#sacrilege smut

[chrollogy]

THE COST OF DEVOTION | chrollo lucilfer x f!reader

synopsis: When Chrollo Lucilfer is assigned to go undercover, and kill a billionaire’s daughter, he finds himself breaking the most sacred rule of the underworld—that there should be no feelings involved. The consequences of his actions backs Chrollo into a corner where he has to choose between fulfilling the job or following his heart at a risky price.

18+ MDNI; undercover assassin!chrollo, bodyguard!chrollo, billionaire’s daughter!reader, loosely follows some canon events (chrollo’s past), reader is referred to as ‘miss’, DARK CONTENT, DARK ROMANCE, heavy angst, hurt/no comfort (no happy ending), explicit smut, SLOW BURN, major character death, touches on arranged marriage, cheating, killing, money laundering, human trafficking, kidnapping, sacrilege & blood (briefly), gun use, chrollo struggles with feelings, chrollo has scars, OCs mentioned, not beta read.

word count: 18.6k

notes: divider: cafekitsune. ITS HERE !! thank u to @ljubimaya & @avatarofstars for supporting me throughout the writing process and for being such amazing friends :3 this is different from my usual fics + super self indulgent so enjoy. feedbacks & thoughts are much appreciated ><

Loud music, enough to make one’s chest thump, annoying bright strobe lights, and the sea of intoxicated bodies that passionately danced with one another without a care in the world, Chrollo wanted out. He observed the luxury club with a subtle scowl, gaze sharp enough to tear one’s throat as he watched the spoiled, and rich carelessly sway to the beat of the music—you were one of them.

A privileged affluent businessman’s daughter who didn’t know how to handle one’s wealth so she resorts to spending nights swiping her card for overpriced drinks, and whatever expensive shit the club had to offer.

Meanwhile, the lower class had to work themselves to near death to be able to provide for their families. One, two, three jobs just to make ends meet—just to pay rent, just to bring food to the table even if it meant working for the underworld.

That was where Chrollo fell into the spectrum; fortunate enough to live but unfortunate enough to live a cruel life in an equally cruel world. He grew up learning how to steal, fight, and kill while you grew up having maids cook every meal, a solid roof over your head, and generational wealth to spend.

It made Chrollo sick to his stomach how wealthy kids like you could just take, take, and take yet had the audacity to complain about their lives as if society didn’t favour them at all. He could go on, and on about this whole ordeal but at the end of the day, no one would even bat an eye, plus, he had a job to do—technically, two jobs.

At the heart of the sweaty, inebriated club, you stood there beneath the neon strobe lights, it bounced off the strands of your hair like a colourful aura mirroring your careless joy. Body perfectly swaying to the beat of the music, a half-full glass of a sweet cocktail, and a blissful expression on your face; maybe if the circumstances were different Chrollo would have smiled at your blithe spirit but it wasn’t.

Your eyes—a drunken haze—found his own to which you immediately acknowledged with a cheery wave of your free hand.

It only took a split second for Chrollo to mask the obvious scowl on his face with a sickly saccharine smile—one that made his gut twist with disgust—he returned the gesture with a dip of his chin paired with raising a glass of water in the air as if to make a toast. Chrollo’s expression fell the minute you turned away, unceremoniously slouching back into the leathered booth you’ve booked beforehand, he let out a deep sigh, and rubbed at his temples.

Two weeks

It had only been two weeks since your father—Chrollo’s employer—hired him as your personal bodyguard, and as expected, extensive pre-screening was a must before one could securely acquire said role which Chrollo found extremely bothersome despite its lack of difficulty. Though this wasn’t a rare occurrence, it only made sense for the rich to hire a skilled bodyguard to protect oneself from unknown dangers.

Obviously, he didn’t apply to be your personal bodyguard for sincere reasons—far from it, actually; Chrollo was here for a task that would land him his heftiest pay yet, even just thinking about made his head spin with immeasurable happiness already but Chrollo figured he’d bask in filthy money after completing the job. He always did.

If anything, this should be a walk in the park for him considering there was nothing more satisfying than seeing the demise of a wealthy brat. But for now, he’d take it slow, and earn your trust ‘til the right time comes; where his mask falls, and true motives come to light.

Where the last thing the assassin would receive from you was a look of pure horror much like his previous targets. Would you beg for him to spare your life like others did? Or would you sit in complete shock, words lodged deep inside your throat?

These thoughts immediately dissipated at the call of his name; a few feet away, you stumbled your way towards the booth, the highball glass tucked in your hand was now empty with only half melted ice cubes remaining. Chrollo stood up, wrapping a firm arm around your back, helping you regain balance before guiding you to the leathered seat, the fabric cool against your feverish skin.

“Should I call the chauffeur, miss?” Chrollo feigned worry. His stature loomed over your sitting figure, back lit with red neon strobe lights, giving him a deep crimson glow. You stared at him longer than necessary before responding with a small nod; the wild atmosphere, paired with your spinning vision seemed like a good enough hint to head home, and retire for the night.

At your agreement, Chrollo let out a big mental sigh of relief—he may be an adept assassin but sitting idly for hours while watching his asset drink the night away exhausted his patience more than one could imagine.

The ride back to the estate was all a drunken haze for you, though, you recalled a brief exchange of words between Chrollo, and your chauffeur as the latter helped you inside the vehicle before, they seemed to get along swimmingly despite the former only being a new addition to your personal staff. Albeit, that description might be a bit too generous, maybe it was just your drunk self thinking but nonetheless, you appreciated the courteous manner between the two. 

“Lukas?”

You called out to the chauffeur, he donned a formal attire just like Chrollo—a black tailored suit—he was an old-timer who had been your father’s previous chauffeur before you were born. It was safe to say you’ve learned a lot from him growing up, and maybe even served more as a father figure than your biological one.

“Yes, miss?” Lukas glanced briefly at the rear-view mirror. “Chrollo . . He’s nice, isn’t he?”

The older man could only chuckle in response, letting your words soak into the darkness of the vehicle before nodding, “He’s a promising young lad.” He glanced at the mirror once again, this time letting his gaze linger on you, headlights from the vehicle Chrollo drove behind poured into the backseat, and illuminated your face; Lukas didn’t know if it was due to your drunken state or from pure sincerity but the subtle smile on your face somewhat warmed his heart.

He took a mental note that you seemed to be quite fond of your new bodyguard.

After safely reaching the estate, and escorting you inside, Chrollo made his way to the staff house. Walking past the wooden double doors, he was stopped in his tracks by a familiar voice, “Off to bed, Chrollo?” It was Lukas, your chauffeur; he sat on one of the crimson couches, one hand nursing a cup of hot coffee.

Chrollo stared at the old man’s face behind the wisps of steam from the drink, the latter donned a rather pleased look on his face, he thought nothing of it, and nodded, “And yourself?”

Lukas returned the nod, “A little later for me.”

Silence occupied the living room for a moment. Chrollo could’ve left the conversation at that but instead, he stood there, feet rooted on the wooden floor, sensing that Lukas had more to say but was debating on it.

Seeing as he didn’t want to waste any more time, Chrollo spoke up “Is there something else you’d like to say?” His voice cut through the quiet atmosphere, he had now angled his body towards the older man. Lukas set the mug atop the coffee table before giving him his full attention, “The young miss seems to have taken a liking to you.”

Chrollo didn’t know how to react to that—even if he did, he wouldn’t have let on.

At his silence, Lukas invited himself to speak further, “At times, she can be quite a handful . . but hearing her speak positively of you warms my heart. What I’m trying to say is, please take good care of the young miss, it means a lot for her to say such things about you.”

Trust? Good.

Chrollo’s rosy lips stretched into a genuine smile, “I will. Thank you.” And with that, he excused himself before heading to his room, the soles of his obsidian shoes produced no noise with each step. He wasn’t happy because you seemed to like him, no, Chrollo was happy because you trusted him so easily—probably the biggest mistake you’ve made.

Though, nothing would really change if you didn’t trust him, either way, you’d meet your demise no matter what.

As the new week rolled around, it was no surprise that Chrollo had already memorised your weekly routine—without a doubt, you spent days in the office but he had noted other destinations you frequented.

On Mondays, you visited a cosy flower boutique in the morning, owned by a lovely old florist who’s cheeks were as pink as the camellias neatly displayed on the counter next to her. You only bought one type of flower—white chrysanthemums, a dozen, to be exact; they were carefully wrapped in a simple brown paper, and topped off with an ivory satin ribbon.

On the way back to the car, Chrollo wondered why you chose these specific flowers, and upon asking, you simply replied with:

‘White chrysanthemums symbolise devoted love, and loyalty—something we need more of in this world, don’t you think?’ 

How ironic. He had no knowledge about flowers but he always thought white chrysanthemums meant death, specifically a symbol of mourning, and grief—a flower fit for one’s grave yet you displayed them in a vase to bring life into your room.

If you were being completely honest, chrysanthemums didn’t hold any significance in your life; one day you decided to visit the flower boutique run by the old lady, and she had told you all about the flower. Oddly enough, you started to grow fond of it.

Chrysanthemums were awfully common in his hometown—Meteor City—and not in a good way; inhabited by untraceable outcasts, it was the perfect hunting ground for illegal activities such as human trafficking, as well as an endless source of disposable hitmen, and assassins like Chrollo himself.

Due to mass abductions, and murders of the people, chrysanthemums were laid out at the church for each victim; he could clearly remember walking down the aisle, a smell so sweet, and minty filled the thick atmosphere. For an aroma so pleasant, who would’ve thought it was associated with such sorrow?

On Tuesdays, you attended your private pilates lesson at 8 AM on the dot which lasted a little under an hour. As usual, Chrollo stayed idly by the entrance of the studio, just at the foyer as the muffled voice of your instructor seeped from under the closed door; this was usually paired with brunch at a local café after, as per your words, ‘a much needed caffeine break’ whatever that meant. He couldn’t care less, he was too busy assessing the layout of the building for an escape route, and potential threats as though he wasn’t the biggest threat here.

The window seat offered a clear view of the street outside, vehicles driving by, people in their own little world as they headed to their destination; not to mention the ample morning sunlight that poured in, allowing you to study Chrollo’s reflection from the glass.

He stood behind you with his back facing the window, scanning the entire café; you watched as his head slowly moved from left to right, then right to left, giving you a peek of his side profile. Your eyes traced every dip, and curve of Chrollo’s face, from the slope of his nose, all the way to the sharpness of his jawline. It was odd how this man—who barely talked to you unless necessary—had piqued your interest. In what way? That was something you were still trying to figure out.

How Chrollo carried himself with silent confidence stood out from the rest of your security team; sure, he was vigilant of his surroundings but each action he displayed was calculated, and clean—too clean. You’ve also noticed how his steps were much lighter than everyone else’s, it made almost no sound as though he was actively stalking a prey. And for a brief moment, you wondered who that prey was.

On Wednesdays, you were present at your father’s company for the whole day. Though, the scowl on your face clearly screamed your opposition; it wasn’t a secret to anyone how uninterested you were in all the business talk—in fact, if anyone were to ask about it, you could probably go on, and on about how boring, and tedious it was, conversely, if asked what you wanted to do in life, you’d probably have a hard time answering.

Alas, as the sole heir, the company automatically fell to your hands whether you liked it or not. Wednesdays were always a drag, having to make acquaintances with investors, and show face during monotonous meetings that rarely concerned you—you’d rather spend time elsewhere.

On Thursdays, you were also at the company but for a different reason. Chrollo only knew you reported straight to your father’s office, and he was often ordered to wait at the ground floor. The meeting with your father always took approximately two hours, and each time, you came out looking like someone had pressed all your buttons.

Though today, for the sake of Chrollo’s own selfish curiosity, seeing as the hallway was deserted, he lingered outside the office for a bit but all he really got was pure silence—either you, and your father conversed in a hushed voice or the walls were soundproof. Whatever the case was, Chrollo didn’t bother sticking around but he was quickly stopped in his tracks as voices from inside were suddenly raised—yours first, followed by your father.

Looking back at the office door, Chrollo heard you shout in opposition, it seemed like the conversation had somewhat turned into a heated argument. Nonetheless, he continued down the hallway—it was none of Chrollo’s business, after all.

“No! I’ve already told you, I’m not doing that!” Loud voice sliced through the growing tension inside the room. The older male—who sat behind his desk—leaned back into the seat, leather groaning beneath his weight as he rubbed his temples at your stubbornness, clearly displeased with how much you were blowing everything out of proportion. You stayed rooted in your spot, just standing a metre away from your father.

“Look, darling, I’ve already agreed—” “Agreed without my consent.” Raising your hands in defeat, you paced around the room, each heavy step muffled by the crimson carpet beneath your soles. “I’m the one getting married to someone I haven’t met! I never even wanted to be in an arranged marriage just because of what—a stupid business partnership?!”

This was the first time you’ve raised your voice at your father; all the years under his care, and guidance, you gladly accepted what was left upon your hands. Continuing the legacy of your father’s company? Sure, no problem, you could deal the burden on your shoulders but marrying a complete stranger?

That was more than crossing a mere boundary.

Your father was a skilled business man, and you never doubted that once—he was excellent at negotiating, and closing deals so for him to stoop as low as agreeing with an arranged marriage for the sake of his company, it baffled you, a lot. What more could he possibly want?

“I’m done with this conversation.”

Letting out a breath you’ve been holding, you turned around, and headed for the door but before reaching the silver handle, your father spoke up from behind, “Next week. You’re attending the corporate event with Euan. That’s final.” All you could do was nod.

Chrollo spotted your rather distressed figure exit the elevator, and head for the car park, not so much sparing a glance as you passed him; nonetheless, he quietly trailed you, steely gaze observing your figure up, and down—shoulders tight, and fists clenched at your side.

You felt defeated.

The thought of spending the rest of your life with a man you didn’t genuinely love, was that really your so-called future? A bond made for the sole purpose of expanding business?

Stepping into the underground car park, you stopped in your tracks, the automatic glass door silently humming as it closed behind you. Naturally, Chrollo did the same but didn’t dare speak up. Click clack. Two clicks from the soles of your shoes as you turned to face your bodyguard with a deflated expression, he could only raise a brow in surprise before you sat on your haunches, and buried your face inside the hearts of your palms.

Oh.

One, two, three seconds—it took Chrollo exactly three seconds to register the sight before him, and he didn’t know what to do; awkwardness settled in the air between the two of you as you sobbed into your hands. He moved closer—taking a few cautious steps as though he walked on eggshells—and squatted down to your level, “Miss?” He called out, his dulcet voice drowned by your soft whimpers, every muscle in Chrollo’s body was stiff, movements unsure.

What was he supposed to do? Reach out, and stroke your hair? Pull you close against his chest? Chrollo was more than sure that doing so was completely unprofessional on his end. So, he was reduced to sitting next to you, silently watching your shoulders shake with each muffled sob until you finally decided to lift your head, “I apologise for acting this way. I’m certain you probably don’t care but—”

Correct. Chrollo did not care.

“My father has been pushing me in an arranged marriage. I kept saying ‘no’ until he went behind my back, and agreed to it. I found out today and I just—I lost it. The benefits of what comes after marriage are endless for the company; more investors, more money, more security but is that really worth sacrificing my shot at finding the one I truly love?”

Saying the words aloud made it sound so silly. Finding your one true love, how naïve, that only happened in children’s fairy tales.

Upon learning the reason for your upset, Chrollo could only nod, he wasn’t the type to console anyone, let alone his employer’s daughter. The last time he could remember doing so was almost a decade, and a half ago during the time his dear friend—Sarasa—went missing.

It was a rainy day in Meteor City, Chrollo remembered hugging his friends tightly, reassuring them that everything was going to be alright even though uncertainty gnawed at his skin. 

He was innocent, and didn’t know better then.

But the incident with Sarasa was what fuelled his pure hatred for the wealthy. Chrollo was only a kid, full of limitless joy, and hope despite growing up in poverty. It was during the height of abductions in Meteor City, and that was when he learned that not even his friends were immune from illegal activities after seeing it with his own eyes.

It was broad daylight, and Sarasa had been forced into a car by two large men—as if one wasn’t enough to take a helpless little girl. The worst part was, Chrollo could only stand, and watch as his friend got taken away with nothing but helpless tears in his eyes, and a blazing anger that burned a thousand suns.

He could still recall the way his nails dug into the hearts of his palms, the temporary pain it felt. The incident haunted his coming days, hearing Sarasa’s screams at night, and how she begged for the men to spare her life.

Chrollo overheard from the Elders that the ones behind illegal abductions were the wealthy, and that night, he made a promise to avenge Sarasa—even if it meant taking lives. It was clear the rich were parasites of the world, greedy for money, and power, leaving none behind for the unfortunate. 

Chrollo couldn’t bring himself to understand your situation, and emotions—he didn’t have to but some odd part made him want to.

From Fridays to Sundays, you usually spent the time out with friends but as the days came, you remained cooped up inside your room, and only came out unless necessary. The thought of isolating yourself somewhat ate away at Chrollo, despite not being able to fully grasp your situation, he figured it must have been a breaking point for you, and deep down, for some weird reason, he was worried.

This was the first time you’ve shown him an emotion other than happiness—which he presumed was most likely out of professionalism—so seeing your distressed state had him rather curious.

Stationed just outside the doors to your room, Chrollo couldn’t do anything to quench the sparked interest inside him—guarding the entrance of your room was all there was to do which ended up with him drowning in his thoughts while standing idly. Even though Chrollo didn’t understand your sentiment, he knew no one should marry a stranger for the sake of business.

Though, Chrollo didn’t have much time to ponder about your situation as his replacement came walking up the stairs meaning it was the end of his shift for the day. He entertained a brief exchange with his co-worker before heading out.

Walking down the stone path that led to the deserted flower garden, Chrollo dug into the inside pocket of his blazer, and took out a burner phone. As the assassin dialled a number, he was greeted with a view of endless greenery decorated with bright hues from a variety of flowers; the floral aroma wrapped around his body like a fluffy blanket. Somehow, the sweet scent reminded Chrollo of you.

The cheap phone rang once, twice ‘til a familiar voice spilled through its speakers, “I’m guessing you’re here to update me?” The male on the other side of the call questioned. Chrollo agreed, and the line went silent, urging him to give the details.

As he gave a thorough update, Chrollo mindlessly walked down the stone path, various colours making its way to his line of vision. Though, a particular flower caught his eye—a sea of yellow as bright as the morning rays decorated several bushes on the ground. While speaking into the phone, Chrollo squatted down to its level, and examined the delicate flower, Bird’s foot trefoil, the small ivory signage before it read.

Two months, that was the amount of time given to complete the job. It was reasonable enough with the amount of security you were surrounded with, and even though Chrollo was the only bodyguard you took whenever you left the house, Lukas remained by your side as well—he made sure not to underestimate the old timer.

Chrollo had never heard of this man before but from what he knew, he seemed to be about the same age. Why the man was seeking out revenge by targeting your life was also something that remained a mystery—after all, Chrollo was only there to kill, details weren’t necessary when it came to an assassin.

“‘M not gonna tell you how to do your job but remember, time is ticking, and I’m spending a whole lot of money on this, yeah?”

Voicing his agreement before ending the call, he took one last look at the flower, and stood up, heading for the staff house.

It was about time Chrollo hunted for his prey.

With the new week, everyone prepared for the corporate event in a few hours—even Chrollo himself, as well as the rest of the security team was busy scouting the venue, and looking for any potential threats around, and inside the building.

Tonight, he donned a sleek, all black look which was slightly different from the usual white button down, and black suit he wore.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, employees, and important investors began pouring in the building; the inside boasted a formal theme with a lavish teardrop crystal chandelier that mimicked the shine of a thousand diamonds, round tables were draped in ivory cloths which housed a bunch of butterfly pea flowers encased in sleek ceramic vases.

Silence was replaced with melodic laughter, and casual conversations between acquaintances, and co-workers as the vast room was slowly filled with more people.

Having arrived at the venue earlier, Chrollo stood by the entrance, waiting for your arrival. As the familiar vehicle rolled around, Lukas exited the vehicle, and opened the rear passenger door.

Expecting you to come out of the vehicle, Chrollo was caught slightly off-guard when a stranger clad in a navy blue tuxedo did so instead—he donned obsidian strands that carefully framed his handsome face, and piercing honeyed eyes that was sure to make any woman swoon.

