#priest!matt murdock x AFAB reader

[farfromstrange]

I Want To Fuck A Priest | Matt Murdock x AFAB!Reader

PART 6 of The Vault

See this post for more information on my Valentine's Day Special & Follower Celebration, but these fics can be read separately!

Pairing: Matt Murdock x AFAB!Reader

Summary: You have a thing for the priest you met at a farmer's market. Thankfully, he has a thing for you, too.

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), porn without much plot, Priest!Matt, blasphemy (!!!), church setting, improper use of a priest's collar, improper use of a confessional booth, improper use of the act of confession, praise, prayer, oral afab!receiving, slight Dom!Matt, Catholic guilt, Fleabag reference, seriously if you are religious or triggered by the improper use of religion DO NOT read this!

Word Count: 2.8k

A/n: This is for those who watched Fleabag and then saw all the 'Imagine Matt as a priest' and 'Charlie Cox once played a Spanish priest' posts and thought, "Same!" when Fleabag said, "I want to fuck a priest." I see you, and I feel you. I wrote this after re-watching Fleabag one night, but I added a little poetic twist while editing because before, it was just completely plotless oral sex. While that isn't bad, I needed to add some vibes. You're welcome.

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.

The church bells ring as the clock strikes midnight. The night sky is void of dark clouds. In the darkness above the massive walls encasing the holy ground, the stars shine brighter than the city lights. New York City, the city that never sleeps, makes an exception for the house of God in the dead of the night, it seems.

It’s been…several years since my last confession. 

The graveyard attached to the church looks threatening in its vacancy. It’s void of human souls except for the dead ones buried there. A raven claps its wings in the distance, following the gush of wind that brushes through the trees. 

The bell rings twelve times before it stops, but the echo bounces off the stone walls and shakes the stained-glass windows, which seems to drag on for an eternity. 

The last time I confessed my sins was before my communion. I don’t know if that makes me a bad Catholic, but lately, I’ve been having sinful thoughts, and I need to get them out of the way before I collapse under the weight of them.

You considered for the longest time whether or not you should come here. Faith has been your enemy for the longest time. You don’t believe in the Catholic Church, and yet you have found your way here, in the middle of the night, when everyone should be asleep in their beds. 

This isn’t a normal night, by any means. You often lay awake at night and question your purpose in this life, but lately, you’ve been feeling like you’re drowning. Sins are subjective, and you never paid much mind to the term until now. 

The thoughts you find yourself having late at night when you’re awake and lonely are far from holy. They aren’t ideal. They make you wonder just why you are thinking this way now.

But no man has ever been like him. And the worst part about it is that wanting him alone is an unholy train of thought you should have never submitted to. 

You tried ignoring it, carrying it all by yourself, and trying to heal whatever complex you may have that could have led to this obsession in the first place, but your life has been a mess for long enough that it doesn’t even surprise you anymore, and no matter what you tried to do, you couldn’t stop fantasizing about him.

He is the reason you came to church tonight to confess your sins. But you’re not here to find your way. You’re not here to ask for guidance from God. You told yourself that the unholiness of your thoughts needs to be cured and that is why you came here—to make this situation better for yourself—but the thought is ancient; it’s the twenty-first century and you’re the kind of person who knows exactly what they want and how to get it. The truth is, you’re here to get what you want, even if it will land you in the pits of hell for all eternity. And even if it kills you.

“You don’t do this kind of thing often, do you?” the low voice asks from the other side of the confessional booth.

You shake your head. “Not at all, Father. When I went to Sunday Mass this weekend, it was my first time in a church in a very long time,” you admit to him, “and this is my first confession since I was a child. I…I’m not really a devoted Catholic, you understand. I’m merely struggling right now, and I…I am in desperate need of guidance.”

Your lip quivers. Your voice resembles a tidal wave that comes and goes as nature pleases.

He can’t see you. It’s not the curtain that is separating you and is starting to feel like worlds apart—he can’t see you. He can only hear and smell you, and that alone makes your thighs clench with need. 

Should you be doing this in a church? Should you fantasize about a man of God and want to claim him, coming to his sanctuary to tell him the truth and mess with his head? You know that it’s wrong, but the wrong thing often feels too right to stop. 

When you met him at the farmer’s market the other day, he was so endlessly kind to everyone, including yourself. He invited you to Sunday mass, and you went. You went on a walk with him afterward, and there seemed to be something there, but he couldn’t act on it because he is who he is and what he is. He made a vow. He can’t have you, no matter how badly he wants to, and one look into his unfocused hazel eyes when he took off those red glasses he always wears told you that he does want you. It led to another sleepless night among many, and now you’re here.

You’re so utterly selfish, but God, you can’t stop it. When you want something, you would do anything to get it. He makes you feel things you never felt before. It’s terrifying, but you have to allow yourself to jump into unknown waters if you want to learn how to swim.

He clears his throat, and you can hear the chair creak under his weight as he shifts. Is it possible that you’re doing the same to him that he is doing to you?

“I want to start by saying that you’re really brave,” he says. The sound of his voice is enough to make you shiver. “But God offers people guidance in a symbolic sense. I can take your confession, tell you how to repent for your sins, but I can’t tell you what to do.”

You sigh. “I wish you would though.”

A chuckle passes his lips. “Why don’t you start by telling me what’s weighing you down, sweetheart, and we will go from there?”

Sweetheart. 

Yes, you think, this is your one-way ticket to hell. 

“I’ve been having thoughts,” you confess.

“Thoughts?” he asks.

“Yes. Unholy thoughts.” Your breath comes in weak puffs of air. The booth seems to cave in on you. You wish he would step out of his booth into yours and stuff his cock into your mouth. For him, you would shut up. You would do whatever he tells you to do, and you would do so gladly.

Fuck. You want to fuck a priest. 

But lucky for you, Father Matthew wants to fuck you too. He’s here, at midnight, because you were lost and he was still there—he told you he spends his nights at church sometimes because the city gets too loud for him. You couldn’t go anywhere else because any place where he isn’t doesn’t seem worth visiting.

Matt sucks in a sharp breath. You imagine him swallowing, his white collar constricting his labored airflow. You imagine him pulling at it to free himself, but he can’t. Those sinfully thick fingers of his would feel even better on your skin. 

“Unholy thoughts,” Father Matthew asks, “about whom, sweetheart?”

He’s pushing your buttons with that nickname. It’s so not professional. The lines are starting to blur.

“A man,” you tell him. 

“A man?”

“A man of God.”

The confession causes a bout of silence. You could have heard a hairpin drop. 

His chair creaks again, and his voice reminds you of an animalistic growl right before an apex predator attacks its prey. “And what unholy thoughts have you been having about this man of God?” he inquires.

Your inner walls clench around thin air. Sweat drips down your temples, and the arousal soaks your underwear. Your nipples strain against your shirt. If you grip the seat any harder, you will soon find wooden chips under your nails.

You lick your lips. “I’ve been thinking about him touching me,” you whisper. “And I want to touch him.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere.”

“And in your thoughts, does he satisfy you?”

Your answer comes promptly, “Always.”

There is not a scenario in which Father Matthew could possibly leave you unsatisfied. 

The chair creaks again. Something in the air shifts. 

Your voice is breathless and needy, and so fucking desperate when you speak into the silence, “Just tell me what to do, Father.”

“Okay,” he says. His leather shoes drag across the floor of the booth and toward the curtain that marks the exit of his side. The next word out of his mouth knocks all the air out of your lungs, “Kneel.”

You don’t even have time to question his request. Within seconds, the curtain through which you’ve stepped into the confessional booth is torn to the side, and there he is, in all of his glory, right in front of you, and his thick cock is straining against his black slacks.

You pinch yourself, but you’re not dreaming. This is real. This is what you wanted, and you weren’t imagining the mutual attraction due to delusions. He does want you, and he is about to break every rule in his book—and the lord’s book.

You sink to your knees. The only thing you can see on his face is pure, unbridled lust and the ugly truth of Catholic guilt. He must loathe himself for wanting you. 

Matt removes his glasses, revealing his beautiful eyes to you. In the dim candlelight, they appear almost black.

“What’s my sentence, Father?” you ask.

His hand brushes your cheek. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he breathes.

“I’m sorry, Father.”

“No.” He steps into the booth and closes the curtain behind him. “Tonight, call me Matt.”

That is the last thing he says before he gets on his knees before you, and he captures your lips in a bruising kiss that is strong enough to make the angels howl.

His hand rests around your throat, feeling your pulse. He may not be able to see you with his eyes, but the way he touches you paints a perfect picture of your presence, and you feel every last ounce of his devotion. 

He explores the depth of your mouth with his tongue, tasting you, loving you. His hands feel beautifully rough against your skin, just like you imagined they would be after years of praying. He sees himself as the hands of God. A messenger. His goodness makes your heart swell and your core flood with more than unbridled arousal—this is human nature in all its emotional glory, and you no longer feel ashamed. You can’t possibly when he is holding you like this.

He exhales into your mouth—no, he breathes life into your soul. “You’re the most sinful yet purest thing I have ever laid my hands on,” Matt says.

You gasp against his luscious lips. “I wouldn’t want to make you turn your back on God, or–”

He cuts you off, “I did that when I first thought about your body on mine and coming so deep inside of you that you’ll carry me with you for days. I don’t care about God because if having him means that I can’t have you,” he says, “I don’t want him anymore.”

You swallow his words with a kiss. Turning a priest against God was never your intention, but you are not in charge of his feelings, nor will you ever be. Matt wants you badly enough to abandon religion, and you will carry that with you until the day you die. 

He lifts you back onto the edge of the wooden chair, pulling at your clothes and your undergarments. The moonlight hits his face as the cold air of the church hits your bare pussy. He looks ethereal like this, on his knees for you. His hazel eyes bore into your soul. He wears his heart on his sleeves and a collar around his neck. 

Your priest crosses his chest. He asks God for forgiveness. And then, with one gentle tug at your thighs, he buries his face in your wet cunt, and he feasts as if your sex was the last supper. As God’s disciple, he is determined to eat up every last bite offered to him. Every last drop from your cunt is his, and your lips part in a moan that echoes through the church like the bells did when it hit midnight.

