#why are priests sexy | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

changbunnies · 3 months ago

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Revelation (18+)

♡ Pairing: Vampire Priest!Jeongin x Fem!Reader

♡ Genre: very loosely inspired by midnight mass (tv), horror themes, vampire / human relationship, smut, possibly dead dove? read the warnings carefully and come to ur own conclusion on what you're willing to read before engaging pls :')

♡ Word Count: 4k

♡ Summary: The suspiciously young and extremely handsome priest of your small-town church has a very big secret– and it's not until he's sinking his fangs into your neck that you discover what exactly that secret is.

♡ General Warnings: usage of typical vampire abilities (increased senses, strength, etc), descriptions of blood, religious themes (specifically catholicism focused), references to religious guilt + shame, reader does not trust jeongin at all (for good reason lol), very blatant manipulation, cult vibes? jeongin basically has the whole town under his thumb so. do with that what you will lol

♡ Smut Warnings: dubcon, vampire venom that acts as an aphrodisiac, sexual acts inside a church (specifically in a confessional booth), some gendered language (dirty + good girl), dom/sub dynamics, dom!jeongin, biting + blood drinking, thigh riding, fingering (f rec), a lil bit of praise kink, corruption kink?

♡ Notes: this is possibly niche but well. the vampire priest concept lives rent free in my head thanks to midnight mass, and innie said he wanted to be a priest + he'd definitely be a sexy vampire so here we are lmao. and sorry i'm suddenly posting out of age order for my late kinktober fics but i ended up finishing this before the other members i still have left :')

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

There's something that isn't right about your local church's head priest. Firstly, his age doesn't make sense; who on God's green earth becomes a priest in their 20s?

At least, you assume that's around how old Father Yang, who notably prefers to be called Jeongin, is– you've never been told, and you've never asked, but he certainly doesn't look any older than that.

Secondly, why are his sermons always at night? In all the towns you've ever lived in, in all the churches you've ever frequented, this is the first time you've ever experienced your standard, weekly Sunday service routinely happening at 9 p.m.

And thirdly, why is it that everyone who meets with him for confession comes back looking delirious and.. euphoric, almost? You don't get it– sure, confessing your sins is freeing; asking for and receiving God's forgiveness is among the best feelings that can be experienced if you're a devout believer, but still.

Something about all of it just doesn't sit right with you– and to make matters worse, you seem to be the only person in town suspicious of him. You're new to town, have only been here a handful of months, so you get it– you're the outsider, you don't know him like they do, et cetera, et cetera.

But how can not a single other person in town be bothered by how strange it all is? There has to be an explanation– you don't know what it is, and you don't know why you're the only one who seems to care, but there must be a reason.

It's Sunday again, and you spend the entire sermon watching Jeongin like a hawk, trying to catch any sign as to what it is about him that has all these people so enraptured. And while it's not necessarily wrong for him to be, another thing that strikes you is that he's easily the most casually dressed yet stylish priest you've ever met.

He wears the standard clergy vest and rabat, as he should, but over it is a leather jacket, and he wears denim blue jeans instead of dress pants. His shoes are sleek and polished, he has pretty, ornate rings decorating his fingers, has expertly styled slicked hair and silver earrings dangling from his pierced ears.

Again, it's not necessarily wrong, but it's definitely something you wouldn't think a priest's Sunday best would entail. And maybe that's only because the priests in your life have only ever been old, and didn't put much thought into style, but maybe that's what people like about him?

Maybe it makes him seem more down to earth and approachable; maybe it's easier to confess your sins when, outstanding devotion to God aside, he seems like as ordinary a person as any other. Of course, that's logically always the case, but some priests have an intimidating "holier-than-thou" attitude about them, and it certainly helps Jeongin's case that he seemingly makes an effort to not give off that vibe.

And admittedly, he's charming– there's something so uniquely handsome about the way he smiles while preaching God's word, how his eyes twinkle while he recites a scripture and relates it back to a point he made several minutes prior; you can't deny that it's enthralling.

But when he looks over the attendees lined in the pews, it always feels like he's looking straight through you, seeing to the depths of your soul and laying it bare. It gives you chills, honestly; makes you feel exposed in a way that's indescribable; like with a glance alone, he knows all your secrets, your every sin, down to their most minute details.

It's near midnight when his sermon ends; you stay seated in the backmost pew to the left, brows furrowed as everyone shakes his hand or hugs him, thanking him for another "terrific service." It's so bizarre– and it's not until the last of the congregation exits the small, wooden church that you begin to rise from your seat.

Though you're sure the church carries electricity and that the lights can be flicked on, the priest never does so– he always uses candles, casting a warm yellow glow on the dingy, white wood of the walls. It casts more shadows, gives the place an almost unsettling air– and when he turns to you, just as he's closing the Bible in his hand and setting it down, it sends a shiver through you.

"You're still here," Jeongin smiles at you from where he stands before the altar, centralized at the head of the church. It's a kind enough one, but you don't trust it; you can't shake the feeling that something lies beneath it– something abberant and dark that you can't place, but are certain is there.

"Do you wish to confess?" he asks, motions to the confessional booth with his hand as he tilts his head. "No," you answer, perhaps too quickly– and his smile grows ever so slightly, as if he's amused. At least, that's how you perceive his expression; and it makes you narrow your eyes at him, the distrust that radiates off you certainly palpable.

Your opinion of him is no secret, really; and he can tell you're scrutinizing him, trying to catch him in whatever act you think he's playing– it won't work, but it does humor him that you're trying. He doesn't know what sort of wild conclusions you've come to about him, but if you see anything, it'll be because he himself wanted you to see it– until then, you won't learn a single thing about who he truly is.

"Is there a reason you're still here then?" Jeongin questions next, and you swallow, hesitant to answer. Admittedly, you only stuck around in case someone did decide to go confess to him– you intended to eavesdrop, to try to listen in and find out what's really going on behind closed curtains.

It would've been massively immoral, but you would've confessed and asked for forgiveness later– privately, that is. You have no intention of seeking the Father's help in such matters, given how little trust you have towards him.

But still, despite the fact that you were willing to sneak around and listen to private conversations, you aren't entirely willing to lie in the house of God– so after some internal grappling with yourself on what you should and shouldn't do in this position, on what is right and wrong, you end up admitting the truth.

"I don't trust you," you tell Jeongin plainly, and you can swear you see him trying to suppress a smirk.

"I'm aware," he says, so matter of fact that it almost sends you reeling. And it's not that you were so disillusioned into thinking you weren't being obvious; you know very well that you weren't being the most covert in your suspicion of him– it's how unbothered and amused by it he seems to be that really gets you.

Shouldn't he be offended? Question your reasoning? Try immediately to dispel your doubts and clear up any misconceptions you may have? Instead, he seems more than ready to just accept it for what it is– even seems entertained by it.

"Does it not bother you that I don't trust you?" you ask, and he almost laughs as he shakes his head. "No. There's no reason for it to," he answers simply; and before you can ask why, or what he means, he's already answering– you suspect he could already tell you were going to press him on the matter.

"God teaches us to love one another. So even if you do not love me, or trust me, I love you, just as God instructs me to," Jeongin smiles as he speaks, and again, your brows furrow. It's a perfect answer, really– but it feels.. inorganic, almost rehearsed.

And the glimmer in his eye throws you off; it doesn't feel like the pure, honest delight you'd see on a priest putting God's word into practice. It feels mischievous, deceitful– like he doesn't believe an ounce of what he's saying, but he wants you to believe that he does.

"I know what you're thinking," he says, and you swallow, stiffening where you stand as he continues, "And if you really want to know what goes on during confession, want to see for yourself what it is I do to help the people who look to me, I can show you."

If you're being entirely honest, the offer is tempting; and strangely, it also makes you feel.. bad, almost– makes you second guess yourself. Because if he's freely offering like this, surely it can't be whatever you've been making it out to be in your head.

There's no way he'd out himself, and whatever it is he does, just to gain the trust of one person out of hundreds who doesn't believe his pure intentions. And maybe the other townsfolk really do trust him for good reason; maybe you've just been examining the situation and looking at Jeongin and the church in the wrong light.

Maybe you've been blowing everything out of proportion with obscene assumptions, and maybe he really is just a good priest. Maybe he makes you feel so seen, heard, and whole, that all your worldly problems melt away, feel trivial and light in comparison to God's plan for you.

Because after all, you are the outlier here. You're the only one in the whole town that doesn't trust him; and surely that means you're the one in the wrong. Jeongin does things differently than you're used to, but that doesn't mean he's inherently bad. And maybe you should confess– ask God to forgive you for not being receptive to the word of one of His servants.

Jeongin smiles when you concede and start to slowly step your way to the confessional. You pull back the curtain, step inside and prepare to sit in the small, wooden booth seat, but you quickly realize he's followed you inside. You gasp as you turn around, back pressing against the intricately carved hardwood window of the booth as he closes you in.

"Sh-Shouldn't you be on the other side?" you ask, much too meek for your liking. It's a cramped fit given that the booth is only meant to fit a single person on either side at a time; it makes you unconsciously hold your breath as you're effectively caged inside the booth with him– nowhere to go, and nothing you can do but stare at him, bewildered.

"No," he answers as quick and simple as before, his smile once again growing ever so slightly. And maybe you could push him, try to dart past him if you manage to successfully make him topple back, but you feel frozen– because even in the dark, barely lit confessional you're in, you're certain that you see his dull canines become long, pearly white fangs.

"Don't worry, it will only hurt for a second," he assures you as he brings his hands to your arms, gripping them just below your shoulder as he leans towards you. You shudder, his breath fanning your ear as he inches towards your neck, "but after that– it's bliss."

You feel the sharp points of his teeth poke at your skin, and it makes you gasp as your head tilts to the side, making room for him to sink his fangs into your flesh. Instinctively, your hands search for something to grab; you end up reaching for his shoulders, twisting your hands in his leather jacket to ground yourself as his sharp teeth pierce into your neck.

Your legs wobble, and he forces one of his own between your thighs, uses it to keep you upright as he drinks from you. And there is pain, but it really is only for a second, just like he said it’d be– within seconds it melts away, and oh, you instantly understand.

It’s much, much more than bliss– it’s ecstasy, it’s rhapsody, it’s the greatest pleasure you’ve ever felt. Spreading from your neck to every last nerve ending in your body, every atom of your body becomes alight with euphoria as his bite sends tingles throughout you, raising goosebumps along your skin.

You cry out, an embarrassingly loud sound that you barely recognize as your own voice as one of your hands finds its way to his head. Your fingers thread into his hair, hold him to your neck as if you don't want him to ever separate from you– and to be fair, maybe you don't.

It feels so good, so exhilarating, intoxicating, that you almost don't want the sensation to ever end. Jeongin meanwhile lets out delighted hums, eventually slowly retracting his fangs to latch his lips around the sensitive, bruising skin, his tongue lapping away at the blood that pours from the two little marks left behind.

The beating of your heart quickens, breaths quickly growing labored as the inexplicable want continues to seep into your veins. Your thighs tremble as tension builds deep in your gut, and they try to press together to seek relief, but Jeongin's leg stays firmly nestled between yours, preventing it.

And were you not so utterly blissed out, maybe the incessant, desperate throbbing of your pussy would make you feel ashamed– but all you can think about is the deep seated desire overtaking every receptor, every tiny cell, every molecule within you, as if the very chemistry that makes up your being has been altered for Jeongin alone.

Unable to resist, you rut against his thigh, entirely shameless and feverish– because it's all you have access to, all you can do to relieve the growing ache between your legs. It’s sinful, your growing lust is– and the last place you should ever be doing this is inside of a church; but you’re too far gone to care, too gripped by the need for stimulation.

Jeongin lets go of your arms, reaches between your bodies to hike up your church gown, giving you easier access to his lean, muscular thigh. He’s gracious, tugs your soaked panties to the side so your clit can catch on the denim of his jeans– and the delicious friction makes you moan for him, loud and sweet.

He pulls away from your neck to watch your desperate humping, eyes gleaming with mischievous satisfaction as he watches you pleasure yourself on his thigh. His eyes are perfectly adapted to seeing in the low light, and so he can easily see every little detail of you– from the mess your pussy leaves behind on his jeans, to the sweat beginning to drip down your temple, to the trembling of your bottom lip before you tuck it between your teeth.

And when he smiles at you now, it’s like the fox that got the rabbit; even in the extremely dim candle light you can see the way your blood coats his lips, messily dripping from the corners of his mouth and down his chin. His dark eyes are gleaming– because he has you ensnared, and you both know there’s no going back.

You untangle your fingers from his hair, and you watch as he reaches for your falling hand, grabbing your wrist and bringing it to his mouth. He holds your gaze as he kisses over the pulsing vein, and it makes your breath hitch, the blood on his mouth smearing over the surface of your skin, staining it crimson.

