tighten, but every breath felt like an effort. 

The soft hum of the storm outside was barely audible within the stone sanctuary, creating a strange sense of isolation. You found yourself both soothed and unnerved by the contrast — the chaos outside, the fragile calm inside.

And yet, even within this tranquility, there was a tension, a palpable sense of anticipation that settled in your gut. You were here for a reason, but now, standing in the dim light of the church, the reality of it felt heavier than you had imagined.

You walked slowly down the aisle, your footsteps echoing off the vaulted ceiling, each step measured, deliberate, as if delaying the inevitable. The pews were empty, save for a few scattered hymn books and prayer pamphlets left behind.

The rows stretched endlessly before you, and every flicker of the candles seemed to emphasize the emptiness, the vastness of the space, making you feel smaller with each passing second.

As you approached the altar, your breath hitched in your throat. This was the place where vows were made, promises were sealed, and lives were intertwined — for better or for worse. But you weren’t here for such formalities.

No, your visit was shrouded in uncertainty and the kind of unspoken tension that you had no idea how to resolve. The closer you got to the altar, the more the anticipation surged, twisting inside you.

You hesitated, standing just a few feet away from the altar steps. The candles flickered, casting long shadows that stretched toward you like fingers reaching from the past, urging you to move forward. But you remained still, heart pounding, breath shallow. The moment felt suspended, like a string pulled taut, ready to snap.

In the stillness, you wondered what awaited you — what words would be exchanged, what truths would be revealed. The anxiety gnawed at you, and yet, beneath it all, there was a strange undercurrent of hope. Maybe, just maybe, this night would bring clarity, an answer to the questions that had haunted you since the last time you were here.

And so you stood there, fighting the urge to turn back, knowing that what happened next could change everything.

You could hear Suguru’s voice in the distance, speaking quietly with one of the parishioners. You waited near the back, your hands clasped in front of you, trying to steady your breathing. When he finished, he turned and saw you, his expression softening in a way that made your chest ache.

"You're here." he said, walking over to you. His voice was low, and there was a flicker of something in his eyes — relief, maybe, or hesitation.

"I am." you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "I… I needed to see you."

He nodded, his gaze sweeping over you, lingering for just a moment too long. “Come with me.” he murmured, gesturing toward a small room off to the side. His office, you realized. The room where it all started.

You followed him, your footsteps echoing softly on the stone floor. The air felt thick, heavy with unsaid words, with unspoken need. Once inside, he closed the door, and you both stood there for a moment, staring at each other, unsure where to begin. You could feel your heart pound at each step you took. Your breath hitches as you walk with him, many thoughts racing over and over in your head.

Suguru took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. "I’m glad you came." he said, breaking the silence. "But I… I don’t know if this is a good idea."

Your chest tightened at his words, a mixture of frustration and longing bubbling to the surface. “I don’t either.” you admitted, “but I don’t know what else to do. I can’t just… ignore this.”

He looked at you, his eyes darkening with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. “Do you think it’s easy for me?” he asked, his voice rising slightly. “Do you think I don’t feel it too? This… this pull?”

You took a step closer, feeling a spark of anger mixed with desire. “Then why are we fighting it, Suguru? Why are we pretending like this isn’t happening?”

He shook his head, his frustration evident. “Because I made a promise, you know that.” he snapped. “Because I dedicated my life to something bigger than myself, and I can’t just… I can’t just throw that away!”

You felt a surge of emotion, a frustration that had been building for weeks. “I’m not asking you to throw anything away!” you shot back, your voice louder than you intended. “But you can’t just… you can’t just pretend you don’t feel anything. That we don’t feel anything!”

His eyes flashed with something you couldn’t quite name — anger, maybe, or desire. “I’ve spent years pretending, trying to bury these feelings,” he said, his voice low and raw. “But every time I see you… every time I hear your voice…”

He stepped closer, his breath hot against your skin, his eyes locked onto yours. “It tears me apart. And I don’t know…..” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve tried to stay away. God knows I’ve tried. But I… I can’t.”

You could feel the heat radiating off him, the tension between you thick and suffocating. “Then don’t.” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Don’t stay away. Don’t push me away…Please.”

His breath hitched, his hands twitching at his sides as if he was fighting the urge to reach for you. “This is madness.” he murmured, but his voice lacked conviction. “This… this is wrong.”

“Is it?” you challenged, your heart pounding in your chest. “Is it really so wrong to want… to feel…?”

He closed his eyes, a pained expression crossing his face. “I don’t know anymore.” he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know what’s right or wrong when it comes to you.”

Before you could think, before you could stop yourself, you reached out and grabbed his hand, pulling him closer. “Then stop thinking.” you said softly, your voice trembling. “Just… just feel.”

For a moment, he froze, his breath catching in his throat. Then, something inside him seemed to snap. He surged forward, his hands cupping your face, his lips crashing against yours with a force that took your breath away.

The kiss was desperate, hungry, years of longing and frustration pouring out in a single, electrifying moment. You felt his hands tangle in your hair, his body pressing against yours, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. You kissed him back with equal fervor, your fingers gripping his shirt, pulling him closer, needing to feel him, to taste him, to know that this was real.

Your back hit the wall, and he pressed against you, his mouth moving against yours with a ferocity that made your knees weak. You could feel his heart pounding in his chest, could taste the salt of his tears on his lips. You were drowning in him, in the scent of him, in the feel of his body against yours, in the way his hands roamed your back, pulling you closer, deeper into the kiss.

But then, as quickly as it began, he pulled away, gasping for breath, his hands still holding your face, his forehead resting against yours. “We… we can’t.” he panted, his voice broken, torn. “This… this isn’t right.”

You were both breathing hard, your chest heaving with the effort to calm the storm raging inside you. “I know,” you whispered, your voice shaky. “I know it’s not. But… but I need you, Suguru. I need you so much.”

He closed his eyes, his hands trembling against your skin. “I need you too.” he confessed, his voice choking with emotion. “God help me, I need you too.”