“Fuck,” you cry out. 

He flattens his tongue against you, licking a long stripe over and then through your folds. He twirls the tip of his tongue over your clit, stroking the sensitive bundle of nerves with such precision, your walls clench at the sheer explosion of pleasure. You have never felt anything like it. He turns something unholy into heaven, and you’re drowning in the river to the Garden of Eden.

His lips suction around your clit. The obscene squelching of your velvety walls fills the booth. It sounds deadly noisy to you. You want to cover your mouth to stop the moans from traveling, but he traps your hand with his, guiding them to his hand, telling you to guide him.  

Instead, one of your hands moves to his collar. It’s his turn to moan. You tug at the symbol of his priesthood, forcing his tongue deeper into your hole. He laps up your juices as though his life depends on it. 

“Forgive me, Lord, for I have sinned,” Matt murmurs against you. 

You moan again, louder this time. He is repenting for wanting to dive into your pussy until he gets swept away by the tide, but it is far too late to back out now. Your pleasure has become his priority. 

“Lord God,” he repeats, “in your goodness have mercy on me.”

The pleasure is turning into a tight knot in your lower abdomen. You can feel it consuming you and your senses. You’re floating. The light at the end of the tunnel is not so far out of reach anymore. Every suck and every lick at your folds, and every thrust of his tongue into your tight walls pushes you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy. 

In your goodness, have mercy on me. 

He bites down lightly on your clit. Your toes curl, and his name comes out in a groan.

Do not look on my sins, but take away all my guilt. 

Right now, you are his God. By drinking your arousal like holy water and pushing you toward an orgasm he is repenting. The symbolism makes your heels dig into his back as you buck your hips against his mouth, and when he adds one of those thick fingers, curling them up against that sweet spot inside of you, you can barely stand it anymore.

Create me in a clean heart and renew within me an upright spirit.

“God, Matthew!” your moan interrupts his plea for penance only briefly.

He swats your thigh. “No blasphemy when I feast at the altar,” he says. The vibration of his voice adds to the knot, tightening it, and threatening it to burst.

You’re almost there. Almost…

“Have mercy on me, a sinner,” he continues. His tongue slides between your folds once again, gathering your slit. His fingers curl upward again. He’s mixing different prayers, or maybe these are his own words, but you are not sure how much longer you can hold it. But he wants you to hold it. You don’t want to disappoint the man who is worshiping at your feet, your pussy, his altar, and you are his salvation as much as you are his saving grace.

“In choosing to do wrong and failing to do good,” he prays, “I have sinned against You whom I should love above all things—but fuck, I don’t.” 

Does that mean he loves you? It is too soon to tell that, but he is devoted, and devotion can be just as sinfully sweet as the rawest feeling of love.

“Have mercy on me, God. Amen!”

His collar is starting to tear under your vice grip. 

Matt thrusts his digit into you until it disappears, and he finally decides to show the mercy he was begging for to you. “Come for me, sweetheart,” he says. 

Your thighs lock around his head as the knot breaks in two. You come, hard, and the wave tears him down with you, shooting his cum into his slacks like the good Catholic boy he is.

You let go of his collar when your orgasm has done its damage. 

“No,” he stops you. 

“No?” you ask, still breathless.

“No,” he says, lifting his head to grin at you, not like a man of God but the Devil himself. “I have not done nearly enough penance.”

As a priest, Matt is used to being on his knees until they’re bruised; until he can’t stand straight anymore, so he has to remain there, cowering before a God he more often than not does not believe in.

Before you can protest, he dives back into your endless ocean, and you have no choice but to lean back and take it. 

He is not the only one doing penance tonight, after all—you both are. 

Matt Murdock Smut Tag List: @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @linamarr @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @ravenclaw617 @pigeonmama

[someplace-darker]

Kinktober Day 7: Costumes | Matt Murdock

Pairing: Matt Murdock x reader (no y/n)

Wordcount: 1.7k (this is going to be the longest one)

Warnings: 18+, PWP, costumes, a lot of sacrilegious activities, party sex, dirty talk, no protection (wrap it!!), afab reader but no pronouns are used, maybe slightly ooc matt but i am too tired to care. it's porn.

Summary: You may have fucked up on picking costumes for Marci's Halloween party, but at least Matt looks hot, right? Surely this won't awaken anything in the two of you- right?

A/N: Hi! I kind of got carried away on this one, there's probably a lot off repeat phrases, but this is the late day 7 and the late day 8 should be coming tonight as well but if not: oops. Also cmon, i had to make it a priest costime.

It had taken months of begging and persuasion to get Matt to even consider putting on a costume for halloween. Much less a shitty priest costume that you had snagged from the local party shop two hours before Marci’s ‘ghoul gala’ party. You’re not exactly sure how to tell Matt what the two of you will be going as, the ‘hot nun’ costume you snagged alongside his currently laying on his bed in front of you as you contemplate your options. 

“It could be worse,” you nearly jump out of your skin, having forgotten you called Karen for help, her slightly glitched voice coming through your phone. Sighing, you pick up your costume and open the packaging, allowing the spandex like material to fall out onto the sheets. It’s incredibly skimpy considering what it’s portraying, the slats on the long skirt allowing most of your legs to be visible. Obviously the holy grail of it all, the wimple cutting off at your collarbones to allow a deep V to run down your chest “how can it be worse than this Karen, truly. I mean I could spit on a bible, maybe then-” 

“You’re being dramatic, I’m sure Matt will love it.” 

“I think Matt is going to have a stroke, but I appreciate your enthusiasm,” you remark dryly, biting back a smile when Karen snorts. 

“Well he just left the office not too long ago so he should be back to you soon. Marci’s thing starts in about an hour, Foggy left the office in costume so I assume he’s more than stressed about it.”

“Oh i’m sure he’ll feel better when we get there,” you laugh, perking up when you hear the door click shut “Matt just got home, i’ll see you at the party okay bye!”

“Was that Karen?” Matt asks, stepping behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist, chin coming to rest on your shoulder. “Yeah,” you speak, voice tight as you prepare yourself to tell him about your outfits for the night. He notices immediately, concerned questions spilling from his mouth and you brush off each one, assuring him that you’re okay before pulling from his hold to grab his packaged costume. You turn back and hold it out in front of him, biting your lip when he takes it from you, squeezing the plastic that encloses it. 

You take the chance as soon as he begins to open it “don’t be mad at me.”

Matt pauses, sunglasses turning in your direction as he sighs “what did you do?”

-

The venue was huge, and you suddenly understood why Marci had spent so much money on it. You had been correct about Foggy’s mood improving when you showed up, the neutral look on his expression immediately turning into one of disbelief and elation. “You’re kidding me,” Foggy laughs, walking directly to Matt and pulling him into a hug before holding him back at arm's length. Matt is tense, you can feel it, but god he looks so hot, so you can’t find it in yourself to be that worried. The clerical collar accentuates the muscle and veins in his neck, adam's apple bobbing against it when he leans toward you to speak. “At least act like you’re not getting wet right now,” Matt grits his teeth, his volume dropped low enough so only you can hear.

Foggy’s voice is immediately drowned out by the rush in your ears, your thighs clenching together, his words like a warm rush through your body. “I need a drink,” you manage to spit out, weaving through the group of people until you reach the cooler on the opposite side of the room, pulling a seagram and beer from the ice. You’re half tempted to climb in, just to cool the heat that is spreading to the end of all your limbs and maybe clear your head. The beating in your chest is rapid, heavy thumps against your ribcage as your heart repeats what Matt has just said to you over and over and over, and you know for a fact that he’s listening to it purely because of the smirk that tugs his lips as you walk back towards him. 

“Fancy a drink, father?” you raise your voice over the music to tease, handing the bottle to him with a bit more force than intended. Matt doesn’t know what he expects to feel when father slips off your tongue with such carnality, but lust was not one of them. It burns fiery in his chest, everything he has ever been taught about Thou shall not covet suddenly thrown out the window. You see the dilemma in the shape of the sharp inhale Matt takes, jaw clenching tight enough to see the muscle work.

“You’re treading an incredibly thin line here, sweetheart,” Matt warns, hand going to rest on the base of your spine before pulling you flush to his . The open slats of your costume causes your legs to brush against his pants, the thin fabric not doing much to cover the feeling of his hardening cock against you. “What?” you say breathlessly, hoping the thumping of music will drown out everything you say “you can’t handle it father? Do you need me to confess my sins?” The pressure against your lower back increases, as does your heart rate. 

“You don’t need to confess them,” Matt replies smoothly “I’ll fuck them out of you.”

There’s a moment of pause as you gasp and Matt’s head cocks to the side as he focuses on something, bottle being taken from your hand and set on a table, his glasses nearly black mixed with the deep red lighting of the room. Grabbing your hand, Matt begins to tug you to the back of the venue, passing by people with ease and you hope that it’s too dark for anyone to notice the blind man leading you instead of the other way around. Soon enough he’s at a door, twisting the handle and pulling you inside. It’s a washroom, also bled in the same crimson lighting as if a bloodied glass was placed in front of your eyes. It’s giving you a headache. 

“Is this what you wanted? Play a game of blasphemy until I get fed up and make you feel good?” Matt twists the lock on the door and presses you forward until your thighs hit the sink, his breathing ragged and heavy against your back. The costumes may have been unplanned, but your choice of words throughout the night had not. This is what you wanted, but the admittance of it out loud seemed more like desecration than anything else. You do it anyway.

“Yes,” you grin, pressing your ass back into him. Pride blooms in your chest when he chokes out a moan, fingers frantically pulling the skirt up to bunch at your waist before undoing his belt and pants. Matt’s hand rests between your shoulder blades, pressing you forward to bend over the porcelain. You blink back the haze in your eyes glancing up at the mirror inches in front of your face to peek at him, the sight of the clergy shirt ridden up his stomach revealing his hand fisting his cock enough to make you whimper. 

You’ve never seen Matt so worked up before, and something tells you this is a subject you’ll have to tap into again at a later time. Right now though, he’s pressing into you slowly, lip caught between his teeth as he focuses on the feeling of your cunt taking him in. “Made for me,” he murmurs before pulling his hips back just the slightest to press in further than before. 