“Should I bite you here too?” he asks, placing another kiss over your vein before he shoots you a grin full of fang, “you’re so delicious– I want to taste you even more.” You gasp and squirm as Jeongin presses the tips of his bared fangs against your skin– not quite biting just yet, but it’s enough to spread another wave of tingles over your body.

“Yes, bite me, please!” you cry, voice almost frantic in its urgency– and you can see the corners of Jeongin’s lips twisting into a devious smile before he’s obliging, burying his fangs deep into your wrist within an instant. You wince, your fingers clenching as he squeezes your wrist in his hand, keeping it tightly pressed to his mouth.

And just as before, within seconds the sharp sting dulls and ebbs into incomparable pleasure, goosebumps spreading over every inch of your heated skin. Faintly, you can see your blood dribble past his lips, slowly flowing down the length of your forearm before it drips to the floor of the booth.

You can just barely see his tongue licking over his bite, doing his best to collect all the blood that spills from you, and it's mesmerizing– especially when he brings his fingers to your arm to swipe up what his tongue misses. Your stomach flutters as you watch him separate from your wrist and bring his bloodied fingers to his mouth; they're so long, so pretty and enticing– you want them.

Jeongin can see it in your eyes– how brazenly you stare at his fingers, how your eyes follow every move he makes with them. You're still panting, sweating, chest heaving from the exertion, but the rutting of your hips has faltered; and he grins as he gazes at you. You're once again left with the feeling that he sees through you– that all it takes is a glance for him to know everything you're thinking.

"You want them? Want me to stuff your cunt full with my fingers? Make you cum all over them?" he asks, entirely rhetorical; he already knows the answer. And he likes the way you writhe over the question, how you gasp over the sinful words he so freely spills in such a sacred place, your ears positively burning.

Even if your face didn't obviously show your desires, you don't think you'd be able to deny them; you've never wanted anything as badly as you want this, want him. It should make your gut twist with shame, because deep down you know this is wrong, know that you shouldn't want him to touch you as badly as you do– but the craving for Jeongin to bring you pleasure is almost primal, so deep and innate that your rational mind can't even hope to fight against it.

Slowly, almost playfully, he trails his fingertips over your thigh, and the anticipation is enough to make you unconsciously hold your breath. "You're so fucking messy," Jeongin says as he brushes his fingers over your soaking, sensitive clit, "so wet– you're a dirty girl, huh?"

You want to whine, want to shake your head and vehemently deny that you're dirty, attest to being a good, honest, and God fearing– but you're so overcome with your desire for him to touch you, that you don't. Instead you agree, concede that you are dirty, and messy, and that you want him more explicitly than you feel your own words could ever attest.

How easily you agree to being dirty seems to please him– and with a light chuckle, he slips his hand further down while carefully removing his leg from between your thighs. You wobble a bit when the support of his leg is gone, but he's quick to wrap an arm around you to hold you, effortlessly keeping you upright with the strength innate to who, or rather what, he is.

The cool, silver band that he wears on his pinky makes you jolt when it touches your feverishly hot thigh, and he chuckles again as he spreads your folds with his fingers. You're dripping for him, so slick with arousal that it hardly takes any effort at all for Jeongin's fingers to become coated with your juices.

You rock your hips against his hand, wordlessly begging him to give you what it is you crave most. "Oh look at you, so impatient, so desperate," he laughs as he presses the pads of his fingers to your hole, delighting in the way you look at him with glassy eyes and pinched brows.

It's obscene how badly you want him; you've never felt this needy, never been rendered so desperate for stimulation– and you're in a confessional of all places. This is the very last place on earth you should feel this way, or be doing something like this, and yet the shame you should feel is far from your mind– because all you can think about is your need for his beautiful fingers to fill you up and dull the throbbing ache between your legs.

Jeongin coos when you start to beg for his fingers, a rambling string of "please," and "want it, want you," and "need it so bad." You can tell how much satisfaction it gives him, and if your mind weren't so hazy from desire you'd certainly feel embarrassment build and twist from deep in your gut– but any such feelings are silenced by your body's need for his touch, by your craving for the sensations that only he can grant you.

It takes your breath away when he easily sinks two fingers inside you, thrusting them in and out slowly until he curls and bends them to find the spot that makes you see stars. "That's it, there you go," he grins when he finds it. He watches your eyes roll back, your hands clutching at his jacket as he continues to press the tips of his fingers into your most sensitive spot.

He returns to your neck, sucking at the sensitive skin and nipping it with sharp teeth before he kisses and licks over the bruises he leaves behind. He applies pressure to your swollen clit with his thumb while relentlessly targeting your spot, an easy task for him thanks to the length of his fingers, and his hold on you tightens when the shaking in your legs grows more intense.

You're so, so close, and Jeongin can tell too– not just from how your pussy pulses and squeezes around his fingers, but because he can hear the loud, erratic thumping of your heart, as well as the rush of blood pulsing in your veins. "C'mon, let go– cum, you can do it, cum for me," he urges, speaking softly against the shell of your ear while swirling his thumb over your clit.

"There you go, good girl, just like that," he praises as you string out a loud succession of whimpers, your thighs closing tight around his hand as your high finally takes you. Your world feels like it’s spinning, your heartbeat ringing in your ears as you ride out your high, your release gushing messily around his fingers.

His hand stays in place until your thighs untense, and he’s careful as he slips his fingers out of you, though you can’t help but shiver and whine from the sensitivity regardless. You're unsteady on your feet following your orgasm, but Jeongin makes sure you don't fall over; he keeps his grip on your firm, carefully helps you turn away from where you were pressed against the carved window to sit in the booth's only seat.

He wipes the sweat from your forehead after you sit, leans down to fix and smooth over the skirt of your church gown as you try your best to collect your breath and calm your racing heart. He's reverted back to his kindly priest persona it seems– you can tell by the warm smile he offers when you look at him, his sharp fangs fully retracted.

Still, bits of your blood remain smeared over his lips– clear evidence that he isn't the saintly man he portrays himself to be. You watch breathlessly as Jeongin licks the last of it from his lips before he pulls back the curtain of the confessional booth.

He offers you his hand after it seems like you've recovered enough to stand again; your own hand trembles as you accept it, and with his assistance, you rise carefully from your seat.

You're a bit dizzy when you stand, equal parts consequence of blood loss and the euphoria still lingering and tingling in your veins, but you're otherwise steady; and he smiles as he squeezes your hand in his, the other coming to rest on the small of your back as you take your first step out of the booth.

"Come back to confession again sometime," Jeongin says with his characteristically deceitful, charming smile, knowing full well that you will. Humans always find the sensation of his venom irresistible, always become addicted to it once they've felt it– and you'll be no different. "I'll be waiting for you."

#skz x reader #yang jeongin x reader #skz smut #yang jeongin smut #skz fanfic #yang jeongin fanfic #skz imagines #skz scenarios #mdni + divider graphic credit: @cafekitsune #gonna be real i hated my first drafts of this fic and ended up rewriting it several times so sorry if its a miss fsdgsdf #idk why but i'm never satisfied with how i write jeongin. alas i'm uploading this regardless :')#and in one of my drafts i wrote him as a mean dom but i didn't like that ver of him very much fsdgdsfg #even in my darker fics i am not a mean dom girlie ig. they have to still be a least a /lil/ soft !!

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sunniques · 4 months ago

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saw your post and thought i’d send in a request (or just more of an idea that you can do whatever you want with)

i feel like joshua x priest kink is a pretty usual combo but i’d love to see your take on it (if you’re comfy!!)

ok so my idea: reader’s parents thinks that reader is possessed or something and hires joshua to inspect the situation. reader (very clearly not possessed) pretends to go along with it just to keep seeing joshua, come to find out that joshua isn’t as holy as he pretends to be? something like that

if you’re not comfy, totally understandable and i’ll think of another idea instead! but i would love to see your take on this if you are!!

- 🎀anon

— a priest’s guide to sacrilege

cw/tw: manipulation, sacrilege, josh is immoral af, bondage, gagging, unprotected sex, creampie

“Shh, sweetheart. This is all part of the procedure.”

Your moans are stifled by the fabric that was shoved in your mouth moments ago. Arousal drips out of your clenching pussy as long fingers slowly caress your folds. The priest—Josh—is watching you with dark eyes as you arch your back and gently tug on the restraints he insisted were necessary.

It’s all bullshit, but neither one of you would ever admit it out loud.

You’re not sure how or why your parents thought there was some sort of demon in you, but it was too late to make them think otherwise. At first it had been funny to see them be so scared of you since it gave you the freedom to do whatever you wanted. Then they got serious and brought you to some hot priest who assured them that he could help you.

That’s how you ended up in the church basement on some dingy bed, tied up and left to his mercy.

Not that you were complaining. You found the entire thing unbelievably hot.

“Such a naughty girl.” He tsks, shaking his head as he starts to undress. “So impure.”

You almost laugh since the sicko has you tied up and naked under the guise of helping you, but you only lift your hips to entice him.

“Filthy little thing.” Josh murmurs in delight, stroking his thick cock as your juices drip onto the bed.

His smirk is so hot, and you can’t get over it. If only your dumb parents knew what their beloved priest was really like. It almost makes you laugh.

“Don’t worry.” Josh says as he crawls on the bed. He slaps his cock on your pussy, gathering you slick on his dick. “I’ll make sure to fuck any demons out of you.”

Your eyes roll back when he buries himself in your pussy with one rough thrust. His groan is guttural, whispering quiet praises about how tight and wet you are. His leaking tip slams into your g spot, making you gush and leak all over his huge cock.

Lewd squelching fills the basement, the smell of sex permeating the air along with Josh’s groans and your stifled moans. He’s splitting you open deliciously, bringing you a pleasure you hadn’t felt until him. It’s almost too much, but the sexy little priest doesn’t seem to care.

“Fucking shit.” He hisses, watching how tightly your cunt grips him.

You pathetically whimper as he keeps fucking his cock into you. His movements are rough and fast, yet they’re precise. Josh smirks when you gush all over his cock, staining the length of it with your orgasm. His brutal pace doesn’t change even when he’s spilling his hot cum inside you. That’s when you learn the devious priest plans on using you until he can’t anymore.

Or until you’re no longer possessed… whichever comes first.

#this actually wrecked me #brilliant concept omfg #🎀 anon #hard thoughts

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eringobragh420 · 1 month ago

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🖤 Pairing: Damian Priest x f!Reader 🖤 Summary: Damian’s fiancée receives a head injury during a match resulting in amnesia. (Part 2/5) 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 🛑 Warnings: Head injury, hospital setting, mention of oral (f receiving) 🖤 Taglist: In the comments. If you’d like to be added, please click here! 🖤 MASTERLIST

DAY ONE

You awoke slowly, eyelids weighing at least a thousand pounds when you tried to lift them. Eventually they opened, though it took a few more blinks to clear your vision and realize you had no earthly idea where you were. The light above your head, the blood pressure cuff constricting around one arm and an IV in the other, it was fairly easy to deduce you were in a hospital. You sighed, remembering the night before—how much of it, you weren’t sure—but then you remembered that you couldn’t remember everything last night and it was still true today. You didn't know your name or what you had been doing to get injured in the first place. But you knew what a hospital was, and a BP cuff and an IV … why were your memories selective? Had you literally hit your head in such a spot to dislodge only certain memories and not others? Was that even possible? Would you ever know?

Turning your head, the man from the night before—Damian Priest, you remembered, though as your fiancé, you recalled nothing—was asleep beside you, still in the same chair. His head was slumped, chin resting against his shoulder, one of his hands covering yours on the bed, feet propped on another chair. He'd stayed, and he was bound to be incredibly sore when he woke up, and your heart swelled anyway. He must really love you, you thought, and your swollen heart deflated like one of Tom Brady’s footballs. This handsome—quit trying to downplay how sexy he is just because you can’t remember him—man was doing his absolute best to take care of you and be there for you, and you had not one single fucking recollection of him. And because of this reason, you couldn’t ignore the slight discomfort of having his hand over yours. Last night you’d craved contact, now all you seemed to want was distance. Unfortunately, as soon as you slipped your hand out from under his, the big man jumped awake, his now empty hand clenching around nothing.

“Sorry,” he rasped, scrubbing that hand over his face. “Are you okay?” Your eyes slid to his, and you didn’t have to tell him that there had been no change from the night before. It was fleeting, so fast you weren’t positive you saw it, but devastation swept across his features before he replaced it with a forced smile. “It’s alright,” he said, but the tears were already spilling onto your cheeks, and before you could tend to them, Damian was cupping your face, his thumbs wiping the tiny rivers from your skin. “It’s only been a day,” he reminded you, leaning forward so it was easier for you to meet his gaze comfortably. “You gotta give yourself some time. Okay?” You sniffed miserably, nodding in his grasp, and when he was sure you were finished crying, he severed your physical connection, however reluctant he was to do so. “I’m gonna go find your doctor,” he said, standing from the chair. “See if I can take you home today.” You swallowed, nodding, though a myriad of new fears squeezed around your heart.

