#l: the cathedral | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sytoran · 4 months

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⁺‧ ₊ ཐི⋆ ♱ ❝GUILTY AS SIN?❞ ♱ w. maximoff !

pairing ★ older!nun!wanda x masc!fem!reverend!reader

synopsis ★ (based on this ask) a 1950s church au, set somewhere loosely in europe, in which a reverend and a nun serving at a cathedral harbour forbidden feelings for each other, where love intertwines with religion in a sacred romance.

warnings ★ explicit content (minors dni), pwp, reader has a cock, virgin!reader but not for long ;), you have a thing for older women, wanda is a tease, no daddy/mommy kink (sorry, it didn't really fit for wanda), but something else fit inside wanda (wink wink)

word count ★ 3.6k (serving) | main m.list

“The Lord be with you.”

“And with your spirit.”

Wanda stands for the final blessing, eyes shut in devout faithfulness. As the choral voices utter the hauntingly beautiful concluding hymn, she exhales softly, letting the singing resound around each panel of glass in the tall cathedral.

Harmonic minor chords echo from the organ, as the acolytes walk down the aisle. Voices rise in harmony. Little altar boys trip over their feet. The older wardens are grim with wrinkles set into aged skin.

And then there is you.

Illuminated by the tinted light is your set face, cloaked in your black vestments and as regal as ever. Wanda watches under her white veil, poised hands and craned neck.

Wanda was not oblivious that her want for you was forbidden. A deep sin, for the two of you were devout servers of the church. It went against everything she had been taught since she was a first year at Westview Catholic High, but then again, you were the fount of her desires, and it was as simple as that.

As you walk past her solemnly, Wanda catches your eye. She can see you stiffen under her stare ablaze, swallowing a lump in the back of your throat, and victory glints in Wanda’s lowered gaze.

She had to be patient.

Once the mass proceedings were over, you stood outside the cathedral, all gentle smiles and warm hands. It was no secret that you were a crowd favourite amongst the pent-up housewives of Westview and repressed nuns of the church.

How could they not, after all, with the way your dark garments hugged your stately figure, broad and wide and lined with unspoken strength. You were polite, and respectful, and far too innocent for your own good.

Wanda stands by the entrance of the church, watching you get swarmed by the ladies like a high school heartthrob.

It was okay, she was content with waiting.

“Reverend L/N,” A middle-aged lady calls, clutching onto your forearm. You smile kindly at her, recognising Pepper, the suburban mom down at 5th and Street. “Yes, Miss Potts, how was today’s service?”

“Absolutely splendid,” She gushes shamelessly, clasping your hands and stepping in far too close. “Your gospel was so moving.”

The overt affection is cloying to Wanda’s senses, only heightened by her distaste for Pepper’s dress. There was simply no reason why her Beatnik dress had to be so low-cut.

Your other arm is not safe from the clutches of Sister Agatha. She was the most experienced of the nuns and had basically claimed her stake on you since you were assigned to the church. Suddenly, hands caress the dip of your tricep to your bicep.

“Excuse me, Miss Potts,” Agatha says snidely. “Reverend L/N has to get back to her duties, if you’ll allow us.” You swallow at the way her perfume scent overtakes your senses, only magnifying the heat under your robes.

The mom is evidently put off by this, along with the other ladies of the church, some with babies on their hips and without their husbands.

You, on the other hand, stand awkwardly amongst the crowd of ladies, their eyes feasting upon you like a predator eagle.

Even then, Wanda could see the effect that it had on you, ever the innocent and inexperienced. With a pair of ample assets pressed up against your muscled forearm, and a feminine hand wrapped around your bicep, there was no hiding the flush in your face and the telltale tent in your robes.

“I- I have to go,” you say suddenly. You retract your arms, as if scorned, worry clouding your expression. You make your way through the crowd of women, embarrassed and ashamed, leaving many disappointed women in your wake.

A smile crawls up Wanda’s face as she watches you attempt to retreat back into your office.

