#novitiate!reader

[lipglossanon]

I've read ur most recent priest!Leon fic and an idea popped into my head(and it's the most unholy and filthiest one yet)

Seminarian!Leon and Novitiate!Reader

(I think y'all know where this is headed)

Novitiate!Reader having to go and stay to a cathedral for her studies who then accidentally walked into a class of seminarians trying to look for the priest that she's looking for.

She then met Leon's eyes across the class who gave her a small wave and a smile.

Their interactions only got more recent from then on, more and more they became closer, and by closer I meant the type of close where people would think somethings going on between them, and the closer they got, the more thoughts and feelings flooded their heads.

One night, reader felt rather sleepless so she went for a walk, who then walked into Leon doing the same thing, although for a different reason.

After a few moments of silence, reader finally spoke, admitting the bubbling feelings she felt for him.

Leon, who wasn't expecting the sudden confession, went silent. Reader took this as a sign and tried to leave but she felt him grasp her wrist and pulled her back.

He admitted that he's been feeling the same way, for a while now as a matter of fact.

And before reader knew, her lips were on his.

The next moment they were tumbling in readers room, both their lips meeting in a rather messy kiss. Leon made sure to lock the door before grasping the back of his shirt and pulling it over his head before continuing their activities.

They both knew what they're doing is wrong, but they just couldn't stop.

That night was full of passion, but was also full of sins

And that was only the beginning of it.

I know I have a lot to work on my writing but I just couldn't help but share this idea of mine, I hope it makes sense tho.

If some of my infos are wrong please do correct me I'm always open for constructive criticism :)

At this point, I just know God would never even let me see the gates of heaven

-🍡

Hi 🍡 anon!

It totally makes sense! Oh my gosh it’s a forbidden love 🫣 that ‘s so romantic 🥰 it’s so friends to lovers coded 🥹

And your info sounds right to me (but I’m also not Catholic 🤭).

Thank you for sharing this 🍡 anon! I love it! 💜

[fandomnerd9602]

Admission

Novitiate!Wanda x Male Reader

For @lifespectator and @aloneodi

It had to be some Divine conspiracy. The way that you and novitiate Wanda happened to step out of that confessional booth at the same time. It was as if the Lord Himself was pulling the strings to bring the two of you together.

“Hey” you manage to speak.

“Hello” she smiles back.

How could it be? That she fell for you as much as you had fallen for her. And yet something about it felt so forbidden. True she had not taken her vows yet but you still felt that she might as well have.

“were you in that confessional booth?” Wanda asks, a little blush making its way across her angelic features.

“I-I was filling in for Father Wong” you stammer trying to somehow explain the whole thing. “It’s not like I was trying to lure you away from your vows or anything like that” you stammer nervously.

“ is it really that strange?” Wanda takes a step towards you, “ that I fell for you and you for me?”

“How could I not?” You breath out.

She takes your hand. “Due to my vows, the only kiss I can settle for is this”

She leans the palm of her hand against yours. A holy kiss.

“If that’s the only kiss we can have, then I count it a blessing” you whisper.

“Good day, Y/N” Wanda sadly whispers as she turns to leave.

“Good day…sister Wanda” you let out a sad, miserable breath.

Wanda found herself separating from you. Different tasks taking her off in different directions. Time that she was getting further away from you, and yet I just made her heart grow all the more fonder for you. She couldn’t deal with it, the feeling of being so far away from you was too much for her to bear on some days.

If only she could realize how painful it was for you too. You found yourself your mind drifting away from your own studies.

You found yourself walking towards Wong’s office. He was rather happy to see his favorite apprentice.

“Y/N!” He laughs as he pulls you into a fatherly hug, “what brings you by this morning?”

“I have to leave Father Wong” you whisper.

“Why? Do you feel the Lord calling you elsewhere?”

“ I feel Him calling me towards someone” you admit. “I’ve fallen in love with sister Wanda.”

Wong leans back in his seat, “Wanda Maximoff?”

You nod, a feeling of guilt passing over you. Your mentor simply removes his glasses and smiles.

"I knew there was something between you two" he lets out a soothing chuckle.

"Wait what?"

"You know the Scriptures never say one has to be celibate for all your life? I don't know how that even got started"

"So it's not wrong to love Wanda?"

"No" he affirms you, "if anything I think it's why the Creator told me to put you two together. You make quite the duo. I've never seen the sunday school more joyful than when you and Wanda are together with those kids."

Wong pulls a paper off his desk, "for some reason, His Excellency the Pope Stephen sent me this email today. Said I should be the first to know"

Wong hands the paper to you which you read aloud, "this paper decrees that celibacy is meant for a season, not for life. It's no longer required for priesthood or the convent"

"Run to her, Y/N" Wong summarizes with a smile, "the parish has been thriving with you and Wanda"

"Thank you sir!" you run out of Wong's office and straight to the chapel, briefly passing Sister Natasha who gives you a knowing smirk.

You find Wanda on her knees at the altar. Even with her back to you, you can hear her tears.

"Sister Wanda?" you call out to her. Wanda gasps, immediately she bolts up.

"I-I'm no longer Sister Wanda." she admits, "I've taken a teaching job here on the parish's grounds but I cannot join the convent."

"And I can't join the priesthood... well at least originally" you walk up to her. "Wanda I love you. And I know that the Creator put us together for a reason. It's some divine conspiracy how but all I know is that I never want to part from your side"

Wanda tears up, a gentle smile forming on her face, "I don't wish to leave your side either."

She holds up her hand, wishing for a holy kiss. You clasp your hand with hers and pull her into an actual kiss. Wanda melts in your arms, holding onto you for dear life.

"Now I know that was ordained," she giggles, "because that felt heavenly"

You take her chin in your hand and kiss her again.

The gentle early morning light shines through the stained glass window and right onto you and the novitiate who stole your heart. It's as if the Creator Himself was smiling on the two of you.

[meo-eiru]

The house is quiet—almost too quiet—except for the gentle hum of the ceiling fan above me. I sit by the window, watching the sun set behind the hills. It's beautiful, peaceful even…

Micah is out in the yard, tending to the garden. He loves that garden. It reminded me the first time I had met him, back when I was still a novitiate, he told me it was important to grow things, to nurture life. I wonder sometimes if that’s what he thinks he's doing with me. Nurturing me. But plants don't have a choice where they grow, do they? They’re just put somewhere, and they either thrive or wither.

When he moved us to this town, he said it was for us. For our new family. He said it was to keep us safe, to give us a fresh start. I wanted to believe him. I tried to believe him. I think I even did, for a while. I used to tell myself that this was God’s plan, that this was my path, even if it wasn't the one I had chosen. Maybe it still is. But God seems distant now, like He stayed behind when we left.

I run a hand over my stomach, feeling the faint fluttering of life inside me.

Our child.

The house was large, larger than necessary for the two of us— three, once the baby is born. There were rooms I hadn’t stepped into for days. Micah had insisted that I rest, that I focus on the baby. Don’t tire yourself, dear, he would say, brushing a strand of hair from my face.

I had tried, in the beginning, to insist that I could go out on my own, that I could walk the streets without his constant watch. But each attempt was met with that close-eyed smile, the same one he wore when locking the door each morning.

What if something happened to you? he would ask, as though I were a child who couldn’t understand the dangers of the world. And then he would bring me gifts— books, flowers, anything to keep me content. See how much I love you? the gifts seemed to say. See how well I take care of you?

It's like he’s keeping score, like every smile I give him is another point in his favor.

There was no one to talk to. Only Micah, and the walls of this house, and the life growing inside me.

The prayers that once came so easily to my lips were gone, replaced by whispers of doubt and fear. Did God still hear me, here in this place so far from His light?

AAAAAAAAA IT WAS SO GOOD AGAIN!!!

If anyone wants to read what they wrote about Micah and reader meeting for the first time before!

You did such a good job writing him, if anyone is wondering this is pretty accurate to how Micah would handle getting his darling pregnant!

[catalina-infanta]

The Question of the Collar & the Dark Rise Trilogy

I am pro collar. And Ill tell you why.

I have been seeing a couple posts on this topic and people go back and forth, but none have fully encapsulated what I see as being one of the biggest reasons I believe the collar is consensual and probably a kink. I also think there is a possibility it also allows free will, but today I shall argue for why I believe it’s consensual on James’s part, because that is where the doubt lies within the fandom it seems. It is very clear to me that Will is erotically enticed by the collar also, but who really needs convincing of that?

So, firstly, there are so many instances where we see that James is visibly turned on by the collar. See how Will acknowledges James in the quote below as looking already surrendered, and going “pliant as if the same hot gold ran like sweet need through his veins” :

James is clearly very turned on by the collar, it’s in the text in many instances. The words used here are evocative: need, pliant, sweet, and hot.  Where do you see that kind of language other than in the erotica and romance genres? It then goes on to talk about how his shirt is open, how his eyes are glazed, and how he is “yielding”. Basically, this is a sex scene without the sex. The collar is an object of lust for the duo, and this is being communicated to the audience. Authors, when writing, do not use evocative language by accident. No. They paint a picture with words to influence their readers emotionally in the direction they want our minds to go. Every detail is planted on purpose when you are a good author. And Pacat is a good author!

But there is so much more. Here, in the next scene, James is seen wetting his lips:

Wetting one’s lips is a sign of attraction. If you don’t believe me, just Google it! We also have another scene where James’s pupils are blown wide when watching the collar in the throne room scene; yet another physical sign of attraction in a human being and something we see in novels all the time.

But Pacat goes further than just showing the physical signs of being turned on. If Anharion consented to a collar that controls him (to what extent it controls him, we are still unsure) we should see the signs that this is something he is possibly interested in emotionally. Or at least, something Anharion was interested in and James responds to at least on some level. And there are so, so many signs. This is shown through what he likes, shown through what he does, says, and what others say about him (not just Will, but Sinclair as well as others). Why is Pacat seeding all these comments about James’s need to serve, to please, other than to put in our minds that there is an aspect of James/Anharion's character that this is something he likes, and that it is a possibility that the collar might have been his choice in the past? It’s a kink for sure, and something James may determine he is not interested in in the next book, but for the sake of argument, look at the screencaps below:

Will is picking up on something about James’s personality, and James is relieved and perhaps surprised that he has been so transparent. It is clear to Will that James likes to take orders. After all, before he was Sinclair’s (the Dark Lord’s) man, he was the exemplary novitiate, wasn’t he?

In an even better example of this below, we see him kind of asking Will that Will's request for James to come to him after opening the gate become an order. But, why ask this? What purpose does it serve James to make Will give him an order? Why does James want it to be an order?

Will catches on and gets it, equally turned on. His lips curl (in a smile) and lowering your lashes is a sign of submission in human interaction; James is lowering his lashes showing submission to Will. James is aroused here too, because in the next moment he asks Will to kiss him.

We have it from others perspectives too, here below, we have Sinclair telling James he likes to serve, he is a born submissive and to “belong” to someone, echoing what James himself has said to Will countless times:

And just to top this with a cherry, Sinclair’s scene with James he tells us James, upon a successful mission, liked being praised and “sitting at his feet”. This calls to mind the imagery of the chain at the bottom of the throne.  

In terms of similar character types in Pacat's work, Erasmus from Captive Prince comes to mind. He was a collared slave and we get some glorious descriptions with him being quite the submissive with the “lowered lashes” (ring any bells?) :

May I just interject to reiterate that the language around the collar is really so sexual, I don’t think I need to post more about this, because some of the screencaps above illustrate this, but I am sure you can all imagine and remember how you felt reading those scenes; they were enticing. I just cant imagine Pacat would use such romantic, erotic, and lush imagery if this collar were the instrument of coercion, compulsion, and humiliation, and even possible r*pe, that we are supposed to think because this is YA fantasy genre and not horror. Someone might argue that they weren’t sleeping together when Anharion was wearing the collar, but I would counter-argue that of course they were! Everyone who knew about the Dark King and his Betrayer knew they were in a romantic relationship, from James’s father, to Gauthier, to Kettering. And we are only supposed to think the collar is all these bad things based off the second hand knowledge passed down by characters like Gauthier, or the vague and evasive language used in the last chapter by both James and the narration (but this is not really shown by James's feelings when he has it put on him). But when James first puts it on, he is described as “hating how good it felt” as well as having some rather erotic flashbacks to Anharion and Sarcean (and that didn’t sound coerced to me, it sounded romantic and swoon-worthy, it sounded like he was being "filled up" which is a way my old therapist friend used to describe being emotionally fulfilled by one's partner). So, why would the principle couple be one that started in coercion and assault? Maybe this is something else being said by Pacat about purity culture, and how there is nothing morally wrong with kink as long as the two are consenting, loving adults who trust each other? James CLEARLY trusts Will to "hold the key" so to speak as he asks him to in the throne room. Just because some of us dont explore our sexuality in this way doesn't make it wrong and I think Pacat is challenging the readers (as Will is being challenged) to reconsider their biases about what is "wrong" not through the lens of what other people think but through what two people feel is right in the loving and trusting relationship that they have together through Total Power Exchange. This is not a story about abuse. Who would want to read that?

No, this is something else in my opinion. I think the collar is completely in line with the desires of Sarcean and Anharion, and their reincarnations are now echoing those desires thousands of years later and they will see whether it is ultimately something that they want to explore together in the next book. The collar was consensual: it is not in line with the YA romance fantasy genre to have a couple start out so grossly abusive towards each other, especially when the language is evocative of romance, and the personalities are showing desire. I think we are meant to challenge our assumptions here about people and what is considered “normal” instead of just thinking if a couple doesn’t fit our idea of a perfect mold that there must be something wrong with them. Also, please remember that Pacat is twisting our heads in one direction with the characters own misconceptions and half truths, when I believe he is planting enough evidence to surprise us (and Will) in the last novel with the revelation that has been hidden in plain sight all along: that Sarcean wasn't hurting Anharion. On the contrary. He was freeing him.

[fishwithtitz]

Was It Worth It? (Cardinal Terzo x Reader)

Summary: Worth (n.) - the value equivalent to that of someone or something under consideration; the level at which someone or something deserves to be valued or rated.

Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI

Cardinal Terzo x AFAB reader / 6.2k words

Warnings: language, graphic description of piv sex, religious trauma, alcohol, poorly translated Italian, angst

aO3 link

Part One: What Goes Up...

Sometimes, when the sun was low in the sky like this, and you could still feel the occasional pitter of droplets dispersing against your skin, you took the risk of abandoning your responsibilities and popping outside for the evening. It was peculiar how the salmon rays of the sun peeked through heavy, sodden clouds. The beams heated the water in the air and made it sticky and heavy. “Hot rain” your Granddad had called it. It reminded you of simplicity. Of home. 

You stepped right outside the cloister on the farthest corner of the abbey to soak the weighted air and shafts of light inward as self-anointing. The grass was springy under your feet, verdant, and you lost track of your steps as you meandered out into the less-manicured side of the grounds towards the wooded border of the property’s boundaries. 

It had been two years since you decided to join the order. Your family, long gone at the prospect of you choosing a life of sin and vulgarity, and your friends feigning happiness that slowly dripped away as time wore on and contact faded into simple memories. You didn’t mind it. If being a part of the ministry had taught you anything, it was that change was normal - healthy, even - and that embracing and adapting was necessary to find self-fulfillment and true absolution.

The first year as a Sister of Sin proved a heady challenge. With scripture and philosophy to study, on top of a laundry list of new procedures and rituals and ways of living to memorize, you had your hands full. There were some nights where sleep was truly a blessing from below and you started to understand the pull of addiction as you filled your coffee for what seemed like the umpteenth time at breakfast before starting your shift washing the ministry’s linens. 

Uncertainty and impulsivity had inspired you to join. Desperation had encouraged you to stay. Like a mid-life crisis happening 20 years too soon, you clung to any open window to find purpose and opportunity. You longed for a defined path outlined in thick black marker on a map with an ‘x marks the spot’. 

It wasn’t until a year and a half into your tenure as a Sister of Sin, fresh out of novitiate, that you met a young Cardinal Terzo (as he liked to be called) and your outlook on this new life began to shift. You couldn’t exactly point to why he had chosen you out of all the other sisters. You didn’t feel as though you were the most attractive, or the most seductive, or the most educated or intelligent. You didn’t feel secure in any specific talents and you didn’t feel a drive to accomplish anything specific. If anything, your energy was spent on yearning for direction. 

Perhaps he had noticed your propensity to velcro into anything novel or interesting. Or maybe it was your enthrallment and willingness to engage. Whatever the reason, Terzo had chosen you to devote his time to. 

You had been assigned to his detail as a temporary member of his small team of siblings. Though your past experience noted a range of clerical skills and literary study, you had instead been chosen to keep his chambers. It had taken all but a few days to learn Cardinal Terzo’s particulars. His sheets, which were a stereotypical black satin, had to be positioned just right (heaven forbid the fitted sheet have a loose corner…one would think that Papa himself had been murdered). Because of their color and Terzo’s…life choices, both the top sheet and the fitted sheet had to be changed nearly daily to save them from resembling Pollock’s “Lavender Mist”. His clothing had to be organized by occasion and style (and as you quickly found out, by random personal preference that seemed to change on a whim). Terzo required his wine fridges (plural) to be stocked twice weekly (including the large collection of reds that rested atop each fridge at room temperature), and it wasn’t uncommon to fulfill last minute requests for antipasto, fruit, candles, or other carnal delicacies to be brought to his room for later that evening. 

Completing tasks was a nightmare. You never knew if your assigned shift would lead you into an empty (and disarrayed) room with Terzo having been up and out early in the morning, or an occupied suite that stayed inhabited up into the early afternoon. The latter still caught you off-guard and you made frequent mental notes to work on your stuttered apologies as you awkwardly left his bedroom to wait until it was empty to resume your duties.

However, one day that seemed all but special, you entered his bedroom to change his linens and refresh his wardrobe, only to find Cardinal Terzo hunched over the mantel in front of the fireplace. His head hung low, browbeaten, and a rocks glass of scotch was perched between heavy fingers while his fist was clasped to his right. If you listened closely enough, you swore you could hear his aggravated breathing laced with tears. You froze at the sight. 

“I’m sorry, Cardinal. I didn’t mean to interrupt,” you eventually peeped out, trying your best to keep your tone even as to not portray any perceived judgment. 

Terzo hadn’t turned to face you, but was quick in his reply — his voice gravely and gruff. “It’s best if you go, Sorella,” he responded, gripping even tighter onto the glass. The air felt thick and you could feel your own sweat (whether from the heat of the fire or the anxiety of catching Terzo at an inopportune moment, you weren’t sure) pooling on your forehead. 

Despite his request, you stayed stationary. 

You couldn’t help but look over the way his hair hung down to frame his painted eyes, tracks of tears threatening to wash away the intricate circular design and painted bow, and how his lips pursed in the firelight. Do you dare overstep your professional boundaries to show a touch of common humanity? To show that despite his role as a prominent Cardinal in the church, he was still a human being that deserved empathy and kindness? It was then that you decided to be bold. You took a deep breath. 

“Do you need a hug?”

Your words seemed to catch Terzo off guard, and he suddenly raised his head and craned his neck to look at you, eyebrows furrowed. You gently set down the basket of clean laundry and took a step towards him, wringing your hands in apprehension as you approached him. 

Upon seeing you, soft-faced and vulnerable in the dim light, his own expression dampened and he turned his body to face yours. “I think I would like that, Sorella,” he replied. 

It was from the moment that your small frame enveloped him, your head tucking in against his chest while your hands moved comfortingly against the smooth fabric of his jacket that hugged against his back, that you felt your heart beam against his. And maybe, you reasoned, you weren’t crazy in thinking that you felt his beam back against your own.

Over the next week or so, your daily visits to his chambers began to change. You could almost bet on him being present for your visits now, and while it had made you nervous before, you had begun to look forward to seeing him lounging about in his chambers, coffee in hand as he greeted you with a warm, “Good Morning, Sorella.” Dinner in the refectory had been previously uneventful, but now was punctuated by stolen glances from (and to) the head table, with Terzo occasionally lifting his ever-present glass of red in your direction — a subtle, yet definite nod to your existence. You couldn’t help but internally swoon. 

The second week after your fireside interaction, after replacing the linens, replenishing the firewood, and restocking a few choice wines in Terzo’s chambers, you were met with a personal request from the Cardinal. 

Like many nights during weeks prior, Terzo had left his room with a special request for the evening. “A sensuous feast” he had called it, and having fulfilled his wishes before, you knew exactly the way it was to be done. 

Ignoring your disappointment (and the pang in your chest when you read the note), you worked with the kitchen ghouls to create a charcuterie board to remember, rife with various fruits, cheeses, nuts, and the homemade rosemary focaccia you knew he enjoyed at dinner. A bottle of prosecco sat on ice in a marble wine chiller on the low mahogany coffee table (and you made sure to stock a couple extra in the nearby wine fridge for good measure), and two glasses were perfectly polished beside it, waiting for eventual effervescence. A low fire was kindled and warmed the plush rug that lay in front of it as it waited for its future occupants. 

Swallowing the sharp spasms that assaulted your chest, you gave the room a small, unreturned smile and surveyed your work. 

“Beautiful job, Dolcezza.” Terzo’s silken voice frightened you as it broke the quietude in the room. You let out a breath, a chuckle laced between it and your words, and you replied with your same gentle smile. 

“Thank you. Will that be all, Your Eminence?”

You had been prepared for the Cardinal to shoo you away, possibly thanking you with another one of his thousand-yard smirks, but to your surprise, he didn’t. Instead, he wrinkled his brows in thought, walking slowly over to the velvet-tufted loveseat across from the mantel. His gloved hand stroked the back, fingertips brushing so lightly that they didn’t even leave a mark. 

“Actually, no, Sorella,” he said, eyes fixed on the raspberry-hued fabric. You felt your lungs tighten. Had you forgotten something? You’d be the first to admit that you’d been distracted in your work lately, and it wouldn’t have surprised you to see that you missed something crucial. Terzo interrupted your worried visage, his duochromatic eyes flickering up to you with a sultry gaze. “...would you like to stay?”

His words had hit you square in the jaw, which you were sure was now hanging open just slightly at your surprise. You swallowed and stammered out, “I-I don’t want to intrude on your company, Cardinal.”

“I was hoping you would be my company tonight, Dolcezza.”

It was the first of many evenings spent with Terzo. The debut of your time together, if you will — and it was not at all what you had expected. 

Tentatively, you agreed to the invitation, only doing so because you knew that his room was the last on your list to freshen and you were now technically done with your duties. You had watched as Terzo held his hand out to motion towards the seating by the fire, and you hesitantly moved to take a seat on the plump leather couch across from the loveseat. 

To say that you had been nervous would be a gross understatement. Your senses drank in the stimulus around you — the pop of the bottle of sweet wine, the fizz of the bubbles blooming in the glass, the spicy, floral musk of Terzo’s cologne drifting through the air as he held out the flute for you to timidly accept — they all became cataloged in your mind as sensory memories of this first excursion. 

If Terzo’s smooth, charming attitude hadn’t calmed you down, the prosecco surely had. Not long after you’d taken your first sip, Terzo had sat on the other side of the couch with his own glass in his gloved hand, his cardinal cassock floating down over his crossed legs like sin, and he had struck up a conversation. His body was turned towards yours, eyes always drinking in your form like it was the preferred spirit of the evening, as he asked you more about who you were. 

He was easy to talk to (far easier to talk to than you’d expected). You divulged your history with the church and briefly described your one and a half year commitment with a peaceful pride. As a Cardinal, you were sure he spent the majority of the time discussing the intimacies of the ministry and you didn’t want to bore him. 

“And what led you to the light bringer, Sorella?” he had asked you, fingertips stroking the stem of the champagne flute delicately, tenderly. 

Even though you’d initially fabricated walls to guard you from revealing your past, Terzo’s soothing yet fascinating energy knocked them down almost instantaneously. You explained the falling out with your parents over your decisions for your career and lifestyle, how they’d refused to support you following your passions as it didn’t seem “financially prudent” to do so. With forlorn fondness, you recalled your relationship with your Granddad that had ended abruptly with his unforeseen death and how it had cracked your mother’s inward countenance and plastered it back up with vodka and Valium. The final straw, you explained, was your decision to openly renounce your faith and begin the exploration into different forms of spirituality. Terzo had listened intently, his face bleeding sympathy and compassion as you unraveled your past in a way you hadn’t since joining the order.  