After Damian closed the door behind him, your head fell back against the pillow, and you winced at the soreness. He wanted to take you home. Of course he did. Where else would you go but home? But you were scared to see more things or people you didn’t recognize. Would you be able to handle it, or would your brain simply melt under its burning efforts to remember the life you had forgotten? On the other hand, maybe seeing your home and your stuff, smelling the smells and touching the surfaces, sleeping in your own bed, would jog your memory. You had to at least try, you knew that, but the sheer terror of being more confused than ever still loomed heavily over you.

Outside your door, Damian leaned against the wall and rubbed his forehead, then his stiff neck, and his eyes squeezed shut. He hadn’t actually admitted it to himself, but somewhere deep inside, he’d expected you to be his same old fiancée when you woke up. You’d thank him for staying with you and you’d kiss and everything would be fine. But you still didn’t know him. There’d been no reason to ask—he could see it in your eyes. The devastation, the fear, the confusion—all still present and accounted for, like a perfect attendance record for students of Trauma. As much as he knew it pained you, he felt like he was dying. He’d seen love and adoration and joy in your beautiful eyes for so long, and the shock still hadn’t worn off from seeing the emptiness there last night. The light, your light, that he’d fallen in love with had been extinguished, and he didn’t know if it would ever be relit.

The doctor from the night prior was no longer on duty, so Damian spoke to someone else. The new doctor reviewed your chart, then Damian followed them into your room so they could perform a series of neurological tests, which you passed, aside from still not knowing the answer to the Big Three: your name, the year, or the President of the United States. Aside from the amnesia and concussion, you were healthy and granted permission to not only head home, but board a plane to get there. You hadn’t even considered that you weren’t in your hometown, and now you would have to navigate an airport with memory loss and a head injury?

As if reading your thoughts, Damian hooked his pinky around yours. You looked down at your fingers on the bed, assuming this should mean something to you, but your mind was blank, so you lifted your eyes to his. “Don’t worry,” he said, the intense timbre causing your thighs to unceremoniously clench. “I’ll be right there.” You smiled, feeling comforted, though not as much as you probably would have been if you actually knew who the fuck he was.

You were given a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, both your size, but you didn’t recognize them, as well as a pair of sneakers, also your size. Apparently some friends of yours had brought you these items the night before while you slept, the name’s Rhea and Jey filling you with just as much curiosity as the name Damian Priest. Once dressed, you were forced into a wheelchair despite your protestations that your head was injured and not your legs or feet, and Damian was the one to carry the bag which contained the costume you’d been wearing when you’d fallen, as well as the boots, while pushing you toward the exit. Your own personal Superman, and you couldn’t even remember how you’d met.

He helped you into the backseat of a sleek, black vehicle that had been sent by the WWE, tossed your stuff in the trunk, and somehow folded his humongous frame into the seat beside you. As the driver chauffeured you back to the hotel you were told you were staying at, every now and then, if the car hit a bump, Damian’s arm would lift like he would protect you from being jolted forward, much like the intended use of the seatbelt buckled around you, and it was the most endearing and annoying thing in the world.

“I’m okay,” you said, and he looked at you. “I mean, I can’t remember … anything, but … I’m okay otherwise. I can handle a few potholes.”

Damian’s smirk grew slowly. “Fair enough,” he said, glancing out the window. A moment later, he looked back at you. “But when I do it again—”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t see it.” The smile you shared felt special, but it didn’t go much further than that.

Even though you’d arrived at a hotel instead of your home, the respite you felt was boundless. No beeping machines or BP cuffs or IV stands or intrusive nurses and doctors existed in this room. Just you, a stranger, and eventually your things—you and Damian had evidently taken all of your belongings to the arena where you’d had your accident, the idea being you would head straight for the airport after the show. And since you’d gone to the hospital instead, Damian had paid for the room last night and tonight to give you some time to rest and relax before having to deal with traveling.

“So listen,” Damian’s smoke-on-velvet voice permeated your thoughts, and you turned to him, “Rhea and Jey grabbed all our stuff from the arena, so I’m gonna go get it before they take off. Will you be okay alone for a few minutes? I can ask them to bring it here—” Which was something he actually did not want to do, considering a specific item he had to make sure was in its rightful spot amongst your things.

“I’ll be fine,” you assured him, attempting a smile, but you weren’t sure how it came across.

Damian nodded, waited a beat, and reached into the back pocket of his fitted blue jeans. And when you noticed his jeans were so tight and mostly left nothing to the imagination, you began noticing other things: his perfectly toned and tattooed arms, broad chest and shoulders, and those legs of his went on for days. If you really had landed this Adonis of a man, surely you deserved some sort of award or medal. He pulled a cell phone from his pocket, the case protecting it obnoxiously colorful and glittery, and you instantly knew it was yours. Now what the fuck? you complained. I know that’s my phone, but I don’t know that’s my man? Or my own damn name? You wondered what you’d done so terribly in the life before this one to receive such cruel punishment. “This is yours,” Damian went on, closing the space between the two of you. “Uh … your whole life is on there. Our whole life, really. Pictures, videos, text messages, social media … but I have to warn you.” Your gaze lifted to his, and while he was deadly serious about what he was about to say, you still spotted a bit of devilry in those mahogany eyes. “You and I have a … very physical relationship.” He scratched at the back of his neck, cheeks tinging just a hint of pink, smiling awkwardly.

You blinked up at him. “You mean we fuck a lot?” you deadpanned. It was an honest question until you both realized the way you’d worded it, and you shared a few chuckles.

“Uh, exactly,” Damian confirmed. “So those pictures and videos and texts between us will probably be about 90% sexual.” Made sense—look at the man. “Same with the gallery, and … you know what? Just browse at your own risk.” Another collective giggle. “I’ll be right back. Do you need anything?”

You shook your head and shrugged. “I mean, if you find my memory out there …” It was a cheesy thing to say, and suddenly you were embarrassed because, also suddenly, you had a strong desire to impress Damian. What if your memory never came back and the two of you had to start all over? Would he even want that? Would you?

Great, the relaxation from before was now circling the drain. You took the phone from Damian, the screen coming to life. He’d warned you about everything but the wallpaper on the phone—Damian stood in the middle of a ring, and you were in his arms, shimmering boots wrapped around his waist, your lips pressed together, and the two of you were silhouetted against a spotlight trained directly on you. You stared at it a moment, taking in every detail, hoping something would trigger inside your brain. Nothing.

“The passcode—” Damian started, but your thumb swept across four numbers without even a thought, and the phone blinked to life, ready for use. You looked up at him, anxiety shooting through the roof, tears welling in your eyes. “It’s okay,” he said, placing his hands on your shoulders and gently squeezing.

“I can remember my fucking passcode, but not my fiancé?” you wailed.

“Listen,” Damian hollered over you, and your mouth clamped closed. “That doesn’t mean you remember the code. It could just as easily have been muscle memory.”

“But—”

“Do the numbers mean anything to you?” Actually, thinking about it, you couldn’t recall the numbers you’d punched in not seconds beforehand. You shook your head, and Damian couldn’t hide the grief as it tugged at the corners of his mouth and eyes, though he tried to smile to camouflage the hurt. “It’s my birthday.” And now you wanted to die. “So you didn’t remember it, okay? It was all muscle memory.”

“Right,” you nodded, though it was difficult to believe it. And either way, you lost, so it didn’t matter—it was muscle memory and not real memory, or you remembered the numbers but not their significance. Your classic lose-lose.

Damian sighed. “I’ll be right back, mi vida.” He pushed down the handle on the door.

“Wait,” you called after him. He turned. “What does that mean?”

“Mi vida?” You nodded. Damian’s smile was small. “It means, uh … my life.” You gazed at him for a few seconds, hoping, wishing, praying, that you could remember him or the words. You nodded again, choosing not to speak in case you erupted into sobs.

Damian left the room, clicking the door softly closed behind him. He headed down the hall toward the elevator, but became dizzy and lightheaded, and he reached out for the nearest wall to steady his large body. He shook his head, trying to jostle the sudden ailments free from his brain, because this is the last thing he needed right now. He had to take care of you—he didn’t have the time or energy to tend to himself as well. After a few deep breaths, he boarded the elevator for Rhea and Jey’s floor, barely making it to their door without collapsing from fatigue.

“How is she?” Rhea greeted upon opening the door. Jey was sitting in the chair, holding his phone between his knees.

“Uh, no change,” Damian replied. “My fiancée has no idea who the hell I am.”

“Well, they said that was temporary, didn’t they?” Rhea asked, concerned, crossing her arms.

Damian nodded, not really wanting to have this conversation right now. They were going to ask things he didn’t have the answers to, and he didn’t want that either. He busied himself gathering your suitcase and his, followed by your respective duffel bags. He unzipped yours and rummaged around until he came to the item he’d been the most focused on—the teal Tiffany’s box that contained your engagement ring. You never wore it during matches, instead nestling it back in the box it had been presented to you in, which you then tucked safely into your bag. Watching it sparkle in even the dull light of the hotel room, Damian remembered every moment of proposing to you—the salt in the air, the crashing waves of the ocean, the sand beneath his feet, and your dress fluttering in the wind as you held a hand over your mouth, capable of only nodding when asked if you would marry him. He gazed down at the ring for a long moment before closing the box and packing it into his duffel bag instead of yours. He didn’t want you to see it and feel obligated to wear it if you weren’t comfortable doing so, so he decided to avoid the conversation altogether—provided you never asked where your engagement ring was.

At the same time, you crawled into bed with the messy covers, briefly wondering if you had a side and which one it might be, but then you smelled Damian on one of many pillows. Your body slid across the mattress of its own accord, your mind not even thinking about it, and you snuggled into the scent of the man you loved but didn’t know. You entered the passcode on your phone—muscle memory—looking for a moment at the wallpaper and the triple digit notifications for both missed calls and text messages, before tapping on the Gallery. Too many folders to count popped up, and you tapped the one that caught your eye first—Movies. You chose a random video and pressed play.

The video was dark to begin with, but the quality cleared, and you were able to see a pair of legs—your legs, you knew somehow—in stockings, the lacy tops of the stockings visible because of a short dress made even shorter by bunching it around your hips. The camera zoomed out to show your legs were stretched over the center console of some expensive vehicle, your feet in Damian’s lap. His hair was pulled back into a high bun, he was dressed in a suit, and one of his hands controlled the steering wheel while the other snuck under one of your heels to rub your foot. You moaned on screen, and Damian smirked. He removed the heel altogether and, not knowing what else to do with it, hooked it to the top of the steering wheel so he could better massage your foot.

“I love you, baby,” you said through the phone, and your voice sounded familiar, but the huskiness and sheer obsession in your tone surprised you.

“I love you, querida,” Damian rumbled, glancing at you to wink before returning his eyes to the road. Your heart shriveled within your chest and there was that feeling of wanting to die again.

“I’m gonna ride you when we get home,” you sing-songed from behind the camera.

You tapped the Back button on the phone to stop and minimize the video. You had an idea of where it was going, and you knew the stars of the show were yourself and Damian, but since you couldn’t remember anything about this night, it felt almost like you were invading someone else’s privacy. Scrolling down, a curious thumbnail caught your eye, and though you knew better, your thumb tapped on it regardless.

Whoever was behind the phone had the lens trained on a big screen TV, which was playing some movie you may have recognized but couldn’t think of the name of. The rest of the room appeared to be a cozy living area with dimmed lights and modern decor.

“My fiancé promised we were going to actually Netflix and chill after a travel day, but this motherfucker …” And the camera lowered until all you could see were a pair of thighs—your thighs—on either side of Damian’s head, his mouth buried in your pussy as he knelt in front of you on the couch. “Fuck, Papi,” you moaned through the phone’s speakers, your hand entering the frame as you wrapped your fingers around his ponytail.

You punched the Home button several times before tossing the phone face down on the bed. You buried your face in the pillow that smelled like Papi and you wanted to cry, had the urge to cry, your eyes and nose burned like you were going to cry, but no tears came. Had you already cried them all?

You heard the key card slip into place, followed by a click, and the hotel room door opened. You looked over your shoulder and watched as Damian struggled to bring in all the luggage. Lifting the blankets, you started out of bed to help, but Damian put his hand up, smiled, and told you to relax and that he had everything under control. Another forced smile from him, and it was getting easier for you to tell.

“Thank you,” you whispered. Damian placed the luggage and bags in the closet area before crossing the room and taking a seat on the opposite side of the bed. “For everything.” The smile from him this time was more genuine. “I know this isn’t easy for you.”

“Mi amor, nothing about you has been easy since the day we met,” Damian grinned. You smirked, looking away. “You turned me down at least … a hundred times.”

“That seems like an exaggeration,” you said, brows rising.

Damian shrugged, scooting back against the headboard as he kicked his shoes off before crossing one ankle over the other on the bed. It wasn’t lost on you how close to the edge he was seated. “Maybe just a few times,” he admitted fondly, gazing up at the ceiling as he remembered each interaction.