And in that moment, as you stood there, pressed against the wall, your breaths mingling in the darkened room, you both knew that something had changed. A line had been crossed, a boundary shattered, and there was no going back.

The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you, tangled together in a moment that was as intoxicating as it was forbidden. And for the first time, you allowed yourself to feel the weight of what was between you, to acknowledge the depth of your desire, the strength of your longing.

Suguru’s lips brushed against yours again, softer this time, more tentative, as if he was afraid to break the fragile moment. “What are we doing?” he whispered against your mouth.

You closed your eyes, feeling his breath warm against your skin. “I don’t know.” you admitted, your voice barely more than a breath. “But I don’t want to stop.”

He swallowed hard, his forehead still pressed against yours, his hands cradling your face as if he were afraid you might disappear. “Neither do I.” he confessed, his voice breaking. “Neither do I.”

His breath was ragged, his hands shaking as they cupped your face once more, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was both desperate and tender, as if he were searching for something he had lost long ago.

The world around you seemed to dissolve into a blur, leaving only the two of you in this sacred, forbidden moment. Tears slipped down your cheeks, and he felt them against his skin, his own eyes closing tight as if he could hold back the storm of emotions threatening to consume him.

He kissed you again, harder this time, a low, shaky sigh escaping him as his hands found their way to your waist, pulling you against him with a strength that bordered on desperation.

“Forgive me.” he murmured against your lips, the words barely audible, his voice thick with emotion. “God, forgive me…”

But even as he spoke, he knew there was no forgiveness for what he was about to do, no absolution in this moment of need and longing. He felt the weight of his vows, the promises he had made, the life he had chosen… and yet, when it came to you, every vow seemed like a distant memory, every promise a faint echo of a past life. 

His hands moved to your shoulders, pressing you back against the wall, his lips trailing down your neck, kissing every inch of skin he could reach as if he were worshiping at an altar.

“I’ve sinned so truly and endlessly for all these years.” he whispered, his voice raw, broken. “I’ve sinned, loving you… wanting you… needing you…”

You gasped, your fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer, needing to feel him, needing to know this was real. His lips moved lower, tracing the line of your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin.

“You’ve always been my god.” he confessed, his voice a breathless prayer. “And I… your most devoted follower…”

He sank to his knees, his hands sliding down your sides, his lips brushing against the fabric of your dress. He looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire, his expression a mixture of longing and torment.

“I can’t stop.” he whispered, his voice barely a breath. “I won’t stop…”

His fingers hooked into the hem of your dress, lifting it slowly, reverently, his lips pressing kisses to the exposed skin of your thighs. You shivered, your breath catching in your throat as he continued, his hands trembling against your skin. 

“I’ll sin for you… over and over.” he murmured, his lips brushing against the curve of your hip. “Because I can’t let you go…”

He kissed lower, his mouth trailing down the inside of your thigh, his breath warm against your skin. He paused for a moment, his hands gripping your thighs, his forehead pressing against your belly as if he were fighting some inner battle. And then, with a sigh that seemed to come from the depths of his soul, he kissed you again, his lips finding the center of your desire, soft and demanding all at once.

You moaned, your head falling back against the wall, your hands gripping his shoulders as his tongue flicked against you, tasting you, savoring you like the sweetest sin.

He groaned, the sound vibrating against your skin, his hands tightening their grip on your thighs, pulling you closer as his tongue moved in slow, deliberate circles, each stroke a prayer, each touch a confession.

He kissed you there, over and over, his mouth moving against you with a fervor that was almost holy in its intensity. He could feel your body trembling beneath his hands, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he worshiped you with every ounce of devotion he possessed. His tongue swirled around your clit, teasing, tasting, the heat of his breath mingling with the heat of your skin.

His hands gripped the soft flesh of your thighs, his fingers digging into your skin as he held you steady, his mouth never leaving you, his tongue moving faster, hungrier, seeking to draw out every cry, every moan, every shudder of pleasure. His own breath came in ragged bursts, his heart pounding in his chest, his body trembling with the force of his own desire.

He couldn’t stop — didn’t want to stop. You were his sanctuary, his salvation, and in this moment, he was lost in you, lost in the heat of your skin, the taste of your desire, the sound of your breathless gasps. He moaned against you, the sound filled with need, with longing, with a hunger that bordered on desperation.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, urging him on as he continued, his lips and tongue moving against you with a fervor that was almost frantic. He felt your body tense, heard the soft, breathless moans that escaped your lips, and he knew you were close. Suguru wanted to push you over the edge, wanted to hear you cry out his name, wanted to feel you shatter against his lips.

And so, he continued, his tongue flicking faster, his lips pressing harder, his hands gripping your thighs as if he could anchor himself to you, as if he could hold you here, with him, in this perfect, sinful moment forever. 

You cried out, your body arching against the wall, your hands tightening in his hair as you came, a soft, breathless moan escaping your lips. He groaned against you, his tongue never stopping, his lips moving against you with a fervor that was almost holy, almost desperate, as if he were afraid to let you go, afraid to let the moment end.

And in that moment, he knew — he knew he would never be able to stop sinning for you. He would never be able to walk away, to forget the taste of you, the feel of you, the sound of your voice crying out his name. He was yours, body and soul, for better or for worse, for all eternity.

He pulled back, his breath ragged, his lips glistening, his eyes dark and filled with a longing so deep it nearly broke your heart. He looked up at you, his hands still gripping your thighs, his expression a mixture of awe and torment.

His voice was hoarse when he spoke, as if every word took effort to push past the weight of his desire. "I can't... I can't stop this." he confessed, his forehead resting against your stomach, his breath warm against your skin. His hands slid up your sides, pulling you closer as if anchoring himself to you, needing the connection as much as the air in his lungs.

You tangled your fingers in his hair again, your pulse still racing, the aftermath of the moment leaving your body humming with a mix of exhaustion and anticipation. You could feel the tension in him, the battle between what he wanted and what he knew was dangerous, and yet you both understood — there was no turning back. Not now.