But despite the heavy conversation, the night turned to one of true connection as you both polished off the first bottle of prosecco (and eventually, most of the charcuterie). Laughter frequently permeated the air after the second bottle had been opened, and you giggled over shared stories of gossip about the ministry — Terzo even letting a few more secretive and scandalous pieces about the clergy loose after his fourth glass of bubbles. 

By the end of the evening, you began to see Terzo in a new light. Before, he’d been the suave, debonair Cardinal with a reputation of philandry.  But now, Terzo felt like a true kindred spirit. As you’d gotten up to leave (sea-legged from the alcohol, you might add) the Cardinal had offered you his hand to steady you. After helping you up, he continued holding onto your hand, his body advancing closer to you with a half-step.

You remember the light of the fire reflecting off the yin-yang black and white eye as he took in your features. You remember the notes of apple and pear on his breath. Most of all, you remember the words he purred out in a low, dulcet hum. 

“I’m going to kiss you now, Dolcezza.”

And he had. Searingly slow, his lips lingered on yours for countless seconds before he pulled away completely. 

It was the beginning of the downfall.  

🜏🜏🜏

A mere two days after your memorable night with the Cardinal, you arrived at the workroom connecting the laundry to the housekeeping stores in increased anticipation to start your duties. Yesterday was your day off, and as such, you hadn’t had the opportunity to see Cardinal Terzo. 

As soon as you set down your coffee thermos, Sister Teresa, a senior Sister of Sin, approached you with a jollied clap on her hands. She explained that the sister you’d been covering for had healed quite nicely from her surgery and was returning to work early — today, in fact — and your services in housekeeping would no longer be needed. With a chuckle, she reached out to touch your arm, saying, “It’s a blessing of timing from the Dark One. We have been running behind ever since you left!”

Outwardly, you nodded and thanked the sister for letting you know before heading through the connecting door to the laundry. Once out of sight, you sighed, turning to make your way down the walkway towards the oncoming chutes, closed fist lightly pounding against a pile of folded bedsheets as you passed. You weren’t exactly sure when you’d get to speak with Terzo again, which of course disappointed you, but you were arguably more disappointed that you’d spent the time shaving your legs and fussing over the exact flavor of lip balm before leaving for work today — all for naught. 

That evening, you took your usual seat in the refectory with a slogged posture. Your hands smelled of bleach and detergent, and your skin felt dry from the dryer sheets you’d spent the afternoon picking from the dryer vent. After pouring yourself a healthy glug of table red from the decanter, you sighed and leaned back, watching as other siblings filled the room. After a few lengthy sips and more disassociation than you’d care to admit, you saw a flash of a black cassock from the corner of your eye. Towards the front of the refectory, seated at the clergy table, was Cardinal Terzo. He was mid conversation with one of the bishops and looked surprisingly pleased as he took a seat and accepted a glass of red similar to yours. His glance turned to your direction by chance and he met your eyes, smirking before raising his glass as he had so many times before. You raised yours back. 

And on this went for the remainder of the week — you, successfully seeking out his gaze and him acknowledging you with a raised glass, a smile, or as of the night before, a wink. Each time made your heart patter so high in your chest that you could taste it in your throat (or maybe that was the pinot noir). 

This particular night, after placing your napkin on the table and sipping the last drop of wine from the globe of the drink ware, you realized that this week put you into a state of melancholy. You’d felt trapped (an odd feeling in a church based on free will) and you craved a break in your monotonous routine. A walk would do you good, you'd decided. You breezed past a group of siblings and out the refectory doors so quickly that you hadn’t heard the voice calling your name from the other end of the room. 

Down the cloister and to the gravel path your feet traveled, and just after you felt the crunch of the rocks beneath your shoes, a hand reached out to cup your shoulder. You’d turned with an inward huff, nearly frightened, but each muscle seemed to relax when you’d seen that it was just him, just Terzo, and a smile crept across your cheeks.

From an outward observer, the walk would have seemed ordinary. It wasn’t out of character for siblings to peruse the gardens in the evening, and members of the clergy indulged too, of course. But as you made your way through the carefully pruned rhododendrons and lilac-lined pathways, Terzo admitted something that made the stroll all but ordinary. 

“I miss seeing you in my chambers, Dolcezza. I hope our kiss did not frighten you away.”

And of course you had assured him that it was anything but, explaining the predicament that brought you to the housekeeping staff in the first place, along with the reassignment to the ministry laundry earlier in the week. 

As time wore on, you kept to your work in the laundry and he to his in the clergy, but both you and il Cardinale continued your joint traditions — the hushed glances at dinner, the occasional stretch through the church’s gardens. You shared the stories of your respective days, with the conversations always morphing into a mishmosh of memories or past experiences, with the occasional smattering of theological conversation. Sometimes you sealed the evening with a kiss, sometimes you didn’t. However, regardless of how the night ended, you always thought of the taste of his lips on yours (wine-bathed and smoky and soft). 

Luckily, on occasion, the senior Sisters of Sin pulled the laundry staff to help out with housekeeping duties in the event of someone falling ill or needing to take time off. Each time this was proffered, you quickly volunteered, buttering the situation with the explanation that you had already filled in before and knew the routines and procedures, including the particulars of the clergy members. It made you appear as if you were flexible, hardworking, and willing to help the ministry in any way needed. Deep down, however, you knew that your real motivation was the off-chance that you’d get to see your raven-haired Cardinal. 

One of these days you had all but physically jumped at the opportunity to help out with housekeeping. Your enthusiasm was nearly crushed when you found out that not only were they short staffed, but they had fallen behind due to a fairly extensive disaster left behind in an upper clergymen’s room by what appeared to be an entire pack of ghouls. In spite of your utter exhaustion at the end of the day (and shudders at the recollection of all the oddly sticky surfaces you had to wipe down while tidying up the ghoul pack’s aftermath), you found yourself 

making the familiar trek to Terzo’s chambers. Ghoul juices aside, you had a slight jaunt in your step. The day’s unfortunate proclivities wouldn’t put a damper on your excitement of seeing the Cardinal. As soon as you entered his room, however, you noticed something felt strange. 

Hoping to finish your more formal duties quickly, you beelined into the bathroom to replace the towels and gather the dirty laundry before passing through to his bedchambers. Removing and replenishing his sheets was like child's play now, and after a couple of minutes you had already balled up the used linens and placed them in the basket with the other laundry before turning to exit his bedroom. 

You heard the crackling of the fireplace in his living space before you saw the dim flames, and the occasional scribbling sound of a pen against paper was even more of a telltale hint that you were not alone. Setting the basket down, you padded over to the leathered couch that reminded you of your first visit with the Cardinal and rested your hands against the back of it. Terzo was sitting against the rug, feet outstretched by the fire, with a notepad in hand. It had indeed been him slugging the fountain tip across the page, and from the balled up sheets of paper littering the floor, you gathered that whatever he was getting at was not a success. 

“Your Eminence?” you rasped out softly, so quietly that he didn’t hear you. “Cardinal?”

With your slightly louder inquest, Terzo’s head shot up and his pen dropped against the paper pad with an audible clunk. The delighted expression on your face dimmed, though, when you noticed his own. 

His usually slicked-back hair hung down in messy strands across his forehead, barely covering the lines that had formed there undoubtedly from a frequently furrowed brow. His eyes looked a little glassy, and although the paint around his eyes and upper lip didn’t seem to be tear-scathed, you could tell that he had rubbed at his face more than once by the blurry edges of the black makeup. In sum, Terzo looked doggedly stressed. 

“Dolcezza,” his voice perked up with a hint of surprise, “What a treat it is to see you here.” 

You could feel the color creeping into the apples of your cheeks like ripened fruit. “They needed a little extra assistance and I offered to help,” you explained, your voice calm and surprisingly steady at the scene in front of you. 

“Ahh, bene.” Terzo threw the notepad down to the floor with a little more oomph than you expected, stretching his feet out in front of him. You noted that they were dangerously close to the fire.

“Is everything alright?” you asked as you came closer, rounding the couch to sit down next to him on the floor, “you seem a little —” you paused, unsure of whether to continue lest you come off insulting, yet decided to risk it, “ —stressed.”

The Cardinal sighed. “SÌ,” he breathed out, slipping his hand through his hair for what had to have been the dozenth time that evening. “I am to give the sermon at black mass tomorrow.”

Your lips curved into a proud smile. “Black mass? That’s…well, an honor, really.”

Terzo nodded. “SÌ… however, I have yet to finish it. I keep coming to a stop, like a eh—” he paused, his hand motioning in circles as if to demonstrate that he was searching for the correct word, “ —barrier, in my mind.”

Folding your legs underneath you (and being careful to adjust the skirt of your habit), you turned to face him. “You have writer’s block?”

“If I am to be completely honest, I have never delivered a sermon at Black Mass before.” He sighed again and you noted that there was a lot of weight in that sigh. He looked down, flipping the pen to and fro between his slender fingers. “A lot is riding on this performance and I fear I will be nothing but a disappointment.”

At this, your body stiffened. Terzo had always seemed so confident, so demure, and you were taken aback by his insecurity. “Cardinal,” you began, inching just a bit closer, “you are anything but a disappointment.”

At this, the painted man beside you laughed. “Ahh, yes, il stronzo, perhaps…”

You rolled your eyes at his self-deprecation. “Based on our conversations during our walks, I think you will do beautifully. You have quite the mind for theology, and you speak eloquently and with conviction.” You licked the curve of your lips, craning a bit to try to see his downtrodden eyes. “Maybe it’s yourself you should have some faith in?”

At your kind words, Terzo raised his head, his hair partially hiding the milky white eye that you had never quite become accustomed to. “I’m afraid I will just disappoint you, cara. As well as the congregation.” At this, he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, his fist clenching as he softly pounded the ground in frustration. “Figlio di puttana…”

The way he looked right now reminded you of the first moment you approached him: vulnerable, closed in on himself, raw, and before you knew it, you reached out your hand to gently touch his left arm, your own fingertips brazenly trailing up and down the wool-covered limb. Your touch surprised the Cardinal, and his eyes  met yours once more — this time, the widened emerald one peering straight through you. 

What you didn’t know was how touched Terzo was by your compassion at this moment. Of course, he knew how much you cared and sacrificed for others, but you never ceased to amaze him with your empathy and tenderness. His heart beamed in a way he hadn’t felt since childhood, and as he drank in your alluring stare, he couldn’t resist the urge to study your beauty in the firelight. He noted the way the flames etched against the contours of your cheeks and jaw, shadows drawn across bone. 

Putting his gloved hand on your own, he found himself leaning towards you, his fingers squeezing yours as his breath stilled in his throat. Warm lips — one painted and one bare — pressed against your own and you felt at home again. Your kisses with Terzo had always felt this way, and although they were a bit of an unconstant, you relished in the moments you’d get to feel him like this. 

Your eyes fluttered closed. Head tilting ever so slightly, your body mirrored his own as you melted into the touch. Faint wine and the bitter tang of paint touched your tongue while you moved your lips against his, the slower series of pecks diverging into something a little more heated, urgent, needy. 

As you sat like this, all you could hear was the crackling of the fire in front of you, the light smacking of your lips moving in unison, and the intakes and exhales of shared breath. It felt much more intimate than you were used to with Terzo. But most of all, it felt right. 

His hand trailed from yours and danced across the flesh of your neck to your jawline, cupping it gently as he tilted to deepen your connection, tongue tasting your lips (for self-gratification or permission, you weren’t sure). You also weren’t exactly sure how you ended up lateral on the thick rug, or how your hand had found purchase in his slicked back hair, or how his own had pushed the fabric of your skirt up around your bare thigh, or even how your bodies had been pulled so impossibly close. Nevertheless, you found yourself wrapped in air thickened with firewood and his cologne and the humid heat of your kisses and exhales, and Satan below the way his trouser covered leg had parted your own to tangle you both into one being had your mind swimming.

“Let me take you,” he had whispered to you, his breath warm against the corner of your lip and the curve of your cheek, “let me have you here, like I’ve always wanted to.”

That was all it took. The look in his eyes had been flooded with desire and it overcame your ability to do anything but completely submit to his request.

He moved over top of you, his arms lifting up criss-crossed to pull his jacket and button up off his slender, muscular frame. Flamed illumination danced across the ridges of the muscles of his chest, the smooth, lightly tanned skin that still seemed so deliciously pale for an Italian man, and your eyes took in stills to catalog in your memory while he slid his hands up and under your dress uniform. 

Terzo mimicked the action with your dress, pulling it over your head quickly before tossing it casually to the side. His hand slipped underneath you and before you realized it, the tension of your bra loosened and the garment was quickly abandoned. As cool air pricked the skin of your breasts, the Cardinal’s eyes wandered down to stare at them in the dim light. He bit at the tips of his gloved fingers to loosen the silken material, pulling them off to reveal slender, strong hands that reached for your soft skin. 

He must have noticed he look of insecurity that painted your face, of shyness, because he began to trace your curves with his fingertips, just barely, butterfly wings against the surface, and murmured out “Cosi bella…” as they shimmered across the peak of your nipples. 

Far back in the recesses of your mind, you felt dips of worry. Was this something that he said to everyone he was with? Was this how he treated all the women he’d brought back to his quarters — the quarters that you’d cleaned and prepared? But each time your mind wandered there, you pulled it back with a yank of a leash to the present. You were here, this was now, and you were going to enjoy what was happening in this moment. 

Your mouths connected again, this time more wantonly, and all you could taste was the uniqueness that was simply Terzo — the wine, the smokiness, the dark face paint. A groan escaped his lips into your own and he moved to box you in with his thighs on either side of your body. One hand found room just by your head against the ground and held him above you, while the other clutched to your left breast, kneading and squeezing at you with a mix of adoration and longing. 

When he brought his hips down to press against your own, you let forth your own series of moans into his mouth, and he all but combusted as he ripped your lips apart, hands hurriedly unbuckling his pants to shimmy them down his legs. Your reaches crossed one another’s as you both grasped at each other’s undergarments and tandemly pulled them down over hips and skin, revealing your bare forms in communion. 

From there you lie naked on the rug, Terzo on top of you, with sweat-slicked skin osculating as tongues and teeth gnashed passionately. Veil and shoes were long forgotten. You could feel his hard length pressing against the space between your sex and your thigh and it made a chill wash over the expanse of your body. As his hips rutted against your pelvis, he slid between your folds, slick coating him with delicious friction, and your arms wound under his own to curl around the strong muscles of his back and shoulders. You broke the kiss with a whimper and crooked your neck to the side. 

“Cardinal,” you hummed out, a little more needy than you had intended to, “don’t make me wait any more.”

He lifted his head to look in your eyes, a chuckle reaching past his lips as his hair nearly dripped across your forehead. 

“The virtue of patience isn’t something we celebrate in our faith, Dolcezza,” he purred as he brought his face close to yours, breath pricking across your lips and cheek as he moved his mouth to ghost your earlobe, “ —and I think you’ve waited long enough.”

With that, he pulled his hips back and you whined at the brief loss, your breath stilted as he pushed forward almost immediately, his cock pushing past your folds and into you firmly. You let out a choked groan and your eyes ripped open, watching the darkness of his pupils overtake his unmatched irises as he sank into you to the hilt. 

Your leg came up to hook around his hip and thigh as he pistoned in and out of you. Your hand gripped the furry fibers of the rug below, the other still curved around his back to hang onto his shoulder like he’d disintegrate if you let go. With every thrust you found God, and every retreat you went searching for redemption. 

Your Cardinal found solace in the arch of your neck, teeth nipping at skin and tendon as he grunted along with each forward movement. 

“Così buono con me. Sei così buono con me.”

Tension built up inside of your core, tugging at the muscles of your abdomen, and you felt your grip tighten around Terzo. Despite the stricture, you could feel your core blooming, softening taking everything he had as he worked himself inside of you, hips rolling and grinding. 

The smell of the sweat on his skin and the burning wood of the fire lit your own flames deep within you and you could feel your impending release begin to blossom. “More,” you cried, the noise so sweet in taste and sound to Terzo that he couldn’t help but obey. 

He pressed his lips to your neck in a series of wet marks. Your hand abandoned the rug and came up to card through his air, fingertips winding around the strands with a needy tug as you felt your pussy begin to contract around his thick cock. He knew you were close because he kept going, never faltering in his pace or touch, moaning little praises into the skin of your clavicle until lightening rushed through your veins. 

You came and it felt like everything and nothing all at once. You weren’t sure if you’d made any noise at all, but as your jaw hung open, eyes fluttering back into your skull, you were certain that within the Cardinal’s arms was the only place you were meant to be. Here, now, releasing yourself to him completely, with the firelight plaguing the walls as a reminder of your devotion to him, your Cardinal, and to the flames of hell and the one below. 

Terzo was soon to follow with his own orgasm. You could sense him tensing, his length twitching as his hips began to jolt against your own unrhythmically, throaty growls punctuating his movements. And as he filled you, you trembled against him from the fiery char of your release, your own inner muscles twitching as you welcomed his spend as sacrament.

Breath stilted and waned as he lay collapsed against you, skin slick with the proof of your union, and your fingertips found purchase soothingly stroking against his scalp. A beat passed and you relaxed in the aftermath of just the two of you. Terzo was the first to speak. 

“Was it worth it?” he hummed out, eyes peering up at you from his head that rested against your soft breasts. 

You furrowed your brows with a small smile. “What do you mean?” you asked.

He tittered and brought his hand to trace along the line of your jaw. “The wait,” he clarified, thumb rubbing sweetly over your chin, “Was it worth it?”

You felt warmth course through your chest and leak into your limbs. It was different than before. It was new, yet oddly familiar — like remembrance, uncovering a dusted memory. Your hand came up to clasp over his own on your chin, and you brought it to your lips, pressing them slowly, repeatedly against his skin. 

“You’re always worth it.”

🜏🜏🜏

Yet now, as you soak in the humidity that paints your skin while you move across the courtyard and to a lesser occupied area of the Ministry gardens, your mind replays your words from that night. “You’re always worth it.” Always. So finite, so absolute. 

You continued to walk, searching for a prayer, a sign from the one below that everything will click into place and the grand plan will be revealed over time. And as you settled down onto an earthen stone bench overlooking an old statue of the Emeritus family, eyes cast towards the statue that partially formed the man you’d fallen from grace for, you realized that there was no hot rain.

Only tears. 

Tag list: @copiasghoulfriend @copias-juicebox @the-lisechen @anamelessfool

Image Credit(s): Pinterest

[gravehags]

separated by a degree

Pairing: Cirrus x f!Reader

Rating: Explicit

18+ ONLY MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Tags: domme Cirrus, mild BDSM, face sitting, pussy eating, fingering

Words: 2,742

Summary: You've had a rough week. Cirrus is here to make it all better.

a/n: RING A DING DING PART 6 Y'ALL like it goes without saying but Cirrus could step on my neck and I'd say thank you so this is an ode to that