“Why did I say no? Looking through my phone, you and I are … pretty compatible.” You could easily see the burning desire in his eyes to ask what exactly you’d looked at.

“You didn't wanna date someone you worked with,” he shrugged.

You nodded. “So what made me say yes?”

Damian’s grin this time could have lit up the room. “You didn't,” he said. “At the time, on NXT, we were running a few mixed tag matches. That's where—”

“I know what it means,” you interrupted, trying to train yourself not to wonder why you were remembering some things, unimportant things, and not the things that mattered most. You would also have to start paying attention to your attitude toward Damian when you were frustrated with your own brain.

Damian looked at you a moment, eyes narrowed, but he let it go and continued. “Anyway, after we won our first match, you just kinda … jumped into my arms.” He gestured with his big hands. “And then you kissed me.” Your brows rose. “The wallpaper on your phone? That’s that kiss.”

You smirked, rubbing your lips together. “We’re so cute, it almost makes me sick,” you joked.

Damian guffawed, hand over his chest. “Yeah, we hear that a lot.” A yawn overtook you, and your eyes watered from the effort. “You should sleep,” he offered, now yawning himself.

You nodded. “You’re not … leaving, though, are you?” you asked.

Damian shook his head. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

“I mean—” You looked at the bed.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere,” he repeated.

The distance you’d wanted before? Well, you still wanted it, but you couldn’t have him too far away, either, so on the other side of the bed was perfect, and you started to crawl back under the blankets.

“Wait,” you said, sitting up. “This is your side, isn’t it?”

Your fiancé smiled. “Yeah, but—”

“Let’s switch sides,” you interjected. “I want everything as normal as … I can handle.” You hoped Damian was picking up what you were putting down as he stood up. You crawled to the other side, your side, tucking your legs under the covers again. Damian rounded the bed, crossing his arms before grabbing the bottom of his shirt, lifting it over his head, and he shook his ponytail out from a bun as he tossed the shirt onto a nearby chair. It was completely out of habit, it was easy to tell, but you hadn’t been prepared for it. Your eyes grew as they searched every tattoo and each chiseled muscle, and you were too focused on him to even notice when you licked your lips and sucked the bottom one into your mouth. You had to be the luckiest woman on the face of the planet to have such a delectable man climbing into bed with you.

“Sorry,” Damian said. “I can put it back on …”

“No!” you exclaimed, and your cheeks were set ablaze, and you placed a hand over your eyes like it would magically make you invisible.

“Man, it’s been a minute since I made you blush like that,” Damian chuckled, falling into bed. And he had known your meaning from before—he stayed on his side, maybe closer to the edge than he needed to be—respecting your need for space and his presence at the same time.

#wwe #damian priest #wwe fanfiction #wwe imagine #wwe x reader #damian priest x reader #damian priest imagine #damian priest fanfic #wwe fandom #wwe fic

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thebestofoneshots · 8 months ago

Text

No Sweeter Innocence than Our Gentle Sin Pt.2 | Remus Lupin x Reader

Read Pt.1

Pairing: Priest!Remus x reader

Word Count: 14 k

Prompt: You did not want to go to church that day, but your spirits are uplifted when you meet Father Remus, and your mind starts creating a mischievous scheme, to both retaliate over those years of being forced to go and take something from them.

Alternatively, R is really mad at the church and decides to steal one of their priests for it (but also kind of falls for him).

Warnings: SMUT, Non-apt for Christians(?). Reader is a little cynical (or maybe cynical Af). Suggestive talks, touching oneself, fingering, oral (male and female receiving), dry humping, P in V. Reader seduces a Priest (so whatever you might expect from that), hierophiIia, corruption!kink, praise!kink (if you squint). Consent is sexy!

Proofread by lovely @aremuslupinsimp

♡ NSFW: Smut under the cut

ACT VI: You shall not take the name of the LORD your God in vain

You quickly put the straps of your dress back on and wiped your hand on the inside lining of the skirt. You walked out of the door. You looked around, the church was as empty as it got, you smiled and knocked on his side.

“You may come out, father,” you said, teasingly.

You heard some adjusting, “I’m having a bit of an issue.”

You giggled. “Yeah, I’m gonna help you fix that,” you responded, opening the door yourself and taking his arm, pulling him towards you. He stood up and roughly accommodated his coat over his boner. You bit your lip as he did and he gave you a rather impassive look, as if telling you that whatever you might do, could be going overboard. “Do you have an office?”

“No.”

You hummed, dissatisfied at his answer. “A place where you guys give talks? like for people who are going to get married and stuff? I know I was in one of those when I was my cousin’s godmother.”

Remus seemed to think about it.

“We can’t go there.”

“Why not? You don’t have the keys?”

“I do! But it’s not safe, if someone walks in–”

“Oh,” you said with a smile and looked down at his boner again. “I’m pretty sure it won’t take too long.”

Remus huffed, still rather unconvinced. So you placed your hand on his shoulder and pulled him down slightly so you could whisper something in his ear. His eyes shone and he turned to you with a gulp. “Are– are you sure?”

You simply nodded in response.

He shut his eyes and sighed, “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“You’re probably right,” you agreed, condescendingly.

“That would be like crossing the line.”

“I suppose it would.”

“Let’s go,” he said.

It was Remus, that looked preoccupied but determined, who led you to the back of the church. You walked right next to the altar, your gaze lingered over it for a second before you went into one of the smaller rooms beside it, and then into another one. You knew the church was huge, but you hadn’t quite dimensioned it entirely.

He was quick to come in and he shut the door. Turning to you as he bit his lip, he was still hard, and you leaned closer to him. “Allow me,” you said with an innocent smile, dragging him closer to the centre of the room. You placed your hands on his shoulders. “Breathe.”

He did as told, a deep long inhale, and then a soft exhale, his breath smelled of mint, and a little bit of cigarette smoke. Remus had long ago stopped smoking, but since you appeared, and told him all about the things that’d happened in your dream, he’d taken up that terrible vice again, one of the few things that calmed his nerves.

“Listen to my voice, I mentioned there was a way to control it, right? That I would teach you?”

“Please do.”

“Well, It’s quite simple,” you said as you rubbed your hands over his strong-toned arms, reassuringly. You were not expecting Father Remus to be so solid under all the religious attire, but you thought it was a wonderful surprise. You leaned a little closer to him, enough for your bodies to touch. You felt his boner against your stomach and you’d swear you felt how you clenched around nothing. But it’s not time yet for that. You told yourself.

You knew it was a long game when you started and you were not about to ruin it all due to the heat of the moment, you weren’t that idiotic.

“If you want to control those impulses, then you must give in to them.”

He opened his eyes surprised when you placed your hand on him, carefully, tentatively, and pleasantly subdued. Your hand was much softer and kinder than his own had ever been, much smaller too. He shut his eyes close, his breath was ragged and looked like he might have been in pain.

“Too sore still?” He nodded. “May I?” you asked as you placed your hand on his belt. He swallowed, unsure, and you stopped moving your hands. “Do you want to?”

“But it’s wrong,” he excused.

“Remus I didn’t ask if it was. I said ‘Do you want to?’ Because I’m dying to touch you but if you don’t want to then we should end this here and now.”

“No!” he said, almost too quickly. If he’d had the willpower, that might have been the one and only moment in which things could have turned around. The sharp crossroad of decisions that would have allowed you both to choose a different result. But he didn’t want you to stop, he wanted you to do it, like he hadn’t wanted anything in his life before. “I want to,” he said in a low breath.

You smiled, innocently, and started to unfasten his belt. Then slowly you went for the buttons of his trousers and the zipper. There, straining against his boxers, you could see the outline of his cock. Your breath hitched in your throat, he was big. You had seen that already but you hadn’t dimensioned it, but now, right in front of you? It was easy to see just how big he was, how pretty, you thought as you carefully slid the band of his boxers underneath.

Remus hissed as the cold air prickled his sensitive skin, and you slid one of your hands, carefully, tauntingly, from his stomach and down to his cock. You were careful and light, you slid one of your fingers along his shaft, and you could tell he was stifling a groan. You looked up to him, he was biting his bottom lip and closing his eyes like he was really trying to concentrate. You looked at him and smiled, wrapping your hand around him in a grip so gentle it was as if you weren’t quite touching him.

“Does it still feel sore?” you asked.

He turned to you and nodded, breath ragged, he refused to look at your hand wrapped around his cock, he was sure he wouldn’t be able to forget it if he did.

“That’s okay then, I know how we can solve it,” you said and started to lean down. Remus looked at you with shock as you levelled your head with his hips.

“What are you–” he started, panic rising in his voice.

“Shhh,” you said gently. And then leaned closer, pressing a small kiss to his tip.

“Will you–”

You pressed another kiss and he let out a short, ragged breath. Then you wrapped your mouth around him, just at the very tip, and felt the slightly salty taste of him against your tongue. Precum, you realised. Remus was as responsive as it got, and you loved that in an almost deranged way. First, you just lapped your tongue around him. Slow and steady, listening in to the moans he tried to suppress.

Remus’ hand was tense beside him, he didn’t know where to touch, he didn’t know what to do with them either. He was too in awe at your actions. You looked like an angel as you peppered kisses along his shaft and then wrapped your mouth around him. Always so incredibly fucking soft, it was insane. He thought he’d seen heaven with you in the confessionary, but he had barely gotten a glimpse at the gates back then.

Eventually, you pushed yourself deeper into his shaft and started to bob your head. The sound he made was music to your ears, and fueled your determination. You quickened your pace and allowed him to push further into your throat, bordering the line between uncomfortable, but it didn’t matter, not when Remus was moaning like that. You imagined yourself with that beautiful cock of his inside of you and the mere thought turned you on even further. He moaned and cursed and kept saying all kinds of things in between mutters and ragged breaths.

“Oh, God!” he breathed, when you used your hand to jerk the section of him that you couldn’t reach with your mouth, “Oh my GOD!”

That one was by far your favourite of all his curses.

Forget about fuck, and shit, when he said ‘Oh God’ when he sinned for you, that was what you loved the most.

At some point, he started inadvertently pushing his hips into your mouth, “I’m sorry,” he said as politely as he could when he heard you cough, “I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry.”

You looked up at him and he swore he’d never seen something as delightful as your teary eyes and your mischievous little expression. Your lips, though wrapped around him, were almost curving into a somewhat smile and you winked at him as you went back to moving your head.

“Fucking hell,” he breathed, his head fell back, breath ragged and moans escaping almost indiscriminately now. Then there were steps outside, far enough but Remus had always had a keen hearing. “Someone’s coming,” he warned, as he leaned on, a slightly worried expression.

You leaned back, a line of spin connected your mouth and his cock and he felt a surge of electricity go through him at the sight. “How close are you?” you asked, panting.

He gave you an exasperated look and you smiled, “I can work with that,” you said before going back and bobbing your head and jerking your hand faster than you had previously. Remus used one of his hands to cover his mouth and you tried not to laugh when you realised it.

“I’m going to–” he started, as he tried to push you out of him, but you were reluctant and you kept bobbing your head. He was both filled with pleasure and with stress. “Angel, stop. I won’t be able to hold it,” he tried next. And then, you felt it, the first ribbon of cum crashing into your mouth. He thought you’d pull back, disgusted at what he’d done to your precious mouth. “I’m sorry, angel. I’m sorry I’m–”

He was at a loss of words, rather than stopping and looking at him with disgust –like he expected– you just kept going, sucking him off until he was empty. The steps had grown louder by now, and there seemed to be some shuffling just outside the door.

He pulled out a napkin for you to spit on it while looking nervously at the door, you gave him a smile and swallowed. “Isn’t it the almighty that says you should never spill your seed?” you said with a mischievous smile and his mouth went dry.

You pressed a kiss to his happy trail and helped him tuck back in. The knob had started to move now. “Place your hand on my head, now!”

“What?” He asked, confused.

“Say a blessing or something, whatever it is you guys do,” you added in a quick whisper. You leaned your head down, closed your eyes, and placed your hands in front of your chest as if you were praying.

ACT VII: You shall not bear false witness against your neighbour

Remus started to mutter something, and you remained in your place, licking the bit of cum that had slid down the corner of your lips earlier.

The door burst open, and surprisingly enough, Remus stayed focused on his blessing, rather than turning around startled like you had expected him to. Either your little ruse had tired him, or he was a lot more scheming than he seemed. Perhaps as much as you were. Remus opened one of his eyes and looked at the man at the door, giving him a short acknowledging nod.

“Oh, I’m sorry–” the man hurried. He had a thick, velvety voice, resonant but not loudly disagreeable. “I thought the place was empty,” he added, adjusting his belt. You were not looking at him, since your back was turned, but the urgency in his voice was evident.

“I was just giving this child a blessing,” Remus said calmly. “I’m afraid her aunt is very ill, and her family is losing hope. Care to join us?”