The counter digs into your legs with each roll of his hips, moans tumbling past your lips with no hesitation, your body responding to him as it always does. “Oh my god Matty, so good,” you whimper, eyes pinching shut. No one has ever made you feel like Matt has, romantically or physically, the call of his body always pulling a response from yours. Your hands press against the tiled wall, eyes blinking open and glancing over him in the reflection catching the quick dip of his head, his hips stalling momentarily. 

One hand leaves your hips to grip the white collar, pulling on it “gotta be quiet now sweetheart, someone’s waiting outside.The music is loud, but so are you.” Once it tugs free he reaches around to your face, holding it in front of your mouth. “Bite,” he instructs, voice ragged and terse. You do, clenching your teeth onto it to keep from crying out when his hips slam back against you. Your pussy clenches around him as your knees shake, the only thing keeping you from falling being the sink you’re bent over.

“Being so good sweetheart, need you to cum for me,” Matt moans, almost unheard through the ringing in your ears and hum of the outside music. Small shocks spark along your skin when his fingers find your clit, rubbing and applying pressure that has you keening, face falling forward to press against the cool metal of the faucet. He knows exactly how to play you like an instrument, knows how to make you sing the prettiest songs for him like this, and he knows it. You can hear his cocky chuckle when your legs begin to shiver, hands slipping from their spot on the wall.

Everything seems to slow except for your breathing, your orgasm racking up your spine and down your legs, inching through to your fingers and it takes everything in you to keep the collar clenched in your mouth as to not alert whoever may be lurking by the door. Matt praises you through it, slowing his thrusts but not stopping, waiting until he knows you’re coherent enough to hear him to speak. 

“That’s it, baby, you did so amazing,” Matt leans forward to press a kiss to the back of your head, pulling the white fabric from your lips “think you can do another?” He rolls his hips into yours once more, hitting something inside you that makes the red lighting of the room turn to white. You hum, pushing back against him.

“Yes, father.”

[brokebonewritings]

Bless Me, Father

Priest! Matt Murdock x afab! reader

Tags/Warnings: 18+, violence, smut, mention of religion, hurt/comfort

Summary: Seeking a priest for guidance. You just weren't expecting this priest to be an ex, and a vigilante.

Word Count: 4.2K

Navigation | Masterlist

A/N: This was written for a really dear friend of mine. I love them a lot, and I hope they love this story just as much! Pair this fic with A Question of Lust by Depeche Mode and Church by Chase Atlantic.

You walk into the church slowly as you think about what you would say. The cold bitter air pricks your nose, immediately warming as you step into the sanctuary. It’s been a long time since you have been here, though you feel comforted by the environment. Setting your bag and scarf on a pew, you walk towards the confessional booth and step inside quietly. You inhale and exhale before speaking to the priest on the other side.

“Bless me, father, for I have sinned.” You start. Hearing him shift in the booth next to you, you continue on. “It has been 3 months, and 15 days since my last confession.”

You continue to tell him about things you have done in the past few months. About things you feel are wrong, and how it makes you feel. How you felt shunned by your family for expressing your personal thoughts and interests. You begin to tear up as you finish speaking.

He sits for a moment before speaking. The air felt tight around you as you anticipated his voice.

“My child, there is no reason to weep.” His voice was soothing, much like a cup of hot chocolate. He continues. “What you are feeling about yourself is not wrong. You are on a journey of self discovery. Embrace it, and those who shun you will see the butterfly they mistook for a caterpillar. There is no penance for you today.”

You glance over at him, and catch a glimpse at the young priest. He looked stiff, as if he were a mannequin. You nod at his words and wipe the tears from your eyes. Stating the absolution, you thank him and step out of the booth. 

Lingering for a moment, you took in sight of the beautiful cathedral. Nothing felt more peaceful than the quietness of the church. A few nuns were staggered in the pews or kneeling at the altar. The smell of sweet incense flowed through the air.

Turning to look over your shoulder, you see the priest step out of the booth and turn his head in your direction. He smiles and makes his way towards you to walk you out.

“I haven’t seen you here in a long time, y/n” He starts, you can tell he was shifting uncomfortably.

“Yeah, it has been a while huh?” You avert your gaze to the wood flooring. “Not since our breakup” 

He winces at that comment. You didn’t have mal intent behind it. Just stating the fact. It had been a nasty one at that. He wanted to become a priest, and you wanted to have a family. Simple as that.

“Listen if you ever need to talk…” He sighs. “You know where you can find me.”

“Sure, sure. For godly insight I suppose?” You mutter. “Since when did Father Lantom step down?”

“About a month ago. I was appointed here personally.” Seeing the grip he held on his cane, you decided to take your leave. Not wanting to further the conversation before it got too awkward.

“I, uhm, have to head to work. Those court documents are not gonna write themselves, I guess.”

“Right. Well. Hopefully I will see you back again soon..” He said, giving a curt nod before you turn to leave. “And, God be with you, y/n”

“God be with you too, Father Murdock.”

“He WHAT?!”  Karen whispered in your shared office. She really was your closest friend so obviously you had to tell her.

“Right! So he was my ex from college which was so long ago, but god we were so in love.” You crossed your arms in defeat. “How could he look even better now?!”

“Oh no! You cannot go running back to that ‘used to be good’ feeling.” She stood and crossed to you. “Did you forget that, HE’S A FUCKING PRIEST.”

“I KNOW!” You huff. You were perfectly content without the knowledge of Matt actually achieving his dream. Sure it was extremely selfish of you to think, but he did break your heart. No wonder you hadn’t heard anyone talk about him, he basically fell off the face of the earth. Lost in thought, you hardly noticed when your boss approached your office.

“What’s up guys? What’s the hot gossip?”

You look up to see your boss, Foggy, leaning against the doorframe. Hardly a boss though, he liked to consider himself a friend to everyone in the office. 

“y/n wants to fuck a priest!” Karen casually said. You gasped loudly at her sudden statement, and stood up from your chair.

“I never said that!”

“Woah, didn’t see that one coming.” Foggy chuckled at the response. “Why a priest though?”

You roll your eyes as you lean against your desk. “It was a really long time ago okay? And he definitely wasn’t a priest then.”

Foggy cocks an eyebrow and looks at Karen. Who in return gives him a look.

“So what was he then?” Karen asks, looking back at you. You considered the question for a moment before sitting back down.

“Just a good catholic boy, I guess.” 

“You guess?” Foggy says suddenly.

“I mean, sure we had some fun.” You start quietly. “But we always found our way back to church on Sundays…”

“I thought you weren’t religious?” Karen asked curiously. You considered the question before answering.

“I’m not anymore. Not after how everyone made me feel after our breakup.” You turn back towards your desk to end the conversation. Foggy and Karen both shrugged at each other before going back to their own tasks.

Letting the tears fall silently from your eyes, you didn’t like when people watched you cry. Not that you liked to be emotional, but you didn’t want anyone to see you as weak.

The work day was long and strenuous. You worked quietly at your desk, only looking up to answer questions or find more paperwork.

Clients called and you helped to the best of your ability to answer questions, sending them to Foggy if you couldn’t. Until it was way past your time to head. You hadn’t realized it was dark outside. Turning around, you noticed Karen was also still working.

You gather your belongings and stand to leave. Giving Karen a quick hug, before heading out.

You walked quickly down the street after getting off the bus. Not that you were trying to act in fear, but you definitely knew that someone was following you down the street.

Hell's Kitchen was never the safest at night anyways. Working late was the worst, especially in cases that involved some sort of underground organization.

Turning down another block, you turn your head to see if the man is still following you. Of course he fucking was. What is the deal with men these days? Maybe you were overthinking it, and he just lived on the same street as you. Clearly you were too lost in your anxiety to not notice the second man coming from in front of you.

“Hey, pretty thing. Where are you rushing off too?” He says before grabbing your wrist. You gasp suddenly, trying to rip your hand from his grip.

“Please let go, I’m just trying to go home!” 

“Oh honey… Our boss would like to have a word with you.”

Without missing a beat, the man wraps his arm around your waist, and begins to pick you up. The kicking and punches you were throwing didn’t seem to phase him.  His other hand covered your mouth to muffle your screams.

That’s when you noticed a dark figure standing on top of the building nearest you. You prayed that it would help you. 

And just like that, your prayer was answered. Maybe. You watched as the figure jumped down into the alley way. Forgetting that for a moment, you continue to kick and flail your arms to deter the man. 

Of course there was a parking structure for these guys' convenience. You never understood how no one caught on to these things. While putting you into the car, you feel his body slamming against the door with force. Laying on the floor you scream as you see a man clad in a full white suit tower above you.

“Wait! Wait!” He puts his hands up in surrender “I’m a good guy I promise!”

Finally getting a full look at him, you realized you had never seen this hero before. Sure you’ve run into Spiderman multiple times, and even that Dr. Strange guy.

He stretches out his hand to help you up and you hesitantly take it. You narrow your eyes at him once you’re out of the car. The accent was not from around here. British. It was definitely British. “So who are you supposed to be?” You ask.

“Oh erm. Just call me Mr. Knight.” He starts and then continues with a bow. “It’s a little late to be walking around here, innit?”

You shrug and stand there awkwardly. Reaching for your satchel you finally realize it was missing. Turning back to the car you bend and reach around for it. Once you find it, you climb back out and turn to see that this “Mr. Knight” guy was gone and replaced with a scarier version of a mummy.

He sees the surprise on your face and the fear flash in your eyes. “Same guy. Don’t call me Mr. Knight though.”

The once crisp white suit had turned into a wrapped garment with a large crescent moon in the middle of his chest. It really did look like a superhero outfit.

“Stay right here. I need to get rid of these guys.”

You nodded and watched as both goons got back to their feet in a battle stance. The man in white pulled two crescent shaped blades from his chest, and waited for one of them to throw a punch. As they began their battle, you ran further back to avoid any debris flying around.

Turning your back against the violence, you didn’t want to see what was going to happen. Your eyes shut tight as you hear the gargled screams of your kidnappers. Once you determined it was all over you glance back up and see another figure standing in the dark parking structure.