She ducks behind the wall of the corridor. As your hurried footsteps approach, Wanda steps out, as if walking in the opposite direction from you.

“Oof!” The two of you collide comically (intentionally), as Wanda’s hands fly to your arms for support. She dramatically falls forward into your wide embrace, unnecessarily clumsy — but you don’t know any better, profusely apologising to Wanda.

“Sister Wanda!” You say breathlessly, gripping onto her hips unconsciously, unbeknownst to the effect it had on the older woman. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea you were just around the corner. Why, I seem to be out of sorts as of late.”

Wanda is more than content to run her gloved hands up your arms, shaking her head dutifully.

“I was looking for you, actually,” she says with a kind smile, noting the way your throat bobs as you hold her by her slim waist, entirely transfixed.

Sister Wanda was beautiful like the night, pale moonlight and soft silk. Dainty fingertips clutch the rosary beads, and you yearned to lift up her white veil to see the ethereality that lay beneath.

It seemed like an eternity before you snapped out of your trance, stepping back and coughing into your hand.

Wanda would think you were a fool if you believed she couldn’t see the issue in your pants, filling up quite a lot more space than it normally did. It excited Wanda to no end, as the fabric covering your body shifted across your planes of muscles as you moved back.

“Yes, I- uhm,” you clear your throat distractedly. “What queries did you have, again?”

“Ah,” Wanda says easily, tilting her head in amusement at your innocence. “Regarding mass, of course.”

Your brows furrow, terribly hiding your visible disappointment. Wanda could almost giggle at your dejectedness. It was no matter, that issue of yours would be remedied soon.

“I was wondering if I could visit your office tonight?” Wanda asks innocently. “I’ve been having these… thoughts, and I would like to share them with someone I trust.”

“Someone you trust,” you echo, folding your arms and feeling your heart rate pick up exponentially at the sentiment that Sister Wanda trusted you. “Of course, Sister. As a preacher and a friend, I would gladly aid you in any troubles.”

“Any?” Wanda asks, and you swear you see a twinkling sparkle of mischief behind that white veil. “I guess only time will tell. Until then, Reverend, goodbye.”

Sister Wanda disappears down the lane of grey concrete, losing you in the corner wall of red brick, leaving you with a lot more to comprehend than just your hummingbird-esque thrumming heart.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི ⋆ ♱ ⋆ ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Ten o’clock strikes the clock tower at the Town Square, a dull and permeating sound that resurfaces you from your listless floating.

You hadn’t been able to focus on anything all day after your interaction with Wanda. Anticipation ate you up from the inside out, affecting the quality of your sermons, although your crowd of admirers never weaned.

There was only one woman you cared for, though.

“Reverend L/N?” A sweet voice asks from beyond the shut door, and you shoot up with vigour that could rival Elvis performing Hound Dog. (You’d seen a clip of it on the television the other day — that young man was a star in the making.)

When you finally manage to fumble open the door handle, all the breath gets stolen from your weeping heart, and you may as well be laying in your casket because it looks like it’s your funeral.

To your utter demise and beseeching joy, Wanda Maximoff stands before you looking like a Renaissance painting handcrafted by Michaelangelo himself. What with her white veil removed to expose the delicacy of her beautiful face you long to caress, and her hair let down to fall in soft curls, and a smile playing on her glossy lips — you’re gone, already, before she even steps inside.

Wanda lets herself in, brushes past you and leaves you dazed in her wake.

“So, shall we begin with an opening prayer?”

Regretfully, you’re unable to devote your entire concentration upon the given task. You’d say you weren’t totally at fault, though — Wanda looked different today, a good kind of different, one that made you feel lighter than you ever had.

“Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil,” Wanda recites, hands clasped as she looks down. “Amen,” you close off, placing your beaded rosary back into your drawer.

You look up to see the older woman regarding you with an unreadable expression, the reflection from your dim ceiling light flickering in her viridescent eyes. It lights a fire within you, a desire for something you can’t quite place.