The assassin watched as he turned to face the vehicle, and held out a hand to you. Taking up on the polite offer, you held his hand, and gracefully stepped out of the vehicle. And there you were, in all your serene beauty, skin glowing beneath the warm streetlights that made Chrollo inhale a sharp breath for some odd reason.

“Thank you, Euan.” You gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Euan? Chrollo thought.

With how he lovingly kissed the back of your hand, and from the way you forced a smile, it wasn’t hard to piece together that this was the man you were forced to marry. Somehow, Chrollo felt a tinge of annoyance spark within the depths of his chest—maybe because he was aware of the whole arranged marriage situation or maybe because he was yet in the presence of another stuck up, pompous spoiled person. 

Euan interlaced his fingers with yours before heading towards the entrance, Chrollo didn’t miss the way the diamond ring on your finger twinkled like stars in the night sky. Surprisingly, Euan acknowledged Chrollo with a dip of his chin; you mirrored your date’s action, and only then did the assassin respond in the same way.

The event was boring as one would have expected, your father—the CEO—mostly talked about the company’s milestones up on the podium, he held a champagne flute in one hand filled with golden liquid while entertaining the room with uneventful accomplishments. Though, what you didn’t expect tonight was for your father to openly reveal your arranged marriage with Euan in front of your subordinates, and investors,

“It’s my pleasure to announce that the COO of D&J—my daughter—is soon to be wed with Mr. Euan Heston from Heston Enterprises.”

As endless applause, and supportive smiles filled the venue, you sat frozen on your seat, unable to muster even the tiniest smile. From the corner of your vision, you could see Euan bashfully nodding his head, and shaking hands with those in neighbouring tables as they congratulated him. You stared at your father in complete disdain which only prompted a forced smile from him.

Unbelievable.

A shaky breath escaped your lips before swallowing the raging emotions, pushing them down, down, down to the depths of your core, and as though a switch inside you was flipped, a smile stretched across your face, throwing out thank you’s to those who offered their support.

With the end of the CEO’s speech, and certain formalities, all that’s left was to mix, and mingle with everyone else which—thankfully—Euan did while you quietly sneaked away to the open bar. Although, visibly drowning yourself in more champagne only invited more guests to come, and gush about the weighted ring on your finger, not to mention how openly they adored Euan.

Hearing such high praise thrown his way, you caught yourself staring at your soon-to-be husband; you watched as he gracefully waltzed from table to table, engaging in polite conversations with not only the important people in the room but also with your subordinates.

Euan was well-mannered, kind, and respectful—he was everything your father wanted as your husband but he wasn’t made for you, and deep down, you knew that.

From the corner of the room, Chrollo watched it all unfold. From the way you stiffened beneath everyone’s stares as your father revealed the marriage, all the way to your gaze finding Euan amongst the crowd. He felt weird.

Albeit subtle, Chrollo sensed it was there—as though a foreign seed had been planted in his chest waiting for it to grow, and destroy him from inside out. Whether it produced the fruit of anger, revenge or some other emotion in the dictionary, he couldn’t tell, all he knew was it took root inside his heart.

As Chrollo got lost in his thoughts for a bit, he was greeted with an empty barstool that was previously occupied by you; he scanned the vast room, stone cold eyes darting from left to right, and right to left trying to catch a glimpse of your familiar figure.

Slight panic didn’t settle in until Chrollo realised that you were nowhere to be seen—the feeling began to gnaw at his very bones as the attempts of finding your whereabouts led to a dead end, he even went as far as asking a woman standing just outside the bathroom if she’s seen you walk in but only shook her head.

Wide, panicked steps, Chrollo unceremoniously crossed the room in search of you while almost bumping into several guests in a nervous haze; he muttered out whispered apologies, gaze remaining ahead. His heart thumped loudly against his ears, serving as a mere distraction to throw off his already breaking composure.

God, your father would absolutely kill him if he were to find out that he’d lost sight of you.

But Chrollo wasn’t scared of that, not even an ounce of fear in his body at the thought of your father’s wrath, instead, he worried for your safety; the more minutes passed without a trace of you, the more frustration consumed every fibre of him.

The only option left was to check the balcony.

With a bated breath, he opened the sliding door, a gentle, cool breeze of the night greeted him like a welcome hug. His gaze scanned the open area which—thankfully—landed on your familiar figure, you stood there, leaning against the metal railing while looking up at the obsidian skies.

Relief briefly washed over Chrollo as he let out a sigh but this feeling was soon replaced with red, hot anger.

He stalked over to where you stood, each step heavy with annoyance, “Where have you been? I was looking all over for you! Don’t run off like that.”

The ever calm, and collected bodyguard coming for your neck with such ferocity caught you off guard, not to mention the obvious bite in his tone. With furrowed brows, you turned to face Chrollo, a look of disbelief painted on your face. The audacity of this man. Who the hell was he to boss you around as though you were his subordinate?

“That’s ‘miss’ for you—” You crossed your arms, head slightly tilted upwards as you looked down at him from your nose.

“And relax, Chrollo. I’m not harmed. I don’t see what the fuss is about.” You were absolutely right, and Chrollo hated that you were because he didn’t know where else to channel his anger, if anything, your words doused the flame inside his chest with gasoline, allowing it to expand, and burn an azure fire.

Despite his better judgement, Chrollo let it consume him, “Relax? I’m your bodyguard, it’s my duty to keep you safe, and out of danger! What if something happens to you, and I’m not around, hm?”

Chrollo felt the foreign seed inside his chest grow into uncertainty—an odd feeling he’s never felt before. Speaking out like this, and losing his cool over a situation was out of character for him but somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to stop, as though words willingly flew out of his throat, and out into the open.

“Exactly, you’re only a bodyguard. You have no right to act this way towards me. Have you forgotten I’m not your equal?” You retorted, dishing out the same amount of ferocity he had given you.

Initially, you were going to let the whole thing slide, it was understandable where Chrollo was coming from—he was only doing his job—but it pissed you off seeing as how he had the audacity to act like that.

You looked up at the taller man, gaze not backing down from his steely ones; it took him a couple of seconds to hold your stare before breaking it, and looking off to the dark horizon. Though, you swore you saw his eyes subtly dip down for a split second before doing so—you weren’t too sure, maybe it was the darkness playing tricks.

You were right. Chrollo was only a bodyguard, so did he cross the line? The unclear answer made him all the more furious but for now, he’d have to settle for the explanation that he’s your bodyguard, and he has the right to worry about your safety. Even if Chrollo himself didn’t entirely believe this reason.

“You’re right. I apologise for crossing any boundaries, miss.”

Chrollo stationed himself near the sliding door, offering you space to enjoy the quiet night in peace. Now, you felt kind of bad for raising your voice at him when he clearly showed nothing but concern; you chalked it up to the stress your father weighed upon you tonight—the decision to tell everyone about the marriage, Euan being your date for tonight, the engagement ring that wrapped around your finger.

It was clear that Chrollo was still bothered about the whole thing, you could see it from the way his jaw tightened, and the subtle crease between his brows. Whatever. You’ll deal with it later.

A petty argument. That was it. But why did it have Chrollo all worked up? Why was he extremely bothered about it? Hell, where was that useless fiancé of yours, and why wasn’t he looking after you? Questions swirled in his mind, chaotic, and uncertain—now, Chrollo was really wondering why he was acting this way. In his twenty-six years of living, never had he felt this feeling before, it stemmed from his chest, blooming across his body, and consuming him in an unpleasant, foreign way.

The feeling stayed rooted inside even until reaching the estate where he stood guarding the door to your room.

Chrollo rubbed his forefinger, and thumb together while staring at the marbled tiles beneath his feet, it was past midnight now, and the only sound heard was the thumping of his own heart—the rhythmic beat that somewhat got louder with each passing minute.

He was soon reeled back into reality at the sound of the door opening behind him. Stepping out of your room, Chrollo watched as the darkness unclasped your body from its confines; he quickly averted his gaze at your vulnerable state—clad in a flimsy ivory nightgown that stopped just below the knees with satin ribbon straps comfortably sitting on your shoulders. He felt it was rather inappropriate seeing you in such an attire.

“Ahem. Anything you need, miss?” Chrollo coughed into his fist, staring at the darkness behind you instead of holding the gaze thrown his way.

Letting out a sigh, you replied, “I think I need to clear my head a bit . . Care to join me for a night drive? That way you’ll know my whereabouts.” The end of your sentence had a tinge of bitterness laced with it but Chrollo shrugged it off, it’d be no use trying to pick up where the two of you left off earlier.

“I take it as a yes, then? Meet me at the garage.” With that, you walked down the stairs, the thin fabric of your nightgown swaying with each step taken.

Chrollo quickly headed to the staff house to grab the keys to his assigned vehicle. Making his way to the door, he immediately stopped in his tracks as a sudden idea popped into mind—the gun hidden beneath his pillows.

Chrollo stared at his bed before swiftly lifting the ivory pillow, revealing a pistol given to him upon acquiring the bodyguard role. Without a word, he tucked it inside the holster beneath the obsidian blazer he donned, and walked out of the bedroom, heading for the garage.

Disappearing into the night, an odd feeling engulfed Chrollo—he wondered whether the gun on his hip portrayed him as your bodyguard or as your assassin.

Something he has never thought about before because it had always been the latter, regardless of the situation. Nonetheless, the weapon felt awfully heavy hanging onto him—as though it was a great burden that took an even greater effort to get rid of.

The drive was awkward, and there was no set destination; the only instruction you gave Chrollo was to keep driving, and he did, without questions asked. The only sound that filled the vehicle was the low humming of the engine which lulled you further into your thoughts, warm streetlights would illuminate the inside which allowed Chrollo to sneak brief glances at you through the rearview mirror. He didn’t want to pry but it was clear you were overwhelmed with a lot of things.

“I’m sorry.”

The apology caught Chrollo off guard, stone cold gaze looking through the mirror to meet your own for a split second. “Miss?” He furrowed his brows. “For earlier. I said some harsh words as well, and you were only doing your job. So, I apologise.” Now, it was your turn to steal glances through the rearview mirror. Chrollo’s expression remained unchanged—most likely trying to find an appropriate answer. 

He shook his head, fully aware you peered at him through the mirror, “It’s no big deal . . It wasn’t my place to raise my voice. As you said earlier, I’m just a bodyguard.” Chrollo’s eyes remained on the road ahead, enveloped by the night, he didn’t know why it suddenly became hard to glance through the mirror—maybe it was the unmistakable knowledge that you’d be staring straight back.

Was he nervous?

Impossible. There was no such emotion in his dictionary.

“It’s just—the whole announcing the marriage with Euan in front of all the guests stressed me out. The marriage is set in stone without my permission, and I just feel so helpless . .” You watched the outside view go by, dull colours of the night blending into a blurry haze.

“I know the arrangement has benefits. I know that.” It was directed more to yourself than Chrollo, as though some part of you agreed with the marriage.

“Euan is . . He’s sweet—a kind soul but I cannot see myself loving him, spending the rest of my life with him.” The assassin gripped the wheel a little tighter at the mention of your fiancé. “I don’t think anyone should ever go through that.” He cleared his throat, stealing another glance at you.

“You mentioned a while ago—” Chrollo spoke up, deciding to deviate the topic from Euan. “That the marriage would benefit the company ‘more security’ . .” He trailed off, realising how he’s prying but you didn’t seem to mind with how openly you replied.

“Long story short, my father had a very close friend—Mr. Driscoll—in the industry. It was later revealed that he was involved in money laundering so most of his assets came from illegal dealings. My father played a significant role in his arrest—basically, Driscoll was stupid enough to tell my father of his underground ties, urging him to do it as well. But my father had tipped the police instead. Naturally, his son, Ciaran Driscoll—who’s now the CEO of the company—saw us in a bad light, and it won’t take long until he makes my father pay for the damages done.”

“The arranged marriage with Euan would obviously combine our security team with theirs which would decrease the chances of Ciaran, and any other dangers from getting near my father, and I.”

Yet Chrollo was here—an assassin tasked to kill you—who easily took on the role of your personal bodyguard.

How ironic.

You really did need that extra security from the Hestons.

“Ciaran Driscoll?” Chrollo muttered the name under his breath which you quickly caught onto. “Yeah. Ciaran Driscoll from Driscoll Pharmaceuticals, you know him?” He wouldn’t necessarily say he knew him but Chrollo was awfully familiar with the name—familiar enough to conclude that Ciaran was the one who hired him to kill you.

Despite meeting at a deserted location back then—nowhere near that gave any hints of Ciaran’s real identity—one of his subordinates had addressed him by his last name which Chrollo immediately picked up.

The pieces fit flawlessly. It made sense for Ciaran to get revenge for Mr. Driscoll’s arrest by targeting what your father held most dear in his life—you. And for that to happen, Chrollo was the middle man, the one to fuel the chaos between two families.

If he got the job done.

“No.” Chrollo lied. “Just thought the last name rang a bell.”

“Understandable, they’re a household name. Well, it used to be.”

Short silence filled the vehicle yet again, both left to their own thoughts before you spoke up, albeit, it was more of thinking aloud, “I truly don’t know what I want in life.” Odd. Chrollo always thought that if one was wealthy, they’d be able to wish for anything, and everything yet somehow, even with all the gold in your hands, you were still lost.

Chrollo pitied you, and he didn’t know what to make of it.

Hell, he didn’t even know whether it was appropriate to reply. What did he know? He was someone born into poverty who didn’t have the luxury to question himself about what he wanted in life, just having to see another was already a blessing itself. Well, it wasn’t like the outcasts of society were given a choice on how to lead one’s life anyway.

The car fell in another silence but this time it was much longer, long enough for Chrollo to glance at the rearview mirror to see your eyes closed, and head leaning against the window, the rhythmic rise, and fall of your chest indicating the slumber you were in.

It was almost laughable how Chrollo was able to prove his theory right—that the rich were greedy for an even greater amount of money, the obvious example was the ex-CEO of Driscoll Pharmaceuticals, Ciaran’s father.

Chrollo’s grip on the wheel tightened, leather burning against his palms at the mere thought of dirty business. Illegal dealings. It was possible he had a hand in Sarasa's kidnapping. Mr. Driscoll didn’t belong in jail, no, he belonged before the barrel of Chrollo’s gun.

Taking another glance at your sleeping form, Chrollo quietly pulled over to the side of the road, putting the car in park before twisting his torso to face you. Warm streetlights casted a gentle glow upon your features, piercing grey eyes carefully tracing each one as though you were a divine creature—otherworldly, and beautiful.

You looked so peaceful, and undisturbed. Vulnerable.

While his eyes remained on you, Chrollo slowly slid a hand inside his blazer, reaching for the gun affixed by his hip.

The assassin pulled it out, pointing the barrel to your head, the weapon cool against the warmth of his hand. In, and out, he drew steady breaths, forefinger hovering over the trigger—one pull, and it’d be over.

The problem was, Chrollo couldn’t do it.

He has pulled the trigger countless times as though it was second nature, so why couldn’t he do it now? He couldn’t even bring himself to let his digit touch it.

As you stirred in your sleep, Chrollo swiftly tucked the gun back in his holster, and faced forward. Shaky, uneven breaths slipped past his parted lips, the sound of his heartbeat clouding his senses.

Hands balling into fists, he wondered what had gotten into him, mind racing with a million thoughts as he drowned in pure uncertainty. Chrollo stared at his hands—the same hands that have spilled blood countless times, the same hands that killed without a second thought, the same hands that were tasked to murder you.

Yet here he was, unable to do so as if it were his first time.

“Chrollo?” You mumbled aloud. As you peeled your eyes open, you tried to register your surroundings. “Why did we stop? Is there something wrong?”

He cleared his throat, taking a quick glance through the rearview mirror before shaking his head, “No, miss. I just had to take a quick call, my apologies.” With that, Chrollo pulled away from the side of the road, taking you back to the estate.

The ride home was silent. Fortunately for Chrollo, this gave him the opportunity to calm his thoughts, and steady his growing breaths.

Obviously this has never happened before, especially while out on a mission; it made sense for the assassin to lose his cool a bit after hesitating. If anything, it was akin to a bird suddenly losing the ability to fly when flying was the only thing it knew. To make things worse, Chrollo had just broken the unspoken rule of the underworld—to never hesitate.

To the underworld, hesitating meant fragility, and fragility meant that the enemy had the upper hand. He was confused, and conflicted, more so upset at himself for being such a coward—why was he a coward?

After returning to the estate, you softly called out to Chrollo who was heading to the staff house, “Do you want to come inside?” All it took was that foreign look in your face for him to fully understand what you meant.

He didn’t have to assume anything—you’ve never looked at Chrollo with such a burning gaze, full of intent, and vulnerability. God, it was a brazen move to do so but you wished he agreed. All you needed was a little company at the moment.

Something in the air shifted. Maybe it was because you were both stripped of your layers, baring your defenceless forms out in the open. Maybe it was the way Chrollo’s rational thinking became compromised on the way home. Or maybe it was how you oddly felt comfortable around his presence, as though he was a lifelong friend.

Nonetheless, Chrollo found himself inside your bedroom, and as expected, it was grand, spacious, fit for a billionaire’s daughter. Sweet aroma of fresh chrysanthemum’s filled the air but it was nothing like he had remembered back in Meteor City which was laced with grief, and sorrow. Instead, it enveloped Chrollo in a warm welcoming hug, he could finally understand your interpretation of chrysanthemums—devoted love, and loyalty.

Moonlight spilled from the windows, illuminating the side of Chrollo’s face. He was just standing there yet he mirrored the divinity of an angel as soft shadows contoured his handsome face, dark eyes gleaming beneath the dulcet glow; you’ve never been able to decipher the emotions behind his gaze but tonight was different, his stare was soft mixed with hint of uncertainty; Chrollo wore his heart on his sleeves.

“Help me escape even for a little while.” 

Like the obedient bodyguard he was, he nodded. Chrollo took one step closer, reaching out a hand to gently undo one of the satin ribbon straps. The flimsy fabric gracefully slid off your right shoulder, just enough to expose your pert nipple. It hardened beneath the cool evening air which had Chrollo swallowing thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing with pure excitement, and hunger; oh, how he couldn’t wait to put his lips on your skin, and devour you.

Wasting no time to undo the other ribbon strap, your nightgown instantly fell to the carpeted floors, the fabric pooling around your feet, leaving you almost completely bare in front of Chrollo.

Your skin grew feverish beneath his observant stare as he traced every dip, and curve, dark eyes gleaming with anticipation. After a heartbeat or two, Chrollo’s lips were on your skin, palms finding home just above your waist; he placed gentle kisses down the side of your neck as though on a mission to mark you, pulling dainty gasps in the process.

You tasted absolutely divine—like a hopeful prayer between his lips, and he craved for more. Soft smacks slowly filled your ears as he praised you with kisses. Down, down, down Chrollo’s lips went before stopping at the junction of your neck, he gave the sensitive skin an experimental lick to which you responded with a heated gasp of his name.

Tilting your head to the side allowed more freedom for Chrollo to explore; hands coming up to tangle with his raven strands, and tug at it urged him to mark your skin with hues of dark purple, and red.

And he did. Gentle, wet kisses turned into rough, electric ones as Chrollo used both teeth, and tongue to nip, and suck at your skin.

“Chrollo—!” 

The assassin could only grunt in response as he carved himself onto your skin like knife on wood—over, and over again ‘til it left a lasting mark. And when you stare at these sinful hues in the mirror, you’d be reminded of the feel of his lips, how his kisses turned your legs into a wobbly mess, and mind into a lustful haze.

Embarrassing, warm wetness pooled on the fabric of your panties as Chrollo neared your breasts, you watched with a bated breath, and keen eyes as he wrapped his lips around a mound—the sinful sight of Chrollo trying to take in as much of it as he could had your legs buckling, you were sure to have met the floor if it weren’t for his firm hold.

You let out a soft moan at the feel of his hot tongue swirling around your nipple, teeth gently grazing the sensitive spot which sent lightning down the length of your spine.

Eager hands tugged at the roots of his obsidian strands, nails raking across his scalp; it was beyond lewd how you readily pushed your bare body into Chrollo’s face—a man you’ve only known for less than a month yet here he was, wicked lips made of fire against your naked skin that melted like ice.