You tried not to look surprised when he said that, you’d never seen Father Remus lie through his teeth so seamlessly. But you weren’t one to complain. You stood up suddenly, a saddened expression filled your face, “That won’t be necessary, Father. I’ve already consumed enough of your time,” you said meekly, and then, throwing him a look, you added, “and your blessings…”

He threw you a warning glance, and you just smiled, diverted, your back still turned to the other man. You leaned in and pressed a small kiss to Remus’ cheek, muttering a ‘Thank you’, just loud enough for the other man to hear. By the time you turned around, your face was solemn looking again.

You nodded towards the other father as you passed by, he had long hair and was rather good-looking as well. He eyed you with amusement. Remus cleared his throat. “Will you come back? For another blessing… I mean.”

You turned around, “Of course, Remus. However, could I go on without them?”

He nodded in return, more reassuring himself than anything. And watched as your dress flowed out of his sight.

“That’s a sweet little lamb you got there,” the long-haired man said with a mischievous smile.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Remus said and walked towards the exit. “I’ll go fulfil my duties,” he added as he walked out.

“Of course,” the other man replied, the amused smile still playing on his lips. “Have fun.”

Remus gave him a tired sort of look, something close to an eye roll, and left.

Remus had never lied as much as he had lied that week. It started with that simple lie and then it just went on and on and on.

“Father Lupin, could you take care of the Church retreat next week?”

“I’m sorry, I have a family thing on Saturday. I’m on grandma duty.”

Remus was, in fact, not on grandma caring duty. There was no grandma caring duty whatsoever in his family. Mrs. Lupin was old but held strong, and she would never ask to be taken care of, she had always been stubborn like that.

Then another time, he had locked his room door, ready to feed his delusions with the thought of you when there was a sharp knock on his door.

“Father Lupin!” an urgent voice said on the other side, “Father Lupin!”

Remus half opened his door and tried not to look too annoyed when one of his deacons waited at the door. He had opened it slightly, only letting his head through as he looked at the boy. He was the small blond-haired kid who he sometimes found amusing because of how much trouble he managed to get into. Not today though, not when it distracted him from the thought of you.

“What is it?” he asked, slightly impassive. “I was in the middle of a very important prayer.”

Yeah, right! He was definitely going to say God’s name a good deal of time but not in the way it would be expected of him.

The kid gulped, he had never seen Father Remus be so stony. He was always kind and good-natured, no matter what. Heck, he had accidentally walked in on him while changing and Father Remus –although he hated people seeing his scars– had only ushered him out with a light reprimand and instructions to always knock on the door before walking in.

“I’m– I’m sorry,” the boy staggered. “It’s just that the bishop was looking for you.”

Remus sighed, also annoyed that his plan was ruined, shut the door, put on his shoes and stepped out again, still looking cross as he followed the boy to the Bishop’s office.

“How may I help, Your Grace?”

“Ah, Remus,” the old man said when he spotted him. “I’ve been told how excellently you’ve been performing on Wednesdays lately.”

Remus didn’t speak, but he looked at the man attentively, the bishop liked to speak, and it didn’t take long for him to continue.

“The head priest was telling me how brilliant you’ve been. He’s seen you confessing, and dedicating the confessions it’s due time which can be complicated, and even tiresome. And you’ve always proved to be a very responsible young man. As you know most of the church will be heading to the retreat starting next Monday.

“Of course, the church must not be left alone. But since you are not going to the retreat, and I have not had the opportunity to attend one for some time, some of the head priests and I thought it would be a sensible idea to leave the church at your charge. I believe there are a few other priests who will stay, but you would act as my eyes and ears during the week we’re gone. How does that sound?”

Remus drew in some air, completely inexpressive as he tried not to think of all the wonderful things that could happen with the church all to himself.

“It would be an honour, Your Grace.”

“I thought you’d say that,” the man replied with an affable smile. “Thank you for your time, Father Lupin. I’m sure the church will be in good hands.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Remus replied as he nodded to the man politely and he exited the room.

That Sunday you’d gone to mass with your grandma again, she’d come back to the city and she had insisted on going to the beautiful church with her. Of course, this time around, you hadn’t been as angry about having to go to the church as before, if anything, you were excited about it.

Remus was absolutely delighted when he spotted you and your grandma. He had been dying to tell you that he’d be in charge of the church, that you could stay for longer, and not worry so much about being seen with him next week. That’s how he realised he had, in fact, no way to contact you outside of the church.

You had always been the one to come to him, like an angel, uninvited but always welcomed.

When he saw you walking beside your grandma, at a very slow pace and holding her arm as you climbed up the stairs to the entrance of the church, he was quick to excuse himself from the boring conversation he’d been having with the old lady who insisted on telling him all about her rogue godson and walked straight your way.

“Ma’am, allow me to help,” he said politely and took your Nan’s other arm. Your grandma looked at Father Remus and gulped.

“To what do I owe the honour of being helped by a Father?” she asked.

“Oh, it’s just very nice to see you, it’s been a while,” Remus replied.

“She’s not from around,” you explained. The way your lips moved, he’d dreamed about kissing them before but the need for that now was consuming him like a burning fire. He’d never thought of mass as boring or dull, today it hadn’t even started and he already wanted it to be over with. To have you, and to have you alone.

“Of course,” Remus said. “But seeing your granddaughter so often–”

“So often?” your Nan asked, surprised, turning to the man.

“Well, she’s been coming to mass, Ma’am.”

“You have?” she asked, turning to you with a surprise. “You never told me!”

“I guess I’ve found my way back into faith,” you said. “Perhaps all I needed was a good enough incentive to come to church more often,” you added, throwing a knowing look at Remus.

“Incentive, of what kind?”

“Well, how beautiful mass is given here, of course,” you lied. “Didn’t you find it delightful? The way the priests here preach? Remus is especially good at it, you should hear him say god. It’s always so… heavenly when he does.” Remus threw you a warning look, and you gave him a small, almost imperceptible smirk, and then winked, just before turning to your Nan. “Unfortunately he does not preach on Sundays.”

“What a shame,” she said. You were already all the way up the stairs and you helped her into her seat. “See you around, Remus.”

“It’s Father Remus–” your Nan started her chiding but shut up the second Remus turned to you with a kind smile and said.

“See you around, dove.” He didn’t think too much about it, not about the nickname or how softly he’d said it. How loving it had been.

“Dove?” your Nan asked you, Remus had already taken off towards the back of the church to change into his alb.

“Oh, it’s like Lamb, Remus says that all the time,” you said dismissively, although you really wanted to laugh. Your Nan wasn’t stupid, she might be able to catch on, and perhaps she would have, if she didn’t have such blinding faith in priests, and of course, in Remus in particular.

You weren’t sure you’d mind too much. Surely she wouldn’t talk about it for fear of becoming a scandal, and no matter how good she thought of you, she might take the church’s side and blame you for corrupting Remus –which was arguably right. In the end, she had already called you heathen once, it wouldn’t be that complicated for her to notice, and feel guilty about being the one to bring you into the church.

It had been, after all, her fault that you ended up meeting Remus.

But even if you didn’t mind it, you feared Remus might have, so you decided to gaslight her into believing you were the innocent angel that Remus insisted on alluding to when referring to you. It was better that way, it would be easier to continue that way. And of course, you wanted to go all the way with Remus. you wouldn’t be done until it was done. And at this point, petty revenge wasn’t the only thing driving you. You liked Remus, how innocent and forthcoming he was, you thought he was absolutely charming.

When the mass was done, you walked your Nan down the huge steps and helped her to the taxi. The church was pretty full still, but the desperate glances that Remus had thrown your way several times were enough for you to know that he wanted to talk to you. Especially that one reproachful look when you licked your lips as he gave you the host.

You walked up the long steps again and spotted him being flooded by some ladies. Three older women who were all talking at the same time and he seemed to have trouble following, a girl younger than you looking at him like he was Robert Redford –Remus was prettier than that–, and babbling something about her first communion along with one of the older ladies who shared her hair colour. And a smaller girl running around his feet and pulling on his pants aggressively every now and then while saying ‘Look at me, Father! I can twirl now’.

You gave him a short look with a diverted smile and walked towards one of the seats. He looked at you with a pleading glance, his eyes opening wider as he clearly said ‘Help me out of this’. Remus knew you were clever enough to have all the people around him scatter, but instead, you sat down, pulled a book from your bag and read while you waited.

You felt someone sitting next to you, “How’s your aunt?”

You turned around with a frown, it was the long-haired priest who had almost caught you and Remus. He had beautiful grey eyes. Now that you actually paid attention to him: he was regal. If you had seen him before Remus, things might have gone an awful lot different.

“She’s better,” you said, closing the book and turning to him attentively.

“Are you here for another blessing?” He asked, he had a shrewd, very fox-like look on his soft and elegant features, as if he knew something and he wanted you to know he did.

“Well, yes and no.”

“I could help,” he said and placed a hand on your leg. On your bare leg that is. You had worn a skirt that day as well. You looked at his hand and then back at him. If he expected you to blush, he was surprised to see the way you smiled, averted your gaze and rolled your tongue over your teeth. You would have been more than welcome to accept this man’s advances if it wasn’t for the fact that you already had another one in sight. Who was, coincidentally, walking towards you right now.

“I’m afraid you couldn’t,” you said as you cocked your head to the side.

“No?”

“I’m about to hire Remus for a hospital visit, my aunt is very fond of him.”

When Remus reached the two of you, he gave the grey-eyed Father a murderous look. You smiled and gave him a small wink. “I was just telling Father, uh…”

“Black,” the man said with a smile.

“Black, right? I was just telling Father Black that I’m here to talk to you about the thing we discussed earlier. About visiting my aunt?”

“Of course,” Remus said. The little girl had trailed behind him and was stopped by her mother right before she clung to his leg again.

Father Black laughed and waved the little girl goodbye in a rather charming way. Remus threw a look at him which he returned in an equally taxing manner, then Remus nodded to his hand on your leg. He hadn’t even gotten close to touching your velvety legs and here Sirius had his hands all over them, he was livid, although he hid it pretty well.

“Didn’t you have something to do?”

Sirius sighed, “I’ve got to visit the convent.” He didn’t seem too eager to go.

“I’m sure the Nuns will love to see you there, Father Black.”

He turned to you with a small smirk, there was mirth in his eyes, “You think?”

“Oh, I’m certain,” you said with a smile, and placed your hand on his wrist to drag his hand away from your thigh. You stood up, Father Black looked at your legs for a second before he got another murderous look from Remus and stood up himself.

“I guess this is where our paths diverge,” he said, with a slight dramatic air.

“Perhaps,” you replied. “Good luck at the convent.”

“Good luck with your aunt,” he said, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes and a side look at Remus, who, in turn, just stared down at him.

“Thank you, hopefully, she’ll get better,” you said, and waved at him politely.

The second the father stepped out of the way, you felt Remus take a step closer to you, enough for you to feel his heat radiating on your back. You turned to him with a smile and tilted your head to the side, he looked adorable while jealous, “Are you taking confessions, Father?”

“Didn’t you say you wanted me to visit your aunt at the hospital?”

You raised an eyebrow, “Don’t you need special permits to leave the church and so on?”

“Oh, no,” he said with a smile. “We’re not going to leave yet, first we have to make the arrangements at the office.”

ACT VIII: You shall make no idols

Remus walked you towards a set of stairs, claiming there were old offices on some of the towers that were rarely visited. As you walked up one of the towers, he lingered only a second while looking down at the stairs behind him, as if he was trying to make sure he had been followed by no one and then continued walking right behind you. It’s here, he said as he pulled out a big, old-looking key and opened one of the doors.

You expected whatever you found inside to be dirty and filled with spiderwebs and whatnot from lack of use, but it was clean. In fact, it was like a small church museum, with all sorts of church memorabilia, some even hanging from the ceiling. The walls were plastered, and white, as if they had been taken care of not long ago, and there was a desk right in the middle of the room.

“Well, this is… interesting,” you said as you leaned over the desk and looked around the room.

“It used to be a museum, got shut down a couple of months ago due to lack of visits. Now it’s a place we use to meditate and pray.”

“And confess, I suppose,” you added with a small, teasing smirk.

Remus stepped towards you, hesitant but not stopping, he was close now. Close enough for you to feel his body heat. “He touched you,” he said as his hand hovered over your leg.

You gave him a look, cocking your head to the side, “Father Black?”

“Yes,” he said, voice colder than he intended.

You tried not to laugh at his childish display of jealousness and had to remind yourself how starved for love Remus had been when you first showed up at his confessionary. How you’d had to tell him to touch himself for him to even dare do it under his clothes and how out of practice he’d been. Even then, you couldn’t help but tease him, he looked lovely when he was being teased.

“Does it bother you?”

“What right does he have? He didn’t even ask for permission, he placed his dirty hands on–”

“Right,” you interrupted. “I guess it was certainly unexpected.”