@terzosbignaturals EAT UP

~~~

This week had just been too much. Too fucking much.

Ever since you bid Mountain and Aether a lingering, intimate adieu after your evening together, everything has gone to shit. The plumbing in your shower - no one else’s, you sourly think - has gone out, forcing you to have to travel all the way across the abbey to Cumulus’ room every night just to bathe. It’s not that you don’t want to see her - quite the opposite - but something about inelegantly stomping the halls in your damp flip-flops and wet hair back to your room makes you agitated. On top of that, you’ve been assigned to your usual library duties as well as being an altar sibling every mass. You’re exhausted, both mentally and physically, and you haven’t been this anxious since you were a novitiate in Papa Secondo’s summoning classes. You’ve barely seen the ghouls, let alone spent time with them, and the loneliness is beginning to take its toll. You’re currently flopped on your duvet half naked after a long mass led by Papa Nihil, groaning into the empty space when there’s a knock at your door.

“What?” you shout, throwing an arm over your eyes.

“It’s me,” comes a feminine voice from the other side whom you identify as Cirrus. Shooting up from your bed you pad over to the door and open it while still hiding your body behind it.

“Gonna let me in?” she purrs, giving what’s visible of your form a once over.

“Uh…I’m…indisposed.” you say stupidly, to which she snorts.

“Half the pack has seen everything you have to offer and now you’re shy? Cute.” She’s smirking and leaning against the entryway as you grip the door tighter.

“What’s up?” you ask in a high pitched voice, changing the subject. If this is a come on you’re flattered, and part of you aches for it but the ache in your brain and body is much more powerful.

“Wanted to offer my services,” she says, tracing a claw down the wood of the door.

“Oh?” you say, somewhat intrigued. “And what does that entail?”

“Stress relief,” Cirrus says airily, “you’ve been going through so much recently, sweetheart. And I,” she steps forward slightly, entering your space, “can help.”

You don’t even realize that you’ve opened the door wider until she’s curling a lock of your hair around her long finger and staring at you intently. Her tail slips around you and rubs gently against the curve of your ass. Your lips are parted and you’re about to say something when all of a sudden she’s stepping back. 

“Not tonight, though, I understand,” she says, examining her nails with a sigh.

“I need to shower,” you blurt out. A vaguely sinister grin unfurls on her lips.

“Use mine,” she says, leaning her head against the doorframe, tail flicking behind her lazily.

Your mouth is dry. “Okay. Yeah just let me…let me get my stuff.”

“Just a robe should be fine,” Cirrus comments, her eyes drifting towards the ceiling. “You won’t need much else.”

You clench your thighs together at the surge of wetness that creeps out of you and your clit throbs at the brief contact. If Cirrus sees you do it, she doesn’t comment on it. Abandoning your post at the door you go back to the bathroom and remove your bra and panties, already soaked through. Sliding the fluffy, dark red bathrobe over your shoulders and securing it at the waist, you return to Cirrus.

“Ready,” you say, sounding altogether too goddamn eager and Cirrus knows it judging from the way the points of her teeth peek out from between her lips.

“C’mon baby,” she purrs, escorting you down the hall with her hand on the small of your back. “I’ll give you exactly what you need.”

The walk down to the ghoul den is quiet, but you do pass Aether in the hallway and give him a little wave. When he sees who accompanies you he lets out a rather ominous chuckle and winks at the other ghoul. Cirrus looks entirely too pleased as she opens her bedroom door and ushers you inside, closing the door behind the both of you with a loud snap.

Her room is a beautiful collection of dark blues and blacks, making you feel like you’re hanging amidst the stars in the night sky. It’s calming and she seems to enjoy how your shoulders slump in relaxation.

“Go shower,” she nudges you towards the bathroom door, “then I’ll take care of you.”

You’re about to shut the door behind you when she calls out, “oh and…no need to put the robe back on.”

There it is, that sensation in your belly you feel in every encounter you have with the ghouls. That wonderful feeling of anticipation that lingers in your veins, the promise of something positively delicious, has you grinning as you turn the water on.

Cirrus’ products are nice…very nice…and you enjoy the heady fragrance that perfumes your hair after you step out of the shower. Drying off, you regard yourself in the semi-fogged over mirror. You have no idea what to expect from this encounter and it turns you on immensely. With a sigh, you drop the towel and head out to see Cirrus. Opening the door you hesitate slightly, until you peek your head around it and see what’s waiting for you. While you were in the shower, Cirrus transformed. She is no longer wearing the standard ghoul outfit you’ve come to expect, but rather a beautiful black lace lingerie set that makes your jaw drop. Your gaze drags over the rounded curve of her hips and her dark nipples - hard beneath the expensive material. Suddenly, you become hyper aware of how you’re standing stark naked in Cirrus’ bathroom doorway and move to cover yourself. She watches you hunch over yourself and grabs something from the nightstand. You recognize what’s in her hands as a leather flogger, the handle intricately and tightly woven. She runs the tendrils through her fingers as she approaches you. Flushing from tip to toe you move to touch her - anything to distract from your vulnerable state - but she stops you with the end of the whip against your sternum.

“Ah, ah, ah,” she smiles, canting her hip, “you have to earn that, pet.”

You pout at her and she gives you a look, tucking the end of the flogger under your chin to raise it.

“Get on the bed,” she snarls suddenly, “hands and knees.”

You feel her eyes follow you as you make your way to the bed and climb atop the dark duvet. On your hands and knees, as she requested, you feel a sense of humiliation wash over you and also…something else. You’re enjoying yourself. With a grin, you arch your back to expose your ass and cunt to Cirrus’ gaze. She approaches behind you and runs the flogger along your back and down your legs, making you shiver. When you attempt to crane your neck to look at her she strikes, hard and fast against your ass. You cry out and jolt forward, making her giggle.

“Look at you, presenting yourself like a bitch in heat,” she purrs, once again dragging the flogger gently against your bare skin. The sting of the first strike hasn’t faded when she hits you again. The bite of the leather tendrils against your haunches makes you cunt ache and you feel yourself drip onto the covers. She hums as she observes the mess you’re making.

“Do you like being exposed like this?” She strikes a third time, your mind spinning. When you don’t answer she strikes again.

“Yes!” you howl, cunt clenching around nothing.

“Yes, what?” she asks sweetly.

“Yes…mistress?” you guess and she strikes you again, making you sob.

“Say it like you mean it.”

When she runs the flat of her palm over the abused skin of your ass you want to cry. It’s the first time she’s touched your bare flesh and you ache for her.

“Yes, mistress!” you pant as she squeezes the globe of your ass hard enough for her claws to dig in.

“How much more can you take?” Cirrus wonders aloud, coming over to your face to tilt your chin up once again. Your damp hair hangs around your face and tears streak down your cheeks. Cirrus gives you a pointed look, indicating that although she is in control, she is ultimately asking you for permission. You nod your head in her grip.

“More, please,” you say hoarsely. She breaks character for a moment and allows her face to split in a beautiful smile.

“Good girl,” she coos, running a single claw down your cheek. “Such a good girl for me.”

You exhale shakily, feeling more wetness slide down your thighs.

When she returns to her position at your ass and cracks the flogger across your skin once more, you practically choke on the broken moan that slips out of you. Your arms are shaking, trying their damndest to hold you up. She slides the leather tendrils between your thighs to graze against your clit and your arms give out. You sob into the duvet as you prop yourself up on your elbows - the best you can do in your state. Cirrus doesn’t seem to mind as she is instead content to drag the flogger through your sopping folds, enjoying the way your mess glistens on the leather.

“Can you handle two more?” she asks idly, caressing your ass again.

“Yes, mistress,” you pant, whining when she removes her hand from you. The flogger comes down on your skin twice in rapid succession and your moan is more of a shout. Cirrus steps away from the bed and sets the flogger down.

“So good for me,” she croons, running a finger down your spine. “Can you be good for me a little longer?”

Your forehead hits the duvet as you whimper into the fabric. The ache in your backside stings like nothing you’ve ever felt before, but the ache in your cunt takes precedence. You push yourself back to sit on your knees and let out a ragged breath.

“Yes, mistress,” you say with surprising steadiness. Cirrus beams at you and climbs on the bed next to you.

“Lie down, pet,” she murmurs, nudging you up. You crawl towards the pillows and practically collapse on them, simply relieved to no longer be on your knees. She watches your every move as you adjust and then slowly, she slides up your body. You’re desperate to touch her, and tell her so. She laughs, her breath hot against your skin as she traces patterns into your side.

“Hmm, I suppose you’ve earned it,” she murmurs and your hands fly to her waist. You want to see more, feel more of her so you cautiously slip the lace underwear she’s wearing off her hips. She allows it, still propped up above you, and kicks the garment off when it slides down her legs. 

“You have one more task, pet, and you’ll get your reward,” she coos in your ear, before pushing herself up. Grabbing the headboard she pulls her body up yours and in a smooth motion straddles your head. Cirrus hovers there for a moment and you sigh when you glimpse how fucking wet she is. The knowledge that she is just as affected as you are makes your heart sing and you’re desperate to taste her. Slowly, too slowly for your liking but you remain silent, she lowers her cunt to your mouth. You slide your hands up her thighs to grip at her hips before leaning up to give her an experimental lick. When your tongue runs through her folds, tasting her for the first time, the both of you moan in tandem. You are dying to hear her make that noise again so you swipe your tongue upwards once more, this time teasing at her clitoral hood. Her hips buck and you hear the headboard creak under her grip. When you latch your mouth onto her cunt, she gasps so hard she almost chokes. Exposing her clit you wrap your lips around her and suckle at the bud.

“Fuck, baby,” she whines from above you, and your grip on her hips tightens. “That’s it, don’t stop.”

So you don’t.

Your face is a dripping mess as you continue to suck at her clit, pausing every once in a while to drag your tongue through her. You can tell she’s trying her hardest to remain in this position, her thighs shaking with the effort. When you bring her hips down lower onto your mouth, you groan into her folds and she whimpers. Gently, you probe your tongue inside of her and she lets out a loud moan that makes your clit throb. As you fuck her with your mouth her hips begin shifting. She’s riding your face as delicately as she can but when you latch yourself onto her clit again her bucks become fiercer. She’s chanting your name as you moan against her cunt, sliding one hand in your hair to pull at it. Her body is tensing - you know her end is coming - so your assault becomes vicious, wanting desperately to see her come undone.

“Yes, yes, yes,” she pants, “I’m gonna cum, baby. Ah–ah–I’m gonna–”

Cirrus climaxes with a high pitched drawn out moan, and you continue licking and sucking at her. Her body twists and contorts above your head as you hold her firmly against your mouth. After several moments, she murmurs your name and you reluctantly release her from your grasp. When she moves off of you and settles in between your legs, she gazes at you adoringly. You’re a mess - covered in her slick from the nose down - and you lick your lips as you look at her.

“You,” she breathes, and you let your lips slip into a smile. You’re practically glowing with pride and she beams back at you while stroking the insides of your thighs.

“You’ve more than earned your reward, my pet,” she says, nuzzling your mound. When she finally spreads your legs, a litany of “thank yous” fall from your lips. Just as she did, you cry out when her mouth slides over your clit and she wastes no time in drawing your pleasure from you. She hums against your cunt as she slides one finger, then two in between your folds and begins fucking you intently. Cirrus isn’t here to tease you any more - she’s on a mission - and she’s ruthless. You’ve got your fingers buried in her hair, thumbs caressing the base of her horns, as she pistons her fingers inside you at a staggering rate. 

“Cirrus,” you keen, all formalities forgotten, “Cirrus, honey, don’t stop.”

When you reach your climax you feel it from head to toe, building at the base of your spine and spreading to all your extremities. You cry out her name again and again and she continues fucking you through your orgasm. Your body is limp and twitching and she’s still going until you finally beg for her to stop. Now her face is covered in your juices as she leans back and removes her bra, finally exposing all of herself to you. Arousal twitches slightly in your gut as you view her bare breasts, but ultimately nothing comes of it as she snuggles against you.

“Goddamn,” you breathe and she smiles against your shoulder.

“You good?” she asks, reaching up to pet your still-damp hair.

“You could say that,” you grin, turning on your side to face her. She looks beautiful, her cheeks just as flushed at yours. And just as sticky. When you move to get up to grab a wet rag she frowns and drags you back down, wrapping her arm around your body and bringing you close.

“You smell like me,” she says, inhaling deep at your scalp.

“Yeah, I’m covered in your pussy juice,” you say wryly, which makes her laugh out loud. The sound makes your heart ache and you rest a palm on her cheek.

“Thank you for this,” you murmur quietly. She leans in to give you the only kiss of the night you’ve had, and it’s so terribly soft. She’s purring as she pulls away from you.

“You make a good pet,” she says with a little half-grin. “Think I might keep you,”

That wouldn’t be so bad.

[drapopia]

are you satisfied? (sister imperator x f!reader)

pairing: sister imperator x female!reader

warnings: semi-public sex, fingering, younger woman with older woman, sister is a soft dom in this scenario, discusses misogyny in the Clergy

summary: A title was not just a word, but a sentence for every member of the Ministry. You couldn't help but take your own to heart.

word count: 5.3k

Read on AO3

author's note: FIRST SMUT WHOOOO! as a lesbian, i am appalled to see the lack of sister fanfiction. i have taken it up on myself to change this! this reader was not written explicitly as a lesbian, but it was a constant in my mind. she does like traditionally feminine things, and i have written her as femme. everything else is up to your hearts content! likes and reblogs are always welcome!

as always, minors do not interact.

---------------

It was common knowledge that the Clergy ran on titles. Though power was the driving force, whether it was the seeker of power or the one beholden to it, titles were how you got places. Whether it be a Bishop moving to a Cardinal’s office, or a Sibling being allowed to be a stagehand on tour, you had to have a title that fit the role you played in the large scheme of the Ministry. You were reminded since the day you had arrived that the Dark One encouraged your ambitions, that you were to pride yourself on who you were. 

Even more fun were the unofficial titles. Although Papa Emeritus the III was the leader of the church, dignified and charming as he may be, it couldn’t stop others from letting less than kind names slip from their lips. Papa Emeritus the II had the unfortunate unofficial nick-name of ‘cold bastard’, while Terzo had been afforded ‘pompous asshole’. The higher you rose in these hallowed halls, the quicker the names were pinned to your back. 

But you weren’t ashamed. You had risen quickly out of your novitiate classes, a reward for countless hours spent staring at your textbooks, the amount of additional seminars you had attended so that someone, anyone, would remember your kind and curious eyes. You had sacrificed all your time, refused countless invitations into attractive Siblings’ beds. Though it wasn’t all bad. You had lapped up every morsel of information as quickly as it had been set before you, practically licked the plate and groaned for more. To you it didn’t matter if you had to settle your own needs with your hand if it meant there were no distractions. To know your goals and ambitions were within reach were pleasurable enough. The words that your fellow Siblings coined you with meant nothing. Reclusive, arrogant, self serving. None of these had slipped into your mind as you hungrily peeled back the letter opening to see where you had been placed at the end of your lessons. Top of the class, you thought to yourself with a small grin. A placing in the Clergy is what mattered most to you. 

Personal assistant. You had to stop yourself from moaning aloud at the hand scrawled ink on the paper. And with that title, you met the woman who reigned over your life from that moment onwards. How were you supposed to ignore the urge to hold yourself to her, to follow her down every hallway? From the way her pointed toe heels sounded on the polished floor, to the suit and skirt that invited a hungry glance, everything about Sister Imperator commanded attention. You were no stranger to the rueful hisses in her direction, the names spanning from bitch to worse. Yet here she was, the way she held every eye in the room a fact nobody could ignore. And why would you ignore it, you thought to yourself. Your eyes had always been on her, every facet of her being. 

Just as the names followed her, they followed you. You had to admit, your personal favorite was the one that Papa Emeritus the II had become fond of saying as you followed Sister out of meetings: her little lap dog. Your cheeks heated at the thought, but never of embarrassment. The thought of her dark lined eyes, red tipped nails, the way her voice made you snap towards her. She had always demanded attention. To think of ignoring it made your heart speed up, a sweat collecting on the back of your neck as you thought of what would happen if you failed to please her. The thought had haunted you on lonely nights as you imagined your own manicured hands were hers. 

And here you were now, at your small desk outside of a larger inner office, the A/C blowing delightfully onto your cheeks. Your hands ached deliciously as they typed, the tap of your delicately painted nails more satisfying than any other feeling. It had been a relatively easy day, the sun shining from the bay window making you feel hazy with the urge to doze off. But you wouldn’t, you couldn’t. Distantly, you could hear the shouts and laughter of other Siblings, the summertime heat appealing to the masses. Your head turned, looking out the window to see dozens lined up on picnic blankets, the trimmed grass trampled under their bare feet. You smiled softly to yourself. 

“Sister? A moment please.” A voice called to you from the other office, and your head snapped towards it. The door was open, the wreath of dried lavender hung deliberately high. You stood from your office chair, smoothing out any existing wrinkles on your habit, and walked quietly to Sister Imperator’s door. 

Your kitten heels clicked quietly on the floor, a subtle smile on your face at the sound. When you had first bought them, Sister had smirked to herself, folding her hands on her desk. 

“A new pair, Sister?” She had smiled, eyeing them appreciatively. 

You had nodded, the blush warming up to your ears at her notice. “Of course, ma’am. Do you like them? I thought that the red would look nice with my habit.” 

Her smile remained, looking up to your eyes and narrowing her own. Her crows feet had crinkled, the small dimples noticeable under the crepey wrinkles around her mouth. “Of course, they’re quite… cute.” She nodded once, then turned back to the phone and picked it off the receiver, signaling the end of this conversation. 

And now you waltzed up to her office door, those same kitten heels delicately tapping against the linoleum. You leaned your head against the door siding, looking in. Sister was looking at her computer monitor, leaned against the large cherry wood desk she had owned since before you were probably even alive. The papers on her desk were few and far between, organized correctly within their correct holders. Her hair was in a delicate bun, a few fly aways around her neck. The same red lip and dark eye combo she had always donned were there, her eyebrows furrowed in a smattering of emotions that you had yet to pick through. Her mouth was pursed lightly, the red even more prominent. 

“You wanted to see me, Sister?” You said quietly, waiting a moment to truly look over the woman before you. Her head turned, her lips peeking into the trained polite smile she always had when she was dealing with a member of the Church. (This did not include any members of the Emeritus family, the smile was exchanged in favor of a frustrated frown and an exasperated groan). 

“Yes, I did. Have a seat.” She said succinctly, the tone of her voice leaving no room for leeway. Though most would be worried, you had no room to be. You knew you were capable and smart, there were no marks on your record or notes on any files that left any room to debate that you were intelligent. And Imperator knew this, reminded you of it with small remarks. Many didn’t understand that she rewarded those where it was due. The feeling of pride that bubbled up in your stomach when she smiled down at you always simmered down into a deep heat between your thighs that you fought to ignore. Her words were sharp, capable of cutting down even the most boisterous member of the church. She was dedicated, her devotion to Satan made you weak in the knees and made it impossible to focus. Want was nothing compared to the yearning you felt to curl up under her chin and ask what you can help her with, what you could do for her. What wouldn’t you do for her? 

You nodded, padding over to the cushioned armchair in front of her desk. “What can I do for you?” You said softly, a polite smile on your own lips mirrored against hers. 

Her hands dropped below her chin, her gaze meeting yours. “I’m unsure if you’ve heard,” she started, one hand dropping down to grab a piece of paper in front of her, “But we’ve had an issue with the building’s plumbing recently.” Her eyes dropped down to the paper in front of her, her green eyes running over the information. 

Your smile dropped an inch. You had spent an hour on the phone earlier practically begging the water company to come out and take a look at the pipe crumbling in the basement of the church. They had been reluctant to visit a Satanic church, a common fear the public shared that you had become exasperatedly aware of in your time as Imperator’s assistant. “Yes, I’ve heard. I managed to schedule a plumber for later this afternoon, their ETA was recently-” 

Her hand raised, and you stopped speaking. “I am aware of when they’re coming. I just wanted to let you know that the plumbing will be cut off to the Papal wing of the church, as that is where most of the problems are coming from. I wanted you to be aware so when they eventually come to you with complaints, you wouldn’t be completely surprised.” 

A quick nod sent her way, and a ghost of a smile appears on her lips. “Good.” She says firmly. “If you’d like to, you can take your lunch break early. I understand that there’s a small gathering of other sister’s outside in the Courtyard reading some sort of shared book. I understand you’re fond of reading.” Her eyes are scrutinizing, but as always, you aren’t afraid. You want her to see you, see everything you could offer her. To be in her orbit, watching her as she simply exists makes your eyes feel misty. 

“I do enjoy it. I’d rather just eat my lunch at my desk, if it’s no bother.” You say softly. 

“Feel free to do so.” She replies, eyes now focused on the monitor in front of her. No doubt an email you could handle, you think to yourself. Her eye bags are tight under her eyes, the almost purple shadowing visible under her concealer and shining a cool grey in the light of the computer screen. I need to order her a new setting powder, you think to yourself. Maybe a pink tone, that should help with brightening her under eyes. 

You smile at her, rising from the chair. “Thank you. Is there anything else, ma’am?” You want her to say stay, for her to take your hand in hers and raise it close to her, for her to give you more. More than what she’s already so gracefully given you. More than you will ever be afforded. 

“Not at the moment. Just keep in mind when the appointment is.” She replies, eyes still keenly focused on the screen, her hands typing quickly at her keyboard. Your stomach drops the way it always does, the feeling of not being able to do at least one more task for her. A nod, and your kitten heels find their way back to your desk. As you exit the room, the office doorknob gripped in your hand, you swear you can feel her penetrating gaze on your habit. But the door closes, and the mirage fades. 

—----

Your slippers make their way down the quiet hallway of the Abbey, the high stained glass windows leering above you like a hawk. But the moon shines through the panes, a comforting gaze on your otherwise troubled mind. The pink puffballs on the top of your slippers bounce with your brisk walk, so accustomed to walking in heels with a quick gait similar to Sister’s. Confidence is what makes you known, she had said on your first day as her assistant. Her hand had rested on your shoulder, warm and with a firm grip. It never hurt, only grounded you in the moment you were sure you’d look back on frequently. 

Your shower caddy bounces against your hip, your patterned robe cushioning the plastic tote you carry with you. You always took your showers in the nighttime, it was hard to shower with others around you. While there were stalls for privacy of course, communal certainly meant communal. You were certainly not a prude, not in this church. Nudity was celebrated, and the women you shared quarters with were without a doubt some of the most gorgeous you had ever seen. Timidness was not a trait befitting someone of your rank, but it was hard to ignore. And here you were, showering after everyone had curled up in bed. The water hitting the floor was a balm to the pounding in your chest. None of the Papa’s had thankfully come to you with any complaints about their lack of water, but you’re sure there was at least one email chain that they had neglected to copy you on, no doubt filled with ceaseless demands by one of them. (Maybe even two Papa’s if Primo had a muddy day out in the garden). Nonetheless, Sister had assured you that their complaints were null and void. The Ministry comes first, she had always emphasized. 

The door to the washrooms opened with a wave of air, the lack of humidity in the air letting you know that there was nobody in this room to distract you from your nightly ritual. You took hygiene seriously. The other Siblings in your dorm quarters had teased you occasionally, your primping and preening often a sight to see. While it was a misogynistic stereotype that pervaded many minds, you can’t deny that your world often feels like it needs to stop whenever you chip a nail. (By Satan, with prices nowadays, a chipped nail is thirty bucks down the drain!).

A brisk walk finds you to the open shower rooms, sequestered away in the corner, but open for those to see. You weren’t a prude, but you needed your privacy. It had taken quite a while to adjust to when you had arrived at the Abbey, but while you had grown to find comfort in some odd changes, you wanted to shower alone. With power comes a private bathroom, you reminded yourself as you sat hung up your shower caddy and set to taking off your robe. Maybe one day the little lap dog will have her own four poster bed to lounge on, you said to yourself mentally, not fighting off the grin that spread to your face. You set your robe on the hook to the side of the room, crossing over once again and turning the shower on to hot. The pipes in the Abbey were ancient, either blisteringly hot or bitterly cold. 

