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blacklistedfun · 9 months

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My first fic woop

" Sleeping in Church "

Rev. Putty x FemReader

Synopsis: After finishing Sunday's sermon, the Reverend plans to quickly leave for Sinville to relax. However, he realizes that there is still someone attending the church albeit asleep.

Warnings: there's no sex just a lot of nonconsensual touching, creepy and slightly yandere Reverend Putty since he becomes pretty obsessed by the end in the second part. if I need to add any more tags just let me know please

Notes: wooo this is extremely self-indulgent but ehh. Also inspired by @yandere--stuck posts about this fool. I imagine this is Putty before any character growth he has in the show but its whatever you prefer

(Part 1)

Finally, the service was over. Reverend Putty went through his usual routine of giving half-hearted goodbyes to his congregation, his forced smiles barely hiding his impatience. He exasperatedly quelled Orel's nonstop questions, answering them as civilly as he could before waving the boy off.

All week, he had heard the siren's call beckoning him to get out of Moralton and into one of the many cathouses of Sinville. Rod only hoped that this Sunday his congregation hadn't been miserly with the offering bowl like last time. As much as he felt the exhaustion in his bones, the allure of a little afternoon delight had its grip on him.

Just the thought of some much-needed stress release made him want to hurry things along just in case. He contemplated whether he really needed to go ahead and clean up the church before pushing the thought back to grab the money and make a quick exit to beat the traffic out of town.

Just as he was going to his office to count what he has to bargain with, his gaze quickly took notice of the back of a head that appeared to still be attending, slightly leaning at the end of a pew's armrest. Rod could tell by the slumped posture that they've obviously not been praying. His ire flared.

Sure, okay, sleep through his sermon. God may forgive you, but Rod won't.

Also, inconveniencing him when he was trying to get his rocks off after a hard, long week? No. Absolutely not.

With determined steps, Rod stomped toward the seemingly inconsiderate individual, only to pause when he caught sight of you in a vibrant sundress, peacefully unconscious. His intention of ejecting the sleeper was abruptly halted. He didn't even know you; you hadn't been present during the initial greetings before he began his sermon. Evidently, you must have slipped in sometime after he had taken to the podium.

Rod placed a hand on his hip while the other adjusted his glasses, squinting at you with a mix of bewilderment and curiosity. You did look tired, he conceded, with dark bags under your eyes. A little scarf was loose around your neck, seeming more fitting for a fall ensemble than a summer dress.

The Reverend also couldn't help but notice that although your dress was in line with what's considered modest church attire – it was a tad low-cut, not that he was complaining. This fact held his attention for a spell, watching your chest rise and fall as you softly slept before he pulled his gaze away in thought.

Honestly, a bit of a looker...

The notion of perhaps trying to engage you for some company after waking you briefly crossed his mind, but he promptly squashed it. Why invest time and money with the risk of you not even putting out when promised satisfaction was only a few miles away? Besides, you had slept through his sermon! That's borderline unforgivable in his eyes.

Exhaling, he prodded your shoulder with his finger, recognizing that if he didn't leave soon, he'd be caught in the crowded line at one of his favored brothels. "Miss, miss..." he repeated, now giving a firmer shake to your shoulder. Still blissfully unaware, you continued to sleep.

"Come on, the service is over. You're on Rod's time now, not God's."

You didn't stir. Even after a series of less-than-gentle shakes, you remained peacefully undisturbed. Only moving slightly, still nothing. Frustration mounted even more, and Rod increased the intensity of his attempts to awaken you, his patience wearing thin.

I've got places to be at, people to bed, so stop wasting my time, you sleeping hussy!

"Come on, come on, WAKE UP!!"

He nagged you unmercifully, the urgency and volume in his voice amplifying as his agitation grew... but then...

"WAKE UP—"

Rod immediately jumped back with a pathetic yelp upon abruptly realizing he had caused a major wardrobe malfunction with his antics. "Oh... no... oh... no," he muttered, his face turning a shade redder. But worse... you did finally stir.

"Oh, no," he repeated, watching in mounting horror as you sleepily fell onto the other side into the pulpit to sleep more comfortably, your dress scrunching up your thighs, revealing an inch of your underwear. His anger evaporated instantly, replaced by an agonizingly slow creeping sense of dread as he slowly gazed down your form.

The worst visible fact from his enthralled attempts to wake you was that he had unintentionally caused your breasts to be exposed not only from your dress but partially out of your bra as well. The silk scarf, which had been delicately wrapped around your neck, was now partially unraveled, adding to the disarray.