The ticking of your Peter table-clock seems too loud, all of a sudden, and Wanda’s gaze overwhelms your very sentience. You get a premonition, somewhere in the back of your mind, that this scene is going to unfold in a way you wouldn’t be prepared for.

“It’s rather warm in here, isn’t it?” Wanda voices abruptly, breaking the tense silence that had settled above the two of you.

You shoot up too quickly, banging your knee on your desk, then clearing your throat. “Well, it is nearing summer, Sister,” you answer with a strained voice. You can feel Wanda’s eyes on you as you pace the room to switch on the ceiling fan.

When you turn back around after fumbling with the power switch, your jaw slackens at the sight of Wanda. Oh.

She’s undressing before your very eyes, mumbling something about the irritatingly warm weather your brain doesn’t even begin to process, because you could swear up and down you’d never seen such beauty before.

“Well, I should get into it before the night drags on,” Wanda speaks, her voice a thousand miles away. Hopeless devotion swirls in your wandering gaze, focusing upon the silk black negligee that is revealed from under her robes — you don’t stop to think about the practicality of such clothing, foolish as you are — and the matching black high-rise stockings of hers do you in.

“Reverend L/N?” Sister Wanda asks, snapping you out of your fantastical trance, sending a sharp jolt to your growing member. A toying smile plays on her lips, one you don’t notice out of sheer embarrassment, her tone husking with a velvet lilt.

“Y-yes, Sister,” you say, sitting back down firmly in your seat and wishing you could scare your growing shaft into mellowing down, because you were certain you were already staining your undergarments. “Excuse my, uh, carelessness. Please, continue.”

“I’ve been having these…… thoughts, as of late,” Wanda begins, sitting forward, unhelpfully pronouncing her cleavage. “Sleepless nights, dreams in the morning. Fantasy, but not quite. Yearning would be a more apt description, wouldn’t it, for something that you crave so dearly when you know it’s impossible to attain.”

You’re lost, a little hazy between the lines, caught somewhere between comprehending Wanda’s speech and staring wide-eyed at her chest.

“What do you mean?” you ask, suddenly breathless, choking under your stifling garments and feeling unbearably warm in the heat of your enclosed office.

Your big hands flex and release, toying with something, anything, to distract you, and the older nun is prone to gazing hungrily.

“Sex,” Wanda finally states unabashedly, and you choke on stilled air and the scent of old books.

Sex.

“S-sex?” You ask, heat rushing to your ears, praying that you’d misheard or something of the sort, but at the same time more alive than you’d ever been.

“Yes, Reverend L/N, sex. It’s dirty, and raw, and everything we’ve been taught not to pay heed to,” Wanda begins in a breathless rush of eagerness, and you’re swept along in her unstoppable hurricane, on the brink of something inexplicable.

“But oh, it feels so good, and I crave it more than anything. More than life itself, if that’s even possible, because this desire is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. And, mark my language and bless the Lord above, but Christ — I’ve never yearned for this object of my desires so deeply and intrinsically. Someone, to be specific.”

You listen with a distant look in your eyes, your brainwaves fusing somewhere between “dirty” and “raw”. Still, your heart lurches at the prospect of another competitor for your forbidden love.

“Someone?” you ask, leaning back into your armchair and folding your arms. Your faux composure juxtaposes your thundering heart, as you die in anticipation and perhaps something dirtier.

“Yes,” Wanda simply states. She tilts her head, furrows her brows as if contemplating something. Then she nods, self-assuredly, and before you can get another word out, the older nun seals your fate.

“That someone is you.”

You’d always been a believer, but in that moment your heart transcends the physical boundaries of life before death, and you ascend to heaven and see the pearly gates, before Lucifer strikes you down to an undeniable reality.

“You think of me…… indecently?” You ask, almost a whisper, as if fearful of waiting ears on this cathedral’s dead night.