“But not unwelcomed?” he retorted.

“Not” –he looked at you as if you’d betrayed him– “if I imagined they were your hands instead.” He swallowed thickly, the place was so quiet that the sound he made, combined with the bobbing of his throat, made it beyond evident. You smiled and bit your bottom lip as you looked at him. “Jealousy suits you, Father Remus, with the slight tint of your cheeks, you look delightful.”

His gaze intensified on yours as if he was trying to look past your flirting and into your soul. Did you really think he was that handsome? With you being as beautiful as you were, he’d expect to see you with someone like Sirius, handsome, strong, pretty. Not with someone as rugged up as he was, not with someone that had scars on his entire body. “More than him?”

“Than Father Black, you mean?” you teased again, he tensed, and you placed a hand on his arm. But rather than responding, you thought of showing him. “How about–” you started, your hand sliding down his arm until you had your hand in his and pulled it towards you, “How about you touch me like he did and see how I react to you?”

Remus gulped again as if he couldn’t quite process what you’d said, “You– you want me to touch you?”

“Like in my dream,” you said as you leaned on your hands and sat on the desk better, your legs only slightly parted, not enough for him to realise you’d been wearing no underwear –again– but enough for it to be enticing, your skirt had ridden up just a little bit more, almost as much as Sirius had pulled it earlier with his hand.

Remus was hesitant as he looked at you, eyes blown as he stared but his hand still held firmly on the side. Up until then, it had been you the one to speak, you the one to tell, you the one to touch him however you wanted, he had never been the one to do it. Not even as you blew him had he dared to lay a hand on you. He wasn’t sure if he could debase the holiness of your body with his unworthy hands.

You, upon seeing his hesitance, spread your legs a little wider for him, tantalising him. Remus was dithering as he leaned closer, you’d expected him to go straight for your leg, after all, you had purposefully laid them out for him, and you couldn’t help but be left breathless when he reached up and brushed his fingers on your face. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, almost in a whisper. The raw honesty he used sent a shiver down your spine, you had been called beautiful before, plenty of times, but none of them had felt as genuine as Remus’ words. As deep-rooted and meaningful. “Like an angel,” he added.

Your breath was already heavier, and he had only grazed the pads of his fingers over your cheek. He brushed his thumb over your lips for a second before he moved it to the side and dragged it under your chin. One of his fingers behind your ear, and the rest accommodating along your neck while his thumb placed circles over your throat. “And so soft,” he said then. “I’m scared to break you. Like you really are one of those beautiful saint ikons we have all over the church.”

“I’m far from being a saint,” you said in a whisper, your eyes were as blown as his. The way Remus touched you, how soft and careful he was, how reverential as if each of his fingers was laced with devotion was making you go insane. You weren’t sure anyone had ever touched you like that before, and it made you both crave more and relish in the little he gave.

“Are you?” he asked. “I always feel like I’m floating when you’re around.”

You bit your lips as you looked at him, his other hand had travelled to your arm, and he was holding it firmly, but not strongly, as if he was using it as a reassurance that you were real, that you wanted him.

You bit your lip at that, looking at his, but not leaning into them, “Remus?” You said softly.

“Yeah?” he breathed. He was enjoying the way your cheeks felt warm under his touch and the way the hair on your arm would stand on end as he traced his feather-light fingers over the back of your hand.

“Remember my dream?” Remus wanted to respond that he could never forget your dream, that he had it every night, all the different variations of it that had gone through his head were so sinful he should have gone to hell just for desiring you with that vigour. He merely nodded. “Remember what I did after that?” Remus’ eyes lost in his hands, rushed back to your face.

He hesitated, “You want me to touch you there?”

You looked down at his hands, your gaze lingering over his broad chest, and the way the tight-fitted cassock looked on him, “Please,” you sighed.

Remus, who had never touched a woman like that in his entire life, was beyond nervous as you guided one of his hands to your leg. He was hesitant, playing with the soft skin of your thigh first, softly closing his hands around them and then letting go, each time, his hand reaching deeper in, closer to your core. You were looking at him with a gaze so lustful you might have as well been possessed by one of the seven deadIy sins.

Or perhaps, it was him the one possessed. He wasn’t any better as he stared at you, gulping as he touched you, his cock straining against his pants in a way that should have been uncomfortable, but just with the sight of you embracing his inexpert touch became beyond pleasurable.

He’d become a debauchee, he wanted more of you, all of you. And here you were, giving yourself into all his lecherous thoughts, into all of yours. He was drowning in the idea of having you for himself, of making you his, vows be damned, he wanted you more than anything he’d ever wanted before.

More than God? His mind asked him. Remus stopped moving for a second, and then you placed your hand on his chest, gripped the fabric covering it, and dragged him closer to you, the question was forgotten in an instant, and his hand, almost as in instinct, went right over your slit. But he pulled it back in an instant and looked at you in shock.

“You’re not wearing any underwear.”

You took his hand and dragged it back into your thighs, “I never do when I come to see you.”

His breath was slow and ragged, a part of him was furious over Father Black touching you earlier, of you knowingly letting him touch your thigh and ride your skirt up with his unclean hands, of you feeling any pleasure at all from his attention, from knowing that under the skirt there was nothing to stop him from touching you.

But Father Black wasn’t here, Father Black didn’t get to touch you in the way he did, and you had dismissed him with a kind smile, but had never looked at him with the licentious expression you were giving him now. You were not Father Black’s, and you had never been Father Black’s. From the moment you entered that confessionary, you knew what you wanted. And you wanted him.

Remus’ hand closed the distance between it and your core. And as light as he had been earlier, he traced his fingers over your slit: Steady, kind, supple. Most men had rushed in, desperate to have you, but Remus did it with a patience reminiscent of a wolf stalking his prey. You opened your legs a little wider for him, and shuddered when his knuckle brushed against your clit.

He swallowed and placed one of his hands next to yours as he leaned a little closer to you, his forehead against yours, “Is this okay?” he asked as he repeated the action, his knuckle finding its way between your folds and brushing over your clit again.

“Yeah,” you sighed. “That’s incredible,” you reassured.

He did it again and felt his heart start to hammer against his chest when your sighs became soft, almost imperceptible moans. But he heard them, he was the one who got to hear all of those beautiful sounds of yours, and he loved it.

Eventually, Remus changed his knuckle for his thumb, figuring out a more precise pace made your moans a little louder, as he touched you, as he heard you, he stared at your lips longingly, of what he’d do to kiss your lips, to become his own breath and feel the way they shivered under his touch. But Remus wouldn’t dare to kiss you without you doing it first, he thought you allowing him to touch you in the way you did, was already so much, that he didn’t deserve to also have your lips.

If only he knew the only reason you hadn’t leaned in to kiss him was because you thought you’d scare him away, he would have closed the gap between the two ages ago.

“Remus– Rem, Rem,” you said as you placed a hand on his shoulder. The way his name had fallen from your lips, so lascivious, was overwhelming all of his senses, almost making him short-circuit just from your voice.

“Yeah?” he asked breathily.

“You can,” you closed your eyes and attempted to focus on your words. “You can put your finger inside if you want.”

He looked at you with a confused raise of the eyebrows. And then he mustered enough courage to ask for something he had only dreamed of since he saw you touching yourself in the confessionary. “How about my tongue?”

His bold question was enough to pull you back into reality, his fingers now tracing slow circles over your clit, slow and steady, as if he was trying to keep you warm as you thought about it. He’d paid attention to the way you touched yourself, he’d always been good at learning, and this was no different.

“You–” you hesitated, trying to regain focus. This was him taking control of the situation, and he was brilliant at it. Your breath was heavy as you asked, “You want to?”

“I’ve wanted to since that day you gave me your handkerchief,” he admitted. You let out a breathy laugh and used your hands to push further back into the desk, so it was easier for him to bend over you, but instead, he took both of your legs and pulled them to the edge as he kneeled on the floor, levelling himself to your core. His hot breath against you sent a shiver down your spine.

Remus Lupin had never kneeled for anyone other than God or his saints. He had never kneeled for anyone that wasn’t already a spirit in the sky or a very important church figure. And he had certainly never kneeled for a woman.

But you weren’t just any woman, you were an angel, you were his new saint, the one whose name he would repeat like a prayer over and over every night, the one he couldn’t and didn’t want to stop thinking about. So when he kneeled down for you, he didn’t repent for it. No, he adored the idea of surrendering himself to you, of giving you anything and everything you wanted.

His angel, if he could, then he’d also bring you to heaven.

Remus looked at your juicy slit before leaning in a little closer and placing a soft kiss on your plush inner thigh. You shivered as he slowly, kiss by kiss, got closer to your core. You almost unwantedly clenched over nothing. He could see your movements, your hips bending just slightly up and your back arching at the mere idea of having him where you needed, and he smiled. Positioning himself right over your slit, but not closing the gap yet.

“Are you ready, angel?”

“Yes,” you breathed, and Remus didn’t waste a second after that. He leaned down and his tongue traced your slit in the same gentle manner in which he had touched you earlier, he allowed his tongue to explore the outside, licking away all of the juices that had coated you when he used his hands to please you. He moaned when he first got a taste of you.

Remus became desperate for more soon, his hands pulling you closer to his face and then carefully pushing your legs open wider, looking up at you to make sure you were comfortable in the new position, but without taking his mouth away from your cunt. Your face, leaning down on the desk was one of pure, unabashed bliss. He was doing that, he was taking you to heaven, and he loved every single stroke.

Your soft moans when he licked, the gasping when he sucked and kissed your clit with a little more forcefulness, the whimpers you made when he brought his hand to your core, both to use his elbow to keep your legs widened and to trace circles over your clit when he distracted himself with licking some other part of you. With kissing or softly nipping at your slit.

Remus might have not been an expert, but every single sound you made was his guidance, and when you sounded the most pleased, then he knew that’s where he should stay, that he should keep going at it until you were a moaning mess, until you were pushing your hips onto him and he had to hold you back to continue doing it, since he figured you enjoyed it more than when you rocked your hips onto his face. Not that he minded it, he loved that just as much as the fact that he could touch you.

“Fuck Remus,” you breathed, “I think I’m gonna…”

Remus didn’t know much about women getting their climax, only really what his friends had mentioned to him before, and how much harder it was for them. It didn’t seem like that though, it hadn’t been all that hard to get you there, not when he had enjoyed every single second of it thoroughly.

Remus knew though, that you would need a little extra stimulation to get there, so he switched his fingers from your clit towards your entrance, and his mouth back at your clit. He was soft and slow at first, only teasing the area as if to find it. And then he remembered the way you had done it inside the confessionary and dug his finger in. You gasped, and he did just the same. He didn’t know what the hell to expect it to feel, but it was tight, and soft, and slippery and he couldn’t help but imagine his cock inside, and how the warmth and the pleasure would feel. Divine, you were beyond fucking divine.

You moaned his name and he curled his finger inside of you, causing you to gasp as he continued to suck at your clit, and then he massaged, softly but purposefully, curling and sliding his finger until you were trembling, one hand gripping at his shoulder and the other one curling on the side of the table, your nails scratching onto the soft varnish coating of the wood. As he looked at you, he realised just how turned on he was himself. He was throbbing behind his trousers, rocking his hips into nothing as he kept kissing you, the slight friction from his underwear was enough to make him want to tremble as well.

Eventually, you stopped trembling, your breath short and eyes closed as you panted. Your legs, which had been tense with clenching muscles, had relaxed into suppleness. He slowed down his movements when you did, easing you out of your high in the most tender way you had ever seen anyone do. Massaging your tights until your panting turned into a softer and more toned down breath, and just when he was sure you were relaxed, he pressed a soft kiss to your slit, as if he was thanking it for letting him touch you in the way he had. Like you would kiss a saint ikon or the feet of the Jesus statue themselves.

Then he leaned his head on your thigh, and pulled a handkerchief from his trousers, passing it slowly over all the areas he had licked and sucked. Being careful when he got to your slit and noting how much more sensitive you were than at the beginning. When he was done, he pressed another soft kiss, this time to your inner thigh, and then closed his eyes as he enjoyed your warm soft skin pressed onto his cheek.

You pushed yourself up by your elbows, and your heart fluttered at the tenderness of his expression. It was like a spell had been cast on him, where he looked so soft, like the pure, holy man he was and not like the lust-driven one you had turned him into.

After looking at him for a minute, you pushed yourself into a sitting position and placed your hand over his head, he looked up at you like you were the most divine thing he’d ever experienced. Almost purring into your hand as you allowed it to brush over his head and neck. “Let me help you finish,” you said softly and slid from the desk, you were right in the middle of him and the piece of furniture, so close to him you could feel his breath on your face.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said.

You frowned as you pressed your hand to his lower abdomen, you thought he said it out of shame because he wanted to make you the one blessed today. But you knew that the poor man, starved from touch and probably love, deserved to come more than you who had touched yourself whenever you felt like it for years now.