A large hand snaked its way up your front, leaving goosebumps in its wake, and pausing just beneath the other breast before cupping it wholly—the heart of his palm rubbing against your sensitive nipple as he massaged, and toyed with the fat.

Without an ounce of shame left in inside you, you wantonly moaned his name at the feel of his lips, and hand making love to your chest, it had Chrollo twitching in his slacks but he paid no mind to it because tonight was about ravishing your body until no one else could compare—not even Euan Heston.

Chrollo didn’t know what this meant for the both of you after but that was okay because once the night ends, your body would crave for none but him, and only him.

Chrollo let go of your swollen, wet breast with a soft pop, he looked up through his lashes before licking his lips, as though he just devoured the tastiest meal of his life.

Working his way down your torso, he placed chaste kisses down the valley of your breasts, steadily sinking to his knees as he descended further, each passing second growing closer to your heat—where you needed him the most.

Before Chrollo could kiss the intimate spot just below your belly button, you cupped his face, making him look up at you with slight confusion,

“On the bed . .”

Three words was all he needed to understand before standing to his full height, “Jump.” Chrollo ordered. You didn’t need to be told twice before doing so, arms, and legs wrapping around him while he supported your weight.

As Chrollo sauntered to the bed, you used the time to eagerly explore the spot beneath his ear, using teeth, and tongue to suck at it which pulled a few soft sighs from him. His intoxicating scent filled your senses, the sweet minty aroma from chrysanthemums mixed with his musky perfume had you groaning into his skin.

He shuddered at the feeling, the tips of his fingers digging further into the fat of your ass.

Gently laying you down on the pillows beneath, he stared at the serene beauty before him, steely eyes drinking in your nakedness. Chrollo’s stare felt like you stood directly under the blazing sun on a summer day, igniting your skin to the core without anywhere to take cover but you liked it, you liked the feeling of his hungry stare, how he looked at you like fresh meat on a silver platter—a predator, and his prey.

As if to put on a show, Chrollo hastily shrugged off his blazer, mindlessly throwing it on the floor, leaving him with a white button down. He caught a glimpse of your lust-clouded gaze staring at the gun affixed to his hip to which he immediately removed by unclasping the holster.

The weapon landed on the floor with a heavy thud, you paid no mind to it but for Chrollo, it served as a harsh reminder of his real motive, and everything that would happen tonight was nothing but an insignificant moment in his life.

At least that's what he convinced himself this was.

The mattress groaned beneath Chrollo’s weight as he dipped down, wasting no time to connect his lips on your bare skin, and picking up where he left off—right below your belly button.

He kissed at it before wickedly pulling the waistband of your panties using his lips, and letting go of it to snap against your skin. A small gasp escaped your lips at the feel of the slight burning sensation which had you aching for more; it also didn’t help how his hot breath ghosted over the most intimate part of your body.

Though, before you could open your mouth, and beg, Chrollo hooked a forefinger around the waistband, and swiftly tugged it down the length of your legs, wet cunt squeezing at nothing as the cool air embraced its heat.  

Chrollo took his time to enjoy the bare sight before him by placing open-mouthed kisses dangerously near your sopping cunt—on your inner thighs, below your belly button, and the spot just above your clit. It had your eyes rolling to the back of your head, fingers digging into the sheets beneath; what a wicked, wicked man, he hasn’t even properly touched you yet here you were, legs shaking from all the teasing.

Pride bloomed across his chest at the sight of you—the fucked out expression you donned, the heavy rise, and fall of your chest, and the dainty whimpers that filled the air.

Hooking his hands behind your knees, Chrollo gently pushed them towards your chest ‘til you were folded in half, glistening cunt deliciously exposed for him to devour.

A wanton moan slipped past your lips as Chrollo traced his tongue around the outside of your clit before laying the wet muscle flat against it. He expertly rubbed at the sensitive nub, lewd sounds mixed with your shameless moans engulfed his ears, encouraging him to further stimulate the spot.

Your hips bucked against his face, hands flying down to his hair as the electric sensation returned to your body, sending massive jolts of lightning down the curve of your spine.

“Chrollo, right there! Yes—haah!” You gasped as he switched to the tip of his tongue to lick at your clit. 

Chrollo placed his thumb, and forefinger on either side of your clit for better access before moving his tongue side-to-side, across the area beneath the clitoral hood, resulting in a broader stimulation that had you stiffening with pure pleasure.

Looking down at the sinful view between your legs, you let out a loud moan as Chrollo met your eyes through his hooded ones. Without a doubt, ecstasy slowly consumed both his body, and mind with how he subtly rocked his hips against the mattress—cock aching for any kind of contact but Chrollo had to focus more on holding your hips down while you unceremoniously thrashed around, trying to slow your impending orgasm.

As Chrollo continued his torture, it didn’t take long for you to let pleasure consume your body as a whole, and cum on his tongue.

He drank in your pleasured state—lips parted, brows furrowed, and back arched off the mattress; the orgasm that hit you was intense, as though your whole body has been electrified, and the only way to respond was by moaning his name like a sacred prayer in hopes you keep you grounded to reality.

Relishing the taste of your essence on his tongue, he closed his eyes, humming against your sensitive nub in complete satisfaction which had your legs shaking, and hands attempting to push his head away. He gave a few more gentle licks before pulling away, revealing his chin completely drenched in your filthy arousal—Chrollo paid no mind, simply bringing a hand up to his face to wipe at it.

You watched through a lustful haze as Chrollo finally worked on his shirt, each button undone growing closer, and closer to exposing the entirety of his torso.

As he shrugged the fabric off, you couldn’t help but reach out to touch his bare skin—it was pale, fascinatingly chiselled, and scarred; Chrollo’s torso was decorated with a few raised, discoloured patches here, and there indicating the rough past he had. He stared as you traced a scar with your forefinger—a ghostly touch that brought a shudder down his spine—but before you could move onto the next one, Chrollo gently grabbed your wrist, and brought it up to his face, placing a chaste kiss on the heart of your palm.

By no means was he insecure about those scars, in fact, he proudly wore them like a badge, to serve as a reminder that the rest of the world wasn’t his friend.

You’d be lying to yourself if you said your heart didn’t skip a beat or two.

The kiss from Chrollo was different—different from the one Euan had given you during the company event. Yes, the latter was full of sincerity but it didn’t bring warmth to your face like Chrollo’s one had.

Or maybe it was just because of how lost you were in pure lust, unable to decipher even the simplest feelings.

“Tonight is all about you.”

Chrollo shouldn’t be doing this, it goes against his beliefs, and goals—against the very reason why he turned into the person who he was right now.

Mingling with the wealthy, even going to an extent as to have sex with you, if his younger self saw him right now, he wouldn’t be able to believe it.

But what was it about you that had Chrollo rewriting his rules? Why was he so willing to throw away the deep rooted anger inside his heart to pleasure you?

Moreso, what did he gain from all this?—not money, not power, definitely not the justice he sought.

Nonetheless, Chrollo threw those thoughts in the moonlit window—he’d grab them again later at the crack of dawn while guilt eats him alive. Slowly, he dipped his hands below his torso, fumbling with the zipper of his slacks; Chrollo felt your heated stare on his crotch, how your short breaths quickened as he tantalisingly pulled the metal zip down, the sound echoed along with your breathing, allowing Chrollo to bask in your desperation.

You thanked the stars above as he bared himself without anymore teasing, articles of clothing that once hugged his body were now strewn across the floor of your room like unmended pieces of oneself.

Moonlight surrounded Chrollo like a serene aura, an angelic-like glow that had his skin radiating beneath the celestial gleam, turning his hair into the colour of the first starlight. It was hard to focus on his heavenly appearance when sin was right between his legs.

“Do you want me to stop?” 

No, god, no, just the thought of Chrollo completely leaving you high, and dry brought tears to your eyes. Shaking your head vigorously, he crawled atop your lust-fuelled body before placing a chaste kiss on your temple then onto your nose, trailing further down ‘til he reached the valley of your breasts. You let out a shudder as Chrollo lapped his way down, not forgetting to tease at your pebbled nipples by giving them a light nip.

“Chrollo, please . .” For once, this was different from what was usually thrown his way—most people begged for their lives as they stared down the barrel of his gun with pure horror in their eyes, lips disturbingly quivering as they pleaded during their last moments.

Wasting no time, Chrollo met your gaze once more, his face mere centimetres from yours. You gasped as his cockhead gently prodded at your entrance as he reached down between your bodies, he rubbed it a few more times, the sinful contact earning low grunts, and moans from both of you.

Chrollo connected his forehead with yours, damp obsidian hair ghosting over your warmed cheeks, holding it in a gentle caress

Letting out a shaky breath, his cock slowly pushed your folds apart as he inched in. Immediately, your legs curled around the dip of his bare waist, interlocking behind his lower back; your hasty movement jolted Chrollo forward which forced his cock further into the plush of your velvety walls.

He sighed, cursing the eye rolling pleasure sent his body into a pathetic tremble. Though, you were no better, clenching around Chrollo every time he pushed deeper—not only did it test his sanity but it also tested his patience.

He reminded himself a million times that simply fucking you like a mere cocksleeve was not his intention for tonight. Or ever. Rich or not, you were still a woman after all, one deserving of nothing but genuine pleasure.

As Chrollo bottomed out, he held your starry gaze, watching as your eyes glistened with tears—whether it was from the bliss his cock had you under or from sadness, he had no idea.

You felt so full, as though the gaping void inside you had been magically sealed—his cock sat there unmoving yet it hit all the right spots, the ones that had you trembling a little harder, and moaning a little louder.

Hot breaths mingled as the two of you let out heavy pants, he stilled inside your wet cunt, allowing both himself, and you to adjust to the feeling, “You’re so tight—fuck.” You gave your hips an experimental rut at his words which pulled a long hiss from him, brows furrowing together.

After a heartbeat or two, Chrollo slowly pulled out, the languid drag of his cock against the plush of your walls had you whining in the shape of his name. It went straight to his cock, twitching at the pornographic sound you let out—if you noticed, you didn’t let on, you were too focused on the way he moved inside you.

With only the tip remaining, Chrollo pushed his hips using the same pace; all the way until he disappeared in your folds once again, heavy balls kissing the skin of your ass.

You could feel the entirety of his length—every dip, and curve which had your legs shaking, and toes curling a little harder. Chrollo’s cock was slightly curved upward which allowed an easy reach to your sweet spot, and with every languid thrust he gave you, his cockhead kissed it repeatedly.

Hands that were pinned to the pillows were released as Chrollo brought a hand to caress your cheek while the other supported his weight. You leaned into his fiery touch, as if doing so was going to ground you from cloud nine. 

Setting a deep, slow pace, Chrollo’s face remained a breath away from yours—he kept eye contact, nothing but an endless pit of alluring onyx that pulled you further into the ocean of bliss. Every languid stroke pulled oxygen from your lungs, it had you desperately gasping for air, one which only Chrollo could quench by whispering sweet nothings mere inches from your parted lips.

Mixed with breathless sighs of pleasure was the soft creaking of the bed frame which sung in unison beneath the weight of your rocking bodies. The air grew impossibly thick, and hot allowing the sheets to stick uncomfortably to your bare back but you didn’t care, not when Chrollo fucked you into the mattress as if the sun was going to burn out tomorrow.

You pulled him closer, arms instinctively wrapping around his torso to decorate his back with crimson streaks.

The sharp sting of your nails fuelled Chrollo’s drive—he picked up the pace but remained bottoming out with every powerful thrust, causing your body to jolt in response.

You clung to him tighter, legs painfully locked behind his back as he did his best to move in, and out of your sopping cunt. You were close, and despite Chrollo taking you for the first time, he knew—he could feel your body stiffen with each passing second, the way your greedy cunt grew impossibly tighter, making it hard for him move, and not to mention your broken cries of his name so close to his ears that those were all he could hear.

“I’m so near—god, please don’t stop, Chrollo—!” You sounded so vulnerable, so bare it made his cock twitch.

Greed consuming his pleasured state, Chrollo wrapped an arm around your shoulders, deftly snaking it between the mattress, and your back. He pulled you closer, the weight of your limp torso straining against his curled limb while the other supported his own body.

Chrollo cradled your head with his palm, pushing your face closer to his ‘til the tip of his nose brushed your own. Oh, how tempted he was to kiss the very lips that cried out his name as if he were your saving grace—an angel with his hand stretched out to you.

Barely a whisper above the heavy breaths you exchanged, your name smoothly rolled off his tongue. It was the first time Chrollo did so, and god how addictive it sounded; you shuddered at it, his dulcet voice engulfing the entirety of your being right down to your very core.

“You’ve been so good, are you going to cum? To let go, for me?”

With the minute space left between the two of you, you vigorously nodded your head, too fucked to care about the desperation that seeped from your skin like sweat. Chrollo moaned at your wordless response, fingers slightly curling at the back of your head, his nails dragging across your scalp,

“Haah—! That’s right, give in to it.”

And you did.

With a final drive of his hips, you came undone—the pressure that’s been slowly building up finally bursting inside you.

A broken moan escaped your lips, body arching closer to his as you let your orgasm take you beyond cloud nine.

As if you weren’t already breathless from panting like a whore, Chrollo greedily pressed his lips against your quivering ones to capture them in a passionate kiss.

His lips were soft, and sensual, like it was sculpted by the goddess of love herself. He greedily drank in every moan, and whimper you had to offer, claiming them as his own prized possession to keep. Chrollo’s pace faltered at the feel of your cum coating his cock in a warm embrace—a feeling he’s been deprived off, a feeling he didn’t know he needed.

Pulling away from the kiss, he spoke, breathless, “I’m close—fuck. Where do y—” “Inside.” Chrollo swallowed thickly with your legs tightening around him. It dizzied him, the thought of you so willing to let your insides be marked by him without a second thought.

A small gasp escaped you as he gently set you down onto the mattress, his cockhead brushing your sensitive spot. With his orgasm near, Chrollo dropped his body on top of your own, torsos flush against each other as he trapped you with his weight.

With his own pleasure in mind, Chrollo gave short, hasty thrusts, desperately rutting his hips to chase the growing bliss. The only option for you was to lay there, and moan his name from overstimulation; with his weight on yours, you couldn’t squirm your way out of the immense pleasure.

“I’m here—ngh! ‘M close.” Chrollo whispered into your ear, a hint of apology laced his tone, most likely from how overstimulated you were.

After a few more desperate thrusts, he stilled, sheathing his cock all the way inside your cunt, you felt him twitch before releasing his load with a low moan. 

Feeling his hot cum paint your walls white, you mirrored the sound he made. Loud, wet squelches filled the room as Chrollo rode out his high, effectively fucking his cum deeper.

The two of you stayed still for a moment, letting your bodies bathe in serene moonlight. You laid beneath him, listening to his rhythmic heartbeat pound away against his ribcage, it effectively lulled you to the borders of sleep, your heavy eyelids slowly closing in exhaustion.

Though, before you could fully close them, Chrollo rolled off your body with a soft grunt, his cock slipping out in the process. The loss of contact had you clenching around nothing at the feel of his cum slowly seeping out of your cunt. Before you could speak up, Chrollo beat you to it,

“I should go.” He cleared his throat, voice low, a hint of sadness laced in his tone. Though, you didn’t catch on. Chrollo quietly gathered his clothes, putting them on layer by layer until he was fully clothed. An indiscernible emotion washed over you as he made his way to the door, each quiet step taken tugging at an invisible string tangled in your heart. Oddly enough, it stung.

“Yeah . .” You nodded in a daze.

The lack of response from your end tore at Chrollo’s insides—it made sense, after all, he was nothing but a quick fuck, what did he expect? For you to convince him to stay the night? That was beyond delusional.

As Chrollo reached for the handle, you called his name out of instinct. His heart skipped a beat. “Yes, miss . . ?” He spoke your title in a small voice, unsure which name was appropriate in this situation.

“Thank you.”

That was all you could muster. What else was there anyway? Chrollo wasn’t a person you were supposed to be sleeping with in the first place, nor was he your lover who you could be intimate with after sex.

He was nothing but a bodyguard, and will remain your bodyguard. Whatever happened in this room was to be forgotten.

The sound of the door clicking reached your ears, and in the blink of an eye, he was gone. His scent lingered in the air, becoming one with the sweet aroma of chrysanthemums.

Within the next coming days, you were right, and wrong. Right because in the face of others, the professional relationship between you, and Chrollo remained—a bodyguard, and his principal.

Wrong because stupidly enough, the both of you had not forgotten what happened a couple of nights back. The days were filled with stolen glances, and stuttering heartbeats, you couldn’t stand by idly while your heart yearned for your bodyguard.

At first, you convinced yourself that this feeling was purely lust-driven, it was only natural to seek out Chrollo’s presence after a night with him.

You believed it for a week.

One whole week until you felt your heart clenching at the sight of your bodyguard exchanging a conversation with one of the maids. Chrollo was all smiles, the kind that reached his eyes; the maid wasn’t any better, an obvious blush extending from her cheeks to her ears said it all.

He never smiled at you like that.

Why was he treating you—his boss—any different? Chrollo was always nonchalant with you, barely any words spoken yet here he was animatedly cracking jokes left, and right like he had some kind of alter ego. It pissed you off.

More so, being angry at the fact that Chrollo treated you differently upset you even more. At best, this was a trivial matter, something you shouldn’t even think about. 

But you couldn’t let go of it, not when he gazed at you the same way he had done so that night.

Within the next week, you’d realise that merely having Chrollo by your side wasn’t enough.

On Monday, you did your best to converse with him while buying chrysanthemums at the boutique, even going as far as giving him a flower from your bouquet, hoping that he’d think of you whenever he looked at it.

On Wednesday, instead of asking your personal assistant to grab your lunch, you took Chrollo instead, and headed out the office which gave you more alone time with him. 

And by Friday, you couldn’t take it anymore. You called Chrollo into your bedroom late at night after finding the courage to do so. Naturally, he stood inside as if he didn’t have you filling the room with your own moans two weeks ago.

The familiar sweet scent of chrysanthemums filled his lungs, taking him back to the pleasure-filled night with you. Chrollo pushed the thought down, deeming it extremely inappropriate, especially being alone with you like this, again.

He swallowed as you pat the empty spot next to you, your vulnerable state beckoning him to devour you. Who was he to deny himself of acting on his predatory instincts? 

“This is . . rather unprofessional, miss.”

That was the last thing he said before he found himself sitting on the edge of your bed, kissing you like he loved you. Did he? Large hands cupped your jaw, eagerly pulling you closer to his face. Even though Chrollo didn’t bare his heart, the zeal behind his kisses revealed the truth hidden in his chest.

Both lips fell into a unison, slotting into each other like they were made for one another. Before getting carried away, Chrollo pulled back, brows lifting in amusement as he watched the way your face leaned in, searching for his lips.

“What—What about Mr. Euan?” He asked, breathless, onyx strands dishevelled, courtesy of your wandering hands. 

You both knew you didn’t have feelings for Euan but saying it aloud wasn’t going to change the fact that a ring sat on your finger, it was far more complicated than that.

Lowering your gaze, you shrugged. Guilt picked at your skin, the thought of disrespecting Euan had you freezing in place. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be prying.” Chrollo whispered, hot breath fanning across your face. He tucked a strand behind your ear before sliding his digit down to your chin, lifting your face.

“Kiss me?”

You didn’t have to be told twice.

What the two of you had wasn’t exactly a relationship—beyond a professional relationship but less than a romantic one. But Chrollo cared for you all the same, even if it meant watching in the sidelines as Euan made his polite advances—kiss on your cheek, a hand on the small of your back, his fingers tucking stray hairs aside, Chrollo endured it all. Whether or not it affected him, he didn’t let on.

Instead, he returned affection tenfold in comparison to what Euan gave you. Your room had turned into a rendezvous—every night, behind its closed doors, Chrollo took you in his arms, and whisked you away from reality, from all the inhibitions you felt. And amidst all the meaningful conversations, the shared pleasure, the tears shed, a bond deeper than one could comprehend blossomed within these walls.

Chrollo became a rock you could lean on—a significant person you could be vulnerable with, and bare your heart on the table, unguarded. He listened to your problems, and silly thoughts with open arms, and ears, stroking your hair beneath the moonlight as the two of you lay underneath the ivory sheets.