Slowly, you tilted his chin up, guiding his gaze back to yours. His eyes, still dark with desire, searched yours, and you could see the fear in them — fear of the depth of this thing between you, fear of how much it already consumed him. But beneath that, there was something more. Something tender, vulnerable, almost fragile.

"I don't want you to stop." you whispered, your voice soft but firm. "I don't want this to end.”

Suguru's eyes softened for a moment, then clouded with guilt. His hands trembled as they cupped your face, his thumbs gently stroking your cheeks. "I'm sorry." he murmured, his voice breaking with regret. "I'm so sorry… I led you to sin. This desire—my desire—it’s wrong, I’ve tainted you. I should have never let it go this far."

You shook your head, heart pounding, and leaned into his touch. "No." you whispered fiercely. "You didn't lead me anywhere I didn't want to go. I chose this. I chose you. If we're sinners, then I'll carry that sin with you. Together."

Without hesitation, you captured his lips in a kiss that was hard, desperate, and messy, like you were trying to devour him, to merge with him completely. And Suguru, filled with equal need, responded with the same raw intensity. His hands roamed your body, hungry, claiming, as if trying to make sure this moment, this choice, could never be undone.

In one swift motion, he lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to the confession box. The small, sacred space that had once held secrets and forgiveness was now your altar of passion. You both fumbled with your clothes, hands frantic, lips still locked in that feverish kiss. When the last piece of fabric fell to the floor, he broke away just long enough to whisper. 

"You are my god. I was never meant to devote worship to anyone else."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and the intensity of his devotion left you breathless. When he finally entered you, filling you completely, your body arched, as if instinctively trying to get closer, deeper, into the space where the boundaries of pleasure and need blurred into something beyond comprehension. 

The moan that escaped your lips was loud, unrestrained, ripped from your throat like a prayer answered after too long in the desert. And as if answering your plea, Suguru thrust harder, deeper, his breath ragged, his skin slick with sweat as the storm outside raged in perfect synchrony with the chaos inside you both.

Thunder cracked, the air vibrating with the sound, but neither of you cared. It was the storm that gave you permission to be loud, to scream, to lose yourselves in this forbidden act. The rain pounded against the windows, a constant drumbeat to the rhythm of his body pressing into yours, over and over, until your mind was lost in a haze of pleasure so blinding you couldn’t tell where your body ended and his began.

You came, hard and fast, your body trembling uncontrollably in his arms, but he didn't stop. He couldn't stop. His pace grew more desperate, each thrust pushing deeper, more insistent, like a prayer that had to be spoken aloud, no matter the cost. His worship of you was not gentle; it was fierce, almost frenzied, as if the very act of being inside you was the only way he could breathe.

"Suguru." you gasped, barely able to speak, your voice broken and breathless. But the sound of his name on your lips seemed to spur him on. His hands gripped your hips tighter, pulling you impossibly closer, his movements becoming rougher, more urgent. Every thrust pushed you higher, every stroke making your body shake, your legs trembling as you gave into the pleasure that threatened to overwhelm you.

He was relentless, his need for you all-consuming, driven by something more than mere desire. It was devotion, pure and raw, a longing that had been pent up for far too long. His words from earlier echoed in your mind — You are my god — and you could feel the truth of it now, in every touch, every movement, as he gave himself to you completely.

You whimpered as your body responded to him again, another wave of pleasure building as he moved deeper inside you, filling every part of you until there was nothing left but him. The tension between your bodies, the heat, the raw, primal hunger, grew too much to bear. Your nails dug into his shoulders, your body clinging to him, needing him, wanting him, as he pushed you closer to the edge again.

The storm raged outside, lightning flashing, illuminating the room in brief moments of stark white, and in those flashes, you could see the look on his face — dark, intense, a man consumed by his love for you, by the act of giving himself over entirely, as if nothing else mattered in this world.

And maybe it didn’t.

"Suguru..." you moaned, feeling yourself break once more as your body surrendered to him completely, trembling violently against his as he continued to claim you, over and over, as if this moment would never end.

Suguru’s pace never faltered, his body pressed relentlessly against yours, each thrust deeper than the last. His eyes were half-lidded with a raw, burning need, his hands never loosening their grip on your trembling body.

Even as your voice broke into breathless cries, your hands clutched desperately at him, grounding yourself in the overwhelming sensations that coursed through you. He was utterly lost in you, consumed by the devotion he had promised — his worship of you unending, fervent, and wild.

Your body ached with the pleasure of it, shaking beneath him as he continued even after you had come. He was relentless, his hips driving against yours in a rhythm that sent shivers down your spine, each movement feeding the fire that burned between you. You felt overwhelmed, consumed, your body unable to keep up with the intensity of his desire, but you didn’t want him to stop. Not ever.

“Suguru……” you whimpered again, your voice cracking, barely able to speak as his thrusts grew rougher, more desperate. “Please…”

But whether you were begging for more or for a moment’s reprieve, even you didn’t know. He responded with a low, guttural moan, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath hot and ragged against your lips. His eyes, dark and wild, locked onto yours as he murmured in a voice thick with lust. 

“I need you… I need you more than anything. You’re everything.”

Your heart pounded, his words igniting something deep within you as your body gave in completely, surrendering to him as if you were both caught in the grip of something sacred and sinful all at once. He pushed deeper, each thrust taking you to the edge of what your body could handle, the pleasure blending with a delicious ache that left you trembling against him.

The thunder outside roared, masking your moans as his worship grew more fervent, his devotion unrelenting. Your body shook beneath him, every nerve alight as he claimed you over and over. Your hands slid up his back, your nails digging into his skin, marking him as yours as he took you higher, his pace unbroken, his rhythm fierce and untamed.

Lightning flashed again, casting the room in harsh light, illuminating the way his muscles strained as he drove into you, his face twisted in both agony and ecstasy. His voice, hoarse and filled with desperate reverence, reached you between the booming thunder. 

“You’re mine… only mine.”

The words broke something in you, your body shaking as the pleasure surged through you once again, your cries swallowed by the storm. You clung to him as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you, your body collapsing into his as the intensity of it all took you to the brink of delirium.