The water ran down your hair, taking a moment to work its way through down to the tips of your toes. You sigh, the warmth prompting you to soften. Yes, a shower in a private room was what you needed most of all. A cabinet to hold your skincare, a place where you didn’t have to lug your conditioners, shampoos, lotions, body scrubs, the list was endless! Being an assistant could take you places. 

But was that what you truly wanted? Was the thought of privacy and elevation all that was driving you forward? All of the lonely nights you spent hunched over your desk all for the sake of a private bookshelf and a personal window? The truth was there. You wanted her. You flinched outwardly, your expression drawn in. While your hands reached for your body wash and loofah, you couldn’t stop continuing down that train of thought. Her hands, worn and soft to the touch were what started it all. When Sister Imperator had taken your hand and shaken it, a trained smile on her lips as she welcomed you into the Church was what had sealed your fate. 

Dalliances were few and far between for you. In a religion celebrating sins of the flesh, it was hard enough to deny the physical needs you had tried so desperately to bury away. Your hands, while capable and trustworthy, couldn’t compare to the dexterous fingers of the other women in your dorm quarters, or one of your instructors licking fervently at your cunt in a dark dust-laden cloister. But they never compared to when she would softly tell you “Thank you for scheduling this.” or the way her hands would come to grasp your own in a calming squeeze. Always asking of you, telling you, showing you where you were meant to be. How could they ever compare to the way her eyes narrowed down at you in a praising smile? Other siblings could frown, flip her off when she turned her back, outright disobey her, but you would pray at the altar of her rigidity, knees bloody in reverence of how she had fought to make her way to the top. 

Your reverie stopped at the movement of cold air on your backside, an unwelcome opposite to the warm steam your hot water had created. You tried not to turn around, but you could feel their eyes on you. Your loofah continued its journey across your body, scrubbing gently at your stomach. The padding of shower slippers edged closer, the gait steady and-

“Sister? Is that you?” A familiar feminine voice called out to you. Your hands stopped, breath caught in your throat. How were you supposed to turn around? Hopefully the steam is thick enough, how were you even supposed to respond? Maybe it’s not even her, you thought frantically. 

Your body turns, loofah posed over your breasts, body cocked at an angle so they can’t possibly see your lower body, only your ass. Your breath caught once more. It was indeed Imperator. Her hair was loose, soft waves of grey and muted blonde let go of their usual hold. Her makeup was cleansed, soft dregs on eyeshadow still tight in the small wrinkles of her eyelids. Her skirt and blouse have been exchanged for a satin burgundy robe, the sash tight around her waist. She has a small tote of products cocked at her hip, not unlike someone carrying a baby. You notice with a small bit of happiness that she shares a love of expensive shampoo. Desperately, you try not to notice the way her robe seems to slip, her cleavage beginning to bead with sweat in the condensation of the humid room. 

“Yes ma’am, it’s me.” You manage to choke out, lips dry, eyes firmly locked with hers. Her gaze remains locked on yours, her lips pinched together tightly. Although you can usually read her quite well, you can’t find the wherewithal to figure out the emotion, your brain too mushy with the situation. Your worst nightmare and your most indulgent daydream.

She turns toward the shower adjacent to you, to your minute horror, and sets her things down. “Good. I’m sure you’ve put things together, but the water company failed to inform us they would be turning off not only the Papal Wing, but the entire Upper Clergy waterline. It was quite upsetting, to be truthful.” You swiftly turn your head, your hands beginning to sluggishly scrub your body once more. Suds have begun to gather around your breasts, hopefully obscuring her view. Or hopefully not, a familiar voice  whispers into your mind. 

“I’ll call them as soon as their office opens tomorrow, Sister. I explicitly told them to limit their turn-offs.” You sigh softly, letting the water run over your body. You can hear her shower turn on, and stare straight ahead to avoid what is undoubtedly her shucking off her bathrobe. You will not look, you will not intrude. A title is not to be ignored. You bend down, plucking your conditioner out of your tote and popping the cap. A sigh to your right, and you freeze. And though you feel your heart plummet in perverse shame, your eyes look to your left. 

And, oh, it’s just as wonderful as you’d imagined. Views over clothes cannot compare to the divine countenance of your beloved Sister Imperator. Her head is cocked upwards, facing the ceiling with her eyes closed in bliss. The warm water is drawing her in just as it had done to you earlier, a calming sedative to the day. Her stomach and hips hang low, pink stretch marks mottled against her love handles and thighs. They mottle her lower body, a sign of the past that you feel a sense of curiosity for. But the curiosity passes, and an all too familiar heat begins to burn lower. Her breasts hang heavy, pink dusky areolas with a pebbled nipple perked in the middle. The backs of her shoulders are coated in freckles, did she spend time outside as a young woman, or is it just natural? Her hair has begun to dampen in the water, droplets falling down her hair and trailing down the slope of her ass. The pockets of fat on her hips and stomach are pale, your mouth going dry with the sudden intimate realization  that they are just as soft as you’ve imagined. You can see a thatch of dark grey curls, silver as they fade out to her upper pubis. While her legs and arms have begun to wrinkle, you know for a fact that you’re positively dripping. 

A moment too long. “Are you satisfied?” A voice firmly says. You freeze, your eyes still firmly locked on her breasts, and you realize you’ve been bent over for several moments too long. Eyes shifting up, you lock gazes with Sister. To your shock, and horror, her face is void of emotion. 

“Sister.” A huff of breath, your throat dry from staring at the slopes of her sumptuous body. Your body springs into action, your chest heaving and legs shaking from the pure arousal simmering in your gut. You can’t go back from this, the trespass has been made. Tears are trying to fight their way into your waterline, the tightness in your chest still coiled with the tightness inside of you. “I apologize, I can’t believe I’m-” 

“I asked if you were satisfied.” She replies, her eyebrow raised in question. Your heart drops. If there was a time to show your cards, it was now. 

“No, I’m not.” A whisper crawls out of the dry cavern you call your mouth. You maintain eye contact, as she’s always taught you. As she’s impressed upon you, your rigid and right Sister Imperator. 

A smile curls across her lips, her eyes narrowing. To your amazement, she crosses over to you, catching your cheek in your palm. A sigh, and you can’t stop yourself from leaning into her silky palm. 

“I can tell.” Imperator says plainly, her lips still in the same smile. Her eyes are still level with your own, her thumb now weaving delicate circles into the apple of your cheek. She opens her mouth, her teeth now visible in a purposeful grin.  “Have I ever mentioned the time I saw you fucking yourself under your desk?” Your heart stops, eyes widening. To know that she had caught you the singular time you had chosen to act perversely in public, the only moment you had allowed your walls to crumble in a hedonistic thrill? 

She coos softly, her hand still cupped against your face. “Oh, I know you do now.” You can feel her other hand grip your waist, a soft gasp spilling out as she kneads the flesh in her hand. “If I had known you had felt this way, I wouldn’t have ignored you staring at me so blatantly.” 

You can’t stop the strangled gasp that flies out of your mouth, cheeks flushing even further in the heat of the water. Your thighs clench together, the tightness doing nothing to stop the tension on your clit, the way you throb in the open air. “Sister, I’m… I don’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.” You whine, trying to fight the strong urge to lean into her body, to feel her breasts against yours and to grip the hips you know feel delightfully soft. 

“If I were feeling uncomfortable, I would have told you so.” She says, the sentence clipped shortly in a way you know she’s telling the truth. “Don’t ask questions you know the answer to. If I were feeling any unease, would I do this?” She leans forward, her lips pressing to yours in a firm and open kiss, your mouth opening with a moan to accept it. The feeling of her lips on yours makes you want to sob, and as your mouth opens, her tongue lightly dips in, As you let her tongue twist against yours, you take the opportunity to lean into her. Her nipples push against yours, making the wetness between your thighs throb harder than you thought possible. The way her lips press against yours isn’t helping the need. 

The need to breathe becomes obvious, and you pull away with a great breath. You lean against her, your hands clutched to her arms. “Sister.” You moan softly, a barely audible gasp. She looks at you, her cheeks flushed and her hair draped in a wet curtain on her shoulders. “Sister, I need you.” You confess. What you don’t say is how you always need her. Need her to tell you what to do, where to be, how to act. All you need right now are her fingers fucking your cunt, her lips on your neck, your hands holding her tits like they deserve to be held. 

“I suppose I’ve made you wait long enough.” She sighs, her eyes raking over your tits, a hand gently cupping one in her hand. Her thumb passes over the peaked bud, a strangled moan crawling out of your chest. Her other hand trails down your hip, an almost placating soothing motion that makes you want to collapse against her. Her thumb pinches your tit roughly, then passes over it gently in a way that makes you keen. 

“Please.” You gasp, a pathetic whine that you don’t care to notice. “Please, I need…” Your cheeks flush, your hands trailing down to her hips, feeling the rippled flesh of her stretchmarks in a delicious grasp that makes your brain turn into mush. 

“Need what?” She says quietly, her hand moving to grip your cheek and meet her gaze. The knowledge that you probably look half fucked makes you moan, tongue passing over your lips once to wet them. 

“Your fingers. Please, anything, Sister. I just need…” You trail off with a whine as her hand dips below to your pussy, the tension that has bubbled there for years finally breaking. You whimper pathetically, her hand still pinching delicately at your breasts. Her fingers, careful not to pinch or pluck with her nails, draw tight circles over your clit. You can’t stop the sob that crawls out of your chest, the ache in your pussy tightening. The slick sounds from her hands and your wetness echo through the quiet washroom, and you should feel some shame. But you don’t, only the thrill of having her hands finally on you. 

Her hands continue, stopping their attack on your clit and sliding languidly from your entrance back to your bud in a sweet glide. “Does it feel good? To finally have my touch?” She asks softly, a quick kiss pressed against your lips as she smiles. 

“Yes!” A gasp is torn from your throat, your thighs beginning to tremble at the torturous yet delightful feel of her fingers at your hole. Her index finger teases, a slow circle around your entrance that makes you arch into her. You’re lucky you had brought your floor mat into the washroom with you, or you’re certain she would have busted a hip by now with your bucking against her. 

“You’re doing so well, sister.” She whispers, her hand kneading at your breast. Your chest heaves in the humidity of the room, and the deep pleasure that makes your legs feel like jelly. A gasp, followed by a high moan invades the air as she gently pushes her index finger inside, curling inwards gently enough to where her short nails won’t bother you. Her finger retreats, and is followed by an additional finger. They curl upwards, pushing against a spot that makes your clit throb. You distantly wonder through the haze of pure bliss where she learned to touch a woman like this, surely not just on herself? The thought disappears when her hand leaves your breast to drop to your clit, her thumb making short circles on your clit. You can hear just how sloppy you’ve gotten, the softness of your pussy making it easy for her to glide against your swollen clit. 

Your head drops to her shoulder, your hands still clasped around her neck. Your hands card themselves through her hair, a small pull that makes her gasp, then giggle against you. Your lips meet hers, her lips overpowering yours in a swift pull as you wantonly moan into her mouth. Her fingers continue to piston and curl against the sweet spot inside of you that you had waited so long for her to touch. You knew you were close, could feel the intense pounding of your heart in your chest. Your tongue licked at her lips, and her teeth gently bit down on your bottom lip. “Oh, Sister!” You whispered, desperately moaning into her mouth as she stretches you out. The ratcheting of pleasure draws ever closer, your noises so shameless you were certain Lillith herself would blush, and with a particular tight circle against your clit, you fell over the edge. Crying out at the sheer delirium, you clenched repeatedly on her fingers, your slick gliding down her wrist. 

Sister Imperator kissed your lips languidly, your lips moving slowly and stupidly from the comedown, your legs trembling from the force of your climax. You could have laughed aloud at the pure elation you felt, her hands smoothing along your thighs. 

You took deep breaths, your eyes closing. Your eyes shot open, the hunger in your chest reaching a new height when you realized you had yet to touch Sister. Your hands shot out to gently grasp her tits, but her hands stopped you in your venture forward. “Not tonight for me, I think. Another time.” She said, her voice still controlled as always. If you hadn’t been able to see her flushed face and kiss swollen lips, you would have assumed she was declining a receipt at a store. You nodded timidly. Women’s bodies, especially as they grow older, can be unpredictable. Who in the hell were you to judge her for not wanting to lube up for the night? 

Her eyes softened, a noticeable shift in her usual confident demeanor. Her hand rose, placing her hand on your shoulder as she had always done. “Now,” she said quietly, her voice soft in the thrumming of the showerhead, “I want you to clean up and wait for me in my chambers. The door is unlocked.” Heart beating as fast as you had ever felt it, you nodded dumbly. She wanted you in her room? For the night? Sister raised her hand, tapping your cheek to get your attention once more. “Off you go.” She said solidly, her hand falling away from your cheek and turning towards the shower head. 

As you cleaned up, turning off the opposite shower head from hers and stepping into your robe, you couldn’t help but feel her stare upon you. The realization that it had always been constant made you feel giddy, the heady feeling of being under her care making you feel dizzy, Your head shot up, your body straightening. “Well, Sister,” you say softly, making your way to the door, “Are you satisfied?” 

She turns to you, her head cocked back as she rinses the conditioner out of her long straight hair. She rakes her eyes along your own body, and lets the ghost of a smile flit across her face. “When am I ever?” She says, the purr in her tone making the hair along your neck prickle. You giggle, closing the door as you begin the short walk to her quarters. 

Titles were meant to be followed, and you were more certain than ever that you didn’t mind being her little lap dog.

[strbymacaroon]

❀ Confession ❀

❀ Priest Jean Kirstein x Nun Fem. Reader. ❀

❀ Sypnosis:

Sunday.

The day we dedicate to God, for he is our lord and savior. You, a dedicated Nun who wishes nothing more than to serve your savior. But, is starting to sin more often then normal.

With a certain desire for your priest…

Father Jean.

❀ Genre:

Attack on Titan, Priest Jean.

❀ Content Warning:

Absolutely filthy. Dark content! Slight voyeurism, degradation, cream-pie, unprotected sex, overstimulation, praise, filthy smut, slight oral sex, penetrative sex, dacrayphilla, etc.

❀ Word Count:

16 k words.

⊹ † ༻✦༺ † ༻✧༺ † ༻✦༺ † ⊹ 

Sunday morning. 

The light wind blew the melody of sweet songs, light dancing around in soft fragments, the stained glass catching it, and displaying the colors on the marble floor. Painting pictures of which only children’s wild imagination could understand. 

Clean, white, pure, just like the women and men inside the sacred building. If not, they are here for just that, cleansing, white, and purity. Forgiveness for the sins they have committed. Forgiveness for the sins they have yet to commit. For the people are God’s loyal servants, and wish to follow him into paradise once they fall into their eternal rest. 

A beautiful hundred foot ceiling above their heads, painted in the most rich of colors and pictures. Demonstrating the beauty and depth of what Christ has done for his people. Wooden seats decorating the floor, allowing God’s people a place to sit when Father preached the Holy Spirit. 

A stage decorated with soft pastel flowers, a white fabric draped over the stand of where Father preaches each morning of Sunday. Some bread and wine next to him when he did so. Velvet clothes decorating each table and floor. Crosses with the son of God resting above the stand. 

Jesus died for our sins. 

And, today was a simple day. Just confessions. People repenting the sins they had committed since their last confession. However, there was something different about today, and the next few weeks. Father was being observed by the Nuns of the church. Along with their novitiates. Sisters in training. Most were young, eighteen to nineteen, the oldest being twenty-four. They were always a delight to have over, along with polite. Father never minded their company. 

Quiet as a mouse and beautiful as a dove. Along with their dedication to their religion. Father loved the company of each one. Each of them huddled around each other, watching with eager eyes. Wanting to observe the process of forgiveness. 

Father approached the next person, placing his hands together, and holding them around the cross by his neck. Smiling kindly, his dimples molding into his cheeks, “For you, my child, are you ready?” His tone was soft, comforting, and warm. Just like a blanket fresh out of the Laundry. Opening an inviting, willing to forgive and bless. It is what everyone loved about the Priest. 

“Yes.” It was breathy, almost nervous. Fingers pressed against the soft white fabric of her dress, trembling slightly. Father was used to that. She thickly swallowed, “Anything for my God and Savior.” He smiled kindly, nodding his head. Bringing their foreheads close, two slender fingers pressed together. Dark brown eyes peering into the girl's light blue ones, drinking up every emotion shooting through her body. 

Nervousness, uncertainty, anxiousness, excitement, and eagerness. The eyes always reveal so much about the person, that’s why Father preferred to look into them. He always knew what type of person he was talking to just by looking into their eyes. 

She looked up, watching as Father bent his knees to reach her height. He was so much taller than her, so much bigger. It was intimidating. The novitiates watch closely. Leaning closer in hope of catching Father’s voice again. Kind yet deep, intimidating but interesting. All the women were practically leaning out of their seats. This priest in particular always causes this reaction with the novitiates, considering how young he was. A mere twenty-six years old. 

His fingers gently pressed against her upper chest, “In the name of the Father,” her left than right shoulder, “and of the Son of the Holy Spirit, Amen.” He backed up, watching the women. And, the novitiates watched as the woman bent her head down, hands pressed together against her lap. Closing her eyes and staying still. 

It was a way of separating the sinner to the saint. The blesser to the blessed. Father always was more than willing to help the sinners relish their sins. It was something he loved about his life, it made him feel closer to God. 

It was his heaven. This was his heaven. 

A brief pause, then, “Bless me Father Jean, for I have sinned.” 

⊹ † ༻✦༺ † ༻✧༺ † ༻✦༺ † ⊹ 

It was seven-thirty am. Your bed is freshly made, decorated with white silk sheets, along with soft pillows. An extra light pink blanket hanging off the edge of your bed frame, something you brought from home. 

Painted glass decorated your window, making it hard to see the beauty of the outside. However, you didn’t mind. The sun always reflected the light of the glass panels perfectly, making your room colorful. Maybe that’s why you were in charge of the children. Your room was big and simple, nothing but the necessities. Along with that, your bathroom was able to be locked and unlocked. Which made it the ideal children’s drop off zone. 

It was the children’s drop off zone. And, you were the caretaker. 

Currently, you are sitting in your vanity. Sister Mary standing behind you, trying to place your hair into your veil. A task you had trouble doing on your own. 

You straightened your back, eyes dancing over the cross on your neck.You mind was bouncing back to the sight from last week. Father Jean and the women asking for forgiveness. The isolation that ensued the moment the two started speaking. It felt like you shouldn’t have been watching. It looked so.. intimate. 

Something you didn’t know much about, due to your devotion to God. 

You parted your lips, “It looks so intimate Sister Mary,” you whispered, placing your hands on the vanity in front of you. Slowly moving it in circles, the mirror ahead of you following you every movement. “The Priest, and the people.” You mumbled, replaying the scene in your head like a movie. You couldn’t stop thinking about it. You crossed a leg over the other, “Is that what marriage looks like? Is that what it’s like?” Father Jean was always fresh in your mind. Of course, it was because he kept you close to God. Nothing else. 

She collected your hair together, trying to find a way to style it. Always treat your hair, then place it into the hairstyle. “Marriage is something we shouldn’t be thinking of Sister, for we are already wed to the Lord our God.” She hummed comfortingly, “And, it looks as if you’re in need of a haircut, Sister.” Her hands dropped your long silk strands, reaching for scissors on the vanity. Something you used when making crafts for the children.

You wanted to grab your hair from her hands, hold it tight and close. But, you grabbed the vanity instead. Keeping your hair short was practical, useful, and your sign of devotion. It showed you no longer wanted to follow the temptations of the world. Attraction. Cutting your hair was a way of showing you were refusing all the pleasures and temptations of the “outside world”.

And, wanting to keep it was a sin. 

You were sinning. 

You closed your eyes, not looking at the amount of hair Sister Mary was holding. It had to be to your shoulders, you didn’t want to think about it. It had been so long since you last cut it, and you were rather proud of the length you acquired. The care and nurturing you put into your hair, along with, you really enjoyed the way your hair looked on you. Of course, no one saw it, but it was a pleasure of your own. A secret sin of your own. 

“In the name of the Father, and the Son of the Holy Spirit..” Please forgive my secret sin, my one pleasure, but allow me this one thing. Allow me to enjoy my one pleasure, and I will do you with good in ten fold. “..Amen.” Your eyes fluttered open, watching as Sister Mary lifted her scissors, your hair held by her other hand. 

A knock at the door, followed by, “Sister Mary, I do apologize for the poor timing,” a deep and kind voice, warming– like a blanket fresh out of laundry, “but, I’m afraid I need you for something.” The door remained shut, your eyes peering at it. You wished for it to open. 

“Oh, of course Father, allow me.” She stood up from the seat behind you, placing the scissors down. Your eyes following the silver weapon. “I apologize, Sister. But, it seems that God has a different day planned for your length change.” She gave you a silly, comforting, smile, “Goodbye, Sister.” 

You gave her one in return, bowing your head. “To you as well.” Thank you Spirit, for sending one of your Angels. “Thank you, Sister Mary.” She gave you a brief nod before walking to the door. Cracking it open and speaking with Father Jean, giving him a kind bow. You couldn’t help yourself, but you leaned forward. Trying to catch a glimpse of the young saint. You didn’t know why you wanted to see him, but you did. And, you were eager to at that. 

Unfortunately, that was all you got. A mere glimpse of the man, his clothing. Black everything, his pants, shirt, and shoes. His collar was decorated in a brief white, along with a rosary resting on his chest. You wondered if he wore gold rings. Priests often wore gold rings. It was something you noticed from your two years of observing your religion. Something required to be a Nun. 

Father Jean was known to be the nicest man alive. A true saint with a golden heart. A man who does good purely to do good, with expecting nothing in return. A true ideal priest, someone you looked up to. Admired even. Even if you two haven’t spoken often. 

Your door shut behind Sister Mary, leaving you in the small room supported by the Church. “I thought she’d never leave.” You turned around, looking at your friend. Watching as she finally emerged from your closet. Since, she was hiding from Sister Mary. Visiting time wasn’t permitted at this moment. 

Her name was Sasha, a pretty girl she was. She had joined this path with you about a year ago, and since, you two have been inseparable. Well, that’s how it was with everyone of your Sisters. A total of five, including yourself. 

“I thought I was going to lose my hair, Sister.” You muttered, grabbing onto it instinctively. You didn’t want to lose that. “I believe, Sister Mary is too strict about trivial things.” I mean, it was 2022, not 1900. Couldn’t you have one pleasure as a Nun? Everything else about you was dedicated to the Lord. Quite literally. 

Your friend sat on your bed, brown hair decorating her shoulders. A small pout on her rose lips, “I like my hair short, so I don’t completely mind the haircuts.” She answered, “Besides, it’s more manageable.” Her hand went to her hair, grabbing a few strands of her bangs. Toying with the silky strands. 

“I know, but it think—“ you turned to the mirror, “I think it looks pretty like this.” You liked your hair, it was unique to yourself. Curly, twisted, long, thick, thin, straight, whatever you hair was, it was a perfect representation of you. That’s why you didn’t want to cut it. “I know, I shouldn’t, but I do.” You whispered. 

Sasha sighed, “How about this, tonight you and I go out to the garden.” She stood up from the bed, walking to you. Taking your hands into hers, “And, we enjoy the pool with the flowers that surround it. It’s said to be the most beautiful place in the church.” She gave you a soft smile, squeezing your hands. 

You blinked a few times, swallowing the saliva that built in your mouth. “Uhm— I,” you pressed your lips together, feeling them move without thought. Swimming in a pool sounds like... You eyes dipped to her chest, catching sight of her cross, you ended up shaking your head. “No, it’s okay, I’m fine. Besides, we’re not allowed to be seen outside of our assigned clothing. That would be a sin.” You disliked saying that word, you disliked it so much.

Because, so many things were considered a sin. 

Sasha nodded, letting go of your hands, “Of course, I forgot about that.” Her tone wasn’t as cheerful as it once was, just more monotone and disappointed. Her hands went to her side, “Let’s get dressed, once I finish I Promise to do your hair.” She said, forcing a smile in your direction. 

You couldn’t help, but give her a sad smile. The two of you didn’t choose to become Nuns, your families forced it upon you. Which, of course, made commiting to Christ more difficult than it normally was for Nuns in training. 

The two of you were young, a mere twenty, and you wished to experience youth like anyone else. Rather than being restricted by the word of God. Giving your body to Christ. Which meant, you were his bride. As a child, you didn’t think that your husband would be the very thing your family worshiped. And, what you repented. 