Gasping loudly you trip over your own feet before falling backwards. You scramble back up and run over to the man who just saved you. He looked confused as to what you were frightened about. That was until he saw the figure. 

“If you know what’s good for you then you need to leave.” He said.

The figure in front of him growled. “I’m only here for her.”

Wait. You had seen this silhouette before. Sometimes as you walk down the street you would catch a glimpse of him. ‘The Devil of Hell's Kitchen’ they called him.

“It’s him.” You let out slowly. The man in white looked towards you, before you noticed the grip on his crescent weapons.

“Listen, guy, the lady is not interested in getting kidnapped tonight.” He said harshly. “You look like you don’t wanna die tonight either.”

“What makes you so sure you’re gonna kill me?” The figure taunted before taking a step forward. You look at this stranger with begging eyes. Hoping that you wouldn’t have to be in the middle of a hero battle. He sighed as he looked at you and then back at the devil.

“You asked for it pal.” He muttered before running towards the dark figure. Each fluid motion of his fists were dodged by the other man. You could tell that he was growing tired of the devil missing his punches.

He snarled loudly before yelling, “I’m tapping out!”

Suddenly the wraps disappeared and the white suit returned. The crescent shaped knives were replaced with a long bow staff. Breaking it in half, he readied himself for the devil’s next attack.

He was quickly met with a kick to his face and the sharp inhale really proved how hard the kick was. The next rounded kick was stopped by the chain attached to Mr. Knight’s staff. The devil flipped back as he untangled the chain from his ankle.

It was like lightning the way that Mr. Knight moved. He threw his hook up towards a pipe and went into a sprint. Swinging himself around so that he could end up on the other side of the other man. Failing as the devil grabbed hold of his forearm and slammed him on the ground.

The sound alone made your ears ring. You stayed behind the car door watching them fight. It was the only battle you have seen up close, and boy did it not fail to both excite you and make you feel fear.

Continuing with his motion, the devil begins to punch the hero into the cement. Over and over. Until finally there was a sudden stop of movement.

Mr. Knight held the devil’s fist, straining to keep it from making contact with his face once again. You noticed that the man in red looked up suddenly at you. His intense gaze made shivers go down your spine.

“Oi, wait a minute I know you!” Mr. Knight said suddenly. “Daredevil! It’s Us!”

‘Daredevil’ snapped his head back down to look at Mr. Knight and pulled his fist away.

“Steven?” His rough voice sent more shivers down your spine. The tone sounded vaguely familiar, like you had heard it somewhere before.

“Yeah mate!” 

The man in red stood up fully and held his hand out to help Steven up. You don’t understand fully how he didn’t recognize him, if you saw a suit that crisp you would have remembered immediately.

You stand surprised as the suit morphed back to the wrapped garment. It changed right in front of you, just like magic.

“Where’s your partner, Spector.” Daredevil asked. “You never go anywhere without them.”

He winced after the question. Something personal you supposed. “It’s the reason why I’m in America.” He leaves it at that.

Both men turn to look at you. You cower a bit not really knowing what they are about to do. The devil takes a step towards you, and you promptly take a step back. He holds up both his hands.

“I’m not here to hurt you.” He states. “I thought you were in danger.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Yeah well, Sailor Moon beat you to it.”

“Hey!” The other hero said with offense in his voice.

You both turn to look at him. He hesitates a moment, most likely not going to say another word. How could you be meeting two heroes in one night? Well, not heroes, more like vigilantes it seemed like.

Clearing your throat, you looked around at the scene and wondered which lucky person would find that in the morning.

“This has been real fun, but I’d really like to go home and sleep.” You finally say. Daredevil and Mr. Knight both nod towards you as you start walking away.

“Let me walk you home.” A gruff voice says, turning to see Daredevil take a step towards you. It wasn’t a question, it was clearly a statement. “To make sure you get home safe.”

You shrug and walk towards the entrance of the parking structure. A voice calls from behind you both that makes you stop dead in your tracks.

“Hey Murdock, if you see my partner, give me a call…” Moonknight said with a hint of sadness in voice. You glance up at the vigilante beside you. Murdock. Matthew Murdock. The only Murdock you knew.

He reaches a hand up to touch your shoulder. Not believing what you had just heard, you flinch away.  “Matt?” You managed to choke out.

“I’m sorry.” He says gently. “Let’s just get you home.”

“No.” Tears pricking your eyes. “You need to tell me what’s going on.”

“Fine.” He says before starting to walk again. You follow close behind him. Street after street you managed to keep up with him. Seeing the church come into view you realize that he was taking you to his own sanctuary.

Matt opens the side gate to the cemetery and steps aside so you could enter first. You step inside and head to the bench you both sat at when you were younger. He lingers a bit by the gate before entering and following you deep into the graveyard.

Once you both are inside, and he makes sure the coast is clear, he takes off his mask. Setting it down next to you, you stare at it. You cannot actually believe that you were saved by Daredevil. Well sort of.

And to make it all worse, Daredevil was your ex. Your knight in shining armor was someone who completely broke your heart. How poetic. You look up at him as he paces.

“You do realize how sacrilegious this is, right?” Your comment definitely breaks the ice. The smile that tugs on the corner of his mouth is only slightly comforting.

“This started way before the priest thing.” He stops pacing and sits next to you. “While we were together actually.”

“You’re joking.” Your mouth gapes open. He stays silent. “Oh god. You’re serious.”

He grabs the mask before speaking up. “ It’s partially the reason why we broke up.”

“What?” You his through your teeth. Was this guy serious right now? “What do you mean it's partially the reason why we broke up? You said you wanted to pursue a life of Christ, Matt.” 

“I did! Didn’t I?!” He raised his voice. “I did what had to be done to protect you, y/n!”

You stood from the bench and put your hands over your ears. Not wanting to hear another word from his mouth.

“Okay what are you doing?” He asked.

“I don’t want to listen to you anymore!” You shout. “I mean do you even know how ridiculous that sounds!”

“I did it for you, y/n! I did all of this for you!”

Then there was silence. Not even the wind howled through the trees in that moment. Letting everything sink in, you felt your heart pounding against your chest. You bring your arms down in a folded position and stare at the man in front of you.

“I really was in love with you, Matt.”

“I’m still in love with you.” He stood as he confessed. “I think about you. Morning, Noon and Night.”

Air that was trapped in your lungs was released all at once. Like you have not been breathing for a whole year. You felt insane to think that this wasn’t some convoluted nightmare.

He took a step towards you, and you let him. Feeling like this had all happened for some divine reason, you let him take your hand. His glove was rough against your skin. You never broke your eye contact off of his face. Studying how his jaw tensed and untensed, or how his eyes always followed the sound of your voice.

“Please Matty.” You sniffle. “You broke my heart once. I can’t take it a second time.”

“I promise you, there won’t be a second time.” He says before leaning down and kissing you gently. It takes a moment for your brain to process what was happening. Once you realize it was in fact a real kiss, you kiss him back. Arms snaking their way around his neck and his around your waist.

The kiss becomes more hunger filled. You can tell you both were touch starved by the way your hands began to roam. His body was pressed into yours, and you could feel yourself getting more turned on every second.

“Sweetheart.” He says. “You smell so fucking good.”

You moan lightly against his lips. Taking his bottom lip between your teeth, you tug on it lightly earning yourself a low groan. The way it vibrated between both your chests went straight to your core.

“Matty. I need you.” You pant as you pull from him slightly. He cups your face with his hand and nods.

“I need you too, sweetheart.”

Rushing through the front door of the church, you kiss the man in front of you with an intense passion. You can’t remember the last time you were touched by a man. Let alone kissed by one. 

The way he grabs your waist with his gloved hands was addicting. You feel every desire and you’re sure that he could smell your arousal. You begin pushing him towards a pew before he turns you around and stops the motion altogether.

“Wait.” Hearing his voice startled you. “We should move to somewhere more private.”

“Where? The only other place is your office, and I’m not about to be bent over a desk, Matt.”

He raises an eyebrow and looks in thought. Whatever was going through his head made your heart start to race. Taking your arm, he leads you towards the confessional booth pulling off his suit, and your own clothes in the process.

Once he is satisfied with how naked the both of you are, he climbs inside. You follow behind him and once he makes himself comfortable in the seat, you straddle his lap.

Leaving a trail of marks down his neck, you feel the heat of his hard cock against your stomach. Moaning from the sensation you readjust yourself and begin to slide him into you. You hear the way his breath catches as your tight cunt passes over his cock.

It’s silent in the church, the only sounds being made were the moans coming from you and the priest you had underneath you. You can’t help but wonder if this was the wrong thing to be doing. Despite those thoughts, you continue to lewdly whimper and sink yourself onto him.

“Oh Father Murdock, how fucking holy art thou” You smirk as you hungrily kiss him.

This makes him groan against you as he thrusts himself deeper inside you. Gasping loudly, you feel his cock in the pit of your stomach. How he managed to thrust that far into you was an act of God. You look down to watch his hips thrust up into you, and you push down onto his cock. It was absolutely breathtaking knowing that he was doing this to you.

“Y/N, you are going to be the absolute death of me.” He gapes, “You feel like absolute heaven.”

“I’m not going to last much longer, Matty” You clench around his length as you begin to bounce more sloppily.

You hear a slight growl creep up from the back of his throat before he grabs your thighs and flips you both over. This new angle had you at a curve, which made each thrust more earth shattering.

“You don’t get to come until I allow it.” His voice echoed through the small booth. Chills were sent up your spine. Looking up at this holy man through your lust filled eyes, you try to focus on every feature of his face. The way his jaw was tensed, and how his eyebrows furrowed.

The intensity of each thrust sent you into an overstimulated galaxy. Seeing stars was typically not what you experience in times like these. Then again, you both had not had sex in a long while.

His panting mixed together with the groans falling from his lips was drawing you to your edge. The little voice in your head kept repeating itself. ‘You don’t get to come until I allow it.’. Fuck did that have an affect on you.

Your moans began to sound more high pitched as the overstimulation hit you. He lowers his head to your chest, taking a nipple into his mouth and sucking on it harshly. The gasp you let out pleased him even more.