With you, he was a completely different person, a person who he deserved to become. One that could relate to the little joys in life—whether it be chasing sunsets, dipping salty fries in vanilla ice cream or looking up at the night sky without any remorse in one's heart.

With you, Chrollo had a fleeting glimpse of the life he was robbed of because all he knew was how to survive for another day—how to kill swiftly, and effectively.

And he’d be reminded of all these when returned to his own quarters in the dead of the night. That the sole purpose of his arrangement in this estate was to take you out—not to nurture a bond with you, not to have sex with you, not to listen to all your thoughts, no. Chrollo was here as your assassin.

To hold you so gently in his hands knowing they would be the same ones covered in your blood. It was almost laughable, it surprised Chrollo how he—a person conditioned to destroy—was able to touch you with the utmost gentleness as if he’s never once tasted violence on his tongue.

Clearly, you both felt something for one another but acting on it was easier said than done—not to mention how this mission wasn’t supposed to end up like this, all tangled up in a web known as you. 

Did Chrollo love you? Truth be told, he didn’t know. He never had the privilege of experiencing what romantic love was. Wanting to be by your side was the only thing he was certain of.

Lying in bed, Chrollo looked over at his nightstand, it housed a singular piece of chrysanthemum soaked in a glass of water—one that you had given him earlier this week. Now, his room smelled just like yours, the flower’s sweet aroma lingering in the air.

It helped Chrollo sleep a little better; smelling its familiar scent tricked his mind into thinking he slept in your presence.

A little over a week.

That was how much time Chrollo had left to get the job done assigned by Ciaran. It wasn’t long, and he knew he had to make the decision soon but not before taking a gamble.

As Saturday arrived, you stuck to your routine as usual, the only difference was, the late night was spent driving around with Chrollo.

The atmosphere inside the vehicle grew thicker by the minute, he could tell something weighed your mind from the way you pursed your lips, and fidgeted with the hem of your shirt. But of course, the ever polite man he was, he waited ‘til you opened up to him—Chrollo knew you like the back of his hand, whenever things bothered you to an extent, it didn’t take long for you to break.

“Can I tell you something?” You murmured above the hum of the engine. Staring to the side, you watched as Chrollo wordlessly nodded his head, stealing a brief glance your way before focusing on the wheel. He took notice of how you sat on the front passenger seat instead of your usual spot.

Looking out the window, you spoke up, “I . . don’t know how to deal with all this.” Chrollo remained silent, urging you to continue. “I’m going to be married to a man I don’t love, and I’ll be running a company I don’t want. And us. I want you, Chrollo, I really do but I . .”

Chrollo’s grip tightened around the wheel.

“Why don’t we just run away, and leave all this behind? We can build a new life together and—” 

“Is that what you want? To run away with me?” Chrollo cut you off. Coming to a full stop at the red lights, he turned to you, the seriousness in his expression made you somewhat nervous.

Would it be foolish of him to comfort you with words he partially meant?—words that would only hurt you in the end?

“I can give you that.”

At this point, Chrollo was lying to himself. To be so brazen, and accept running away with you knowing well enough his neck was chained to the underground—loyal to his roots.

Weighing the options, it was crystal clear that the odds were against the both of you. Of course, you didn’t know that, you had absolutely no idea Chrollo had underground ties nor was he assigned to kill you by none other than Ciaran.

Considering the latter’s involvement in underground business, you wouldn’t be the only one with a target on their back; it only made sense for Ciaran to put a hit on Chrollo as well for disobeying his orders if he were to consider running away. It would elicit a whole lot of enemies, and he couldn’t put you in a situation where he was willing to risk you dying in someone else’s hands. 

Living a life hiding from dangers of the world—that’s what you would have to go through if you, and Chrollo were to run away. Did you really deserve to live that way? Did you deserve to live in the conditions Chrollo tried to run away from?

The answer was more than obvious.

Obviously, a life with Euan benefitted you more—you’d have more stability, and security. Who was he to take away all those things from you?

Having never tasted something as sweet as this feeling with you, Chrollo found himself holding tighter rather than letting go, he fed on greed, and delusion. 

Truth be told, it tore him apart. A part of him cursed, and yelled at him for being so naïve, and easily moved by a woman he had only known for a month and a half—not to mention how he despised your kind.

The other part urged him to reach for the unthinkable, and build a new life he deserved, with you. Chrollo was ready to lay his weapon down if it meant being by your side ‘til the end of time.

Maybe in another life.

He knew he had to make a decision. Soon. Ciaran had been making calls to his burner more often than not, and he could sense the former’s patience growing thinner, and thinner as each day turned into night.

Whatever Chrollo’s decision was, he just hoped you’d still love him all the same—forgive him.

There was one crucial piece of information Chrollo had remembered. On Sundays, you dismissed all security staff that accompanied you, including the chauffeur, Lukas. This meant that for one day, you were completely unguarded, and alone.

Chrollo was unaware of the reason but it was obvious you wanted to experience a sense of independence one way or another.

Nonetheless, he managed to keep an eye on you by using an ample amount of distance—it was a piece of cake, after all, he tracked his targets in stealth mode for a living; akin to a predator sizing up its prey before sinking its canines.

Sundays weren’t particularly eventful, you spent the day alone running around swiping your credit card left, and right until it made you feel a tad better. So when Chrollo had ‘accidentally’ bumped into you at the parking lot, hidden from public cameras, he was aware of how effortless it was to whisk you away from the public.

“Chrollo? What brings you here?”

The bodyguard was dressed in his usual attire, a white button down neatly tucked beneath his black slacks, and this time, he didn’t wear a blazer.

“I figured you’d be here, miss. Something came up at the estate—you’re needed back home.” A lie.

Chrollo observed as the sparkle in your eyes drained at his words, genuine concern rolling in like grey clouds looming above on a stormy night. His heart clenched. Not in a good way. “Don’t worry, no one is hurt.” With his reassurance, your shoulders dropped with ease, the breath you’ve been holding slipped past your lips in a relieved sigh.

It pained the assassin how trusting you were, how easily one could play you into the palm of their hand the same way he did right now. Why?—why didn’t you question how effortlessly Chrollo pinpointed your exact location? The city was expansive, no normal person would be able to trace your steps unless they followed right from when you left the estate.

The vehicle was quiet, leaving room for Chrollo to notice the faint scent of chrysanthemums inside—it was your personal car, not the one Lukas used to drive you around hence the flowery aroma.

For some odd reason, the smell no longer comforted him the same way it did whenever he frequented your room. It made him nauseous. If Chrollo was to put it in words, the aroma smelled of sweet death, and it reminded him of the church back in Meteor City.

Consumed by concern, and lost in your own thoughts, you paid no attention to your surroundings outside, how it grew less, and less familiar with each kilometre driven by your bodyguard. You also didn’t notice Chrollo repeatedly stealing glances through the rearview mirror every now, and then, missing the way his steely gaze housed a hint of nervousness—an emotion he didn’t normally harbour.

Though, as you finally came to, you gazed out the window, eyes carefully scanning the fleeting hues outside as the car drove by. Soft colours of pinks, and oranges seeped through the glass which casted an ethereal glow inside, it hinted at the setting sun, and the darkness that loomed just around the corner. As your brain registered the foreign roads, confusion settled in, 

“Are we taking a detour, Chrollo?”

He wordlessly nodded. You mirrored his action in acknowledgement but the feeling of unease was oddly difficult to dismiss, especially with how deserted these roads were. The streets were decorated with construction sites, abandoned buildings, and old houses that were decorated with wooden planks to seal off windows, and entrances.

A weird feeling settled in the pit of your stomach. You caught the way Chrollo’s stone cold gaze locked with yours for a split second but didn’t dare speak up.

Just as your heart started to race, the vehicle came to a halt, Chrollo had parked in front of an abandoned building—an old church, based on its architecture. Its unmistakable pointed roof aiming at the skies above, and stained glass windows marked with angels, and other holy beings said it all.

The building was surrounded by overgrown greenery, and wrecked furniture dumped on the side which hinted at years of apparent neglect. Its dressed stone walls were the epitome of sacrilege itself, littered with colourful vandalism from top to bottom; even just seeing it with your own eyes felt like a grave sin. A forbidden image.

“What—” “Get out.” Chrollo cut you off. For a tone so cold you could’ve swore a subtle shudder ran down the length of your spine. His stare met your own through the mirror for a second time and your heart sank all the way down to your stomach at how serious he was, dread slowly engulfing your body. What the hell was happening!? Why was Chrollo acting strangely?

“No.”

Chrollo turned to face you, still wearing that stoic expression. You felt small under his gaze, it almost felt predatory—no—not almost, it did; you didn’t want to admit but you caught a glimpse of the way his eyes sparkled with sharp, murderous intent.

Swallowing thickly, you crossed your arms, trying to appear nonchalant, albeit, it was more for yourself than for the man before you.

“Not until I get an answer. You mentioned something had come up at the estate, so why aren’t we—” “I lied.”

Before you could question his motives, Chrollo swiftly got out, the resounding thud as he shut the door closed had your body flinching a bit. You watched as he rounded the car, and made his way just before your door.

Opening it, a hand reached in for your wrist; gentle fingers curled around your skin as if you were a delicate flower—a daring contrast from the way his piercing gaze stabbed shards of unease throughout your body.

You pulled away, easily slipping off Chrollo’s placid grasp before helping yourself out of the vehicle. His hand curled into a loose fist as he watched you exit the car with an evident scowl on your face; funnily enough, Chrollo had the audacity to feel upset at the rejection. Never once have you denied his touch.

Crossing the narrow clearing that led to the unsealed church entrance, chunks of loose stone, and dirt moved beneath your steps; you stared at your feet as they navigated through the unstable terrain.

It was odd. Calm, and composed were the last two things you should be feeling in this situation, given the sudden shift in Chrollo’s demeanour, you were supposed to be fearing for your life right this instance despite your blindness to the hidden danger that lay ahead.

Chrollo . . He would never do that to you, right? Upon taking the job, he swore to protect you. But your better judgement screamed at all the glaring crimson coloured flags—an abandoned church in a deserted neighbourhood? It was the perfect set up for heinous crimes.

Out of instinct, you scanned the layout of the building from where you stood, if it came down to it, there was only one viable escape route which was through the main entrance of the church, the one Chrollo pulled open.

By now, the sun had fully disappeared below the horizon, and the colourful remnants the burning star left in its wake slowly faded into deep hues of night azure. Strangely, this end of the town harboured harsher winds with a freezing bite that had you rubbing your arms over the sleeves of your top.

A heavy groan sounded from the mahogany doors, it cut through the wind’s endless howl as it danced with the leaves, and through the sharp branches, interlocking trees in a soft sway.

A chill ran down your spine at the loudness of it. The doors parted revealing a view you’d expect in an old abandoned church—disorganised pews to create a spacing in the middle, antique chandeliers affixed to the high ceiling covered in thick layers of dust and cobwebs, and trash scattered across its marbled floors; by the state of the inside, squatters most likely frequented the building due to its unsealed entrance.

The inside was dimly lit from street lights outside, it poured through the stained glass windows which allowed a deep scarlet glow to illuminate the building. Chrollo stepped inside, the soles of his obsidian dress shoes quietly clicked with every calculated step further into the church.

Foolishly enough, you followed as though a crimson string bound yourself to his—he was acting strangely, and the most appropriate approach as of now was to question his behaviour, and the bizarreness of the situation. Walking away would only prove useless with how far he has driven, and he had your car keys; at best, you could only cooperate.

“Chrollo, will you please tell me what’s going on?” You navigated inside the old building, the scent of mildew, and rotten wood lingered in the damp air, it captured your senses in a tight hold.

Ruby bounced off Chrollo’s inky strands as he stood at the heart of the church, right beneath the stained windows with divine beings. It turned his pale skin into an angry red, and you wondered if that’s what he felt right this very moment, clearly you weren’t far off with how he pierced your soul earlier.

He turned to face you, “I’m doing this for your sake.” For the first time today, emotion seeped through the cracks of his nonchalance. 

Chrollo looked almost sad, you weren’t entirely sure given the lack of lighting but the unmistakable glint behind those obsidian eyes was anything but foreign. For a split second, it was the same Chrollo that spent countless nights in your bedroom; not as your bodyguard, not as anyone else but simply as Chrollo—your Chrollo.

“For my sake? What the hell are you talking about, Chrollo?” Like the vermillion glow that bounced off your skin as you stepped closer, anger slowly bubbled in the pit of your stomach. Chrollo was nothing but cryptic with his responses, and you couldn’t wrap your head around any of them! He had always been a straightforward person, sometimes blunt, so why was he holding back now?

Standing beneath the scarlet light softly illuminated your features, Chrollo thought you looked exquisite bathed in the brilliance of red. Even with a tinge of doubt, and anger in your eyes, you were filled with love the same way the colour kissed every part of your skin.

“An escape from all this . . That’s what you want, right?” With his right hand, Chrollo reached inside his pocket, it took you a few seconds to identify the item in his hand—a gun.

With the way it’s unmistakable silver glistened beneath the dim lighting, you could tell it was a weapon of his own; not the ones registered under your father’s name. You stiffened, and your body ran cold, gaze met with the barrel of his gun.

“Chrollo?” Barely a whisper, you called out his name above the thick atmosphere, each second spent inside it had you desperately gasping for air; whether it be from nervousness or confusion, you didn’t care to find out.

He swallowed thickly, fingers curling tighter around the handle of his gun, trying to ignore the way your desperate plea violently struck a chord in his heart.

“Chrollo please put the gun down! You’re out of your mind!” Panic surged from head to toe, it came in vicious waves, scratching, and gnawing at your bare skin like a vehement beast. Chrollo tried to ignore the apparent tremble in your voice, he couldn’t afford to mess this up.

“Yes, I want to escape—with you. Why are you doing this to me, Chrollo? Why do you want me dead?!”

The third time his name rolled off your tongue, he was ready to throw the gun across the room, and cradle you in his arms while whispering apologetic nothings in your ear.

But he didn’t.

Chrollo stayed rooted in his spot, gun aimed at you, “Remember Ciaran Driscoll?—” You furrowed your brows. Ciaran? “He paid me to kill you.” A shaky breath, that was all you could muster, your mind was too busy trying to piece everything together.

Ciaran. Chrollo. Kill. Your blood ran cold.

But Chrollo didn’t give you time to breathe, steady clicks of his shoes echoed throughout the church as he paced back, and forth, “I was elated when I agreed to his proposal. Why? Because a pompous soul dying by my hands is what I’m made for—” He was calm, and collected, a faint smile displayed on his face as he slowly walked towards you. “Did you know what your people did? To my home? To my friend?” Stopping just before you, Chrollo leaned in, obsidian gaze piercing right through you.

“A lot of you treated Meteor City like some kind of hunting ground at your disposal. As if—as if its inhabitants were nothing but mere animals. For what? The sake of illegal dealings? For more money? Power?”

Chrollo caressed the side of your face with the back of his left hand—the other remained motionless by his side—his ghostly touch trembled against your skin, afraid that if he pressed down any further, you’d crack.

The situation baffled you. Not only was Chrollo blaming you for the atrocities caused by other people, you still couldn’t wrap your mind around the fact that he was in cahoots with Ciaran Driscoll to orchestrate your demise.

Is that why Chrollo applied to become your bodyguard? To get close before finally killing you off? You felt another wave of dread wash over you. Everything felt numb, your limbs, your torso, your heart.

Shaking your head, you finally broke the silence with a trembling voice, tears threatening to spill out,  “I’m not involved in any of those, Chrollo. Do you even hear yourself right now?”

He did. God. He fucking did and he felt absolutely foolish for blaming you. After you had bared your soul to him every night, Chrollo stopped seeing you in the same light as he did before. Yes, his deep-rooted disdain never left but that didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of loving you; it was a battle between desire and duty, and he already knew the victor.

The determination in your eyes, you were set on running away from the current life you had, and as tempting as that was, he didn’t have the courage to lead you into a new life full of nothing but danger.

Chrollo would rather have you dying by his own bloodied hands—for him to live each day filled with regret—than have someone else basking in the glory of killing you. At least that way, he’d be tainted by you.

“You’re all the same. Ciaran’s father is proof enough! You said it yourself that he was involved in illegal business—”

“So those nights we spent together . . were they just all part of the act? You never cared for me.” Chrollo barely caught the last part of your sentence as you muttered it under your breath; he watched as your gaze lowered, a wave of sadness engulfing you for a split second before finding his eyes once again. This time, you wore a glare.

You straightened up, “Tell me, Chrollo. Was it all just an act? A show you put on just to get close to me?” Questions lingered in the air the same way dust did, it sat heavy on Chrollo’s shoulders but he remained stubborn—silent. Would his answer change the circumstances? No.

After all, nothing good came out of trivial matters. At his stillness, you grabbed his right hand, trembling fingers curling around the shaft of his wrist as you brought it up to your face, pressing the barrel of his gun to your forehead. It felt icy against your feverish skin, like the kiss of a grim reaper.

Ever so slightly, Chrollo’s brows rose in shock, breath hitching at your brazenness. “Did you ever love me?” A broken whisper spoken into the crimson-lit night, so dainty, so weak yet it pierced his heart without a second thought. It left a gaping hole, as ugly as sin, and no amount of repentance could heal.

Love. How would one define love? Was it the act of sacrificing someone dear to oneself? Chrollo didn’t know. But more importantly, how did you define love?

“Did you?”

Digging deeper into the subject would only lead to the grave of his heart but Chrollo couldn’t care less, it was already six feet under since the day he sought revenge for his friend.

With a heavy sigh, your eyes finally softened, “Of course. I still do.” You felt his hand twitch in your hold, as if he briefly tried to pull the gun away.

Glimmering like the first starlight were tears staining your cheeks, one by one they fell down as a surge of emotions drowned your body; your brows were furrowed yet your eyes looked at Chrollo like he held the cosmos in his hands.

Is this what was meant when they said love and anger were painted in the same shade of red?

In his line of work, Chrollo has never seen anything as haunting as your gaze. It was natural for his targets to look up at him in complete horror, tears welled up in their eyes as they begged him to spare their lives but you—your eyes were full of nothing but love, and adoration despite his gun pointed at you. That look alone was enough to torment his coming days.

“Do you, Chrollo? Do you love me?” His chest tightened at the hopeful glint in your eye. Nothing good ever came out of trivial matters because at the end of the day, Chrollo was nothing but a man chained to his sinful revenge—blindly devoted to the hatred planted in his heart, and it came with a great price.

A sudden wave of red washed over his body, resulting in an ear splitting bang that resounded within the church’s bricked walls. Chrollo flinched at the sound—he’s never done that before—followed by a heavy thud against the marbled floors. It took the assassin one, two, three seconds to register the situation, the violent sensation of the gun’s recoil still fresh on his trembling hand.

The faint scent of iron hung in the air.

Chrollo looked down at the grisly sight before him, gun in his hand weighing heavy before it finally slipped from his absent grip. The weapon fell beside his right foot.

For the first time, Chrollo Lucilfer—the bringer of death—weeped, and mourned the demise of his target. He wailed into the darkness as warm crimson slowly pooled around your head, it resembled a faux halo, a tainted fallen angel.

Broken sobs, and ugly cries filled the damp building—this was the first in a long time that he had heard the sounds of his own grief. Guilt, and sorrow consumed Chrollo the same way the shadows of the night did but no amount of tears would bring you back to life, no amount of whispered I love you’s would reciprocate his words, no amount of cracks in his heart would turn back time.

You were dead, and it was all because of the man you loved so blindly. ‘Til your dying breath, you were shielded from the secrets of his true identity, and feelings, ones he swore he would take to the very grave he dug.

Chrollo fell to his knees, his fingers dug into his palms hard enough to draw blood. The vile pungence of your blood suffocated his senses, despite something so familiar to him, Chrollo heaved and curled over himself, quivering like an autumn leaf in the wind—he looked pathetic; hot tears and snot covered his reddened face as he cried out into darkness.

Every bit of air left his lungs and each breath felt like a chase he couldn’t win. Truth be told, he didn’t have the courage to reach out to your body, no, he didn’t feel like he deserved to do so.

To taint you more than he already had. So, Chrollo didn’t, instead, he weeped until the moon decorated the obsidian skies, until his tears tried, until your body ran cold, and every bit of colour you wore was gone. 