“How about we go and greet everyone who enters the church today?” You suggest, pressing the palms of your hands to your habit, making sure the silk wasn’t wrinkled. “That sounds like a joy.” You added a smile. 

“I want to swim.” Sasha said, pulling back and holding herself. “I don’t get why I can’t do that.” She mumbled, closing her eyes and sighing. “I just want to have some fun.” You reached a hand for her shoulder, watching her collect herself. Then, “In the name of the Father, and the Son of the Holy Spirit..” Silence. “..Amen.” 

You knew exactly what she was doing. Because, the both of you were conditioned to do it. 

Sasha fluttered her eyes open, slowly bringing her brown beautiful eyes to you. “Okay, let me go get ready.” Sasha pulled herself back, placing a foot behind another. Walking towards your door, while you turned your back to her, diligently watching her move through your vanity. And, she stood at your door. Hand on the handle, froze in her spot. 

You could feel your eyebrows mush, What was she doing? Was she okay? Was something wrong? You twisted your body around, your shoes clicking against the marble flooring as you made your way to her. Pupils moving up and down her frame. You couldn’t stop the word from slipping from your mouth, “Sasha?..” 

“Sister,” her voice made you flinch, stopping you in your tracks. “I’m going to ask Father Jean for forgiveness next week,” she mumbled. Turning her head over her shoulder. “Because, tomorrow tonight at twelve, I will commit a sin of my own pleasure.“ You disliked the fact that something so trivial as swimming, caused such a massive problem within your community. The two of you just wanted to swim. But, you couldn’t.. “And, I think you should join me.” Her words pierced your chest. 

And with that, she left. 

⊹ † ༻✦༺ † ༻✧༺ † ༻✦༺ † ⊹ 

Sunday 8:05 am…

The sound of birds was always the highlight of the morning for you. You loved watching them fly high in the sky. Oh—how you wished to fly free just like them. You always liked to imagine what type of bird you would be. Maybe a crow, you loved the sleek look of them. 

You smiled kindly at those who entered the church, hands pressed against your thighs everytime you bowed. Many of the people who visited this Church were either tourists or regulars. Considering how old and beautiful the building was, people always enjoyed the stunning scenery. From whichever belief they held. 

“Y/n!” You jolted at someone hugging your legs. Looking down at the small body. You couldn’t help but smile when he looked up at you. “It’s been forever since I last saw you!” He shouted. 

You giggled, pressing a finger to your lip. “Hush, love. Not so loud.” You sweetly said, not wanting to bring too much attention to yourself. You placed your hand on his head, pushing some short strands of hair from his face. “But, I’m so happy to see you!” You caressed his face comfortingly. 

His eyes blinked a few times, before a smile exploded from her face. “Me too! Me too!” He whisper–shouted, shoved his face in your habit, mumbling– “The house has been so lonely without you, Y/n.”

“That’s Sister, Luke.” Your father corrected, your mother not too far behind. You could feel your body just crumple, and tense together, almost like it was regressing. You absolutely disliked this part of the day. This was your least favorite part.

Luke looked back at you, a small pain in his eyes. “Oh yeah..” he mumbled, “Sorry, Sister.” His hands went behind his back, his head looking at the ground. 

You could feel your heart break. Before softly nodding, “No, it’s okay.” You reassured, placing your hand in his hair again and rubbing it. “Sometimes even I–” you sighed, your voice wavering for a moment, “Sometimes.. Even I forget.” You placed your hand behind his back, “Besides, you have all your other brothers and sisters!” He just merely nodded.

Your eyes shot to your parents, standing behind Luke. You smiled, before giving them a subtle bow. “Mom, Dad.” You said, “It’s a pleasure.” You stayed there for a moment, not wanting to come back up. It felt like you didn’t have the energy too. 

Your Mother hummed thoughtfully, “It’s good to see you too, Honey. It’s always so good to see how much you’ve grown.” Your Mother cupped your cheek and lifted your face. “We knew this profession was the one for you.” Her thumb rubbing your cheek was supposed to be comforting, it wasn’t. “See, and you didn’t want to do this at first.” 

You pressed your lips together, feeling them wiggle, before giving her a kind smile. “Of course, you two know me too well.” You looked between your Mother and Father. “I’m actually the caretaker for the children.” You added, hands fiddling with one another. 

Your Mother let out a small noise of excitement, “That’s wonderful, Sister. We always knew you were amazing with children.” Her hands went to yours, squeezing them. “You were always so good with your siblings.” Your Mother and Father were always working, so, being the oldest. You were the ones who took care of the children when they were gone. 

You nodded, “I love children.” 

Your Father nodded, while your Mother smiled. “We know, Honey. We know everything about you.” She patted your back, “Why else would we make you do this?” You gave another smile, keeping your body forward as they walked into the church. 

“Oh! And, Honey!” Your Mother called over her shoulder. You turned to them, “We’re dropping Luke off at the daycare, so you can spend some time with him!” She blew you a kiss, “Love you, Sister.” She turned on her heel, grabbing Luke by the hand and separating from your Father. Off to find your room. The daycare.

You shakily breathed out, not realizing you were holding your breath. Clasping your hands together and holding them near your face. Trying to recollect yourself. Closing your eyes and keeping them shut, tight. 

“Are you alright?” 

You fluttered your eyes open, keeping your gaze to the ground. “Huh?” You blinked a few times, “Yes, I’m–” You nodded to yourself, “I’m alright, just a bit.. tired.” Your voice was soft, strained almost. You let go of your hands, pressing them to your sides. 

The person laughed, “That’s good, we wouldn’t want a sad soul at Church.” Their voices cut into your head. Almost like a dizzying spell. So inviting and warm, almost like a scorching hug from an angel. 

Please don’t be.. “Father Jean!” Someone shouted, making the tall pastor turn his head. 

You gasped, turning your head to him. Instantly, your eyes met his side profile. A strong jaw, long lashes, pink soft lips, clear tan skin, and a nose built to perfection. His hair was soft, yet slicked back into a hairstyle he frequented. Dark blonde. What a pretty color. 

Father Jean’s face turned back, meeting your wide-eyed one. Jean’s face is in full display to your wavering eyes. And, that's where they went, to his eyes. A light brown reflecting perfectly in the light, displaying his soul to you. Such a pretty color. Such a pretty face. 

Wow. He’s so pretty. 

Your mouth parted, and his eyes went to your lips. Suddenly, you could feel your heartbeat speed up and flutter, your mouth was so dry. You felt nervous, really nervous. “F–Father Jean, I–” You thickly swallowed, “I apologize, I shouldn’t have–” 

“There’s nothing to apologize for, Sister. You haven’t done anything wrong.” He reassured, his eyes bouncing up and meeting yours. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” And, he smiled. He smiled. Your heart melted, your mind crashing. His smile was perfect. Dimples denting into his honey–like skin. So, kind and welcoming. It felt like you were home. 

“Yes, I’m– I’m okay.” You replied, giving him a forced smile, it was more of an awkward one. “But, aren’t you supposed to be getting ready?” You placed your hands behind your back, looking at the people entering the sacred building. “I mean, isn’t the sermon starting soon?” Your eyes were filled with worry. 

Jean laughed, shaking his head. “I’m afraid you're correct, but I’m not the one speaking today. Father Eren is.” He clarified, a big hand coming to his hair. Slicking back the fly aways, “I’m just just saying hello to everyone entering the Church.” You could hear the disappointment in his voice, even if it was subtle. 

You fluttered your lashes, biting the corner of your lip. “Do you want to–” 

“Yes, more than anything.” He quickly spoke, a smile appearing on his face again. “I love it, it’s one of my favorite parts about being a priest.” He sighed, placing his hands into his pockets. Looking at the sky for a moment, his neck is on full display to you. “But, I’m just going to be doing the body of Christ for today.” His smile wavered for a moment. 

“You sound disappointed, Father.” You noted, watching as he leaned his back against the building’s wall. “Is that something you don’t enjoy doing?” You took a step closer in his direction, tilting your head to the side. 

Jean echoed your moments, lowering his voice. “Don’t tell anyone, but it’s not my favorite.” He mumbled, slightly embarrassed by his confession. “I don’t know, I just don’t necessarily enjoy placing food in people’s mouths.” He visibly cringed, his nose scrunching in distaste. 

You giggled, a hand coming over your mouth. Jean smiled at your reaction, “Well, what’s your favorite thing to do then?” You curiously asked, toying with the cross around your neck. 

He blinked a few times, a chill going up his spine. He disliked when that happened. “Uhm,” He shook his head, “I actually really enjoy confessions.” He said, “It’s something that just makes me feel closer to God.” You watched as he smiled, again. He was such a bubbly and bright person. 

You were jealous. 

But, you could help but feel a part of your body regress at that. Jean was a priest, of course he was going to be extremely religious. He wasn’t like you.. Someone forced into this lifestyle. You subtly sighed, grabbing onto your arm. Not everyone here was like you, it was something you kept forgetting. 

Jean leaned his head back, looking to the side. Whispering, “Something I’ve been really needing this past week.” It sounded like he was talking to himself, rather than to you. And, it sounded like he didn’t want you to hear it. 

“Really?” You gasped, speaking before thinking. He gave you a look, making your face burn with embarrassment. “I mean! You’re just– you’re you! So, I would think..” You stopped talking, feeling your head screaming at you to stop. Pressing your lips together you turned away. 

He chuckled, silently reassuring you. “No, no, I get it.” He reassured, placing a hand on your shoulder. His thumb rubbing in circles, “Being who I am and all.” He could feel you shiver under his touch, and he froze. Before, he shook his head and pulled away, smiling at you kindly. “But, sometimes I have my moments where one or two unholy words slip.” 

You giggled, your hand meeting your shoulder. Already missing the contact between you two. “I guess that's true, Father.” Your mind rushed to this morning with Sasha, her words soaring through your head. “And, I think you should join me.” You thickly swallowed, wondering if you should take her up on her offer. 

“Well, Sister, I think I have to go.” Jean said, “Soon enough, Father Eren is going to start his–” He paused, not wanting to finish the sentence. “Anyways, he always gets bothered if I don’t attend.” His hand went to his hair, pulling back the fly aways. He gave you a final smile, “Until, we meet again, Sister.” 

You watched as he turned away. Entering the Church, just like all the other people. And, you couldn’t help, but feel empty. His company is an enjoyable and new thing to you, something you wanted to last a bit longer. Just a little bit longer. 

“Father Jean!” 

You gasped at your mouth, placing your hand over it. I really need to think before I speak. Jean looked over his shoulder, peering at you. Giving you another kind and acknowledging smile. He was waiting for you to speak. 

And, you didn’t know what to say. You felt your body freeze, “Next week– next Sunday,” you corrected, “I wish to confess, much like yourself, it’s something I’ve been needing this past week.” 

You couldn’t see it, but a shiver went down Jean's spine. And, the cause of it?... Jean thickly swallowed, keeping his face the same. “Of course, I’d be more than glad to be the one to guide you.” And with that, he turned his back to you and walked away. 

⊹ † ༻✦༺ † ༻✧༺ † ༻✦༺ † ⊹ 

“Luke, you can’t just!–” you pressed your lips together, taking in a deep inhale. “You can’t just leave the room without telling me, or Sister Mikasa.” You gestured your hand to the other Nun in the room. Her head turning to you briefly, and giving your brother a small smile. Before, returning to what she was doing. 

“I know, but–” He tried arguing. 

“No buts!” You added, placing your hand on his back and gilding him back into the room. Shutting the door behind you, “We have a restroom, food, coloring, and books. So, there’s no reason to leave, Luke.” You scolded, quickly observing him. Seeing how both his hands were behind his back, holding something. “And, what do you have?” Did he steal something?

Instant his hands were lifted up to your face, showing you a sheer pink scarf. He looked at the ground, “While walking here with mom, I dropped it, then went to go find it.” His fingers wrapped around the thin fabric, toying with the material. 

Your lips parted, guilt plaguing up your spine. “Oh, uh–” you shook your head, “You still should’ve told me, we could’ve looked for it together.” You cupped his cheek, bending down and kissing his forehead. “I just don’t want you getting hurt.” 

Luke nodded, “Okay, I’m sorry,” he mumbled. 

You giggled, grabbing the fabric from his fingers. Whispering, “But thank you, Luke.” You ruffled his hair, watching as his face lit up. Running into you and wrapping his arms around your legs. You laughed, nodding your head. You quickly stuffed the scarf into your habit, you find a place to put it later. 

It was something your grandmother gave you before her passing. Unfortunately, due to it being a pleasure, you weren’t allowed to bring it to the church with you. Which broke your heart to say the least. It was the only thing you had left of her. You refused to loose it. 

“Sister?” Mikasa called, glancing at your clock. “It’s about an hour to the body of Christ, should we start cleaning up?” She told you, holding one of the younger kids in her arms. Cradling her as she started to fall asleep. “Or, should we start taking the kids to the main room?” 

Mikasa was a woman a bit older than you, twenty. She was the embodiment of Sister Mary. Tall, kind, strict, yet relaxed. Her skin was soft and clear, like snow freshly laid. Lips pink and shiny, her cheeks lightly tinted red. Mikasa was someone you strived to be like, the ideal Nun. Graceful and beautiful, like a dove. 

Not a crow. 

You shook your head, “Parent’s sometimes pick their children up during the small break. We’ll start taking them in twenty minutes before the body of christ.” You stuffed the scarf into your habit. “But, starting to clean up, doesn't sound like a bad idea, Sister.” 

Mikasa nodded, placing the child down. Wrapping her with a soft blanket you laid out specifically for the children. “Okay children, how about we start cleaning up the play area.” She announced, smiling sweetly at everyone. The children groaned, which made you giggle. 

Mikasa walked into the play area connected to your room, flashing you a smile. “I’ll take care of the playroom cleaning, you want to take care of your room?” 

You nodded, “That works with me.” Mikasa nodded and walked into the playroom with all the children, Luke staying by your side. You sighed, looking down at him. “Want to help me clean?” 

Luke just nodded, picking up some of the drawings that were left on the floor. Your ears perked to the sound of knocking, immediately drawing your attention to your wooden door. Was a parent here to pick up their child already? 

You reached for the door, pulling it open. “Hello, and who would be your child..” 

Father Jean tilted his head to the side, a kind smile on his lips. “Don’t have any kids.” He looked to the side for a moment, before laughing to himself. “Yet.” 

You could feel your lips part for a second, before shaking your head. “Uhm, then– if you don’t mind me asking.. What do you need?” You placed your hands behind your back, feeling Luke behind you. Hiding behind your leg, looking at Father Jean. 

Jean’s eyes met your brothers, and he kindly waved at him. “It’s not a problem at all, Sister.” His eyes danced around the room, almost like he was looking for something. “Is Sister Mikasa here?” 

You could feel your heart squeeze for a moment, almost hurt. “Uhm..” You looked away. Your heart aching, why did it bother you so much? “Yeah, she’s in the playroom with the children cleaning up.” You pushed open the door, silently indicating for him to come inside. “I’ll go get her.” You pulled Luke with you, leading him to the room and telling him to help the children clean.  

Jean nodded, walking into the room. You quickly walked to the playroom, searching for Mikasa. “Sister,” you called, watching as her head moved to you. “Uhm, Father Jean is here for you.” You pointed inside your room. 

Mikasa’s eyebrows met together, almost in a concerned way. “Father Jean?..” She mumbled, standing up and stumbling over her footing. Which caught you off guard. Mikasa was always such a collected and calm woman, you’ve never seen her stutter– let alone trip over her own feet. 

What was worrying her?

“Did he say any reason to why?” Mikasa sounded– strained. 

“Uhm,” you looked back at Jean, then back to her. Shaking your head, “No, h-he just asked for you, that’s all.” You responded, moving to the side and allowing her to walk into your room. 

Mikasa’s hand rested on her waist, looking at Father Jean expectantly. “Father, you called?” She asked, head tilting to the side. “What do you need?” 

Jean’s eyes moved to you, then Mikasa. Smiling sweetly at her, “Father Eren is calling for you, I’d suggest going to search for him.” He looked to the side, “Actually, if I remember correctly, he’s in the small break area. You know how he is.” Jean smiled, “He needs his voice to rest before speaking again. He just wants your company.” 

Mikasa looked at you, “I’m sorry, but I can’t. I have to clean, maybe when we return the children to their parents for the body of christ.” She replied, about to walk back when Jean cut her off. 

“I’ll stay.” He said, walking to her and smiling sweetly. “You know Father Eren needs your  company to regain energy, I’ll stay.” He placed his hand on her lower back, leading her to the door. “Don’t worry, I work wonderfully with children.” 

Mikasa looked at you, “Oh Sister, I hope this doesn't bother you. Father Eren just gets… cranky when not tended to.” Her hands moved to hold each other, an act to comfort herself. “He’s such a child sometimes..” She whispered, more to herself then anybody. 

You couldn’t help, but look back at Jean. Your heart racing in your chest, the thought of spending one on one time with each other. Albeit, there were many children around– you were still grateful. Your crush on Father Jean could be sated with a mere glance his way. “N-no, it’s okay, Sister. It’s nothing to worry about, I’m sure I’ll be okay.” You kindly smiled at her. 

Mikasa returned it, before walking away. You slowly shut the door, back pressed to it as you looked at Jean. Heart racing in your chest, “Uhm, as of now we’re just cleaning up. Nothing too interesting.” You informed. 

“That’s fine,” he kindly dismissed, “Is there anything I can do to help.” His hand went into his pockets, “I’m all around when it comes to these things.” 

You giggled, cheeks burning. “Uhm, you can just help me here.” You gestured around your room, “I’m sure the children are having a field day noticing there isn’t an adult in the room.” You laughed to yourself, “Last time, one of the kids became the president.” There was a whole republican and democrat party. 

Jean laughed, hand covering his mouth. “I think I heard about that.” He said through laughs, “If I remember correctly, the party names were onion and apple, right?” 

You giggled, nodding your head. “It was crazy what can happen within a few minutes.” You replied, kneeling to the ground and continuing to pick up all the papers. Being careful not to wrinkle any of the drawings. 

Jean watched you, “Kids are so creative nowadays.” Jean walked towards you, lifting your head. “Wait, you have something in your..” He pulled off the piece of paper, holding it in front of you with a smile. “Here.” 

You smiled, taking the paper from him. Eyes fluttering as his hand pulled away from his face, his contact burning into your skin. “Thank you.” you whispered. Eyes looking up at him. 

Jean blinked a few times, his Adam's apple bobbing before he smiled. Dimples denting into his perfect skin, “Of course, anything for you, Sister.” He pulled back, hands going back into his pockets. 

You were going to make conversation again, when he spoke. “I’ll go help the children, we don’t need another party debate.” Jean turned on his heel, walking into the other room. Leaving you sitting on the heels of your feet. 

Did he not want to speak with you? 

It wasn’t long before the cleaning had finished, and Father Jean had to leave. Which you couldn’t help, but feel hurt by. Mikasa had finally returned as well, so at least you weren’t the only one taking care of the children. Which was a relief. 

You nodded to yourself, before turning to the children in the room. “Okay, okay. Children!” you announced, watching as all the small heads turned in your direction. “We’re going to start heading down to the church hall, start cleaning up so we can leave.” You informed, grabbing a piece of paper from the ground and tossing it in the trash.

“Bread!” A small child shouted, making you giggle. 

“Wine!” 

You could feel your eyes widen, looking at Mikasa, seeing she was holding a similar expression. Before the two of you burst out laughing, looking away from the child. She placed her hand on their head, “Maybe, not wine.. But, there will definitely be bread.” She corrected. 

“I believe Father Jean is doing bread today,” Mikasa loudly remarked, looking at you. You couldn’t help but notice how her cheeks darkened in color, a smile plastered over her lips. “That’s something I don’t want to miss.” 

You felt your eyebrows come together. Did she… like him? You brought your head down, “Looks as if you really like, Father.” You smiled at the baby in your arms. Pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, your eyes glancing up for a second. Looking at Mikasa’s reaction to your statement. You felt your eye twitch. 

Mikasa had her hands pressed to her face, covering the massive blush decorating her face. “Is that what people think?..” She muttered, looking at the ground. 

“No.” You respond instantly, before quickly catching yourself. “I was just messing with you, I didn’t think..” That was a lie, you knew. You just asked Mikasa to confirm your suspicion. Wait.. you just sinned, again. What was happening to you?.. 

It didn’t take long before the two of you were leading the group of children to the main hall. Reunited them with their loving parents. Before going into line for the body of Christ. You joined along with your family, standing behind them. Making brief conversation with your parents. 

You sighed, finding yourself at the front of the line. Keeping your gaze to the floor, finding yourself exhausted from speaking with your parents. 

“Sister.” Someone greeted. And, you wanted to die on the spot. From your last interaction, you wondered if he wanted nothing to do with you. He dismissed you so quickly…

“Father,” you returned, “Nice to see you again.” You lifted your head again, smiling at him. 

Jean nodded his head in return. “It’s nice to see you as-well, Sister.” He grabbed a thin piece of bread and lifted it up. “I hope the children didn’t give you much trouble, I didn’t want to leave too early.” He said, forcing a smile in your direction. Jean was tense. 

You looked at his hand, seeing as gold rings decorated his fingers. So, you were right about the jewelry thing. “Of course not, I always enjoy their company.” You responded, placing your hands around the cross on your chest. “I always enjoy anyone’s company.” 

Jean could feel a shiver go down his spine. He disliked his small tick so much. You parted your lips and Jean felt his eye twitch. Jean’s gaze hardened, like he was concentrated. You noticed and for some reason– it felt intimidating.

You tilted your head up and looked at the bread. Jean’s eyes dilated, bringing the bread close to your mouth. “Body of Christ.” 

You could feel yourself freeze. “I don’t know, I don’t necessarily enjoy placing food in people’s mouths.” You closed your mouth, quickly giving him a sheepish smile. “Father Jean, please excuse me, it’s a habit.” You informed, placing your hand over his. Holding onto his much larger hand, “Allow me.” You grabbed the bread from his hand. “It must seem like I disregarded your boundaries.” 

Jean blinked a few times, shaking his head. His eyes dancing from his hand to yours. “No, no. It’s okay, I didn’t mind.” He said, turning his head to the side for a moment. “I must’ve forgotten..” He bit the inside of his cheek.  

You nodded, “I did too, Father. Don’t worry.” You pressed the thin bread against your tongue, looking down for a second as your tongue slipped over your finger. Before running over your bottom lip.

“..at me.”

You tilted your head up, seeing that Jean was already looking at you. You could feel your cheeks burn, “I’m sorry, what was that, Father?” You absolutely disliked asking people to repeat themselves. You tilted your head to the side, looking away for a moment, unable to keep eye contact. Why? You didn’t know. 

“Father Eren is going to be so angry at me.” He told you, “I think I’ve been giving out the wrong bread.” He said with a chuckle, looking down at the table and basket. His hands came to his side, fidgeting with the material of his black shirt. 

You felt your lip wiggle, trying to contain the laughter bubbling in your throat. But, it slipped out, “Oh Father, if need be, I’m sure you can always confess.” You quickly collected yourself, placing the tips of your fingers to your lips. “I’m sure even priests have their moments of sin.” Why would I say that? 

Jean blinked at you a few times, before smiling, “It’s true. Shameful to admit, but I have struggled of my own.” Then, he nodded his head. “I suppose you’re right, confession does sound nice right about now..” he looked at the roof for a second. Elegant paintings of moments written in the bible looking back at him. 

You nodded, agreeing with him. “Maybe, we should confess together, Father.” You mumbled, not so much telling him, but saying it to yourself. 

“Maybe, we should.” He responded. Still looking up, giving you a nice sight of his neck. With Jean being that tall, and from where you were standing, it looked as if you were on your knees giving him.. 

“Is that a scarf?” He whispered, leaning into you slightly. His eyes dipping down to your chest. Curiosity filling them. 

You could feel your cheeks burn, when did he start looking at you?.. “Oh gosh, I–” You reached up, tucking the fabric into your habit. You thickly swallowed, “I– uh, yes, it is.” You mumbled, “My brother gave it to me, and I couldn’t refuse him.” You added. 

He smiled, nodding his head. “Don’t worry,” he pushed his finger to his lips, “It’ll be our little secret.” You tilted your head, the word sin– filling your head. 

But, you blinked a few times, before bowing your head. “Goodbye, Father.” Then, you walked away. Closing your eyes and shaking the impure thought that came to your head away. Jean’s eyes followed you for a moment, before returning them to the person in front of him. 

“Father.” They greeted, and Jean cringed. He really did. 

“Sister Mary.” He followed. 

⊹ † ༻✦༺ † ༻✧༺ † ༻✦༺ † ⊹ 

Sasha laid on your bed, a blanket over her body and sighing out dramatically. “I think Father Jean’s been hooking up with someone,” she announced. Bringing her hands to her face and messing with her fingers. “He’s been acting weird.” 

You could feel your heart drop. “You think so?!” You disliked how worried you sounded. Sasha gave you a look that made you instantly correct your tone. “I mean, do you think so?..” You placed your hair brush down on your vanity, looking at her through your mirror.

She giggled, nodding her head. “And, I think you have a small thing for him.” She added, grabbing the scarf from your bed and playing with it. Enjoying the thin yet silky fabric between her fingers. She held it up to you, “You know if Sister Mary sees this she’ll be mad.”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. Reaching for the scarf. “I know, I know, but my brother gave this to me. I couldn’t say no.” You got up, walking to your drawer. “And, I don’t want to throw it out. I–” you sighed, “I really like it, it’s cute.” 