So you dug your hand in his trousers, but he was soft, and there was something sticky all over your hand. You pulled your hand out of them and stared at it in shock. “You came?”

He was looking at you, neck and ears red with shame. Breathing in before nodding. He couldn’t quite decipher your gaze, but he knew enough about sex to know that when a man came early, it meant he was precocious, overly eager and childlike. Remus despised the idea of not being good enough for you, “I’m sorry.”

“God, don’t be!” you replied. “Did you– were you touching yourself while you…”

“No,” he said a little too fast.

“So this” –you moved your hand, looking at his glistening cum on it– “this was just from giving me pleasure?”

“Well, I’d never–” he started, trying to find an excuse that would make him feel less shameful.

You just smiled and pulled him into a reassuring hug, leaning your head on his shoulder as you rubbed your hands over his back. “That’s okay, darling… It’s just, I never thought a man would feel such pleasure from doing that to me that he came without further stimulation. If anything, I’m flattered. You must not be ashamed.”

“But didn’t you want more?”

“Oh, Remus,” you said as you pulled your head up and leaned close to his ear, enough for your lips to brush against his still-red tips, “I always want more.”

The way you were wrapped around him, the soft way you spoke, it was strangely reminiscent of the serpent tempting Eve. Wanting him to bite onto the forbidden fruit, the fruit that would be having you in the way he so intensely wanted –needed– to have you.

Atonement, penitence…. Could he even have one when he didn’t regret any of his sins? When rather than feeling remorseful, he wanted more, more of anything you’d give him, more of you. You were delightful, stunning, and warm and perfect all over, he wanted to kiss you so bad, but he didn’t know if he was allowed. The image of your lips against him might have been more tantalising than the image of his cock inside you.

Satisfying his carnal needs wasn’t enough anymore, he wanted to appease his mind too, and the only thing that had that ability was you. You felt like peace and tranquillity. Like you were his sacred place, more holy than the very walls surrounding the both of you. But above all, he wanted more, he wanted to be able to touch you again, to feel you so close to him again that he could almost touch your very soul.

“I’m gonna be in charge of the Church during the retreat,” he blurted out.

“Congratulations, Father Remus,” you said with a bit of a smirk, still hugging him as you did.

“What I mean is– the Church, it’s going to be lonely. Probably just me and a few others who will be too busy studying the scriptures for the Pope’s visit next month.”

That’s when you pulled back to look at him, a mischievous expression on your face, “Are you inviting me over for the night, Father Remus?”

“I thought,” he started, and then smirked. “I thought you might want to confess again.”

ACT IX: I am the LORD your God; you shall not have strange gods before me.

The priests were meant to leave by midday. At 9 in the evening, by the time you were set to arrive, the church looked almost deserted. The people from de Diose that would always be walking around in their robes were nowhere to be seen. In the chairs, there was nothing more than dust. You had seen the last person walk out as you walked inside.

She stood right at the entrance when you were walking up the stairs and then did the sign of the cross as she looked up at the altar. You looked at it as well, the altar at Saint Gryffin was beautiful. Made of marble and carved with a design so intricate it could have belonged to a museum. It had golden touches, that you suspected were not made of paint but rather real gold, and right behind it, a little on the higher side, there was a stunning round, stained-glass window that reflected its colours all over the church when the light hit it a certain way, or so you’d heard a woman claim.

You took a deep breath as you looked at it, outside of the church being the oppressive organism that you disagreed with, there was still beauty to be appreciated. But that was the thing about the world, there was something to appreciate even in the most wretched of things, even the most wicked being in creation, had something to be said for him. They had a huge painting of god casting Lucifer down to Earth near one of the walls, and there always seemed to be people who insisted on drawing the Devil as the most beautiful of men. That had been described in the bible of course, but it was very Wildean of the bible to have a man so corrupted be as delightful.

Or perhaps it was very biblical of Wilde to write a book where a beautiful man became corrupted, gave in to every single lewd wish they had, and yet, remained as beautiful as an angel.

As your steps echoed on the empty church, you walked straight towards the confessionary. Since both you and Remus thought it was the best place to hide while he was closing it all down. You heard the big doors of the church being closed, and Remus dismissing one of his older deacons, the one who was studying to become a priest, with the characteristic solemnity of a man of the church.

The same solemnity that seemed to leave him the minute he felt you, standing behind him. You had leaned onto him while he finished up with the locks and whispered in his ear. “Nice to see you again, Father. Will you take my confession?”

He swallowed, he knew it was your little game, and he decided to play along. “Pray tell child, what have you done this time?”

“I was walking on the street,” you said. “On a little one of those stores where they sell elegant underwear for women, or well, I suppose they really sell them for men, so they enjoy their women… I saw a little set.”

“What kind of set?” he asked, his gaze fixed on the wooden door, he pretended to busy himself with the locks, although they were all done by now, he just kept touching them with an air of nervousness that he tried to contain as he spoke.

“Well, it had a bra, one of those really nice push-up bras that make women’s breasts look delightful, and a small little thing for underwear that’s so transparent I might as well be naked while wearing it. But the best part, Rem, oh, the best part is the matching transparent little robe that came with it.” His breath got stuck in his throat, he resisted the urge to turn around as you pressed your body to his back, leaning so close he could feel your lips touching his earlobe. “Would you like to know the colour?”

Remus gulped, so loud it almost made an echo in the church. “Yes.”

“Then turn around and see it for yourself.”

He did, and there you stood, wearing the exact clothes you had described. He imagined the colour you’d chosen had been forest green, like the girl from his magazine, but he never imagined how absolutely enchanting you’d look in such an outfit.

“Your little story inspired me, thought you’d like it,” you said with a smile, and then you looked down at the visible bulge in his pants. “I gather you did?”

Remus was speechless as he stared at you, he was never expecting anyone, let alone you to put such an effort for him, to dress in such a scanty little outfit just to please him. A part of him was dying to take it off, like he’d dreamed with that girl from the magazine, the other part of him, wanted to let you keep it, to have you like that forever. And then, there was the desperate part of him, the one that he couldn’t keep under control as he leaned down and kissed you. His mouth was in yours when he realised he hadn’t even asked if he could.

“I’m sorry,” he said as he pulled apart. “I’m sorry I didn’t–”

You smiled and placed your hands around his neck, “I thought you’d never do that,” you breathed, and pushed him back into the kiss. His lips were soft, and gentle, and it was you the one to press your tongue against them. He complied with your wish, and suddenly your tongues were dancing with each other, deepening the kiss.

Remus’ hands found their way to your waist, and he pulled you closer to him, your stomach pressed against his boner, and he almost flinched when he realised and tried to pull his hips back, but you didn’t let him. “I want to feel it, Rem,” you whispered in between kisses. “I like to feel how good I make you feel.”

“You make me feel better than anything and anyone has ever made me feel,” he retorted. “That’s nothing, that’s just collateral.”

You could have drowned in his words. But instead, you decided to drown in his lips, returning to kiss him with an even more ardent fervour. You somehow got Remus to sit on one of the benches and he pushed his head to look up at you while you kissed him. His hands had gotten just venturous enough to touch thighs, and the idea that he could was only making him harder. The strain of his cock on his trousers was almost painful at this point. You figured when he had to move one of his hands to adjust himself and hissed at the contact.

That was enough for you to climb on top of him. “Sweet thing, what are you–” he tried to ask in between a kiss, but you were already rocking your hips against him before he continued, and his words were interrupted by a moan.

You pulled back and smiled, “Helping you with that tension.”

He stared at you, the way your swollen lips moved and turned upwards into that very like you smile, and he tried not to eagerly jerk against you the next time you leaned your clothed sex closer to him.

“This is the first time I ever– fuck…” Teasing you was hard when you were so damn incredible at making him feel in heaven. “I ever see you wearing knickers.”

“Perhaps your goodness is rubbing off on me,” you replied with an equal smirk.

“That’s not the thing that’s rubbing onto you,” he somehow managed to joke, and you laughed. A laugh so angelical it might have as well come from heaven altogether, it echoed against the vaulted ceiling of the place and then came back to him in a lower, softer tone that made him smile, and drag you back into a kiss. He was clearly much more confident –or perhaps just more eager– today.

“Father Remus,” you said as you pushed your hips on him, he struggled to get a grip on reality as he focused on what you were saying.

“Mhm?”

“I want to confess.”

“Right now?”

“It’s a very sinful thought I’ve had.”

Remus arched an eyebrow and then moaned when you rolled your hips against him again, making sure he was turned on enough to comply with your, actually very sinful little wish.

“Then tell me, dove. I’ll absolve you. I’d absolve you from anything.”

“But I don’t want absolution, Father,” you said and let out a shaky breath. “I want you to sin with me.”

Remus laughed, “Anything you want.”

“You haven’t even heard my request.”

“My answer remains the same,” he said solemnly.

You smiled and leaned closer to him, making sure to lean your hips on his, feeling how hard he was on your core making you so wet you were sure your new knickers were already stained. You whispered what you wanted in his ear. Low, steady, as if you weren’t alone in the church. Then you pulled back to look at him, “So?”

He gulped and looked behind you as if considering your request, there was a nervous gaze on him, a small frown, and you worried your request had been out of line, “I’m sorry,” you said quickly, and pulled from him, leaning on his thighs instead of his hips. A worried expression plastered your features, terrified you might have killed the mood. “If you don’t want to then we don’t have to, we–”

He pulled you into a kiss, he thought it was lovely how quickly you had changed your mind for him, but his words carried meaning, and when he said ‘anything you want’, he really meant it. He pulled his lips from your and pressed kisses all the way to your ear and then whispered “I was just thinking how to get us there.”

You were thrumming with excitement by the time he dragged his hands to your thighs and pulled himself up with you wrapped around him.

“I won’t let you fall,” he said as he noticed you steadying yourself.

“I know,” you said with a smile and pressed a kiss to his neck that made him falter. “I may have my doubts now.”

“I would never let you fall, darling, not without going along with you,” he whispered and started walking towards the chancel. He looked at the Bishop’s chair and imagined having you there, but that wasn’t what you’d asked for.

When he reached the altar, it was easy enough to lean on it and let you sit, the height was just about perfect for him, with how tall he was, your faces were levelled with each other. Remus had been taught to care for the altar, to kiss it, to worship it since it was the symbol of sacrifice, the symbol of God, the cynosure of all eyes during any Eucharistic celebration. He thought it rather proper to place you there, since to him, you were the real cynosure.

And he would treat you like such, he would kiss you, and worship you, like you were God yourself. Because at this point, you might as well have been.

The altar was bare except for a few candles that he hastily pushed to the side as he stared at you, sitting there with your profane little clothes while still looking as holy as an angel. He had been behind the altar perhaps thousands of times, yet he had never felt nearly as illuminated as he had that moment.

“What?” you asked as you tilted your head to the side, a small smile playing on your lips.

“Just admiring how incredibly stunning you look,” he said. And then he tilted his head, his tone changed, “I think I need to confess.”

You smiled, you loved it when Remus joined your little game, you bit your lip and placed your hands on each side of his flushed cheeks. “Speak, dear one, I will absolve you with a kiss.”

“I want to sullen this sacred table by worshipping a different god on it.”

“Different? To him?” you asked as you nodded towards the cross in the back. “A better one?”

“A much more tangible one,” he said. “One that dresses in beautiful lingerie and steals his priests.”

“Just one,” you corrected. “I only want one of his priests.”

He chuckled, “Just one then.”

“Come, I’ll absolve you,” you said and leaned closer to him, pressing your lips on his again.

There were warning signs all around Remus’ head. Red flags telling him to stop, voices calling him a harlot, weak of mind and body, a heathen and a pagan. His reproaching father telling him how much of a disappointment he was, the elder being disappointed at his lewd actions, and the part of him that was still a priest telling him to stop before it was too late, before he wouldn’t be able to do it, but that line had long ago been crossed, and all of those thoughts were the easiest thing to ignore when your sweet lips were in his.

You had to be an angel, there was no other way you could make him feel as incredible as you did. And if not an angel, then you really were a god, his Goddess. And so he would venerate you and worship you on the altar like he’d learned to worship his previous god.

ACT X: You shall not kill

Remus stopped kissing your mouth and started placing soft, feather-like kisses all over your face until he got to your neck, gently moving the thin, translucent fabric of the little robe to the side so he could kiss the skin of your collarbone. Open-mouthed kisses and soft licks that felt desperate filled your senses as he pressed his face to your skin and breathed in your smell.

The slight scent of rose he particularly enjoyed when the church was filled with them for a wedding that the soap you’d specifically bought for today had tainted your skin with, the smell of the city air where you had commuted, and the ridiculously delicious natural smell of your skin. He kissed again and again, slowly letting his hands wander through your body, digging them down to the robe until the small bow that tied it was undone and he pushed it off your shoulders and allowed it to pool down on your hips.