And when the assassin finally pieced himself together, he did three things.

One, let Ciaran Driscoll know that the job had been done using a burner phone.

Two, with the same device, Chrollo called the police, brazenly letting them know he murdered someone, and the exact location of the crime scene.

Three, he covered your car in flames, and fed the burner phone into it; he watched as bright hues of oranges and yellows devoured the vehicle before doing what he did best: disappearing into the night, and becoming one with the shadows to never be found again.

The night before, he had quietly handed in his resignation to Lukas who gave him an appreciative pat on the back, the old timer parted with words that Chrollo knew would remain ingrained in his mind, ‘I’m quite sure the young miss appreciated your service. Thank you for taking care of her.’ 

His heart shouldn’t have clenched at that but it did, and painfully so.

The coming days blended into nights with Chrollo sitting inside his hideout—a dingy, rundown motel with paper thin walls that housed interesting individuals. Completely unaware of the time, his only company was the ticking ivory wall clock above the cramped dining space.

The hefty payment from Ciaran lay untouched on the bed, concealed within a briefcase. He didn’t eat nor drink, not even having the energy to step outside for occasional sunlight, and every time he closed his eyes, he remembered the look you gave him during your final moments, he remembered the metallic tang in the air.

The old chunky television situated atop a rusty console table was what kept Chrollo’s sanity intact.

Day to night, it blasted morning, afternoon, and evening news—to the point of fellow motel goers knocking at his door to complain about the noise—just to keep up with information about you. As much as Chrollo yearned to bask in the memory of you, seeing your face plastered on television followed by a variety of words such as ‘rest in peace’, ‘murdered’, ‘assassinated’, and ‘dead’ didn’t help his mind at all.

At least what kept him entertained were the updates on potential suspects that may be tied to the crime scene; the murder weapon was an unregistered gun loaded with an unregistered bullet, and the footprints left at the scene had no unique tread.

So at best, there were no concrete leads in the case.

Not that it mattered to Chrollo.

Atop the cheap wooden table on which he sat were two things, the murder weapon and a singular stem of a white chrysanthemum. The one you had given him from your bouquet. Chrollo let the flower sit there for days on end until its ivory petals shrivelled into a brown hue—its sweet aroma turning pungent.

Until it withered. 

Until the scent of death choked him the same way his cries did that night—a mockery of what was lost, of what he willingly destroyed.

One month. It took Chrollo a month to finally step into the day, and out of the drab motel room. Brightness engulfed his vision, the sun’s afternoon rays shone as brightly as ever, enveloping him in a warm, gentle hug as if to welcome him back to reality.

He was certain he didn’t deserve kindness from this world, not even the permission to step foot in the very earth that held your body dearly in its grasp as though you were its prized possession.

Oddly enough, Chrollo found himself standing before a familiar flower boutique. With his gaze locked onto the floor-to-ceiling windows, he looked around the inside, as if doing so was going to have you magically pop out of nowhere, and buy a dozen of white chrysanthemums like before.

But you didn’t.

Pulled from his thoughts, a recognizable voice filled his ears, it was the owner, “Are you here to buy flowers for a lover, perhaps? I can recommend a few—” She stopped halfway through her sentence, realising the familiar face that stood before her. Chrollo watched as her face morphed into a sad smile, the cheery glint in her eyes disappearing beneath the thickness of her lashes,

“If I’m not mistaken, you’re her bodyguard, right?” He inhaled a sharp breath at the mention of you, heart violently thumping against the confines of his chest. Chrollo could only nod, anything more than that would have him breaking.

The old lady reached out her plump hand, and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, “I’m so sorry for your loss. She was lovely—”

Don’t say that. Don’t say it to me like I’m not the cause of her death. Don’t say it to me like I should be mourning for someone who died by my hands.

Chrollo gritted his teeth, jaw clenching at the sympathy thrown his way. He felt sick and disgusted with himself—as if he were a vile being trapped beneath human skin. All of a sudden the sun rays that gently enveloped his body didn’t feel like a warm hug anymore, sharp, hot prickles spread throughout his clothed skin, leaving a painful itch.

“—and the only customer who bought chrysanthemums frequently. Others usually bought the flowers once or twice for funerals and death anniversaries; she was the only one who truly saw chrysanthemums in a different light.”

A symbol of devoted love and loyalty, that’s how you saw them.

How ironic that the flowers you once adored would be laid upon your grave, holding a completely different message; mourning and grief. That didn’t sit well with Chrollo, you loved white chrysanthemums but not for that reason.

“Apologies, I ramble too much.” The owner let out a polite chuckle before continuing. “Well, can I at least interest you in some flowers? What would it be for you?”

“Can I get a dozen of those?” Chrollo pointed at the lively bunch soaked in water, situated just beside the boutique’s entrance. Following his finger, she looked behind her and smiled, “Right away.”

Its petals resembled rays of the first sunshine, the golden hue it wore promised eternal warmth even after death.

As day turned into night with the crescent moon high above the obsidian skies, Chrollo made his way to your perpetual resting place—it didn’t take much effort to do some digging around to find out where your body had been buried.

The chilly wind howled as it danced with the dark, trees and leaves swaying to accompany it with a silent song. He walked down the moonlit path of the cemetery, land that outstretched before him was decorated with tombstones, and in his left hand was the bouquet he bought earlier.

Moonlight shone over your grave as if the moon herself knew the secrets shared between you and Chrollo on cloudless nights. Bouquets of white chrysanthemums decorated the space around your grave, candles that were once lit rested atop the marbled tombstone that housed your full name.

Oddly enough, this felt like déjà vu. Maybe it was due to the fact that you and Chrollo rendezvoused in your room the same way he visited your grave—under a lonely moonlit night where soft whispers, and beating hearts were heard.

Bending down, Chrollo lightly caressed your carved name, cleaning out stray pieces of grass and dirt blown by the wind. He gently placed the bouquet amongst the sea of white, its colourful hue greedily taking all the limelight from the sombre flowers,

“I know these aren’t your favourite but I figured you’d like them too . .” He paused for a moment, foolishly waiting for you to reply.

“. . Yellow chrysanthemums just like the white ones but—” Who was he kidding? Chrollo felt stupid. Talking to your grave as if you were alive—as if he wasn’t the one who brought you to your demise.

The audacity he had.

Truth be told, every fibre inside his body screamed at him to turn back, and never show his disgusting self but Chrollo was as greedy as the darkness that drank the moonlight each night.

He envied the ground like sin, how held you in its arms, cradling your rotting body in its eternal embrace. It should be him. Now, he’d have to remember you longer than he had known you.

Instead, Chrollo was six feet above—alive; tied to, and haunted by the shackles of foolish regret. The memory of that night replayed in his mind over and over again like a cursed broken record, the disgusting thump as your lifeless body hit the floor, blood pooling around your head.

Most nights he’d find himself calling your name in his sleep—he always dreamt of the same dream: you, running away from him in a field of flowers, no matter how hard he worked his legs, he never seemed to reach your body. 

Chrollo sat before your grave and sobbed, letting creatures of the night feel his vulnerability; as the wind howled, the breeze carried the sounds of his cries to the trees, where it promised him to keep it a secret—a story only reserved for the dead.

Hot tears rolled down his frost-bitten cheeks, pooling on the tip of his chin before it fell on the damp grass beneath.

In antique texts, yellow chrysanthemums represented one’s heart left to desolation. Neglected love. It was only befitting for he has killed the very person who grew to love his blood-stained soul because in the end, he was nothing but a man only adept at destroying.

He let out shaky exhale, and whispered into the night the answer you sought, 

“I love you.”

—

affiliated with @houseofsolisoccasum & @pixelcafe-network !

[arlerts-angel]

note: idk. been gone for ~5 days and wrote this with my pussy 👍 everybody give it up for me

warnings: dark content. 18+! mdni. dubcon (coercion). sacrilege/blasphemy. fem reader. unprotected sex ("accidental" creampie).

s.....soaking with church boy armin.

"mmm... don't worry – it's okay...i-it's okay!" he coos, wiping a tear from your cheek while slowly pushing himself into your sweet and sticky cunt. "it's okay because i'm not gonna move."

you squeeze your thighs together and armin inhales sharply, jerking back in a half-assed attempt to keep himself from cumming inside you.

"ngh...just a little bit... i-i need to move a little – just a little okay?" he asks, but doesn't wait for your answer before he slowly pushes and pulls his cock in and out of you.

you feel so good he could cry.

the sound of his skin slapping yours, the sloshing of your soaked cunt, and your breathy whining and moaning removes all reasoning within him.

"i can't stop," he breathes, "can't stop 'm sorry.... you're so...feels so...g...i can't... oh god... 'm sorry fuck i'm gonna cum i'm sorry 'm so sorry i'm cumming 'm cumming..!" he babbles, impaired by the orgasm and the feeling of dumping his load inside you.

god, it never felt so good to sin.

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[tetzoro]

corrupted priest!crocodile who takes an interest in you the moment you walk through the cathedral doors, a saintly vision of purity that has his cock twitching in interest already.

the innocent, doe look in your eye was almost too good to be true. he’s never met someone so shy, so willing for guidance.

it was almost too easy to get you to kneel before him. after a few sessions in the confessional booth, he summons you to his office in hopes of helping you with addressing the urges you had been telling him about.

how you cling to sheets at night, writhing in pain as you yearn for pleasure — the pleasure of a man who isn’t your god. the one that would be close enough though, who will guide you in his name.

at least that’s how crocodile spins in, his deep, authoritative voice telling you that it’s okay to engage in these acts with him because he’s a disciple of god and of course that makes him trustworthy.

it’s how you find yourself on your knees, mouth full of his cock as he repeats bible verses to you, slowly pushing your head down further after he finishes each one.

even though your drooling all over him, gagging with each inch he shoves down your throat, it’s all in the name of god — you must repent for those vile thoughts you confessed to him only moments ago.

and when he cums, your mouth hanging open for him, tongue lolling out as your whispered prayers roll off of it, he baptizes you in a flood of his cum, washing over so you can begin again. as his.

amen.

[tteokdoroki]

Nonono but hear me out

Corrupting Priest Gojo

The all knowing (derogatory) cocky witty surprisingly young Priest Gojo who doesn't look like a virgin but the second you put his mouth on him he doesn't scream for god anymore, he screams for you- imagine pulling on the rosary around his neck or even binding his wrists together with it- the broken blabbering, sobbering priest Gojo just gonna see the pearly gates when you're done with him and his pretty, not-so-untouched-anymore cock

-glasses anon

oh my god im …. insane ….

tw: sacrilege and religious imagery but the idea of gojo growing up in the church and never wanting to disobey the word of god and what he’s been taught all his life so by the time he becomes a priest he’s a complete and innocent virgin. when you put your mouth on him for the first time his milky thighs are quivering and his cock is so painfully hard and flushed he thinks that he’s being punished :(

like poor priest gojo with the prettiest tears in his eyes in his angelic blue eyes — shining like holy water, as you swipe your tongue through the slit on his seedy cockhead. he chokes on a sob, grasps when you cheekily fondle his weight balls and dip your tongue over his taint. satoru grasping at the little cross sitting over his heart, begging for forgiveness through hiccups and sobs, moaning out your name like it’s a prayer.

the closer gojo gets, the more he forgets who he’s supposed to be worshiping. not you, the woman on her knees between his legs, sucking the life out of him, licking up every drop of precum and grazing over the blue veins on that tattoo his dick. he cums with pathetic moan as the burning in his pelvis ceases and he fills your mouth with his cream, in thick syrupy waves.

stop and when his eyes flutter shut during his orgasm, the halo of his white hair askew and his lips parted in sinful moans — you reach up to grab his rosary and tug it so hard the beads snap and clatter across the floor of the confessional booth. you drag him down to press a kiss to satoru’s lips, feeding him his own orgasm, his first taste of sin.

and the second he tastes himself on your reddened lips, he finds out what it’s like to be cast out from heaven.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[izvmimi]

cw: angel!gojo. hopefully not too sacrilegious. first thing that came to mind after @k-atsukibakugou's post earlier today!! minors dni.

Your hands thread through feathers, soft as the finest silk, shrouding you in a warmth that can only be described as divine. In this very moment, you wonder if the heavens above are watching, taking in every disgusting, depraved sight, every nip, suck, swallow, squelch, and cry drawn out of you by its messenger, night after night. It’s clear that salvation is no longer in the cards for you, but as angel Satoru, eyes as brilliant as sapphires as he devours you in every single way possible, continues to hold you, you consider that being ground permanently to the very earth - or rather the eternal flames under it - is worth it. 

Satoru lets you play with his wings longer, pressing kisses to your forehead, to your cheeks, and as you lay together, places his hand right on your warm heat. 

“You’re damned,” he whispers, a fingertip circling your clit. He says it so matter of fact-ly that you’re not sure if he’s pleased, amused even, or regretful. His divinity makes the rules different for him, and you do not know what will become of him, who partakes of the same acts. Yet you don’t care once he slips a finger into your center, and curls it, making your toes curl as well as you cry out his name.

“Satoru!”

“You should be calling for the Almighty,” he whispers, as he leans in, filling your nostrils with his scent, your senses, as he bites at your earlobe.

“Do they compare to you?” you huff out. Satoru’s gaze runs over you, and a smile curls on his lips. 

“God is watching. Best to not repeat that.” His chuckle is angelic, hushed with the sweet sound of his voice like bells and songbirds.

And yet his tongue swirls around your nipples, cupping your breasts in his hand with every action. He dips even lower, sipping the nectar dripping from between your legs. Mortal and so ephemeral, your time on earth fleeting, and yet you are so delicious to him, so easy to sink his teeth into and tear to pieces.

Your hands twist into his hair, and you wonder why an angel would curse you so with their beauty. He wonders the same, loathes the separation of the heaven and earth, spitting on the barrier in between when he consorts with you, pressing himself deep into your body, seating himself in your much more divine cunt, and holding you close, arms and wings, and floating sash. His halo is shaky; he wishes it would simply fade away. He’d much rather sink into you, he’d much rather his religion were you.

[pulpbeing]

whenever i go to church, if im not asleep i always thinkin bout fuckin my fav on the altar (this case, dottie,,)

excuse me if this seems too. you know.. sacrilege ,, (i dont know if you actually like god or forced to like big daddy up in the sky) feel free to ignore my ramblings im a crazed man

yk,, thinkin bout maybe you're a priest. n you end up with a sinner of a lover.. he gotta repent, right? just bending him over the altar, making him wet the bible with his drool and tears.. poundin into him so hard and relentlessly but your words are sooo sweet and just praises, makes him so dizzy cuz you're tuggin on his hair harshly as ya make him read the bible,, tellin him good for tryin to read even tho his babblin and his eyes are blurry from cryin,, makin him bite onto a rosary as u cum inside of him, but never stoppin until you think he's repented for his sins despite him being so fucked out and cumming so many times he can't think anymore,,, only how good your cock feels inside of him 😰😰

of course can't forget about the confession booth. favorite place to think about doing it. making him touch himself on the other side as you tell him what to do, and allll the nasty stuff u want to do to him and he's whining for you because he can't possibly finish without you :( then stuffing his mouth full of your cock, telling him to be quiet as you let others in for confessions... n he's tryiing so hard to stay quiet but ohh he just loves how you grip on his hair so harshly and bury his face down to your crotch till he could barely breathe.. choking till theres tears in his eyes and he's gripping on your thighs until your skin bruises... n when they leave, you fuck his throat and express disappointment that he's not keeping shut, but you forgive him and that you believe that he can do better! and ofc he would,, so he tries and tries again at every person that enters the booth.. not getting a taste of your release bc he keeps failing,, n he wants to sob cuz fuck he wants your cum down his throat so bad.. but its worth it, you're always very generous when u reward him when he finally does it right 💞💞

basically sweet priest that has effectively broke his mind,, makin a man like dottore worship you like a god n would get on his knees for you without any questions... thinkin mindbreaking him with really sweet praises that he now can't live without em,,,

i was raised christian, specifically pentecostal and missionary, so i don’t have much experience at all with catholic practices beyond media i’ve consumed o7 and dw. i don’t believe in the man upstairs. sacrilege is my middle name with how much gay sex shit i be thinking in a church. if he hasn’t struck me down yet, doubt he exists as i’ve been told lolol. not like i’d want my church’s version of a hypocritical god.

n e ways

if he can’t even accept your god-fearing, pure love, you doubt he can accept god into his heart for sure. he’s too greedy, always begging for more of you, of your semen, more of you folding him in half and bending him over so roughly you leave bruises on him for days. watch how he shivers in sinful delight when you tut in disappointment into his ear, calling him a “worthless whore destined to an eternity of damnation” and a “greedy, filthy sinner.” the wood of the altar is only saved by the nun’s habit you have him wear, the modest dress flipped up and held from behind to expose his greedy hole, ring of frothy white around it that exposed just how sinful he’s willing to be if he’ll defile such a place with his filthy, dirty words and sins. but… it’s better if he only sins with you, and since your god is merciful, you just have to forgive him, make him repent and beg forgiveness from the lord as you pump him full yet again, force his head back by grabbing his dyed hair and make him look at the ceiling, to the heavens above as he screams your name. looks like you have to have him repent again.

like any pastor, one must guide their sheep through all, especially when they misbehave— especially ones like dottore, who at the moment, doesn’t even deserve to have you properly continue with his guidance with how sloppy and loud he is, sinful mouth drooling and slobbering with every bob of his head, so, in his punishment, you keep him from his reward. of course, you still have a job to do, still have others to guide, so while he pouts with his lips still attached to your sex, you attend to follower after follower, your merciful god granting them all forgiveness as you do with your pitiful dottore. like all lambs, he’ll eventually learn to listen completely lest they be led astray and be devoured by the wolves— so he takes your gift, his throat bulging with how you fill him like the holy spirit does to a true believer. he takes it all as he should, eyes fluttering to a close as he basks in your forgiveness and mercy.

ah, it seems as though he sees you as his god now.

[allebasimaianunes]

Oração

página principal

sinopse: Padre Charlie Mayhew vive um conflito interno ao se apaixonar por Maria, uma mulher que, apesar de ser sua perdição, também representa a sua salvação. Entre momentos de prazer e dor, a relação deles desafia os votos e as responsabilidades de Charlie como sacerdote.

Tudo muda quando Maria, o amor de sua vida, se afasta, deixando Charlie devastado e perdido. Contudo, o destino, impiedoso, o puxa para uma realidade ainda mais cruel, desafiando suas crenças e sua fé. Agora, ele precisa confrontar não apenas o amor que perdeu, mas também os próprios demônios internos e os desígnios de um Deus que parece testar sua alma a cada passo.

Oração é uma história de amor proibido, pecado e redenção, onde as fronteiras entre o desejo e a moralidade se confundem.

nota da autora: já tinha esse documento largado na gaveta do meu google docs então eu decidi trazer a vida e bem... aproveitar a obsessão pelo nicholas alexander chavez como o miesterioso padre charlie mayhew e voialá!!! talvez tenha pelo menos mais outras duas partes, ou mais não sei... enfim. aproveitem!!!

aviso de conteúdo: +18, MENORES DE IDADE NÃO INTERAGIR, sexo oral (homem recebe), palavras de baixo calão, priest kink, heresia (muita), culpa (católica) e remorso & tesão, blasphemy kink, corrupção, heirophillia, deixe-me saber se eu esqueci algo a mais... (!!!)

idioma: português (Brasil) | pt-br

contagem de palavras: 1642 palavras

SOMOS CARNE

PARTE I

A batina foi ao chão no mesmo compasso que joelhos caíram no piso de madeira, o farfalhar de tecidos sendo amassados e remexidos, a fivela de um cinto tilintando enquanto mãos ansiosas deslizavam sobre um pedaço de pele exposta entre uma camisa social branca desabotoada e o cós de uma cueca simples, revelando uma púbis levemente volumosa com pelos dourados que iniciavam uma trilha no umbigo até o falo rígido que marcava o tecido de algodão alvo, um molhado melando a ponta de um lado, a sensação quente de pele ao ser segurado, olhares trocados naquele silêncio de respirações pesadas e descompassadas, o calor emergindo entre peles, o suor brotando nas têmporas e nos vincos das costas que ondulavam. Ele chiou:

— Por favor, acabe com isso rápido…

Sem delongas a boca envolveu sua glande rosada e melada, a língua acariciou a cabecinha de seu pau enquanto automaticamente o homem desmanchava e deslizava os quadris cobertos pela camisa e pela calça folgada no banco do confessionário, a destra foi de encontro no monte de cabelos da mulher que agora saboreava seu pau, um som característico sendo emitido do fundo de sua garganta durante a dança de vai-e-vem que a mesma lhe fazia, a felação molhada e lenta o tirando de órbita. A canhota atarracada entre os frames da janela do confessionário, os dedos amassando-se e arranhando a treliça enquanto recebia aquela descarga de prazer oral, impulsionando automaticamente seus quadris em leves estocadas na direção da dona do seu prazer. Ela chegou a engasgar um pouco com a pressa dele, retirando-se lentamente de lugar, a boca babada e as lágrimas irritando seus olhos pidões que lhe encararam com aquele sorrisinho malicioso, sussurrando com lascívia na voz suave:

— Calma, senão teremos um probleminha nada agradável aqui!