“Uh–Hu, totally.” She stood up, glancing at the clock in your room. “Just hide it somewhere you know she won’t find it.” Sasha stretched out her arms, cracking her fingers. “I’ll lend you the–” 

“I’m not hiding my scarf in your crusty box.” You glared at her, stuffing the fabric in your habit, rather than the drawer. It would be safer if it was on you. 

 “Okay, it’s almost time, it’s now or never, Sister.” She grabbed your hands, pulling you to the door. “Let’s get going!” You disliked how excited she sounded. Because, deep down, you were equally as excited. Maybe you were mixing it with fear. I mean, they practically felt the same. 

“I don’t know, I just feel like..” 

Sasha shushed you, “If you think about it too much you’ll hurt your brain,” she said, grabbing the two towels by the door and placing them under her arm. “Sister Mary should be asleep by now, it’s the perfect time!” 

You rubbed your arm, looking to the side. “Sister, we don’t even have bathing suit, how are we supposed to–” 

“I’ve already thought about that.” And instantly, she was pulling at her outfit. Removing the layers of thick, black, clothing. “We’ll just swim in our underwear. I mean,” she shrugged, placing her habit on the floor gently. “It’s practically the same thing as a swimsuit.” 

You keep your eyes to the ground, “And what if someone sees us?!” You argued. Finally looking at her. 

Sasha shook her head, “No one’s going to see us, Sister.” She reassured, grabbing one of the towels and wrapping it around her body. “Now, c’mon, get naked with me!” 

“No.” 

Sasha pulled at your hand, “C’mon! You know you want to.” She cooed, doing a small dance. 

You couldn’t help but giggle. “Okay, okay, fine. I’ll go.” You admitted, grabbing the other towel from her. “But, only for ten minutes.” You asserted, pointing a direct finger at her. 

Sasha nodded. “Yes, anything you want.” A devious smile came over her lips, her hands grabbing the scarf inside your habit. Placing it and tying it around her head, “Now, get naked!” 

⊹ † ༻✦༺ † ༻✧༺ † ༻✦༺ † ⊹ 

They weren’t lying when they said the pool was beautiful. It was surrounded by a grove of flowers, all different shades of the rainbow. Mixing together like an experienced painter making a beautiful painting. Right next to the pool was an equality as beautiful Labyrinth garden. 

The sky above, the full moon reflecting the pool water, and a cool breeze flowing over you. You tilted your head back, dipping your hair into the water. Bringing your head back up and using your hands to push it out of your face. 

“See! I told you this was a good idea!” Sasha boasted, swimming backwards. “And, what a beautiful night to do it too!” She stopped, starfishing in the water. 

You swam by her side, looking up at the sky. Seeing the stars shining down at you. You couldn’t help but feel awe-struck. You were never allowed outside the church past nine, and now you were swimming in a pool, half naked, at twelve in the morning, looking at the stars with your best friend Sasha. It felt like a fever dream. Maybe, it was a dream and soon you were going to wake up. 

You didn’t want to wake up..

“It’s so pretty,” you voiced, lifting your feet from the ground and floating in the water like Sasha. Fully relaxing while you looked at the sky, “I miss this feeling.” You whispered. 

“Me too,” Sasha said. “I miss being a regular teen. I miss being a teen.” You could hear the whimper in Sasha’s voice. “Don’t get me wrong, I love my religion, but not this much.” 

The thing you and Sasha had in common was… you two were forced to become Nuns. 

“I miss it too,” you were forced to grow up so fast. “But, I enjoy the time I spend here.” You told her, moving your head to the side and looking at Sasha. She was looking at you, smiling. 

“Yeah, we thought we heard something.” 

And, you two shared the exact same expression, at the exact same time. Pure, unrequited, fear. Oh, you two were dead, and you two didn’t even confess! Sister Mary was going to send you two to hell. 

You two immediately rushed out of the water, grabbing your towels and diving for one of the tall bushes. Hiding behind it and looking at the pool entrance through the leaves. 

“This is exactly why I said we should have splashed, it’s way too loud!” You whispered at Sasha, ignoring the urge to punch her. Until, you watched who walked into the entrance. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” 

Father Jean, Father Eren, and Sister Mary. 

Sasha deeply inhaled, then exhaled. Closing her eyes, tilting her head back, clasping her hands and sighing. “I’m sorry, Sister.” She said, fluttering her lashes. “But, we’re so dead.” 

“I’m going to kill you.” You groaned, looking back through the leaves. Seeing the three look at the pool. Which was clearly disturbed, softly sloshing around. All their eyes were on it, everyone knew someone was in the pool. 

“Well, I can look around the area.” Eren voiced, glancing around. “Or, Jean can too.” 

You looked at the table and immediately cringed. Turing to Sasha, “Sasha, did you bring my scarf with you?” You slowly turned to her, eyebrows mushed together. Showing your anger. 

Sasha blinked a few times, glancing through the leaves. Seeing your scarf on the table. She grimaced, “Well, I didn’t think that..” she shook her head, “It doesn't matter, no one will know it’s yours.” She argued. 

“Yes it does matter!” You said, almost a little too loud. “Father Jean has seen me with my scarf, he knows it’s mine!” You looked back out, sighing. “We’re so dead.” 

Sister Mary sighed, “Well, if we can’t find the culprit, it could mean they’re still on the ground.” She went back to the entrance, placing her hand on the wall. “I’ll go roundup all the sisters, just to make sure they’re safe.” She nodded, then turned on her heel. 

Eren nodded, “Sister, I think it will be fine. I’ll glance around the church and make sure no one is here.” He smiled, “There’s no need to worry everyone over something that could just be an animal.” He reassured, and he turned to Jean. “Just check around the area.” 

Jean nodded. Then, the two of them left. 

You turned to Sasha. “Okay, you go, and I’ll try to get my scarf.” You looked back at the table, glancing at Jean for a second. Biting your lip and sighing silently. You were not getting that scarf back. 

Sasha nodded, putting a hand on your shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Y/n.” Sasha looked at Jean, making sure he wasn’t looking, before dashing to the exit.

You sighed, watching Jean walk around the water. Holding your breath as he passed by the bush you were hiding behind. You just needed him to leave, then you could grab your scarf. 

Jean walked to the table, his eyes landing on the scarf. And, you cringed. He saw it, there’s no way he didn’t see it. His fingers moved over the table, landing on your scarf. Pulling it up to his face, then looking to the church. You softly groaned, you weren’t getting that scarf back. 

The worst part was, he most likely knew it was your. Considering how he saw it not too long ago. 

“Bless me Father,” he softly said, your ears perking at his deep voice. A shiver going down your spine that made you shift your thighs together. “For I have sinned.” You disliked the effect his voice had on you.

Jean placed the fabric behind him, stuffing it into his pocket. Shaking his head and walking into the flowery grove. Surrounded by tall, green, fluffy bushes. It was almost like a corn maze, except the center was filled with statues, and a beautiful fountain. It was a place most tourists like to visit during open church hours. 

You quietly followed him, keeping the towel wrapped around your body. Your bare feet hitting the soft green grass. Sending a discomforting shiver up your spine. You ignored it, taking a different path to the center fountain, making the inference that’s where Jean was going. 

You were correct. 

Jean rested on the fountain wall, lifting his hand to the water. Looking at the statue of the Virgin Mary in front of him. You stayed behind the bush, looking through the leaves. You could see your thin scarf peeking from his pants. 

If only you could grab it. 

“Father, and the Holy Spirit.” Jean softly said, his voice deep and smooth, pressing his palm to the fountain's ledge. Placing one knee to the ground, followed by the other. His hands clasped together, “Please, speak to me. I’m in dire need of your assistance.”

You should leave. You shouldn't be watching Jean on his knees, praying to God. This was private. Sacred. Speaking to your one God, was a sacred and private experience. Not something for all wondering eyes and ears to witness. You need to leave. 

But. You need your scarf. 

You sighed, pulling back from the bush, and turning your back to it. Looking at the starry night. 

“I’m struggling, pleading, praying, for your help lord.” Jean sighed, “I can’t keep this up anymore, I feel as if— I’m going insane—“ he thickly swallowed, “Immoral, impure, sinful—“ 

A shiver shot down your spine. You pressed your hand over your lips. Closing your eyes. 

“I can’t control myself.” His free hand went to his pocket, pulling out your scarf. “It’s like a burning desire, turning me to sin.” His hands wrapped around the fabric, before his hands clasped together again. Bowing his head. 

“Everytime I see her, it feels like hands– her hands are crawling around my body. Grabbing me and pulling me in her direction. When I get close enough, I feel like holding her down and hearing her cry. I want to see her cry.” Jean shook his head, “I want her on her knees, worshiping me. Only me, I want to be her devotion.” 

No way. 

There was no way Father Jean said that. 

The most religious man you know, someone who enjoyed doing confessions, always donated what he could to the church, and openly spoke about his devotion to his religion. There was no way he was confessing about… something so– forbidden. 

You deeply inhaled. You need to leave. Your scarf was going to have to wait. It had to wait. Maybe, if you were lucky, he was going to give it to you tomorrow. Along with a stern scolding from Sister Mary. 

You took a step forward, but unbeknownst to you. There stood a very, very crunchy leaf. 

The silence was deathly. 

You clasped your hands together, holding them over your face, and deeply sighing. I’m so dead. 

Jean’s head perked up, “Who’s there?” Jean's voice sounded panicked. You were right, no one was supposed to hear that. And, you just did. 

You shook your head. There was no way you made that mistake, you just imagined it. There was no way you were that careless. You could hear Jean’s heavy footsteps coming in your direction. 

You were that careless. 

You pushed yourself off the bush wall, trying to silently walk away. When Jean grabbed your wrist, making you stop dead in your tracks. Your heart was beating out of your chest, and you could feel your throat constricting. 

“I believe Church doors closed several hours ago.” Jean sounded different. Deeper and intimidating, almost like he was.. mad. His hand around your wrist only made you realize how much bigger he was than you. 

You thickly swallowed, turning your head to him. Sheepishly smiling. Blowing a wet piece of hair from your face. 

His pupils dilated, his grip tightening. “I caught you.” 

You thickly swallowed, finding your mouth dry. “I know, Father. But, I just wanted to swim and then you grabbed my—“ 

“Scarf.” He finished for you, looking at the thin fabric. Still wrapped around his free hand. He thickly swallowed, his eyes dipping up and down your frame. “Did you hear anything?” You disliked how scared he sounded.

You shook your head softly, “I just saw you holding my scarf, then started to leave.” You lied. 

Jean's eyes darkened. “You know, lying is a form of sin.” You could feel your heart drop deeper in your chest. His grip on you was hot. 

“I’m not— but I’m not..” Why were you stuttering so much? Your eyes met his, and you could feel your body burn. You closed your mouth, quickly composing yourself. “Father Jean, I’m afraid I’m not lying.” You disliked how you were lying directly to a priest. Your favorite priest, more specifically.

Jean pulled you into the center of the maze. Not saying a word, you don’t know if it was scary or exhilarating. When he let go. 

“What are you—“

“Pray.” He demanded. Looking down at you, “As someone who serves the lord, I hate seeing someone blatantly sin in front of me.” 

Jean sounded strained, deep, and almost... Was he trying to intimidate you? “Father Jean, are you Afraid I heard you?” You innocently asked, “Because, all I saw was you on your knees, praying.” With my scarf wrapped between your hands, begging for forgiveness. “That’s it.” 

Jean raised an eyebrow at you, walking to the edge of the fountain, and sitting down. His legs naturally spread open. Your eyes remained trained on his face, “Really?” Jean asked condescendingly, his head tilting to the side. He didn’t believe you. “You told me you wanted to confess, why don’t you do that now.” 

“Fine.” You reassured. “But, only because it makes you feel comfortable.” You placed a knee to the ground, followed by the other one. Awkwardly holding the towel to your almost naked body. Tilting your head up, and looking at him. “Father, and son of the Holy Spirit, allow me to speak with you.” You bowed your head, fluttering your eyes closed. 

“If you’re going to pray, do it properly.” Jean voiced, “Hands together, Sister Y/n.” Your name on his tongue was heaven. Maybe even hell. 

You disliked being called Sister, to the point where being called your real name made you jump in your seat with surprise. It also started a fire deep inside you. “Father, I can’t, I’m not wearing much under the towel.” You softly muttered, keeping your eyes to the ground. You were embarrassed, you could feel your skin on fire. 

Everything was on fire. 

Jean didn’t say anything, just brought the tip of his rather clean shoe, to the bottom of your chin. Lifting your face up to look at his. You could feel your teeth digging into your bottom lip as you looked at him. Thighs desperately mushing together. 

Your name. He called you by your name.

“Well, isn’t that a shame.” Jean said, pupils blown wide. His eyes were dark, scary, sinful. You’ve never seen Jean like this. “Do it properly.” His foot went back to the ground, and he lowered his head. Grabbing your face, “Please.” He whined. 

He whined that. 

Jesus Christ. 

You thickly swallowed, blinking at him. Tears pearling in your eyes with arousal, making them glassy in the moonlight. You just nodded your head, hesitantly bringing your hands together. Your towel pooling around your body. 

Jean’s head tilted to the side. “Go ahead, I’m listening.” 

You could feel your mind racing, what was going on? “Father Jean, I–” your mind drifted, “Are you going to tell Sister Mary about this?” You thickly swallowed, looking to the side. Your hands messing with your damp hair, “Because, she is going to–” 

“Should I?” Jean rested his face on his palm. Staring at you. Into you.

“No, you shouldn't. If she found out, I’d be–” 

“Then, maybe I should.” Jean scowled at you, eyebrows furrowed. 

Who were you talking to? This didn’t seem like Jean at all. What happened to the sweet Church priest who loved everyone? The one who seemed like he was always smiling. Suddenly, you could feel your eyebrows mush together. “Are you threatening me?”

Jean's expression remained, like he was disgusted with you. “Did you hear anything I said?” 

You glared at him, trying to ignore the burning sensation in your lower belly. A secret you pushed so far back after you accepted your new life, now bubbling back into your body. 

You loved being treated like this. 

You deeply inhaled, “I’ll ask you again, are you threatening me?” 

“Yes.” 

Your eyes widened, shocked by his bluntness. Before pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. Letting out a small giggle, “So, I guess there’s no reason for me to keep lying then.” You tilted your head, “I heard how much you want to fuck a girl.” You placed your hand on his tight, resting your head on the other one. Looking directly at his eyes, “Or, worship you, was the word. Correct me if I’m wrong.” 

Jean kept his blank expression, his hand pushing a strand of hair from your face. His hand slowly moving down to your throat, fingers skimming over it softly. As light as a feather. “You need to learn when to shut the fuck up, that mouth of yours is going to get in trouble.” 

You tilted your head, enjoying Jean’s hands on you. “I doubt it.” You whispered. Your gasped at his hand tightening around your throat, a small moan leaving your lips. 

Jean grimaced at you, “You really are a whore. Into disgusting things like this.” His eyes darkened, watching as your thighs moved together. “What would our God think?” He mocked. 

“You must be one lucky bitch.” You replied, eyes fluttering. You hummed thoughtfully, “I wonder what the church would think if that information got out?” You smiled at him, “I guess, you’re not the only one who wears a mask– you’re just like me.” You ran your hand further up his thigh, pupils blown. “You’re just another corrupt priest–” 

Your back hit the ground, knocking the wind out of you. Jean pinning you to the ground, his hand wrapped around your throat. “Shut. The fuck. Up.” He grit. 

You just giggled, letting your hands roam his chest. “Mm, keep talking. I love that tone in your voice.” You mocked, “Makes me want to see you on your knees, begging to fuck me.” 

Jean thickly swallowed, shaking his head as he tried not to smile. “Jesus, who would’ve thought one of the Nuns was such a whore.” He scowled.

You shrugged, running your tongue over your bottom lip. Eyes dipping down then up, looking at Jean’s prominent bulge. “You know you love it.” You lifted your leg, running your shin against his cock. “Tell me, how small are you? Men with tempers are all talk, no size.” You mocked.

Jean’s head dipped down to your neck, removing his hand, as he peppered your skin with kisses. “You want to get on your knees, and find out?” You did. He bit your shoulder, making you stifle a moan. “Ask me who I was thinking about.” 

You tilted your head to the side, fluttering your lashes. You didn’t want to know who Jean was lusting over, especially when you were lusting for Jean. It felt like a jab in the heart, something painful you didn’t want to hear. You asked anyway, “Who were you thinking about?” You slightly pulled away from him. 

Jean noticed, his eyes picking up on the glossy outline of yours. He softly smiled, before masking it again. He hated how he had a soft spot for you. “You.” He mumbled, pushing his knee in between your legs. Sucking on your neck lightly, “Since you’ve gotten here, all I could think about was fucking you until you cry.” Jean was to see you cry. “You don’t know how many times I’ve stayed up, praying to God– only to fuck my hand to the thought of you.” It was horrible. 

You couldn’t help, but feel your chest swell with pride. You ground your cunt against his leg, moaning out softly. “Really? You’re so gross.” You groaned, running a hand through his hair. Lifting your back off the ground as he trailed his hands around your bra. Desperately trying to find the clip. His lips attached to the exposed parts of your tits. 

Jean hummed out, nodding his head. “C’mon, lift those hips for me.” He groaned, “I want to feel you against my cock.” You moaned at his words. You watched as Jean tossed your bra to the side, grabbing your waist with one hand and bringing you against his hips. 

You could feel his cock. Holy shit. 

Jean laughed at your wide-eyes reaction, grabbing your hand while leaning towards your tits. Giving you some light placed kisses. “See, look how hard you make me.” He moaned against your skin, his hand guiding yours over his aching cock. Rubbing it through his pants. His free hand was placed over your lower stomach, pressing down on it slightly. “That’s going all the way inside you.” 

You shivered. Your pussy clenching around nothing. Ugh, why was he so hot? 

“You wish.” You mumbled, arching your back as his lips wrapped around your nipple. Eyes fluttering shut. “Your gross dick isn’t going anywhere near me.” You placed your hands on his chest, pushing him away from you. 

Jean darkly chuckled against your skin, pulling back and looking at the way you were laying on the floor. Hips pressed against his, rubbing against him nicely, arms near your chest, and hands softly pressing against him. “Your body’s sayin’ something else.” He pressed. He pressed his forearm to your hip, his fingers tracing over your panties. “But, if that's what you want.” He shrugged, “I don’t care.” 

“I don’t need to use my dick to make you cum.” 

Jean smiled, shaking his head. He pushed you away, making you land on your hands. Watching as pulled himself away from you, sitting on the fountain's ledge again, and unbuckling his belt, his hands undoing his pants. “You need to learn some manners.” He growled, “Let’s teach you a lesson.” 

Was he going to make you suck his cock? You could feel your mind race, eye fluttering at the thought alone. You just wanted to feel him inside you, whether that be your throat or..

I shouldn’t be doing this.. 

Jean’s hand reached into his pants, pulling out his thick cock. A huge one might you add. One of the biggest you've ever seen. Well, it was the only one you've ever seen. The tip flushed red, and was oozing with pre-cum. A vein traveling underneath the head of his cock, to the base. Your pussy clenched. That was going to go.. Inside you. All the way inside you. 

You scooted closer, placing your hands on his knees and opening your mouth. The palm of Jean’s hand went over your mouth, keeping you away. “Nu-uh, only good girls get to suck cock.” He mocked, pushing you away from him. “You need to learn some discipline.” 

You blinked at him, your eyes shining from the starry night. “H-huh?” You stupidly asked. Sitting on your heels, hands meeting together in your lap. “Discipline?...” You mumbled. 

Jean smiled, nodding his head. “Awh, that’s right. Discipline.” He moved his hand to the base of his cock, “What? Never heard of that word?” 

You watched his hand move up and down his cock, his throat straining. You hated the way every movement he did, transferred to you. Making your body hot with desire. Watching and hearing the way his hand glided over his cock in a fast rhythm. 

You wished you could remove the deep sweltering desire building within you. Maybe, feel Jean’s  hands over your body to help. Feeling his hand trail over your breast, your waist, neck, and near the throbbing sensation between your legs. That would calm down your sweltering body, right?

Fuck. Hopefully. 

Jean couldn't refuse someone begging for his touch, right? Begging him to fuck them? 

You crossed your legs, slightly squirming in place. Hot pants leaving your glossy lips as your eyes fluttered softly. Your legs awkwardly mushing together as a slick developed between them. Trying to ease the burning desire within you.

Jean’s eyes danced over your pathetic attempt to relieve yourself, his eyes going dark. Why the hell were you so sexy? He couldn’t hold it back, his throat constricting– a whiny 'fuuck..' leaving his glossy lips. 

You nearly lost it. The heat between your legs becoming painful. You couldn't help, but whimper. Would he at least let you draw shapes on your clit? Help with the desperation. You swallowed, feeling embarrassed from your thoughts–the whole situation. Your Priest fucking his hand in front of you, getting off on you watching him. 

Yeah.. This was a bad situation for you. Really bad. 

Despite the situation, Jean didn't stop. Just took a quick glance at you, before tilting his head back. Another scratchy groan leaving him, his Adam's apple bob slightly. Hot pants and strings of curses leaving his mouth every other second. 

God. 

"Ready for your punishment?" You blinked a few times, lips slightly parted as you mindlessly nodded. You felt yourself softly getting pulled closer to him. You slightly flinched once his free hand pushed your hair out of your face, feeling yourself become more jumpy in the situation. Every sensation is like fire against your skin. Everything felt so good.

So unbearably good.

Jean’s rather large hand pumping up and down his cock lewdly. "I have the perfect punishment in mind." He watched the way you squirmed. Slowly looking back at him, trying to ignore the thing you so desperately wanted to see. 

Jean had no shame, he wanted to see you squirm. Wanted to see you pant and look at him with desire. Hot fucking desire. Jean smiled mockingly at you, his dimples denting into his skin. "Ask me what it is." He persisted. You took your lip between your teeth. 

"What's my… punishment?" You asked with uncertainty. Sitting on your heels, and slightly arching toward him with anticipation. Eyes fluttering. 

Jean cupped your face, tilting it to look directly into his eyes. "You're going to sit there, look pretty, while I fuck my hand." He slightly sat up, grabbing the back of your head along with a handful of your hair. Seeing the way you slightly moaned as he pulled your head to his face, noses practically touching. "Alright, pretty girl?" You obediently nodded, awkwardly pulling your attention to his cock. Watching the way his hand moved. His other hand planted in your skull. You felt him bring your head down, bring you in front of his cock. 

Jean wanted to see you suck his cock so badly. See you struggle maybe even enjoy the way you couldn't deep throat him like he wanted you too. That wouldn't matter, he'd still force your head down. Seeing you gag and look up to him. 

Because, Jean was disgusting like that. He'd get off on your struggle, and a part of him says you'd enjoy it too. You softly moaned. Finding yourself naturally spreading your legs as you leaned forward. Your fingers moving to your clit, rubbing circles on the sensitive nub. 

Jean fastened his pace. Finding himself getting closer. Which was a surprise for him. Although, with watching you play with your pussy, that more than likely played a part. You rolled your hips down into your fingers, groaning with frustration and pleasure. Jean's eyes never leaving your exposed form. 

Sucha’ cute Nun. His cute Nun. 

You bit your lip, finding no other way to react to the groans reaching your ears. Almost concealed by the water fountain behind him. But, oh no, you could still hear them, clear as the night sky. Almost as if he was right next to you, trying to sound as indecent as he could. A shaky exhale left you. 

Tears pearling around your eyes was throwing him near the edge. The way you were slightly begging with those round eyes of yours. So pure and innocent. You didn't even know what to do with yourself. You were just waiting for him to do something to you. While he got off to that thought alone. 

That thought alone made Jean realize how painfully horny he was for you. How much he wanted to grab you by your hips, and pressed your face into the floor while he fucked you. Seeing you squirm, and moan over his cock. Maybe, even praise you for taking him whole. 

But, this was a punishment, Jean reminded himself. But, he was still trying to get off. He just needed something to push him over the edge. His eyes flicked all over you. "Lay down." Your eyes peered at him. Your wet lashes fluttered, as you quickly obeyed. Your legs immediately clamped shut. Jean groaned with annoyance, grabbing your ankle and roughly pulling you towards him. Connecting the dots in your head.

You could feel your eyebrows mush together in confusion, picking your head off the ground. “Wait,” you muttered, watching as he pulled your panties to the side. Pressing kisses to your thighs, “I haven’t showered, I just out of the pool, and I’m like really—“ 

Jean's hand harshly gripped your face, your mouth covered with your palm. “Stop bitching,” he grumbled, “fuck, I’ve waited long enough.” You just blinked at him, nodding your head softly. He smiled at you, “Good,” he cooed. “Now, shut the fuck up, and take it.” 

You thickly swallowed, spreading your legs open for him. Jean just laughed at you, “Good job.”

You could feel your eyes roll with his tongue moving up your slit. “No. No, wait.” You shut your legs, thighs squeezing Jean. 

Jean loudly groaned, “What now?” 

“What’s up with you?” Suddenly your mind was coming together and questioning the situation. You were on your back, about to get eaten out by a priest. Not any priest, but the nicest man you’ve ever met. A guy who enjoyed speaking aloud to the church, taking confessions, and helping those who needed it.

That same guy was leaning over you, calling you filthy names while eating you out. Where did the other guy go? “I’m so confused, I thought you?—“ 

“Yeah, no. Don’t even start.” Jean cut you off, groaning with annoyance. “You wouldn’t believe how corrupt this place is.” He replied, “The only reason Eren isn’t here is, because he’s fucking Mikasa.” He lowered himself to your face, smiling at you mockingly. “Don’t tell me you fell for that fake bullshit, I thought you were better than that, Y/n.” He mocked. 

Jean’s eyes skimmed your form, as he felt his breath heat up. You shuttered as his fingers fluttered over your calf gently. Slowly moving up your leg close to the place you wanted it most. A soft moan leaving you, as your back arched. 