Suguru wasn’t far behind. His movements grew frantic, his body trembling with the effort of holding back as long as he could. But in the end, he couldn’t resist any longer. With a low, primal groan, he buried himself deep inside you one last time, his release washing over him as he collapsed into you, his entire body shaking with the force of it.

For a moment, neither of you moved, tangled together in a haze of exhaustion and bliss, the sound of the storm outside slowly fading into the background. His breath was heavy against your neck, his lips brushing your skin as he whispered. 

“I’m never letting you go.”

And as you lay there, wrapped in each other, you knew the truth of it — this was something neither of you could escape. Not the sin, not the pleasure, not the way you were both hopelessly bound to one another. For better or worse, you were his, and he was yours. Bound in sin, bound in love, bound in something far more powerful than either of you could understand.

══════════════════

epilogue

The car hummed softly beneath you as you drove, the highway stretching out ahead, quiet and serene in the early morning light. Your daughter sat in the passenger seat, her backpack nestled between her feet, her gaze fixed out the window as the city gave way to the open road leading toward the airport. The silence between you was comfortable, but there was an unspoken tension — the weight of goodbye looming just ahead.

You glanced over at her, your heart swelling with pride and a little bit of that inevitable ache that comes with watching your child leave. She had grown so much, blossomed into a young woman full of ambition and dreams. College was her next chapter, and you were ready to let her go, even if the thought tugged at your heart.

As if sensing your thoughts, she turned to you, her brow furrowed in concern. "Are you gonna be alright, Mom?" Her voice was soft, careful, as if she was more worried about you than her own big journey ahead.

You smiled at her, reaching over to give her hand a reassuring squeeze. "Yes, sweetheart. I'm going to be fine." You paused, your smile growing a little softer. "I have Suguru."

She smiled back, a knowing look in her eyes. She had grown up with Suguru around, seeing the way you two fit together. Over time, she understood the depth of your bond, even if she didn’t know the whole story. 

"I’m glad." she said quietly. "He’s good for you."

You nodded, your chest tightening a bit as the airport came into view. "He is. And I’m going to miss you. But you know you can come back anytime, right? This is always your home."

She smiled, though it was tinged with the same bittersweet feeling you carried. "I know, Mom. I’ll come back as soon as I can."

After pulling up to the drop-off zone, you hugged her tightly, savoring the warmth of her embrace. "I’m so proud of you." you whispered, holding her just a little longer than usual. 

"I love you, Mom." she murmured back before pulling away, her eyes a little misty. She gave you one last smile before grabbing her bag and disappearing through the airport doors.

For a moment, you sat there, watching the entrance as people hurried by, the world continuing on as always. You felt the pang of her absence already, but you knew that she was ready for this new adventure. And so were you.

With a deep breath, you turned the car around and headed back toward town, a quiet excitement building in your chest. Suguru was waiting for you. As you neared the church, the sight of it stirred something in you. It was the place where so much had started, where your life had taken a turn you could never have predicted.

Suguru had officially left the priesthood some time ago, and now, he was finishing the last bit of paperwork to close that chapter of his life. His decision had been made with a clear heart, for both of you and for the daughters he had taken in, Mimiko and Nanako. The three of them had already moved the rest of their things to a house just outside of town, the place where you would begin your new life together.

As you pulled into the small parking lot of the church, you spotted him standing near the entrance, his dark hair tied back, his expression calm but focused as he signed the last of the documents. He looked up when you parked, his lips curving into a soft smile as you approached.

"All set?" you asked as you reached him, your fingers brushing his in a quiet greeting.

He nodded, setting the paperwork aside. "It’s done. Everything’s in order." His smile widened, that familiar warmth in his gaze. "I’m free."

You exhaled softly, the weight of his words filling the space between you. He had left the priesthood not for the sake of running away from something, but for the chance to fully embrace the life he wanted — the life he wanted with you.

"So," you asked with a playful tilt of your head, "where to next?"

Suguru smiled, reaching out to take your hand in his, his touch grounding and steady, as it had always been. "I want to devote the rest of my life to you," he said simply, his voice gentle yet filled with unwavering certainty. 

Your heart swelled at his words, a rush of warmth flooding through you. He had always been devoted, but now it was different. Now, there were no barriers, no walls between you. It was just the two of you, ready to build something beautiful together.

You smiled, stepping closer and resting your head against his chest, his arms wrapping around you in a way that felt like home. "Then let’s go, hm?" you whispered. "Let’s start the rest of our lives."

And as you drove away from the church together, toward the house that would soon become your shared home, the future felt wide open — a new chapter, a new beginning. You had Suguru. You had love. And for the first time, you felt entirely free.

[meanbossart]

Hi! I'm almost certain you've answered asks regarding Drow being a companion love interest before, but I'm not sure if my question was specifically discussed. If so, I apologize!

Say I wanted the smelly, gore lusting man (God the things I'd do), what would the player find themselves needing to do to gain that relationship with him?

HMM good question, lets see!

Generally speaking, to gain approval you would have to:

Show ruthlessness during dialogue and interactions (succeed intimidation checks or jump straight into combat)

Be kind towards animals, and honest/patient with children (He will be neutral if you just coddle them)

Oppose the absolute and antagonize mindflayers, gith, and drow.

Be nice to Shadowheart.

Pick a lot of the joke/playfully mean dialogue options.

Be a little hard-to-get in romance interactions until act 3.

Responding to his advances with more mellow, romantic dialogue will earn you more points than overt sexuality (In some cases, the latter may even get you disapproval).

Make him laugh.

To trigger his romance, you have to have good approval and sleep with him once. Following that, pressuring him to sleep with you again or shaming him for not putting your life in danger by trying will earn you disapproval, and an eventual break-up if you continue to insist. He enjoys being wooed, but not chased, and dislikes when you misunderstand his visceral attempts to emotionally reach out as sexual propositions; he will play along either way, but it will put him on a Bhaalist path.