— Perdão. Não me contive… — murmurou de volta tremendo de tesão acumulado, segurando com suas mãos suadas o rosto angelical da mulher que lhe sorria faceira, os olhos castanhos escuros cintilando na meia luz que entrava entre as treliças de madeira laterais do confessionário, um olhar incendiário que queimava sua alma. Um pecador. Era isso que ele era todas as vezes que cedia à tentação e se deixava levar pelas palavras amaldiçoadas e os toques sedentos daquela herege que estava ajoelhada diante de si, orando em uma língua demoníaca e carnal para si. Ele sentia cada vez mais próximo da borda: um clímax chegando em onda vagarosas sobre seus músculos, apertando os dedos de seus pés entre a meia e o sapato social, ambos os pés voltados um para o outro, enquanto mesmo com a boca longe de seu membro, as mãos macias dela o acariciavam num embalo vagaroso, aproveitando a lubrificação que escorria dele misturada a sua saliva, pressionando com cautela o topo rosado e inchado, as veias marcadas na pele fina que ao ser puxada para cima tampava levemente a glande, voltando-se quando era puxado para baixo. Ele ofegava, cravava seu olhar no dela, os lábios entreabertos aspirando o ar e expirando de forma sôfrega, ela segurou a risadinha sapeca se deleitando com aquela belo frame de imagem que tinha diante de si: um homem tão importante em seu papel religioso quase implorando para que ela não parasse de acariciá-lo, fosse com os lábios e a língua, entre a boca o sugando e o mamando, fosse com as mãos, apertando as bolas e massageando os polegares em sua cabecinha, o conduzindo naquele prazer carnal que era real. Com as mãos em seu rosto belo, um anjo caído com aqueles fartos cabelos ondulados amassados em volta do rosto que sob a penumbra da luz, bochechas rosadas, os lábios molhados de saliva, inchados dos beijos, sorrindo-lhe, ele ditou com a voz estremecida porém autoritária:

— Faça-me gozar, querida. Me faça alcançar o Paraíso com seus lábios. — Os polegares amassaram seus lábios em uma carícia sem jeito, remexendo-se entre as mãos dela que sorrindo deleitosa, acenou com a cabeça em ênfase lhe respondendo com deboche na fala:

— Com todo prazer Padre Charlie! É hora de clamar o amém! 

Charlie não teve tempo para raciocinar algo para interpolar, pois tão rápida quanto um Ave Maria, ela se afastou de suas mãos, abocanhando-o de volta com mais desespero e vontade, indo e voltando, enrolando a língua no seu pau rígido, voltando sua felação com voracidade. O homem não conteve as mãos e as levou para a cabeça dela, enlaçando entre seus dedos as ondulações macias a trazendo para si a cada vez que sua respiração pesava, a garganta ardia de tanto conter os gemidos que teimam em escapar entre intervalos, os olhos fechados e apertados enxergando entre pálpebras uma escuridão que aos poucos abria-se em flocos de uma luminescência que se expandia. Ele realmente estava prestes a se deparar com um Paraíso. Encostou os ombros na parede de madeira do pequeno cômodo que estavam, deixou a cabeça de cabelos âmbares escuros encostar no tampo, os olhos fechados, mordeu o lábio inferior sentindo a própria saliva acumular-se entre bochechas, afagou os cabelos sedosos dela, iniciando seu coro espessado:

 — Ave Maria cheia de Graça, — engasgou quando ela deslizou até o topo e lambeu a glande voltando apenas com a língua deslizando até a base: — o Senhor é convosco, — tremeu quando ela começou a chupar suas bolas, prosseguindo: — bendita sois Vós entre as mulheres, — ela riu voltando a tocá-lo com a mão durante o ato: — bendito é o fruto em Vosso ventre, Jesus. — Charlie não aguentou, estava no limite, as mãos saíram da cabeça dela que o abocanhou de novo, aumentando a velocidade da ida e volta, deixando as mãos erguidas no ar quase como um clamor: — Santa Maria Mãe de Deus, — palmas se encontraram, estava em posição clássica de oração, a luz entre os olhos aumentando, um filete de lágrima escorrendo dos olhos, a voz rasgada e rouca: — rogai por nós, os pecadores, — brevemente mordeu sua língua sentindo que estava quase pulando: — agora e na hora da nossa morte. Amém! 

Foi tudo muito rápido, Charlie teve que tampar a própria boca que engatou naquele “amém” um gemido rouco e prolongado, as pernas estremeceram e aquele clarão o atingiu e por segundos que pareciam uma eternidade – a eternidade divina – o açoitou, feito o chicote que o mesmo se afligia a dor do mártir do pecado, o deixando naquele estado suspenso entre o êxtase e a culpabilidade, uma linha tênue entre se sentir em pleno gozo do prazer e esgotado de amargor da incapacidade dele de simplesmente negar a ele mesmo sentir o prazer carnal, a matéria parecia muito mais ameaçadora e imediata do que o plano das idéias que permeiam suas crenças os pensamentos. Sentir era distinto ao pensar. Gozar era um antonino de orar. 

Charlie voltou aos poucos para a realidade. Sentiu os dedos pressionados contra os lábios, a parede de madeira dura atrás de si, as peças de roupas contra a pele suada, o suor agridoce entre os vincos da pele, o molhado em seu pau que agora escorria sua porra, acumulando um pouco entre os dedos da mulher que segurava sua base, os pelos púbicos aparados alvoroçados, a sensação dela escorada em suas coxas, um peso que o trouxe para a realidade. A mulher ergueu o rosto, limpou as laterais dos lábios, sorriu para ele e sussurrou:

— Amém, louvado seja Deus! 

Ele observou com um olhar distante, meio sonolento e dengoso, ela levantar-se e arrumar a barra justa da saia de tecido grosso, batendo as mãos para limpar a sujeira nos joelhos avermelhados. 

— Você é uma herege cruel… Vem como quem não quer nada e suga toda minha alma!

— E você é um padre horrível Charlie, sinto muito por ter que dizer isso. — Seus dedos abotoam os primeiros botões desfeitos da camisa social que vestia, sustentando um sorriso malicioso para ele que sinceramente, não tinha forças para se recompor: — Nem para me punir decentemente serve! 

A mesma já ia se virando para sair do confessionário quando subitamente foi surpreendida por duas mãos lhe agarrando pela cintura. Ela instintivamente soltou um gritinho de surpresa e desatou a rir, risada que foi abafada pela mão esquerda dele, enquanto a direita subiu da cintura para o seio dela, apertando-o com vontade, até mesmo uma certa brusquidão, arrastando a ponta do nariz arrebitado na nuca dela inspirando o perfume doce e magnético que ela usava, acompanhando uma trilha de selinhos naquela região até chegar na orelha para lhe sussurrar com a voz rouca:

— Você foi uma garotinha muito, muito má hoje, logo comigo, seu Padre! Como punição dos seus pecados — a mão que abafava sua boca afrouxou e deslizou até o pescoço dela, segurando-o para erguer seu queixo, a direita que apertava o seio passou a massagear e a roçar o bico duro ao toque, tirando-lhe gemidos entrecortados: — você irá rezar cem Aves Marias, cinquenta Pais Nossos, vinte Salves Rainha e irá me encontrar hoje às meia noite no nosso local para celebrarmos a palavra, juntos. — Terminou a sentença virando o rosto dela para si, capturando seus lábios em um beijo breve apenas para selar sua sentença. 

Ele a soltou para que ela fosse, a mesma hesitou um pouco, de costas para si, arrumou os cabelos e ajustou a camisa mais ainda e sem olhar para trás saiu. Sozinho, com a calça arriada, o pau meio mole para fora, a camisa amarrotada e a batina sobre os pés, ele sentiu nada. Nada. Apenas aquele agridoce vazio, um vácuo entre ele e o mundo ao seu redor, em uma crescente que iria colidir de frente com anos de crenças e dogmas sendo cultivados em si mesmo. 

Quando quero fazer o bem, o mal está junto a mim. No íntimo do meu ser tenho prazer na Lei de Deus; mas vejo outra lei atuando nos membros do meu corpo, guerreando contra a lei da minha mente, tornando-me prisioneiro da lei do pecado que atua em meus membros.” (Romanos 7.21–23)

[squishysoftmonsters]

Triggers: Random Hornyposting/Religion Mention/Sacrilege/Dom x Sub/Blasphemy/Sexual Content [Mature +18 Minors/Ageless DNI]

💚Imagine being a leashed,submissive bottom to a horny and thirsty ftm angel who yanks your leash whenever he pours his holy water into your guts,while being forced into the praying position in a monastery. Imagine if he put his halo on your head just to hold onto it for extra leverage,to watch you squirm and beg for forgiveness for your many sins.💚

[b1mbodoll]

pairings: seok matthew x f! reader

warnings: stepcest + dacryphilia + cockwarming + masturbation + objectification + sacrilege + orgasm denial

when stepbro! matthew starts having sinful thoughts about his stepsister he goes to church the following sunday and confesses his lewd imagination. gets told to pray every night and eventually the thoughts will stop but it’s been months and he still daydreams about seating you on his lap, cock slipping in your pussy but not moving. thinks its less terrible if he doesn’t think about fucking you because premarital sex is a sin and premarital sex with his stepsister is probably a hundred times worse.

you’re completely infatuated with your stepbrother, play with your pussy every night while thinking of his huge biceps, wanting nothing more than for him to have his way with you, strong arms shoving your face into the mattress as he pounds your cunt. matthew’s completely unaware of how bad you need him n feels so guilty that he touches his dick to pictures of you, crying when his load spurts onto his toned abdomen n he’s forced to clean himself up, praying in the shower that the lust he has for you stops affecting him so powerfully.

on sunday you decide to join your stepbrother at church, staying late with him as you work up the courage to go through with your plan. he gulps when the two of you are completely alone, asking through a broken voice, “what are you doing?” while you slide your panties down your legs. “what’s it look like ‘m doin, silly?” you giggle, exposing his thick cock n sinking down on it, “we shouldn’t do this,” he whimpers, “‘s not right.” you don’t stop riding him, can’t stop, because his dick feels so good inside you n you need to feel him empty his cum in your womb. “if it’s not right then you don’t have to cum,” you sneer, “i’ll just use you like you’re nothing but a dildo” he’s literally sobbing at your words because he can’t believe he just lost the chance to fuck you full of his cum.

even after reaching your climax you continue to ride his cock, only stopping when his dick twitches and his stomach tightens, his abs on full display. “told ya, i wasn’t gonna let you cum, matty” you whisper, quickly putting your panties on so your juices dont leak down your legs as you make your way home.

[rottiens]

thinking about priest toji's cock especially. you wonder how you're going to take that the first time he shows it to you hours later after the sermon is over, outside the church. it's so thick, the perfect length, circumcised as his god commands, and of course, unshaven. the head is so pink it seems to hurt, with a translucent trail in the tip. and you find yourself sinning at the thought of how it will taste when you have it in your mouth.

[arminsumi]

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱ CONFESSION

badboy!goth!Eren x innocent!fem!reader ♪

You and Eren attend the same church. After mass, you find yourself tempted into a confessional booth with him.

⚠️Cws; mdni, SMUT, sacrilege, religious themes (Catholic), 🌶️🚨this some nastyyy smut, very unholy smut, sacrilege + sinning kink, light humiliation kink, corruption kink, 'slut' and 'angel' nicknames, lowkey bruising (thighs, tight gripping), size kink, unholy dirty talk, defloration, blowjob (deepthroating), unprotected sex (creampie), semi-public sex (in a church's confessional booth), implied clothed sex

Wc; 4.2k

Eren was that boy who all the church moms frowned upon and forbade their daughters from talking to. To them, he was the example of a soul corrupted by sin. They upturned their noses and looked away, appalled, when he had the audacity to sit a Sunday morning mass.

But all their daughters secretly crushed on him. How could they not? He was devilishly handsome. Brooding eyes. Gothic style. Long hair. Black nails. He was audacious, hypocritical, shameless, provocative – offensive, even, with a silver cross dangling from his neck.

Some mothers gossiped and debated him. Was he attending out of mockery? Was he absorbing even a shred of the Bible as it came from the preacher's lips? His interlocked fingers and wide-spread legs repulsed them. They called his heavy-eyed stare 'soulless'. To them, he was the serpent that they needed to protect their Eves from.

"There he is again!" Your mother frowned, turning away from her friend. "He's just standing there, what is someone like him doing standing around a church for? He has to be a creep!"

You walked into said church. Mass was just about to start. Eren gave you a long, desirous look-over. You wanted to smile at him but had to do it discretely under your mother's speculating gaze.

"G-good morning..." you greeted him shyly. "Morning." he replied in his deep, trilling voice.

You made sure to walk as slowly as possible past him so he could get a good look, which wasn't as surreptitious an action to him as you thought; nothing could be put past Eren's attention. He sniffed out your crush on him long ago. He knew very well the effect he had on innocent girls like you.

"Quickly, quickly, Y/n, why did you walk so slowly past that creep? You know he's been eyeing you out since you got out of the car." your mother furrowed her brows at you. You shrugged. "Never mind, did you bring my scarf – thank you, angel. Let's follow inside."

You shuffled into church with the rest of the people. Your mother was complaining about your skirt being too short, and your shirt being wrinkled; meanwhile your skirt reached knee-length, and your shirt was freshly ironed this morning. She fussed with your clothes, insisting that they somehow tainted your pure image. She didn't want her little angel looking enticing to any lurking devils.

She just about choked from shock and repulsion when she saw Eren was behind you. Everyone was lining up at the holy water font to dot the symbol of the cross on their body with their fingers. You looked back at Eren very briefly and flashed him a smile. He paid you an interested look in response, slightly smirking back. Your heart palpitated excitedly. Mother aggressively grabbed your shoulder and forced you to look straight ahead. "Don't look at him." she hissed, "Listen to me, angel, I don't want you associating with people like him, alright?" you nodded obediently.

Eren was smirking while eavesdropping on you and your mother.

He waited for the two of you to move ahead, walking languidly in succession, and came to a brief stop at the holy water font. Like you, he dipped his fingers in and made the sign of the cross. But unlike you, he did it nonchalantly and lamely, like how one might do the action of plucking a stray hair from their clothes.

A fluttering excitement rose in many girls hearts when the man their mothers disapproved of sauntered into view. When he kneeled to the statue of Christ, he bore his dark eyes up at it. The mothers scrunched their noses at him. They couldn't be completely blamed for regarding Eren so lowly; anyone witnessing someone dressed in funeral-like attire at a cheery Sunday mass would think that their kneel to Christ was a deliberate act of mockery.

You struggled to keep your gaze lowered when Eren walked past the row you were seated in with your mother. His cologne wafted across to you, setting your already smoldering soul aflame with desire. You only glanced up once, just once, but you met his eyes; and that small moment created a tension between you and Eren to last the entirety of the Mass, despite him being sat far behind you.

Though you were unbearably tempted to look behind your left shoulder, you kept your eyes fixed on the sight of your rosary draped over your fingers, hands folded on your closed bible.

When you spread it open, your bookmark wedged in between the pages of Psalms immediately caught your attention. You hadn't opened it since your last attendance to Catechism, when you left it on an empty seat to quickly shuffle through your bag. What was scribbled on your bookmark made your heart pang excitedly; poor handwriting spelled out:

Care to meet up in the confessional booth next Sunday after mass? ♥️ Eren

The stale silence of the church was punctured by the preacher's reverberating voice, but you didn't hear a word of what he was preaching.

You gave in and shot a look behind your left shoulder. Eren was sat a few rows behind you, his eyes unwavering from the preacher. He could feel that you were looking at him, so he smirked. You looked at him until he removed his attention from the preacher and put it on you instead. Such a languid, sweeping movement of his brooding eyes.

Communicating during mass wasn't an idea that your mind dared to trespass on, not for fear of earning concerned glances from others, but for fear of being condemned by your mother besides you.

In that moment, however, she was fully absorbed in what the preacher was saying. Completely absorbed. You wouldn't have been surprised if she ignored the sound of someone being murdered in the courtyard right then. So you gutsily flashed your bookmark at Eren, smiling shyly, to communicate to him that you got the message.

He cockily wettened his lips and flicked his brows up at you in response. Then he slid down his seat in a deliberately comedic way to amuse you. Everyone thought him to be such an intimidating menace, but there he was; putting a humored smile on your face. He thought you looked so pure – too pure. He wanted to taint that purity, it's all the thought about during mass.

The preacher called for a moment of silent prayer, and you turned your attention away from Eren. Following suit with the others, Eren closed his eyes and bowed his head in prayer, thinking hard about the image of your legs spread wide for him.

In his mind, he was stood leaned up against the confessional booth wall. Your innocent gaze was fixed up at him adoringly while you were on your knees for him.

This fantasy intensified as mass went on, while the preacher melodiously spoke. Eren stared at the back of your head, his eyes were roaming hungrily over any bit of you that was in sight; your shoulders, your hair, your neck – the cross clasped around it. He wouldn't have been surprised if hell opened up beneath him right then and swallowed him whole for his filthy thoughts.

Mass felt like it dragged on for you and Eren, since all you and him anticipated was embracing together in the confessional booth. While everyone else rose from their seats and slowly left the church one by one, you two remained behind. You excused yourself to your mother, saying that you wanted to go to confession after praying a little longer. She was so happy to hear that, and pressed a kiss to your forehead. Before leaving, she scowled at Eren a few rows behind you, who pretended to be readying himself to leave. "Don't you talk to him behind my back... I expect you to be home in time for dinner." she warned.

You nodded obediently. As soon as the church was vacated and quiet, you and Eren came to each other. He smirked and teased you, "Hey sinner. Mind if I come to confession with you?" he asked, just to be sure sure that you wanted this. You nodded eagerly. Eren almost felt bad because of how cute and neat you looked today – he was going to destroy that.

Soon you found yourselves giggling into a confessional booth. No priest was on the other side.

"My mother doesn't want me talking to you..." you told Eren in a hushed voice.

"How surprising." he replied sarcastically. "And why, pray tell, is that?"

"Because... because she said that she doesn't want me going to confession more than I already do..."

"Oh... really?" Eren looked at you both desirously and amusedly. "Tell me, what kind of sins is someone like you repenting for?"

"Many sins..." you stuttered. "Like, um, using the Lord's name in vain. Disrespecting my mother, h-having impure thoughts..." you trailed off, not able to think of any more.

He scoffed a little. "I'd love to add a sin to your list that's actually worthwhile to confess."

"Wh-what d'you mean, what kind of sin?" you asked eagerly.

"Get on your knees, I'll show you."

Eren loved witnessing a pure, religious girl like you lowering onto her knees before him. You looked up at him, face levelled with the zipper of his black pants.

"Don't get shy on me, angel." he said when you looked hesitant at his bulge. "Hm... I'll bet that you've never done this before, huh?" You nodded. "Yeah, I-I'm a virgin..." you confessed nervously, hoping that your revelation wouldn't turn him off. His pants were visibly tightening right before your eyes, and you were achingly curious about what a cock looked like. You kept your mind so sacred that you hadn't even touched porn in your life. "A virgin, huh? I can change that if you want." Eren offered deviously. You looked up at him with big eyes, "Y-yes please! I-I want to... I want to d-d-do that with you..." you replied, nearly choking on your saliva. Were you really that excited that you were drooling in front of his crotch? Eren smirked and let his hand come to your cheek.

