#the church mentioned is one like in monstad but not specifically that one

[rene-darling]

here me out on this, afab Scara, reader eating him out while praying, since you mentioned in your 'how easy to bed each of the scara eras' that he likes being worshipped I think it'd be pretty interesting.

TO- be worshipped is to be loved.

...you pray daily, without fail you pray to your god, in a place..made best for prayer...credits [Oishru] on X

Hinted AFAB scaramouche though it's not clearly described, gn neutral reader, as reader's gender is not hinted to! Though if you squint its kinda hinted to the fact that the reader is in the church very often

So it can be perceived as nun!reader, but you can also take it as priest!reader

...scaramouche...

Wanderer wouldn't like to be worshipped as much as his past self, scaramouche would.

He finds it embarrassing to part his legs for you; in order for him to feel worshipped, he needs to feel above you, at least in the beginning. His back is cushioned by soft pillows as he tugs in your hair trying to ground himself in some way,

Tugging fists fulls he can't decide whether to pull you into the heat spreading through him or to push you away, it's too much!

And your soft, ever so sweet words- a contrast to your harsh tongue which eats him raw, a contrast to even his own harsh grip. But you never say anything. You don't complain about the scratch marks or the fist full of your hair that he pulls out

Nor about the blood that seeps from any part of you that he holds on to, his grip is never yielding, afraid that if he lets go, you'll go too.

But those thoughts get buried the longer the night goes on, spasms of his body shaking at every touch every lick every tug. His body presses against the statue of the archon, the stone carved to perfection. His gaze sometimes moved behind you to the church doors wondering what the nuns would think of the sacrilegious scene before them.

Tears as he listens to your murmur your face burned deep within him sending vibrations up his spine. Murmurs, more like prayers. The ones which would be considered holy, and innocent if not for where and how you were exactly praying.

His head rocked back and forth as if nodding in agreement to whatever you said, as if he himself would make it come true. Squirting onto your face as you drank him up like holy water,

You'll look up every once in a while, mouth dripping as you would ask him to fulfil your prayers "if- hah, if you bring me pleasure- then- I'll accept whatever prayer you wish for- AH-"

He's never felt this high, this above. Here you are at a place of worship- worshipping him. Your archon, your god. The one that he couldn't be.

Sweet slick drips down the hard stone of the statue as his legs are spread on top of either side of your shoulder. "Wh- ah mhm- am- I- I" barely a whisper, but you hear every oracle from your dear, "my archon." And with a pop of your lips as you let go of the meal that you were latched onto "my god."

That alone brings him over the edge, body slumping against the stone as tears fall like endless waterfalls. Yours, that's what he is.