Some quest choices that will get you on his good side:

ACT 1 -

He's indifferent if Arabella dies, but you gain approval if you save her.

Let him take on the Loviatar Priest when he requests it.

Don't get the Absolute's mark from Priestess gut.

Save Mayrina, but then either break or keep the wand.

Let Astarion kill Gandrel.

Help Karlach.

Either let Shadowheart kill Lae'zel, or stop the fight.

Don't kill the owlbear mother or cub.

Send Barcus flying (He doubles over laughing)

Kill Minthara.

Side with the mercenaries at Grymforge.

Kill the gith student refusing to fight.

Refuse to give the inquisitor the artefact.

ACT 2 -

Help Arabella find her parents.

Don't release the pixie from the moonlantern.

Help Mol cheat against Raphael.

Let him massacre the goblins at Moonrise Towers.

Get the Thorm bosses AND yurgir to kill themselves instead of fighting any of them (again: You are rewarded with him laughing his ass off about it)

Don't comply with Araj.

If you save Zevlor at the mindflayer colony, shame him for giving into the Absolute's call.

Antagonize the emperor after his reveal and refuse the astral tadpole.

ACT 3 -

Help Yenna with either gold or food, but don't invite her to your camp.

Kill Arfur once you find out about the explosive toys.

Forge an alliance with Gortash.

Win the Laff riot contest.

Don't surrender Dame Aylin to Lorroakan.

Don't sign the contract, but agree to get the Orphic hammer through other means later. (Anything to not rely on the Emperor anymore)

If she hasn't become a Dark Justiciar, don't surrender Shadowheart to Viconia (He will fight the party unless you leave him at camp and succeed a deception check later). He doesn't care what you do if she's a DJ.

Vanra's quest can get you either approval or disapproval at different points. He approves of you agreeing to help her, then also approves of you killing her for the money, but he disapproves of you letting the child die or of siding with Ethel.

Agree to the Avenge The Drowned quest (He just thinks they're hot)

Don't let Astarion Ascend, or kill him if he does.

Kill Sarevok.

Let him take on Orin by himself.

Don't turn into a mindflayer (he will break up with you later), nor let Karlach do it.

If he's become a chosen of Bhaal, let him control the Absolute.

[all-eye]

High Value Target

(Yandere!St.Figarland Garling X F!Reader)

[A/n: First of all, english isn’t my first language, sorry if there is any mistake. Also it's my first work ever posted, be nice please.

Second, the Yandere!Garling portrayal has been heavily inspired by the lovely work of @everlasting-rainfall , you should check their blog if you'd like, minors do not interact with their tumblr!

Third, this is a dead-dove fic. Read at your own risks]

I HAVE NEVER, AND WILL NEVER CONDONE THE ACTIONS OF ANY CELESTIAL DRAGON!!

Dialogues:

• Common language spoken in OP

• Local language spoken on this one island

TRIGGER WARNINGS:

Not Spoiler Free (until chap 1096), Death, Genocide, Mass Suicide, Racism/Colonialism, Slavery, Cultural Erasure, Celestial Dragons being Celestial Dragons, Celestial Dragons National "Hunt a Native" Event, Implied Rape/Noncon, Non-sexual Nudity, Stalking, Yandere Creepiness, Female!Reader, Tattoed!Reader

DEAD DOVE/DO NOT EAT

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

(Three years before the God Valley Incident, somewhere in the New World)

You were a gift to the Temple, even before you could start to remember your parents faces. You learnt how to fight at the same time your learnt how to walk. The other gifted children were your brothers and sisters, and alongside them you grew up, learning how to detect your enemy's Voice and how to make your weapon and your fists as hard as diamonds. You learnt how to attack, and how to defend.

When you became an adult, you received your tattoos, your steel trident along with a new name. One which would give you strength and resilience.

You were part of the Priests of the War God. Elite of the Nation and Protector of the Island.

But those sea people... those wretched, greasy and filthy invaders... those so-called Gods. They didn't use any of those titles.

So, what did they call you?

A Super Rare Rabbit.

When they arrived, surrounded your island with their ships and made their announcement, you didn’t understand at first. You weren't really skilled in that area, you had troubles understanding their language. And when you finally got it, you still didn’t believe it. I mean, who could? It was... surreal, absurd.

You finally understood when the first shot was fired.

Mayhem was unleashed upon your people. Screaming children everywhere, families running frantically. The sound of detonations and misery. The smell of blood, powder and death.

Along with your siblings, you tried to do your duty as best as you could. Striking some of these invaders, but mostly helping your fellow citizens to flee and hide in the mountains.

This was all too sudden. You had to retreat, take a grasp on the situation, and come up with a plan.

There was also a small group of foreigners who were used as targets. Apparently, slaves. Only by taking your time to discuss with them, with the help of someone who spoke their language, did you truly comprehend the Horror of your situation.

A Hunt. These demons were planning to exterminate all of you, but wanted to have fun with it.

If you survived for 3 weeks you would be released? As if! Who could believe that?! As the slaves said, no one ever survived these fucked up games!

They would kill you all and steal your Land.

That is, only the lucky ones would be shot. You’ve heard some accounts. And you wanted to bash your skull against a rock to forget them.The things surviving civilians witnessed during the first attack. The horrendous fate that awaited many women and even some pretty young men who were left behind.

As you tried to calm down the citizens, your higher-ups were pondering their options. They could clearly sense it, most of the sea people didn't know anything about combat. However, their weaponry was way more advanced than yours. Not only that, but a tremendous number of their battleships surrounded the island, leaving no way out.

To make matters worse, there was also that one thing, that you could sense too. They counted about ten of these people, whose Voices were so dreadful they shook them to their core.

In this instance, what could they do? Their options were scarce, if not inexistent. You could feel their unease seeping through the camp, slowly making its way into everyone's mind. Once they were done deliberating, you were all gathered to hear their final decision.

You shared a glance with some of your brothers. You didn’t voice your opinion, but frankly, you didn’t need to. Most of them were having similar thoughts.

One thing was clear: you would all die. There was no need to lie to yourself. Either hunted for sports like animals, or reduced to slavery.