He began stroking it back and forth with his thumb.

"Okay, angel, I'll take care of you. Promise you'll listen to whatever I say, m'kay? You can tell me to stop any time."

You nodded happily. "Good girl." he cooed quietly, "I want you to take off my pants for me – nice and slowly. Can you do that?" you immediately squeaked in response, "Mhm!"

You raised your hands to the hem of his pants, resting them there lightly. Your finger went for the button of his pants. The unbuttoning sound seemed so loud in that tiny, quiet booth.

When Eren noticed that your finger hesitated on the zipper, he murmured at you, "Need some encouragement?" he asked. You nodded in answer, so he brought his big hands down to help you out. His touch was firm and blissfully warm.

Eren languidly pulled his zipper down himself as you watched with bated breath. He dipped his veiny hand into his pants and stroked himself behind his pants while you watched anticipatorily. You ached for the barrier of his pants to be gone, but lacked the confidence and courage to rid it yourself. "You look so pretty when you're on your knees for me like this." Eren admired.

Your senses perked up when he pulled his length out. A compelled laugh fell from his smirking mouth when he saw your eyes go big. It poked you on the cheek, smearing precum across it. It was firm, no, it was rock-hard. Warm, no, scalding hot – hotter than your cheeks were when you laid eyes on it.

Eren heard you swallow. "Well someone's excited. Wanna open that impatient mouth f'me? That's it – good girl. Wider." he encouraged, pressing his tip inside further and further. He stifled a moan. "Just a little more..."

His big hand came to the back of your head, fingers nestling in your hair, further encouraging you to take more in your mouth. Eren let out a small hiss when he felt your soft, wet tongue press up against the underside.

Though he tried to sneak himself into the back of your throat, you gagged on his dick immediately. "Quiet – quiet, angel." he moaned, feeling your throat constricting around his tip. " 'don't want someone to hear us, do you?"

After giving you time to recompose, Eren wiggled his hips to get himself back in your throat. His tip pushed past the back of your throat and got you choked up, you had watery eyes and a sniffly nose in no time. Eren slid himself fully inside, your lips hit the base of his cock. Your head felt full, so you made an overwhelmed expression; Eren groaned at the sight. "Too much?" he asked, you struggled to nod in reply, so he reluctantly eased out of your throat, the pressure slowly relieving.

He slipped his cock out of your mouth, a mix of saliva and precum wettened it deliciously. You sputtered and coughed. He swallowed desirously. Seeing you in such a state because of him had him throbbing and pulsing. There was a stream of fresh precum running out of his swollen tip. It caught your eye. You folded your hands on your lap and opened your mouth wide, willingly and expectantly, so he eagerly slipped his cock back inside your mouth.

"Oh, fuck," Eren feathered. "That's it, angel – that's it. God damn your lips feel like heaven around me, y'know that? You feel fucking heavenly. Keep sucking, don't stop – don't get shy on me now, angel. 'Feels so fucking good."

Eren was losing it over the sensation of your lips suctioning around his fat cock. He felt himself throb each time you slid your hot lips down his length and felt his precum splurge out onto the back of your tongue when you slid back off. The sinful sound of you amateurly sucking him had him unfolding. You know how long he's thought about this? Too long. During so many choir practices, Eren would observe you from afar, paying no attention to Armin's tiny gospel talk. He watched your lips as you gracefully sang a holy tune with the others. Now those lips were wrapped around his cock in the confessional booth.

Eren felt his blood thrumming in his veins. His whole body flushed and subtly shook under the influence of your mouth. "Jesus," he took the Lord's name in vain under his breath, "You're making me feel so fucking good, Y/n, don't stop." he breathed. "Faster, angel, suck it faster – that's it, just like that. Look at you, so obedient, following whatever I say like I'm your fucking God, huh?"

Eren brushed the hair clinging to your wettened cheek. Each time you had sloppily pulled off his cock for a breather, it hit your cheek and glided across it, leaving a streak of wetness. When it slipped out again, he grabbed your cheeks, and lowered himself to your level for a hasty kiss.

Unbelievably, that kiss of his felt more sinful than sucking on his cock. He was feverishly tasting your tainted lips.

"Angel," he murmured in a heavily lusty voice, that obscene scent fanning against your face from his lips. "Stand up for me, 'wanna fill you up."

You got to your feet in an instant, eager to finally live out the impure fantasies that you once guiltily confessed to in that very confessional booth. Eren's big hands felt up your sides, squeezing and digging into your flesh, not like a lover, but like a devil.

"Get on my lap." He commanded, sitting on the wooden stool. You didn't hesitate to, and crawled right onto his warm lap while he softly moaned at the sinful atmosphere between you and him.

Eren smirked when you looked up at him with such excited, lustful eyes. "What's the matter with you?" he teased, "Looking at me like that's gonna make me want to ruin you. So stop it."

"I-I don't mind..." you responded inaudibly. Eren heard it loud and clear, but he needed to hear you say that again. "What was that, angel?" he called your nickname in such a saccharine tone, it almost felt laced with a condescending undertone.

"I-I said I don't mind if you w-wanna do that... I want it..." you repeated for him. His lips twisted into an attractively devious smile. "I'm sorry, I must be hard of hearing. Could you clarify what you want?" he asked in such a deep voice it was almost sinister. His hands wove through your hair and pulled it so that you were forced to look up at him while you spoke. "I want y-you to r-ruin me, Eren." you admitted. Oddly, it felt cathartic to admit that so honestly and vulgarly.

"Alright angel," Eren whispered against you. He looked you in the eye, you almost caught a glimpse of your coming sins in his pupils. "I'm gonna fuckin' ruin you."

He definitely upheld his promise. You sighed as you willingly let him sink himself inside your tight, wet pussy. Eren felt like his senses heightened when your hole clenched around his bare cock. "Loosen up, 'mmm fuck loosen up – I can't move if you're this tight." he complained, enjoying every bit of your pussy suffocating his hungry cock. You felt yourself clinging to him tighter than you ever clung to your fingers when you indulged in your solo acts in your bedroom. You'd be lying if you said you didn't squeeze and rub your thighs back and forth for friction during mass, when your head was full of Eren.

He wasn't just uncomfortably big; he was testing your limits with each inch, stretching you out so much that he smirked, knowing that you'd feel so empty when this was all done and over.

His thumb came to stroke your cheek and wipe the fat tears sloppily spilling out of your eyes. His cock had a naughty curve about it, and you could really feel it by how his tip applied pressure into your gummy walls. "Take a deep breath f'me. Let it out. There we go... fuck, do it again. Breathe i-in – fuuuck – 'n let it out again." Eren melted through his sentence while your pussy unclenched, little by little, to permit his cock deeper and deeper with each releasing breath. Eren held your body so tightly, it felt like he was never going to let go for the rest of his life now that he had you right where he wanted.

The mothers at church were so right about him. He was, really, just a sinner sniffing out a pure girl to ruin. You could sense that from the moment you came across him one rainy Sunday at Catechism. The lustful and brooding nature of him enticed you, tempted you, each day more and more until you finally ended up here; bouncing in his lap, muffling your erotic moans into his hot mouth, letting his dick beat against a spot your fingers could never reach, making you feel better than you ever have in your life. Eren loved seeing you unravel the more you felt him. He witnessed your holiness slip completely when you accidentally came, pussy gushing around him, tight hole convulsively tightening and untightening in pure bliss.

"Eren," you mewled, barely able to climb down from your high, pawing at his firm chest as you continued to bounce your pussy on his cock. " 'y-you said you were gonna r-ruin me... wh-why am I doing all the work."

He laughed devilishly, "Sorry, I just wanted to see how badly you wanted it." he admitted. When Eren took control and thrust up into you, it took everything you had to not scream. "Oh my G-God, Eren." you whimpered terribly, encouraging Eren's hips to rut against you harder. The sloppy squelching sound grew louder. You could be so glad that no one was in earshot for now, because that sound carried through the whole church along with your unforgivable moans.

Eren smirked up at you, big hands gripping your hips while he fucked up into your pussy. He licked and nipped at your lips, indulging in a filthy makeout session while you crumbled under the feeling of good sex.

You still retained some slivering flame of innocence behind those lust-corrupted eyes, and he wanted to smother it. His fingers dug into the plush of your skin like he was trying to bruise them. He'd be lying if he said that he didn't intend to do that; seeing you at the next mass or Catechism meetup knowing you had bruises on your thighs from a good fucking drove him wild.

You felt him licking a long stripe up your neck and let out a strangled moan; his tip was stubbornly rubbing a gummy spot deep inside your pussy that made you gush messily all over his lap. You felt your orgasm nearing. Just the buildup felt so intense that you started shaking.

"Fuck me 'n fill me up with your cum 'Ren, please please please!" you pleaded nastily, Eren felt proud that he smothered that last bit of innocence in you. "F-fuck me like I'm your slut!"

Eren let out a long groan in response, "God damn, angel, 'm gonna cum if you speak to me like that. I don't even have a condom on."

"I don't care, 'wanna feel your cum inside me." your voice strained.

"Fuck, alright, get off 'n get on the floor for me, angel."

You lifted off his fat cock and laid facing up on the cold floor. Eren took one look at you laying compliantly there and chuckled inside. He knew that you would have followed any of his commands in that moment.

He grabbed your body and guided it into position hastily, not letting more than a few seconds go by without plunging back inside your heat. "Look at that, you're creaming all over me. You like getting fucked on the floor like this? Hm? Bet you do." Eren humiliated you with a devilish smirk. Strands of dark brunette hair shook back and forth as he rutted his hips against you at a feverish pace. No matter how deep his cock hit, or how fast he plunged in and out of you, or how tightly you squeezed him, Eren couldn't be sated. He almost over-exerted himself with how much effort he put into fucking you there on the floor in the confessional booth.

"Oh, angel, 'm gonna cum." Eren announced suddenly. His high crept over him slowly, building up languidly in his body, it felt almost threateningly good. And you? You were an utter mess underneath him, hands holding onto his arms and gripping onto his muscle for dear life.

He sped up his pace. You watched as his silver cross swung back and forth in front of your tear-stained face. He let out a strangled groan before stilling inside you, burying his cock almost uncomfortably deep in your pussy. You completely came undone and felt your tight ring of muscle tightening and untightening convulsively around his fat cock. The sensation of him shooting a hot load inside made your head spin. You sweated so badly that you were sure it was visible through your white shirt. You felt like the biggest sinner in the world right then. An exaggeration, maybe, but perhaps your feeling was justified considering you just lost your virginity in a confessional booth with the boy your mom told you not to dare talk to.

Eren's heavy frame loomed over you. He withdrew slightly to alleviate his weight on your body. The golden cross between your tits gleamed in his eye. The both of you were panting so hard, it felt for a moment that neither of you would ever be able to catch your breaths again.

"E-Eren..." you called out his name weakly when you could finally speak coherently again. "I n-needa get home, m-my mom's gonna be mad I've been out so long."

Eren looked down at you, eyes flitting between your breasts and pussy. Then he finally raised his gaze to your face; it astonished him how you glowed with the same purity as before, even while naked and laid on the floor with a creampie inside you.

"Yeah, get going. Your mother's probably thinking the worst happened to you, like you lost your virginity in a confessional booth or something." Eren chuckled, sliding his cock out of you as slowly as possible to make sure you felt each inch.

A silence hung in the confessional booth while you and him dressed up. You buttoned up the collar of your shirt dress and pulled your cardigan over your shoulders, positioning your cross so that it showed clearly. You looked at him nervously, "E-Eren?"

"Hm?" he looked at you while buttoning and zipping up his pants.

"C-can we do this again sometime?"

His red lips curled into a devious smile. You felt his cum drip down your inner thigh.

"What a perfect idea. You could use another confession."

[devourable]

IM BEGGING YOU, Knees on the floor, hands in prayer. PLEASE. MORE NSFW CHURCH BOY😭 MANS CHANGED MY LIFE

nsfw | cw : sacrilege, sexualization of sacrilege, denial, praise, sub!yandere/dominant reader

yandere church boy x gn reader! only pronoun used for reader is 'you'!

i took the words that weren't capitalized to heart with this one 🫶 this is short but best believe i'm expanding on this at a different time hehehehe

mdni!

"dear— d-dear heavenly fffather—"

abraham panted between his disjointed attempts at prayer, his hands clasped together so tightly in a desperately attempt to keep them from trembling.

"f-fffh- forgive me—! ah! oh, god..."

he had been stuck in the same loop for a solid five minutes now. he couldn't get his words out, couldn't speak, couldn't pray — not when you insisted on burying his cock in your throat with every attempt.

he peeked down at you, parked between his legs as you ran your tongue over his shaft, his eyes watery and his face scrunched up in the way it always did when this happened.

"my love, please..." he started to whine, which promptly earned a tut of disapproval from you.

pulling him out of your mouth, you gave him a mischievous little laugh.

"aww, you know the rules, abraham~" you teased, dragging your fingers down his shaft. "we're not done till you finish praying. start over."

he let out another whine, gripping the edge of his bed when he realized the mistake he made again.

this had been going on since the two of you got to his room. how could he possibly finish his prayers when you wouldn't stop making him feel so good?

he let out a weak groan as your tongue dragged up his length, his fingers running through and gripping his hair as he watched you.

"s-ssso good... oh, god, I-I can't—"

"shhh, abe. you need to pray, don't you?"

he could tell you to stop, and knew he probably should have. you'd stop if he just told you to, he knew... but you both knew that he'd rather die than do that. besides...

"go on, you can do it. you're a good boy, aren't you?"

he could never say no to your words.

he could still express his faith and experience your touch, he told himself... he just had to focus.

abraham let out another whimper as he felt you take him into your mouth again. he was thankful for your grasp on his hips — they surely would've snapped forward if you didn't hold him down.

he was going to finish his prayer, like you told him to. with a wipe of his eyes and a soft, whimpery exhale, he started again.

"d-dear heavenly father..."

[xfgpng]

𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐬, 𝐢 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 —

— : [ nsfw ] sacrilege, unprotected sex, blasphemy, choking, pet names + mentions of blood

— : wc : 726

church was the only place you truly felt at ease. the other worldly things never mattered to you as you sat in front of the large statue. in times when you heart felt heavy, you’d find yourself in the chapel, speaking only to the man above. you put all your trust in him because he was the one who could save you.

you felt unworthy of his saving grace. growing up in the church, you devoted your time to praise and worship, only making friends with others in your youth groups. you hadn’t even had your first kiss until your first year of college.

“he died for your sins” he’d whisper into your skin, his own hot and sweaty body pressed against yours as he ran his fingers up and down your thighs

“don’t” you gasp, squeezing your eyes shut as he rocked into your plaint and soft body. you felt amazing around his cock and it didn’t matter what any scripture had said, he knew the only paradise was between your legs.

“is it not true baby?” he asks, voices gentle and calm as he grabbed your breast, pinching your nipple the way he knew you liked despite you always denying it. he loved you more than you could ever love the god you claimed.

only he could truly make you feel this good. your soft whimpers, loud moans of his name.

eren, eren, eren.

over and over again as he fucked you into your mattresses. much like the imitation blood you’d drink on sunday’s, eren would gladly give up his own for you if you asked him to.

“no temptation has overtaken you except what is common to mankind” he says, gripping your jaw to look at him. he sees the way tears spring to your pretty eyes, lips pouty as you try to shake your head.

“no” you whine, “please, don’t”

despite that, you’re clenching around him so tightly that he’s worried he would cum just from that. you liked when was filthy, no matter how much you’d deny it.

“and god is faithful, he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear” he grins, amused at how easily swayed you were when it came to him. a mere mortal in the eyes of the lord you served.

“fuck” you arch your back, eyes closing as he thrusts into you. he’s so deep that it feels like he’s in your throat

“but when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can endure it” eren whispers, right into your ear before he’s kissing you hard and sloppy. he moans into your mouth when he feels your nails scratching up his back

the same way the blood of your lord was sacrificed, he remembers the way yours coated his dick the first time he fucked you. that day, eren swears he had seen the light. his head felt dizzy and he could hardly breathe. you called him dramatic, pushing him away lightly but he knows you secretly loved the power you had over him.

“don’t hold back” he begs, grip on your thigh almost painful. your pussy was so wet and the squelching noises as his dick thrusted into you would cause a nun to blush.

“feels.. god— so good” you moan, gripping his bicep to ground yourself. you would never admit that no one, no being, could ever make you feel the way eren did.

he didn’t need you to. he already knew it by the way you’d say his name, the way you’d beg and fuck yourself back when he wasn’t fast enough.

you’d whisper i love yous to him late into the night and he knew how possessive you’d get over him despite claiming to only love your god that way.

“your iniquities have separated you from your god” he whispers, wrapping his hand around your throat and enjoying the way your jaw drops, “your sims have hidden his face from you so that he does not hear”

you moan, pussy spasming around him as he feels you cum, squirting all over his abs and your thighs. he can’t help but chuckle, fucking you through another orgasm as he stalls his own. he needed to see you completely broken underneath him because he was the only one who could put you back together.

[blueparadis]

𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐘 𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐃; 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐌𝐀

( 𝐜𝐰. )_ makima x demi-human!f!(dom)reader, supernatural au, slight canon typical elements, pov!shifts, pwp, 1night-stands, pinning, wlw, friends with benefits, ēxplicit sūmt, power dynamics, s/d dynamics, mention of succubus, undertones of violence and murder. 𝐰𝐜 :: 2k.

( 𝐬𝐲𝐧. )_ being an assassin in the world of devil hunters was not a walk in the park; until y/n was forced to make a deal with the demon.

( 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬. )_ @6-022-10-23 OMG bunny finally it's here 😭 I'm so sorry that I made you wait for so long. I finished it earlier than expected... I tried my best to align with the ideas you gave me but can't promise much. Well, i hope you enjoy this. Ik i did >:)) | redirect to blog navigation.

Being born to a renowned family with a long chain of pure bloodlines, where the next generation is blessed with astounding abilities to surpass the previous heir, is not in everyone's stars. Those who have it, despise it and those who do not, they envy it. But neither was the case with y/n. She came from a family of trained guards. Her family was part of a small clan who were devoted to ‘leaders’. They have dedicated their life, body, and soul to their leaders and they must protect them at all costs. That is their fate. That is their purpose in life. That is why they are born.

Another lukewarm Friday night rolled in.. Y/n was humming to herself as she combed her hair. It has been ten years since her parents passed away. They were killed by a local mafia gang who claimed to be as their ‘money-lender’ and hence, y/n had to work for them to pay off the debt. But fate is such a fickle whore when it comes to enacting a perfect revenge. While the money-lender slept peacefully every night, y/n spent every night being wide awake drunk on revenge. On one such night she decided to visit the church, just to calm herself but instead came back with blood all over her tattered clothes and a demon residing inside her, a succubus. The demon insatiable with lust, and her mind hungry for vengeance. What could be more appropriate than to make a deal with a succubus to enact her perfect revenge? It was a Friday just like today when she killed all the made men of the local mafia gang along with the leader and received loads of cash from the government as a reward. Her parents must be proud of her.

“Lily, I can now braid my hair like my mother.” Y/n chimed looking at the mirror. She blinked twice and uttered, “Amen” The reflection in the mirror did not change except for her eye color. It turned red. Although there was no one in the room, she kept talking. “Well, I hate that I can't cut my hair now. It has become so long and sometimes it gets in the way.” She let her body fall on the soft mattress and exhaled deeply. “You know you cannot cut your hair.” a voice echoed in her room.

“Should we go to the parlor to color our hair?” she asked scrolling through her contact list. They were full of gang leaders from several parts of the town. “yeah. We can. I don't think it would affect our bond.” Hearing such a green signal made Y/n’s heart jump with joy. She laughed and mentioned that the first thing in the morning she would do is eat a burger from Mcdonald's and then go straight to the parlor.

Yes, being in contract with a demon came with more pros than cons or at least that is how y/n wished to see it. From the day she had a contract with the succubus, she was never alone. Lilith, in short, Lily, the succubus was always there to watch over her whether she liked it or not. Better to get along than to enrage a demon— that was the idea; she wished to follow it till the last breath of her life. And why should not she? She is now a government-aided bounty hunter who has a deal with a demon. What could possibly go wrong?