He pulled back to look at you again, lips swollen and red from how much he’d kissed you, lustful gaze lost on you, pupils blown out and softly panting as he regained his breath from the previous kisses. He bit his lips as he stared at your breasts. He’d seen them, but he’d never touched them, you weren’t even sure if he’d ever actually touched a pair in his life, and he had been purposefully avoiding them altogether as he kissed your neck.

You smiled, “You want to take it off, or do you want me to do it?”

He swallowed thickly at that, looking up at your eyes as if trying to make sure you were serious about your words, you raised your eyebrows at that.

“It might be tricky, but I’m sure you’d manage, you’re a clever man, after all.”

He wrapped his hands around you after that, first on your shoulders, and then he got closer, slotting himself even deeper between your legs as he allowed his fingers to delicately brush over your shoulder blades as his eyes were focused on your neck. You looked at him while he did, your own breath nervous and as slow as you could make it. The way he touched you, the way he revered you with every brush of his fingers against skin was almost overwhelming.

You bit your lip as his fingers found the clasp, and tightened your grip on the edge of the altar as the anticipation ate you up, his hands were slow, as if he was trying to figure out what the mechanism was before actually undoing it. But once he did, he didn’t take long, with one hand he pressed one side to your back and with the other he undid the clasp. After that, he placed his hand flat on your back and allowed you to rest there for a second before travelling back to your shoulders and playing with the straps.

He gave a questioning look and you nodded, he didn’t waste time as he slid them down your arms, while carefully removing the green item from your breasts. He saw the way they bounced slightly down and stared at them solely as he removed the rest of the garment and threw it backwards. He got to see the way they perked with the chill air of the night and he stared as if it was the first time he ever looked at them. Perhaps it felt like that since the last time it had been through the confessionary, and he hadn’t even had the time to touch them.

His hands hovered over your breasts before you gave him an approving nod and he leaned close enough to touch them. He went back to kissing your neck as he brushed his thumb over your lower breast and only after he’d felt how soft, and sensitive they were –due to your reaction to his soft touch– did he dare to cup them in his hands.

“Is that okay?” he asked as he tightened his grip on the one he was holding. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”

“Not at all,” you responded and leaned closer to him, your other breast brushing against his cassock. “Can I take this off?” you asked as you gripped his shirt.

“You may do as you please to me,” he said honestly. You allowed your hands to travel to his white necktie and pulled it off as you too found a way to kiss his neck. He was pressing kisses to your hair as he delicately brushed his thumb over your nipple and moaned your name from the way you kissed him. It was a little complicated to find the buttons of his shirt at first, but when you did you were quick to undo them and shrug his shirt off. Above it all, you wanted to feel his skin against yours.

You allowed your hands to brush over his scars, you hoped one day he’d tell you why they were there, but for now you did nothing more than admire them as you kissed from his neck all the way to his shoulder. He sighed your name as he delicately pinched your nipples, and then he allowed his hands to travel to your back and push forward, holding you as gravity pushed you down, allowing your back to rest against the cold marble of the altar.

“You’re the prettiest thing my eyes have ever laid upon, you know that?” he asked as he looked at you. At your breasts, at your hands, at the curve of your neck and at the way your hair had sprawled all over the marble. The place had been designed so that the light from the stained glass window fell over the altar at certain moments of the night and day, and at that precise moment, it was reflecting all over you, tinting your skin with infinite colours. The light from it was casting a halo around your head.

If Remus hadn’t realised by then that he would not only break his vows for you but do anything you asked, be it eat from the forbidden fruit or kill a man, he knew it when he saw the way you leaned over your elbows and cocked your head to the side, looking at the way he stared curiously. Remus had already forgone his god for you, and he was ready to forgo himself if you asked.

“Will you kiss me again?” You asked, voice soft, almost innocent.

“I’d do anything you wanted,” he said honestly and leaned into you, pressing kisses to your neck. You felt his skin against yours, rough and soft and you sighed at the blissful feeling his kisses gave you. His kisses went from your neck to your collarbone and then he tentatively brushed his nose over the valley of your breasts, looking up at your reaction before pressing a kiss to one of them. A soft and innocent sort of kiss, before he actually opened his mouth and sucked on one of your nipples, nibbling on it when he realised you shivered at the grazing of his teeth.

Then he continued going down, and slotted himself between your legs, feeling how wet you were over your thin lingerie. He teased you by pulling on the elastic of the knickers, and slid them down your legs before he pressed a kiss to your thigh; and while you were dying to feel his lips on your clit again, there was something else you wanted, something neither of you had dared to try with each other, and if things went anything like they had done the previous time he’d gone down on you, he would have been too spent to do it.

“Not–” you breathed. “I want to do something else today.”

He looked up at you curiously, his hot breath against your core sending shivers down your spine, “Yeah?” he asked, he was clearly as much in a haze as you were, absolutely and irrevocably drunk on you.

“I want you inside me,” you breathed out. He looked at you as if your request was alarming. “Please.”

There was nothing, not in heaven, not on earth, and certainly not in hell that would have made him deny you. He pressed another kiss over your thigh and then he moved you a little further up into the altar, climbing up himself so he had at least a little more leverage. “I’ve never–” he hesitated. “You’ll have to teach me, angel.” The smile you gave him was the most devilish one you’d ever given anyone, but to him it was nothing short of angelical. “Will you?”

“With pleasure,” you retorted, pushed yourself up and turned the two of you around, now his back was on the altar. “It’s quite simple Father Remus, I’m sure you’ll master it in no time like you’ve done with everything else I’ve taught you.”

He just stared at you, eyes filled with lust as he nodded in acknowledgement. You tilted your head forward and let out a soft sigh, lips curved into that same smile as before. You placed your fingers on his collarbone, “I assume you already know the way it works,” you said as you allowed your hand to lay flat against his toned chest, and then dragged it down. “Should I teach you that as well?”

“If it pleases you,” he answered.

You looked at him with a teasing grin and then pushed yourself up to straddle him, knees on either side of his thighs as you slowly undid his trousers and pulled them down. Once they were out of the way you went for his boxers, allowing your hands to brush over his thick-length just to hear his reaction, the groan he tried to suppress was nothing short of thrilling. You didn’t waste much more time before you too pulled them off. His cock sprang up, thick and proud. You bit your lip and dug your nails in your tight before you reached for it.

Remus was sensitive, and you did not want him to come before he was inside of you, so instead of teasing him further with your hands, you accommodated yourself right on top of him and pressed yourself over his cock. Your folds wrapping themselves around it as you rocked your hips back and forth to coat him with your juices. You heard him curse and groan, and you were trying really hard to hold yourself together, but you couldn’t help the mellowing sounds that escaped your mouth as his cock brushed against your clit. He thought it was heavenly, he thought nirvana was at his reach and he wasn’t even from that religion.

“So what you have to do,” you breathed.

“That wasn’t it?” he teased as he saw you attempt to raise yourself from his cock and fail, he placed his hands on your waist to help, but when he figured how good that particular position made you feel, instead of raise he pushed you down on him again, moaning at the way your folds made the skin of his cock pull back.

“Well, that’s great for me,” you said as you leaned towards him and rocked your hips again, your lips so close to his that they brushed each other as you spoke again. “But I can make it better for you.”

Remus wasn’t sure that was possible, but he had thought there was nothing better than touching himself with the thought of you and you had proved him wrong with your sweet lips around his cock. “I wouldn’t mind it if we stayed like this.”

You rolled your hips again and he moaned, “Bet you wouldn’t,” you laughed. And then raised your hips again, his cock sprang up again, and you bit your lip as you looked down and reached for it, accommodating it towards your entrance. You brushed his tip against your clit a couple of times and moaned his name before slowly letting it find your entrance. His breath got caught in his throat as his tip entered you, “Is that okay?” you asked softly.

“Fuck– yes…” he let out. You smiled, and continued with your task, slowly sinking in deeper. Remus was moaning your name as he felt your walls stretch around him. “It’s… really fucking tight.”

“If it’s too much I–”

“Don’t dare stop!” He rushed out. You smiled and continued your careful descent until he was completely inside you. Your head was laying on his chest as the two of you panted, getting used to the intoxicating feeling the other brought. He was filling you up and making you feel things without even having to move.

“How’s that?” You asked as you clenched around him.

“My god, did you just–?” You clenched again and he groaned.

“Gather you liked it?” He gave you a look. “Tell me when you’re ready for more.”

“More?” he asked confused, and you rocked your hips forward, he moaned and felt himself throb inside you, “Okay,” he breathed. “May I?”

You nodded, he placed his hands on your waist again, helping you move your hips on him, and cursed, eyes closing shot as he got used to feeling so overwhelmingly good. You smiled and rolled your hips as you pushed yourself up, resting both of your hands on his chest and using them as leverage for rolling your hips even more.

He accidentally pushed his hips into you, “M’sorry,” he muttered.

“No, that’s good,” you encouraged, and he did it again. “You feel incredible,” he said, almost to himself. “You look incredible,” he added, looking at your face, brows slightly furrowed as you bit your bottom lip and rocked your hips on his, at the way your breasts bounced with the rolling of your hips.

You would be lying if you said you didn’t love his praises. He was always so adamant with them, and they always made your stomach flutter, even now, as he was inside you. His thrust got more desperate, and you realised your weight was making it harder for him to move freely.

“Let’s– Let’s switch,” you stammered. “Take the top so you can move better.”

“You sure?” he asked hesitantly and you nodded. He placed his hands on your back and carefully flipped the two around without disconnecting your bodies and started pounding into you with a little more urgency.

You smiled, and allowed him to rut into you, as he leaned closer to kiss you. “I like this position too,” he said with a smile.

“Mhm?” you asked as you looked into his eyes.

“I can kiss you as much as I please like this,” he said and closed the gap between your lips, biting on the bottom one as he pulled back to look at you again. You clenched around him in retort and he moaned. “When you do that…” he breathed, his forehead pressed into yours.

His thrusts started to pick up the pace as if he was losing control over himself, you instantly knew he was close and dragged your hand down to your clit to rush your own climax.

“What are you?” He asked and lost his trail of thought after you touched your clit and let out a soft mellow moan. Your knuckles brushed against his cock with each rut and he was quick to drag his own hand down –the one he wasn’t using to hold himself above you– and push yours out of the way to draw circles over your clit. “Good?”

“Mhm…” you moaned, eyes shut and completely lost in the feeling of his hands on you. He pounded against you again and somehow reached that spot inside that made you squirm. Your panting increased, and your heartbeat quickened even further. Remus, who was adamant on seeing every single reaction his touch made you feel, decided he had to do it again to hear that sweet sound of yours and soon enough he had you melting for him.

Now he had been the one to take you to heaven, so perhaps he had, in a way, converted you back, since you once again believed such a place existed, even if it was just for a second.

“I think I’m going to–” he cut himself off when he felt cum shut out right inside you. “Fuck. I’m sorry,” he said as he tried to get out. But you were faster, gripping onto his neck and dragging him to a kiss.

“It’s okay,” you clenched around him, feeling yet another ribbon of his warm cum inside you. “Please do it inside.”

Remus tried not to moan at your request and hid his blushed face in your neck as he continued to thrust inside you, movement erratic as he milked the rest of himself on you.

When he was done, he fell on top of you, his head beside yours as he breathed thickly, his weight crushing you in a way that you thought was insanely pleasurable. After a few minutes, you tilted your head to the side and reached your hand up to play with his hair as leaned your lips close to his ear. “So, how was it?”

He scoffed at your question, you definitely knew how insanely good it had been for him. “As if it weren’t obvious.”

“I’d still like to hear you say it,” you said with a wicked smile.

“Insane,” he said and turned to look at you. “Absolutely, and undeniably mental.”

“Yeah?”

“I thought I was in heaven.”

“Maybe we both were,” you said honestly. He pulled from you and allowed himself to lay beside you, not missing the way his cum slid down your folds. You slotted yourself in between his arm and his chest, and brushed your hands over his toned chest.

“Father?” you started.

He turned to you, “Don’t call me that anymore. I’ve broken my vows, I’ve killed him.”

You looked at him with a sort of forlorn expression, “I’m sorry,” you said honestly. You had wanted him so much, that you hadn’t thought of how your wishes would affect him.

“Don’t be,” he said with a smile, “I am not.”

Even if he had shattered his vows, even if he had broken most of the church’s rules, he’d had seen heaven, and he did not want, and wouldn’t want to go back from it. Remus recognized every single thing he’d done wrong, he’d seen his vileness, but he decided he’d go on with it.

Because how could it possibly be wrong to kiss you? How could it be wrong to touch you and to feel himself inside you when it felt so good? There were no righteous men and no catholic god that could have convinced him that what’d he’d done with you was wicked, not when he saw your smile, and not when he looked into your hypnotising eyes. Every single thing about you was perfect, and he wouldn’t have changed a thing of what he’d done.

Remus had decided to switch religions, he’d decided to get a new creed, he now fervently believed that you were his everything.

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