But still, something needed to be done. You couldn't just... wait for the sea-people to come and play their stupid games. No warrior could ever endure such humiliation. No civilian deserved to end up a hunting trophy. You needed to act quick, before any of them could reach this hideout.

So, the higher-ups finally spoke. From the beginning, there was only one true option. And even if you thought you were ready to hear that, you still felt like the ground was opening under your feet and swallowing you whole. It was so unfair... how could you tell that to the civilians? Look them in the eyes and tell them you couldn't protect them? That your vows meant nothing?

But still... all these people... the women, the children, the elderly... and those who just could not defend themselves... they finally understood. After all, they were still part of a prideful nation. If they could find a way to avoid this game, they would do it.

And then, it started.

People hugging their loved ones before throwing themselves off cliffs.

Mothers holding their children before making them eat the seeds of the Last-Kiss Fruit.

And those who picked up the poisoned corpses and threw them into water sources, slowly infecting the Land, destroying everything before the invaders could seize it.

At the end, only a few people remained.

The War Priests of the West, dutiful and well-trained. The Masked Mountain Warriors, as stealthy as deadly. The Archers of the Eastern Coast, whose bloodlust was unmatched in the whole Land. Some foreign slaves and other natives joined you as well. Every men and women who were ready to kill and be killed.

These people wanted a good Hunt, didn't they? Well, the only good hunt is one where both parties are in danger. You would show them. Strike fear into their hearts. A last time before your culture vanished, they would understand how your kind celebrated Death.

Most of them, the portly ones wearing glass bubbles on their heads, they were quite easy to catch. Some were even dumb enough to get themselves eaten by mountain beasts. And those who weren't, they would end up lost in the forest, stumbling across rows and rows of decaying bodies, before getting stabbed by ambushed warriors and hung from the trees, with their remains displayed in the most gruesome way.

However, as days went by, these people ventured less and less inland. Now, only their most powerful fighters dared to step a foot into the forest, those whose strength was so great they could wipe out a dozen of your warriors in a single blow. It was all madness.

You managed to escape them so far, but still, your numbers were quickly dwindling.

For how long had this been going on? You'd say... maybe... nine to thirteen days. You weren't really sure anymore. For now, the moon was full, shining high in the sky, you were sitting alone in a clearing hidden behind a row of trees, and frankly, you were just trying to get some rest.

As shitty as this situation was, you could say, today was a good day. A great day, actually. One of these former slaves had told you those fighters were called "Holy Knights". And just this morning, your fellow War Priests managed to ambush one of them.

You were there when it happened. You saw the true power of these so-called "knights", which could only be described as demonic. Something unholy and unheard of, that needed every ounce of your combined forces to manage to destroy it. Most of your remaining siblings died today, leaving you as one of their last ones standing. But still, you weren't going to cry just yet, because at the end of the day, this haughty arrogant scummy awful disgusting horrendous- knight met his well-deserved fate.

His head detached from his body, attached to an arrow and hurled towards your enemy position for everyone to see.

It was the one thing that made you smile, the one thing that made you almost giddy.

They were warned, not even their best warriors were safe. Your civilization may die out eventually (it was already a zombie at that point), but you weren't just going to vanish quietly, playing by their stupid rules.

You were still planning to clash with some other knights, but for now, you were just going to get some rest.

Soon, you could fully rest.

It would all end soon enough.

Garling was seething. How did that happen? How did this scum manage to get himself killed?! By half-naked peasants, nonetheless! Sure, he was one of their weakest, but still, what a disgrace for their Order! He almost wanted to crush this fool's skull under his boot.

Breath in... Breath out...

This humiliating inconvenience put aside, he could say, he was pleasantly surprised by that turn of event.

Honestly, he didn't expect these natives to go this far. Most of the regular Rabbits killed themselves during the first two days, leaving only Rare and Super Rare ones. What was initially a funny contest between Nobles was now a much more difficult competition between Knights only.

Well, he wouldn't complain: as long as there was a worthy challenge, he was willing to play.

But still, what were they thinking? If they were capable of thoughts, that is... Why bother fighting back if they were all doomed anyway? What was their purpose? Did they even have one?

Foolish, but still, quite entertaining.

For now, the moon was full, shining high in the sky, he was walking through the woods when he heard some noise.

How unfair, you were thinking... No matter what horrors were happening down there, the moon and stars were as beautiful as ever. Besides, at the altitude you were at, the stench of corpses barely reached you.

You suddenly had this urge. You weren't sure why... maybe because the night was just so beautiful. It didn't really make sense, but maybe... you just needed to let it all out.

You stood up, your feet stomping rhythmically on the grass. Your hips began to sway. Your chest filled with air. Your arms rose. Your head tilted back as the words of that old hymn came out of your mouth.

"...He is the One Mighty Dancer under whose graceful dancing feet, the heads of all the arrogant Lords of the Bloody Cliff get crushed...."

You giggled slightly. How fitting.

As you were singing and dancing to your heart's content, the man hidden behind the trees had his eyes glued to you.

Of course Garling recognized you. Large pants, bare chest, upper body covered in tattoos... you were one of their Priestesses. A Super Rare Rabbit.

With the light of the moon, he could see you almost as well as in broad daylight. He've seen you several times before: you weren't one of their strongest, but for sure you were a slick one. So far, you've been one of the rare ones who managed to escape him.

His eyes roamed all over your body: from your bare feet to your raised hands, from your heaving breasts to your pert nipples, from your wet cheeks to your eyes closed in bliss.

He'd seen countless slave dancers, far more graceful than you. He'd heard countless slave singers, far more melodious than you. And yet, he had to admit, there was something truly enticing, something he couldn't put his finger on, about the wild way you swayed and moved.

Whatever, no matter how alluring it was, you were still a primitive... how shameless of you... to flaunt your attributes like that, without a care in the world.

He assumed you were unaware of his presence, however, a part of him liked to imagine that you were deliberately putting on a show just for him.