He continued to suck before moving his mouth to your neck, leaving small bruises here and there. You could feel his thrusts start to slow down as if he were getting tired. 

“Pl- please, I'm begging you.” You whimper pathetically. 

He smirks before whispering in your ear. “On the count of three. Okay, sweetheart?” 

You nod as you groan loudly.

“One.”

His thrusts begin to pick up, as he fucks you harder than before.

“Two.” 

Your cunt starts to clench around his cock as you try to hold on for that third number.

“Three.”

You both moan and pant as you come together. The pulse of his cock as it releases his hot seed into you feels good against your quivering pussy. Never before have you experienced an orgasm this good.

Breathing finally steadying out, you stare up at him. The sweat running down his forehead was very prominent. You noticed a smile beginning to make his way onto his face. You smile as well.

“What?” You ask quietly.

“I think this is the most sacrilegious thing I have ever done.” He says back in a whisper. 

“Oh and not the vigilante thing?”

He shakes his head before pressing his forehead to yours. “How bout you tell me about what has your heart racing at the moment?” He says instead.

“I just didn’t think I would ever be doing this.”

“How about you share your confession then?” He says while giving you another small thrust making you moan.

“Oh…” You ponder. “Then, bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”

[frankcastlescumslut]

Show Me How You Sin

pairing: Priest!Matt x AFAB!Virgin!Reader

words: 3.5k

warnings: 18+ MDNI!!! umm haha everything? blasphemy, heavy desecration of religion, virgin reader, oral (f receiving), guided masturbation, soft!dom/sub dynamics, overstimulation, reader is in 20’s

synopsis: Father Matthew leads you through your confession and first orgasm

A/N: haha hey! don’t read this is sacrilegious themes offend you!

REBLOGS/COMMENTS/FEEDBACK/LIKES ARE VERY MUCH WELCOMED HEHE

DO NOT REPOST, STEAL, OR TRANSLATE MY WORK. YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION. I’LL SMITE YOU.

he has to know how good he looks, right?

honey, he’s blind.

your mother gives you a quick side eye partnered with a smirk as you mumble to each other from the pew, relishing in the sight in front of you.

black garments cling to Father Murdock’s body in just the right way as he preaches about something you’ve probably heard many times before. your focus is purely on the way his hands rest against the wooden pulpit, veins visible under the dim light, and you can’t help the way your thoughts wander.

his fingers tap into the wood as he emphasizes some point, …your Heavenly Father will also forgive you, practically teasing you to imagine the way they would feel against the inside of your thigh, pressing into the soft flesh as your dress rides up with his touch.

the vasculature of his hands becomes more prominent as he grips onto the pulpit, and you have to swallow away the question of what his hands would look like wrapped around your throat while your lips release sweet moans.

your cheeks flush as you watch the way his tongue darts from the corner of his mouth and wets his lip, the voice catching in your throat as you swear you saw him smirk. you could’ve sworn he caught you; the way you crossed your legs and clenched your thighs together to relieve some of the ache from your core, the way your bottom lip was lodged between your teeth to stifle any moan that threatened to slip, the way your own fingers grabbed onto your sides as you crossed your arms around your body to hold yourself together.

don’t be ridiculous, he’s blind.

a sea of bodies rises from the pews, indicating the end of service. you deflate like a balloon, comfortable disappearing into the crowd and looking forward to relieving your… stress… in the comfort of your own bedroom.

you know it’s wrong, he’s a priest! I have hid thy promise in my heart, that I might not sin against thee. he’s MY priest… but it feels so good to reach that sweet spot when you rub your clothed cunt against the pillow in just the right way, unknowing of what happens after the buildup, wishing it was some part of the man who lead your prayers to help you discover what comes next.

your cheeks burn from embarrassment as you stand, only to find remnants of your arousal and sweat on the pew below.

“Hi.” The voice catches you off guard, causing you to trip over the aisle carpet.

“Careful, there.” His smile is charming as two large hands catch your falling body, the touch lingering on your waist for a second too long.

“S-sorry, Father.” It’s barely a whisper, but he catches your apology, clearly noting the way your heartbeat thunders in your chest.

He can tell you’re blushing by the way your cheeks and ears grow warmer, your skin already slightly damp from the debauchery he had very much noticed before.

His ear turns towards your parents ever so slightly, noticing the quiet laugh your mother is trying to hush- she must be embarrassed or- nervous?

“No need to apologize. I just wanted to see how you all were doing? It’s rare I get a moment to talk to everyone around here!” His smile is radiant as he addresses your family, your breath faltering as he moves his hand to the small of your back.

“Good! We’re all great! Home from college from now,” your mother winks at you, “just enjoying all the ways the Lord has been blessing us!” She’s overly excited as she relishes in the priest’s attention.

“Amen to that.”

Electricity flows from Father Matthew’s fingertips as he lightly grazes the seam of your dress. Your vision seems to blur at the foreign touch, only to be spewed on by the throbbing ache from between your thighs. The conversation is incoherent, your only train of thought telling your body to relax. breathe in, breathe out.

“I’m glad to hear it, it was nice speaking with you!” You take his words as your cue to leave but are halted as your parents take a few steps away.

“Actually,” the way he says your name nearly stops your heart entirely. “I was wondering if you’d be interested in confession?” His lip is upturned in a seasoned smile, one you had recognized before.

“I- um,”

“There’s no pressure, of course. I could just always use the extra practice. Not many people come around anymore, if you can believe that!” You swear you could see the crinkles form around his eye through the red glasses, and you sigh as his hand finally leaves your back.

“Sure. I’m, uh, definitely guilty of that.” As quickly as you relaxed at the absence of his touch, another part of you craved it.

He senses your hesitation, his attuned ears catching the way you crane your neck to scout your parents, only to hide a smile as he can hear your hands flap, shooing away your parents.

“You first,” he motions towards the confessional, vacant gaze trained towards your figure, disappearing into the confines of secrecy.

The wooden bench chills the backside of your thighs as you sit. The silhouette of your priest altered through the grated partition causes your heartbeat to quicken, and you’re suddenly on trial for your sins.

“Bless me, Father Murdock, for I have sinned…” He catches the shakiness in your voice, and the mention of his name causes him to shift his legs in his private section.

“It’s been…” You have to think of how long you had been away at college to remember the last time you’d repeated the phrase. “Four months since my last confession.”

“I’m glad you’re here now.”

“Thank you, Father Murdock-”

“Matthew. You can call me Matthew, if you’d like.” Your cheeks flush at the invitation and he notices, of course he does. Father Matthew… If only he knew how many times that name left your lips in the privacy of your bedroom.

“I, um… I have been struggling lately, Father Matthew.” The weighted confession leaves your mouth causing the crotch of his pants to grow tighter in unholy temptation.

“I have these feelings,” you clear your throat.

“Feelings?”

“Yes. Feelings that sometimes, well,” You’re unsure of how much you’re willing to tell. Granted, the guilt had been eating you alive, but a part of you enjoyed it- enjoyed it the way you enjoyed the feel of him pressing into your back.

“Sometimes they actually turn physical and…” he can tell you’re nervous by the way your cheeks warm and you cross your legs, clenching your thighs together in the process.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed or nervous, God honors your honesty, and so do I.” His voice is calm, almost too calm, and eases you into your repentance.

“When do these feelings typically happen?“ he already knew the answer; it was as if he was baiting you, perhaps he was.

He could sense the way you purposefully rubbed your clothed core against the pews while the congregation stood- the hymns hiding the breathy moans that left your lips when you barely rocked forward. He felt the way your lips threatened to wrap around his finger when he placed the bread on your tongue, his attuned ears catching the shakiness of your prayer. He could smell your arousal through the wooden partition as you contemplated your answer.

“They happen often, Father. And I don’t understand them. I’m ashamed, I think.”

“Shame is a heavy burden, but the burden Christ gives us is-“

“Light.” you speak at the same time.

“Exactly. Good girl” Matt catches the breath that becomes lodged in your throat, your pulse beating rapidly as you brush the hair from your face, exposing the delicate skin of your neck. He wants nothing more than to press his lips to the spot behind your ear, helping you to create pretty sounds.

“Tell me, what makes you ashamed of these feelings?” You’re caught off guard at his sultry tone.

“They happen when I do unholy things” Your confession falls on sensitive ears.

“Can you be more specific?”

“Unholy things like…” You don’t even realize your eyes are closed as your fingers caress your thighs, your lower lip hiding a moan as your fingertips brush the hem of your cotton panties. What are you doing?

“Like what you’re doing right now?” Matt noticed the way your concentration had adjusted, and he could sense the pad of your fingertips rub against the thicker seam- your breath falters and your body tenses as you’re caught. His cock throbs in the confinement of his pants.

“None of us are without sin. But I am interested in something.” His voice is raspy.

“Why don’t you show me how you sin?” you feel faint but gasp audibly at his proposal, your core throbbing at the thought.

“Father… I don’t… I”

“Your heavenly father has already forgiven you. May I?” He leans his head closer to the partition, eager to sense your response. You whimper at the thought of pleasuring yourself, fully confessing and at the mercy of the priest, and your fingers brush against your warm cunt, causing you to whisper a moan as you graze the bundle of nerves.

“That’s it, so obedient.” he clears his throat. “Do that again for me.”

The pad of your fingertips press into your clit and your eyes flutter shut.

“Good girl,” He notes the way you moan at the praise. “Tell me, how do you feel?”

“I feel, I feel dirty.” You do. You really, really do. But you also feel really, really good.

“Dirty is an interesting word to use… tell me where your hands are.”

“They’re on my thighs, Father.” He waits for a moment as he listens for the sound of your soft skin being kneaded, but he finds something else entirely.

“Angel, lying defeats the purpose of confession. Where are your hands?” It’s condescending and almost threatening, and you realize where you’re sitting and who you’re talking to.

It’s wrong. You know it’s wrong. He knows it’s wrong. But neither of you are willing to stop.

“They’re on my… my…”

“Your pussy?” He growls as he finally palms his hard length while imagining your innocent body responding to his games.

“Yes.” You’re fully clothed but feel naked- exposed.

“Good girl. There’s no shame in pleasure. After all, God created it. Are your thighs spread open?” He knew the answer. He could practically taste the way you coated the booth.