Despite all that, you still remained undisturbed, softly snoring within the pew now, seemingly unaffected by the uncomfortable surface you were sleeping on and the shell-shocked Reverend standing over you, frozen.

"O-oh Lord no...," Rod muttered under his breath, his eyes wide with horror.

Frantically looking around to ensure it was just the two of them, his heart raced as he stood there, consumed by an overwhelming sense of mortified fear over his actions and the dark scene he accidentally created. The quick thought of someone walking in on this very moment and finding him standing over an unconscious, partially nude woman in his church sent shivers down his spine.

Or even worse, you waking at this very moment and finding the sweating Reverend standing over you, vulnerable and underdressed.

Before he could've simply left you as you were, hoping that when you did wake, you'd at least have the decency to lock the church's door behind you, but his anger got the better of him. The potential for misunderstandings and accusations now hung over Rod's head like a scythe looming around his neck.

Hell, even his body was assuming the worst at this very moment. Despite the horror and fear stemming from the situation, Rod couldn't ignore the tightening sensation in his pants simply from seeing you in a half-dressed state. The image of you suddenly waking up and assuming the worst about his intentions made his heart race even faster, though. Urgency flooded him; he needed to fix this before you woke up and fast.

With overly cautious steps, he moved closer, desperately summoning memories of penile surgical illustrations from a medical textbook to quell his growing reaction. He felt strangely thankful for Doctor Pottersweel's waiting room reading material from his last visit.

Entering the pew as gracefully as one could at half-mast, he surveyed you now with a slightly clearer mindset, trying to strategically decide on the best way to rectify this predicament plaguing you both at this delicate moment.

I just need to get them covered then make a run for it...

Gingerly, he raised you from your side back to a firmer, more upright sitting position in the pew, using his hands on your shoulders to prevent you from toppling over again. Withdrawing one hand while still steadying you with the other, he took care to arrange your dress hem downward, ensuring your thighs were covered for the sake of modesty and his own waning sense of decency. Now, addressing the primary issue at hand – your exposed chest.

Taking a deep inhale and exhale, the Reverend steeled himself.

Slowly and with great care, he attempted to adjust the garment, his fingers working at the top of the bra cups as if delicately coaxing the fabric to move. The process was deliberate and cautious, as he sought to gradually guide the bra back upward over your breasts.

Almost...

However, as he reached the area around your nipples, he couldn't help but notice how they responded, growing taut and flushed under his touch, even despite his careful handling. To make matters worse, the soft, alluring scent of your perfume lingered in the air, adding to the already hazy and tension-filled atmosphere of the moment.

Roses....definitely roses...

Amidst this delicate situation, he found himself holding his breath, his fingers momentarily frozen between the delicate lace fabric and the flushed skin. His determination to maintain his composure was evident, yet the struggle was undeniable.

Lord...please, if this is some sort of punishment I promise I'll make amends...just...just let me get through this...

The lace fabric between his fingers, the gentle rise and fall of your chest beneath his touch, and the intimate warmth of your skin all combined to create a sensory overload that left him more than slightly frazzled.

J-just one more tug....

The sweet little whimper you sighed out when he tried again made his cock twitch despite his best attempts of mentally conjuring up Dr. Pottersweel slicing into it.

They're so...pink...so sensitive...

This experience was like a whirlwind of sensations, he couldn't help but think about the noises you'd make if he were to touch you the way he'd like; there would be no way for either of you would be able to keep quiet then. Thankfully, the voice of what Rod could only assume was his conscience cleared the air within his fuzzy thoughts.

What on God's green earth are you doing...hurry up!!

As the Reverend's thoughts refocused, a pang of guilt pushed him to quicken his pace, all while ensuring both of your dignities was preserved. With one quick pul up your fully clothed.

....yes.... finally!!!

The man couldn't help but do a mental cheer as he slowly backed away from you, your appearance and demeanor the same as when he first found you. With a sense of accomplishment, the Reverend proudly moved his fist in a triumphant pump.

Yep, he got it! Rod had successfully clothed a woman!

......

.........

............

...............

This realization caused the Reverend's excitement and cheer to instantly deflate.

Here he had been, practically salivating all week for tonight's plans, and now in the present, he was doing the complete opposite of his expectations. He gazed down at your slumped form, oblivious to his disheveled presence, and still peacefuly sound asleep.

His internal shame cast a shadow over his previous impulsive thoughts. No one deserved to get ogled at in this light, in God's house of all places, even if they do sleep through His teachings. He pulled up his sleeve to check his watch, his eyes growing dull as they landed on the hour, then back to you.