And suddenly, the music stopped. With your back to him, you stood as still as a statue, half your limbs still in the air. You didn’t even spare a glance his way before grabbing your discarded trident and disappearing into the woods.

He chuckled, almost disappointed by this abrupt end. He almost wanted to go after you right away, but hey, it couldn't hurt to give you a little head start, right?

Frankly, he was tired of scurrying through the dense forest at night. And after all... he still had that one issue inside his pants he needed to take care of. As he continued to stare at the spot where you had disappeared, one of his hands rested on his growing bulge while the other gripped the hilt of his sword.

Don't worry, dear Rabbit... he would catch you soon enough.

You ran frantically, trying to put as much distance as possible between you and him. You didn't even have to look back. Just by feeling his terrifying presence, you recognized him.

"I remember you... Gaa'Laaaan.... or maybe Gaa'Liiiiiiin.... or whatever it is, whatever your name must mean in your worthless language... Son of a rotten spider's corpse, how dare you spy on me with those nasty eyes of yours?! I'll have your head, if not I'll claw your eyes out, if not I'll gnaw on your bones, if not..."

And so on and so on.

The thing was... you still wanted to fight them, but not him. Not right now. Not just yet. Damn... just by feeling his stare on your back, you were already shaking from head to toe and struggling to breathe... Since the beginning, if you were to count each one of your siblings, you'd say he was the one who killed most of them. For some reason he'd been the one who targeted your Order the most, and each of your encounters with him had been more terrifying than the last.

So you ran and ran until dawn.

After this one encounter, two whole days passed. You weren't sure if you were the last one standing, but you didn’t run into anyone. That is, until that fateful moment where once again, you felt his eyes on your back. For sure he was a dedicated man, you could give him that. You steadied your breathing, trying to keep your fingers from shaking, while you remembered the words of your late teacher:

"Come on, get up! You won't be able to do anything if you can't stay steady on your own two feet! Now you better listen... it's a very strong power that defends you like an invisible armor, and can also be used offensively. You need to be aware of it, to feel it going through your blood... Now breathe... Can you feel it yet? You have to allow this power in your body to flow to your fist, and then your weapon. Once it's done, this thing that covers you will become even stronger, it will enter your enemy's body and destroy it from the inside!"

You glanced back at him, gripping you trident tightly as you took up a fighting stance.

"It's been going on for too long already, don't you think? Come on, 《'Ga'Lan' 'Ga'Lin'》. Fight me."

Good grief... In all honesty, you had no expectation of defeating him- his level was clearly superior anyway, but to the point where you couldn't even do him any harm, not even a single wound... what a humiliation!

There you were, nearly beaten to death, but not quite dead yet. You lay on the ground, both your ankles broken, your beloved trident a few feet away and his lanky figure hovering over you.

Now you could clearly see him. You saw his gaze linger on your face, then move down your wounded body to finally rest on your breasts.

Oh. That’s right. You almost forgot that one detail about foreign men. Honestly, what was their problem? Were they suckling babies? Why would they be that much bothered by a woman's torso?

And more importantly, why was he taking so long to finish you off?!

He sheated his sword, removed his gloves. What was he thinking? Perhaps... even though your bloody form was far from attractive right now, you were still a woman... If he didn't want to end you just yet, maybe he wanted to... you felt your throat tighten. Maybe, just maybe, if you were lucky, you would lose counsciousness before he could put his hands on you.

He knelt down, brought his face close to yours. Too close, the tip of his weird hairdo almost tickling your cheek. You heard him talk to you.

What a joke... You were bleeding badly, on the verge of fainting, did he seriously think you would use your last two functioning brain cells to try and understand what he was saying?!

How dared he... that filthy maggot... that disgusting creature... who did he think he was?! He had no rights! No right to be this pretty, no right to look at you with such tender eyes, no right to speak to you with such a soft voice, no right to stroke your cheek as if he weren't the one who brought Doom to your island!!

It wasn't right. Things needed to end, quickly. You couldn't stay brave for very long. There was only so much you could take.

Were you in better condition, you would have bitten his fingers off. Instead, you gathered all the fluids in your mouth and spat a bloody one on his too-perfect face.

" YOU WENCH ! "

He slapped you and then stood up. You hoped he would finally draw his sword but instead he went back to his weird duck-like steed, seemingly looking for something. It was only when he came back to you, a smirk on his face, that you could see what he was holding in his hands.

A chain.

Now you understood.

He didn't want to end you.

He wanted to keep you.

"No... No way... Stop it! STAY AWAY FROM ME YOU SICK BASTARD!!!"

At that moment, whatever was left of your dignity and self-control left your body. Blood was pounding in your temples. Tears streamed freely down your cheeks. Tiny whimpers and ugly sobs were coming out of your mouth. All your limbs were shaking as you tried to wriggle out of his grasp. To no avail. In the blink of an eye, you were thrown over his steed, secured tightly by the chain.

"P-Please... I'm begging you, just kill me..."

It was all too much. Your throat felt raw. Your vision started to get blurry. The last thing you remembered before you passed out, was his hand in your hair, as he looked down at you with that sickening smile of his.

"Don't worry my dear... Even if I spare one Rabbit, I still win the game."

[capseycartwright]

oh what a terrible honor it's been (to learn that my blessings are things you call sins)

Hey God, it's me, Eddie. I hope you don’t mind that I’m sitting in your house thinking gay thoughts.

Eddie couldn’t help but giggle to himself as he thought the words. If he couldn’t be a bit silly while having a sexuality crisis in a Catholic church – when could he? 

Christopher leaves for Texas, Eddie goes back to therapy, unearths an emotional lockbox he had been fourteen years old when he buried, and has a lot of thoughts about how Buck is sunshine incarnate. In hindsight, it probably should have been obvious he wasn't straight.

ao3 link

t’s been a long time since Eddie Diaz had set foot in a church – of his own accord, at least. He’d been to the christenings and communions and confirmations of all of his various nieces, nephews, and cousins, he’d sat stiff in the pew as he’d watched friends, and family get married, trying his best not to remember how own wedding day, the way Shannon’s hands had shaken in his grip as they promised to love each other until death do them part, both of them young, too young to understand the covenant they were signing up to. Eddie had been there, for all those occasions, but he hadn’t gone to mass, or even sat in a church, just because he wanted to in a very long time. 