“Is this seat taken?” A woman with peach-colored hair, perfectly braided who wore a pair of formal trousers and a shirt enquired softly holding her food tray that contained a soft drink and a pack of french fries. Y/n scanned the cafeteria and found two men in black suits guarding the entrance and exit of the place. You moved to a side without responding hoping she would take the sit next to you but she did not. Instead, she sat in front of you.

“She looks tasty.” The food stuck in your throat, your cheeks warming instantly at the voice of Lily at the back of your mind. She has a habit of doing this, especially around men. Maybe y/n was too comfortable as a vessel for her. Chugging half of the water bottle you were about to ask her. . . but she shot her chance first. “You are,” She rested her chin on the back of her palms leaning over the table. “You are the one who killed a group of fifty men of a local gang a few years ago. Isn't that right?”

Bingo. Damn right. She came doing her research. Just like the people say, her presence alone is formidable. Wonder how much she knows about you? Is she aware of the fact that y/n knows the devil she is in contract with? Taking in a deep breath through your nose you tartly spoke, “And, you are the one who died quite a few times, Makima.” you took another bite from half of the burger. “quite fatal I presume yet here we are.” She cocked her head to a side, eyes almost ready to devour your presence, your soul, your spirit, and everything else around you. But you kept eating. Grabbing the napkin you left your seat exclaiming, “Yet here we are drinking, eating. chatting.” without maintaining eye contact. As you walked passed by her you heard a sharp intake of breath. Makima gasped as she felt your presence fade away. what on earth was that? it was as if two famishing comets crossing each other while destroying other celestial bodies.

That was the first time when y/n met Makima. Strange things started to occur after that, as in, you kept seeing her several times, crossing paths at local bars and restaurants. Must be work you thought and brushed it off. But one day you spotted her at a cozy bar that was adorned with neon lights in a quiet revealing dress — that is unlike her. “She’s alone.” Lilith’s voice echoed in your head.

“you think so?” you whispered lowly. “she is always with her guard dogs.”

“no, no. I meant she is lonely.” Sharing a look with Lily through the reflection of the wine glass you thought, ‘Really? How could you tell?’

“Y/n L/n we know our kind. no matter how much power we have, we are lonely. We can have anything using that power, so in the end, without it we're nothing.” You swirled your drink as she added. “she must be having one of those days.”

“Like we have periods?” you asked a little louder than usual, earning a look from the bartender. It is a good thing that you always keep the Bluetooth headphones plugged in, even if they are turned off. They saved you many times.

“Perhaps. But we sometimes get tired of it. Of our power.” what a cruel thing to say for a powerful being to a powerless creature. You gulped the rest of the drink, grabbed your purse, and left the place. You can not make the same mistake twice. You can not take another demon into your house.

A few weeks passed.

When the full moon was beaming at her brightest, the stars were celebrating her beauty, human life was being absorbed by you and Lilith was having her share of meal y/n crossed paths with Makima again. She was in her work attire. Both of you had blood splotches here and there. Without exchanging any set of words you offered her a cigarette. She took it. Puffing out a drag you blurted. “My house is nearby. I'll get you fresh set of clothes.”

“Is that so?” she asked lighting her cigarette. Part of you presumed she would be such a good girl unaware of how to light a cigarette to upload her reputation. “Fine by me.” It was a friendly walk under the full moon. She told him that she is grateful for this, might as well repay you if given a chance.

“It's fine. sooner or later I'll probably work under you. Better to appease you than to lock horns ” you said in a robotic manner like you were taught. But you did not expect Makima to laugh at this. “oh!she likes you.”

‘Lily not now. NOT. NOW.' you warned.

You showed her the bathroom and gave her a fresh set of clothes. Meanwhile, you got refreshed too. When you were out of the bathroom, in just a pair of spaghetti and shorts you noticed Makima was drying her hair with the towel. You smiled exchanging glances. You stood behind her to get a look in the mirror. Makima’s hands turned lithe, eyes focusing on your reflection as you closed the gap between her and yourself. You could feel her breath rising and falling faster than usual. All you did was stare at her a little longer and then Makima tore her eyes away. Before she could escape you clamped your palms against the edge of the dressing table. Her hands blocked her chest, in a manner of self-defense or being embarrassed. You leaned closer, closer than she expected, closer than you expected.

“you look very fresh.” leaning further to reach her petite shoulders, you whispered. “you are staying for tonight, right?”

’course she is. You felt her fingers on your boobs, lightly grazed and the next thing you knew was you had her pinned against the wall, her hands clasped above her head and another grip on yours holding her in place. Melodious moans filled the room, no resistance from her side. Warm - wet neck kisses, boobs being pressed to one another, rubbing against each other as both of you hungrily shared mind-numbing kisses.

She was trying to get rid of your hold from her wrists. At least she was trying to but it was not enough. Your lips peppering kisses on her chest overpowered her strength. Makima was in no state to use control. You broke the kiss standing inches apart from her, looking right into her galactic eyes — last chance before you devour her, a last chance to say no.

Makima was quick and straightforward. So, you expected her to be like that in bed too but she was not. All she does was work. She goes for a drink but that is not enough to blow off steam for the line of work she is in. Y/n had thought about this many times after spotting Makima in that bar. She looked every bit of you when you were human.

Carefully, getting rid of the nightgown Makima looked at you sheepishly. You smiled and guided her to the bed, hovering above her, maintaining eye contact as you inserted your hands inside her panty. Warm, wet, needy. It did not take you long to push two sets of fingers inside her while your lips worked over her areola. Her hands tried to reach your feminity but she was too lost in chasing her high. You pushed your fingers further and quickened the pace feeling her strong grip over your arms, eyes shutting, back arching as her fluids coated your hand.

Sure, Lilith fed on lust but her preys were not on women, only men. It has been a while since you had slept with someone and they were still alive. To think that, a girl like her would be a virgin was every bit of shocking it was as much as it was exciting otherwise she would not have been tired just after three rounds of orgasm. At least, you expected her to be awake for pillow talk or even sharing a smoke. Stealthily, you left the bed standing in front of the mirror in the same spaghetti and shorts but with bite marks all over your neck, and waistline.

“told you she was a virgin.”

You rolled your eyes and headed towards the bathroom grabbing your phone.

-

@tokyometronetwork @public-safety-network @underratedcharactercorner

[venusandsaturnsrings]

★彡 devoted little lamb!

synopsis: to worship was your purpose and it only made sense that this extends to the most beloved of priests.

contains: afab/fem reader, sacrilege, blood sacrifice, power imbalance, reader is a virgin, f.receiving oral, and fingering.

a/n: this is a full 3k words of blasphemy. please enjoy cuz i sure did!! ꒰(͏ˊ•ꈊ•ˋ)꒱

father Alhaitham was something of a miracle worker for you. with any troubles you could trust he’d dispel them with so much as a goblet to your lips and a prayer unspoken. such power, to anyone outside the church, should warrant fear. it should warrant caution and even a call to the matra. even in a world of elements, gods, and visions he was unnatural and worthy of bone trembling terror. you should find your skin prickling with fear upon the favour he bestowed to you yet, so much as a single raised hair was never felt. much like any other that attends his sermons, you revere father Alhaitham; he comes only second to your beloved god. blessed by the archon of wisdom herself, father Alhaithams knowledge knows no bounds. through his eyes you’re sure you could see the innermost workings of anything those viridian hues laid upon. he is positively worth all of the commotion the people, yourself included, give to him.

with slender fingers, he shuts the heavy text he’s surely already memorized. with every sermon you feel as though you see a new and more impressive side of father Alhaitham. no doubt, his mind and body are akin to the most divine of pastries; smooth layers to which only the most delicate and sharpest of knives could split open to admire the inner beauty. only metaphorically, of course, would you dream of splicing him so carefully. his voice reverberates over the room. honey smooth and laced with dominance came all his words; almost practiced, though, you knew he wouldn’t need it. what is practicing worth to a man who already has it all? his light bow and gesture for the acolyte to trail him had your guts in knots. a man as self assured as himself would make a lovely god, you think.

the cool tones, ones that nearly matched his eyes, of many stained glass windows shimmered down his form much like stars opening at his wake. you wouldn’t have been entirely surprised if the sky had opened up to gift him his own ever present galaxy. royal blue, gold, and jade painted over his already handsome features to create something you would have painted had you had the time. his skin and hair nearly glittered with how delicately the light graced him as though he was only porcelain, a vessel handcrafted by Buer for her most perfect messiah. one she’d fill with riches and a soul of the most lovely. his shoes made a soft ‘clack’ with each step he took across the hand tiled floor. you heard rumours that each one had been individually blessed by father Al-haitham but you wouldn’t dare bring such a ridiculous statement to his attention; you only desire to keep his favour. after every sermon you’d wait for the majority of the congregation to dispel before leading yourself to his office, your own personal taste of heaven.

the hallways are linear. to get from point ‘A’ to point ‘B’ was a task even a freshly born puppy could do so the first few times you got lost, father Alhaitham reprimanded you with a firm hand on your shoulder. he wasn’t truly mad but you felt something you’d never felt before when he mumbled about how, ‘you’re such a silly one. a lost little lamb, hm? no matter, you’re here now.’ with a voice that reached your stomach it was no wonder how he’d managed to wrap you around his finger. with gentle knuckles, you knocked against the bright wood door. the man in question opened the door as if he’s been waiting on the other side for your arrival; due to routine, he had been.

“you’re here. come now, today will be a bit… different from our usual sessions. i’m afraid i have concerns about your… state,” such words he’d never spoken to you before. with knitted eyebrows he re-closed the door before giving you a once over, right hand under his chin. the room was already dim due to the window facing away from the sun but with his presence seeming as though it loomed alongside your demise, it felt even darker. he stepped towards his desk which had already been covered in a number of tools you’d seen before; a rosary, a glass of holy water, a golden goblet of dandelion wine, and bread. yet, one was unfamiliar to you; what looked to be a freshly polished silver knife, a cross engraved in the handle. father Alhaitham glanced over his wares before letting out a long sigh and nodding to himself as if receiving his own approval. maybe after this you’d be on the end of this nod rather than a collection of objects. he spoke without turning to look at you, “i sense what can only be described as sin bubbling up within you,” he shook his head with clear upset, “this cannot go unattended. you are one of my, and our gods, most wonderful treasures. please, allow me to purify you.” had you not been so trusting of him you’d have thought your god was an afterthought in his actions but fear flourished faster than you could think. with trembling legs and tears beading in the corners of your eyes, you begged. you begged for him to make you clean once more, for whatever this sin was to no longer afflict you, for father Alhaitham to praise you once more. those with sharp minds would decode your words accurately; you were begging for his love, not your gods. he swivelled and his gaze found you once more, “righteous as always. forgive me, but i require you to remove all your clothing. on our beloved god, i will not look for the sake of your modesty. instead, i will busy myself with the final preparations for our ceremony.”

he rolled up his sleeves to reveal the pearly skin of his forearms. on other occasions perhaps you’d stop to admire the display of skin but you were given a task, to strip. your shaky fingers began removing your clothing and folding it nearly on a small side table located in the corner of the room as he prepared the stone altar against the window with a combination of holy water, myrrh, sweetgrass, and sage. father Alhaitham took his time delicately preparing the surface, hands lovingly applying the mix and massaging it into every crevice with a level of sensuality that had you averting your eyes. with all clothing shed, you modestly covered your most intimate parts while mentally steeling yourself for his eyes to land on you. when he turned, if he had any feelings about the view of your body in its most natural state, his expression did not waver from one of concern. before ridding his hands of all residue, he gestured to the stone alter, “please, lay down.”

cold, damp, and unpleasant were all words you could attribute to the experience of your bare skin atop the surface. your nose wrinkled a slight bit and you tried to find comfort in knowing it would heat up through your body and that this is all for your own good. after this, you’d be clean of sin once more. father Alhaitham returned to your side, rosary in hand. nimble fingers gently guided your shaky ones to hold it the way you had many times before when praying at his side. typically, you found that he had no patience for any nervousness but it today, for you, he made no comment or move to chide you. though you were lying down, soon bread was placed against your palate by his own hand. he gently drew it back to caress your cheek with what could only be described as the most tender of care. with such worry directed to you by father Alhaitham, you could nearly cry; it’s a blessing in its own right. the goblet soon followed, wine pouring into your mouth and the slightest bit down the corner and across your cheek. this time, no hand came to remove it though his eyes followed its path down your neck. he swallowed harshly and paused in his movements momentarily before turning back to take up the knife. if you were nervous before, you were terrified now.

“relax. i promise i would never do anything to you that wasn’t required, especially if it involves pain,” he almost looked as if your pain would be his own and perhaps it was. you didn’t dwell on this thought for it was a selfish one. the pain of any loyal worshipper of the same god would be his own, you are no special exception. “for this portion, i will draw gently upon your form. along each arm and leg, from the bottom of your ribs to your navel, and across each breast. this knife is sharp so it will take no more effort than the weight of the handle. i urge you to refrain from moving.” you sucked in air in tandem with him as the blade first came to your sternum. his words were most certainly truthful, expected of a priest, as he added no extra pressure when gently dragging it lower. the first thing you registered was just how cold the tip of the knife is, the second was the sharp pain. your slight wince didn’t go unnoticed as father Alhaitham mumbled an apology. he raised the knife from your flesh when it came to the end of his mental line. the blades edge took on a dark sheen of your blood that he looked over. his most beautiful eyes inspected the silver before dropping to where the knife had cut; he hummed in satisfaction before bringing it to just below your left hip, the next place he’d cut. father Alhaitham took to softly singing a hymn you were familiar with, seemingly to comfort you as the blade came across all your limbs in the following moments. it rose up to your chest where he gulped. no longer could he ignore just how bare your are under him and just how dollish your eyes were as they fluttered, glazed over in both pain and fear. while his right hand placed the knife appropriately, his left came to cup your cheek. with his thumb soothing across your flesh, you barely noticed how he cleanly cut atop each of your breasts. you were simply too caught up in the delightful feeling of his skin against your as you lay exposed to his lowered gaze. had you not been so assured in the professional nature of this encounter, you would have noticed the increasing thickness in the air that could only be attributed to the intimacy and the arousal you had not noticed pooling between your folds; father Alhaitham did.

he stood up straight and drew away from you to admire the work he had done. your form under the soft light of the window and painted in your own blood, the most lovely of sacrifices. the goblet was in his hand once more as he brought it to collect the blood dripping down your waist and sides, mixing with the remnants of wine previously drank. the metal was wonderfully blunt compared to the blade that had just split your flesh open. with what he gathered, father Alhaitham dipped his thumb in to draw the horizontal and vertical lines to complete a cross on all seven of the cuts he had made; one for each element of Teyvet. he was more than satisfied with his work, if the soft smile gracing his features was anything to go by.

“my dearest little lamb, it pleases me greatly how well you’ve done for me here but,” he seemed to be conflicted by his next words, “would you allow me to indulge myself in you?” the meaning of his words was lost on you but how could you ever decline him? how could you ever decline the one that has given you purpose, light, and salvation should you ever need it? you nodded and half expected him to request your words as he always does but, today only a movement was enough for him. “please, continue holding the rosary as you are.” strong hands pulled you down the stone by your knees until you rested with your lower legs dangling off the edge which elicited a sigh from your most beloved priest; your pliancy always did please him. with hands still on you, he gently parted your legs as he kneeled between them before speaking in a tone lower than you had heard before, “consider this my own kind of worship.”

your face was certainly flushed already but it heated up tenfold as his tongue made its way through your soft folds and you could hear him sigh as your grip on the rosary became tighter. he used the tip to gently poke through and play softly with your virgin entrance, one hand coming up to push the lips of your pussy open much like a flower blooming. your hips jerked slightly as his nose came in contact with a spot you weren’t familiar with but that felt so very good. a whimper left your throat as a moan left his, the vibrations travelling through your cunt and causing a whole new gush of slick to leave your pussy. eagerly, father Alhaitham lapped it up before bringing his lips to your clit. he planted a couple soft kisses to your pretty and glistening nub before wrapping his lips around it and suckling oh so perfectly. he knew you were a virgin but didn’t expect you to come undone on his face with only a slight suck to your cute little clit. a sudden and loud whine left your mouth as your back arched to push your pussy further against his face. the feeling of an orgasm was entirely new to you but you were already addicted to the intense pleasure brought by your priest. he leaned back slightly, panting and in reasonable amounts of shock from such a sudden reaction. with your wetness still on his face, he mumbled to himself, “apologies but i suspect i’ll have to worship for awhile longer.”

you didn’t even have time to come down from your first high before his face was settled into the heat of your core once again. a small sob left your throat upon the contact but you couldn’t help the way your hips bucked up to meet his mouth. father Alhaitham, as always, knew exactly what you wanted and needed. his tongue worked wonders as it gently fucked into your hole, where his cock would rest at a letter date, and his fingers moved to gently flick at your clit. he buried his face impossible closer to you only to inhale the scent your pussy let off, one he could spend the rest of his days smelling like some sort of inhalant drug. his mouth and fingers swapped places so he could lathe over your clit and provide teasing nips to the sensitive bundle. with one gently finger, he circled your hole to gather more wetness before slowly plunging into you. as if an apology for the sting, he kissed at your clit endlessly before twisting his finger to provide the perfect angle he needed. with your utmost comfort in mind, father Alhaitham waited until your sobs subsided before fucking you gently with the single finger. he curled it slightly and made sure to push up against where he knew would have you writhing on the alter as he nipped once more at your clit to keep you grounded in the reality of his face between your legs.

for a man with, what you assumed, no prior experience he sure knew how to fuck you without his dick. all his concentration was solely on how much he was falling in love with your pretty pussy and how much he wanted to die buried between your thighs. gods be damned, you were his new religion and your moans his scripture. he was pulling orgasm after orgasm from you, rutting against the side of the alter. his cock rubbed harshly against the stone through his pants and while he mourned for the warmth you’d most certainly provide, he’s nothing if not patience. you, his most devoted lamb, were to be rewarded with all his mouth can give. your grip on the rosary became tight enough that it broke, beads falling down to the floor. you’d have been appalled at how careless your treatment of such a sacred object was had you not been so caught up in the pleasure bestowed to you. with eyes rolling back into your head and a particularly high moan, you drenched his face. father Alhaitham would take it as his new holy water, siphoned directly from his own personal fountain of youth and most importantly, from his lover. he panted much as you did as well but this task was far from over for him. how could he end things here when he craved so much more? when your pretty hole was fluttering so enticingly and when his cock was so very close from emptying his balls inside his pants? only a fool would hold back now, he thought as his mouth placed open kisses and bites to your thighs for slight mercy to your already abused cunt. a dreamy sigh left his watering mouth, you really do smell delightful. he spat onto your pussy in a rather debauched fashion before drawing his tongue up from the cleft of your ass to the top of your cunt. with eyes finally drawing back up and across your form, he mentally sent a genuine prayer to your shared god. one so filthy he’d most certainly be sent straight to hell upon death but he couldn’t find it in himself to care; hell could be delightful as long as you’re there with him. his eyes dropped back to your pussy.

“c’mon little one, a bit more for me. you truly are my favourite.”

[seraphdreams]

god i’m thinking about sacrilege with pastor!taiju.

showing up to his church with only dick on the brain. watching as his deep voice bellows within sermons and you just can’t get over how big he is—so big. heading to him after a service to have a personal one on one talk at the altar. your pretty eyes filled with malicious innocence as you pout through your words. “you’re such a good speaker, pastor.” it earns a smile from him followed with a note of how long he’d be preaching for. he doesnt notice how you bite your lip, slowly nodding your head.

“well, practice does make perfect.” and it surely does. it feels good to have his full attention, you just want more and more. “you’re not busy, are you? i’d like to make a personal confession.”

oh, how pretty you look with your eyebrows furrowed as if you actually had some sort of concern, he can’t help but give in. it’s his job to set you on the right path. “a personal confession? let’s go to the back then.”

he doesn’t even realize. he doesn’t even know, the thoughts in your head of how badly you want to be on your knees—not praying to some higher power, you could care less about that—but sucking his cock, ruining that shield of chastity he thinks he has.

you’re the devil in disguise.