Jean laughed to himself, "Fuck. I've barely touched you, yet, look at yourself." He pulled his hand back, staring at you. Jean pressed his hand to your abdomen, tracing it teasingly. 

A small 'please.' Left you. You didn't even know what you were begging for. And, Jean knew that. "Please?" He mocked. Clearly amused. "Please what?" The way he said that, made your eyes flutter. So, breathy and laced with desire. 

"Touch me.." you meekly said. Embarrassment running through your body.

Jean shook his head, "Spread your legs." You blinked a few times, feeling that heat worsen– if that was possible. You slowly parted your legs, hearing the deep growl coming from Jean. Your eyes fluttered. "Good. Fuck– good job." 

You whimpered. Jean smiled to himself, he didn't know you were such a slut for praise. He finally lowered his hand to your clit. Rubbing his thumb over the nub slowly, with just the right amount of pressure. You could feel your belly starting to heat up.

You looked to the side, thinking back to what Jean said. “You’re just a liar.” A good one at that, you finally replied. “I guess I’d be a hypocrite to judge you, though.” 

“A hypocrite?” Jean asked, eyes glued to your face. Searching for your expression. Trying to see what you did, and didn’t like. He knew this was supposed to be a punishment, but he couldn’t help himself. 

Your eyebrows slowly knitted together, lips parting your tried to inhale. The sensation of Jean’s thumb, sending electric currents up your body. “Y-yeah, a hypocrite.” You lightly groaned. Jean was touching you, rubbing your sensitive clit while you moaned. You had to be dreaming. 

“Did you not want to be a Nun?” 

Why was he talking about this? “No, my–” You jolted, feeling his fingers pinch your clit. His lips wrapping around your nipple, his tongue running over it. “M-my parents forced m-me.” You could feel your legs twitch, tears pearling in your eyes. 

Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god–oh god. Why does it feel so good?

Jean laughed, pressed a soft kiss to your tit. “Makes sense, I could hear your moaning all the way from my room when you masturbated.” He smiled seeing the way you tensed, his words seeping into your brain and connecting the dots. “You’re so loud, I’m sure the whole Church heard you.” 

You could feel your blood run cold. The warmth in your belly growing warm, why was that– hot?...

Jean’s dark eyes hardened, watching as you jolted when his fingers ever-so-slightly dipped into your hole. “What? Don’t tell me you thought you were being quiet.” He mumbled against your skin. Listening to you moan, he would do anything to fuck his cock with– something. He was so desperate for relief. 

“The amount of times I would just listen to you call my name in the middle of the night.. It’d have to have been hundreds.” You felt your body tense up, a string twisting in your stomach. “I would fuck my hand to the sound of your voice, listen and listen to your sinful voice. Wish I could see the way your fingers circled your clit, the faces you made when you came.” 

“I wanted to walk into your room, and be the one who made you feel good. I wanted to fuck you so bad..” Jean did everything in his power to control his thoughts at first, prayed, begged. For a moment he thought you were the devil with an apple taunting him, daring Jean to take a bite of the forbidden fruit. 

Until he decided… hell can’t be that bad, and it definitely can’t be eternal. And, hell– you were fucking worth it. He was going to savor each fucking bite.

Jean’s head tilted to the side, “And, I always wondered how you did it.” He pressed a kiss to your neck, “I wondered if you were thinking of me.” His voice was weirdly soft, making you look at him, noticing the way he towered over you. “Tell me, Y/n. Were you thinking of me when rubbing your sensitive pussy?” 

You shakily exhaled, unable to think. You thickly swallowed, choking over a moan, and tilting your head back. A long breath leaving you as Jean intently watched. Your innocent demeanor basically diminishing in-front of him. “Y-yes, I was thinking of you.. Jean.” 

It was perfect. So, fucking, satisfying. 

A sharp, 'hah!' Left you. Making it painfully aware you didn't know how to react to the new sensation. His hands tracing over your exposed skin, before grabbing your bra, pushing the fabric up slightly. Exposing more skin to his hungry eyes.  

You whimpered, and turned your face away, embarrassed by the eyes racking over your skin. Also, by the fact of how much you enjoyed it. Jean grabbed your cheeks with his index and thumb, bringing your face to his eyes. 

“Don’t look away, I want you to watch this.” You felt your lip quiver as you looked down, seeing what Jean was doing. You could a pair of hands trail over your stomach to your upper back, unclipping the back bra you wore. Revealing your bare breasts to him. The perky buds hardening under the cool air. His tongue rolled around them, your eyebrows scrunching together in return. 

"God! Hah!" You choked over a moan, the sensation becoming too much for you. Jean laughed. 

"God?" Jean questioned mockingly, grabbing the back of your neck, and raising you towards him. "I'm not a god.” He said, his voice laced with amusement. “I'm fucking Jean Kirstien. You better not be calling out anything, but that." You groaned, nodding your head feverishly.

"Yes! J-jean!" You gasped, feeling his hand tighten around your throat. 

Jean groaned, biting in his lip. "Such a slut." He harshly spat. His hand left your throat and reached for your lips, pushing two fingers into your mouth. You gag initially before closing your mouth around them, your tongue rolling against it. "Suck." You quickly obeyed. Jean felt his eye twitch, as well as his cock. How were you so sexy? He pulled his hand back, removing his fingers from your mouth, and wiping your spit on your cheek. 

Your eyes rolling back lewdly, as you tried to refuse the feeling of tossing your head back. Your legs spread impossibly wider, making his eyes snap to your entrance. Moving his fingers faster. You arched your back. 

Your pussy was fluttering on nothing, begging to be stuffed. Jean continued to pump his cock, sucking in a groan as you moaned without care. He was so close. If only he could taste you. Run his tongue over your entrance before going to your clit. Glancing up at you to see your reaction. 

You’d probably tear up, try to push him away as he grabbed your hips and forced you to stay put. Pinning you down, and just hearing you cry out about how it was– too much. He wouldn’t care, just continue rolling his tongue around your sensitive bud. Maybe, pump his fingers in and out of your entrance.

You took a deep breath, eyes shutting and rolling to the back of your head. A mantra of babbles leaving your mouth, “Ohgod, fuck. I’m– hah!–” you could feel yourself tighten around nothing, desperate to be filled.  

God, Jean was losing his goddamn mind. He couldn’t help, but fuck his hand, hips bucking at the sound of your voice. Fingers moving your clit in circles, trying to follow your pace. Trying to imagine it was him inside of you, feel the way you’d suck him into you. 

"Please, God– Jean." You softly begged. "I feel weird..." you stated. 

That was a tipping point for him. The slutty words leaving your mouth were shooting straight to his cock. You were such a slut like this. Such a fucking saint. The perfect in between.

Jean wasn't complaining in the least. "How slutty of you?" He questioned. But you didn't care. For once you felt so good. So incredibly good. The fact that Jean was watching was even better, you didn’t know how but it was. 

You choked on a moan, nodding your head. Hearts filling your eyes as you spoke. "Yes! Anything!" Your pussy in plain sight for his viewing pleasure. Loving every second. That tipped him over.

You wrapped your arms around Jean’s shoulders, pulling him close to you. You lips right next to his ear, releasing profanities. Jean could feel his mind melt with your words, “Oh my god, Jean! S’it s’good.” You cried, tears falling down your face. Jean kissed the corner of your eyes, before running his tongue over the wet stream. A laugh leaving his throat. 

Yeah, there was no way you weren’t cumming around his thick cock. 

Jean’s fingers pulled away, and you immediately whined, wanting the sensation to come back. “Wait, wait, don’t stop..” You pleaded, reaching for his hand. Trying to get him to continue. 

“Shh, don’t worry.” He cooed, “It’s only for a second.” His hand went to his cock, pressing the head to your entrance. “Hold me.” 

You slowly took a deep breath in, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and bringing him close. Shutting your eyes as he pushed himself inside you. You could feel tears brimming your eyes from the stretch, a pain– and pleasure shooting through your body. A pained whimper leaving you.

Jean just held you closer, “S’it okay, it’s okay. I got you, I got you.” He whispered reassuringly, pulling his head back to kiss you, his tongue tracing yours. You moaned into him, melting against his body, His hips rolling into yours. Jean stifled a groaned, “Fuck, you feel s’good, Y/n.” 

You could feel his dick slowly inch inside you, pushing your lips apart. Bullying his fat head inside your small hole, stretching around his size. A small whine leaving your throat, his hips meeting the fat of your ass. He tried staying still, letting you adjust to his size. But, God was really testing his patience. 

This was the very thing Jean had been dreaming of. 

You couldn’t breathe. Filled to the brim with Jean’s fat cock, it felt like it was in your throat. But, it felt so, so good. Being filled like never before, his cock hitting all the spongy spots deep inside you. Spots even you couldn’t reach. You gasped, “J-Jean, it hurts– feels so–” 

“Good?” He cut off, pressing kisses to your neck. “You can do this, Y/n. Promise.” His nose caressed your neck, “Be good for me, yeah?” You shut your eyes, and meekly nodded your head, pushing your face in his neck. “Can I move?” 

You nodded. 

Jean smiled, his eyes fluttering. “Thank you,” he whined, “I’ve been waiting too long for this.” His hips pulled back, before pushing forward. His head getting thrown back back from the pleasure shooting through his body. Making his mind hault. Your pussy was so tight and warm, so desperate to have his cum inside of you. 

You immediately arched your back, your toes curling at the pleasure. Your mind blanking as you loudly moaned, your pussy stretching around his cock. Sucking him back into you, “Holy fuck, holyfuck..” You babbled, unable to think. 

Jean’s hands went to your waist, gilding you to move up and down his cock. Your slick, lubing him up, and allowing him to enter with ease. Almost like you were made to milk his cock. His eyes went to your stomach, seeing as it pressed against your belly. How cute. 

Your hands reached for his shirt, gripping onto it as Jean pressed his hips into you. Going in and out, at a slow rate. Savoring every whine, cry, moan, and gasp that left your mouth. Your pussy clenching around him once Jean hit that spongy spot of yours.

You groaned, tossing your head to the side. “Hah!” 

Jean licked your neck, “You like that spot?” He asked, but as expected– didn’t get a response. Your stupid, fucked out head probably couldnt register a thing he was saying. Awh, poor baby. You need him to dumb it down for you. “Here?” He asked, jutting his hips to hit your sweet spot. 

You cried, tears falling down your cheeks. Your lips swollen from biting on them. Jean smiled to himself, “Yeah, right here.” He hit it again, watching as your legs tightened around his waist. Almost a silent way of telling him to stop. 

There was no way in hell he was stopping. 

Jean wanted to see you sob in pleasure. 

Jean grabbed your ankle, lifting it to his shoulder. Placing his hand on your other thigh, and pressed it to the ground, allowing him to go deeper inside you. A groan leaving his mouth from how fucking amazing you felt. Electricity shook up his body with every thrust into you. His swollen tip hitting inside you perfectly, making him whine. You just felt so, so good. 

Jean never wanted to leave. He wanted to stay like this forever. Fuck his cum into your abused pussy until you couldn’t help but cry with pleasure. Tears falling down your cheeks as you weakly gripped onto Jean, desperate to ground yourself. But, even more desperate to cum again. 

Jean pressed his lips together, trying to conceal his moans. Which only muffled them, his hips pressing into yours as he gripped your waist tighter. Moans trying to escape his closed lips, making them even whiner, than before. His lips parted, “I feel so good,” he groaned, “Fuck, you make me feel so good.” 

Jean’s hands went to the back of your thighs, folding them into you. “Oh god, fuck yes,” he moaned. Pounding his cock into you, making sure to hit all your favorite spots. He looked at you, seeing as you rolled your eyes back. “I’m hitting all your favorite spots, huh?” He groaned. 

You just nodded, head lollying to the side. Unable to hold it up, your mind swirling with nothing, but thoughts of his cock deep inside you. His moans filling your ears, with wines and cries. No thought put behind them, just pure pleasure. Your body jolting with every thrust of his hips. 

 Fuck, you needed this. You wouldn’t be able to go another day without this in your life. 

“Oh my–” you could feel your throat constrict, your heart speeding up as your vision went white. “Fuck, ohmygod– I’m– so close!” You tried breathing, but you couldn't. 

Jean chuckled to himself, “No, not yet.” He cooed, looking into you. Only to see your non-vacant eyes. He couldn’t help, but laugh again. “Awh, look at those fucked out eyes. Not a single thought behind them, huh?” He pulled out, “You just want my dick, huh?” 

Jean turned you around, forcing your face to the ground. “C’mon babe, don’t tell me you’re already tapping out.” You meekly shook your head, pushing your pussy back on his cock. Eyes rolling with every thrust. “Atta’ girl,” He praised. 

You felt your lips wiggle, tears falling down your face. Too much, it was way too much! That coil from before, building in your stomach again, getting tighter and tighter. Jean could notice by how tight you were clenching around him, your gummy walls pulling him back into you. 

“Awh, am I hitting all your favorite little spots, over and over again? Does it really feel that good?” Jean mocked, feeling his balls tighten. Fuck, he wasn’t going to last much longer like this. His hand wrapped around your body, circling your clit again. Hearing the way you groaned, your mind melting with overwhelming pleasure. “You feel your belly getting warm?” 

“Y-Yes!” Oh my god, you were going to cum. It almost felt different, like you couldn’t stop it from happening. Forcing it way through your body, your ears ringing. 

“I know, I know. Don’t worry, babe. I’m not stopping, I’m not stopping.” He cooed, watching as you went slack. Your legs wobbling, as your arms caved in. Squirting over his cock, wetting his abdomen. Jean couldn’t help, but feel his eyes go wide. Watching you come, not bothering to stop his thrust. Only making your pussy twitch. 

Your body went slack, about to fall to the floor when Jean caught you. Laugh at your pathetic state, “Babe, did it really feel that good?” He mocked, continuing to fuck you. You could feel your pussy burning with pleasure, it was almost overwhelming– fuck that, it is overwhelming.

You could feel your mind screaming to pull away, your body aching with soreness. Jean’s hands going to your shoulders, pulling you back on his cock. Making his thrust deeper and harder than before. Hitting that spongy spot with more power. “Don’t worry, you don’t have to do anything. Just lay down, and take my fat cock.” 

You didn’t even have the power to object, your mind was just high on pleasure. 

“Oh god, fuck, Y/n I’m gonna’ cum.” Jean moaned into your shoulder, his thrust turning erratic. “W-where do you want it?” His dick was coated with your slick, a ring located at the base of his cock. Evidence of your actions with him. 

You weren’t even thinking when you said it, “Inside.” You groaned back, eyes rolling to the back of your head. You could feel your mind blank again, body tensing. 

Jean felt his throat constrict for a moment, “Oh fuck, oh fuck..” He moaned, eyes rolling to the back of his head while he pushed his hips into you. Hot ropes of white cum, seeping inside your overstimulated pussy. “Fuck.” He groaned, closing his eyes and collecting his breath. Slowly lowering you to the ground. Then, finally pulling out of you. 

Watching as his cum leaked out of you. 

Jean just smiled to himself, running his hands over his face. He tilted his head to the side, peering at you. “Babe, you okay there?” You gave him a weak thumbs up, one that made him laugh. “Alright..” He dismissed, looking at the Church, and seeing how all the lights were off. 

It was going to be a bitch, and a half to get back inside. 

You rested on your back, your eyes blinking slowly. Jean went to lay next to you, looking at the shimmering sky above. Holding your hand, not before quickly removing his shirt and placing it on you. Trying to give you something to cover yourself. 

“The sky’s pretty.” You quietly said, leaning into Jean. Eyes blinking at the endless cosmos, observing the beautiful scenery. You never got to look at it, being trapped inside the church at night. 

“Yeah, the moon’s beautiful.” Jean responded, wrapped his arm around your shoulder. “This is nice.” He whispered in your hair, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. “I didn’t mean the things I said, I think I was just horny.” He said with a laugh.

You giggled, moving closer to him. “Your brain went– Y/n, must fuck, now.” You smiled, wrapped your arms around his torso. Still slightly sore from your previous activities. You wondered how sore you would be when you woke up. 

Jean groaned, “Uhg, I hate that.” He laughed, “I have so much confessing to do after this.” His arms tightened around you, pulling you closer to him. “But, it was worth it.” Jean smiled, the smile you came to utterly adore. “You’re worth it.” 

You rested your head on his chest. “You are too.” 

“You want to sleep with me tonight?” He asked, pushing back off the ground and pulling you up with him. Picking you up like a princess, a small yelp leaving you. “I’ll promise to massage your back in the morning.” 

You looked to the sky, pretending to think, while wrapping your arms around his neck. Crossing one leg over the other, “Will you also massage my legs?” You stretched your foot out, feeling it cramp.

“Of course,’” Jean responded, pressing his lips gently across yours. Walking through the maze. Searching for the exit, which he found surprisingly fast. “I’ll even fuck you stupid again, if you want.” 

You rolled your eyes, “Don’t. I think my body needs a break after that.” You pressed your finger to his nose, smiling to yourself. “Just get me to a soft bed, and I’ll be fine for the night.” You rested your head in his chest, yawning quietly. “I’m so tired.” You whispered. 

Jean smiled back, his dimples prominently shining at you. “Fine, but next time I’m eating you out.” He sang, twirling around with you in his arms. 

You shook your head, smiling sweetly. “Deal.” 

Ugh, you literally loved him so much. Why’d he have to be so perfect.

⊹ † ༻✦༺ † ༻✧༺ † ༻✦༺ † ⊹ 

[leezlelatch]

Copia x Female Reader: Interruptions

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI

A large text, full of ever infuriating Latin, slams onto your desktop, the lead of your pencil snapping in your notebook with the force in which you jump from the sudden intrusion on your quiet study. Staring at your desk for several seconds with wide eyes, you slowly look up into the furious and hateful expression of Sister Malleus, the novitiate Latin instructor.

Her expression is pinched, the fullness of her face twisting in as if she were sucking on a lemon head. Heavy brows slant down into eyes wet with rage as her red nose twitches several times like a rabbit. Sister Malleus often says that she is able to sniff out even the most clandestine trouble maker, and with all the benevolence of a Catholic nun, she decides it's you.

"I see you find your notebook ever more interesting than my lecture, novice?" She spits.

Leaning back in your seat, you blink a few times, glancing off to the left to see several siblings of sin staring at you in unsurprise. This was a recurring theme, your inability to spend 20 minutes in this class without getting your head bitten off. There was no rhyme or reason to Sister Malleus's ire. She merely despises you, and your continued association with the upper clergy has further cemented her foul opinion of you.

"I'm taking notes, Sister," you say, slowly, so that the Trunchbull of the Ministry could hear you through the thickness of her skull.

"Notes?" She laughs breathily, reaching out a bulbous finger to point accusatorily at the little drawing of your beloved baby Portobello in the margin. "You're a slacker."

"Because I doodled in the margin?" You ask, unable to comprehend how a Satanic Church built on freedom of expression and individualism could have allowed such a staunch character in their midst.

"Because you failed to listen when I called for a pop quiz. That's five points off."

"But you didn't-"

"10 points."

Clenching your jaw, you open to a blank page, and grab a pen, staring up at the woman you despise with every fiber of your being. She is set on watching you fail, and you are set on punching her in the face. Well, maybe only in your head.

***

Your eyes watch the cobble beneath your feet, the various cracks and crevices leading you through a charming courtyard nearly empty of siblings. You round the old fountain, its gray stone aged and patched, the water sitting in its basin looking particularly frosty in the fall air. It isn't on, and the strange creature who's mouth pours streams of water in the summertime looks eerie off the job, a gargoyle of sorts whose stone eyes appear to follow you as you walk the circle around its home on your way to the south end.

Pushing open a door, you breathe out a sigh of relief at the blast of warm from the many fireplaces lit in the clergy offices. The hallway smells old, that particular scent buildings with creaking wooden floors gets that reminds you of an attic, or the yellowing pages of an aged book. You easily take the familiar path past many doors with various names and designations on golden plaques until you reach your destination, smiling softly at the bold, etched name on the heavy oak door of your choice - Cardinal Copia.

"Entrare!" The muffled voice of your Cardinal calls when you knock.

Swinging open the door, your eyes are met with the man in question. He sits at his desk, shoulders forward, head tilted as he scribbles on a piece of paper. He's wearing the black cassock today, the color so dark he looks nearly a wraith sitting there, his Cardinal paints creating an eyeless stare as he looks down at his work.

He's entirely frightening, and devastatingly handsome.

"Copia," you say softly, drawing his attention from the work he spends far too much time on.

His head snaps up as if he hardly realizes he called you to enter, looking bewildered for a moment before smiling wide, sucking in a little gasp as he stands quickly.

"Amo-, ah, cara! Is it that time already?" He glances at the little clock on his desk, clasping his hands in front of him. "How are you doing? How was your day? Good, si?"

You sling your bag off your shoulder and place it on the floor by the door, closing it and sighing as you move to slump into the seat before Copia's desk. Copia hurriedly sits again, adjusting his cassock and folding his hands, staring at you with rapt attention. He looks as eager as Portobello when given a special snack as if merely hearing about your day is something entirely precious to him.

"Sister Malleus is going to expunge me," you sigh.

It was a private joke, only funny on your end, but you often came to your Cardinal after a rough day in Latin, using a different, dramatic verb to describe how Sister Malleus plans to end your existence - she's going to obliterate me, she's going eradicate me, she's going to murder me, bring me back, ask me to count to 50 in Latin, and then murder me again.

Copia's shoulders slump and he clicks his tongue, sitting back in his chair with a creak as he snaps his fingers in frustration, "Is she bothering you again, dolcezza?"

"I'm going to fail Latin, Copia, that's just the end of it," you mutter as you surreptitiously type "dolcezza" into a translate app, giggling softly to yourself with a blush.

Copia, hardly paying attention now, pulls a blank sheet of rather expensive looking paper toward him before gripping a rather chewed up pen, muttering furiously to himself in Italian as he taps the end on the desk surface in frustration.

"What are you doing?" You ask.

"This has gone on long enough. I will not stand for it. She is singling you out, undeservedly. So com'è e non permetterò che la mia amata venga trattata in questo modo," he growls.

"So...you're writing her a letter?"

Copia makes a noise in his throat as he begins to write. He's upset, his breath nearly ragged as his leg bounces furiously beneath his desk. You look down at your lap, a little ashamed and a lot flustered. It is almost...confusing? The way Copia seems have such deep concern for you. He is so incredibly conscious of your happiness and well-being, any transgression against your person is like a personal attack against himself. You feel like you don't deserve such devotion.

Copia is...the most important person in the world to you. He deserves the world, even. He deserves to be treated like the wonderful, sweet, talented, beautiful man that he is, and yet everytime you walk into his office he acts like he's in awe that you're even there. That you came to visit him. Your heart often clenches when he gives you that surprised, joyful expression that lights up his eyes, the toothiest grin spreading across his freckled face just because you say, "I want to spend time with you."

You ignore the burn in your eyes as you watch him write, slowly standing from your chair and moving around his desk. You stand beside him, expressionless, and he glances up at you for a moment, his eyes widening before he ducks his head, his pen faltering on the page.

"I am the senior most Cardinal, cara. I have every authority to submit a complaint to Sister Imperator about Sister Malleus," he drops his pen and clenches his fists, the leather of his gloves creaking. "We shall do study sessions, si? You and I? You trust your Cardinal, yes?"

He finally looks back up at you, anxiety in his expression, and you smile. Reaching out, you pluck his biretta off his head, a few graying strands of hair following the hat and sticking up. Copia looks positively mystified as you place it on your own head, leaning back to sit up and on the edge of his desk. You lean forward slightly toward him, and watch as he swallows roughly, his mismatched gaze trained on you.

"Yes, Cardinal," you nearly whisper.

Copia lets out a shaky breath, his gloved hands gripping the arms of his chair, "Oh, cara mia, what, ah, hmm..." He runs a hand through his hair, chuckling weakly. "You look much better in that than me, huh?"

"I think I'll keep it," you say cheekily, pressing your tongue to your cheek as you smile.

"You would let your povero cardinale get in trouble with Sister?"

"I wouldn't let her get you."

You're caught in his gaze then, smoldering and entirely yours as his cheeks dust pink, the fingers of his left hand rubbing circles on the faded and smooth wood of his chair. The corner of his mouth lifts slightly as his expression brightens. As if he's suddenly figured something out. You have to break this staring game, your face hot and heart pounding.

You look down at his messy scrawl on the paper, taking in the way he's carefully written your name as if he couldn't bare the thought of ruining it with his chicken scratch. It makes you smile, and then sobers you very quickly.

"Copia," you start, looking back up at him. His expression has changed now, head tilted as he watches you with gentle eyes. "I don't think I say this enough, but...you are so wonderful, and I-" You falter and sigh, looking back down at your lap. "Thank you for defending me."

A shaking hand reaches out as Copia scoots forward in his chair before stilling and squeezing into a fist. When he moves again, his hand is steady as he takes yours. His thumb rubs circles on the back of your hand while his other hand comes up to playfully nudge at your chin.

"Look at me, ragazza sciocca," he waits patiently until your eyes meet his. "I am an old man - hush, now," he scolds as you go to protest. "I have been alone for a long time. On tour, I am surrounded by many peoples; here, not so much. It weighs on the heart, you know?"

"You prefer...to be on tour?" You ask, timidly.