Considering the time it would take to reach Sinville, endure the traffic and the lines, select a gal or two, and get a room, it was becoming increasingly apparent that it might be tomorrow morning before he could finally experience the faux companionship and that euphoric satisfaction he had been eagerly craving all week. His current reality couldn't have been more disheartening in his world.

Slowly and with a weary gait, he relocated to the following pew, choosing to sit alone and wait silently for your eventual awakening. As he took his seat, positioned in the pew in front of yours to face the podium, it was as though he had conceded, surrendering to the circumstances. Any remnants of anger that might have lingered within him had been completely dispelled.

Instead, his features were marked with hints of quiet shame that radiated from within him.

Despite no longer being a virgin, he still had that absurd reaction simply from seeing some exposed breasts. He felt, selfishly, that this whole ordeal was more embarrassing for himself than it was for you. And he was the one fully clothed through it... He wanted to blame you, this stranger who had inadvertently ruined his plans and shown that he was still an old, touch-starved fool.

He couldn't help but think that all of this must be some form of divine punishment from above – a mean prank from the Lord for his ways, or at the very least, for using the congregation's offerings in his less than honorable plights.

As he sat there, his gaze shifted up to the cross that loomed above the pulpit.

You really gave me a kick in the head this time, huh?

The sleeper was just someone who came to church to attend and happened to fall asleep – sure ain't the first or the last one to do that. Heck, he'd admit that he kinda phoned today's sermon in, not even bothering with a rough draft to go by, so he might've possibly rambled.

He was sure you didn't fall asleep just for some old professional virgin to jostle you half-nude in church, a literal sanctuary meant for worship. Though an arousing fantasy with someone willing, perhaps. That was definitely not the case here.

Reverend Putty couldn't continue staring at the cross; his thoughts were now consumed by a rare sense of self-awareness, one with which the man was not at all comfortable.

What kind of Reverend am I, behaving like some hormone-driven teenager in my own church?

His musings are interrupted by your stirring from behind him, accompanied by more soft moans and a sleepy, broken word.

"..p lease.."

He looks over his shoulder at you, seeing your peaceful face twist as your sweet dreams seem to sour. The Reverend can't help but think that if you do ever wake up, it'll likely be a painful experience for your joints and muscles. That was always the case for him, anyways.

"C ome..back.."

The Reverend did promise to make amends, after all. You sounded like you were in pain.

With a heavy sigh, he stands and returns to you once more, gently guiding you back to your previous laid position. This time, though, you're lying on your back comfortably and fully clothed. He takes note of your scarf, lost below the pew.

Kneeling down, he carefully retrieves the scarf from where it had fallen, a touch of compassion in his gaze as he delicately places it beside you. They were all small gestures, and he knew they would do little to make up for the horrible ordeal he had inadvertently caused, even if he was the only one who knew.

Seeing your arm start to fall to the side off the pew, he gently grabs your limp hand, maneuvering it to rest peacefully on top of your stomach. The pose resembles something he's seen plenty of times during his funeral services. A dark thought he once used for a sermon resurfaces, and he quickly cringes, shaking his head to dispel the memory, all while maintaining his hold on your hand to adjust it into a more sleep-like position to your side rather than a deceased one.

"P-please...don't..."

In your sleep, your fingers instinctively wrap around his hand, as if seeking comfort. You stir more, managing to shift your grip to his forearm, clutching onto it with a slightly stronger hold using both arms. The warmth of your touch and the softness of your tight grip send a sudden wave of arousal from earlier through him once more, though a lot more subdued this time. Instead, a strange heavy feeling clogs up his chest.

"....don't leave..me.."

The words you unconsciously speak cast an enveloping spell on him. It was like a different kind switch flipped on him this time. The Reverend leans closer, slowly moving onto his knees on the church's floor to hear more before your sleeping form, almost like it's an altar. He isn't about to leave this conversation one-sided.

"Hey, hey... don't worry. I'm not going anywhere," he whispered. The Reverend moves his free hand over you, gently rubbing up your arm.

As Rod's words and touches slowly seep within to soothe your subconscious, he proudly watches the tension in your expression ease. He feels the rhythm of your breath through his fingers, now calmer.

"Good..not.. ....las t....time.." you sleepily add as you nestle into his held palm.

The older man's own breathing hitches as he watches the sleepy tender press of your lips form against his fingers that you're holding. The sensation is so gentle, delicate, that he almost thought he imagined it despite witnessing it. This fleeting kiss stirs something else within him he can't ignore.

Another sweet moan and sigh, you give another sleepy kiss to his hand again, soft lips now on the back of his palm. You cradle it with an embrace that made Rod envy his whole arm and hand.