“Once again, yes. Call me presumptuous, but I believe your rock-solid erection is telling of the mutual lust we share, Reverend.”

You splutter, just now realising your uncooperative dick is nearly at full-mast.

“But,” you try, licking your lips in an anxious motion that has the older nun intently more aroused. “I’m— I’m not too experienced in that prospect, Sister. Not that I’m declining your request, definitely not, I— I simply fear I’m no good at satiating your needs.”

“You could never disappoint me,” Wanda responds in a sweet tone, and your heart explodes in some unexplored liking for older women’s approval.

Wanda stands up, and your gaze follows your esteemed temptress. “Besides,” she adds, her voice carrying a lightness you’d never heard before. “Experimenting is half the fun, isn’t it?”

It feels as though no time passes before Wanda is standing before you, a light hand tilting your head up as you become still in your seat, her right thumb tracing the curve of your jaw.

“Well, Sister, I suppose you’re right as always,” you answer breathlessly, a hand going to cup the smooth curve of her waist.

Each breath feels like rarest air as your eyes flutter shut, waiting patiently for the slow dip of Wanda’s head, as she brings you into a fated, ceremonial sealing of warm lips.

Wanda moves in a controlled manner at first, clearly more experienced than you, methodically moving her lips in a rocking motion as you find your pace.

Gradually, as a simple kiss grows lacking in the face of your burning passion and Wanda’s tentativeness fades away, you deepen the kiss, slanting your mouth against the nun’s, almost like you’d done it a thousand times, like it was meant to be.

Two pairs of lips move in haunting remembrance, cascading like the ebb and flow of a wave, the tide that washes over you in saintly baptism, cloaking you with the gentleness of an angel’s wings.

“Oh,” Wanda murmurs against your lips, a tiny gasp slipping from her mouth as your hands eagerly slide over the curve of her ass, devotional, wanting.

She straddles your waist, comfortably sat in your lap. It takes Herculean self-restraint for you to not to moan at the expanse of soft skin pressed against your robes.

“You’re certainly eager, aren’t you,” Wanda quips with a satisfied sigh, hands running up and over your arms and torso, certainly soaking in the new closeness that propriety once prevented.

“I am,” you utter dazedly, hands desperately palming at every inch of Wanda you can find, trying to memorise every curve and blemish. This moment, right here, was a sacred happening you’d only fantasised on the dirtiest nights, in some hopeless damnation of your unrequited love.

Requited indeed it was, and you’d never been more receptive to being proved wrong, as Wanda leisurely grinds on the bulge in your robes, controlling your pleasure like the puppeteer of a marionette.

“Too many clothes,” she groans, as you helplessly begin bucking your hips into the rocking motions of her hips. Your acquiescence comes in the form of the frantic removal of your robes, Wanda nearly ripping off your pants underneath. It leaves you feeling awfully exposed in a tight-fitting white tee and grey boyshorts.

Uneven exhales resound in the space between the two of you,

“Don’t look at me like that,” you whisper, embarrassment tainting the tips of your ears and a flush that races down your neck.

“How could I not, my sweet,” Wanda answers in a sweet murmur, delicate lips trailing down the column of your neck as she shifts on your lap. “You’re perfect.”

Your eyes flutter shut as Wanda’s hand slips down the band of your boyshorts, pulling out your cock as it springs out of its confinement. It’s big, you know it is, and you watch in anticipation as Wanda’s eyes darken several shades.

“It’s alright?” You ask, albeit tentatively, gripping the base of your cock to stop yourself from climaxing right then and there. “I’ve never— you know.”

“More than alright, darling,” Wanda murmurs with crescented eyelids, tracing the winding vein on the left side, fingertips rubbing at your tip in some sort of wonderment.

The sheer size difference of her pale hand and your thick cock changes your brain on a chemical level, and you think that this is going to be embarrassingly quick.