“Yes.”

“I want to ask you something, is that alright?“

“Yes.”

“Have you ever tasted yourself before?” Your stomach lurches at the thought.

“No.”

“Such a shame.” You swear you hear him tsk in disapproval. “Would you like to?”

“Y-yes.”

The curtain of your booth is pulled away quickly, equally catching you off guard. You hadn’t even heard him remove himself from his side, and you certainly weren’t expecting to see the flushed face of your priest as your legs were spread wide open for anyone to see. Truthfully, though, you didn’t care if anyone saw. You were unable to form any other thought, fully surrendering to the desires of your flesh, whatever that meant.

It’s silent for a moment as he stands in front of you, his head turning to perceive your already wrecked state. Heavy breaths fill the small space as anticipation grows. Your back sinks against the hardwood, causing your thighs to spread even further, your clothed pussy peeking out from under your dress in silent invitation. Matt accepts gladly, wishing he could watch the way your eyes grew in size as he lowered himself in front of you.

His hands, the ones you had fantasized about so many times before, shakily greet your calves, the fingers gently teasing against the skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He smirks at the way you moan at the minimal touch, only then wondering how much you had been denying yourself.

“Angel,” his lips press into the inside of your knee. “Have you sinned like this before? With another person?”

You shake your head in response, and Matt can tell the answer by the way your arousal seeps from your panties, but you quickly correct yourself.

“N-no Father Matthew.”

“Such a good girl.” He places another kiss on the opposite knee.

“Oh, Christ!” You exhale as his hands travel further towards your core, his fingers dancing against your thighs, kisses littering wherever he touches. He smiles at your reactions.

Teeth lightly nip at the delicate flesh, and he inhales deeply as his nose practically nudges against where you crave him the most. He sighs into you, his warm breath against your sobbing pussy causing you to moan.

“So responsive,” his thumb traces the inside seam of your white cotton underwear, threatening to please you. “May I?” He faces you, desperately trying to find your eyes.

“Yes.” You whisper, giving permission to something you’re not even sure he’s asking.

The heel of your foot, the hardness of a pew, the softness of a pillow, the texture of a stuffed animal was nothing compared to the way Matt’s thumb caressed your throbbing clit through your panties. You jolted, nearly hitting your head, at the unfamiliar sensation.

“Oh!” His fingers grabbed onto the plump flesh of your thighs just as they held onto the pew, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into your bundle of nerves.

“F-father,” You call for him, failing to catch the amusement plastered on his face.

“Hm? How does this feel, sweetheart? You can’t form words to express how you were feeling.

“Good. S-so good. Thank you.” He moans at your gratitude, his member throbbing consequently. His fingers hook into the elastic, patience leaving his body as he desperately needs to taste you.

“Angel, let me make you feel good.” He pleads with a kiss to your panty-cladded cunt. An open mouth moan against your core causes you to reach for him as he denies himself the pleasure of lapping up your taste. “Please, will you let me make you feel good?”

You aren’t sure how it can feel much better than this, but you oblige with ease.

“Please, Father Matthew. Please make me feel good.”

Your underwear fall to your ankles with haste, the air against your wet pussy causing you to shiver. Matt shivers as your arousal floods the tiny space, taunting him to devour you.

“Sweetheart, you tell me if you’d like me to stop, okay?” His fingers find your hand and wrap around your wrist as you give your silent consent.

His warm breath greets you first as you sharply inhale, this will be fun, and he teases you with the flat of his tongue pressing against the entirety of your pussy.

“H-help.” Had he heard you correctly?

“Help? Is everything okay? Would you like me to stop?” His brows furrowed in concern and he loosened his grip.

“No!” You practically shout, the echo hurting his ear slightly. “No! Please. I just… I’ve never felt this and I…” You’re embarrassed to admit you aren’t sure how to feel.

“Relax, angel. I promise I’m going to take care of you, ” He places a small kiss on your thighs. “In your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore,” he quotes scripture before placing his lips to your clit. You relax into the feeling, unsure of whether it was the familiarity of the words or the satiation of your flesh.

The tip of his tongue runs through your wet folds, sucking lightly to taste every drop, before flicking and circling against your swollen clit. Your moans cause his cock to throb against his thigh as he relishes in your sweetness.

“Fuck,” The profanities surprise you as they’re murmured from below. “Taste so fuckin’ delicious, sweetheart.” Your cheeks flush at the compliment.

“So fuckin’ sweet, just like an angel. My little angel,” His lips wrap around your sensitive bundle of nerves and he sucks lightly, the sound of spit audible to anyone who could pass by. He’s surprised by the way you respond and throw your hands against his head before quickly pulling back in regret.

“It’s okay,” he coos from below. “You can touch me.” You burn with temptation at his invitation and sink back into the wooden frame at an awkward angle, your fingers gently caressing the side of his head.

“Oh, Father.” You attempt to stifle your moan by catching part of your dress in your mouth, but he stops you before it passes your lips.

“Don’t be shy, kitten.” An outreached hand reaches to cup your face, his heart softening at the way you nuzzle into his touch. “There’s nothing wrong with seeking pleasure. Do you need me to help you?” you nod your head against his palm and he grabs your thighs, pulling you closer against him

“There you go, such a good girl. Just like that.” Your head falls back as he laps up your arousal from your leaking hole and places kitten licks against your clit, your moans falling freely.

“God,” you whimper, “that feels so good. I-I like that.”

He continues his ministrations, applying a steady pressure to your sensitive clit as your fingers grip into his hair and your hips lightly rut into him. He growls against your movements, and a wet spot grows visible against his trousers.

“That's it princess,” He moans into you. “Show me what you like. Show me how you like it.” you adjust your hips and lightly grind against his tongue. His grip onto you tightens, surely leaving bruises in return, as he encourages you to grow confident in your motions.

“Please please please” unsure of what you’re asking for as your thrusts grow quicker and more erratic. Matt mumbles a prayer and hums against your clit, causing you to force his face to press into you even more.

“Do that again, please.” you beg for more of the new sensations, his hums vibrating against your most sensitive area. He obliges with haste, silently praying and eager for a taste of your release.

An unfamiliar sensation bubbles within as your priest devours your pleasure. If the idea of the holiest man you knew moaning against your virgin cunt wasn’t enough to bring you to an orgasm, the sounds of your slick and his drool mixing and coating your clit was enough to do so.

“Father, what’s happening?” Your eyes attempt to open, but your lashes flutter at the pleasure. Your chest heaves as Matt brings you to the edge of your first orgasm.

“Just as the Father has washed you from iniquity, let this feeling wash over you, angel.” You’re sure you’ve reached Heaven. Your entire body tenses as you cling onto Matt, holding him against your clit as your orgasm washes over you in waves.

“Oh fuck! Oh Christ!” The muscles in your thighs tremble as they involuntarily close around the priest’s head; he moans as the sweetness of your taste and smell floods his senses. Your body shakes with pleasure and your abs contract with each wash of euphoria.

Your arousal drips from you like honey from a honeycomb, and Matt collects it with the tip of his tongue and spreads it over your clit before sucking gently, causing you to jolt from overstimulation.

“Ouch!” You flinch, “It hurts, Father.”

“If we are to share his glory, we must also share his suffering.” He recites the verse into your sopping cunt with a last lick, savoring your first sin. You’re surprised as he reaches for your face and brings you forward, your lips pressing into one another with a gentle kiss.

You moan into him, embarrassed that you’re enjoying the simple intimacy and the taste of you. He returns the pleasantry, his tongue tracing your swollen bottom lip before breathing into you a final time; his heart mirrors you at the slight ache.

His lips trail kisses from your face to your neck, stopping at your core while his fingers dip between your folds for good measure, before disappearing behind his lips. He continues his trail of kisses down the length of your legs before pulling your panties in their proper position.

Your legs groan as you finally stand at your full height and marvel at the sight below you. The priest's robes had been abandoned long ago, and he looked oddly human as he knelt below you. Your hand reaches towards him, reaching to hold his face, and he leans into your tender touch. He places an intimate kiss on your palm before standing, awkwardly adjusting the erection in his pants.

“I, um, I can-” He smiles at your offer.

“No, you don’t have to. It’s okay, angel. You did enough today.” You blush at his words, wishing you could run from the impending separation.

You’re surprised as he places a kiss to your forehead before running his hands against your figure, straightening the hem of your dress with precision and a kind smile, the sheen of your arousal still evident on his lip. You return the favor by gingerly adjusting the red tinted glasses and brushing a piece of his hair from his forehead. Your thumb rubs against his lips before disappearing into your mouth.

“Will I see you next Sunday?” He breaks the tender moment.

“Yes, Father.”

“Good girl.”

[daremartyevil]

EVERYBODY KNOWS THE DEVIL, prologue | M. MURDOCK

➤ Prologue: God must hate the damned ones

pairing: western!matt murdock x afab!reader

summary: tonight was supposed to be another night where you’d search for revenge against the ones that destroyed your life. however, things drastically when you find the infamous and mysterious vigilante close to death.

word count: 1,96K

warnings: no use of y/n. even with the reader being referred to by they/them, people will also refer to them as a woman because of the period, so sorry. description of violence, blood, injuries, and bruises. mention to death. use of guns. misogyny. (two idiots in love, picking on each other)

SERIES MASTERLIST | next chapter

Tonight, it’s the night they die.

It has to be tonight, you even already confessed what you’re about to do to the priest. So, there's no going back now.

You promised that they’d regret what they did to you. And you aren’t the kind of person to break a promise.

As the sun sets on your backs, enveloping your figure in a blazing silhouette, you check each one of your guns. The ones that you carry in your hips and shoulders holsters, assuring yourself that they all are loaded and ready. Your touch on them tickles the point of your fingers, in eagerness.

After so many years, it feels unreal that you’ll get them. Fucking finally.

With one last smirk to yourself, you raise the plague doctor mask in your face and fix the black vine hat on your head, getting on your horse and letting the sun say goodbye to you. Perhaps, after tonight, it’ll be the last time that you’ll be capable of fully appreciating its rays warming your skin.

But it will be worth it.