In fact, he almost retracts his hand with yours to return the gesture but the Reverend catches himself.

Again, what on God's green earth are you doing?!!?

He could easily break free away from this. A tiny nagging voice which could be mistaken for a conscience is trying to reason with him to do so.

Who ever it they're dreaming of, it's not you, ya Nimrod.

"Really....need.."

You. Need. To. Step. Away. Rodney.

He won't, though. The man is completely entranced by another newfound desire. Putty has never experienced someone clinging or even speaking to him like this before, and honestly, he's relishing in it.

"What? What do you need, angel?" he coos. He can't keep from touching your hair, running his fingers through it, admiring its softness.

But then, in a voice even fainter, you murmur, "I need you to... love me..." His heart aches a little at that, the honesty in your words chipping away at his own suppressed need that he's also been denied for far too long.

A revelating thought tiptoes into his mind – perhaps, just perhaps, you were meant to be here, not merely by chance or as some type of cruel punishment from the Lord. Maybe God finally got the memo and sent him an angel of his own, finally.

Even if it's not him you're dreaming of, he's already thinking of ways to change that once you wake. To his pleasant surprise, Rod knows he's receiving something priceless from today's church service after all. He'll make dang sure of it.

His heart races as he leans in, his lips trembling as he hesitates before whispering, desperation evident in his voice, "Do you... do you love me?" The heavy words hang in the air, a vulnerable plea that he can't help but voice, uncertain of what he expects to hear in response.

You shift slightly, gently writhing as he begins to stroke your face methodically. He watches your breathing increase along with the rising and falling of your chest. His caresses grow progressively bolder, his range of touch expanding slowly to explore more of your skin that he hasn't yet touched, all in an effort to rouse you further to speak to him.

In this moment, he doesn't even fear God; he's solely afraid of you not saying what he needs to hear.

"A-angel?" his imploring tone sounding more than a little desperate. It's all types of wrong, the Reverend knows it for a fact, but he tries to keep the conversation going as if his life depends on it. It's messed up beyond measure, but he wants to hear it.

"Angel, p-please..."

An even sicker part of Rod feels like he's been owed this for a long time now.

"How much, c-can you tell me how much, p-please?" his whining voice sounding absolutely pitiful, cracking from this long sought-after feeling of being wanted and loved. His fingers, which had once been so cautious before, are now thumbing the curve of your bottom lip.

"Mhmm...more than any.."

As if on cue, he sees your eye lids slowly flutter. The intimate spell that had held him entranced finally breaks as the reality of the situation hits him once again in a flash. His heart skips a beat as his fears return, and he quickly releases himself from you, jumping back up and away from the pew.

You slowly awaken, your eyes finally fluttering open fully as you try to adjust to your surroundings. With a sleepy groan, you rub your eyes to clear away the remnants of slumber.

Rod's gaze flicked down, and he realized your scarf was still discarded beside you. Hastily, he tried to discreetly slip it away to his back pocket before your gaze could settle on him.

As you sit up and become more aware of your surroundings, you let out another groan, this time accompanied by a soft wince, and reach up to rub your sore neck.

"C-crick in the neck?"

Your own eyes widen, whipping your head to the voice, finally laying eyes on the man you've unknowingly spent an evening with intimately. A frantic quick glance around the church reveals no one but the Reverend, to your horror.

Realizing you've slept through the service and have been caught by none other than the church's Reverend, a red flush breaks through your skin. You stammer, a mix of embarrassment and fear filling your voice.

"S-sorry," you stammer, pressing hands to your heating face. "I—I—I—" You were absolutely mortified.

The Reverend's initial worries melt away as he realizes that the situation is not as dire as he had feared; you seem to be completely unaware of his antics moments prior. His demeanor changes, his expression softening as he watches your flustered reaction. None the wiser.

“S-sorry, so sorry,” you stammer, feeling your face heat up from this less than flattering meeting.

"Hey, hey... no need to worry," he reassures you, his voice attempting to conceal his prior lapse in judgment. He immediately closes the gap between you both, offering a hand to help you up. You accept it, avoiding his eyes as you allow him to assist you to your feet.

"I'm so sorry, Reverend. Really, I mean it."

He can't help but find your expression endearing, and his heart warms at the sight of it. He chuckles softly, trying to alleviate your embarrassment.

"No need to apologize. We all have our moments of fatigue, and hey, the Lord forgives and all that, right?"

It was difficult for the man to resist the urge to hold and coddle you, especially given how close he was to you just moments ago. However, he refrains, understanding that this meeting with both of you finally open-eyed needs to go perfectly.

Rod couldn't risk any missteps.

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