"No, no, no! Ah shit - let me - tour is great, but..." He waves the hand not holding yours in the air, trying to punctuate his words. "What I am trying and failing to say, cara, is that...no matter if there are a thousand people, eh? Or just a few, I have felt alone. But then I did something right, hmm? I wrote a pretty banger album that got your attention, and here you are. And I am no longer alone..."

Copia takes a breath, staring imploringly at you as his fingers nervously play with yours.

"You understand what I'm saying? You have given me everything. Everything," his final word ends on a whisper.

Your heart is pounding in your chest, and you're sure your cheeks are bright red as your Cardinal pours his heart out to you. Your eyelashes flutter in your attempt to stop the onslaught of tears that you feel threatening to fall, watching as Copia's eyes mist as well. He lets out a little noise, no more than a whimper as you both grapple with the very quick change your relationship is undergoing.

"What if," you breathe. "What if I want to give you more?"

Copia's breath catches, his eyes closing for a moment before he stands, the fabric of his cassock rustling around him. He appears confident, a small smile gracing his face as he reaches up to flick his biretta back into place on your head which had slipped down, but the tremble of his bottom lip gives him away. He's hidden his hands behind his back, but you know they're shaking.

"And what would that be, cara mia?" He murmurs.

You place a hand on his chest, feeling the fast flutter of his heart through the warm fabric. You can't help but smile as your eyes memorize every inch of his face, and Copia lets out the smallest "bellissima," his fingertip hesitantly, gently ghosting over your lips.

You're falling over the precipice.

You're not sure who starts to lean in first, but suddenly your faces are very close, and Copia is frozen.

"Is this a dream?" He whispers. "Oh, amore, be gentle with my heart."

"I think I'll keep it," you whisper back.

Copia grins, eyes shining, closing the space betwe-

"CARDINALE!" A voice bellows, Copia's office door swinging open with a bang that makes you both jump.

Papa Emeritus III strides into the room, his hand up in a grand gesture, words on his lips that suddenly falter as he sees you perched prettily on Copia's desk with the "Cardinale" in question standing scandalously close.

"Oh. Hey," he says in a surprised tone, his expression puzzled before falling into an exuberant grin. "What is going on here, huh?"

Copia practically falls over his desk chair moving away from you, and you jump off his desk, smoothing down your clothes and standing at attention as if Papa were a drill instructor. You notice Copia stands beside you in much the same manner, and you look at each other, then back to Papa, who tilts his head amused.

"A little roleplay? I did not think you had it in you, Copia," Terzo huffs out a laugh.

Copia's face twists in confusion before a light bulb goes off in his head.

"Non dire un'altra fottuta parola," he says through clenched teeth at Terzo before gently extricating his biretta from you and placing it back on his head.

"Oh shit. You know, sorella, it takes a lot to get Il Cardinale mad, you see? I do it often. But luckily I am his favorite Papa." Terzo claps his hands together. You've noticed the men of the upper clergy were friendly, but there's clearly more history here than you thought.

"Primo is my favorite Papa," Copia says dryly.

"Don't lie in front of my new favorite, Copia," Terzo fires back.

"Il tuo nuovo preferito? Stronzo -"

"Anyway," Papa cuts Copia off. "I am afraid I have to steal your Cardinal, bella. Tour stuff, eh? It never ends!"

"You're going on tour?" You suddenly ask Copia, swiveling your head maybe a little too quickly to look at him.

Copia shoots a glare at Papa before turning to you and taking your hands.

"After the new year, cara. I was going to discuss it with you, I promise. I will see you later, si?" he says. There's a desperation in his eyes, a plea to say yes, to take the time figure out this change between you.

"Okay," you say softly, smiling at him in reassurance.

"And you will remember to eat something tonight?"

"Of course I will," you laugh.

"Good, good, cool. Ah -" He looks at Papa, and then back at you, before slowly dropping your hands and wringing them nervously in front of himself.

With one last smile, you swing around the desk, and past Papa who looks so incredibly amused, to grab your bag.

"Goodbye, bella! I too will see you later," Terzo winks.

"No you will not," Copia snaps.

You leave the office, your heart fuller than when you came in, giggling to yourself as Italian arguing continues behind you until the door shuts, and you make your way back down the hall.

You like Papa, but he'll be on your shit list until you finally get that kiss.

[visiosatanae]

The Gauntlet

Chapter 3: Sloth

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Cirrus/F!Reader | Sister of Sin

(CW: Smut, Drug use, Cirrus being a master at oral)

Ao3 Link Ch 1 Ch 2

"Who gave you those?" Sister Chloe asked.

I was staring at the bruises Dew gave me in our full length mirror. They littered my neck and shoulder, as well as my hips in certain places. They were all deep purple and angry looking, barely even starting to heal. Beginning the Gauntlet right out the gate with wrath probably wasn't my smartest move. 

"Had a random encounter with a ghoul," I frowned, finding yet another one on my leg from where I'd fallen to the floor. I poked at it. Yep, still hurt. 

"Yikes, you get a feral one or something?" 

"Something like that…"

Chloe and I had been roommates ever since we were novitiates, so we knew almost everything about each other. She also knew that having a random quickie with a ghoul wasn't exactly my thing. She gave me another once over but didn't ask any more questions, probably figuring I'd tell her if I wanted to. I so desperately did, but for obvious reasons I couldn't. 

"I'm taking the day off," I changed the subject, turning away from the mirror to head towards my wardrobe. "Do you still have any more of that salve from Papa Secondo?" 

"Yup!" She hopped off the bed and made her way to our shared bathroom. 

I pulled out a pair of sweatpants and a tank top, then worked to put my hair up in a messy bun. No need to put in any effort today. Chloe came back with the salve before departing to start her Sisterly duties, telling me to get some rest before the door closed gently. I took care to rub the salve onto all my bruises. Papa's salves and elixirs tended to work miracles, which is what I was really needing right now. Once I was smelling strongly of mint and eucalyptus I flopped down onto my bed, wondering what all I should do to really hammer home the whole Sloth thing. 

An idea popped into my head as I remembered the joint I had bummed off of Sister Vivienne a little while ago. Digging through my bedside table I found it and my lighter. Getting comfortable amongst the pillows I lit it up and took that first earthy drag. I coughed profusely as the smoke settled in the back of my throat. I guess it had been a while since I’d done this. 

Once I got used to the burning sensation, it didn't take long for me to sink further into the bed, scrolling aimlessly through my phone. This felt… nice actually. I hadn't really let myself relax like this in ages. After a little while, I started to become bored with what was on my phone and tossed it aside with a huff. Maybe this sin was going to be harder to complete than I thought. I sighed, letting my mind wander. This felt like such a waste. I couldn’t even catch up with Chloe because she wasn’t even here. 

Wait. 

I felt my cheeks heat up at the thought my brain had suddenly come up with to ease my boredom. I took a second to listen, making sure my roommate was indeed gone and not coming back to barge in with no warning. With the coast clear, I slipped a hand beneath the waistline of my sweatpants, rubbing a couple fingers over the cotton of my underwear. I let out a shaky breath. It felt like it had been forever since I had the room to myself, so doing something like this felt so strange. My mind, ever the vessel for intrusive thoughts, decided to wander back to what happened in the closet yesterday. I felt my body tense, my other hand brushing gently over the marks left by Dewdrop. Even if he had been rough, I had cum after all. 

My fingers pressed down more firmly, feeling myself begin to soak through my panties as I remembered what happened. Eyes fluttering closed, I allowed myself to indulge, fingers working faster over my clit. As my breathing started to pick up, there was a knock at the door. 

Startled, I clumsily withdrew my hand and wiped it roughly on my sweats. I groaned quietly, figuring it was probably Chloe coming back because she forgot something. I waved what was left of the smoke away and made my way to the door. But when I opened it, I was surprised to see a silver ghoulette mask looking down at me. 

"Oh!" I straightened up slightly, although my disheveled appearance and stench of weed probably didn't help at all. "Um, sorry I wasn't expecting anyone. Can I help you?" 

"Actually, I came by to help you," her eyes behind the mask darted to the bruising on my neck and shoulders. "I heard Dew bragging about the number he did on a Sister and I wanted to see if you were alright." Her voice was mature but kind sounding, not exactly what I was expecting. 

"Oh, that's… extremely sweet of you.” The situation felt even more awkward now given my current state. As well as what I had previously been doing. “Well, I’m doing alright. Just trying to relax today.”

I swore I could hear her snort behind the mask. “I can tell.” I would have been more embarrassed if she didn’t still sound so kind about it. She raised her arm, holding her hand out stiffly. “I’m Cirrus, by the way.” 

Slightly taken aback, I shook her outstretched hand. “Oh! Are you the one that’s been playing the organ during mass?” She nodded. “You play beautifully.” 

“Thank you,” she hummed appreciatively, her head cocking to the side. 

The air hung with awkward silence as we both weren’t entirely sure what to say next. I cleared my throat. “Would you like to come in for a minute? I apologize for the um, smell,” I grimaced. “I wasn’t expecting any company until my roommate got back from chore duty.”

The ghoulette took a step inside the room. “It doesn’t bother me,” she quipped brightly. “You wouldn’t believe how the ghoul den smells after the boys throw a rager.” I felt my nose wrinkle at the thought. “Do you still have any left?” I was surprised by her question, but nodded, coming back over to the bed where I had left the other half of the joint in a tray on the end table. 

As I lit it back up, I noticed her taking her mask off out of the corner of my eye. Once I got it lit, I turned to look at her properly. She was beautiful, with dark hair and pale eyes that looked like they knew more than she was letting on. 

“Bring it here, hun,” she motioned for me to hold out my hand. 

Her lips met my hand as I held the joint out for her between my fingers. She took a long drag, her eyes never leaving mine. Even the way she exhaled the smoke from her mouth was erotic, gray tendrils curling up from her mouth to frame her face. I felt something inside me twitch with need. I brought the joint back to my own mouth, hand trembling slightly as I took another hit to calm my nerves. 

On my exhale, Cirrus crawled towards me on the bed, motioning for another hit. I held it up for her as she took an even longer drag but she didn't blow it out this time. Instead, she grabbed the neckline of my tank top, pulling me towards her. She used my surprised gasp as an excuse to bring her lips to mine, shotgunning the smoke into my lungs with an extra gust of air. 

I pulled back coughing and gasping, my lungs burning and the high hitting me like a freight train. I felt myself falling back on the bed, my eyes unfocused as Cirrus laughed low in her throat. Her tail swished back and forth in anticipation before it wrapped itself around my thigh, pulling me towards her. My sudden view of the ceiling was quickly overtaken by her face. 

"Hm, you're cute when you don't know what's happening, huh?" Her tail gave me a squeeze. "I'm going to help you relax,okay?" 

I could only nod, mind already feeling foggy as she plucked what was left of the joint from my fingers. She took another drag, smiling down at me as her lips met mine again. My eyes drifted closed, the kiss feeling like it lasted forever. Whenever I felt I needed more breath, it was like fresh air was being pushed into my lungs. I allowed myself to relax in her embrace, letting her maneuver my body however she pleased. The high meant every touch and caress was electrified, tiny tingles coursing through my body deliciously. 

When my eyes opened again, I realized my legs were now spread for her, my sweatpants somehow removed during the kiss. In stoned bliss, I couldn't even care at how exposed I was to someone I had just met not even 20 minutes ago. The rest of the joint was long gone.

Cirrus caressed the side of my face, looking down at me with a mixture of amusement and pity; as if this was all too easy for her. "You know," she hummed, almost to herself as her hand began to trail languidly down my body. "Dew wouldn't shut up about how good you smelled." She smiled thoughtfully, fingers barely brushing over my pert nipples through my tank top. It made my breath catch in my throat, releasing itself as a soft moan. She looked pleased with my reaction. "I know now what he meant," she sighed contently. "I can smell how wet you are already." 

My thighs trembled, clenching together slightly. Not from embarrassment, but arousal. Her soft voice and sultry words only furthered to lull me deeper into the mattress. Her fingertips caught the hem of my top, pushing it up until my breasts spilled out the bottom. I felt myself flush as her eyes took in my body, vulnerable to her gaze. 

“Adorable,” she breathed, leaning down to lave her tongue along the newly exposed skin. My body tensed as she drew closer to a nipple, but she stopped short, making my body want for her. She glanced up at me through her lashes with a smirk before finally giving me what I needed; my waiting nipple in her hot mouth. A whine broke from me, her eye contact making the coil in my stomach tighten. I couldn't help but rub my thighs together, hoping the friction could ease the ache between them. 

It didn't. It also didn't go unnoticed by Cirrus. 

She pulled off of me with a soft pop, my skin pink and slightly sore. "Oh, sweetheart," she cooed, "you want it that bad already?" I nodded without realizing, her eyes reflecting her amusement. “Well, you’ve been so good, how can I say no? Especially when you smell so appetizing…” She let her words trail off as her eyes flitted down to my panties, no doubt completely soaked by now. My brain felt too foggy and needy to be embarrassed now. All I wanted was her hands, lips, anything of hers against mine. Despite this, she couldn’t help but tease as she slowly slipped the cumbersome fabric down my legs. The cool air of my room met with my damp heat below, causing me to whine involuntarily. Cirrus hushed me softly. “I know, I know. I’ll make it better soon.”

Underwear now tossed aside, I felt her fingers tease me apart, letting her get a good look at… well everything. She hummed appreciatively and immediately dove in, her tongue gliding along my slick folds. I gasped sharply, the anticipation having been too much as I bucked into her mouth. She took it in stride, letting me ride her mouth however I needed to. And oh, how I needed to. Everything felt completely different than it had the day before. While Dew had been rough and brutal, Cirrus took her time with me, fully enjoying herself as much as I was. Every moan of hers was mirrored by me as I let myself become putty against her. 

While it certainly felt like she was down there longer than the average person, it still felt too soon when she pulled away, her face slick with my arousal. “Sathanas, you’re so sweet,” she panted, licking her lips. I whimpered as she eyed me hungrily, more than ready for more of whatever else she had in store for me. I felt her fingers now tracing along my folds, creeping lower and lower until I felt them begin to press against my opening. “How many?” she purred, a smirk evident even through my unfocused vision. 

My sluggish brain took a second to realize what she was asking. “T-Two, please,” I winced internally at how my voice cracked. 

“Thought so,” she hummed, sinking two digits slowly inside. I instantly clamped down with a moan as she pushed them deep to the knuckle. She chuckled. “That feel good or something?” she teased. 

“Lucifer, yes!” I whined, hips already grinding into her hand desperately. “Please, Cirrus, please keep going!”

She grinned, her fangs flashing and making my stomach flip. “Alright, alright.” Her fingers finally moved, pumping in and out slowly and curling just right. “So desperate for me to fuck this needy little cunt, aren’t you?”

Her words only added fuel to the fire in my belly, causing me to choke on a sob with a vigorous nod. Her smile grew wider and her fingers moved faster, easily hitting the spot inside that made spots dance across my vision. My eyes squeezed shut, my arm flopping over them to shield them. Everything was too much. I only wanted to focus on how she felt inside me, nothing else. I already felt so close. So when I suddenly felt her mouth on my clit, I cried out, my body jolting. . She moaned against me, sending tingles up and down my spine as I raced towards the edge, silently begging and pleading with the Dark Lord to let me just fall already. 

As if Cirrus was the one hearing my prayers, she sucked harshly on my clit, sending me crashing over the edge in a tidal wave of ecstasy and expletives. I could barely register as I felt her tongue move down, capturing all my juices as I clenched around her fingers. I rode her fingers and tongue as I slowly came down from the high… or at least one of them. Eventually I was able to peek up at her from beneath my arm. The ghoulette finally pulled away once she had her fill, sucking her fingers clean like she had just finished the most delicious meal. My gut did another flip. She looked as breathless as I did. 

“Fuck, Sister,” she licked her lips, “I’ll definitely have to try a bite next time if your pussy alone is this good.”

Some of my inhibitions must have returned after the orgasm as I felt my face burn. “Anytime,” I breathed, still absolutely mesmerized by her. 

She hopped off the bed with a little hum, coming up to meet my face in a messy kiss that let me taste myself on her. “I’ll hold you to it,” she smiled, grabbing her mask. “Now, get some actual rest. But that should have helped.” Her hand gently brushed my hair from my face.

As if on cue, I felt exhaustion fall over me in a wave, a yawn forcing itself from me. My eyes were closed before I even saw her leave the room. 

***

When I woke up, feeling loose-limbed and refreshed, I noticed that the bruises had all completely healed.  

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

aren't moth priests blind too or did I make that up

No, you're right! ✨

The Order of the Ancestor Moth is the primary — and only authorized — faction that handles Elder Scrolls. Moth priests will spend years training to read a scroll. However, even with all their precautions, they do go blind. The book, Effects of the Elder Scrolls, explains it this way:

Alone in Tamriel, it would appear that only the Cult of the Ancestor Moth has discovered the discipline to properly guard one's mind when reading the scrolls. Their novitiates must undergo the most rigorous mental cultivation, and they often spend a decade or more at the monastery before being allowed to read their first Elder Scroll. The monks say this is for the initiates' own protection, as they must have witnessed many Unguarded Intellects among their more eager ranks. With appropriate fortitude, these readers also receive blindness, though at a far lesser magnitude than the Unguarded. Their vision fogs slightly, but they retain shape, color, and enough acuity to continue to read mundane texts. The knowledge they gain from the scroll is also tempered somewhat -- it requires stages of meditation and reflection to fully appreciate and express what one saw. (para. 4).

Blindness is usually inevitable for anyone who reads an Elder Scroll. The only deliverance between a trained moth priest and that guy over there is that the moth priest has trained to read the scroll and has taken precautions for its effects. That guy over there is reading it cold turkey and will quickly begin to go blind and probably mad.

Now, these rules don't apply to individuals like the Last Dragonborn, but for the reason why, I refer you back to the above book.

[fandomnerd9602]

Absolving?

Nun Novitiate!Wanda x Male Reader

It’s something that felt so sinful and yet at the same time, it felt so beautiful and planned out.

You were a seminary student studying at the local parish when you first met her. Wanda Maximoff, it was said that she came from a family line that had a witch or two but she chose to become a nun. Well rather she was taking the steps to become one when you met.

Her beauty, her kindness, the fire she carried for her devotion, her spirit, it all started a fire in your heart. It made you want to be better, both for God and for her. But at the same time, it felt so conflicting. How could you fall for a nun?! Well she was a novitiate so she hadn't taken the vows yet.

You and Wanda spent hours together. In prayer, in devotions, in taking care of the Sunday school children. And all of it just made you fall deeper in love with her.

You found yourself wondering the courtyard when you grunted in frustration. Your mind was racing.

“Trouble?” Steve, former army captain and your best friend, asks you with a smile.

“Have you ever had feelings for a nun?” You ask with a little embarrassed smile.

“I know my wife Peg thought of becoming one when I was missing in action for a month or so” Steve rubs his neck. "I appreciate you telling me this. I would say that she's not a nun yet. So take from a guy who took five years to tell his wife how he felt, don't wait"

You took Steve's advice to heart. But you didn't want to force her to choose between you or the habit.

You went to your mentor Wong, the high priest of the parish. Before you could tell him your dilemma, he informed you that he needed you to run the confessional for the day. You didn't think much of it, it was good training for you.

You took the priest's spot in the confessional booth. What you failed to notice was that Wanda was walking in right as you closed the door. All she knew was that the confessional booth was open and she needed to get something off her chest. She tried to pray it away but it still wore on her spirit.

Wanda, after taking a deep breath, opened the confessional booth door and sat down, crossing herself. You opened the side panel, allowing you to listen to her.

"Forgive me father for I have sinned" a calm, beautiful voice admitted to you.

"Do you seek absolution, my daughter?" you asked her back.

"Yes." Wanda took a deep breath, "no. maybe?"

"What troubles you?"

"I'm a novitiate and yet I don't know if I can go through with my vows."

"Do you have doubts?"

"No. I love my Lord do not get me wrong" she explains, "but I feel my heart drawn to someone. One within my own parish."

"A seminary student?"

"Yes. I've been assigned to be with him. And honestly, I love spending time with him. He's kind and sweet, a man who has a heart after God and that just makes him all the more appealing."

Wanda feels her breath shutter. "I love him. Y/N."

You feel your own breath hitch, she feels the same way for you! "I suppose there's nothing wrong with love. It was one of the first things created by the Father."

"But i dream of him. I wish to marry him. I wish him to take me against... I feel so conflicted."

You could feel the heat rising in your chest. Your heart was beating out of your chest.

"Y-you can still serve the Lord even if it's not within the walls of a parish. You can still volunteer with the church" you try to admit, "the scriptures do say that it's better to live in marriage than in the fires of lust"

"And if I find myself lusting for my own husband? If I dream about being with him?"

"T-that's a good thing" you manage to say, "Love is amazing."

"Thank you" Wanda manages to smile. "I will still need to pray about it but you've helped me through a great deal."

"Then may you go out today in peace, in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit" you bless the young novitiate who stole your heart.

You try to get out. Sadly, or maybe by the Father's divine plan, you stepped out of the confessional booth at the same time that Wanda did, coming face to face with the young woman.

"Uh...hello" you manage to say.

"hello." she smiles back at you.

for @lifespectator and @aloneodi

[powderblueblood]

boyd crowder x novitiate dropout!reader

[oh-babylove]

your writing is so unique and evocative and i just want to chew it up and make it part of me forever. i hope we get to see more smutty glimpses into sophie and copia's dynamic because hoo boy. gee willy. i am deceased. <3

sophie? there's no sophie here! i've never written a word about sophia grace turner, ex-dominican novitiate and copia's One True Love. merely a 7k smutty one-shot about a reader insert that could be anyone! anyone at all!

(seriously tho, this means the world to me, and i can't believe the reception it's gotten, especially considering that even on my main i'm a relative unknown lurking on the periphery of ghandom. i love these characters so much, and i feel like i can gnaw on them for A While yet. i like to think i've really grown as a writer in the last year-plus i've been poking around with them, and i hope to keep writing about them for many moons to come.)

[acmoorereadsandwrites]

Spotlight: Sapphic Sci-fi

One of the biggest anime of last year is Gundam: The Witch from Mercury. Not only was this the most watched Gundam series of all time, it is a Sapphic mecha series with a cast and crew passionate about the main couple, Suletta and Miorine. When Bandai claimed that the ending was opening to interpretation, despite the very explicit evidence that Suletta and Miorine are now married, the crew vocally pushed back and even released official art of the couple’s wedding. They’re in love and they are married and not even Bandai can take that away.

I couldn’t end Pride month without taking time to highlight recent Sapphic sci-fis that fans of Witch from Mercury or readers of sci-fi might enjoy.

If you also like Bridgerton, space romance, and love the Jazz era:

Lady Eve’s Last Con by Rebecca Fraimow

Ruth disguises herself as Evelyn Ojukwu for one last con: to break the heart of the man who hurt her sister. Unfortunately, his sister, Sol, is on to Ruth’s schemes and will foil Ruth’s plans or fall for her in the process.

If you loved the Fantastic Four and want something a bit more 80’s-ish:

The Stars Too Fondly by Emily Hamilton

Cleo and her friends were raised in an era when space exploration for all was almost possible. Almost. The failed mission of the Providence, led by Billie, is a great mystery of their generation. They break into the holding cell of the Providence, meet a hologram of Billie, are launched into space and now have to deal with having new powers.

Catholic Sapphic Star Wars:

Redsight by Meredith Mooring

Korrina is a member of an order of witches who use blood to manipulate space-time. Aster is a space pirate who can transform into a giant snake and a vendetta against the Imperium. The two are part of a much grander, millennia old plan that threatens to destroy everything around them.

You want less romance and more exploration of gender and messy women:

These Burning Stars by Bethany Jacobs

Esek, the heir to the Nightfoot family, a powerful family that has been complicit in genocide, and her former novitiate, Chono, are sent to find Jun, a hacker and con artist. Jun has evidence of the Nightfoot’s actions and the Kingdom can’t afford for the information to get out. Meanwhile, Six, a young potential cleric from Esek’s past, is following Chono and Esek as well.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Yesssss rooooo! All king Lloyd ideas amazing!! Especially the one where he hears reader singing while doing the laundry!! He’s out hunting and he hears her! He’s enchanted and wants her voice for himself! He’s spying on her like a creep and sees that she’s a starting nun! She took her robes off to do laundry so her shift is wet and transparent! She feels someone is watching her and she breaks out in a run, while King Lloyd is chasing after her!! Setting his dogs loose! IM GOING TO FAINT 🥵🥵🥵🥵💖💖💖😩

Ooo Lloyd is a naughty man! And I love it. She don't even get to say her vows before he's tainted them. A novitiate nun just doing her godly toil and she catches the eye of the most dangerous man in the kingdom.