Along the way, you accept the cool breeze with open arms. You feel it gracing your cheeks despite the mask and sigh. With the cold air brushing your skin and the darkness taking care of the sky, it’s much more difficult to avoid the memories back there.

Which one them, making sure to remember you why you have to do what you’re going to do.

“Sorry Father, but neither God will stop me for what I’m going to do now” you remember saying it to Father Lantom, early on the morning of today, “I’ll push all my angels off the cliff and let them turn into my worst demons”

And now you can feel them. As you approach The Paradiso’s Saloon, with the night, you see all your memories sink in a crimson pool inside your head. Then, for the first time after centuries of waiting, you drown yourself in it.

Outside of the bar, everything seems quiet but you expected that. You had studied this place for months to know how this damn gang works around this specific spot of theirs.

Every Friday night, the place isn’t open at night, which is weird coming from a Saloon known as The Paradiso is. Their doors are closed, not a single sign of life comes from the inside, all of their lights are off. It feels like nothing is going on there, another typical Friday.

You tut to the view, hiding your horse in a distant point from the renowned saloon. A point where you can perfectly sense what is going on some feet below the ground where you stand.

Despite the mask, you smell a distinct bitter almond odor. Your nose twitches immediately and the hairs of your back shiver, there is also what it seems like a rotten eggs kind of smell.

Ignoring the goosebumps lying in your stomach, you kneel to the ground and grab an amount of dirt under your boots. You examine what you have in your hands, carefully, as the dots start to connect in your mind.

In fact, they’re dealing with chemicals, as you imagined. The type of chemicals that creates weapons.

Those bastards...

With a Winchester in hand, you march to the saloon, slamming your body against the doorway and forcing it open to you. You don’t longer care about discretion. And, even so, when you enter, it doesn’t seem like anyone there cares about it either.

There isn’t a sign of life inside, everything is dark. Tables empty, no cracks against the floor, and no barman or waitress. No one on the ground floor.

Because it has to exist a floor below you.

And whatever it’s happening down there, you can’t listen to. Maybe, as well as they can’t listen to what is happening up where you are.

Yet, while you search for a way downstairs, you feel the floor slightly shaking. No, not exactly shaking, but agitated. As if there is a fight happening there.

A fucking fight where chemicals are being contained...

Well, shit.

Quickly, you go behind the barman’s table, poking every corner with the tip of your gun. It doesn’t get you longer to find a trapdoor behind some barrels full of beer.

You don’t think twice before opening it, coming face to face with the stairs to the underground. And, again, you don't hesitate when you go all the way down.

A fighting sound is clear to your ears now, whilst you follow downstairs. Sounds of grunts, beating, and bullets colliding against flesh and glass. All followed by the sound of liquid splashing on the floor.

Shit, shit, shit-

And there were you, wishing things were easy tonight. It seems like God wants to turn your unholy journey into something a little more complicated.

“Huh,” you puff, giving up of going down step by step and quickly sliding underground with the help of the handrails.

You hit the soles of your boots against the dirty ground in time to almost get hit by a figure being hurled against the wall next to you. Just like a flash, you don’t even have the time to blink. It doesn’t knock you down by a few inches.

What the-

You narrow your eyes to your surroundings, you need to rewind this moment and analyze it mindfully.

First things first, there is a blindfolded man with a red mask who was thrown to your side. Right fucking now. However, as you watch him slowly acknowledging your presence, you recognize his figure. A bruised and blindfolded man with a red mask, a black hat, dark and red clothing, and a nunchaku falling to his sides...

Hell, God must really have chosen today to hate on you.

Because the known vigilante of Hell’s Kitchen, The Devil is taking his weapon and with his face turned at you as he tries to understand your presence. Completely confused.

Likewise, man.

Your head list his most noticeable injuries in a couple of seconds: a broken rib, concussion, two cuts over his lips, a sprained knee, maybe joints-

And there is so much more.

Vigilantes, damned them all.

Second thing, if God isn’t hating on you enough, a group of armed scientists mobsters has their guns aimed at your and the other vigilante’s direction. Funnels and bottles broken on their feet and chemicals filling the air, to the scientists’ luck, they are wearings masks — The Devil, though... He hasn’t that same luck.

Yet, as you watch the scene before you, you can tell that those men are the ones you’re looking for.

All of them wearing the same emblem on their heavy coats-

“Serpents” you spit the name, disgusted.

And just like that, everything keeps moving normally, and the Winchester on your hands burns your skin.

Kill them all.

“Another vigilante, huh?” one of them shouts, laughing at your masked figure and ignoring the gun in your hands, aimed at his head, “Look, doctor, I suggest you run away if you don’t want to end like the Red by your side”

For a moment, your mission distracts you from the vigilante’s presence. It’s like his silence didn’t help you to forget about him by your side.

But, as you glance at him, you understand the reasons behind his quietness. Or what you assumed as quietness.

The Devil is disoriented by the effects of the chemicals filling the air inside this underground lab, he hasn’t anything good enough to cover his nose. He can’t get up, too much affected by the chemicals to do so.

You know the common effects: headache, dizziness, weakness, nausea, and vomiting. But depending on what they were trying to do with this, you don’t know if things can get worst.

Damn, you take a deep breath, what a shit situation you’re in.

The Devil is just right there beside you, kneeling to the ground, failing to fully get up and fight for his life. He isn’t able to comprehend what is happening around him either.

What the hell are you supposed to do? You should only have come down here, kill them, safely vanished with their chemicals, and disappeared from the maps.

However, now the mysterious vigilante that keeps everybody’s faith on in this damn town... Is fucking seeing stars.

And you can do something about it. You know what you need to do to help him.

But the chance of you finding one of the Serpents’ spots again is too little.

God, that’s below the belt.

Trying to disturb your plan to give in to your demons and kill the thing that being killing you slowly for years by putting the Devil on your way. How ironic, huh? That’s below the belt even to Him.

If there was a doubt before, now you are sure: you definitely hate vigilantes.

“Fuck that shit, y’all” you show a smile behind your doctor’s plague mask, tilting your head until you see the kind of other chemicals that they gathered in the backs of this place, “Ya should be careful with what you use down here”

With that, they look puzzled at you — an unknown wearing a weird mask is criticizing their work of years. What gives you time to hold the man beside you, putting his arm behind your back and carrying half of his weight while he starts to cough blood.

Great, man. Fucking great.

By the sight of you helping the red one, the Serpents don’t think twice before firing in your direction. However, it's not like you wouldn't expect it from them either.

After years, you know all too well about what to expect from scientists that don’t know how to use their own guns.

You force The Devil into the stairs and up, raising your Winchester to the Serpents as you feel some of their bullets brush past you. It’s easy for you to ignore the pain from your flesh twitching under your skin, what isn’t easy is to deal with the vigilante not doing what you want him to do and grabbing your shoulder instead.

“Don’t kill them” he mumbles between his blooded coughs, “Don’t”

“I won’t kill them now, shithead” you get his hand off your shoulder, shoving him up and following behind him. You fix your eyes again on your target, paying attention to it — not in the red vigilante, the shouting, the bullets, or the Serpents approaching, “I suggest you keep climbing and ignore the loud sound”

Before The Devil could distract you again, you fire at the wooden containers on the back of the lab.

So, everything that happens next is in slow motion inside your head.

What are the effects of the combustion you caused? You can list each one of them as they go.

Dizziness, but not because of a smell, but the sound. The sound of the explosion is deafening.

The Serpents drop their guns and fall to the ground, trying to protect their ears.

Depending on the person? Nose bleeding, also due to the sound.

And, of course, burnings. That’s a plus to why the scientists are screaming. Even though they are not too close to the containers, you knew that the explosion would get their backs.

Tonight, you couldn’t get the chance to give them death. So the least you can do is give them a taste of it.

If they didn’t remember you, after tonight, they will.

Yet, when the vigilante passes out and nearly knocks you underground with him, you think that is because of his previous injuries and the effects of the chemicals before the explosion. So, you only focus on his low heartbeat and pull him up with all the strength you got.

And you’d keep going even if it meant all night. No one that doesn’t need to die will die in your account.

You sigh in relief when you reach the saloon floor and manage to leave the unconscious vigilante lying beside you. You take a second to breathe, regaining your strength to do what you have to do next.

But your relief and calm vanish from your face when you lay your eyes at The Devil, way before you attempt to carry him.

Look, to excuse yourself, you even had to ignore the effects of the explosion on you. The buzzing, the pain in your temples, the smell of rust back in your head... If you stopped a second to think about them, you wouldn’t be capable to get you and the Devil Man out of there. All of this already without processing the bullets that hit you.

So, yes, you didn’t give yourself the chance to notice how this explosion affected the devilish vigilante.

How his exposed face is covered by the blood from his nose and ears. Your eyes widen at this view, realizing that his low heartbeat isn’t because of the chemicals of before...

But from the loud sound from the explosion.

If being a vigilante meant to have bad luck, you're doomed.

“Damn me, right?” you mutter, “It wasn’t enough to give me a doctor’s soul, you had to give me a heart too, God?”

Because He knows that you have to help this man.

Taglist: @waspswidows ​ @druigswitch ​​ @underoos-shield ​ (if you want to be tag let me know! send me an ask and i’ll add you!!)

[writercole]

One-Shots

*All readers are AFAB unless otherwise noted.