“Wanda,” you pant into the open air, your voice hoarse and your gaze hungry. Her hand furiously jackhammers up and down the length of your thick shaft, from base to tip, spraying droplets of pre-cum all over the both of you.

You let out an almost-whine as you throw your head back, chasing that warm heat that’d only ever been a part of your most sinful dreams. Wanda must be an expert at this, you think, as her thumb rubs your sensitive tip with each hard thrust of her hand.

“I’m gonna— fuck, oh God,” you gasp, and Wanda quietens you by pulling you into a messy kiss. Tongues envelop one another, and it’s sloppy, and wet, but pleasure is coursing through your bloodstream, ferocious devotion in an excruciatingly fast hurdle to a preordained climax.

“Wanda, you have to stop, or I’m gonna—”

“Isn’t that the whole point, darling? Do it inside.”

Wanda lifts her hips, revealing her wet heat to your starry gaze. It looks like some delicate flower you’d find in a faraway field, except it was something you craved to feel, and suddenly the desire in your stomach is unbearable and you move with frantic urgency.

You groan as your tip brushes against her velvet wetness, finally, collecting trails of slick to make it even more damp than it was prior. Wanda sinks downward with a shaky exhale, and the soft heat that envelops your shaft is the holiest shrine you’d ever chanced upon.

“Wanda,” you say, swallowing, big hands moving to grip at her hips, slowly opening her up with each inch.

Eventually, the slow pace drives you to the edge of insanity, and you begin your freefall with an abrupt change of heart. All too soon, the atmosphere surrounding the two of you becomes hot, rough, dirty — just like how Wanda explained it, fulfilling the filthiest fantasies of two wandering minds.

“Y/N!” Wanda calls out, panting, locks of hair falling out of place as you roughly manhandle her hips up and down your thick length.

Her delightful moans are heaven to your ears, as your fingers dig into plush skin, a sweetness naught would remove from your reach.

"I'm close," she whines into your ear, the fabric of her negligee clinging to flushed skin, your boyshorts all damp with your bodily fluids.

She slides down and up at a lightning-fast pace, both of you desperately chasing down each other's pleasure. Her pussy constricts your thick shaft in a tight hold, and your hands are none the better, palming at her ass.

"Oh, God," the older nun whines, when you increase the pace in a last-ditch attempt, the sound of bare skin meeting enveloping the room in a heady, aroused mess.

Your eyes find the crucifix across the room just before you tip over that edge one would view in reverence, hurtling downwards like Lucifer with his tainted lips, calling out Wanda's name in a breathless cry—

And there is devotion in your shared sin, breathless cries spilling from tainted lips, where grace is found in a mismatched harmony, and two sinners turn away from repentance.

"Oh!" Wanda cries out, thighs wrapping around your torso, head thrown back in a picture of evangelical reverence.

You think Wanda is the only altar you’d ever need, prayerless faithfulness in devout worship, a lowly pilgrim knelt before a holy shrine. “Fuck,” you breathe, as Wanda collapses above you, soft pants gradually becoming steady again.

“I knew you’d be perfect,” Sister Wanda — no, just Wanda — whispers, still straddling your lap with her palms pressed to the sides of your face in a gentle cradle. “Thank the heavens I found you.”

“What happens next?” You ask. There is a tremble in your voice, a fear of the unknown. There were prying eyes of religious watchers, where critical judgement of the queer community was prevalent in this time, where bravery did not always triumph over prejudice.

“What happens to us?”

Wanda’s lips brush against your forehead, her gentleness lulling you into utopia. “Only God knows, my love,” she whispers back.

It is then that you realise it didn’t matter, anyways, wherever you’d end up, as long as it was with your sacred, sanctimonial love.

so... how was that in all of its religious and horny imagery?? haven't written for wanda in forever omg. can yall spot the ttpd lyrics lol (side note: ttpd has some of the most profound lyrics i’ve ever heard, i can only aspire to achieve that level of literary greatness.) reblog please literally getting down on my knees atp main m.list

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