He wasn’t even really sure if he wanted to be there today, but it was a Thursday, and Christopher was in Texas, and Eddie wasn’t working, and he’d been having an extended mental breakdown for the last few weeks, and before he knew it, he was sitting in the pew of St Brendan’s Catholic Church, listening to a softly spoken priest with an Irish lilt to his accent – faded, after years in America, Eddie presumed, but still there, noticeable in the inflection of certain words – recite the Our Father. 

Eddie had never been to St Brendan’s before, but it felt like every other church he’d been to in his life. They didn’t all look the same, necessarily, though they followed the same format, rows of uncomfortable wooden pews and an altar decorated in gold, as opulent as it was suffocating. Eddie had thought it beautiful, before, the way Catholic churches were decorated in gold and jewels, believing for so much of his life that the wealth honoured God – but living life had made him learn the grandeur and displays of wealth were nothing more than indicative of the wealth the Catholic church had hoarded while their devout followers starved, all in the name of faith and of God. True faith didn’t need to be gilded in gold to be sincere, he’d decided.

Eddie had never been to St Brendan’s before, but mass was the same. It didn’t change – though the wording of some of the prayers did. He’d sort of been checked out of being a regular churchgoer by time they had changed some of the prayers, only discovering the difference when he confidently started to recite it wrong at his youngest niece’s communion, his mother fixing him with a glare so icy hell might have frozen over under the power of Helena Diaz’s gaze alone. He’d never learned the new ones, not really, and so Eddie just recited the one’s he’d learned for his own confirmation, the words falling from his lips, muscle memory more than it was faith now. 

Our father, who art in heaven – hallowed be thy name . 

Eddie couldn’t help but laugh, a little, as he murmured the prayer. Hallowed be thy name. He knew the prayer talked about God, their holy father, but the prayer had always made him think of his own father, of the way Ramon Diaz was a hallowed man in his own right, how he parented with an iron fist and expected to be obeyed. 

Things were getting better now, with his dad. Maybe – maybe that was part of the fear. Eddie had always been afraid of letting people down, but more than anyone, he was afraid of letting his father down – of seeing that look of disappointment set into every crease of his father’s face, an expression he’d been on the receiving end of for more of his childhood than he’d like to admit. Eddie had tried so hard to make sure he was never on the receiving end of that look again, but nothing he had ever done was good enough – not marrying Shannon, not the way he had tried to take responsibility for his young family, not the army, not the man he had been when he’d come home from Afghanistan. 

Distance had lessened the number of disappointed looks, but Eddie knew that was because he was simply not seeing them anymore; he was sure his father sometimes frowned at the phone when they’d finally call, silted conversation about Christopher and life at the firehouse the best either of them could muster. 

It wasn’t perfect, but it was getting better. 

At least it had been, until his parents had taken Christopher with them to Texas. It hadn’t helped their relationship – but it hadn’t hindered it as much as Eddie had expected either. He was never going to thank them, for the way they had swooped in, ready to take Christopher at a moment’s notice, but he could thank them for giving his son the space that he needed to process. Eddie couldn’t give him that space, right now, but he was grateful someone could. Still – he would be ready to drive to Texas at the drop of a hat when Christopher decided he was ready to come home.

Things were getting better, that was the thing. His dad called, every night, to update Eddie on Christopher’s day. Eddie could hear the familiar sounds of the Diaz backyard as his dad softly spoke, telling Eddie about how Christopher had been to the lake, with his cousins, and how he’d finished another book, and how he was helping Helena to make dinner, right then. It had filled the gap until Christopher had started to call Eddie himself, his voice tinny as he mumbled over the phone, things not quite back to normal, Christopher not willing to talk to him about anything except Marvel and Minecraft and how abuela’s tamales were better than Eddie’s, but better than they were, at least. 

Every time they were on the phone, Eddie reassured his parents that he was working on himself. He was back seeing Frank, every week, and at Frank’s encouragement, he’d joined a veteran’s support group. Eddie wasn’t exactly the picture-perfect military veteran he assumed he needed to be, to join a veteran support group, but the rag-tag group that met at his community hall every month weren’t exactly the flag-wearing, gun-toting veterans he’d expected them to be. James was a 63-year-old man from Massachusetts who ran the group – he had moved out to LA to live with his daughter after he retired and referred to himself delightedly as a stay-at-home grandfather. Luisa was a vet around Eddie’s own age, and she’d gone back to university after she got out of the army and got a fine arts degree. She liked to paint, and talked about her wife with a reverence and openness that Eddie could only admire. 

He hadn’t said a word the first time he went, and Buck had sat in the Jeep in the carpark, a ready-made escape plan for Eddie in case he decided it was all too much. Eddie had sat quietly as the group had chatted, drinking tea and coffee out of flimsy paper cups, and eating homemade biscuits – made by James, who, as it turned out, was quite the prolific baker – and he’d watched. He’d watched as the group had talked about their bad days, and their good days, and how they were coping with life after the military, and not a single glorious war-story was exchanged. 

That was when Eddie knew it was safe to keep going. He was never going to be a man who was proud of his service, and he didn’t want to have to attend a support group of people who’d talk about their time in the military like it was the good old days. He had spoken a little more, the second time he went – Buck doing his groceries, two streets away, rather than sitting in the carpark – and he’d introduced himself, his voice gruff as he tried to figure out what version of Eddie he wanted to present to the world. 

Eddie was still figuring that part out – the version of himself he wanted to be, that is. 

He was figuring himself out. That was the point. He was trying, he was really trying – and people could see that, Eddie was sure. His parents said they could, at least.

Which was why he was here – in a church not dissimilar to the one he’d attended every Sunday in El Paso growing up – on his knees, praying to a God he wasn’t sure he actually believed in for guidance. 

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