Targeted - Jensen Ackles x Fem!Reader (non-romantic)

Paying the Price - Jensen Ackles x Fem!Reader x Danneel Ackles

An Unexpected Matchmaker - Vet!Jensen Ackles

The First Customer - Nurse!Alex Calvert

Soul Food - Dean x Benny

It’s A Trap - Bela Talbot x Arthur Ketch (working)

Girl’s Night In - Jody x Donna (platonic)

Take A Bow - Dean x GN!Reader (heavy angst)

Not Again - Dean x Unnamed Female ; Sam Voyeur 

Work Perks - Dean x Sam x Charlie x F!Reader

Comfort Me - Danneel x Reader

Captive - Dean Winchester x Reader - Superhero AU

Le Feu Follet - Dean x Reader 

Born on the Bayou - Benny x Reader

Transitions - Transgender Sam

Sunshine & Rainbows - Dark Kaia

Unscripted - Dean Winchester x Reader

Whoops - Donna Hanscum

Orphaned - Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, John Winchester

My Brother’s Keeper - Sam Winchester, Rowena, MoC!Dean (Mentioned)

It’s You - Sam Winchester x Reader

Token of Thanks - Cas x Reader

Why Am I A Girl - Sam x Reader

Enchanted - Dean x Reader

Brother Knows Best - Sam x Sister!Reader, Dean x Sister!Reader

What A Girl Wants - Dean x Reader

Never Too Late - Dean, Cas, Ruby, Jack, Reader

Yes, Mistress - Sub!Dean

Lazy Day - Dean x Reader

Just My Imagination - Sam Winchester x Reader

Take Two - Sam x Reader (platonic), Dean x Reader, Sam x Jess

Visions - Sam, Dean

Again and Again - Demon Dean

Just Feels Right - Mechanic!Dean x Teacher!Reader

My Reason - Dean Winchester x OC Brandy

Fast Cars & Freedom - Dean Winchester

Sunshine & Whiskey Kisses - Sam Winchester

Helping Paws - Dean Winchester feat. Archer the Husky

Traditions - Team Free Will

Our First Real Christmas - Sam & Dean Winchester

I Get Off - Stalker!Dean x Reader

She’s Gone - Dean Winchester x Reader

On Bended Knee - Dean Winchester x Reader

Sunrise, WY - The Winchester Gang

Light Me Up - Dean Winchester x Reader

Fated Mistakes - Alpha!Dean Winchester

Five Minutes More - Gamer!Dean Winchester

Bake My Breath Away - Baker!Sam Winchester

Steely-Eyed Missile Man - Bucky x Natasha (best friends)

The Howling Wolf - Bucky x Reader

Hiccups - Bucky x Sam x Reader

Somethin’ Stupid - Bucky Barnes

Dinner with the Parents - Frank Castle

Playdate - Frank Castle

Stardust - Clint Barton

The Devil Don’t Sleep - Soft!Dark Priest!Matt Murdock

Slow Hand - Matt Murdock

Come Away With Me - Priest!Matt Murdock

Hum - Matt Murdock

Challenge Accepted - Tony Stark

In Vino Veritas - Tommy Shelby (Peaky Blinders)

You Knew - John Shelby (Peaky Blinders)

Call 911 - Harley Quinn & Poison Ivy

Crashing Down - Opie Winston x Reader

Picking Up The Pieces - Opie Winston x Reader

Just The Way You Are - Filip ‘Chibs’ Telford x Reader

Holding Out Hope - Bodyguard!Opie Winston

Bad Girl - Chibs Telford x Reader

Blood & Ash - Jason Todd aka Red Hood (DC Batverse)

Just Desserts - Jason Todd aka Red Hood (DC Batverse)

Satin & Lace - Jason Todd aka Red Hood (DC Batverse)

The Kingslayer and the Milkmaid - Jaime Lannister (Game of Thrones)

Priority Request - Poe Dameron x GN Reader

The Girl Next Door - Bones McCoy

Just a Memory - Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw

Whispered Promises - Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin

Look What You Made Me Do - Rhett Abbott

My Bloody Fright Trail - Tom Hanniger (My Bloody Valentine)

My Way or the Highway - Boaz Priestley (Ten Inch Hero)

[farfromstrange]

Lizzi's Kinktober 2023

Day 13: Roleplay

October 28th, 2023

Main Masterlist | Kinktober Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: You and Matt sneak into the church for a little roleplay.

Warnings: EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT (18+ MINORS DNI), religious imagery, blasphemy (like, this is blasphemous beyond compare), blowjob in a church, mentions of oral afab!receiving, mentions of body worship, roleplay (Matt plays a priest), hair pulling, face-fucking, wrong use of a confessional booth

Word Count: ~1.5k

A/n: I... I need holy water.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned…”

This is wrong. This is so wrong. But if it’s wrong, why does it feel so right?

It is filthy, perhaps even perverted, but you can’t help it.

You are doomed. 

He is the apple and the snake that compelled Eve to break the most important rule in the Garden of Eden. He is the forbidden fruit and the devil himself. You weren’t supposed to have a bite of him, and still, you did because he was so convincing. He drew you in from the first word spoken between you. He compelled you to take the apple, and now you are doomed. 

Matt is sitting in the confessional booth. There is not a single soul in sight other than your doomed person, on your knees in front of him. He doesn’t need the robe to appear like a priest. He’s dressed in all black, and his demeanor reminds you of the men you have so often seen giving sermons on TV. 

What you are doing should guarantee you a place in hell, but right now, you couldn’t care less. 

“What do you need to ask forgiveness for?” he asks you.

His hand rests on the back of your head, keeping your head close to his clothed crotch. 

You swallow. The rain outside is hitting the church windows. You broke in, which is a crime, but kneeling before the man you love and asking for forgiveness is not. It can’t be.

You are not religious, far from it, and he is the only person in the world that could give you the salvation you need. It isn’t wrong, it is just right. And if you get caught, at least you had a good time. 

His cock is straining against his very thin dress pants. This is his fantasy as much as it is yours, maybe even more so. You know he is ridden with guilt, but right now, he is blooming in his new role. There is no way you two would ever leave before he hasn’t finished what he started. 

The floor is cold under your knees. They must be bruised by now, but you manage to tune out the pain. That is part of it. Part of life. Part of existence. And it is part of atoning for your sins. 

“I have been a bad, bad girl,” you whisper into the dead of the night. 

Matt shifts a bit. “How so?” he asks. 

“I’ve been having… thoughts. About a man of God.”

“What kind of thoughts?” With every word, his voice grows thicker.

You blink through the fog of your arousal. “I’ve been thinking about him touching me,” you say. 

Your eyelids flutter. You look so innocent, and he can’t even see you. Only with his fingers on your face does he get an idea of what your features might look like right now. And you are hungry. Hungry for him. Hungry for more. 

“I’ve been thinking about touching him–” Your palms rub his muscular thighs, “Touching him in places I should not think about touching a man of God.”

You can hear him suck in a sharp breath in the darkness of the booth. He shifts again. “And do you think God would forgive you for something like that?” he says. “Wanting a man of God to fuck you senseless? To touch you? To touch him?”

“I’m not sure,” you answer. 

“Have you been thinking about him in church?”

“Yes.”

What terrifies you most about this is that if he were a priest, a real priest with a robe and responsibilities, you would still think about him bending you over the altar and worshipping you. You would dream about him taking you to the confessional booth, forcing you to atone for your sins. You would dream about his hands around your neck, choking you to the point you get dizzy, and repeatedly calling you a bad girl. Because that is what you are. 

“You really have been bad,” Matt murmurs. He caresses the back of your head. “Luckily, your God is forgiving.”

You blink up at him. “He is?” you ask. 

“Yeah. If you are willing to repent for your sins.”

When he shifts this time, his free hand goes to his belt. He unbuckles it, letting the leather fall to the floor. You don’t move. Not even when he opens the button, then his zipper, and then reaches into his boxers to take out his hard cock.

You drool, but you don’t move. It just so happens that the moon shines through the small window and shines a light on him in all his glory, with his cock out and his cheeks flushed. 

Matt Murdock is an ethereal sight you can never get enough of, even when he is pretending to be a priest. For him, you will be as bad as you can be. You have no choice. You want to be. 

“What’s my sentence, Father?” your voice is barely above a whisper. 

He takes his cock into his hand, giving it a few pumps before pulling your head closer. A moment of deafening silence follows. Thunder rumbles. The rain reminds you of the pool in your underwear, making it hard to stay still. 

Matt lets out a shaky breath as he guides his cock to your lips. “Open,” he says. His voice wavers slightly. 

You do as you’re told, but you look up at him, still awaiting an answer. 

A smile finds its way to his lips, and it is as dark as the booth itself. He opens his mouth again. “Atone,” he says. 

And in an instant, he has fucked his cock down your throat. 

You choke around his girth. Tears spring to your eyes. The head meets the back of your throat, and you gag, but you don’t force him away. You keep your hands on his thighs and your head bowed low, and you let him fuck your mouth like there is no tomorrow.

He asked you to atone. To be forgiven for your sins, you need to do this. You are his to play with. You are his to own. Right now, at least. Right now, that is all you want to be. His fucktoy. His means to get rid of pent-up frustration. His way of living out his darkest fantasies. 

You are so wet, you pray to God that you don’t leave a stain on the floor. But does it matter? He will fuck you over the altar later. He will spread your legs and bury his head between your thighs. He will let you pull his hair and fuck his mouth the same way he is doing to you because that is his way of repenting. Then it is his turn to atone, when he is no longer the priest but the disciple, and you are his goddess that he prays to. 

“Hail, Mary, full of grace,” Matt chokes out between heavy thrusts into the tight confines of your mouth. He can’t even hear anything but the sound of yours and his breathing, and his needy moans that fill the air. “The Lord is with thee,” he continues, but he is having a hard time forming the words. 

You have heard him pray before but during sex? While he is fucking your mouth like a madman? That is new. It makes your pussy clench around thin air, and your nails dig into the flesh of his thighs. The pain only makes him moan louder. It is heaven to your ears.

“Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb–” He grits his teeth. “Jesus!” 

You gag again, his cock now forced even deeper. You can’t breathe, not even through your nose. The lack of oxygen is making you feel all kinds of things, but certainly none of them bad. 

“Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners,” he says, “Now and at the hour of our death.”

He thrusts and he thrusts, and with a harsh pull on your hair, he forces you off his cock. “Amen,” he almost cries out as his balls tighten, and he comes all over your face. 

There is not an inch that is not covered by his seed, by the very essence of him. His cum slithers down your throat toward your breasts. 

Another rumble of thunder strikes the church. The clock strikes midnight. 

You look up at him through hooded eyes. He’s panting, his chest heaving, but for the first time in weeks, he looks content. 

“Amen,” you whisper back. 

So, you have finally atoned, and now, it is his turn. 

Matt Murdock Smut Tag List: @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @linamarr @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @ravenclaw617 @mattkinsella @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch

Also tagging: @blackshadowswriter @1988-fiend